Angels Of The Silences Pt. 3: From The Ashes
Pairing: Cookleta
Summary: Continuation of Daylight Breaks in which Cook finally comes home and Archie is unsure whether to let him.
Word Count: 1108
Rating: PG-13
Beta: princessleia04
Warnings: Angst.
Author's note: My angst fic has apparently become a mini-series (that I've now entitled "Angels of the Silences" after a Counting Crows song). In fact, naming with lyrics seems to be a theme with this fic, and as such, this part's title comes from the Kris Allen song. I have no tentative plans to continue the series further, but I could be convinced. I like this angsty little universe.
Could we be most afraid of what will save us?
Break down to find out what we're really made of.
If we're standing on the edge, hold on when it crashes.
Could we rise up from the ashes?
Archie opens one eye and squints at the clock on his dresser when he hears the knocking. The clock reads 2 AM and he rolls onto his back, pressing his palms into his eyes and trying to force the residual headache he’s been living with lately away. The rain is picking up outside, the wind causing the tree branches to knock against his window, and he wonders if that was what he heard. But then the knocking comes again, and he rubs his eyes one last time before slipping out from under the sheets and putting his bathrobe on.
He pads down the stairs, the hardwood startlingly cold against his bare feet, and leans up against the door to look through the peep hole. His legs almost give out when he sees who it is and he clutches onto the door handle, mouth suddenly dry. He leans his head against the door, taking a deep breath and trying to regain some composure. The knocking comes again, only twice, and quieter this time, like he’s about to give up, and Archie unlocks the door and opens it almost without thinking.
Cook raises his eyes slowly, like he’s scared to look Archie in the face. His eyes are bloodshot, tired bags standing out darkly underneath, and Archie has to grip the side of his robe because the urge to just reach up and touch is overwhelming. Cook’s hair is longer than when he last saw him, sticking wet against his forehead and neck, and his clothes are soaked through as well. He looks like he’s been in the rain much longer than a few minutes and Archie wonders how long he stood out here before knocking.
“Hi,” Archie says simply, because he’s not sure what else to say.
Cook skips the greeting, however, blurting out, “I’m taking a break from music,” like he’d been rehearsing it in his head for a long time.
Archie just blinks at him and says, “What do you mean?” He’s pretty sure he must be still half asleep and misunderstanding what Cook is saying, because the thought of Cook not playing music is unfathomable. Music is like air to him - to both of them - and it’s not something you just stop doing. Archie knows this.
Cook obviously doesn’t though. He runs a hand through his wet hair and replies, “I’m taking a break. I’m not writing, I’m not performing… I’m not doing anything. I’m done.”
“For how long?” Archie asks, rubbing at his eyes again, trying to make sense of what is happening.
Cook shrugs and shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “Indefinitely? I don’t know, as long as it takes to fix this. To fix us.”
“Come on Cook,” Archie laughs humorously, shaking his head. “You couldn’t put us before your music before, what makes you think now is different?”
Cook reaches forward, jerking his hand back almost immediately and rubbing the back of his neck instead. “Because it is,” he answers, looking at Archie with eyes that are almost pleading. “Because it has to be. I can’t live like this, I need you.” He starts pacing the porch, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like he can’t seem to find the right words. Then he stops and faces out into the rain. “If you don’t want me anymore, just tell me and I’ll go,” he finally whispers into the night before turning back around to face Archie.
Archie takes a step onto the porch, feeling the wet underneath his feet. “That’s not fair and you know it!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air and pointing at Cook. “Do you think this is easy for me? I - I hate how I feel right now, but it can’t be like it was before. I can’t deal with that Cook. I can’t feel like that again.” He lowers his hands, curling his fingers into fists at his sides, fingernails digging sharply into his palms.
Cook steps forward, bringing them less than a foot apart from each other. It’s closer than they’ve been in months, and Archie holds his breath like suddenly their proximity has sucked all the air away. “I don’t want you to feel like that either,” Cook says, unfurling Archie’s fingers and taking his hand in between his own. “Fuck, don’t you get it? I don’t even care if I ever make a record again. It’s worthless if I can’t share it with you. If I don’t have you.” Cook brushes his fingertips against the crescent shaped marks in Archie’s palm and just hold’s Archie’s hand, warm in between both of his.
“And what if we just hurt each other again? Do you really think either of us can deal with that, because I know I can’t,” Archie states, dropping his hand and stepping backward. He stares silently at Cook for what feels like hours, like he could answer his own question by looking into his eyes.
Cook walks to the end of the porch, sitting on the top step and resting his head in his hands. “Anything would be better than this,” he responds, more to himself. “I feel so empty without you; anything is better.”
The rain has died down to a drizzle, but Archie can feel the mist against his face when the breeze blows. It’s cold, but he’s surprised at how nice it feels against his skin. It feels fresh and strangely calming, like the air on a quiet morning just before the sun has risen, when everything feels new. He closes his eyes and just feels, and he realizes that he’s not sure when the last time he felt anything but empty was either.
He pulls the robe tighter around his body and nods to himself, silently making the decision that he knows he would have made anyway. “You’ll catch your death out here,” he says. “Come in, okay?”
“I don’t even care right now Arch,” Cook mumbles, not lifting his head.
Archie sighs in exasperation. “We can’t fix this if you’re dead Cook, my heck. Get in here.”
Cook straightens up and looks over his shoulder, eyes hopeful but hesitant. “Really?” he asks, no more than a breathless whisper.
Archie rolls his eyes and offers him a small smile. “It’s 2 AM,” he says. “Get in before I change my mind.”
Cook stands up and steps into the doorway, putting his hands against the side of Archie’s face and kissing him slow and deep. He tastes like rainwater and home, and Archie sighs into the kiss, thinking that for the first time since Cook left, he doesn’t feel like a ghost in his own house.
Summary: Continuation of Daylight Breaks in which Cook finally comes home and Archie is unsure whether to let him.
Word Count: 1108
Rating: PG-13
Beta: princessleia04
Warnings: Angst.
Author's note: My angst fic has apparently become a mini-series (that I've now entitled "Angels of the Silences" after a Counting Crows song). In fact, naming with lyrics seems to be a theme with this fic, and as such, this part's title comes from the Kris Allen song. I have no tentative plans to continue the series further, but I could be convinced. I like this angsty little universe.
Could we be most afraid of what will save us?
Break down to find out what we're really made of.
If we're standing on the edge, hold on when it crashes.
Could we rise up from the ashes?
Archie opens one eye and squints at the clock on his dresser when he hears the knocking. The clock reads 2 AM and he rolls onto his back, pressing his palms into his eyes and trying to force the residual headache he’s been living with lately away. The rain is picking up outside, the wind causing the tree branches to knock against his window, and he wonders if that was what he heard. But then the knocking comes again, and he rubs his eyes one last time before slipping out from under the sheets and putting his bathrobe on.
He pads down the stairs, the hardwood startlingly cold against his bare feet, and leans up against the door to look through the peep hole. His legs almost give out when he sees who it is and he clutches onto the door handle, mouth suddenly dry. He leans his head against the door, taking a deep breath and trying to regain some composure. The knocking comes again, only twice, and quieter this time, like he’s about to give up, and Archie unlocks the door and opens it almost without thinking.
Cook raises his eyes slowly, like he’s scared to look Archie in the face. His eyes are bloodshot, tired bags standing out darkly underneath, and Archie has to grip the side of his robe because the urge to just reach up and touch is overwhelming. Cook’s hair is longer than when he last saw him, sticking wet against his forehead and neck, and his clothes are soaked through as well. He looks like he’s been in the rain much longer than a few minutes and Archie wonders how long he stood out here before knocking.
“Hi,” Archie says simply, because he’s not sure what else to say.
Cook skips the greeting, however, blurting out, “I’m taking a break from music,” like he’d been rehearsing it in his head for a long time.
Archie just blinks at him and says, “What do you mean?” He’s pretty sure he must be still half asleep and misunderstanding what Cook is saying, because the thought of Cook not playing music is unfathomable. Music is like air to him - to both of them - and it’s not something you just stop doing. Archie knows this.
Cook obviously doesn’t though. He runs a hand through his wet hair and replies, “I’m taking a break. I’m not writing, I’m not performing… I’m not doing anything. I’m done.”
“For how long?” Archie asks, rubbing at his eyes again, trying to make sense of what is happening.
Cook shrugs and shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “Indefinitely? I don’t know, as long as it takes to fix this. To fix us.”
“Come on Cook,” Archie laughs humorously, shaking his head. “You couldn’t put us before your music before, what makes you think now is different?”
Cook reaches forward, jerking his hand back almost immediately and rubbing the back of his neck instead. “Because it is,” he answers, looking at Archie with eyes that are almost pleading. “Because it has to be. I can’t live like this, I need you.” He starts pacing the porch, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like he can’t seem to find the right words. Then he stops and faces out into the rain. “If you don’t want me anymore, just tell me and I’ll go,” he finally whispers into the night before turning back around to face Archie.
Archie takes a step onto the porch, feeling the wet underneath his feet. “That’s not fair and you know it!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air and pointing at Cook. “Do you think this is easy for me? I - I hate how I feel right now, but it can’t be like it was before. I can’t deal with that Cook. I can’t feel like that again.” He lowers his hands, curling his fingers into fists at his sides, fingernails digging sharply into his palms.
Cook steps forward, bringing them less than a foot apart from each other. It’s closer than they’ve been in months, and Archie holds his breath like suddenly their proximity has sucked all the air away. “I don’t want you to feel like that either,” Cook says, unfurling Archie’s fingers and taking his hand in between his own. “Fuck, don’t you get it? I don’t even care if I ever make a record again. It’s worthless if I can’t share it with you. If I don’t have you.” Cook brushes his fingertips against the crescent shaped marks in Archie’s palm and just hold’s Archie’s hand, warm in between both of his.
“And what if we just hurt each other again? Do you really think either of us can deal with that, because I know I can’t,” Archie states, dropping his hand and stepping backward. He stares silently at Cook for what feels like hours, like he could answer his own question by looking into his eyes.
Cook walks to the end of the porch, sitting on the top step and resting his head in his hands. “Anything would be better than this,” he responds, more to himself. “I feel so empty without you; anything is better.”
The rain has died down to a drizzle, but Archie can feel the mist against his face when the breeze blows. It’s cold, but he’s surprised at how nice it feels against his skin. It feels fresh and strangely calming, like the air on a quiet morning just before the sun has risen, when everything feels new. He closes his eyes and just feels, and he realizes that he’s not sure when the last time he felt anything but empty was either.
He pulls the robe tighter around his body and nods to himself, silently making the decision that he knows he would have made anyway. “You’ll catch your death out here,” he says. “Come in, okay?”
“I don’t even care right now Arch,” Cook mumbles, not lifting his head.
Archie sighs in exasperation. “We can’t fix this if you’re dead Cook, my heck. Get in here.”
Cook straightens up and looks over his shoulder, eyes hopeful but hesitant. “Really?” he asks, no more than a breathless whisper.
Archie rolls his eyes and offers him a small smile. “It’s 2 AM,” he says. “Get in before I change my mind.”
Cook stands up and steps into the doorway, putting his hands against the side of Archie’s face and kissing him slow and deep. He tastes like rainwater and home, and Archie sighs into the kiss, thinking that for the first time since Cook left, he doesn’t feel like a ghost in his own house.