Parachute I Adam/Blake I Chapter Three: Static and Haze
Title: Parachute
Author: Me
Rating/Warning: Eh....if you are in this fandom, then it's PG-13, but know that there's Adam and Blake, who love to fucking swear! May increase later.
Words: Around 3,357
Pairing: Adam/Blake ~of course!
Warnings: Cursing, disability, possible thoughts of suicide, angst, etc.
Notes: This is for a user on here, who's name escapes me, who wanted a disibility! story. This is my crack at the prompt, I hope it works!
Just thought I give you guys this before I go to bed. The muse came to me and this appeared. I hope you like!
ANN: Yeah, I know, there should be more Blake. My Blake muse is being a shithead. I love Adam anyway. JUST DEAL OKAY.
Summary: Jumping into the unknown was risky, especially when all you knew was the wind racing past your ears. He didn't need it though, his sight; he had Blake.
ENJOY!
XXX
XxX
While it should be obvious from his accent and wide smile, the truth was that he was a simple guy. Down to earth; he was a straight shooter with no need for complicated terminology. He was aware that vocabulary was limited compared to some city folk, although there was some southern terms that he could not believe that most people didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care.
Communication was about making sure that another person understood you and your implications, he had been able to do that since he was three, his first words having been ‘Shut it!’ and directed at his brother. Before that had been mostly hand signals and grunting; his momma had not appreciated it when he had left a family reunion with the ‘flipping the bird’ skill. They still did not know who had taught him, though the popular rumor was that it had been his second (once removed) cousin Billy; it had not been confirmed or denied.
Words were like clothes; while some liked fancy suits, it really didn’t matter as long as your weren’t naked. Rags were better than being mute, you could communicate with others. Ask for help or tell them to fuck off, whatever was needed, you were able to speak. Besides, why would you want to sound snooty? Simple was easier to understand and was friendlier, smartasses just pissed him off.
He was raised in humble roots and while he had adjusted to the big lights and everything else that country music (and the music industry in general) entailed, it still to this day puzzled him why things weren’t solved like they were where he had grown up. There, if you had a problem with someone, to resolve it you either cussed them out or beat their ass, or both. Here is city world, things were sneaky. Dinner parties with a smile while your agent was cutting the other person out, a wink to them right before you announced that you had received the part, not them. While there were fights, both verbal and physical, it seemed that things were more complicated than they needed to be.
Beating around the bush was pointless, just get straight to the point and light the damn plant on fire if you needed to. Easy, simple, and effective; if you were going to go to war with someone, you do it quickly and put them in their place, not drawn out. That would lead to more blood than any person could be comfortable with.
All that said, he was not shy about his thoughts or his language when speaking. He did not embarrass easily; hell he laughed most things off as jokes that most would cringe and blush at. It had not always been that way, his early years in the business had been tense, restless with the joking ; things were better now, thank god. This was the reason why his reaction to the final judge, and his newest acquaintance, was something along the lines of ‘Damn, what an ass’
Now while that statement could be a bit more elegant (“What a fine posterior”), he didn’t give a shit because while his language may be inferior or that of a simpleton, he had perfected the skill of thinking before speaking. Well for the most part anyway, there were still fuck ups on his part; he was human, so sue him.
And while his first reaction was correct, given time it had expanded to the point where he was now sitting in his personal leather chair looking down the line at a man who had no idea he was being stared at. Or at least the man shouldn’t have an idea, yet still there were two brown eyes looking his way.
They seemed to be focused at him, even though that was impossible. It was almost chilling to see the stare on him, but fear was the farthest thing from his mind as he looked straight back. It was fascinating that there was an actual blind judge that would be by his side, figuratively of course since blondie and blackie were between them, during the show. Considering that they were going to be judging on voice and vocals instead of sight, the man was perfect.
His ass squirmed in the leather seat that was his, supposedly anyway though he had yet to see a gold nameplate anywhere with his initials or something, since somehow it seemed that Adam was looking right at him. Like making eye contact looking.
Sure, he had been ogling since the dark headed man had stepped from the car and being thinking about the first round of banter (of many he assumed, most of which he would win) they had since they had first entered the building, but that did not mean that the man could magically see to stare at him. He was a modest man, when he wanted to be anyway, and he knew that people stared; he’d be fine with it if had been possible.
Of course, after making the revelation that a blind man was staring his way, his mouth took over. The filter decided to switch to the off position. This, in foresight, was more than likely not the best move to make; because first impressions are usually wrong and while the man seemed cool now did not mean that he would be always. He of course, made it anyway; reactions be dammed.
Here goes nothing, the logic part of his brain rolled its eyes as the vocals were used.
“What are you looking at dickweed?”
XxX
It was a strange feeling, having different levels.
His personal bubble was safe, warm; as it always had to be, no matter where he was. It was crucial, he had found since the time of the accident that he was secure at all times. If not, then the comfort, the level of focus he had when dealing with the fact that he could not see went to hell. If that happened then all the steps he had taken, miniscule baby steps that took everything from drinks to therapy on some level, would be gone; he would fall down that staircase face first and it would hurt like hell. So much that he might not get back up from it; it did not help that the idea, a final solution to all his problems was always at the edge of his mind, just waiting for his weakest moment.
Little to say, he had to be safe. Which he was in this moment; the chair underneath him was a bit too plushie, even though it was made out of leather, but that was details.
When he had entered the studio, labeled such by Avery, the warmth disappeared and the temperature dropped at least five degrees. It was a comfortable surrounding though, since now another beam was on him. It was heavy, reminding him of stage lights; one plus to his condition was that they no longer blinded him. Built in sunglasses, fuck yeah his mind wryly remarked. He had to stay positive somehow.
This fact murmured through his head as his fingers ran across the stiches binding the chair together, red thread if the information he had been given was correct, though she could just be fucking with him again. It was smooth, high quality in construction, as he traced from his seat up the backing before looping back down. A simple task that kept him busy as he adjusted.
While his airtight personal level was safe, everything else was new and unknown. He was not scared of the darkness that surrounded, containing new sounds and smells. It always brought something new to the table, while he just stayed the same. Adapting to the new surroundings was a short thing, time shaved off the process with practice.
The voices of the unseen masses swirled around him, like a tornado or hurricane that he, his personal bubble, was the eye of. Each voice a butterfly, a unique thing that smeared into a palate with the others, flying and circling; never coming too close, but just enough to where they were there. It all became background noise; he never really focused in one, instead just listening to the faint buzz of the combined sound.
Whispers of his arrival, his self-sitting there, so similar yet so different, was a common topic; not that it was anything new. He was used to making waves, eyes or none, so instead he just put on a small smile and made himself at home.
The air brought to him the smell of perfumes, a mixture of different women that for once was not overpowering in the stench. Most were natural, while others seemed as though they didn’t belong or were not in the same class; mint and whiskey slid up his skin, making the hairs standing up on end. He blamed it on the cold subconsciously, ignoring the fact that he recognized the later from only minutes ago. It was on the tip of his tongue, unwavering since they had shaken hands.
If he had sanity left, it would have driven him insane by now; wafting by him with every slight movement of air, surrounding him from an unknown location. The source was in the room, a corner unseen; rarely did he have moments that he wanted to see, the desire waning overtime, but now he wished so much. Then he could see the person that was driving him crazy.
It mixed faintly with the base powder makeup that was being rubbed against his face, small particles finding their way to his nose causing slight irritation. The woman wielding the brush was blushing; he knew this by the awkward laughs she kept throwing out whenever he said something. He took this in stride, even as he fingered the stitching, speaking with an unwavering tone. She was in his space, but he was safe; Avery was lurking in the shadows, ready to bash someone over the head with the flashlight she carried.
Soon the makeup artist, named Leah if he remembered right, would be finished and he would be left to his own devices until the first episode would begin. Or at least filming of it would. The smell of powder was everywhere, not just on him, meaning that he was last on the list for show prep.
The cast probably didn’t know how to proceed with him, how to not freak him out. Not surprising considering most everyone did that, like he was fragile and weak, something that would scream as he broke into pieces. The smallest thing setting him off into a tailspin, lucky for them that stage had already passed.
Leaning his head to the side, the right so that his left ear could have the spotlight for the moment, he rested his head upon his elbow. Final touches being made, he stared out into space, like he always did. It had been a hobby beforehand, but now it was more of a requirement; he just let his entire senses zone out and just go their own ways. Controlling them was not hard but there was always an alluring and satisfying feeling that came with just letting go.
Like clockwork, as he predicted, she finished, leaving him with the thin grains of powder and sweat as company. The second was already smudging his makeup, glimmering on his skin to the eyes of everyone else but him he was sure; his shirt would be sticking to him soon, clutching to his back like it had when they had been outside.
The colors were dimmed as he hummed along with it, nothing interesting coming with them. Now he was just waiting for the rest of them, preparing himself for what would come with a live audience and the new souls singing to his ears. It would a pleasure, he was sure, but he had to make sure it would make him hypersensitive. He was sure it wouldn’t, but preparations lead to the smoothest ride possible.
A sound pierced the static, the background that had become his dance partner; a low statement that spiked its way into his arms, cut in and turned the brisk tango into a slow waltz. He focused, made it his center; the voice was all that mattered to him, though he found the words amusing that carried themselves with the verbal fingerprint.
“What are you looking at dickweed?”
From the painted surroundings came a smeared streak, blue as a cloudless day, greeting him like an old friend as it flaunted itself close to him. Perhaps if he reached out, he would touch it, cup it like a precious stone. Swinging loosely around itself, the words echoed, extending the path of the primary color; it left him craving more.
Such an easygoing sentence, perhaps vulgar by some standards, but it was perfect. It wasn’t treating him like he was weak, but instead normal. He did not even know if it was directed at him, but he hoped so; the distraction was welcomed.
All the levels felt safe now, by just one voice, for one moment. It was new to him and he wanted more; it was like the adjusting period had been thrown out the window, it wasn’t needed anymore. His personal space bubble had been expanded, limitless compared to the usual restrains. Lasting only for a moment, it was drawing back, shrinking again. He tried fighting against it, wanting to spread his wings instead of being chained to the ground.
More, he needed more. The surroundings were becoming cold, so cold.
But how to get his attention? Him. Brendon? Nah. Bronson? Definitely not….hmmmm…the names kept coming to mind as he let out a reply, hopefully something that would bring back the vocals back to his ears.
“Nothing much, how about you jackass?” It was a teasing tone that imbedded into it, leaving his mouth it sailed hopefully to the right person
“What?” The voice sounded faint, confused; like he hadn’t been heard despite the fact that the background noise had dropped below his range. Like anything he ever said overruled the other conversations. He had that happen sometimes, but now when no one knew him? What was going on?
“Want to say that to my face short stuff?”
Oh. He was tempted to freak out, to swallow his tongue and just hide. There was someone in his space. IN. HIS. SPACE. That was cause for death con five if anything, on a normal basis anyway. He was tempted, because that was what he would normally do. But instead he just shrugged his shoulders and smirked while tweaking his eyebrows just a hair.
“I said that I wasn’t seeing much, what about you?” He left the jackass part out, for now anyway. It was a fluke that he would address later, because rarely did he censor himself, but for now there was just the looming figure he could feel the heat coming off of.
It was like earlier, the feeling sliding up his skin in rivers of moisture; the smell of whiskey and wood wafting and surrounding him like a cloud, lifting him out of the gray lines that were composed of the other conversations.
A arm, large and course with fine hair, brushed against his own skin; he move his elbow before leaning forward so that his body now occupied the space that his arm had. The flow of warmth was steady, meaning that they were still as close as they had been. For some reason that didn’t bother him.
“Nothin’ much” The blue slipped between his fingers, just far enough to where he wasn’t touching it. Not yet. It was strangely intimate, not sexual, but just new. It felt ancient, something he should have felt before now, something that had been in his dreams but not reality. It was happening now, his focus hinted; he listened as to not fall into a haze.
“Sounds like you’re just as bored as I am” Absented mindedly, he wondered if the creases in his eyes had come out yet. They appeared when he smiled, Avery said she wished her wrinkles were like that, made from joy and not stress. He tried to make her laugh, when he wasn’t being depressed and all.
“Good to know someone is, I kinda want to ditch and get a drink” He basked in the words; he hadn’t realized he wanted the same until now, but it made sense. The plan included stepping out of this zone, to which he had just adjusted, with someone he had just met. He was safe here. But he felt safer with…
Blake. The name came to him and rang clearer than spring water that had come from a mountain river. Why this was coming up now was irrelevant he decided, he replied.
“We could probably get drunk off our asses, sleep it off, and be back before they’d notice we were gone” He scoffed with ease, the ice seemingly and thoroughly broken between them. No use holding back now.
The laugh that followed thrummed through his cells, plucking them like well-trained hands to a guitar; it was deep, rough yet smooth. He joined in which a chuckle before the blue spoke again.
“I think they’d notice the blind guy missin’” Some of his visually challenged counterparts might of taken that the wrong way. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck. He was safe and the comment was playful in intent, all was good.
“Nah” Waving off the words, which had a small bit of concern in them, he rolled his eyes. It was a habit that he had not been able to break; the flash of movement was missing, but the motion was the same. It gave him some semblance of normal. “Avery would just be our designated driver, after having a couple of course”
A short laugh, which for some reason stretched out longer than others “I’ll drink you both under the table” So confident, so brash; it was perfect, so different than how he was usually treated.
It made everything else melt into the background; nonexistent and out of his range of caring. The breath against his skin was something that usually would have made him take a step in the other direction, to preserve the bubble that had to be secure. Now was different though, he allowed access to this man, this person without a second thought. Without a care in the world, he brought down the walls and smiled.
Getting up this morning was not a goal, making his presence here a task that had frankly been on his shit list; it was all worth it now, he had another friend. For once, he was actually looking forward to something.
Someone called for Blake to take his seat, part of him wanted to offer him his spot with him in it, but instead he just smiled wider.
“I’m goin’, can you believe these jackasses Adam? So damn pushy!”
He was going to reply, of how he would remember that, to bring it on, but the man was gone. The warm presence evaporated and replaced with the harsh lights. Back into the abyss, the darkness that was always with him; but there were now two flashlight carrying heroes on his side.
He wasn’t alone.
XxX
Hmm.
Never had she seen him like this, so happy so easily. He was never so trusting, not after what had happened. Not even with her, it had taken at least a week. Not minutes, days. Not like now. Interesting sight it was, them together.
Jealousy was time consuming and foolish, so instead she watched them.
Heads bowed together, closer than they would have ever been if he could see, without flinching or fear that she expected; a smile on her friend’s face as the taller man walked away.
Interesting, her eyes flicked to the other coaches; the other woman caught her eye and nodded her head towards her still smiling companion. So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed something.
She nodded with a knowing smile, it was returned.
Interesting indeed.
XXX
Thoughts?
Spare no detail! I love long comments, tell me what you like and don't!
WELL I AM OFF TO BED! GOODNIGHT BITCHES! I LOVE YOU ALL <3333
Author: Me
Rating/Warning: Eh....if you are in this fandom, then it's PG-13, but know that there's Adam and Blake, who love to fucking swear! May increase later.
Words: Around 3,357
Pairing: Adam/Blake ~of course!
Warnings: Cursing, disability, possible thoughts of suicide, angst, etc.
Notes: This is for a user on here, who's name escapes me, who wanted a disibility! story. This is my crack at the prompt, I hope it works!
Just thought I give you guys this before I go to bed. The muse came to me and this appeared. I hope you like!
ANN: Yeah, I know, there should be more Blake. My Blake muse is being a shithead. I love Adam anyway. JUST DEAL OKAY.
Summary: Jumping into the unknown was risky, especially when all you knew was the wind racing past your ears. He didn't need it though, his sight; he had Blake.
ENJOY!
XXX
XxX
While it should be obvious from his accent and wide smile, the truth was that he was a simple guy. Down to earth; he was a straight shooter with no need for complicated terminology. He was aware that vocabulary was limited compared to some city folk, although there was some southern terms that he could not believe that most people didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care.
Communication was about making sure that another person understood you and your implications, he had been able to do that since he was three, his first words having been ‘Shut it!’ and directed at his brother. Before that had been mostly hand signals and grunting; his momma had not appreciated it when he had left a family reunion with the ‘flipping the bird’ skill. They still did not know who had taught him, though the popular rumor was that it had been his second (once removed) cousin Billy; it had not been confirmed or denied.
Words were like clothes; while some liked fancy suits, it really didn’t matter as long as your weren’t naked. Rags were better than being mute, you could communicate with others. Ask for help or tell them to fuck off, whatever was needed, you were able to speak. Besides, why would you want to sound snooty? Simple was easier to understand and was friendlier, smartasses just pissed him off.
He was raised in humble roots and while he had adjusted to the big lights and everything else that country music (and the music industry in general) entailed, it still to this day puzzled him why things weren’t solved like they were where he had grown up. There, if you had a problem with someone, to resolve it you either cussed them out or beat their ass, or both. Here is city world, things were sneaky. Dinner parties with a smile while your agent was cutting the other person out, a wink to them right before you announced that you had received the part, not them. While there were fights, both verbal and physical, it seemed that things were more complicated than they needed to be.
Beating around the bush was pointless, just get straight to the point and light the damn plant on fire if you needed to. Easy, simple, and effective; if you were going to go to war with someone, you do it quickly and put them in their place, not drawn out. That would lead to more blood than any person could be comfortable with.
All that said, he was not shy about his thoughts or his language when speaking. He did not embarrass easily; hell he laughed most things off as jokes that most would cringe and blush at. It had not always been that way, his early years in the business had been tense, restless with the joking ; things were better now, thank god. This was the reason why his reaction to the final judge, and his newest acquaintance, was something along the lines of ‘Damn, what an ass’
Now while that statement could be a bit more elegant (“What a fine posterior”), he didn’t give a shit because while his language may be inferior or that of a simpleton, he had perfected the skill of thinking before speaking. Well for the most part anyway, there were still fuck ups on his part; he was human, so sue him.
And while his first reaction was correct, given time it had expanded to the point where he was now sitting in his personal leather chair looking down the line at a man who had no idea he was being stared at. Or at least the man shouldn’t have an idea, yet still there were two brown eyes looking his way.
They seemed to be focused at him, even though that was impossible. It was almost chilling to see the stare on him, but fear was the farthest thing from his mind as he looked straight back. It was fascinating that there was an actual blind judge that would be by his side, figuratively of course since blondie and blackie were between them, during the show. Considering that they were going to be judging on voice and vocals instead of sight, the man was perfect.
His ass squirmed in the leather seat that was his, supposedly anyway though he had yet to see a gold nameplate anywhere with his initials or something, since somehow it seemed that Adam was looking right at him. Like making eye contact looking.
Sure, he had been ogling since the dark headed man had stepped from the car and being thinking about the first round of banter (of many he assumed, most of which he would win) they had since they had first entered the building, but that did not mean that the man could magically see to stare at him. He was a modest man, when he wanted to be anyway, and he knew that people stared; he’d be fine with it if had been possible.
Of course, after making the revelation that a blind man was staring his way, his mouth took over. The filter decided to switch to the off position. This, in foresight, was more than likely not the best move to make; because first impressions are usually wrong and while the man seemed cool now did not mean that he would be always. He of course, made it anyway; reactions be dammed.
Here goes nothing, the logic part of his brain rolled its eyes as the vocals were used.
“What are you looking at dickweed?”
XxX
It was a strange feeling, having different levels.
His personal bubble was safe, warm; as it always had to be, no matter where he was. It was crucial, he had found since the time of the accident that he was secure at all times. If not, then the comfort, the level of focus he had when dealing with the fact that he could not see went to hell. If that happened then all the steps he had taken, miniscule baby steps that took everything from drinks to therapy on some level, would be gone; he would fall down that staircase face first and it would hurt like hell. So much that he might not get back up from it; it did not help that the idea, a final solution to all his problems was always at the edge of his mind, just waiting for his weakest moment.
Little to say, he had to be safe. Which he was in this moment; the chair underneath him was a bit too plushie, even though it was made out of leather, but that was details.
When he had entered the studio, labeled such by Avery, the warmth disappeared and the temperature dropped at least five degrees. It was a comfortable surrounding though, since now another beam was on him. It was heavy, reminding him of stage lights; one plus to his condition was that they no longer blinded him. Built in sunglasses, fuck yeah his mind wryly remarked. He had to stay positive somehow.
This fact murmured through his head as his fingers ran across the stiches binding the chair together, red thread if the information he had been given was correct, though she could just be fucking with him again. It was smooth, high quality in construction, as he traced from his seat up the backing before looping back down. A simple task that kept him busy as he adjusted.
While his airtight personal level was safe, everything else was new and unknown. He was not scared of the darkness that surrounded, containing new sounds and smells. It always brought something new to the table, while he just stayed the same. Adapting to the new surroundings was a short thing, time shaved off the process with practice.
The voices of the unseen masses swirled around him, like a tornado or hurricane that he, his personal bubble, was the eye of. Each voice a butterfly, a unique thing that smeared into a palate with the others, flying and circling; never coming too close, but just enough to where they were there. It all became background noise; he never really focused in one, instead just listening to the faint buzz of the combined sound.
Whispers of his arrival, his self-sitting there, so similar yet so different, was a common topic; not that it was anything new. He was used to making waves, eyes or none, so instead he just put on a small smile and made himself at home.
The air brought to him the smell of perfumes, a mixture of different women that for once was not overpowering in the stench. Most were natural, while others seemed as though they didn’t belong or were not in the same class; mint and whiskey slid up his skin, making the hairs standing up on end. He blamed it on the cold subconsciously, ignoring the fact that he recognized the later from only minutes ago. It was on the tip of his tongue, unwavering since they had shaken hands.
If he had sanity left, it would have driven him insane by now; wafting by him with every slight movement of air, surrounding him from an unknown location. The source was in the room, a corner unseen; rarely did he have moments that he wanted to see, the desire waning overtime, but now he wished so much. Then he could see the person that was driving him crazy.
It mixed faintly with the base powder makeup that was being rubbed against his face, small particles finding their way to his nose causing slight irritation. The woman wielding the brush was blushing; he knew this by the awkward laughs she kept throwing out whenever he said something. He took this in stride, even as he fingered the stitching, speaking with an unwavering tone. She was in his space, but he was safe; Avery was lurking in the shadows, ready to bash someone over the head with the flashlight she carried.
Soon the makeup artist, named Leah if he remembered right, would be finished and he would be left to his own devices until the first episode would begin. Or at least filming of it would. The smell of powder was everywhere, not just on him, meaning that he was last on the list for show prep.
The cast probably didn’t know how to proceed with him, how to not freak him out. Not surprising considering most everyone did that, like he was fragile and weak, something that would scream as he broke into pieces. The smallest thing setting him off into a tailspin, lucky for them that stage had already passed.
Leaning his head to the side, the right so that his left ear could have the spotlight for the moment, he rested his head upon his elbow. Final touches being made, he stared out into space, like he always did. It had been a hobby beforehand, but now it was more of a requirement; he just let his entire senses zone out and just go their own ways. Controlling them was not hard but there was always an alluring and satisfying feeling that came with just letting go.
Like clockwork, as he predicted, she finished, leaving him with the thin grains of powder and sweat as company. The second was already smudging his makeup, glimmering on his skin to the eyes of everyone else but him he was sure; his shirt would be sticking to him soon, clutching to his back like it had when they had been outside.
The colors were dimmed as he hummed along with it, nothing interesting coming with them. Now he was just waiting for the rest of them, preparing himself for what would come with a live audience and the new souls singing to his ears. It would a pleasure, he was sure, but he had to make sure it would make him hypersensitive. He was sure it wouldn’t, but preparations lead to the smoothest ride possible.
A sound pierced the static, the background that had become his dance partner; a low statement that spiked its way into his arms, cut in and turned the brisk tango into a slow waltz. He focused, made it his center; the voice was all that mattered to him, though he found the words amusing that carried themselves with the verbal fingerprint.
“What are you looking at dickweed?”
From the painted surroundings came a smeared streak, blue as a cloudless day, greeting him like an old friend as it flaunted itself close to him. Perhaps if he reached out, he would touch it, cup it like a precious stone. Swinging loosely around itself, the words echoed, extending the path of the primary color; it left him craving more.
Such an easygoing sentence, perhaps vulgar by some standards, but it was perfect. It wasn’t treating him like he was weak, but instead normal. He did not even know if it was directed at him, but he hoped so; the distraction was welcomed.
All the levels felt safe now, by just one voice, for one moment. It was new to him and he wanted more; it was like the adjusting period had been thrown out the window, it wasn’t needed anymore. His personal space bubble had been expanded, limitless compared to the usual restrains. Lasting only for a moment, it was drawing back, shrinking again. He tried fighting against it, wanting to spread his wings instead of being chained to the ground.
More, he needed more. The surroundings were becoming cold, so cold.
But how to get his attention? Him. Brendon? Nah. Bronson? Definitely not….hmmmm…the names kept coming to mind as he let out a reply, hopefully something that would bring back the vocals back to his ears.
“Nothing much, how about you jackass?” It was a teasing tone that imbedded into it, leaving his mouth it sailed hopefully to the right person
“What?” The voice sounded faint, confused; like he hadn’t been heard despite the fact that the background noise had dropped below his range. Like anything he ever said overruled the other conversations. He had that happen sometimes, but now when no one knew him? What was going on?
“Want to say that to my face short stuff?”
Oh. He was tempted to freak out, to swallow his tongue and just hide. There was someone in his space. IN. HIS. SPACE. That was cause for death con five if anything, on a normal basis anyway. He was tempted, because that was what he would normally do. But instead he just shrugged his shoulders and smirked while tweaking his eyebrows just a hair.
“I said that I wasn’t seeing much, what about you?” He left the jackass part out, for now anyway. It was a fluke that he would address later, because rarely did he censor himself, but for now there was just the looming figure he could feel the heat coming off of.
It was like earlier, the feeling sliding up his skin in rivers of moisture; the smell of whiskey and wood wafting and surrounding him like a cloud, lifting him out of the gray lines that were composed of the other conversations.
A arm, large and course with fine hair, brushed against his own skin; he move his elbow before leaning forward so that his body now occupied the space that his arm had. The flow of warmth was steady, meaning that they were still as close as they had been. For some reason that didn’t bother him.
“Nothin’ much” The blue slipped between his fingers, just far enough to where he wasn’t touching it. Not yet. It was strangely intimate, not sexual, but just new. It felt ancient, something he should have felt before now, something that had been in his dreams but not reality. It was happening now, his focus hinted; he listened as to not fall into a haze.
“Sounds like you’re just as bored as I am” Absented mindedly, he wondered if the creases in his eyes had come out yet. They appeared when he smiled, Avery said she wished her wrinkles were like that, made from joy and not stress. He tried to make her laugh, when he wasn’t being depressed and all.
“Good to know someone is, I kinda want to ditch and get a drink” He basked in the words; he hadn’t realized he wanted the same until now, but it made sense. The plan included stepping out of this zone, to which he had just adjusted, with someone he had just met. He was safe here. But he felt safer with…
Blake. The name came to him and rang clearer than spring water that had come from a mountain river. Why this was coming up now was irrelevant he decided, he replied.
“We could probably get drunk off our asses, sleep it off, and be back before they’d notice we were gone” He scoffed with ease, the ice seemingly and thoroughly broken between them. No use holding back now.
The laugh that followed thrummed through his cells, plucking them like well-trained hands to a guitar; it was deep, rough yet smooth. He joined in which a chuckle before the blue spoke again.
“I think they’d notice the blind guy missin’” Some of his visually challenged counterparts might of taken that the wrong way. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck. He was safe and the comment was playful in intent, all was good.
“Nah” Waving off the words, which had a small bit of concern in them, he rolled his eyes. It was a habit that he had not been able to break; the flash of movement was missing, but the motion was the same. It gave him some semblance of normal. “Avery would just be our designated driver, after having a couple of course”
A short laugh, which for some reason stretched out longer than others “I’ll drink you both under the table” So confident, so brash; it was perfect, so different than how he was usually treated.
It made everything else melt into the background; nonexistent and out of his range of caring. The breath against his skin was something that usually would have made him take a step in the other direction, to preserve the bubble that had to be secure. Now was different though, he allowed access to this man, this person without a second thought. Without a care in the world, he brought down the walls and smiled.
Getting up this morning was not a goal, making his presence here a task that had frankly been on his shit list; it was all worth it now, he had another friend. For once, he was actually looking forward to something.
Someone called for Blake to take his seat, part of him wanted to offer him his spot with him in it, but instead he just smiled wider.
“I’m goin’, can you believe these jackasses Adam? So damn pushy!”
He was going to reply, of how he would remember that, to bring it on, but the man was gone. The warm presence evaporated and replaced with the harsh lights. Back into the abyss, the darkness that was always with him; but there were now two flashlight carrying heroes on his side.
He wasn’t alone.
XxX
Hmm.
Never had she seen him like this, so happy so easily. He was never so trusting, not after what had happened. Not even with her, it had taken at least a week. Not minutes, days. Not like now. Interesting sight it was, them together.
Jealousy was time consuming and foolish, so instead she watched them.
Heads bowed together, closer than they would have ever been if he could see, without flinching or fear that she expected; a smile on her friend’s face as the taller man walked away.
Interesting, her eyes flicked to the other coaches; the other woman caught her eye and nodded her head towards her still smiling companion. So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed something.
She nodded with a knowing smile, it was returned.
Interesting indeed.
XXX
Thoughts?
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WELL I AM OFF TO BED! GOODNIGHT BITCHES! I LOVE YOU ALL <3333