I've got a house on the hill.
Summer days. John/Frank.
(in which Frank doesn't quite know what's going on. and neither do I.)
1.
This is how it ends.
It ends one bright Thursday morning in the middle of July.
Or maybe it was a Tuesday, Frank doesn’t remember. And he thinks maybe he should. But all he remembers is stepping out onto the training ground, looking straight at John from all the way across the field, sun in his hair smile in his eyes, and thinking God I love this man.
2.
Frank loves Elen something terrible, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with her and Luna. But he’d be lying if he says he doesn't want the same things with John. And then more.
And it’s moments like these that make him think it ought to have ended sooner, perhaps right at the beginning.
But he doesn't even remember how it all started.
3.
This is how it should be.
Frank and John.
Frank and John.
It sounds as good aloud as it does in his head.
Frank and John. He smiles.
4.
Frank is dreaming again.
He’s sure of it this time.
Because he’s back at West Ham again, sitting naked on the bench in the middle of the room, while John yells something unintelligible over the shower at him as he always does.
“What?”
The shower curtain is pulled open all of a sudden and John steps out fully clothed. Frank frowns perplexedly at him.
“Why are you dressed?”
“Why aren’t you?” John smiles.
Frank blinks and looks down at himself. He looks back up at John and opens his mouth to answer, but finds that he hasn't any.
“Red or green?”
He watches as John holds out both hands towards him, a red apple in one hand and a green in the other.
“What?”
Frank feels as if there’s something he’s missing in all this, like he's walked right into the middle of a play but forgot to read the script, but John only smiles patiently and repeats the same question as though he has all the time in the world just to wait for Frank’s answer.
“Green.”
“Wrong.”
He blinks uncomprehendingly at John, but John only shakes his head gently, still holding out both hands to Frank.
“Red?” He ventures hesitantly.
John’s smile is wide and brilliant as he presses the apple into Frank’s hand.
Frank cradles it uncertainly. “But I chose green first.”
“But you like red.” Again, that smile.
Frank looks down at the bright red apple in his hand, and all he thinks is pretty as he strokes a thumb over its smooth polished skin.
He nods once, minutely.
Then looks up at John, and nods again, this time surer. John’s grin is sharp as he lifts Frank’s hand up to his mouth and sinks his whitewhite teeth into the blood red apple.
The next morning Frank wakes up harder than he’s ever been, shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back, and the sweet sweet tang of apples lingering in his mouth.
5.
This is how it is.
Frank and ElenandLunaandToniandGeorgieandSummer and John.
6.
He thinks maybe it was the first time he’d met John; new and awkward with his West Ham days still so fresh in his mind, he was sure it was all just showing through. And there was John, all bright smiles and casual charm putting everybody just at ease, and making Frank fall a little bit more in love with each time he called his name.
Or maybe it was the first time John had captained their team. And he’d just stood there at the beginning of the match, transfixed, thinking that he’d follow this man to wherever he would lead him to.
Or maybe or maybe...
No, Frank doesn't really remember how it all started.
7.
The afternoon sun at Stamford Bridge is blazingly hot overhead and Frank’s right leg is already cramping up from exertion.
He hobbles haltingly to the side of the pitch and picks up one of the little yellow waterbottles. And catches John watching him intently as he lifts it to his mouth.
Frank lowers the bottle and looks questioningly at him. John starts to smile but just then a loose ball from Didi catches him unaware and swipes the side of his face.
John, he shouts because John is on the ground and there’s a loud gash outlining the corner of his lips.
But John only tilts his head towards him and grins widely, teeth white and stark against the blood red stain.
And Frank thinks he's dreaming all over again.
8.
This is how it starts.
Frank steps onto the pitch, raising his hand to shield himself from the blindingly bright sunlight as he catches John’s eye from all the way across the field. Frank, he yells, waving him over to join their training group, sun in his hair smile in his eyes.
Frank doesn't take his eyes off John as he walks over, and he thinks God I love this man.
Fin.
(in which Frank doesn't quite know what's going on. and neither do I.)
1.
This is how it ends.
It ends one bright Thursday morning in the middle of July.
Or maybe it was a Tuesday, Frank doesn’t remember. And he thinks maybe he should. But all he remembers is stepping out onto the training ground, looking straight at John from all the way across the field, sun in his hair smile in his eyes, and thinking God I love this man.
2.
Frank loves Elen something terrible, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with her and Luna. But he’d be lying if he says he doesn't want the same things with John. And then more.
And it’s moments like these that make him think it ought to have ended sooner, perhaps right at the beginning.
But he doesn't even remember how it all started.
3.
This is how it should be.
Frank and John.
Frank and John.
It sounds as good aloud as it does in his head.
Frank and John. He smiles.
4.
Frank is dreaming again.
He’s sure of it this time.
Because he’s back at West Ham again, sitting naked on the bench in the middle of the room, while John yells something unintelligible over the shower at him as he always does.
“What?”
The shower curtain is pulled open all of a sudden and John steps out fully clothed. Frank frowns perplexedly at him.
“Why are you dressed?”
“Why aren’t you?” John smiles.
Frank blinks and looks down at himself. He looks back up at John and opens his mouth to answer, but finds that he hasn't any.
“Red or green?”
He watches as John holds out both hands towards him, a red apple in one hand and a green in the other.
“What?”
Frank feels as if there’s something he’s missing in all this, like he's walked right into the middle of a play but forgot to read the script, but John only smiles patiently and repeats the same question as though he has all the time in the world just to wait for Frank’s answer.
“Green.”
“Wrong.”
He blinks uncomprehendingly at John, but John only shakes his head gently, still holding out both hands to Frank.
“Red?” He ventures hesitantly.
John’s smile is wide and brilliant as he presses the apple into Frank’s hand.
Frank cradles it uncertainly. “But I chose green first.”
“But you like red.” Again, that smile.
Frank looks down at the bright red apple in his hand, and all he thinks is pretty as he strokes a thumb over its smooth polished skin.
He nods once, minutely.
Then looks up at John, and nods again, this time surer. John’s grin is sharp as he lifts Frank’s hand up to his mouth and sinks his whitewhite teeth into the blood red apple.
The next morning Frank wakes up harder than he’s ever been, shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back, and the sweet sweet tang of apples lingering in his mouth.
5.
This is how it is.
Frank and ElenandLunaandToniandGeorgieandSummer and John.
6.
He thinks maybe it was the first time he’d met John; new and awkward with his West Ham days still so fresh in his mind, he was sure it was all just showing through. And there was John, all bright smiles and casual charm putting everybody just at ease, and making Frank fall a little bit more in love with each time he called his name.
Or maybe it was the first time John had captained their team. And he’d just stood there at the beginning of the match, transfixed, thinking that he’d follow this man to wherever he would lead him to.
Or maybe or maybe...
No, Frank doesn't really remember how it all started.
7.
The afternoon sun at Stamford Bridge is blazingly hot overhead and Frank’s right leg is already cramping up from exertion.
He hobbles haltingly to the side of the pitch and picks up one of the little yellow waterbottles. And catches John watching him intently as he lifts it to his mouth.
Frank lowers the bottle and looks questioningly at him. John starts to smile but just then a loose ball from Didi catches him unaware and swipes the side of his face.
John, he shouts because John is on the ground and there’s a loud gash outlining the corner of his lips.
But John only tilts his head towards him and grins widely, teeth white and stark against the blood red stain.
And Frank thinks he's dreaming all over again.
8.
This is how it starts.
Frank steps onto the pitch, raising his hand to shield himself from the blindingly bright sunlight as he catches John’s eye from all the way across the field. Frank, he yells, waving him over to join their training group, sun in his hair smile in his eyes.
Frank doesn't take his eyes off John as he walks over, and he thinks God I love this man.
Fin.