(no subject)
Title: PS, I love you.
Part: 5/?
Rating: 12 - Deals with the aftermath of a death.
Pairing: FletchJones.
Storyline: Based on the book "PS, I love you" by Cecelia Ahern.
Disclaimer: I own Danny. That is all.
Posted in: mcflyslash and mcslash.
“Whoopsydaisy!” Tom chirped drunkenly as he stumbled over the front door mat, tumbling face down on the carpet, in a state of bubbly giggles.
“Wh-… whoops-…” Dougie stuttered between fits of laughter. “Whoopsydaisy? What kind… of a word… is that!?” He panted for breath, face beaming, looking down from the doorway at Tom, who was sprawled across the carpet; his face squashed against the floor.
“S’a word!” Tom stated, trying to lift his head from the floor to look back to Dougie, but finding it a mission to do so. “Get dictionary-ry! Now. Help me up.”
Dougie bent down by Tom, stalling for a second to figure out how he would go about doing this. His body was buzzing and vision was shaky; giving him a strange, empty sense of… happiness. But not. It was hard to explain, and Dougie didn’t want to think too much about it, just incase this feeling disappeared and he returned to feeling strange and empty. Instead, he looped his thin, yet toned, arms under Tom’s stomach, heaving a limp Tom from the carpet. Tom, in his drunken stupor, wasn’t exactly being helpful and let Dougie struggle to lift him to his unsteady feet.
“Right,” Dougie smiled, as he draped Tom’s arm over his shoulders, taking his body weight. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”
Dougie took slow steps as he led Tom into the kitchen. It was fair to say that they had both endured a decent drinking session after Tom’s spot at the club. He came off of the stage beaming, totally proud of himself, even if he didn’t admit to it. Tom’s first instinct was to run over to Dougie, which made Dougie blush whenever he thought about it.
“I did it, Dougie, I did it!” Tom squealed excitedly, almost jumping about. Dougie felt foolish as he did, because he had the strongest urge to burst into tears, but swallowed hard and managed a grin and a nod; gestures of which he now wished he had added to, but hadn’t. Cursing himself for still being so self-conscious and shy.
Harry had then come over to congratulate Tom and offered them both a drink on the house. Tom accepted, so Dougie did, and they both ended up having a lot more than planned. Tom, having had the most, was jolly and laughing, and looking like he was really having a good time. So, even though Dougie knew he should have stopped him once he’d started his and Harry’s second game of shots, he left him to enjoy himself for once. It was so good to see him smile again.
“Dougie?” Tom babbled, as they both reached the kitchen. “I’m. I’m going to…” And with that, Tom slipped quite dangerously across the kitchen tiles and had flung himself over the sink, bringing up most of the evening’s entertainment.
“Never.” Tom declared, a hand rubbing over his pale forehead as he looked down into his mug of black coffee. “Never again. Will I ever. Drink.” He sat at the kitchen table, occasionally taking a sip of his coffee and grunting. Dougie stood at the kitchen sink, grimacing slightly as he cleaned up after Tom. The incident sobering both of the boys up somewhat.
“Hmm, sure.“ Dougie chuckled quietly, but it fizzled after a few moments as he noticed Tom’s bleak expression. His eyes were fixed on the kitchen wall ahead of him, glazed over in deep thought suddenly.
“I don’t want to stop being drunk.” He stated soundly, as his gaze switched to Dougie. “I don’t want to stop being drunk, Dougie.” Tom repeated and Dougie sighed. Tom’s eyes were big and his body was slumped over; oozing vulnerability to Dougie. He wanted to reach out, take Tom in his arms and protect him, but decided otherwise, yet again.
“I know.” Dougie uttered as he turned to face him, cursing himself in his head for not saying something a little more reassuring. He could have sounded a bit more sympathetic, at least?
“I never understood alcoholics, you know. I was never that heavily into drinking. Didn’t see the point unless you were thirsty or if you wanted to stay harm and embarrassment free. And I didn’t see how it solved anything.” Tom looked down to his fingers, busying and tangling them together. “ But it does clear your mind for a while and make you feel somewhat happier, I can see that now. I can see how this is addictive.”
“But… don’t.” Dougie muttered, taking a seat opposite Tom at the table with his own mug of coffee.
“Become an alcoholic?” Tom shook his head. “No. It would only make things temporarily easier, then ten times worse. You haven’t got anything to worry about.” Tom smiled softly to Dougie, who nodded in return. “I wanted to erm. To thank you, Dougie. For being there tonight and supporting me. Talking sense into me and making me do it. So… thanks. It meant a lot.”
“S’alright. Oh!” Dougie exclaimed suddenly, lifting his wrist to look at his watch. “Quarter past twelve. It’s August.” Tom looked at his own watch.
“So it is. Time for another letter.” Tom sighed heavily, almost completely sobered up. Dougie stood up from his chair.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, turning around to start to head up to his room when Tom’s hand fastened itself round Dougie’s wrist.
“No!” Tom looked up to Dougie. “Stay with me whilst I open it?”
“R-really?” Dougie blurted, taken back.
“Please.” Tom nodded. “Wait here and I’ll go and get the envelope.” Tom stood up from his chair and headed out of the kitchen. Dougie sat himself down again, daring to let a proud smile creep over his face.
Tom returned a few moments later with the big envelope full of the smaller ones. Again, he poured the contents carefully onto the kitchen table to find the small envelope that read “August”. He took a deep breath, straightening his posture, and with a quick glance to an anxious looking Dougie, he began to attentively tear it open and remove the piece of paper inside. Tom began to read the scruffy handwriting aloud.
“Remember that old blazer of mine you hated? And that necktie? Well, now you can finally see the back of them. I want you to throw out all of my belongings, Tom. You don’t need to keep my clothes or smelly socks to remember me, you have memories to do that for you. Throw out every last thing and get Dougie to help out, too. He always took the piss out of what I wore. You don’t need any of it hanging around, baby. PS, I love you.” Tom sighed, then lifted the piece of paper to his face. He inhaled its smell and felt it rub over his skin.
Dougie swallowed, allowing Danny’s words to sink in. For a brief moment, whenever they opened a letter, a wash of relief swept over his body. As sad and hard as the tasks may be, it felt like Danny was in the room with them for that moment in time.
“Give me an excuse not to do this.” Tom muttered suddenly.
“I… can’t. We… you have to.” Dougie replied.
“We.” Tom stated simply, inhaling deeply. “This is going to be incredibly hard. Worse than singing.” Dougie nodded silently. “Let’s do it now, while I’m still a bit drunk and have some courage to do this.” And with that, both boys made their way up to Tom and Danny’s bedroom.
“Shh, Bolton Wanderers, TV, now!” Danny waved his hand dismissively to Tom, as he sat sprawled out over the sofa, watching the TV intently. He was dressed in his old jeans and Bolton Wanderers t-shirt.
“Danny, I hate football!” Tom moaned, lifting Danny’s legs to sit beside him, lowering them over his own once he was comfortable. Danny didn’t really notice Tom had sat down; his eyes were glued permanently to the screen.
“OH, YOU’RE JOKING!” He suddenly shouted at the television, body lifting from the sofa. “Did you see that, Tom?! That was well offside. Bloody Ref is having a laugh!”
“Danny, I’m bored. Can we watch or do something else?” Tom looked up to Danny.
“Give me twenty minutes, baby. It’s half time in twenty minutes.” Danny muttered, his attention still on the action on the screen.
“Oh.” Tom gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okaaaaay.” Danny looked down to Tom, biting his lip, then back to the screen, and then back to Tom again. Tom was slumped, in a disappointed manner, giving Danny his best impression of puppy dog eyes.
“Alright.” Danny gave in, picking up the remote and switching the television off. He plonked himself next to Tom, who was now beaming, on the sofa again. “I can always watch the highlights again tonight.”
“Thank you.” Smiled Tom, cheekily. “Now, tell me why you love me.”
“Well!” Danny laughed, turning his body to face Tom, and pulling him closer. “It’s mainly to do with the fact that you can cook……”
The rustle of a bin bag brought Tom back to present time; sat on his bedroom floor, surround by bags full of everything that Danny had once owned. He held the Bolton Wanderers t-shirt tightly in his hands. Dougie was sat opposite him, placing most of the stuff they had looked at, and were ready to let go of, into a black bin bag.
“Danny loved football, didn’t he?” Tom looked up to Dougie with a watery smile. “But he’d always give it up for me.”
“That’s because he loved you more than anything else.” Dougie smiled back. He noticed Tom was just about to burst into tears at his remark, so quickly changed the subject. “Um, I’ll take these down the charity shop tomorrow, yeah? Well, in a few hours, seeing as it’s 5am already.” Tom nodded in response and Dougie stood up, turning around to place the last of Danny's belongings into a bag by the door. As he did so, Tom silently and quickly crawled over to his bed, whilst Dougie’s back was turned, shoving the Bolton Wanderers t-shirt underneath it to keep for himself. Dougie turned around and Tom slumped hurriedly to the floor, scratching his head in a distracted manner.
“Yep, good idea!” He blurted, deliberately not looking up to Dougie, who was wearing a bemused expression.
“Tom? What-” He cut himself off when he saw the sleeve of the t-shirt poking from underneath the bed, emitting a sigh. “Tom, you can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Not even this one t-shirt? Everything else has been thrown away! Can’t I have one thing? I need it, Dougie, I do.” He took the t-shirt from beneath the bed and held it tightly to his chest.
“I want to keep everything, too. But Danny’s right. If you keep everything of his, it’s going to be harder to let go. It hurts like hell, I know-”
“It feels like we’re completely erasing the fact he ever existed! There will be nothing left to prove Danny was here with us! I can’t do this!” Tom exclaimed, becoming increasingly more anxious. Dougie quickly sat beside him.
“No, no, no… You don’t need things to remind you that Danny was here, he said that himself. You don’t need a football shirt to remember that Danny loved football, or that having it with you will be the only way of reminding yourself of the memories you have of him. You can do that at any place, at any time. You don’t need material stuff. It will only make things ten times harder in the long run.” Dougie drew a breath. “Be sentimental when it comes to your memories, never throw them out. But let go of all of the material things.”
“It’s not going to bring him back, is it? To keep everything.” Tom sighed and Dougie shook his head. “Here.” He handed the shirt over to Dougie, who joined him in another sigh and then crawled over to the last bag to place it inside.
“Okay, well. That’s everything.” Dougie said, sitting down by a bag and leaning back against it, allowing a comfortable silence to fall between the two for a few minutes. Both boys gave each other time to let everything sink in.
“Hey, Dougie?” Tom broke the silencee, lifting himself onto his bed. “That necktie is definitely in there, right?” Dougie was about to shift around to check, when he noticed a small smirk over Tom’s face.
“Yes. Thank God.” He smiled back, watching Tom settle himself on the bed. Dougie folded his arms comfortably and leant back on the bin bag behind him; the remaining alcohol in their bodies aiding them both to fall into a deep sleep.
Tom lifted his head with a short and sharp gasp when he heard a loud knocking sound. He shook his long, ruffled fringe from his face, and rubbed his eyes until the room came into focus. Dougie was sprawled over a bin bag and Tom found himself cocooned uncomfortably in his duvet. The knock sounded again and, with a groan, Tom realised that someone was at the door.
Pushing himself off of the bed and to his feet seemed harder than he had envisioned before he'd decided that he had better answer this, as Dougie made no sign of even a little stir; the effects of last night’s alcohol kicking in. After a few grumbles and stumbles, Tom found his way down the stairs and to the front door, opening it with a yawn.
“Ugh!” Tom exclaimed, the rush of sunlight burning his eyes.
“Not quite the reaction I was hoping for!” Laughed Harry from the other side of the doorway. “Did you forget something last night?”
“I forgot the effects of drinking too much.” Tom mumbled, rubbing his eyes to focus on the barman, who emitted a laugh again. Harry was way too loud to be the first person anyone would want to be greeted by in the morning, especially after copious amounts of alcohol the night before.
“Well, yes, that. And your 'baby'!” Tom’s eyes widened. He was now completely focussed on Harry, who was handing him his guitar; using the nickname that Tom had used, in a joking sense, when with Danny.
“Watch my baby!” Tom remembered shouting at Danny, again. He felt himself zone back into that memory; hearing Danny’s voice singing “Angels” and the feeling of the cushion hitting him again.
“Erm… Tom?” Harry said, yanking Tom back into present time.
“Yes?” His voice wobbled, centring back to Harry who was holding his guitar in its case.
“You left it last night, so I thought I’d bring it back to you. You were brilliant, by the way, the crowd adored you! And what a song! “Angels” is my favourite.” Harry smiled, but soon stopped when Tom burst into tears. “Angels” had been Danny’s favourite song, too. “Oh God, are you okay?”
Tom shook his head, almost crying so hard that he was gasping for air. Harry stepped inside, confidently pulling Tom into a tight hug, letting him weep into his shoulder. Clinging onto the back of Harry’s checked shirt, Tom muffled an apology.
“No worries, mate.” Harry responded calmly. “Let’s get you inside and I’ll put the kettle on.” He closed the door behind them and lead Tom into the kitchen; about to find out what Tom, who had seemed like a mysterious character to him, had really been through over the past few months.