original - inability to process
In which Alan tries to avoid being a schmoopy romantic, but doesn't quite get away with it. This was a personal challenge to write a story with no dialogue. I failed. This is... very mushy. I apologize. It's... really, really mushy. It's so mushy, I'm almost embarrassed.
Prompt was "heart."
***
Inability to Process
Alan's not a romantic, not really. He never has been. He appreciates romance, and he's not opposed to it, but he's never been the one initiating the grand gestures. Sure, John Cusack standing outside the window blasting "In Your Eyes" was a sweet thought, but it would never occur to him to do something along those lines himself. Alan isn't looking for grand romance. He's not not looking for it, but he'd be more than happy to settle for love and happiness. Barring those things, he'd be more than happy to settle for dependability.
He knows from the first time he meets Danny Stevens that there's something special about him. He's gorgeous, yes, and funny and sweet, but there's a certain amount of chemistry between them, a certain tingling that overcomes him when they look at each other, like a hum right under his skin. He doesn't know what it is, but he's intrigued enough to want to learn more, much more, and as fast as he can.
Danny, it turns out, is a bull's-eye. Danny is everything that Alan has ever thought to look for. He's reliable, he's comfortable, he's dependable, and he makes Alan happy. After two weeks Alan confesses in a whisper to his sister Cynthia that it's entirely possible he's falling in love with Danny Stevens. They smile and laugh and talk about it for almost an hour even though they're both nearly thirty and well past the point where staying up late, talking on the phone about boys is acceptable. It doesn't matter, though, Alan never feels silly doing it because the hum under his skin hasn't gone away, and talking about Danny, thinking about Danny is like walking around on a twenty-four hour high.
It doesn't take Alan long to learn that Danny is also a romantic. Two days after their first date, Danny is waiting for him in the parking lot of the school, sitting on the hood of his car with flowers and a cup of coffee. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him, and Alan honestly doesn't know what to say. The sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him changes, though, almost daily, because Danny never stops. It takes them less than a week to be completely, one-hundred ensconced in a clearly serious and long-term relationship, but winning Alan over doesn't stop Danny from going out of his way to make sure Alan feels appreciated. Alan, who's a little too thin and a little too quiet to ever be the center of attention, is honestly not sure how to handle it. Something inside of him tightens every time Danny surprises him with lunch or a road trip or a present. He momentarily can't breathe. It's a good thing - it's definitely a good thing - but it's something he's never felt before and something he doesn't know how to explain.
Danny doesn't explain it either, though Alan isn't sure if it's because he doesn't know how or because he's afraid of being off-putting. For someone as calm and rational and logically-minded as Danny Stevens, it's almost strange to think of him as so intimately, over-the-top-in-love with someone he's known for only three months. Alan hears him talking, though, mostly to his assistant Felicity, his friend Marissa. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but by June he's practically living at Danny's house and it's hard not to hear. He hears Danny use words like "love" and "forever," hears him talk about the lump that forms in his throat when he looks at Alan, hears him whisper into the phone that things are moving so fast his head is spinning and he just wants it to spin faster with every day that goes by. He hears the rest from the corner of the stairs, where he sits with his head between his knees because he, too, is so overcome by emotion that he doesn't know how to process it all.
November means nine months. November means Alan moving into Danny's house permanently. November, and the hum under the surface of Alan's skin still hasn't gone away, the fascination with being able to touch Danny whenever he wants, the joy at having someone there with their arms around him every day and every night no matter what. When he thinks about it, it makes him dizzy, so he tries not to think about it too much. Life is fine without thinking about it. Life is perfect without thinking about it, even. He loves his job, he's finally reached a place where he's financially stable, and he's living with someone who loves him more than he knew he could be loved. He doesn't examine it too closely. He can't. He's never been one for overly romantic schmoop, for long-winded speeches about someone occupying that special place in your heart. He's learned to like romance, but drivel like that still makes him wince, and it's frustrating that he can't think of any other way to say it, any other way to put it to words.
"What are you thinking about?" Danny asks him one day in late December when he's lying on the living room couch. Christmas is just days away and they've already had their first snowfall. Danny lies down next to him, which is a feat that leaves them comfortably and snuggly pressed together, face-to-face.
"Mmm, nothing," Alan says. Danny kisses him slowly, gently. Danny kisses him with a level of comfort and familiarity that means more to him than any frantic lust ever could. Danny kisses him and pulls away, the same question lingering in his eyes as he brushes Alan's hair back. "Okay, I was thinking about you," Alan admits, casting his eyes downward. He's smiling, even as he feels his cheeks start to go pink from embarrassment.
"What about me?" Danny asks, and right in that moment, looking at Danny, feeling secure and happy and comfortable on Danny's couch and in Danny's arms, Alan feels the familiar lump start to rise in his throat. He closes his eyes and swallows.
"I don't know how to...god, this is so pathetic, but sometimes I think about you and I can't even... I don't know how to handle it all. My heart just... aches." He opens his eyes and winces apologetically. "It's not... it's a good thing. I think. But I'm so overwhelmed that I can't... I'm completely unable to find a way to put it into words. To tell you or to... explain it to myself. It's not, 'Oh, there's Danny Stevens, I love him.' It's this overwhelming... just this mind-blowing feeling that this is something so much bigger than I am that I can't..." He trails off. Danny looks at him for a long moment.
"I think that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," he says finally. Alan covers his face with his hands. He can feel himself turning pink again.
"Shut up," he says. "I'm serious."
"So am I," Danny says. He gently pries Alan's hands away and kisses him again, this time leaving his hands cradling his face. "You don't have to name it, Alan. It's there. That's enough."
"It makes me feel... tiny," he says quietly. "It makes me feel tiny when I'm on my own."
"That's because you're not supposed to be on your own anymore," Danny says. "People say it was too much too fast, but there's a reason we've been inseparable since the day we met, sweetheart. I knew it that night. Or I felt it, at least. I didn't know what it was until later. You did too. Felt it, I mean. You told me."
"I told you I felt like I was suffocating when I thought about you," he says. "But in a good way."
"You did," Danny said. "From that very first night. You feel tiny on your own because you're not supposed to be on your own anymore, Alan. You haven't been for a long time."
And Danny's a romantic, yes, a truly sappy sucker for romance, but Alan has to admit that lying there with his arms around Danny, blinking back tears that he doesn't understand, he's never agreed with him more
Prompt was "heart."
***
Inability to Process
Alan's not a romantic, not really. He never has been. He appreciates romance, and he's not opposed to it, but he's never been the one initiating the grand gestures. Sure, John Cusack standing outside the window blasting "In Your Eyes" was a sweet thought, but it would never occur to him to do something along those lines himself. Alan isn't looking for grand romance. He's not not looking for it, but he'd be more than happy to settle for love and happiness. Barring those things, he'd be more than happy to settle for dependability.
He knows from the first time he meets Danny Stevens that there's something special about him. He's gorgeous, yes, and funny and sweet, but there's a certain amount of chemistry between them, a certain tingling that overcomes him when they look at each other, like a hum right under his skin. He doesn't know what it is, but he's intrigued enough to want to learn more, much more, and as fast as he can.
Danny, it turns out, is a bull's-eye. Danny is everything that Alan has ever thought to look for. He's reliable, he's comfortable, he's dependable, and he makes Alan happy. After two weeks Alan confesses in a whisper to his sister Cynthia that it's entirely possible he's falling in love with Danny Stevens. They smile and laugh and talk about it for almost an hour even though they're both nearly thirty and well past the point where staying up late, talking on the phone about boys is acceptable. It doesn't matter, though, Alan never feels silly doing it because the hum under his skin hasn't gone away, and talking about Danny, thinking about Danny is like walking around on a twenty-four hour high.
It doesn't take Alan long to learn that Danny is also a romantic. Two days after their first date, Danny is waiting for him in the parking lot of the school, sitting on the hood of his car with flowers and a cup of coffee. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him, and Alan honestly doesn't know what to say. The sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him changes, though, almost daily, because Danny never stops. It takes them less than a week to be completely, one-hundred ensconced in a clearly serious and long-term relationship, but winning Alan over doesn't stop Danny from going out of his way to make sure Alan feels appreciated. Alan, who's a little too thin and a little too quiet to ever be the center of attention, is honestly not sure how to handle it. Something inside of him tightens every time Danny surprises him with lunch or a road trip or a present. He momentarily can't breathe. It's a good thing - it's definitely a good thing - but it's something he's never felt before and something he doesn't know how to explain.
Danny doesn't explain it either, though Alan isn't sure if it's because he doesn't know how or because he's afraid of being off-putting. For someone as calm and rational and logically-minded as Danny Stevens, it's almost strange to think of him as so intimately, over-the-top-in-love with someone he's known for only three months. Alan hears him talking, though, mostly to his assistant Felicity, his friend Marissa. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but by June he's practically living at Danny's house and it's hard not to hear. He hears Danny use words like "love" and "forever," hears him talk about the lump that forms in his throat when he looks at Alan, hears him whisper into the phone that things are moving so fast his head is spinning and he just wants it to spin faster with every day that goes by. He hears the rest from the corner of the stairs, where he sits with his head between his knees because he, too, is so overcome by emotion that he doesn't know how to process it all.
November means nine months. November means Alan moving into Danny's house permanently. November, and the hum under the surface of Alan's skin still hasn't gone away, the fascination with being able to touch Danny whenever he wants, the joy at having someone there with their arms around him every day and every night no matter what. When he thinks about it, it makes him dizzy, so he tries not to think about it too much. Life is fine without thinking about it. Life is perfect without thinking about it, even. He loves his job, he's finally reached a place where he's financially stable, and he's living with someone who loves him more than he knew he could be loved. He doesn't examine it too closely. He can't. He's never been one for overly romantic schmoop, for long-winded speeches about someone occupying that special place in your heart. He's learned to like romance, but drivel like that still makes him wince, and it's frustrating that he can't think of any other way to say it, any other way to put it to words.
"What are you thinking about?" Danny asks him one day in late December when he's lying on the living room couch. Christmas is just days away and they've already had their first snowfall. Danny lies down next to him, which is a feat that leaves them comfortably and snuggly pressed together, face-to-face.
"Mmm, nothing," Alan says. Danny kisses him slowly, gently. Danny kisses him with a level of comfort and familiarity that means more to him than any frantic lust ever could. Danny kisses him and pulls away, the same question lingering in his eyes as he brushes Alan's hair back. "Okay, I was thinking about you," Alan admits, casting his eyes downward. He's smiling, even as he feels his cheeks start to go pink from embarrassment.
"What about me?" Danny asks, and right in that moment, looking at Danny, feeling secure and happy and comfortable on Danny's couch and in Danny's arms, Alan feels the familiar lump start to rise in his throat. He closes his eyes and swallows.
"I don't know how to...god, this is so pathetic, but sometimes I think about you and I can't even... I don't know how to handle it all. My heart just... aches." He opens his eyes and winces apologetically. "It's not... it's a good thing. I think. But I'm so overwhelmed that I can't... I'm completely unable to find a way to put it into words. To tell you or to... explain it to myself. It's not, 'Oh, there's Danny Stevens, I love him.' It's this overwhelming... just this mind-blowing feeling that this is something so much bigger than I am that I can't..." He trails off. Danny looks at him for a long moment.
"I think that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," he says finally. Alan covers his face with his hands. He can feel himself turning pink again.
"Shut up," he says. "I'm serious."
"So am I," Danny says. He gently pries Alan's hands away and kisses him again, this time leaving his hands cradling his face. "You don't have to name it, Alan. It's there. That's enough."
"It makes me feel... tiny," he says quietly. "It makes me feel tiny when I'm on my own."
"That's because you're not supposed to be on your own anymore," Danny says. "People say it was too much too fast, but there's a reason we've been inseparable since the day we met, sweetheart. I knew it that night. Or I felt it, at least. I didn't know what it was until later. You did too. Felt it, I mean. You told me."
"I told you I felt like I was suffocating when I thought about you," he says. "But in a good way."
"You did," Danny said. "From that very first night. You feel tiny on your own because you're not supposed to be on your own anymore, Alan. You haven't been for a long time."
And Danny's a romantic, yes, a truly sappy sucker for romance, but Alan has to admit that lying there with his arms around Danny, blinking back tears that he doesn't understand, he's never agreed with him more