Hear Me Out
Title: Hear Me Out
Author: a_life_defiant
Beta: None, all mistakes are mine.
Genre: Post 513 Song!fic, inspired by Frou Frou's "Hear Me Out" <-----henceforth the title. :P
Rating: R for language and some sexual stuff
Pairing: B/J
Warnings: Spoilers if you haven't seen the end.
Disclaimer: Blah blah, don't own, blah blah, no money, blah blah, fuck off, blah blah.
A/N: I thought in honor of us being re-united with Gale tonight on the TV screen, I thought I'd write a little B/J reunion. ( the "***" means a jump in time to the following day) Hope you likey!
I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am - is holding breath
Just pick up, I know you're there
Can't you hear? I'm not myself
It’s been exactly one year, two months, and seven days since I last spoke to Brian. It’s been even longer that I haven’t seen him, touched him - god, just kissed him. Neither of us followed through on the whole ‘it’s only time’ thing. All time has been is this big gaping hole filled with hurt; bigger than I could’ve ever imagined. So it’s three in the morning and I’m just staring at this fucking phone like it’s going to do all the work for me. Isn’t that how I got here in the first place? Just expecting everything to work out, without any actual work. I’m nothing like I used to be. I feel like I’m wearing the shell of someone else. At this point I’m the epitome of pathetic - and there’s only one thing that’s going to put me out of my misery.
Oh go ahead and lie to me
You could say anything
Small talk will be - just fine
Your voice is everything
We owe it to love
And it all depends on you
I punch in the numbers with shaky fingers; my breathing uneven. Why is it so hard to just call? Nothing can hurt worse than what I feel now. I don’t even give a fuck if all he says is hello. I just….miss him; miss his voice. It rings and I hold my breath. It rings four more times and goes to the machine. The beep sounds and I choke. I fumble with the receiver and hang up as quickly as I can manage. He’s not home, and why should he be? It’s not like Brian to sit around at 3am waiting patiently by the phone to pounce. I’m a fucking idiot.
***
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
It's love on the line can you handle it?
Tonight I find myself much in the same position as last. Phone in hand, depressed as fuck; warring with myself on whether or not to call again. I have to. I just need to do it and stop being a pussy. I dial the number again; shaking less this time. It rings again five times and goes straight to the machine. Fuck. Fuck. Ok. This time I’m actually going to say something. Man up and fucking say something anything.
*beep*
“This is harder than I thought it’d be. It’s only you, after all. Shit.” I pause for a long moment. “I just….miss you.”
I pull the phone away from my ear slowly; hoping maybe at the last second he’ll pick up. But he doesn’t. I let the phone fall onto the floor and I flop back onto the bed; letting the tears run down the sides of my face, dampening my hair and pooling in my ears.
***
So how do I do normal?
The smile I fake - the permanent wave of
Cue cards and fix-it kits
Can't you tell? I'm not myself
Tonight the phone rings four times and goes to voicemail. Weird. But tonight I know what I want to say. I have a script. I’ve been thinking about it all day.
*beep*
“You know, as happy as I might make things seem to everyone else back home…. I’m fucking miserable. I’ve gone through the motions and done what everyone said I was supposed to - what I thought I was supposed to, and it’s all shit. Paint this, go here, shake hands….it’s all so suffocating. Can’t you see that this isn’t what I wanted? I wanted to make you proud, but mostly I just wanted you.” I let it all out in a rush and hang up quickly. I wonder if he’s even listening to these messages, or if he deletes them as soon as he sees what number they’re from.
***
I'm a slow motion accident
Lost in coffee rings - and fingerprints
I don't - wanna feel - anything
But I do
And it all comes back to you
The phone rings three times tonight. Now I know he has to have at least saw that I called him. He’s definitely changed the machine settings. Maybe he’s tired of it ringing so much. Probably disturbs him when he’s fu-doing whatever it is he’s doing.
“You know I’m a mess right? I still see you everywhere I go. Think about you when I have breakfast. Did you know I pour a ton of sugar in my coffee because it reminds me of you? Reminds me of Sundays when I used to steal sips out of your mug cause I was too lazy to reach for my own. My art. I draw you all the time still. Lately it’s been your hands. I always liked you hands, you know. Strong, but very delicate. The way they felt all over me. Yeah, I still think about that too. I haven’t forgotten much. Though I do miss your voice. Pick up, Brian.” I wait a couple beats and hang up.
I honestly don’t know why the fuck I’m doing this to myself. Confessing myself to a piece of plastic and wiring isn’t really doing much to ease the ache in my chest. It doesn’t stop me from crying myself to sleep.
***
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line can you handle it?)
Two rings. At least that’s something. At least I know he’s still alive.
*beep*
“Listen to me. Are you listening? Have you heard a goddamned thing I’ve said?? I still fucking love you, I still want to be with you. I can’t believe after everything that you don’t at least feel something for me.”
All I’m met with is silence. And I’ve had enough.
So listen up
Look at me straight
Just hear me out
Don't make me wait
I'm not myself
I can't take this
Love's on the line
Is that your final answer?
“Pick up the fucking phone Brian. Just….talk to me. Please?” Nothing. So that’s it? Maybe….maybe he’s really not home. Maybe I’m fucking stupid for all this. I don’t know. God, why do I keep doing this to myself???
***
I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am - is holding breath
I swore to myself that this would be the last night I call. It has to be. I can’t take anymore. The phone rings once and goes straight to voicemail. Asshole.
Just pick up I know you're there......
“Brian, I know you’re th- -” A knock at my door stops me mid-sentence. Who the fuck would be outside at 3am??? Probably some fucking drunk. I set the phone on the table and go to answer the door.
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line can you handle it?)
I fling open the door only to find everything I’ve wanted or needed right in front of me.
“Brian.” His name comes out in a breathed whisper, like if I say it any louder and he’ll disappear. He’s got this intense look in his eyes; and he’s staring at me for what seems like an eternity before he speaks.
“I miss you too, you fucking twat. Come home.” That’s when I recognize the look. Love. He was listening the whole time. And he came for me. I barely nod ‘yes’ before he’s inside my apartment, ripping my clothes off. His lips on mine, practically devouring my soul. We knock over the table in our frenzy - the phone crashing to the floor and shattering. I back away and look at it.
“Shit.” I exclaim softly.
Brian pulls me back to him and cups my face with his hands.
“Fuck it. You’re not going to need it anymore anyway.”
Then he’s on me again. Hands tangling in hair, skin rubbing against skin; it’s everything I remembered it was - only this time the hole in my chest isn’t there. Brian’s there, and that’s all I feel.
Author: a_life_defiant
Beta: None, all mistakes are mine.
Genre: Post 513 Song!fic, inspired by Frou Frou's "Hear Me Out" <-----henceforth the title. :P
Rating: R for language and some sexual stuff
Pairing: B/J
Warnings: Spoilers if you haven't seen the end.
Disclaimer: Blah blah, don't own, blah blah, no money, blah blah, fuck off, blah blah.
A/N: I thought in honor of us being re-united with Gale tonight on the TV screen, I thought I'd write a little B/J reunion. ( the "***" means a jump in time to the following day) Hope you likey!
I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am - is holding breath
Just pick up, I know you're there
Can't you hear? I'm not myself
It’s been exactly one year, two months, and seven days since I last spoke to Brian. It’s been even longer that I haven’t seen him, touched him - god, just kissed him. Neither of us followed through on the whole ‘it’s only time’ thing. All time has been is this big gaping hole filled with hurt; bigger than I could’ve ever imagined. So it’s three in the morning and I’m just staring at this fucking phone like it’s going to do all the work for me. Isn’t that how I got here in the first place? Just expecting everything to work out, without any actual work. I’m nothing like I used to be. I feel like I’m wearing the shell of someone else. At this point I’m the epitome of pathetic - and there’s only one thing that’s going to put me out of my misery.
Oh go ahead and lie to me
You could say anything
Small talk will be - just fine
Your voice is everything
We owe it to love
And it all depends on you
I punch in the numbers with shaky fingers; my breathing uneven. Why is it so hard to just call? Nothing can hurt worse than what I feel now. I don’t even give a fuck if all he says is hello. I just….miss him; miss his voice. It rings and I hold my breath. It rings four more times and goes to the machine. The beep sounds and I choke. I fumble with the receiver and hang up as quickly as I can manage. He’s not home, and why should he be? It’s not like Brian to sit around at 3am waiting patiently by the phone to pounce. I’m a fucking idiot.
***
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
It's love on the line can you handle it?
Tonight I find myself much in the same position as last. Phone in hand, depressed as fuck; warring with myself on whether or not to call again. I have to. I just need to do it and stop being a pussy. I dial the number again; shaking less this time. It rings again five times and goes straight to the machine. Fuck. Fuck. Ok. This time I’m actually going to say something. Man up and fucking say something anything.
*beep*
“This is harder than I thought it’d be. It’s only you, after all. Shit.” I pause for a long moment. “I just….miss you.”
I pull the phone away from my ear slowly; hoping maybe at the last second he’ll pick up. But he doesn’t. I let the phone fall onto the floor and I flop back onto the bed; letting the tears run down the sides of my face, dampening my hair and pooling in my ears.
***
So how do I do normal?
The smile I fake - the permanent wave of
Cue cards and fix-it kits
Can't you tell? I'm not myself
Tonight the phone rings four times and goes to voicemail. Weird. But tonight I know what I want to say. I have a script. I’ve been thinking about it all day.
*beep*
“You know, as happy as I might make things seem to everyone else back home…. I’m fucking miserable. I’ve gone through the motions and done what everyone said I was supposed to - what I thought I was supposed to, and it’s all shit. Paint this, go here, shake hands….it’s all so suffocating. Can’t you see that this isn’t what I wanted? I wanted to make you proud, but mostly I just wanted you.” I let it all out in a rush and hang up quickly. I wonder if he’s even listening to these messages, or if he deletes them as soon as he sees what number they’re from.
***
I'm a slow motion accident
Lost in coffee rings - and fingerprints
I don't - wanna feel - anything
But I do
And it all comes back to you
The phone rings three times tonight. Now I know he has to have at least saw that I called him. He’s definitely changed the machine settings. Maybe he’s tired of it ringing so much. Probably disturbs him when he’s fu-doing whatever it is he’s doing.
“You know I’m a mess right? I still see you everywhere I go. Think about you when I have breakfast. Did you know I pour a ton of sugar in my coffee because it reminds me of you? Reminds me of Sundays when I used to steal sips out of your mug cause I was too lazy to reach for my own. My art. I draw you all the time still. Lately it’s been your hands. I always liked you hands, you know. Strong, but very delicate. The way they felt all over me. Yeah, I still think about that too. I haven’t forgotten much. Though I do miss your voice. Pick up, Brian.” I wait a couple beats and hang up.
I honestly don’t know why the fuck I’m doing this to myself. Confessing myself to a piece of plastic and wiring isn’t really doing much to ease the ache in my chest. It doesn’t stop me from crying myself to sleep.
***
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line can you handle it?)
Two rings. At least that’s something. At least I know he’s still alive.
*beep*
“Listen to me. Are you listening? Have you heard a goddamned thing I’ve said?? I still fucking love you, I still want to be with you. I can’t believe after everything that you don’t at least feel something for me.”
All I’m met with is silence. And I’ve had enough.
So listen up
Look at me straight
Just hear me out
Don't make me wait
I'm not myself
I can't take this
Love's on the line
Is that your final answer?
“Pick up the fucking phone Brian. Just….talk to me. Please?” Nothing. So that’s it? Maybe….maybe he’s really not home. Maybe I’m fucking stupid for all this. I don’t know. God, why do I keep doing this to myself???
***
I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am - is holding breath
I swore to myself that this would be the last night I call. It has to be. I can’t take anymore. The phone rings once and goes straight to voicemail. Asshole.
Just pick up I know you're there......
“Brian, I know you’re th- -” A knock at my door stops me mid-sentence. Who the fuck would be outside at 3am??? Probably some fucking drunk. I set the phone on the table and go to answer the door.
So listen up - this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out - I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line can you handle it?)
I fling open the door only to find everything I’ve wanted or needed right in front of me.
“Brian.” His name comes out in a breathed whisper, like if I say it any louder and he’ll disappear. He’s got this intense look in his eyes; and he’s staring at me for what seems like an eternity before he speaks.
“I miss you too, you fucking twat. Come home.” That’s when I recognize the look. Love. He was listening the whole time. And he came for me. I barely nod ‘yes’ before he’s inside my apartment, ripping my clothes off. His lips on mine, practically devouring my soul. We knock over the table in our frenzy - the phone crashing to the floor and shattering. I back away and look at it.
“Shit.” I exclaim softly.
Brian pulls me back to him and cups my face with his hands.
“Fuck it. You’re not going to need it anymore anyway.”
Then he’s on me again. Hands tangling in hair, skin rubbing against skin; it’s everything I remembered it was - only this time the hole in my chest isn’t there. Brian’s there, and that’s all I feel.