o_O
I'm curled up here, reading Myrna's If You Needed Me so I could tackle the coverart for that podfic project I'm working on (YAY!) and dude. I'd forgotten no doubt for my continued mental health just how hardcore she wrote Justin in love with Ethan.
Quotes, aka a whole helluva lotta ILUs.
Ethan's POV:
I remember one time, Justin got up from the table and came to kneel before me. He touched my hand and looked up into my eyes and said, "I want you to mess up some time, to fuck up so spectacularly you can't even believe it, because I'll still love you, I'll love you even more than I do right now, and I want you to experience that because it'll make you feel amazing." I swear, I started to bawl like a baby right there, because it was the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to me.
AND
That I was going to enter the Heifitz Competition had been a given since I was ten years old, so it kind of floored me when I realized the sudden ambivalence I felt toward it. One of my instructors had given me a rare dressing down one afternoon, and Justin and I were talking about it over a dinner of plain noodles and peanut butter toast.
Justin had been listening to me bitch from the moment I walked in the door and finally he leaned back in his chair and said, "Are you mad at Finley because you don't deserve the criticism or mad at yourself because you do?"
That shut me up for a minute. I sighed finally and admitted what he already knew. "Me. I don't know, the Heifitz has been the goal for so long, maybe I'm just freaking out because it's so close."
"Maybe." I could tell Justin didn't buy that, and I didn't either.
I looked over at him and because I didn't have to censor myself (or my ego) around him, I said, "If I enter I'll win."
Justin nodded. "I know." He sighed then and reached across the table for my hand. "You have to enter, though. You know that. You know it, Ethan. You have to. You have to enter, and you have to win, and it sucks for us, but you have to."
"It's not fair!" I said. "Why now? Shit, it's just not fair!"
Justin kind of laughed and said, "Yeah, imagine that."
"We would have made it," I said. "I believe that with all my heart. We would have made it."
Justin was still holding my hand. He sighed again, and brought my hand to his cheek where he nuzzled it for a moment. "Yeah," he whispered. "I think so too."
So I concentrated on the contest, and I won, and two weeks later, I was packed and ready to fly out to Germany, where the first leg of the tour would begin.
We spent that last night-well really that whole last day-in bed, saying good-bye over and over again, trying to soak up any last vestige of each other that we possibly could.
At one point, Justin leaned up on his elbow, and grabbed my hand. "I'm so fucking proud of you." He said it kind of urgently, like it was something he almost forget to tell me. "I know that's dumb. I have as much to do with your winning as Wolfie does, but I'm still fucking proud."
I leaned in and kissed him and loved him and missed him so much, so damned fucking much, you can't imagine it. You can't fathom how much I felt right then, how deep it went, how fucking ageless and timeless and boundryless it was. "I would have won without you," I said. "But I wouldn't have felt it. Joyless victory is lonelier and emptier and...and more desolate than losing. I've only ever felt the winning through you. Because of you. And I'll never forget it. Every time I play for someone, every time I take that last deep breath and put my bow up on the string, that's what I'll be remembering. Every time, Justin."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
And then I repeated what I'd been saying all day, because it was so true, because it was all so fucking, fucking bittersweet. "I wish there was some way we could..."
Justin kissed me quickly and whispered into my mouth, "I know, me too. Me too, I'll always wish it too."
...that is just so not how I ever saw them together. :|
But then this B/J bit made me goofy grin again:
[Brian] "I will give you five hundred dollars if you don't say another fucking word for the next 30 minutes."
[Justin] "Starting when?"
"Now!"
"Well it can't start until I agree. Five hundred cash?"
"No, five hundred rubles, what the hell do you think? Now shut the fuck up!"
"What if one time you told me to shut up, and I did?"
"Your ass, your ass, your ass, your shrimp scampi, your ass..."
"What are you doing?"
"Listing the top five reasons why I haven't killed you yet."
"When did shrimp scampi replace my ass in the top five?"
"I wondered the same thing when I was eating dinner the other night. Have I told you to shut up lately?"
*dies*
Rafa's knees finally got the thumbs up from his doctor, yay! I'm still stressed, boo! Practice resumes on Monday and then Montreal in August. I know it's basically impossible he'll ever play pain-free, considering the aggressive style of play he has (even with the new moves intended to tone that down and extend his career) plus past damage, but the thought of him playing in any kind of pain wrecks me and always will.
Quotes, aka a whole helluva lotta ILUs.
Ethan's POV:
I remember one time, Justin got up from the table and came to kneel before me. He touched my hand and looked up into my eyes and said, "I want you to mess up some time, to fuck up so spectacularly you can't even believe it, because I'll still love you, I'll love you even more than I do right now, and I want you to experience that because it'll make you feel amazing." I swear, I started to bawl like a baby right there, because it was the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to me.
AND
That I was going to enter the Heifitz Competition had been a given since I was ten years old, so it kind of floored me when I realized the sudden ambivalence I felt toward it. One of my instructors had given me a rare dressing down one afternoon, and Justin and I were talking about it over a dinner of plain noodles and peanut butter toast.
Justin had been listening to me bitch from the moment I walked in the door and finally he leaned back in his chair and said, "Are you mad at Finley because you don't deserve the criticism or mad at yourself because you do?"
That shut me up for a minute. I sighed finally and admitted what he already knew. "Me. I don't know, the Heifitz has been the goal for so long, maybe I'm just freaking out because it's so close."
"Maybe." I could tell Justin didn't buy that, and I didn't either.
I looked over at him and because I didn't have to censor myself (or my ego) around him, I said, "If I enter I'll win."
Justin nodded. "I know." He sighed then and reached across the table for my hand. "You have to enter, though. You know that. You know it, Ethan. You have to. You have to enter, and you have to win, and it sucks for us, but you have to."
"It's not fair!" I said. "Why now? Shit, it's just not fair!"
Justin kind of laughed and said, "Yeah, imagine that."
"We would have made it," I said. "I believe that with all my heart. We would have made it."
Justin was still holding my hand. He sighed again, and brought my hand to his cheek where he nuzzled it for a moment. "Yeah," he whispered. "I think so too."
So I concentrated on the contest, and I won, and two weeks later, I was packed and ready to fly out to Germany, where the first leg of the tour would begin.
We spent that last night-well really that whole last day-in bed, saying good-bye over and over again, trying to soak up any last vestige of each other that we possibly could.
At one point, Justin leaned up on his elbow, and grabbed my hand. "I'm so fucking proud of you." He said it kind of urgently, like it was something he almost forget to tell me. "I know that's dumb. I have as much to do with your winning as Wolfie does, but I'm still fucking proud."
I leaned in and kissed him and loved him and missed him so much, so damned fucking much, you can't imagine it. You can't fathom how much I felt right then, how deep it went, how fucking ageless and timeless and boundryless it was. "I would have won without you," I said. "But I wouldn't have felt it. Joyless victory is lonelier and emptier and...and more desolate than losing. I've only ever felt the winning through you. Because of you. And I'll never forget it. Every time I play for someone, every time I take that last deep breath and put my bow up on the string, that's what I'll be remembering. Every time, Justin."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
And then I repeated what I'd been saying all day, because it was so true, because it was all so fucking, fucking bittersweet. "I wish there was some way we could..."
Justin kissed me quickly and whispered into my mouth, "I know, me too. Me too, I'll always wish it too."
...that is just so not how I ever saw them together. :|
But then this B/J bit made me goofy grin again:
[Brian] "I will give you five hundred dollars if you don't say another fucking word for the next 30 minutes."
[Justin] "Starting when?"
"Now!"
"Well it can't start until I agree. Five hundred cash?"
"No, five hundred rubles, what the hell do you think? Now shut the fuck up!"
"What if one time you told me to shut up, and I did?"
"Your ass, your ass, your ass, your shrimp scampi, your ass..."
"What are you doing?"
"Listing the top five reasons why I haven't killed you yet."
"When did shrimp scampi replace my ass in the top five?"
"I wondered the same thing when I was eating dinner the other night. Have I told you to shut up lately?"
*dies*
Rafa's knees finally got the thumbs up from his doctor, yay! I'm still stressed, boo! Practice resumes on Monday and then Montreal in August. I know it's basically impossible he'll ever play pain-free, considering the aggressive style of play he has (even with the new moves intended to tone that down and extend his career) plus past damage, but the thought of him playing in any kind of pain wrecks me and always will.