"Not here, not now", Tim/Tyra
Title: Not here, not now
Author: Renna, renna_esprit
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Rating: PG
Paring: Tim/Tyra
Genre: angst
Timeline: during “What to do while you’re waiting”
Disclaimer: not mine
Word count: about 430
Thanks to lip3384 for beta :)
…
Not now. Not here.
Tears are about to appear on your eyes - uninvited, silly tears of insult. And all world around you will blur, will be smeared - bright lights and voices, cold, windy evening, laughter and the Ferris wheel. You hate holidays for the artificial brightness, the insincere laughter, and the tense smiles. The brilliant tinsel used to hide nothingness and despair.
You hate holidays in Dillon. You hate Dillon.
It’s coldly and empty behind the feature of fair, there’s the dusty ground and garbage baskets - an embodiment of despair. Here is no past and no future - only dust, dirt, inertness and permanence, but not the permanence that it is necessary to keep or aspire to - the other dark permanence, like standing, boggy water. Sticky, dirty water.
You push a bright toy in a tank, push, push. You scratch your hand on the sharp edge; you screw up your face. You step back.
All of it is silly, as well as your insult. All of it is insignificant, useless. The Ferris wheel, lit by the fires behind your back, still turns, and you’re still here. You’ll always be here.
And you feel it when Tim approaches.
…
Stagnant water in due course starts to decay. Time is ruthless, time is viscous and time is rapid. Here in Dillon all decays. And you look at Tim; you listen to his voice and you answer - mechanically, not reflecting.
Here all decays. Here is no place for feelings - only for rotten feelings.
He speaks. He intuitively, subconsciously knows, what words should be chosen. And his voice, his low and hoarse voice, almost a whisper, operates trouble-free. There is what people call beautiful despair hidden in his words. And you can never resist.
You want to say yes. You want to believe again, to return it all back - drunk nights, a morning fog, and - but you’re not so sure about it - intimacy. You want to trust him, believe in him. You want to dream.
Not here, not now.
…
The Ferris wheel is still turning; the bright lights break the night into pieces. If only there were no lights, if you could not to be you and Tim could not to be Tim - all would be different. Not now.
“I guess timing's everything,” you say.
And although you want to believe the opposite, you know you’re right.
…
Fin
Author: Renna, renna_esprit
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Rating: PG
Paring: Tim/Tyra
Genre: angst
Timeline: during “What to do while you’re waiting”
Disclaimer: not mine
Word count: about 430
Thanks to lip3384 for beta :)
…
Not now. Not here.
Tears are about to appear on your eyes - uninvited, silly tears of insult. And all world around you will blur, will be smeared - bright lights and voices, cold, windy evening, laughter and the Ferris wheel. You hate holidays for the artificial brightness, the insincere laughter, and the tense smiles. The brilliant tinsel used to hide nothingness and despair.
You hate holidays in Dillon. You hate Dillon.
It’s coldly and empty behind the feature of fair, there’s the dusty ground and garbage baskets - an embodiment of despair. Here is no past and no future - only dust, dirt, inertness and permanence, but not the permanence that it is necessary to keep or aspire to - the other dark permanence, like standing, boggy water. Sticky, dirty water.
You push a bright toy in a tank, push, push. You scratch your hand on the sharp edge; you screw up your face. You step back.
All of it is silly, as well as your insult. All of it is insignificant, useless. The Ferris wheel, lit by the fires behind your back, still turns, and you’re still here. You’ll always be here.
And you feel it when Tim approaches.
…
Stagnant water in due course starts to decay. Time is ruthless, time is viscous and time is rapid. Here in Dillon all decays. And you look at Tim; you listen to his voice and you answer - mechanically, not reflecting.
Here all decays. Here is no place for feelings - only for rotten feelings.
He speaks. He intuitively, subconsciously knows, what words should be chosen. And his voice, his low and hoarse voice, almost a whisper, operates trouble-free. There is what people call beautiful despair hidden in his words. And you can never resist.
You want to say yes. You want to believe again, to return it all back - drunk nights, a morning fog, and - but you’re not so sure about it - intimacy. You want to trust him, believe in him. You want to dream.
Not here, not now.
…
The Ferris wheel is still turning; the bright lights break the night into pieces. If only there were no lights, if you could not to be you and Tim could not to be Tim - all would be different. Not now.
“I guess timing's everything,” you say.
And although you want to believe the opposite, you know you’re right.
…
Fin