Theme 9 - Talking Over Distance (Draco/Greg/Vince)
Theme: Talking Over Distance
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: The Chasm
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: PG-13 for angst and implications of abuse
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
There are days that I feel it, like a knife in the heart.
The distance between your world and mine is vast and deep and the fact that we have ever bridged it is a miracle that I have never taken lightly. I spend every day grateful for what we’ve gained, but every so often I feel that space all over again - like a wedge between us.
Greg knows more than I do, he was closer to you when you first dealt with all those issues, and much of what you told him is in confidence so I don’t pry. But little things come up - like when we first moved in together, and overnight my lighter turned into matches - everytime I brought home a new one, a pack of matches was in it's place the next day. He begged me to quit and eventually I did, but my will only manifested when he told me that it would be better for you...
He’s probably told me all kinds of things like that, things that he promised that he wouldn’t, because he felt I should know.
I’ve still missed so much.
When we were children I was in your house so often but I never saw the important things. I thought nothing of the way you would flinch from your mother when she arrived home. Your father never brought that reaction, you welcomed him so happily, and when I think of that now I see the pattern, but at six I was too little to understand.
Even in classes, when I would ask about your hands and you would yank them away from me, ashamed. It took you so long to tell me - in the barest most undetailed of terms - why you came back from holidays so sullen and why you never wanted us to come to your house on a Sunday morning…
That was always time with 'her'. I don't like to talk about it. I just want you to know that it's 'her' fault...
You come home some days and it’s obvious that you’re such a mess. Something’s gotten to you and you need to fall apart. I want to hold you and all you want is to talk to Greg, and just him.
So I sit in the living room trying to write and play my music loud as if I don’t care. As if I never wonder why not me? Why can’t you tell me? Why don’t you love me enough to let me know what’s wrong?
And then that one day, when Greg wasn’t home and you stormed in a wreck and you couldn’t make any sense to me. You rambled for hours in my arms about how you were to hold your fingers, about how much you hate classical and how glad you are that I like heavy bass and that I don’t know how to play a piano. You whimpered about her hands, her fingernails, how the flick of a lighter is enough to make you cringe and why you were so ashamed for years to make love with the lights on…
I never asked about the scars, even when I could feel them under my hands, even when I first saw how bad they really were. I didn’t think you wanted me to know, so I called you beautiful because you were and I kissed you when you cried and I never asked Greg to tell me what you said about me later.
I rocked you on the hallway floor and gave you helplessly over to Greg when he scrambled in the door at dinnertime.
When you were asleep, we ate alone in the living room, listless. He put down his plate after three bites and apologized for what you couldn’t explain to me. He wishes that I knew what he did, so that he didn’t have to bear being unable to help you alone, but maybe he wishes that I didn’t have to know. That I could love you without feeling sorry for you at the same time…
And maybe that’s why you don’t tell me. Not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to. You never want to worry that my love for you is based on pity.
So if all you want is that, to reassure you of just why I love you - than for you, I can keep my distance…
Fandom/Pairing: Draco/Gregory/Vincent
Title: The Chasm
Author: Lady Zip
Rating: PG-13 for angst and implications of abuse
Disclaimer: Please don’t murder me Ms.Rowling. I wuv you… ;_;
There are days that I feel it, like a knife in the heart.
The distance between your world and mine is vast and deep and the fact that we have ever bridged it is a miracle that I have never taken lightly. I spend every day grateful for what we’ve gained, but every so often I feel that space all over again - like a wedge between us.
Greg knows more than I do, he was closer to you when you first dealt with all those issues, and much of what you told him is in confidence so I don’t pry. But little things come up - like when we first moved in together, and overnight my lighter turned into matches - everytime I brought home a new one, a pack of matches was in it's place the next day. He begged me to quit and eventually I did, but my will only manifested when he told me that it would be better for you...
He’s probably told me all kinds of things like that, things that he promised that he wouldn’t, because he felt I should know.
I’ve still missed so much.
When we were children I was in your house so often but I never saw the important things. I thought nothing of the way you would flinch from your mother when she arrived home. Your father never brought that reaction, you welcomed him so happily, and when I think of that now I see the pattern, but at six I was too little to understand.
Even in classes, when I would ask about your hands and you would yank them away from me, ashamed. It took you so long to tell me - in the barest most undetailed of terms - why you came back from holidays so sullen and why you never wanted us to come to your house on a Sunday morning…
That was always time with 'her'. I don't like to talk about it. I just want you to know that it's 'her' fault...
You come home some days and it’s obvious that you’re such a mess. Something’s gotten to you and you need to fall apart. I want to hold you and all you want is to talk to Greg, and just him.
So I sit in the living room trying to write and play my music loud as if I don’t care. As if I never wonder why not me? Why can’t you tell me? Why don’t you love me enough to let me know what’s wrong?
And then that one day, when Greg wasn’t home and you stormed in a wreck and you couldn’t make any sense to me. You rambled for hours in my arms about how you were to hold your fingers, about how much you hate classical and how glad you are that I like heavy bass and that I don’t know how to play a piano. You whimpered about her hands, her fingernails, how the flick of a lighter is enough to make you cringe and why you were so ashamed for years to make love with the lights on…
I never asked about the scars, even when I could feel them under my hands, even when I first saw how bad they really were. I didn’t think you wanted me to know, so I called you beautiful because you were and I kissed you when you cried and I never asked Greg to tell me what you said about me later.
I rocked you on the hallway floor and gave you helplessly over to Greg when he scrambled in the door at dinnertime.
When you were asleep, we ate alone in the living room, listless. He put down his plate after three bites and apologized for what you couldn’t explain to me. He wishes that I knew what he did, so that he didn’t have to bear being unable to help you alone, but maybe he wishes that I didn’t have to know. That I could love you without feeling sorry for you at the same time…
And maybe that’s why you don’t tell me. Not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to. You never want to worry that my love for you is based on pity.
So if all you want is that, to reassure you of just why I love you - than for you, I can keep my distance…