New story time!
You know, I thought when I graduated I'd finally have some time to write. Turns out I do have time to write, I just don't have time to complete anything. Go figure.
I have a few other things in the works, but here's what you get until I finish those. Not the best work I've ever done, but at least it's finished. I'll probably edit and re-edit a couple of times, so please let me know if something reads weird.
______________________________________
Title: Missing You
Author: Emilie
Pairing: DM/BB … kinda.
Rating: PG-13. This is a death-fic. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Don’t know ‘em, don’t own ‘em. Don’t sue. I got nothing but student loans, and if you want those I’ll give them willingly. No need to bring in lawyers or anything.
Archived: only at wander_and_roam but I’m open to other places. Just ask.
Feedback: is better than chocolate. Okay, maybe not. But I still like it.
Author’s note: I wish I could say that I thought this whole thing up on my own, but the truth is that I’m not nearly that angsty about the boys. Alright, I am, but that’s still not the reason I wrote it. This is what happens when you blatantly drop eaves on someone’s phone conversations at coffee shops.
Blatantly unbeta’d because I’m so damn happy to have written something that I just had to post it right away. Any mistakes are mine. Let me know if you see any so I can fix ‘em. Thanks.
He stared out the window of the coffee shop, aware of, but not really seeing, the people that passed by outside. A cup of coffee was growing cold on the table in front of him, but he couldn’t be bothered to drink it. He’d bought a scone today too, knowing full well he wouldn’t eat it, but wanting to spend more than the price of the drink.
He’d been coming here everyday for two weeks, buying a coffee and sitting at a table by the window for hours at a time. Sometimes, he wrote in his journal, but more often than not he stared outside, or at his hands, lost in his thoughts. He’d cried once, until one of the baristas had come up to him and asked him if he was alright, voice so full of concern. He hadn’t made the mistake again of forgetting that there were always eyes watching him now.
The ringing of a phone pierced his thoughts, and it took a moment for him to realize that it was his. He’d brought his mobile today, though he didn’t know why because he’d refused to use it at all in the past month. He hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, hadn’t wanted to hear the concern or the worry. Hadn’t wanted anyone to be able to hear how lost he was.
But he answered it now. With fumbling fingers, he flipped it open, almost dropping it into the mug in front of him.
“Hullo,” he said, and his voice sounded flat and grey. He fell silent as the person on the other end spoke, and slowly his eyes closed. He pulled his feet onto his chair, rested his head on his knees and didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes. “Who are you looking for?” He asked, though he’d heard the name clearly. It just didn’t seem possible that the caller was looking for him? Hadn’t he heard? And hadn’t the whole world come to a crashing halt?
Maybe it was just his whole world.
“He can’t come to the phone,” He said finally, falling silent when the caller spoke again. “He won’t ever come to the phone, no matter when you call back. He passed away a month ago.” He was aware, as he carefully closed the small silver phone, that the college students studying at the tables around him were watching him now, having heard the words he said. But when he turned his head to look at them, they carefully averted their eyes. He was absurdly grateful for that small courtesy as he reached into his bag and pulled out his journal.
23 September 2009
Dear Bills,
Someone called for you today. It was the first time I’ve heard your name since you’ve gone...I was just wondering, does it ever get easier?
I think it must because I can’t imagine that any God would be cruel enough to let anyone go through a lifetime of this. But if it doesn’t, that only makes me love you more. Because that means you lived with pain like this for so long after your parents were gone, and I’m finding it hard to believe that I’ll survive the rest of today.
So it has to get better, yeah?
I miss you…
I love you…
D.
I have a few other things in the works, but here's what you get until I finish those. Not the best work I've ever done, but at least it's finished. I'll probably edit and re-edit a couple of times, so please let me know if something reads weird.
______________________________________
Title: Missing You
Author: Emilie
Pairing: DM/BB … kinda.
Rating: PG-13. This is a death-fic. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Don’t know ‘em, don’t own ‘em. Don’t sue. I got nothing but student loans, and if you want those I’ll give them willingly. No need to bring in lawyers or anything.
Archived: only at wander_and_roam but I’m open to other places. Just ask.
Feedback: is better than chocolate. Okay, maybe not. But I still like it.
Author’s note: I wish I could say that I thought this whole thing up on my own, but the truth is that I’m not nearly that angsty about the boys. Alright, I am, but that’s still not the reason I wrote it. This is what happens when you blatantly drop eaves on someone’s phone conversations at coffee shops.
Blatantly unbeta’d because I’m so damn happy to have written something that I just had to post it right away. Any mistakes are mine. Let me know if you see any so I can fix ‘em. Thanks.
He stared out the window of the coffee shop, aware of, but not really seeing, the people that passed by outside. A cup of coffee was growing cold on the table in front of him, but he couldn’t be bothered to drink it. He’d bought a scone today too, knowing full well he wouldn’t eat it, but wanting to spend more than the price of the drink.
He’d been coming here everyday for two weeks, buying a coffee and sitting at a table by the window for hours at a time. Sometimes, he wrote in his journal, but more often than not he stared outside, or at his hands, lost in his thoughts. He’d cried once, until one of the baristas had come up to him and asked him if he was alright, voice so full of concern. He hadn’t made the mistake again of forgetting that there were always eyes watching him now.
The ringing of a phone pierced his thoughts, and it took a moment for him to realize that it was his. He’d brought his mobile today, though he didn’t know why because he’d refused to use it at all in the past month. He hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, hadn’t wanted to hear the concern or the worry. Hadn’t wanted anyone to be able to hear how lost he was.
But he answered it now. With fumbling fingers, he flipped it open, almost dropping it into the mug in front of him.
“Hullo,” he said, and his voice sounded flat and grey. He fell silent as the person on the other end spoke, and slowly his eyes closed. He pulled his feet onto his chair, rested his head on his knees and didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes. “Who are you looking for?” He asked, though he’d heard the name clearly. It just didn’t seem possible that the caller was looking for him? Hadn’t he heard? And hadn’t the whole world come to a crashing halt?
Maybe it was just his whole world.
“He can’t come to the phone,” He said finally, falling silent when the caller spoke again. “He won’t ever come to the phone, no matter when you call back. He passed away a month ago.” He was aware, as he carefully closed the small silver phone, that the college students studying at the tables around him were watching him now, having heard the words he said. But when he turned his head to look at them, they carefully averted their eyes. He was absurdly grateful for that small courtesy as he reached into his bag and pulled out his journal.
23 September 2009
Dear Bills,
Someone called for you today. It was the first time I’ve heard your name since you’ve gone...I was just wondering, does it ever get easier?
I think it must because I can’t imagine that any God would be cruel enough to let anyone go through a lifetime of this. But if it doesn’t, that only makes me love you more. Because that means you lived with pain like this for so long after your parents were gone, and I’m finding it hard to believe that I’ll survive the rest of today.
So it has to get better, yeah?
I miss you…
I love you…
D.