Series: In Your Atmosphere
Title: In Your Atmosphere
Author: heroes_and_cons
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: PG
Total word count: 969
*These are separate drabbles, not relevant of each other. All titles credit to John Mayer.
Title: In Repair
Rating: PG (angsty)
Word Count: 311
It hadn’t occurred to Kris, really hit him, until now how completely cyclical his life really is.
A number of years ago - five, maybe? He’d lost track - Kris had told himself that the occasional argument or fight between a relatively young married couple was nothing out of the ordinary. Even when the “occasional” spanned into “every other day”, he still hadn’t allowed himself to grow concerned. The morning after, he would brush it off, and go about his day as he normally would, because he constantly craved that kind of normalcy.
As ridiculous as it sounds, it wasn’t until after Katy asked for a trial separation that Kris thought there might be something wrong. It wasn’t ignorance or apathy or indifference - it was his inability to trace back to the fork in the road, to find where exactly he’d gone wrong.
And a year or two ago, when Adam began coming home late and arbitrarily losing his temper, Kris had easily let it go. Too easily, maybe. There had been one time when Kris had purchased a Barcalounger recliner, the kind his father had when he was growing up, and moved it into the living room. They’d fought over it - Adam said it didn’t go with the rest of the room, and couldn’t he move it to the basement or something? And Kris had refused, because even if he was soft-spoken sometimes, he was still hardheaded as hell. And he’d ended up sleeping in the Barcalounger that night.
Now, he pulls his knees to his chest, curled into the hollow of that battered armchair. And he tries to retrace his steps again, tries to sort through the memories, tries to discern the exact moment when Adam’s body would tense when Kris touched him.
But he can’t, and the entire house echoes from emptiness, except for Kris and his goddamn Barcalounger.
Title: Friends, Lovers or Nothing
Rating: PG (flufffff)
Word Count: 306
It seemed shocking to some people when they realized that Adam was a man of simplicity.
He’d managed to effectively build up a persona over the past few years, an intricate façade - someone who was cocky and arrogant and tongue-in-cheek over-the-top, someone who embodied the kind of energy and fierceness that one could only assume stemmed from things like wild partying and cocaine addictions.
But Adam was none of these things, and he savored the moments when he could wake up in the morning and not have to worry about pulling on a mask. Or the afternoons when he would come home and literally feel the burden being lifted.
“Adam? In the kitchen.”
Like right now, Adam thinks, dropping his bag while instinctively following Kris’s voice. He slows to a tiptoe near the door and pokes his head around the frame, watching as an unsuspecting Kris dropped ice cubes into a glass and wiped his palms on his frayed jeans.
Kris turns, seeing Adam and grabbing his arm. “I made you lunch,” he smiles, guiding Adam to the table.
And he had: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut diagonally; a glass of unsweetened ice tea with a straw; apples cut into slices, half-dipped in peanut butter; and the latest book on astrology that Adam recently had his nose buried in.
“I feel like a little kid,” Adam grins, sitting down in front of his meal.
Kris crosses his arms. “I didn’t do it wrong, did I?”
“No,” Adam takes a bite of his sandwich. “You definitely didn’t. But maybe you should save all this…energy for when we actually have kids, you know?”
Kris’s eyebrows arch, lines creasing his forehead in surprise. “Kids? Really?”
Adam laughs, tugs at the hem of Kris’s shirt until he smiles softly and leans down, their lips eventually finding each other.
Title: Split-Screen Sadness
Rating: PG (sad)
Word Count: 316
Adam runs his fingers through Kris’s damp hair, circling around his temple and behind his ear. He just notices now that he’s rocking: knees bent up, body pitching forward and back, forward and back again.
He holds Kris’s head in his lap the way a football player would wrap their body around the ball. Maybe, Adam thinks, maybe if he hunches over Kris, shields him from the light, it will somehow make things better.
“Adam?” Kris licks his lips, lifts a trembling arm to touch Adam’s cheek. His hands are sweaty.
“Right here,” Adam whispers. Literally, maybe, but in every other sense he didn’t feel present.
Kris keeps his hand there, settling into the curve of Adam’s cheek. Adam closes his eyes so he can’t see the skin of Kris’s forearm, a sickly translucent pale, or the abnormally shaded veins that push out from underneath.
“Listen,” Kris says, and Adam wants to laugh, because he couldn’t stop listening if he tried - listening to every whisper of a breath or murmur or moan Kris made. “You know that coffee mug you really like? The one from San Diego?”
Adam nods, even though Kris’s face is turned into Adam’s thigh. He nods, his fingers dancing circles along Kris’s hairline.
“I broke it the other day. Dropped it. By accident. And it shattered, a million pieces all over the floor. I’m sorry. It was your favorite. I broke your favorite mug.”
Adam bends forward, his lips finding Kris’s clammy forehead. “It’s fine,” Adam whispers, his voice wavering. “I can always buy a new one.”
It’s silent for a moment, nothing but the sound Kris’s jagged, shallow breathing. Kris turns slightly, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades digging deeper into Adam’s abdomen.
“I just wanted you to know,” Kris whispers, his voice catching in his throat. And he presses his cheek against the rough denim of Adam’s pants and inhales.
Author: heroes_and_cons
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: PG
Total word count: 969
*These are separate drabbles, not relevant of each other. All titles credit to John Mayer.
Title: In Repair
Rating: PG (angsty)
Word Count: 311
It hadn’t occurred to Kris, really hit him, until now how completely cyclical his life really is.
A number of years ago - five, maybe? He’d lost track - Kris had told himself that the occasional argument or fight between a relatively young married couple was nothing out of the ordinary. Even when the “occasional” spanned into “every other day”, he still hadn’t allowed himself to grow concerned. The morning after, he would brush it off, and go about his day as he normally would, because he constantly craved that kind of normalcy.
As ridiculous as it sounds, it wasn’t until after Katy asked for a trial separation that Kris thought there might be something wrong. It wasn’t ignorance or apathy or indifference - it was his inability to trace back to the fork in the road, to find where exactly he’d gone wrong.
And a year or two ago, when Adam began coming home late and arbitrarily losing his temper, Kris had easily let it go. Too easily, maybe. There had been one time when Kris had purchased a Barcalounger recliner, the kind his father had when he was growing up, and moved it into the living room. They’d fought over it - Adam said it didn’t go with the rest of the room, and couldn’t he move it to the basement or something? And Kris had refused, because even if he was soft-spoken sometimes, he was still hardheaded as hell. And he’d ended up sleeping in the Barcalounger that night.
Now, he pulls his knees to his chest, curled into the hollow of that battered armchair. And he tries to retrace his steps again, tries to sort through the memories, tries to discern the exact moment when Adam’s body would tense when Kris touched him.
But he can’t, and the entire house echoes from emptiness, except for Kris and his goddamn Barcalounger.
Title: Friends, Lovers or Nothing
Rating: PG (flufffff)
Word Count: 306
It seemed shocking to some people when they realized that Adam was a man of simplicity.
He’d managed to effectively build up a persona over the past few years, an intricate façade - someone who was cocky and arrogant and tongue-in-cheek over-the-top, someone who embodied the kind of energy and fierceness that one could only assume stemmed from things like wild partying and cocaine addictions.
But Adam was none of these things, and he savored the moments when he could wake up in the morning and not have to worry about pulling on a mask. Or the afternoons when he would come home and literally feel the burden being lifted.
“Adam? In the kitchen.”
Like right now, Adam thinks, dropping his bag while instinctively following Kris’s voice. He slows to a tiptoe near the door and pokes his head around the frame, watching as an unsuspecting Kris dropped ice cubes into a glass and wiped his palms on his frayed jeans.
Kris turns, seeing Adam and grabbing his arm. “I made you lunch,” he smiles, guiding Adam to the table.
And he had: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut diagonally; a glass of unsweetened ice tea with a straw; apples cut into slices, half-dipped in peanut butter; and the latest book on astrology that Adam recently had his nose buried in.
“I feel like a little kid,” Adam grins, sitting down in front of his meal.
Kris crosses his arms. “I didn’t do it wrong, did I?”
“No,” Adam takes a bite of his sandwich. “You definitely didn’t. But maybe you should save all this…energy for when we actually have kids, you know?”
Kris’s eyebrows arch, lines creasing his forehead in surprise. “Kids? Really?”
Adam laughs, tugs at the hem of Kris’s shirt until he smiles softly and leans down, their lips eventually finding each other.
Title: Split-Screen Sadness
Rating: PG (sad)
Word Count: 316
Adam runs his fingers through Kris’s damp hair, circling around his temple and behind his ear. He just notices now that he’s rocking: knees bent up, body pitching forward and back, forward and back again.
He holds Kris’s head in his lap the way a football player would wrap their body around the ball. Maybe, Adam thinks, maybe if he hunches over Kris, shields him from the light, it will somehow make things better.
“Adam?” Kris licks his lips, lifts a trembling arm to touch Adam’s cheek. His hands are sweaty.
“Right here,” Adam whispers. Literally, maybe, but in every other sense he didn’t feel present.
Kris keeps his hand there, settling into the curve of Adam’s cheek. Adam closes his eyes so he can’t see the skin of Kris’s forearm, a sickly translucent pale, or the abnormally shaded veins that push out from underneath.
“Listen,” Kris says, and Adam wants to laugh, because he couldn’t stop listening if he tried - listening to every whisper of a breath or murmur or moan Kris made. “You know that coffee mug you really like? The one from San Diego?”
Adam nods, even though Kris’s face is turned into Adam’s thigh. He nods, his fingers dancing circles along Kris’s hairline.
“I broke it the other day. Dropped it. By accident. And it shattered, a million pieces all over the floor. I’m sorry. It was your favorite. I broke your favorite mug.”
Adam bends forward, his lips finding Kris’s clammy forehead. “It’s fine,” Adam whispers, his voice wavering. “I can always buy a new one.”
It’s silent for a moment, nothing but the sound Kris’s jagged, shallow breathing. Kris turns slightly, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades digging deeper into Adam’s abdomen.
“I just wanted you to know,” Kris whispers, his voice catching in his throat. And he presses his cheek against the rough denim of Adam’s pants and inhales.