Dark-eyed Dreamers ch 1/?
Title: Dark-eyed Dreamers
Author: x_cheapnovelty
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth/Oli Sykes
Rating: PG-13 for now
Summary: He pouted as he sauntered, and he sauntered all the way into the empty desk next to mine.
POV: Alex
Warnings: Naughty mouth words, eventual homogay fornication and the nonsense you come to accept that is my vocabulary.
Disclaimer: As much as I'd like to, I don't own Alex Gaskarth or Oli Sykes or JB Barakat etc. And I'm sorry Alex, but I know you secretly love these fics, don't deny it.
Dedications: verymuchalivex because she believes in me :) and we read fic together out loud in stupid accents.
Author Notes: Inspired by my trial HSC exam question, believe it or not. Be gentle, it's my first fic I've ever let anyone other than Rose read. Leave me comments :) Oh, and thoughts are in italics.
It wasn’t easy, being an only child to important parents. I was dejected every time I was dragged along to a conference/dinner party/open house/whatever the fuck it was that my parents felt like socializing at and it made their friends ask stupid questions.
“Where’s your smile, Alex?” they’d ask in that patronizing tone that adults save especially for kids and pets.
“Why the long face?” and then they’d laugh raucously and continue talking about Botox or the stock market or... whatever. And of course they’d have other children there, either too young for me, sitting in the corner eating Lego or too old to notice me. By age 12 I’d kicked up enough tantrums as soon as we were in the vicinity of our own house to finally get them to buy me a gameboy (because I was possibly the most considerate child in the world so as not to embarrass my parents in public... or maybe they beat me into being that way. I can’t remember). So basically, I was raised by Pokemon Yellow. It taught me all the social skills I needed to know. It was an event similar to one of the aforementioned, in some fancy house overlooking a river, where I first met my best friend, Jack Barakat.
Since we’d moved out to America from Essex, England when I was 8 I still had my accent, and this, plus my gameboy, were what attracted Jack to me. As I recall it, I was midway through a battle with Sabrina for the umpteenth time, attempting to beat her Kadabra with my Pikachu. He loomed out at me like a pink bitch through the gloom, startling me into losing.
“What’ve you gone and done that for, you jerkoff!” I exclaimed, exasperated. I only had so much battery power to devote to Sabrina and her Kadabra.
“Sorry, man... I just really, really like Pokemon too.” The boy said with a lopsided grin.
I decided to forgive him, because he liked Pokemon.
Some 5 or 6 years later here I am sitting in maths, hating my life and cursing the education system.
This is it. Just this year to get through. Just this one year then no more school ever again and All Time Low can get bigger and I won’t have to work I can just do exactly what Jack and I have been planning for the last 6 fucking years... Just this year, and school is over forever...
I was jerked from the ponderings of my mind cogs by aforementioned boy called Jack.
“Dude! Stop daydreaming, fuck! The bell rang, douchebag.” He said, gathering his books and waiting by his desk for me to sink all the way back down to reality. I sighed and dumped my books into the little black bag I’d sewn an incredible amount of Blink 182 patches on to. Yes, I sew. It’s a life skill you should learn too.
“Fuck I h-h-h-h-aaa-te sch-oool,” Jack attempted to say, stifling a yawn as we walked down the crowded hall.
“Tell me about it,” I replied in my adopted American accent. It upset me that my British accent had almost vanished completely from my mouth voice but there’s not much you can do about these things, I guess.
The next day passed in a similar fashion to the one previous. As did the next one. And the next one... until the days became a mundane blur and I didn’t bother tuning into reality until Jack commanded his presence to be noticed, often by squirting me with orange juice or pelting me with a brownie. The only joy in my commonplace little life came from Jack and my guitar. Jack was like an angel sent from the heavens just to make me feel like a human; we were practically the same person, except Jack was hyper and I was a dreamer. I often wrote songs about him just because he made me happy, but I never thought to play them for him even though he knew of their existence. Sometimes he would ask but I would always tell him they weren’t for anyone to hear, but he could acknowledge their existence if he felt like it. He didn’t know what this meant and just nodded and turned back to creating hot new licks. But before long, Jack just wasn’t enough to continue plugging up the hole inside me called loneliness. I was used to it; having no siblings does that to a kid, but it changed as I grew older and I couldn’t place my finger on what was making me feel like this. So in attempt to get rid of it I just had a fap every night before bed and it seemed to get my mind off of it in a surprisingly effective way.
It was a crisp November morning when my journey took a strange new turn in the path of life. I was innocently sitting at my desk, doodling, and writing down the disjointed words that sprung to mind as my thoughts carried me through the ravines of imagination, when he appeared in the classroom doorway. I hadn’t noticed his presence until he addressed the teacher in an alarming casual and definitely not American way.
“Alrigh’ this is me new class innit? I’m Oli, sir, jus’ moved ‘ere didn’ I?” he exclaimed, holding his hand out for the teacher to shake. Unimpressed, the teacher directed him towards the back of the room; towards me. As the newcomer, Oli, sauntered casually down the aisle, I could not help but gape, in a similar fashion to that of a goldfish, at the magnificence of this specimen. I gave him the once-over - actually, who am I kidding? I gave him the ten-times-over, taking in his tall and slender frame, his colourful t-shirt and oh. It must be said, he had the best hair I had ever seen. I could only ever hope to obtain a hairstyle similar to that of the shadow of his on a bad hair day. A shock of jagged brunette fringe hid his forehead from view, framing his cheekbones nicely. I noticed he had snakebites. This made me bite my own lip, but I’m not sure why. He pouted as he sauntered, and he sauntered all the way into the empty desk next to mine. I stopped breathing and my face went hot. But then I started breathing again and Oli looked over at me. I peeked sideways, not daring to move, though I did close my mouth.
“Hi.”
Holy fuck he has acknowledged my existence.
“H-hello.”
Nice one, Alex, way to stutter, you ballbag. Why am I even nervous? What the hell?
“I’m Oli.”
Oli. Short for Oliver obv. Pretty Oli. I want to make friends with pretty Oli.
“Alexander William Gaskarth,” I said, offering my hand out for him to shake with a random spark of enthusiasm. “You’re from England, yeah?”
“Aye,” he said in response, one side of his pretty little mouth pulling up in a smile as he took my hand and shook it.
“Same. Essex born and bred, moved here when I was a nipper,” I said with a wink.
“Ohh brilliant. I hail from the lovely Sheffield. Not sure why I’m ‘ere, really,” he replied, holding my gaze longer than was probably normal for your average teenage boys. Or maybe I’m just over-analytical.
.