(no subject)
heya guys. i know it's been done but im working on conveying like...realism, and i think this is the hardest situation to make realistic. It'd be great if you guys could read and let me know if i've got the dialogue and reactions and...everything really, realistic :) it's vam so you can't really go wrong can you?
Title His contrary can't-sleep routine
Genre Bit of Angst for ye
Rating i only know of two ratings. R i the lowest ;-) so R
Summary Right now, he needed him. There was no way around it, like one needed food and sleep and air.
Anything else? No? then read on my beautiful ones.
Ville rolled onto his side, wrapping himself further into an overheated wad of crumpled fabric, flicking his skinny legs to try and shift the horrible blankets into a less unbearable position.
He just couldn’t sleep. It evaded him like a fly, a constant, insomniac fly that arrived every night without fail, indestructible. He hadn’t slept properly since things had changed. It would drive him crazy, until he was throwing off the covers huffily and grabbing a pair of jeans, tapping the denim pocket to check for his cigarettes.
He found his old canvas trainers in the doorway, pulling them on without bothering to try the laces, and walked without direction through the apartment, trying not to stumble over bottles and clothes and whatever else had found its way to his floor, breathing in the dry, musty smell of the place that would always be there.
Deciding to take the inevitable fresh-air-and-fag, his contrary can’t-sleep routine, Ville turned towards the steep stairway that led to the roof.
The apartment was dark and silent, the way Ville liked it these days; without all the evasive visitors and careful looks, head-jerking loudness and madness and petty problems and conversations starting with “Ville, we need to talk.”
He knew he wasn’t the same anymore, he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t energetic and passionate and…happy, like he used to be. Just knowing who he was now depressed him more, like some downward spiral. Ever since he’d lost his Bammie.
“Shit.” It was freezing outside, up on the roof of the apartment block. A loud wind was wailing against the low walls, whistling through the cracks in the door behind him as Ville shut it and stepped out into the cold. Pressing a cigarette between his lips, he rooted for his lighter, fighting to shield the flame while the paper lit and burned to life. He pressed his back to the wind, sure he could fall backwards and be supported to his feet, but lacking the will to try.
The sky was still dark, faint splats of sleet slipping into his eyes, catching on his lashes. He shivered in his t-shirt that had once been Bam’s, somehow refreshed by the cold. The whole apartment was a suffocating, hot chamber these days. The cigarette died, and he reached for another one, lighting it and breathing into the misty air.
What use was sleeping anyway? All those sleeping people in the dark Helsinki city were just missing out…on this beautiful weather, on these healthy cigarettes. He glared at the distorted view of the city, the increasing sleet, the cold invisible air. It didn’t matter. He was angry again for no logical reason. Probably just tired, since he didn’t really sleep anymore, didn’t look after himself anymore, if one could say he ever did. Appetite had left him, and really it was just luck he’d stuffed himself before he’d lost Bam; he had reserves for a long hibernation from which there was no point in awaking. He could cry, but he’d cut that out a long time ago. Little point in that, too.
He watched smoke billow from his mouth, musing on how unattractive he must look these days. His Bammie used to make him feel beautiful, the most loved person in the world. Now he’d lost weight. Too much weight, two knobbled, bony fingers clutched around an ugly cigarette that only released ugly smoke and an ugly scent in hair that had once shone, now lank and dull from the countless hours spent brushing against his pillow, appearing as dead as his eyes.
His cigarette died down and he reached for a third, then glanced down and huffed, withdrawing his hand. He had to save some for the coming day, and probably the following night. He would run out soon, and then he would have to venture away from his solitude to buy more, or what else would fill the need? One day maybe he would get to the point where he merely wished Bam were alive. Right now, he needed him. There was no way around it, like one needed food and sleep and air, and some deep-seated hunger that wrenched at Ville’s being was all that was left until Bam came back, which would never happen.
The sleet was now thick and cold and heavy anyway. No use staying out.
“Fucking hell.” He barked, dropping his used cigarette to the concrete floor and stepping on it. He turned and pushed his way to the door, pushing it - to find it locked.
Confusion crossed his pale features as he tried the handle again, pushing hard to no avail. “For fuck’s SAKE!” he threw a furious kick at the door, turned and sat on the floor, fuming and growing more and more dejected with every loud, furious breath.
“See, now how did I know you would be up here, hm?” Ville’s whole body pulsed with shock as a voice from the door caught him off-guard. He saw nothing but the peeling green paint. He caught himself on the edge of shouting, “who’s there?” and simply stared.
A scoff. “Some greeting.” Something shifted in front of the door that wasn’t air, and Ville squinted, trying to focus on it. A pale nothingness, as substantial as his cigarette smoke hovered by the door, taking the shape of a body that shifted and moved eerily. The first sight of the dancing mist and Ville had thought something insane, wildly impossible, yet so comforting it seemed to kiss his cheek. He continued to stare at the substance, the months of feeling unimaginably lost summed up into one confusing moment. The voice again. “Well?” he knew that voice, loved it.
The shape formed a person, a man. Young, attractive, strong and pale with wild curly hair and the most beautiful eyes Ville would ever see. Lacking anything else to do, he stood up, back firmly against the wall. He swallowed deeply, voice fighting to leave his throat.
“Bammie?”
The misty form seemed to solidify with the word. He could see his features, his eyelashes. “Who else?” the thing, the ghost of Bam folded his arms and gave him the lop-sided grin Ville had wanted to see every day since he’d gone, then his brain seemed to go on overdrive.
“Wha? - But…I, what are you - Are you not.” He could feel something rising inside him, towards his throat, stinging behind his eyes.
“Calm down. It’s…it’s complicated, baby.” The smokey Bam approached, moving closer to Ville and sitting beside him, gesturing for Ville to do the same. Ville could only stare, unknowingly shaking his head, shaking. “Hey.” Misted eyes that could only ever belong to Bam met his, wide and loving. Ville released a sob. “It’s okay baby, it really is. It’s just me.”
“How can it be just you? You could never be just…anything.” Months’ worth of tears were spilling down his cheeks, the shock and confusion and the strange swirl of joy and unbearable sadness was too much for him. He hadn’t known his grief could intensify. “Why did you have to go?” he slipped to the floor beside the thing, the mist, legs too weak to stay up.
Bam smiled sadly, eyes still alive the way they hadn’t been the last time Ville had seen them, the dead pair that had locked themselves in his mind. Migé had once said that when had Bam died, Ville’s eyes became his dead lover’s. He probably thought it was comforting, but from then on when he looked into the mirror Ville saw those eyes where his own had once been. Dead. Frightening. “I think the question should be why am I back.”
Ville gave a half sob, half laugh. “O-okay, then why?”
“Because I want to take care of you, baby. You’re not doing a good job of it.”
“I.” He didn’t know what he was going to say. “I know.”
“And what’s all this crying, eh? You want to become my little water-fall?”
“N-no…no. I didn’t know I was your anything anymore.” The words came out fast, like a ramble, like they were one long, desperate word.
“Of course you are. You always will be.” For some reason every word Bam said drew more sobs from him, more desperate feelings and a million questions and pleas.
“Don’t be dead Bammie. I can’t do this; I can’t do it without you. I need you.” He was dissolving into uncontrollable crying. “Please don’t go, don’t be dead.”
“Baby, no…Sweetheart…Ville, look at me, please.” Ville obeyed, something in his chest clenching painfully with his own name formed on his dead lover’s lips. “You know I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than with you.” Ville laughed slightly through his tears “You know that.” His eyes were wide, asking Ville to confirm.
“I.” He nodded. “I know.”
“I need you to look after yourself. I need you to sleep and…talk to your band.”
“They don’t”-
“They care, baby. They’ll care or I’ll haunt their asses.” Ville laughed again, sniffling and missing something Bam said. “Sleep.”
“I’ve been trying Bammie, I swear.”
“I know. Just…don’t worry about me anymore, I’m fine, see?” he spread his smokey arms as though to prove it.
“You’re fucking dead, Bam.”
Bam laughed quietly. “But you’re not. Try and stay that way for me Willa, baby, please? I don’t want you to let go.”
Ville shook his head. It seemed to him that Bam had known he wasn’t looking after himself but didn’t understand why. “I can’t.” he needed Bam to understand. No-one else did, the words he found himself using on the rare occasion that he tried to explain were just too over-used, too cliché. He would have tried to express it through music, had he had the heart. He could handle his friends, but he wouldn’t be able to take it if Bam, his own lover, didn’t understand either. “You have to know, I can’t do this without you, I need you so much. I need you.”
Bam was shushing him again. “I know baby.” Bam wasn’t lying. He never would about such things. Beneath that exaggerated, loud façade, Ville had found someone to love. A romantic. Ville sat and looked at him silently, certain that Bam understood. “Please, it’s killing me.” He paused and smiled his lop-sided smile. “More, to know that you’re giving up. I don’t see the fight in you, where’s the animal?” Ville blushed slightly at the reference to the sexual pet name.
“I just…I don’t feel up to it. I’m not up to anything without you. I love you. I miss you.” He sniffed and swallowed painfully. “I still love you so much. What do I do without you?”
That sad smile. “I don’t think it works like that anyway Willa.” He reached out as if to caress his cheek, but stopped short. “I’d love to kiss you again.”
Ville nodded tearfully. “Me too.” There was a short silence, and somehow, Ville knew his Bammie was about to go. “At least.” He swallowed again. “You’re going to say goodbye this time round?”
“Yeah.” His smile was so pure, genuine, that Ville felt a warmth slip through his body, felt a kiss that wasn’t there touch his lips. “I think you need to say it, beautiful. It’ll help.”
“I don’t”-
“Please, Ville.”
Ville licked his dry lips, rubbing a hand over his forearm unconsciously. “I…I’ll try.” He took a deep, cleansing breath from the cold air. “I love you, Bammie.”
A smile like a kiss. “I love you too.”
Then Ville went quiet, and hoped Bam would too. He wanted their last words to be the most precious three. His lover…his dead lover…blew him a kiss, laughed quietly, and was gone.
There's more to this fic, but i thought that would be a nice, melodramatic place to stop it xD
comments are le sex, and really, i wanna know what people think
xxx
Title His contrary can't-sleep routine
Genre Bit of Angst for ye
Rating i only know of two ratings. R i the lowest ;-) so R
Summary Right now, he needed him. There was no way around it, like one needed food and sleep and air.
Anything else? No? then read on my beautiful ones.
Ville rolled onto his side, wrapping himself further into an overheated wad of crumpled fabric, flicking his skinny legs to try and shift the horrible blankets into a less unbearable position.
He just couldn’t sleep. It evaded him like a fly, a constant, insomniac fly that arrived every night without fail, indestructible. He hadn’t slept properly since things had changed. It would drive him crazy, until he was throwing off the covers huffily and grabbing a pair of jeans, tapping the denim pocket to check for his cigarettes.
He found his old canvas trainers in the doorway, pulling them on without bothering to try the laces, and walked without direction through the apartment, trying not to stumble over bottles and clothes and whatever else had found its way to his floor, breathing in the dry, musty smell of the place that would always be there.
Deciding to take the inevitable fresh-air-and-fag, his contrary can’t-sleep routine, Ville turned towards the steep stairway that led to the roof.
The apartment was dark and silent, the way Ville liked it these days; without all the evasive visitors and careful looks, head-jerking loudness and madness and petty problems and conversations starting with “Ville, we need to talk.”
He knew he wasn’t the same anymore, he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t energetic and passionate and…happy, like he used to be. Just knowing who he was now depressed him more, like some downward spiral. Ever since he’d lost his Bammie.
“Shit.” It was freezing outside, up on the roof of the apartment block. A loud wind was wailing against the low walls, whistling through the cracks in the door behind him as Ville shut it and stepped out into the cold. Pressing a cigarette between his lips, he rooted for his lighter, fighting to shield the flame while the paper lit and burned to life. He pressed his back to the wind, sure he could fall backwards and be supported to his feet, but lacking the will to try.
The sky was still dark, faint splats of sleet slipping into his eyes, catching on his lashes. He shivered in his t-shirt that had once been Bam’s, somehow refreshed by the cold. The whole apartment was a suffocating, hot chamber these days. The cigarette died, and he reached for another one, lighting it and breathing into the misty air.
What use was sleeping anyway? All those sleeping people in the dark Helsinki city were just missing out…on this beautiful weather, on these healthy cigarettes. He glared at the distorted view of the city, the increasing sleet, the cold invisible air. It didn’t matter. He was angry again for no logical reason. Probably just tired, since he didn’t really sleep anymore, didn’t look after himself anymore, if one could say he ever did. Appetite had left him, and really it was just luck he’d stuffed himself before he’d lost Bam; he had reserves for a long hibernation from which there was no point in awaking. He could cry, but he’d cut that out a long time ago. Little point in that, too.
He watched smoke billow from his mouth, musing on how unattractive he must look these days. His Bammie used to make him feel beautiful, the most loved person in the world. Now he’d lost weight. Too much weight, two knobbled, bony fingers clutched around an ugly cigarette that only released ugly smoke and an ugly scent in hair that had once shone, now lank and dull from the countless hours spent brushing against his pillow, appearing as dead as his eyes.
His cigarette died down and he reached for a third, then glanced down and huffed, withdrawing his hand. He had to save some for the coming day, and probably the following night. He would run out soon, and then he would have to venture away from his solitude to buy more, or what else would fill the need? One day maybe he would get to the point where he merely wished Bam were alive. Right now, he needed him. There was no way around it, like one needed food and sleep and air, and some deep-seated hunger that wrenched at Ville’s being was all that was left until Bam came back, which would never happen.
The sleet was now thick and cold and heavy anyway. No use staying out.
“Fucking hell.” He barked, dropping his used cigarette to the concrete floor and stepping on it. He turned and pushed his way to the door, pushing it - to find it locked.
Confusion crossed his pale features as he tried the handle again, pushing hard to no avail. “For fuck’s SAKE!” he threw a furious kick at the door, turned and sat on the floor, fuming and growing more and more dejected with every loud, furious breath.
“See, now how did I know you would be up here, hm?” Ville’s whole body pulsed with shock as a voice from the door caught him off-guard. He saw nothing but the peeling green paint. He caught himself on the edge of shouting, “who’s there?” and simply stared.
A scoff. “Some greeting.” Something shifted in front of the door that wasn’t air, and Ville squinted, trying to focus on it. A pale nothingness, as substantial as his cigarette smoke hovered by the door, taking the shape of a body that shifted and moved eerily. The first sight of the dancing mist and Ville had thought something insane, wildly impossible, yet so comforting it seemed to kiss his cheek. He continued to stare at the substance, the months of feeling unimaginably lost summed up into one confusing moment. The voice again. “Well?” he knew that voice, loved it.
The shape formed a person, a man. Young, attractive, strong and pale with wild curly hair and the most beautiful eyes Ville would ever see. Lacking anything else to do, he stood up, back firmly against the wall. He swallowed deeply, voice fighting to leave his throat.
“Bammie?”
The misty form seemed to solidify with the word. He could see his features, his eyelashes. “Who else?” the thing, the ghost of Bam folded his arms and gave him the lop-sided grin Ville had wanted to see every day since he’d gone, then his brain seemed to go on overdrive.
“Wha? - But…I, what are you - Are you not.” He could feel something rising inside him, towards his throat, stinging behind his eyes.
“Calm down. It’s…it’s complicated, baby.” The smokey Bam approached, moving closer to Ville and sitting beside him, gesturing for Ville to do the same. Ville could only stare, unknowingly shaking his head, shaking. “Hey.” Misted eyes that could only ever belong to Bam met his, wide and loving. Ville released a sob. “It’s okay baby, it really is. It’s just me.”
“How can it be just you? You could never be just…anything.” Months’ worth of tears were spilling down his cheeks, the shock and confusion and the strange swirl of joy and unbearable sadness was too much for him. He hadn’t known his grief could intensify. “Why did you have to go?” he slipped to the floor beside the thing, the mist, legs too weak to stay up.
Bam smiled sadly, eyes still alive the way they hadn’t been the last time Ville had seen them, the dead pair that had locked themselves in his mind. Migé had once said that when had Bam died, Ville’s eyes became his dead lover’s. He probably thought it was comforting, but from then on when he looked into the mirror Ville saw those eyes where his own had once been. Dead. Frightening. “I think the question should be why am I back.”
Ville gave a half sob, half laugh. “O-okay, then why?”
“Because I want to take care of you, baby. You’re not doing a good job of it.”
“I.” He didn’t know what he was going to say. “I know.”
“And what’s all this crying, eh? You want to become my little water-fall?”
“N-no…no. I didn’t know I was your anything anymore.” The words came out fast, like a ramble, like they were one long, desperate word.
“Of course you are. You always will be.” For some reason every word Bam said drew more sobs from him, more desperate feelings and a million questions and pleas.
“Don’t be dead Bammie. I can’t do this; I can’t do it without you. I need you.” He was dissolving into uncontrollable crying. “Please don’t go, don’t be dead.”
“Baby, no…Sweetheart…Ville, look at me, please.” Ville obeyed, something in his chest clenching painfully with his own name formed on his dead lover’s lips. “You know I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than with you.” Ville laughed slightly through his tears “You know that.” His eyes were wide, asking Ville to confirm.
“I.” He nodded. “I know.”
“I need you to look after yourself. I need you to sleep and…talk to your band.”
“They don’t”-
“They care, baby. They’ll care or I’ll haunt their asses.” Ville laughed again, sniffling and missing something Bam said. “Sleep.”
“I’ve been trying Bammie, I swear.”
“I know. Just…don’t worry about me anymore, I’m fine, see?” he spread his smokey arms as though to prove it.
“You’re fucking dead, Bam.”
Bam laughed quietly. “But you’re not. Try and stay that way for me Willa, baby, please? I don’t want you to let go.”
Ville shook his head. It seemed to him that Bam had known he wasn’t looking after himself but didn’t understand why. “I can’t.” he needed Bam to understand. No-one else did, the words he found himself using on the rare occasion that he tried to explain were just too over-used, too cliché. He would have tried to express it through music, had he had the heart. He could handle his friends, but he wouldn’t be able to take it if Bam, his own lover, didn’t understand either. “You have to know, I can’t do this without you, I need you so much. I need you.”
Bam was shushing him again. “I know baby.” Bam wasn’t lying. He never would about such things. Beneath that exaggerated, loud façade, Ville had found someone to love. A romantic. Ville sat and looked at him silently, certain that Bam understood. “Please, it’s killing me.” He paused and smiled his lop-sided smile. “More, to know that you’re giving up. I don’t see the fight in you, where’s the animal?” Ville blushed slightly at the reference to the sexual pet name.
“I just…I don’t feel up to it. I’m not up to anything without you. I love you. I miss you.” He sniffed and swallowed painfully. “I still love you so much. What do I do without you?”
That sad smile. “I don’t think it works like that anyway Willa.” He reached out as if to caress his cheek, but stopped short. “I’d love to kiss you again.”
Ville nodded tearfully. “Me too.” There was a short silence, and somehow, Ville knew his Bammie was about to go. “At least.” He swallowed again. “You’re going to say goodbye this time round?”
“Yeah.” His smile was so pure, genuine, that Ville felt a warmth slip through his body, felt a kiss that wasn’t there touch his lips. “I think you need to say it, beautiful. It’ll help.”
“I don’t”-
“Please, Ville.”
Ville licked his dry lips, rubbing a hand over his forearm unconsciously. “I…I’ll try.” He took a deep, cleansing breath from the cold air. “I love you, Bammie.”
A smile like a kiss. “I love you too.”
Then Ville went quiet, and hoped Bam would too. He wanted their last words to be the most precious three. His lover…his dead lover…blew him a kiss, laughed quietly, and was gone.
There's more to this fic, but i thought that would be a nice, melodramatic place to stop it xD
comments are le sex, and really, i wanna know what people think
xxx