Boys (Elephant 6 slash)
Title: Boys
Author: goodbyesheesha
Pairing: Robert Schneider/Jeff Mangum
Band(s) The Apples in Stereo/Neutral Milk Hotel
Summary: "Remember when we weren't the ones making the music?"
Dedication: Formally dedicated to Jackie, but this is also for anyone who said they'd actually read it.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction.
Notes: This is on the shorter side (466 words). I can't seem to write anything lengthy these days.
Jeff shows up on my doorstep sometimes. He sleeps on my couch for a few days, and I don't ask questions. It's uncomfortable, but it's comfortable too. I only think it's comfortable because I'm used to him. For the most part, he's quiet. He asks me how it's going. He asks about the music. He never shares.
Often times, I want to ask him what he's been up to. I want to know where he's been. But he hasn't been anywhere, really. He just appears on my doorstep, on my couch. He materializes. I don't ask him anything, ever. I'm respectful and, in a way, I don't want to scare him off.
We're all worried about him in a way that isn't really worry at all. He's a contradictory subject, Jeff. Even when we were all in highschool, you could tell Jeff would end up this way. He's the drifter; he's detached, but only because he puts his heart in too much. All those contradictions.
Jeff shows up more, now that the divorce from Hilarie is finalized. Some wistful part of me believes it's because he wants everything back. He wants highschool back. He wants the fumbling and the naivete and the innocence. Those years were like the ultimate escape for him. It probably is what he's looking for now. It must be hard, because disappearing isn't helping. Every year, more and more people are discovering Neutral Milk Hotel. They're buying the albums and they're making Jeff's life just that little bit harder.
"Remember when we weren't the ones making the music?" Jeff asks one day. He sounds hopeful, and just so little.
"Yeah," I answer, even though I'm not completely sure what he means. You can never be sure. Jeff's social skills seem to lessen more every time I see him. He was never particularly social to begin with, but he was at least competent before. Now I'm not so sure.
"I want to be sixteen again," He says. He's still hopeful and longing, but now he sounds like every other man his age.
"You hated being sixteen," I respond. I don't know if it's the right thing to say, but I don't have time to dwell on it, thankfully, because he shrugs comfortably.
"I hated it then."
It makes sense, I suppose. We're both edging on fourty, and it's terrifying, even for me. I had always expected Jeff to be the one more comfortable with aging, but I suppose the midlife crisis doesn't escape any of us. It's strange. He feels old. I feel old. Everything feels off. We're not supposed to still be doing this-- or I suppose I'm not; I have no idea when the last time Jeff even considered music was.
We're supposed to at least be famous by now.
Author: goodbyesheesha
Pairing: Robert Schneider/Jeff Mangum
Band(s) The Apples in Stereo/Neutral Milk Hotel
Summary: "Remember when we weren't the ones making the music?"
Dedication: Formally dedicated to Jackie, but this is also for anyone who said they'd actually read it.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction.
Notes: This is on the shorter side (466 words). I can't seem to write anything lengthy these days.
Jeff shows up on my doorstep sometimes. He sleeps on my couch for a few days, and I don't ask questions. It's uncomfortable, but it's comfortable too. I only think it's comfortable because I'm used to him. For the most part, he's quiet. He asks me how it's going. He asks about the music. He never shares.
Often times, I want to ask him what he's been up to. I want to know where he's been. But he hasn't been anywhere, really. He just appears on my doorstep, on my couch. He materializes. I don't ask him anything, ever. I'm respectful and, in a way, I don't want to scare him off.
We're all worried about him in a way that isn't really worry at all. He's a contradictory subject, Jeff. Even when we were all in highschool, you could tell Jeff would end up this way. He's the drifter; he's detached, but only because he puts his heart in too much. All those contradictions.
Jeff shows up more, now that the divorce from Hilarie is finalized. Some wistful part of me believes it's because he wants everything back. He wants highschool back. He wants the fumbling and the naivete and the innocence. Those years were like the ultimate escape for him. It probably is what he's looking for now. It must be hard, because disappearing isn't helping. Every year, more and more people are discovering Neutral Milk Hotel. They're buying the albums and they're making Jeff's life just that little bit harder.
"Remember when we weren't the ones making the music?" Jeff asks one day. He sounds hopeful, and just so little.
"Yeah," I answer, even though I'm not completely sure what he means. You can never be sure. Jeff's social skills seem to lessen more every time I see him. He was never particularly social to begin with, but he was at least competent before. Now I'm not so sure.
"I want to be sixteen again," He says. He's still hopeful and longing, but now he sounds like every other man his age.
"You hated being sixteen," I respond. I don't know if it's the right thing to say, but I don't have time to dwell on it, thankfully, because he shrugs comfortably.
"I hated it then."
It makes sense, I suppose. We're both edging on fourty, and it's terrifying, even for me. I had always expected Jeff to be the one more comfortable with aging, but I suppose the midlife crisis doesn't escape any of us. It's strange. He feels old. I feel old. Everything feels off. We're not supposed to still be doing this-- or I suppose I'm not; I have no idea when the last time Jeff even considered music was.
We're supposed to at least be famous by now.