fic: Whatever Gets You Through the Night
I worry about Adam and Kris. They always look so happy and friendly whenever we’re around, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, teasing and laughing and talking in those low, conspiratorial voices like they’re a couple of fifteen-year-old boys-and believe me, I know what that sounds like. I’ve seen the way that Adam always grabs Kris before he goes onstage and straightens his tie or fixes a little stray bit of hair, the way that Kris always cheers way too loud after Adam’s done performing (Seriously, I thought he was going to fall out of his chair after “Ring of Fire.”). I can always tell when Adam’s making a joke that he thinks I’m too young to hear, because sometimes he’ll lean down and put his mouth right next to Kris’s ear and murmur something, and his mouth goes all pouty and crooked like it does when he sings a low note, and then Kris squirms and blushes and makes this weird face like he’s trying not to laugh or something. They act for all the world like they’re best friends, but the world isn’t living in this mansion with us, and they don’t hear what I do.
It never starts until after midnight, when they must think that nobody else is awake to hear them. But I don’t sleep well here, and I can hear them through the walls, fighting every night. It always starts with the low growl of Adam’s voice, sometimes lilted up at the end like a question, sometimes hard and demanding like I’ve never heard him before. And it always ends with the two of them shouting, voices harsh and strangled, and I can’t understand anything they’re saying but each other’s names and heavy swearing and one time, “Oh my God, don’t you ever fucking stop doing that,” but I can’t figure that one out. It gets worse the longer we’re here, every night louder, longer. It scares me a little, because I really love them both and I don’t understand why they do this.
It was the worst last night, the night of the final five performance. I could hear them for hours, knocking things over, elbows hitting the walls, Kris’s voice louder than it ever is, with a strange, gasping cadence like something was weighing on his chest. When I see Adam this morning, he has a bruise blooming in an angry shade of purple on his collarbone, and every now and then he runs his fingers over it and lets his eyes drift over to Kris, an expression on his face I can’t even begin to read. I think about asking him about it for a second, but then he saunters over to Kris and settles into his side and slips one hand in Kris’s back pocket, and Kris turns and ducks his head and brushes his chin across Adam’s shoulder, and… oh. Oh. Oh, my God.
And I’m too busy blushing to register the laugh that tumbles out of Adam’s mouth when he glances over and catches me watching them.
It never starts until after midnight, when they must think that nobody else is awake to hear them. But I don’t sleep well here, and I can hear them through the walls, fighting every night. It always starts with the low growl of Adam’s voice, sometimes lilted up at the end like a question, sometimes hard and demanding like I’ve never heard him before. And it always ends with the two of them shouting, voices harsh and strangled, and I can’t understand anything they’re saying but each other’s names and heavy swearing and one time, “Oh my God, don’t you ever fucking stop doing that,” but I can’t figure that one out. It gets worse the longer we’re here, every night louder, longer. It scares me a little, because I really love them both and I don’t understand why they do this.
It was the worst last night, the night of the final five performance. I could hear them for hours, knocking things over, elbows hitting the walls, Kris’s voice louder than it ever is, with a strange, gasping cadence like something was weighing on his chest. When I see Adam this morning, he has a bruise blooming in an angry shade of purple on his collarbone, and every now and then he runs his fingers over it and lets his eyes drift over to Kris, an expression on his face I can’t even begin to read. I think about asking him about it for a second, but then he saunters over to Kris and settles into his side and slips one hand in Kris’s back pocket, and Kris turns and ducks his head and brushes his chin across Adam’s shoulder, and… oh. Oh. Oh, my God.
And I’m too busy blushing to register the laugh that tumbles out of Adam’s mouth when he glances over and catches me watching them.