Fic: Never Did Run Smooth, Part 4/4
Never Did Run Smooth
Part 4/4
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG
Word Count: 3,090
Brief summary: The course of true love never did run smooth-William Shakespeare
Jemaine just stood in the apartment looking at the front door.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there but it felt like it had been ages. He felt numb all over and sort of cold and hollow. When he finally moved, his limbs felt sore and disjointed.
He went into the kitchen and reached into one of the cabinets, mechanically taking out a tea kettle and filling it with water. He set it on the stove and got out some packets of tea. The busy work helped a little bit. It distracted him, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
He could still hear the resounding slam of the door when Bret had left. Could still hear that note in his voice when he said ‘later’. He had never seen Bret move so fast and in his mind all he could recall was a blur of movement. A blur that had taken a handful of clothes and charged off blindly into the night.
And all Jemaine could think about, all that his mind could focus on, was how Bret had been crying. Crying because of him. Jemaine had never felt such loathing for himself as he did right now.
He sat at the kitchen table, an empty mug in his hand as he waited for the tea, his eyes staring at nothing.
He had made Bret cry.
He sighed and shifted in his chair. This didn’t help, he still felt all this tension building up inside him and he ran a hand through his hair, cursing.
Bret was his best friend. Jemaine hadn’t meant to hurt him. But, what had Bret wanted him to do? He couldn’t just…and this was entirely his fault. Jemaine knew he shouldn’t have kissed Bret the first time and he knows he definitely shouldn’t have kissed him the second time and seriously, why couldn’t he just keep his lips to himself?
But he just couldn’t help it.
While he knew he shouldn’t have kissed Bret both of those times, he couldn’t help it because, dammit, he had wanted to. He had wanted to kiss Bret. He had actually wanted to kiss him for some time now, but he had never thought he would actually do it.
But that first time, it had been so very dark and so very warm. And with the black darkness hanging over them it had just seemed right. He had even vaguely hoped that Bret wouldn’t even notice. And then when he did, when Bret had kissed back, it had almost been more than Jemaine could take.
It had seemed so surreal and there was this small part of him that hadn’t even wanted Bret to kiss back, a part that wanted the kiss to be horrible and stupid and something they could just blow off and laugh about later.
Instead, it had been so blessedly perfect he hadn’t known what to do with himself and part of him had wanted, had begged, Bret to tell him to stop, to help him to stop because it was so good he didn’t think he was capable of stopping it himself.
But then the lights had helped with that, shattering everything and he’d drawn away. Torn himself away, more accurately. He couldn’t believe what he had done. He had kissed Bret. He had ruined everything. He had been positive even, that in that moment, giving into his desires, he had totally destroyed their friendship.
It didn’t matter if Bret had kissed him back (maybe he had even just thought he had); there was no way it hadn’t been a mistake. So he briskly told Bret to just forget about it because he didn’t know how to handle it. And he hoped, maybe if he said that, Bret would erase it from his mind, and somehow he could salvage everything.
And, for a time, it seemed to work. And time, it did that thing - healed wounds or whatever and Jemaine had just gone with it, the kiss slipping farther away from him, only to surface at quiet moments, like when he awoke first thing in the morning or when he was idly strumming his bass.
He could reflect on it, treasure it, but be relieved that he still had his friendship intact. But then…this second time and Bret had started it because Bret had kissed him first and Bret…
Bret had told him he liked him.
Jemaine groaned and stretched his arm out on the table, laying his head against it. Bret liked him. He like liked him and that should have been the best news in the whole world, because he…
But it wouldn’t work. It would never work.
Bret had misunderstood him in the elevator. Maybe Jemaine had wanted him to. Bret had thought Jemaine had been delivering some ultimatum. It hadn’t been that at all.
Jemaine would cut off his arm before losing his friendship with Bret. Well, maybe not his arm, he needed that for holding his bass. He would rather cut off his leg or…no wait…that didn’t work either…it didn’t matter, the point remained, he would never not want to be friends with Bret. In fact, their friendship was one of the few things he felt he did right.
And Jemaine would not risk that no matter how he felt. Because Jemaine fooled himself about a lot of things, but not everything. He knew how he really felt about Bret, and, as with the kissing, he had felt that way for some time now.
And it was a lot more than just like.
Jemaine was in love with Bret.
In love with him.
As if he didn’t have enough problems. He was in love with his best friend, his best male friend. It was definitely gay.
The tea kettle whistled and Jemaine scrambled to his feet to pour it, his hands shaking and he realized he felt kind of sick thinking about all of this. It had been so tempting, to just tell Bret, to just agree with him and be with him but Jemaine, well, he wished he didn’t think so much.
But he did, and all the arguments, all the reasons he had given Bret were ones that had run through his mind before. And he had all ready come to a decision, deciding that being friends with Bret was more important than being… anything else with Bret.
Because Jemaine knew Bret and sometimes what Bret said and what Bret did were two completely separate things.
Bret was the kind of person who had fancies. Like when he bought that hula hoop he used for all of a day or, a better example, when he got into his head the idea that he wanted to learn origami. He had gone out of his way to get the book and the paper and he fiddled with it for about a week, totally focused on that and that alone and then, when the week was up ding! He was done, no more interest in origami. The book and half attempted paper cranes pushed to the side and forgotten.
Jemaine didn’t want to be like one of those paper cranes - man-handled and then tossed aside.
And yes, maybe it was completely different with relationships, but considering how quickly Bret was willing to drop Coco for a chance back with Sally, Jemaine didn’t think so.
If Bret dropped Jemaine, what would he do? Where would he go? He’d have nobody. He’d have nothing.
No, he couldn’t risk it.
Besides, it was probably just a crush for Bret. He’d get over it easily enough and go back to girls, because girls were easier. Simpler. Girls were something Bret knew about obviously, considering he had dated (and probably slept with) more girls in New York than Jemaine could ever hope to. Sally, Coco, Lisa…
And Jemaine certainly liked girls. Ok, so he liked Bret more but he could just keep ignoring that as he’d had all ready been doing that for some time now.
Jemaine sipped his tea and let out a heavy sigh, Bret would get over it. It wasn’t in Bret’s nature to hold a grudge. He was more resilient and upbeat and, yes, this was one of the many reasons Jemaine was head-over-heels for him.
But then everyone was attracted to Bret. Bret wasn’t just good looking, he was also charismatic. There was just something about him. He represented something, something light and good and carefree. Something that almost everyone lost as they grew up.
Were Jemaine to give in, and enter a relationship with him, he knew he would probably constantly be competing with others for Bret’s affections and he didn’t think he had it in him to win every time because, in a way, the biggest draw back to Jemaine was…well…himself.
He didn’t voice these sorts of things aloud but, you know, Bret…well, he could do better. Much better.
And he would, because Jemaine wasn’t going to be anything more than a friend to him.
If they still had a friendship.
Jemaine looked wistfully at the door as he finished his tea and then shook his head. No, Bret would forgive him. He would get over this. He had to…right?
Jemaine put his empty mug in the sink and got ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and tried not to notice how the sound of it seemed almost deafening in the still quiet of the apartment. He tried not to think about how he was all alone.
He walked over to his bed, then stopped and looked over at Bret’s empty one.
Jemaine could still remember how it had felt, to kiss Bret, to touch him, and, in the elevator, his fingers had been fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and he had been so close to just unhooking all of them and he had wanted to, oh god, how he had wanted to…
Jemaine sat on Bret’s bed and frowned. Wow. Bret’s bed was an awful lot more comfy than his. How did that happen? Didn’t they get their mattresses at the same place? It just figured. Jemaine shook his head and found himself laying down there, pressing his face into Bret’s pillow and he could smell him - that warm, clean scent that was just Bret.
Bret would come back.
He would.
And he’d get over it and things would go back to normal.
But part of Jemaine wished he was braver about the whole thing and that he could just risk it all, because oh, to breathe in this scent every night…to be with Bret…
Jemaine smiled sadly and it seemed like an eye blink from when he fell asleep to when he woke up the next morning to the sound of the front door opening and closing. He sat up, blinking rapidly, disoriented.
He didn’t remember taking his glasses off and he sleepily fumbled around for them. A blurry form entered the bedroom and came close to him. It took hold of something and handed it to him silently.
Jemaine took it and realized it was his glasses; he pushed them on and saw Bret standing over him. He swallowed and licked his lips, “Hey.”
“Morning.” Bret said quietly, looking down at him, his expression unreadable, “You’re in my bed.”
“Huh. Yeah.”
Bret walked over to Jemaine’s bed and sat on it, Jemaine across from him and they both avoided each other’s gaze, a silence settling in. Bret cleared his throat and spoke softly, “So….I had another David Bowie dream last night.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
A million questions come to Jemaine’s mind. Where did Bret sleep last night? Was he still mad at him? But the only question that came out of his mouth was, “So…no more problems with his confidence, then?”
“No, no, he’s better…in fact, he gave me some really good advice.”
“Oh? Uhm, what did he tell you?”
Bret shifted where he sat, looking a little sheepish, “Look, it-it doesn’t really matter so much as…I want to be your friend more than anything, you know?”
Jemaine blinked, suddenly nervous, “Yeah, yeah…yes, I-I mean, I want to be your friend too.”
“So, I’m…sorry…about the whole thing…in the elevator and-and pressuring you and,” Bret didn’t look at Jemaine as he talked, his voice going quieter with each word, “pushing it…”
“’S’okay.”
“No, it,” Bret’s voice returned to a normal volume again as his hands rested on his legs, rubbing them impatiently, “Look, you’re my friend. That’s the most important thing and, regardless of…of other things…feelings and such…you’ll always be my friend. Right? I mean, if,” Bret looked hesitant, “you still want to be friends.”
“What? Of course, I do.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. So…friends then?”
“Friends.” Jemaine repeated with audible relief.
“Great, glad that’s settled.” Bret gave Jemaine a friendly little smile and Jemaine’s heart squeezed, and he didn’t know if it was because he was grateful that everything seemed back to normal or because he was disappointed that everything seemed back to normal.
But no, no, this was what he wanted.
Right?
Right…
Jemaine cleared his throat, “I’m…sorry too. About, I mean, I could’ve…could’ve handled it better. I didn’t mean to make you feel…bad.”
Bret just shrugged, “Let’s just forget it, man.”
“O-kay.” Jemaine spread the word out, because he still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about everything.
Bret, however, seemed a lot more cheerful as he said conspiratorially, “You know, one thing about my dream I will tell you, Bowie told me when he was leaving that he was going to see a showing of ‘Rocky Horror’ with John Lennon and Freddie Mercury.”
“But…they’re both dead.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“That’s…scary.”
“Yeah, it was about the freakiest thing I’d ever heard. Had to tell somebody.”
“Well…glad you told me then. Even though I might have nightmares now.”
Bret shook his head, grinning a little, “You hungry?”
“Mm. A bit.”
“Want to go out? Don’t think we have much here.”
Jemaine shrugged, “Sure. Wouldn’t mind a croissant.”
Bret wrinkled his nose, “Eh. Fine, I’ll get something else though.”
“Fair enough. Let me just go brush my teeth and change.” Jemaine got out of Bret’s bed and grabbed a few clothes from his side of the room, disappearing into the restroom.
Bret moved over to his own bed and sighed, picking up his pillow. He hugged it tightly, feeling the residual heat that Jemaine’s head had left there. The other day had been such a disaster and his night hadn’t been much better.
He had ended up crashing at Dave’s place, sleeping on piles of dirty clothes, Dave and his mother-roommate yammering back and forth at each other in their native tongue. Bret got the idea that she didn’t much approve of him sleeping over, but in the end, Dave seemed to win the argument.
His night had been uncomfortable and Dave had snored loudly and kept thrashing about noisily on his mattress. But somehow, Bret must have fallen asleep because he vaguely remembered Bowie showing up. He had been walking along the ceiling, wearing a very nice suit and tie, very reminiscent of that video for ‘China Girl’, and he had asked Bret what was wrong.
And Bret had told him all his troubles, then he started to get upset again, and Bowie had sung to him, softly and sweetly and Bret couldn’t quite remember what he had sang but really, it didn’t matter, as he had found his return to his dreams oddly comforting. And then he had offered his sage advice before cryptically telling him of his plans with Lennon and Mercury.
Frankly, Bret couldn’t remember exactly what he had said in that regard either, as he sometimes had a hard time following what Bowie said - he was like a higher being in that way. But he was pretty sure it had been something along the lines of how it was better to take what you could get, then to have nothing at all and how patience was a virtue.
And when Bret had woken up, still drowsy and slightly miserable, on the bed of dirty clothes, he had found his mind circling over an old memory of a record he had owned back when he was in New Zealand. It had been a Beegees album, one of his favorites and he used to play it over and over and over again.
It sounded so good - all crispy and sweet and every time he listened there was always something he had missed, some new note or instrument or sound he had overlooked and he’d clung to that secretive part of the musical production he had missed. But he had forced too much out of it and eventually the vinyl had begun to give way, warping the album to the point where it warbled and sounded off key and broken.
And somehow that memory and the advice from Bowie had sort of intertwined with one another and he had come to the decision that he had really done all he could. He had finally told Jemaine how he felt, so at least that was something. The next move was up to Jemaine, should he choose to make one. And if he did, Bret personally thought it should be a pretty good one as yesterday he had practically thrown himself at him, it was a bit humiliating.
Still, he had to admit some fault. After all, he had kind blindsided Jemaine with it, what exactly had he expected Jemaine to do? Sweep him off his feet and take him to a happily ever after?
Things didn’t work that way. Nothing was ever that simple. Maybe things would change and maybe they wouldn’t. All that really mattered was having Jemaine to some extent.
Last night had been hideous. It had only been one night and Bret had missed him terribly. Maybe he couldn’t be with Jemaine but he certainly couldn’t be without him either. They just went together. Like salt and pepper or squirrels and trees or…something.
Jemaine re-entered the bedroom and fidgeted, “Ready when you are.”
Bret unthinkingly squeezed his pillow a moment, then set it firmly to one side and stood up, “Right. Let’s go then.”
Wooo! I've got to stop posting these things so late at night! BUT I was too excited to wait!! Enjoy all!
Part 4/4
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG
Word Count: 3,090
Brief summary: The course of true love never did run smooth-William Shakespeare
Jemaine just stood in the apartment looking at the front door.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there but it felt like it had been ages. He felt numb all over and sort of cold and hollow. When he finally moved, his limbs felt sore and disjointed.
He went into the kitchen and reached into one of the cabinets, mechanically taking out a tea kettle and filling it with water. He set it on the stove and got out some packets of tea. The busy work helped a little bit. It distracted him, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
He could still hear the resounding slam of the door when Bret had left. Could still hear that note in his voice when he said ‘later’. He had never seen Bret move so fast and in his mind all he could recall was a blur of movement. A blur that had taken a handful of clothes and charged off blindly into the night.
And all Jemaine could think about, all that his mind could focus on, was how Bret had been crying. Crying because of him. Jemaine had never felt such loathing for himself as he did right now.
He sat at the kitchen table, an empty mug in his hand as he waited for the tea, his eyes staring at nothing.
He had made Bret cry.
He sighed and shifted in his chair. This didn’t help, he still felt all this tension building up inside him and he ran a hand through his hair, cursing.
Bret was his best friend. Jemaine hadn’t meant to hurt him. But, what had Bret wanted him to do? He couldn’t just…and this was entirely his fault. Jemaine knew he shouldn’t have kissed Bret the first time and he knows he definitely shouldn’t have kissed him the second time and seriously, why couldn’t he just keep his lips to himself?
But he just couldn’t help it.
While he knew he shouldn’t have kissed Bret both of those times, he couldn’t help it because, dammit, he had wanted to. He had wanted to kiss Bret. He had actually wanted to kiss him for some time now, but he had never thought he would actually do it.
But that first time, it had been so very dark and so very warm. And with the black darkness hanging over them it had just seemed right. He had even vaguely hoped that Bret wouldn’t even notice. And then when he did, when Bret had kissed back, it had almost been more than Jemaine could take.
It had seemed so surreal and there was this small part of him that hadn’t even wanted Bret to kiss back, a part that wanted the kiss to be horrible and stupid and something they could just blow off and laugh about later.
Instead, it had been so blessedly perfect he hadn’t known what to do with himself and part of him had wanted, had begged, Bret to tell him to stop, to help him to stop because it was so good he didn’t think he was capable of stopping it himself.
But then the lights had helped with that, shattering everything and he’d drawn away. Torn himself away, more accurately. He couldn’t believe what he had done. He had kissed Bret. He had ruined everything. He had been positive even, that in that moment, giving into his desires, he had totally destroyed their friendship.
It didn’t matter if Bret had kissed him back (maybe he had even just thought he had); there was no way it hadn’t been a mistake. So he briskly told Bret to just forget about it because he didn’t know how to handle it. And he hoped, maybe if he said that, Bret would erase it from his mind, and somehow he could salvage everything.
And, for a time, it seemed to work. And time, it did that thing - healed wounds or whatever and Jemaine had just gone with it, the kiss slipping farther away from him, only to surface at quiet moments, like when he awoke first thing in the morning or when he was idly strumming his bass.
He could reflect on it, treasure it, but be relieved that he still had his friendship intact. But then…this second time and Bret had started it because Bret had kissed him first and Bret…
Bret had told him he liked him.
Jemaine groaned and stretched his arm out on the table, laying his head against it. Bret liked him. He like liked him and that should have been the best news in the whole world, because he…
But it wouldn’t work. It would never work.
Bret had misunderstood him in the elevator. Maybe Jemaine had wanted him to. Bret had thought Jemaine had been delivering some ultimatum. It hadn’t been that at all.
Jemaine would cut off his arm before losing his friendship with Bret. Well, maybe not his arm, he needed that for holding his bass. He would rather cut off his leg or…no wait…that didn’t work either…it didn’t matter, the point remained, he would never not want to be friends with Bret. In fact, their friendship was one of the few things he felt he did right.
And Jemaine would not risk that no matter how he felt. Because Jemaine fooled himself about a lot of things, but not everything. He knew how he really felt about Bret, and, as with the kissing, he had felt that way for some time now.
And it was a lot more than just like.
Jemaine was in love with Bret.
In love with him.
As if he didn’t have enough problems. He was in love with his best friend, his best male friend. It was definitely gay.
The tea kettle whistled and Jemaine scrambled to his feet to pour it, his hands shaking and he realized he felt kind of sick thinking about all of this. It had been so tempting, to just tell Bret, to just agree with him and be with him but Jemaine, well, he wished he didn’t think so much.
But he did, and all the arguments, all the reasons he had given Bret were ones that had run through his mind before. And he had all ready come to a decision, deciding that being friends with Bret was more important than being… anything else with Bret.
Because Jemaine knew Bret and sometimes what Bret said and what Bret did were two completely separate things.
Bret was the kind of person who had fancies. Like when he bought that hula hoop he used for all of a day or, a better example, when he got into his head the idea that he wanted to learn origami. He had gone out of his way to get the book and the paper and he fiddled with it for about a week, totally focused on that and that alone and then, when the week was up ding! He was done, no more interest in origami. The book and half attempted paper cranes pushed to the side and forgotten.
Jemaine didn’t want to be like one of those paper cranes - man-handled and then tossed aside.
And yes, maybe it was completely different with relationships, but considering how quickly Bret was willing to drop Coco for a chance back with Sally, Jemaine didn’t think so.
If Bret dropped Jemaine, what would he do? Where would he go? He’d have nobody. He’d have nothing.
No, he couldn’t risk it.
Besides, it was probably just a crush for Bret. He’d get over it easily enough and go back to girls, because girls were easier. Simpler. Girls were something Bret knew about obviously, considering he had dated (and probably slept with) more girls in New York than Jemaine could ever hope to. Sally, Coco, Lisa…
And Jemaine certainly liked girls. Ok, so he liked Bret more but he could just keep ignoring that as he’d had all ready been doing that for some time now.
Jemaine sipped his tea and let out a heavy sigh, Bret would get over it. It wasn’t in Bret’s nature to hold a grudge. He was more resilient and upbeat and, yes, this was one of the many reasons Jemaine was head-over-heels for him.
But then everyone was attracted to Bret. Bret wasn’t just good looking, he was also charismatic. There was just something about him. He represented something, something light and good and carefree. Something that almost everyone lost as they grew up.
Were Jemaine to give in, and enter a relationship with him, he knew he would probably constantly be competing with others for Bret’s affections and he didn’t think he had it in him to win every time because, in a way, the biggest draw back to Jemaine was…well…himself.
He didn’t voice these sorts of things aloud but, you know, Bret…well, he could do better. Much better.
And he would, because Jemaine wasn’t going to be anything more than a friend to him.
If they still had a friendship.
Jemaine looked wistfully at the door as he finished his tea and then shook his head. No, Bret would forgive him. He would get over this. He had to…right?
Jemaine put his empty mug in the sink and got ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and tried not to notice how the sound of it seemed almost deafening in the still quiet of the apartment. He tried not to think about how he was all alone.
He walked over to his bed, then stopped and looked over at Bret’s empty one.
Jemaine could still remember how it had felt, to kiss Bret, to touch him, and, in the elevator, his fingers had been fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and he had been so close to just unhooking all of them and he had wanted to, oh god, how he had wanted to…
Jemaine sat on Bret’s bed and frowned. Wow. Bret’s bed was an awful lot more comfy than his. How did that happen? Didn’t they get their mattresses at the same place? It just figured. Jemaine shook his head and found himself laying down there, pressing his face into Bret’s pillow and he could smell him - that warm, clean scent that was just Bret.
Bret would come back.
He would.
And he’d get over it and things would go back to normal.
But part of Jemaine wished he was braver about the whole thing and that he could just risk it all, because oh, to breathe in this scent every night…to be with Bret…
Jemaine smiled sadly and it seemed like an eye blink from when he fell asleep to when he woke up the next morning to the sound of the front door opening and closing. He sat up, blinking rapidly, disoriented.
He didn’t remember taking his glasses off and he sleepily fumbled around for them. A blurry form entered the bedroom and came close to him. It took hold of something and handed it to him silently.
Jemaine took it and realized it was his glasses; he pushed them on and saw Bret standing over him. He swallowed and licked his lips, “Hey.”
“Morning.” Bret said quietly, looking down at him, his expression unreadable, “You’re in my bed.”
“Huh. Yeah.”
Bret walked over to Jemaine’s bed and sat on it, Jemaine across from him and they both avoided each other’s gaze, a silence settling in. Bret cleared his throat and spoke softly, “So….I had another David Bowie dream last night.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
A million questions come to Jemaine’s mind. Where did Bret sleep last night? Was he still mad at him? But the only question that came out of his mouth was, “So…no more problems with his confidence, then?”
“No, no, he’s better…in fact, he gave me some really good advice.”
“Oh? Uhm, what did he tell you?”
Bret shifted where he sat, looking a little sheepish, “Look, it-it doesn’t really matter so much as…I want to be your friend more than anything, you know?”
Jemaine blinked, suddenly nervous, “Yeah, yeah…yes, I-I mean, I want to be your friend too.”
“So, I’m…sorry…about the whole thing…in the elevator and-and pressuring you and,” Bret didn’t look at Jemaine as he talked, his voice going quieter with each word, “pushing it…”
“’S’okay.”
“No, it,” Bret’s voice returned to a normal volume again as his hands rested on his legs, rubbing them impatiently, “Look, you’re my friend. That’s the most important thing and, regardless of…of other things…feelings and such…you’ll always be my friend. Right? I mean, if,” Bret looked hesitant, “you still want to be friends.”
“What? Of course, I do.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. So…friends then?”
“Friends.” Jemaine repeated with audible relief.
“Great, glad that’s settled.” Bret gave Jemaine a friendly little smile and Jemaine’s heart squeezed, and he didn’t know if it was because he was grateful that everything seemed back to normal or because he was disappointed that everything seemed back to normal.
But no, no, this was what he wanted.
Right?
Right…
Jemaine cleared his throat, “I’m…sorry too. About, I mean, I could’ve…could’ve handled it better. I didn’t mean to make you feel…bad.”
Bret just shrugged, “Let’s just forget it, man.”
“O-kay.” Jemaine spread the word out, because he still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about everything.
Bret, however, seemed a lot more cheerful as he said conspiratorially, “You know, one thing about my dream I will tell you, Bowie told me when he was leaving that he was going to see a showing of ‘Rocky Horror’ with John Lennon and Freddie Mercury.”
“But…they’re both dead.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“That’s…scary.”
“Yeah, it was about the freakiest thing I’d ever heard. Had to tell somebody.”
“Well…glad you told me then. Even though I might have nightmares now.”
Bret shook his head, grinning a little, “You hungry?”
“Mm. A bit.”
“Want to go out? Don’t think we have much here.”
Jemaine shrugged, “Sure. Wouldn’t mind a croissant.”
Bret wrinkled his nose, “Eh. Fine, I’ll get something else though.”
“Fair enough. Let me just go brush my teeth and change.” Jemaine got out of Bret’s bed and grabbed a few clothes from his side of the room, disappearing into the restroom.
Bret moved over to his own bed and sighed, picking up his pillow. He hugged it tightly, feeling the residual heat that Jemaine’s head had left there. The other day had been such a disaster and his night hadn’t been much better.
He had ended up crashing at Dave’s place, sleeping on piles of dirty clothes, Dave and his mother-roommate yammering back and forth at each other in their native tongue. Bret got the idea that she didn’t much approve of him sleeping over, but in the end, Dave seemed to win the argument.
His night had been uncomfortable and Dave had snored loudly and kept thrashing about noisily on his mattress. But somehow, Bret must have fallen asleep because he vaguely remembered Bowie showing up. He had been walking along the ceiling, wearing a very nice suit and tie, very reminiscent of that video for ‘China Girl’, and he had asked Bret what was wrong.
And Bret had told him all his troubles, then he started to get upset again, and Bowie had sung to him, softly and sweetly and Bret couldn’t quite remember what he had sang but really, it didn’t matter, as he had found his return to his dreams oddly comforting. And then he had offered his sage advice before cryptically telling him of his plans with Lennon and Mercury.
Frankly, Bret couldn’t remember exactly what he had said in that regard either, as he sometimes had a hard time following what Bowie said - he was like a higher being in that way. But he was pretty sure it had been something along the lines of how it was better to take what you could get, then to have nothing at all and how patience was a virtue.
And when Bret had woken up, still drowsy and slightly miserable, on the bed of dirty clothes, he had found his mind circling over an old memory of a record he had owned back when he was in New Zealand. It had been a Beegees album, one of his favorites and he used to play it over and over and over again.
It sounded so good - all crispy and sweet and every time he listened there was always something he had missed, some new note or instrument or sound he had overlooked and he’d clung to that secretive part of the musical production he had missed. But he had forced too much out of it and eventually the vinyl had begun to give way, warping the album to the point where it warbled and sounded off key and broken.
And somehow that memory and the advice from Bowie had sort of intertwined with one another and he had come to the decision that he had really done all he could. He had finally told Jemaine how he felt, so at least that was something. The next move was up to Jemaine, should he choose to make one. And if he did, Bret personally thought it should be a pretty good one as yesterday he had practically thrown himself at him, it was a bit humiliating.
Still, he had to admit some fault. After all, he had kind blindsided Jemaine with it, what exactly had he expected Jemaine to do? Sweep him off his feet and take him to a happily ever after?
Things didn’t work that way. Nothing was ever that simple. Maybe things would change and maybe they wouldn’t. All that really mattered was having Jemaine to some extent.
Last night had been hideous. It had only been one night and Bret had missed him terribly. Maybe he couldn’t be with Jemaine but he certainly couldn’t be without him either. They just went together. Like salt and pepper or squirrels and trees or…something.
Jemaine re-entered the bedroom and fidgeted, “Ready when you are.”
Bret unthinkingly squeezed his pillow a moment, then set it firmly to one side and stood up, “Right. Let’s go then.”
Wooo! I've got to stop posting these things so late at night! BUT I was too excited to wait!! Enjoy all!