Fic: what I can't tell you
Title: What I can’t tell you
Pairing: Drake/Josh, pre-slash.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: This is like an in-between scene/what-if scenario in "Josh is Done". Josh forgets his racket in his room and goes back to get it.
Drake is sitting on his loft, staring at the broken strings of his guitar long after Megan leaves him there. He stares until his eyes become unfocused, his vision nothing but a hazy blur. There’s this thing in his chest where he’s sure something is crushing his heart, making it press tightly against his ribcage. A dull pain that makes it hard to breathe.
He finally lifts his head, not willing to fully glance around the room. It’s too empty. It’s too quiet. He allows himself to really acknowledge the fact that he’s alone, and something wet and cold slides down his cheek, splattering on the back of his hand. It’s so quick, he barely has time to hold it in. He clenches his jaw, as if that will stop his eyes from getting moist even as his vision gets blurry, and everything meshed up and hurting in his chest ebbs away slightly. Like a crack on that heavy thing on his chest, breaking, it’s slowly breaking.
-
Josh is half-way down the block when he realizes he forgot his racket in his room. He hesitates, but then runs back. This good luck thing he has going might wear off-and he’s not about to stupidly meet Helen for a game of racket ball without his own racket.
When he enters his room, he spots the racket propped up by his bed. He quickly grabs it, his eyes passing over everything else too quickly for him to really see anything, or anyone. But he knows he’s on the bed. The side of his eye picks up on the line of his back, the orange shirt and auburn hair-blurred and nothing but lines for Josh to fill in purely from memory.
He clutches the racket in his hand, almost turning around, almost leaving the room-but the small tremor running through Drake’s shoulders makes him freeze. He holds his breath. He stands there in the middle of the room watching Drake’s back, staring hard at the slim figure, the wrinkled orange shirt and the messy auburn hair, and something in him cracks when he hears a soft sniffling sound.
He doesn’t know what to do. He stands there dumbly, straining his ears to listen, even though it’s already so quiet. Drake makes a shuddery breath, and Josh is in utter disbelief that Drake is crying.
He’s crying because of him. He feels something tug at his heart harshly, yanking and pulling it down to his stomach. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking closer, body detached from mind, he climbs the ladder slowly.
“….Drake?”
Drake stiffens. His arms shift as he dries his face, a quick wipe with the back of his hand that Josh knows he isn’t meant to see, even though he’s only a few away. Josh’s eyes flit away, and he hates his voice, he hates the way it breaks the thick silence.
“…Drake?” Josh says again. “Are you…?” He just has to know Drake is there, that he’s seeing what he’s actually seeing. “Are you...crying?”
Drake doesn’t say anything. For a minute Josh thinks maybe he’s pretending to sleep but then he shifts slightly, still staring at the wall and refusing to look at him. “No,” Drake mumbles. He sounds indignant but Josh can see his hand still wiping at his face. He pauses, and then he lifts his head, still unwilling to turn around. “Are you still mad at me?” He asks, voice scratchy and small.
In that split-second, Josh almost forgets everything. His hardened face turns soft, and his lips part, ready to make everything okay. But then he shifts back as the sudden realization of what he’s about to do hits him. All his pent-up anger, the little ticks, nicks he’s let go have collected in the center of his chest, and Josh can’t take anymore of it, any more of always forgiving, always picking up after him, always being there, always being left behind, always giving and giving and giving-and then Drake turns around. He looks at Josh. Wet cheeks and wet lashes. All the anger melts under Josh’s chest until it becomes heat and mush. It hurts to see Drake like this, to see him watch Josh hesitantly, unsure if Josh will leave him there and never look back.
Why did Drake make even getting angry with him so difficult? He wants to cut him out of his life-isn’t that what Drake wanted when they first met? Drake doesn’t need him. Drake is supposed to be…Drake. All calm, cool indifference, and easy grins. He gets everything he wants. So, what if Josh never spoke to him again, what did it matter? Josh is the one that cares the most. He’s the one that wanted them to be brothers. He wanted it so much-but being brothers, being best friends, shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t make him disappointed and sad and angry, and tired.
Now, he’s staring into watery brown eyes, feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet. Drake is supposed to be the jerk. Drake is the one that let him down. Drake is the one that hurt him. Josh is tired of letting things go.
Josh shuts his eyes, turning away, “I-I have to go,” he breathes out. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can’t do this again. It’s like an endless cycle that Josh finds himself in. No more. He’s done.
“Josh, no-wait!” Josh looks down at Drake’s hand clutching his wrist because he’s afraid if he looks up, and looks at Drake, he’ll give in.
He feels Drake’s eyes on him, and he turns away. His face hardens, jaw rigid, as he pulls out of his grip. “No,” he says, and he’s surprised at how certain his voice sounds.
He doesn’t look at Drake as he gets up, and climbs down the ladder. He doesn’t see Drake’s hopeful, expectant, face turn confused before slowly turning hard, and dark.
“Fine. Go,” Drake shouts out after him. “I don’t need you.”
Josh’s throat burns as he clutches the racket tight, and leaves the room.
Pairing: Drake/Josh, pre-slash.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: This is like an in-between scene/what-if scenario in "Josh is Done". Josh forgets his racket in his room and goes back to get it.
Drake is sitting on his loft, staring at the broken strings of his guitar long after Megan leaves him there. He stares until his eyes become unfocused, his vision nothing but a hazy blur. There’s this thing in his chest where he’s sure something is crushing his heart, making it press tightly against his ribcage. A dull pain that makes it hard to breathe.
He finally lifts his head, not willing to fully glance around the room. It’s too empty. It’s too quiet. He allows himself to really acknowledge the fact that he’s alone, and something wet and cold slides down his cheek, splattering on the back of his hand. It’s so quick, he barely has time to hold it in. He clenches his jaw, as if that will stop his eyes from getting moist even as his vision gets blurry, and everything meshed up and hurting in his chest ebbs away slightly. Like a crack on that heavy thing on his chest, breaking, it’s slowly breaking.
-
Josh is half-way down the block when he realizes he forgot his racket in his room. He hesitates, but then runs back. This good luck thing he has going might wear off-and he’s not about to stupidly meet Helen for a game of racket ball without his own racket.
When he enters his room, he spots the racket propped up by his bed. He quickly grabs it, his eyes passing over everything else too quickly for him to really see anything, or anyone. But he knows he’s on the bed. The side of his eye picks up on the line of his back, the orange shirt and auburn hair-blurred and nothing but lines for Josh to fill in purely from memory.
He clutches the racket in his hand, almost turning around, almost leaving the room-but the small tremor running through Drake’s shoulders makes him freeze. He holds his breath. He stands there in the middle of the room watching Drake’s back, staring hard at the slim figure, the wrinkled orange shirt and the messy auburn hair, and something in him cracks when he hears a soft sniffling sound.
He doesn’t know what to do. He stands there dumbly, straining his ears to listen, even though it’s already so quiet. Drake makes a shuddery breath, and Josh is in utter disbelief that Drake is crying.
He’s crying because of him. He feels something tug at his heart harshly, yanking and pulling it down to his stomach. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking closer, body detached from mind, he climbs the ladder slowly.
“….Drake?”
Drake stiffens. His arms shift as he dries his face, a quick wipe with the back of his hand that Josh knows he isn’t meant to see, even though he’s only a few away. Josh’s eyes flit away, and he hates his voice, he hates the way it breaks the thick silence.
“…Drake?” Josh says again. “Are you…?” He just has to know Drake is there, that he’s seeing what he’s actually seeing. “Are you...crying?”
Drake doesn’t say anything. For a minute Josh thinks maybe he’s pretending to sleep but then he shifts slightly, still staring at the wall and refusing to look at him. “No,” Drake mumbles. He sounds indignant but Josh can see his hand still wiping at his face. He pauses, and then he lifts his head, still unwilling to turn around. “Are you still mad at me?” He asks, voice scratchy and small.
In that split-second, Josh almost forgets everything. His hardened face turns soft, and his lips part, ready to make everything okay. But then he shifts back as the sudden realization of what he’s about to do hits him. All his pent-up anger, the little ticks, nicks he’s let go have collected in the center of his chest, and Josh can’t take anymore of it, any more of always forgiving, always picking up after him, always being there, always being left behind, always giving and giving and giving-and then Drake turns around. He looks at Josh. Wet cheeks and wet lashes. All the anger melts under Josh’s chest until it becomes heat and mush. It hurts to see Drake like this, to see him watch Josh hesitantly, unsure if Josh will leave him there and never look back.
Why did Drake make even getting angry with him so difficult? He wants to cut him out of his life-isn’t that what Drake wanted when they first met? Drake doesn’t need him. Drake is supposed to be…Drake. All calm, cool indifference, and easy grins. He gets everything he wants. So, what if Josh never spoke to him again, what did it matter? Josh is the one that cares the most. He’s the one that wanted them to be brothers. He wanted it so much-but being brothers, being best friends, shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t make him disappointed and sad and angry, and tired.
Now, he’s staring into watery brown eyes, feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet. Drake is supposed to be the jerk. Drake is the one that let him down. Drake is the one that hurt him. Josh is tired of letting things go.
Josh shuts his eyes, turning away, “I-I have to go,” he breathes out. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can’t do this again. It’s like an endless cycle that Josh finds himself in. No more. He’s done.
“Josh, no-wait!” Josh looks down at Drake’s hand clutching his wrist because he’s afraid if he looks up, and looks at Drake, he’ll give in.
He feels Drake’s eyes on him, and he turns away. His face hardens, jaw rigid, as he pulls out of his grip. “No,” he says, and he’s surprised at how certain his voice sounds.
He doesn’t look at Drake as he gets up, and climbs down the ladder. He doesn’t see Drake’s hopeful, expectant, face turn confused before slowly turning hard, and dark.
“Fine. Go,” Drake shouts out after him. “I don’t need you.”
Josh’s throat burns as he clutches the racket tight, and leaves the room.