White Collar - "Classics Never Go Out Of Style"
Title: Classics Never Go Out Of Style
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: #49 Tie
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Mozzie
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied character death
Summary: Neal stares at the assortment of skinny ties draped over his unmade bed. He doesn't know, doesn't want to choose.
Author's Note: I imagine this to play in the same universe as my previous drabble, "The Element Of Surprise", so if you want to know what's going on, that drabble should give you a pretty good idea. And, yes, I'm still sorry.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
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Dark blue? Dark purple? Black?
Neal stares at the assortment of skinny ties draped over his unmade bed. He doesn't know, doesn't want to choose. Choosing would mean acknowledgement. And he doesn't want to be stuck with another reminder that it's real.
He stares at the ties again, then his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't notice the strained lines on his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes from pacing the apartment, tossing restlessly in bed, cursing the quarter moon in the pitch black sky with tears in his eyes.
"Come on, Neal, we're already late," the gentle voice reminds him that they have somewhere to be.
"Give me a minute, Moz, okay?" he snaps.
His eyes catch on the black tie. Simple, straightforward, classic. Just like Peter.
"The classics never go out of style," he hears the voice in his head, and Neal doesn't know what comes over him when his fist suddenly lashes out in a fit of grief-filled rage that is accompanied by a matching scream.
The mirror cracks into shards that remain in the frame, distorting his image into fragments that reflect his soul, his heart, his every being. He sinks down onto the bed, his shoulders slumped.
He barely notices Mozzie's presence by his side, his hand on his shoulder. "Neal..."
"I can't do this," Neal mutters.
"I know," the soft voice of his friend says. "Do you want to stay here?"
Neal tries to clear his mind from the fog that seems to want to envelop it. "No," he finally says in a hoarse whisper.
He gets up and picks up the black tie, barely registering the pain in his bruised knuckles.
He binds the tie in front of the small mirror of his wardrobe. He's not ready, nor will he ever be.
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: #49 Tie
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Mozzie
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied character death
Summary: Neal stares at the assortment of skinny ties draped over his unmade bed. He doesn't know, doesn't want to choose.
Author's Note: I imagine this to play in the same universe as my previous drabble, "The Element Of Surprise", so if you want to know what's going on, that drabble should give you a pretty good idea. And, yes, I'm still sorry.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
+-+-+-+-+
Dark blue? Dark purple? Black?
Neal stares at the assortment of skinny ties draped over his unmade bed. He doesn't know, doesn't want to choose. Choosing would mean acknowledgement. And he doesn't want to be stuck with another reminder that it's real.
He stares at the ties again, then his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't notice the strained lines on his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes from pacing the apartment, tossing restlessly in bed, cursing the quarter moon in the pitch black sky with tears in his eyes.
"Come on, Neal, we're already late," the gentle voice reminds him that they have somewhere to be.
"Give me a minute, Moz, okay?" he snaps.
His eyes catch on the black tie. Simple, straightforward, classic. Just like Peter.
"The classics never go out of style," he hears the voice in his head, and Neal doesn't know what comes over him when his fist suddenly lashes out in a fit of grief-filled rage that is accompanied by a matching scream.
The mirror cracks into shards that remain in the frame, distorting his image into fragments that reflect his soul, his heart, his every being. He sinks down onto the bed, his shoulders slumped.
He barely notices Mozzie's presence by his side, his hand on his shoulder. "Neal..."
"I can't do this," Neal mutters.
"I know," the soft voice of his friend says. "Do you want to stay here?"
Neal tries to clear his mind from the fog that seems to want to envelop it. "No," he finally says in a hoarse whisper.
He gets up and picks up the black tie, barely registering the pain in his bruised knuckles.
He binds the tie in front of the small mirror of his wardrobe. He's not ready, nor will he ever be.