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Jan. 23rd, 2006 05:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregI've been kicking around the idea of trying to capture the feeling of certain songs into fics and I think they're finally starting to come out. Here is the first of what will likely be 3. And as noted before, I would dearly love to talk with someone at length about writing (both mine and in general) so gimme a poke if you are so inclined.
As always, your readership and encouragement are appreciated :)
Title: A Case of You
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warning: AU, first person.
The first time I met him was at a friend’s party. I didn’t actually know the friend all that well, but we had spoken a couple times and when she invited Catherine and me, she absolutely would not take no for an answer. When we walked in the door, she seemed delighted to see us and handed me a white russian as if to say her pleasure was genuine.
Cath left me to go dance in the living room. I watched from the outskirts of the kitchen, sipping that white russian before putting it aside; tonight was not my turn to drink.
I wouldn’t have met him if Cath didn’t come back and drag me in to the living room. Not buzzed and very self-conscious, I tried to look away from the other people dancing. Anything to distract myself. Then I saw him. Tall, slender, skin dotted with moles that looked like cream flecked with chocolate, he stopped on his way to the kitchen. His eyes flickered in my direction before an expression of fear tightened his face, and he scurried out of sight. That white russian was looking better and better.
We spoke, that night. He had shyly introduced himself as Greg, pleased to meet you and we chatted briefly. I think I teased him and I think he teased me, but what I really remember was that word. Girlfriend. He said it and I blanked, furiously trying to tell if he had said girl friend or girlfriend.
We ended up leaving at the same time, and it looked like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t and I didn’t ask.
***
It was over a year later before I saw him again, but it was only a month after that when we started dating. After a fashion. I was sick with a nasty flu and he admitted that his doctors were suppressing his immune system so we couldn’t meet in person. Our first month was confined to my stuffy voice and his laughing smile late at night over the phone. He kept some things from me, but it was because he didn’t know how to say them. We both knew that I read between the lines.
***
When I was still recovering, I received a phone call. He asked me to open the door. A neat little package of tea, a honey bear, and a bar of chocolate was on my doorstep. I raced to the window and saw him look up, all bundled against the winter cold, waving a mittened hand.
***
He liked to take naps together in our underwear, but refused to let me spoon him. He couldn’t bear for me to see the scars on his back where the doctors had operated. And it made him uncomfortable to be naked and be seen. So I never spooned him and we got a blindfold for me. Life was good. I loved him.
***
It was winter when there was talk of promoting Greg to his software company’s offices in California. I had to stay because I had gone back to school so he had to decide.
If he went, he asked me, would I come live with him during the summer when I had time off. I could see he was worried that I’d take it the wrong way, the way I wanted so badly to understand it. But that’s not what he wanted and I understood. I said yes anyway.
***
It was a gorgeous summer afternoon at his Stanford reunion. He was breathless from the crush of memories. Seeing everyone packed together in rooms was never something he enjoyed. We walked out behind one of the dorm buildings and stood under the shade of a tree by the lake. I snaked my arms around him, pressing my face into the side of his neck, my chin on his shoulder. His hands came to rest on mine and we stood there, watching the sunlight, and listened to the lazy hum of bees.
***
One night, he cried in my arms after our workout. The salt of his tears tasted different from the salt of my sweat when he kissed me. Hard. But he told me he couldn’t be my boyfriend.
I thought he was afraid of the cancer that was killing him. I learned later it was because he didn’t want to be.
***
The pain of our separation has dimmed with time, but it left a lasting mark on my body. How can you understand when the man you love says he doesn’t want to see you again? How do you forgive when he accuses you of selfishness when you wait outside his home, waiting for his return so you can know he’s alright? How can you forget the years spent beneath a blindfold, never truly seeing him because without it he’s sick with fear?
How could I survive when he told me when he fell in love? With her.
***
We lost touch and I never heard from him again. But I think back to him. Sometimes when I’m alone, sometimes when I’m with company.
If love is touching souls, surely he touched mine.
As always, your readership and encouragement are appreciated :)
Title: A Case of You
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warning: AU, first person.
The first time I met him was at a friend’s party. I didn’t actually know the friend all that well, but we had spoken a couple times and when she invited Catherine and me, she absolutely would not take no for an answer. When we walked in the door, she seemed delighted to see us and handed me a white russian as if to say her pleasure was genuine.
Cath left me to go dance in the living room. I watched from the outskirts of the kitchen, sipping that white russian before putting it aside; tonight was not my turn to drink.
I wouldn’t have met him if Cath didn’t come back and drag me in to the living room. Not buzzed and very self-conscious, I tried to look away from the other people dancing. Anything to distract myself. Then I saw him. Tall, slender, skin dotted with moles that looked like cream flecked with chocolate, he stopped on his way to the kitchen. His eyes flickered in my direction before an expression of fear tightened his face, and he scurried out of sight. That white russian was looking better and better.
We spoke, that night. He had shyly introduced himself as Greg, pleased to meet you and we chatted briefly. I think I teased him and I think he teased me, but what I really remember was that word. Girlfriend. He said it and I blanked, furiously trying to tell if he had said girl friend or girlfriend.
We ended up leaving at the same time, and it looked like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t and I didn’t ask.
***
It was over a year later before I saw him again, but it was only a month after that when we started dating. After a fashion. I was sick with a nasty flu and he admitted that his doctors were suppressing his immune system so we couldn’t meet in person. Our first month was confined to my stuffy voice and his laughing smile late at night over the phone. He kept some things from me, but it was because he didn’t know how to say them. We both knew that I read between the lines.
***
When I was still recovering, I received a phone call. He asked me to open the door. A neat little package of tea, a honey bear, and a bar of chocolate was on my doorstep. I raced to the window and saw him look up, all bundled against the winter cold, waving a mittened hand.
***
He liked to take naps together in our underwear, but refused to let me spoon him. He couldn’t bear for me to see the scars on his back where the doctors had operated. And it made him uncomfortable to be naked and be seen. So I never spooned him and we got a blindfold for me. Life was good. I loved him.
***
It was winter when there was talk of promoting Greg to his software company’s offices in California. I had to stay because I had gone back to school so he had to decide.
If he went, he asked me, would I come live with him during the summer when I had time off. I could see he was worried that I’d take it the wrong way, the way I wanted so badly to understand it. But that’s not what he wanted and I understood. I said yes anyway.
***
It was a gorgeous summer afternoon at his Stanford reunion. He was breathless from the crush of memories. Seeing everyone packed together in rooms was never something he enjoyed. We walked out behind one of the dorm buildings and stood under the shade of a tree by the lake. I snaked my arms around him, pressing my face into the side of his neck, my chin on his shoulder. His hands came to rest on mine and we stood there, watching the sunlight, and listened to the lazy hum of bees.
***
One night, he cried in my arms after our workout. The salt of his tears tasted different from the salt of my sweat when he kissed me. Hard. But he told me he couldn’t be my boyfriend.
I thought he was afraid of the cancer that was killing him. I learned later it was because he didn’t want to be.
***
The pain of our separation has dimmed with time, but it left a lasting mark on my body. How can you understand when the man you love says he doesn’t want to see you again? How do you forgive when he accuses you of selfishness when you wait outside his home, waiting for his return so you can know he’s alright? How can you forget the years spent beneath a blindfold, never truly seeing him because without it he’s sick with fear?
How could I survive when he told me when he fell in love? With her.
***
We lost touch and I never heard from him again. But I think back to him. Sometimes when I’m alone, sometimes when I’m with company.
If love is touching souls, surely he touched mine.
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Date: 2006-01-24 12:03 am (UTC)As for talking about writing in length, I don't mind. ^^ You can either email me at pornkitty@gmail.com or talk to me on AIM at Usagi Drow. In fact, feel free to. <3
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Date: 2006-01-24 03:39 pm (UTC)and pornkitty, i'll definitely take you up on the offer.
but did nobody else like it? :(
no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 08:58 pm (UTC)And me nearly crying must mean something because I've never cried at a fic before. Well done.
And I want to ask you, Greg did have cancer didn't he?
no subject
Date: 2006-01-28 12:55 am (UTC)in any case, it's largely irrelevant to me the specifics that people get out of my writing. far more important to me is that it has touched you, so however you want to read it is fine by me :)
plus, if i've done my job right, its meaning for you should be clear (either emotionally or specifically, however) and that's all that matters :)
thanks again for reading!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 04:01 am (UTC)