moonlight notes

Love Will Be the Death of You: Prompt 096; Fear

2008-03-28T12:47:05Z

Title: Love Will Be the Death of You
Author: Me, discodots
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Pairing: PoynterJones
Genre: Angst
Summary: I think one of the most dangerous things to believe in is true love.
A/N: So the idea for this came to me this morning whilst still in bed. I was still feeling sad from reading If Tomorrow Never Comes last night, and this is what came from that sadness.
Apologies for the fact that I seem not to be able to write anything that doesn't include dead!danny. I don't hate him, honest, I only pick on him because it's heartbreaking.
Constructive criticism would be really, really nice. I wasn't proud of the last thing I posted on here and I hope to God this is better, but I know it's not perfect and I'd like your help to make my next post even better.
Anyway, I'll shut up now. Read and review! I'll love you for it.
Disclaimer: Fiction, guys. It's self explanatory.

Love Will Be the Death of You

I think one of the most dangerous things to believe in is true love.

When I was much younger I told myself that love didn’t mean a thing to me. I suppose, looking back, that wasn’t particularly surprising; it’s hardly fair to expect love to be special to someone when they don’t even know what it is. If you don’t even understand what love is then it’s pretty hard to accept that it’s what most people live for, and I for one was not about to take anyone’s word for it. I was convinced that there must be something stronger in life, something else worth living for, something more solid and worthwhile. I was only young and I didn’t know what love was anyway, but I still didn’t believe in it. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Looking back, I realise that I was just scared. I was looking for something else to aim for, something that I knew I could reach. Love is a possibility. It’s not definite and you damn sure as hell can’t control it. The thought of someone’s life depending on something so flimsy scared the living shit out of me. So I refused to believe that it could ever matter that much. In my world, love didn’t mean a thing.

Of course, that didn’t last long. You reach puberty and your hormones scatter all over the place, it was inevitable, really. The first time I thought I was in love was a few days after I started secondary school. I was about 11, I think. It was in my first design technology class that I first saw him. He had dark hair, stunning blue eyes and one of those necklaces that you’d expect to find on the typical surfer boy. I spent the next five years lusting after that boy.

I got over him, of course. I moved to a new school to do my A Levels and with the fresh scenery and new crowd I found someone else to rest my gaze on. He had lighter hair than my first crush. His eyes were blue, but a different shade and not nearly as bright. They were teasing, just like he was. He was rude and arrogant and a devious flirt, and I fell head over heals with just one glance in my direction. I hated him, but only because I couldn’t have him. He was, and probably still is, the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. I got over him though.

I realized by this time that I’d never actually been in love with either of these people. Of course I hadn’t, I was 18 for God’s sake. And that was by the time I’d gotten over them which, I’ll tell you, didn’t happen overnight. When it did, though, I realized I’d known it all along. Every kid thinks they’re in love the first time they get butterflies. It’s what happens. You can’t convince them otherwise at the time, but they’ll realise it themselves once they realise you can get butterflies from eating bad meat, too. Butterflies don’t mean much in the grand spectrum of things.

It was when I got to University that I started thinking differently about love. I was studying English Literature, and we did a lot of reading on French poetry at the start of our first semester. Turns out the French are pretty darn romantic, actually. I mean they did turn my beliefs inside out after all, if only for a moment.

Love, for me, went from meaning fuck all to near about everything. There was the time I didn’t believe in it at all and there was the time where I thought I could marry just about everyone that made me blush, and then there was the time I believed you could only ever fall in love once; the time when I believed in true love.
Those were probably some of my darkest days. Not at first, of course. At first the thought of true love was pure bliss; a force between hearts that melts everything in its path and lasts longer than eternity itself; it was the other thing worth living for that I’d been trying to grasp since I had the slightest idea what love might be. And I’d found it where I least expected, right where I didn’t want to find it.

First came the fear of never finding it, the fear of being alone and only ever witnessing the miracle on a pixilated TV screen. But if you held the belief that there was someone for everyone then that fear tended to subside somewhat. It was still scary, the thought of never finding love, but hell, it’s not like it had anything on the fear of finding love and losing it.

When you reach that stage, you tend to close yourself off. If the damn thought of losing someone hurts that much then you can only assume that you won’t survive when you experience the real thing. It feels like you’re being crushed from all sides and you can’t take a single breath without tears streaming down your face, and that’s only at the thought of them dying a few years before you, decades away when you’re old and grey. What would it feel like if they never even lasted that long? What would happen if your biggest fear became reality and this miracle that it had taken so long just to get your head around went wrong? What would you feel like then?

In all honesty, I wasn’t planning to find out. When it got to that moment of realization, I decided that love wasn’t worth it and I locked myself away, crawling through the dark in search of my ignorant belief in something more spectacular than love. I never found it, though.

You can’t really go back to something like that. It’s like believing that people can fly after watching someone drop from a rooftop. It’s ridiculous, is what it is. You can’t go back to believing love means nothing when you’ve read that much damn poetry on it and you sure as hell can’t even think about going back once you’ve experienced it yourself.

It was a Tuesday when I really did fall in love for the first time. Of course, I say I fell in love on that day, but what I mean is that I met the man that I was going to fall in love with on that day. There’s no pinpointing the exact moment when it actually happened. I didn’t like him at first, actually. He smiled way too much and his grin was the most disturbing thing I’d ever seen. I still couldn’t tear my eyes away, though. Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier if I were blind.

His name was Danny, and he was the type of guy that had always believed in true love. He didn’t need to study French poetry or watch Romeo and Juliet to believe that, because he knew it existed all along and he never doubted it once. He was never afraid, either. Said love was worth every risk in the world.

Don’t jump to conclusions, though. He didn’t sweep me off my feet or anything. It took him a goddamn year just to get me to smile at him. I tried everything to get him to leave me alone but I’ll tell you something, that boy is not one to give up. Looking back, I think I tried to get him to go away because I already knew what would happen if he didn’t. And I think he knew, too. I think that’s why he didn’t leave me alone, actually. He was open to love, and I wasn’t. He held me in his arms and I pushed him away.

“Dougie” he’d say, “Why won’t you let me be your friend?” I never answered him at the time because I was still pushing him away with all the strength I had in me, but he was always bigger than me and always much stronger. I was never really going to win the fight, and I think that made the whole thing just that much worse. It was always going to happen.

The first time I let him near enough to kiss me was on a Wednesday. I remember because it was exactly a year after we’d first met. I was in a bad mood that day anyway because I’d fell asleep whilst reading some prose for an assignment the night before, and I was even angrier when I realized that I’d memorized the first day Danny and I had met. By that time I’d given up on trying to get him to go away, and when he skipped up to me that morning on the way to class I felt like giving up altogether.

“Aye up, Doug” he grinned. I scowled. I’d given up pushing him away but my arms weren’t exactly open. We carried on walking in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
“It’s a year ago today that we first met, you know.” I was shocked, to say the least, and he took full advantage of my state as I turned, probably for the first time, to look at him. He grinned back and before I had a chance to even think about moving at all his lips were on mine. I didn’t kiss back, but I didn’t push him off, either. I was mortified. This great loon who had been practically stalking me for the past year had just kissed me, and I’d known all along that it was going to happen but I’d never actually thought about it.

After that, I really did give up altogether. I let him talk to me without my back turned and I let him walk me from my classes to my room without trying to outrun him. I let him take me for drinks and buy me dinner and I even let him kiss me again. It wasn’t too long until I let him hold my hand and share my bed and within months the only thing I had left to give was my heart. That proved to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

At first, he didn’t understand why I was so scared. Like I said, he was fearless. We’d never been on the same wavelength, we both knew that, but to be that scared of something that to him seemed so simple, was just not something he could quite grasp.
“The world won’t end if you tell me you love me, Dougie.” He knew I loved him, hell we both did, but I wouldn’t say it. I don’t suppose it would have made any difference whether I’d uttered the words or not, but at the time it seemed like sudden death. I’d cry myself to sleep at night, wishing it wasn’t happening. I’d tried so hard to avoid it and I’d fought so hard just to keep him at arms distance, but in the end, like everything else that you can’t control, it was always going to happen. I’d fell in love.

It doesn’t seem such a big deal when you first think about it. Hell, it actually sounds nice, really, doesn’t it? Everyone wants to fall in love. It’s what we live for. It’s falling in love and thinking you can only ever do it once that’s hard. With the click of a switch or the pull of a trigger, you can lose everything you breathe for. If and when that happens, you’ll never be able to breathe again. At this point in time I believed you only ever fell in love once, and telling Danny that I was in love with him was like signing my death certificate, because when he died, I’d die too. Danny was it for me. Danny was my breath.

It was barely two years after I'd finally given him my heart when I had that same breath ripped out of me. It was a disgustingly cold day, the air empty and hollow even before it happened. It was fast and loud and yet it was like a silent movie being watched in slow motion. It was worse than anything I'd ever imagined and it was all because of one bastard moment. One moment out of an entire lifetime and it took everything from me.

It wasn’t his fault, of course it wasn’t, but I couldn’t help but feel angry at him for putting me in this position in the first place. He didn’t ask to leave me behind, but he always knew it was a possibility and he knew it was my biggest fear. Yet he still managed to convince me into giving him my heart. I don’t suppose it would have hurt any less if I hadn’t, but Christ, I needed something to blame the pain on other than the fact that he was gone.

Everything I’d ever avoided hit me like an iron fist in my stomach the day Danny died. My nightmare became reality, and my reality became something I wished didn’t exist. I’d never quite understood the idea of people killing themselves for a loved one. It frustrated me, actually. The thought made me angry. Why would someone end their life for something so stupid, for just one person? Surely life was worth more than that. In all honesty, that’s what I’d been trying to convince myself my whole life. And I never did quite manage it.

True love is such a beautiful concept to believe in. It’s brilliant, magical and overwhelmingly powerful. The thought of a connection that strong that can only ever be shared with one person is spectacular. It’s so stunning that it blinds your heart and leads it astray, and yet it’s such a dangerous thing to believe in. Because if you do, love will be the death of you.

I Promise I Will Never Leave You: Poem

2008-03-25T02:01:55Z

I promise I will never leave you
even when you're sad
I'll be with you when you smile and frown
I'll be with you when you're mad
I promise I won't ever disappear
not even when the sky turns grey
even when the sun burns too bright
I will always be with you
because it will always be right

I promise I will never leave you
even when sanity does
even when you forget my name
I will stay and remind you of our love
I'll be with you when you're grey and blind
I'll be there when your body betrays you
I'll stay by your side for the rest of your life
because I know that our love is true

And if death do us part
and you leave me behind
I will lie with you on your grave
until I am laid to rest by your side.

Malborough Hill Place

2008-01-07T20:03:16Z

"What's wrong with you, then?"
She looked up, startled by the broken silence.
"What? There's nothing wrong with me."
"Well you can't blame me for assuming; you're sat alone smoking a cigarette, for starters. People don't smoke unless there's something wrong with them."
Her laugh was somewhat nervous as she took another painful drag, her mouth drooping slightly as she tried to shake off the comment.
"And what makes you say that?" She asked, looking up.
"Well cigarette's are bad for your health. Why would someone smoke if there wasn't already something wrong with them?"
She nodded then, swapping her cigarette for her thumb nail.
"I'm sad." She admitted.
"Oh. Well everyone's sad, babe."
"Then I think there's something wrong with everyone."

Innocence

2008-01-07T20:00:55Z

"Isn't it beautiful?" He mused, his eyes full of life as he reached out to touch it, "Isn't it just the most amazing thing you've ever laid eyes on?"
His face was glazed with such beautiful innocence that you could only smile and nod in reply. Wouldn't it be brilliant to find such wonder in a simple painting? The truth is, he's the most amazing thing you've ever laid eyes on.

JuddJones btw.

The Sad Smile: Prompt 045; Angst

2008-01-07T19:52:13Z

Title: The Sad Smile
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Drabble
Rating: 15
Pairing: Fluff the earth! (FletcherJudd)
Genre: Angst
Summary: "How can you leave something behind when you're not going anywhere?"
A/N: This is seriously just all over the place. I wrote it the other day, when again, I was feeling quite similar to what Tom describes in this. And yeah, it's not a good idea to try and write when you feel like that. It's just all over the place.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

“I feel so sad” he says, shaking his head in confusion, “It’s as if I’m leaving something behind, but I can’t for the life of me think what it might be.” He’s silent for a minute, and you can tell he’s wracking his brain for something that isn’t there.

“You know when you go on holiday and you have the most amazing time?” he asks, smiling fondly, though you can see the sadness in his eyes as he does so, “It feels like I’m at the airport. It feels just like that; like I’m saying goodbye.”

“I’m not even going anywhere.” He laughs.

“It wouldn’t be as bad if I was at the airport” He carries on, “I would be sad, but I don’t think I’d cry. I would be upset because I’d be leaving behind a place that I’d grown fond of, and even if I were to return it would never really be the same. Holidays are one offs, really, aren’t they? And it’s sad when you go home but it’s still okay, isn’t it?” He pauses, biting down gently on his lip, “Being at the airport is a nice sad. It’s a grateful sad and a hopeful sad.” There’s no hope in his eyes at the moment, but he’s still got that fond little smile on his face; the smile that you wear when you don’t know what else to do.

“I haven’t been on holiday for years” he says, “And I’m not going anywhere. How can you leave something behind when you’re not going anywhere?” There’s a hint of anger in his voice as he asks this, questioning his feelings with remorse at their existence. His shoulders fall quickly though as he lets it go.

“I feel like crying. I feel like crying because I’m so sad, and I don’t even know why. I feel like I’ve lost something. I feel like something’s missing and now there’s this big, hollow sadness. I feel sick.”

“It’s like leaving school. You know on your very last day, when everyone has their yearbooks and you’re all getting each others signatures? And you know it’s the last time you’re all going to be together as a year group. And sure, you’ll probably see lots of them again after you leave for college or whatever, but you’ll never all be together like that again.” He sighs, shaking his head in annoyance before continuing, “It makes you feel sad, doesn’t it? When you leave something like that behind. I mean you’ve been at the school for God knows how long and then it’s just…a memory. You’re not in school anymore and it’s a relief, but it still feels like something’s missing. You’re not in school anymore.”

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut but not really knowing if he’s trying to force the tears back or just let them fall. He pulls his legs into his chest, resting his head on his knees and gripping his jeans with his fingers like he wants to rip them apart. He raises his head before speaking.

“I feel empty. I feel like I’m trying to hold onto the future, but it’s too far away. I’ve let go of the past, because it’s the past and they’re only memories, but now I have nothing to hold onto. The past has already happened so I know it’s real, it’s safe, but I can’t see the future and it just seems so impossibly far away. I can’t reach it.”

His tears fall then. Slowly and calmly, like feather light drips of water sliding down his pale cheeks.

“I feel so sad” he says, shaking his head in confusion, “It’s almost as if you’ve left me behind.”

The End of the Circle

2008-01-07T19:46:42Z

Title: The End of the Circle
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 15
Pairing: There's no pairing, but I imagine the main character to be Dougie.
Genre: Angst
Summary: Surely if there's a way in then there's also a way out?
A/N: I wrote this when I was feeling pretty trapped myself, I think. It's kind of how I felt at the time only obviously not as dramatic and the situation wasn't the same. Written back in September, I think.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

You’re not crazy but the people in here seem to think otherwise. They won’t use the word but you know that’s what they mean when they say you’re unwell. They mean you’re crazy. They mean you’re so disoriented and damn well unstable that you can’t look after yourself. That’s why you’re here, because apparently you can’t look after yourself.

You can look after yourself though. You’re not unwell or disoriented and you’re not unstable. You’re not damn fucking crazy. You’re just locked up.

You were locked up before they even sent you here. You’re not sure how it happened but it did and you can’t even remember how not to be locked up. How can you not be something if you don’t know how? You did know how though. You weren’t always like this; you weren’t always trapped in your own world, but you are now and you don’t know how to get out. Being locked in a physical asylum doesn’t make any difference at all. Just because you can’t speak doesn’t mean you can’t look after yourself. It doesn’t make you crazy.

They don’t understand that though. It’s not like you can tell them anyway. Maybe if you weren’t locked up then you could just tell them, but you are and if you weren’t there’d be nothing to tell because you wouldn’t be locked up in the first place. It’s a cruel circle that goes round and round and never stops. You weren’t always in the circle so there must be a way in; surely if there’s a way in then there’s also a way out?

That’s all the hope you’ve really got left to cling onto right now. If you can’t get out of the circle then you can’t get out of the asylum, and there’s really nothing for you in this place anyway. It’s not a place to live it’s a place to get better, and you can’t be ‘better’ until you can tell people that you’re okay. So really, your only hope is finding a way out of this damn circle. What else can you hope for?

Sometimes, when you’re feeling less locked up, you can hope for nicer food in the canteen. You can’t ask for nicer food but you can hope that they decide to serve something more edible than mushy peas and soggy bread. They’re paying to have you stay here so surely they can afford nicer food sometimes?

There is the occasion when it’s someone’s birthday and you’re all given birthday cake. It’s happened twice since you’ve been here but you can’t remember if it’s been two different birthdays or the same one twice. Your logic tells you that it was two different ones, but then it’s hard to think logically when you’re locked up both inside and out.

You’re not crazy though. Your logic is deteriorating but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy. If you were crazy then you wouldn’t be aware of your logic deteriorating, but you are and that thus proves that really, you are sane.

They don’t know that though. They don’t know that you’re thinking logically because you can’t tell them, and however much people think they can read each others’ minds they can’t, and so they really have no way of knowing if you’re sane or not. That’s the trouble with your situation; it’s a guessing game and they’ve guessed wrong and there’s nothing you can do to convince them otherwise. You can’t even answer their questions when they ask you straight out if you’re okay or not, partly because you’re locked up and partly because you don’t even know yourself.

Sometimes you wonder if that’s why they keep you in here. Maybe this is your opportunity to figure out if you’re okay or not, and maybe once you figure it out you’ll be able to speak again; maybe you’ll be unlocked.

It’s hard to figure something like that out when you’re already locked up though. Most people can speak or write or at least shake their damn head but you can’t even do that. Minds are wide, spacious things and we like to think that we can fit mountains of knowledge in them, but the truth is we can’t. Our brain holds every single piece of information that we take in but most of it isn’t even used. It’s not used because there’s too much and your mind can’t use it all at once. Your brain holds the information but your mind uses it. And your mind is limited.

That’s why some people find it useful to write things down or to talk about them with other people. It’s to get some space into your mind so that you can organize your thoughts and start thinking about other things.

You can’t do that though. You can’t speak and you can’t write. You can’t communicate with anyone because you’re locked up and you don’t know how. It’s like that part of your brain has been shut down or something. It’s been locked up.

And that’s why you can’t figure out if you’re okay or not. You only have your mind to hold your thoughts and really, that’s not enough. There’s not enough space. It’s like trying to fit a whole house full of furniture into one room; you could probably cram it all in but there’s no space to do anything else with it. You can store all the information in your mind but there’s no room for sorting it out or making sense of it because all the space you have is being used up for storage.

Being locked in the asylum doesn’t help because it’s like a mirror of your head. You’re not allowed out because they have no way of knowing that you’re not about to top yourself and so everything stays inside. People keep coming in and it gets so crowded during the day that you mostly just stay in your room to avoid receiving any more information than is absolutely necessary. You can’t handle any more information because you don’t have any more fucking room, and being locked up doesn’t help because it’s like forcing furniture into that room again. There’s no space.

Occasionally when it’s nighttime and it’s much calmer your head seems to clear slightly. Or it doesn’t exactly clear but for a while you stop trying to organize it. It’s like coming up for air when you’ve been swimming under water for ages. It’s a relief and a moment of peace that you pray will never leave.

But it does, it always does. One footstep or cough from the hallway will interrupt all tranquility inside your mind and it’s as if someone’s forcing your head back under water again. You can’t breathe because there’s no damn space for any oxygen to get through to your lungs. Just like that your brain is swarming and spinning and damn well overflowing and there’s not a damn thing you can do to try and make it stop because there’s nowhere for anything to go. There’s nowhere for you to go because you’re locked up.

Sometimes you get headaches so bad that you can’t think straight. When that happens you’re relieved because it means that you don’t have to think about anything anymore. They hurt to the point in which you can’t even sit up straight and it feels like your brain is swelling up against the inside of your skull, but you wouldn’t even dream of taking pain relief because thinking has become so much more painful than any other type of physical pain. You can’t think when you have a headache so you can only feel relief.

They get worried when you have headaches though because they don’t know what’s going on. You can’t tell them that it’s just a headache so they have to suspect the worst and if they catch you writhing on the ground with your eyes tight shut and tears streaming down your face they nearly always inject you with some sort of medication to take away the pain.

You’d so much rather be in pain than have to think though. When they stab that needle into your arm and you feel your head lighten and your face cool they don’t know that really, you’re in even more pain than you were before. You can’t explain that being locked up hurts more than the headaches, because they don’t even know that it’s only a headache.

You can’t tell them that you would like nicer food in the canteen or that you only have a headache because you’re locked up. You can’t remember how it happened but it did and really, you can’t see a way out. There should be one, because you weren’t always like this and that means that there had to be a way in, but you’ve been locked up for a long time now, and circles don’t have ends, do they?

That’s what your logic tells you. It’s hard to think logically when you’re locked up like this, but at least you’re aware of logic existing at all. They don’t know that you’re aware of logic though because you can’t tell them. You can’t tell them anything because you’re locked up.

You’re not crazy, but the people in here seem to think otherwise.

Too Much, Too Little, Too Late: Prompt 056; Found

2008-01-07T19:39:50Z

Title: Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 18
Pairing: FletcherJones
Genre: Angst
Summary: Depression is an evil, evil thing and it’s almost uncontrollable.
A/N: The sequal to 'Pressing Harder'. Not much nicer tbh.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

I found you in our room. There was nowhere else I was going to find you though, really, was there? You spent all your time in our room, barely ever left the damn place. You only really wondered the rest of the house when you were looking for me or, if you were having a ‘good’ day, for something to do. You barely ever left our room and never left the house. There was too much sadness outside these walls.

I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Of course I saw it coming; there was never a doubt in my mind, but I always hoped that I was wrong. Every day I’d go to work and come home, hoping and wishing with all my heart that you’d still be waiting, breathing. I’d spend the whole day thinking about you and the amount of hurt I felt just thinking about this day was unbelievable; the only time I ever really relaxed was when you were safe in my arms at night, because I knew that was the only time that you’d never want to do anything. You didn’t want to leave me.

You never understood why I loved you. From the very start, you were completely baffled as to why I’d even want to know your name. It upset me, in a way, because it just went to show what sadness can do to someone’s self esteem, and I’d have done anything to take that sadness away and restore that person that I knew existed inside. The person that I loved.

It wasn’t enough though. Of course it wasn’t. Depression is an evil, evil thing and it’s almost uncontrollable. Once you reach that stage, there’s almost no turning back. You reached that stage long ago, and I knew this day would come. I knew it would. It doesn’t make anything easier, though. I tried everything and it was never enough. I don’t blame you, though, I blame sadness in itself. It came from nowhere and it took everything. It took you.

I know you wanted things to be different. We both did, and I know that it was difficult for you, too. Probably more difficult than it was for me. If things had turned out the way we’d wanted there wouldn’t be any sadness, and we’d have grown old together and we’d have been happy. But, unfortunately, we don’t control emotions and we don’t control what emotions do to us. That’s always been something I wished was different. Always.

When I left you that morning I almost knew it was the last time I’d see you alive. I feel horrible for saying that; if I’d known I should have stayed home, but I didn’t. There wouldn’t have been any point, anyway. You wanted to let go, and I’ve never been one to stand in anyone’s way. If you want to do something then you’re going to do it, and it’s really not my place to stop you. I could have stayed home, but you’d only have gone and done it the next day. I couldn’t stay home forever. We all have to let go sometimes.

When I unlocked the front door I knew there was no life left in these walls. It sounds stupid, and no one would believe me if I told them, but I always felt that I could tell which room you were in without actually knowing. Warmth would almost filter out of the room you were in and all I had to do was follow it, and there you’d be; waiting. When I got home that day there was no warmth in our house.

When I saw you lying there I almost felt relieved. Not because you were gone, but because it was over. I loved every second I ever spent in your company, and I wouldn’t have spent it any other way, but there was always sadness mixed in with all the love and when I saw your lifeless body sprawled out across that floor, I knew all the sadness was gone. Blood lay in its place, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind because all I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and if that meant that I had to let you go, then a kiss on the cheek was a good enough goodbye.

Pressing Harder: Prompt 075; Blood

2008-01-07T19:36:33Z

Title: Pressing Harder
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 18
Pairing: FletcherJones
Genre: Angst
Summary: I don't want to die, but I don't want to live, either.
A/N: This one isn't very nice, but it needed writing, for me if no one else.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

I press just that much harder. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live, either. Blood appears like magic on my soft pale skin and then trickles down my arm, dropping onto my jeans. I’d like to say it’s a relief - seeing my blood run free like that – but if I’m telling the truth then it’s really not. I like it, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it, but I honestly wouldn’t describe it as a relief. More of a triumph.
When I don’t press very hard and I don’t see a lot of blood, I feel disappointed. It’s as if I’ve failed or something; the aim of the game is to cut the skin and release the blood; the more blood the more points. That’s a slightly psychotic way of describing it, but it’s also very affective.

I hear the front door close. Tom’s home. I don’t panic, because there’s no point, but I do make an effort to withdraw the razor from my arm, at least. He knows what I’m doing, but that’s no excuse for burdening him with the sight of it.
Dumping the thin blade into the bin under my desk I hastily dab at my wounds before pulling down my sleeve and heading for the door. Tom’s in the kitchen getting a glass of water when I enter the room. He turns round and smiles at me. It’s a sad smile, but at the same time it’s filled with the familiar love and adoration that I’ve become used to after so long. I never quite understood why it was there, but I’ve learned to accept it anyway.
“Good evening, Danny.” His voice is so warm and comforting as he wraps his strong arms around me that I feel my whole body relax at his touch. I may not understand why he loves me, but I damn well know why I love him.
“How are you doing, babe?” He smiles and I smile back.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Danny, I missed you every second I was away.” It’s almost funny, because he’d only been to work and back. We hadn’t even been apart for twelve hours.
“Can I have a look at your arm?” He asked, stroking my hand softly, “Just to check it isn’t getting infected or anything.”
I don’t bother replying because he already knows the answer. I stand patiently as he pulls back my sleeve, revealing the cuts I’d made only minutes before. He sighed, but not in frustration. He looked up at me, then; his sad brown eyes secretly pleading with my own. He didn’t speak, because everything had already been spoken a thousand times before. Instead he pulled back down my sleeve and took my hand, leading me upstairs so that we could cuddle up in bed for the night.

Bedtime was always my favourite. I like the dark, because no one can read you properly, and I like the fact that no one expects anything from you when you’re sleeping. It’s one of the things I hate most about being a grown up; the expectations; the responsibility. When you’re asleep people leave you alone.
I don’t get urges at night, either. Probably because I’m with Tom. It’s hard to want to do anything else but embrace when you’re with him. He’s warm and strong and unless you want him to, he won’t let go. He’s like a security blanket, and when he falls asleep and I’m still awake I lie in bed next to him and listen to him breathe. I don’t think anything else makes me want to stay alive more than his breaths.

When Tom leaves for work the next morning he kisses me on the cheek instead of saying goodbye.
“Breakfast is on the table.” He says, stroking my hair with his soft fingertips. I’m still under the covers and half asleep, but I smile gratefully and really, that’s all that’s needed.
When I hear the front door shut behind him the first thing I do is open the draw containing my razorblades. “A romance with a razorblade”, Tom had once said, “Maybe one day you can have a romance with me.”
I smiled when I thought of that day. I’d have liked to think that he could have been my romance, instead of this cold slice of metal that I was now digging into my forearm, but I knew it would never be. Pressing harder and harder, I watched as the flow of deep red ran faster and faster. I’d never pressed so hard in my entire life and when the blood wouldn’t stop I knew there was no turning back. I didn’t mind though; I didn’t want to turn back. I’d been turning back for years and I was damn well sick of it. Dying was never something I dreamed of, but once you reach the point that you can’t bare to be alive anymore there’s not much else you can do.

Lies: Prompt 069; Lies

2008-01-07T19:31:36Z

Title: Lies
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 15
Pairing: PoynterJones
Genre: Angst?
Summary: Dougie is a compulsive liar.
A/N: Yay! I quite like this one, even if I do say so myself...
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

I’d always been good at lying. I never lied just for the sake of it, but if there was a situation where I thought the outcome would be best if I did, then it was a pretty easy thing to get away with. It just came naturally to me. If I was feeling upset and didn’t want anyone to know, I’d tell them I was fine and they wouldn’t give it a second thought. Not because they didn’t care, but because they couldn’t see any reason to think that I wasn’t. I was top in my drama class.

My secret talent became less of a virtue and more of a burden as I grew up, though. I found that the small, white lies I used to tell as a child to save people from hurt and to save myself from embarrassment became darker as each day passed. Instead of creating excuses for overdue homework I’d be making up stories of sleepovers and study sessions to go out drinking. I was only 15 when those lies became routine.

Soon I was lying to my friends on a regular basis; making up stories and rumours, causing riots and upset. No one ever suspected a thing. I’d become a genius in the mind playing field and soon enough I was lying about nearly everything. At first I didn’t think anything of it. What’s a couple of lies in this upside down world? They were nothing serious, and in a few years they’d all be forgotten anyway. In some respect, I was right, but if I couldn’t stop then, when would I?

I met him when I was 19. He was 20, going on 21, and he was gorgeous. I’d never gone for guys before but the moment I set eyes on him I knew I wanted him. I didn’t tell anyone, of course. No way. I was in my first year of University and I had a reputation to keep up. I had a close circle of friends and a list of girls waiting for me to call them. I was doing well in my studies, attending nearly every party thrown and I was a damn right God to the rest of the pupils in our halls. I couldn’t be gay. Not in their eyes, anyway.

So I lied. We started seeing each other, but I made sure that no one caught us. He didn’t go to my College so none of my friends knew who he was. He was my secret, he just didn’t know it. I didn’t mention my friends to him. I thought it would be easiest if I didn’t make a big deal out of my social life. It was easier to keep him out of it that way. I didn’t tell my parents about him, either. I met his. I went up to stay with them over Christmas and everything. We were serious.

There were times when I thought of telling him the truth. I’d never felt this way about anyone else, and I was almost certain that I was falling in love with him. But I always decided not to. What was the point? I didn’t want to cause any difficulties. We were happy and I didn’t want to change that by telling him that I was embarrassed to be his boyfriend. No. I didn’t tell him how scared I was, and I didn’t tell my friends and family that I was in love with another man. I kept both parts of my life completely separate and when I was confronted I did what I was best at; I lied.

I suppose what they say about the small things mattering most is right. I lied about almost everything, but I think it was the small lies that built up that caused the most pain in this story. I lied to Danny about what University I was attending. I didn’t want him to show up unexpectedly and ruin everything I’d been working for. I also told him that both of my parents were dead, and that I was an only child; it stopped him from pestering to meet with them. I told him that I’d had a boyfriend before and that I’d had sex with another man before. I told him that I knew what I was doing when we made love for the first time.

There was one thing, however, that I didn’t lie about. I didn’t lie when I told him that I loved him. They were probably three of the only words I said to him that weren’t complete bullshit. We’d been dating for almost a year when I said it. We were casually sprawled across his bed, watching re-runs of Scrubs, and he was laughing because of something JD said and it just kind of slipped out. “I love you” I said, looking at him in awe; he really was gorgeous; the way his dark hair flopped over into his sparkling, crystal blue eyes; the way his mouth curved into this huge grin bearing all of his straight white teeth; the freckles that littered his soft, pale skin and the creases he got round his eyes when he smiled so much that it hurt; he was a picture of beauty and in that moment I knew what I said was true.

He said it back of course. I don’t know if he meant it, but I think he did. He wasn’t the type of person that would lie about something like that. He was genuine. And he loved me back.

It wasn’t me, though. I realized that then. Nearly everything I’d told him about myself was a complete lie. My whole life was a lie. He didn’t love me, he loved the person I’d told him about; a fictional character in my deluded mind. It was too late to take it all back though. It was too late to tell the truth and start over. I’d had my chance and I’d blown it. I was too far gone to back out of my twisted fate by then.

I started cheating on him after that. I didn’t want my friends to find out that I was a fag so I covered it up by sleeping around and finally, by getting a girlfriend. Her name was Kerry. She was in my psychology class and she had long, blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. Typical bombshell. My friends approved and she was a lovely girl. I didn’t fancy her, but that was because I was in love with Danny. If I were straight I’d have been head over heals for her.

Obviously I didn’t tell Danny. He was still being kept secret from my social life, and my plan was almost fool proof. When I finished Uni we’d move to another city. Maybe even another country. We’d buy a house together, get jobs, and hopefully get married. I’d make new friends and I’d invite them to the wedding. Danny’s family would come, and I’d tell mine that I was living on my own in some other part of the country or something. It was perfect. My plan was perfect.

It didn’t really work out like that, though. Turned out that I wasn’t the only one sleeping around. Kerry had gotten bored of my lack of attention on her, and had decided to find someone else to shag whilst I was off fudge packing with Danny. I couldn’t blame her, because of the situation I was already in, but for God’s sake she could have been a bit more careful. I mean how do you explain genital warts without admitting the truth? Such a shame I didn’t notice until it was too late.

“What the fuck is this?” I screamed, marching into the bedroom and pointing to my crotch area. I knew I hadn’t caught anything off Danny because we’d barely had chance to do so recently and more importantly he loved me.
“You don’t catch stuff like this from thin air, Kerry. You catch this from sleeping around. So come on, who is it? Who are you fucking?” Spit was flying from my mouth and my cheeks were flushed a dark, crimson red. She stared back at me, half in shock and half in guilt; she didn’t know what to say.
“Just forget it.” I snarled, “Just fucking forget it.”
I slammed the door on my way out.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t care that she’d cheated on me. I didn’t give two shits if she hated my lying guts. What bothered me is that she may have jeopardised mine and Danny’s relationship. We were in love, and I’d made damn sure that nothing could possibly come between us. But like I said, you don’t catch stuff like that from thin air.

“Mmm, I missed you.” Danny mumbled into my lips, tugging on my shirt and pulling me backwards towards his bed.
“I missed you too.” I smiled into our kiss, sliding my tongue along his lower lip and gently pushing it into his hot mouth. When we reached the side of the bed Danny pulled away, turning me round and pushing me onto the soft quilt. He climbed on after me, placing his legs either side of me and straddling my hips. He leant down and attached our lips once more, stroking the side of my face as he massaged my tongue with his own.
When his hand started to wonder down to my belt buckle I froze.
“What’s wrong?” Danny sat up immediately, concern clouding his clear blue eyes as I sent him into a flustered panic. We’d never had any trouble in bed before.
“Dougie… what’s up?” He asked, almost pleading.
I didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t know what to say without telling him everything. I searched my head for all possible lies but in the end it came down to one thing; I’d fucked up.

Danny and I broke up that day. When I told him what I’d caught he removed his body from mine within seconds. He sat stiff on the edge of his bed, waiting for me to explain. He was calm like that. We sat in silence for what felt like forever. He didn’t tell me to leave, but I knew that he couldn’t stand the sight of me. “How could you?” He breathed. I couldn’t answer him. There was no excuse. No lie. What I had left was the truth, and I suppose I owed him that much.

I started from the beginning. "I’m a compulsive liar.” I stated. I told him about when I was younger; I told him about how easy I found it to lie to people; how I amused myself with rumours and tales of things that never happened; how I made my life into this exciting fairytale where everything had a purpose, a place and a lie within; how I was top of my drama class.

I told him about the first day we met. I told him how I’d felt and how I’d handled it. I told him where I really attended University; I told him about my friends and my parents; about Kerry and my reputation and the lies that circled it; I told him about the life I’d kept secret from him.

“There was one thing that I didn’t lie about.” I said. “I didn’t lie when I said I loved you, Danny. I lied about almost everything, but not that.”

It wasn’t enough though. Of course it wasn’t. How can you trust someone when all they’ve ever told you is a lie? How can you believe them when everything they stand for is false? It’s not like he loved me anyway. I’d made him believe that he did, just like I’d made him believe everything else that I lied about, but when it came down to it he couldn’t have loved me. He never knew me.

He asked me to leave after that. He asked me to leave and made sure that I knew not to contact him again. Forgiveness is something Danny was always good with, but you can only push someone so far and I drew the line long ago. I’m surprised that he even had the decency to listen to me in the first place. He didn’t interrupt me; he didn’t scream or shout, he didn’t even tell me that he hated me. But that’s just Danny for you, really; kind to the core.

I stopped lying to people after that. Telling fibs had never gotten me into trouble before, so I’d never really thought about what I was doing, who I was affecting. But it hit me hard that day; it's not what you're lying about or how many you tell; it's what they mean. And that's a lot.

Lying came easy to me, but losing Danny never stopped being hard.

A Feeling That You Cannot Miss: Part One and Two

2008-01-07T19:14:16Z

Title: A Feeling That You Cannot Miss
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Both parts
Rating: 15
Pairing: PoynterJudd with the mention of PoynterJones
Genre: Angst
Summary: When you lose someone you love you have to move on, but that doesn't mean love is forgotten.
A/N: I wrote these last summer, I think. One surrounding Dougie (third person) and one surrounding Harry (first person). Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

“I’m sorry it’s been so long. I would have made time sooner, but what with the wedding being only a week away and the venue still needing to be confirmed… there’s just been no time.”

“I know that’s not really an excuse. There’s no excuse. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s so stressful right now and I just can’t think straight anymore. I don’t think I’ve had a proper nights sleep in, well, almost a month now. I’m so tired.”

“Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I’m stressed about getting married, it’s just… I want it to be perfect. I want this day to be perfect and I am so scared that I’m going to fuck it up somehow. I don’t think I could bare it if anything went wrong.”

“Harry’s been really great these past few weeks, you know. He really has. He knows how hard this is for me; he knows this is probably the biggest step I’ll ever have to make in getting… getting over…”

He shook his head and closed his eyes, letting out a small breath before continuing,

“I’d be lying if I suggested that I’d ever be over you. I’m not, and I never will be. You’re my everything, Danny, and it doesn’t matter if you’re here or not; my heart is still yours and I’ll never love anyone the way I love you. Never.”

A small tear appeared in the corner of his crystal blue eye and he made no attempt to choke it back, but instead let it run slowly and gracefully down his pale cheek before it dripped off his chin and onto the neatly cut grass below.

“Harry knows that though. He knows that I’ll never belong to him the way that I belong to you, but he’s okay with that. He’s okay with what we’ve got, and I think I am too.” he paused, “I know that I am too. If I wasn’t then there wouldn’t be a wedding to arrange and I would have come to see you a lot sooner than today.”

“I love him, you know. I really do. Obviously he’ll never be you, but he’s the next best thing and I honestly couldn’t ask for anything more. I’d be crazy not to have fallen in love with him, I really would. He’s just amazing.” He smiled thoughtfully.

“You would have really liked him too, Danny. You’d have fancied the pants off him.” A small smile played on his soft lips as he admitted this, “He’s gorgeous, kind, funny… he’s perfect. Almost too perfect. But I love him and there’s no one else on this planet that I’d rather be getting married to. He really does amaze me.”

A small shower of rain began to glitter down from above, and Dougie found himself looking up at the sky with a thankful prayer for the heavens, because although things hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped and things would never be completely perfect, they were still pretty damn good for what they were and it sure beat the hell out of anything else.

“I so wish you could be here to see my wedding day, Dan. It’s going to be so special and… I just can’t believe you won’t be here to see it. I can’t believe you won’t be here to see anything. I just… it kills me. It really does. If there was anyone that I really wanted to be here on my wedding day it would be you, and you’re the one person who can’t. The most important and the only impossible.”

His head shook slightly, a sad smile prising his chapped lips and highlighting the sorrow within his eyes.

“There is one way you could be present for the wedding though, Danny. Harry suggested it. He suggested… he suggested that we have the wedding here, Danny.” He choked, a loud sob emitting from the depths of his throat as he tried to finish what he had come to say, “He knows how upsetting it is that you’re unable to come, and he said that he will do anything to make it that much less upsetting for me. He said that if the church agree, then we can have the wedding here. With you.”

“I know it’s not perfect” Dougie continued, “but it’s pretty damn special, right? And it’s better than you not being there at all. God dammit it’s better than you not being there at all.”

His body trembled as his shaky hands reached up, pulling at his hair in frustration, the uncontrollable emotions of hurt, resentment and pure disgust at all that life had given him, and all that it had taken away.

“I’m so angry, Danny,” He sobbed, “I really am. I just can’t believe how things turned out. It’s been 6 fucking years and I still can’t believe it. I just can’t.”

Taking in a deep breath, Dougie reached up a shivering hand to wipe away the stray tears that were now falling like sparkles with the rain.

“I still miss you, Danny. I still miss you like the very first week you left me, and I don’t think I’ve ever missed you more.”

***

Out of everything, these days are the hardest. The days that he visits him. Respect is a virtue and I admire that he holds onto such beauty, but it’s still a reminder of the only thing I’d like to forget.

He still loves him. He still loves him more than life itself and the days that he goes to visit him just remind me that we’ll never have that. I wouldn’t give him up for the world, but Christ it still hurts. I love him so much, and I know he loves me too, but not like he loved Danny. He never will.

I always thought I’d marry someone who I could call my ‘soul mate’. Someone that when I’m with the rest of the world stops and the only thing we see is each other. To some extent that’s how I feel about Dougie, but it’s not how I imagined it to be. I imagined he’d feel the same. I imagined that when he thought of love he’d think of me, and that he couldn’t even imagine living if my heart wasn’t beating there with him. And he does. He does love me. Very much, actually. But when he thinks of love he doesn’t think of me. He thinks of Danny.

There isn’t another man alive on this planet that Dougie would rather spend the rest of his life with. We’re getting married next week, and there isn’t anything either of us wants more.

I’d like to believe that, but we all know that’s not true. Dougie is happy with me, but he’ll never be as happy as he was with Danny. He lost that happiness the minute Danny died, and he’ll never find that happiness again.

I used to feel sorry for myself when I thought about this – about being second best – but I don’t feel sorry anymore. I feel hurt. Not for me, but for Dougie. He’s my world, and to know that he’ll never be completely happy just kills me inside, it really does. Because I love him, and when you love someone all you want is for them to be happy. I’m glad that we’re together, but if I had it my way it wouldn’t be me and Dougie getting married this weekend, it would be him and Danny. I’ve accepted that there’s nothing I can do about it, we both have. But that doesn’t stop it hurting, and it doesn’t stop him hoping.

We are going to get married this weekend and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together in happiness, but things will never be perfect and our love will never be eternal. But I can always hope.

No Matter What We're Doing

2008-01-07T19:03:36Z

Title: No Matter What We're Doing
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Drabble
Rating: 12
Pairing: PoynterJudd
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Dougie's exhausted. Will Harry continue to party on without him or will his heart win him over?
A/N: Just a small ball of fluff. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

“Come on, Dougie, let’s get going, eh?” Harry shrugged his shoulder gently, awakening the small, sleeping boy resting up against his side.

“What?” Dougie sat up slightly and looked at Harry, his words taking longer than usual to process in his tired mind. “No, no. It’s okay; you go party with your friends, it’s fine.” He mumbled, resting his head back on Harry’s shoulder and closing his bloodshot eyes once more.

“I can’t, Doug. Not with you on my shoulder, anyway.” Harry chuckled, smiling down at the younger boy, love sparkling through his gaze.

“Oh, sorry.” Dougie blushed, sitting up once again to give Harry enough space to get up and join the rest of his friends in the other room. “Go on, go have some fun, I’ll wait here for you.” He smiled.

“No, Dougie, it’s okay. Let’s just go home; make some hot chocolate, watch a DVD, cuddle up the couch, yeah?” Harry suggested, his smile one of comfort and understanding.

“But you’re having fun here.” Dougie replied softly, trying his best not to let his exhaustion get the better of him.

“No I’m not.” Harry laughed, “The only way I’d be having any fun this evening is if you were up and about partying with me.”

He sighed, reaching out to stroke his boyfriend’s hair, a complacent smile smothering his broad features, “But that’s obviously not happening tonight, and you know what? It doesn’t matter; this is just one single night of our lives and I wouldn’t rather anything than spend it with you, no matter what we’re doing.”

The Magic of the Drums: Poem

2008-01-07T18:58:43Z

he must know what he did
he must know

grease, scabs and dirt
i don't want to kill a dove

breathe as little as possible
eat, throw, eat and up
i care about the man in the box

drawing over scars
colouring in flesh
pen to paper and mind to blank

it's the great bullet catch.

Something Extraordinary: Poem for Ella

2008-01-07T18:46:01Z

like a candle that pours light into the deepest corners of a cave

the room glows with the warmth of her sparkling soul
like the wind that brushes through the darkest of leaves
her movements grace the earth like the sight of a rainbow

her eyes are justice when beauty is ignored

like a landscape painting that took the life-time of an artist
her being shines and stuns those that can't see
like the singing of birds before the sun has risen
her voice fills an empty forest with vibrant life

her heart is the epitome of love
this girl is something extraordinary

(L)

Love in a Letter: Prompt 029; Paper

2008-01-07T18:39:01Z

Title: Love in a Letter
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 12
Pairing: PoynterJones
Genre: Angst
Summary: "I just wanted to let you know that I'm still thinking of you. I always am."
A/N: My handwriting, yo'.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

Private Confession: Prompt 067; Confession

2008-01-07T18:22:45Z

Title: Private Confession
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 12
Pairing: Fludd the earth! (i.e. FletcherJudd)
Genre: Fluff/Angst
Summary: Tom nodded gently in understanding, not needing anything more than those two simple words to explain everything he’d ever wondered.
A/N: I am really proud of this. Like, this is the only thing I've written that I am really proud of. I wrote in over Christmas 2006. And I put a lot of effort in.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

He smiled gratefully as the thick, warm air welcomed him in from the harsh winter outside. He loved this time of year a great deal but there was something incredibly unnerving about the icy blasts of wind that stabbed at your cheeks the minute you set foot out the house.

If he’d had his own way this morning he would have stayed in bed; warm, cosy and comfortable; but he had long term arrangements to meet someone incredibly special that day and so he had, after much difficulty, managed to pull himself from his duvet in time for a shower and a quick cup of coffee.

It wasn’t until he reached his destination and smelt the strong scent of hot beverages that he realised that the 10 minutes he spent drinking coffee at home could have been sacrificed for another 10 minutes in bed, and he still would have gotten his morning refreshment. These early complaints were soon forgotten, however, as he spotted the object of his affection at the other end of the store.

Smiling shyly and releasing a shaky sigh, he made his way over to the brown haired boy sitting cross-legged in the soft red armchair in the corner of the coffee shop. As he approached his friend he looked up from his lap and smiled, their glittering eyes meeting in an awkward yet adoring stare, a hint of nervousness etching his sharp features.

He frowned at this slightly, thinking that he must have read his emotions wrong, and dismissed the idea that this boy could ever be nervous in front of anyone, let alone him. Seating himself comfortably in the chair opposite, he removed his coat and bent down to retrieve a small envelope from his bag, passing it over the table without so much as one word. Scrunching his nose in slight confusion, the boy opposite opened the envelope and pulled out a pink card with a sparkly Christmas tree decorating the front, his face erupting into a wide grin as he realised what it was.

Scanning the contents briefly he looked up, grin still apparent and a new wave of amusement covering his face.

“”P.s. I chose this card especially, as I know it’s your favourite colour”” He raised his eyebrow in astonishment, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he folded the piece of cardboard back up and slipped it into his jeans pocket.

“I should have expected this from you, but in all honestly I didn’t even think for a minute that you might get me a card at all.” He sighed, somewhat regretfully, but still smiled as the other began to speak.

“It’s Christmas, Harry, of course I was going to get you a card.” Tom beamed, eyes wondering bashfully to the table and then back up to meet Harry’s once more. “Sorry about the whole pink thing, though, I just couldn’t resist.” He grinned, cocking his head to the side and trying to figure out if he really minded or not. It was, in a strange way, their own private joke; Harry’s favourite colour wasn’t really pink but he always made a big deal out of things being ‘gay’ and Tom loved to abuse every situation he could to take the piss out of him. Harry didn’t usually mind, though; he knew it was only a bit of fun at the end of the day and Tom was sure that he secretly loved it.

“I uh, I got you a little something too.” Harry looked down at the table then, the unusual glow of nervousness now unmistakably clouding his chiseled features as a sure blush crept into his cheeks, highlighting his golden stubble. It was strange to Tom, seeing Harry like this, because although they hadn’t known each other for that long a time, they knew each other well enough and Tom had never seen this side of Harry, ever.

“Is something wrong, Harry?” Tom asked cautiously, reaching his hand over the small coffee table and placing it gently on Harry’s broad shoulder, “You seem kind of, well, embarrassed?”

Harry raised his eyes regrettably up to meet Tom’s own concerned ones, sighing dejectedly and shaking his head slightly, as if in shame.

“You know… You know the other day? When I asked you for advice on what to get my girlfriend for Christmas?” Harry was beginning to look incredibly worried now, his words shaking slightly and his vision cloudy with anxiety, “You know how you suggested that I get her lots of small gifts rather than one large one?”

“Yes.” Tom nodded, not completely sure where he was headed, “I told you to get her lots of small, special gifts that reminded you of her because then you could hardly go wrong.” He recalled their earlier conversation from the previous week, trying to figure out why Harry had brought such a topic up. It has been somewhat weird for Tom, having to give Harry advice on his love life, because it was like being given the key to a couple of French doors; he had two choices and he could see the consequences behind each decision; he either gave good advice and helped Harry with his gift problems, resulting in an even closer connection between Harry and his girlfriend and an even lower chance of Tom ever finding comfort within Harry; or he gave terrible gift advice possibly resulting in a break up which then left Tom ready to pick up the pieces, giving him but a tiny chance of receiving love from the only boy he’d ever desired it from.

In the end, of course, Tom had chosen the first door; he’d have loved even but a remote chance to get closer to Harry on another dimension, but he knew that giving Harry bad advice was the wrong way to go about it and it would only have resulted in seeing Harry upset, and that was something that Tom would desperately avoid at any costs, even if it did mean that he had to push Harry that much further away.

“Well, in the end I took your advice.” Harry took in a deep breath preparing himself for his next sentence, praying that he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life, “But, sadly, it turned out that not much reminds me of my girlfriend.”

Tom nodded, creasing his brow in concentration as he awaited the ending sentence that would unravel this peculiar conversation before his eyes.

“Turns out” Harry breathed, “that everything reminds me of you.”

Tom’s breath caught harshly in his throat as Harry presented a large, shiny bag from underneath the table and placed it carefully in front of him, a regretful smile tinting the edges of his soft pale lips. Tom bit his own lip lightly, shaking his head in disbelief before peering cautiously into the hot pink bag; his favourite colour.

The first item that Tom chose from the assortment of gifts was wrapped in a dark red tissue paper, folded over and stuck down with a cream sticker in the shape of a round love heart. Carefully pulling the sticker back and unravelling the tissue paper, Tom released a nervous, shaky laugh as he realised that the small model of a mini cooper that he’d just revealed was almost identical to the life size version that he bought only a mere few months beforehand.

After gently wrapping the model car back up, Tom placed it neatly to the side and reached his hand in to retrieve his next present. He brought out a round, squishy object wrapped in classic Christmas decoration and ripped the paper off to find a soft, furry teddy bear wearing an ‘I love The Beatles’ t-shirt. A sure grin spread over his face at this obvious referral to his favourite band, and he smiled gratefully at the boy opposite him before placing the toy down next to his first gift.

The third parcel he brought out was a small, silver box laced with sparkly ribbons and with a tiny, glittery star stuck on the lid. Tom raised his eyes to Harry’s for the go ahead and received a definite nod, before carefully untying the wrapping and lifting up the lid in anticipation. Inside was a small, silver ring with a single pink jewel embedded on the top; a perfect item for a not-so-manly man but not quite girlie enough for a woman; Harry really did appear to know him incredibly well already.

Tom gushed at the ring for a few moments, a crimson blush tinting his soft cheeks as he sucked in his lips, disbelief still etching his round features as he carefully placed it back into it’s wrapping. He then continued to pull present after present from the supporting bag, finding a variety of gifts ranging from coloured guitar plectrums to novelty toys and cartoon boxer shorts. He came across stickers and pens; sweets and nail varnish; he even came across a small box of old magazine clippings of his favourite bands and movies; each and every present that he received from Harry that day meant something. Whether it was something small from a discarded conversation or something obvious and blatant to Tom’s personality; it had some sort of meaning and relevance to the both of them, and that alone was enough to fill Tom’s heart to the brim.

The very last gift that Tom received that morning was a large, flat object presented in a somewhat different style; instead of the classic Christmas paper that he had quickly become used to, Tom found that this particular present was placed neatly inside a bubble wrap lined box, the unmistakable theme of love hearts once again lighting a small fire within him. Slowly removing the soft, velvet lid Tom removed another parcel, wrapped in a similar tissue paper to the model car he’d opened earlier, only this tissue was beautifully pink and held something extremely different.

Tom found, that within the confines of this heart, a solid yet delicate picture frame had been preserved for only two eyes; an almost forgotten photo of Harry and Tom lay neatly in the precious, sparkling boarder and Tom gasped as he recognised the image from one of the first experiences that the two boys had shared together; they’d been at a mutual friends birthday party, rather drunk and incredibly bored, and so had resorted to taking unusually funny photo’s of them pulling sloppy yet joyful faces on Harry’s new camera phone. Tom recalled that evening as uneventful and a waste of time, but it seemed that Harry had pulled the colour from a blackout and given him the memory of a lifetime in one single, silent snapshot that spoke but a thousand, love filled words.

Tears in eyes, Tom looked up from his fulfillment to meet Harry’s own shiny orbs, not quite finding the will to speak but thanking him eternally with a simple smile.

“Harry…” Tom breathed, emotion suffocating all possible sentences that he could even begin to think of forming, “This must of… this much have-“

“Don’t.” Harry stopped him mid sentence, a pleading shine in his eyes as he shook his head in sorrow, “Don’t say anything, Tom, just… Merry Christmas, yeah?” He bit his lip to stop an unwanted sob from leaving his throat and was quick to reach up and brush away the single tear that had unwillingly escaped from his eye.

Tom nodded gently in understanding, not needing anything more than those two simple words to explain everything he’d ever wondered.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” He smiled knowingly, his watery eyes matching the same sorrow that Harry’s own sparkling blue ones held. They had in fact just shared something with one another that, regrettably, no one else would ever understand or even get the chance to, but it was a known tragedy between two souls that this was as far as it would go, if not forever, then just for now. It was in fact, their own private confession, and it seemed, within sadness, that it was to stay that way until death do them part.

Some Secrets Weren't Meant To Be Told

2008-01-07T18:08:52Z

Title: Some Secrets Weren't Meant To Be Told
Author: Me, discodots
Part: Standalone
Rating: 18
Pairing: I always imagined the guy in this to be Tom, actually. There are no names though, and it's not slash.
Genre: Angst
Summary: She’d had it all planned out and her plan was fool proof; she was going to kill herself in the most painful way a person could and there was absolutely nothing he could do but stand and watch as she attempted to take her own life.
A/N: Yay, a nice angsty little piece that was, again, written in 2006. I got the title from a Fall Out Boy song, but the story doesn't actually have anything to do with it.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

He’d been seated in the same position for over four hours now. His body was almost lifeless, hunched over with his head resting firmly in his cold hands. If it weren’t so dark in the room then you would have been able to see the salty liquid seeping through the cracks in between his trembling fingers, but the light was off and the curtains drawn, leaving the room cold and lifeless just like the resting bodies within it. The only sound that could be heard within the walls of the bedroom was the muffled sobs escaping from his dry lips and the steady breathing from the unconscious figure lying on the bed next to him.
The steady breathing from the unconscious figure lying on the bed next to him. That’s why he was here; that’s why he was still awake at this hour, trying his best to keep his swollen eyes open; to make sure that her breathing stayed steady; to make sure that she was still alive.
Slowly and painfully he began to sit up straighter in his chair, pulling his hands away from his pale face and biting his bottom lip to keep from crying out in frustration. He looked at her fragile frame, carefully placed on her back with the covers pulled up to her waist, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took in. He leaned over slightly, wiping a cold bead of sweat from her damp forehead, and then leaned back in his chair again, sighing to himself as a fresh tear slipped down his left cheek.
She was so beautiful. Her hair hadn’t been washed in weeks and her skin was yellow and sticky with lack of nutrition, but to him she was still the most beautiful being in the whole world. Her face was pale and she had become so thin and boney that you could almost see the veins as they pumped the blood around her dying body, but at least this meant she was still alive. For how long, he wasn’t sure, but at least he knew she was still alive as he watched her forcing breath after breath, in and out of her collapsing lungs.
He’d tried so hard to get her to stop. He’d tried so hard to get her to stop doing this to herself, but it hadn’t worked. She was determined to believe that this was the only way out and however much he tried to tell her otherwise, she’d never listen. Now she’d reduced herself to this. She was so weak that she couldn’t move her own muscles; she was hardly able to breathe for God’s sake. She couldn’t walk to go to the bathroom and she refused to get help which meant that she was trapped in a bed of her own excretion. Not that she had anything to excrete, anyway. She hadn’t eaten anything in days as she could no longer swallow, and before that she’d just throw up everything she forced down.
He’d tried everything he could to get her to come to her senses, but she’d been driven over the edge and wouldn’t let him do anything to help, nor would she let him tell anyone what was going on inside this apartment. She’d had it all planned out and her plan was fool proof; she was going to kill herself in the most painful way a person could and there was absolutely nothing he could do but stand and watch as she attempted to take her own life.
He let out a chocked sob as his hand went straight to cover his mouth, fresh tears flooding down his face and dropping on the cold floor beneath him. Realization that she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer set in and he realized that he’d probably never get the chance to say goodbye properly. Could she even open her own eyes anymore? Was she so weak that the only thing keeping her alive was her forced intake of the stale air that surrounded her?
“Oh God” He whimpered, reaching out to take her lifeless hand in his own, “Don’t leave me, not yet. Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded with her but got no response, as he knew he wouldn’t. He could still see and hear her shallow breathing, but he knew it wouldn’t be long now. The breaths were getting shorter and shallower as each painful second passed, and he was sure she’d be dead within minutes.
He began gently rubbing her boney fingers with his own, trying to stimulate some sort of response, but again he got none. It was useless. This whole situation was completely useless; nothing was going to bring her back now. She’d gone too far and her plan had succeeded; she was as good as dead and it was too late to do anything about it now.
His tears had dried now as he’d accepted the situation and the fact that there was nothing left to do, there was no hope left. He carefully leant over her small body and placed a gentle, loving kiss on her now ice cold cheek, a sort of good by gesture.
“I love you.” He whispered, one last single tear falling from his eyes. He watched in silence as her chest finally stopped its movement, her frail muscles stiffening as her heart finally stopped beating. Releasing her hand from his desperate grip, he quietly stood up from his chair and walked silently across the room to the door, turning back only once to take one last look at her still frame, lying in the same position it had been for days.
As if he were a ghost, he lifelessly slipped out of the apartment and stepped out into the chilling air of the silent street. He took one last look at the building that he knew so well before slowly walking off into the night, never looking back at what he’d had to leave behind, but never forgetting his last mistake.

Some secrets weren’t meant to be told.

The Poynter and The Jones

2008-01-07T17:50:00Z

Title: The Poynter and The Jones
Author: Me, discodots
Part: All parts.
Rating: 15
Pairing: PoynterJones
Genre: Fluff/Angst
Summary: The story of Dougie and Danny.
A/N: Yay! This was the first McFly slash story that I ever wrote, dating back to 2006, I do believe. It's quite long and cheesy and the writing is quite basic...but it was my first and it's the only chaptered story I've ever managed to finish, so I'm proud. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Fanfiction, guys. Go look it up if you don't know what it means. :]

http://thelunchclub.myfreeforum.org/about82.html

(because it's too long to post in a LJ entry)

Enjoy!