Even Angels Fall - Fletcher/Jones - Standalone
Title: Even Angels Fall
Author: valquiris
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Genre: Angst.
Summary: But then my hand falls empty on the sheets, and I suddenly remember everything, tears already pooling around my eyes.
A/N: Alright, I had this idea forever, after watching “Love Story,” actually, and I thought it would be perfect for my second prompt for the prompt challenge, which you will find under the cut. I don’t think I gave the idea much justice, though, ‘cause I wrote all of this last night. But still, I’m satisfied with the outcome. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own McFly in any way.
“I'd like to bury something precious in every place I've been happy, so that when I'm old and ugly and miserable I can come back and dig it up, and remember.”
- Brideshead Revisted
My eyes slowly open, my eyelids fluttering to drive away the sleepiness still clinging to them. Fully open, I look at the ceiling and admire the way the sunlight shines on the white through the window, golden and gleaming, and I always pretend that strip of light was my own private sun. Our own private sun.
My hand automatically moves to the other side of the bed, and I anticipate the feeling of your chest rising up and down as you sleep.
I was always the first one to wake up, with you coming home in the middle of the night exhausted from work and slipping in bed, taking me in your arms under the covers, the moment you kick your shoes off. I know this because I wait for you to come home every night; I pretend to sleep and bask in the feeling of the warmth and love your body gives off. Sometimes, I would snuggle closer, and I would wait for you to return the action. You always do, but what I love most about it is you tighten your embrace at the same time. Only then would I finally let myself drift off to sleep.
But then my hand falls empty on the sheets, and I suddenly remember everything, tears already pooling around my eyes.
It has been a week since you passed away, but everything still burns clearly in the back of my head, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. I didn’t want to remember you that way; I wanted to remember you as the brown-haired, blue-eyed, goofy-smiling man I first fell in love with. But the sight of you lying on the hospital bed, emaciated from the leukemia claiming your body with each second that passed, tubes stuck all around your arms and in your nose, the IV sitting in the corner mocking your very existence, was so strong, it took up the whole of my mind, leaving no room for the happy memories that we shared.
I get up, dragging my hand along the area you’re supposed to occupy, and I slide off the bed. I kneel on the floor and slip my hands in the dark space underneath, my fingers carefully tapping its way through the neglected objects I never took the time to throw away. Pushing aside a small, wooden cart, I finally find what I’m looking for, and I slowly pull it out.
I set the large box on the bed after dusting it off, and I take the spot next to it. Too much dust for a week, I think as I lightly shake my head. I wipe my cheeks with the side of my fist and I open the lid with the other.
It was our box; the box we kept our memories in. That was why we named it the “Memory Box.” We put everything in it: countless photos, movie and concert tickets, favorite shirts (at first I told you it was a bad idea, but you convinced me otherwise), love notes from school, withering bouquets of flowers… After you passed, however, I took the time to isolate a portion of the box, and in that spot, I put in your hospital tags, wrappers of candy bars you ate during your stay, and the origami tiger you made me when I started crying in despair. I kept these things just in case you didn’t make it, but I wanted to throw them away at the same time, telling myself that you would, and all of these things wouldn’t be of any significance whatsoever.
My fingers reach first for the stack of pictures on the far corner, and, resting my back on the headboard, I relive the moments they hold inside.
The first I remember clearly: it’s of me sitting on the kitchen table with an angry look on my face. It’s not at all recent, but what happened in it felt like it. It was the day I found out you had leukemia. You’ve known for quite some time, for about a month or so, I remember, but you never took the time to tell me. In the hospital, you told me you didn’t want me to worry, that I would take it better if I just let everything unfold. Of course, you were wrong. It would have mattered if I knew earlier or later; if I had known earlier, then I could have given myself time to accept it, and I remember snapping at you and running off into the kitchen when you tried to pull me into a hug. How I regret that decision now…
Skipping some, I stop when I see one of us in the café, you pressing a spoonful of ice cream against my lips, Harry making a silly face between us. I remember Dougie taking this one; it was our two-year anniversary, a month before the first picture was taken, and you took me to the new café that had just opened down the street. Harry and Dougie turned up at the place after we ordered, carrying a bouquet of flowers that you admitted to have forgotten to give me. They left after we took some pictures, and we spent the rest of the day there, talking about random subjects, sharing laughs too many to count.
I wipe my cheeks once again before continuing, not wanting to ruin the photos with my tears, and the sound of thunder lets me know that it has been raining for quite some time now.
My fingers stop at one of us at my birthday, right before our first anniversary, your hands wrapped around my waist from behind, your chin resting on my shoulder, your trademark silly smile on your face. How I miss your smile… It’s warm and inviting, and it never fails to make everyone smile with you. To think I’ll never get the chance to see it again in real life; the way your jaw moves to the side, making your face adorably lopsided, and how your tongue sticks out childishly on one side. My heart constricts at the thought, and I quickly try to shake it away. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t like looking at the pictures; your smile in them are just cheap imitations of the real thing.
I go on, my eyes glazing over the more minor ones, and I stop when I see one of us kissing beside a lamppost. It was the day you asked me to be your boyfriend, and I remember feeling so exhilarated that my response caused you to jump a bit. We asked a passerby to take the picture, and she happily accepted. The rest of the day we spent in your place, where we watched loads of horror films and comedy shows. That was when you told me you would always be there no matter what, and I remember yelling at you at your funeral about how you made promises you couldn’t keep. Harry and Dougie had to drag me away and console me when your mother fell to the floor and cursed at God for taking you away from her. I felt the same way, and our cries filled the entire church in no time, echoing indifferently for everyone to hear.
I feel my vision slipping out of focus, because everything has suddenly gone blurry, but I realize the next second that it was the tears hugging the corners of my eyes. They rolled relentlessly down my cheeks, for the memory of your funeral had struck my heart like a stabbing knife.
You were dressed in your most handsome suit, your hair combed to perfection, your pale cheeks and lips artificially tinted with pink to make it appear as though you were only sleeping. But I, as well as everybody else, knew differently.
You weren’t sleeping. You won’t wake up the next day and kiss me in the light our sun like you always do. You won’t take the time to make me breakfast when I didn’t feel up to it. You won’t hold me close when the night falls as always. No. You’ll stay under the ground for all eternity, leaving me so empty it hurts.
The door opens and I snap my head to Harry and Dougie standing under the doorsill, Dougie carrying a tray of food. After you left, I lost all interest in eating-in doing anything, really, but they wouldn’t have it, so everyday they brought the food to me and stayed until I ate every last bite.
Dougie sets the food on the drawer without warning and runs up to me, Harry following shortly afterwards.
The suddenness of their actions unnerve me, and I could only stare as Dougie snatches the pictures out of my hands and stuffs them back into the box, closing the lid with force.
“What’d you do that for?” I ask, astonished by the look on his and Harry’s faces. Dougie drags the box away from me, but I throw myself onto it, securing my arms around the sides, pulling it away from his grasp. “No! Give it back!” But Dougie was much too strong for my current state, and as I feel Harry’s arms come around my waist to hoist me back, I know I was defeated.
“No, Tom! Dougie, take it away! Quick!” I hear Harry say this, and I see Dougie tearing my arms off the box and lifting it off, dropping it against the drawer just under the tray. I cry after it, screaming, “Give it back! Give it back!” while my hands try to unclasp Harry’s hold on me. “Why are you doing this?”
“Tom, you have to let him go,” Dougie says as he makes his way to me, and I shake my head furiously in rebellion, screaming “No! No! No!”
They don’t understand what I feel. They have no idea how hard it is for me to you go, and telling me over and over again had no effect on me whatsoever. It never has. Telling me to let you go was like telling an electron never to bond with a proton; something one just cannot do.
All of a sudden, I feel angry. But to my surprise, it’s not at Harry for holding me back, or Dougie for separating me from the box. I’m angry at you. And I don’t hesitate to articulate it through my sobs, not caring if everyone in the world could hear me. I want them to hear me. I want to let everyone know my sorrow, and that somehow in the middle of it all, you would hear it too.
“How dare he!” I cry, looking at Dougie’s surprised expression. “How dare he promise me that he would never leave me! How dare he promise that he would always be there when he knew bloody well he couldn’t! How dare he promise me all those things when he knew he couldn’t keep them! Why didn’t he tell me before that he was ill? How was I able to prepare myself when the time came? Did he just expect me to get over it and move on? How dare he! How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing he can’t be there with me? How-”
I feel my face being pressed on Harry’s chest, and I know immediately that I’ve been pulled into a hug of comfort. I try to push myself away, but he pulls me closer, his embrace tightening as I thrash about. After one final attempt, I feel my body give out, and I can do nothing else but to collapse on him, sobbing uncontrollably on his chest, choking on all the things I wanted to scream at you.
Dougie rubs my back in consolation as Harry shushes me, cradling me like an infant having a bad day, and I surrender to them, having no more strength to fight back.
You’re not coming back.
No matter how much I pray, how much I scream, how much I cry, you won’t. And I know that. I just don’t want to admit it to myself. I still love you, and try as I may, I can never bring myself to let you go. It’s impossible. Even the knowledge of living in pain can’t discourage me. I’ll gladly spend every waking moment of my life hurting if that means I can continue reliving all the precious moments rather than pretending they never happened. There will never be another you. There will never be another person who makes me feel like the world revolves around me, like I’m the most significant person in the whole universe. No one will ever love me as much as you did, and I will never love anyone as much I love you. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to have to give it time. Time heals all wounds, that’s what they say, and that’s how I get by every day without you here.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Harry reassures me, and with those words, I sob harder. I feel Dougie’s arms wrap around my waist, just above Harry’s, and I feel him press his cheek against my back.
You may not be here physically with me right now, but I know you’re watching over me up there in heaven, and as the rain pours outside, I know you’re out there crying with me. I know you’ll visit me one day, be it tomorrow, a week from now, or ten years from now, and I’ll be waiting with open arms. Even angels fall, and I know you’ll gladly fall just so I can see you one last time.
Author: valquiris
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Genre: Angst.
Summary: But then my hand falls empty on the sheets, and I suddenly remember everything, tears already pooling around my eyes.
A/N: Alright, I had this idea forever, after watching “Love Story,” actually, and I thought it would be perfect for my second prompt for the prompt challenge, which you will find under the cut. I don’t think I gave the idea much justice, though, ‘cause I wrote all of this last night. But still, I’m satisfied with the outcome. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own McFly in any way.
“I'd like to bury something precious in every place I've been happy, so that when I'm old and ugly and miserable I can come back and dig it up, and remember.”
- Brideshead Revisted
My eyes slowly open, my eyelids fluttering to drive away the sleepiness still clinging to them. Fully open, I look at the ceiling and admire the way the sunlight shines on the white through the window, golden and gleaming, and I always pretend that strip of light was my own private sun. Our own private sun.
My hand automatically moves to the other side of the bed, and I anticipate the feeling of your chest rising up and down as you sleep.
I was always the first one to wake up, with you coming home in the middle of the night exhausted from work and slipping in bed, taking me in your arms under the covers, the moment you kick your shoes off. I know this because I wait for you to come home every night; I pretend to sleep and bask in the feeling of the warmth and love your body gives off. Sometimes, I would snuggle closer, and I would wait for you to return the action. You always do, but what I love most about it is you tighten your embrace at the same time. Only then would I finally let myself drift off to sleep.
But then my hand falls empty on the sheets, and I suddenly remember everything, tears already pooling around my eyes.
It has been a week since you passed away, but everything still burns clearly in the back of my head, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. I didn’t want to remember you that way; I wanted to remember you as the brown-haired, blue-eyed, goofy-smiling man I first fell in love with. But the sight of you lying on the hospital bed, emaciated from the leukemia claiming your body with each second that passed, tubes stuck all around your arms and in your nose, the IV sitting in the corner mocking your very existence, was so strong, it took up the whole of my mind, leaving no room for the happy memories that we shared.
I get up, dragging my hand along the area you’re supposed to occupy, and I slide off the bed. I kneel on the floor and slip my hands in the dark space underneath, my fingers carefully tapping its way through the neglected objects I never took the time to throw away. Pushing aside a small, wooden cart, I finally find what I’m looking for, and I slowly pull it out.
I set the large box on the bed after dusting it off, and I take the spot next to it. Too much dust for a week, I think as I lightly shake my head. I wipe my cheeks with the side of my fist and I open the lid with the other.
It was our box; the box we kept our memories in. That was why we named it the “Memory Box.” We put everything in it: countless photos, movie and concert tickets, favorite shirts (at first I told you it was a bad idea, but you convinced me otherwise), love notes from school, withering bouquets of flowers… After you passed, however, I took the time to isolate a portion of the box, and in that spot, I put in your hospital tags, wrappers of candy bars you ate during your stay, and the origami tiger you made me when I started crying in despair. I kept these things just in case you didn’t make it, but I wanted to throw them away at the same time, telling myself that you would, and all of these things wouldn’t be of any significance whatsoever.
My fingers reach first for the stack of pictures on the far corner, and, resting my back on the headboard, I relive the moments they hold inside.
The first I remember clearly: it’s of me sitting on the kitchen table with an angry look on my face. It’s not at all recent, but what happened in it felt like it. It was the day I found out you had leukemia. You’ve known for quite some time, for about a month or so, I remember, but you never took the time to tell me. In the hospital, you told me you didn’t want me to worry, that I would take it better if I just let everything unfold. Of course, you were wrong. It would have mattered if I knew earlier or later; if I had known earlier, then I could have given myself time to accept it, and I remember snapping at you and running off into the kitchen when you tried to pull me into a hug. How I regret that decision now…
Skipping some, I stop when I see one of us in the café, you pressing a spoonful of ice cream against my lips, Harry making a silly face between us. I remember Dougie taking this one; it was our two-year anniversary, a month before the first picture was taken, and you took me to the new café that had just opened down the street. Harry and Dougie turned up at the place after we ordered, carrying a bouquet of flowers that you admitted to have forgotten to give me. They left after we took some pictures, and we spent the rest of the day there, talking about random subjects, sharing laughs too many to count.
I wipe my cheeks once again before continuing, not wanting to ruin the photos with my tears, and the sound of thunder lets me know that it has been raining for quite some time now.
My fingers stop at one of us at my birthday, right before our first anniversary, your hands wrapped around my waist from behind, your chin resting on my shoulder, your trademark silly smile on your face. How I miss your smile… It’s warm and inviting, and it never fails to make everyone smile with you. To think I’ll never get the chance to see it again in real life; the way your jaw moves to the side, making your face adorably lopsided, and how your tongue sticks out childishly on one side. My heart constricts at the thought, and I quickly try to shake it away. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t like looking at the pictures; your smile in them are just cheap imitations of the real thing.
I go on, my eyes glazing over the more minor ones, and I stop when I see one of us kissing beside a lamppost. It was the day you asked me to be your boyfriend, and I remember feeling so exhilarated that my response caused you to jump a bit. We asked a passerby to take the picture, and she happily accepted. The rest of the day we spent in your place, where we watched loads of horror films and comedy shows. That was when you told me you would always be there no matter what, and I remember yelling at you at your funeral about how you made promises you couldn’t keep. Harry and Dougie had to drag me away and console me when your mother fell to the floor and cursed at God for taking you away from her. I felt the same way, and our cries filled the entire church in no time, echoing indifferently for everyone to hear.
I feel my vision slipping out of focus, because everything has suddenly gone blurry, but I realize the next second that it was the tears hugging the corners of my eyes. They rolled relentlessly down my cheeks, for the memory of your funeral had struck my heart like a stabbing knife.
You were dressed in your most handsome suit, your hair combed to perfection, your pale cheeks and lips artificially tinted with pink to make it appear as though you were only sleeping. But I, as well as everybody else, knew differently.
You weren’t sleeping. You won’t wake up the next day and kiss me in the light our sun like you always do. You won’t take the time to make me breakfast when I didn’t feel up to it. You won’t hold me close when the night falls as always. No. You’ll stay under the ground for all eternity, leaving me so empty it hurts.
The door opens and I snap my head to Harry and Dougie standing under the doorsill, Dougie carrying a tray of food. After you left, I lost all interest in eating-in doing anything, really, but they wouldn’t have it, so everyday they brought the food to me and stayed until I ate every last bite.
Dougie sets the food on the drawer without warning and runs up to me, Harry following shortly afterwards.
The suddenness of their actions unnerve me, and I could only stare as Dougie snatches the pictures out of my hands and stuffs them back into the box, closing the lid with force.
“What’d you do that for?” I ask, astonished by the look on his and Harry’s faces. Dougie drags the box away from me, but I throw myself onto it, securing my arms around the sides, pulling it away from his grasp. “No! Give it back!” But Dougie was much too strong for my current state, and as I feel Harry’s arms come around my waist to hoist me back, I know I was defeated.
“No, Tom! Dougie, take it away! Quick!” I hear Harry say this, and I see Dougie tearing my arms off the box and lifting it off, dropping it against the drawer just under the tray. I cry after it, screaming, “Give it back! Give it back!” while my hands try to unclasp Harry’s hold on me. “Why are you doing this?”
“Tom, you have to let him go,” Dougie says as he makes his way to me, and I shake my head furiously in rebellion, screaming “No! No! No!”
They don’t understand what I feel. They have no idea how hard it is for me to you go, and telling me over and over again had no effect on me whatsoever. It never has. Telling me to let you go was like telling an electron never to bond with a proton; something one just cannot do.
All of a sudden, I feel angry. But to my surprise, it’s not at Harry for holding me back, or Dougie for separating me from the box. I’m angry at you. And I don’t hesitate to articulate it through my sobs, not caring if everyone in the world could hear me. I want them to hear me. I want to let everyone know my sorrow, and that somehow in the middle of it all, you would hear it too.
“How dare he!” I cry, looking at Dougie’s surprised expression. “How dare he promise me that he would never leave me! How dare he promise that he would always be there when he knew bloody well he couldn’t! How dare he promise me all those things when he knew he couldn’t keep them! Why didn’t he tell me before that he was ill? How was I able to prepare myself when the time came? Did he just expect me to get over it and move on? How dare he! How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing he can’t be there with me? How-”
I feel my face being pressed on Harry’s chest, and I know immediately that I’ve been pulled into a hug of comfort. I try to push myself away, but he pulls me closer, his embrace tightening as I thrash about. After one final attempt, I feel my body give out, and I can do nothing else but to collapse on him, sobbing uncontrollably on his chest, choking on all the things I wanted to scream at you.
Dougie rubs my back in consolation as Harry shushes me, cradling me like an infant having a bad day, and I surrender to them, having no more strength to fight back.
You’re not coming back.
No matter how much I pray, how much I scream, how much I cry, you won’t. And I know that. I just don’t want to admit it to myself. I still love you, and try as I may, I can never bring myself to let you go. It’s impossible. Even the knowledge of living in pain can’t discourage me. I’ll gladly spend every waking moment of my life hurting if that means I can continue reliving all the precious moments rather than pretending they never happened. There will never be another you. There will never be another person who makes me feel like the world revolves around me, like I’m the most significant person in the whole universe. No one will ever love me as much as you did, and I will never love anyone as much I love you. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to have to give it time. Time heals all wounds, that’s what they say, and that’s how I get by every day without you here.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Harry reassures me, and with those words, I sob harder. I feel Dougie’s arms wrap around my waist, just above Harry’s, and I feel him press his cheek against my back.
You may not be here physically with me right now, but I know you’re watching over me up there in heaven, and as the rain pours outside, I know you’re out there crying with me. I know you’ll visit me one day, be it tomorrow, a week from now, or ten years from now, and I’ll be waiting with open arms. Even angels fall, and I know you’ll gladly fall just so I can see you one last time.