(no subject)
Title: My Old Friend
Author: E*A
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Sam [The Bravery]
Summary: Sam and John go out for drinks, but John wonders if Sam's honest mistake really was alcohol-induced.
Disclaimer: Not true and it never happened. I don't know or own.
It happened long ago. So long ago. Back when his hair was long and lighter. It was, however and thankfully, after the dreads and after the demise of Skabba the Hut. We sat at a bar somewhere in Manhattan nursing bottles of beer and vodka shots. He was hunched over the counter and I sat straight, trying to avoid whatever unabashed stare he was shooting my direction.
Sam always made me so uncomfortable. He was such a talker and sometimes he could just say every tiny personal thing that ever happened to him, and then sometimes, he’d just stay quiet and stare and expect something.
What he was expecting, I’ll never know.
I had thought about asking him about the things going through his head, but I had done that once, years back, and he got so mad. Asked me something about what rights I had to ask him such a thing. He wasn’t drunk or anything, it was just Sam. He could get so angry when someone would try and get too close to him.
So, anyway, he was staring and me, and neither of us were speaking. My tongue was so drenched in alcohol it could barely form a coherent sentence and Sam was half past drunk and drinking again.
“How’s Luna?” He asked. It was sort of a drawl and I could tell he was bored with the question before I even answered it.
“We broke up.”
His spine straightened and his glass was, for the first time that night, left on the wooden bar. “Really? You didn’t just, like, leave her?”
I sighed loudly and his eyes were left to stare at me while I let mine roam around the small room, looking for something that would aid in a subject change. I knew he was right.
I completely up and left Luna. It was a four month romance that I ended the night before on her doorstep after dinner with her parents.
“Well?”
“Well?” I asked aimlessly.
His back arched over the back of the chair as he stretched. “I knew it. People just don’t mean anything to you, John.”
“Jesus, you make me sound narcissistic, Sam.”
He pinched his beer between his index and thumb and shook it at the bartender. “It’s not such a bad thing. I wish I could be so unattached.”
Those eyes were back on me. I looked at him briefly and nodded indifferently. “So,” I said, signaling a subject change. “You got a job yet?”
The bartender traded Sam beer for cash. “Yes.”
“Really?”
“I’m a professional bum,” he raised his bottle to me and smiled slightly. “I still have my inheritance.”
“You can’t live off that money forever.”
“Sure.” His voice was unmoved and I wanted to ask him just how much money he had except that I knew it was a rude question.
He had sort of dropped off the radar after his grandma died. When his parents were in and out of his life, she was there for him. Now his parents were pretty much out of his life, and she wasn’t there. From what I heard from friends and kids in the scene, he was couch surfing, collecting stories, and plotting his great arrival.
I wanted to ask him about that great arrival, but I knew he’d only back away.
“I like this new music,” he said in that drawl again. “I like Interpol and I like the Strokes. I like their shows.”
“I can see,” I said, eyeing the bands on his arms that marked another night in the pit.
“Sometimes, you know, sometimes I miss Skabba.”
“Me, too.”
“I miss having brothers.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” his voice was shallow and for a moment I saw some emotion register in his eyes, but he closed them quickly and waited for his eyelids to erase it all. I stopped my wondering eyes and let them focus on him for a moment.
“Don’t look at me that way,” he ordered. My eyes continued to scan at his command. “I’m fine. I just sometimes feel like I’m asleep.” I let my silence press him for more information. “I just miss having friends like you, John.”
“I’m still your friend, Sam. We still talk. I’m always here.” I gently patted him on the back and he sunk into the bar a little more. I wondered when the last time someone hugged him was.
“Last call, gents,” the bartended said.
Sam and I exchanged looks, left a tip, and walked out into the cold winter air. I zipped my coat up and knotted my scarf while he let his hands dig deep into his pockets for warmth. He didn’t have a coat. I wondered how he was going to survive a Manhattan winter.
“Let me walk you home, Sam,” I said, putting my arm around the shorter man. He nodded and we started out on the 20 minute walk. We were both quiet the whole time, he was shivering and his teeth were the only noise outside the passing taxis and buses. We arrived at his friend’s apartment just in time; any longer he would have lost a limb to frost bite.
“You call me, okay?” I told asked, knowing he’d forget in the morning and I wouldn’t hear from him for another couple weeks.
“Okay, I will, John.” He let his head nod. I gave him a hug and he took his hands out of their warmth to embrace me. “Thanks.”
We pulled back and looked at each other, hands resting on the other’s shoulders. He leaned in close and kissed me softly on the lips.
I pulled away and his buried his face deep in his hands. “I’m, god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, John. Fuck. It was, sorry, it was a mistake, John, I’m…” his voice trailed off as he backed towards the door. “I’m going to, I’m going inside. I’m sorry, John. Sorry.” He fumbled with the door and walked inside.
Sam left me standing in the cold on the step wondering what just happened. I turned and walked slowly down the stairs and into the night, wondering if that kiss really was an honest mistake or if it was something more.
Author: E*A
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Sam [The Bravery]
Summary: Sam and John go out for drinks, but John wonders if Sam's honest mistake really was alcohol-induced.
Disclaimer: Not true and it never happened. I don't know or own.
It happened long ago. So long ago. Back when his hair was long and lighter. It was, however and thankfully, after the dreads and after the demise of Skabba the Hut. We sat at a bar somewhere in Manhattan nursing bottles of beer and vodka shots. He was hunched over the counter and I sat straight, trying to avoid whatever unabashed stare he was shooting my direction.
Sam always made me so uncomfortable. He was such a talker and sometimes he could just say every tiny personal thing that ever happened to him, and then sometimes, he’d just stay quiet and stare and expect something.
What he was expecting, I’ll never know.
I had thought about asking him about the things going through his head, but I had done that once, years back, and he got so mad. Asked me something about what rights I had to ask him such a thing. He wasn’t drunk or anything, it was just Sam. He could get so angry when someone would try and get too close to him.
So, anyway, he was staring and me, and neither of us were speaking. My tongue was so drenched in alcohol it could barely form a coherent sentence and Sam was half past drunk and drinking again.
“How’s Luna?” He asked. It was sort of a drawl and I could tell he was bored with the question before I even answered it.
“We broke up.”
His spine straightened and his glass was, for the first time that night, left on the wooden bar. “Really? You didn’t just, like, leave her?”
I sighed loudly and his eyes were left to stare at me while I let mine roam around the small room, looking for something that would aid in a subject change. I knew he was right.
I completely up and left Luna. It was a four month romance that I ended the night before on her doorstep after dinner with her parents.
“Well?”
“Well?” I asked aimlessly.
His back arched over the back of the chair as he stretched. “I knew it. People just don’t mean anything to you, John.”
“Jesus, you make me sound narcissistic, Sam.”
He pinched his beer between his index and thumb and shook it at the bartender. “It’s not such a bad thing. I wish I could be so unattached.”
Those eyes were back on me. I looked at him briefly and nodded indifferently. “So,” I said, signaling a subject change. “You got a job yet?”
The bartender traded Sam beer for cash. “Yes.”
“Really?”
“I’m a professional bum,” he raised his bottle to me and smiled slightly. “I still have my inheritance.”
“You can’t live off that money forever.”
“Sure.” His voice was unmoved and I wanted to ask him just how much money he had except that I knew it was a rude question.
He had sort of dropped off the radar after his grandma died. When his parents were in and out of his life, she was there for him. Now his parents were pretty much out of his life, and she wasn’t there. From what I heard from friends and kids in the scene, he was couch surfing, collecting stories, and plotting his great arrival.
I wanted to ask him about that great arrival, but I knew he’d only back away.
“I like this new music,” he said in that drawl again. “I like Interpol and I like the Strokes. I like their shows.”
“I can see,” I said, eyeing the bands on his arms that marked another night in the pit.
“Sometimes, you know, sometimes I miss Skabba.”
“Me, too.”
“I miss having brothers.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” his voice was shallow and for a moment I saw some emotion register in his eyes, but he closed them quickly and waited for his eyelids to erase it all. I stopped my wondering eyes and let them focus on him for a moment.
“Don’t look at me that way,” he ordered. My eyes continued to scan at his command. “I’m fine. I just sometimes feel like I’m asleep.” I let my silence press him for more information. “I just miss having friends like you, John.”
“I’m still your friend, Sam. We still talk. I’m always here.” I gently patted him on the back and he sunk into the bar a little more. I wondered when the last time someone hugged him was.
“Last call, gents,” the bartended said.
Sam and I exchanged looks, left a tip, and walked out into the cold winter air. I zipped my coat up and knotted my scarf while he let his hands dig deep into his pockets for warmth. He didn’t have a coat. I wondered how he was going to survive a Manhattan winter.
“Let me walk you home, Sam,” I said, putting my arm around the shorter man. He nodded and we started out on the 20 minute walk. We were both quiet the whole time, he was shivering and his teeth were the only noise outside the passing taxis and buses. We arrived at his friend’s apartment just in time; any longer he would have lost a limb to frost bite.
“You call me, okay?” I told asked, knowing he’d forget in the morning and I wouldn’t hear from him for another couple weeks.
“Okay, I will, John.” He let his head nod. I gave him a hug and he took his hands out of their warmth to embrace me. “Thanks.”
We pulled back and looked at each other, hands resting on the other’s shoulders. He leaned in close and kissed me softly on the lips.
I pulled away and his buried his face deep in his hands. “I’m, god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, John. Fuck. It was, sorry, it was a mistake, John, I’m…” his voice trailed off as he backed towards the door. “I’m going to, I’m going inside. I’m sorry, John. Sorry.” He fumbled with the door and walked inside.
Sam left me standing in the cold on the step wondering what just happened. I turned and walked slowly down the stairs and into the night, wondering if that kiss really was an honest mistake or if it was something more.