The Way to Here -- Bright/Ephram, PG
Title: The Way to Here
Author: Kay Deluca (untappedbeauty)
Pairing: Bright/Ephram
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true in any way, shape, or form.
Author's note: My response to lalejandra's Everwood, Summer 2004 challenge. For hypertwink, who wanted Bright/Ephram, Bright lost in the big city, and R/NC-17. Unfortunately, there's no getting it on in this fic, but I managed the other two. I'm sorry it's late, and I'm afraid it might not be quite what you hoped for, but I hope you like it nonetheless, Glenn. Exactly 900 words long.
The Way to Here, by Kay Deluca
For the span of time between leaving the bus station and boarding the plane to New York, Ephram Brown was perilously close to hating Amy Abbott. Before he found her on board, sun at her back and hopeful smile on her lips, all he could think was that he was glad he'd chosen New York over her. That he was tired of Amy jerking him around, always having to have things her way. That her brother cared more about him than she did, because at least Bright had shown up at the bus station to see Ephram off. And that, quite honestly, Bright would be a lot easier to be in a relationship with, anyway.
The last had been an unsettling realization, one he would have liked to forget. Instead, it stuck in his mind, making it that much harder to ease his misgivings toward Amy. Somehow, no matter how much he wished it had, the fact that she had been waiting for him on the plane didn't change that.
***
There was a guy in the Julliard dorms who reminded Ephram of Bright. It was only for a moment, though, and it wasn't a personality similarity -- Ephram hadn't even heard the guy speak, and he couldn't quite imagine anyone else pulling off Bright's balance between dumb jock and surprisingly insightful observer of human nature, anyway -- but a physical resemblance. He saw the guy on his third day in New York, when he caught a glimpse of tall and broad and curly-haired down the hall before the guy turned the corner and left Ephram staring dumbly in his wake, key poised at his door, heart racing at the split-second shock of thinking that Bright had followed him to New York for some reason.
"What is it?" Amy asked, following his gaze.
"No one. I mean, nothing," Ephram replied, and unlocked the door.
He didn't see that guy again, so he decided to write it off as a hallucination and forget it had happened. It was more difficult than he would have liked.
***
Mr. Hodgeson was a stoop-shouldered scrap of a man with a receding hairline and a perpetual squint that, coupled with a pasty complexion, suggested a lot of time spent hunched over a keyboard. Had Ephram seen the instructor out of his element, he would have sooner guessed it was a keyboard made out of silicon and plastic than one of wood and ivory, but the man's playing was simply breathtaking and probably still would have been even if he were playing Chopsticks. Ephram hated him immediately.
He hated him more every time Mr. Hodgeson sighed explosively and said, "You're not feeling it, Mr. Brown! You're going through the motions and playing the right notes, but there's no depth. You must feel the music."
Ephram managed to restrain himself from telling Hodgeson to 'feel this' and flipping him off, but he did keep a running tally of how much money he would have if he had a nickel for each time Mr. Hodgeson said the world 'feel' or some permutation thereof. It would have been a tidy sum.
On the days when Mr. Hodgeson was particularly brutal, Ephram sometimes imagined that Amy was there, rolling her eyes and insulting the man's sweater vests to make Ephram feel better. But most of the time, it was Bright making a face behind Mr. Hodgeson's back and giving Ephram a supportive thumbs-up.
Then Mr. Hodgeson would sigh once more, tell Ephram to use the piano as a conduit for his emotions, and Ephram would keep following the notes on the page, trying and failing to feel like he was supposed to.
***
He woke up one day with a horrible hangover and the fuzzy recollection of a dream in which he broke up with Amy over e-mail, saying he was in love with her brother, did a Google image search to find naked pictures of Bright, and then angrily e-mailed Bright to ask why there weren't any good results for "naked Brihgt."
When he called Amy later that day, she burst into tears and immediately hung up on him. On a terrifying hunch, he checked his sent messages folder. There were two e-mails from the night before: one to Amy and one to Bright. He barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet. Apparently, when he was drunk, ruining his own life was easier than typing.
Ephram didn't hear from Amy or Bright for his last three weeks in New York.
***
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he had watched six planes take off and four planes land while he was waiting. Taking the bus home was starting to seem like a really good plan until he finally heard someone calling his name. It definitely wasn't his father.
He turned away from the window, and there was Bright, standing maybe ten feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked good, if awkward.
Ephram didn't think to ask why Bright was there instead of Ephram's father. He didn't think to be shocked that Bright would even be there. He just said the first thing that came to his mind. "You're late."
Bright shrugged. "Seems that Yahoo maps aren't much more help than Google image search," he said, and Ephram had to laugh. Bright was smiling back when he continued. "I just got a little lost on my way here."
"Yeah," Ephram said. After all, he knew how that went.
End.
Author: Kay Deluca (untappedbeauty)
Pairing: Bright/Ephram
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true in any way, shape, or form.
Author's note: My response to lalejandra's Everwood, Summer 2004 challenge. For hypertwink, who wanted Bright/Ephram, Bright lost in the big city, and R/NC-17. Unfortunately, there's no getting it on in this fic, but I managed the other two. I'm sorry it's late, and I'm afraid it might not be quite what you hoped for, but I hope you like it nonetheless, Glenn. Exactly 900 words long.
The Way to Here, by Kay Deluca
For the span of time between leaving the bus station and boarding the plane to New York, Ephram Brown was perilously close to hating Amy Abbott. Before he found her on board, sun at her back and hopeful smile on her lips, all he could think was that he was glad he'd chosen New York over her. That he was tired of Amy jerking him around, always having to have things her way. That her brother cared more about him than she did, because at least Bright had shown up at the bus station to see Ephram off. And that, quite honestly, Bright would be a lot easier to be in a relationship with, anyway.
The last had been an unsettling realization, one he would have liked to forget. Instead, it stuck in his mind, making it that much harder to ease his misgivings toward Amy. Somehow, no matter how much he wished it had, the fact that she had been waiting for him on the plane didn't change that.
***
There was a guy in the Julliard dorms who reminded Ephram of Bright. It was only for a moment, though, and it wasn't a personality similarity -- Ephram hadn't even heard the guy speak, and he couldn't quite imagine anyone else pulling off Bright's balance between dumb jock and surprisingly insightful observer of human nature, anyway -- but a physical resemblance. He saw the guy on his third day in New York, when he caught a glimpse of tall and broad and curly-haired down the hall before the guy turned the corner and left Ephram staring dumbly in his wake, key poised at his door, heart racing at the split-second shock of thinking that Bright had followed him to New York for some reason.
"What is it?" Amy asked, following his gaze.
"No one. I mean, nothing," Ephram replied, and unlocked the door.
He didn't see that guy again, so he decided to write it off as a hallucination and forget it had happened. It was more difficult than he would have liked.
***
Mr. Hodgeson was a stoop-shouldered scrap of a man with a receding hairline and a perpetual squint that, coupled with a pasty complexion, suggested a lot of time spent hunched over a keyboard. Had Ephram seen the instructor out of his element, he would have sooner guessed it was a keyboard made out of silicon and plastic than one of wood and ivory, but the man's playing was simply breathtaking and probably still would have been even if he were playing Chopsticks. Ephram hated him immediately.
He hated him more every time Mr. Hodgeson sighed explosively and said, "You're not feeling it, Mr. Brown! You're going through the motions and playing the right notes, but there's no depth. You must feel the music."
Ephram managed to restrain himself from telling Hodgeson to 'feel this' and flipping him off, but he did keep a running tally of how much money he would have if he had a nickel for each time Mr. Hodgeson said the world 'feel' or some permutation thereof. It would have been a tidy sum.
On the days when Mr. Hodgeson was particularly brutal, Ephram sometimes imagined that Amy was there, rolling her eyes and insulting the man's sweater vests to make Ephram feel better. But most of the time, it was Bright making a face behind Mr. Hodgeson's back and giving Ephram a supportive thumbs-up.
Then Mr. Hodgeson would sigh once more, tell Ephram to use the piano as a conduit for his emotions, and Ephram would keep following the notes on the page, trying and failing to feel like he was supposed to.
***
He woke up one day with a horrible hangover and the fuzzy recollection of a dream in which he broke up with Amy over e-mail, saying he was in love with her brother, did a Google image search to find naked pictures of Bright, and then angrily e-mailed Bright to ask why there weren't any good results for "naked Brihgt."
When he called Amy later that day, she burst into tears and immediately hung up on him. On a terrifying hunch, he checked his sent messages folder. There were two e-mails from the night before: one to Amy and one to Bright. He barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet. Apparently, when he was drunk, ruining his own life was easier than typing.
Ephram didn't hear from Amy or Bright for his last three weeks in New York.
***
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he had watched six planes take off and four planes land while he was waiting. Taking the bus home was starting to seem like a really good plan until he finally heard someone calling his name. It definitely wasn't his father.
He turned away from the window, and there was Bright, standing maybe ten feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked good, if awkward.
Ephram didn't think to ask why Bright was there instead of Ephram's father. He didn't think to be shocked that Bright would even be there. He just said the first thing that came to his mind. "You're late."
Bright shrugged. "Seems that Yahoo maps aren't much more help than Google image search," he said, and Ephram had to laugh. Bright was smiling back when he continued. "I just got a little lost on my way here."
"Yeah," Ephram said. After all, he knew how that went.
End.