FIC: Things Are Changing. (1/1)
Title: Things Are Changing.
Fandom: Real People / 30 Seconds to Mars.
Characters: Jared Leto.
Pairing: Jared/Tomo.
Prompt: Table 2; #77 - Organize. (100_situations)
Word Count: 482.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: implied slash.
Summary: Staring at the ceiling wouldn't solve the world's problems -- or his, for that matter -- but it beat admitting that he was the tiniest bit afraid of what the truth really was.
Author's Notes: I've been mentally kicking myself for not writing at all in the last two weeks when the muses have been flooding me with ideas, so this is a partial remedy. A little change of pace for me. Enjoy. :]
He told himself the first time was out of desperation. The second? Basic need, or maybe convenience.
Now, after nearly a dozen times, it couldn't be written off quite so easily.
The shower was running but he didn't move from the bed, continuing to stare up at the ceiling in mute contemplation. Sure, he was dirty, but hell if he was going to jump in the shower with them. That was something couples did, and they were most certainly not a couple. They weren't anything. Just friends.
Close friends.
Friends with benefits.
He groaned at himself and threw his arm over his face. No. They were most certainly not that either. To him the phrase implied that one or both parties were just using each other to get off because they didn't want to deal with a relationship. He cared about them far too much to use them like that, and he liked to think they felt the same about him. To use each other would ruin their friendship and this wasn't about that. Though, if he was honest, he wasn't sure just what it was about.
"Shower's free,"
His arm lowered enough to watch them walk out into the hall, one towel around their waist and another being rubbed over their hair with one hand. The broad back he knew strangely well filled the doorway and then was gone, leaving him to squint a little at the light from the hallway.
"You're dripping on the carpet,"
"Concerned about my carpet now, Jay?"
The voice faded as they walked down the hall and after a few moments he heard the stereo click on. Vivaldi filled the apartment, just under that were the sounds of shuffling in the kitchen. He started to smile despite himself, easily picturing the scene that was unfolding. The first night he stayed over he had laughed at the late night cooking, watching from a perch at the kitchen counter in amusement. That is, until the best vegetarian lasagna he had ever tasted silenced him. After that, he was content to watch in silence, simply trying to take it all in because he had a sense that few people got to see the guitarist so in his element and at ease. Not that he wasn't when they were on stage, but this was an entirely different world, and that duality was something Jared could more than relate to.
Sighing, he kicked off the covers that had tangled around his legs earlier as he got out of bed. His hair was tucked behind his ears as he turned to tug the sheets off the bed, tossing them in the laundry basket to be washed later. It was routine almost and with the sound of humming from the kitchen joining the soft violin he thought maybe, just maybe, he should stop trying to deny that there was a routine at all.
Fandom: Real People / 30 Seconds to Mars.
Characters: Jared Leto.
Pairing: Jared/Tomo.
Prompt: Table 2; #77 - Organize. (100_situations)
Word Count: 482.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: implied slash.
Summary: Staring at the ceiling wouldn't solve the world's problems -- or his, for that matter -- but it beat admitting that he was the tiniest bit afraid of what the truth really was.
Author's Notes: I've been mentally kicking myself for not writing at all in the last two weeks when the muses have been flooding me with ideas, so this is a partial remedy. A little change of pace for me. Enjoy. :]
He told himself the first time was out of desperation. The second? Basic need, or maybe convenience.
Now, after nearly a dozen times, it couldn't be written off quite so easily.
The shower was running but he didn't move from the bed, continuing to stare up at the ceiling in mute contemplation. Sure, he was dirty, but hell if he was going to jump in the shower with them. That was something couples did, and they were most certainly not a couple. They weren't anything. Just friends.
Close friends.
Friends with benefits.
He groaned at himself and threw his arm over his face. No. They were most certainly not that either. To him the phrase implied that one or both parties were just using each other to get off because they didn't want to deal with a relationship. He cared about them far too much to use them like that, and he liked to think they felt the same about him. To use each other would ruin their friendship and this wasn't about that. Though, if he was honest, he wasn't sure just what it was about.
"Shower's free,"
His arm lowered enough to watch them walk out into the hall, one towel around their waist and another being rubbed over their hair with one hand. The broad back he knew strangely well filled the doorway and then was gone, leaving him to squint a little at the light from the hallway.
"You're dripping on the carpet,"
"Concerned about my carpet now, Jay?"
The voice faded as they walked down the hall and after a few moments he heard the stereo click on. Vivaldi filled the apartment, just under that were the sounds of shuffling in the kitchen. He started to smile despite himself, easily picturing the scene that was unfolding. The first night he stayed over he had laughed at the late night cooking, watching from a perch at the kitchen counter in amusement. That is, until the best vegetarian lasagna he had ever tasted silenced him. After that, he was content to watch in silence, simply trying to take it all in because he had a sense that few people got to see the guitarist so in his element and at ease. Not that he wasn't when they were on stage, but this was an entirely different world, and that duality was something Jared could more than relate to.
Sighing, he kicked off the covers that had tangled around his legs earlier as he got out of bed. His hair was tucked behind his ears as he turned to tug the sheets off the bed, tossing them in the laundry basket to be washed later. It was routine almost and with the sound of humming from the kitchen joining the soft violin he thought maybe, just maybe, he should stop trying to deny that there was a routine at all.