(no subject)
I had meant to finish the whole 25 by the end of summer and post them on theusedslash, but I got busy and this is all I've got, unfortunately. So, here's my humble offerings, all together in one slightly messy lump.
Never Talk to Strangers
Bert turned off the car and sat for a moment staring at the house in front of him. He patted his stomach to quiet the butterflies gone riot inside.
“Why am I so nervous? It’s just Anna.” Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and headed up the walk to the front door.
***
“Daddy, somebody’s at the door. Can I open it?” The tiny girl danced in a circle behind her father, hopping up and down and bouncing from foot to foot. He turned from the sink to look at her, smiling at her antics and the hopeful look on her face.
“Remember what we talked about, Anna? Ask who it is and look out the window to be sure. Do you remember who’s allowed to come in the house?” She nodded and began to recite the list.
“Mommy, Nanny and Pop, Uncle Bert, Uncle Quinnie, Uncle Bra-”
“Okay,” he said, stopping her mid-sentence. “Sounds like you’ve got it. Go ahead.” He already knew it was Bert, but she was so excited about being allowed to answer the door, and the practice wouldn’t hurt her. Anna ran to the door and put her ear to the wood to listen.
“Who is it?”
“Hey, Anna. It’s me, Uncle Bert.” Familiar with the routine, he ducked down so that his eyes just showed over the window sill. When she pulled the curtain back to look out, he crossed his eyes and wiggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled at him and reached up to open the door. He straightened as it swung open and smiled at the four year old. She looked at him strangely, then scowled.
“You’re not Uncle Bert! You’re a stranger. Daddy says never talk to strangers!” With that, she slammed the door shut in his face, leaving him standing with mouth agape.
“What the fu-?” Bert paused for a moment, then started laughing and knocked on the door again. Inside, he heard Anna yell, “Go away, stranger!” Through the window, he could see Jepha coming out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
“Anna, who was it?” Jeph asked. Anna’s yell and the accompanying slam of the door had been rather unexpected. The knocking continued, and he heard Bert calling his name from outside. He stepped forward and opened the door. “Sweetie, it’s just Uncle Bert. Why didn’t you let him come inside?” Bert stepped through the door and grinned at him.
“Jeph, I think maybe she didn’t recognize me.” Jeph looked Bert up and down and started to laugh as well when he caught on. Bert usually looked like something the cat had dragged in. Anna had always seen him with greasy, bedraggled hair, three days growth of beard, and his clothes too big and ratty enough to give him all the appearance of a bum. Tonight, however, he had taken the time to shower and shave, had combed his hair back into a smooth ponytail, and was wearing what might very well be a clean t-shirt and actual blue jeans. To her four year old eyes, he looked like a completely different person.
“Anna, you know Uncle Bert. This is what he looks like when he takes a bath.” She looked up at him again, the scowl on her face slowly turning into a smile.
“Uncle Bert!” She threw her arms around his knees and hugged him. “Mmm. You smell nice. Why don’t you always smell good like that?” She blinked up at him curiously while her dad snickered behind her. Bert floundered for a response and opted for the easy out.
“Mmm. Something in the kitchen smells good. Whatcha cooking, Jeph?” Lifting Anna into his arms, he carried her into the kitchen behind Jeph.
***
Hours later, Bert sat curled on the couch as Jeph stepped back into the living room.
“Well, Anna’s asleep. For now.” He sat on the couch next to Bert and lifted one arm as Bert scooted in next to him. They sat for a moment, not saying anything, just enjoying the moment of quiet.
“I still can’t believe she thought I was a stranger. I don’t look that different, do I?” Jeph turned and studied him thoughtfully, grasping Bert’s chin with one hand and turning it left and right to study the different angles.
“Nope, you’re still as ugly as ever.” He chuckled as Bert poked a finger in his ribs before settling back into his arms.
“So…”
“So…”
They stared at each other for a minute before Bert spoke again. “So, what do you wanna do now?” Jepha arranged his face into an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness.
“Well…” He turned to Bert again, cupping his hand against one side of Bert’s face, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Bert responded, equally gentle at first and then with more fervor. He placed one hand on Jeph’s knee, sliding it up his thigh as their mouths opened to the kiss. He felt Jeph’s hands curving around his face and winding their way into his hair as his brain began to blur and fuzz over.
“Daddy, why are you eating Uncle Bert’s tongue?” The small voice startled them both, making them jump as they turned sharply to look at the little girl who stood staring at them, wide-eyed and clutching a stuffed unicorn.
“Um, well, baby… um, I wasn’t eating his tongue, I was…kissing…him.” Jeph moved from the couch to kneel in front of Anna, turning to give Bert a slightly panicked look. Bert shrugged helplessly and nodded, flailing his arms a little to show his encouragement.
“But you don’t kiss me like that.” Jepha heard Bert snort behind him and used his middle finger to scratch the back of his head. He registered Bert’s whispered, “Yes, please,” as he tried to think of an explanation that the four year old would understand.
“You see… Well, Anna…” He sighed, mentally cursing himself for not having prepared for this beforehand. “See, when adults kiss each other, it’s different than the way adults kiss kids. Sometimes we kiss each other the way I kiss you, like this-” He gave her a noisy, smacking kiss on the cheek, making her giggle. “And sometimes, we kiss each other a little differently, like this-” He turned to face Bert and gave him a light peck on the lips. “It depends on how we feel about each other. Uncle Bert is very special to me, so I kiss him differently than I kiss you. Do you understand?” Anna nodded, a slight frown still on her face.
“Anna,” Bert asked, “is it okay if your daddy kisses me special?” She thought for a minute.
“Am I still special, Daddy?”
“Of course you are, sweetie. You’re my baby girl. You will always be extra-special.”
“Then I guess its okay.” She started to go back to bed, then turned at the doorway to look back at them. “Daddy, are you going to kiss Uncle Bert special a lot?” The two men traded a glance, then Bert looked down at his hands as Jeph looked back at Anna.
“I’d like to. Is that okay with you?” The child studied Bert for a long second before nodding. “Want me to tuck you back in?” her father asked, and when she nodded again, he stood and led her back to her room. Bert sat and waited till Jepha came back. He shifted forward as the other man stretched an arm around his shoulders, but when Jeph leaned over to pick up where they’d left off, he held up one hand between them.
“Now, now,” Bert said, grinning impishly. “Daddy says we’re not supposed to talk to strangers.” Jeph grabbed the hand and pulled it down into Bert’s lap. Bert’s eyes widened and his smug smile vanished as Jeph rubbed their joined hands over his crotch. Jeph scooted closer, pushing their hands to rub harder and making Bert whimper.
“Daddy said no talking to strangers,” he whispered, his lips inches from Bert’s. “I didn’t say anything about not kissing them.”
I Didn’t Know I Was Jealous
I’ve never been the jealous type. Granted, if I’m interested in a person enough to be monogamous to him/her, I expect that person to do the same for me. But most of the time, I’m willing to keep things pretty open, more of a “friends with benefits” kinda deal.
That’s what I thought I had with Bert. Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend, but he is bi after all, there are some things a girl just can’t do for him, and especially when we’ve been out on the road for awhile, well, you know… We get lonely and horny, and the groupies are all so anonymous, and sometimes your bandmates are your best options. At least you know where they’ve been, for the most part.
So yeah, we fuck each other and swap blowjobs. So do Quinn and Branden, and sometimes we trade around to keep things interesting; it’s just the way we do things. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY, makes him scream the way I do. I’m just good like that. Sometimes when I hear him with Quinn, or (very rarely) with Branden, I remember that and it makes me feel…well, weird, I guess, that I would think of that. Does that make sense?
But lately, when we’re on stage playing for the crowds, I see him screaming and jumping around, doing his thing, and I get this odd feeling in my chest. I see him go over to Quinn, rub up on him and kiss him, and my stomach tightens up and I’m not talking about the good way. So I play harder and throw myself around a little more, and then he moves away and I feel better.
I don’t really know what my problem is, if it is a problem. It’s just, you know, it’s me and Bert. He’s my best friend, band mate, occasional fuck buddy, and sometimes partner-in-crime (the guys in MCR will never use their lotion again without checking it first for “bonus ingredients”). So why do I feel this way about him? How could I be jealous?
Give Me a “J”!
“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you,” Bert growled through the bathroom door. Jepha was sprawled on the bed, idly flipping through a magazine and occasionally glancing at the TV. He looked up at Bert’s words and laughed.
“Are you almost done in there? C’mon, I’m waiting.” He grinned to himself. He had already seen the costume when Bert brought it home, but imagination and reality can be two very different things. He couldn’t wait to see if they would match up this time.
“Some chick on the internet actually wrote some slash fic that had me doing this for Halloween and prancing around for Gerard.”
“I know. Where do you think I got the idea? Which reminds me, don’t forget to shave. That scruff of yours would definitely spoil the whole thing for me.”
“You are so fucked.”
“I hope so.” He tossed the magazine aside and rolled over on his back, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes, smiling contentedly. “What’s taking so long? C’mon, my birthday will be over in three more hours. Am I gonna get my present before then?” The volume on the TV covered the sound of the bathroom door opening, so Bert had to loudly clear his throat to get Jepha’s attention. When he opened his eyes, there stood Bert in a blue cheerleader uniform. Jeph’s eyes raked him from head to toe and back up. Sneakers and ankle socks decorated with little megaphones, a short pleated skirt with a sleeveless cropped top, his hair neatly pulled into two pigtails tied with blue ribbons. Blue and white pom-poms clenched in his hands. Bert had indeed shaved, and then carefully applied eyeliner and hot pink eye shadow. Jeph practically started drooling then and there, and then nearly laughed aloud when he realized that Bert had even shaved his legs. Jepha sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. Bert apparently took this as his cue to start the show.
“Give me a ‘J’!” he said, throwing his arms and legs out in a half-hearted attempt at a spread-eagle jump. When Jeph just sat there, he stopped and put his hands (and pom-poms) on his hips. “You know, you could at least help out a little.” Jepha grinned and nodded, motioning for him to continue.
“Give me a ‘J’!”
“J”
“Give me an ‘E’!”
“E”
“Give me a ‘P’!”
“P”
“Give me an ‘H’!”
“H”
“Give me an ‘A’!”
“A”
“What does it spell? Sexy man!” Bert finished with an awkwardly provocative shimmy that had Jeph leaning forward and grabbing him by the front of his uniform top. He pulled Bert forward until he was standing next to the bed, between Jepha’s knees.
“You know, I really have always had a thing for cheerleaders. It’s like something a girl told me once about cops and soldiers. There’s something about that uniform that just makes you want to peel them out of it.” With that, he began kissing a line up Bert’s exposed stomach towards the hem of his top. He slid his hands up Bert’s thighs to the spankies underneath his skirt and slipped his fingers inside the hot pants.
“Why, Bert, whatever did you do with your underwear? Don’t you know what happens when cheerleaders forget to wear it?” Reaching up a little further, he hooked his fingers into the top of the shorts and pulled them down Bert’s legs, pausing for Bert to step out of them one leg at a time.
“Now, why don’t you be a good little slut and unfasten my pants for me?” He grinned lasciviously. “Make sure you lean over properly so I can see down your shirt.” Bert flipped him off before leaning over, shoving his own ass in the air and poking his thin chest out as he went to work. He made sure his hands slipped and rubbed across the tight material as he slowly dragged the zipper down, then reached into Jeph’s pants and worked his rapidly growing erection free. Jeph sighed, arching himself into Bert’s hands, then batted them away and began to work himself. Bert stepped back, hands on hips, his head cocked to the side.
“Now wait just a damn minute. I thought that’s what I was here for.” Stepping forward again, he grabbed Jepha’s hands and held them over his head, pushing the man back till he was flat on the bed. Bert climbed up and knelt on the bed, Jepha’s body firmly wedged between his knees.
“So, um, exactly how far am I supposed to go with this role playing thing? I mean, are we talking about, like, something like that scene in “History of Violence,” or are we already good to go?” Jeph grinned up at him, arching his hips to just barely brush himself against Bert’s naked ass.
“I kinda liked that scene,” he said, as Bert slumped and then pushed up off of the bed with a groan. He walked over and shut off the overhead light, then pulled the bathroom door nearly closed so that only a sliver of light shone through. Making his way back over to the bed, he dragged off his shoes before clambering back up onto the bed and straddling Jepha again.
“Shh,” he whispered. “My parents are in the next room. We have to be really quiet.” He started to giggle until Jeph silenced him by crushing their lips together. As they parted, Bert murmured, “You know, this is actually kind of fun, in a kinky but stupid way.” He kissed Jepha again, then said in a fake, high-pitched voice, “I’ve had a huge crush on you for, like, forever, and now I want you to fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard!” With that, he began to bounce up and down, grinding his ass against Jeph every time he touched down.
“C’mere, dammit.” Jeph grabbed Bert by the hips, shoved him to the side and rolled up behind him. Quickly, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and then positioned himself behind Bert. As Bert groaned and wiggled like the whore he was pretending to be, Jeph shoved his hand against Bert’s mouth, ordered him, “Lick it good,” and used the saliva to coat himself. He paused to align the angles and then, not bothering to prep, slammed himself into Bert as hard as he could. Bert arched his back, howling in pleasure and pain as Jeph slowly pushed further and further in till he was buried to the balls in Bert’s ass. He held there for a moment to let Bert adjust, then began rhythmically thrusting, in and out, in and out. Bert shoved back, howling again as he felt Jeph hit the sweet spot. Faster and faster, harder and harder, the rhythm carried them along so that Bert didn’t even have time or a need to stroke himself. With a sharp cry, they came at the same time, their blended voices rising and falling with the force of their pleasure. They collapsed onto the bed, automatically tangling legs and snuggling close together. They lay there for a few minutes, letting their rapid breathing subside, until Bert suddenly broke the silence with an oath.
“Dammit! I’m gonna have to get this uniform dry-cleaned.” Jeph laughed at him softly.
“Trust me, it was worth it. God, it was worth it.” Bert smiled and reached up to stroke his cheek.
“What, are you tired out already?” Jeph gave him a funny look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You silly boy, that was only the first quarter. We’ve still got the rest of the game to play.” Sitting up, Bert clapped his hands and put on a cheesy, scarily energetic smile. “We’ve got to pump, pump, pump it up!” Jepha wrapped a hand around the back of Bert’s neck and pulled him down eye level with his cock.
“Pump this, bitch.”
Letters from the Dead
Jepha walked into his apartment and collapsed on the couch with a sigh. The box he carried sat heavily on his lap and after a few moments, he pushed it to the side. He’s gone, he thought. He’s gone and I never told him, never asked him. He leaned forward, his face cradled in his hands, and then fell over sideways, curling around a small throw pillow. In the growing twilight, the only sounds were Jeph’s quiet sobs and a soft thump as the box fell to the ground unnoticed.
When Jeph woke several hours later, it was full dark and everything was quiet around him. He got up to go to his own bed, tripping over the small cardboard box and swearing to himself as he picked it up to carry it back to the bedroom with him. He set it on the bed and just stared at it for a minute. Bert’s mom had said it was some kind of memory box and she knew Bert would have wanted him to have it. He thought about her sad smile and the grief in her eyes. There were so many things about her son and his life that she hadn’t agreed with, hadn’t understood. But she had loved him and cared about him. Jeph realized he didn’t want to think about Bert right then, couldn’t, wasn’t ready for it. He turned to the dresser and picked up a newspaper clipping. It was small, had only made the front page of the local newspaper as a side feature. “Local Band Frontman Killed in Car Crash” read the headline. The attached photo was one of their band promotional shots, the caption listing their names. The article itself was small and spoke more of the band’s history and eventual breakup than about the death of its singer. Jepha skimmed over it again, his throat tightening as he brushed a finger over the face in the photograph. With a sigh, he dropped the article in the box, closed it firmly and carried it into the closet to put up on a shelf out of sight. He stripped and headed back to the bed. When the lights were off, he let the tears come again, and they rained softly on the pillow even after he had drifted off to sleep.
~~~~~
Days passed, then weeks, a month and then two. Jepha kept busy, putting in extra hours in his shop every day, working around the house and yard, occasionally meeting up with Quinn and Branden. Sooner or later, the conversation always ended up on Bert. Crazy stuff he’d done, good and bad times they’d shared, the irony of his death. Bert, who’d literally spent years drunk, finally cleaned up and sober, only to be struck head-on and killed by a drunk driver. It was morbidly funny, an ironic twist of fate. Jeph hated this part of the conversation. He always felt like his soul was laid out open and bare for the other two to see. He usually left soon after the conversation took the expected turn, unable to look at the others’ faces, afraid of what he’d see reflected in their eyes or worse, in reaction to what was in his. The presence of the box haunted him. Even out of sight, it mocked him, challenged him with its very existence. I contain his memories, everything he held dear. Don’t you wonder? Don’t you want to know if he put you in here? He wanted to know, he burned with curiosity, but the possibility of it scared him. So he left it there, on the shelf, out of sight and desperately wishing it out of mind.
~~~~
More time had passed. A year had gone by, and still the box waited on a shelf. Finally, one year to the day after the funeral, Jepha reached into his closet and pulled down the box. He sat down on the bed and slowly opened it. First to come out was the newspaper clipping, a bit yellowed now with age. He set it to the side with barely a glance and then reached for the next thing. It was a Japanese paper fan. He smiled at the memory. Bert had bought it off of a street vendor during their last trip to Japan, and had spent the entire day alternately flirting with them all from behind it, batting his eyelashes and making kissy faces, and trying to hit them on the head with it without getting caught. He’d been more successful with the flirting, Jepha recalled, since he’d mostly tried to hit Branden, and the man had excellent reflexes. He opened it, waved it around a bit remembering how Bert had fluttered and simpered behind it, and then laid it down on the bed on top of the clipping. Next was a bandage with a ticket stub stapled to it. Jeph wondered about it at first, until he saw the date and location on the stub. It was from Sydney, Australia and the bandage was probably a part of the one they’d used to strap an ice pack to his head after he took a dive from the stage and hit the floor. Jepha had to laugh. Only Bert would save something to commemorate an event like that. He kept pulling items out of the box, small mementoes representing different times in their band’s career. Most of them he remembered and most made him laugh.
At the bottom of the box was a packet of letters, wrapped in a red ribbon. Jeph frowned a little at the sight, wondering who had sent Bert letters he’d deemed important enough to save like that. He didn’t remember seeing any of them arrive, and he assumed they must have been from someone Bert corresponded with after the band split up, though it was odd since Bert had never seemed like the type to write real letters. He turned the packet over to see if there was a return address and froze when he saw that the front of the first envelope held only his own name. He blinked, uncertain if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there it was, Jepha Howard, written in Bert’s familiar handwriting. He untied the ribbon and looked at the rest of the envelopes; each bore only those two words. Why had Bert written all these letters and never sent them? With an odd mixture of dread and excitement churning in his stomach, Jeph opened the first letter and began to read.
~~~~
December 26, 2000
Dear Jeph,
We’ve known each other for awhile now, played together, sang together, and I think I can safely consider you one of my best friends. Which is awesome, cause you’re a really cool guy. Yesterday was Christmas, and we all hung out for awhile, you and me and Branden and Quinn. We were all just standing around by the door talking, and then Branden started laughing and pointed out that I was under the mistletoe. We looked up, and sure enough, I was. I made a crack about having to be kissed now, and Quinn started to move, but you beat him to it. I’m not even sure why you did, I don’t even think you knew, cause you looked as surprised as me when you stepped back again. Or maybe you felt the same thing I did when you kissed me. It was like vodka and lightning, straight through me. I thought I would fall over from it. I wanted to say something, but then Quinn started bitching because he didn’t get to kiss me first, and then you left and when I saw you today, you just acted like nothing had happened.
But something did happen, man. I don’t know how to tell you, and I’ll probably never get the guts to give this to you, but at least here, I’m gonna say it. Dude, I want you.
Bert
Jepha finished the letter, his eyes wide. He did remember that night, and he knew exactly what Bert had been talking about. He’d felt the same thing; he’d been just as surprised by it as Bert had obviously been, but he’d also seen Quinn’s face when he saw the half-stunned, half-hungry look on Bert’s face as Jeph had stepped back from him. So the next day, he’d ignored it and the clutch he’d gotten in his belly every time he looked at Bert. Oh, yes, he remembered that night. He knew what Bert was talking about. He’d wanted him too.
August 18, 2001
Dear Jeph,
We played our first big gig tonight, our first real one that paid us a decent amount of money. Oh shit, it was amazing. When we came off the stage, the folks in the club were cheering for us, and it was just incredible. You turned around and looked at me with the biggest grin on your face, grabbed me and hugged me so tight. “This is it, man. We’re gonna remember this night. This is where it started.” I know you meant our career and how it would take off. I know you had seen the guy at the table taking notes just like we all had. But just to myself, I pretended you meant something different. I told myself you meant us, you and me, and that tonight we would finally figure out… something, shit, I don’t know. Then you ran off to hug the other guys and we all started hugging each other and jumping around and it was just great. But I had that one moment to dream, and it was all I needed.
Bert
Jepha smiled at the memory of that night. There had been a talent scout in the small crowd, and he had approached them after the show about recording. They’d given him their demo and the rest had been history. Rough, but glorious history. He thought back, looking for that one moment of time Bert had described. It had been so long, but he thought the memory was still there, filed away among a thousand times he’d touched Bert, hugged him, even kissed him, passing it off as friendly and affectionate when he’d wanted it to be so much more. And he hugged it to himself, savoring the memory before he went on to the next letter. He read on for awhile, letter after letter bringing to mind bits and pieces, moments in time when he’d done or said something to Bert, when Bert had done or said something to him, and how Bert had thought about it, dreamed about it and what could come from it, and wished he’d had the courage to actually take the next step.
February 25, 2004
Dear Jepha,
Today is my 22nd birthday. We’re on Warped Tour this year, and I’ve started spending a lot of time with Gerard. He likes me, a lot, and I like him too. What scares me is that this isn’t the same as how I felt about Quinn or anyone else I’ve been with in the past three years. It feels…stronger, somehow, if that makes sense. It feels more like how I feel about you. I’ve told you before, in these letters, that I love you, and now I’m going to tell you that I think I love Gerard too. And unlike with you, I know he likes, maybe even loves me back. I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, and I’ve never seen any sign that you had the same ones for me. So, I think I’m gonna go for it with Gerard. Maybe he’ll help me forget about you.
Bert
Jeph felt tears building in his eyes as he finished reading the letter. He remembered that year, that birthday. They’d had a small party for Bert with the guys from My Chemical Romance. Bert and Gerard had sat side by side the whole time, trading sly glances and whispers and playing footsie under the table. Jeph knew because Quinn and Mikey had been sitting right across from them and had complained loudly when one or the other rubbed against the wrong foot. He had sat there, watching them, trying to smile and laugh with everyone else, knowing that as soon as the party was over they were going to haul each other off somewhere to tear clothes off and go at it, and hating himself for hating the idea. Bert deserved to be happy, and it was obvious that Gerard had made him happy, at least for a while. The relationship hadn’t lasted more than a few months, much to his secret relief, but even then, Jepha hadn’t been able to speak his feelings for Bert.
He kept reading the letters, stacking them neatly on the bed beside him, till he got to the last one. It was thin, like most of the others, but the handwriting on the front was more even, as though Bert had put special effort into making it look nice and pretty. He opened the letter and his eyes widened a little at the date. It was the day Bert died.
October 19, 2007
Dear Jepha,
I can’t live like this any more. I’ve had feelings for you for six years, I know I’ve loved you for at least four of them, and I’ve never said anything to you in this whole time. I don’t even know if you like guys; you’ve never mentioned it and I’ve never seen you with any, at least not like that. I’ve watched you with your girlfriends, I’ve made you watch me with mine (and my boyfriends), and neither of us has cracked. There are days when I look at you and see something there, something that makes me wonder if maybe you’re hiding a secret too. I’ve thought about it, I’ve dreamed about it, I’ve argued with myself about it, and I’m not going to sit on it any more.
By the time you read this, it will already be settled, I hope. I will have either gotten up the courage to say it straight out, or at least to have left you all my letters and we will have talked about it. The band isn’t together anymore, this won’t cause problems or awkwardness if I’m guessing wrong, I have nothing left to lose.
Jepha Howard, I love you. I think, I hope that you love me too. But one way or the other, I’m going to tell you about it. And with any luck, you’ll say you love me back.
Bert
Jepha finished the letter feeling something akin to shock. Bert had loved him after all. He had wanted to tell him, had been about to tell him, and then he had died. A bit numb, he put all the other letters back in their envelopes and retied the ribbon around them, leaving the last one out and separate. Leaving them there on the bed, he walked into his office, opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a stack of envelopes, all tied together with a black ribbon. He carried them downstairs to the living room, stopping in his room to pick up the other packet, and laid them side by side in the empty fireplace. The two stacks were nearly identical save for the colors of the ribbon and the writing on the front. One tied with red ribbon and inscribed with the name Jepha Howard, the other tied with black ribbon, the name Bert McCracken written across the front. He sat there for a moment and then reached down, lit a match and touched it to the two stacks of letters. He sat there watching them, tears trickling down his cheeks, as they burned into two little piles of ash and charred ribbon, then swept them together and collected them in a little bag. He took the bag upstairs, and repacked the box, leaving out the bag and letter for last. Before he put them in the box, he wrote one last letter, printed Bert’s name on the front of it, and tied it to the other, placing them both in the box with the bag. He closed it up, carried it back downstairs, and set it on a shelf where he would see it often. He stood there for a moment, one hand still resting on the box, and then headed out the door to go meet Branden and Quinn.
October 19, 2008
Dear Bert,
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I loved you when I didn’t know it, and when I was too scared to say it. I loved you when you were afraid to tell me and when you were afraid I didn’t love you back. I loved you even when I wanted to kick and scream at you that you were with the wrong one, that you should be with me, but didn’t because I was too scared that you would laugh at me and tell me to stop being silly and go away. I loved you every day of your life from the first moment I met you until this very second, except for the day you died, and then I hated you for dying before I could tell you how much I loved you even then.
I sent your letters back to you, and I sent mine with them, so that you can compare and see how much alike our thoughts were all those times. I kept your last one, and this one, to remind myself that love is a risk, and if it ever comes around again, I’ll have these to remind me to take it. I won’t make this same mistake twice. And I won’t ever forget you, or stop loving you.
Love, Jepha
Never Talk to Strangers
Bert turned off the car and sat for a moment staring at the house in front of him. He patted his stomach to quiet the butterflies gone riot inside.
“Why am I so nervous? It’s just Anna.” Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and headed up the walk to the front door.
***
“Daddy, somebody’s at the door. Can I open it?” The tiny girl danced in a circle behind her father, hopping up and down and bouncing from foot to foot. He turned from the sink to look at her, smiling at her antics and the hopeful look on her face.
“Remember what we talked about, Anna? Ask who it is and look out the window to be sure. Do you remember who’s allowed to come in the house?” She nodded and began to recite the list.
“Mommy, Nanny and Pop, Uncle Bert, Uncle Quinnie, Uncle Bra-”
“Okay,” he said, stopping her mid-sentence. “Sounds like you’ve got it. Go ahead.” He already knew it was Bert, but she was so excited about being allowed to answer the door, and the practice wouldn’t hurt her. Anna ran to the door and put her ear to the wood to listen.
“Who is it?”
“Hey, Anna. It’s me, Uncle Bert.” Familiar with the routine, he ducked down so that his eyes just showed over the window sill. When she pulled the curtain back to look out, he crossed his eyes and wiggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled at him and reached up to open the door. He straightened as it swung open and smiled at the four year old. She looked at him strangely, then scowled.
“You’re not Uncle Bert! You’re a stranger. Daddy says never talk to strangers!” With that, she slammed the door shut in his face, leaving him standing with mouth agape.
“What the fu-?” Bert paused for a moment, then started laughing and knocked on the door again. Inside, he heard Anna yell, “Go away, stranger!” Through the window, he could see Jepha coming out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
“Anna, who was it?” Jeph asked. Anna’s yell and the accompanying slam of the door had been rather unexpected. The knocking continued, and he heard Bert calling his name from outside. He stepped forward and opened the door. “Sweetie, it’s just Uncle Bert. Why didn’t you let him come inside?” Bert stepped through the door and grinned at him.
“Jeph, I think maybe she didn’t recognize me.” Jeph looked Bert up and down and started to laugh as well when he caught on. Bert usually looked like something the cat had dragged in. Anna had always seen him with greasy, bedraggled hair, three days growth of beard, and his clothes too big and ratty enough to give him all the appearance of a bum. Tonight, however, he had taken the time to shower and shave, had combed his hair back into a smooth ponytail, and was wearing what might very well be a clean t-shirt and actual blue jeans. To her four year old eyes, he looked like a completely different person.
“Anna, you know Uncle Bert. This is what he looks like when he takes a bath.” She looked up at him again, the scowl on her face slowly turning into a smile.
“Uncle Bert!” She threw her arms around his knees and hugged him. “Mmm. You smell nice. Why don’t you always smell good like that?” She blinked up at him curiously while her dad snickered behind her. Bert floundered for a response and opted for the easy out.
“Mmm. Something in the kitchen smells good. Whatcha cooking, Jeph?” Lifting Anna into his arms, he carried her into the kitchen behind Jeph.
***
Hours later, Bert sat curled on the couch as Jeph stepped back into the living room.
“Well, Anna’s asleep. For now.” He sat on the couch next to Bert and lifted one arm as Bert scooted in next to him. They sat for a moment, not saying anything, just enjoying the moment of quiet.
“I still can’t believe she thought I was a stranger. I don’t look that different, do I?” Jeph turned and studied him thoughtfully, grasping Bert’s chin with one hand and turning it left and right to study the different angles.
“Nope, you’re still as ugly as ever.” He chuckled as Bert poked a finger in his ribs before settling back into his arms.
“So…”
“So…”
They stared at each other for a minute before Bert spoke again. “So, what do you wanna do now?” Jepha arranged his face into an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness.
“Well…” He turned to Bert again, cupping his hand against one side of Bert’s face, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Bert responded, equally gentle at first and then with more fervor. He placed one hand on Jeph’s knee, sliding it up his thigh as their mouths opened to the kiss. He felt Jeph’s hands curving around his face and winding their way into his hair as his brain began to blur and fuzz over.
“Daddy, why are you eating Uncle Bert’s tongue?” The small voice startled them both, making them jump as they turned sharply to look at the little girl who stood staring at them, wide-eyed and clutching a stuffed unicorn.
“Um, well, baby… um, I wasn’t eating his tongue, I was…kissing…him.” Jeph moved from the couch to kneel in front of Anna, turning to give Bert a slightly panicked look. Bert shrugged helplessly and nodded, flailing his arms a little to show his encouragement.
“But you don’t kiss me like that.” Jepha heard Bert snort behind him and used his middle finger to scratch the back of his head. He registered Bert’s whispered, “Yes, please,” as he tried to think of an explanation that the four year old would understand.
“You see… Well, Anna…” He sighed, mentally cursing himself for not having prepared for this beforehand. “See, when adults kiss each other, it’s different than the way adults kiss kids. Sometimes we kiss each other the way I kiss you, like this-” He gave her a noisy, smacking kiss on the cheek, making her giggle. “And sometimes, we kiss each other a little differently, like this-” He turned to face Bert and gave him a light peck on the lips. “It depends on how we feel about each other. Uncle Bert is very special to me, so I kiss him differently than I kiss you. Do you understand?” Anna nodded, a slight frown still on her face.
“Anna,” Bert asked, “is it okay if your daddy kisses me special?” She thought for a minute.
“Am I still special, Daddy?”
“Of course you are, sweetie. You’re my baby girl. You will always be extra-special.”
“Then I guess its okay.” She started to go back to bed, then turned at the doorway to look back at them. “Daddy, are you going to kiss Uncle Bert special a lot?” The two men traded a glance, then Bert looked down at his hands as Jeph looked back at Anna.
“I’d like to. Is that okay with you?” The child studied Bert for a long second before nodding. “Want me to tuck you back in?” her father asked, and when she nodded again, he stood and led her back to her room. Bert sat and waited till Jepha came back. He shifted forward as the other man stretched an arm around his shoulders, but when Jeph leaned over to pick up where they’d left off, he held up one hand between them.
“Now, now,” Bert said, grinning impishly. “Daddy says we’re not supposed to talk to strangers.” Jeph grabbed the hand and pulled it down into Bert’s lap. Bert’s eyes widened and his smug smile vanished as Jeph rubbed their joined hands over his crotch. Jeph scooted closer, pushing their hands to rub harder and making Bert whimper.
“Daddy said no talking to strangers,” he whispered, his lips inches from Bert’s. “I didn’t say anything about not kissing them.”
I Didn’t Know I Was Jealous
I’ve never been the jealous type. Granted, if I’m interested in a person enough to be monogamous to him/her, I expect that person to do the same for me. But most of the time, I’m willing to keep things pretty open, more of a “friends with benefits” kinda deal.
That’s what I thought I had with Bert. Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend, but he is bi after all, there are some things a girl just can’t do for him, and especially when we’ve been out on the road for awhile, well, you know… We get lonely and horny, and the groupies are all so anonymous, and sometimes your bandmates are your best options. At least you know where they’ve been, for the most part.
So yeah, we fuck each other and swap blowjobs. So do Quinn and Branden, and sometimes we trade around to keep things interesting; it’s just the way we do things. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY, makes him scream the way I do. I’m just good like that. Sometimes when I hear him with Quinn, or (very rarely) with Branden, I remember that and it makes me feel…well, weird, I guess, that I would think of that. Does that make sense?
But lately, when we’re on stage playing for the crowds, I see him screaming and jumping around, doing his thing, and I get this odd feeling in my chest. I see him go over to Quinn, rub up on him and kiss him, and my stomach tightens up and I’m not talking about the good way. So I play harder and throw myself around a little more, and then he moves away and I feel better.
I don’t really know what my problem is, if it is a problem. It’s just, you know, it’s me and Bert. He’s my best friend, band mate, occasional fuck buddy, and sometimes partner-in-crime (the guys in MCR will never use their lotion again without checking it first for “bonus ingredients”). So why do I feel this way about him? How could I be jealous?
Give Me a “J”!
“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you,” Bert growled through the bathroom door. Jepha was sprawled on the bed, idly flipping through a magazine and occasionally glancing at the TV. He looked up at Bert’s words and laughed.
“Are you almost done in there? C’mon, I’m waiting.” He grinned to himself. He had already seen the costume when Bert brought it home, but imagination and reality can be two very different things. He couldn’t wait to see if they would match up this time.
“Some chick on the internet actually wrote some slash fic that had me doing this for Halloween and prancing around for Gerard.”
“I know. Where do you think I got the idea? Which reminds me, don’t forget to shave. That scruff of yours would definitely spoil the whole thing for me.”
“You are so fucked.”
“I hope so.” He tossed the magazine aside and rolled over on his back, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes, smiling contentedly. “What’s taking so long? C’mon, my birthday will be over in three more hours. Am I gonna get my present before then?” The volume on the TV covered the sound of the bathroom door opening, so Bert had to loudly clear his throat to get Jepha’s attention. When he opened his eyes, there stood Bert in a blue cheerleader uniform. Jeph’s eyes raked him from head to toe and back up. Sneakers and ankle socks decorated with little megaphones, a short pleated skirt with a sleeveless cropped top, his hair neatly pulled into two pigtails tied with blue ribbons. Blue and white pom-poms clenched in his hands. Bert had indeed shaved, and then carefully applied eyeliner and hot pink eye shadow. Jeph practically started drooling then and there, and then nearly laughed aloud when he realized that Bert had even shaved his legs. Jepha sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. Bert apparently took this as his cue to start the show.
“Give me a ‘J’!” he said, throwing his arms and legs out in a half-hearted attempt at a spread-eagle jump. When Jeph just sat there, he stopped and put his hands (and pom-poms) on his hips. “You know, you could at least help out a little.” Jepha grinned and nodded, motioning for him to continue.
“Give me a ‘J’!”
“J”
“Give me an ‘E’!”
“E”
“Give me a ‘P’!”
“P”
“Give me an ‘H’!”
“H”
“Give me an ‘A’!”
“A”
“What does it spell? Sexy man!” Bert finished with an awkwardly provocative shimmy that had Jeph leaning forward and grabbing him by the front of his uniform top. He pulled Bert forward until he was standing next to the bed, between Jepha’s knees.
“You know, I really have always had a thing for cheerleaders. It’s like something a girl told me once about cops and soldiers. There’s something about that uniform that just makes you want to peel them out of it.” With that, he began kissing a line up Bert’s exposed stomach towards the hem of his top. He slid his hands up Bert’s thighs to the spankies underneath his skirt and slipped his fingers inside the hot pants.
“Why, Bert, whatever did you do with your underwear? Don’t you know what happens when cheerleaders forget to wear it?” Reaching up a little further, he hooked his fingers into the top of the shorts and pulled them down Bert’s legs, pausing for Bert to step out of them one leg at a time.
“Now, why don’t you be a good little slut and unfasten my pants for me?” He grinned lasciviously. “Make sure you lean over properly so I can see down your shirt.” Bert flipped him off before leaning over, shoving his own ass in the air and poking his thin chest out as he went to work. He made sure his hands slipped and rubbed across the tight material as he slowly dragged the zipper down, then reached into Jeph’s pants and worked his rapidly growing erection free. Jeph sighed, arching himself into Bert’s hands, then batted them away and began to work himself. Bert stepped back, hands on hips, his head cocked to the side.
“Now wait just a damn minute. I thought that’s what I was here for.” Stepping forward again, he grabbed Jepha’s hands and held them over his head, pushing the man back till he was flat on the bed. Bert climbed up and knelt on the bed, Jepha’s body firmly wedged between his knees.
“So, um, exactly how far am I supposed to go with this role playing thing? I mean, are we talking about, like, something like that scene in “History of Violence,” or are we already good to go?” Jeph grinned up at him, arching his hips to just barely brush himself against Bert’s naked ass.
“I kinda liked that scene,” he said, as Bert slumped and then pushed up off of the bed with a groan. He walked over and shut off the overhead light, then pulled the bathroom door nearly closed so that only a sliver of light shone through. Making his way back over to the bed, he dragged off his shoes before clambering back up onto the bed and straddling Jepha again.
“Shh,” he whispered. “My parents are in the next room. We have to be really quiet.” He started to giggle until Jeph silenced him by crushing their lips together. As they parted, Bert murmured, “You know, this is actually kind of fun, in a kinky but stupid way.” He kissed Jepha again, then said in a fake, high-pitched voice, “I’ve had a huge crush on you for, like, forever, and now I want you to fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard!” With that, he began to bounce up and down, grinding his ass against Jeph every time he touched down.
“C’mere, dammit.” Jeph grabbed Bert by the hips, shoved him to the side and rolled up behind him. Quickly, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and then positioned himself behind Bert. As Bert groaned and wiggled like the whore he was pretending to be, Jeph shoved his hand against Bert’s mouth, ordered him, “Lick it good,” and used the saliva to coat himself. He paused to align the angles and then, not bothering to prep, slammed himself into Bert as hard as he could. Bert arched his back, howling in pleasure and pain as Jeph slowly pushed further and further in till he was buried to the balls in Bert’s ass. He held there for a moment to let Bert adjust, then began rhythmically thrusting, in and out, in and out. Bert shoved back, howling again as he felt Jeph hit the sweet spot. Faster and faster, harder and harder, the rhythm carried them along so that Bert didn’t even have time or a need to stroke himself. With a sharp cry, they came at the same time, their blended voices rising and falling with the force of their pleasure. They collapsed onto the bed, automatically tangling legs and snuggling close together. They lay there for a few minutes, letting their rapid breathing subside, until Bert suddenly broke the silence with an oath.
“Dammit! I’m gonna have to get this uniform dry-cleaned.” Jeph laughed at him softly.
“Trust me, it was worth it. God, it was worth it.” Bert smiled and reached up to stroke his cheek.
“What, are you tired out already?” Jeph gave him a funny look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You silly boy, that was only the first quarter. We’ve still got the rest of the game to play.” Sitting up, Bert clapped his hands and put on a cheesy, scarily energetic smile. “We’ve got to pump, pump, pump it up!” Jepha wrapped a hand around the back of Bert’s neck and pulled him down eye level with his cock.
“Pump this, bitch.”
Letters from the Dead
Jepha walked into his apartment and collapsed on the couch with a sigh. The box he carried sat heavily on his lap and after a few moments, he pushed it to the side. He’s gone, he thought. He’s gone and I never told him, never asked him. He leaned forward, his face cradled in his hands, and then fell over sideways, curling around a small throw pillow. In the growing twilight, the only sounds were Jeph’s quiet sobs and a soft thump as the box fell to the ground unnoticed.
When Jeph woke several hours later, it was full dark and everything was quiet around him. He got up to go to his own bed, tripping over the small cardboard box and swearing to himself as he picked it up to carry it back to the bedroom with him. He set it on the bed and just stared at it for a minute. Bert’s mom had said it was some kind of memory box and she knew Bert would have wanted him to have it. He thought about her sad smile and the grief in her eyes. There were so many things about her son and his life that she hadn’t agreed with, hadn’t understood. But she had loved him and cared about him. Jeph realized he didn’t want to think about Bert right then, couldn’t, wasn’t ready for it. He turned to the dresser and picked up a newspaper clipping. It was small, had only made the front page of the local newspaper as a side feature. “Local Band Frontman Killed in Car Crash” read the headline. The attached photo was one of their band promotional shots, the caption listing their names. The article itself was small and spoke more of the band’s history and eventual breakup than about the death of its singer. Jepha skimmed over it again, his throat tightening as he brushed a finger over the face in the photograph. With a sigh, he dropped the article in the box, closed it firmly and carried it into the closet to put up on a shelf out of sight. He stripped and headed back to the bed. When the lights were off, he let the tears come again, and they rained softly on the pillow even after he had drifted off to sleep.
~~~~~
Days passed, then weeks, a month and then two. Jepha kept busy, putting in extra hours in his shop every day, working around the house and yard, occasionally meeting up with Quinn and Branden. Sooner or later, the conversation always ended up on Bert. Crazy stuff he’d done, good and bad times they’d shared, the irony of his death. Bert, who’d literally spent years drunk, finally cleaned up and sober, only to be struck head-on and killed by a drunk driver. It was morbidly funny, an ironic twist of fate. Jeph hated this part of the conversation. He always felt like his soul was laid out open and bare for the other two to see. He usually left soon after the conversation took the expected turn, unable to look at the others’ faces, afraid of what he’d see reflected in their eyes or worse, in reaction to what was in his. The presence of the box haunted him. Even out of sight, it mocked him, challenged him with its very existence. I contain his memories, everything he held dear. Don’t you wonder? Don’t you want to know if he put you in here? He wanted to know, he burned with curiosity, but the possibility of it scared him. So he left it there, on the shelf, out of sight and desperately wishing it out of mind.
~~~~
More time had passed. A year had gone by, and still the box waited on a shelf. Finally, one year to the day after the funeral, Jepha reached into his closet and pulled down the box. He sat down on the bed and slowly opened it. First to come out was the newspaper clipping, a bit yellowed now with age. He set it to the side with barely a glance and then reached for the next thing. It was a Japanese paper fan. He smiled at the memory. Bert had bought it off of a street vendor during their last trip to Japan, and had spent the entire day alternately flirting with them all from behind it, batting his eyelashes and making kissy faces, and trying to hit them on the head with it without getting caught. He’d been more successful with the flirting, Jepha recalled, since he’d mostly tried to hit Branden, and the man had excellent reflexes. He opened it, waved it around a bit remembering how Bert had fluttered and simpered behind it, and then laid it down on the bed on top of the clipping. Next was a bandage with a ticket stub stapled to it. Jeph wondered about it at first, until he saw the date and location on the stub. It was from Sydney, Australia and the bandage was probably a part of the one they’d used to strap an ice pack to his head after he took a dive from the stage and hit the floor. Jepha had to laugh. Only Bert would save something to commemorate an event like that. He kept pulling items out of the box, small mementoes representing different times in their band’s career. Most of them he remembered and most made him laugh.
At the bottom of the box was a packet of letters, wrapped in a red ribbon. Jeph frowned a little at the sight, wondering who had sent Bert letters he’d deemed important enough to save like that. He didn’t remember seeing any of them arrive, and he assumed they must have been from someone Bert corresponded with after the band split up, though it was odd since Bert had never seemed like the type to write real letters. He turned the packet over to see if there was a return address and froze when he saw that the front of the first envelope held only his own name. He blinked, uncertain if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there it was, Jepha Howard, written in Bert’s familiar handwriting. He untied the ribbon and looked at the rest of the envelopes; each bore only those two words. Why had Bert written all these letters and never sent them? With an odd mixture of dread and excitement churning in his stomach, Jeph opened the first letter and began to read.
~~~~
December 26, 2000
Dear Jeph,
We’ve known each other for awhile now, played together, sang together, and I think I can safely consider you one of my best friends. Which is awesome, cause you’re a really cool guy. Yesterday was Christmas, and we all hung out for awhile, you and me and Branden and Quinn. We were all just standing around by the door talking, and then Branden started laughing and pointed out that I was under the mistletoe. We looked up, and sure enough, I was. I made a crack about having to be kissed now, and Quinn started to move, but you beat him to it. I’m not even sure why you did, I don’t even think you knew, cause you looked as surprised as me when you stepped back again. Or maybe you felt the same thing I did when you kissed me. It was like vodka and lightning, straight through me. I thought I would fall over from it. I wanted to say something, but then Quinn started bitching because he didn’t get to kiss me first, and then you left and when I saw you today, you just acted like nothing had happened.
But something did happen, man. I don’t know how to tell you, and I’ll probably never get the guts to give this to you, but at least here, I’m gonna say it. Dude, I want you.
Bert
Jepha finished the letter, his eyes wide. He did remember that night, and he knew exactly what Bert had been talking about. He’d felt the same thing; he’d been just as surprised by it as Bert had obviously been, but he’d also seen Quinn’s face when he saw the half-stunned, half-hungry look on Bert’s face as Jeph had stepped back from him. So the next day, he’d ignored it and the clutch he’d gotten in his belly every time he looked at Bert. Oh, yes, he remembered that night. He knew what Bert was talking about. He’d wanted him too.
August 18, 2001
Dear Jeph,
We played our first big gig tonight, our first real one that paid us a decent amount of money. Oh shit, it was amazing. When we came off the stage, the folks in the club were cheering for us, and it was just incredible. You turned around and looked at me with the biggest grin on your face, grabbed me and hugged me so tight. “This is it, man. We’re gonna remember this night. This is where it started.” I know you meant our career and how it would take off. I know you had seen the guy at the table taking notes just like we all had. But just to myself, I pretended you meant something different. I told myself you meant us, you and me, and that tonight we would finally figure out… something, shit, I don’t know. Then you ran off to hug the other guys and we all started hugging each other and jumping around and it was just great. But I had that one moment to dream, and it was all I needed.
Bert
Jepha smiled at the memory of that night. There had been a talent scout in the small crowd, and he had approached them after the show about recording. They’d given him their demo and the rest had been history. Rough, but glorious history. He thought back, looking for that one moment of time Bert had described. It had been so long, but he thought the memory was still there, filed away among a thousand times he’d touched Bert, hugged him, even kissed him, passing it off as friendly and affectionate when he’d wanted it to be so much more. And he hugged it to himself, savoring the memory before he went on to the next letter. He read on for awhile, letter after letter bringing to mind bits and pieces, moments in time when he’d done or said something to Bert, when Bert had done or said something to him, and how Bert had thought about it, dreamed about it and what could come from it, and wished he’d had the courage to actually take the next step.
February 25, 2004
Dear Jepha,
Today is my 22nd birthday. We’re on Warped Tour this year, and I’ve started spending a lot of time with Gerard. He likes me, a lot, and I like him too. What scares me is that this isn’t the same as how I felt about Quinn or anyone else I’ve been with in the past three years. It feels…stronger, somehow, if that makes sense. It feels more like how I feel about you. I’ve told you before, in these letters, that I love you, and now I’m going to tell you that I think I love Gerard too. And unlike with you, I know he likes, maybe even loves me back. I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, and I’ve never seen any sign that you had the same ones for me. So, I think I’m gonna go for it with Gerard. Maybe he’ll help me forget about you.
Bert
Jeph felt tears building in his eyes as he finished reading the letter. He remembered that year, that birthday. They’d had a small party for Bert with the guys from My Chemical Romance. Bert and Gerard had sat side by side the whole time, trading sly glances and whispers and playing footsie under the table. Jeph knew because Quinn and Mikey had been sitting right across from them and had complained loudly when one or the other rubbed against the wrong foot. He had sat there, watching them, trying to smile and laugh with everyone else, knowing that as soon as the party was over they were going to haul each other off somewhere to tear clothes off and go at it, and hating himself for hating the idea. Bert deserved to be happy, and it was obvious that Gerard had made him happy, at least for a while. The relationship hadn’t lasted more than a few months, much to his secret relief, but even then, Jepha hadn’t been able to speak his feelings for Bert.
He kept reading the letters, stacking them neatly on the bed beside him, till he got to the last one. It was thin, like most of the others, but the handwriting on the front was more even, as though Bert had put special effort into making it look nice and pretty. He opened the letter and his eyes widened a little at the date. It was the day Bert died.
October 19, 2007
Dear Jepha,
I can’t live like this any more. I’ve had feelings for you for six years, I know I’ve loved you for at least four of them, and I’ve never said anything to you in this whole time. I don’t even know if you like guys; you’ve never mentioned it and I’ve never seen you with any, at least not like that. I’ve watched you with your girlfriends, I’ve made you watch me with mine (and my boyfriends), and neither of us has cracked. There are days when I look at you and see something there, something that makes me wonder if maybe you’re hiding a secret too. I’ve thought about it, I’ve dreamed about it, I’ve argued with myself about it, and I’m not going to sit on it any more.
By the time you read this, it will already be settled, I hope. I will have either gotten up the courage to say it straight out, or at least to have left you all my letters and we will have talked about it. The band isn’t together anymore, this won’t cause problems or awkwardness if I’m guessing wrong, I have nothing left to lose.
Jepha Howard, I love you. I think, I hope that you love me too. But one way or the other, I’m going to tell you about it. And with any luck, you’ll say you love me back.
Bert
Jepha finished the letter feeling something akin to shock. Bert had loved him after all. He had wanted to tell him, had been about to tell him, and then he had died. A bit numb, he put all the other letters back in their envelopes and retied the ribbon around them, leaving the last one out and separate. Leaving them there on the bed, he walked into his office, opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a stack of envelopes, all tied together with a black ribbon. He carried them downstairs to the living room, stopping in his room to pick up the other packet, and laid them side by side in the empty fireplace. The two stacks were nearly identical save for the colors of the ribbon and the writing on the front. One tied with red ribbon and inscribed with the name Jepha Howard, the other tied with black ribbon, the name Bert McCracken written across the front. He sat there for a moment and then reached down, lit a match and touched it to the two stacks of letters. He sat there watching them, tears trickling down his cheeks, as they burned into two little piles of ash and charred ribbon, then swept them together and collected them in a little bag. He took the bag upstairs, and repacked the box, leaving out the bag and letter for last. Before he put them in the box, he wrote one last letter, printed Bert’s name on the front of it, and tied it to the other, placing them both in the box with the bag. He closed it up, carried it back downstairs, and set it on a shelf where he would see it often. He stood there for a moment, one hand still resting on the box, and then headed out the door to go meet Branden and Quinn.
October 19, 2008
Dear Bert,
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I loved you when I didn’t know it, and when I was too scared to say it. I loved you when you were afraid to tell me and when you were afraid I didn’t love you back. I loved you even when I wanted to kick and scream at you that you were with the wrong one, that you should be with me, but didn’t because I was too scared that you would laugh at me and tell me to stop being silly and go away. I loved you every day of your life from the first moment I met you until this very second, except for the day you died, and then I hated you for dying before I could tell you how much I loved you even then.
I sent your letters back to you, and I sent mine with them, so that you can compare and see how much alike our thoughts were all those times. I kept your last one, and this one, to remind myself that love is a risk, and if it ever comes around again, I’ll have these to remind me to take it. I won’t make this same mistake twice. And I won’t ever forget you, or stop loving you.
Love, Jepha