525,600 -- G
[title] 525,600
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[rating] G
[word count] 1782
[summary] Cook thinks of all the ways this last year has been the... wait for it... time of his life. (Magic rainbows sold separately.)
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Smooshy.
[author's notes] In celebration of cookleta turning one year old! How adorable is that!? I haven't been around as long as cookleta has been alive, but I hope I can do the babies a little justice. RENT-inspired as well, because I'm a nerd.
525, 600
Twelve months.
Three hundred sixty-five days.
Eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
Cook stared at the notebook before him, the notebook with the lost snippets of song titles and chorus lines, meandering doodles and page after page of things like, "Mr. and Mr. David Archuleta-Cook" and "Mr. David Roland Cook and Mr. David James Archuleta request the honor of your presence as they commit themselves to one another on the twenty-first day of June..." It was like a journal of wandering adoration and daydreaming, accidentally collected in this beat-up composition book, and now he was using it again, here in the last minutes before he had originally wanted to have today's project done. He had to get it done before David got home. It still wasn't going to be as awesome as he had first planned, and given how it was probably going to turn out now, he was already embarrassed by it. And he knew David. He knew David would blow him out of the water, no matter what he did. It had to be better than this.
One year. How had that much time gone by already? Time flies. Especially when you're having so much fun. One year since Cook had taken David by the hand, kissed each knuckle gently, asked him to be his boyfriend, officially. He had even been goofy and asked David to wear his handcuff necklace, as if it were his class ring. It had lasted about two hours before David got it caught on his clothing and nearly choked to death and so regretfully returned it.
One near-death experience by handcuff necklace, Cook scrawled on the page. His hand smeared through the still-wet ink and he cursed. What else had happened? What else had filled this year -- the best year of his entire life? Oh, besides the Declaration tour and hijinks on the road. Besides Neal scowling at him every time he changed the set list and the countless numbers of drumsticks he found scattered wherever Kyle went. How did he count his year with David? What made this year what it was?
Fifty-three Idol concert stops.
One hundred twenty-one cups of coffee.
One hundred twenty-one glasses of milk.
Cook tapped his pen on the table. This wasn't exactly going the way he had planned. He chewed on the cap end of the pen, momentarily amused by the thought that if David saw him do that he'd have a fit and tell him how gross it was.
Three hundred sixty-five hygiene checks.
He wanted to let David know all the little things. The little things that built up together into this one big gigantic thing called his love for his partner. Things that made him love him, things that made him proud. Things that made him laugh, and things that made him cry. Things that built this year into something uniquely different than any other year. He wanted a list of everything, every little thing, no matter how minute, he wanted David to know that even those things -- those microscopic things -- made his life.
Nine spontaneous on-air attack hugs.
Three fights.
Six tuxedo rentals.
Twenty-one shared showers.
Twenty-one individual follow-up showers.
Two emergency flights to Kansas City.
Eight lazy Sundays in bed.
One hundred one grapes eaten in one sitting.
Six grape skins caught in teeth.
One amazing New Year's kiss.
Yes, now this was getting somewhere. The true description of their love was not in chocolate boxes and mushy cards. It wasn't in romantic dates and expensive gifts. It was in life. Living life every day, the normal stuff. Happy and sad, irreverent and critically serious -- these were the things that made them who they were.
One new puppy.
Five weekend trips to the beach.
Two expensive examples why Cook doesn't cook.
Three midnight talks.
Sixty-one midnight sex wake-ups.
One midnight near walk-out.
Cook looked at what he'd written. It was actually amazing he was remembering some of this stuff. Sure, he exaggerated some of the numbers, but he was sure they were pretty good estimates. He thought about taking out some of the more negative items, yet he couldn't deny that some of the most memorable moments -- some of the moments when he loved David the most -- were when he was standing at his brother's hospital bed, weeping, and David hooked his hand into his and squeezed gently. When the threat of David walking out the door after he himself had come home at five in the morning completely drop down drunk sobered him enough to realize what he was about to lose -- that's when he loved David the most. And these moments were what measured the year as much as fifteen sunset viewings from the roof, two hundred thirty-three dog walks and eleven spontaneous serenades.
Four Michael Johns party survivals.
Seven panicked media rumors.
One hundred forty-three film rentals.
Eight scary movie snuggles.
One "incident" involving honey.
Two non-tour related nights apart.
Five secret mid-tour meet-ups.
Cook was holding his pen at his mouth again when he heard the front door open and close. Panic filled his heart -- he wasn't even done drafting his list yet, let alone writing a sentimental introduction for it.
"Cooookiee, I'm hoome." David's melodic voice sang even when he spoke. There was a moment of paralysis as Cook listened to the voice, praying for it to sound again, to say anything. He jumped when his lover came into the room, carrying nothing more than a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. Hastily, Cook slapped the notebook closed, looking up at his dear boyfriend.
"You're home early," he breathed, angry that he definitely couldn't finish his present now. He knew he should have started it at least a week ago when Kyle had told him he should. And David had bought a gift. He was certain they had discussed not doing that. He wondered if he should excuse himself immediately to go down to the car dealership where he knew a beautifully restored Mustang that caught David's eye every time they drove past sat begging to be taken home by someone and buy it on the spot. Ha, that would show him, Cook thought.
"Well, sort of, I guess." He looked Cook over, eyes lingering on the notebook. Cook knew that David knew what that notebook was all about. That is, he knew half-finished songs were in it, and crazy doodles. "I drove like a maniac home because... I couldn't wait to get here. It's our day!"
Cook smiled and grabbed David's wrist. "It is our day. What's that?" Cook knew what it was, at least vaguely. It was clearly a jewelry box, a long skinny one.
"Your present of course."
"I thought we discussed this."
"Yeah, well..."
"Take it back."
"I can't, it was on sale."
"You bought me a clearance gift?"
"It wasn't on clearance!"
"Wow, what am I going to get in twenty years? A box of crackers?"
"Oh for gosh sakes, Cookie, just open it."
Cook grabbed the box, feigning annoyance (which made David giggle) and peeled the paper from it hastily. David leaned against the table, grinning from ear to ear. Lifting the lid, Cook's eye caught the shining silver reflecting back at him, and he barely had the bracelet out of the box before David started rambling.
"I hope it's not too fancy to wear all the time, I know your other bracelets get pretty beat up but... see how it has that little charm on it? I thought like, every year I'd buy a new one to go on there. Is that too girly?"
Cook fingered the small but sturdy charm, shaped like the number one, hanging from the middle of the bracelet. He sniffed deeply, trying to keep the hot stinging in his eyes from becoming any more than that.
"It's fine," Cook breathed. "It's... wonderful."
"Oh good."
"Put it on me?" He held out the bracelet and his right hand. David's nail-bitten fingers fumbled with the tiny clasp, but he was finally able to get it attached. Cook looked up into David's eyes, which always reminded him of facet-cut jewels. He smiled and made pursing movements with his lips. David bent to press a gentle kiss on his boyfriend's lips and Cook thought to himself, A thousand sweet kisses.
"I made reservations for dinner," David said, squeezing himself between Cook and the table, wedging himself onto Cook's lap. "At the Restaurante Corozón, which if I recall is your favorite."
"I think it's your favorite, but I'll let you pretend you picked it for me." Cook wrapped his arms around the thin waist and pushed his face into David's neck, kissing it tenderly. Fourteen song lyric re-enactments.
"Thank you," he breathed into David's ear. "I love you."
"Te amo tambien, Galletita," David responded, Cook knew it was without even thinking what language he was speaking. Ninety-six Spanish outbursts, good and bad.
"I didn't get you anything," Cook said. "Seriously. Not joking. We made a pact."
"It's okay," David said, voice soft on the darkening room. The sun was fading and no lights had been turned on in the kitchen. "It's not about being equal, it's about doing what you want to do. And I wanted to give you that."
"Thank you. I started writing something for you, but... it's not done."
"Let me see it."
"I couldn't."
"Your time is up, Cookie, let me see."
"Okay."
Cook opened up the notebook, taking too long to find the page he needed, occasionally pausing to smile at a particularly strong string of song lyrics, but rushing past the fake passages of wedding announcements. Finally, the freshly written on page stared back at both of them, "One Year" scrawled along the top.
"Oh gosh," David said, "what's this?"
"I was thinking about what I could do that would capture what all this means to me. That would somehow measure what this amazing year has been like. I don't know, it's kind of lame."
David was scanning the page now. "No, it isn't."
"It's no silver bracelet."
"No," David replied, finger lingering over some of the statements Cook had written. "No... it's better."
"You don't have to say that."
"I mean it."
Cook sighed, half not believing his boyfriend.
"You forgot something though," David said, turning to try to face Cook.
"I told you it wasn't finished."
"You still forgot it."
"What's that?"
"To measure in love." And David pushed his knees up onto Cook's lap, turned to face him, wrapped his arms around Cook's neck and kissed him like he'd never kissed him before.
One unmatchable love.
======================================================
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, cookleta!! I LOVE YOU!!
======♥======♥======♥======
"Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. Remember the love!"
--Cast of RENT, Seasons of Love
======♥======♥======♥======
>>>>> NOW WITH FOLLOW UP: Moments So Dear... <<<<<
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[rating] G
[word count] 1782
[summary] Cook thinks of all the ways this last year has been the... wait for it... time of his life. (Magic rainbows sold separately.)
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Smooshy.
[author's notes] In celebration of cookleta turning one year old! How adorable is that!? I haven't been around as long as cookleta has been alive, but I hope I can do the babies a little justice. RENT-inspired as well, because I'm a nerd.
525, 600
Twelve months.
Three hundred sixty-five days.
Eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
Cook stared at the notebook before him, the notebook with the lost snippets of song titles and chorus lines, meandering doodles and page after page of things like, "Mr. and Mr. David Archuleta-Cook" and "Mr. David Roland Cook and Mr. David James Archuleta request the honor of your presence as they commit themselves to one another on the twenty-first day of June..." It was like a journal of wandering adoration and daydreaming, accidentally collected in this beat-up composition book, and now he was using it again, here in the last minutes before he had originally wanted to have today's project done. He had to get it done before David got home. It still wasn't going to be as awesome as he had first planned, and given how it was probably going to turn out now, he was already embarrassed by it. And he knew David. He knew David would blow him out of the water, no matter what he did. It had to be better than this.
One year. How had that much time gone by already? Time flies. Especially when you're having so much fun. One year since Cook had taken David by the hand, kissed each knuckle gently, asked him to be his boyfriend, officially. He had even been goofy and asked David to wear his handcuff necklace, as if it were his class ring. It had lasted about two hours before David got it caught on his clothing and nearly choked to death and so regretfully returned it.
One near-death experience by handcuff necklace, Cook scrawled on the page. His hand smeared through the still-wet ink and he cursed. What else had happened? What else had filled this year -- the best year of his entire life? Oh, besides the Declaration tour and hijinks on the road. Besides Neal scowling at him every time he changed the set list and the countless numbers of drumsticks he found scattered wherever Kyle went. How did he count his year with David? What made this year what it was?
Fifty-three Idol concert stops.
One hundred twenty-one cups of coffee.
One hundred twenty-one glasses of milk.
Cook tapped his pen on the table. This wasn't exactly going the way he had planned. He chewed on the cap end of the pen, momentarily amused by the thought that if David saw him do that he'd have a fit and tell him how gross it was.
Three hundred sixty-five hygiene checks.
He wanted to let David know all the little things. The little things that built up together into this one big gigantic thing called his love for his partner. Things that made him love him, things that made him proud. Things that made him laugh, and things that made him cry. Things that built this year into something uniquely different than any other year. He wanted a list of everything, every little thing, no matter how minute, he wanted David to know that even those things -- those microscopic things -- made his life.
Nine spontaneous on-air attack hugs.
Three fights.
Six tuxedo rentals.
Twenty-one shared showers.
Twenty-one individual follow-up showers.
Two emergency flights to Kansas City.
Eight lazy Sundays in bed.
One hundred one grapes eaten in one sitting.
Six grape skins caught in teeth.
One amazing New Year's kiss.
Yes, now this was getting somewhere. The true description of their love was not in chocolate boxes and mushy cards. It wasn't in romantic dates and expensive gifts. It was in life. Living life every day, the normal stuff. Happy and sad, irreverent and critically serious -- these were the things that made them who they were.
One new puppy.
Five weekend trips to the beach.
Two expensive examples why Cook doesn't cook.
Three midnight talks.
Sixty-one midnight sex wake-ups.
One midnight near walk-out.
Cook looked at what he'd written. It was actually amazing he was remembering some of this stuff. Sure, he exaggerated some of the numbers, but he was sure they were pretty good estimates. He thought about taking out some of the more negative items, yet he couldn't deny that some of the most memorable moments -- some of the moments when he loved David the most -- were when he was standing at his brother's hospital bed, weeping, and David hooked his hand into his and squeezed gently. When the threat of David walking out the door after he himself had come home at five in the morning completely drop down drunk sobered him enough to realize what he was about to lose -- that's when he loved David the most. And these moments were what measured the year as much as fifteen sunset viewings from the roof, two hundred thirty-three dog walks and eleven spontaneous serenades.
Four Michael Johns party survivals.
Seven panicked media rumors.
One hundred forty-three film rentals.
Eight scary movie snuggles.
One "incident" involving honey.
Two non-tour related nights apart.
Five secret mid-tour meet-ups.
Cook was holding his pen at his mouth again when he heard the front door open and close. Panic filled his heart -- he wasn't even done drafting his list yet, let alone writing a sentimental introduction for it.
"Cooookiee, I'm hoome." David's melodic voice sang even when he spoke. There was a moment of paralysis as Cook listened to the voice, praying for it to sound again, to say anything. He jumped when his lover came into the room, carrying nothing more than a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. Hastily, Cook slapped the notebook closed, looking up at his dear boyfriend.
"You're home early," he breathed, angry that he definitely couldn't finish his present now. He knew he should have started it at least a week ago when Kyle had told him he should. And David had bought a gift. He was certain they had discussed not doing that. He wondered if he should excuse himself immediately to go down to the car dealership where he knew a beautifully restored Mustang that caught David's eye every time they drove past sat begging to be taken home by someone and buy it on the spot. Ha, that would show him, Cook thought.
"Well, sort of, I guess." He looked Cook over, eyes lingering on the notebook. Cook knew that David knew what that notebook was all about. That is, he knew half-finished songs were in it, and crazy doodles. "I drove like a maniac home because... I couldn't wait to get here. It's our day!"
Cook smiled and grabbed David's wrist. "It is our day. What's that?" Cook knew what it was, at least vaguely. It was clearly a jewelry box, a long skinny one.
"Your present of course."
"I thought we discussed this."
"Yeah, well..."
"Take it back."
"I can't, it was on sale."
"You bought me a clearance gift?"
"It wasn't on clearance!"
"Wow, what am I going to get in twenty years? A box of crackers?"
"Oh for gosh sakes, Cookie, just open it."
Cook grabbed the box, feigning annoyance (which made David giggle) and peeled the paper from it hastily. David leaned against the table, grinning from ear to ear. Lifting the lid, Cook's eye caught the shining silver reflecting back at him, and he barely had the bracelet out of the box before David started rambling.
"I hope it's not too fancy to wear all the time, I know your other bracelets get pretty beat up but... see how it has that little charm on it? I thought like, every year I'd buy a new one to go on there. Is that too girly?"
Cook fingered the small but sturdy charm, shaped like the number one, hanging from the middle of the bracelet. He sniffed deeply, trying to keep the hot stinging in his eyes from becoming any more than that.
"It's fine," Cook breathed. "It's... wonderful."
"Oh good."
"Put it on me?" He held out the bracelet and his right hand. David's nail-bitten fingers fumbled with the tiny clasp, but he was finally able to get it attached. Cook looked up into David's eyes, which always reminded him of facet-cut jewels. He smiled and made pursing movements with his lips. David bent to press a gentle kiss on his boyfriend's lips and Cook thought to himself, A thousand sweet kisses.
"I made reservations for dinner," David said, squeezing himself between Cook and the table, wedging himself onto Cook's lap. "At the Restaurante Corozón, which if I recall is your favorite."
"I think it's your favorite, but I'll let you pretend you picked it for me." Cook wrapped his arms around the thin waist and pushed his face into David's neck, kissing it tenderly. Fourteen song lyric re-enactments.
"Thank you," he breathed into David's ear. "I love you."
"Te amo tambien, Galletita," David responded, Cook knew it was without even thinking what language he was speaking. Ninety-six Spanish outbursts, good and bad.
"I didn't get you anything," Cook said. "Seriously. Not joking. We made a pact."
"It's okay," David said, voice soft on the darkening room. The sun was fading and no lights had been turned on in the kitchen. "It's not about being equal, it's about doing what you want to do. And I wanted to give you that."
"Thank you. I started writing something for you, but... it's not done."
"Let me see it."
"I couldn't."
"Your time is up, Cookie, let me see."
"Okay."
Cook opened up the notebook, taking too long to find the page he needed, occasionally pausing to smile at a particularly strong string of song lyrics, but rushing past the fake passages of wedding announcements. Finally, the freshly written on page stared back at both of them, "One Year" scrawled along the top.
"Oh gosh," David said, "what's this?"
"I was thinking about what I could do that would capture what all this means to me. That would somehow measure what this amazing year has been like. I don't know, it's kind of lame."
David was scanning the page now. "No, it isn't."
"It's no silver bracelet."
"No," David replied, finger lingering over some of the statements Cook had written. "No... it's better."
"You don't have to say that."
"I mean it."
Cook sighed, half not believing his boyfriend.
"You forgot something though," David said, turning to try to face Cook.
"I told you it wasn't finished."
"You still forgot it."
"What's that?"
"To measure in love." And David pushed his knees up onto Cook's lap, turned to face him, wrapped his arms around Cook's neck and kissed him like he'd never kissed him before.
One unmatchable love.
======================================================
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, cookleta!! I LOVE YOU!!
======♥======♥======♥======
"Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. Remember the love!"
--Cast of RENT, Seasons of Love
======♥======♥======♥======
>>>>> NOW WITH FOLLOW UP: Moments So Dear... <<<<<