Day Off Day (Cont.)
Title: Day Off Day (Continued) AKA: Kris' Existential Identity Crisis Day
Rating: PG, tops.
Pairing: Kradam (pre-slash), Kris/Katy
Word Count: 3,039
More Words That Are Not The Fic: My dear friend, joannacullen , who is usually my fantabulous beta, is working on her screenplay (Go, you, BB!!), and I'm an impatient little thing, so this is going un-beta'd. This means that, sadly, I (and, by proxy, you) have only myself to blame for any & all craptasticness that may be involved/displayed. I was asked to continue this story, so my Mexican-sun-addled brain threw this at me. Hope it pleases. ;) Oh, and I know I was asked to get Kris out of his trauma, but... he's just such a cute kicked puppy. I've got a third installment coming, which should give some more closure. Just so you're warned. Don't worry- it's not angsty, though!
Previous Part(s): Day Off Day
Katy’s suggestion of some ‘alone time, to think about things’ was a good one. A kind one. I’m a bit floored by her reactions, how cool she’s being. Well, after that initial spazzing out, anyway. But, it’s not like taking note of your husband’s sudden, apparent interest in another- a man at that- is an easy or every-day thing.
‘Course, she said it wasn’t such a ‘sudden’ thing. Well, it’s sudden to me! I still can’t quite wrap my head around the idea. Photographic evidence or no, I know what I feel, and my relationship with Adam may be considered unorthodox, but there’s never been anything more than friendliness between us.
Okay, there was that one night, but alcohol and twenty-two hours of no sleep and a little more alcohol was involved, so that doesn’t count. And maybe those hugs have gotten progressively longer, and tighter, and not restricted to solely vertical activities… but there were some stressful, emotionally upsetting times during the competition, and sometimes you just need a cuddle. Not a big deal. Babies die without human contact and affection; adults can’t be any different.
“You look at him like… like he’s… beautiful.”
Beautiful? That’s-- Okay, think, Kris. Don’t think about what it means, just think objectively. Facts. Alright.
Fact: Me and Adam are best friends.
Fact: Within ten minutes of us meeting, we’d already started our first inside joke.
Fact: When I found out I’d be rooming with Adam, I was--
Oh. Okay. That might be, um-- I asked. When we were moving into the Mansion, I said something about hoping me and Adam could room together. I knew I wanted to live with him. Not-- I knew we’d get along really well, and that I’d do better on the show if we were together. As roommates, not…
Not what? What else would you be, Kris? Really.
Okay, so, professionally I’m better because of him. Artistically. Musically, vocally- that last note with Queen, jeez. I thought I was gonna pass out. But that look. That Adam face that said he knew I could do it, that I had it in me to go as long as he could, that I’m just as worthy of the stage as he is. Not in an egotistical way, he’s just that good, and he believed in me. Believes. Tells me all the time.
“I’m so, so proud of you, Kris. You’ve earned all of this. Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself. I never have. I knew you could do this, honey. Those people tonight- all those millions out there, all over the country- they love you, Kris. And with good reason. Not as much as I love you, of course, but we are pretty epic.”
“We’re Kradam.”
He laughed. It’s the laugh I want to bottle up and carry with me, keep it close all the time and bring it out whenever I want to fill my heart with that pure joy; to swallow it down, let it soak through me, making me closer to the Kris that he sees.
Beautiful.
Adam said that once; told me that. Well, sort of. It was after “Falling Slowly”. That night in our room. The moon was so bright, we could see each other almost perfectly without any lights on. Each of us lying in our own bed, facing each other, like always, and he kept staring at me with this expression I couldn’t place. That little smile, almost… dreamy.
“You were amazing tonight, Kris.”
He’d said it already, but there was something in his voice, something new. It sounded a little like awe, which, that can’t be right, cuz, hello, Adam Frickin’ Lambert. But there it was, all the same. I’m sure I gaped and blushed like the cool, articulate genius that I am.
And then, he just said it. Like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t mean-- well, I mean, it didn’t, cuz that’s just how Adam is. Anyway, he went on, voice lowered to a near-whisper,
“You’re so beautiful.”
Which is obviously not what he said, so I blinked a lot and asked, “What?”
He clarified, “The- the way you did that song. It was really beautiful.”
I didn’t expect to feel like I did after that. It wasn’t a lack of confusion or an understanding. It was like… disappointment. I think I may have fought a tiny pout right then. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now--
Yeah, now. Now that my wife thinks I’m in love with my best friend. Now that I can’t stop thinking about how Adam is always there for me, and how much I rely on him for everything. No, seriously. Everything. From clothes to music to food to answers in interviews and when I’m falling apart. I need him.
I need Adam. Hm. Okay, so, there’s another Fact.
And when I thought he’d said that thing he didn’t say, I’d gotten a flush of cold, then hot, then numb, then tingly. Then I got what he actually said, which made much more sense, cuz “cute” is one thing, but “beautiful”? Adam does not think of me as beautiful. Oh. That’s- huh. My insides are informing me that I think that fact kind of sucks. What the heck, self? Why would you want that?
Adam. Adam with the crazy grin and silly voices and forty-million boots. Adam with those perfect teeth and that supermodel nose and those eyes that change color and glow like the moon itself in the right light and put Eden’s waters to shame and can make everything feel warmer and calmer just by being trained on you. You’d think with all the stuff he uses in his Elvis hair that it’d be rough or stiff, but it’s silky. It feathers and falls like black sand through your fingers. He’ll close his eyes, get a serene, blissful expression on his face, and make these little sounds of contentment- if you can get him to lay still long enough for a decent head-rub. Once you make Adam happy, you’ll do anything to do it again. It’s addictive, like some weird drug, but then Adam himself can feel a bit like a drug sometimes. Hard to feel like you can get enough- enough of his time, his voice, his support, his advice, his expressiveness, his touches and hugs and oh my God, this really might be not all that normal.
Fact: I have never had this reaction to any of my other friends.
I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m having a hard time caring, which could be worrying, but it is Adam, after all. I doubt I’ve felt normal since we met. Oh. Right. That’s- that’s kind of--
Fact: I’ve never had a friend like Adam.
I’ve never had someone evoke this kind of reaction in me. I’ve never felt quite this unsteady about, well, anything, really. Not even Katy. She’s always been such a piece of home, a comfortable place; safe. Even before we got together, I still never- I mean, I was nervous at first, sure, but never like a certain look could spin my head around to the wrong way and put my skin inside out. Loving her feels like being held and rocked and wrapped up in soft blankets. Like all the excitement and giddiness of a first kiss combined with warm apple pie and ice cream. Not like I’m drowning and praying to never be let up for air.
Not that I’m saying I love Adam that way. Cuz I don’t. Love him that way. The way I love Katy. It’s- it’s a different part of me that I use to love Adam.
Not like that. Gutter. Mind. Out.
And, okay, maybe most people don’t go quite so extreme, but me and Adam are just different. There’s nothing like us. Nothing like him. He’s just…
Oh.My.God.
He’s beautiful. He is. He’s absolutely, totally, un-earthly, outrageously beautiful.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh my God.
Okay, no. No, that’s fine. It is. No, it is, cuz, yeah, I noticed before, how he’s, ya know, attractive and stuff. Except- except not so much like this. Not where it’s beautiful in a non-abstract, non-objective, non-just-another-guy kind of way. Not like he’s a work of art, a master stroke by the hand of God.
What a show-off, making Adam, man.
Or in pieces, like eyes, mouth, hands, hips- hips?! Bad Kris brain! Shut up! -but the whole package. The whole Adam, all the outside bits. Adam’s always been stunning on the inside. Wanting to keep his spirit safe and protected with yours, that’s just what happens when you know him. Wanting to cradle his face in your hands, kiss every freckle, and run your lips over one-hundred-percent of his skin- that’s probably a little more than can be explained by friendliness.
Fact: I’m thoroughly screwed.
All those nights. All those times my crazy brain said things I wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe I’d actually think. Not once did any of this occur to me. How dense am I? How can I know exactly what Adam means to me, know how much I adore him, but still have no clue what any of that means? Why haven’t I noticed any of this before? If Katy thought enough of this to call me on it, how obvious is whatever this is to other people? That whole “Kradam” thing- could that-- is that for real? Could they see what I’ve missed for nearly a year?
Oh, God, does Adam know? Has he seen…? Surely he’d have said something. “Hey, buddy, could you stop falling in love with me? It’s starting to freak me out.”
Wait. Love? I’m not- I don’t- it’s not- I am not in love with Adam. I’m not. I love the guy, sure, but there’s a big leap from love to in love and I haven’t, ya know, leapt.
Very Important Fact: Just because you have loving feelings for someone does not mean you are romantically invested in your relationship. It just doesn’t.
God, I need to do something. Fidgety fingers. Guitar! Yes, that’s what I need. Play guitar. There’s something so soothing, so relaxing about the sound of the hollow body of an acoustic; the soft squeak moving chord to chord makes. It feels like the moment you walk in the door after being away from home. The smell- so familiar, so right- the touch of the air, the deep sigh coming home draws from the core of your soul.
Katy calls my guitar my security blanket. She said if it were softer, we’d need a bigger bed, cuz she knows I’d be sleeping with it. I never told her that when I first got my baby, I did keep it with me in bed. Adam said he put his David Bowie album under one of his pillows and kept his hand on it at night. I remember, when we talked about that, feeling so understood, so at peace with who I am and how I feel and who I want to be. A connection truer and purer than any I’ve experienced- a bond between kindreds, between the spirits of two people with music in their blood, as their heartbeat, something tangible, something they can taste, it’s so much a part of them. We share that, me and Adam. I’ll never get how that isn’t ‘right’.
This is not helpful thinking, Kristopher. Justifying the friendship is not the way to Katy’s heart or back into her good graces. She’s right, anyway. It can’t be healthy to want to spend time with your gay best friend instead of your wife. Not instead- except, yeah, that’s right. Instead.
Oh, wow. I got jealous that one night. The three of us (plus our “escorts”- babysitters is more like it) went to dinner. I remember actually feeling at one point that Katy was… I don’t want to say ‘in the way’. It just felt a little third-wheely, and it wasn’t Adam intruding on a date. I think it was more like Katy being there meant I didn’t feel I could say or do some of the things I might have if it were just me and Adam out together. I guess it’s kind of… less judged? Not that Katy does- far from it- but there’s this part of me, either it’s new or newly uncovered, and I can’t get myself to open up with anyone except Adam. He was there, start to finish. He helped me become who I am today. It doesn’t seem fair that I should have to feel guilty about that. ‘Course it’s probably not fair that I’m becoming this new person and can’t seem to want Katy to be in the center of it. Not when I do want Adam there. Not when I want Adam to be one of the cornerstones of the foundation of this new life I’m building. That’s not very fair. I’m just not sure who it’s less fair to- me or Katy.
“Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice, you’ve made it known. Falling slowly, eyes that know me, and I can’t go back… You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself, it’s time that you won.”
Funny, I don’t remember when I started playing this. I don’t think I even noticed what I was playing until just now.
“It was beautiful.”
I wish Adam was here- he’d be able to help me figure this crap out.
Again, that is the problem, Kristopher. Maybe now you should start thinking about what all this means?
Chin resting on my guitar, the petulant, pathetic child in me sulks outloud, “Don’t wanna.”
I don’t want this to mean anything. That means things would change and I really don’t want that. I love how things are. Or at least how they were before this morning. Nothing been right-side-up since then. Twisted all to shreds.
Fingers strum out a quick rhythm, foot tapping along.
“It’s twisted, messed up; and the more I think about it, it’s crazy, but so what? I may never understand it; I’m caught up and I’m hangin’ on; I’m gonna love you even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s twisted.”
Oh, perfect. Excellent work, subconscious. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get my body parts or my brain to respect me or treat me like I’m at all in charge.
I’ve always trusted my guitar to tell me how I’m really feeling. She can get stuff out of me that I didn’t even know was there. When I can’t settle my mind down, she’s right there for me. She knew before I did that I was in real, true, hearts-and-flowers-and-forevers in love with Katy. This isn’t that guitar, though. No, she’s being loved by a village of kids on the other side of the world. And it was through playing her that I realized it was what I wanted to do; to give her a new home, to open up their souls and set them free the way she did for me. I’ve never regretted a single decision I’ve made using music like that. So, what is she telling me now?
Upon realization that my psycho hands have turned my guitar into a pawn in their evil, indecipherable plot, I think maybe I’ll just put my baby down for a while.
Can’t stand it, can you? That all signs keep pointing toward--
Don’t. Don’t say it. Or think it. Jeez, I’m fighting my mental voice again. I wonder if I can get a replacement, this one’s obviously been defective for quite some time.
Oh, not too long. Just about a year or so. Besides, playing the slowed-down, ballad version of “If I Can’t Have You”- you know, the one Adam did- that’s not telling at all. Completely open to interpretation. Of course, that interpretation would be--
Shut. Up.
God. God! What am I- ow. Okay, new Fact: Frustrated and insane or not, yanking your own hair out is not a good plan.
So, what now? I could ignore it. That sounds like a good plan. Yep. Ignorance is bliss, right? I’m cool with bliss. This could work. So I think Adam’s beautiful and I love him- so what? Doesn’t have to mean anything. Doesn’t have to change anything.
Yeah, I'm alright with this.
Good.
Glad that’s settled.
This could have been a disaster.
Katy must have known it’d only take this little bit to -no pun intended- straighten everything out. I’ve got a cool wife.
Phone? Phone’s ringing. Adam?
Caller ID says ‘Katy’.
Deal with self later, talk on phone like normal person now.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Awkward.
“I’m still gonna be out for about another hour or so, but I was thinking, Take-Out tonight?”
“Mm, sure. Pizza?”
Adam loves pizza, but refuses to eat it for a number of insane reasons.
“I thought you’d say that. The usual?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well. I’ll see you later, then.”
“Okay.”
She’s nervous, and I’m not giving her much, but, hey, how often do I have an identity crisis? I should be allowed some non-talkativeness, especially after her decimating all the fun out of Day Off Day.
“I love you, Kris.”
It sounds like she’s not sure I’m gonna say it back. Why would she think that?
“Love you, too, Kate.”
Her “Bye” is relieved and with a smile. I could continue to stare at my phone all confused, but I’ve got bigger issues to deal with right now.
Like how my first thought when the phone rang was ‘Adam’.
How my stomach got fluttery and my heart sped up slightly and I felt a stupid smile start on my face.
How- and this is where the problem gets serious, I think- when it said ‘Katy’ my stomach sank and my stupid face fell.
It’s not a good sign when your wife calls and you’re disappointed. It’s worse by like a thousand when you think it’s the person you’re being accused of having an “emotional affair” with, you’re excited about it being them, and then there’s the wife-disappointment fiasco. One-to-ten, that’s probably about a twelve on the Oh-Crap-O-Meter.
Yeah. I said it before, but the Fact bears repeating: I’m so very, very screwed.