silence says we remember (mcfly)
harry/dougie
pg
angst, band au
401
"I'm sorry."
There's an awkward stretch of silence as Dougie tries to find his tongue. It's twisted and tucked up somewhere in his mouth, and he concentrates on staring at the wall instead.
He can't see his face. He had heard him coming into the room. Stopped, then withdrew back to the doorway.
He remembers his footsteps. He had memorised the sound of it. Have been listening to it since the band house, underneath the covers in the middle of the night-he knows the rise and fall of it on the stairs, on the carpet in the hallway. Counted the times it stopped just outside his door, the number of steps it took him to cross the hall into the bathroom. He remembers.
Halfway through listening he learnt it by heart. Learnt the difference between heavy thuds and airy hops. Hears it coming before his scowl drops into sight, and he learns to switch the telly to the cricket channel.
He had heard the heavy footsteps pacing in the middle of the night. For weeks he listened to the dull thuds thumping, thumping until he had to bury his face into the damp pillow.
He still can't speak. There is a numb, hollow feeling echoing in the middle of his chest.
And that was love, wasn't it? He's taken up so much space in your heart that to leave was nothing but an unfamiliar ache of emptiness. He didn't ask for it. You give them this slot, and before you know it, he's burrowed deeper and deeper in. And everything is all Hallmarks and Cupids until it turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. Freezing you and slicing you apart at the same time.
He still can't find his tongue. He hears him shift, leaning against the door.
Everything is loud and muted at once, like poor quality audio in a bad movie. He strains to hear some sort of redemption.
Maybe he is too tired. Too tired to translate the sighs and silent conversations. And that was life, he guesses. A puzzle of tangled up riddles he is too tired to solve.
"I'm sorry," Harry repeats. There is another awfully loud silence. Dougie listens as he leaves the room, his footsteps echoing on the stairs. He hears the front door slam.
And that, he thinks, was all there is to it.
pg
angst, band au
401
"I'm sorry."
There's an awkward stretch of silence as Dougie tries to find his tongue. It's twisted and tucked up somewhere in his mouth, and he concentrates on staring at the wall instead.
He can't see his face. He had heard him coming into the room. Stopped, then withdrew back to the doorway.
He remembers his footsteps. He had memorised the sound of it. Have been listening to it since the band house, underneath the covers in the middle of the night-he knows the rise and fall of it on the stairs, on the carpet in the hallway. Counted the times it stopped just outside his door, the number of steps it took him to cross the hall into the bathroom. He remembers.
Halfway through listening he learnt it by heart. Learnt the difference between heavy thuds and airy hops. Hears it coming before his scowl drops into sight, and he learns to switch the telly to the cricket channel.
He had heard the heavy footsteps pacing in the middle of the night. For weeks he listened to the dull thuds thumping, thumping until he had to bury his face into the damp pillow.
He still can't speak. There is a numb, hollow feeling echoing in the middle of his chest.
And that was love, wasn't it? He's taken up so much space in your heart that to leave was nothing but an unfamiliar ache of emptiness. He didn't ask for it. You give them this slot, and before you know it, he's burrowed deeper and deeper in. And everything is all Hallmarks and Cupids until it turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. Freezing you and slicing you apart at the same time.
He still can't find his tongue. He hears him shift, leaning against the door.
Everything is loud and muted at once, like poor quality audio in a bad movie. He strains to hear some sort of redemption.
Maybe he is too tired. Too tired to translate the sighs and silent conversations. And that was life, he guesses. A puzzle of tangled up riddles he is too tired to solve.
"I'm sorry," Harry repeats. There is another awfully loud silence. Dougie listens as he leaves the room, his footsteps echoing on the stairs. He hears the front door slam.
And that, he thinks, was all there is to it.