what if you're making me all that i was meant to be (lessons in intimacy) -- part five

Dec 26, 2012 02:05



vi.

i bet johnny only knows half the people here, max thought to himself as he scanned the party covertly from his seat. it was johnny's party, after all, but the sentiment wasn't really surprising to max. he didn't know johnny very well, but he knew enough to know that johnny, like scimeca, was astonishingly well-connected. he was also notable for his consistent open-door policy, welcoming everyone the same, whether he'd met them five times or if this was the first. people felt free to bring their friends, and johnny was happy to have them.

max, however, felt uncomfortable. this just wasn't his scene. he knew what tom would say; that he'd been spending too much time in the basement (albeit for good reason), that he was out of practice, party-wise (truthfully, had he ever been in practice?), and that he just needed to put himself out there. everyone seemed to know everyone, and max wondered if any of them had noticed his discomfort. probably not. too busy flirting, getting another drink, watching the new year’s festivities on the widescreen in the other room. it was so loud that people were practically yelling in each other’s ears to be heard. no one seemed to mind.

he took a swig from the pseudo-vintage coke bottle he'd grabbed from a table. he contemplated leaving, and the severity of the lecture tom would give him tomorrow if he did. he shrugged and shifted on the couch, calculating the quickest route to the door. or more precisely, the smallest number of people he'd have to encounter to reach it.

without warning, tom sat down beside him, which startled max more than it should have. speak of the devil. he rearranged his face into something that looked pleasantly surprised, instead of burnt-out and antisocial.

"how's it going?" tom asked with an amiable nudge. damn. tom definitely knew how badly it was going; tom could be spacey at times but he always managed to surprise max with his perception when it counted.

max shrugged a shoulder, tapped his fingers on the neck of the bottle.

"what about you?" max hoped to get the subject off himself.

"i'm having a good time. i haven't seen so many of these people in a year, or more." tom looked at max, expectant, but his gaze wandered as a girl with hair green as an evergreen tree stood in the doorway; tom thought she looked familiar.

"you should get up, talk to some people. they'll like you, trust me,” tom wasn’t just saying this -- he firmly believed that if max initiated more, people would give him the time of day he deserved. problem was, max, by nature, was not an approacher.

"that's not really my thing, tom. i'm more of a sitting-by-and-watching-the-action kind of guy, you know that." max tried to hide his tired tone. how many times had they been through this?

"how is it that you can play a bar, by yourself, in front of fifty people, but you can't go up to someone you don't know and introduce yourself?" tom was trying to make a point, bringing up a time max had done something he thought he couldn’t.

because it's music. because no one will reject me; if they didn't like it, they could just leave and i wouldn't know the difference. the stage lights usually block out the faces.

"or even a girl, for that matter. when did you last have a date?"

five seconds passed.

"if you have to think that long about it, then it's been too long." tom glanced around at the guests crowding the space around them. "what about her?"

she was on a chair wedged into a far corner of the front room, a few paces from them. he could see why tom had picked her: a hardcover book was spread out on her lap, for one thing. she leaned over it intently, unconsciously tucking strands of hair behind her ear as she did. it was like two things took up space in her world: herself, and this book. max amended that description when he spotted her heel -- deep blue, like the inside of a ring box -- tapping to the beat of the insufferable indie-electronic song that was playing.

max followed tom’s gaze. he liked her already, but he showed no signs of it: no secret smile, no raised eyebrows, no move to make her acquaintance.

tom knew he needed a little push.

“what do you want? you want an incentive?”

max quirked his lips, amused and a little flattered.

“i’ll pay you. ten bucks to go over there and hold a conversation.”

“make it two hamiltons and you’ve got a deal.” max didn’t really care about the money, he was just curious to see how far tom would take this. the cash would likely end up financing the band somehow, so tom would get it back eventually anyway.

“you know what, all right, fine. but you’ve got to earn it. don’t waste my money, steger.” tom grinned and handed max his drink so he could get out his wallet. he was dismayed to find only one bill. “be right back.”

it took tom a remarkable nine seconds to go get sean. max probably shouldn’t have been so surprised: tom always knew where sean was. sean didn’t have any cash, so they called ryan over. tom sat back down next to max.

“so what is this for, again?” ryan asked, bemused. but he was already putting the money in max’s hand.

“i’m essentially being bribed to be sociable,” max filled in.

“with a girl.” tom added with a significant look.

ryan nodded; this made sense. at least, more sense than that time tom had borrowed money for a bet to see who could do more shots in three minutes (tom had lost, but he’d gone down swinging).

“you’re made for each other.” tom jerked his chin in her direction. “go.” it wasn’t a question.

max got to his feet with some reluctance, and tom followed suit, not to go with him, but to watch from afar and try to look inconspicuous. max, admittedly, was nervous approaching her, and it only worsened as he knew he was being observed. in a minute or two he was sure ryan would start offering predictions and narrating like it was a sports game. it had happened before.

he wiped his wet palms on his jeans and walked closer. in the abstract, it had seemed less daunting. he was relieved that she hadn’t noticed him yet, but at the same time he was a little unnerved: she was even prettier up close. the world ceased to exist as max cleared his throat awkwardly and put up a hand in greeting.

“hi. i’m max.” you’re a regular casanova, he thought.

she uncrossed her legs and closed her book, leaving her finger wedged to hold the place.

“reese.” she offered a tight, dimpled smile. while that wasn’t a grin, max considered that progress.

something about him disarmed her; maybe his shyness. so many guys seemed so sure of themselves and their intent. in his unease, he comforted her. no one could be on steady ground all the time, and at last, someone could bear to admit that.

there was a pause.

“what are you reading?” max asked, referring, of course, to the red-bound hardback in her hands.

“oh,” she glanced down, waved her hand as if to say, bah, this rag?”,  in a self-deprecating way, free of pretension. “it’s actually this weird book my brother gave me? my parents were these big hippies in the whole free-love movement, and they had all these books...my brother found a whole box in the garage and gave me this one. he was like, ‘you have to read this,’ and i was super-skeptical at first, but now i can’t put it down.  it’s a little psychedelic? is that the word?”

“trippy, “ max supplied. she was kind of adorable when she talked, like she  couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

“groovy, man.” she affected a wayne’s world accent and laughed. “anyway, yeah.  it’s just really crazy stuff. it made my viewpoint on everything change,” her voice faded out and, much as max wanted to hear more, he didn’t feel right asking something so personal to someone he had just met.

reese looked past max, where johnny was passing out noisemakers and goofy, sparkly, 2008 glasses. fireworks boomed in the distance, which max took to be a little overzealous, as it was barely eleven o’clock.

“do you know the host?" she asked, adjusting the cuff button on her blazer.

“not really. but we have mutual friends. said friends brought me here. it was either this or hanging out with my parents, so.” way to go, now she’ll think you have no life.

max wasn’t sure how old reese was, as her face gave nothing away, but he did notice a bottle of ginger ale on the sill beside her.

“oh, tell me about it. this isn’t really my thing either. my brother goes way back with him, but i don’t really know anyone here.”

max tried not to show how relieved he was.

there was another pause, the seconds ticking by slowly.

“do you -- do you want something to eat?” max asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose. he glanced behind over his shoulder, only to see his friends a handful of guests away, stopping suddenly to pretend they hadn’t just been talking about him. ryan had, indeed, been narrating.

“sure, yeah.” reese had to raise her voice as a particularly loud chorus of people took shots together in the kitchen. she didn’t seem to notice how nervous he was.

“anything in particular?”

“surprise me.” she grinned, a real smile, and it showed the little gap in her front teeth.

“i will,” max assured. he made his way around on weak legs, her smile in his head erasing all other thoughts. after a minute, he came up with an array of samples from every plate on the table: fresh fruit, chocolate-covered pretzels, yogurt raisins, three kinds of chips and an assortment of dips.

his path to reese was intercepted by sean.

“you need help,” sean told max. “we’ve all agreed.”

“no, i don’t,” max insisted, trying to downplay how right they were.

“let me help you. give me two minutes. i’ll have her halfway in love with you.” sean smiled.

in all honesty, max hadn’t been that bad, but he figured sean couldn’t hurt things. he trusted sean to help more than he trusted tom or ryan to.

“all right. two minutes.”

“you brought the whole buffet,” reese observed, pleased, as she took the plate from max. she set it on top of her book, so nothing could get on her white jeans.

“this is my friend, sean.”

sean stuck out his hand to shake reese’s, and max felt jealousy tug at him at sean’s ability to do that so effortlessly. sean clapped his hands around max’s shoulders.

“has max told you about his musical career?” sean asked, showing  him off. “he’s quite the prodigy.” max felt like a showdog, but warm inside. the way sean put it, it sounded like he was world-renowned or something. it didn’t feel that way, not to max.

“he hasn’t,” reese sounded intrigued.

“this guy right here has been playing the guitar practically out of the womb and he hasn’t stopped since. at twelve, he was doing the jazz clubs ‘round here, and just two years ago, he had his own band that got signed. he did practically everything himself. right now, the band we’re in together, we use his studio to record stuff in. every band should have a max.”

a retort started to make its way to the front of max’s mind, something to tone down what sean had said; it was a reflex. but, as alien as it felt, sean seemed to be right with his methods. reese’s eyes had widened. she was impressed. maybe she liked him more.

“wow, that’s a pretty big deal. when i was twelve i think i was still in the growing-out-of-barbies point in my life.” she plucked a grape from the plate and popped it into her mouth. “but really. that’s great that you just totally went out there and did it. do you mess around with other people, ever, or is it a strictly-business thing?”

“i use it for everything. right now my time is mostly taken up by band stuff, y’know, practice and tracking and demos, but if i had a spare day, i would use it to work with other bands, yeah. i actually, i did some production last year for a local group. why, do you play something?”

“i play the drums,” reese said with a hint of a smile. her eyes flicked down as she said this; she was shy about it and max felt an immediate kinship.

“really,” max couldn’t hide how excited he was about this. it was finding one of your own in a country where you were a foreigner.

“i think you can take it from here,” sean told max, who was so distracted he hardly registered sean’s voice. as he walked away, he heard max start to talk again, this time without a bit of unease in his voice: now he was in his comfort zone.

“tom and i are going to head out,” sean told ryan.

ryan was half-listening, in the midst of telling a joke to a blonde acquaintance of sean’s, having abandoned the surveillance of max to chase a skirt.ryan was distracted -- probably thinking up an analogy for the blueness of her eyes -- so he didn’t ask many questions, just why they were leaving.

“we have a new tradition to start,” was sean’s answer. ryan didn’t press it.

and, after a handful of goodbyes to other people, they made their escape.

~

it was the mildest winter tom could remember. they didn’t even need their bulky down jackets for the walk home. even though it was only five blocks sean had the urge to run, antsy, impatient, but tom kept him grounded with his even stride. he wanted to enjoy the night. the canvas above them was painted with clouds mingling with fireworks in the distance, hiding behind trees. a few paces back, a group of girls clung to one another and laughed uproariously, stepping over the sidewalk cracks in their tall, skinny heels. they made enough noise for ten people, so the stark emptiness of the street wasn’t as noticeable. there was festivity in the air, and with every breath it seemed to get sucked a bit more into their lungs.

after they scrambled up the stairs, tom dug out the cheap champagne from the back of the fridge, where it had been hidden so ryan wouldn't get to it.

they’d ended up standing, staring across the railing into the horizon, and leaving the quilt in a heap. the wind had picked up by then, and sean shivered against tom as he brought his glass to his lips. it wasn't like it would do anything to warm him, but the chilled bubbly was pretty good, considering it had probably come from a convenience store. he put down his glass gently and set his elbows back on the railing.

"this is either the best idea ever and we should continue, or the worst idea ever and we should go inside." sean grinned and rubbed his hands together; somehow he and tom always managed to misplace their gloves precisely at the time they needed them.

"hell no," tom said emphatically, "it was my idea and we planned it like a month ago, we're not going back now."

"okay," sean laughed with chattering teeth.

tom was quiet, then; there was something magical about night. despite the occasional raucous shouts from civilization below and the thunder of the celebrations, they were able to watch the world go by in peace. the sky was so dark it was almost black, but not quite. a huge silver dollar of a moon lit them up almost as well as the fireworks did. hints of semitransparent clouds would drift over it from time to time, but otherwise, it, too, was left untouched.

of course, fireworks were nothing new. at least once a year every kid in chicago went to see the shows along the lake; over the pier during summertime they showed up every week, if not every night. yet when the telltale squeal reached their ears and the sparkling exploded in bright bombs of gaudiness, tom couldn't stop himself from feeling the same joy sean would. after the set, the smile that had appeared would fade like the smoke that risen once the colours had drained, and so would tom's.

tom wouldn’t have felt the same had he not been with sean -- sean who took wholesome pleasure in the simple things that most people, tom included, would have brushed off: the neatness of a made bed, the distinct smell of old books, chirping birds on the branch outside their window, tough ridged fender guitar strings, fruit fresh from the farmer's market. sean lived and loved life with all of his senses.

“yo, i think it’s midnight. make a wish or something,”  tom said, grabbing sean's attention after a particularly flamboyant display.

"but i don't know what to wish for." sean said slowly, as if taking suggestions.

"what about the moon?"

"what about it?"

"do you want it? i'll get it for you."

sean waited for the punchline, but when tom's face didn't change, he paused to think about it.

"how practical would that be, d'you think? what will the moon do for me?" sean said this like he was negotiating with an overeager salesman and tom stifled a laugh unsuccessfully. suddenly this seemed like the single funniest thing he had ever heard.

"um," tom composed himself and drained the rest of his glass. "think of it this way: you'd have your own nightlight all the time. which means you'd save on electricity because you could read by it...hell, you could do anything by it, probably." tom's mind went suddenly blank. "oh, also, you wouldn't bump into anything on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night anymore. that’s all i’ve got.”

“hmmm,” sean pondered the moon, considering it as if it were an option, as if tom actually could find a long enough rope and wrangle it onto the roof.

"i think i found a catch in this plan," sean looked like he regretted this. “if i had the moon then no one else would, right?"

"yeah. it'd be yours."

"so would that make everything dark, wouldn’t it? if i had the moon to myself then all we'd have to see by would be the streetlights."

"maybe it's better off in the sky."

"maybe."

a quietness fell over the two of them. tom fumbled for sean's hand in the dark, linking their fingers together once he found it. it was warm from his hoodie pocket and slightly damp from the condensation on the bottle, but tom didn't notice anything except for the hum that ran through him.

eight months and it was still like that first day.

"what a year, huh?" sean said, turning his head toward tom, something weighted in his voice. fatigue or tipsiness or nostalgia. tom wasn’t sure.

"yeah, i can't believe it," tom agreed: he'd just been thinking the same thing.

"you know, it's funny," sean started, words entering the air faint like fog. he toyed with the skinny stem of the glass, hands over the railing, and wondered what would happen if he dropped it. not much, really. just some more broken pieces sparkling on the pavement. and of course they'd be out one of their few fancier items -- neither of them was particularly into things that weren't plastic, and ryan barely had a fork to his name -- but that would be it. "i lived for so long without knowing, without really caring about my voice. i never really gave it a second thought that i could have talent. for the birds was just -- it wasn't serious. i liked to write. i liked to sing. i had friends who thought it could be fun to tour in a school bus and that's basically the band for you.

"acting was... a little different. it forced me to really take a look at myself. literally, i had to listen to my voice more, and it was a lot of studying people, a lot of going to plays, thinking about what you were watching, how it made you feel and why. the voice was only a fragment of it, despite it being involved a lot more. but that wasn't serious either. i’d just been seized by this interest and i went with it even though i didn’t get much further from where i’d started.

"and then i met you," sean smiled, helpless against it. "and you saw something in me that i'd never seen." sean stopped suddenly, unsure how to continue. he dropped tom's gaze and looked over the edge again. he felt like this more often than he cared to admit -- like he was on the brink, the verge of something -- but the feeling wasn't usually this tangible. the spirit of beginnings couldn't possibly have set the tone more than it did on this night, on the cusp of the new year. "singing was never something that i really cared about -- but you made it important to me and i made it important for you.” sean spoke like he did when he read -- acknowledging the slight weight of each word. “now that i have it, this, everything, i can't imagine being without it. it feels like i've been doing this forever."

"you play like you've been doing it forever," tom countered lightly, letting go of sean's hand to encircle his waist. he let his fingers rest there.

"touché," sean said. "i guess." sean was vaguely aware that it probably wasn't a sensical response, but he couldn't been less concerned.

what he did care about was the way tom was leaning toward him as if shyness still factored into the equation; the way he knew to meet tom halfway. sean pulled tom closer, shifted to lean him against the railing.

"no backing down now, loverboy," sean teased softly, and closed the space between them. sean felt tom's lips and teeth and tongue flush heat through him. he wasn't cold anymore.

tom had a pretty strong tolerance for low temperatures -- compared to sean, who wore at least three layers at any given time -- so he wasn't expecting to feel any colder than he had before. yet when he eased out from under sean, away from the solid pressure and warmth, it felt almost like shedding a quilt under the duress of an alarm clock.  tom wanted it back, so he put his hands in sean's back pockets and in turn felt sean's hands grasp his hips.

he spoke softly, close to sean's ear, because that was the only way he'd be able to say it aloud.

"when i went to go book the show...i almost didn't sign the contract. i hesitated. the first show is huge. it's a huge statement about who we are and i could say that i was worried about all kinds of band stuff -- whether we know enough about how we are to start playing for people -- but honestly, it was all about me. i was freaked out.

“in the end, i didn't want to disappoint you guys, so i did. i just -- i didn't tell you that part." booze made him brave, but sometimes it also made him scared. he couldn't say exactly what reaction he feared. the way he saw it, it was like confessing to having second thoughts about a marriage proposal or something that held an equal amount of gravity.

"you did it, though," sean said, and tom knew he didn't see it the same way.           “ you’re doing the best you can. and i’m terrified of everything going on right now. i’m so terrified,” he admitted. “it’s all new and scary. but what isn’t new and scary? most things are, so -- i don’t know, you may as well just go forth and try, otherwise you’ll be stuck in the safe zone, and  that’s not -- that’s not living. so, y’know, like nike says, just do it.”

there was a pause as sean thought about what he had actually just said with his voice slightly slurred. sean was two things when he was buzzed: pensive and handsy. tom was a fan of both.

“it’s probably too late for a pep talk. that was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“no, it was fine. i feel better, really,” tom assured him.

even though sean sometimes did say things that seemed like he was continuing a conversation he had just been having in his head, tom liked hearing it. he liked it in a way reminiscent of his trip to chile when he, as an outsider, had liked catching bits of conversation -- filled with their gorgeous flowing spanish -- between the natives, despite the fact he understood very little of the language.

sean nuzzled his face into the warm spot between tom’s neck and shoulder. he said something tom couldn’t hear but could feel, the hum making goosebumps prickle up everywhere.

“i can’t hear you, mumble a little more maybe,” tom said, his last word fading into a little gasp as sean’s lips ghosted over his collarbone.

“maybe you weren’t supposed to hear me,” sean was impish, moving away precisely long enough to get the words out before mouthing at tom’s quickening pulse.

tom arched his neck back to make more room for sean, whose hands were currently wandering up his ribcage, ticking each bone as if making sure they were all still there. tom thought maybe if he leaned back far enough he’d feel weightless; he didn’t completely achieve that, though a strange inexplicable feeling did float over him. it was paradoxical, the feeling of being tied to a big helium balloon colliding with a sense of contentment, a sense of belonging somewhere and never wanting to leave that place: the crossroads of grounded and dreamy.

the feeling was something tom wanted to articulate but couldn’t, thinking maybe it was something you had to come across by yourself to really understand. it was short-lived, leaving as sudden as it had come, because tom’s head had turned to beautiful hazy static. sean was making his way back up to tom’s face, his stubble rubbing against tom’s skin as he went from neck to chin to jaw, greedily kissing every bit.

sean paused at tom’s jawline, leaving tom time to tilt his head and meet him there. tom brought his hand up to cup sean’s chin and kissed him on the mouth, long and slow.

maybe tom hadn’t actually heard them for himself, but those three words -- sean’s three words -- had been damn near unmistakable.

and when tom felt sean’s smile on his lips, he knew he’d been right.

rating: pg-13, pairing: sean/tom

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