peregrination (American Idol, 2/?)
peregrination 2/?
Author: Shady F.
"You love music so much. It's your life. It's who you are. Sometimes though, you wonder..."
Rating: G (rating will probably go up later on)
Pairing(s): Kradam (preslash), Kraty
Notes: I read this poem recently while working on this section and I think it might eventually influence the title. Loreena McKennitt has been an influence too.
It starts raining again for what seems like the thousandth time last night, but you don't care right now. You just want to talk to Adam and nothing can stop you right now. The rain soaks you as you do the first logical thing in LA that night:
You pull out your cell phone, and you try to speed dial his number.
Your hand is shaking and you almost drop the phone onto the dimly glistening pavement as your ear rings one...two...there...
The tone drops dead.
Your eyes darken as you pull the phone away, your gaze narrowing as you analyze the dead screen in front of you. You had meant to recharge your cell phone before you left for the party tonight, but Katy had been harassing you to get the dishes done before you left and you were already on thin ice with her for staying out past three in the morning when you said that you were going to be home around midnight. Even now as you try to turn on your phone and hoping it has a second life, you remember how lost you were when you wandered away from your entourage.
You groan inwardly as your phone flickers and dies.
So much for that.
You tiptoe up the alleyway, realizing that there is only one way out of here when you decide that there's no way you're going back into the club. You stop right before you come out onto the street, backing up and leaning back against the wall, your breath coming out in harsh beats as two or three paparazzi pass you by. Normally you're used to it, but tonight something is different about you and you don't totally understand what it is.
You know you should go back. You have obligations tonight. You were supposed to be interviewed for some late night television spot. You have to make good with Paris Hilton, who you somehow managed to upset for no good reason last month. You were supposed to get sleep. You were supposed to be at a business meeting with your manager to discuss the next single release tomorrow morning at a way too early seven thirty.
All of that begins to fade away from your mind though.
Your feet are leading you further into life--or is it further into danger, into adventure?
You don't know where you are going. You don't know where you will end up. All you know is that you're going somewhere else, somewhere where you're not completely sure that you belong, just like the rest of the city.
You always stick out like a sore thumb amongst the Amazonian folks here in their designer clothes and tanned skin, your plaid a beacon for strangers. It's always been like that. You should be used to it by now, but you're not. It still throws you off when people stare. Yeah, you're famous, but you're nobody all that important. Why do they care?
You just make music.
You love your music. It's always playing in your mind. You hear it everywhere, even now as you're charging down the street, readjusting your sunglasses as you make your way towards the crosswalk. The footsteps, the traffic in the road, the people around you--it's all music. Guitars strum away in your head to the rhythm of the walking around you, the rain becoming heavier and heavier as it soaks through your plaid.
You love music so much. It's your life. It's who you are.
Some times though, you wonder what would happen if you just unplugged your music.
What if all you wanted one day was silence? Would you get it? How mad would you become before you had to turn the music back on?
The cars honk at you. If you were in a worse mood, if you were bolder, ruder, you would just flip them off, but you're too nice for that. You're Kris Allen. You're supposed to be bubbly, amicable, kind of like the teddy bear on the top shelf at the toy store that kids admired, but couldn't afford.
Everything becomes a blur as you pass it by. Car lights become a vortex that suck you in, becoming dimmer as you pass them by, ducking through the shortcuts. You're not sure you've become here before physically, but mentally you feel at home here. Nobody else will come look for you here. You're safe.
You spot the phone booth at the end of the street right before the one-way on the left.
It hits you now that you're completely soaked, the rain drops dripping down so heavily that it hurts your eyes. The cold is starting to get to you. You can feel the goosebumps beginning to rise. Your drenched Converses and jeans make it hard for you to sprint to the phone booth, but after a struggle you make it under the umbrella of the plastic box, sliding the door shut as you lean against the wall, ignoring the needles in the box.
You think for a minute, for once.
You have change in your pocket. You could try to call Katy and get her to come pick you up, but then how would you explain your meandering to this spot? She certainly wouldn't approve, nor would your father or mother when they found out. You could try to call a taxi yourself, but then what? You would be back at square one, the square before you saw Adam, the square where you were stuck in the same daily grind.
You shake your head, wiping the rain off your forehead in disgust.
It goes against all logic. You have no idea where Adam went or if he even really wants to see you right now, but there is this feeling in your gut that you can't ignore.
You have to keep going.
Sleep isn't an option.
Something is calling you.
No, wait...he's calling you, isn't he? You've been so distracted lately by it. Katy keeps looking at you strangely, wondering what is wrong with you. Whenever she tries to pull an answer from you, she fails. It's not her fault. The questions make enough sense. It's that words are impossible for you to form. The words make your tongue feel thick.
It's not a story that can be told. It's not anything that you can touch, taste, smell, hear or see. It's just a feeling that stays in you. You close you eyes, resting them, feeling your heart beat. It's so quiet here. Everything fades away as it starts coming back to you--or maybe it never really left at all, it was just dormant, waiting. Whatever is going on, it's just you, and maybe a little bit of him. You can't completely describe what this is. You just know what's there and what's not.
You can deal with the miles that separate you two. It was hard at first, getting used to not being near him almost every hour of the day. It even hurt at first, but now, maybe there is part of you that can let things go. It brings you back to your music.
Your voice, your song writing, those all change.
Life works the same way.
Life without Adam works the same way.
...It's not supposed to hurt.
Somebody taps the plastic door. You break out of your moment of silence, almost jumping when you see a face pressed against the glass. You're ready to call the police, but your eyebrows shoot up when you see that it's a familiar face faintly lit by the phone booth. A weak smile forms on your face as they open the door, shaking their head.
"Kristopher Neil Allen, why are you out here this late? Is it past your bedtime?" they playfully reprimand, letting in the sound of the rain. More of their face is revealed as they poke their head in, their appearance unaffected by the weather.
"Matt..." Your voice listlessly trails off, your hands shaking--you're just beginning to feel how cold you are. "...have you seen Adam?"
Matt arches a brow, shaking his head as he realizes this is no time for jokes. "Were you two supposed to meet up somewhere?"
"I-I just saw him." Your voice is trembling. Everything is trembling and you can't stop it. You can barely hold on as you frantically grab Matt's shoulders. the leather thick under your suddenly frail fingers. "He was right there, but everyone got in the way. I-I wanted...I wanted him to...b-but then he..."
Matt wraps his umbrella-less arm around you, pulling away from the wetness that emanates from you. "What happened?"
"Where did he go, Matt?" You jerk away, your eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Why would he just leave me like that?"
"I wouldn't worry too much, Kris. He probably was just trying to get out before the paparazzi attacked him. You know how he is when he's in a rush." Matt, voice of reason, pats your shoulders, adjusting his fedora as he reaches into his pocket. You can see him checking his own phone, wiping off a stray raindrop that falls from his umbrella. "Did you try to call him yet?"
"My phone died," you say flatly.
Matt promptly dials a number on his phone, hold it to his ear as the two of you wait. Your heart is beating wildly against your ribs.
Thump...Thump...Thump. Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.
Matt' shakes his head before he tries to call again. You remain silent, even though you can already see where this is going. It's a sick thought, but you can't help but feel that something could be happening, and that you would fail to get there on time. What kind of friend would you be if you fail to do something, anything?
Adam had been acting strangely.
It seems like only you have noticed it and it frustrates you.
You keep trying to tell Katy that you can't help but feel that something feels completely off, that there seems to be something missing in his phone messages to you, like there's a smile missing in his voice, but she pushes the topic back under the rug. She says that Adam is just fine, that he's probably just tired. Drake can help him out if he gets too stressed out. Adam is having a flying circus right now. He's too busy.
He's too busy for you.
You mind more than you should.
Matt sighs, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"Voice message. I left him a callback number."
"I'm not that surprised." Your voice is tense, you snap a little bit more than you meant to.
The rain is still falling outside, if not thicker now. Matt is eyeing your soaked clothes and your flattened hair, clicking his tongue as his gaze rests upon your Converses, which are oozing puddles around your feet. Your face flushes in shame. You know you look so ridiculous right now, and not in any sort of way that you would find amusing later on. There's only two people who had seen you look this disheveled in the past:
Katy and Adam.
You bite your lip at the thought of the other man. He's a big boy, both of you are. You just hope that he's okay right now.
"You want a lift home?" Matt finally asks, breaking the silence.
Your brow furrows as you shake your head. "I can't go home tonight."
Matt already knows what is on your mind. You made it clear as day. He doesn't even bother asking why, he just cuts the corners.
"What about Katy? Aren't you at least going to let her know what you're doing?"
"I won't...I mean...I can't." You pause. Matt is looking at you unblinkingly. You expected him to berate you, shove his phone back at you with Katy on the speaker. Instead he just is there, an unmoving statue. It creeps you out. It's not like him at all. Nothing is like what it normally is tonight. "I'll tell her everything later."
"Do you know everything though?"
Your breath hitches in your throat. You had never really thought of that before.
"No." Why are you going this far? What spell came over you to start this quest?
Even you don't get it.
"I don't know everything right now, Matt..." Your concentration braces itself. You're ready for anything. "...but I will know by the end of the night."
Author: Shady F.
"You love music so much. It's your life. It's who you are. Sometimes though, you wonder..."
Rating: G (rating will probably go up later on)
Pairing(s): Kradam (preslash), Kraty
Notes: I read this poem recently while working on this section and I think it might eventually influence the title. Loreena McKennitt has been an influence too.
It starts raining again for what seems like the thousandth time last night, but you don't care right now. You just want to talk to Adam and nothing can stop you right now. The rain soaks you as you do the first logical thing in LA that night:
You pull out your cell phone, and you try to speed dial his number.
Your hand is shaking and you almost drop the phone onto the dimly glistening pavement as your ear rings one...two...there...
The tone drops dead.
Your eyes darken as you pull the phone away, your gaze narrowing as you analyze the dead screen in front of you. You had meant to recharge your cell phone before you left for the party tonight, but Katy had been harassing you to get the dishes done before you left and you were already on thin ice with her for staying out past three in the morning when you said that you were going to be home around midnight. Even now as you try to turn on your phone and hoping it has a second life, you remember how lost you were when you wandered away from your entourage.
You groan inwardly as your phone flickers and dies.
So much for that.
You tiptoe up the alleyway, realizing that there is only one way out of here when you decide that there's no way you're going back into the club. You stop right before you come out onto the street, backing up and leaning back against the wall, your breath coming out in harsh beats as two or three paparazzi pass you by. Normally you're used to it, but tonight something is different about you and you don't totally understand what it is.
You know you should go back. You have obligations tonight. You were supposed to be interviewed for some late night television spot. You have to make good with Paris Hilton, who you somehow managed to upset for no good reason last month. You were supposed to get sleep. You were supposed to be at a business meeting with your manager to discuss the next single release tomorrow morning at a way too early seven thirty.
All of that begins to fade away from your mind though.
Your feet are leading you further into life--or is it further into danger, into adventure?
You don't know where you are going. You don't know where you will end up. All you know is that you're going somewhere else, somewhere where you're not completely sure that you belong, just like the rest of the city.
You always stick out like a sore thumb amongst the Amazonian folks here in their designer clothes and tanned skin, your plaid a beacon for strangers. It's always been like that. You should be used to it by now, but you're not. It still throws you off when people stare. Yeah, you're famous, but you're nobody all that important. Why do they care?
You just make music.
You love your music. It's always playing in your mind. You hear it everywhere, even now as you're charging down the street, readjusting your sunglasses as you make your way towards the crosswalk. The footsteps, the traffic in the road, the people around you--it's all music. Guitars strum away in your head to the rhythm of the walking around you, the rain becoming heavier and heavier as it soaks through your plaid.
You love music so much. It's your life. It's who you are.
Some times though, you wonder what would happen if you just unplugged your music.
What if all you wanted one day was silence? Would you get it? How mad would you become before you had to turn the music back on?
The cars honk at you. If you were in a worse mood, if you were bolder, ruder, you would just flip them off, but you're too nice for that. You're Kris Allen. You're supposed to be bubbly, amicable, kind of like the teddy bear on the top shelf at the toy store that kids admired, but couldn't afford.
Everything becomes a blur as you pass it by. Car lights become a vortex that suck you in, becoming dimmer as you pass them by, ducking through the shortcuts. You're not sure you've become here before physically, but mentally you feel at home here. Nobody else will come look for you here. You're safe.
You spot the phone booth at the end of the street right before the one-way on the left.
It hits you now that you're completely soaked, the rain drops dripping down so heavily that it hurts your eyes. The cold is starting to get to you. You can feel the goosebumps beginning to rise. Your drenched Converses and jeans make it hard for you to sprint to the phone booth, but after a struggle you make it under the umbrella of the plastic box, sliding the door shut as you lean against the wall, ignoring the needles in the box.
You think for a minute, for once.
You have change in your pocket. You could try to call Katy and get her to come pick you up, but then how would you explain your meandering to this spot? She certainly wouldn't approve, nor would your father or mother when they found out. You could try to call a taxi yourself, but then what? You would be back at square one, the square before you saw Adam, the square where you were stuck in the same daily grind.
You shake your head, wiping the rain off your forehead in disgust.
It goes against all logic. You have no idea where Adam went or if he even really wants to see you right now, but there is this feeling in your gut that you can't ignore.
You have to keep going.
Sleep isn't an option.
Something is calling you.
No, wait...he's calling you, isn't he? You've been so distracted lately by it. Katy keeps looking at you strangely, wondering what is wrong with you. Whenever she tries to pull an answer from you, she fails. It's not her fault. The questions make enough sense. It's that words are impossible for you to form. The words make your tongue feel thick.
It's not a story that can be told. It's not anything that you can touch, taste, smell, hear or see. It's just a feeling that stays in you. You close you eyes, resting them, feeling your heart beat. It's so quiet here. Everything fades away as it starts coming back to you--or maybe it never really left at all, it was just dormant, waiting. Whatever is going on, it's just you, and maybe a little bit of him. You can't completely describe what this is. You just know what's there and what's not.
You can deal with the miles that separate you two. It was hard at first, getting used to not being near him almost every hour of the day. It even hurt at first, but now, maybe there is part of you that can let things go. It brings you back to your music.
Your voice, your song writing, those all change.
Life works the same way.
Life without Adam works the same way.
...It's not supposed to hurt.
Somebody taps the plastic door. You break out of your moment of silence, almost jumping when you see a face pressed against the glass. You're ready to call the police, but your eyebrows shoot up when you see that it's a familiar face faintly lit by the phone booth. A weak smile forms on your face as they open the door, shaking their head.
"Kristopher Neil Allen, why are you out here this late? Is it past your bedtime?" they playfully reprimand, letting in the sound of the rain. More of their face is revealed as they poke their head in, their appearance unaffected by the weather.
"Matt..." Your voice listlessly trails off, your hands shaking--you're just beginning to feel how cold you are. "...have you seen Adam?"
Matt arches a brow, shaking his head as he realizes this is no time for jokes. "Were you two supposed to meet up somewhere?"
"I-I just saw him." Your voice is trembling. Everything is trembling and you can't stop it. You can barely hold on as you frantically grab Matt's shoulders. the leather thick under your suddenly frail fingers. "He was right there, but everyone got in the way. I-I wanted...I wanted him to...b-but then he..."
Matt wraps his umbrella-less arm around you, pulling away from the wetness that emanates from you. "What happened?"
"Where did he go, Matt?" You jerk away, your eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Why would he just leave me like that?"
"I wouldn't worry too much, Kris. He probably was just trying to get out before the paparazzi attacked him. You know how he is when he's in a rush." Matt, voice of reason, pats your shoulders, adjusting his fedora as he reaches into his pocket. You can see him checking his own phone, wiping off a stray raindrop that falls from his umbrella. "Did you try to call him yet?"
"My phone died," you say flatly.
Matt promptly dials a number on his phone, hold it to his ear as the two of you wait. Your heart is beating wildly against your ribs.
Thump...Thump...Thump. Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.
Matt' shakes his head before he tries to call again. You remain silent, even though you can already see where this is going. It's a sick thought, but you can't help but feel that something could be happening, and that you would fail to get there on time. What kind of friend would you be if you fail to do something, anything?
Adam had been acting strangely.
It seems like only you have noticed it and it frustrates you.
You keep trying to tell Katy that you can't help but feel that something feels completely off, that there seems to be something missing in his phone messages to you, like there's a smile missing in his voice, but she pushes the topic back under the rug. She says that Adam is just fine, that he's probably just tired. Drake can help him out if he gets too stressed out. Adam is having a flying circus right now. He's too busy.
He's too busy for you.
You mind more than you should.
Matt sighs, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"Voice message. I left him a callback number."
"I'm not that surprised." Your voice is tense, you snap a little bit more than you meant to.
The rain is still falling outside, if not thicker now. Matt is eyeing your soaked clothes and your flattened hair, clicking his tongue as his gaze rests upon your Converses, which are oozing puddles around your feet. Your face flushes in shame. You know you look so ridiculous right now, and not in any sort of way that you would find amusing later on. There's only two people who had seen you look this disheveled in the past:
Katy and Adam.
You bite your lip at the thought of the other man. He's a big boy, both of you are. You just hope that he's okay right now.
"You want a lift home?" Matt finally asks, breaking the silence.
Your brow furrows as you shake your head. "I can't go home tonight."
Matt already knows what is on your mind. You made it clear as day. He doesn't even bother asking why, he just cuts the corners.
"What about Katy? Aren't you at least going to let her know what you're doing?"
"I won't...I mean...I can't." You pause. Matt is looking at you unblinkingly. You expected him to berate you, shove his phone back at you with Katy on the speaker. Instead he just is there, an unmoving statue. It creeps you out. It's not like him at all. Nothing is like what it normally is tonight. "I'll tell her everything later."
"Do you know everything though?"
Your breath hitches in your throat. You had never really thought of that before.
"No." Why are you going this far? What spell came over you to start this quest?
Even you don't get it.
"I don't know everything right now, Matt..." Your concentration braces itself. You're ready for anything. "...but I will know by the end of the night."