All of My Love (2/7) -- Pones
Title: All of My Love
Author: sevenphalanges
Part: 2/7
Pairing: Pones
Rating: 16
Warnings: Nothing yet, but we're getting there.
Summary: Dougie has other plans.
Word Count: 1,465
Notes: --
Disclaimer: None of this is true, but if it was, that'd be amazing.
In the event that I ever develop a horrid case of lung cancer, let the record show that Harry Judd is responsible for my fag-smoking actions. It's not a huge, unbelievable secret that he was the one who ignited the flame of my bad habit, and I simply want everyone to know that he was the one to make the idea of becoming a smoker seem like a good one. I don't know why I listened to him, because honestly, I was aware even as I took that first drag that the habit of smoking is a terrible one. I guess I didn't really care at the time. At the time, I just wanted to make everybody happy.
So, essentially, in a twisted sort of way, Harry was the one who put me on the edge of my bed with a half-smoked cigarette between my fingers and an ash tray resting on my knee. I had to admit, smoking did soothe my nerves, and Hell, everyone knew I was happier when calm. I was happier when I didn't have to think about the way he looked at me during breakfast. I was happier when I didn't have to remember that questionably jealous look that painted itself on his face when Harry would hang on me. It's not that I didn't mind that look; it's true, it did give me a sort of giddy feeling. I wouldn't say it was like payback, but it sure as hell was close. Then again, it may have just been a look of disgust.
There was a knock at my door that made me jump, my cigarette falling from my grasp and onto the bed. I cursed and flicked the ashes away quickly before setting the ash tray and my ruined cigarette on the bedside table. I stood up and instantly felt dizzy, whether from the blood rushing to my head or the fact that he might me at my door, I wasn't sure. All I could think as I walked to the door was, "Please be Harry, please be Harry, please be Harry." If not Harry, at least let it be Tom, and if n
Tom, I wouldn't mind having a nice conversation with a plumber or something. Just not him. My heart raced as my fingers wrapped around the knob. What was the worst that could happen, honestly? I kicked myself for even thinking of that question as multiple different scenarios played out in my mind of all the horrid things that could go wrong. With a deep breath I opened the door, preparing myself for complete cardiac arrest.
"T-Tom!" I sighed gratefully, thanking whatever God was looking down on me for sparing my life. I figured I must have aided some poor, elderly woman across a busy street without knowing it, and that's why Tom, not Danny, was standing in my bedroom doorway, giving me a look that vaguely resembled one he'd give to someone who'd gone completely bonkers.
"Yeah, Tom," he contested, cocking an eyebrow at me, "Who were you expecting?"
I just shook my head, opening the door further as my nerves slowly settled back into normalcy. I admit, I felt stupid standing there, the impact of my previous worry leaving my heart still racing and my breathing irregular. What had I honestly had to worry about? It wasn't as if I would open the door to find Danny standing there with ropes and chains and a blunt object to beat me to death with. That would never happen, so why was I so worried it would?
"I wasn't expecting anyone," I quickly recovered, blinking a few times, "You just startled me."
Tom chuckled, and his breath smelt of raspberry jam. I hated raspberry jam. "I think maybe you should lay off the weed, Dougie. Just for a little while?" He laughed and leaned on the edge of my doorway, a smile playing across his face.
I scowled and pushed him gingerly, my temper flaring slightly as he careened back onto his heels. "You know I haven't smoked pot since seventh grade, Fletcher," I retorted sourly, and crossed my arms over my chest. "Now what do you want?"
He held his hands up to chest level in front of him, palms facing me and shook his head, "Okay, okay." I hate to admit that Tom's smile was always sort of refreshing. I would look at him, and immediately feel that everything was going to be okay, no matter how bad of a predicament I was in. Some would say that was an undeniable sign of love, but it wasn't like that. I loved Tom, but I didn't love Tom. "We're all going out on the town. We wanted to know if you... wanted... to go?" Tom paused in between words to tap me lightly on the chest with his finger, his smile still bright and happy.
So, that meant everyone was going? Tom, Harry, and... him? I scolded myself mentally for being so reluctant to go out with my friends just because of Danny. I mean, since when had he and I stopped being best mates? He was the same Danny I'd met years and years ago, so why was I so afraid to be around him? I sighed, scratching at the back of head, pondering.
"Well... where are you going?"
Tom shrugged, shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. "Dunno. Harry wants to see go to the cinema, and Dan wants to have a few drinks."
I raised my eyebrows in confusion. "He wants to go to the pub? Dude, it's three o' clock in the afternoon."
He just shrugged again; this time the action was accompanied by a quick sigh, "If we go to the cinema first, that'll kill two or three hours."
"That's still only six o' clock, at the latest." I never understood my mates' desire to get drunk all the time. I had vowed to stay away from alcohol after getting wasted once before a show and completely trashing the entire concert. You would assume Harry and Danny would learn from my mistakes, but of course, no one ever listened to me.
There was a long moment filled with nothing but Tom thinking of a response while I stared intently at him. He was so good natured, so kind and considerate, but sometimes I thought that underneath all of that, he was just a total boob.
"...Are you coming or not?"
I groaned quietly. I was defeated. "I'll get dressed." I closed the door with a simple and effortless flick of my wrist, the feeling of Tom's triumph weighing down on my shoulders. I didn't want to go, which doesn't really coincide with my final decision of letting Tom drag me out of the house, but I was going, and I had to get over it. It wouldn't matter what I wore, so I slipped some shoes on and stuffed my wallet into my pocket, along with my smokes and a lighter, before heading out. The second I stepped out of my room and closed the door, I wished that I'd have said no. I wished that I could have just played sick and stayed in the safety of my bedroom, but I didn't, and that made me an idiot.
There he stood in all his glory, and it took everything I had inside of me not to turn into a mucky pile of slushy mush at his feet. He was wearing nice shoes; I couldn't do that. I took a quick breath and shuffled past him, muttering a small, "Danny," as I went. This was all so juvenile. I shouldn't have had to strategically plan out my responses to him. It was completely ridiculous. Then again, last time I checked, my feelings towards him were pretty ridiculous, too.
Before he could say anything to me, I staggered down the stairs, and out of earshot. I didn't want to go, I didn't want to go. I wouldn't go. I'd dash back upstairs and hide under my bed until I was sure everyone was gone. Hell, maybe I would just stay under there forever. I'd build a village under there, that would soon turn into a large, powerful kingdom and I'd find a nice girl to start a family with. We'd be King and Queen Poynter, and we'd have seven kids, the eldest stepping into my place as ruler when I died. I could build a happy society under my own bed in my own bedroom, and no one would know.
I jumped what felt like three feet when Harry wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a smile. Just Harry. Good, old Harry. "So, Dougster, you ready to go see Dumbledore get his ass killed?"
So much for my plan.