[Swedish Idol 2005] - "Decisions Made on Friday Nights" {Måns; Ola}
Title: Decisions Made on Friday Nights
Author: kenzimone
Disclaimer: I would love to own them, but alas.
Fandom: (Swedish) Idol 2005
Rating: PG
Word count: 900
Summary: Måns decided he wouldn't cry.
Note: Um, I'm mourning the departure of my favorite Idol contestant. This is my therapy.
It was as he watched Cindy break down in deep sobs, her body shuddering under the comforting hands of friends offering support, that Måns decided he wouldn’t cry. Decided that whatever happened, whatever reason the audience found to judge him rightfully deserving to go home, he wouldn’t cry; as he met Ola’s eyes over the mass of huddling bodies, he decided that he’d be stronger than that.
Maria left, and Marième too. Compared to Cindy, the few tears they shed were of no consequence as they accepted their parting gifts of flowers and turned to watch their journeys on the large screen. The shock had worn off, though Måns had first been loathe to admit it because it sounded so callous, and the reality of the elimination had set in; yet as Marième returned his hug as in a daze, he also felt the heat of the risk tickling the soles of his feet. Next; he could be next.
Ola lived no more than half a kilometer’s distance from Måns’ house in Lund, yet they had never talked before meeting in the hotel foyer the afternoon of the first live show. His accent was broader than Måns’, a lilting murmur of words that flowed out of him like a rippling stream, and when he laughed he would close his eyes and throw his head back and the stream would turn into a river that would sweep away everything in its path. Unlike Måns, he looked like what a textbook Swede should; tall, blonde and blue eyed, and if it hadn’t been for his laugh and the way his eyes danced in tune with it, Måns would have had second thoughts about accepting the friendship he offered. They were both alone in a strange new city, for who knows how long, and so it seemed only natural that they would cling to each other like they did.
“I’m next,” Måns said as they boarded the car that would take them back to the hotel that night. Marième was left behind, with the reporters and producers and the psychiatrist that lingered backstage at all shows, and Ola shot him a surprised look as he climbed into the back seat.
“What?”
“Next Friday; I’m next.” Måns repeated, cold waves of anxiety washing over him at the realization that he was speaking the truth.
Ola frowned. “No, you’re not.”
“You don’t know that.” He had to be next.
“Yes I do. You’re good. There’s no way you’ll go this soon.” There was a finality in Ola’s answer that made Måns hesitate to reply, and when he finally came up with a semblance of what he might respond the short drive to the hotel was already over and Ola was opening the car door, long body unfolding as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Måns trailed after him as he walked through the front doors and through the lobby and into an elevator, finally managing a “Thanks” as his friend pressed the button for the fifth storey and leaned back against the walls, head tilted back to take in the numbers rolling by above the elevator doors. Ola smiled at the sound of Måns’ voice, turning his head to look his companion in the eye, and the wordless confidence in him that was portrayed in the simple gesture made Måns feel that maybe everything would turn out okay after all.
Of course, it didn’t.
Seven days later, and it was just the two of them, alone on the stage as the overhead lights burned and their heartbeats danced in tune to the pounding background music. Ola draped an arm over Måns’ shoulders, and that’s when he realized that whatever happened, he’d have to say goodbye. He’d been right, and he was going to go now; the thought was suddenly unbearable, and a thickness invaded his throat as he reminded himself of his promise, the decision he’d made the three weeks that seemed like three years ago.
Only, when the name was called it wasn’t what he’d expected, and when he opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, the pressure on his shoulders was gone and Ola was holding flowers - Marième’s flowers.
Elina was first on her feet, but he barely noticed her hug or the way the lights dimmed as the theme song started to play. A group of teenage girls in front of the stage were openly crying, not caring who saw, and for a split second he felt like joining them only to realize he already had. And as Sebastian said something about a ‘close call’ in his left ear he suddenly saw Ola move past him and envelope Jens in a tight hug.
When his friend finally turned Måns tried to smile. “I decided I wouldn’t cry,” he said as Ola laughed lightly, his flowers already crumpled and dying in his hand. He barely had time to notice the tear tracks on the blond’s face before his face was pushed up against a soft shoulder and a set of strong arms wrapped themselves around his back.
“That’s okay,” Ola murmured. “I did too.”
Author: kenzimone
Disclaimer: I would love to own them, but alas.
Fandom: (Swedish) Idol 2005
Rating: PG
Word count: 900
Summary: Måns decided he wouldn't cry.
Note: Um, I'm mourning the departure of my favorite Idol contestant. This is my therapy.
It was as he watched Cindy break down in deep sobs, her body shuddering under the comforting hands of friends offering support, that Måns decided he wouldn’t cry. Decided that whatever happened, whatever reason the audience found to judge him rightfully deserving to go home, he wouldn’t cry; as he met Ola’s eyes over the mass of huddling bodies, he decided that he’d be stronger than that.
Maria left, and Marième too. Compared to Cindy, the few tears they shed were of no consequence as they accepted their parting gifts of flowers and turned to watch their journeys on the large screen. The shock had worn off, though Måns had first been loathe to admit it because it sounded so callous, and the reality of the elimination had set in; yet as Marième returned his hug as in a daze, he also felt the heat of the risk tickling the soles of his feet. Next; he could be next.
Ola lived no more than half a kilometer’s distance from Måns’ house in Lund, yet they had never talked before meeting in the hotel foyer the afternoon of the first live show. His accent was broader than Måns’, a lilting murmur of words that flowed out of him like a rippling stream, and when he laughed he would close his eyes and throw his head back and the stream would turn into a river that would sweep away everything in its path. Unlike Måns, he looked like what a textbook Swede should; tall, blonde and blue eyed, and if it hadn’t been for his laugh and the way his eyes danced in tune with it, Måns would have had second thoughts about accepting the friendship he offered. They were both alone in a strange new city, for who knows how long, and so it seemed only natural that they would cling to each other like they did.
“I’m next,” Måns said as they boarded the car that would take them back to the hotel that night. Marième was left behind, with the reporters and producers and the psychiatrist that lingered backstage at all shows, and Ola shot him a surprised look as he climbed into the back seat.
“What?”
“Next Friday; I’m next.” Måns repeated, cold waves of anxiety washing over him at the realization that he was speaking the truth.
Ola frowned. “No, you’re not.”
“You don’t know that.” He had to be next.
“Yes I do. You’re good. There’s no way you’ll go this soon.” There was a finality in Ola’s answer that made Måns hesitate to reply, and when he finally came up with a semblance of what he might respond the short drive to the hotel was already over and Ola was opening the car door, long body unfolding as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Måns trailed after him as he walked through the front doors and through the lobby and into an elevator, finally managing a “Thanks” as his friend pressed the button for the fifth storey and leaned back against the walls, head tilted back to take in the numbers rolling by above the elevator doors. Ola smiled at the sound of Måns’ voice, turning his head to look his companion in the eye, and the wordless confidence in him that was portrayed in the simple gesture made Måns feel that maybe everything would turn out okay after all.
Of course, it didn’t.
Seven days later, and it was just the two of them, alone on the stage as the overhead lights burned and their heartbeats danced in tune to the pounding background music. Ola draped an arm over Måns’ shoulders, and that’s when he realized that whatever happened, he’d have to say goodbye. He’d been right, and he was going to go now; the thought was suddenly unbearable, and a thickness invaded his throat as he reminded himself of his promise, the decision he’d made the three weeks that seemed like three years ago.
Only, when the name was called it wasn’t what he’d expected, and when he opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, the pressure on his shoulders was gone and Ola was holding flowers - Marième’s flowers.
Elina was first on her feet, but he barely noticed her hug or the way the lights dimmed as the theme song started to play. A group of teenage girls in front of the stage were openly crying, not caring who saw, and for a split second he felt like joining them only to realize he already had. And as Sebastian said something about a ‘close call’ in his left ear he suddenly saw Ola move past him and envelope Jens in a tight hug.
When his friend finally turned Måns tried to smile. “I decided I wouldn’t cry,” he said as Ola laughed lightly, his flowers already crumpled and dying in his hand. He barely had time to notice the tear tracks on the blond’s face before his face was pushed up against a soft shoulder and a set of strong arms wrapped themselves around his back.
“That’s okay,” Ola murmured. “I did too.”