Your Eyes – Adam Lambert & Tommy Joe Ratliff

Your eyes as we said our goodbyes

He stares out the window with a cold, unfeeling expression on his face. He's been this way for a long time and to be honest he doesn't care that no one bothers to call and make sure he's okay anymore. They gave up because he doesn't return the voicemails or text messages. He doesn't want to. He doesn't have an interest in talking to anyone anymore. Not since… Well, let's just say he doesn't want to think about it right now. He's already broken enough things in this room to cost him a lifetime.

He tucks his chin into the palm of his hand, his body unmoving otherwise from the leather chair that he sits in, positioned neatly into the small opening of his desk, facing the city with rain pounding on the glass. The weather's been the same for over a week, but he doesn't really notice it. He's not really looking at anything, but he's staring out all the same. Maybe this is his way of coping, aside from bawling his fucking eyes out. But he did that two months ago, for God knows how long. Maybe this is stage two.

Can't get them out of my mind

He inhales slowly, ignoring the musky odor emitting off of his person and the fact that he can feel grease pools in his scalp. When did he last have a shower? Ugh, this is so not good for his skin right now. But really, when was the last time he cared about what he looked like? He doesn't go out into public much anymore. The fans, of course, aren't happy about this. Perhaps they're the only ones who haven't given up on his return to the stage. But right now, he's not seeing that happening any time soon. Too bad.

His eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, before opening again. Still, the scenery of the water spraying across the glass hasn't changed a bit. But he's also getting used to the same thing over and over. At least now he can determine what blurry shapes are what beyond the glass. And without looking at the clock, he can tell right now, based on the shade of the sky's fading blue that it is exactly seven o' three pee em, Saturday, May twenty-second, two-thousand and ten. What a grim day this has been. What a grim week. Fuck.

And I find I can't hide from your eyes

No matter how much he tries not to think about anything, he still does it. He doesn't overanalyze, really, but he still dwells. That's one of the things, next to self-image issues, that he hates about himself. That he dwells so much on the things that he wishes so desperately he could just let go of. He'd gotten the world convinced that he doesn't dwell on anything, and he just moves on with everything and anything. But maybe now they're seeing what a big, fucking liar he is. Was. Whatever the fuck it is really.

He drops his gaze to his hand, resting lazily on the wood of the desk. His Eye of Horus is marred with scars. Oh, no, this isn't stage two. This is stage three, really. Stage one had been the depressing spiral, stage two had been hitting rock bottom, stage three- now- is just avoiding everything and anything all together. Ah, that's right. He remembers now, though he wishes his head were a blank like other celebrities.

The ones that took me by surprise

"I want him." He says to his guitarist, Monte, with a wide, cheeky grin on his face. He has to talk in hushed whispers because, after all, this is supposed to be top-secret-no-peeping-no-eavesdropping-super-dooper-important, right? Right. Except for the fact that he doesn't care whether or not the pretty little blond bassist can hear, because that's just how he is. Monte rolls his eyes and smiles, though even he doesn't deny that the blond had been amazing for the audition. The guitarist turns to the boy and walks over to him, to congratulate him on making the band.

He can barely contain his own smile as the blonde's face lights up with glee. Oh, he's such a pretty little boy. Yes, he wants that pretty boy, and not just for the band. But he's not going to admit that out loud to anyone, because that would be just a tad creepy, no? Whatever.

The night you came into my life

He shakes his head. No. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about the past. Not the good times, not the bad. Oh… especially not the bad. The bad is the reason he's here right now, sulking in his fucking office in his fucking condo instead of hanging out with the band. The bad is the reason that he's got scars over the Eye of Horus that he thought would protect him and make him feel safe and looked after. The bad is the reason that he's half the size he should be, that he's got dark circles under his eyes and the reason that he doesn't sing anymore.

Let's not think about that right now.

Where there's moonlight, I see your eyes

"So, are you- you know, cool with that?" He asks, suddenly very, very afraid. The blond smiles and laughs a little, shrugging his petite yet broad shoulders. It's an oxymoron and quite frankly the singer doesn't give a fuck about his contradictive thoughts.

"Yeah, it's cool. You can, like, grab me and stuff, I don't care." He says with a laugh, and Adam swears he's falling in love with this pretty little blond. He has half a mind to pull him in and kiss him again, but he doesn't. He stands off and laughs with the bassist- who, for tonight, played the keyboard quite well. The blond brushes his hair behind his ear and blushes, his gleaming eyes dazzling under the backstage lights of the building. Adam reaches out, wanting to cup that beautiful face and lean in for a kiss, but he redirects the travel of his palm and messes up the bassist's hair again, causing the shorter male to make an adorable gruff in protest.

How'd I let you slip away

He stands forcefully from his desk chair, frustrated at the inability to escape his own haunting thoughts. He doesn't want to think about this. He doesn't want to think about that fucking beautiful boy. He just… He wants to forget. That's why he wrote "Can't Let You Go", that's why he wrote those lines, because that's how he feels. That's how he feels about that damned bassist and his damned heart. He wants to erase his memories… He wants to, because they're destroying him, they're haunting him and eating him alive and he wants them to just go away!

But… he can't let go.

When I'm longing so to hold you?

"The fans think I'm the lover." He says, and Adam smiles while he drinks his tea. Of course they think he's the lover; he is the lover. In the video, anyway. Adam asked if he would be willing to play the role for better effect. The blond had jumped at the chance and even added responses to what Adam had been screaming at him. It had been intense. And every time he sees that video, it gets to him, remembering the words that they said. They were false, but they still felt real. He still cried for real.

"Well- do you want to make it up to them?" Adam asks, a sly smirk on his face as he looks over at his baby. They're not official, though Adam wishes that they were. He wants to be official with his Glitterbaby. It will be so fucking magical if they're official.

Now I'd die for one more day

Tommy leans in and plants a soft kiss against the corner of Adam's mouth, making the singer moan so gently that it's almost inaudible to the bassist's ears. But he still hears it, and he smiles warmly, running his calloused fingers through the mane of thick, inky locks. The bassist pulls on it in an un-gentle manner and Adam's soft moan turns throaty and hoarse. This is really fucking up his voice right about now, but to be honest, he doesn't care for the moment.

Tommy's hands detach themselves from the mane of Adam's hair and they work to undo the buttons of his pants. This is what they do, now. They get it on when no one's around. Why? Because they can. Because it's addicting. They're each addicted to the other, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Cause there's something I should have told you

He crosses out of the office and down the hall, whirling around and climbing the stairs up to the second story of his condo. It's a really big, nice condo, and to have it all to himself makes him lonely, but he doesn't give a shit. He's angry that his memories won't leave him alone and he just wants to get away from breakable objects. But it seems that no matter where he turns, no matter where he tries to hide, there's something that has his name on it, waiting to be smashed to pieces. And then the fragments will be forgotten.

Sometimes, he's waiting for the day where he just burns this place down and goes off to find something else to destroy, because quite frankly, that's all he wants to do. Destroy shit.

Yes, there's something I should have told you

The first place he goes to is the bathroom. He thinks it'll be okay in there. But when he throws himself into the room and shuts the door, locking it, the first thing that he notices is the mirror. He stares at his reflection, appalled by the sight of himself. Dark circles under the eyes, he's pale as all hell and his hair is a greasy, tangled mess. His skin is dry around the mouth and nose but his forehead is oily, so are the backs of his ears. Ugh.

So what does he do to get away from the sight of himself? He punches the mirror, breaking the glass and cutting up his fist.

When I looked into your eyes

Shows, concerts, interviews, photo shoots, everything that they do is just as magical as Adam's ever hoped it would be. They don't go public with their relationship, but their sure that the fans know that there's something between them. All those teenage fangirls writing fictious stories about the two of them. Some are so good that they could be real. And Adam's not going to lie. Some of them have been so vivid and precise in the fantasies that he and Tommy actually acted them out. And what a trip that was.

But the shows and the glitter isn't what Adam's thinking about. No- he's staring down from the second story of his condo, overlooking the party that he has here. And his eyes are on his baby. And his baby has his thin arms around some plump assed, big boobed woman he vaguely recalls being named Mia. And his heart is breaking in his chest as Tommy leans over a makes out with Mia, shoving her back and pressing her into the couch as everyone gathers around them to urge them on. This wouldn't be so bad, because it looks like they're both drunk. But Adam hasn't seen Tommy take one drink tonight.

Why does distance make us wise?

He stares at the cracked glass, then at his mutilated hand, then the glass, his hand, the glass, his hand, and he screams in frustration. Why did Tommy cheat on him? In front of dozens of people, no less. People who knew that they were together, that they were happy. And those fucking people cheered his baby on while he got down and dirty with some slut. Not that they actually went far, because Cassidy had looked up with an appalled expression- he was the only one not cheering- and saw Adam's face. He told everyone to get out. He locked Tommy in a spare room while he talked to Adam.

But Adam doesn't recall much of that night. He remembers Tommy being locked in a room, he remembers Cassidy's hands on either side of his face, the beautiful designer staring deeply at him. But he doesn't remember what Cassidy might've said. He doesn't remember what he might've done. He doesn't remember anything of that night, and the next morning, Cassidy was gone and Tommy was sobbing in the spare room.

You were the song all along

"Stop it! Just fucking stop it!" Adam screams, palming his hands over his ears and falling to the floor of the bathroom, tears streaming down his face, blood staining his arm. He can't take this, these fucking memories and these fucking tears of his that permanently leave tracks in his face like highways of sorrow. Oh, now he's poetic about his depression. Awesome.

"Please, stop…" He whispers, falling over onto his side, silently sobbing into the marble floor.

And before the song dies

"Why did you make out with her, Tommy?" Adam screams through the closed door of the spare room. It's locked from the outside, and Adam doesn't want to face Tommy right now. He doesn't want his baby to see the tears on his face, but he's sure the bassist can hear it in his voice, his anguish.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry Adam. Please, unlock the door, forgive me, I'm sorry!" But Adam can't forgive Tommy. The bassist wasn't even intoxicated in the slightest. It's… He's not really sorry…

I should tell you, I should tell you

Eventually, he does unlock the door, and he stares coldly at the blond in front of him. He's made up his mind, he has his decision, and nothing that his baby says will change that. Tommy blinks, his face red, his eyes puffy, his skin wet with tears. A part of Adam wants to reach out and grab his baby and hold him tight, tell him its okay and that everything will be fine. But all the same, he's firm in his decision.

"Do- do you still… love me?" Tommy's voice is so soft, so broken. Adam locks his jaw, biting down on his tongue and trying so hard not to cry.

"No."

I have always loved you

"God, Tommy… I'm sorry…" Adam whispers into the tile of the floor. He whispers it here because he hasn't been able to admit to himself since January. His birthday party. That's the case of all of this, and now he's weeping again, the look in Tommy's eyes from when he blatantly lied constantly haunts him and he can't get over the anguish he's been feeling since then.

"I'm sorry…"

You can see it in my eyes

There's a knock on the bathroom door, but Adam ignores it. It's probably just Monte or Cam coming to check on him. Usually they stay long enough to hear him crying and then they leave. They leave because there's nothing that they can do to help him. Maybe they've just given up trying to help him; just to let him wallow and sulk the depression out.

The door swings open softly, and gentle footsteps cross towards Adam. A shadow crosses over his closed eyes and he doesn't bother opening them. A warm, familiar hand traces its fingertips against his cheek. He knows those fingers. Those talented, calloused fingers.

"Adam-" his baby's voice is soft, "- c'mon baby boy, you've gotta get up." But he doesn't. He doesn't even believe this to be his baby. This is just wishful thinking.

"Adam." He opens his eyes, looking up through the mess of his hair, seeing dark, concerned brown eyes. His heart leaps to his throat and he chokes, reaching out for his baby. Tommy takes his hand and pulls him up. Adam buries his face into the crook of the bassist's neck, tears falling fast and free, and he's shaking, murmuring incoherent sentences and apologies, but the one thing he gets clear that makes Tommy hold him so tightly is the one thing he's been denying for almost four months.

"I love you…"