Wow, I'm back on . Weird.
Anyway, a Barry Wheeler centered ramble. I don't know about you, but I felt Barry had this almost on the verge of obsessed stalker thing going on with Alan. Almost. I mean, why was he freaking carrying around his cut-out in the game? Well, I guess this is my hypothesis and answer to that question.
This is mostly supposed to just be silly. Kind of weird and stupid drabble so you are free to disagree, but please be respectful. Above all, I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alan Wake; only a copy of it. I'm very sorry, Barry.
It was creepy. He KNEW it was creepy.
Barry lay awake in bed. Staring at him from the corner of his room was the cardboard cut-out of Alan Wake holding his latest book, The Sudden Stop. Alan had given him an odd look and had laughed when he took it. There were dozens of them in bookstores and other places all over the country. But they were for publicity, not to be taken home and, (unknown to Alan) placed in your bedroom.
It was a secret (at least he hoped it was), Barry's feelings toward Alan. The world saw them as a celebrity writer and his agent. He and their friends saw them as best friends. But deep down, Barry wasn't entirely happy with those relationships. Sure he loved being Al's agent and he couldn't ask for a better friend, but...
It was another secret entirely, one that he perhaps guarded even more closely than the first, that was the problem. He, well, he had an interest in men. He liked girls; he'd ogled them since he hit puberty and maybe even a little before. Unfortunately, he also had a propensity to ogle boys. This 'problem' had come to a head, per se, in his mid to late teens.
He had known Alan for a few years, ever since the start of middle school. Al wasn't one of the cool kids though he sort of looked like he could have been. Tall, fit, handsome... He could have been accepted into any of the popular cliques he wanted to, probably. But Al was a loner. Barry had been a big talker, even as a kid. Though he had been short and pudgy, he would try to smooth talk his way into hanging out with the cool kids. It never worked and he was relegated to sitting alone at lunch. Maybe in their loneliness they were drawn to each other.
They became inseparable. Or maybe it was just that Barry followed Alan wherever he went. But Alan never told him to leave or go away so it must have been okay. Al had always been a good writer. Barry used to bug him until he'd hand over his notebook to let him read. Maybe that had been the start. He fell for Alan's words. He had such a way with them. They drew Barry in and carried him along all the way to the end. Then one day he realized he felt the same way about Alan himself.
It had been weird suddenly seeing his best friend in a new light. Suddenly he was noticing how nice Al's shaggy hair framed his face and how ruggedly handsome he looked with a little stubble. And he couldn't deny a twinge of jealousy when he went out on dates or even talked to pretty girls. He tried to tell himself it was nothing. That he noticed these things because they were friends. That he was jealous because he had no one else to hang out with on Friday nights. While those may have been true, he just couldn't deny... something else. Because he knew there was something more every time Al threw a friendly arm over his shoulder and his heart skipped a bit. Something more when Al smiled one of his rare smiles and he felt all warm inside. Something more when his mind wandered to strange places that most men feared to tread...
Eventually, he came to terms with these feelings and they only vaguely bothered him. But accepting also meant accepting another truth. He would never have Al, no matter how much he wanted him. Even if Alan had turned out to be gay, Barry was fairly sure he wouldn't go for him. He really wasn't much to look at. He was chubby and told he had a rat face; not exactly the model type. Of course, that would have been if Al was playing for the other team. As it was, Al was straight as an arrow, madly in love with his wife. Yeah... wife...
Barry both loved and hated Alice. He hated her because she was the most glaring reminder that there was no chance in hell for him and Alan. He hated her because she was beautiful and smart. But he loved her because Al loved her. Because she made him happy; made him smile. Because she inspired him, was his muse. He loved and hated her because she was and had everything he wanted but would never have.
And so he laid awake yet another night, alone in his quiet apartment, at least quiet by New York standards, and thought. Years of unrequited feelings had given him many sleepless nights. By morning, he'd be over it and talk to Al as though nothing had changed after years of friendship.
But for now, he had his card board cut-out. And that was good enough.