Poetrusic
A Dead Poet's Society Fanfiction
xxx
Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling.
It was chaos. It was the dissonant tangle of wailing and incoherent mumbling that erupted from his very being. The screeches that terrorized and stomped on each and every pathetic note that scrambled its way out of the saxophone, glinting like the tear-stained face of a madman under the pale moonlight.
At this moment, he did not think. He felt. Raw emotion driving his fingers as they leapt nimbly about the instrument's keys in a chaotic attempt to grasp even the slightest sense of control, to finally make sense of the tangled mess of emotions festering within the very depths of his soul.
Gotta do more, gotta be more.
He would have to do better than that. He had learned, oh yes, how he had learned.
Love was never those short lived affairs with the rouge-painted faces of the many women and men he had foolishly, needingly caroused with before. It was never the ghostly tendrils of smoke that curled out of the dying embers of the cigars he had effortlessly plucked out of the pockets of disoriented passersby, nor did it exist in the momentary fire that ever-faithful alcohol would bring as it slithered down his throat, thick and unyielding.
He always thought that when love hit, it would be light. Like those wistful promises that his other soul, more in control, the distant romantic dreamer, had made him believe it would be: wonderful, flitting like a dream and yet permanent and real.
Although, never had he thought it would be real enough to actually be held and felt within his grasp. And now he felt it; and it lay delicate yet imposing sitting at the very pit of his stomach, altogether light yet burdensome, algid and yet heat incarnate smoldering out and stretching its fingers across his body, enveloping him in this chaotic calm he never experienced before.
Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming.
He loved him. He needed him.
He was the only constant, the one, sole, whispering order to control the screaming voices that were his erratic breathing and swift, unsteady heartbeats.
And yet he could never know. Knox Overstreet would never know about his desperate need because he had carefully hidden the damn thing and locked it away, knowing that it was nothing but a promise the dreamer could never fulfill. He'd buried them, neon stained one-night-stands, liquor, swirling smoke and all into the violent, swirling turmoil that erupted from his instrument.
It was his new voice, this dissonance. He could scream. He could cry.
He could say everything and yet nothing at all, he was free to do whatever he pleased.
Gotta do more, gotta be more!
And so he sang.
The sultry, pleading voice of the saxophone finally broke out from its body, resonating all his unsaid questions and emotions throughout the emptiness that was the Old Indian Cave, towards the knowing gaze of moon who no longer saw the tear-stained face of a madman but a silent, hopeful dreamer.
Love, love, LOVE was all he could play. It was real!It was sitting at the bottom of his stomach-no, it was flying! Drifting delicately forward on the wingbeat of a prolonged legato note, lonely yet sure, and hanging on the edges of the still night air.
Everything, he would give; everything for him.
xxx
And when he slowly opened his eyes to see Knox sitting pensively in front of him, twirling the unused pipe in his hands in silent reverie, he saw love.
Love!
He knew love! Love was real! He recognized it. It was his sole companion, his burden, his strength all this time, and he hoped.
But alas, the love reflected in his best friend's wistful gaze was not for him, but for another.
And he broke.
I am an absolute lover of DPS shipping of the Chox variety, especially when it is one-sided, as you can see! XD
DPS is not mine, obviously- though I wish it was. How I wish it was.