AN: There references to lyrics I believe are in the public domain, but I do not own the song. It has to be in the domain, Guttenburg has a MP3 and almost every artist out there has made a cover of it. So, yeah, I only put snippets. So, yeah, please review, don't report. Especially for nonsense.
At the very least, if you have a problem with it, tell me. I can fix it if it really bothers you that much.
I don't own the song, and it's called "Hallelujah." Rufus Wainwright in my opinion does a pretty good cover. Jeff Buckley does a nice one as well.
Thank you for the reviews! And sorry... Flo does have some more coldness and bitter behaviors ahead, as well as Spencer. :) Sorry, they'll get over themselves soon enough, or will they...
"For every dark night there is a brighter day." ~Tupac Shakur
"You are persistent," I whined, nudging myself into the comfortable mountain of pillows Reid had built for me. "What happens if I bleed all over these?" I pressed, trying to get him to stop. Instead another throw pillow was ripped from its plastic bag and propped up behind me.
"Then I'll wash them," Spencer shrugged. Ironically, I was in my own home with him. Somehow, the weasel had turned a 'no' into a, 'sure you can come over to my place.'
Shaking my head, I hiked up my falling bra strap and tucked it under my pajama styled tank top. Spencer then proceeded to press play on the DVD player. He was crazy if he thought I was staying up that late to watch a movie with him. Okay, late translated into ten o'clock, but I was tired.
Closing my eyes, I nestled my face into one of the pillows. Sleep came all too naturally.
My hand, instead of my foot, made contact with someone's face. Snapping out of my dream state, I saw Spencer's legs stretched out on my couch, and his head lay in my lap with a frowning disposition. "Flo?" he yawned, pushing my hand off of his pale features. Instead of completely extracting them, I decided to run my fingers through his mane of hair.
"Just a bad dream," I commented. Extending my legs, I decided now would be a good time to shower.
"Where are you going?" he asked protectively as I rose upwards. He scrambled to sit straight up again.
Gesturing upstairs, I gave him an evil glance, "Simply going to shower."
"You need any help with the dressings?" Spencer motioned to his back. Shaking my head profusely, he counter argued, "I'm not trying to be cute or anything," he promised, giving me a face I couldn't say no to. No matter my uncomfortable feelings, I'd probably need help with it.
"Fine," I muttered, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs. Opening the door to our old bedroom, I pointed to the bed and he actually sat there. Retreating into the bathroom, I closed the door softly behind me. Ripping off all of my upper garments in a hurry, I spun around to grab a fluffy towel to cover up my front. Taking a deep breath, I sulked back outside. Making a pit stop near the dresser, I turned on Victor's playlist.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer crawled over to remove the bandages. "Just tell me if I'm being too rough," he reminded me. I could see him in the mirror positioned in front of us, and how delicately his fingers were moving. There were a few pinches and pulls, but no searing pain, and that's what I was thankful for. But most of the pain I was going through at the moment was due to the song playing on the stereo at the moment. Tears began rolling down my cheeks at the sweet notes. "I'm hurting you aren't I?" he questioned, immediately stopping what he was doing.
"No, you're fine," I sniffled, flipping my hand to tell him to keep going. As another bloody bandage was removed from my back, the air stung the wounds. More time elapsed, but not before the end of the song, I cracked, "That's him singing the song," I confided. Shaking my head, I decided to give him more information and pull myself together, "Victor, he used to sing that song for me."
"I can turn it off," Spencer's eyes got very wide.
"No, I like it," I admitted. Slowly, I began to recite the verse in unison with Victor's vocals, "Love is not a victory march…"
"Hallelujah," Reid blankly rehearsed along with me. We weren't singing, but we were just saying the verses. "He's an excellent singer," he complimented.
"I know, he had the whole world at his fingertips," I grinned at the old times, trying to remember when we were young and stupid together. But one of us had to grow up, and it so happens that they get hurt more so often than the ones living in ignorant bliss. Ignorance is immortality. "I'm sort of hoping he goes back to school, he was accepted into Curtis," I pointed out, bragging on my ex-fiancée.
"… The holy dove... Hallelujah," we both rehearsed together. The last piece of gauze was removed and I excused myself to my much needed shower.
The shower wasn't as long as I needed it to be, and I exited the bathroom to find an empty bedroom. Racing down the steps two at a time, I rushed outside on my porch in a towel. Only thing to see was Reid getting into his car. He stared at me for a split second, and decided to come back up on the porch. Quite forcefully, much to my surprise, he positioned me back in my living room. "You're such a spaz," he jeered, his hands resting on my shoulders lightly, careful about how much pressure he put on my sutures.
"I thought you were going to stay," I complained, removing his thin and nimble fingers from my bare skin. Hitching up my towel, I shook out my wet hair and he jumped back in protest.
Reid blushed, I had cornered him. "Well, I was going to go home… But I guess I can stay," he suggested.
"I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to…" I tried to tell him I didn't mind, and I attempted to sound not so clingy, but it failed.
"No, I'd actually love to stay with you," he reassured. "I just need to go fetch an extra shirt or two out of the back of my car, and actually turn the rust bucket off," Spencer noted aloud. Nodding my head in agreement, I waited until he left so I could scurry upstairs and slip into my favorite pair of pajamas. Coincidently, we were both done about the same time, and I met him at the foot of my stairs. "I can sleep down here, it's fine," Spencer pointed to the couch.
"We've slept together before, you don't have to," I reminded him.
"This is uncomfortable," Reid whispered, tapping my shin with his chilly foot.
"Too many covers?" I queried, removing one of my hands from his waist, I threw the top quilt off. Shivering, he pulled that back over his shoulders, which was pulled over my head.
Shaking his head, he remarked, "I'm the inner spoon, it's weird." Giggling, I aimed a swift kick to his heel.
"Silly Spencer, savor being the inside spoon," I mocked him, planting a kiss on his back. For something that was supposed to be strictly platonic, it didn't end up that way. Quickly his body turned around, careful not to touch anything on my back, and engulfed me in his skeleton-y frame. Sadly, he was a lot taller than me, and I had to say, he won.
His long bony arms caged me closer to him. "For someone so dramatic, you surely hate any sort of affectionate behavior directed towards you," I muttered, snuggling up closer to him.
"Isn't that more natural?" he questioned, nestling his head between my ear and collarbone. "Almost 75% of women are the inside spoon," he informed me, kissing my collarbone sweetly.
"This is so wrong," I returned his genuine observations. "I like it, but it is so wrong," I continued, turning my head to kiss his cheek.
"Well, as long as we can keep a secret, it isn't technically wrong."