Title: When You Wake~ Chapter 1: Spring
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Part: 1/4
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: I know the parts are a little short...it's supposed to be that way. .O; eh...I'll explain it on the last part. I'm thinking that there'll probably be four chapters. Thanks be to Michiko for being a great betareader!
Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
"Hey, yo, Freddy!" Pietro watched Todd execute a small hop-walk combo as he approached the larger teen with a grin and mini-wave. His eyes watered.
"Where were you this morning?" he made himself ask, pitching his voice higher; coloring the question with good-natured teasing. In response, Fred made a face and said distastefully, "Detention."
"Yep," Lance leaned against the lockers, "He's got three of them this week."
Pietro rolled his eyes and smiled as snidely as he could, even as his throat constricted painfully. "Three? What, did he break the gym benches again?"
The dark-haired boy shrugged, a graceful almost rolling motion of his shoulders. He knows what Fred did, Pietro thought, but he's not going to make a big deal about it. Good for him, a small voice at the back of his head whispered, it means he wouldn't tell anyone _your_ secret if you told him.
Pietro blinked a few times, whether to clear his vision or to clear his thoughts, he wasn't sure.
"Hey, better get to class," he said, his voice airy. Todd tossed a concerned glance at him, remembrance of the morning's conversation obviously running their course, weaving a tapestry of worry amongst his thoughts. His pale green eyes watched him warily, saying, "You never skip. What's wrong?"
Pietro smiled at him, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest, ignoring the heat of Lance's gaze at the nape of his neck. He wanted to turn around and tell the older boy everything. Instead, he turned to him, his smile widening, and breathed, "See you later."
--
He fancied himself a painter. An artist. Instead of working with watercolors, pastels, oils, he colored with the larger spectrum of emotion. He painted his smile cheerful, prideful, cold. He dabbled his eyes with the hues of aloofness, teasing, distaste. He tinged his voice with the undertones of joking, of cheerful vivacity, of youthful exuberance.
He felt none of those.
Pietro watched the water ripple in the spring light. The sun seemed pale, casting a wan yellow tinge on everything, even the clearness of the water. It seemed artificial. It felt artificial.
The pond was a few miles away from school, secluded enough so that no one would be able to see it from even fifty feet away. It was peaceful, serene--the cool water and whispering budding trees offering what comfort that human assurance couldn't give.
But what of human touch? He wondered, what of needing someone to hold you, to offer you their strength?
It had never been like that for him. Pietro remembered it well. The freezing cold of lonely nights, not ice borne of air, but ice borne of bitter words, emotions, thoughts. Always, he offered what he could of himself; his comfort, love--his body. Always, he received none of that back. And what of his life now? Where was it going?
Unrequited love, he thought grimly, It's such a waste. My life was already traveling at twice the speed of others...now I have this to worry about. _This_ on top of everything...
Pietro closed his eyes, shielded the crystal blue of them from the suddenly harshness of unforgiving sunlight.
I can't handle this, He wrapped his arms about himself, almost startled at the thinness of them, It's too much. Maybe I should just tell him...tell him before it's too late.
His vision was smeared when he opened his eyes, "Maybe I should tell him," Pietro whispered to the newly blossoming trees, the still water, "Maybe I should tell him before I run out of time."
--
Todd closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the seat. The music whispered sweet nothings to him, whispered the truths about lies, and the reality of why people pushed him away.
"What're you listening to?"
Lance's voice, the small teen recognized. He opened his eyes.
"Staind," Todd watched the oldest mutant climb in the back of the jeep, sitting beside him. Something was wrong.
"Do you know where Pietro went?"
The sandy-haired youth cringed and asked in return, "Didn't he show up to lunch?" Todd had missed that particular "class" because of being at the media center, courtesy of his _wonderful_ teacher, Ms. Ferguson.
Damn her, he thought absently before turning to stare at Lance when he answered, "No."
Short and sweet. Todd yanked off his headphones, leaving the CD still whirring. He could hear the faint strains of Staind's "A Flat," but at the moment, he didn't care.
"He said he was going to skip, yo." he told Lance, feeling apprehensive when he saw the older boy's jaw tighten, and hastened to inquire anxiously, "Pietro would've at least showed up to lunch, though, right?"
Lance sighed gustily, carding one hand through his hair and glaring at the windshield up front for no particular reason. Todd could feel his earlier feeling of peacefulness slip away, and wanted desperately to snatch it back for fear of it vanishing forever. Part of him wanted to put his headphones back on, but the more rational part told him sternly that Pietro was in trouble. He was startled out of his thoughts when Lance opened the side door forcefully and exited, making a determined beeline for the school.
"Lance??"
"I'm going to the clinic."
--
Pietro absently stared at the ceiling, not really seeing the cracked white plaster. The nurse was lecturing him about being careful and how he should've "taken a friend" with him.
Bullshit, he thought, suddenly feeling oppressed by the mind-numbing chatter.
"Okay." Pietro snapped curtly, not caring that he had just interrupted the nurse's spiel. She bristled and shot him a dirty look before walking away in a huff.
Lance was going to be pissed. The silver-haired boy lay back on the uncomfortable futon again, idly watching a girl and her friend babble away on the bed next to him.
He had been in the clinic a lot lately, Pietro realized, not really giving the thought much weight. With all the passing out and the falling...
It doesn't matter anymore, He reminded himself, feeling dizzy and nauseous.
"Hey!"
Pietro sat up slightly at the sound of the voice, then all the way, and smiled as best as he could.
"Hi, Lance."
The older boy sighed and flopped down in the chair besides the bed. Pietro swung his legs to the side and winced as he caught the intense gaze, currently full of anger, concern, and demanding. He could read the unspoken demand, 'Why are you in here again? What happened this time?' Pietro didn't bother to answer any of them. Instead, he waited silently for any questions that Lance might be willing to voice aloud.
"So. Why the hell did you feel that you had to skip?"
The sense of foreboding increased.
"I just...I needed to."
"Why?"
Pietro drew in a sharp breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"I had to think about some things."
The dark gaze was still trained on him, he knew. The anger was probably seeping away, giving in to concern.
"Think about what?"
He shook his head, oddly not feeling irritated when a strand of his hair swept onto his face. It felt feathery, ethereal. He wondered if he was even physically there.
"I can't say," Pietro whispered, almost apologetically. Lance frowned slightly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Your teachers think you're doing drugs," Lance said after a while. Pietro stared at him, uncomprehending.
A small grin tugged at the older boy's lips, "I think they're out of their fucking minds."
For some reason, that made the cerulean-eyed boy smile madly, to want to embrace the mahogany-haired boy before him, to kiss the crazed countenance that seemed so solid, so _there_--the only real thing in an unreal world. Pietro smiled, maybe the first genuine smile in days.
"Nah...just a little paranoid." He paused than asked tentatively,
"You know that...that I'm not stupid enough to do that shit, right?"
Lance half-shrugged, a teasing smile lurking in his translucent topaz brown eyes. "What do you think?"
Pietro frowned for a moment.
"I think...I think you trust me too much."
"Any reason I shouldn't?"
The snowy-haired teen felt his heart break as he lied through his teeth,
"No."
tbc
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Part: 1/4
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: I know the parts are a little short...it's supposed to be that way. .O; eh...I'll explain it on the last part. I'm thinking that there'll probably be four chapters. Thanks be to Michiko for being a great betareader!
Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
"Hey, yo, Freddy!" Pietro watched Todd execute a small hop-walk combo as he approached the larger teen with a grin and mini-wave. His eyes watered.
"Where were you this morning?" he made himself ask, pitching his voice higher; coloring the question with good-natured teasing. In response, Fred made a face and said distastefully, "Detention."
"Yep," Lance leaned against the lockers, "He's got three of them this week."
Pietro rolled his eyes and smiled as snidely as he could, even as his throat constricted painfully. "Three? What, did he break the gym benches again?"
The dark-haired boy shrugged, a graceful almost rolling motion of his shoulders. He knows what Fred did, Pietro thought, but he's not going to make a big deal about it. Good for him, a small voice at the back of his head whispered, it means he wouldn't tell anyone _your_ secret if you told him.
Pietro blinked a few times, whether to clear his vision or to clear his thoughts, he wasn't sure.
"Hey, better get to class," he said, his voice airy. Todd tossed a concerned glance at him, remembrance of the morning's conversation obviously running their course, weaving a tapestry of worry amongst his thoughts. His pale green eyes watched him warily, saying, "You never skip. What's wrong?"
Pietro smiled at him, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest, ignoring the heat of Lance's gaze at the nape of his neck. He wanted to turn around and tell the older boy everything. Instead, he turned to him, his smile widening, and breathed, "See you later."
--
He fancied himself a painter. An artist. Instead of working with watercolors, pastels, oils, he colored with the larger spectrum of emotion. He painted his smile cheerful, prideful, cold. He dabbled his eyes with the hues of aloofness, teasing, distaste. He tinged his voice with the undertones of joking, of cheerful vivacity, of youthful exuberance.
He felt none of those.
Pietro watched the water ripple in the spring light. The sun seemed pale, casting a wan yellow tinge on everything, even the clearness of the water. It seemed artificial. It felt artificial.
The pond was a few miles away from school, secluded enough so that no one would be able to see it from even fifty feet away. It was peaceful, serene--the cool water and whispering budding trees offering what comfort that human assurance couldn't give.
But what of human touch? He wondered, what of needing someone to hold you, to offer you their strength?
It had never been like that for him. Pietro remembered it well. The freezing cold of lonely nights, not ice borne of air, but ice borne of bitter words, emotions, thoughts. Always, he offered what he could of himself; his comfort, love--his body. Always, he received none of that back. And what of his life now? Where was it going?
Unrequited love, he thought grimly, It's such a waste. My life was already traveling at twice the speed of others...now I have this to worry about. _This_ on top of everything...
Pietro closed his eyes, shielded the crystal blue of them from the suddenly harshness of unforgiving sunlight.
I can't handle this, He wrapped his arms about himself, almost startled at the thinness of them, It's too much. Maybe I should just tell him...tell him before it's too late.
His vision was smeared when he opened his eyes, "Maybe I should tell him," Pietro whispered to the newly blossoming trees, the still water, "Maybe I should tell him before I run out of time."
--
Todd closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the seat. The music whispered sweet nothings to him, whispered the truths about lies, and the reality of why people pushed him away.
"What're you listening to?"
Lance's voice, the small teen recognized. He opened his eyes.
"Staind," Todd watched the oldest mutant climb in the back of the jeep, sitting beside him. Something was wrong.
"Do you know where Pietro went?"
The sandy-haired youth cringed and asked in return, "Didn't he show up to lunch?" Todd had missed that particular "class" because of being at the media center, courtesy of his _wonderful_ teacher, Ms. Ferguson.
Damn her, he thought absently before turning to stare at Lance when he answered, "No."
Short and sweet. Todd yanked off his headphones, leaving the CD still whirring. He could hear the faint strains of Staind's "A Flat," but at the moment, he didn't care.
"He said he was going to skip, yo." he told Lance, feeling apprehensive when he saw the older boy's jaw tighten, and hastened to inquire anxiously, "Pietro would've at least showed up to lunch, though, right?"
Lance sighed gustily, carding one hand through his hair and glaring at the windshield up front for no particular reason. Todd could feel his earlier feeling of peacefulness slip away, and wanted desperately to snatch it back for fear of it vanishing forever. Part of him wanted to put his headphones back on, but the more rational part told him sternly that Pietro was in trouble. He was startled out of his thoughts when Lance opened the side door forcefully and exited, making a determined beeline for the school.
"Lance??"
"I'm going to the clinic."
--
Pietro absently stared at the ceiling, not really seeing the cracked white plaster. The nurse was lecturing him about being careful and how he should've "taken a friend" with him.
Bullshit, he thought, suddenly feeling oppressed by the mind-numbing chatter.
"Okay." Pietro snapped curtly, not caring that he had just interrupted the nurse's spiel. She bristled and shot him a dirty look before walking away in a huff.
Lance was going to be pissed. The silver-haired boy lay back on the uncomfortable futon again, idly watching a girl and her friend babble away on the bed next to him.
He had been in the clinic a lot lately, Pietro realized, not really giving the thought much weight. With all the passing out and the falling...
It doesn't matter anymore, He reminded himself, feeling dizzy and nauseous.
"Hey!"
Pietro sat up slightly at the sound of the voice, then all the way, and smiled as best as he could.
"Hi, Lance."
The older boy sighed and flopped down in the chair besides the bed. Pietro swung his legs to the side and winced as he caught the intense gaze, currently full of anger, concern, and demanding. He could read the unspoken demand, 'Why are you in here again? What happened this time?' Pietro didn't bother to answer any of them. Instead, he waited silently for any questions that Lance might be willing to voice aloud.
"So. Why the hell did you feel that you had to skip?"
The sense of foreboding increased.
"I just...I needed to."
"Why?"
Pietro drew in a sharp breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"I had to think about some things."
The dark gaze was still trained on him, he knew. The anger was probably seeping away, giving in to concern.
"Think about what?"
He shook his head, oddly not feeling irritated when a strand of his hair swept onto his face. It felt feathery, ethereal. He wondered if he was even physically there.
"I can't say," Pietro whispered, almost apologetically. Lance frowned slightly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Your teachers think you're doing drugs," Lance said after a while. Pietro stared at him, uncomprehending.
A small grin tugged at the older boy's lips, "I think they're out of their fucking minds."
For some reason, that made the cerulean-eyed boy smile madly, to want to embrace the mahogany-haired boy before him, to kiss the crazed countenance that seemed so solid, so _there_--the only real thing in an unreal world. Pietro smiled, maybe the first genuine smile in days.
"Nah...just a little paranoid." He paused than asked tentatively,
"You know that...that I'm not stupid enough to do that shit, right?"
Lance half-shrugged, a teasing smile lurking in his translucent topaz brown eyes. "What do you think?"
Pietro frowned for a moment.
"I think...I think you trust me too much."
"Any reason I shouldn't?"
The snowy-haired teen felt his heart break as he lied through his teeth,
"No."
tbc