Stone Cold Sober
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: ARGH! Why am I writing another epic? I love it. Yes, but each time I start a new fic I have this perverse goal of making it more challenging. Wait, this is supposed to be a disclaimer, not a counseling session. ~whew~ Characters, not mine. Music, not mine (Gordon again). Alternate reality. Thanks for giving my insanity a chance! This is a bit of a set up chapter, but try to: Enjoy.)
***
If you really knew
how many times
I've tried to help you
I feel worse than if I were cheating. Cheating, the blind, desperate, passionate, sweaty variety. The pure indulge first, ask questions later variety. I glance back with a sick smile on my face. I feel sick anyway. The half-way to puking feeling when you've eaten way too many sweets. No one's noticed yet.
Oh the apparent innocence of it all.
Don't see me sneaking toward the phone, I think desperately. Damn. What luck. I glance back, again with my lips pulled back. I'm sure I look like a wussy drug dealing punk the way I'm twisting the payphone cord around my finger, panic dripping from my face, all slouched over hidden in my favorite trench coat. I used to do things like this to spook my kid sister.
Not while I'm calling to warn my best friend.
Whoa. Since when have I thought of Hayate as my best friend? I ponder that a moment, pressing the volume button so that the ringing is actually audible. Even that slight noise having me fearful that Duo might notice I've suddenly bowed out of my favorite drinking game while he was convincing, rather trying to convince, Dorothy to play.
Best friend. No, no, no. Roommate. Roommates help each other out. And I'd much rather break this news to Hayate over the telephone. I don't want to imagine his face if I told him in person.
"Bad news, brother." I say just as soon as Hayate answers the phone. Duo and I had just come back from a long trip to this jazzy bar where Duo'd had his heart set on being a sax player. But when those dreams had gone down with the backwash, we choked up one very prim and proper Henry Feist, aka Sesame. "You're rival just showed up prematurely. No worries yet, Himeno apparently went to see a movie with some of her girlfriends. But he's here chumming it up with Duo, and I thought you'd want to know."
"Who is?" Whatever emotion I was expecting, dry and almost flat was not what I imagined.
"Sesame is . . ." I hiss, finding it quite a pleasure to let all those "s" sounds slip between my teeth with dramatic flair.
"That's all?"
And I'm a bit dumbfounded when I realize the strange noise Hayate started to make is the buzz of a disconnected call.
If you really knew how many times
I've tried to help you,
make your mind up in the matters of the heart,
you'd not be bothered
by the miscues or the bad trips
that seem to come and plague us.
I give up. Hayate won't have any friends with gratitude like that. I had made an effort. Everyone saw me, my grand escape to the telephone hadn't gone unnoticed; although, I was fairly certain no one could have guessed the true meaning of the call. Duo made some great guesses.
"Don't mind our dear friend, Keisuke." Duo was painfully slumped sideways in his seat, making a rather pathetic impression on his future benefactor. "He has these sudden urges to confess to the Virgin mother and has a direct line to level seven upstairs." Sesame smiled in a subtly amused way. Not condescending in anyway, but more or less ambivalent. He seemed much older than us, still I wouldn't imagine he was more than three years our senior. He apparently was the spokesperson for some politician now that he'd finished a rather brief but successful turn in the court room. We were all rather in awe of the silver-blond haired man after hearing that. It was like a minor deity had decided to grace us with his majestic presence. But as much as I wanted to dislike the guy, he was quite charming to be with.
"You seem to be on rather intimate terms with the Virgin." Sesame says politely, with a touch of teasing. But the bland variety that you just can't justify getting upset at. I find that irksome at times, but then Sesame's flashing that ever endearing, ever contented smile.
"Intimate?" Duo pounces on the word with dizzy glee, "It wasn't the Virgin after all. It was Sorata you were calling . . . Keisuke! I didn't think you were ever going to move on that one?"
Not even Dorothy interferes as I take the time to smash Duo's face into the table. Not that it really did anything but make the braided idiot laugh harder. He is in a perpetual state of glee.
In the matter of a few hours, Sesame had approved of Duo's playing and followed us back to the Four Doors to celebrate. And the entrepreneur also indulged in a little hobby of his which was finding breaks for talented, but struggling musicians. Most of their conversation had been comparing notes. Then there was the revelation that Sesame had done some radio while putting himself through college and a bit of graduate school. His radio personality had been one of Duo's heroes.
The love between them was sickening. The hero and the protégé. So unlike Duo to admire someone else, but at the same time . . . we couldn't help but feel happy for him. Sesame had single-handedly opened the door to all of Duo's most desperate dreams.
His joy was contagious.
As I walk from Dorothy's car to the front door of my apartment complex (she was driving Duo home as well), I can tell already that Hayate's light was out. The only glow a faint lamp he must have left on in the living room. I'll take that as a sign of miniscule gratitude for the razing I got after I called him. Warned him.
My stomach begins to twist with familiar pangs.
Having thought it over,
I sure would like to talk to you again.
In the mornings, I stumble out of bed to sneak into the kitchen for a snack. If I can manage to sneak some of Hayate's cereal into a bowl of milk before he realizes, he doesn't complain. It's if he catches you in the middle of reaching for the cupboard that your life is in dangers. Since I don't usually open the store, it's rare I even see him in the mornings. But that doesn't make it any less dangerous the days he's around.
But today, like all others, he's up ridiculously early. Already in his construction clothes and sitting on the couch watching the news. Right then it is the weather and it looks like it's going to be another scorcher. Somehow summer caught up on us unawares. I always tease that Hayate looks great in florescent orange, but on days like these I'm glad I'm in the florescent glow of a wall full of air conditioned fish tanks rather than directing traffic around monster heat-generating machinery.
I can hear the clanking of his overflowing key ring as he stands. I hastily slosh a spoon into the bowl and swallow my first bite of cereal. Honestly, if I only just remembered to stop by the grocery store on a regular basis I wouldn't have to constantly confess to stealing, but what would be the fun of that?
I peer around from the kitchen as he's pulling open the door, "Have a great day at work, sweetie." I smile, mocking him, waving the spoon around triumphantly. Hayate shakes his head, the better to hide his weary face with that cascade of dark hair.
I swear, he doesn't sleep even if he's lying in his bed for seven hours a night. He doesn't go out any more. He hasn't taken a chance. This has to stop.
"Dammit, Hayate." I feel my righteous indignation settling in, the splendid Yuuki family stubbornness. But I don't know what to say to him while he stare at the floor. The stupid bloke is just way too sensitive. And bashful. "I can't do everything for you."
"Then why are you trying?" He frowns, more puzzled than anything else I'd say.
"I don't like seeing you unhappy." I pout, "Have you ever been happy? I think I saw you laugh that one time that Dorothy threw that dart at Duo and missed by only this much and that was morbid laughter you know."
"Once." Hayate concedes, and I'm surprised again. "Maybe once. How about you?" His words are light, but they freeze my insides with reciprocated insightfulness.
Dammit. Just because he doesn't hide his sadness behind a jolly mask. I take a huge bite of his cereal and chew sloppily. He gets this half baffled, half amused expression on his face, then he's gone.
I turn the television station to cartoons.
I was stone cold sober,
it was daylight in October
when you reached across the table
put your hand upon my shoulder
and my lips were warm with kissing
while we found the missing pieces
to all the empty spaces
This is not supposed to be my story, but gosh darn it. I can get sentimental if I want to. And Hayate's done it. Once again, he's pulled me from behind my happy-go-lucky exterior and reminded me that I'm lonely too. I don't think anyone really sees it besides him. And he probably only notices because I'm the only human contact that he has and Hayate gets to focus all of his analytical abilities on me then.
Or maybe it's because we're more kindred spirits than we'd like to admit. Sure, he's got this complex about Himeno. But I have my own complex. And I like to think I've managed a rather complicated one for myself as well. Only thing is, Hayate's got this opportunity to make his better. Bastard.
Opportunities are these things that are given to you. It's almost like we have no control over things at times. Like some divine hand swoops in and holds us back until it's too late, and then I spend a lot of time confessing that it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. But, sometimes . . .
Sometimes was a girl named Sylvia.
Hello, I didn't say I was gay did I? I might be sometimes-or most of the time, but there are some girls that just make you reconsider. No wait. One girl. One.
Kind of like Sorata is the one guy. One.
It's too early in the morning to think about this. I just get depressed, and the birds at work can tell when I feel crappy because they always seem to leave truckloads of it around right after I've just cleaned up after them.
Then . . . that's the sort of thing I say that would make them laugh. Sorata's squeak like he's running on helium or chipmunks. Sylvia's bashful relaxation after a sudden expulsion. I loved making her laugh.
I sure would like
to talk that way again.
Being serious for a few minutes only makes me identify with Hayate more. It wasn't that he didn't have opportunities, it was just that he couldn't seem to take them. Becoming a recluse while every opportunity he had was slipping away.
But I must admit, it still feels a little funny watching Himeno and realizing that little weirdo girl was causing my roommate so much trouble. I know she has no idea, but I am also certain I'm not the one to tell her.
She's with me and Dorothy wandering around the mall together. It's Sunday, late morning, and I'm still a bit flighty from my weekly religious experience. Okay, it's a bit bizarre that I get off on old church tradition, but it's something that always seems to touch me even as I get older. It's the refreshed buzz that I get after confessing all the more hung over moments I'd had early that weekend.
But this time, I'd asked the big guy for some favors. Not that I really expected Him to deposit Sorata in a red cellophane on my doorstep, or that even if He did that Hayate would let me invite him in.
Confession. No, that wasn't what I prayed for.
But glancing at Himeno, I didn't know if I was going to see a happy ending for Hayate either.
To change the subject. There is no accounting for taste. While I carry around the latest sci-fi horror movie released with relish, Himeno and Dorothy are flipping through the romantic comedies.
"Gag me ladies, but it's just horrid watching you bond over Tom Hanks." I push myself between them and try to smile cute, Himeno's almost buying it with an amused bewilderment as her mouth falls open into a smile. She just likes to be included in everything.
Dorothy glowers down her nose at me. "Chow Yun Fat." She corrects, tapping the cover with one fair finger. Some brilliant DVD arranger had stuck the sap next to the subtitled.
I was mistaken all along. The tulip-head kid starts laughing at my bewildered expression, part put on. Part impressed. I'd been looking for that movie. Now, how do I slip it into my hands without them noticing?
I narrowly avoid two clothing stores, only for the dames to suck me into the third one. My protests unsuccessful.
"I thought you were supposed to be one of the more stylish of the male gender." Dorothy teased icily.
"Not automatically synonymous." I snarl, clipping each word and slipping into the chair obviously placed near the changing rooms for the boyfriend or male shopping partner. I put a Mechanics Weekly bulletin directly in front of my face, inches from my nose, pretending to read.
It's funny to watch Himeno play dress up, with Dorothy standing approvingly, one slim arm draped around her waist, the other propped up to almost touch fingers to lips. Standing in a way that arches her back like an approving older sister appraising the younger. It's a cute act. You can tell Dorothy's an only child. No sisters get along that well.
Then I have a peculiar insight. Like a sudden flash of brilliant warning from heaven. Except no trumpets, no heavenly choir, no burning bushes. (Although the orange skirt that Himeno's wearing clashes hideously with Himeno's hair while Dorothy's trying to think of a positive way to disapprove of it.)
Pairings. Partners. Support. Each champion is only as good as his arms bearer.
Somehow, Himeno found Dorothy to fill the role of a big sister. Then famous rival snuggles in with Duo's charismatic favor. And Hayate has . . .
Dear Lord, Hayate . . . God help him. We're doomed.
Unless I get my act together.
Now.
I was stone cold sober
when I woke the morning after,
having shattered the illusions
of the object of my passions
with a will made out of iron
and a mind that is her own.
Not that I've ever been able to do pull together when it matters.
Having thought it over,
I sure would like t
to talk to her again.
We had it coming,
had it going way back then.
.8
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: ARGH! Why am I writing another epic? I love it. Yes, but each time I start a new fic I have this perverse goal of making it more challenging. Wait, this is supposed to be a disclaimer, not a counseling session. ~whew~ Characters, not mine. Music, not mine (Gordon again). Alternate reality. Thanks for giving my insanity a chance! This is a bit of a set up chapter, but try to: Enjoy.)
***
If you really knew
how many times
I've tried to help you
I feel worse than if I were cheating. Cheating, the blind, desperate, passionate, sweaty variety. The pure indulge first, ask questions later variety. I glance back with a sick smile on my face. I feel sick anyway. The half-way to puking feeling when you've eaten way too many sweets. No one's noticed yet.
Oh the apparent innocence of it all.
Don't see me sneaking toward the phone, I think desperately. Damn. What luck. I glance back, again with my lips pulled back. I'm sure I look like a wussy drug dealing punk the way I'm twisting the payphone cord around my finger, panic dripping from my face, all slouched over hidden in my favorite trench coat. I used to do things like this to spook my kid sister.
Not while I'm calling to warn my best friend.
Whoa. Since when have I thought of Hayate as my best friend? I ponder that a moment, pressing the volume button so that the ringing is actually audible. Even that slight noise having me fearful that Duo might notice I've suddenly bowed out of my favorite drinking game while he was convincing, rather trying to convince, Dorothy to play.
Best friend. No, no, no. Roommate. Roommates help each other out. And I'd much rather break this news to Hayate over the telephone. I don't want to imagine his face if I told him in person.
"Bad news, brother." I say just as soon as Hayate answers the phone. Duo and I had just come back from a long trip to this jazzy bar where Duo'd had his heart set on being a sax player. But when those dreams had gone down with the backwash, we choked up one very prim and proper Henry Feist, aka Sesame. "You're rival just showed up prematurely. No worries yet, Himeno apparently went to see a movie with some of her girlfriends. But he's here chumming it up with Duo, and I thought you'd want to know."
"Who is?" Whatever emotion I was expecting, dry and almost flat was not what I imagined.
"Sesame is . . ." I hiss, finding it quite a pleasure to let all those "s" sounds slip between my teeth with dramatic flair.
"That's all?"
And I'm a bit dumbfounded when I realize the strange noise Hayate started to make is the buzz of a disconnected call.
If you really knew how many times
I've tried to help you,
make your mind up in the matters of the heart,
you'd not be bothered
by the miscues or the bad trips
that seem to come and plague us.
I give up. Hayate won't have any friends with gratitude like that. I had made an effort. Everyone saw me, my grand escape to the telephone hadn't gone unnoticed; although, I was fairly certain no one could have guessed the true meaning of the call. Duo made some great guesses.
"Don't mind our dear friend, Keisuke." Duo was painfully slumped sideways in his seat, making a rather pathetic impression on his future benefactor. "He has these sudden urges to confess to the Virgin mother and has a direct line to level seven upstairs." Sesame smiled in a subtly amused way. Not condescending in anyway, but more or less ambivalent. He seemed much older than us, still I wouldn't imagine he was more than three years our senior. He apparently was the spokesperson for some politician now that he'd finished a rather brief but successful turn in the court room. We were all rather in awe of the silver-blond haired man after hearing that. It was like a minor deity had decided to grace us with his majestic presence. But as much as I wanted to dislike the guy, he was quite charming to be with.
"You seem to be on rather intimate terms with the Virgin." Sesame says politely, with a touch of teasing. But the bland variety that you just can't justify getting upset at. I find that irksome at times, but then Sesame's flashing that ever endearing, ever contented smile.
"Intimate?" Duo pounces on the word with dizzy glee, "It wasn't the Virgin after all. It was Sorata you were calling . . . Keisuke! I didn't think you were ever going to move on that one?"
Not even Dorothy interferes as I take the time to smash Duo's face into the table. Not that it really did anything but make the braided idiot laugh harder. He is in a perpetual state of glee.
In the matter of a few hours, Sesame had approved of Duo's playing and followed us back to the Four Doors to celebrate. And the entrepreneur also indulged in a little hobby of his which was finding breaks for talented, but struggling musicians. Most of their conversation had been comparing notes. Then there was the revelation that Sesame had done some radio while putting himself through college and a bit of graduate school. His radio personality had been one of Duo's heroes.
The love between them was sickening. The hero and the protégé. So unlike Duo to admire someone else, but at the same time . . . we couldn't help but feel happy for him. Sesame had single-handedly opened the door to all of Duo's most desperate dreams.
His joy was contagious.
As I walk from Dorothy's car to the front door of my apartment complex (she was driving Duo home as well), I can tell already that Hayate's light was out. The only glow a faint lamp he must have left on in the living room. I'll take that as a sign of miniscule gratitude for the razing I got after I called him. Warned him.
My stomach begins to twist with familiar pangs.
Having thought it over,
I sure would like to talk to you again.
In the mornings, I stumble out of bed to sneak into the kitchen for a snack. If I can manage to sneak some of Hayate's cereal into a bowl of milk before he realizes, he doesn't complain. It's if he catches you in the middle of reaching for the cupboard that your life is in dangers. Since I don't usually open the store, it's rare I even see him in the mornings. But that doesn't make it any less dangerous the days he's around.
But today, like all others, he's up ridiculously early. Already in his construction clothes and sitting on the couch watching the news. Right then it is the weather and it looks like it's going to be another scorcher. Somehow summer caught up on us unawares. I always tease that Hayate looks great in florescent orange, but on days like these I'm glad I'm in the florescent glow of a wall full of air conditioned fish tanks rather than directing traffic around monster heat-generating machinery.
I can hear the clanking of his overflowing key ring as he stands. I hastily slosh a spoon into the bowl and swallow my first bite of cereal. Honestly, if I only just remembered to stop by the grocery store on a regular basis I wouldn't have to constantly confess to stealing, but what would be the fun of that?
I peer around from the kitchen as he's pulling open the door, "Have a great day at work, sweetie." I smile, mocking him, waving the spoon around triumphantly. Hayate shakes his head, the better to hide his weary face with that cascade of dark hair.
I swear, he doesn't sleep even if he's lying in his bed for seven hours a night. He doesn't go out any more. He hasn't taken a chance. This has to stop.
"Dammit, Hayate." I feel my righteous indignation settling in, the splendid Yuuki family stubbornness. But I don't know what to say to him while he stare at the floor. The stupid bloke is just way too sensitive. And bashful. "I can't do everything for you."
"Then why are you trying?" He frowns, more puzzled than anything else I'd say.
"I don't like seeing you unhappy." I pout, "Have you ever been happy? I think I saw you laugh that one time that Dorothy threw that dart at Duo and missed by only this much and that was morbid laughter you know."
"Once." Hayate concedes, and I'm surprised again. "Maybe once. How about you?" His words are light, but they freeze my insides with reciprocated insightfulness.
Dammit. Just because he doesn't hide his sadness behind a jolly mask. I take a huge bite of his cereal and chew sloppily. He gets this half baffled, half amused expression on his face, then he's gone.
I turn the television station to cartoons.
I was stone cold sober,
it was daylight in October
when you reached across the table
put your hand upon my shoulder
and my lips were warm with kissing
while we found the missing pieces
to all the empty spaces
This is not supposed to be my story, but gosh darn it. I can get sentimental if I want to. And Hayate's done it. Once again, he's pulled me from behind my happy-go-lucky exterior and reminded me that I'm lonely too. I don't think anyone really sees it besides him. And he probably only notices because I'm the only human contact that he has and Hayate gets to focus all of his analytical abilities on me then.
Or maybe it's because we're more kindred spirits than we'd like to admit. Sure, he's got this complex about Himeno. But I have my own complex. And I like to think I've managed a rather complicated one for myself as well. Only thing is, Hayate's got this opportunity to make his better. Bastard.
Opportunities are these things that are given to you. It's almost like we have no control over things at times. Like some divine hand swoops in and holds us back until it's too late, and then I spend a lot of time confessing that it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. But, sometimes . . .
Sometimes was a girl named Sylvia.
Hello, I didn't say I was gay did I? I might be sometimes-or most of the time, but there are some girls that just make you reconsider. No wait. One girl. One.
Kind of like Sorata is the one guy. One.
It's too early in the morning to think about this. I just get depressed, and the birds at work can tell when I feel crappy because they always seem to leave truckloads of it around right after I've just cleaned up after them.
Then . . . that's the sort of thing I say that would make them laugh. Sorata's squeak like he's running on helium or chipmunks. Sylvia's bashful relaxation after a sudden expulsion. I loved making her laugh.
I sure would like
to talk that way again.
Being serious for a few minutes only makes me identify with Hayate more. It wasn't that he didn't have opportunities, it was just that he couldn't seem to take them. Becoming a recluse while every opportunity he had was slipping away.
But I must admit, it still feels a little funny watching Himeno and realizing that little weirdo girl was causing my roommate so much trouble. I know she has no idea, but I am also certain I'm not the one to tell her.
She's with me and Dorothy wandering around the mall together. It's Sunday, late morning, and I'm still a bit flighty from my weekly religious experience. Okay, it's a bit bizarre that I get off on old church tradition, but it's something that always seems to touch me even as I get older. It's the refreshed buzz that I get after confessing all the more hung over moments I'd had early that weekend.
But this time, I'd asked the big guy for some favors. Not that I really expected Him to deposit Sorata in a red cellophane on my doorstep, or that even if He did that Hayate would let me invite him in.
Confession. No, that wasn't what I prayed for.
But glancing at Himeno, I didn't know if I was going to see a happy ending for Hayate either.
To change the subject. There is no accounting for taste. While I carry around the latest sci-fi horror movie released with relish, Himeno and Dorothy are flipping through the romantic comedies.
"Gag me ladies, but it's just horrid watching you bond over Tom Hanks." I push myself between them and try to smile cute, Himeno's almost buying it with an amused bewilderment as her mouth falls open into a smile. She just likes to be included in everything.
Dorothy glowers down her nose at me. "Chow Yun Fat." She corrects, tapping the cover with one fair finger. Some brilliant DVD arranger had stuck the sap next to the subtitled.
I was mistaken all along. The tulip-head kid starts laughing at my bewildered expression, part put on. Part impressed. I'd been looking for that movie. Now, how do I slip it into my hands without them noticing?
I narrowly avoid two clothing stores, only for the dames to suck me into the third one. My protests unsuccessful.
"I thought you were supposed to be one of the more stylish of the male gender." Dorothy teased icily.
"Not automatically synonymous." I snarl, clipping each word and slipping into the chair obviously placed near the changing rooms for the boyfriend or male shopping partner. I put a Mechanics Weekly bulletin directly in front of my face, inches from my nose, pretending to read.
It's funny to watch Himeno play dress up, with Dorothy standing approvingly, one slim arm draped around her waist, the other propped up to almost touch fingers to lips. Standing in a way that arches her back like an approving older sister appraising the younger. It's a cute act. You can tell Dorothy's an only child. No sisters get along that well.
Then I have a peculiar insight. Like a sudden flash of brilliant warning from heaven. Except no trumpets, no heavenly choir, no burning bushes. (Although the orange skirt that Himeno's wearing clashes hideously with Himeno's hair while Dorothy's trying to think of a positive way to disapprove of it.)
Pairings. Partners. Support. Each champion is only as good as his arms bearer.
Somehow, Himeno found Dorothy to fill the role of a big sister. Then famous rival snuggles in with Duo's charismatic favor. And Hayate has . . .
Dear Lord, Hayate . . . God help him. We're doomed.
Unless I get my act together.
Now.
I was stone cold sober
when I woke the morning after,
having shattered the illusions
of the object of my passions
with a will made out of iron
and a mind that is her own.
Not that I've ever been able to do pull together when it matters.
Having thought it over,
I sure would like t
to talk to her again.
We had it coming,
had it going way back then.
.8