TITLE: Colin Sitting
AUTHOR: always krissy
DISCLAIMER: Everwood is owned by the awesome people at TheWB. I am only lusting after them.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Slash, slash, oh wonderful slash! And look! It is longer than my five sentence drabbles! Yes, I'm as proud as you are. 1019 words of FIC, 1079 total with all else. :D
PAIRING(S): Bright/Colin, Amy/Colin implied
RATING: PG
They stared silently across the room at one another.
Neither said a word.
Bright clasped his hands together, nervously fidgeting, and looked away. This was the last time he'd ever agree to 'Colin-sit' for Amy, when she ran off doing an errand. It was too nerve wrecking to be in the same room as Colin. Not that he minded it. It was just the opposite, really. It reminded him of those days... When they'd run off to be alone, away from Amy's girlish giggles, and constant questions. She always wanted to know what they were doing, what they were thinking.
'Nothin' Grover,' Colin would assure her, beaming a smile, which would send her blushing and running from the room. And when they were younger, little, she had never wanted anything to do with them. Well, that was partially his fault, then. He loved to shove her in the mud, and then laugh. Colin would help her up, and then they'd both chase after him, but then Amy'd find mud stains on her shirt, and leave screeching, and it would just be the two of them. Sometimes they didn't talk. They didn't need words between each other, not to know what the other was feeling.
And then, they'd shared a kiss, not needing to speak to ask permission. It had just been a given. BrightColin meant something then.
Bright could still remember the lingering taste of mud on Colin's lips, from when it had splattered onto him after Amy'd fallen into the mud puddle. Colin had nearly fallen in after her, when he'd helped her up, and his clothes had become a nightmare of orange and brown smudges. Their hands brushed, and Bright's fingers tingled, and their lips met in a calmness that ignored the previous chaos. It was just a moment, but it was a moment that ignited so many more moments in the three years following.
Bright's eyes squeezed together, in thought, and he wished the lingering touches, and smells, and emotions, away. What use was a one-sided memory?
"We were together, weren't we."
Bright looked up, eyes opening wide at Colin's soft words and intent stare, "W-what?"
Colin's lips formed a firm line. "The way you stare at me, the way you speak, the way you keep your distance, and your body language yearns for more. I might not remember anything, but I'm not blind."
"You're wrong," Bright said. He tried to keep his voice as level as possible, afraid he'd let out a squeak, or a chirp, or something. He'd practiced this conversation so many times in his head, but all those times had him remembering everything. Remembering how their hands would caress, how their lips would learn, how their bodies would meld. Not like this, not like it was just an educated guess, Colin's hypothesis of the day.
"Am I?" Colin raised an eyebrow, skeptically staring at the boy who called him best friend. Bright's eyes betrayed the words, and Colin felt his heart skip a beat, when he realized he was right. He didn't know why it did that; maybe it was just instinct, a way for his body to tell him he was right, and Bright was lying, and that this was the right thing to think. And by the way Bright was sitting, taunt, and ready to run, Colin knew he was lying.
"Well, maybe, I don't know, possibly," Bright admitted. No matter if Colin couldn't remember, or if Colin was still in a coma, or if he remembered all of it, he could never lie to him, and be believed. It was just one of those things that couldn't happen.
"What did Amy think?"
Bright blinked at the question. "Uhh, dude, s-she didn't know anything. It," the words seemed to stick to his throat, and they could hardly come out coherently, "was a... secret."
"Oh."
Bright carefully watched as Colin's face became a shade of blank. Not that he'd shown much emotion before this, but now... It was like he was trying to mask no emotions. Bright felt a pang of sadness when he realized he would never be able to read Colin again. Before, it had been so easy. So easy to see what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what he wanted to do...
"This explains so much," Colin murmured. His voice hitched as he spoke, and he closed his eyes, and leaned against the back of the couch. Suddenly his head pounded. It was too much to deal with right now. He couldn't remember *anything* but there was something familiar in knowing this. Like something he was desperately trying to remember was explained, and in a way, it was, when he realized what Bright felt.
It wasn't just friendship, it was passion.
It was a passion so many people were trying to make him remember.
Kayla asked if he remembered giving her, her first kiss in a game of spin-the-bottle.
Paige asked if he remembered when they were in middle school, and she'd told him she loved him, and he took her out on a date of a movie and pizza.
Amy's questions were always unasked, but he could see the longing in her eyes. The million of memories on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to burst, but always held back for his sake.
And now there was Bright.
And Colin didn't understand it, didn't want to understand it, but he had to. For himself, for Bright, for any type of future with Amy.
"Forget it," Bright muttered. The silence was unbearable, and he couldn't just watch Colin think about something that would never be. He reached over to the coffee table, and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV to Nickelodeon, where Spongebob Squarepants was just beginning.
Colin's eyes followed the movements of the cartoon characters and could almost sympathize with them.
They didn't get to write their world, either. It was always done for them. Never allowed to be who they really wanted to be, or make their own decisions.
Their destiny was in someone else's hands.
And it sucked.
AUTHOR: always krissy
DISCLAIMER: Everwood is owned by the awesome people at TheWB. I am only lusting after them.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Slash, slash, oh wonderful slash! And look! It is longer than my five sentence drabbles! Yes, I'm as proud as you are. 1019 words of FIC, 1079 total with all else. :D
PAIRING(S): Bright/Colin, Amy/Colin implied
RATING: PG
They stared silently across the room at one another.
Neither said a word.
Bright clasped his hands together, nervously fidgeting, and looked away. This was the last time he'd ever agree to 'Colin-sit' for Amy, when she ran off doing an errand. It was too nerve wrecking to be in the same room as Colin. Not that he minded it. It was just the opposite, really. It reminded him of those days... When they'd run off to be alone, away from Amy's girlish giggles, and constant questions. She always wanted to know what they were doing, what they were thinking.
'Nothin' Grover,' Colin would assure her, beaming a smile, which would send her blushing and running from the room. And when they were younger, little, she had never wanted anything to do with them. Well, that was partially his fault, then. He loved to shove her in the mud, and then laugh. Colin would help her up, and then they'd both chase after him, but then Amy'd find mud stains on her shirt, and leave screeching, and it would just be the two of them. Sometimes they didn't talk. They didn't need words between each other, not to know what the other was feeling.
And then, they'd shared a kiss, not needing to speak to ask permission. It had just been a given. BrightColin meant something then.
Bright could still remember the lingering taste of mud on Colin's lips, from when it had splattered onto him after Amy'd fallen into the mud puddle. Colin had nearly fallen in after her, when he'd helped her up, and his clothes had become a nightmare of orange and brown smudges. Their hands brushed, and Bright's fingers tingled, and their lips met in a calmness that ignored the previous chaos. It was just a moment, but it was a moment that ignited so many more moments in the three years following.
Bright's eyes squeezed together, in thought, and he wished the lingering touches, and smells, and emotions, away. What use was a one-sided memory?
"We were together, weren't we."
Bright looked up, eyes opening wide at Colin's soft words and intent stare, "W-what?"
Colin's lips formed a firm line. "The way you stare at me, the way you speak, the way you keep your distance, and your body language yearns for more. I might not remember anything, but I'm not blind."
"You're wrong," Bright said. He tried to keep his voice as level as possible, afraid he'd let out a squeak, or a chirp, or something. He'd practiced this conversation so many times in his head, but all those times had him remembering everything. Remembering how their hands would caress, how their lips would learn, how their bodies would meld. Not like this, not like it was just an educated guess, Colin's hypothesis of the day.
"Am I?" Colin raised an eyebrow, skeptically staring at the boy who called him best friend. Bright's eyes betrayed the words, and Colin felt his heart skip a beat, when he realized he was right. He didn't know why it did that; maybe it was just instinct, a way for his body to tell him he was right, and Bright was lying, and that this was the right thing to think. And by the way Bright was sitting, taunt, and ready to run, Colin knew he was lying.
"Well, maybe, I don't know, possibly," Bright admitted. No matter if Colin couldn't remember, or if Colin was still in a coma, or if he remembered all of it, he could never lie to him, and be believed. It was just one of those things that couldn't happen.
"What did Amy think?"
Bright blinked at the question. "Uhh, dude, s-she didn't know anything. It," the words seemed to stick to his throat, and they could hardly come out coherently, "was a... secret."
"Oh."
Bright carefully watched as Colin's face became a shade of blank. Not that he'd shown much emotion before this, but now... It was like he was trying to mask no emotions. Bright felt a pang of sadness when he realized he would never be able to read Colin again. Before, it had been so easy. So easy to see what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what he wanted to do...
"This explains so much," Colin murmured. His voice hitched as he spoke, and he closed his eyes, and leaned against the back of the couch. Suddenly his head pounded. It was too much to deal with right now. He couldn't remember *anything* but there was something familiar in knowing this. Like something he was desperately trying to remember was explained, and in a way, it was, when he realized what Bright felt.
It wasn't just friendship, it was passion.
It was a passion so many people were trying to make him remember.
Kayla asked if he remembered giving her, her first kiss in a game of spin-the-bottle.
Paige asked if he remembered when they were in middle school, and she'd told him she loved him, and he took her out on a date of a movie and pizza.
Amy's questions were always unasked, but he could see the longing in her eyes. The million of memories on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to burst, but always held back for his sake.
And now there was Bright.
And Colin didn't understand it, didn't want to understand it, but he had to. For himself, for Bright, for any type of future with Amy.
"Forget it," Bright muttered. The silence was unbearable, and he couldn't just watch Colin think about something that would never be. He reached over to the coffee table, and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV to Nickelodeon, where Spongebob Squarepants was just beginning.
Colin's eyes followed the movements of the cartoon characters and could almost sympathize with them.
They didn't get to write their world, either. It was always done for them. Never allowed to be who they really wanted to be, or make their own decisions.
Their destiny was in someone else's hands.
And it sucked.