Changes
by Prentice
Rating: Mature
Fandom: Hairspray (1988/2007 versions)
Pairings: Link/Amber, Link/Tracy, Penny/Seaweed
Disclaimer: None of the characters or situations belong to me. I'm just happy to play with them.
Summary: Link Larkin had everything he thought he ever wanted: a beautiful girlfriend, a chance at stardom, endless amounts of talent and good looks; everything. Or, that's what he thought until he met Tracy Turnblad.
Story Notes1: I realized (too late) that this part should have been tacked onto the first section (Today's the Day) but since I've already posted that part, there's not much I can do without scrambling the readers so for all purposes, this is a very short second section.
Story Note2: I'm going to begin peppering this story with slang/terminology used during the sixties. I've tried my best to use only early sixties terminology but as you'll find when you do research, many many people don't distinguish the year in which certain slang was being used so -- I did my best.
Author's Note: Please forgive my long over-due update. Quite literally, a few hours after I posted the first chapter, my laptop stopped working. That being said, the next chapter will be posted a lot sooner.
Link stared down at the ring in his palm, the dimmed lights of the studio glinting on the simple golden band, and felt a burning flush of embarrassment pass through him. She hadn't even taken the ring. She could have, after the show, when Mrs. Von Tussle was busy arguing with one of the cameramen again. She could have slinked up to him, smiled that bright well practice smile of hers, and asked him if he really meant it about the ring. He'd have smiled, taken her hand in his own, fingertips brushing gently against her wrist, and pressed it into her hands. No words would have been needed on his part; he'd have just let her have her moment.
It should have been a gas.
But it wasn't.
It really, really wasn't.
Blowing out a slow breath, Link closed his fingers around his ring, curling them into a loose fist around it. It was a cold weight in his hands, quickly warming to his body temperature. The soft ridges of the design etched into it's crown rubbed against his skin, the small garnets scrapping lightly. He dropped to his arm to his side, fist brushing his jacket pocket, and ignored the flash of...irritation? Resentment? Anxiety?
He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but it was better to ignore it. Things with Amber were always...different...and he couldn't allow himself to be seen being another other than a cheerful Corny Collin's dancer. That would be pretty uncool; especially in light of the fact that almost everyone had seen him give Amber his ring and anyone whom hadn't seen, she'd probably told by now.
Another exhalation and Link slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, the warm metal band in his hand sliding gently into it's folds. It felt like a anvil falling from his fingertips . Clearing his throat, the teenager gave a furtive look around the nearly empty studio, the sound of his co-stars coming in a humming buzz from the side door on the left, before he lifted his other hand to his front lapels and gently smoothed them down.
Eventually, he was sure, Amber would remember the ring and come and get it from him. Maybe not today or tomorrow but sometime soon, after someone finally got around to asking her to see it, instead of just oh-ing and ah-ing and, in some cases, squealing at the news. He was sure of it.
Amber would remember.
Eventually.
Maybe.
Sixties Slang 101:
It should have been a gas - It should have been a lot of fun.