Between the Lines
Jul. 11th, 2009 12:21 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
holl-e-wood.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionThe last of my completed inspirations, for the time being. Cheers.
Title: Between the Lines (until I come up with something cleverer.)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No harm meant, no money made. I may own my brain, but very little that's in it.
A/N: Of the many sappy songs that were running through my head as I wrote this: "i'm trying to say I love you, but the words get in the way." - gloria estefan.
~
~
I don't keep my promises
(Beg me)
There wasn't anyone else in the elevator.
The remnants of their post-work, celebratory drinking circle were undoubtedly still groggily pestering the bartender for another round in the chic, modern hotel lounge four floors below. Greg would be fighting with his jacket pocket for his cell phone, trying to answer before only voicemail greeted his wife. Drew would still be a little giddy and chatting up the last bored-looking blonde guest fiddling with an unfinished cocktail on the table before her. The young, pretty lounge singer would be packing away the microphone, tired but satisfied. The last waiter would be sleepily wiping down the second to last table.
He would be there in a moment.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the fourth floor, and the casually dressed man checked his watch as if responding to a cue. 12:57 a.m. In thirty seconds, he had moved from the dying hum of a cheerful, post-work atmosphere to the reserved quiet of midnight sleepers. It was as if he'd stepped from one planet to another.
The door across the hall wasn't shut all the way. He raised one hand and pushed gently, with just the tips of his fingers. It swung open slowly, in silence. He waited, but only for a second, before stepping across the threshold and shutting it carefully behind him.
The room that wasn't his was mostly dark. A faint whiteish glow pooled out from around the bathroom door; a nightlight. Pausing a beat or two for his eyes adjust, he spotted a pair of large, sky-blue shoes set against the wall and aligned neatly with the baseboard. Slipping off his own comfortable tennis shoes, he moved forward, socks silent on the plush carpet.
The rumpled king size bed was empty. He hadn't expected that. Still... he shrugged off his jacket, turned to lay it across the back of the chair.
Except he couldn't. The other man was sitting on the desk, long legs draped loosely over the chair, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He leaned back against the wall, large hands locked behind his head. He wasn't smiling. It was too dark for the other man to see that, but then, he didn't need to.
"I don't make promises," he said from the desk.
"I don't expect you to keep them," the other replied. He dropped his jacket to the floor, tucked his hands in his pockets.
Silence. Neither of them moved.
"How's your head?" he asked the silent shadow on the desk.
"Better," he replied, tone lightening a little, gesturing absently to a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. He shifted his weight, bringing his feet down to rest on the seat of the chair, leaning his arms on his thighs, watching the floor. The standing man watched him impassively, waiting.
"How's Deb?" he asked suddenly, raising his eyes from the carpet.
For a brief instant, something he couldn't read passed through the other man's eyes. Then it was gone, so quickly he might have imagined it, and his friend was bending to pick up his jacket, folding it neatly and setting it on the dresser next to the television, moving to sit on the edge of the messy bed.
"She's fine, Ryan," he finally replied, voice easy.. "Working on some new projects, busy with Luke." And those words, the movement, calling his name, had done something to the thick atmosphere, changed it. It wasn't any lighter, but the darkness wasn't as thick, either. Something in his face had softened, but Ryan didn't notice.
"Good, good," Ryan said absently.
Silence. He was gazing at the carpet again, lost somewhere in a world of his own.
"How's Pat?"
He looked up, startled. "Hm?"
They just looked at each other.
Ryan sighed, raising one hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "About today---"
They both jumped at the loud knock on the door. "Hey, Ryan?" came Drew's muffled voice. "Feeling better? Have you seen Colin?"
They looked back at each other. Ryan nodded. Colin left his perch on the edge of the bed and headed towards the door, flicking on the overhead light as he went.
"He's fine, Drew," Colin said, opening the door. "He'll be his usual charming self by taping time tomorrow."
Drew grinned. "All right, then. G'night."
"Good night, Drew."
He shut the door again. Behind him, the light flicked out. He didn't move, hand still resting on the door handle. He could feel Ryan's presence, standing silently behind him.
"Do you trust me?" Colin asked the door.
For a long time, all that answered him was the soft sound of Ryan's breathing. He swore he could almost feel his body heat, crossing the space that separated them. He nearly turned the handle and walked out.
Then Ryan's hand rested on his shoulder, almost as if he'd known. "Always."
For a long moment, they stood like that, and the light seemed dimmer than before. Eventually, Colin sighed, and Ryan lifted his hand.
"See you tomorrow, Ryan," Colin said firmly to the door, his voice strong.
Ryan's voice was very soft. "Good night, Colin."
He opened the door, and then he was gone.
Ryan heaved a huge, silent sigh, his whole body slumping as the tension drained away. He turned his back on the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor.
Colin's beat up tennis shoes were still sitting next to his own polished blue ones.
For some reason, the sight made him smile. Bending low, he scooped them up, and opening the door a crack, set them outside.
Moments later, when Colin picked them up, he rested his hand briefly on the doorknob before turning away.
"Good night, Ryan."
You don't have to trust me
(I promise)
Title: Between the Lines (until I come up with something cleverer.)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No harm meant, no money made. I may own my brain, but very little that's in it.
A/N: Of the many sappy songs that were running through my head as I wrote this: "i'm trying to say I love you, but the words get in the way." - gloria estefan.
~
~
I don't keep my promises
(Beg me)
There wasn't anyone else in the elevator.
The remnants of their post-work, celebratory drinking circle were undoubtedly still groggily pestering the bartender for another round in the chic, modern hotel lounge four floors below. Greg would be fighting with his jacket pocket for his cell phone, trying to answer before only voicemail greeted his wife. Drew would still be a little giddy and chatting up the last bored-looking blonde guest fiddling with an unfinished cocktail on the table before her. The young, pretty lounge singer would be packing away the microphone, tired but satisfied. The last waiter would be sleepily wiping down the second to last table.
He would be there in a moment.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the fourth floor, and the casually dressed man checked his watch as if responding to a cue. 12:57 a.m. In thirty seconds, he had moved from the dying hum of a cheerful, post-work atmosphere to the reserved quiet of midnight sleepers. It was as if he'd stepped from one planet to another.
The door across the hall wasn't shut all the way. He raised one hand and pushed gently, with just the tips of his fingers. It swung open slowly, in silence. He waited, but only for a second, before stepping across the threshold and shutting it carefully behind him.
The room that wasn't his was mostly dark. A faint whiteish glow pooled out from around the bathroom door; a nightlight. Pausing a beat or two for his eyes adjust, he spotted a pair of large, sky-blue shoes set against the wall and aligned neatly with the baseboard. Slipping off his own comfortable tennis shoes, he moved forward, socks silent on the plush carpet.
The rumpled king size bed was empty. He hadn't expected that. Still... he shrugged off his jacket, turned to lay it across the back of the chair.
Except he couldn't. The other man was sitting on the desk, long legs draped loosely over the chair, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He leaned back against the wall, large hands locked behind his head. He wasn't smiling. It was too dark for the other man to see that, but then, he didn't need to.
"I don't make promises," he said from the desk.
"I don't expect you to keep them," the other replied. He dropped his jacket to the floor, tucked his hands in his pockets.
Silence. Neither of them moved.
"How's your head?" he asked the silent shadow on the desk.
"Better," he replied, tone lightening a little, gesturing absently to a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. He shifted his weight, bringing his feet down to rest on the seat of the chair, leaning his arms on his thighs, watching the floor. The standing man watched him impassively, waiting.
"How's Deb?" he asked suddenly, raising his eyes from the carpet.
For a brief instant, something he couldn't read passed through the other man's eyes. Then it was gone, so quickly he might have imagined it, and his friend was bending to pick up his jacket, folding it neatly and setting it on the dresser next to the television, moving to sit on the edge of the messy bed.
"She's fine, Ryan," he finally replied, voice easy.. "Working on some new projects, busy with Luke." And those words, the movement, calling his name, had done something to the thick atmosphere, changed it. It wasn't any lighter, but the darkness wasn't as thick, either. Something in his face had softened, but Ryan didn't notice.
"Good, good," Ryan said absently.
Silence. He was gazing at the carpet again, lost somewhere in a world of his own.
"How's Pat?"
He looked up, startled. "Hm?"
They just looked at each other.
Ryan sighed, raising one hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "About today---"
They both jumped at the loud knock on the door. "Hey, Ryan?" came Drew's muffled voice. "Feeling better? Have you seen Colin?"
They looked back at each other. Ryan nodded. Colin left his perch on the edge of the bed and headed towards the door, flicking on the overhead light as he went.
"He's fine, Drew," Colin said, opening the door. "He'll be his usual charming self by taping time tomorrow."
Drew grinned. "All right, then. G'night."
"Good night, Drew."
He shut the door again. Behind him, the light flicked out. He didn't move, hand still resting on the door handle. He could feel Ryan's presence, standing silently behind him.
"Do you trust me?" Colin asked the door.
For a long time, all that answered him was the soft sound of Ryan's breathing. He swore he could almost feel his body heat, crossing the space that separated them. He nearly turned the handle and walked out.
Then Ryan's hand rested on his shoulder, almost as if he'd known. "Always."
For a long moment, they stood like that, and the light seemed dimmer than before. Eventually, Colin sighed, and Ryan lifted his hand.
"See you tomorrow, Ryan," Colin said firmly to the door, his voice strong.
Ryan's voice was very soft. "Good night, Colin."
He opened the door, and then he was gone.
Ryan heaved a huge, silent sigh, his whole body slumping as the tension drained away. He turned his back on the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor.
Colin's beat up tennis shoes were still sitting next to his own polished blue ones.
For some reason, the sight made him smile. Bending low, he scooped them up, and opening the door a crack, set them outside.
Moments later, when Colin picked them up, he rested his hand briefly on the doorknob before turning away.
"Good night, Ryan."
You don't have to trust me
(I promise)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 09:40 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing
xxxxx
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 07:48 am (UTC)