(FIC) In Touch

[iamcrazyodo.livejournal.com]

Title: In touch.
Author: Crazyodo
Pairing: C/R friendship but could be much more if looked at from a certain angle. ;-D
Category: Slightly angsty and possibly a tad melodramatic. Colin’s P.O.V.
Summary: I’m always the one calling; I don’t know why. I don’t want to.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended and no money made. It is all meant as harmless fun and my own way of expressing my love for those great guys.
Author’s note 1: This fic is dedicated to corliamat as thanks for being the first to welcome me into the community. And… Well, she did offer cookies.
Author’s note 2: This is the first fic I’ve ever posted (although not the first I’ve written). Not betaed. All comments will be taken in and given a warm hug (except flames which will rightly go to lower my heating bill – I do live in a cold country, you know).  Concrit is more than welcome. I’m thick-skinned so bring it on. Now, on to the story… 

In Touch

 

 

It’s been three months since I last heard his voice.

 

Three months since I’ve felt that warmth settling over me at a chuckle, a sigh, an “I miss you” said in that deep, rough voice that I find myself longing for.

 

Three months since I last called him.

 

I’m always the one calling; I don’t know why. I don’t want to; I want him to do it. But it’s always me. At least it’s been the last 5 times - more like 15, if I’m honest but I just needed to hear his voice, reconnect with my best friend, with the one I...

 

I’ve been on the road for so long now the days have blurred into weeks and weeks turned into months. Apart from a short break, not even a week, spent back home in Toronto, Brad has been my one constant companion. Brad’s a great guy and we get along really well and our friendship has greatly benefited from this dual act we’ve created. I guess we’ve gained a… deeper understanding of each other’s quirks and qualities, of who we are. He knows he’s not Ryan but… well, he’s an easy-going guy; fun to be around and work with. He might be a smart-ass but Brad understands there’s a time to joke around and a time to let me be. Like today.

 

It’s not always just the two of us tough. Chip has joined us for a few gigs, and Greg too. It was fun but when they left, it made this empty feeling inside worse than ever. By simply being there, they’ve made Ryan’s absence so much more real, more tangible.

 

More than making my career, Whose Line gave me the opportunity to work and spend time with him and that’s what I’m most grateful for. Now that the adventure is over, I realize I took for granted what I should have cherished. Between the British version of the show and the American one, I got complacent. I got so used to being with him I forgot that it could all end at any time; that it could be months before I saw Ryan again. I failed to realize that when it happened, I would miss him. Terribly.

 

Now…well, now I know I could have done more, said more. Minutes, hours, maybe entire days I could have spent in his company are forever lost to me.

 

 

I guess I’m in a brooding mood today. It’s my first evening off in nine days and instead of enjoying the last rays of a bright sun, I’m holed up in my motel room not wanting to see anyone. I just keep throwing the bedside table resentful looks.

 

They’ve all called. At some point. Brad talks to Wayne and Jeff more often than not, and I’ve had Drew on the phone almost every week. But Greg’s the one I hear from the most. He calls, he e-mails, he keeps in touch. I’m supposed to be Ryan’s best friend, right?

 

I don’t know how many times I’ve hoped coming out of a show that I would find a message waiting for me? Ryan doesn’t like computers but he has my number and I know for a fact he’s capable of using a friggin’ phone! 

…Three months! …Ninety-two days to be exact. …Maybe absence does make the heart grow colder. Maybe he doesn’t really miss me after all.

 

When Brad and I first started touring, I had to fight the urge to call him every day. I lost count of the numerous times I had my cell phone ready and caught myself a second before I dialled his number. This time, I wanted him to call me for a change, to need to hear my voice too. But…there’s no point in getting upset, this is after all as much a test for me as it is for him. Three months and I still haven’t called him! I guess I don’t miss him that much anymore.

 

I let the photo of us I carry in the pocket of my wallet fall next to me on the bed. It’s one of the early ones; we were still doing Second City at the time. We weren’t kids anymore but we still felt we had our lives ahead of us. I’d like to think those were simpler times. It’s not true, but I still miss them.

 

 

I grab the picture again. The edges are torn, proof of how many times it’s been handled. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at it but it’s gone completely dark outside and I’m holding my cell phone to my ear. It barely rings once before I hear that deep voice once again.

 

He’s glad I’m calling; he meant to earlier; he’s been thinking about me. I don’t know that it’s really true but I find it doesn’t matter. I fall back on the bed, close my eyes and concentrate on his voice. I let his words wash away the worry, the dark thoughts, smoothing the edges of the emptiness wearing me down and suffusing it with warmth that spreads through my veins and awakens feelings long brushed aside but yet so vital in making me who I am.

 

Three hours…three months…same difference.  I don’t think I can miss him any less.

 

 

FIN

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