hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-01-23 11:16 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-01-23 11:16 am
No, the party is not over...
There’s been a lot of mention of Ryan Adams over the last several days, quite possibly because I pimp him incessantly. If you don’t know who Ryan is ::coughphilistinecough:: then you know, get thee here post haste. In the meanwhile, even though I’ve written myself into a stupor, I’ve got one last card up my sleeve.
Multi-Fandom drabble for the birthday girls:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bonibaru and happyminion ;)
Come Pick Me Up
“You must be freezing,” Lex called from the sliding doors. His voice broke through the winter quiet and seemed to bounce off the cement walls that surrounded the balcony. Clark blinked and a small smile grazed his lips.
He’d heard Lex coming. For once.
“I’ll get over it,” he said after several seconds. After all, Clark hadn’t actually given it much thought. Yes, he was outside without a coat, and yes, it was snowing, but it was so beautiful. Clark always thought the first snow of the year was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He’d had the same thought for the last twenty-odd years that he’d been on Earth.
At least there were a few things that never changed.
“Not if you die from hypothermia first.” Lex’s voice was insistent behind him, and Clark turned from the railing. He gazed at Lex, who was standing in an open doorway, letting errant snowflakes blow into the penthouse behind him.
“Lex. Alien.” His eyes traveled up the lithe form that was only wrapped in pajama bottoms and a flannel bathrobe. “You on the other hand, are not, do you want to catch cold?” Clark’s eye roved from head to toe and back again at least twice. Lex and snow, it really couldn’t get much better. Unless Lex suddenly stripped or something, but it might be a bit cold for that.
“I don’t get sick, Clark, but you on the other hand... Shut up and humor me.” Lex added the last part with finality, as though getting sick and Kryptonite were something he could stave off with enough bravado. And yet, Clark couldn’t help but notice the way Lex flinched when several pieces of snow landed on his bare chest. He nodded accordingly and watched as Lex retreated back into the apartment and walked off.
Turning back around to enjoy the blanket of quiet white that continued to fall over Metropolis, he spoke into the silence. “I always do.”
+++
The snow fell fast around them as Clark tried to tug the shirt over his head. For some reason he kept trying to put his head through the sleeves. “How long have you had this?” Clark asked eying Lex through the neck hole of the shirt.
“A few years now.” Lex grinned at Clark’s predicament before reaching up and pulling the shirt off so Clark could try again. His fingers worked nimbly despite the leather gloves that encased them.
Reaching out and plucking the shirt from Lex’s fingers, Clark turned the shirt around so that the tags would be in the back this time. “I can barely read it,” he chuckled, rucking up the faded Princeton shirt so that he could put his head through it first.
“You can barely read at all, Mr. Reporter,” Lex corrected, crossing his arms and leaning back against the railing to watch Clark’s progress. He reached up to brush several flakes off his head, without taking his eyes off Clark.
“Hey, I’m not the one who went to Princeton, smart ass.” Clark struggled for several seconds before his head popped out the neck hole, his arms however, still weren't quite with the program. He’d never had this much trouble getting dressed before.
“What can I say,” Lex shrugged as Clark finally managed to pull the shirt down and over the thin white undershirt he’d been wearing. “I like the cold weather.”
“Is it really cold in New Jersey?” Clark inquired, rearranging the sweatshirt so that it fit better and didn’t restrict his arm movement so much.
“It’s a lot of things in New Jersey,” Lex corrected.
The snow continued to fall as they stood side by side on the balcony and watched. Not once did Lex complain about the snow falling on his uncovered head. Not once did Clark mention Lex’s sartorial combination of silk pajama bottoms, wool coat and worn Adidas sneakers.
+++
“It’s really soft,” Clark spoke after several seconds or minutes or perhaps days. He wasn’t really that sure. His arms were folded on the balcony railing, and he was resting his chin on top of his hands. The snow was still falling, and Lex was next to him. Nothing else mattered much. He leaned over, hunching slightly, and rested his head on Lex’s shoulder.
“Hmmm,” Lex’s voice rumbled.
“This sweatshirt. It’s been washed a lot,” Clark offered by way of explaination. Yes, it was a rather random statement, but it seemed to make sense to him.
In a distinctly Clark Kent sort of way.
“I’ve never thought of you as a sweatshirt kind of guy,” he continued, as though that were the missing link in his thought process.
Clark felt rather than heard Lex’s amusement. “Well, I never thought of myself as an alien kind of guy, either, so I guess we’re even.”
Clark pulled away and stood up, leaning forward a bit to catch Lex’s eye. The line of his mouth was straight, but his eyes were bright and there were snowflakes in his eyelashes. “It’s my favorite shirt,” Lex said, letting Clark's intense study wash over him.
“I’ll take good care of it.” Clark had meant to go for mocking, but his voice sounded rather solemn to his own ears. Almost funereal, or maybe that was the weather. It was only a sweatshirt, but it was Lex’s.
“No,” Lex’s mouth pulled into a small smile and he looked – wistful. “I want you to have it, Clark.”
“Are you sure?”
“Always.”
-finis-
~ fandom break ~
‘I’ll only break your heart’ wasn’t what the letter had said.
Malfoy would never be that obvious.
Harry knows that now as he knew it then, and if he *ever* doubted he has a yellowing piece of parchment with a green seal to remind him of this.
Malfoy always had the most flowery writing. Loops and lines and a ‘y’ that went back and forth through his surname like a sword through a basilisk.
+++
'You will spend the rest of your life thinking of me' isn’t what the letter said either.
Malfoy never would’ve claimed to work that hard for Harry’s attention. No, Malfoy certainly never tried for that. Or he never really needed to, not when Harry already watched him like a hawk.
Now Harry has no one to watch. He stays up late into night, lying in a bed that he can’t sleep in, waiting for someone who will never arrive.
+++
Nowhere in the letter did it say:
Maybe I don’t love you, but maybe I do.
They never talked about love. They did, on occasion, get drunk.
+++
What the letter had said was:
You don’t have to save me.
What the letter had said was:
I have obligations to people other than you.
What the letter had meant was:
Maybe things could have been different.
+++
What the letter had said was that he didn’t care.
What the letter had said was that Malfoy was always going to be himself. He was never going to leave his family and his friends and the only life he had ever known just for Harry Bloody Potter.
It didn’t matter.
Harry had known that all the same. It wasn’t about what the letter had said: it was always about the things that Harry wished he would say and never did.
-finis-
Note#1: I shamelessly paraphrased a line from the Manic Street Preachers 'A Design for Life.' I admit it. It's a good song you know.
Note: Lyrics can be found here.
Multi-Fandom drabble for the birthday girls:
bonibaru and happyminion ;)Come Pick Me Up
“You must be freezing,” Lex called from the sliding doors. His voice broke through the winter quiet and seemed to bounce off the cement walls that surrounded the balcony. Clark blinked and a small smile grazed his lips.
He’d heard Lex coming. For once.
“I’ll get over it,” he said after several seconds. After all, Clark hadn’t actually given it much thought. Yes, he was outside without a coat, and yes, it was snowing, but it was so beautiful. Clark always thought the first snow of the year was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He’d had the same thought for the last twenty-odd years that he’d been on Earth.
At least there were a few things that never changed.
“Not if you die from hypothermia first.” Lex’s voice was insistent behind him, and Clark turned from the railing. He gazed at Lex, who was standing in an open doorway, letting errant snowflakes blow into the penthouse behind him.
“Lex. Alien.” His eyes traveled up the lithe form that was only wrapped in pajama bottoms and a flannel bathrobe. “You on the other hand, are not, do you want to catch cold?” Clark’s eye roved from head to toe and back again at least twice. Lex and snow, it really couldn’t get much better. Unless Lex suddenly stripped or something, but it might be a bit cold for that.
“I don’t get sick, Clark, but you on the other hand... Shut up and humor me.” Lex added the last part with finality, as though getting sick and Kryptonite were something he could stave off with enough bravado. And yet, Clark couldn’t help but notice the way Lex flinched when several pieces of snow landed on his bare chest. He nodded accordingly and watched as Lex retreated back into the apartment and walked off.
Turning back around to enjoy the blanket of quiet white that continued to fall over Metropolis, he spoke into the silence. “I always do.”
+++
The snow fell fast around them as Clark tried to tug the shirt over his head. For some reason he kept trying to put his head through the sleeves. “How long have you had this?” Clark asked eying Lex through the neck hole of the shirt.
“A few years now.” Lex grinned at Clark’s predicament before reaching up and pulling the shirt off so Clark could try again. His fingers worked nimbly despite the leather gloves that encased them.
Reaching out and plucking the shirt from Lex’s fingers, Clark turned the shirt around so that the tags would be in the back this time. “I can barely read it,” he chuckled, rucking up the faded Princeton shirt so that he could put his head through it first.
“You can barely read at all, Mr. Reporter,” Lex corrected, crossing his arms and leaning back against the railing to watch Clark’s progress. He reached up to brush several flakes off his head, without taking his eyes off Clark.
“Hey, I’m not the one who went to Princeton, smart ass.” Clark struggled for several seconds before his head popped out the neck hole, his arms however, still weren't quite with the program. He’d never had this much trouble getting dressed before.
“What can I say,” Lex shrugged as Clark finally managed to pull the shirt down and over the thin white undershirt he’d been wearing. “I like the cold weather.”
“Is it really cold in New Jersey?” Clark inquired, rearranging the sweatshirt so that it fit better and didn’t restrict his arm movement so much.
“It’s a lot of things in New Jersey,” Lex corrected.
The snow continued to fall as they stood side by side on the balcony and watched. Not once did Lex complain about the snow falling on his uncovered head. Not once did Clark mention Lex’s sartorial combination of silk pajama bottoms, wool coat and worn Adidas sneakers.
+++
“It’s really soft,” Clark spoke after several seconds or minutes or perhaps days. He wasn’t really that sure. His arms were folded on the balcony railing, and he was resting his chin on top of his hands. The snow was still falling, and Lex was next to him. Nothing else mattered much. He leaned over, hunching slightly, and rested his head on Lex’s shoulder.
“Hmmm,” Lex’s voice rumbled.
“This sweatshirt. It’s been washed a lot,” Clark offered by way of explaination. Yes, it was a rather random statement, but it seemed to make sense to him.
In a distinctly Clark Kent sort of way.
“I’ve never thought of you as a sweatshirt kind of guy,” he continued, as though that were the missing link in his thought process.
Clark felt rather than heard Lex’s amusement. “Well, I never thought of myself as an alien kind of guy, either, so I guess we’re even.”
Clark pulled away and stood up, leaning forward a bit to catch Lex’s eye. The line of his mouth was straight, but his eyes were bright and there were snowflakes in his eyelashes. “It’s my favorite shirt,” Lex said, letting Clark's intense study wash over him.
“I’ll take good care of it.” Clark had meant to go for mocking, but his voice sounded rather solemn to his own ears. Almost funereal, or maybe that was the weather. It was only a sweatshirt, but it was Lex’s.
“No,” Lex’s mouth pulled into a small smile and he looked – wistful. “I want you to have it, Clark.”
“Are you sure?”
“Always.”
-finis-
~ fandom break ~
‘I’ll only break your heart’ wasn’t what the letter had said.
Malfoy would never be that obvious.
Harry knows that now as he knew it then, and if he *ever* doubted he has a yellowing piece of parchment with a green seal to remind him of this.
Malfoy always had the most flowery writing. Loops and lines and a ‘y’ that went back and forth through his surname like a sword through a basilisk.
+++
'You will spend the rest of your life thinking of me' isn’t what the letter said either.
Malfoy never would’ve claimed to work that hard for Harry’s attention. No, Malfoy certainly never tried for that. Or he never really needed to, not when Harry already watched him like a hawk.
Now Harry has no one to watch. He stays up late into night, lying in a bed that he can’t sleep in, waiting for someone who will never arrive.
+++
Nowhere in the letter did it say:
Maybe I don’t love you, but maybe I do.
They never talked about love. They did, on occasion, get drunk.
+++
What the letter had said was:
You don’t have to save me.
What the letter had said was:
I have obligations to people other than you.
What the letter had meant was:
Maybe things could have been different.
+++
What the letter had said was that he didn’t care.
What the letter had said was that Malfoy was always going to be himself. He was never going to leave his family and his friends and the only life he had ever known just for Harry Bloody Potter.
It didn’t matter.
Harry had known that all the same. It wasn’t about what the letter had said: it was always about the things that Harry wished he would say and never did.
-finis-
Note#1: I shamelessly paraphrased a line from the Manic Street Preachers 'A Design for Life.' I admit it. It's a good song you know.
Note: Lyrics can be found here.
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