adamofwands (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} adamofwands) wrote,@ 2008-04-11 16:50:00 |
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Your Own Disaster
Title: Your Own Disaster
Bandom: Taking Back Sunday/My Chemical Romance
Characters: Adam Lazzara / Gerard Way
Claim: Adam Lazzara
Prompt: Five of Pentacles
Word Count: 500
Rating: R
Warnings: first person narrative, journal entry/letter, angst
Author's Notes: The 5 of Pents is a card about potential loss, and the fear of losing everything. It is also a card of fierce hope. Love tojetblackmirror, who helped write this version, and who will undoubtedly see familiarity in this little journal entry.
Summary: Adam does not want to let Gerard go at the end of the summer.
We were inseparable, tangled up in sheets and blankets, in each other's arms and legs and the push-me/pull-you of new and terrifying love. At first it was hard to acknowledge that we had something different, that you were not a girl I'd fuck over, that I was not Bert McCracken. I loved the initial secret, the 'let's watch a movie' with a casual arm around your shoulder, the way you'd pretend to consider for the eyes and ears of 'The Guys' and then agree with a shrug. Only I could feel the anticipation in the set of your shoulders and sometimes we wouldn't even make it to your bunk, to my bunk, to the bus lounge or couch or studio. Sometimes we'd barely make it up the steps, and these were the times I was thankful for tinted windows. Afterwards I'd always laugh and you'd always swear, and we'd holds hands and make a run for the bunks like kids who got away with something good.
Who says we didn't?
Two weeks, G. Two weeks until Japan puts a thousand miles of ocean between us, until I have to return you to the camaraderie of bandmates and the temptation of McCracken and his dubious pharmacies of powdered false-hope. I have to believe, to wish, that it will be enough to get you through. Today I see the glassy eyes, know the change in your heartbeat because it makes mine beat faster, too, mostly with fear and trepidation. Know that next to my fear of losing you across the fucking sea, in the arms of some scrubby, drug addict bastard, I fear losing you right next to me today just as much. Sometimes I have to touch your chest to make sure you're still with me. I hate the way you sleep it off, so still and grey. And when you wake the look in your eyes that tells me you're just biding your time until your next binge makes me want to keep you here with me forever. Fuck touring, fuck my band and obligations, I will give it up, haul merch and tune guitars if it means I can be around to pull the bottle or the straw away when needed.
Well, I guess I have to let you go, to touch the world like I am touched by you every single day. I both know and don't understand why you drink, why you smoke, why you fuck yourself up and hurt yourself so much. I can't shake the feeling that in two weeks I'll have to reconcile myself to the idea of a last kiss scenario.
G,
So I tore this page out today and managed to get it into your bag without you seeing. I need you to know because I can't let this be some sort of eulogy. Here I am, my fears and hopes laid bare and I am better for it. You change lives, you know. Including mine. Definitely mine.
Just please come home.
Love,
Adam
Title: Your Own Disaster
Bandom: Taking Back Sunday/My Chemical Romance
Characters: Adam Lazzara / Gerard Way
Claim: Adam Lazzara
Prompt: Five of Pentacles
Word Count: 500
Rating: R
Warnings: first person narrative, journal entry/letter, angst
Author's Notes: The 5 of Pents is a card about potential loss, and the fear of losing everything. It is also a card of fierce hope. Love to
jetblackmirror, who helped write this version, and who will undoubtedly see familiarity in this little journal entry.Summary: Adam does not want to let Gerard go at the end of the summer.
We were inseparable, tangled up in sheets and blankets, in each other's arms and legs and the push-me/pull-you of new and terrifying love. At first it was hard to acknowledge that we had something different, that you were not a girl I'd fuck over, that I was not Bert McCracken. I loved the initial secret, the 'let's watch a movie' with a casual arm around your shoulder, the way you'd pretend to consider for the eyes and ears of 'The Guys' and then agree with a shrug. Only I could feel the anticipation in the set of your shoulders and sometimes we wouldn't even make it to your bunk, to my bunk, to the bus lounge or couch or studio. Sometimes we'd barely make it up the steps, and these were the times I was thankful for tinted windows. Afterwards I'd always laugh and you'd always swear, and we'd holds hands and make a run for the bunks like kids who got away with something good.
Who says we didn't?
Two weeks, G. Two weeks until Japan puts a thousand miles of ocean between us, until I have to return you to the camaraderie of bandmates and the temptation of McCracken and his dubious pharmacies of powdered false-hope. I have to believe, to wish, that it will be enough to get you through. Today I see the glassy eyes, know the change in your heartbeat because it makes mine beat faster, too, mostly with fear and trepidation. Know that next to my fear of losing you across the fucking sea, in the arms of some scrubby, drug addict bastard, I fear losing you right next to me today just as much. Sometimes I have to touch your chest to make sure you're still with me. I hate the way you sleep it off, so still and grey. And when you wake the look in your eyes that tells me you're just biding your time until your next binge makes me want to keep you here with me forever. Fuck touring, fuck my band and obligations, I will give it up, haul merch and tune guitars if it means I can be around to pull the bottle or the straw away when needed.
Well, I guess I have to let you go, to touch the world like I am touched by you every single day. I both know and don't understand why you drink, why you smoke, why you fuck yourself up and hurt yourself so much. I can't shake the feeling that in two weeks I'll have to reconcile myself to the idea of a last kiss scenario.
G,
So I tore this page out today and managed to get it into your bag without you seeing. I need you to know because I can't let this be some sort of eulogy. Here I am, my fears and hopes laid bare and I am better for it. You change lives, you know. Including mine. Definitely mine.
Just please come home.
Love,
Adam
