Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2006-12-31 12:50 am
niki_chidon) wrote2006-12-31 12:50 am
Fic: Home Is... (WWE Edge/Jericho)
Title: Home is...
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE (Yes, professional wrestling)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money out of this. And it's not RPS because I'm writing about the characters these people portray... who obviously don't belong to me either. They belong to WWE, and the guys themselves. NOT RPS, DAMMIT. Honestly. Fine fine fine, it's sorta borderline, because, for example, I do call Edge ”Adam”. 'Cos 'Edge' would be just silly. But I don't like Real Person Slash, so let me keep my illusions, okay? ;)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, though it begins with a f/m relationship.
Pairing: Edge/Chris Jericho
Summary: ”Oh, see the storm is threatening / My very life today / If I don’t get some shelter / Yeah, I’m gonna fade away” (Sisters of Mercy, Gimme shelter)
Warnings: M/m loving. Mentions a f/m relationship. No sex whatsoever.
Series: Home is... is a story formed of two parts, which have five chapters each. First part is narrated by Edge, the second by Jericho.
Notes: For the purposes of this story, I invented a month (or so) long summer vacation for the boys and girls at WWE.
Thanks for Raising Kane for saving this story from complete suckitude. Unbetaed, though.
Written ages ago.
HOME IS...
------------
“With you, my heart is quiet here,
And all my thoughts are cool as rain.”
Dorothy Parker, the Thin Edge
Part 1: Gimme Shelter
Chapter I: Blue
I feel it all around me. Whispering in the corners, lurking in the shadows. It’s in the air I breathe. It’s in the words that don’t connect, eyes that don’t meet, lies that don’t hurt.
She can’t understand what I’m talking about. She doesn’t see how anything’s wrong.
She can’t feel death all around us. The death of yet another relationship.
There’s no fight, no argument. No lies, no explanations, no blame.
Just her tears as I walk out.
I drive around the city; everything I need packed in the car. I listen to music and take corner after corner, not caring where I end up.
There’s only one place I can go to, only one person I can think of.
It’s late when I reach his door, but I know he’ll be awake. I press the buzzer, and in a couple of seconds his metallic voice speaks to me through the box.
“It’s Adam. Am I interrupting something?”
He asks me to come up and I walk the stairs, holding a bag. I know I can stay here, at least tonight.
He just looks at me for a long time before letting me in. I wonder what he sees in my face and pose. Resignation? Sadness? Weariness?
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, offering me a cold beer from the fridge.
I think about it, lounging on his sofa, staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing to talk about.”
He accepts that without comment, and walks to the stereo. I don’t recognise the band, but it fits my mood.
I follow him with my eyes. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a t-shirt with holes in it. He wasn’t expecting company, but doesn’t seem worried about his outfit even now that he got some. I like it.
His bare feet make no sound on the floor as he walks to the sofa and sits next to me, grabbing his half-drunk beer from the table.
We drink in companionable silence, and minutes pass before either one of us feels a need to say anything.
I start to doze off, and shake myself awake, apologising.
“No need. When did you last sleep?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been driving around all night, and I didn’t sleep much the night before.”
He grins at that, but I shake my head, sad.
“That was just the final clue. You don’t want sex with your girlfriend to feel like a one-night stand. Empty. Hollow.”
He just nods.
“You can have the bedroom,” he says, after another comfortable silence.
“You not sleeping again?”
“It’s been worse, yeah. I usually manage to get a couple of hours in the morning. I can use the sofa for that.”
The sofa’s big enough to accommodate him, but would be just too short for me. I know. I’ve been here before. And I know he means what he says, so I don’t feel guilty for accepting his offer.
I get up to take my stuff to his room, then pause at the door to turn to look at him. He’s still sitting at the sofa where I left him.
“Thanks,” I say, even though I know he doesn’t need the words.
He smiles, for the first time since I came, and I smile back, for the first time in days.
I feel better.
----------------------------------------
Chapter II: Comfort
The pillow smells like him. Somehow, that comforts me enough to fall asleep. Maybe it also affects my dreams, but the sleep is too deep for me to remember them when I wake up.
I just know I feel good when I finally open my eyes and face the new day.
I get up, pad to the bathroom, and slosh a generous amount of water all over my head. My brain feels a little mushed after so much sleep.
I walk silently to the living room, and just as I expected, Chris is sprawled on the sofa, deep asleep. The TV screen is silently airing cartoons. The remote is lying discarded next to him, and I pick it up carefully to switch the TV off.
I stand there for a minute, just looking at him. He’s taken off the t-shirt at some point, and his bare chest is raising and falling with every slow breath. Somewhere, deep inside, a thought appears: “why do I bother with women?”
Confused, I look at his face. He looks tired, even in his sleep. It really must be worse. I wonder how long, and why haven’t I noticed. Why hasn’t he let me notice? He looks young and vulnerable. Yesterday, I came to him to calm me down.
Now, I want to protect him from the world.
The unerring instinct that led me to his house, the comforting company, and the calm I felt sleeping in his bed... All of the things I felt missing in my relationship.
Scared, I escape to the kitchen, and raid the fridge.
I return to the living room, and lounge on an armchair, facing the sofa. Absently chewing on a sandwich, beer in my hand, I get lost in looking at him.
No clear ideas in my head, no pondering, no panic. I just look. What I think I hide even from myself.
Hours later he stirs, slowly waking up.
“Morning,” I mutter, not wishing to startle him with my presence.
“Morning,” comes his raspy reply.
He sits up, rolling his head from side to side.
“Neck?”
“Uh-huh, slept funny.”
“But you slept.”
“Yeah. A bit more than usually, actually.”
“’s good.”
“Yeah.”
It’s not awkward, even though the conversation is clipped. It’s natural, easy and comfortable. Nothing too demanding. That’s how it should be.
The day goes on as it started, relaxing. We eat, watch TV, order a pizza, and just lounge around, chatting, or silent. He doesn’t seem to mind, and no word is said about me leaving.
When I feel sleepy again, he just waves me towards his bedroom.
“Can’t. You can’t spend another night on that sofa. Trust me to know everything about neck injuries.”
He shrugs, “you’re too tall to sleep here.”
“It’s a big bed,” I say casually, “and I don’t bite.”
He just looks at me, and I meet his gaze evenly. Neither one of us smiles.
Then he nods, “Okay.”
I yawn, partly to hide my confusion, partly out of pure exhaustion.
“Well, nighty night,” I grin, and escape to the bedroom.
I fall asleep surprisingly soon, stirring only slightly when, at some point of the night, I get company.
“Time is it?” I mutter, mostly asleep.
“Half six,” he replies, sounding too tired to stand up.
“Night.”
----------------------------------------
Chapter III: Insight
This morning is different. I still wake up happy, but now there’s a presence to greet me.
Chris’s head is lying on the other pillow, and his body is only half-covered by the duvet. He’s been working out lately.
I tell myself I’m looking at him with a professional gaze but the truth, simmering right beneath the surface, is almost ready to clobber me.
He still looks tired, and I worry. Looking at the watch I make a quick calculation. He’s been sleeping for five hours now.
Silently I leave the room, and try to amuse myself quietly so that I don’t disturb his sleep.
It’s afternoon when he finally pads, barefoot, to the living room. He’s rolling his neck again, but looks a tiny bit more rested today.
“Morning,” I grin.
He makes a rude sound and disappears into the bathroom. The sound of shower drives me up from the armchair, and into an exile in the kitchen, where I start making food.
“You didn’t need to,” he says, following the smells to the kitchen and looking at my omelette.
“I know. Wanted to. Am mooching off you as it is.”
“Getting tired of it?” he grins.
“You’ll have to kick me out,” I grin back, but am unable to erase his smile.
“Sure. I’ll do that. When I get tired of looking at your snout.”
“Snout!? And you expect to get some food?”
He just grins unrepentantly.
We eat for a while in comfortable silence. Well, unless you count some munching sounds.
“We need more food,” I say out of the blue, then get suddenly conscious of the “we” part.
“Could go shopping. Or order in, if we don’t want the hassle,” Chris merely responds, not fazed by my pronouns.
“I need clothes,” I suddenly remember. “I just grabbed something and left. Need to wash some, or buy some. Or go back for the rest.”
“And you don’t want to go back?”
I look at his carefully expressionless face, and answer silently, “Only to disentangle the last pieces of my life from hers.”
“You know you can stay here as long as you want to,” he says, “it’s not just a joke.”
“Thanks. I might have to take you up on that. Feel a little... uprooted at the moment.”
In the end we decide to take his car, and drive to my old apartment. He waits by the car when I go up for my things.
She has packed them neatly in my own bags. All my clothes, CD’s, books and the guitar I promised myself I’d learn to play. I tell her to keep the furniture. It was bought for the place anyway. And if I’m going to be uprooted, I could as well do it properly.
I feel only relief when I close the door behind me for the last time. Her parting words ring in my ears. She had been worried, she said. And she’d got this knowing look in her eyes when I said I’d been with a friend. I told her to look out of the window where Chris was standing next to his car. Decidedly male.
“Maybe that suits you better,” she said.
I walk to the car, throw my stuff into the booth, and take the front seat. “Maybe that suits you better.”
I feel shell-shocked, and after four blocks Chris turns to look at me as he stops at the red light.
“You okay?”
I shake my head, lost for words.
“That bad?”
“She... said something.”
“Nasty?”
“Perceptive.”
Couple of more blocks in silence.
“But you’re not going to share,” he smiles, not really worried about my silence.
“Nah,” I grin back. I’m really not ready to share this with him yet.
----------------------------------------
Chapter IV: Sharing
After a brief visit to a shopping mall we end up back at his place again. I insisted on paying for the food. He agreed, and made me laugh and groan exasperatedly by filling the cart with everything from triple chocolate chip cookies to a plush bunny.
I dig the pink fluffy creature from one of the bags and hold it up for his inspection when we’re emptying the shopping.
“Where do you want it?” I grin.
He just stares at it incredulously.
“You really got it?”
“Well, you wanted it so much,” I say innocently, but can’t hold back the laughter. He joins in.
“Actually, I said I’d pay for the *food*,” I get out, “but I refuse to cook this poor fellow. Where can he live?”
“Throw him on the bed.”
“Aye, aye sir! You can finish putting away the shopping while I go take care of that.”
I make a hasty retreat with the bunny when he starts throwing cookies after me.
I tuck the critter carefully in bed, then return to the kitchen. Chris is munching on the cookies. I hope they are not the same ones he hurled at me.
“You hungry?”
“Ravenous. You offering?”
We end up making the food together. It feels comfortable, working side by side. The thought of sharing with this man sounds better by the minute. Still, regardless of what she said, I am not willing to admit to those feelings yet.
Maybe this is not such a good idea, after all...
Chris obviously has been thinking about the same thing. Well, sorta. He is quietly eating the steaks and salad when he asks, out of the blue, “should we invest on another bed, then?”
Surprised, I meet his gaze.
“If you’re going to stay for a while.”
“I... I’d love to stay. But that seems to me like quite a big step.”
“No, deciding to go on sharing the bed would be quite a big step,” he grins.
I offer him a lopsided smile as a reply.
“Just kick me out, it’s easier.”
He frowns, as if considering the idea.
“You know, I don’t want to. It’s... comfortable having you here. Besides, I haven’t slept this much in weeks!”
“I suppose I should be flattered. Then again, you just called me... soporific!”
What is it with Jericho and foodstuffs? Now he’s chucking pieces of tomato at me.
“Good thing I brought spare clothing,” I mutter.
“No, honestly. If you feel uncomfortable having to share my bed, it’s not a big deal to get another one. Could use a spare bed anyway.”
“Don’t really mind sharing that much,” I hear myself saying before I can stop the words, “but I can’t really impose on your hospitality that much. Let’s go bed-shopping,” I grin, and try to sound cheery.
I kinda liked sharing.
“Can’t possibly move after this meal! We can take care of that tomorrow.”
I find myself kinda liking the idea of one more night in his bed, too.
-----------------------------------------
Chapter V: Reality check
The night finds us lounging by the TV set once more. We’re flipping through the channels, not really concentrating on anything. We keep switching the remote control duty, but neither one of us seems to find anything worth watching.
“I think I need a jog,” I say, “I’m turning into a couch potato.”
“I’ll fry you,” Chris promises.
“It might help you to sleep,” I tempt.
“Trust me, I’ve tried everything. But now that you mention it, it sounds like a good idea. We’ve been very slothful lately. We will look disgraceful when we return to work.”
“Don’t remind me... I promised myself I’d do all kinds of things during this vacation, and what have I done?”
“You moved in with me,” Chris offers, grinning.
“Well, I sorta ended up here... It wasn’t really a conscious process.”
“Are you complaining, Copeland?”
“Nah. You’re the perfect host. But... we’ve just vegetated for days now. We’ll grow grass in three weeks’ time.”
“Vince will have to mow us before we can appear in the ring,” he giggles.
“You’re giggling,” I say accusingly, “we really need to get you sleeping. Otherwise you’ll be on sick leave as soon as the vacation ends!”
“I am not! Men do not giggle,” Chris tells me with an affronted tone so perfect I nearly laugh.
“Far be it from me to cast doubts on your manhood, Jericho.”
“Fine! We’ll go for your damn jog, if only to shut you up.”
I suddenly get a vision of other ways of shutting me up, and retreat to the bathroom to get rid of my embarrassment. I can’t get rid of these... visions, flashes, crazy ideas nowadays. Damn Natalie, it must be her fault for giving me the idea.
I was right. The jog is a good idea. We’re running in a companionable silence (funny how that keeps occurring – I never realised how comfortable not talking with someone can be) when a bright flash out of nowhere makes us blink.
“Shit,” I mutter, as I recognise the guy behind the camera. He’s a bit too good at digging up dirt for his paper for my comfort.
“Very cute, guys. Got some nice shots of you earlier at the store. Care to comment on the domesticity?”
We run past the reporter without a word, and I curse the fact I was right. There are people in this business that could be something if this guy didn’t create scandal so well.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to spend so much time at your place,” I conclude.
That silences Chris for a while.
“I hate to say it, but I think you’re right. Goddammit.”
Sometimes I hate the world we live in. But we can’t afford a scandal. And for some reason the people aren’t really open to the idea of two straight guys being domestic together. Go figure.
“I hadn’t even thought about this,” I admit, “but we both know what the press will insinuate.”
“And Vince won’t be too happy about that.”
Well, duh, we know quite well what our target audience is. And how they would react to even the tiniest bit of doubt.
“I’ll start looking for an apartment tomorrow,” I finish quietly.
--End of Part 1.
-----------------------------------------
“When I am from him, I am dead till I be with him.”
Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici
Part 2: Take Me Home
Chapter I: The Whole Being Apart Thing
I feel strange, have been for days.
Ever since Adam left.
It really shouldn’t matter, right? But the apartment feels... empty.
Funny, it never seemed too big before. Strange how only a few days can make a difference. He only spent a week here, in the end.
But somehow I managed to get used to the sight of him, in the kitchen, on my sofa... in the bed next to me... don’t go there, I tell myself sternly.
We didn’t get around to buying that bed, after all. Didn’t think it was worth it, for the few days it took him to find a place. I helped him move in.
It’s weird to miss someone you see at work almost every day.
It’s not the same, somehow. Well, it’s the same it used to be before... before the vacation. We’re good friends. We hang out, at work, in the hotel between the shows (but we never share a room), drive together... but we go home alone. It’s only few days every week but I still notice the ... the lack of something.
He spoiled me. The whole being alone thing does not appeal to me anymore.
He doesn’t seem to be doing too well either. He’s quiet about his new apartment but I get a feeling he’s not too happy in there. People of course connect it to the fact he broke up with that chick of his. Even trying to find him a new girl.
Why am I not happy about that? I don’t want him to be lonely, do I?
Come to think of it, why don’t *I* find someone else to fill my apartment with their presence?
It feels... wrong somehow.
Like it’s not only my home anymore, and the other occupant is missing. Adam. Adam is missing.
Shit, I’m pathetic.
I sleep just enough these days to keep me functioning. Takes a lot of caffeine to make me look good in the ring. I know I’m not performing at my best. Adam keeps asking worried questions.
I can’t tell him he’s the reason for this. I don’t even know myself that that’s what it is. How could it be he’s fault?
I was not sleeping even before his brief visit. And how do you tell your same-sex friend & co-worker you sleep better when he’s sleeping next to you?
About that pathetic thing...
The rabbit still sleeps in my bed. The day Adam left he tucked it in on ‘his’ side of the bed, and... well, he’s still there.
I’m a bit too old to cuddle plushies in bed, I know, and I’m not that far gone yet.
Why don’t I just go find someone *living* to cuddle in that damn bed so that I don’t have to resort to hugging Mr Wabbit?
I confess! I confess! I named him.
I’m pathetic.
And I still miss Adam.
I’m backstage, watching his match from the screen, and I miss him because I know that after the show, after the flight home, he’ll be going... home, and not my place, and it sucks.
-------------------------------------
Chapter II: Invitation
I end up sitting next to Christian in the plane, but can’t help looking at Adam, on the other side of the aisle. The black eye he got in his match when Benoit was sloppy for a second is colouring nicely. He looks exhausted, too.
Didn’t know insomnia was contagious.
After claiming my baggage I look for Christian. He promised me a ride, but I seem to have misplaced him. I find Adam instead. He’s sitting in the corner, resting his arms on his knees, head bent. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.
“You okay?” I ask as I get close enough to talk.
He raises his head, and the smile recognition brings to his lips makes me feel warm inside.
“Don’t want to go ho... to my apartment,” he replies, with a self-deprecating tone.
“Want to come home with me?” the question is out before I have time to think. Reflection wouldn’t have changed it, I admit.
Adam just looks at me, as if trying to find out whether the invitation is real, and I meet his gaze evenly.
“Yeah, yeah I do,” he finally says with a lopsided smile.
“I kinda miss it.” He shrugs.“I kinda miss you.”
I crouch down in front of him, feeling inexplicably happy.
“Yeah? Well, this is going to sound pathetic, but I miss you too.”
“Yeah?”
We just smile at each other, and no one knows how long we would have stayed that way if a surprised gasp hadn’t drawn our attention. Seems Christian found me. He’s staring at us, incredulous.
His amazement tells us what conclusions he’s drawn from the discussion he obviously witnessed, and we share an amused look.
“Didn’t you know Adam moved in with me during the vacation?” I ask innocently.
Christian just shakes his head, mouth still open.
“Well, I did,” Adam confirms.
His on-screen brother closes his mouth and swallows before concluding, “so that’s why you broke up with Natalie.”
A pause. Then the bafflement leaves his eyes and is replaced with a glint of humour.
“And you had a... quarrel?” a smile is tugging in the corners of his mouth.
“Adam decided he needed more space,” I explain, also smiling.
“Uh huh.”
“Yep.”
“You don’t believe a word we’re saying, do you?” Adam smiles as well.
“Well... no, not really,” Christian grins. “I have to admit that you freaked me for a sec, guys, but... nah.”
“But it’s true.”
“Give it a rest.”
“No, it’s true. I moved in, then I moved out, and that didn’t work, so...” Adam looks at me for support, not wanting to assume anything.
“So now he’s moving back in because it sucked,” I say, as if it had been decided. I don’t know, maybe it has. ‘Cos it did suck.
“What... sucked?” asks the newly quieted Christian.
“The whole being apart thing,” Adam finishes, with a little more truth than the joke actually would have needed. But, man, am I glad that he seems to feel the same.
“We gotta go shopping!” I get up, and offer my hand to help Adam up as well.
“Bye, little brother!” Adam grins and we wave goodbye to him before running to his car like two kids.
-------------------------------------
Chapter III: The River in Egypt
We head straight to buy a bed, deciding in his car that we don’t give a crap about tabloids and scandals; if we want to share, we share.
Why wasn’t it this easy a month ago? Maybe because we didn’t know. We didn’t realise how much it would suck not to go on. Now that we *do* know it’s easier to say that the shit that will follow will be worth it.
That part may have been easy. Trying to decide on a bed, that’s hard. We seem to hate every one we see.
“No, the colour won’t match the decor,” I say for the tenth time when he points at another specimen.
“What about that one?” I ask, knowing he’ll say no, knowing I’ll be glad he does.
“The model would clash horribly with the other furniture! That one?”
“I don’t really like it.” If pressed, I couldn’t really tell you *why* I don’t like it, I just know I don’t want it.
“And it wouldn’t fit in the room, probably,” Adam rationalises my decision, then moves on, “How about this?”
“You wouldn’t fit in that.”
“Yes I would.”
“Well, not comfortably. Anything else?”
“How about this one, gentlemen?” the sales clerk suggests, getting slightly exasperated.
“I like the model,” Adam says carefully.
“And the colour’s nice, I suppose...” I have to admit.
“But it’s not the right size, is it?” I’m almost happy to find fault in it.
“Yeah, if it was it would be perfect.”
“Ah! You are in luck, there is a longer version of this. Ta dah!” the guy sounds triumphant, happy to get rid of demanding customers.
We stare at the bed, which is everything we claimed we want.
Finally I speak, still staring at the bed, “We don’t really want a bed, do we.”
Adam shoots a glance at me before returning to stare at the bed.
“No, I don’t suppose we do,” he confirms slowly.
The admission hangs between us in silence for a few seconds, then we look at the clerk.
“Thanks for your assistance.”
“We’ve made up our minds.”
-------------------------------------
Chapter IV: Homecoming
Not a word is said when we walk to the car, but the silence is not oppressive or uncomfortable.
We know something important was decided, but neither one wants to guess at its magnitude just yet, I suppose.
The drive is also finished in silence, and we don’t even look at each other before I close the door behind us. Neither one of us is smiling when we finally let our eyes meet.
I raise my hand to touch his cheek. The first touch makes him close his eyes and lean in to my fingers.
“I...”
I don’t even know what I was going to say when Adam’s lips descend on mine.
It’s a light kiss, undemanding, almost friendly. I glide my hand from his cheek to lie behind his neck, not demanding, just leave it lying there softly.
We pull apart almost instantly.
“Welcome home,” I say, smiling warmly.
That brings a smile to Adam’s face, and he pulls me close to a hug. I return it with equal strength.
“I missed you,” he says, and now the words mean much more than they had, back at the airport.
“I missed you too,” I reply, and pull back just enough to look into his face. For the first time I let myself look at him like this, with open admiration. He does look good, doesn’t he? Never let myself notice.
“Good,” he says and smiles sweetly.
“Yeah.”
We know our conversation makes no sense, but it doesn’t matter, everything important is said with our eyes, and we don’t want to rush anything.
“You hungry?” I ask, my arms still around him, and I bet my smile looks a little silly.
“Yeah, a bit.”
“It’s a good thing that I kept buying your favourites out of habit,” I grin.
“Habit?”
“Or wishful thinking,” I shrug.
“We need to get your stuff from your flat,” I remember suddenly.
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been too uninspired to unpack, so most of it is still in boxes.”
“Eat first, then let’s get your stuff. When can you get rid of the apartment?”
“Month or so, if I call them today. I’ve paid till the end of next month.”
“We have to tell Vince, too.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“Screw him. I’m not happy without you.”
“Likewise,” Adam smiles a little shyly.
“I honestly didn’t realise before...” I admit, letting him go and heading to the kitchen.
“Me neither. Well, I was consciously trying not to think about, you know...”
“Possibilities?”
“Yeah. Natalie saw them,” he says, making me turn to look at him mid-step.
“That what got you so shook up when you saw her?”
He just nods, and I reach for him again.
“It won’t be easy,” I say lamely.
I can feel his shrug against my cheek.
“I’ll hazard a guess it’ll be worth it,” the grin is audible in his statement.
His physical proximity keeps doing funny things to my insides – and some other parts of my anatomy – but I try to keep my mind in business. At least for another minute or so.
“We just sell this to Vince as sharing to save money. We have two bedrooms, after all. We’ll be very open about it, and as long as we behave in public, it should be okay.”
“That would mean even the people at work can’t know. The word would get out.”
“Our friends can keep a secret. The rest can go to hell. I’m not giving you up.”
His laugh is a little bitter when he moves his head to look into my eyes, “I never pictured myself into a closet.”
I swallow. I need to ask.
“Have you ever had any reason to... you know. Think about closets.”
“No. No one but you,” he smiles his self-mocking smile as he answers the question I was trying not to ask.
“Ever?” I have to admit I’m surprised. He’s taking this so well, so calmly.
“No. You?”
“To think, yeah. But I’ve never really been in one.”
“So we’re both kinda new at this,” now the mocking smile is for me as much as for him.
“Uh-huh,” I give him a lopsided grin.
“We’ll manage.”
“Better than.”
We’re back at communicating with our eyes.
It takes me a while to remember I’ve only kissed this guy once but have already committed myself to a relationship that means more than anything in the past ever has.
I just smile. He smiles back. Then I have to kiss him again, and we forget the food.
----------------------------------------
Chapter V: Domesticity
I wake up slowly, somehow knowing that the day will be good.
As I open my eyes the memory returns, and I turn to look at the man lying next to me. Adam is still asleep.
The reason my days have been good for weeks and weeks. He did move back in with me that day. That was the first night we spend together, as in, you know, truly together. Fine! Sex! I mean SEX.
It was a little awkward, true. It was the first for both of us. But... Well, I don’t believe in kiss and tell.
I was sure we’d learn. And we have. Oh boy we have. No! I’m *not* telling!
And I sleep again. Ever since that first night we spend in each other’s arms, I’ve slept like a baby whenever he’s next to me.
I keep staring at him, smiling softly. We still haven’t got around to getting that other bed, but I suppose we have to, in the end. For the cover story.
I smile as I remember that my thoughts ran on similar venues the first morning I woke up next to him. I had slept properly for the first time in far longer than I cared to count. I was thinking about the bed, and about having to call my mom to tell her I’d found someone.
All the while waiting for Adam to wake up and let me know he hadn’t changed his mind. I *knew* he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. But still... I needed the confirmation of his happy expression, and the love-filled look in his eyes.
Please wake up before I choke in my soppiness! My thoughts then, as now. Somehow his sleeping face makes me want to go waxing lyrical.
I love mornings. Looking at him, so peaceful and delicious, lying in my – our – bed; and just letting my thoughts wander. Usually those wanderings have something to do with our life together.
Our friends know, and don’t give a damn. They came to the housewarming party (we had one for Adam even though I’ve been living here for ages and ages) and brought us matching pink aprons, among other things. It was also our very private coming out party. It’s not like we could be very public. We got some dirt in the papers when our living arrangements became official but the company has laughed it off.
We behave in public, and that’s good enough for them. What we do at home, behind closed doors, is no one’s business. Not even Vince’s.
What do we do? Live in a blissful domestic bliss.
You can just imagine the grin that goes with that. It’s *not* all roses and chocolate. We fight, we hurt each other, by being stubborn, insensitive silent brutes that we are, but then we get our mouths open again and talk things through.
We both know this is a best thing in our lives, ever, and we really don’t want to screw it up. And we’re doing a pretty good job in tolerating each other, I think.
You can imagine that grin again. When it’s good, it’s *good*. We got used to living together even before the sex and cuddling stuff. Now it’s even better.
I’d hate to go all mushy on you, but... hell, it’s comfortable, it’s hot, it’s... it’s... home. He makes this place truly a home. Coming here, after a stressful week, is rest. Here we can be what we are without the fear of curious glances, and here he shows me time and time again what happiness is all about.
And I’m not just talking about sex!
I’m talking about little things.
Like waking up next to him. Come on, love, wake up. I miss you. I want to hold you, look into your eyes and...
I turn my head before I actually wake him up, and see Mr Wabbit on the floor next to the bed. Poor guy, I must have kicked him out of the bed during the night.
He had to give up his place in bed when Adam came back. But he still... well, he’s around. It seems that no matter how often we place him safe on the bedside table or in the bookshelf, he somehow finds his way back to burrow in the bed.
I rescue him from the floor, and the movement is enough to wake Adam.
“Morning,” he mutters against my back, hugging me from behind.
“Good morning,” my wide smile is audible in my voice.
“Sleep well?”
“Always when you’re around,” I’m camping it up for his benefit but we both know it’s true, regardless.
“You’re still calling me soporific?” he smiles lazily.
“Nah, you just exhaust me so well.”
“Mmmm.”
The inarticulate response is caused by my languorous morning kiss.
“So, whatcha wanna do today?” I ask, lounging back and smiling to the ceiling.
“We could go bed shopping,” he grins.
That’s our code for ‘lounge about and do nothing all day’. I’m all for it.
There’s nothing in this world I’d rather do, or spend the rest of my days doing.
Nothing at all. With him. At home. For years and years.
“Sure,” I just reply, but I think he can read all the rest on my face.
After all, I’m pretty sure that he shares the sentiment.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
“You and I –
Why care by what meanders we are here
In the centre of the labyrinth! Men have died
Trying to find this place, which we have found.”
Robert Browning, In a Balcony
The End
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE (Yes, professional wrestling)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money out of this. And it's not RPS because I'm writing about the characters these people portray... who obviously don't belong to me either. They belong to WWE, and the guys themselves. NOT RPS, DAMMIT. Honestly. Fine fine fine, it's sorta borderline, because, for example, I do call Edge ”Adam”. 'Cos 'Edge' would be just silly. But I don't like Real Person Slash, so let me keep my illusions, okay? ;)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, though it begins with a f/m relationship.
Pairing: Edge/Chris Jericho
Summary: ”Oh, see the storm is threatening / My very life today / If I don’t get some shelter / Yeah, I’m gonna fade away” (Sisters of Mercy, Gimme shelter)
Warnings: M/m loving. Mentions a f/m relationship. No sex whatsoever.
Series: Home is... is a story formed of two parts, which have five chapters each. First part is narrated by Edge, the second by Jericho.
Notes: For the purposes of this story, I invented a month (or so) long summer vacation for the boys and girls at WWE.
Thanks for Raising Kane for saving this story from complete suckitude. Unbetaed, though.
Written ages ago.
HOME IS...
------------
“With you, my heart is quiet here,
And all my thoughts are cool as rain.”
Dorothy Parker, the Thin Edge
Part 1: Gimme Shelter
Chapter I: Blue
I feel it all around me. Whispering in the corners, lurking in the shadows. It’s in the air I breathe. It’s in the words that don’t connect, eyes that don’t meet, lies that don’t hurt.
She can’t understand what I’m talking about. She doesn’t see how anything’s wrong.
She can’t feel death all around us. The death of yet another relationship.
There’s no fight, no argument. No lies, no explanations, no blame.
Just her tears as I walk out.
I drive around the city; everything I need packed in the car. I listen to music and take corner after corner, not caring where I end up.
There’s only one place I can go to, only one person I can think of.
It’s late when I reach his door, but I know he’ll be awake. I press the buzzer, and in a couple of seconds his metallic voice speaks to me through the box.
“It’s Adam. Am I interrupting something?”
He asks me to come up and I walk the stairs, holding a bag. I know I can stay here, at least tonight.
He just looks at me for a long time before letting me in. I wonder what he sees in my face and pose. Resignation? Sadness? Weariness?
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, offering me a cold beer from the fridge.
I think about it, lounging on his sofa, staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing to talk about.”
He accepts that without comment, and walks to the stereo. I don’t recognise the band, but it fits my mood.
I follow him with my eyes. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a t-shirt with holes in it. He wasn’t expecting company, but doesn’t seem worried about his outfit even now that he got some. I like it.
His bare feet make no sound on the floor as he walks to the sofa and sits next to me, grabbing his half-drunk beer from the table.
We drink in companionable silence, and minutes pass before either one of us feels a need to say anything.
I start to doze off, and shake myself awake, apologising.
“No need. When did you last sleep?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been driving around all night, and I didn’t sleep much the night before.”
He grins at that, but I shake my head, sad.
“That was just the final clue. You don’t want sex with your girlfriend to feel like a one-night stand. Empty. Hollow.”
He just nods.
“You can have the bedroom,” he says, after another comfortable silence.
“You not sleeping again?”
“It’s been worse, yeah. I usually manage to get a couple of hours in the morning. I can use the sofa for that.”
The sofa’s big enough to accommodate him, but would be just too short for me. I know. I’ve been here before. And I know he means what he says, so I don’t feel guilty for accepting his offer.
I get up to take my stuff to his room, then pause at the door to turn to look at him. He’s still sitting at the sofa where I left him.
“Thanks,” I say, even though I know he doesn’t need the words.
He smiles, for the first time since I came, and I smile back, for the first time in days.
I feel better.
----------------------------------------
Chapter II: Comfort
The pillow smells like him. Somehow, that comforts me enough to fall asleep. Maybe it also affects my dreams, but the sleep is too deep for me to remember them when I wake up.
I just know I feel good when I finally open my eyes and face the new day.
I get up, pad to the bathroom, and slosh a generous amount of water all over my head. My brain feels a little mushed after so much sleep.
I walk silently to the living room, and just as I expected, Chris is sprawled on the sofa, deep asleep. The TV screen is silently airing cartoons. The remote is lying discarded next to him, and I pick it up carefully to switch the TV off.
I stand there for a minute, just looking at him. He’s taken off the t-shirt at some point, and his bare chest is raising and falling with every slow breath. Somewhere, deep inside, a thought appears: “why do I bother with women?”
Confused, I look at his face. He looks tired, even in his sleep. It really must be worse. I wonder how long, and why haven’t I noticed. Why hasn’t he let me notice? He looks young and vulnerable. Yesterday, I came to him to calm me down.
Now, I want to protect him from the world.
The unerring instinct that led me to his house, the comforting company, and the calm I felt sleeping in his bed... All of the things I felt missing in my relationship.
Scared, I escape to the kitchen, and raid the fridge.
I return to the living room, and lounge on an armchair, facing the sofa. Absently chewing on a sandwich, beer in my hand, I get lost in looking at him.
No clear ideas in my head, no pondering, no panic. I just look. What I think I hide even from myself.
Hours later he stirs, slowly waking up.
“Morning,” I mutter, not wishing to startle him with my presence.
“Morning,” comes his raspy reply.
He sits up, rolling his head from side to side.
“Neck?”
“Uh-huh, slept funny.”
“But you slept.”
“Yeah. A bit more than usually, actually.”
“’s good.”
“Yeah.”
It’s not awkward, even though the conversation is clipped. It’s natural, easy and comfortable. Nothing too demanding. That’s how it should be.
The day goes on as it started, relaxing. We eat, watch TV, order a pizza, and just lounge around, chatting, or silent. He doesn’t seem to mind, and no word is said about me leaving.
When I feel sleepy again, he just waves me towards his bedroom.
“Can’t. You can’t spend another night on that sofa. Trust me to know everything about neck injuries.”
He shrugs, “you’re too tall to sleep here.”
“It’s a big bed,” I say casually, “and I don’t bite.”
He just looks at me, and I meet his gaze evenly. Neither one of us smiles.
Then he nods, “Okay.”
I yawn, partly to hide my confusion, partly out of pure exhaustion.
“Well, nighty night,” I grin, and escape to the bedroom.
I fall asleep surprisingly soon, stirring only slightly when, at some point of the night, I get company.
“Time is it?” I mutter, mostly asleep.
“Half six,” he replies, sounding too tired to stand up.
“Night.”
----------------------------------------
Chapter III: Insight
This morning is different. I still wake up happy, but now there’s a presence to greet me.
Chris’s head is lying on the other pillow, and his body is only half-covered by the duvet. He’s been working out lately.
I tell myself I’m looking at him with a professional gaze but the truth, simmering right beneath the surface, is almost ready to clobber me.
He still looks tired, and I worry. Looking at the watch I make a quick calculation. He’s been sleeping for five hours now.
Silently I leave the room, and try to amuse myself quietly so that I don’t disturb his sleep.
It’s afternoon when he finally pads, barefoot, to the living room. He’s rolling his neck again, but looks a tiny bit more rested today.
“Morning,” I grin.
He makes a rude sound and disappears into the bathroom. The sound of shower drives me up from the armchair, and into an exile in the kitchen, where I start making food.
“You didn’t need to,” he says, following the smells to the kitchen and looking at my omelette.
“I know. Wanted to. Am mooching off you as it is.”
“Getting tired of it?” he grins.
“You’ll have to kick me out,” I grin back, but am unable to erase his smile.
“Sure. I’ll do that. When I get tired of looking at your snout.”
“Snout!? And you expect to get some food?”
He just grins unrepentantly.
We eat for a while in comfortable silence. Well, unless you count some munching sounds.
“We need more food,” I say out of the blue, then get suddenly conscious of the “we” part.
“Could go shopping. Or order in, if we don’t want the hassle,” Chris merely responds, not fazed by my pronouns.
“I need clothes,” I suddenly remember. “I just grabbed something and left. Need to wash some, or buy some. Or go back for the rest.”
“And you don’t want to go back?”
I look at his carefully expressionless face, and answer silently, “Only to disentangle the last pieces of my life from hers.”
“You know you can stay here as long as you want to,” he says, “it’s not just a joke.”
“Thanks. I might have to take you up on that. Feel a little... uprooted at the moment.”
In the end we decide to take his car, and drive to my old apartment. He waits by the car when I go up for my things.
She has packed them neatly in my own bags. All my clothes, CD’s, books and the guitar I promised myself I’d learn to play. I tell her to keep the furniture. It was bought for the place anyway. And if I’m going to be uprooted, I could as well do it properly.
I feel only relief when I close the door behind me for the last time. Her parting words ring in my ears. She had been worried, she said. And she’d got this knowing look in her eyes when I said I’d been with a friend. I told her to look out of the window where Chris was standing next to his car. Decidedly male.
“Maybe that suits you better,” she said.
I walk to the car, throw my stuff into the booth, and take the front seat. “Maybe that suits you better.”
I feel shell-shocked, and after four blocks Chris turns to look at me as he stops at the red light.
“You okay?”
I shake my head, lost for words.
“That bad?”
“She... said something.”
“Nasty?”
“Perceptive.”
Couple of more blocks in silence.
“But you’re not going to share,” he smiles, not really worried about my silence.
“Nah,” I grin back. I’m really not ready to share this with him yet.
----------------------------------------
Chapter IV: Sharing
After a brief visit to a shopping mall we end up back at his place again. I insisted on paying for the food. He agreed, and made me laugh and groan exasperatedly by filling the cart with everything from triple chocolate chip cookies to a plush bunny.
I dig the pink fluffy creature from one of the bags and hold it up for his inspection when we’re emptying the shopping.
“Where do you want it?” I grin.
He just stares at it incredulously.
“You really got it?”
“Well, you wanted it so much,” I say innocently, but can’t hold back the laughter. He joins in.
“Actually, I said I’d pay for the *food*,” I get out, “but I refuse to cook this poor fellow. Where can he live?”
“Throw him on the bed.”
“Aye, aye sir! You can finish putting away the shopping while I go take care of that.”
I make a hasty retreat with the bunny when he starts throwing cookies after me.
I tuck the critter carefully in bed, then return to the kitchen. Chris is munching on the cookies. I hope they are not the same ones he hurled at me.
“You hungry?”
“Ravenous. You offering?”
We end up making the food together. It feels comfortable, working side by side. The thought of sharing with this man sounds better by the minute. Still, regardless of what she said, I am not willing to admit to those feelings yet.
Maybe this is not such a good idea, after all...
Chris obviously has been thinking about the same thing. Well, sorta. He is quietly eating the steaks and salad when he asks, out of the blue, “should we invest on another bed, then?”
Surprised, I meet his gaze.
“If you’re going to stay for a while.”
“I... I’d love to stay. But that seems to me like quite a big step.”
“No, deciding to go on sharing the bed would be quite a big step,” he grins.
I offer him a lopsided smile as a reply.
“Just kick me out, it’s easier.”
He frowns, as if considering the idea.
“You know, I don’t want to. It’s... comfortable having you here. Besides, I haven’t slept this much in weeks!”
“I suppose I should be flattered. Then again, you just called me... soporific!”
What is it with Jericho and foodstuffs? Now he’s chucking pieces of tomato at me.
“Good thing I brought spare clothing,” I mutter.
“No, honestly. If you feel uncomfortable having to share my bed, it’s not a big deal to get another one. Could use a spare bed anyway.”
“Don’t really mind sharing that much,” I hear myself saying before I can stop the words, “but I can’t really impose on your hospitality that much. Let’s go bed-shopping,” I grin, and try to sound cheery.
I kinda liked sharing.
“Can’t possibly move after this meal! We can take care of that tomorrow.”
I find myself kinda liking the idea of one more night in his bed, too.
-----------------------------------------
Chapter V: Reality check
The night finds us lounging by the TV set once more. We’re flipping through the channels, not really concentrating on anything. We keep switching the remote control duty, but neither one of us seems to find anything worth watching.
“I think I need a jog,” I say, “I’m turning into a couch potato.”
“I’ll fry you,” Chris promises.
“It might help you to sleep,” I tempt.
“Trust me, I’ve tried everything. But now that you mention it, it sounds like a good idea. We’ve been very slothful lately. We will look disgraceful when we return to work.”
“Don’t remind me... I promised myself I’d do all kinds of things during this vacation, and what have I done?”
“You moved in with me,” Chris offers, grinning.
“Well, I sorta ended up here... It wasn’t really a conscious process.”
“Are you complaining, Copeland?”
“Nah. You’re the perfect host. But... we’ve just vegetated for days now. We’ll grow grass in three weeks’ time.”
“Vince will have to mow us before we can appear in the ring,” he giggles.
“You’re giggling,” I say accusingly, “we really need to get you sleeping. Otherwise you’ll be on sick leave as soon as the vacation ends!”
“I am not! Men do not giggle,” Chris tells me with an affronted tone so perfect I nearly laugh.
“Far be it from me to cast doubts on your manhood, Jericho.”
“Fine! We’ll go for your damn jog, if only to shut you up.”
I suddenly get a vision of other ways of shutting me up, and retreat to the bathroom to get rid of my embarrassment. I can’t get rid of these... visions, flashes, crazy ideas nowadays. Damn Natalie, it must be her fault for giving me the idea.
I was right. The jog is a good idea. We’re running in a companionable silence (funny how that keeps occurring – I never realised how comfortable not talking with someone can be) when a bright flash out of nowhere makes us blink.
“Shit,” I mutter, as I recognise the guy behind the camera. He’s a bit too good at digging up dirt for his paper for my comfort.
“Very cute, guys. Got some nice shots of you earlier at the store. Care to comment on the domesticity?”
We run past the reporter without a word, and I curse the fact I was right. There are people in this business that could be something if this guy didn’t create scandal so well.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to spend so much time at your place,” I conclude.
That silences Chris for a while.
“I hate to say it, but I think you’re right. Goddammit.”
Sometimes I hate the world we live in. But we can’t afford a scandal. And for some reason the people aren’t really open to the idea of two straight guys being domestic together. Go figure.
“I hadn’t even thought about this,” I admit, “but we both know what the press will insinuate.”
“And Vince won’t be too happy about that.”
Well, duh, we know quite well what our target audience is. And how they would react to even the tiniest bit of doubt.
“I’ll start looking for an apartment tomorrow,” I finish quietly.
--End of Part 1.
-----------------------------------------
“When I am from him, I am dead till I be with him.”
Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici
Part 2: Take Me Home
Chapter I: The Whole Being Apart Thing
I feel strange, have been for days.
Ever since Adam left.
It really shouldn’t matter, right? But the apartment feels... empty.
Funny, it never seemed too big before. Strange how only a few days can make a difference. He only spent a week here, in the end.
But somehow I managed to get used to the sight of him, in the kitchen, on my sofa... in the bed next to me... don’t go there, I tell myself sternly.
We didn’t get around to buying that bed, after all. Didn’t think it was worth it, for the few days it took him to find a place. I helped him move in.
It’s weird to miss someone you see at work almost every day.
It’s not the same, somehow. Well, it’s the same it used to be before... before the vacation. We’re good friends. We hang out, at work, in the hotel between the shows (but we never share a room), drive together... but we go home alone. It’s only few days every week but I still notice the ... the lack of something.
He spoiled me. The whole being alone thing does not appeal to me anymore.
He doesn’t seem to be doing too well either. He’s quiet about his new apartment but I get a feeling he’s not too happy in there. People of course connect it to the fact he broke up with that chick of his. Even trying to find him a new girl.
Why am I not happy about that? I don’t want him to be lonely, do I?
Come to think of it, why don’t *I* find someone else to fill my apartment with their presence?
It feels... wrong somehow.
Like it’s not only my home anymore, and the other occupant is missing. Adam. Adam is missing.
Shit, I’m pathetic.
I sleep just enough these days to keep me functioning. Takes a lot of caffeine to make me look good in the ring. I know I’m not performing at my best. Adam keeps asking worried questions.
I can’t tell him he’s the reason for this. I don’t even know myself that that’s what it is. How could it be he’s fault?
I was not sleeping even before his brief visit. And how do you tell your same-sex friend & co-worker you sleep better when he’s sleeping next to you?
About that pathetic thing...
The rabbit still sleeps in my bed. The day Adam left he tucked it in on ‘his’ side of the bed, and... well, he’s still there.
I’m a bit too old to cuddle plushies in bed, I know, and I’m not that far gone yet.
Why don’t I just go find someone *living* to cuddle in that damn bed so that I don’t have to resort to hugging Mr Wabbit?
I confess! I confess! I named him.
I’m pathetic.
And I still miss Adam.
I’m backstage, watching his match from the screen, and I miss him because I know that after the show, after the flight home, he’ll be going... home, and not my place, and it sucks.
-------------------------------------
Chapter II: Invitation
I end up sitting next to Christian in the plane, but can’t help looking at Adam, on the other side of the aisle. The black eye he got in his match when Benoit was sloppy for a second is colouring nicely. He looks exhausted, too.
Didn’t know insomnia was contagious.
After claiming my baggage I look for Christian. He promised me a ride, but I seem to have misplaced him. I find Adam instead. He’s sitting in the corner, resting his arms on his knees, head bent. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.
“You okay?” I ask as I get close enough to talk.
He raises his head, and the smile recognition brings to his lips makes me feel warm inside.
“Don’t want to go ho... to my apartment,” he replies, with a self-deprecating tone.
“Want to come home with me?” the question is out before I have time to think. Reflection wouldn’t have changed it, I admit.
Adam just looks at me, as if trying to find out whether the invitation is real, and I meet his gaze evenly.
“Yeah, yeah I do,” he finally says with a lopsided smile.
“I kinda miss it.” He shrugs.“I kinda miss you.”
I crouch down in front of him, feeling inexplicably happy.
“Yeah? Well, this is going to sound pathetic, but I miss you too.”
“Yeah?”
We just smile at each other, and no one knows how long we would have stayed that way if a surprised gasp hadn’t drawn our attention. Seems Christian found me. He’s staring at us, incredulous.
His amazement tells us what conclusions he’s drawn from the discussion he obviously witnessed, and we share an amused look.
“Didn’t you know Adam moved in with me during the vacation?” I ask innocently.
Christian just shakes his head, mouth still open.
“Well, I did,” Adam confirms.
His on-screen brother closes his mouth and swallows before concluding, “so that’s why you broke up with Natalie.”
A pause. Then the bafflement leaves his eyes and is replaced with a glint of humour.
“And you had a... quarrel?” a smile is tugging in the corners of his mouth.
“Adam decided he needed more space,” I explain, also smiling.
“Uh huh.”
“Yep.”
“You don’t believe a word we’re saying, do you?” Adam smiles as well.
“Well... no, not really,” Christian grins. “I have to admit that you freaked me for a sec, guys, but... nah.”
“But it’s true.”
“Give it a rest.”
“No, it’s true. I moved in, then I moved out, and that didn’t work, so...” Adam looks at me for support, not wanting to assume anything.
“So now he’s moving back in because it sucked,” I say, as if it had been decided. I don’t know, maybe it has. ‘Cos it did suck.
“What... sucked?” asks the newly quieted Christian.
“The whole being apart thing,” Adam finishes, with a little more truth than the joke actually would have needed. But, man, am I glad that he seems to feel the same.
“We gotta go shopping!” I get up, and offer my hand to help Adam up as well.
“Bye, little brother!” Adam grins and we wave goodbye to him before running to his car like two kids.
-------------------------------------
Chapter III: The River in Egypt
We head straight to buy a bed, deciding in his car that we don’t give a crap about tabloids and scandals; if we want to share, we share.
Why wasn’t it this easy a month ago? Maybe because we didn’t know. We didn’t realise how much it would suck not to go on. Now that we *do* know it’s easier to say that the shit that will follow will be worth it.
That part may have been easy. Trying to decide on a bed, that’s hard. We seem to hate every one we see.
“No, the colour won’t match the decor,” I say for the tenth time when he points at another specimen.
“What about that one?” I ask, knowing he’ll say no, knowing I’ll be glad he does.
“The model would clash horribly with the other furniture! That one?”
“I don’t really like it.” If pressed, I couldn’t really tell you *why* I don’t like it, I just know I don’t want it.
“And it wouldn’t fit in the room, probably,” Adam rationalises my decision, then moves on, “How about this?”
“You wouldn’t fit in that.”
“Yes I would.”
“Well, not comfortably. Anything else?”
“How about this one, gentlemen?” the sales clerk suggests, getting slightly exasperated.
“I like the model,” Adam says carefully.
“And the colour’s nice, I suppose...” I have to admit.
“But it’s not the right size, is it?” I’m almost happy to find fault in it.
“Yeah, if it was it would be perfect.”
“Ah! You are in luck, there is a longer version of this. Ta dah!” the guy sounds triumphant, happy to get rid of demanding customers.
We stare at the bed, which is everything we claimed we want.
Finally I speak, still staring at the bed, “We don’t really want a bed, do we.”
Adam shoots a glance at me before returning to stare at the bed.
“No, I don’t suppose we do,” he confirms slowly.
The admission hangs between us in silence for a few seconds, then we look at the clerk.
“Thanks for your assistance.”
“We’ve made up our minds.”
-------------------------------------
Chapter IV: Homecoming
Not a word is said when we walk to the car, but the silence is not oppressive or uncomfortable.
We know something important was decided, but neither one wants to guess at its magnitude just yet, I suppose.
The drive is also finished in silence, and we don’t even look at each other before I close the door behind us. Neither one of us is smiling when we finally let our eyes meet.
I raise my hand to touch his cheek. The first touch makes him close his eyes and lean in to my fingers.
“I...”
I don’t even know what I was going to say when Adam’s lips descend on mine.
It’s a light kiss, undemanding, almost friendly. I glide my hand from his cheek to lie behind his neck, not demanding, just leave it lying there softly.
We pull apart almost instantly.
“Welcome home,” I say, smiling warmly.
That brings a smile to Adam’s face, and he pulls me close to a hug. I return it with equal strength.
“I missed you,” he says, and now the words mean much more than they had, back at the airport.
“I missed you too,” I reply, and pull back just enough to look into his face. For the first time I let myself look at him like this, with open admiration. He does look good, doesn’t he? Never let myself notice.
“Good,” he says and smiles sweetly.
“Yeah.”
We know our conversation makes no sense, but it doesn’t matter, everything important is said with our eyes, and we don’t want to rush anything.
“You hungry?” I ask, my arms still around him, and I bet my smile looks a little silly.
“Yeah, a bit.”
“It’s a good thing that I kept buying your favourites out of habit,” I grin.
“Habit?”
“Or wishful thinking,” I shrug.
“We need to get your stuff from your flat,” I remember suddenly.
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been too uninspired to unpack, so most of it is still in boxes.”
“Eat first, then let’s get your stuff. When can you get rid of the apartment?”
“Month or so, if I call them today. I’ve paid till the end of next month.”
“We have to tell Vince, too.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“Screw him. I’m not happy without you.”
“Likewise,” Adam smiles a little shyly.
“I honestly didn’t realise before...” I admit, letting him go and heading to the kitchen.
“Me neither. Well, I was consciously trying not to think about, you know...”
“Possibilities?”
“Yeah. Natalie saw them,” he says, making me turn to look at him mid-step.
“That what got you so shook up when you saw her?”
He just nods, and I reach for him again.
“It won’t be easy,” I say lamely.
I can feel his shrug against my cheek.
“I’ll hazard a guess it’ll be worth it,” the grin is audible in his statement.
His physical proximity keeps doing funny things to my insides – and some other parts of my anatomy – but I try to keep my mind in business. At least for another minute or so.
“We just sell this to Vince as sharing to save money. We have two bedrooms, after all. We’ll be very open about it, and as long as we behave in public, it should be okay.”
“That would mean even the people at work can’t know. The word would get out.”
“Our friends can keep a secret. The rest can go to hell. I’m not giving you up.”
His laugh is a little bitter when he moves his head to look into my eyes, “I never pictured myself into a closet.”
I swallow. I need to ask.
“Have you ever had any reason to... you know. Think about closets.”
“No. No one but you,” he smiles his self-mocking smile as he answers the question I was trying not to ask.
“Ever?” I have to admit I’m surprised. He’s taking this so well, so calmly.
“No. You?”
“To think, yeah. But I’ve never really been in one.”
“So we’re both kinda new at this,” now the mocking smile is for me as much as for him.
“Uh-huh,” I give him a lopsided grin.
“We’ll manage.”
“Better than.”
We’re back at communicating with our eyes.
It takes me a while to remember I’ve only kissed this guy once but have already committed myself to a relationship that means more than anything in the past ever has.
I just smile. He smiles back. Then I have to kiss him again, and we forget the food.
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Chapter V: Domesticity
I wake up slowly, somehow knowing that the day will be good.
As I open my eyes the memory returns, and I turn to look at the man lying next to me. Adam is still asleep.
The reason my days have been good for weeks and weeks. He did move back in with me that day. That was the first night we spend together, as in, you know, truly together. Fine! Sex! I mean SEX.
It was a little awkward, true. It was the first for both of us. But... Well, I don’t believe in kiss and tell.
I was sure we’d learn. And we have. Oh boy we have. No! I’m *not* telling!
And I sleep again. Ever since that first night we spend in each other’s arms, I’ve slept like a baby whenever he’s next to me.
I keep staring at him, smiling softly. We still haven’t got around to getting that other bed, but I suppose we have to, in the end. For the cover story.
I smile as I remember that my thoughts ran on similar venues the first morning I woke up next to him. I had slept properly for the first time in far longer than I cared to count. I was thinking about the bed, and about having to call my mom to tell her I’d found someone.
All the while waiting for Adam to wake up and let me know he hadn’t changed his mind. I *knew* he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. But still... I needed the confirmation of his happy expression, and the love-filled look in his eyes.
Please wake up before I choke in my soppiness! My thoughts then, as now. Somehow his sleeping face makes me want to go waxing lyrical.
I love mornings. Looking at him, so peaceful and delicious, lying in my – our – bed; and just letting my thoughts wander. Usually those wanderings have something to do with our life together.
Our friends know, and don’t give a damn. They came to the housewarming party (we had one for Adam even though I’ve been living here for ages and ages) and brought us matching pink aprons, among other things. It was also our very private coming out party. It’s not like we could be very public. We got some dirt in the papers when our living arrangements became official but the company has laughed it off.
We behave in public, and that’s good enough for them. What we do at home, behind closed doors, is no one’s business. Not even Vince’s.
What do we do? Live in a blissful domestic bliss.
You can just imagine the grin that goes with that. It’s *not* all roses and chocolate. We fight, we hurt each other, by being stubborn, insensitive silent brutes that we are, but then we get our mouths open again and talk things through.
We both know this is a best thing in our lives, ever, and we really don’t want to screw it up. And we’re doing a pretty good job in tolerating each other, I think.
You can imagine that grin again. When it’s good, it’s *good*. We got used to living together even before the sex and cuddling stuff. Now it’s even better.
I’d hate to go all mushy on you, but... hell, it’s comfortable, it’s hot, it’s... it’s... home. He makes this place truly a home. Coming here, after a stressful week, is rest. Here we can be what we are without the fear of curious glances, and here he shows me time and time again what happiness is all about.
And I’m not just talking about sex!
I’m talking about little things.
Like waking up next to him. Come on, love, wake up. I miss you. I want to hold you, look into your eyes and...
I turn my head before I actually wake him up, and see Mr Wabbit on the floor next to the bed. Poor guy, I must have kicked him out of the bed during the night.
He had to give up his place in bed when Adam came back. But he still... well, he’s around. It seems that no matter how often we place him safe on the bedside table or in the bookshelf, he somehow finds his way back to burrow in the bed.
I rescue him from the floor, and the movement is enough to wake Adam.
“Morning,” he mutters against my back, hugging me from behind.
“Good morning,” my wide smile is audible in my voice.
“Sleep well?”
“Always when you’re around,” I’m camping it up for his benefit but we both know it’s true, regardless.
“You’re still calling me soporific?” he smiles lazily.
“Nah, you just exhaust me so well.”
“Mmmm.”
The inarticulate response is caused by my languorous morning kiss.
“So, whatcha wanna do today?” I ask, lounging back and smiling to the ceiling.
“We could go bed shopping,” he grins.
That’s our code for ‘lounge about and do nothing all day’. I’m all for it.
There’s nothing in this world I’d rather do, or spend the rest of my days doing.
Nothing at all. With him. At home. For years and years.
“Sure,” I just reply, but I think he can read all the rest on my face.
After all, I’m pretty sure that he shares the sentiment.
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“You and I –
Why care by what meanders we are here
In the centre of the labyrinth! Men have died
Trying to find this place, which we have found.”
Robert Browning, In a Balcony
The End