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Jan. 16th, 2004 01:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
arden-elear.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTitle: Tomorrow Too Soon.
Series: None
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: PG
Pairing: VM/SB
Disclaimer:.RPS; Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t Read It. Make an adult decision.
Warning: POV switching, angst, sappy late-night nonsense. I need a life. Got one to spare?
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No
Overall Summary:
Chapter Summary: None.
Author: Arden Elear
Email: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Dedication: For Saira and Fin, whom I do not know.
Inspiration from their SongVid; The Fellowship. Here’s To The Night, by Eve6.
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
He watched the fuzzy screen and the smile that skimmed his face was tight with anticipation of sorrow to come.
He watched the fuzzy screen and the smile that skimmed his face was tight with anticipation of sorrow to come.
Watched the boys joking and grabbing at each other, flinging their arms about each other the same way they flung insults, safe in the knowledge they’d be well received.
Watched him, standing beside them in his elegant suit, smiling at their antics, and tilting his head to hear. Then looking down like he always did, the smile for the cameras fading away as he lowered his head, seeking a precious moments’ privacy. Flashbulbs popping like strobes, cries, demands, pleas for attention coming from all corners, the red carpet rumpled by the careless passage of eager feet, all the chicanery of moviedom that he’d managed to beg off.
The noise was incredible, photographers demanding, fans screaming and pleading, jostling to be seen, to be heard. Cameras whirring, clicking, the overhead lights crackling with the electricity, the calls to look here, over here, please and friends and acquaintances passing down the carpet behind him, needing to be acknowledged and no time to do it. It was fucking mayhem and the lads were hyped, grinning outrageously, jittery and agitated like hyperactive five-year olds on a red cordial rush. He’d done it all before, seen it all before, but never like this, never anything with such passion to it. The excitement in the air was palpable, people rushing to and fro and he was stranded in the centre of the whirlwind, unable to free himself from the press of bodies around him. He ducked his head, seeking a moment to compose himself. Alone in a crowd.
Watching him weep, soaked in beer and misery. Battered by the normalcy left far behind on the other side of the equator, cradling him in the arms of the surreal, protected existence they were living, far away from home. Rubbing his back as he wiped his runny nose on his shirtsleeve, the half-deprecating, half-sobbing laugh ready to emerge choking wet from a mouth twisted by tears and bitter regret.
Soothing meaningless syllables, the real words barricaded behind a stronghold of remembered rejections, a fortress whose walls you could not scale any longer, whose doors remained hidden, even from you. Never voiced, those words that might have made the difference, but might equally have made a mistake, because you knew this it was finite and the fear was too real, your courage too modest, to risk it.
Watching him laugh, bright and mesmerizing. Drawing a circle of adoration without conscious effort and you are the satellite, just out of range. Always being pulled inwards, drawn to the easy camaraderie and burning for it, hot and dirty between the cool sheets of your bed. Breaking up in the atmosphere; tiny shattered pieces that he always manages to find and restore. Your orbit revolves around him and yet you’re only one of many, nothing special. Damaged goods, used and cast aside as tainted. But he seeks you out and lures you in with an ingénue’s honesty. No false promises, just a companion with whom you can share whatever time there is left.
It’s all about time, isn’t it? Time to compose the words in your head, to wrestle the secrets of your heart out from behind the barricades and mould them into some effective prose. You’ll do it, won’t you, tomorrow or the next day. Whenever there’s a moment to spare, what with the rush and the schedule and the rare opportunity to spend quality time with your kids. You’ll make time, won’t you, because it’s almost over, it ends next month, next week, tomorrow.
And now it’s now and it’s all too late. The anticipated sorrows have arrived in all their grainy, pixilated glory and you’re alone, in your home, in a crowd, wherever you might land this week. And there is no one there because the words were never spoken. Instead they turned bitter on your tongue and twisted your smile so that you have to dip your head and turn your tear-blurred eyes from the television set in the corner. Because tomorrow came too soon and you weren’t ready.
End.
Series: None
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: PG
Pairing: VM/SB
Disclaimer:.RPS; Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t Read It. Make an adult decision.
Warning: POV switching, angst, sappy late-night nonsense. I need a life. Got one to spare?
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No
Overall Summary:
Chapter Summary: None.
Author: Arden Elear
Email: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Dedication: For Saira and Fin, whom I do not know.
Inspiration from their SongVid; The Fellowship. Here’s To The Night, by Eve6.
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
He watched the fuzzy screen and the smile that skimmed his face was tight with anticipation of sorrow to come.
He watched the fuzzy screen and the smile that skimmed his face was tight with anticipation of sorrow to come.
Watched the boys joking and grabbing at each other, flinging their arms about each other the same way they flung insults, safe in the knowledge they’d be well received.
Watched him, standing beside them in his elegant suit, smiling at their antics, and tilting his head to hear. Then looking down like he always did, the smile for the cameras fading away as he lowered his head, seeking a precious moments’ privacy. Flashbulbs popping like strobes, cries, demands, pleas for attention coming from all corners, the red carpet rumpled by the careless passage of eager feet, all the chicanery of moviedom that he’d managed to beg off.
The noise was incredible, photographers demanding, fans screaming and pleading, jostling to be seen, to be heard. Cameras whirring, clicking, the overhead lights crackling with the electricity, the calls to look here, over here, please and friends and acquaintances passing down the carpet behind him, needing to be acknowledged and no time to do it. It was fucking mayhem and the lads were hyped, grinning outrageously, jittery and agitated like hyperactive five-year olds on a red cordial rush. He’d done it all before, seen it all before, but never like this, never anything with such passion to it. The excitement in the air was palpable, people rushing to and fro and he was stranded in the centre of the whirlwind, unable to free himself from the press of bodies around him. He ducked his head, seeking a moment to compose himself. Alone in a crowd.
Watching him weep, soaked in beer and misery. Battered by the normalcy left far behind on the other side of the equator, cradling him in the arms of the surreal, protected existence they were living, far away from home. Rubbing his back as he wiped his runny nose on his shirtsleeve, the half-deprecating, half-sobbing laugh ready to emerge choking wet from a mouth twisted by tears and bitter regret.
Soothing meaningless syllables, the real words barricaded behind a stronghold of remembered rejections, a fortress whose walls you could not scale any longer, whose doors remained hidden, even from you. Never voiced, those words that might have made the difference, but might equally have made a mistake, because you knew this it was finite and the fear was too real, your courage too modest, to risk it.
Watching him laugh, bright and mesmerizing. Drawing a circle of adoration without conscious effort and you are the satellite, just out of range. Always being pulled inwards, drawn to the easy camaraderie and burning for it, hot and dirty between the cool sheets of your bed. Breaking up in the atmosphere; tiny shattered pieces that he always manages to find and restore. Your orbit revolves around him and yet you’re only one of many, nothing special. Damaged goods, used and cast aside as tainted. But he seeks you out and lures you in with an ingénue’s honesty. No false promises, just a companion with whom you can share whatever time there is left.
It’s all about time, isn’t it? Time to compose the words in your head, to wrestle the secrets of your heart out from behind the barricades and mould them into some effective prose. You’ll do it, won’t you, tomorrow or the next day. Whenever there’s a moment to spare, what with the rush and the schedule and the rare opportunity to spend quality time with your kids. You’ll make time, won’t you, because it’s almost over, it ends next month, next week, tomorrow.
And now it’s now and it’s all too late. The anticipated sorrows have arrived in all their grainy, pixilated glory and you’re alone, in your home, in a crowd, wherever you might land this week. And there is no one there because the words were never spoken. Instead they turned bitter on your tongue and twisted your smile so that you have to dip your head and turn your tear-blurred eyes from the television set in the corner. Because tomorrow came too soon and you weren’t ready.
End.
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For us??? We are humbly honored!
Date: 2004-01-15 06:58 pm (UTC)Because tomorrow came too soon and you weren't ready.
*sniff**pout* So sad....
Re: For us??? We are humbly honored!
Date: 2004-01-15 10:15 pm (UTC)That clip of the hobbits and Sean standing before the press and he ducks his head with a little smile on his face and then you cut to the media clips. Set me off it did . . . :)
Re: For us??? We are humbly honored!
Date: 2004-01-15 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:34 am (UTC)