Ficlet: Forever Delayed, Sean/Vig, PG

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Title: Forever Delayed
Pairing: Sean/Vig
Rating: PG
Summary: Come to think of it, maybe he will keep the curtains...
Beta: laeb, thank you for everything. You're amazing. *g*
Feedback: Welcomed.
Notes: Was supposed to be in time for Sean's birthday, but the title turned out to be more fitting than I expected. And it's stolen shamelessly from a Manic Street Preachers song, btw.
Warnings: I guess I should warn there's not much Vig in there, but Vig's absence is very present... or something to that effect.
Archiving: Rugbytackling, OEAM, anywhere really: if you want it just drop me a line.
Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure this didn’t happen and if it did I doubt it went down like this. What I’m trying to say is: this is fiction but I don’t make money out of it. It’s a lie, but no disrespect is intended.

*

It's a big room, Sean thinks, a fucking big room. The smell of recently waxed floorboards mingles with a faint scent of rosemary and thyme, bit of the past coming in through the open windows. Surprising this... new place and all.

A gust of wind sends one of the white gauze curtains brushing against his face; touch of a lover, almost. What kind of an idiot leaves curtains like these in a house for sale? Sean turns away from the windows, surveys the room. He doesn't have the heart to look out into the garden. The grass is likely to be covered with dead leaves, the trees, half-bare. All that gold spread out across his new lawn would only serve to remind him of how summer is just barely over - how fiercely nature clings to fading warmth.

Feels like a bloody mausoleum, this. Not exactly a reassuring thought, so he tries for a different approach. More like an old maid's drawing room, really... It does have a fine light for sketching.

He'd planned making a living-room out of it: a dining table near the bay window on the western wall, some low furniture scattered all around, a couple of hand-made rugs, maybe. The sort of thing he would like. On the opposite wall, Sean remembers wanting to put up shelves for their books. His and his. They could hang things on the wall facing the south windows: objects, not paintings; things that, in time, wouldn't fade with the sun. Paintings they'd have decided later, once they'd learnt how the light would move across the room with the changing seasons.

Always the same, the sun. Rising and setting, a minimum of variation each day. Makes you feel safe, kind of. Suffocated, some would say.

To which he would have answered, had any actual words managed to break through the lump in his throat, that randomness can be a pattern in itself, given enough time. That no matter what you do to keep things new and moving, predictability is never far from your heels.

It's a fucking huge room, Sean thinks. He no longer has use for a living-room this big. Probably won't be doing much entertaining anyway so, yeah, he'll keep it as is. Would-be mausoleum, old maid's drawing room. Empty but for canvas and oil. Maybe a small stereo, a desk with drawers for his brushes. A large ashtray. A cot, some blankets for when the double-bed he ordered last month gets too crowded with the ghosts of his near-future.

His gaze catches a frayed hem on one of the curtains, and he kneels to pull at it, knowing it will do more harm than good. Sean feels very tired then; so tired he has to let his head drop until his forehead is resting on the floor, and he has to stop breathing because it's suddenly too much. He lets himself slide all the way down, letting out a small moan at how solid the ground feels beneath him.

Come to think of it, maybe he will keep the curtains: they're long; they reach the floor. When he lies there, face down, arms spread out in worship, palms flat against the cooling boards, they'll brush his face while he sleeps.

Comments

[thalassatx.livejournal.com]

That hurts...

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Aww - sorry! Here, *hands you Sean*, why don't you pet him, that ought to make it better.

Thanks for reading.

[thalassatx.livejournal.com]

*pets gratefully*

Poor darling....

[allmharach.livejournal.com]

*weeps* Your imagery is so vivid and realistic.

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Don't cry! Sean will be alright, promise. Now Vig, if I could get my hands on him...

Thanks for the compliment.

[rinsbane.livejournal.com]

Ouch. Oh sweetie, that's painful, though deliciously so and beautifully written. I love the curtain bit and the image it brings to mind -- they sort of sweep along his skin, like a ghost touch, like his memories. Very evocative. Sean on ground in pain. *sniffles*

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Hee - you liked it!

I love the curtain bit and the image it brings to mind -- they sort of sweep along his skin, like a ghost touch, like his memories

The whole thing started with an image of Sean in an empty room with white curtains (totally out of the blue, while I was at work), it's so cool you chose that particular part. Sorry it hurts though, but it's not my fault - it's Viggo's. *g*

Thanks!

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Knew I'd forgotten something, duh.

Sean on ground in pain. That's such a brilliant description, I should hire you to write my summaries. Never know what to put there, probably because nothing really happens in my fics...

[milochka.livejournal.com]

*simultaneously sighs, clutches heart, and cries*

Oh, this is just beautiful. And painful. But in a good way. :-)

*hugs you*

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

Oh, god! Come 'ere. *cuddles you* There. Better?

Thanks so much, so glad you liked it! *squishes*

[makamu]

*smiles a sad smile* Desire and pain of absence, that is all I have to add :)

[yehnica.livejournal.com]

*g* Wow. Thanks!