![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
We don't need no upgraded DeLorean.
I slipped on nostalgia and fell in a puddle of RPS. This is for the old crowd, with <3. I take responsibility for any stupids in the fic.
Weezer RPS. Brian/Mikey. PG13.
-
Verbatim
Brian finds it easier to focus on nouns. The verbs feel like unwelcome guests, sitting awkwardly in his head.
He focuses on lips, for example. Not 'to kiss'.
Hands, not 'to stroke' or 'to caress'.
"Keep in touch," were the last words exchanged between them as bandmates. It was Brian who said it, and Mikey had nodded in a detached sort of manner, looking at the table, looking at the ceiling. They were in a small restaurant, just the two of them, and Mikey had been the first to get up and leave. He paused midstep, staring at the space beside Brian's head, as if wondering whether there was anything left to say.
A waitress approached him, asking, "Can we help you, sir?"
Mikey shook his head, and left.
+
"Seriously," said Rivers a few days later. The three of them--Pat, Brian, Rivers--were lounging on various pieces of furniture in Rivers's living room, watching Lethal Weapon on VHS. "Seriously, what is it with us and bassists?"
Brian and Pat exchanged blank looks, then looked at Rivers for further explanation, but Rivers's attention had gone back to the movie.
"Do you call Matt much?" Pat asked Brian.
Brian shrugged. "We do Christmas cards."
On the TV screen, something exploded and Mel Gibson cracked wise. Rivers told Brian to pass the popcorn, which he did. There was nothing left to do but continue watching the movie, which he also did.
+
The first conversation between them as ex-bandmates took place over a crackly phone line, half a continent apart, one major city to another. It began this way:
"Hey, how are you?" asked Brian.
"Stellar," Mikey replied. "Stellar, of course."
The conversation ended like this, spoken in a tentative voice:
"Alright. Alright, so I'll see you."
+
Four-hour plane trip, not 'to desire'.
An anonymous hotel, a knock on the door, a creak as it swings open.
Not 'to want'. Not 'to persist'. Not 'to miss'.
+
In the dark Mikey asked, "Why did you come?"
"Because you asked."
"You could have said no."
"I wanted to come."
Mikey put off replying, kissing Brian with a pressure that gradually receded until it was barely a kiss, only a series of soft touches. The hotel room was cold, but Mikey was warm, and the weight of Mikey's body on his was a comfort, a guilty pleasure as it always had been.
Brian said, "I just didn't want to be the first to ask."
Mikey rested his head on Brian's chest, as if checking for a heartbeat, and once upon a time Brian would have squirmed, ticklish as he was. But he had grown used to the mess of Mikey's hair, even if he was not yet used to everything else.
"Is that right?" asked Mikey.
"Yes. Maybe."
"That's fucked up."
Brian asked, "Are you happier these days?"
Mikey raised his head. "What kind of a question is that?" And when Brian didn't answer, he continued, "I'm fucking stellar."
+
One day Brian called Mikey's cellphone and the number had changed. He listened to the automated voice for a few seconds before snapping his phone shut and doing some quick investigation. He asked Pat, he asked Rivers, he asked everyone. No one knew the new number, if indeed there was one.
why are you always the first to move on? Brian wrote on a napkin, because the words needed to get out one way or another, but he didn't want to speak them aloud. He didn't want to give it that kind of validation.
Brian scribbled the words quickly, read it over, and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket.
+
Endings, for example. Not 'to remember'. Not 'to regret'.
[end.]
Weezer RPS. Brian/Mikey. PG13.
Verbatim
Brian finds it easier to focus on nouns. The verbs feel like unwelcome guests, sitting awkwardly in his head.
He focuses on lips, for example. Not 'to kiss'.
Hands, not 'to stroke' or 'to caress'.
"Keep in touch," were the last words exchanged between them as bandmates. It was Brian who said it, and Mikey had nodded in a detached sort of manner, looking at the table, looking at the ceiling. They were in a small restaurant, just the two of them, and Mikey had been the first to get up and leave. He paused midstep, staring at the space beside Brian's head, as if wondering whether there was anything left to say.
A waitress approached him, asking, "Can we help you, sir?"
Mikey shook his head, and left.
+
"Seriously," said Rivers a few days later. The three of them--Pat, Brian, Rivers--were lounging on various pieces of furniture in Rivers's living room, watching Lethal Weapon on VHS. "Seriously, what is it with us and bassists?"
Brian and Pat exchanged blank looks, then looked at Rivers for further explanation, but Rivers's attention had gone back to the movie.
"Do you call Matt much?" Pat asked Brian.
Brian shrugged. "We do Christmas cards."
On the TV screen, something exploded and Mel Gibson cracked wise. Rivers told Brian to pass the popcorn, which he did. There was nothing left to do but continue watching the movie, which he also did.
+
The first conversation between them as ex-bandmates took place over a crackly phone line, half a continent apart, one major city to another. It began this way:
"Hey, how are you?" asked Brian.
"Stellar," Mikey replied. "Stellar, of course."
The conversation ended like this, spoken in a tentative voice:
"Alright. Alright, so I'll see you."
+
Four-hour plane trip, not 'to desire'.
An anonymous hotel, a knock on the door, a creak as it swings open.
Not 'to want'. Not 'to persist'. Not 'to miss'.
+
In the dark Mikey asked, "Why did you come?"
"Because you asked."
"You could have said no."
"I wanted to come."
Mikey put off replying, kissing Brian with a pressure that gradually receded until it was barely a kiss, only a series of soft touches. The hotel room was cold, but Mikey was warm, and the weight of Mikey's body on his was a comfort, a guilty pleasure as it always had been.
Brian said, "I just didn't want to be the first to ask."
Mikey rested his head on Brian's chest, as if checking for a heartbeat, and once upon a time Brian would have squirmed, ticklish as he was. But he had grown used to the mess of Mikey's hair, even if he was not yet used to everything else.
"Is that right?" asked Mikey.
"Yes. Maybe."
"That's fucked up."
Brian asked, "Are you happier these days?"
Mikey raised his head. "What kind of a question is that?" And when Brian didn't answer, he continued, "I'm fucking stellar."
+
One day Brian called Mikey's cellphone and the number had changed. He listened to the automated voice for a few seconds before snapping his phone shut and doing some quick investigation. He asked Pat, he asked Rivers, he asked everyone. No one knew the new number, if indeed there was one.
why are you always the first to move on? Brian wrote on a napkin, because the words needed to get out one way or another, but he didn't want to speak them aloud. He didn't want to give it that kind of validation.
Brian scribbled the words quickly, read it over, and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket.
+
Endings, for example. Not 'to remember'. Not 'to regret'.
[end.]