#silent but it's a sad book and I literally hear them clinking glasses

[andintheendiddoitallagain]

Every Song's About You

Goddamnit! *The curse broke the calm, cool, quiet of the house, followed immediately by the shattering of glass breaking and the sharp edged shards tinkling down onto tile.  It was not nearly as cathartic as it was intended, but there was still something beautiful in that fall out. For some reason, breaking glass had always been one of my favorite sounds, a fact that seemed to worry my briefly utilized therapist right after my parents had died.  My hands were still shaking when Pan’s head popped up off the couch, his recently darkened hair sticking up in all directions thanks, in no small part, to the nap I had so rudely interrupted. “S’wrong, Beary?”  His words were slurred, his voice still thick with sleep, and I couldn’t hide my smile as he swiped his hands over his eyes, looking for all the world exactly like he had two decades earlier only with far more tattoos. Ignoring the mess that lay scattered in the corner of Trick’s kitchen, I grabbed two bottles of the Filbert’s Root Beer that Trick paid through the goddamn nose to have delivered and headed to the couch without a word, plopping down beside Pan with a huff.  He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow in a silent question as I popped the tops off the glass bottles and handed one over, clinking the neck of my own bottle against it before taking a long swallow. Pan, still blinking away sleep, did the same.  The soda tasted like home and childhood and nostalgia to the nth degree and it helped calm some of the anger that was still coursing through me.  Not much, however, but some, and once I settled back against Trick’s overly comfortable couch, dropping my feet into Pan’s lap. The action was rewarded with a low, slightly sleepy chuckle as he set his drink aside and his fingers started working at pulling off my ridiculous fucking boots. Dropping them to the floor with a clatter, He gave me a quick glance before working strong fingers over my sore arches in practiced, even strokes.  The man was fucking phenomenal with his hands. “So, you wanna tell me what that glass did to deserve a forced meeting with the wall? I’m gonna say it somehow relates to your decidedly un-Beary-like ensemble. And I’m assuming that was not one of Pattycake’s scotch glasses, otherwise I’m gonna clear out.” Wrinkling my nose, I stick my tongue out and brushed my bangs out from in front of my glasses before giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with my stockinged foot .*  I’m not a complete idiot, Pan, I don’t touch Trick’s scotch glasses if I can possibly help it, not even when there is scotch in them. And the glass was just collateral damage, I suppose. It was a really shitty fucking day. Really ficking shitty.  I had a meetings at Flaunt and Los Angeles Magazine  today to drop off some freelance work I picked up for them, hence, well this. *Articulation still wasn’t exactly my strong suit and I chose, instead, to use my bottle to encompass my outfit.  Pan was dead on, though; the pale, filmy blouse tucked into a high-waisted plaid skirt in soothing, soft shades of tan and beige shot through with a deep grey and tightly fastened with a brown belt at my waist that matched the goddamn devil boots was not me at all; I was more a jeans, stolen shirt and chucks kind of girl, but sometimes professionalism won out.  Hell, I’d even scraped my hair up into something resembling neat and put on actual jewelry and my best lingerie because when the fuck else was I gonna wear stockings? I didn’t own very much of the former, and kept even less with me when I traveled, but the silver, pearl and enamel cherry blossom set with tiny diamonds had been a gift for my twenty fifth birthday from Trick and Pan and, despite my punching each of them in the arm for spending far more than they should have, I treasured it dearly and pulled it out on the rare occasions that I needed to feel like a legitimate adult. I’d even worn an actual coat in deference to the grey clouds that had hung overhead when I’d left this morning, but by the time I’d returned home, it, along with my purse and small portfolio bag, had all been tossed haphazardly onto the coat rack in the foyer. “So, the meetings didn’t go well, I take it?” Pan was almost careful with his words, the edge of caution that tinged his words as he spoke more than slightly evident. Shaking my head, I pointed my toes and winced as the bones cracked in protest, unused to actually wearing heels.* No, the meetings were great, actually, and I have a few more assignments booked with both because if I’m gonna be in this hell city, I might as well make money. * “So the problem was what, exactly?” Pan’s held my ankle in his hand and pushed up on the bottom of my foot carefully, stretching my calf. It was heavenly.* The problem was with who fucking followed me the entire goddamn day. Fucking hack. *There was pure venom in my voice and Pete’s face went dark at just the mention.  I didn’t even need to mention a name. “Didn’t fucking Chad get the hint when he got hit?”  The memories were still fresh, despite happening over three months ago, and I could still hear the shouts and the crack of Pan’s knuckles against my former classmate’s face ringing in my ears.*  Apparently he isn’t only a hack, he is a daft one. But yeah, he literally followed me from office to office.  He was at fucking Starbucks for the love of fuck. I’m sure it’s just case Trick has a single coming out and he is out of town, but jesus fucking christ,  this shit is extensive. I’m not interesting enough to warrant that kind of bullshit. At all. But still, he insists on being a fucking twatsicle. *Pan cracked a laugh, albeit a small one, at the term that he had coined and rested his hand gently on my calf. “He is a fucking asshole, and I’m sorry you have to deal with him, Beary, I really am. He’s not allowed at Neverland, ever, not even outside so, there is that.”  The words were comforting, almost as much as the familiar touch, and I had to smile as as I stretched to muss Pan’s already chaotic hair. I was rewarded with a small smile and he turned into my touch almost like a cat, pressing his cheek against my fingers.* Thank you, Peter Panda. That… I appreciate it more than you know. *There was not a single word that was anything less than true and the seldom used nickname got one of his blinding smiles; it was fucking light and went miles towards easing the anger that was still my prevalent emotion. It didn’t erase it completely, but it was a start.* Have you heard from Trick?  I know he was supposed to be home today, but last I heard he was stuck at JFK because of weather. *Patrick had been gone to do some promo shows and press for the charity compilation his latest single was a part of in New York for the last week and and half and the absence was nearly palpable at this point; if that was just a bit more prevalent than it may have been otherwise, well so be it.  And if part of the reason for that happened to be because we’d been sleeping together on and off for the better part of two and a half months, well, I wouldn’t admit it. Much. The thought had me shifting in my comfy seat, and Pan arched a brow, his hands running along my calf. “His flight was delayed a bit, but he should be in tonight, sometime around midnight. His service has been spotty as fuck.” Nodding simply, I cast a glance out the windows in a sad attempt to distract myself from, well, myself.  The sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky with bright oranges, pinks and reds, shot through with streaks of pink and just the slightest hint of smoky, dusky purples. It was fucking gorgeous, and didn’t help at all. “Beary, whatcha thinkin’?”  There was a familiar, teasing lilt in Pan’s voice and when I caught his gaze, it was very, very clear what was behind that. I paused for a moment, catching my lower lip between my teeth and smiling just a bit, my eyes dating back to Pan.* I’m thinking it was a long as fuck day and I could really do with some distraction. If you’re up for it, of course. *The latter words were tacked on as an afterthought, or maybe a little bit of a tease, just kind of,  and I purposely returned my attention to the darkening sky outside the windows. Pan didn’t say anything at first, my feet were easily, almost tenderly, removed from his lap and the couch shifted as Pan moved quickly, leaning over me with his hands braced against the arm of the couch on either side of his shoulders.  He was close, close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my ear and the warmth of his skin, even through layers of silk and cotton. “You sure, Sweetheart?”  It was more than a bit of a tease, but one that we had both perfected over the last several months; it was how things worked out in this arrangement that we had somehow developed, although the nickname was new, but not unwelcome.* You know I am, Pan.  I don’t say anything I don’t me- *My borderline bitchy diatribe was cut off quickly, the words lost against Pan’s lips.* *I’m not sure exactly what woke me up, although I hadn’t exactly been in the deepest of sleep, but it had been lovely, dreams full of whiskey colored eyes and clever, calloused fingers that I couldn’t exactly figure out. Squinting in a vain attempt to see past the hair that had fallen in riotous tangles in my face, I felt around on Pan’s nightstand until I found my glasses, folded and carefully set aside some- shit- five hours ago, according to the blue glow of the alarm clock. If it was past one, I obviously had slept far heavier than I thought. Stretching my arms over my head, I rolled over, my hands falling not onto the warm body that I had grown used to, but cold sheets. Well shit. Shaking away the last vestiges of sleep, I quickly ran over the last things I could remember in my mind after collapsing in a pile of damp limbs and heavy, hot breaths, Pan’s lips moving against the back of my neck in words that he wouldn’t repeat before he vanished for the briefest of seconds.  After the bed dipped again and his legs were tangled with mine, I tugged his arm over my waist and we both fell asleep.  Nothing any different from the other times we had fooled around. Until now, of course; this was the first time I had ever woken up alone.  Pushing myself upright, I could barely hear the voices from down the hall, and golden light spilled in through the cracked door.  Trick was home. Forcing myself out of the warmth of the bed on slightly shaky legs, I side stepped the tangle of silk, wool, lace and cotton that had been haphazardly thrown off in our haste to get to the bed, snagging a t-shirt from the laundry basket that sat on a chair by the door and pulling it on.  While there was something cheesily romantic about waking up wearing nothing but moonlight and diamonds, however small, it probably wasn’t the best attire choice for actually speaking to people, despite being seen in various states of undress by them both for the better part of three decades. I blinked against the bright lights of the hallway and smoothed my shirt over my thighs, brushing lightly over light bruises in the shape of fingerprints that were scattered over my pale skin. That was something that I got from Pan alone; Trick, while his mouth was absolutely filthy and divine, tended to be far gentler physically. Two sides of the same coin. I followed the hushed voices down the stairs,my footfalls muffled against the plush carpet. The entire floor was dark save for the nightlights in the kitchen and golden light pouring out of the half opened door. “Goddamnit, Pete! You’re gonna end up getting hurt of you don’t stop this.” Trick’s voice was exasperated and slightly worn, no doubt from both travel and more use than usual, and his posture, from what I could see from my position against the doorframe, was guarded. “I know that, Rick. Believe me, I know. But I can’t just… it’s good. And it works for now.” Pan on the other hand, sounded wrecked as he perched on the side of Trick’s desk facing the dark window, a pair of Batman pajamas that I was pretty sure didn’t belong to him slung low on his hips. “Yeah, for now. Until you fall the fuck apart. Jesus Christ, Peter. You know better.” Patrick wasn’t yelling but there was a hint of anger in his voice, and I could see his fists clenched at his sides for just a moment before his hands went to his head, fussing with his hat and running his fingers through his hair. They were both faced away from me, just enough that they obviously had no clue I was there and I worried my lip between my teeth, my own fingers twisting in the hem of my purloined shirt.  This wasn’t shaping up to be good. Pan however, as always, surprised me and threw his head back to laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound though.  There was something melancholy and dark about it; something that definitely did not belong. “Fucking christ, Patrick. You’re a goddamn hypocrite.”  Trick, for his part, had the good grace to look thoroughly surprised, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Excuse me? What the actual fuck does that mean?”  There was an edge of danger in Trick’s voice, one that never seemed to bode well for whoever it was directed at, and I winced in spite of myself as I continued eavesdropping. Or whatever the fuck I was doing. Being a creeper, I suppose. “I mean, exactly that, Angelface. You’re a hypocrite. Tell me about your new song, huh?  What’s that about exactly, or should I say who?” Pan’s words were cold, although there was no threat behind them, and he tilted his head expectantly towards Trick, whose face had gone bright red. “Fuck you, Pete. That’s not the same at all and you know it.” “Fuck you, Patrick, it’s exactly the same.”  The retort was fired off almost instantly and the words hung in the air for a moment as Trick pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses on the hem of his red cardigan, his head tilted downward and his voice almost frighteningly calm. “No, Pete, it isn’t even in the same realm because I haven’t been in love with Teddy for the last twelve fucking years.”* What? * The word was just above a whisper but could have just as easily been a scream with the way it shattered the deafening silence just seconds before they both turned towards me, shock written plainly on both of their faces.* #EverySongsAboutYou #TheKidsArentAlright