I haven’t written in ages, so sorry if this sucks…
Watching and Waiting
Butch said they would be staying for three days. As far as Michael was concerned, this was three days too many. He didn’t mind them, he just didn’t like sharing a room with two complete strangers who argued. A lot.
Fact: Chicago boys make Michael feel uneasy and remember that he was born in a small town in Australia.
It had been a shock for him to find out that they were all younger than him – that Adam was eighteen. Eighteen. Butcher was twenty three, Tom twenty two, and William and Mike were twenty one. It was strange. They all seemed so world weary compared with him. He felt hopelessly naïve, even though he knew he wasn’t.
[]
“Michael?” Tom’s voice was quiet, worn out. It cut through the air, making the Australian sit up. “I think one of your posters just fell on me.” He handed it over.
“Oops, yeah. Davey.” Michael laughed uneasily. The younger man nodded and turned over, falling asleep in a few seconds.
[]
It’s three days where Butch doesn’t work on any music. Three days where Michael has absolutely nothing to do. So he watches. There isn’t much which miss his baby blue eyes.
He noticed. They were all different. All so different, he didn’t see how they could work together. William was loud and ambitious; flirtatious. Mike was calm but impatient; not willing to tolerate stupidity. Adam was still just a child, full of crazy notions and a short attention span. Andy was the balance, the peace maker. Tom… Michael noticed there was something different about him.
He didn’t talk as much as the rest of the band.
[]
“Really?” Michael heard him laugh. It was the first time he’d ever heard Tom laugh. “She said what? Oh shut up Tell, you know you’re a teenage girl at heart too.” He looked a lot more vibrant when he laughed.
He sat down outside, not wanting to interfere in what sounded like a private conversation. He sighed, leaning his chin in his hands. He was tired and wanted them all to go home…
“Beer?” Tom sat down next to him, the phone call obviously finished. He handed the older man a bottle. “So, you live with Butch?”
“Yeah.” Michael blushed. “Not, not like that. We’re not… like that.” He suddenly realised. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if you’re like that!”
Tom laughed again, shaking his head. “We’re in big school now.” He said in a gentle voice. “We can use words like ‘gay’ and ‘bisexual’ properly!” He patted Michael’s head and wandered back inside.
[]
And it was Tom that caught his eye. The way he leant into the music when he played, the rough smile he had when he playfully pushed William back. Depending on his mood, he made everything he did seem like a chore or a joy.
And Michael could see what he’d never been able to see before in anyone else.
Tom struggled to fit in. It was an effort. Nothing was natural about him when he talked; when he played. Everything was thought out, false smiles and forced agreements. It was heartbreaking to watch him. He was wound up so tight, so scared to say the wrong thing.
[]
“Tom?” Michael moved to sit down besides the guitarist, offering him a bottle of beer. He accepted with a gracious smile. The Australian waited a bit, just watching Tom like he’d done so far. “Tom, what are you so scared of?”
The bottle clattered from Tom’s hands, smashing onto the concrete. The American swore and bent down, picking up the pieces. Michael watched as blood began to mingle with the alcohol, and knew it stung. But still, he did nothing to help. The other man kept his head down as the two liquids mixed, until neither of them could differentiate between the two.
Tom stood up, dark liquid dripping from his fingers as he cradled the glass carefully. He suddenly leant in and kissed the older man. “That.” He whispered against his lips, a trail of blood and alcohol showing his way indoors.
[]
Michael didn’t watch again.
Watching only got him into trouble. Watching meant the end of Michael’s previous notions about himself; notions he thought were preconceived. Watching meant changing everything Michael thought about Tom. And Michael was certain not watching would have the adverse effect.
He concentrated on not watching. Talking guitars with Mike, subtly trying to find out why him and Tom always argued. Drinking with Andy, wondering if he knew. Trying not to flirt with William, wondering if they’d dated. Talking stories with Adam, hoping that his stories would reveal some more information about the other man.
[]
“They’ve gone?” Michael asked Butch, his heart sinking. The older man nodded, giving him a look. “I thought they were staying until noon?”
“They left early, because it was slightly embarrassing.” He frowned. “You and Tom. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be civil with each other?” The Australian’s brow furrowed. He didn’t get it.
“I don’t hate Tom.” He said, rubbing his forehead. “He… he kissed me.” Butch’s eyes widened.
“Mike said he had a problem.” He murmured quietly. “I’m sorry Michael.”
“No. It’s…” The Australian looked at him worriedly. “It’s a problem?”
[]
It was a while before he saw them again. They were touring Chicago, and William invited them back to his place to get “drunk as fuck” (his words). Butch enquired subtly about Tom; would he be there?
The answer came back: Yes.
Which unnerved Michael slightly. He didn’t know his own feelings towards the other, he didn’t know if Tom’s feelings had changed, he didn’t know how deep they ran.
And, entering Chicago, Tom was the first person he saw.
[]
Michael’s eyes immediately focused on the other guitarist as he entered the room. Tom had his guitar in his hands, but he wasn’t playing it, instead mouthing the words to a song the Australian had never heard of. Tom evidently knew it well. He sat down beside the other man on the couch.
“H-hey.” He said nervously, giving him a smile. The Chicagoan just looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed.
“You told Butch.” He whispered, before standing up and leaving the room. Michael ran a hand through his hair and pulled a face. What to do now? William caught his eye and jerked his head towards the door Tom had left by. He nodded, his message clear.
Follow him.
[]
Michael had never been an idiot. He’d never thought himself stupid, but he reckoned he might have to change that. Everything suddenly made sense.
Why Tom and Mike argued. Why William and Tom were so close. Why Tom didn’t like what Butch knew.
Michael now knew why he’d felt so strange upon entering Chicago. Chicago, to him, meant Tom. And Tom meant far more than he’d let himself believe.
[]
“We need to talk.” Michael pushed open the door. The blonde Chicagoan nodded sulkily, letting Michael in. He locked the door behind him. “Right.” The older man’s eyes burned. “Ok, first you kiss me, then you try and ignore it as if nothing happened? And then you give the impression that we hate each other, so you can get out of it, and give me a bad name? What the fuck, Conrad? What sort of twisted person are you?”
Tom looked at him unwillingly. “I don’t know.” He replied, staring back at the Australian. “I’m the sort of twisted person who falls hard for guys. And,” He held up a hand. “Don’t tell me it’s sick and wrong, because I get enough of that from Mike.” He was stopped from saying anything else by Michael, who pushed him back onto the bed, a wild expression in his eyes.
“Falls for guys?” He whispered, gently moving a hand to touch Tom’s cheek. “Which ones? Me?”
“You.” Tom agreed.
[]
Everything fell into place then, tangled up in Tom’s arms. The missing part had been found, the puzzle complete.
Because Michael was the sort of person that fell hard for guys too.
And to be honest? He’d never liked it more.
[]
Michael brought Tom in to kiss him again, tugging at the younger man’s shirt. The younger blonde let him tug it off, tilting up his head for their lips to meet again. The Australian gently coursed his hands down his slim figure, stroking his hips. The younger gave a small moan, leaning into his touch.
“Tom?” There was a battering at the door. “Conrad, open up!” Tom slipped off the bed with a sigh, pointedly ruffling up the back of his hair. He opened the door to Mike. “What were you doing?”
“Practicing guitar.” The older man replied unflinchingly. Mike looked past him to Michael, who held up the mentioned instrument innocently. “Got a problem?” He was slightly shocked by the look of disgust that Tom was treated to. “Bye bye.” The blonde slammed the door shut. “Now, where were we?”
Michael laughed, bringing him in to kiss him softly. He watched the door swing open again; Tom hadn’t locked it. He gripped the younger man’s hips harder as he saw Mike watching them, moving a hand up to tangle in the other man’s hair.
The door closed and didn’t open again.
[]
A few months later, Michael was called and asked if he wanted to join The Academy Is… It was Butcher who called him, and he knew without asking who had gone. He hadn’t spoken to Tom since that fateful night in William’s apartment.
He knew Tom couldn’t have taken much more, and he knew he’d cut and run.
And Tom knew he’d always be there. Waiting.
FINIS
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Wed Aug 29, 2007 7:32 am