Rasher fic :T
Nov. 29th, 2009 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
r_vecchioTitle: Time To Buy; Time To Lose (Time To Choose)
Fandom: Rasher
Notes: Listened to 100 Years by Five for Fighting and this came out. Posting it exactly as it came out rather than going back and editing and stuff. Rough hopefully suits it.
Brick scraped the leathery pads of his fingers, grit burying itself in his palm as he held on, held himself up. A garbage truck rumbled past and his brows dropped, impatience rising, anxiety twisting his stomach. He lifted a hand to readjust his glasses, willed the vehicle out of the way, hid himself further behind the wall, peered around it with a look of barely suppressed agony.
The truck rolled on its way.
The figure was there, standing outside a jewellery shop, studying a piece in the window.
Ray’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be but he could see him, clear as day, despite the distance. He shifted against the wall, propped himself up again. He was snared. Stared.
Scared.
The man turned around like he could feel the gaze.
Ray saw his face. It was a blur as he ducked behind the wall, pressed his back to it, hand clasping the lapel of his coat, his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe; loosened his scarf but the weight still pressed down on him.
Thirty years. Nearly. Thirty years since he had seen him, since he’d looked at him, since he’d spoken to him, since…
He looked again. Held his breath.
Gone.
He faced the wall, lifted a weary arm up to it and lowered his head, sucking in air, trying to control himself. Ever since Vegas had caught up with him, caught him out, years after the gig, Ray’s nerves had been shot. Panic attacks, anxiety episodes; he’d learned to deal with them over time.
His lungs felt the size of pebbles, heavy like them too. His heart thumped.
Getting over Asher had been the hardest thing Ray had ever had to do. Cliché or not, forcing himself to cut all ties had torn him apart. Broken his heart. It had been worse than losing Irene, worse than dealing with death. When he’d lost her, he’d been surprised his heart had kept beating; when he’d given up him, he’d wished it hadn’t. Irene had gone; Asher had still been out there. No more talking, no more dreaming, no more anything. Every day had been a new day. A junkie reformed.
His glasses slipped down his nose again. He closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks with a breath, chest beginning to calm, to slow.
Spotting Asher had taken him right back. Exhilaration; determination; overwhelming happiness, sickness; desire; frustration; surrender. Youth had hit him square in the chest. The blur was trapped beneath his eyelids. He was thankful it wasn’t a clear image.
Another breath. One at a time. People passed him by like he was invisible.
Old men were.
“You wanna get outta the way, jackass?”
Ray looked left, right, saw the guy being dragged off by his embarrassed girlfriend.
“He’s in the middle of the fucking sidewalk, baby…” The voice died away with each step.
Ray could hardly remember being that young. He smoothed down his coat with shaky hands, tugged his scarf straight, putting himself back together. Style never got old. A moment to collect himself and he turned. Another blur. Wall. Brick. Eyes. Wide. Mouth. Dry. Chest constricting. He’d imagined it. There was meant to be no more dreaming.
Asher said nothing, hands in his pockets, stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Behind him.
Ray could feel him. His shoulders rose protectively, chest rising and falling, like he was going through withdrawal symptoms all over again. He couldn’t let him see what he’d turned into.
Minute passed. He barely had breath enough to breathe, so the words came out stilted, forced.
“What are doing in Chicago?”
His arms tingled from the pain in his chest.
“Business.”
Ray closed his eyes, lips pulling back involuntarily. That voice. He covered his mouth with a hand. Didn’t speak for so long that he was sure he’d be talking to himself now.
“How…how’s your sister?” He couldn’t know anything about Asher. Didn’t want to know. Had gone long enough without knowing. He couldn’t even turn to look at him.
“Same as usual.” More people brushed past him but he didn’t move.
Ray almost laughed at the irony. Same as usual. What did that even mean? Nothing was the same, not for Ray. In the blink of an eye, his time had gone.
He didn’t turn but his old self did. Ray before marriage and kids and grandkids turned, free for just a moment, chasing the lost years of his life. When he saw Asher’s face, he caught up with himself, a breath escaping him in a short rush. Exactly the same. He didn’t look it but he was forty again, alive, heart hammering in his ribcage like it always had whenever he’d laid eyes on Asher. Hammering so hard even he could hear it. He wished Asher could see that him, the young him, the way Ray could see Asher.
He lifted a hand to his chest, lame, self-conscious excuse tripping off his tongue. “Heart medicine…" In case Asher could hear. "...makes my heart beat f…” Fast. The lie was obvious. Ray choked on it, couldn’t finish it. It had always been Asher.
He left his hand there, the pain getting worse the more he looked. His head was empty. No words, no wishes, no nothing. There wasn’t anything to say.
The realisation hurt him the most. The months, months upon months, spent thinking of things he’d say to Asher if he saw him again and it all came to nothing. He’d finally moved on after so long but the words had always stayed with him. Now they were lost on him.
Ray felt naked. Asher looking him up and down. Felt ashamed. Of the lines in his face that hadn’t been there thirty years ago. Of the grey of his hair. Of the old man clothes and loafers. He looked away.
“Grandpoppp.” An impatient whine from a six year old, poking her little dark head out of a coffee shop. “A minute you said.”
Ray’s head turned. Her gaze snapped to Asher.
“Ma’s not happy.”
She swung on the knob of the door, a menace to the other patrons entering and leaving.
“Tell her I’m coming.”
“She said I have to get you. Uncle G’s not happy neither.”
“Either.”
Her gaze returned to Asher.
Her grandfather’s too. This was the choice he’d been blind to for those few precious years. When everything had been about Asher; forget the future.
His future was still swinging from the door. Time had gone by; Ray had gotten wise. Made the best and worst decision of his life.
He shuffled away, joined his granddaughter at the entrance. Glanced back to say goodbye, somehow. To say it without words. To have one more moment, one more look, lose himself just one more time, feel his heart beat once more.
But Asher was gone.
For Ray’s sake and his own.
Fandom: Rasher
Notes: Listened to 100 Years by Five for Fighting and this came out. Posting it exactly as it came out rather than going back and editing and stuff. Rough hopefully suits it.
Brick scraped the leathery pads of his fingers, grit burying itself in his palm as he held on, held himself up. A garbage truck rumbled past and his brows dropped, impatience rising, anxiety twisting his stomach. He lifted a hand to readjust his glasses, willed the vehicle out of the way, hid himself further behind the wall, peered around it with a look of barely suppressed agony.
The truck rolled on its way.
The figure was there, standing outside a jewellery shop, studying a piece in the window.
Ray’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be but he could see him, clear as day, despite the distance. He shifted against the wall, propped himself up again. He was snared. Stared.
Scared.
The man turned around like he could feel the gaze.
Ray saw his face. It was a blur as he ducked behind the wall, pressed his back to it, hand clasping the lapel of his coat, his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe; loosened his scarf but the weight still pressed down on him.
Thirty years. Nearly. Thirty years since he had seen him, since he’d looked at him, since he’d spoken to him, since…
He looked again. Held his breath.
Gone.
He faced the wall, lifted a weary arm up to it and lowered his head, sucking in air, trying to control himself. Ever since Vegas had caught up with him, caught him out, years after the gig, Ray’s nerves had been shot. Panic attacks, anxiety episodes; he’d learned to deal with them over time.
His lungs felt the size of pebbles, heavy like them too. His heart thumped.
Getting over Asher had been the hardest thing Ray had ever had to do. Cliché or not, forcing himself to cut all ties had torn him apart. Broken his heart. It had been worse than losing Irene, worse than dealing with death. When he’d lost her, he’d been surprised his heart had kept beating; when he’d given up him, he’d wished it hadn’t. Irene had gone; Asher had still been out there. No more talking, no more dreaming, no more anything. Every day had been a new day. A junkie reformed.
His glasses slipped down his nose again. He closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks with a breath, chest beginning to calm, to slow.
Spotting Asher had taken him right back. Exhilaration; determination; overwhelming happiness, sickness; desire; frustration; surrender. Youth had hit him square in the chest. The blur was trapped beneath his eyelids. He was thankful it wasn’t a clear image.
Another breath. One at a time. People passed him by like he was invisible.
Old men were.
“You wanna get outta the way, jackass?”
Ray looked left, right, saw the guy being dragged off by his embarrassed girlfriend.
“He’s in the middle of the fucking sidewalk, baby…” The voice died away with each step.
Ray could hardly remember being that young. He smoothed down his coat with shaky hands, tugged his scarf straight, putting himself back together. Style never got old. A moment to collect himself and he turned. Another blur. Wall. Brick. Eyes. Wide. Mouth. Dry. Chest constricting. He’d imagined it. There was meant to be no more dreaming.
Asher said nothing, hands in his pockets, stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Behind him.
Ray could feel him. His shoulders rose protectively, chest rising and falling, like he was going through withdrawal symptoms all over again. He couldn’t let him see what he’d turned into.
Minute passed. He barely had breath enough to breathe, so the words came out stilted, forced.
“What are doing in Chicago?”
His arms tingled from the pain in his chest.
“Business.”
Ray closed his eyes, lips pulling back involuntarily. That voice. He covered his mouth with a hand. Didn’t speak for so long that he was sure he’d be talking to himself now.
“How…how’s your sister?” He couldn’t know anything about Asher. Didn’t want to know. Had gone long enough without knowing. He couldn’t even turn to look at him.
“Same as usual.” More people brushed past him but he didn’t move.
Ray almost laughed at the irony. Same as usual. What did that even mean? Nothing was the same, not for Ray. In the blink of an eye, his time had gone.
He didn’t turn but his old self did. Ray before marriage and kids and grandkids turned, free for just a moment, chasing the lost years of his life. When he saw Asher’s face, he caught up with himself, a breath escaping him in a short rush. Exactly the same. He didn’t look it but he was forty again, alive, heart hammering in his ribcage like it always had whenever he’d laid eyes on Asher. Hammering so hard even he could hear it. He wished Asher could see that him, the young him, the way Ray could see Asher.
He lifted a hand to his chest, lame, self-conscious excuse tripping off his tongue. “Heart medicine…" In case Asher could hear. "...makes my heart beat f…” Fast. The lie was obvious. Ray choked on it, couldn’t finish it. It had always been Asher.
He left his hand there, the pain getting worse the more he looked. His head was empty. No words, no wishes, no nothing. There wasn’t anything to say.
The realisation hurt him the most. The months, months upon months, spent thinking of things he’d say to Asher if he saw him again and it all came to nothing. He’d finally moved on after so long but the words had always stayed with him. Now they were lost on him.
Ray felt naked. Asher looking him up and down. Felt ashamed. Of the lines in his face that hadn’t been there thirty years ago. Of the grey of his hair. Of the old man clothes and loafers. He looked away.
“Grandpoppp.” An impatient whine from a six year old, poking her little dark head out of a coffee shop. “A minute you said.”
Ray’s head turned. Her gaze snapped to Asher.
“Ma’s not happy.”
She swung on the knob of the door, a menace to the other patrons entering and leaving.
“Tell her I’m coming.”
“She said I have to get you. Uncle G’s not happy neither.”
“Either.”
Her gaze returned to Asher.
Her grandfather’s too. This was the choice he’d been blind to for those few precious years. When everything had been about Asher; forget the future.
His future was still swinging from the door. Time had gone by; Ray had gotten wise. Made the best and worst decision of his life.
He shuffled away, joined his granddaughter at the entrance. Glanced back to say goodbye, somehow. To say it without words. To have one more moment, one more look, lose himself just one more time, feel his heart beat once more.
But Asher was gone.
For Ray’s sake and his own.
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Date: 2009-11-29 11:42 pm (UTC)I hate you ;___;
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Date: 2009-11-30 12:08 am (UTC)