nomorekaraoke | Papa's Got a Brand New...Bling (Late July 2008)

Entry tags:

andrew wells,
rp

Papa's Got a Brand New...Bling (Late July 2008)

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life--

Wrong theme song, even though the theme certainly applies. It's a new day in Lorne's life. He quite enjoys dawn, thank you very much. He's found a new place to live - another penthouse in the middle of Youdon'tneedtoknow-ville. And recently, he's been indulging more and more in taking breathers at Milliways.

In short: good times all around.

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Andrew blinks at him. "...the song?"

It can't be that, but they were just talking about --

He shakes his head, looking away. The nausea is dissipating, leaving behind a vacuum in his chest that's so much worse than the thought of being sick. His dark eyebrows twist upwards from the bridge of his nose, his face crumbling further into despair.

"I have to go."

"What? No," and the look on his face takes a sharp turn from worried to stricken. "You just, you had a dizzy spell or something, you need to rest for a minute --"

His jaw works silently. The tears welling up in his eyes turn his eyelashes into liquid black as that damned song keeps repeating in his head. Images flash by, one after the other, of Lindsey, and Angel, and all the seemingly insignificant things that led up to that one night when everything changed for the worse. And how could he possibly tell Andrew about any of that? How could he even think it was a good idea to go out here, into the real world and make shiny new friends? The mere notion is preposterous.

"You didn't hear it," he whispers, his voice tinted by mirthless laughter. "You didn't hear her singing. Over there, at the-- At the street corner up ahead."

It makes much more sense now. Sometimes he forgets that humans can't hear that well. But that doesn't stop the gnawing pain threatening to swallow him whole. He tries to stand up, and doesn't quite make it.

Singing, what -- ?

He glances over his shoulder. At this distance he can see the streetsinger, but not really hear her over the sounds of traffic and passersby.

"No," he says softly. "I didn't hear it."

What was it? he doesn't ask.

How does he even begin to worm his way out of this? His breath catches in his chest, and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He just wants to go home.

"I can't talk about it. I'm sorry.."

"It's okay. It's okay, you don't have to."

Andrew rests a hand on his shoulder, only half aware of making the gesture; he's still leaning down, trying to see into Lorne's face, trying to catch his gaze.

"You don't have to."

Doesn't matter how hard he tries to wipe his face, twin tears still fall when he lowers his hands with a self-deprecating twist of his lips. Clearing his throat, "...I haven't heard that song in years. Not since Caritas."

Oh.

Very low: "Brought back memories?"

He nods, swallowing tightly. Doesn't say bad ones, because, obvious much?

The hand on his shoulder is like a warm blanket - comforting and tempting after so long without something like it.

Painful ones, clearly. Either because they're bad, or because they're good and forever gone.

Slowly, Andrew turns and sits down on the step next to Lorne, still canted sideways to watch his face.

As he wipes his face again, wondering for the nth time why now and why here, an edge of frustration enters into the line of questions. It's not enough to send his despair dissipating.

Despite himself, he soaks up the warmth of where their knees almost touch. He doesn't look at Andrew when he next opens his mouth. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

If he looked up, he'd see a briefly blank expression. Why is that even a question?

"...Cause we're friends," he says simply. "Aren't we?"

We are? is followed entirely too fast by a resounding Crap, and the stab of fear that if they're friends, bad things will happen. That it's just a matter of time before something happens.

"In that case, I'm not sure I've ever had a friend before."

It's Andrew's turn to flinch, a little.

Soft: "Then maybe you're due."

That comment alone startles a soft, low huff of choked laughter, and Lorne turns to Andrew with the hint of something better than despair in his eyes.

"Yeah..." He heaves a great big sigh, and blinks like Hell to get the sting out of his eyes. "Maybe I am."

A small, worried smile. "Are you gonna be okay?"

He nods, letting slip a small sniff. "It's just...one of those days, I guess.

"You know, I..." Looking into Andrew's eyes, Lorne hesitates. "Never mind."

One of those days. And it was being such a good day, right up until now.

"You want to keep going?" he asks quietly. "Or head back?"

"Um..." He looks in the direction of the girl with the guitar (and he's sure she's a darling, too), and his gut clenches in apprehension. Back to Andrew, "I think I've had enough adventure to last me a while."

It sounds a whole lot like 'sorry' to his own ears.

"It's okay," Andrew says again, as though the apology had been spoken outright and not just slinking through in his tone.

And then, in Quoting Something voice: "I don't know about you, but I'm getting all funned out."

Spirits lifting at just the merest little hint of Games to Be Played, Lorne's eyes widen in mock apprehension.

"Uh-oh."

This, on the other hand, sounds a lot more like 'I love it when you do that'.

Andrew glances at him, eyebrows quirking the slightest bit.

"Don't tell me," he deadpans. "We're about to go over a huge waterfall."

Resignedly, but not really, "Yep."

There's a laugh rising just under his sternum, and he holds it down.

"Sharp rocks at the bottom?"

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