nomorekaraoke | [In Need of a Friend]

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[In Need of a Friend]

That morning, waking up was the most confusingly lovely thing he'd ever done. It was wonderful, and scary and thrilling at the same time, and it made him feel like something had sucked his heartbeat right up to his chest. It was so wonderful it left him feeling slightly giddy, ever so slightly nauseous with overwhelming excitement.

~*~

He's been smoking all day, walking around the place like he's a very antsy alarm clock just waiting to go off. He'll start screaming soon. If he stops moving, he'll start throwing things around and upset his neighbors, and he'll scream and then he won't know how to stop.

Maybe if he just keeps breathing, he'll be fine. Maybe the smoke will keep him warm enough that he doesn't notice just how empty his too big apartment is. But why stop there? Why not include his whole life into the equation?

Lighting up the last cigarette in his last pack of them, Lorne takes a long, unsteady drag and exhales. Even his breath sounds like death warmed over, and suddenly he's struck by another string of thoughts. His record's stuck on repeat: I don't want to be alone

I don't want to be alone!

I don't want to

He picks up his cell phone off the coffee table, going through his call log and picking out the only number he can trust. And what does he get for it? He gets the answering machine. 'Hi, this is Beth. You know what to do after the beep.'

"Beth, are you there? I didn't know who else to call...but I'm having a really bad day, and I'm not dealing very well, and I just think I need someone to talk to. I didn't know who else to call, I'm sorry if this is totally inappropriate, I just... Call me when you can, all right?"

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"I like him." He pushes air out his nose. This sounds like something out of a high school sit com. That alone brings an angry flush of heat up his neck.

"I was kind of hoping... Or beginning to think that, maybe-- Because he's the sweetest thing there is, you have no idea." He swallows hard, completely and utterly unable to look up from his coffee.

"I had the dream again. Third time's the charm, right? And he was there. It was him, I know it was, but it was his perspective and suddenly I realized it's been his perspective all along, and it isn't my future, it's his, and I don't know how to tell him."

Slowly, Beth lowers her cup back to the table.

"Oh."

Stupid useless syllable, oh. But she can't think of anything else to say.

"I woke up thinking...I don't know what I thought, but I was so happy my head was spinning." Treacherously enough, his voice cracks. "So happy I felt sick, how insane is that?"

That sound in his voice makes her throat ache.

Without thinking, she reaches out a hand and rests it on his arm.

It hits him like an avalanche - one second he's almost fine, and the next he has to cover his face because he's crying and he can't have anyone see it. This is why he wanted to take a walk. Out there, you can dry your eyes in a dark alley and be done with it, but in here you take a seat and you talk and you relax and before you know it you're shivering with barely suppressed sobs and making a complete fool of yourself.

All because there's someone there who gives a damn. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

She reaches for the small pile of napkins on the table, and passes him one.

"No, it's not." He bunches the napkin into one of his hands, which takes the shape of an angry fist. Then he sighs deeply, pressing the balled up thing to his eyes. Let's try to be adults about this, shall we.

"I don't even know how to face him after this."

Oh, am I ever the wrong person to ask about that, she thinks.

Small-voiced: "Well ... you don't have to tell him, do you?"

"That kind of comes with the territory when you're an anagog. If you read people, you tell them, because you're meant to. You're not supposed to sit on the intel, if that's what you want to call it."

Beth bites her lip.

(She has a pretty good idea who the guy might be.)

"You could," she starts, and stops.

(Ironically enough, Lorne's hoping against hope she doesn't have a clue. He's terrified of what she might think, and all too aware that it might not be entirely good)

He looks up tiredly; he just knows he won't have a good night's (or day's) sleep again for a long, long time. "Do what? List all the reasons why it wouldn't be a good idea to even entertain the notion?"

"... Write him a letter?" she offers, hesitantly. "Or, or if you have any, um, friends in common ...?"

Lorne lowers his eyes again, considering his options. Write him a letter, or try to get in touch with one of his friends. Or talk to him face to face, and risk everything just falling apart.

"...I never make friends," he says, apropos nothing, really. Nothing at all. "Why did I have to make friends with him?"

Beth straightens a little bit, her brows tugging together. "You've got lots of friends."

"There's you - my darling pumpkin," he says, dabbing one more time at his eyes, then his nose. Tries a smile to no noticeable effect. Boys don't cry.

"And if we're being inclusive, there's Angie and Ramon. ...and my dreamboat what dare not speak its name. I can't afford to make friends, but sometimes..."

Why can't you afford to make friends? she almost asks, and then doesn't.

She knows why.

He swallows again, trying to convince his throat not to constrict at just the thought of 'friends'. He sips his coffee; tells himself the sugar warms him better than any dream.

"I never had all that many friends, in LA," he says, then, as if talking about the weather. "I could count them with the fingers of just one hand. Three of them died in less than a year, and I couldn't do one thing to save them. I didn't see it coming."

"Oh my god."

Her voice is tiny, and softened with sorrow.

"How awful for you."

One of his shoulders hunch up in the hint of a shrug, his chin tilts to meet it halfway. He isn't even sure why he's sharing so much; isn't sure what he's trying to explain, or what blow he's trying to soften.

"Every time I start caring for someone, I panic at the thought of losing them. I don't really...get past that stage all that often, but when I do..." He'll give anything, including his own life to keep them safe.

"Yeah."

She puts out her hand again, this time palm up.

Lorne slides his hand into Beth's without so much as one thought, and holds on as another bout of frustrated woe threatens to turn his eyes into miniature waterfalls. Heartbreak sucks. "It feels like I've lost him already."

She squeezes, hard, as though trying to pull at least some of the pain out of him.

"Is that ... I don't know how to ask this. Is that what it means? Your, your dream?"

He sighs tremulously, jaw working in silence as he blinks his eyes. He's fine. No worries. Peachy keen. "It means he'll find someone who...loves him like you wouldn't believe. Someone who thinks he's the bees knees, flaws and all.

"It just won't be me."

"I don't know what to say." Soft. "Except that that sucks. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah." He smiles, suddenly overcome by a tiny little flicker of giggles. "It absolutely, positively sucks. But I need to buck up and figure out how to tell him the good news." Nodding, as if to convince himself. "Because he needs to know."

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