miracle (miracle) wrote in luke_noah, @ 2008-12-07 07:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | -[luke/noah]-, fanfic, fanfic: [atwt], ยป by: shizumaslover |
Rusty
Original poster: shizumaslover
Title: Rusty
Author: ShizumasLover
Rating: PG13 for language
Pairing: Luke/Noah love, Noah/Jeff friendship
Word Count: 1028
Warnings: Spoilers for this Thursday's show.
Summary: This is my gift to freakykat for thehayloft's Holiday Gift Exchange. She requested a "Noah centered fic where the boys reunite for X-mas," and I was so excited to oblige that I wrote and posted it ridiculously early. Also, the end probably makes more sense if you remember last Christmas really well. If you haven't heard Noah's card in a while, it's from 4:19-4:56 in this video.
Anyway, I hope you like it, bb. And if you do there might be a small follow-up. <3
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"Hey, man, wake up," Jeff coaxed, prodding Noah’s head gently with a folded umbrella. "It’s Christmas Eve."
"Whah?" Noah mumbled, peering up blearily.
"Christmas Eve," Jeff repeated, poking him once more for good measure. "You know. Santa Claus. Jingle Bells. The yuletide gay."
"Ha ha." Noah rolled his gunked-up eyes, then rubbed at them.
"Couldn’t resist." Jeff grinned, glancing at his watch. "Shit, I’m gonna be late for breakfast with my parents. Listen, don’t forget to set the heater and lock up if you leave."
"I’m not going anywhere."
"Yeah, well… if you do."
Noah didn’t bother to refute it twice. Jeff had overheard Lily the day before, asking Noah for a tall latte with a side of Please Join Us For Christmas. He had noticed the sad way she looked at Noah, the affectionate way she straightened his nametag, the slight crack in her voice when she tried to casually mention Luke. He had noticed how pained Noah was as he politely turned her down.
Fucking Jeff, Noah silently groused, shoving his face back into a worn couch cushion. So goddamn observant.
"Oh, and a card came for you this morning." Jeff tossed a green envelope onto the coffee table. "Someone slipped it under the door while I was getting ready."
Noah swiftly pushed himself up onto his elbows and stretched his neck to read the simple address in elegantly untidy scrawl: To Noah Mayer, with love. He swallowed thickly, reached out a hesitant hand to retrieve it from the splintered wooden table, looked up helplessly at his friend.
"Is it his handwriting?" Jeff asked quietly.
Noah could only nod.
"You, uh… you gonna be alright?"
"I’m fine," Noah replied, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Go. Your parents are waiting."
"Right… Shit," Jeff muttered. But he didn’t move. He just eyed Noah warily, as though he might hang himself like holly if left alone.
"Seriously, get the fuck out of here," Noah insisted, forcing a small smile. "Enjoy your Christmas."
Jeff’s face relaxed a little. "Okay. You, too. I mean… you know. At least try to."
Noah nodded vaguely, returning his gaze to the envelope. He waited for the sound of the deadbolt locking before carefully ripping it open and pulling out a shiny gold card embossed with swirling red ribbon patterns. It was intentionally – and painfully – reminiscent of the one he had picked out for Luke when they were happy together, naïve. He tapped it idly against his palm, contemplating whether or not to read it, before shoving it back into the maimed envelope and throwing it back onto the table.
He stood, stretched, padded across the cracked tile floor of Jeff’s living room into the kitchen, popped open the fridge, removed a box of leftover Mexican food, sniffed it, gagged, threw it out.
Ping.
He moved to the counter to retrieve his cell. One new text. From Jeff.
read it yet?
He sighed, clenched his jaw as he typed back.
no not yet. just eat your breakfast. we can talk later.
Sitting his phone back down, he eyed a tall pile of cards at the end of the counter – mostly to Jeff from various members of his enormous Irish family – on top of which lay a modest, matte card with a snowy mountain range on the cover. Noah reached over, picked it up, read the four chicken-scratch words for the twentieth time: Merry X-Mas, kid. ~Dusty
There was also one from his Aunt Ruth (a tacky Hallmark affair without an added personal message), and one from Major McClain (technically only an Army postcard bearing a message of Seasons Greetings and more condolences for his father’s death), both of which were delivered to Snyder Farm and forwarded to him along with a big care package filled with Emma’s cookies and notes from the kids. We miss you, Noah. Thanksgiving was fun wasn’t it? Are you coming for Christmas, too? We made you presents!
It was all excruciating to think about. But not quite as excruciating as thinking about the unread card on the coffee table. Which made him think of blonde tresses he couldn’t run fingers through, soft skin he couldn’t caress, plump lips he couldn’t… Goddamn it.
"Goddamn it," he said aloud, as though to emphasize to himself just how dysfunctional that train of thought was and the vital need to make it stop.
But too late. His mind was reeling. And he was seeing Luke’s face at Jack’s bachelor party a couple weeks earlier, hurt and confused and desperate. He had wanted to grab him, shake him, kiss him until he understood how torturous being apart has been. Or, at the very least, explain to him properly why they couldn’t be together again yet. But he couldn’t seem to find the words, and he knew that the longer he stayed there the weaker he would get. So he left. And he came back here. And he cried into the worn old couch cushion he used as a pillow on Jeff’s shitty, rusty old futon.
He couldn’t read that card. He would break. He would forget all about Luke’s dishonesty and drinking, his descent into destruction. He would stop caring that he could risk enabling Luke, becoming a crutch, if he went back to him before he sorted himself out. He would give into all of his selfish desires.
"… Goddamn it."
He went back into the living room and opened it.
Noah,
I’m so sorry I made you give up on me. I’m sorry I pushed you away. Being without you has made me more miserable than I have ever been.
Last Christmas you wrote that you wished you had my way with words. But as I sat down to write this, the words you wrote a year ago wouldn’t stop resonating in my head. Maybe I’m just rusty (I haven’t felt like writing anything since you left) or maybe there just aren’t sufficient words to ever express my regret. In any case, these words are true:
I miss you. I need you. I love you.
I always will.
Merry Christmas,
Luke
He dropped the card, ran to set the heater, and grabbed the spare keys.
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