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~~~
-Ry/Col, Colin's POV, blah blah blah
It's hard to explain.
It's not like—for instance—that one time when he was halfway through this joke about a clown and a walrus...or maybe it was a sea cow. Because he kept trailing off, backing up, starting over, and then Pat came up to him, took him by the arm and told him their taxi was waiting. He never got to the punchline. Then it was time for goodbyes, for lingering hugs and meaningless words because who really knew when we were going to see each other again, when that next time would be?
And by that next time, we'd forgotten all about the joke. I can't remember a word of past conversations with him...except for one single sentence.
He says it to me now, hands shoved in his pockets, eyebrows raised either in greeting or a challenge; with him I'm not sure there's a difference. His hair is a little longer, curling at the base of his neck in a way that makes me need to touch it. There are more lines etched down his cheeks and webbing the corners of his eyes, deeper lines, and they're all beautiful. And his eyes, they're still so green.
I fall in love with him all over again.
And that's all right because I smile, and he smiles back; he leans forward, just slightly, just enough to invade the fringes of my personal space. He takes a breath—a little too deeply—like he's trying to breath me in, remember my scent, and he doesn't care if I know that's exactly what he's doing. He's not ashamed.
And he says, the corners of his mouth tilting up in unspoken amusement, "Now, where were we?"
It doesn't matter that we don't remember, that the words are different, because it all feels like one long, drawn out conversation spanning decades and thousands of miles, the end no where in sight. And when he takes my arm and steers me toward his suite, we're only continuing something we started the very first night we met.
But I never do hear the punchline to that joke.
~~~
-Ry/Col, Colin's POV, blah blah blah
It's hard to explain.
It's not like—for instance—that one time when he was halfway through this joke about a clown and a walrus...or maybe it was a sea cow. Because he kept trailing off, backing up, starting over, and then Pat came up to him, took him by the arm and told him their taxi was waiting. He never got to the punchline. Then it was time for goodbyes, for lingering hugs and meaningless words because who really knew when we were going to see each other again, when that next time would be?
And by that next time, we'd forgotten all about the joke. I can't remember a word of past conversations with him...except for one single sentence.
He says it to me now, hands shoved in his pockets, eyebrows raised either in greeting or a challenge; with him I'm not sure there's a difference. His hair is a little longer, curling at the base of his neck in a way that makes me need to touch it. There are more lines etched down his cheeks and webbing the corners of his eyes, deeper lines, and they're all beautiful. And his eyes, they're still so green.
I fall in love with him all over again.
And that's all right because I smile, and he smiles back; he leans forward, just slightly, just enough to invade the fringes of my personal space. He takes a breath—a little too deeply—like he's trying to breath me in, remember my scent, and he doesn't care if I know that's exactly what he's doing. He's not ashamed.
And he says, the corners of his mouth tilting up in unspoken amusement, "Now, where were we?"
It doesn't matter that we don't remember, that the words are different, because it all feels like one long, drawn out conversation spanning decades and thousands of miles, the end no where in sight. And when he takes my arm and steers me toward his suite, we're only continuing something we started the very first night we met.
But I never do hear the punchline to that joke.
~~~
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And I emailed you, whore-bitch. :>
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I kinda wanna work in a hotel now, though. ^_^
*snorts* Can you imagine Bill as a housekeeping person? He'd beat the shit out of everyone...
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Speaking of, Ryan wanted to be
strangesweet and, like, go through his attic, collect all of his old legos, clean them up and then pass them off to Brad. :PWeirdest couple ever.
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*scrubs hands over face* Along with the woman who refuses to leave, we've got this pair of crack addicts and their kids in one of the jacuzzi suites who doesn't have the money to stay and yet refuses to leave, and he's getting pissed and then there's this other guy who just won't answer his phone to tell me if he's staying or leaving but we've got his credit card, so if he doesn't leave, we just charge him. ^_^
Looking forward to going home. I like the crazies, but SO MANY CRAZIES. :P
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A pair of crack addicts, huh? *laughs* How do you know they're crack addicts?
...but we've got his credit card, so if he doesn't leave, we just charge him. ^_^ -- Such a bad girl. ~_^
Yes, yes. Crazies, in large numbers, are not good. :<
(I think this particular icon of mine is perfect for your current situation. ^_^)
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And yeah, one of the crack addicts said to me today that if it was legal to carry a gun and kill people, he would have done so today. Joy. And they just stepped out, and housekeeping is checking out their room while they're gone. I'm playing look out.
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Just don't get yourself hurt playing look out. :P Have something heavy and... pointy handy.
*laughs* Is it bad that Ryan's the first thing that came to my mind just then?
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Ryan = heavy + pointy?
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*melts* That was like the perfect drabble. I love how Colin falls in love with him again from his beautiful description, the little invading of the personal space and smelling and how they never hear the real joke or as I interpret it, are able to live a full life together where they'd be able to hear it. But It doesn't matter that we don't remember, that the words are different, because it all feels like one long, drawn out conversation spanning decades and thousands of miles, the end no where in sight. makes it all worth it So true *happy sigh*
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are able to live a full life together where they'd be able to hear it. -- Ooh. That's a fantastic interpretation. I'm totally going to pretend I did that on purpose. ^_^ And that reminds me that I so need to read your piece. I should go do that now...
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There are more lines etched down his cheeks and webbing the corners of his eyes, deeper lines, and they're all beautiful. I friggin adore this visual.
Actually, I pretty much adore this ficcy.
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