14 March 2007 @ 10:44 am
My second fic! Much much love and thanks as always goes to [info]xie_xie_xie, [info]vamphile and [info]happier_bunny for their help and support.

Title: Soon.
Timeline: Post-513
Feedback: Is loved.
There's a companion piece called Tomorrow, here.

There are times I really, really love New York. Times when the air is alive and crackling with energy, when I can feel inspiration seeping into my bones just from walking around.

Times that remind me of Hollywood, and how much I loved feeling creative all day, every day. The excitement of knowing I was doing something important. Something that came from within me. Times when I could think, see Hobbs, you didn't get me, I'm still here and fuck you very much.

Times I just painted all day, hours and hours and seeing what emerged made me feel good. Proud.

Times when I felt like a big fat fucking success, just like Brian always said.

But there are times when I'm lying here in bed, alone, late at night, when my mind just won't slow down enough to get to sleep. Times I really hate New York.

It's times like this that remind me that no matter how much I love the city, what I love more than anything else isn't here with me.

I think back to a thousand nights spent in Brian's bed, hell, even a few that Brian spent in my bed at Debbie's house.

I think of Brian asleep, his face softer than it ever is when he's awake. Think of the slight wheeze from his deviated septum, think of him lying warm and heavy across my back. The best sleep I ever had.

Think of my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. Think of fingers playing in my hair for hours

Think of all the times we've whispered in the dark, late at night. Our faces close together. How his fingers would seek mine out, and that it meant more to me than if he held my hand walking down the street would.

Think about waking up from a nightmare. Night after night. How patient Brian was. How he never got upset that I'd woken him up for the tenth, eleventh, twelfth night in a row. How he'd whisper nonsense words that lulled me back to sleep. How his arms around me made me feel so safe.

Think about the first few nights after I'd left Ethan. How I felt like I'd finally woken up. Felt like I wasn't in some fog anymore. Felt like smiling again. Realized that getting what you want from the wrong person can't possibly compete with getting it from the right person.

Think about when he was sick, and the promises I whispered. That I wouldn't leave him, and that he was going to get better so just shut the fuck up with his bullshit.

Think about after he proposed and how he was no longer afraid to whisper things to me too.

About how scared he was when he I didn't answer my cell. How when he was looking for me in Babylon all he could see was my blood on a white scarf.

That he loves me.

How I whispered that I loved our house. That I couldn't wait for it to be ours. And that he knew without me telling him what I was trying to say. That I hadn't really had a home since I was seventeen. That I love that he knew what I wanted. What I needed. Think about the stability he offered me. That I'd been craving. That I was glad he finally thought I can, instead of I won't.

I think about our house now. Empty. Dark. Think about the loft. Remember the good times we had there. And the bad ones. Think about Debbie's house and how I always felt warm there, and loved.

Think about my crappy apartment, and the only times I feel at home here are when Brian's visiting. When he's curled around me in this bed, when he's making coffee in my tiny kitchen, when he's squeezed onto my small sofa, the sofa that's really too small for someone as tall as Brian, but how he never lets me sit anywhere else, how he snags my arm when I walk past and tugs me down to sit with him.

Think about Brian in my studio, and how when he looks at my paintings I can see everything I need to in his face. How good he thinks they are, and how that means more to me than praise from any art critic. How proud of myself I am that I'm making money, making my own way in the world, but how making Brian proud of me is the best thing of all.

I think about the fact that I've achieved everything I set out to do when I left for New York. That it would be really nice to live with Brian in that big house. Swim in the pool. Think about Gus visiting us there and how much fun he'd have, and know that Brian would be really glad about that.

Think about family dinners at Deb's. Think about the diner, and growing up there. Think about seeing my mom more often, and Daphne. Think about working on Rage with Michael.

I think about how well Kinnetik's doing. I think about Brian at 29 telling me he wanted to move to New York. Wanted to play with the big boys. I think about Kinnetik expanding.

Something is going to give. I know it. And whatever happens, it's going to happen soon. Fuck sleeping alone.