Seven Minutes in Heaven - a Mike/Paulo fanfic
@ memyselfandi: HUGS FOREVER YOU ADORABLE THING YOU.
@ Infinity: In these cases, only the fangirls win.
@ SushiJaguar: I'd say I'm sorry except I'm not.
Seven Minutes In Heaven
Gay. Homo. Fag. Fairy.
Paulo was on his bed, replaying in his mind every slur that’d ever left his mouth like some obscene madness mantra.
Queer. Faggot. Trouser Pirate.
... That last one was probably David’s creation.
After the first frenzied litany of fuckfuckshitfuckohgodnoshitcrapwhyyyyy repeated liberally over the course of dragging himself home, Paulo had skulked around the house, felt inexplicable relief when his dad wasn’t in, and ran to his room like a vital body part was on fire.
When he’d thrown himself on his bed after flailing around uselessly in shock and fury for a while, the first thing he did was sit down and have a think to make sure he still liked girls.
Uh-huh, boobs were still awesome weapons of mass distraction, no change there, thank god. In the wake of such a monomentally shitty day, you had to count your blessings. And your mental images of boobs. Mmyep.
But that was then and this was now and he couldn't stop himself from thinking of all those words and how they... now technically related to him and the sheer overwhelming urge to scream and thrash around, the anger and frustration and a lot of other things he had no idea how to label were swirling around inside him like a terrible booze concoction at a frat party; in the end, he simply decided on hurling all those emotions aside, settling on anger, because it was a nice, violent, and very, very manly emotion, okay?
Aaaargh, things like accidentally snogging a guy were like when somebody slipped on a banana peel into an open sewer and broke his leg—a helluva lot funnier when it didn’t happen to you.
Paulo didn’t know who he was angry at, in particular: Mike, or himself, or ferns—because fuck ferns—or something else entirely. He just knew it was the easiest emotion to focus on, right now, since, ffffffuuu—he’d theoretically, if not totally, cheated on Jazz, and not with Lucy, or Tess or, or.. but with Mike. Mike.
Fuck. His. Life.
Actually, fuck Mike.
... no, actually, don’t.
Swear words, why have you forsaken him in his hour of need?
Paulo whirled around and burrowed his face in the pillow, not sure if he wanted to sleep until he forgot the whole deal or strangle himself with it. It was a debate still ongoing, with many good arguments on either side.
If he was lucky, Mike still avoided talking like a bullet to the brain, and they could just go on hating each other’s guts in comical rivalry and forgot it ever happened.
What had happened?
Nothing, that’s what.
... now, all he needed was to make his brain stop replaying it over and over and over...
Since the universe is at heart a string of wacky coincidences, Mike was on his bed too, staring into the cracks of his ceiling and doing his best impression of the terminally brain-dead.
It was two in the morning and he’d finished all his outstanding assignments for the entire next week, read his math book twice (nothing was as mind-purging as algebra) plus he’d skimmed several books from his shelf, up and including The Picture of Dorian Grey until he felt an uncanny urge to throw it out the window.
Nothing was too droll, too dry, too mindnumbingly dull. Anything to occupy his thoughts.
Because he just didn’t know what to think. What to do. In fact, he’d never wanted less in his entire life to think about something, anything, think about how in the world their shared jealously and rivalry could have unconsciously mutated into something like this, how the pangs of sadness at seeing Lucy and Paulo together maybe weren’t directed solely at her, how the fear that Paulo might end up just as hurt as Lucy—it all was neatly strapped into a box, chained shut and dropped off a mental cliff somewhere at the back in his brain because Mike was resolutely not thinking about this.
He so badly wanted to call Sandy, to hear her voice, to have her affection and bell-like laugh help him through this... thing. However, the guilt and shame stabbed through him every time he chanced a glance at his lifeless phone and Mike felt like the biggest jerk in the world for even thinking of being deserving of her love after...after—
He couldn’t leave this alone. However, he couldn’t bring himself to poke at it with a nine-foot hot poker either.
What was he going to do?!
Mike flexed his fingers, sighed deeply, and got up to his desk. He flicked the pages morosely and started to read through his math book for the third time that night.
Teen angst at two AM; It's like I'm the freaken Originality Fairy or summat.
Anyway, I already have the ending/epilogue written down but the story might drag on a bit. Since I haven't completely figured out how to rape canon enough to get there. I'm certainly not abandoning this (having too much fun for that!) but I'll have to sit down and have a think once in a while, which might mean only one update a day instead of two.
This post has been edited by Sniggy: 10 August 2011 - 03:33 PM
- 10 August 2011 - 02:44 PM
- 10 August 2011 - 03:05 PM
- 10 August 2011 - 07:48 PM
It's a story that keeps me smiling and smiling.
I can seriously imagine those two actually doing as you describe, and you barely describe their physical actions because they're thinking so hard about not thinking .
- 10 August 2011 - 09:44 PM
Oh, and I may have shamelessly advertised this story to the BCBFacebook page. I hope you don't mind?
- 10 August 2011 - 10:54 PM
You might have started one of the greatest fanfics ever, you've set the bar high for yourself on future works
- 11 August 2011 - 12:07 AM
- 11 August 2011 - 07:06 AM
AND ALSO: I was puzzling whether or not to wait for the conclusion of ‘Carry Me’ before continuing this story since the outcome of the arc (specifically: whether Jasmine and Paulo break up) is relevant to my interests (i.e.: unrepentant slashing). I mean, I’d baww if they do end things as I think that together they’re cute as a basket of peaches; however, it’d be one less pairing to muck around with in this clusterfuck of a fanfic.
BUT in the interest of finishing up sometime this month, I’m going to do some creative (or uncreative, depending on your view) dancing around the issue. Mostly I’m just noting this so you’ll be aware that I did give this some thought (like, for a whole three minutes) in-between snorting liberal amounts of crack fic.
Daisy makes an appearance because she is the cutest little meddler; special guest-starring Sue and McCain's eyebrow as well.
Seven Minutes In Heaven
The relative sanctum of the weekend was over and the next Monday was... ‘interesting’, if one wanted to practice the age-old twin tactic of underestimation and denial, and ‘hideously awkward’ if one wanted to be entirely accurate.
Not a single word was uttered between the two of them and they spent the entire school day staring at the floor tiles like the freaking plague was transmittable through eye contact alone.
At one point, Mike and Paulo wasted about six minutes dancing awkwardly around each other in the hallway, moving in and out of each other’s way while furiously ignoring the other’s presence; both having English classes they really, really wanted to be in all of a sudden.
Lucy, who had been present during the entire social train-wreck like a morbidly fascinated bystander, was consequently wholly validated in her belief that both of her love interests were, in fact, mentally deficient in some important way.
She ended up taking pity on the idiots by forcefully shoving Paulo out of the way and dragging him off to their shared class.
As the Somali gratefully fled the scene, Mike exhaled deeply, turned, and nearly vaulted over Daisy.
“Ah, s-sorry,” he croaked.
She waved her hand dismissively, smiling pleasantly. “’s okay. Walk you to class?”
“Sure,” he said, dragging up the willpower to act fairly chipper. How much had she seen?
They traversed the corridor in silence for a while until Daisy put a tentative hand on his arm. She looked up into his face and practically radiated concern. “Mikie. I’m worried about you. And I... wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Mike frowned. This was (another) new development he wasn’t sure he liked. “Sorry? What for?”
“I had noticed you were under a lot of stress lately but I... oh, I guess I was just so busy in my own little world, with Abbey and...” Daisy’s hands flew to her face in a distraught gesture. “I’m really, really sorry! I didn’t mean to ignore you when it was obvious you were unhappy!”
Mike managed an ironic smile. “Guess we really are even, then.”
Daisy didn’t look particularly comforted. Her eyes trailed to his arm and she gasped. “Mikie!”
Scratches and a few faint bruises remained from the... tussle. Mike had all but forgotten about them in the wake of being completely freaked out of his wits and rereading his math book for the seventh time.
Daisy turned her gaze to Mike again, frowning: “Did you have a fight with Paulo?” she asked. Even without the glaring evidence two minutes prior, she was in Honour’s for a reason.
“Yeah,” Mike answered. It wasn’t truth by omission, on account of him having no clue as to what else to say.
Daisy shook her head in the ‘gawd, boys’ fashion disapproving females were so fond of.
Mike wanted to offer something like: ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing’, ‘We’ll figure it out’ or ‘Lucy already punched Paulo, so I’m good’. For the sake of staying truthful, he remained silent.
“Even when we’re all friends, we’re not all friends,” she pouted. “Sometimes I just wish that, for once and all, we could all kiss and make up.”
Mike made a strangled noise.
School was at long last over and there was nothing more that Paulo wanted to do right now but snuggle up to Jasmine and revel in his heterosexuality.
Of course, since their previous troubles with clashing schedules hadn’t been magically resolved over the weekend, and Paulo had forgotten to call ahead, he was left to dejectedly watch his girlfriend disappear off to the mall with her clique.
The Somali hugged himself, feeling unconsciously vulnerable.
He really didn’t want to be alone right now. His mind might wander, and Paulo wasn’t so sure he’d approve of what it brought home.
During the Sunday, he’d tried to sift through the slurge of confused emotions, coming up with a few choice facts.
One: He still wanted to work things out with Jazz, because she was awesome and didn’t have to use weird fruity shampoo in order to smell super nice.
Two: Nobody was to ever know, ever, that he’d macked on another boy. Paulo couldn’t even entertain the thought that he could risk losing David’s friendship if it ever became known, even in jest. Perhaps he should give David more credit than that (‘specially bearing in mind that strange obsession the Labrador had with Abbey, of all fruitcakes), but mostly Paulo just didn’t want anybody to know, ever, at all, in the history of ever.
Three: Mike’s eyes were way greener than they had any right to be.
Seriously. They were the colour of freaking freshly cut grass after a spring shower, and holy shit, the fact he could think of flowery crap like that in relation to Mike was seriously starting to disturb him.
Which brought him to number four: Paulo really wished that he was old and/or rich enough to drink himself silly.
After another day of literally dancing around the issue with Paulo and reviewing his school books and rearranging his bookshelf more times than what would probably ever be necessary, Mike made a decision.
A nervous, shaky decision made with extreme trepidation, but a decision nonetheless.
They were going to have A Talk. Mike was pretty sure the seriousness of the situation warranted wanton capitalization.
There was the uncomfortable issue of the fact that he had no idea what either of them were going to say about it all, let alone to each other, but Michael would be damned if this was going to turn into another huge mess full of unsaid things and carefully ignored tension. Another friendship left behind because neither of them were brave enough to address the big pink, slightly homo-erotic, elephant in the room.
Mike’s already crumbly resolve, however, faltered, when the day passed into lunch without him having caught sight of tail nor whisker of Paulo anywhere.
“Haven’t seen him,” Sue answered when queried. “I don’t think he’s here today, Mike. Didn’t call in sick, either. As far as I know." She looked at McCain, who shook his head.
“He’s skipping?” Mike frowned. Then grimaced when he realised his first internal reaction was a pang of worry and an instinctual ‘what mess has he gotten himself into this time?’
“Haven’t seen Lucy all day either,” Sue went on. “I really needed to review some of the solo parts with her before rehearsal, too.”
Neither Paulo nor Lucy was attending today?
Mike’s face went blank.
“Oh,” he said, voice oddly monotone. “I see.”
And McCain raised an eyebrow.
This post has been edited by Sniggy: 11 August 2011 - 06:02 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 02:52 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 03:16 PM
This made me lol.
Your story is awesome. I am really looking forward to seeing the rest of it. And you're only writing casually! Imagine if you were writing a book! I'd definitely want to see that
This post has been edited by Hero: 11 August 2011 - 04:30 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 04:18 PM
I wonder where Paulo and Lucy ran off to? :3
- 11 August 2011 - 05:37 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 06:06 PM
This fan fiction brought me back.
Not sure if that's a good thing or not, but it's quite impressive. The way it's written is VERY well done, I envy your talent with writing. The mix of drama and comedy is very well done here. Partially since you've made the drama itself funny, partially due to your talent as a writer. Great work!
This post has been edited by DangerIce: 11 August 2011 - 06:09 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 06:07 PM
This post has been edited by Raxki: 11 August 2011 - 09:20 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 09:20 PM
Basically my friend told me to just ignore canon for a bit, because, hey, that's what fanfiction does, and simply finish the damn thing before I went to sleep. So I did. There's three-four chapters left, yay for that. I miss sleeping.
Seven Minutes In Heaven
Mike slammed the by now pretty poorly-treated math book shut. It didn’t matter where Lucy and Paulo had been off to the other day. It was none of his business. He’d decided to keep his distance from Lucy. None of his business.
But... if Paulo got them into trouble, it would be, right? He hadn’t outright told the other boy he didn’t want to see him anymore because he... didn’t... not want to see him anymore, and so, worrying would be perfectly normal.
Throat inexplicably dry, Mike got up and out of his room, meaning to get a glass of juice.
As he passed the living room, he immediately froze.
On the couch was Paulo, drinking the awful, awful soda Mike (for an unfathomable reason he didn’t want to examine) had yet to throw out of his fridge, with his legs on the sofa table and watching television like he was bloody well entitled to.
The Somali only appeared to pay any attention when a series of guttural sounds emerged from Mike, ending with: “W-Why are you here?”
Paulo flashed him a wry grin: “Why Mike, I coulda sworn you’d been let in on that one secret already. When a mommy loves a—”
“In my house,” the Korat added irritably, rubbing his face.
“Your mum let me in,” was the matter-of-fact answer.
“Well, gee Mike, I thought it’d be obvious!”
The grey cat scratched the back of his head. His scarf was unexpectedly chafing and did the room seem... smaller? “... oh, uh, yes. I guess we—”
Paulo bent over the arm of the sofa and hefted up a backpack onto the table with a heavy thunk.
“Yeah, yeah, I know how you feel, it sucks,” Paulo went on seamlessly, producing a liberal amount of biology books from the bag. “The teacher’s really gonna ride our asses if we don’t get this stupid assignment done, though, and some of us have a grade that won’t recover if we don’t,” Paulo sulked.
Mike stopped in his tracks. His brain suddenly felt like it was trying to leave the conversation without him.
“The ferns Mike, keep up with the rest of the class, willya?” Paulo sighed patronisingly, since apparently these were trying times for Mike’s communication skills.
“The assignment?” Mike echoed in utter disbelief.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ve wasted enough time already, and for the record, I did read those godawfulboring chapters.” Paulo wrinkled his nose in memory. “Seriously, I don’t think Noodle coulda chosen a less soul-crushing topic. Man knows to put the ‘ass’ in ‘assignment’, know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” the other boy said darkly.
The orange cat was blithely ignorant of Mike’s piercing stare.
“Excuse me,” Mike hissed, “—a moment. I have to go stick my head in the freezer for a bit.”
“Sounds awesome, dude,” Paulo said, and flipped his notebook open.
So that was how things were going to be.
Hand on the door handle, Mike simply watched the light play on the smooth front of the refrigerator.
The coolness of the metal reminded him of the chill of another day, years ago, playing in the snow with Lucy... that too had ended in a rejection, except—
Mike shook his head viciously.
Except this was nothing like that. Nothing.
He’d just... thought Paulo was better than that. Had more honesty in him than that.
That was why he was disappointed. That, and no else reason.
To think that Paulo could just... sweep it under the carpet, without acknowledging what had happened...
The afternoon passed in surprising productivity.
Paulo had actually, for once in a blue moon, done his job and researched properly. Mike would have asked the other boy who he truly was and what he’d done with the real Paulo, had he not been so absolutely furious it actually managed to revert all the way around to a sort of icy numbness.
Paulo rubbed at the notebook with his eraser, occasionally uttering ‘freaking ferns’ as it was ostensibly the Somali’s new favourite phrase of displeasure.
Mike seemed to overcome most of the homework session in a state of emotional auto-pilot, reading from his notes and mindlessly skimming the books for relevant information. It was strange, almost an out-of-body experience, like he’d simply switched off and been given a script to read instead of reacting himself.
Paulo bit his pencil and colourfully cursed the stupid lazy meteor which could manage to destroy something as cool as dinosaurs but not a few measly plants as well.
“Language,” Mike reminded him dully. His younger sister was milling about in the kitchen, in earshot.
They finished off two thirds of the rough draft before Paulo shoved his things back into his bag, left for home with a ‘later!’ and went off.
And that was that.
There were two things that kept Paulo from completely reverting back to his carefree self.
One were the looks that Daisy were giving him; and consequently Abbey, since as soon as Daisy stared giving off those oh-gosh-so-worried vibes, the tool was dragging right behind her, scowling at everything that happened to be even remotely Paulo-shaped.
Paulo could easily ignore everything else. McCain’s seemingly out-of-context discussions with Sue about something called the Kinsey Scale. Abbey’s snippy comments were nothing new, although he was pretty sure David had picked up on and was wondering about Paulo’s newfound reluctance to using certain curse words around Mike these days. Lucy needled him once about the fight and when he told her it had been about her, she kicked him in the stomach and declared that she didn’t need him to fight her battles for him.
But if there were two things he couldn’t ignore, it was Daisy’s dejected look whenever Paulo entered a room, and how Mike as a result excused himself.
They were mostly good excuses too, clever little fibs, and you’d only know something was wrong if you happened to be Daisy.
Because if you were Daisy you would, out of the corner of your eye, catch the way Paulo tensed in all of a fraction of a second. And she’d turn to Paulo and look at him in that silent, saddened way, the one that said: ‘I don’t know how, but you did this, somehow, and I can’t believe you did.’
Disappointed in him, like she knew he could do better, like he’d let her down.
There were two things that kept Paulo from sleeping soundly at night.
One was Daisy’s looks and the other was the way he felt like the biggest jerk in the world after closing the door to Mike's house, just standing there, and not going back in to tell him that he’d never forgive Mike for having such amazingly green eyes.
wow, Paulo, that does sound pretty gay. >_>
This post has been edited by Sniggy: 12 August 2011 - 07:21 PM
- 11 August 2011 - 09:23 PM
But he is slowly converting... :3
- 11 August 2011 - 11:49 PM
This post has been edited by Sammy: 12 August 2011 - 12:10 AM
- 12 August 2011 - 12:09 AM
(speaking of things wasted on this forum probably)
This post has been edited by ReyOzymandias: 12 August 2011 - 04:05 AM
- 12 August 2011 - 12:18 AM
Don't worry Paulo, when you fully convert you'll see rainbows everywhere and the world will look a much happier place.
But seriously, I still can't believe I'm actually reading a story about PauloxMike... and am liking it!
This post has been edited by Hero: 12 August 2011 - 01:40 AM
- 12 August 2011 - 01:05 AM
- 12 August 2011 - 03:59 AM
Starting to get mighty sick of the Roman numerals, though.
Seven Minutes In Heaven
Lani dusted her chalk-covered hands off, turned her back on the blackboard and smiled pleasantly at her class.
“See you tomorrow, kids. Paulo? A word.”
The students filtered out, some giving Paulo cross or bemused looks before disappearing altogether.
Lani closed the door primly, and returned to lean against her desk. Paulo stood before her, cocking his head slightly and looking every part the blissfully innocent schoolboy she darn well knew he wasn’t.
“What’s up?” he asked mildly, and Lani was caught between the urge to strangle him for being such an annoyingly good actor or ruffle his hair for being so boyishly mischievous.
“Well, big guy, it’s not a big deal. I was just wondering why, while I was at the depot, you felt the urgent need to cover the entire blackboard in a rendition of the headmaster as drawn by a drunken Jason Pollock.”
“You sure it was me?” Paulo asked smoothly.
Lani’s patient smile never wavered: “Kid, you signed it: ‘by Paulo, yours awesomely.’”
“Good artists should promote themselves, right?”
“Right. C’mere,” Lani said and patted the desk.
Only then did Paulo falter, his whiskers drooped ever so slightly, and a shadow of insecurity flickered over his features.
“Paulo.” Lani smiled warmly at him, promising only openness and help.
Hesitating a bit, he then pulled himself onto the desk and Lani wasted no time in draping an arm around his shoulder in a comforting, if not unprofessional, gesture.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, as if she could look right through him. And she could, couldn’t she?
Paulo swallowed thickly.
At first, all he could muster were tiny mumbles and coughs, but once the floodgates were opened they spilled forth a veritable tsunami of confusion and regret and anger and feeble denial.
He told her whatever sprung to mind: how he had loathed doing that month-long assignment since every time he went to Mike’s house it was like wandering into a friggin’ tundra. How he did think Mike was an okay guy—he just liked to rile him up because... well yes, he could be an annoying know-it-all pansy, but he looked really... really... alive when he was angry, and Paulo missed that angry look instead of this new... quiet dislike. It made Paulo want to throw a chair at his head, if only just to get the other boy to look at him.
He told her that he didn’t want to feel this way, that if he could, he’d go back in time and barricade himself in his room instead of ever going to the library; because it wasn’t fair, to Mike or him, they had way too many other people and relationships to juggle with. Really, whose stupid idea was this anyway, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that Mike was such a cool guy, and not totally unlikeable and that he could make Palo miss his stupid voice and stupid talks about stupid plays and stupid books so much...
...and how it was all shot to hell, because Paulo was such a goddamn idiot, always had been, and always would be.
Lani nodded, and hmm’ed and politely encouraged him to go on.
In fact, what was Mike getting so upset over? He should’ve known this woulda happened right from the moment he was snogging the dude who was most likely to be awarded Universe’s Biggest Douchebag. Step up and claim your prize, Paulo, it’s a kick in the teeth and a passive-aggressive former best rival.
“Stupid green eyes. Stupid ferns. Stupid, stupid, stupid...” Paulo babbled.
“I know, Paulo. I know. Ah, to be young, confused and hormonal again,” Lani sighed sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder.
Coming from anybody else, that might’ve sounded condescending, but Lani was young, and she did know.
The way she looked at Paulo... not like a teacher or an older sister... akin to something he only saw at a distance, in whole, unbroken families... it was something to be treasured and envied, something other people didn’t know how much they missed until it was Mother’s Day and they had no one to celebrate or annoy until they agreed to bake you cookies instead.
It made him slouch and knit his fingers together because the thought of admitting fault, of becoming a disappointment in Lani’s eyes were as equally horrendous as it had always been with Daisy.
The way she smiled at him, though, so full of understanding and fondness... it made him feel less like a piece of dog poo recently scraped off Satan’s sneaker and more like the person Lani time and time again firmly told him she believed he could be.
“Mike seems like a good friend, all things considered,” Lani offered.
‘Good friend’ was sometimes interchangeable with ‘total pansy’, honestly.
What? Paulo might... like the guy, but he wasn’t about to go over the flippin’ moon, here. Leave the roses and purple prose to a grade-A piece of fruitcake like Abbey, please.
“I’m sure he’ll understand. It can be a big shock.”
Paulo grunted. “Shyeah. It was. Is. Urgh. I dunno. You sure you can’t—” he wiggled his fingers non-descriptively “—make it go away?”
“I’m sorry, Paulo.” There was faint laughter in her voice. “We have yet to find a cure for the gay.”
“Stupid goddamn useless science. What the hell are they using their freaking funding for, then?”
Carefully ignoring his language, Lani laughed quietly. “Love isn’t rocket science, Paulo. If it were, we’d at least have some chance of making sense of it."
At the... L-word, Paulo visibly bristled. Lani noticed.
“Give it time,” she said. “Figure out if it is, or not. In any case, it’s not healthy to repress, big guy. Only makes things worse.”
Paulo moped, resigned to his fate and the death of his heterosexuality.
“Hey.” Lani punched him lightly on the shoulder before she slid off the desk. “Look at it this way, kid. When you’re playing the entire field, it’s not so bad to return to the locker room afterwards.”
Paulo’s mind crashed to a sudden halt as Lani waggled her eyebrows at him in an oh-yeah-you-know-what-I-mean fashion.
She winked, and then led the stunned Somali out of the clasroom.
This post has been edited by Sniggy: 12 August 2011 - 07:22 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 10:52 AM
god paulo is just so adorable, I like how you did him in this chapter. Passionate, venty, whiny, just like him ;.; He could be as corny as the other guys he criticises just in his own stupid way~~~
hey maybe you're gay for Mike because of how much of a freaken girl he looks like anyway, if it makes you feel better >8D
- 12 August 2011 - 11:03 AM
This post has been edited by memyselfandi: 12 August 2011 - 11:10 AM
- 12 August 2011 - 11:09 AM
We're slowly getting close to the confrontation aren't we? :3
- 12 August 2011 - 02:21 PM
I can't think of a word that describes how well-done this story is. It feels so real, it's almost like I'm watching it play on my head.
Congratulations, you are the best writer ever.
- 12 August 2011 - 05:13 PM
...there just has to be
IT MUST BE DONE, KAIZY DEMANDS IT!
- 12 August 2011 - 05:56 PM
Seven Minutes In Heaven
In a way, it was Jessica who broke the status quo.
If she hadn’t decided to actively start working on forgiving Tess, the two of them would never have started hanging out to the point when they arranged a mid-term party at Tess’ place.
Mike could easily have gone on the entire evening, hell, the rest of his sophomore year, without speaking a syllable to Paulo again. However, events like to conspire, or rather, Daisy had liked to insist on playing what was generally considering grade school party games and Tess had unfortunately been tipsy enough to indulge her, which meant an empty bottle, a circle of teens on the floor.
This, of course (since Luck is a fickle mistress with a frankly poor sense of humour) had ended with Paulo and Mike being manhandled into one of the small hallways that apparently passed for closets in a mansion.
“Hey! Lay off!”
“This isn’t funny!”
“Relax, boys! Think of it as a way to relive the good times in Acapulco!”
“Seven minutes! Who bails out first? Bets are up!”
Then the door had slammed shut on a chorus of snickers and ‘witty’ comments behind Paulo and Mike.
Thus, their current predicament.
Paulo looked vaguely uncomfortable wedged in-between a golf bag and several cubic metres of Italian shoe boxes. Mike sat in the furthermost corner, under a rack of fur coats, and obsessively counted the seconds. Something of an argument brewed in the other room when Jessica and Rachel suggested some sort of drinking game.
“Oh, wow, sounds like they’re gonna let David at the booze. Recipe for disaster, right there,” Paulo joked. It sounded strained even to his ears.
The Korat tapped his arm impatiently.
Paulo coughed. “Yeah. This is not super awkward at all. Great. Stu-pen-dous.”
The overwhelming sound of jack shit happening continued.
“Remember the last time we were in a closet?” Paulo blurted out. Who needed things like tact and subtlety when you could tackle the subject with a sledgehammer to the knee?
Mike’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
The Somali threw up his hands. “Oh, come on! What do you want me to say?!”
“I wasn’t aware you wanted to say anything,” came the reply, laden with icicles.
“Argh, Mike, don’t be such a freaking girl—”
“Shut the hell up!”
“You shut up!
“Be quiet,” Mike whispered testily. “They’ll hear us.”
A few seconds were spent in a dread hush. Outside, somebody declared themselves to be ‘the prettiest princess at the ball’. Smacking sounds that could only be described as ‘facepalms aplenty’ followed.
Paulo bumped back against the wall, folded his arms and scowled.
“This is your fault, you know.”
Mike’s head whipped up. “How the hell is this my fault?!”
“It totally is! You and those—grrnh, eyes, and wow, this mess shouldn’t even have come as a surprise, since that scarf of yours is so fruity I don’t eve—”
Mike grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on (turned out to be a riding helmet) and lobbed it at Paulo’s face: Assault with Intent to shut him the hell up.
Paulo reached out for ammunition from the shoe boxes as Mike roused to his feet.
Sue was distrustfully eyeing the drink Rachel proffered her when the door to the closet slammed open and two angry tomcats tumbled out; Mike hit the floor face-first with Paulo landing on top.
Tess coughed conspicuously and raised an eyebrow.
“This isn’t what it looks like!” Paulo warbled.
“... It looks like you’re trying to club Mike to death with my father’s putter,” Tess deadpanned.
“Oh,” Paulo muttered, slightly dumbfounded. “Then it’s exactly what it looks like,” he said and backhanded Mike, who in turn elbowed the Somali in the ribs and threw him off.
“Six minutes and forty-two seconds. Damn,” Sue groused. “I owe Amaya a slushee.”
“Boys will be boys,” Tess shook her head at Jessica, who smirked in response.
“Speaking of,” Sue interjected. “I smell smoke.”
The girls whirled around. “Ohmigod, David!”
“I’m making popcorn!” came the reply somewhere in the other room, along with a fat trail of black smoke.
“Somebody get a fire extinguisher!”
“Somebody get that dog a freaken leash!”
As the room emptied in a fit of panic and damage control, Paulo pulled on Mike’s scarf before the boy could trail after them.
“What are you—?”
“Get in,” Paulo said and shoved him back in the closet before following suit.
The Korat rounded on him with every intention of beating the stupid out of the other boy: “You can’t just—!”
Paulo leaned against the door. He suddenly looked very tired. “I know, Mike. Crap, I know. ‘m sorry, okay? I am.”
Mike wasn't so easily deflected. “... Yeah? You should be.”
“What the Christ, man. Let a guy to get used to the fact he’d like to mack on another guy, okay? Jesus, I practically just went from bitching about your love interests to becoming one of them!” Paulo snipped.
“Uh,” Mike said eloquently and blushed vividly.
Several seconds ticked by. Faint yells, a clattering racket and loud excuses were the only noises heard in the otherwise quiet and mostly-dark closet.
The Korat felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. “I... why? Why is this happening?”
A shrug, accompanied by: “Dunno, really. You always tried to do right by other people, y’know? It’s... well, it’s kinda stupid sometimes, but I guess I can be stupid too,” Paulo admitted clumsily. “I do... like you, even if your scarf is really ga—girly.”
“... since I like you too, I’m just going to ignore that last part.”
They smiled at each other. It didn’t feel as awkward as it could have.
Then Paulo put on a stern expression: “But, and I wanna be very clear on this part: I just ‘like’ like you. I really don’t, like, love you or nothing. Don’t think this, whatever it is, have been going on for quite that long,” Paulo said and flicked his finger around as if lecturing a child.
Mike caught his hand before it could poke his eye out. “I know.”
“You do, huh?” he asked, suspicious.
“I do. A crush. You can say it out loud, you know. And, if we’re finally being honest about this, then... I kinda envy how you could always just go on like nothing ever mattered to you. No matter what had happened before, you were always there when we really needed you. Water under the bridge and all that. You’re not upset by what people do to you.”
“Um. Sometimes. This last month wasn’t so fun,” Paulo murmured, a blush having spilled onto his cheeks as well.
“You deserved it,” the grey cat answered firmly.
Paulo eyed him for a moment, and then deliberately reared forward to invade Mike’s personal space bubble like it was the new Poland.
“What are you doing?” Mike flailed comically, taken by surprise.
“Shut up for a second,” came the answer, oddly soft.
His eyes grew wide when Paulo arms looped around him and drew him into a hug, cautiously.
Mike’s glance flickered over Paulo’s ruddy fur. He did a quick soul-search for any part of him that might scream bloody murder at being hugged like this. Astoundingly, his brain came up blank, only offering the fact that that Paulo’s coat was every bit as warm and bushy as you’d expect it to be. If you’d thought about it. Which he hadn’t. At all. Really.
“... Surprisingly not-bad.”
“Hah, I know. It’s crazy, right?”
The two of them, hugging like this? Yes. Yes, it was. But it also managed to be very nice.
Mike lowered his arms and let them settle around the other’s shoulders. Since it was the easiest place to put them. Really.
Without really thinking, he reached up and dragged a hand up and down the back of Paulo’s head.
Huh. The Somali’s fur really was very soft. Fancy that.
Seconds ticked by in an amazingly comfortable silence in the murky darkness of Tess’ closet.
Mike hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he noticed that the other cat seemed deeply lost in thought.
He shouldn’t have asked.
“You think Sandy, Jazz and Lucy would be up for a fivesome?”
For a moment, all Mike could do was open and close his mouth repeatedly like a gobsmacked goldfish.
Never one to take shocked silence as a ‘no, and please feel free to stop talking’, Paulo went on: “’Fivesome?’ Is that even a thing? Oh hell, now we have to try it. For science or sumthin’. Sexy science.”
Words having left him, Mike took a moment to properly glare at Paulo.
“Uh, Mike, starting to look a little choked up there, dude.”
“...I, you, no. Just no. And for the record, no.”
“We can start with a threesome and work our way u—fuck! Ow! Watch the claws!”
“If you ever flaunt that idea of yours to Lucy she’ll do much worse.”
Paulo shifted uncomfortably and whined: “... seriously, what kinda guy scratches instead of punching?! You woulda totally been the girl and you know it.”
“Says the guy who’s been petted behind the ears by another guy for the last minute.” Mike tried not to sound infuriatingly smug. He was gleefully unsuccessful.
Paulo simply snorted derisively.
“You want me to stop?” Mike asked blithely.
“No. I, uh, I mean, I’ll let you indulge in your girly tendencies because I am awesome and a totally giving guy like that. ... Li’l more to the left.”
During the next few minutes, the only sounds were the faint scratching of Mike’s fingers against orange-golden fur and Paulo trying and failing miserably at hiding his appreciative purr.
It couldn’t last. At some point, the others were going to remember they existed, and the door was going to have to open, the light would pour in, and by then they wouldn’t be standing like this anymore, in the semidarkness, with nobody else knowing and so many things left unsaid between the two of them.
Maybe they wouldn’t stand like this again for a long time.
Maybe not ever again.
Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it, but apparently his mouth had other plans and simply stumbled ahead without consulting the rest of him: “Paulo, I can’t... Sandy... after Lucy...I—I mean... I want to work things out; I don’t want to hurt anyone! I care about them both... and you, somehow... but—”
And that serious tone shut him up completely.
Paulo looked down at him, a curious mix of pity, sadness and warmth on his boyish features.
“Have I ever told you how terrible you are at rejecting people?”
“It’s... been brought up in conversation before.”
“I’ll never get how you can juggle all those love interests around,” Paulo shook his head jokingly. “Yours truly not included, obviously.”
“I’m sorry.” And he was, actually. Sorrier than he thought he should be.
The orange cat laughed a little unsteadily, but his eyes held a steely resolve. “You know me, Mike. Water under the bridge, right? Things don’t have to be so complicated.”
Something like a lead weight of worries and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Can’t possibly make this work, not now’ around Mike’s conscience was slowly loosened, dropped, and left behind completely. He allowed himself a tiny, slowly unfurling smile as well as the sliver of a hope that maybe things were actually going to be okay. Eventually.
From outside, loud whoops of joy and annoyance came into earshot and someone loudly told David to share that Jack D or ‘suffer the consequences’.
The Somali got on his feet and dusted himself off. He fixed the unsure, but definitely smiling, Korat with a lopsided grin, which was wholeheartedly reciprocated.
“C’mon, we better get out there and make sure David doesn’t end up in the ER,” Mike said.
They walked out, leaving behind a lot of things that could have been, or could still come to happen. Maybe when there were less angry girls and relationship drama in their lives, or maybe not at all. Nobody knew, least of all the two of them.
For now, Mike and Paulo settled on enjoying the rest of the evening, talking and bantering with their friends on Tess’ balcony in the cooling night air, and wrestling that bottle of booze off of David before the Labrador ended up balancing on the roof drunkenly (again).
And maybe things were really going to be okay.
The young man drew a deep breath and knocked on the door. A muffled voice from inside told whoever it was to freaking wait a bit, it was like six thirty on a Saturday, what the hell was wrong with you?
The door was thrown open and a thoroughly annoyed, not to mention half asleep, Somali emerged, rubbing at his eyes.
“David, I told you man, no more coming over for cartoons in the morning after we go drinkin’ the night bef—huh?”
Drowsy apartment owner and uninvited visitor stared at each other for a good, long while. The silence stretched on and inflated like a marshmallow in the microwave.
“Morning, Paulo,” Mike said and coughed self-consciously. “I, uh, brought you a house-warming gift.”
Paulo narrowed his eyes. “If it’s a potted fern I’m going to punch you in the snout.”
Michael smiled. “Gift certificate.”
“Gift cer—dude, that is lame. Glad to see yer haven’t changed, I guess.” The Somali scratched the back of his head. “How’s Sandy?”
“Happy. But not with me.”
“Oh. Huh. And, uh, Lucy?”
“We talked things out. She’s not ready for a relationship yet.”
“She’ll come around. She’s a tough cookie.”
“She is,” Mike agreed quietly. “But in any case, she only wants to stay friends.”
Paulo’s ears perked faintly. “Sounds kinda familiar.”
Mike’s smile widened. “It does, doesn’t it?”
This time, the brief silence was of the fond sort that accompanied the revisiting of old memories.
Paulo shifted to make room. “Wanna come in?”
“Yes, thank you,” Mike said, and followed the other cat inside, politely closing the door behind them both.
UH, AND THEN THEY BANGED.
Seriously, that’s it. I got nuthin’ else.
Thank you so much for all the love and constructive criticism. I wouldn’t have kept writing this nonsense if you lot hadn’t been so nice about it. Taeshi, thank you for creating such enjoyable characters, and thank you for enduring this.
Thank you all for reading!
Anyway, now that this is over with, I was wondering... I’d like to write more BCB stuff. Not another story as long as this (just yet), but shorter stuff. So, if you want, you could leave me a prompt and a pairing, and I’ll return with some 100-500 word stories/drabbles? Would that be of interest? If you would keep the prompts PG, though, that’d be swell. I’m really not comfortable with writing explicitly mature stuff.
This post has been edited by Sniggy: 12 August 2011 - 10:34 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 07:21 PM
That was fucking beautiful. You honestly don't know how nice it is to actually have an author who knows how to write around this place.
- 12 August 2011 - 07:46 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 08:26 PM
And I won't care what you write about, so long as you post it here.
- 12 August 2011 - 08:29 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 08:55 PM
the bestest piece of BL fanfiction I've ever encounted. I'm glad that you're planning to write more!
This post has been edited by Momoa: 12 August 2011 - 09:40 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 09:40 PM
Not to mention the time when he made a series of fics about a school for the mentally deficient. It had so many lesbians it wasn't even funny.
It was incredibly hilarious.
And it barely even qualified as a fic seeing as it had a different setting. Some canon characters were used as a tie-in of sorts.
This post has been edited by esalaka: 12 August 2011 - 09:46 PM
- 12 August 2011 - 09:46 PM
- 13 August 2011 - 12:20 AM
- 13 August 2011 - 01:22 AM
...there just has to be
I actually disagree here. There is no question that the plot of the story is great, the dialogue is frickin' awesome, and the characterization is spot on, but the part of the story I enjoyed most was the actual writing, the narration, and the style. Perhaps this is the best way of explaining it: Sniggy's writing has its own personality. The writing style is really refreshing and unique, and the casualness with which it is written is an especially important aspect of the work. The free, sometimes irreverent voice of the narration is really expressive and helps gets the reader into the moods and feelings of the characters. Somehow, Sniggy just manages to find the absolute perfect way of conveying a character's feelings in the words that the character would actually use as the idea passes through his mind.
The informal style also works well with the clever wordplay and humor that Sniggy incorporates into the story, yet at the same time is able to also express some very deep emotions, ideas and thoughts. Unlike a lot of other stories which might spend multiple paragraphs dwelling on an emotion, feeling or idea through various ways, Sniggy's writing expresses the same ideas with a remarkable economy of words. The very snappy prose helps to convey a lot of these deep thoughts extremely effectively and without getting overly melodramatic or cliched. Without the narration -- that witty voice that portrays the inner thoughts of the characters so compellingly -- this story would be very different. One could probably make the story into a good comic, but it would have to be very different to be of the same quality as this story. The fact that Sniggy has created something that cannot be easily recreated in another medium is one aspect that makes this story perfect.
This post has been edited by Catalyst: 13 August 2011 - 03:39 AM
- 13 August 2011 - 03:34 AM
Amazing. this is the best fanfiction i have ever, simply beautiful, everyone were on their character, this was just a enjoyable reading. Job well done.
- 13 August 2011 - 05:18 AM
- 13 August 2011 - 05:42 AM