Terminal Young Thing Pt. 1

21 FEBRUARY 2011 @ 02:20 PM

When Wayne had first met James Dean Bradfield – James was looking for supporting musicians for his solo tour, and Wayne got the job – he really thought he'd hit it off well with James. He remembers James shook his hand, and complimented his hair – Wayne doesn't remember the details exactly, he had such a head-rush from meeting James Dean Bradfield.

He'd only seen pictures of him sometimes, when he was going through guitar magazines, and his expectations weren't elevated – he had set out to be professional about it, as he is when meeting any other musician.

But James was so cool in person – so warm and affectionate with everyone, and he seemed to have taken a liking to Wayne – he interviewed him for a very long time, although it didn't seem like he was scrutinizing Wayne, or trying to figure out if he really is the best option, but asking him questions out of genuine interest; And then Wayne realized, he wanted to be liked by this man.

When Wayne had told his friends about this encounter, and how happy he was that it turned out well, and how excited he was that James had liked him, and even looked him in the eye and said something – maybe it was 'Hi, great hair', right after he shook his hand, or maybe Wayne's mind just idealized what had really happened – they didn't understand it.

They thought Wayne was being odd about it, and maybe even a bit star-struck. In all fairness, Wayne had never been so fascinated by another man before, for all they knew; it did seem a bit out-of-character for him.

They told Wayne that if it had been Nicky, then they would have understood – he wore dresses; or Nicky's friend – the one who disappeared - with a fuck-load of foundation, and his stage make-up, he could be mistaken for a girl. A butch, angry goth girl, with a razor-sharp jaw… But still, they thought it would be more excusable if Wayne had been sexually confused by those two. After all, they'd crafted their image to do just that, get a reaction from your average straight bloke who never had their heterosexuality challenged that way before.

However, they didn't seem surprised that James may have hit on Wayne; they only got a kick from Wayne's reaction. The rest seemed perfectly normal to them. It made sense that everyone who's been with the Manics must be somewhat bi.

Perhaps Wayne isn't confused, perhaps he knows exactly what he wants. But talking to people he trusts about it, made him think twice about his feelings. He decides to slow down, and have a calmer, more detached approach over James Dean Bradfield. He decides to let it go, and see what happens.

Be My Baby?...

[Feb. 14th, 2011|10:57 pm]

"Happy Valentine's Day," Nicky read out his card, which was nothing but a piece of cut-out cardboard, lovingly decorated by its sender. He even drew a glittery heart, the cheeky imp! "Love, James." written in his handwriting. That round, girlish handwriting Nicky would normally tease him about.

"Thank you." Nicky said, thinking how he can't possibly accept this valentine, and actually feeling worse about this day than he already had, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

"I thought, you know, that you might appreciate the gesture." James shrugs, grinning self-consciously. As if playing it off as a gesture between friends who deeply care about each other - and love each other, yes, but not in a more than friendly way -  would make Nicky's rejection - or worse, lack or acknowledgement - easier to deal with.

"Look, I know this day isn't easy for you, for any of us, but I thought it might cheer you up."

Nicky thanks James again, tucking the note in his handbag and smiling at James. He's got smiles from now until next year, but he'll be the first to admit 'it takes a lot these days', as Richey would say. It takes something extraordinary to make an adult smile...Nicky has his own way to make himself smile. He thinks about the last time he had a genuine Valentine's Day celebration. Not last year, of course, that's when Richey's car was recovered, two weeks after Richey had gone missing. That is also on Nicky's mind, and he doesn't want to ignore it, he wants to remember it. But there's also one of his happiest memories, from the year before. Valentine's Day 1994.


Nicky had skip-stepped into Richey's Cardiff flat, whistling one of his own favourite tunes, which he woke up to every day during his finals. 'The only one I know, has gone, to take me away...'  And he'd come to take Richey away, for the day. He got him out of his clothes first, fixing him a nice, long, bubblebath. And then he got Richey his jeans and a red tee, helping him with his hair and makeup - Richey even let him put some colourless glitter, for once.  And Nicky made Richey's hair nice and fluffy, the way he likes it, not flat or drawn back like Richey'd do. Then he grabbed Richey and took him to the park, to ride one of these peddling-boats that's shaped like a swan. Richey made faces the entire time and giggled about how 'Valentine's Day is shit', but Nicky thinks Richey had a good day that day. Nicky did it because he wanted to give Richey a chance to enjoy Valentine's Day.

Maybe next year, Nicky'll get his chance to enjoy it. Then, maybe in a couple of years, or more. Maybe never.

Slinky Malinky Dog

[Jan. 21st, 2011|07:55 pm]

When Nicky got his first dog, Lucy, he wrinkled his face with disappointment and sullenness only a small child would understand, and sobbed out "But I wanted a pony!" at his mum.

A moment after, he sat down on the floor, petting the dog. The dog licked his hand and he laughed, and the tears were forgotten.

---

Nicky used to take Lucy for walks along the beach with his friend Richey and his dog, Snoopy. Richey joked about how Lucy was all girly, meaning that she was shy and timid and 'wimpy', while his dog Snoopy was a 'real boy', strong-willed and feisty like Richey himself. They had fun watching the dogs interact with each other and play-fight, while the boys made occasional comments about who they resembled.

---

One time, Lucy had some kind of stomach bug. Nicky convinced himself he was unwell too, and stayed at home all day with her, cuddling her and stroking her tummy and giving her medicine and watching TV together. By the time his mum came home from work, Nicky was asleep with his nose buried in the dog's warm coat. Even though she never allowed the dog to go on any of the beds, she couldn't help but marvel at the sight, and dared not wake up the two from their sweet slumber.

Idle Hands - Part 1

Jan. 18th, 2011 at 12:14 AM

"You remind me of someone." The teen said, grabbing Morrissey by his white T-shirt with a dangerous sexual glare.

If Morrissey's mind could form words in those seconds that boy took possession of him - literally, they would probably be-

'You remind me of someone'? What an odd way to get close to another person. Usually he's being grabbed by people who want to get close to him - not to mention get intimate with him - because it's him.That's why he wants to give that boy a shot. He'll do, for now.


If lips could bruise from kissing - Morrissey wasn't sure, at that moment - their lips would turn blue from the heated exchange the two stole in an alley, with Morrissey leaning over the wall, letting the younger man lead - not as if he had much choice.


The young boy sniffles ; Maybe he's sick - Morrissey remembers it's cold outside, now that they broke contact. The boy uses the space between them to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, revealing plaid boxers underneath. Morrissey takes his hand, enough to attract his attention again. He shakes his head, waiting for him to rearrange himself and leading him to the band's caravan.


Morrissey takes off his shirt on the way, tossing it down. "I'm a virgin, you know that." He scolds the other as they get near the bunks. "Yeah, sure you are." the boy says, utterly bored and playing with Morrissey's nipple in his hand. It's not that the boy doesn't know who the other man is - in fact, Morrissey's quite sure he's a fan - he just doesn't seem to care much. Morrissey respects that kind of individuality ( -he reminds himself, for the second time) he wouldn't have gotten just anyone into his bunk - but he figures the boy isn't impressed by that, either.

"So, have you got any condoms?" Morrissey asks as they sit on the bed, now quite far apart from one another. "Listen," the boy says, turning to him. "I haven't done it yet, with anyone... ever." He says, only a slight stutter giving in at the end of the sentence. Morrissey only now noticed how huge the boy's eyes are. His skin is a bit spotty - he notices it better now, although it registered before; Still, a pretty face, though. And he's nervous and sort of blunt. It's the way he's said it, most of all, which makes Morrissey trust him. He wanted to remind him what he'd said before about virginity, but he bites his lip and stays quiet, for the moment.

Boys

[Jan. 6th, 2011|05:32 pm]

"That backwards cap looks awful," Richey says, looking at James. "I know," James says grimly, reminding himself it was the look that was demanded of him for that photo-shoot. He didn't like that part of the job, though it was crucial, they had to look distinct for all the girls who were going to see them for the first time on a number of teen mags in the UK. Girls. He couldn't bare to imagine there are teenage blokes who are into that sort of thing...

Richey's laughing, caught up in the absurdity of this scene. He's got a wonderful laughter, not only for his bandmates and the people working around the band, but also visually. One for the girls, and boys. One for the magazines. He swings his arm around James, as if he were about to trip himself over laughing.

James has his arm secured around Richey on his one side, and Nicky on the other. Nicky is wearing sunglasses at the moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if they'd been standing outside watching birds, or waiting for a thunderstorm. His toes are perked up nervously as he's standing on his heels; It's a miracle, James thinks, that he's able to support him in that pose. Sean is sitting on a stool that was set up for him - ahead of them, looking nonchalant.

The photographer captures the moment while Richey's laughter subsides gradually. A look of bewilderment takes over his face when he realises that his moment of joy had been caught on film, which changes into a sulk, forming a straight, tiny line where his mouth is. His changed expression is worth two more snaps.

"Brilliant" the photographer whispers to the band's manager. "You've got a five minutes break," Philip says "Your water bottles are waiting for you in the lounge."

Cut Here

[Dec. 22nd, 2010|09:50 am]

" C – U – N – T" James reads the lines on Richey's arms.

"It's not meant to spell anything." Richey snaps back. "Besides, they're just shallow cuts."

"Just because they're shallow cuts, doesn't mean we can't talk about it…"

"I rather not talk at all now; About anything."

"You're in a mood today…"

"When am I not?"

"You were having a good time, on Sean's birthday party."

"For crying out loud, it was almost a year ago."

"Yeah, but… Wait. You were sniggering in rehearsal when Nicky hurt his foot. I saw you."

Richey laughed.

"Yeah, well, it WAS funny…"

"You're a cunt." James repeated, punching his shoulder, then tackled Richey, rolling around with him. 

Better Than Boredom (part 1/?)

[Dec. 3rd, 2010|11:05 am]

Richey was slinking down on his chair at the lobby, nodding off to his new mix-tape. His legs were hanging off that chair, spread to the sides, the yellow headphones looking especially foreign on him with the way his new bowl cut framed his delicate features.

As if awoken from a dream, Nicky had pulled off his earphones, sliding them down so that the ear buds met Richey's jawbones. He looked up to meet Nicky's gaze, frowning and looking at him intently.

Nicky was having an undoubtedly 'Nicky moment' , looking very stretched out and wriggly today, in an undersized shirt and khaki pants, hand on his hip which seemed to bend his entire posture to form a curve. His expression was slightly pouty, though nowhere near Richey's glorious pout. His eyes looked slightly entranced, from having to move his sleeping schedule around all the time lately, a fact that he hasn't fully gotten used to yet. 'Meet me in an hour, OK?' He sought for comprehension in Richey's dark stare. 'That's two o'clock sharp.'

Richey nodded, gulping. The voice, as well as the speaker, put butterflies in his stomach. Nicky moved his hand to Richey's cheek, stroking it approvingly. Richey knew what that invitation had meant. James and Sean knew it too, but they moved quickly back to the conversation they were having before, digging their spoons in their shared layered cake.

He looked at Nicky rubbing his hands over each other in accomplishment, before turning and walking away.

"June"

[Jun. 2nd, 2010|11:17 pm]

"June?..." Richey looked questioningly at the bundle of joy Nicky was holding.

"I know you're more of a winter type, but we couldn't have possibly named her January, or February...." Nicky shrugged, trying to figure out which one of them the baby looked most alike.

"Or December..." Richey sighed, thinking what a horrible name that is. If anyone had named their baby that. It's not much worse than 'Mercedes....'

"Hey, weren't you almost named Christmas?... Ow!" -Richey slapped his shoulder, playfully.

"Honestly, Nick, you sometimes need to learn when to shut up."

5 unedited short-songfics

[Feb. 4th, 2010|07:20 am]

1. Émigré 

James looked at the crumpled note in his hand; the one Richey gave him only a little while before leaving.

If there was just something, anything, I could have done – I would have – he thinks. But I did everything I could, so there's no point in dwelling on it.

He passes through the same views on the way to the studio every day, with a semblance of a melody in his mind. He doesn't know the words yet, but he knows who and what it'll be about.

2. Strip It Down (live)

That fucking reverb noise, and then it dwindles down. As if enchanted, Nicky and Richey stare at each other dangerously, Richey only slightly nodding his head before turning and moving down to stare at his effect pedals. James is caught in this exchange, right between the two of them, seemingly oblivious, but perhaps he'd had a flash of recognition for a few seconds. One glance, one head movement, enough to sip into his mind and give him some kind of telling on what goes on behind their gazes and through their unreadable expressions. Later that night he'd find himself caught between the two again, and they'd be looking each other differently – more flushed, more sated, and one of them will be naked from the waist down. And just as before, they'd be too preoccupied with each other to imagine what James is thinking.

3. Sorrow 16

It's a warm – but not too warm to be outside – spring day, and Nicholas Jones and Richard Edwards had just gone out on and holiday from school. Richey's glad he's brought sunglasses with him in foresight, and with his trendy haircut and jet black hair, not to mention admirable slimness, he is looking not unlike young Johnny Marr at the moment. So effing cool – especially in one bloke from the year beneath him's eyes. Nick's hair is getting long, and Rich is reaching a hand to brush back some blond locks from weary eyes, attempting to tuft it up a bit.


4. Yes 

So many questions; He used to have all the answers, didn't he? Enough, James thinks to himself, don't think about it too much, do you want to go insane also? Like him?

The shift from lyric to melody always transcends James into a different state where those thoughts don't exist and he can look at things with cold objectivity. There lies composure, control – a clean state, if you want to call it that, but the aggression is brewing from under the surface, giving his work its density and texture.

He wants to help his friend, but he knows help should come from within, and the pills are making it hard to talk to him, and hospitals are for the sick and dying, and for a moment James thinks – perhaps selfishly - that he needs him, he needs him to alive, as do Sean and Nicky. The new songs are brilliant, but it doesn't seem right that he'll quit now. 

5. Born A Girl

He wraps the silken deep blue sheet around himself a like a long velvety dress, completely naked underneath. He's not sure if he should let go at first because he feels safe inside it. He doesn't know how to explain the feeling exactly, and he asks himself rhetorically at the same time why should he have to explain it at all, he's always regarded his own body and self-image as a sacred private territory.

Birthday

[Dec. 22nd, 2009|07:34 am]

"Omnomnomnom..."

"Nicky..."

"Mmmmm?...."

"You've got cake... On the bridge of your nose."

"Right..." Nicky answered, blithely unconcerned. "Why don't you try some? They're delicious."

"Too much sugar... And I don't even mean it in the caloric sense. It's just too sickeningly sweet."

"Right. Then you won't like the gift I got you, either..." Nicky sighed.

"You got me a gift? You really didn't have to..."

"Don't open it, then." Nicky commented dryly.

It was too late, Richey had run to open his gift. "A giraffe plushie?!?"

"I thought you'd like it." Nicky explained. "I thought it would remind you of me"

"For fuck's sake, Jones. You did my interior design, what more could you possibly want?!"

"168 seconds"

[Nov. 10th, 2009|08:39 pm]

Richard's need for love is so big, so huge, it is insatiable.

He didn't have it because he was missing something from his life, or had been denied of anything he wanted. Some people are born with a missing piece, and it fills them with so much longing since the day they are born, always searching for a part of themselves that seems to be fractured.

They want the entire world, to look at it first, then to study it, to understand it, to be part of it. To ache each time they've realised how much they've learnt, and how much they don't know yet.

For others, loving is an instinct. A natural disposition to care for and nurture. Not an attempt to 'fix the hole', as he would call it.

You want to give him a little more than you could possibly give him. You want to give him a little more than you should, anyway.

He loves you so much, he gives up control. He loves you so much, he gives up himself. He loves you so much he can cry. No, don't cry. It's just a dream. It'll pass, all things do.

You decide not to wake him up. Not tonight.

"It's The End Of The World As We Know It"

[Oct. 29th, 2009|11:05 pm]

Like in the Motorcycle Emptiness video, they looked up to the cloudy grey skies, searching for answers; Only without him.

"Security"

[Oct. 29th, 2009|09:19 am]

Security blankets were a literal item, for Nicky. He'd pull his own blanket he took from his mam's house over his head, and the whole world went away. It may as well have been a few universes apart. Nicky knew that in the few moments that separated him from oblivion, the moments his mind slipped from a conscious state into deep sleep, his whole face untensed - letting go of real and imagined worrying wrinkles. Eyelids drop heavily over weary eyes, protecting them from seeing. His mind uncovers rare beauty within itself, a hidden fortress. His childhood playgrounds and possibilities of the future were sealed off, even from him, but they waited for him whenever he went to sleep, and carried him onto the next day.

"The Truth"

[Oct. 29th, 2009|07:24 am]

The truth is never pure and rarely simple. That is true, but Richey wanted a resolution. He looked up to a higher power, and found none. He looked inside himself, and found out that the truth was too much to deal with.

"The one with the window"

15-10-2009, 03:01

Sometimes Nicky felt like he was watching Richey from afar. But loving isn't anything like that. And Nicky loved Richey. 

One afternoon while they were on tour, Nicky woke up in his room with Richey, to find Richey sitting on the window frame. He shifted himself to the other side of the bed, to get a better look at Richey, who'd seem to not nod back or move his head slightly to look at him. Probably in the midst of some deep contemplation, Nicky thought.


Nicky didn't like the silence. To be fair to Nicky, he probably didn't even know what silence means. He could be attentive to a ridiculous extent, putting his mind into things no one else did, be it an object that seemed to be out of its rightful place, sounds that could be traced as coming from outside, too much light, or not enough light. It would all dissolve into one big mess that can only be articulated through his words or paintings. 

And it's not like his head was an empty space for all these things. First there was homesickness, and making sure they got the right hotel rooms, and that everyone got what they need. 

Then there were his deepest, most uncomfortable thoughts that he intended on showing as little as possible of. Those thoughts all seemed to gravitate towards the person he considered to be his best friend, who at the same time seemed like the loneliest person he's ever met. He went about sneakily and subtly making sure Richey was OK, for as long as he was there to watch him, at least, while careful not to break into his psyche, not knowing what he'll find there. 


On his own, Nicky would fill stacks upon stacks of journals, and he had a knack for making new places appear homely, if he knew he was going to stay there for a while. He'd fill silences with escapism, most notably the buzz from a TV set, and replace boredom with perpetual movement, and routines. With Richey though, every moment spent next to Richey, but not focusing on Richey, seemed like a wasted moment. 

--

Nicky hunches over, trying to keep himself small and closer to the ground rather than the ceiling as Nicky possibly could as he approaches Richey. It works as far as he knows, as Richey's small frame is still curled up staring at the window, looking serenely over the city landscape like a postcard.

Nicky is crouching, closer than ever to be sitting on the floor. He puts his hand over Richey's thigh, doing spider-like movements with his fingers tapping, hoping to shift his attention in the slightest. Richey shuts his eyes, in a way which makes his whole face contort for just a second.

"Did I scare you?" Nicky asks worriedly.

Richey shakes his head for 'no', smiling secretively. Nicky was the least scary of things he could think of. He puts his hand down on Nicky's.

Ficlet: London 1990

[Jul. 8th, 2009|09:36 am]

Nicky/Richey (unrequited)
First person POV (Nicky)

I need something. I need another chance, a different life. I needn't stand here awkwardly, like it's all I ever do.

Right now, James has got him. Snuggling up to him, giving him massages. If I were there instead, I might not be able to show as much restraint. I could imagine myself sneaking on him, letting his shirt ride up as I get a feel of his skin, then go on further, sinking myself onto his neck, inhaling him, kissing his exposed skin like only I could.

But right now I'm perfect restraint. Tired, hazy, numb, cold and away from him. Holding on to what the eye can see, instead of what my arms and lips and mouth could feel.

Dear God, I wish I was drunk now.

Another now, again

A tidal wave, 
I’m lost in you.
I repeat myself,
I’m lost in you.

At another place and time,
When there was ‘I and you’,
And we were one with the night skies of dark,
One with the stars that shimmer so brightly,
I have a distant memory of how we used to dream.
Now I’m only dying in my sleep.

I can’t speak, 
And what I see I don’t contain.
So I should shut myself away again today, 
To look at the world through my clear glass windows,
My eyes,
My immovable vision of apathy.

Denied me of reality,
I’m losing all ability.

You flew, grown wings and left me the broken parts.
I guess one of us had to end in pieces-
And you were too beautiful to be destroyed.

December 15th, 2002