i don't know what kind of icon is appropriate for this subject...

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 02:56:18 GMT

i've decided to do a friends cut. i'm not exactly happy about it, but i feel like there are people on my flist that i just don't...have anything in common with anymore. so, you know the drill...

this is actually the first friends cut i've ever done...goes to show that i can even be anti-social on the internet...

Yay, presents!

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 03:15:49 GMT

this is so not what i was expecting it to be...

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 16:48:10 GMT

i said i was going to write, and i did. i wrote an entire angsty oneshot, and now...now you get to read it. i'm warning you, it's not happy at all. i had planned on giving it a happy ending, but...i couldn't. i had to redeem a certain someone (you'll understand when you read it). i had to transfer power. and alec (plot puppy extraordinaire) took it all.

I don't know who I am (without you)
[drake bell/shia labeouf, pg, rps, slash]

i don't own these boys, the title comes from the song "Where I Stood" by Missy Higgins

I don't know who I am (without you)

It's been months. Months since they've spoken, months since they've touched. Months since they've shared a quiet moment in the shadows together.

He can't wrap his head around the exact amount of days or hours or weeks it's been since the last time he kissed those lips. How long it's been, down to the minute it's been since he heard that deep voice in his ear, hot breath rushing past. He knows that it's been too damn long.

And now, seeing him here, across the room, with some nameless blond waif draped over him, a sly smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes it's almost too much.

Drake finds himself alone at the bar, running calloused fingertips through puddles of water left from all the cold drinks that have sat upon the hard wood, wondering how he's going to get through the rest of the night.

Shia's the life of the party, dancing, telling jokes, people flocking to him just like always. He's so good in the spotlight. Better than Drake could ever wish to be. Drake just wants to play music and maybe act a little bit. He's in it for the art, not the fame.

Deep down, he knows that's who Shia is, too. But Shia's so well known that now he has to wear his fame like a badge of honor, accepting the masses with open arms. And Drake hates it.

He leaves alone, catching a cab outside and quietly giving an address. He doesn't see Shia emerge from those doors as the car pulls away.

It's a rainy night in New York. Late November, and it should be snowing, but it's not quite cold enough. He imagines that if it keeps up, by morning, it will be snow.

But he doesn't see the wet, black street, lit by the lights that never really turn off. He sees warm days spent in hotel rooms in Los Angeles, stolen hours spent between sheets that weren't their own, stealing kisses and touches in the lobby as they part, laughing as friends, sharing secrets as more.

No one knew. No one but the two of them.

He thinks now that he'd like to shout it from the rooftops. Those high skyscrapers here in Manhattan. And then jump. After all, it may be a career killer. If not death to his career,Shia would most assuredly hunt him down and string him up for saying such things. Especially where any sort of civilization could hear and, you know, print things. In papers. Words that would be around the world in 80 seconds.

He's slumped in the backseat, forehead against the cool window pane, trying to hold back tears that seem to always be threatening to fall these days.

He's not who he used to be. Not as confident or smooth or pulled together. When he still had Shia. Shia made him want to pull his shit together. Now...now he'd much rather let it all go by the wayside. Let it all float away into oblivion. If it meant he could haveShia back.

That's all he really wants.

But Shia had used the word "never" all those months ago. In that angry tone that still splits Drake's heart. He still hears it. Wakes up with those words in his ears, covered in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf.

He hands over a handful of cash as the cab stops in front of his hotel.

Stepping out onto the curb, he pulls his jacket tighter around him as though it almost could guard against the cold. It almost works.

He walks into a warmly lit lobby, head down as far as it will go into the popped collar on his coat.

He's standing at the elevator when he hears it. His name, echoing around the crown molding of this exquisite hotel. And he recognizes that breathless voice. He recognizes the desperation, too.

He turns to see Shia, dripping wet and shaking, dark curls laid starkly against his forehead.

He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and opens them again, wondering if he really had had too much to drink. But Shia's still there, still soaking, and still waiting.

Drake glances around the lobby, mostly empty. Only a few employees are hidden behind the reservation desk, trying their hardest to appear as though they haven't even noticed the commotion.

"Why'd you leave?" Shia asks, and it carries easily across the sea of space between them.

"I didn't have a choice," Drake replies, and he hears the catch in his voice, the threat of falling apart right here and now. "You told me to."

"Do you do everything you're told to do?"

"Most days, yeah." It's becoming a game. It's turning into a play on words, talk of two different occasions, talk of two different rainy nights.

"Maybe you shouldn't read so much into someone," Shia replies, and Drake wonders if he's erased that first night from his mind.

"I don't have to read, I know you well enough to understand it all."

"Then maybe you should do what you want to do, not what someone else tells you to." Drake knows now that they're on the same page, that the game has collapsed somewhere in between them and now it's just words.

"I didn't want to hate you."

"Do you?" Shia's face falls a bit, and he seems to look at Drake for the first time, eyes searching for something Drake's learned to hide so well over these past few months.

"I'm not sure." It's the truth.

Shia doesn't respond. He stares at Drake, waiting for something Drake can't give him, something Drake won't give him. He's already taken it, and Drake's never really gotten it back, and Drake doesn't really think it's fair that he shouldn't at least put up a fight for it.

"I don't want to hate you," Drake says in a clear voice. "I don't want you to hate me, either."

"I don't hate you," Shia answers quickly. "I could never hate you."

"You said 'never'. You said it wasn't going to happen, that it couldn't happen. You put that out there, not me."

"I'm stupid. You shouldn't listen to me."

"I know you are. And I tried to forget those words, forget your voice, but I couldn't. It's lived with me, in my head, and now, now...I just want to forget you."

If heartbreak had a physical reaction, Shia would have captured it perfectly. It was like the life had been sucked from his body.

"Shia, go back to the party. Go back to her. I'm sure she's everything you were looking for."

Drake doesn't wait for a reply. Instead, he turns back to the elevator, presses the button, and steps on without turning back to look at the only person who'd truly loved him in all his life.

and now i'm off to write more...only, different pairing...matt and troy are feeling very left out ;)

The sound of water makes her dream...

i don't know what kind of icon is appropriate for this subject...

Yay, presents!

this is so not what i was expecting it to be...