by Jessayme Hawke
---
Disclaimers: Paramount and Viacom own the characters, but the story is
mine. I'm not making any profit off this story. It is purely for my
own peace of mind and hopefully the enjoyment of others.
Notes: Written July 29, 1998.
Warnings: Angst. Love between two men.
---
I wondered what I was doing here. I know I couldn't do anything about
it in the end, but I couldn't stay away. I stepped through the doors
of Sandrine's, immediately seeking him out. His laugh caught me
attention first and I turned. I sighed inwardly.
Tom was draped over Meghan Delaney again, pool cue in hand. When was he
finally going to see that she wasn't the one. He needed someone who
could look past the damn mask, tear down the walls. Meghan wasn't it.
I could hate her for wanting him, but I can't. Hell, I wanted him the
first moment I saw him. Golden hair, those blue eyes that make your whole
body melt.
Dammit, I had to stop this. I often wondered if I were a masochist or
something. I tried staying away, but I always come back. I knew all he
would see me as was a friend, someone to hang around with.
He hasn't noticed that I'm here, still too caught up in Meghan. I
move to a back table to watch him, always watching. I almost got up the
nerve to tell him once or twice before when I thought we were going to
lose him, but it never happened.
I'm a coward and I know it. I can't face the truth that he might
not feel the same way. He's never given any indication that he does.
As if I'd let it slip one moment how I feel. One thing I've
learned from him over the last few years is how to keep a mask in place.
He does it without evening trying. Oh, I've gotten through a few
layers of it. I think I'm one of the few people he trusts enough to
show parts of the real him.
Damn him. Why couldn't I fall in love with someone else? I know,
it's not his fault. I hear him laugh and focus on him again. He's
behind Meghan now, arms around her, showing her how to make a particular
shot. God, I want to be her. I want his arms around me. His body pressed
so close we look like one. Having him moving beneath me, moaning in
ecstasy then shouting my name as he comes.
Stop it. It will never happen. I can feel the heat on my cheeks, not to
mention other areas. I lean back into the shadows, hoping no one's
seen my lapse.
I'm hopeless, utterly hopeless. All I'll ever have are my dreams,
but is that enough. I go to sleep at night dreaming of him. I can't
help it. What hurts most is when I wake to find that it's only a dream
and cry myself back to sleep.
I look up again and there not there anymore. I stand abruptly and
frantically search the bar, but he's not here. I ache inside when I
realize Meghan's gone too. I drop back down onto the chair. I want to
end this. I don't want to go to bed at night dreaming of him. I
don't want to have to watch him with others. I want him all for
myself.
Yah right, get it through your head. It will never happen, not in a
million years. I lost myself in self-pity, not hearing my name being said.
After a moment, I realize it and that it's his voice. I whip my head
up and almost swear I've given myself whiplash. He's standing
there smiling. One of those honest, true smiles that always make my heart
pound and ache for more. I manage to croak out a 'hi' before he
takes a seat.
I look around and don't see Meghan, asking aloud where she was. His
smile falters and I notice the mask's in full effect. He tells me that
she wanted to call it an early night, so he had escorted her home. I joked
about only escorting, and he gives a half-smile. He tells me, she wanted
more but he wasn't interested. I find that hard to believe, wondering
if she had said no and he was trying to save face.
I missed a part of something he says and ask him to repeat it. He says
that he hasn't been interested in Meghan for a long time. He only
wants to be friends, nothing more. Before I can stop myself, I come off
with, "oh, then who's the new flavor." I cringe inwardly,
and lower my head. I await his usual smart-aleck reply, but there is only
silence. I lift my head and look at him. He's got the mask in full
force, but the hurt is evident in his blue eyes. The look is just too much
for me to face, and I stammer an apology, "it's none of my
business, sorry for prying."
I get up to leave, but stop when I feel his hand wrap around my wrist. I
can't hide the gasp at the sudden contact of him touching me, jolting
through me like lightening. He says my name and tells me to look at him. I
can't. What I feel for him is too close to the surface. I ask him to
let go, but he says no. I know I could break his grasp, but I can't
make myself do it. He asks again, his voice pleading and I can't
resist this time. I turn to meet his eyes and feel another jolt. His eyes
are boring deep into my soul. I can't breathe. The world has stopped
moving. The intensity became too much and I finally tore my eyes away.
I knew he had seen it, the love I feel for him. Everything was ruined. I
had lost my best friend. I wanted to crawl away somewhere, curl up and
die. I asked him to let me go, proud of myself for keeping my voice from
showing the panic I felt. I heard him sigh, "oh Harry, I love you
too".
I looked at him again with wide eyes and saw the mask had fallen away. I
saw the love I felt for him mirrored in his eyes. I began trembling as his
words and what I saw in his eyes finally sank in. He loved me. I
hadn't lost him.
I don't remember how it happened, but I ended up in his arms. His lips
touching mine. Oh god, it was better than any dream. Finally able to touch
him.
I don't know how long we sat there in each other arms. We finally
managed to pull ourselves apart. I asked softly, hesitantly, "What do
we do now?".
"Well,' He took my hands, lacing his fingers with mine, "I
thought we'd spend the rest of our lives together."
He smiled that honest smile, and I could feel my heart leap up into my
throat. He said it so confidently, I couldn't help but believing it
would be that way. I returned the smile, almost singing the words aloud,
"Sounds good to me."
---
End
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