Hello my lovely, lovely friends (Graham Norton ref: 1). I'm not sure how long it has been, but, my lord, does it feel like a lifetime! I'm quite excited at the moment actually, because BBC2 will be showing the Grammy's and I will get to see an all- singing, all-dancing, and maybe (for the very first time in my life) all-talking Justin! Oh, and I'm quite excited about seeing the rest of the band! LOL.
Thanks to everyone who has sent comments since the last chapter- I'm sorry if I haven't written back, but I sometimes lose track of whom I've replied to, or it's been much too late in the day for any kind of coherent message when I've received them, and, trust me, you don't want me being all incoherent and strange on your ass!! (Was that a good use of an American phrase? Or maybe I sounded like the pasty faced Brit that I am.) Enjoy the story.
Disclaimer: I'm feeding Signor Timberlake birthday cake with a very small spoon at the moment, so I'll try and not drop crumbs into the keyboard. I don't wish to imply anything about the sexualities, personalities, tastes, hairstyles, psychological scars, or inter family relationships of any of the celebrities mentioned, nor do I know them. This is FICTION!! My god, if it was real...
Only remains to say, if you don't like reading about M/M relationships, sex, love, peace, harmony and strawberry fields then I'd turn back, because you may just find yourself in Narnia.
Something Like Justin- Chapter Seven- Living
The kitchen smelt strongly of all the fragrant ingredients which had slowly cooked down into the thick tomato sauce; the couple of blushing cloves of garlic, the lugs of sunny olive oil, the spicy, comforting aroma of the ripped basil, the speckled descent of parsley and the sweet, fat tomatoes. The combination of these strong scents filled every corner of the room, bleeding into the rest of the house and painting its connotative trail over ready, active tongues and flushing, moist lips.
I felt the descent of his gregarious touch down my back and into the waist of my trousers. For a second, my lust whispered consent to me, eager and curious to allow Matt to explore my body and to show me what he and I were truly capable of, but my conscience pricked at the desires in my skin, pointing to my uncertainty, my doubts and my fears. I lightly pushed him away from me.
His hands slid to my sides and he looked into my eyes intensely, with a shimmering of hurt and confusion on his eyes. It took me a few gulps; loud, controlled breaths; and a hand to my brow before I could piece together some justification.
"I..." I sighed, "I'm not ready for..."
"You don't want to?" He said in a hushed voice that disguised any feelings except a mild concern.
"I don't think I should." I gave him a weak smile.
"You seem up for it." He smiled cheekily.
"No, it's here," I put a hand to my temple, "That doesn't want to...yet."
"Ooh, I get a 'yet.'" He said with a jovial triumph.
"I'm sorry if I led you on." I felt a bit stupid saying that, as I had never had the opportunity to lead someone on before that moment, and I doubted that I could.
"It's okay." He lazily stroked my hair, his gaze casting around my face, scrutinising my apologetic expression, "Let's get those beers."
The evening drew on, scattering its flourishes of stars across the sky, and hanging the pale moon in the dark blue canvas. We sat on the veranda until it became too cold to remain on the sturdy boards, retreating to the gaping comfort of the sitting room. I did not breach the subject of our previous, brief intimacy, and neither did Matt, to my cowardly relief. We just had fun talking, laughing and being friends.
"So..." I began conversationally, "Why do you get the fun of having two names?"
"Sorry?" He coughed slightly on a mouthful of beer.
"Ryan and Matt." I verified.
"Oh, I was born Matthew Ryan Phillippe." His tone took on one that signified his slight boredom at having to explain, "I use Ryan professionally and Matthew personally."
"It's a bit confusing," I hurriedly continued at his annoyed expression, "It's just that I see you as Ryan Phillippe, not as Matthew Phillippe, and I have to keep reminding myself that you're called Matthew."
"You could do just as Reese does," He grinned, "And just call everyone 'honey'. That way, even the people who you don't know think you're like a best friend or something."
"Does it annoy you if people call you Ryan?" I tucked my legs underneath me on the chair, leaning into the side.
"It usually means that they don't know me well enough." He said carefully, "But it doesn't annoy me. I guess it's like having a nick name that only some people call you by; just because someone doesn't call you by your nickname it doesn't mean that they don't know you, or care for you any more or less, just that they're not in that circle of people."
"Would you mind if my friends call you Ryan?" I ventured.
"No, not really. Has it been a problem...?" He sat up sharply, "You've been talking about me, haven't you!"
"Oh, nothing that interesting..." I chuckled to myself, "But they do find it confusing. I think they'd rather casually say that they were friends with Ryan Phillippe and for people to be impressed, than to have to explain the name thing."
"To be honest, a lot of people called me Ryan when I was a kid. I just grew out of it, I guess."
"Do you mind if I call you that?"
"No."
"Great."
"As long as I can call you by your second name."
"Oh, god, no." I laughed, "You don' want to do that."
"Why not?" He smiled mischievously, "Is it embarrassing."
"Um," I mumbled uncertainly, "It sounds kinda stupid." I argued reluctantly.
"Go on."
"Byrne." I emphasized the 'r' so that he wouldn't mispronounce it.
"Byrrrrrne." He smiled affectionately after he played with it on his tongue, "It's a great name, but I think maybe Chris suits you better."
"I think so too." I blushed, but smiled.
A fussy attention to the entrance door and peals of chuckling and chatting hailed the return of Stephanie, Ashley, Joe and Emily. I could see the urgent questions in their minds as they saw Ryan and I lounging on the comfy chairs, physically apart, but obviously enjoying each other's company.
"You took your time." I greeted them.
"Yeah, well, after dinner we thought we'd allow the local clubs the pleasure of our company." Ash grinned, a slightly drunken haze floating over her eyes.
"I thought you could use some time alone." Stephanie murmured to Ryan and I, "So I took the kids out for a while."
"Thanks, Steph." I whispered back.
The other three were in very high spirits, tumbling into the kitchen loudly, announcing victoriously,
"Munchies! Munchies!"
Ryan gave me an exasperated glance, causing me to giggle along with Steph.
"I don't think us sober people will be able to cope with this..." She smiled sweetly, "Do you fancy doing something in my room?"
"What do you think?" I turned to Ryan; "Steph's got a television and everything up there!"
"Oh, a television?" He awed, "Well, there's no contest really, is there?"
"Go on up, and I'll make us some hot chocolate." Steph encouraged.
The intimate atmosphere of Stephanie's bedroom, with its fresh blue walls flushing at us in the isolated pools of light issuing from a couple of lamps and candles, along with the creamy, sweet taste of the chocolate streaming over our tongues and throats distracted me from the enthusiasm downstairs and any remaining awkwardness I may have felt around Ryan. The exquisite, bitter aroma roused my aching brain into a drifting, gradual sleep sat cross-legged on a pillow between Ryan and Steph, chattering nonsensically in the background. The world blended into darkness.
The next morning I said a yawning, unsure farewell to Ryan, who had to meet his agent about some prospective work early, and I set about causing hell on my friends' hangovers.
"Wake up! Wake up!" I sang loudly as I passed their bedroom doors, pounding heavily on the wood and stamping my feet on the floorboards.
The tired, croaking groans hailed their disturbance and made me smile evilly. I set about making fried eggs; a military operation, as I treated hot oil like dynamite. As I had finished the fifth and slid it onto kitchen towel to drain off most of the grease, my pants started ringing. Extracting my noisy phone, the screen announced that it was 'Magic Justin'. Laughing lightly at his joke, I pressed the device to my ear,
"Magic Justin, I presume?" I questioned haughtily.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." He giggled lightly, "How're you doing?"
"Good. I was making eggs." I turned off the heat and submerged the frying pan in hot, soapy water.
"Really? How?"
"Fried." I laughed, "For my hung over band mates. Well, except Steph, anyways."
"I thought most people had aspirin?"
"I thought I'd try and stick an egg into the glass instead." I replied casually, "However, I don't think you called for hangover cures."
"No, just a chat."
"How is work going?" I inquired enthusiastically.
"Okay. Boring. I don't know." He sighed lightly; "To be honest I'm getting a bit tired of the other guys right now."
"Too much time together?" I suggested.
"Maybe. I just get tired of them now and then." He continued, "And with Britney away, and without you, I feel a bit alone."
"Oh, come on, you've got Chris, Lance, JC and Joey to talk to. What about your choreographer, isn't he your friend?"
"Yeah. Just some things you can't talk to them about. And they are all so focused on work."
"And you aren't." I encouraged softly.
"Not really."
"When you come to LA we'll have to go out and do something really inspiring to give you a kick up the arse and write." I said with mock frustration.
"Sure. I can't wait to catch up properly."
"It's only been a few days since the party at Ryan's." I laughed heartily.
"Yeah, but we haven't really seen each other that much for a while."
"No, we haven't." I said quietly, not sure if that was my choice or Justin's, "Look, I'm going to have to go; we've got some work on today and I need to get the others up and ready."
"Oh, okay." He sounded disappointed, reflecting the reluctance in my own voice to end the conversation, "I'll call you when I get to LA."
"Great. Speak to you then." We exchanged goodbyes and I hung up.
Emily tumbled down the stairs, trussed up intricately in a deep red dressing gown with her hair bounding uncontrollably around her ears and eyes. She gazed at the eggs hungrily, reaching for some bread,
"Ooh, eggs! Fried egg sandwiches!" She announced as she extracted two slices of bread and started layering them with butter.
Sealing the rubbery egg between the bread she held it up in front of her face and viewed it with interest.
"That looks, quite disgusting." I said appreciatively.
"Thanks." She grinned, taking a large bite and moving to step outside, "So, who was on the phone?"
"Oh, Justin." I said brightly.
"How is Curly pubes?" She winced slightly as her bare foot touched the cold, grim stone of the patio.
"Curly pubes?" I frowned.
"Well, it makes sense to me." She lowered herself onto a garden chair.
"He's okay, just sounded a bit annoyed with work."
"Not getting his way?" Emily said flatly.
"He didn't say..." I was getting quite confused by her attitude.
"We've got a performance in a few hours, don't we?"
"And an interview." I reminded her.
"We have to talk?" She put a hand to her head, "No talking! Please, no talking!"
The strong lights of the studio brought out an invisible, but tangible, sheen of sweat on my forehead, irritating my brow slightly and making me feel uncomfortable. However, as the rest of the band did, I smiled politely at the interviewer and answered the questions in the best possible manner.
"Well, we've been doing a bit of research on you guys..." She continued,
'Won't this ever end?' I complained mentally,
"...And sources in the entertainment world tell us that you've been seen out with N Sync and Britney Spears."
"They do?" I said plainly, getting slightly frustrated.
"So, are you guys friends?"
"Well, we've been out with them a couple of times." Ash explained.
"They're great guys." Joe grinned.
"Any chance of a collaboration?"
"Oh," Emily laughed shortly, "Well, not as yet."
"I'm sure it would make for an interesting sound." She smiled falsely, adding brightly, "So you're going to be performing for us?"
"Yep." I affirmed, "We're going to do a special song." I couldn't help but grin mischievously.
" Ladies and Gentlemen, Social Invalid."
We pleasantly accepted the applause and made our way to the stage. We had meticulously sound-checked earlier, wary of performing immediately after the interview. Sorting ourselves out and doing a mini sound check, mainly for appearance, we signalled to each other that we were ready. I possessed the mike.
"We're going to do a little song we think you all may know, with a little twist; this is Slave 4 U."
That slightly demonic grin pasted across my features again as Joe started on the drums, a heavy, paced beat, leading those listening to believe we were going to follow the style of Britney's version. Reinforcing that, I began the vocals with a reluctant, innocent speaking voice,
"I know I may be young, But I've got feelings too. And I need to do... What I feel like doing. So just let me go, And listen."
Ash and Emily suddenly ripped into the beat, playing a fluid, racing lick, travelling away along the fret boards as if they were burning hot and destroying the pace of the song. The audience was taken aback.
"All you people, You look at me Like I'm a little boy," I smile dirtily,
"Did you ever think it'd be okay for me To step, Into this world? Always saying 'little boy don't step, into, the club' But I'm just trying find out why 'cause dancing's what I love."
Steph and Emily screamed the 'Get it, get it' section over and over, as if they would die if they didn't, and Joe laughed into his drum kit.
"I know I may come off quiet, May come off shy. Feel like talking, I feel like dancing, Then I see this guy.
What's practical? What's logical? What the hell who gives? All I know is I'm so happy, When you're dancing here."
I ran a hand across my stomach suggestively, curving my body into it and closing my eyes, smiling again.
"I'm a slave! I'm a slave! I'm a slave! I'm a slave, for you!
I cannot hold it, I just can't control it.
I'm a slave. A slave for you,
I won't deny it, I'm not trying to hide it."
Emily and Stephanie screamed out the interlude again, straining against the microphones with the guitars held firmly to their bodies.
"I really wanna dance, tonight with you. I really wanna do want you want me to. I really wanna dance, tonight with you, I really wanna do, want you want me to.
Oh baby, don't you want to, Dance up on me? To another time and place. Oh baby, don't you want to, Dance up on me? Leave behind my name and age.
I'm a slave, I'm a slave, I'm a slave for you.
Please just hold me, See if you can control me,
I'm a slave, A slave, A slave for you,
Just don't deny me, See where you can hide me,"
I glanced around at my friends, seeing the enjoyment they were having playing the cover, and finished with a satisfied grin on my lips.
"Hello?" My voice poured cautiously, and injected with curiosity, through the telephone wires.
"Hey, Chris?" The southern, cheery, unmistakeable tune floated back.
"Britney! I didn't expect a call from you."
"Oh, well, I got your number from Justin before I left..."
"You're still in England?"
"Oh, sure, I just did CD:UK or something, so I've got a few minutes."
"What are you; in the car or something?"
"Yeah, but back to my hotel, praise the Lord."
"Heavy morning then."
"You could say." She sighed, then brightened her tone gain, "Hey, I heard you did a good impression of me last night."
"Huh? Oh, I wouldn't say it was an impression."
"Version, then. I can't wait to see the tape when I get back."
"Oh, it wasn't that good." I said shyly, "I'm kind of annoyed that I'm not in Britain at the minute."
"Why's that? Homesick?"
"No, because I could have pointed at you on the TV and said, 'I know her!'" I giggled.
"It's not funny." She protested, "Because I do that back home all the time."
"Well, if you can..." I considered.
"...You must." She finished with a small laugh.
"Oh, Justin called me yesterday." I almost felt as if I had thrown a punch.
"He did? How did he sound?" She seemed very interested.
"Okay, I guess. Tired, but okay."
"Hmm...are you going to see him when he goes to LA?"
"Yes."
"Be careful around him. He's been a bit pissy recently."
"He has?"
"Yeah; all moody if you don't agree with him and stuff. Just watch out, 'cause he might explode in your face and you need to be prepared for Justin's moods."
"Oh, okay, thanks for the tip." I was really confused at this. I had never seen Justin in a mood; at least not one that was as extreme as Britney was implying.
"Just try not to talk about work with him and you should be fine." I heard a commotion in the electronic background, "Oops, I need to go now. I think we've run into a bit of trouble."
"Okay, see you when you get back?"
"Sure. We can arrange that another time. Bye!"
Silence.
The merging rays bled through the hot glass, spreading out over the shiny worktop and into the main body of the house, gently rousing the heavy timbers from their sleep. The presence of the Sunlight changed the house immeasurably, mostly due to the large areas of glazing. At night, the house became intimate and isolated, as the walls seemed to shrink and draw around any occupants, whilst the windows stood dark and strong, looking out over nothing, but looking in on everything. By day, the windows seemed to push the walls apart, creating an inspiring amount of space, and that lightness infected the atmosphere with its joy and flippancy.
It had been a few days since I talked to Britney on the phone, and it felt like ages since I had seen Ryan. We had arranged to meet, maybe go out for something to eat, and then onto the theatre. I was quite excited. I had never been out with someone on a date. An official date anyway. I couldn't stop smiling after it had been arranged, finding myself having to mention the fact that I wouldn't be available that day over and over again. And Ryan was very understanding about the whole reluctance thing I had towards kissing him. It was unsurpassable, though...
I took a cab into town (thank god for bad hair days and not being recognised). It was unusually warm and bright, considering that it was still winter, however a sharp breeze kept all certain of the seasonal disposition. I waited on a bench outside a café in the more unfashionable part of town, even though people still looked stupidly beautiful. I wasn't sure where nature ended and the scalpel started. A light tap on my shoulder dragged me from the drowsy spell of my coffee cup.
"Ryan!" I grinned, "I was hoping you'd turn up soon." I whispered conspiratorially to him as a skater whizzed past us, "I think they are all robots."
"You're in a strange mood." He laughed, putting a friendly arm around my shoulder.
"Just glad to get out of the house, I guess." I finished the intimacy debate in my head and accepted his gesture, relaxing my shoulders so that he could rest there more easily.
"So, you wanna get something to eat around here?" He questioned casually, adding, "People won't be expecting to see anyone famous here."
"You're not disguised very well, are you?" I smiled, "But I doubt anyone could mistake you." Okay, okay, as compliments go it was poorly delivered and slightly dubious, but then again, I wasn't used to open flirting.
"With my big nose and crappy hair." He grinned and, in response I pulled my woollen cap from my head and jammed it onto his.
"There you go." I patted his cheek like an interfering mother, "You look great."
"Thanks. You too." It was so genuine when he said it.
"You're too sweet. And a great liar." I laughed, "So, fancy..." I cast my eyes vaguely at the multi-coloured establishments around us, "Tony's café? How about the Steel Nail? That sounds exciting."
"Sounds like the menu has piercing on it as well as coffee." He grumbled warily.
"Okay, Tony's it is."
Tony turned out to be a middle-aged lady with frizzy, weakly ginger hair and a permanent grimace. But the coffee was good, not to mention the company. We found a quiet table in a corner bordering one of the large, plate glass windows at the front of the café, complete with vibrant, acrylic salt and pepper shakers, paper packets of sugar and a petite vase devoid of flowers. Sometimes though, when the surroundings are less than exciting, the conversation is unchangeably better.
Ryan politely avoided talking about my fear of intimacy with him, leaving us to flirt amiably and chat about boring things, like current affairs, which became immeasurably more interesting in that situation. He told me more about his time growing up in Delaware, his family, his current living situation, and his future prospects. It was strange to sit before him and hear that list; so routine and so scripted, but I guess that a decade of answering those kinds of questions all the while melts the spontaneity somewhat.
"It's amazing really." I smiled over my coffee cup with the sauce streaked china plate between my elbows; the naked, steel cutlery crossed unceremoniously over it.
"What is?" His brow crinkled, then he grinned challenging, "Me? I know."
"No..." I chuckled lightly, "How you got your foot in the door. That person just discovering you."
"I was lucky." Ryan shrugged and flickered his eyes down to his coffee.
"No, you weren't that lucky." I narrowed my eyes at him, "I mean; they spotted you because of your looks, didn't they?"
"That's what they said; the face of a star!" He smirked at the phrase.
My stomach felt like cloth. Sitting here before me was the one of the things I hated about the society we live in; an opportunity driven by idealised beauty. It sickened me slightly. I had never been beautiful to anyone. Maybe I was just so disgusted by the way that the pretty people seem to get 'lucky' because I was so messed up about my own appearance, but it still didn't seem fair.
"Are you okay?" Ryan pressed his hands over mine on the table comfortingly, leaning forward discreetly and studying my vacant eyes. "You went all quiet on me."
"I'm...I'm okay." I said blandly, sighing in a deep breath to replace those that I had missed during my consuming mind-trip.
"You aren't." He scolded, "Is it something I've done, or said?"
I looked cautiously at him. I didn't know if my raising the issue of his entrance into acting would be selfish of me, beneficial for our...friendship, or destructive and create a rift between us. I swallowed loudly, ready to elaborate on my mood, but a persistent, brief round of knocking on the glass to my left, and a muffled cry of my name broke my concentration.
"Chris! Chris!"
I turned to see Justin standing outside the building, tapping enthusiastically on the window, his palm pressed flat to the glass, his eyes alive with excitement. Those eyes, for a while smiling confidently at me, wandered slowly over to Ryan, and then, down the jacketed arm, to our hands, locked together on the chequered tablecloth. Those blue eyes; flecked, it seemed, with crystal shards; widened noticeably, and then shot confusion into my soul, before pulling away from the window and following their hasty owner down the street.
"Oh my God." I said slowly, suffering mildly from shock, "I've got to go after him."
"You don't have to, Chris." Ryan sounded annoyed.
"Oh shit. He saw us, Ryan." I gasped, "I should have said something before now."
"What is he to you Chris?" Ryan stood, to meet my eyes, "You hardly know the man."
"He's a friend, okay?" I shrugged on my hooded top quickly.
"And what does that make me?"
"I can't just let him go off all angry." I said quickly, not too sure how I would answer his question, "Can you sort out the bill? Thanks."
The street seemed wider somehow. As if some mischievous deity had swept a hand through the scene, moving the patchwork rows further apart, stretching the trees closer to the clouds, painting in more shadows, and spewing more people onto the pavements. I found him.
"Justin..." I said hoarsely, and then regained my voice, "Justin! Wait up!"
I could hear him huffing slightly as he was considering whether to stop, or to quicken his pace. He stopped, but didn't turn to meet my face; just stopped, his back tense through the material of his shirt. I reached him and walked around to his side, but only being allowed his profile, and his eyes staring stubbornly ahead.
"Justin. I'm sorry." I was breathing heavily, "I didn't expect to see you."
"Like that's an excuse?" He said through gritted teeth, "That's like saying that you weren't ready to hide or something."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." I said quietly.
"What is he then?" He looked at me, but his face was tight, and his eyes were cut thinly into his skin, "Ryan? What is he? Your 'boyfriend'?" The word was spat out and mocked.
"No...I...I don't know." I said dejectedly.
"You don't know?" He laughed, "I think you should know, Chris."
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that I am gay." I sighed after saying it. It never got any easier apologising to people.
"What is this? Your secret, or something?" He confronted me, "Should I feel proud that I know now?"
"It isn't a secret." I found it difficult to look at him, when he was scrutinising my face with such anger in his eyes, "The band knows. And Chris knows."
"And Ryan." Justin's voice had become more introverted; less aggressive towards me, more moodily reflective.
"They all know." I gingerly placed a hand on his arm, "This isn't like a new thing for me; I came to the US knowing it."
"Well, it's new for me." He grumbled.
"It doesn't change anything. You know that, right?" I offered.
"Of course it changes things." He exploded, "What about when we went swimming?"
"What about it?" I shrugged.
"We were like..." He searched for words, "Together. It was compromising."
"How?" I laughed cynically, "You mean that I could have raped you or something? Justin, we are grown ups, okay? We've got past that primary school mentality of the boys sitting on one side of the room and the girls on the other because they can't just be friends with one another."
"How is that a good example?" He coughed out a laugh.
"Maybe that's not a very good example, but I mean that you can be friends with women, can't you? Without anything happening?" I pushed.
"Well, yeah." He shook his head, "You lied to me, Chris."
"Granted; I didn't tell you." I admitted, "But I never lied to you Justin. It just hasn't come up in conversation."
"Maybe not. You should have said though."
"Why?" I argued, "You think that is a good way to introduce yourself? 'Hi, I'm Chris and I'm gay'?" I laughed, "That would be like you saying, 'Hi, I'm Justin and I'm straight.' See the sense in that?"
"No, I guess not."
"Justin, even if it has changed some things, it hasn't changed me. All I've said, all I've done; those things haven't changed. So, don't think you have to be any different around me, okay?"
"No flower-arranging and interior decorating tips?" He smiled shyly.
"No." I laughed, "Though the flowers idea is starting to appeal..." I punched his shoulder.
"This is just a bit strange for me, okay?"
"I know." I smiled, "Come on, let's walk and talk."
The street closed in on us again. The burbling conversations around us, and the clockwork ticking of heels on the concrete, formed a warm bubble of measure and intimacy to our words.
"It's just difficult, you know, imagining Ryan...kissing you and touching you and...Oh, I'm sorry." Justin blushed.
"Maybe you shouldn't imagine it." I grinned bashfully.
"I can't help it." He looked at me apologetically, "Perhaps it'll go away once I get used to it, but it's just...It's hard to explain." He smiled, "At least now I know there's no chance of you and Britney..."
"Like there ever would have been." I laughed, "I reckon she's figured me out already."
"She has?"
"Oh, I don't know it, but girls are strangely good at that."
"How come there's been nothing to suggest it in the papers then?" He shot at me.
"Well, the reporters don't spend enough time around me I guess, to really know me, and the people back home who know it are very clever."
"How do you mean?" He inquired, "If they were clever, wouldn't they make a buck on it?"
"The people who know it are friends. So, they are clever enough to keep me a friend."
"You're good like that." Justin grinned.
"Thanks. You too."
"You left Ryan back at the café." Justin stated with amusement, "Aren't you worried about going to fetch him?"
"He can take care of himself." I shrugged.
"I expect so." He affirmed with a bouncy tone, "Let's go to the funfair!"
"Okay," I agreed with high spirits, and then said seriously, "But we have to buy candyfloss."
"Why?" He chuckled
"Because it's sacred!" I said wide-eyed.
"Come on, before all the good rides are full."
We walked side by side under the hastily erected, garishly painted gateway, towards the assortment of stalls, games and rides as the brightly coloured lights were heating up the afternoon sky and the sun was saying its farewells to the sleepy city, expectant of the following day, and all it promised.
End of chapter
How was it for you? 'Cause it felt real good to me! Know what I want? I want your emails, especially if you're tall, dark and handsome. Oh, and if you're a girl, 'cause I'm not too sure that any girls read this, and it'd make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside if I knew that this appealed to the ladies too. Also, some part of me would like to know if Jaikid and friends still read this!!
I don't deserve any of you.
Kris