Author: littlest clouds PM
[ Heart, we will forget him, you and I, tonight! ] [ PG-13 ] Michael tries to forget. Implied slashiness.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Words: 412 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 09-11-04 - id: 1717200
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I don't own bottles of cheap champagne, I don't own hotels, and I don't own the MLB. Except Michael. He's fake. I own him.
Summary: Heart, we will forget him, you and I, tonight!
Notes: Well. So, I was paranoid that that stupid whore Internet Explorer was going to eat this so I hurriedly posted it to my reg. el jay, not meaning to. Ah well. Will post it to fic journal. And Michael gets a last name!
Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I may remember him!
- Emily Dickinson
--- --- ---
They lose their next game, and the game after that and the game after that game, and so on until each successive loss begins to bleed into the other and then suddenly, Michael can no longer tell the difference between all of them.
And Michael wonders when he stopped caring. When the game stopped mattering to him.
No, he won't think about that -- he won't think about Chris. He doesn't miss kissing him. He doesn't miss twisting his fingers through Chris's silky black hair, doesn't miss sucking on his neck and leaving behind a red reminder of their clandestine meetings.
No, he won't think about that.
So Michael, he grabs a bottle of cheap champagne from the hotel minibar, rips off the foil and begins drinking right out of the bottle. Sits down in front of the widescreen TV, puts on SportsCenter and chugs.
". . .Earlier today, Michael McCarty was roughed up for six earned runs in three and a third innings, as the Boston Red Sox flexed their. . .and there is talk that the team will send McCarty back to Triple A by the end of August. . .team officials have refused to. . ."
Michael turns off the TV and looks down at the empty bottle of champagne. Tosses it onto the bed and flops down beside it, sinking into the soft comforter, imagines that this is what Heaven will be like.
If he ever makes it there.
But Michael knows that a sinner like him will never get there. Not if you do what he and Chris did.
And horribly, devastatingly enough, Michael thinks he can live with that for now.