Roxie Rocks's Amazing Adventures

Descent Into Brokenness, Part Three

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Wed, 23 May 2007 00:51:40 GMT

Title: Descent Into Brokenness
Fandom/Pairing: Hollyoaks, John Paul/Craig, John Paul/OMC
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, drugs, sex, angst
Spoilers: up to and including the five a side football game and the 'apology'
Disclaimer: I do not own Hollyoaks or the characters

Summary: John Paul's in way over his head, but he doesn't care anymore. Spiralling into reckless self destruction, he pushes everyone and everything away. Can Craig reach him before John Paul goes completely over the edge, or is it too late for both of them?

A/ns: Second update in a week (shock horror) but am going back to London tomorrow where I don't have internet, so no idea when the next one will be...also, apologies for the shortness of the chapter. LJ wouldn't let me post the whole thing so have had to split it up.
Previous parts: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Descent+Into+Brokenness&filter=all

He tells her everything.

Everything, from when he first told Craig how he felt, right up to last night, to Greg giving him speed and Craig having to take him home.

She lets him cry into her shoulder, and after he’s finished, and their legs are starting to go numb from being crushed up on the stairs, she doesn’t say anything for a very long moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually.

Of all the things he thought she might say, this was not one of them.

“John Paul, I’m so sorry. I’ve let you down love, I’ve let you down so badly.”

He stares at her, shakes his head.

“No, mum. You haven’t.”

“I should have been there for you. I should have let you know you could talk to me, anytime, about anything. You shouldn’t have felt you couldn’t trust me.”

“Mum, it’s not your fault.”

She sighs, heavily.

“What a mess, hey?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It is a mess.”

She holds him a bit tighter.

“What happened to my little boy, eh?”

“I wish I knew.”

Eventually, they get up and go into the kitchen and his mum makes them cups of tea. He notices his
sisters have all kept their distance, and he’s glad. He isn’t sure he could handle them right now.

“You know you’re going to have to face up to Craig eventually,” she says.

“I know.”

He wishes he didn’t though.

He really wishes he didn’t.

On Monday, he goes out of his way to avoid Craig.

He’s doing okay, until just after lunch when he bumps into Hannah on her way out of the toilet.

In a brief, clear flash, he remembers what he said to Craig at the Loft on Saturday, how very thin Hannah is.

He can see it now, as she asks him how he’s been, how pronounced her cheekbones are, the way her white t-shirt hangs off her.

“Are you okay?” he asks her.

She smiles, but there’s something brittle about it.

“I’m fine,” she says, and he can tell she’s lying. He wishes suddenly, furtively, that they could skive off next period and just spend it talking, like they used to, but knows he can’t afford to miss another lesson.

“Hannah,” he says instead. “You look…not good.” He winces inwardly at the way her face falls. “No, no, that came out wrong. I just mean you look a bit ill, a bit thin. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You think I look thin?” she asks, and she sounds so hopeful, so desperate, it makes John Paul feel suddenly slightly sick.

“You’re too thin,” he says, trying to sound firm and having no idea what he’s doing. Shouldn’t Sarah be the one saying all this stuff?

“You’re so beautiful, Hannah. You don’t need to try and change yourself.”

Her smile softens, just a little.

“Thanks John Paul,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. He has no idea whether he’s done any good.

He walks her to their English class, and it’s there he bumps into Craig, literally, in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he mutters awkwardly, trying not to make actual eye contact as he slips past. He can’t deal with Craig now.

Craig, however, has other plans and bodily pulls him back through the classroom door.

“We need to talk,” he says, and, despite John Paul’s protests, drags him along the corridor, away from the English classroom, with a firm grip on John Paul’s wrist.

He stops in front of an empty classroom, and yanks John Paul inside, firmly shutting the door behind them.

“Craig!” John Paul splutters indignantly. “What-”

“Just shh, John Paul, okay? You need to start talking. You need to start telling me what the hell is going on with you, and how the hell you let as big a wanker as that Greg into your life.”

He stops, looking expectantly at John Paul. John Paul isn’t entirely sure what to say.

“Craig,” he begins cautiously. “I don’t know what-”

“No John Paul!” Craig interrupts. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are anymore! I’m supposed to be your best friend!”

John Paul stares at him for a moment. Did Craig just forget the last three months happened?

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says. “We can’t just be best mates again because you let me stay at your house and don’t like my boyfriend. I can’t just forget everything that’s happened.”

“You mean you can’t forgive me,” Craig says.

John Paul hesitates before answering. He’s spent so long being angry at Craig he hasn’t had time to think about whether or not he’s forgiven him.

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly.

“Shit,” Craig says, and he closes his eyes as if John Paul has delivered a final blow. “You’re the biggest regret, John Paul,” he says, with his eyes still closed. John Paul gets the impression he wouldn’t be able to say it with his eyes open. “What I did to you, that’s my biggest regret, and if I could take it back I would, in a second. You can’t know how fucking sorry I am.”

John Paul lets out a slow breath. It’s certainly better than last time he tried to apologise anyway.

“I’ve changed,” he says eventually. “Greg’s changed me a lot.”

“Into what?” Craig asks, opening his eyes, and the implication in the question is clear.

“I only did it a few times,” John Paul says. “And only E, nothing else. I swear.”

Craig stares at him.

“Only E?” he repeats incredulously. “It can kill you John Paul! It can fucking kill you!”

“I was careful,” John Paul defends, because he knows the risks of dehydration and alcohol. They were trying to get high, not dead.

“And what about a bad reaction?” Craig snaps. “What if the first time you did it you were one of the unlucky ones who had a fatal reaction?”

“But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point!” Craig yells, and he’s just as angry now as he was when John Paul kissed him. That was so long ago. “The point is you were risking your life for a fucking pill!”

“It made me feel good, alright?” John Paul yells back. It may be a poor reason, but it’s the truth. “It made me feel good. Just for a few hours. Like I didn’t have to care that I was gay, that I was alone, that I was in love with my best friend. I just felt…good.”

“Good enough to lose your life over?” Craig asks, and John Paul’s had enough. He doesn’t need this from Craig, not when his mum’s already lectured him about the dangers of drugs twice over.

“You know what?” he snaps. “I don’t care, Craig. Yes, I was an idiot, and yes, it was probably one of the most stupid decisions of my life, but why the hell do you think I said yes? And I did say yes. No one forced it on me. I took it willingly. What, or should I say who, could have fucked me up that badly that I would want to take it, huh?”

He’s about to walk past Craig when he stops, turns, and says, purely out of spite, because he wants to hurt Craig now, “By the way, I heard you, when I slept at yours. I wasn’t asleep. I heard what you said.”

When he feels Craig’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him around, he fully expects a punch in the face.

What he doesn’t expect Craig to do is shove him against the wall and kiss him.

His natural instinct is to push him away, and he does, immediately regretting it. Craig was just kissing him.

“What the hell am I doing?” Craig asks, staring at him, wide eyed.

“I don’t know,” John Paul replies. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh God,” Craig mutters half turning away from him, and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“Oh God, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just…” He trails off.

“What?” John Paul all but whispers. What?

Craig pulls his hands away, and John Paul is startled to recognise that look.

It’s the same look he saw everyday in the mirror, when he realised he was in love.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Craig hisses, looking as if the words coming out of his mouth are in another language. “I just can’t stop. I can’t stop missing you, and remembering you, all the stuff we used to do. I can’t stop thinking about kissing and touching and sex, and I don’t even know how to have sex with another bloke!”

Throughout his revelation, his face has slowly become more and more pink, and his voice higher and higher. John Paul feels the words throughout his whole body. Craig’s been thinking of sex with him.

“I just have these thoughts, and I don’t know how to stop them. I don’t think I even want to stop them. And then seeing you with that, that Greg it just made me so…I don’t know, and I just kept thinking it was wrong, and that I wanted to, but I couldn’t and-”

“Woah, woah.”

John Paul puts his hands firmly on Craig’s shoulders. He thinks Craig might be getting a bit hysterical.

“Just take some deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths. Good.”

He waits until Craig’s calmed down a bit and is looking at him as if he has all the answers. Again.

John Paul’s entire world is spinning. Did Craig really just say…?

“Craig,” he begins carefully. He is so out of his depth. “It’s okay, you know, if you fancy boys as well as girls.”

“But I don’t fancy any other boys!” Craig says, and his voice has that shrill edge again. “I only fancy you!” Then he goes bright red and stares at the carpet.

John Paul swallows heavily. He has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with this.

“Um, okay,” he says.

Craig shoots him a quick glare, then returns his eyes to the carpet.

“Is that all you have to say?” he mutters.

“I don’t know what to say,” John Paul snaps, thoroughly confused. Craig was straight. Wasn’t he? “You can’t just…I mean, how do you know?”

Craig’s looking at him again now, but John Paul isn’t exactly flattered. It’s the same look he’d give a lunatic.

“How do I know?” Craig hisses incredulously. “Weren’t you listening? I dream about having sex with you John Paul. You make me feel as if I’ve got an army of beetles in my stomach. I’m jealous of your wanker boyfriend. Do you need anymore bloody evidence?”

“Well excuse me if it’s taking me a few minutes to grasp the idea!” John Paul hisses back. “Last time you and I kissed, it didn’t exactly turn out in my favour.”

“And I’ve told you I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t make it okay!” John Paul yells, and the truth of his words feels like a punch in the gut. How appropriate. “I know you’re sorry, but you can’t take it back, Craig! You can’t take it back.”

He turns away, willing his eyes to stop stinging. He is not going to start crying now.

“Then what can I do?” Craig asks, softly, from behind him.

“I don’t know,” John Paul replies bleakly. He doesn’t know if Craig can do anything. Whatever he does do, now, John Paul can’t see him the same. It was so much easier to avoid him than face up to that.

And that’s when he realises: he can never let this go. No matter how hard he will try, he won’t be able to forget it, and it will always come between them.

“John Paul,” Craig whispers, and he sounds like he’s hurting, so badly.

John Paul closes his eyes, and a tear escapes, soundlessly, from under one lid.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he says.

“Do what?” Craig asks.

“This. You and me. I can’t.”

“But I thought this was what you wanted?”

“It was,” he says softly.

“Was,” repeats Craig.

John Paul wipes the tear away.

“I can’t,” he says again. “I’m sorry Craig.”

He turns, and then regrets it, because the look on Craig’s face threatens to tear him apart.

“I don’t understand,” Craig says.

“It’s too late,” John Paul says sadly. “I can’t go back.”

“John Paul,” Craig says, an edge of desperation to his voice. “I will never hurt you again, you know that. And I would do anything you want-”

“Anything?” John Paul repeats.

Craig nods, eyes solemn.

“Anything.”

“Even kiss me in public? Tell your mum? Ignore the taunts and comments?”

Craig is looking a little less sure of himself, and John Paul smiles tiredly.

“I don’t think you’re ready for me Craig. And I’ve moved on from you.” It’s a lie. He hasn’t moved on, and probably never will. But he knows, right now, that he can’t be with Craig, no matter how much he wants it. He just can’t.

He reaches out to touch him, then pulls his hand back.

No.

He walks away instead, and doesn’t turn back when Craig whispers his name.

He can’t.

tbc.

Fic: Descent Into Brokenness Part Two

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Sat, 19 May 2007 20:24:20 GMT

a/ns: I know, I completely suck at updating, but in my defense I have very sporadic internet.
Previous parts: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Descent+Into+Brokenness&filter=all

A week later, Alex gets busted on a night out at the Loft for carrying cocaine. Greg and John Paul hide in the toilets taking whatever they have on them, drunk, high and barely able to stand up, until they think the coast is clear again.

They stumble out, Greg practically holding John Paul up, and then Greg kisses him and goes off to the bar. John Paul half trips, turns around and finds Craig Dean watching him with narrowed eyes from across the room.

Huh. He didn’t even realise Craig was here. He debates whether or not to go over, but then Craig starts to walk towards him, so he just waits.

“You alright?” Craig asks.

John Paul nods, unable to help the smile which crawls across his face. Craig smells good.

“I am fine!” he proclaims happily.

Craig frowns.

“You sure? Your eyes look a bit…you look kind of weird.”

John Paul only laughs. Truthfully, he’s not entirely sure how many Es Greg’s given him tonight. He only knows it’s made him feel sky high and problem free.

“John Paul.” Craig looks awkward. “Maybe you should sit down. I really want to talk to you.”

“Hey! Are you following me?” John Paul asks. Why else would Craig be here? Was he with someone?

Craig sighs.

“No, I’m not following you. God, you’re completely pissed, aren’t you?”

“Craig,” John Paul murmurs. “Ah, Craig. You’ve fucked me up mate. Royally. Biiiig time.”

A pained expression flits across Craig’s face.

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” John Paul says as Craig steers him to a free seat and pushes him into it. “It’s true. Isn’t that funny?”

“Funny?” Craig repeats, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, John Paul? How is any of this funny?”
John Paul shoves ineffectually at Craig.

“Don’t go off the deep end, mate. I was only saying.”

“I don’t even recognise you anymore John Paul. It’s like you’re a different person.”

“And whose fault is that, hey?” John Paul snaps, Craig’s words finally breaking through his bubble of happiness. “Whose fucking fault is that?” Why the hell is Craig here anyway? He shakes his head in disgust. “Why don’t you go and find Sarah and leave me the hell alone?”

“John Paul,” Craig says. “Sarah and I broke up last month.”

Broke up? Since when. God, what is going on?

“I’m confused,” he says, raising a hand to his head. “You and Sarah…”

“It wasn’t working. After everything that happened, we just couldn’t…I couldn’t…” He trails off, looking a bit lost.

“But I saw her, the other day, in school,” John Paul slurs.

“She was worried about you. Both her and Hannah.”

“Oh God, Hannah.” He still can’t think of Hannah without that blinding, burning guilt. “She’s so skinny,” he says.

“What?” Craig asks.

“She’s too thin,” he repeats. He can see her, standing just down the hallway, pretending not to be waiting for them, her clothes hanging off her frame, the sharp edge of a collarbone visible under her t-shirt.

“John Paul,” Craig sighs impatiently. “This isn’t about Hannah, okay?”

“Of course it’s about Hannah! Whatever you did to me, however much you hurt me, I hurt her a hundred times worse! I slept with her, Craig! I-” He breaks off, because thinking about sleeping with Hannah, it makes him feel weird, not right. It isn’t fair.

“I know,” Craig says softly. “I know.”

He puts a comforting hand on John Paul’s shoulder, and John Paul just wants to break down, right there in the middle of the Loft.

“Everything’s just so shit,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Craig says again.

“You know what the worst part is?” John Paul asks blearily. “After everything that’s happened, after everything we’ve both done, I’m still in love with you.” He laughs bleakly. “I suppose that’s irony, or whatever.”

“John Paul,” Craig says, something in his tone making John Paul look up at him. Craig is staring at him so intently. He makes John Paul feel as if his veins are on fire.

He’s half moving towards Craig when he realises that his veins actually are on fire, and oh God, that fucking hurts.

“John Paul?” Craig asks.

John Paul tries to move, and finds himself face up on the floor, the lights on the ceiling blinding him, blazing stars in his vision.

“John Paul!” Craig cries desperately, face appearing, blurred in his vision. “John Paul! Shit!”

“What the hell have you done? Get off him!”

Craig is yanked away from him, and Greg appears in his eye line, eyes frantic as he pats John Paul’s face.

“JP! Come on, babe. You’re fine, you’re okay.”

“He needs an ambulance!” Craig is yelling, and John Paul struggles to move, to sit up. He doesn’t need an ambulance. He’s fine.

He feels Greg’s arm under him, helping him to sit, and baulks as a powerful wave of nausea flows over him.

“I’m going to-”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence before he throws up onto the floor, his stomach heaving as he retches desperately.

“That’s it,” Craig snaps. “Call a fucking ambulance!”

“No!” Greg yells back. “You can’t! Someone just get him some water!”

“Look at him! He needs help!”

“He’ll be fine,” Greg says. “He’s just having a reaction.”

John Paul watches, distantly, as Craig frowns in confusion, then suddenly goes very still.

“A reaction to what?” he asks, and John Paul can hear the barely restrained fury in his voice. Craig knows.

There’s a brief, very tense pause.

“I gave him some speed,” Greg admits, and John Paul feels his head spin even more. Speed? That wasn’t right. He hadn’t asked for any speed.

“You did what?” Craig yells. “You gave him fucking drugs?”

“He asked for it, alright?’ Greg yells back, and John Paul feels as if something very important is slipping from his grasp. “He loves them, can’t get enough.”

“What?” Craig snaps, but John Paul can see the confusion, the uncertainty in his eyes.

“JP’s been taking ecstasy for weeks.”

John Paul tries to shake his head. It’s only been one week. Hasn’t it?

“You’re lying.” Craig’s eyes dart to John Paul, then back to Greg. “You’re lying! John Paul wouldn’t-”

“Oh believe me he would,” Greg says. His arm, still around John Paul’s back, tightens. “He fucking loves it. Loves to take a pill and then let me take him home and fuck him all night.”

“Shut up,” John Paul says, finally finding his voice. He can’t bear the look on Craig’s face. “I’m fine. I just need to go home and sleep it off.” The fire’s receding now. He can breathe again.

“John Paul.” Craig’s eyes are desperate. “Tell me he’s lying. You wouldn’t.”

John Paul looks away. He can’t.

“I have to go home.”

“I’ll walk you,” Greg says, helping him to stand.

John Paul pushes him away.

“I don’t need your help.”

“JP-”

“You gave me speed Greg? What the fuck?”

“I thought you’d like it.”

John Paul shakes his head, disgusted, tired.

“Whatever.”

He drinks the water someone brings him, and it helps to clear his head slightly. He’s stumbling down the stairs, trying to bring each step into focus, when he feels a hand on his arm and knows, without even looking, that it’s Craig.

“Don’t,” he says, before Craig can even say anything. He doesn’t need to hear what a mess he’s made of everything right now.

“Drugs?” Craig asks anyway, and John Paul rolls his eyes then regrets it when it makes his brain hurt.

“Not now, yeah?”

Craig tightens his grip on John Paul’s arm.

“You need help getting home,” he says firmly. John Paul can’t be bothered to protest.

They walk back to John Paul’s in silence, and it’s only halfway there that John Paul realises Craig’s still holding onto his arm. He doesn’t say anything. If this is the last time Craig is ever going to go near him, he wants to be able to remember the feel of his hand, even if that’s all he remembers.

He stops outside the door.

“I can’t go in there,” he says.

He hears Craig let out his breath in a woosh.

“You can stay at mine,” he says.

John Paul frowns.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Well, you can’t go home and you probably shouldn’t be alone in case you, you know, start fitting or choking or something.”

John Paul isn’t sure exactly how to respond to that. It almost sounds like Craig cares.

“Okay,” he says eventually.

Craig takes him back to the Dog and they go quietly upstairs to his room, where Craig puts out a sleeping bag and pillow on the floor.

They don’t say much as they get into bed, Craig making sure John Paul has a glass of water nearby, and John Paul lies there in the dark, listening to Craig’s breathing in the silence.

“John Paul?” Craig asks softly, after a little while. “You awake?”

John Paul is awake, but he can’t talk to Craig anymore tonight. He can’t talk about the drugs and Greg and all the shit. He can’t.

He hears Craig sigh, quietly.

“I wish I could stay this stuff to you when you can actually hear me,” he murmurs. “It’s such a mess, isn’t it? Everything.”

John Paul tries to breathe evenly.

“What am I going to do?” he whispers. “God, you still…you just make me feel…” He doesn’t finish, and John Paul waits, but nothing else comes, and eventually he hears Craig’s breathing even out into sleep.

It takes him a long time to follow.

The next day he feels like shit, pure and simple.

He wakes up earlier than he should, and drinks the glass of water by his head in three desperate gulps.

God, he could kill Greg.

He manages to roll to his knees, and then uses Craig’s desk to pull himself to his feet. Craig is still asleep, and John Paul stares at him for a moment, before quickly picking up his shoes and slipping out of the door, glad that Craig hadn’t insisted he get undressed last night.

He makes his way home, and opens the door quietly, hoping he’s too early for any of his family to be up.

His mum’s sitting at the kitchen table.

“A phone call,” she says softly. “One phone call is all it would take to tell me that you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere.”

John Paul doesn’t say anything, but his stomach clenches guiltily.

“What did I do to deserve this, eh?” his mum asks. “I can’t cope with this anymore John Paul! Most of the time I have no idea where you are, if you’ve even got a place to stay! And don’t get me started on that boyfriend of yours.”

John Paul doesn’t leap to Greg’s defence, as he has done so many times before. He still can’t believe what happened last night.

Maybe his mum notices, because she turns and looks at him.

“Where did you go?”

John Paul shrugs, and even that hurts.

“To the Loft.”

“You look awful. I’m sure you drunk yourself into oblivion.”

He shrugs again. He’d rather she think he was an alcoholic than a druggie.

She shakes her head. She looks sad. Defeated.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried shouting at you, grounding you. I’ve tried reasoning with you, asking you. It’s like you just don’t care anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he says.

He goes upstairs, just wanting to fall into bed and pretend last night never happened, and groans when he sees Jacqui sitting in his room. He really doesn’t need this right now.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asks tetchily.

“Shut up,” Jacqui snaps. He blinks at her apparent fury. “This stops right now, John Paul, do you hear me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, toeing off his shoes. Why won’t she just leave?

“You’re killing mum, do you know that? Stop being so fucking selfish! I know you have problems, but guess what sunshine? They’re not going away, no matter how hard you try to drown yourself in drink and God knows what else.”

He freezes momentarily. Does she know about the drugs?

“You need to pull yourself together, and fast, because if you don’t, when you finally get out of your pity party, you might just find you don’t have anyone left.”

She slams the door behind her, and John Paul winces as the sound reverberates around his head.

He doesn’t think she knows about the drugs. She would have strung him up on the roof by now if she did.

He gets into bed, feeling sick and tired and a mess.

Would it never end?

He’s not sure how long he sleeps, but is awoken by a gentle knock on the door. A moment later Carmel sticks her head round, giving him a look of sympathy that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she says, and his stomach leaps, as he immediately thinks Craig.

It’s Greg, however, who comes into his room, looking shifty and apologetic.

John Paul sighs and flops back down under his covers.

“What do you want?”

“To apologise,” Greg says, sounding, at least, contrite. “I was a shit last night, JP. I shouldn’t have given you speed without telling you what it was.”

“Do you want to say that any louder?” John Paul asks. “I don’t think all my sisters heard it.”

“Look, I’m trying to apologise here,” Greg says, sounding annoyed.

John Paul pushes the covers aside with a scowl, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. He’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

“I don’t want your apology, okay?”

Greg sighs.

“Babe-”

“And that’s another thing. I hate it when you call me babe. I’m not a fucking animal.”

Greg looks taken aback.

“I never said you were, JP. What’s wrong?”

John Paul shakes his head.

“Everything,” he says. “Every fucking thing.”

“Tell me,” Greg says. “I can help you.”

And even though Greg’s help is that last thing John Paul wants, he has to admit that Greg is good at playing the part. At being concerned and charming and all the things that made John Paul fall for him in the first place.

“Don’t you get it?” he asks. “You are the problem.”

Greg frowns, uncomprehending, then his gaze hardens.

“Is this about that Craig kid?”

“No,” John Paul says quickly, even though it is about Craig, because it’s always about Craig.

“Then last night?” Greg asks. “Because I said I was-”

“It’s not about last night. Well it is, but not just that.” John Paul sighs. “Look, I just don’t like who I’m becoming right now. And a big part of that is you. Going out all night, skiving off school, taking drugs. It’s just not me.”

Greg’s quiet for a long moment.

“I like you, JP. I like you a lot. Don’t just get scared off by a bad reaction. It happens to everyone.”

“You’re not listening to me!” John Paul says, exasperated. “It’s not just about the speed, although yeah, that is an issue. I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

“It is about Craig, isn’t it?”

John Paul stares at him. Is he being deliberately stupid?

“No, Greg. It’s not about bloody Craig.”

“Yeah, then where were you last night?”

What?

“Excuse me?”

“Where were you last night,” Greg repeats. “Because when I came in, your mum had a go about not letting you phone to tell her where you were all night. And I know as sure as hell that you weren’t with me. So where were you?”

John Paul glares at the carpet.

“I was in a state. I could barely walk. Craig was helping me.”

“Yeah, and I know what sort of help you’d like from him.”

John Paul looks up, eyes burning.

“Shut up.”

“I should have realised, the first time I met you, that no one could ever live up to your precious Craig.”

“Shut up,” he says again. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do,” Greg replies, a hint of scorn in his tone. “You poured your little heart out to me, remember? I now about every tiny, fucked up detail.”

John Paul stares.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because you need to get real! The kid is straight, JP. He’s never going to feel the same way.”

“I thought I was too, until I met him!”

He knows he sounds desperate, but he can’t help it. He loves Craig. And he can’t just let that go, no matter how hard he’s tried. He can’t.

Greg shakes his head.

“You’re just going to end up getting hurt.”

“I’m already hurt,” he says, and realises, in that moment, just how true it is. He feels as if he’s been broken apart. And it fucking hurts.

“JP,” Greg sighs softly. “I just want you to be happy.”

Greg moves towards him, cupping John Paul’s face in his hands, and John Paul lets him, lets Greg kiss him, because he may not love Greg, but it feels so good. Just to be touched.

They’re lying on the bed, John Paul underneath, Greg’s hands somewhere under his t-shirt, when there’s a knock at the door and Craig walks in.

Everyone freezes, and Craig’s eyes are locked on the bed. John Paul feels a hot, unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t believe this,” Craig says eventually, and John Paul shoves Greg off him, pulling his t-shirt back down.

“Have you forgotten what he did to you last night?” Craig demands, and John Paul shrinks from his anger, whilst a part of him is equally angry that Craig suddenly feels he can tell John Paul what to do.

“I remember,” he says, standing up, trying not to show how flustered he feels.

“And you just forgive him like that? What’s wrong with you?”

“Hey,” Greg says, coming to stand by John Paul’s side. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

Craig glares at him.

“Don’t you dare speak to me.” He switches his attention back to John Paul, and as their eyes connect, underneath the anger, John Paul catches a glimmer of something else. Hurt?

“John Paul, he gave you drugs.”

John Paul sighs. He really doesn’t want to do this now.

“I know Craig, okay? I know. But Greg was telling the truth last night. I have been taking E.”

He knows Craig found out at the Loft but John Paul supposes it didn’t really sink in, because now Craig looks angry and ashen and disappointed, and his eyes seem to cut John Paul in half.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps.

Greg steps forward.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice dangerously low. “Do not talk to him like that.”

“You, piss off. This is between me and him,” Craig says, jerking his head at John Paul.

“No,” Greg says. “It’s not just you and him. I’m in the picture now.”

“You’re the bloody problem!”

“You don’t get to tell him what to do anymore. You forfeited that right when you used him as your punching bag!”

“Stop!” John Paul yells. His head hurts too much for this. “Craig…” Craig looks so expectant. Like he expects John Paul to have an explanation for why he’s fucked up so royally. As if he expects it to makes sense. “...just go, okay?”

Craig gapes at him for a moment.

“John Paul-”

“Go!” he says again, more forcefully, and Craig shoots Greg a poisonous look before leaving. John Paul hears him stamp down the stairs and slam the front door.

“You did the right thing,” Greg says. “He’s a jumped up little shit who only cares about himself.”

“I want you to leave too,” John Paul says.

“…what?”

“I want you to leave, Greg. For good. I don’t want you to call or text me. I don’t want you to show up at school for any lunchtime visits. I don’t want anymore of your pills. I want you to get out of my life.”

Greg half laughs.

“Yeah right. JP, come on.”

“I’ve had enough. I can’t do this anymore, I…God. I’ve fucked up so much. And you’re just making it all worse.”

Greg stares at him, trying to figure it out, then his face twists.

“So he wins after all then? After everything he’s done to you, you let him win?”

“It’s not a game!” John Paul shouts. “It’s my life!”

“And what kind of life can you live, in love with someone who will never love you back?”

“What kind of life can I live high on pills all the time?” he yells back, heedless of who hears. “What kind of life will I live if I die of a drug overdose before I’m 20?”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“No.” John Paul shakes his head. “For the first time since I met you, I think I’m actually doing the right thing.”

“And can you live without it? The lifestyle, the freedom?” He leans too close to John Paul. “The sex?”

There’s something in the words that make John Paul feel as if Greg has just thrown a glass of cold water over him.

“Get out.”

He shoves at Greg, pushing him out of the open door and along the landing, following him to the stairs.

“You’ll miss it,” Greg snaps, as he begins to go down the stairs. “You’ll miss it and you’ll be begging me to take you back.”

“No,” John Paul says, behind him. “No, I won’t.”

Greg stops and turns to face him on the stairs, their heights the same, eyes exactly level.

“Oh yes. Because once you’ve had a taste…” He trails off. One hand touches John Paul’s cheek, finger skimming the skin. “You were very good at it.”

John Paul shoves his hand away, almost violently. He doesn’t want to know if that’s all he ever really was to Greg. He doesn’t want to know.

“Get. Out.”

He watches as Greg goes down the remaining stairs and pulls open the door, turning to shoot John Paul once last glance before closing it behind him.

John Paul stays frozen for a long moment, then sinks down onto the stairs, back against the wall, and presses his hands against his eyes.

He can’t hold back the sudden tears of relief, exhaustion, desperation. He sits and cries, and after a few moments he hears the stairs creak, and feels his mum’s arms come around him, holding him so tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies soothingly, although he knows it’s not. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He wishes he was five years old again, and that he could still believe her when she says it.

*
tbc.

Fic: Descent Into Brokenness

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 10:11:43 GMT

Title: Descent Into Brokenness
Fandom/Pairing:Hollyoaks, John Paul/Craig, John Paul/OMC
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, drugs, sex, angst
Spoilers: up to and including the five a side football game and the 'apology'
Disclaimer: I do not own Hollyoaks or the characters

Summary: John Paul's in way over his head, but he doesn't care anymore. Spiralling into reckless self destruction, he pushes everyone and everything away. Can Craig reach him before John Paul goes completely over the edge, or is it too late for both of them?

ans: yeah, so the idea's a bit cliched, but what can I say? I really do love a good cliche. Also, I know John Paul's only 17, but when I started writing this I didn't know that, so let's just pretend he has a September birthday...

February

The first question Jacqui asks him is “Who did it?”

John Paul raises a hesitant hand to the worst cut on his face, (just below his eye) and says nothing. Jac’s got that look on her face, the one where she’ll go through hell to protect her family, and while John Paul appreciates it, he’s pretty sure her parole officer won’t.

“Leave it,” he says, trying to slip past her upstairs. She grabs his arm, firmly anchoring him in place while she examines his bruised face.

“Mum’ll go mental when she sees this,” she murmurs, hands gentle as she tilts his chin under the light. “Homophobic little twats.”

“Don’t Jac,” he protests. He doesn’t want this to be a big deal. And he certainly doesn’t want his family knowing that it was Craig who hit him. “Things just got a little rough on the football pitch, that’s all.”

“Yeah right,” Jacqui spits, but her eyes are soft as they track his face.

“Leave it,” he says again. “I just…I just want to be on my own for a bit.”

She nods, looking sad, and then pulls him back for an uncharacteristic hug.

He can feel her eyes watching him as he goes up the stairs, and just knows she has that hard, flinty expression on her face.

Upstairs, he lays facedown on is bed and feels too tired to cry. He’s done enough of that already today. He tries not to picture Craig’s face as he attempted to apologise, if you can call that an apology. As if he expected John Paul just to go running back to him.

Right now, nothing could get John Paul to talk to Craig again. Nothing.

What was it Jacqui had said to him, before he left for school? Something along the lines of he’d find out who his true friends were.

Well, he supposes he’s found out. He just wishes it hadn’t been quite so painful.

John Paul quits the football team a week later. It doesn’t matter how much he loves playing, how good he is. He doesn’t need the extra grief.

His games teacher doesn’t look too surprised. John Paul remembers, bitterly, those moments when he was on the gym floor, Craig’s fists in his face, and how no one did anything to stop it, not even the bloody teacher.

Yeah, no room for queers on his team.

He spends the next two weeks drifting through school, hardly talking to anyone and ignoring all of Craig’s attempts at an apology. He notices, vaguely, that Craig’s being just as cold to Sarah as John Paul is to him, but the thought doesn’t leave any sort of impression on him. As far as he’s concerned whatever Craig and Sarah do now is none of his business.

Or at least he keeps telling himself that.

Surprisingly, Hannah’s the only one who’s still actually talking to him. Well, smiling at him anyway. He doesn’t smile back in case she gets the wrong idea. They can’t go through that again.

He’s in the Drive ‘n’ Buy on Tuesday afternoon, searching for emergency tinned pineapple (his mum’s making fruit salad) when he loses his grip and drops several tins on a red Converse shoe that isn’t his own.

“Ouch,” says an unfamiliar vice, and John Paul looks up into green eyes that make him forget, quite suddenly, all about Craig Dean.

The guy grins at John Paul as he hands him back his pineapple, and for a moment John Paul swears he lets their fingers brush not accidentally.

He thinks this whole thing with Craig is sending him round the bend.

His family decide to drag him out to the Dog, despite much protest, that Friday night. Myra insists that they can’t let anyone in the village think they’re giving in without a fight.

John Paul feels too tried and miserable to fight, and asks if they can go to the Loft instead.

He regrets it as soon as they walk in the door, and see Justin Burton standing at the bar, looking like he owns the place.

Jac is giving him a particularly poisonous look as well, although John-Paul’s not sure what Justin’s ever done to her.

He sees Kris Fisher in the corner with his friends, and feels an unexpected twinge in his chest. He used to like talking to Kris at the Dog, whenever he was waiting for Craig.

Kris waves at him, but John Paul doesn’t go over. He’s far too perceptive for John-Paul’s liking.

He isn’t too surprised, however, when Kris follows him into the men’s room half an hour later. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, leaning against the sink and watching John Paul with narrowed eyes.

“So, how are you?”

John Paul shrugs and avoids eye contact.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah right,” Kris snorts. “You and Craig were walking around with matching bruises a week ago, and don’t think I haven’t missed you at the Dog. What’s going on?”

John Paul shrugs. He wishes people would just leave him alone.

“Why don’t you ask Craig?”

“I have. He’s not talking.”

“Well then.”

He tries to escape, but Kris is standing between him and the door.

“What happened?” he asks softly, and John Paul suddenly realises how badly he wants to talk to someone about all this. How much he misses his best friend.

“I kissed him,” he says, a little hoarsely. “And I don’t think he liked it very much.”

He tries to laugh, but it sounds miserable and pathetic.

“He hit you?”

John Paul shoots him a ‘yeah, duh’ look.

“Look, I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a fag bashing-”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t your so called best friend, was it?” he interrupts. Part of him marvels at the easy way Kris says fag, as if it’s no big deal. Maybe it isn’t.

“I’d say he’s a close minded loser and that you’re better off without him, but I do know he cares about you.”

John Paul laughs again, and this time it’s bitter.

“Yeah. Right.”

“He does,” Kris insists. “Maybe you just need to give him time.”

John Paul shakes his head, once.

“No. I could take him not talking to me, calling me stuff. But beating me up to show off to people he doesn’t even like? No.”

Kris sighs and nods.

“Well, it’s your life. If you ever want to talk…”

He leaves it an open invitation, and John Paul thinks about it, after he’s gone home and lying in a bed which feels cold. Maybe he should talk to Kris. It isn’t like he has a surplice of friends these days.

The next week at school, he hears retching coming from the girls’ toilets in one of his free periods. He doesn’t think anything of it, until he sees Hannah come into the common room a few moments later, looking pale and shaky. She probably has the flu. She should go home. He bites his lip and turns away, recognising that it’s no longer his place to even think things like that, let alone say them.

On his way home, he sees Sarah and Craig kissing at the gates. He averts his eyes and hurries on, pretending not to feel Craig’s eyes on his retreating back.

It’s none of his business.

When he gets home, there’s a text on his phone from Craig. He wants to talk. He’s sorry.

John Paul stares blankly at it for a moment, then deletes it and turns his phone off.

March

He’s quieter now.

He doesn’t really speak to people at school anymore. Hannah attempts to be friendly, but it’s strained and awkward between them. Sarah keeps well clear. And Craig…Craig tries to apologise again and again and again. John Paul tries to pretend he doesn’t exist. He can’t forgive Craig. It hurts.

Michaela buys him the Queer As Folk season one box set to try and make up with him. At first he thinks she’s taking the piss, but when he looks at her, biting her lip, begging him with her eyes, he knows he can’t stay angry at her. Even if she is slightly homophobic.

And at least she’s making an effort, unlike Mercedes, who still flatly refuses to believe he is gay at all. It would make him laugh, if it didn’t want to make him cry.

Two weeks into March he is waiting for a coffee in Il Gnosh, when the door swings open and the guy whose foot he dropped the pineapple tins on walks in.

He seems to recognise John Paul, and flashes him a smile before turning back to his friend, laughing about something as they sit at a table.

He’s probably just paranoid (or crazy) but he swears he can feel the guy’s eyes on him as he waits, although whenever he tries to sneak a look, the stranger’s attention is firmly fixed on his friend.

Or maybe more than a friend, John Paul realises, as he sees the guy’s hand rest casually on his ‘friend’s’ arm, stroking over the bare skin.

Realising he’s been staring for too long, John Paul tears his eyes away, only to be greeted by the guy’s amused green stare.

John Paul feels himself redden, and is glad when Dom brings his takeout coffee over.

He’s walking past the guy’s table, trying desperately to avoid eye contact, when he feels something hit him hard on the stomach, and he stumbles, dropping the cardboard cup onto the floor, the lid bursting off and hot liquid splashing up his jeans.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

The guy, half standing after ramming his chair into John Paul’s side, hurries to steady him, grabbing a napkin off the table as if to clean him off, then stopping and biting his lip.

“Shit, I am so, so sorry. I’ve ruined your jeans.”

John Paul shakes his head, painfully aware that the guy is holding his arm. He can feel the hand through his clothes, as hot as his coffee soaked jeans.

“It’s fine,” he manages to say. “It’ll wash out.”

“At least let me buy you another one.” The guy offers. He finally lets go of John Paul’s arm, moving to hold out his hand. “I’m Greg.”

“John Paul,” he replies, reaching to take it, and trying to ignore the spasm that trips down his spine at the contact.

Greg smiles his blinding smile.

“I’m such an idiot. Why don’t you sit with me and my friend? You can join us for lunch, I’ll pay. It’s really the least I can do.”

John Paul knows he shouldn’t. He has ten minutes to get back to school, and no free periods this afternoon. They’re working on their final coursework drafts in English. Plus he doesn’t even know this guy. It’s crazy. It’s completely un-John Paul.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Greg is 20 and studying media at HCC. He touches John Paul more than necessary and doesn’t seem fazed when John Paul admits he’s only 18. After lunch, his friend, Alex, has to leave, but Greg doesn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere.

“So,” he says, as they order yet another drink. “A levels, huh?”

John Paul nods, suddenly feeling self conscious. And young.

“That means you should be in school right now.”

John Paul shrugs.

“School’s not exactly my favourite place at the moment.”

Greg raises an eyebrow.

“How come?”

And John Paul finds, quite suddenly, it all comes spilling out. All of it, Hannah and Craig and Sarah, the dance off and the football game. Everything, to a guy he’s only just met.

“Sounds like this Craig’s a bit of a moron,” Greg says eventually. “Even if he can’t see how gorgeous you are-” John Paul feels his cheeks colouring “-he could at least appreciate what a good mate you are.”

“Yeah, but I kissed him.”

“Didn’t sound like he was protesting too much, from what you’ve told me.”

John Paul nods slowly. Greg was right. Craig had kissed him back.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” he says. “I’m finished with him.”

Greg looks at him for a long moment.

“Seems like you need something to take you mind off it all,” he says. “Something to help you relax.”

He stands up and holds a hand out in invitation.

John Paul hesitates for a second, then he takes it.

He doesn’t do this.

It’s not him at all, it’s completely out of character.

Yet he doesn’t protest as Greg takes him back to his dorm room. Doesn’t protest as Greg pushes him down onto the bed, kissing him deeply, sliding his hands under John Paul’s shirt.

Doesn’t protest as Greg undoes his jeans, and slips a hand inside his underwear.

He doesn’t do things like this.

He doesn’t do things like lose his male virginity in the middle of the afternoon with a guy he’s only just met.

But he doesn’t say no.

He may not do things like this, but he wants to.

He wants it.

April

John Paul falls hard and he falls fast.

He knows it isn’t love, but even after three weeks Greg still makes his stomach drop and his head fuzzy.

Greg likes to go out with his friends a lot, and he always asks John Paul to come. They go out to pubs and night clubs and Greg is always all over him: at the bar, on the dance floor, in the toilets. He can’t seem to get enough of John Paul, and appears to have a slight exhibitionist streak, but John Paul tries not to mind too much. He never used to like public displays of affection. But then again, he never used to have someone who wants him so badly that they drag him into a toilet cubicle half way through the night to blow him.

His relationship with Greg is different and exciting and he’s learning things about himself that he never would have dreamed of before.

(Like the fact that when Greg touches him through his trousers on the dance floor, hissing a stream of dirty words in his ear, he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life.)

His mum worries about all the time he’s suddenly spending out of the house, but he finds himself less inclined to please her, less afraid of disappointing her, then he used to.

He’s having fun. Screw the rest of it.

They’re in one of Greg’s favourite haunts on Wednesday night, drinking tequila at the bar with Alex and some others.

Alex announces he’s going to the toilet, and a few of the others hastily, slightly unsteadily, clamour off their chairs to join him, Greg included. They nearly always do this, have a group trip to the toilet, as least once in the evening, and John Paul has never joined them. The only time he ever tried, Greg made it tactfully, but firmly, clear he wasn’t welcome.

Now though, he grins and takes John Paul’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he tugs him off his chair.

“You too.”

John Paul follows him into the toilets, adrenaline and tequila fizzing through his veins as they stumble into the men’s.

Alex raises an eyebrow in John Paul’s direction, but doesn’t say anything as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little bag of white pills.

John Paul isn’t too surprised. He suspected they were taking something during their toilet trips.

Alex offers him a pill and he takes it, shooting an uncertain glance at Greg.

“What it is?” he asks, throat dry, voice strained.

“Just E,” Greg says. “Nothing to be scared of.”

He smiles widely as he puts a pill in his own mouth.

John Paul hesitates.

“Don’t worry,” Greg says. “This one’s a freebie. On me.”

They are all waiting for him, he realises.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes meet Greg’s. There’s expectation there. And a challenge.

Can you handle this?

He takes it.

The next morning he wakes up with a parched mouth and banging headache.

He squints in the sharp sunlight that’s cutting in through a gap in the curtains, trying not to move too much as his whole body is stiff and sore. He’s almost become used to hangovers in the times he’s been going out with Greg, they’re hard to avoid with the amount they drink, but this is different.

The whole of last night is a jumble of crystal and fuzzy images. At the club then afterwards, back at Greg’s.

John Paul winces as he shifts, pain making itself known in his arse and lower back. They had a lot of stamina last night.

Beside him, Greg moves, moaning into the pillow as he surfaces into consciousness.

“Shit,” he murmurs, when he can speak. “I feel like crap.”

“Me too,” John Paul agrees. He wonders vacantly where his watch is. “What time it is?”

Greg half turns over and squints at the clock.

“Just after nine thirty. God, it’s way too early.”

“I’m late for school.”

Greg yawns and throws a leg over John Paul’s thigh, effectively keeping him captive.

“Skip it,” he advises.

“I can’t,” John Paul protests, though he makes no move to pull away. “I’ve missed tons lately. They’re sending letters home to my mum.”

“Fucking schools,” Greg mutters. “They should just let you get on with it.”

He reaches for John Paul, pulling him close for a deep kiss which shouldn’t be as good as it is, considering neither of them had bothered cleaning their teeth when they got in.

“Don’t,” he says, pulling away, breathless, after a moment. “Don’t start what we don’t have time to finish.”

“Fuck school,” Greg insists, pulling him back.

John Paul allows it for a minute, then pulls away.

“I really have to go.”

His head spins as he tries to get up, and he feels distinctly sick.

“Come back to bed,” Greg says.

“Get lost,” John Paul mutters, trying to focus on exactly where his underwear went last night.

Eventually he makes it to school, slipping into his second period class ten minutes late, and aware that he looks like complete and utter shit.

He struggles to stay awake all through the class, and is relieved when it’s finally over. Greg was right. Coming in today will be a total waste.

“John Paul.”

He blinks and Craig comes into focus, standing in front of his desk. Everyone else has left, except Sarah and Hannah who he can see hovering in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” Craig asks. “You look terrible.”

“I’m fine,” he replies tonelessly. This is the best way to deal with Craig. Don’t show him any emotion, anything he can take something from. John Paul doesn’t have anything to give him.

“You don’t look it,” Craig reiterates.

John Paul shoots him a glare and pushes back his chair, standing up too suddenly as the blood rushes in his pounding head. He stumbles and Craig immediately moves to catch him.

It’s the closest they’ve been in over a month, and John Paul has to take a deep breath before firmly pushing him away.

Damn Craig Dean. Damn him.

“I’m fine,” he says again, though this time it comes out as more of a snap.

Craig looks uncomfortable, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and then pulling them out again as he asks “So, how have you been?”

If John Paul could summon the energy, he would roll his eyes. They’re a bit past pleasantries.

He starts walking towards the door, and Craig hurries after him.

“It’s just I haven’t seen you around much lately. You seem to have been missing a lot of school.”

“And?” John Paul asks as they go out into the corridor, a definite defensive note in his voice. Up ahead he can see Sarah and Hannah, pretending not to be waiting to see what happens.

“I’m worried,” Craig says quietly.

John Paul shoots him a disbelieving glance.

“Yeah right.”

“I am,” Craig insists, following John Paul as he walks down the hallway. “I know you hate me, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I don’t hate you,” John Paul says automatically. It isn’t completely untrue. He wonders how the hell it’s possible to love someone and hate them at the same time.

“You don’t?” Craig sounds surprised. “But after what happened, I thought-”

“What happened?” John Paul snaps, turning to face him, suddenly furious. “You mean, you beating the crap out of me to prove something to Sonny fucking Valentine?”

Craig looks ashen as he meets John Paul’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sor-”

“Oh save it, Craig,” John Paul interrupts. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“John Paul please.”

He grabs John Paul’s hand as he tries to walk away, and John Paul glares at him while his skin burns at the touch.

“Please, just give me a chance?”

“A chance to do what?” he asks, and for a crazy, crazy moment he thinks that Craig wants him, wants him like Greg wants him. That Craig loves him.

“A chance to explain, to try and make things right.”

That isn’t what John Paul wants to hear.

“Ok,” he says. “I’ll meet you at lunch.”

“I’ll buy it for you,” Craig says, unable to stop a smile from creeping across his face.

God, it makes John Paul hurt.

Craig buys him chips, and they sit on the high street and eat them in uncomfortable silence.

“So,” Craig says eventually.

John Paul waits.

“I don’t know what to say,” Craig confesses after a moment. “I don’t how to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you can’t,” John Paul says, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He can’t look at Craig.

“I just want things to be like they were before,” Craig says quietly.

John Paul laughs bitterly.

“What, before I was gay you mean?”

Craig sighs heavily.

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t care if you’re gay. I don’t.”

John Paul wonders who he’s trying to convince.

“I miss you,” Craig says softly.

And that just about undoes John Paul. He can’t do this. He can’t sit there and have Craig say things like that and pretend he doesn’t feel anything.

“I miss you too,” he admits.

He can feel Craig’s eyes on him, but stares determinedly at the ground.

“When did everything get so messed up?” Craig asks.

When I fell in love with you, John Paul thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

They are both silent for a long time, until Craig finally asks “So what do we do now?”

John Paul open his mouth, unsure, to respond, when a familiar voice cuts across him.

“JP!”

He looks up to see Greg walking towards him, wearing a green long sleeved t-shirt and looking as if he’d never touched a drug in his life, let alone spent the entire night tanked up on ecstasy.

“Greg,” he says surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Greg shrugs and smiles his amazing smile.

“Thought you might like some company for lunch. I was just heading up to the school to call you.”

John Paul can’t help smiling in return. Greg just has that effect on him.

He feels Craig shift beside him, and Greg’s eyes move over him, before going back to John Paul.

“I’m Craig,” Craig says eventually. “John Paul’s, uh, friend.”

“I know who you are,” Greg replies calmly, but John Paul can see the slight darkening in his eyes.

John Paul waits until he can’t wait any longer, then says “This is Greg.”

“His boyfriend,” Greg puts in, and John Paul can feel Craig stiffen beside him.

“Boyfriend? I, uh,” Craig says intelligently, and Greg pretends he isn’t there.

“You want to get out of here?”

John Paul hesitates.

He knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay.”

He stands up, and Craig grabs his arm.

“John Paul, what about school?”

John Paul shrugs his arm off irritably.

“Fuck school,” he mutters, and Greg grins at him.

“Yeah, fuck school.”

He takes John Paul’s hand, and John Paul notices, dully, the difference between Greg and Craig’s touch. He suddenly, desperately wants to be as far away from Craig Dean as possible.

“John Paul!” Craig shouts, but John Paul pretends he can’t hear, and lets Greg entice him away.

There’s nothing back there for him anyway.

His mum’s waiting for him, when he gets back from Greg’s, hands on hips.

“The school called,” she says.

Oh crap.

“Yeah and?”

“And you were late this morning, then didn’t go in this afternoon. Again.”

He doesn’t say anything. Like he cares.

“They’re on the verge of suspending you, John Paul!” his mum snaps in desperation. “Don’t you care about going to university?”

He used to. He and Craig had discussed it, once, and he’d enchanted John Paul with descriptions of Trinity College in Dublin. Then he’d said, so very casually, that John Paul should apply there too. Just because it was a really good university. As if it even mattered anymore. Craig was going to Leeds with Sarah.

Now, he just shrugs.

“If I fail everything, I’ll just go to HCC,” he says. “They let anyone in there.”

‘That’s not the point!” his mum cries in exasperation. “What’s happening to you? I don’t understand what’s going on in your head anymore.”

John Paul rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine, mum.”

“Are you doing drugs?” she asks.

He blinks at her, and tries to ignore the sudden burning in the pit of his stomach.

“No,” he lies.

“I just want to know what to do for you,” she says, defeated.

“You can stop going on at me for a start,” he mutters.

And then she bursts into tears, and he stands there, utterly bewildered, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his mum cry. Ever.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she sobs.

John Paul goes upstairs and lies on his bed, remembering how good everything seemed last night.

He calls Greg.

“JP, babe, what’s up?”

John Paul hesitates for a second.

“Do you have anymore?” he asks.

“Anymore?”

He swallows.

“Pills.”

Greg laughs, and it’s the first time the sound’s ever given John Paul a chill. Usually he loves Greg’s laugh.

“I knew you’d love it. Come round to mine tonight. I’ll invite some of the others. We’ll have a party.”

“No,” John Paul says before he can stop himself. “Just me and you.”

He can feel Greg’s smile down the phone, see the heat in his eyes.

“Alright babe. Just me, you and our own private party.”

John Paul hangs up the phone. He feels better already.

Yay for me.

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Mon, 26 Jun 2006 13:47:45 GMT

Yay, I am going to see Death Cab For Cuite in Leeds tomorrow (best bad EVER) and also meeting up with my semi-lover Kimberely Rainbow (yes, that is her real name) which RAWKS. Then am homeless for the evening, as i can't get a train home at that time, so am hoping I'll be able to find a place to crash...

Also, have updated Awake With Wolves Teeth again (this is, like, a record for me, also check out my memories...) so all in all am doing well.

Yeah, my life is very uninteresting. It's the little things that keep me going...

Woooot

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Fri, 23 Jun 2006 22:06:26 GMT

I am having a major hyper day.

But a good one.

It all started when I stayed up until 3am (quite by accident) to read a FAKE fic I had already read, but felt compelled to re read. It was awesome. So yeah, then I stayed in bed til, like, two and then got out of bed and DID STUFF. Seriously.

Then I watched A Series of Unfortunate Events (parts of twice, cos it was on Sky, and then I decided I wanted to watch the DVD)
and the I cooked dinner for my estranged parents (from me, not each other) and I posted fanfic. Twice. In one day. (I have become a pod person...) and I (finally) finished unpacking and all is well with the world.

And I may be a little hyper from the four cans of extra caffeine coke I drank today, but meh.

Does suck tho, that right now I should be partying it up (or geographically down) in Essex with my mofo homie Lee as its her bday, but meh, sucks to be poor.

On the subject of being poor, my mum said an amazing, should be documented thing today.
I swear, I was saying how hard I was finding it to get a job, and she said she thouhgt I could do volunteer work instead, after all it was only money. My mother. Only money. She alse said her and dad would lend me some and I could pay her back when I married that millionaire. I'm not entierly sure she was joking, so now the pressure may be on to find the French millionaire Stephan after all...

Also had awkward phone call from a boy I was convinced I was in love with today and we both kid of went, mm, yeah, oh a lot. He doesnt like anyone up here much anymore, and is going to a French monestory thing to live instead. Well, for a week anyway...

So, life's pretty much ok at the mo. Wooot, Rowenta kettle gets back tomorrow (or tday, or smthng.) Woot.

I am going to sleep tonight. Just might put a dvd on first...

Ha, also, dnt u love the mood box? I was thinking (am not act kidding here) I'm pretty jubilant tnite, and voila! There it was!

MOre from my hot new fic (hot with the sex that is. i wrote sex, yay!) Awake With Wolves Teeth (the O.C, Seth/Ryan): http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Awake+With+Wolves+Teeth&filter=all

And if anyone's interested and awespme (if I may so) Sky High fic, which I am super proud of, I'll See It Through (Will/Warren): http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=I%27ll+See+It+Through&filter=all

New Fic! Yay!

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Thu, 22 Jun 2006 10:51:40 GMT

As according with previous of entry of Keeping Journal Oranised I am putting a link to my new fic.

Title: Awake With Wolves Teeth
Author: roxierocks
Pairing: Seth/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex, language, minor character death (really minor)
Disclaimer: I don't own Seth, Ryan, the O.C, etc
A/Ns: written for the O.C slash community challenge

Summary: “I needed to see you,” Ryan replied, and Seth damned that slight flicker in his chest. He wasn’t going back there. Never again.

http://community.livejournal.com/theoc_slash/615229.html

Yay

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Wed, 21 Jun 2006 19:25:04 GMT

Note: brand shiny and new. Yay.

Um, organize anyone?

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Wed, 21 Jun 2006 17:52:26 GMT

Okay, this is me attempting to sort out my live journal, which I neveeeeer use.
Hm, ok New Years Resolutions (even though it is not, techincally New Year. Ha.

1: To post (or cross post) all my fics. Yay.

2: To REGULARLY post in my journal (hahaha. i seriously can't see this happening)

3: To reorganize the whole thing. Might go and do that now actually...

Well, it all starts here guys. (I give myself two days...)

officially in hell?

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Mon, 18 Jul 2005 17:50:53 GMT

Continuing with the Van Helsing descent into flames theme, i have now gone as far as to actually write my own Van helsing fic. And it's nc-17.
what can i say?
i have absolutely no excuse. except that its really hot.
I'll be putting it up in the vanhelsing slash group

http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=vanhelsingslash

here, when its finished.

check out the hotness!

I am past redemption...

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Sat, 02 Jul 2005 23:26:55 GMT

Have officially entered alternative universe/twilight zone today, as ctually went out and bought cursed Van Helsing on dvd in the Virgin sale.
Am past all redemption. Call off the prayers. I can't be saved.

So This Terrible Thing Happened...

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Thu, 30 Jun 2005 22:23:08 GMT

Remember last entry when I said I was obssessed with Van Helsing fanfiction?
It's gotten worse.
My friends and i thought it would be funny to have a 'bad movie' night, so we rented Van Helsing and Closer...and I liked it.
I actually liked it.
Have been checking for high body temperature and possible delirium ever since.
The only thing that kept me sane was knowing I still couldn't except the head-shaped-clouds ending.
Somone, please pray for me.
I think I need it...

Oh Dear

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Tue, 07 Jun 2005 16:08:48 GMT

Ha, yah, so I know I never ever update this journal, but am feeling pretty pleased with myself as I have joined a community (yay, not as computer illiterate as I thought) which is a Big Thing for me.
Plus, I have developed a worrying obssession with van Helsing fanfiction lately, slah (of course) Carl/Gabriel, but I did really, really, hate that film. I'm not even sure how I ended up wandering into that fandom/. Maybe I thought it would be funny to find out what crap paople wrote and ended up getting sucked in. No not me!!
Yeah, but my immediate lunacy aside, I am feeling pretty pink as I finally managed to finish a fanfic when I was away on holiday. A long one! All 98 pages of it. Have never actually bothered to finish anything with a plot before (I like the beginning and the end, but the middle drags me down) and still get disgruntled reveiws about my star wars fanfiction (not updated in over a year) which I did promise to finish. Oh dear. Usually I stick to the simple one shot, though I did write a whole series once, though that was just a big binch of one shots, sop no sure if that counts, but yeah, I was saying...oh yeah. The fic. Finished.
Plus, when I set out writing it, it was meant to be a character driven piece but ended up being completely plot driven with barely any character interaction (due to the fact that one of them is 'disappeared' for most of the story) so yeah, feeling pretty proud. It's a Constantine piece, slash (of course) and is quite good act (or that might just be the pride talking...)
So where is this amazing work of art?
Well, not here, not yet anyway, as am too lazy to actually post it.
It's in the Chastinelove community here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/chastinelove/
or at fanfiction.net under roxierocks.
Ha, does anyone else think that typing on here is quite like talking to yourself?
Yeah, well, am going now. Feeling quite crazy actually. Have to go iron...

Happy Birthday Harry!

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Sat, 31 Jul 2004 15:55:45 GMT

Hey, only just stupidly realised it was Harry's birthday after reading a post on one of my Yahoo groups, and therefore am saying "Happy Birthday Harry!"

Well, in honour of his birthday, I am posting a fic which is, admitedly, a little depressing and a bit cheesy, and maybe a bit oc, but hey, its fanfiction.

It’s A Fine Line Between Love and Hate

Their eyes met across the hall. A spark of dead rivalry, of old animosity shot between them, then each looked away, uncomfortably aware of the line they were walking.
They hated each other. There was no doubt about that.
But underneath the hate, still buried too deep to feel clearly, there was something else.
Something inexplicable and strangely endearing.
Something that neither preferred to dwell on, because they were afraid where such feelings may take them.

Harry Potter sighed and leaned forward onto the table, brushing unkempt hair from his eyes.
He was tired.
It consumed his mind and body, ever crashing waves of fatigue that refused to be dispelled, no matter how much he rested, lying with blank, open eyes, staring at the ceiling above.
And now the time, the day had finally come, and all he could focus on was his exhaustion. There was still so much he wanted to do, to say before it was too late, but he couldn’t get past the dull ache behind his eyes that forced all other thoughts from his mind.
Except one.
For he could still picture cold black, piercing his skin and bones, seeking the soul underneath. Those eyes, so icy and impersonal, saw things that no one else could see. They saw through his façade and they knew, they knew the weight of the world could not last long on the shoulders of a single person.
He didn’t want to think about the stirring those eyes produced in him. The alien emotions that rose from someplace deep inside where he had not yet ventured.
But he was drawn like a moth to the flame, searching for that unrelenting gaze, the only thing that still made him feel truly real.

Severus Snape felt the heat of the other’s eyes upon him.
The boy was looking at him. Again.
Damn him.
Severus tried to keep his attention elsewhere, anywhere, but to hopeless cause as he felt the lure of the other enticing him to succumb.
Black met green.
Fire sparked between them.
Severus looked away first, disturbed by the inappropriate emotions he experienced, and saddened by the look of absolute exhaustion on his pupil’s face.
Was it right that Harry should spend what may be his last living night in a state of complete and utter desolation?
No. Not even Harry Potter deserves that.
Severus stood abruptly, pushing his chair silently back from the table.
Harry’s eyes shot to his and Severus held the gaze briefly, before sweeping from the hall, ignoring the questioning looks of students and teachers alike.
Harry watched him leave, an odd fizzing in his stomach.
Slowly he stood. He felt a hand on his arm, but shook it off, concentrating solely on following Severus’s footsteps from the hall.
He was waiting.
They watched each other with guarded expressions, then Severus turned and walked out into the cooling grounds, Harry following. Severus led him to a large, leafy tree that looked out across the lake, and they sat in silence.
“I don’t want to go.”
Harry’s words didn’t surprise Severus in the slightest. Who would want to walk to their death, even for a noble cause?
“I know.”
“How?” Harry turned to face him, a trace of anger in his features. “How do you know?”
“I know more that you think I do,” Severus replied softly. “I know you’re afraid. I know you’re torn between wanting to live your life and playing saviour to the world. I know you lie awake at night, unable to find rest even in sleep because of the dreams that haunt you. I know that a part of you wishes you could just give in, just give up.”
For a moment neither spoke.
“It’s funny,” Harry said softly. “Of all the people in the world you are one of the ones I hate most. Yet you are the only one who truly understands me.”
Severus said nothing.
It was true, he knew. He was the only one who could truly see the boy for what he was, because he was the only one who refused at accept the hero like image that had been painted by those who knew him only from name, not from a face. It had started because his hatred for the boy refused to allow him to treat him like they did, refused to praise and love him, so he singled him out, isolated him, and in doing that, perhaps, failed to realise the boy inside was not so unlike himself, deep down. And when this realisation came, a whole new world of feeling was opened, and in letting himself, finally, feel he had failed all he had worked so hard to sever himself from: emotion.
“I’m going to die,” Harry stated flatly.
“You don’t know that,” Severus replied evenly.
“I don’t care,” Harry whispered. “I don’t feel like I have anything left to live for. I’m wondering if I ever did.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Severus snapped, a slight impatience in his voice. “You have plenty of things to live for. You have loyal friends, many people who are quite willing to lay down their lives for you. You have a whole world of adoring fans.”
“But it’s not enough, is it? I’d give up any kind of recognition to have my mum, or dad, or Sirius here with me. Just to have someone who will say to me “It’s okay Harry, you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can just be you.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Is that who you want to be, Potter? ‘Just you’?”
“Yeah. Without the scar and past and the fight. Without the fame. Just Harry Potter. No one special. Just me.”
“Sometimes being oneself isn’t as wonderful as it might appear,” Severus remarked.
Harry turned to look at him. “I think you’re wrong.”
Despite himself, the tiniest smile pulled at Severus’s lips. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “I think you being yourself is the best thing you could ever be.”
“Is that me personally, Potter, or just the world in general?” Severus asked, a definite dryness to his tone.
“Just you,” whispered Harry.
He reached out a shaking hand, barely aware of his actions, and touched one of the too-fine, lank strands of ebony hair.
Severus turned, uncharacteristic surprise written on his face.
“I love you,” said Harry.
Severus stilled, then shook his head slightly.
“You don’t love me. You’re feeling lost, confused. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not love.”
“I love you,” repeated Harry.
Severus sighed in exasperation.
“Potter-“ he began.
“Snape.” Harry interrupted.
They glared at each other, Harry hiding a smile, and then Severus turned away, uncomfortably aware of a sudden, almost unrecognisable sense of longing, longing for the boy before him, the feelings for whom he had tried so hard to fight against.
“Severus.”
Severus almost jumped, hearing his spoken from those lips, said with such…love.
“I love you…I do.”
Severus forced his marble like mask into place, determined that he would not risk his emotional sanity for the whim of doomed seventeen year old.
“I highly doubt it,” he said coldly. “What you are experiencing is hormones, Potter, nothing more. And what would make you think for one moment that I could reciprocate you feelings?”
Harry felt the words as strongly as a slap.
Of course, it had been foolish to think that Severus would ever desire him, foolish…
He stood abruptly, fighting a sudden lump in his throat.
“I just wanted you to know,” he said softly, turning back to the castle.
“Harry.”
He froze as his name was called, then looked at Severus, who was behind him, so close they were almost touching.
Severus had called out in a split second of madness, and now he had to make a decision: loose Harry and, consequently, himself or take a chance and maybe, just maybe catch a glimpse of happiness.
Silently, Severus leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s in a gentle, painfully intimate kiss that seemed to last an eternity, rather than the few seconds it encompassed.
Harry looked at Severus, the smallest of knowing smiles gracing his lips.
“I don’t love you,” Severus denied.
Harry said nothing, his lips brushing Severus’s cheek as softly as the wings of a butterfly.
Neither needed to speak as they made their way back to the castle. There was no discussion as they reached Severus’s quarters. Not even a sound as they closed the door and regarded each other with a fierce mixture of emotions.
Love. Fear. Desire.
It was only when they had reached deep inside the other’s soul in the most intimate of actions that any sound came at all.
Utterances of love as they cried out each other’s name and soared among the stars.

In the morning, Harry had gone.
Severus found only the barest trace of him lying on his pillow.
It’s a fine line between love and hate.
He stared at the note, a painful emptiness in his stomach.
Harry had gone to save the wizarding world. He had gone to die.
Brief moments from the night before flashed through his mind; the softness of Harry’s hair, the gentleness of his hands, the gasps of pure pleasure as they held each other close.
It was painful, he realised, only he’d expected pain from rejection, never from mutual love and parting.
And that was the most painful thing of all. Because he did love Harry, but he was too late to tell him.

The End.

Happy Birthday Harry!

What's With Van Helsing?

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Tue, 06 Jul 2004 14:49:16 GMT

Okay, be prepared for major rant material.
I went to see Van Helsing last night at my local cinema, and have to say I was severly disappointed.
It totally sucked!
The trailers all looked pretty exciting (despite the annoying presence of Kate Beckinsale) and so I was looking forward to seeing it.
But what a disappointment!
It was almsot like they'd cut up a whole bunch of other movies, then sown them back together to create...Van Helsing.
Did anyone else notice the pattern in Hugh Jackman's latest blockbusters? X-Men: playing a hairy, super guy with animal tendancies, seeming immortality and a strange case of amnesia. Van Helsing: playing a hairy, super guy with animal tendancies, seeming immortality and a strage case of amnesia.
Hmm, see the pattern here?
And Beckinsale, wasn't her last film, Underworld, all about the great fight between vampires and werewolves? And someone please tell me: what was with her accent???
The other thing that really got me po'd was the whole "mysterious past" thing, which was built, built, built up and then...nothing.
All we got was "yes you killed me, blah, blah, blah". I mean, come on! That tells us nothing!
Do I dare even mention the ending?
When we were all supposed to be distraught over Beckinsale's untimely end (though, admittedly, my tears were those of relief) any atmosphere that had been previously built up was immediately destroyed with the appearence of...head shaped clouds?
I almost burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh.
I mean, come on, head shaped clouds, really?
Despite all this, there were good points to the movie that presented it for the chance of slight redemption.
The monk guy (didn't catch his name as I couldn't hear most of what the characters were saying. Is that a universal problem, or just at my cinema?) was quite hilarious, posessing 100% of the witty comments in the script (which wasn't that much), and Hugh Jackman has the capability to still be gorgeous, even when he's spouting crap my dog wouldn't say.
Plus, there was the occasional clever plot move, e.g. the whole "Gabriel", left hand of God thing, and missing piece of the door.
And I liked the way Jackman got bitten, I even thought they were going to end up having to kill him for a moment, which would have been really exciting, but alas, Beckinsale stole the moment (did anyone actually notice how she died? She just seemed to...stop breathing) and our hero lived on (why do the heroes never die? Why is it always the heroines?)
I also quite liked Frankinstine's monster, who evoked sympathy in me, as all he wanted was to live, and instead found himself in the middle of the stinking horse manuare that was Van Helsing.

The Final Push

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Sun, 04 Jul 2004 23:57:19 GMT

Well, here is a fanfic to get my journal. It's something remarkably silly I wrote during exams to lighten the mood. That really explains it.

The Final Push.

“You’re doing it the wrong way!”
“Well I’m trying -argh- as hard as I –ooh- possibly can.”
“Obviously not hard enough!”
Severus Snape sat back on his heels and wiped an exhausted hand across his sweat-laden brow.
“Maybe we’ll find it easier if you stay still.”
“I’m trying to stay still, “ Harry snapped. “It’s not my fault if you can’t push it in right!”
“Well I’m afraid of breaking it!”
Harry turned and regarded him, over his shoulder. “It’s not made of glass, Severus.”
Severus scowled. “You have to hold it open, then.”
“I am holding it open.”
“Open it wider.”
“I can’t! It’s not elastic. You can’t just stretch it. It isn’t a rubber band.”
Severus sighed impatiently. “There’s no need to go over board.”
“Will you just hurry up and shove it in!”
There was a slight pause.
“I’m not sure if I’m doing it right.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!”
“Well the instructions aren’t very clear!”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You just push into the hole. Come on, even I can do that.”
“Fine, lets swap places then, if you can do it.”
“Oh, don’t get all snarky.”
“I am not getting snarky.”
“Whatever. Can we do this sometime today please?”
Severus sniffed. “I’m not sure if I’m in the mood anymore.”
Harry groaned in frustration.
“Severus, please. We’ve been waiting for this for weeks. How can you not be in the mood?”
“Well I didn’t know then exactly what it would entail. It’s not the sort of thing one sees everyday.”
Harry sighed. “It is perfectly natural.”
“It is perfectly unnatural,” Severus replied. “How can it be natural? All that up and down, in and out?”
“Right that’s it,” said Harry. “I’m going, I can’t take anymore of this. I’ll do it with someone else.”
“You can’t do it with someone else!” Severus cried in outrage. “It’s meant to be for you and me, not just anyone. This means something, Harry.”
“The only thing it means right now,” Harry muttered. “Is that I’m going to wring your neck.” He wiggled a finger tentatively. “I think I’m getting cramp.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus snapped.
“Well get on with it then!”
“Alright, alright.”
Severus prepared again to push, then stopped suddenly.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do it on the rug.”
“Severus…”
“Well it’s a nice rug!” Severus replied defensively. “It could messy or ruined.”
Harry closed his eyes in frustration.
“I should have known something Albus recommended could never be that simple,” he muttered. “Severus, just do it. I’m dying here.”
“Alright.” He paused. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
With a great groan, Severus pushed. It slid into the hole, and Harry pulled his fingers back just in time.
There was an audible click.
Harry peered over his shoulder. “Is it in?”
“It’s in.”
“Don’t pull it out again.”
“I’m not going to pull it out!”
Carefully, both men stood and took a step back, surveying the Hamster Heaven Wonderland through critical eyes.
“Do you think Fluffy’ll like it?” Harry asked, eyes travelling up and down the numerous plastic tubes they’d spent the best part of the day assembling.
“He’ll love it,” replied Severus firmly.
“Honest?”
“Bloody hell, yes.”
At Harry’s slightly wounded look, Severus reached out and took his hand.
“Come on. Let’s get the insidious fluff ball. Show him his new home. And we must thank Albus for the recommendation.”
And after that, Severus thought, a nice, stiff firewhisky. The day’s exertions had been very exhausting.

Fin.

Welcome to my journal

rosalindbethanlawton@hotmail.co.uk — Sat, 19 Jun 2004 14:29:53 GMT

I started this live journal to store my harry potter fanfiction months ago, but never got round to using it (and am not entirely sure how to use it, so if anyone can give me some pointers...)and so decided to give it a try.
This is just to see if I can actually work out how to post and stuff, so not very interesting, but never mind.
If I can work it all out, I'll be putting some fanfiction up soon, and updating and stuff regularly.