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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 14:49:50 GMT -5
Michael opened his eyes a few seconds later, realizing that he should probably take off his shoes and either do the same to his shirt or button it up. He pushed himself up and groaned slightly in protest as he forced himself to pull of his shoes and socks, tucking them under the edge of the bed along with the shirt that would be too much trouble to button up before he pulled back the blankets and lay down. He wanted to wait for Dare to get back, but he wasn't physically able to do it, and it didn't take long for him to be asleep.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 20:36:26 GMT -5
When Dare returned, he'd changed into a pair of soft cotton pajama bottoms in gray with a white stripe down each side. They rode very low on his hips, but still, they'd had to be lengthened to be long enough to reach the ground. The backs of each ankle dragged a bit behind him as he headed for the bed, his face cleaned and moisturized, the hairs edging his forehead and cheeks lightly curled from getting damp.
Dare dropped his bag back onto the chair and headed for bed, his eyes on Michael, so peaceful in sleep. Dare couldn't resist. If he stayed up just a little longer...just one sketch... He got his sketchbook and a pencil and sat on the other side of the bed. He'd done a lot of drawings at night, all by memory, many tucked away in his trunk. But this was an opportunity he might not have again.
The pencil scratched lightly against the page, shading in gently parted lips and thick lashes, that familiar jaw and wavy hair spilled across the pillow. It caught Michael's shoulders, and the parts of his chest and shoulders that showed above the blankets. It even caught, very subtly, a faint mark against the slope of his neck.
When he had finished, the late hour had finally caught up with him. Dare yawned as he tucked his sketchbook behind his bag and tucked his pencil away, then returned to the bed. He pulled back the covers and slipped beneath them, shuffling up behind Michael, fitting himself spoonlike against him. He sighed, let emotion and comfort wash through him with pleasant exhaustion, then fell asleep.
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When Dare woke up, he was more comfortable than he could ever remember having been. It took him a minute to realize that his limbs were threaded through Michael's, their skin warm with sleep. Dare watched him for a while, letting his mind turn over everything that had happened last night. He thought about the intimacy, the dancing, the music, the relief he'd felt. His eyes squeezed shut a moment, and when he opened them, they flicked past Michael to the corner where, if this was his room, his acoustic guitar would have been. It was there, waiting.
Dare couldn't take his eyes off it. The temptation was great, but he couldn't. Could he? He recalled Michael's words that first day in the Room of Requirement. He recalled how relieved he'd felt, even through the pain. He looked back at Michael for strength. He didn't want to remove himself from the comfortable warmth, but his mind kept going back to that guitar.
It took him a while, probably an hour or so, but eventually Dare dragged himself away, feet moving noiselessly against the carpeted floor. He bent and picked up the guitar, then headed for the director's chair, moving his bag to the floor, then sitting back. He looked at Michael, sound asleep, and decided one song, one soft song, would be okay. Dare closed his eyes, letting his bed-tousled hair hang down in his face, and began to play, singing along softly.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 20:40:58 GMT -5
It was the first night Michael had been able to sleep well, and so he didn't wake up for a long time, only coming to consciousness when he heard music. Even that wouldn't have woken him up had he not been nearly finished anyway. He felt warm under the blankets, but there was an odd chill from the absence of Dare's warmth that he had subconsciously gotten used to through the long night. His eyes opened enough to look around the room, though he couldn't bring himself to get up just yet, and they caught on Dare, sitting in the chair with a guitar in his hands, singing.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:01:17 GMT -5
"These are the lies I have...created," Dare sang, eyes still closed against heart-wrenching pleasure edged in pain as the song ended. He opened his eyes and sat for a moment, head bowed, looking at his fingers and wondering how something that hurt so much could feel so good. He'd told Silver that he wouldn't play again, and in the past year and some-odd months, he'd broken that promise three times; once for Mom, once for Michael, and once for himself. But who had he made the promise for? Dare stretched his fingers, then settled them on the strings again, contemplating what song he wanted to play next.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:04:46 GMT -5
Michael had listened and watched through the whole song, and sometime during the last bit of the song he had moved slowly, quietly, to sit up. He leaned back against the pillows and propped his elbows up on this knees. It didn't feel right to say something, and he almost felt like he was intruding on something personal just by watching. So he kept quiet and watched and waited, hoping Dare would begin again.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:13:09 GMT -5
Dare inhaled deeply, slowly, not feeling Michael's gaze as he exhaled and began moving his fingers against the strings.
He was lost in his own mind, lost to the things he'd repressed yesterday, to the past, present and possible future. He was lost to sound, to an expression of emotion that was gone the moment he released it. Drawing was something that lasted, but music...music was fleeting, and therefore precious. Dare let emotion pour from him, let it take him over, and found the pain slipping away.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:21:55 GMT -5
Michael leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his legs, blanket included, and propping his chin on his knees as he listened. He felt like he was being offered a glimpse into Dare's personal thoughts and, as odd as it felt to be watching, apparently without Dare knowing, he couldn't look away, he was riveted by the sound of the guitar and how Dare's voice flowed through the words.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:31:32 GMT -5
As negative emotion left him, the music shifted again. The melancholy tone was still there, but it was brightened with hope, and Dare's fingers moved with assurance. He forgot about being quiet, entirely lost to the music, and it was bliss, heartache and bliss.
"Look in my eyes...you're killing me, killing me. All I wanted was you..." As the song ended, Dare lifted his head slightly, his eyes moving straight to the bed and Michael on it, watching him. He hadn't realized Michael was awake, he'd only glanced up to look at him. Dare dropped his gaze slightly to the bed. "Sorry I woke you up," he said softly. He just couldn't help himself.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:41:17 GMT -5
"It's perfectly alright," Michael said quietly, "You're really good." He remembered saying it the first time he had heard Dare play, but it was just as true. "You have an amazing voice," he said, smiling softly as he picked his head up. He didn't move just yet, his limbs still heavy from the long sleep he had had, and let himself be content with just watching Dare. He was sure that the songs would be in his head for a long time to come.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:45:35 GMT -5
Dare glanced up at Michael, then back down to the sheets again. "Thank you," he said, unable to deflect the compliment with the emotion still washing through him. His eyes rose, wanting to see Michael's smile, to reassure himself he hadn't imagined it. He wanted to say something, some explanation for what he'd been doing, what he was thinking and feeling now, but he couldn't seem to find the words.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 21:54:23 GMT -5
Michael's eyes swept slowly over Dare, taking in how he was holding himself and trying to figure things out on his own, though he knew it wasn't possible for him to know what Dare was feeling. "Are you okay?" he asked when his eyes locked back on to Dare's face. Michael didn't expect him to try to explain everything, but he wanted to make sure, since the last time he had played it had been a bit of a battle to get him to play, a bridge to cross.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 22:00:36 GMT -5
Dare lowered his eyes again, back down to his fingers against the guitar, and gave a light nod. "I'm okay," he said. "It's just...hard." And yet it had been so easy once he'd gotten going. "I get lost, and I don't pay attention, I guess. I promised Silver..." He trailed off, sighing heavily, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a moment before speaking again. "I wonder what Mom would think." Dare opened his eyes and brought his head back down to look at his left hand as it stroked the strings, making a light ringing sound.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 22:04:55 GMT -5
Michael paused a moment before unfolding himself and untangling the blankets from around his legs to get out of the bed. He moved over behind Dare and draped an arm over his shoulder, his forearm weaving across his chest, and he leaned over close to him. "She would be glad you were doing something you love to do," he said softly. Though he didn't know Dare's mother, he was sure that she wouldn't have any negative thoughts about her son playing the guitar.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 22:12:35 GMT -5
Dare nodded. "I think she would," he said. He brought his hand up, holding Michael's arm lightly against his chest, wondering briefly how he'd ever made it without him. "She asked me to play for her...when she was..." Dare choked on the words. "When she was dying," he managed. "She said she wanted to hear me play. She cried, Michael. She was holding Silver's hand. And then she died." Dare sniffled, refusing to acknowledge the tears that threatened, then fell against his will to the pale wood of the guitar. He shook his head slightly, his hand and arm tightening over Michael's. "God, this is supposed to make me feel better," he said, though rationally he knew none of it was the guitar's fault.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Sept 25, 2008 22:18:55 GMT -5
Michael's other arm came around to mirror the one already wrapped around Dare. He pressed the side of his head lightly to Dare's and closed his eyes against the pain he could hear in Dare's voice, could feel in his posture. He wasn't sure what to say to Dare in response to his words, so he didn't reply immediately, but thought through his words before even attempting to speak. "It takes time," was all he could come up with, though he knew how little it would help.
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