My friends say you're so into me
And that you need me desperately
They say you say we're so complete
Technology is an interesting thing. Since I was connected to the
Internet,
I've been able to check our ratings on-line, get a daily cyber
horoscope and
even delve into the realms of fan-sites devoted - inexplicably -
to me. One
day, bored, I decided to do a search on my own name. The results
stunned me.
Page after page of sites about Whose Line Is It Anyway, my
co-stars and even
myself. Since that enlightening moment, I have to admit that it's
become a
minor obsession for me. The lengths that people go to will never
cease to
amaze me. There are messageboards, online chat rooms and sites
that must
have taken years to create and refine. However, it's the fiction
that I've
become addicted to. At first, I would just stumble upon fans' own
hoedowns
and other fictional games. Then, one day, I discovered
"slash".
**********************************************************************
But I need to hear it straight from you
If you want me to believe it's true
I've been waiting for so long it hurts
I wanna hear you say the words, please
"Have you seen the Whose Line sites on the Internet?" I
ask Greg when we
meet for lunch the following day.
He frowns. "I'm not too good at all of that stuff," he
confesses. "I mean,
sure I have an official site and all, but it's not as though I do
any of the
work on it myself."
"But have you ever done a search on the show or something
like that?" I
press.
"Well, yeah, a few times," he admits. "I like my
ego to receive an
occasional stroking just as much as the next guy, Col. But why do
you ask?
Have you been doing a little surfing yourself?"
"Something like that." I'm not sure now if I want to
continue with my line
of questioning. Some of the stuff I've seen has really got me
thinking. I
want a second opinion, but I don't want to have to admit that the
stories
have thrown me.
In the end, Greg makes up my mind for me, in a rare show of
insight. "You've
stumbled onto one of those story sites, haven't you?" he
asked, a smirk
forming on his face.
"Yeah, I might have," I mutter, feeling myself going a
little red just at
the mention of the source of my recent confusion.
"And?" he prompts. "It's pretty surprising how on
the mark these people are,
isn't it?"
I feel my mouth dropping open.
"What do you mean?" I squawk, nodding my thanks to the
waitress placing my
crab sandwich in front of me.
The smirk slowly begins to slide from Greg's countenance.
"You mean." He
pauses. "God, I don't know how to put this!"
"Well, work out a way *quickly*!" I snap.
He looks at me with curiosity in his eyes. "This is really
getting to you,
isn't it?" he asks.
"No!" I shout, causing several other patrons of the
café to look around in
interest. Forcing myself to calm down a little, I try again.
"Please tell me
what you were going to say," I mutter, trying my hardest to
keep all traces
of desperation out of my voice and - I believe - at least
partially succeeding.
"Well, I guess I've just always assumed." His voice
trails off as he looks
at me as though I've just told him that Santa Claus doesn't
exist, or
something equally as life-shattering. Finally he just spits it
out. "Colin,
are you telling me that you and Ryan *aren't* together?"
I guess I was expecting such a response, but now that it's been
said, I'm
finding it no easier to deal with than those stories on the
Internet. I mean,
this is major shit right here. *major* shit. One of my closest
friends and
workmates has just revealed that, in his eyes, I've been sleeping
with my
best friend for God knows how long! How am I supposed to respond
to that?
"Col?" he prompts finally, when it becomes clear that
I'm not about to jump
in with an answer of my own accord.
"Greg, I'm *married*!" I say finally, still avoiding
his eyes. "And so is Ryan,
for that matter."
"So?" he shrugs. "*I'm* married."
I'm not in the mood to think about the full implications of that
statement
at this particular point in time. There's already too much mess
inside my
head, forming murky pools of confusion.
"If you need me to say it straight out, then no, no we're
not together,"
I force myself to say.
He just stares at me for a while, as if unwilling to believe that
I'm
telling him the truth.
"Really!" I insist when the look on his face gets to be
too much for me
to cope with.
"Well I never," he mumbles, bemused. "I would have
*sworn* that
you two were going at it hammer and tongs!"
"Oh, lovely imagery there, Greg," I growl. "Thanks
for your contribution."
He studies me carefully, eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses of
his
glasses. "I just can't believe that you guys aren't
together," he says
finally. "I mean, you act as though you're so in love with
each other. I
honestly thought the whole 'marriage and kids' thing was just an
elaborate
cover-up for the sake of the press."
"And you never stopped to think that one of us might have
said something
if that was the case?" I demand.
"I guess I just thought that you both had assumed I
knew!"
This is just too much for me to take in. Within less than
twenty-four hours,
I've discovered that our fans *and* one of our closest friends
think that
Ryan and I are an item. Hell, that's a lot for *anyone* to have
to deal with!
There are a few moments silence before I finally speak again.
"So." I pause,
wanting to phrase my words perfectly. "So, do you think that
*Ryan* knows
about these stories?"
Greg frowns. "I don't know. I guess I always presumed so
but, as we've just
discovered, presumption doesn't always equal the truth."
"Most profound." I nervously take a bite of my sandwich
before continuing.
"It's just that I don't want him to think I'm condoning the
idea or anything,
you know," I try to explain. "I mean, what if he's just
assumed that I get off
on the whole damn idea?"
"Well, don't you?" Greg asks, as blunt as ever.
My mouth drops open in a perfect picture of shocked indignation.
Sometimes I even impress myself. "What?" I squawk.
Greg doesn't even blink. "You heard me."
I'm not a blusher, but I can feel my face getting a little
heated. I try to
tell myself that it's the over-heated café, but it's not working
very well.
"Look, Greg," I begin, trying to dodge the question.
"I told you that
Ryan and I aren't together."
He nods. "But you wish you were."
"I didn't say that!" I protest.
"You didn't have to."
I frown and push my plate away, suddenly not at all hungry any
more.
"You know, I just remembered that I have
to...do...something," I mutter
unconvincingly. "I should really be going."
Greg holds up a hand, presumably telling me to stay exactly where
I am.
"Colin," he says, slowly and seriously. "Why else
would I have thought that
you guys were together?"
I shrug nervously. "I dunno," I mutter. "Perhaps
it's something in the water."
"Yeah, maybe," he acknowledges. "Or maybe it's
something to do with the
way that you guys look at each other. Or the way that you can't
keep your
hands off each other. Or the way..."
"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," I butt in, before his
list can get any more
damning.
"Well?" he responds, raising an eyebrow.
"Christ," I mumble, shaking my head. "I can't
believe I'm actually telling
you this."
"Yes?" he prompts.
"Okay!" I shout, causing the other diners to look up
again. "So I liked the
stories, okay! Does that make me so horrible?!?"
"Nope," he grins.
I shake my head, unable to believe him. "No," I argue.
"I'm not just
horrible, but perverted too!"
Greg grins and shrugs. "Aren't we all?" He laughs and
reaches over to place
a reassuring hand on my arm. "Don't be ashamed of being
human, Col," he
says in the calm tone of an ancient sage revealing the meaning of
life. "Things
change. That's what life's all about."
"But I don't *want* things to change," I moan, letting
my head fall back
in between my arms. "I like things the way they are."
"Are you sure?" I can't see him, but I know his
eyebrow's raised in that
supercilious way he has. "What if changing things made them
better?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Well," he says slowly, as if speaking to a complete
imbecile. "What if
the change was that you and Ryan were together."
I laugh loudly, raising my head so that he can see the immaculate
look of
ridicule on my face. "Yeah, because that is so going to
happen, Greg."
I can see the eyebrow for myself this time. "Why wouldn't
it?"
Now it's my turn to speak as though to an idiot. "Because he
would never
be interested, that's why," I explain. "And because I'm
sure this is just some
weird phase for me that's been brought on by reading those
stories on the
Internet."
A smile twitches the corners of Greg's lips as he looks at me.
"Oh yeah,"
he nods. "Because this is all just a spur of the moment
thing, right?"
I choose to ignore his sarcasm. "Right."
He sighs deeply. "Believe what you will, Colin. You can go
on telling
yourself that this whole thing is a brand new phase, or you can
admit
the truth and do something about it."
I laugh dryly. "Yeah. Tell Ryan and *really* fuck things
up."
"Why do you say that?"
The guy should be a psychologist. He's certainly got the routine
down pat.
"Because," I say slowly. "As soon as he finds out
I'm having these...
thoughts...about him, he's going to hate me."
"What?!?" Greg squawks. "He's got it just as bad
as you do! I wouldn't
have thought you guys were together if it was only you acting
like a lovesick
teenager."
I frown. Now *this* puts things into an entirely different
perspective.
**********************************************************************
Don't, don't let me be the last to know
Don't hold back, just let it go
I need to hear you say
You need me all the way
Oh, if you love me so
Don't let me be the last to know
"Oh, hi, Ryan," I mutter, recognising the voice on the
other end of the
phone line. I'm a little saddened to realise that, for the first
time ever,
I'm feeling less than comfortable talking to my best friend.
"What's up?" he asks, his voice concerned.
I smile wryly. Even without being able to see me, he knows that
something's
wrong. "Ah, not much," I reply, trying to persuade my
voice to behave
normally, despite the fact that I'm fast losing sight of what
normal is. "I
went out to lunch with Greg today."
"Oh, okay. How is he?" I can hear my own anxiety
beginning to flow into
Ryan, despite the distance.
"Good, good."
This isn't working. Ryan and I are just too close for something
like this to
happen. I feel as though I'm betraying him, simply by feeling
this way --
simply by not *telling* him how I'm feeling. I've never hidden
anything from
him before. We're like brothers. Just born miles apart and to
completely
different parents.
Great. Now I feel incestuous.
"Hey, Col, are you okay?" he asks finally, when the
silence is beginning to
stretch into previously uncharted territory.
"Yeah," I say quietly, trying to smile, even though he
can't see me. "I
guess I'm just tired, that's all."
"Oh." He sounds hurt. I don't blame him. "Well, as
long as that's all it is."
"Yeah."
This is killing me. I don't want to hurt him -- hell, that's the
*last* thing
I'd ever want to do -- but I seem to be doing it anyway. He knows
me
too well to be convinced by my half-hearted lies. I feel as
though I'm lying
to him simply by keeping him in the dark. But the alternative...
Well, it's not *really* an alternative, is it?
Perhaps if I just sound him out a little. Test the water, as it
were. At
least then I'd know if I'm correct in thinking that Greg was
bullshitting me
over lunch.
"Um," I begin tentatively, frowning as I try to work
out how to phrase the
question. "Have you ever checked out the Whose Line sites on
the Internet,
Ry?"
There's a slight pause before he replies. "A few. Why?"
"I stumbled upon some interesting fiction sites last
night."
Without realising it, I'm holding my breath. Rolling my eyes at
my own
foolishness, I force myself to exhale.
"Oh."
Well, that's a non-response if I've ever heard one. So much for
Greg's
little theory.
"Some people are weird, aren't they," I laugh
nervously.
"Yeah. Definitely." There's a short silence from the
other end of the line.
"Look, I've got to go, Col. There's a documentary I really
want to watch
on cable in a couple of minutes."
"Sure." I smile sadly. "I guess I'll see you at
the taping on Tuesday."
"Yeah. Bye, Col."
"Bye, Ryan."
As I hang up the phone, I close my eyes in silent admonition of
my own
foolishness. I was right from the very beginning. I should never
have even
hinted at my feelings for Ryan. Now he's going to be avoiding me
for the
rest of time. I've lost my best friend, all because I've been
foolish enough
to get caught up in the overactive imaginations of a few fans on
the Internet.
If only I could convince myself that it's just the momentary
phase I so
desperately want it to be. Then this whole thing would be a hell
of a lot
easier to dismiss as an unfortunate blip in the sensible -- and
*normal* --
path of my life.
I've never been a good liar.
**********************************************************************
Your body language says so much
Yeah, I feel it in the way you touch
But 'til you say the words it's not enough
C'mon and tell me you're in love, please
I'm surprised to find that Ryan doesn't treat me at all
differently during
the Tuesday taping of Whose Line. He hasn't called me since the
hellish
phone conversation of a couple of nights ago but, apart from
that, it's
almost as though nothing is wrong at all.
Almost.
Sure, he's laughing and chatting with me in between games, just
like he
always does, but there's something about his eyes that's just not
right.
It's almost as though he's looking through me, rather than at me
- like he's
embarrassed to look - *really* look - me in the eyes. And I don't
blame
him at all. Right now, I don't even want to look *myself* in the
eyes.
I find myself wishing that he'd say something. Tell me he hates
me, tell me
I'm a dirty old man...as long as he told me *something*. Sure,
he's speaking
to me, but he's not really saying anything. And the word-filled
silence says
so much more than true silence ever could. Things have never been
like this
between us before. And I know it's all my fault, but there's no
going back
now. I can't erase my words, can't pretend they were never
uttered. That
becomes increasingly apparent with every hour. The knowledge is
screaming
at me now, with him sitting here beside me, his leg jiggling
nervously, the
only indication of the on-screen nerves he'd never dream of
admitting to.
I can't forget it, because it feels as though it's become my
everything.
I never would have thought it before, but now I know it's always
been there.
I've always loved him. And those are the most terrifying of all
words and
yet it's as though they were spoken many years ago, somewhere
deep inside
me, and imprisoned within my own fear for an eternity. Because
now I can't
remember ever *not* feeling this way. I can't remember a time
when the touch
of his hand didn't spread warmth and contentment throughout my
body, can't
remember a time when his voice didn't make my blood rush a little
faster
through my veins. And it's as though nothing has changed,
although
everything's different now.
It's so alien. And yet so familiar.
And now the show's over, and I'm trying to think of an excuse to
stay behind
and talk to him. It's not working. Eventually I just give up.
There doesn't
seem much point in making excuses any more.
"Hey, Ryan," I begin tentatively, placing a hand on his
shoulder. "Do you
maybe want to go grab a few post-show drinks or something?"
His eyes refuse to meet my own as he stretches his mouth into an
unnatural
smile. "Y'know, I'm really tired," he mumbles. "I
think I might just go
straight home tonight."
"Oh." I nod, trying to smile myself. "Maybe next
time."
His face is unreadable. "Yeah. Maybe."
And then he disappears into the depths of the studio, without a
further
goodbye, and I feel as though every remaining vestige of
happiness and hope
has been torn painfully from my soul.
"Lovers' tiff?"
It takes a moment for me to register Drew's voice. Frowning, I
turn to face
him. "Not you too," I mumble, running my hands over my
face, not really in
the mood for meeting anyone's eyes.
"Huh?" Drew looks genuinely perplexed.
"Sorry. I shouldn't take my own crappy life out on
you." I decide to be
completely blunt. The conversation will be over quicker that way,
and I'll
be able to go on home to bury myself in a good bottle of red.
"It's not a
lovers' tiff, Drew, because Ryan and I are not, have never been,
and will
never be, together."
"Huh?" he repeats, his brows furrowed. If I weren't so
depressed, I'd
probably find his confused statement amusing.
"We're not together!" I shout, earning a few
interesting looks from the
remnants of the audience who have almost completed their slow
leaking
from the studio.
"You're joking, right?" he asks finally.
"No." I shake my head sadly. "Perhaps I wish I
was."
"God," he sighs, shaking his head. "I could have
fucking *sworn*..."
his voice trails off.
I shrug helplessly. "Apparently Greg thought so too."
"We *all* did. Wait 'til Brad hears this! He's not going to
believe me,
you know."
"Well, it's the truth." My voice comes out harsher than
I intended it to,
and I smile sheepishly at him. "Sorry."
Drew finally realises that something's wrong in Colinland.
"Hey, no
worries," he says softly. "I guess I'm being a little
insensitive, huh? I
mean, you're fighting with your best friend and all I can do is
marvel
at the fact that you're *just* friends."
"It's okay," I smile sadly. "It wasn't really a
fight, anyway. More a
justifiable reaction to my own fucking stupidity."
"What do you mean?" Drew asks, frowning worriedly.
"Actually, no,
hold that thought," he quickly jumps in before I can reply.
"I have a
strange premonition that this is the sort of conversation that
calls for
the bottle of whisky I just happen to have in the glove-box of my
car."
I grin. "You're a veritable psychic, Drew."
"That's *Madame* Drew to you," he laughs as he throws
an arm around
my shoulders, leading me to the parking lot.
**********************************************************************
Don't, don't let me be the last to know
Don't hold back, just let it go
I need to hear you say
You need me all the way
Oh, if you love me so
Don't let me be the last to know
He's right. The bottle of whisky is a great help. I'm no great
drunkard, but
there are days and situations that call for a vaguely alcoholic
tinge to the
world's edges. Today is the perfect example. After a mouthful or
ten of
rather cheap whiskey, I'm a lot more inclined to talk about my
problems.
"So you see," I confide in Drew. "I never even
realised that I felt this way
about Ryan until I talked to Greg the other day."
"How could you *not* know?" Drew asks incredulously.
"I mean, if *I*
knew, and *Greg* knew, and *Brad* knew, and *Diedrich*
knew."
"Hang on a minute!" I jump in. "Diedrich knows? I
hardly know the guy!"
"Hell, *everyone* knows, Colin," Drew replies easily
and not particularly
comfortingly. "That's why it's so goddamn weird that *you*
didn't."
"Obviously I'm just not particularly observant," I
remark dryly, stealing
the bottle from Drew for another mouthful.
"And Ryan's no better."
I smile sadly. "Oh, he knows now," I mutter, staring at
the label on the
bottle to avoid meeting Drew's eyes. "I made damn sure about
*that*,
fool that I am."
"*Does* he know, though?" Drew asks obtusely.
"Huh?" I'm not in the mood for hints and metaphors.
"Well, did you tell him outright?"
Now it's my turn to stare incredulously. "Of course not! I'm
not quite
*that* stupid, Drew!"
"Well, then," he begins calmly. "Why are you so
sure he knows how you feel?"
"Because he hates me now," I sigh patronisingly,
wondering if the alcohol is
affecting Drew more than it usually does. "Why else would he
be so desperate
to get away from me all of a sudden?"
Drew frowns, deep in thought. "Yeah, that's the question,
isn't it?" There
is a moment's silence, before he suddenly looks up, eyes bright
with
inspiration. "How exactly did you let it slip, Col?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "I just said something
about the slash sites I found
on the Internet and about how weird they were. He must have
guessed
how affected I was by reading the things people have written
about us."
Drew laughs evilly. "Hey, did you read that one where the
two of you were..."
I cut him off. "If I didn't, do you really think that now is
the right moment
to tell me all about it?"
He shakes his head, repentant. "Sorry," he grins
sheepishly. "I'll be
serious now." He forces a stern look onto his face. I can't
help but laugh
at how ridiculous it looks. "Hey!" he protests. "I
try to be serious and all
that you can do is laugh at me!"
Now it's my turn to apologise. "Blame it on your cheap
whisky," I grin.
He grins back at me before his countenance returns to a slightly
more
natural solemnity. "You know," he begins slowly.
"I'm not entirely sure that
Ryan *does* know you're in love with him."
"Hey!" I protest. "Who said anything about
love?"
He rolls his eyes at me. "Colin," he begins slowly, as
if talking to a
complete imbecile. "You didn't exactly *need* to say
anything."
I glare at him, but decide not to push the issue. "Okay,
then," I indulge
him. "If he doesn't know, then why is he acting as though he
doesn't want
to be around me?"
"I think that's the problem."
"Huh?" I don't get it. And I'm sure it's not *entirely*
down to the whisky.
"Okay," he says. "I'll rephrase it. What if the
problem is that he *does*
want to be around you. too much? What if he thought you were
inadvertently
making fun of the way he feels about you? What if he's avoiding
you so that
he doesn't give anything away and ruin your friendship?" He
stops speaking
and looks intently at me, eyebrows raised. "Well?"
"That's ridiculous." I pause. "Isn't it?"
He shrugs dramatically. "It doesn't sound ridiculous to me.
And, remember,
*I'm* the one who has to sit at the desk watching the two of you
making
ga-ga eyes at each other."
"I don't!" I protest. "...Do I?"
"You *both* do," he laughs. "Which is why I won't
believe a word of it
when you tell me that Ryan hates you. I think hate's the emotion
furthest
from his mind."
"Really?" The whisky must be starting to take effect
because his words are
actually starting to make a little sense. I mean, it's not like
I'm the only
culprit here. Ryan calls me as often as I call him, touches me as
often as I
touch him.
"Really."
I sink back onto the hood of the car. "If you're right,
Drew, this is pretty
huge." I take another drink then point at him with the
bottle, my hand
wavering slightly. "*If* you're right, mind you."
"I'm right."
"Ssho," I break off and giggle. Yup, the whisky *is*
working. "*So*," I try
again. "What do I do, Madame Drew?"
He shrugs. "That's easy. Go talk to him."
"I can't."
"Why not? He's your best friend, isn't he?"
"Yeah, but..." I begin to protest before being cut off.
"No buts," Drew grins. "Now, get your ass over to
his house before you
sober up and decide you'd prefer to be unfulfilled for the rest
of your life."
I'm not quite sure why I'm doing so, but I slide down off the
hood of Drew's
car anyway. "You do realise that I have no idea what to
say," I point out.
"Hey, I'm not going to write you a script!" he laughs.
"You *must* be drunk,
or else you wouldn't be asking me -- of all people -- to give you
relationship
pointers!"
I lean over to give him a quick hug. "Thanks, Drew," I
say quietly. "I'll
say so now seeing as I doubt I'll feel like it once Ryan tells me
to fuck
off out of his life forever."
He gives me an encouraging grin and raises a hand in a silent
goodbye.
**********************************************************************
I need to hear you say
You love me all the way
And I don't wanna wait another day
I wanna feel the way you feel
Ryan answers the door, much to my relief. I sobered up quite a
bit on the
cab ride to his house - more than enough to realise that a family
presence
for the upcoming conversation wouldn't exactly be the *greatest*
idea.
Actually, the whole bloody idea is starting to seem quite
ridiculous.
Although, it's not as though I really have anything to lose.
Relations
between Ryan and me are already more than a little strained --
whatever
the reason.
"Colin!" The statement on Ryan's face is one of pure
shock when he
recognises me.
"None other," I shrug sheepishly. "Can I come
in?"
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Sure." Pulling the
door open a little
further, he ushers me through to the living room.
Once we're both seated on the sofa, he turns to me and regards me
curiously.
"So, what's up?"
At least Ryan doesn't seem to hate me as much now. That doesn't
change
the fact, though, that I'm only just beginning to realise exactly
how bad an
idea this is. How the hell did Drew manage to convince me so
easily? It's
perfectly obvious that Ryan doesn't feel anything for me beyond
friendship --
if, in fact, he even feels *that* any more. But I guess he was
right about
one thing. As hard as it's going to be, I have to talk to Ryan.
"Oh Christ," I mutter. "I can't believe I'm
here."
Ryan's statement immediately closes up again. "Oh."
I frown and shake my head. "That didn't come out right, did
it?" I manage a
weak smile. "Blame it on Drew's cheap taste in whisky."
"Whisky?" His eyes are still wary, but the voice is a
little less tight.
"He gave me a talking to," I explained. "Just like
Greg did a couple of days
ago. *Somehow* he managed to talk me into coming over here to
talk to you."
Ryan nods slowly. "I'm glad you're here," he says
softly. "I was a bit of a
bastard after the taping today, wasn't I?"
"I'm sure you had your reasons," I shrug. "It was
about what I said on the
phone, wasn't it?"
He feigns confusion. "What do you mean?"
I feel like telling him how useless it is to try to pretend to
your best
friend of twenty-odd years. Somehow, though, I have a feeling
that now
is not the time for such explanations. "When I mentioned
that I read those...
stories...about us."
I watch him intently, trying to judge his statement, to read
something in
his eyes that could form some sort of clue to what he is feeling,
what he is
thinking. After a few seconds of silence, I can't stand the
absence of noise
any longer. "Come on, Ryan," I beg. "Don't hate me
just because I'm such
an idiot."
He smiles wryly. "I don't hate you, Col."
I slump back into the deep cushions of the sofa. "You might
as well," I
sigh. "And, you know, I wouldn't blame you at all."
"I don't know where you got this idea that I hate you,"
Ryan protests, his
left leg jiggling nervously. "Because I can assure you that
I don't. You're
my best mate, Colin. You'll *always* be my best friend." He
shrugs
dramatically. "You can't help the way you feel."
I concentrate intently on playing with a loose strand of cotton
drifting out
from the bottom hem of my shirt. "I tried," I murmur,
my voice only a
fraction louder than a whisper.
"You shouldn't have to!" Ryan leaps up from the couch
and begins to angrily
pace the room. "Why should you have to change who you are,
just because
I'm obviously so fucked up?"
I frown. Now I'm completely confused. "What do you
mean?" I ask, looking
up from the thread. "I'm the one who's at fault here,
Ry."
He looks at me incredulously, eyes dark. "What are you
talking about, Colin?
You said yourself that the people who write those stories are
weird. Surely
the same goes for those who enjoy them?"
"Exactly!" I exclaim. "Which is why you'd be
better off without me in your
life!"
He stops mid-pace, the raised foot slowly lowering back to rest
on the
ground. "You're not serious."
"Why not?" I shrug, beginning to feel a little manic
and more than a little
masochistic as I resist a sudden urge to begin laughing
hysterically.
"There's obviously something drastically wrong with
me."
Ryan smiles sadly and returns to his seat beside me on the sofa.
"There's
nothing wrong at all with you, Colin," he says softly,
staring down at his
feet. "It's not your fault that you don't feel the same way
about me as I do
about you. I'm the one who obviously felt the need to fuck up a
friendship
by falling in love."
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. When their meaning
finally
begins to reach my mind, I turn to look incredulously at him.
"What was
that?" I ask slowly, frowning. "I think Drew's whisky's
playing with my mind
or something."
"Yeah, that's right," Ryan shrugs, his voice bitter.
"I love you. Blah, blah,
blah. Nothing you hadn't already guessed."
My mouth literally drops open. I can't say a thing. I'm too busy
staring at
him, my eyes so dazed that I'm not really seeing him so much as a
vaguely
coloured blob of familiarity.
There's a long silence before Ryan's eyes suddenly widen in
realisation.
"You hadn't already guessed, had you?" he asks slowly.
I somehow manage to move the right muscles to shake my head in a
vague
imitation of a denial.
"Oh, God," he sighs. "Ryan Stiles puts his foot in
it, yet again." He shakes
his head before turning a curious gaze on me. "So what was
all that about
then?"
I finally rediscover the ability of speech. "About me having
fallen in love
with you," I whisper.
"No, really," he urges. "Tell me."
I meet his eyes, and refuse to release his gaze. "I
did."
Silence.
**********************************************************************
Don't, just let me be the one
Don't hold back, just let it go
I need to hear you say
You need me all the way
So baby if you love me
Don't let me be the last to know
Silence can't last forever. Ryan is the first to shatter its
tenuous grasp
on our existence.
"I...I really don't know what to say," he stutters.
"Tell me you meant it."
Finally, a smile finds its way onto his face. "I meant
it."
I lean over to wrap my arms around his slender torso, burying my
face in
the soft cotton of his shirt. "It's funny," I murmur,
smiling as he wraps his
own arms around me. "Everyone else seemed to realise long
before we did."
I can feel his heart beating beneath my cheek. "They
did?"
"Mm-huh. Apparently they all took it for granted and nobody
thought to let
us know."
"Typical," Ryan growls in a mock-angry tone.
I laugh and raise myself to look him in the eyes. "It seems
like we were the
last to know."
Instead of replying, he pulls me closer. And, after twenty years
of
friendship, we finally share our first kiss.
{fin}
ã Augustus, 09-11-2000