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“So why is this car in Cleveland so much better than any car in eastern Pennsylvania?” she asks, once they’re done with the typical road trip squabbles about which highway to take and what music to listen to and you know, it’s a good thing you haven’t turned your left blinker off for twenty minutes, Pam, because even though there’s no place to turn right now, there may be someday.
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03 Apr 2025
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She never told him that she hoped they would’ve worked out. She hoped that Elaine’s big roomy bed was also Jerry’s. She hoped that they brushed their teeth together in the morning and made dinner together when their friends were coming to visit. She hoped they could cuddle up on the couch as the TV’s soft glow and low sound played behind them.
She wished they would grow old together. She hoped in another life they did.
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01 Jan 2025
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Jerry & Elaine in The Deal. What follows the talk on the couch.
Bookmarked by expirationday
01 Jan 2025
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Mike socks him in the jaw and reflexively, Harvey’s fist flies out, splitting Mike’s lip. “Fuck! Sorry.”
“Get your hands up.”
“Mike -”
“Get your fucking hands up, Harvey!”
He stares. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me? You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit until someone’s bleeding.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mike snaps. “Why would you give me a job, and a home, and a family, and then fucking decide you don’t care about me?”
“Don’t care about you?” If Mike were wise he’d heed the warning in the quiet snarl of Harvey’s voice, but there’s a giant gap between intelligence and wisdom, and he hasn’t made that leap yet. “I risked everything for you!”
“So you could avoid me?”
“I’m not avoiding you!”
“Is there a synonym you’d prefer? ‘Cause you sure don’t seem to want anything to do with me!”
They’re close enough that Mike can see the twitch of Harvey’s jaw, even in the low light. “You don’t know shit about what I want,” he whispers.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you enlighten me.”
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Bookmarked by expirationday
22 Dec 2023
Bookmarker's Notes
He gets his work done, and then he goes home and plays endless scales on the shitty Yamaha keyboard he’d found in his parents’ storage unit. Clementi, Debussy, Maynard Ferguson covers, Sinatra, Beethoven, arrangements of Coltrane, and Rachmaninov. Music the color of sweetly laid plans that no one expects to work out, but you can’t help make them anyway.
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There’s not a single tell in his expression, but a sense of vast knowledge hangs on him like drips of blood from torn knuckles, unnerving and bright.
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There's a grace to the movement, like watching a sculptor at work, music in the way the light glances off caramel skin, poetry in the sweat carving paths along his spine.
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It fucking hurts to know Harvey really is that beautiful, a song never intended for Mike to play.
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He's got this little smile tucked away at the corner of his mouth and Mike wants to kiss him so badly it feels like a sucker punch.
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He never asks because music is more intimate than sex.
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He can't afford to give over any more of himself, bare anymore of his soul, though he’s starving to know the shape and shade of Harvey’s.
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There are dozens of versions of this song and he's loved many of them differently, but tonight he wants something liquid, flowing, notes brushing past one another instead of stacked in a heap.
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His mind slides into the music and leaves him the fuck alone for once.
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Dragonflies and sun until the line about sleeping in peace.
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Eh, what the hell. It's going to hurt forever anyway.
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Mike was too small to see up to the keys, so he’d lie on the ground beneath the piano and listen to the waves overhead. The song ripples from his fingers, nameless and exquisite.
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Harvey has this appalling habit of tucking pleasant feelings into one corner of his mouth. it’s like a broadcast of ‘look what I’ve got’, whatever it is that has him so fucking happy.
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“You talk too much.”
“That’s rich. You haven’t stopped talking since the day I met you.”and
The gesture tucks his face neatly into Harvey’s neck, and he grits his teeth and breathes deeply the smell of a man never meant for him.
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It’s so late it feels like inhabiting an alternate universe.
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“I’m sorry. I love you. Anything else you want to put in your calendar?”
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Morning light shines unabashedly through the rough cloth curtains, painting the caramel skin of Harvey's back gold.
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Mike knows every freckle and scar he wants to taste, every sweet spot he’d like to check and see what noise Harvey makes under his teeth, his tongue, his nails.
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She gives him plenty of time to avoid the kiss, but it’s still a surprise somehow when he feels her lips on his, when he flicks his tongue and finds they taste not like peppermint, but faintly like lip gloss, waxy and a tiny bit sweet. Then her tongue is on his and that’s sweet, too; everything about her is sweet except for her mean streak. But he likes that anyway, so he doesn’t really care.
Bookmarked by expirationday
29 May 2024