make your heart drop and come alive - alan

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Nothing was going according to plan, but Alan supposed that that simply meant that everything was going as expected. He was back to square one with Shale, essentially, even though he didn’t exactly understand why. It was like someone had come along as they had gone their separate ways that day and shut off the fuse of their relationship. There had been potential there, there was some sort of spark between them, what with the code and the walk home and just the excitement of maybe getting to know each other. And then they split and didn’t talk again. Alan didn’t know why, but he tried not to take it personally. It was probably his fault anyway. Somehow. Maybe he just wasn’t approachable. Or maybe Shale just stopped being interested. Alan saw that sort of thing a lot with his siblings, that they would find some new obsession and be bored of it two days later. The thought of being that forgettable, that replaceable, though... It felt awkward in the classroom, seeing Shale just there, remembering how they had had that one day where it seemed like everything was working out, that they were going to be friends eventually, and then never making contact. It didn’t even seem like they were waiting for the other to start something. There was just nothing to start. But Alan watched him far more often now, when the class was doing dialogue activities or individual work or listening to a lecture. Whenever Alan knew they wouldn’t be paying attention to him in the corner of the room working on his own, he was watching Shale, feeling slightly guilty that there wasn’t anything he could do to fix the problems Shale had with reading and writing. Not that he had tried too hard. Still. Alan was far enough ahead of everyone that if he could get away with spending a few classes memorizing Shale’s face, he wasn’t going to complain. It was just awkward, knowing what had been there that one day, those few hours, that could have turned into something more that could have given him the right to stare. But whatever. Thinking like that was stupid. Speaking of memorization, though, Alan had taken to memorizing their code. Not really for any reason, of course, since it looked unlikely that they would ever be talking again, for whatever reason, but he sort of just wanted to know it anyway. He was strangely proud of the work he’d done on it, so he couldn’t bear to abandon it. It took far too long to use as it was, but he was going to learn this and be able to use it without thinking. Not that he would ever have to. But knowing he could do it was important to him. Just like he would probably never use any of the foreign languages he was learning or had learned in the past, it was nice to just know them. In less than a week, he had it down. He was proud of himself, but it was bittersweet knowing that he would never use it in reality. His day became a routine, really. Spend the day at school watching Shale in French class, go home and practice the code. Once it was memorized, sometimes he took it out again to maintain his skill, but there was little point. He knew it. Now it was just used for killing time. Today, though, Alan didn’t have the energy to do that sort of thing. He was exhausted for no justifiable reason, and he wanted a break. Solution: go straight home, be in bed and asleep before Stephanie and Riley got home from school, when they would start pestering the others and making everything a problem. Mostly it was Steph that really danced across everyone’s nerves, what with her perfect grades that she was always sticking to the refrigerator. That was her territory and everyone knew better than to try to get their achievements posted. They just weren’t as good as her. At nine, she already had the temperament of a hormonal sixteen year old, and even Alan couldn’t avoid becoming a victim. She usually stuck to pestering the younger kids, but a lot of that involved having them go pester him. Something about how he reacted amused her. There was no way to know for sure, but probably it had something to do with how he always got angry and never made a sound. For Steph, the line between frightening anger like that of their mother and amusing anger was the yelling. No matter what the kids did, Alan wasn’t about to start yelling unintelligible things. That would just be something more for them to laugh at. Home. Homework. Bed. Sleep. In that order. That was the plan, and it worked up until the last one. No matter how drained he felt, he couldn’t shut off his mind, which was running between a thousand different subjects, most of which seemed to involve Shale. Had he not been so tired, he might have fought it, but he sort of let it happen instead. The way he brushes his hair out of his face when he tries to focus on reading. The way his lips moved as he smoked on that walk home back on that day with the library. The look of upset that was only momentarily visible on his face after he received a bad test grade. Things that it felt like no one else could possibly notice. But Alan did. He paid attention. Under other circumstances, maybe the thoughts would have been acceptable. At present, he just wanted to sleep. And then a four year old landed on his chest. Aside from the pain rushing through him from having thirty pounds suddenly dropped onto his unsuspecting body, Alan became aware of two things: one, that his other siblings had just arrived home, and two, that he was never, ever, ever going to catch a break if he stayed inside the house. All three of those things frustrated him, and so he reacted without thinking. Rolling onto his side, he pushed Vanessa off him, realizing only after she had fallen on the floor that he maybe had done so with a bit too much force. Upon sitting up, he noticed that she was crying, which just confirmed his suspicions. Running a hand through his hair, he debated for a moment what he was supposed to do when he just couldn’t manage to feel bad when she had just thrown herself on top of him when he was just about asleep. Times like this were when he was almost glad to be deaf, though, because it meant not having to hear her screaming on her way out of his room. But he also didn’t hear it when Natalie came in, having already fallen back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. His chest still hurt from where Vanessa had landed on him, and he was rubbing it absently when he felt someone sitting on the bed next to him. He wasn’t at all willing to be talked at by Natalie, but he knew she wouldn’t go away until he let her say whatever it was she had to say. She must have realized he was in a mood, since she just spoke to him and let him read her lips instead of spelling everything out for him in sign language, which she usually did to show him that she was actually trying. It ended up being a rather one sided conversation, where she told him to apologize to Vanessa, who was clinging to Natalie’s leg, hiding behind her, and asked him to try to lighten up and all the other usual lecture points that didn’t mean a thing to him because it was never going to change anything. After several moments of him staring at Natalie with no intention of apologizing to his younger sister, the both of them left, which was relieving but not nearly as satisfying as it ought to have been. He wasn’t even tired anymore, really. He just wanted out. Patting each of the pockets of his jeans in turn, he discovered that he was entirely void of cigarettes, which only meant that he would have to go steal some from his mother. It had gotten to the point now where Alan didn’t even feel bad, taking things from her without permission. Heading in to his mother’s room, he started rooting through her dresser drawers where she always kept cigarettes hidden. It wasn’t so much that they were hidden so no one would know they were there, but so that the little kids wouldn’t mess with them. She changed drawers every time, but they were always there if he looked enough. He took two packs for himself, stuffing one in his pocket and taking the other back to his room for some other time and stashing it in a drawer before pulling up the blinds of his window. Outside his window was the balcony, which existed, he was sure, for the sole purpose of keeping him sane when stupid things like this happened. He spent hours there weekly, which had only increased as his smoking habit got worse. Alan refused on principal to smoke inside, which didn’t really do anything for the amount of smoke in the house because he was the only one that didn’t smoke inside, but it at least gave him an excuse to go out there more often. Push the window open, climb out through it. There was a door, of course, and maybe there had been a way through it at one time, but now it was blocked by furniture and locked with a long-lost key and it rendered the door about as useful as a wall for getting through. Alan’s bedroom window was, really, the only way to get out there. And somehow that made it feel entirely his. Imagine his surprise, then, when, after crawling through his window, there was Shale. Alan had hardly had time to light a cigarette before his gaze moved to the far corner and met Shale’s. It basically felt like every emotion he was capable of feeling hit him at the same time. But the overwhelming one, stronger than the guilty pleasure of getting to see him outside of school, stronger than the nervousness that was consequence of having a crush on him, stronger than the upset that he couldn’t be alone if Shale was out here, stronger than all of that was the sinking feeling. Because someone else was out here. Someone else knew about the sanctuary that he had out here, and that shattered the magical effect it had on him. It didn’t matter that it was the boy he liked. It didn’t matter that the boy he liked had a bass guitar. It could have been Ghandi or the Pope or Jesus Christ himself or all of them in a rock band and it wouldn’t have mattered. He just wanted to be alone and the only place he could be was the place where Shale was currently seated. Where was the fairness in any of this? Part of him considered just going back inside, resigning himself to the hopes that no one would bother him in his bedroom for the rest of the day, but he refused to let Shale scare him away. However long Shale had been doing this, coming out here like Alan did, it couldn’t possibly been as long. Alan had more of a right. He had to. If he couldn’t have this, what was there for him, that could be considered his own? So he sat down in his usual corner, the one furthest from where Shale was, and just smoked as though nothing was wrong, his mind spinning. It wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t be happening. He just wanted a break. And he didn’t even have paper, so they couldn’t have talked even if Alan had wanted to.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: he is such a jerk god Tag: shale! ;D Words: 2004 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Were he not so disturbed by Shale being here, Alan might have enjoyed the fact that they were trying to have a conversation. As he uncrumpled the note, he watched Shale plucking notes from the strings, trying to ignore the fact that Shale became instantly more attractive because he played bass. He smoothed the paper out on the ground and looked down, able to identify the words after a few seconds. The practice paid off, apparently. Were he not so disturbed by Shale being here, Alan might have been amused by the humor in the note. Yeah, I come here often. Try every day for ten years. How long have you been coming here? But he wouldn’t say something like that. Not to Shale, at least, and not while he was out here looking so damn attractive with the bass in his lap. It just wouldn’t be fair. And when Shale started playing, and Alan could almost feel it... He almost stopped being bothered that Shale was here. For a moment, the only real discomfort he was feeling was because he was just a bit too far away from the source to feel every note. Only the lowest ones travelled across the balcony and reached him, and it made him want to move closer. It would be smart to push that thought out of his mind, he decided. Leaning forward to pick up the pen in front of him and taking a drag of his cigarette, he adjusted his position so he could write a response on the paper. Sometimes, yeah. Understatement of the century. What about you? He was glad, though, that there was no way for Shale to see the frustration in his words. Shale had no right to be here. No right at all. But he wasn’t even sure why he felt that way. For all he knew, Shale could have been there longer. How long had they lived next door to each other without knowing? He hadn’t realized that he wanted to ask until after he had thrown the paper ball back at Shale. Distracted by the bass, however, Shale hadn’t picked it up right away, and so Alan just moved closer to pick it back up again and tag his question on to the end. How long have you lived here? Convenient, though, how Alan now had an excuse to be close to him. After handing the note back to Shale, he considered for a moment moving back, since it would probably be more socially acceptable to be a further distance from him, but he also figured it would be easier to write back and forth if they were close. The bass guitar and the cute boy were just bonus. Really. A really great bonus. Thoughts like that really needed to get out of his mind. It was pathetic, really, how difficult it was for Alan to make eye contact with Shale. Usually, he was forced to look at people’s faces because they were constantly trying to talk to him. He had no choice but to watch or risk missing what they were saying, since no one seemed to be willing to write to him. But here Shale was, not only willing but preferring to write to him. Honestly, Alan rather missed having Shale talk to him, because then the staring was necessary. Now, with the crush making him feel awkward, he couldn’t. The fact that he wanted to more than before was irrelevant. They were writing, there was no excuse for obsessive staring. Instead he focused on smoking and waited for Shale to write back, if he even would, and analyzed every small motion either of them made. He decided that he was really terrible at making friends, and that, more than anything else, was what kept him alone. More than the bitterness or the communication barrier, he was just no good at making friends. Part of him considered giving up with this Shale thing before he became invested like that day at the library only to be disappointed again. The only problem was how Shale seemed so sincere. Like he wanted this just as much as Alan did. Everything meant something, and that was no exception. Alan hoped sincerely that Shale didn’t overanalyze everything the way that he himself did. He was sitting far too close for that. Not so close for it to be uncomfortably so, of course, but as they had spent most of their time together across a table from one another, this felt a bit like overstepping boundaries. Then again, he had sort of assaulted Shale’s throat the other day in an attempt to understand better, but still. That was different. That was...just different. That was before everything got so awkward and feelingsy. These sorts of thoughts were what reminded him why he smoked so religiously.

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Notes: this is awful bleh Tag: shale! ;D Words: 843 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Maybe Alan couldn’t hear Shale’s bass playing, and maybe the succession of notes made so difference to him so long as he could feel it, but he wanted little more in that moment than for Shale to never stop playing. Maybe...maybe they could just pause there, live only in that moment: neither paying the other much attention--Shale lost in song and Alan lost in thought. Together physically, but without having to be together mentally. They could coexist without necessarily interacting. And that was nice, considering how much Alan wanted to be alone. Somehow, the vibrations of the bass made him think about everything at once. Things he thought of himself--most of it not being particularly good. It had been ages since he’d first realized that he had no future to look forward to. Poor, deaf, and gay left all together left little room for an improvement in his value of living. He got excellent grades, certainly, but what good was that? What was he going to do with red A’s on white papers when it came to the real world? Employers didn’t care how many languages he could write in if he couldn’t speak them. The principal didn’t care that he was on his way to being the valedictorian of his graduating class if he couldn’t give a speech. He’d never have a functioning family, couldn’t even marry and start his own, assuming that he would ever find someone worth spending his whole life with. On top of that, the people he was attracted to lacked certain essentials for childbearing, and at any rate, he wouldn’t know how to be a father any more than his own, whom he’d never even met. And, living with the four children that he did, he didn’t have a real desire to bring more into the world. Alan knew back then and he knew now that he’d end up like the rest of his siblings, with no money and no job and no love. And it was depressing as hell, sure, and he hated knowing how true it was, but what was he supposed to do about it? The three things worked together with such efficiency that if he didn’t accept the lack of potential, he was just kidding himself. Still, there were good things that the music brought back, too. Like the memory of when he was the youngest child, back before all of his siblings were born and started tearing up the house. When he was the only one being babied, cared for...maybe even loved. Or the days when he realized that he could read on his own, and not only in English but eventually others, too. And he remembered the day at the library with Shale and wondered if perhaps he could let this be like that. Let himself enjoy the company. If only for the music. Once Alan handed back the paper, however, the music stopped as Shale took it back to read it. Their fingers touched for a moment, and the feeling was insane, his mind going haywire for a moment, finding a sort of guilty pleasure in the brief contact. Stupid, he knew. But his mind was going to do whatever it wanted until the object of his attraction wasn’t so close to him. And there was nothing to do until he calmed down and it let him think rationally again. He would soon, of course; the good feelings weren’t typically feelings that lasted very long. As much as he hated the present, the fear of the future was still ominous. Knowing there was nowhere for him to escape to, he couldn’t imagine anything but staying here forever. Turning into another Natalie, but lacking the willingness to give up everything for her family. Alan knew there was nothing he would ever have that he could give up, but it didn’t make him any more eager to stick around for the job. And then there was Shale. Shale, who knew none of this, who would never know any of this because he would never be interested in Alan’s stupid sob story, and whom Alan would never tell even if he was. Shale was simply there, oblivious to these things going on in Alan’s mind. Yet, as Alan watched him scribbling a reply, he couldn’t help wondering if he could be wrong about some things. He didn’t look away from Shale until Shale looked back at Alan’s window, when he followed his gaze. There didn’t seen to be anything outside the ordinary going on, so he was a bit confused. Maybe Shale would clear it up in his note, though, Alan decided when Shale started writing again. Once he had the note back in his hands, however, it was obvious that Shale wasn’t going to address what had been going on in the house, but that was alright. There was always something happening in there, and it didn’t really matter if he missed it. I’ve always lived here. I think all of us have, and my oldest brother is almost thirty.

[/color][/b] Sometimes Alan thought about how good it was that at least at some point his mother had been able to afford to buy a house instead of renting from a landlord, because they would have been evicted a thousand times over from the noise and the damage. On that note, though, maybe that was why she bought the house. Because no one would have taken her as a tenant.

Part of Alan was dying to talk about the bass guitar that was now resting in Shale’s lap, but he couldn’t figure out a good way to bring it up in a way that wasn’t completely random. He left it be for the moment, waiting for an opportunity, and went ahead and handed the note back to Shale.

Things would be so much easier if he could just figure out what he wanted. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to be here with Shale forever, he wanted Shale, he wanted to get over Shale, he wanted Shale to leave him alone, and he wanted Shale to stay with him and become someone he could actually talk to. None of those things seemed to be compatible together, and it was impossible to decide on one.

If he knew Shale any better, maybe Shale could have decided for him. But he didn’t, and Alan was stuck trying to blindly decide how to proceed with him.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: omfg feelings and just alskdgjlsakd Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1089 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] It was unusual for Alan to even consider talking to people about his family. His relationship to the person was irrelevant, the interest he had in that person was unimportant, and any nagging for information would only result in his being even more shut off. Alan wasn’t ashamed of his family, really. They were all screwed up in their own way, but so was he. Embarrassment wasn’t the issue. He just didn’t have the patience for talking about them, didn’t want to waste his time on a subject so frustrating. Despite this, Alan found it rather easy to imagine himself talking to Shale, even when the subject was dangerously close to home, literally. The code made it easy for them to communicate--as easy as it ever was for Alan--and they had the time and the interest and Alan found that he didn’t mind discussing it. Shale wasn’t asking particularly deep or complicated, nothing Shale wouldn’t be able to find out by asking anyone in Caroline. The way Alan saw it, it was just refreshing for someone to ask him directly, rather than go around trying to get it out of someone else behind his back. Or something. He was over-thinking again. He just needed to relax. There’s nine of us. I’m in the middle.

[/font] He would have elaborated, perhaps, had he not been distracted by the few raindrops that he thought he was feeling. Sure enough, eventually splatters of water started to appear on the note, blurring some of the ink. As he continued writing, he leaned over the paper to protect it The fact that doing so moved him closer to Shale was just coincidence, of course.

The second part of Shale’s note had been far more interesting, far more important and exciting and worthwhile.

Do you know sign language?

You.

Could.

Teach.

Me.

The notes on the paper already looked more beautiful than regular English printing, but those words, the offer to learn for him...those were the most beautiful. The notes, individual pieces in the code that he had made for them, only for them, they now went together to create words. The words were simple on their own, elementary in a sentence, but completely and utterly breathtaking in context. You could teach me.

All the sentimentality made Alan feel sort of pathetic. He shouldn’t feel so moved, shouldn’t be having trouble breathing, shouldn’t have gone numb. It didn’t even make sense, though, that his body had seemingly lost all feeling and yet his stomach was tying itself in painful knots. So much of this relationship completely altered his worldview; maybe not everything could be explained logically. Not everything had to make sense.

So maybe his mind and body were overreacting to the message the tiny notes conveyed to him, but he couldn’t deny that there was at least a deeper meaning in it. It was a promise for time. From what Alan understood, Shale was willing to take as much time as was necessary to learn an entirely new language just to talk to him, just for the added convenience. And that was not up for interpretation; that could only mean that Shale intended to continue talking to him. Shale wanted this to continue just as much as he did. Perhaps not in the same way Alan did--the odds of finding an attractive, age-appropriate boy who had a wonderful personality and was gay and was interested in him? Not good odds.

Still, Alan could still enjoy the presence of this boy. And he intended to, regardless of it being such a guilty pleasure.

Very few moments were spent thinking along those lines, however. Mostly, Alan was trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone, who was neither a special education teacher nor an over-busy sister, wanted to learn to speak with him. Finally.

There were always the cute little stories where the cute little deaf kid is befriended by the cute little hearing kid who learns sign language for the cute little deaf kid and they grow up together and have a cute little romance that turns into a cute little wedding and they have cute little children. Stories like that were everywhere, even Alan couldn’t avoid them. Sometimes the people around him heard them, too, and they were inspire to be the cute little hearing kid to his cute little deaf kid. That lasted until the cute little hearing kid realized what learning a new language constituted, or, in one case, until they realized how unlikable Alan was most of the time or, in another, until they found better friends. With Shale, though, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe things would be different. Shale was smart enough to know what he was getting in to. Shale already proved that he was willing to try--the ease with which they were writing back and forth in code made it obvious.

The reality of it was almost too much all at once.

Stupid. Stupid, really, how much this was affecting him. He needed to calm down.

But still. It was Shale. And Shale wanted to be that person he had been needing for so long, whatever that constituted.

I could, if you wanted.[/font] Good. That sounded nonchalant enough.

As he handed the note back to Shale, the raindrops started falling faster and heavier. Shale had already put his bass inside while Alan was writing, which made sense considering that it probably would not fare well in the rain. Speaking of not faring well, the rest of Shale’s music was scattered across the balcony, so Alan gathered it up and handed it to Shale so it wouldn’t get too damaged. Shale took it with thanks and their eyes met for a moment, long enough for Alan to read Shale’s lips before they each went back to their respective houses: “Tomorrow.”

Alan nodded. Tomorrow.

---

This time, tomorrow was a promise they kept. And it was kept the day after that, and the day after that. It was impossible to say when exactly they became friends, or when it became okay for the both of them to be on the balcony at the same time, or when they could start saying that they knew each other. It was gradual, but it happened.

A lot of things were not so gradual. For one, the school had decided very suddenly that he was no longer allowed to take German and French in the same semester, and that he needed to decided immediately which to drop so he could be placed into a different class. The decision wasn’t difficult--one class had Shale and the other did not. He was bothered by the fact that they were doing this to him (it was difficult enough for him to adjust to his classes without being put into them part way through), but not quite as much as he was bothered by their lack of options for a different class. In the end he chose an advanced psychology class, which he knew very little about, but seemed more promising than music theory or wood shop, which were his other options.

The good things he could say about the class were limited to the fact that Shale was there. Everything else was a mess. He sat front and center whereas Shale was in a back corner, so their interaction was limited. The curriculum didn’t cater well to his deafness. Much of the learning was done through videos, and much of the footage of something other than a person talking, so he missed most of what was being said. What wasn’t a video was typically guided notes, but it was difficult to write and watch the teacher talk at the same time, and he often couldn’t keep up. He missed German and the ease of teaching himself the language. This was too high pressure, and the only positive thing that came of it was that he could get the notes from Shale later, which gave him excuses to spend more time with Shale than perhaps he would have otherwise.

Still, the subject itself was alright until they progressed to sensation.

While Alan was sure it wasn’t intentional, both the teachers and the students said stupid, insensitive things. Or maybe it wasn’t a problem with what they were saying, but his over-sensitivity to them that was the matter. At any rate, he wasn’t learning the material so much as he was learning about everyone else’s opinions. When things like which is the most important sense or the crippling effects of lacking a sense or similar discussions came up, Alan stopped paying attention. He didn’t need that on top of his trouble in the class.

They spent two or three days on vision, which was interesting until the simulated blindness experiment. Alan depended on vision for everything, he refused to participate in it. He couldn’t have done even if he had wanted to, either, considering the blind were led around the hallways by a partner who was to use only vocal cues to let the blind know where to go. Unable to speak or hear, he was completely useless.

In the empty classroom, he studied his vision notes. Maybe he couldn’t participate in experiments like this, but he would get the best grades. That was something.

Two days afterwards, they were finished vision and had continued to hearing. And it was interesting, really. Alan had never known half this stuff, didn’t know what made things work, at least in a normal person. Learning about hearing was the start of the ignorant questions from the students, however, which was not as interesting. He didn’t respond to them, tried not to let them bother him. Shale had told them to ‘fuck off’ once, which had resulted in little besides Shale getting detention for profanity and disrespect. Alan appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t help much.

On the second day of hearing, they reached the reverse, and things got worse. Alan had expected it, of course. It was impossible to be the only deaf kid in a class of hearing kids learning about deafness without being stared at the entire time. But he tried not to notice, keeping his eyes trained on either the teacher as he spoke or the notes on his desk.

There are two types of deafness, according to the notes. Conductive deafness and sensorineural deafness. Conductive deafness involved damage to the cochlea, where sensorineural was damage to the auditory nerve. Essentially they were the same but for one thing: conductive deafness was treatable. Sensorineural deafness was not.

When Alan was younger and had started asking questions about what was wrong with him and why, there was really only one thing that was really important, that had really stuck with him: things were never going to change, because there was nothing they could do to fix him.

And now he knew. Now he knew what was wrong with him.

Strange. He had always imagined this moment being more climactic, like maybe he would feel complete somehow now that it was explained. But he didn’t, not at all. Instead he felt like his insides had turned into lead. Everything felt heavy. This had to be proof that ignorance was bliss, because now he knew and he felt worse than before. The facts were staring up at him from his paper and he couldn’t delude himself anymore.

There is no cure for sensorineural deafness.

As if that wasn’t enough, the notes went on to talk about how people with conductive deafness who could technically have their hearing restored via cochlear implant would occasionally choose not to because they didn’t view deafness as a disability, that it was simply part of them.

That was the line. Alan was too uncomfortable with his lack of hearing for this, he needed to leave. It wasn’t fair. Why could they choose when he couldn’t? And why would they turn something like that down? Why stay like this when they could be fixed, be normal? Alan could take all the classes he wanted, learn all the languages the world held, teach every last person on the earth sign language, and he would still be at a disadvantage because he couldn’t hear. And that would never change.

So he left. Stood up, stuffed his notes into his bag, slung the bag across his back, and walked out of the classroom. He didn’t know where he was going, exactly, but he was going away. Somewhere that wasn’t there, somewhere he wouldn’t have to think about being unfixable. He was most of the way down the hallway when he was grabbed by the arm. For a moment he expected it to be the teacher who had followed him out, determined not to let him think he owned the place just because he was a bit different. Upon turning around, however, he found not the teacher holding on to him, but Shale.

Alan didn’t know whether to be grateful or unhappy that he couldn’t go be depressed by himself in a corner somewhere.

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Notes: aaaaaaa i am so excited for the kiss omg Tag: shale! ;D Words: 2222 [/center]

[shale]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://colourlovers.com.s3.amazonaws.com/images/patterns/0/635.png)][atrb=style, padding: 10px;] brown eyes and lungs are filled up with smoke- - - - - Fast lives are stuck in the undertow, But you know the places I wanna go. 'Cause oh oh oh, I've got a sickness, you've got the cure. You've got the spark I've been lookin' for, And I've got a plan, we walk out the door There was no easy answer to why Shale had scrawled that last little note down. They already had this form of communication, it should have been good enough. Shale enjoyed learning though, he'd enjoy learning more things. For Alan. Easier ways for him to communicate too. It was so nice. Shale had almost forgotten that a week ago he had told Alan that he couldn't read very well. He still wanted to tell Alan the stretch of it, now that he thought of it. He wondered if Alan would know what dyslexia was, but Shale couldn't see Alan not knowing. Shale's stupidest cousin would know what that was, and that was why his family could never know. But Alan? Shale wouldn't mind telling him. Alan had said nothing towards Shale's lack of reading skills since he told them. Shale always expected, when he told someone about his issues, that they would make a big deal about it. Like everything they said would have to be watched and guarded and tiptoed around. But Alan said nothing, acted like Shale had told him nothing. Shale had almost forgotten that he told Alan. Not that looking at the code reminded him every time, it just sat there like a fact as simple as the sky was blue. And for this, Shale appreciated Alan more than anything else. So perhaps Shale felt like he owed Alan something, for that. He could learn sign language for the language that Alan made up for him. For them. If it ever happened that Shale didn't have his music paper, or if they needed a faster form of communication, they could use sign language. Simple as that. Shale also felt if he were going to be Alan's friend (or hopefully more, he thought deliriously) he needed to learn sign language. It was the right thing to do. The moment Shale felt a rain drop on his hand, his first thought was his bass. His baby, the one thing he loved more than...well, Shale didn't love much in his life but his bass. He couldn't even say his family. Perhaps Grey. He was protective. He would have placed it inside, if not in that same moment, Alan lent closer to Shale. His senses were shaken by the closeness, the things it could imply. Alan's head was bent though, still looking at the paper. It wasn't as if suddenly Alan was in Shale's space, but he was closer. Shale was sure he would have noticed if Alan moved a millimetre closer. Shale looked at him, the angle that his head was bent down, the way his hair fell into his face, the grip he held onto the paper. And he was over come with a disastrous urge. God, he had to admit it to himself. He wanted to kiss Alan, bad. He could just see it, pacing his finger under Alan's chin and tilting his head up, maybe pushing some of that lovely hair out of the way, closing his eyes, tilting his head. Shale sighed, picking himself from the balcony to place his bass inside the house, moving the amp back inside the window as well. As Shale turned back tot he balcony, Alan was passing him the note back. The rain was falling thicker now, spattering the balcony. Shale knew that this would drive them both inside, but he'd rather it not. There was no way they could communicate, with his paper getting wet. In fact, he realized, his song was getting wet the ink running. Before he could collect it up though, his heart racing in panic, Alan was bending down, retrieving the scattered pieces, handing it to Shale. Part of him fantasied about that classic scene, Shale dropping his papers, Alan helping to pick them up, their hands touching, a shared look, a shared kiss. Shale shook his head, hair starting to get damp from the paper. Instead of making any rash decisions, Shale just caught Alan's eye. “Tomorrow,” he said, before turning back to his house, climbing through the window. A promise this time, that he would not let this die. He would talk to Alan again, no matter what. ------------- Shale hadn't realized until he got inside that day that he still had something from Alan to read. The information about his siblings, nine siblings was interesting. Shale knew the reason his parents had so many kids, religion and they were partly shooting for an heir to fortune of Locke Industries. That resulted in the five of them. Shale thought that was a lot, but nine? Four more bodies in his house. Sure, the Locke mansion could hold it, but not a house like Shales, which was the same size as Alans. Part of Shale liked to think that the houses were even set out the same way. Shale wondered what Alan's mother was like, his father. Even every single on of his sibling. Like Shale, Alan was in the middle. This was too much. Once again, Shale fell into his bed thinking about Alan. And Alan was willing to teach him sign language. This was good. More time to spend with the boy, not that it was if they saw each other at school. Shale was so worried that they would stop talking though, the promise broken. It had nearly failed once, it was a near miracle that they had the balcony, and they had run into each other. What was more of a miracle though was the fact that they hadn't run in to each other before-hand. Perhaps things were just meant to be. They did talk though, the next day. Shale talked to Alan first, but he seemed pleased enough to have Shale there. It kept going. Shale now happily slipped into the desk beside Alan's in the french class, much to the strange looks of his friends. They didn't speak much in class, but they'd often catch one another at lunch, after school walking home, on the balcony. Shale had started sharing his cigarettes with Alan, mostly because he found the boy at a lack of them. Shale was more than happy to share, giving presents a natural part of his being. And now that he'd admitted to himself that he would like nothing more than to kiss Alan, he was finding a lot of opportunities that would suffice. Talking on the balcony, Alan leaning in for an offered cigarette. Sitting in french class, working on a project together, Alan passing him a note. Seeing Alan across the hall, shale could have easily walked over to him. Instead, Shale just smiled, or waved, or just nodded at Alan. He didn't know why, but he held himself back from kissing Alan. Shale felt scared, scared that Alan would reject him. Shale had never thought this way before, and no one had rejected him. Yet, Shale felt Alan might of. He was so quiet and perfect and what would he want from a boy like Shale anyway? A rich little pompous boy who only fawned over his every movement. It was a strange surprise, one day, when Shale went into his regular psych class and Alan was sitting at the front of the room. Shale stopped to say a quick hello, and give him a questioning look, but as usual Shale had swept in late. So he sat in his seat near the back, glaring at the girl who had sat in her usual spot, right next to Alan. Turned out Alan had to be switched into this class, and nothing could have made Shale happier. More time for him to stare at Alan, decode the way he moved. What was more was when Alan asked for Shale's notes to look over, because it turned out a lot of the class was hearing orientated. The teacher didn't even bother to change things for Alan. Even though Shales notes were neat and his writing large and horrible, Shale was more than happy to diligently, and slowly, write down everything the teacher covered. It felt like the least Shale owed Alan, and it gave him more reason to talk to him. Not that they didn't have enough reason now, Alan was Shale's friend. He felt stupidly giddy over that, like he was a kid with a new toy. But Shale would never, ever let this one go. It would be a lie to say that Shale was not curious when the class moved onto the sensory unit. Even without Alan there, he would have been interested on the unit on hearing. He just waned to know so much more about Alan. Though they were friends and Shale knew a little bit more, it was still not enough. Alan had barely let up his air of mystery. But shale was going to be there to read all his notes and see anything that Alan wanted to tell him. As they approached the topic of deafness, Shale was paying very good attention, still happily writing down all the notes. The past few days as they talked about lack of senses though, he'd notice people looking at Alan, whispering behind their hands at the end of class. And they were all so intensive to it, so careful. Exactly what Shale would not have wanted if the class were to suddenly progress onto dyslexia and everyone knew about him. It was horribly frustrating, and Shale hated seeing Alan do nothing about it. Especially when later Alan didn't seem to want to talk about it. Shale could see it bothered him. And when he was sent to detention for telling one girl to fuck off when she directly asked Alan a question, he didn't even care. He wished he could have done more, but it wasn't worth it, he realized. His father had given him a rather sound wringing out for ending his ass up in detention. Shale would have happily done it again, if his father hadn't threatened to take Shale out of his advanced musical theory class, the one liberty he was allowed in school. This class, as the teacher was explaining deafness and the different kinds, Shale was sitting quiet in the back. It took most of his energy in class to keep up with the notes, reading and transcribing as best as he could. Half the time Shale couldn't even pay attention to the teacher, he was so focused on looking at the projector, copying down a letter, and then doing it again. His writing was becoming slower. The words on the paper made no sense and hell, he was tired. He'd stopped writing notes, figuring Alan might know this and if anything Shale could tell Alan everything later. He sat, head leaning in his hand, listening to the teacher drone on, half asleep. He wished that this would end, so that maybe he could talk to Alan. Go outside and smoke the cigarette his lungs was craving. Today was not a school day at all. Shale knew that the moment he woke up. The only thing that could break him from his reverie was a sudden movement from the front of the room. And shale felt that if it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have noticed. He would have sat in his chair, half paying attention, half wondering at the best way to comb Alan's hair out of his face before Shale kissed him. But the boy in question, Alan, was getting up and leaving the classroom, a characteristic scowl on his face. Shale had yet to see him smile, not once. He needed to make that happen, if anything to make Alan freaking happy for once. Shale was confused, the class was not over and Alan was leaving. This was very unlike him, Alan was a good student. Shale watched him as he went, the teacher only stopping a moment to look after Alan. But Shale had found out weeks ago that the teacher did not like Alan being in his class. He never made any allowances for Alan, except on the day of the simulated blindness project. And that was simply because Alan had refused to participate. Shale was pretty sure Alan had been given a zero regardless. It was stupid and annoying, but neither of them could do anything about it. Shale heard the teacher talking about cochlear implants and deafness and he didn't know what had made Alan leave. All that mattered was Alan was gone. Without much thought Shale grabbed his notebook and bag and was out of the class before the teacher could say a word. Alan seemed to have disappeared for a moment as Shale entered the hallway, but Shale followed his gut, walking quickly. It wasn't long before Shale found Alan, walking even quicker down the hallway. He could have been leaving steam in his wake, his anger was that obvious. Long given up were the days that Shale was stupid enough to call after him, everyday was spent in silence with Alan. It no longer made Shale long for speech, but instead when his friends were talking he sometimes wished they would shut up and let him talk. That was the good thing with Alan and him, things were more regulated. There was only so much one could talk in paper. Shale jogged to catch up to Alan, grabbing his wrist to stop him like he had many weeks before. Alan looked at him, that scowl still there. And Shale swore, he wanted to kiss him right there, just kiss him until he was fucking smiling for once. Instead, Shale just huffed, and dragged Alan a little further down the hall and off into another hall. A dead end, with little purpose but locker room. Away from the other lockers and definitely a little more secluded. Shale grabbed a piece of paper, feeling oddly angry with Alan for just storming out. It was tiresome, Alan’s little hurt act. Shale just wanted to make him feel better. He thought for a moment. If he could just speak, he would have simply told Alan, talk. Instead, Shale sighed, penning out a statement quickly. He didn't have music paper, and thus Shale wrote it out in plain English, finding the letters repulsive, especially when talking to Alan. “Do you want to talk about it?” and though Shale would have been happy to not talk about it, to sit here and fume or perhaps go outside and smoke, he also wanted to hear what Alan had to say. He needed to know what got him so angry. WORDS | 2429 | TAGS | alan<3 | NOTES | ;] eeeeeeeee

template by eliza @ shadowplay

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] He had no idea what he was doing. Alan regretted leaving almost the moment he did it. It wasn’t that he thought he could’ve handled being in there, because he knew it wasn’t going to go away that easily. He just knew he should have tried to fight it, tried harder to tune it all out, tried to focus solely on the academics of the subject and not how it related to him. He should’ve been more mature about it, instead of reacting like a child. If he would have stayed, he could have just written down everything that was bothering him and save it for later, when he could rant to Shale about everything. Running away was not solving anything. Running away never solved anything, he knew that from experience. Eventually, either you went back willingly or by force, and then the problems were bigger and badder. Eventually, Alan would have to go back to psychology and now that he had made a scene, there would just be more talking, more staring. And he would have to take a test on the information and it would still bother him but he couldn’t start leaving just because he didn’t like the facts. The facts weren’t going to change just because he was unhappy. He would have to go back, have to sit in the front of a classroom he didn’t want to be in, being stared at by classmates he didn’t want to interact with, judged by a teacher who did nothing for him, learning information he should have known years ago. Maybe if he had known before, he would have be able to handle it. Being like this was dangerous. This mindset was what put holes in his bedroom walls and broke the handle off his window and had gotten him arrested a few years ago. This was school, though, and doing something like that was more serious now than at home. He couldn’t go that route, not here. So maybe it was good that Shale followed him, but Alan was still angry and upset, and he tried to pull his hand from Shale’s grip, but it didn’t work, and Shale was pulling him through the hallway to somewhere more secluded, somewhere off where they wouldn’t be seen out wandering the halls, as there were no classrooms there to be seen from. It was only then that Shale let go of him, and, despite wanting to be frustrated that Shale was trying to control him, Alan was stuck just staring at him, taking in his face. His eyes, his lips, God, his lips... Being out here in an abandoned corridor, out of sight...well, it was giving him some less-than-innocent thoughts. Those thoughts were quickly shoved to the side, though, as he watched Shale writing. It was blank paper, lacking the lines Alan had become so familiar with when they wrote back and forth lately, which explained why it took longer than usual for Shale to finish writing. All it took to have him start pouring out was the big, crooked letters of Shale’s question. Alan knew how much Shale hated writing, how hard it was for him to do, but the fact that he was still trying, still willing to fight it for Alan’s benefit, that meant the world. Shale cared enough to learn the code, to write in English when he had no other choice, to know not to depend on Alan’s lip reading abilities when deafness was what was the matter with him, to try to learn sign language... Alan knew Shale didn’t understand near enough sign language for everything he had to say, but that didn’t matter. Shale cared enough to give him the opportunity to speak when he wanted to. I’m so sick of them staring. They think I don’t notice, but I do. As if I don’t already know I’m different and disabled and embittered by it, they need to keep staring and reminding me. It’s so unfair and I just want to be normal. I deserve better than this, don’t I? I work so hard and try to get somewhere but in the end, I’m still going to be stuck right where I am because poor, deaf, and gay are seriously the shittiest circumstances the world could have given me and I’m never going to be able to make anything of myself. I’m never going to amount to anything. And it makes me angry and upset and jealous when I realize that there are people out there who could have everything I want but still refuse it for the sake of some stupid deaf subculture. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, why I can’t accept the way I am, but I can’t stand hating it anymore because it makes me do stupid things like run out of classrooms and I can’t keep doing that. I try so hard, Shale. I take regular classes despite all the counselors saying I should be in special ones to make it easier for me. I teach myself everything because nobody else gives me the time of day. I spend hours at the library every day just so I can get my homework done without the interference of my siblings. I have the best grades in the class because that’s all my life is. I go to school, I leave school and do homework. That’s it. I didn’t even have friends until you showed up and I still can’t comprehend what you could possibly like about me because there’s certainly nothing I like about myself. And I don’t know why I consistently fail every time I try to move past all that self-loathing, but there’s always people talking and staring and it just reminds me how I’m not normal, I’m not normal and I will never be normal and if I’ve known that for seventeen years and I still react like this, how will it be when I’m thirty or fifty or eighty and I’m still completely the same? I don’t think I can do it. I feel so isolated all the time and it’s not even the deafness most of the time. It’s just me. And it makes me hate myself, honestly. I shouldn’t have to be like this. I should have a choice but it was taken from me before I was even born and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the world for that. I just wanted the choice. I can try to take normal classes and fake my way through but in the end I’m still going to be the odd one out, and that’s what bothers me most. Even when I was in the classes for people with problems like mine, I still felt stigmatized by the mere fact that I, being deaf, needed to be there instead of being normal and taking the same sorts of classes that everyone else did. I thought leaving them would make me feel more normal, but then I get into classes like psychology where I have no fucking idea what’s going on half the time because everything is auditory and I don’t work right so I can’t get that. And even when I can understand what’s happening, I’m still hyperaware of everyone else’s gossip. And the teachers don’t do anything about it because they think I won’t notice. It all just emphasizes how completely different I am from everyone else and I want the exact opposite. I don’t know why it has taken seventeen years for me to realize that I can’t have that but I don’t think I can do another seventeen without figuring out how to accept that. Other deaf people are so well-adjusted. I don’t know what’s different about me that I can’t deal with it.

[/font]

There was somewhat of a pregnant pause as Alan tried to calm down, knowing there was little to no point in saying anything he had just said considering Shale’s lack of fluency would prevent him from understanding any of it. It didn’t matter that he’d just come out to him, or that he’d just told his best friend--his only friend--more than once that he hated himself, it didn’t matter because he couldn’t even communicate with Shale without writing everything down. Sign language was faster for Alan, but pointless when talking to Shale, who only had a week’s worth of lessons. Yet he continued.

You know I never knew any of that in there? All Natalie ever told me was that there was nothing that could be done to fix me. Seeing it in there, given a name and written plainly that it was hopeless... I thought knowing would make me feel better but it sort of pushed me over the edge. And I know it shouldn’t, I should be better adjusted than this. For God’s sake, I’ve known for seventeen years that this would be how things are. But still I wake up every day thinking, “Maybe this time, maybe this will be the end of being a freak who can’t make friends because I can’t talk to anyone.” And I’m infinitely thankful for you, because I honestly don’t know where I’d be right now without you and that scares me. But I don’t know if you’ll ever understand what this is like, even if you had any idea what I was saying right now. I wish you could, because I need someone to understand. You’re the first person to try.[/font]

It was pointless to be doing this. Shale likely was only picking out simple words like “I” and “you” and without context he would still not understand what had Alan so upset. Still, maybe just saying it could be enough. No one else gave him the time to say it.

He wanted that to be enough.

It was good that he was finished, though, because he hadn’t ever used that much sign language, probably in his entire life, much less at one time, and his hands were sort of tired from it. And Shale wouldn’t understand any of it. And that didn’t help ease the isolated feeling.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: aww bb Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1711 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan wanted to feel better having said everything he had. This pouring out thing, that was new. He wasn’t used to telling anyone anything. That was how Alan ran: keep quiet and don’t get involved with anyone. If they don’t know the secrets, then they have no power. They'd have nothing to hold against him. It was easier to be shut off; that way, there was no risk. Anything he was hurting about was kept personal, no one else having any need to know or any right to hear what it was. This kept his problems small, with no one there to aggravate them into something larger. Even if, like now, the problem was being cut off from the world, at least he knew he wouldn’t be abandoned. There was no one to abandon him. Except now, things were different, because now there was someone. Before Shale, things had felt rather circular. Alan was alone, so he felt lonely. He refused to seek company to protect himself from being left. And so he was alone. Now, though, things were straightening out. He was lonely, so he let Shale in when he reached out. Alan was the dam and Shale the crack in the stone. As Alan let Shale see more of him and Shale came closer, the dam started to crumble. Eventually, bang. Crack. Crumble. And the water rushes out. And the water had rushed out, that was impossible to miss. But it was a though at the exact moment the dam wall fell, the water had turned to steam, rushing up and not out. Missing the crack. Shale didn’t understand the signing, could have no idea what Alan was upset about and unless Alan took the time to write it all in code or spell it out in the sign language alphabet, Shale wouldn’t know. It was unfair, so endlessly unfair, that it had to be this hard for everyone--for anyone--to understand. Once he had started signing, it felt pointless to stop. He ranted on and on, stopping only when he could think of nothing more to say. Part of him didn’t care that Shale couldn’t understand. Part of him wanted only to empty himself, even to the unknowing sky. Release the steam, make room for the inevitable rain that would eventually fall and fill him up again. But he also needed Shale to understand. Shale. There was no way for Alan to know how strong his walls were, really, since there had been no one trying to break through before. Maybe Shale had found a weakness, or maybe it was all weak, barely strong enough to hold back all the water. Still, Alan still had his wits about him, and he realized that it was stupid to tell Shale all this, because Shale was oblivious to any meaning. The movements of his fingers and hands had no translation in Shale’s mind, not yet, and Alan felt almost embarrassed to be this way, visibly pouring out his soul while Shale was there, confused. He could have stopped before he really got started, perhaps he should have, but he didn’t. Instead he essentially signed to no one, avoiding Shale’s gaze nearly the entire time, only ever looking up in attempt to quickly judge his expression before continuing. It was rude to not maintain eye-contact, but he didn’t care. Shale knew by now not to expect Alan to look at him for too long. Shale was too attractive, it was as simple as that. It wasn’t fair to let himself want more. The two were friends and that had to be enough. Because, really, what else was ever going to happen? When he stopped signing and his hands fell back at his sides, he still refused to face Shale. Couldn’t bear to look at him, didn’t want to have to see his reaction. It was unfair for Alan to have done this to him, just as unfair as it would have been if Shale had spoken aloud without letting Alan see his face. Shale had had no chance, but Alan could see him still feeling guilty for not understanding. God, why had he-- He started out of instinct when Shale touched him. People didn’t touch Alan except to get his attention, and that usually happened in crowds when someone needed him to get out of their way because he didn’t hear them asking him to move or something stupid like that. He lived his life with very little physical contact with others. He could probably count the number of hugs he’d received in his life on two hands, and probably half of them had been from Natalie on that day he’d gotten lost trying to find the library. He had missed out on the crucial contact when he was infant, and now as a teenager, he had taught himself to hate it. Better to hate something that came so infrequently than to long for it. Even when people just meant to get his attention, however, they didn’t typically start grabbing at his face, and that was probably what startled him the most. Any other time he and Shale had touched, it was usually the accidental brushing of fingers as they walked together or passed notes or pens or cigarettes back and forth. Besides those times and the now two occasions during which Shale had grabbed his wrist to stop him leaving, there was nothing, no past experience to prepare himself for Shale pushing his head up, forcing Alan to look at him. It felt like fire, which didn’t make sense. A look shouldn’t feel like this. And, like fire, it made him want to pull away, yet he was still attracted, still drawn to the heat and the light and Shale was so... Regardless of what he did or did not want, he couldn’t take his eyes from Shale’s until he saw the movement out of his peripheral vision. A-L-A-N His sister signed his name so many hundreds of times that the sight hardly phased him at first. The sight was familiar and his mind was fried, still spinning from the flames, and for the first moment he didn’t see anything remarkable in it. And then it registered: this was Shale. Somehow that made all the difference in the world. Shale, who spent hours learning a code that made for the only way the could communicate, who shared the cigarettes and the balcony and his company when Alan needed them most, who had proved again and again that he would keep trying, dutifully trying to prove Alan and his skepticism wrong. Now, after seeing Alan say everything and knowing that there was nothing he could say to fix it without understanding, Shale was proving it again. A-L-A-N. It was basic sign language, sure. But it was a promise, too. Alan hadn’t scared him away. He was still trying, still signing, even if all he could do was say Alan’s name. His brain was reeling, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it, some way to express to Shale how infinitely much all of this meant to him, but it was easier just to give up and say nothing. Talking was so complicated between them. It was... Time slowed down. Alan felt his heart rate speed up, as if it knew what was coming before the rest of him did. It was strange, immeasurably strange that this was happening. All his life he’d assumed that time slowing down was just figurative language, something poetic in literature to allow for more detail than usual. But no, this was just like in the books, and he felt very much in the moment. He could see Shale breathing, the slight rise and fall of his chest, was aware of every inch of distance between them slowly being occupied by Shale’s body, felt the static between them as Shale pushed a lock of his hair out of his face. He could count every last pore... On his very first day in psychology class, the teacher had been lecturing about nerves and the parts of the body with the most receptors to touch. There had been the hands, of course, that was obvious. And feet, which also made sense. But what had most of all was the lips, and Alan was never so aware of this fact as when Shale’s were against his own. He could feel it--really feel it, like he’d been in some sort of shell the rest of his life and now he was properly sensing things. His hand found its way to the side of Shale’s face--feeling again. This was....God, he couldn’t even think.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAA Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1463 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan had never considered this to be an option. Never, in any world he lived in, would he have considered it might be this way. Here, in the school hallway, skipping class, kissing Shale. Alan wasn’t one to fantasize by any means. That only opened up the door to heightened expectations. He did his best to think rationally and realistically, because that was the best way he knew not to be disappointed. And, realistically, the odds of something romantic between them were slim. Naturally, Alan couldn’t prevent himself hoping, on occasion, that Shale would like him, but it was such a small and irrational thought and he refused to get too attached to the idea. He didn’t know Shale was gay, Shale didn’t know he was gay, and nothing would happen unless one proved the other wrong. Well, here was proof. It was all very new. Alan had never kissed anyone before, romantically or otherwise. Part of him was sure he never would. Things like this just didn’t happen to him. At home, no one ever kissed anyone for any reason, unless one of his older siblings brought home a boyfriend or girlfriend, which was rare. (Alan could hardly blame them for not wanting to, at any rate. Alan would avoid the place, too, given he had anywhere to go. Either way, it definitely wasn’t on the list of places where he would take someone he was interested in.) Sometimes, one of younger kids would try for some sort of affection from their mother, but that typically ended with an awful lot of yelling and crying, so that was rare as well. Natalie was usually too rare for the sort of kisses that cured the little ones’ cuts and bruises, and so even that was out. The house was heartless, and kissing, even within a family, was too loving. And so it didn’t happen. Perhaps it was that, then, that made this so perfect--because Alan was simply starved for it. The timing, he had to say, was excellent. Had it happened sooner, Alan wasn’t sure that he would have been prepared to react, and later could have seen Alan finally talk himself out of liking Shale. Neither were particularly likely, perhaps, but it was still comforting to know that at least he was emotionally able, at this moment, to enjoy it. Screw school, screw being angry; for now, he wanted to last. To drink up every last bit of Shale. To live with the rushing feeling forever. To avoid feeling as lonely as before ever again. It was so... He could just feel everything so clearly, his sense of touch seemingly magnified by the lack of sound and sight. Usually, Alan hated not being able to see, but there was something about kissing, he found, that made it not matter so much. Something that made the feeling of it alone enough. After the initial shock wore off, he let his eyes fall closed, taking in the moment blindly. And he didn’t mind at all. In the instant after he moved his hand to Shale’s face--something he couldn’t keep himself from doing, now that he had permission--Shale countered by moving one arm around Alan’s waist and the other through his hair. Pulling at him, bringing him closer. His mind was spinning, had been spinning since this started... That was hardly seconds ago, and part of him realized that, part of him saw how out of proportion this whole thing seemed to be getting in his mind, yet he didn’t care. Fuck rationality. He was kissing a boy. Not just a boy, though. Shale. He was kissing Shale and he didn’t care if he didn’t stop. But then Shale did stop, and Alan opened his eyes again to figure out why, though Shale’s expression didn’t give away much. Shale just looked at him for a while, eventually laughing, and Alan was still just confused. Part of him figured it made sense, however; he sort of felt like laughing himself. It was something like relief that he was feeling now. He was just glad that Shale had been the first to make a move, and that he had wanted to. This meant something, he could tell, and Alan was mentally begging it to just happen already. This wasn’t the time or place, of course, but he didn’t care. Something had to happen. How was he supposed to focus on anything until it did? He didn’t know what else to do besides wait for Shale. Breathing heavy, staring into his eyes, finally giving Shale the eye-contact he had denied him so long. Please. Honestly, Alan wasn’t completely sure what he was hoping for, what his eyes were pleading, but he just needed assurance that things wouldn’t go back to how they once were. Shale needed to stay. Alan needed this. Shale looked away then, distracted by something, and Alan’s stomach knotted itself. Without hearing the bell, he thought maybe Shale was regretting this or taking it back or trying to figure out an excuse and it terrified him. That possibility was wrong, so wrong... For God’s sake, Shale’s hand was still in his hair, if something was... No. It was paranoia again, he was just jumping to all the wrong conclusions, and he realized this only when Shale kissed him again. It was softer now, gentler and less desperate, and it untied him. And--God--Shale pressed against him, it was a kind of electricity he didn’t even know existed. It seemed stupid that a second ago he thought something might be wrong, because nothing could ever be wrong. Not when it felt like this. And yet Shale left, and it wasn’t until Alan noticed that the halls were filling up that he could figure out why. What distracted Shale must have been the bell, that was the only thing that made sense. That was relieving, at least. Shale had said something before he left, though, which Alan didn’t understand at all. He stood in the hallway for several moments, trying to regain his hold on the world, to figure out which way was up and how to not collapse when he walked. Dammit, he felt so weak. He didn’t regret it, though, because he would see Shale later, of course he would, they lived next door. Eventually he did leave his corner of the hallway and head to his next class, but he learned just as much as he would have if he had remained where he was, given that he was distracted the entire time. The entire situation confused him entirely, but he didn’t mind. The memory of Shale’s lips lingered on his own, and that in itself was enough to keep him from paying attention in class. It took until about twenty minutes before the end of the school day for him to realize what Shale had said. “The balcony.” He’d never wanted to go home so badly. And when he finally could, he did so as quickly as he was able, not bothering to say anything to his siblings before disappearing to his room and heading out to the balcony. Fuck, he’d never wanted to see anyone so desperately.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: what are alan's thoughts and actions i don't even know Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1207 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Beginning the moment Shale stepped away from him, Alan had thought of nothing but what had happened, analyzing it a hundred thousand thousand different ways. It means something. It was nothing new for Alan to search for meaning in everything. All body language, each subconscious motion, every facial expression, it all was valid, it all had some sort of significance. It had to because he couldn’t bear it not to. This thing with Shale, this moment they’d had, this kiss...this especially had to have some kind of meaning. He couldn’t stop debating what that was until he explored every possibility. There was so much back and forth in his mind. So much good, yet so much bad... That was how his mind worked, really. Even in this situation, after finally having gotten confirmation that his feelings weren’t entirely unrequited, he was still almost panicking. He told himself that Shale wanted this, that he wouldn’t have done it to begin with if he hadn’t, that Shale would never have held him the way he had if he didn’t want him, all of that. He realized that the idea of Shale faking all of this was stupid, but there was still half of him that spent all its time believing that he didn’t deserve someone like Shale and that regardless of how convincing it seemed, it would never be real. And it seemed utterly ridiculous, frankly, that he should find it so much easier to focus on the moments Shale had spent pulling away. Ending the kisses, looking away at the sound of the bell, leaving Alan there in the hallway. If Shale liked him as much as Alan hoped he did, why did that stick with him so clearly? Why had Shale acted like that, and why did he let Alan believe that it meant anything negative? It was too confusing. Everything was so confusing. To put it simply, it was just unfair and inconvenient that it had to be next to impossible for them to communicate, too. As if the mixed signals weren’t bad enough, Alan couldn’t talk through his worries and thoughts with Shale later on the balcony, and he couldn’t jot them down on notebook paper for Shale to read, because Shale couldn’t read with the ease that Alan could. The easiest thing for them at this point was still Alan reading Shale’s lips, even with the code present. Still, that didn’t solve the problem of Alan needing to tell Shale his thoughts, and so he had to keep them all in his mind, hold them there until he found a way to have them understood. It was difficult to say when that would be. Hopefully soon. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand the miscommunication. Alan wasn’t used to wanting to talk to people. Before Shale, there wasn’t anyone worth talking to, and even through the past weeks with him there, there was always a way to get a point across because they had all the time in the world for idle chatter and getting to know one another. Now, though, they needed to talk if they intended to get anywhere with this relationship. They were at a standstill until something was resolved and each knew what the other wanted. Most of Alan’s life had been spent standing still; now that he was finally moving, he couldn’t just stop. It was just so damn frustrating that it had to be this hard to get all of that out. The remainder of the school day took ages, took a thousand years and a thousand more. The clock must be at a standstill, the earth ceased rotating on its axis, stopped dead in its orbit. No time was passing at all, it couldn’t be. It felt like forever. It reached a point of desperation that by the time class was over he had decided to take the bus home instead of walking, despite his sheer dislike for the proximity to people he didn’t know. Sometimes, when he was feeling slightly less negative about everything, he would try to count how many conversations he could see going on, since they didn’t all jumble into one the way he knew they must for people that could hear. He couldn’t make himself pay that much attention today, however, and instead he spent the ride home staring out the window, willing the bus to move faster and deposit him at his stop. It wasn’t until he was off the bus and rushing through his house that it occurred to him that maybe Shale wasn’t there yet. Typically, Shale arrived home after Alan did, unless Alan didn’t go home right away and spent the evening wandering around Caroline. Most of the time, though, Shale was elsewhere when Alan entered the house, and it almost terrified him out of going right away, the idea of Shale not being right there waiting for him. Somehow that hadn’t even occurred to him, but now that it had entered his mind, he couldn’t think of anything else. The off-chance that Shale could maybe be out there already was all that propelled him up the stairs and through his room. His burning need to talk to him outweighed the fear. Mind swirling with all the things he wanted to say, he pulled open the blinds. And there he was, sitting and waiting for him. The relief rushed over him like a wave, making him feel almost dizzy. Because he wouldn’t have to wait in agony anymore. Whatever this was--or wasn’t--they were going to get things straight. Even if they just went back to the being-friends thing, and the kiss was just a one-time deal, Alan would be happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but happy nonetheless. He wouldn’t regret any moment he spent with Shale, regardless of if the time was spent at Shale’s side or in his arms. It didn’t matter, just as long as they were together, because Alan couldn’t go back to being alone. He pushed open the window, palms flat against the glass until he could fit his fingers under the bottom and push up. Curse that day he had broken the handle off, this was so inconvenient...he just wanted to go talk to Shale, dammit. But he was getting better at doing it this way, so he supposed he had little room to complain. The window opened soon enough. Convenient, really, how he had always been thin and lanky. It made for getting through the open window far easier. Who knew, maybe it was the sheer need for this escape that kept him that shape. Stranger things had happened, he was sure. Why was he thinking like this? God, his brain was fried. Once out on the balcony, all the rushing thoughts in his mind stopped suddenly. Because, fuck. Shale. It was intriguing, really, how much more attracted to him Alan felt when he let himself. How much that Shale’s actions had opened him up. Strange how much he could feel if he didn’t fight it down. If it was even possible, he felt even lighter, even more flattered, when Shale used the sign for hello rather the conventional wave. Shale was learning, Shale was trying, Shale was doing this for him and it meant so incredibly much to him. God, Shale. As much as he hated that it was necessary, it was lucky that Alan always had a note tablet and pen with him, so when Shale mentioned not having paper, he had that covered. Problem was, with Shale it was hard to get the point across through written word, since Shale had such trouble with reading. The fact that the entire tablet was small enough to fit in a pocket didn’t exactly help. So, after Shale asked to know what he was thinking, he wrote largely, taking up the entirety of the small page. How?

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And then, on another page:

You first.[/b][/color][/size]
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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: gaaaaaah Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1363 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan knew it was a complete cop-out, asking Shale to speak first. But it was easier this way. Alan could understand Shale far better than Shale could Alan, so maybe it would make things simpler if Alan had a frame of reference, something to direct him to the points he should address when he finally got some paper. There were too many things in his mind, and as much as he wanted Shale to hear know them all, he also needed somewhere to start. If Shale told him how he felt, then Alan knew what was important to start with. If he went and wrote down everything he had to say, it would go on forever. He didn’t have the time now. Well, maybe the time, but certainly not the patience. He needed Shale to know what was going on in his head because then they could move forward. He didn’t dare let himself give a name to it, refused to use labels like dating or boyfriend or any of that, because if he thought them before he knew what was going on on Shale’s end, he’d just be disappointed. He didn’t want it unless Shale did. He wouldn’t let himself. It was for this reason that, despite telling himself that the only reason he wasn’t just telling Shale everything was because he didn’t have paper, he had asked Shale to begin by talking instead. Alan needed perspective. Needed an opinion before he formed his own. He did make him feel bad, though, when he saw how Shale seemed to crumble after reading the notes Alan passed him. Naturally, he hadn’t meant to affect him that way, never wanted Shale to be anything but happy, but Alan needed this for himself. Hopefully, if all went well, Shale could be happy later. When they were...when they knew what was going on. For now he just needed Shale to begin. And then, with a final look at the notes, he did. Four words. The first four words was all it took to melt him completely, open all the cages containing the butterflies in his stomach. Heart rate increasing. Mood lifting. He didn’t know four words could have such a strong effect. But all it took was the sight of Shale’s lips forming a simple phrase, an elementary statement like that, to take him apart. I like you, Alan. It mattered because it was Shale, and it mattered because no one had before. No one had ever cared this much. He couldn’t even honestly say anymore that he wasn’t completely infatuated, that he didn’t want Shale more desperately than he had ever wanted anything in his entire deprived life. Because he did. He wanted him badly. The realization that Shale wanted him back tore him apart in all the right ways. Had it not been happening, he never would have believed that it could be such a relief for the walls to be broken down. And that Shale was the one doing it. And Shale went on, moving closer to him, pulling Alan’s hand up to his throat, saying all these things Alan was so unused to people saying to him. They said it all the time in books, in the television shows that Stephanie watched when Natalie wasn’t supervising, but not in real life. Never in real life. Never to him. Shale was using all kinds of forbidden words. Words like like me back and kiss and go on dates and, most of all, boyfriend. And he didn’t even know how to react. God, how was he supposed to react? It was only the thirst for more, anything more that Shale had to offer that kept him from looking away and grinning like an idiot or something along those lines. For the moment he just stared at Shale, drinking up every word, willing it not to end. When Shale said that he still wanted to learn sign language, that was it. He couldn’t stand it anymore. His hand was already touching Shale, and they were so close and it would have been so easy to just...close the distance. But he hesitated, looking away from Shale and trying to fully process everything that had been said. And by the time he could function again, Shale was speaking. Something about paper. Funny, somehow Alan had forgotten that that would be necessary for any of this to continue. Now that he was going to have the chance, Alan had no idea what he wanted to say. And instead of kissing him, Alan was having his hand taken by Shale, who was tugging him towards the window, only to let go as he went inside. For a moment, Alan just stood there dumbly, wondering what on earth to do, when Shale reappeared and invited him in. And so he did. Crawling through a window was second nature to him, but this felt foreign. On the other side of this window was Shale’s room, not his own. He didn’t know what to expect when he saw it. First thought: It’s clean. Second: It looks expensive. Third: It doesn’t even matter, because Shale’s here. He looked around idly for a while until he noticed Shale holding out the music to him. He took it in one hand, then a moment later he was pulling Shale to him, wrapping his arms around him, and just holding him close. Because, after everything, he just needed Shale to know how much he appreciated him, even when he couldn’t say it out loud. Maybe he could’ve just written it down, but that would take too long. He wanted Shale to know now, and he liked the feeling of their bodies touching and the smell of his skin and he didn’t even know how else to express how much this meant. Eventually he let go, of course, because he couldn’t write if he was wrapped around Shale. And so he sat down, pulled out a pen, straightened out the papers in his lap, and started filling in the staves with all the notes that spelled out the things he had to say. I just don’t even know how to react to all this because it’s so new. And just. I want all that too, I want to be with you and to teach you to be able to talk to me and I just appreciate so much what you’ve done, for listening and staying and following me and not letting me isolate myself again. Because I don’t wanna be by myself anymore, I wanna date you and know you better than anyone else does and I want to show you how to understand what I’m saying because as much as I appreciate the fact that you were there and let me get all of that out earlier, it would mean so much more if you knew what was going on in my mind at all. I want that so much and it’s just weird because I usually don’t let myself want things. And I’m nervous and God, this all probably sounds so stupid. But I don’t care because if it doesn’t get said then we don’t move forward, and I want to move forward. I like you a lot, Shale, and honestly the hardest part of this is trying to wrap my mind around the fact that it could be mutual, that it is mutual. And I guess that’s all.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: gasjkgl Tag: shale! ;D Words: 1262 [/center]

[Deleted]

i've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] For someone who paid so much attention to everyone else, who spent so much time staring and studying, Alan had a rather irrational and hypocritical dislike of people watching him. In his house, he was relatively invisible because he was self-sufficient and silent. Nobody paid attention to him because he didn’t require it and didn’t attract it. He stayed out of the way and didn’t bother anyone, so he never found himself being under watch. This gave him the opportunity to watch everyone else, to learn about them from a distance. At school, though, things were different. There were very few people there that he was interested in learning about, but they all wanted to stare at him. It felt very much like how he imagined it must feel to be an exhibit in a zoo. They were fascinated by him, perhaps, but they still were glad to be the observer because they held the power in that position. It was incredibly frustrating, that this rift had to be between them. Like he wasn’t one of them. Sometimes it made sense to him for them to stare, like it or not. Like when he’d been arrested. Somehow the rumors got out, and there wasn’t anything else you could expect from middle school kids who found out that that deaf kid in the back of the room had gotten caught vandalizing Caroline. He hadn’t liked it then either, but it was expected. Other times, though, these things just seemed to happen. He would look up from his desk and twenty pairs of eyes would drop to theirs. It made him even more self-conscious than he was ordinarily, because then he had to figure out what he’d done to attract their attention and make them look. Over time, he realized that it wasn’t anything. They were just watching him because he was different and they thought he wouldn’t notice. But he did notice, and he hated them all for it. And as he climbed through the window into Shale’s room, he could feel Shale watching him. Somehow, though, it didn’t bother him like it usually did. Because Shale’s gaze was different, it seemed. Shale wasn’t picking him apart to find flaws and differences. Shale was putting him together, taking in every piece of him and every movement he made. Learning about him, but without judging him for it. And Alan didn’t mind because it was the exact same sort of staring he had spent most of French class doing to Shale. He was almost painfully aware as he was writing that Shale was paying the closest attention to everything he did. As a result, he thought through every motion before performing it; he didn’t even brush hair out of his face without considering what it would look like from Shale’s perspective. It made him almost uncomfortable, but he could empathize with Shale’s desire to never look away. When he handed the note back to Shale, it was Alan who started staring. There was nothing more to do than watch Shale read, and so he did, intently. Shale was so easily read; there was no guessing necessary to gage how he felt. The smile that spread across Shale’s face was evidence enough. How strange it was, that Alan had that power over someone. The power to make someone smile like that. He wasn’t used to this. Shale wasted no time after finishing the note, leaning down over Alan and getting quite close to him, making Alan’s heart beat faster. It was impossible to predict what Shale would do next, because that’s just how Shale was. If there was any pattern there, Alan would have found it. There wasn’t, it kept Alan on edge, and he enjoyed the rush of it. Everything was perfect about what happened next, except that Shale wouldn’t stop talking, and that meant that he had to pay more attention to the words Shale was saying than everything he was doing. Stop asking permission and kiss me. Finally, after far too much ado, Shale concluded with a simple, ‘I hope you’re okay with that,’ and, well, yeah. Alan was okay with that.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: i suck at life Tag: shale! ;D Words: 696 [/center]