Title: Change my mind
Author: Ligeia
Fandom: The Cure
Pairing: Robert/Simon
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance
Summary: Robert observes and remembers.
The following story is a mere work of F I C T I O N, meaning it is 100% made up. None of the situations described here ever happened, and even if they did, I have no way of knowing. This is not about spreading rumours or, worse, libel. The people portrayed in this story are real, but I am NOT claiming they did what I wrote. I use their "public personas" and build stories around them as if they were fictional characters.
Forehead against the glass. Skin glowing orange in the sunset light. Tight black jeans. Like the ones he was wearing the first time I saw him, tired, sweaty and drunk, playing in a small, smoky pub. I didn't really notice him then, merely cast a glance in his general direction. Just another Sid wannabe, cocky attitude and bass hung low. I hadn't even wanted to go out that night.
Hands relaxed in his lap, eyelids fluttering every now and then. I like watching him sleep. I have since that one time I found him asleep in a club. The place was packed and I didn't care if I had to share a booth with some unconscious guy, as long as I could sit down a bit. I didn't look at him at first, I just made sure I kept a safety distance between us; waking up a drunk person can lead to trouble and I wasn't in the mood for fighting.
I ignored him for a while then, out of boredom, I turned to look at him. He was hunched over the table with his head on his arms, leather jacket lying rumpled at his side. Something in his face struck me. I knew I had seen him before, but I couldn't remember where. The music got so loud it gave me a headache and I wondered how he could sleep through that hell.
I was beginning to fall asleep myself when he finally woke up. A muttered 'fuck' was the first thing he said, and it didn't surprise me; I wouldn't be feeling good either had I slept in those conditions. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms, then, sensing there was someone else sitting next to him, he turned toward me.
"Wot are ya looking at?"
He might be half-conscious but the cheeky façade was still there. That's when I recognised him. "I saw you play in Crawley last month."
"So?"
"I think you're pretty good."
"I know I am. D'ya have a fag?"
I had to smile. He was trying so hard to pass for a tough guy, but I could see he was flattered by my simple comment: someone knew who he was and liked his music, he had the right to be pleased.
I took the pack of cigarettes in my jacket and handed it to him. "Do you need a lighter as well?"
"No, thanks." He muttered as he tossed the pack back to me and reached into the front pocket of his jeans. I shook my head and took a cigarette of my own.
After a minute or two I saw him reach out and grab the arm of a guy passing by our booth.
"Oi Jack, ya seen my mates?"
"They left ten minutes ago", the guy said, "they were with two girls."
"Those fuckers!" He blurted out, "they left me here with no car. No way I'm paying four quid to get home!"
"You wanna share a cab? I'm leaving as well."
He glanced at me as if he had completely forgotten my presence. He took a long drag from his cigarette, eyes narrowed while he pondered my offer.
"All right", he finally said putting the fag to his lips and grabbing his jacket, "but I'm not giving you more then two quid."
He murmurs something and licks his lips. Perhaps I should wake him up, we'll be at the venue soon. We haven't been in this city for a long time, the place that changed our lives. It sounds terribly cliché, but I'll never forget that night.
It was mid-November and the two of us got lost on the way back to the hotel after the show. Lol was nowhere to be seen. As we were wandering around trying to figure out where the hell we were it started raining, so we ran under the first bus shelter we saw.
"Bloody hell!" He said shaking the water off his hair, "that's all we fucking needed, a bloody storm."
I turned up the collar of my coat and put my hands in my pockets, trying to stop my teeth from chattering. He moved close to me and started rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm me up.
"Are you always this cold-blooded?" He studied my face for a moment, then suddenly pulled back, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and drew close to the wall.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He didn't look at me, his eyes apparently following the dark rivulets of water running beside the pavement on the other side of the street.
"Come on, why this sudden mood swing? Did I do something?"
"No, it's not you. I... God, this is going to sound stupid." He shifted a bit. "I was just thinking... I like someone."
"Oh." I stared at him in complete surprise. He was always so charming and confident, I'd never thought he could have problems of that kind. "And... is it mutual?"
"Probably not."
"You didn't tell her? You're usually not this shy."
"I know but this is different. I would ruin everything if I told..." He stopped and sighed. I had never seen him look so miserable.
"Why? What's the problem? Do I know her?"
A wry little smile appeared on his lips. "Sort of."
"You're not telling me you've fallen for my sister, are you? I still can't understand what boys see in her."
He gave a laugh. It wasn't a happy laugh, but I was glad that worried expression was gone from his face. "Come on, who is she?"
He looked embarrassed. "Trust me, you don't want to know."
"Why? Maybe I can help you, I can't stand to see you like this."
He took a step forward and was instantly surrounded by the whitish light of the streetlamp. "I know you're gonna hate me."
I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face me. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
"You."
Only a whisper, I wasn't even sure I had heard right. "Huh?"
"It's you."
I instinctually dropped my hand. "You like me?"
"Funny, isn't it? The punk bass player is queer." He wouldn't look at me, head bowed and hands still in his pockets. I was sure he was clenching his fists, he always did when he was nervous.
"I didn't know... I'd never..." I couldn't honestly think of anything to say that would make him feel better.
"Don't worry, I'll live."
"Don't be so bitter." I put my hand on his shoulder again. "Please, I don't want you to be so sad because of me."
"Stop it." He shrugged off my hand. "I don't want your pity. I'll get over it."
"But it's not fair. You don't deserve to suffer like this."
"Well, what should I do then? I'm gay, you're not. End of the story." He sounded exasperated. But at least he was looking at me.
"Show me how much you care for me." I moved closer, staring right into his eyes. "Make me change my mind."
He stepped back, pain on his face as he averted his gaze. "Don't play with me. Please. It hurts."
I gently pushed him backward until he was leaning against the wall. "I'm not playing, I'm giving you a chance. I can't assure you it'll work, but I'm willing to try."
One of his hands came up to the side of my face. "Are you sure?" His eyes were pleading and hopeful, like his whole life depended on my answer. It probably did at that point.
"Yes, I am."
He moved slowly, afraid I would pull back. I didn't.
He tasted of tobacco. His lips were hesitant, shy, kissing me as if I was made of glass. As if I was a dream that would fade and dissolve into nothing if he dared too much. I put my hands on his waist and opened my mouth a bit more. His grip in my hair grew tighter as he finally let himself go.
The bus stops in front of the venue. Now I really have to wake him up. I sit down next to him and wrap my arms around him. "We're here", I whisper in his ear, then proceed to lightly kiss along his jaw and neck. I rest my head on his shoulder as I feel him shift and close my eyes. I'm happy I changed my mind.
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November 2002