Status: Really slowly active due to it being joint.
Nobody but You
Chapter One.
Love is a many layered thing.
That not something someone important said, not that I know of at least, I just thought it sounded nice. I have a lot of time to think recently, and that’s something that popped in mid…staring at a tree outside my window.
Blowing a small stream of air between my lips I watched as the hair lifted and fluttered up from my eyes then returned, falling in a veil across my face once again.
It’s pretty safe to say that this isn’t a very thrilling moment in the epic tale of Sean Smith’s life. Ok, it’s not an epic tale at all yet, but I plan to make it so in the next few years or so. That’s if I can be bothered to document it. Memoirs or something sophisticated sounding like that.
Sean Smith: The Journey of One…
I’ll work on the title later. It’s a work in progress.
I’d give anything for something interesting to happen.
As I said, this isn’t like the usual rollercoaster of drug, sex and booze I encounter every other day. Honest. I’m pretty much just stuck up in my room wondering if I’m missing out on anything. Well, I know I’m missing out on things. Millions, billions and zillions of things are happening right now that I’m not a part of, but it’s pretty much only one that bothers me.
Ian’s off with Abby.
They’re living it up in LA…without me. I wasn’t even invited. I know I don’t like being there, and I hardly even know Abby, but it would have been nice to be asked. I’d probably just mess it up by being inappropriate or immature and embarrass Ian though; I can’t really blame him for just going. He’s got an image. A reputation.
Ian is the sort of person that just amazes me. He has such a hold on everything, his entire life seems planned out in infinite detail, and when he wants something, he really goes for it. It’s inspiring, really. His middle name is control. This can be a good and a bad thing. He knows what he wants and how he wants it to happen, and more often than not with his stubbornness and determination, he’ll get it. It’s not the sort of thing you want to stand in the way off. I know I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t have the heart to to be honest.
You can’t just love Ian. I can’t, I guess. You’ve got to admire him. You’ve got to take all of him for who he is, or it just won’t work. You’ve got to deal with being cast aside for a certain dream he woke up having, the sudden last minute calls saying he’s got to jet set off to LA last minute with no explanation and hide away all your dirty little habits to get the great things at the end.
Ian is what my mother calls “a provider”. He gives you everything you need and a little bit more to keep you sweet. There’s nothing he won’t do for you when he knows you want it, and is someone I have enormous respect for.
I’ve loved him for what’s got to be over 4 years and the feeling has never faded. Something about him still sends me weak at the knees. Whether it’s his boundless charm or the fucking undeniable sexy face he has, I don’t think I could pick just one. He’s fantastic. And he knows it.
Maybe it’s just me pointing it out to him, or the hundreds of others that spread it about like wildfire too, but he definitely knows he’s good looking. I suppose, just seeing out behind his eyes, and being so beautiful, makes everything else look a little bit uglier. It’s a dim thought, and I dunno if it’s true, but it seems it. That might be why he likes California and all the people around there. His true idea of beauty?
It’s a little less scuzzy than around here, I guess, even I’ll admit that. Cardiff has its charm, but it’s hardly Hollywood. I’m still not a fan of it over there though. When you get down to it, both places have back alleys filled with addicts injecting something beneath their flesh. Whether its silicon or heroin, does it really matter?
Both are gonna fuck your face up somehow, son.
I know that me and Ian are very different, but I think that’s what makes us work so well. He’s superior and direct about things, he likes things around him to be in order, just so everything works a little faster, and he keeps himself to himself. He’s always been the same, and as far as I know, that’s not going to change. I, on the other hand, drift through life a bit, I don’t have any sort of plans that don’t involve me shaking my hips and shouting at people. I let things happen and hope it plans out, not really thinking too much ahead, just knowing I’ll send myself into a panic.
I guess I’m pretty sociable too, though Ian will go to a high end neon club and DJ, I’ll probably be getting sweaty in the crowd somewhere, chatting to some girl about how to peroxide your hair without it falling out. Those are the good points about LA. Sometimes it’s more formal, a dinner party here or there, where I’ll get a dirty look for wearing wristbands with my suit, or wanting a coke rather than champagne, and accidentally drinking some lemony shit you’re meant to wash your hands in.
I mean, what the fuck, who washes there hands in lemon juice at the dinner table? What if you had a hangnail? That would fucking cane.
Anyway. Yeah. I’m a bit more grungy. I have a box room in Gavin’s flat, filled only with a massive wardrobe, dirty pants, a bed with sheets I’ve had since I was 10 and a desk covered in sharpie marker. Oh, and my goldfish, Sparky. He’s fucking ace. Feed him twice a day, give him a plastic castle he’ll forget within 7 seconds then remember, then forget again…and you’re set. Pretty epic, if you ask me.
If you haven’t guessed, I can seem pretty simple. I suppose I haven’t quite grown up yet. I’m still acting like I’m stuck in that awkward teenage stage you get around fifteen, where you don’t know what to do with your life, so you play a video game to pass the time until you figure it out.
It’s a lot easier that way though, if you ask me.
Giving in with staring out at the grotty car park of the building, deciding it’s really not going to give me any entertainment, I thought I’d go seek my thrills elsewhere. That and my name was being screamed at an alarming pitch from the living room.
I wandered into the room just as Rhys took another deep breath, ready to shake the room with his decibels again before noticing that I was actually in the room.
“Hey! Sean! You wanna party, right?” He asked quickly.
“I…huh?”
“Party! We’re gonna have a party. Well, John is gonna have a party and we’re gonna go.”
“Who’s John?”
“The host of the party!”
There was no point trying to get a straight answer from Rhys, it was like trying to get aggression from Ghandi. His mind was about four times faster and weirder than anyone else’s and you just had to deal with that. It was Rhys, plain and simple. Well…more odd and complex, but that’s just how he rolled.
“Alright, alright, I’ll come. Who else is going?” I grinned, knowing I had nothing better to do.
“Iunno. Uhm. People. Our boys, their boys, lots of boys!” He exclaimed happily, pushing the long strands of hair that fell from his forehead into his eyes to a more sensible place.
“And girls, I hope,” Gavin piped up. “No more gay orgies please, Rhys.”
“You love it, Butler,” Rhys laughed, the hair once again returning to trespass across his features.
And with that my night was planned. The hours of internet roaming and video gaming was going to be replaced with cleaning up after my friends and getting lost in some strange house, possibly getting attention, possibly being ignored. I don’t know if this was good or bad, but I expected it would be interesting.
That not something someone important said, not that I know of at least, I just thought it sounded nice. I have a lot of time to think recently, and that’s something that popped in mid…staring at a tree outside my window.
Blowing a small stream of air between my lips I watched as the hair lifted and fluttered up from my eyes then returned, falling in a veil across my face once again.
It’s pretty safe to say that this isn’t a very thrilling moment in the epic tale of Sean Smith’s life. Ok, it’s not an epic tale at all yet, but I plan to make it so in the next few years or so. That’s if I can be bothered to document it. Memoirs or something sophisticated sounding like that.
Sean Smith: The Journey of One…
I’ll work on the title later. It’s a work in progress.
I’d give anything for something interesting to happen.
As I said, this isn’t like the usual rollercoaster of drug, sex and booze I encounter every other day. Honest. I’m pretty much just stuck up in my room wondering if I’m missing out on anything. Well, I know I’m missing out on things. Millions, billions and zillions of things are happening right now that I’m not a part of, but it’s pretty much only one that bothers me.
Ian’s off with Abby.
They’re living it up in LA…without me. I wasn’t even invited. I know I don’t like being there, and I hardly even know Abby, but it would have been nice to be asked. I’d probably just mess it up by being inappropriate or immature and embarrass Ian though; I can’t really blame him for just going. He’s got an image. A reputation.
Ian is the sort of person that just amazes me. He has such a hold on everything, his entire life seems planned out in infinite detail, and when he wants something, he really goes for it. It’s inspiring, really. His middle name is control. This can be a good and a bad thing. He knows what he wants and how he wants it to happen, and more often than not with his stubbornness and determination, he’ll get it. It’s not the sort of thing you want to stand in the way off. I know I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t have the heart to to be honest.
You can’t just love Ian. I can’t, I guess. You’ve got to admire him. You’ve got to take all of him for who he is, or it just won’t work. You’ve got to deal with being cast aside for a certain dream he woke up having, the sudden last minute calls saying he’s got to jet set off to LA last minute with no explanation and hide away all your dirty little habits to get the great things at the end.
Ian is what my mother calls “a provider”. He gives you everything you need and a little bit more to keep you sweet. There’s nothing he won’t do for you when he knows you want it, and is someone I have enormous respect for.
I’ve loved him for what’s got to be over 4 years and the feeling has never faded. Something about him still sends me weak at the knees. Whether it’s his boundless charm or the fucking undeniable sexy face he has, I don’t think I could pick just one. He’s fantastic. And he knows it.
Maybe it’s just me pointing it out to him, or the hundreds of others that spread it about like wildfire too, but he definitely knows he’s good looking. I suppose, just seeing out behind his eyes, and being so beautiful, makes everything else look a little bit uglier. It’s a dim thought, and I dunno if it’s true, but it seems it. That might be why he likes California and all the people around there. His true idea of beauty?
It’s a little less scuzzy than around here, I guess, even I’ll admit that. Cardiff has its charm, but it’s hardly Hollywood. I’m still not a fan of it over there though. When you get down to it, both places have back alleys filled with addicts injecting something beneath their flesh. Whether its silicon or heroin, does it really matter?
Both are gonna fuck your face up somehow, son.
I know that me and Ian are very different, but I think that’s what makes us work so well. He’s superior and direct about things, he likes things around him to be in order, just so everything works a little faster, and he keeps himself to himself. He’s always been the same, and as far as I know, that’s not going to change. I, on the other hand, drift through life a bit, I don’t have any sort of plans that don’t involve me shaking my hips and shouting at people. I let things happen and hope it plans out, not really thinking too much ahead, just knowing I’ll send myself into a panic.
I guess I’m pretty sociable too, though Ian will go to a high end neon club and DJ, I’ll probably be getting sweaty in the crowd somewhere, chatting to some girl about how to peroxide your hair without it falling out. Those are the good points about LA. Sometimes it’s more formal, a dinner party here or there, where I’ll get a dirty look for wearing wristbands with my suit, or wanting a coke rather than champagne, and accidentally drinking some lemony shit you’re meant to wash your hands in.
I mean, what the fuck, who washes there hands in lemon juice at the dinner table? What if you had a hangnail? That would fucking cane.
Anyway. Yeah. I’m a bit more grungy. I have a box room in Gavin’s flat, filled only with a massive wardrobe, dirty pants, a bed with sheets I’ve had since I was 10 and a desk covered in sharpie marker. Oh, and my goldfish, Sparky. He’s fucking ace. Feed him twice a day, give him a plastic castle he’ll forget within 7 seconds then remember, then forget again…and you’re set. Pretty epic, if you ask me.
If you haven’t guessed, I can seem pretty simple. I suppose I haven’t quite grown up yet. I’m still acting like I’m stuck in that awkward teenage stage you get around fifteen, where you don’t know what to do with your life, so you play a video game to pass the time until you figure it out.
It’s a lot easier that way though, if you ask me.
Giving in with staring out at the grotty car park of the building, deciding it’s really not going to give me any entertainment, I thought I’d go seek my thrills elsewhere. That and my name was being screamed at an alarming pitch from the living room.
I wandered into the room just as Rhys took another deep breath, ready to shake the room with his decibels again before noticing that I was actually in the room.
“Hey! Sean! You wanna party, right?” He asked quickly.
“I…huh?”
“Party! We’re gonna have a party. Well, John is gonna have a party and we’re gonna go.”
“Who’s John?”
“The host of the party!”
There was no point trying to get a straight answer from Rhys, it was like trying to get aggression from Ghandi. His mind was about four times faster and weirder than anyone else’s and you just had to deal with that. It was Rhys, plain and simple. Well…more odd and complex, but that’s just how he rolled.
“Alright, alright, I’ll come. Who else is going?” I grinned, knowing I had nothing better to do.
“Iunno. Uhm. People. Our boys, their boys, lots of boys!” He exclaimed happily, pushing the long strands of hair that fell from his forehead into his eyes to a more sensible place.
“And girls, I hope,” Gavin piped up. “No more gay orgies please, Rhys.”
“You love it, Butler,” Rhys laughed, the hair once again returning to trespass across his features.
And with that my night was planned. The hours of internet roaming and video gaming was going to be replaced with cleaning up after my friends and getting lost in some strange house, possibly getting attention, possibly being ignored. I don’t know if this was good or bad, but I expected it would be interesting.