Enjoy the Silence

Bad dreams had plagued John for as long as he could remember. They would differ over the course of a fortnight, but they would be the same dozen or so dreams repeated in his head, like an old film reel stuck on a loop. There wasn’t anything terribly horrific about them, nothing supernatural or evil coming after him, but to him, what he saw each night could affect him far more than any monster plucked out of some B-Movie horror. It was no ‘Night of the Living Dead’, not by far.

Abandonment in his dreams seemed to be a reoccurring theme, always watching the ones he cared most about turn away, normally leaving him somewhere hellish and alone while they would head off into the sunset, always with another. Perhaps it was the fact most of his friendships and his relationships - which were few and far between – had always left him with a broken heart. Even the girls who came to his dressing room night after night, they never really wanted anything but a fuck, and most of the time, it was just to get closer to the singer. The feeling of being incredibly replaceable seemed to be inescapable, even in his subconscious mind.

And nights these days were no different from the nights he spent shaking in cold fear in his teenage years.

John sat up in his bed with a start, his guitar falling onto the floor along with scraps of chord progressions he dimly remembered working on before drifting off into an uneasy sleep. The radio was still playing quietly in the corner of the room; some classic rock station playing the songs he grew up with, it was a comfort in some way. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room. Glancing down at the clock beside him, his shoulders sagged as he saw he had barely been asleep an hour. It wasn’t even 3am yet, yet he knew he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep, he would rather stay awake than having to suffer through what his dreams threw at him.

He wriggled out of the sheets that stuck to his body, the cold air making him shiver slightly as he moved. Brushing his hair out of his face as he stumbled across the room, grabbing a shirt carelessly thrown over an amp, pulling it over his hair. The house seemed pretty quiet, he guessed Manson and Twiggy were amusing themselves, to say the least, and Pogo…well, he was probably passed out drunk, high or had found a hooker that would come out into the dessert.

Pushing open the door to the living area, he shuffled through the door. Turning towards where he normally kept his guitars he was surprised to see Ginger curled up in the corner of the couch, his head resting on the back as his chest rose and fell slightly. His hair fell in his face as he mumbled a little, turning slightly but soon his breathing getting heavier again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. John couldn’t help but mirror that smile, as he looked down at his friend, so peaceful in sleep, though his eyes couldn’t help but wander to his chest. He was wearing a shirt, a shirt that was unbuttoned, and John really couldn’t help but letting his eyes wander. His eyes, and maybe his thoughts.

There was something different about Ginger, something different about how he felt every time he was around him. The way he spoke, the way he laughed, it made his stomach flip. Every moment he spent with the drummer, the dark thoughts that would plague at him at night didn’t even occur to him, he felt happy. He felt as if nothing could drag him down. Yet, he knew how ridiculous he sounded. Ginger was his best friend, he was bound to make him feel happy. At least, that’s what he told himself. It was all just a friendship. But he’d been having these bouts of emotion around the drummer since a few months into joining the band. Though, it wasn’t as if the emotions had come out of nowhere. There had been a night, a very drunk night on Ginger’s part, a night that had ended up in a hotel room, and a promise not to leave passed between the two men; but John knew, that promise meant far more to himself than it ever could to the drummer, but it hadn’t gone exactly has he had expected.

Sure, they had both kept the promise, but they had gone back to being just friends. John had thought, foolishly so, maybe there’d be a little bit more towards them both, that he would remember that night as vividly as John did. In the small hours of lonely nights, John could still remember how Ginger’s lips felt on his hot skin, leaving a trail of ice down his body, how his lips had felt around him – around all over him. But it was the feeling of his arms wrapped around his skinny frame he missed most. How he felt so comforting, his hair smelling of cologne and something warm that enticed him further. He remembered how the drummer had held him close, asking him not to leave like so many others had. Of course he agreed, knowing exactly how he felt, all too well.

And that night had been repeated more than a few times over the past few years, and a little bit of John’s hope crumbling away each time that anything would change. By now he knew nothing would change between them, but what he felt certainly had. He was in love. He was horribly, hopelessly in love; and he hated feeling that way towards his best friend. It was terribly cliché, but he knew he’d never admit it for fear of ruining the friendship.

John sighed deeply, running a hand through his shaggy hair. He gingerly moved forward, shuffling around Ginger as he murmured again in his sleep a sheepish smile still on his face. He crouched down, searching for a pick littered in the junk spread across the floor, but as he looked up once again to his friend, he tilted his head to the side as he heard a name slip from between his lips, mixed in with a sigh. But it wasn’t just any name, it was his name. But surely it was a mistake, right? He heard what he wanted to.

“John…” he froze, his head snapping down, trying to form some sort of explanation why he was creeping around at this time around his sleeping friend. But he was still asleep, moving a little, distress flashing across his face.

“Don’t go.”

He blinked once. Twice. His eyes were wide as he watched the distress pass over Ginger’s face, looking so vulnerable curled up on that couch, a horrible sadness in his voice. But surely, it was probably some mistake, you couldn’t control your dreams after all, it was nothing to get worked up over. John was never worth anyone’s thoughts, never mind the thoughts of someone so perfect like him.

Standing up, he blinked back a few tears that had welled up in his eyes, for reasons he wasn’t even too sure why. He felt terribly pathetic, his life almost revolving around someone who didn’t even feel anything back; this was probably all some cruel trick his mind was playing on him. He turned towards the door, moving carefully around his friend, taking more caution than ever not to wake him.

As his hand touched the door handle, his hot hand in stark contrast to the cold metal, he heard Ginger stir behind him, and suddenly all in one moment, he almost didn’t want to leave.

“John, what are you doing up?” Ginger’s voice was hoarse, John turning to see the drummer sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes, trying to brush off the effects of sleep.

“I was just…” he blinked quickly, trying to keep back the tears that threatened to spill over, trying to hide how vulnerable he felt. “I was just getting a pick, couldn’t sleep so I thought I should do something more productive.” He laughed once, holding up a pick to Ginger as he yawned slightly.

“Oh…right.” He sounded slightly…disappointed? No, John was just being ridiculous again, he needed to sort his fucking head out.; he wasn’t a nerdy teenager in love with the popular guy, he was a grown man.

John shuffled from foot to foot, a silence growing between them as the radio played ever so quietly in the corner, something John was rather thankful for. He wasn’t quite a fan of silence that could not be filled without a sufficient level of awkwardness.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to sleep then-“

“John, what’s wrong.” Ginger looked up at John, a small frown on his face as he watched his friend carefully. John averted his eyes for a moment before sighing, dropping his hand from the handle; he was still his best friend, and he always did find things hard to hide. His shoulders sagged as he moved closer to Ginger, about to sit down in the armchair opposite, but as he was about to sit, he felt Ginger’s fingers slip between his own. He looked up, confused, feeling a heat pass through his body.

“Cm’here, John,” Ginger almost sighed, pulling the guitarist down onto the couch next to him. He was confused, to say the least. Sure, Ginger may be his best friend, but he never normally showed this much, well, affection towards John. He felt Ginger shuffle closer to him, their hips almost touching as John’s breath hitched in his throat.

“It’s nothing, I guess. Just bad dreams, they play on my mind. They’re fucking horrible Ginger, I’m scared of going to sleep again…” he stopped himself midsentence, he didn’t even know why he suddenly felt the need to unload his problems onto Ginger, he didn’t have to hear about his shit.

“I know, I…I’ve heard you in the night before. You yell, you yell a lot.” Ginger sighed, his arm twitching slightly towards John. “I hate hearing it, especially the things you say.”

John could only imagine what must slip past his lips while he is asleep, the dreams destroy his mental state nightly, it is a living hell, as one would say. But he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink a little at the fact Ginger had heard, he didn’t want him to know what sort of shit went on in the back of his mind, hell, he barely wanted to know himself.

Ginger hooked his slender finger under John’s chin, tilting his head up as their eyes met. “You know you can talk to me, any time. Any time you ever need anything…” his voice was quiet, but as he spoke, John couldn’t help but notice his eyes flickering down to his own lips, yet even with solid signs before him, he was adamant it was just his mind.

“I wouldn’t want to burden you that way.”

“You’ll never be a burden.” Ginger’s face was solemn as he said so, John’s eye brows knitting together in confusion. Surely, he couldn’t mean it, right? He was always a burden, that’s just what he was.

“You know that I’m always here…” his voice trailed off, tilting his head closer to John’s, the blonde’s eyes fluttering closed. “Always there..,”

He felt Ginger’s lips press against his, gingerly at first, no movement in the kiss as they both were still against each other. It felt like it was their first time, the first time their lips had joined, but it really was far from it. But with a sigh on John’s part, he moved his body closer to Ginger’s, the pick dropping from between his fingers as he moved his hands to drummers hair. His fingers tangled slightly in the strands as Ginger moved backwards.

Ginger began to stand up slightly, John’s arms still clinging to him, his legs wrapping around his slender waist as his hands found the under side of his smooth thighs. He stumbled back slightly, John dipping his head to the crook of his neck, sucking lightly at the soft skin there as Ginger let out a small whimper, the guitarist feeling a bulge grow against his own, one that had been there since he first caught sight of bare chest.

“You’ll never be a burden.” Ginger murmured, his forehead leant against John’s, a small smile on his lips as he pressed his lips back down to the smaller mans.

--
John sighed, leaning his head against Ginger’s bare chest as he tried to catch his breath, a small laugh sounding from the older man as he wrapped his arm around John’s slender frame, pulling his body closer against him. John smiled against his warm skin, almost feeling as if he was home. It was a terribly cliché and story book idea, but the hurt he almost constantly felt when he was alone had disappeared, and he was just so happy to feel Ginger’s touch.

“Wear you out, did I?” Ginger laughed quietly, his voice hushed as he brushed his lips against his forehead. John looked up, smirking slightly as he perched himself up on his elbow, the bed sheet falling down his torso.

“Not quite, Kenny,” Ginger rolled his eyes, but laughed a little never the less at the use of his real name. “You must remember how long it takes to get me spent, you do remember that night in Japan, right?”

“Oh believe me, I really do…” Ginger trailed off, John jumping slightly as he felt his cold fingers on his inner thigh as he lay back down, his head resting on his chest.

“You said I wasn’t a burden earlier, do you really mean that?” John’s voice was sheepish, almost afraid to ask, to spoil the moment he had waited so long for. He caught his breath in his throat; he could almost hear his own mind ticking away.

“Of course I meant it John, I love you – you know that right?”

John’s breath caught in his throat, sitting up straight as the sheet fell around his waist. He looked down at Ginger, his eyes starring up at the wood boards in the ceiling, tracing the grain. He could tell he meant it, but the amount of times he had been left before, why should he believe it this time? But he knew him too well to even deny it to himself.

“I love you too, and I have done for a long time.” He felt pathetic once again, unable to turn and look him in the eye as he traced the patterns in the wall paper opposite, afraid to turn. Afraid to turn and see his reaction. Afraid of rejection from the person he craved loved from the most.

He jumped slightly as he felt Ginger’s lips press against his collarbone, his arms winding round his slender waist. He kissed along his shoulder line, each press of his lips leaving him reeling, spreading a trail of heat through his body. His lips stopped by his ear, his arms pulling him tighter against him.

“It took me too long to realize that all I ever wanted and needed, I had held right here in my arms.” It felt as though John’s heart was about to burst from his chest. He had thought he had felt happiness before, when he had successfully made it into the band, seeing people chanting his name, seeing thousands of screaming fans, but nothing could have compared to that moment.

“John, I love you, I need you in my life,” Ginger paused, laying back onto the bed and pulling John atop him. “And I never want you to leave.”
John pressed his lips down against Ginger’s, and for once, maybe everything was going to be alright.