Date: Fri, 24 Mar 2006 21:16:14 -0800 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 8 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't imply anything about him or his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything to have him all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one. Questions, comments, loved it or hated it? Shoot me a message at christopherrluu@gmail.com. Thanks again to everyone that sent comments and suggestions, look for hints of them in coming chapters. Just a heads up to anyone interested, Brokeback Mountain comes out on DVD April 4th, you should all run out and get copies. I'll be watching it that night, that's for sure. Keep those letters coming into my mailbox, I read them all at least twice. It's been crazy for me lately, so if this chapter and the next one seem a little off, I promise things will return to form soon. Enjoy! Part VIII Chris pulled the sheets closer around his body, trying his best to escape the morning sunlight. After a late night and a long drive, the last thing he wanted was to wake up earlier than he had to. Rolling onto his stomach, he tried to get more comfortable. His entire body ached from sitting still all day yesterday and the bumpy train ride home didn't help. Sighing, he laid there, staring at the ceiling as he yawned and stretched. "He's still asleep," Jake said, "He was sitting in on the auditions all yesterday." "You waited down there all day?" Maggie asked. "No, he took the train home, I just picked him up," Jake said, scratching his stomach. "I'm telling you, moving to Santa Barbara seemed like a good idea, but look how impractical it is." "It's not a big deal," Jake said, fumbling around the kitchen for nothing in particular, "it gives us an excuse not to go to charity events and movie premiers." "When does Lazarus come out?" Maggie asked, "you can't be putting your projects back to back. You did audition, right?" "Chris didn't watch mine," Jake said, "he figured it hit too close to home." "Which scene did you do?" Maggie asked, "the one where Sophia abandons Kent, there's a sort of monologue that they wrote in. A voice over, I think." "I'm sure you did fine. But if you don't get the part, I mean you can't blame him." Chris walked into the kitchen, his nose nuzzling into Jake's neck. His hands wrapped around Jake's torso as Jake did his best to hang up the phone. "Morning," Chris whispered, feeling Jake's cool skin against his palms. "Who was that?" "Mag, just asking about yesterday," Jake said, his fingers running through Chris' hair. Chris nodded, resting his head on Jake's shoulder, "Let's go back to bed." He left soft kisses on Jake's jaw, his hand running over his stomach. Jake smiled, pulling Chris into his arms. "Why are you up so early?" Jake pulled a bagel out of the toaster, taking a big bite out of one half before handing the other to Chris. "No reason," Jake said, pulling up his boxer-briefs. Chris hopped up onto the counter, drawing his legs to his chest, "Nervous?" "You know me. I just want to know before everyone else does," Chris said. "Maggie said she loved the earrings," Jake said, finishing his bagel, "she says that she'll send something pretty over for us." Chris smiled, tearing his bagel into small pieces. Chris sat on the counter, watching Jake sweep up the crumbs and toss them into the sink, the muscles in his arms tightening and his "aw-shuks" grin never leaving his face. Mornings like this made Chris happier than he could remember, just waking up and lazing around the kitchen all morning long while Jake stayed in his underwear and kissed him every few minutes. "When are we going to talk about your audition?" Jake stopped right in front of him, pulling his feet off the counter and pulling him forward. "Part of me wanted you to watch," Jake said, "and part of me was grateful you didn't." "I almost fell asleep watching all the people," Chris said, running his hands up Jake's arms, "but I'm hoping that Natalie gets the part as Sophia. She was good. Maybe Christina Ricci. I couldn't believe how many people wanted in." Jake ran his hand up under Chris' loose t-shirt, "They're writing it up in the Variety and Soderbergh's doing it. But, it's a good script. That's what matters." Chris smiled, pulling Jake into a kiss, "When this movie starts rolling, I'm going to sleep in every day and just sit in my pajamas." "You say that but I know you'll be working hard the whole time. You need to take a break," Jake said, pressing their noses together, their foreheads grazing, "I love you." Chris melted every time he said that, almost embarrassed by the fact, but he couldn't help it. Jake said it with a nonchalance that made it mean more than just that. His blue eyes seemed to say it more often than his mouth, but Chris knew it was there. Hearing a buzz behind him, he grabbed his phone and pressed the red phone instinctively, not even having to look at the screen. Jake smiled, feeling Chris' legs wrap around his waist. Morning and they were already all over each other; it was going to be a good day. *** Chris shut his laptop and leaned back, the main house looking dark and empty. Topher Grace had left him a message about his audition the other day and Chris was still wondering who would get what part. Steven Soderbergh had told him that he wanted as much input as possible, that he wanted Chris to be involved with every aspect, that he wanted to groom Chris to be a big player in Hollywood, but Chris sat in his little studio away from the world, wondering where he belonged in the big picture. He avoided talking about Independence Day to anyone, even Jake, so he had a lot on his mind all the time. His phone rang and he glanced at the screen, "Jake, I'm going crazy." "Stop it," Jake said, Chris could tell he was smiling, "I'm almost there, sorry it's so late." "I keep getting calls about the movie and I don't even know what I want," Chris said, "he won't let me tell him to just do whatever he wants." Jake listened as Chris listed his grievances, amazed at how much both their lives had changed in the past few months. Published books and finished films were just the beginning. Jake, who never thought he'd find someone he could stand to be around night and day, couldn't stand to be away from Chris for more than a few hours, his mind wandering to thoughts of Chris every time he daydreamt. And he couldn't believe that Chris had gone from a writer with a small audience to someone that the industry magazines were billing as the next big thing, the kid with the big ideas, the smarts and drive to implement them. Jake felt like he was the one that pulled Chris out of Santa Barbara and into the spotlight, not the one who introduced the world to Christopher Lewis, but the person who introduced Christopher Lewis to the world. "You're going to want to have say when you see them mess up your book," Jake said, "don't let them say that the book's better than the movie. Make the movie match your book." Chris didn't know what to say. That was his biggest complaint about movies and books and if this movie was the one that changed that, was a movie that was actually as good as the book, he'd be the happiest writer in the world. If he had actors that could accurately portray his characters, that'd definitely make him the happiest writer in the world, too. "Go to bed, I'm still maybe an hour away," Jake said, "we can talk about it tomorrow, but you'll have a better idea of everything after a good night's rest, trust me." "You said you were almost here," Chris said. "I'm closer than I was an hour ago," Jake said, "don't wait up for me." Chris hung up his phone, straightening the stack of journals on his desk. His phone rung again, but it wasn't Jake this time. Surprised at the name on the display, he picked it up. "Hello?" "So you do know how to pick up your phone?" The voice was distinct, upbeat no matter when Chris heard it. "I'm never going to get used to talking to someone else with my name," Chris said. "You'll get used to it when I get the part," Topher said, "can you tell my why nobody's heard back?" "Because we haven't made any decisions," Chris said, "I'm still thinking about it and Soderbergh's not making it easy." "Okay, can you tell me why Jake hates me?" Chris paused, the directness of the whole conversations hitting him hard, "I think it's a lot of little things." He heard Topher grunt, "I'm sure it's nothing personal." "Or completely personal." "No, trust me," Chris said, not even sure of the reasons himself, "but I like you." "I never questioned that," Topher said, "but just not when Jake's around, right?" "I don't like conflict," Chris said, "and the places we meet each other normally aren't places we can sit down and have talks about who likes who and why they do." As much as events, awards shows, and premieres bring people together, Chris noticed that nobody really talked to anyone else. Chris talked almost exclusively to Jake at those sorts of things; anybody else talking to him was usually an interruption. Chris was still getting used to the entire idea of talking to famous people, so he blamed part of it on himself. "I like you because you remind me of Kent from the book. You look like I thought he'd look and talk like I thought he'd talk." Topher was silent, letting the words sink in. "Didn't Jake try out for the movie?" "I'm not allowed to say," Chris said. "Did you just give me the part?" Topher asked. "It's not my decision to make," Chris said, not realizing that it might have been exactly what he'd done. "I mean, there are more auditions and I have to talk to a bunch of people." Topher couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew for a fact that Jake had been at the audition, Chris was only kidding himself if he thought that word didn't travel fast in Hollywood; and that Chris had a lot of pull, it was the talk of the industry how much influence he was given on his first time out given he had no experience in any aspect of filmmaking or screen writing. Everyone thought that Soderbergh was going crazy. "It's getting late and I've been working on edits all day," Chris said, staring at a picture of he and Jake that he kept on his desk. Maggie had taken it one day in New York, Chris remembered. They were bundled up and Jake had a ridiculously big smile on his face, but Chris loved it. "I'll talk to you soon, tell Jake I said 'hi,'" Topher said, "maybe he'll lighten up one day. Thanks for everything, whether you can say or not." Chris' body shivered, goose bumps covering his arms. He didn't know what he'd done, what he'd said, and if he meant it, but it came out and couldn't go back in. He saw the lights turn on in the house, Jake waving at him from the living room. He didn't realize that he'd been talking to Topher for that long, and he didn't know why his stomach was suddenly filled with feelings of guilt. He watched as Jake came out the back door and crossed the dewy lawn to the studio. "I told you not to wait up for me," Jake said, kissing Chris' neck, "you're freezing." Jake ran his hands up and down Chris' arms, doing his best to warm him up, "I keep saying you work too hard." "I just got really into it," Chris said, "and then I got distracted." "It's past midnight," Jake said, "you've been working for almost fourteen hours. Did you have dinner?" Chris nodded, leaning into Jake's body, tired physically and emotionally. "How did your day go?" Chris asked, his eyelids heavy. "You're falling asleep standing up," Jake said with a soft chuckle, "lets get you to bed." "Okay," Chris said, feeling Jake push him towards the door of the studio. The cold air hit his skin and he shivered, Jake rushing him into the house. "I'm so confused." "We'll talk about it tomorrow," Jake said, sliding the back door shut behind him. Chris was asleep before his head hit the pillow, Jake sliding in against his warm body under the sheets. *** "There's a package here for you," Jake said as soon as the UPS deliveryman drove off, "It's from Houghton-Mifflin." "Can you open it for me? I'll be right out," Chris yelled from the bedroom. Jake tore the tape off the heavy box right in the entryway, taken aback when he saw four big blue eyes staring back at him. "What is it?" Chris asked, kneeling down with Jake. "It's your book," Jake said, pulling one out of the box, "they sent you a dozen." He flipped through it, feeling the paper and looking at the cover. "They used the picture I took of you." "Yeah, I thought it would be something different," Chris said, "Natalie said she liked it a lot." Chris grabbed a copy, flipping to the dedication. He hoped it wasn't bad luck, wondering how many people broke up with someone who had dedicated a book to them. Jake glanced over at Chris' book, reading the page. "Wow," Jake said, not knowing what else to say. Chris didn't know what to say either, but he figured the dedication spoke for itself. Jake shut his book, leaning over Chris' to give him a kiss, "What did I do to get this?" Chris flipped forward a few pages, never imagining that he'd have a book any semblance of a table of contents, his poem was first, "A Certain Slant of Light," then the actual novel, "Blue Eyes Blue," and his short story, "Clockwatching." He was really proud of it, maybe more proud that he'd been with his first novel. This one seemed to have more behind it, more to it all around. He hoped that everyone out there in the big world would like it too. Maybe they'd think it was pretentious to have all of that stuffed into one book, but maybe they'd think it was cool, that they were getting something unique. "You get it for putting up with me," Chris said, "and for inspiring me." Jake blushed, Chris feeling the heat of it near his face. Chris kissed Jake again, sliding his book back into the box. "We should send one to Maggie." "She'll kill you if you don't," Jake said, "when does it get released?" "Two months," Chris said, "so she'll be finished with it and have nobody to talk about it with." Jake looked at Chris, amazed at how he seemed to beam, proud to be holding what had taken months to write, proud to have everything just the way he wanted, from the cover to the font. "I have a new bio too: 'Christopher Lewis is the best selling author of Independence Day and has gained a cult following and numerous awards. Named one of Esquire Magazine's "Best and Brightest," his work has been translated into ten languages. He lives in Santa Barbara.' The more famous you get, the shorter your bio has to be. One day, it'll just be 'Christopher Lewis resides in Santa Barbara with his lover and has amazing sex on a regular basis.'" "I'll take them to the post office tomorrow," Jake said, "but I want to get started on my copy." Chris pulled Jake up off the floor. "You can't read it with me here," Chris said, "it's too embarrassing." "Embarassing? I'm holding the next Pulitzer Prize winning book right here," Jake said, flipping open to the first page, "'People love. People who are lucky find it and others have to keep looking..." "Stop!" Chris said, "stop. I said 'no.'" Jake looked crestfallen, dejected. "Don't even try," Chris said, unable to hold back his laughter. Jake's face cracked, a smile on his face. "I'll start it tomorrow," Jake said, "Mike White called earlier, he said he needed to talk to you." "Good or bad news?" Chris asked, suddenly concerned. Jake noticed, almost cringing at the fact that he brought it up. "I couldn't tell, but it can't be bad if you guys are this far in," Jake said, "I'm sure it's just going to be about whose name comes first." "Start the book now," Chris said, his voice shaky, "I'll see what's going on." *** Jake looked out at the studio, Chris typing away, more relaxed than yesterday, but still pushing himself too hard. It'd been the same for the past week, Chris only coming out for food and sleep, both of which he wasn't getting enough of. Mike White was tired of Chris' edits and decided to back out, leaving Chris to finish it by himself. Chris cried, tears soaking Jake's shoulder as he shook with fear, not knowing what was going on now that his movie was up in the air. What would Soderbergh think? What about the auditions and what about him? But he got over it, determined to make it work. He had written the book, after all. Jake watched as he dried his tears and walked out to the studio, determinedly opening up his laptop and writing, just writing and writing. Jake was worried, but when he realized that Chris would do it no matter what he told him, he let it go, just standing back as Chris dove headfirst into the screenplay. Spending more time in the studio than the house, Chris felt like Jack Kerouac, a crazed writer oblivious to the rest of the world. He'd poured his heart into this story, bled for it, cried for it; it was a part of him and he wasn't going to let it fizzle out. Every line made tears pour down his face, but he kept going, he couldn't stop. He wasn't going to give up on this. Glancing over the top of his laptop, he saw Jake, the concern written all over his face. He sighed, his fingers flying over the keys without him even realizing it. Jake looked worried and Chris hated when Jake worried about him, but he always managed to do it. He felt his fingers stop and cracked his knuckles; the sound of it seemed to rattle the entire room. He felt the blood rushing through his body, his entire body seeming to pulse with the stress of it all. His eyes hurt, dry and strained. He felt like his whole body was falling apart under the weight of this project. The worst part was knowing that if it turned out bad, he couldn't blame anyone but himself. Jake knocked on the door of the studio before opening the door, watching as Chris nearly jumped out of his chair. Jake ran his hands over Chris' shoulders, feeling the muscles relax just a little bit under his fingers. Chris rolled his head to the side, feeling some of the tension melt away. Jake pressed his nose into Chris' neck, his hands running down Chris' arms, "You have to take a break, Christopher." "I have to finish this," Chris said, his voice dry, "don't call me Christopher." "I'm serious. You'll finish it, but not right now. You're a wreck." Chris ran hands over his face, not wanting to admit that he felt like a wreck too. He wanted to cry again, knowing that Jake wanted what was best for him, but at the same time, Chris only wanted what wasn't good for him, he wanted to keep working until it was done, until it was just how he wanted it. "It's going to be finished." "Not tonight though," Chris said. "No, not tonight," Jake said, pulling Chris up out of his chair. Chris saved the screenplay, shutting off his laptop. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done," Chris said, Jake couldn't tell if he was about to laugh or cry, but when he buried his face into his shoulder, Jake just ran his hands down his back, "I'm sorry." "Sorry for what," Jake asked, his hand smoothing down Chris' hair. "That I'm being like this. I know you hate it," Chris said, "but I don't know anymore, it's just that..." Jake shushed him, "I haven't wanted something this bad in a long time." "Come on," Jake said, slowly pulling Chris out of the studio. He flipped the light switch behind him and felt Chris' head on his shoulders, their hands tangled together. "I'm sorry," Chris whispered. Jake pulled off Chris' t-shirt, throwing it onto the floor before slipping him into bed. Chris watched as Jake's shirt fell to the floor, his hand scratching the back of his head as he slipped into bed, his arms wrapping around Chris' warm body, his nose rubbing over the back of Chris' neck. Screenwriters drop jobs, actors pull out of roles, and directors change their minds, but there was something Chris cold always count on, it was that Jake would always get him into bed. *** The rain flooded the lawn between the house and the studio, big puddles forming on top of the short grass and two ducks finding that it made a nice vacation spot. Jake threw pieces of stale bread at them, smiling as they swam back and forth over the lawn. Chris smiled, the first time in three weeks that he could remember smiling. After writing and writing, driving Jake out of his mind and then sending it off to Vivian to send off to whoever edited screenplays, he never wanted to see it again. He felt like he'd put everything into that screenplay twice over. Once when he wrote the book and again, pulling all those old emotions out again for the screenplay. Jake threw an arm over Chris' shoulders when he squatted down next to him, watching the ducks chase each other for the bits of bread. Chris leaned over, kissing Jake on his scratchy cheek and running his fingers through his soft brown hair. "I'm ready for that break now," Chris said, "I've run out of things to say." Chris knew he wasn't the only one. Jake was as tired as he was, driving down to LA all the time and making sure Chris wasn't going insane. He pulled Chris tight against his body, his nose nuzzling into Chris' hair. "Let's get out of here," Jake said, "somewhere where it's not raining." Chris watched as his blue eyes looked up at the angry gray sky, the ducks wading around in circles, waiting for more. "And somewhere we don't have wildlife in our backyards," Chris said, tearing up a slice of bread for Jake. "They like it here," Jake said, "they're not hurting anyone." Chris rested his head on Jake's shoulder, leaning back and pushing his leg out the back door, feeling the cold raindrops falling on his toes. Jake's warm lips pressed against his neck, a hand running down chest to the bottom of his t-shirt, fingers running over the soft skin around Chris' bellybutton. "We can go wherever you want." "Right now? I want to go to bed," Chris said, pulling Jake up and sliding the door shut. He pressed his lips against Jake's, feeling like things were finally returning to something closer to normal. Jake's hands rested on Chris' waist, his grip tightening as Chris' lips grew hungrier, his tongue gliding into his mouth, his hands running up Jake's chest. Jake pulled Chris towards the hall, pulling his shirt off as they walked together, Chris doing the same. Chris spun Jake around, pressing his back into the doorframe as he kissed Jake's neck, the soft hairs on Jake's chest tickling his nipples. Jake shut his eyes, Chris' warm lips and hands making his entire body tingle. He felt Chris' mouth lowering, his fingers catching the waistband of Jake's shorts and pulling them down, his tongue darting out to drag a long, slow stroke up his cock. Hissing, Jake stroked Chris hair, shuddering when Chris' took his cock in, one hand running up and down his right leg as the other cupped Jake's balls. Chris circled his tongue around the head of Jake's cock, looking up at Jake's face, eyes closed, neck tense with strain. Every lick and suck seemed to make Jake even more tense, his body flushing as Chris felt his hips thrust forward, Jake's thick shaft stretching his throat open. Jake braced himself on the doorframe, one hand still resting on Chris' head. Chris's mouth was hotter and slicker than Jake could remember, his throat clutching at his cock as his tongue seemed to hit every spot that drove Jake crazy. He could feel the drops of sweat on Chris' temples, his hand gripping Jake's thigh tight as he took every thrust. Jake felt Chris pull off, his tongue playing on the head again, his hand reaching up to stroke the shaft as his heavy breaths grew more regular. Chris could taste Jake's pre-cum, the salty sweetness of it fueling him as he felt Jake hold his head still again, he felt Jake start to thrust again, balls slapping his chin as his cock slammed into his mouth. Chris closed his eyes when he heard Jake groan. He felt Jake's cock swell, his pre-cum running down the corners of Chris' mouth. Chris pulled off again, his mouth filled with the taste of Jake's pre-cum as he stroked Jake's swollen dick. He pulled down his own underwear, his own cock finally getting some attention as he stroked it, his hands slick with Jake's pre-cum. Jake moaned, short and high this time, and Chris felt a spurt of cum shoot onto his lips. He took Jake back in his mouth, feeling every pump on his tongue as he swallowed Jake's seed, feeling Jake shudder and stiffen, his hands holding Chris' head still as his tongue continued to coax more cum from Jake's cock. Both panting, Chris shuffled to his feet, his underwear falling to the ground as Jake kissed him, tongue darting into his mouth and hands stroking his cock. Chris felt breathless, the bittersweet taste of Jake's cum still lingering in his mouth as he felt Jake push him into the bedroom and onto the bed. The cool sheets soothed his skin, Jake laying on top of him, lips moving to his jaw, hands still stroking his cock. Jake's pulled Chris' leg up to his shoulder, stroking the soft hairs on his calf as he watched Chris slowly stroke his cock, eyes shut in anticipation. Jake steadied himself, the cool wood floor of the bedroom on his feet were a sharp contrast to the warmth and heat of Chris' body. He stroked his own cock, slippery with spit and pre-cum, and slowly pressed it into Chris' hole, realizing that he'd forgotten about fingers and stretching only when Chris' ass clamped down on him, Chris' hand gripping his shoulder. Jake watched Chris long, drawn breaths as he tensed up. Jake ran a soothing hand up Chris' chest, resisting the urge to slam in and pull back out. Chris threw his head back and Jake felt his cock slide an inch deeper, a muffled gasp slipping from Chris' lips. Jake pulled out a little, but saw Chris shake his head. He froze, Chris' hands gripping the sheets as he willed his body to relax, the heat of Jake's cock in his hole burning through his entire body. Jake pushed in a little more, feeling the resistance wane. Chris groaned as he inched forward, steadily sheathing his entire length in the tight confines of Chris' ass. Jake leaned down, catching Chris' lips in his own and feeling Chris' heart race under him. Jake slowly stroked Chris cock, feeling him relax as his cock reached full hardness again. Jake leaned back, hands on Chris thighs as he pulled out, gasps escaping Chris' mouth, replaced by groans as Jake thrust forward again, his slippery cock sliding in with more ease each time he thrust forward. Chris stroked his cock steadily, feeling Jake stretch him open, every thrust hitting him right where he needed it, his cock leaking pre-cum as Jake's thrusts got deeper and harder. Chris felt like his entire body was out of his own control, Jake's cock drove into him while he stroked his own cock, his head tossed from side to side, and every muscle seemed to tense and relax at different times. It seemed like he was just drowning in sensation, lost in everything at once. He pulled Jake down and shifted their bodies so that they were both on the bed, his thrusts hitting Chris at a different angle, his lips slippery and warm while they smashed against Chris'. Their bodies were slick with sweat, Jake's hands sliding down to Chris' cock, stroking it as Chris held onto Jake's shoulders, fingers gripping the slippery skin as Jake thrust hard and deep, his cock pushing Chris closer and closer to the edge. Chris' eyes shut tight, Jake's hand stroking him with quick strokes. He let out a low moan as he shot his load, the cum jetting up his chest in long ropes as Jake's thrusts became more desperate, his breathing more labored and his entire body straining to keep everything going. He felt Chris squeeze his shaft as he shot, snaking out a tongue to lick stray cum from Chris' neck. Chris groaned, Jake still thrusting in and out of him. He pulled Jake's head down, his lips attaching to the skin under Jake's ear, feeling Chris' neck tense, his entire body rigid as he grunted, his hot cum spilling into Chris' clutching asshole. Chris' eyes shut again, the warm sensation in his ass sending a chill up his spine. Jake struggled to regain his breath, his hard cock not wanting to soften or slip out of Chris' tightness, his lips desperately searching for Chris and his fingers tangling in Chris' hair. Chris ran his to Jake's chest, feeling his heart racing under the slick skin. He kissed Jake hungrily, feeling Jake's heavy body collapse on top of his. His hands slid over Jake's back, feeling Jake's slick, smooth skin and his tight muscles. Chris sighed, Jake's crooked smile growing when Chris' fingers ran though his hair. Jake pressed their foreheads together and gave one last long kiss before rolling over, pulling Chris' body tight to his. Chris rested his head on Jake's chest, the steady rise and fall of it coupled with Jake's steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. *** Chris decided to be a writer during his third year at Stanford. Two years undecided, he'd liked his English classes, splitting the rest of his time in creative writing classes and literature ones. He'd read almost anything he could get his fingers on and every single one of his writing professors said the same thing: "writers write." In graduate school, it was the same, "writers write." The mantra was engraved into Chris' memory and he wrote. He never stopped. His first novel was everything he'd wanted to get out, the pain of loneliness that he felt growing up and how more than anything, he just wanted to escape. He wrote. It took him a year, but he wrote and wrote and when he was finished, he convinced himself he was proud of it and sent it off to an agent. That done, he kept writing. Short stories, long ones, crap, genius, it didn't matter. He just kept going. Second novel done and he thought he'd slow down. Instead, he had to go back to the beginning, write his first story all over again. He didn't know anything but writing. He woke up in the morning to write, went to bed thinking about what to write the next day. Now, Chris realized he was doing something almost sacrilegious: he was going to stop. No pens, no journals, his laptop resting in the studio at home, Chris sat on Maggie's pull-out sofa bed, the plaid sheets drawn around him. For the first time in a long time, he didn't go to his computer, he didn't reach for a pen, he didn't know what to do with himself. He turned around when he heard key in the door, Maggie and Jake walking in with bagels and coffee. "Whoa there buddy, you been working out?" Maggie said, tossing her keys into a bowl she kept by the door. Chris smiled, pulling on a t-shirt he'd left on the back of the couch. Jake handed him his coffee, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead. The cup was warm in his hand, his idle hands. He watched Jake slip his sunglasses off, hanging them on the collar of his t- shirt before he and Maggie spread the cream cheese on the bagels. Chris felt like he'd disappeared, was this how Jake and Maggie were ten, fifteen years ago? A quick breakfast before class or something, Chris thought. Sitting there on the bed, coffee in hand, Chris was itching to record what he was seeing. It was then he realized that not writing was harder than writing. "I'm going to Parsons today," Chris said. "Why are you going somewhere you've already been?" Jake said, "we're on vacation. You're supposed to be scoping out museums to go to and paintings to explain to me." Chris ran his hand through his bed-tousled hair, "I owe them some books at least." Jake nodded, taking a huge bite of his bagel, "We can do stuff after." Chris got out of the bed, his legs shaky as he reached for a bagel, "Maggie wants to take us out to dinner." Chris kissed Jake's temple before heading to bathroom, Jake hearing the shower run a few seconds later. "He's going crazy," Maggie said. "He's just got to get used to it, you should have seen him these past few weeks," Jake said, crumbs falling down onto his t-shirt. Maggie brushed them off, "Don't try to change the person you fell in love with," she said, "he may be drained, but that doesn't mean he wants to stop." Jake nodded, Maggie was always giving him advice and he rarely followed it. The Gyllenhaals were a stubborn bunch, all of them. "I read part of the script. You'd never know it's his first." "It's not. It's like his second time around that story. A script is just a deconstructed novel," Maggie said, "what part are you going to get?" "I read for Kent," Jake said, "working with Soderbergh is going to be awesome." Maggie saw the glint in Jake's eye, the grin on his face as he talked about the script and the movie. If Jake was always thinking about what project he'd be working on next, why did he expect Chris to just take a break from everything? Jake finished his bagel, gulping his now tepid coffee. "You're grown-ups, I'll let you two deal with this. Just don't come telling me that something's up because I can tell already," Maggie said, tossing the paper bags and empty cups into the trash, "fix him." *** A dozen books in the director of Graphic Design's office and a handshake, Chris was finished. He walked the halls, looking for someone he recognized from the contest just to tell them about the free books, but he'd been so nervous that week that he didn't notice anyone familiar at all. It did, however, seem much more relaxed than when he'd been there last. Stepping out onto Fifth Avenue, he thought about calling Jake, but he walked instead. It was weird to him how in New York, the buildings blocked out everything. He could see the beach from almost anywhere at home, but here, he couldn't even see past the buildings on the block he was walking. It was strangely similar, the beach was just like these buildings, a part of what made the city what it was. He walked and walked, not even paying attention to where he was going, everything from the trees lining the sidewalk to the warm breeze seemed to peak his interest, to distract him from where he was going. He stopped, the brownstones looking vaguely familiar. It was Eric's neighborhood, he could just tell. He looked for the one with the ivy hanging from the third floor window, his neck bent back as he scanned the block. A few houses down, he traced the brass letters on the mailbox, "de la Coeur." Reaching for the buzzer, he pressed it, leaning his ear against it when he heard the buzz. "Yeah?" "Um, sorry, wrong floor," Chris said, wondering why he was even there, what he was doing. "It's alright," Eric said. Chris recognized his voice, imagining Eric up there, still with that little patch of hair under his lip, working on a CD cover or a cereal box. He had told Chris once that his favorite graphics were on cereal boxes because they were eye- catching and they made people smile. Chris pressed the button again, still not knowing what was driving him to do it, just knowing that he had to. "It's me. I mean it's Christopher." "Oh shit," Chris heard, "for real? Yeah, I, come up." The metal latch in the door clanked and Chris pushed it open. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, wanting to turn around every time he climbed up a step. Chris stood at the door, the peeling white paint looked dry, the cracks deep and long. Chris stood there for God knows how long, feeling every beat of his heart in his chest. "What are you doing here?" Eric asked, the door swinging open suddenly. Chris took a step back; all thoughts pointing him back down the stairs after just a simple "hello." But he didn't. Instead, he followed Eric into the loft, catching up on everything, including why Eric shaved. "I love working for them, it's something new every day." "No, no, it's a great place to work," Chris said, "I have a bunch of clothes from there. I mean the windows are a big deal. J. Crew is a respectable place to work." "I'm not selling sweaters, I'm designing windows," Eric said, "I got a bunch of covers from the book, but no actual books." He was grinning. Chris saw one in a frame on the windowsill. That blue eye was staring right back at him, asking him why he was there, why he wasn't looking at the real thing. "Can I have a few sheets of paper," Chris asked, "I didn't bring any journals or anything with me. I have some stuff I need to get out." Eric looked at him funny. "A writer without his pen and paper? That's like a painter without his paint. And in a town like New York? What were you thinking?" "I wasn't thinking," Chris said. He was following orders, "I don't know what I was thinking." "I'll let you have a notebook or something. It probably won't have any lines though." Chris noticed Eric's slim body, soccer trained muscles shifting under his loose t-shirt. It was different from Jake, who was bulkier from that Marine movie he made, muscles prominent. Chris liked it, the way the hard muscles felt under his fingers. He'd been jogging with Jake lately, his lean muscles getting a little more defined. Maggie had noticed this morning, but he was embarrassed; writers were supposed to be lanky and pale--at least that's how they all were in grad school. "Thanks." Jake would forgive him for just writing some pages on nothing in particular. He had no plans for another novel. "I read about you," Eric said, "you're the only writer I've ever seen in paparazzi photos." "I wasn't why they were taking the picture," Chris said, "they wouldn't waste their film on me." Eric shrugged, "Just visiting?" It was amazing how both of them avoided the word "Jake" when they spoke. "I was in the neighborhood," Chris said, "you can go back to Parsons to get a book, I left a box there." Eric nodded, "It's funny." Chris looked at him. He was looking at Chris with soft eyes, but they were filled with an eerie intensity. "In LA, you couldn't get away from me fast enough. Now, you show up at my doorstep." His voice was tinged with something Chris didn't encounter too often. It wasn't jealousy, it wasn't anger, he thought maybe it was weariness mixed with an unforgivable doubt, "I thought I'd never see you again, I thought it'd be okay. I thought I was through with you and what you do to me," Chris started to say something, but Eric just kept going, "I watched you walk away from me over and over. I'm done, Christopher." Chris started to stand up, but Eric stopped him, a hand resting on his shoulder. It felt so different from Jake's hand, but he leaned up to it, feeling the warmth through his t- shirt. He was stiff, but Eric stepped closer, Chris could feel it. "I'm sorry. For everything, Eric." Chris felt his stomach tie itself into a knot, but he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Eric's chest. He felt Eric's arms wrap around him, but he still couldn't stop comparing to Jake, it just felt so weird. When he felt Eric's lips on his own, he didn't do anything to stop it. The smooth skin, the eager tongue, it was nothing like Jake at all. Chris felt Eric's hand run down his stomach, but he grabbed his wrist and brought it up to his shoulder. He was saying sorry, not "Fuck me." But he was fucking himself, wondering what the hell he was doing. Eric pulled off and Chris stepped back, looking down at the floor, his pulse racing, his stomach full of guilt, and the taste of bile on his tongue. "Let me get you that sketchbook," Eric said, realizing that a line had been crossed, that both of them were fucked. He opened a drawer and pulled one out, giving Chris a pen to go with it. "Thanks," Chris said, "I'm going to head out." He said, walking to the door. Eric stood there, watching Chris walk away from him again. This time actually hoping that they'd never see each other again. He thought he loved Chris and then convinced himself that he didn't. He didn't like denying the truth, but it made everything so much easier. *** In the cab, Chris wrote. He stepped out and sat on the Maggie's stoop, still writing. He wrote until his fingers hurt, but he kept going. Jake sat down next to him and watched for a second, reading over his shoulder. Chris usually hated it, but let it slide this time, shaking out his hand so that Jake could read the pages. "Nothing heavy, right?" Jake said, "fluff." "Just trying to get it out," Chris said, "it just has to go." Jake nodded, watching Chris write the title down in his narrow penmanship, "Confusion/Closure," and underline it twice before shutting the sketchbook and handing it to Jake, "I made a mistake today. It's out here though," Chris said, shaking the book, "so it's not in here anymore." He put his hand on his chest as Jake grabbed the book and opened it. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmaill.com