Calligraphy
As earth shattering as it sounds, Alexander James McLean was bored. It was during one of the longer bus rides that Alexander, more frequently known as A.J. to his loyal fans and band mates, found himself without something interesting or fun to do, trapped on his best friend's bus with his currently boring best friend.
Howie Dorough, who had been taken with his younger friend fairly quickly when they met all of eight years ago and had since become A.J.'s closest friend and confidant, lay on the couch, watching the muted television through boredom-hazed brown eyes. The remote control lay lax in his palm, his fingers barely grazing the buttons as he flipped through channel after channel. HBO had some disgusting movie on that barely touched Howie's fancy and MTV had a disturbing episode of The Real World on. He was about to give up when A.J. announced he was bored.
Normally, Howie would lack the interest to care, being too busy with something else to give much thought or interest to give into A.J.'s bellyaching. But this day was especially slow and riddled with ennui. Howie had no choice but to respond, as the television was muted and A.J. could see quite plainly from the other side of the bus that he was awake.
"So do something," deadpanned Howie, turning the television off. He rested his cheek on his arm and shut his eyes, willing sleep to come and hastily.
A.J. was sulking. Howie could sense it. They had known each other so long they memorized each other's reactions to different insults and retorts (they experimented much over the years with insults) and were rarely surprised by the other's reaction. Peeling an eyelid open, Howie saw - to his smugness - that he was right. A.J. had his arms crossed, glaring at his older friend until he opened his eyes - which Howie had just done.
They stared at each other for a few long moments before Howie finally chucked a pillow in A.J.'s general direction. It fell short about two feet and around four inches to the left of A.J.'s recliner. A.J. raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you got?" he challenged.
Howie rolled his eyes and dug his face into his arms. "Shut up and let me sleep," he mumbled into the couch's cushions.
"But I'm bored!"
"What do you expect *me* to do?"
Silence. It was one of those rare moments Howie had not anticipated a reaction from his friend, and Howie looked up, turning his head to face A.J. The younger man was sitting there, expression lost, eyebrows knitted.
"Alex?"
A.J. shook his head slightly, startled. "Wha?"
Howie frowned in suspicion, but instead of pressing the issue, he shook his head and went back to his former position, muttering, "Nothing, never mind."
Howie didn't remember anything else that followed, for as soon as his head touched his arm, he was fast asleep. The next thing he consciously remembered was the gentle shoving at his shoulder. He groaned in protest and swatted at his attacker. "Go 'way," he mumbled.
"No," answered A.J.'s stubborn voice. "Get up, I need help."
Howie yawned. "This is supposed to shock me?" he asked incredulously, grinning up at A.J. sleepily.
His senses sharpened when A.J. didn't so much as retort. Instead, A.J. was watching him, his uncovered eyes sweeping Howie's. Howie frowned. "What? Why're you lookin' at me like that?"
A.J. jumped slightly. "What? Oh, er, nothing."
Howie raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "You sick?" he asked, concern beginning to envelop his concentration.
A.J. shook his head quickly. "No, no. Nothing like that, but… Um…" He smiled sheepishly. "I need your help with somethin'."
Howie yawned and pushed himself onto his elbows, looking up at A.J. waiting for further explanation. "With what?" he urged when A.J. didn't speak.
A.J. *blushed*. That settled it. A.J. was definitely, as A.J. and Nick would put it, "trippin'". "Err… Did you take calligraphy in high school?" A.J. asked quickly.
Howie blinked. "Um… Yeah, I think. I think in freshman year or something." He shrugged dismissively. "Why?"
Clearing his throat, A.J. nodded over at the table next to the kitchen. "I'm trying it. I can't remember how the 'v' or the 'l' goes. I mean, I took it, but it was a long-ass time ago and I, well…" He smiled sheepishly. "Can you help me?"
Howie shrugged again. "I suppose so. I don't remember that much though." A.J. grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet.
Howie, still captured by Sleep's claws, stumbled and landed plastered against A.J.'s chest. Caught totally by surprise, A.J.'s arm shot out and instinctively wrapped around Howie's waist, catching him before he fell. Howie's heart caught mid-beat as he felt A.J.'s fingertips digging into the small of his back, trying to steady him. He backed out of A.J.'s half embrace and, flushing dark red, mumbled, "Sorry."
A.J. nodded stiffly, his expression hard to read. They stared at each other for a minute, both trying to calculate what had just happened. Howie's breath finally steadied and A.J.'s illegible expression faded into a grin. "Have a nice trip?" he asked, laughing at his own lameness.
Howie rolled his eyes and punched him mockingly. "Show me the calligraphy before I throw you out a window," he threatened, smirking ominously.
"Oh, that's a lovely way to thank me for saving your honor," A.J. said sarcastically, leading the way through the narrow passage to where he had set up pieces of paper with intricate letters traced all over them.
Howie chose a few of the best looking and studied them. He smiled. "I don't think there's much I can help you with, Aje. You're doing better than I did, I can tell you that much."
A.J. again didn't reply.
Howie glimpsed at him. "Aje?" He frowned.
"Hunh? Oh. Yeah, well, uh, I just need help with 'v' and 'l'. And 'm'…"
Howie nodded. A.J. was being odder than usual. Not a good sign by any means, but Howie reminded himself that if there really were something wrong, A.J. would have the sense to tell him…or the stupidity to reveal it.
A.J. sat down at the desk and picked up his calligraphy pen. Howie began to feel another emotion tugging at his attention. Why was A.J. so interested in calligraphy all of a sudden, or art in general? That was more Nick's realm, not A.J.'s or Howie's. So why did A.J. care so much? He had even gone to the lengths to hunt out a calligraphy pen. A.J. must really be bored, Howie thought with an inward chuckle.
Howie leaned over A.J.'s shoulder, covering A.J.'s writing hand with his own. A.J. jumped. Howie frowned, taking his hand away. "What?" he asked, alarmed. "I was just showing you how to hold it. You have to hold it at an angle, that's why some of them are lopsided."
"Oh," A.J. responded, sounding relieved and somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry. Um… How do you hold it?"
Howie frowned deeper. What was the matter with him? Why was he so high-strung? Shrugging it off, Howie laid his arm alongside A.J.'s, once again covering A.J.'s hand with his own. His chest was pressed against A.J.'s shoulder blades, and as soon as his hand touched A.J.'s, the younger man shivered. Howie was beginning to get intensely worried. A.J. shifted his arm so his elbow bent into the curve of Howie's arm. Howie shuddered. He blinked. It was rather cold inside the bus, it being February and all. That was it.
Howie twisted the pen until it was at the correct angle. He leaned against A.J. a bit as he pressed A.J.'s hand down towards the paper. "Which one are you having more trouble with?" he asked softly.
"'V'," A.J. said, his voice lower and quieter than usual.
Nodding, Howie searched his memory for his knowledge of calligraphy. It had a small hook at the left side and did a subdued 's' sort of shape, then the other line was only slightly curved. He led A.J.'s hand along the paper, doing the best calligraphic 'v' his memory allowed. He smiled. "Guess I'm not that bad after all," he said, pride tugging an upward curve to his lips.
A.J. chuckled. "You're good," he said, his voice still soft.
Howie breathed a sigh of relief, glad he remembered something from his high school education. After being in a music group for almost a decade and having little to no use for his complete education, he had begun to worry that it had all gone to waste.
As he inhaled, the wild, tangy scent of A.J.'s cologne filled his senses. Howie rested his chin on A.J.'s bony shoulder. "What now?" he asked, turning his head slightly so his lips almost brushed A.J.'s cheek. He readjusted his fingers around the handle of the pen, caressing A.J.'s hand in the process.
A.J. examined the letter on the page below, brown eyes flitting back and forth, remembering and memorizing how Howie had drawn it. Not realizing Howie was so close, he turned his head too quickly and his lips gingerly touched Howie's. Both drew back slightly, both pairs of brown eyes enormous.
A.J.'s unmasked eyes betrayed every emotion churning through his mind. "I - I - " he stammered, his face paling three shades whiter than usual.
Seeing the true emotions blazing in A.J.'s eyes, Howie finally understood why A.J. had been acting so strange. Instead of shying back or even getting out of physical contact with his friend, Howie leaned in, catching A.J.'s lips with his own, tightening his fingers around A.J.'s.
The forgotten pen clattered as it hit the table.
~
Later that night, after A.J. was positive Howie was asleep, he tread softly out of the bedroom and headed into the kitchen. He flicked on a light and lifted the pen. He reorganized the paper that had been slightly scattered a few hours before and reached into his duffel bag for the blank card he'd bought the week before.
He turned the pen in his hand the way Howie had shown him and set the inked tip to the parchment.
Happy Valentine's Day
I love you, angel
Alex
P.S. My 'v' still sucks. Are you free next Friday night?
La Fin