This one is the shortest one yet, and I feel it could be expanded at places, so I don't mind suggestions for expansion.
Once more I stress that if you're offended by homo/bisexuality, please don't read this.
Vicissitudes
3. Tyler
I guess I always wanted to stand out. I mean, being the fourth of twelve children, I had to find something that would only be mine, something that set me apart from all my siblings.
For me, that “something” would be music.
I don’t really remember when I first started to play music. Mom tells me that when I was three, I climbed up my sister Eugenia’s grand piano and pounded out a passable melody on the keys. As by that point Eugenia was sick and tired of piano and had decided to become an astronaut, I was given the piano. And that’s where my journey into the world of music began.
I have to take Mom’s word for it, ‘cause I don’t remember. Turns out I’ve got quite the crappy memory—I can’t remember anything important. Midterm dates, milestones, hell, even birthdays slip from my mind like water and I’m left feeling foolish and ashamed when I forget. Like just last week, I forgot my manager Francisco’s birthday. He was pissed at me, let me tell you. I promised an extra five hours of practice each week to him, so I guess I made it up.
“Maybe I’m suffering from that old-people’s disease,” I suggested to Vance one day when he was mad because I’d forgotten to do the laundry or something. “You know. Albertson’s or something like that.”
“Alzheimer’s, you idiot,” he snapped, fixing me with his oh-so-familiar “you’re the biggest goddamn idiot who’s ever lived” look. “And you’re too young to be suffering even early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
Yeah, I guess Vance is right. It’s not because I’m sick I have a bad memory—it’s because I’m stupid. I’m not good at school stuff; I’ll be the first to admit it. I barely graduated high school and I’m surprised I even ended up in college ‘cause let me tell you, even I’m ashamed of my SAT scores. I mean—I knew I failed but I didn’t expect to fail that badly!
But the hell—I’m not dumb. No matter what Vance or anyone else may think. Sure, I may look dumb. I might get bad grades and don’t understand the complicated books Vance reads. But does that mean I’m dumb? Come on, I can play any tune I want on my guitar. I can write songs that surprise even myself! And when you put that all together...well even Vance listens when I sing. If that's not smart I don't know what is. I may not know much about anything else, but at the very least I can't be considered dumb when it comes to music.
How can I explain this to him, though? How can I explain that whenever I pick up a guitar, whenever I stand before a mike and let loose with that beautiful voice that isn’t mine, everything just seems to make so much…sense?
Singing. It’s more than just a little hobby of mine. It’s going to be my life and I love it more than anything. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give it up for a safer or more secure career. How could I? It’s part of me now. Every time I sing, I feel a little bit closer to understanding...everything. It's cheesy, I know. That's why I haven't told anyone—not even Stan, or Geoff, or Christian, or Francisco, my band mates. Not even Vance. Not even Ludwig.
They'd probably all laugh at me, and call me an idiot. Sad but probably true.
What stings me more is when I try to tell him I love him. I do love Vance Hikari, no matter what a certain Alice thinks. No matter what Vance thinks. I admit I haven’t been the nicest to him in the past, but now I see—in so small part because of Alice—that what I did to Vance was wrong. Now I’m trying my hardest to atone. I’ve relaxed my restrictions, begun listening to him more, begun appreciating him for things besides his body— for his strong personality, his fierceness of purpose, his sardonic worldview. And what do I get for my efforts?
“I love you,” I whispered to him the first time ever one sultry summer night, holding both his slim hands in mine, meeting his dark and intense eyes.
And what did he say? He said, no, snarled, “Shut the hell up.”
I shouldn’t have been hurt by that. I should have been expecting that, actually. Because even as I’ve become more loving, Vance has become more resistant. He returns all my gestures, true, but there’s something cursory, almost scornful, to them. He thinks I’m just playing, that I don’t mean it, that I’m just screwing with his head. It makes me sad. Have I hurt Vance so badly that he can never love me?
Man, now that is a depressing thought! I just want to be happy. Is it too much to ask for Vance to be happy too?
I told him this, too. This was a week later, in the middle of the camping trip Ludwig had organized. It was the middle of the night, and both of us were awake long after the fire had finally burnt down into pale ashes. I found Vance sitting, legs crossed, in a folding chair, an open book in his lap. He wasn’t reading it, though, but staring at the night sky, his eyes focused on the stars high above. Against the dark of the night, his bleached-blonde hair shone like a beacon.
“Uh, hi,” I said, approaching a folding chair next to his. “Mind if I join you?”
“I don’t see why not.” He returned back to the book, his glasses gleaming in the dark.
“Okay.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say than that. I slid into the chair and then settled down beside him. For the longest time, we remained in silence, Vance watching the stars; me beside him, watching the glow of his hair, taking in his quiet presence.
Finally, I decided to break the silence. I said, my voice foolishly loud in the silent night, “Hey, Vance?”
“Hmm?” He turned slowly to me, looking curious but disinterested. “What is it?”
“I just…” I found myself struggling for words again, like always. “It’s just that I…” Then, my face burning, I blurted everything I’d wanted to say in a senseless torrent. “I just want you to be happy, Vance! Is that really too much to ask? Why won’t you even smile? Please—that’s all I want. You to be happy…”
I trailed off, feeling doubly stupid, and met his eyes. Vance stared back, serious, unblinking. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, or confused, or just didn’t care. It felt like an eternity before Vance finally averted his gaze…only to lift his hand and snake it over to rest on top of mine, his touch light, hesitant, barely there.
“Shut up, you idiot,” he murmured, and he tightened his slender hand around mine.
We remained together like that, hand in hand, until morning came. We didn’t say another word—neither of us needed to.
That was the first, and last time, I ever brought up that subject with Vance. Did it change anything in our relationship? Not much, I’d have to say…he still turns away when I try to hold his hand, still scoffs when I try to be kind. Nope, nothing’s changed at all…
But sometimes, just sometimes…when I say I’m his boyfriend, he smiles. Not a real smile, just a little twitch at the corners of his lips, but enough to make my day when I see it. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to seeing Vance really smile. And sometimes, when I take his hand in mine, he tightens his grip, ever-so-slightly…
And I can’t help but smile myself. He’s trying. In his own strange, quiet, stormily sullen but secretly helpful way, Vance too is trying to change our relationship for the better.
It hasn’t been easy, though. Man—why can’t anything ever be easy? It used to be easy, at first. As long as I could play music, I’d be happy, right? I learned to play the electric guitar when I was nine and tired of piano and violin, taking lessons from my brother Arthur back in his “I-wanna-be-a-rocker” stage. When I was in eighth grade I met Stan, Geoff, Christian, and Francisco, and that's when we started our band. It was so easy back then, when I was just a stupid little kid. I took happiness for granted.
Then along came Vance Hikari and complicated everything. Why did I become interested in him in the first place? I remember watching him from a distance during my early years of high school. I was intrigued by him, the quiet, shy Japanese-American boy who was friends with no one (save Alice, that is), and moved with such grace and intention. I kind of envied him, the way he moved. How could he be so serene and graceful in his movements when I was an awkward teenager, a gangly monster who'd hit a growth spurt too soon and towered over the rest of my classmates? I wanted to move with just as much purpose as Vance did. I didn’t know I was gay yet, so I didn’t think of my interest in romantic terms. I just thought I wanted to be his friend.
Later I started seeing noticing, well…Laurence. Even then, I didn’t consider him a friend. We were just neighbors and our parents were all buddy-buddy; that was all. It surprised me to see Laurence walking around arm-in-arm with Vance, declaring that they were “boyfriends” (surprise—Laurence Flannery of all people was gay?).
Gradually I started noticing the obvious—even an idiot like me had to notice some time. Where did all of Vance’s bandages come from? Why did he always keep his gaze away from Laurence, from the rest of us? Why did he speak to Laurence in such a quiet and demure voice, especially for a supposed “boyfriend”? Over time, I put all the pieces together.
And when I did, I started to hate Laurence above anyone else. How dare—how dare he—do those things to Vance? What kind of monster was he?
“You’re not much better yourself,” Vance said to me in a low growl less than a year ago, glaring at me with hate shining in his dark eyes.
I think that was when I realized for the first time that Vance wasn’t truly happy with me. I know—it took me that long to realize it! It came as a slap in the face to me, a painful jerk back to reality. I’d been so caught up in my own conceit that I hadn’t cared at all for Vance’s feelings.
Alice cemented the realization. I already knew her, mostly as the girl who hated my guts and never wasted an opportunity to fix me with eye daggers whenever she tagged along with us, on Vance’s insistence, on one of our “dates”. Eventually I got sick of her and forbade Vance from bringing Alice because, you know, I wanted some peace and quiet on our dates! Well, that got a reaction out of him—for the first time he actually outright defied me, instead of just acting cold and sarcastic but obeying my orders anyway.
“We were friends long before you ever came,” he snarled. “No matter how hard you try, you can’t tear us apart.”
Fair enough, but by then I was getting kind of jealous. Jealous and confused. I didn’t get why Vance didn’t like me…okay, maybe I did set a few too many rules for his liking, and maybe I was kind of mean to Alice and didn’t let Vance have a life outside of me…
Never mind. It’s not wonder why Vance didn’t like me.
So I turned to Alice—and I still do turn to her for advice. After all, she’s the one who knows Vance the best. She’s the one who’s been with him from the beginning, since this whole fiasco all started. It hasn’t been easy (sigh…) getting help from Alice, though. I think she does know I’ve changed, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to forgive me yet. I can see the cold hatred burning in her coal-dark eyes every time I speak to her, and I can’t help but tremble inside. I know I’ve still got a long way to go.
For now, I can only try. Just like what my most successful sibling, my businesswoman big sister Kayla, told me long ago—the only thing you can do in this world is try. So I’m trying. I try to be kind to Vance. I try to realize my dream, to one make it big with my band. And sometimes, just sometimes, I get to thinking about me and Vance, and I start writing.
Not poetry like Vance! I mean song lyrics. More than once I’ve tried to lay down our relationship in solid words on a page. Every single one of those pages has ended up crumpled in the wastebasket. No matter how hard I try, every time I try to put my relationship in words it seems…trite. Foolish. And the one time I actually felt confident enough to show my efforts to my band, Francisco shot it down in cold blood.
“Too emo,” he said.
All right! So me and Vance’s relationship is emo now? What a depressing thought. Isn’t there anything happy—anything positive—in our relationship? I mean, it’s been two and a half freaking years! Surely some good must’ve come from those years…shouldn’t it?
“You honestly think there’s any good in your relationship?” Alice snapped to me when I asked her. “You have to make it happen if you want good memories.”
I saw the light in her eyes, the light beyond the anger at the surface. I saw a quiet longing hidden in those dark depths, and I knew what it meant.
Later that night, when I cuddled beside Vance, I wanted to ask him about Alice. But before I could, Vance distracted me by asking a smirking question about whether my band was turning any profits. Before I knew it, I started my standard “following my dream” spiel and whadda you know, ended up forgetting completely about Alice.
A part of me wants to ask Vance about Alice again. But another part of me doesn’t. After all, what right do I have to judge her feelings for Vance? If Vance is still with me…he either doesn’t know about her, or—and this is what I hope—he actually does want to stay with me.
This is an optimistic thought, and one I will cling to like a drowning man to a lifeline. I don’t care if I’m giving myself false hope. Because—I want to believe. I want to believe that deep down Vance does care about me, and that he’s just as committed as I am to making this relationship work.
Alice is right. Instead of looking back and trying in vain to find happy memories from the past, we have to create our happy memories. It’s more than clear that I can’t just pluck lyrics from my memories, but maybe I could do it from my dreams. The past is filled with too much pain and misunderstanding for either of us to work anything from it. You can’t just put the past down on paper. It works for history, I guess, but not me and Vance. We can’t do anything with our memories.
Nothing to do but move forward. Nothing to do but to hope, and to dream. I don’t think Vance realizes this yet. He’s still caught up in the past, trying against all odds and reason to make sense of what happened with us, what happened to him. I can tell, when I try to be kind and loving with him—he resists me. But maybe it’s not only because I’ve hurt him so badly. Maybe it’s because Laurence hurt him, first. Or even before that. His father hurt him, trying to mold him into a perfect successor. His mother hurt him, leaving him for reasons she only knew when he was young and needed her the most. Vance Hikari’s life has been an endless song of hurt. Which sounds like a good title, but I have not, and will not, write a song about it.
Instead, the song I have written is an optimistic one. They say stupid people are all optimists, right? Then I’ll happily be one. The song I’ve written is one about forgiving, moving forward, hoping, dreaming, fixing what was broken. It’s a picture of what I hope our relationship will someday be. Is it my fault that it isn’t already?
Or is it Vance’s? Is it Vance’s fault for not being able to let go of the past? I want to move forward, so badly, more than anything. But he resists. I move forward—he pulls at my arm, trying to drag me back. What the hell do you want, Vance baby? Do you want to punish me for everything I’ve done to you? Okay, if that’s the case I’ll be happy to oblige you. Hell, Alice can watch if she wants to and you two can hook up afterwards…
Look, I may be stupid but I’m not dumb enough to see that vengeance won’t fix anything. Vance knows this too. But unlike me… he’s not yet ready to move on. He hasn’t seen what Alice and I have already seen—that we have to strive for the future together, instead of constantly peek over our shoulders at the past, fretting about what could have been.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered to him that same night I told him I only wanted his happiness. We’d spent the whole night in silence, and as dawn began to creep from the horizon I broke the silence, speaking the words I so desperately wanted him to hear. “What’s so bad about moving forward? Come on—you and me, together. Why not put the past behind us and try to fix things?”
“Idiot,” he murmured back. “It’s not that simple.”
Maybe it isn’t. But still, Vance baby. Would it hurt to try it? Just try it. Move on for one day. Just one day, try your best. One day, that’s all I’m asking. Leave the past behind you, and forgive me and forgive yourself.
“‘Just One Day,’” says Francisco at our rehearsal tonight, smiling over the sheet of paper I’ve just handed him. “Sounds good to me. Come on, guys, let’s get to practice.”
Hey, I’ve been playing music since I was three. I’m bound to come up with a real gem at least once, aren’t I?
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And...that's it. I really don't have much to say about this story. O_o Again, all suggestions and critique is welcome, except for "critiques" going "lol this is rly good lol". But I don't expect any critiques like that, now, do I?
Yeah, I know, I need to stop using so many italics...and I thought I was doing quite well recently with not using that many. I mean, I used to italicize practically every other word (you should see my Zenith stories...).
But it is very, 
