"Decade" (Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir)
YouTube threw a video of Johnny Weir's "King of Chess" SP from the 2007 US Nationals and it made me all nostalgic. Also, I've been drinking wine and listening to Placebo's live performances from 10+ years ago (I had a dream with Brian Molko in it last night). And thus I give you Evan/Johnny fanfiction, like it's 2006. Or more like a ficlet, it has 333 words.
(Check out Evan's Instagram, by the way. So boring.)
Decade
(Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir, 333 words, PG-13)
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Completely made up.
Fast cars, model girlfriends, Vuitton weekenders and Hugh Hefner pyjamas. The perfect LA playboy bonanza, what’s not to like. He wears his pokerface like the ultracool dude he is.
Then sometimes Evan gets drunk and wishes it was 2006 again. 2006 when life felt more real, with all his time spent training to beat Weir, thinking about Weir or competing against Weir. Johnny.
Evan calls Johnny when he’s drunk and relishes the way Johnny’s laugh still sounds as throaty and coquettish as he remembers. Except less shrill, kinder somehow, because now they have nothing to fight over anymore. Ten years later, Johnny’s laugh still seems to push all the right buttons.
Johnny usually indulges him for a while, but hangs up on him eventually, because obviously Johnny has better things to do these days, a life to live in fucking freezing New York, an event to commentate on, an outfit to pick or something. Evan would never admit it, but he stalks Johnny’s Instagram at least twice a week.
After Johnny hangs up, Evan stares at the screen of his phone for a while, fighting a battle he knows is entirely futile. Sooner or later, he gives up - which is when he goes and rubs one out in the shower, supermodel girlfriend du jour forgotten.
Water sluicing down his back, he thinks of Nationals in 2007, of Johnny crying when the scores came up, of Johnny crying later, in his room, because he was injured and humiliated and in pain and still wanted Evan so badly despite everything. Almost as badly as Evan wanted Johnny that night... and every night and day before that, since they’d met when they were Juniors. And practically every day since then, if Evan’s being honest with himself, which he’s usually not.
And so he drinks till he passes out on his couch, because now it’s 2016 and he should be happy, but he can’t stop thinking about Weir. What else is fucking new.
~fin
(Check out Evan's Instagram, by the way. So boring.)
Decade
(Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir, 333 words, PG-13)
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Completely made up.
Fast cars, model girlfriends, Vuitton weekenders and Hugh Hefner pyjamas. The perfect LA playboy bonanza, what’s not to like. He wears his pokerface like the ultracool dude he is.
Then sometimes Evan gets drunk and wishes it was 2006 again. 2006 when life felt more real, with all his time spent training to beat Weir, thinking about Weir or competing against Weir. Johnny.
Evan calls Johnny when he’s drunk and relishes the way Johnny’s laugh still sounds as throaty and coquettish as he remembers. Except less shrill, kinder somehow, because now they have nothing to fight over anymore. Ten years later, Johnny’s laugh still seems to push all the right buttons.
Johnny usually indulges him for a while, but hangs up on him eventually, because obviously Johnny has better things to do these days, a life to live in fucking freezing New York, an event to commentate on, an outfit to pick or something. Evan would never admit it, but he stalks Johnny’s Instagram at least twice a week.
After Johnny hangs up, Evan stares at the screen of his phone for a while, fighting a battle he knows is entirely futile. Sooner or later, he gives up - which is when he goes and rubs one out in the shower, supermodel girlfriend du jour forgotten.
Water sluicing down his back, he thinks of Nationals in 2007, of Johnny crying when the scores came up, of Johnny crying later, in his room, because he was injured and humiliated and in pain and still wanted Evan so badly despite everything. Almost as badly as Evan wanted Johnny that night... and every night and day before that, since they’d met when they were Juniors. And practically every day since then, if Evan’s being honest with himself, which he’s usually not.
And so he drinks till he passes out on his couch, because now it’s 2016 and he should be happy, but he can’t stop thinking about Weir. What else is fucking new.
~fin