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Silver Linings
destroyerzooey
Title: Silver Linings
Kradam. PG. A short interlude from the M&D universe.
Disclaimer: Don't know these people. Never happened.
Note: I never forget that in RL Kris is a spiritual person, so this interlude addresses his faith. Avoid this one if that topic does not appeal to you.



It wasn't only to have a solitary space in which to compose that Kris had wanted a room of his own.

Oh sure, he did do a lot of songwriting within that rather unadorned space--a space appointed with only his guitar, a comfy chair, and a table on which to write--where he would spend hours at a time staring out his window into the backyard whether day or night as he picked out new songs, or conversely, bowing over his table while he scribbled lyrics or ideas for songs in his journal, biting his lip and chewing on the end of his pencil as he tried to come up with a word that rhymed with "blessed," for instance, or sometimes just making notes to himself as to the arrangements of songs that were still only on the tip of his brain, really, and were only waiting to be fleshed out.

But there were times when all he wanted to do was to be alone, where he could go into his head and live there for a while without distraction, something that was hard to explain to Adam but which, curiously, Kris thought Adam seemed to understand all the same, if somewhat grudgingly.

However perhaps the biggest reason why Kris wanted a room to himself was so that, in the quiet of his solitude, he could gather his spirit together, and pray.

Kris suspected that this wasn't something that Adam would particularly understand about him, since Adam himself did not seem very deep into any sort of spirituality, except in an allegorical way. But for Kris, religion had always been a big part of his life, especially since the last time he was in Arkansas and had played at the church with his dad, where it seemed to him that the Lord had seen fit to welcome Kris back into the fold, and Kris didn't want to turn his back again on such beneficence.

There was also the fact that, especially recently, Kris had found that he had much to be grateful for, had much in his life for which to give thanks; and so once a day he would come into his studio, and before beginning on his music he would sit in his chair, fold his hands between his knees, and thank God for the life he had been blessed with, a life he'd never imagined having even a year ago.

It was almost sometimes hard to believe: that he was actually making a living playing music now, instead of working crappy jobs at shoe stores or restaurants where he was yelled at by customers and treated like a feebleminded serf. And not only that, he got to play music, write music, record music any time he wanted, in a comfortable house where he could do his thing in peace, and be alone (but not lonely) any time he needed to. That he had somehow found his way out of the dark shadow he'd lived in since before last spring, where he more or less hadn't given a shit about anything except being taken care of, and held, even it was by someone Kris had no particular interest in.

Seemed hard for him to believe now that the person who had sleepwalked through that murky life had been him: that it had been he who had let strangers touch him, fuck him, and pay him for it, just so that he could feel wanted and needed as though he were not a complete useless piece of shit. That he'd drugged himself with sex so that he didn't have to feel the other things that he couldn't bear the thinking of, like his total failure as a musician, or his total failure to be a good boyfriend to someone who at one time had meant the world to him, and everything in it; his total failure at life.

Because it seemed as though the opposite were true, for him now: his music has of late been better than it ever had been, he had no wish to escape from the everydayness of his life, and most importantly, he did not feel he was inadequate to the very person who had helped bring his life to this point in the first place.

So when he went into his room to say his daily prayer, he never forgot to thank God for the man who, for all his brash and whimsical ways, was about as kind to Kris as anybody had ever been, including his mom; who worried about him, and put up with his shit, and his moods, and his need for solitude, and did not think he was a loser because he loved music more than--or almost more than--anything else. But most of all, what Kris was thankful for was the fact that Adam understood Kris, and seemed to respect the nobody from Arkansas as though the both of them were equals and not separated by a chasm of fame and money and talent.

Kris wasn't much, he knew; was just a simple man, and a sinner, like all men who are made from the soil of the earth. And yet, if there was one quality about himself that he thought had merit, it was that he was capable of gratitude, which was probably why when after he'd stepped out of his study at last one evening to find Adam returned from business and sitting on the couch while he watched Project Runway or something, Kris didn't balk or even make a face when Adam said to him without looking away from the TV "You should come with me to the AMAs."

"The AMAs?" Kris replied, stepping up to Adam and flopping down next to him on the couch. Then he smiled, said "Well I don't remember getting an invitation to that."

"I mean as my date," Adam said with a bit of peevishness as he turned to Kris with a faint frown on his dark brow. "You know? People customarily bring someone with them to these things, though--Well, I know you probably wouldn't want to," Adam shrugged, glancing away from Kris again as though he didn't want Kris to read his face. "I know how that's not your thing or anything, but--"

"I'd love to," Kris replied, drawing his arm around Adam's neck and sort of leaning his head on Adam's shoulder.

"Oh. I mean, you will?" Adam asked, looking down at Kris as though with blank surprise.

"Sure," Kris said with a smile. "You'll have to help me find something to wear though, since--well, you have a pretty good idea of what kind of clothes I have. Or don't have," he added with a laugh. "And somehow I get the idea that plaid and Converse won't really cut it."

"But--but I mean there's going to be a lot of people there, and cameras, and all that shit that I know you hate," Adam pointed out. "And I know how you can't stand getting dressed up, and--and there's going to be a lot of people there, and--"

"Why are you trying to talk me out of it?" Kris grinned. "I said I wanted to go. And yeah, I have a pretty good idea about what those types of things are like. I mean I've watched TV before, you know."

"But you mean you really--? You'll really go?" Adam said, his face starting to break into a smile now that he actually seemed to believe Kris.

"Well I can't have you taking some other guy or something, can I?" Kris replied with a sly smile of his own.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck, this is going to be so--And oh fuck yes I can help you find something to wear, oh my fuck this is going to be epiiiiiiiiic!" Adam said, nearly bouncing up and down in his seat as he squeezed Kris to him and beamed down at him with a merry gaze. And Kris couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction in watching Adam grow so excited as he chatted to Kris about his plans for the event, how Adam just knew the exact perfect place to take Kris to get fitted up for a "siiiick" outfit and how he'll do Kris's hair for him and how they'll have the finest limo to take to the awards show and et cetera et cetera--though Kris's smile faltered a little when Adam's face suddenly grew quiet, almost sad some, before he bit his freckled lip and leaned his head against Kris's own as he said in a soft voice "I know this sounds stupid, Kris, but--but this is something I have always wanted to do. With you."

And even though he wasn't alone in his little room right then--even though he sat face-to-face with someone whom Kris knew scorned Kris's religion as a simple thing, at best, and a militant cult at worst, Kris still found his spirit kneeling down in gratitude as he gazed into those wondrous blue eyes that somehow were also grey and green and all the cool colors of the sky at any season but which radiated a warmth like the sun behind a silver cloud; and right then the most essential part of Kris said a silent prayer to God to thank him, once more, for leading Kris into sin, only so that he could find the light of grace in a man who, in many ways, understood the Spirit, and the teachings of Love, better than almost anybody.

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