Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter five

A/N:

It's been ages and I feel guilty, so I'll keep this brief: I'm really sorry for the delay in an update. All the chapters are pre-written so I really have no excuse except that I'm forgetful. 

Carry on.

Chapter five

Sesame's POV

The wind was cold on my neck, but I was bundled up nicely, so I could hardly tell enough to be in any more of a hurry than I already was. I had business to take care of, urgent only because I decided to make it so, and so I refused to let a bit cold bother me. Not when I had someplace to be.

It was Thursday afternoon, Thanksgiving day, and I knew that Steven was home alone, having been left behind while his family headed out of town to Seattle, or someplace like that. He'd told his mother that he was too sick to go. And really, last night, he had been.

Aerosmith, as the guys had decided to call themselves, had played their largest show yet to a crowd of over a thousand people the night before, and Steven, finding out only hours before how large the crowd really was, had apparently begun panicking long before we even headed up to the venue for soundcheck.

I had called his house, knowing he would be home packing, and had been met with the thick, raw voice of someone who had been vomiting quite a lot. He told me what happened, but refused when I offered to come over, saying that he would be okay. In fact, he had told me, he now had the perfect excuse to miss Thanksgiving dinner at his grandparents' house. And really, how could I fight logic like that? So I'd let it go.

Until he'd freaked again just half an hour before they went on, dry heaving over the toilet and sobbing that he couldn't do it. He'd even tried to make a break for the door, though he hadn't made it far on his weak, trembling legs.

I'd stepped up to the plate, or so I thought, and he was calm enough in time to play an amazing show to a big crowd of rock 'n' roll fans. But still I refused to forget the experience.

I'd seen true fear in those expressive eyes, and the way he'd sobbed incoherently (I was sure he was at least a little drunk at the time) had hurt more than I knew anything could.

And so here I was, picking Steven's lock with a hair pin and letting myself into his home without any permission needed.

I shut the door behind me and called out, knowing he'd be worried, "Relax, sweetie, it's only me."

His door opened. "What're you doing here, Pink?" he called in a perplexed voice, pattering softly down the hall.

"Stay in your room, dear, I'll be in in a moment." He, surprisingly, obeyed.

I made my way to the kitchen, throwing open cabinets until I found the one containing the little glasses, and then proceeding to remove two and shut the door again. Then, opening the fridge, I pulled out a full pitcher of lemonade and placed it on the counter while I readjusted the paper grocery bag in the crook of my arm.

Carefully, I grabbed the pitcher and the stacked glasses and made my way to Steven's room, glad to find the door already open and the sounds of an Elvis record drifting through the hallway.

I entered, kicking the door shut behind me, and took a seat on the floor, gesturing for Steven to join me.

He obeyed once again and sat on the floor right across from me and my pitcher, cups, and bag, eyeing them curiously. I smiled and leaned over to turn the music up just a bit.

"I knew you were gonna be alone for Thanksgiving," I began, pulling out Chinese takeout containers and a green, translucent bottle with Asian symbols on it. "--and my mom is tripping LSD, so I figured I'd come over and have an early dinner with you." I smiled at the grateful look that flashed in his eyes. "I hope I don't lose points for celebrating an American holiday with a Chinese meal," I said, opening the containers of lo mein, rice, and orange chicken, as well as the big bottle of sake.

"Actually," said Steven, taking a look at the bottle label. "I think sake is a Japanese drink."

"Eh, who cares. It's rice wine, it's Asian," I replied, filling the glasses up part of the way with the clear liquid.

"It's a good thing I'm not Japanese, because I have a feeling I'd be very offended by that," said Steven, smirking cockily and swishing the liquid around his glass. "I thought you disapproved of alcohol."

I rolled my eyes. "I disapprove of you being drunk all the fucking time, but that doesn't mean I won't still buy you alcohol," I told him. "Besides, it's a holiday. And I like sake."

"Sake is disgusting," he said, sniffing the drink with distaste.

"So's vodka. That never stopped you," I teased, reaching for the lemonade pitcher. "Besides, that's what this is for." I filled both of our glasses the rest of the way with the drink and lifted mine for a toast. "Cheers."

"Cheers," said Steven, clinking our glasses and then downing a third of his in one sip. "Aren't we supposed to go around the table and say what we're thankful for?" he joked, pulling chopsticks out of the paper bag and reaching for the lo mein takeout box.

"What table?" I laughed, shaking my head. "Okay, fine, I'm thankful for... Aerosmith, sake, and my favorite singer, Steven Tyler," I said. "Because sometimes you just need someone to boss around." I winked at him, smirking when he stuck his tongue out in response. "What about you, hot stuff? What're you thankful for?"

"Mick Jagger," he said jokingly, skillfully maneuvering noodles from the container to his oversized mouth using his chopsticks. I hit him on the arm, imploring him to be serious for once. "Ouch, okay fine. I'm thankful for vodka, the Rolling Stones, aaaaannddddd the pink-haired goddess that brings me Asian food and holds my hair back while I puke." I felt my cheeks heat as a blush crept up my face.

"Very cute," I said, shoving him by one bony shoulder playfully. He grabbed my wrist.

"I'm serious," he said, looking very serious indeed. "Thank you, Sesame. Really."

I was sure my whole face was red now. "It's my pleasure, really. Do you really not understand yet?"

He looked genuinely confused. "Understand what?"

There was a silence, which I broke with a sigh. "I love you, Steven," I said quietly, uncapping the sake when I noticed he'd run out. "You're my best friend."

I mixed him some more of the sake/lemonade mixture and he downed it in two long gulps. Then, looking me in the eyes, he spoke.

"I love you too, Sesame Bello."

The Elvis record ended.