Title: My December
Author: Rose Thorne
E-mail: rose62@yyhmail.com
Site: http://www.angelfire.com/anime4/grapesnlemons, http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=60908
Fandom: Boy Meets Boy
Category: Shadows of Dread, Agonizing Anguish, Swan Song
Type: Fanwork
Rating: R
Pairing: Tybalt + Harley, Harley/Mik
Warnings: Slash fic. Here there be angst.
Disclaimer: The song "My December" belongs to Linkin Park. These lyrics are from the Reanimation remix, by Mickey Petralia et al. I thought the remix beat fit the feel better. Boy Meets Boy and all characters affiliated with the comic belong to Sandra Delete.
Summary: A small delve into Tybalt's psychology around the time of Mik and Harley's breakup.
Notes: See end of fic.

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This is my December

This is my time of the year

This is my December

This is all so clear

[He looked out the window at the world, smirking at the people--boring, miserable little people--from his recliner, bearing semblance to an arrogant king looking down upon his subjects with distain. The people he watched from his window were people without money or talent. People with work problems, family problems, and love problems, none of which he had. Tybalt was a winner. Very few people could say that had really won in life. He had won in his career, clawing tooth and nail to get what he wanted--the scholarship. He'd wanted it, he'd gotten it--albeit by cheating--and now he was reaping the benefits. He also didn't have to worry about love or family problems. Lovers betray and family holds you back; fortunately, he had neither. Life was good. After all, it's a well-known fact that money buys happiness. And that meant he had perfect happiness.]

(Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed

Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed)

[Perfect happiness . . . Right. He closed the blinds violently as he saw Mik and his little blonde boy-toy walking down the street, the blonde snuggled against Mikhael's broad chest as they walked, their arms wrapped around each other as they somehow managed to walk easily and look graceful at the same time. Fools in love. You were once like that . . . part of his mind whispered. It was quickly slain by the rest with one thought, It was traded for better things! Things that didn't get in the way of success. Things that didn't try to compete. Things that didn't care . . . Tybalt cursed and threw on an outfit to go clubbing. Something to take his mind off of . . . whatever.]

This is my December

This is my snow-covered home

This is my December

This is me alone

[Tybalt danced, bodies moving all around him, the beat of the music driving an almost feral dance. Here was the place to be to just live in the now--the future becoming the past. The music flowed around him, removing all concept of time or coherent thought as he lost himself in the beat and danced. After an indefinable amount of time, Tybalt became vaguely aware that he needed a break to rehydrate. He extracted his limbs from various other people's and casually made his way to the bar, going with the beat of the music in order to gracefully slip though the miniscule gaps between the tightly packed bodies of the other dancers. He ordered a random drink at the bar, watching the sea of harmonized movement as if hypnotized. He waited for his drink, watching the beauty of mixed harmony and disharmony in the dancing of the clubbers. Tybalt froze as he saw someone familiar--no, two familiar someones. They're everywhere . . . The redhead slammed his drink, paid,  and stalked toward the exit, not prepared to deal with the jealousy that was popping up. He headed home . . . alone.]

And I

Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed

And I

Take back all the things I said

To make you feel like that

[He took a cab home to his empty apartment. Apollo was still out. Tybalt sat on his bed, then lay back, allowing his legs to dangle as he closed his eyes. His heart felt heavy, regretful. He pushed it away, but it came back after a few moments, and he sighed, giving up for a moment and letting the regret of betraying the person he cared about for something trivial fill him for a few seconds, listening to the voice that was his conscience, telling him that, had he not done that, he would be cuddling with a nice, warm boyfriend rather than laying alone on a bed. Then he violently shoved the regret, the thoughts, and the feeling of loneliness and longing back into a dark corner of his soul so it could continue to fester. Stupid . . . I don't need anyone . . . He tried to convince himself that the tears on his cheeks were just because he was tired, but he knew it was futile. He couldn't fool himself. The redhead felt the emotions welling up again, and bashed them down, locking them tightly in a place where he wouldn't feel them, then going to immerse himself in something artsy.]

And I

Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed

And I

Take back all the things that I said to you

And I give it all away

Just to have somewhere to go to

Give it all away

To have someone to come home to

[Tybalt wandered the show room, watching as the milling people 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed his work. Angst-induced art is always a success. People were such a stupid paradox. The same people who claimed they hated sorrow and depression bought artwork that seemed to be soaked in those emotions. Idiots. Those idiots, however, gave him money. A lot of money. Of course, there were other pieces there besides his own, many of them inspired by depression as well, though Tybalt noticed with a smirk that they weren't getting nearly as much attention. The rest were inspired by love, happiness, and other cutesy emotions. Some of those positive-emotion works were gaining nearly the same amount of attention that his were, and he had a sneaky suspicion why. Not here . . . Let it be someone else . . . Unbidden, his eyes scanned the crowd. He hissed a curse as he saw exactly the person he'd been hoping to avoid. I'd say they're stalking me, but that'd be paranoid . . . The redhead sighed. This would mean sending them some sort of nasty gift so they would try their hardest to avoid him again. As he watched, a certain blonde hottie draped himself over Mik. Tybalt turned away, jealousy filling him. It should be me there . . . He beat the thought down angrily, berating his mind for bringing it up. Well, it was your idea to mess around with the dean and betray him . . . Tybalt sighed, then plastered a fake content look on his face as one of the idiot art collectors rushed over to ask the price of a piece of art. Damned conscience . . . He'd have to wallow in his misery later . . . at home, alone . . . Again . . .]

This is my December

These are my snow-covered dreams

This is me pretending

This is all I need

[The art show had collected quite a sum of money. He'd bought enough art supplies to ensure that he could immerse himself again when he had the inspiration. That hadn't been the only thing he'd bought. While perusing the artwork, one had caught his eye because it looked . . . familiar. It had taken him a few minutes to remember where he had seen it before, but it had finally come to him. It was the painting Mik had painted one night to represent what he felt for his red-headed boyfriend. Tybalt had asked someone to find out the price of the painting. The man had returned, quoting a startlingly low price. The redhead had given the man the money to buy it for him. The man had returned with the painting, which Tybalt had immediately taken to his car after ordering the man to tell no one who had sent him to buy it, knowing that Mik would whether he bought it, and not willing to confirm the suspicion that it might be him. He's totally over me . . . This proves that beyond a doubt . . . The redhead frowned. Do I care . . .? His frown deepened as he pondered the question and came up with no answer. Damnit . . . Tybalt pushed the thoughts from his mind and plastered the false smile back onto his face as he re-entered the showroom.]

And I

Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed

And I

Take back all the things I said

To make you feel like that

[Tybalt's hands skillfully kneaded and sculpted the clay, seemingly detached from his body, as his mind was off elsewhere. Mik was over him, if the painting was any indication. Tybalt scowled. Apollo had noticed it after a few days, and had watched him for a few minutes after seeing the signature, an unreadable expression on his face. Pity . . .? The artist pushed it from his mind, glancing at the piece he was working on. His scowl deepened as he saw the product of his hands' betrayal--the beginnings of a bust of Mik. He violently kneaded the clay, destroying the beginning of the work. He's over me . . . but am I over him . . .? He put his supplies away and cleaned up. At which point the phone rang . . .]

And I

Just wish that I didn't feel

Like there was something I missed

And I

Take back all the things that I said to you

[Tybalt grinned at what the rather gossipy young man on the other end of the phone was saying, making a mental note to always give this guy inaccurate information. This was going to be good. Apparently, Mik had withdrawn from the most recent art show, the one that he had managed to beat Tybalt out for--Tybalt scowled slightly at the thought. Then he grinned. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Mik had broken up with Harley or vice versa. He assured the man that he would be able to make the art show and hung up, wearing a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat go green with envy (literally). Mik was single. Harley was single. That meant that Tybalt plus Harley equaled Mik's total emotional devastation. Ooooo . . . This is too good of an opportunity to pass up. All he needed to do was find out where Harley was and get to him before Mik came crawling to him to make up. He picked up the phone, his grin turning into a very wide smirk. This would be relatively simple. After all . . . Six degrees of separation was a rather accurate theory.]

And I give it all away

Just to have somewhere to go to

Give it all away

To have someone to come home to

[Tybalt sauntered down the street as if he owned it, whistling to himself. Harley and Mik had broken up, apparently. He smirked at nothing in particular. That meant that the blonde was ripe for the picking. After all, Mik no longer held any claim over him. It was only fair. After all, Mik had totally overreacted. It was one little thing. There was no reason for him to get so worked up about . . . It could hardly be considered betrayal. The traitorous part of his mind did a pointing and laughing pantomime, and Tybalt scowled as his darker side quickly silenced it and stuffing it into the deep recesses of his mind. Stupid conscience. He refused to let it daunt him, and he smirked again. He had found out quite a few things from his informants. First, that Harlequinn Goldman had a sister named Aurora who owned a downtown café. Said blonde bombshell happened to be living with said sister and working at said café. Six degrees of separation, indeed . . . He imagined that the next several days were going to be quite interesting.]

This is my December

This is my time of the year

This is my December

This is all so clear

[Tybalt grinned slightly. Harley had not been particularly pleased to see him, as was to be expected from someone who had only been exposed to Mik's biased perspective. And, to Mik, Tybalt was the evil ex-boyfriend from hell. The kiss comment had been rather disappointing, but that would change with time and the aid of Tybalt's natural charm in flirting. And perhaps another kiss. Tybalt smirked in anticipation of tasting the blonde again, this time without dire consequences. A few more visits and he would have Harley eating from his hand. For now, however, he could wait. The lion had begun stalking his prey.]

Give it all away

Just to have somewhere to go to

Give it all away

To have someone to come home to

[Tybalt poured the champagne into one of the crystal glasses, offering it to the non-chauffeuring other occupant of the limo, not caring that the blonde was under aged. He was slightly disturbed by the fact that his conscience had done a one-eighty and supported him lying to Harley. That might be a bad sign . . . No nagging guilt for once, and he was worried over it. I should take advantage of it, Tybalt decided, pushing the worry to the dark recesses of his mind. He was going to take advantage of this interesting situation. After this "date" was over with, Harley wouldn't ever even dream of going back to Mik. He smiled at the blonde, who looked slightly uncomfortable. Oh, yes . . . This will be fun . . .]

Give it all away

Just to have somewhere to go to

Give it all away

To have someone to come home to

[He winced as the nurse set his nose, silently cursing his bad luck. Not only had he lost Harley to Mik, he'd also managed to fall in love with the blonde as well. And it had been going so well . . . up to the point when Mik had shown up, declaring his love at the top of his lungs. Tybalt blinked as the nurse asked him a question. It's not every day that a male nurse asks you out . . . He was even more surprised to hear himself decline. The man flashed him a false smile and left the room, immediately replaced by another nurse, who quickly went through the dos and don'ts associated with having a broken nose as Tybalt cursed himself for a fool. If there were a category for this, I'd win the Darwin Award . . . He fixed the nurse with a fake smile as she finished, assured her that he understood, then pulled back the curtain and went to fill out his paperwork so he could go home. Alone.]

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Uh, yeah. I finally finished it. Somewhat angsty, I guess. I'm not sure if I did Sandra's work any justice. I tried, but . . . ^__^;; Happy belated birthday, Sandra.