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14 février 2010 7 14 /02 /février /2010 16:22
Bonne Saint-Valentin à toutes et à tous! =D

Voici le premier article de la journée, en anglais. Mais je vous encourage à lire, ça réchauffera le cœur de tous, y compris des célibataires. Je n'en dis pas plus pour ne pas gâcher le suspens. ^^

Par contre, il s'agit d'une fanfic sur The Ark, et je me vois mal changer les prénoms. Alors quelques petites infos pour comprendre: Ola, le chanteur, est bisexuel et a les cheveux noirs avec une mèche blanche. Martin, le guitariste, est un grand blond aux cheveux longs. Ils vivent tous deux à Malmö. Je crois qu'il n'y a rien d'autre à savoir, sauf que j'emploie des noms suédois pour désigner certains mets typiquement du pays, alors ne vous étonnez pas de ne pas comprendre kannelbulle et autre kokosbollar. ;-)
La photo d'en-tête appartient à Rockfoto.nu.

La suite de Crampons et autres fantaisies hippiques arrive dans la soirée.

Bonne lecture! =D


Title: Valentine’s Day
Author: Fool but Sane (Beta-reader: Foui_the_brave and my English teacher, Mr. Stone)
Genre: short story, slash
Main characters: Ola/Martin, Johanna (OC)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The story takes place the 14th of February 2008, in Malmö. About what can happen during the Valentine’s Day.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Ola, nor Martin: they belong to themselves. I just own Johanna (even if I don’t like her so much ^^). And this story is only fiction and never happened.
A/N: I thought I would write this fic within two days, but it took me more than a week! I hope it’s worth it. Anyway, it did a long time I didn’t write anything so it was really nice to make this fic.
Thanks to Foui to take time to read it and correct it. :) Thanks to Ola, Martin and my chemistry teacher, who gave me the idea of this fic. Comments and critics are very welcome.

     Ola got off the bus and after a while spotted the café where he was supposed to meet his girlfriend. It was a nice little café, with a light blue shopfront. Slowly, he pushed the door, which made a soft jingling. He looked around and saw Johanna, sitting at a table on the right side of the room. She was waiting for him. He quickly walked towards the table and sat down in front of her.

“Hello dear, I’m so…” he began.
“You’re late” she cut him off, but she didn’t sound angry.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I had planned everything to get here on time. But when I was leaving, Martin called. He was quite depressed so we talked for half-an-hour or so.”
“He was depressed?” asked Johanna. ”Why?”
“Because he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Usually, he doesn’t mind: he broke up four months ago and took it very well. But today… it must be hard to see everyone in the band with someone, while he’s alone.” Ola said with a sad voice.
“Maybe you should go and see him if he was so depressed. You know, we can…”
“No, no and no” Ola interrupted her. “It’s true that I feel sorry for Martin but I absolutely want to spend this day, our first Valentine’s day, with you Johanna.”
“And,” he interrupted her once again, “I know for sure that he would feel guilty if I spent this day with him instead of you.”

She nodded and smiled sadly. But Ola didn’t notice it. He was looking for a waiter and admiring the nice and modern decoration at the same time. Finally, a young man came and Ola ordered two hot chocolates, a kanelbulle for Johanna and a kokosboll for himself. Then he looked at his girlfriend, whose face seemed to be happy again.

“This café is very nice. I love it, dear.” said Ola stressing on the words love and dear. “How did you find it?” he asked, smiling.
“My old boyfriend used to take me here” she answered naturally. “No, no, it’s a joke, Ola. Only a joke!” she added quickly when she saw how anger replaced the happiness and love on his face. “You’re really too jealous Ola. And too possessive.” she sighed.
“Am I? Really? How do you see that?” he asked with a big smile: he loved to tease her a bit like this.
“You became immediately angry when I talked about Erik. You were ready to leave and go to argue with him,” she replied, half-joking, half-serious.

Ola defended himself, laughing a bit, and the conversation went on. After about a hour of talking, there was a silence between them, that kind of silence where no one feels ill-at-ease. Ola was savouring that silence, when Johanna began to speak with a very low voice, not she used to.

“I’ve got to tell you something Ola. I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Ola looked at her intensively and he felt as if someone was strangling him: she had many reasons to break up with him, but he was almost certain which one had made her take this decision.

“You’re a rock star Ola. You’ve been touring a lot since we began our affair and we haven’t had much time for us. Sssh, let me finish,” she said when Ola opened his mouth to talk. “I know that you’ve done the best you could. But that wasn’t enough for me. What's more, I don’t like when you show your chest to everyone on stage, how you move and so on. And most of all…”
“But you already knew all these things when you asked me…”
“Let me finish I said. And, most of all, I can’t stand that you’re bisexual. Every time I noticed you were talking with another man, it frightened me. More, it was disgust…” she stopped speaking when she saw Ola’s face, contorted by sadness and pain.
“But you… How do…? Why…?” Ola couldn’t find his words: he seemed to have lost all his self-confidence.
“I’m so sorry Ola. I thought I could accept your bisexuality, but finally I can’t,” she explained with a shaky voice. “So, good bye and have a nice day,” and she left.

Ola couldn’t move: her words had paralyzed him. Tears rolled down his cheeks and everything around him became blurred. Through his tears, he saw something, or someone, moving next to the table. He dried his eyes with the back of his hand and spotted a piece of paper: the bill. He was looking for his wallet when he noticed that it was ripped up. And there were some coins next to it: Johanna had paid for everything. So he put his wallet back in his pocket, stood up, took his jacket and left. He couldn’t stay here anymore.

He started walking without paying attention to which streets he was walking in. Anyway, he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to go home. He just wanted to forget everything. He looked up at the sky and saw the first snowflakes falling. It made him realize that he was freezing like Hell and didn’t have a clue of where he was. Suddenly, a taxi appeared at the end of the street. He waved at it and the taxi stopped. He got in the car and said the first address that came to his mind.

     A tall blond man answered the entry phone, and made a little noise of surprise when he heard the other man’s voice.

“Nothing, it’s just that… Well forget it.”
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to smash down the door?”
“Oh yeah, of course, come up. Fourth floor.”
“I know Martin” and Ola pushed the door which had been opened.

Martin was waiting for Ola on the landing. As Ola was on the last steps, he started to talk.

“Shouldn’t you be with Johanna? I hope you’re not here because of the phone call.”

Ola shook his head and hugged him.

“Oh my god! You’re freezing! Come in, come in,” and Martin pushed him into the flat. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you some tea, coffee, hot chocolate… er… what do I have more?
“No, you know that you shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re sad. So tea, coffee or hot chocolate?”
“Tea. Do you have that Russian tea I tasted last time?”
“Of course. And I have some pepparkakor to go with it. If you want, you can take one of my sweaters” he added when he saw Ola shivering.

While Martin was preparing the tea, Ola rummaged about in the cupboard and finally, after at least five minutes, put on a sweater. Martin smiled when he saw which one his friend had chosen. It was the one Ola had made him buy when they were in Paris during the tour. A black sweater with very nice but strange white drawings on. Even if it was a bit too big, it fitted Ola very well, repeating the colours of his hair. Martin brought two cups of tea and they both sat on the sofa. Ola drank a few gulps of his tea and then began to pour his heart out.

He didn’t understand why Johanna had decided to split up. They had been together for almost a year. They had fun. They had sex, sometimes even more than he wanted. They could talk about everything, of this and that, but also about politics and other serious issues. Ola suddenly laughed, remembering one of their conversations: they were preparing dinner: spaghettis and köttbullar. They had two kinds of pasta at home and Ola wanted one, Johanna the other one, saying it tasted better. They started to argue about it, each one defending his kind of pasta. After about ten minutes of arguing, the neighbour phoned and said that the pasta he made were the best one. Finally, they ate the neighbour’s pasta and agreed that it tasted very good.

Martin was smiling and Ola laughing loud, before bursting into tears. He didn’t understand, he kept repeating, they had done a lot of things together. Every time he had some free time, he was with her. But maybe it wasn’t enough for her, maybe she wanted someone… Martin replied before being interrupted by Ola.

“But she knew that!” he shouted and stood up. “She knew that I couldn’t dedicate much time to her, that The Ark was very important to me, and that I would spend a lot of time on it, on music. She knew all that before asking me to go out with her!” Ola was angrier than ever, but also sadder than ever, and Martin felt it.
“Calm down Ola. Please, calm down. It won’t do anything to get angry here and now, apart from making me sad” Martin said trying to make Ola sit on the sofa again. “So now, you can tell me everything: I’m here to listen to you. You can cry and do whatever you want, but not shout, ok?”

Ola nodded. He raised his eyes full of tears to Martin and smiled sadly. Martin smiled back and gave him his cup of tea, the best cure for sadness according to him. Ola didn’t drink it but kept it in his hands, ‘cause it was warm and nice. He looked at it, concentrating hard, as if he wanted to see through it.

“She said I was a rock star” he began. “I hate this word. I’m not a rock star, or a glam rock Jesus either, as some fans seem to think. I’m just a human being. Just me” he added with a weird little laugh. “I couldn’t be in two places at the same time to spend more time with her. And yet, you know how much I wished I could. I missed her so much during the tour. I miss her so,” he sobbed and Martin touched his arm, just to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this hardship. “But… even if she asked me, I can’t give up The Ark. It means so much to me: I made The Ark and The Ark made me. And the Ark means so much to a lot of fans: I can’t abandon them.”

Ola paused and drank some tea. He was sobbing harder than before, and some tears were dropping from his cheeks. Martin stayed silent: he felt that Ola hadn't said everything, and let him gather his thoughts.

“You know what she said? What she dared to say? That she couldn’t stand that I’m bisexual. She dared to say that, although she knew it long before going out with me. Although she says she’s tolerant. Is it being tolerant not to accept that your boyfriend is bisexual? I never cheated on her. I even never looked at another girl or boy. So, why? Is it wrong to be bisexual? Am I a freak?” he asked, raising his anxious and watery eyes towards Martin.
“No, you’re not,” he said shaking his head. “You’re a man, exactly like the others. So stop crying and watering down your tea with your tears.”

Ola smiled: Martin always knew what to tell sad people, and it wasn’t the first time he had consoled him. He sniffed in a not so elegant way and took the handkerchief Martin was holding out to him.

“You know what the funniest thing about this is? It’s that,” he went on as Martin was opening wide his questioning eyes, “I thought that our love had no end, and it ends precisely on the day of the lovers. Valentine’s Day. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but maybe not as much as you think. I mean, at the beginning, the 14th of February wasn’t the day of the lovers.”
“Huh? What do you mean with «it wasn’t the day of the lovers»?”
“It’s one of my chemistry teachers who told me that. In the Middle Ages, the king of all the animals was the bear. If you killed a bear, you became invincible. The Swedish and Danish dynasties even pretended that they were descended from the coupling of a woman with a bear. There was a real worship of the Bear all over Europe. And the Church thought it threatened them. So they decided to destroy that worship. And one of the ways they used to do that, apart from killing bears, was to put a Saint on the 14th of February!” he explained, quite proud of this anecdote.

“Er, I still don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. Middle Ages people used to celebrate the Bear twice a year: the 11th of November: it was the beginning of its hibernation, and the 14th of February: it was its end. And people were much more afraid during the second celebration than during the first one” he said laughing. “When the Church put the Saint Martin on the 11th of November, and the Saint Valentine on the 14th of February, people had to celebrate some Saints instead of the Bear."
“You mean that Valentine’s day is in fact the end of the bear’s hibernation’s day. So I’ve been dumped the day we should celebrate the waking up of the bear.”
“Yeah, exactly. Hey, what is it I'm seeing?” Martin said surprised, while Ola was weeping again. “It was meant to make you laugh, not cry. Dry your tears immediately” and he brought his hand close to Ola’s face and wiped some from his cheek.

Ola closed his eyes, letting himself be overwhelmed by the sensation of this hand on his cheek. When Martin took off his hand, Ola suddenly opened his eyes and caught the hand. He looked at him with his dark eyes where Martin could read pain, sadness and fright of being rejected. Where he lost himself for a few seconds. Ola blinked and Martin got his senses back.

“I said that you don’t have to cry anymore” he exclaimed with a reproachful but gentle tone. “I don’t like to see you weeping. It makes me sad too, and I don’t know what to do,” and with his free hand, he wiped Ola’s tears on his other cheek.

Once again, Ola closed his eyes and let him wipe his tears. But this time, the hand wasn’t taken away. It caressed the cheek, went up into the dark hair, and then down until the neck. Ola could hear Martin’s breathing heavier and closer to him. He finally felt a warm blow on his face. He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to savour every second of it, every move Martin was making. After having contemplated this face which had regained its serenity, Martin kissed him very softly on the lips.

Then he whispered in Ola’s right ear: “Never cry again.” Ola answered by kissing Martin’s left ear and whispered: “You said I could do whatever I wanted” and then looked at him, smiling. Martin was a bit confused: he didn’t dare understand the hidden meaning of those words. But Ola didn’t give him time to think about it. He kissed him on the lips, then on each eye, and back to the mouth, while his hands were slipping into the blond hair. Martin let himself go and answered the kisses. He moved his hands under the sweat and felt how Ola quivered when the cold fingers touched his skin.

After a while kissing, touching and caressing each other, Ola leant over Martin and they found themselves leaning down one against the other. The cup of tea fell on the floor and broke into little pieces. But they didn’t care. Only the white carpet cared about it and the large brown mark of tea.

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Les textes publiés sur ce blog sont de ma propre invention et sont écrits par moi, à moins que le contraire ne soit précisé en début d'article. Je vous demanderai donc de respecter mon travail et de ne pas plagier mes écrits.
Merci d'avance.

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Vad som helst...

"Je ne suis pas homosexuel, même si certains semblent le croire."

Ola Salo

"Aime moi, alors je t'aimerai peut-être."
J. R.-P.

"Tout est une question de goût. Toi tu aimes les femmes, moi j'aime les hommes, et lui aime les deux. Où est le problème?"
J. R.-P.

"Ne plus rêver, c'est être à demi mort, c'est faire de la réalité sa seule loi."
Jean-Baptiste Pontalis

"Si tu sens que tu plafonnes, perce un trou dans le plafond."
Gilles Goddard

"Alors si tu sens l'angoisse de la page blanche, prends en une rose."
J. R.-P.