tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

Comments

3/3

[onefellswoop]

'Alice,' 'Alice.' The name doesn't ring a bell.

Tell Rin they're shit out of luck.

Tell Rin they can fuck right off.

Why the FUCK do they

Fuck it, fuck off, fuck THIS

1/3

[ultimatenegative]

To quote the band: Oh, where do we begin: the rubble or our sins?

Our sins, I think.

First:
You must have been very drunk, indeed, to recall them as shrimp. They were lobsters, and in sobriety, one is unlikely to forget three dozen crustaceans freshly liberated from their prison into the nearest source of water.

(That was ALSO the fountain incident, for the record. There was only the one occasion, though you have been notoriously drunk on many of our misadventures.)

They still have a restraining order against Rin. The Boyles, not the lobsters.

Which leads me to sin the second: the cousin.

You prefer them younger and male. That leaves Enri and Felix. (Which? Not both, surely.)

And regardless of which: have you ever heard the adage 'don't put your dick in crazy'? Perhaps they are the picture of sanity, but fuck one of them, you're fucking the entire Pendleton name.

I believe that was crossed off your bucket list two decades ago. Is there some lingering appeal to the madness? A death wish? An aggravation wish, perhaps?

2/3

[ultimatenegative]

The rubble:

Seeking and going gentle.

[...]

[...]

[...]

For a plethora of reasons I don't care to examine, I will likely be awaiting medical attention well beyond the gentle going or good of night.

Before you ask - there is nothing to be done. No one to bribe, no wheels to grease. Unless you have a spare liver lying about, let's move on.

3/3

[ultimatenegative]

[...]

I see you've encountered the illustrious Pendleton-to-be. Winning friends and influencing people, are you?

[withoutrhetoric]

[ They see that play of reactions with a subtle clenching of their heart. The man never has been capable of guarding his reactions, and it's difficult not to seek every shifting sign. Difficult not to wonder over the meaning of each; to half-grasp toward meanings, and to brush against the uncertainties inherent in assumption.

(What, precisely, caused Sen to set down the phone. And what catches his breath, or closes his eyes? And why. And what can be done?)

What can Rin do, save watch, and suppress a flickered worry - flickered sorrow - and allow themself the slightest smile at the sight of Sen nodding, reading, nodding.

There is no other like him; truly. ]

My past and present selves thank you.

Incorrigible, loquacious man. Luminous in all of your ragged glory.

Forever welcome in my home.

[ Looking at their phone or a moment, head cocked and again, smiling slightly before adding a line— ]

Which is, as well, your own.

[ They send the message, pocketing the phone and looking up to face a query from a passerby. It's a matter regarding the latest shipment of liquor, quickly relayed, pleasantly address. And after, Rin moves - step light, step purposeful - toward the couch on which a certain not-mongrel is currently ensconced. Places their hands at the back of the sofa, arms spread, posture easy, smile now more than slight, smile now tuned with the mischief of a grin. ]

That it should come to this!

How far have I traveled, to meet you here, on this sofa? What hardships have I endured for the sake of fishing for compliments? Ah, Sen, you bring me low.

I believe it is the birthright of every null, to have their vanity stroked. Would you deny me this privilege, Senan? Could you act so in opposition to fate?

[ They are very, oh very much enjoying themself. And fixing the fullness of their attention on Sen, and on Sen only. ]

[ultimatenegative]

[ Senan's breathing stops again, much as though the wind's been knocked from his lungs by a physical blow. His expression threatens to contort, so he clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, trying -

Trying.

He isn't a sentimental man, or prone to emotional reaction - except when it comes to Rin. Except when the conversation turns, as the conversation inevitably does, to these small comments that serve only to highlight his own fortune in having met them. (That they believe simply and wholly in the rightness of this, their home, being his home as well.) (It is his home. Simply and wholly and rightly.)

(Rather. Rin is his home. And they abide here. So will he.)

When Rin approaches, he has made several aborted attempts to reply (what on earth can he say? "Thank you"?) The weight of their presence behind him is relief - always. Never does he find them burdensome. (Troublesome, yes; particularly when he tries to shake them and vanish from Null Set to meet with doctors.)

He tilts his head to look upside-down at them, his smile gentle and eyes assessing, approving. Appreciative.

How he loves their grin. And the face that bears it. And the form that accompanies both face and grin, nearly as familiar as his own: an oft-regarded work of art. ]

Doubtless you have crossed oceans of time to be here, and endured more trials than even one such as myself might have words to describe. Not only is it your birthright, your privilege, to access more store of compliments than mere mortals, but you've striven to earn them. Faced all manner of horrors so that you may be here, in all your vainglorious radiance, to receive them.

They'll require some effort.

Let's see about stroking that vanity.

[ He extends a thin hand, and when they take it, he, in minimal and courtly manner, guides them to come around the sofa to a place he has come to conceptualize as accustomed (rightful) (perfect): at his side, perhaps leaning against him, with his arm wound casually around them.

(Friendly. Of course.) (His heart never beats faster or more erratically than normal in their presence.) (Granted, he is rarely not in their presence. And his heart has always beaten fast and erratically.) ]

One each for your birthright, your privilege, and to appease fate, then. The first compliment - birthright.

[ He looks at them for a long space of thought, and then inclines his head, having apparently decided what to say. ]

The world, in all its uniform monotony, has never seen the like of you. Your existence from first breath to last has been, is, and will be anathema to normalcy. What conservatives will deem obscene, what even the most liberal amongst us will eschew as theatric; in all its vivacity, you exude the radiance of technicolor where all else is monochrome. You are a starburst amid fireworks. No less fated to end, but longer enduring, brighter, more cataclysmically destructive, and by far more memorable.

And your eyeshadow is very clever today.

[ He holds up a finger with a smirk. ]

That was the first. How fares your vanity thus far, Pookie?

1/?

[onefellswoop]

Clean out your fucking ears, Wilkes. I don't know who you're talking about.

As if I follow the comings and goings and engagements of the Pendleton runt.

IS that shithead engaged? I didn't know.

Fuck you.

2/?

[onefellswoop]

Fuck off.

3/?

[onefellswoop]

Real fucking clever.

Fucking.

Asshole.

THAT shithead. Is a real fucking asshole.

4/?

[onefellswoop]

Fuck you.

5/?

[onefellswoop]

Why the fuck do you know who

Additionally, what do you fucking know about Enr

...I'd keep that decades-old bucket list incident buried somewhere deep. If you want to keep the self-righteous twat off your case. You cunt.

I don't want to hear you talk about En

You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Wilkes

Maybe I DO want to fuck the Pendleton name into the ground. Set your sights high, raze the fucking family.

6/7

[onefellswoop]

As it happens, I don't make a habit of keeping loose livers.

[ ... ]

Are you certain

Don't tell ME what can and can't be fucking greased

Asshole

If you need

[ ... ]

Go out in glory. Lobster Liberation Front 2.0, Hudson River Edition: New York is empty and all the lobsters are here.

7/7

[onefellswoop]

Of course I was very drunk.

Those fucking Boyles.

[ ... ]

If - IF - you can secure a vow from Renault that I will remain unpunched and unaccosted, once I've finished with THIS fucking wedding, I might make a point of stopping by.

[onefellswoop]

[ And, likewise in French, smirking all the while— ]

Of course I would.

For you? Without hesitation.

[ultimatenegative]

I see you've not only encountered Alice, but conversed with him for more than five minutes, but less than sixty.

Difficult individual. Affable past the self-important miasma.

Disgustingly loyal.

All right. No more discussion of the Pendletons' dog.

Forgive me for needling you. I believe I was aiming for fifty percent less vehemence in your winding-up.

[...]

If Rin won't agree to a cessation of hostilities, I'll come to you. Where and when you like, so long as it is in some near future, of course.

[...]

Perhaps sometime within the next eight to twelve months.

I'd like to see you, Darius. Consider it a fault of my nature that I am at times overly sentimental, and (perhaps unwisely, and oftentimes without reciprocation) count you amongst my friends.

[...]

A meager host, thankfully. A handful of personal attachments is more manageable.

Can you imagine the emotional labor of comforting dozens of lifelong friends after delivering the news of one's own impending demise?

No, I'm fortunate. I have you, emotionless prick that you are, and.

Well. You. [...] Who will not tell Rin.

Or I will take you out with me and the lobsters.

[honeystuff]

You'll get plenty of opportunities this week.

[...]

Good thing it's just this week, I guess. Can't fight everyone.

[...]

It's a good word.

choric.

What's the word when something has the right sense to it.

"apt".

For how you make me, with what you do.

And for how you sound when you

[...]

[...]

i have no idea how to say "come" in french. it hasn't come up before.

weird. usually you learn the dirty shit first.

i could probably directly translate the word or a euphemism but i don't like to do that. euphemisms are cultural.

[...]

that's why i don't use google for translating by the way. it can do word for word but not idea for idea and i don't trust reddit.

[withoutrhetoric]

[ It’s simple, to take Sen’s hand and feel a gentle-flustered pleasure, to follow his lead and settle in against him, smoothing their pants and setting a hand against Sen’s arm, and it’s as if time’s never passed, or as if all of time lingers together, joined in every space shared by Senan and Rin. Yes, of course, they’re leaning easily against Sen, and yes, of course, that’s Sen’s arm around their waist, welcome and having-been-missed (deeply missed, another absence felt at every turn, through every year) and as if they’ve always, always been like this.

All these years and all of that striving, across the borders of a dozen different countries and through nights lit with fire, through days defined by flight and fight and disreputable enterprise and a thousand attempts at self-discernment, and there was always this: Sen adamantly present, Rin leaning against Sen in perfect trust, Sen’s arm reflecting accord, and the world brought to stillness in their resting.

They’ve missed this. This foolish, brilliantly voluble man. Whose words are never empty, never fruitless; whose words tone the atmosphere toward warmth and vibrance. Whose words make a splendor of everything static. There is nothing, no, nothing prosaic in the presence of this man. There is nothing that can remain dull, and no part of life that doesn’t gain a greater shine.

They feel Sen breathing against them, and they allow themself a traquil exhale, an effortless, unguarded contentment clear in their expression, in the softness of their eyes.

(What is unnerving: How Sen’s form against their own is less substantial. How there’s a sallowness toned through his skin. How something, something vital and enduring has been altered.

A word for it: frailty. In traces, in hints, in expressions wavered, sorrowful, gone distant.)

(What is unnerving: The recurrent questions. The recurrent, quiet, gnawing certainty that time - this time, their time together, …Sen’s time - is limited.)

Hard not to think about this now, when held so near. When their hand lingers, brushes light along Sen’s forearm.

And, as well, best not to miss the contentment of this moment and its every iteration. Best to let themself drift along the current of Sen’s sun-struck, wholly gratifying discourse.

(Sun-struck, ha, well, Rin is Sen-struck. A thought that quirks a further grin from them, and sets them nestling a little closer against Sen’s side.)

Sen holds that finger, and Rin watches, smile brightening faux-arch approval. ]

These are perilous waters, Senan.

Oh, this null’s vanity flourishes with every slip of silvered phrase. You, as ever, speak with grace unparalleled. Unimaginable, beyond the context of you. Unmatched by any would-be courtier.

Who could hope to meet you, pace for pace, in a contest of wits or words? The answer, dear Sen, loquacious Sen, is ‘no one.’ You speak to the very core of this null’s pride—

And therein lies the trouble.

You see, your praise may hold an overabundance of power. Beneath the application of acclamatory terms, my vanity may grow insatiable. And what then will be done? What a creature will have been created?

I don’t mean to suggest a cessation of praise. No, oh, far be it from me, and never! Only you must think what you are doing, hm? About the responsibilities you incur.

[ultimatenegative]

[ Sen's smile grows warm as Rin talks; it's an unconsciously pleased, unconsciously soft expression, of the sort that gives others to think there is Something Between Rin and Senan. How he looks at them, with an overabundant fondness, the pair of them languid and comfortable.

It doesn't help that he tsks and bends his head to press his cheek to their forehead, ostensibly teasing, though lingering too long in the nearness of it even when the contact ends. ]

What then will be done? I shall endeavor to speak acclaim daily, to sate your lust for praise. What harm is there, if the words are only truths about which this prideful null must be made aware, lest they think themself anything other than resplendent. Anything other than incomparable.

[ His heart aches. Sen is glancing away from them as though gathering his thoughts, but the truth is. The truth is, their smile is a near-molten knife bypassing his outermost anatomy and neatly incising his most vital organs. The truth is, their smile is a brand pressed to his heart, marking him as theirs.

The truth is he wants, badly, to capture their smile in a kiss.

And he won't.

But he will return his attention to them, his smirk firmly placed, and holds up his finger again as though he means to indicate his first compliment; instead, he taps it quickly against the tip of their nose. ]

No trouble at all. No peril. I am in the safe harbor of your friendship and indulgence - indeed, I am ensconced within a kingdom of your own creation, where I am pleased to serve my monarch. As their guardian at the gates, as their courtier, as their fool. Whatever my sovereign bids, I shall endeavor to achieve.

Now. Compliment the Second, owed to your privilege, which is that of a null. The nonbinary, the neither-nor. By birthright, you are unmatched for radiance. By privilege of your self, as you have determined said self to be, and impressed upon the world the importance of such a distinction, you are owed - yes, owed! - praise of your character.

You are, my Rin, who is not my Rin, by far a more courageous soul than I, or any I have ever known. You tread where few others dare to go, across uncertain paths, laying foundations upon which you make your stands. You are resilient where others quail.

You have created a bastion for others, a place for them to turn when the world is cruel to them in ways you have keenly, painfully known. You fight silent battles armed only with words - and those, in far shorter supply than my own.

In the years I have watched you, and been most fortunate to know you, I have seen you grow to manage such battles with pragmatism and g-

[ He falters, his voice catching on a waver, on a strangle of emotion. It was sudden, the overwhelming pride, and stopped him abruptly. His smile hesitates beneath too-rapid blinking (oh, and didn't mean to get so enmeshed, and it's true. He believes every word.) And it returns, gentle, just as his voice returns.

Gentle. ]

With grace, Rin. With grace.

[ Here, he pauses, looking down (not intending to look at their hand on his arm, but looking nevertheless at their hand on his arm.) He sniffs, clears his throat, and adds softly: ]

I could speak unceasing praise of you. To others. To you. To empty air. I would commit myself to do so for a lifetime. It would be my privilege. What good are my words, otherwise? What good would they be, without you? if they were not spoken for the sake of one I so admire? Useless sounds to fill the vast emptiness of a world that never knew, never so much as conceived of the possibility, of Rin.

[onefellswoop]

Always the self-styled martyr.

I can't imagine why a dying man should oblige himself to comfort anyone at all, but. As you said: I am ever the emotionless prick.

Who has no intention of taking on the burden of informing Renault regarding this piece of information or any other. Please. That's the LAST fucking thing I need.

Anyway. Shit to do, people to rile; aka back to my fucking vacation.

Try not to expire before I'm back in New York.

[ultimatenegative]

Enjoy your holiday.

And your razing, I suppose.

[withoutrhetoric]

[ Beyond Sen, everything has faded distant, the noise of the club turning muffled, the room itself seeming half a dream, unfocused. When Rin speaks, they begin, briefly, in French; easier to reach for a moment. Better-suited to the words they can’t quite find. ]

My heart overflows. You wretch of a man. You’ll undo me.

…Sen.

[ What can they possibly say? To all of this, to talk of grace - what would have seem so ill-applied until recently; what feels not-inapt, and absolutely gratifying to hear now - that settles warm within their chest. To praise from the one who matters most, and who has known them, always, deepest.

What can they say, or, what can they do, save to speak, and to follow what their heart tells, what their knowingness has always held? ]

You have ever been my strongest proponent. When all else swayed bleak. When all the world was teeth and fangs, still, you were there.

Here.

[ Rin presses Sen’s arm, brief and heartfelt, focus fixed still on his eyes, the worried and wonderful map of that intricately-known face, that compulsory, that necessary face. ]

Where would I have been, without Sen to rally my waning spirits and draw me back from peril, often by the scruff of my overzealous neck? Where would I be now, had forces cosmic - or less fantastic, but no less vital - not drawn our stars together, and taught me of the unsuspected harmonies this world can bear?

Assuming that our stars ever existed apart, which is a point I might hotly debate—

Another time. When I am less determined to pin you in my sights, Sen, most rambling philosopher, emperor of germinal space and wild confabulation.

[ There’s a finger lifted; a brow arched. Rin shifting straighter, half-admonishing, expression at once warm and wry. ]

Mein Dummerchen. Persist in these self-abnegations and I will be forced to compel your silence. Speak one word that paints you any less than dire - as anything less than, if not a monarch yourself, than a consummate, devastatingly dashing rogue equally matched in capability and right - and I’m afraid the floor for speaking will be all mine, and wholly dedicated to a lecture on the subject of your worth.

Yes, at the expense of receiving and reveling in my very own praise! Would you take that from me, Senan? Would you leave this null’s vanity only two-thirds attended, with one-third left to languish? Would you leave your null to wilt, Sen?

[ Their expression shifts a smirk, and their finger is withdrawn, their hand returned to its place on Sen’s arm. ]

I won't hear you speak so slightingly of your gifts. Your talents. These words you orchestrate with such elan.

Who could spin a world out of verbage, or spin my head, my amazement through a mere collision of sounds, hm? I am no easily dazzled creature, and yet you draw my notice unfailingly, and you entice my thoughts away from daily currents. From business, from anxieties, from each anticipation that fades before your fantastical breath.

Fantastical, and yet there is more reality within one glance of you or from you than in the whole of this wretched country.

So please, I implore you - I beg of you, in fact - speak well of my Sen.

[ultimatenegative]

[ Senan listens with the softest of smiles lingering at the corners of his mouth. They speak like this so infrequently, and when they do offer such an outpouring of emotion, of lovely monologue too expansive for one language alone, he finds himself subdued to silence. Awed by them; the inner worlds they possess. (And he finds he loves to hear them speak his name. Any name they apply to him. Fool, or Sen, or Senan, or, yes, Sen Ben Benice.)

He read once that some faiths held that hell was not a physical place, but rather the removal of a soul from the innermost circles of their god's presence. Felt keenly, felt like loneliness, like despair, like rejection. To be so far from blessing and benevolence. Hell is the distance from god.

He has no particular faith, but he has gleaned some understanding of the meaning of that form of hell. There were many unpleasant aspects, granted, making his incarceration seem a very real and physical hell, but the worst of it - oh, the worst was his distance from Rin.

He could sit here for hours and listen to them chide him.

He's not thinking about how such notions (or reactions to their words) might flit undisguised across his face. When Rin says your null, his breath catches and his smile turns faintly wistful, and immediately he shakes his head - no, never, he would never leave them to wilt for want of praise. Never languishing.

(See how happy it makes them, to hear him speak? (See how happy it makes them, to simply be here beside him?) (Wishful thought?) (Maybe. Maybe not.))

By the time their (beautiful) tirade ends, he's nodding, smiling ruefully but nodding not in agreement that he will speak well of himself, but, as before with the text claiming the same, that he is ever and always their Sen.

In whatever form they would have him. Fool or guardian or friend.

On impulse, he lets their words settle, then presses a kiss to their temple. Chaste, gentle, and lingering long enough for him to draw breath, to absorb the scent of their hair, the warmth of their being deep into his own.

And as he often does, he withdraws with his eyes turned to some other quarter as though it never occurred. (And as he often does, he holds that breath in his lungs until they burn with it. Slowly, slowly exhales.) (How deeply they inhabit him.) (How difficult it is to think of anything but them, when they're here at his side.) ]

Your debate on the matter of stars would be built on the fallacy that there are two at all. Harmonies exist, true, but such harmonies exist between stars and the lesser celestial bodies in orbit around them.

[ He speaks musingly, eyes flickering down to his empty hand, where his fingers shift a twitch in search of a cigarette. But he doesn't need - or indeed particularly want - to smoke. It's simply something to do with his hand, movement by movement an occupation for the restless soul. ]

You'd make a star of the solitary moon, the asteroid glowing only with the reflection of its sun's light. You'd make a monarch of the jester. I am unscathed in your eyes. Imperfect though I am when I leave the gravitational pull of my Rin, I have boundless perfection in their company. No matter what I seem to the observing eye, I feel my own...contented peace. And that is perfection enough.

[ He looks at them again, thoughtful, thinking he ought to feel melancholy. Thinking he doesn't feel melancholy at all.

Being here is (nearly) being at peace.

He had thought he would tell them, somehow and someday, how much he loved them. But there's beauty in the longing, and this has always been enough. And if they wanted him -

What could he give? What could he have given before, and what can he offer now but a handful of months?

No, he'll fill the remaining time with words. ]

Your third compliment was to be thematically tailored to your fate, but perhaps it's more appropriate to oblige your request. I shall speak well of your Sen, for whom you are fate-on-view.

He is not so wretched; he has learned to speak with tempered words, with patience, with utmost care. Where others would fall to old, habitual rages, or lay curses for the misfortunes they encounter, he has found within himself a reserve of humor. He has emulated resilience, and applied the pragmatism of cooler heads.

And for all that he is unwise, he knows - with blind, unerring faith - that he is fortunate in his one truest companion, whose face is more dear to him than any other. Whose words render him silent and wondering. Your Sen - yours, loyally and to his bitterest end - is intelligent enough, has common sense enough to know that he needn't be a king, an emperor, a star. He is content with the riches at his side.

[ Another faint lift of a smile and a look that trails too long: their eyes, their mouth, their form against his own. Appreciative and delicate in the gazing, without force or invasion. As though this is all he could ever wish. ]

If I must speak well of your Sen, then I will say of him -

Of myself. I am happy, and you have been the cause.

[withoutrhetoric]

[ Sen’s nearness granted, gifted. The warmth of lips and the soothe-soft brush of an inhale. All the world encompassed in one act. All of the world’s wealth expressed within that breath.

This, they think, composes the core of a finespun, crucial universe.

The strands of which sway with every inhale, exhale, voice and word. The strands of which sway perdurable, drifted gentle yes by whim and circumstance, and ever, always holding to their gossamer, their intricate-webbed radiance.

The strands of which waft nimbly now, buoyed by the breath of Sen upon their forehead, Sen’s breath along a quiet (and acute; and indelible) kiss. Again they think: how simple it is. To welcome Sen’s fondnesses. To know that every gesture, every touch and every eyebrow quirked rings resonance through their own being. To know that every sign is granted to the Rin they are at heart and in intention; the Rin - intrinsic self of new and old alike - that Sen has known unfailingly to look for and to see.

Sen kisses Rin’s forehead - kissed Rin’s forehead, but the act repeats itself in knowing, the act spins recurrent as the moment multiplies out infinite, through every iteration of Sen and Rin reclined together - and their eyes slip shut, reveling in the gentle pressure, consonant breath. Sign of this enduring, this crucial man.

Rin could, they know, linger here until time’s dwindling. Long past the fall of twilight, aglow and in serenity with Sen, with Sen, until the deep night overwhelms.

All of which makes it difficult to gather words in argument against Senan’s talk of lesser celestial bodies, of meteors and jesters. Would-be-arguments that in any case disperse when Sen obliges, and speaks of fate; speaks of himself.

Rin could, they think, kiss the man in return for this alone. For favoring their wish with descriptors that settle aptly (if insufficient; oh, but there are scarcely words enough to compass all that Sen is, has been, has always held and hummed with), descriptors that warm their eyes and bloom hyacinths beneath their lungs. This, yes, reflects images of the man Rin has known and how gratifying, how vivifying it is to hear.

They place their hand against Sen’s chest and press, once, softly. Head cocked in faux-admonishment. Grin warmed by pleasure at Sen’s speaking. ]

Don’t think it beyond my influence to form you to a star.

With a wave of my hand, I create galaxies, hm? With words, I readily reveal the splendor held in Sen.

This once, I’ll spare you the theatrics, as well as the lecture. You’ve obliged me, and illustrated Senan - my Sen, as I have known him and as I constantly feel him to be - to my satisfaction.

[ Now holding up their hand, forefinger extended, slightly cocked. ]

For the moment! Just as my vanity requires regular maintenance, I will wish always to hear well of Sen. There, too, I am voracious.

To hear you have been happy…

[ There’s a hummed sound, a space of thinking, of seeking expression, and then, in Spanish— ]

What more could I ask? What better than to see my vagabond philosopher ensconced within content, in happiness.

I could like nothing better. He is owed nothing less.

You, whose wonder has ever been both admirable and dire. You, who know to see so well in all the world around you.

[ And, as they tilt their head further against Sen’s chest, still watching Sen, they continue in French— ]

I am here because you knew me. My capability grows from your admission and from your esteem.

What can I say? I am I because I have been known by you.

[ A soft smile, and - deftly, deliberately - they tap Sen’s nose with their forefinger. ]

Senan, Senan.

[ Shifting to Russian, voice half a resigned sigh— ]

Splendorous fool.

[onefellswoop]

'How you sound when you come' would be a standard phrasing for it. We'll save alternative options for face-to-face instruction, I think: a lesson to conjoin with our choric explorations.

[ In Russian, before shifting back to English— ]

Perhaps we'll conjure phrases of our own, my boy. Euphemisms drawn in the moments of experience. What words might you lure from me? What will I in my ministrations evoke in you?

[ ... ]

Sensible as well as clever, Enri? Not everyone devotes such care to the work of translation. Or thinks to consider culture's role in language formation. And I trust it goes without saying that your distrust for Reddit does you credit.

[ultimatenegative]

[ Rin is without exception the only person who can unerringly draw a full, uncomplicated smile from Senan these days. (What reason does he have for smiling? Except Rin. Oh, except Rin.)

Rin says I'll spare you the theatrics and Sen grins, a gleaming slash of stark white in sallow skin that challenges their vow; Rin couldn't stop their theatrics if they tried, and he doesn't expect them to try. In fact, he thinks that comment is a prelude to some grander display of them.

The problem with smiling. The problem is, it's an open door through which so many things might escape. It's a vulnerability. His lips quirk and his eyes brighten, and he settles his head against his hand, elbow propped against the back of the sofa, and all this openness allows for a slant that might be taken for adoration. (It allows for a warmth to fill him. In his midsection, a flutter familiar as an old friend - as familiar as Rin themself, truly.

He could be twenty-something again, rescuing live lobsters to impress this neither-man nor-woman, shouting "Swim for it, you ugly cunts!" at the crustaceans as he and Rin and Darius dumped them into a fountain. And Senan, twenty-something, casting glances when Rin wasn't looking. Hoping Rin was looking.

He could be a later twenty-something, sitting beside them in a place not so different from this, drunk (but not that drunk) (not really drunk at all) (not on alcohol), matching their pace as they rifled through languages the way one changes the channel on a television. Desperate to impress them, laughing uproariously when he stumbled from his own minor race. Forgot a word. Forgot a conjugation. Accidentally called their apartment a brothel.

He could be thirty-two, and it could be 7:34 p.m. on November 2nd, and outside it could be raining bitterly cold not-quite-sleet, and maybe the power's been shut off again. Maybe Rin has lit candles around the flat, and they've huddled together (almost exactly like this, in fact) against the cold. Sen could be wearing an aftershave Rin has deemed an olfactory assault (and which he will promptly throw out in the morning, to be replaced by something he knows Rin won't detest.) And Rin, like now, like a confluence of past and present, could be in his arms. (He could know it's 7:34, because he looked at the clock and thought, At 7:30, I'm going to tell them. And the minutes ticked by without speech, because the quiet was better, their own beautiful, poverty-struck world of candlelight and blankets.)

Senan, smiling happily, could be thirty-two, and his world could unmake and reform into something like enlightenment, because November 2nd, at 7:34 p.m., (a Tuesday) was the first time he kissed Rin Renault.

A note regarding the difference here, between the recollection of joy and the recollection of sorrow, and how that crucial moment sits reflecting his joy in the present, is that Rin Renault kissed him back.

And after, they never spoke of it. After, there was no apology, no recrimination. It sits in his memory untainted by any flicker of regret. A perfect encounter, crystalline and ethereal. (Though, in truth, Senan can't remember whose idea it was. He can't recall moving toward them; all that holds in memory is that they were there, and their kiss traced his own with exploratory grace. That there was nothing fierce or demanding, neither of them taking. If holy communion is the plea of a god's blessing, this was how the other side must feel: to give, and give, and feel oneself replaced by what's been given in turn. Maybe neither of them started it that night. Maybe it was an inevitability from the moment he first saw them. Maybe it was inevitable from birth.)

(They make a romantic out of him. He wishes he could have done more to make one out of them.)

With the smile he entertains - that quickly dissolves into laughter as they do, indeed, begin to further their theatrics with language shifts as natural as breathing - he could be any age, at any time, because his whole life (or so it seems) has been filled with moments just like this.

They have been his life.

And it's this openness, this stupid moment of vulnerable joy, that almost makes him forget why they can't know. (He can't do that to them.) (What this is, as it is, is perfection enough. If he tried to unmake and reform their world again, what would it mean? A heartbreaking refusal, and their remaining time spent with a new, uncomfortable distance?

Or worse. Worse, what if speaking means they are his Rin, and there is a chance, after all? Will it mean the chance has been there all along? Will it mean something changed without his notice? Will it mean Rin was always his?

And he'll leave them. Either way, unless there's a goddamn miracle to buy him ten, twenty years - he's leaving them. He can't break their heart when he goes.)

(He still forgets.)

He catches their hand post-tap to his nose, his smile softening but undimmed, and only for them. (Rin is beautiful here in this light, with that atrocious purple eyeshadow (Rin ages better than any of them, he thinks, without giving himself permission to wonder if they have in fact paid to age better) (which would be an ungentlemanly thing to wonder.)) Sen holds their hand there just below his chin, stroking his thumb across their fingers, and he wishes distantly that he knew what time it was.

In Russian, he answers. ]

Let me swear it. On the grave of any misery I knew: I have been happy. The truth is I am no fool at all; I play the part, it's true, but I have a deep core of wisdom that belies my absurd nature. What adventures we've had, hm? You and I, together?

Your Sen -

[ A chagrined sigh here. Well. Let it stand.

He transitions to French. ]

Your Sen.

He knows well how lucky he is to have known this maker of stars, this creator of galaxies. This unparalleled wonder - this 'null' who is far from such a concept. Who is so much more than can be contained, possessed, described by any single world or gender or name.

[ ...Or man, he adds silently, without rue or bitterness.

And, in Spanish now: ]

You worry for the two years of my life that describe unhappiness. I know you do. But think of it as I do: I am forty-five. I have known you since I was twenty. Two unhappy years seems such a paltry sum afforded for the other twenty-three, which have been -


[ He falls silent, cants his head and lifts a shoulder as though this is a word, itself. Then draws their hand to his lips - chaste, again. Devotional. Grateful. And he eases into English. ]

Rin, have you known me to be anything but content? Consider that it isn't because I am by nature an easily-appeased man, but rather that I have been granted everything I've ever dared to ask. And I have known you.

Be content, yourself, hm? Let me exist in my own contentedness, with you. If I have had some hand in the shaping of this masterpiece before me, then it has been an honor, and a joy, because it occurred in stealth as I was enjoying the thrall of your company.

All the world is right with you - you, at your most theatric, ever leading me on a chase through our common languages, or speaking nothing at all. My world is right, with you inhabiting it.