[ It's a nice reprieve from - oh, everything. From the weight of doubt and distrust, from the pressure of entering an internship older than most and in the literal basement of rock bottom. From the fear of failure, fear of discovery, fear of exposure for all the things he tries so hard not to be.
For a few minutes, it's just him, and just someone, could be anyone, and they're not making any kind of music in harmony, but it's delightful anyhow. To have his arm around (a man) someone, to touch (a man) someone, to give care and regard and comfort. For a few minutes, he's almost smiling. (And wouldn't it be perfect if someone (a man) (this man?) would look back at him, would put an arm around him, would touch him, would give him -) (No. Because.)
(Because.)
(Everything would be ruined.)
(But it would feel so good.)
((And if someone (a man) (with a mouth like that) kissed him, everything would be ruined, yes, but for a moment. For one fucking moment, everything would feel good. And lately, nothing feels good.
Nothing has felt good for.
A while.))
(Except this.)
This feels. Pretty good.
And then it doesn't. Or it's gone, drifting away because Treavor's drifting away, and the song's over and the night's gone quiet and empty, leaving Alice to stare into the dark. He swallows against the stone in his throat, feels the emptiness of his hand (it didn't feel empty just now, while it worked through strands of hair, and it didn't feel empty resting comfortingly against a cheek - but hands don't keep things that don't belong in them. They don't keep the things that do, more often than not. And Treavor is just someone in need of no one in particular, whereas Alice is someone in need of someone.
Treavor isn't that someone.
It's not fair.)
He's staring at his hand when the other man speaks, watching it slowly open and close (poff). He considers the question soberly before offering any kind of answer. ]
Oh, I expect there's a place on the other side of the world. If you drive out past the city limits, into the wilderness so far that you can't see even the glow anymore...
[ He's drawing on a distant memory, editing perhaps words like 'wilderness' instead of 'bush' out of habit rather than wariness - yet still, still careful not to leave Treavor with more than faint impressions of who was here, beside him. Who held him. ]
Out there, if you look up, you can see the whole Milky Way like a river of light. You could spend thirty lifetimes counting all those tiny pinpricks and still only see a fraction of them. And you could hoard all the wishes in the world, because there's no better place to see shooting stars.
First come, first served.
[ A beat, and then -]
Hm. Maybe that's where all the stars have gone from here.
no subject
For a few minutes, it's just him, and just someone, could be anyone, and they're not making any kind of music in harmony, but it's delightful anyhow. To have his arm around (a man) someone, to touch (a man) someone, to give care and regard and comfort. For a few minutes, he's almost smiling. (And wouldn't it be perfect if someone (a man) (this man?) would look back at him, would put an arm around him, would touch him, would give him -) (No. Because.)
(Because.)
(Everything would be ruined.)
(But it would feel so good.)
((And if someone (a man) (with a mouth like that) kissed him, everything would be ruined, yes, but for a moment. For one fucking moment, everything would feel good. And lately, nothing feels good.
Nothing has felt good for.
A while.))
(Except this.)
This feels. Pretty good.
And then it doesn't. Or it's gone, drifting away because Treavor's drifting away, and the song's over and the night's gone quiet and empty, leaving Alice to stare into the dark. He swallows against the stone in his throat, feels the emptiness of his hand (it didn't feel empty just now, while it worked through strands of hair, and it didn't feel empty resting comfortingly against a cheek - but hands don't keep things that don't belong in them. They don't keep the things that do, more often than not. And Treavor is just someone in need of no one in particular, whereas Alice is someone in need of someone.
Treavor isn't that someone.
It's not fair.)
He's staring at his hand when the other man speaks, watching it slowly open and close (poff). He considers the question soberly before offering any kind of answer. ]
Oh, I expect there's a place on the other side of the world. If you drive out past the city limits, into the wilderness so far that you can't see even the glow anymore...
[ He's drawing on a distant memory, editing perhaps words like 'wilderness' instead of 'bush' out of habit rather than wariness - yet still, still careful not to leave Treavor with more than faint impressions of who was here, beside him. Who held him. ]
Out there, if you look up, you can see the whole Milky Way like a river of light. You could spend thirty lifetimes counting all those tiny pinpricks and still only see a fraction of them. And you could hoard all the wishes in the world, because there's no better place to see shooting stars.
First come, first served.
[ A beat, and then -]
Hm. Maybe that's where all the stars have gone from here.