Vincent mirrors Claude’s laugh, an odd sense of relief running through his body, dispelling some of the tension in his muscles. It’s difficult to explain – just, somehow, there seems to be an understanding between them that lingers even beneath the harsher subject matters. As if Claude’s carrying the Palais Garnier with him somehow, in spirit, as if he’s brought a tiny fragment of it with him into this room, to dance between them in the darkness. That impressive spirit of his.
He’s about to answer when Claude yawns, as blatantly as you possibly can without actively being rude about it. Then again, Vincent’s the one who’s rude, isn’t he? Sitting here, drinking the man’s expensive cognac, leaving only a shoddy little bouquet of half-dead roses in his wake. Claude, on the other hand, has made him dream. Will make him dream even tonight when he shuts his eyes. Whilst the dreams themselves are a torment, surely no one can fault someone so inspirational for feeding the fires. Vincent definitely can’t.
“You’re tired.” He empties his tumbler, the last drops filling his mouth, burning without cleansing. He’s never going to become clean. Maybe tonight is just another sign that he needs to accept it and move on – let himself be trapped, since the cage seems so terribly indestructible. Perhaps if he can follow this man from afar, watch the stage light up to leave the rest of the world in utter darkness – perhaps that’ll even be good enough. One day. “I shouldn’t keep you up, mo…” Pause. He swallows, then corrects himself. “Claude. It’s late and you’ve been very kind – but…”
Quite uncharacteristically, he trails off. Rises from the oh-so-comfortable chair, his face drawn and his body seemingly exhausted. The walk home will be a long one – already, there’s almost an hour’s walk from his parents’ home to the Palais Garnier. He meets Claude’s eyes, looking down at the other man and finding him absolutely flawless, even tired and dressed down to only the basics. No, tomorrow will be just another day but at least, he’ll have this to remember.
no subject
He’s about to answer when Claude yawns, as blatantly as you possibly can without actively being rude about it. Then again, Vincent’s the one who’s rude, isn’t he? Sitting here, drinking the man’s expensive cognac, leaving only a shoddy little bouquet of half-dead roses in his wake. Claude, on the other hand, has made him dream. Will make him dream even tonight when he shuts his eyes. Whilst the dreams themselves are a torment, surely no one can fault someone so inspirational for feeding the fires. Vincent definitely can’t.
“You’re tired.” He empties his tumbler, the last drops filling his mouth, burning without cleansing. He’s never going to become clean. Maybe tonight is just another sign that he needs to accept it and move on – let himself be trapped, since the cage seems so terribly indestructible. Perhaps if he can follow this man from afar, watch the stage light up to leave the rest of the world in utter darkness – perhaps that’ll even be good enough. One day. “I shouldn’t keep you up, mo…” Pause. He swallows, then corrects himself. “Claude. It’s late and you’ve been very kind – but…”
Quite uncharacteristically, he trails off. Rises from the oh-so-comfortable chair, his face drawn and his body seemingly exhausted. The walk home will be a long one – already, there’s almost an hour’s walk from his parents’ home to the Palais Garnier. He meets Claude’s eyes, looking down at the other man and finding him absolutely flawless, even tired and dressed down to only the basics. No, tomorrow will be just another day but at least, he’ll have this to remember.