[they were lying in bed together not even thirty minutes ago, when Wilhelm finally had to get up, and finally had to get dressed, and finally had to go into the office for the first time in two weeks... but, yeah. but still. but chaos still misses him a great deal.]
[He has pulled into the parking lot of his building, and--it's his building--this building of his is where his responsibilities lie--he has pulled into its parking lot, and he doesn't want to leave his car. He wants to restart the car and drive back to his home, where something even better lies. He can envision, still, Joshua lying in his bed, his bare legs tangled in Wilhelm's dark sheets, his cheek resting on his arm. Wilhelm can see him and he can still smell him, the natural scent of him when Wilhelm's face is aligned with his shoulder blade. Ah, maybe that's him clinging to the collar of Wilhelm's shirt...
Wilhelm doesn't drive home, but he still hasn't gotten out of the car, either.]
[it's irresponsible of him. he knows it's irresponsible of him, and he knows he deserves to be reprimanded for it--at least a little bit of a reprimand. Wilhelm should be reprimanding him for being yet more of a distraction. there's all sorts of important stuff that needs doing, right?]
i'm thinking of you right now.
to be honest, i don't know how i'm supposed to stop thinking of you.
[yeah, chaos deserves to be reprimanded. he can't even stop himself from sighing and curling up on Wilhelm's side of the bed.]
[Wilhelm's thumb hovers over the keyboard on his phone. He thinks uncharitably, for a moment, for more than a moment. His uncharitable thoughts remind him, and would like to remind Joshua, that Joshua found it fine to let his mind wander while his body wandered the Tunisian coast and the ruins of Carthage. Then he thinks of Joshua's eyes. They supersede that ancient shore in their color and their everlasting curve. He thinks of the way Joshua's eyes moved over him as he buttoned his shirt while dressing. And he doesn't feel uncharitable, now, and he doesn't find a thing that calls for charity. He thinks only of Joshua's eyes, and not the infidelity of his feet.]
You'll likely think of me for as long as you're in the bed.
But you can lie there and eat some breakfast, if you would like to do that.
[chaos hasn't cut his hair in all the months he's been away, it seems like. his hair has been falling into his eyes lately, almost covering them, but not quite, as a sandy shade of brown that would look good against the distant surf. no inexplicable colors this time. no white, no green, no gradual ombré that combines orange and teal. for the first time in a while, chaos looks less like an exotic drifter than he tends to look. it might be unintentional. it might be a fluke. it might be there's only one person whose attention he wants, and it wouldn't do to have more than their eyes drawn to him.]
i could go heat up some poptarts. i could come back up here and eat them after, but i'd probably get crumbs everywhere. all over your nice sheets. i don't want you to be cross with me. you told me to make myself at home but that doesn't mean making a mess of your things...
[chaos' actual home is buried under ten feet of burnt-out rubble in a village that no longer exists, but he doesn't want to think about that. instead:]
yeah, i think so. i'd take my time with it, too. i'd stretch out and get really comfortable, first, and then i'd have a leisurely breakfast.
You could be here with me, another day. It's a comfortable office. The windows are wide and the view reaches far. If there comes a day when you would like to get up out of bed, you could sit with me.
[Perhaps instead of leaving the bed and then the country too.]
[the single missile responsible for that burnt-out rubble was sourced back to lockheed martin. much more recently, vector industries has been in the news for signing a deal with lockheed martin worth about--
ah, but he didn't want to think about any of this.]
i wouldn't want to intrude on your workflow, Director Wilhelm. you're a very busy and very important man, or so i've heard.
Ah, have you heard that. Is that what you've been hearing. I wonder where.
Why don't you tell me what dessert you'd like to eat tonight? You will perhaps have had dinner by then, so I shall offer you a bookend, and bring you one last thing to have in bed for the night.
[it's a testament to the warmth and the luxurious comfort of Wilhelm's bed that chaos doesn't just decide it's time to leave it for good. he closes his eyes and breathes in, pulling the pillows in closer to him, wondering how he can still live with himself.
a little while later:]
i can't remember the last time i had chocolate-covered strawberries.
[Wilhelm is left to wonder where Joshua might be, right now. Is he in the bed? Is he in the side of the bed where Wilhelm slept? Is he in Wilhelm's shower, is he covered in Wilhelm's soap--is he in the kitchen or in a room all made of glass and filled with green? Is he still in Wilhelm's house? Is he walking away?
Ah, he's offering another breath into Wilhelm's bloodstream.]
It's a good night for those. It will be a good night for that. I would like to guarantee it as an instance to remember.
Today gives us just enough time to think about tonight. I won't be away for longer than that.
[not just for today. not just in the last two weeks, the few and infrequent moments in time they had to be apart from each other. it's something that has stayed with him--that has plagued him--for longer than he'll care to admit. and it's why he always comes crawling back to Wilhelm, even when everything else inside of him is telling him not to give in. when it's telling him to run even farther away.]
so you don't have to bring me strawberries. you don't have to do anything like that. you know, i told you before i don't deserve any of your gifts...
[Wilhelm wouldn't believe you, if you were to tell him he's short-sighted. He's been called a visionary, and he has a vision. This vision may differ from what the magazines assume, but it's there, and it's everlasting. He couldn't be short-sighted...
Even if he is perusing the nearby florists.]
Why don't you call me at 2 o'clock?
You may order in for lunch, if you'd like. My card is in the nightstand drawer; there are menus available there.
[They're menus in the style of Joshua's favorite cuisines, of course. And the majority of them are for family-owned restaurants, often hole-in-the-wall spots with bicycle delivery services. That sort of thing. Wilhelm is a visionary and he is well-prepared.
[two o'clock in the afternoon feels like it's forever and a day away. Wilhelm doesn't get to hear chaos' groan of frustration, and he doesn't get to see how chaos squirms in the sheets, already restless, made even more so. the mention of the menus is something of a reprieve, though. chaos migrates to the edge of Wilhelm's bed, his hand reaching out, then fumbling a little--he gets open the nightstand drawer after a few blind attempts. the credit card is a sleek black piece of plastic that would allow chaos to buy pretty much anything he might want. it's kind of scary to think about that, about the power behind that, so he tries not to think about it; he's digging out the folded paper menus instead.
the first one is for a small greek restaurant that serves authentic, mouth-watering food. he remembers having it the last time he was here, and he remembers convincing Wilhelm to try the homemade avgolemeno, albeit in between kisses. it had a good flavor. really good. really, really good, and really nostalgic...]
two o'clock, then. that works for me.
[he rolls over onto his back, cradling the menu against his chest.]
unless you've got prior plans, i'm going to order some lunch for you too.
[Wilhelm sends, first, six digits, and then he explains,]
For the delivery. This allows entry past the front lobby. Please instruct the delivery to come all the way to the top floor.
[The delivery person will need to receive their tip, after all.
Then, as a courtesy, Wilhelm sends an email from his phone to the colleague whose offices take the floor just below Wilhelm's. He thanks the colleague for his efforts throughout Wilhelm's personal leave, and sends his appreciation for their scheduled lunch meeting. Unfortunately, it now conflicts with a vital matter, although this colleague is welcome to meet with him for a quarter of an hour later in the day. Wilhelm sends just as much appreciation for his understanding. "You keep us going, Kevin," he writes, and ends it with that.
He gets work done, between then and two o'clock, but not enough. And he cares about that, but not enough. At last, he has read the same three lines of an internal memo for the past nine minutes, because his eyes keep flicking away from his screen to look at his phone. He's waiting for the call. He's waiting for the call. He knows he will hear it ring when it rings, but he looks for it regardless. And when it does ring, the bloom inside him is a time-lapse feed, the unfurling fast and overmuch.
In answering his phone, he does not sigh.] Joshua; hello. [But his voice has the quality of gleaming candlelight on porcelain. He does not sound like he's straining, but he is straining to hear any background noise, any shuffle or creak. He wants to know what to be jealous toward, whether he shall remain in envy of what his bed sheets touch, or whether something else has come to collect Joshua's body. Sunlight itself might be more privileged than Wilhelm.
What he says is unlike the appreciation afforded to Kevin Winnicot, the most diligent of his employees--]
[for Wilhelm, chaos goes ahead and orders the avgolemeno with a side of grilled pita bread, because he knows Wilhelm will enjoy at least a couple bites of it. for himself, it's the shrimp santorini, just swimming in feta and oregano, and he gladly thanks God for the bounty, the opportunity to eat. having the means to fill his stomach will never be anything but a blessing.
he has to thank Wilhelm for picking up the tab, too. at two o'clock, just about on the dot, he reaches for his phone and he dials Wilhelm. the sound of Wilhelm's voice is more of a relief than he thought it would be. there isn't much else for him to hear--Wilhelm keeps a quiet, tidy office, or so chaos imagines, brooking no distractions. on chaos' end, there's the slightest, just the tiniest ruffle of his hair getting caught in a breeze. he tucked into his lunch on the back porch of Wilhelm's estate, with the sunlight to warm him and the flowers to keep him company. he's still sitting out there in a comfortable heap, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
ice clinks against ice when he finishes taking a sip of water. then:]
Wilhelm. I'm convinced I should be the one thanking you.
[that isn't the english language. that isn't greek, or french, or finnish, or spanish, or an obscure dialect of something they studied while in college. it's a language with more subtleties than any other known to man, allowing for an array of connotations, no matter the literal meaning. when chaos speaks in this unnamed tongue, he uses it to convey his thankfulness, his longing, and his own hope that he isn't interrupting anything important. it also holds the hope that Wilhelm hasn't forgotten the satisfaction and keen fellowship of being able to communicate like this. creating their own language within wreaths of notepads and flashcards was far more interesting than doing their linguistics homework. it's been a while since the last time chaos tried to do this...
but with more than 3,000 versatile words, they shouldn't have a problem holding a conversation.]
Did you get all the work done that you wanted to?
[curiosity, concern, a little bit of guilt, and just enough sun-warmed contentment.]
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altaschith) wrote2013-08-19 12:58 am
no subject
Wilhelm doesn't drive home, but he still hasn't gotten out of the car, either.]
Will you think of me, today? Here and there?
no subject
i'm thinking of you right now.
to be honest, i don't know how i'm supposed to stop thinking of you.
[yeah, chaos deserves to be reprimanded. he can't even stop himself from sighing and curling up on Wilhelm's side of the bed.]
no subject
You'll likely think of me for as long as you're in the bed.
But you can lie there and eat some breakfast, if you would like to do that.
no subject
i could go heat up some poptarts. i could come back up here and eat them after, but i'd probably get crumbs everywhere. all over your nice sheets. i don't want you to be cross with me. you told me to make myself at home but that doesn't mean making a mess of your things...
no subject
What would you do if you were at home? Would you eat in bed?
[It's an odd sort of answer to anticipate--stranger still to hold his breath for it.]
no subject
yeah, i think so. i'd take my time with it, too. i'd stretch out and get really comfortable, first, and then i'd have a leisurely breakfast.
do you think that's what i should do here?
no subject
Since I've told you to make yourself at home.
You can take your time.
no subject
just waiting for you to come back and join me.
no subject
You know,
[...]
You could be here with me, another day. It's a comfortable office. The windows are wide and the view reaches far. If there comes a day when you would like to get up out of bed, you could sit with me.
[Perhaps instead of leaving the bed and then the country too.]
no subject
well
[the single missile responsible for that burnt-out rubble was sourced back to lockheed martin. much more recently, vector industries has been in the news for signing a deal with lockheed martin worth about--
ah, but he didn't want to think about any of this.]
i wouldn't want to intrude on your workflow, Director Wilhelm. you're a very busy and very important man, or so i've heard.
no subject
Why don't you tell me what dessert you'd like to eat tonight? You will perhaps have had dinner by then, so I shall offer you a bookend, and bring you one last thing to have in bed for the night.
no subject
a little while later:]
i can't remember the last time i had chocolate-covered strawberries.
no subject
Ah, he's offering another breath into Wilhelm's bloodstream.]
It's a good night for those. It will be a good night for that. I would like to guarantee it as an instance to remember.
Today gives us just enough time to think about tonight. I won't be away for longer than that.
no subject
i really do miss you.
[not just for today. not just in the last two weeks, the few and infrequent moments in time they had to be apart from each other. it's something that has stayed with him--that has plagued him--for longer than he'll care to admit. and it's why he always comes crawling back to Wilhelm, even when everything else inside of him is telling him not to give in. when it's telling him to run even farther away.]
so you don't have to bring me strawberries. you don't have to do anything like that. you know, i told you before i don't deserve any of your gifts...
i just want to feel your arms around me.
no subject
[Wilhelm is thinking of all the different chocolates a man might be able to buy.]
You can have both, you know. A gift, and then to be beside me.
no subject
do you think, before then, i would be allowed to call you? during your lunch break, maybe...
[...]
you are going to eat lunch, right?
[in the past two weeks, it did take some cajoling, sometimes.]
no subject
Even if he is perusing the nearby florists.]
Why don't you call me at 2 o'clock?
You may order in for lunch, if you'd like. My card is in the nightstand drawer; there are menus available there.
[They're menus in the style of Joshua's favorite cuisines, of course. And the majority of them are for family-owned restaurants, often hole-in-the-wall spots with bicycle delivery services. That sort of thing. Wilhelm is a visionary and he is well-prepared.
Never mind his own lunch.]
no subject
the first one is for a small greek restaurant that serves authentic, mouth-watering food. he remembers having it the last time he was here, and he remembers convincing Wilhelm to try the homemade avgolemeno, albeit in between kisses. it had a good flavor. really good. really, really good, and really nostalgic...]
two o'clock, then. that works for me.
[he rolls over onto his back, cradling the menu against his chest.]
unless you've got prior plans, i'm going to order some lunch for you too.
no subject
For the delivery. This allows entry past the front lobby. Please instruct the delivery to come all the way to the top floor.
[The delivery person will need to receive their tip, after all.
Then, as a courtesy, Wilhelm sends an email from his phone to the colleague whose offices take the floor just below Wilhelm's. He thanks the colleague for his efforts throughout Wilhelm's personal leave, and sends his appreciation for their scheduled lunch meeting. Unfortunately, it now conflicts with a vital matter, although this colleague is welcome to meet with him for a quarter of an hour later in the day. Wilhelm sends just as much appreciation for his understanding. "You keep us going, Kevin," he writes, and ends it with that.
He gets work done, between then and two o'clock, but not enough. And he cares about that, but not enough. At last, he has read the same three lines of an internal memo for the past nine minutes, because his eyes keep flicking away from his screen to look at his phone. He's waiting for the call. He's waiting for the call. He knows he will hear it ring when it rings, but he looks for it regardless. And when it does ring, the bloom inside him is a time-lapse feed, the unfurling fast and overmuch.
In answering his phone, he does not sigh.] Joshua; hello. [But his voice has the quality of gleaming candlelight on porcelain. He does not sound like he's straining, but he is straining to hear any background noise, any shuffle or creak. He wants to know what to be jealous toward, whether he shall remain in envy of what his bed sheets touch, or whether something else has come to collect Joshua's body. Sunlight itself might be more privileged than Wilhelm.
What he says is unlike the appreciation afforded to Kevin Winnicot, the most diligent of his employees--]
Thank you for calling.
[--but it's still pristine porcelain.]
no subject
he has to thank Wilhelm for picking up the tab, too. at two o'clock, just about on the dot, he reaches for his phone and he dials Wilhelm. the sound of Wilhelm's voice is more of a relief than he thought it would be. there isn't much else for him to hear--Wilhelm keeps a quiet, tidy office, or so chaos imagines, brooking no distractions. on chaos' end, there's the slightest, just the tiniest ruffle of his hair getting caught in a breeze. he tucked into his lunch on the back porch of Wilhelm's estate, with the sunlight to warm him and the flowers to keep him company. he's still sitting out there in a comfortable heap, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
ice clinks against ice when he finishes taking a sip of water. then:]
Wilhelm. I'm convinced I should be the one thanking you.
[that isn't the english language. that isn't greek, or french, or finnish, or spanish, or an obscure dialect of something they studied while in college. it's a language with more subtleties than any other known to man, allowing for an array of connotations, no matter the literal meaning. when chaos speaks in this unnamed tongue, he uses it to convey his thankfulness, his longing, and his own hope that he isn't interrupting anything important. it also holds the hope that Wilhelm hasn't forgotten the satisfaction and keen fellowship of being able to communicate like this. creating their own language within wreaths of notepads and flashcards was far more interesting than doing their linguistics homework. it's been a while since the last time chaos tried to do this...
but with more than 3,000 versatile words, they shouldn't have a problem holding a conversation.]
Did you get all the work done that you wanted to?
[curiosity, concern, a little bit of guilt, and just enough sun-warmed contentment.]