closed;

[reticence]

WHO: Faolan & Laurent
WHERE: Laurent (and Faolan's) swanky apartment
WHEN: Monday, September 25th
WHAT: Ros was right, Faolan really needs to have that talk with Laurent.
WARNINGS: Mention of adult themes, will edit if/when necessary

It's been a while since Faolan's conversation with Rosalind about what he should do about this. Ten days, give or take. Ten days for Faolan to have the thought of it rattle around in his brain and take root. Ten days for Faolan to make even more mistakes with the younger man, to put his foot in his mouth, to hurt him, and why? Because he's sensitive, to what this is. To the fact that it isn't. That Laurent seems to be content to pretend that it never happened while Faolan can't seem to get the thought of it out of his head.

He follows Laurent to and from his classes, to and from his social obligations. He stands watch from the sidelines as he has lunch with friends -- that is, he assumes they are friends, but they could be more, this could be a date and he wouldn't have any say in that either. Because the truth of the matter is they slept together once, when Laurent was lonely and Faolan was there, and Laurent hasn't so much as batted an eyelash in his direction despite knowing Faolan's affections for him in turn. And the more that he stands watch, stands guard, stands silent, makes mistakes, puts his foot in it, the less he can take it. He knows that if he doesn't listen to Rosalind's advice he knows he might just make a mistake there won't be any coming back from.

So he waits until they've made it back to the apartment from Laurent's class. Lingering in the kitchen, fetching himself a water bottle as Laurent settles his things. Waiting for him to return to the main area, and wishing that he could fetch himself a stronger drink. He has a feeling he's going to need it...

Comments

[anguinous]

Laurent is blissfully unaware of Faolan's concerns, and thus busying himself unpacking his MacBook and folders -- arranging handouts carefully on a desk and shrugging off his jacket. This early on in the term the classes aren't running terribly late, so it's too early for Laurent to be thinking about eating. All the same he could do with at least a drink to keep himself going before he loses momentum.

Setting his bag aside and straightening a last few bits of paper he crosses into the kitchen and begins to heat some water, rummaging around in the cupboard for a teabag.

"Will you be heading down to the gym?"

For an evening swim, perhaps, or just to punch a bag until he;s decompressed for the day.

[reticence]

"Maybe later," Faolan replies, for in truth there is a chance that he might need to run away and punch something (or drown himself, only time will tell).

He watches Laurent move around the kitchen to start his tea and contemplates this conversation. Contemplates Laurent. There has to be a reason that the younger man has reacted in such a way to him as this. A reason why he would invite him into such a thing as sleeping with him, only to pretend after the fact as if nothing had happened between them. Not that Laurent had been denying the incident, of course. Nor did he seem particularly ashamed of it. And yet he had not so much as batted an eye in Faolan's direction since.

Had it really only been that he'd been lonely? Desperate? Had Faolan really only fulfilled a temporary desire? A one-time occurrence that Faolan is now expected to forget? Is it really so easy as that for Laurent, Faolan wonders, his eyes trained on the younger man, his pale skin and his light curls a ghost in his memory as he watches him prepare his tea.

[anguinous]

Laurent nods, setting a teabag in his cup and waiting for the water to boil before carefully filling it up. The sweet smell of lemon & ginger tea begins to fill the kitchen, and after a moment Laurent pulls down a small jar of honey to begin stirring in.

He most definitely heard someone coughing in the lecture theatre today, and is preemptively beginning to do everything he can to ward off germs.

School environments are the worst for catching diseases.

"I have some reading to finish. Do you mind if I play music?"

Over the sound system, that is. Faolan hasn't specified what he intends to do, and if it is something that requires peace and quiet Laurent is happy to use headphones instead.

[reticence]

Music while he reads. Faolan thinks about speaking up, to admit that actually, he has something he needs to say. But just the thought of it, just letting himself out with it, is easier said than done.

"I -- yeah, sure," he says, stumbling over his words and kicking himself almost as soon as he's spoken. Ah, well. He supposes he could use a little while longer to get himself together. Would Laurent notice if he poured himself a drink, he wonders? Even if he did, would he even care?

[anguinous]

Giving the tea a last stir Laurent drops the teaspoon into the sink and extracts the teabag to place in the little kitchen recycling bin, picks up the mug and glances over at the other man. Faolan looks a little uncertain, but Laurent finds he cannot really pinpoint why.

"I'll keep it quiet," Laurent offers, just in case it's over the music, and walks back over to the living room. He prompts the home device with a few words of French and soon the slightly muted sound of music begins to fill the room. Laurent settles himself on the sofa and blows cautiously on his drink, drawing a sheaf of paper toward himself and studying it thoughtfully as he tries to decide on the best approach to filing things.

[reticence]

Faolan watches Laurent for a long moment, as Laurent folds himself onto the sofa and sets his papers out in front of him, the soft sound of a technobeat filling the apartment as a look of concentration settles onto his face. He's not certain that it's really the right atmosphere to be setting, but he did say that Laurent could play it.

He turns from the younger man for a second, running his hand over his face and reaching for another glass from the cupboard and crossing the kitchen to fetch a bottle of whiskey. Pouring himself a glass and taking a healthy swallow before glancing back at Laurent and trying to decide just how he wants to go about this. He hovers in the kitchen for a whole tumbler of whiskey, in fact, as Laurent works and ignores him and he wishes that the younger man made this easier for him.

But nothing worth it ever comes without effort he supposes, and so after he tops up his glass for a second time, he forces himself out from behind the breakfast bar and across the room to where the younger man sits. Unable to take a seat on the table where he usually perches as Laurent has spread his homework across the space and so he awkwardly settles himself into a chair beside him instead.

[anguinous]

Laurent glances up absently as Faolan comes to sit beside him, eyes dropping back to his paper almost instantly before the fact that Faolan is holding a glass of what seems like alcohol in his hand registers.

His eyes lift again to it and frowns.

"Are you celebrating soemthing?" He prompts, "Or drowning a misery of some sort? I hadn't thought my classes so bad."

He supposes to someone uninterested they might be heavy going, but he hadn't thought it enough to drive Faolan to drink.

[reticence]

Faolan startles for a moment at Laurent's commentary, glancing down at the glass in his hand before guiltily up at the younger man in turn.

"No, it's not -- I mean, your classes aren't exactly... What I might have chosen for myself, but. They're not so bad as that," he reassures. He can't exactly come out and admit to Laurent that he's poured himself some liquid courage either.

"Look I, ehm. Are you busy?" he asks, before realizing it's a stupid question. Of course he is, he's doing his readings for class, Faolan even knows that. He winces slightly before speaking up again to continue, "I mean. No. Can we talk?"

[anguinous]

Talk?

The combination of asking to talk mixed with Faolan's drinking fills Laurent with a slow, stomach-clenching sense of dread. He clamps down on it, straightens his papers and lets his frown stay in place as he retrieves his mug and turns a little more toward the other man.

"Of course. Is something wrong?"

Laurent's mind is working overtime on worst-case scenarios. Faolan has quit. Faolan has been fired. Faolan has remember something awful. Laurent's brother has been in an accident. Laurent's brother is injured or dead. Laurent has to fly back for the funeral.

[reticence]

Wrong? It's a complicated question, and Faolan hesitates for a moment, grappling with the suggestion of it, before shrugging slightly. Is something wrong? In a matter of speaking, he supposes it is. Which is why they have to talk in the first place, even if the suggestion of it is like pulling teeth. Faolan really isn't much for talking. Not that he doesn't like to, but he's not very good at it. Certainly not about himself. Certainly not when the conversations matter.

"I." He takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, glancing down at the glass between his hands because it's easier than meeting Laurent's eyes at the moment. "I don't know what you want from me," he says at last, the words weighing like lead in his gut as he drags them forth to sit uncomfortably in the air between them.

[anguinous]

Laurent's eyebrows jerk up at that, surprised and curious both. At least this is perhaps less dire than he thought, although the first two options are still on the table. Faolan may be about to admit hes going to quit because of what happened between them, or that he's been fired.

"What I want from you?" he prompts, and takes a sip of his tea. Perhaps better to let Faolan expand on things before he jumps to conclusions.

[reticence]

Faolan sits forward, running a hand through his hair as he fights to gather his thoughts. Of course Laurent wouldn't make this easy for him, though he supposes he's hardly making it easy for himself either.

"I... Yes," he replies, helplessly. "You... We. I didn't make that decision lightly, you know. I hope you know, anyway. But I don't know... I don't know what you want from me. From here." He glances up at the younger man, and he can only imagine the look in his eye as he does. "We slept together, Laurent." It's not a memory he will forget any time soon.

[anguinous]

Ah. Laurent studies Faolan a long moment before letting his eyes skip down to the tea in thought, smoothing out his expression to something unreadable.

"If you're concerned about your job..." he begins. "You can consider it safe."

He wasn't about to tell his brother, nor anyone else for that matter.

29th

[anguinous]

Laurent is tired from his first few weeks of class. He isn't one inclined toward going to the student events, to drinking at the bar or attending costume parties or mixers or whatever the current in-vogue thing to do is. Laurent comes home Friday night, reads through his notes with some soup, manages a chapter of his book before excusing himself to sleep at eleven.

It isn't late, exactly, but he's tired and would rather get some decent sleep so he can be useful over the weekend.

He's asleep quickly enough, sprawled in the comfort of his bed, and Laurent doesn't normally dream but once or twice he has recalled the nightmare he had some weeks back. The flash of the man's face standing over him.

This time, however, there's something more to it. This time it isn't just the split second vision of him as he wakes.

This time he's in the darkness, trying to keep himself, steady and weighing up his options. On his best day, he could not take this man in a wrestling match and win. And his shoulder was dislocated. Fighting free of his bonds at this moment would accomplish, precisely, nothing. He tells himself that: once; then again, to quell a deep, basic urge to struggle.

"We're alone," the man said. "Just you and me. Look around. Take a good look. There's no way out. Not even I have a key. They come to open the cell when I'm done with you. What do you have to say to that?"

"How's your shoulder?" said Laurent.

The blow rocked him back. When he lifted his head, he enjoyed the look he had provoked on the man’s face, as he had enjoyed, for the same reason—if a bit masochistically—the blow.

Laurent startles awake and stares fixedly at the ceiling, breathing hard. He can feel the tremor of adrenaline through his body, still feel the ghost of pain across his face even as the dream fades. There's a wavering sense of vertigo, as if he'd been falling, and after a moment he fumbles out to reach for his phone.

The screen tells him it's four am.

Not early enough to be light yet, and all the same a little too early to still be 'late'.

Laurent pushes himself from the bed and shrugs on a thin grey jacket over his plain, darker grey t-shirt and shorts. He pads out into the living space -- turning on the lights as he goes. It's comforting to be able to see better. His nerves are still on high alert, and there's no chance of sleep now. Instead he fills a kettle with some water and sets it boiling, pulls a mug down from the kitchen cupboard as quietly as he can and a packet of chamomile tea. The apartment feels strange this early, eerie with how quiet it is. Laurent is almost tempted to open the blinds just to see life out in the city but part of him is nervous about what might be behind them. That, and worried about the noise. Faolan is still sleeping after all.

[reticence]

Faolan is asleep, but not so asleep that he does not become aware of sounds of movement coming from within the apartment. In a direction that he recognizes is not Laurent's room, which is really what has him rousing in the end, especially once he registers the light streaming into his room from the crack he had left his door ajar.

Glancing at his phone for the time, he reaches for his gun and pads as quietly as he can towards the door. Pushing it open, he slowly making his way down the hallway, pointing it at the ceiling but instantly alert. The sound appears to be coming from the kitchen, and so he edges his way around the corner, not quite pointing his gun at the figure there, but certainly on edge, up until the moment that he recognizes it to be Laurent. (This is what they're paying him for, after all.)

"...Laurent?" he asks, his voice low and rough with sleep as he lowers his gun to point it at the floor.

[anguinous]

Laurent's nerves have left him on high alert, so as soon as he senses movement he turns sharply -- shoulders tense as his eyes catch on Faolan and his gun.

He forces himself to relax after a moment, forces his breathing to slow to something more natural. He supposes acting like this is normal wouldn't be very convincing, but Laurent is still a little too shaken to simply blurt out what really happened. So he swallows back his fear, fingers curling and uncurling as he tries to make himself calm once more.

The water boils and his eyes flick to the kettle again sharply, rather undoing the attempt, and Laurent takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"I couldn't sleep," he says, and knows it's a weak cover but it buys him time. As does crossing to slowly pour the hot water into his mug, stirring it to try and encourage the chamomile to release into the water faster.

[reticence]

Faolan realizes what this must look like to the other man, him appearing in the hallway with his gun, so after a moment's pause in which he reassures himself there is no intruder in the apartment, just Laurent making tea, he moves to set it down on the breakfast island, focusing his attention instead on Laurent. He had caught the way that the younger man had tensed and he wasn't certain it had been entirely because of the firearm he'd been carrying. Not with that look in his eyes, at any rate.

His eyes follow the tight line of Laurent's shoulders as he turns back to the tea that he's preparing. Tea at four o'clock in the morning. Even if it is chamomile, that in itself sets off warning bells in his head. The last time Faolan had been woken in the night had been because of one of Laurent's memories after all. That's not to say that this time has to be a repeat, but...

"You alright?" he asks, as he watches him.

[anguinous]

Is he?

The question strikes Laurent oddly, and he takes a moment longer to stir his tea.

"Aside from being unable to sleep?" he prompts, and glances over his shoulder at Faolan. "And having a gun trained on me?"

Unnecessary, perhaps. He knows Faolan was just concerned someone had broken in. Yet still, it's difficult to talk about. There's no easy way to bring up the matter of his dream, memory, whatever it was.

[reticence]

Faolan winces at the mention of the gun, though he doesn't regret bringing it in the first. The one time he forgets it will be the one time he will need it, so it's better to bring it along and have there be no issue than the reverse.

"...yeah," he replies, sinking into one of the stools by the breakfast bar. "Sorry, I. Heard noises. Your door was closed." He shrugs slightly. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Now that danger is ruled out, the hour is making itself apparent to Faolan, his instant rush of adrenaline wearing down. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair as he watches the younger man across the kitchen, uncertain whether he should stay or not now that it's clear there are no intruders, just Laurent making tea.

[anguinous]

His eyes drop down to the tea again and Laurent stares at it for a long moment, draws out the teabag finally and dumps it into the kitchen waste.

"It's good to know you're alert," he says finally, and picks up the mug -- gives a slow blink as he lets the warmth seep into his hands. "I appreciate the thought."

That Faolan is looking out for him, even at four am. Even when there's nothing to fight but shadows, memories, figments of Laurent's own imagination. He paces through toward the couch slowly, sits himself down on the edge of it as if wary he will need to leap up again any second.

[reticence]

"I'm a light sleeper," he replies. "Hazard of the job. Still, sorry. For. The gun." Faolan turns in his seat and watches as Laurent crosses the room. Making note of the way that he perches on the couch, as if afraid the thing might bite him. A ridiculous thought of course but something is definitely putting Laurent on edge. Faolan frowns across the room at him, hesitating for the moment since Laurent hasn't exactly explained himself before licking his lips and at least making the attempt.

"I..." he starts, but then realizes he has no idea what he's saying so he gives it another moments pause to let his sleep-addled brain catch up before trying again. "We've established there are no intruders to defend you from but. Did -- you want company? Since I'm up now. Or..." He leaves the question trail off, but dismissing him is an option as well. He's not sure he'll be able to sleep much more, especially with Laurent up, but if he wanted his space Faolan could at least give him that.

[anguinous]

Company. Laurent lifts his eyes to glance sideways at Faolan and considers him for a moment once more before nodding, takes a slow sip of his tea to test the temperature.

"Since you're up," he adds, to soften the request somewhat. Laurent doesn't want to sound too eager, but equally he would appreciate having Faolan stay nearby until his nerves settle.

[reticence]

Laurent nods in response to the question and Faolan nods in turn. Pushing himself to stand, he's grateful that the weather is cooler this time of year so that at least he has a tshirt in with his boxers instead of being so exposed as he had been the time before. He leaves his gun where it is on the counter, thinking of putting it back in his room but then thinking better of that, just in case monsters should come tearing through their door. He's not much in the way of tea himself, so he fetches himself some water before crossing the room towards Laurent. Hesitating before taking a seat on the chair closest to him, but still leaving him his space on the couch.

He can tell that something is bothering Laurent but he's not sure whether pushing him on it would make things better or worse, all things considered. He supposes it's a good sign he's gone for tea and not alcohol, at least, though it's hardly a sign of anything else. For a split second he's suddenly afraid Laurent is second guessing his assignment but throws the thought away instantly. He's asked him to stay. He'd never do that if he didn't want him there.

"When my little sister couldn't sleep," Faolan says, for lack of anything else to say, "she'd ask me to sing to her. Something tells me that's not why I'm still here though." He offers him the smallest quirk of a smile. Look, he's trying.

[anguinous]

"Are you suggesting you would sing to me?"

He slides his eyes sideways to Faolan again, settling them on some absent point not quite on his chest. Not high enough to make eye contact.

"I don't know if I've been sung to before."

Not specifically. There had been bedtimes stories, of course, when he was young. Yet Laurent doesn't recall if he'd even been sung to. Certainly Lucus hadn't been the kind of person to sing a love song to him, nor to take part in karaoke.

[reticence]

Faolan shrugs slightly. He's not very used to talking about himself, but he'll do it, if it means settling whatever it is that has Laurent so on edge.

"If you'd like, I could," he replies. It feels a little silly to offer someone Laurent's age, but he doesn't mind offering nonetheless, especially if it would help. He doesn't mind singing for people. It's one of the only things he knows he's really good at, is music. Music and his work as a bodyguard, although the latter has come into question of late.

"Or play for you, if you'd rather," he continues. His guitar is the only instrument he'd brought along, even if it had stayed under the bed for the most part these last few months. He wouldn't mind getting it out again, and the apartment's big enough, expensive enough, he doubts that the neighbors would hear anything at all.

He realizes absently, a few moments after the offer is in the air, that Laurent might not have realized he'd had the instrument with him. That he might not know about Faolan's music at all.