[ A memory of a kiss, or a wish for one, but it feels as real as it can in this place. Armand closes his eyes again, gladly, as Bob's mouth meets his. His arms tighten around him, snugged in close, lips parting as he lets out a shallow breath into the kiss, a sigh of release. Safe. Wanted.
Me, too. Understanding like hands on him, holding him, pressing together the parts of himself he doesn't understand. The shadow and the boy that looks at him in worshipful pleasure. A boy who hides in an attic and will dance with him. ]
Bobby. [ A soft noise between them. He kisses him again, then again, pressed into the corner of Bob's mouth. ] I'll come to you. Outside. Help you with your bow ties.
[ I'll stay, thinking it into the walls around them, into the glow of the lamp. I don't want to leave you. ]
[ in the room that isn’t a room (the memory that isn’t a memory), he feels armand give into his hold — into the moment they’ve built together. armand’s affection floods through every point of taction, into the very floor and air in the room. the fabric of its unreality ripples with it.
where he might normally hear the voices rise below them or a whisper from the darkest corner of the space, there’s only armand’s breath — an affectation? a habit? — and the gentle thrum of the record. ]
Outside. [ agreed warmly, against armand’s lips. trying to steal one last kiss for the road. ]
[ but for once, he feels assured. no doubt in his mind that armand will come find him and stay and be happier for it. it rings too clear, too true. all around him. so his answer comes, suffused with gratitude and appreciation. i know. ]
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Me, too. Understanding like hands on him, holding him, pressing together the parts of himself he doesn't understand. The shadow and the boy that looks at him in worshipful pleasure. A boy who hides in an attic and will dance with him. ]
Bobby. [ A soft noise between them. He kisses him again, then again, pressed into the corner of Bob's mouth. ] I'll come to you. Outside. Help you with your bow ties.
[ I'll stay, thinking it into the walls around them, into the glow of the lamp. I don't want to leave you. ]
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where he might normally hear the voices rise below them or a whisper from the darkest corner of the space, there’s only armand’s breath — an affectation? a habit? — and the gentle thrum of the record. ]
Outside. [ agreed warmly, against armand’s lips. trying to steal one last kiss for the road. ]
[ but for once, he feels assured. no doubt in his mind that armand will come find him and stay and be happier for it. it rings too clear, too true. all around him. so his answer comes, suffused with gratitude and appreciation. i know. ]