Alone in the city
Mar 19, 2012 1:58:37 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 19, 2012 1:58:37 GMT -5
Dejectedly, Adrien walked down a street, trenchcoat belted tight, large glasses on his face with his head down. People rarely recognized him without Adrian, at least not when he was keeping to himself.
It had been a couple days since the incident with Steve; Adrian should be getting out of Latveria around now and returning home. Home. Like NYC was home. It didn't feel like it. He wondered if being in the place they shared would feel like home, even if it also felt like a kick in the gut. Like having his healed fingers broken again. Like having his tender little heart ripped out.
He couldn't think straight anymore; he'd hardly eaten in the past few days, but he was too numb to register hunger; it was just another in a long catalogue of miseries that befell him daily. He couldn't stop thinking about the brief taste of happiness he'd had, gently holding Steve's hand and laughing with him as they walked down a street, Steve's grip firm and warm. Steve was reliable, sturdy and tender at the same time, when he pulled him gently close, when they had their arms around each other, awkward but mesmerized all the same. He thought of the last day they had spent entirely together, ending with the pair of them finishing ice cream cones on a bench at dusk, and watching twilight settle and become more and more like a twinkling sapphire, silent for such a long time, Adrien cozied almost drowsily against the line of Steve's body, stroking the chest beneath his fingers just to know he was there, while Steve reached over and touched his hand. He looked up at him slowly, and their eyes met; Adrien was solemn, Steve smiling a little, and simultaneously they moved a little bit closer, and settled back into reverie.
Reliable. It was funny, almost, in a horrible, ironic way. He would be, too, and someday some woman would be sitting on a bench with the strong and brave superhero, gazing at him with the same slightly stunned, lips-parted expression Adrien had cast at him so many times. And Steve would pull her closer. And they would kiss, and go home, and... the kissing would become something else. The kind of love that Steve wanted and needed and deserved, the kind that Adrien couldn't give him.
He needed a stiff drink, but he didn't want to go that route. Not yet. It was too early in the day to be a wispy frail alcoholic with unsteady hands and narrow shoulders, sitting in a bar, a pale ghost in mascara surrounded by tan chapped workers casting her curious glances.
Maybe later.
It had been a couple days since the incident with Steve; Adrian should be getting out of Latveria around now and returning home. Home. Like NYC was home. It didn't feel like it. He wondered if being in the place they shared would feel like home, even if it also felt like a kick in the gut. Like having his healed fingers broken again. Like having his tender little heart ripped out.
He couldn't think straight anymore; he'd hardly eaten in the past few days, but he was too numb to register hunger; it was just another in a long catalogue of miseries that befell him daily. He couldn't stop thinking about the brief taste of happiness he'd had, gently holding Steve's hand and laughing with him as they walked down a street, Steve's grip firm and warm. Steve was reliable, sturdy and tender at the same time, when he pulled him gently close, when they had their arms around each other, awkward but mesmerized all the same. He thought of the last day they had spent entirely together, ending with the pair of them finishing ice cream cones on a bench at dusk, and watching twilight settle and become more and more like a twinkling sapphire, silent for such a long time, Adrien cozied almost drowsily against the line of Steve's body, stroking the chest beneath his fingers just to know he was there, while Steve reached over and touched his hand. He looked up at him slowly, and their eyes met; Adrien was solemn, Steve smiling a little, and simultaneously they moved a little bit closer, and settled back into reverie.
Reliable. It was funny, almost, in a horrible, ironic way. He would be, too, and someday some woman would be sitting on a bench with the strong and brave superhero, gazing at him with the same slightly stunned, lips-parted expression Adrien had cast at him so many times. And Steve would pull her closer. And they would kiss, and go home, and... the kissing would become something else. The kind of love that Steve wanted and needed and deserved, the kind that Adrien couldn't give him.
He needed a stiff drink, but he didn't want to go that route. Not yet. It was too early in the day to be a wispy frail alcoholic with unsteady hands and narrow shoulders, sitting in a bar, a pale ghost in mascara surrounded by tan chapped workers casting her curious glances.
Maybe later.