Eventually, Daniel will hear about how Armand has killed potential threats for him, and he will wonder if it's what falling in love feels like. Eventually, Armand will get sick of Daniel. And Daniel will go in (forever) and he will wonder, and wonder, and maybe he'll go insane. Maybe that'll be the thing. Connected permanently to someone who will tire of him.
But they aren't there yet. He won't be like Armand, rushing to the resentment. He'll enjoy it for now, while he still has it, still circling in his bloodstream, his brain chemistry; for now, while he can reflect it back at Armand. He knows it'll hurt in the morning, but he knew quaaludes and coke would hurt in the morning, too.
"I'm a professional, you know. I've won awards and stuff."
And maybe Armand is compelling to write about. A secret villain, lurking behind the bombastic one being painted in the forefront. It's a good role. A shitty interview, all of Daniel's observations that cut to the truth of him having to be accessed sideways, but the weight of Louis' made up for it. Mostly. Daniel still laments all the edits forced on him by the librarian spies.
Not many left. A man younger than Daniel, but close enough to be a contemporary, is next; between a sharp memory and glancing at his surface thoughts, Daniel realizes they've bumped into each other before. It's not the first book he's signed for the guy. And when he offers a slightly self-conscious smile while handing over the new one, Daniel nearly stumbles over saying hello.
The man is thinking that he doesn't want to make assumptions about Molloy and the young man he's sitting with, but that it reminds him of the relationship that defined him. He was Armand's apparent age, once, and the love of his life looked more like Daniel (looked more like the man does now), and it's making him feel bittersweet, and nostalgic. Maybe, this man is thinking, Molloy is working through something; the same something that he's been working through since the first book of is that he read.
Daniel signs his book. Says hello, asks if they've met before. It is nice, and it is surreal; he finds himself appreciating this moment more because he can violate this man's privacy and read his mind. He finds himself hoping Armand has done the same. Sweet outlined with just a thread of horror. Salt on caramel. Better for it.
no subject
But they aren't there yet. He won't be like Armand, rushing to the resentment. He'll enjoy it for now, while he still has it, still circling in his bloodstream, his brain chemistry; for now, while he can reflect it back at Armand. He knows it'll hurt in the morning, but he knew quaaludes and coke would hurt in the morning, too.
"I'm a professional, you know. I've won awards and stuff."
And maybe Armand is compelling to write about. A secret villain, lurking behind the bombastic one being painted in the forefront. It's a good role. A shitty interview, all of Daniel's observations that cut to the truth of him having to be accessed sideways, but the weight of Louis' made up for it. Mostly. Daniel still laments all the edits forced on him by the librarian spies.
Not many left. A man younger than Daniel, but close enough to be a contemporary, is next; between a sharp memory and glancing at his surface thoughts, Daniel realizes they've bumped into each other before. It's not the first book he's signed for the guy. And when he offers a slightly self-conscious smile while handing over the new one, Daniel nearly stumbles over saying hello.
The man is thinking that he doesn't want to make assumptions about Molloy and the young man he's sitting with, but that it reminds him of the relationship that defined him. He was Armand's apparent age, once, and the love of his life looked more like Daniel (looked more like the man does now), and it's making him feel bittersweet, and nostalgic. Maybe, this man is thinking, Molloy is working through something; the same something that he's been working through since the first book of is that he read.
Daniel signs his book. Says hello, asks if they've met before. It is nice, and it is surreal; he finds himself appreciating this moment more because he can violate this man's privacy and read his mind. He finds himself hoping Armand has done the same. Sweet outlined with just a thread of horror. Salt on caramel. Better for it.