Dylan and Ash - Vanity of vanities
.:: first part .::. Part Two::.
Ash has always loved to travel by car at night. Watch the city slide over the windows, liquid as if it were inhabited by a different substance from the darkness. As there were no lights to mark boundaries - as there was no need for hot items. Pats a little 'sharp that glide beneath your shirts.
Crouched against the padding of the headrest, a boy, he let the music was rocking - the voices of Chris and Dylan woven together in the front seat, talking or joking about something. To protect it without looking back - without paying attention.
closed his eyes at that point.
He left it was just fantasy, painting scenarios.
And the darkness of the night became dark core - the voice of those who sang in the car was turning into a real strength. The kidnapped. There was no space at all - either for fear or indecision. Only
tenderness - the sweetness of the moments of silence that surrounds non-damaging.
The feeling of being full. And part of something at the same time.
A valuable, inseparable entity.
is strange now to be in a car with someone behind the wheel that is not Chris, and is not Alan. Why is not the same sense of what you already lived - because the music becomes the background and the focus is on something else. About what is being said.
More on that tone of voice. More than
cadence of laughter.
For once, is having to carry too, interaction.
The city across the window, is powering up. And Michael at his side is not a reassuring presence - is not something calm, not warmth.
resembles a continuous stimulus, however. Adrenaline in the veins and the foot which unwillingly follows the beat of the music to vent nervousness. Excitement
twisted nerves, such as electricity in a copper wire. And the look that falls sometimes on his mouth - and laughs. On his hands off the wheel when the gestures to accompany the words.
on his body, when changing posture and tents.
When he relaxes, pressing on the accelerator.
It is also strange that, because Ash has never paid much attention to the beauty of those around him. The attraction, when there was, he traveled to other roads - dug several walls. It was the thrill of being observed - the taste of the desire of others on the tongue between his lips.
The cozy feeling of calm that sent Chris, when she touched him.
With Mike is all different - all the more physical less turned inwards - and yet, confused for some reason, lately even that change can frighten.
After the first moment of tension, it is always too easy to surrender to the complicity of absurd speeches. Laughing at the right time for a idiot bar - dodge his attempts to make him taste the hot dogs bought at the kiosk in the flight encountered on the street. Spilling his eyes in front of some provocation born to play.
Smiling, as if there was any danger.
Ash is not used to feeling so safe next to someone other than Chris. He's not used to know the taste of the mouth of whoever is in front. Remembering the warmth of his skin - his breath, his fingers. Relive the kiss, every single frame.
And stand still, however, no escape. Let
look the same, as if nothing had happened.
Perhaps, the remoteness of Dylan is really destroying its defenses.
There is no other explanation for the fact that it is still there, sitting alongside Mike, a car that is driving them from the other side of town, and knows that it should leave. Open the door to the first red light and flee before a reply last night lead to consequences even more disastrous.
Because if a guy kisses you and you instead of driving it into the bedroom to bite my tongue, it is clear that something is wrong. What is in your head or in his, the problem does not change the fact that nothing good can come and that it would do well to stay away.
is a life that practice these commandments, Ash.
A life that takes away from the possibility that things are getting out of hand.
This can not understand what we face, locked in that car. Directed to the photo shoot where that child will turn thirty years old again in the man who stared at him the other night - because he is sure that Mike is the case, when a goal behind.
Just look at his photos to recognize the force. Energy.
The absolute heat of his gaze.
Just look at the photos to know him, framed in those prospects, it will wax again - and if you continue to pay so little attention to the risks that succeed will be very difficult to keep a concrete form. That will avoid melting, losing any trait that characterizes it.
Every minimal identity.
Not that it would be easy to say no this time. Mike certainly would not put off easily, if Ash had tried to release - if one thing's clear, this man is that his stubbornness knows no bounds.
Like her unconscious.
The problem, however, is that wriggling is not even crossed my mind.
The problem is that when Mike phoned him that evening - when he said he was going home and if he agreed that maybe they could try to take pictures of where we talked about, and why do not you come over for dinner we, again?, eat with Björn and then I'll take you on one of the sets where I work, what do you think? - He nodded without thinking twice.
said yes, of course. In any ease.
Although in reality was not good at all.
Even if the alarm bells sounded strong enough to stun him, and it was all too easy to see the disaster waiting to happen. The silhouette horizon.
gaze, and smile.
Definitely, slamming the phone down would be the best choice.
"Ever been on a photo shoot?"
As expected, that whisper startles the ear. And the knee-jerk reaction would probably turn to electrocute the man with a dirty look, if only the indignant protest died on his lips when he discovers that Ash is not only the voice Mike, to be closer than expected. There is also
her face - her mouth, her eyes. The amused smile with which waits for the response, as if he knew perfectly what are his thoughts at that time.
And it's a different thrill, the one that forced him to shoot back. A focus on the mechanism of opening the door, to disguise the gasp in surprise.
always happens when Ash is distracted and Mike is forced to approach to get his attention - when the voice is lowered by a tone and eyes take a shade warmer. Intimate and friendly - right.
react with sarcasm, in those cases is the only solution.
"Every day," then replied, hurrying to get out into the street. "Why, did you have any doubts?"
The other laughs and turns the keys in the picture - leave the car in turn triggers the lock. But it does not seem at all bothered by the distance that Ash has put together - not even seem to have noticed.
The steps are flexible, when the joins. His eyes burned with something that might be enthusiasm or expectation. Sort of dark, under which the light appears to be more intense.
almost tangible.
Look away, Ash decides to focus on the building in which they are entering. The
've often end up in that area of the city during the day - with Dylan and Chris, at times. At other times alone.
He always thought there was something strangely comfortable in the action of lost between huge skyscrapers - as if somehow those colossal size could decrease loneliness. Put a barrier of fear.
Perspective.
It never happened to cross the threshold, however. And do it now with Mike, there is something sacred and profane at the same time: as an initiation rite for a religion that does not know the commandments.
Like a prayer said in a language with which you can not explain.
Not even the presence of man - His constant chatter, family - can really break the solemnity of the moment: music is like another, after all.
A voice that caresses the skin, which makes you breathe.
shudder.
closing his fists in his pocket, he forces himself to turn his head to get back at him.
"You work here, then?" application.
"Often." Mike gives him a look. He chuckles, pushing open the glass door to let him enter. "At least when I have to take care of paperwork."
"Because when you do not take care of paperwork you do?"
A shrug.
"The Photographer," is the answer. Laconic.
And he would insist on having some more precise explanation, perhaps, in the meantime if they have not already entered the lobby of the skyscraper. If the man was answering the greetings of my colleagues rushed - if he was winking to the controller.
Without stopping, he makes a gesture with his hand.
"They have already removed the mica Sep 14, right?"
Leaning on the bar to follow in his footsteps, she stretches her neck.
"You mean down to 14, Mike?"
"Just a few hours," he says simply, while grabbing Ash's wrist to prevent it from colliding with a guy in black suit. To hijack a lane less crowded.
There is a bustle even at that hour in the building. People moving in every direction in a hurry. Mike, for his part, does not even seem to notice.
"I had a very bad idea to devote to fashion," come back to explain to Ash, as if it had never stopped. "Now I can only hope for a trip outside for some fun '."
But it does not seem particularly disappointed . chuckles, indeed.
Without slowing down, turning the corner of the corridor.
They reached the elevator shaft - secluded area, people still waiting.
Mike continues to stand out among them as had happened there in the middle-case basis - and tousled hair jeans frayed on the buttocks instead of pinstriped trousers. That mobility features that contrasts with his face all too property of others.
a world apart.
Vaguely uneasy, Ash folds his arms across his chest.
"And why tonight we're back here, instead of going where you would enjoy yourself?" seeks to combat the silence more ominous than anything else.
"I never said that I intend to just have fun with you ..." says the man, the exact moment when the doors of one of the lifts open and the people swarm outside. And the instinct for taking the bodies to seek - to brush elbows.
The proximity to shrink, as if seeking comfort. Fighting the urge
to adhere even more to his side to put space between himself and the silent automatons around him, Ash raises his face to that of Mike.
"So we're here because you're feeling masochistic?" Asks in a whisper.
tilting her head toward him, the other holds a smile.
"In a way ..." he murmured, amused. And there would be some stinging response to give, probably - to bring the game forward, to strengthen the contact - if the elevator ride had not already been completed and the doors were being opened in the background of the basement. If the scenario unfolding before his eyes did not show suddenly completely different. And if curiosity, suddenly, does not prevail on everything. Even on the nerves.
Ash could not say why the rooms on the upper floors the destabilizing much - what was so disturbing in terms of sculpted men and women who had met in the elevator. Perhaps it was the elegance, so diametrically different from the lifestyles they are accustomed to. Perhaps the strangeness of every action, every thought.
The strange sensation that was erased all traces of identity.
But he realizes now, than it was while he was stretched between them. How much is different in that instead of being deserted corridor, illuminated by LEDs arranged along the walls and dotted with elevators abandoned. Unopened boxes - electric cables.
powder.
The feeling is so precarious that the atmosphere has the power to make more lifted, even his walk - that allows the lungs to dilate and relax the nerves. That even come back to straighten his back.
"What kind of photos are you doing tonight?" Is informed, curious, he follows Mike in this new maze of curves and intersections. Biting his lip, smiles. "Other stuff fashionable?"
Chuckling, the man turns to glance.
"You want me to work in my spare time?" Snorts. "You're worse than Logan ..."
"By the way. You say that like you would a fine, if you find out that I smuggled into its territory?"
"It's easier than you skinned alive, in fact," laughs another.
But he stopped in front of a door, in the meantime.
He slipped a key into the lock.
And puts his hand on his back when he finally decides to push on the handle. How to guide him into the abyss of darkness that welcomes them - how to reassure him.
His voice slips into the ear, and it is dark inside the thick darkness. Hot
, as this evening. Like a caress.
"Careful where you step," he murmurs. "I'm going to turn out the lights."
Ash knows that what is the last warning. The milestone marks the end of all roads already beaten - the curve from which you can not go back.
yet, really does not hesitate in taking a step over the threshold. Do not even try to escape.
Why Mike's voice is warm and the darkness hide it and it is as if the border had been crossed - the other night, maybe. The other night.
The first time he looked in his eyes - he left to look.
The path that led her here is burnt is erased in the footsteps of the steps, clear maps. Each reference.
Going back is already impossible. It has always been.
Going forward is the only thing that remains to be done.
Slowly. Walking
groping for not bumping into any obstacles that do not know, and you do not see. Trying to learn by heart the size of the place where you are when the darkness still confused - if you have not yet opened his eyes. Calculate
you, counting the echo of footsteps.
measuring the thin air, diluting the noise and the distance that separates you from the other body.
discovering that you were not far wrong, when at last the world is back to light. Drawing.
The room lit by spotlights is perhaps bigger than Ash imagined, and certainly more empty. Deserted. A huge square of polished concrete, with black walls on which the light is broken, and you lose.
Only toward the bottom, like a collage, it opens a different scenario: nearly two worlds are welded together on a boundary is not smooth.
On the floor, feet of concrete gray stop suddenly to give way to marble. The lights change, they are more enveloping. And on the walls black open space with the muted hues of cream, while the vacuum is filled with massive furniture. Heavy.
wood and covered with velvet.
Everything would have imagined, Ash, except that Mike would take him to a place like that.
" Men's guilt lives here, this year," explain the feeling, as if in answer to his thoughts, and he decides to look away from the sofa with brocade to turn in his direction.
Kneeling next to a series of sockets, Mike is adjusting links - frowning, hair over his eyes.
From above, a reflector makes it rain upon a white light - translucent, crystal clear. And there's something almost innocent, in the effect overall: a note that tightens the throat and makes you feel more strongly the distance.
It feels a chill. And the desire to cover it.
Clearing his voice, Ash pushes her hands firmly in his pocket.
" Men's guilt?" Repeats Meanwhile, skeptical - because if the points too well, the magazine spread among the things Dylan. Remember the more explicit photos and covers the central page - Grace's comments, and mocking of Alan. Chris.
is surreal to realize that you are on the set of the upcoming fantasy of his brother. To think that Mike, through the filter of the lens, it might influence them. Have some say.
raising his head, the other gives him a smile.
"We ended yesterday with the timetable," he says, dragging his feet. "We are fortunate that the set has not yet been removed ..."
"lucky," he says. "But you're going to put myself there in the middle really ? "
not to expect a serious answer. Mike has learned quickly that there is no need to waste breath to keep up with his sarcastic digs, and that evening is when they met that diverts any question as if he felt a sadistic pleasure in silence the essential information.
Ash thought it would react with a grin, though. A satirical - some signs of a joke.
The man does not seem to have heard instead. As if he had stopped to consider the possible distractions to concentrate fully on him - on his project.
is a very sharp change of atmosphere, compared with playful interaction which continued throughout the evening. A sudden stretch of the nerves - thicken the air.
The skin becomes sensitive. The heart in my throat.
Mike's eyes are now those of the photographer - the same people who had watched the other night, nailing it to the present. Charming.
"Are you cold?" He asks in a whisper, and he blinked. Surprised.
"Cold?"
Slowly, the other stops.
With deliberate calm, sliding the look on her face - back to fit it in his eyes.
"Because if you're cold, I want you to undress," he murmurs.
just bending his head, raises his arm.
"you were wearing only this. "But he
eyes too dark because Ash is able to focus on the meaning of his request. A beauty too hot and intoxicating intensity - and it's too close.
The breath enters the lungs, it dissolves and circulates in the blood, and is the only thing I can think of. The pace of chimes that mark the time, inside the wrists.
The sense of inevitability of the walls - of those rooms.
The desire and the fear of falling.
Then, in a dizzy spell, the words sink into the consciousness and ripple the surface of the water - break the image, destroying the mirror. The breath is broken in his mouth and he opens his eyes - tents.
Lowering the eyebrows, bent his head to look at the cloth that the man holds in his fingers.
the spotlight, satin glows reddish reflections. Shining.
are shades of blood, dense and disturbing. Liquid ink as if they were to dive in - as if they were spots in which to hide.
runny paint on the skin.
Drop by drop.
On the surface of consciousness.
moistened his lips, reaches out to caress the piece of cloth.
closing in hand, shudders.
"stripped?" Repeats.
Slowly, Mike nods.
"If there is a problem."
Pause.
"There are changing rooms, there behind. The switch is next to the door ... "
And it is strange. The story of all time.
He had promised to stop making certain choices - to deny the chills, reject chips - yet it is always impossible to say no.
Whenever man looks at him.
Every time you close.
Why would reject a defeat, and it would be weak, and electricity is a temptation to every look scary. And then, because that has already crossed the threshold.
There is no turning back - the way it is burned.
There is no other direction to the one already chosen.
There is no other path than that leading to the dressing room - dark walls of that narrow corridor. The reflections of cloth which he still holds in his hand - the folds of the satin persuasive. And the mirror that reflects his image later. When you stop to observe is the waves that form the hair slipping over her shoulders, and the shadows in his eyes.
those drawn on the walls.
The skin is white, in that low light. Too thin - unreal - and fragile as if only air. Glass.
is only then that Ash really realizes what he is doing. That feeling of being naked - no clothes without masks defenseless - makes its way to show himself as a mark on the meat, like a tattoo.
The imprint of fear.
Because no one has ever seen, so.
Nobody apart from Chris and Dylan, but with Chris and Dylan was not the same thing - it was not undress, but simply did not need clothes. It was not to be looked at, but just do not hide too much. Be transparent.
By Michael will be completely different. By Michael
there will be an assessment - a more intense look. Eyes glide over the skin at the body contour, and other secrets revealed twisted by mistake. Admissions closed throat - silence. And maybe some trickery.
Ash has never been so scared to look in the reflection of another face. Fear of being, maybe. Or lose it all.
In return, the corridor seems even longer and narrower. The walls are darker, and the floor on the soles of the feet is cold.
hair rubbing on your back and the effect of time - only more sensual. A shiver
deeper, because attention is focused on body weight. On his every move.
When turning the last corner and the set makes its reappearance, is like a lifetime ago.
light is different - more enveloping, more hot - and the air is different. More tense. It's different
Mike, sitting at the table - the view that the slides on when he lifts his head. The slowness of his movements, as he gets up, the noise of the films that rely on the table. Slipping through his fingers. Several
his eyes. Burning.
The way it looks. In which he takes possession of his body just going through it, very slowly.
The excitement that grips in his fists. That reveals the tension of the nerves and muscles of the shoulders.
is different silence. And finally, when he speaks, his voice is also different.
"Perfect ..." Look away, Mike ran a hand through his hair. "Is everything okay?"
Ash knows, that should say yes. Nod and pretend nothing - baste a mask quickly, before the nudity gets too scary. Fast approaching and pretend not to have noticed nothing - nothing unusual.
Sincerity is useless in situations like that. It can only make things worse.
clothes off even more.
, remove the skin.
"I am a bit 'nervous," admits instead. Why that day nothing is as it should - with Mike because, after all, this happens all the time - and it also takes strength to invent a lie.
a balance - some skill.
And he has no ground under their feet, at that time. No center.
embarrassed, crosses his arms across his chest, thinking that is different not have a hiding place for your hands - no pocket, no one layer of cloth. Only your body and your weakness.
"I have no idea what I should do ..." When he comes
looking up, he discovers Mike's eyes still fixed upon him.
Lights commercials crash in his eyes - white shimmer with reflections, transform the irises in mirror polished.
Ash can see himself reflected in that cut. The
own uncertainty - the weakness that usually mask.
Every single fear.
seems impossible that the man does not know how to decipher them. What else can see on her face - something that makes him believe that those photos may portray a different universe.
Subscribe in its production line layout.
Pregne of strength, confident sensuality.
Security.
"I just want you to relax."
The echo bounces off the walls of the words - Ash feels the beat in your head, like a deep rhythm. He feels it beating in my heart, like a music that you can not keep time.
He thinks he likes the tone of his voice hoarse - the shade lower, rougher, which seems to caress the nerves with a new delicacy. Color of an emotion without name, without history.
The thrill of a life never lived.
Still, watching him close his fingers on the lens of the camera - return to lower his head. Set the settings.
"Wait on the set ..." he says, in the meantime. Stopping
, looks up.
"I finish the film and mount it yourself. Five minutes."
But the temptation to call him back is very strong. Extend your arm and stop him - ask him not to go. Wait a minute.
As if his presence was the only thing that holds the world together.
Ash nods instead. She looks away.
And when he turns to the set tries not to think about how little able to see himself on the background - his body between the sofa cushions. His skin against the fabric - the contrast of white with red.
Blood.
open wound.
Closing her eyes, sliding your fingers on the arm, as if to memorize the texture of the fabric. Its consistency.
bending your head forward, takes a breath. Exhale.
"It comes from England. From Christie's auction, to be precise. "
had not noticed that Mike was already behind him - he was already so close.
holds the camera in one hand, but his arm was abandoned along the side and does not seem in a hurry. It does not seem about to take any pictures - not least for the moment.
"Logan wanted exactly this sofa for the service," he explains, pointing to the desk to his right. "That chair ... "he adds. "There have been major problems with the times, but nobody has been able to reason with him. We threatened to blow up the issue of the journal, yet there is no way to change his mind. "
Confused, Ash frowns. "What was so important in 'I'm couch?"
"It's damn good."
Another smile.
"Filthy expensive, too. I guess. For a photographer, it's pretty exciting ... "
Bypassing the back, Mike lets slip your fingers on the findings of the fabric. Turned back to him, then. He shakes his head
"The fool has these fixations, from time to time. Seemed almost if you feel that you'd be sitting there you ... "
" Why are disgustingly expensive type of sofas, I? "
"Let me photographers," he says then the other - just heading lower. Warmer.
"Then, you yourself told me ..." There's always
need to fix it in his eyes when he speaks in that tone. When it is so close.
Sink and support in his eyes, not knowing if you do it to challenge him or encourage him to touch you. If you simply do not lose it. To continue to pursue the game.
The fabric is soft, when Ash finally decides to sit down. Rubs against the skin with hardly make any noise, and a thrill. Teeth sunk in the lip.
"How should I take?" demand, in a whisper.
But the other is not responding.
Walk around the length of the sofa, though - for a moment, his shadow shields the light almost completely. And the tears of jeans discover the shape of your knees when you bend in front of him, pushing back the shoulder strap of the camera. By flushing the look on his throat. On his chest.
lower.
It's like if you moved in slow motion.
Reach out to offset the edge of the red flag - the fingers touching the skin for a fraction of a second. Between the neck and collar bone.
Then on the side.
The ripples in the folds of cloth that he is shaping, and draws new light reflections. It gets hot.
"I do not expect fun," whispered his voice - as if now resume the conversation in the elevator had dropped naturally.
But the tone is softer - more intimate. The lower vibrating voice, almost a whisper.
"And I do not expect even a distraction, Ash. Nor is relief, "resumed, moving away from her face with a lock of hair. "There is no such thing, photography. It is not easy. "
He swallows.
"And what, then?" application. "What do you expect?"
Slowly, the man withdraws his hand.
not smile anymore, and it seems even more in a hurry to speak. It is as if he were deeply concentrated, rather than - as if all his strength he had conveyed in his eyes. Inside the circle of dark eyes.
From behind, Ash hears breathing.
"Emotions," finally comes the answer, at the exact moment when his hands in his shoulders. Firmly. Decision.
He shudders.
"Why is there a hidden image beneath any image, Ash, as there is an abyss of water beneath the waves of an ocean. As there are wood and branches and leaves in a small grain seed. Like a secret. "
Silence.
"And I want to see beyond. I want to see inside, " Mike whispers, beginning a massage hypnotic. Profound. Almost as if the fingers were able to slip under the skin by dissolving directly the nerves, and the knots of tension. As if sanded all the imperfections, all the hardships. Erase the impression of the pains and fears, the tears. The traces left by the mistakes.
let out a deep breath, closes his eyes, Ash.
Slowly, his head bent forward.
And in that instant that the man's hands to reduce the movement to stop at all - until you break contact.
For a moment, no sound ripples that silence again. No noise.
Not even the breath.
But when Ash returns to raise eyebrows, it realizes that Michael moved to his side. That holds the camera close to your face - it is setting. And his muscles are tensed, like an athlete before departure. Like a rubber band about to break.
The delicacy of the first, somehow, seems to have turned into energy. Desire.
And he does not remember having ever felt so strong, the need to let it be observed. Urgent
and electrical under the skin, yet languid. One of those pleasures that wait is more beautiful - imagine.
Resting his head against the pillow, listening to the sound of the first step, and meanwhile keeps his eyes narrowed on his hands, trying to think about how it would see Slide the hard way. Hear them. Not for a massage - not to loosen knots. But to create.
Tie him.
did not believe it would be like, to be photographed.
He had seen photos of Mike - he knew what he is capable. Did not doubt that the result would have been remarkable.
But he thought that his part would have been a real effort - which was to pretend, play a part. That would be a game, perhaps - intriguing, thanks.
had not reckoned to find himself naked.
It had not brought to account of being drowned in silence - to focus only on the sound of breathing, shutter clicks that indicate the mark of the second - And not take your eyes off of Mike.
not on camera - not the photographer. But he
.
And his hands in his arms on his shoulders.
The way it moves, and his strength.
His presence.
The room is huge, in the background. The low lighting and dark walls melting into the distance, with the vacuum. Transform the boundaries in a timeless space. Breathless - the absolute absence of every single movement.
could stay there forever, and Ash would not feel the need to escape.
could close my eyes at all, relax muscles, and there would be no one who asks him to react. To find an explanation or to grow, to deal that not even the nightmares that put aside.
No one would speak to Dylan. No one would look at her wondering whether the fault.
Whether it was him, to put it on the run.
And his brother would be free at last. Live laugh grow. Without any shadow related to the shoulder blades - no unnecessary weight that makes the wings. Spurs uncomfortable.
would be easy. Perhaps
painless.
Around him, however, the silence became more dense. If you notice
gradually, as if reality to join him at a distance incalculable: the shutter release are sparse, and the only sound now seems to be that of your breath.
Slow, deep.
And the breath of Michael.
more distant. A little 'more quickly.
Slowly Ash squints the eye.
Sitting on the desk chair - the back wedged between his legs, hold the camera still in hand - the other is staring at him with an attention that is more like a curiosity, now. With a half smile on his lips. Her eyes lit with light.
"We're done?" he asks, just rising. Stretching, languidly. But Michael
merely widen the smile - to tilt the head to observe it from a different angle. He looks tired.
Yet it is a fatigue that is more like contentment - which makes her look even more alive. Perhaps even more dangerous. A bit 'insane.
Chuckling, he shakes his head slowly.
"I slipped into a mess, I'm afraid ..." he says finally. Almost amused.
"Hm." A smile, ironically. "You entered the wrong film?"
"Imagine if I could be so lucky," is the answer. Accompanied by a last look accomplice - a stretch of the lips more clearly.
Then, squaring his shoulders, Michael stands up.
pushed the chair, stretch your arm muscles. With care - almost gently - remove the strap from the head of the camera.
"Dai. Coated, "he says, reaching for him. "I'm going still photos with you, otherwise. And by putting in even more trouble, "he adds.
reversing his eyes, Ash is left to raise.
"What time is it?" Closed
on her, Michael's hand is great. Stop.
"Midnight," he says. But do not let him go - do not loosen her grip.
still exerts a little pressure, however, as to draw him closer. To attract his attention.
"Ash. Thank you, "murmured finally. Plan. "It was ..."
For a moment, his voice cracks.
"Well. It was nice, "ends by slowly releasing her hand. "Very."
It moves a step back, later, when he smiles. One step is probably not well calibrated. Not entirely convinced.
is a snap.
Ash turns - something holds the drape of satin.
The fabric glides on the ground as it had become extremely heavy, going to curl up on the carpet. And the movement stops suddenly - her eyes widen. It blocks the breathing of Mike, behind his back. A still image.
Silence.
several seconds pass before their eyes decide to move down, almost in unison, to find the edge of the cloth cover from the tip of a shoe.
Michael's shoe - the clearing of his voice hoarse.
The foot slides back, almost with caution.
When Ash returns to look at him, the man has painted the smile on his face most of the angelic world.
"Oops," stutters. Almost without moving his lips. "My fault, it seems ..."
But it was already bent on her knees in the meantime. He recovered the cloth.
It is a delicacy even a little 'soft that it rests on his shoulders, then, taking care not to touch his body even by accident. Immediately withdrawing his hands - sinking into the pockets. Leaving a decision this time. As if it were necessary to get out of that place fast. As if that were all poised on the verge of surrender.
discard. The perception net
what the situation is strange comes only at the time, like vertigo: back to the scenario defined, concrete floor and dark walls. The cold air on bare skin and the eyes of Michael studiously fixed on other things - the heart beat in my temples and the sense of intimacy collected in the throat.
so little would be enough, because everything was different.
A look long - a contact does not let go fast enough.
A smile.
is almost absurd, move along the corridor without looking back - leaving behind the atmosphere without having asked another undecided. Without having the opportunity to do something that would allow him to take it away, a piece of that night. A sign tangible - something that remains.
His image, when she looked in the mirror before leaving the dressing room, was still the same as always. No new signs on the skin - no new injuries, no new contours.
His reflection was only a light a little 'softer eyes, perhaps - as if he had lifted one of the webs that made them so cool.
A color a bit 'more alive on the cheek. Limbs relaxed. Smile less hard.
It might have been the effect of still photographs of Mike - he was still the model, that boy, and not himself.
But even time to say goodbye on the landing of the house, this inexplicable taste of nostalgia has not yet left his lips. The look of Mike has not lost that warmth, and his fingers linger for a while too, in the brush against your face. In shake his shoulder.
Like it's a promise.
Without his body, before his conscience.
And Ash does not know if it will ever be able to keep it - do not know if it will run again, the next time he meets him on the stairs, or if you have the courage to set in his eyes without fear of getting lost. Get to know different.
But for now, the nerves are still lying. Smiling is not difficult.
It is the only thing you could ask, perhaps.
One step at a time.
Trying not to think about the fear of falling.
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