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 Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 9:38 pm
The corner of Harland's mouth tilted up, and the sadness touched his eyes for a second again. "No," he said, softly. "I feel like someone who's gotten up and walked away from the fire, into the night, so the heat's leavin' their body and they remember what it was like," Harland said.
Because Ian had made him feel warm. Ian had lit a fire in him, a longing and a heat that Harland didn't often feel lit. He was picky. Like twice in a lifetime picky, and in no hurry to get anywhere any time fast.
Harland's heart broke all over again when Alistaire said Ian was a drunkard if he was emotional. Was that what Ian was going through right now? Away from him, in silence, where Harland couldn't reach. He made peace with the pain that rose unbidden in him, let it show on his face but didn't speak of it.
"It's not that I'm advisin' it an all, but maybe it's like puttin' your toes in water 'n acclimatin' ... If your senses make it overwhelmin' t' touch someone, maybe if they're dulled you'll get the jump on yourself," he suggested.
He shifted, so that he was kneeling. "Let me know when you're up to more," he said, smiling.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 9:52 pm
"A curious description," muttered Alistaire, though it was strangely true. He hadn't ever heard such a way of describing the way someone felt about another, though he supposed that Ian's lack of reciprocation towards Harland Leander Belle was the cause of the bittersweet tone in his voice. It was a stark contrast to the angry, violent tones that Maebe had used with him, black and white, hard and soft.
People were such curious creatures in and of themselves.
"I don't have any alcohol on the island," Alistaire said stiffly. "I don't carry that sort of thing around with me all the time. I'm not my brother," he added, just to be spiteful, but there wasn't much of a snap to his tone anymore. He glanced over at Harland, the friendly smile on his face an endless source of bemusement and irritation.
It was moment before he spoke again.
"Again," Alistaire said quietly, and this time he took off his other glove, extending not one, but both of his shaking hands towards Harland, his expression one of forced calm, though there was a fiery determination in his eyes.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 10:01 pm
Harland was nearly the furthest thing from mad at Ian. It wasn't Ian's responsibility to feel something for him, it wasn't Ian's fault Harland had liked him so strongly from such a short meeting. It wasn't Ian's fault Harland would be nipped by regret for a kiss that never quite happened. It was all just a collection of things that had happened. Nobody's fault. Nothing to be angry about.
He didn't want to be with Ian. He didn't want Ian. He didn't want those things, because Ian didn't want them, and there was no joy in the idea of it if that was the case. So he was content to remember the way the heat had felt, and return to the rest of his life.
When you loved someone in any capacity, or even liked them strongly, Harland figured you didn't get to ask them to be any specific way for you. You took them the way they were, and loved them exactly for that. You couldn't take them for granted; they would keep growing, keep unfolding like the pablo neruda love sonnet.
"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers," he recited, looking down at the ground again. He was clearly inside his mental palace, at that moment, remembering the words. "Pablo Neruda," he explained, "I remember nearly everythin' I've ever read, in its original wording. My one talent," he finished, with a laugh and a shake of his head that made his waves of hair shift and move like water.
"Could find ye some, if y' thought it'd help," he volunteered. He wasn't eager to drink with Alistaire, but if it would help, he'd find it.
Harland stood up and looked at Alistaire's shaking hands, and slowly, gently, extended both of his again. He slipped his hands under Alistaire's, and looked at his face. His smile wasn't as energetic, or as insistent. It was just there. Just like a little bit of sun into a long-forgotten room might warm it, his expression did the same for his face.
It looked like he was the kind of person who'd be there, no matter what, just because he could be.
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2014 6:32 am
The sudden I love you took him by abrupt surprise, Alistaire's cheeks flushing in confusion and irritation; but a second later he realized that Harland was reciting something, quoting lines from a song or a poem or a book. They were unfamiliar and strange; I love you was not a phrase that Alistaire had ever heard spoken more than perhaps once or twice in his life, and only once had the phrase been directed at him.
(But she hadn't meant it, not really, not even a little bit.)
("I love you, Ali. That's why I'm doing this. You know that, right? I do it because I love you - ")
Stop it.
Stop it.
"Emotions are weakness," muttered Alistaire, but he wasn't look at Harland, and his teeth were clenched together again, his shoulders tense. "Emotions are what ruin things, and people. Show too much emotion and you show too much of yourself to people who would take advantage of that fact and use it against you."
His eyes flickered briefly back to the other man and then he took a small breath, both of his gloves now in his pocket. His outstretched hands trembled, and as Harland stood, it took every ounce of willpower for him not to step back, his expression still determination mingled with a fear he didn't want to name.
Warm fingers touched his palms, and Alistaire hissed, squeezing his eyes shut because maybe not looking at Harland would make it easier, would make it more tolerable to bear. His shoulders had become stiff, scrunched up, but he didn't pull away, not yet, not yet -
- nearly five seconds later he yanked his hands back, but it was progress, longer than he'd ever touched someone before. Alistaire's breath escaped him in a half strangled gasp, his face flooding with color, and his breathing was slightly labored, as though he'd run a mile.
For a moment he just stood there, not saying anything at all, but then,
"Haphephobia," Alistaire said flatly, and though his words were bitten out through his teeth, there wasn't quite anger to them, more like a frustrated resignation. He didn't quite know why he was admitting it to Harland Leander Belle, of all people, but maybe it was because he'd already come this far and could not turn back now, could not erase what had already been done. "It's called Haphephobia."
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2014 8:55 am
The last time anyone had told Harland that they loved him in a meaningful capacity, it had been in Irish, and half of it he hadn't understood. He couldn't remember that, though: Protection had whitewashed that memory, so that Auberon's death was less of a failing on his part. Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to be upbeat.
"Everyone'll see what they want of you, don't ye think?" Harland asked, with a wink. "Showin' just what I am doesn't bother me any, I've made peace with my demons. There's nothin' left to use against me, I'm not ashamed of what I feel or think," Harland added. He seemed simple, and he was fine with that. Deus was a haven for him, perhaps especially because of the threat of death. Every single moment was a moment more than he'd expected to live.
Alistaire lasted a lot longer than Harland had expected him to, this third time around, with both hands touching. Harland was pretty impressed, in fact, at Alistaire's resolve. It was clearly painful. It looked from the outside like human contact was akin to touching a hot grill. It must be exhausting to keep this up.
"Haphephobia," Harland repeated, fixing the word into his memory. "Been like that all your life?" he asked. He took a bit of space, again; it seemed like that had helped Alistaire catch his breath, last time.
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2014 9:08 pm
Harland received a long, flat stare for his comments, though Alistaire couldn't help but grudgingly admit that he was probably right, at least about people only seeing what they wanted to see. Perhaps that was why he and Ian were often at odds, neither one of them willing to change their point of view for the other.
He pushed those thoughts away.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
Breathe.
("We're friends, right Ali? So it's okay to tell me - ")
No.
"No," said Alistaire again, only this time it was aloud, hissed through his teeth. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught off guard, his chest tight and his hands still shaking, though it was somewhat lessened now that Harland had stepped a little away. "No, I haven't."
He wasn't going to admit anything further than that, a muscle in his jaw flexing. After a moment of silence, he said flatly, "I am unsure how to proceed."
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Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 5:03 pm
Harland ran a hand through his hair again, listening to Alistaire reply, even though the hiss sounded more like he was talking to a memory than he was to Harland himself. The shaking worried him.
☆≼I'd only be this patient for much bigger tits,≽ Coyote added, helpfully. Much, much bigger.≽
Harland ignored his inner voice, and looked up at Alistaire. He had a thought.
"What if ye are goin' about it the long way, addressin' the blossoms, but not th' root?" Harland asked, with a shrug of his shoulders. He sighed. "It's not just skin ye keep away from others; the whole of you has to remain untouched, an' if lettin' anyone close is a dealbreaker maybe the problems are one and the same. Hurts to touch someone, hurts to... let them touch you," Harland suggested.
"Forgive me for bein' outta line 'n all, but..." He rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the soreness out, "If someone hurt you, they're hurtin' you still. It's not keepin' you safe, I think, and maybe to make it so ye can touch others ye gotta find a way to unlock the parts you've quarantined of yerself," he finished, shrugging again.
It would probably have been an annoying thing to hear, but he didn't look like a guru or a philosopher or a know it all. He just looked like a tanned, freckled Irish cowboy, sitting on the ground, gunmetal eyes somewhere between the warm sad look of a puppy and the sharp look of someone who knows what they're saying to be true of their own life.
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Posted: Thu May 08, 2014 9:37 pm
He had that drawl to his voice, deeply southern, and it was throwing Alistaire off. Canadians had their own accents, of course, but it wasn't like he heard them every time anyone Canadian spoke; the smooth cadence to each twangy syllable was strange and foreign and unsettling, and Alistaire frowned, mostly to himself, as he tried to stop the reverberations in his hands.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he said flatly, but the question raised the hairs on the back of his neck, sent a chill down his spine. He felt cold, suddenly, curling his fingers into the palms of his hands to try and calm them. "What do you mean, if someone hurt me?"
He hadn't told anyone. He'd never told a single soul, not his brothers or his parents or anyone. No one had ever asked, either. All they'd assumed was that he'd grown OCD as he'd spent more time away from home, sending him to various doctors and clinics, spending hundreds on medication he just flushed down the sink.
Alistaire tried to steady his breathing.
"I can't do this," he said tightly, teeth still clenched together. His face was flushed. "You know nothing about me. This was a mistake."
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 12:21 pm
The southern accent came and went, his native Irish replacing it as he thought of his mother's voice, and the way she said that Irish was the best language for comfort. Looking at Alistaire, he didn't think that would help. Harland knew that what he had to say to Alistaire would probably sting, and that there would definitely be a backlash. He wasn't worried.
He had pretty much literally nothing to lose. He had no idea if someone had hurt Alistaire, it was just a shot in the dark; he didn't know much about OCD, didn't know anything about Alistaire's past, so there were infinite possibilities. Harland said that out of experience. He had zero to do with OCD, but everything to do with broken hearts and the way they changed people.
Not usually for the better. The mending changed them for the better.
"It's almost true-- I know nearly nothin' about ye. You know about as much about me, I suspect," Harland said, his voice calm, expression neutral. "But I do know you don't make many mistakes, do you? I don't think this was one of them. It was the sum of your calculations," Harland suggested.
"Coming to me was the step that seemed like it'd have to be taken. I don't know much about you, I can't judge, and I won't ask," Harland said, with a shrug of one shoulder. "But I'll keep on helpin' till my last breath."
Harland held one hand out.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 2:33 pm
He wondered how Harland could be so stable, so seemingly unaffected by everything that he was saying to him, everything that came out through clenched teeth in hisses and snarls and words of anger and malice. Yet Harland stood, utterly calm, his expression still one of gentle concern and mild curiosity, though the latter was muted.
Alistaire had thought he'd had Harland Leander Belle figured out.
He was wrong.
It was like a puzzle he couldn't quite get the pieces to fit together in, each one there but just slightly off, slightly too round or too small or too big or too wide. He'd say one thing, when Alistaire would expect another. When he expected weakness, or perhaps a bit of embarrassment or shame, there was nothing but a deep serenity and calm.
Alistaire didn't know if it was naivety or just...Harland.
"I know you still carry a torch for my idiotic little brother," Alistaire said flatly, but then he trailed off, because it was true, he did not know practically anything about the man standing in front of him.
You don't like to make many mistakes, do you?
He hated how easily he was being read, in spite of the fact that Harland said he didn't know anything about him. Alistaire shifted his feet, fingers clenching together at his sides. Harland's hand was in front of him, stretching out towards him, and Alistaire's throat felt dry as he stared at it, his chest feeling tight. It was easier to have Harland be the one to take the first step, but turning it around, making it so that he was the one who had to reach out was extremely agitating.
Now or never.
Take it or leave it.
"I'll keep helping."
Alistaire ground his teeth together. Hesitantly he lifted a hand and stretched his own out towards Harland. It stopped a few inches shy of his fingertips, Alistaire's hand shaking. He seemed to be waging an internal war with himself, his cheeks flushed with humiliation - but then, finally, it seemed, Alistaire lowered his hand and touched Harland's.
At first it was just butterfly light, barely grazing, but then he pressed his palm flat, skin against skin, a hiss escaping through his teeth. Alistaire's fingers were longer than Harland's, but slightly smoother; the tips of his index and middle finger touched the inside of Harland's wrist, just briefly, before Alistaire yanked his hand away with a half strangled gasp that he tried to hide.
"I can't - " he said breathlessly, and hated how pathetic he was for not being able to do just a simple task. Determination and anger were sparking in his eyes, and with a low growl, Alistaire abruptly seized ahold of Harland's hand again, this time gripping it so tightly that it was probably almost painful. He held on for several long seconds, his heart beating in his throat, an then he let go, slowly, letting his fingers fall away as he stared at them.
The tremors had lessened, just a fraction, but still.face your demons this was longer than I thought it would be whoops
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 3:24 pm
Harland, for his part, had learned something new about both himself and about Alistaire. He had thought he would be well rid of him, at first; that Alistaire would fight him tooth and nail to no avail, to see who could be the dominant one. But Harland, looking at Alistaire, realized that he himself sincerely cared about Alistaire: cared whether he was hurt or well, cared if he was scared in his own way.
Harland would keep being calm, because Alistaire was beginning to mean something to him as a person. He laughed, startled, when Alistaire said he carried a torch for Ian. It wasn't mean laughter; it sounded happy. "I do, yeah," he agreed, softly, "Always will, seems like. Don't bothern me none," he finished.
It was all guess work. Harland couldn't know Alistaire, really; he did, however, have a memory a mile long and his special talent was finding the links between things seemingly unrelated. Investigations. Those were his favourite. It just seemed so clear to him. No one who was happy with themselves would make it their business to lash out at others with such malice. Harland wanted to find an Alistaire who laughed, one day. An Alistaire who had favourite foods, and dreams, and hobbies.
But if someone had hurt him so badly that he was afraid to show those sides of himself, Harland would never see that wish fulfilled. That motivated him, too.
The soft feeling of Alistaire's fingers against his wrist made the Cowboy redden. He smiled at Alistaire, and resisted the urge to grab hold of his shoulders in a man-hug and whoop at the success of what he was definitely considering their new friendship.
Harland was about to reply Not can't, you just did when Alistaire suddenly grabbed hold of Harland's hand with a grip that pretty much felt like Alistaire might be giving birth. Harland winced, but was still smiling, making it probably the most awkward facial expression his face had ever seen. He coughed, as Alistaire let go. And then he smiled as big as he ever had, bigger still.
"That was a devil's share of progress," Harland said, genuinely looking supremely pleased for Alistaire and for how far they'd come. "I'd buy ye a drink, but maybe you're too tired for that, now," Harland said, terribly hopeful that they could do this again, regularly, and help more and more.
Even if Harland never knew about Maebe, even if Alistaire never told him why, even if one day Alistaire was cured and no longer needed him. Harland smiled, knowing all of these possible futures, and tipped his hat at Alistaire.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 4:36 pm
The blush was interesting. Alistaire made note of it for later, filed it away to remember later. That reaction was the reaction he'd expected earlier, when he'd taunted him about Ian, but all that had done was cause a smile and a gentle nod, which was aggravating.
But he'd done it. He'd reached out and taken Harland's hand and held on for almost a good ten seconds, which was more than he'd touched anyone in a very, very long time. The nausea threatened to rise again, thick in his throat, but this time Alistaire forced it back down, staring intently at Harland's hand as though this might help him to focus.
The nausea gently ebbed, and Alistaire let out a long breath that shook slightly. He scrabbled for his gloves again, yanking them out of his pockets and tugging them back onto his hands, breathing a sigh of relief once they covered his skin. The trembling slowed, became less apparent, but he still stood there in front of Harland as though no longer sure what to do with himself.
"I think," he said quietly, "I think I will return to my room now."
He took a step backwards, his chest feeling tight, but there was also a strange gleam in his eye; victorious, almost. He paused before he moved again, and then said, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, barely audible.
"Next time you can get me a drink."
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 5:28 pm
Harland was exhausted. He hadn't felt it until Alistaire said he would return to his room, and Harland nodded in reply, hiding a yawn behind one tanned fist. "I look forward to sleep's shores," he said, and then looked at Alistaire and the gleam in his eye.
Harland filed that view away, so that he could sketch it later. The picture of victory. But when he drew it, he would draw Alistaire without his gloves on. They could manage it, one day. Harland was confident.
"It'd be my pleasure," Harland said, his voice warm and soft, though tired. He tipped his hat at Alistaire, looped his thumbs through his belt loops, and vanished back into the dorms so that he could pass out fully clothed in bed after managing to kick off his cowboy boots and hang his hat by the door.
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