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 Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 8:43 pm
6:45PM.
Harland and Alistaire were at the Seapoint Ballroom, and he was again picking up tickets he'd purchased via email. Very handy, when you were going to Europe. Now and again, he'd speak to the ticket attendant with Irish phrases, and she'd laugh. He looked back at Alistaire, and then at the ticket attendant. She asked him something, to which he replied: "Ni mor a admhail, ta se go dathúil, an fear mo chroi." You have to admit, he's handsome, the man of my heart. She fanned herself, swooning and laughing.
"Ansin tá tú t-ádh araon," she replied, waving them both into the room. Then you're both lucky.
The room of the show itself, the The Scottish Pianist James Ross and Galway students, wasn't much to look at, admittedly.
It wasn't about that, though, hopefully. The facility itself was very old, and it was mainly used for music and dancing, and they were, after all, here for the music. Harland found their seats, red velvet lined chairs which would hopefully be comfortable for the duration of the concert. "It was either this, or a musical film from the 1950s... figured we could watch a movie anytime, this is a once in a lifetime kind of thing. The pianist James Ross' been helpin' these local Galway students compose their own pieces. Someone's here to film a documentary about him," Harland said, scanning the audience and the ballroom for cameras. Harland sat with his hands folded in his lap, leaning back in the chair.
He snuck a glance at Alistaire, and smiled to himself.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 8:55 pm
The Seapoint Ballroom, Alistaire had to admit, was more in line with things that he enjoyed.
Not that he hadn't enjoyed the aquarium; in fact, it had been very illuminating, and Alistaire had always found both the sea and its inhabitants to be quite interesting. Not to mention he'd learned more about Harland Leander Belle himself, which was turning out to be the focal point of the date (it still made him anxious, that word; Alistaire kept having to turn his head, make sure that he was actually in Ireland and not at Deus where people could see him).
He stood around and waited for Harland to pick up the tickets, the language rolling off of Harland's tongue as easily as English did. The pair of them were laughing, her fingers fluttering, and Alistaire tilted his head a little, his sharp gaze curious; but it wasn't until they were seated that he spoke again.
"It's rather nice in here, isn't it?"
Alistaire let his gaze roam around the room. He had to admit; it was very in with his own style, and Harland had chosen well. Classical music was a weakness (if one could call it that) of his, the only music he even wanted to listen to most of the time, which meant that whatever piano music was played here would most likely be to his liking.
"What did you say to the attendant?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject, sliding one leg over the other and folding his gloved hands together in his lap. "You and she seemed to be having quite the conversation."
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 9:28 pm
At least he'd picked one thing right, and on top of that he wouldn't be able to say too much while the concert was in session, so it wasn't like he could mess up any worse. He tried to correct his thinking at the root: not mess up, wouldn't mess up even if I was talking.
"It is, yeah," he agreed, "I like how cozy places like this can be, instead've the bigger venues." Harland was leafing through his pamphlet, reading the titles of the songs.
"Hm? Ah, sorry about that, yeah-- just so nice to hear my language again," he said, looking very sincere about his apology, making eye contact if he could. He bowed his head back down to pretend to read again. "She asked if I was with with you. I told her that you're after my own heart, an' she had to admit you're handsome. She said we're both lucky," he translated, honestly. He didn't dare look up, said it all as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
But he was smiling to himself, as though the musician's pamphlet had just told him an excellent joke, and he was also faintly red. He looked up just as the first student pianist took the stage, playing a solo and looking very frenetic. Harland applauded, but was looking at the entire thing with his lopsided smile thinking This is really out of my element, I can't even tell if she's enjoyable.
Harland didn't have elegant tastes, at all. It was a miracle he could actually dress himself. The next piece, with James Ross himself playing made Harland feel way more at home. It looked like the students were going to be a mix of traditional and classical.
"Maybe we can both be happy," Harland said, with a smile. "Dates... are difficult, ye know?" Harland mumbled suddenly, after the act, and laughed, shushing himself before the next whoever it was took the stage. Harland leaned sideways just before they started to play, so that he could whisper: "Wish we were alone, just for a second, so I could maybe hold your hand. Just for a second, mind..." he said, smiling softly and looking back at the stage.
He was a lot more relaxed now than he'd started out, but wow, this formal date thing was difficult. In fact, he was pretty sure dates were not a thing meant to be enjoyed, but rather a gauntlet of "Can you pretend to enjoy yourself for a couple hours so we can get to know one another better?"
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 9:39 pm
Alistaire also appreciated the fact that it was cozier, not larger, though he didn't say anything, merely let his gaze wander casually across Harland's face and the freckles across the bridge of his nose before he turned back to the stage, absently twisting the ring on his index finger underneath his glove.
"It's a nice language," he said, without looking at Harland, and a steady red had started to creep up the back of his neck, his ears warm. The rest of what Harland said slowly fell into place and he suddenly felt all too warm, a strange swooping sensation low in the pit of Alistaire's stomach.
He gave a soft snort.
"You're an idiot," he said quietly, but it was gentle, without repercussion.
The first pianist played well, though the tune was fast and frenzied, the student's hands flying across the keys. Alistaire watched with unabashed curiosity, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look at her technique. It was exactly the sort of thing he enjoyed, and when she finished, his eyes were dancing with interest, Alistaire leaning back in his seat again.
The second pianist was more casual, less frantic, and more Harland...ish. Alistaire's eyes slid sideways towards the other man, and he could hear the whispered words close to his ear, Harland's breath light against the side of his face. Alistaire tensed, his body freezing automatically, his throat dry.
But then Harland slid back, leaning into his chair as he looked out at stage, and Alistaire watched him for a moment, rather than the pianist, his fingers itching.
His hand touched the side of Harland's leg, then slid over his thigh until they found Harland's hand. Without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the next act, Alistaire slid his gloved fingers covertly with Harland's, twining them together, palm against gloved palm. They were in public - public - but their seats were near the back and off to the side, and no one here would ever remember them or even notice them, Alistaire fighting the anxiety tooth and nail.
His face was red, but he stared resolutely ahead, refusing to look at Harland.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 10:02 pm
Harland didn't say anything, didn't point out that apparently it was okay for Alistaire to call him an idiot, but it wasn't okay if he joked about it. Double standards. Double-standards were something he could tell he was probably going to have to learn how to get used to.
Every now and again, or rather very often in fact, Harland was sneaking sidelong glances at Alistaire to watch the way he studied the musicians and the way that his expression changed. He wished he could ask Alistaire the same question he'd asked about the Irish earlier. What does it mean? How does it translate? he'd want to ask. Maybe at dinner he could do just that. He really did want to know.
He wanted to know pretty much everything about Alistaire.
Harland felt Alistaire's hand slide over his thigh, and automatically he reached out for it without thinking, until suddenly he realized the gift that Alistaire had given him. Harland looked over, wide-eyed, unable to pretend it was nothing. He had been doing his best to just act casual, but the way he felt when Alistaire touched him, even gloved... it was entirely distracting. Smiling like he was intoxicated, Harland held Alistaire's hand loosely and returned to looking at the stage.
As long as Alistaire could stomach it, Harland was in heaven. He didn't need to draw attention to it, to make it more intense, nothing-- just the simple fact he'd held his hand made Harland's heart swell. It was useless, Harland knew: even if he wanted to change his mind, now, he'd never be able to. Alistaire'd gotten under his skin, and every little gesture, every small concession, kindness and every large hurdle they faced made it so much harder not to admit even to himself that it was love he felt for him.
Harland turned an even brighter red, grew so warm he could hardly breathe, just thinking about that.
Somehow, the next classical pieces were infinitely more enjoyable. He suspected it had a lot to do with Alistaire. And, looking out into the crowd from their secluded seats, Harland suddenly thought: It's as if this is a lesson, too.
If Alistaire was cured, some day, would he still need Harland around? Maybe not. Maybe then, he would simply want him because it was him, and that was the thought Harland held onto like a beacon. Not the fear, the hope.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 10:14 pm
He wished sometimes that he had Ian's brain; that he had the ability to just let go and relax, to ease into new relationships, romantic or otherwise, with people with the steady sort of casualness that Ian had always possessed. Instead, Alistaire had only learned how to go about it scientifically, methodically. He compartmentalized everything, pushed away the unnecessary emotions so that he could focus on the necessary, on the facts. For years it had worked, Alistaire only focusing on what was strictly necessary to get by in life, never anything extraneous.
And then Harland had come along and undone everything.
It was ridiculous, he thought. It was ridiculous and unnerving and terrifying and pathetic and terrible and confusing and awkward and anxious and nervewracking and horrible and annoying.
And yet he couldn't tear himself away. Something had drawn him to Harland in the first place, a vague curiosity, but now it was like he was tangled up the threads he had laid out, until he couldn't figure a way to extract himself without cutting.
Harland's grip was light, loose enough for Alistaire to pull away if he wanted to. He kept his gaze focused on the front, but he could feel the warmth from Harland's hand radiating outward, even through his glove. He chanced a glance sideways, catching a glimpse of red cheeks that matched his own, and then Alistaire quickly looked forward again, fighting the anxiety welling in his stomach, rising in his throat.
It's just Harland. There's no one else to judge you.
Relax.
Focus. This is a lesson. Count to ten.
His fingers twitched, his hand shaking a little, but Alistaire squeezed Harland's hand tightly, trying to alleviate some of the trembling. The next pianist onstage had finished to tumultuous applause, but Alistaire was very much aware of the fact that Harland was sitting so very close to him.
He turned his head, forcing a light smirk to his lips.
"I've enjoyed this part of the evening very much so far," he said lightly. "I do so enjoy classical music."
It sounded less pathetic in his head. He ignored this.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 10:34 pm
Not that Harland could remember this clearly, but the anxiety of falling in love with Alistaire was largely attributable to the fact that the last person he'd loved had thrown themselves off a roof, and he'd never caught the last thing they'd said to him as they did so. It wasn't because he had a hole in his normally watertight memory, but rather that it was the main victim of Protection's whitewashing. Auberon had lived, in the new reality. Harland just magically didn't know how to find him. He had 'moved on,' and Harland had accepted that.
In reality, Auberon had died, rather than fight the monsters and Harland felt guilty for that, too, but it was remarkably hard to address a fear which had its root sealed off from one's memory. Not even actual hypnosis, that creature of myth and lore, would be able to dig that problem up.
So Harland felt incredibly terrified of this man and his effect on him. He'd thought that surely if they fought it out right away they could get along, but he didn't imagine this. He'd sheltered love for Ian in his heart all this time, for no particular reason other than-- well, the feeling was reason enough, he supposed. And yet it wasn't remotely Ian he was thinking about, sitting there in the dark with Alistaire's hand squeezing his. Harland squeezed back, just gently: You can do it, count to thirty, he wanted to say.
We're in this together.
Harland arched a brow, shaking his head at Alistaire's smirk. "Turns out I enjoy it too," he whispered, and he was probably not actually referring to the music; at least, it seemed like he was a lot more interested in a certain dark-haired, guarded and yet fascinating date of his. "One last stop after this, and then back to Deus," Harland said, both sad and excited; the last part of the evening would be nice, too, a nice way to wrap it up... but then he'd be back on Deus, where he wouldn't dream of holding Alistaire's hand where others could see them.
It was so easy to be affectionate with Lilac, regardless of whoever was looking: Harland was used to spinning her, cuddling her, pulling her into his lap. And yet if it mattered, if it was Alistaire, he couldn't.
He tried not to feel sad, and he equally tried not to think of Ian.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 10:45 pm
Alistaire was equally trying not to think of Ian, but obviously not for the same reasons as Harland wasn't trying to think of him. It was difficult not to compare himself to his brother, not just because Harland had already confessed still being in love with him, but because Ian was just so vastly different than he was. Ian would have been able to handle the date with a lot more finesse, a great deal more casual confidence than Alistaire was turning out.
He tried to count to thirty to steady his nerves.
One...two...three...four...five...
Harland squeezed his hand gently as the last pianist took the stage, beginning a complex piece of fast, rhythmic notes, and Alistaire's heart was in his throat.
...twenty-six...twenty-seven...
Maybe he could last through the entire piece.
...thirty-eight...thirty-nine...
As it turned out, the last pianist was merely a quicker piece than the end, meant to entertain and to say goodbye to those in the audience. Alistaire only reached seventy-two seconds before she had finished and stood, bowing out to the rest of them, and Alistaire slowly withdrew his fingers from Harland's, feeling the rush of cool air as the warmth began to seep away.
His gloved hand rested briefly on Harland's thigh as Alistaire glanced around, and then he stood along with the rest of the audience, tugging at his gloves and looking down at Harland with a wary yet curious expression, his cheeks flushed.
"Where is this last stop of ours?" he asked.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 10:58 pm
On the bright side, they weren't trying to avoid Ian-thoughts for the same reason. Harland hadn't known what would happen, hadn't thought to avoid confessing he still loved Ian to spare Alistaire and himself future discomfort-- it was the furthest thing on his mind, that time he watched Ian carry away an unconscious Alistaire. Not that it mattered. Harland was pretty sure Ian wouldn't bother to talk to him again anyway, and he was a little disappointed to note that he was bitter about that, in his own way. Harland didn't like to have that kind of emotion cluttering up his heart.
He liked to let that kind of thing go.
One of the most important differences between Alistaire and Ian on a date? Ian would have never gone anywhere with Harland. That thought didn't escape him, and went hand in hand with any of Ian's appearances in Harland's thoughts. Ian had walked away.
Alistaire had walked in, and he had held on. He was still holding on. No, really, literally; Harland realized with sudden fascination that Alistaire had managed to hold onto his hand for the entire closing piece, and he couldn't be happier. As soon as Alistaire stood and withdrew his fingers, Harland clapped for the performance, as if to dull the sudden loss of the heat from Alistaire's hand. And that touch, lingering on his thigh-- Harland didn't even know how he was surviving the longing, by this point. Everytime Alistaire touched him, he felt it again, and it always seemed stronger than before.
"Last stop for tonight's a teroir called Aniar. Supposedly some of the best food in the country, one of the top hundred restaurants or somethin'... guess we'll find out," he said, having to work hard to speak clearly when all he wanted to do was admire Alistaire and focus to make his heartbeat stop racing.
"Ready for the second last walk of tonight?" he asked.
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2014 7:51 am
His chest felt very tight, like it was difficult to breathe properly, but it was nearing evening and the sky was most likely darkening outside. That meant it would be easier to handle Harland and his absurd brightness, his lightness that was, admittedly at times, hard to be around because it was just so much. It was like standing next to a fire, or a sun, and expecting not to get burned by it every once in a while.
He wondered dimly if he would let Harland burn him.
Everyone else was standing and Alistaire did as well, straightening his vest, tugging his sleeves carefully around his wrists, smoothing down his tie, and making sure that his gloves were properly in place. After he was quite certain there was no lint or dust on them (there never was anyway, he just needed something to do with his hands), Alistaire turned sideways to look at Harland beside him.
"Sounds like a lovely place to eat," he said lightly, and smiled slightly, the corners of his lips twitching as he made for the end of the row of seats, rounding around them and waiting for Harland in the aisle.
"Shall we, Mr. Belle?"
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2014 2:22 pm
I DON'T BELONG HERE IGNORE ME
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2014 2:23 pm
Alistaire wasn't alone in the straightening; Harland smoothed out his vest, and ran a hand through his hair. That was mostly its extent, though, apart from a lastminute tug to both cuffs to right the dress shirt. "It should be nice; when was the last time you've eaten out? I can't even remember, for me; even on my trip or two out, I'd just get food to take home," he said.
"Yeah, let's," Harland agreed, tipping his hat to Alistaire and striding beside him. "It's just this way," he said, as they started to exit the venue. He gestured with a flat palm, instead of pointing.
"Turns out I like classical music a bit," he said, smiling at Alistaire as they started to walk.
It had more than a little to do with his company, certainly. "But I'm also lookin' forward to food," he added, with a laugh.
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