Place: Some Golden Space

[professeurdeloi]

When he'd found the set of rooms, he hadn't been thinking of anything in particular, that he was aware of. But the resemblance of them to his college rooms in the year he had spent at Cambridge was striking enough that he had occupied them almost at a whim.

The main door is heavy and slightly too low for modern comfort. It opens onto a room that is high-ceilinged and grand; large, but not too large to lose its cosiness. The walls are panelled, the wooden floor varnished and mostly bare, the ceiling painted plain white. On the wall, opposite the door, there's a tall, arched window that reaches almost to the ceiling, heavy burgundy tapestry drapes pulled back, to reveal a snowy scene. There's a cushioned window seat at its base, and it always seems to be winter outside.

The wall to the left of the window houses the centrepiece of the room - a large, tall stone fireplace with a small fire in the grate that is lit most of the time - a pile of small logs stacked on the hearth beside it. There is a large mirror over the mantlepiece and  a small wooden carving of a green man propped up against a few leatherbound books of poetry. In front is a deep rug, an armchair, a small low table and a large leather sofa. The latter has a grey wool blanket thrown over it and a few cushions piled up against one arm.

Either side of the fireplace are heavy oak doors. One leads to a surprisingly modern bathroom and the other to a small study, lined with bookshelves and with an antique oak desk under the small, deep window - which also looks out on the same scene as its larger counterpart. On the desk are papers, a fountain pen, and a small laptop.

To the right of the window in the main room is a large wooden bedstead - the bed itself neatly made with a feather comforter and white sheets, a cover matching the burgundy of the curtains folded partly back over those. On one side is a nightstand, on the other, a rug and the doors of a small walk-in closet. On the nightstand is a small  vase containing three dark pink, heavily scented roses.

On the same wall as the door is a bookcase and a long, low cupboard that houses some crockery and a small, built in refrigerator. On the counter top is an electric kettle and yesterday's copy of Le Monde. It is always there, and always the most recent copy. He has given up trying to understand how it happens.

The bookcase is filled with a mixture of law, history, philosophy and poetry books - some were here when he arrived, and some he has borrowed from the libraries he has found here. There is also a small stereo and a selection of CDs.

There are no personal belongings, save for the books and CDs, and a few things he has been given since he arrived. Woodsmoke, floor polish, coffee and tobacco mingle with the scent of the roses and the air in here is always slightly cool, as if winter is encroaching from the view outside.

"Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I'll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
Musing upon them..."  - Rupert Brooke

Comments

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He sighs a little, stooping slightly in front of the fire, one hand resting on the mantlepiece, the other taking the poker and prodding at the embers. He puts another log onto the low flames, then straightens up and turns to face Kristoph, with a wry smile.*

You may be a deeply irritating man, Kristoph, but you have yet to be a "bother" of any kind.

*Moving to the sofa, he folds the blanket loosely and throws it onto the armchair.*

I did - although perhaps I did not entirely expect you to accept.

*He chuckles a little and shrugs, gesturing to the sofa.*

I'm afraid that I am not accustomed to receiving guests here just yet.

Please make yourself at home, although I am afraid that you may find that rather difficult. I seem to have chosen somewhat humbler lodgings than you are accustomed to.

*And there's a faint worry about what might have brought the man here, although he does a fair job of concealing it with a smile*

Tea?

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

Nonsense, Miles. Even I can appreciate another man's home without picking it apart for being not to my tastes.

[he smiled a bit, walking to the chair and picking up the blanket, wrapping it loosely around himself. He bypassed that furniture and perched himself in the window seat. The view was not familiar, but he liked it just the same, and it reminded him a bit of the last time he was in Rothenburg. Snow always did.]

Tea would be lovely, thank you.

[he spent a moment watching the view before he pulled out his cigarette case, absently running his fingers across the blue spider on the lid before putting one to his lips and lighting it with a thin silver lighter.

He cracks the window and leans back, blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth and toward the window.]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He smiles at that, flicking the switch on the kettle and watching Kristoph settle in the window seat before turning his attention to making the tea.*

I'm glad that the view, at least, is to your liking.

*Picking through the neatly labelled packs of tea and coffee, he settles on Lapsang Souchong, measuring it into the pot and pouring water over it. He leaves it to stand while he retrieves two china mugs from the cupboard and then turns to lean against the wall, content to watch Kristoph smoke in silence for a while.

He wonders again at why the man is here, since he knows perfectly well that his rooms are only discoverable to people actively seeking him. Not that he expects Kristoph to admit that, and that thought makes him smile as he shifts to pour out the tea.

The hot liquid steams in the cooler air by the window and he hooks a foot around a small wooden stool nearby, pulling it closer and placing Kristoph's drink on it. He looks over Kristoph's head, following his gaze out of the window, shivering a little and sipping his tea.*

Welcome to Great Court, Trinity College, Cambridge.

It's not quite the view that I had during my year there, but it's a close approximation.

*And then he looks down, noting the scarf and the pin and the absence of his glasses.*

You look well. I trust you are feeling fully recovered.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he wraps his hand around the cup, letting the heat seep into his fingers. He doesn't seem to mind the cold, really, or notice much at all. He's a bit distant, and he doesn't really even take note when his bracelet slips into view.

Another drag of his cigarette, and he flicks the ash out of the open window]

It's quite beautiful, actually. I can see why you may have "found" this room here, despite it not being your own room.

[he tags another drag from his cigarette before he speaks, and even then, his voice is a bit quiet]

I am well enough. And yourself, Miles? I'm afraid I still need to apologize for the state I was in the other night.

[he takes a sip of his tea, glancing over at him]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He frowns a little at Kristoph's subdued tone, but can't read his face as he's still turned away towards the window. But he does notice the bracelet - mainly because he doesn't remember having seen it before.*

My memories of Cambridge are mixed, to be perfectly truthful. But I was very fond of the place itself.

*The smell of cloves is sharp against the breathtakingly cold air from outside, but not unpleasant, and he inhales it silently before sipping his tea again, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck prickle in protest at the cold.

He's still looking absently at the bracelet when Kristoph glances up at him and it's almost a guilty response when his gaze flicks upward to meet the other man's eyes.*

I am fine, as always.

And you have nothing to apologise for, Kristoph. You were unwell. It's hardly a crime.

*He shrugs, putting his mug down on the stool and adjusting the blanket around the other man's shoulders a little. Then he steps away, pulling the cover from the bed and wrapping it around himself, taking a seat at the opposite side of the window seat to Kristoph.*

Is that why you wanted to see me?

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he notices Miles glance away from his hand, and he realizes what must have caught his eye. He smiles a bit, shaking the bracelet off and tucking it into his pants pocket]

Penicillin allergy. I know there's hardly a need to wear it here, but it's a force of habit, I'm afraid.

[there's a "thank you" as Miles fusses over him, and he chuckles a bit, shifting and making room in the window for him.

He takes another sip of his tea]

Actually, no. I consider you a friend, of sorts. I seem to be running low on those. I have been here but a handful of months, and yet nearly a year has passed to those I left behind.

I suppose that was all.

[and he turns to the window again, taking a drag of his cigarette]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

I see.

*He watches Kristoph evenly as he pockets the bracelet.*

Not so much of a habit that I have ever seen you wear it before. But I will bear it in mind should anyone see fit to assault you with antibiotics in my presence.

*He shifts a little on the seat, retrieving his own cigarettes from his shirt pocket, then pulling the throw around his shoulders again, barely suppressing another shiver as a sharp breeze catches him. He lights one, takes a drag, then relaxes a little back against the wall. He listens to Kristoph and then looks away, out of the window for a while before speaking.*

I'm sorry, Kris.

*There's a long pause, and he looks out again. There's nothing he can really say - he can't change it, or make it any less distressing - he already knows that. Almost unconsciously, he touches his eyebrow, remembering Wright in the bar - his anger, the thrown glass, and the kiss. He closes his eyes briefly, before looking back at Kristoph.*

One of the Wrights... he told me the same thing. His daughter arrived here and told him he had been missing for a year.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

Leave it be, Miles. It was a habit for me, back in my world.

[he says it softly, shrugging a bit inside the blanket. He takes another drink from his tea, feeling the warmth case down his insides for just a few moments.

He manages to kick off his boots, peeling them off with his feet, and he draws his legs up, stretching out a bit in the window seat behind Miles.]

It's quite odd, how this place works. I spoke with my friend for a few moments and I hope I settled my affairs well enough.

[another drag, and he looks out the window]

I told him to consider me, for all intents and purposes, dead.

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He arches an eyebrow, but doesn't comment further on the bracelet, reaching for his mug and taking a drink of tea instead.*

"Odd" is not the word I would use.

*He thinks about the maze, and some of the rooms he has seen; remembers the stench of the blood at Klavier's murder scene, the things he's learned of the lives of those he left behind in Los Angeles and the friends that he has gained and lost. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, shifting a little to allow Kristoph to put up his feet*

I think "cruel" is more fitting, a great deal of the time. You spoke to Armin, I suppose.

*It's a statement, not a question, and his voice is flat. But at the last words he glances back at Kristoph for a moment, then looks down, then somewhat hesitantly rests his left hand on Kristoph's leg. His voice is quiet.*

I did something similar, once - in my own world. I think that at the time I almost believed that I was dead, or should be.

But I am still here. And so are you.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

That I did. Though I doubt how much he can do, between himself an Apollo, they should be able to settle my estate between themselves.

He was none to pleased with me, however. Then again, perhaps when he says "I hate you", he always meant that he found me tolerable.

[he shakes his head, taking another drag of his cigarette.

He smiles a bit at the hand on his leg]

That we are.

I simply assumed it to be best for everyone involved. I cannot guarantee when I will return, or if I will. At the moment, I will admit that staying here doesn't seem like an altogether awful idea.

[and he shrugs a bit, taking a drink]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

My sister is the executor of my will, and I hope that she will have taken matters in hand, should events turn out to have occurred similarly in my own world. And I have reason to believe they will, one way or another.

*He doesn't elaborate further. How can he explain that he's seen his own gravestone, and the date on it? That he knows what the inscription will be and who will choose it, and who will ensure that his remains, should there be any, will be laid to rest beside his father? He just shakes his head, then glances up at Kristoph with a half-smile.*

More than tolerable, I suspect, if he claims to hate you for it.

*He takes another drag on his cigarette, watching Kristoph for a while without speaking, then sighs a little*

I wish that I could be so equable about this place, but I can't help but feel that it is not benign. I have seen too many bad things happen to too many people here.

I wish... *But he doesn't finish the sentence, not even entirely sure what he meant to say. He simply shakes his head, looking out of the window again.*

And what about your brother? Does he know?

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

He clams to hate me for many things, depending on what hour of day it is. One hour I may be too fat, and the next too tall, and the next I live in Berlin and not Nice.

I have lived through far too many "bad things" in my own world for this place to bother me too terribly much, your holiness.

[he flicks his ash out of window for a moment, remembering the sound of screaming coming from his own throat as rough hands wrestled him back into place, restraining him back into sanity.]

Klavier does not. I have been keeping to myself, actually, much as I know I should not. Though... [a slightly bitter chuckle] ...he might actually be glad. He never could stand Monsieur Delacroix. Few could.

[and he takes another drink of his tea]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He laughs a little when Kristoph talks about Armin, smoking his cigarette and idly trailing his hand along Kristoph's leg as he looks out of the window. He knows Kristoph well enough now that he can hear the fondness behind the words, and see the regret behind the apparent indifference. Not that he would be foolish enough to draw attention to either. And then he looks at Kristoph seriously at the next, his voice quiet.*

I don't doubt that you have.

*He removes his hand from Kristoph's leg for a moment to open the window wider, flicking out the stub of the cigarette quickly before closing it again.*

Klavier also, I suppose, will find himself missing some years. Perhaps you should at least warn him of that, in case... well, you may not be returned together.

*Then he frowns a little.*

Somehow... I cannot imagine your brother being glad that you have lost a friend, regardless of whether he was personally fond of the man or not.

Neither of you is the other's keeper, and your friends are your own to choose, after all.

*And he smiles a little at that, leaning forward to take Kristoph's hand, brushing his lips against the fingers with a kiss, before releasing it and settling back again.*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he takes one last drag before sending his own cigarette out of the window in the wake on Miles'.]

I will.

[he licks his slightly numb lips, tasting the bit of sweetness left on them from his cigarette]

I suppose not. Despite not much caring for him, I think Klavier was rather happy that I had a friend in the man. Which I did, despite our relationship being mainly manufactured for the press.

[he chuckles at the kiss, drawing the blanket around himself as best he can, and rubbing his freezing fingers before settling back against the wall]

Is it always winter here, Miles?

[Winter, Christmas, finally coming home after the institution.

He pulls the bracelet out of his pants pocket, tossing it over to him]

Penicillin, among other things.

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He closes the window fully after Kristoph's cigarette joins his own in the snow outside, shutting out the chill breeze before pulling the bedcover around his shoulders tighter.*

Whatever else he may or may not be, or may or may not have said... if he truly is a friend, Kristoph, he will still be there when you return.

Whenever that may be.

*And he smiles a little softly at some unspoken memory, scratching with a fingernail at some of the frost that has formed on the inside of the window.*

It has been since I found the room. I... assumed it was another example of black humour on the part of this place.

Perhaps I could change it, if I wanted to. But I find I rather like it after all. And perhaps one day it will turn into spring of its own accord.

*He shrugs a little, then catches the bracelet rather clumsily when Kristoph throws it over. He glances up at the other man as if for permission, rubbing it lightly between his finger and thumb for a few moments before examining it more closely.

The neatly folded paper inside lists Kristoph's medical details, in a small but immaculate hand. Unfolded, there's his name, address, blood group, next of kin... all neatly transcribed. And just as he had said, there is the warning about his allergy.

On the other side is his list of conditions - and the corresponding list of drugs to treat them. Both lists so long that the handwriting, though still just as neat, is a little more cramped.

Some of the drugs - diazapam, vicodin, lithium - he recognizes. Some - fluvoxamine, haloperidol, prolixin - are just names to him, signifying nothing. But as he looks at that list, at the perfectly neat, expressionless writing that strips a man down to nothing more than a recipe of chemicals and conditions and warnings, there's a renewed respect for Kristoph's determination to avoid the fate of his alternates.

He refolds the paper, snapping the bracelet shut before shifting forwards along the window seat to sit closer to Kristoph.*

I had no idea.

*He places the bracelet back into Kristoph's hand, closing the man's fingers over it and looking directly at him.*

Thank you.

... your hands are cold.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he says nothing, finding it difficult to even look at him as he bares that part of himself. He doesn't feel shame anymore, no, not since he arrived here. He used to, as if every drug were some black mark against his soul.

So he stares out of the window and watches the snow outside, debating over how much to tell him, but he finally settles that this would be enough, for now. After all, it was more than Miles had ever pressed him for, and that would do.

Miles' first words don't come as a surprise to him. No one really does, he's made sure of that. Four years of practiced silence, dodging about the issue, keeping things quiet, and even to himself. The fewer that knew, the less of a chance of his secrets being sold for a messy tell-all to some tabloid.

He looks back to him as he shifts closer, his face blank. There was not a sign of worry on it, instead it was that same practiced mask, but he smiles, a little, relieved as the bracelet is returned. A soft nod to the thanks, before he manages a bit of a smile]

Poor circulation. That wasn't covered in there?

[and he chuckles softly, just once]

Perhaps we should adjourn to the fireplace, your holiness?

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He scans Kristoph's face, but it's unreadable until the other man smiles, and even then the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Withdrawing his hand he glances down, returning the smile and shaking his head a little in amusement.*

I don't believe it was. Perhaps I shall conclude that you are merely too polite to complain of the cold.

*He gets to his feet, shrugging off the throw and hanging it over the foot of the bed. The sudden chill is noticeable and he folds his arms against it, leaning against the wall next to Kristoph, still with a half-smile lingering on his lips.*

It is a good deal warmer by the fire, but I am afraid that you will have to sacrifice the view.

*And then he's silent for a few moments, looking out of the window a little longer, listening to the crackle of the logs on the fire, half-distracted.*

It doesn't change anything, Kristoph.

*His voice is soft, and then he turns away, picking up the mugs and crossing the room back towards the sofa*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

Nonsense. If it bothered me too much, I would have moved.

[he slips from the window seat, draping the blanket over his arm. He regards the other man as he thinks, and when he finally speaks, Kristoph takes in a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He smiles a bit sideways, relieved, and blinking a few times. In a few steps, he was right behind Miles, and he rested his right hand on his shoulder, grabbing him softly to turn him a bit. He drops the blanket, content to leave it forgotten on the floor for a moment.

His left hand finds Miles' jaw just moments before his lips find the other man's]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*The hand on his shoulder is unexpected, and he tenses slightly as he turns, an arch remark half-prepared on his lips.

But anything he was going to say is forgotten as Kristoph's mouth closes on his - lips still sweet with the taste of cloves and breath warm with the smoky scent of the tea. He savours both, the heat of the kiss contrasting sharply with the cold fingers on his face, making him shiver a little. But, hands still occupied with the mugs, there's nothing he can do except surrender, returning the kiss hungrily, until he finally pulls back, a little out of breath.

He looks up at Kristoph, amused.*

That was... rather sudden.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[His right hand managed to tangle in his collar, and as Miles pulled back, he shook himself free, trying to catch his breath.

He shrugged after a moment]

Perhaps it was. I suppose you could take it as a thanks, of sorts.

[And he steps away, settling himself down among the cushions of the sofa and reclining back on them. He wiggles his toes inside his socks, and rubs his hands together]

That's a bit better.

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He doesn't move for a moment, just watches Kristoph as he settles on the sofa, before turning away to place the mugs on top of the cupboard beside the kettle.

He smiles a bit as Kristoph wiggles his toes - for a moment it reminds him of Christmas with his sister - he and Adrian warming themselves in front of the fire after walking the dogs in the snow, sipping gluhwein and laughing as Franziska lectures them about chilblains.

Dryly* I'm glad that you think so.

*He walks over to the discarded blanket, picking it up and laying it over the back of the sofa, before taking a seat next to Kristoph. He half-turns to face him, propping his head on his hand, elbow resting on the back of the sofa. His other hand rests on Kristoph's leg, and he smiles.*

And for what do I deserve thanks today?

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he thinks about it for a moment, watching the fire as he smiles.

He's still mulling it over when he shifts, turning a bit more to face Miles and drawing his legs from the floor, draping them across Miles' lap and laying back.

A soft chuckle]

For being a friend, I suppose. It's a bit difficult for me...

...I suppose I'm thanking you for not being rid of me, now that you know who I am.

[and he shrugs a bit, stretching back for a moment against the cushions]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He doesn't move for a moment, gazing at the fire thoughtfully himself, remembering a time when he'd wanted to say those words to a friend, but never had - not then and not since. There's a memory of a conversation with another friend, more recently, about a lie and a bloody ace - and he's unmoving for a few moments more.

And then, unhurriedly, he slides his elbow from the back of the sofa, bracing his hand on the sofa arm behind Kristoph, smiling a little as he looks down at him.*

You're the same person now as you were yesterday... or last week, or last month, Kristoph - inasmuch as that can be said of anyone.

*And he shifts slightly, leaning in, still smiling - brushing the other man's lips with his own, before claiming them in a kiss; his free hand on Kristoph's hip, fingers digging slighty in to the flesh under the clothes. He can feel the shape of the bracelet against his palm through the material of Kristoph's pants pocket. He closes his eyes.*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[there was a soft chuckle to that, not mockingly, but just happily, he supposed.

And the the distance had been closed between their lips, and there was that taste of expensive tea and cigarettes and underneath it all, Miles.

There's a slight gasp at the hand on his hip, and he shifts against him just a bit. His left hand slid around to Miles' back, his right hand tangling in his hair. His eyes closed, and the world was centered around that smoky taste and the feel of lips against his. He, of course, was returning the kiss a bit forcefully, biting at Miles' lip slightly]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He smirks a little at that gasp, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss; his fingers tightening on the arm of the sofa at the awkwardness of the position.

The scent of Kristoph, the taste of him - his mouth and his skin - and the feel of Kristoph's hands on his body are all too familiar now. He can imagine the coolness of those fingers on his fire-warmed skin already; feel that tongue and those teeth on his shoulders and his neck and his throat.

He slides the hand on Kristoph's hip upwards, tugging the belt undone before slipping under Kristoph's shirt. And then it's his turn to gasp, breaking the kiss for a moment to take a deep breath.*