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 arches an eyebrow at the tone and the words, the very slightest of frowns deepening the lines on his brow briefly before he nods almost imperceptibly, his expression neutral and his tone even.*

If by "this sort of thing", you are referring to medical matters then no, I would never claim any expertise. But in my experience, ice is generally beneficial for burns and bruises.

*And he looks away for a moment, a sip of his tea before he leans over and places the cup on the floor beside his feet. And then he looks back at Kristoph, expression and voice both more firm.*

Kristoph. Whatever you may think, I am not easily coerced into anything against my will. If I choose to allow something, then it is a choice, and it is mine to make.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

I'll keep that in mind, then.

[He looks out the window, closing his eyes as Miles moves next to him, and takes another drink]

I understand that about you now, Miles. It's...one of the things I rather appreciate about you, I suppose.

[His eyes don't leave the window as he speaks, and his lips don't curl into that ghost of a smile like they usually do.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, rubbing his arm a bit absently as he felt goosebumps prickle across his skin, under the shirt...but not due to the chill air near the window.]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He notes the absence of the smile and his frown returns as he looks away.*

Dreams are... private things. Nightmares more so.

But still, they are just dreams, Kristoph. I probably know that better than most. If we were to use our dreams to judge each other, then our verdicts would likely be equally harsh.

*He turns slightly towards Kristoph, reaching over to take his hand gently, and bringing it up to his face so that the knuckles brush his cheek, against the jawline.*

I am still alive, Kris. And I am still your friend.

*And he kisses Kristoph's fingers lightly before releasing them, then reaching down to pick up his cup again.*

ಠ____ಠ

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[He watches him intently, and looks away as his hand is released. Something about the small gesture relaxed him a bit, but what and why, he could not say.

He rubbed his right temple with his hand after it was released, feeling the headache already starting along the right side of his skull.]

Well...I suppose I should thank you for that much, though I cannot say that your friendship is entirely returned. In fact, I merely find you bearable on some days.

[He was feeling the control return to him, slowly, and he actually smiled a bit, even if it was only one-sided and merely the ghost of one that usually masked his features.

He set his cup aside, resting it closer to the window, and folded his legs under himself. He moved forward, bracing his hands on either side of Miles' body, leaning in until his lips were against his.

The kiss is short, lacking in the usual force the put into the gesture, but it was enough. He leaned back for a moment, staring into Miles' face before he shrugged a bit. He leaned back, sitting closer than he was before, and took a drink of Miles' tea.]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He chuckles a little at the words, and faint as the smile is, the sight of it when he straightens up again brings with it a small but distinct sense of relief.*

You would hardly be the first person to make that observation, Kristoph. Some might even consider it over-generous.

*And he smiles, holding the cup away slightly as Kristoph leans in, the coolness of those hands through the thin material of his shirt contrasting with the touch and taste of tea-warmed lips.

He closes his eyes briefly at the kiss, almost surprised by the gentleness of it, and when he opens them again he arches an eyebrow slightly at Kristoph's scrutiny.

He doesn't resist Kristoph guiding the cup to his own lips, merely shakes his head with a wry half-smile and a searching look of his own.*

Take it, if you want it. I can make some more.

*Reaching across, he pushes a few strands of hair away from Kristoph's face.*

You look exhausted - and I suspect that I am faring no better. I think I shall take a shower.

You're more than welcome to join me.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[He turns his face a bit and raises an eyebrow. Despite the pain, he managed an arch glance and a bit of a smirk]

Oh, trying to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state? My, your holiness, I didn't take for that sort of man.

Perhaps you're more than a boring old professor, after all.

[He shrugged]

Perhaps I will. I don't suppose you've anything for the pain? I hardly expect you to have anything close to what I am accustomed to...but at this point, anything would be welcome.

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He laughs, glancing away for a moment and looking towards the ceiling*

Or perhaps sometimes things are exactly as they appear, and a shower is simply a shower, Kristoph.

*And then the smile fades a little and he quirks an eyebrow at the question.*

Headache?

*He thinks for a moment and then shakes his head slightly, frowning a little as he looks back at Kristoph.*

I have a variety of painkillers in the bathroom cabinet - although nothing stronger than you could buy in a pharmacy, I am afraid.

Nevertheless, you're welcome to anything that you think may help.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

Ah, and I was holding onto the hope that you might be less mundane than previously estimated.

[A soft nod, and he shrugs a bit]

I don't suppose I'll be staying long, then. Long enough for you to wash my hair, perhaps, but I doubt much beyond that.

[And there's a bit of a knowing smirk as he slides from the seat to the floor, gently running fingers across his bruised neck as he stood and walked for the bathroom, shedding his vest in the process. Let Miles follow. He was intent on digging through the medicine cabinet and then helping himself to the shower.]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

It seems I am destined to be forever a disappointment to you, Kris.

*An amused chuckle and then he nods, taking back the cup and shifting to lean back against the wall in Kristoph's place when the other man stands.*

Then I shall have to make the best of your company while I have it.

*He doesn't follow immediately, just finishes the last of the tea as he watches Kris disappear into the bathroom. Then he exhales softly, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

When he hears the sound of the shower he doesn't move for a few moments, but there's a glimmer of a tired smile before he opens his eyes and stands, slipping off the t-shirt and running his hand through his hair as he crosses the room to the bathroom door.*