'Pick a subject that moves you,' his Creative Writing professor had said sometime last week. 'Create a storm of emotion about it that takes up nothing more than a paragraph, but make it as encompassing as you can. Short and sweet. Pick your muse, and glorify it. Due on Thursday.'
It was Thursday today. Paul sighs defeatedly as he stares at the blank notebook in front of him, sitting in his Creative Writing class with nothing to do. The prof had taken off early, leaving the students to finish any work they had and to deposit their 'muse' projects on his desk. A silver pen dangles from a lax hand as his eyes become blinded by the pure white of the paper and he sighs again, unable to write. Well, no. Not true. Completely able to write, but not about anything acceptable. Muse? His unquenchable desire over a complete stranger was the only thing that came to mind. The only thing that was on his mind now for an entire numbing week. Every thought seemed somehow attached to other thoughts of Seth, and he was making himself insane with the repetition. And he couldn't very well write about Seth, because there was no way of explaining him in one paragraph, neither would it be in his best interests to write about what exactly it was he was thinking about if he wanted to keep his good grades. So the pen stays prone in his restless fingers, and he stares in frustration at the paper.
"Fuck," he whispers exhaustedly, running his fingers through his hair irritably, trying to rid himself of the vision of caramel hair and earth-bright eyes.
He hadn't seen Seth once since their first meeting, and the loss of contact was taking its toll, as embarrassed and weirded out as he was to admit it. The night had ended on a rather strange note: Nathan was silent all the way back to Residence, Alex had run off somewhere with an impish Kip, and Seth was lost to puzzlement about Nathan and Paul's subdued manner. Nathan had bid them both a quick goodnight and disapeared into his dorm, while Seth insisted that he would walk Paul back to his dorm. The whole way, Seth gently probed him with subtle questions, trying to coax what had happened between him and the twins out of him. But Paul had stayed steadfastly silent on that subject, evading his questions with quiet remarks of his own, trying to know what he could of the enigmatic beauty at his side. The rest of the week had gone by slowly, with the twins coming to visit once and a while, their constant chatter making it seem like nothing had gone awry. It was only Nathan's prolonged glances at Paul that belied anything to the contrary. Pushing this thought away, he begins to write, driven by the feeling of frustration... random lyrics echoing through his head. "And yes/I've noticed/I'm going nowhere/really fucking fast..."
'In a moment, a single, strange moment, I became lost. Tossed to fend for my own on a sea of amber, emerald and grace. The waves, although only in my memory now, still threaten to extinguish my feeble resistance, and I can feel them burning a chasm deep in the core of me. I didn't want this. Of this I am certain as uncertainty injects itself into my soul. But that one moment has carried on into this temporary eternity, and I am still dying, riding on the tsunami that I long to drown in, to become complete. The fading depths call to me darkly, something sings to me that I will find my soul down there if only I let it fall. But to do that, I must die. I must relinquish my control. I must die in order to live. And there is no other choice. Of this, I have never been more certain. His name burns on my tongue as I inahle his quicksilver, and then I am gone.. gone gone, beyond the pale, beyond the dawn.'
The pen drops away, sated. Before he allow his urge to rip it up take over, he stands and trots down the steps of the auditorium to drop the single sheet of silver-clad paper onto the already paper-littered desk. Scrawling his name at the top, he hefts his backpack over one shoulder and heads out of the classroom, his fingers still burning with the force of the words. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he begins to head towards the cafeteria, a distant hunger gnawing at his stomach. Sighing heavily, he heads towards the tree-hidden building, still some fifteen minutes away. Biting his lower lip, he squeezes his eyes shut against the memory of Nathan's startled visage. He can't help feeling as though he'd managed to fuck up the only half decent friendship he'd accquired up here. He really liked Nathan... his effervescent happiness and confidant beauty was a cherished gift to Paul, although he'd never ever dream of saying so to the extroverted redhead.
The pavement moves sluggishly by underfoot as he goes, and he idely watches the patches of sunlight and shade flicker by as he moves. It is in this manner, with his head down and his shoulders drooping, that he is halted by a sudden voice cutting through the gloom inside his head.
"Zoning out again, huh?"
He looks up in startled anticipation as he recognises Seth's calm, melodic voice. Seth stands a few feet in front of him, grinning slightly, clad in a waist-length black leather jacket that seemed to be made specifically for his measurements, and a pair of wide-leg black jeans that taper gracefully to almost hide his sparkling black boots. Under the jacket, Paul can see the hint of something indigo-coloured, and silken. He looks back up into Seth's eyes and offers him a helpless smile. Seth grins back, and they are silent for a moment, Paul unable to say anything as the presence of the one he'd craved to see for so long finally sunk into his soul again. Seth's hair is swept over one shoulder, hanging down his side in a tumbling river of earth-tones and almost sinister perfection.
"Yeah, I guess," Paul manages to say, his voice husky as he tries to swallow the countless other words that come to lips.
Seth's smile deepens for a moment, and then turns to one of concern.
"You okay? For the past week I've seen you walking down here, and each time it's like you're not really there. I call your name, but you never hear me. I've been kind of worried. The twins promised me they'd bring you back to Detours, but they haven't."
Paul blinks as he hears this, and inwardly kicks himself, groaning as he realizes that the entire time he'd been agonizing about not seeing Seth, he'd been walking past him each day. Seth hears the groan, and mistakes it for some sort of admission of somthing being wrong, and takes a step forward, laying his hand on Paul's arm. Paul's skin tingles as though on fire with some invisible streak of flame, and he shivers slightly.
"Yeah, I'm fine.. sorry to worry you," Paul says, clearing his throat nervously. "How have you been?"
Seth shrugs slightly, with a wry half-smile. "Fine, I guess. A little... tired of the monotony of life at the moment, but otherwise, I'm good. You?"
Paul smiles shyly and rakes his fingers through his hair, an unconsciously sweet gesture that leaves Seth's smile hanging on his lips a little longer than it might have.
"Okay. It seems all I'm ever doing is essays, though. Never a moment's peace."
Seth nods in mute commiseration, and then directs his fair gaze directly upon Paul, who simply stares back, unable to look away, letting his soul drink in the beauty he'd been without for what felt like aeons.
"Where are you headed, right now?"
Paul points to the distant cafeteria over Seth's shoulder. "Lunch," he says with an apologetic smile. "Nowhere exciting, I'm afraid."
Seth laughs, a sudden noise of music and starlight that leaves Paul feeling as though he is floating upon liquid warmth.
"Best class of the day, as far as I'm concerned. You were heading to the cafe?"
Paul nods his affirmative, and Seth continues.
"Do you have any classes after that?"
"No," Paul says, wondering.
"Great. Want to come with me back to my place? I was going to go home and make some spaghetti, and there's more than enough for two."
Paul can't keep the surprised, delighted smile and blush off his face, which only makes Seth laugh once more and suddenly take Paul's hand into his own.
"Come on," he says softly, watching Paul's silver-flecked gaze with his peircing one, an inviting smile on his generous lips that deepens Paul's blush considerably. He tugs on Paul's hand, turning him down towards the left path, leading to Residence One. Paul almost freezes as Seth's fingers make themselves known around his own, but Seth pulls him insistantly, and soon he is walking hand in hand with the angel of his tortured dreams. It is almost too much. As they walk, Paul waits for Seth to untangle his hand, but it never happens. Seth's warm, slender fingers stay firmly where they are, while Seth himself talks, seemingly oblivious of Paul's stunned incapability to do anything else but listen dazedly. His own fingers clutch Seth's desperately, slowly tightening as the touch continues, his whole existance suddenly becoming that chocolate voice and those beautiful, sensuous hands. He can feel his heart trembling as he walks with half-closed eyes, trying urgently not to let the tremble descend into his fingers. His chest begins to throb painfully with something unamable, but still he holds on for dear life, unable to even think about letting go. If Seth feels anything strange about Paul's touch, he does not say anything as they walk.
Seth's energy seeps in through his fingers and shivers up his arm, almost making him gasp with its incorporeal electricity. He hardly processes Seth's conversational small talk and they head towards the residence, his attention locked so fully on the hand in his own. He feels Seth's smooth, sweat-less skin, letting his fingers caress the other's slowly, absorbing all he can. Through this, I am touching everything he has touch, Paul tells himself deliriously. Every single page he has turned, every other hand he's touched, every single world his touch has opened. And in his head, Paul sees it all, for one brief, breathtaking moment. Flashes of images dance in his head, all of Seth's fingers. Moving across water, pressing their imprints into freshly fallen snow, playing through light and shadow, displacing air, caressing skin, burning a the lick of a candle flame, shaking in grief, made into dancers in the throes of debilitating pleasure. He gasps as he sees this, and he sweeps his eyes open slowly, staring over at Seth.
But Seth doesn't notice, and chooses at this time to gently let go of Paul's hand to hold open the door to the residence Paul hadn't even seen them approach. He stands there, smiling at Paul, and Paul smiles weakly and moves through the open doorway, shaking his hand in an vain attempt to displace the pain shaking there from the sudden removal of Seth's fingers.
"So what about you?" Seth asks, as they head down the uniform grey hallway. Paul blinks and then pales slightly.
"Um. What?" He asks apologetically, turning his startled, purple gaze onto Seth's watching one. Seth stares back for a moment, and them smiles a strangely knowing, tanquil smile before repeating his question.
"Top or bottom?"
Paul blinks at him for a second, registering the words, and then sputters, his eyebrows raised almost dangerously high as he stares in wide-eyed shock at Seth, who instantly begins to let loose peals of delighted, sparkling laughter. He laughs like this for long moments before reaching out to clamp a reassuring hand on Paul's shoulder.
"The painting! The one Kip's doing. I was asking you if you thought the point of view focus was at the top or bottom of the picture..." he stops here to laugh again, while Paul begins to blush redly. "You're really out of it today, huh?"
Paul says nothing to this, merely casting a forced half-smile towards Seth, and shrugs, shock still coursing through his veins at the unintentionally lascivious question. Get your mind out of the gutter, Paul, he tells himself miserably as he watches Seth begin to giggle cutely again.
"Man," Seth chuckles helplessly, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "You should of seen your face!"
Paul grins at this, sincerely this time. "I...well...I wasn't.... listening before, I guess... and when you said that... I guess I thought you meant...um. Something.. else."
Seth nods after Paul's voice dwindles off into an embarassed abyss of silence, and regards him with an almost tender gaze before turning to the door they had stopped beside.
"I know. Sorry about that. I perhaps.. should have reworded my question."
Producing a keychain from the depths of a pocket in the leather jacket, Paul catches a glimpse of a rainbow-coloured star dangling brightly off the set of keys as Seth thrusts a non-descript one into the lock of the door. Staring after the keychain, he lets that wonder and tiny spark of hope enter his mind again as he realizes that the colours on the star matched the sequence of colours found on the gay prde flags and paraphenalia. But they gets get stuffed into the dark pocket once more as the door swings open, and Paulis forced to let that thought go as Seth stands aside to let him in. Following behind Paul, he closes the door quietly, his fingers moving to unzip his jacket as he sidesteps Paul to head towards the mini kitchenette. Paul stands by the doorway, unmoving as his eyes try to become accustomed to the twilight atmosphere of the room. This is different from his own dorm, he realizes as he sees a hallway leading to ajar doors. Seth obviously had roomates. As if reading his mind, Seth calls out from behind the open door of the fridge gleaming whitely in the half-gloom.
"My roomates aren't home, they rarely are. They prefer the homes of their girlfriends, and I guess I can't blame them much. Anything is better than dorm life. Come on in! Make yourself at home -- this shouldn't take too long to cook."
Paul nods even though Seth can't see him, and while Seth plunders about in the depths of the fridge, Paul looks around slowly, taking hesitant steps further into the room. The place has a gentle, lived-in smell and look. It smells of soap, unfamiliar and expensive cologne, and a subtle undertone of something else that Paul can only identify as Seth-ness. It was in the darkly spicy nuances in the air, only noticible if one were trying to find it. It smelled of herbs brewing, of mysterious fragrance, like insense burning in some hallowed grove. He breathes it in deeply and smiles as it invades his senses completely. The room is sparsely but tastefully decorated; dark blue couches with a cherry wood coffee table in the middle of the small room, covered with piles of text books and loose papers. The walls have various prints in frames adorning them, none of which are anything but anstract. Crazy colours swirl in their confines, and Paul smiles as he sees them.
"Who did these?" He calls out, gesturning to the paintings. Over by the fridge, Seth straightens up, holding a tomato in one hand and a ceran-wrapped saucepan in the other. Following Paul's gaze, he smiles slightly and uses his hip to push the fridge door closed, a movement Paul finds perversely erotic in a strange, helpless way.
"I did," Seth replies, placing the pot on an element on the stove, bunching the ceran wrap up in his hand as he flicks on the heat.
Paul returns his gaze to the pictures, and after a long moment, lets out a low, appriciative whistle.
"They are very good," he says softly, turning his bright, fair gaze back onto Seth. "I guess you're majoring in an Arts of some sort?"
Seth grins after a moment, and nods somewhat ruefully. "Yes. A worthless major, I know. I'll just end up being really qualified to pour drinks for the rest of my life."
Paul laughs at this, and Seth echoes the mirthful sound as they both stand motionless, grinning widely at each other. The laughter eventually dies away, leaving them both simply watching each other in silence. Seth stares into Paul's gazw wordlessly, memorizing without trying the purple and silver swirling in its engimatic depths. Every time he manages to catch Paul's eyes, the colour surprises him over and over again, without fail. He'd found himself constantly mulling over ther facets and shape for the past week, a fact that he was stradfastly trying to ignore and forget about. But it was a small factor in the whole uncomfortable equasion; he had been unable to stop thinking of the raven-haired beauty from the moment he'd set eyes upon him. The whole night they'd spent at Detours, Seth could feel Paul's quietly intent gaze on him the entire time. Every time he would casually glance upwards, he would manage to instantly lock gazes with Paul, who would then look hurriedly away, into his drink. And he would never be able to admit to anyone, much less himself, that he'd kept and washed Paul's glass last at the end of the night, unable to make himself plunge the glittering glass into the water knowing that it would boil away any traces there were of that gentle touch.
With these thoughts, Seth is the first to look away from their locked vigilance, turning to throw the balled-up ceran wrap into the garbage, leaving Paul to stare at the back of his head, face gone pale at the intensity of the gaze he'd just recieved. Swallowing, his mouth gone dry, he drops his gaze like hot coal as Seth turns around again. He stares at the soft-looking carpet underfoot until Seth speaks again. Paul can hear the sound of glassware clinking as it is moved.
"What would you like to drink? I've got mango juice, milk, and water." Seth says, digging into an open cabinet by the stove, producing two blue glass cups. Paul satres as Seth stretches onto the tips of his toes to pull the glasses off the shelf, unable to look away as his indigo silk dress shirt gets pulled up by the momentum of his shoulders, exposing a waistline of perilously soft-looking skin, the texture of liquid velvet.
"Mango sounds good," Paul murmurs, dropping his eyes away again as Seth faces him once more. I need to stop staring, Paul thinks desperately. Why the hell can't I stop staring??
"Yes. Yes, it does," Seth says cheerfully, placing the glasses down on the counter and pulling a decanter of vibrantly amber juice out of the fridge, filling the glasses up to the brims. Returning the jug, he turns to the stove, sutrring whatever lies within the pot with a large wooden spoon. "Take a seat. It'll be done in a sec."
Paul nods to the back of Seth's head and moves to the couch, seating himself quietly. As Seth chops up a tomato, he stares at the painting on the opposite wall, one made up entierely of purple celtic knotwork on a navy backround. Transfixed by following the ruler-like precision of the brush strokes, he does not see as Seth approaches with two steaming bowls of spaghetti. Placing them down carefully on the coffee table in front of him, he silently seats himself next to the spaced-out Paul, a familiar smile tugging secretly at his lips as he does so. It is in this way that he allows his eyes to have free reign, letting them drape over every curve and shape on Paul's body. Leaning back against the cushions, he folds his arms lightly over his chest, watching Paul silently, stricken mute by the introspective beauty of the other. How does one aqquire hair so striking, Seth thinks wonderingly. It looks like it should be carved from black glass. It looks softer than midnight, Seth thinks to himself, delighting in its appearance. He wanted to reach out and touch it, affirm his suspicion that it would feel like a sheaf of silk left out on an autumn's aqeuous night. The perfect slope of Paul's nose, and the way his obsidian eyelashes rested on cheeks that looked to be dusted with a sheen of starlight was incredible to Seth. He could not find a single flaw with Paul's face. Even the lips were right; not too big or small for his face, and they looked rose and kissable beyond desire.
Seth's own lips part slightly as he loses himself in Paul's visage, feeling his skin burn in strange, unqunechable lust for the other's touch. He wanted to see Paul's storm-sky eyes drift shut at the feeling of Seth's fingers on his skin, he wanted to hear that sweetly shy voice cry out in a whimper of release as Seth pressed his mouth to Paul's most secret, vulnerable places. And at that last thought, when Seth's mind is set aflame with white hot imaginings, Paul snaps out of ihs trance and looks quickly over at Seth, jumping slightly as Seth's nearness and rivited gaze startles him.
"Sorry," Paul fumbles hurriedly, a rose flush spreading through his cheek like a bruise. "I didn't hear you come up."
Seth smiles slightly, almost distractedly, as he continues his persuit of Paul's suddenly very dialated eyes.
"That's okay," Seth murmurs softly. " I didn't mean to startle you."
Paul glances down at the steaming bowls of spaghetti on the table and smiles, reaching out to pick up the one nearest to him.
"Looks good," he says with a quick, dazzling smile in Seth's direction. Gripping the fork stabbed in the midst of the pasta, he twirls some around the prongs of the utensil and lifts a steaming bundle to his mouth. "Mmm," he says in a muffled tone, as he chews, grinning at Seth, his eyes sparkling softly. Seth grins back, inwardly coming apart at the seams, and picks up his own plate, dropping his attention to the food quickly. They sit in silence for a while, lost to their thoughts as they eat. After a while, and with considerably lighter plates, they both set the food back on the table. Self-consciously, Paul runs his fingertips delicately over his lips, to make sure there is none of the spicy, herb-riddled sauce left there.
"That was awesome," he says. "You should teach me how to cook like that someday."
Seth laughs. "It's not hard. Empty a packet of spaghetti into a pot, and then use a bunch of tomatoes and oragano to make sauce. Nothing gormet."
Paul grins a bit sheepishly, reaching out to pick up their plates, standing to take them to the kitchen. "Well, it tasted like it to me. Thank you so much for it."
Seth stands quickly, reaching out to place a warding hand on Paul's arm, shaking his head with a slow smile.
"Thanks for coming by to have some. But you sit right back down... I'll take those," he says, gesturing to the dishes in Paul's hands. But Paul sidesteps him with an impish grin and heads to the kitchen, depositing the dishes into a glittering, stainless steel sink. But as soon as he turns on the water tap, Seth darts up behind him, and reaching a hand in between Paul's arm and side, flicks the faucet off once more. Paul, whose hand is trapped under Seth's admonishing fingers, stiffens slightly as the other's nearness invades his space. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Seth's chestnut curls are brushing his cheek, and that woodsy, spicy scent is enveloping him debilitatingly. He can feel Seth's arm grazing against his own, and even worse, can feel the other's bicep pushing lightly against his shoulder. Completely unable to do anything else, his eyes close, and he stands there unmovingly, trying not to shiver noticably as Seth's smooth voice murmurs next to his ear.
"You are a guest. Dishes aren't your responsibility. Sit the hell down, please." Softly, softly. Paul shivers.
"It'll take not even two minutes. Payment for lunch. Please?" he whispers back, the thought of speaking any louder than that almost imossible to conceive.
Impossibly, Seth's curls brush even closer; his cheek less than an inch away. Distantly, Paul wonders if this is intentional.
"I didn't ask you up here on some sort of condition of payment... I asked you up here because I wanted to get to know you a little better. Not talk to your back while you do my dishes. So either you can sit down, or you will have to put up with me standing here and giving you a very hard time about it, bugging the hell out of you til you smash them over my head."
Paul's breathless laughter rings in the residual silence, and Seth smiles to himself, gazing down at Paul's shirt front helplessly.
"Bug me, then, because I'm doing the damn dishes," he says after he is finished laiughing, and with a firm shove, pushes Seth's hand up, leaving the faucet to start pouring hot water. Seth's low growl of mock frustration makes him blush deeply as the low, gutteral sound dances up his spine, making him think of earlier aeons, of primitive ceremony and sexual conquest.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" Seth grumbles, pulling his hand away as Paul plunges his fingers into the gathering water in the bottom of the basin.
Paul nods and grins, reaching for the dishsoap and pouring a little in. Seth interceps his hand as he is about to put it back, and snatches it out of his fingers. Paul giggles quietly as Seth slams it down again, and reaches for the cloth. Dunking it into the soapy water, he begins to wash one of the plates, leaving Seth muttering something under his breath as he watches.
"Ugh." He says, leaving it at that, making Paul laugh again. With a grin, Seth sticks his hand into the water as well, and they begin to wrestle for the dishcloth, soap suds flying everywhere. It eventually lends itself to a game of tug of war, their arms entangled and their helpless laughter rising to brighten the surrounding air with its mithril, shimmering quality.
"They're not going to get done this way!" Paul cries, flicking a blob of glittering suds at Seth's face.
Seth grins and ducks it, finally managing to pull the cloth free of Paul's grip. "Exactly! Go sit down!" Brandishing the cloth, he herds Paul back to the couch, flicking the soaked cloth at him until he sits down. Flashing a triumphant grin, he tosses the cloth back into the sink, wiping his dripping hands on the towel draped over the stove handle. Yanking it off, he tosses it to Paul, who catches it with a sheepish smile. Wiping his hands dry, he hands it back to Seth, who takes it with a wry grin.
"Now," he says, sitting back down, facing a widely grinning Paul. "Tell me about yourself."
Paul shrugs, running his slightly damp fingers through his hair, his characteristic timidity returning once more in the face of Seth's direct, intent gaze.
"Nothing much to tell. I don't want to bore you to tears."
Seth raises a caramel-coloured eyebrow slowly. "You couldn't if you tried. Come on."
Paul sighs good-naturedly and leans back, his face taking on a brooding expression as he searches blankly for something to speak of. "I don't know what to say," he says flatly.
Seth rolls his eyes, scowling half-heartedly at him. "Anything at all. Pick a random fact out of the air. Favourite colour?"
Paul smiles slightly and exhales slowly. "Indigo."
Seth grins, and looks down to his shirt, which shines softly in its purple-blue radiance. "Guess I'm psychic."
Paul nods, and stares down at his fingers as he finds his gaze trying to discern the shapes under the silken shirt. "It looks incredible on you," he says without thinking, and then feels his mouth grow dry at Seth's ensuing silence. Flushing deeply, he ducks his head, trying wildly to find something to say to negate what he just said somehow, but coming up lacking.
But then Seth's voice is speaking softly again. "Thanks..."
Paul winces slightly as his voice dies off, and sits there in uncomfortable silence until Seth speaks again.
"It was my brother's, actually."
Paul looks up slowly. "Was?" he echoes, violet darkness swirling in his suddenly attentive gaze.
Seth nods after a moment, his hands smoothing down the material lying upon his chest. "Yeah." His voice is almost inaudible, as vulnerable as thin glass.
Paul says nothing after this, not wanting to press the suddenly very fragile issue. But Seth continues on, still staring down at the shirt.
"He died two years ago. This was his favourite shirt."
Paul swallows slowly, staring at Seth's downcast gaze. Suddenly, the hair tumbling across his cheeks takes on the consistancy of crystal, crystal made liquid with pain, akin to tears pouring down to his skin. Paul blinks as he sees this, and without warning, this is when the pain comes crashing in. Trying not to gasp, he stares at Seth's fingers as they rest on the shirt, watching them as his mind takes over, transporting him to a place unknown to him, but one of grief and pain. He'd seen this before, he realizes, shivering. When Seth's hand had taken his, leading him to the residence. Images begin to pour in. The shirt, blowing in some sweet, meadow breeze, the wearer flying through wilderness on a bike faster than the wind... male hands slipping the buttons through the thread-reinforced holes... laughter moving with air through the fabric on a night made magic with moonlight and desire... the wearer, taller than Seth, but no less beautiful, staring at himself in a mirror, hair cut short, eyes as dark as chips of night...
"He drowned off the dock by our cottage. In this shirt. My mother wanted to burn it, but I fought that. My whole family thinks I'm weird for wanting the shirt he died in..."
Paul stares at Seth's subdued expression, and then, upon impulse, reaches out to gently rest his hand on Seth's fingers.
"It's not weird. It's completely understandable. I kept my mother's hospital blanket, the one she had covering her when she died. Don't listen to them. It's a beautiful shirt. It has an incredible, painfully beautiful story."
Seth lifts his gaze slowly to find Paul's at that last sentence, and the smile that crosses his lips leaves Paul's fingers shaking. It is a smile of complete gratitude, laced with hidden tears.
"Thanks," he whispers, and Paul smiles, blinking.
"No worries."
"I'm sorry to hear about your mother."
Paul shrugs, withdrawing his hand. "It's okay."
And so it carries on like this for the rest of the afternoon, their conversation carrying the both of them, unbeknownst to the other, to a place of unblemished, insurmountable happiness. When Paul finally reluctantly has to leave, they both offer each other stumbling, nervous goodbyes, Seth managing to extract from him the promise that they would see each other again soon. And when the door closes behind him, Seth finds himself leaning against the wall, trying to convince himself to breathe, his fingers clutching each other in an unconscious attempt to hold Paul's addictive essence.
"God," he whispers, shivering as, unbidden, an image of Paul's purple and silver eyes floats before him. "So beautiful."
And as he reluctantly pushes himself back into his prescribed, daily routines, his thoughts dwell completely on the angelic perfection of the other, and the wonder and worry at how something so beautiful could hold his hand so desperately. He could still feel Paul's tight grip on his fingers, still burning there long after their hand-in-hand walk to the residence. Why so alone?