Yves. It's starting to look like evening outside and once again I am lying on Gabriel's bed, watching him reading some frighteningly heavy book that looks like it might possibly be in German, and from about three centuries ago. I'm slowly learning to not let anything about him surprise me. Beggar's Banquet drifts from the record player (my choice) and compliments the beams of the four o clock sunset that seem to soak into and reflect off the side of Gabriel's face. It's that kind of light in a room where only the silhouette is illuminated, and looks like it is eminating the dust shown up by the rays of sun. Here, it makes this angel look particularly etheral. His profile is a glowing red line with gold behind it, giving a flattering vintage to the dusty floorboards. He looks like he's been painted there, I can't quite suppress my doubts that he actually exists in three dimensions or in my world once again, so I reach over and trail my hand over his forehead and down his nose. He doesn't move a muscle except for his eyes, which leave the battered pages of the book he's holding and drift lazily to my own awed expression.
-What was that for?
-I'm checking you're real.
This seems to satisfy him, he allows a gentle smile and puts the book down beside him, turning to face me. As he does so, he destroys the golden rays that have fallen on him and inspires all the tiny specks of dust to leave his outline to form a new one. The light shatters around him and I get the sense of seeing something incredibly tiny in very slow motion. I feel strangely powerful. This sight has the potential to be sad, this sudden disruption of such perfection, but the revelation of his entire figure in my line of sight is complete compensation. His barely fastened shirt falls open a little more as he props himself up on one arm, mirroring me.
-You know we can't stay here forever, yes?
-Yes. Well. No. Can we try?
-I'd love to Yves, but being humans, we sort of need to somehow stay alive.
-I'm not sure you're human.
-Well, neither am I sometimes, but I like playing the part. I get paid for it. I get paid for it, and earn enough to live. A basic system, but very effective.
-It sounds boring.
-What doesn't sound boring?
-Staying here. Watching you. What are you reading?
-Brecht.
-It's not English, is it?
-German.
I was right.
-Are you very clever?
-You ask the oddest questions.
I think he is.
-I think you are.
-Maybe I am. I don't know. I do know other things though, I do know that we need to get up and go out.
-Out where?
It's not late enough to be going out out. I somehow can't imagine Shirley and Sally-Ann leaving their abode before about five hours has been spent on their appearance. God knows what they get paid for.
-Out to work.
Work? I don't work today. Gabriel has already been to work today.
-Work? You've already been to work today.
-Well, I want to show you where I work. I want to show you something.
That actually sounds quite exciting.
-I'll be with you...
-Yes, obviously.
-Okay then. I suppose.
I lay back down on the bed, becoming aware that I have little to no energy left. Gabriel, however, jumps up like a wire coil and starts moving things. I watch him through half-closed eyes, until something soft lands on my face.
-What's this?
I hold up the lightweight fabric that has been thrown at me.
-Put it on.
-Why? What is it?
-Well, did you bring any other clothes?
-No, but I wasn't expecting-
-Shut up.
He pounces to less than a centimetre from my face. I am shut. He kisses me.
-Put it on.
I obey, because he could have handed me a palm tree and told me to make an outfit from it and I probably would have. With this image in my head, I'm pleasantly surprised when I look in the mirror. Loose, dark blue fabric drapes elegantly from my frame, unorthodox shapes but a flattering cut. It's very warm and comfortable as well, which I like. Gabriel's white hands seem like a natural extension when they creep around my waist, trying to fit as much of me as possible inside his slender thumbs and forefingers. His face appears at my shoulder and there's no way I could possibly look at my own face a second longer, his eyes alone leave me looking less than noticeable. Fucking hell, I've always been such an arrogant little tosser and now I'm standing next to someone who has somehow managed to show me what it feels like to be on top of the world and inadequate at the same time.
-Yves, you're stupendously beautiful.
-...what?
-You are. You're the loveliest creature I've ever seen. You're the most incredible experience of my life, and I've had many incredible experiences. I find it hard to understand you here, looking at you next to me. You're delightful.
One arm moves to around my neck, its delicate attatchment caressing my face, leaving a glorious fatigue in its wake. I'm in love with the words he used, I disagree with them to the ends of the earth but I just want them to linger in the air around us a little bit longer because when he said them, it sounded like he believed them. I can't express how incredibly mad it feels to have someone that looks like this tell you that they're thinking what you're thinking about you. It's totally absurd, but I want to keep it. I lean back into his touch. After a long time, but never long enough, I am abruptly awoken from my reverie.
-Let's go.
His fingers have mysteriously found their way to loosely interlocking with my own, I want to hold his hand tighter but he's walking towards the door, gently pulling me along with him. I am more than following.
Outside the door, we do not continue walking where we usually do. We turn down a small alleyway on the other side of it that I haven't yet walked past and so never noticed, and arrive at what must be the other side of the building. Gabriel fishes for a key in his pocket and opens a door that's wider than usual. Inside is very dark. Gabriel gropes the wall for a light switch, finds it, but the glow is dim from a rarely-used bulb. The sight that meets my eyes is quite unexpected.
A motorbike is in the centre of this very small, very cluttered shed-like thing. It is a very strange looking bike, as well. It's one of those really skeletal ones, the opposite of a torqued-up Yamaha, it's apparently brandless and looks like a leopard made out of Victorian machinery. I get a strange mental image of a Rube Goldberg machine firing the thing up, it's all twisty and odd. There are shiny black panels in the places where there should be panels, and the seat is beaten up but offset by polished handlebars. I've never really seen the like.
When Gabriel thrusts a very old-looking black helmet into my arms, (literally, 60s era) I'm almost reluctant to follow him.
He wheels the bike out onto the small road outside, and when he's on, I get the impression that this bike would probably be a little bit ostentatious on anyone else. It's not expensive looking, but it is...flash. I don't understand why. It's just very unusual. So on someone with less...character....than my friend, it could seem vulgar. On Gabriel, it fits like an appedage.
-Are you coming, then?
He motions vaguely behind him. I have never been on a motorbike before. I did not, until just now, believe that motorbikes that look like this could possibly exist. This strange metal cat, this predator with diesel engines. It even growls when he kicks the start. I approach it with the trepidation of a person on work experience at a safari.
-Careful of the exhaust.
The exhaust is exhaling dark smoke, and there is a mirage-like blurring of the air around it as heat rises off it. I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. Gabriel reaches out his hand and I carefully, carefully climb up.
I am terrfied.
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