Yves. I run to the door, stare through the peephole to make sure it's not just a door-to-door advertiser who I'm about to throw my arms around (it isn't) and open it.
-Hello, Yves. Are you ready?
Yes yes I couldn't be more yes if my name was yes, I want to say. Instead, I just try and convey this with a probably over-enthusiastic nod, and follow him out.
Today, we walk down the road instead of getting a taxi. I feel like something out of a film where the heroes sort of strut down the street with an unattainably cool ambivalence to the comparatively chaotic goings-on of the less beautiful. Gabriel, at least, looks like something out of said movie.
I don't remember noticing this yesterday, but he smokes as we walk, slim cigarettes from a silver case.
-You don't roll your own?
-God no, people that do tend to show off about it, and it irritates me. Also, it tends to be messy, and I think it's unglamorous. Sorry, do you want one?
He offers me the box and I'm tempted, but I decline.
-No, I don't smoke. Trying to prolong my life, y'know?
He nods, vaguely. I'm worried that sounded like a bit of a dig at him. I definitely worry too much around this guy.
-Sorry, I didn't mean-
-Oh no, don't worry. It's a disgusting habit, on the wrong people.
I'm beginning to think that he's aiming to get me back a little with this, but after just the right fraction of a second he turns to me with a smile, and kisses my cheek.
I forget to continue walking for a moment as he carries on as if it's the most normal thing in the world. I suppose, for him, it is. I think I have a lot to get used to here.
When we arrive at a flashy sign that promises things, Shirley and Sally-Anne are waiting for us.
I notice now that Gabriel has one arm curled possessively around my waist. Shirley and Sally-Anne stare pointedly, and I realise I'm probably now property of Gabriel Vincent. I decide that it could definitely be worse. In fact, I do not mind at all. In fact, I quite like the attention.
-Is this everyone?
Shirley has got over staring at me with a supercilious smile. I only vaguely want to slap her. We enter.
Inside, we don't go straight to a familiar group of people again. Gabriel seems to know a couple of people here, and disappears for a while for drinks. After some time, a tall figure approaches behind Sally-Anne. I'm pretty sure I recognise her as Hanne. She has a nice smile.
-Hello everyone.
Her voice sounds a bit like what I'd imagine a panther with a German accent would sound like. Low, purring and musical.
-Hanne! Nice to see you. Do you have Cassie with you?
She gives a laugh that sounds like bells.
-No, it's my night off.
A mischievous smile. Her and Sally-Anne disappear back into the crowd, deep in conversation.
Gabriel has returned with bottles, and leads us over to a new section of the room. There's a tiny stage that looks like something's going to happen on it soon. As we get a little closer, things do. Two people, some interesting machines with lights in, and the background sound stops for a second and they begin to play. Two figures on the stage wear masks, the singer stands with their back to the audience. I can't figure out the gender of either. A very odd but good performance, and probably not supposed to be a performance. The sound is swooping and beeping, like old broken machines merged with futuristic spaceship sounds, and layered under an offset of a rough guitar sound. I like it a lot, but it's not the kind of thing you're supposed to watch, I don't think. An unusual approach, but so's everything here.
After a period of ecstatic applause, I find myself away from the stage, pulled somewhere by a crowd. For a second I'm worried I've lost everyone, but resolve to enjoy it anyway because I'll find them eventually.
It takes me by surprise when I notice someone I can't see has my hand. They pull me towards a very dark corner where I can't make sense of anything and I figure out it's Gabriel just before he kisses me. It's very...disorientating. I'm still not quite sure where I would be standing on the whole situation if I was thinking straight at all, but I do know that I definitely do not want this situation to end in any way, and when his hands are in my hair I start to lose track of any slightly sophisticated thought that could occur to me here.
-What was that for?
-I saw you from behind and thought you were a very attractive stranger, and decided to keep you.
He says this with such a serious expression I'm a little horrified. He appears to be implying that it wouldn't make a difference to him if I actually were a total stranger. Have I misread things this terribly? Have I overthought something that really did not require overthinking? Have I actually slightly emotionally invested myself in someone that I wasn't supposed to? This is when I realise that I've gone too far too quickly. I push him away from me a little.
-Hey...wait. I don't think I've really...you never said if you...where do we...
Wow, I'm so bad at talking sometimes. I do my best to convey my annoyance with a confused, sad and possibly angry facial expression. He does that thing with one eyebrow again. It's putting me off looking annoyed.
-Well, Yves, I have to admit I was a little shy of discussing with you any issues of where we might stand in...this...but I'll be blunt about it, because someone has to- would you mind...for want of a better expression...becoming my property, for now, at least? Obviously if that's not what you were aiming for you can absolutely forget I said that.
-You mean you wouldn't have harassed me if I was a total stranger?
-No...?
He looks as confused as I was maybe thirty seconds ago.
-Then no, I don't mind at all.
We share a look of relief. Glad that's out the way. I can't figure out what happens next, conversation-wise, so I pull him back towards me and we disappear into the shelter of the dark corner.
After maybe a very long time of being as close to him as I possibly could, I realise that my back really hurts when I'm squashed into the wall like this. Also, my hand is already under his shirt and I probably shouldn't take things any further in such a crowded area...it might not be that unheard of in a place like this, I think, looking around, but I'm going to give myself some credit for getting used to this amount of weird stuff in such a short space of time and follow what I would have previously considered normal in the potentially-parallel universe from whence I came.
-Gabriel..
He frowns and continues to bury his head in my neck.
-We should go.
He looks up.
-That is a very good idea, Yves. Well done.
He's so eager to leave now I'm worried he's going to leave me behind and I've got the wrong end of the stick yet again, but with the face of someone who's just realised they've forgotten something really important he grasps my hand and pulls me through the mass of people. On the way out I catch Shirley giving my a knowing look and turning instantly to get Sally-Ann's attention, pointing at me in a way that's so painfully obvious I'd probably care if I wasn't definitely going to go home with an extremely beautiful person who'll probably take their clothes off for me. I'll deal with them when I'm not feeling so smug.
Outside we jump in a taxi because there's one there. Again, he sits huddled to the window, resolutely fixated on whatever he can see in the blur of speeding traffic outside. I kick his foot and turn to the window, noticing his look of disturbed annoyance through his reflection. He shuffles closer to the window, crossing his other leg and feigning sulkiness but I catch him smiling.
When the cab finally gets to the flat he runs ahead of me, all the way up to his floor, not once looking back to check I'm still following. To be honest, it's pretty hard to conceive that I would ever possibly not be following.
He doesn't stop until I've slammed the door behind me. This is when he turns around, stands still, looks almost a little bit angry. I feel incredibly scrutinised and decide to open my mouth, and I know, as I do, that whatever comes out will gruesomely murder any kind of mood there could ever be in a situation with me in it.
-What?
This makes him laugh, I guess this isn't that bad, but I still feel like I'm missing out on some very important part of the logic of this scenario.
-I just...like to look at you, Yves, I'll be honest. Does that make you feel uncomfortable? Be honest, now.
-...Yes.
-Wonderful.
I think I just brought the next ten seconds of stationary staring on myself. I'm itching to move by two. I'm trying very hard to stay still by five. I just about make it to eight; at nine the want is excruciating and at ten I can't stop myself walking forwards very quickly and pressing myself as close to him as possible. It could be attraction, it could be my British-instinct loathing for awkward moments.
When he finally responds to my hands on his back I completely get that it's attraction.
With maybe a little bit of British-instinct.
I'm really not sure what's going through his head, and I'm really, really unclear on the etiquette of a situation like this. To be really blunt about things, I never really felt that sex of any kind was particularly interesting, or was my area of expertise even when it could have been. As well as that was the total lack of people I found suitably attractive; nothing turns me off more than boredom. So right now, I've got to be honest, I haven't a clue what I'm doing. Did I mention I have never even remotely considered the possibility that I might find someone of the same gender attractive? Because I hadn't. People always say things like, 'oh come on, you must have thought about it...' but I, not in a disapproving way, just assumed that thinking about it made you gay, and because I'd never thought about it, I wasn't gay. Now I'm taking off a guy's shirt but I actually don't feel particularly gay. I'm thinking that the thought process I'm running through right now is quite far away from the moment I'm taking part in- it's almost as if the concept of gender is totally alien to me. What's happening right now appears to be just me finding this person -free of any kind of label- really, really attractive.
So now I'm thinking I should stop thinking.
This idea becomes a concrete plan when Gabriel's mouth finds my neck, the curve between that and my shoulder as I stare at the same part of him, and then again when I realise it is not natural to stare that much and the urge to close my eyes is completely overwhelming.
I continue to not think when I pull him down the corridor to where I have a slight feeling his room might be, but I'm not really sure, so I'm grateful when it turns out I'm right, and more grateful when he follows me down when I sit on the mattress, and then I can't figure out how to express a feeling so much infinitely more than grateful as when he pushes me back and moves his head down my stomach until, oh my god, it's the end of conscious or intelligible thought.
I realise, as I slowly open my eyes, that I've been lying here for a really long time. I feel kind of different, although I suppose I should have expected that. I wonder if I should move, and then I notice the really long, oddly weightless, pale arm over my chest that I can't feel because of how his body temperature matches mine exactly. I settle for not moving. I do turn my head though, turn my head to see what's there, see if this actually just happened, if I did just slightly possibly fall in love with someone (although in this state I don't think I'm fit to make any of those kinds of statements) who slightly possibly just completely took me over, and who was closer to me than I've ever let anyone before, and who is definitely not the dream-girl I once wanted to open the door who now, thinking back to her, seems totally inadequate. I look, and see arctic ocean eyes staring back into mine, and quite happily, it confirms that all these things just happened. I have to move now, I twist myself to face him fully, because I honestly have never wanted to kiss anyone more.
Gabriel. As far as I can tell, I've never experienced this particular chemical brain activity as a result of sleeping with someone. I suppose I'd been denying myself the ability to create this feeling for a while, Christie Stone is a morphine for my emotions. And right now I don't find it hard to forget his face, because this experiment was an unexpected success, and, forever reliant on empirical evidence only, blocking out fleeting fancies that most people allow to cloud the perception in their rare substantial thoughts, I can conclude that I don't want to leave the side of this person. This strange, endearingly innocent person I have found. It's too soon to trust him -the reason I exercised that control- but I fear, observing his eyes that look like an emerald on fire, that I'd tell him anything if he asked. For once in my life, I'm at risk of putting myself in a vulnerable position. For once in my life, I'm losing my grip on that precept and not finding myself able to care.
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