[ Your destination is on the right-hand side, says the GPS and he's preparing to park the car, when Claude reaches out and pats his knee, encouraging him to - what? Contact him again? A second date, maybe a third? For a long moment, he's quiet. The other man's unexpected touch lingers long after he's pulled away, his knee and leg tingling slightly from it. He shifts slightly in his seat, driving up to the curb. He doesn't know what to say - under normal circumstances, he would probably laugh, not too kindly, then make a promise he'd never bother to keep.
I'd be glad to hear from you again. And likewise, he thinks. On the one hand, he'd be... more than glad. Whilst on the other, he's not altogether sure why, seeing as it doesn't actively change anything here and now, it leaves him with exactly the same as always, except... maybe. It leaves him with maybe and, well, logically speaking, that's bound to be a little bit better than nothing, isn't it? Except - maybe? Maybe what?
Dear Gods. Headache inducing. ]
I'll remember. [ A small smile. ] Do get home safely. The few metres you've got left.
[ He watches the other man carefully, suddenly intent on following him with his gaze all the way up to his front door. It's a strange urge, feels almost like desperation, and he can't quite understand why. It's been one evening, yet he can't help but feel that letting this man slip through his fingers might very well be a grave mistake. One he'd remember for a very long time. ]
[ Claude draws back as quietly and unassuming as he leaned forward - and it somehow fits the way that Jean Louis in turn makes no promises, no lies, no falsehoods, just a simple I'll remember and Claude's smile widens a fraction for a moment, until it's its usually broad, white self. All teeth and curving lips. He nods at the other man once and gets out of the car with an unpretentious elegance, feet finding the ground easily and keeping his balance with a certain strength, a certain grace. You're not only a ballet dancer at the barre, you're a ballet dancer every step of the way.
In the darkness, the three-storey house that Madame Traverse rents out looks abandoned, old and unused. Currently, only he and the Madame herself live there, she on the ground floor, he up under the ceiling. At the edge of his mind, he wonders what Jean Louis' unfit apartment must look like in comparison. The man isn't hiding the fact that he uses money as toilet paper and yet, for some reason, it doesn't actually bother Claude's sense of justice very much. Not this time. There's something about Jean Louis that gives him a feeling that his small luxuries are well deserved, in the end.
Once he reaches the door, he turns around only to find the Aston Martin still parked at the curb. He gives the illuminated windshield a wave, although he can't actually make Jean Louis out behind it as anything other than a dark blob, knowing the other man will see it. Maybe he'll take it with him home and he won't have to look so desperately for company tonight. Meanwhile, Claude opens the door to total darkness, total silence and total lonesomeness. ]
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I'd be glad to hear from you again. And likewise, he thinks. On the one hand, he'd be... more than glad. Whilst on the other, he's not altogether sure why, seeing as it doesn't actively change anything here and now, it leaves him with exactly the same as always, except... maybe. It leaves him with maybe and, well, logically speaking, that's bound to be a little bit better than nothing, isn't it? Except - maybe? Maybe what?
Dear Gods. Headache inducing. ]
I'll remember. [ A small smile. ] Do get home safely. The few metres you've got left.
[ He watches the other man carefully, suddenly intent on following him with his gaze all the way up to his front door. It's a strange urge, feels almost like desperation, and he can't quite understand why. It's been one evening, yet he can't help but feel that letting this man slip through his fingers might very well be a grave mistake. One he'd remember for a very long time. ]
no subject
In the darkness, the three-storey house that Madame Traverse rents out looks abandoned, old and unused. Currently, only he and the Madame herself live there, she on the ground floor, he up under the ceiling. At the edge of his mind, he wonders what Jean Louis' unfit apartment must look like in comparison. The man isn't hiding the fact that he uses money as toilet paper and yet, for some reason, it doesn't actually bother Claude's sense of justice very much. Not this time. There's something about Jean Louis that gives him a feeling that his small luxuries are well deserved, in the end.
Once he reaches the door, he turns around only to find the Aston Martin still parked at the curb. He gives the illuminated windshield a wave, although he can't actually make Jean Louis out behind it as anything other than a dark blob, knowing the other man will see it. Maybe he'll take it with him home and he won't have to look so desperately for company tonight. Meanwhile, Claude opens the door to total darkness, total silence and total lonesomeness. ]