Perhaps it was then when he beheld him for a steady amount of time that he understood the crippling feeling that was beginning to penetrate. Perturbation crept upon his skin and seeped into his bones, causing his stomach to flip and stir at the sense. The distance between them obviously had an impact, and from where he stood, his eyes were cast upon the other in such a manner that he seemed to have the upper hand at the moment. He disliked it. However, to situate himself upon the couch next to him would be an intrusion of personal space, and considering their relationship, or lack thereof, it would overturn the situation into an awkward one — perhaps, more so than this. So instead, he approached another seat and sat down opposite the man. Now that they were on each other’s level, he hoped the conversation would lead elsewhere; preferably, one that would have less tension hanging in the air.
It was sort of his fault. If he was a conversationalist, he could have gotten rid of the strain and dusted it off. But no, his social incompetence stuck, amongst other unfavorable qualities, and the only thing he could do was to improvise. Even then, his improvisations were dreadful half of the time. Axel held back a grimace that threatened to emerge onto his countenance. Social things had never been his forte. He could need some help, especially now. But at least, the other was talking, thankfully. Should he stay silent, the quietness would end up devouring them both and leave nothing but unspoken words. How was he ever going to figure things out if he wasn’t going to be encouraged to speak?
“The feeling is mutual.” And it was. He would be lying if he told him it wasn’t nice to meet him, despite it not being their initial encounter. A noncommittal shrug followed soon after the other’s inquiry, along with an acrid-enlaced smile. His choice of words were interesting, to say the least. They say accidents happen for a reason. Funny enough, he didn’t have one. “Whatever nickname you deem suitable.”
To sleep with working brain, to dream and to awake into another day of most ignoble peace; it had been his life, the only life he seemed to deserve. But as the boy sat with him, breathed and spoke, this life shivered and became of translucence. But it was still there, and there was no denying he was expecting to return and wake to mornings cold and dark. See every pair of eyes, even of that clear blue as the most poignant of foe and feel his own grow stagnant and bitter. But there was someone with him, someone that had unknowingly stopped all that someone of worth, someone of trust. Someone he knew nothing about. Another someone to be forgotten.
Faces would change, and names were as flimsy a thing too. And yet his hair would stand on end at the thought of erasing it. In the presence of the boy, the impact of such an idea only grew. As if it suddenly had any meaning, as if there was now something to erase something he did not want erased. His mind seemed to almost derail, into an endless repetition of the name he knew the blond bore. He did not want to forget, and nor did his subconscious. It was what made him pause for so long, remain in silence, insurance this was real, and would be from this day on. His own name seemed to be forgotten for the moment.
There was some content in the silence, as his eyes stared through the floor, as it was almost hope held within them. He was once someone, and he would be again, someone else, and he would fight again, to the bone. For people he would learn to love, for himself. With the sprouting of such thought, there spread a smile on his lips, barely, but distinguishable and unmasked. “You don’t talk much do you?” He wasn’t certain whether it was jest or not, but it seemed trivial, now that there was nobody to stop him, from speaking as he wanted. As his so far had been as scarce as the blond’s he waited for a deciding response.
