Status: Back in action.
Achilles
9 June 2014
Sometimes, on the way to Adrien’s house, he liked to make himself sad on purpose, easily done by listening to just the right music, songs he wouldn’t touch anywhere else but on the metro. His motivation for this, unconscious at first but later realized and heavily milked, was the instant gratification of the heavy calming effect of Adrien’s presence, the world being steadied at once after being vigorously rattled. It had never occurred to Théo to compare it to a drug, except now, for a fleeting moment, when he was forced to give it up cold turkey. On his way back he made a point to find the most unsettling songs he had, with the full knowledge that there would be no one and nothing to set him back on his feet on the other end.
It was because of this silly ritual that he ignored his sense of foreboding earlier in the morning, mistaking it for the usual after-effect of his moody Danish synth-pop. It was surprisingly cold for early June. The vapor of a full night of heavy rain was floating up into the sun, a thick, rippling, milky cloud over the whole city. Théo felt lightheaded and vaguely nauseous as he surfaced and started making his way towards Adrien’s building. He felt the mist seep in under his skin and ripple in his body. It would be over soon, he told himself. They would have a nice coffee, and a cup of water would make him feel all better.
He knocked on the door - Adrien disliked the shrill sound of the doorbell, but he never got around to dismantling it - but there was no answer. He pressed on the handle and pushed tentatively to find that the door was unlocked. He let himself in and heard the shower running as he stepped into the living room. It was a small space crammed with large, bulky furniture and thick rugs, and somehow the wide window that always gave way to endless amounts of morning light only made the walls seem closer together. All this would have been comforting to Théo on any other day - today, the bookshelves seemed almost menacing. With a sigh, he sat down heavily on one end of the L-shaped sofa awkwardly jammed under the window and picked up the tattered paperback copy of The Iliad lying in the middle.
Adrien loved the classics, which in the grand scheme of things didn’t amount to much - he did graduate from university but his four years there were less than pleasant. It quickly became clear that he was only interested in the antiquity and even with that, strangely, to him mythology had an unquestionable priority to facts. In the end, unsurprisingly, he didn’t turn out a historian by far (he was now singlehandedly trying to hold together the entire Culture section of a daily newspaper), but The Iliad, like a leitmotif, seemed to surface wherever he went. It sometimes randomly appeared on Théo’s bedside table as well. Théo now turned the pages gentler than ever, as several were in imminent danger of falling out. Many passages were underlined almost forcefully with a blunt pencil. He resolved to read some of these, as he never quite took the time, but the sound of small feet pattering across the wooden floor made him raise his head. Adrien’s fat dog, recently adopted, had padded out of the bedroom, and, still shy, regarded Théo from the other side of the room with its head cocked to the side.
“Come here, baby,” Théo cooed, putting the book down, but the dog didn’t move. “Come here,” he insisted a few more times, but, getting bored of it, he walked over in the end, scooped the dog up in his arms and took it back to the couch. The dog let him scratch his neck with a quiet, reluctant alertness which didn’t subside even when Théo started singing to it softly. In the midst of all this, he didn’t hear the shower stop or the bathroom door open. He only looked up when the sensation of Adrien’s eyes on him was too distinct to ignore, and saw him leaning against the doorframe, his face missing that usual composure that was so comforting to Théo, and an unusual darkness to his deep-set eyes. A jolt went through Théo as if the carpet had been ripped out under his feet. He didn’t sign up for this. “Hi,” he said, terribly unsure of himself all of a sudden.
“Hi,” Adrien said back and walked over, making a point of sitting on the other end of the couch. The space between them was an open wound. They looked at each other for a long moment; the dog squirmed in Théo’s arms. “What’s the matter?” Adrien finally asked. “You’re so fidgety. Did you take something?”
Théo never realized he was tapping his foot to the nervous rhythm of his heartbeat. He didn’t have it in him to be offended. Only a mild indignation pushed through his rising anxiety. “You’re the one acting weird,” he replied sullenly, trying in vain to hold the dog back. “You have been - “
“Shh,” Adrien cut him off unexpectedly, a flash of emotion running through his face. It settled in his eyes, giving them an almost desperate shine. “Théo, see, this is not working out.”
The dog finally escaped and scurried over to Adrien, hiding its face in his shirt.
“What is not working out?”
Adrien hugged the dog closer to his chest and carefully avoided even glancing in Théo’s direction. “This whole thing.”
Théo still didn’t get it. There wasn’t a ‘thing’ that could possibly be going wrong. Adrien was his best friend, and there wasn’t anything simpler than that. He turned back and cracked the window open so he could light a cigarette.
“What are you talking about?” he asked while trying to jam the lighter back into his pocket. “Adrien?”
“But you know, Théo, don’t you?” Something sad was making its way into his voice, and Théo felt the need to look away. He did know now. It was something new, something particular of the last few weeks, a physical distance between them, silences growing uncomfortable, something cautious in the way they had been handling each other, as if they were both expecting some kind of a violent emotional outburst from the other. Théo had acknowledged it in his own way, but couldn’t allow himself to give it much thought. There was a vague preliminary ache to guard the gate.
“It’s the dog,” he attempted. Although the start of the off-period roughly coincided with the afternoon they drove to the shelter on the outskirts of the city on one sunny afternoon and returned with the dog, not speaking a word on the way back, Théo’s belief in the connection was somehow shaken. Still, he needed his reason. This one was as good as any. “She doesn’t like me.”
“It’s not the fucking dog,” Adrien snapped, taking Théo by surprise.
“So what now?” he asked, aware and embarrassed of the sulky edge in his voice. Adrien’s reply was gentle but unforgiving and he could never be ready for it.
“Maybe we could take a break.”
Théo finally felt the need to look up, and he saw Adrien looking back at him with a quiet desperation mirroring his own.
“What do you mean, ‘break’? Like not talking, not hanging out? Making new friends? Like a… um… breakup?”
Adrien nodded and reached out towards Théo who handed him the cigarette without any reproaches. This wasn’t the time to feel betrayed, he told himself; he would take it home and hide it somewhere in the dark, along with everything else he might be feeling now or later, whenever. He was strong, he could handle breakups; he’d had plenty, although not with a best friend. Or not this way, exactly. Adrien handed him back the cigarette after three long drags, and he finished it, the stub screeching against the glass ashtray as he put it out. “Am I at least allowed to call you?” he asked with a small laugh, a bitter edge to it, as if he was reproaching himself for even hoping.
“No.” Adrien laughed as well, sounding just as bitter.
“Even if I really need to?”
“Especially then.”
“Good.” Théo laughed again, on the verge of tears, and stood up. “I should get going then.” He started towards the door without looking back. Behind him, he could hear the dog land with a soft thump on the rug, the sofa creaking as Adrien stood up, a shuffle of bare feet following him at a distance to the door. He had half the mind to make a dramatic exit, but it was cut short as he struggled at the door. He forgot he had locked it when he arrived. He opened it and hesitated for a moment before stepping out - a moment that was just enough for Adrien to step into his personal space, put an arm around his waist, sink his chin into his shoulder.
“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered in Théo’s ear and then stepped back as if nothing happened, as if he were never there. Théo stepped out and closed the door behind himself without a word.
It was because of this silly ritual that he ignored his sense of foreboding earlier in the morning, mistaking it for the usual after-effect of his moody Danish synth-pop. It was surprisingly cold for early June. The vapor of a full night of heavy rain was floating up into the sun, a thick, rippling, milky cloud over the whole city. Théo felt lightheaded and vaguely nauseous as he surfaced and started making his way towards Adrien’s building. He felt the mist seep in under his skin and ripple in his body. It would be over soon, he told himself. They would have a nice coffee, and a cup of water would make him feel all better.
He knocked on the door - Adrien disliked the shrill sound of the doorbell, but he never got around to dismantling it - but there was no answer. He pressed on the handle and pushed tentatively to find that the door was unlocked. He let himself in and heard the shower running as he stepped into the living room. It was a small space crammed with large, bulky furniture and thick rugs, and somehow the wide window that always gave way to endless amounts of morning light only made the walls seem closer together. All this would have been comforting to Théo on any other day - today, the bookshelves seemed almost menacing. With a sigh, he sat down heavily on one end of the L-shaped sofa awkwardly jammed under the window and picked up the tattered paperback copy of The Iliad lying in the middle.
Adrien loved the classics, which in the grand scheme of things didn’t amount to much - he did graduate from university but his four years there were less than pleasant. It quickly became clear that he was only interested in the antiquity and even with that, strangely, to him mythology had an unquestionable priority to facts. In the end, unsurprisingly, he didn’t turn out a historian by far (he was now singlehandedly trying to hold together the entire Culture section of a daily newspaper), but The Iliad, like a leitmotif, seemed to surface wherever he went. It sometimes randomly appeared on Théo’s bedside table as well. Théo now turned the pages gentler than ever, as several were in imminent danger of falling out. Many passages were underlined almost forcefully with a blunt pencil. He resolved to read some of these, as he never quite took the time, but the sound of small feet pattering across the wooden floor made him raise his head. Adrien’s fat dog, recently adopted, had padded out of the bedroom, and, still shy, regarded Théo from the other side of the room with its head cocked to the side.
“Come here, baby,” Théo cooed, putting the book down, but the dog didn’t move. “Come here,” he insisted a few more times, but, getting bored of it, he walked over in the end, scooped the dog up in his arms and took it back to the couch. The dog let him scratch his neck with a quiet, reluctant alertness which didn’t subside even when Théo started singing to it softly. In the midst of all this, he didn’t hear the shower stop or the bathroom door open. He only looked up when the sensation of Adrien’s eyes on him was too distinct to ignore, and saw him leaning against the doorframe, his face missing that usual composure that was so comforting to Théo, and an unusual darkness to his deep-set eyes. A jolt went through Théo as if the carpet had been ripped out under his feet. He didn’t sign up for this. “Hi,” he said, terribly unsure of himself all of a sudden.
“Hi,” Adrien said back and walked over, making a point of sitting on the other end of the couch. The space between them was an open wound. They looked at each other for a long moment; the dog squirmed in Théo’s arms. “What’s the matter?” Adrien finally asked. “You’re so fidgety. Did you take something?”
Théo never realized he was tapping his foot to the nervous rhythm of his heartbeat. He didn’t have it in him to be offended. Only a mild indignation pushed through his rising anxiety. “You’re the one acting weird,” he replied sullenly, trying in vain to hold the dog back. “You have been - “
“Shh,” Adrien cut him off unexpectedly, a flash of emotion running through his face. It settled in his eyes, giving them an almost desperate shine. “Théo, see, this is not working out.”
The dog finally escaped and scurried over to Adrien, hiding its face in his shirt.
“What is not working out?”
Adrien hugged the dog closer to his chest and carefully avoided even glancing in Théo’s direction. “This whole thing.”
Théo still didn’t get it. There wasn’t a ‘thing’ that could possibly be going wrong. Adrien was his best friend, and there wasn’t anything simpler than that. He turned back and cracked the window open so he could light a cigarette.
“What are you talking about?” he asked while trying to jam the lighter back into his pocket. “Adrien?”
“But you know, Théo, don’t you?” Something sad was making its way into his voice, and Théo felt the need to look away. He did know now. It was something new, something particular of the last few weeks, a physical distance between them, silences growing uncomfortable, something cautious in the way they had been handling each other, as if they were both expecting some kind of a violent emotional outburst from the other. Théo had acknowledged it in his own way, but couldn’t allow himself to give it much thought. There was a vague preliminary ache to guard the gate.
“It’s the dog,” he attempted. Although the start of the off-period roughly coincided with the afternoon they drove to the shelter on the outskirts of the city on one sunny afternoon and returned with the dog, not speaking a word on the way back, Théo’s belief in the connection was somehow shaken. Still, he needed his reason. This one was as good as any. “She doesn’t like me.”
“It’s not the fucking dog,” Adrien snapped, taking Théo by surprise.
“So what now?” he asked, aware and embarrassed of the sulky edge in his voice. Adrien’s reply was gentle but unforgiving and he could never be ready for it.
“Maybe we could take a break.”
Théo finally felt the need to look up, and he saw Adrien looking back at him with a quiet desperation mirroring his own.
“What do you mean, ‘break’? Like not talking, not hanging out? Making new friends? Like a… um… breakup?”
Adrien nodded and reached out towards Théo who handed him the cigarette without any reproaches. This wasn’t the time to feel betrayed, he told himself; he would take it home and hide it somewhere in the dark, along with everything else he might be feeling now or later, whenever. He was strong, he could handle breakups; he’d had plenty, although not with a best friend. Or not this way, exactly. Adrien handed him back the cigarette after three long drags, and he finished it, the stub screeching against the glass ashtray as he put it out. “Am I at least allowed to call you?” he asked with a small laugh, a bitter edge to it, as if he was reproaching himself for even hoping.
“No.” Adrien laughed as well, sounding just as bitter.
“Even if I really need to?”
“Especially then.”
“Good.” Théo laughed again, on the verge of tears, and stood up. “I should get going then.” He started towards the door without looking back. Behind him, he could hear the dog land with a soft thump on the rug, the sofa creaking as Adrien stood up, a shuffle of bare feet following him at a distance to the door. He had half the mind to make a dramatic exit, but it was cut short as he struggled at the door. He forgot he had locked it when he arrived. He opened it and hesitated for a moment before stepping out - a moment that was just enough for Adrien to step into his personal space, put an arm around his waist, sink his chin into his shoulder.
“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered in Théo’s ear and then stepped back as if nothing happened, as if he were never there. Théo stepped out and closed the door behind himself without a word.