the apartment, or: how to i learned to forget cooking and love take-out [4/?]
anonymous
December 6 2010, 21:06:14 UTC
On Sunday, Francis was nowhere to be found. That was to be expected, since Saturday nights were his literary benders with Ph.D candidates from other schools. They went to 21 and drank rye and water while talking neuroscience and existentialism. When they got particularly drunk, they were liable to start yelling and arguing about the history of currencies and what had really happened with Monica Lewinsky. Everything was a conspiracy. Hands-on demonstrations were appreciated and encouraged. Antonio and Gilbert had met one of Francis's literary friends before. His name was Arthur and he was the Englishman in New York. He had gone to Oxford and was now stuck in the Anthropology department at Columbia. He hated America because the government was incapable of properly clearing his papers; also, he'd been molested at the hands of LaGuardia security more times than he could remember.
They had met Arthur once and that was enough. They much preferred the bars on West Forty-ninth Street, where they would be among "normal people who didn't think champagne was something to drink."
With Francis gone on the weekends, that left a lot of time for Antonio and Gilbert. Usually Gilbert watched The Price Is Right and Antonio wrote poetry or went to the movies with a Dutch co-worker. He wrote damned good poetry, too.
"You think so?" said Antonio.
"I know so," said Gilbert.
"Ha, you're funny."
"Fuck you bastard," and they wrestled until Gilbert fell asleep on top of Antonio and they just stayed like that until Francis came back.
Gilbert wasn't sure when it first started, their sleeping together. In the past, the only thing he got out of it was that Antonio was a kicker and a jerk because he stole the blanket for himself. So he didn't like sleeping with Antonio unless it was absolutely necessary. There were times when it was necessary. Take when he had just broken up with this cute girl from New Haven fifteen months back and he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He supposed he had to feel sorry for himself and drink a lot, so that was what he did. Antonio had put his arms around him in a comforting way and then one of them-Gilbert wasn't sure which-kissed the other.
It felt nice. That was all he could say. They had grown comfortable with each other, all three of them, which is what happens when you bring three young men in their mid-twenties and cram them in a space that can just as well accommodate a girl with questionable means of attaining her personal income.
They had found that it was pleasant to kiss and even nicer to touch each other. Gilbert had touched Francis only once, but that was different. Francis was slightly different, not in a bad way but nevertheless different because he knew Francis would always be there. Antonio was a flash of brilliance with unpredictable moods and sometimes he had the feeling that if Antonio thought it best for himself, he'd leave. They had known each other for two years. Two years was a long time but two years out of twenty-five is not, relatively speaking. Not to mention, Antonio had a tendency of losing his keys. One day, he might lose them and simply decide not to look for them. And if that happened, then what would happen to them all? What would happen to this group that dared to call themselves friends?
Then he realized that he was thinking silly things, that Antonio was never going to leave him or Francis, and he was speculating based on groundless facts. In many ways, Gilbert was in love. As much in love as he capable of being; or, as accepting as he could've been of an individual's flaws and idiocies. That was good for a lot of people, and it was more than enough for Gilbert, who was not the sentimental sort unless he was thoroughly stewed.
Antonio remembered birthdays and Gilbert laughed at his Spanish jokes that lost all their humor in English. Admittedly, he was closer to Antonio than he was to Francis. Admittedly, Antonio held a similar relationship to Francis, which was about as frustrating as cooking mincemeat pie from scratch, which really meant it was just better to not fucking think about it at all.
OP again..
anonymous
December 6 2010, 21:51:37 UTC
Pff look at that, I was fast too. Too fast, it seems, you weren't even done posting yet >.<
So we actually get a glimpse of their complicated relationship! Prussia/Spain, so unbelievably cute, aaaaaaaaaw!
Oh no, I'm starting to quote things! Just this one, I promise:
In many ways, Gilbert was in love. As much in love as he capable of being; or, as accepting as he could've been of an individual's flaws and idiocies. That was good for a lot of people, and it was more than enough for Gilbert, who was not the sentimental sort unless he was thoroughly stewed.
I just love this line to death. It's so Gilbert! And so incredibly romantic in a totally manly way.
Re: the apartment, or: how to i learned to forget cooking and love take-out [4/?]
anonymous
December 7 2010, 00:49:34 UTC
This is absolutely gorgeous, author anon! I can't wait to read more! The dialogue and jumps in narration are fantastic, they give the story a unique flow, and the characterizations are brilliant but also refreshing, in a way; I especially like your Spain, as seen through the eyes of Gilbert too. And Francis <3 and poor, molested ArthurXD
I love the ways in which you keep introducing the cast as past friends, acquaintances, etc (Tino and Berwald, Roderich, Ludwig and Elizaveta, lol), and I have to praise your ability to give them a life outside their friendship, which is something 99% of authors simply don't bother to do in their fics (their friends or significant other are ALL their life). I also love the subtle clues to some issues they may have, like Francis putting some distance with his saturday nights and his college friends, or Gilbert's abandonment issues. And the writing is gorgeous too <3<3<3
They had met Arthur once and that was enough. They much preferred the bars on West Forty-ninth Street, where they would be among "normal people who didn't think champagne was something to drink."
With Francis gone on the weekends, that left a lot of time for Antonio and Gilbert. Usually Gilbert watched The Price Is Right and Antonio wrote poetry or went to the movies with a Dutch co-worker. He wrote damned good poetry, too.
"You think so?" said Antonio.
"I know so," said Gilbert.
"Ha, you're funny."
"Fuck you bastard," and they wrestled until Gilbert fell asleep on top of Antonio and they just stayed like that until Francis came back.
Gilbert wasn't sure when it first started, their sleeping together. In the past, the only thing he got out of it was that Antonio was a kicker and a jerk because he stole the blanket for himself. So he didn't like sleeping with Antonio unless it was absolutely necessary. There were times when it was necessary. Take when he had just broken up with this cute girl from New Haven fifteen months back and he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He supposed he had to feel sorry for himself and drink a lot, so that was what he did. Antonio had put his arms around him in a comforting way and then one of them-Gilbert wasn't sure which-kissed the other.
It felt nice. That was all he could say. They had grown comfortable with each other, all three of them, which is what happens when you bring three young men in their mid-twenties and cram them in a space that can just as well accommodate a girl with questionable means of attaining her personal income.
They had found that it was pleasant to kiss and even nicer to touch each other. Gilbert had touched Francis only once, but that was different. Francis was slightly different, not in a bad way but nevertheless different because he knew Francis would always be there. Antonio was a flash of brilliance with unpredictable moods and sometimes he had the feeling that if Antonio thought it best for himself, he'd leave. They had known each other for two years. Two years was a long time but two years out of twenty-five is not, relatively speaking. Not to mention, Antonio had a tendency of losing his keys. One day, he might lose them and simply decide not to look for them. And if that happened, then what would happen to them all? What would happen to this group that dared to call themselves friends?
Then he realized that he was thinking silly things, that Antonio was never going to leave him or Francis, and he was speculating based on groundless facts. In many ways, Gilbert was in love. As much in love as he capable of being; or, as accepting as he could've been of an individual's flaws and idiocies. That was good for a lot of people, and it was more than enough for Gilbert, who was not the sentimental sort unless he was thoroughly stewed.
Antonio remembered birthdays and Gilbert laughed at his Spanish jokes that lost all their humor in English. Admittedly, he was closer to Antonio than he was to Francis. Admittedly, Antonio held a similar relationship to Francis, which was about as frustrating as cooking mincemeat pie from scratch, which really meant it was just better to not fucking think about it at all.
"You look tired," mentioned Antonio.
"You don't say," he replied.
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So we actually get a glimpse of their complicated relationship!
Prussia/Spain, so unbelievably cute, aaaaaaaaaw!
Oh no, I'm starting to quote things! Just this one, I promise:
In many ways, Gilbert was in love. As much in love as he capable of being; or, as accepting as he could've been of an individual's flaws and idiocies. That was good for a lot of people, and it was more than enough for Gilbert, who was not the sentimental sort unless he was thoroughly stewed.
I just love this line to death. It's so Gilbert! And so incredibly romantic in a totally manly way.
Looks like there's gonna be some drama soon~
Reply
Reply
I love the ways in which you keep introducing the cast as past friends, acquaintances, etc (Tino and Berwald, Roderich, Ludwig and Elizaveta, lol), and I have to praise your ability to give them a life outside their friendship, which is something 99% of authors simply don't bother to do in their fics (their friends or significant other are ALL their life).
I also love the subtle clues to some issues they may have, like Francis putting some distance with his saturday nights and his college friends, or Gilbert's abandonment issues.
And the writing is gorgeous too <3<3<3
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Reply
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