(no subject)
Anthony woke up in a sweat. His breath was short and he was in a foul mood. He felt like he wanted to cry, and after minutes of trying not to he shed his tears and let them flow and didn't bother to keep track of how long he did this. After he had cried as much as he could, he stood up, walked to the bedroom and prepared to go to bed, the mundane action of it keeping his mind off the unwanted memory.
But the act of sleep always caught one unawares...
And when he awoke, his subconscious was telling him he was in a quiet hotel room in Rome.
The golden sunlight filtering through the beige blinds said it was time to wake up, time to go. Their itinerary didn't have "sleeping in" as part of their scheduled activities for the day. It had "leaving Rome." Anthony cursed it as he opened his eyes. He was tired and sore and blissful and he did not want to see the exterior or the outskirts of Rome. He had never felt so willingly lethargic in his whole life. The person next to him in the bed was sleeping, so he turned with care to ensure his professor, Greg House, wouldn't wake up.
Last night had been insane; he could remember that by looking at Professor House's face. The night before had been less insane by a small degree: he had only been caught in the act of making out with a stranger in an alleyway by the same Professor House who lay next to him now. Fear he attributed to the reason why he remembered that embarrassing encounter, as nothing else would have penetrated the thick layers of drunkenness he had achieved that night. The next morning he had an excessive headache and needed to be dragged out of his room by Professor House after several failed attempts by Anthony's roommate. Anthony spent most of that yesterday sitting down, nursing several cups of coffee and tea, and talking to Professor House, who had taken it upon himself to look after his hungover student.
The early conversation, Anthony found, would have been that much more interesting if he weren't busy diverting his eyes from Professor House. Later conversations became more engrossing; Anthony felt himself giving in, zoning in on a man he'd had a crush on for a long time, appreciating his conversation, his concern, admiring his voice and his looks and the way he dressed, finding himself drawn in by his blue eyes, unaware that he'd been hooked in until he accidentally let his hand slip over the professor's and realized the professor wasn't letting go.
They kind of assumed that something was happening between them.
Once everyone had gone to bed, and once Anthony found himself sneaking away to the professor's room, the assumption became fact.
Now Anthony'd be a liar of he claimed there wasn't any pain in it. He'd also be a lair if he said that pain was leading him down a road he didn't want to tread. He wouldn't have been here, lounging in on a beautiful morning, if he never wanted to see where the road lead, if he harbored no curiosity of what he would find. His only concern was keeping his tracks hidden.
Still, if he went missing for a morning, what of it? Say he was out drinking again and passed out on a street. Who would know he was spending his morning next to the professor? Greg, he reminded himself. Told me to call him Greg. This caused him to grin, and he closed his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Greg's torso and laid his head on Greg's chest.
Well, Greg, I think we'll find this to be an interesting journey.
But the act of sleep always caught one unawares...
And when he awoke, his subconscious was telling him he was in a quiet hotel room in Rome.
The golden sunlight filtering through the beige blinds said it was time to wake up, time to go. Their itinerary didn't have "sleeping in" as part of their scheduled activities for the day. It had "leaving Rome." Anthony cursed it as he opened his eyes. He was tired and sore and blissful and he did not want to see the exterior or the outskirts of Rome. He had never felt so willingly lethargic in his whole life. The person next to him in the bed was sleeping, so he turned with care to ensure his professor, Greg House, wouldn't wake up.
Last night had been insane; he could remember that by looking at Professor House's face. The night before had been less insane by a small degree: he had only been caught in the act of making out with a stranger in an alleyway by the same Professor House who lay next to him now. Fear he attributed to the reason why he remembered that embarrassing encounter, as nothing else would have penetrated the thick layers of drunkenness he had achieved that night. The next morning he had an excessive headache and needed to be dragged out of his room by Professor House after several failed attempts by Anthony's roommate. Anthony spent most of that yesterday sitting down, nursing several cups of coffee and tea, and talking to Professor House, who had taken it upon himself to look after his hungover student.
The early conversation, Anthony found, would have been that much more interesting if he weren't busy diverting his eyes from Professor House. Later conversations became more engrossing; Anthony felt himself giving in, zoning in on a man he'd had a crush on for a long time, appreciating his conversation, his concern, admiring his voice and his looks and the way he dressed, finding himself drawn in by his blue eyes, unaware that he'd been hooked in until he accidentally let his hand slip over the professor's and realized the professor wasn't letting go.
They kind of assumed that something was happening between them.
Once everyone had gone to bed, and once Anthony found himself sneaking away to the professor's room, the assumption became fact.
Now Anthony'd be a liar of he claimed there wasn't any pain in it. He'd also be a lair if he said that pain was leading him down a road he didn't want to tread. He wouldn't have been here, lounging in on a beautiful morning, if he never wanted to see where the road lead, if he harbored no curiosity of what he would find. His only concern was keeping his tracks hidden.
Still, if he went missing for a morning, what of it? Say he was out drinking again and passed out on a street. Who would know he was spending his morning next to the professor? Greg, he reminded himself. Told me to call him Greg. This caused him to grin, and he closed his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Greg's torso and laid his head on Greg's chest.
Well, Greg, I think we'll find this to be an interesting journey.