we kiss in his room to a popular tune
dirty_things requested a story about rain. My mouth was bleeding while I was writing it, so it's partially about that. Well no, it's not about blood or rain at all but does incorporate those two things. Written about 2 o'clock last night and I'm still not entirely satisfied, so if sentences keep changing everytime you refresh, that's why.
Pete stumbles out in the warm summer rain holding his mouth. Checks for broken teeth. None as far as he can tell, but there's an awful lot of blood welling up in the back of his mouth. Spits in the gutter; his blood mixes quickly with the dirty street water and vanishes. No trace of Pete in the street.
He sits down on the sidewalk even though the water is up to his ankles in the gutter and the rain has soaked through the first layer of clothing. Shirt, jeans, shoes. Spits again. More blood in the rain, in the gutter. He touches the side of his mouth. Carl knows how to throw a punch.
--
Carl sits by the window and nurses his fist. Checks for broken skin, broken bones, broken ego. None so far as he can tell, but his knuckles and his heart sting something awful. Breathes on the window pane; it's so cold in his apartment that the warm rain disappears his breath instantly. No trace of Carl in the world.
He leans his head against the window even though it's cold. He's got a cold heart too, and a cold soul. Breathes on the glass again. Still no Carl in the world. He looks down at his fist. Pete knows how to annoy him.
- -
Pete stretches his legs into the street and watches his too-short trousers soak through at the knees. Looks up at the sky. Looks around the street. Both are empty, devoid of emotion, life, meaning, anything. Nothing. He spits in the gutter and this time, there's less blood. He's healing already.
He thinks maybe he should apologise to Carl. His mother always told him that annoying people for his own entertainment was wrong. Lays back on the empty sidewalk, looks up into the empty sky. He should listen to his mother.
- -
Carl presses his face against the window. He stands up and hugs the window tight. Lets go when he feels things are becoming awkward. Nothing. The window doesn't reciprocate. It's emotionless, like Carl. He rubs his hand. The sting is gone already.
He thinks maybe he should apologise to Pete. His mother always told him violence wouldn't solve his problems. Leans on the emotionless window, his back to the emotionless world. He should listen to his mother.
- -
They met halfway, on the steps. Pete is wet outside. Carl is cold inside. They frown at each other, each privately admiring the other's meteorological advantage. "I'm sorry," they say.
"Are you sure?"
"Are you?"
"I won't come in if you aren't."
"I won't go out if you are."
"We can trade places,"offers Pete. Carl steps outside and Pete steps in. They stare at each other again.
"I don't have a cold heart, do I Pete?"
Pete shakes his head. "You didn't mean to hit me, did you Carl?"
"Yes I did."
Pete nods and grabs Carl's arm. Reads it. "Libertine."
Carl takes Pete's wrist. "Libertine."
They resolve, in the end, to go to John's house. At least John's house has heating where Pete can dry off. And if they walk, Carl can get wet too.