Winter Wind, Day 5 - Thursday, December 15, 2011
Winter Wind, Day 5 - Thursday, December 15, 2011
For aprilkat’s birthday, part 5/5.
Author: undonne
Title: Winter Wind, Day 5 - Thursday, December 15, 2011
Pairing: VigBean
Genre: RPS, relationship angst
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: has absolutely nothing to do with the real gentlemen named or their lives. Shadows of my hopeful imagination only.
In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life.’
~~ Dante Alighieri, La Vita Nuova, part I
Viggo was satisfied, but exhausted. The performance had gone well. Three more, and he was heading home. He sat alone in his dressing room, slowly coming down from the hyper-vigilant state he had come to associate with live performance. He never let anyone into his dressing room afterward. Everyone from his fellow cast members to security understood by now that he needed to be alone. He liked to wait until the theatre was nearly empty before leaving. The Matadero was a large complex, and once the lobby cleared it was easy to escape unnoticed.
There was a knock on the door. Hell. He sighed.
“Sí? Entre.”
The door opened. Xalvador, one of the security guards, looked in. He took a hesitant step inside, holding out a folded sheet of white paper.
“Señor Viggo? Un hombre pidió en el bar que darle esto. Dijo que fue importante.”
A man at the bar?
“Quién. ...?” he asked, more of himself than of the guard. “Qué más da. Gracias.”
He rose, took the paper, and closed the door. He unfolded it, his eyes going to the hand-written lines at the bottom of the page. Sean’s handwriting. A jumble of emotions hit him. He couldn’t sort them out. For a moment he couldn’t process the words. Then,
Viggo,
I’m in the bar. This gave me hope.
I don’t know how to ask for your forgiveness. I’d like to try.
I’ll wait for an hour. I love you. I have loved you, always.
Sean
He looked back to the top of the page, part of an interview he had done with a local paper.
You have to be honest about weakness and feelings of guilt. The good thing about any creative work, movie, story or poem, is that it asks you questions without asking you to think one way or another, and this play asks whether it is possible to forgive unconditionally, whether there are things that are so hurtful that they cannot be forgiven, and the answer I personally provide is that real forgiveness cannot set any conditions, be they what they may.
He crushed the paper with both hands and let it drop to the floor. How dare he? Sean had closed that door, long ago. He walked back over to his dressing table and sat down heavily. He looked in the mirror. He was tired, and he was too old for this shit. The eyes looking back at him, however, seemed to contradict this. In spite of himself, there was a…a life in them that hadn’t been there moments before. Damn the man. What could he possibly say to make up for what he had done, for the suffering, for the wasted time? He asked that of his reflection, and, ridiculously, got a small smile in return.
“You still want him,” he said softly, accusingly to his reflection. The eyes answered back, “You still love him.”
He got up, retrieved the wad of paper from the floor, and sat down again. He smoothed it out, almost caressing the handwritten lines.
“Sean, you bastard,” he said aloud. “Maybe I’ll forgive you, you idiot. Maybe.”
But it wouldn’t hurt him to wait in the bar a while. Viggo grinned wickedly and looked at his watch. He didn’t want to cut it too close. Just close enough.
After forty-five minutes, he left his dressing room and went down the hall toward the cavernous foyer where the open bar was located. They had stopped serving over an hour ago, and the foyer was deserted and dim. A man sat on a stool at the end, his face toward the wall, his head bowed.
Viggo approached him, his feet echoing on the tile. The man straightened up slowly, and turned to face him. He looked older. His hair was short, and he was carefully dressed in a dark suit. He stood up and came toward Viggo, stopping about six feet away.
“I didn’t know if you’d see me,” the beautiful voice said, quietly.
Silence.
“I wanted to tell you…" Sean stopped. Looked down at the floor.
The green eyes Viggo loved so much came up again, full of many things. Suffering, regret, love.
“Vig, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
"I know." Sean looked absolutely miserable. Viggo thought about raking him over the coals a bit. But he was more concerned about getting on with their life.
"No conditions," he said. "No explanations." Then he opened his arms wide.
One sigh, two strides, and Sean was home.
For aprilkat’s birthday, part 5/5.
Author: undonne
Title: Winter Wind, Day 5 - Thursday, December 15, 2011
Pairing: VigBean
Genre: RPS, relationship angst
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: has absolutely nothing to do with the real gentlemen named or their lives. Shadows of my hopeful imagination only.
In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life.’
~~ Dante Alighieri, La Vita Nuova, part I
Viggo was satisfied, but exhausted. The performance had gone well. Three more, and he was heading home. He sat alone in his dressing room, slowly coming down from the hyper-vigilant state he had come to associate with live performance. He never let anyone into his dressing room afterward. Everyone from his fellow cast members to security understood by now that he needed to be alone. He liked to wait until the theatre was nearly empty before leaving. The Matadero was a large complex, and once the lobby cleared it was easy to escape unnoticed.
There was a knock on the door. Hell. He sighed.
“Sí? Entre.”
The door opened. Xalvador, one of the security guards, looked in. He took a hesitant step inside, holding out a folded sheet of white paper.
“Señor Viggo? Un hombre pidió en el bar que darle esto. Dijo que fue importante.”
A man at the bar?
“Quién. ...?” he asked, more of himself than of the guard. “Qué más da. Gracias.”
He rose, took the paper, and closed the door. He unfolded it, his eyes going to the hand-written lines at the bottom of the page. Sean’s handwriting. A jumble of emotions hit him. He couldn’t sort them out. For a moment he couldn’t process the words. Then,
Viggo,
I’m in the bar. This gave me hope.
I don’t know how to ask for your forgiveness. I’d like to try.
I’ll wait for an hour. I love you. I have loved you, always.
Sean
He looked back to the top of the page, part of an interview he had done with a local paper.
You have to be honest about weakness and feelings of guilt. The good thing about any creative work, movie, story or poem, is that it asks you questions without asking you to think one way or another, and this play asks whether it is possible to forgive unconditionally, whether there are things that are so hurtful that they cannot be forgiven, and the answer I personally provide is that real forgiveness cannot set any conditions, be they what they may.
He crushed the paper with both hands and let it drop to the floor. How dare he? Sean had closed that door, long ago. He walked back over to his dressing table and sat down heavily. He looked in the mirror. He was tired, and he was too old for this shit. The eyes looking back at him, however, seemed to contradict this. In spite of himself, there was a…a life in them that hadn’t been there moments before. Damn the man. What could he possibly say to make up for what he had done, for the suffering, for the wasted time? He asked that of his reflection, and, ridiculously, got a small smile in return.
“You still want him,” he said softly, accusingly to his reflection. The eyes answered back, “You still love him.”
He got up, retrieved the wad of paper from the floor, and sat down again. He smoothed it out, almost caressing the handwritten lines.
“Sean, you bastard,” he said aloud. “Maybe I’ll forgive you, you idiot. Maybe.”
But it wouldn’t hurt him to wait in the bar a while. Viggo grinned wickedly and looked at his watch. He didn’t want to cut it too close. Just close enough.
After forty-five minutes, he left his dressing room and went down the hall toward the cavernous foyer where the open bar was located. They had stopped serving over an hour ago, and the foyer was deserted and dim. A man sat on a stool at the end, his face toward the wall, his head bowed.
Viggo approached him, his feet echoing on the tile. The man straightened up slowly, and turned to face him. He looked older. His hair was short, and he was carefully dressed in a dark suit. He stood up and came toward Viggo, stopping about six feet away.
“I didn’t know if you’d see me,” the beautiful voice said, quietly.
Silence.
“I wanted to tell you…" Sean stopped. Looked down at the floor.
The green eyes Viggo loved so much came up again, full of many things. Suffering, regret, love.
“Vig, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
"I know." Sean looked absolutely miserable. Viggo thought about raking him over the coals a bit. But he was more concerned about getting on with their life.
"No conditions," he said. "No explanations." Then he opened his arms wide.
One sigh, two strides, and Sean was home.