Those Halycon Days...
WHO: Peter and Raivis
WHEN: Early Saturday evening (26th September)
WHERE: Raivis and Logan's apartment
WHAT: When the roomie's away, the moe will play?
Work had been exasperating, as Ivan promised it would be, and all Raivis wanted now was the comfort of a certain loud, vivacious engineer...
But first-
Berlioz.
Oh Berlioz...
La Damnation De Faust Op. 24: Marche Hongroise trumpeted gloriously from the small stereo by the balcony, serenading the plants contentedly lining the shelves by the walls, echoing within the shell of his home with all the splendor of its cadences, its dramatic rise and fall, the climactic moment where the brass intertwined with thundering percussion. Raivis leaned against his counter, mug in hand, eyelids having long ago fluttered closed by the sweet touch of a few, lingering notes.
A breeze circulated in from the open window, the hum of the air conditioner absent, the scuttling of Biff and the strangely soothing thumping of Logan's footfalls gone as well. He was alone with dear Mister Hector and the Berlin Philharmon's loving tribute, sipping warm milk, tapping his fingers along the hard surface beneath them, swaying on his feet as his thoughts began to drift to finer, inspiring imagery.
Days in the snow, on the streets of the Estonian Talliin with Eduard and Toris hand in hand. Holidays in Riga. The one, shimmering, precious Christmas he had spent in England with Peter at the academy. So many gorgeous memories.
"Mī-lēt..." He sighed against his palm, flushing as he smiled and the scenes unfolding changed with the liquid smooth musical shift.
Peter would arrive soon, surely. And though he was sore, and tired, and somewhat broken from work, he refused to dwell on any of the negative his week had procured. Raivis felt his spirit rising at the rapid passing of time. Soon, soon, soon.
His voice lifted with his mood and he crooned Latvian ballads though Berlioz continued to play. It was an odd harmony, certainly, and it stayed even as he heard the enthusiastic pounding at his door. In a rare moment of unbridled excitement, Raivis rushed from the kitchen, lilting out an affectionate, fluted, "Hello~" as the door swung open, Peter was revealed and the greeting rapidly became a quick, cheerful kiss.
WHEN: Early Saturday evening (26th September)
WHERE: Raivis and Logan's apartment
WHAT: When the roomie's away, the moe will play?
Work had been exasperating, as Ivan promised it would be, and all Raivis wanted now was the comfort of a certain loud, vivacious engineer...
But first-
Berlioz.
Oh Berlioz...
La Damnation De Faust Op. 24: Marche Hongroise trumpeted gloriously from the small stereo by the balcony, serenading the plants contentedly lining the shelves by the walls, echoing within the shell of his home with all the splendor of its cadences, its dramatic rise and fall, the climactic moment where the brass intertwined with thundering percussion. Raivis leaned against his counter, mug in hand, eyelids having long ago fluttered closed by the sweet touch of a few, lingering notes.
A breeze circulated in from the open window, the hum of the air conditioner absent, the scuttling of Biff and the strangely soothing thumping of Logan's footfalls gone as well. He was alone with dear Mister Hector and the Berlin Philharmon's loving tribute, sipping warm milk, tapping his fingers along the hard surface beneath them, swaying on his feet as his thoughts began to drift to finer, inspiring imagery.
Days in the snow, on the streets of the Estonian Talliin with Eduard and Toris hand in hand. Holidays in Riga. The one, shimmering, precious Christmas he had spent in England with Peter at the academy. So many gorgeous memories.
"Mī-lēt..." He sighed against his palm, flushing as he smiled and the scenes unfolding changed with the liquid smooth musical shift.
Peter would arrive soon, surely. And though he was sore, and tired, and somewhat broken from work, he refused to dwell on any of the negative his week had procured. Raivis felt his spirit rising at the rapid passing of time. Soon, soon, soon.
His voice lifted with his mood and he crooned Latvian ballads though Berlioz continued to play. It was an odd harmony, certainly, and it stayed even as he heard the enthusiastic pounding at his door. In a rare moment of unbridled excitement, Raivis rushed from the kitchen, lilting out an affectionate, fluted, "Hello~" as the door swung open, Peter was revealed and the greeting rapidly became a quick, cheerful kiss.