laebb:
There were other ways to tell him that he wasn’t the only one drifting alone during the night. But he knew, almost certainly, how fruitless the conversation sparked would be. And besides, Buccellati’s warmth - the little embers burning against his arm were better than the chill of the night.
“It’s good to come back to the places we know.” Abbacchio looked straight up ahead, focused on the empty cars and dim lights coming from the buildings. “Well, now I’m curious about what kind of place waits for us.”
For one night… He couldn’t help the flutter in his chest at the prospect of knowing a side of Buccellati that didn’t present to anyone else. Maybe others had seen it, in the past. But the Buccellati standing by his side, gleaming under the streetlamps like a summer firefly, was his and his alone. A selfish longing spread through his blood.
Though their steps took them closer to their destination, Abbacchio didn’t feel like letting go of the proximity just yet. It was enticing, in all the ways bad habits were. The only difference was that Buccellati… he was good. Better than good. Just one glance at his polished image, the silk pressed nicely against his body and the teasing gold of his hair clips, and Abbacchio could tell that he’d take the fall any time.
It’s only one night, Abbacchio repeated to himself.
“I… I’ve never been to a jazz bar before, so I’m not sure what to expect.” Abbacchio’s brow contorted into a confused frown. Not the type of place he frequented, so there was little to go by. Did he expect the place to vibrate with energy? Or was it the kind of hole were only middle-aged couples went to loosen up? He’d have to see it for himself to draw a conclusion.
He threw Buccellati a side-glance.“You’ll have to show me how to have fun… once we get there.”
Bruno touched his bob again, hoping it would disguise the restlessness in his hands that he wasn’t sure where to put. That, was a lie. He knew where he wanted them to go. But not yet. They ached to stretch out to his side, to glance over whatever he could find. Moon bleached hair, pointed to a star; skin weighed with self destruction and hate, but never not beautiful; clothes that hung always dark, in contrast to Bruno’s light palette.
Bruno let himself look again, wondering when the day would come when one of them would turn and nothing would be there.
He tempered the thought. Not tonight. Just one night.
“What kind of place?” repeated Bruno. “Familiarity for me. And something new, for you.” It was a small tease, some ambiguity. He wanted to wait to show Abbacchio one of his favourite places, than tell. He struggled with meaning when he didn’t hang his well established front. Abbacchio had a way to strip it down, to brush away the opacity. Or at least, see through the cracks. Cracks, Abbacchio made.
“I hear you can usually expect good music and good drinks at a jazz bar,” he said, looking ahead, but tilting his chin with a little mirth. “I’ll show you around.”
Bruno could see the front of the bar ahead, now. A small single doored entrance lettered with cursive gold, sandwiched between a restaurant and an old antique store, closed. Bruno liked to linger by the antique store sometimes. Browsing through old books to add to his collection he’d never read, but liked to look. They were scattered through his study, a way to feel connected to a life he’d wanted, the path parallel. Unseen. So close if he reached, he could touch. But he could never walk.
What was he going to walk with Abbacchio? Would he let him walk any further than the heights this dalliance had taken him already? He’d never really asked. He wondered if they’d both just keep going, going, until the inevitable. And it was only ever going to be what it was. Just enough.
Bruno could never have it all. That wasn’t for him. But would he cut down everything, everyone, if it meant he could have it all with Abbacchio?
Bruno parted his lips, the answer already there.
He swallowed, as their steps slowed as they neared the entrance. A single bouncer stood, impeccably dressed and seemed to recognise Bruno with a nod. Bruno barely acknowledged him, his attention plucked elsewhere. The bouncer opened the door for them and Bruno paused, stepping back for Abbacchio, letting him go first down the narrow stairs.
“I’ll show you fun,” he said softly to his shoulder, and lightly - lightly - he brushed two fingers at the dip of Abbacchio’s back, urging him forward.
Bruno pulled back, but not before letting a single finger linger. “Straight down and through the double doors.”