From a good friend of mine, an hommage (extract from an Everstrange ff) to the character who made us all know the wonderful man Chadwick Boseman was.
"Good evening, your majesty". Entering his house, Ross nodded a small bow to TâChalla who, standing in the center of the living room, looked at him perplexed.
"How much formality ... we are not in Wakanda"
"Sorry, professional deformation"
The king raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
âReally, Everett? I don't understand: it's been two months since the brilliant conclusion of the mission with Strange. Things couldn't have gone better than they did, yet you are always so nervous, you seem dissatisfied "
Ross gave a lopsided smile.
"Mhm, I better not play poker right now, since I'm an open book ..."
TâChalla narrowed her eyes.
âYou are for me. Have you forgotten how long have you been by my side? I hope I'm not wrong by saying that we are now friends "
That sentence set off an alarm bell in Ross's head. He didn't feel the need to add guilt to the compilation of negative feelings playing inside him.
He advanced, with all the ease he managed to impose himself, towards his friend.
"You are right. Wouldn't you like to sit on the sofa? I can make you your favorite fruit cocktail ... "
A spontaneous smile spread across the king's face that made him look like a boy rather than a wise ruler. He dropped onto the sofa, relaxing.
âGreat idea, I love your fruit cocktails. How about adding a sprinkle of 'now telling what's happening'? "
Everett couldn't help but laugh, he couldn't tell if out of nervousness or relief. He went to the corner of the bar and began pouring the ingredients into the mixer, while reflecting on how to unravel the tangle of thoughts and emotions that trapped him, in order to be able to confide in his old friend.
He was still from behind when he decided to speak.
"I'm in love", he stated with apparent indifference, as if he had announced the purchase of a new car.
TâChalla remained silent, waiting for the sequel, which however did not arrive.
Ross finished preparing the cocktail and handed it to his friend, then sat down as well, holding a tumbler in his hands as if it were a life-saving device.
The silence was becoming embarrassing, so TâChalla, now convinced that Everett would say nothing more, decided to reply.
âIt was time for your heart to be won! Who is the lucky one? "
Everett took a sip from his glass.
TâChalla's cocktail went awry and began to cough convulsively.
When he calmed down he leaned forward on the sofa, put his glass down on the low table in front of him and stared at his friend.
"Tell me that I misunderstood"
Ross smiled a little, finished his liquor, then leaned back in his chair.
"You understood perfectly well"
TâChalla shook his head and replied.
âNo, really, I'm serious⌠isn't that a person? What's this? An animal, perhaps? "
Everett closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, in the most tired gesture his friend had ever seen him do.
They had talked for hours.
It was now dawn when T'Challa had left Ross's apartment, worried about what his friend would face, knowing that it scared him more than any enemy, knowing that he could not help him even though he had been the architect of that meeting, the unwitting promoter of a potential catastrophe.
He had tried to play down and advised him to act, but he knew that it was only an attempt to lighten the weight that weighed on the shoulders and heart of his closest friend and trusted collaborator, an attempt he feared was in vain.
When his friend was gone, Everett poured himself more whiskey and went to the large window that allowed him to admire Manhattan and stared at his reflection in the immaculate glass.
His face seemed to loom like that of a menacing giant over the lights of the city, yet he felt almost insignificant, an unusual feeling for him.
"You are in the same city - TâChalla told him before leaving - you don't have to go through any portal to reach it, you just have to climb to the top of that building. But first you have to go inside yourself and pull yourself off the pedestal of your pride â.
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