Estrangement

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious." Sebastian Bellamy | 32 | doctor "What have you found? The same old fears. Wish you were here."

[eiriklarsen-blog]

“I wasn’t in prison for seven years,” Eirik clarifies with a ‘thank-god’ tone of voice, “when Norway’s government started to collapsed they just stopped staffing the prisons. Lucky for me I could pick a lock in my sleep.” He grins then, picking up the cap of an old pill bottle off of the table and flipping it over the back of his fingers, an almost absent-minded movement, but it’s clearly just a way to show off his sleight of hand. Even his left hand is deft in the movements, although its been years since he’s really needed any sly handwork. He misses it– redirecting attention so he could slip a hand in and take a wallet, an access badge, a set of keys. For someone with so short of an attention span, Eirik used to be very good at redirecting it for others. “I’m nearly twenty-seven. I was seventeen when I started stealing things, and nineteen when I started doing more high-profile heists. I was… Twenty-one when I stole The Scream, I think.” He speaks fast, energized by the shock in Sebastian’s expression, the way his eyes dart over his face in search of unknown information. It’s intoxicating, to feel that much attention wash over him– that much approval. 

Nodding in understanding, Eirik stalls the bottle cap on the back of his fingers, allowing it to balance there as he listens. “I turned down plenty of interviewers, psychologists included.” That was back when his ego was still sore, when the papers were still running articles on how they’d expected him to be caught the whole time, and the image of the faces of his sister and father through an inch of plexiglass was still fresh in his mind. “There’s something wrong with me for sure,” he concedes, looking down at his boots in thought. He wasn’t entirely oblivious to the strangeness of his own ways. It wasn’t normal to enjoy attention so much that you risked prison time for it, and it certainly wasn’t normal to risk your life so often. Eirik never valued normality, but it was easy to find the glaring differences between himself and others, and difficult not to make conclusions from those differences. 

The incredulousness in Sebastian’s tone draws a laugh from Eirik, and he nods. “It was in my grandmas’ attic for a while, actually, in Lille. The police were looking for it as hard as collectors were. I didn’t care about money much, anyway. I didn’t even have an apartment. Just slept wherever I could. Hotel rooms. Friend’s couches. Stranger’s beds,” a smile reaches his eyes at that one, but as he looks up, he finds Sebastian walking away. He watches his fingers skim over the notebook, curiosity nagging in the back of his mind. His eyes only peel away at the word fiancé. He shouldn’t be surprised; Sebastian is older than he is, and certainly more mature, but it’s difficult to imagine him in a romantic relationship. The manipulation and deceit aren’t exactly attractive personality traits, but his easy charm and quick wit would be easy to get lost in. “I wouldn’t know, actually,” he contradicts. “Never been so good at relationships.” He pauses a moment, and comes to the conclusion that his truth-for-truth tactic has been successful so far, so why not continue it? He likes to piece together the details of Sebastian’s life, and paying with stories and secrets is more fun than he’d ever thought. “My longest relationship lasted a whole four months. I told her I loved her and then… decided it wasn’t true and took it back. Which she didn’t like, obviously.”

Laughing sheepishly at the memory, he pushes away from the table and follows Sebastian’s path around the room, taking his time, his hands laced together behind his back as he meanders. “Ahh, see, I got you beat there. My parents were actually in love. Until they weren’t.” There’s a joking tone to his voice now, and when he reaches the desk where the notebook lies, he picks it up with an easy confidence, as if it belongs to him, flipping it over and running the pages beneath his thumb. “I was never quite perfect. Too loud, too argumentative, too energetic. Mom had high standards, but she gave up on me pretty quickly. She probably expected it when I went to prison. She was smart like that. I wouldn’t know though, she never came to see me.” He turns suddenly, sauntering over to Seb and holding the notebook up with the cover facing towards him. “What’s in here?” 

[sbellamy-blog1]

„You're still very young.“, Seb's voice is clear, though it is evident in the way his eyes glaze over that he is not quite in the present, „I remember being your age, I think I was in Italy doing my specialization.” A blink is all that it takes to bring him back, and once again he looks at Eirik with a curious smile on his lips, “Yes, seventeen is the age we all start doing shit that drives our parents crazy. Still, that’s… you were very young.”, his eyes follow the cap Eirik flips in his hand, a less than subtle show-off of his skills. It’s obvious he has grown more relaxed around Seb, and with his secret out in the open, things are surfacing – things Seb is glad to see because everyone else lacks those curious habits that he always liked to observe in different people, “I was four years off then, when I profiled you – I was certain you were 25 or older – and I rarely make such mistakes.” His eyes return to Eirik’s then, intense and playful, as if to say ‘you can’t distract me, I’ve already seen it all’.

“Yes well, they all do in the beginning, and then they realise just how boring prison is, and they want the attention back on them.”, Seb states dryly – it’s mere facts, no personal emotion to them, no intention to hurt. Had it been someone more haughty than Eirik, he might have poked and provoked some more, but you didn’t have to be a genius to see that Eirik didn’t care so much about the attention of the world once he was locked up, but rather about the attention of people he cared about – people who seemingly didn’t visit as often as journalists did. A smile that comes to Seb’s lips then is a reassuring one, a understanding only an even stranger person can offer, “There’s something wrong with all of us, some just act upon it, and some pretend.”,  he nods towards the shelf then, voice filled with some strange sort of longing, a happy one perhaps, “My sister loved Baudelaire as a child – she was a strange girl, never quite fit anywhere. I think it was because he once said that there could be no beauty without strangeness.”, he shrugs with carelessness that indicates deep emotion behind it, “You can’t expect ordinary people to understand you, it’s beyond their capabilities.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”, Seb says as he strolls across room towards one small, worn couch in the corner of the room, a smile easy on his lips, “Who in their right mind would get engaged to me.”, he laughs at the very idea himself, but the doesn’t dwell on it any further. Yes, he once used to ask that himself, but then he grew up, and he realised this persona he had been building – charming and manipulative and lying – it was a front put up for the world, an idea of himself he had created. He didn’t voice the thought though, because that had been once, long ago before everything that had happened to him – and now he has truly become the mask he once wore to protect himself. He hauls himself on the couch, taking most of the space up with his long limbs and the way he positions himself, and his eyes trace Eirik, a grin on his lips, “Yes well, you probably would’ve ended up in my bed had you been older and in England. I had a bet with a friend back then, for a month I had to fuck only blue eyed boys.”, it’s easier this way, to distract Eirik’s attention from the talk about his fiancé, direct it to something more flippant, less honest. There is an intake of breath and he shakes his head, smile offering sympathy, “Ouch, bad move Eirik. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, trust me.”, he lets out a breathy laugh then, only slightly surprised, “Four months. Well if she was that boring, I honestly don’t know why you stuck around that long anyway. It’s better to just do them and move on – spares you the inconvenience.” He shrugs nonchalantly then, as if whatever he just said doesn’t make him seem like a total asshole – but in all honestly, he doesn’t care, and he didn’t care back then. It was amusement for him, bets and games and conquests, he himself never thought he’d ever be mature enough for anything more. But time has a way of changing people, and so do those silly games fate plays with us all.

“I think mine were in love too… for a while. Or at least they convinced themselves they were.”, he laughs at the idea of his parents and the way their marriage worked despite the way they loathed each other, “I think father did love her nonetheless, she was that kind of woman that made men run after her, taunted and played. She was a bitch, but hell she was really good at it.” His eyes return to Eirk’s then, and a smile falters as he observes him, head slightly inclined to one side, “That’s not smart, that’s cold. But I guess it’s only fair we’re both this fucked up with our darling mothers.” His eyes then dart to the notebook in Eirik’s hands, soft red leather worn from years of use, pages turned yellow in a way that tells a history. He takes a moment looking at it, remembering the way Henry carried it everywhere, writing his songs in it, sketching his signature all over it – he wanted it to be perfect, every letter an intricate working of ink on paper. He used to tell Seb it was obvious he was going to be a doctor by the way his signature was just some doodle that looked like a two-year-old discovered pen and paper. There are memories that tell history in that notebook, sketches of Seb hanging from a tree back when Henry and him were sworn enemies, songs about girls that slowly morphed into songs about one guy he loved to hate, pages torn out only to be filled with messages and then neatly folded and put in a secret pocket at the front. Seb has to swallow some strange emotion before he speaks, voice a bit hoarse, despite his attempt of sounding casual, “Nothing interesting. I write down some of the stranger cases that were never solved, analyse the symptoms – things like that. The first half of the book is filled with some stupid teenage bullshit.”, he says the word carefully, as if it burns his tongue, a lie that oddly doesn’t come easy to him, “It wasn’t mine when I found it.”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Eirik shakes his head, a movement almost childlike in its innocence. “Anyone who read about it knew, then, but now… I don’t think many people remember enough for my face to ring a bell. ‘Eirik Larsen’ might. I could keep my image out of the media but not my name.” His eyes scan Sebastian’s face for any sign of judgement. He always expected that whoever found out would react with fear or confusion, possibly betrayal. Most people didn’t react well to being consistently lied to. All he finds in Seb’s expression is genuine interest, and it draws the excitement back from where it hides behind his fear. 

Impressed. That was hardly the word he expected. Most of what he’d heard (at least from those he cared about) went more along the lines of disappointment and utter confusion. In a way, he was lucky Sebastian had only ever known this version of him. The problem with his family was that they still saw him as the little boy with a passion for snowboarding and a tendency to break his own bones. He turns his head slightly, not quite turning to look at Sebastian. “A mental hospital? I’m not crazy, just bored,” he turns towards Seb now, leaning against the table beside him and meeting his eyes, a smile on his face. “You of all people should understand that.” 

“Impossible Heist. Yeah. I always liked that. Like I could do anything. So unpredictable.” He’s basking in the attention now, the cockiness obvious in the way he stands and the look in his eyes, like he’s finally being recognized. “I couldn’t sell it though, too famous. It just sat there collecting dust.” 

“No Monets. I’m not exactly an art buff, but I don’t think there are any in Norway. Paris, maybe?” He watches Sebastian’s eyes glaze over with a memory, and analyzes his words with careful attention. He’s revealed his own secret, but if he’s going to find out what motivates Sebastian he needs to pay attention to the pieces of information he chooses to hand out in moments like these. “My mother was like that too,” he recalled, eyes fixed on Seb’s face, illuminated by the cool light from the window. Truth might earn more truth. “Except it was work she cared about. She was a cardiac surgeon.” Eirik was fairly sure his mother never even wanted children. She’d done it for love, and possibly to save a marriage. She wasn’t the type to accept failure, and she most certainly viewed her marriage as an unacceptable thirteen-year lapse in judgement. Best to put it in her past rather than try to fix something so broken. 

“Ten years in prison. Minus three for the plea deal.” His voice is steady, but the words still strike some kind of fear in him. Prison was one of his worst nightmares. Constant isolation, no freedom, no excitement, no change in routine. The moment he’d set foot inside that building it felt like being buried alive, like the thousands of tons of concrete building its walls and floors were pushing in on him, crushing him. There were days that he woke up and had to remind himself that he wasn’t there anymore, he was free. “There’s no more history to make,” he shrugs his shoulders, but there’s some disappointment in the motion. He doesn’t just want to die another insignificant death on a dying planet. He had plans, a whole life to live. First prison had interrupted that, and then the Freeze. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

“Larsen.”, Seb tastes the word in his mouth with a thoughtful countenance, “Yes, it rings a bell. I used to do profiles of criminals for a friend back when I was still in college – she worked for Scotland Yard, best in her field, I think I went through your file once.”, his eyes shift to Eirik’s then and he inclines his head as if telling some hushed secret, “Though in all honesty, I’ve paid much more attention to the criminally insane – and you never harmed anyone. I did, however, tell her they were going to catch you sooner or later. You stole randomly, which implied you cared little for the art, and the paintings never hit the black market, which meant you weren’t after the money either. So, like you said, you were trying to write yourself into history.” He stops speaking, eyes narrowed in careful observation of the man before him. It all makes sense now – everything Seb wrote in his report about his personality, somehow fit Eirik’s face. Young and childlike and excited.

He wanted to gloat, to say he was right in every tiny detail of his psychoanalisis, to observe and compare it to the man who stood before him. But that would’ve been a lie. He was completely wrong about his age. His eyes lose their narrowed edge now, and become a bit wide with sudden realisation – Eirik is still young. “How old were you?”, he blurts out the question with honest disbelief, eyes darting over Eirik’s face in some attempt of determining his age, “What are you now, 25? 26? You said you were in prison for seven years.” He deemed the thief at least 25 back then – young enough to do that kind of stupid stunts but also old enough to pull them off so... elegantly. He shakes is head then, still a bit stricken with the idea of someone that young being that successful, especially if he worked alone. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”, he says after the initial surprise has worn off and he turns his eyes to Eirik’s once again, “I think you’re impressive, but in all honesty – there’s a thin line there. I’m just saying that I never had a chance to talk with someone like that. It’s different when you’re interviewing someone – they know you know, and they’re not as inclined to be honest.”, a sigh escapes him, exasperated by some old memory, “They perceive you as just another doctor, writing his work, using them as lab rats – no one believes you’re genuinely interested.”

“You let The Scream collect dust?”, there’s genuine terror in his voice now as he stares at Eirik. He was never really an art buff himself, but he knew someone who was – and with time you start caring about things like that, perceiving them differently. He shakes his head then, a smirk light on his lips, “You can always sell if you know the black market. It went crazy after you stole the painting, everyone was waiting for it to appear, paying large sums to their agents to keep an eye out, to be the first to buy it. You could’ve made millions.” That is, if he cared about the money, but Eirik struck him as someone who wanted to live the life to the fullest, experience things money couldn’t buy. He walks over to where his notebook lays, brushing it absentmindedly with tips of his fingers as he passes, and heads for the window, “There is a painting called Sandvika from the time Monet spent in Norway, I think there were exhibitions in both Stockholm and Oslo.”, he speaks with his back turned, a smile sad on his lips, “I was never an art buff either, always had a thing for literature, but my fiancé was, so… you know how you have to adjust to keep it working.” The words taste odd in his mouth, he hasn’t said them out loud for a very long time, not in that form at least. He tends to keep private things very vague when he speaks – but what’s the point anyway, it’s not like Eirik cares for mundane things like that – it’s not like Seb’s ever going to tell him about it. No - his memories are only his, and being the only one knowing them – well, it gives them an odd value, a sense of belonging. And besides, some things are better left untouched, buried deep within.

“Oh, a surgeon?”, a laugh escapes his lips, one of those that imply that that one word explains everything, “Yes, we’re hardly creatures made to have families.” He turns around and leans against the window bench as he crosses his arms across his chest. He observes Eirik for a split second, eyes looking for any betrayal of emotion – but Eirik just stands there, looking at Seb with his usual amount of vehemence, apparently just making conversation. Seb sighs before he talks again, deciding whatever he tells about his mother can’t do any harm, “Mine has no excuse though, she earned her master’s in French and Philosophy and married my father. She liked his family tree, he liked her money.”, there’s bitterness in his smile, “It was meant to be. And ever since, she stayed at the mansion making sure we were perfect enough for her to show around. No career to get in the way, just good old despotism.” When he speaks again, there’s no more bitterness in his voice, only dark amusement, “We were perfect. At least until my sister joined the special forces, and I decided to have a bit too much fun at Eton.” He tilts his head then, smile easy on his lips, “I’ll be bold enough to presume yours wasn’t very happy with you either?”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

As frustrating as Sebastian is, deep down Eirik does appreciate his bluntness. He hides and manipulates and lies, but none of his words are sugar-coated for Eirik’s protection. Okay, so he enjoyed a punch. He enjoyed violence, hurting someone just because he was angry. Was it any different than provoking someone intentionally while he was drunk? It was an outlet of sorts, even if it made him feel worse afterwards– although now, watching Seb rinse the blood from his face, he doesn’t feel all that bad. It certainly hasn’t cracked his charming façade, but Eirik can’t help but enjoy the fact that he’d given him a bruise to match his own. 

“Fighting is for the challenge,” he argued, more for the sake of debate than actual care for the topic, “hurting people is for power. Like choking a defenseless person,” he meets Sebastian’s eyes, but there is no anger in his expression now, only a knowing smile. He finds that he does like being privy to that piece of Sebastian– something that he knows no one else in the camp is aware of. He especially likes that all he’d needed to do to find it was click a lighter open and closed. It implied that Sebastian was far more sensitive than he let on. There’s something big pushing against his walls from within and all Eirik has to do is find the chinks in his armor and watch him fall apart. Part his interest is out of curiosity, and part of it is to ensure they’re on equal ground; a vengeance of sorts, but not with such malicious intent. 

He’s not exactly surprised when Sebastian starts to figure it out. He knows he was stupid. He knows he panicked and jumped the gun, yet some part of him needed to do it. The first thing he feels is fear, but as Sebastian fixes that intense stare on him, it fades away to something like power. He smiles then, and it feels oddly relieving to have someone know for once, even if he managed to pick someone who was likely the most manipulative person left on the planet. “I started with houses,” he recounts almost breathlessly, an electric excitement lighting up his eyes. “I stole jewelry and artwork and… things they couldn’t replace. Then I stole from museums. The National Museum of Art, Natural History Museum, Norwegian Museum of Contemporary Art… The Munch Museum. I stole the Scream, you know that painting? I kept it for a whole year and they never found me.” It’s almost like he can’t stop talking now– his mouth moves faster than his mind can keep up, and he wants to recount every little detail, but there’s so much he hasn’t said for years that it’s impossible to get it all out at once. “I tried to steal Madonna too, but… they caught me. But that’s the problem with crime. You don’t go down in history unless you get caught.” 

His smile fades now, mouth falling to a flat line as he waits for Sebastian’s reaction. His mind is still buzzing with the excitement and freedom of telling someone the truth, but it’s easy to be sensitive when Sebastian has just cut him open to find the emotion behind his walls. Some insecurity in the back of his mind points out that Sebastian might not actually be impressed, he might just find him crazy– only psychologically relevant. There’s no point trying to hide it anymore, so he holds eye contact, vulnerability obvious as the excitement fades. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

„Fighting is for the pleasure.”, he contradicts, a look of mischief light on his face, as if it were his default state, “But choking you? No, that wasn’t for power – that was meant to teach you a lesson -  not to get too close to me. Grabbing your wrist… now that was power. Power is having you stand in front of me even though I have proved myself unstable times and times again.”, his eyes part from Eirik’s and he leans back against his desk taking out the lighter from his pocket, clicking it open and then shut once again as he observes Eirik’s countenance. He’s telling the truth – Seb can see that by the cadence of his voice, the way excitement pools in his eyes as he speaks, shimmering beneath the surface. He looks like a child telling what had happened to him on his field trip, there’s genuine excitement there, and it becomes obvious stealing was what Eirik lived for – for the spikes of adrenaline and recollections of his successful heists. He tilts his head then, “You haven’t told this to anyone have you?”, he asks, genuinely surprised someone as bubbly as Eirik hadn’t spoken about it to someone before. Perhaps he hadn’t had the time? Perhaps the freeze was catalyst for his release.

There is satisfaction in knowing no one else around here knows Eirik’s secret. Seb had always liked that, to tap into darkest corner of someone’s mind and find what’s hiding there, to have access to that, to feel special. Yes, it wasn’t about power this time – he didn’t want to use this information at all – instead it was about being closer than anyone else. And Seb always was a competitive one. His eye contact does not falter for a second and a slight smile trembles in the corners of his lips, “My, my, aren’t you a piece of work. And you talk to me about morality.”, he pushes himself away from the table, walking around Eirik as his eyes remain peeled to the back of his neck – there is something predatory in the way he moves, but there is also something childish in it – a kid who got a new toy, unsure where to start. Finally, a laugh escapes his lips, sudden and unexpected and easy, he hasn’t laughed that way in a long time, “You know what’s funny? I’ve always been so engrossed in human psyche, thinking it had no limits. But with time, you learn that people function the same way, more or less. They’re predictable.”, he shakes his head, voice still riddled with laugh, “But I had never hoped to meet someone like you outside a mental hospital or prison. Yet here you are. I’m impressed.”

He says the words because he knows that’s exactly what Eirik wants to hear, but there is truth to them. Seb is impressed. People usually bore him, with their morality and their holier than thou attitudes and the way they waste their lives away on doing same old boring things. Not Eirik. He raises one eyebrow then, over look of interest that has set over his features and he speaks almost disbelievingly, “You stole The Scream? That was you?”, his eyes narrow and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips, “The whole world went haywire after that. Didn’t they call it the impossible heist?” He barely acknowledges the whistle that escapes his lips – an honest reaction to the idea of meeting someone who stole something as precious as that. His mind, however, immediately races to something else, “Ever stole a Monet?” He looks out the window, engrossed in thought as his voice becomes slightly distant, “My parents had one mounted on the wall, ridiculously expensive thing, mother inherited it from her parents. It was supposed to be mine once I got my first job, bought a flat. But mother dearest didn’t approve of my living arrangements so it remained in the mansion.”

He turns to look at Eirik again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that contains that childish defiance, “We would’ve made quite a team, you and I. I can only imagine a fit my mother would throw had her precious Monet gone missing from the wall. And her diamonds. My god, I think she loved those rocks more than she loved my sister and I together.”, his laugh is flippant, devoid of any regret or resentment someone else might have held against a mother like that. But truth is, he had learned not to care at a very young age, to rely on his father and his sister… at least when she was still herself. But those are dark thoughts, private thoughts Seb guarded with all his might. When the laugh falters, a smile remains and a curious glint to his eye, “You were caught? I never noticed that on the news – but that’s because probably I found you more interesting when they were calling you names, chasing you around like morons they were.”, his smirk turns teasing then, and he offers Eirik a daring look, “There are some who never got caught and that was exactly what made them legends. But you won’t make the history anyway, so I guess that’s some consolation.”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

“I don’t like hurting anyone,” Eirik clarifies, a waver in his voice betraying some kind of unsureness. Why do you think stealing was my crime of choice? He’d never had to hurt anyone– only manipulate, control, and take advantage of them. It was dark in its own way, but he’d never considered hurting anyone, unless it was absolutely necessary. It seemed like a cheat in his mind, anyway. If you could sneak out right under the noses of watchful security guards and curious bystanders, the act was that much more skilled. But truthfully, he was starting to doubt himself now. What if he did like hurting people? What if somewhere inside him, the capability to maim or even murder lay in wait? The thought makes him feel sick, and for a moment he feels revolted by himself. 

Eirik follows after Sebastian with all the energy of a beaten dog, a shadow of his usual self. He feels confused and manipulated, and the worst part of it all is he’s realizing he has some kind of attachment to Sebastian. The doctor reminds him eerily of his own mother– at least what he can remember of her. She wasn’t so obviously manipulative, but she rarely said something unless it was to get a reaction out of someone– either that or to make sure things were going her way. The only difference was that she never gave him so much of her undivided attention. That was the most addictive part– the way Sebastian’s eyes would fix on him with solid certainty, giving the impression that his every thought was focussed on Eirik. He’s even walking backwards now, just to face him– until he turns away. 

He’s almost glad that Sebastian isn’t facing him anymore, because his expression visibly falls at the flatness of his tone, his brow furrowing in confusion. His first thought is to wonder how Sebastian could be so blind. He was so close to finding the truth, and now he’d veered the opposite direction. “For a second I thought you were actually smart enough to figure it out,” he bites back, trying to flatten out his tone to hide the fact that he’s disappointed. Something in the back of his mind is screaming that something isn’t right here, but it’s almost as if he’s on autopilot; he needs Sebastian’s attention back, no matter how pathetic that is. He’d done fine without it up until now, but after tasting the feeling of recognition again he’s dragged back into the addiction. “I don’t even know what an art curator does,” he responds, eyes fixed with a determined gaze on the back of Sebastian’s head. “I just thought it was ironic. An inside joke with myself.” He’s practically giving away clues left and right now, and as much as he knows it’s more fun not to just give it away, he can remember the way Sebastian talked about his crime with a dark approval, and he needs to hear it again. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

„Oh come on Eirik, you don't even have yourself convinced.”, Seb’s words linger in the air as he opens the door of the med cabin, air delightfully warm inside, a welcoming change from the cold, “There’s nothing wrong with you liking it. It’s just a punch.”, he speaks, casually as if he were talking about weather or something perfectly mundane, “Besides, I purposefully provoked you into it. By the time I’d be surprised if you didn’t hit me.” He walks across the room in a few swift steps to look at himself in the mirror of the tiny bathroom, morbidly curious to see the extent of damage done. It looks messier than it really is, owing to blood that mars his features – the cut is clean, both on the cheekbone and the lip and the skin beneath is red and swollen. The bruises will show only tomorrow, purple at first, then dark until they fade into that dreadful yellow-green colour. He takes off his jacket then, walking back into the room as he speaks, barely acknowledging Eirik’s presence with his eyes, “People have been fighting and liking it for centuries. Wrestling, boxing… even those organised fights we had at college.”, when he has hung his jacket he returns to the sink and lets the tap run, only now turning to look at Eirik, “It’s exhilarating, almost intoxicating. It’s controlled of course, you know the line will never be crossed, but your body doesn’t know that, so the instincts take over.”, he splashes his face with water, watching the blood run down the white sink in a gory river of crimson. When he speaks there is a bestial tone to his words, he doesn’t look at Eirik, but rather at himself in the mirror, “Besides, it’s only fair I wear the bruises you inflicted – you wear mine so delightfully.”

Once the blood is rinsed off his face, it resumes its usual pale hue, a stark contrast to the redness that marks his cheekbone, concentrated around one small cut. It doesn’t look bad now that the blood is gone, and Seb decides some alcohol will get the job done. The one on his lip however, refuses to comply so with an annoyed sigh he returns to the room and goes to get some cotton wool and some alcohol. He is aware of Eirik’s eyes and of the way his voice had held resentment and anger and something desperate when Seb had brushed him off like he was nothing. It was the worst thing to do, get someone high on attention and then take it all away – he himself had once been subjected to it, and out of experience he knew that it was certainly the most efficient method. He sits by the desk then, and soaks the cotton as his eyes drift to Eirik’s, an odd familiarity to their electric blueness. There is eagerness in them, a child’s demand for full attention, for approval – Seb finds gratification in the overwhelming feeling that he is wanted – his opinion, his approval. It’s been quite long since the last time he had allowed himself to get to that point with another person, mostly because many people simply bored him and he cared little to push their limits, but also because that was his vice. There was little he wouldn’t do to keep that sort of attention on himself – out of both narcissism and sheer addiction, and addictions sent him spiralling out of control, vulnerable in his carelessness – and that was what he feared most.

Despite the fear of losing this game settling somewhere deep within his chest, he leans back into his chair with all the arrogance of a chess player ready to say checkmate, ready to knock down the figure. He speaks slowly then, eyes peeled to Eirik’s in sheer excitement he doesn’t even try to hide, “Have you ever played chess? It is considered bad etiquette to continue playing the game if one is in a completely helpless position.” He lets the words hang in the air, meaningless without the context that only he possesses. His attention shifts to the cotton in his hand, smeared a bit with blood from his lip. He dabs it against the cut with a sharp intake of breath before throwing it aside and turning his eye back to Eirik’s. There is intensity in the way he looks at him, and it feels like everything around them has faded into background and everything they are is figures on the chess board. His eyes narrow with flagrant display of pleasure and his smile is a wide one, all teeth and dark satisfaction, “You should’ve taken another second there, before deeming me stupid. But it’s alright, I know you did it because you panicked.”, he stands up then, walks around the table and stops before Eirik, eyes unblinking as he revels in the moment, “You see, it was a cheap shot. I was sure you would call it a bluff, give me some offhand remark and continue playing, ignore your own narcissism. But no…”, he shakes his head, and his features soften to a new feeling that surfaces, akin to genuine surprise, riddled with curiosity, “You… You want to be admired for it, is that it? It’s reckless and it’s dangerous, but you wanted me to admire you badly enough that you gave the secret away anyway.” There is an intake of breath, before a smile emerges on his lips and Seb steps back from Eirik to take in his whole face, surprised the solution was that easy, impressed with it, “You were in prison weren’t you? That’s your gentlemen’s club. And if the irony is in the art, then you must have done something with it. Did you steal it? Or were you fabricating the work?”, he doesn’t care about speaking slowly anymore, breathless in his inquiry, “No. You’re not an artist, you don’t care about art. You just like the challenge. My god, what I would’ve given for ten minutes with you back when I was in the field.”, his eyes are wide with child-like in their curiosity now, and there’s something excited in the breathless laugh that follows, “Was it just that one time? Do you do it often? Is that why you stole my lighter? You fell for it, you fell for my stupid reverse psychology trick. You’re brilliant.”

[fearlessarcher]

Sebastian Squared | Bash + Seb

[fearlessarcher]

“At least flattery is better than nothing. I get zero marks in that category. Especially with girls.” He snorted thinking back to when he’d called Lauren the ‘handsomest girl in camp’. At the time he was simply messing with her to make her feel better as they walked back from the abandoned vessel, but his skills weren’t much better than that anyhow. “There isn’t but it can keep the rope from snapping sooner than it would. It’s all about being given the tools right? The tools to fight the good fight and make yourself better? Therapy, medicine, community?” His gaze went to scan the room as he shrugged, holding his cards back to himself. Things always got weird when people knew too much about him. He decided to play dumb about mental health from that point forward. At least for the time being.

Sebastian chuckled. “I’m nearly light enough to blow away with the breeze. Maybe I need someone else’s baggage to hold me down.” He was tall and had wide set shoulders but it all tapered in fairly quickly. The Freeze had helped in toning muscles he otherwise would’ve never focused on but joined with the risk of a food shortage––even if Jotunheim had enough for everyone he cut his portions in half afraid they’d run out––he’d lost quite a bit of weight since his plane crashed five months ago. 

“I called her short.” He grinned. “Apparently Tinkerbell was in the Academy to be trained as a police officer and by the power of her kick she would’ve been a good one too.” Bash tugged his pant leg back down. Jarring against his pale skin, the bruise looked worse than it really was. It wasn’t sore anymore and took quite a bit of direct pressure to measure any pain. “Thanks for taking care of her. She may not be so open to it but I know she appreciates it. Lore’s stubborn.”

[sbellamy-blog1]

“Why? Girls are easy to flatter.”, he states matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders - it’s not meant to sound offensive, it’s just that he always found it much easier to flirt with girls than with guys, “It surprises me you’re that shy, honestly. You shouldn’t even have to compliment girls - in my experience attractive guys who appear shy and withdrawn always get the most attention.” There is something dark in the way his countenance settles the next moment, muscles of his jaw quivering under pressure, the smiling lines that are usually settled in the corners of his eyes flattening with the lack of emotions that follows. “Do you really believe that?”, he peels his eyes from something in the distance to look at Bash, pupils wide from lack of light and lips tightened into a straight line, “Yes, perhaps that’s what the light ones do. But whatever gets buried away is bound to resurface sometime later. The heavy ones? They’re not here to help the ones in need, they’re here to make them docile. Save their families from the embarrassment.” There is bitterness about his voice, a shade to it that is usually hidden away behind wide smiles and charming words, a shadow of something hidden in past - where it should remain. He shakes his head then, with an exasperated sigh, “It doesn’t matter. That was never my field - I was supposed to be a neurosurgeon anyway.”

He turns his torso a bit to take in Bash’s frame then - it’s not noticeable when he’s in his puffy winter jacket, but devoid of it in the warmness of the cabin, it is evident that there is a lack of mass in comparison to his tall frame. With Seb it’s different - he’s always been lanky, slim at best when he worked out. But Bash was obviously never built for shortage of food. The way the contours of his face are becoming more sharp each day is what made Seb notice it in the first place. “Kid, you don’t need my emotional baggage to weigh you down, you need to eat.”, there is a smile on his lips, to soften the sternness of his voice, “You can’t not eat, you know. That won’t do any good to anyone.” He licks the scar on his lower lip then, more out of that morbid need we all have to pick on our scars than actual reason, and he turns to look ahead of himself again, glad for the more trivial topic that follows, “I thought officers were not allowed to use force? By that, she would’ve made a horrible officer.”, he smiles then, and nods only slightly - to acknowledge Bash’s gratitude, “It’s my job to do it. And besides, I never could resist a challenge. And she was one, with all the nagging about how none of this is necessary and it is wasteful.”, he imitates her voice in the end, before turning his head to offer Bash a reassuring smile, “Besides, I know she means a lot to you.”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Blood stands out stark against the pale bleakness of the snow, and Eirik can’t drag his eyes away from it. In an infinite winter, colors tend towards the grayer side, bleached by the dreariness of the environment and the nihilism of the observer. This is the strongest color he’s seen in a long time, made only more vibrant by the contrast of the snow. Red is anger and fire and passion, and for a moment it mesmerizes Eirik, his face fixing in an expression of awe and wonder. 

It’s the feeling of power, too, that causes the slight transfixion, and though it’s a pathetic way to achieve it, he feels on equal levels with Sebastian now. But, that was his life; pathetic methods. Punching walls and stealing priceless art and drinking until he fought for the fun of it. He couldn’t just talk out his emotions like a sane person– but then again, sane people were missing out on a whole lot of fun. 

It was only by now that he was beginning to realize what Sebastian was to him. He was a hurricane, hidden behind glimmering eyes and a silver tongue, but Eirik was standing at the eye of the storm, trying desperately to get a hold on things. Now he realized it was better to just let go. He could be a storm of his own if he let himself. That was clear in the blood escaping down Sebastian’s face, leaving a crimson trail in its wake. 

When Eirik’s eyes finally tear away from the split in Sebastian’s cheek, they find their way to his eyes, tongue running across his lip in an unintentional mirror of the other man. He hums low in his throat, almost a growl, eyes never leaving Sebastian’s as he stands up. The way he wavers before steadying draws a wide smile to Eirik’s face, and it’s darker than his usual excitement, and certainly more sadistic. He doesn’t like this side of himself all that much, but it comes with honesty and vulnerability.

“Different,” he admits, “uncontrolled. It’s like adrenaline, but painful.” And truthfully, adrenaline hadn’t been enough for a long time. It still affected him the same way– set his heart racing, his muscles tensing, his eyes dilating– yet he needed something new, something stimulating. Eyes still cutting into Sebastian’s, he knows this is the first time he’s really felt alive in too long, and he too isn’t ready for it to end. I like you too much to get along with you– he understands exactly what Seb means by it, and it perfectly explains why he drives most people away. He doesn’t want companionship for the complacency of a friend, he wants the back and forth conflict of an opponent, especially when it comes with a certain level of understanding and acceptance. Maybe he’s a masochist, or maybe he’s just following in the footsteps of his parents. Either way he knows he won’t stop it, even if it means destroying himself. The prospect has never stopped him before. 

“It’s a common skill, where I come from, and I’ll tell you it’s not a gentleman’s club,” he responds finally. Another hint, continuing the game. He’s still leaking anger and loneliness as fast as Sebastian’s face is bleeding, but for the moment he’s okay with it, powerful in the exhilaration of the chase. The loneliness is lesser now, the empty plain of isolation around him smaller as he realizes despite Sebastian’s sadism, he is understood. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

He lets Eirik collect his thoughts in silence – his eyes darting from one point to another, lingering there in enthralled awe that crosses his features. At first it's snow, and the streaks of blood that the impact and his bloodied gloves left there, then it’s the cut on his cheek and the blood painting his paleness stark crimson, and finally it’s his eyes. Seb follows his movements with careful scrutiny as Eirik mirrors him, completely transfixed by the damage he has caused, eyes positively glinting with something that can’t quite be pinpointed. There is power in there and hunger that longs to be satiated, a sadism of its own kind only just beginning to grow. The darkness that crosses Eirik’s features raises a smile on Seb’s lips – a dark smile, admiring of something grotesquely captivating. He speaks slowly, unblinking in his observation, the smile never faltering from his lips, “You like it, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”, his voice has a tantalizing quality, though there is admiration there, and excitement too, “I told you you’d like the taste of power. It’s the only thing that can keep you going once adrenaline has been diluted.”

He speaks from his own experience as he tastes the familiar metallic flavour of blood in his mouth, a remainder of years long gone and the way he always looked for more – more power, more pleasure, more pain, “Savour both the pain and the power, let it touch the edges of your mind, don’t judge it – it’s only human to enjoy it.”, he tilts his head and a strange smile comes up his lips, stranger than usual, “We are carnal creatures and there’s a fine line between what hurts us and what makes us…well…”, he doesn’t finish his sentence but rather offers a shark-like grin and a raise of an eyebrow before he walks around Eirik and in the direction of the cabins. He takes a few steps through the deep snow, faintly aware of the blood still running down his cheek and the way the wound on his lip still pulsates together with the rapid, excited beating of his heart. He stops only to look over his shoulder, eyes meeting Eirik’s with clear determination despite the distance, “Come on then, I have to go to the med cabin to stop the bleeding you caused.”

He doesn’t wait for Eirik to respond but rather starts walking again, with the arrogance he often hides now surfacing in a form of long strides and a cocky smirk on his lips. He’s still high on the excitement and the pain, revelling in the fact that after a long while he may have found himself a worthy opponent – rough around the edges, yes, and still not completely familiar with this sort of depravity – but he’ll learn. “Oh I’m aware you don’t come from a gentleman’s club.”, he mimics his tone before adding, “Boys there would’ve played you like a violin.” His eyes search for Eirik’s then, curious for their reaction at this taunt. There’s arden curiosity pooling inside him as he continues the conversation, “Where you come from.” It’s a statement rather than question, and Seb muses on the choice of his words, slow in his pondering only to annoy Eirik who obviously thrives on the attention this little game of his gets him. He slows his strides to accommodate Eirik’s and he turns to walk backwards to have a better view of Eirik’s eyes when he finally speaks, “Now, I thought you were an art curator. Haven’t you been taught any manners, Eirik? Lying is not very nice.”, there’s a playful smirk on his lips now, eyes glinting with zealous mischief, “Was it the drugs? Or… was it the way you rub everyone, remotely sane, the wrong way? Or was it perhaps, the stealing?”, his face turns disinterested then, at least on the surface. The best way to extract information out of a narcissistic person is to either give abundance of compliments, or take it all away once they start caring about your opinion. He has once again resumed his standard forward pace and his voice is flat and emotionless when he speaks, “You don’t have me convinced. I think all of that came from drunken brawling at some pub. Frankly, I doubt you’re that interesting.” And with a hidden smile on his lips that Eirik can’t quite see from behind his back he waits for the reaction.

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Eirik wasn’t used to feeling much at all. It wasn’t that he felt numb– he just… didn’t feel anything when he was probably supposed to. He’d gone to prison and felt only apathy. His father had kicked him out of the house, and he felt only the slightest bit of resentment. He’d had conversations about his parents and sister most likely being dead, and still felt nothing. It wasn’t even that he was trying to push it down. Even if he tried to feel something, he couldn’t quite grasp it. Sebastian, on the other hand, had come in and pushed all the right buttons, like he was defusing a bomb, and Eirik had been frankly unable to not feel. In a way he wanted to go back, but at the same time it felt good not to feel so empty. 

Cathartic. That was the word. Despite the pain, it felt relieving. The only downfall was that Sebastian now had the upper hand. He felt vulnerable, and anger still bubbled in his stomach at the fact that Seb was still treating this as a game. Eirik was not the type to take anything seriously at all. He met conflict with laughter and anger with optimism, and yet Sebastian buzzing around him like a flea was feeding the anger with every silver-tongued quote. He could remember his own father being the same way. He would seethe over something silently, and only bring it up once he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Eirik didn’t want to be like him but he hadn’t quite mastered this whole ‘feeling’ thing yet. 

But it wasn’t rage anymore– in fact, he felt calm. There was a rolling sea of emotions that he hadn’t been able to feel for so long, but after the initial struggle, he was riding the waves with collected ease. The only time he’d ever hit someone was out of rage or self defense– either that or he was drunk and it was just for fun. This time, it was more to serve a purpose. It was almost as if Sebastian wanted to get hit, as he stepped in front of Eirik, giving him a clear shot. Eirik’s expression was creased with pain and anger when he swung his left fist, full force, at Sebastian’s face. It hurt, but it felt good, knuckles connecting with skin, the feeling of Sebastian’s stupidly pronounced cheekbone bruising beneath his fist. 

He stumbled a bit with the force of the punch, then looked at his knuckles, watching the skin redden. He was glad he hadn’t been wearing gloves; it would have lessened the force of the punch, and at this point he was fairly sure Sebastian was asking for it. The emotional state he was in left no room for control anymore, and he let out a breathless laugh, almost manic in nature. “How beautiful am I now, Dickens?”

[sbellamy-blog1]

People are machines. Very intricate ones, but machines nonetheless - and if you study them for long enough, they become very simple. It’s all action and reaction – you push the right button, and you might get the desired result. There is, of course, the question of morality somewhere in that. If you’ve been given such knowledge -  to what extent, for what purpose should you use it? Certainly not for amusement. But then again, Sebastian never considered the borders of morality as something set in stone – they were here to be bent, just like every other rule. So despite the questionable morality of his actions, he quite enjoyed just how pliable Eirik’s mind was beneath his figurative touch. He pulled his strings and Eirik reacted – at least until the strings broke and Seb was faced with the surge of emotions he had set in motion. But even that, to some extent, was exactly what he wanted of Eirik. Bared of his masks, he was as fascinating to Seb as some old watch and its mechanisms might be to a watchmaker. His eyes grew wide in surprise at the emotions stirring behind Eirik’s eyes, hungry in their search for answers - and he realised, though somewhat weakly, that this was the calm before the storm. The moment a storm reaches its peak and there lingers a second of silence that leaves your heart pounding loudly against your ribcage in some odd mixture of anticipation and fear of what is about to come.

The punch sends him staggering backwards in a disarray of surprise and pain. It’s skin against skin and it grates against the fine bones beneath, the impact rendering skin nothing but delicate paper, splitting it open like it was nothing. Blood is drawn, painting the surrounding area dark pink as crimson fissure in his usually pale skin bleeds with ferocious contrast to it. It is the ice beneath his feet that does the rest and he finds himself sprawled across ice and snow that coats it. There is a sharp rush of pain in his elbows, which have taken most of the impact and he is almost certain that will bruise too. His head remains twisted as he falls, lolling back only when he is safely grounded and without regard to his usual grace, Seb relaxes into the hard ice that lays beneath him. There is an exhale that accompanies his loss of control, and his eyes observe the tranquillity of the sky above them, pupils constricting with the excess of light. He likes the quietness of it all. However, the ice is cold beneath him and soon, not without a very annoyed grunt, he props himself up on his elbows, bending his head forward with some difficulty to look up at Eirik beneath his eyelashes, view somewhat constricted. He doesn’t say anything, but rather sits up, pulling one knee close to lean his elbow on it, casual and slow in his theatrics.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but there is a sharp intake of breath as he touches his cheekbone where the skin has cracked and a steady stream of crimson is finding its way to the collar of his jacket. The leather is cold against his skin as it grazes the wound and he extends his hand to observe the result. Blood appears almost black as it coats the fine black leather of his gloves, worn to delicate softness from years of use, and he brushes the forefinger and his thumb in some morbid observation of its slickness. With some surprise he finds that he can taste the blood too, and only then does he notice the fine welt on his lower lip, cut open by his own teeth, now bleeding profoundly. His eyes raise from his blood stained glove then, and he stares at Eirik from down there. It should, by all means, be a subordinate position – but it doesn’t feel that way, perhaps because this was what he wanted all along. His smile is painted red as a laugh escapes his scarlet lips, and never once does he break eye contact as he wipes the blood off his lip with his other hand, regardless of pain. He takes his time brushing the fine wound with his tongue before he speaks, voice even and laced with just a hint of a smile, “More so. I think you are stunning.” His pupils are blown wide, partially from excitement, and partially because the impact left his perception of space unstable at best, yet he still manages a cocky smirk as his eyes trace Eirik’s legs, shameless in their inspection, up to the point where his hand hangs, bearing the first signs of bruising. They linger there for a split second before sliding back to Eirik’s with brilliance that doesn’t come across as entirely sound.

“How does it feel?”, he asks without any regard to the blood that still pools in the creases of his lips and slides down his left cheek, “To let it out? To feel? To lose control.”, there is graveness in his voice now, lacking the usual mocking quality as he stands up, unsteady on his feet for the first few moments. His eyes meet Eirik’s then as he stands before him, the grin that spreads across his lips making him wince – he still lets out an easy laugh, “You throw a mean punch, you know. But careful, I might make you do that again.”, it hurts to wink, but he still does it, and his smile is bloody when he adds, breathless, “Besides, I like you too much to get along with you.”

[sergeantjhart]

Healer || Sebastian & Jesse

Much of what had happened at the ship had become more of a story to Jesse than it was an actual memory. He knew that the plan was to go down after Lauren, check out her injuries, and send her back up to safety. He knew that it didn’t go as planned, clearly. But there were holes in his memory during the in between - he remembered meeting with Evan and Mason to discuss their plan of action. Then…nothing. Flickers of things that he wasn’t even sure constituted memories, Evan and Mason’s voices, finding Lauren in a dizzy, fuzzy vision…pain. 

He didn’t remember getting out, he didn’t remember any sort of treatment - hell, he barely remembered a good majority of the trip back to camp. But he’d heard plenty; Rhys was gone, almost certainly dead. Evan, Mason, and Lauren were all in more or less good shape. Aside from Rhys - everyone had returned to camp safely, with a few broken bones spread among them. They had recovered a decent amount of supplies… Yes Jesse didn’t feel as if it was all that successful. He supposed they got what they went for, but he’d lost so much more. He’d lost a friend, a part of his family. He’d nearly died himself. Had it been worth it? 

Depending on when you asked him, his answer might vary. 

He’d also heard that Sebastian had been the one that was there to take care of the injured and he only had to assume the man had been most responsible for saving his life. Sora had been reminding him again and again (and again) of the need to return to the clinic here and there for check ups (just to be safe, she said). As much as he despised medical facilities, he knew she was probably right. He’d made it this far, he wasn’t about to let his health be set back by something that could be easily addressed. He wanted to get back in action as soon as possible. 

So that was what brought him to the clinic today, to make sure things were healing like they were supposed to be. Maybe he’d even be lucky and get the a-okay (which he knew was far from possible, but a guy could hope.) 

He hesitated at the entryway to the clinic before stepping in and finding a man stooped over some kind of work. He lifted a hand to pull his fingers awkwardly through his hair, scratching the back of his neck, before clearing his throat. “Uh, hey. Sebastian, right?” 

[sbellamy-blog1]

The air was suffocating inside the cabin, at least to Sebastian. But everything becomes suffocating once you’ve spent 8 hours in the same space, doing relatively repetitive things. Currently he is standing above his desk, notebooks and books in disarray as he observes and compares some of the symptoms he had jotted down during the past few years and what medical books he could find on the bookshelf. He does it to keep himself from going mad with boredom which is a constant companion when you’re surrounded by nothing but ice and snow and tall mountains. 

For the past two weeks, people have been coming in for regular check-ups and this had kept him busy for a while, but the workload has become lacking lately, with the wounds healing successfully and people disliking the medical wing by default. He should be glad, and he is - but there is still that part of him that wishes something was going on, because nothing is quite as infuriating as the staleness of a routine. 

There were a few interruptions of this routine, like Lauren coming to use the medical wing as a safe haven from something (he still didn’t figure out what, or who) and a few members of the medical stuff discussing other patients with him. Otherwise, he spent his time reading - but that wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, at least to him, was the sound of doors opening and cold air hissing as it soared inside, mixing with the warmth. The few snowflakes that had found their way in now settled on the floor only to disappear in small flecks of water, away from the rest.

The man that closed the door and now stood inside was familiar to Sebastian, and he recongised him as the man who was injured during the rescue mission for Lauren. Jesse. The name rang somewhere at the back of his mind as his lips upturned to a smile and he stood straight once again, “Forgive the mess, it gets frustrating when you’re trying to figure out some odd illness.” He moved across the room in a few swift steps to welcome the man in and help him with his jacket. His voice was amused when he spoke, honestly glad someone was finally here, “You saved me from madness, you know. Five more minutes with that books and I might have considered going insane.” He walked back to his table then nonchalantly showing to his new guest to sit anywhere he liked, bed or chair. It was not luxurious, but it would do. “Yeah it’s Sebastian, the guy that bugged you on the ship.”, he said with an easy smile, “You’re Jesse.”, the words were a statement rather than question. He was good with names after all.

[eiriklarsen-blog]

As Eirik watched, a smirk painted itself across his expression, the exhilaration clear in his eyes. Every time something sparked that excitement in him, it was like pure energy running through his veins. Nothing had quite come close to that first museum heist; it felt like lightning rushing through his body, filling him with power and breaking any mental boundaries he thought he had. It was freeing, and he’d never been able to achieve it again. Flirting with Sebastian, being so close to danger– that was like… Pop rocks. It was hardly anything, and yet it was all he could get to feed his craving. The problem was, the longer he flirted with danger, the stronger dose he needed in order to feel anything. Still, he tried. As Sebastian taunted him he dropped his eyes to Seb’s feet, making sure he saw as he dragged his eyes back up his body. It was an obvious flirt, and a very forward one; his eyes had always been a useful weapon, with their electric blue color and the way he could control exactly what he expressed, and he wasn’t afraid to use them.

Pushing away from the porch, he followed after Sebastian, taking a few bounding steps to catch up to his long-legged gait. He regretted getting close almost immediately, however, as Seb turned and clamped his fingers around his wrist. He hardly heard what he said, his instincts taking over. It wasn’t a controlled reaction; fear and the need to protect himself motivated his movements. Eirik’s right arm shot up, pressing horizontally against Sebastian’s upper chest, his fingers clenching in the man’s jacket, while his other hand twisted out of his steely grip. Every movement in his right arm ached, and the movement sent sharp pain spidering through his bones– yet it only sharpened his senses. It was almost an animalistic response, his pupils dilating and hand clenching into a fist involuntarily. He’d felt it a few times, when he felt endangered; his body took over, mind going black and leaving space only for the simplest of thoughts. It was a survival mechanism, and he’d only really developed it after he’d been locked up in Ringerike. As much as he could charm people, it was impossible not to butt heads when you were locked up with hundreds of volatile people. His muscles were tensed, prepared to strike, but some rational part of him flickered as he met Sebastian’s eyes. He shoved hard, pain in his arm setting off fireworks behind his eyes, though he hardly noticed, his expression steely.

As soon as Sebastian was out of his space, the buzzing numbness of his thoughts faded out, and a number of unexpected emotions bombarded him without warning. Anger was first, and then something like betrayal. For some reason he’d trusted Seb not to attack him again. The rational side of him knew that he was just being messed with, but anger twisted his gut and set his jaw clenching and unclenching, his eyes burning with rage. No one had been able to draw a reaction out of him so easily as Sebastian had in a long time. He felt understood by him; he gave him a whole lot of attention and no judgement, yet here he was trying to hurt him.

“Fuck you,” he growled, and behind the anger was pain. He was disappointed in himself for letting his guard down, as equally as he was angry at Sebastian for playing with him. “You’re right.” His voice was hardened, eyes fixed on Sebastian’s, unwavering. “I did choose the wrong people. I always choose the wrong people when I need to trust someone. People will throw you away for the tiniest things. Money. Recognition. Freedom. Curiosity,” he added with an accusing glare. It was only then that he realized how much of a recurring theme this was in his life. First it was his mother, then his friends, then whoever had snitched on him, eventually his sister, and now Sebastian. The realization sent a shock of almost-physical pain through him, his throat tightening with a choked up feeling. It was aloneness again, like he was standing in the middle of a frozen plain and everyone else was miles away. He didn’t want to feel it, and to some extent he blamed Sebastian for making him do so, so he turned and stalked off towards the lake, gritting his teeth as his arm throbbed to remind him of what had just happened.

[sbellamy-blog1]

Perhaps by now he should’ve got used to Eirik pulling bold moves and saying unexpected things, but his eyebrows still raised in surprise at the shameless way Eirik observed him. He thought about saying something, coming up with some quick-witted remark that would counter his in this game of chess, but instead a smile tugged the corner of his lips as he held his ground, his own eyes glistening with boldness that parried this act of intimidation. It’s not like he disliked the attention, on the contrary, he revelled in it – it fed his ego and served to amuse him because there was nothing quite as satisfying as a game of flirting. Besides, eyes as striking as Eirik’s were always a welcome sight.

Yet however formidable their colour is – comparable perhaps only to rime; pale, fissured ice – when they are peeled to Seb in an act of study, it is only a fragment of of how dazzling they become when they are full of that primal feeling that overwhelms all animals once faced with a threat. It is fear and anger and betrayal intricately bound together in a form of dilated pupils, wide enough to drain all remaining colour from the irises, and rapid, instinctual movements followed by sharp, shallow intakes of breath and uncontrolled convulsion of muscles. Sympathicus at its finest – adrenaline soaring through the body, alerting every part of it in a fight or flight reaction. And Eirik fights. Seb felt a sharp push against his chest, a pull when Eirik’s fist grabbed the material of his jacket and the sharp twist as he set himself free from Seb’s grip. He himself didn’t react at all, remaining a limp doll that subjects itself to the will of an enraged puppet master, enjoying the lack of control, eyes peeled to Eirik’s face in grotesque fascination. There is nothing in the world quite as beautiful or as fearsome as a human enslaved by his own raw emotions, especially one who appears to always be so out of touch with them. Though it was a matter of mere seconds, time ran slow between them, and as Eirik’s eyes turned dark, his grip surprisingly rough despite his injuries, Seb was sure he was going to get hit, and hard.

The punch never came and Seb was pushed backwards with intensity that sent him staggering a few steps through the deep snow as a smile stretched across his lips, wild and unbridled and excited. As he regained his balance, a quiet laugh escaped his lips, disbelieving in its tone but delighted all the same. His eyes remained captivated by Eirik’s, the rage that shimmered beneath their pale surface, barely restrained – and he admired their power and the beauty of those pure, unsullied feelings that stirred behind it all. He wanted to admire the beauty of it all and the excitement that it offered, regardless of what those feelings did to Eirik – unaware of the cruelty that was his admiration for another person’s pain, unaware of anything in this state of ecstasy. This was the reason why it took him longer than usual to snap out of it when Eirik spoke, voice resonating with cold anger followed by something that suspiciously sounded like pain. Eyes losing their glazed quality, he directed his attention to Eirik then, though his eyes couldn’t quite focus, still under the impact of what had just occurred. He spoke, but Seb’s mind was still lagging behind, eyes following the lines of Eirik’s jaw and he way it clenched and relaxed, muscles twitching beneath the skin in a barely restrained display of rage. It took him moments still when Eirik had already turned around and stalked off towards the lake, to jolt out of his state of volatile awareness and follow behind, sounds of his steps swallowed by the deep snow.

He stops his stroll and stands beside Eirik, hands behind his back, the leather of his gloves creaking as he flexes his fingers, eyes peeled on the distant mountaintops. When he speaks his voice bears traces of lilting amusement, “You know, you are quite impressive when you’re this enraged.”, he turns his gaze to Eirik’s profile then, observing the way the contours are set in a choked up wave of emotion, “I have wondered what were you like behind the saccharine smiles and carefully weaved lies and I can tell you…”, there was an intake a breath and a smirk that spread wide on his lips, “…I am not disappointed. Dickens once wrote: give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage.”, he turned to step before him then, lips still curled in that cruel smile, a hedonistic smile, “You are more beautiful in anger than in response.” His eyes regained their steely quality, unfaltering as they met Eirik’s. It was the truth, he didn’t care about the niceties and the lies and the pretence of innocence – he cared about what lay behind, about the dark corners and raw emotions that stirred there and everything hedonistic. That was his truth. And as long as he got that from someone, he didn’t care about being liked per se, “You may not like me, but you see, I don’t really care… I value mutual appreciation above everything else.”, he raised one eyebrow above the sharp contours of his face, the pale coldness of his eyes, his smile a challenging one, “Throw you away? Me? Oh, please.”, he tilted his head, hands in his pockets as he flashed a shark-like grin, all teeth and promises of trouble, “I’m just getting started with you, Johannesson. There’s no going back from this point.”

[larygo]

(x)

[fearlessarcher]

Sebastian Squared | Bash + Seb

[fearlessarcher]

“You’re a pretty nice can of worms.” Sebastian repeated with a laugh. “I think you missed your calling as a card writer for Hallmark.” He grinned. “I guess.” Bash had never considered the doctor’s personality as decent over nice. Probably because doing so would immediately everyone else five levels lower. In his mind, Seb was nice and everyone else decent. Any other filing system would make Seb decent and the rest unbearable. “I figure a few hours is better than nothing and who knows?” Sebastian shrugged, looking away from the man on the end of his bed, scanning the room and staring out the window.   “There could always be someone who comes here that can’t sleep at all. I wouldn’t want to have been the one who used what could’ve saved them from insanity.” The thought was tempting though. His body was exhausted, reaction time slower which wasn’t the safest since he worked outside where the threat was the largest. 

He chuckled quietly to himself. That was such a psychiatrist thing to say. “Same goes for you. I don’t have much advice to offer but I’m a good listener.” Sebastian smiled sadly, eyes clicking with the man’s for the briefest of seconds. Pasted on the blanket again, he twirled the loose string between his index finger and thumb. His voice sounded distant and far off; lost in a memory breezing past his hippocampus. Sebastian’s hazel eyes flickered up, falling back to the blanket when the man sucked in sharp gust of air. It was intrusive to stare at someone so vulnerable. “Very small vials. But don’t be fooled, she has a mean kick.” Bash tugged the blanket down and hiked his left pant leg up revealing a soft green bruise on his shin. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

“Oh cut me some slack. I am lacking in the honest compliment department.”, an airy laugh escaped Seb’s lip as he bent forward once again, placing his elbows against his knees as he spoke again, “Flattery I can do, but that’s about it.” And that was the truth - Seb always had a way with words and he used to charm his way out of anything or into anything, but once it came to offering an honest piece of his mind to someone he actually respected - it came off graceless and lacking in intensity. And the other Sebastian really did seem like a fairly good guy - no one this seemingly unhappy beneath the surface could be a bad person. He admired the fact Bash refused his help in favour of others, so when he looked sideways to the man beside him, his mile was an honest one, “As you say. Though in all honesty... I don’t believe there exists a pill that could save you from true insanity.”, his eyes narrowed in thought then and he turned his head to look across the empty room, “But that’s the industry for you. People have always yearned to be sedated from the grim reality they have to face and the industry offers - no matter the consequence.” The last of his words came out in a form of a bitter sigh as he played with the old watch on his wrist that had long stopped working. 

Sitting up now Seb’s lips quirked up in a juvenile manner, “You’re the one who should be careful now. I might hide a dark past that will only serve to weight you down.”, his words were light and the wink that followed only served to hide the truth that lay hidden somewhere between the lines, “But thank you, honestly.” And he really was - both for the honest offer that so little people truly meant, and for the way Bash directed his attention elsewhere when Seb’s emotions had bled through, uninvited and unforeseen. “She actually hit you? What did you do to deserve that?”, his eyebrows arched high above the surprised contours of his face as he looked at the mottled skin where the bruise still lingered, lips curled in an amused smile.

[milodetori-blog]

While the many years spent in colder climates had prepared Milo somewhat for the arctic environment they all now found themselves suffering through day after day, he still loathed it. If his bad circulation wasn’t cause enough for the onset of frostbite, being surrounded by temperatures that never climbed past -5 degrees would push him over the edge one day. So, reasonably, it wasn’t uncommon to find Milo smothered in the thickest hoodie he owned, sat in one of the warmer corners of the main cabin trying his hardest to keep himself busy and moving - and prevent the cold from seeping quite so deep into his bones. A scuff of shoe had him pausing, gaze tilted upwards to offer the other a sheepish sort of look at being caught. “Now - I swear, I’m gonna put it back as soon as I’m done with it?”

[sbellamy-blog1]

With the air outside crisp and colder than usual, Sebastian had decided to retreat to the main cabin at the end of his shift rather than talking his usual walk by the lake. It had been a long day for him, the medical wing always busy with something - check-ups, new wounds or the usual cases of mild to severe hypothermia. Sebastian, however, thrived in the workload. It kept his mind off of other things, like hunger or the cold or the incessant ache in his knuckles from the skin that was trying to heal itself despite the dire conditions. 

He was in the process of stomping the snow off of his boots when he noticed the solitary figure in the corner of the cabin where usually you could find scouts and guards warming themselves after a long day in the snow. As he walked towards him, his steps audible against the wooden floor, he observed just what the man held in his hands. His quiet investigation was interrupted when the unfamiliar man looked up and Seb stopped in his tracks some few feet away from where he sat. “No, no, just you read. I was just surprised to see someone actually doing that around here.”, an airy laugh escaped his lips as he took of his jacket to hang it by the furnace to let it dry, “What are you reading anyway?” Seb could’ve probably guessed what it was just by the look of the print, but he chose to be polite instead as he took off one glove and offered the man his hand with a wide smile across his lips, “I’m Sebastian by the way, it’s nice to meet you.”

[celebspix]

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Eirik felt thoroughly observed every time Sebastian went silent for so long. It was difficult to read his expression, but Eirik still stared back, trying to search for any betrayal of his thoughts in the way he looked at him– yet he never found anything. He mulled over Sebastian’s statement, and shook his head slightly. “I flirt because it’s fun, not because I need control. Though it is especially fun with you.” He turned his eyes to the upper right, making a dramatic ‘thinking’ face. “So if flirting is control for you… were you flirting when you tried to choke me, then?” His eyes shot back to Sebastian’s, the corners of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. 

“Why do you think it’s such a cliché? It works for us pretty people. You should know, throwing famous phrases around left and right.” He followed after Seb, pulling his jacket on as he went, his eyes fixed on the back of the doctor’s head. 

Listening patiently to Sebastian’s interpretation of madness, it struck a memory within him. Had he already said that at some point, to someone else? Or had he dreamed it? It seemed kind of complicated for a dream, but it was a hazy memory. Pondering over the thought distracted him from Seb’s speech, and when he looked up the man was right there in front of him, looking down at him with a sudden intensity. Eirik raised his eyebrows, taking the eye contact with an easy expression. “Hmm… I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The entire sentence was in-genuine, and it was clear in both his tone and the way he smiled. At this point, he no longer had much desire to hide his past from Sebastian. He knew that logically he shouldn’t tell him about the most controversial parts. He didn’t trust him not to use it against him, and yet he wasn’t sure Sebastian cared enough about controlling him to tell anyone. Either way, there was no fun in giving it away so soon. Might as well make him work for it. 

And then the moment was gone, Sebastian breaking eye contact again to look out over the horizon. Eirik kept his eyes pinned on him as the story unfolded. He withheld a laugh, thinking it might be rude to find his story amusing– but then he couldn’t help it. Laughing outright, he shook his head. “Of course you would find a way to make fighting sound gentlemanly.” He paused, looking out across the snow. “A gentleman’s club. God. We really do come from different upbringings.” 

He was still thinking over the story in his head when Sebastian posed his next question, and he shook his head slightly. “Don’t blame me for not answering the questions you don’t ask. What is there to tell anyway? I’ve got such a boring past, remember?” He breathed a sigh, leaning on the railing of the front porch and tapping his fingers as he tried to think of a story to tell. “Hmm… I’ll tell you about the time I got arrested, then,” he said, grinning and turning around to look at Sebastian, blue eyes glimmering with excitement. The first time, at least, he thought, exhilarated by knowing something that Sebastian didn’t. It felt like he was putting his secret right under his nose, yet keeping it just out of reach. 

“It all started with narcotics, as you’d expect. I was with some friends, walking around Oslo at night, and someone started making bets on who would be the worst at stealing something from a house. We used to break into foreclosed houses and whatnot, you know, harmless things. It was exciting, when we were kids. Anyways, they all determined that I would be the worst at it, because of how talkative I am. They used to joke that I couldn’t keep quiet for more than five minutes, and it was mostly true. So naturally… I had to prove them wrong.” He paused for dramatic effect, and also to assess Sebastian’s expression– whether he was interested or not, or whether he was making any connections. “So I picked a house with one car in the driveway, for a challenge, and I climbed up to the second story window and stole a vase from someone’s bedside table, but while I was climbing out the window again I sort of… lost my grip and fell and I broke the vase and dislocated my shoulder. My friends ran off, and the people who owned the house called the cops.” He held his arms out, “happy? A story for a story.” 

Eirik hadn’t told that story to anyone, mostly because of the reaction his parents had when they found out. His dad had picked him up, silently seething. He’d thanked the cops for doing their job, in typical Markus Larsen manner, and driven home without talking. Eirik had just stared out the window, arm in a sling, unable to really explain himself. That was why he edited stories, most of the time. They weren’t as exciting when he revealed the sad, bitter details, and he had no intention of telling Sebastian unless he asked directly. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

Sebastian was made aware of the scrutiny he was put under when he noticed the slight crease between Eirik’s brows and the moment of silence that lingered in quiet, unspoken wonder. Being the one who always observed, it was an odd feeling to be observed for once, and he found it entirely welcoming. Sticking hands in pockets of his trousers he walked a few steps backwards through the deep snow, eyes still peeled to Eirik with a smile that flaunted just how much he thrived in the compliment, “I’d blush, but we both know I’d just be playing coy.”, opening his arms and still walking backwards, his lips upturned to a mischievous smirk, eyes glinting with a promise of a challenge, “Well if you think you can handle flirting with me, come on then, walk with me. I dare you.”

His steps were swallowed by the deep snow beneath his feet as he turned around heading in the general direction of the lake. Head hung low, he thought about it for a second. What did he feel when he choked Eirik? Rage? Yes of course, but there was rapture in it too. Some form of euphoria that lay dormant deep within for years, only to be awoken by the acute feeling of power and control that surged through him. A few moments spent suspended in that state of stark euphoria made him forget why he was choking Eirik in the first place – all that was left was thrill invigorated by the fact he had been playing nice for far too long.   Feeling Eirik’s questioning eyes jolted Seb from his thought and he returned the gaze with equal amount of vigour, “Oh trust me, when I slammed you against that wall I really did want to choke you.”, there came a slightest hint of a smile then, curling at one corner of his lips as his voice became low despite no one being around to hear them, “At least at first. Then I wanted to paint the skin of your neck black and blue. I wanted to feel you shuddering before me. I wanted you to fear me.”, his gloved fingers wrap around Eirik’s wrist then, restraining him as Seb takes a step closer, not quite doing anything. But that’s the point, the anticipation that follows. His eyes are eerily calm when they challenge Eirik’s, voice somewhere between a soft-spoken threat and allure of a dare, “I wanted to see if you’d get scared and give up on trying to get to know me. So in a way, yes…”, his fingers unwrap from their steely grip and despite the proximity that restricts it, his gaze follows the fading bruises, lips curling in a predatory smirk, “Perhaps I was flirting with you.”

And as fast as the darkness slithered into Seb’s voice, it has now gone and his smile is playful again, eyebrow arched high as he backs away from Eirik, changing the topic as if nothing had just happened, “Ah you see those are not lines, those are quotes. Everyone likes poetry to be whispered into their ear, and they all give in at the end.”, the words that followed however, lacked the careless joy despite the smile that remained on his lips, a bit too plastic to be absolutely true, “Oh my upbringing had little to do with what I did at college, trust me.”, his eyes turned to Eirik’s then, giving just enough away to indicate the deeper meaning behind his words, before his eyes skidded away to something in the distance. He didn’t want to voice the thought, though. Probably because he never liked thinking about it. His parents played a great part in the creation of his alter ego, and he doubted they ever even knew who their son really was. For them it was easier to turn their head away, even at the price of their child’s life.

He looked at Eirik as he spoke, overly dramatic and flippant in his words and his movements. But Seb knew better than to believe it was some kind of whim that hit Eirik once and out of the blue. He had seen enough broken people in his career and even before it to know nothing was done at random and the stories were never as shallow as they first appeared. He didn’t let the thoughts show on his face though, and he regarded the story with a smile, “I didn’t expect the narcotics though. Happy people usually don’t quite need those.”, he looked at Eirik sideways, not turning his head fully, and there was a barely visible smile in the corner of his lips that indicated the taunt in his words. The eye contact did not linger this time, and Seb looked away to let the words sink in before he spoke again, “Well your friends were quite stupid then because I’d put my money on you. A liar like yourself would certainly make an excellent thief, except when you do something illegal, you should always do it with the right people, that was your mistake.” He liked the story though, probably because he knew by the way Eirik looked at him as he told it, that it was a fragment of something bigger. Something Eirik wouldn’t tell him about directly, but he would nudge him in the right direction, his need for appreciation overriding his caution. “Narcotics, stealing.”, he shook his head then, and meeting Eirik’s eyes with a playful glint of his own his words held a provocative edge, “Careful now Eirik, you’ll have me thinking you weren’t always as happy as you paint yourself to be.”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Eirik nodded emphatically, pinning his plate down awkwardly with his right hand and scraping up the remains of his food into one last bite, well aware that he was doing the exact opposite of what was polite. “Never heard that phrase,” he joked, setting his fork down on his plate and leaning back, pushing the front legs of his chair off the ground and keeping himself from falling backwards with his knees under the table. “I think it’s ‘manners maketh man go mad.’ I mean, look at you.” He gestured at him with an upturned palm, feigning an assessing glance over from head to toe. He left it unspoken, but Sebastian was the one who called himself a monster. Maybe the manners were just compensation for that. “The whole proper socialite façade does fit you,” he agreed finally, nodding.

Meeting his blue-green eyes unflinchingly, Eirik raised a brow. “And where exactly did Dr. Manners learn to fight?” He taunted, though the question was genuine; the way he’d thrown him against the wall lacked the hesitancy of someone who’d never done anything like it before. It might’ve been odd to imagine the straight-backed, gentle, polite Sebastian hurting anyone, but Eirik knew better now; there was something more underneath, as with anyone. This time it was just darker, deeply hidden, and much, much more fascinating. Now that he knew about it he could see it bleed through cracks here and there. He wondered if Seb could see the same in him. There was plenty of loneliness, guilt, and resentment simmering below the surface, but he hoped he only expressed the loneliness that night. The other two were a bit harder to explain, mostly because he hadn’t even bothered to figure them out for himself. It was easier to ignore them. 

Eirik hummed low in his throat, a considering noise. It almost seemed like Sebastian got calmer when he broached the subject of that night. Either he had the true ability to remain calm in a situation that warranted discomfort, or it was a way of coping with it. Eirik would bet on the latter, but Sebastian’s demeanor was so practiced and refined that trying to see past it was like trying to see through a brick wall. A fancy, English brick wall. The clearing of his throat was the only thing that gave away the slightest bit of discomfort.

An uncontrollable grin split his expression, eyes lighting up with excitement. He certainly hadn’t expected Seb to respond with more flirting. He let the legs of his chair fall back to the ground, leaning forward on the table, eyes fixed on Sebastian’s with something akin to excitement and fascination. “Oh, you know me, Sebastian. That’s the whole reason I flirt.” That much was true– he flirted not to get anything from anyone, but because he loved the attention. In this situation in particular, he loved not only the attention, but the fact that he was quite literally flirting with danger. This man had practically tried to kill him less than a week ago, and here Eirik was staring at him across the table with some kind of manic exhilaration in his eyes. 

His eyes followed Seb’s around the room, before coming back to his face. “Want to get out of here?” The phrase was innocuous, but intentionally verging on flirtatious once again, the teasing showing obviously in the mischief lighting up his eyes. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

It felt almost like being suddenly thrown into some curious reverie of his past and Seb now faced the exhilarating feeling of challenge as he observed the man before him. Flirting so unabashedly had been a norm once, when he did it as easily as one would breath, but years have spanned since then, and while Seb did indulge himself in some harmless teasing here and there, it had always been directed at someone who didn’t respond and it gave Seb the upper hand he needed. This was different. Eirik flirted back with equal lack of shame, maybe more. This time he didn’t try to hide the surprised glint in his eyes, rather allowing his eyes to trace the lines of Eirik’s face. Memory of the last time he looked at him from such proximity was blurred by the anger that flooded his every sense, and Eirik’s face was quite appealing when it wasn’t contorted in pain and panic, that much he had to admit. He allowed the silence to linger between them as he took his time answering, rather captivated by the thrilled glint behind the shimmering blue surface – this was a fascinating case of someone who not only blatantly disregarded common sense, but threw himself right at the epicentre of the danger instead.

To say he was interested would be an understatement. “Oh I think you flirt because it gives you the upper hand, at least with others. Just like I do.”, he said carefully, an honest observation, “But with me you flirt because it thrills you to walk that fine line of insanity and danger. I’d tell you it’s unhealthy - but we both know I’m not a nice guy, and I like the attention far too much.” There was no point in denying it, no point in pretending not to be interested in whatever the hell was going on when there was no one else bold enough to talk back like that. Eirik had seen him at his darkest hour, decadency and narcissism were least of his sins. He stood up then, abruptly and with a wide grin tugging the corners of his lips, boyish in its nature, “Oh, I do.”, cocking his head then, the smile became a teasing one, matching the mischief of Eirik’s eyes, “Though that was a very clichéd line – you’re lucky you’re pretty enough for it to work anyway.”

He walked the distance between their table and the door in a few swift steps before opening them to let the cold air wash over him. Taking a deep breath he welcomed the burning sensation that filled his lungs with the intake and for a moment he stood there, head thrown back, enjoying the cold touch of the feeble morning sun. When he spoke he didn’t look at Eirik, but there was a smile on his lips nevertheless, his voice playful, “You’re not wrong to imply I am a bit mad, but who isn’t? It is a horrible thing to be sane and utterly serious. We all play our parts and they have little to do with who we really are.”, he lowered his head then to look at Eirik, eyes glinting with a forceful curiosity, “I pretend I’m a good person, you pretend you have a boring past, and neither of us believe that.” He turned around then, eyes following the lines of the mountain tops in the distance, immersed in the fervid feeling of caution that set off all the alarms inside his mind. He didn’t care about that, nor about the fact he didn’t try to hide it – it felt refreshing for once, not to pretend, “I belonged to a gentlemen’s club in college.”, there was a hint of smile on his lips, a shadow of reminiscence crossing his features, “Let’s just say we were anything but gentlemen, and when you’re young and the sex and alcohol just don’t cut it anymore, you turn to violence, or at least stimulation of it. Hence the whole... fighting thing.”

The confession left an odd taste on his lips – he didn’t usually tell things like that  since people rarely understood this feral need for stimulation and the price he was willing to pay for it. His eyes narrowed then and he turned to look at Eirik with a blatant straightforwardness so atypical for him, pupils wide with curiosity, “You ask your questions, but you never give any answers. That seems a bit unfair, don’t you think? I’ve shown you one of my skeletons, now pay up.”

[sbellamy-blog1]

Breathe | Lauren & Seb

The air became suffocating around noon that day - earlier than it did yesterday, and more intensely. It had become almost a ritual of sorts for Sebastian - he would feel the warmth and the thousand little tasks he had to do weigh down on him and then he would go outside to front of the med cabin where snow was knee-deep and no one thought of walking by. There, he would take off his gloves, relishing in the sharp sensation as the pure cold air brushed his skin and he would listen to the rhythmical click-clack of his lighter, comforted by the banality of it when everything else around him was anything but. 

Today, however, was different. He walked out earlier, chest heaving with that visceral feeling of restlessness, the skin on his right hand palpitating in the rhythm of his heart, more sensitive than a few hours ago. He flexed his hand a few times prompted by some masochistic need to replace the incessant pulsating feeling with sheer pain and turned around himself to take in the whiteness that surrounded him. Cold air filled his lungs with a welcoming burn and he felt it awaken his senses, alerting him from the state of inexplicable anxiety he had fallen into. Not entirely inexplicable, but it was not something he wanted to ponder on at that moment, or ever. 

His eyes landed on a figure then, its edges blurred by the distance between them and the fact his vision had been lacking ever since his university days (he just didn’t want to admit it). When he decided the figure was moving towards him and that he could not quite determine who it was from this far, he clicked his lighter shut and walked in its direction. As he approached, he noticed the small details about the figure’s movements - the unsteady wobbling that was made worse by the anger that fueled the jerky movements, the individual obviously annoyed by lack of good limbs. Seb stopped walking half way, knowing that any sign of pity (though it wasn’t really pity) would only serve to agitate Lauren more, and that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Crossing his arms across his chest he stood casually and raised his voice when he spoke, teasing in its tone, “You’ve already looked like a penguin before, but this is becoming ridiculous now. The similarities are uncanny.”

[eiriklarsen-blog]

Eirik watched with some kind of captivated fascination at the way Seb patted his mouth dry. He knew he had the whole English-scholar-with-too-much-money persona going on, but the way he ate so properly when the food was anything but made Eirik laugh suddenly, eyes brightening with mischief. Here he was, eating with his fork gripped awkwardly in his left hand, elbows resting on the table, and Sebastian was acting like this was an upscale restaurant in the midst of Paris. “Pardon my manners,” he snarked, scooping up some of his food with no grace.

“Until I can start building the strength back up. You can’t keep me here the camp with you forever, as much as I’m sure you’d like to,” he responded slyly, standing his ground as Seb leaned closer. He could see the blue-green of his eyes better in this light than the night in the medical room, and it made him a little less intimidating– although Eirik could still vividly remember the rage in his eyes. It didn’t make him angry, just somewhat on edge. “What makes you think I can’t throw a punch with my left hand?” 

Every time his thoughts landed back on that night, it caused an almost involuntary reaction. It was something like stress, and he was sure it was visible in his eyes– not so much as sadness or fear, just as if the excited demeanor had disappeared. The best way to avoid it was to treat it the same way he’d treated one night stands, back before the Freeze: pretend it didn’t happen, and act like you don’t care when anyone brings it up. So, he was slightly thrown off when Sebastian talked rather blatantly about what had happened. “Oh, I don’t know about self destructive. That was a very touching apology you gave me. I don’t think I could fear you hurting me again after that.” 

It was only after he’d already finished speaking that he realized what he’d implied by denying self-destruction. The only other option was that he really liked him, and he wasn’t sure he’d go so far as to say that. In reality, he liked just about everyone. It took a lot to make him dislike someone, and his feelings were never just indifferent; he lived in extremes of ‘like’ or ‘dislike’ with nothing in between. But it still felt like he’d been tricked into saying it, so he decided to just go with what he’d said, adding in a wink and a smile before returning to his food. 

[sbellamy-blog1]

The sudden laugh jolted Sebastian from his usually undisturbed post-meal ritual, and his eyes shot up to meet Eirik’s with unvoiced question glinting behind them. His eyes trailed the lines of Eirik’s hand quite overtly then – the fork dangling from fingers of his left hand, the elbows leaned carelessly against the table, his eyes no longer paying attention to him but rather to the food. A soft half-smile found its way on his lips and Seb sat there amused by both Eirik’s remark, uttered in a half-mocking tone, and by his own thought that raced through his mind when first looked up – ‘elbows should never touch the table’ . It was an absurd thought, considering their situation, but some habits ran too deep to ever really be forgotten. So he leaned back casually, elbow set on the back of the chair as he arched one eyebrow, “Were you really just mocking my manners? Haven’t you heard? Manners maketh man. And I am always a gentleman, no matter the occasion, part of the charm.”

“Ah, my evil plan has finally been discovered.“, his eyes lit up wickedly as he tilted his head and offered a sly girl of his own, “I have been keeping  that splint on you so you’d have to visit me regularly in the med cabin.”. Discouraged by the lack of response to his intimidation attempt of entering personal space, Seb contented himself with an unyielding gaze as he slanted against the back of the chair once more and messed the front of his hair. An overly self-assured snort followed as he offered Eirik his most brash smirk, “Oh you can try. I’ll just catch your hand before it gets to me and I really wouldn’t like to embarrass you like that, at least not yet.”

He could feel the dynamic between them falter as Eirik’s eyes glossed over with some unknown feeling, suddenly and vehemently. He held his breath then, as his mind raced through assortment of appropriate reactions, riddled by the quiet panic. He hoped it didn’t show in his eyes – this fervid need to avoid the topic that came to both their minds whenever the gaze lingered for a split second longer than necessary.  Eirik’s eyes were now back to their usual shade of icy-blue, the feeling that shimmered beneath their surface a moment ago, gone and pushed aside to some dark corner of his mind. But all Seb could see were the shadows of panic in them as he remembered the burning sensation of power that had overcome him as he choked Eirik against the wall. Thrown off by the sudden exchange, he cleared his throat and resumed his slacked position with feline grace that strove to give off air of effortless arrogance, though every movement was carefully planned in order to conceal his discomfort.

His voice was calm as he spoke, a lazy drawl that was followed by a cocky smirk, “Yes, well, I’ve always had a way with words.”, he cocked his head to the side then and despite something in his mind screaming to tread carefully now, continued pushing the limits, thrilled by a reaction from Eirik he did not quite expect, “But you’re right, I wouldn’t choke you again. Not unless you asked nicely.” There was a moment that followed in silence, as Seb let the words hang suspended midair with a quiet smile quivering in the corners of his lips before he winked back, brazenly and pointedly, “Don’t flirt with the devil, Eirik, he might flirt back.” In all truth, the cockiness and the arrogance he presented in the last few moments were all a game, a show put on to hide the fact he was in fact uncomfortable being around someone who simply knew too much. To Eirik, Seb was not the nice, calm and collected doctor what wanted to help people. Eirik’s idea of Seb was probably closer to truth than any other, and much nastier. His eyes drifted to the people in the canteen, lighter in his right hand, fingers skilfully turning it over as he waited for Eirik to finish his dinner, eager to get out of the clamour that surrounded him, driven by some strange fascination with the surreal dynamic between the two of them who should, by all means, be staying away from each other.