i am unfathomably obsessed with the dynamic at play between brad bakshi and david brittlesbee, and how i wish to see it to evolve
it’s about a man who has carefully built himself up as the cunning, ambitious lunatic of a moneymaker. a man who’s set up to belittle personal affairs and the emotionally vulnerable. a man who must have to deal with things when his hand is forced. he’s spent time and time again creating walls and barriers. he refuses to let them break as he would never let another get the best of him.
it’s about a man who no longer, or rather has never had walls or barriers, the lack of which has caused him to be dissatisfied with the control he has, despite being at the top of the corporate food chain. his title screams predator but he can only say it in hushed whispers, while someone else comes to fix up the issue for him. he’s someone who loves, loves so much, that it makes him bleed with it, with emotion, to the point of staining other’s clothes when he gets near.
it’s about THEM. about them finding a balance. about the slow, excruciating time it takes for the man with no heart to accept a piece from the man with too much to give. about the contrast of personalities and the similarities of their lives. lonely, even unforgiving at times. yet coming to terms with the unfamiliarity of having a genuine friend in so, so long.
it’s about the realization, that this feeling, this yearning is something more. it’s the panic that arises. it’s the stolen glances across an empty office space. just the two of them. alone. it’s the subtlety of the closer positions, the increasing frequency of touch, the reminders of the other seeping in through the mundane schedule they’ve fallen into.
it’s about them. it’s about they’re fear to ruin the progress they made. it’s about the rustling of bed sheets at night, stirring about with no idea of what either of them could do, or rather, what the person they cared so deeply about would do, if they found out how much they thought during these late hours, about the feeling of one’s hands on his skin, of one’s voice in his ears. it’s about the man with the patched-heart, fused with metal, repressing his feelings, until they burn out. A few words that slip out casually, but it’s enough to make one spiral in fear, because it burned, it burned through the steel grey exterior. it’s about the man with the wounds that unknowingly he himself carved out, realizing that the emotions he was worried would have popped out from the surface of him, were mutual, and that he was going to be okay. it’s about the reassurance that comes with and the new beginning.
the new beginning as them, as one, as “we” and “us”
