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126 » you're not afraid of anything they've seen
[As the door opens to admit the next customer, Thoma pulls the earbuds from his ears.
The ice in his drink melted long ago, its watery blur at the top of the cup mocking him more than a clock could dare. He lifts his phone, looks at the screen with no change in expression, puts it down again face-down on the table. Soft rain beats on the window near his head soundlessly; he blinks, aware all at once that it was not raining when he arrived.
He picked this out of the way table with its view of the door so he could spot without being spotted. To disappear into the crowd, for once, to join the many whose gazes grace streaked windowpanes while music plays only for them and thoughts flow in and out to torment them alone.
Now that shuffle wants him to suffer, he's listening to the noise of the room again - and he hears the door jingle, looking up in time to realize that's Aether. He'd recognize Aether no matter how much time has passed. Thoma's shoulders lift; he turns his head slightly toward the window, letting his eyes look without the benefit of the rest of him staring too.
Aether hasn't seen him yet. On an ordinary day, Thoma would probably have known he was in the area, from his photos if nothing else. When Aether heads for the line at the counter, rather than scanning the crowd for anyone he might want to meet, he relaxes enough to straighten his back but refuses to turn his head. They met through business; maybe he's just here to carry out his business now and then he'll leave.
This is a corner for going unnoticed. Thoma's thoughts cast about for something to screen him (a plastic plant? a newspaper? do they even have those here? he's definitely seen an obnoxious enough water bottle in his life that could work?) but his hands, aware of the inevitable, merely twitch upon the tabletop. They know, too, that he's too well known, he's a friend to too many people. Sooner or later, someone will see. They'll come over, sit with a friendly hello in the chair opposite, Thoma-it's-been-a-while with no care at all for the precipice over which they have stuck one entire leg.
How have you been? followed sweetly and rightfully by how's your-
The station playing over the cafe's speakers kicks in with a new song and Thoma groans, dropping his head into his hands.]
The ice in his drink melted long ago, its watery blur at the top of the cup mocking him more than a clock could dare. He lifts his phone, looks at the screen with no change in expression, puts it down again face-down on the table. Soft rain beats on the window near his head soundlessly; he blinks, aware all at once that it was not raining when he arrived.
He picked this out of the way table with its view of the door so he could spot without being spotted. To disappear into the crowd, for once, to join the many whose gazes grace streaked windowpanes while music plays only for them and thoughts flow in and out to torment them alone.
Now that shuffle wants him to suffer, he's listening to the noise of the room again - and he hears the door jingle, looking up in time to realize that's Aether. He'd recognize Aether no matter how much time has passed. Thoma's shoulders lift; he turns his head slightly toward the window, letting his eyes look without the benefit of the rest of him staring too.
Aether hasn't seen him yet. On an ordinary day, Thoma would probably have known he was in the area, from his photos if nothing else. When Aether heads for the line at the counter, rather than scanning the crowd for anyone he might want to meet, he relaxes enough to straighten his back but refuses to turn his head. They met through business; maybe he's just here to carry out his business now and then he'll leave.
This is a corner for going unnoticed. Thoma's thoughts cast about for something to screen him (a plastic plant? a newspaper? do they even have those here? he's definitely seen an obnoxious enough water bottle in his life that could work?) but his hands, aware of the inevitable, merely twitch upon the tabletop. They know, too, that he's too well known, he's a friend to too many people. Sooner or later, someone will see. They'll come over, sit with a friendly hello in the chair opposite, Thoma-it's-been-a-while with no care at all for the precipice over which they have stuck one entire leg.
How have you been? followed sweetly and rightfully by how's your-
The station playing over the cafe's speakers kicks in with a new song and Thoma groans, dropping his head into his hands.]
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His outfit of the day is a white hooded crop top short enough to reveal his toned body, paired with loose-fitting dark brown cargo pants that balance out his lithe silhouette; he's accessorized with gold jewelry and layered necklaces, a chunky black watch that serves as his sponcon for the week. He lowers his hood and then props his tinted sunglasses atop his blond hair when he comes in, the purple lenses dotted with droplets of rain, but where someone else might look like a drowned rat at the wharf after several minutes of torrential downpour, Aether only looks ethereal and unruffled. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by the transparent wet cloth clinging to his shoulders; he doesn't look in Thoma's direction, either. He gets in line, wiping his glasses clean. He orders a caramel macchiato, then patiently waits for his name to be called.
Despite his sizable social media following, and the brief glances of intrigue that are cast his way by the other café patrons, Aether's rarely recognized in public. Strangely, it's the sound of his name being called for his drink rather than his eye-catching appearance that finally brings someone's attention to him. "Aether?" a loud-voiced barista yells, and then Aether comes up to take his drink. He's intercepted by a young woman, the sort that normally dominates in his field of work.
Cosmetic surgery is hardly a crime, but the woman in question is of a familiar archetype: lip fillers, body enhancements, microbladed eyebrows, too many implied tildes in the bounce of her speech. She chatters at Aether for a time, their conversation indistinct. Aether smiles politely, nods, says sure in an exaggerated way. Poses for a photo with her, his smile perfected, one hand on her shoulder as if she's a friend.
That's where the conversation normally ends, but the girl is persistent. Do you want one too? Ohmigosh, you should post one on your feed with me, too! Like, sure I'm not as big as you are, but I do have like, 17,000 followers, so it's not like I'm a total nobody, right?
Annoyance creeps over Aether's expression for anyone with the eyes to see it, though he remains outwardly cheery. He shakes his head, laughs awkwardly, casts his eyes about for some kind of escape. It's raining outside, so just leaving and saying he has a meeting to get to isn't really an option...
Mercifully for him, and unfortunately for the man in question, he spots Thoma in the corner as he's scanning the room.
Never one to not seize upon an opportunity, Aether instantly excuses himself. Sorry, I need to get back to my friend. I'll catch you around sometime, alright? Thanks —
That's about all the warning Thoma will get before Aether's at his table, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as a pretense to whisper in his ear.]
Let me hide with you for a minute.
[Aether doesn't normally like being so forceful, but he slides into the seat opposite Thoma's, not waiting to be welcomed. On the one hand, this means that Thoma's been spotted, and he's no longer part of the crowd. On the other hand, how have you been? hasn't factored into it yet.]
I already let her take a picture with me and tag me in it, but she keeps acting like she wants a whole photoshoot... Just look at me and pretend we're old friends. She'll get bored.
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It seems all at once he's spotted, joined, pecked on the cheek, complicit in keeping any further attention away from Aether's afternoon. The surprise fades fast enough and the smile following it is very real. This is what Thoma is best at: finding people, or hiding them. The use of information to help others out. Someone else's distraction. He picks up his dying drink and shakes it a little in Aether's direction.]
Pretend? That's asking a lot. [The cup slaps the table gently, just to the left of its old condensation ring.] But now that I think about it, maybe it would have been better if I hid behind that post. I don't get a show like that every day.
[He's far too gentle with his tone to really mean it, but he also doesn't want to tease Aether too badly.]
You're soaked. [This is easy. So, so much easier than thinking about anything else that really should be on his mind. Thoma turns to pat the back of his chair, where he hung his jacket in the long-gone world of some time ago.] Want to borrow my coat? Otherwise you'll freeze in here.
[Maybe it should be alarming how much better he feels. How much less it aches to breathe while thinking, or think while doing anything, now that there are problems in front of him to solve, problems he can start untangling...whether or not Aether has actually presented them as a problem. This is on the aggressively useful side even for Thoma's tendencies.]
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What, that coat? I can't be seen in something that ugly.
[He's only teasing, of course, just to rib Thoma a little bit in return — his cold, evaluating expression melts into a smile in the next minute.]
I'm joking. I'll be fine. Here's what's going to happen, see — since she's a clout-chaser and not actually a fan of mine, she'll take a photo of the two of us together...
[The young woman from before really is surreptitiously angling her camera to get a shot of Thoma and Aether together now, but the model doesn't make any moves to stop her, and just goes on serenely moving his straw through the cream sitting atop his drink. He's noticed that the ice in Thoma's drink has half-melted, that it's practically half water by now, but he won't comment on it just yet.]
...and sell it to some cheap tabloid. Not for a lot, mind you, but they'll spin it to get clicks. "Influencer spotted at a café with an attractive mystery man..."
[A sip; a swallow. Aether rests his drink on the table.]
People will figure out that you work in the industry within a few hours. Then those in the know will know that I trust you, and maybe you'll get another client or two. My followers will learn that even my social media consultant is hot — which is the kind of thing they like to hear, for some reason.
[Then, with the unknowing cruelty of the innocent, Aether plunges a knife into the heart of exactly the thing Thoma's been trying to run from for the past few hours.]
...But if I'm wearing your coat, Ayato might see the article and think that you're cheating on him with me, and we can't have that, right?
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Then Aether grabs him bodily and flings them both over the precipice with a few more beautiful, terrible words. Thoma's smile shrinks and freezes, caught there between the show hosting his casual bit part and the embers smoking out the truth. His arm falls from the back of the chair and the other hand curls up weakly on top of the table.
The photo on a stranger's feed later that day is sure to capture the beginnings, the first few cobbles signalling the start to collapse. Most people won't notice. Aether, resplendent and waterlogged and even elegant about how he drinks his coffee, will sit center stage and the world won't know he has popped Thoma's growing sense of maybe it'll be fine so carelessly.]
Ah, ha. [The seconds tick by, and that is the best he can muster? Something mimicking a laugh follows, too stuttery, full of too much air. Thoma's thoughts are scrambling through knee-deep subway sludge.] Well. A client or two wouldn't hurt?
[Hopefully he's latched on to something useful. Aether is too quick to fall for outright misdirection. Thoma presses his lips together to hide a hard swallow.
There is no recovering from this. Aether will notice. The questions, he can already feel them all building up, one after another. And, while affected, cucumber-cool, miles-above-the-crowd sponsored and adored Aether wouldn't think twice about it...that person is as created as the coffee in both of their cups.]
I'd run them by you first, you know? See if they're above board. Worth associating with once it's gone around...the level of clientele I usually work with.
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Even so, Aether humors the pretense and distraction for just a moment:]
I don't know everyone, you know. I just pretend that I do.
[A wry smile graces his lips, the sort that seems out of place with his public image. Slowly, as if not to startle a kicked puppy, Aether reaches out with just one finger and gently prods the conflicted curl of Thoma's fist atop the table. His wrist is touching the ring of condensation from Thoma's glass, but Aether doesn't seem like he minds.]
...I do know when something's wrong, though.
[Something's clearly wrong — something related to Ayato, at that. Ayato, who is a bit of a mystery even to Aether, though they briefly worked together on an advertising campaign promoting tourism in Murata, one that paired Ayato's evocative travel writing with photos of Aether bathing in the volcanic region's hot springs. They met; he seemed fine; Aether had learned that he was Thoma's significant other. Then they hadn't really spoken very much at all.
He had thought they seemed like an odd match at the time. Always Thoma trotting after Ayato like a faithful hound, and never the other way around. But old friendships can go a long way in love and life, and as an add-on to the project, a mere model, Aether hadn't thought it his place to comment. Still, if this is about relationship issues...]
Don't want to talk about it?
[It's hardly his place to force Thoma into a corner if the man doesn't want to discuss what it is that's bothering him, but Aether's gentle voice promises discretion without needing to put it in writing.]
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(Would it matter? He's unknown and unknowable here, and fewer people have seen Ayato than they have him. To the world, Ayato is a carefully unfiltered profile pic of a hand cupping the setting sun. An uncriticizably poetic yet achingly bare string of words revealing places most people only dream of dreaming to see. Who will know, who in the whole damn cafe would ever guess, that the man in the red coat and the man who dares reach for all the light in the world mattered to one another?)]
I don't know.
[Thoma runs his hand uselessly through the front of his hair. Nothing else moves. His eyes do not meet Aether's, turning instead to where their hands just barely touch.]
I don't- I don't know. I mean, it's, since you asked about it, right? That, I don't, that something happened. We're just. There are things to figure out. There's stuff.
[Thoma swallows again and rests the bridge of his nose against his fingers. What good will babbling incoherently do either of them?]
That could've gone better. [He risks a second's glance at Aether's face, but it's too fast for him to register anything about it. If it turned out to be disinterest, he would just stop. This may be why Thoma came out here but it definitely wasn't on Aether's leisure time list.] Something...came up. That's all.
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You know what you need? A muffin.
[So saying, Aether turns his phone around to display his screen for Thoma's benefit. He's texted someone named Albedo, apparently, and he's got nothing to hide. He only means to show Thoma the most recent text, but of course he'll be able to see their past messages, all of which seem faintly nonsensical:]
[The new message from today reads — and the reply comes as Thoma is looking at Aether's messages —]
[Despite this banter, a handsome young man soon emerges from the kitchen; his white apron is pristine and the cross-shaped pins on his vest suggest that he might be the café's owner, which is a bit funny to consider when he's clearly only come out to give Aether the singular muffin on a white plate he's carrying in one hand.
Albedo doesn't spare Thoma a second glance. He places the muffin directly between Aether and his guest with five-star professional flair. "On the house," he says in a soft, curt voice, and then he whirls on his heel and walks back to the kitchen without another word, as if to suggest he has better things to do than cater to the whims of his old school friends.
Aether smiles, and nudges the muffin in Thoma's direction. It sits on its plate, warm and golden and buttery, hearty and sweet in a way that wouldn't be as escapist as slathering cream and frosting all over one's problems. It's meant to bolster more than it's meant to distract.]
Albedo's really good at baking. Here, take a bite and let me know what you think.
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I don't know everyone, he says, summoning his personal baker out of the cafe kitchen to bring him a muffin on demand.
[At which point he grins, picks up said muffin, and breaks it messily in half. He wouldn't feel right about it if he didn't share. Thoma picks his half of the muffin into smaller bites, though none of them go into his mouth. He thinks about how much he envies Aether's easy friendship with the man on the other end of the text message. And he deserves it! He's a great guy and good to work with and everything else you could want in a coworker or a friend. And Thoma's phone, in contrast, has been terribly silent all day.]
The local parks commission hired us to do some virtual tours of a few smaller locations. It's been a long time since- since Ayato got a local job. It was pitched really well, and it has all this [he waves one hand as if swatting a wayward bug] extra attractive flavor, you know, a local guy gushes about the beauty found in his own city, all that stuff.
[Then he actually puts a piece of the muffin into his mouth. Thoma's eyes widen immediately.]
Wow. You weren't kidding he's good at baking. Damn, Aether. Give my compliments to the chef, okay?
[Delicious as it may be, the thought of eating makes his stomach turn, and it'll be a while before he takes another bite. It does happen, though, slowly, in the pauses in his words, sometimes not in the pauses at all but as quickly and politely as he can manage. Tiny bites. Half a muffin.]
Anyway, I was really proud of the work. We got some great spring footage, A-Ayato wrote the copy, I made a deal with my contract guy to do the voiceover because he has [Thoma gently slaps the table] the voice of an angel. One place even let us use the VR filming equipment. You know, so anyone browsing around could really feel like they were walking through it.
[This is a weakness he doesn't mind if everyone knows about: his willingness to talk for hours about putting something really great together. And Aether looks...like he cares. He's interested. He was interested before Thoma started to babble. He got him a free muffin, for crying out loud. Thoma swallows another bite.]
That's what I was after. I just wanted- he's out of town, so I was going to make the cuts to the VR walk, since that one's silent, doesn't need any of his writing.
[Empty fingers drum nervously on the table. Meeting Aether's eyes is beyond him once again.]
The flashdrives are all pretty much the same, you know? It took me a couple tries to get the right one, or it would have. I don't know, I guess I should label them. It...it would've... [A flush spreads across his face. The deeply uncomfortable sort.] A-Anyway there were photos. Of him, you know.
[Thoma makes several weak but specific hand motions. It's weird to talk about this in the middle of a crowded cafe, even though they're in a corner and he's keeping his voice down.]
You could tell he...wasn't the photographer. I could tell. ...Besides, there's...there's a mirror in one. Caught someone else's reflection. [He brushes his hands together before running his fingers through his hair again, grimacing.] I don't know, maybe someone who didn't spend his whole life looking at video and stuff wouldn't have noticed?
[His half of the muffin is gone. Thoma finds this out when he reaches for more and blinks at the nothing where food should be.]
Thanks, for this. [Tap, tap.] I, uh...I haven't eaten much since I got off the phone with him yesterday.
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He follows along. Park campaign, great B-roll, 360 filming — he's familiar, he can keep up.
Then they get to the photos, and Aether's neck pulls taut in the way that it only does when he's trying to restrain himself from reacting physically.
Ah. That isn't pleasant. That isn't a pleasant thing to stumble upon, in the course of one's normal work. The thing that hurts is the suggestion that Thoma looked through all of them closely enough to find out that they weren't for him. There's also a part of Aether that's almost jealous, in a vague and detached way. He doesn't think about it much anymore as it pertains to his work, but he doesn't have personal photos, can't even really take personal photos; there's nothing about his body that hasn't already been captured and airbrushed and edited to perfection in a glossy magazine spread or for an ad campaign. Back when he first started, when he was eighteen and a photographer had first told him to strip, and he'd needed the money too badly to refuse —
He pushes it out of his mind. This isn't about that.]
...You can have the rest of it. I'm on some no-carb thing.
[It's, transparently, a lie — if he were on some no-carb thing he wouldn't have ordered a caramel macchiato — but Aether nudges his half of the muffin toward Thoma anyway. He finds himself wondering when he became so bad at telling the truth; he's like this with Albedo, too, always pretending to be something he's not even though he knows Albedo knew him long before the fame. It's not something he's going to stop doing overnight, though.]
I'm... guessing he didn't say that they were for you.
[The model's voice has lowered to an appropriate volume, so quiet it's almost hard to hear him beneath the sound of the rain hitting the windows. He's been leaning his cheek on one of his hands; that hand has gone from relaxed to a fist in the blink of an eye.]
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His hand closes over the muffin, protective.]
I want you to know that I'm only eating the pity half because it's delicious.
[He knows the tricks. While it rankles that he's in a position to be pitied, that it's so apparent and Aether has derailed his whole day to deal with it, he's comforted just a little that...that Aether is here to sit on the other side of dealing with it. That he cares enough.]
He was pissed when I called, given the time difference. Even happier when I told him why.
[The memory is fresh, of course. Ayato's slight echo in his ear, how abruptly it changed to more of a close hiss, the guilt and disbelief of the swap to private over speaker.]
He didn't...really have any explanation, after that. He's not a bad guy, Aether, don't- put the fight away. [Looking up properly revealed the way Aether sits, taut, fist ready to be drawn back. The furthest thing from that gentle tap on his hand only a moment ago. He holds up both open hands, gently, his voice weakening with how little he believes his own lie.] We've been together for a couple years now.
[There's some exposed root of the problem. Had it been weeks, even months, Thoma would've found it much easier to simply nod and move on. To finish out any content he'd signed on for, gently cut emotional ties, and go about his business. People changed.
Applying that to Ayato now? Unthinkable.]
I don't even know how I feel about it all the way myself. But when I wouldn't let him go without a good reason for it all...
[It was kind, too, when he said it. All the anger stripped from his voice, leaving room only for sorry-but and for I-still-love-you-but. Thoma's been in relationships far worse than this one. Why should it hit him so hard?
He thinks, probably, that telling Aether the last thing Ayato said is not going to do anyone any favors. Hasn't he already vented enough? It got very personal very fast, and it's a little embarrassing how quickly he fell apart over a muffin.]
Haven't heard from him since. [Thoma nods to the phone, still face down; he's managed not to look at it since Aether sat down. It's improper to do so when dealing with a client unless it's part of the meeting, and the habit usually carries over into his personal life.] No text, no snap, nothing.
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And Aether isn't usually the sort of person who would intervene in a years-long relationship — but the fact that this relationship lasted for years alone already makes Thoma a poor advocate for his own self-interest.]
You deserve better than dead silence and a half-assed apology after a couple of years, Thoma.
[He half-glares at Thoma for another moment before belatedly remembering that Thoma shouldn't exactly be the target of his ire. Sighing, Aether takes such a ferocious sip of his sugar-laden drink that, well, if the jig weren't up before regarding his no-carb thing, then it sure is up now.]
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[He is, after all, living it. Aether's slight backing-down doesn't go unnoticed, and neither does his angry swig of coffee. It was definitely a pity muffin. It's gone now - the muffin - and despite himself Thoma feels ever so slightly more human and less unmoored.
It...really means a lot, that Aether is so, so fired up about it all. About this betrayal; thinking of that word causes Thoma to scowl and take his own sip of coffee, whereupon the scowl vanishes to be replaced by something of a grimace. Ought to have looked at it before he drank it.
If only Thoma himself could bring himself to get mad. To feel anything much more than empty and scrambling-to-cover, to convince himself of the last thing Ayato said about it, which comes out rather unbidden but shifted in perspective anyway:]
He just doesn't know what he wants right now.
[The gentle affection doesn't match his hunch and cringe at all.]
Lots of people...need me, you know? In one way or another. It isn't that, I'm not worried about that.
[Thoma prods a muffin crumb, slowly flattening it between his fingertip and the tabletop without looking up.]
It's...it was nice to be wanted.
[Because Ayato did not need Thoma. He was successful on his own, and had the influence and reach to hire or trade favors with whoever he wanted. They didn't even often work together, which suited them both fine. Knowing Ayato didn't need him gave the choice such value.]
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Aether hasn't missed the implication that this is the reason Ayato gave as his motive for cheating, but he doesn't address it, not directly. Thoma is in no emotional condition to hear about his boyfriend is a scumbag, even if it might be the correct thing to say. And, sure, he only has one side of the story. It could also be true that Thoma neglected Ayato — but even if that were the case, it doesn't excuse the fact that Ayato could have done this without hurting someone he supposedly loved.
He could have been honest. But then, Aether isn't very honest, himself.]
What do you want, Thoma?
[His voice is low and calm. Gradually, by small measures, he puts his rage away, his expression slowly softening. For all his big frame and his normally-boisterous personality, Thoma looks small and fragile now; it makes Aether want to reach out, and so he does, gently laying one hand atop the set of fingers that are currently prodding at the muffin crumb. (This is also to prevent him from eating it. Aether is not entirely sure that Thoma wouldn't eat it.)]
You want to be wanted. But what else do you want?
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But Aether is his friend. The cultivated disdain is a veneer; the anger, and the care that motivates it, are real. Though they don't hang out on weekends or interact much socially the way, what, old school friends might? That's a product of their work. Thoma's job is to make greatness without exposure, and Aether's greatness is exposure.
What does he want?
He thinks of a couple smartass answers. Another muffin comes to mind. To go back in time and be more careful. But that wouldn't erase the truth, it would only keep it from him for longer. How long had Ayato been keeping things from him? If the photos were for him, he'd have admitted it even if he was mad about a spoiled surprise.
What made him leave such damning evidence somewhere Thoma could get his hands on it?
His other hand curls into a tight fist.]
I want- I want an answer. I want to know whether I.
[Oh, no, this is terrible. Thoma swallows and takes another godawful drink of his coffee so he can swallow again. After forcing four deliberate breaths, he thinks he could try again.]
Where to go from here. If it's over, [and he does pick up some anger, just one strand of it, which does well for keeping any other feelings from closing off his voice] then f-fine, I'll deal with it, but I have to know first? And I don't want to be wanted, I just said it- it was nice.
[He tries to put out the fire, because Aether isn't the object of his anger and he's trying to help. And if he's honest with himself, Thoma knows he does want to be wanted. But not...on purpose? Just in the way that anyone would, he'd say.]
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It doesn't show in his expression. Nothing that Thoma wants now is anything Aether can provide — he can't speak for Ayato any more than the man can speak for himself — but the man will try, and he'll try his damnedest for someone he considers a friend. The model's mask slips on again, out of habit more than anything else — his gaze is cold and detached and analytical as he stares at his fingers resting atop Thoma's, but then he seems to come to a conclusion, tipping Thoma's palm just enough to lace their fingers together so that they're... holding hands.
Despite the chill from the rain, Aether's palm is warm. Lined up against Thoma's, his fingers are simultaneously slender but not quite as small as one would expect.]
...Thoma, spend the day with me.
[It's not phrased as a question, though it would be kinder to ask. Aether doesn't want to do Thoma the courtesy of asking, though. Because if he asked, the man might say no — no, he doesn't want to be out with anyone today, no thank you — and Aether doesn't want to have to leave him like that, lonely and lost and without someone to tell him that he's worth more than a night of fun and some salacious photos on a flash drive left in a drawer.]
You have time, right? [A little squeeze of his hand.] There's something I wanted to do today, but it'll be more fun with a friend. Wanna come with me?
[There are — unspoken caveats that come with this offer. It might seem like he's only doing this out of pity, but Aether's setting aside his public image for this. They might be seen. They might be seen together, at that, and photos might wind up somewhere, photos that Ayato might see. If it's over, then fine, but if it's not...]
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Spend...the day with you?
[Pity, say Thoma and Ayato together inside his head. Though he has joked about it in its muffin form, Thoma doesn't quite believe in hating the thought of people doing kind things for him because they feel bad, much as he would welcome the chance to wallow in just that sort of thing today. Hasn't he been, anyway? Shirking all his work just to sit here and let iced coffee waste away and get mad at their songs playing on any available speaker?]
Well. [And it is in him to argue, question or not. To not bring down Aether's day with whatever mood is about to overtake him, because the man he loved (he thought he loved? No, he loved, he thought mutually) doesn't know what he needs anymore but is, apparently, insufficiently satisfied by simply Thoma.
...It seems as though Aether is satisfied at the idea of simply Thoma. Enough to offer to share his plans for the day.
And he does like being part of someone's good day. So, despite the refusal in his voice, Thoma smiles, meek and somewhat closed-off.]
How could I say no? You caught me with just enough time on my hands, outside of my packed brooding-in-quiet-cafes schedule. [He is being exceptionally careful not to move his hand unnecessarily. He doesn't want to seem spooked, or to spook Aether in return, and he doesn't want him to let go, either.] But in this weather? What did you have in mind?
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In other words, it's more pity than it is lust, but isn't pity a form of love, too? And anyway — anyway, the only reason Aether doesn't let go is that Thoma doesn't look like he wants him to. So the model stays where he is, fingers tangled in Thoma's own, because stability seems like the only thing he can give Thoma right now.]
That'll be my surprise for you.
[A confident smile, fleeting and brilliant, punctuates the remark. Gently, Aether's thumb brushes across Thoma's knuckles with slow and tender care.]
We should get you something to eat first, right? [A little squeeze to the sturdy hand caught in his own.] What do you want? Barbecue? Hot pot?
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I was going to say I wasn't all that hungry but then you had to go and say the magic words. [Though Thoma rolls his eyes, he can't bury all the eagerness under despair, and he leans forward a little. If he were a dog his tail would be unstoppable.] Hot pot?
[And his fingers come together for just a moment, too. A careful squeeze back. Aether doesn't need Thoma either; he's enough, just as himself. It's the lack of need giving the choice such value.
Thoma tries to ignore his sudden fast shiver.]
You're a good friend. You know that?
[He holds Aether's golden eyes with his for maybe a few seconds too long. But he wants to be sure it's clear he means it. Nobody is ever required to go to any trouble for him but...this, he won't turn down.]
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I wouldn't be much if I weren't.
[And is that true? Really? Aether's career involves some schmoozing and networking, true, but it's not as if he's ever had to be a good friend to anyone; there aren't many models who are known for being nice in addition to being beautiful. It's easy for him to put the mask back on as he gets ready to leave and his hand slips out of Thoma's: his gaze lowers to his drink as he lifts it with one hand, and his expression hardens and ices over in a way that makes him look effortlessly unapproachable, all the more so because he pops his hood up in preparation to step back out into the rain.]
So. Hot pot. My treat. [Receipt crumpled into his pocket, muffin plate in his hand — he'll leave it where he knows Albedo will remember to grab it later.] Feels just right for the season, anyway. It's the perfect amount of chilly out.
[Then his eyes fall on Thoma again and he —
smiles.]
And I want you to be happy.
[When was the last time someone said something like that to Thoma — Thoma, who spends most of his days making other people happy? When was the last time Aether said that to anybody else, really? In flattery, perhaps, in business, perhaps... But the model only twists his sweet smile into more of a cheeky grin and makes for the door.]
You don't get to keep holding my hand unless you're prepared for someone to take pictures, though.
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[Not after any amount of muffin, or pity, or the combination of both. Thoma tosses his failure of a coffee into the trash on the way to joining Aether at the door.]
When am I ever not prepared for pictures? [He flashes a winning smile, the sort he's had to practice for the notoriety of his boyfriend. It never has reached his eyes. He figures they add that part in editing.
The rain has let up somewhat, the sky more white than grey as the clouds work themselves out. Thoma's jacket lacks a hood, so he simply pulls up his shoulders and resigns himself to rainsoaked hair.
They're out the door already when he stops for just a second to let himself think about hearing and I want you to be happy. The way Aether said it. He doesn't mind keeping a few paces back, either, which he expects Aether will prefer, given he's got the "don't touch me if you want to keep your hand" sort of face on, but the distance? Has never kept Thoma from sociability.]
Do you have a place in mind? I don't think there are any really good ones nearby, unless you've got some secrets up those fancy sleeves of yours.
[Thoma's natural walking speed is pretty fast; he slows down deliberately to match Aether's shorter stride as necessary.]
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Aether barely registers the question. He simply frowns, a little thoughtful, as he contemplates their surroundings. They've walked maybe half a block down; there's a mixed convenience store and pharmacy not far from their current location, the kind that sells everything from orange juice to antifungal creams. Aether stops right in front of the doors, waits for Thoma to catch up.]
You didn't bring an umbrella? [A little sigh — not exasperated. Just fond. He reaches out, tugs Thoma by the elbow into the convenience store.] What am I going to do with you? Come on, in here.
[The automatic doors slide open; their shoes drip apologetically onto the ultra-absorbent industrial grey carpet at the entrance. The umbrellas, conveniently, are located not far from where they walked in. They're all ugly, in the way that they appeal primarily to schoolteachers, mothers, and extremely small children, but Aether doesn't seem to care about how they look, or that the rain is letting up, or that the expense isn't strictly necessary. The weather forecast promises an ambiguous 40% chance of rain for the next two hours at least. Maybe it'll be on and off, in which case the umbrella will be warranted.]
Which one do you like?
[They're not on sale. It hardly matters. 1890 Mora for an umbrella is on the more expensive side, as these things go, but it's not as if Aether can't pay the price. He picks up a red umbrella that is patterned with cartoonish tomatoes.]
How about this one? For a Thoma-to.
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[Said in vague, weak protest, as Aether pulls him by the arm into the nearest convenience store and Thoma allows himself to be guided to the umbrellas and tells himself not to think about it too hard.]
When I left it wasn't raining, you know. [He tries for an affected huff, which he's very bad at on his best days.
Aether holds out an incredibly garish variety of rain protection and Thoma's surprise expression quickly shifts into a practiced, ready grin.]
That's perfect! [The "grab" for said umbrella is fast but gentle, and he turns it over in his hand, still beaming.] No way you'd lose me in a crowd if I was carrying this around, right?
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...No, I suppose not. [Why is he smiling so broadly over an umbrella? This is all so absurd. Affecting nonchalance, Aether pulls his wallet out from his pocket and makes for the checkout line.] But I wouldn't lose you in a crowd anyway, Thoma. You're too tall.
[He will be the one paying for that, by the way — no ifs, ands, or buts! His sheer glamour and confidence alone will win the cashier's attention over to him (unless Thoma also pulls out his own brand of sparkly charm, in which case there might be a competition).]
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He surprises himself with it, really, though he does smile for the cashier and do a little twirl when he opens the umbrella outside, shaking its first raindrops from its brim in a deliberate display of silliness. It's dumb, and overpriced, and ugly as sin, and Thoma balances it in one hand and then against his shoulder and hops over a puddle that has escaped the bounds of one of those sidewalk-square trees and twirls the umbrella again.
Aether paid for a show, too.
He also lets Aether lead the way for several more blocks. Since...he doesn't actually know where they're going, and his friend has a plan in mind...and it feels good just to be a little ridiculous. He's spent a whole day moping. The only thing in his stomach is a muffin, and he's been picturing hot pot now for long enough that "hungry" registers again on his internal scale.
It doesn't have to remind him of going with Ayato to hot pot. It can stand alone as a memory with Aether. Is it pity hot pot? Maybe. Will he accept that? Absolutely.
As the rain slows down a bit more, Thoma looks up at the thinning layer of clouds.]
What made you come all the way out here for coffee?
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(He swallows it down. Stamps it out. He can't feel like that for too many reasons. The words career suicide come to mind. More importantly, it's not what Thoma needs right now. It would feel like stealing him from Ayato — but why should it feel that way when Ayato's the one who ruined his own relationship to begin with?)
He tugs his hood lower over his face. Adjusts his sunglasses. It's easy to affect some kind of indifference, though maybe the corners of his lips are still turned in a smile.]
Huh? Oh... I always go to that place, since Albedo owns it.
[The handsome baker, one would assume. Oh, right, his name was on Aether's text conversation too.]
We were friends in high school. Or rivals, I guess. I always figured he would go into biochemistry or medicine or something, but he hit a weird artistic period in college and came out with a degree in food science. Next thing I knew, he'd opened a café, and then... at that point, I figured the least I could do was help it get more popular. I was surprised he stayed in touch with me, to be honest. He was kind of a cold guy. I didn't think he'd keep texting me after we graduated.
[It's rare for Aether to talk quite this much, but then it's always easy to open up to Thoma, who asks things in a way that implies no judgment, seeks no secrets. At a stoplight, Aether finally catches up to the lead that Thoma's taken; quite without thinking, he puts his hand in the crook of Thoma's elbow, as if afraid he'll walk right into oncoming traffic.]
And then a lot of people reached out after I — got famous. Or at least they tried to. But it means less if they weren't there when you were struggling, you know? So it's hard to... it's hard.
[The light changes. They start walking again, paces matched to the other's. For Thoma, this necessitates smaller steps; Aether is already walking as fast as he can to keep up with the man's longer stride.]
Sometimes I wonder if things would be different if I went to college like everyone else. It was easy, when I was eighteen, to just do whatever was making me money. But I think I should have said no to some things. And I don't think I'm ever not going to have work — but it's just, you know...
[Abruptly, the young model comes to a stop, looking down at the signage for what looks to be a very authentic Inazuman hot pot place, emphasis given because the wooden sign bears the telltale signs of being genuinely weathered by the elements, and the wooden door is located past a set of rather rickety stairs leading down into a sort of recessed pit. Unhesitating, Aether hops down towards the entrance of this rather shady-looking restaurant, then pauses at the base of the stairs, palm out to take Thoma's hand.]
Here we are. [The flash of a beautiful smile, poised and practiced for the camera.] Basement joint, but it's one of the best places in the city, trust me. Watch your step.
[His outstretched hand, offered to give Thoma some traction down the slightly uneven steps — that's probably a rarity. Few people would look at strong, sturdy Thoma and think of him as the sort of person who needs to be treated like a princess.]
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