sybarite.

“I quite like you too, Alexandre…” Ambrose’s eyes went back to Alexandre’s face, passing through his hair, eyes, nose, lips. It all seemed to move him, set his body and mind in motion. More frequently than anticipated, Ambrose found himself lost in observation, trying to read between the quite explicit lines. Alexandre was different. In a way that Ambrose couldn’t explain. “It sounds… dangerous. To worship a lover as if he’s an amalgamation of the gods. Don’t suppose deities would be happy about that. It’s too much power.”

Or maybe that was just the right amount. To be so invested, entwined, with someone else, that it did feel like worshipping them. It was intense enough to make him curious. To let himself wonder how Alexandre would taste, feel like. Instead of the other man, though, it was the cup of tea who found his lips, the last sip of the hot drink washing over his imagination. “Sounds like an interesting approach,” Ambrose let a quiet laugh scape his lips, “Asking what people consider better than fucking, that is. Quite the perfect topic to discuss over tea, don’t you think?”

And that was probably why Ambrose was so involved in Alexandre. They were, in every way that mattered, sharing their thoughts on how fucking should and would be eternally on the top of their lists. And all that over tea. A scene that Ambrose could’ve hardly imagined before. “You see?”, Ambrose raised a brow, the last drag of his cigarette finding its way into his lungs as he rested the filter on the ashtray at the table. “My place is just around the corner. I suppose it’s closer than yours, right?”

“I am glad to hear that we are on the same page when concerning one another.” He gave a smile, though he wasn’t entirely sure if that was the right way to phrase that. Hopefully, Ambrose understood what Alexandre was trying to say no matter what. He could feel Ambrose’s eyes running over his features and that boosted Alexandre’s ego more than it likely should’ve; he knew that he already had a big ego, but when a man as handsome as Ambrose treated him as handsome as Alexandre knew that he was, that ego only grew. “Sometimes, the most dangerous things are most worth the risk. I do not mind upsetting the deities if it means I get to worship a lover as much as I enjoy to.”

The sound of his laugh made Alexandre smile. “Well, it is how our discussion over tea is going. And it is the interesting approach that I made towards you, and it seems to be working out for me, non?” he questioned, resting one of his elbows on top of the table and placing his chin on top of his knuckles. He couldn’t wait to get him undressed, to learn what he was into, to hear how he sounded like in the throes of complete bliss and pleasure.

“There’s nothing wrong with street carts.” Part of Ares wanted to insist on a street food cart if only for the reason that Alexandre had told him that he would not eat from one. He didn’t like limitations or constraints or challenges, not even from his son (maybe especially not from his son - maybe he had more in common with his father than he thought) and so his instinct was always to rail against it.  “Anything around here will do.”

He started heading for the door, assuming that Alexandre meant they should get dinner right now and not bothering to wait and find out, and said to a trainer on his way past, “If I’m not back, lock up. You know the drill.”

“Street carts are not food, they are... eh... pretending to be food. Something other than food.” Alexandre knew that he was naturally stubborn about things, but, in his opinion, he had every right to be stubborn about this. There were hundreds of restaurants in the city - hundreds of good restaurants; no one should be eating at street carts, in his mind. “Well, you are the only one of us who knows this area, so you will have to recommend a place.”

“You talk about it all the time, and yet you’ve told me nothing! We can sit here for hours discussing my life, and you know I’d do so quite willingly, but you must fill me in on your life as well, dear.” Scarlett’s words were genuine, she truly cared to know how Alexandre had been. He hadn’t mentioned any romantic escapades, which seemed rather odd for him.

“You do flatter me, darling,” but oh how she adored it. Others may have grown tired of her way of always being able to draw a compliment, but she was lucky that Alexandre didn’t. The young model understood her in a way most people didn’t, and she was glad for his companionship. “Actually, he seemed quite nervous at first,” Scarlett couldn’t help but grin as she thought back. “But he had found himself by the end.” His next words made her laugh, eyes twinkling as she shook her head, an affectionate hand finding a home on his cheek. “I love you for that, my dear, but I assure you, I can take down a man perfectly fine using my own devices. But perhaps you could help.” Still, even in her teasing, something told her that that time wouldn’t come.

“As I said - there is really nothing extraordinary that is going on in my life. I would tell you if there was! In all truthfulness. I have been looking for more excitement, but it seems to be avoiding me at all costs. I met up with an old friend at a bar, and expected the night to go differently than it did, but, as it turns out, he was hung up on an old love who does not remember him, so I spent the night comforting him as he wanted nothing at all to do with me.” Alexandre didn’t mind telling her about what was going on in his life; he just wished that he had a little more excitement to report back on. 

The cup of hot tea was back on Ambrose’s lips when Alexandre’s words reached him. Gladly, this time around, it served to block the view of a curved lip, a hidden satisfaction. Somehow, Ambrose sensed there was more that affirmation than he could possibly understand now. And yet, it excited him. To know that his romantic ways were in harmony with Alexandre’s. To see him smile with an ease similar to his own. “It can be controversial in the time we live, but I quite like it myself,” Ambrose sighed, cup of tea back in the table as the liquid washed down his throat. “The idea of worshipping everything…”

And as Alexandre suggested, Ambrose confirmed. It wasn’t only gods, goddesses, heroes, personifications of all sorts and myths. It was about knowing, intimately, how to give every single piece of you to something else, someone else. It was raw, visceral. Much like the man in front of him. Whatever he did, Alexandre seemed to strike a chord to set Ambrose in motion. The basic reactions coming back as he kept his elbows over the table, eyes focused on the other and the cigarette burning between his fingers. It was nearly over, the tea that kept him distracted, the drug which occupied his lips. What would come next?

“What else could come first?” Ambrose raised an eyebrow, a question underneath another. Fucking went first for a reason. It always did, for that matter. “Probably, yes. Or maybe this is one of those things you only find out when you’re just about to die. Who knows?” and he smiled, quite dismissively. There had been a time where that greatest desire had occupied his mind, but time had its way of taking it off his thoughts. Perhaps, that was part of aging, after all. Or maybe, Ambrose had given up on that far too soon. Either way, that thought didn’t stay for long this time around either. “Oh, but I’m not alone anymore, am I? And I’ve got the feeling I won’t be sitting here for much longer either.”

“I quite like you, Ambrose...” Alexandre mused out loud, smiling across the table at him. He knew that his opinions tended to provoke people, and, while it could be exciting to see others get riled up, it was nice to have someone sitting across from him who shared his perspective on things like this. “I do love to worship everything - anything and everything. People especially. I think that we are all amalgamations of the gods that made us, and to worship a lover is to worship all of those whom he resembles.” 

Taking another drag from his cigarette as it burned between his fingers, he leaned back in his seat slightly, admiring the way things looked around them. It was oddly romantic - the city streets basked in the glow of the sunset, the man across from him with the strong jawline that only seemed to get stronger when he took a drag from his cigarette, those blue eyes that seemed to shine as bright as any star in the night sky, and those incredibly kissable lips. Needless to say that Alexandre was distracted by Ambrose altogether, and that there was nothing that could possibly draw his attention away from the other man.

Finding Eros had been a happy accident, much like finding her father had been. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Eros was friends with Mother here, and it was nice to know that her family was at least somewhat together. But she shook off thoughts of the past and focused on being Addie. “It’s fine - and yes, I’m Addie, Scarlett’s assistant.” She shifted to face him. “I’m taking a long lunch - she’s in a meeting and I’m free for now so …” She shrugged, then laughed self-consciously at his comment. Modeling had never entered into Addie’s thoughts - or Harmonia’s, either. “I hardly think I’d be a good candidate for that, but thank you. That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“Sex, romance, and the need to talk about it all the time!” She laughed, though it was probably true. And besides, she wasn’t a shy and blushing girl who couldn’t talk about such matters. Scarlett had always been rather open, especially with Alexandre. Their bond was unique, she certainly wasn’t telling any of the other models about her life, or her romances. But Alexandre was different, something she had known from the beginning.

“I never said old, dear. But I am a touch more dignified than someone with a later birth year, don’t you think?” She may have been fishing for a compliment, but Alexandre always gave them so well. Their conversation turned back to Aaron though, and she couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face. “A fancy restaurant and a suit are not things that are usually in his comfort zone, from what I gather.” She thought of their joking throughout the evening. “But they are mine. And there we were.” She met Alexandre’s eyes, her smile radiating as she nodded. “I am happy, dear. Delightfully so.”

He laughed along with her laugh - she was telling the truth, after all, at least in his case. Lucky for her, perhaps, Alexandre hadn’t had the most exciting life as of late. Every possible person he’d met with recently had either been very firmly set on the fact that they were taken or seemed to disappear before he could even get a kiss in. He ought to change that, he thought to himself. Maybe by going out one night. He’d figure that out sooner rather than later.

Any irritation he felt at knowing Eros had walked into his gym and distracted every single one of his trainers was weighed against the knowledge that Scarlett had been talking about him, and that she liked him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to see his son, only that he couldn’t shake the feeling that the more gods walking around meant trouble was coming, and as much as he liked trouble, he didn’t think this was the sort of thing he would enjoy: a sword and fists would probably not fix it. 

Dinner and being pleasant. He could tell just by looking at the boy (Alexandre, had he said?) that the sort of place he wanted to go for dinner was not the sort of place Ares would enjoy. He grunted in a way that might have signalled assent. “I’m not going anywhere that means I have to wear a shirt with a collar.” 

Even now, even mid-conversation with Aaron, he could feel people’s eyes still on him. It made him stand a little straighter, smile a little bigger. Maybe he’d ought to return to the gym someday with the intention of meeting people other than Aaron... with the intention of sleeping with people. Some of the trainers were just his type, after all. 

“The French do everything better, darling. Food, wine, clothes, company…” Her list ended as her voice trailed, but her eyes had the usual glint of her tease as she shook her head. She would be lying if she claimed to not understand his frustrations. There were so many times that she wanted to shoo everyone out of the room and just have time with Alexandre, her friend, not her model, but their line of business made such things nearly impossible. They were relegated to lunches and chance encounters in the park, it seemed.

If Scarlett was being honest, she had been dying to tell someone about the date. Alexandre had, of course, been her first choice, and so she was thrilled to be able to gush to him. “He was trying to impress me, I think…” She thought back, how uncomfortable he had seemed in the beginning, their joking. “I’m excited to be around him, like a young thing again.” She almost laughed at the thought. “Perhaps I’m being foolish, not thinking properly… but I’m eager to see him again.”

“I know exactly what you left off of that list, and I still wonder why you will not say the truth - sex. We are best at it, it is in our blood. Sex and romance.” His lips curled up into a smile, glad that he was getting this time to spend with her. Alexandre was the type to enjoy even the smallest amounts of time with the people he cared about, and Scarlett was definitely close to the top of the list of those people. He was eternally grateful for their friendship that had bloomed out of seemingly nothing, and grateful that she saw the model that he could’ve been when he was still grieving over his loss of football from his life.

@ohqstarters​

Harmonia had always spent the majority of her time with her mother (then with her husband, of course, and then as a snake). Being in this form, where Aphrodite didn’t know who she was and viewed her as a coworker - a friend, at best, but Harmonia didn’t think it had got that far yet - well, all of this was draining. Whereas before she would have found family to go to, here she was at loose ends when it came to finding someone to vent to. She knew a few of the other gods but hated to burden anyone with her problems. She had found a few places where she could go when she was overwhelmed and wait for the sensation to subside. She was in her favorite park at the moment, lost in thought, when she heard something behind her and shifted without looking. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “lost in thought, I’m afraid.”

“She does, does she?” So Scarlett had been talking about him. There had only been one date - he had left it to her to make the next move - but it seemed they were making progress. 

As amusing as it was for him to think about Eros, Alexandre, attempting to fight him as a mortal, he sincerely hoped that his son wasn’t wandering around the city making such stupid statements. He was basically asking to have his arse kicked, and if Ares hadn’t known who he was, he suspected Aaron wouldn’t have hesitated. He was too prideful to let that sort of insult slide by and wouldn’t have if he didn’t want the possibility of having to explain to Aphrodite in the future why he had damaged their son. 

“And how were you going to decide if I make a good partner for her? Look at me? I think she might be able to figure that out for herself - unless you know something I don’t.”

“She does.” He nodded, giving the man another once-over. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him was eerily familiar, but it was the same feeling he’d had when he first met Scarlett, and he quickly adjusted to that. Hopefully, the same could be said about Aaron. 

Ares frowned at the mortal Eros and the language he was spouting. It wasn’t english, he knew that, and more than that made his head hurt. He didn’t approve of his son putting his hands in his pockets - he never trusted anyone who did that. Seemed like they had something to hide. 

Alexandre. He would have to remember that. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that both Harmonia and Eros had found Aphrodite before they had found him. And while he was pleased that Scarlett had obviously felt a need to talk about him and their date, he didn’t enjoy being judged by anyone. He wasn’t so vain to be flattered by Eros’s assessment of his attractiveness, even if he was pleased to know Aphrodite still found him handsome. 

“Look, if you’re here to scare me off, you should know I don’t scare easily.”

He almost laughed as Aaron cared to suggest that he was there to scare him off. He allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips, shaking his head in denial. “That is not why I’m here, mon chéri.” He waved one hand in dismissal, then slid it back into his pocket. “If I was here to scare you off, I would not have come in looking like this. I would have tried a little harder, leather jacket, less eyeliner and mascara. Now I just look like a twink and no one is scared of that.”

Since Athena’s and Harmonia’s visits when the trainers had been growled at both for letting on in and trying to kick one out, the trainers had decided that it was best for Aaron to meet with any strangers who found their way into the gym. Luckily he was in the ring holding up mits for one of his fighters when Eros found his way in. 

Still, he didn’t notice the change in atmosphere until he heard the man talk, though once he saw who it was he didn’t miss the curious looks being sent Eros’s way. It turned out that his son did not need his quiver of arrows to influence the affections of others. 

he pulled the gloves off as he made his way to the rails, wishing that he could tell from a look whether Eros knew who he was. He told his trainee to take five.

“You found him. And you are?”

“Ah - mais oui, c’est vous...” Looking up at the man, seeing him in person for the first time, something felt familiar about him. Maybe it was the fact that Scarlett had told him about him enough to paint a picture in his head, but it felt eerily different to that. He ignored the feeling, though, approaching the rails, slipping his hands into his pockets as he gave the man a once-over. Yes, definitely as handsome as Scarlett said he was.

When he got to the gym, he felt overdressed at best, but the environment was... arousing, in a way. All of the sweaty men surrounding him - Alexandre had to hold himself back and remind himself what he was there for. When he was approached by an employee, he accepted ‘pretty boy’ as a compliment as the employee asked what he was doing there. “I am looking for a Griffiths - Aaron Griffiths. Is he here right now, or should I come back later?”

“I’ll never admit that I’m wrong - because I never am,” Scarlett’s eyes twinkled as she teased, “But perhaps I’m not the only one who’s ever right.” If there was anyone she would admit that to, it could only be him. A genuine praise from her was hard to come by for most, but she had them in the spades for Alexandre. “I was only joking, my dear.” She might have been fond of her assistant, and forever indebted to the work she did, but that didn’t mean that the girl needed to tag along everywhere.

He could see right through her, but Scarlett couldn’t find herself caring. If there was anyone she was comfortable sharing her secrets with, it was Alexandre. And it was nice to be able to share this excitement with someone. New, budding relationships were nothing short of thrilling, almost intoxicating. She would live in this sort of bliss forever if she could. “Devilishly handsome. I’d accept nothing less, you know.” She couldn’t even pretend to hide her grin, and she didn’t want to. “One dinner, though I can’t help my wanting for more.”

“Now, my darling, I never claimed that you were wrong. Only that I was right.” Her clarification led to him nodding, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s much better, merci,” he grinned, leaning against one arm as he looked over at her. “Ah - oui. English jokes are not as funny as French ones.” That was a joke in and of itself. He didn’t mind Scarlett’s assistant, he just preferred their alone time. After all, they wouldn’t get it at work, not with the aforementioned assistant and the photographers and make up artists that he sat for, all keeping him from spending time alone with Scarlett herself. 

achilles’ teeth sink themselves into his lower lip. soon  enough the force will be strong enough to draw blood, but the man cannot find it in himself to care. “no.” he insists; and though he would prefer otherwise, his voice trembles. “you don’t— you don’t understand.” even though his eyes are closed, he can feel alexandre’s hand on his chin, his lithe fingers gently dancing across his skin as he wipes away all the escaped tears. it is a soothing gesture, yet there is no distinction between this and alexandre just backhanding him. patroclus would have touched him like this too, had he born witness to achilles’ moment of vulnerability. he would have known exactly what to say to lift his spirits, erasing even the tiniest trace of misery from every fiber of his being. 

but  patroclus is not here. parker rhee, the teacher from astoria, is holding him hostage, and no one knows when those greedy gods ( for it must be their fault ) return him to achilles’ side.

”i know you haven’t regretted any night with me before, but listen—” his eyes open, although lazily, and his hand sneaks its way into alexandre’s mop of hair. “it’s different now. i really wouldn’t be good company right now.” the other man’s lips do feel nice against his skin. if only he could enjoy it. if only he did not feel the need to explain his situation more in-depth. if only the ghost of patroclus was not there to haunt every moment, sleeping and waking, of his existence. but it is, so with some reluctance, achilles tugs at alexandre’s hair and pulls him back enough so they may look into each other’s eyes.

“there is this guy.” achilles says, though voicing it creates yet another invisible lump in his throat and threatens to fill his eyes with tears. “i’m in love with him. i’ve been in love with him since i was a boy.” he cups alexandre’s cheek softly, absentmindedly stroking the skin. his gaze follows the movement of his thumb, watching and not watching at all. “it’s the kind of love where you want to spend the rest of your life with this person. grow old and sit on the porch of your home and watch your grandkids play while you hold hands.” what a lovely image — and completely achievable in this era. “all that cliche-ish shit.” he chuckles, a humorless sound. “that’s how i feel about him. that’s what i want with him.” despite his misery, his lips into a ghost of a genuine smile.

but like all things beautiful, the smile’s death is equally swift. his hand stops its movement abruptly and, with surprising sharpness, achilles meets alexandre’s gaze. “he doesn’t remember me.” he states; and now, with his free hand resting on the other man’s other cheek, he is holding his face between his hands. “he doesn’t remember me, but he acts so nice toward me.” with each word, more and more of his desperation bleeds through. “he’s so nice and kind and perfect, but”—a shaky inhale—“he doesn’t remember me anymore.” a tear slides down his cheek, a sign that more is about to come. in an effort to prevent that, achilles lets go of alexandre’s face. he wraps them loosely around his neck; and the curve of alexandre’s neck is where he buries his face too. “it hurts so much.” he whispers against the skin. “i don’t want it to hurt anymore.” a pause as he closes his eyes again in an attempt to lose himself in the music of the club, in the scent and proximity of his friend. “help me.”

The change of pace of their conversation was rather sudden, to Alexandre. While, yes, he was typically good at relationships, the sudden 180 of this talk left him reeling a little bit. Even with the hand in his hair, even with the tugging that he knows that Austin knows he enjoys, Alexandre has to focus himself on what’s upsetting the other man so much. But, as Austin speaks to him, Alexandre can feel his heart softening, knowing that there’s something that he has to do in this situation - that there must be something that he can do to help true love flower. 

Leaning forward to kiss Austin’s forehead, Alexandre rested his chin in Austin’s curls afterwards, trying to think about what to do in the situation he’s found himself in. He could take Austin’s phone, text the boy, find a way to get the two of them together, but he knows that there’s an important conversation to be had before he does anything rash such as that. 

“That’s... awfully sad to hear...” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “While I’m sure it’s not your fault that he doesn’t remember, you certainly don’t feel blameless, do you...? As if there’s something you could do to go back in time and hold him and ensure that he’ll remember you for the rest of eternity...” Thinking about it some more, he shifts slightly in his seat, sighing softly to himself. “Unfortunately, that isn’t possible. I know it must be painful to see him and be reminded that he has no memory, but, sometimes, to ensure that you achieve your love, you must first suffer through pain. Do not... cut out your pain and, therefore, him from your life. To live is to feel these things; love, passion, desire, arousal... pain.” Pausing again, Alexandre searches his old friend’s face for a hint of what he’s thinking about at the moment.

“My best advice is this: if you really do love this man as you say you do, suffer through the pain, start anew. If he doesn’t remember you, there are likely a lot of different things in his life, as well. Get to know this new him. Grow with him. Think of him not as your missing love but as the real version of a man you dreamt. Fall in love with this new him, and allow him to fall in love with you, as well.” 

The sound of his name coming out of the other’s mouth sent a shiver down his spine. It seemed different. Exposed. He couldn’t help but swallowing rather hard, eyes so focused on his lips that Ambrose had to force his hand up, cigarette back where it belonged. In an impulse, Ambrose let both of his elbows rest over the table between them, lessing the distance that kept him away from that man. “Alexandre,” he offered back, tasting every letter, every sound. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but Ambrose could hear the hoarseness on his voice, desire stuck on his throat as if it dared him to act upon that feeling. 

But he wouldn’t. Not like this. Not right now. Something about that tension building up between them kept Ambrose there, at the other’s mercy. “To be quite honest with you, I’m a cheap romantic too. At heart. I refuse to believe this is all there is,” and he did. Even though his wife’s death made it harder to conceive some sort of benevolent higher force. In the end, Ambrose held on to this idea of something other than this world, a place where all things could be, exactly because he refused the idea of someone like Lara just… vanishing. That couldn’t be right. But the man in front of him didn’t need all that information. Nor Ambrose felt like sharing. 

“Well, I fuck, drink, eat and do what I love the most. At this point, to deprive myself of any of those things would be to deny me pleasure. And there’s no living life to its fullest without it. That much I’m certain of,” Ambrose shrugged his shoulders dismissively, watching Alexandre get closer, one finger running down his jawline. Another shiver went down his spine. His touch was better than the taste of his name. That smile so close was even more unsettling. Ambrose could see how Alexandre could get whatever he wanted. Something about this was far too primitive for the outcome to be different. “As for my deepest desire,” Ambrose started, cigarette back to his lips as he inclined his head a little closer to Alexandre. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“That’s it...” he nodded at the sound of Ambrose repeating his name back to him, liking the way it sounded with the other man’s accent. Sometimes, when Americans pronounced it, they butchered it, and it irritated him. But, with Ambrose and his smooth English accent, he could hear him say his name as often as he pleased - there was no irritation that accompanied it. He watched the other man take a drag from the cigarette between his lips, watched the way his lips curled around it, pictured the way it felt for him as his lungs filled with the smoke. There was something about the other man’s appearance that made Alexandre desperate to paint him - or even just sketch him - something to memorialize him on canvas or on paper, to look forever as he does right now.

“I’m glad to hear that I am not the only romantic of us.” That was truthful. Alexandre didn’t mind if the people he was with weren’t romantics, but, most of the time, that made things less fun for him. Alexandre liked to see the spark of romance in other people’s eyes, even if he had no intention of going somewhere past sex with them. “I like the idea of a pantheon, like the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians had. That there are gods of everything, not only just the one. I suppose that’s a controversial opinion, but I’m not one to worship anyone who doesn’t worship me.” A smirk rose to his lips, his words completely serious, as he was nearly positive that Ambrose understood what he meant.

“I’m…. alive, actually,” Ambrose said, realization that one word summarized all the others just hitting him. It was rather strange to start a conversation that way. Already giving out words to define a person he had just met, and yet, getting most of them right. Ambrose liked to think he wasn’t exactly easy to read, but so far, that hadn’t been the case with that man. The one he couldn’t stop staring. The one that dared him to look away. “You see, I don’t believe I can actually avoid taking risks or being reckless. Life is unpredictable, volatile. And our responses to it are, if anything, equally chaotic. And that being a rather visceral process in itself, to fear its end is almost… expected? Dying or the fear of it, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s just part of the process.”

And he smiled. Again. Despite the fact that it felt weird on his face. What an usual day. What an unusual person. And not all superficial, even though that was Ambrose’s first conclusion. He actually looked interested in what Ambrose had to say. Tilted his head, looked at the cover as though it had more to offer than just a image, a bunch of words. Ambrose liked that. Liked him. “I think so, too,” was all he allowed himself to say, cigarette burning away in his hand, as he was too preoccupied with the conversation to remember where that filter should be. The smell of the drug was enough there, eyes never faltering. “It’s Ambrose, actually,” he said, something about the offer of his name seeming quite wrong. This was definitely the end of anonymity. And the beginning of something he didn’t understand.

“And it does. How could it not?” Ambrose reached out for his cup of tea, sipping the hot liquid as to occupy himself with anything other than staring. “But don’t mistake intrigued by blinded. There’s no fighting death, no winning a battle that’s already lost. It’s interesting because it is inevitable. What awaits us after this? Is there anything else? Someone waiting for us after the boat ride, reaching out to catch us? Or is it just cheap romance and consolation for weak minds who can’t bare the thought of complete absence? Aren’t we all fighting against oblivion, in the end? Aren’t we all losing? Or does these words, these names, and monuments, graves, memories, actually have any power to keep us here, in a way? I don’t really know, but I would like to. Wouldn’t you?”

Alive. What a good way to summarize what Alexandre had suggested to be true moments ago. If he really thought about it, people who weren’t a combination of the three were suffering, not truly living. “Alive...” The man continued to speak, and Alexandre found himself to be intrigued by his near-academic tone as opposed to turned off or bored by it. Part of Alexandre wanted to lean across the table separating them right then and there and share the smoke that occupied his lungs, see what the brand of choice of the other man tasted like against his lips. 

The man had a nice smile. Full lips that looked incredibly kissable, features that would be considered by many as harsh, with that smile that lit up not only his cheeks but his eyes. Alexandre had a feeling that he was watching a rare thing when the other man smiled, and he wished that he wouldn’t have to blink so as to not miss even a fraction of a second of that smile. Returning the cigarette to his lips, he adjusted the way that his jacket hung over his shoulders, smoothing out the front. “Ambrose,” he repeated, the name unfamiliar but not unpleasant as it rolled off of his tongue. “Alexandre,” he provided in return, another smile accompanying his name. He didn’t need to know much of the small things about the other man - he didn’t care about where he was from, or what his family was like; quite frankly, he didn’t even care about whether or not he had a partner to go home to as the sun set over the city. He just needed to know what name to moan when he got the other into bed.