Sleep was elusive and intoxication was dull, but Rookwood offered escape.Â
The quickly scrawled note came as a beacon of momentary hope for Cygnus Black. Remaining alone in his darkened study had left the older man sullen and sour, his thoughts consistently returning to the blaze, his eyes bloodshot and fatigued. Had it been a year, or just a few days? He couldnât remember. All of the passing hours became a blur of consciousness, fading out, and blinking back into reality - flames, churning, fear. Rinse and repeat. He couldnât quell the shaking of his hands or the twitching of his legs. Couldnât force himself to light a cigar and reach for a book, or do much of anything other than think. And, fuck, he wanted it to stop. He longed for his brain to break in two, to separate the horror of that night from his memory. But it didnât, and it wouldnât, and thus he began longing for Augustus instead.Â
Their evenings together were electric. Cygnus didnât need to hide the shaking or the fear, he didnât need to speak about the events or explain his own actions. Together they became one; one horror show, one monster. Even drinking a bottle of scotch together seemed more effective than when he was alone, churning and angry in his study. He ached for the companionship, a desire he had only felt with Orion in the past - though he admitted this was different. Because Augustus had experienced it with him. They had almost died together, and somehow that created a bond that he would never allow himself to lose. They werenât friends, no, they were something new entirely.Â
It didnât take long for him to tidy himself and appear around the familiar corner of their normal meeting spot. But seeing the other man standing there, approaching him, caused him to suck in a breath. They needed this. Cygnus would consider the meetings close to an addiction. He clapped a hand tightly over the other mans shoulder, and let the corners of his lips twitch upwards - just slightly. âWhen have I ever let you down?â He squeezed, let his hand drop reluctantly, and pulled his draping coat tighter against the mist. âWhatâs the plan tonight, my friend?â
When Cygnusâ hand dropped from his shoulder, Augustus realized just how cold heâd been. It was as if, ever since the fire, he could no longer stay properly warm. But Cygnus still felt like a furnace. One Augustus wanted close, wanted the flames to lick across his skin. To hold him and chase the chill away from his bones, and the fear from his shaking fingers. But it wasnât a desire he allowed himself to voice. He wanted to reach out a hand and run it underneath layers of fabric. Skin on skin. Fire and ice. Close in both their shared experience and in the shadows of the alleyway.Â
No. He pushed the thoughts away and buried them deep, choosing instead to lean back against the wall (solid, safe) and shrug his shoulder with its still-lingering heat, âSomething out of this rain, of course. But I was sort of hoping you had a suggestion.â With his mind being pulled in a million different directions on a daily basis, it took a lot to come up with suitable distractions each time they met. And with torture being a little less than appealing now, Augustus kept circling around to thoughts better kept suppressed.Â
Reaching out, he almost grasped the front of the manâs coat before letting his hand fall back to his side, hopefully unnoticed in the shadows. Perhaps this meeting was a mistake. He needed to escape, but he needed things he knew he could never request of the elder Black. âIâm sorry. I just havenât been myself since....â The alcohol in his blood certainly didnât help him keep his mind straight. To distract himself, or perhaps them both, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering it to Cygnus once it had properly singed his lungs (an unwanted, but not exactly uncomfortable reminder of the night of the fire).