we should all be as happy as ...

one at a time, cosmo returns don’s garments to him, suspiciously light-fingered and sweet in his approach. he drapes his borrowed robe around his shoulders, toes off and deposits his house shoes to the outer side of each foot, and leans down from behind to give him a ‘thank you’ kiss on the cheek.

he puts a little distance between them after he sets the mail down for don to read.

he leans in, mutt leans out. he moves almost as if this were choreographed. perhaps it is, on the boy’s end. well-acquainted with having to keep the space around him his own. he doesn’t hurt without provocation, and cosmo, loud and affable and silly as he is, hasn’t given him a reason. “ is it, now. “ he doesn’t sound too impressed. he never sounds impressed, though, which should be a small comfort. “ you’re not a very serious man. “

         ‘ sophie? ’ he starts, crescendoing in perfect synchronization with the last few notes of the silly sci-fi score he’d started composing, on the spot!, when she burst in with pages of new lines to memorize. his neighbor below gives their ceiling two disapproving thumps with a broom and cosmo answers with a double whack of his tap plate.

cosmo pushes up on his toes—wobbling as a result of an attempt to be subtle—and looks, for a moment, as if he might huff a comment about the measly inch of difference between them. he smiles instead and lowers himself onto one heel at a time.

christ, didn’t this one just talk himself half to death. loquaciousness earned a faint narrowing of mutt’s eyes, but little more. “ – don’t worry about repeating yourself. i got it. “

has he been beating his gums or is it that he’s finally mastered the art of making himself an irritant? maybe he can get it done like that.

it’s not yet noon, and the heaviness of the evening prior shows on his face. he leans over the desk, half asleep, blocks cosmo out by putting his hands over his ears until he’s ready to deal with him. childish, maybe, but effective.

he lifts his head, dead gaze settling on the man with no money. they’re drawn to this place like moths to a flame - which, perhaps, is how teddy ended up here as well. he raises a hand, sets his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart and them brings them together. be quiet. 

     ‘ i don’t know. can you do anything useful? ’  

         ‘ sure, sure. i can keep it to a dull roar if you like. ’ he’s wound up to strike, to dip into his personal space while his guard is down and shout, ‘OR PERHAPS YOU CAN’T HEAR ME,’ but given that cosmo is currently at this man’s mercy, he thinks better of it.

he slows himself, lowers to an almost-whisper, and fights the flop sweat. he’s gotten the hook for less. and there is a limit to how many days simultaneous a man can go without sleep.

       IT’S EXACTLY THE SORT OF THING THAT MAKES HER WONDER.  if someone like this can make it onto the stage …  what’s wrong with her?  not to judge, he’d take the thoughts from her mind, however.  a small smirk tugging upwards at the corners of her lips.    ❛  a big yikes.  is this supposed to be ironic or something?  ❜

          there’s absolutely no question that cosmo’s very presence lights up a room.     even a man as serious as illya can see that with remarkable clarity.  there’s a charisma about him that the russian will never possess, nor does he wish to  -  but it’s oddly comforting how   effortlessly   cosmo seems to exist.   ❛   it does the heart good to see your smile, mr. brown.   ❜          //          @hokeful​.  soft sc.

if prompted (which isn’t to say that he often is — save maybe for chats with don — prompted to talk about himself), cosmo would say he was ‘born a performer.’ what seems effortless is more often than not cosmo overplaying a part of himself which, at one point or another, has gotten over with an audience.

bit by bit, illya has melted the act away, right down to a wick of genuine smiles and good moods. he shares happiness, now, instead of donating it.

          illya knows he’s managed to surprise, and for a moment, he considers taking offense  –  but that seems like entirely too much work at the moment, so he settles for quiet amusement.  catching cosmo off-guard does not happen exceptionally often and the russian rarely watches a joke die on the other man’s lips.  he’d feel worse, were it not just the smallest bit funny.   ❛   I can patronize instead, if you prefer.   ❜

he will not have his tirade halted, no matter how much of it he happens to spend airborne. ‘ and get this, sunny, he says to me— why, he says to me, ‘have we met?’ as if i didn’t head his department! ’ his feet touch ground but his angry arm stays up. ‘ and i thought his calling me a mug was the lowest— the— barrel-bottom— ’

Hopper’s mouth gawks open. She leans over and squints to get a look at the actress before she’s out of view. She does have a glow to her. It’s kind of pretty. It also kind of makes her look like an overgrown Christmas ornament. After she’s gone, Hopper’s gaze whips back to Cosmo. She shakes his shoulder, literally rattling him with her, well, she doesn’t know what: excitement? envy? astonishment?

          “Oh my gosh. With all that dust I bet her lungs are plated in twenty-four karat gold. I don’t own a twenty-four karat anything. Do you think she’d cough on my earrings if I asked?”

She’s half serious.

cosmo is the type of fellow who lets himself be rattled without reservation, each time throwing himself fully on the mercy of his shaker as if to say, ‘oh, please share your excitement? envy? astonishment?’. be happy and half serious with me.

he hams it up, swings his free arm like a cloth doll, and smiles on like he’s done a good thing.

there’s a challenge in here. underneath the dull blush and nearly undetectable nervous twitch of his mouth, there is a challenge for don as real as the day is long.