#bijanthreads

Bijan set the plate of Baghlava on the rustic stone table and slowly took a seat. Propping his walking cane up against the table, careful that it wouldn't fall. "Did you get the coffee?" he asked, slightly distracted as he rubbed his hands together. "They really should create more public places with some kind of heating," he commented, smiling at the other. "Feel free to take some Baghlava, it's an original recipe from Tabriz, slightly like the Turkish version."

Bijan had very few moments in his life where he felt old. Sure, he had hair that had gotten grey within a single year, and he had to make use of a walking stick. But still, his intellect remained intact, his knowledge knew no bounds, and he felt like he could keep up with his students despite the age difference that only grew larger.

However, as he pressed his mobile phone to call his physical therapist for a new appointment, he found that perhaps the moment was here: technology had grown past his understanding. He'd restarted it twice, even taken his sim card out, but it didn't matter. He was unable to make a call.

"Excuse me," he said to the first person who happened to sit down near his table in the diner. "Do you happen to know something about phones? Mine is refusing to connect to the mobile network, I cannot call anyone, nor can I check on the internet to find what could be wrong."

Bijan hid his walking stick behind the table in case anyone accidentally walked into it, the cozy cafe wasn't busy at this time of day, but he figured it would soon be when people got done with their shoppings and needed somewhere to rest for a moment. For now, he'd enjoy the silence, as he studied whomever came and went, all those people either jet-lagged or exhausted, simply waiting for the next holiday to come around.

In many ways, he felt lucky that he didn't have to deal with Christmas. He turned back to Colson, studying the other now, a much more favoured past-time. "How is your coffee?" he asked. His eyes were filled with affection for the other, a mutual understanding between two souls that weren't necessarily similar or like-minded, but that had become dependent on each other. "Any plans for New Years?"

Bijan figured he was about the last person to ever offer up his time to do any kind of volunteer work - except if it was sorting books in the library, simply because he couldn’t handle the way they were ordered right now. He wasn’t one to be busy with the health of his community, and he also didn’t really pretend to be interested in strangers. He had his people, the ones he’d met at the building, or connections from the university, and those even had to wait at times for his attention. 

Thus he’d come upon this decision purely out of a vague interest in why people would give their time and bodies to be searching for a missing person. One who might already be dead, though it would seem that such wasn’t a thing one said out loud. It was fascinating to watch people venture out for several reasons into the forests surrounding Anchorage. He saw it as a breath of fresh air, this selflessness that was on display. After several hours, he was even starting to have fun, to feel the morals of these people rub off on him, a sudden intense pressure to want to find the missing girl, to make this happen, if only by sheer force of will. 

And then he stepped into a bear trap. 

The pain was instant, ripping through his flesh and jolting through his whole body, a piercing shriek came from somewhere, and he was already on the ground when he realised he was the one screaming. But the pain, it was constant, a stab that tore through every fibber of his being. He wanted to yell that they had to take it off, although he realised he was twitching so much he wondered if anyone could even do such a thing. 

Bijan was in the wheelchair that the hospital had provided him, rolling along the hallway with a lot of difficulty. He wasn't so sure he would want to make his way anywhere if it was in this thing, but he'd been assured that it was probably a very stupid idea if he simply got crutches. Luckily he was insured because of his job at the university, else this would've been a horribly difficult venture, one he definitely didn't want to get himself into. No, wheelchair was good.

He leaned forward a bit and tried to make the difficult corner back into his room, struggling to get the angle just right - one might completely forget he was a serious scientist - and almost hitting the wall with his elevated foot. He attempted a second time and rolled back into the private room he'd managed to acquire, only to find Colson seated on his bed. He gave the other a dumb smile - must be the medication - and reached the bed with plenty of struggling. "May I assure you that this happened by no fault of my own, nor am I even certain how it happened. I think perhaps the positivity of the search party had gotten to me," he told Colson.

Bijan wasn't too secretive about those whom he flirted with, he was perhaps far too bold about it all, picking out men he thought were attractive and coming on strong. He would get invested, all his interest would be on that one person. Sadly, he also didn't really recall who he'd show interest to before in a negative light. When it didn't go fast enough for him, or when he lost interest, he would quickly stop. But later he would attempt it again, not always, but often enough.

He smiled as Javed walked into the staff area, appreciating the other's beauty once again. As if it hadn't been appreciated before, perhaps he'd forgotten, perhaps he thought he could just as easily roll into it. Bijan's brain didn't work the same way most brains did, he got confused and distracted and then obsessed. Though he'd never call it an obsession.

"Hi," he said, joining Javed at the coffee maker, getting a mug for himself. "We haven't spoken in a while," he added, he was smiling the way he would smile at men he wanted to get with.

Bijan was in a silly mood. Which a few months ago he would’ve said was clearly impossible, but things had changed: he was more reliant on other people than ever before, he was aware of his own mortality, he had a strange relationship with Colson now… oh, and he had a walking stick. All in all, things were a bit odd, and he didn’t need any substances to act a little strange. He was sitting on a bench in the park, dressed warmly against the weather, planning to amuse his current company. “I think that statue is crying. That can’t be good, can it?” Not this close to halloween. It could also be the snow melting on its head, but it was almost too perfect. 

Some things would never be creepy to someone like Bijan, some things would always be preferable above others. An empty graveyard at late evening, absolutely no problem, a grocery store where nobody smiled, sounded like heaven.

He lived in libraries, in research labs, in places with few to no people. Finding himself in a bustling diner was unlike him. He was pushed every which way as he searched for a spot to sit with his coffee order and his future cinnamon roll, which was to be brought to him. Eventually someone pushed him and he landed on a chair opposite of a familiar face from the University. "I'll have to impose," he said, throwing a look back at the person who had pushed him. "If that is alright with you."