Tu te rappelles de moi?
Arno James Eldridge. It had been years since the name had even dared to reach Abel's ears; and now it sounded as foreign to them as it's very owner. It had taken Abel by surprise initially – that glimpse of someone he used to know, someone who now seemed as much a creature of myth as any hell-hound, chimera or mermaid that hid inside the darkest crevices of the world. At a brighter point in the soldier's life, he may have dared to call this someone a friend; but that was back in France, before things had gone into disarray and Abel fled the country. Regret occasionally came to gnaw at Abel's insides when he allowed his mind to linger on the memories too long; some things shouldn't have happened. His leaving had been abrupt and undoubtedly left his once treasured friend with one too many inquiries. The soldier hadn't even said goodbye. So, when Abel's eyes had originally fixed themselves on the familiar stranger – the unmistakable identity of someone he used to cherish so, the heart he'd forgotten he had lept inside of his chest at the chance to make amends. A feeling so rare to the male that it caught even himself off-guard. Tracking Arno down had been as hard as it had been easy – yet Abel still held himself in disbelief when Arno's address was clasped firmly in his strong fingers, scrawled across a piece of scrap paper in messy handwriting; something important jotted down in a hurry. A memory – a fragment of his once genial past. He was elated. In truth, if asked, Abel would no doubt confirm that he'd found himself missing the younger – a secret admitted to the world in only the most solitary of places, where prying ears couldn't hear his truthful lips. Nostalgia was dangerous for him and missing people even more so. It's some time after gaining Arno's address that Abel finds himself nervous as he stands in front of Arno's door, having reached his final destination with one hand extended upwards, ready to make his presence known. Abel figures that surely Arno will recognize him instantly; for he hasn't changed much since the younger last saw him, though he stands taller now in full confidence and his once onyx hair has found itself bleached upwards into a glistening shade of gold. Though Abel's clothes differ as well, preferences having changed with age into something a little more defined and regal, Abel decides that he is still very much the same and he finds himself hopeful that Arno will welcome him then as he once did. It's with a solid weight in his chest and anxiousness flooding his senses that Abel's hand draws back from Arno's front door, albeit momentarily before he is bringing it down to knock on the solid surface – a firm noise reaching his ears in response. Once, twice, thrice.
