#ofbizzare

santiago's polished shoe keeps the door from closing right in his face. the corridor behind him seems relatively quiet and that is the only reason he opens the door a little wider. “do you know you’ll get me fucking evicted?” he huffily mutters when the blond insists on being let in. he briefly checks the time on his wristwatch; it is too late in the evening to pass off as a polite visit and still far too early for a discrete tete-a-tete. “it’s late. someone will have seen you come here.” tom points, at last letting him over the threshold and into his flat. he watches him move, coolly, battling the impulse to reach out and tow him through faster. 

tom shuts the door and leans his back against it. “i don’t bring people here. i make the people here nervous enough as it is. i don’t want to give them an excuse to have me evicted or arrested.” looking at santiago, rendered entirely different now against the backdrop of his home, he realizes that his onset of nerves has little to do with the scrutiny of his neighbors and everything to do with not being able to recall ever giving away his address. black holes in his memory are nothing new, but they are usually gaping and vast. he remembers most of his encounter with santiago in vivid detail, but not letting his full name or address slip. blond brows knit together inquisitively,  “but since you are here - and i don’t want you making a scene in the hallway - what do you want?”

even in the dimly lit room santiago’s eyes are unnaturally viridescent. the look in them is unintelligible, bruising, and still it feels like they are beckoning him. it is more obvious here in this light than it had been at the bar that he has never seen eyes quite like his. tom steps away from the door and into santiago’s personal space. he places a hand near the buttons of his coat and offers him something resembling a polite smile (although not entirely authentic). “if you are intending on staying, i need you to take off your coat and shoes.”