♡ our muses almost kiss, but are interrupted.
a.k.a. the story of how they met. || august x cleo
@polarisdreams
( tw for mild violence. )
even in his twenties, august has never made a habit of going to clubs, especially not ones like this. lights are dim, red and pink neon lights adorn the back rooms where he’s led away by andrea the manager once he tells her he’s samael’s newest recruit.
“they’re all still getting ready,” she says, uninterested, as she raps on the black door twice before pushing it open.
“everyone, this is — ” a pause, as though she’s trying to remember his name, “ —august. he’s replacing arnold starting today. don’t scare this one off, alright?”
there are scattered murmurs and giggles, nonchalant hellos as he stands awkwardly in the powder room, unsure if he should try to introduce himself better. before he can decide, someone walks up to him, gently touches his arm, and offers him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“you don’t look like you belong here,” he murmurs, taking the fabric of his jacket between two fingers. “i’m cleo.”
cleo is — beautiful, for a lack of more poetic words. he can practically feel brown eyes scanning him up and down, and it makes him swallow. eventually, long fingers hang as the younger man offers his hand, and august takes it lightly, giving it a weak shake. cleo lets out a small laugh and he isn’t quite sure how to take that.
“don’t be a stranger, august.” he hums as he walks out of the room.
he does see cleo more often than not, but they rarely have time to speak more than a quick hello, and leave my bag in the back room, if you could, darling. in all his honesty, he’s not sure he really wants to get involved with what goes on behind closed doors. it’s not his job to know, after all.
but one night, cleo comes back to the club with a black eye. it’s maddening, the way everyone else seems to ignore it or worse, pretend they haven’t seen it in the first place, while he can’t take his eyes off of cleo.
and cleo, ever so perceptive, pulls august into one of the private rooms, almost angry.
“do you want to tell me why you’ve been staring at me all night? have i got something on my face?”
august stares, again. he’s expected this much, of course. samael had been realistic with him when they’d told him about what this job would involve, the things he might end up seeing. they’d even offered him a sprinkle of advice — don’t let your emotions guide you here.
“someone hit you.” is what comes out instead, successfully ignoring samael’s advice.
august stands up. it’s cleo turn to stare at him now, slightly confused as he heads straight to the mini-fridge and dumps all the ice left in there into a plastic bag. a look of realization flashes across cleo’s face, and with brows still knitted, he takes off his heels and sits at the edge of the bed as august ties the top of the bag, then wraps the bag in a small tea towel before bringing it back.
not much is said between them when august gently presses the makeshift ice pack against cleo’s left eye.
“are you always this gentle?”
the question catches him off guard, a little. he’s sure he stammers out something incomprehensible, though in the end, he settles on pretending to be annoyed and avoiding the question altogether.
“i’m -- hold still,” august returns, shifting the ice a bit as though it might make up for the sudden discomfort he feels.
“it’s fine, really. it’s not the first time it’s happened.”
and that makes him lift his head and meet cleo’s unbruised eye. he can tell cleo’s not one to want pity and in his defense, it’s not pity that he feels. he can’t seem to stay still around cleo much and once more, he finds himself looking now at cleo’s cell phone sitting on the bed beside him. without asking, he takes the phone and holds it up to cleo, who seems more amused than anything as he plugs the passcode in for him.
“next time, call me right away. do these things have speed dial anymore?” august asks as he plugs in his number and lets the phone ring. he’s met with a laugh — this time freer than before.
“i’m serious,” august pushes, petulant. “even if it’s late, i’ll be there.”
“i know,” cleo’s voice is quieter than usual when he responds, and he lifts a hand to place over the hand august is using to hold the ice against his eye. slowly, he pushes the hand down, lifts his chin slightly as if to show august that there’s nothing to worry about.
“nothing a little bit of concealer can’t fix, august.”
august seems visibly frustrated, and the edge of cleo’s lips twitch into a small smile. “look,” he says, and takes august’s hand again and guides it to his face. he runs his thumb over cleo’s cheekbone.
and maybe he leans in first. maybe cleo does. he holds his breath and eyes flutter to a near close, ears ringing like a warning that he should leave now, leave all of this behind, never come back. cleo’s only inches away from him and it feels a little too warm, maybe a little too dangerous.
lips are barely touching and all he can think about it how hot his face feels and —
( he should’ve known then that this would never end well for them. )
“cleo, there’s someone here for you. says he’s in a hurry,” andrea yells over the closed door, and august, having jumped back ten feet, straightens out his shirt. for a moment, their eyes meet again, and there’s a word on the tip of his tongue, but it’s a word he knows he doesn’t have the right to say. they’re almost-strangers like this, after all.
“be right there, andrea.” cleo finally calls back out, and for a moment, august thinks he might look a little sad. sad, tired, lost. he knows because he sees the same things in the mirror every morning. cleo stands and tucks his phone away. august stands after him, and quietly follows him out of the room.
