neon moon.

Location: Outside of the Limelight Date: August 15th, 1999 Time: 11:13 pm Availability: open to all

To anyone looking, Nina would almost appear to be in communion. Hot forehead pressed against the cold stone of the old Church, thoughts were racing in her mind. And it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. That kind of racing, she could handle anytime. But this, this was different. This was about Joel, walking down Fifth Avenue or a school hallway. About Joel, making watch as she wrote some French rebellion slogan on school properties. Everything just sounds better in French, she had told him. More authentic. About Joel, drowning in the Hudson River, lost forever in 1987.

The club was hot and crowded and the woman had needed some air. Really, she didn’t know what they were supposed to do here, tonight. Partying like they once all did together seemed completely wrong. And not coming had seemed even worst. So what was she supposed to do? Pretend to have a good time? For Hugo’s sake? Eyes closed, she could feel someone lingering by and Nina sighed deeply. “I’m fine. Just felt a little hot. Nothing to worry or see.” The tone was tired and maybe a little harsh, but the last thing she wanted was some completely stranger trying to talk to her.

Theo’s thoughts were, as he suspected with most of their group, occupied by Joel. Or, rather, baby Buchanon, as he’d offhandedly called him sometimes. By God, what a ridiculous thing to dub him. It’d never occurred to Theo until after— after… well. They all knew what he meant by after. On one such anniversary, perhaps one not quite as gauche as this one, Theo had been startled to remember that Joel was older than him. The heights of his own obliviousness seemed to know no bounds, not even for the dead. 

The abruptness of the night’s wind against his sweat-stained flesh made him shiver and just as easily he became cold. His chest was still rattled by his quickened breath, slowing down with every intake of the cold breeze. Laughter escaped from his lips as Theo talked and Arthur regained his composure, a low chuckle and a nod of the head, he finally left his place by the door and walked in his direction. “I doubt half these people even know Hugo, let alone knew Joel.” They could know of Joel, it was impossible not to have at least heard of the boy who drowned in the river – the spectacle of his death was publicized internationally, as if the loss of another privileged white kid was worth sharing with the entire world.

“Yes, please.” Arthur didn’t even hesitate to answer to his offer but then his thoughts caught up with his mouth and he blurted out. “Should I?” He stood still for a moment, looking at Theo as if for permission and then shrugged his shoulders, as if to say Fuck it and took the cigarette. Hanging between his teeth, he waited until Theo light up his own and inclined his head to share the same flame. He sucked it in, the fabric easily lightning. It had been so long since he allowed himself to do something he knew he shouldn’t: the booze, the cigarette. He didn’t know if he felt better for it but he knew he certainly didn’t feel worst – of course, he wasn’t thinking of tomorrow’s consequences.

Mixing with the music were the sounds of the city, still awake, always awake no matter how late it was; it was both comforting and scary to think of this place, this massive city, his city as a pulsing, living and breathing entity. But that’s what it was, New York, right? If it was a body, a person, he wondered what the upper east side would be. Not the spine, that relied on equilibrium and strength, and he never did think of it in that light. The heart? No, that wasn’t it. He thought it would be something less vital. “Do you ever wonder why Joel died?” He decided to ask Theo, moved along by the lulling liquid courage in his veins. “Do you believe any of this matters?” Arthur decided he didn’t want to specify, searching in the other man’s eyes the meaning of it all. There was a beauty to Theo’s eyes, he felt like if he looked close enough he would find the answers to anything there. He took another puff from his cigarette and finally turned to face Theo.

He let out a chuckle of his own, ducking his head slightly in acknowledgment. Arthur was right — there was no way everyone in the club knew the Buchanon family. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” he admitted, grimacing slightly. “Worse, I think. But who am I to judge?” Over the years, he (like most of the group, he assumed) had come to understand that there was no point forming any kind of expectations when it came to Hugo. Especially around this time of year. He was erratic enough as it was, and it really shouldn’t have been so much of a shock to hear that this was how he’d planned to ‘honor’ Joel. 

Nearly as soon as he’d pulled out a cigarette and offered it to Arthur, Theo retracted his hand, his typical deer-in-the-headlights look making an appearance at his hesitation. He was always so, so careful around him, determined not to make any missteps — lest he, God forbid, make Arthur dislike him. A quiet “I don’t know” had barely tumbled from his lips when the other man shrugged, relief flooding his veins as he accepted the proffered cigarette. Theo was convinced it was a miracle his hands didn’t fumble with the lighter when Arthur’s head was tilted so close.

“Why he died?” he echoed, a quizzical look crossing his features. “I don’t— I don’t know if there was a why. I thought it was senseless. I mean, that’s always what they all said: a ‘senseless tragedy’, and all that. Kind of sounds like bullshit, now that I say it out loud, but I don’t know what else to think.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as he pondered. “Sometimes I don’t think any of it matters,” he confessed, momentarily surprised by how easily the admission rolled off his tongue. “This, every year... feels like going through the motions. And for what? For Hugo to have another meltdown on the dancefloor?” 

She beamed up at him, nearly craning her neck back to do so, and tried to strain up on their tiptoes to hear him. “What?” It was almost impossible to hear what he was saying but the words didn’t really matter anyways. Nothing much else mattered at this point. All that mattered was blocking out the sound of screams and the tortured agony that threatened to consume if they so much as stood still. “Fun? Why would I be having fun? Joel’s still dead,” she slurred. Her vision was rapidly spinning the more she looked at Theo, turning his curls unruly and making him appear far larger than he actually was. The more she spoke the more her throat burned for a drink. 

“Hey! Did you want another? I need another! Shots-” she paused, swaying a bit when someone bumped into her back. “Shots on me!” Their voice has to nearly carry to a shout to be heard above the sound of the music, straining on their toes to try and get anywhere close to his ears. Fat shot of doing so, considering he had nearly a full foot on her, but it was a vain enough attempt. 

“I— I know he’s dead,” he stammered, quickly turning red from embarrassment, but Sloane was already moving on. He could thank their inebriation for that, he supposed, and the low light of the club for hiding his blush. It was only right, he supposed, that he’d already stuck his foot in his mouth; asking someone if they were having fun at a celebration being thrown on the anniversary of a death — well, it was a little morbid. It was Hugo’s fault for turning it into a party, he thought bitterly.

location: the limelight dance floor time: 12am with: open

Bodies writhed around them, twisting and twining into one another until the glitter bounced off limbs that seemed to merge together. The bass thumped against the walls, echoing in the cavity of their chest until it felt fit to stop their heart and restart it at a galloping speed. Sweat dripped down a line on their collar bone and they tipped back their head to take great gulps of air that didn’t taste of salt or the grief that threatened to pour out. One shot to calm their nerves had turned into six and Sloane was rapidly descending into something far more of a drunken haze than they originally intended. At least it kept the burning out of her eyes. 

Their dancing partner excused themselves to the bar with promises of more drinks and they only nodded numbly, pressed into the swarm of people that threatened to consume them. Desperate for a familiar face, as soon as they spotted one they quickly reached out and tried to grab onto their arm to steady themselves. “Hey- Hey! You. You there….where’s your drink? Why aren’t you drinking? Do you have one? You can have mine!” 

Theo, built like a brick wall (and nearly as tall as one), was hard to miss in any crowd. It was something he was currently attempting to remedy with hunched shoulders and a ducked head, but he wasn’t sure how much good it was doing. After all, he was still literally a head above the rest, no matter how hard he tried. All he wanted was to make his way back over to the bar; this night had quickly become exhausting, and the only thing he wanted was the slow burn of alcohol down his throat.

location: the limelight bar time: 23:16 with: @theovassar

A room crowded with people and yet she still somehow managed to feel almost entirely alone, a fact that she blamed only herself for. Wasn’t she the one who kept them all so hopelessly at arms length lest they discover that she was truly far closer to crumbling than she was to being perfect. As quickly as that thought came she was pushing it away and chiding herself for the moment of self centred pity when they were all gathered to remember someone gone too soon, as ironic as the method chosen seemed to be. But with the reminder came a lull in her enthusiasm for dancing and it wasn’t time for her to take her next pill, leaving alcohol to be the only solution capable of buoying her mood once more if she was to be able to put on the next act of her little performance.

Bar located she pushed her way through the crowds to reach her goal, choosing a quieter corner where the music thudded less to give herself a brief respite from the overwhelming wall of sound. Smile touched her lips upon seeing a familiar face and she allowed it to grow into the grin to echo the sentiment that they were all supposed to be feeling - too buzzed up to be anything but ecstatic. Smooth steps carried her closer to the man she was slowly beginning to consider a friend before elbow is placed upon the bar with her chin balanced delicately on her hand. A playful glance is given his way, before light words trip from her tongue. “I hope you’re over here looking so pensive because you’re trying to decide whether or not it’s going to be an expensive night.”

Truthfully, he didn’t know why he’d bothered to show up to Hugo’s little memorial service. Well, actually: there were three amendments to that statement. He did know why he’d shown up (guilt, tradition, pity, uncertainty; a mixture of that and more), this gathering was far from little, and he’d sooner call nearly anything else a memorial service over the display of debauchery that Hugo’d dreamt up. All in all, he'd been hard pressed to find meaning in any part of it, and quickly decided that the bar was his best option. Perhaps gaining Hugo’s state of mind would bring him closer to understanding — Though, he thought as he ordered his first drink, it was just as likely that Hugo was high, not drunk. Too bad.

LOCATION: the limelight terrace TIME: 04:58 AM STATUS: closed for @theovassar

Since the night Joel Buchanon died, exactly twelve years ago, there wasn’t a single time that felt as surreal as the one he was living right now. There was always something mythological about the night Joel died: the loud music thumping in his ears, the impossible warm breeze against his skin, making the night unbearably hot, all the bodies tightening together in a boat, alcohol flowing as freely as the river’s current beneath them. Most of Arthur’s memories of that day are coated in a heavy, impenetrable fog, his brain noncompliant whenever he tries to recall specific details. What was he wearing? What colour were my shoes? How much did you drink? He can’t remember but, over the years, there’s been so much information, so many versions of the tale, he’s no longer sure what belongs to him and what’s been fabricated by someone else.

Arthur rarely drinks but since Hugo announced this impromptu memorial service (in a club, like there was some cause of actual celebration) and hundreds of people with unfamiliar faces crowded the dance floor, chanting along at full-force, bodies balancing to a, quite frankly, very unrhythmic tune, he decided this night would be the exception. It didn’t take much for his cheeks to become rosy, his speech slightly slurred and his walk less than straight. He didn’t care. If remembering someone’s death could be done at a club, then Arthur Havemeyer getting drunk should be the least ludicrous thing happening at that very moment. By his fourth shot, his body was starting to burn, sweat starting to form in beads on his forehead. Excuse me, he told the people he was with, nobody he knew, wondering where his friends were.

He walked away from the crowd, trying to control his breathing as it became more and more accelerated, his heart thumping violently inside his ribcage, so fast Arthur feared he would spit it right out of his mouth. He didn’t slow down though, running towards the stairs, climbing them to the place where he knew he could get some fresh air. Arthur threw himself against the door, opening it with his shoulder, letting the frigid air of the night take over him. The sudden shock of the two environments made him gasp for air, fists curled on his side, fingernails digging into flesh. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One, two, three… he counted to ten, his breath slowing down. When he opened his eyes, still slightly blurry and reddened, he saw a silhouette of a man in front of him, a quizzical look on his face. “The terrace really is a busy place,” he looked around, making sure there was nobody else lurking in the shadows. Arthur ran a hand through his face, up to his hair and let a smile take form on his lips, a ghostly smile. “I’m glad it’s you.” I’m glad it’s you and not a ghost. But that remained unsaid.

He didn’t belong here. That was hardly a new sentiment for Theo, hardly something he’d never felt before at one of these elaborate soirées — but this time, he felt it deep in his bones. The very idea that Hugo deemed this to be the proper way to revisit Joel’s death made his skin crawl; over a decade later, it still baffled him that he was invited. Though, judging by the sheer volume of guests at this event, he supposed it was more about who wasn’t invited. 

Somehow, even though the clubgoers were packed in like sardines, Theo had yet to lay eyes on more than a few people that he actually recognized. And so he’d made his home at the bar, letting drink after drink slide down his throat until his eyes had glazed over. The drinks had hardly made him more eloquent, but they certainly made him more personable. He’d spent his night miming enthusiastic hellos, propping up his usual clumsy smile with a touch of such a shame, isn’t it?, loosening buttons on his shirt every time it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Finally, exhausted and half-stumbling, Theo stepped out onto the terrace, breathing the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and sweat deep into his lungs. 

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“I did,” she nodded, delight plain on her face. There were situations where Susanna found it necessary to rein in her enthusiasm, affect an attitude. But this was not one of them. There was only the two of them there, and Susanna knew how Theo felt about animals–horses anyway. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it natural,” she admitted, sitting back. “One day, that would be lovely, to have a huge wildlife reserve. As it is at the moment, it’s more like a rather large, very nice zoo.” Even Susanna’s funds had their limits. She couldn’t go pouring everything she had into one venture that was certainly not for profit. “But it was amazing getting to see them like that.” 

“Right, of course,” he conceded, nodding along with her answer. “Still, though — what an experience. And you said the reserve focuses on rehabilitation, too, right? Would any of the cats ever be released back into the wild, or is it more of a home for those who couldn’t take care of themselves anymore?” 

Theo’s proximity made Quin’s mouth dry. The weight of Theo’s hand made his skin prickle, and quite reflexively, Quin pushed up into it, his eyes falling, helplessly, to Theo’s mouth, which curled into a maddening smile. “You’re bad,” he managed lowly, although what he really meant was, you’re a bastard, and, I can’t believe I fall for this, every time. Theo acted like he didn’t know what impression he left on people. Honestly, after so many years, Quin called bullshit.

For a breathless moment, Quin knew Theo would lean into him. He knew what it felt like – those full, wounded lips, ready and wanting, yielding and demanding – and he licked his own mouth, a proposal ready on his tongue (Oh yeah? C’mon, then, baby… Theo, c’mon) – but just as swiftly Theo turned away, and Quin’s heart thumped. He turned his head, still leaning against the door, to watch Theo’s ass disappear down the corridor. Without looking he reached out, closed the door, and followed suit, the word helpless beating against his temples.

They found each other in Quin’s poky kitchen. His apartment hadn’t changed since Theo was last here: books stacked everywhere, ashtrays, kitschy knick-knacks gathered on every surface. Many of the “collectibles” were cast-offs from the store downstairs, 18th century trinkets and things left over from his grandfather’s brownstone, and it gave the apartment the appearance, in a bad light, of a junk store. Still, Quin loved it, and he knew precisely which counter he could pin Theo against if he kept up this teasing act.

Quin leaned against one such counter and recrossed his arms, surveying the man before him. Late afternoon light filtered in through the windows, fractured, multi-coloured, through an Art Deco mechanism borrowed from Naomi. Theo’s hair looked so soft. Quin wanted, very badly… Shit, he just wanted.

“So.” He dragged the word out suggestively, dragging up from Theo’s narrow, athletic waist, to those stupid puppy eyes. He thought about the last time he was here, how afterwards he’d fought to catch his breath, his legs burning, Theo’s chest hair damp with sweat, both of them, after a few minutes, bursting into laughter, Quin saying, Fuck, you’re so good, and Theo rolling over to pin him to the mattress, Oh, yeah?, feeling his voice roll between them and his groin throbbing in response.

Their eyes snagged. Quin smirked slowly. “How was your day, honey?”

If only to beat him to it, Theo closed the space between them once more; every movement was slow as molasses, big hands bracketing Quin’s waist and fingertips tapping idly on the countertop. Over the years, he’d come to know every line of his body, exactly how to elicit a sigh here or a breathless yes, Theo there. Point being: he knew precisely how to drag it out, teasing him mercilessly until they both couldn’t take it anymore. Hell, he could write the damn manual.

“Do you ever shut up?” he prompted, his tone not altogether unkind. It was less of a question, more of a statement; there was something nearly fond in his exasperation, the kind of tired acceptance running through the words that spoke of something that had been uttered countless times before. In lieu of giving him a direct answer, Theo pressed forward, crowding him further against the counter. “All this talk about tea, about my day...” He gave him one last, meaningful look before he ducked his head, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Quin’s jaw. “You’re starting to make me think we have different priorities.” These words, murmured against flushed skin, felt like they’d nearly lost all meaning. His intentions might not have been fully articulated aloud, but they were more than clear.

“If you really want to know, though,” he sighed, one hand coming up to frame Quin’s face as he straightened up, “I could give you a play-by-play of the lunch I had at the 21 Club today. Or— or, I could list out the appointments that Sharon told me I have for the rest of the week. Nothing gets me going like dates and times.” He toyed with the errant strands of hair he’d been eyeing earlier, offering him a grin before he leaned in again. This time, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely missing the mark. “How’s that sound?”

Over the years, as he grew into the man he is now, Arthur thought he would no longer be surprised by certain aspects of life: one of those aspects were people, especially upper east side people, but lately, as if conspiring to make a cosmic joke out of him, Life (God, the Universe, all entities he believed in, in varying degrees) had taught him differently. First, with Nina and then, with Theo. Coming back to New York was always something he knew would happen: it was all he knew and no matter how much he wanted to get away, a sense of duty always came first, crushing any dreams or hopes of a different future. There was a glimpse of something else when he met Theo again, the few memories he had from high school faded, like sepia photographs of bye-gone eras; to be fair, much of high school blended together. Everything mattered but nothing was important.

Arthur shrugged, a chuckle rising to his mouth. “I’ve actually never tried it, but you’re supposed to believe every Michelin star, right?” The place had them all, proudly on display. “Wine. Sauternes? or white?” He was never a wine guy but lately his interests have rotated in that direction; besides, years of pleasantry luncheons taught him a thing or two. “Or we can ditch this place altogether and go somewhere… more relaxed.” He shrugged, as if his suggestion shouldn’t be taken seriously. They were here on business, he knew, and yet… he wish they weren’t. Arthur fidgeted with his tie, suddenly feeling trapped in his too-tight suit.

“Anyway, Havemeyer Investments is currently looking to invest in wall street but my dad…” he paused, the admission that he worked for his dad almost shameful “…he’s unsure about the market. He still has flashbacks from the 80s crash and thinks all this recent opulence is foretelling impending doom,” this last words were said in a less than serious tone, wide-eyed for added effect. “He also doesn’t believe his son’s expertise in the matter should be taken too serious.” No matter that I have a degree from one of the best colleges in the country and the world, or that I’m not 17 anymore… but that remains unsaid, a melancholic smile taking its place for a second, before he regains his composure and signals to the waitress. His mouth is dry and he could use that glass of wine.

“Sauternes sounds good to me,” he answered idly, a jolt running down his spine at Arthur’s oh-so-casual suggestion. It seemed like something out of a vivid dream: an offer to go somewhere quieter leading to things that happened in ‘somewhere quieter’ places, Theo’s hands tugging at Art’s tie instead of his— but, alas, his momentary fantasy was ruptured at the way the other man shrugged his own offer off. His daydreams were crushed nearly as suddenly as they’d begun. How cruel fate could be. 

Art settled into talking business, and Theo immediately and valiantly squashed any indication of his disappointment from making an appearance. He knew exactly why he’d been called here, and there was no sense in getting his hopes up; frankly, he should know better. “My dad doesn’t always trust my opinion, either,” he admitted, scrunching his nose slightly after he said it. It was an olive branch, of a sort — he got it. He did. Theo was used to his opinion rarely being taken into account, regardless of setting; he was altogether more shocked that his father was letting him go this one alone. It probably wasn’t something he should’ve admitted in a meeting like this, but, well. It wasn’t as if he could take it back now, could he?