[ Sedated would have been an accurate word to describe Fraser that afternoon. Sated and happy Fraser was laid back and easygoing, and once they'd showered and dressed, he led Ray back out to the car and all but languished in the passenger seat, humming happily to himself. If Ray asked, he'd hypnotised them both already, taking advantage of the fact that Ray was already asleep and saving them the effort of putting him out again. Whether it actually worked, who knew; he'd never tried anything like this before.
But then, before this morning...
His happy note changed up a key, and he turned away from his study of Ray to look out the window. The city looked different this evening; the light seemed to glance off windows differently, the people seemed happier, the streets friendlier. It was an illusion of his mood, he knew, but Fraser couldn't help himself. He was an impossible romantic, and this thing with Ray - this thing finally with Ray - completed him, put a satisfactory bow on his life that made him thrive in all the ways he couldn't have imagined it would. Life really was good; here he was, glowing, sitting in a car with his beloved partner, doing real good in the world. He felt happy, fulfilled, and warm.
He looked away from the road, then carefully reached out, letting his hand be seen before he slid his hand across the back of Ray's, squeezing his fingers where they held the wheel. He let go as they pulled toward the junction, where Ray would need to change gear, and settled back again, smiling angelically at the changing traffic lights--red to green. Everything was good. Floating was good, aching was good, even the sore welts on his back, the bruises on his neck and ear, his cut lip, left behind a sort of itchy fuzziness to every corner of his being. ]
Park here, Ray. It's over on the left.
[ From the street, it would be impossible to tell what kind of shop it was. The signage was small and inoffensive, black letters said 'livery' in small letters, cramped up on the far left. A phone number, similarly small, was inscribed on the opposite side. The windows were huge and empty, but for sheets of faded red paper on chipboard that crossed from top to bottom, blocking out the shop floor.
Fraser knew what it was because this had been his neighborhood once upon a time; he knew what every one of these shops was, and who owned most of them, and where there were tailors and leatherworkers working on the upper floors and back rooms, he knew those people too. Ray might know the criminal infrastructure of the city like the back of his hand, but Fraser knew people. He'd lived here for too long not to, and while he'd never actually bought anything from this particular store, he knew he'd be welcomed none the less.
He leant forward. ]
I'm feeling good about this plan, Ray. [ Too good to consider he might be jinxing it. ]
no subject
But then, before this morning...
His happy note changed up a key, and he turned away from his study of Ray to look out the window. The city looked different this evening; the light seemed to glance off windows differently, the people seemed happier, the streets friendlier. It was an illusion of his mood, he knew, but Fraser couldn't help himself. He was an impossible romantic, and this thing with Ray - this thing finally with Ray - completed him, put a satisfactory bow on his life that made him thrive in all the ways he couldn't have imagined it would. Life really was good; here he was, glowing, sitting in a car with his beloved partner, doing real good in the world. He felt happy, fulfilled, and warm.
He looked away from the road, then carefully reached out, letting his hand be seen before he slid his hand across the back of Ray's, squeezing his fingers where they held the wheel. He let go as they pulled toward the junction, where Ray would need to change gear, and settled back again, smiling angelically at the changing traffic lights--red to green. Everything was good. Floating was good, aching was good, even the sore welts on his back, the bruises on his neck and ear, his cut lip, left behind a sort of itchy fuzziness to every corner of his being. ]
Park here, Ray. It's over on the left.
[ From the street, it would be impossible to tell what kind of shop it was. The signage was small and inoffensive, black letters said 'livery' in small letters, cramped up on the far left. A phone number, similarly small, was inscribed on the opposite side. The windows were huge and empty, but for sheets of faded red paper on chipboard that crossed from top to bottom, blocking out the shop floor.
Fraser knew what it was because this had been his neighborhood once upon a time; he knew what every one of these shops was, and who owned most of them, and where there were tailors and leatherworkers working on the upper floors and back rooms, he knew those people too. Ray might know the criminal infrastructure of the city like the back of his hand, but Fraser knew people. He'd lived here for too long not to, and while he'd never actually bought anything from this particular store, he knew he'd be welcomed none the less.
He leant forward. ]
I'm feeling good about this plan, Ray. [ Too good to consider he might be jinxing it. ]