roaring undercurrent; simple and sensory | • d e a n

The night air was chilly for summer but it didn’t stop locals from being out and about on this Friday night. In among the sea of black and grey cardigans one young man stood out. His hair was curly, tousled and styled and he wore a silver blazer with delicate embroidery at the cuffs and notched lapels. He walked like he owned the place, gracing each passerby with a smile as he strode along the dark street. Prosper had nicked the blazer from the theatre he’d worked in before he’d abruptly left. He really did intend to return it at some point - he wasn’t a common thief or anything.

Prosper hadn’t been home for over a month.

He’d thought about it, sure. He’d sent Zara some money for rent. The place was probably a lot tidier without him, he thought. Probably a lot more boring, too. Summer in London wasn’t the same as summer in Paris, he decided. For one thing, the temperatures were lower. It was also wetter - not in the fun way - and the dreary sort of damp blanket that Prosper imagined to hang over the city didn’t dissipate during the warmer months. Prosper was amazed at the dull parts of the city; they never seemed to change. For a popular European capital, you’d think it would be a bit more fun. Every time he came here, he seemed to think the same things about the place, but it still always came as a surprise. In the past few weeks he’d been all over. Italy, Spain and now England. Anywhere but France. Anywhere but home.

The frenchman knocked three times on the door he’d arrived at and waited. He rubbed his hands together for warmth. It was dinnertime on a Friday night and Prosper sort of hoped that Dean hadn’t eaten yet, because he was starving. When the door finally opened, Prosper hustled inside to escape the cold. “Dean!” He exclaimed happily, pulling the other man in for an embrace. He kissed him quickly on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said in English, dropping his backpack down on the floor and closing the door behind him like he owned the place. It was sort of a Prosper thing, really. He owned any room he walked into.

The frenchman stepped into the room - he’d sort of expected it to have a bit more personality, what with Dean being an artist and all. Peeking out of the window, he said, “I know you said any time in your letter, but people say that all the time, so obviously if you can’t host me for a few days then let me know.” His heavily accented voice was warm and polite. He moved to the couch, leaning on its arm with the casual elegance of someone who was very used to knowing how their body moved. Someone who was very comfortable in their skin.

It wasn’t necessarily unusual that Dean would get unexpected visitors, but hearing a quick yet sharp taptaptap at his door still made him jump. For a second he half-expected it to be Dennis before remembering he’d be back in the Caribbean by now. Riley was supposed to be out until late, but maybe he needed something and had forgotten his key. Dean set down his pen and got up to squint through the peephole in the door, quickly opening it once he recognized the face outside.

He was engulfed by a wild whirl of warmth before he got a chance to remark on Prosper Lachapelle’s presence. Dean laughed helplessly in the Frenchman’s embrace. “What are you doing here?” he asked when Prosper pulled away. “You could’ve written!” Though it was a stupid thing to say, probably. He had a few friends for whom it was unreasonable to expect forewarning of anything they did, and though he’d only known Prosper for a total of a few days, Dean had the feeling he was one of them.

Prosper dropped his bag and swanned over to the couch, looking as if he’d already made himself comfortable no matter what Dean’s answer would be. Dean couldn’t have possibly said no, of course. Aside from his usual manners, he had a favor to return. The couch that Prosper was leaning on had someone else’s name on it, but that someone wouldn’t sleep there for a while if not forever. “No, yeah, of course you can stay if you need to,” said Dean. “That couch folds out. I—live with someone else, just so you know, but if that’s alright...”

“What happened?” he asked, watching Prosper look around his flat. “You get kicked out or something?” He wanted to help if there was a problem, but the thought also exhausted him. So many people he knew were storms. Often they left him battered and barely afloat. Last time Dean met Prosper he’d been a different kind, a wind that swept him somewhere free and lovely, but if he was showing up to stay unannounced it could mean he’d become a similarly violent hurricane.

Written? Maybe. But Prosper was impulsive and planning things in advance didn’t always go well. His long-term friend and dance partner Christéle had gotten him a part as a dancer in a ballet performance but halfway through the run - a few weeks ago - he’d disappeared without a word. Consequences weren’t always at the forefront of his mind. At the moment, there were plenty of things he was trying to keep from the forefront of his mind. So here he was.

“Oh, nothing much,” Prosper said airily, waving one magical hand at Dean’s question, “I found out the love of my life was practically married to my brother, you know. Nothing major.” This was how he spoke; everything was a hyperbole. Prosper leapt at the chance to cast his life as some kind of melodrama, and because of the way that he was… A lot of the time it sort of was one. Prosper fell back onto the couch dramatically with a light thud, his legs hooked over the arm of the thing. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before pushing himself back up and swinging his legs to the ground in one swift, elegant movement.

“Actually,” he started, “when we met, you talked about my brother’s girlfriend, didn’t you?” It had just dawned on Prosper that Dean had probably met her. Maybe it had been at that housewarming he’d heard about, and wasn’t invited to. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been invited. Wow. Prosper’s emotions were warring a little, but he kept them in check. He wasn’t here to angst; he’d done enough angry storming and angry partying and he’d had enough angry sex. He was just here because he’d found himself in London and he’d needed somewhere to stay. Besides, this was fun and flirting with Dean was fun and they’d met in a club, so he was bound to be at least a little fun. "Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises. Expectation is the root of all heartache," he added dreamily. Prosper’s game face was on; he was the host to the magical and glittery adventure they were going to have tonight. He was beautiful, shimmering; all wicked smiles and perfect hair and the world at his feet.

Distract, distract, distract.

“You…were in love with her?” The idea was somehow foreign to him. In the brief time he’d known Zoé whatever-her-name-was Dean had acknowledged that she was fun and beautiful and clever, but in his head she was still bland, like the love interest’s fiancé in a movie. That she was real enough for someone like Prosper to be interested in her made him feel strange. And also rather bland himself, as the second choice. “Yeah,” he said, sitting beside Prosper on the other end of the couch. “I met her. But only once. And I didn’t know… They didn’t tell you? Did they know how you…” There was some part of him that wanted to hate Pierce Lachapelle in a way that made him miss what could have been less, and if he couldn’t be angry at him for any personal slights maybe he could do it for a friend. But Prosper didn’t seem to want him to get angry. He’d rattled off the offense nonchalantly, and if he was hurting he was covering it up. “I dunno, mate,” Dean said. “I haven’t talked to Pierce in months.”

Prosper quoted something gracefully, and Dean pretended to be familiar with the words. “That sounds about right,” he said with a little laugh. “I’m sure good at expectations.” It was an understatement. It felt odd that they would be in the same boat. He may have been a second choice, but Prosper didn’t seem like one.

He paused, then tilted his head a little, seriously. “So what, you’re taking a holiday?” Prosper’s story, while intriguing, was still not a good enough explanation why he had decided to come calling on an acquaintance on the other side of the English Channel tonight. “Well, you know I’ve been there.” Dean continued to study Prosper, wondering if he were easier to figure out than someone like Dennis or Riley, or perhaps even harder. “You look nice,” he said, feeling suddenly very self-conscious in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He’d anticipated staying in, but Prosper clearly hadn’t. “Were you going to go somewhere?”

“Oh boy, I could tell you some stories.” Prosper rolled his eyes salaciously. He had never been a loquacious man, and when he said that he could tell stories, he really did mean it. The boy ticked each item off on his fingers as he spoke. “Ice-cream picnics in winter - sixth year, classroom notes in music. We were best friends. Then… Sex with a married woman to get her out of my head - “ well, an engaged woman, anyway. “ - didn’t work. Uh… Oh, a scandalous kiss in front of an audience and the ensuing slap.” Prosper paused for a moment thoughtfully. “One time a guy got really aggressive with her and shoved her so I beat him up.” That last one was said with sliiiightly less flippancy than the others. He was a physical boy who could hold his own, but Prosper wasn’t violent. He was a lover, not a fighter.

Prosper quirked an eyebrow when asked if they’d known how he felt. He doubted either of them quite knew the extent of his feelings but they knew enough. Enough that he shouldn’t have found out by accident. “Well they didn’t tell me for a reason, right?” Prosper sighed dramatically, but then laughed it off in a well-natured sort of way. He’d discovered that he could just sort of ignore his feelings. Especially when he was in this mode, the one where he was almost playing a version of himself. He was glittering, dramatic. A manic pixie dream… boy? Man.

“You look so cute when you’re all serious like that,” Prosper said with a crooked smile. Before Dean could react to his flirting, Prosper was moving on. “I’m on a break,” he confirmed, “from responsibility.” Not that he was all that responsible to begin with. The few things he’d been supposed to keep track of he’d just ditched, totally last minute. Probably should have sent a letter.

“I don’t know, are we going to go somewhere?” He asked back cheekily.

“Wow,” said Dean, a little helplessly. He’d had his share of romantic drama, but not to this extent—or perhaps things just sounded more dramatic when they were said by Prosper. “Sounds like a mess.” It was hard enough to know how to react to people you really knew when they told you things, and Dean didn’t feel like he really had a sense of Prosper yet. Hopefully he wasn’t expecting much. He seemed to be trying to play it off as a lighthearted joke. Dean gave him half of a smile.

He shrugged. “I mean… It’s not as if you choose to fall in love.” It was what he’d said to Pierce to try and convince him he wasn’t hurt, and even if he had been hurt he still believed it. “It’s hard to know what to do when these things happen and you don’t want to hurt anyone…” Dean shook his head abruptly. I figure it’s not my place to get involved, though.” What on earth would Prosper want with his advice? He had to stop trying to give it to anyone who told him anything. He didn’t want to make Prosper angry with him when he’d come seeking…refuge? Maybe?

The other man called him cute and Dean opened his mouth in surprise, but Prosper had moved past it before he could think of an appropriate way to respond. He was looking to forget life and go out. “Oh, er…” Dean looked down at himself, and over at the crossword puzzle he’d been doing when Prosper arrived. “I could come with you, I guess?” he said. Going out was most of what their brief friendship had consisted of, and it was definitely fun. “I should probably change… and I’ll have to leave a note; my boyfriend’s due back around ten.” He tried to drop the word in casually but it probably didn’t come off as light as he’d hoped. “But going out sounds better than whatever I was planning.”

It’s not as if you choose to fall in love

Prosper gave Dean a rather mysterious half-smile. He understood what the other man was getting at. Yes, Pierce and Zoé couldn't help but fall in love (a thousand cringes here), but neither could he. That was the nature of love, as far as Prosper was concerned. Sometimes love just struck like lightning and there was nothing to be done about it. Prosper knew about that first hand - he'd always been a slave to his emotions. He remembered Maria toying with his emotions in sixth year; flirting with other boys in front of him and intermittently not letting him touch her and dragging him into broom closets for steamy make-out sessions and more whenever she felt like it. He hadn't been in love with Maria in the same way that he'd been in love with Zoé, but the spaniard's memory sat in a special Maria-shaped groove in his heart somewhere. There were moments when he'd been sure he'd move mountains for that girl. Moments when he'd have swept her up and run away with her forever.

"You're fine," he said when Dean tried to backtrack on his advice-giving. He was right to do so, Prosper thought; the Frenchman was really not here for advice. Still, it wasn't like Dean had offended him or anything, so Prosper brushed it off. "Yes," Prosper responded, sounding very much like someone who'd just been convinced of a great idea. Prosper was already ready for a night out; he was dressed like someone who was ready to host a show. The young man ignored his friend's hesitation. Prosper had always been brilliantly charming; he'd been persuasive and charismatic from the moment he was born. He'd turn Dean's reluctance into something glittery - he had that sort of power.

"Subtle," Prosper teased, when Dean dropped the b-word. The Frenchman got to his feet, impatient to leave. He checked his hair in the glass of the lounge room window, then bared his teeth at his reflection in a wolfish smile to make sure he didn't have anything stuck in them. After making sure his appearance was up to scratch, Prosper moved to the door, ready to go. "So am I not allowed to call you cute now?" he asked, lounging against the doorframe like they were in Prosper's house rather than Dean's.