[Paris] War Buddies [Kai]

Tock was a little nervous. He had only just begun art school, but he was already expected to display one of his pieces in a first-year-student exhibition away from campus at a Paris gallery. It was for-credit in one of his introductory courses, and he was nervous that his work wasn’t good enough. Being in art school with real artists made him feel a bit as though his scribbles for the Prophet were anything but real art. It had been a long time since he had drawn something that  he was truly proud of. While he was proud of this artwork, it was deeply personal and made him feel a little like he’d cut himself and painted the figure in his own blood. It felt wrong to show someone. Private. He felt like he had torn his chest open and the world was watching him bleed. It was a sick sort of satisfying feeling, being so vulnerable. 
 
At least he didn’t have to present his piece to anyone in particular. He didn’t need to “defend” his art to critics. Instead, he was able to feign anonymity and pretend it wasn’t his. Of course, he was curious and drawn to it, eavesdropping on conversations by those who looked upon his portrait. The portrait wasn’t of him, necessarily. He wasn’t ready for a self-portrait what was going on inside his head, but it was a portrait of his ward, Sid, who had gone through many of the same traumas that he had, himself, suffered. There was beauty in his features, but also anger and hurt, all visible in the angered, red scribblings around the edge of the painting. Words, the bane of Tock’s existence, formed by those scribblings wrote out some heated quotes from his own manifesto, The Friend of the People. There was blood in his eyes, and it was almost jarring to look at this photo. It was so different from the flowered portraits, the realistic sketches, and simple self-portraits from the other first-year students. He knew how to draw. He wouldn’t have made it in if he didn’t. What Tock struggled with, and what he imagined most artists did, was wanting his work to mean something. 
 
He could do pointless sketches for practice, practice new and exciting techniques, but at the end of the day he didn’t want to produce something that didn’t hurt others. They should all feel like this. They always had when he had painted the murals in London: by himself, with Sid, with Kai. Tock didn’t often think of his ex-boyfriend anymore, but when he did it hurt him to remember how hot their love burned before it turned to ice. Like Caleb, he couldn’t help wandering what he was up to now. Was he happy? Did he miss him? It was Schrodinger's ex—if he didn’t know, he could assume Kai both still loved and hated him, whichever fed his fantasy or depression at the current moment. He missed love. He missed sex. He missed the companionship most of all. 
 
With Caleb, he was almost afraid to think of it. Had the other man died? Just like with Kai, he liked not knowing. If he died, he wanted to think maybe he was still alive out there…. Happy… or… did it hurt more to think of him happy and having forgotten him? Tock didn’t know. It was all so confusing, so anxiety-inducing. He should be alone. He deserved to be alone. He deserved….
 
No, he was getting better. He wasn’t that scared little boy, hurting and lashing out at the only good thing in his life anymore. He wasn’t cutting off his friends and moving on coldly just to protect himself anymore. He had friends. He had Rheya. Camille. Sid, and his whole gang. Gregorie and everyone from the London shop. Everyone in the Paris shop. People needed him and thought of him and missed him when he was gone. He didn’t need to pretend anymore.
 
He needed a drink. There was free wine there, and Tock was not supposed to imbibe, but he downed the wine quickly and took another glass just as fast. He needed something for his nerves and hard sworn off the harder things when he moved to Paris. He had tried to get fully clean, but he craved and he hurt, and his stress was through the roof. Why did everything hurt? Why was he so angry all the time?
 
He could rant about politics for days, but that was comfortable for Tock. His rage against the society that shunned him was on the surface and what lied beneath was a scared boy who never felt true love in his life. None of his so-called friends had looked for him. They hadn’t missed him, who was he kidding? Sid had moved out as soon as he possibly could. He took another drink.
 
Soon, he was drunk and feeling momentarily better. His demons were quiet. He admired the other artwork, avoiding the corner where his piece sat, and swayed lightly to the music. Then, he dropped his glass and it shattered on the floor—he had seen a ghost.
 
Not a literal ghost, what would have bene much less frightening. Instead, it was a ghost from his past. Who could it be except his former flame, Kai, looking directly at Tock’s own artwork? The music was the only sound audible, as talking nearby had ceased. Tock scrambled on the ground to pick up the glass with his hands—forgetting magic—before the server whisked the mess away and Tock was left with wet, dirty hands. He swallowed, too much attention on him, and wiped his hands on his only slightly tattered trousers as he maintained Kai’s gaze.
 
“…hey.”

@Kai Kimura

He stared at the painting.

It was familiar somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it. Against the other paintings, it stuck out – his favourite, for sure – but it was more than that; he felt like he’d seen it, or something like it, or maybe the person in it, before. Unfortunately for Kai, half of the reason he’d said yes to come to this with a friend tonight had been the free wine, and boy had he taken advantage of that. He swayed a little in his spot, yet another half-empty glass in his hand. He liked art, and art shows but he’d had enough to drink now that he was wondering when they’d leave and go to a club or something.

Kai glanced over at the sound of glass shattering, both amused by the idea of someone having had enough of the free wine to smash a glass, and glad that it wasn’t him. His fingertips tightened around the stem of his own glass as he met eyes with the perpetrator, though. Immediately, he thought of all kinds of stupid things. Like that it had all been Tock's fault, really (that was a defensive one) or the fact that his sleeves were too long to show off his newer tattoos (Tock had always liked the other ones). He pushed hair back from his face with his free hand; it fell straight back in his eyes.

After a while, people in your dating history became just that – history. There was a chapter for Tock of course; theirs was the first relationship Kai had had as an adult. The first person he’d really fallen for after leaving Japan, the first person he’d dated properly after a drawn out, formative, abusive relationship with someone a little older who’d treated him like shit. It was easy to tuck Tock away as a past – finished part of his life. It was easy to summarise both him and their former relationship into just a few sentences – Yeah, it was only a few months, he was pretty messed up. I wasn’t in a good place either – et cetera.

Less easy, however, was seeing him again in person. Being reminded that he was, in fact, a whole fucking person, and not just a finished chapter in Kai’s life only perused from time to time. “Hey,” Kai repeated automatically. His tone was more quizzical than anything else; wine-brazen curiosity won out over hesitation, and it was evident in his expression. “Are you here with someone? Or is one of these...?” His words overlapped themselves a little; it was obvious that he was drunk. He glanced back at the painting he’d been looking at only a moment ago, eyes sliding to the small card to the side with writing too small for him to read properly without his glasses.

He didn’t need to, though.

“This…” Kai trailed off, looking back at him again, cogs turning inside his head slowly. “So you’re... studying here – ? Oh." He nodded at Tock's hand; there was just a little drop of red on his trousers where he'd wiped the spilled wine. "You're bleeding a little."

Pity case, loser, perpetual fuck-up, freak, A cascade of derision poured into Tock’s head, swirling around and making him dizzy. Of course, the first time Kai had seen him in years he made himself look like a stupid, drunk klutz. He couldn’t get out of this by slipping off into the background. He couldn’t hide his face when he was so visible so seen by the other. It was too late, and Kai was probably thinking to himself what a mess Tock had turned out to be. He wanted to cry, but of course he didn’t. Wouldn’t. The Tock that cried from stress and panic had died in Azkaban. He was someone else now. Someone stronger, he thought, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was the same sick kid locked in his father’s coat closet. He gripped his trouser fabric tightly with his cut finger, making the stinging worse.

He wanted to run, run, as fast as he could. He didn’t think he could handle this kind of stress and pressure, but what pressure was there really? Kai expected nothing of him, he was sure. Thought of him little, if at all. He had to remind himself that now wasn’t the time for daydreams, it was time for the truth. Kai remembered him, apparently, which alone surprised Tock, but how could he have forgotten? Tock thought so little of himself he imagined he was forgettable to everyone in this world. His friends forgot him. Even his loved ones. His parents never looked for him, either. The only person he had in this world was himself, and maybe, maybe Sid, too.

“First year.” He said, clearing his throat and avoiding Kai’s eyes—only peeking when he didn’t think the other was looking. He looked down at his cut when it was pointed out. He was bleeding, and he had made a miraculous stain near the pocket of his trousers, now. “Oh shit.” He said, a little disconnected. He knew he was bleeding. He hadn’t noticed how badly he’d made it. He put a little more pressure on it, finally glancing up to Kai’s eyes.

He looked familiar enough, not changed much. Of course, Tock couldn’t see the new tattoos that would doubtlessly make him look foreign in a strange way, but his hair even looked… well, he looked like him. A wave of regret passed over his stomach.

Awkwardly, he looked around for a partner for Kai. “You must be here with someone, yeah?” He asked. He glanced at his artwork, taunting him. “I’m sure this one gave me away. It’s just my style.” He sighed. “Does—did he want me to explain it?” He asked. He hadn’t asked if Kai wanted it explained. Kai knew.

“Or um, how about we get you a refill? I’m not necessarily supposed to be drinking here.” His words were slow and deliberate, he was still fairly tipsy but the shock had sobered him up a little. “I might get a coffee.”

He looked awkward, but Kai didn’t feel the same way. If anything, Tock looking unsettled just made Kai feel more bold in contrast. He was too drunk for nerves by this point; instead, he felt relaxed, aloof and in-control.

“Uh,” Kai paused. He’d asked if Tock was here with someone too, but he hadn’t been asking if he was here with someone. Did he want me to explain it? Did he – ? Kai shook his head. “Friend of a friend painted one of these,” he said coolly, both a yes and a no in his answer. He gestured off to the side, in the general direction of the painting he was talking about, though they couldn’t see it from where they were standing. “The one with the daffodils…” he gestured lazily at his face; the painting had flowers covering the subject’s cheeks and forehead.

Kai had always had a hard time knowing how to fit exes into the context of his current life. He wasn’t the kind of person who was very good at staying friends with past loves. Hookups? Maybe. Friends with benefits? Sure. But proper exes? Nah, it was easier to just decide how things happened by himself and close those chapters. Usually. “Yeah, let's do that,” he said, ignoring the first question. He brushed his hand over his pocket absentmindedly, feeling for his packet of cigarettes. He tilted his chin up as he finished the remainder of liquid in his glass, then followed Tock back towards the drinks. As they walked, he stole a sidelong glance and wondered what the fuck it was about these curly-haired white boys that did it for him.

“So you’re living in Paris?” He asked unabashed, the drinks dissolving any kind of brain-to-mouth filter he might usually have in this situation. He thought he remembered Tock hating London, but maybe that was just projection. “And you’re studying, that’s… I’m jealous,” he said honestly, shaking his head a little. He’d learned as a teenager that classroom environments weren’t for him, but it was different when you were an adult and actually got to choose what you were learning, wasn’t it? Kai wouldn’t know. He wondered if Tock struggled with the structure of it, the hierarchy of academia, even if he was at art school. He wondered a lot of things now, looking at him like this – things he didn't really have a right to know. Dual images of quiet moments curled in bed and screaming matches in hallways flickered through his mind. Kai reached for one of the open bottles sitting on a long table. “You seeing anyone?” He asked casually, pouring his drink, trying not to spill it.

Tock blinked. You seeing anyone? It was co casual, as though Kai didn’t care about their history at all. He didn’t know how to respond. Of course, he wasn’t seeing anyone. He was perpetually single at least since Kai. He sometimes went out and met people, but he certainly wasn’t in any place to date them. He wasn’t the relationship type anymore, didn’t trust, had too many problems. He shook his head. “Nah, single as ever.” He admitted. He watched Kai pour the drink, jealously wishing he had some of his own.

“And you’re jealous of my art school?” He raised a brow. “Why? You never did seem the studying type, though admittedly neither was I.” Art was different than academics. He loved art academy so far, all struggles aside. It felt different than Hogwarts. “It’s going good so far.” He shrugged, eyeing him up. Why was he still so handsome? Tock was indulging in fantasies of having him in the ally behind the studio, for old time’s sake. It wasn’t going to happen, but he couldn’t help himself. Kai was handsome and charming as ever.

“Paris is nice too, yeah. I just got a flat of my own, but it’s lonely, you know. I always had a roommate for the last few years.” Kai remembered Sid, right? Or was that before Sid’s time? “Where are you living nowadays?”

Kai nodded, as if single as ever made any sort of sense in the context that they’d known each other. He tried to avoid exes; tried not to find out how single or un-single Tock had been in the months, or year, after they’d broken up. And then, of course — he glanced at him as he thought this — enough time had passed and he’d sort of forgotten about him. Sort of.

He raised the glass to his lips, then paused when Tock spoke. “Guess I’m more open to the concept these days,” Kai responded vaguely, before drinking. He’d always wanted to learn more things, institutions just hadn’t ever felt like the places to do it. It was difficult to learn by himself, though. “Glad it’s good — It must be good to be surrounded by other creatives,” he mused, folding one arm across his chest, the other holding his drink slightly to the side. Tock’s eyes were on him, and he indulged in the feeling that came with the attention as he glanced out at the gallery. His gaze was just a touch glassy, his eyes sliding over the people impatiently. He’d had too much to drink to be in a room so light, he thought. He didn’t really want to be here. But.

“I understand,” Kai said, pushing hair back from his face again. Paris was a good city — pretty in a very European way. Lots to discover. He wondered if Tock’s Parisian flat was up off the ground, if he had a view. A little balcony for smoking cigarettes. “I’m by myself, too,” he said, looking back at the other man. He'd always had roommates, too. “I’m in Brighton now, actually” he answered. The first time he’d gone to that city he’d gone with Tock. Only an hour or so outside of London by train, by the sea, the Gay Capital of the UK or whatever.

“So far, I’m really optimistic. You know I don’t like the whole institution of it, but this time if feels freer. I guess time will tell if things stay that way.” He shrugged, feeling as though Kai could look into his eyes and know what he was really thinking. This small-talk-making was killing him, but as much as he didn’t want to talk about basics—where are you from, what do you do? That sort of thing—he didn’t want the other to leave. In truth, he missed something about his aura and vibe. Missed… something. He didn’t know what. His head was buzzing still, from the drink, his hand was still hurting and that was the one thing keeping him present. He hadn’t healed it for that reason. He was still putting pressure on the wound, and with every small throb, he felt a little more grounded.

He wanted to say something cool and clever, but he was lost. “Bum a smoke?” He said, finally, raising eyes to him. “Can’t take the wine out the front door, something about licenses, but I know a way through the back. Fuck.” He looked down at his hand, still bleeding a bit. “Unless you think your friend will miss you.” He offered, with a slight head tilt. He didn’t know what he thought being outside would help, but some nicotine in his lungs and the lack of a crowd around him would make him feel worlds better. He hated crowds to start with, and from the corner of his eye he kept seeing people stop and making strange faces at his art. If they hated it, if it disgusted them, then it was working—he knew this, but it bothered him to see it anyway.

He remembered going to Brighton with Kai, the Gay Capitol of the UK, as they put it. He rarely found himself in queer spaces, despite being very much queer, and had really enjoyed seeing the things they had there with Kai. It had felt something like a proper date, an adventure, and something he didn’t do often. Now, though, he doubted he would willingly go back there if he knew Kai could be lurking around every corner. He did not want a repeat of this. Exes belonged in the box in the back of his head, their memories to be used and abused as he saw fit to torture himself. Sometimes that meant a happy memory to be sad for, and sometimes something to make him feel guilty. He never really thought happy things about his exes yet, as he was lonely, broken, and things were over. None of his relationships had ended well. Not the real relationships anyway, and that was mostly his fault. Hookups, Friends with benefits, he could manage those, but exes made him hurt.

Not to mention he really only had the two, and had been all but a hermit since then. He had done things he regretted in love and lust. He had stolen Sid’s girlfriends on more than one occasion, just seduced the girl straight from the living room while Sid was sleeping. This always ended up with screaming, but Sid forgave him. He’s slept with his friend Isobel’s husband. Not while they were exclusive, he wasn’t there to be a homewrecker, but he had. He’d slept with Isobel, too. It seemed so long as he could distance himself from the emotional aspect, he could and would put his dick just about anywhere. But, in love…. Well, he was shy. Reserved. Scared. Somehow, Kai had not made this better, and Tock was pretty sure that it wasn’t Kai that was the problem.