The Wild Rose - (boyxboy) (manxboy)

CHAPTER I - Rosevelt, Downtown.

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"

― Bram Stoker

Chapter I

Rosevelt, Downtown.

Alan touched his last fifty dollars with the tip of his fingers. One in the morning brought the cold to Rosevelt, and as he was walking along the sidewalk of an apartment he asked himself why he was still trying. His fingers were numb inside his pockets, and he clenched them into fists, looking up at the buildings.

Every single house was made out of fine wood or rocks or pretty red-orange bricks. It was late, but he could see no one walking around the streets but loners, with their own wicked destination in mind. It was relatively silent, the sound of smooth engines passing by and the music of a club now and then breaking the illusion he was the only soul awake in the city.

Once again he found himself on the way to the hotel downtown. He went there looking for a job every weekend - it was a long walk from the abandoned house to downtown - but today, after an ugly fight with Jim, he lost his cool. He planned on using the last money he got to sleep in the city tonight, maybe eat some breakfast before coming back.

Jim lived in the abandoned house too, and was often pressing him about new ways to get money. Lately, he was obsessed with the idea of Alan prostituting himself, and even found some johns for him. Alan had been livid when he saw the middle aged man in the house trying to take him to a motel, and during his discussion with Jim he might have even cried. He was thirty years old, for crying out loud, he was no twink anymore. He made the man take his money elsewhere and go back to where he'd came from, and left too.

The wind hit his face harder and a wallpaper fluttered along the street before he stepped on it. He glanced behind as he walked and saw he had stepped on the faces of happy couple. He stopped. The headlines read "The road --- vanished two more -- ". It was hard to read the blurred lines on the wet paper. Alan knelt to catch it but a strong cold wind swept the paper away and he shivered when a snowflake hit his cheek. Hugging himself for warm in his old, military coat he'd stolen from his brother long ago, he kept walking, admiring the ancient architecture that seemed to have walked all over the place.

He slowed to a stop when he saw the flashing "Midnight Hotel" neon sign. The red flashing letters should make the place stand out, but in some way he couldn't explain, the large hotel blended in perfectly in the city's atmosphere. It was almost easy to miss it.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

"Hey, I'd like to rent a room for the night," Alan said, with his elbows in the counter, and a charming smile on his face.

The entrance of the hotel reminded him of one from those 20s apartments. He never really entered the hotel, just hovered on the front where the jobs offers, printed in cheap papers, hung by a stand close to the glass windows. He was always looking for anything, from janitor work to handyman. His knowledge in architecture - he never managed to get that degree after all - didn't really serve him of anything nowadays.

When he entered the bell on the top announced his arrival but the man on the counter didn't look up, too busy tapping on the screen of a fancy phone. He did however look up when, impatient at the lack of response, Alan tapped his shoulder gently twice. he made sure of shrink a little into himself. He wasn't very tall but he was certainly taller than the clerk and he had learnt to play inoffensive in the streets when he realized "tough" didn't suit him. The clerk was a chubby fellow with brown soft hair and small brown eyes, the kind that intimidated no one.

He jumped at his touch and asked "What?".

Alan repeated the question.

The clerk frowned.