Through a Different Lens

4:51am (80's, Part 2)

            3:15am (cont)
The creak of the door opening seems a deafening intrusion on the otherwise silent night, and Warren winces as he slips through the crack into the mansion. Quietly and slowly as possible, he re-latches the door behind him, carefully measuring his footfalls to the end of the entryway. An entire argument takes place in Warren's mind in the few seconds this takes. On the one hand, he can go to bed. The safe option, the sensible one. He is still drunk; he can feel it in the slight numbness of his fingers and wingtips, and in the slowed passing of his thoughts. Sitting with Kurt in his state carried with it all manner of risks, ranging from mild social faux pas to a permanent and devastating slip of the tongue. Not to mention there was the very real possibility that Kurt may not want to be disturbed at all. Very few people sitting alone in living rooms after three in the morning were actively looking for conversation. And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. Even as all of these very reasonable considerations pass through Warren's head, he knows that the promise of time spent with Kurt is too much to resist. He is already walking towards the living room, already trying to hush the voice as it seethes and rages about how wrong this is all about to go.

Kurt had been so lost in the book he'd been reading, so engrossed in its pages and in the little pocket of solitude the night had created that the squeal of the old oak door had nearly frightened him out of his skin. His heart was still hammering in his chest even as he reminded himself that Warren had gone out earlier that evening. Craning his neck, he can see Warren swaying slightly on his feet, and immediately knows just what kind of night he has had. His path is halting, as though he is at war with himself, one half determined to soldier on while the other demands a retreat. The hesitant steps grow closer, and soon Warren has entered the room, giving Kurt a vague nod.
"Up late," he manages. Warren had meant it to sound nonchalant, though it had come out as little more than a fuzzy, disjointed mumble. Kurt holds up his book and gives a smile like watered-down coffee.
"Couldn't put it down."

His eyes slide searchingly over Warren as he lowers himself onto armchair opposite Kurt. Mixed signals had become the only consistency for Warren since they'd both come to be part of this strange new family. The friendly jokes melded with the occasional standoffish behaviour, without any indicator of which it would be on any given day. Sometimes he would even switch mid-conversation, leaving Kurt to wonder what word, what question it had been that had nudged Warren just a little too far over the edge. As many times as this happened, though, as many interactions left Kurt feeling as though something was being held back or kept unsaid, Warren always managed to appear again. He could not be deterred for long, something that Kurt had grown to find comfort in. He was fascinating company, this Angel, and despite the lack of predictability in what he'd seen so far, he somehow found himself certain that if all roadblocks were removed, he would only enjoy his presence all the more.

Perhaps it is this sentiment that leads Kurt to inch the man towards a conversation. Nonetheless, he is unsurprised to find himself laying down most of the groundwork himself. He asks questions that go unanswered, or that are given one-word responses, and so he fills the gaps, sharing his own answers instead. He notices the twitches in Warren's lips when he gives these dead-end replies, the filling of his lungs with too much air for so few words. There is more lying under the surface, a great flowing lake under this layer of ice, he is sure. And so he does not bore of the stilted chatter they share, rather he grows more fascinated by the moment, wondering if perhaps tonight, with enough liquor to cushion the blow, Warren may just take the plunge and let go.

3:49am
For many minutes, Warren feels both spoiled and selfish as this perfect man sits before him, sharing so many details of his own life, showering Warren with answered questions and stories of his past. Each one is a new brushstroke in the masterpiece Warren has in his head, the cobbled-together image of Kurt's life born from a plethora of interactions over months, each one only brightening the picture, adding another glowing highlight. He really could sit and listen to the man talk for hours more, but the guilt of being so closed off begins to wear him down. The buzz of alcohol has reduced somewhat as the minutes tick by, little by little coming back down to earth. He begins slowly, sharing only benign, mundane details. The conversation shifts to cinema, so he divulges his favourite movie, and how he'd been obsessed with the soundtrack for a year afterwards. This in turn makes it far easier to confess that this record had been one of his only comforts during his many conflicts with his parents growing up. Before he even realises it, he is telling Kurt just what had been the cause of so many of those rows.