[p]iano, for you.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen found that when he got back to the Quattrocchi Site, some things had changed for the worse. First of all… The door to his apartment wouldn’t open for him. The lock had been changed. It was like finding out that your girlfriend had ditched you. His clothes, mug assortment, coffee maker, and other luggage that he had brought to Australia with him from his home had been left outside the entrance.

The second thing was that he had to sleep in the therapist's apartment instead.

He might care a lot about the guy. But he wasn’t so sure how he felt about spending the night in his apartment with him. He'd seen some personal things going on in there. Of course, he wouldn’t be sleeping… He had no intent on sleeping. However, the man was suffering from a bullet wound to the head. Maybe it was better that he stay there with him. The therapist seemed to be suffering from a lot of migraines lately, but those could lead to even worse things like seizures. If Ismirshalen was there he'd be able to provide plenty of painkillers and even call someone if something drastic happened.

So after they both made sure the blind arsonist was locked up safely in his very own cell, they went to the therapist's apartment. Ismirshalen stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room with his suitcases, watching as Dr. DeVrais collapsed on top of the bed. After a few moments of shifting around and biting his lip, he finally moved to put his luggage in the corner of the room. He sifted through his suitcase until he came up with a fresh pair of dress pants and a white collared shirt. Then left for the bathroom to change. While he was there he also spent an extended period of time washing and applying ointments to his face to prepare it for the night. He didn’t apply any makeup, so it only took about twenty minutes. As a rule he took off his makeup at night.

Without makeup, the truth to Ismirshalen's age was revealed. Age spots littered his face that were normally covered up with layers of foundation. It even appeared to be more sunken in and hallow. He seemed to age by over a decade. You could look at him and have no doubts that he was a forty year old man. In fact, he looked even older than forty. This might be due to the fact that years of stress and pain had molded themselves into his features. He looked old and beaten, compared to the mask he wore which displayed only vanity and self-assurance.

When he returned to the main room he rolled up the bloodstained dirty clothes into a ball and tossed them in the trash. He had no intention of ever wearing them again. He would be constantly reminded of who's blood had stained the shirt. Not to mention it'd been dry for long enough that it most likely would be irremovable. After placing his hat on a rack that was out of place with the rest of the room's décor [in fact the whole room didn’t even have any consistency that he could see] he turned to face the brain-damaged man once more. Wincing inwardly at the thought of him seeing him like this.

"So…" he started awkwardly. Wondering if maybe the guy had fallen asleep. That would have been nice. He'd find out soon enough. Might as well keep going. Besides, his question would burn him to a crisp if he didn’t at least get it out. "W'hat do we do now?" He meant this in multiple ways. One way, in which he literally was asking what the plan was for the night, where he could sleep, things like that. The other way was more long term.

What was he supposed to do? Where would he go? As much as he wanted an answer to this, he also hoped that it wouldn’t be answered. At least not tonight.

"And... Do you need anything?"

[VinnNAY]

“I have one bed,” Vincent mumbled through the tear soaked pillow. He wanted to keep his face plastered to it until his natural color came back but he looked up at the other guy. All he really wanted to do lately was plaster his face to things (Like Ismirshalen’s chest when he was carrying him) and sleep. And that really bothered him. He usually had about four hours or less of sleep a day but now his life was consumed with just constantly snoozing whenever he had the chance. Dead to the world. He was starting to think that he might even be having dreams now. The only good thing about this new development was that he might die in his sleep. But they had just gone through a life altering trip and that could be a huge part of mental fatigue.

His migraine was replaced with exhaustion and he didn‘t really want to continue talking. He realized how uncomfortable Ismirshalen must be. Vincent was very aware of what was going on with Izzy’s room but saying that would just make it worse. He could have changed the sheets of the bed to help make him more comfortable but he didn’t feel like dealing with that with one leg.

“Do you need anything?” Vincent repeated Izzy’s question back at him while he was shrugging his crumpled coat off.

[&Ismirshalen]

Even though he was already pretty certain that the therapist had only one bed, hearing it being spoken out loud was another thing. It sealed the fact, so to speak. Now there was no chance whatsoever that another bed could magically appear from Ismirshalen's pleading mind for him to lay on instead. So that meant that he was going to have to just deal with the fact that he was going to have to share 'dreaming space'. The last time he'd shared a bed with anyone was when he'd had a wife.

It was strange to him that he was making such a big deal of this, really. If he didn’t sleep like he had supposedly convinced himself, things like having only un bed wouldn’t be of any matter to him. But it was. Maybe it was because he was actually feeling rather exhausted. Truthfully, he wanted to sleep like the dead right now. He felt like he could sleep for weeks. Apparently the caffeine he'd inhaled all day wasn’t paying off very well. His systems were starting to run on empty. And so much had happened… It was also their misadventure that was starting to decompose his consciousness. He could only imagine how Dr. DeVrais was taking all of this. He looked like he was about to collapse himself. A pang of guilt rocked through the guard. He didn’t know if he'd ever stop feeling guilty when he saw the man.

"No," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress felt like a cloud to him. He almost nodded off right there. "I don’t need anything…" Except for a home. Except for a new face. Except for some sleep. Except for a hug. Huh.

"Good night, Vincent," he added after a second thought. He wasn’t facing the therapist, so he didn’t know how the guy reacted to that. Ten minutes or so later, when he finally turned to look, he saw that the man had fallen asleep. He looked like a lifeless corpse. Ismirshalen shuddered inwardly at the thought and turned to face the ragged carpet floor.

Not long after, he rolled unconsciously onto his side, put his head on the second pillow, curled up into a ball, and was asleep. Ismirshalen slept like a log.

[VinnNAY]

The normal response to anyone reading this (mink.) would be not to share a bed with Vincent. He was a lover. Not a rapist. He was also very upset at the moment being. Actually he was probably upset the majority of this week. He needed someone to love him back and he wanted a hug. So he laid there staring half consciously into his black surroundings. He knew it was black because there was no change from left to right. He was on his side though so it’d be up to down. He was too tired to notice that fact though and he eventually nodded off again.

This time Vincent rolled over with his face towards Ismirshalen who was turned away from him. He was considering the other in his unconscious state as another body in his bed, though. It was like him to steer towards the warmth and embrace it. He was feeling so needy. In fact, Vincent was emotionally needy (And was feeling cold). So he wrapped his arms gently and gradually around the living thermal blanket and dragged himself up as close as sleepily possible. He pressed his face into the back of Izzy’s head and let the black wisps of curls rest on his face. The unusual aroma from his hair put Vincent back into a deep stage of unconsciousness.

[&Ismirshalen]

Somewhere in the currents of his subconscious mind, Ismirshalen became aware of a sudden warmth enveloping his body. It crept up slowly, like a lazy wave, but instead of receding like one, it lingered. It felt really nice. It made him feel more emotionally stable in his sleep. It reminded him of the nights when his wife would hug him in bed… He could even feel a soft tha-thump of a heart against his back… The memory must be very vivid, he thought dreamily. But after a while he realized that it wasn’t a memory, because there really was a heart beating next to him. Which couldn’t be right, because his wife was dead…

The guard slowly worked his way through the layers of sleep that were encompassing him until he was at a state of being half awake. He murmured something unrecognizable, his eyes roving around under their lids. Something was pressed into the back of his head, and arms were surrounding the upper part of his body. His thoughts were too muddy to figure out who it was that was hugging him, so for a few more minutes he just lay there comfortably.

Eventually, though, he came to understand that it was the therapist who was embracing him. This realization made him want to leap out of the bed, but his body was in huge protest to moving anywhere at all, so he simply shifted his position slightly. When nothing happened in response, it was apparent that the other man was deep in sleep. Which meant that he was technically not really hugging him. This didn’t count as a hug. The poor guy probably was just dreaming about hugging some girl and Ismirshalen happened to be next to him.

At least, that's what he told himself was the case. It was a lot easier to accept than any alternatives. Not wanting to remain in bed any longer, but even more so not wanting to wake up the exhausted man, he carefully and gently removed himself from the guy's grasp and got off of the bed. The guard looked at the now lonely Frenchman with a piteous expression. He was also slightly disturbed about the hug. But mostly he just felt guilty. Guilt. It hurt.

Silently, he turned from the sleeping therapist and took the time to observe the rest of the small apartment. It was dark, so he couldn’t make out everything, but the moonlight shining in through the cracks of the closed blinds was enough to discern the general form of anything major.

Meandering around the room, he came across a familiar shape. Curiously, he moved in closer to examine it. It was a piano. A soft gasp escaped the man's lips. He ran his long fingers gently across the keys. After a pause, he proceeded to sit down on the pianist's bench. A piano. He'd had a piano back at his mansion. Now it was just a pile of ash like everything else… but now there was this piano.

Ismirshalen had started playing the piano at the age of 6. The orphanage had had one there, and one of the staff had taken the time to teach the young Englishman how to play it. He'd never stopped playing since then. He had extreme musical talent. During the years he'd spent withering away as a hermit in his ancestor's home, he'd also composed music, although most of what he'd played was off the top of his head. It was amazing enough that if he had wanted to, he could make loads of money selling it. But the British man never let anyone listen to his work.

He closed his eyes and stroked the keys, then his fingers became a blur as they moved across the keyboard. The tune he played was hinting of anger, with melancholy undertones. Soon he was lost in the melody, oblivious to all around him.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent was cold again. He pulled his arms up to the rest of his body in a grumpy fashion. Stupid Mother Nature. Wait, it was summer unlike in frosty England. Vincent opened his eyes to view the fan that was dangling above the crumpled bed.

«Stupid fan» he grumbled.

He would have reached up to turn it off but he had awoken for a different more manly reason besides just being cold. He heard music. Okay, he was crazy Vincent thought for a dejected second. But then he realized the other human that was just recently in his bed was not there anymore. Which that fact reminded him that he had been hugging someone. Stop scaring people away, Vincent. He could see the slight indent in the bed that the other left behind and that just made him want to slap himself. He was failing at everything lately.

Vincent crawled off the bed careful not to dislocate any part of his body in the adventure. Now, where did he keep his piano? Wait, he had a piano? Right, he used it as one big bulky decoration in reminder that he would and should never try to play an instrument. However, he played some mean hot cross buns.

He tried his best to be as stealthy as he could as he traveled through the hall-like structure that lead to something of a second ‘room’ which he kept the little reminder. And just as expected, the guard was angrily attacking the keys upon it. Vincent may not know how to (properly) create music but he liked to listen to it. This song was so sad, though It progressively become happier as he continued. Vincent wasn’t sure how long he stood there leaning on that wall listening to the song but he was eventually reminded of another thing that seemed to have gone from angry to happy. If you would call their current relationship happy. Maybe less sad.

He tapped gently at first on the wall hoping to get Ismirshalen’s attention but the man was too absorbed in his noisy fantasy world.

«I see you found my piano?» Vincent finally called out over the music. The sudden vibrations from his voice box almost made him fall.

[&Ismirshalen]

The melody he was playing was about his relationship with Dr. DeVrais. Except Ismirshalen did not realize that's what it was. He did not know what he was playing, he simply let himself go and played what was on his mind. But it was about the therapist. Anger, for how they had started. Then… it gradually grew more and more mellow. And sad. A lot of the undertones were depressing. Lost in his music, he did not hear the therapist's knock on the wall, nor did he notice the tears steadily leaking out of his eyes. He cried often when he played. This time was no exception.

The sudden voice amidst his world of music was so out of place that the guard's fingers tripped over the keys he was playing and jerked to a sudden and abrupt stop. With wide, shocked eyes, Ismirshalen turned to face the man standing behind him. The look on his face was slightly haunted, as he was still trying to readjust to the world of people and solid objects. Silence settled around the dark room as the last key he had stroked dimmed in its echoing.

For a few moments all Ismirshalen could do was stare at the therapist in speechless astonishment. He blinked his eyes rapidly a few times, gripping his fists at his sides and trying to decide what he should do. No one had ever walked up on him while he was playing the piano before. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know whether or not he was angry at the man for interrupting him. In fact it wasn’t really being interrupted that was worrying him. It was the fact that the guy had heard it, had heard him playing. He wondered if the therapist even liked it, or if he found it to be repulsive. While playing Ismirshalen hardly ever spent the time to listen what he was doing himself. For all he knew he could be terrible at the piano. Being told something like that would devastate him.

"Y-yes," he finally stammered, hugging himself. "If you want I can stop. I didn’t mean… didn’t mean to disturb you…" His face was flushed with embarrassment, but it was hardly visible in the dim lighting. "If you like it, though, I can play you more…" As much as he hated playing music for anyone, he couldn’t rightly deny to do so in the Frenchman's own home. Not to mention, he wasn’t really sure if he actually would dislike the company or not. He'd never tried.

And it was cold in here. Stupid fan.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent started laughing. It was like the laugh he did when he put on Ismirshalen’s hat and teased him about his poor fashion sense. He began tilting heavily on the wall again. He realized he was very awake but his body seemed to still be sleeping. Everything seemed to have a haze around it. And the haze continued as he padded over to the piano’s bench next to the guard. «Play more, s'il vous plaît,” Vincent commanded cheerily.

“Et… Oui… I like it. You can teach me?” Vincent added. Sure the reason the piano was here was to remind him never to play a musical instrument but Ismirshalen was so good at it he wanted to learn, too (and for some reason he really didn‘t want to go to sleep).

Vincent realized that the other guy seemed to be cold and that he should have turned off the fan or at least brought over a blanket. He was just as good as a blanket, though. So he sat closer and started tapping on a key while waiting for a response from Izzy.

[&Ismirshalen]

The laughter that spilled out of Dr. DeVrais was so unexpected. It was even more so than anything that had happened thus far tonight. At first he thought the guy was laughing because he was just that bad at the piano. Ismirshalen's face grew pallid and sickly looking as he watched the man. But something about the laugh was too off to fit in the 'making fun of' category. This was further realized when the therapist sat down on the bench beside him and asked him to play more.

Play more, s'il vous plaît.

Those cheery words echoed through his head, an off note compared to the melancholy tunes he'd been indulging himself in the whole night. The atmosphere seemed to warm up around the guard. This could be due to the fact that now there was another human being seated next to him that he could share body heat with. But it was warmer in terms of mood, too. He kind of felt… happy.

"Okay," he responded to the therapist in a much less shaky voice than before. He couldn’t exactly match up to the other man's optimistic voice, but it was calm enough to suffice. "I'll try to teach you… But you'll probably learn the most just by watching." He was a terrible teacher. If he'd tried a career as a professor he would have been fired quickly. But for some reason the idea of even trying to help the guy out made him feel… happy.

That word again.

With one hand Ismirshalen started moving his fingers in a slow rhythmic pattern across the keyboard that was easy enough to be followed by the therapist. The tune he was playing was calm and rather blissful. When Dr. DeVrais adjusted to those simple [at least in Ismirshalen's opinion] maneuvers, the pianist added more to the melody. This went on for a while. Eventually, the guard's eyes slowly closed, and he became lost in the blissful tune. By now the therapist was probably lost and just sitting there. Unconsciously, Ismirshalen felt his hand reach over to grasp the other's.

Bliss.

[VinnNAY]

And watch is what he did.

Great, he was lost. He felt like such a loser as Izzy kept playing. But the tune was incredibly beautiful so he just continued watching the skillful hand play in something that reminded him of a graceful hand-like ballet. It was quite amazing and Vincent had a shred of envy. All he’d ever been able to accomplish was being a great therapist. He tossed these downhearted thoughts aside and just continued to watch him create music with… One hand.

Ismirshalen was holding his hand?

That didn’t horrify him as much as the fact that he liked it and really didn‘t want him to stop holding his hand. Actually, it hardly horrified him. He looked away from the old piano and at the other. His clear blue eyes were closed and he was completely oblivious to the world. His eyes were blue…

He felt his blood rush up to his face. They had hated each other so much before but now he couldn’t even be alone without him for ten seconds. Is that why he came here after all? He had never needed to justify his actions with this man before. He was so scared. But how could he be when he was holding his hand. Maybe he was getting excitement mixed up with being scared. Maybe he was just confused.

He just wanted to sit here all night and listen to him play the piano. He wanted to kiss him. Oh that pronoun.

Vincent couldn’t help himself. He didn’t even feel like he remembered to kiss.
It started light but definite and then got deeper. He could feel teeth. Oh, how he loved those adorable imperfections of Ismirshalen’s. He was a nervous wreck and he really felt in one peice as he was against the other man. Maybe his heart would just stop beating right there.