manlet | melodrama

melodrama

[To travel is to live, Andersen once wrote, and he still abides by that maxim. There's always been a yearning in his blood, to leave the confines of home and walk the world with his own two feet. His wanderlust rarely draws company, given how expensive and far his excursions take him. Understandable, if disappointing. But he's been blessed in recent years by Dantes' presence, steadfast and ever-present as a rock. No matter what far-flung destination Andersen sets his heart upon — no matter what demands he imposes on him — Dantes comes.

(he's been thinking, lately, of how dantes never protests these long trips away from his wife. those are thoughts he shouldn't nourish, but he thinks them nonetheless.)

Italy has always been a second home to Andersen, and he finds them a pleasant hotel with a good reputation after much scrounging and hand wringing over expenses. But when it comes to the wine, he's a little looser with his wallet. What can he say? He has his vices like any other man.

Andersen pours a glass for Dantes, hands it to him by the stem.]

You're paying next time, I'll have you know.

[Crotchety as always.]

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[Trapped by love — it sounds like a story Andersen would pen, horrid as that sounds. He can feel the vibrations of Dantes' confession against the palm of his hand, his voice a baritone hum of sorrow. Soft, quiet, but there. Familiar as the ocean's waves dashing themselves against the shore. He does not say anything because what would a half-formed creature like him know about such love? What could he offer Dantes to soothe his agony?

Nothing. Nothing, save a ticket to faraway lands, a temporary escape even as Dantes' guilt drags after him like a chain.]

... does she still love you to such an extent? Your married life has been horrid.

I don't know. I cannot bring myself to ask her. She still smiles when she sees me, but I know not if it's out of habit or genuine.

[bowing his head, he makes himself keep breathing.]

If she found comfort in someone else's arms, then I would know she could live without me. I would give her anything she wanted - a separation where I am at fault, wealth of her own, all of it - if she would but ask.

What a miserable, pathetic coward I am, that I cannot even offer.

[Without thinking, he rubs his friend's back.]

... let me say this. Haydee has not killed herself in all your years together. It may be she has grown stronger than you think she is — that she has fallen out of love with you and made her peace with it. But you must talk to her, Edmond.

...you're right, even if I do not even know where to begin.

[he'd stay like this for hours, if it means Andersen's hand stays there, pressing like it does.]

I could be told to argue against the Pope himself, and I would appear arrayed for battle, but in this...I am lost.

Matters of the heart fell even the mightiest of men.

[He knows, because he feels his heart curdling at this small hope, at the thought of the villa becoming reality. It burns, this little flame in his chest.]

Bah, what depressing conversation. We're in Rome, we should celebrate as the Romans do. I dragged you out here to escape your troubles — and we'll do just that with more spirits!

[He has to pull away. Andersen forces himself to the table to pick up the half-empty bottle of wine. His smile feels fake.]

When was the last time you've drunken yourself into a stupor?

...Ages and ages ago. I'm not very fond of the headache it causes, but perhaps it will be more tolerable than the one I'm already nursing.

[looking up, he feels chilly despite the fire, with the absence of Andersen's touch.]

We'll probably need another of those, though. I'll pay for it.

[holding out his glass, he tries to shake off the shadow of everything he just admitted.]

As my contribution away from this wretched talk.

[Andersen doesn't complain for once. He instead takes Dantes' glass and tries to hand him the bottle, a not-so-subtle hint to fully indulge himself.]

[taking the bottle, he understands, and puts it to his lips to drink long, longer than he should, before giving it back. the taste floods his senses, settles a low burn in his throat, and he prays it makes its way to his head - else he'll have to resort to something stronger to get the misery away from his mind.

Andersen's turn, then. they do this together or not at all.]

[It'll take a hell lot more to get both of them drunk, he suspects. Andersen hasn't kept his alcoholism a secret from Dantes and he knows the other man has a high resistance to most substances. They'll have to ring up one of the staff at some point — somehow, the idea sours his mood even more.

He wants to show off. Which is why Andersen takes a swing and keeps on chugging until there's nothing left in the bottle. It's nauseatingly sweet and bitter; burns his nose and tear ducts like no tomorrow. He drops it onto the carpet and lets out a deep breath.]

Good year.

[He wipes his nose with his sleeve, eyes on Dantes.]

You want something fancy or something dirty?

Whichever packs more of a punch. Although, if it's falling into a stupor we want, there are other methods that might pique your interest.

[his hand dives into his vest pocket, and he removes a small enameled box, holding it up.]

Though considering that what I have is made for my tolerance levels, I would recommend a touch of caution.

[Maybe the booze is already kicking in, because Andersen's eyes linger a bit too long on Dantes' hands. There was a moment where he saw a band of skin, barely hidden by the sleeves and the gloves' fabric. He wants to reach over. He wants to push up Dantes' sleeve, he wants to kiss the base of his palm, he—

—is not going to do that. He is going to look at the box Dantes is holding up and he is going to pretend to know what the hell it is. He will not let his thoughts fixate, he tells himself, as he begins to slowly pace in a circle.]

It's not going to kill me, is it?

No, certainly not. At the worst, you'll pass out and wake up feeling somewhat dehydrated.

[and to prove there is no danger, he opens the box and takes out two of the pills that he's made himself, swallowing - see, he has no fear.]

I've compounded them myself, so I know exactly what's in them. I know what is safe, and what can be tolerated.

If you trust me...[and he picks up one more] Open your mouth.

[Wait.

Wait.

What's happening here.

Most people would hand the pill over and leave it at that. What is Edmond doing, offering to feed it to him like he's a child?! Maybe his friend's alcohol tolerance is lower than he thought. Maybe their conversation from earlier has sent Edmond's mind off the rails.

But that face — Andersen can tell it's an honest request.

He hesitates. His eyes wander again to Dantes' hands. Thinks about them close to his face, how warm it'd be against his mouth.

... in the end, he's horrible for playing along. Andersen grumbles something inaudible and opens his mouth as he's told.]

[leaning up enough that he can reach, Dantes puts the pill on Andersen's lips, nudging it in, and then gently shutting his mouth for him, chin up until the close. there. easy, just like that.

there's something oddly floral about it, but slightly earthy, like the world's strangest candy. in that moment, Dantes realizes he's lingering, and then pulls back to return to reclining, slipping the drugs back into their hidden place.]

When the world is too much - when I must quiet the endless sound inside my skull - this is what I retreat to. Kinder on the system than drink, I've found.

[It's worse than Andersen thought it'd be. Not the drug, but how close Dantes is. He touches without hesitation, acting as if permission was inherent. At some point, Andersen stops breathing entirely. His Adam's apple bobs with his swallow — the pill's gone, but why are Dantes' hands still on him? What is he waiting to see?

—and then Dantes goes to lay down and says some nonsense about drugs being kinder on the system. Andersen half-processes it because his thoughts are still reeling.

He knows he is giving in too fast. He was apparent earlier during his impassioned spiel about leaving Haydee. If he lets himself go any further, his heart will tear itself open.]

I'd rather have a pinch of pain with my retreats. The creative in me demands it... no. No, no, that's not the point I wanted to make!

[Andersen doesn't think. He goes over to Dantes and grabs him by the wrist. Get up! Don't sprawl out like that!]

You got to be kidding me. You do that and act like nothing happened?

[he does not get up. Andersen will have to try for real to rouse him - for how, his wrist is in the man's grip, and he only raises an eyebrow.]

And just what are you saying happened? Even if you took my strength of a dose, you'd not feel the effects so fast. You have to give it a minute or so.

[just relax? let it happen?]

[How infuriatingly dense Dantes can get. Languages, literature, mathematics, athletics — nothing is beyond the reach of Monte Cristo save for the matters of the heart. For a moment Andersen looks at a loss. He does not know if he wants to fly too close to the sun before him, or if he should retreat.

(you'll only be hurt if you tell the truth. you'll lose him if you act on these feelings. how many times do you need to learn this lesson?)

Andersen doesn't let go. He's breathing a little faster now because his chest feels tight.]

...

[If he asks the question, he'll ruin their friendship.]

... the way you gave me the pill...

[A cowardly retreat, then. A vague hint, open for interpretation.]

Was it to your displeasure?

[he'd barely registered what he was doing until he did it, moving on base instinct and trying to not be so obvious. clearly, something had been noted - but if Andersen wants him to never do such a thing, then he ought to say.

please. they can't work quick enough for Dantes's tastes.]

Most people don't do what you did.

[Pick up the hint. Give him more to work with. Draw away with disgust at the implications, smile at him, do something.]

I'm not most people, Andersen. I thought you knew that.

[taking a breath, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing away - his wrist is still there. Dantes could break away, but he hasn't. the pressure of Andersen's hand is right there, keeping him in one spot.]

[He isn't moving away. Does Andersen dare fly closer?]

I do. Society sees you as an eccentric but I know you. You're one of my closest friends, Dantes, my confidant.

[He feels as if his heart will punch through him.]

I don't need you to view me the same as long as you keep me in your orbit.

You say that, but...

[and there it is, aided by drink and less sleep, the slight beginnings of what will bloom into an experience, a relaxation of his senses.]

I'd rather keep viewing you, if it's all the same.

[Did he hear him right? It's something he wanted to hear for so long, the words not quite exact, but the sentiment beneath humming the same melody as his heart. This new harmony makes him hyperaware of the sensations around him — the smoothness of Dantes' wrist, the way his eyes catch the glow of the fire, the way his mouth moves when he talks.

Especially his mouth.

Andersen brings Dantes' hand to his mouth in answer. Kisses it, then kisses it again, because his doubts and fears and worries are beginning to fade beneath the pleasant buzzing that fills his head.]

Then touch me like you did earlier. Please.

[maybe this much is okay, because his hand is gloved. because it's not asking him to be anything but himself, to make professions he's afraid of, to go against vows that have him weighed in iron. he watches Andersen, and feels like something moves in his chest, that he'd like to simply keep touching for the moment, until the high settles in and the ache he feels isn't so painful anymore.

slowly, he draws his hand down, to graze under Andersen's chin.]

Like this?

[a touch that nudges, that lingers there.]

[It's too little and too much. The touch is light but the choice behind it is what winds his heart up. What he's doing could ruin him if he indulges in it too much. But that's part of why he craves it so badly. Andersen breathes in sharply and dares to shake his head.]

No, I want... [Again, he hesitates.] I want more. You were touching my lips...

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