the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break

[jackrackham]

Jack gets ready slowly. He's still not entirely used to this new place, still hasn't made it feel like a place that he belongs. Waking without Anne feels wrong and he doesn't want to think over anything that she told him out on that boat.

He takes a shower, puts on his old clothes and looks in the mirror. Eliot seemed to think that they might be suitable for horse-riding outside the city, but at the moment he only sees how incongruous they seem compared to this modern room in a modern city. He takes a deep breath and lets it out as he settles his hat on his head, telling himself that the clothes won't matter, and he will attempt to be amiable, for Eliot's sake. He doesn't quite understand why riding horses is an activity all on it's own, but it will be a diversion all the same.

When he arrives at Villa Cordova, he wanders up through the entrance without going to the main building. It's dry and warm, and smells of dirt and hay and animals in a way that feels familiar. For a moment, he pauses and rests his forearms against a rough wooden fence. There are horses to watch, but he closes his eyes instead, listening to the relative silence of this place and feeling the sun begin to warm through the back of his coat.

Comments

[eliotwaugh]

It’s awkward, now that Jack isn’t deep in the throes of despair, and Eliot wishes he could get him to stop apologizing. He wants to stay, because Jack looks raw and unfinished, and after seeing him so broken down Eliot wants to see the process by which he puts himself back together, to understand the whole of him. But he can’t. He’s seen more than Jack wanted him to already.

He fidgets, the air of discomfort seeming contagious. Jack is being polite but clearly wants him to leave, and everything that had gone before feels like far too much now. All their closeness feels like it had been a gross violation of privacy, and the only reason Jack had allowed it was because he was too distraught to protest. So of course Eliot can’t stay and make him some real food, or hold him until he falls asleep. He doubts Jack would even want a hug goodbye.

“Violin’s fine,” he says in answer to the question. It hardly matters. Eliot rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he adds, trying to put as much warmth into his tone as possible. “I’d love to meet tomorrow. I want to hear the rest.”

He takes a step forward, reaching out to give Jack a brief pat on the shoulder. It’s the most he can justify allowing himself.

“It wasn’t,” Eliot begins, before crossing his arms over his chest and chewing at his lip for a moment. “You’re not a hardship, you know. I didn’t mind. I’m…I’ve been the fucked-up drunk more times than I can count, and it was never for as serious a reason as yours, so…it’s only fair I take care of someone else for a change.” He sighs, and tries to smile. “Please don’t feel bad, not on my account.”

[jackrackham]

"Alright." The hand on his shoulder is there and gone too quickly. It feels like Eliot is feeling uncomfortable with having been exposed to everything that happened today, and how he'd acted. If this were a normal day, if things had gone alright, Eliot might have hugged him goodbye. His fingers tense a little at the edge of the counter as he thinks about hugging Eliot goodbye. To thank him for following him here, for taking care of him.

He takes a step forward, but he took too long considering. Eliot is already backing away and gathering his things to leave. He thinks that it's probably for the best. He'd made today difficult and Eliot definitely doesn't want to be close enough to smell him at the moment. Regardless of whether or not Eliot had his drunken revels in the past, he doubts that it had been anything like today's sad confessions. He's amazed that it seems like Eliot is still willing to touch him at all.

"Tomorrow, around nine? He should be there, just follow the music, I won't be far off." Eliot says his final goodbyes and leaves. Jack shuts the door behind him and gently rests his forehead against the door. For a full minute he stays there, listening to his own breathing and feeling too exhausted and mortified to move. He doesn't know how tomorrow will go and he regrets what a mess he made of himself today. Whatever happens, he can't let that happen again. Eliot deserves better.

He sighs, pushes himself back from the door and heads back to the bedroom. He should take a bath, but he's tired and doesn't covet the idea of falling asleep and waking up in a cold bathtub. He brushes his teeth, changes into sleep clothes, and buries himself back under the covers- not in his usual spot, but on the side Eliot had occupied a few hours ago.