A Road To Us

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TheZanta

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A Road To Us

@Machina Somnium

The nights always seemed to be warm and humid around this time of year, and the cicadas buzzed as loud as ever during this particular night at the antique boarding house in Juniper Hollow. The house is quite a sight to behold compared to the more modest dwellings along this street -- it was more of a mansion than anything. The neighbors would each have a story to tell you about this house in particular; some were charming and quaint, and others maybe not so much. There were rumors of the police searching the premises for a Russian gangster, a runaway teen stolen away by her overbearing mother, and, of course, stories of scandalous love affairs that wouldn't be out of place in a cheesy, exploitive stageplay. Love them or hate them, many couldn't keep their eyes away.

Though, the neighbors could generally agree that it had become much quieter over the years, especially as the tenancy gradually shrank and one of the two brothers that ran the abode had suddenly gone AWOL. The neighbors, of course, were quick to postulate about the brother's sudden absence as well, with some rumors even suggesting that he was, in fact, the wanted criminal that the feds were searching for this whole time. Those who remained at the house denied this, of course, but didn't discuss much about what happened. Needless to say, though, the hustle and bustle that came to be expected on the property had mellowed out significantly.

On this night, one of the tenants was making his way through the pathway leading to the patio. The man was dressed rather unconventionally in a loose, flowing cardigan, black and white checkered slacks, and grey boating shoes. He looked particularly outside of time and reasonable fashion compared to his peers, especially with the long, wavy hair and strange attire. This was Mitch McCowell, one of the long term, yet on-and-off tenants of the residence. The slim, shaggy brown-haired man looked over his shoulder to see if his friend was still following. He pushed up the rounded bifocals on his nose with one hand while beckoning his friend with the other hand. "I sure hope you're not snoozing on me, Abel. We're already past curfew," he joked, not that the curfew mattered at this point.
 
Trailing after Mitch was a shorter man who couldn't be dresser more differently. In dark tight pants and a black leather jacket. His hair was longer than it used to be, since he hadn't cut it in the past couple of years. Not beyond styling anyway. He who used to be an unwelcome guest, and a sort of parasite to the regular ecosystem of the house. A couch rider, a nuisance, a good friend to the siblings who ran it. A menace always ready and willing to scandalize the neighbors.

Since Lukas' sudden abandonment, he'd started pulling his weight around the place. Even taking over the stables until Keith, the runaway neighbor's brother in law, had been available for it. It had been a good chance to focus, show responsability and annoy Ikanov's own father. Whose expectations of him were only rising. Lately, he had taken to sending him off for reasons Abel couldn't share. For weeks at a time.

But tonight wasn't about work, responsabilities or parents. It had been fun. Him and Mitch downtown, drinking.

"Curfew hasn't mattered in the past year, daddy longlegs. Wait up!" He barked at Mitch, no volume control whatsoever. Ikanov rushed into a trot to catch up with his friend, pulling something that jingled out of his pocket.

"And we've got- I have the keys" he said, putting his other arm around the other man's shoulders with a short laugh.
 
Mitch laughed back at Ikanov, putting his own arm around him and gently ruffling his hair. "I can't help that you've got stubby little legs, mop-top," he teased, grinning wide and bright at the man. Mitch's voice was naturally much quieter and milder than Ikanov's, which made for a rather striking study in contrast when it came to their interactions.

It wasn't all that often that Mitch went out drinking, and it definitely showed that night. So much for being Irish. Maybe it was evident in his stumbling after just one pint, or maybe it was his embarrassing display on the dance floor -- though sobriety had little bearing on the quality of his dancing or his general footwork in the past. One thing that Mitch could be sure of is if going out was always this grand of a time, he could certainly get used to it.

Mitch typically ran off on his own, hopping trains and backpacking for months at a time before Lukas left the house. This, of course, had to change, as Mitch settled into place and worked to make sure the house ran with the same efficiency and stability before the brother's departure. He even managed to teach himself how to cook, though it paled in comparison to the culinary prowess of Lukas (when jello salad wasn't on the menu), and especially his own mother, may God rest her perfectionist soul.

He sighed contently as they approached the front door. "Better than having to climb through the study window, yeah?" Losing Lukas was unexpected and it stung, but comparatively, his brother Ishade was much more lenient when it came to house rules. Just as long as the house was clean and everybody was safe and fed, there wasn't too much reprimanding.
 
The albino blonde didn't even complain about his ruffled hair. Which spoke volumes about what Mitch could get away with, and or... About how much he'd drank. He was walking just fine though, and it wasn't like he could get wasted whila hanging with the house's resident hippie. If that was the right word. Mainly because Abel could drink him under the table, having built an iron tolerance over the years... When it came to certain liquors. Give him cheap beer and you'd have a giggling mess after barely two or three.

"Dunno. The study window had something to it. Now that it's not forbidden, coming back late has lost some of its alluring charm." He said with a snort, leaning against his friend. Ishade didn't care much for curfews and politeness. But where Luka was a strict gentle giant... Ishade was a no nonsense bastard. And his definition of nonsense changed by the hour. His tempter shorter every goddamn day. He made it hard for his friends to be there for him, and hid away in solitude as often as he could. God help you if you broke something, missed a payment, or breached the rules that mattered. Because Ishade wasn't a very nice man lately. He was angry, he lashed out, he bit the hands that helped him. But... Abel could understand why. Even if it didn't mean he liked it.

"And you can't call me mop-head. The hell am I supposed to say to you Huh? Forest nymph? You've got hair for days. Sometimes I think you're trying to provoke me." He said, shifting do he could run a hand through Mitch's hair. He was careful not to get his fingers tangled in it, but grabbing a fistful and pulling to expose his friend's neck was tempting as hell. Woah. A wave of heat shook him a bit from how sudden it had been. Lucky for him it was dark, because he was probably blushing more than what his drunkness could explain.

They were almost at the house. The lights were off, as usual at this hour. Ikanov was certain though, that if they went around the porch, the ones in the study would be on. But he'd rather not check.
 
The forest nymph himself couldn't help but giggle. "Maybe the charm is lost, but do you really see yourself promptly returning home before nightfall just because the rule isn't there anymore?"

In retrospect, it was true. Though there were fewer house rules, Ishade was much less patient than his brother. The two brothers complemented each other well, to the unfortunate detriment of Ishade when he was left on his own. Mitch did his best not to step on his toes, but he couldn't help but feel the need to support in whatever way he can, even though it usually seemed to be unwelcomed.. This wasn't Ishade's fault, of course. At least, Mitch never believed so. He could hardly imagine the turmoil of practically losing a sibling.

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at the blonde as the other leaned into him and began playing with his hair. Maybe Mitch had been drinking, but he knew the warmth he felt wasn't simply from the booze. "And what if I am trying to provoke you, huh?" He asked coyly. "You don't seem the type to just let it slide." Mitch felt himself subtly shiver; he wasn't one to be forward, and his nerves were trying their best to catch up with the rest of him.
 
Abel's own giggles and laughter joined Mitch's at the suggestion that he would return so early from a party or a bar. Something must have gone very wrong.

Moments later he found himself staring at Mitch, dumbfounded, because since when was he a smooth talker? At least sort of smooth. They had just walked up the few steps to get on the porch. He put the key back in his pocket and turned so he was facing his friend, letting go of him for a second and not longer.

"If you're looking for trouble, you're going to find it Mitch..." He said to the other, looking at him in the eye. Because Abel Ikanov was the definition of trouble. But Mitch could take a lot more than it seemed, he could deal with him by being nice and funny.

So he put his hands on the sides of his friend's face, and stroked the curve of his jaw with his thumbs. Moving them to his hair, he tangled his fingers in it. He combed through it gently, with both hands, and grabbed a fistful with each. Close to the scalp, because otherwise it didn't hurt as nicely. So now that he was much closer to Mitch, looking at him, trying to focus on his eyes but getting distracted by his lips... He gave his hair a short, gentle tug on hike biting down his bottom lip.
 
Well, this was exactly what Mitch should have expected to happen. Regardless, it caught him off guard as his arms stiffened by his sides and his nerves exploded with energy. He leaned into it cautiously before his eyes darted around and he stepped back.

"Hey now, we get enough prying eyes on this street as it is, hot shot," he spoke in a hushed voice, the previous attempt at smoothness and charisma now dashed by his adolescent anticipation. He tilted his head toward the door. "How about we let ourselves inside first?"
 
For a few seconds, Ikanov stared back at him with furrowed brows and a little pout. Like he was going to complain. He combed through Mitch's hair a few more times before dissolving into harmless laughter and pulling away. He lifted his hands like he was making a claim on his innocence.

"Of course. Wouldn't want to stain our bright and shiny, spotless reputation." He said, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at the end.

Finally, he did reach into his pocket for the key and turn to unlock the front door. When he did, he grabbed Mitch's hand and pulled him into the darkness of the entrance. He closed the door behind them with a surprising amount of care for a relatively horny, drunk menace.
 
Mitch slipped through the doorway rather conspicuously with a hushed titter, gripping onto Ikanov's hand. "Stuff our reputation, I'm just getting you to myself," he whispered with a shy smile. There was that, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to get arrested for any public displays, either. That would certainly put a damper on the night.

As the door shut behind the both of them, Mitch turned to face the blonde and let out a relieved sigh. "Good to be back home." The lights were out -- as expected around this hour -- with the only dim light coming from under the shut door of the study -- also as expected. "Anyway, where were we?"

With that, Mitch took his thumb and slid it underneath Ikanov's chin, gently tilting his head up and locking eyes with him, almost like he were appreciating a piece of art. Mitch smiled warmly before pulling him closer and locking his own lips with Ikanov's.
 
Shit, since when was Mitch this smooth and forward? He made Abel feel... Exposed, vulnerable, his heart aflutter. But it somehow wasn't bad, degrading or humiliating. Mitch looked at him in the eyes and he blushed, letting his... Friend? Take the lead. His gaze practically made him shiver. And the kiss was the maraschino cherry on top of an already excellent night.

He closed his eyes and kissed Mitch back. It wasn't that long, and it was messy. A prompt by alcohol and feelings and closeness. So Ikanov put his arms around Mitch, and let him lead, until he was ready to stop. He could probably feel his smile, and with how close they were, how fast his heart was beating, too.
 
Mitch felt relatively satisfied that this had gone as smoothly as he'd hoped, especially considering under the façade was an absolute nervous wreck. His heart was doing backflips the whole time, funnily enough in synergy with Abel.

Mitch closed his eyes and wrapped his arms gingerly around Abel's waist, letting the kiss continue for a brief moment -- long enough for the two to truly mesh together, but short enough to give the two some breathing room, especially since it was bound to be just a little sloppy. Sloppy or not, though, he could hardly contain his joy and excitement, though on the outside he at least attempted to keep his cool.

As he finally pulled back, Mitch let his eyes slowly open, still looking deep into the other's eyes and giving him a kind, reaffirming smile. Though, he did take the opportunity to raise an eyebrow. "You taste like whiskey. Or is that me? I don't know anymore," he jabbed playfully.
 
He saw Ikanov as he rarely did. Distracted, a little out of breath and very out of focus. His eyes just roaming over Mitch's face, from his eyes to his lip. What little he could see in the darkness of the entrance he made sure to appreciate.

"Really cute, but now that you mention it... I guess I don't know. Let me check." He said, grinning mischievously and gaining some of his attitude back. He pulled Mitch into another kiss. Shorter, but much more intense, and came out of it licking his lips.

"It's both" He confirmed, nodding, now very much certain of what he already knew.
 
It was a sight that was unusual despite how long Mitch knew Abel, but that didn't change the way he saw him. He still looked upon the blonde with an intimate wonder and appreciation.

Mitch stumbled as Abel practically attacked him, and when he pulled away, he giggled, fixing his hair which had fallen out of place. "Well, aren't we both a mess?" He joked, running one hand gently through Abel's hair. "Well, as much as I love my whiskey, I'm eager to, uh..." Hm. The words 'get a better taste' weren't necessarily incorrect, but may be misconstrued here. "... Find out a little bit more in the future," he finished. He laughed to himself. That probably wasn't any better.
 
But Ikanov was so close, drinking up Mitch's words like they were Ambrosia. He giggled along with his friend, but he didn't seem so eager to stop. To put an end to this magical, intimate moment they were sharing.

"Yeah?" He laughed a bit, breathlessly. "You love your whiskey hmm?" He said, leaning into Mitch. He didn't kiss him again, though. But It's not like destiny would actually allow them a moment of peace.

"I can hear your stupid laughter from my study. And I'm trying... To work." Abel groaned and hid his face against Mitch's chest. Because that was Ishade, who, to make things even worse, turned on the lights of the entrance. He didn't sound pleased, and he was glaring at them with clear annoyance. His mouth was twisted with disgust, and his eyes sparked with anger. His hair and clothes were disheveled. But It probably was, must be actually, the interruption that had bothered him. And not the sight of them. At least that was what Abel thought.
 
Mitch froze in that moment, as if he were a child caught by his mother breaking a vase. His shoulders stiffened and his eyes widened, but eventually he turned to face Ishade, instinctively taking one step away to put a little space between himself and Abel. Come on, sober up. Now's not the time for this.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly to the surly man. He found himself lost for any words that would improve the situation. "We're, uh... Probably turning in for the night anyway." He kept his voice low.
 
Under Ishade's icy glare, Abel finally let go of Mitch. He next crossed his arms over his chest and turned around to stare back at his friend.

"Could've just... Dunno, let us be. We'll... Come on Isha. It's like way too late, yeah? Let's just all go to bed. You go ahead." With that, and because after all they were his friends, Ishade turned around and left. To his bedroom instead of his study this time.

Ikanov scratched the back of his head and sighed. He looked at Mitch.

"Let's uhm... Talk about this? I had a great time, tonight, with you. Especially because of you, with you. Err, you know what I mean. G'night. I'm gonna see if Mr. Grumpman won't kill us." He said, laughing nervously and just taking a couple of steps toward Mitch to kiss him on the cheek, briefly.
 
Mitch watched Ishade turn and leave for his bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief. When it got down to brass tacks, Mitch still believed Ishade was a good friend, even despite his attitude having soured over time.

After shaking off his nerves, Mitch looked back to Ikanov with a shy smile, most of his confidence from before having been exhausted. "I had fun, too," he finally said. "Wouldn't have wanted to spend this night with anyone else." When Ikanov kissed him on the cheek, Mitch reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, pausing for a moment before finally letting go and making his way up the staircase towards his room.
 
The younger Luseth's mood didn't exactly improve over time. Anger gave way to sadness, and eventually, an icy coldness that was hard to perturb. He was the man of the house, an artist, the owner of a stable as well. He was tired, depressed, burned out. And he had started dreaming of the day he would sell his family home and move to the city. It wasn't like his brother would mind, or he wouldn't have left so long ago. So now he had just said goodbye to Mitch. Whose wanderlust could not be contained. His dear friend, and Ishade was sad to see him go. But at least he knew the other would return some day. Now he left him alone with Ikanov, to say a proper, romantic goodbye. Without a broken man there to sour and dampen the mood even more.

Abel watched Ishade go and walk into the Boarding house. He then looked at the sky, clear and cloudless. At the leaves of the nearby trees, swaying in the gentle breeze. So did his own hair, now that he had left it to grow longer. But he couldn't bring himself to look at Mitch. It had been hard enough not to scream when he actually learned he was going to leave. But the moment itself... It felt like it might never come. Like they could continue to enjoy the house together, with the patrons, and keeping Ishade and his dogs from scaring them all away. Finally he did it, though. He looked up at Mitch's face. His own, reddish and pink as they were, never to stand too much of the sun directly to avoid a serious burn. This one time, Abel Ikanov did not know what to say.

Ishade watched them from the music room's window.
 
The turbulence and discomfort never truly faded during Mitch's time at the boarding house, despite his efforts to attempt to quell the emotions and treat the burnout. It had been a once regularly maintained, trimmed, and bountiful garden that gave way to overgrowth, invasive weeds, and neglect. In the end, though, Mitch couldn't find it in himself to blame anyone for its gradual demise, besides the nagging voice in the back of his head that blamed himself.

Mitch hadn't been one to smoke cigarettes in his past, and typically only partook in the occasional drink and herb. On this morning, however, he had stood atop the terrace, leaning along the railing with a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He pulled out a Zippo lighter upon which the artwork of a brown bear adorned the side. He held the lighter up to the tip of the cigarette, flicked the fuse, and lit the cigarette, taking a slow, deliberate drag while concealing the Zippo in his pocket and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke out into the air. He wasn't even sure if he liked smoking in the first place, but the headrush and mild buzz of the tobacco was something that he simply had a need for during these final weeks.

Mitch claimed to Ishade about two weeks ago that he didn't truly know himself, and this was more or less true. This would be the reason he provided to everyone in the household for his departure. However, this was far from explaining why he was so unsatisfied and what he was expecting to gain from this, and he knew that Ishade would find it strange, too. For one, he didn't even have his own car, or a plan on where to go. Just a couple of personal affects, toiletries, and some comfortable shoes. Regardless, Mitch traded heartfelt, yet brief and somewhat curt, goodbyes with Ishade this morning before coming up to the terrace for a smoke, to gather his belongings, and finally head out to the front entryway.

Walking outside wearing a small backpack and holding his guitar case in one hand, Mitch raised his free hand up to his eyes as the sun shot down into his vision. After shielding his eyes, he could see Abel standing out there and he frowned. He didn't know how to justify himself, especially after everything they all went through. Eventually, he found himself standing just about five feet from the other man, and he was ready to say something. Anything. He just didn't know what it was.

Instead, he pulled a box of menthol cigarettes from the front pocket of his denim jacket, flipping the top open and offering one to the other man. "Been a rough couple of weeks," he offered with a rather pathetic attempt at casual small-talk.
 
Pathetic indeed. Ikanov accepted anyway. He took the cigarette with a grimace, not even trying to conceal it. He still didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say to that.
What to say to... A friend?, A more than a friend?, Someone who could light up his entire day by just being close. Who made it all better. Helped him forget his shitty family life that haunted him whenever he crossed the threshold they now stood by. And he was leaving, escaping, running.

So Abel took the cigarette and put it in his mouth, unlit. He smoked regularly. At least with the cig in his mouth he could be excused from speaking. If anything, because he was still so damn fucking quiet. Instead of a proud cat, he felt like a little mouse. He had half a thought to grab Mitch and forbid him from leaving. But if he made him stay It'd only make it worse, and make his friend painfully unhappy. Ikanov didn't want Mitch to be sad, let alone suffering. So he just stared at him, cigarette in his mouth, deflated, looking like a kicked puppy. Because he didn't want to say goodbye.
 
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