O P E N P O S T .

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[nowheretowns]

[ He leans back, looking over his fingers briefly before simply drying them off in his trouser leg, mirroring Elio who's reached the same inescapable conclusion - your skin, you're forced to stay in, whether or not a shower gets it clean but clothes can be changed, again and again. Thrown out, discarded. All goodbyes should be like this says the pianist as he looks out of the window, his stance visibly closing up, something distant in his voice, very much unlike the man who stripped himself naked only minutes prior.

Jean Louis watches him curiously, head tilted slightly. There's something about the other man that wakes him up in a way he can't describe - he can't remember this sensation, either. With Marcel back in Amsterdam, slowly but surely pushing the King out of his none-too-designated seat, he gets a similar feeling but different, too, maybe because Elio and Marcel couldn't be more different themselves. Maybe he, too, differs in their company. Like some sort of twisted sea creature or insect - one empty shell, exchanged for another.

He blinks. Pushes the thought from his mind immediately before it drives off his post-orgasmic bliss for something a lot less satisfying.

Instead, he shakes his head and rights his hair with his hand, the one not previously covered in cum. He tears his eyes away from Elio's profile and looks out of the windscreen. Lips thinning, he notes their surroundings - they're close, now, to the ending destination. The silence between them has stretched for at least half a minute by now and he could easily bear to prolong it even further, to make it last until Elio leaves, returns with his watch, and leaves again.

He could but he won't. Tempering down his frustration with habitual ease, he answers, voice calm, seemingly undisturbed: ]

We'll remember for next time, Elio. And then, we'll see.