[ You get used to it, the way nothing much happens on Jean Louis’ face. Still waters, hiding depths underneath and while Elio imagines no you’s actually ever did get used to it and that’s why the other man has such a hard time with taking in any sign of understanding, he kind of likes the way it makes him special. The way it makes their bond special. As he leans back in his seat, the heat of Jean Louis’ skin still clinging to his lips, he simply accepts the silence that follows, how the other man doesn’t tell him love you back, how the notion doesn’t even seem to cross his features. That’s all right. Elio knows it hit home, exactly like he wanted it to, it’s all over the space between them. It’s in the air he breathes, inhaling, exhaling. He’s told someone he loves them. When did that last happen?
Did it ever?
After a second, though, despite himself, Elio still glances aside, catching sight of Jean Louis sort of humbly looking away, inclining his head and smiling, just a small, subtle smile, but happy. He looks happy. Elio had never thought...
They’re both happy.
Feeling his own features light up, his lips curve in a wide smile, almost a laugh and he kind of thumps his head back against the headrest, once, twice, looking out the window where the road and the cars on it are just backdrop, this feeling is front and center. This feeling of loving and being happy loving and it goes both ways, because Jean Louis’ face says it, too. He says it, too, just not in words.
Isn’t he a politician? Don’t they speak in action, anyway?
And they do, because after a moment, Jean Louis straightens up and returns to a mode a little closer to normal, although some things you can’t undo or unsay and neither does any of them try. Elio bites his lip, still smiling and finally leans in to turn the radio on. Some electronic-sounding dance number blares out.
The next fifty kilometers, they don’t speak, no. Not in words. ]
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solosection) wrote2021-12-31 09:25 am
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Did it ever?
After a second, though, despite himself, Elio still glances aside, catching sight of Jean Louis sort of humbly looking away, inclining his head and smiling, just a small, subtle smile, but happy. He looks happy. Elio had never thought...
They’re both happy.
Feeling his own features light up, his lips curve in a wide smile, almost a laugh and he kind of thumps his head back against the headrest, once, twice, looking out the window where the road and the cars on it are just backdrop, this feeling is front and center. This feeling of loving and being happy loving and it goes both ways, because Jean Louis’ face says it, too. He says it, too, just not in words.
Isn’t he a politician? Don’t they speak in action, anyway?
And they do, because after a moment, Jean Louis straightens up and returns to a mode a little closer to normal, although some things you can’t undo or unsay and neither does any of them try. Elio bites his lip, still smiling and finally leans in to turn the radio on. Some electronic-sounding dance number blares out.
The next fifty kilometers, they don’t speak, no. Not in words. ]