Closed More of Exactly the Same

[Francis Ruis]

The light from the streetlamp outside cast the room in a dull orange gloom as Frankie paused in his search for his search, watching the shadows from the rain play across the window as his eyes followed down to where Tristan was still laying in bed. This thing with Tristan, whatever it was, had been exactly what Frankie had needed. Something to scratch an itch he couldn't quite reach on his own so to speak, and it felt good, to know they were both on the same page here for once. No one was lying about what they meant to each other. Maybe just lying to themselves.

"You look very comfortable," Frankie announced, unable to help sounding a little bitter as he managed to unearth one shoe from under the bed, slowly running out of reasons to linger as he found more of his clothes. The rain had been picking up since Frankie had gotten here and not for the first time he wished he'd bothered to learn to apparate. Maybe Tristan had some floo powder he could borrow. They were probably on floo powder borrowing terms, he reasoned, resting his chin on the bed from where he was kneeling on the ground and watching Tristan's profile in the dim light.

 

[Tristan Collins]

Tristan saw Frankie study him from the corner of his eye and briefly considered pretending to be asleep. It was easier than talking to him. But part of him didn't want to do that, he didn't want Frankie to leave without talking to him a bit more. The rules of whatever this thing between them was had never been spoken out loud, so Tristan wasn't entirely sure what was pushing too far. He laughed softly when Frankie said he looked very comfortable, making a show of stretching out on the bed. "I am." He said, glancing down at him. "You don't." He added teasingly. He watched as Frankie grabbed his shoe, then hesitated, glancing out of the window. "It's pouring out. You can hang out until it clears up if you want." He offered casually, sitting up slightly and leaning on his elbows to get a better look at him. "Then you can be comfortable too." He suggested, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his bedside table and flicking it open. He held it out to him, silently offering him one.

 

[Francis Ruis]

With the white noise of the rain outside washing away all other sounds, it had almost felt wrong when Frankie had spoken to break the quiet bubble of Tristan's room. He was relieved when Tristan responded though, raising a wry eyebrow and tapping his fingers on the edge of the bed at Tristan's observation. The offer to stay caught Frankie off-guard and for a moment he thought it was a trick. As a rule, Frankie didn't tend to stay. Him not staying was kind of the point. But the the clatter of the rain outside helped propel him forward, pulling himself awkwardly back onto the bed to settle back against the headboard. "Aren't you generous today," he said softly, taking the offered cigarette, grateful for something to do. "Not that I'm complaining." Frankie knew how to play his usual game with Tristan, but this was something different. Frankie didn't know the rules here.

He was quiet for a moment, letting Tristan light up while he tapped his own cigarette against his leg thoughtfully, watching the way the dim light caught on Tristan's face, the slight shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek. "Does this whole thing work for you?" Frankie asked, surprised at his own boldness. He may be on unsure ground here, but there were pieces of Tristan that Frankie recognized sometimes, cracks he was sure they both thought they were doing a good job pretending weren't there. "Ya'know," he said, motioning vaguely between the two of them and then more to encompass the entire room. Frankie highly doubted they were exclusive.

 

[Tristan Collins]

Tristan knew he was approaching dangerous territory by letting Frankie stay, but if he had the right impression of the other man, he knew that Frankie wasn't exactly the type to want a relationship. At least not with him. Tristan watched as Frankie grabbed a cigarette, lighting his own with his wand. "I can be generous," Tristan said, a teasing smirk on his lips. It felt easier to just joke and flirt, even if he wasn't feeling particularly flirty anymore. A silence fell between them for a bit and Tristan looked up at the ceiling as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Smoking was the one habit he had that was somewhat rooted in the muggle world, something he could see the irony of occasionally. He knew his parents wouldn't approve, but he hadn't spoken to them in years.

Tristan almost regretted his decision to let Frankie stay once he started asking questions, but he knew he couldn't blame him. He took a while to answer, purposely making him wait. "If it didn't work for me, you'd know." He said with a small shrug. "Have I given you the impression I'm dissatisfied with the situation?" He asked, raising his eyebrow slightly. He wasn't entirely sure what Frankie was aiming at, and he hoped asking a question in return would make him explain himself a bit more.

 

[Francis Ruis]

"So I've noticed," Frankie said demurely, wiggling the cigarette in acknowledgement. Tristan was giving him an open here, to pretend he hadn't just stepped out of line for a moment and they could just carry on like they normally did, and Frankie appreciated it. He watched the smoke curling slowly in the air as Tristan answered, eyes trailing it back down to Tristan's mouth as he pondered whether he wanted to keep pressing this.

"I think we're both clearly satisfied with things," he answered, stretching to brush a piece of Tristan's hair off his forehead, letting his finger linger and trail over his eyebrow for moment. It would be easy to just forget all this, get lost in the simple pleasure of Tristan, no strings attached. But Frankie knew he wasn't really thinking about Tristan when they were together. And it was pretty obvious Tristan wasn't really thinking about him either. He hadn't minded for awhile. He wasn't sure he really minded now, honestly. But how long could they both keep doing this, really? "But... I think we both know there's something else we actually want. Someone..." Frankie trailed off, withdrawing his hand slowly, fingers ghosting over Tristan's collar bone to his shoulder. "Doesn't bother me but-" Frankie shrugged, glancing back over at Tristan, feeling more emboldened sitting here in the dark, the rain washing out the sound of everything else outside for a moment.

 

[Tristan Collins]

Tristan chuckled lightly at Francis' comment, wondering if he was going to drop the conversation here before it got into a too dangerous territory. But he didn't, and Tristan wondered what Frankie's goal was here. Did he want something more and was he trying to see if Tristan did too? Or was he just venting? "I definitely am." He said lightly when Frankie said they were both satisfied with things. But then Frankie went on, and Tristan felt himself tense slightly. Had he really been that obvious? He had suspected Frankie was hung up on someone, but he hadn't thought he was as transparent. Tristan glanced down, following the path of his fingers rather than meeting his eye. "I suppose you could say that, though it is what it is." He said, shrugging slightly. "Nothing to be done." He knew Vivian never wanted to see him again, and if he repeated that to himself enough he would eventually accept it as a simple fact, without the stab of pain that thought accompanied. "But?" Tristan asked, glancing up at him. "You're clearly trying to make a point here, what do you want to say?" He paused. "Unless you just want to... talk?"

 

[Francis Ruis]

Frankie's lips quirked at Tristan's response, rolling slightly onto his side to gently press his lips against Tristan's shoulder, hiding both the beginning of a smirk and his face from view for a moment while he listened to Tristan contend with what Frankie was not so artfully dodging around right now. "Nothing to be done," Frankie repeatedly vaguely, tapping his fingers on Tristan's sternum idly. That was really the crux of the issue wasn't it? Maybe in Tristan's case there was nothing to be done, with whatever it was he was really thinking about when they had their little hook ups, but Frankie wasn't so sure about himself anymore. It was easy to pretend this was his lot in life and he'd done everything he could, but he still couldn't quiet the part of him that wanted more. Or just wanted. "But..." Frankie dragged his hand down Tristan's chest, shrugging in return before sighing. "Nothing, I don't know what I'm saying," he said, pulling his hand back an dropping down on the pillows, watching Tristan's cigarette smoke trail into nothing against the dark ceiling above them. "Just thinking out loud. Thought seemed like you knew what it feels like too," he admitted to the ceiling, tapping idly at his own chest before he caught the movement and dropped his palm flat.

 

[Tristan Collins]

The feeling that Frankie knew something about him, or at least thought he knew something about him, put Tristan on edge. He was a bit tense but tried to seem relaxed and like nothing bothered him. He glanced at Frankie out of the corner of his eye. "Clearly you're hung up about someone," Tristan said slowly. "And if you need to talk about that for a bit, you can." He said lightly. "But I'm not... the same." He said, sighing softly. "I know what it feels like, but the last time I thought... there might be more, it soon became clear that wasn't the case." He said, his voice a bit strained. "It's not an option for me, so why bother lingering on it?"

 

[Francis Ruis]

Frankie let out a sigh, trying to imagine his own breath mixing with Tristan's cigarette smoke above them, turning his head on the pillow to squint at Tristan's profile in the low light. They were firmly in new territory now, offering to talk about feelings, and even though Frankie had started it it was still dauntingly unfamiliar ground. It would be so easy to slip back to their usual dynamic if Frankie would let it, let the silent bubble they were in with the hiss of the rain outside envelope him again and pretend the conversation had never happened. But Frankie didn't know if he wanted to slip back into that same disquiet place again. Things were easy with Tristan, it was simple, no strings no expectations, but Frankie still felt like there was this itch somewhere he could never scratch. Tristan seemed like he'd just learnt to live with it. "I don't think I can let it go," he admitted quietly, directing it back to the ceiling. Frankie was all about lingering on things. It felt like he'd been lingering his whole life, waiting for something he didn't think he was allowed to have. "Are you happy like that? You don't seem the type to want to settle," He asked softly, fanning out his fingers on his chest again.

 

[Tristan Collins]

Tristan sighed softly, feeling a bit on edge. He wasn't sure what Frankie was going for. They didn't do the whole... talking thing. And as much as Tristan didn't mind casual, it was still a bit annoying to hear Frankie had someone else on his mind when he was with Tristan. It didn't matter that he was doing the same thing, he at least had the decency not to bring it up right after they hooked up. Tristan glanced at Frankie. "Well, there's clearly a reason you're not with that person. So you can there's three things you can do." He started ticking on his fingers, "linger on it and be sad, do something about it, or forget about it." Tristan paused. "For me, the second thing isn't an option anymore, so I'm trying the third option." He admitted grudgingly. He watched Frankie's fingers for a moment before covering them with his own. "I'm perfectly happy this way." He murmured. "I have nice distractions."

 

[Francis Ruis]

Frankie released the breath he'd been holding waiting for Tristan to react, cutting his eyes over to watching Tristan speak in the low light. He hummed at Tristan's list of options, turning the idea around in his own head. "I've spent enough time on option one I suppose," he said wryly, raising an eyebrow as Tristan reached out for his hand. He had a lot to think about, but he had to admit it would be a lot easier to go with Tristan's way and ignore it for a bit longer. Tristan was right anyway, Frankie wasn't unhappy. At least not in the immediate moment. "You make a compelling argument," he said, propping himself up on his elbows so he could lean over, nose just brushing Tristan's, their hands tangled up between them. Frankie figured he could resume being maudlin about this whole thing tomorrow, but for now it didn't hurt to forget it about it a bit longer, leaning down to kiss Tristan slowly, chasing the taste of cigarette smoke.