nos deux mains
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Summary
Whatever it was, the little voice in his head, it told him to go home.
What he’ll find home is a different story. A vast quiet, thick and swathing. A dark hush over the rooms, the kitchen, nothing but the scraping of mice and the stray cat Notkin had brought in. An absence, acute, of Isidor, still lingering in the air.
And somewhere upstairs, far and close, in a room sealed tightly shut, another man sleeping.
Or: a breaking point.
Series
- Part 1 of nos deux mains
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Summary
“You keep doing this,” he says, accusing.
Artemy doesn’t look away, eyes chasing the faintest movement of Daniil’s, as though wanting to pin him in place like a beetle. “Doing what.”
Daniil’s gloved hand moves as if on its own accord, and traces a line up his throat, jaw, the side of his face and ear. To map him out, commit to memory. Ascertain that he’s real. That he’s here.
Daniil whispers, “Bringing me back.”
Or: Daniil learns to just live.
Series
- Part 2 of nos deux mains
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Summary
And so it begins.
He spends days cooped up in his study, emerging feverish, near-manic and pacing. Though they’d taken to sharing a bed for long months now, at nights, he is now a rarer and rarer guest in it.
Sleepless, he says offhandedly. But he barely touches Artemy, and Artemy hardly dares touch him, for fear—which he hardly voices to himself, at first—of being pushed away.
Or: Artemy thinks Daniil is leaving; and tries to make peace with it.
Series
- Part 3 of nos deux mains