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| Innamorato; Passionflower <3 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 10 2010, 08:22 PM (2,556 Views) | |
| onyx | Apr 10 2010, 08:22 PM Post #1 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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There’s supposed to be a connection between identical twins, some kind of psychic connection. Like, when one gets hurt the other feels its pain. Finishing each other’s sentences. Marrying men or woman with the same first name. Stuff like that. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not, Sal himself isn’t so sure about the whole theory. A couple months ago, yeah, he’d have probably thought there was something to the idea. He can remember growing up with Paul, hyperaware to everything his twin did. They’d been connected, he was sure. Always together, laughing and sharing over thing that seemed to pass only between them. Maybe back then that psychic connection thing had really existed; it came apart as they got older though. They became individual people with very different mannerisms and ideas and wants… but even then, Sal wouldn’t lie about the warm, feel-good buzz that went off beneath his skin every time he and Paul were together. No matter how different they became, something in him always calmed when Paul was with him. At times like those, yes. He could believe in a connection like that. But now? Not so much. He hadn’t felt a thing when Paul’s car was hit head on by a drunk doing something over 70mph in the middle of the night. There hadn’t been a gasping, clawing, searing pain that shot him bolt right up in bed, cold sweat and tremors coating his body. He hadn’t known anything about the accident until hours after it had happened. He hadn’t known his brother was dead until another hour after that. Sure, the pain hit him full-force, in the chest and between the eyes, when he’d been told. He’d been breathless and shaky then, but when it happened, no. Nothing at all. He’d been out like a light, snoring and flopped, boneless, in his bed in his apartment, totally unaware of Paul’s life being sucked right out of him. So he was pretty sure the whole identical twin psychic connection theory was a load of shit. At least for him. And he wasn’t so sure if he was upset about that or not… Paul’s neck had been broken on impact, the front of his car had practically crushed him, and he’d bled out before an ambulance had even arrived. There had been pain, regardless of anything any doctor said. Would Sal have felt all of that? If there really were a connection, would he have experienced it too? It was a terrifying thought, so he tried not to think about it. Just like he tried not to think about Paul at all. Ignoring Paul had been hard at first, pretty much impossible actually. You can’t just forget your brother, or at least Sal sure as hell couldn’t. The fact that they’d been identical didn’t help either; every time he saw himself in a mirror he remembered Paul. It was his face just as much as it was Paul’s. After a week, the breathless clench of his chest started to ease. Probably because he threw himself into work – Paul hated the pizzeria, he never came around the place, so it didn’t hold too many memories of the blond. It was a sort of haven, so he spent more time in there than he probably should have… it worked though, so he wasn’t complaining. “Sal, I need a biggie PMS.” He nodded to himself, working out the dough he needed for the ordered large pizza. Cecelia patted her hand on the counter mindlessly before turning back to go refill some drinks for the few costumers filling chairs around the dining room. He spread thick sauce over the rolled out dough, blanketing it in cheese before dueling out the desired pepperoni, mushroom, and sausage toppings. Sliding the creation into the oven, Sal rubbed the side of his palm over his forehead after, dislodging a little sweat that had beaded up from the heat of the oven over his brow. It wasn’t a very busy afternoon for “Salvatore’s” so the chatter was more comforting than annoying, though that wasn’t always the case. Some days he got cussing mad, the noise and the heat and the hectic, steady flow of orders hammering at his nerves and temper until he snapped, mentally and quite verbally. Today was a good day though and he was only pleasantly tired at this point. He leaned back against the counter as he waited for the pie to finish. The kitchen wasn’t really a separate entity from the rest of the restaurant; it was right there in sight of everyone chowing down in the place, the ovens against the back wall with a wall of counters separating them from the costumers. He’d always loved that about the place; he loved being able to see who was about to get the pizza he was throwing together and he was pretty sure the costumers appreciated it too – they got to see him make their food; entertaining and probably comforting too. Cecelia came back his way as he passed a look around his place, the dark haired girl setting the large pitcher of cola on the counter in front of him before leaning her elbows on it and releasing a mild sigh. She was a pretty girl, hair so dark it was practically black, her eyes the same color. She looked like her mom, Sal recalling the woman his cousin had never gotten the chance to meet. At nineteen, she still held that soft teenage look about her, but he could tell all those features were beginning to work themselves into full-blown maturity. “Don’ tell me you’re tired,” he smirked at his younger cousin. “Not like you actually do anything in here.” “Excuse me?” She huffed, narrowing dark eyes at him, “I have to actually deal with all these people. Hungry people, I’ll remind you. All you do is flip some damn dough and throw around pepperoni.” “You sure it wasn’t you who ordered the PMS?” “Very funny,” she dipped her fingertips into the pitcher and flicked dark cola at him. It cracked a grin across his face, long hands wiping at the drops she’d managed to land on his face. Cecilia folded her elbows back down on the counter, continuing, “So can we close this place up early tonight?” Sal arched a brow, “Can we what?” “Close up early,” she repeated with a huff. “Oh come on, Sal. There’s basically no one here right now. Can’t we just lock up and call it a night once they clear out?” “Uh, no.” He shook his head at her, “We stay open as long as the numbers in the window say we do.” “Oh come on!” “I’m not gonna deprive people of my pizza.” She scoffed at him, “Oh please. Domino’s is way better, and they deliver.” Sal lashed out at her with the small towel he kept on the counter for small spills, whipping it at her with a dull fwop of sound. “You watch your mouth. Jimmy! Your daughter, YOUR daughter, is not only consorting with the enemy, now she’s advertising for them.” He swatted at her again with the towel, mouth tugging in an amused smile as she laughed at him. “Dominos. Pfft! That’s not even a pizza. That’s fuckin’ cardboard covered in ketchup.” Cecelia cackled, her father coming up to join them around the counters. Sal pointed at the girl, “Did you hear her? She wants fuckin’ Dominos. Dominos. What the hell are you teachin’ her, Jimmy?” The older man gave his nephew a look, “Hey, come on. Watch your mouth, we got costumers tryin’ to eat in here.” Sal waved a hand at him and made a face, “They don’t care. Gives the dough its flavor.” “You are so full of shit,” Cecelia snorted at him. “Watch your mouth!” Jimmy gave his daughter a pop at the back of her head, ignoring her protest and casting a finger at Sal. “You see what you’re doin’? She never cussed until you hired her.” “Yah right,” Sal smirked. “You jus’ never caught her before now.” “Keep it up,” Jimmy pointed between the two cousins. “You keep influencin’ her, she’ll end up rotten instead of a good Italian girl. No half good man’s gonna want a girl that pops at the mouth like you, Sallie.” “If she’s callin’ for fuckin’ Dominos it’s already a lost cause.” Sal tossed his towel at Cecelia, “Now get back to work ‘Dominos’. We ain’t closin’ so you can go get some shit cheese covered cardboard with your fratboy boyfriend.” Cecilia snatched the pitcher from the counter, jostling it enough that some of the dark cola sloshed out of it as she turned around with a stomp and a scowl. Sal just chuckled, using his tossed towel to mop up the counter after her. The oven beeped a moment later and he pulled the fresh pie out, slicing it on a pan and then handing the pan over to Jimmy to take out to the waiting table. |
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| passionflower | Apr 10 2010, 10:05 PM Post #2 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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That night had been one that Thomas wished he could forget. It had been a night like any other. Thomas was going to meet Paul at one of their favorite cafe's. They would spend nights like these over a nice cup of coffee, to study for exams coming up. The public atmosphere kept them in check from getting... too caught up in one another. It had been a system that worked well for the two of them. Thomas had arrived a bit earlier than usual, and got them a two person table and his cup of coffee. He'd had their notes and some of their text books. And in the midst of sipping his coffee, his eyes lifted to the window of the little cafe, to wait for his friend and lover to walk through the door. He waited... and waited... and waited some more. He gave Paul a call or two. But his worry didn't spike till he'd felt a cold chill run down his spine, and a sickening flash of pain assault his body. It had merely lasted a second or two, but it felt like it lasted longer than that. Much longer. He got the call around ten PM, three hours later than their usual meeting time. And when he heard the news, the entire world had seemed to have shattered around him. Paul was dead. The brunet jolted awake. He looked startled a moment as he woke up in a small airplane seat, next to the window. The old woman beside him spared him a smile. Wide eyed, he seemed to snap back into reality. He was on a flight, from Maryland to New York. Only an hour in flight. But he'd fallen asleep. The few times he had gotten sleep in the last month were fleeting, and the horrible memories of that night came back to haunt him. Over and over. "We're almost there," the old woman informed him. Clearing his throat, the young Englishman gave a not. "Thank you, ma'am," he managed a faint smile. His green eyes flicked to the small window, to look out over the bright clouds. Was Heaven anything like this? He could only hope Paul was in a better place, wherever that place was. Slowly he leaned his forehead on the cool glass as his eyes softened. No, he wouldn't cry in public. He refused. --- A landing sequence, bag pick up and taxi ride later... and soon enough Thomas had come to the hotel he'd booked for the next month. And after setting his bag down and working out any kinks in his joints from being confined to the airplane for an hour or so, he grabbed his hotel key and wallet, and headed on out. He had on a light grey suit jacket with matching slacks, a tucked-in button-down pale green shirt, and of course one of his pairs of Armani dress shoes. He raked his hand back through his dark hair, pulling it back from his forehead. Although he'd never been to Paul's old stomping ground, his lover had told him enough about his family to know that his brother owned a PIzzeria. And lucky for him, only one in the entire city was named Salvatore's. And that was how he ended up standing where he was now, looking up at the painted sign over the glass door. His eyes skimmed over the pizzeria, to the glass window. A few people were eating in the small restaurant. Though he was hardly interested in the place's customers. His eyes lifted, to spot the kitchen in the back. Open and visible to the rest of the restaurant. His breath about caught in his throat at the sight Paul. No, not paul. Salvatore. Paul's identical twin brother. Maybe his clothing was different than Paul would have worn. His mannerisms too. But his face... It was the face of his lost lover. Thomas managed to finally draw in a breath, and then let it out, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The little bell over head twinkled softly, to inform the restaurant that he'd stepped in. Judging by how casual the place was, he could have probably just taken a seat and gotten service. But pizza was hardly why he was here. Silently he walked across the length of the pizzeria floor, till he was standing near one of the counters that separated the kitchen from the main dining area. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I hope I am not intruding. You are Salvatore Durante, correct?" he asked, even though he already knew, very well, who the blond man was. Although he'd been in the States now for three years, his accent was still pretty strong and British... Just the look and sound of the brunet standing there did not fit the casual atmosphere of the pizzeria. |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 10 2010, 11:10 PM Post #3 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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When the bell over the door chimed, Sal didn’t pay it very much mind. He hardly ever did, too used to the sound of it by now to be surprised or distracted when it rang the entrance of another costumer. By now it just meant he needed to start thinking about another ball of dough and how big he’ll probably need to make it, make sure he’s got the sauce he needs for it, cheese, and any assortment of toppings the costumer might throw at him. It’s safe of him to assume it’ll include pepperoni; they always include pepperoni. It’s kind of sad, monotonous, but convenient. He tossed flour on the kneading counter, coating his hands in it too and began pressing out the dough for the inevitable pie he’d be making. His fingers worked into it, pushing and pressing and just waiting for the sound of Cecelia shouting combination at him. She never did though, which wasn’t exactly odd… still, choosy costumers weren’t his favorite. The voice that did finally sound at the counter behind him definitely wasn’t his cousin. It wasn’t his uncle either, even though it was undeniably male. But it was one he’d never heard before, accented in a way he’d never encountered in reality. The lit something he’d expect from a movie Cecelia dragged him out to, wishing the entire time it was showing that he’d turned her down and found some guy or girl to occupy his time instead. He was just going to ignore it, but the voice said his name and that… well that got his attention. No one with that kind of voice knew his name, but this one did apparently. Unlike the bell, it was a surprising distraction that made him look up from the counter and twist at the waist to see. Well… it wasn’t hard to figure out who’d spoken. Sal passed a look over the figure standing on the other side of his counters – a clean, smart looking young man who was looking at him with a pair of earnest green eyes that, well… it was strange. He looked at him with… Sal didn’t know what kind of look it was, but it drew his brows together, confusion a tickle in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it, picking at the collar of his black and white striped shirt and stretching it out and up to wipe sweat from his top lip. “Yeah,” he nodded simply. Letting go of his shirt, he used the heel of his palm to wipe again, at his right brow. He offered a slight smirk, “But no one calls me Salvatore. Go for Sal, it’ll get you what you want a lot easier than Salvatore.” He turned to knead at the dough again, chin tucked towards his shoulder to continuing speaking to the brunet. “What can I do for you? If you want a pizza just have a seat, the girl will come by and take care of ya.” |
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| passionflower | Apr 10 2010, 11:31 PM Post #4 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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Thomas was never usually one to stall in his speaking. But truly, he was struck a little dumb in the presence of this man. An impostor with his lover's face. It made the Englishman take a moment to re-evaluate why he'd come here in the first place. It would be foolish to somehow expect this man he'd never been introduced to or met to be a replacement for the lover he'd lost. Although their faces were the same, the soul within their similar bodies were quite different, or so he'd been told, and now was seeing. Salvatore seemed the type who liked working with his hands, which would explain why he'd taken to the family business so well. He watched as the blond wiped his face clean of the sweat from his brow that came from working in the hot kitchen. He listened as his dead lover's brother informed him to call him Sal. And that if he wanted a pizza he should go sit and wait for the waitress to come take his order. His hands at his sides tightened into fists and he gave a shake of his head. "I'm not here for pizza," he managed, finally. Ye gods, why was it so difficult to talk to this man? If not for his face he would have had no trouble in the least... "I need to speak to you, privately, Salvat... Erm, Sal," he attempted to correct himself, though he hardly felt justified to call the man by that nickname. Short names always seemed to be something shared amongst close friends, and they had just met. It was too casual. Not to mention... Salvatore's whole demeanor seemed so unbothered. Just looking at him, Thomas never would have guessed he'd lost his twin brother a month or so ago. How could he be functioning so well when he was Paul's flesh and blood? Yet here he was, unable to concentrate or do his work. His life had been flipped upside down that night. And it didn't seem to be returning to normal any time soon. "My name is Thomas Hayward. I was a... good friend of your brother," he added, quietly. He'd been unsure if Paul's family really knew all that much of his love life. He'd never had the chance to be properly introduced to the lot of them. So he approached it as gently as he could. Truly, what did he hope to accomplish by doing this? Right now it was down right torturous to see this man with Paul's face within reach. He knew he was not a replacement, and yet.... he'd dropped everything and came here, to New York, to see Salvatore particularly. Perhaps he was hopeful that somehow his lover's brother might be his key to finding... proper closure. Just maybe... |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 12:08 AM Post #5 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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He wasn’t here for pizza. Sal’s expression twisted as he looked down at the dough in his hands. Who comes into a pizzeria if they’re not looking for a pizza? He could admit though, that the stranger didn’t exactly come off as the kind who sprawled out on a sofa or in a booth, gorging himself on hot, cheesy slices. He let the man talk, back turned on him and hands still moving. Pressing and kneading, he waited it out until he got around to what he wanted, since it wasn’t pizza and that was pretty much all he had to offer. Something strange happened to him when Paul was mentioned. The guy… Thomas Hayward, apparently, hadn’t even used his name, but it still had the same effect. His lungs went tight, his hands fumbling a little against the beaten dough. Swallowing, Sal licked his lips and started kneading the dough again. Harder, the added aggression was unconscious, but very much there. He hated it when Paul got brought up; Jimmy and Cecelia had caught on to that after the first few times and stopped, knowing better by now even though he never said anything about it. This guy though… friend of Paul’s or not, he didn’t know that. Sal forced himself to keep that in mind even though forming a grudge would have been easier. “That so…” he muttered over his shoulder, considering. Thomas Hayward. Thomas. The name seemed familiar, vaguely, but he didn’t know anyone called Thomas. It was certainly the name of the kind of person Paul would be friendly with, though. It was a smart name, and if Paul had been anything he’d definitely been smart. Huffing a sigh, hot through his nose, he let up on the dough and snatched the towel from the counter. He wiped his hands as best he could, flour and bits of dough clinging despite, and cast blue eyes at green. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nerve twitching faintly in his jaw… a private chat with a stranger about his dead twin was the last thing he wanted to do. Ever. And it was clear in his frame; all the carefree ease had evaporated out of him, leaving his shoulders tense beneath flour dusted fabric and his jaw working furiously against nothing. “Yah, fine…” he finally muttered under his breath, entire body protesting the idea even as he agreed. He didn’t even know why he agreed. He didn’t want to talk about Paul. He made a point of not talking about Paul. Earnest green eyes did it, he was sure. The way this Thomas guy looked at him did it. That was the only explanation he had. But even that didn’t seem like it should be enough to get him to agree, since now he had a good idea what the look was and why he was getting it – Thomas knew Paul. He looked like Paul. “Jimmy,” Sal called his uncle over, gesturing wide at the ovens. “Hold down the fort a minute. I’mma take a smoke.” Flipping up a hanging part of the counter, Sal let his uncle slide in behind it before dropping it shut again. He jerked his head towards the door, gesturing for Thomas to follow him out without saying so. Once they were out there, the bell chiming their exit, Sal stepped down to the corner. It was mostly out of sight from the people inside the restaurant, and more specifically Cecelia. He didn’t address the man with him at first, turning away from him as he fished out his cigarettes and lighter. He made quick work of lighting myself up, tucking the crinkled pack and lighter away in his jeans pocket after, dragging slow and releasing a plume of smoke before finally turning to face Thomas. “So what do you want?” He didn’t exactly snap, which was a good start, but even he recognized the gruff his voice had taken on. He fixed his eyes on the brunet’s, chewing at his cigarette butt and rubbing at the flour stuck to his hands. |
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| passionflower | Apr 11 2010, 12:40 AM Post #6 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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At the mention of Paul, Thomas soon found the whole stature and laid back attitude of the pizza maker in front of him change right before his eyes. He'd since stiffened up, shoulders tight and jaw clenched. So maybe Paul's passing did matter more to his brother, more than one might think until he was mentioned. Had Salvatore gotten through these past couple months by just forgetting Paul? Not mentioning him? Though it would be kind of impossible to totally forget him. Not when you shared the same face with the one you lost and saw said face every day you looked in a mirror. Silently, Thomas watched the changing of the guard. The older man, by the name of Jimmy, stepped into the kitchen, to take Sal's place temporarily while they had their little talk. The brunet kept his gaze locked on Sal as he motioned for him to follow him out. He did so, keeping quiet till they were outside on the sidewalk. It was pretty quiet at this time of day. Which was fine. Thomas really wanted a private atmosphere and it seemed he would get it. His dark brows furrowed faintly as the blond turned from him and went about lighting up a cigarette. He couldn't help the inward scowl that came over his face, as he bit back the need to inform the man that he was asking for an early lung cancer related death with such a habit. But now was not the time to be scolding someone he just met, especially his dead lover's brother. As Sal turned back to face him, Thomas felt startled at the strange vision of what was Paul with a cigarette in his mouth---Something Paul would never do. He took too much pride in his health to touch such vile little cancerous sticks, as did Thomas. He cleared his throat then as he reminded himself this was not Paul. "... Paul was very important to me. As I'm sure he was to you. Since his parting... I... well... " he glanced off to the side. "I haven't been able to move on," he spoke, honestly. That was the simplest way to put it. He smiled sadly to himself. "I met him at Hopkins. And since his passing, I haven't been able to focus, do my studies, sleep, or just live..." he added uneasily. He felt his throat tighten as a lump formed. "Funerals are suppose to cause closing for those left once a loved one has gone. But I ... I don't feel that closure," his green eyes flicked back up to meet less than pleasant blues. "I caught a glimpse of you there, at the funeral. You have to understand, seeing you feels like... seeing him." he frowned as his brows creased. "I know you don't know me and don't owe me anything. I just... I need to find that closure. And... I think the only way I can is by talking to you," he gave a nod, his face taking on a sincere look. He felt so vulnerable just then. His hands gripped tightly at his sides. |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 01:16 AM Post #7 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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It grated on his nerves, listening to talk of feelings and closure. About Paul. He didn’t like it, his entire body protesting it once more. He’d hated that funeral, every second of it – the suit, the silence, the gloom, the flowers and small mass of mourners, the tombstone and casket. He hadn’t hung around the thing for a reason. He’d left as soon as it was done, for a reason. And this was torture; if he hadn’t lit up a smoke already, he knew his hands would be shaking, but the nicotine was doing its job well enough. So at least he had that. He tilted his head a bit as he listened, eyeing the other man’s clean, fancy shoes. They looked strange against the concrete sidewalk, made his own shoes look ratty in comparison. And his were good shoes, worn in and comfortable like he wouldn’t for a second believe Thomas’ were. Hopkins, passing, focus, sleeping, studying and moving on…closure. It made his head hurt just listening to the other man. He hated it. When Thomas brought in what exactly his place in this whole business of the brunet’s was over his brother, Sal couldn’t help the irritable tingle that touched at his spine. He held a hand up between them, “No, look, stop… Tom, Thomas, right? Listen…” he shook his head. “I get it, ok? I get it. Paul’s dead, gone, it’s done. I get it, alright. Trust me on that. I fuckin’ get it.” He removed his cigarette from his lips, fiddling with it in his fingers just to put it right back in his mouth and chew at the butt unhappily. “He and me have the same face, I get that too. But this…” he gestured between them, “I don’t get this. Talking about him, with me, I promise you it’s no good. He and me… the face is about it, if you didn’t already notice. I’m not him, at all.” Turning as if to put his back to Thomas again, he suddenly stopped and snapped right back around, pointing into Thomas’ face and squinting at him. “What’re you even doin’ here? Like seriously. You were his friend, yah, ok, but what kinda friend comes out here from Maryland or wherever the hell he was getting’ that doctor thing to talk with his brother? That doesn’t seem weird to you? Because it’s weird to me.” |
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| passionflower | Apr 11 2010, 01:34 AM Post #8 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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Thomas tensed as Sal cut him off before he could run his mouth anymore. He remained standing as the other man spoke to him so harshly. Obviously this whole issue of his brother really did bother him. It as relieving in some ways, but in other's... well this side of Sal was less than appealing. He knew well this man was not Paul. He wasn't him at all. And he scowled a bit as the other man dared to suggest he thought otherwise. He wasn't dumb. "... I know... I know you're not him. I wasn't expecting you to be. But the mind does odd things to someone... in mourning, especially when they see someone with the face of the one they have lost," he tried to explain quietly. He himself knew Sal was not Paul. And yet it seemed like something was still drawing him to the gruff brother. If he could have stopped himself he would have. His spine went ram rod straight as Sal pointed out how weird it was that a 'friend' would come all the way to New York to talk to him. His brows furrowed a bit as he looked at the angry blond sternly. "... I wasn't just any friend, Salvatore," he spoke, using his full name, for ... more serious moments like this. Or maybe it was his inner parental instincts kicking in. Using one's full name denoted you demanded authority and to be listened to. His hand lifted up then, as his eyes flicked down to look at his own hand. A golden band sat on his right hand, on his ring finger. He drew in a slow breath and let it out. "I was his lover. Fiancee to be precise," he clarified. He felt a prick at the corners of his eyes as he stated those words and his chest instinctively tightened around his heart. God that hurt... "So no, what I have done to come see you hardly seems that weird to me. I loved your brother dealy... with all my heart." he informed as his eyes lifted to look back at Sal's. "I ... Don't know what to do." he grimaced. "... All I do know is after I saw you... you've come to my mind quite constantly. As much as he has, in the past month." he tried to explain. |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 01:58 AM Post #9 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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Sal blinked, staring at the other man as he spoke. Honestly, he felt like the man had hauled off and physically hit him. Hard. He’d been fine up until Thomas lifted his hand, hands with dexterous, capable fingers… like Paul’s had been. The brunet hadn’t even needed to speak for Sal to put things together once he saw the ring. “Shit…” he breathed, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. Thomas. He remembered the name now. Paul had told him about a Thomas, over the phone not all that long ago… he’d mentioned the man more than once actually. For years he’d said the name here and there; Sal had no idea why it hadn’t clicked earlier. Paul had made a point of telling him about the guy he’d met at Hopkins. Of course, Sal had never been the very best listener when it came to these kinds of things, but he’d tried… well, sort of. The whole kindred spirit thing had been wasted on him, but he did remember Paul sounded happy whenever he’d mention Thomas in passing over the phone with him. “Thomas Hayward,” he nodded, eyes moving slowly across the other man’s face and as far down as his shoulders. He absentmindedly rubbed a few fingers against his chin, “Well… this just got a hell of a lot more complicated, huh?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a large load of heat and irritation unloading as realization dawned. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He was really bad at this kind of thing; he wouldn’t even try to deny it. He could see pain in the other man’s eyes, but he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know Thomas. He’d have still been at a loss even if he’d known the guy all this life… “For the record,” Sal cleared his throat, “I came out first. So he’s got my face. You know, technically.” He tried to offer a smile, but he knew it came off all wrong – more of a wince than a smile. He looked away as soon as he spoke, kind of wishing he’d just kept quiet. |
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| passionflower | Apr 11 2010, 02:43 AM Post #10 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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The Brit lowered his hand then. He really should take that bloody ring off. But he couldn't. He couldn't yet. It hurt too much. The day he got that ring off his finger would be when he'd finally admit he was ready to move on from Paul. He wasn't yet. He... wished to pretend he was still the dead man's a while more. His eyes lifted back up to look back at Salvatore. He listened to the older twin as he seemed to be scrambling about for anything to say to him. Anything at all. How complicated the situation was. And ... how technically Paul's face was Sal's, as opposed to the other way around. It didn't even bring a smile to his face. Honestly he ... couldn't find much reason to smile these days. He cleared his throat then and one of his hand's lifted to rest on Sal's shoulder. "... Look... I am not looking for you to have some fantastic answer that just solves all my problems. If you did, I am sure you would already have recovered from the loss which... I'd say you definitely haven't," he mused quietly. He felt the firm shoulder beneath his palm. Warm, teeming with life. He eased his hand away then and let it rest back at his side. "... I know you're not the same person. I guess... I just was hoping maybe see you, talking to you, maybe even spending some time with you might be therapeutic. Maybe not just for me but for you too," he explained. Going quiet for a moment, he cleared his throat again as he fished around in his pocket, and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He handed it to the other. "... You don't have to make any decisions right now. Sleep on it maybe? ... This is my number. I'll be in the city for a while. A few weeks at least. Think about it, please?" He eased back then. Too bad pizza really wasn't his thing, otherwise maybe he could have stayed around and had a pie. Though even if he did like the cheesy gooey dish, he'd feel awkward staying around, especially if Salvatore didn't want him to be there. |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 11:09 AM Post #11 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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The hand on his shoulder brought his eyes back up to the man standing with him. He wouldn’t lie, his first instinct had been to shake the hand off of him, but… well, all things considered, he was trying. That wasn’t to say he had any control over how tense he got under the touch, but could someone blame him? It was his dead twin brother’s fiancée for Christ sake. A slight scowl worked over his face when the Brit mentioned how not ok he was with the whole issue concerning his brother. If Thomas hadn’t removed his hand when he did, Sal knew he would have forced it off of him at that point. Forget being nice, he couldn’t be nice when the guy said something stupid like that. He was fine. He was fine. He didn’t need some therapeutic buddy-buddy pal time with his dead brother’s fiancée, even if he did need therapy or whatever, he was damn sure hanging out with Thomas Hayward talking about Paul was not going to help. Not that he needed help. He was fine. Instead of running his mouth, he stubbed out his cigarette. Normally he didn’t curb his words or hold an opinion back or anything, but in this case, like before, he was actually trying. Basically just because he knew Paul would have bitched him out for it if he didn’t. When he looked back up, jaw working like he still had a cigarette to chew in his mouth even though he didn’t, and arched a brow when a slip of paper was presented to him. He glanced over the number penned clear and damn near as perfect as a number could be written on the crisp, single folded piece of paper. A sheet from the pad from some hotel, Sal noted without any actual interest. He rubbed a thumb against the information, smudging a 3 a little bit without really thinking about it – upsetting the perfection. In the city for a few weeks… Thomas was serious about this whole care bear get together thing, Sal realized then. The brunet seriously thought talking to him was somehow going to help. And vise versa. He didn’t have to call though, a part of his mind reminded him as he refolded the paper and slid it into his back left pocket. So long as Thomas didn’t come back down here, he’d be gone in a few weeks and Sal could forget this whole thing ever happened. He could get right back to being fine. After all, dead brother’s fiancée or not, he didn’t actually owe Thomas Hayward anything… He felt himself frown a little when the brunet turned to go, but he continued to keep quiet and let him. Sal watched him go, eyeing the man’s back and the suit he wore… he didn’t think people actually wore suits for leisure like that. Well, except like bigbusiness men or lawyers or something. Thomas was still a student in med school, like Paul had been. It seemed ridiculous to Sal that the man would wear a suit like that by choice. He certainly wouldn’t. The only times he’d ever worn a suit was to his father’s funeral and then Paul’s. He’d have liked to think he’d have called the guy back and offered him a slice or two, but he didn’t. Whether that had more to do with figuring the guy wasn’t interested in the pizza or his own discomfort over the brunet, Sal wasn’t sure. Either way, he didn’t say anything. Going back inside, he wasn’t surprised when 5’ 4” of dark hair and curious dark eyes immediately started in on him. “Who was that?” “Nobody.” He relieved Jimmy from the ovens, turning his back on his cousin and mindlessly starting in on the dough again. She scoffed at him, “Nobody, yeah right. I don’t believe that for a second. Come on, Sal, who was he? He was pretty cute and that accent of his, that’s hot you know, who is he?” “Am I paying you to flap your mouth?” Sal scowled over his shoulder at the girl, “Go refill some cups and quit buggin’ me.” “What did he want with you?” She persisted, ignoring his protests. “You got some kind of fling goin’ on with him later or something? He’s not your usual…” “Christ, Cecelia, let it go,” he snapped at his younger cousin. “It’s not your damn business anyway.” She huffed at him, eyes narrowing in a bit of a glare. “Fine. But you know I’m gonna find out one way or another at some point. Would have been a hell of a lot easier if you’d have just told me now, asshole.” She took the pitcher and stomped off. Sal shook his head, releasing a hot breath through his nose that felt and sounded a lot like stress. A kind of stress he hadn’t felt in a few weeks now. It was that Thomas' fault too, he’d been absolutely fine until today. Things had been great, then he had to show up with his earnest, pain filled green eyes and wedding band and sad, pathetic need that made Sal’s stomach turn. No… he definitely wasn’t going to call him. He’d just be setting himself up for a world of trouble if he did. He wasn’t going to call him. (Or will he? Bumbumbaaaaa) |
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| passionflower | Apr 11 2010, 12:48 PM Post #12 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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After arriving back at his hotel and parking his rental car, the brunet was soon back up in his room. He let out a heavy sigh as he closed the door, and he loosened the tie around his neck and slid it out from under his collar. He draped it over the back of a chair in the room. His eyes flicked over the hotel room quietly. A simple bed, a desk, a chair, a mini fridge and microwave, television, bathroom, and a mini closet and safe. A pretty typical room. He could have gone more upscale, but it hardly seemed necessary when it was just himself staying there. Silently he sat on the bed. His eyes flicked to the golden band on his finger. He moved his hand a little, this way and that, as the dim lights of the hotel room caused it to glimmer. The band that represented their future plans, once they graduated. Marriage in D.C. would be possible for the two of them, which was only a hop and a skip away from Hopkins. Never did either of them thing that something so out of their control would get in the way and wreck everything. Thomas felt his brows furrow and his eyes begin to sting. Hadn't he finished crying yet? Apparently not. Thomas slumped forward, shoulders rounding as his head fell into his hands. "Bloody hell..." he seethed to himself. He sniffed as the hot tears escaped the rims of his eyes. Despite being in the room alone, he attempted to hold in the noises and distress which wanted to escape, which really only made it worse. The sobs were cut off, almost painful as they bubbled up from his chest. His arms wrapped about his middle, as his head further hung forward and his shoulders shook. ".... Why did you have to die?" he croaked out between sobs. As if somehow his dead lover could hear him. But there came no answer for his question. Only silence. He really was alone. Very alone. That night, he found himself sitting in their old cafe. Their books and notes laid out. But where was Paul? He flipped open his phone. No calls to tell him he'd be late. Waiting... so much waiting... Till his phone rang. Thomas' eyes shot open. He shook his head, while his stomach had twisted uneasily in his stomach. He'd been about to relive that moment, again, in his dreams. He frowned as he flopped back onto the bed and rested his forearm over his eyes. Though he soon realized that his phone truly was going off. Salvatore...? Fumbling a bit, Thomas grabbed up his phone, and his brows furrowed. Nope, not Salvatore. He opened it none the less while his eyes went to the night stand clock. Seven-thirty in the morning... "You still forget the 6 hour time difference," he mumbled into his phone. "Ah shite! What time is it there then?" came a woman's voice. Thomas smiled a little none the less as he closed his eyes but kept the phone to his ear. "Seven-thirty. Could be worse I suppose. How are you doing, Emily?" he asked, ever polite. If anything he was thankful to have something to distract him from the repetitive dream he had been in the midst of having. "Mmm... The parents are worried about the fact you're taking a year off," she informed. Thomas' brows furrowed. "I know they probably don't understand. But I know what I am doing." he insisted with a soft sigh. "... So you still aren't over him yet, huh?" Emily mused quietly. "... Hardly." After a little chat with his sister, Thomas flipped his phone closed and he sat up. He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. He hardly felt rested. Then again he couldn't recall the last time he'd slept well, since Paul had passed. None the less he managed to push himself up from his bed. He glanced to his phone, picked it up, and took it with him into the bathroom. He had a feeling someone like Salvatore wouldn't be up this early, but he didn't want to take any chances at missing his call. If he would call... |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 01:28 PM Post #13 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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Cecelia had let up on the questions, but Sal spent the last hours of work feeling the girl glaring at him every other second. It was annoying and made everything he did twice as jerky as he usually did, but at least she wasn’t verbally badgering him any more. And he was really glad she wasn’t, because he knew himself too well – he’d have caved and told her what she wanted to hear if she’d have kept it up, just to get her to shut up. And he really didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it almost as much as he didn’t want to think about it, but unfortunately… that apparently wasn’t an option. All the way back to his apartment and into the evening he’d thought about it. He thought about Thomas Hayward and his wedding band and pain. He thought about Paul. Which only served to piss him off and throw every normal routine he’d built him self into out of whack. He hated it. He hadn’t even been able to look himself in the eye in the mirror over his sink in the bathroom after his shower – he’d finally gotten himself over that stupid issue and now suddenly it was back. Even worse, he was lying on his back staring at the ceiling at two in the God blessed morning with a huffing and dissatisfied redhead in bed beside him. If he hadn’t been mad before, he certainly was now. All he could think about was Thomas, which made him think about Paul, who only made him think about Thomas some more and that… it was not ok to think about your dead brother and his widowed fiancée when you’re trying to let off some steam with a curly haired redhead with long legs and a rack to brag about. He’d thought bringing a girl home would have helped matters, taken his thoughts away from the men screwing things over for him at the moment, but nope. Didn’t matter. Come morning, he was up too early. He fell asleep too late and woke up earlier than he had any business being awake. He was never up and moving before ten usually, but today he was up at the ass-crack of dawn, slumped in a pair of sweats and a tank top on his sofa. He chewed on the cigarette in his mouth, the stick unlit, eyes on the television set but not actually paying an ounce of attention to the news rambling on the screen. His cigarette was unlit, but it wouldn’t be for long – not if he couldn’t find a way to knock the ridiculous thoughts he’d been thinking for the last few hours from his head. Noise behind him sounded as he snatched up his lighter and flicked the thing on, inhaling as the stick took to the flame. He didn’t bother looking at the girl coming in from his room, the sound of her bare feet on the floor was enough to tell him what her expression would be without needing to see. She was pissed and he didn’t blame her. He was pretty pissed too. “I’m going,” she told him. He listened to the sound of her slipping back into her shoes, the heels clicking faintly on the wood. He didn’t answer, but he doubted she really expected him to. “So… yeah, just call me whenever. You know, when you’ve got your shit together.” He scowled. He did have his shit together; it was as together as it had ever been. He was fine. Ok, he wasn’t fine. Last night was a neon sign advertising how not fine he was, but he wasn’t about to admit it to some nameless bitch struggling with her own heels in his hallway. She let herself out, which was fine by him – he wasn’t about to get up and walk her to the damn door. With her now gone, Sal just slumped further into the sofa with his arms crossed irritably over his chest and cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. Maybe he should have kept her around… she’d at least been a distraction. Now he was just thinking again, wondering about little things that shouldn’t really matter. Except they did. Like Thomas’ gold band… he and Paul had been going to get married? Since when? When had that happened? Paul had mentioned really liking the guy, but something as serious as marriage had never been brought up. Had Paul proposed? Had Thomas? When had it been going to happen? Was Paul going to tell him? Why hadn’t he told him? The scowl twisted on Sal’s face. He felt a bit wounded by that… Paul hadn’t told him and he didn’t know why. Sure, he’d never been the most romantically inclined person and he’d poked fun at Paul all their lives for the slightly younger blond’s ideals about love and all that, but he’d always told Sal about stuff. Everything. From the stupidly unimportant to the life altering. But he hadn’t mentioned the seriousness of his thing with a guy named Thomas Hayward. Not even in passing. He hadn’t even hinted at it. He’d thought Paul told him everything… Letting out a puff of smoke, Sal rubbed the fingers of one had against his brow. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Almost unconsciously, he looked to the coffee table in front of him where a slip of paper sat in the center. He’d planned to tear the thing in two and toss it, but he hadn’t been able to. He sat up and snatched it up, slumping back down once it was between his fingers. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to call the guy. He didn’t want to call the guy. He didn’t want to talk about Paul, but… but he also kind of did. Even if just to get the story about this wedding thing his brother had kept from him. It was his brother, he deserved to know at least that, right? “Damn right,” he groused aloud to himself, thumbing the folded paper open to stare at the number written inside. The smudged number 3 at the end. Biting down on his cigarette, Sal grabbed his cordless phone from the table and dialed the number with his thumb before he could chicken out and put him through another couple hours of stress and restless wondering. |
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| passionflower | Apr 11 2010, 01:56 PM Post #14 |
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do it with passion or not at all
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The Brit had since finished stripping down out of his pajamas, and had adjusted the shower water to an appropriate temperature, though the water was on the hot side. The water felt good as it rolled over his shoulders and back. Thomas raked his hands back through his hair to smooth the wet dark strands away from his face. He'd just finished soaping up his body all over, the suds covered the length of his fit form. Sure he wasn't a body builder, but he took pride in taking care of himself. Ate well, got adequate exercise... His brows furrowed as he recalled the odd vision of Salvatore smoking. So strange how one brother could be so mindful of his health while the other didn't seem to give a flying fuck. It only cemented how different the two twins really had been. They might have shared the same dna and same face. But as Sal had mentioned, that was about it. Other than that they were entirely different people. Thomas stilled a moment or two, as he smirked to himself and shook his head. If not for the existence of Paul, he had a feeling if he'd ever just bumped into Salvatore on the street, he doubt he would have wanted to have anything to do with the other man. From the glimpse he'd seen of him, he was hardly his type. Too rough around the edges. Why was he even thinking about their compatibility anyway? Wasn't like he was here to hook up with his lover's twin. Besides how wrong that seemed in his head, it was also down right ridiculous. He paused in his washing as his Mozart ringtone went off. He yanked open the shower curtain, and looked to his phone. He grabbed a towel, quickly wiping off his hand, and grabbed it up. A local area code... He flipped open the phone, despite that the shower was still running. "Hello? This is Thomas speaking. Who is this?" he asked, figuring that was the polite way to answer the phone. Though he was pretty sure he knew who it was. Who else could it be? He didn't know anyone else in this city. And had only given out his number to one man last night. |
| ~*yes, as you wanted, I gave everything to you*~ | |
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| onyx | Apr 11 2010, 02:08 PM Post #15 |
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dream a little bigger, darling <3
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“When did it happen?” Sal popped off as soon as his call was answered. It ran over the polite greeting from the other end and he frowned at the phone, repeating himself after. “When did it happen?” It was probably rude of him to just rush in like that, not even bothering to identify himself to the man. But really, he didn’t care so much. He was in a funny mood anyway, irritable and tired and wounded, wounded like he didn’t think he ever could be. Not by Paul. Paul was his brother, literally the other side of his coin. They’d been together since second 1, always. He told Paul everything and he’d always thought Paul did the same with him, but now he couldn’t be sure. Paul could have been hiding things from him forever. How many things had his brother left unsaid? For Christ sake, if he hadn’t told him something like an engagement, he could have lied or breezed over just about anything with him. It hurt. Of course, he knew just demanding an answer without providing any backing to the question probably wasn’t the best way to find out what he wanted. Thomas wouldn’t have a clue what he was asking about. Sal scrubbed a hand over the top of his head, frowning hard into the phone, “The ring. When did it happen? When did he give it to you?” The sound of running water in the background registered to the blond, but he didn’t think to hard about it. Sounded like a shower. He must have caught the other man in the middle of his morning shower… oh well, Thomas had answered the phone. As far as Sal was concerned it was his own fault if he was hanging half in a shower on the phone now. |
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