AN: This work was originally posted as "Tell Me Who You Love." It was my first fic for this fandom and I hadn't really gotten a good grasp on the characters and who they are, so I went back and made a lot of edits, and now it's "No Word of Farewell."
I was not existent in the 50's/60's and I am not gay, bisexual, or male, so if I portrayed anything incorrectly or offensively please let me know how I can rectify this.
Content warnings include: canon-typical strong language (including one homophobic slur), alcohol use, implicit sex, vomiting/sickness, and references to suicide/death.
Blinding beams of light spill across the stage, glinting off the microphone stands and rippling along each string of Llewyn's guitar. Though the spotlight obscures his vision, he smiles aimlessly- not for the audience, in a forced display of showmanship, but for the wholly nonsensical joy that's growing inside him, drowning out all else. It's been so long… or rather, it FEELS like it's been so long… that he's surprised he still recognizes the emotion.
"Thank you," his partner tells the audience, with his familiar sense of almost-embarrassing earnestness. Anyone else would sound like a phony, but Llewyn has known from day one that Mike really means every word.
"Thank you all for coming out to see us." Mike pulls his guitar off from over his head and clutches it by the neck. "I'm Mike Timlin and this is Llewyn Davis. Together, we're Timlin and Davis."
Upon being introduced, Llewyn gives a halfhearted, "what the hell" wave, but his mind is focused on his partner's speech. Already the excitement is nipping at him, the hairs standing up on his arms. The last number is always a knockout, leaving spellbound every patron of the Gaslight. If it wasn't for this part of the show, he wouldn't even return to this joke of a venue. But every time they play, more and more come to listen, and it's enough to keep him going. Enough for him to fall deeper and deeper in love with the experience.
Mike dips out of sight, avoiding the spotlight's watchful eye, to hand off his guitar to someone at the foot of the stage. After a brief exchange, he pops up again, clutching his mandolin. An anticipatory shiver runs up Llewyn's spine.
"For our last number," his partner says, "we're going to send you home with an old song. A good song. A love song."
He nods, but Llewyn doesn't need to look at him to know when to begin. The notes trickle from his fingers, filling the air with the kind of sweet intimacy that hushes voices and takes breath away. He closes his eyes and sinks into the music, his partner's voice winding around his.
"If I had wings like Noah's dove, I'd fly up the river to the one I love. Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."
Mike Timlin was the most gregarious person Llewyn had ever known, who'd never touched a drop of alcohol.
Of course, there was no way to confirm this. It was only to the best of Llewyn's knowledge that Mike was a total teetotaler. He hadn't known Mike until the tail end of Mike's college days, when the prime time for any possible alcoholic exploits had already passed. And at first he couldn't be sure whether or not Mike did drink. Maybe he snuck sips from a well-hidden flask before a show, or maybe he'd boldly nursed a beer right in front of Llewyn, sometime when Llewyn was too bogged into his cups to see straight.
However, Llewyn couldn't remember ever having seen him with a drink in hand, and if he didn't remember it, he doubted it had happened. It was a little strange, if he stopped to contemplate Mike's behavior. Mike could sit at the bar for hours after a show, telling story after story with more finesse than Llewyn could ever handle. He'd fire off every joke under the sun, garnering laughs with even the oldest chestnuts. And through it all he'd stay sober, though he'd offer to pay for the next round and the next, even when Llewyn gave him a nudge. "Hey, Mikey, go easy. You've gotta pay the rent somehow."
"And who's helping with that?" Mike shot back at one point, not long after Llewyn moved back in, for good this time. He stuck his chin in the air, an unbelievably wide grin on his face. "If I'm goin' down, I'm taking you with me!"
Often Llewyn let Mike handle all the socializing when they were out in a big group, or as big a group as it ever got- Jim and Jean and Beth and Sam and even Anton sometimes, if he was up for it. Mike habitually placed himself at the center of attention, while Llewyn sat quietly and soaked up the vibes. The arrangement caused no hard feelings, for Mike had always possessed a certain adeptness at conversation. While Llewyn found it hard to emerge from a song at the end of a performance, Mike was able to change rapidly from introspective singer to quick-talking charmer, as if shedding his skin. That was another aspect of Mike that constantly left Llewyn puzzling. How does he pull it off? What made Llewyn's masquerade so transparent, while Mike's transformation was downright flawless?
Even with his attention diverted, Llewyn always knew when Mike was coming because no one else in the world had a voice as vibrant as his. "Llewyn!" he would boom, traipsing over to clap his hands on Llewyn's shoulders and pull him in. "Got any room at the table for one more? I'm fuckin' beat."
"Yeah, here ya go," Llewyn would say, pulling up the nearest empty chair. "You should learn to watch your language, Mikey. Gotta preserve that clean-cut choir boy image."
"Aw, shut your mouth, Llew." Settling into his seat, Mike paused to flick Llewyn behind the ear. "Show's over. I'm off-duty now."
Llewyn flicked Mike right back, the upturned corners of his mouth belying the dourness in his eyes. In a group setting, Llewyn always made an effort not to sit too close to Mike, or laugh too much… but damn, it was hard not to lean into the warmth Mike radiated. To absorb the energy that had drawn him to Mike since the day they stumbled across each other in Washington Square Park. Fortunately, the rapt faces around the table often proved that Llewyn wasn't alone in his desire.
Few dared to be as tactile with Llewyn as Mike. Any other person to grab him unexpectedly came close to receiving a smack, or at least a threat. But when Mike came up behind him to clap him on the shoulder, or gave his arm a friendly punch, or spontaneously threw his arms around him, Llewyn didn't just tolerate it- he found himself appreciating it.
"I don't get it, Llewyn," Jean had sighed, one night after Mike had wandered away to the nearest restroom. "About you and Mike."
"What about me and Mike?" Llewyn casually replied, one eye focused on balancing someone's unused fork across the rim of his empty glass.
"You actually like it when he touches you," Jean declared. "He's the only guy who can get away with doing that. Shit, he's the only person. I've never seen any of your girlfriends hang all over you the way Mike does."
"Except for Lydia," Llewyn was quick to point out.
Jean shuddered. "Lydia! God, I could yak in my mouth just thinking about her. Remind me never again to accept an invitation from you when you've got a date in tow."
Llewyn shrugged, his eyebrows rising. The fork tumbled into his glass, effectively eliminating his distraction.
"What, didn't enjoy the show?"
"The one onstage, yes." Jean gulped down the rest of her beer. "The one you tried to put on right in front of me, no."
Good thing you didn't stick around for the encore, thought Llewyn. He glanced over to the end of the bar, watching the light sparkle off half-empty glasses that an earlier group had abandoned upon leaving. He could have ribbed Jean further with the statement, but even implications struck him as a little too kiss-and-tell. Unlike many other patrons who frequented these dives, Llewyn was reluctant to spill sex stories. None of their business. Nothing interesting about it.
"Seriously," Jean continued after a moment's pause, with a hint of curiosity in her voice that set Llewyn on edge. "What is it with you two? You get the biggest smile on your face whenever he's hanging with us. It's never the same when it's just you and me."
"Well… he's my partner," Llewyn responded automatically. "We make music together. I dunno what else to say, Jean. I mean, you get to know a person that way, you can't help liking him a little."
Jean snickered in amusement. "Of course. Why do you think I married Jim?" She knocked back the rest of her drink, and thankfully did not question Llewyn further.