Title: This Story Is About...
Author: Nat Carter
Fandom: Moulin Rouge
Pairing: Toulouse/Satie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Truth? Beauty? Freedom? Love? You decide.
Series/Sequel: Possibly. It feels like there's going to be more.
Web Page: http://www.skeeter63.org/nat
*
This Story Is About...
by Nat Carter
*
He's dying.
He hasn't heard it from an official source. No doctor has told him. He hasn't even seen a doctor. Nothing is confirmed. What's killing him doesn't have a name in his mind, there is no way of identifying it, of knowing for sure that whatever is eating away at his body is killing him; but he knows.
They don't know. Toulouse doesn't know. Zidler doesn't know. Satine and Christian don't know.
Although Toulouse is about to find out. Satie pulls his hat securely down around his ears, tucks his hands up in the sleeves of his coat, and knocks on Toulouse's door. With his luck, Toulouse isn't even there. With his luck, Toulouse is out carousing with his friends, Toulouse is in a brothel somewhere, Toulouse is--
"Satie?" The door opens, and Toulouse smiles at him. "What're you doing here?"
"There's something I need to tell you," Satie says shortly, shouldering his way inside Toulouse's apartment. It's bright and cluttered, canvasses and tubes of paint scattered amidst half-full glasses of absinthe. Satie glances around, takes a seat on the couch.
Toulouse fills two relatively clean glasses with the green liquid, hands one to Satie. "What is it?" Toulouse asks. "Problems with the score?"
"No." Satie takes a deep breath. "I'm dying."
"You're what?" Toulouse frowns. "Satie, you're not dying, you're fine, you're--"
"Listen to me, Toulouse." He struggles not to raise his voice. "I *am* dying. I can feel it."
"You're mad," Toulouse murmurs, face drawn tight. "You're crazy, you're drunk, you're...serious. You mean it, don't you, Satie."
He nods. "Toulouse, listen, I don't want you to tell anyone. I don't want them to know. I--"
"Stop." Toulouse comes over to the couch and sits beside Satie. Hesitantly, he reaches out and puts a hand on Satie's knee. "There's something...if what you're saying is true...I need to tell you something."
Satie fiddles with the end of his scarf. "You'd better tell me."
"I love you."
"You love everybody, Toulouse."
"Not like this."
He looks at Toulouse. Toulouse's eyes are serious. He means it. "Don't do this, Toulouse," Satie begs. "You're...you're going to get hurt. It can only end badly."
"Loving you won't hurt."
"Losing me will."
"You can't know unless we try."
Satie eyes the hand on his knee, then slowly reaches out, covers it with his own. Toulouse immediately turns his hand, slipping his fingers between Satie's. He slides closer, pressing their sides together, and rubs his thumb over the back of Satie's hand, noting how easily the skin slides over the bones. "How long, do you think?" Toulouse murmurs.
"I don't know," Satie answers. "Not much longer."
Silence for a long moment. Then, "Rehearsal in fifteen minutes," Toulouse observes.
"Yes." Satie pulls slowly away. He smiles at Toulouse. "I'll see you there?"
"Of course." Toulouse smiles back. Satie leaves quietly, closing the door behind him.
On the couch, Toulouse's smile slips. He picks up the absinthe bottle and reaches for the nearest glass, then hesitates. He eyes the bottle, then raises it to his lips. Satie is right; someone's going to get hurt. He hopes it's worth it.
*end, for now*
Author: Nat Carter
Fandom: Moulin Rouge
Pairing: Toulouse/Satie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Truth? Beauty? Freedom? Love? You decide.
Series/Sequel: Possibly. It feels like there's going to be more.
Web Page: http://www.skeeter63.org/nat
*
This Story Is About...
by Nat Carter
*
He's dying.
He hasn't heard it from an official source. No doctor has told him. He hasn't even seen a doctor. Nothing is confirmed. What's killing him doesn't have a name in his mind, there is no way of identifying it, of knowing for sure that whatever is eating away at his body is killing him; but he knows.
They don't know. Toulouse doesn't know. Zidler doesn't know. Satine and Christian don't know.
Although Toulouse is about to find out. Satie pulls his hat securely down around his ears, tucks his hands up in the sleeves of his coat, and knocks on Toulouse's door. With his luck, Toulouse isn't even there. With his luck, Toulouse is out carousing with his friends, Toulouse is in a brothel somewhere, Toulouse is--
"Satie?" The door opens, and Toulouse smiles at him. "What're you doing here?"
"There's something I need to tell you," Satie says shortly, shouldering his way inside Toulouse's apartment. It's bright and cluttered, canvasses and tubes of paint scattered amidst half-full glasses of absinthe. Satie glances around, takes a seat on the couch.
Toulouse fills two relatively clean glasses with the green liquid, hands one to Satie. "What is it?" Toulouse asks. "Problems with the score?"
"No." Satie takes a deep breath. "I'm dying."
"You're what?" Toulouse frowns. "Satie, you're not dying, you're fine, you're--"
"Listen to me, Toulouse." He struggles not to raise his voice. "I *am* dying. I can feel it."
"You're mad," Toulouse murmurs, face drawn tight. "You're crazy, you're drunk, you're...serious. You mean it, don't you, Satie."
He nods. "Toulouse, listen, I don't want you to tell anyone. I don't want them to know. I--"
"Stop." Toulouse comes over to the couch and sits beside Satie. Hesitantly, he reaches out and puts a hand on Satie's knee. "There's something...if what you're saying is true...I need to tell you something."
Satie fiddles with the end of his scarf. "You'd better tell me."
"I love you."
"You love everybody, Toulouse."
"Not like this."
He looks at Toulouse. Toulouse's eyes are serious. He means it. "Don't do this, Toulouse," Satie begs. "You're...you're going to get hurt. It can only end badly."
"Loving you won't hurt."
"Losing me will."
"You can't know unless we try."
Satie eyes the hand on his knee, then slowly reaches out, covers it with his own. Toulouse immediately turns his hand, slipping his fingers between Satie's. He slides closer, pressing their sides together, and rubs his thumb over the back of Satie's hand, noting how easily the skin slides over the bones. "How long, do you think?" Toulouse murmurs.
"I don't know," Satie answers. "Not much longer."
Silence for a long moment. Then, "Rehearsal in fifteen minutes," Toulouse observes.
"Yes." Satie pulls slowly away. He smiles at Toulouse. "I'll see you there?"
"Of course." Toulouse smiles back. Satie leaves quietly, closing the door behind him.
On the couch, Toulouse's smile slips. He picks up the absinthe bottle and reaches for the nearest glass, then hesitates. He eyes the bottle, then raises it to his lips. Satie is right; someone's going to get hurt. He hopes it's worth it.
*end, for now*