Denver, at four in the afternoon, was…inconspicuous. Steven's hands tightened around the steering wheel of his battered yellow Beetle, his eyes flicking across the desolate, domestic streets. He could kill Charlie for this, a thought that he constantly reiterated to stop the sinking feeling that perhaps Steven had missed Charlie in a different state, or in a different city.
That idiot, disappearing like this. At first Steven thought that perhaps Charlie needed his space but soon as week three had rolled around and there had been no word, Steven was out the door, in his beat up car and combing the cracked streets. Steven would stay in Denver until he found Charlie, he swore it to himself-and to that whopping idiot. There was no other place Charlie could be, Denver was the heart of the beatnik revolution, where Kerouac had met Cassidy and where Ginsberg had likened the two as Gods. If Charlie was anywhere, he was here.
However, Steven was doubtful. He had parked his car downtown in front of the painted window of a grocery store. It was empty, not exactly what he had been expecting. With his wallet in his back pocket, keys and a photograph of Charlie in his hand, Steven took to the streets asking the same question he had been asking for the past six days. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my friend, Charlie Dalton. He's in a bit of trouble-" He'd surrender the photo calmly, "Have you seen him? He might look a little different now, longer hair, unshaven…" The responses were usually unhelpful.
Steven questioned shop employees, he wove in between cafes, hotels, motels, malls-everywhere. All the time with a hardened expression of unflinching determination.
The sky darkened, the paper lanterns that had been shed skins suddenly bloomed into life and mismatched colours. People were drawn out from their houses in their most colourful clothing as butterflies from cocoons. Denver in the day time was a poor comparison to the thrumming life that flourished at night.
At about eight O' clock at night, The clerk in the Apothecary recognized Charlie with an pitying expression. "Yeah," He exhaled, an older man with a round nose and a friendly face that matched his large figure. "I know him, comes in for some odd things every now and then. Doesn't look well, that's for sure. I've seen him at, uh, Furthur. Nice little café…" Most of what he said was lost to the thudding of Steven's heart that resounded in his ears. Steven could've cried, he was so relieved-Charlie was alive. If anything he was simply alive. "I got him a back room job here on the weekdays, three to five because I felt so bad for the kid-"
"You said something about Furthur?" Steven was rushed, excited and exhilarated. Moist palms were on the counter as he leaned towards the man eagerly. "Please, I need to find him-as soon as possible-it's an emergency." He pleaded and the other man shrugged, asking Steven if he wanted him to draw a map to Furthurs.
"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens," Chelsea, a townie with a sinful looking body and luxurious long brown hair, purred her sultry voice into the microphone. "Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche," Her voice carried through the mellow café accompanied by Arthur's nimble fingers on the piano. It was late enough at this point for most of the customers to be in a lazy drunken haze or under the influence of some of the harder stuff that was passed around that she didn't have to make a huge show. "Voilà le portrait sans retouche," Her eyes landed on the slumped single figure in the first row. A split second of guilt passed through as she remembered that Charlie, some crazy cat she had become acquainted with recently, absolutely loathed La Vie en Rose. Then again, he always looked miserable-the price of being an artist.
"Excuse me, pardon-sorry," Steven slid through the groups of people that littered the steps down into the milky atmosphere where smoke caught the blue and purple lights in a somber halo.
"De l'homme auquel j'appartiens…quand il me prend dans ses bras," Steven tried to remain calm, composed as he dodged the colourful people on his way to the luminescent bar.
"Excuse me," He started again with the photo in his hand. That question was pretty much burned into his brain, tattooed there along with Charlie.
"Il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour," Ice cubes clinked together in the heart amber liquid as the glass sweated in Steven's hand. Trust Charlie to find somewhere as hot as this place. And as unsanitary, Steven couldn't help but noting as his vision was filled with messy lipstick, torn skirts, spilt drinks and groping hands. "Des mots de tous les jours,"
Steven would swear until the day he died that time slowed as soon as his eyes landed on a familiar beret and shaggy brown hair. His drink almost joined the others on the ground, his sense of determination was the only thing that saved it. God, Charlie…Steven's eyes closed briefly, his thought sounding like a prayer.
"Et ça me fait quelque chos. Il est entré dans mon cœur,"
Steven played it casual, his heart thudding as he quietly drew the wicker chair next to Charlie out from under the table and sat down. Either Charlie was ignoring him, or hadn't noticed. "Oh Jesus." Steven's words pushed through his mouth without thought when his eyes landed on Charlie's hands that were curled on the table next to his empty glass. Steven reached for him, clasping Charlie's hand between his own, a sympathetic gesture.
Charlie's hands weren't the semi-calloused texture anymore. Instead of paint, bruises stained his hands. Steven loved Charlie's hands…
The brunet seemed to wake from his pensive stupor. Brown eyes blinking in a puzzled face as he saw Steven, his jaw slack. "Une part de Bonheur dont je connais la cause," The song filled the potential awkward silence that threatened the pair as they stared at each other.
"What were you drinking, rum or whiskey?" Steven tipped Charlie's glass, trying to find a distraction, something that would put off the inevitable feeling of a break down. Charlie had a slow collective blink, not entirely understanding what was happening. "Oh, for the love…" Exasperation stamped through Steven as he rolled his eyes and tucked his chair as close to Charlie as he could. Dropping his hand Steven's pristine hands cupped the brunet's face. "Don't leave me again."
"I…I wasn-" Charlie tried to shift away, uncomfortable, scared and confused. "I…you shouldn't be here." Steven let him fold back into himself with a small smile of affection.
"You idiot, Charlie. I'm not leaving you here."
"I broke up with you." Charlie folded his arms, returning to a facet of himself-a good sign.
"Well, I don't accept that." Steven shrugged, swirling the contents of his drink around on the table as the song continued huskily. "I'm bringing you home Charlie, whether you come willingly or not-because I love you, because you do a crap job at protecting me or whatever you think it is that you're doing. Because…I miss your dirty talk." Steven added shyly with an attempt at lightening the mood. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry as Charlie stared at him incredulously.
Suddenly Charlie laughed, almost dispersing all of the tension before it turned into a sob. "God," was the only coherent word that was heard before Steven folded his arms back around him, holding Charlie as close as he could.
"I should kill you, I could kill you...damn it Charlie, just let me help you for once." His fingers traced Charlie's face, idly memorizing the curves before determination struck him. "C'mon Charlie, let's get out of here..."
...Hi, remember me? I can hardly blame you if you don't-sorry that THIS is my comeback upload. It doesn't seem to have the urgency I wanted it to have and I dunno how to fix it. Any suggestions would be fantastic!
