"The professor and the boy are peaceful tonight. The place is in darkness apart from the small lamp in the living room that sits beside the settee. It casts a warm glow onto the entwined couple as they sway to the music that oozes from the record player that is sun faded and worn. Glad to be free from Aldeburgh and the dusty front room. It is opera; an unusual choice to some but not for them. This is their song; the same chord sequences that juxtaposed their carnal and erratic relationship to begin with. There is something daring about this piece. A hint of defiance hidden into the chorus.
The elder gives the younger a chaste kiss, closed mouthed and with-holding. It's hard to know whether he doesn't want to take things further. Perhaps this is what he wants. Something intimate and emotive. Despite the difference in height, it is easy to see who leads and who follows in their dance. Surely it must be this obvious to everyone. To look upon, they seem unremarkable. It is only if you had seen them before would you know the change, the difference. And not many people have had that pleasure.
There is a cat somewhere outside. Perhaps catching a mouse in the entry way or perhaps resting beneath the blue convertible that has retained some of the heat from the engine from the drive home in busy traffic. The street lamps cast their energy saving light upon the pavements and through the window onto the couple and illuminated their profiles to each other.
"I love you," one of them whispers. It is hard to know which one has said it but it would seem the feeling is mutual. The younger leans in for a kiss, expecting something similar to before no doubt. He breathes in deeply when the kiss is more intense than first thought. Hands reach up to grasp hair or to caress a cheek and they are at one with each other. Each shift in movement accommodated, each turn of the head accounted for. There is a gentle sound to their kiss but there is no one else there to hear them. They could be louder but there is no need, not when they are so close.
Around them are the signs or their life together. Photographs and small pieces of paper that provide reminders to the menial tasks of life. There are books and journals stacked with abandon on various surfaces which blend together art and the sciences in chaotic harmony. A small rubber mouse veers on the edge of the table, fearing for its safety but unable to squeak out in protest. A forgotten teacup and a muffin wrapper decorate the table beside the lamp and there are copies of some books that have just made the best-seller list. There are no newspapers. Those are no longer welcome in this household.
The record stops.
It is quiet and still as one of them moves to replace it before resuming their rightful place. They begin to dance again./p