Rating: Over all NC-17, this chapter PG
Warnings: M/M, slash
Summary: Given the chance, would you erase someone from your memory?
Feedback: Please do. Seriously.
I am not a very impulsive person, all in all. I like to plan things ahead. I like to have a plan. Yet, I find myself here, in a train, on my way to Bournemouth.
I woke up this morning with a strange itch. Got up, made myself coffee and tried to work on my painting. That's what I do for a living, you see, I paint. My next exhibition is due in three weeks and I'm still working on a few pieces. I could swear I had more done, but it seems I have waisted my time with works that aren't going anywhere. But today, I couldn't concentrate on painting, on anything really. I felt this strange urge to pack my bags and go. I knew that would drive my agent, I swear the poor guy will have a heart attack before his fortieth birthday, over the edge, but I could not help the gnawing feeling I had inside.
"Are you absolutely mad? A vacation? With three weeks till the exhibition? You still haven't finished with all the works! How can you possibly even consider going on a vacation?"
I always thought Mr. Urban had too loud of a voice.
"Where would you even go? And why? Inspiration? What do you mean inspiration? Go take a look at the sunset on the boulevard, for Christ's sake, why do you need to travel to find inspiration? Get drunk, get laid, smoke some weed, what ever you artists do while on their way to inspiration, God only knows, but do it here, I'm begging you."
I had never heard him beg before, it was rather interesting. But my mind was set. I needed to get out, I needed to get out today. I could hear him shouting in the telephone as I placed it on the table while packing my bags.
"This really isn't like you, you know, you are not a 'vacation' man! Really!"
"And you still haven't told me where you're going!"
Still not listening.
"I swear, you've been acting all funny since... since... never mind, but you have! And you should stop this nonsense right now and ... and paint!"
I couldn't hear anymore, as the mobile sat nicely on the bedroom table as I closed the front door.
How did I end up in England, wasn't really a story. I arrived to the airport, and the flight to London seemed like the thing to do. Something as if guided me to book the last available seat in the plane and fly here, and to take the train from Victoria station to Bournemouth, the beach city.
So, for the first time in my life, I was somewhere, doing something, completely without a plan or a mission. I was out cold, alone, and now I started to question my decision to have a vacation at this specific time. What the hell was I even thinking? I should have stayed put, I should, I really should have.
A small amount of panic was crawling to my mind, as I looked up and was faced with a pair of beautiful, brown eyes that had a depth in them like I've never seen before.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" Said a voice so sweet I couldn't help inhaling sharply.
"I don't think so, no. Sorry." Idiot. Idiot. Say something clever. The gorgeous eyes seem to be attached to a gorgeous face and that's all you can say is 'sorry'? Idiot.
"You sure? I swear I have met you before."
"I'm sorry, no. My name is Viggo. Perhaps you've seen my paintings?"
"My name is Orlando. No funny jokes about my name, I swear I've heard them all." The youngster smiles, sits opposite to me and shakes my hand with slender, long fingers that are covered with the silkiest skin I have ever felt. "I don't really know much about art, but that could be it. I might have seen you in the paper or somewhere."
"Funny jokes? Like what?"
"You know, 'Orlando, like the city', or something as stupid." The boy smiles. "Where are you heading?"
"Me too. What are the odds?"
I smile. What are the odds indeed.
"You don't sound like you are from around here."
"I'm not. I'm from the States. I'm on a vacation." I surprise myself with the pressure I put on the word. Like it means something hidden, something even I don't know.
"I see. I live in London, born and raised. I've never been to States, to be honest. I have been in Bournemouth a couple of times before, but today i had a... itch, you know. I felt like I needed to get away. Does that ever happen to you?"
I nod, surprised. "I had the same thing. Hence the holiday."
Announcement. Bournemouth. I don't want to get off this train. The boy looks at me with wide eyes and smiles then, with a mall smirk.
"Weird. Look, I'm gonna be around for a while, I don't know how long, but for a while anyway. Here's my number. I'd really like it if you called me. Really."
I stare. Something so familiar and yet so unfamiliar lies in those eyes.
This vacation is going to do me good.