Work Text:
I cannot take my eyes off you. Never could, failed every attempt.
At the bar, a book in my hands, as I am reading the same sentence five times in a row without comprehending a word because my mind is too occupied with catching glimpses on this fascinating person, too busy with mixing cocktails to look up, whose mere presence makes me feel drunk without a single drop of alcohol.
In the corridor, when I go to work early in the morning or come home late at night and you return from bringing up room service and our paths cross by coincidence. A fleeting second of eye contact, a small smile of surprise and off you go, continuing your shift and fulfilling your duty. You do not realize that I stay frozen to the spot, my gaze glued to the direction you disappeared to, and get a serious lecture on the part of my colleagues or my mother about punctuality as I lose track of time whenever it happens.
Even here, in a shelter underneath the hotel as German bombs are once again raining down on London.
Everybody is shaken and frightened by the recent actions, but since times like this bring people closer together, they all find solace in their relatives and friends or just simple acquaintances.
Except one.
You live near Paddington!
Yes?
A bomb dropped on a shelter and killed everyone inside!
…Look, I’m alright. See? I’m fine.
You were not. Of course not. The attacks were spreading fear across the whole town, the German airplanes were coming closer every day. Gone were the times when we could talk ourselves into believing this was only happening to the others, to the unknown. You must have been totally stirred up inside knowing there had been an attack so close to your own domicile. Instead you cracked a smile – this radiant, enchanting smile that makes my head spin - and made a teasing remark. I was on the verge of freaking out, you were just trying to reassure me by putting on an act and hiding how you truly felt. I should have known.
God, that’s a ridiculous lie -
Breathe. Please, for me. Slowly in and out.
Again. You were the one who was about to lose everything, whose whole existence was on the line, and yet, you were the one who stayed calm and collected, preventing me from making any further fuss and look even more suspicious.
You will go to him and tell him it was all me. That I’m a nuisance, that I’ve been bothering you.
Toby, whichever way this goes, I’ll lose my job, but you need to protect yourself.
You had it all laid out. The perfect way out for me, a story nobody would question or object to. The lowly servant harassing the wealthy nobleman - immigrant and homosexual to boot – what an easy target for the press and for people to gossip about, whether or not there was any evidence. I would be off the hook… while your life would be wrecked and disgraced with no chance to redeem yourself. You knew that the loss of your workplace would be the least of your worries. You knew the risk of deportation or prison. But you trivialised it, you did not even mention the risks that you would have to take on. You chose the worst possible outcome for yourself without a second of hesitation in order to keep me safe and sound.
Because this is what you do. Keeping a clear head, pretending you are fine, hiding your fears, disregarding your own needs. For my sake.
Me, on the other hand, the overthinking, worrying and panicking analyst, I do not understand, I do not recognize the lie. I just take all of your words at face value and let myself be fooled until the truth jumps up and down right in front of my eyes.
And that moment is now.
There you are, in a small, dark corner in the back of the shelter, all by yourself. Hardly any guests came to this area, so I made a beeline for this spot like I always do, hoping for some peace and quiet. On second thought, this wish may sound more like a feeble joke considering there is a war going on above our heads.
You were one of the last staff members coming downstairs. You stayed behind as the saloon was evacuated, peering with worry at Mr Sullivan, the pianist you are quite chummy with, who has shown no intention of leaving. I am not sure if you realize that I am staring at you. I do not even know if you noticed that I am only a few feet away to begin with. In any case, you have not returned my gaze once. As if you were tying not to be seen. Or perhaps you just do not want to be infected by the panic. I cannot tell. You have always been so much better at reading people’s emotions.
Plaster is trickling down from the ceiling continuously, the sound of sirens and canons is impossible to overhear, it feels like the whole ground is shifting. Your head is bent down, your eyes tight shut. You are probably rehearsing Mr. Garland’s instructions about professional behaviour during an air alert over and over inside your head, trying to supress every thought of bombs, weapons, lifeless bodies etcetera. Despite all efforts to maintain professional, your fear is visibly leaking through.
But nevertheless, you grip to the blankets to stop your hands from trembling, holding on to your composure.
You are human. Humans are scared of war, bombs and losing their existence. Why have I never drawn the logical conclusion?
With all the memories rushing through my head, realization finally hits me. At this moment, there are so many things I want to do.
Enfold you in my arms.
Hold you through the terror.
Tell you that there is no need to act brave, that it is okay.
Offer you the comfort and protection you gave me all along.
And maybe… ask you why you were willing to put my welfare above anything else.
It runs along with the dozens of questions about why you would even waste your time on someone as unspectacular as me. Why my presence caught your attention in the first place. Why you are able to make me feel like I am the only person in the room with every move, every word or just by listening to my utopian thought experiments about God and the world others would only roll their eyes at.
Whereas deep inside, my most abstruse, irrational fantasies claim to know the answer, yet I hardly dare to put my finger on it. Because I never believed that this was a possibility, a realistic option without a catch. Not for me. Every now and then, when the idea bubbles up in my foolish mind, I try to brush it off. But my even more foolish heart keeps on hoping. I look at you and these wispers of hope are getting louder, saying that it is true.
That you care for me. More than anyone ever has. Deeper than anyone ever has. Wholeheartedly and unconditionally, the way I have been waiting to be loved all my life without even knowing what I missed.
Because this is what I think of when I remember the time we spent together, the look in your eyes, your gentle touch and your thoughtful actions towards me.
It is crystal clear to me all of a sudden. The pictures, the emotions, any of it.
There is another vibration going through the shelter. Some glasses shatter on the ground, many guests make screechy noises.
You don’t. You wince, hunch up and duck your head even lower, nothing too conspicuous. Nobody sees. Nobody cares.
But I do. I see. And I… care.
It is a cold, stormy November night in a shelter somewhere in London town. The war goes on and the society we live in is still as unfair, intolerant and cruel as before. But I cannot take my eyes off you. Watching this new side of you, a more vulnerable, more intimate part of you, I came to understand your true self and how much I mean to you. Which, in turn, made my inner feelings, the sort of feelings I thought I was not capable of, come to light.
And right now, I just wish you would raise your head, look into my eyes and realize how much you mean to me as well.