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***
There's truth in the lies like I predicted
Devil in disguise, these thoughts are infectious
It’s all in my mind but I can't seem to find
A way out of the darkness and just leave it all behind
(INFECTIOUS - Imminence)
***
Philippe woke up feeling more excited than usual. He could hear Alex snoring next door, Tommy was silent instead and to Philippe that only meant one thing: Tommy was asleep as well. His suspicions were confirmed when he got out of his room fully dressed and saw the boy laying on the sofa. On any other day he’d make some coffee but he wanted to avoid the risk of waking them up, so, instead, he was going to have breakfast outside. He put on his jacket and his scarf before leaving, quietly closing the door after himself.
He went to Farrier's of course. The owner was happy to see him, and of course he asked about Tommy, Philippe knew that both Farrier and Collins were worried about their son, after all Tommy left for almost a month to go on a trip to Grosche with him and Alexander. As far as he knew, it was the first time Tommy had left for that long; Philippe was sure they missed their son and were wondering if everything went alright, so he reassured them that Tommy was fine.
Farrier left Philippe’s breakfast in front of him, he barely let it cool off. He was happy, and excited, and just after eating he rushed out of the café to the shop where he always got his photos developed. Unlike Thomas or Alexander, he could barely close his eyes that night. To think that just a few hours ago they were on a train heading back home made him giggle.
The shop was still closed, but he could see the employees through the glass of the door. So he walked around just to kill time. He was the first customer, he ignored the weird looks and left the negative films in their hands. One of Philippe’s dreams since moving to Londium was to have his own darkroom again. He was sure the employees wouldn’t damage his pictures, but he was worried about those he took with a disposable camera Alex made him buy after Philippe forgot his own at the hotel the third day of their trip.
--Cou cou! --It was a greeting Philippe saved only for Tommy, followed by a kiss on his forehead.
Tommy was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, he was reading the news on his tablet. He waved his hand and smiled, still looking tired.
Philippe left a brown bag, with Farrier’s Café logo printed on a darker shade, full of fresh bagels on the table, then went to his room. Now that the first part of his task was done, he could take a nap.
Philippe's phone buzzed by the afternoon, showing a short message on the lockscreen. His photographs were ready. He helped Tommy wash the dishes as they ate lunch together, since Alex was still asleep. He said goodbye and closed the door by the time Alex was coming out of his cave.
Now that Philippe had the pictures on his hands, he couldn’t wait to show them to the other boys. He could feel the happiness rushing through his veins as he pedalled on his way back to the flat he shared with Alexander. Nevertheless, his dreams and hopes were crushed when he found the place was empty and noticed that Tommy’s suitcases were gone. The rush of happiness turned into a static numbness as he let himself sink in the couch, the same couch where Thomas slept. Neither of them left a note for him nor send him a message, but it was quite evident to him that Alex drove Tommy home. He thought of going there but something in his heart told him it’d be inadequate. With a sigh he looked down at the envelope full of pictures that he still hugged against his chest, letting the sadness settle in.
Back in his room, he poured the pictures on his bed. It didn’t matter if they were there with him or not, he’d still sort them out and fill the album by himself. Philippe treasured every moment he could spend with them, and every time he could he’d take pictures of them. Serious, happy, sad, unaware, surprised, angry… he took every chance he had, no matter the lighting. One night, during their trip, he realized that he used the photographs as a way to capture their complexity in an attempt to understand them.
Looking at the pictures improved his mood, just seeing the first one made him smile. The three of them making funny faces in front of a mirror in the airport as they waited to board Alex’s private jet, because of course, the little fucker did have one. On one side of the bed he had the photographs he took with his camera, on the other, those he took with the disposable camera.
On the third day, after Alex made him buy that cheap disposable camera, Philippe challenged himself. He’d always carry numerous rolls of photographic film in his bag, but that day he only had that camera and its limited shoots. He could have bought a second one, even a third, but he decided to stick to one disposable camera, twenty-seven shoots. He had to think well and choose which moments, among the many possibilities, he truly wanted to keep and thus determining which things he held dear the most.
The pictures from that day had their own charm thanks to this. Even if the quality couldn’t be compared to that of those he took with his own camera, Philippe managed to vest them with a sense of spirituality. The fifth photo drew another smile out of him. He could remember that moment, the wind singing, the trees dancing, the people around him chatting. In the middle was a big tree, thick trunk, with the sun setting behind its countless branches, he had to cut them out of the frame. Until that moment, sitting on his bed, Philippe hadn’t realized that both Alex and Tommy were under the enormous tree, their faces merging into one blurred shape, distorted by the light and the distance between them and the lens.
Were they kissing?
His heart shrunk and cracked, just as the wood did on a cold night.
Or were they murmuring into each other’s ears as they do so often lately?
His chest ached yet again but he refused to put a label to what he was feeling. It wouldn’t be good for them, for their relationship --whatever it was by that moment--. He thought of it as a sickness, one that was devouring him from the inside. Philippe didn’t want them to reject him because he was sick but, also, he didn’t want them to be infected. Was he just a silent and passive spectator watching their lives pass by without actually entangling his to theirs?
After that day they turned secretive, Philippe couldn’t stop wondering why even if he knew that overthinking like that would start to tear him apart sooner than later. He picked up the pictures and put them back in the envelope, so they wouldn’t get damage when he laid on his bed. Tired, lonely. He held the fifth photograph of the disposable camera in front of him. Wondering, wondering.
What happened that day? Est-ce que je voudrais savoir?
With his eyes closed and the picture hugged against his chest, Philippe heard a little voice in his head, he could feel its words with his heart.
It has nothing to do with you.
Still, he wanted to know what was going on. He needed to.