Archive of Our Own

Relying on the weather in London to do as one wished was a futile endeavor at best, and ultimately a rather foolish one. Unless, of course, one hoped for a large amount of fog, interspersed frequently by a rather dreary downpour, in which case they were certain to be a consistently happy individual.

Getting caught out in the rain unexpectedly thus took a bit of talent, as it required one not expecting rain, which generally speaking was a fairly safe thing to do. Particularly on days when the sun saw fit to show its face for a few moments, the next damp and dripping moment was only a few breaths away.

Perhaps it was merely an oversight, or else Albert’s characteristic optimism that led them to such a contrary and inaccurate deduction. Happy as he had been to return to London and have the chance to explore what remained of the Great Exhibition, it had been next to impossible not to be influenced by his contagious energy, to the point that the sky itself seemed to agree for long enough to grant a rare and precious sunny day.

It said something significant about Barok’s life as of late, as well as Albert’s overall impact on his general demeanor, that it hadn’t occurred to him to consider that those fortunate circumstances might not, in fact, last.

At least the rain was kind enough to wait until they’d already begun to tire and consider leaving the exhibition to begin. Without its influence, Barok questioned whether he would truly have been able to convince Albert to give in to the exhaustion that had already caused him to begin to sway on his feet despite his best attempts to remain upright and scientific.

Though they’d considered taking shelter before traveling back to the van Zieks estate – where Barok had insisted on sheltering Albert following an ordeal with a rather difficult hotel bill – the initial rainfall hadn’t been heavy enough to warrant much concern. Thus, the decision had been made to try and arrive before the weather on the chance that it should worsen.

It was not a race that they won.

Never before had the path towards the entrance of the manor seemed quite so long. Though he’d done his best – either without thinking, or thinking far too much about entirely the wrong things – to shelter Albert beneath the protection of his cloak, the fabric ultimately proved completely inadequate, and both men were drenched by the time they finally made it indoors that they initially left a bit of a puddle in their wake.

There was nothing particularly strange about any of that – as recent problems went, it was among the most mundane Barok had experienced.

What was strange, inexplicably so, was that though their bodies were thoroughly dampened, their spirits were not.

God help him – he was actually smiling. Through streaks of water running down from hair that had been thoroughly plastered against his forehead, he smiled – it was small, unfamiliar almost to the point of a strange sort of pain.

Yet, he couldn’t have helped it if he tried.

Albert was rambling – about what in particular, Barok would have had difficulty summarizing, though he hung on every word. The dear man’s tangents were mere verbalized thoughts at the best of times, meandering through various topics as fast as his mind could make the connection, oftentimes in a dizzying sort of way but always finding his way back, eventually, to whatever point he was endeavoring to make. Or, at the very least, back to check in with his active listener.

Whether he was fretting about the rain or impressed by it was thoroughly up for interpretation, as his current tirade held equal notes of both. That his glasses had grown difficult to see through was a point of distress Barok managed to note, the frustration exacerbated by the fact that every bit of cloth upon his person was too thoroughly dampened to be of any assistance.

Taking it upon himself to be both caretaker and problem-solver in this instance, he managed to guide his dear friend into the presence of dry towels and a warm fire, with an ordered cup of tea on the way. To become warm and dry as quickly as possible would be the best policy in terms of preventing any adverse effects of being drenched . . .

So he assured himself repeatedly while insisting they hang as many dripping outer layers of clothing behind as possible in order to allow them to dry.

Cloak, coats, sweaters and the like were all left behind by the time they finally settled in front of the fire. Towels in hand, attempts to dry hair and faces were made to varying degrees of success. Poor Albert’s hair seemed to be retaining a good deal of water, dripping and falling repeatedly over his eyes.

Though not yet much better off himself, Barok found it difficult to be concerned with anything else. Albert’s glasses had been set aside, and he was busy trying to determine just how long it had been since he’d had the opportunity to take in all the details of his face without anything at all in the way.

Not that the glasses didn’t suit him, of course – only that it was something incredibly precious to be able to appreciate every little freckle and wide, expressive eyes entirely unencumbered. They sparkled in the firelight . . . they . . .

Ah. They were turned upon him.

“ – Don’t you think so, Barok?” It appeared Albert’s latest journey of thought had concluded, bringing him back to Barok’s side and attention. He was looking up at him, hair still dripping into his face despite his efforts to dry it, clearly expecting some sort of response.

Suddenly aware of just how distracted he’d become, Barok straightened his spine a bit guiltily. Humming, he cleared his throat and regained his bearings, patting at his neck for a moment with the towel he’d tossed around his shoulders. It was a surprise he wasn’t yet dry, considering how warm he suddenly felt despite having already undone the first few buttons of his shirt.

“. . . Forgive my distraction,” he managed, polite and apologetic, “. . . but might I trouble you to repeat the question?”

To his credit, the wonderful man, Albert did not appear either offended or concerned. Nodding quickly – an action which caused more droplets to fall from the ringlets of his hair upon his face, though he quickly wiped them away – he spoke once more. “I asked – well, if you think this is just like that other time. Before, I mean – not before before, as in recently, but as in longer ago. Back in university. You do remember, don’t you? It is . . . well, it is . . . familiar. Isn’t it?”

Swallowing, he looked off to the side, as if suddenly uncertain if his question was worth answering.

He needn’t have worried; as he processed the very first word, the memory had already resurfaced within Barok’s mind. Though he had not as of yet made the connection between moments, as soon as Albert spoke he became aware of the fact that it had in truth lingered there at the back of his mind the entirety of their journey through the rain. Perhaps making it less frustrating to navigate in the first place. . .

Perhaps making it easier to smile.

“. . . It is,” he agreed, speech slow and careful. “I remember. The rain surprised us between classes and we ran for shelter.”

Immediately, Albert smiled. For all intents and purposes, the rain may as well have been over, and the sun returned – no matter how it continued to fall upon the windows, as well as Albert’s face from continuously dripping curls. “Yes! Exactly. That’s exactly it – what I was thinking of.” he nodded, then huffed out a breath, fidgeting slightly in place while looking down at the towel in his hands. “We had to, um – take shelter together. Just like this.”

Just like this.

He was right. In every sense – more, even than he likely knew. Over a decade before, yet the circumstances had been just the same. Drenched clothes and sopping hair chilling them to the bone, yet spirits remained light purely from the presence of fond company.

They’d sat, then, just like this, Albert in futile attempt to clean his classes as his every attempt to dry himself off was hindered by his own curls.

Just like this, Barok’s heart had ached and missed several beats.

“Right!” Forcing another breath – out of relief, perhaps? Or some unspoken burden? – he fisted his hands into the towel laid in his lap and gave a single, brisk nod while looking down. “We . . . we had . . . quite the conversation, then. Didn’t we? I recall that much, I think.”

Quite the conversation . . .?

In truth, it was difficult for Barok to remember. Doing so would have required remembering anything other than the pounding in his chest, his racing thoughts – most notably, it would have required him to remember anything Albert had said, and his ability to do so was thoroughly and completely overshadowed by everything he, himself, had made the transgression of saying.

Feeling rather warm again, he wiped a streak of water away from his face and fought for words. Whereas Albert always seemed burdened with far too many, and more so when anxious, he’d always found himself to have rather the opposite problem.

“. . .We did. I recall. . .informing you how grateful I was to have been caught outside with you . . . over the company of anyone else.” The words were difficult to speak, his voice quiet and labored, but they were the truth.

What he didn’t speak was the intention behind the statement, delivered then with the same amount of mustered strength and a good deal more anxiousness. Did Albert recall how he’d looked into his eyes, shifted closer on their seat, and even made an attempt to reach for his hand . . .?

Once more, Albert nodded, eyes still fixed upon his lap. “It – it was a good thing, I thought,” he said, “that it wasn’t anyone else. There was . . . only so much room under your jacket, and I wouldn’t have . . . have wanted to be that close to anyone else that I – that I didn’t trust so very much. I told you, I think. . .”

He had. The memory resurfaced through a cloud of embarrassment, and Barok couldn’t help but smile, though it was bittersweet. “You did . . .” he murmured. “. . . You couldn’t get your sweater off. It was all drenched and heavy, and it got caught on your hair. You asked me to help . . .”

“I trusted you to help,” Albert confirmed, then hesitated. “I – I suppose it’s a good thing I figured it out myself this time, isn’t it? I half thought of asking, but – but I managed.”

Had he any idea how very much Barok wished he had asked? Had he any idea how very much the hand holding white-knuckled to his own towel longed to lean forward and assist in clearing away that constant, melancholy drip?

“It wasn’t just that, though – ah – we were . . . rather close together in our shelter, too,” Albert continued, apparently trailing away once more down some side-street to whatever point he was intending to make. “We ducked into the first place we could find. . . it . . . it was cold . . .”

“There was no fire, then. . .” Barok recalled with a nod. He hadn’t cared, then. . . Albert was warm, almost as much so as the flustered affection that had beat so proudly in Barok’s chest. At first, that was how he’d justified his moving closer, still half in denial to himself even as his body moved entirely against his will through the initial motions of seeking something more.

“I wasn’t cold.”

Albert paused after saying so, then made a strange sound and shook his head. “Well – well, I was, but . . . thanks to you, I . . . I wasn’t. I . . . I told you that. . .”

“You did . . .” Barok paused. “. . .I wondered why. Your hair was dripping . . . just as it is, now. I was certain you would catch some sort of cold. But . . . you would not listen to that.”

More of the conversation was returning to him as he spoke, the details playing out in rose-colored nostalgia in his mind. “You told me that . . . you had something more important to say to me.”

Albert laughed, a quiet giggle which elicited a familiar lurch in Barok’s breast. “I did. Say that. And – and have something else to say, yes. But when I said as much, you – you were already speaking. You . . . said you had something to tell me, too.”

That was right. Most of the time they spent together, Albert spoke and Barok listened, but that day he had found himself with something to say. Far too much to say, in fact. So, in unison with his dear companion, he had spoken, conviction solidifying within him all at once in a single moment of decision.

Then, all at once, it had faltered, then faded, and he’d stammered for Albert to go ahead.

“. . . I told you to go first. . .” he prompted gently.

“And I – and I told you the same.”

Silence hung for a moment. Finally, as he always seemed to be the first to do, Albert spoke once more. “. . . I. . . I told you it wasn’t anything particularly important. That – that I just – wanted you to know how . . . how much I treasured our. . . friendship.”

Dripping hair hid his eyes as his shoulders hunched, hands tightly clenching his abused towel.

“. . .And . . .” Barok finally added, remembering far too well the manner in which his resolve had suddenly turned tail. Unspoken confessions had died on his tongue, escaping instead in a fumbling echo of his companion’s platonic sentiment that left him feeling hollow. “. . . I told you the same.”

Still looking down, Albert nodded, though as Barok watched he almost appeared to shrink in on himself, somehow. “That’s right,” he said, “. . . and . . . and now, I’m afraid I must – apologize. And beg that you forgive me. You see, Barok, I – I lied to you.”

Though utterly perplexed, it didn’t so much as occur to Barok to be worried. There was nothing, he was certain, that Albert could tell him he wouldn’t have been able to forgive. In fact, he had already done so a thousand times over, if any fault existed in the first place.

“. . . You lied?”

“. . . Yes. I – well, see, back, then, that – that isn’t. . . what I had wanted to say.”

Nibbling on a lip, he then sheepishly glanced upward, allowing Barok a glimpse of those shining eyes once more. In the most quiet, hesitant voice Barok had ever heard pass his lips, he then spoke:

“. . . I – I want to tell you now. If you’ll let me. But . . . I was wondering, first . . . having thought about it all . . . if there was any chance at all that . . . that maybe . . .

“. . . You had something to tell me, too?”

He knew.

Barok knew now, and he’d known then, and every heartbeat all along. That the person dearest to him in all the world might not reciprocate his feelings had never been what frightened him – in fact, it was the opposite.

In a life full first of youthful nerves, then the darkness of injustice and the shadow of the reaper, there had been no room. He’d been terrified, should he have acted on the feelings that had grown so steadily and thoroughly within him, that Albert would have felt just the same.

What would they have done, after? What could they have? The future had laid open, uncertain, terrifying, well-grown roots then having no direction to grow.

But that was no longer the case. The light had returned, and with it a world, not of uncertainty, but possibility, the likes of which he’d never known before.

So he told him. Not in words, but in action. First, in the drying of a rain-drenched brow, his hand finally moving to trace the path it had done countless times now in his imagination. The water would soon be replaced, but that was alright – he’d take care of it as many times as it took.

It was easy, then, to allow his hand to fall instead to cup the side of Albert’s face as he moved closer, closer still, holding gaze and communicating in silence all the things he’d never been able to do with words.

Their final confession then came in the gentle brushing of lips.

What was there to be said that they hadn’t already? What was there to know that they hadn’t, now, for years?

When they finally came apart, they did not do so completely. Bodies settled against one another just as easily as they were always meant to, warm even through lingering dampness. Nervous energy transformed into something far happier but equally wiggly, Albert smiled, shifting in place but without any true intention of pulling away.

“. . . I see.” he said primly, then cut himself off with a laugh before nuzzling fiercely into Barok’s shoulder, at which point there was little other option than to hold him close and secure.

“. . . Forgive the delay in telling you . . .” Barok murmured, the smile twisting his lips no longer painful.

Perhaps he’d finally begun to truly remember how.