Archive of Our Own

There's a lot of things that are known, but they never over top what is unknown; some things are known and unknown or unknown and known. This sort of context goes the same for recognition. There are a lot of things or people in your life that are recognisable, but they never top the things or people of which are unrecognisable. The mind recognises people in a sort of triangular pattern. It relies on the nose and the eyes to recognise a person ( the 'Fusiform face area' system located in the temporal lobe ). But what if someone doesn't have a face? Then you'd just rely on hair or clothes or skin colour. But say you have prosopagnosia ( a cognitive disorder characterized by the inability to recognize or distinguish faces ) , you'd have to rely on hair or skin or clothes either way because everyone just blends into the croud to you and no matter what you cant pull them apart, much like mixed plasticine.

But on the point, there are a lot of things known and unknown. What's known is that you can't drive for bollocks as you've just driven a red light. What's unknown is why the bloody hell the sin of lust is sat in your passenger seat. And there are a lot of things recognisable, such as said sin of lust (infact you've never seen anyone more recognisable), if you put a person with prosopagnosia in a crowd full of people moulding together like a clump of fish eggs whilst shoving microphones in their face and asking questions with a goal of finding mime in said crowd, it would be as easy as pie; well not quite easy because either way you wouldn't be able to picture the sin, but easier.

You are rudely awakened from your deep thought chain by the harsh bite of a car horn.

Another thing that is certainly unknown is how you're still permitted on the road.

: "Mon dieu, eyes on the road!" Mime scolds you heartily.

"My fault."
Hearing mimes voice really helps your mind to process that you're going to a random party with the sin of lust.

: "Can we turn the radio on?"

You switch it on and crank the volume up to 30, a classical orchestra streams out of the speakers. Relaxing.
Mime thinks otherwise.

: "putain d'enfer, where are we going? A bloody shopping trip?"

You let Mime mess with the radio. 'Deepthroat' by CupkKake starts playing, and mime cranks it up to 50 and sings along like a buffoon. You wince and sink as low as you can, trying to hide yourself behind the wheel so nobody knows you're driving a fat hooligan who is hollering about sucking dick with the windows rolled down to a club.

"BLOODY HELL, TURN THAT STUFF OFF! PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THINK WERE SEX APPEALS."

: "THIS OR CLASSICAL MUSIC?"

"CLASSICAL MUSIC."

You reach for the radio, trying to switch it back to classical or at least turn the volume down, — whilst at the same time trying to keep your eyes on the road — mime notices and does it for you.
Classical music swirls through the aroma again, making you feel plentiful amounts more at peace.

"Thank you."

: "Oh, it's nothing~"
Mime wafts your thanks away with their right hand.

—

The rest of the drive was surprisingly silent; it wasn't often mime had nothing to talk about.

This was your first time going to a party that wasn't some interfamily celebration and so far you hated it. The second you get in mimes big gob seems to switch on and they're nattering on about the lights being awfully bright and not knowing where the tables are — from what you can hear because the music is deafeningly loud, which you would've expected — whilst they drag you around frantically, fishtailing the pair of you through the crowd.

"It's just tables."

: "I know, but i wanna sit down!" Mime sulks.

"You're such a child."

Mime finds a table for two across from a very much soiled three seater topped with a sprinkle of glass shards from a broken glass. They immediately order a lineup of tequila and cola shots. The bartender lines them up on a tray, and mime takes it to your table.

: "Get something down ya', you'll soon warm up."

You take a shot and inspect it before spilling it down your throat, savouring the way it clawed at it like acid reflux; you hated how much you needed that. Mime gulped their first shot down in one go.

"So why have you actually taken me here?"

: "You told me you've never been to a proper party, so."

You swirl the liquid in your second shot. "You're never this considerate."

Mime suddenly seems a little nervous, obvious from their slightly downturned smile and the way their thumbs slid over each other like the twining mechanic of a spinning jenny.

: "Well, the more you know."

You assume there's another reason that you can't quite figure out. But trying to squeeze information out of mime was like trying to squeeze a lemon dry, no matter what it would still be wet.

"Hm."

Mime gulps their third shot, and chokes on it.

: "You know, when you have sex, theres basically more than you and your partner in the room. Theres your parents, your parents-parents, your parents-parents-parents, your parents-parents-parents-parents, and so on. And theyre all passing down genes and theyre all being offered to you. Twenty something of each. No not twenty, I dont know. I dont do biology. "

"Oh. What if you dont want a baby?"

: "ah. Its like a radio lottery. You text the number, you pay ,n' if you get the money you get the money. Your parents had you, your parents-parents genes text your fathers bollocks, if hes not using contraception then your genes are passed on and you get the cash, which is the baby. Which then the baby has more children and so on."

"And what about accidental pregnancy?"

: "Then the radio dude phones up the wrong number and ends up with some random on the other line. And unfortunately, the prick on the other line lies through his teeth and robs the money."

"...youre way of words is bizarre."

: "name something about me that isnt bizarre."

You scan their appearance. You find nothing ordinary about it; everything about them is so Out.

"Fair enough."

—

The people who weren't drunk when they came certainly are now.

Little to no one was sat in their seats besides a few seemingly antisocials — who had most likely been dragged to the place. Because why would you go to a bloody party to not bloody party?— scrolling on their phones. You feel them, in a sense; as you weren't exactly forced to come.

Everyone was either at the bar, gathered in little communal groups, or swaying their hips and shimmying their arms on the neon tiled floor like a flock of desperate male birds. It was some sort of pissed tango, anyway. Mime was on their fith shot, you were on your third because you were so entranced by mimes blabbering that you forgot about the shots; as much as it was irritable, you found mimes ability to speak and speak and speak until their voice goes slack rather endearing, some people can just process responses quicker than others. Though ultimately that depends when where and how you get your fair share of the social life. Mime isnt human, though they may have the body of one, you hadn't a clue whether sins followed human logic.

Mime suddenly pushed their chair back and stood up, leaning over your side of the table and outstretching their hand.

: "m'lady?~"

"What are you doing?"

: "Mon dieu, you really haven't got much in there do you." Mime muttered, their voice slurred with intoxication. Rude.

: "care to dance?"

You glanced at the dance floor, it was packed. But nobody seemed to care, maybe because they were drunk as hell. 

You've never really fit in during events like parties. You had nobody beside you to boost your confidence and get you out of your seat and onto the dance floor, so you have never really felt the thrill of a true dance. Which meant you didn't know how to dance. You doubted the absolute wallys on the dance floor knew how to either. Maybe drunkeness enlights a fire in your ego that allows you to do anything, like any sort of substance. The only way you'd enjoy this was by letting yourself go and, despite being the embodiment of lust, mime was nice to be around; you didn't feel judged or challenged, like social life was just a rally-robin of Who can fit in better, because neither of you fit in. At all.

And when your with someone who gets on the same level as you its like your brain finally decides to wipe away its makeup. Maybe Mime feels the same too.

It feels great.

You gulp down your fourth shot. And then about 15 minutes later the pair of you are up and weaving between the partygoers towards the center of the dance floor. The music is plenty amounts louder over here.

You both have to scream over the music.

"I DONT KNOW HOW TO DANCE" 

: "JUST FOLLOW MY LEAD, BABE."

Babe. Such a cheesy nickname. Hearing couples calling eachother babe gives you a slight sense of schadenfreude, but when its said with mimes voice you find yourself not really minding. You both begin to move, more so mime dragging you around. They clasp your right hand and put one arm around your waist and spin you both around into some drunken waltz. At this point you are quite tipsy, you're feet keep tripping over mimes and your hands are getting rather sweaty but they continue spinning you around like they've dealt with this one million times already. 

The room is spinning around you, everything around you is a blur, all you see is mime and mime is all you ever need to see in this moment. You giggle and suddenly you're both going faster and faster and both starting to giggle.

'Just The Way You Are' by Bruno Mars starts playing.

: "OI. ITS TALKING ABOUT YOU."

"WHAT?"

: "THE SONG. ITS TALKING ABOUT YOU."

"FLATTERING."

and then suddenly you're both going faster and faster until you're not even waltzing anymore. Mime grabs both of your hands and despite mimes being much bigger, your fingers intertwine like puzzle peices. And then you're spinning around.

You probably both look like crazy people even in this party of drunken hooligans. But that really doesn't seem to bother either of you.

You stare into mimes eyes and they're staring into yours and you both swing around like some unhinged merry-go-round, and its like theres nobody else in the world. Its just you, and mime.

Not the 'sin of lust'. Mime. Mime is more than that, you think. 

Mime is much more than that.

: "ENJOYING YOURSELF YET?"

"YOU DECIDE."

: "YES. YOU ARE."

: "WANT TO GO FASTER?"

"DO I?"

: "WELL. WHY NOT?"

You spin and you spin and you go faster and faster until your feet slip against the polished tiles and you send the pair of you crashing to the floor with an 'oomf'. But then mime starts laughing, and you start laughing, and your both laughing like some frenzy of seagulls looming over a freshly dropped fish and chips at a seaside resort. You lay there laughing for a few minutes before mime gets up and offers their hand to you, you take it and they lift you back up.

Your suddenly surging with confidence, and it feels great. You feel great.

Then suddenly your pulling mime in and crashing your lips against theirs. Wanting to feel more warmth than just that of their hands, or maybe you want to feel every field of warmth their broad body has to store as you slide your arms around their neck and caress the back of it. Mime kisses back, wrapping their arms around your waist and rubbing circles on the small of your back oh-so-gently as their body heat seaps through your shirt and up your spine like hot shower water, sending a shiver through you that makes you feel fuzzy inside. You can feel them smiling into the kiss as they angle their head to deepen it, theres no peeling off clothes, no tongue, no slopping, but it still feels fulfilling nonetheless. Maybe because its mime your kissing.

I need you, Mime. I love you.

You pull apart and catch your breath, mimes hands still around your waist and yours around their neck. Theyre smiling at you and your smiling back as their face changes red, green, pink, yellow, red, green, pink, yellow as the strobe lights loom over the pair of you, it makes the moment you have together feel even more surreal.

"I love you." You sound a little breathless, maybe from the kiss or the thrill of the kiss or the thrill of just being here and enjoying it.

Mime suddenly stumbles over their feet. You hold them up by their arms with great effort as they get back up and lean against your body.

"You've drank way too much."

: " 'ts a shame you haven't."

: "that sounded really weird, apologies." Mime clears their throat "because this night could've been crazier, if t'wasnt already."

Mime chuckles under their breath.

You stare at eachother for a moment before pulling eachother together and going in for seconds.

—

You drive mime back to your apartment as they were obviously way to drunk to be going out by themselves.

Both of you lay in bed, blanketed by the satin sheets. Its been a long night.

: "believe it or not I've never been kissed before. Until tonight."

"Oh?"

: "have you?"

"...no."

: "well theres a first time for everything, ey? And when you do it, it feels so spectaculaire that you want to do it again, and again, and again. That basis could go for other things."

"Like popping your jollies."

Mime snorts. : "you know me too well."

: "what im saying is, I could kiss you again, and again, and again. And each time would feel just as spectaculaire."

"Why dont you?"

: "ah, good question."

Mime wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your bodies are pressed together and so are your lips. This time you both know what your doing, instead of acting on drunken impulse.

Mimes theory was correct. It feels even better than the first, and the second.

Mime weaves their fingers into your hair as you slip your arms under their shirt, caressing the softness of their being and feeling the pudge give way under the pads of your fingers.

Mime pulls back.

: "third time really is the charm. That felt even better."

Now its your turn to snort.

Now your both tangled in eachothers embrace, mime had a much bigger frame than you, but they held you like you were made of half melted butter; one arm wrapped around your waist like a toddler with their favorite blankie, squeezing, but not tight. And one tangled in your hair with its large fingers gently twirling the strands. You still had your arms beneath mimes shirt, but now they rested there, gently rubbing their back as you nuzzled your head into their plush chest and inhaled their scent. They smelt like icing sugar with a chemical twinge, like kitchen cleaner, or rotten perfume.

"I love you." You repeat.

: "i love you too."

Mime pressed their lips to your forehead.

And there you both fell asleep.

not the sin of lust, mime. Mime is more than that

Mime is much more than that.