encrede wrote:
“hallo, herr langdon.”
klavier gavin’s words echo around the clinically dull hospital room. tate stops in his tracks, throat thick—with what? anticipation? fright? worry, about the state of the man, about his health? or worry about what he thinks about tate now… tate gazes at klavier gavin, the famous rockstar, his newfound friend: his competitor in the tater throwing competition. the competition that seems so far away now, so unimportant compared to the current situation. the current situation, in which tate is standing, staring, forgetting to answer the man in front of him.
“h-herr klav—” tate stops himself from addressing the man too casually. “herr gavin…” he breathes, wondering why his voice suddenly seems so weak. klavier just looks at him, his beautiful face unreadable. is he mad? tate tentatively steps forward, unable to stop himself from wanting to get closer to the other man, yet cautious, unsure of how welcome he is right now. given the situation, tate thinks klavier maybe should yell at him, tell him to get out of there, to never show his face near him again. but klavier says nothing, just looks at him. tate is scared. his heart, beating hard, nervously—just because he’s scared, nothing else… making his way to the bed, tate notices how klavier’s gaze follows him, dark eyelashes covering his blue eyes while he blinks, slowly.
“um…” tate starts. klavier looks at him, waiting. “...how are you feeling?”
“hallo, herr langdon.”
klavier gavin’s words echo around the clinically dull hospital room. tate stops in his tracks, throat thick—with what? anticipation? fright? worry, about the state of the man, about his health? or worry about what he thinks about tate now… tate gazes at klavier gavin, the famous rockstar, his newfound friend: his competitor in the tater throwing competition. the competition that seems so far away now, so unimportant compared to the current situation. the current situation, in which tate is standing, staring, forgetting to answer the man in front of him.
“h-herr klav—” tate stops himself from addressing the man too casually. “herr gavin…” he breathes, wondering why his voice suddenly seems so weak. klavier just looks at him, his beautiful face unreadable. is he mad? tate tentatively steps forward, unable to stop himself from wanting to get closer to the other man, yet cautious, unsure of how welcome he is right now. given the situation, tate thinks klavier maybe should yell at him, tell him to get out of there, to never show his face near him again. but klavier says nothing, just looks at him. tate is scared. his heart, beating hard, nervously—just because he’s scared, nothing else… making his way to the bed, tate notices how klavier’s gaze follows him, dark eyelashes covering his blue eyes while he blinks, slowly.
“um…” tate starts. klavier looks at him, waiting. “...how are you feeling?”