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As many people who had ever been to or heard about one of Henry and Bunny's famous bashes would attest to, the parties usually, without fail, ended the same way. With the front lawn turned into a temporary landfill for all manner of the previous night's inebriated attendees, with the floor ransacked and bedraggled from a slew of equally disoriented stragglers, the party itself would die out and along with it, its participants would eventually depart.
That was what made Richard so uneasy after he left the rather spacious kitchen, his eyes taking on a dull and empty glare as he followed after the others, all who went to bed rather than stay by and ‘kiss the carpet’ with some of the other remaining classmates or unfortunate party-goers.
Just as quietly as he had left the kitchen, it's doors swinging shut with hardly a creak, he slipped away from the sight of the remaining mortals, their voices dwindling as he wandered up the stairs, holding tightly to the carved wood bannister, and onto a balcony, opening the tall and weighty looking glass doors, and stopping on the other side where he leaned over the carved banister in turn, attempting to pick out all the different voices that had settled amongst the expanse of trees surrounding the house, some of them merely melding into one another, the sound waves reverberating like crashing ocean waves.
He looked up from the lush carpet of pine trees sprawling out down the hillside from the manor, feeling the cool moonlight and the hint of a spring breeze on his cheeks. That strange hollow feeling that had begun to hang over the evening had now fully settled in his chest and stomach. It was akin to having his bones removed, to be replaced instead by airy, lightweight things like papier-mâché.
From just behind him, however, Richard heard the sound of shoes on smooth wood before they stopped by the balcony railing, almost directly across from him. He lifted his eyes curiously and met a pair that had in all their liveliness seen far more of the world, the person they belonged to had seen life flicker off and rekindle before them like a fire that has been nearly snuffed out, smoldering then suddenly surging up again.
“Henry?”
The silent figure merely shifted his steely, otherworldly gaze up to meet that of Richard's, though he gave no sign that the younger man should leave. But even then, the younger man had no intention of doing so.
“Smoke?” Richard inquired softly after a moment passed between them.
With a shake of his head, he settled himself beside Henry and proceeded to withdraw a few cigarettes and a silver lighter from his coat pocket, a birthday gift from Charles. The first lit and between his teeth, Richard could already feel himself taking on something of a relaxed posture, releasing a long puff of smoke up towards the sky and the bright, star-speckled expanse, exhaling the words along with a cloud of breath, “I thought you and Bunny went home.”
This time, Henry only lifted his brows a touch, a subtle answer, yet his face remained unchanged and impassive, his gaze focused on nothing in particular. He tapped the filter of his own cigarette down against the edge of the porch, the ash collected, and back to his mouth again as the tip burned itself down. They stood together in silent company for a considerable time until Henry's deep voice finally stirred Richard, whom had since taken up leaning his elbows against the banister, gazing serenely off into the darkness in the midst of yet another prolonged and heavy silence.
“It's quiet now.”
“What?” Richard asked aloud, staring down at the sly smirk that lifted the corners of his companion's mouth.
“Like a graveyard. Absolutely quiet, uninterrupted silence.” Henry looked off again, appearing as if he was speaking to someone in the distance, his back rigid, chest still, with an expression that rendered him as stoic as one of the marble busts that littered most the halls inside. He took one last pull off his cigarette before dashing it out on the edge. “It makes me terribly anxious.”
“I didn't think anything ever made you anxious.”
“Plenty of things, Papen.” He replied, turning to look at him, a small smirk returning, and then after another pause, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
With one last drag from his smoke, Richard snuffed it out on the same edge, “Too much, probably. Couldn't drive home now.”
“No,” Henry scoffed. “you're not driving anywhere tonight.”
Faintly, a playful chuckle echoed, ghosting along the shadows and the moonlight. Richard thought he felt Henry's body heat radiate just a little closer, but he did not question it.
Instead, he found himself once again seeking out that elusive expression that haunted him. The one that seemed to change with the weather, with the time, his mood, though he knew better than to ever ask if he were to grow tired of it in a sense, for there would never truly be a satisfactory answer. There was always more, in everything. But, fortunately, though, his search ended quickly, meeting the steady and calm look in the older man's eyes. He smiled, trying to stay stoic, and remarked, “God, you have the most unsettling eyes.”
“They bother you?”
“They do, yeah. Just a bit.” Richard chuckled under his breath. “Like...like two glass jars where some insect's sitting suspended in fluid for analysis.”
“Oh my God, you're drunk.” Henry elbowed Richard, shaking his head, his gaze not seeming to meet anything specific.Then a moment later, as they both leaned over the banister, a smirk played across his thin lips and he cocked an eyebrow, whispering in Richard's ear as if telling him some forbidden secret. “Don't tell anyone, but Camilla's actually had a pet tarantula, since she was sixteen. She'll swear until the day she dies that no, it wasn't alive when she, er, cut it apart.”
With something of a horrified and bemused expression, Richard drew back and Henry erupted into laughter, his head thrown back, clearly finding his companion's reaction entirely too humorous. Once he calmed, a more somber look spread like a warm, tranquil repose across his features, “Get some sleep, Papen. You need it.” He informed him.
“I do,” Richard agreed. “and, er, have a nice evening, Henry. I'll...” He cleared his throat. “I'll, um, see you in class next week, then?”
“Bright and early, rain or shine.” Henry stated as he lit up another smoke and parted ways with the younger man.
Richard thought of what to say as his mouth worked around the word to bid him goodnight, though a few heartbeats later he thought better of it and merely smiled, seeing that Henry, too, had caught sight of it, for a smile of his own broke through his facade, his expression softened and more inviting than before.
“Good night, Henry.”
As the wooden door shut, Richard immediately took to drawing a breath to steady himself, but as he lifted his eyes to return his gaze to the outdoors, he saw only a thick and heavy fog roll in.
No stars, no moon, no familiar blanket of dusky darkness to greet him. Only the echo of Henry's laughter as it died out on the wind. With a satisfied and weary smile, the younger man clasped the lapels of his jacket tighter and went upstairs, taking a short detour around the corridors before finding the room his host had directed him to. After several minutes of standing by the window, lit dimly only by a single lamp beside the bed, the only visible thing visible anymore was the twinkling of city lights in the distance, and the flickering lights around a certain house up the hills that Richard knew would not soon go to sleep. Not for a while, at least.
Finally, after a length, quiet minutes spent, standing where he was, breathing in the muted smells of smoke and his own cologne, Richard removed his clothes, save for his briefs, and got into the sheets. Halfway across the continent from New York, and Henry was still the last thing on his mind as his body fought against the temptation of sleep.