Faolan watched Lucien walk out the door without another word. There was nothing left for him to say. 

He stood in the center of the room quietly for a moment, stunned. He heard Lucien converse with the Landlord, then leave. Faolan felt as though he couldn't move, or maybe he would shatter into so many tiny pieces if he tried...

But he had to, eventually. There was no way he could continue in civilization in this condition, it would draw too much attention to him...or more than he already did just by his size alone. He walked as if he were an animated corpse, his face and motions devoid of life. He gathered his clothing from the bed, then exited the room and located the shower by following the smell of soap. Once there, he used the facilities to clean himself up.

It was more than cleansing, the wash made him feel like himself again. For a while, he had been living as if he were an animated puppet, carrying out a will other than his own. Although one of his main concerns in life had been maintaining control, over himself and his circumstances, this running away and hiding in the woods had achieved the opposite. He realized now, as all of the dirt and grime was removed from his skin and hair, that he had been out of control of himself this entire time. He had allowed this situation with Lucien to strip him of his own will, to cause him to act as though he were not responsible for his own actions. He hated this, this feeling of irresponsibility. 

But what else could he do? He was afraid. For the first time in a long time, he feared what the future held. He didn't have a plan, a way to ensure that he and Lucien were both safe and happy simultaneously. Part of him wished that he could go back to before that night, change his mind and say no to the drinking, or at least leave earlier. But, like the time he had allowed Lucien to see his change, he had let his mind grow clouded by his own wants and needs. This was a problem that for once he did not know how to solve. Could he continue on with Lucien like this, hiding from him and lying to him? He had promised that he would be honest...but he knew that telling the truth was dangerous. But if lying was hurting the one and only person he cared for in the world, was the danger worth it?

He didn't know.

He turned off the water, finally, dried and dressed himself. He didn't know how long he had been in the washroom, but his hands and feet were crinkly and soft and the sun had finally sunken below the horizon. He made his way back to their room and entered, locking the door behind him. Here, he stood in the dim light for a moment, looking about the room that Lucien had made his own. If he had foreseen the events of today, their conversation, he may never have returned at all. But, seeing Lucien's face...he knew in his heart that it had been worth it.

He stood in the dark and the silence for a moment, then made his way to the desk and let his fingers slowly and softly glide over the books on the table, the neck of the whiskey bottle, the discarded handkerchief that Lucien had left there. He walked to Lucien's bed, made neat and tidy even though he would be sleeping in it again tonight. So like him. Faolan touched his blanket, his pillow, but nothing made him feel closer to Lucien. This room was a vacuum, a place where he [i]had been[/i], not where he was now. 

Now, he was at a wine bar, pouring for people who had too much money and too much free time. He was talking with them, making them laugh and smile, dazzling them with his own and with his wisdom and charm...Faolan imagined it and could see Lucien's face as if he were standing right in front of him in the dark. He could hear his laughter, his accent, which was sure to make people believe in his authenticity. He could see his hands, holding the wine bottles and polishing the glasses...

And Marcel, his new friend...standing in the corner, watching him. Exchanging a glance and a smile, maybe a wink or a smirk...maybe laying a hand on Lucien's shoulder. Complimenting him, telling him how amazing he was with the guest, how handsome and charming and good with words he was. Faolan felt his adrenaline rise at the thought of Marcel leaning in to Lucien, this faceless man who had kept him company all this time. 

Faolan forced himself away from these thoughts and walked back to his own bed, that was not yet his. He sat at the edge of it, placed his palms flat together against each other and stared at the wall with his fingers pressing into his lips. For a moment, he was still, then his leg began to bounce as thoughts of Lucien and Marcel wormed their way back into his mind.

Eventually, he stood up and began to pace the room, trudging back and forth across the floorboards. Images of Lucien and Marcel shaking hands, laughing together, hugging and kissing each other on the cheeks like the French do...it made Faolan's blood boil. Lucien was not his. He was not an object or a toy, but Faolan could not help the mad jealously that was rising up in him. He had forced Lucien to leave with his harsh words...his lie, and he was with someone else now. He should be here, they should be talking, and it was all his fault. He may have been able to convince Lucien to stay if he had thought more about what he would say...if he was more eloquent or well mannered, as he was sure Marcel was. But, no, he had been brash and rude just like he always was. How could Lucien see anything in him now except a rude, callous...monster? 

The pacing intensified, he walked faster, stomped louder. Memories of that night, of Lucien, of the two of them just spending time together before the kiss, of him now with another man...it all swirled through Faolan's head like a storm. He could not keep it at bay, it was tearing him apart. 

Before he knew it, he had stormed out of the lodging house and into the street. He didn't know where the wine bar was, but he knew he could find it. He could always find Lucien, in the traces of his scent that seemed to linger everywhere. He made off in the direction he knew to find him, with no plan or idea of what he would do. Part of him hoped to see Lucien and Marcel together, to find them so that he could quiet this anger inside of him. Part of him only wanted to see Lucien again, to see him smile, even if it was for someone else. At least Faolan would know he was happy.

He passed through town in a haze, ignoring everyone on the street and focusing on one singular goal: [i]Lucien[/i]. Before he knew it, he was there.

He didn't even hear the sound of piano music until he was standing in front of the door, the blood had been pumping in his ears so loudly. The sign above the door said "Rouge ou Blanc" in fancy, swirling script. Clever...

He descended the steps into the bar, it was underground, and pushed his way inside. He had to duck to get past the first beam and the sound of the piano grew louder and louder with every step he took. He did not recognize the song, but it sounded...forlorn, distraught...it sounded like goodbye.

He moved down the long, dark hall until the room opened up. The smell of Lucien was strong here, although it was mingling with the scents of wine, wood, and smoke. He looked around the room, but it didn't take him long to find the object of his search...