eye of the storm ¦ carnival au

[MYERS]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Is it a crime, to take his hand in a moment like this? Their fingers barely touch, on and off, and if Ahab is lucky the backs of their hands will touch when they're pressed on a line or leaning on the counter of a vending stall. In the evening light the sunset paints Emil's face a glorious pink, and as the light drops lower those sunset colors are dampened by neon blues, flickering greens, a rainbow of bright lights flashing from all directions. He's distracted, aiming a toy gun to win Roxanne the colorful bear she waxed poetic about, by the way Emil's face softens and changes as their eyes lock. He misses by a hair, and they move on with a pouting daughter in tow.

The flush that sits high on his cheeks and burns his forehead is luckily masked by shining lights. It's a childish thing to think like this, he knows, but he's kidding himself if the brush of their fingers doesn't give him a rush.

Now there is a greater warmth coiling just under the diaphragm as Emil stops, turns, puts his arms behind his head. The beer he's been nursing from an overfilled solo cup wavers in his hand, sloshes a few drops over his fingertips as he hesitates over the curl of his grin. He could look at him, in these artificial lights, fingers interlocked on the nape of his neck, forever.

But he doesn't. Instead, Ahab fidgets away to see Michael approaching, and the pleasant joy curdles. Ah. Him. That boy Roxie always hung around with, getting into who-knew-what trouble, was to make an appearance and undoubtedly scuttle off to get into trouble. Brother, she called him. Hell knew if Ahab ever agreed to adopt a child twice.

Ahab's expression falters into something less than inviting, though he makes no move to shoo the young man off. "Michael, isn't it?" He could go for a smoke right now, but a reflexive pat to his breast pocket offers nothing but an old lighter hiding among the folds. For shame, but he's certain the ride attendants wouldn't be pleased to see him smoking on their grounds. His painfully neutral expression swivels to land on the food stands to their left, their right. "We were just about to get something to eat." Emil, now behind him, is a distant memory that he is hesitant to take another glance back on for fear of falling victim once more. "Here to join us, hm?"

The night was young, and he was willing to wait patiently for what he wanted - a quiet moment unfettered by the loud crowds and flashbulbs. The ferris wheel, after all, could wait for them.