Careful

If Bruno listened carefully, he could hear the winter only growing, the biting wind surround this old house, slip under every opening and every gap and leaving a handful of snowflakes to melt under the doorway. It swayed the trees to and fro, scaring and chasing away February birds resting atop of bare larches, like the Sun does with the Night, like darkness under light.

From the corner, he saw without seeing a captivated glance from the obscurity of the hallway, from a figure veiled in discretion, lithe footsteps taking a stance back.

« How do I look from there? » he asked.

A sharp gasp of air, hesitation in response.

« Better than yesterday, I'd think. »

It was only then that Alain appeared, his shoulders and face illuminated by the morning's dark hue and soaking in the shadows. He looked at Bruno, sighed.

« Something's on your mind? »

— No, no... Nothing at all. »

He was wearing a pale impression, the husk of a good disguise. It was an act, a bad one at that, a scene of grief the mechanic couldn't hide. Wistful, melancholic; a trace of soot in his hands, blue in his eyes, and his usual smile retired.

« You're not very good at lying, are you?

— I... I don't know what you're talking 'bout.

— Come on, stop pretending. You're trembling. »

Alain looked down in defeat, his hands stroking his shoulders gently.

« That wasn't an accusation, you know, » Bruno continued. « Come near. »

Alain sat against the left front door, behind his ears.

His hands covered his cold face.

« My eyes are wet and I think I'm gonna cry, right now. »

Bruno backed in a startle, and in a mess of confusion, indignation and surprise, and yet in a desire to comfort, he cried out:

« Why would you cry? »

Alain broke. As soon as he did, water streamed down his face, wet his hands, dribbled on his clothes. His throat tightened, choked

« I don't know, I don't know! The war, the solitude; the Germans... »

And something Bruno couldn't quite grasp.

« What was that?

— I'm cold. »

The Traction Avant had heard those last three words before, simply not from the mechanic.

The memories came back flooding, drowning the present, Alain's voice, the garage.

It was that night, before he met him, before his escape, before his revenge.

They were Jean's last words, the last to die, the last to bleed out.

« Bruno... I'm cold. »

The voices of the past and of the present overlapped and all of a sudden, he was inside again, Alain's cold back against his metal skin.

« Come closer. »

Alain wiped his tears with his sleeve, looked at the ground, the walls, the ceiling, all too close, low.

« Alain?

— Yeah, I'm coming. »

A sigh accompanied the boy as he sat against the fenders.

« I didn't mean like that.

— How, then?

— So I can see your face. »

Doubtful, he obliged, but once done, he kept his head turned sideways, his face red of embarrassment, his eyes ridiculously evasive.

« Alain...

— I know! I... I just never have seen you up so close before!

— Then you should be fascinated, not so evasive...

For once, Bruno was right.

His eyes.

His eyes were the evergreen of winter forests, as when dusk comes, the green foliage of the trees drowns in the blackness of the night. Sometimes, in his eyes, the stars and the constellations, the reflection and the gaze of the Sun and of the Moon shone. Alain kept looking at the eyes, starved, his stare devouring the sight.

And Bruno noticed it, whispering softly:

« Are you still cold? »

His words had been spoken in a low and deep voice, puffed warmly on Alain's face, smelling of earth, wood, roasted chestnuts. Alain looked at him with sad eyes, nodding slightly.

« Come here. »

Bruno had moved forwards, forcing Alain to lie down, to submit to the size, mass and power of the Citroën.

Alain was already damp with perspiration, an imposing heat bleeding from Bruno's body.

The boar gnawed his collar, denuding his shoulders.

He had unbuttoned himself, arms taken out of their sleeves, shirtless, and almost whimpered:

« Hold me close to you. »

Alain was lost, his heart beating faster.

« You're so soft, » answered the car.

At first, he warmed his hands to Bruno's "chest", making them wander from under the sedan's chin to behind his engine, making them slide on the smooth metal skin. Then, as the hot blood pooled onto Alain's belly, it grew; to a lake that made his hair damp; to a furious sea that carried him through.

« Tighter, please.

— As you wish. »

Now as Bruno sagged slowly, not to hurt Alain, they sweltered. Pearls of sweat began to roll down the sides of his head and down his neck; salty water streaming the crevasses of his hands, his breathing maybe a touch harder.

« Why are you so tense?

— I don't know. »

Bruno backed up slowly, lowered his suspension, and closed in, his mouth by the boy's face.

« You're doing just fine. »

The utterings faded in Alain's mind as Bruno came forward again.

He closed his eyes.

It wasn't the same heat anymore.

Not cooler but somehow more comforting.

Delicate, his fingers glided over, reaching out for the corner of Bruno's mouth, sliding across his lower lip. Slowly, they held the ivory, grasped them. Carefully, he pulled himself up, placed his lips on Bruno's burning ones.

He kept for seconds, rested his head against the Traction Avant's warm grille.

« Thank you. »