troubled waters (FierroChase AU)

twenty

Magnus stepped outside the front door, holding it open for Alex to follow him. Both just stood there for a moment, breathing in the blissful odour of a beautiful autumn evening, the fresh air, the light fragrances coming from recent rain, falling leaves, slowly fading flowers and plants in the garden; the air was calm, sublimely still, expressing some kind of invitation to live, to breathe, to experience this side of the world with all one's senses, just being aware of what is, what was, and what will come, being aware of time and its changes, of the past summer, the current state of dying everything was in, and yet discovering the beauty that lies within such deaths, countless and unstopping, and yet breathing and discarding, revealing pure life in every second, with every sound of a cracking stick, with the hushed noises of steps on leaves or grass, with the explosion of colours and the purity of green, coexisting, mixing, harmonizing in the park just outside the house.

The awareness of time, of the duality of living and dying, becoming and decaying, and the impression this explicit beauty of the passing made on both young people, led to sentiments that were dominated by another duality, of pain and pleasure, of delight and desperation. Because they saw that this picture, they could witness tonight was not only a singular piece of art created by nature, a snap-shot in time, but much more, a symbolic image for not only the passing of time in nature, and for the circle of life, but even had a deeper meaning, of a humanity that, young as it still was, was dying already with every breath.

With every laugh and cry, every baby born, and every elder dead, everything that made us human, burning in a fire of love, lust, faith and dreams, an ephemera in time, a single episode in the life of the universe, born to die, and slowly dying with every step forward, caught in a mixture of hope and regret, and in a trap of vanity, ignorance and desire, leading to disaster. All of this was showing in that single autumn night in Boston, symbolic, and yet painfully evident to those willing to look and to learn, those with a perspective that went beyond the quotidian needs and worries of those without the passion they both shared. It was the perspective of an artist.

It was specifically worrisome to Magnus and Alex, as they themselves were only just learning to live life as it was meant to be lived, discovering what beauty could be found beyond nature, what joy and depth of emotion was possible regardless of all the pain and sorrow and awareness of the dying, cauterising star humanity was. They were standing close to each other, their shoulders and hands only centimetres from joining, Magnus' long blonde hair contrasting the short green locks of Alex', their stature similar, with Magnus' head rising slightly above Alex', their dressing entirely different, and their characters invisible to the unaware observer, different, contrasting, and yet congenial, harmonising, just made for each other.

And although none of them thought this far, the moment they turned to each other, interrupting the meaningful silence that had been established during this aesthetically aspiring interlude, and their eyes met, heterochromatic gold and amber failing to reflect in the unfathomable riddle of a dark grey storm, there appeared a connection both had not deemed possible, and the looks on their faces, the eye contact, the certainty that what one had just experienced, this fundamental understanding of nature and time, the impression this beauty of the fading had provoked, was shared by the other one, this single, nonverbal link that was born and had grown in beautiful silence, brought them closer to understanding, feeling, appreciating the other, than a thousand words could ever do.

And so, as they finally proceeded and left the lawn, directing to the restaurant Magnus had proposed, still in silence at first, passing the long, fading shadows that streetlights and birches created, they did so not as strangers anymore, but as two persons that had, despite everything, shared a moment, so valuable, so important, that it meant a thing in common worth more than the same hometown, hobby or college course; it was a connection on a deeper, more meaningful level than these trivialities. It was a kinship of a spiritual type. It was what it actually meant to be soulmates.

Slowly walking, still taking everything in from the complying atmosphere the evening was offering, they passed street after street, the remaining sunlight getting weaker, the darkness gaining in intensity, producing more contrasting and deep shadows, now entirely following the symmetry created by the pattern of streetlights, their height, their distance, their luminosity.

At some point, while they were recovering from the emotional experience they had lived through, Alex began a light conversation, well knowing that any kind of seemingly deep subject would appear ridiculous after the image they had witnessed, and that talking about it would for now lead to nothing, for they had received a deeper understanding of something that could not be easily put into an ordinary conversation, nor be written about without a considerable amount of poetic knowledge and understanding, going beyond the author's capabilities. However, they did remember what had happened, and in time, it would gain its way into another kind of expression, into the artistic domains of their lives, into literature, and art, and music, where the universal meaning they had found, as well as the connection between themselves that accompanied it, could be understood in ways much more proficient and aesthetic.

Alex started talking about what had surprised Magnus earlier, during their first conversation of the day, the nocturnal work he had committed to, explained what he had been doing, why it had to be done during the night, speaking with passion and ardour about the things she loved. Magnus, though not competent enough to really understand the artistic details of pottery Alex talked about, but what stood behind those superficial aspects, the inspiration, the inner development of an idea, additions, revocations, amendments to something that had been born and had grown inside his head for a long time, this process with all its difficulties, the way one could deal with it, the way a piece of art, whatever its exact shape and genre, grew, changed, matured with the time it was worked on, these were things Magnus understood, and related to; and with Alex telling, and Magnus listening, responding, sometimes surprised, impressed, re-enacting what he heard, the road to the restaurant was quickly finished, and before they had even nearly finished it, they had crossed the park, followed street after street, and ended up in front of the modern, artistically decorated façade of a rather old building in the original heart of Jamaica Plains.

Alex almost instantly fell in love with the wooden decorations, the beautiful, orientally inspired arabesques that were combines with light modern elements that made it all feel spacy, light, and still comfortable in that curious way only very special and original designs really could. Interrupting their conversation, they entered the venue, Magnus spoke shortly to an employee he apparently knew, and they were seated in the far corner of the room, right next to one of the windows facing towards a tiny, but tenderly cared for interior garden, which, on the turn, made Magnus rave delightfully, speaking about the little details only those could know, who had the time and passion to observe carefully, and fall in love with a beauty that lied beneath the superficial impression. Magnus talking this way about something he liked, was everything Alex wanted, and so he was sitting there, for some time, listening to Magnus, sometimes glancing to the garden and right back to the origin of its constant praise, the soft smile growing around the corners of his mouth being a sure sign of comfort and contentment.