Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled

[assassinwithahairpin]

The longer they stayed, the more surreal this became, but Billy couldn't seem to think of a reasonable excuse to back out of their commitments now. The days leading to Christmas Eve had been filled with an air that he was looking in on his life backwards, watching all these preparations for revelry that his fingers itched to assist with because it had been his job to assist in these things the last time he had put foot in a house like this.

The afternoon of Christmas Eve, Billy lingered in the garden, smoking. People would be arriving for Matilda Robicheaux's party, very soon, and Billy wasn't entirely certain how he was going to survive. He wasn't sure how Goodnight was going to survive. But, as with all things, they would manage. They had each other in this.

Still, there was a quiet, worried part of him. A part that wanted to weigh his hips down with a pistol and a knife, a part that wanted to look everyone in the eyes and dare them to whisper about Goodnight or himself or both of them. There was a quiet part of him that feared he could not navigate this miasma, that he would get swept away at some point and treated as he had been as a boy.

Billy finished his cigarette, and continued to linger. He ought to go put his suit on and get ready, before guests arrived. It was a new one--which he didn't need--more expensive than Billy felt any right to be wearing. But it was Christmas, he supposed, and so he'd been gracious about it. He breathed in the New Orleans air, and then headed up to put the suit on. Goodnight had disappeared somewhere into the house, likely helping his mother with last minute things; Billy hadn't seen him since the end of breakfast.

He took his time, and by the time he was ready--dressed, shaved, hair pinned back--he could hear people arriving. He let himself out of the room he, and more often than not Goodnight, was keeping for the time they were here, and set out to find Goodnight.

Comments

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight held onto Billy's fingers, perhaps longer than he should have. He had been aching for this sort of contact all night, unmoved by any other touch. He looked at Billy's face, drank in his relaxed countenance.

"I could think of no better way to pass the time." He wondered if they could get away with it; maybe in one of the rooms that had been blocked off from the party, where they could still hear the music but might be safe from prying eyes; though he wondered if a place like that actually existed in this house.

[assassinwithahairpin]

They appeared to be of one mind. Billy pulled his fingers back, only because it made smoking a touch easier, but he let his eyes linger heavily on Goodnight, taking him in in that suit, admiring the cut of his body, knowing how he was built under layers of cotton and wool and silk.

When they finished their cigarettes, Billy stepped in almost dangerously close.

"Let's find somewhere to dance."

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Billy was gloriously close, wonderfully so, and Goodnight wanted to lose himself in that moment. He dared to drift closer, his smile lingering. "Alright then." He took one last drag before tossing his spent cigarette down, smudging out the stub that was left. He caught the front of Billy's jacket and tugged him toward the house.

It was no trouble to find a room sectioned off, hidden by heavy curtains to keep guests from wandering.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Even with the heavy curtain and the walls, the music was still audible. Billy took in the quiet, dim atmosphere, and let his fingers glide through the air for a moment. He smiled to himself, and then at Goodnight, and then took up his hands so that he could lead.

He was still not very good, and being a little drunk did not help. But he could do it. The only problem was, the only dance he knew was a waltz, and the music that was playing was not quite right for that. He did it anyway, holding Goodnight close and smiling at him.