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Nov. 22nd, 2007 09:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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2minsforslashingTitle: The Plains of Elysium are Endless and White.
Characters: Jan Bulis and Aleš Hemský
Rating: G
Word Count: 415
Disclaimer: I don't even know if they're still good friends. Sadly.
Notes: Takes place in a bit of head canon where Aleš likes to visit Jan but has a horrible habit of getting lost every single time and Jan has to rescue him from strange airports. They're friends but could be read as a pair. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deux who is amazing and always an inspiration, and a great source for stolen metaphors.
When he calls, it’s the closest he’s felt in months even if it’s only been one. That’s how long it felt. The voice at the end of the line is tinny; the Czech cool and familiar like snow falling silent in the panoramic view outside. He imagines if he could just reach through the receiver, searching blind with fingers better versed than words, Jan would be there, like Montréal. Vancouver. Pardubice and frozen ponds instead of frozen runways.
The terminal is empty. The cold plastic bench is uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Outside lights are blinking red and white and remote -- an abstract morse code sharing secrets he could never hope to understand. He reads the dirty, discarded pamphlets instead and it says that it snows more in Prague. The crisp newspaper hanging forgotten over the back of his chair would tell him otherwise if he could just make sense of Cyrillic. It’s always like this in Russia and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He never moves, sometimes for hours, never doubting but every minutes his chest constricts because he’s without hockey, without Petr, without the countless loses. It’s only when he gets away from the world that he really thinks about it -- even has time to.
It gets so he can barely breathe, grasping for each one like he's finally surfacing, and at that moment when he feels as if he can hardly fit another molecule of oxygen in his derelict lungs he knows Jan is hovering just a few feet away in another world. Somewhere halfway between Canada and the Czech Republic and closer still to home.
He knows but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t act unsurprised. He doesn’t mean to get lost every time but that’s as far as it goes -- every other part is just a private routine.
Jan meanders the labyrinthine seats. He smiles up at him and the charcoal black sky flecked with anomaly does nothing to dim his sun-kissed curls or his expression. He stands up to embrace him, takes the initiative because this is so far from Edmonton and the sentiment is returned like it doesn’t even matter; like it never did.
And Jan’s arm settles across his shoulders; replaces the weight of all his apprehensions. He says it’s too late to go back to Moscow. Aleš says it doesn’t even matter; he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He says "Have you ever seen the Saint Petersburg cathedral?"
Characters: Jan Bulis and Aleš Hemský
Rating: G
Word Count: 415
Disclaimer: I don't even know if they're still good friends. Sadly.
Notes: Takes place in a bit of head canon where Aleš likes to visit Jan but has a horrible habit of getting lost every single time and Jan has to rescue him from strange airports. They're friends but could be read as a pair. Written for
deux who is amazing and always an inspiration, and a great source for stolen metaphors.When he calls, it’s the closest he’s felt in months even if it’s only been one. That’s how long it felt. The voice at the end of the line is tinny; the Czech cool and familiar like snow falling silent in the panoramic view outside. He imagines if he could just reach through the receiver, searching blind with fingers better versed than words, Jan would be there, like Montréal. Vancouver. Pardubice and frozen ponds instead of frozen runways.
The terminal is empty. The cold plastic bench is uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Outside lights are blinking red and white and remote -- an abstract morse code sharing secrets he could never hope to understand. He reads the dirty, discarded pamphlets instead and it says that it snows more in Prague. The crisp newspaper hanging forgotten over the back of his chair would tell him otherwise if he could just make sense of Cyrillic. It’s always like this in Russia and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He never moves, sometimes for hours, never doubting but every minutes his chest constricts because he’s without hockey, without Petr, without the countless loses. It’s only when he gets away from the world that he really thinks about it -- even has time to.
It gets so he can barely breathe, grasping for each one like he's finally surfacing, and at that moment when he feels as if he can hardly fit another molecule of oxygen in his derelict lungs he knows Jan is hovering just a few feet away in another world. Somewhere halfway between Canada and the Czech Republic and closer still to home.
He knows but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t act unsurprised. He doesn’t mean to get lost every time but that’s as far as it goes -- every other part is just a private routine.
Jan meanders the labyrinthine seats. He smiles up at him and the charcoal black sky flecked with anomaly does nothing to dim his sun-kissed curls or his expression. He stands up to embrace him, takes the initiative because this is so far from Edmonton and the sentiment is returned like it doesn’t even matter; like it never did.
And Jan’s arm settles across his shoulders; replaces the weight of all his apprehensions. He says it’s too late to go back to Moscow. Aleš says it doesn’t even matter; he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He says "Have you ever seen the Saint Petersburg cathedral?"
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Date: 2007-11-23 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-23 09:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-23 01:50 pm (UTC)