[ Order is relatively important to Alby -- always has been, always will be. He's a tough, stern guy, made up of defined lines, straight edge cuts. He's a hard worker, he's a good business man.
Order gets boring.
He makes a note to never travel to England in order to avoid whoever is the bearer of his tattoo. ( Bloody hell, honestly, what even is that. )
But he also doesn't avoid going to England at all -- whenever business sets up overseas meetings, he's the first to volunteer, the happiest to drop his life and travel for a week to a different place. He's always the saddest when he comes home, empty hands showing themselves to an empty apartment in uptown, empty hands making empty meals and living an empty life and so on. Order gets boring as loneliness gets boring -- not sad or depressing but dull, like the world is empty, made up of black and white and faded gray.
Alby doesn't need anyone, of course. But, as always, needing and wanting are two very different things -- and if he admits, sometimes, in the dead of night when there's no one to hold, no one to listen to him, that he does want someone to hold and to listen to him -- then, well. At least there's no one around to laugh at him, either.
Today is meant to be the same as any other, riding the subway down to the last stop, which ends right in front of his apartment. It's good -- it means he doesn't have to buy a car, but more importantly that for a little while, he gets to be around people. Largely boring businessmen like himself ( boring? when did he get boring? ), but on occasion there's a handsome, skinny man bumping into him, with wheaty blonde hair and bright brown eyes.
And also saying the words he's got tattooed on the inside of his arm. ]
Careful. [ He says automatically, arms reaching out to steady him -- but then he realizes, realizes he knows those words, he's seen them on himself everyday since his eighteenth birthday.
His eyebrows knit a little as he looks down at the tiny runt of a guy, all pale skin and rabbity features. They couldn't be more different, he finds himself thinking. ]
no subject
Order gets boring.
He makes a note to never travel to England in order to avoid whoever is the bearer of his tattoo. ( Bloody hell, honestly, what even is that. )
But he also doesn't avoid going to England at all -- whenever business sets up overseas meetings, he's the first to volunteer, the happiest to drop his life and travel for a week to a different place. He's always the saddest when he comes home, empty hands showing themselves to an empty apartment in uptown, empty hands making empty meals and living an empty life and so on. Order gets boring as loneliness gets boring -- not sad or depressing but dull, like the world is empty, made up of black and white and faded gray.
Alby doesn't need anyone, of course. But, as always, needing and wanting are two very different things -- and if he admits, sometimes, in the dead of night when there's no one to hold, no one to listen to him, that he does want someone to hold and to listen to him -- then, well. At least there's no one around to laugh at him, either.
Today is meant to be the same as any other, riding the subway down to the last stop, which ends right in front of his apartment. It's good -- it means he doesn't have to buy a car, but more importantly that for a little while, he gets to be around people. Largely boring businessmen like himself ( boring? when did he get boring? ), but on occasion there's a handsome, skinny man bumping into him, with wheaty blonde hair and bright brown eyes.
And also saying the words he's got tattooed on the inside of his arm. ]
Careful. [ He says automatically, arms reaching out to steady him -- but then he realizes, realizes he knows those words, he's seen them on himself everyday since his eighteenth birthday.
His eyebrows knit a little as he looks down at the tiny runt of a guy, all pale skin and rabbity features. They couldn't be more different, he finds himself thinking. ]