Chapter Text
Thomas was a French bourgeois man, a little romantic Always seductive, outgoing, with an undeniable charisma. Musician, he earned his living nobly of this art. The people courted him for money, fame, for his fame or for what it said to be his '' si belle '' sensuality in bed. Oh, he had had a few frivolous romances , nothing serious , French love for one night. He lived in a fancy penthouse , where the girls would ''faire l'amour '' with him , before actually , talking while he would let them drink champaign. Thomas was a man , a casa nova. He wasn't made to be serious ,only enjoy life , party , music. Oh , yes , he knew the follies bergères . He knew some prostitutes , also , but never really let them sleep with him. Thomas was like , in music , a man of taste ; he had his own standards . However , he was so out of the reality. His friends were for him , not really a sign of happiness. The man was always living in a pleasure world were dreams and fantasy are not always meant to rhyme with inspiration and passion but more like desire and ambition. It was what made him a king , ruling his music empire with his ladies , that were , one after another coming and going out of his life ,like seasons . Thomas had curly short brown hair , he was tall , his eyes were bright and when they were aiming on you , you couldn't except ; as a prey , they would kill you with that ''oh so charming '' gaze before burning you up with love . After that , you would maybe notice , his plumpy lips that would curve into a malicious but so delightful grin , as he would stand up , and with a pace that was not to fast , not to slow but always filled with grace he would walk to you and talk with his sweet voice. You wouldn't resist to his beauty , to his some how childish eyes filled with so much intelligence , charisma and passion. Hypnotized, you'd fall for him . Then the next morning you would wake up , nakked in his bed , with a note that said : ''Thanks for the night , chérie. -Thomas . '' With pouty lips , wanting more of this monsieur sainte-nitouche , of this one night stand , you would take your clothes again and walk away of his penthouse. This man is only for dreaming . Only for consumming fantaisies. You just don't know if he is really real. All you know , is that when you read his notes , you would sigh dreamily this name : Oh roulé ! . Thomas had effect on everyone. He was influencing many people ; in the bed and in the business. La vie est la vie. You got to work for it. But one day everything changed. But one day the puerile and ludicrous vision that had our dear Roulé our dear Thomas on love, changed dramatically when he met a gem. In a simple coffee cabaret.When a waltz, an admittedly low, but romantic seduction turned to love. Yes. It all started on a Monday noon while Thomas sipped wine at a cafe-bistro cabaret. It was evening. He wore a crisp white shirt.
He was alone. Tonight the restaurant was tuning on some Jacques Brel song's. The table was set for a perfect romance, thought Thomas. While his eyes walked around him, he was alone and he perceived it. It was ... perfect. His beautiful blue eyes downcast as he asked chastely for a single table , he commanded a very simple dish, a salad. He made the mistake (victory for Roulé) to sit in front of Thomas who caressed him look , who undressed him of his eyes head to foot, so obscene. His hair ; oh god . Seemed as soft as the snow , dip in smooth melted chocolate ; his skin was so pale , so pure like pear beam , and his lips two roses blooming in spring. His features were so delicates , so soft , so young. It seemed that tears were always lighting his eyes of an invisble melancholy , like if he was a creature of the world of Baudelaire , dandy , independant , touching ; living in the world of spleen of pure emotions , a love boy , so pure ; a bohemian that was so harmless and adorable ; like an angel or a muse of the most divine poets . He was so beautiful . Thomas couldn't resist . He had to let his look cross his gaze , feeling captured by passion again as he would walk to him to ask him something , his number , a date , his name , whatever would it be. But when the blooked at him . It was ice. Pure winter storm whirling on the soul of Thomas like a blizzard , the north winds took him away of the ground he was resting on . It was another universe . Thomas felt something hot burning his heart ; a warm fire but how can fire could be lit up by such a frozen spirit , such an icy kingdom of snow , pure and cold ? Love. Oh , love was the answer. What else could it be ? It wasn't just .. seduction , it was more than passion it was just... obsession . He felt someone control him . He couldn't stop as he heard the rythm of a waltz , singing by Brel , coming out of the speaker of the restaurant. Suddenly , like magic , the scene was empty. Only the table and the boy was there. Thomas walked some steps , he felt that even walking towards him was a part of danse that took him despite his suddenly trouble taking over his mind. Suddenly the boy finally cross his look. Roulé , or Thomas , recognized him. Crydamoure , of his nickname , Guy-Manuel de Homem Christo ; a libertarian musician , more funky , more groovy , more cute , less agressive but in the same style of Roulé . How convenient , thought Thomas . The music was really dancy ; an invitation to love , passion , to let go. He walked toward Guy-Manuel , his breath taken away as Crydamoure frowned as this handsome stranger approached him. Crydamoure felt suddently stick into the ground. He wanted to escape. He was teased by the arrousing air of this stranger , but however , felt he was maybe dangerous. He was out of his league ! He was just a simple man , eating a salad ... Of course , he knew he was Crydamoure ; the reputation of bohemian , of crying , of emotion , of pure romance was hiw own ; he couldn't deny it. However he was not as weak to let himself get hooked by ... The delicious smile that the man who was now so close to him was having. His smell : cologne , cigar and wine. His eyes ; embracing him without even touching his lips. Oh god , thought Crydamoure . I'm lost. Thomas looked at Guy-Manuel. Roulé looked at Crydamoure. Their alter ego is already courting. And Paris, who was giving the pace of a waltz , invited them in its romance.
'' I ask you a dance. A dance with me. A waltz. ''
'' Pardon? '' Gasped Crydamoure, red cheeks , looking at the man who just distrub his peacefull dinner.
'' A waltz ... it does not take time. Please. What can you waist anyway ?
'' Thomas whispered , handing one hand in front of him '' I'm wasting time, sir, you know.'' rejected Crydamoure folding arms. Thomas sighed. He wanted him in his arms . He wanted to waltz with two people tonight; Crydamoure and love. He could waltz 1 time. He could waltz 2 times, 3 times or a thousand times. He did not care.
'' But the time is well worth a waltz, Mr. Crydamoure. I think? ''
'' T-The time o-of what , sir ? '' Stammered Guy-Manuel scared.
'' The time to give ourself detours on the side of love. How charming, is not it? '' Thomas whispered, leaning over to take the young man's hand already trembling, carried away by his mesmerizing voice.
''Oh well'' said Guy-Manuel . ''Et puis merde . '' Roulé won.
Thomas grin has he pulled Crydamoure closer , almost hugging him. God , Crydamoure was smelling abs, dragging him in a waltz pose ; he putted his hand on his hips and he felt Crydamoure shivering. Roulé lift up the chin of Thomas of a long finger , stroking him slightly . '' Look at me , darling. And follow me.'' ''You're evil Roulé . You're evil .'' breath out Crydamoure , feeling dizzy , like if a magic spell made him dizzy himself. He heard Thomas laughing as brel was singing ''Don't be scarred. Here , on my shoulder , put your hand on my shoulder. Oh don't be shy , lovely angel. Here . You see , it's not that hard . Now... un deux trois , puis un deux trois , et un deux trois. Here . Voilà. '' Thomas was taking the lead. Crydamoure was slowly losing his control as Roulé gain some . . Like fantasy . Was it real . He couldn't tell. He only felt the presence of Roulé , holding him making swirl around the restaurant that was all empty. They were alone , the music coming out of the sky , almost mystically. They were away. In a world that was not their own. They were two souls , in Paris who was dancing with them , Paris taking away their hearts in a love waltz . Who started slowly , and went step by step , to bring them closer, they were waltzing , they were dancing , non stop . Guy-Manuel felt so different in the arms of Roulé that own his heart like if it was nothing Like if it was a freebie. It was so easy and cheesy . But oh so lovely. How good Thomas was at dancing when him , was feeling like an elephant in a bowling . Crydamoure felt so ... good. Thomas was bending. Their faces were so close , as they were dancing more and more passionately , the waltz taking them away of the reality , of the hard reality , of the world of fame , of superficial manners they were having together. It was so strange. They felt attracted . The felt magnetized. Suddenly Crydamoure felt his heart beating so fast tangled with Thomas ' heartbeat . Brel was singing . The time had stopped. Suddenly , Thomas leaned . He couldn't resist.
''His lips chastly pressed the ones of Guy-Manuel who surprised , froze then step away . Scared. Frightened. Mad. Then , he cried. He was wide awake now . The charm was broken as Roulé saw the tears in a heart shape , falling on his pale cheeks. The music had stop , like if the magic was gone. The light , the atmosphere that was so mysterious and gloomy before went back to normal.
''How dare ? Uh ? You think you can just ... you are just a dumb player , oh yes you are . You smell nothing but sex , while I want the smell of roses . You act like you want sex while I want nothing but love , true relations , and real contacts , Roulé. I heard you were one of kind but I never thought you were that miserable . And I curse you for that , Roulé . You need emotions. And you abused of my heart. But not... Not again '' sobbed Crydamoure , as he left the money of his note . And Crydamoure , aware of beeing fool'd just looked at Thomas with angry eyes and walked away. Roulé ran after Guy-Manuel in the street.
''No wait , WAIT . '' said Thomas. But it was too late. He collapsed on his knees , in the middle of the street. Unaware of the car who was honking furiously at him. Guy-Manuel was out of sight.
'' I fell in love ... oh no '' he whispered. Suddenly his gaze went on a paper left on the soil. It was the professional card of Crydamoure , quickly , Roulé picked it up . An adress was written on it . Laughing , singing the brel's air he was dancing on with Crydamoure . He was in love. He wanted so much to see this boy again.
However the more he looked at the adress . The more it seemed to blurred . Like if the light , or something else was slowly , or by moments , making the address hard to read.
Thomas looked again . Where does Crydamoure went.
Suddenly it felt like if it was just a dream , with a cold and thick link with reality. As if Paris was slowly fading away as his love was gone .
Thomas begin to walk , unsure about the future and doubting of what just happend , doubting of his own existence as he felt someone narrating his story in his head.
Oh Roulé , he thought , it's just your imagination . ..