Autumn in London

The year 1919

Sun had begun setting in the Spanish countryside, its blinding, golden light still shone down the hills as it hid slowly behind the mountains, tinting the skies with pastel tones of pinks, yellows and oranges.

Oliver squinted while contemplating the passing landscape. He tapped his pencil on a small notepad before continuing to write out the thrill and excitement that was taking over him, as well as the fear and dread stirring in his stomach.

Opposite from him, Rudolf was curled up in his seat, fast asleep. Oliver looked at him and sighed, silently envying him. He hadn’t been able to sleep since they had boarded the train in Cerbère to pass the French-Spanish border. Not only because of the anxiety the trip brought with it, but because of the fact that he had to contort himself into a seat far too small for a man nearly two meters in height, forcing him to hunch over and twist his legs into odd, uncomfortable angles.

Unlike Rudolf, who had travelled all through Europe, Oliver had never been out of England. The farthest he’d ever been from his home in London had been his summer house in Brighton during The Great War, and now that it was over, Rudolf was absolutely thrilled to resume his travels, this time dragging Oliver along.

The young Dane had always been a big fan of Spanish culture, the food, the warmth, the beaches, the dancing and especially the women. As soon as the war had been declared as over the year before, Rudolf had begun planning his journey to the Iberian country. Convincing Oliver had been the complicated part. Oliver had shut the world out for a long time, surrounding himself by books, doodles, studies and his own dreams and imaginings; throughout the years he had built a book bricked cell where he had locked himself in, ignoring the stresses and hardships of real life. Being his best and only close friend, Rudolf was determined to help him out, to take that brilliant, curious mind out of its prison and set it free.

At first, Oliver had opposed completely to the idea, claiming that his father would never approve of him dismissing his studies to go off to some foolish trip. However, with the help of Agnes, he had managed to convince William to let him go for a month or two. Oliver had still been reluctant, mainly because of his own fears and anxieties, but in the end, Rudolf had managed to force him along.

Oliver placed his notepad of the tea table of their cabin, and continued incessantly tapping his pencil against it as he stared out the window.  Rudolf shifted with annoyance at the sound, groaning and yawning as he slowly woke up. He glared at his friend with tired, aquamarine eyes. Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sight of his drowsy friend; his eyes where half open, as if struggling to focus his eyes on him, dry spit covered his chin, and strands of his dark blond hair stood on different directions, dirty and tangled.

“Can you stop doing that?” he hissed, rubbing his eyes and wiping the dried up drool from the corner of his mouth “Trying to sleep here.”

“You have been sleeping for hours!  I swear you’re a bloody sloth!” complained Oliver, crossing his arms and pouting in a childlike manner.

“Why don’t you read one the several thousand books you shoved into your bags?”

“Because I’m already done with Pride and Prejudice and I’m halfway through Oliver Twist! At this rate I’ll run out of stuff to read!”

“I hope you’re not expecting to stay locked up in a hotel room reading after coming all the way to Spain.”

“I’m not planning to stay reading all the time! I’ll do some writing as well, of course!” Oliver scoffed indignantly.

“Huh, you’re worse than a bloody sloth!” Rudolf rolled his eyes and mockingly mimicking Oliver’s thick Southwest accent.

Oliver shot a glare at him and swore under his breath, too tired to argue “I just want to get there already so I can get some decent sleep.”