He stood on the pavement on a rainy day in London. Cars sped by, too fast and too close for the amount of water in the gutter, splashing dirty rainwater over his feet and legs.
"Motherfucker !" he yelled at the retreating vehicle, his jeans and feet now soaking wet. Did it always rain in London ? That's what it seemed like, though he knew for a fact it wasn't true. The grey skies matched his mood, and he was battling to not let it get the better of him. He was here for a reason, and in a way, he could hardly wait to get in there, now, letting everything out, holding nothing in, purging his heart, his guts, and his soul to people who were more than willing and eager to listen to him, and to relieve him of his money. A lot of his money. He looked at the beautiful grey stone Georgian building in front of him, with it's large windows and heavy door, its black wrought iron railings, it's faux ionic columns. The flowers in the large pots on the doorstep, the only colour on an otherwise grey day. This was to be his home for the next three months. How impressive, he thought, until it occurred to him he might have to tell people the address, and then everyone would know.
Harley Street. Infamously known as the home to private clinics, sperm banks, plastic surgery suites, and rehabilitation clinics. The last one on that list, being his temporary domain. Number 27, Harley Street, London. But that was tomorrow. Now ? Time to visit an old friend.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
He stood on the pavement across the road from a very familiar house. He used to live here, a different lifetime ago, with his love. An old love, when they were both so young. That love still lived here. He sighed a deep cleansing breath, and crossed the road, walked up the steps and ..... hesitated. He knew he was coming, so why the hesitation ? He remembered the last time he saw him and it made him cringe. But that was why he was here, to get rid of, or at least learn how to deal with, those memories, those flashbacks, what ever it was in his psyche that was eating him alive. Laurent knocked on the door and smiled, reliving the good memories for a change.
-- Flashback --
They'd had a full day of rehearsals, followed by a huge meal, and more than a few pints of London's notoriously strong beer. Now they were wobbling up the street to their front door, a bit the worse for wear, having over indulged in both the food and the beer.
"It's this one, isn't it ?" Laurent asked no one in particular, squinting at the door, knowing their door was blue. There were at least a dozen blue doors in their road. He wasn't even that sure if this was their road.
"It's ours" the other boy said. "I'm not as drunk as you !"
"Ohhhh, that's a shame," Laurent smirked, throwing his arms roughly over the boy's shoulders, "We have the BEST sex when you're drunk !"
"And we have no sex at all when YOU'RE drunk." the boy laughed, making Laurent laugh too.
"God, I love you" he said, gazing into his hazel eyes.
"I love you too, Lau" the boy answered. They were both boys, just 21 and 19 years old. Dancers, lovers, friends.
"I'm never gonna leave you, you know that right ?" Laurent slurred, his mood having turned deadly serious.
"Yes, I know you keep telling me. Do I have a choice in the matter ?" he smiled affectionately, the warmth of Laurent's embrace and his love warming him to his core.
"No. Don't leave me, OK ? Never leave me." He was on the verge of tears.
"I will never leave you, Laurent, never. I love you. You will have to leave me first." They kissed passionately on the doorstep, the front door now open, urgently pulling one another inside, clothing already strewn along the carpet that led to the stairs.
YOU ARE READING
YOU PROMISED ME FOREVER -- Sequel to "DIFFERENT"
Fanfiction5 years later, Laurent and Larry Read-Bourgeois and their two children, are living a seemingly perfect life. An unexpected, and traumatic event leaves them lost and bewildered, their perfect life now a nightmare. They keep their life, but can they...
