“Long night?” Bart guessed, accurately of course.
“When aren’t they?” he replied sardonically, unwilling to divulge any more than that.
“You’re talking to a man who knows nothing but night. I might have you beat on that point, dear sir.”
Aberlour winced at the thought. Nothing but darkness forever. That seemed like its own kind of prison.
“Really can’t see anything?”
“A few odd colours now and again. Traces of light when someone shines something into my eyes, but really, no.”
“Since when?” Aberlour asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“Started losing my sight when I was 12, was legally blind by 18,” he answered with a shrug and a funny little smile.
“Fuck.”
“Done plenty of that even without my eyes,” he retorted promptly with a smug grin.
Aberlour groaned at the thought.
“Don’t get all homophobic on me now!” Bart exclaimed in surprise.
Aberlour choked on a laugh.
“I’m not.”
“Then why the groan?” Bart asked, amused.
“’CauseIhave to look your boyfriend in the eye when he comes to pick you up, that’s why!” Aberlour huffed in mock indignation, hoping his attempt at humour would come through.
Bart laughed heartily.
“Fair point,” he conceded with a shrug. He was leaning on his cane, as he always did, and looking as comfortable as ever. “So, what is it?”
“What?” Aberlour frowned, even though Bart couldn’t see it.
“What has put you in such a dark mood?” Bart asked, because Aberlour’s evasiveness was a waste of time, and he was just going to keep at him until he coughed up the goods.
“Friend died,” he answered with a shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like Aberlour was fine. Like everything was the same and nothing had changed.
It was quite the trick to pull off. Like standing in a house on fire while serving tea and biscuits.
“What was his name?”
“Oliver,” Aberlour said, his name streaked through him like poison, like music, like sweet, sweet—like everything that loved, killed, and mattered.
“Oliver,” Bart repeated thoughtfully, with the kind of reverence the name deserved. “Known him a long time?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“Most of my life.”
“Were you close?” he inquired, sounding curious.
“Yes,” Aberlour replied, blunt and honest.
“Did you love him?”
“Yes,” Aberlour confessed, with a shiver he couldn’t contain.
