interpersonally: (let me save you)
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IL SANGRE


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Date: 2025-06-02 07:55 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (264)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
Due respect, Stefan, what mutual interests could we possibly have?

[ It's not a no. ]

Date: 2025-06-02 08:27 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#16175965)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ ... ]

My what?

Date: 2025-06-02 08:32 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#12290000)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ There is a long, long pause here. Busy trying to come to terms with the way that text has just both ruined and made his day.

Eventually: ]


I'm sorry your son has no taste.

I'm also sorry you think I have no taste.

Date: 2025-06-02 09:30 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (290)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ He's about to argue further, fight to clarify, but there's something about the follow-up that renders the rest temporarily unimportant. ]

I barely saved it. I don't know that it's Malbec-worthy work.

[ It was. But the waters need testing, a little idle flirtation like a skipped stone to see where he stands. ]

Date: 2025-06-05 01:16 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#17506896)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ Oh. A moment to take that in, make a note of all the things Stefan's left for him to see. To come to a conclusion. ]

Give me a half hour.

[ A half hour to shower away a lazy morning. To agonise over whether to take some pills and ultimately opt for performance over pain relief, leaving them un-taken, counting on the wine and the company to fill in the gaps.

Half hour to dress and groom, to make his way out of his room and ask a passing staff member where Stefan Salvatore's been put, following their directions until he's standing outside the door in rolled shirtsleeves and easy slacks.

Instead of a knock, Stefan gets another message. ]


I'm here.

Date: 2025-06-05 09:17 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#17506874)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ It's been a while since he's had eyes on him quite like this. Even here, in this place, it's possible to spend weeks, months living a self-contained existence. In the stretches between parties and the bustling of guests, the house is just a house - if you don't seek a certain kind of company, it doesn't have to find you.

Then again, maybe the same can be said now. He did reach out to Stefano, even if this isn't where he thought he'd end up.

Stephen's hands are in his pockets when he strolls past him. He keeps his confidence that way, long enough to cast a heavy sidelong glance at his host when they're on a level, lopsided smirk disappearing from view as he enters into the room beyond. ]


Hm. They gave you a good one.

[ There are very few not good ones, words for the sake of words. He comes to a halt looking across into the mirror where Stefano had taken a picture a short half hour before. The Malbec waiting for them. ]

Date: 2025-06-05 10:00 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#12373530)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
It has.

[ The earnest pinch of a smile, something warm about shared history. Something bemusing about the passage of time.

A scarred hand peels out of his pocket to accept the glass from Stefano. It tremors lightly in his hold, the slightest ripples across the wine's surface when a muscle leaps as he overcorrects in his effort to keep as still as he can manage. Always hyper-aware in certain company of all the ways he's changed - this one most of all.

Rather than let himself obsess, he lifts the glass for a sip— and his brow folds in approval when he swallows, holding the wine away from him to appraise it for a moment. ]


This is good. [ He'd meant the room, but the bottle's winning now. ] Did you bring this with you?

[ Playfully indignant. If the Balfours are keeping all the best wine for the Salvatores and their connections, he's filing a formal complaint. The divorce may have technically expunged him from the family whose own connections afforded it to him, but he too is used to a certain kind of living. ]
Edited Date: 2025-06-05 10:00 pm (UTC)

Date: 2025-06-10 12:03 pm (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#12294220)
From: [personal profile] rehandle
[ The ring of met glasses and the evocation of taste, and Stephen tips his head in acknowledgement, mouth tugging at its corner as a little skitter of pride wraps around the thrill of closeness and implication and bursts bright somewhere deep and vital.

He lets those last words and the answering tension hang in the air for a moment before he turns his head and lifts his glass for another sip. ]


It's a fine vintage.

[ One more hesitation, a lingering cut of his gaze back to Stefano— and he tips his glass again, swallowing down the contents in a few smooth draws, leaving his glass with nothing but the sluggish red stain of the dregs as he surfaces with a sharp exhale and draws a fresh breath.

He'd intended to take this respectably slowly, see what happened as it happened - conversation, empty glasses refilled and emptied again. But he's not sure that he can stand to reminisce, play catch up with the intervening years. Some moments just need to be taken in hand before you can think better of them. ]


I'd like to try another.

[ Vintage. He hopes it's fairly evident he's no longer talking about the wine. ]