Work Text:
"Just don't hog the blankets."
Were the last words that passed through Lucien's chapped lips, passing out not a moment later as if sleep was his friend; a friend that came by easily, how Allen envied.
He'd spent the day earlier lounging in Lucien's room, waiting for his arrival like some obedient puppy. The thought of that comparison made him cringe inwards because it implied that Lucien owned him. In more ways than one, it was true, and maybe that was why he also feared it. Before Lucien, he was a stray dog with his tail between his legs.
Maybe it'd begun on the first day when he'd been ostracised by his professor when he had tried to share his own ideas. It became quickly apparent that Columbia University valued their rigid traditions and rules. Something Allen detested, contradicted, albeit he never had the guts to pursue the argument with the professor - assuming that a man with decades worth of experience with a variety of students would find a way to outsmart him. It's not like he could really bounce back from the whole, 'Listen to me or go to war, it's down the road' threat to begin with.
If all that wasn't a way to start the first day, he didn't know what would be. But then Lucien came into his life, he would compare it to something along the lines of an angel descending from the grace of the heavens. But Lucien was no angel, a far cry from it. He was a self-destructive egotist with a mind like no other, and he was everything Allen could never be.
Allen's eyes fall onto blond strands draping off the cotton pillowcase. It would've been even better if the moonlight's rays could caress him through the stained glass by the bed, but fluorescent street lamps do a fine substitute, Lucien always looked great. This was a fragile moment in Allen's book and he didn't want to ruin it, he was so close to Lucien, just a hand away from skin to skin. He yearned for touch, for Lucien to look at him instead of this Jack character he'd heard of. While he had been sitting in his room for hours, waiting, Lucien had been hanging around with Jack and his 'million words under his belt behind Columbia' as Lucien claimed. What made Jack so special that he didn't have?
Allen breathed out a heavy and drawn out sigh of exhaustion. He had the opportunity to hand over the so called 'beautiful thing' that had been requested by Lucien so many times over the past month; seems as if he could never strike his magnum opus. And so he relaxed into the mattress, though quickly tensing up at the sound of crinkled paper cutting through the silence. The poem that he had discarded behind him with the excuse it was nothing when Lucien tried to investigate but didn't dare push further.
There was a brief window of pause before Allen picked up the folded paper. The memories of how this poem even came to be burned in the back of his mind. He felt so lost while writing, and in turn, sought out Bill for an answer. That answer was drugs, and while it was an answer, it most likely wasn't the answer. It drove him to a writing mania, churning out drafts as Lucien was only here temporarily. Worryingly, during his writing process, he thought of the time he spent with Lucien. The doors of opportunity that had been opened for him, just because of this one man alone. (There was also the shameful memory of jerking off, but he was already in the process of burning that memory).
Truth be told, he didn't know where he was headed. Originally his plan was to pass his class with flying colours and return home to publish poems for the world to see. But it hadn't even been long since he arrived and he'd somehow caught himself in a downwards spiral of cigarettes and jazz clubs. Blind with infatuation for Lucien Carr of all people and still in too much confusion as to where their relationship stood. It wouldn't be the first time he found himself thinking of becoming more than just friends with Lucien. He weaned off the guilt under the excuse it was a thought experiment and it's not like Lucien could read his mind. But the longer he lingered on the thought, the more he had his doubts about that claim.
This whole existential trance had distracted him enough to not notice the fact Lucien was now facing him, wide eye and very much not asleep.
"Thinking about me?"
Lucien teased with lazy eyes. Whether or not he'd said that because he could actually read minds or was just a pure coincidence was another mystery for Allen to solve.
"What're you, insane?"
Allen shyed away from Lucien's stare that seemed as if it could look right into his soul.
"We're writers Al, we're both insane."
Lucien sighed and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, hands resting on his stomach. He wasn't particularly in the mood to entertain Allen at the moment, it was late and he was still half-asleep, being awoken by the not so subtle sound of crinkling paper. The two were now awake, laying on a worn-down mattress together in the dead of night. The sharing a bed thing was never awkward until now, typically one of them was already unconscious if the other was awake. The implications of it being a bit queer of them to do so were only settling now ironically.
Allen had yet to retort to Lucien's little comment, and he took his silence as an answer.
"Ginsy.. I've been thinking, maybe I've finally lost my mind, but.. do you, you know, like-like me?"
The brunet laid there, dumbfounded and speechless. Had Lucien somehow managed to obtain the ability to discover secrets even he was trying to hide from himself?
"God I sound like a fucking middle schooler" Lucien paused and Allen was unsure whether he was either deciding his next words carefully or getting ready to slap him across the face with an unfiltered truth. "..But the word love is too intense and the word 'like' itself doesn't match up to how much more it actually is. But just in the hypothetical you do, I just wanna say to stop while you still can, it's messy bullshit unless you wanna end up like Dave. Now, I am going to surrender myself back to the depths of my unconsciousness. In the chance, I am incorrect and really made a shot in the dark and missed.. don't mention I said this in the morning, yeah?"
Lucien rolled over so his back was facing Allen again, and understandably so after what just happened. His feelings being revealed to his very charismatic and charming friend was not something Allen had on his agenda for today. He debated with himself, unsure if he should admit the truth and risk the unsteady friendship they've built themselves.
"Yeah, I guess I do."
His tone of voice was more pathetic than anything, timid the way he was the first time he met Lucien instead of the brash enthusiasm while drinking and writing in clubs. Allen regretted not doing things and as selfish as it was, wanted to be all Lucien would see instead of Jack. He hadn't even met this man yet and here he was, seething with jealousy.
Hesitantly, he brought his arm to wrap around his companion's side, leaning forward til his forehead was pressed against Lucien's back. He knew Lucien wasn't asleep, and that he heard everything, felt everything. When Allen expected a taunting remark, a silence only returned. He chose to interpret it as a quiet approval when Lucien leaned back into this embrace.
Allen was in love with Lucien, there was no denying that. Even if it meant following him around like some pitiful puppy to the edge of the earth for an ounce of his attention - for his own selfish desires. He would do it.
'Feed a stray dog once, and it'll protect you for life'