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Everything had an answer, or, well, at least everything that could have some sense of logic behind it. Ples was full of them. Why do you dress so upscale It's the easiest to tailor for myself, as strange as it sounds! or what is that ticking noise It is my pocket watch, a part is broken inside, so it does sound rather loud, I apologize! or how do you manage to hold your liquor so well That, I am afraid, is a secret of my own! Or why in the blazes do you have that ratty turtleneck sweater that's too big on you.

That, was something he could not answer.

Even if he could, Ples wouldn't give one. It was the only top that wasn't dry cleaned like his shirts or his vests or his trousers, even his more casual undergarments and pajamas were washed separately from the sweater. It was his secret, as if he already didn't have enough.

When the weather in the morning paper predicted rain for the evening, his lips would curl up in his own private excitement. Work would follow, and those eight, eight and a half hours of rows and columns of numbers, precise calculations, red and black pens, filing and Ples please don't drink at work I know you can hold it but we know how British drunkards are, we've seen it on TV.

That period of black and white ended immediately at 5:30 this particular evening, and Ples was itching to get home. He gave in his time to the receptionist, once again apologizing if he had made that one female client uncomfortable with that little flask of his. His coat was slipped on in one fluid motion, his umbrella - just in case - held at his side just at his elbow.

The dreariness of that office could match the color of the clouds above him, but it meant the opposite today, and Ples put a little speed, maybe even a dance, in his step. His glasses, soon enough, caught a raindrop, then another, and sure enough more of them would begin to fall and patter against his coat. Almost like England, eh?

Almost, and he laughed, popping the umbrella and holding it over his head, walking up the stoop just as it was becoming a good, proper rainstorm. If the paper was correct, it would last all night. More than enough.

But not quite.

The usual routine followed the moment the door had closed behind him; take off the coat, then hang the umbrella, then take off the shoes, try and and find those slippers again, loosen that godforsaken tie. Ples' heart fluttered - It almost makes me feel young again! - looking at every window he passed to his bedroom with a smile, knowing he was, indeed, getting horribly impatient, but he could apologize for that later.

For now, he opened his closet door, and there it lay, folded nicely and out of the way of his common attire. This sweater was a thick, burgundy thing that was probably red when it was first purchased. It wasn't ratty, per say, but obviously worn, obviously long, and obviously too big for him in both the chest and the sleeves. But he had no care in the world for those imperfections. It made it human.

Here came a different tradition. He'd wash the sweater by itself, wait, have a glass of wine or two, three maybe if he drank faster, take the sweater out, put it in the dryer, wait again, unbutton his shirt, take it off, continue to have two, three, let's sneak in a fourth glass of wine this time. The buzzer on the dryer was like an alarm and not a half-second after it rang, Ples put the glass down - little woozy there, I'm far too excited aren't I! - and immediately took the sweater out, juggling the ball of ribbed cotton and wool in his hands as it was a bit too hot. But all he had to do was wait about a minute before slipping it on over his head, his neatly styled wavy hair now in static and going in every direction.

There was nothing better in the world than just dried laundry, after all.

He brushed his hair back down with his palm, as he quietly padded back up to his bedroom to begin the most important part of this whole, peculiar reason why he put on a sweater.

Ples would sit near the window, a lounging chair put there mainly for this reason besides the excellent sunlight it provided for book reading and all. He drew his knees up, one arm crossed over his lap, his hand completely lost in the sleeve. The other crossed over that and he pressed his palm to the window, his cheek following it. All he could hear were the raindrops against the windowpane, the ticking sounds nothing more than a light metronome for whatever music the patters against the glass would play for him tonight.

This is what reminded him of home.

Of being that quiet boy in private school who studied nothing but numbers and Sherlock Holmes novels, counting the raindrops as he found that more exciting than his lessons.
Of being that young man standing under an awning at the bus stop and finding himself more interested in the other guys caught in the rain than the girls with their skirts stuck to their thighs.
Of feeling nothing but the best of comforts as he was embraced from those nastier storms, and whatever else thundered in his mind, in the arms of his first lover.
Of the times he did not hear the rain, and had his attention instead on the breaths and moans against his ear, or the similar sounds coming from him as his virginity was taken from him, as sudden as the flash of lightning that flooded that bedroom that night.
And even of making a promise, soaked in a downpour, that he would never have a birthday and a funeral on the same day.

It made him smile, it made him laugh, and Ples swore the reason he felt like crying was because the feeling was just so big and overwhelming that his tired, shadowed eyes were closed tight enough to make them water. He knew he would be lying to himself, though. Again.

His hand remained on the windowpane, and he could almost feel the droplets through the glass against his palm, and at that moment, it was like they wanted to talk to him in their own version of Morse code. Ples closed his eyes and listened, and answered.

"I miss you, too."
Just a tiny fic I wanted to write after seeing those sketches of Ples in what looked like a really big sweater [[link]]... I guess looking at it now it's a v-neck.

It was late, forgive me. <:] I'm still a little shy with my fic writing, but...

Ples belongs to Miss Tessa/ :iconvert-is-ninja:
Add a Comment:
 
:iconsilverhelme:
silverhelme Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2010
Wow.
This is utterly beautiful.
Reply
:icondark-mew:
Dark-Mew Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2010
I- This is just-...
This actually made me want to cry.
It's beautiful.
:heart:
Reply
:iconcookiexmidgets:
cookiexmidgets Featured By Owner Jun 24, 2010
I freaked out a bit when I saw the Sherlock Holmes reference. 'SUP, two favorite fandoms?
Reply
:iconwho-loves-her:
Who-Loves-Her Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2010
I seriously want to cry right now, because gosh, that was AMAZING. Or I could always settle for giving Ples a big 'ol hug, poor dear.

Writing something like this must be hard to do, especially hard because we don't know much about him yet. But you did really good. Like, really really really good.

:heart:
Reply
:iconhiccoughing:
hiccoughing Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2010   Writer
This. Geggs. Wow.
This was absolutely /amazing/.
Reply
:iconnarurin:
NaruRin Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2010
I'M ENGLISH AND I LOVE YOU AND CAN ATTEST TO EVERY PART OF IT
EVERY PART EXCEPT DRINKING AT WORK
Reply
:iconcanix2007:
Canix2007 Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
This... This made me all wibbly. That's some deep stuff right there. And you pulled it off excellently Darlin'! Be proud!
Reply
:icongeniusbee:
GeniusBee Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010  Student Digital Artist
Wow that was so beautiful! Fantastic job!!
Reply
:iconcomatosebutterfly:
comatosebutterfly Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010
That was brilliant, I must say. I absolutely adored every word of that. :heart:

Fantastic job.
Reply
:iconrunbeat:
runbeat Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010
Brilliant and bittersweet.

Wonderful characterisation and speculation.

Excellent job, you should submit this to FF.Net~
Reply
:icondigi-writes-fanfics:
Digi-Writes-Fanfics Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010
Ahh, this is wonderful. It characterizes Ples perfectly, both his age and little tints of nostalgia, happiness and regret. All and all it's beautiful piece, fantastic job.
Reply
:iconiiyama-katetori:
Iiyama-Katetori Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010  Student Digital Artist
Love this~
Reply
:iconeloarei:
Eloarei Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
This is really more amazing than I have words for, and it makes me long for a good warm thunderstorm. ^^ What a lovely feeling you've managed to create! Thank you!
Reply
:iconpiratequeenerin:
PirateQueenErin Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010
Oh my goodness, I love it
Reply
:iconokami-hu:
OKami-hu Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
I STILL LOVE THIS AND NOW I HAVE YOUR DA. >3 Phear me. XD
Reply
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