It would take an eternity to find all the secrets here, the voice in his head observes. To solve a fraction of the mysteries. Zachary doesn’t argue with it.
The room beyond looks like something from an old manor house, or a period-piece murder mystery. Dark wood panels and green glass lamps. Leather sofas and overlapping Oriental rugs and walls covered in bookshelves, one of which has opened to allow Zachary inside. In between the shelves there are framed paintings lit with gallery lights and a proper door, open and leading out to a hall.
An enormous painting is displayed on the wall opposite. A nighttime forest scene, a crescent moon visible between the branches, but within the forest there is an immense birdcage, so large that on the perch inside where a bird might be there is a man, turned away from the viewer, sitting forlornly in his prison.
The trees surrounding the cage are covered with keys and stars, hanging by ribbons from branches and tucked into nests and fallen onto the ground below. It makes Zachary think of his bunny pirates. It might have been painted by the same artist. The wine-cellar bee lady might have been, too, for that matter.
Dorian stands in front of the painting, staring at it. He wears a long felted wool coat, midnight blue and collarless and perfectly tailored to fit him with polished buttons that might be wood or bone shaped like stars so he matches the painting. The coat has coordinating trousers but he’s barefoot.
He turns as the bookshelf closes behind Zachary.
“You’re here,” Dorian says, and it sounds more like an observation about the place in general than Zachary appearing out of a bookshelf in particular.
“Yes, I am.”
“I thought I’d dreamed you.”
Zachary has no idea how to respond to that comment and is relieved when Dorian turns his attention back to the painting. He probably thinks that drunken story time was also a dream and maybe that’s for the best. Zachary walks over and stands next to Dorian and side by side they observe the man in his cage.
“I feel like I’ve seen this before,” Dorian remarks.
“It reminds me of the key collector’s garden, from your book,” Zachary says and Dorian turns to him, surprised. “I read it. I’m sorry.” The apology is automatic though he’s not actually sorry.
“Don’t be,” Dorian says. He turns back to the painting.
“How are you feeling?” Zachary asks.
“Like I’m losing my mind, but in a slow, achingly beautiful sort of way.”
“Yeah, I get that. So better, then.”
Dorian smiles and Zachary wonders how you can miss someone’s smile when you’ve only seen it once before.
“Yes, better. Thank you.”
“You’re not wearing shoes.”
“I hate shoes.”
“Hate is a strong emotion for footwear,” Zachary observes.
“Most of my emotions are strong,” Dorian responds and again Zachary doesn’t know how to reply and Dorian saves him from having to.
Dorian takes a step toward Zachary, suddenly and unexpectedly close, and reaches out his hand, placing it on Zachary’s chest above his heart. It takes Zachary a moment to realize what he’s doing: confirming his solidity. He wonders how easy it is to feel a heartbeat through a sweater.
“You’re really here,” Dorian says quietly. “We’re both really here.”
Zachary doesn’t know what to say so he just nods as they stare at each other. There is a warmness to the brown of Dorian’s eyes that he had not been able to see before. There is a scar above his left eyebrow. There are so many pieces to a person. So many small stories and so few opportunities to read them. I would like to look at you seems like such an awkward request.
Zachary watches Dorian’s eyes move across his skin in a similar fashion, wondering how many of their thoughts are shared ones.
Dorian looks down at his hand and sighs.
“Are you wearing pajamas?” he asks.
“Yes,” Zachary says, realizing that he is indeed still wearing his blue-striped pajamas and then he starts to laugh at the absurdity of it all and after a brief hesitation Dorian joins him.
Something changes in the laughter, something is lost and something else is found and though Zachary does not have words for what has happened, there is an ease between them that wasn’t there before.