Chapter Text
“Andrei, halt!”
Even though they are not more than a few metres away from each other, Sander’s call almost gets swallowed in the wind. Andrew stops and turns around, hand shielding his eyes, to see him fidgeting with his camera, the black hair that is so usually pomaded into place being gently tossed about in the wind, sun still bearing down on both of them. Andrew feels a wry smile creep across his face as Sander seems to be cleaning the lens with his sleeve, grimacing in concentration in a manner that is almost endearing. However he has grown so fond of this odd little man is beyond him, but he feels himself puff out his chest in anticipation of the photograph.
The sun is outlining him in golden rays, and if Andrew had any artistic aptitude at all, he would put that on film or on canvas or whatever. As it is now, however, he just feels that it was the right choice to go up here on a little business trip, and for all it was worth, they have talked business; the house has great potential as an exhibition or gallery venue. Of course, business isn’t exactly his first though as Sander finally seems to get the lens to his standards and looks up, meeting his eyes.
“Oh no, you’re in the way, move a bit to the left will you? Your left.”
Andrew blinks a couple of times, unsure he has heard him right with the variable wind. “I’m sorry?”
Sander laughs and his face lights up in a smile as he yells enthusiastically, a gust of wind carrying his colourful tie about, “you are beautiful, darling, but I need a photograph of the house!”
A little offended huff makes it to his lips as Sander waves him away from his focus. It is fair, all in all, the camera had been going the entire weekend, he had just gotten used to being the subject. Andrew saunters back to see what view it is that Sander is so intently trying to capture. It is just the house. The sun is on it, but that is it as far as anything of interest goes. After a few, presumably precise, clicks of the shutter, he seems satisfied.
“What is it that you find so interesting about it? There are many others like it out here.”
A small jolt of tension seems to go through Sander, as if someone has just raised his hand to hit him.
“Tch, it is not what it is but what it represents . An emotion, a memory I can preserve in a frame-“ He stops and scoffs in a way that feels a bit patronizing. “You don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to either, you see explaining a piece can ruin it. Maybe the photograph will make you feel the same, maybe it will not, we will see. Who knows! Perhaps I will hate it, perhaps I will never show it to you.”
His speech trails off defiantly and leaves them stranded in strained silence for a few moments, Andrew looking out at the sea, Sander fitting the camera back into its case by the sound of it. The wind is cold when he is standing here at the water’s edge, but he knows better than to put his jacket back on; he can feel the dark fabric absorb the sun’s dying rays even now.
“Ah, a personal piece.” In his experience, Cohen will gladly boast and talk at length about his influences, his inspiration, his muse, all he has put into something to make it great . Anything for the public eye must be able to be explained, dissected, analyzed, torn apart. Putting too much of yourself out there is a grave danger. Like Andrew, he puts so much into upholding an appearance, perhaps that is why they have found themselves so comfortable around each other.
“Yes.” Sander seems a bit baffled by the sound of it, and he can feel his eyes on him but he does not turn to meet them. Either the man thinks him a wall street idiot with a mind full of maths and no emotion, or he has learnt to expect absolutely nothing of anyone. Perhaps it is more of a confession than Andrew thought at first. He joins him at the water’s edge, staring into the horizon. The silence grows more comfortable, the sound of the waves filling it out nicely as they figure out what to do with themselves. They will get back to their proper lives soon enough, there is no reason to have it bleed through too much out here.
Andrew sighs deeply and looks over at Sander, messy hair and knitted brows, who is already looking at him, probably because he just broke the silence.
“It will grow dark soon, we should continue on our way.”
“Of course.”
They continue their stroll. There is an expectation to the silence.
“If you would not hate for me to do so, I would like to see that photograph when it is done.”
Sander smiles a broad smile that reaches his eyes as he nods. He kisses him on the cheek as he leans against him, and Andrew feels his chest growing quite warm. Like a pair of children, they walk hand in hand the rest of the way back.