The title of the work is identical to a series of photographs by Huseyin shot in Odessa, showing curtains blowing in the wind. These images inspired an installation of hardened lace curtains, frozen in time and space. The work refers to the gesture of opening the windows to set free the soul of the deceased, as well as the idea of a spirit present in a room, mysteriously lifting the curtains to reveal its presence.
Gabriel Lester,Melancholia in Arcadia (2011)
All rights are reserved. Photography by Peter Cox. Rabo Art Collection
A/N: ok so i love eggsy with my whole heart but this is my first time writing him so some feedback would be delightful just so i know i’m not writing him totally wrong. also @kurtwxgners@mvximoff@rax-writes enjoooyyyy
When you wake up, it takes you a second to fully register where you are. You blink sleepily awake and slowly take in your surroundings. You’re in someone else’s bed, a strong arm draped over your waist. The stiffness in your muscles reminds you of the previous night and heat floods your cheeks as you remember the ease and complete lack of shame with which you fell into bed with Eggsy. His chest is warm against your back and you let yourself luxuriate in the warmth and comfort of the bed for a few seconds longer before carefully sliding away from him and slipping out of bed. Retrieving your panties from the floor, you spend a second looking for the shirt you had been wearing the previous night before giving up the idea and snagging a long sleeved shirt that is most definitely not yours off the back of a chair. Pulling it on, you pad quietly out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.
As you wait for the coffee to brew, you lean back against the counter and think about any consequences last night might have for either of you. There are no rules against romantic involvement amongst employees of the Kingsmen, though you suspect it is frowned upon. The coffee machine is whirring quietly in the background as you think about the previous night. Heat rushes to your cheeks again as months of flirting replay in your mind. It’s not like last night wasn’t a long time coming. You don’t let yourself get caught up in wondering whether this will be it for the two of you, unwilling to let yourself ruin something good before you’ve even woken up properly. It could happen, but it might not, you remind yourself. Don’t get caught up over it. If it doesn’t happen, it wasn’t meant to be or whatever.
The coffee is finished and after a short search through the kitchen cabinets, you pull out two mugs, pausing for a second to remember how Eggsy takes his coffee before filling them both and taking a long sip from your own. It’s mid morning, and the light filtering through the curtains is warm and bright, though a faint chill hangs in the air. You take another sip from your mug, too preoccupied with your coffee and your own thoughts to register the faint sounds of of footsteps from the bedroom.
“Gotta say, ‘m glad to see you’re still here, love.” Distracted as you are, Eggsy’s voice makes you jump, almost dropping your mug as you turn to look at him. His voice is low and rough with sleep and his complete lack of a shirt makes it hard for you to come up with an answer quickly. He takes another step towards you, offering you a crooked smile. “I was worried you’d run off or something.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of vulnerability to it as well; a subtle sense of relief that you still want to be around him. You can’t help but smile back as you hold the other mug of coffee out to him.
“No, I didn’t run off. Just needed help waking up,” you reply. “Hope you don’t mind I used your machine.”
Eggsy takes a gulp of coffee and lets out an appreciative hum. “Not at all. You probably know how to work the thing better than I do. I think it hates me,” he quips, and you chuckle. There’s a momentary lull and then his gaze drops to the shirt you’re wearing and he quirks an eyebrow as he runs his eyes slowly back up your torso, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Nice shirt, darlin’” he says and you feel yourself heating up in response.
“Sorry-I-it’s-I couldn’t find my shirt, and-” you start, trailing off as he sets his mug aside and steps forwards, reaching out to toy with the cuff of one of the sleeves. You can feel his body warmth radiating through the air and your breath catches in your chest.
“‘S alright, love. I don’t mind at all,” he says quietly, an almost disbelieving smile curving his lips. “If anything-it’s-well, I mean-I just-can’t believe you’re wearing my clothes, in my kitchen, drinking my coffee. It’s-” he breaks off, blushing furiously as if he’s just processed what he’s saying. “I just-it’s nice having you here. And my shirt looks good on you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye. You set your own almost empty mug aside a little clumsily, and reach up to cradle his jaw in your hand, tilting his head up and forcing him to meet your gaze. He’s still a little pink and it’s so endearing to see a little more vulnerability to him than the easygoing confidence you usually see. Your thumb strokes gently over his cheekbone as you smile encouragingly at him, leaning forwards enough to close the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips softly to his. His arm tentatively loops around your waist as he kisses you back slowly, pulling you a little closer against him. His body is warm against yours and you can feel your own relief at knowing he wants you too mirrored in the way he relaxes into you.
“I’m glad you think the shirt looks good because I have very little intention of returning it,” you say, suppressing a giggle, and Eggsy chuckles, kissing you again.