#but here have this random moment of phil thrusting towards the camera

[manchesterau]

random dnp gifs 4/?

[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapter 2 - Is It Really So Strange (4.8k)

“Why do you keep saying that my photos of you are going to turn out badly?”

The actor shrugs, gazing absent-mindedly at the tiled floor as he takes a breath. “Maybe it’s because in the past people took the mickey out of me for being a “pouf” and a “geek” when all I wanted to do was have fun and read books and poems and plays and to have someone to share them with”.

“I see, I see. Well, I like books and poems and plays, so you’ve got me to talk to about those” he replies, not entirely sure where he’s going with this or at which point he should stop. “And don’t worry about the costume; I think it makes you look very handsome.”

Daniel’s soft brown gaze falls gently, lids sinking as eye contact breaks. Pink lips part and hang ajar. It’s a heavy silence. Then, he breathes heavily, a long, deep, weighty breath, eyes fixed on Phil’s mouth, and in this moment Phil is hit with sudden realisation of how desperately he wants to reach out and cup Daniel’s face and pull him in for a long and passionate kiss.”

Hello! I am back again with another chapter. This one is very dark academia. Anyway. It is late and I am a bit tipsy. Have fun reading either below the cut or here on AO3. Adieu!

Dawn’s delicate glow trickles through the open curtains, resting peacefully on Phil’s sleeping face.

A calm, tranquil scene - all except for the winter sun that shines straight into his eyes.

Fluttering into consciousness, he blinks once, twice, three times, and then he is awake. The brightness of dawn comes as a shock, and he lifts a cold palm to his face to shield himself from the searing light. He must remember to close the curtains properly in future. With a sigh, he cranks his neck towards his bedside table and lazily picks up his watch.

6:32.

Way too early!

Sinking back onto a plump pillow, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Ah well. Carpe diem!

After fumbling around for his spectacles he emerges from his blankety cocoon shuffling up to his diamond leaded windows to be greeted by the brilliance of a mid-November morning. It’s a stunning sight. Frosty grass twinkles like a sea of silver and crisp, seductive sunlight creeps over the horizon through sparse branches and church spires. Suddenly, Phil is gripped by a compulsion to open his window and throw his head out into the open. Except that would be stupid, because the air outside is freezing, which would make him cold. It’s beautiful. But he also doesn’t want to be cold.

But it’s also beautiful.

Before he can stop himself he’s undoing the latch on his 14th-century window, jolting it open with a sturdy shove, as the icy breeze pours into his warm room and shocks him awake. He stretches, thrusts out his arms, and examines the scene below as his cranial cogs clumsily begin to work.

‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.’

If Phil’s mind was a room, it would be a chaotic, tattered library with open books and scraps of crumpled notes littered all over the carpeted floor. Ever since he began studying English at A-Level, and even more so after starting it at university, his brain has been chock full of literary quotes that barge in at random, and, frankly, unnecessary intervals, with the large majority of them coming from none other than the Bard himself - Shakespeare. Shakespeare? Phil frowns. A memory cog starts to to turn. Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet…

Oh!

Memories from last week explode into existence. Bill, John, Mary and Beth, the water, the chapel and finally the boy - oh, the boy! Dan! Daniel!

Phil whips his head around to face his calendar, and sure enough today is the day, today is Thursday, Thursday the ninth of November nineteen-fifty - today is the day that Daniel promised to meet him!

He stops himself before he gets too excited. In reality, Daniel only inquired as to whether or not he would be free this Thursday, but Phil is secretly hoping that this foreshadows another spontaneous visit. A shiver runs down his body. The chill wind or the anticipation of tonight...or perhaps both? Closing the window with a loud thud, he saunters back towards his bedside table and picks up his small leather watch, strapping it firmly to his wrist.

6:43. Only 13 hours, and 17 minutes to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Phil.”

“Phil?”

...

“Phillip!”

A hand waves over his face.

He flickers back to reality.

The bright light of the photography room greets him once more.

As he regains his awareness, he notices the group watching him eagerly; Bill rolls his eyes, the girls giggle to themselves, and John raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Hey, Phil, we’re heading off!”

He stares at Mary blankly.

“What’s this, you got smog in your noggin?” she teases, leaning forward on crossed arms that rest on the table.

“What? No, I-” “Someone’s on the hook!” joins in Beth as she springs up from her seat.

Phil checks the clock - 7:50-something. Mary rises too, sweeping up a pile of photographs in the process.

“Oh he’s gone. Real gone. Anyway, let’s get going.”

Thoroughly disgruntled at this sudden jumping to conclusions that seemingly erupted out of nowhere, Phil sulks and admires his black brogues in protest, resolutely studying the creases that have just begun to appear around the toes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mary crooks her head in his direction and smiles as she pulls on a fur cape, while the rest of the crowd pile on hats, scarves and gloves.

“Come on Philly, don’t be a wet rag.” She raises her penciled-on black eyebrows. “You’ve been away with the faeries ever since 7 o’clock, and I think I know why!”

This unnerves him. Does she? Could she? But… how?

“Oh really? Well if you’re psychic, you’ll know that I was only thinking about how annoying you are” he jests, rolling his eyes like tends to do when he’s around Mary. She grins.

“Sure, sure. Just remember that I-” she lifts two fingers to her face, “have got eyes on the back of my head. And ears everywhere.”

“Mmmm, and a mouth that never quits jabbering!” adds John, making his way towards the door with Bill close at his side. “Thanks for offering to lock up again Phil, I really appreciate it!''

“Oh, it’s no bother. My pleasure.”

John’s teeth flash pearly white and his blonde pompadour practically glistens under the overhead lights as he drums gloved fingers on the door frame. “Well, see you old chap!”

Bill follows John out the door, saluting as he goes. Mary isn’t far behind them.

“Enjoy your Shakespeare, Philly!”

He freezes.

...What?

Last one to go, Beth waves a timid, reconciliatory goodbye.

“Sorry about that. And um,” she pauses, as her round cheeks begin to pinken. “Good luck!”

The door swings to and creaks back open as Phil sits alone at the table, utterly bewildered.

“Enjoy your Shakespeare.”

How does she know? How, how how!? Admittedly, Mary does know a surprising amount of people, but for the love of God, why on earth does she have to know Daniel?

He gets up from his stool and saunters over to the mirror that sits by the sink.

Phil has never been much of a talker when it comes to romance, the reasons for which are fairly obvious. Unsure of the possible reactions from others, and unsure of his own feelings most of the time, he had been fine keeping these fleeting emotions to himself while occasionally becoming embroiled in the odd fling or two. Nothing major. Nothing particularly long-lasting. A reflection stares back at him. There are purplish bags under his eyes, and he’s looking pale. Yesterday night was spent staying up until God knows when with a cup of coffee and a Latin anthology by his side. Never again. Luckily his quiff remains intact, - a darker shade of auburn now that winter is approaching, and contrasts flatteringly against his sage green sweater. He notices a small mark on his tortoiseshell browline glasses - nothing a quick wipe on his shirt tails won’t fix. As he twists around to find an untucked part of his shirt to clean his lenses with, he notices a figure pensively standing in the hallway.

The glasses return onto his face immediately.

“Can I help you?” Phil blurts out with a faint voice crack.

Can I help you?! For God’s sake, Phillip!

The boy in the doorway cocks his head to the left and wrinkles his eyebrows, mouth crinkling upwards in both confusement and bemusement.

“Sorry, that was a bit, um…” Phil begins, before breaking out into a chuckle as Daniel begins to laugh over the sudden outburst. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Please, come in.”

His visitor saunters across the room, peering at the photographs which sit pinned to pieces of overhanging string and meandering around the piles splayed out across beige linoleum.

“So is this where the photography club is held, then?”

“Yeah, here every Thursday.”

Wait, how did he know that this?

Daniel must have read Phil’s mind, for a wash of panic passes over his face.

“Not that I’m... stalking you on anything” he assures, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’m friends with Mary, and she tells me stuff. About photography, and the photography club.”

“Right,” Phil chuckles, desperately trying to read meaning into Daniel’s words. The curly haired boy crouches down next to a pile of prints, and Phil pulls out a stool from the table closest to them both.

“Are these yours?” the brunette asks, leafing through the photos slowly.

“Yeah. My friend Bill got a new camera recently and he let me try it out. It’s very fancy. Makes your shots look great. Trust me, normally my photos don’t look this good. It’s the camera doing most of the work, really.”

“Mmmm.”

There’s a pause - a comfortable, peaceful pause.

“I think they’re lovely. This is the chapel, isn’t it?” He squints at one particular print. “Hah! God, I spend so much time in this place that I’m almost sick of it. Looks nice here though.”

Phil watches silently as Daniel pores over the rest of the pile. He’s crouching close to the ground - one knee up to his face, the other leg set out straight. Last week’s forest green jumper has been replaced by a dark brown cardigan that’s ever so slightly too small, and sits a little too high on his freckled arms. A wristwatch on sits on his right. Hmm. Left handed then. Interesting.

Despite Daniel’s compliment about his apparent photographic eye, Phil still feels a tad nervous about having his photography scrutinised. And what must Daniel be thinking? Does he view Phil’s hobbies as pretentious? As not being academic enough? Does he think his pictures are boring? He knows the two of them have only just met, and so really he shouldn’t care as much as he’s beginning to, but the feeling of being around this young lad has started to become intoxicating, and a little addictive, and he wants nothing more than his approval.

In a flash, Dan’s head flies upwards, and his eyes meet Phil’s in a movement that sets off the latter’s man heartbeat.

“What do you study?”

“Oh, I err, I’m reading English. What about you?”

“Music. Bit of a bore really, but it’s fun sometimes.” Daniel pauses. “Hey, English though! That’s impressive.”

Phil blushes at the unexpected flattery. “Is it? I’ve never really felt like I’m that brilliant at it. I like reading books and poetry and studying language, but I’ve never been particularly amazing at writing essays.”

“Listen, bud - you must be intelligent if you’re studying it at Oxford.”

“Yeah, I guess” he replies, happy to give in to the validation that makes his heart jump for joy. “So, what about you and Music? Do you play any instruments?”

“Piano, mostly, but also some drums. And I can sing - well, kind of.”

“That’s cool! My parents paid some tutor to teach me piano when I was younger, but I’d always annoy him by making mistakes on purpose because he used to give me really difficult songs to play. He probably hated me. Sorry Ernest, if you’re out there," Phil snickers while Daniel laughs, eyes glistening and full of life.

“Oh, I can relate with the evil piano teachers. When I was twelve I had this lady who was absolutely odious - seriously creepy and stupidly picky. Odd woman” he sighs. “Hah, here’s a story - I once went into her fridge and all she had in it was raw meat. Raw meat! What kind of psychopath only has raw meat in their fridge?” he cries, gesticulating wildly as his listener grins.

As the laughter dies down, Phil watches Daniel with a lingering smile. He’s shuffling towards the wall, settling his back against the cream painted bricks, before he props his right elbow against his right knee, rests his chin on his wrist and, almost as if he could sense it was there, nonchalantly guides his eyes upwards to meet Phil’s soft, admiring gaze. The object of his affection frowns.

“Oh, do come and sit down here with me, won’t you? I don’t like you being up there.”

Breaking off eye contact, Phil gets up from the stool and sits on the cold floor, positioning himself against the legs of the table so that he sits opposite his company. After a moment of consideration he decides to cross his legs, all too aware of the fact that his shoes would be touching the other’s if he were to extend his legs outwards.

“So, about this production of Romeo and Juliet” he begins, with Daniel’s eyes lighting up at the mention of it. “When is it happening again?”

The boy beams. “I’m surprised you remembered! Well, we confirmed the date last week, and it should be happening on the ninth of December.” A pause. “God, it’s such a stress! I feel as if nobody’s going to turn up.” Daniel rolls his head to the right, staring into the distance for a few seconds. “Oh, please say you’ll come along, it’d be a rotten shame if I had to perform to an empty house and waste my talent.”

“Sure, I’ll drop by!” Phil exclaims a little too energetically. “You were great when I caught a glimpse of you last week,” he continues, tentatively returning the praise from earlier.

“Ah, well, it’s a solid team we’ve got. Queer bunch, but fantastic people on the whole.”

Phil curses himself as Daniel misses his timid attempt at affection. Did he intentionally try to dodge the compliment? Is he trying to deflect it? Should he try again?

“Hmm, I thought you stood out though.”

Daniel’s eyes widen ever so slightly and his cheeks flush a shade of rosy pink.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The lad stifles a grin, before inching his legs forward and propping another hand to his chin, cupping his face as his eyes flit over towards Phil.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet. What makes you say that?”

Hungry for compliments, eh?! Phil hesitates, wondering how far he should go with this.

“You were passionate. In secondary school most people read Shakespeare like it was the last thing on earth that they wanted to do, and I felt like the only kid who actually cared. I was always too shy to volunteer to read out loud though. I don’t know. But I really liked your performance, you’ve obviously got talent.”

Daniel smiles sheepishly, before his eyes light up for a second time. He gasps.

“You should see the costume they’ve given me! I look absolutely ridiculous wearing it.”

Quick change of subject, Phil notices.

“Oh really? Why, is it all flouncy sleeves and tight breeches?”

The other fellow cackles, nodding as he covers his face with his large hands.

“Unfortunately. Christ, it makes me look so bloody camp. The part of the performance I’m most terrified of is wearing that godawful garb.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

“No, no, it really is. In fact, I’ll show you if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

This isn’t the sort of thing Phil would normally say yes to. Normally he’d make up an excuse, like oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve got an essay to hand in tomorrow, or oh, apologies, I’ve got a terrible migraine. But that was then, and this is now. Because while shyness can be nice, shyness can also stop you from doing all the things in life that you’d like to, and Phil has resolved to stop letting his worries get in the way of opportunities to try new things.

“What’s the time?” he asks, getting up from his spot and scanning the walls for a clock.

“Eight thirty. Why, do you need to be somewhere?” replies the brunette, looking up at him from his place on the floor.

“What? Oh, er, no, no I don’t.”

“Well then, don’t worry! We’ve got all the time in the world.”

The phrase elicits a small smile from Phil as he looks at the boy beneath him.

“Would you help me up?”

As Daniel sticks out a hand his gaze seems tender than ever, and Phil’s heart melts at the sight.

Once again, Phil would normally try to wiggle his way out of such a scenario - too awkward to indulge himself, too restrained to give into temptation - but his time he’s offering his hand to before he can stop himself from overthinking. Still looking into the fellow’s eyes as his warm palm grips against Phil’s own cold one, Daniel propels himself off the floor as Phil yanks him upwards with a grunt of effort. The pair of them stagger slightly, gripping onto each other to steady their balance. But then neither of them let go. Faces less than a foot apart, in a moment of tranquility they use the sudden intimacy to observe each other more closely. Phil studies the man in front of him; Daniel is slim, and tall - 6’3” or 4”, although his slouching brings down his height considerably. He has broach shoulders, a long neck, freckles on his chin with dimples on both cheeks, and a delicate brown cluster of loose curls which sit on his forehead above dark, strong eyebrows. Warm palm twitches against cold palm - Daniel’s hand begins begin to pull away. For a flash Phil feels disappointment, but as they part, he feels fingers trace against his palm. It sets off sparks across his skin and up inside his head. God. He wishes he could look at Daniel forever.

A risky thought bares its naked self, standing unabashedly before him.

Too much too soon?

Ah well.

“Would it be alright if I went and got my camera? I bought a different brand of film last week, and I want to do some tests.”

Daniel sighs heavily. “Sure, go ahead. As long as you don’t take any pictures of me.” he says jokingly.

“Why, are you embarrassed?” Phil jests as slings his satchel over his shoulders before grabbing his jacket from the hook on the wall.

“No!” Daniel retorts. “I just get nervous around cameras.”

“So you are embarrassed then.”

“No I’m not! I just don’t want to look ugly in one of your “ he gesticulates towards the camera, wrinkling his brows, “photographs.” “

So you’re not embarrassed, but you are insulting my photography skills?”

“No, you,” he cries, arms akimbo, “you... walnut!”

“Walnut? What kind of insult was that?” Phil chuckles, finding the act of mocking Daniel to be surprisingly good entertainment.

“Out, you baggage! You tallow face!” he responds with vigour, pacing towards the door. “There’s some Shakesperian for you. Happy now?”

Phil beams. “That’s more like it.”

“Oh, hurry up will you?! We don’t have all night."

“I thought you said we did?”

Daniel throws his hands up in the air as Phil giggles mischievously.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Shall we head off?” He turns out the lights and locks the door as Daniel moves into the hallway.

“Thank Christ. I thought you’d never ask.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking across the quad and over to the chapel, the conversation ranges from Oxford to Romantic literature to the current gossip between their mutual friends. They talk with rapture as they exchange jokes and anecdotes, beginning the addictive process of getting to know a person who is electrifyingly new, and completely and utterly fascinating. As they push open the tall wooden door, their talking echoes through the empty hall, filling the place of worship with the sound of apprehensive teasing and the sort of exaggerated laughter that besotted people do when trying to impress an attractive joke-teller.

“The chaplain lets us keep the costumes in a box up at the top where the stairs to the organ are” he explains as they walk up the aisle, heels clacking against the cold stone floor. Phil looks about him with wonder - it’s only the second he’s ever been inside the chapel, and the beauty of it still takes his breath away.

“I won’t be a minute!” calls Daniel as he dips through a cloister to the right.

Meanwhile, Phil takes a gander around the large space. Dark brown pews with carved backs sit in rows facing the altar, as gothic arches decorate the walls. Inside the arches lie mosaics of ceramic in russet, sage and cream, arranged in stripes and lines of fleur-de-lys, and above that sit depictions of the bible in a 360 degree devotional narrative. He winds his camera up and takes a few photos. The floor is patterned like diamonds, and two shallow steps lead up to where the choir sit.

On his way towards the chancel, Phil peeps inside the room where Daniel is getting dressed. He’s got the tights on, and they sure are tight. They’re a deep burgundy colour, with red and black stripes running all the way from his ankles up to his...anyway. What Daniel hasn’t yet put on is his shirt. The muscles of the brunette’s freckled back and shoulders shift and contort as he lifts the white linen over his head, falling gently onto his torso as he smooths it downwards. Running his fingers through his dishevelled curls, he arranges them forwards into the vague quiff they sat in prior to their disarray. It’s a poetic scene, really. A handsome boy absolutely insisting that they take a trip to the chapel so he can get dressed up in 17th century costume for him to see? Sounds like a pleasant way to spend an evening.

As Daniel laces up what looks to be a velvet doublet, Phil creeps over to the other side of the chancel so as not to give away his ogling of the other boy’s legs, back and buttocks. He doesn’t imagine that Daniel would become angry or violent if he caught him doing so, but at the moment it’s not worth the risk. Best to wait for a clear sign from the other party, Phil thinks. Best to take it slow.

In the midst of examining a very long candle, Phil hears the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Okay, here it is. Please don’t laugh.”

As he turns around, the last thing Phil does is laugh. In fact, all he can do is stand and stare.

Dan’s shoulders were already broad, but the puffed sleeves only serve to accentuate their width. His torso is bound up with velvet and leather, tying in close at the neck with an embroidered collar laced up to the top. It’s an impressively intricate design, and suits him really well. What could Daniel be complaining about? Then Phil’s eyes travel downwards. The maker of the costume certainly did not think it was necessary to preserve Benvolio’s modesty. To make the lack of trousers even worse, a codpiece sits on Daniel’s groin, jutting out at an uncomfortably vulgar angle.

“Wow. This sure is... something.”

“Isn’t it horrendous?”

“Hmmm, no, I like it. It’s very regal,” he insists with an assuring smile.

“You think?”

“Yeah. Especially in this setting. You fit right in.”

Daniel relaxes his shoulders slightly, fumbling around with a sword attached to a leather belt.

“Hey, take a look at this!” he exclaims as he removes it from its cover, taking a step back as he waves the blade around in the air. “I don’t actually ever use it, but I feel terribly princely with it by my side” he adds, pretend-duelling in a surprisingly artful manner. A fencer, maybe? Even if Daniel is trained, Phil still feels as if he’s close to having his nose shaven clean off, and on more than one occasion the blade swings a little too close to his face.

“Mind out! I’ll end up like Tybalt if you’re not careful.”

“Sorry, got a bit carried away.” Daniel stops, putting his hands on his hips as he turns to face Phil. As ruddy-cheeked and pure as the face of an overexcited child, his smile radiates a content and honest energy. Under the light of the dim overhead lamps his velveteen costume glows like fresh blood, and the blade of his sword twinkles like mercury. Phil decides that the sight belongs in the front page of an expensive novella.

“Hold that pose for a minute.”

Phil winds up his camera, flicks a switch, then peers through the viewfinder. The shot is already perfect, but he takes a moment to admire the sight in front of him as he pretends to adjust various dials. Daniel’s eyes briefly flit over to Phil before he bashfully looks away. A button is pressed, the shutter clicks, and the picture is taken.

“If I look hideous in that photograph, I swear to God, I will not hesitate to rip it to shreds.”

“Oh yeah? You’ll have to fight me first” Phil protests as he jokingly readies his fists.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against me and my trusty steel, you peasant! Huzzah!”

Daniel jabs the air and they laugh together briefly, before Phil’s smile turns into a frown.

“Why do you keep saying that my photos of you are going to turn out badly?”

The actor shrugs, gazing absent-mindedly at the tiled floor as he takes a breath. “Maybe it’s some deep-seated fear I have about expressing my hobbies because in the past people took the mickey out of me for being a “pouf” and a “geek” when all I wanted to do was have fun and read books and poems and plays and to have someone to share them with”. Daniel breathes in again before looking feebly at the blue-eyed boy in front of him.

Phil pauses, speculating over the word “pouf” in his mind. “I see, I see. Well, I like books and poems and plays, so you’ve got me to talk to about those” he replies, not entirely sure where he’s going with this or at which point he should stop. “And don’t worry about the costume; I think it makes you look very handsome.”

Daniel’s soft brown gaze falls gently, lids sinking as eye contact breaks. Pink lips part and hang ajar. It’s a heavy silence. Then, he breathes heavily, a long, deep, weighty breath, eyes fixed on Phil’s mouth, and in this moment Phil is hit with sudden realisation of how desperately he wants to reach out and cup Daniel’s face and pull him in for a long and passionate kiss. Before he can risk doing so, the man’s mouth breaks out into a shy smile.

“I just realised something.”

“Hmm? What’s that?” replies Phil, languorous and lazy.

“I never asked you what your name was.”

“Oh...well, my name’s Philip.”

“Philip.” Daniel appears to mull his name over. “I feel like that’s too formal. Like we’re business partners or something. Can I call you Phil instead?”

“Only if I can call you Dan.”

“Sounds fair to me.”

Dan fiddles with his sword again, and Phil begins to pace around the chapel before pausing at the altar.

“I feel as if you should be standing behind here or something.”

“Oh yeah? Like this?” Dan replies, shuffling into place and pretending to preach. He does it with such vivacity and vigour that Phil can’t help but laugh and reach for his camera once more. This time, his muse strikes a pose and looks directly into the lens, unashamedly staring at his own personal photographer.

The scene would likely be a strange one to a churchgoer who happened to stumble upon the two boys gallivanting around the chapel - one in 16th century dress and the other in a regular green sweater and grey slacks. An odd sight indeed, but if the onlooker were to stay and watch, they would begin to notice how the brunette stares at the ginger, fixating upon him as though he were an angel descended from heaven. If the onlooker paid attention to the angel, they would notice how he takes every opportunity he can find to fix the other’s curls or collars or cuffs, his touches lingering for a split second too long to merely be aesthetic grievances. And were they to stay so long as to see the costume slip from the actor’s body as he shrowds himself in his solitary cloister, they would also be faced with the sight of the photographer sitting on the end of a pew, head resting in his palms, camera dangling from its strap, stealing glimpses from inside the open doorway. And lastly, if the innocent churchgoer were to linger around as the pair plotted plans for next weekend, only one who were blind, deaf and dumb should not see the emotion in their exhanges, could not hear the affection in their voices, and would not register the love that buds between them as they emerge from the chapel and exchange bittersweet adieus and tender touches and under the mysterious, magical cloak of night.