#hes digivolving into an intimate whumper at light speed

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 10

CW: regretful Whumper (POV), Lima syndrome, mentions of death, stalking, obsession

PART 9 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ Intermezzo

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He wanted to make it all nice for their reunion, even bought a button-up shirt at Goodwill to fit in. It felt surreal, like a last-minute Halloween costume he threw together on the spot.

Morris didn't recognize himself in the mirror of the opera bathroom, squeaky clean and smelling of lemon urinal cake, admiring his little dress up game.

It was impressive how cheap the Christmas Oratorio turned out to be. What he had imagined as a fancy event for the city's socialites was a mostly family-orientated gathering, children running around the ancient walls of the building and meeting up with their grandparents before taking a seat. There was no doubt in Morris' mind that this wasn't their idea to begin with, probably just one boring service to attend to make tomorrow's Christmas Eve all the more sweet. The love for the art and performance aside, that's not what he was looking for tonight.

Morris kept himself at the edge, disturbing nobody who wanted to join the quickly filling rows of chairs, nearly melting into the surroundings. Nearly, should be stressed, five minutes in some old hag mistook him for a server and ordered a small prosecco. He hoped she would choke on it.

As his criminally cheap coat was pressed into the pillar behind him, still hidden from the podium, the unusual attendee was kept out of focus. If this was supposed to be a success, he needed to avoid Sahra like the plague.

The audience settled down, only interrupted by distant chatter or a wayward sneeze. The calm started to vanish again when the conductor and their associates set foot onto the stage, greeted by a wave of applause and too busy to shake each other's hands to welcome the true stars of the show.

Morris was patient, though a long festering itch made its way up his neck. Any minute now.

The man behind the piano was hidden well at the beginning, waiting for his turn to be introduced. Shy, maybe. The smooth and glossy surface of the wood mirrored the orange lights overhead, a giant Advent wreath graced the ceiling, four candles lit to honor the upcoming celebrations.

Any festive mood was punched out of Morris when the pianist finally revealed himself. Of course, he should've expected that much; the man standing on the other end of the room was not right in any form. Too tall, too blond, too...wrong.

The understudy, or whatever they're called here.

He needed to be more realistic about it, nearly kicking himself for being that naive. Obviously, he wouldn't be here, the last time they saw each other he couldn't even hold a teacup, so how was he supposed to be up and ready to play again?

Maybe not this time, but Easter was realistic... If they had the chance to perform again. Pentecost, at least, but that would be months. Morris was unsure he could hold out that long.

After all, his social media went offline instantly. The data that Morris previously used to get to know him better was unavailable now; no friend lists, no favorite locations, no address he didn't already know and kept an eye on. He wasn't even sharp enough to discover an obituary column, he had searched thoroughly.

No one should exclude that possibility, even if it made his heart sink and stomach turn. Septic shock, no doubt. That would be Morris fault, naturally, because he couldn't even produce a single coherent thought before taking action because I am a fucking failure who isn't even-

He left shortly after the applause for the second part died down.

The bathroom greeted him again, with the sterile lights overhead, eerily similar to another room that brushed through his mind from time to time. This one was much more pristine, of course, and even though the memories always carried a sliver of guilt with them, he preferred them over uncertainty.

Morris thought a lot about their time together; to keep his mind off Amber, shame felt almost better than the pain she still triggered: like a hot twinge in his chest.

He searched for her, more out of habit than anything. Yet, her parents always had a talent for keeping their dirty little secrets neatly wrapped up and stashed away, he gave up after another two weeks of insistence. How was he even supposed to approach her; build trust again? Another plan he would make, another plan he would fuck up.

Enough.

Morris sat down on the closed toilet lid to let out an exhausted huff. Having a smoke in the lav would hopefully get him back on track, wherever that shall lead. Slim threads of smoke met the ceiling in a stream, letting the worries of the past month dissolve with them. Moments of peaceful silence let him drift off. Weightless for a moment.

"You're not allowed to smoke in here, the alarm can go off."

A shadow below the stall made itself at home, right next to the wall that separated them. The last thing he needed now.

"Mhh," Morris produced with a cool demeanor. Shifting nervously in the high heels and floor-length gown he could make out through the space at the stall's bottom, the person took a seat.

"Care to share one?"

He didn't really, but if that made them shut up, he had more than enough to spare. Lighting its tip on his own one, he passed the stub to a pair of finely manicured fingers. Green, just as the dress, but in the wrong hue. What a shame.

The legs attached to the rest visibly calmed down, he took the chance to relish the newfound quiet.

"Enjoying the show?" Jesus fucking Christ.

"Sure. The pianist is horrible, though." Not that he could judge his skill, he was just the dollar-store version of who Morris hoped to meet. Meet again.

A light chuckle followed, stalled by a cough.

"Yeah, he's the best we could get on short notice. Always off-key, though, a true shitshow."

"You're part of this?" You know the members? Maybe they were friends with-

"Yeah," a cloud of smoke spread among their feet, somehow they sounded less than proud, "Always a pleasure."

Morris hesitated, not entirely convinced the next step would be a good idea: "A friend invited me, but I think I got stood up."

"Sorry to hear that. A lot of things go wrong today..." Pensive, he used their speaking break to latch onto any sliver of available information.

"So, what happened to his precursor?" Don't be useless.

"Huh?"

"The pianist. I bet the one before was way better." Less than a lie.

"Oh, that's the sad part. But I shouldn't just talk about that with everyone, so..."

They were lucky to be confined by the plywood board. Otherwise, he would have slapped the truth out of them in an instant. Although that never seemed to do the trick, at least not when Morris did it.

"I mean, it's his fault you have to work like this now, right?" he teased instead, "Hope the excuse is good enough to justify leaving y'all in the lurch."

His counterpart bit their tongue violently, not wanting to offend a paying customer. A minor scandal was the last problem the orchestra needed right now. That's why one should mind their own business while hiding from their conductor.

Though the stranger had a point, not a great one, but still, this whole fiasco could've been avoided. Some people just need to get their shit together.

"Some kind of accident, I guess. I think he was also stressed, y'know? Tried to escape..."

Don't say that!

"What?" their voice pierced through the thin wall separating them.

"Don't say that," Morris repeated. Only a shallow breath could be heard in the room.

"Uh, the duet is going to end in a few moments and my solo… I need to speed this up. Thanks for the cig, anyway!"

Duty called for effort, saving the absentee from further interrogation. Alone again, Morris took another draw, not an ounce wiser.

Brooke Hoffstetter left the bathroom as quickly as she entered, sneaking back to her place under the disapproving eyes of the conductor. She didn't care about her performance like she used to, overworked and underappreciated, she wanted nothing more than just take the back seat for once.

Nevertheless, she played the firm strings of her violin, the pianist sending grating tunes to the back of her neck.

--------

Darkness surrounded Morris as he walked through the city park to meet with a partner. A nameless job beckoned him with cash he surely needed by now; since they didn't ask for help as much as they used to. Probably because the damage he had done to the hideout had become more than visible.

An official mess, inside and out.

Maybe it was better this way, to slowly fade away from the people he surrounded himself with; never been a perk, clearly. His brother-in-law had made an offer a long time ago: minimum wage, working in the gym he was managing. Or back to the retirement home, if they were kind enough to ignore his record.

Not the worst thing that could happen.

They met on the edge of the harbor and after the usual mindless small-talk, they finally went to work. Simply collect and drop-off, he used to do worse for less.

Not much thought was wasted on vague job opportunities, Morris couldn't even focus on the one he was supposed to fulfill at the moment.

It hurt inside, any second they weren't together; the idea of the person who kept his mind away from the present burned even deeper than he could have ever anticipated. Nothing more than a cruel mixture made from shame and nostalgia. Someone who had met his worse side and decided to still be sincere enough to not punish him with spite.

The concord he got in those few hours gave him a touch of what was owed to him, of missed chances…

It would be different next time, he hoped, knowing full well he reached a dead end. He didn't need talk therapy or a half-assed phone call, what Morris had lost in that house just came once in a lifetime. He was sure that they had thrown away a true bond.

Sitting mute next to his partner and hearing detailed ramblings, the memories drifted further away, yet continuing to spin in circles over and over. It was obvious that Morris ached for the only person who could soothe his hunger.

My Elliot.

A hot twinge in his heart left him breathless.

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Thanks for reading 🤍

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