"A job!" Pascal's voice rose in incredulity, a laugh bubbling out of him. "As a
dancer, surely not?" Serge's eyes widened as Pascal cackled, and his face flushed a dark red, indigence flashing over his face as he shook his head rapidly. "Or a prostitute--"
"No, Pascal! God forgive you for such an accusation!" Serge barked, his face hot as Pascal tried to contain his giggles. "I would never accept such a thing, don't be so disgusting--"
"Will you two
knock it off?!"
A groggy voice from the other bed shut the both of them up, and Karl shifted under the covers to flip over and squint at them. "How is anyone supposed to get any sleep in this room if you two are chattering on like a pair of noisy crows! Please, go to bed, both of you!"
Pascal and Serge stared at Karl, speechless for a moment, and Serge quickly huffed out a breath, trying to calm himself enough to placate the black haired young man. "Terribly sorry, Karl," he said, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Please forgive us. Pascal here was just being a bit foolish..." Pascal blinked, then frowned indignantly at Serge's words, but said nothing, instead sniffing once and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Karl squinted at them, then sighed through his nose. "Just keep it down, please. I hate to be so rude, but at the rate you're going at, Fraulein Boehler will have us out on the streets for sure."
"You worry far too much, Karl," Pascal scoffed, waving away Karl's fretting with a hand. "She's a kindly old bat who can't hear a thing, much less our squabbling."
"Pascal!" Serge chastised, but was smiling all the same at his friend's rude words. "Don't say such a thing. Fraulein Boehler is our savior, remember. She gave us an affordable place to stay."
"Hmph. Savior my ass, with all that money you have, Serge, you could've bought us a decent house to live in at the very least," Pascal muttered good-naturedly, then glanced at Karl, a mischievous light flashing over his face as he turned back to Serge. "And with this new job of yours at the cabaret, you'll be making enough money to buy us a mansion! Three of them!" Pascal yelped, a peal of laughter spilling out of him as Serge shoved him by the shoulders, while Karl looked on with an expression three parts horrified and one part bright red flush.
"It isn't like that! I'm a pianist, I'm their
pianist for god's sake!" Serge cried, shaking Pascal by the shoulder, jostling the man with a heated embarrassment. "He knew my father was one, so he asked me to perform as well. That's all. Y-you know I wouldn't be caught dead doing such a risque thing! You
know!" Pascal's laughter finally tittered off, and crying uncle as Serge took a playful swing at his head, and the two finally collapsed into giggles, Serge's mostly to clear off the embarrassed tension in his shoulders.
Karl stared at them both, taken aback by his noisy roommates' interaction, then huffed and flipped back over, burying himself under the covers with pink tinted cheeks. "Just go to bed soon..." he muttered, and Serge smiled, smoothing out his hair where Pascal had mussed it up in their tangle. A comfortable silence fell over the room, and Pascal glanced at Serge with a grin.
"Pianist, huh? For Herr Watts?" he whispered to Serge. "Well, I think you'll be great at it. Everyone knows you were suited for the piano the day you were born. I remember how fond Luche was of you..." Serge's eyes shone at that, and he smiled almost bashfully, shrugging and going to the drawer to pick out his nightclothes. "Maybe we'll visit you tomorrow night! It's a Sunday, so there won't be much else to do. That is, if I can successfully drag Karl along with me. You know how he is about the sabbath."
"Yes, yes... well, please don't force him into anything," Serge said, unbuttoning his waistcoat and slipping out of it, folding the clothes up just enough to look somewhat presentable when a maid would come to take them to wash. "Karl is our friend; we should respect him. And really, if I weren't expected to come for the job, I'd consider staying away from the cabaret tomorrow as well, for the same purpose. One can have too much fun..."
"Nonsense," Pascal snorted, a grin on his face. "But if you two prefer to keep up that holy facade of yours, I won't stop you." Serge smiled, though a bit bemusedly, at Pascals words, then pulled a nightshirt over his head and finished undressing.
"What's that book you're reading, Pascal?" he whispered back, curious, as he folded his pants up and set them on the edge of the dresser with the dress shirt and waistcoat. "You're about done with it, aren't you?"
"Mmhm," Pascal mused, his eyes softening a little as he looked back at the book. "Well, it isn't the most pleasant read, subject matter-wise, but the writing is intelligent. It's very intriguing, keeps you interested, and all that..."
"Yes, but what is it
about," Serge scoffed, his voice full of mock exasperation as he turned around to face Pascal, stalking over to him with a chuckle on his lips. "You get so sidetracked by your own thoughts, it's appalling."
"You're one to talk," Pascal retorted, grinning up at him, and he rubbed at his stubbled chin, showing the book to Serge. Serge squinted, for the german word on the front was foreign to him. "
Grundlinien einer Rassenhygiene... Or, 'Racial hygiene basics.' It is not a book that I would let you read, Serge," Pascal suddenly said, looking up at Serge with a serious expression that made the smile wilt off of Serge's lips. "It is not a kind book. And if you do happen to pick it up... know that I do not share its values." At this, Serge's expression twisted into a kind of nervous curiosity as to what on earth was in that book. "Is that understood?"
Serge shifted, feeling almost as if he were a child being scolded, and he nodded his head up and down. "Yes, of course..." he said softly, and blinked in surprise as Pascal reached out to take his hand by the wrist. "Pascal, what--"
Pascal murmured something just to interrupt Serge, and he stared intently at Serge's hand, at the dark skin, at the tendons and knuckles and the small, white scar on the skin that connected his thumb to his index finger that he'd gotten trying to climb an iron fence back in Arles when that insane poodle had chased them all through the town square... Pascal's eyes softened for a moment, and he smiled, shaking his head. "The world is changing, I'm afraid," he murmured. "People are growing more staid in their thoughts. It's a sad thing they're only looking to the past, and not the--"
"Bright and glorious future?" Serge interrupted him, making Pascal blink in surprise, and Serge chuckled, his eyes warm. "You've said that before."
Pascal stared at him for a moment, taken aback or perhaps lost in thought, then chuckled, releasing Serge's wrist with a playfully rough fling. "Go get some sleep. You'll need it, or you'll fall asleep at the piano bench tomorrow." Serge grinned, determined to prove his friend wrong, and he nodded, moving towards Karl's bed. He and Serge shared it, since Pascal demanded he have a bed of his own, and neither of them objected.
"Goodnight, Pascal. Go to bed soon, too, or Karl might throw a shoe at you if you keep that light on much longer," Serge whispered, his eyes sparkling with mischief, but it was interrupted by a yawn that he stifled before it could get very far. Carefully pulling back the covers, Serge climbed into bed and settled his face on the pillow, facing away from Pascals light, and soon enough he was falling into a soft, dreamless sleep.