Chapter Text
It was just after lunchtime when Dominic rounded the corner into Trafalgar Square, and London was empty. Not a soul moved up and down the city's many twisting streets, nor did cars or black taxi cabs weave between the pavements. It was common to see queues of red double-deckers shifting anxiously at the traffic lights in this part of town, but not here. It wasn't that they were motionless - it was just that they didn't exist.
A light breeze ruffled blonde hair, but the air held the humid heat of an English city summer. Dominic adjusted his sunglasses, crossed the deserted street - automatically glancing both ways before he crossed, before internally rolling his eyes at the futility of the action - and scanned the Square. It was exactly as he knew it, aside from a flock of scarlet peacocks, who fluttered heavily into the air as Dominic approached. The sun blazed down on pale stone, and Nelson's column cast such a shallow shadow that he could barely see it from this angle. Beyond the column lay the roundabout and the road that split away from it, leading down toward the river in a haze of heat, where Big Ben marked the bank of the Thames. The clock face didn't seem to have hands.
Impressive though they may be, it wasn't the surroundings that Dominic had come here for. Well, alright, they were part of it, but he'd just spotted the far more important part, and it was much closer. It came, unsurprisingly, in the form of a man hunched over on top of one of the low stone walls that contained one of Trafalgar's two huge fountains. The man was thin, young, shirtless, and his jeans were rolled up, allowing him to lazily kick his bare feet back and forth through the pool. His hands were busy with a stack of paper. A newspaper, maybe, though he seemed more interested in folding it than reading it, and when Dominic looked closer, he realised that the water's surface was dotted with a stream of tiny paper boats. Taking his place on the wide steps that led down from the National Gallery, he sat down and watched. His inital task was to observe.
He could only see his patient's back from this angle; a curved, pale line of vertebrae led up to jutting shoulderblades that shifted and flexed as his arms worked at the newspaper, and above that, almost-black, scruffily spiked hair was slicked to the back of his neck. Water droplets ran from their tips. He'd been for a swim recently, then. Dominic's eyes trailed to the pool. The sunlight glinted in endless ripples over the blue surface, and cool crystal drops burst as they tumbled from the fountain and crashed into the large stone pond below. Of course he'd gone for a swim.
The man suddenly straightened, his back going rigid, and one long, pale hand lifted to shade his eyes, which were fixed on the centre of the pool. Dominic followed his gaze. One member of the fleet of paper boats was drifting dangerously close to the centre of the waterfall.
"Oh, God," he heard the man call out, with a voice that spoke of equal parts excitement and dread. "Pull back, men, we can't take it! The weather's too harsh, we'll go under! She'll flounder, I tell you! Flounder!"
Dominic grinned involuntarily, staring at the boat, which was now rocking from side to side as it cleared the waves that spread from the point of impact. His patient had now cupped his hands around his mouth to yell properly; the man's tone wouldn't have sounded out of place in a commentary box.
"It's - it's too late! She's going over! End of the road now lads, or is it - oh, she's skirting it, skirting it now, gonna be close, very tense here I can tell you, slight wave there, oh Jesus, sweet Jesus I cannot watch, that's a fact ladies and gentlemen, she's-" the boat toppled under the fountain's stream and plunged into the depths, swept below the flow instantly, and sank to the floor. "-AND THERE SHE GOES! OH, THE TRAGEDY! THE HUMANITY!"
And then the man fell silent, calmly sat back down, and picked up the next piece of newspaper.
Dominic stared, lips still twitching at the corners, and stood up to approach the man. He'd seen enough. His secondary task was to engage.
"Hey," he called, and the man almost toppled forward into the pool in surprise. He righted himself quickly - defensively, even - and slid his feet out of the water and over the other side to acknowledge the newcomer.
"And who the bloody hell are you?"
Briefly recalling his training, he maintained a constant pace toward the edge of the fountain, aiming to look neither intimidating nor uninteresting. "My name's Dominic," he replied, kicking his shoes off and hoisting himself up to sit on the wall.
"I didn't ask your name, I asked who you were," came the patient's testy response, though his legs swung back over and into the water, and he picked up the sheet of paper to continue folding. Dominic had been accepted, then.
"I'm just a visitor," he answered, and he let his toes dip into the pool. The swirling of cool water around his aching feet was blissful and he continued to slip his legs in until they were underwater to mid-calf.
"What d'you mean, a visitor?"
"Just visiting," he shrugged, rolling his ankles and watching little whirlpools form on the surface above.
"No one 'just visits' me," the man retorted, curling his long fingers into sarcastic quote marks in the air.
"Well, I am," Dominic said, quite coolly. "You don't need to be a dick about it. I can leave if you like, but if you let me stay, I'll buy you coffee."
"Too hot for coffee," snorted the man, but then his expression softened and he met Dominic's gaze for the first time. It could have been a trick of the light, but Dominic was convinced the man's eyes were bluer than the water. "Sorry. Nah. You can stay, I could do with some company," he mumbled, settling down the latest completed boat into the water and then leaning on one arm. His head rolled thoughtfully to one side, cheek pressed into his shoulder. "And a coffee. Coffee is good in hot weather. Actually, I think it's better in hot weather than cold weather."
"I... right."
"But first!" he exclaimed, turning to face Dominic, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do I know you're real? How can I trust you?"
"I know your name is Matthew Bellamy," came the reply, and the man called Matthew rolled his eyes.
"That's hardly good enough, is it?" One eyebrow raised. "Tell me something I couldn't know. Something we can prove, right here. Then I'll know you're real, and not a figment of my imagination."
Dominic nodded. He'd prepared for this. "C'mon," he said, and reluctantly pulled his legs out of the fountain. He also took off his sunglasses, sliding them into place at the neck of his tshirt. "You've been to the National Gallery before, right?"
"'Course," Matthew answered, and he stood up, following Dominic as he walked toward the flight of stairs and back up to the art gallery. "A bunch of times."
"Excellent." He paused for a moment as he noticed one of the scarlet peacocks flap down to land several feet away. At this distance, he could make out their plumage in much greater detail - the eyes of each feather were a bright golden, and royal purple ran in rich streaks throughout the bird's body. "Why the birds?"
Matthew shrugged. "More fun than pigeons."
Their journey through the deserted gallery was cool and silent, with their bare feet leaving wet footprints over mosaic floors as they made their way to the room Dominic had memorised before venturing into Trafalgar Square. He eventually led Matthew to a room full of dark, polished wood, delicately carved pillars, and a select few royal portraits that hung in absurdly ornate gold frames. The second largest portrait in the room was the one Dominic headed for, putting his hands on Matthew's shoulders and steering him until he was staring directly at the painting.
"It's a fat bloke on a horse," Matthew said bluntly.
"Yep," Dominic nodded, "one fucking fat bloke. When he took off his corset, his fat rolls were said to go down to his knees."
Matthew leaned closer, stroking one fingertip over the surface of the painting and feeling the grooves left in the oil paint by the brush centuries ago. "I feel sorry for the bloody horse."
Dominic snorted with laughter, nodding and stepping forward to point to the plaque beside the frame. "King George the Fourth. And there's a statue of him in Trafalgar Square."
"Nah there isn't," Matt sniffed, taking his finger away from the paint. "Out there it's all lions, and soldiers, and babies spitting water."
"So if we find his name out there, then you'll be satisfied that I knew something you didn't about your surroundings, and therefore cannot be creation of your own mind?"
Matthew suppressed a smile and spun around from the painting, already heading for the door they arrived through. "He'd better be out there, then, hadn't he?"
The walk back was significantly faster and noisier, with Matthew leading the way and Dominic occasionally needing to call him back on track when he strode away down the wrong corridor, or took the wrong turning. Eventually he realised he could just follow their wet footprints from before, and the pair emerged into sunshine within minutes.
Taking Matthew's arm, Dominic pulled him to their left, where he gestured to one of the four plinths at the corners of the square. It carried a statue of a man on a horse. A thin - well, a fit - man. A battle-hardened warrior at the peak of health. Matthew circled the plinth, shielding his eyes with both hands, and frowned accusingly up at the horseback figure, like if he glared hard enough it would explain itself. The sound of scuffing feet drew his gaze back to ground level, where Dominic was leaning against the plinth, smirking, slowly kicking his foot back and forth over the warm stone of the Square. Matt was just about to spit some sarcastic remark about not looking so bloody pleased with himself when he realised that the wall of plinth directly above Dom's shoulder carried a silver plaque.
"Move," Matt flicked his wrist, distractedly ushering the other man out of the way, and peered in at the carved words. "King George IV, 1762-1830. King George. The fourth." He leaned back, staring up at the statue again. "Well, fuck me."
"He really was massive," Dom said, wandering back down the steps and toward the fountains, Matt in tow. "The artist who he commissioned to sculpt him was terrified of offending the king, so he cut back on the fat, as it were. When it was unveiled then the public thought it was hilarious, and stories said that the artist was so embarrassed that he threw himself into the Thames and drowned."
"Bit sensitive."
"Just a bit." Dominic sniffed. "Probably not true, though."
Matthew bent down to pick up a crumpled white tshirt by the fountain's edge (which Dominic was sure hadn't been lying there before) and pulled it over his head, though it didn't do much to cover him up - the thin material clung to his still-damp torso and adopted the colour of pale skin in places. "So," he began, "you mentioned something about buying me a coffee?"
"I did." Dom's lips twitched.
"You are aware there's no such thing as money here, aren't you?"
Dominic nodded, gleaming teeth emerging in an accidental grin.
"So when you said 'I'll buy you coffee', you meant 'can we have coffee'?"
"Pretty much," he confessed, looking not the least bit apologetic.
"Right, well you're a tight little shit then, aren't you," Matt snorted, but it was with amusement rather than spite.
"I'm not sure it's possible to be a 'tight little shit' in a world without money, do you?" Dominic shot back, and the two made to cross the street toward the nearest coffee shop, of which there were many. He noted with interest that Matthew also unconsciously flicked his head from side to side, seeking traffic that would never come. Interesting.
Matt hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head at the pavement, considering the question. "Sure you can. You don't need money to pay someone."
"Ah, that's true."
"For example, if we were medieval farm folk, you could pay me in chickens."
"For a latte?" Dom asked, mouth quirking into a smile again. "Of course. Sixteenth century peasants were big on lattes."
Matthew nodded earnestly, face serious. "Indeed they were. And if you didn't want to pay me in chickens, you could pay me in sexual favours, or you could kill off my rival farms-people, or something."
"I don't think I'd kill a farmer for a coffee," Dominic frowned. They reached the coffee shop and he pushed the glass door open, holding it for Matthew as he walked through. "It'd rest on my conscience, and then I'd have to go to confession because it's the fifteen-hundreds, and then I'd have to pay the priest."
"With chickens and sexual favours?" Matt asked, his composure finally slipping into giggles, and a burst of laughter left Dom's lips at the same time. "Not a particularly worthwhile trade for a latte, then."
"No. Not really."
Matthew had slid around to behind the counter, leaving Dominic on the customer side of the till; he leant on the desk between them and stared over at the blonde with a lopsided smile. "You can pay me in conversation, then. Haven't had any of that in a long time."
"Bargain," he grinned, lifting his eyes to the chalkboard menu nailed to the wall above Matthew's head. "Just a latte."
"Regular or grande?"
"Is that... normal and big?"
"I didn't say normal and big, Dominic, I asked if you wanted regular or grande. Oh!" Matt gasped, and he ducked below the till for a moment before re-emerging, having snatched up an official employee hat and apron from below the cash register. He pulled them on firmly, smirking, and returned to staring expectantly at Dominic. Combined with the wet-tshirt look, they utterly failed to make him look anything close to professional.
"...Regular."
"And is that with skimmed milk or whole milk?"
"I really don't care." Dom paused, and Matt began tapping one fingernail on the desk impatiently. "...Whole, then."
"Any syrup with that?"
"No! Just a bloody coffee!"
Matt's shit-eating grin had reached Cheshire cat levels. "What if that syrup was sugar free? I have chocolate, and vanilla, and ginger- okay, okay, I'll make it, Jesus," he giggled, as Dominic flipped his middle finger up and made as if to walk for the exit. Matt spun around to the preparation area behind the counter and began pulling cupboards open, placing mugs on the tabletop and retrieving milk from the fridge.
"Why don't you just... get someone to do it for you?" Dominic asked with more than a slight degree of curiosity.
"Eh." Matt shrugged mid-pour, and a splash of boiling liquid spread across the counter. He didn't seem to notice. "I like doing as much as I can. Passes the time. Anyway, I tried imagining people in the beginning, but they were never much good. I can only imagine things that I imagine, you know? Can't imagine fresh thoughts or fresh minds, so everything they'd ever do or say was on the tip of my own tongue before it happened. Enough to drive you up the wall." Slender fingers trailed the edge of the counter for a drawer, which he slid open to take a teaspoon. "Every conversation was like talking to myself. Or, it was like I was a ventriloquist trying to hold a discussion with the puppet." Milk splashes; stirring. "Which is why," he finished, picking both lattes up carefully and sliding the cutlery drawer closed with his hip, "you're such a mystery."
Dominic accepted his coffee with a mutter of thanks and they wandered back outside, leaving the cafe in a milk-splattered, spoon-strewn mess. In the time it took the glass door to swing closed after Matthew's fingers had left its handle, the counters were swept clean. Not a trace of their visit remained.
The heat of the sun hit them instantly. Returning in silence toward the fountain - aside from the brief 'agh, stupid wanker' that Matt had uttered to himself upon spilling coffee over his left foot - the two set their drinks down on the wall before climbing onto its top. Matthew had begun peeling the wet tshirt from his skin again and pulled it over his head. Where Dominic's hand rested by his side, he felt his fingertips burn at the touch of heated stone; his fingers trailed up his chest to find his sunglasses, which he slid back on. He took a sip and leaned back, eyes closed, gazing into the blue of the sky as he swallowed. A sigh of contentment left his lips.
And was cut short by a colossal splash.
"Fucking- shit, Matt! What the hell?" Dom spluttered, as the brunet's head emerged from the pool, gasping happily, dark hair plastered to his face. The splash of water had actually been delightfully refreshing. Matt giggled manically, his whole body gleaming where the sun caught wet skin. He had flopped sideways into the pool rather than dived due to its depth, or lack of it, and in his current kneeling position then the choppy waterline came just to his navel. His jeans lay in a crumpled pile on the wall, but Dom could spot navy boxer shorts rippling below the water.
"Shit, it's cold!" Matthew yelped, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking back under for a moment. Dominic stared down blankly into the water at the writhing white figure, watching the sunlight filter through the surface to cast ever-shifting patterns across the other man's back. When he crashed upwards, the disturbance sent waves rolling through the pool before he settled in a seated position, his back leaning against the wall beside Dominic.
Matt rubbed his eyes and looked back at what was now a very bedraggled looking fleet of paper boats.
"Oops," he giggled, reaching behind himself to retrieve his coffee from the water's edge. His first sip was tentative. The next was sure and relaxed, comfortable in the knowledge that the drink wasn't going to scald his lips off. "Dominic, I think I'm the Kraken."
Dom snorted into his drink and kicked his feet back into the crystal water to sway from side to side. "Perhaps you are. The Kraken of Trafalgar. Congratulations on your very first victory over the mighty Royal Navy."
"Hear that, you old knob-jockey?" Matt suddenly yelled, twisting around in the pool to address the statue of Admiral Horatio Nelson, who was perched atop the Square's central column. "I sank your fucking Navy! I'm the fucking Kraken!"
Dominic gazed up at the statue, a smile playing across his lips. Nelson looked coolly down at his new military rival with mild disinterest. Dom couldn't be sure, but he was convinced the statue wasn't usually set in a pose that so blatantly said 'bitch, please'. But then he'd never been much good at History.
"C'mon, come in, it's only cold at the very start and then it warms up," Matthew smiled, patting the water beside him. He probably intended it to be an inviting gesture but it was water and so all it did was create further splashing, but the blonde was already more than tempted. He could feel the sun burning through his dark shorts to create a stinging heat on the skin below, and his body was starting to slick with sticky sweat.
"But I'll get my clothes wet," he whined, already putting down his drink to begin pulling his tshirt over his head. The pendant of his necklace swung against his chest as he closed his eyes, let his legs fall fully into the fountain, and slid down - still wearing his shorts - into the sparkling water. It washed up his body and he sank further, crouching, hissing slightly in delight as it cooled his skin and lapped at his chest. A half-giggle from his left, and he realised Matthew was grinning at his expression.
"Good, isn't it?"
Dominic could only nod, retrieving his coffee and lifting it to his lips again. The pair sat in silence until the bottom of their mugs emerged, bathing in the summer heat. Occasionally a light breeze would stir up the fountain, and a fine spray would drift across to cool their upper bodies as well. It was some time before he realised that it was almost the end of his shift.
"I've got to get going," he announced, replacing his cup on the wall and rolling his head to look at Matthew. The other man's arms were stretched out to either side of him across the top of the wall, but at Dominic's words then he sat up straight, eyes snapping open.
"Oh. Alright, then."
"Not that I want to leave," Dom added, teeth showing in a grin, "but it's just my time to go."
"It's alright, no problem. Sure." Matthew nodded, fingers trailing across the water to snatch up a paper boat. He began to play with it, running it in bobbing motions over the surface's ripples. It was only by watching very closely that Dominic noticed the distress in the young man's eyes. He didn't bother to replace his shirt as he climbed out.
"Don't worry, I'll be back," he assured, taking his sunglasses off. The sun had gone in all of a sudden, though a glance at the sky told him there weren't any clouds.
"...You promise?"
"Course," he smiled. The paper boat was released, but Matt didn't look particularly comforted.
"Okay."
There was a long, long pause, and he was just about to turn away and walk off when Matthew broke the silence.
"Dom, can I maybe have a hug?"
The blonde's eyes widened with surprise and he stopped, still. "Er... I-"
"You know," Matt cut him off, hands twisting anxiously below the water, "it's just been a while."
Dominic's eyes scanned the Square; the deserted streets, the coffee shop that had no staff, and the bus stops that no one would ever wait at.
"Of course," he replied quietly, face softening. Matthew clambered gracelessly out of the fountain, and hopped off the wall to nervously face the blonde. A moment of unsure quiet, and then Dominic stepped forward and pulled the other man into his arms.
He was small, and fragile, but Dominic felt the tension in those slim shoulders fade away with the embrace. He could feel thin arms wind their way around his back and squeeze hard, clinging, pressing their damp chests together with shy but desperate need. Without even thinking, he shushed the brunet, stroking one hand up and down his back and the other through his wet hair. Matthew hummed gratefully and held on, eyes closed tight and lips twitching into a smile. When Dominic finally let him go, the sun was blazing down on London again and his eyes were shining.
"I'll see you, then," Matt told him, and turned his back to wander back to the pool. Dom grinned down at the hot ground as he walked away. He left a trail of wet footprints across the stone until he walked out of sight, and then he was gone.
Therapist: Dominic Howard
Logins: 1
Subject: Matthew Bellamy
Notes: Initial testing is a success - patient responds well and is able to communicate without difficulty. Constant imaginative activity, both constructive and destructive. Eccentric. Remarkably balanced, but showing signs of extreme loneliness and isolation. Quite good at origami.