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each apartment has a different lightning.

Summary:

basically, another midgelenny scrap.

everyday life. post-canon.

p.s. rated explicit due to mentions of drug addiction.

Notes:

i don't know what it's turned into, but the original title for the story read as 'morning routines'. then, it just became.. different

Work Text:



comedians were truly the greatest actors out there.


they acted out people from inexistent scripts, managed unwritten dialogues and settled their attires all on their own. comics turned their tears into the strangers' laughter. they all wore masks; some more, some less advanced. that's why 'regular' people were rarely friends with the 'abnormal', comedian type. what they presented on stage could(and most often, did) differ drastically from reality. up until a certain point in time, midge was certain that sophie lennon had pulled one of the most successful tricks, regarding the area of pretentiousness. however, things had changed with the progressing of her own career. eventually, she'd found lenny bruce to be the greatest at deception.

one could hardly imagine the known lenny persona to sit all disheveled behind a kitchen table, with his white shirt's sleeves rolled up and his tie missing; unguarded. it was odd, seeing him with a newspaper in hand, and a cup of coffee instead of whiskey, in the other. and, speaking of coffee; he drank it black. no sugar, no cream, no nothing. he drank it and never winced, yet it didn't seem to help with the darkness flooding underneath his eyes; caffeine would not rid him of the eternal tiredness.

midge could watch him sitting for hours; and, it didn't particularly matter what he was doing. she could read the newspaper in his hands solely by the expressions appearing on his features; she knew the emotion behind every wrinkle of his frown, or the true smiling behind his eyes. it was fascinating, the language of lenny bruce. though, sadly, she'd a tough time learning, for it was completely unavailable whenever there were other people present. as soon as there were any interruptions brought to their bay of stillness, the man's posture instantly slouched; his accent turned to playfully rogue, and his general manner of carrying himself seemed to turn cold and uninterested. he was always unbothered in plain sight.

 

peaceful mornings as such were exceptionally rare, in their case. her apartment, even though now rid of her parents(they'd finally managed to save up enough to get a place of their own, just a couple blocks away), was often crowded with children, friends and relatives, all of whom miraculously possessed the needed keys for her building. lenny didn't particularly enjoy staying over; he seemed out of place there, even after all the time passed.(it may have been a little over a year since carniege hall, but they still ran around like teenagers.) he looked funny, over at her place; hilarious even, when he was trying to find a lighter amongst her collection of pink kitchen towels. the whole setting looked surreal, because the apartment was too light for him. it was as though a grown man had been stuck into a cartoon; bewildered and lost, trying to find his way around. it appeared that his hair was not naturally slicked back at all times, but rather seemed somewhat messy as a consequence of deep slumber. when his hair got a little damp after a shower, it would become just a tad curly on the edges. she'd learnt all this during the first week of their encounters.

she looked out of place at his own apartment, also. (and, yes, he finally rented one). it was too dark for her. it was gloomy, brown and all lenny. she felt strangely provocative, there. pulled out of her own 'cartoon' world and stuck into a whole different set of reality. he had loud neighbours and a terrible staircase; the elevator's been broken for approximately two months after he moved in. he could afford a much better place, but he didn't go for it; the idea of making that kind of commitment misbalanced him. the place was generally alright; he made it elegant, solely by his own presence in it. lenny's apartment had wooden floors that would inevitably screech whenever midge attempted to walk by him quietly. it must've been some kind of enchanted wood, she thought; it rarely made any sounds underneath the man's feet, even though he weighted sufficiently more than herself. sometimes, she thought that could've been because he was not actually there, and this was all a fever dream. those were quite common.

lenny sometimes had fever dreams. he would sometimes shake in his sleep, and so would she; choking on her burning tears as she laid silently by his side. he wouldn't admit it to her, but he was trying to quit. she could tell. he had his better days and then.. his worse days. she pretended not to notice the guilty after-look on his once again sunken features.

she pretended like she could carry on living without him.

she's met his daughter; kitty. she's noticed that he looked at the kid with some strange, almost guilty adoration. it was as though he was not supposed to feel a thing, and then blamed himself for not being able to uphold that front. oh, and speaking of fronts..

they went to each other's gigs quite often. he would joke about her subtly, so that only she could understand; she would joke about him bluntly, so that only he could not understand. they clapped and cheered with support; and the newspapers were going utterly crazy, making up things about them that they could not phantom. sometimes, he would be leading her by her waist; rarely, she would be leaning against his shoulder. they joked and flirted in public, just as they always have. yet, they never crossed that line. if anything, the pair got times more private regarding their personal lives. they hid in plain sight, more so didn't even really hide, but never confirmed or denied anything. with the said subject addressed by any, stranger or friend, she could see lenny's defense clicking back on much like metal fences. he would not along with a careless grin, so that not even the slyest poker player could determine his bluff or truth.

midge, was as protective of her happiness as a mama cat would be of her most desired newborns. her parents knew she and lenny were 'together', 'an item', and all those strange slangs they wished to stir clear of. yet, each time the talk got to the point of the weissmans inquiring 'what was she in it for', the woman's response was clear as day. 'i'm in it.' — stating and assuring, but never appointing.

 

she wasn't marrying him. she'd never leave him.

he wasn't marrying her. he'd never let go of her.

 

he was too little for her, had nothing to offer. he had too little time to tie her down(wordplay with tie the knot). she didn't need anything of him, aside from his charm. and humour. and.. him. just the whole of him. they were blessed and cursed by fame, intertwined by humour and denial. in love and out of luck. they danced along the shadows, ever lost and ever found. nearing the end and finding the beginning.

 


 

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