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It’s surprisingly easy to like Django, Fullbody thinks. He’s a little puzzling, in all the right ways. Sometimes he surprises himself, being pulled by the other man’s presence and antics, and something contracts in his chest, making him feel glad for having chosen to take this hand back then. It’s a little unnerving, this new life. Not having anywhere to return to, no one waiting for him to show up any more. But then again, did he ever have one of those? A home, he meant. Somewhere to go back, a place to look forward to see again, while being away. A fixed point making sailing on the deep blue sea so much easier. Thinking back, it had always been him, alone on his official accommodation, a poorly furnished flat given to him by the marine for his great service, cheap wine and occasional one-night flings his only company. No, he couldn’t actually say that he missed it.
Looking away from the sea, he let his gaze linger on his sailing companion. His locks dancing with the breeze, a calm expression resting on his face, his sunglasses shining in the sun.
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He always wore sunglasses, even inside. Fullbody wondered why. An eye condition, maybe? No, he sees very well with or without them. Is it to pass under the marine’s signals, a way to stay incognito? No, and either way they already know him for his heart-shapped glasses, he thinks, if he wanted to be unrecognizable, he’d put on regular glasses. Then, was it out of a fashion sense? Fullbody didn’t really see the appeal, but who was he to judge, Django seemed to have a far better grasp on fashion than him. So. Fashion it was?
Django was hesitant when answering him, and a long time ago, he would‘ve even say 'yes of course', and let the matter go. But it was Fullbody, and it was only the two of them now, and he felt like he could tell him, confide in him. He felt like he could talk about this insecurity of his to his dearest friend.
He puts on his sunglasses as a front, and a protection shell against the world. He tried to put an extra and over the top persona, and his already boisterous personality sure helped, but sometimes he’d like to lay down the walls. So he tells Fullbody the truth, how his eyes attract attention, make heads turn his way, and how he hates that. How he’d rather have people turn their gaze upon him for his immaculate fashion choices and for his intriguing aura than for something he cannot control. He shares with his friend the reason behind his glasses, and the way they make him feel powerful but at the same time so alone. Fullbody listens to him like all of this mattered, and maybe it did, to him. Django finds himself feeling grateful and content, in having his secret shared with the one person he’d come to trust with his life. After their talk, the two men go on their separate activities. Django watching the ocean, and Fullbody watching Django, feeling a little closer to the man now.
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Fullbody mindlessly finds himself looking at Django’s face, and catches glimpses of his eyes. He is fascinated, for a reason yet unknown. They are pretty eyes, he thinks, and wonders how such pretty eyes could have caused Jango so much trouble in his life.
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Django could be talking about anything, Fullbody always listens ardently. But sometimes the man dozes off, and loses focus on the subject to gaze into Jango’s eyes. The latter assumes he doesn’t do it on purpose (which he’s glad), as when confronted about it (say : when Jango calls him back to reality), he doesn’t seem to remember doing it. Jango concludes his friend suffers from some slight attention troubles, and doesn’t mind a bit. He’d be bold and would call it cute, even. But truth is, Fullbody’s attention never leaves his friend. It is only less focussed on his words and rather on his lips, and how his smile reaches his eyes when he is retelling a happy memory, or how his eyelashes flutter when laughing, eyes closed and tearing up a little. He surprises himself when the urge to wipe them out with his thumb appears, and how he cannot help the thug at his heart when Jango’s eyes reopen to focus entirely on him, as if he was the only one in the other’s eyes.
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Looking at it now, Fullbody should have seen it coming long ago when one night, he surprises himself with his thoughts drifting to Django's lips, and how much he'd like to kiss those lips. Oh hell. His friend is talking, and he wants to kiss him. Kiss those laughter lines good, cuping his cheeks in his hands. So he does. He does, and Django is smiling when they tear appart. And Fullbody suddenly feels at home, in his best friend's arms. Fullbody kisses Jango’s cheek the same way he dreamed about so many times before. Jango lets him, hands finding hands to hold onto. A secure anchor. In this moment, he can truly say he is happy.