[his eyes widen in surprise as he looks back to Hans, before they soften. that...speaks to his heart in some ways, and the expression in his eyes is gentler.]
If you were a woman, I wouldn't be allowed to bring you onboard my boat, much less at night.
[but then they could court openly, and he could ask the Collins what they wished for in terms of marriage, and...]
...It would all happen over again, if you weren't in this shape. Man or woman, it is you whom I adore.
[Each moment of affection feels like a scrap to Hans' starving appetite. The times their hands have brushed over each other; the looks they shared; the way Hans has to be oh-so-careful to keep the joy from his voice when he talks about his "dear friend." He wants to hold Edmond's hand; wants to kiss his cheek before his family; wants to speak freely of his adoration without hesitation.
And-- to hear Edmond affirm those feelings makes his heart flutter.]
Bah, you'll have no trouble convincing the world you're a paramour. You speak with such earnestness... it's enough to make a cynic like me dissolve into a helpless romantic.
[Hans moves away so he can pick up his journal and lantern. Turns to Edmond, the smile on his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.]
It's cold out here. I think I've had my fill of stars for tonight.
[the wind is picking up a little bit, it's true, and it isn't summer, when it'd be bearable. but the look on Edmond's face, while still a smile, looks slightly more somber.]
It's warmer where I am, if you come closer.
[he's not quite ready to bring them back to shore, is what he means. if Hans is done being out here, it doesn't mean they have to go, but...]
[taking his hand, he'll follow behind then into the warmth of below deck, where the lights are lower save in individual rooms. the night cradles the ship, makes it a cocoon away from the rest of the world, and Edmond pauses at the door to his own quarters.]
Are you tired?
[he's not. he doesn't have to be, if Hans would prefer to sit up and talk instead.]
[Hans runs his free hand through his hair and sighs.]
Even if I was, I don't think I could sleep.
[Why would he want to, when the morning promised nothing but a bitter parting? His eyes flicker to Edmond's face, then the door, but the question he wants to ask is lodged in his throat. Tries to cover up his moment of weakness by grumbling:]
[he sees where his eyes go, and pauses. it's one thing to declare his love in the open air, to be theatrical and let that carry him. but it is another when their hands are linked - his hands feel almost too rough to be holding Hans's, scholar that he is - and their hearts are close like this. sometimes it stuns him how intensely he feels.]
It's warmer in my room. I can't have you getting a cold on my account.
[so he pushes open the door and invites him in, setting the lamp down on his desk to illuminate it.
it's a small space, as most are aboard this craft, but it is Edmond's through and through, from the books tucked away to the neatly made bed to the cupboards that hold more of him than the room he has in his relatives' house. a space carved out for him to rest his body, while his spirit soars in the breeze and the waves visible out of the window.
and true to his word, because it's small, it's insulated from the outside winds. in one of those cupboards is a spare blanket, Edmond knows, and he's looking for it.]
[An author's greatest asset is his words. But what's most precious to said author is a reader who can understand what's omitted. Hans does everything in his power to keep his heart shut, hides it all beneath barbs of sarcasm and bitterness. Edmond, though, somehow always slips his way through. He's truly grateful for that.
So, hand in hand, Hans walks in with him. He eases himself onto Edmond's bed, fingers laced together as he watches his companion move about.]
[his fingers pause on the blanket, looking over his shoulder, and then he withdraws.]
Who do you take me for?
[of course he does. a different cupboard yields what he's after - a mostly full bottle of whiskey plucked from a secure hiding space, and he goes to sit down next to Hans.]
I don't have any glasses, though. You'll have to settle for the bottle.
[he might, so Edmond will preempt him, and open it to take a sip of the alcohol for himself before he passes it over and sits down next to him. it's something to savor, not to chug - it's not like kerosene in the throat, after all.]
[Edmond's self-control has always been better than Hans'. He patiently waits for the bottle to be passed back to him.]
My heart was sick from the day I was born. A man who bellyaches over the smallest things is either someone spoiled or someone with a profoundly ill soul.
[He was the bird, discontent in his gilded cage. Resigned to singing for audiences who only wanted sweet melodies.]
[giving the bottle back, he leans back on his hands.]
Your eyes are open to more than the average man. Thus you see what needs to be changed, and speak of it.
[he understands, and finds his eyes drawn to Hans all over again, like it was the day he gave voice to his feelings. his hands, his lips, his eyes - he's not past the part of his life where these things will continue to fascinate him.]
[He's about to make a smart remark about looking and seeing, with an allusion to Tiresias or some other blind prophet, when he catches how Edmond looks at him. He lowers the bottle, holds it by its neck so it can dangle between his legs. His hands are pale and smooth - a sign of aristocracy Hans takes care to maintain. For all he complains about the rich, he tries much too hard to fit in.]
... we're cut from the same cloth.
[He meets Edmond's eyes.]
So if there's something you'd like to change, say it.
[shifting, he reaches out with one hand to trail his fingertips across the back of Hans's hand. he doesn't trust himself to speak immediately, knows how selfish his wishes are - that Hans stay, that something in the world change that they might live together sooner than this. there's so much in his heart, and he can't put it into words - only raise up Hans's hand to press a kiss to the back of it.
don't leave me yet. he might as well have said it aloud. for all his cleverness and strength and logical mind, his heart is as Hans has always known it to be - trusting, caring, and emotional. all of it written out in his expression, his body in private, since there's no need to hide it.]
[A touch as gentle as a sunbeam, with the uneven edges hewn by experience. A kiss that reminds him of how he crouched before a crackling hearth of long-ago Odense on a winter's day. Hans hears what Edmond wants to say, and his fingers twitch, ever-so-slightly. If reality could only bend their way-- if only this was a fairy tale--
The bottle of whiskey is set on the nearby nightstand, so it doesn't spill. Hans twines his fingers with Edmond's, squeezes to reassure him. Leans in, just a little closer, so he kiss his hand in return.]
I'll be close by. You can visit me anytime.
[He doesn't use the general "you," but the intimate "you" - a soft du filled with concern and fondness.]
[sometimes, he feels impossibly fragile. like spun glass, all his strength given up to Hans who never breaks him, but treats him softly, sweetly, whispers du to him and soothes the longing he's preparing himself to feel.
he's too sentimental at partings, even if they have reunions already promised. or maybe it's the talk that's been swirling around their houses, as if they were children who couldn't be trusted to make their own decisions. it makes him want to rebel, to say things he knows are too harsh, to do something reckless - yet in Hans's presence, he can't figure out what that might be, beyond staying near.]
I just might. You wouldn't know until I showed up and darkened the doorstep.
[in words that might breeze past his feelings, the affection is returned - before he makes a move to shift even closer, so that their legs touch each other. the contact eases his thoughts even as his heart flutters for it.]
[A promise may sustain one during the wait, but it cannot be food for the present. Something must first be absent to necessitate its creation and he is painfully aware of what will be gone come the morning. This serenity between them will be twain, and send them their separate ways: Edmond to the docks, Hans to the study. Again, the walls of society will bear down on them, forcing them to reconvene in neglected gardens, behind closed doors, in quiet and dark spaces devoid of people and God's watchful eye.
How could Edmond be satisfied with being hidden, when he burned so bright? His poor North Star. His mistreated sun. Hans drops his eyes to their legs.
He does not move away. In fact, he becomes very still.]
Do you...? [The question dies before it can be finished. Hans licks his lips and tries again.] Are you comfortable like this?
[Is this a joke? Are you offering me your love? Please don't hurt me. Please don't think ill of me.]
[the answer is a little too quick, automatic, and Edmond has to pause, brace himself before the words he's wanted to say and has said in every shape he could of except their own. he's comfortable like this, would stay here all night. he has to say it, so Hans can carry it with him wherever he goes.]
...I love you.
[he says it as hushed as a secret, heart going still in his chest. it shouldn't be so new, when he's implied it, danced around it, given it to Hans in every other way. but these are words that cannot be denied, and everything about him speaks to true sincerity. stripped of his bravado and his wit, only to rest his heart in Hans's hands.]
[Blood roars in Hans's ears. His heart feels like a horse in his chest, kicking at his ribs hard and fast.
How many times have they teased this phrase? I adore you. You have my heart. If only I were a woman... They were effusive, certainly, but they still tread the fine line that was permitted to them. Those aren't words that should be given to someone like him, an awkward amphibian who pined after the right and wrong sex.
(if life tears them apart and forces them to grow up, to enter society the way a proper man should with a wife on his arm, it would be far better to write this relationship off as an errant whim of youth. if it's love-- if it's love, then--)
Hans's grip on Edmond's hand tightens.]
That's something only a fool would say.
[His words are weak.]
I'm a poet, Edmond. If you say something like that, I'll believe you. I won't let you forget it. Do you mean it?
[it's safer not to say it, to continue in that thin veil of illusion. dear friends, not beyond that, even though he's promised his heart. this is nothing born out of proximity or desperation, it's merely a fact that catches at Edmond's heart whenever he sees those eyes, hears his voice. he can't lie about this, can't be anything but a fool disarmed entirely, would allow Hans to skewer his heart with his pen and write with his blood should it please him.]
With everything that I am.
[he couldn't say something so precious if he didn't mean it. please believe me. this is no cruel game but his existence.]
[He closes his eyes. Breathes slowly in, then slowly out. When he opens them again, the anxiety that seized his body is gone. His shoulders relax, and his grip loosens. Hans looks up at this man who's somehow remained so pure in spite of the world, at the earnest expression he's wearing now.
With a smile as light as a summer breeze, Hans kisses Edmond - a gentle acceptance, sweet and slow.]
... then I will be your fellow fool.
[Again, with that intimate "you."]
I love you, as dearly as the doe loves the morning's dewdrops, as dearly as the swallow loves the blue sky. I love you, because it comes as naturally to me as my words. No matter how far you may be from me, or who you become, my heart will remain steadfast.
[He towards him, just so their shoulders may touch.]
For you are the only man who's accepted me for who I am, odd and broken as I was.
[he feels like the world is suspended, waiting for Hans to reply. waiting for him to accept this as the truth it is. and it comes with the grace of a kiss, words spoken in kind that are too sweet to be real. words that he's craved hearing but never voiced the desire for. they uplift him, and he wears the joy he feels openly.
when he speaks, it's still hushed, but that close du still remains.]
You were never broken. You are beautiful, exactly as you were made, and as you were always meant to be.
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inkwreaths2019-08-07 11:11 pm
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If you were a woman, I wouldn't be allowed to bring you onboard my boat, much less at night.
[but then they could court openly, and he could ask the Collins what they wished for in terms of marriage, and...]
...It would all happen over again, if you weren't in this shape. Man or woman, it is you whom I adore.
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And-- to hear Edmond affirm those feelings makes his heart flutter.]
Bah, you'll have no trouble convincing the world you're a paramour. You speak with such earnestness... it's enough to make a cynic like me dissolve into a helpless romantic.
[Hans moves away so he can pick up his journal and lantern. Turns to Edmond, the smile on his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.]
It's cold out here. I think I've had my fill of stars for tonight.
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It's warmer where I am, if you come closer.
[he's not quite ready to bring them back to shore, is what he means. if Hans is done being out here, it doesn't mean they have to go, but...]
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I'm cold, is all. I couldn't leave you behind so soon.
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Are you tired?
[he's not. he doesn't have to be, if Hans would prefer to sit up and talk instead.]
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Even if I was, I don't think I could sleep.
[Why would he want to, when the morning promised nothing but a bitter parting? His eyes flicker to Edmond's face, then the door, but the question he wants to ask is lodged in his throat. Tries to cover up his moment of weakness by grumbling:]
I'm still too cold.
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It's warmer in my room. I can't have you getting a cold on my account.
[so he pushes open the door and invites him in, setting the lamp down on his desk to illuminate it.
it's a small space, as most are aboard this craft, but it is Edmond's through and through, from the books tucked away to the neatly made bed to the cupboards that hold more of him than the room he has in his relatives' house. a space carved out for him to rest his body, while his spirit soars in the breeze and the waves visible out of the window.
and true to his word, because it's small, it's insulated from the outside winds. in one of those cupboards is a spare blanket, Edmond knows, and he's looking for it.]
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So, hand in hand, Hans walks in with him. He eases himself onto Edmond's bed, fingers laced together as he watches his companion move about.]
... do you have any drinks?
[hans you fucking alcoholic]
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Who do you take me for?
[of course he does. a different cupboard yields what he's after - a mostly full bottle of whiskey plucked from a secure hiding space, and he goes to sit down next to Hans.]
I don't have any glasses, though. You'll have to settle for the bottle.
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Ha! As if that's ever stopped me before!
[If you give him the whiskey, he'll chug it......]
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I see there's no need to worry over your health.
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Who says I'm healthy? [He rattles the whiskey, sloshes it around good.] I'm sick in heart and spirit. This is my medicine.
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[taking the bottle back, his lips touch where Hans's did as he sips, far more moderate than his companion.]
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My heart was sick from the day I was born. A man who bellyaches over the smallest things is either someone spoiled or someone with a profoundly ill soul.
[He was the bird, discontent in his gilded cage. Resigned to singing for audiences who only wanted sweet melodies.]
No one understood me. Not until you came along.
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Your eyes are open to more than the average man. Thus you see what needs to be changed, and speak of it.
[he understands, and finds his eyes drawn to Hans all over again, like it was the day he gave voice to his feelings. his hands, his lips, his eyes - he's not past the part of his life where these things will continue to fascinate him.]
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... we're cut from the same cloth.
[He meets Edmond's eyes.]
So if there's something you'd like to change, say it.
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don't leave me yet. he might as well have said it aloud. for all his cleverness and strength and logical mind, his heart is as Hans has always known it to be - trusting, caring, and emotional. all of it written out in his expression, his body in private, since there's no need to hide it.]
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The bottle of whiskey is set on the nearby nightstand, so it doesn't spill. Hans twines his fingers with Edmond's, squeezes to reassure him. Leans in, just a little closer, so he kiss his hand in return.]
I'll be close by. You can visit me anytime.
[He doesn't use the general "you," but the intimate "you" - a soft du filled with concern and fondness.]
no subject
he's too sentimental at partings, even if they have reunions already promised. or maybe it's the talk that's been swirling around their houses, as if they were children who couldn't be trusted to make their own decisions. it makes him want to rebel, to say things he knows are too harsh, to do something reckless - yet in Hans's presence, he can't figure out what that might be, beyond staying near.]
I just might. You wouldn't know until I showed up and darkened the doorstep.
[in words that might breeze past his feelings, the affection is returned - before he makes a move to shift even closer, so that their legs touch each other. the contact eases his thoughts even as his heart flutters for it.]
no subject
How could Edmond be satisfied with being hidden, when he burned so bright? His poor North Star. His mistreated sun. Hans drops his eyes to their legs.
He does not move away. In fact, he becomes very still.]
Do you...? [The question dies before it can be finished. Hans licks his lips and tries again.] Are you comfortable like this?
[Is this a joke? Are you offering me your love? Please don't hurt me. Please don't think ill of me.]
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[the answer is a little too quick, automatic, and Edmond has to pause, brace himself before the words he's wanted to say and has said in every shape he could of except their own. he's comfortable like this, would stay here all night. he has to say it, so Hans can carry it with him wherever he goes.]
...I love you.
[he says it as hushed as a secret, heart going still in his chest. it shouldn't be so new, when he's implied it, danced around it, given it to Hans in every other way. but these are words that cannot be denied, and everything about him speaks to true sincerity. stripped of his bravado and his wit, only to rest his heart in Hans's hands.]
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How many times have they teased this phrase? I adore you. You have my heart. If only I were a woman... They were effusive, certainly, but they still tread the fine line that was permitted to them. Those aren't words that should be given to someone like him, an awkward amphibian who pined after the right and wrong sex.
(if life tears them apart and forces them to grow up, to enter society the way a proper man should with a wife on his arm, it would be far better to write this relationship off as an errant whim of youth. if it's love-- if it's love, then--)
Hans's grip on Edmond's hand tightens.]
That's something only a fool would say.
[His words are weak.]
I'm a poet, Edmond. If you say something like that, I'll believe you. I won't let you forget it. Do you mean it?
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With everything that I am.
[he couldn't say something so precious if he didn't mean it. please believe me. this is no cruel game but his existence.]
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With a smile as light as a summer breeze, Hans kisses Edmond - a gentle acceptance, sweet and slow.]
... then I will be your fellow fool.
[Again, with that intimate "you."]
I love you, as dearly as the doe loves the morning's dewdrops, as dearly as the swallow loves the blue sky. I love you, because it comes as naturally to me as my words. No matter how far you may be from me, or who you become, my heart will remain steadfast.
[He towards him, just so their shoulders may touch.]
For you are the only man who's accepted me for who I am, odd and broken as I was.
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when he speaks, it's still hushed, but that close du still remains.]
You were never broken. You are beautiful, exactly as you were made, and as you were always meant to be.
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the only icon that works for dantes's massive bi feelings
he's having a lot of feelings rn
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