[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.
If I were perfect, I would not have fallen in love with you, Edmond. I would've remained a simple peasant boy, mending shoes in the countryside. You cannot deny this.
[not to the rest of the world, he may not be. they didn't need that. but to him, Hans is perfect in all his imperfections, in his sharp tongue and his temper and his stumbling over his own feet trying to be impressive, in his laugh and his smile and the way his voice says Edmond's name.]
All I ever desire from you is that you are yourself, and that you're here next to me.
[Perfect is what he has to be. Aristocracy didn't take kindly to outsiders butting in. The moment he stepped foot in Copenhagen, Hans knew he'd spend the rest of his life performing.
But Edmond... Edmond, with his sweeping gestures and starry eyes, with a sincerity unmatched by anyone he's met before, he lifts the yoke from Hans's shoulders and still smiles at what he sees. The realization turns his face bright red, and he blurts out before he loses his courage:]
I'll stay with you tonight. In your room.
[He averts his eyes.]
Close to you, I mean. If you really feel so strongly towards me.
[the words register, and Edmond looks down at where their legs touch, trying to find a way to articulate how hearing that makes him feel, before he settles on.]
Yes, yes, I do.
[excellent job.]
I wouldn't mind that at all. I mean, you're welcome to do so....I mean, please do.
[save him, please, from the catastrophe that is his own mind faced with a situation he didn't prepare for.]
Well, you don't have to put it that way! [SQUAWKED WHILE BLUSHING A FURIOUS RED. Hans springs to his feet.] How you're saying it sounds awfully suspicious! Who talks like that?!
You're the one going on about being a light sleeper and making this out as if the fate of the world rested on this when the answer is yes, it's been yes since before you asked, and I would treasure the experience of you sleeping beside me!
[ohhhhhhh my god. another breath, and he rearranges his head]
...you're taking this too seriously, Hans. Just...yes. I'd like for you to stay the night before you have to go.
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inkwreaths2019-08-07 11:11 pm
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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.]
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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.]
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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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If I were perfect, I would not have fallen in love with you, Edmond. I would've remained a simple peasant boy, mending shoes in the countryside. You cannot deny this.
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[not to the rest of the world, he may not be. they didn't need that. but to him, Hans is perfect in all his imperfections, in his sharp tongue and his temper and his stumbling over his own feet trying to be impressive, in his laugh and his smile and the way his voice says Edmond's name.]
All I ever desire from you is that you are yourself, and that you're here next to me.
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But Edmond... Edmond, with his sweeping gestures and starry eyes, with a sincerity unmatched by anyone he's met before, he lifts the yoke from Hans's shoulders and still smiles at what he sees. The realization turns his face bright red, and he blurts out before he loses his courage:]
I'll stay with you tonight. In your room.
[He averts his eyes.]
Close to you, I mean. If you really feel so strongly towards me.
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Yes, yes, I do.
[excellent job.]
I wouldn't mind that at all. I mean, you're welcome to do so....I mean, please do.
[save him, please, from the catastrophe that is his own mind faced with a situation he didn't prepare for.]
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So... [Hans clears his throat, but his voice cracks a little when he continues.] ... it's fine if I...
[FUCK]
... sleep in your bed...?
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Of course it is. You...I'd be honored.
[that's the best he can do.]
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[Say it.]
--I'm a light sleeper.
[NAILED IT.]
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Then...I'll be as careful as I can. Not to wake you up in the night. It'd be a shame if you weren't well rested.
[they're going to die in this room.]
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Well, you don't have to put it that way! [SQUAWKED WHILE BLUSHING A FURIOUS RED. Hans springs to his feet.] How you're saying it sounds awfully suspicious! Who talks like that?!
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[guess who's also going to blush now.]
You're the one going on about being a light sleeper and making this out as if the fate of the world rested on this when the answer is yes, it's been yes since before you asked, and I would treasure the experience of you sleeping beside me!
[ohhhhhhh my god. another breath, and he rearranges his head]
...you're taking this too seriously, Hans. Just...yes. I'd like for you to stay the night before you have to go.
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[Christ. He buries his face in his hands.]
Edmond... sometimes I wonder just how dense you are.
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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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