Meine Liebe fic: Rationally
Jul. 13th, 2005 02:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narcasseI’m back to this AU paring again, except with a slightly more pragmatic take on the matter this time round.
Because I promised![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emthornhill that I’d get this finished tonight.
1383 words. PG. Albato/Orpherus.
Rationally
Disclaimer: Meine Liebe belongs to Konami, Yuki Kaori and others.
++++++++++
He always comes back to this place, the grounds behind the Academy, the wooded area where a stone bridge runs over the river. Orpherus sits down on the stone railing and holds his sister’s locket up, the better to catch the moonlight. He stares at it dispassionately, critically eyes the engraved surface and the fine links of the chain and then in a moment of whimsy dangles the precious locket out over the water. The silver glints in the moonlight and Orpherus swings the chain in a lazy circle as it he were dousing. He twines his gloved fingers through the chain and watches as it slips precariously. He could drop it into the water or better still; throw it as far from himself as possible.
Of course he won’t. As much as on occasion he feels that he should hide the thing away these days. Just like the photograph that he treasures so dearly because now, because more often than not his gaze strays to the man behind his sister rather than lingering on her dear departed face.
He should throw the locket away. He would, if not for the man whose gift it was. Of course that should mean little to him or certainly not in the sense that it does.
He had convinced himself that he had barely known his sister’s fiancé, that his only interest had been in their potential familial ties through her but as Orpherus already knows, often enough he is not quite so good at deluding himself. Some days he wonders if it is more a curse than a blessing that he has come to better understand himself.
It is better to be that which you truly are.
It sounds just like the sort of thing that Ludwig might have said to him. Perhaps it is but sometimes Orpherus can’t help but wonder if it is quite the right thing to do. Because if he is to be truly as he is, he can not find it in himself to regret his scandalous thoughts. And there is a wicked joy in being praised for both his youth and his beauty by a man who is not quite so old as to be unattractive.
Of course such thoughts might not have arisen if not for his own meandering melancholy which kept him from his bed last night and the unannounced visit of the man upon which his thoughts rest. Orpherus has little idea of what business was conducted with the Headmaster that evening but that hardly matters to him now.
He can hardly remember having been so giddy and foolish and to be rendered so by that man’s presence…
They had found some time for brief conversation in this place, of all places. Far enough from everyone else to go unnoticed and he had been so helpless and overwhelmed by that man’s charming smiles and conversation. Now that he considers the matter, it is actually hard to recall exactly how he’d ended up in Albato’s arms or why he had been held so close.
Perhaps they had once more been conversing about his sister? But he can’t remember any such details, only the feeling of being held close, safe and protected in those arms.
Had he been crying? He can’t remember. Perhaps he had, it might explain why he remembers the feel of Albato’s hand against his cheek, fingers gently stroking his skin before he found himself being kissed. And at no point had the thought even occurred to him, to pull away and refuse such advances. The kiss that followed had been more ardent than the first and the following had found him helpless in Albato’s arms, bent backwards like a romance novel’s heroine. And even then, his only objection had been that perhaps he might fall.
Even the memory of those kisses sets his cheeks aflame and Orpherus slips off his gloves and presses the backs of his hands against his heated skin. The locket, his sister’s locked glints against the whiteness of his discarded gloves and he reaches out for the silver chain, hesitating before his fingers touch the cold metal. Carefully sliding the locket aside he puts on his gloves again before coiling the silver chain around his fingers.
He should do something about the locket, put it away somewhere, hide it where he will not find it again easily because it no longer represents his mourning for his sister but the man that she loved. That she would not have wanted him to be unhappy, he is certain, though in all estimation she might not necessarily have expected the sentiment to end up with him tumbled into her fiancée’s bed.
Realistically, rationally, by all moral and reasonable arguments he knows he should feel guilty. He should despise himself for having seduced his dead sister’s fiancé but it wasn’t as if he’d seduced an unwilling Albato. And it wasn’t as if Albato really counted as his sister’s fiancé, since his sister was dead anyway. Though of course it was logic like that which would raise the most objection.
Because this was hardly the way that reason and society would have it. People would talk, were they ever to find out. His friends might object or more realistically, Eduard would object. Any step further in the direction in which he was heading would be judged unnatural, unhealthy at least in regards to the what and wherefore of his attachment to this man. But why should it matter? His sister, as much as it pained him, was dead and gone and nothing, save the grace of almightily God, was going to bring her back. There would be no benefit in continuing on like this, in spending the rest of his days nursing this long dulled heartache. Because that was the worst of it, that other than on certain occasions, he did forget about her. He spent whole days without thinking about her, whole weeks where he didn’t feel her loss. She was dead and the very fact no longer choked off his voice to say it.
And of course it wouldn’t be advisable to be heard to say it so coldly either. Because the world liked to imagine that loss and death were mourned forever, enjoyed the rigmarole of monuments and remembrance of the dead. People liked to sit about and reminisce and regurgitate sentiment that had already been forgotten and if he ceased to do so, if he were to visibly take this chance to move on, they would condemn him. There would be whispers as to whether or not such a liaison was really a recently developed thing; there would be talk of vile scheming and wickedness behind saintly Robertine’s back. She would be defended by a thousand admirers, none of whom had known her, none of whom had cared for her or loved her.
Orpherus’ fist clenches round the locket because for a moment, for the sharpest fraction of a second he almost found it in himself to hate her. His own sister. Who had been everything to him, whose happiness he would not have begrudged in spite of any feelings he might have had on the matter. Because had she lived, he would never have realised these feelings that stirred now that she was gone. He would have been oblivious to such affections and most likely Albato would never have turned his gaze elsewhere. They have, neither of them, betrayed her after all then.
But it is not something that the world might be made to understand.
And yet, a kiss is not a promise, not beyond the most romantic and foolish imaginings. It is not as if Albato has given his word on anything as yet… they are to dine together in four days time, privately and there is so much unspoken about such an invitation that Orpherus can not help but anticipate that there may be more than common pleasantries to be expected. And if there are, he knows how best to be discreet about the matter.
Let the world work upon its own presumptions, his decision is made and he knows now that there is no crime in seeking to pursue his own happiness.
++++++++++
Because I promised
emthornhill that I’d get this finished tonight.1383 words. PG. Albato/Orpherus.
Rationally
Disclaimer: Meine Liebe belongs to Konami, Yuki Kaori and others.
++++++++++
He always comes back to this place, the grounds behind the Academy, the wooded area where a stone bridge runs over the river. Orpherus sits down on the stone railing and holds his sister’s locket up, the better to catch the moonlight. He stares at it dispassionately, critically eyes the engraved surface and the fine links of the chain and then in a moment of whimsy dangles the precious locket out over the water. The silver glints in the moonlight and Orpherus swings the chain in a lazy circle as it he were dousing. He twines his gloved fingers through the chain and watches as it slips precariously. He could drop it into the water or better still; throw it as far from himself as possible.
Of course he won’t. As much as on occasion he feels that he should hide the thing away these days. Just like the photograph that he treasures so dearly because now, because more often than not his gaze strays to the man behind his sister rather than lingering on her dear departed face.
He should throw the locket away. He would, if not for the man whose gift it was. Of course that should mean little to him or certainly not in the sense that it does.
He had convinced himself that he had barely known his sister’s fiancé, that his only interest had been in their potential familial ties through her but as Orpherus already knows, often enough he is not quite so good at deluding himself. Some days he wonders if it is more a curse than a blessing that he has come to better understand himself.
It is better to be that which you truly are.
It sounds just like the sort of thing that Ludwig might have said to him. Perhaps it is but sometimes Orpherus can’t help but wonder if it is quite the right thing to do. Because if he is to be truly as he is, he can not find it in himself to regret his scandalous thoughts. And there is a wicked joy in being praised for both his youth and his beauty by a man who is not quite so old as to be unattractive.
Of course such thoughts might not have arisen if not for his own meandering melancholy which kept him from his bed last night and the unannounced visit of the man upon which his thoughts rest. Orpherus has little idea of what business was conducted with the Headmaster that evening but that hardly matters to him now.
He can hardly remember having been so giddy and foolish and to be rendered so by that man’s presence…
They had found some time for brief conversation in this place, of all places. Far enough from everyone else to go unnoticed and he had been so helpless and overwhelmed by that man’s charming smiles and conversation. Now that he considers the matter, it is actually hard to recall exactly how he’d ended up in Albato’s arms or why he had been held so close.
Perhaps they had once more been conversing about his sister? But he can’t remember any such details, only the feeling of being held close, safe and protected in those arms.
Had he been crying? He can’t remember. Perhaps he had, it might explain why he remembers the feel of Albato’s hand against his cheek, fingers gently stroking his skin before he found himself being kissed. And at no point had the thought even occurred to him, to pull away and refuse such advances. The kiss that followed had been more ardent than the first and the following had found him helpless in Albato’s arms, bent backwards like a romance novel’s heroine. And even then, his only objection had been that perhaps he might fall.
Even the memory of those kisses sets his cheeks aflame and Orpherus slips off his gloves and presses the backs of his hands against his heated skin. The locket, his sister’s locked glints against the whiteness of his discarded gloves and he reaches out for the silver chain, hesitating before his fingers touch the cold metal. Carefully sliding the locket aside he puts on his gloves again before coiling the silver chain around his fingers.
He should do something about the locket, put it away somewhere, hide it where he will not find it again easily because it no longer represents his mourning for his sister but the man that she loved. That she would not have wanted him to be unhappy, he is certain, though in all estimation she might not necessarily have expected the sentiment to end up with him tumbled into her fiancée’s bed.
Realistically, rationally, by all moral and reasonable arguments he knows he should feel guilty. He should despise himself for having seduced his dead sister’s fiancé but it wasn’t as if he’d seduced an unwilling Albato. And it wasn’t as if Albato really counted as his sister’s fiancé, since his sister was dead anyway. Though of course it was logic like that which would raise the most objection.
Because this was hardly the way that reason and society would have it. People would talk, were they ever to find out. His friends might object or more realistically, Eduard would object. Any step further in the direction in which he was heading would be judged unnatural, unhealthy at least in regards to the what and wherefore of his attachment to this man. But why should it matter? His sister, as much as it pained him, was dead and gone and nothing, save the grace of almightily God, was going to bring her back. There would be no benefit in continuing on like this, in spending the rest of his days nursing this long dulled heartache. Because that was the worst of it, that other than on certain occasions, he did forget about her. He spent whole days without thinking about her, whole weeks where he didn’t feel her loss. She was dead and the very fact no longer choked off his voice to say it.
And of course it wouldn’t be advisable to be heard to say it so coldly either. Because the world liked to imagine that loss and death were mourned forever, enjoyed the rigmarole of monuments and remembrance of the dead. People liked to sit about and reminisce and regurgitate sentiment that had already been forgotten and if he ceased to do so, if he were to visibly take this chance to move on, they would condemn him. There would be whispers as to whether or not such a liaison was really a recently developed thing; there would be talk of vile scheming and wickedness behind saintly Robertine’s back. She would be defended by a thousand admirers, none of whom had known her, none of whom had cared for her or loved her.
Orpherus’ fist clenches round the locket because for a moment, for the sharpest fraction of a second he almost found it in himself to hate her. His own sister. Who had been everything to him, whose happiness he would not have begrudged in spite of any feelings he might have had on the matter. Because had she lived, he would never have realised these feelings that stirred now that she was gone. He would have been oblivious to such affections and most likely Albato would never have turned his gaze elsewhere. They have, neither of them, betrayed her after all then.
But it is not something that the world might be made to understand.
And yet, a kiss is not a promise, not beyond the most romantic and foolish imaginings. It is not as if Albato has given his word on anything as yet… they are to dine together in four days time, privately and there is so much unspoken about such an invitation that Orpherus can not help but anticipate that there may be more than common pleasantries to be expected. And if there are, he knows how best to be discreet about the matter.
Let the world work upon its own presumptions, his decision is made and he knows now that there is no crime in seeking to pursue his own happiness.
++++++++++
