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The Rainsworth-Lunettes wedding is an intimate but festive affair.
Sharon Rainsworth is all poise and grace in her opulent layered gown, which Leo has been informed once belonged to her mother. Ever the hostess, her smile is radiant as she expresses her gratitude and encourages those in attendance to enjoy the cakes and refreshments procured for the occasion. There is no trace of the bittersweetness he knows she must be feeling as she turns her gaze to the table reserved for family and finds only her grandmother smiling back.
It occurs to him that the guest list is surprisingly small for the significance of the event. Though he doesn’t have first-hand experience with such things, he expected a bit more fanfare for the wedding of the last remaining heir to the Great Dukedoms. Heirs plural, if you also consider that Rufus Barma left everything he had to his astute attendant. However, despite his considerably limited social circle, Leo recognizes nearly everyone here, and those he doesn’t appear to be Reim’s colleagues rather than Sharon’s.
This is the true price of her contract, he thinks, and despite not knowing Sharon well on a personal level, his heart aches sympathetically. While the gap between her body’s age and her mind has since narrowed significantly, the decade she spent unable to fully join society certainly took its toll on her relationships. Leo absently wonders what it felt like for her when the march of time resumed its natural tempo, when she looked in the mirror and finally saw the woman she was meant to be instead of the girl she had been. He hopes it helped her move on.
His thoughts are interrupted as Gilbert returns to the table, two wine glasses balanced impressively in his single hand. His eyes are still noticeably red from crying through the entire ceremony, and Leo fights back the reflexive urge to tease him about it. He has attempted twice to relieve his valet for the occasion—Sharon and Reim are his friends after all—but Gilbert, dutiful to a fault, continues to return to his side. Whether he feels guilty over Vincent’s absence or if it’s simply his earnest sense of responsibility, Leo isn’t sure.
“For the toast,” he explains, sliding a glass over to Leo just as a server arrives to fill it. Bottle hovering over his glass, she suddenly pauses, and her eyes flit nervously from Gilbert, to Leo, to the glass, and back to Gilbert. She waits expectantly for an answer that Gilbert seems woefully unprepared to give.
“Oh! Um, yes, please go ahead. S-sorry.” He stammers, sending Leo an apologetic look from across the table as the server finally proceeds to pour the wine.
Leo regards the glass curiously, eyes following the gentle sloshing of the liquid inside as he tilts it back and forth by the stem. It is a strange feeling to know that he still doesn’t appear old enough to request a drink for himself. Perhaps he never will—his body suspended in time, still stuck at sixteen alongside his stubborn heart. Forever, unchanging.
He finds himself lost in thought, barely registering the shift in ambiance as the toast begins. He tunes back in just in time to raise his glass as the former Duchess Rainsworth brightly smiles and says—
“—To the bright futures of the bride and groom!”
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Despite Elliot’s protests, Leo was not granted permission to attend his coming-of-age ceremony. Leo had known from the start that this would be the outcome, given his age, lack of status, and the Nightray patriarch's rather obvious distaste for him, but Elliot had been genuinely hopeful that he could somehow persuade his father regardless. He is still grumbling about it as Leo helps him prepare.
“I just think that it’s my party and I should be able to invite whoever I want. Is that such a big deal?”
“I know you’re frustrated,” Leo says, still focused on fastening the last of the buttons on Elliot’s needlessly complex ceremonial suit, “But there’s a certain decorum to these things. You should know that better than I do.”
“Screw decorum! It’s all bullshit anyway. All of those two-faced nobles will find fault in me no matter what I do. Why should I give a damn what they think?”
“Perhaps you’re right, but I know you still care what they think of your family. And this—” he gestures vaguely at himself, “doesn’t reflect well on your family.”
Elliot’s frown deepens and he lets out a defeated sigh as he sits back down in his chair, bending over so his elbows rest on his knees. His voice is much quieter when he says, “It isn’t fair. They don’t even know you. If they bothered to try, they wouldn’t feel that way.”
Leo knows with complete certainty that this is not the case, but he isn’t about to argue that particular point, especially not today. He kneels down to meet him at eye-level and says, “Look, Elliot, I’m sorry that I can’t be there with you. But I hope you believe me when I say that knowing you wanted me by your side today is more than enough. Really.”
There’s only one person whose approval he needs. If that weren’t enough, he wouldn’t have lasted a week in this place.
Elliot stares at him for a moment before breaking into a toothy grin. Before Leo can react, Elliot’s hands are reaching over and aggressively mussing up his hair. He throws his arm up to playfully swat him away, but returns the smile all the same. Words no longer needed, they both stand up and finish their preparations in amicable silence.
With one hand on the doorknob as he turns to leave, Elliot pauses. He nervously scratches at his head and, still facing the door, says, “If this stupid thing doesn’t go all night…maybe we can do something after to celebrate. Just the two of us.”
Though he knows Elliot can’t see him, Leo still nods emphatically.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
—
The absolutely scandalized face Elliot makes upon seeing the bottle of wine in his room is worth every effort it took to get it.
“How did—where did you—huh??”
“You know Felicity, the maid around your sister’s age with the freckles? She always asks me how you’re doing, it’s quite sweet. Well, she was working the kitchens tonight, so I asked if there was anything I could bring back here for our little afterparty—”
“Leo!”
“—and I find this wrapped up in the laundry pile a few minutes later. Neat, huh?”
“I can’t believe you! After you told me earlier to shut up and do as I’m told—”
“Is that what I said?”
“—you run off and do something stupid. Are you trying to get kicked out?”
“And waste all of your valiant efforts to keep me around? Hardly.” Elliot rolls his eyes at him, unimpressed. “Honest, I was only asking if there were any leftover desserts. This was not my intent.”
“Like hell it wasn't! You still took the damn thing. We are taking it back.”
“Weren’t you the one who suggested we have our own celebration? I was oh-so bored all day waiting around for you to come back.”
“I’ve caught you reading the goddamn dictionary for fun before, smart-ass. That excuse won’t work.”
“The bottle was already opened and would have been dumped out tonight anyway. No one will even notice.”
Elliot opens his mouth to make another retort, but quickly shuts it. He furrows his brow, evidently attempting to think up an effective counterargument, but says nothing.
Leo presses on. “At this point it would be more suspicious if I were seen returning a half-empty bottle of wine to the kitchen, would it not?”
Elliot’s frown twitches upwards in that way it does when he’s fighting to maintain his resolve, but after a few moments he still manages to tamper it back down. Impressive.
Assured of his victory, Leo walks up just a bit closer, fixes Elliot with a bright smile, and says, “You only make your societal debut once, you know.”
He breaks instantly. Elliot lets out a dramatic sigh and holds out his hand.
“Hand it over before I change my mind, asshole.”
—
It turns out that victory tastes bad, actually. Unsurprising, since, without anything to keep it chilled, the summer heat had already made the wine unpleasantly lukewarm before they had even opened it. They finish the bottle more out of sheer stubbornness than anything else.
By the time Elliot remembers that he never changed out of his ceremonial clothes, Leo is hardly in a position to help him undress. He certainly makes an effort, but after the third time accidentally knotting a ribbon he was attempting to untie, he breaks into a bout of hiccuping laughter that renders him completely useless. It only worsens when Elliot, evidently too impatient to unfasten every button himself, attempts to lift the outermost layer of his suit up over his head, letting fly a stream of muffled curses when this inevitably traps him inside instead. The whole ordeal is delightfully funny. Elliot is delightfully funny. Elliot is the funniest person Leo has ever met.
He eventually succeeds in his mission, though not without cussing out the fabric a few more times for good measure. After one glass of wine, Elliot’s voice has reached a truly impressive volume. Leo gives up on shushing him quiet when it quickly becomes apparent that it will not help. He also seems to have dropped all pretense of physical boundaries, though Leo is far less inclined to draw attention to this particular observation. To think that not long ago he would recoil at every unexpected touch. The thought seems absurd to him now, when Elliot sidles up next to him on the sofa and it feels like home.
Observing Elliot is one thing, but Leo is far less certain what is happening to himself. His arms feel as though they have suddenly turned to lead, and he can’t even begin to comprehend the idea of standing. He may well be trapped on this sofa for the rest of his life. Not a terrible place to be, he supposes, although he will definitely need someone to fetch him more books; the pile on the end table will only last him a few more days at most. Would Elliot do that for him? He’d grumble about it, maybe call him a pain in the ass, but he wouldn’t say no. He never does. Truly, everything about Elliot is so funny.
“What are you thinking about?”
The question, spoken far too loudly considering the proximity of Elliot’s face to his own, brings Leo’s wandering thoughts to a halt. He genuinely doesn’t have a clue how to answer.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” his mouth replies anyway, with no apparent input from his brain. This earns him a bark of laughter and a sofa cushion to the face.
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t have asked, idiot. God, you’re such a pain in the ass, why do I even put up with—what are you laughing about now?”
—
When it becomes apparent about an hour later that returning to his own bed would prove too difficult a task, Elliot insists (demands, really) that Leo stay the night in his room.
It seems truly unfair that Elliot is nearly unaffected at this point while Leo can still barely manage walking when they both had the same amount of wine. He says as much, and Elliot responds back with a jab about Leo’s weight being comparable to a soaking wet cat. Inebriated as he is, he is still sure this is not the correct turn of phrase, but the implication offends him regardless.
Before he can come up with a retort, Elliot pulls something out from the wardrobe and tosses it at him without warning. Somehow he manages to catch it, and the feat is so surprising that he stares blankly at the white silky fabric in his hands for several seconds, uncomprehending.
“Pajamas,” Elliot helpfully supplies. “They’re actually too small for me now, so you can keep them. Uh, if you want, I mean. Just don’t tell Vanessa. She’d kill me for giving them away.”
I think she’d be much more inclined to kill me for taking them, Leo thinks, but unfolds the pajama top and holds it out in front of him anyway. It’s exactly the right size. Elliot would have outgrown these at least a year ago, if not more. Did he hold onto them just because they were a gift from his sister? He looks over at Elliot, who turns away just a bit too quickly and busies himself with digging through his drawers. Leo feels his throat constrict and hugs the fabric to his chest. It’s softer than anything he’s ever owned.
“Um. Thank you, Elliot.”
Elliot rubs at the back of his neck, but doesn’t turn back around. As Leo pulls the nightshirt over his head, he barely makes out a mumbled “…’s just pajamas,” from across the room. He bites his lip to avoid laughing while he finishes getting ready for sleep.
Leo flops down on the bed immediately after Elliot snuffs out the lantern. For some unfathomable reason, the dizziness seems to increase when he goes from vertical to horizontal. Alcohol doesn’t make any logical sense, he decides.
The moon shines brightly through the window, cutting through the now darkened room. It casts a glow over Elliot’s face as he turns to face Leo, expression oddly downcast.
“…Do you know the real reason I wanted you at the ceremony today?”
Oh, so it is still bothering him. Leo’s only real goal for the evening had been to keep Elliot’s spirits up after what was sure to be an exhausting day. Contrary to Elliot’s accusations, the wine truly was an unexpected development, though certainly a fun one. Beyond that, they hadn’t done anything much out of the ordinary. He had hoped it would be enough to get his mind off of his earlier disappointment.
“Hmm, let me guess,” he responds, tone carefully light. “you couldn’t recall a single person’s name without my help?”
Elliot snorts, dissolving the tension as quickly as it had settled in. “You,” he says, lightly jabbing Leo’s forehead with his index finger to accentuate the point, “are an insufferable bastard.”
“At your service.”
“But you’re my valet. I know it’s just some stupid formality or whatever, but I don’t want a celebration of my future that doesn’t acknowledge you. 'Cause….” he trails off, cheeks flushing slightly as he turns to face the ceiling. He seems to chew on his next words for a moment before turning back to Leo with renewed conviction as he says, “You’re important to me. I plan on keeping you around.”
An overwhelming warmth blossoms within his chest and Leo realizes, with a degree of certainty that almost frightens him, that he would do absolutely anything for the boy in front of him. This helpless, profound fondness that grows stronger by the day gives him a purpose that he didn’t know he was lacking until it appeared to him in the form of an outstretched hand. He never put much thought into his own future, never had the nerve to hope for anything more than a life cloistered away, before he was offered a place in the light. When he stands in that glow, he can almost forget the loneliness of the path that led him there.
If Elliot so wished, Leo would want nothing more than to stay by his side for the rest of his life. If Elliot so wished, he would—
“…Leo?”
The sudden concern in Elliot’s voice startles Leo enough to bring the world back into focus. His vision is blurrier than before, making it more difficult to concentrate. Perhaps lying down before he sobered up wasn’t the best idea after all. He responds with a quiet hum, but it sounds odd to his ears somehow.
“Did I…say something wrong?”
That’s a strange question, given the flow of their conversation. He quickly shakes his head no.
“You sure?” Some of the tension drops from his shoulders, but he still sounds hesitant when he continues, “It’s just, um, when you started crying, I thought—”
What?
Leo sits up abruptly and wipes at his eye with his sleeve. Sure enough, when he pulls it back the fabric is stained with teardrops. He blinks in surprise, causing even more to drip down onto his shirt. When he looks back up, Elliot is watching him intently, hand hovering awkwardly in the air between them. Fighting against his still trembling lips, Leo manages a wobbly smile.
“S-sorry, I…don’t know why I’m…” The ache in his chest persists, threatening to cause a fresh wave of tears, and oh, this is hell. Never once has he cried in front of Elliot, and over nothing at all. How ridiculous. The shame floods his body in an instant and he ducks his head, allowing his hair to obscure his eyes again as he tries in vain to steady his breathing. It isn’t enough to block out the feeling of Elliot’s intense stare, however.
After several agonizing seconds of silence, Elliot’s hand finally lands on his shoulder and he says, “My br—Gilbert cries every single time he drinks. It’s the worst. I mean, for god’s sake, he’s a grown man. Being anywhere near him in public is embarrassing as hell.” Despite his words, Leo hears nothing but fondness in Elliot’s voice and it makes him smile.
“Wow, was that comparison supposed to be comforting? You should really work on your bedside manner.”
“Shut up, I was getting there! My point is that this is nothing. Besides, it’s only me here, so…” Elliot doesn’t finish his thought, but Leo hears the sentiment behind it anyway.
Maybe it’s the fuzziness from the wine that hasn’t yet faded, or the plush softness of the feather mattress beneath him. Maybe it’s the warmth of Elliot’s steady hand as it slides from his shoulder down onto his back, making Leo shiver with a feeling he can’t name. He doesn’t know why, but, at least for tonight, he finds that he can believe that this place he found is his to keep.
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The memory doesn’t threaten to tear him open the way it once might have, but Leo still downs the contents of his glass a bit too quickly in order to chase away the sudden tightness in his throat. He catches Gilbert eyeing him with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern when he doesn’t quite manage to hold back a cough in time and suddenly feels every bit the child that he still appears to be.
At least the wine is chilled this time.