He Bleeds Flame ✔️

29. lucien's letter

I. interlude

William,

I look forward to night. When I sleep, I think of you, and I dream of the taste of your lips and the warmth of your touch and your inky curls and slender fingers and sly smile. When I wake, my limbs are weighed down, knotted to my bed, my mother calling me down for breakfast.

I feel like a child again, stuck in my nest, my wings clipped and broken. I cannot fly away. I will only fall.

Again, I look forward to night. You simmer in the back of my mind all day, but when the moon peaks through the clouds and the darkness envelops me, I can almost hear your voice in the silence, if I listen hard enough. Lucien, darling, you'd say, and I'd blush because I never know what to say to you. Nothing will convey everything I want—need—to say. Nothing can express the feeling in my chest.

I remember when I used to think: Are we just friends, or does this touch, this gaze, mean something more? I knew. I knew when I found myself leaning toward that touch, yearning for it. I knew.

But enough of the unbearable drama. I was never a writer.

This evening, I approached my mother and my father. They were seated in the living room (together, for a change). At first, they didn't notice me, but when they met my eyes, I think they knew. I think they knew I couldn't hold it in anymore. My father had risen from his seat, taken a step forward. My mother watched, reserved from her seat on the couch.

I will not marry Emily, I had said. Can you believe it, Will? I said: I will not marry Emily because I do not love her. I love someone else.

My father was angry.

My mother asked, Who?

And I said, I met him, truly met him and understood him this school term.

Silence, of course. I wouldn't have expected anything else. For once, my father was shocked into silence, his lips sealed and sowed shut. He stormed away, said we would talk tomorrow morning, when my head was clear.

But as I said, you simmer in my head, existing even when I don't envision the slope of your face. Father doesn't understand that.

My head has never been so clear.

My answer will not change, nor will I apologize.

My mother cried, but she also beckoned me toward the couch. Hesitantly, I inched toward her, and she rose to meet me. A tear slipped down her cheek. She wrapped her arms around me, pulled me close.

I love you. Three simple words, and I felt something lift off my chest.

But, enough about me. I'll tell you all about it when I see you. I don't even know if I'll have the strength to hand this letter to you. My pride, naturally.

No, you'd say, your embarrassment, and love is nothing to be embarrassed about.

Yes, William. That's right.

Love.

I love—How you drive me insane, how your thumb brushes my knuckle when we study, side by side. How you look bathed in moonlight, how your stillness calms me. How you linger in hugs just a second too long. How you fall asleep in Professor Thompson's class. How you laugh and live without reserve. How you exist, tangled within the crevices of my bones. How you inspire me to do the things I've been too cowardly to achieve. How your eyes reflect the night sky. How you look me in the eye and refuse to turn your gaze because it's never scared you, intimacy. How you look at me, like I am water and you thirst. How you make me feel beautiful. How you say darling. How you kiss. How you laugh. How you speak. How you exist.

How you make me feel like we are the only ones who matter, the only people in the universe. How it is just you and me, me and you.

What I'm trying to say, William, is that I miss you, terribly. It's only been a week, but the time away has made me realize that I am tired of holding back.

I hope your break is well. I want to hear all about it when we get back.

Love,
Your Lucien

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Hello, readers! I am slumped with all my finals and papers, but I wanted to get something for you guys to read. Hopefully, when this semester ends I'll have more time to write. But, until then, I hope you're all doing well and that you enjoy this little interlude (yes, there will be one for William, too).