II. interlude
Lucien,
You, of all people, know I am not a writer. Though, I am certainly more passionate about writing this letter than I was writing a ten-inch paper on The Great Gatsby. But, I don't want to talk about school, not really. I want to talk about us.
It's funny to think that we were once strangers because now... well, now I can't imagine my life without you. When I first saw you, Lucien, I fell, and hard. Not that I would ever admit that to you months ago, especially not in that library, when we argued over the Shakespeare novel or when you tutored me for hours. But I searched for you, for your blond hair across the dining hall, for your star-littered freckles in Professor Thompson's class, for glimpses of you in the hallway. Even if I didn't know it at the time, I was falling every day.
But, before I get mushy, I suppose I should fill you in. I'm sure I'll bore you to death when we get back, so I'll try to fit most of it here.
Mary is well, and Tom is away, and I have never felt more home. Apart from when I'm away from you. But, the Christmas
holiday has never been filled with so much joy. I spend a lot of it thinking about you, about how you are. Apart from that, there isn't much to say. Sometimes the simplicities are what bring me so much peace.
And this break, I am more grateful than anything.
Like when I am with you. My mouth hasn't forgotten the taste of your lips, and the idea that you will kiss it again sets fire across my skin. I want you. I want to steal your Sundays, to wake up next to you. I want your good days and I want your bad days. I want to sit in your silences, content and peaceful. I want to look you in your eyes, to watch the sunlight reflect against your golden, hazel eyes, to feel your presence next to mine, to feel our fingers entwine, like they were always meant to be.
I am not content without you, Lucien. You fill that empty piece of my heart.
So, here I am, to tell you that I love you. I wish those three words were more profound, that they sounded more meaningful than I love you. But I do. I love your quiet strength, and I love your gentle smile, when your mask falls and I see you. The true you. I love when you blush. I love when you get so consumed with your books the world around you disappears and you can't hear me call your name. I love the idea that we have years ahead of us, if you'll let me hold onto you for that long. I love you because you make me a better person, because you inspire me to be good, to choose to live.
I would love you in every lifetime, in every universe.
I love you Lucien Harding. I, William Reed Brown, love you.
And in your arms, darling, I know there is no place I would rather be.
Love,
Yours
———
And William says he's not a writer ;) Hah! I'd say it was pretty good, though a bit short. But I imagine William would prefer saying this all in person rather than writing it down.
Anyways, I hope winter
is treating you all well. <3
YOU ARE READING
He Bleeds Flame ✔️
Romance(bxb) After a year of surviving an all boys boarding school, William Brown thought he had finally navigated the ups and downs that the rich, private school had to offer. He'd even managed to make a few friends, as well as a rightful enemy. Lucien Ha...
