CCCC/HMS Oneshots

book club (mind/heart/soul)

A/N: a short fluff one since y'all seem to yearn for and love fluff. not as much as i luv y'all, ofc <3

"Mr Utterson the lawyer was a man of rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable."

My eyes analyze the angled text in Soul's palms, the pages disrupted from their lengthy slumber between the thick board eclipsed by expertly bound cloth. The nightly textile is dressed in scanty white lines, purposefully naming itself and its father, and adorned in parroting patterns simply to look appealing. The spine rests on Heart's curls, who lies himself on the tense of Soul's ebony denims, his senses relishing in the hymn of the orator's reciting and the alluring seduction of a tale's reliability on one's imagination.

"At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life."

I, too, find myself attending to the narrative spilling from the rosy lips of the man who perches thigh to thigh with myself. Of course I've already heard the words, plenty of times–we all have. A fable so reflective of ourselves, imitating us moreso than silver or still water, on a genuine, deep-seated plane. One that no eyes can see–although visuals can be quite telling, the exact nature of this exemplum ironically warns of the opposite.

Yet we sit there in peace; harmony. Despite mirroring the conflicting yet bonded personalities in the novel, we rest on a divan like a rowed family of ducks. Family is debatable. We could be some odd sort of denomination, despite ourselves–Soul believes such, crying that our purpose is to serve Whole. Heart seems to prefer the brood analogy, though often falters when we bicker, as he "doesn't want to be brothers with a meanie." I personally subscribe to a coworkers arrangement; the host, of course, being our manager, and our vessel our unspoken CEO.

"He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years."

Regardless of how we view our purpose, we're here together now, huddled upon sunflower cushions, leisurely perusing the stories of centuries ago, sharing them with the melody of a calm voice and, freshly, Heart's snoring.

"But he had an–"

"Stop. I can't focus."

Soul turns his head to me, before tilting it on its bony axis.

"Why's that?"

"Heart's damned snoring. Can you like," I glance around at the recently organized living room, "cover him with a blanket or something?"

The man blinks at me, before lacing the ribbon bookmark between the pages and allowing the hardcover to rest on my lap. He raises a nearby weighted blanket, veiling our laps, and Heart, with it. Despite the chance for suffocation, the pestilent respirations are hushed beneath the cloak. I exhale, handing the book back to Soul.

"Thank you. Please, resume."

He clears his throat, before continuing.

"But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove."

I rest my head on the saffron velvet behind us, allowing my eyes to sew themselves shut as I listen to the lecture-like tone seeping from Soul.

"'I incline to Cain's heresy,' he used to say quaintly: 'I let my brother go to the devil in his own way.'"

I relax, my head sliding to the clothed shoulder beside it as my limbs stop caring, unreactive to the sensations around them, and soon the rest of my senses. Soul's voice muddies to incoherent murmurs; my nerves rest; all artificial pictures exit my mind, and I lose consciousness.

...

I pry my eyes open, hearing disruptive rooster calls from beyond the walls. I start, sitting up and peering out a nearby pane, noticing dawn stretching out her rosy fingertips.

My eyes return to where I had fallen dormant, met with the sight of our previous husk now slumbering with the rug below our feet, the only thing protecting Heart from the onslaught of the slumped Soul's drool being my copy of 'The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde'.

I grumble out a groan, rising and stretching as I head to the near kitchen to make myself a mug.