Strange house we must keep and fill. House that eats, and pleads, and kills.
▍ AN ORIGINAL STORY ╱ romantic melodrama!
❪ m!oc & m!oc ❫
❪ f!oc & m!oc ❫
written...
Lavender. It's a delicate, woodsy herb of the mint variety. A sweet wave of pale purple.
Then a gerrymander came along and began to refer to men who preferred the company of other men, romantically of course, as lavender lads.
Tabloids embraced the term as well, printing it along their headers to shake complacency. This, in and of itself, seemed to taint the hue.
But above all else, it reigned torment on those who sought love in the form of unconventionality.
Out of those, there was one in particular that remained within the confines of the unorthodox.
Seth Chevalier was the younger brother of Charles Chevalier. Nothing particularly ever struck their parents as odd—in terms of Seth's behavior. He was athletic. He was handsome. He was charismatic. And the ladies adored him.
But ladies didn't capture his eye.
Instead, they'd linger in the dressing rooms on his male teammates. Not enough to provoke depravity, of course. Just a glance at a bare, toned chest. An exposed ankle. Taut muscles as they strained against sweaty fabric. Freshly cleansed skin, still scented by carbolic.
He'd swallow and turn away. If someone caught him staring, he'd be rung around the neck. It wouldn't be considered a crime. Everyone would turn a blind eye. It wouldn't be a tragedy. It'd be a societal relief.
It didn't matter that he was a Chevalier. He'd be skinned alive. Thrown to the wolves. His name would be a hush. His existence a disgruntled mist. Forgotten. Bloodied. Unloved.
But he couldn't turn away that one fateful time. The time he had first set his eyes upon Alistair Lennon, a boy who had moved in across the lane from Rosethorn Hill, on Slater Mount. It was proper for a welcoming.
Seth had already began his fourth year at University, while Alistair was only in his first. It was spring break and the Lennon clan were intent on renovating their summer home, hence their presence in the Capes.
It was soft, the introduction. Delicate and facile. A backyard soirée, hosted by the Chevaliers. Two hands curved and the growth of easy smiles. Both beautiful, white, and bordering on perfect.
"This is my son, Alistair." a deep timbre presents. Seth's eyes evoked interest immediately. The sight of the man alone forced a fire of descriptions to flit through his mind. Tawny skin with hair swept back that had been freshly kissed by the sun. A broad frame. Two plump, pink lips. Beryl eyes. Seaweed double-pleated slacks. A collarless, checkered shirt had been tucked into them. It was of the beige variety.
"I'm S—"
A voice Seth was all too familiar with cuts in, as always, "Alistair, this is my son, Seth."
Alistair's hand had already been extended, had already grasped Seth's, and his eyes had already perused the brunette's shamelessly.
Seth figured he was sizing him up, and Alistair was, but not the way in which his mind had assumed.
Alistair thought Seth was the most beautiful man he'd ever been in the presence of. At least outwardly, but he'd later discover he was just as alluring beneath the skin. His heart, that was the most astounding thing about him. He thought as much until his dying day.
They spent the entire summer together. Gallivanting through the Capes. Plucking honeysuckles from the vines. Dipping into the Atlantic in the late night hours. Exploring one another amongst the shadows. A touch here, a touch there. A kiss here, a kiss there.
It was undeniably so, as the season drew to a close, that they were in love.
Seth was reminded of the feeling as he rounded the crest of Rosethorn Hill. He couldn't chance a look across the way. Slater Mount conjured rage from beneath the surface of Seth's skin. The feeling haunted him, especially in the twilight hours.
He hadn't mentioned the visit. The truth was that he hadn't spoken to his elder and only brother in years, not since he'd claimed so called oddity. But he had received a letter from his niece, Josette, and he was quick to make the lengthy drive from the city that hardly sleeps.
He had not seen the children since they were very young. He spent much of his time considering them though, so much so that he'd set aside many of his assets for the pair, in the wake of a sudden, youthful death that he would so graciously claim if he were able. He'd been quick to resort to it when he'd lost the one thing his heart seemed to beat for, but those thoughts continued to drift the more time seemed to pass. He's found a way to cherish life even with half of his heart missing.
Alistair wouldn't want that. He adored life, until the very end. He'd see him again. For that, he was certain. It didn't matter what mankind thought about it. The absurdity.
When his tires shook against the grain, he took a large inhale. He exhaled when the front doors of the mansion burst open. A familiar presence devoured the veranda. With his hands steadied on his hips, Charles watched the car ease to a stop.
When Seth dips beneath the roof and emerges from the car's interior, Charles' jaws slackens briefly before tightening. Seth smooths the lumps in his button-up, left unclasped at his collarbones. It reminds Charles of his son. A grin consumes Seth's face, while sunshades shields the amusement festering in his eyes. His white teeth are on full display.
The ends of Charles' lips tick upward, slow and forced, as Josette's scent filters out into the day.
"Uncle Seth!" she squeals, her arms flying backward as she thrusts her body down the cement staircase. She leaps into his arms, tightening them around his tanned neck, "You came." she murmurs blissfully with the press of her eyelids. She is picturesque relief. She wasn't expecting him to make such haste in virtue of her letter.
Seth's eyes flit upward then, past his niece and his vexed kinsman. He mourns in the sight of his childhood bastille, "There was no other choice, my dearest."
The house creaks an anguished cry, beckoning and possessive in nature: Welcome Home, Lavender Boy.
