Spittleworth sat on his one-person couch, reading a romance novel as his back faced the door. The door creaked open, with Spittleworth not minding a thing. He gasped, hearing breathing.
"Cankerby!" he stuttered nervously "Good morning!"
The footman thought nothing of the odd introduction and kept on grinning. He had some things to ask the lord, so he crept up behind him as usual.
"Today is February, my lord. I just thought that you needed to know such crucial information." Cankerby bowed his usual weaselly way. It was always clear to Spittleworth that he always wanted something when approached. What he hoped Cankerby wanted was kisses and cuddles from a specific someone.
Himself.
He cleared his throat and questioned the need for such silly facts.
"Why?"
He hated how vague Cankerby spoke with words. It made him take his effort to think. He hated that too.
But he was good at it.
"It's.. Valentines day, my lord."
Spittleworth tinted peach, as the 14th was sure to come. Only a few days away it was until the day of love letters and doves.
Love letters and doves...
The thought spiraled in his mind, desiring the attention he wish he could have had for just a day. It came to him that he was being too vunerable in front of Cankerby. He wanted to be the dominant one after all.
"I was just going to ask if you had a female that would accompany you during the holiday?" Cankerby mentioned, reminding Spittleworth of how ignorant he looked proposing to Lady Eslanda. Otherwise, he couldn't put his finger on why Cankerby would care. He knew he liked him, but he never knew that he could be so desperate.
"Haha, no. I don't." He mocked himself, assuming Cankerby said that just to make him feel bad.
Cankerby raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
"It's a genuine question, my lord." his cocky and nosy demeanor disappeared at the concern.
Spittleworth was pretty shocked. He had known him for rude questions and over-informative statements that made Cankerby who he was. He'd never dreamed of him being serious.
It gave him a flushed tingle in his spine.
Cankerby too kept images of limerence in his small mind. Some were more affectionate than others. Nonetheless, it was clear to them they had feelings for eachother.
"No. I do not. Why do you ask?" Spittleworth spoke formally.
Cankerby shuffled his feet, unsure of what to do.
"Maybe.. I could accompany you to the ball..?"
Ball?! What ball? I wasn't imformed about a ball..
The most important thing was not the fact he wasn't told about the event, but that it would be possible to even be in contact with Cankerby. He'd dreamed of holding his hand, doing the waltz as they smiled.
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"No."
But not yet. Not just yet.
He felt a tremor in his throat as he replied. What a horrible reply it was.
"I apologize, Cankerby. But I am not a homosexual."
He looked away, feeling the insides of his eyes refill with salty tears.
"Oh."
Cankerby sounded disappointed. Of course he would be. He tried to hide it with his smug attitude but it stung.
"I was just asking anyway, my lord." he chuckled. "I never meant it in that way."
"Just go. I don't need service at the moment."
His expression faded, then bowed.
"Have a good morning."
He left, closing the door delicately as if it would burst into splinters.
YOU ARE READING
british gay problems
Fantasy"I like you. A lot." he said as he looked away. He leaned in so their faces gazed upon eachother. "You're being shy.." Cankerby is a nosy footman who loves being traded in gold. His sober afterwork is visible by personality. Soon, his drunken demean...
