𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

00

PRESENT

[mature content-viewers discretion is advised]

Classical music filled the air with little to no effort. Nestled in the corner of the golden ballroom held a grand piano. The pianist's fingers danced ecstatically across the ivory keys. With just the simple notes, the pianist manipulated the audience's limbs, twisting their bodies to flow with the melody. I too lost myself to the symphonic music. Closing my eyes for just a swift moment- what seemed like a short period of time, thirty minutes has passed. The music died down and clapping resounded throughout the room.

"Server!"

A call to my right signalled to me and with my hand balancing a tray of Hors d'oeuvre I hurried over to a fair- skinned, plump woman donned in a cream colored tight-fitting bodice that did little to manage her bosom.

"What an interesting thing you are," The woman mused, her rose dusted cheeks scrunched upwards as she smiled up at me. This was equivalent to how one would react upon going to a zoo or how one would encounter a strange creature.

I was aware of the thoughts that circled her mind when she looked at me: What a plain, ordinary boy.

With a disheveled nest of reddish-brown hair that almost refused to tame, face covered with a constellation of freckles and a slight gap in the front teeth- I was not a sight one would find gracing the covers of magazines nor was I the muse for any artist's painting. My body wasn't anything to boast about either- too ungracefully thin and tall. I was in no way ghastly looking, but in this world filled with vanity and allure- I could very well be considered unattractive in society's eyes.

Words failed to escape my tongue, so I lowered the tray to her eye level. "Madam?"

She giggled, touching the corners of her lips. It took me a moment to realize that this woman was clearly intoxicated. I huffed in annoyance and her dainty hand stretched out to pluck a Hors d'oeuvre from the tray.

Before she could say anything else, I swiveled on the balls of my feet and walked away. If I stayed any longer, I would say something I would clearly regret.

Satisfied with my decision, I twisted through the thick crowd. Haughty laughters, the clinking of champagne glasses, exchanged satire humor surrounded me.

After serving the drunken guests, I made a beeline towards the kitchens. As I entered, I was greeted by the familiar sight of my employer.

"Great job, laddie. You're done here." Ambrose McCarthy patted me on my shoulder, his irish accent was unmistakable. He was a short man always sporting a top hat and a thick fiery red mustache. We were often mistaken for relatives.

"Thank you sir," I muttered, placing the tray on the counter. The kitchen was bustling with life; waiters hurrying along, plates clattering in the sink, orders being barked at every corner of the room.

"Get on then." Mr. McCathy ushered him out of the kitchen. "You work too hard, son."

"I-I-but sir."

"I'll see you another time, Romain. Off you go." He shoved me out of the backdoor, and waved his stubby fingers and slammed the door shut.

I let out a sigh and turned away. Bittersweet- that'd be the word I'll use to describe outside. Melancholy filled the night air, snow dancing under the guidance of the wind.

I leaned my back against the wall, the swirling white snowflakes alighted on my face gently- almost like the soft kisses my mother would place on my forehead every night after a lullaby. The cigarette in the back pocket of my pants held a heavy weight, and my fingers itched to retrieve it.

However, I threw my head back, eyes straying upwards to the stars looming in the vague distance. I loathed the stars. Every time I look up at the celestial beauty, I am constantly reminded of every foolish, hopeless wish I had ever written in its favor. Late nights spent on the ricketing porch of my old home when I was a mere mortal boy with more splattered bronze freckles than before and a wider gap in my front teeth- the ripe age of seven, I'd pray to the stars until my mouth ran dry. And as many times as before, my heart will ache with despair. It took me years to realize that my hatred for those stars were no more than unrivaled jealousy. The ability to be beautiful and worshiped. Maybe it wasn't jealousy, maybe, just maybe I was simply lonely.To just belong amongst the constellations. To taste the universe on the tip of my tongue. But alas, I was destined to be alone. This was my prophecy.

"Romain."

The gentle tone lured me from my melancholic thoughts. When I turned my head, my breath stilled.

"I've been waiting for so long." With teeth gleaming in the pale moonlight, there stood someone that almost rivaled the stars.

"Christian," I gasped.

There stood Christian St. Jude in all his glory.

Words failed to describe him, for words were far too modest to describe what was standing right in front of me.

Almost like an interplanetary magnetic force- I was drawn to him.

A cigarette stuck to his rosy-filled lips, inhaling the toxic stench, rotting his insides. His long limbs carried himself closer to me until we were mere centimetres apart. His fingers stroke my jaw and he leaned closer until his mouth hovered over mine. His lips touched mine and forced my mouth open, breathing nicotine down my throat. "My dear, let's get out of here."

Mindlessly, I nodded.

With interlaced fingers and racing hearts, our feets silently pounded on the snow blanketed ground.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

Through the open window, the earth's breath tousled his hair, but it failed to deter him from his passionate assaults. His teeth nipped at my neck, the whisper of his fingertips ghosted along my pulse. I shoved him off, and before he could react any further, I straddled his waist. Gently pushing him unto the springy mattress, his back arched and our lower region brushed against each other, inciting a groan to rumble in my throat. He released a soft chuckle underneath me and I gripped his neck tightly until a beautiful, faint red colored his moonlight complexion. He said my name and I loved how it tasted on his tongue.

His hands went lower until it lingered on my groin and without warning, he gripped it. "Fuck," I gritted under my breath. That night, we didn't make love. It was more than that- it was like a star being reborn.

That night was the night I would remember forever-

For two reasons:

It was the beginning

And the end.

Because that was the very same night, we created art with nothing but our bodies and

The same night I never saw him again.

It was the next day when I awoke to aching bones and an empty bed with the remaining imprint of his body left behind and the news that will forever haunt me till this day:

Christian St. Jude was dead.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

unedited

Petition to make this story solely about romain and stars

Also dedicated to romaneinc

Because her writing is just my favorite thing to read