#frobismith

“Of all the dumb things you’ve done. Of all the selfish things,” Sixsmith continues, “and trust me, there’s been plenty of each. I don’t know how one man manages to cause so much trouble. Anyhow, this is by far the worst.”

Sixsmith has to pause, choking on his own voice, his emotions taking the better of him.

“I could’ve helped you, could’ve saved you. And you knew it. I know you did, you said so yourself. Why couldn’t you just let me? We’ve could’ve run away together. Europe is on the edge of killing itself, anyway. We would’ve had nothing. But that’s enough to be everything to me. The ‘we,’ I mean. The ‘we’ would be enough to be my everything.

“Your brilliance shines so brightly, Frobisher… Robert. Forget all the posh bastards with their reputations and their words. You’ll prove everyone wrong, I’ll make sure of it. I have no idea what your transcripts mean but I can feel you within them. I can feel your essence in those sheets as if you’re there, standing right next to me.

“I can hear your voice and feel your touch. My heart refuses to accept that you’re gone. No matter how much the feeling of your blood stains my hands, no matter how many times I close my eyes, only to see you lifeless, pooling in your own beauty. My heart refuses to stop throbbing, yearning for you,” Sixsmith throws the pitifully soggy bouquet at the headstone in an angry flare of frustration. He can imagine Frobisher carelessly throwing the bouquet aside, laughing at the ridiculous show of affection. He’d say it’s endearing but hilarious nonetheless. Sixsmith knows he would’ve flushes, embarrassed, but Frobisher would peck him on the cheek and thank him, anyway. It’s a nice gesture, after all.

“I forgive you for everything, even the things I know you wouldn’t even think to feign an apology over. I forgive you, anyway. I’ll always forgive you, it’s impossible for me to ever hold you in contempt. Your warmth and your embrace overpower anything negative I could ever muster toward you.

“I love you with every piece of my being, Robert Frobisher. And I always will.”

“Don’t you dare leave me behind, Frobisher,” Rufus shouts after him. The only reply is a soft staccato of footfalls and a melismatic giggle. That cheeky little shit.

“I’m not playing this game again,” Rufus grumbles more to himself than to Robert. The grounds of Caius College are well kept and neat, pompous shrubs styled into a decorative maze of grandiose figureheads. He stalks off in the direction he saw Robert go off in, his search rather desultory.

Which is how Robert manages to jump out from a bush unnoticed, tackling Rufus to the ground. He laughs and laughs when Rufus startles and shouts.

“You’re ruthless,” Rufus pouts, his breath evening and his annoyance fading into exasperated but unadulterated affection. He grins in his own wicked way before he rolls, flipping them. Robert yelps, leaves falling from his hair. Now it’s Rufus’s turn to laugh, picking out the remaining foliage from Robert’s messy waves.

“And you’re absolutely breathtaking,” Robert exhales, their eyes meeting with an intoxicating connection. Rufus feels his heart beat faster and his stomach flip. Robert takes the moment to grasp the lapels of Rufus’s jacket, pulling his down. Rufus, ever the anxious, glances around quickly before he gives in.

The kiss is chaste and quick but they both feel something deeper resonating from it, threading them together in a perfect harmony.

Rufus falls to the side, ungracefully thumping directly next to Robert. He glances around yet again and decidedly pulls Robert into his arms, letting him rest his head on his chest. Rufus watches him rise and fall with his chest. Watches Robert gaze into the stars, defiantly drawing his own patterns into the sky.

“I could stay here forever, I think,” Robert quietly admits, “I can’t stand this hellhole and I can’t stand that bastard Mackerras, but I’d stay here just for this.”

Rufus just hums his agreement, his hand lazily snaking its way to massage Robert’s head, fingers playfully entwining with the loose strands.

“I’ve been with many people, you know. I could assemble a full orchestra with my infatuations,” Robert’s tone is still prideful, but there’s a vulnerable rawness to it that Rufus desperately latches onto, “but I think you’re the only one worthy of a solo.”

Rufus chuckles, his other hand fishing out one of Robert’s and squeezing it tightly.

“I do believe you’re the only person who’s ever been able to pull me from my research so willingly,” Rufus murmurs, thumb rubbing circles on Robert’s hand. Robert laughs, shuffling closer to Rufus, resting his ear over his heart.

Robert sighs and closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of just being with Rufus. It’s a new feeling, something unfamiliar. Uncharted territory. It’s exhilarating and frightening all at once. For once, his groin isn’t controlling his thinking.