#sumfellow

It was only when they made it upstairs that Charles suddenly remembered. “… what about the coffee?”

Hey @lizzywhimsy did I do this right?

What will happen next? Who can say?!

into one another, happily observing the odd new tradition in front of them, Charles couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly where he belonged.

Charleswas entranced by the shadows dancing across his dear friend’s face as the fireflickered in the grate. He felt he could watch them forever without getting bored.But when Henry set his book down, Charles pretended to be absorbed in his wine.“Iwish you wouldn’t do that, Charley.”“Dowhat?”“Lookaway every time I turn to you.”Charlesblanched. Henry eyed him for a moment before adding softly, “I’ve seen the wayyou look at me when you think I don’t notice.”“I—Idon’t know that you mean.”“Thereyou go again, turning away from me. Why do you do it? Why not just speak tome?”“Weare speaking.”“Imean plainly, openly.”Insteadof answering, Charles stood and walked over to the window. He could barelyadmit to himself that Henry was right, that he had been watching him lovingly,longingly when he thought himself unobserved for months now. With his back to Henry, he triedto compose his features, struggled to find a response that would get him out ofthis conversation. But then Henry was standing beside him, resting one hand onCharles’ lower back; his sudden nearness was disorienting and that casual touchtook his breath away. “Tellme, Charles,” Henry said gently, “have you really never noticed that I look atyou the same way?”Hecould not have been more shocked if Henry had slapped him. What could he meanby that? Surely he could not be serious? Charles looked down into his face, searchingfor any hint of mockery or sarcasm—but that smile, the light in those brillianteyes, was all sweet earnestness. Still, he could not quite believe. Hecontinued searching Henry’s face until at length Henry asked him to saysomething.“I’mafraid I don’t know what to say.”“Well,I suppose there is a first time for everything.” They both laughed, glad tohave the tension eased. Then Henry asked him to come away from the window, tocome sit down again, and Charles readily acquiesced. As he sat, Charles musedaloud,“Ido not think I can believe you; it would make me far too happy.” Henry had notyet returned to his seat, and when he heard this, he turned again to Charles.He looked at him, seeming to consider what to say, before stepping nearer andstooping slightly to kiss him. Charles suddenly felt as if he had had an entirebottle or two of wine—his heart soared, his head was spinning, and there was apeculiar feeling in his stomach he could not describe. When Henry drew awayfrom him, Charles leaned forward, unwilling to stop so soon. But Henry pulledback a little further, just out of reach, and asked,“Doyou believe me now?”“I think I may need a little more convincing.”Henry grinned, happy to oblige.

alternative explanation: Charles thought it was Henry’s bed and actually was being weird and Sam thought it was too funny so he had to tell Henry

Charles was surprised to hear someone knocking at his office door this late at night; no reasonable person could be seeking legal advice just now and he could not imagine why else they should be rapping so insistently. Perhaps his partner George had left something behind and forgot to bring his key? But even George probably didn’t know he was still there—who then? Cautiously, he unbolted the door and inched it open. His heart leapt into his throat as it always did when he saw his friend Henry’s face. He swallowed back his sudden excitement, ignored the quickening of his heart, and ushered Henry inside. “Isn’t it rather late to be working?” Henry asked as he surveyed Charles’ cluttered desk. “Isn’t it rather late for a social call?” “Well,” Henry tried to smile but didn’t quite manage it, “I suppose it is.” Charles noted the heavy sadness in his eyes and felt his heart wrench; Henry was such a good, kind man and it hurt Charles to see him upset. “What’s wrong, dear friend?” Henry opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and turned away. “Here,” Charles said, reaching for his coat, “why don’t we go to your place and have a drink. Then you can tell me about it or not, as you please.” “Yes, alright,” he said meekly. He waited patiently as Charles put out the lamps and locked up. He was quiet and distracted as they hurried back to Henry’s home. He barely said a word as they drank their first two glasses of wine, but no sooner had Charles poured him a third than Henry burst out, “It’s Fanny. I proposed to her again today, Charles, and she won’t have me. I don’t understand it, Charlie, I just don’t. What’s wrong with me?” “There’s nothing wrong with you Henry,” Charles asserted, “You’re perfect just as you are.” He felt himself blushing as he said this and took a rather long drink to try to hide it. Henry sank into silence once more, but as Charles leaned forward to refill his glass again, he said ruefully, “I know I am not a handsome man—“ “I find you very attractive…” “—but there are worse things to be than ugly. What is it, Charles, that makes me so unlovable to her?” “I—I am afraid I cannot say,” he began to wish he hadn’t had quite so much wine. He had already been too bold and was terrified that he might be too honest with Henry about his feelings. He had repressed them for so long, but they were never far from the surface and just now it would be so easy to ruin everything. “I cannot say,” he repeated. “But you must,” Henry cried, leaning toward him and seizing his hand, “You must tell me. Help me, Charles, please?” “I…I can’t say because…because,” Charles stammered. He was acutely aware of Henry’s warm hand on his, and the longer it stayed there the less he could focus on anything else. “Because I do not see anything unlovable about you. You are…” he bit his tongue, mentally kicking himself for what he had been about to say. He dropped his gaze—he could not look at Henry any longer. He wanted to leave, to flee the house, but Henry still had his hand. “Well,” Henry said slowly as he sat back in his chair, relinquishing his grip at last, “whatever it is, I wish she would tell me; then perhaps I could change it.” He refilled both their glasses again. The conversation stopped for a while. They sipped their wine in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Charles kept stealing furtive glances at Henry; he watched as the despair in his eyes turned to anger, then faded back into that heavy sadness with which he had sought Charles out. When he saw tears gathering in those eyes he loved so well, saw them spilling over, he knelt on the rug beside him and took Henry’s hand. “Just give it time, Henry,” he said as soothingly as he could, “perhaps she’ll come around.” “It’s been years, Charlie,” his voice cracked a little, “years. She’ll never love me. I’ll die miserable and alone and unloved.” He began to sob in earnest. Charles took his other hand as well and stood, pulling Henry upright and drawing him to him. He wrapped his arms around his dear friend and felt Henry’s face pressed against his chest. He swallowed hard and began stroking Henry’s hair as he tried to comfort him. “No, Henry, don’t think it. You won’t be alone—you’ll always have me. I’ll never leave you. And you are loved, Henry, don’t you know that? You are. You are.” He heard a muffled reply, but could not make out the words. When Henry’s sobbing and trembling did not ease, Charles held him a little tighter, his heart aching to do more. He kept mumbling reassurances, barely aware of what he was saying. At one point he let slip, “I love you, Henry, I’ve always loved you,” and for a moment was petrified by what he’d done. But Henry did not pull away, did not make any response, and Charles was not even sure he had heard. Then at last, the shaking stopped. At length, Henry’s breathing returned to normal. With a sigh, he stepped back and Charles was loath to let him go. “You’re too good to me, Charlie.” He made to sit back down, but he must have had far too much to drink because he stumbled and missed the chair. Charles caught him somehow, almost overbalanced himself, but steadied at the last moment. Henry was looking up at him from his arms, smiling a little in spite of his tear-stained cheeks, an inviting glimmer in his eyes, and Charles could not resist any longer. He bent low and pressed his lips to Henry’s. After that flood of tears he was not surprised to find them so salty, but he had never imagined they would be so soft. Then Henry’s hand was on his cheek, caressing at first, before pushing him gently away. Charles almost dropped him as he realized what he had just done. Fortunately Henry had recovered himself enough to stand on his own. He put his hand to his mouth and uttered a soft “Oh.” Charles sat down heavily in his chair, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Henry, I didn’t mean to…Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Then he leapt up again, “I’ll go at once, forgive me, please, I never meant to…” but Henry caught his arm and would not let him leave. “Stay. Sit down, Charlie, please.” They both sat and Henry gave an embarrassed laugh. “I suppose we ought to have eaten before drinking that much.” Charles shook his head; he had gone too far to pretend any longer. “It wasn’t just the wine Henry. I…I’ve loved you for so long—“ “Hush, Charlie,” Henry reached for his hand again. “If you don’t want to see me again, I understand. Only please don’t say a word—“ “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too dear to me to lose you over a trifle like this.” “A trifle?” Charles echoed, disbelieving. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean…Perhaps it’s rather more than that for you. But you can’t really think I would cast you off for this? I love you dearly Charles, I’m just…not inclined that way.” Charles nodded, feeling a thousand things at once—relief, disappointment, shock, embarrassment, love for Henry, disgust for himself, but above all exhaustion. “I really should go,” he muttered. “Nonsense. You can barely look out for yourself sober, do you really think I’m going to let you wander the streets in this state? You’ll sleep here tonight.” “You’re sure?” Charles asked doubtfully. He could scarcely imagine that Henry could still want him under the same roof after what had just passed between them. “Of course I am,” Henry affirmed. Then his look softened and he added, “Charles, really, you musn’t be afraid. It doesn’t change a thing. We won’t talk about it, if you like, but you must not act as if anything is different between us.” “Thank you. I…thank you.” With that, they both agreed it was long since time for them to go to bed. Before they parted, Henry hugged him once more, as if to reassure him further that Charles’ secret and his friendship were safe.

I MIGHT HAVE MADE A SEPARATE PSEUD JUST FOR CHARLES SUMNER STUFF AND THEN WROTE ABT CHARLES SUMNER GOING ON HENRY LONGFELLOW’S HONEYMOON WITH HIM