#and i’m still not sure what the answer is asdfjsjdj

[moonb-eam]

ok i just saw the p&p confession ask and i could not resist: so if eliott was so unsure about if lucas would read his letter, how did he feel when lucas came to arbrenne? what was his pov during that dinner when lucas tried to make him smile and all? and also, why(i know why but i need his thoughts) did he cry when lucas said he loved him too? was he not expecting the kiss bc he seemed confused about lucas saying he'll keep the jacket? anyway i love love love your writing!!!

ahh thank you love!! 💛💛

so, let’s see...

(this got a bit long so i put it under the cut)

Eliott had no idea whether Lucas read his letter or not, and it weighed on him, nearly as much as the thought that Eliott may very well never see him again weighed on him.

He hates the possibility that the letter will remain unopened, and that Lucas will forever hold this impression of Eliott in his mind that is sour and warped - an impression that was cultivated on Charles’ persuasive nature and Eliott’s own foolishness.

He tries to make peace with it, that the letter was his last chance to explain himself to Lucas, and as the days pass: spring slipping into summer, fading to fall, hardening to winter, and returning to first blossom of spring once again, Eliott tries to accept that Lucas will now exist only as a memory to him. A distant dream just out of his reach, a star that he can only ever admire from the surface of the Earth.

He doesn’t have faith in magic and fate like he used to as a child. He’s not hoping for any divine intervention that will point their twisting paths back together, but then.

There’s a warm, sunny day when Eliott returns home early from his trip to Paris, when he surprises Daphné at her piano, and in the midst of spinning them both in a circles, both of them laughing, he hears a faint gasp, notices a flash of brilliant blue in the gap of the open door.

And there, Eliott is wondering if he needs to start believing in magic and fate and all manner of things unexplainable again, because he knows those eyes.

Eliott would know those eyes anywhere.

His chase after Lucas is a bit ridiculous, his subsequent awkwardness embarrassing, but he cannot be blamed for his own lack of decorum, not when he’s standing before Lucas on the steps, watching the way the sunlight kisses his skin.

He’s here. He’s at Eliott’s home.

What are you doing here? Eliott wants to ask. Did I conjure you from thought? From dream?

Did you read it?

Lucas gives a hasty explanation - he’s travelling with friends around Loire, admiring the castles, and they came for a tour, as Madeleine claimed the house was open for tours.

Eliott takes all of this in stride. He knows that people are curious about Arbrenne, knows that Madeleine is always eager to show of the house she works so tirelessly to run, and knows that, often when he’s away, she will show these people around, taking them through the sculpture gallery, the garden, the formal dining room.

But that is people. People who Eliott may never meet, who wander the halls his family built, admiring the architecture. People. Not him. Not Lucas.

Lucas, who is shy with Eliott, in a way that feels oddly incongruous to the image of him Eliott has in his mind: brash and loud, with a tongue like a whip. This Lucas stares everywhere except at Eliott, while Eliott can stare at little except him. This Lucas has his hands clasped neatly in front of himself. He gives stilted and abrupt answers, and it worries Eliott. It makes him think he’s making Lucas uncomfortable.

Maybe he didn’t read it.

Or maybe he did read it, and now he doesn’t want to be near you.

Except he is there. Here. Right in front of Eliott, as mesmerizing as he’s ever been, and Eliott must not have a sliver of self-preservation left because he’s asking Lucas to stay, trying to invite him for tea, trying to do anything to keep him there, to stop him from disappearing on the spring wind like a secret uttered between lovers.

The fragility of Eliott’s invitation, however, is unnecessary. Because Lucas’ friends arrive, and with them, an instant  feeling of camaraderie Eliott did not expect.

Basile Savary and Arthur Broussard. They have an infectious energy about them, an unselfconsciousness that Eliott is a bit envious of. They’re loud and they seem - or at least Mr. Savary does - to speak without considering their words, and Eliott is fond of them immediately.

Eliott invites them all for dinner, because the notion of their dining room being filled with laughter all night is a pleasant one, and because Eliott is sure the Daphné will be endlessly amused by all three of them together.

It’s only then, once Mr. Savary and Mr. Broussard have accepted as Lucas watches on with an indiscernible expression, that Eliott realizes he chased after Lucas without re-buttoning his shirt, and it is with as much dignity as possible that Eliott scurries away from them, clumsy fingers fumbling against the thick material.

Daphné, of course, teases him mercilessly for it.

“Look at the state of you,” she says with a laugh, tying up Eliott’s cravat for him while Eliott sits on the arm of the sofa, pouting. “Running after his with your neck all bare.” She shakes her head. “It’s a basic level of seduction, but it is still seduction, and for that, I commend you.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Eliott complains, ignoring it when Daphné lets out another laugh. “I’m trying to be his friend.”

Daphné pauses, looking up to meet Eliott’s eyes. There’s a soft turn to her mouth, a caring, gentle expression, that makes her look just like their mother. “But you love him, don’t you?”

Eliott sighs, lowering his eyes to his knees. “Yes.”

“So, you want to be more than his friend.” She says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the entire world. As if it could be as simple as Eliott says, Lucas, I want to be everything to you. As if he hasn’t already tried that.

“I don’t think he wants that from me,” Eliott says quietly, and Daphné nudges him under his chin, forcing him to look up and meet her eyes.

“Then he’s a fool.”

“But-”

Daphné shakes her head. “You’re the best person I know in this world, Eliott. And if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.” The conviction in her voice, is strong, sure, and it’s almost enough to make Eliott believe her words as if they’re his own, the way Dr. Daucet tells him to speak to himself whenever he falls into a cavern of self-doubt.

I am deserving of good things.

I am deserving of happiness.

I am deserving of love.

Sometimes, when he says these things out loud, he almost believes them too.

“You’re right,” he tells Daphné and she grins, smacking a wet kiss to his cheek and running a hand through his hair.

“Now,” she says seriously, “we have to make you look presentable.” She hums, considering. “Presentable, but in a rogue-ish sort of way.”

“Daphy,” Eliott says, just as seriously. “I don’t think I know what that means.”

They eat dinner together, all of them, including a man named Herman, who has the most wonderfully entertaining stories Eliott has ever heard. They eat together, and it’s perfect, the way they are all able to come together. It’s perfect, because Eliott sits across from Lucas the entire meal, and he gets to watch as Lucas’ shyness morph into something else: something that’s still sweet, but a bit bolder, shades of the Lucas that Eliott has seen in ballrooms: quick and clever and so funny that Eliott nearly snorts wine into his nose from laughing.

He glances up, hoping no one saw him, except there’s Lucas, smiling at him from across the table as though there’s a private joke they’re both in on.

(And well, Eliott supposes there is.)

The weight of Lucas’ gaze is utterly intoxicating.

Eliott feels himself melt under it like sugar under his tongue.

Daphné won’t stop nudging her knee against his under the table, but Eliott barely notices. He’s consumed by a thought. Not even a thought, but a word. One word that encompasses an entire ocean of meaning.

Eliott feels Lucas’ gaze on himself and the word comes, arresting and gorgeous and hopeful: maybe.

Now, as far as Eliott feelings in the field scene, I’ve touched on that a little bit here.

But the best way I can explain it is like this:

Something happens, and it’s something you’ve been dreaming of for so long that it feels like memory as it unfolds in front of you, and it takes a moment for you to realize that no, this is real. This is not me hoping, this is something happening to me right now. And it’s like, the happiness inside of you is too much to contain. Your heart is a comet. Your soul is a sunrise. Your hands are the wings of a morning dove, but at the same time, you are so wholly, utterly yourself. You are at home in confines of yourself, infinite in your limitations. You are loved. And you love. And you are loved.

That is what Eliott feels, standing in that dew-fresh field as Lucas confesses to him.

That’s why he cries.