~Firstly, I love the Victorian era.
Secondly, I know little about the subject, other than what I've learned in my Social Sciences class, and Emma the manga. (Which, upon re-reading this so far, sounds a LOT like it...*sigh*) So forgive my...lack of knowledge. I tried to do research to the best of my power.
Lastly, This fan fiction is, in fact, yaoi. Between Matt and Mello. It includes cross dressing, cursing, and the slightest, slightest bit of sexual...relations. However, if this changes from 'slight' to 'yes, they're having sex' I'll let you know. For now, I believe teen is the appropriate rating for this little innocent fan fiction...
Enjoy!~ Roxasnaminexx
IThe cold wind had knocked the hat off of his head and right into the chest of the unaware passerby behind him. Hands caught the hat as it made its way to the ground. Tripping over himself, he turned around without sight, bending down in a bow and mumbling apology after apology. The hands holding his hat remained tight around its rim. Mail figure it was acceptable to stand properly from his bow, and upon standing, saw it.
"I think you dropped this," he relinquished the object back to him, and he took it in shaky fingers.
"T-Thank you," he tried to set the hat back properly on his head, but knew it was a failed attempt, the wind having other plans for it.
He seemed quite upset with the unexpected delay, and crossed his arms at the waist. "If you don't mind, I have someplace to be, so-"
"Oh-oh of course! Sorry!" Mail quickly got out of the way, sliding on the wet concrete a few feet to the left. The other smirked lightly, brushing a piece of blond hair from his face. He passed, his singular footsteps standing out amongst the hundreds of others on their way. Mail realized, after quite a few moments, he was standing awe-struck after the trail he had left in the midst of a confused crowd. The red head laughed awkwardly, and tried to make it seem that was purposeful, continuing walking like nothing had happened.
His mind was swimming in the melted pool where his heart used to be; the hair, the flawless face, those two deep brown eyes that stuck out under long black eyelashes-Mail shivered. The details of that face stuck out strong against his retina, and yet that didn't seem to be enough. He wanted to see more of that face, more of that body hidden only behind vest and button down shirt and pants.
The idea of what was behind that clothing both pleasured and disgusted him, as his inner morality struck out against his sexual desires.
This is wrong.
Mail shook his head, thinking innocently that all those thoughts would fly away. To his utter dismay, they didn't, but only came back with full frontal force. He sighed, quite loudly, causing those to look around at him with peculiar expressions. He was having quite a reaction with the crowd: as if his bright red hair didn't cause enough of a reaction.
He didn't care though. Mail was much too preoccupied with his own thoughts, drowning in the image left behind.
"Mail Mathew Jeevas. What do you think you're doing?"
She wasn't the least bit too pleased with him.
"I-er-I mean-I was just-" The lack of reasoning behind his late arrival left him sputtering and grasping for words that had no logical explanation.
"You are late for your date with Miss Mason, and I accept you to apologize to her firmly. Do you understand me?" His mother wouldn't stand for anything less then utmost perfection. Mail was, unfortunately, lacking in that aspect.
"O-Of course Mother," that was twice he had made a mistake and had to apologize for it. Twice in one day; not a record by any means, but still, left him feeling quite insignificant. He left the entry hall, and entered the drawing room, (of which, always made him shudder, seeing the pictures of dead family on the walls,) and noticed the young woman.
She wasn't ugly by any means-and in fact was quite a catch. Her long brown hair fell down in a curly mess about her shoulders. 'Wealthy' was written all over her person, from the clothing down to the knowledgeable look on her face. She smiled lightly, draping out her long arm for him.
"Nice to see each other again, Mail."
He bent down, taking her significantly smaller hand in his, kissing the glove, "It's a pleasure,"
She seemed to smirk at his quaint attempt at politeness, and took her hand back, motioning towards the seat next to herself. In between the seats sat an immaculate tray filled with teas and cakes. His mother really paid any expense to make sure the two ended up together.
And that she ended up with all the money that came with it.
Mail took a cup of tea, sipping briefly at the drink he despised: he could feel his mother's gaze from in the entry hall. He shivered, feeling the hot, foul tasting liquid trail down his throat. The young woman next to him noticed, and leaned around to look at him.
"Mail?"
A cough could be heard from behind him, from the mouth of an upset Mother.
"Oh-er-Sorry about being late for our date by the way-"
She flipped some hair from away from her face, and smiled in that all-knowing way, "It's no problem, just don't dawdle on the way from work."
"Right..." he sighed, and could feel the gaze leave him, satisfied to some extent with his apology.
They talked for a while in nonchalant melancholy, sitting in those two chairs and not leaving, not touching one another. Mail barely had enough guts to look at her, for fear of doing something wrong.
He was incredibly tired of these meetings, and wished the marriage would just present itself, and he could finally find time away from family. Family that only wanted him for the money that could come out of his marrying, family that would beat and beat on him in hopes that he will do better than them.
He had already sunken so low that no amount of beating, torturing, nagging or otherwise could do to fix it. Mail was quite aware of it, and frankly, hated himself for it. He had tried to tell himself it was wrong, tried to tell himself that nothing good would come out of it; but he had no power in the situation.
Homosexuality was a sin: and a sin he couldn't let go be cleansed of.
"Mail, you seem to be much more absent-minded today than usual. Is everything alright?"
Mail glanced up from the floor, where he had been previously staring at. He shook himself out of the daze, remembering the form of that one he had met earlier, and nodded."Yes, I'm sorry, it must be the weather..."
"Yes the weather really is dreadful, isn't it?" she nodded, taking a sip of tea, the fog of the hot drink flushing her face, "My maid was supposed to arrive and bring me an umbrella-but she must be messing around again..."
Mail said nothing, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the window opposite the two of them, looking out on the busy street they lived on. The young Ms. Mason glanced around quickly, and Mail could see her out of the corner of his eye. She looked towards the open entry way, and the kitchen, before smiling lightly. She draped her hand out to the right of her.
Mail glanced down at the hand floating right beside his side; what did she expect him to do with it?
"Well take my hand, Mail, no one's around."
A blush rose on his pale face, and he thought about it, worried someone would see. He stared down at the ground, brushing a few stray hairs out of his face. His hand met her's, and she nodded, glancing away, the tiniest remnants of pink left on her face. Mail looked up at her, wondering why he could not find this woman attractive; when there was a knock.
"Bloody Hell!" he jumped, the sound reverberating throughout the entire, silent house. He let go of her hand in a flash, and there was a look exchanged, before footsteps could be heard trampling down the stairs.
Mother.
"Mail! What did I just hear come out of y-"
"Someone is at the door, Mother," Mail was calm and cool as could be, trying hard to not panic over cursing right in front of her. He could only thank God he hadn't been holding her hand as his mother came down-the result would have been disastrous.
"Right, right," she began off again, her heels clinking against the wood floor, "but don't think I've forgotten about that..."
Her voice trailed off, and the two of them could hear the door open to the right. Slightly muffled voices were heard, clear, but just barely.
"I-I'm here to pick Ms. Mason up M-Mrs..."
That voice.
"Thank you dear, I'll tell her, just one moment..."
The door opened, and an elderly face poked in, the same red hair lining her head, "Your maid is here to pick you up sweetie,"
The young woman next to Mail nodded, and said a small thank you whilst standing up. She brushed herself off, and glanced toward Mail. Realizing the timing, he awkwardly came to a quick stand, stumbling as he did so.
"It was nice to see each other again, Mail."
"R-Right..." it was quite difficult to try and peak around her without the company noticing, trying desperately to see into the door way.
It opened all the way, and a half-soaked maid came in, a bright pink blush on her face. His fiance seemed not too happy with her appearance, seeming unfit to stand near the two of them.
"Mello, you're dripping water all over, now get my coat from the closet will you?"
Blond hair stuck to the face, pale and small, brown eyes gazing out from messy bangs. She bowed lightly, and then glanced up while mumbling something-but Mail was too busy to try and figure out what it was; and as she saw him, she was much too busy to move.
It was him.
Their eyes met for the slightest moment, and Mail could imagine, (to his most embarrassing day dream) the fireworks going off behind them. He smiled, ever so lightly, and the other, Mello, smiled in return, the sweetest smile he had ever set eyes on.
Time could stop, all Hell could freeze over, the world could end, and every one he ever loved could die in his arms-but he didn't want this moment to end.
"Mello-are you listening?"
The spark was gone as their eyes were drawn apart, and the frantic maid nodded, saying a tiny apology while she went off to get her coat.
"Well Mail, be sure to come visit me some time alright? We'll need a lot of time to plan the wedding and whatnot," she smiled, nodding to him as a befuddled maid came rushing in, her black dress flapping against her legs. The blond slid the coat on for her, and tried, more than anything, to avoid eye contact.
"O-Of course! Anytime you'll have me," he smiled genuinely, taking her hand in his and kissing it once more.
She curtseyed, and the maid bowed to the red head as well, avoiding any and all contact whilst doing so. They turned and left, Mail's mother opening the door for them. He could hear the rain from where he stood, hitting against the roof and against the head of the one he loved. She then closed it back, and footsteps could be heard.
Mail prepared for the pestering that was going to come; he prepared for the worst, for certainly he didn't care. He stood stock still where he was, his eyes staring into space, as if to see the face one more time.
'Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, The pretty follies that themselves commit'