TRIGGER WARNING: This content deals with an account of cutting, and may be triggering to some people. If you think it may trigger you, DO NOT READ.
Hi, and thanks in advance for reading my fic! Before we get into it, I'd just like to put out there that I wrote this just for fun. We were assigned The Scarlet Letter in my English class, and, while reading, I found that Chillingworth x Dimmesdale is an OTP of mine. I tried to make it sound a little bit like Hawthorne might write it (although not entirely, obviously; it'd be extremely confusing if I tried at that). A had fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy. Please leave reviews telling me what you thought; I'd greatly appreciate it.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Scarlet Letter. All rights belong to Nathaniel Hawthorne and the book's publisher, Houghton Mifflin Company.
Roger approached his younger friend quietly, not quite wanting to disturb him from the rest he so dearly needed to fully recover. His head was laid down into his arms, clothed fully in the black garments he so often wore in allusion to his occupation. His thin brown hair was a ruffled mess atop his head, lying just above his shoulders, which were hunched in a seemingly intolerable position. They moved subtly up and down in time with his deep breaths. So peaceful, yet Roger knew just how despaired Arthur was.
Roger stepped closer to Arthur, risking a hand on the minister's shoulder.
"Arthur? Arthur, you must wake up. Your schedule will be thrown off if you continue to slumber this way," Roger said, lightly shaking his friend's upper body.
Arthur stirred slightly, mumbling something incomprehensible.
"What? Arthur, I couldn't understand you. What did you say?"
He lifted his head slowly. "I said, I don't much care about my schedule anymore," readjusting his position and laying his head back into the crook of his elbow.
Roger pulled a chair closer to Arthur and sat down, now concerned. "You don't care? But you must give a sermon tomorrow, Arthur. The church is your life! Your motivation! What on Earth could cause you to not wish to be prepared to serve it as you usually so passionately do?"
Arthur sighed, sitting up straight, but not looking at Roger immediately. The physician leaned forward, eager to learn what black magic could cause Arthur to claim a disinterest in his life's work.
The younger man turned his face to reveal swollen, bloodshot eyes, and a physiognomy marked with lines from the fabric of his sleeve. Roger was taken aback by his appearance.
"Arthur.." he faltered. "Arthur, what has happened? Who has upset you so? You know that I can deliver them 'medicine', if you wish it so."
"No," Arthur sighed, "that will not be necessary. I just.. I don't know, my friend. I thought I could handle everything. I thought I could continue with these troubling thoughts in my mind, but I just can't." He turned away, choking back a sob.
Roger's eyebrows furrowed in concern. He waited for Arthur to continue.
"The enormity of my sin has weighed me down, Roger. Ever since Hester and I.. Oh, it was so wrong! And I've no chance to tell her how deeply sorry I am, not since she's left town, without a whisper of where she's gone. The townspeople, they look up to me, but wherefore? I am a sinner. I am a liar, an adulterer! I cannot tell anyone of my sin, Robert; I have not the courage for it, but I cannot contain its burning accusations inside of me any longer."
"Arthur, calm down, please! It is not good for you to be causing yourself so much stress," Roger said. By this time, Arthur was standing up and was pacing around fervently. "Please, sit yourself down once more."
Arthur looked at the chair Roger motioned to hesitantly, as if he could not decide whether it was a good idea to accept his offer, before he slumped back into his chair.
Roger inhaled deeply before he began, disquiet evident on his face. "Listen to me. I know how this whole ordeal has affected you. I know it is difficult to deal with, you being the gentle soul that you are. And I am so sorry. I just need you to know that I will always—" he paused to be sure Arthur was looking him in the eye, "—always be here for you."
Arthur looked up and offered him a tight smile. "Thank you, Roger. You know I appreciate everything you've done for me. You've seen me at my best, and, unfortunately, at my worst, as well. I don't know where I would be today without you.." He trailed off, letting the silence say the words for him.
"Arthur?" Roger knew what this implied. "Please do not reveal to me that you have been doing it again."
The minister looked away, ashamed.
Roger slowly reached for the buttons on his friend's shirt, afraid of what he might find. Striving to keep his hands steady, he unbuttoned the first, the second, the third; until Arthur's shirt was hanging slightly open, revealing a sliver of his pale, thin frame. Arthur still couldn't look up from the patterns of the carpet that suddenly interested him so.
Slowly, Roger pushed the fabric of Arthur's black shirt aside, until it was visible: The narrow, pink tracks outlining the letter A, the ghosts of the previous cuts revealing themselves in representations of past sorrows.
"Arthur.. wherefore?"
Arthur disintegrated into a barrage of uncontrollable tears, body trembling, the force of his despondency leaving him breathless, only able to gasp short gulps of air. Roger rushed to comfort his friend, embracing him in a tight hug. Arthur grasped the lapels of Roger's shirt, which was dampening with every sob, but Roger didn't care about anything but the well-being of the one he cared most about.
"I'm so sorry, Roger, I'm so sorry," Arthur choked out in between gasps. "I could not stop myself.. I needed the release.. It called to me."
"Arthur, you told me you would not resort to this! You said you would confide in me if you ever felt compelled to do this to yourself once more!" Roger was crying now, as well, both of their bodies racked with pain.
"I know, I know.. I couldn't stop myself.. I meant to find you, Roger, but you weren't there! I needed you, and you weren't there..."
Roger pulled back, stiffening with shock. I wasn't there…
He grasped Arthur's face in both of his hands, searching his eyes, penetrating his soul. "I cannot express to you the sorrow this brings me—the fact that I wasn't there when you needed me most," he began. "But I can promise you this, Arthur. I will never, ever leave your side. I.." the older man faltered, the enormity of what he was about to say hitting him, full-force. Was he sure about this?
Arthur was relatively silent now, only rasping breaths escaping his parted lips. He stared wide-eyed at Roger expectantly.
Thoughts were crashing around Roger's head—I meant what I just said! Do I mean what I just thought? Does he feel the same way? Can he handle this in this state? How will he respond? Do I believe what I'm feeling?
He couldn't organize any of the things flitting around his head. It was hard to think straight.
So he stopped thinking.
Leaning forward, Roger brought his lips to Arthur's, the shock evident in the reverend's reaction for only a moment before he relaxed, letting himself feel happy, allowing himself to enjoy what he wanted.
It wasn't just the guilt of the hardships Arthur had discourteously dumped on Hester that had him desperate for release—it was also the emotions that he had refused to let himself feel for the one he was closest with. To be in his position, to have so many people look up to him.. and to be what they considered an abomination? He thought it was too much to handle.
But he didn't care about any of that anymore. Pulling Roger closer to him, he realized that this was what he truly wanted, what made him happy.
He was finally happy.
Roger took his lips from Arthur's, keeping their foreheads together and their noses touching.
"I love you."