A Friday night drabble. Carson loves Hughes, is the general gist. Could go with most of my fics, really. Carson's point of view.
Butlers tend, as a rule, to be completely oblivious of the fact that they're in love; if indeed they ever bend the rules of butler-ing enough to fall in love in the first place.
Perhaps, then, I need a change of vocation.
Sometimes, I feel as if I know that woman over there so well, that if I didn't love her I would go mad. I know every one of her habitual gestures: the way she chews her lip varies with her moods; her footfall grows just a little heavier not when she's angry, but when she's worried; when she's trying not to cry she looks ever so slightly as if she's considering squinting, but doesn't want. She sleeps on the right side of the bed.
And she's beautiful. Not pretty; beautiful.
She worries about things that she shouldn't; she worries about people although she finds it hard to show it. She values people for who they are, not how they appear- heaven knows, I should be grateful for that. She steals my pullovers in the evening and wears it until she falls asleep. And when she catches me watching her, I know she thinks "ridiculous man" to herself.
Before I knew her, I don't think my life was really there at all. I kept it in a cage.
I love her more than butlers are supposed to know how to love.
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