A/N: So, I rewatched the Beauty and the Beast today and for one, holy cow I forgot how good it was! :D For another, I never realized how much angst the Beast had xD
When the curse had first set in, the Beast had spent most nights up in the West Wing, shredding tapestries and portraits, gazing morosely, angrily, resentfully, sadly, thoughtfully, furiously at the rose the woman had left him. Sometimes he wished to tear the rose up, too. It was going to wilt someday, and he didn't want to be there to watch it happen. Why should he torture himself any longer with foolish dreams, childish wishes that were simply not going to come to pass?
But….
But every time, he somehow mastered his anger. Maybe, deep within himself, he harbored some sort of hope that the curse would one day be broken, and he would never have to see the rose wilt. The day Belle came, a few of the petals had already fallen, and the flower was drooping worse than ever. But as the weeks went by, he quit looking at the rose. It would be enough, he decided, if Belle kept her word and stayed forever. It would be enough just to feel the touch of her hand on his, to know that she cared for him, even if it wasn't love. He could live with that. But he couldn't live without her.
Now, he spent only the bad nights in the West Wing. The good nights were spent in his quarters, on the bed that had been oversized in his human life, but now fit him perfectly as a Beast. He hadn't spent a night in the West Wing in what felt like a very long time. He had almost forgotten how ugly and dark this corridor was.
These thoughts swirled around in his mind as he stared at the dying rose, protected in its glass case. It had stayed there for countless years. And now it would die here. Just like him. He swallowed back his disappointment, forcing the words out from a cavity deep within himself. "I release you. You are no longer my prisoner."
The words were true, he meant them. But he was a beast. Not just on the outside, but on the inside as well. So even though he understood that there was somebody out there who needed Belle just as much as he did, he felt a selfish, furious desire to force her to stay again, to lock the doors and windows and refuse her exit.
He looked at the rose again, hesitating upon touching the glass case. He did not want to draw Belle's attention to it.
"You mean…I'm free?" The girl sounded so heartbreakingly happy. It killed him.
"Yes," he murmured quietly. How long had she been waiting, desiring her freedom, but too afraid to ask? Had he scared her into silence? The thought was torture.
"Thank you." Her words were sincere; even an eavesdropper, one not searching for hidden meanings in her tone, could have told that she meant them. Yet they made him wonder. She might not have been frightened. She might have been biding her time, waiting to ensnare his heart. Only then had she struck.
Did she even care about him at all?
"Thank you for understanding how much he needs me." As Belle rested her gloved hand upon his fur, he leaned into her touch, savoring it. But the breaking of his heart seemed to be a physical pain, and he knew, without a doubt, that he would be spending the night in the West Wing.