Thank you for reading!

If you missed my manic decision to delete, I should explain what happened. I am baring my soul to you guys, because I think it is important to be open when it comes to this stuff to break stigmas.

I struggle with mental health. Specifically, problems with ADHD and anxiety/depression. This means that, oftentimes, I make extremely hasty and snap decisions based on fleeting emotions, usually negative ones. I deleted this story today in the middle of a panic attack - it was an amalgamation of factors, but it came down to feeling worth very little, feeling like I had no talent as a writer, etc. I was feeling like I was ruining the prequel to this story, and that I was a terrible storyteller.

This came on quite suddenly, though the emotions had been building for a while.

Only when I got PMs telling me that they felt this decision was rash, that they were disappointed because they love this story, that I realized I was simply having an episode and should just step away, rather than throw everything in the garbage can.

So, yes, I really am sorry that you guys bore the brunt of what was going on today.

I mean it when I say I have the rough first draft finished on paper, that I just need to write in the details, so updating should be quick. I regret that I've deleted previous stories for similar reasons.

I will never touch the delete button on a story again - just step away from the keyboard for a minute and recoop.

Enjoy :)

Ibrahim

Chapter 58

The Park

Summer in Paris was beautiful in the park.

Raoul told me that we were here, picnicking, in order to discuss the plans for Philippe de Chagny, but the only thing either of us seemed to be focusing on was the fruits and cheeses he'd brought, as well as the conversation we held. A conversation that had very little to do with his brother.

"What were some expectations for you growing up?" he asked, legs stretched before him, as he peeled a grape. Peeled. A grape. I had spent years with royalty, and even I found this excessive. "Some expectations you felt common people had to follow?"

"So now I am no longer common?" I grinned. "I thought I smelled of new money."

A chuckle. "You do."

I laughed.

He continued, "But money is money. Surely the nouveau riche are given some expectations as children."

"Hm." I considered the question. "I suppose so. Does putting on a smiling face count? No temper tantrums allowed?"

"Me too," he said. "It was the same for me."

I nodded. "Though, the servant boys got a lashing for crying and yelling as well. For me, it was the disappointment that accompanied it. The fact that it was expected a lowly servant would lash out. But it was simply unnatural for me to."

"Yes. The same."

"How does it feel to be relating so well to a member of the...what did you say? Nouveau riche."

"Not terrible, actually."

My smile faded at his sincerity, at the blush that found his face. He peeled another grape and popped it into his mouth. I elected for a piece of cheese. The sun was still in the sky, but wouldn't be for long. People walked past, but we hardly noticed them - at least, I didn't.

"Do you have any older brothers?" he asked.

"No. I am the older brother."

"Younger brothers?"

"Sisters."

"All?"

"Yes."

"That sounds nice."

My smile returned. "Does it? It was quite a nightmare for me, actually, as my parents depended on me to continue the family name."

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

He blinked and looked down. "Continue the family name. Did you...perhaps, ever have a wife? Perhaps she could not come with you to France, or she...passed. Excuse me for my rudeness."

"No wife. No."

"Ah. I see."

Did he? What did he see? I was dying to know, but there was something about the tension of this conversation that was absolutely giving me goosebumps.

"You really are popular with the ladies at dinner."

"And not with the men?" I asked.

That blush deepened. It sent a flutter to my stomach.

"I suppose, yes, with the men."

"Hm." I chewed another piece of cheese. "I was. Yes."

He gave a breathy laugh. "You admit it so freely."

"Admitting the truth is never a sin."

"That's true." A pause. "I have never been popular with anyone."

I looked at him. "Well. The way you are looking at me. Warmly."

He turned away quickly, eyes widening. "What about it?"

"If you looked at everyone that way, you'd be much more popular. I guarantee it."

His shoulders went up a bit, and he blinked rapidly. "It's different."

"How so?"

"Most people...I don't know if they will be...well, an asshole."

"Are most people assholes?"

"More than most." His eyes went to me again. "But you're...not. Decidedly not. So I don't treat you like an asshole in return."

"So that's why you're always sullen."

"Yes."

"But not around me."

A long silence. "No."

We continued eating the basket of food. The rest of the time was spent in silence. As of late, the quiet had not been a friend to me. But this was different. It wasn't an empty silence. It was full of something. Something I couldn't quite yet name, but wanted very badly to. I wanted to name it, speak to it gently, bring it close, and caress it.

The sun descended below the horizon, and though neither of us wanted to, we eventually had to go our separate ways.

"Until next time, Ibra-" He paused. "Egyptian."

The name of the thing between us became clearer, but not enough so to fully make out.

"Until next time, Vicomte."

As we parted ways, I noticed a flicker of something in his face. Like he was disappointed I hadn't slipped and nearly said his name as well.