Author's note: Hi all. Thank you for coming with me thus far, all those who read and those who reviewed, and special thanks to Kenouki for supporting me through your reviews; your opinion and enjoyment made it all worth it. For the time coming I will still try to write and update, but because exam is looming and I'm about a thousand miles behind with work, I can't be sure if I will be able to write regularly anymore. Of course I will write when I have time, but this is just heads up that if you don't see me for about a month or so, that will be because I am in revision. If you don't see me after May, that will be because I failed and entered depression. Otherwise, I'll still update when I can – if you care, of course. Sorry for rambling; here's the story.
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Chapter 4: …Yet thy blood is blue
Dégel sipped his tea, contented. Outside, the sky was a perfect dark tapestry hanging against the space, acting as the silver behind the glass in a perfect mirror. The glass pane of the window reflected the dancing fire within the fireplace, all shades of yellow and orange twisting together in a warm undefined glow, reflecting upon the contours of his own pale face. In his surroundings of red damasks and tapestries lined in gold strings, the heat seemed to emit from everywhere within the room. There was something missing, though, but at the moment, Dégel did not mind too much; his memories were sufficient to keep him occupied. Dégel sank deeper into his armchair, losing himself to the memory of that morning.
In the blinding light of the morning amongst the disappearing surrounding darkness, they had sat, knee by knee, hands joint with fingers intertwined as pieces of a puzzle fit together by great craft since an eternity. As light showered their heads in silver and gold, Kardia had told him, in a voice barely above a whisper, of his ailment, his thoughts, and his fears. He had told him about being shot by someone, the bullet going through his body, puncturing a hole in his lung. With that, it had been a miracle that he had survived, his blood clotting up quickly to close the gaping hole in his breathing apparatus; it could have very well bled him to death; or any air he had drawn it could have escaped before oxygen could enter his blood stream, and he could have died of asphyxiation; or the whole area could have simply developed into infection and he could have died a very painful death. Ever since then, he had never really recovered; it was not that the wound ever stopped bleeding; it just did so very, very slowly, so that blood started filling up his lungs until he could not but have to cough it all out in writhing agony. It turned out exactly as Dégel had feared; Kardia was drowning in his own blood, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop his suffering. Then he told Dégel about his musings, about the meaning of life, about the télos, about the grace of the Lord, the problem of evil, the meaning of suffering, of passion, of dreams, and all that had ever fascinated Dégel. He had sat there silently, listening to the other man in a timeless trance, the chaos of warring emotions within him gradually calming into a summer breeze that soothed his hurting soul. Finally, Kardia's burning hand let go of his own, and in a whisper that faded into silence, he had concluded: ''Tis not death I fear, my dear Dégel, but only that I shall not see you again.' Dégel's heart had dropped into the pit of his stomach as a stone, even as blood rushed to his face in a furious blush. He refused to drop their eye contact, though, for it was far too late to deny anything. In the awkward quiet that ensued between them, Kardia had hugged him one last time, before dropping the words 'I shall see you tomorrow' in his colouring ear, and walked to the back of the altar without turning back. Unable to support himself, Dégel had staggered down onto the pew, where he sat pondering all that had happened, again and again, until he realised with a start that the morning mass had just ended, and that he had been sitting there for over an hour in leave of his senses, blood on his hands and some drying on his shirt. Quickly standing, he rushed out of the church into the slight chill of the morning air, back home where he kept himself locked in his study for the whole day. He was terribly absent-minded for the length of that day, not really knowing what he had been thinking about. At intervals, he startled, as if waking up from a dream, a strange look in his eyes, before sinking back into the current of his thoughts. They were mere ideas hurrying past his mind; Dégel was helpless to prevent or control them; it was as though he was a visitor in his own mind, witnessing what was unfolding without truly participating. It was disconcerting, yet he could not bring himself to care, lost as he was. It was thus that he lay buried in his waking dreams, watching himself from a distance even as waves of terrible emotions crashed upon his consciousness. When he came to himself it was already evening, but his mind was clear, at least. During his passive yet meticulous analysis of his own mental states, Dégel had realised that he had fallen beyond salvation, and had come to terms with it, at least partly so. He had embraced who he was, even if immoral and probably psychologically ill by any social standard, for his strife was a mere passing wind compared to the fronts Kardia had to face. The memory of blazing scarlet flashed through his mind, and Dégel internally cringed. Knowing Kardia was suffering with every breath he drew hurt more than he ever understood; he wanted to be near that man, to do what he could to help him. Dégel was no saint, that much he comprehended, and his desire to be near to the other was a mere selfish wish personal to him, though which he could not let go and did not want to let go; as stated, he had already fallen too deep to be salvaged. Though the anguish for turning his back to the teachings of the Lord plagued him as a blunt knife relentlessly carving at his soul, the mere thought of not seeing the other man terrified him. He had thought, then, to sin and be condemned to hell was better than having to endure an eternity through that horror.
'You have been very… distracted today, brother. What is bothering you so?'
The voice of his brother startled Dégel out of his reverie. Looking up from his lap, he noticed the other standing at his door, hands folded upon his chest and a displeased look on his features.
'May I keep you company?'
Dégel nodded absently, before returning to watch the fireplace. He wondered how his brother would have reacted should he know of the darkness within Dégel – the thought sent a jolt of dread down his spine. Then, with cold realisation, he noticed he had not visited Unity for that whole day, when he was still ill and in need of care, too lost was he in his own mind. Looking to his brother, who was sinking into the armchair opposite his with a look of immense relief on his countenance, Dégel opened his mouth to apologise, but a held up hand had stopped him from his next words.
'I am well, brother, pray do not worry about it, and not a word more about this triviality. In fact, my behaviour these past two days very much embarrassed me – I must have been a burden. But I can get out of bed now, and will be strong again soon. What worries me is you, Dégel. I have noticed you have been very absent-minded ever since your return from the trip. Are you well? Is it an academic matter?'
Pondering his words for a while, Dégel decided not to lie to his brother: 'I am well, indeed. It is only that my mind has been quite occupied as of late, and I apologise for it. Nor is it an academic concern, of that I should have thought you would never doubt me. No, this is another matter, and a grave one if I may say so myself, yet it is very personal to me. Thus, you must forgive me if I do not disclose this matter to you; pray do not take offense, you know I would share with you anything other than this difficulty.'
Dégel observed his brother's expression carefully even as he spoke, and for a split second he fancied the lines of his brother's face contorted into an ugly mask of rage, before disappearing as a wisp of smoke in the wind. Yet, the smile that bloomed on his lips afterwards was strange and of an awful sort, one that would have appalled Seraphina should she see it upon her own brother's face; it was as though there was a snarling beast in place of the smiling Unity. The shade the roaring fire threw upon his countenance only served to accentuate the contrast between the black of Unity's pupils and the icy blue of his irises, which almost glowed and moved as quicksilver in the dark of the room. With a distinctly low voice, he answered in a manner as if he was chewing on his words: 'Of course, dear brother.'
The silence that settled amplified the crackling of the flame, the noise drilling into Dégel's fraying nerves. He could not understand his brother's reaction, nor could he be certain of the evidence of his own eyes. The musty smell of his books suddenly assaulted his senses, along with the scent of incense burning. His ears suddenly became sharp and sensitive to even the smallest noise – he could hear the wind whistling against his windows, and the rustling of tree branches outside - and then he could almost feel a prickling on his skin, an unpleasant sensation as though something was crawling upon it. However, the feeling lasted only a brief moment, before dulling into a sort of throbbing at the back of his mind, almost as an alarm against something terrible about to happen. As he turned to his brother, Unity had already lost his predatory smile; in its place was the usual benign expression Dégel had been used to since his childhood.
'Today I heard talks of you being offered a professor chair. Is it true?'
'You heard? It was merely a consideration going about in the department…'
'Nonsense! I can bet you shall get the chair at the end of the year. Father is already considering holding a banquet in your honour.' Unity leaned forward, grinning slyly, 'And all the ladies around shall come to say their congratulations, of course.'
Dégel blushed slightly, before a frown appeared upon his countenance. 'Now that is nonsense. What need do I have of this unnecessary bother, pray tell? He is squandering the household's fortune instead of making sensible investments; I see no wisdom in such extravagance. Come, brother, do not tell me you approve of this folly, for I would have been quite disappointed otherwise.'
'Oh, but I do, dear brother. See here, you shall soon become the head of the Leblanc barony. One day you shall become Baron Leblanc yourself, and being Professor Leblanc does not advance you in society, but being Baron Leblanc does. You need to make yourself acquainted with these "extravagances", Dégel dear. Father would not be persuaded otherwise anyway. As to my last point, you are expected to get married one day, you know. What harm can seeing your future wife now do, pray tell?'
Sudden pain clutched his heart, and Dégel gasped before falling back into his chair. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he turned away, laying his head upon his raised hand.
'I do not wish to talk of such delicate issues at this moment, brother; you, of all people, should understand that all I wish to engage in at present is to do research in the academia. All this talk of engagement and marriage tire me greatly, and I would rather not touch upon the topic if I can. And, shall I remind you, I would have been happy to let you succeed as the next Baron Leblanc; the title holds no meaning to me whatsoever!'
'And I understand, brother, I do. I would have shared your burden if I could.'
The hand that reached out to squeeze his own was soft and small as a lady's hand, but Dégel never noticed the gesture in the first place, for he was again losing himself to his musings. As the touch lingered there, Dégel never saw the look of pure contempt marring his brother's young visage. After a while, the other stood up and walked out, closing the door without the slightest sound.
It was early morning three days after that found a young man with long platinum coloured hair standing in front of the sun kissed flower stand. He had a top hat upon his fair head, the brim of which was casting a shade over part of his pallid face under the pale morning light. Amongst his white surroundings, the man stood out in his dark outfit; his shadow was grey and long upon the washed pavement. A frown was visible upon his downturned lips, and his eyes seemed to gleam in the shade of his hat. With a deliberate languorous stroll, the man approached the small shop. His gloved hand tightened on the silver grip of his cane as he drew near, his thumb caressing the smooth side of it before removing itself to return again to the side of his forefinger.
'Good day.' As Unity tilted his head to the side, a particularly bright ray hit his face, putting emphasis upon the pleasant smile he had on even as his hair shone as the sun itself. Suddenly, his whole being appeared to blend into the various flowers about the shop as the smile illuminated his countenance; it was something strange that gave off a sweet and benign feeling as a spring breeze.
The dark haired man arranging the work table inside the stand looked up from his work with something akin to wonder in his eyes, before wiping his hand on a cloth nearby and went out to greet his customer.
'Good day, sir. How may I be of service to you?' He greeted back with a lopsided smile of his own.
'Ah, I was only wondering if you could make me a bouquet of blue roses, the type with that intense shade of blue you would give to your secretly beloved.' Still with the pleasant smile, Unity made a vague gesture with his hand, before placing it upon his own heart.
Kardia frowned in confusion, before shrugging: 'Apologies, sir; we do not have that kind of roses. Perhaps you would be so kind as to consider red roses? They are most beautiful this fine morning.'
The innocuous smile upon the other's lips only widened at that, before his eyes found the startling blue of Kardia's. 'My, what a pity! And here I was ready to purchase all the blue roses that you had – if you did, of course; red roses are only too common, you see. They are not a fitting gift for the person I intend to present them to, someone unreachable that should be surrounded by only the best of best. You must agree with me, my good sir, that this property of being common diminishes the worth of these beautiful scarlet roses that you have; I would have purchased them all otherwise.'
A look of unease crossed Kardia's countenance, before he shrugged again. 'I would beg to differ, sir. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder – personally I would have preferred these red roses to any other. Besides, the beauty of flowers is not something measured by external factors, I don't think; it is a good in itself, to be enjoyed by all those capable of admiring. Surely you would not suppose a blue rose any less beautiful than it is, should it become more common than it currently is?'
'Indeed not; yet only think, if you should lay your hand upon such a blue rose, would you not charge more for it only by virtue of its rarity?'
For a split second, the light smile seemed to waver, before returning with a sweetness that almost hurt to merely look at. At the same time, a dark scowl settled onto Kardia's expression. The hand at his side curled into a fist, before forcefully relaxing itself even as his shoulders squared up, his posture turning rigid as a rod. There was a terrible anger that burned up within his impossibly blue eyes; it was a terrifyingly violent passion that seemed to seep from every pore of his entire being. Yet before he could say anything in response, there was a petite hand upon his shoulder, restraining him from any further word.
'My sincerest apologies, sir. Kardia here bears no ill will; he is merely in an argumentative mood this morning. Please do forgive his lack of manner.'
A beautiful young woman with hair the colour of sunset and warm green eyes appeared from behind the man, a sheepish smile upon her lips. With a glance, Kardia clucked his tongue before angrily leaving, the phantom of his dark expression still haunting his features in the deep crease between his brows. Meanwhile, the well-dressed man merely smiled back at the woman politely.
'Not at all, mademoiselle. We had a most enlightening conversation, but I am afraid I must depart now, though I would have liked to remain for a while longer. Ah, no matter, perhaps I shall visit again.'
Inclining his head, Unity departed down the sunlit lane, the rising sun against his back. With a spring in his steps, the length of his dark shadow upon the road shrunk, the shade of his hat once again thrown upon his fair visage even as his smile vaporised into a thin line of downturned lips, before slowly inching into a triumphant grin.
When Dégel sat at the café that afternoon, he noticed the quiet haunting the other. They had still greeted each other with smiles on their lips, yet there was an air of unease with Kardia; the man would not look him in the eye – when he did glance at Dégel, it was with the same unreadable look he often used. The silence between them dawned on him that ever since that first conversation, it had always been Kardia who talked and he who listened. There was little in common between them, yet all that Kardia had spoken about, Dégel remembered to heart; it was nothing out of the ordinary, yet Dégel could not but be riveted on each word uttered as a thirsting man on every drop of rain from heavens. After so long of listening to other, the quiet unsettled Dégel. He was confused and agitated at the unusual silence Kardia was immersing himself in. There was a contemplative look on his face, his brows drawn together and his eyes far away, something immensely sad within them. As the faded light of an autumn afternoon poured over his dark head, Dégel suddenly found himself unable to avert his eyes from the painting before him; the gentleness of the light in its almost white seemed to hide the man behind a veil, so that everything appeared unreal in the bleached overtone. In that moment, there was something ancient and inexplicably wise about him, as if the whole scene was something emerging from an old forgotten book. Dégel was struck with sorrow the longer he gazed at Kardia. The feeling was a vague, lingering sense of sadness, slow and gentle in its advance, yet in the stillness of that faded autumn afternoon, it was a blanket enveloping all, seeping into everything present until it bled. Finally, unable to contain himself, he reached across the table to touch the other with the most bashful contact that was barely there, never truly invading.
'Kardia?' As bottomless blue eyes were directed at himself for the first time, Dégel felt his breathing slowed. 'You seem ill at ease. Am I imposing?'
There was a blank, before the other shook his head slowly, eyes still boring straight into Dégel's. There was an almost twisted smile on his face, something strange and bitter that pained Dégel as a sting in his heart.
'What would possess you to think that, my dear Dégel? I was only wondering, if a blue rose is indeed more beautiful than a scarlet one just because of its rarity. What idiocy, don't you think? For in the end, I would still love a red rose more, a thousand, a million times more, yet knowing all the while it was not fitting.'
Dégel pondered his words for some time, before responding with caution: 'Nonetheless, you know what you love in the end, and nothing could induce you to change your mind – not that knowledge, nor any other's opinion. What use, then, is brooding over the question, Kardia? This is unlike you.'
'Oh?' An amused eyebrow quirked up, 'And pray tell, how do I appear in your eyes? You spoke as though you have known me for a long time.'
There was something cruel in his words, and the implication made Dégel blush furiously in an instant even as his heart froze in fright. To hear such bitterness directed at himself by that one man took his breath away from him; the words stung as venom from a scorpion – the pain was sharp and burning at first, but immediately numbing his entire being even as the wound throbbed painfully still. But before he could say anything in reply, a hand had shot out to catch his own.
'Forgive me,' There was suddenly a look of horror in the other's eyes, 'I have said something rude. It was thoughtless of me.'
Then, abruptly, wrath replaced horror, burning his eyes another shade of blue, one so intense it threatened to swallow up Dégel in its depths. The hand holding his tightened painfully, and he winced. A second later, though, his hand was released as the other squeezed his eyes shut and placed his fingers against his temple. He could hear the sound of a shaky breath being drawn, before blue eyes gazed at him again. The look he received made him flush a terrible shade of red even as he stilled, as if struck by lightning. He imagined he could hear the sound of something shattering, a sharp sort of sound as a bell tinkling, before Kardia rose.
'I am in no state to accompany you at the moment. Perhaps I should go, but I shall see you tomorrow.'
Before Dégel could comprehend what was happening, Kardia had already crossed the street to retreat into his shop. Somehow, the afternoon was broken, and there was nothing that could put it back together again. Perplexity and great agitation enveloped him, yet as he sat and thought, it soon became clear to him what might be plaguing the other's mind. He was uncertain of the idea, yet it was the very same thing that constantly haunted he himself during his sleepless nights and his morning prayers. Then, as he looked to the flower stand and saw the other man sitting in the shade inside, a hand buried in his wild hair and a deep scowl adorning his features, all shades of colour from the surrounding flowers faded. It was as though Dégel was seeing the world through lenses of a dead and grey tint, only the other man standing out in his dark melancholy. Grief squeezed his heart in an iron clutch as he watched the other man wallowing in pain, as if he was deriving a sort of morbid pleasure from it. Something within his chest cavity throbbed in response, and at once a sudden urge possessed him; it was unlike any other of his urges – it was insistent, and overpowering, something that left him no choice but to follow - and without knowing what he was doing, Dégel rose and followed his track. Into the shop, away from the pale sunshine, the various blossoms about him seemed to lose their vibrant colours. Yet, with unwavering determination, Dégel approached the man. Drawing a single rose in full bloom from a bucket nearby, he held it up between pale fingers.
'Kardia. I do not know for certain what is plaguing you so, but I do think I may have an idea. I shall leave as you wish, but there is only one thing I want you to know.'
As gleaming eyes directed themselves again upon him, a swirling storm of emotions vivid within them, Dégel continued, shyly but resolutely: 'As you do, it is red roses that I love, never a blue one. For see here,' he held up his finger, a single scarlet drop blooming upon the white of his skin, 'Red is my blood, and always will be.'
The pause the ensued seemed to last for an eternity, during which time Dégel's heart virtually stopped, but all was worthed it then, because Kardia, with a care almost as if he was touching a most fragile treasure, reached out to pull Dégel's bleeding hand close. With something akin to reverence, the man kissed the droplet away from his finger, his lips pressing in a sinful caress against his quivering skin. Dégel felt a shiver running up his side, running straight into his soul in a trembling flame, flickering to life to consume all that he was. For a long, long time, the contact never ended; barely there, just touching, yet never separating. The sting from when he pricked himself with a thorn earlier faded into something he dared not name, yet it was as a fire burning upon his skin. The feel of chapped lips and callused fingers against his hand stirred up a tempest within him, a craving that seemed to drive him out of his mind, his lips trembling and a scarlet flush high on his fair cheeks. Eyes drowning in impossibly blue eyes, everything moved in slow motion, then, and with a vacant mind, he barely registered the other man taking the rose to pin it upon the lapel of his coat, his eyes tender and his hand a corresponding quiver to what Dégel was feeling. There was still something sad within his eyes, but he appeared much calmer than previously, and the mere sight was enough for joy to flood his entire being.
In a voice barely audible, he whispered: 'Take it, then, all of it for a blue rose. I shall hold your words dear to my heart.'
For a long time after, Dégel could not remember what he was doing, the words echoing over and over within his mind, but when he came to, he was already on his way back. Time seemed to stop for him, who stood alone amongst the rush of people nearby, letting an ocean of light wash over himself. The rays had lost their golden hue of the summer honey, but in its place there was a tender touch of autumn, a lightness that danced a timeless waltz. Looking down at his hand, embarrassment overcame him in a terrible blush, yet he could not but smile. At last, he was able to bring himself closer to that one man, to feel himself being drawn in irresistibly and not fighting the force for the first time. Elation coursed through him, wave after wave, until he wanted to laugh out loud in exuberance. For a moment, Dégel forgot about all that bothered him. He simply basked in the pale afternoon light, letting warmth trickle into his heart in the shape of a scarlet rose.
To be continued…
