A/N: Here is Chapter 2 of this fic. So far, only three chapters are written. I will probably but up the third chapter tomorrow morning or this weekend. I can't say there will be any set schedule for updating, but we try to write while we have inspiration.
This chapter is written by myself, Courtney JoAnne. My tumblr account that this fic tends to be posted on is grayfeathers-wilted rose. That also happens to be the roleplay account that inspired this story between she and I.
Anyway, Read and enjoy!
Words: 620
Every morning, Mathew would find him in a field of small yellow flowers, and would smile so gently at him. He would look up at him from his bed grass, and think about how the cowslip (as that's what Mathew called it,) framed the boy's face perfectly from where he lay. Every morning he would let Mathew find him there, and would keep his eyes closed as he felt the other study him. How his wings lay, how they were tinted grey… Francis knew he took it all in, just like he took him when he finally opened his eyes to see that framed face that studied him so.
The boy always treated him like a delicacy. They would walk through fields of daffodils and dandelions and Mathew would stop him, gently touch his arm if he even stumbled a bit. Francis would hold back a quiet laugh behind a straight face and tuck a daffodil behind the other's ear. Mathew would string together a daisy chain of dandelions before putting it over Francis's head. He would comment on the halo of flowers, and how it fit. Francis would turn to walk on like it was nothing.
It had taken months to build that place of comfort. Months of walks through yellow fields of yellow flowers, and smelling like dandelions and daffodils and cowslip. It had taken months of leading him into his garden from those yellow fields, months of quiet companionship as Francis took care of his garden and Mathew sat in the shade of the willow tree. It had taken months to build that place of comfort, the place of delicate touches and daisy chains, of yellow and grays, months before the one reward.
And Francis smiled.
Francis smiled and in that moment Mathew was caught and he could see it in the boy's young eyes. The soft chuckle, the soft face, it all lead to an out stretched shaking hand. And it was what was offered in that hand that broke the moment.
The smiled faded from the lips, and gray eyes clouded over with storms; Storms of thoughts and memories far from Mathew's comprehension, storms that shook the pale body of the winged man and tossed his mind in the tempest. The morning fog that had once looked so relaxed and friendly brought a new air, the shadows that were once warm with the fragrance of cowslip and daffodils were cold and distant. Francis tore himself from Mathew and rushed through the garden, his wings that once moved so naturally with his body now only serving to get in his way.
When Mathew found him again he was kneeling in the dirt, elegant hands plunging into the loam frantically. An animalistic fear seemed to be spread across his face as the daisy chain fell from his head like that ring had so long ago, except where the ring was simply buried and forgotten the flowers were torn up. Torn up in the frantic chase for the past.
It wasn't long before he found it, a small clothe bundle that Francis began to pull apart immediately. Layer upon layer fell away until he got to the core, ignoring the old stains of blood that were left from so long ago, ignoring the boy who stared on in a mix of fear and confusion. He stripped away the layers until it lay in his hand, a small silver cross.
Tears began to roll down the fallen angel's face.
It had taken months to build that place of comfort, months of yellow fields and yellow flowers and daffodils and dandelions. It had taken months.
It only took a reminder of who he really was to take it all away.