When Bailey figured Elizabeth had put enough distance between him and their parents, he went inside. The first thing he did upon entering was to glance around to see if there was a particularly attractive girl he could shyly make eye contact with before looking away and acting mysterious and surly for the next hour before actually talking to her. After all, that's how it happened in the stories. He spotted a rather pretty blonde girl and did his part before scampering off to a spot where he was less likely to be seen by his parents. Bailey grabbed a passing glass of wine and sipped it cautiously. He wasn't like Elizabeth who could out-drink any hardened scoundrel at the tavern. It was also rather embarrassing when he got drunk because he became an angry drunk, but managed to not be frightening at all due to his muscle-less figure and lack of any colorful language.

"I haven't seen your face before."

Bailey nearly screamed as the blonde girl he had glanced at before suddenly appeared right next to him. He gave his glass to a servant passing by in case his parents also decided to magically appear by his side and give him a fright.

"Indeed," he replied, hastily, before fleeing into the crowds of people. Oh, she wasn't doing it right at all. It was way too early in the evening for them to be speaking to each other and he was supposed to be the one to make the first move. That's how it always went and that's how it always should be! He would just have to find another girl who would cooperate more. That, incidentally, didn't happen. That was his problem, really. He expected too much out of people. He still hadn't realized that real life wasn't a fairy tale and women had to rush a rich, eligible bachelor if they wanted any sort of security for the rest of their lives. These days, love was just a bonus.

"There you are, darling!" came the shrill voice of Bailey's mother. He glared at his sister, who was trailing hopelessly behind their mother and gave him an exasperated look that said, 'It wasn't my fault! She's fast despite being so fat and old!' Bailey let her off the hook since this was, unfortunately, true. "Where have you been hiding all night? There are some absolutely charming people you must meet."

'Charming' meaning 'of good status' and 'people' meaning 'girls'. Now that escape was not an option, Bailey let himself be introduced to most of the women he had already run away from. At last, when it seemed things couldn't get any more awkward, Bailey whispered into his mother's ear that there was already someone he had met and he wanted to go talk to the girl in private so that rumors wouldn't spread too quickly. When his mother asked what her name was, Bailey merely gave her a vague wink, which would be interpreted by his mother to mean 'the girl that she hoped Bailey would end up with that night'. Of course, with that, she let him out of her clutches and her sight. Bailey wasted no time in finding the most secluded corner of the place.

It was an hour into the ball and Bailey was sitting in a small chair in a corner by himself, his head in his hand and dreaming of how the night should have gone.

Tsk. Dammit! Where did he go? One moment he was right there in that specific spot. He took a drink and scampered off somewhere, then that girl was riding him across the room, then another girl and some fat old hag showed up-- now he vanished! Vanished! It was enough to punch someone!

In fact, Amon seriously considered punching someone right about now. Despite the castle's enormous size, the room just felt too small for all these people to be bustling around in it! It just didn't feel right! It had been so very long since Amon had stepped into a building of any kind that just standing there in the middle of those grand, four walls made him feel as crammed and uncomfortable as a barrel of fish possibly would. The bright candles over head set the entire room ablaze in holy light, the beams bouncing off silken dresses of various colors and hairs of various shapes-- it was all very dizzying. Especially with them all twirling and twirling and stepping aside, and twirling again and twirling some more...

"Drink, sir?" Some bored voice asked him and without much attention Amon obliged, and stole two glasses from the bemused servant. He was going to need to drink up if he wanted to keep his nerve in this place. Lucky for him, Amon stomached alcohol fairly well. So well in fact the precious wines here didn't so much as give him a buzz like he thought it should. Ah well. At least he felt much more at ease now. Perhaps he would have better luck finding the mysterious blonde boy.

And so he tried again (after dumping the two glasses somewhere and hearing it snap under a couple's feet on the dance floor, much to their horror) crossing the center of the room reserved only for the waltzing couples without a drop of shame to be measured. Which, of course, put some curious eyes on him. After all, no one at this party recognized the man, and he was so obnoxiously rude no one could help but be somewhat allured.

But their growing gossip meant nothing to him as he walked around the ballroom, his eyes jumping from one figure to another ever so coyly and with such a air about him.

"Why, he's like a tiger, isn't he, Lily? Stalking a prey!"

"Oh, perhaps he's a vampire!"

"Oh my Lily, don't be so foolish! He must be looking for a pretty girl to dance with."

"Well I wouldn't dance with someone so rude."

"But imagine! If he's this rude he must be richer than rich!"

It was funny how gossip spread. But at least part of it was true. He was looking for someone, and finally he found him! Sitting all alone in a corner. Why, he looked positively miserable. So much so, Amon for a moment couldn't bring himself to come near him. Simply watched him from afar with his back against a wall and a fresh wine goblet in his hand. What made him so miserable? Was it the girl from before? Had to be! He did look unhappy when she appeared. No one was going to upset his love and get away with it! But... he should really comfort him first, shouldn't he? And talking to him... wasn't that what this whole bloody evening was about?

Coolly, Amon took a light sip from his glass and silently walked up behind the other man, slowly looming over him and placing a hand upon the crown of his chair like he was trying to spy over his shoulder at a book he was reading. "Still awake?" He whispered into his ear, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, good Lord!" Bailey gasped, giving a start at the sudden voice in his ear. Even though his heart was beating rapidly with the sudden shock, he couldn't help but think, 'That's what I should have been saying to whichever girl who would've sat in this chair' and then he thought, 'Dear God, I really am a girl, aren't I?' Bailey stood up rapidly, for the feeling of another man that close to his face was rather discomforting and a pink flush rushed to his cheeks in response. He coughed hastily to cover his embarrassment, but succeeded in making himself look even more ridiculous.

"Um…hello. I don't believe my mother has forced me to meet you yet." Bailey laughed nervously before realizing that this was a terrible joke on his part. The poor man was, unfortunately, terrible around men his age, mostly because the extent of his communication skills dealt with those of the female persuasion. He also considered men his age to be a bit of a threat in the grand scheme of wooing women and constantly compared himself to them, though in his mind he always came out lacking in comparison. Self-esteem wasn't really his strong suit. "Ah…I mean…you know, she's…well…Bailey Adams is my name."

Out of desperation and lack of anything to say, Bailey stiffly proffered a hand to the stranger. It took all of his will power to not withdraw his hand, but Bailey couldn't help feeling uneasy around this young man. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't even know the guy, but something about the brunette made Bailey want to go stand in a brighter room amongst lots of other people.

The faint smile only grew the more poor Bailey tried to settle down after his fright, cheeks aflame and manner awkward. It brought such a joyful feeling to his heart for Amon was beginning to mistake his anxiety to back away from him as perhaps a secret fondness that matched his own. Which, of course, was totally off and any normal man would have known that. How could someone love you back if they never met you before? Oh, but such logic was lost for him a long time ago...

Amon subconsciously mirrored the gentlemen in the room as Bailey jumped out of his seat, replacing his once 'barbaric' stance for a more 'dignified' one with his body straight and one arm neatly held behind his back. He didn't utter a word to him as the poor blonde rambled and tried to fight off his nervousness. Simply watched him with admiring eyes and eerie smiles. All he could think about at that point was how beautiful he looked, how cute, how sweet! Nothing else mattered until a hand flew out at him partnered with a name. Together, Amon snapped out of his daze.

"Bailey... Adams?" He echoed softly, blinking at the hand before finally accepting it. Not only accepted it, but rose it to his lips and kissed it. "You have a lovely name. My name is Amon." Even after kissing it Amon couldn't bear to let the hand go. The skin was so suple, so pure. So warm! He may never have another chance to touch him. And with that thought in mind, he loosely kept his hand in his, milking it for all it was worth. "Why are you seated all alone?"

Bailey screamed very loudly on the inside. This would've been incredibly romantic if he had been the one kissing and the person on the receiving end was a girl. And preferably not in public. Bailey's eyes dashed frantically from side to side, looking to see if anyone had seen this very unorthodox turn of events. Luckily, he had hidden himself in a pretty secluded corner and most everyone had gone off to dance. The touch of the young man's lips seared the skin on Bailey's hand like fire, making the pink flush on his cheeks turn considerably darker. Swallowing the horrible lump that had formed in his throat, Bailey watched in horror as only Amon's lips left his hand. He had to suppress the incredibly strong urge to jerk his hand out of the other's grasp.

"I…," Bailey said, simply at a loss for the right words to describe just how much discomfort he was in. "I…just needed…a bit of air, that's all."

As he stuttered, Bailey carefully pried Amon's hand off of his own using his free left hand and then dropped it as if it were something slimy and disgusting. Half of Bailey wanted to start shouting about how what just happened was completely inappropriate and how he wondered if the man had any sense of manners at all. However, the other half was quite content with remaining awkward and pretending, in an obvious way, like nothing had happened. And though both halves of Bailey agreed that running away would be the best course of action, his body was incredibly intent on staying frozen to the spot, having been paralyzed by embarrassment and shock.

"Y-you're not going to go dance with any of the l-lovely women here, Mr…? I-is Amon your surname or your given name?" said Bailey in an attempt at casual conversation. Unfortunately, it was blatantly evident that he was in extremely distressed. Whenever he got nervous, he would unconsciously smooth down the hair on the back of his head every fifteen seconds or so. "I've…never heard your name before. Are you not from London?"

Although the disgust was fairly evident, Amon didn't seem to mind getting his hand pried off so dramatically. At least, his expression was hardly phased. Only disturbed by the slightest hint of a pout that was quick to die and reborn as a amused smirk. "Hear something?" He asked quietly, the glass brought back to his lips while his eyes darted from side to side along with Bailey. He didn't see anything. Was he supposed to?

Before long the other man stopped his frantic search for... whatever it was, and so did Amon, smiling like a pleased cat that just got himself a tasty bird. "Dance with lovely girls? Why, no, I have no interest." He explained honestly. There was such a surge in him to blurt out even more than that but a calmer side to his tangled mind reminded him that he should really be more delicate than that. The poor man was shy enough as it was! Oh, but if only he could show him. Prove to him!

The romantic thoughts dancing in his skull all but evaporated as a flash of surprise struck him. Oh no, he had almost forgotten he was supposed to be rich! For all he knew he didn't have a last name, much less a rich, noble family name! What did his name sound like?

"Amon... is a given name. I'm not surprised you don't know who I am. This is my first time visiting England. I'm actually from France, you see." Brilliant! Brilliant! Now if only he spoke French.

"But I'm really not all that interesting." He muttered, putting his now empty glass down on the arm of the cushioned chair beside. "I'd much rather learn about you. Why aren't you waltzing with the women here?"

"Oh, I-I see. I apologize for not knowing you," Bailey mumbled, embarrassed. Ah, so the man is French, he thought to himself. Well, that explained everything, but it still didn't help that he thought it was incredibly odd to have another man kiss his hand. He unconsciously rubbed the back of his violated hand as if he were trying to wipe off the feel of Amon's lips. Then Bailey started to rub it even harder when the young man stated he wanted to learn more about him. Although this was a relatively friendly request, the fact that it had been preceded by an action associated with romantic attraction made it seem like it was coated with subtext. Unfortunately, Bailey's legs still refused to march their way out of the room and his attendance to manners made it impossible for him to leave.

"I'm afraid, sir, that I don't find the women here very agreeable. Well, that isn't to say they aren't fine ladies, it's just that if every one of them is supposed to look like someone my mother wants me to marry, I'm afraid they quite lose their appeal. That is," Bailey added quickly, realizing he sounded like some Don Juan, "I just, um, I'm not, ah…ready for that sort of relationship. Wait, I meant…I mean, I don't really…um, you see, I just haven't found the right one yet."

That was a complete and utter lie, but at least it was better than admitting that he really was some kind of Don Juan. Looking back, he had been with many, many women, but always bailed out on them when they wanted more than just courting and flowers and chocolates and kisses. But it wasn't as if he'd had relations of the intimate nature with them, Bailey rationalized. He certainly wasn't after their bodies or their money. He was just after the romance. And all romance stories always end when the man and woman get married. Perhaps there was "the right one" out there somewhere…and even though Bailey would never admit it, even to himself, that person would not be a woman.

"Well, um, sir, it was good to make your acquaintance, but I'm afraid I need to depart for my manor this evening. There are some, ah, things I need to take care of before tomorrow," he lied. This was probably the most awkward night he had ever had and he was very eager to return to his home, even if it meant being alone and companionless.

"Oh no, please..." His voice hushed absently at the apology, all his attention brought to Bailey's hands suddenly. And just as the strange man appeared completely captivated by their rapid movements, again those absurd eyes snapped back to where they were just a moment ago, and yet another polite smile blossomed on his lips. "Don't apologize." He finished, a hint of laughter in his voice. The other man was rubbing the exact hand he had kissed all throughout their little chat and, of course, a totally different idea as to why crept into mind. Why, he must have liked it! That had to be why. Perhaps he should give him another kiss? Somewhere else, perhaps?

Oh, but just as the brunette stepped closer Bailey ruined the moment for him. Speaking of girls again. Sigh.

Amon stood soberly on his end and listened, tiny buds of nervous hope rooting themselves in his chest. He had to fight off the urge to grab for the other. He hadn't found the one yet! He hadn't! It was a open invitation! For anyone...

Just as happiness came, it was gone again to make room for fickle rage that barely showed itself except in those antsy hands of his, which were currently clenched into tight fists. He hadn't found the one, yes, but the "one" could be mistaken for anyone! Any man or vile wench could snag Bailey away from him. No! No! He wouldn't allow it! He'd sell his soul if he had to (if he had one to give, and did he?), but he wouldn't let anyone else touch his Bailey. No one on this rotten earth could love him as much as he did, and he'd damn prove it!

Wait, what?!

"So soon?!" Amon gasped, his body jerked forward in hopes of grabbing Bailey and changing his mind somehow. Persuade him to stay but... he instead chose to remain silent and stay still. "Alright, it was a pleasure to meet you... Bailey Adams." With a delicate bow, Amon offered a smile but didn't leave. Just in case Bailey changed his mind which he sadly didn't intend to do. No matter. This wouldn't be their parting place this evening. He still had to kiss Bailey good night.

Bailey flinched as Amon jerked toward him, his body tense as if prepared to fight the young man. If he thought kissing another man was okay, who knew what else he thought would be acceptable? However, the moment of panic subsided as the man bowed elegantly to him. Bailey was still wary, but at least the strawberry-blonde didn't look like he was about to scream, 'Help! Rape!'

"Yes, it was…nice meeting you too," Bailey replied nervously. With that, he fled the scene, dodging behind servants and slipping through abandoned rooms until he reached the front door. Looking behind his shoulder, he didn't spot his mother, father, rich women, or very odd young men pursuing him. He stepped silently outside and breathed a huge sigh of relief as he saw his coach waiting for him.

"Take me home, Maurice," he said to his driver as he practically dove into the carriage. The ride back to his manor was uneventful and Bailey contented himself by absentmindedly watching the snowflakes drift past the window. All of the lights were burning in the mansion when he returned and the servants eagerly took his coat and gloves. Although it was warmer inside, it didn't help Bailey's mood. It had been a horrible failure of an evening coupled with a very bizarre and frightening end. At least he could go to sleep and be rid of today, only to start a new one tomorrow, filled with longing, hope, and imaginary romantic sunsets.

Bailey entered the drawing room and sprawled onto one of the high-backed armchairs, unbuttoning his waistcoat so that it hung limply from his shoulders and undoing the top two buttons on his shirt. There was a bottle of brandy on the table next to the chair and Bailey dared to pour himself a glass. It was only there for show or for guests when he had them. However, he felt he needed some right now. Taking a sip of the golden-brown liquid, Bailey nearly spat it back out, but forced himself to swallow the burning stream of fire. Be a man, Bailey, be a man! he thought to himself. As he was trying to be man, he coughed violently as he felt the aftereffects of the brandy. He wouldn't have been surprised if smoke was coming out of his ears.

Bailey sat looking at the flames flickering in the fireplace, carefully sipping his alcohol like a toddler does with his juice, until tiredness overcame him and he drifted off to sleep in his chair.

The young man must have appeared odd (or rather, more odd than usual) to anyone glancing upon him. At that moment he looked simply lost in time, entranced and embraced by some invisible force that just kept him standing there, solid in the middle of the room. No one could imagine all the chaotic noise occupying his head. Voices sprang out from all directions. Each one bound to a separate emotion. Panic, rage, joy, and above all else, obsession. The need and the want. The desire for this sort of thing to never happen again. To anyone else, this was all very laughable. But to Amon, he seriously couldn't imagine having to do this any longer. Watch him leave.

Again.

And again.

Never looking back...

Never thinking twice about it...

Over and over in his sick mind, the same scene. But not anymore. He'll change that! He'd never be left behind again. His love and devotion will be proven. The cost of it all meant nothing.

Amon closed his eyes and ticked off the seconds in his mind. At ten he reopened his eyes and quickly dashed after his strawberry-blonde love. All the people and all the sounds of the mansion vanished for him, and for a short while Amon was running about blind and deaf until a arctic wind slapped him hard across the face, and left the brunette lost and confused, standing alone outside in the snow with his eyes glued on the form of a familiar figure jumping into a carriage.

The poor man sighed. Oh good, he thought with a childish smile, I didn't lose him.

As the carriage pulled out into the street, Amon followed right behind, his every step careful to keep up, but also to keep some distance. He wanted his visit to be a surprise, after all!

Not only that, but he didn't want some nasty ol' servant to spot him when they finally stopped at the house.

For a long while Amon sat out in the gardens, idly snipping the tips of dry branches off of shrubs with his trusty blade and pouting every so often into his dark and murky reflection, realizing only now that his hat was far gone. When did all this happen? But never mind all that. Look! his mind told him. Look, the lights are out!

Indeed they were when he turned back around to face them. The very sight of the massive house so dark struck his heart with glee and the man bolted up upon his feet, racing immediately to...

...where was he heading?

His dirty finger tips ran along the wall of the house like the noses of blood hounds in search of a fox. One that only they knew of because Amon himself hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing. All he knew was that all this seemed awfully familiar. As though he knew... the servant's door! Ah, here it was. Of course, of course. Everyone knew that rich folks had special doors for their servants! But this one appeared locked.

His knife still clenched in one hand, Amon crouched before the small wooden door and slowly worked the tip of his blade into the wedge between knob and frame, yanking and twisting the knife until chips of wood fell to his feet and the door finally opened without a problem. Closing it again was a totally different matter.

"This house feels strange."

As Amon wandered through the cluttered halls, he couldn't shake the awful feeling of dejavu. The wallpaper, the portraits, even the smell of the house triggered something faint deep inside. However, none of it struck a chord. No forgotten images came to mind in this house, and no voices. Just the tiniest hint of something. Something... missing.

The man was hesitant at first to enter the large drawing room, what with the fire cracking and the sliver of someone's arm hanging off a looming plush chair. But the more Amon stood there and observed this unnerving figure, the more he realized that this unexpected person wasn't moving. Could he have been asleep? And who exactly was it? Curiosity tugged at him yet again and slowly he began to gather the courage to come closer. Two steps at first, then four, gradually gathering momentum until he was finally along side the dozing figure in the chair. Once there Amon had to smile.

The street rat gently took the glass in the dozing Bailey's hand away from him, and replaced it upon the tiny table, pausing suddenly, then taking a timid sip from the bottle of brandy sitting there. It was far too tempting for a peasant not to take a sip of such a strong drink. Especially brandy. Warmed the bones.

He licked the liquor from his lips and silently breathed a happy sigh, eyes closed for just a moment. It must be wonderful living here. The comfort of a fire and chair were luxuries he himself couldn't provide for Bailey, but he could maybe buy a house some how. A small place where they could live and be happy. Together.

"You'd like it, Love." Amon whispered. Slowly he kneeled down in front of the other man and gingerly brushed away strands of hair from his face. He had such a angelic look! Ah, but no time to watch him. He had to leave before they came. Should he put him in bed? No, that would only wake him. Such a shame, such a shame.

A careful kiss found its way upon Bailey's lips and the sensation drove a shiver up the other man's spine. As much as he longed to deepen it (among possibly other things), well, he had the self control not to.

"Good night. I love you." He murmured sweetly.

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The next few days had been much warmer than he was used to. The snow and frost on the ground had become something like a slush, which reminded Amon of mashed potatoes with gravy, which reminded him of food and how hungry he was. And somehow of Bailey.

Bailey, Bailey, Bailey, Bailey, Bailey-- his mind was plagued by his name! Not that he had never spent days and days thinking of him, but now that he had the opportunity to meet him face-to-face, why, he was even more fixated on him! Especially his name! Bailey Adams. Bailey Adams! Bailey Adams...

"Bailey," Amon smiled fondly down at the knife smiling back at him. Dirty fingers ran along it's crisp edges and left behind slug trails of blood that trickled down and spotted his dress pants in brownish red.

The warm weather brought on many shoppers which was terrible news for Amon.

"Shoo, shoo!" The bakers hissed.

"Get away from here!" Shouted the tailors.

"You're not welcome here!" Screeched the butchers.

Ah yes, now that the weather was getting a touch warmer Amon wasn't allowed to stay anywhere. Lord forbid a potential buyer noticed a sick homeless man near your shop! The poor man couldn't even sit on the edge of the sidewalk without catching the eyes of many disgusted individuals. But this was the price he had to pay for lingering in such a rich neighborhood.

"Bailey lives here. I have to stay." He reminded his dangerous companion as he rose to his feet. Behind him a angry shoe maker stood with his hands on his hips. Where to now?

It was on his way to the small park near by when he heard it. It hit him like a shot of ice cold water. A voice like a angel crying, "flowers! Flowers for sale!"

The voice belonged, upon further observation, to a little blonde girl. The flowers she was selling wasn't real flowers, but what appeared to be flowers made out of paper.

"Flowers, sir?" She asked sweetly to him. Amon stammered. How long had he been standing still?

"I-I have no money."

"Oh..." With a disappointed look the child pulled a single paper flower from her bouquet and offered it to the brunette saying, "that's okay, sir. You don't have to pay."

His heart must have stopped right there. Taking the flower daintly in his dirty hands, Amon was practically gawking at the small child as she smiled at him and left, continuing her cry.

"Flowers! Would anyone like to buy some flowers today?"

Amon didn't take his eyes off her. She was so delicate and precious. Her kindness was so raw and pure. Everything about her was like music! The romantic image of--

Later into the afternoon there was no longer any sign of the young flower girl in the park. Nor was she to be found in the streets or at home. Oh, but who cared for such petty things? The rich certainly didn't notice some little peasant girl gone missing.

And how could they when there was so much better news? Like the mysterious gift that found it's way into sir Bailey Adam's desk when no servant (at least that was what they said, but aristocrats knew better) had ever seen it before, much less put it in Master's room. But as mysterious as the little bundle was all splattered red and white and covered in lace, no one wanted to spoil the surprise of what laid inside it. It was obviously from an admirer! Why, just look at the love letter on top...