Morgan: 14
Walter: 21
"You have enough money?" Will asked, a hand on Walter's shoulder who rolled his eyes with his normally bright smile.
"We have enough money," Walter assured. "We're not about to buy Notre Dame."
"We won't be back until tomorrow morning," Hannibal pressed on. "Possibly later."
"I have been living on my own for the last four years. We'll be fine. I promise," Walter guaranteed, glancing over to where Morgan stood, looking around them at the bustling city street where a massive amount of road construction was being done and dozens of cars were angrily beeping their horns in a poorly made roundabout with orange barricades. "Ready to go Einstein?" Morgan looked back over to Walter, and it took a moment or two for the kid to be pulled from his thoughts, but he gave a nod with a brilliant smile covering his lips. "We'll see you tomorrow."
Walter turned away from Will and Hannibal and moved over to Morgan, a hand taking the younger boy's shoulder to pull him down the road. "How do you know where we're going?" Morgan asked as he let the hand guide him through the streets of people passing.
"I've been here a few times. I like to travel on my school breaks." Walter slung his arm over Morgan's shoulders and rubbed at the shell of his gelled hair. Morgan tried to shrug out of the grip, but Walter held him tightly, only digging his fingers further into the kid's hair to mess it up with a chuckle. "Spoiled little thing. All proper and prissy. Relax, will ya?"
"Wally, stop," Morgan grumbled, trying to push at Walter once more and Walter only let go with a jump as Morgan's fingers found his ribs and dug into them.
"Hey!" Walter hissed behind a forced laugh from being tickled. "I'm trying to have a good time with you and you're going to start acting like this? I haven't seen you in months."
"You could always come and visit us in Sweden, you know," Morgan grumbled, arms folded over his chest, though he kept up his pace with Walter to not get lost in the crowds. The angry traffic was slowly being left behind as they wandered down smaller streets. "You'd like it there."
"It's cold there," Walter shot back, taking Morgan's arm to pull him across the street.
"It gets cold in Italy too."
Walter halted once they were on the opposite sidewalk and turned to face Morgan, hands on both of his shoulders to look into those wintery blue eyes that were overcast with a frown. "I promise that I will come visit if you can name one fun thing there is to do there." Morgan's eyes blinked several times with a new brightness, but it quickly dimmed before Morgan looked away and pulled from Walter's grip. Walter gave a loud laugh and pulled Morgan along with him. "See? All there is is the ABBA museum. Who wants to see that?"
"ABBA has good music," Morgan pointed out. "You're just upset because Father told you you couldn't listen to them in the house anymore after having their songs on repeat for three days."
"Alright, Einstein," Walter challenged with a grin. "What is there to see?"
"There's a bunch of castles and museums," Morgan suggested hopefully. "Art galleries."
"You've seen one, you've seen them all," Walter teased, tossing a glance at the younger boy over his shoulder. He wasn't about to make it easy on Morgan. That wasn't his job as an older role model. He was meant to torment and teach, not spoil and pamper like his parents enjoyed doing for the kid. Walter had to toughen him up. He was such a delicate little flower. Walter could blow him over with a single huff and puff. "Now you're sounding like you don't even want me there."
"We could hike through Sarek National Park," Morgan tried once more, speeding up his stride to be side by side with Walter who was leading them towards a large train station where businessmen and women were walking around in nice clothing with briefcases and cell phones pressed to their ears as they marched this way and that in a hurry. "You would like it there. There are lakes we could visit."
"You don't like water," Walter pointed out, a hand digging into his jean pockets before he located two pieces of paper, passing one over to Morgan who took it and glanced over it. RER C. Morgan looked up and watched as Walter glanced around before finding the right gate they wanted and heading for it. Morgan followed a step behind.
"There's an ice hotel that I've been wanting to see," Morgan offered, a little more desperation in his voice.
"Cold." Morgan frowned, anger in his blood, and he purposefully stepped on the back of Walter's converse, pulling it from the back of the man's foot. Walter stumbled slightly and looked down at his shoe before shooting Morgan a dark look for the act. "You're such a child," Walter scolded in a low voice as he bent over to slip his foot back into his shoe. "I don't know why I put up with you."
"The ice hotel melts every year, so it has to be rebuilt," Morgan pressed on, eyes once more dropping to the ticket in his hand. "The interior is always different. They make ice sculptures, and the rooms are made out of ice. It's only one night. They have a warm room that you spend the rest of the time in. They have saunas and hot showers and warm drinks whenever you'd like them. They also..."
Walter stood upright and paused as Morgan's voice stopped. His brows furrowed in curiosity as he looked over the well-dressed kid who was simply staring at the train ticket in his hand.
"Einstein?" Walter asked cautiously.
Morgan's eyes read the words once more across the ticket before he looked up. Versailles château – Rive gauche.
"Versailles?" Morgan asked, a smile tugging at his lips, though he tried not to let it show. Walter didn't deserve the satisfaction for playing at Morgan's heartstrings for affection.
"Oui, Le Château de Versailles," Walter agreed with a nod of his head. "And if we don't hurry, we're going to miss our train." Walter was nearly certain that the boy didn't hear him because Morgan didn't move. He simply continued to wear a half smile that was desperately trying to hide away. Walter wasn't exactly sure what the odd tug in his chest was, but it was painful, and he frowned. "Come on, Einstein. You want to see it, don't you? Not just think about it?"
"Yes," Morgan answered breathlessly.
"Then come on." Walter snatched up Morgan's wrist and pulled Morgan back along through the train station, over white marbled floors and through swirling metal work before they entered a large green train to sit on one of the benches.
Walter glanced over at Morgan who was basically vibrating in his seat. Walter couldn't stop the smile over his lips, and he reached out unconsciously to push back a dirty blonde wave from Morgan's face. Morgan's eyes jumped to Walter and Walter quickly looked away, embarrassment filling every limb of his body, though he wasn't exactly sure why.
"Are you excited?" Walter asked, clearing his throat to somehow push the flush from his skin.
"Extremely. I've always wanted to see Versailles. It's supposed to be covered in gold."
Walter gave an absent nod and his fingers picked at the peeling leather in the seat beside his leg. "I'll make sure to come visit you guys soon. I'm sorry I haven't been home lately. School has just been busy."
Walter could feel Morgan's eyes looking over him carefully before they stopped somewhere, and Walter froze as gentle fingers pressed into a bruise that was on his arm. "What happened to you?" Morgan asked.
Walter pulled his arm free and tugged on his shirt sleeve in hopes of covering the markings over his bicep. "Nothing. I just got hurt during a practice."
"How?" Morgan asked in disbelief, hand once more reaching for Walter's arm, but Walter quickly snatched up Morgan's hand with a tight smile.
"I tripped and fell into some weights during the morning workout. I'm alright. Really."
Morgan's brow rose in question, but he must have accepted the answer, because he didn't push Walter. Instead, he gave a single nod and pulled his hand, almost hesitantly, from Walter's grip. Walter quickly released his hold and rubbed his hands over his jeans.
He didn't like lying. And he especially didn't like lying to Morgan. Morgan was his best friend and had always been his best friend. Ever since they were children, they had been friends and Walter had tried never to lie to Morgan. It wasn't even that this was a lie. It was the truth, just not the full truth. Walter wasn't even sure if he could lie at this point in his life. Hannibal would have him strung from his toes if he lied and he didn't want to put that working theory to the test. Besides, what was the big difference between being tripped and tripping himself? The schematics and fine details of it really weren't all that important.
"How old are you now, Einstein?" Walter questioned, desperate to find a new line of dialogue for them to engage in. One that didn't involve his injuries and one that didn't leave them in silence. "Nine, ten?"
"Fourteen," Morgan corrected hotly. "You know this. We came out to see you for my birthday. We went to the Ca' Rezzonico."
"I don't know what you like so much about that stuffy old building."
"It is the perfect representation of Venetian life in the Rococo period," Morgan defended. "Do you have any idea how long ago that building was built? It was made in-"
"-1660 by Baldassare Longhena, the greatest Baroque architect in Venice," Walter said mockingly over the top of Morgan with a small smile. Morgan fell silent, a blush on his cheeks and he looked away as the train finally started off, the grinding loud around them, though the cart was decently empty.
"What-What is going on at school?" Morgan stuttered out; embarrassment clear in his voice as he watched the world pass outside of the window. "What's so bad that you can't come visit? I..." There was a small pause. "I miss you; you know. You hardly answer my letters anymore."
"Do you know how hard it is to find time between schoolwork to answer your letters, Einstein?" Walter asked with a roll of his eyes. "Why can't you get a phone like a normal kid?"
"Father doesn't approve of me having a phone," Morgan explained softly. "Otherwise, I might talk to all of my friends and not focus on schoolwork."
"Friends?" Walter asked curiously. Morgan gave a minute shrug of his shoulders and Walter frowned. "You don't have any friends."
"Why do I need friends when I have you?" Morgan met his gaze for a moment and Walter stared at the innocence in the blue that once more tore at something in his chest. Morgan quickly looked away. "I'm still homeschooled, I don't have much time to go out to make friends. Not that anyone would want to be my friend anyways. What could I possibly offer?"
"Einstein," Walter scolded gently, a hand naturally reaching out to mess with the kid's hair again. "It's not healthy for me to be the only one in your life."
"You must have a lot of homework, huh?" Morgan gave a nervous little smile and Walter frowned. "Father gives me so much to do that sometimes I feel like I'm drowning." There was a slight laugh. "And Dad works me to the bone. I'm all cut up under my shirt. I ran into some tree branches."
"Doing what?" Walter stole a quick look around the train, finding only a small handful of people who all looked more consumed in their mobile devices or reading materials than their conversation.
"We have trees in the backyard like we did in Germany, Wally. You would know that if you'd come to visit more during the summer instead of just during the holidays when everything is covered in snow."
"What happened?"
"We were playing hide and hunt." Morgan gave a shrug and once more looked out of the window and at the fields of wildflowers around them. "Dad was chasing after me and I tripped and fell down a hill. I got back to my feet and just ran without checking my surroundings. I ran into a thicket of low branches, and they ripped through my shirt. One was thick and knocked the wind out of me. Let's say that I had a very stern reprimand when Dad finally caught up to me. It was pathetic. I couldn't catch my breath until Father helped me."
Walter nodded, knowing the sensation well. The panicked desperation as his lungs refused to pull air back into them and only forced what little air he had out. He could feel Hannibal's hand to his sternum and his firm voice ordering him to breathe while blood poured from his freshly broken nose.
"And what is your homework about?"
Morgan tipped his head side to side. "Mostly medical procedures now. We don't talk about the rest of it much anymore. Not since you left, and I told them I wanted to be a surgeon."
"You do?" Walter asked curiously.
"See, you don't read my letters!" Morgan pointed out, nudging his elbow painfully into Walter's ribs. Walter winced but did his best to hide the motion. "I told you that I did. And you and I are already far more advanced in that aspect than normal people. And I..." Morgan trailed off, chewing on his tongue, eyes hallowed and dead. He quickly shook his head and plastered a smile over his face, causing Walter to want to ask what was wrong, but he didn't have the chance. "I like to help people." Those weren't the words that Morgan was going to say, those weren't the words that Morgan wanted to say. What had he wanted to say? "What about you? Are you still working on sports medicine?"
"No," Walter replied with a shake of his head. "I'm in math now."
"Gross."
Walter snickered at the comment. "I want to be a teacher, but because I changed my major, I'm taking extra credits to make up for the time I've wasted. That's why I haven't come to visit. I don't really have the time. I'm kind of fucking myself up with this trip. I should really be at home, studying."
"You want to be a teacher?" The words were slow and tasted carefully by Morgan who looked thoroughly confused by the concept. "Why on earth do you want to be a teacher?"
"I want to take something that is difficult to understand and make it something that everyone can do. I want people to enjoy learning." Walter shrugged with his words and slouched back on the bench beside Morgan. Morgan's brow was arched, and Walter frowned. "What's that look for?"
"You hate learning."
"But you don't," Walter pointed out softly. "You read constantly, you get excited by new information and want to tell everyone and their dog about how the Pony Express lasted like five years or something."
"Eighteen months," Morgan corrected before he could stop himself and he could feel a heat come to his cheeks as Walter bit down on his bottom lip. Walter had said the wrong thing on purpose and Morgan had fallen for it just as he always did. He always had to correct, inform, make sure that the world knew exactly why his nickname was what it was.
"You find joy in expanding your mind and that stupid little smile you get when you figure something out is something that I've never seen on anyone else. I want other people to get that same stupid little smile," Walter continued in a quiet tone. "I want their eyes to light up and their heads to jerk up to immediately tell someone what they found out. I want..." Walter's eyes met blue and his mouth went dry. "More of you in the world."
Morgan snorted his laughter and shook his head, playfully hitting Walter's arm who once more winced as the bruise was knocked into, but Morgan didn't notice. "You do not want more of me in the world." Morgan shook his head. "You're crazy."
"Maybe," Walter agreed softly. Morgan stared at him a moment more, a silence falling as something heavy settled between the two of them. Something dense that Walter couldn't name, and he was grateful that the train's whistle blew, and they came to a halt, signaling that their ride was over. "We have a bit of a walk. Come with me."
Morgan got from his seat and followed Walter's strong steps, watching the man's movements curiously. There was a slight limp in Walter's steps and Morgan blinked several times. He wasn't sure he had ever seen Walter limp before, save for once during some training.
Hannibal got a shovel to the face and dropped instantly, nose bleeding. Walter had turned to run, but a hand had snatched up his ankle and Walter had dropped, knee hitting the shovel. He couldn't walk afterwards and when he finally could through a largely blue and purple swollen kneecap, he had limped for a good week.
Morgan wanted to ask, but after the bruising on Walter's arm, he found himself hesitating. Would Walter react the same way? He stepped a little closer and took Walter's hand in his, shocked by his own boldness. Walter stumbled to stop and turned back to face Morgan with a questioning tip of his head.
"What did you do to your leg?"
"Someone stepped on my shoe and scuffed up my ankle," Walter answered in a voice that was far quicker than it should have been, and Morgan pursed his lips, his other hand taking Walter's arm to hold him in place so that the man couldn't move. Walter sighed. "I'm fine," he assured. "I mean it."
"You wouldn't lie to me, would you Wally?" Morgan asked softly, pleading in his voice as he gave a slight tug on Walter's hand.
"I wouldn't lie to you Morgan."
Morgan still didn't look convinced, but at some of the stares he could feel on them, he let the conversation go and dropped Walter's hand. Even if they would never step back into this city together again and if people here most likely didn't care, he didn't need to put that kind of attention onto Walter. Walter wasn't like that, would never be like that.
Morgan had never had an issue with the world seeing him as he was, and he was certain that Walter could see straight through him and knew exactly what type of a person he was. Walter had to know that Morgan was gay, and Walter had to know how it felt to have his chest go tight when he saw someone he liked. Walter had to know exactly that that was what Morgan had been feeling since yesterday. Since Walter had met them at the airport.
Morgan hadn't expected the months to change Walter as much as they had. He hadn't expected Walter's coca cola dark hair to have grown out from its usual short haircut and it must have been a challenge to how Hannibal wanted him to present himself. He hadn't expected the locks to fall across Walter's forehead and into his buttery brown eyes that were somehow far brighter when they fell on Morgan than they were when they looked away.
He hadn't expected to see Walter with more muscle and a five o'clock shadow over his cheeks and chin, nose still a little crooked from having been broken multiple times but still splattered with freckles. He hadn't expected Walter to be wearing something more fitting for a day out, more presentable than his normal soccer uniform or workout clothes. He just... Hadn't expected Walter to look so grown up. He hadn't expected Walter to leave him behind once again, but that was what Walter was good at. Leaving Morgan behind. He didn't do it on purpose, but it was a constant and it only made Morgan feel that much more distant from his best friend. A friend he hadn't seen or spoken to in what felt like years but had probably only been five months at most.
"Let's go," Morgan said quickly before Walter had a chance to tease him about his staring. "It's getting hot out."
Walter sighed and spared Morgan by glancing at the world around them before squinting up at the sun. "It is a bit warmer today, isn't it? Maybe we can stop at Une Glace à Paris or La Fabrique Givrée when we get back into the city." Walter nodded his head down the street and Morgan followed him, unbuttoning his dress shirt sleeves and rolling them up to aid in cooling down the warmth from the sun.
"Aren't they expensive?"
Walter gave a shrug. "They would fit your standards."
"I don't need fancy ice cream to be happy, Wally."
"I suppose not. Forget I offered then." He shot Morgan a smile and Morgan rolled his eyes.
"You're absolutely obtuse," Morgan grumbled, though there was no bite in the words as his eyes trailed up the endless row of tall trees they had come to. They lined the street in a pit of gravel, their branches high above the ground and covering the ground in a thin layer of bright green leaves that helped block out the sun.
Walter chuckled as the boy's steps stopped once more and he gave Morgan a moment to let the surroundings sink in before he took the kid's arm. "Come on, Einstein. This isn't even the impressive part."
Morgan stumbled after Walter and down the long line of trees. Only when they came to the end of it did the world open back up and Morgan found himself in a parking lot with tour buses that blocked the view of a large and ornate building.
They wandered through the grey buses and through throngs of people until they stopped in front of a metal-worked fence, each and every inch of it covered in a shimmering gold. Each fleur de lis that slowly built up into a crown above the entrance to the gate made of gold.
Beyond the metal work stood Versailles, tall and proud. The roof was made of a deep and slanting blue, statues were carved delicately into the spaces between each window and a large balcony made up the palace, each inch of it that was not crafted marble once more draped in a rich gold. The marble that the courtyard was made from shone brightly with the warm morning sun and the French flag waved in the wind.
"I think I get why the people were so upset and started the revolution now," Morgan whispered, and Walter laughed brightly with a shake of his head.
"Let them eat cake," Walter quoted, shoving his hands into his pockets, and looking carefully over the kid beside him who could not seem to tear his ogling away from the architecture.
"She never actually said that," Morgan continued in a soft voice, attention more pointed to in front of him than on Walter. "If she had said anything of the sort it would have been Qu'ils mangent de la brioche. Brioche is a sweet bread, very different from cake. And the quote has been said all throughout history. You can search through 16th-century Germany folklore and find a similar antidote of why the hungry poor don't simply eat Krosem, another sweet bread. The first person to put that quote into writing was Rousseau in Book VI of his Confessions. He had said that a great princess had said the words. Now, Marie Antoinette was a princess, but she was just a girl at the time that the book was written and nowhere near France. She wasn't the princess that Rousseau was referring to. If you-"
"Do you ever breathe, Einstein?" Walter demanded with another laugh. Morgan fell silent with a flush and looked away quickly from where Walter's eyes were on him. Walter sighed. "I-I'm sorry. Who really said the quote?"
"It doesn't matter," Morgan whispered, but he looked up with a hurt and fake smile. "Can we go in?"
"Einstein, I want to know," Walter enforced, a concerned look on his face. "Please tell me."
"You're not going to make a very good teacher if you make fun of your students for their knowledge."
Walter looked at the cobblestone ground and kicked at a loose rock. "I suppose I won't be, will I?"
"It was Marie-Thérèse, a Spanish princess who married a French king. But she said something more along the lines of la croûte de pâté, which you know is pie crust. Over the next century, French royals would be blamed for the quote, though I personally believe that the revolutionists attributed it to Marie Antoinette, so they had more reason to hate her, despite how charitable and concerned she was over France's poor population." Morgan waved his hand to dismiss the answer and stepped away from Walter. "Can we please see the inside now?"
Walter nodded and followed Morgan toward the side of the building where they stepped through a gate and into the courtyard, Morgan's head tipped back so he could look once more at the building.
"Here, I want to show you my favorite place," Walter muttered, stepping past Morgan who stared for a moment longer before racing after Walter's retreating form and around other tourists in his way. Walter smiled as he listened to the eager footsteps chase after him before they slowed beside him. "It's breathtaking."
Walter guided Morgan through a few halls until they reached a line to a set of doors. The pair were quiet as they waited for their turn to enter the room and when they did, Morgan stopped in the doorway, blocking everything. Walter gave a fond smile and pulled Morgan along so that he wouldn't stop others from enjoying.
Walter's eyes stayed on Morgan as Morgan slowly stepped through the long hall. Crystal chandeliers fell every few feet, catching the light from the multitude of arched windows that were exactly opposite from panels of mirrors. Each mirror was broken up with golden statues that held up more crystal light fixtures. Thirty painted compositions on the vaulted ceilings were done in the baroque style that Walter knew Morgan liked and the boy nearly fell backwards as his head tipped back to look at them.
"La Galerie Des Glaces," Walter said, a smile pulling at his lips as Morgan's eyes darted to him for a moment before returning to the ceiling. The boy slowly circled, neck craned. "Designed by Jules Hardouin-Mansart and built between 1678 and 1684. It connects the king and queen's bed chambers. The paintings are by Charles Le Brun." Morgan gave a small nod, standing upright once more and rubbing his neck. "There's 357 mirrors," Walter continued, hands behind his back as he slowly stepped through all the bodies around them, eyes still firmly on Morgan who had wandered over to a statue to look over it carefully. "Rouge de Rance pilasters also by Le Brun. Fleur de lis topped by a royal sun between two Gallic roosters."
"How do you know so much?" Morgan asked softly, eyes finally leaving the majesty of the room and landing on Walter, who came to a stop at the blue. Walter gave a small shrug in answer, quickly breaking eye contact and turning toward the ceiling. "You did pay attention in class, didn't you? Dad said you did, but I didn't fucking believe him."
"I struggle to sit still," Walter muttered coldly. "But my movement does not impede my hearing. Father would often discipline me after class when you left."
"He punished you a lot," Morgan agreed. "Though, I think you deserved some of them."
"Did I?"
"Yeah." There was nothing subtle about the way the word was said, and Walter's brows knitted together as he looked over the young boy. "You would talk back all the time or argue with his lessons. You would draw instead of doing the assignments. Do you know how many times you cut yourself on the scalpels after father told you to be careful with them? And you would hide things from him. His textbooks, the chalk for the blackboard, his lesson plans. And you would fall asleep in class all the time too. You were impossible."
Walter leaned over and closer to Morgan, eyes flickering over his face and the hair that the sun liked to bleach a bit blonder in the summer, though it never seemed to color the boy's skin.
"We can't all be fucking perfect like you, can we, Einstein?" Walter asked in a whisper, lips beside Morgan's ear. Walter couldn't be sure, but he swore he could see Morgan shiver with the words. Walter closed his eyes with a deep breath and took a swift step back at the smell of artificial strawberries in Morgan's waves. "Let's keep going."
"Don't you want to stay? You said this was your favorite," Morgan pointed out, spinning around to follow Walter.
"Did I?" Walter mused in disinterest and Morgan couldn't stop the confused expression from covering his face. "Well, I might change my opinion."
"What? Why?"
Walter only shook his head, eyes looking everywhere around the room but at Morgan. "Never mind. Carpe diem and all that shit. You might want to impress someone one day with a date here."
"Yeah, sure," Morgan mumbled, mouth suddenly very dry.
Walter came to a stop and glanced over Morgan carefully. "What?" he asked after a moment.
"It's difficult to make people like art," Morgan answered softly. "People don't just enjoy going to museums and stuff. They must be taught to appreciate it."
"People?" Walter questioned and Morgan could only blush at the word that Walter had picked out. Morgan wasn't ready to tell his best friend that he was gay, and it was ridiculous. Their parents were men, and his own parents were women, but somehow, he just couldn't say that to Walter, even though he was certain that Walter already knew. "Guess you're right."
"Are we strange? To enjoy things like this?"
"Yes," Walter answered with a shrug. At Morgan's frown, he quickly corrected himself. "I mean, I feel that way, but this suits you. Things like this have always suited you."
"What do you mean?"
"You're no different from how you were always going to be," Walter answered, leading the way through a door and into the Grand Appartement de la Reine. Morgan once more came to a stop to gaze at the room that was gaudy and covered in a mash of pink floral wallpaper. Two large chandeliers fell on either side of the bed that matched the wallpaper and were also covered in gold.
"What I was destined to be," Morgan mused softly, his hand snatching up Walter's arm so the man would stop walking. Morgan's eyes glanced towards Walter who stopped obediently, but who didn't meet his gaze. His eyes were trained to the gold and there they stayed, even after Morgan released his grip.
"Yes," Walter affirmed with a nod.
"And what about you?"
Walter gave a shrug, eyes dropping down to the four-poster bed that was covered in a ridiculous bedspread. "I was going to be a normal American kid from humble origins, going to college on a scholarship but with a poor education. Maybe drop out to chase some stupid baseball fantasy that would leave me somehow further in debt than I was already. Father changed that. Now I speak three and a half other languages," -Morgan snickered and nudged into Walter at the mention of how rubbish he still was at German and Morgan was happy to see a small smile on Walter's lips- "I know and appreciate more about art than I ever have, history, geography, and I am more than capable of things that a soldier or a doctor can do."
The smile fell and there was a resentful sigh from the man, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to push it back and Morgan had to wonder if Walter liked his hair being that long or if it really was just to piss off their parents. Morgan would never tell Walter that he enjoyed it longer.
"Would you prefer another life?" Morgan asked, wishing that Walter didn't. Morgan enjoyed exactly what they had, even if there was a lot of blood between all the sugar, but the sugar made it worth it in the end. Especially since he had someone like Walter to share it all with.
Walter tipped his head side to side and chewed on his cheek for a moment before he finally answered. "I wish I could have my mom back, but most of it..." Walter looked to his feet and turned away from Morgan, continuing through the room. Morgan glanced back at the bed for a moment to try to take it in before racing after Walter and taking his arm again to stop him.
"Most of it?" Morgan pushed.
"I would have liked the chance to choose."
"You had more choice than any of us," Morgan was quick to point out, but Walter only frowned at the words. Morgan held a little tighter to Walter's arm and his knees went weak as Walter's hand caressed over his. "Do you hate us?"
"No." The word was sharp and fast.
"You just don't like us."
"Did I ever once say that?" Walter demanded in a soft voice, tone hurt and trying not to distract the people around them who were reading different plaques on what the room was.
"You didn't need to," Morgan said just as softly.
Walter rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Please, Morgan." That was the first time he had been called his name on this trip. It wasn't often that Walter used the name, and it made Morgan shift a little uncomfortably with how it was said. "I would never-"
"Leave us and forget about us?" Morgan whispered, looking down to where Walter's hand was still gently placed over his own. Morgan's hand just clutched even tighter to Walter's arm as if Walter would blow away like smoke if Morgan so much as loosened the grip. "I've never seen you that way. For me, you are like this. You've always been like this."
"How do you mean?"
Morgan licked his lips and the words that left his mouth made him cringe. They weren't what he wanted to say, but there was no way he could say what was on his mind without the whole world spilling from his mouth and he wasn't quite sure he was ready for such an admission.
"A humbly rich person."
"What?" Walter snorted indignantly, calling some eyes to him at the volume he used.
Morgan's eyes shut tightly, the heat from Walter's grip almost unbearable. "Well..." Morgan exhaled sharply. "You have manners, knowledge-"
"Because of Hannibal."
"But your talents and your aptitude and your strength and your bearing are you. That's all you. Not father, not dad. You're brilliant and kind and strong and funny and..." Morgan stole a glance up and immediately regretted meeting those eyes that were on him, bearing into him with an intensity like the sun. "That's you." The words were a weak whisper and Morgan was almost afraid that Walter would take them to mean that Morgan didn't truly believe them. Instead, he was more surprised to see a blush fill Walter's cheeks. "Wally-"
"Let's go," Walter whispered, pulling from Morgan's grip softly.
"Where?"
"You'll see."
The rest of the grounds were absolutely as beautiful as the first two rooms. The attention to detail was breathtaking, but Walter was growing bored of all of the gold by the time they finally got to the gardens, and, despite the heat of the day, Morgan pulled him through all of it. The same stupid little smile on his lips through the entirety of it. The same smile that Walter had said he wanted to see on other people because who wouldn't want to see that stupid little excited smile every day of their lives?
The train ride back was hot and humid. There were more people on the return train home, so much so that Morgan was pressed up against Walter's side to make room for more people to sit on the benches. Eventually Morgan fell asleep against Walter, head leaning on Walter's shoulder and Walter couldn't blame the boy for wanting to escape the afternoon heat that was stifling and so abnormal for France.
Morgan's skin was blistering against Walter's, but he pushed the heat away and found his fingers playing with the dirty blonde locks that fell against pink tinged cheeks, something so picturesque about the lines in the boy's features. Youthful and angelic in their gentleness.
The train came to a stop and Walter pulled himself from his thoughts to glance around at the people trying to hurriedly remove themselves from the sauna box. Walter pushed Morgan from him unceremoniously and the boy jumped upright with a deep inhale.
"Come on, Einstein," Walter grumbled, scooting across the bench and out into the crowd of people. He waited for Morgan and Morgan stepped off and into the summer heat, sweat having already dampened his clothes. "Follow me."
Morgan raced after Walter's quick steps and looked over the man's damp t-shirt that seemed damper to one side and Morgan winced at the idea that he had been curled up into the man on the train. How badly must Walter have looked with some stupid little kid asleep against him.
Walter was silent as they wound their way through streets until they reached Une Glace à Paris, ordering for them in perfect French and Morgan couldn't stop the smile at the several scoops that were handed to him, piled high against Walter's single scoop.
"You know you can splurge sometimes," Morgan scolded with a grin as they left the shop. He licked up the stack, the silky flavors all gathering in one mix, hazelnut, coffee and chocolate greeting him. "Calories don't count when you're on vacation. Not that you need to worry about calories."
"What are you trying to say?" Walter asked with a smug smile and Morgan's grin dropped immediately and he dug back into his ice cream so that he didn't have to speak. "Oh, don't chicken out on me now. What were you trying to say?"
"You know damn well what I mean," Morgan muttered before he took another bit of ice cream into his mouth.
"I'm afraid I don't," Walter pushed, letting the chill of the ice cream fill his body, thankful that the heat of the sun wasn't nearly as bad now. Walter guided them back down the street smiling as Morgan tried to finish his ice cream before the larger serving melted all over his hands.
"Shut up," Morgan hissed. "You know that you're good looking."
"Am I?" Walter said, voice in its normal teasing lit that drove Morgan up a wall. "I mean, my girlfriend says so, but I-"
"You have a girlfriend." Morgan whispered, feet coming to an abrupt halt and a frown on his face before he could stop it. There was a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't exactly name, and it nearly made him physically cry out. "Wh-When..." Morgan cleared his throat and looked away from Walter's thoroughly concerned expression. "When did that happen?"
"Maybe a week or two ago. It's fairly new." The words were dull and monotone as they were said. They were said in politeness as an answer, though Morgan was sure that neither of them really wanted to continue in the conversation with the direction that it was going. "Einstein, you're making a mess."
Morgan's heart stopped and his breathing was punched from his gut as Walter snatched up the hand that held his ice cream and a smoldering hot tongue trailed over his fingers, catching the line of melted cream. Morgan could only stare as Walter's tongue slid up his fingers, up the cone before catching all three flavors on it.
"Wally," Morgan breathed out, catching those maple eyes with his own only to find his own shock reflected at him. Walter cleared his throat and looked away, making his way to a trashcan to throw out the rest of his own ice cream. Morgan couldn't exactly find it in himself to move though. His mouth was dry, and he could only stare.
"Are you finished with yours?" Walter asked with a weak voice. Morgan could only give a single nod and Walter took the cone from Morgan, adding it to the trash as well.
There was a tenseness in Walter's body in a manner that he had never experienced before, and it sent a hot anger through him that immediately took away the cooling effects of the ice cream. He couldn't understand exactly why he was angry when there was nothing wrong. Everything was absolutely perfect.
For the first time in months, he felt lighter with Morgan there, despite all the other friends he had. They weren't Morgan. Walter wasn't exactly sociable, but he could hold a conversation and it didn't make him uncomfortable to be out in public, but he was not like Morgan. Morgan had never seemed to have an issue with commanding a room, so much like Hannibal in the sense, while all Walter was good at was mirroring Will.
And sociable or not, Walter had to admit that the only comfort he ever felt was with the kid's company by his side. His support, the saucer to his teacup. Morgan was the strength, had always been Walter's strength. Walter had always been the weak one between the two of them and he just had to accept the fact, but it was much easier to swallow with Morgan there.
There was something hot stirring in his gut and Walter did his best to push the familiar feeling away. Something that was so stupid and desperate that didn't need to exist. Something that Walter didn't want to exist. Something that would change everything he had carefully built. He wouldn't let his feelings break him again. Never again.
"Wally?"
"What?" Walter asked absently, closing his eyes with a deep exhale as he was pulled from his thoughts.
"Where are you?" Morgan questioned, brows furrowed, and head tipped to the side.
"What?"
"You do the same thing that Dad does sometimes. You go inside your own head and then you disappear," Morgan muttered, pointing to his temple.
"What are you talking about?" Walter asked, plastering a smile over his face. God, why was he so like Will? It was an inconvenience. It made everything so difficult. If he could just channel Hannibal occasionally, maybe he wouldn't keep getting himself into such stupid messes.
"Please don't do that."
"Do what?" Walter gave an over-the-top shrug, smile still incredibly fake.
"Wally," Morgan sighed, causing Walter's smile to finally crumble. "You've been different since Germany, you know. You changed. You stopped being open with me."
Walter found himself at a loss for words, something that only this annoying little kid seemed to be able to do to him. Walter sighed, a hand rubbing at his face as he tried to find an answer. How was he supposed to answer that? What was he supposed to tell Morgan? Morgan already knew exactly what Walter had gone through. Morgan had been there for all the nightmares that had been a result of it. Morgan had fallen victim to a few bloody noses when Walter hit him being woken from the terrors. Morgan had listened to his sobbing without a word of judgement.
"Excusez-moi!" a voice called. "Pardon!"
Walter's hand snatched out and grabbed Morgan's shirt, pulling the kid forward and into his chest as a man on a bike shot past them, nearly knocking into Morgan. "You ok?" Walter asked with worried eyes, voice a little breathless.
"Yes," Morgan answered softly. Neither made any indication of movement, Morgan's hands simply resting against Walter's chest for balance and Walter's arm around his waist, breathing matching perfectly. Morgan wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but however long it was wasn't quite long enough.
"Let's go. We have more to see before the day's over," Walter announced, releasing Morgan, and starting up the street.
"Where?" Morgan questioned, licking his dry lips as he tried to catch up. "Wally, you walk too fast. Wait."
"You're too short," Walter teased, a lightness back to his voice. "Take bigger steps. And we're going to Pere Lachaise."
"Cool!" Morgan smiled openly and did his best to keep up the quick pace.
"Don't you find things like that morbid?"
"Would you believe that I think they're interesting?" Morgan asked back with a small shrug, all thoughts of their previous actions being filed away to look at more closely later when he had time to overthink every minute detail.
"Only you."
"Oh please. You love that shit as much as I do. Admit it."
Walter shrugged with a smile. "You swear a lot, you know that?"
"Father won't let me swear. I have to write lines if I do."
"Shame," Walter taunted. "I think it's kinda cute."
"Cute?" Morgan nearly tripped over his own feet and smacked Walter at the grin the older wore.
"Someone as young as you trying to sound grown up by swearing." They hit a main street and Walter's attention jumped to the cars that were passing them and he stuck out an arm with a whistle, trying to hail a cab.
"I'm not a fucking kid, Wally."
"See?" Walter chuckled, shooting Morgan a brilliant smile. "Adorable."
"Shut up."
After the second or third to pass them up, Walter grumbled with a roll of his eyes. "It's a bit of a walk. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Morgan assured, making sure he was ready for the swift start from Walter, but none came.
The stroll was leisurely, and all the way Walter explained about the buildings that they passed. How old they were, what they were made from, some histories about them. Things that kept Morgan happily quiet, listening and letting all the information sink into him. It wasn't often that he got to hear Walter spout off what he knew, figuring that Walter had never cared about such things. How wrong Morgan had been. How wrong Morgan wanted to keep being if he got to listen to Walter's flustered excitement about the things around them.
"Are you sure you want to be a teacher?" Morgan finally asked as they reached the gates of the cemetery and stepped inside. Morgan meandered to a headstone and glanced over the weather worn rock that was nearly unreadable.
"Why do you ask?" Walter asked suspiciously behind him.
Morgan gave a shrug and moved along to the next grave to read over the name and dates that were written there. "You could be a good engineer or a historian. Or an artist if buildings aren't something you want to draw. Your drawings are incredible. Have you considered other options?"
There was a sad little hum and Morgan stole a look at the man whose expression was conflicted. "Soccer player comes to mind," Walter whispered. "I mean, I still have at least three or four more years of school before I can be a teacher. It might be an easy out. You know I'm not cut out for school."
Morgan nodded, doing his best to bite back his anger at Walter's idea. If Walter became famous, and he surely would, Walter was good at what he did, then Walter would only forget about Morgan that much more.
"Only three or four? Didn't you just change your major?"
"I've gotten permission to take more credits. I'm getting a teaching license and a doctorate."
Morgan frowned. "In what? Math?" There was a sharp huff of air from Morgan's lungs, and he continued onto the next row of graves, trying to ignore the curiosity in the gaze on his back. "Have you ever considered being a lawyer?"
"No. Why?" Walter questioned, trying not to take special note of the anger and jealousy coming off the younger kid. When had Morgan become so hostile? What had Walter done to hurt this kid? All he had ever meant to do was protect him, keep him safe and happy. That was all Walter had ever really been good for to begin with.
"You have a rebuttal for everything father has to say and it's so fucking easy for you to get away with murder."
Walter paused and looked up, glancing around at the small number of people who were wandering the tombstones just like them. None of them were interested in their conversation, but that didn't stop the feeling of being watched washing over and through Walter, as if the world knew exactly how much blood he had on his hands and stained into his skin. As if they knew exactly what he had done last weekend. What he had done and perfectly gotten away with while protecting the person he now called his girlfriend.
"Father taught me well," Walter whispered, voice thick. Morgan glanced up curiously and Walter shook his head, pushing the memories away. "Chopin should be somewhere up here." He pointed ahead of them, and both headed in that direction.
"I meant that you are good at skipping all the discipline and punishments. I couldn't get away with half of the things you did and still do," Morgan explained, hands sliding into his pockets. "And..."
"And?" Walter questioned.
They came to a stop in front of Chopin's grave and Morgan was quiet for a moment as he looked over the grave. Marble with a beautiful sculpture of a woman, gated off and surrounded by pots of flowers.
"Wally?" Morgan didn't dare look up. He kept his gaze firmly on the grave, readying himself for the explosion he was sure was coming.
"Yes?" The word was soft and much closer to Morgan than he thought it would be, still he didn't look up.
"Who is Abigail?"
Morgan had heard the name before, seen the way it wounded when it was thrown around. The way that both of his parents fell silent and caved under it. The weapon that Walter proudly kept as a last resort when clawing tooth and nail got him nowhere.
Morgan finally looked over at Walter whose face was twisted into something that Morgan couldn't name. It looked like Walter had been punched in the gut and was trying to stay standing. His words were raspy and broken when they left his mouth.
"Where did you hear that name?"
From you was the real answer, but Morgan thought it better to bring up a different line of conversation. Not a lie, but not the original text. "Father and Dad discussed Abigail and you."
"Did they?" The words were spat bitterly, and Morgan bit his lip, wishing he could take back the way he had steered the conversation.
"Father said that he truly regretted her and..." Morgan looked up at a sharp inhale from Walter and he frowned. "He said that he missed you."
"Does he?"
"Is it a girlfriend you had?"
There was a laugh from Walter, something cold and Walter shook his head. "No," he clarified. "I've never met her. She is... Someone I fear and someone I hate." Walter's brow scrunched up as he spoke, looking a little confused by his own explanation. "Someone I longed to know, to truly understand and..." Walter trailed off.
"And?" Morgan asked softly.
"I am under the belief that I need to see and meet her in order to know if I am truly loved." Walter gave another muddled laugh. Of course, Morgan would never understand.
"Can you meet her?"
"Not anymore," Walter answered softly. Morgan tipped his head to the side and Walter sighed. "I know that you think that I don't trust you and it's not that. It's not. I do trust you, Einstein, but... I wish I could know everything better before I plant an idea, a possibly very wrong idea, of something you do not need to be hurt by in your head."
"Did she hurt you?" Morgan asked, following Walter who stepped away from the grave, his steps small and allowing Morgan the chance to get beside him.
"She took apart my family in an indirect way." Walter sighed once more. "Before I got another shot with Father and Dad. "
Morgan frowned as he thought over the life that Walter was longing for. Something in the past. A mom and a dad. A normal life with sports and struggling to get by. Cheap food and beer. Repairing cars and fishing and camping on the weekends. Finishing high school and getting a job right away, skipping college all together. A wife and kids. Working hard until retirement and then maybe traveling here and there if there was a way to catch the game.
"You've never told me that."
"And you're not going to hear any more of it today," Walter informed with a firm nod of his head. "But I promise that one day I will tell you." There was a kind smile from Walter and Morgan shrunk.
"I'm not a kid, Wally. My age has nothing to do with this. You can tell me."
"Look, Oscar Wilde." Walter pointed to the gravestone, but Morgan stepped between them.
"Wally. It's because of my age, isn't it?"
"Mostly," Walter agreed. "But when I tell you, you will know exactly why I waited."
"She's a trump card for you."
"I do not use her much. Only when necessary."
"See?" Morgan asked, letting a smile cover his lips in hopes of lightening the darkness that was in Walter's eyes. "You could be a lawyer."
"You could be a better one, Einstein."
"No, I'm a doctor." Morgan shook his head and let his hands take Walter's arms.
"Are you?" Walter questioned, letting himself smile as well.
"Of course!" Morgan shot back before sheepishly lowering himself back to his feet, not noticing that he had risen to his tiptoes. "Nearly," he corrected. "I just need to go to school for the license, but you know that I am more than ready to be a doctor. I could be a doctor right now if I wanted to."
Walter felt a strange mixture of pride and envy at how well Morgan knew exactly what he was and what he wanted.
"What if you weren't a doctor?"
Morgan gave a shrug, still holding Walter's arms absentmindedly, thumbs caressing into the muscles there. "I guess I would have learned about investments. I suppose I should learn them anyway."
"What? Why would you need to learn those?"
"I am a Verger," Morgan pointed out lightly. "I might have been young when we were taken, but I remember at least that much."
"You want to... go back?" Walter asked in astonishment, something catching Morgan off guard in Walter's swiftly souring mood.
"I would love to," Morgan admitted quietly. "You don't want to?"
Walter frowned and Morgan bit his lip in discomfort, though he still didn't remove his hands from Walter. Walter let out a deep breath. Why was he so upset? It wasn't like he was around much, but the idea of Morgan being away and somehow further from his reach...
"You miss your house," Walter decided, hoping it was enough of a truth that Morgan would cling to that instead of the pain that flushed through his blood. But even that made Walter's jaw clench. Walter hated the idea of that house with Morgan as a little prince, in a life he could never be a part of.
"I'm always missing my home." Morgan gave a little smile and Walter tried to bite back the idea that Morgan was trying to show off how much better he was than Walter. If Morgan missed anything, Walter couldn't tell. If Morgan was sad, he played content. If he was broken, he pretended to be in control and efficient. He was perfect, just what Hannibal and Will had always wanted.
Walter couldn't hold back the flood at the sudden realization that he was the one that was kept secret in all aspects of his life. He doubted that his parents spoke of him to their friends. He doubted that Morgan ever mentioned him. Why would they have any need for that? He was just some random disappointment that they had been more than glad to leave behind, granting his pleas to stay behind. Pleas that were easier to give into because then they could be rid of the letdown that was Walter Johnathan Graham.
Why did Morgan have to be so collected and content under any circumstances? That just fueled Walter's insecurity and he felt so small and insignificant next to Morgan. He was always insignificant next to Morgan.
"I'll go back one day," Morgan continued. "And I'll put my house back in order."
"I can't imagine you being very far from Father," Walter grumbled, eyes meeting a strong and concerned blue gaze.
"Why?" Morgan asked curiously, once more rising to his tiptoes. "I'm not his."
Walter's spike in jealousy hit him harshly and he silently swore and put himself back in order. "You and he have your own little world."
"And no one else is allowed to be there."
There was an odd connection between the two of them, an unspoken understanding as the truth settled into both.
"Yes," Walter agreed.
"You and dad are the same." Morgan gave a shrug, head tipping to the side with a smile that held a hint of dejection in it. "You share your own little world too, you know."
"Will?" Walter asked, shaking his head, and wanting nothing more than to walk away from the conversation, but Morgan's grip held him in place, mostly due to the fact that if he moved at all, Morgan would fall flat on his face from putting all of his balance on Walter.
"He is yours. I don't know how to explain it." Morgan rocked on his feet for a moment before returning to his tiptoes. "He will forever be yours. We don't have that connection. We won't ever have that connection. We just don't click like you two do."
"He loves you," Walter pointed out, offense in his voice.
"Yes, but still..."
"Still what?"
Morgan finally lowered himself and released Walter's arms, turning to look at the author's grave for a moment. "I don't belong like you do." The words were thoughtful, gentle. "You fit them so perfectly like you were always meant to be their son."
"Morgan-"
"You left and without you, I became the center of attention." Morgan gave a light laugh, a hand brushing through his sweat damp waves. "If you weren't gone..." You would have been the center of all our attention, was what Morgan meant to say, but he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence and he let Walter interrupt him.
"I know you felt like I left you, I just... I needed to..." Walter groaned, and Morgan turned back to find a frustrated looking Walter, both hands to his head as he leaned back to look at the sky that was a bright blue without a single cloud in sight.
"Be yourself," Morgan offered. "Before all the madness we've been through since the day we became brothers could consume you. I know." Morgan stepped closer, taking Walter's hands in his and pulling them from hair that was far softer than Morgan thought it would be.
"The thing is..." Walter sighed, and his head dropped as fingers slowly, cautiously, hesitantly tangled with his. Walter's eyes slid closed, and he allowed the closeness between them to sink into his skin. A closeness that he hadn't realized he had missed as much as he did. It felt good to have someone to finally talk to, someone to understand. "I believe that this is my better self."
"Without us?" Morgan asked in a whisper. "And with us?"
"I would just be... a shell of me."
"Would that be so bad...?" If you were still with me? The sentence once more died on Morgan's tongue.
"There is nothing bad about seeking your best self. Were there any more graves you wanted to see? I know that Jim Morrison is somewhere in here."
"Who?"
Walter gave a laugh and ruffled at Morgan's hair. "The Doors. God, we need to make you listen to real music. Not that shit Father makes us sit through. Come on."
The walk back to the city was long and hot, but both boys rather enjoyed the length of their time together, though neither would admit it.
It was nice to have that missing piece back. A piece that had been so perfectly carved out for one another as a means of survival and then as a means of family and now... Whatever this was between them. Something that both absolutely did not have a name for.
Their conversations were profound and deep, something that felt normal in a way that it never did around Walter's friends.
Of course, Walter could talk to them, but never as he spoke with Morgan. Everything was so relaxed and comfortable and honest, even if it was painful and depressing. These were not like his daily conversations. He could never speak freely, only half truths that Walter knew should truly be considered complete lies.
And he knew better of the people he socialized with too. He had been taught to watch everything around him and note each individual detail exactly to be used back if a time came with it.
They all tried to be more real than they were, as real as Grant Walter Foster was. But Morgan was different. Morgan was just there, being himself, so natural in everything. As real as Ezra was.
"Oh," Morgan's voice said, stopping mid-sentence as he pointed to something. "Look, Wally." Morgan broke from Walter's side and rushed into a nearby store.
"Einstein! Wait!" Walter called, following the boy. But the boy didn't so much as hear him, leaving Walter to feel like he was interrupting something between Morgan and his own soul. It sent twinges of jealousy through Walter as he wound his way through bookshelves stuffed full to bursting with books after a mop of dirty blond waves.
When Walter finally caught up, Morgan's eyes were lost in the many beautiful, old books and Walter watched as Morgan's fingers delicately stroked and caressed all of them with reverence and love.
"Le Petit Prince", Morgan whispered, the titles flowing from his lips so effortlessly it made Walter want to continue the rest of their conversations that day in French. "Les Misérables." There was a snap and excited gasp. "Madame Bovary." There it was. Walter stared as Morgan's blue eyes sparkled at the book and Morgan pulled it free. Walter blinked, eyes flickering between Morgan and the book that had captured Morgan´s heart. "Rymes de gentile et vertueuse dame Pernette Du Guillet, of Maurice Sceve," Morgan whispered. (Rhymes of the Kind and Virtuous Lady Pernette Du Guillet, of Maurice Sceve.)
Walter stepped a little closer, looking over the boy's shoulder as Morgan flipped the book open, head tipping to the side at something carefully written into it.
Mon cher Bastian,
Si un jour tu voulais me rencontrer et que tu voulais me trouver, regarde ici. Je sais que je me cache dans les mots de quelqu'un d'autre. Que sans me connaître il m'a touché et a vu ce que tu es pour moi.
J'attends toujours, Emma.
(My dear Bastian,
If one day you wanted to meet me and you wanted to find me, look here. I know I'm hiding in someone else's words. That without knowing me, he touched me and saw what you are for me.
I'm still waiting, Emma.)
"Was she lost?" Walter asked with a bored little huff of air and a roll of his eyes. Morgan's annoyed scrunch of his nose made Walter freeze.
"No," Morgan answered with firm confidence. "She was exactly where she wanted to be."
"Which was where, Einstein?"
"Waiting for him." The words were strong, but the air that settled between them was fragile and shimmering, quickly broken by Walter being accidentally shoved forward from someone scuttling past them.
"Pardon," a small voice said, and Walter waved away the apology, quickly turning to assess Morgan who had all but been slammed up against the bookcase.
"Why would she wait for someone who obviously didn't believe she was worthy of his time?" Walter questioned, straightening up Morgan and fixing the collar that had long since been unbuttoned due to the heat. "He obviously didn't understand her."
"Because," Morgan said with a small sigh, looking over the written words again. "These words sing in her heart that she belongs to him."
"So? She can find another person. My mom did all the time."
"Those words would mean nothing to someone else." Morgan's fingers gently slid over the words as if trying to feel them etched into the page.
Walter bit his lip as amazement twisted at his stomach, something making him sick. His eyes wandered over Morgan's features. Skin pale, save for the rose in his cheeks from the heat. Blue eyes locked lovingly on the book, pink lips mouthing the words left there by a lover. And that damned scent of strawberries once more plaguing his nose from how close he was still shoved up against Morgan from the woman who had bumped them earlier.
"Si un jour tu voulais me rencontrer et que tu voulais me trouver, regarde ici," Morgan whispered, French once more stunning as it fell from his tongue. "Let me see if I can buy it." (If one day you wanted to meet me and you wanted to find me, look here.)
"No, let me," Walter muttered, hand reaching over Morgan's shoulder to take the book. Morgan glanced back at Walter and the distance between them made Walter pause, a constricting in his chest. He chalantly ripped the book from Morgan's hands and briskly headed for the front of the store to find the clerk.
"Wally, I have money," Morgan complained as he followed Walter, nearly tripping over the people around him. He stopped beside Walter at the desk and tried to still Walter's hand as he reached for his wallet. "And you paid for the ice cream."
"Please. You should be used to being spoiled by now." Walter handed the cash to the clerk and let the book be bagged up before he passed it over to Morgan. "Think of it as a late birthday present."
"My birthday was a month ago and you already got me-"
"Einstein," Walter moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop being so damn difficult, will ya? I'm just trying to do something nice for ya. Why do you always have to ruin it?"
"I-I-I-" Morgan stuttered and Walter looked up, afraid he had broken the kid. "I-I-"
"Oh, my God. Spit it out kid," Walter instructed, a hint of a smile on his lips.
"Thank you," Morgan finally settled on, eyes on his feet and feeling incredibly small. "I..." His hand tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Walter ruffled at Morgan's hair and grinned. "Let's get out of the way. Other people want to buy things too."
The quaint shop was left behind, the book tucked securely against Morgan's chest as they made their way through more Parisian streets, sweat dripping down their backs, doing nothing to cool them.
Not until a giant, dark glass pyramid came into view and Morgan dropped the book. It caught in the bag that was on his wrist, otherwise it would have tumbled to the gravel ground beneath their feet.
Walter stopped and turned back with a chuckle. "You know, you keep stopping on the outside of these places. The inside is much better."
"It's the Louvre," Morgan muttered, blinking at the massive building that he wished he had years to spend in.
Walter's brow furrowed and he turned back to the building, a hand over his eyes to shield from the sun. "It is? How could you possibly tell?"
"Wally, we need to see the Mona Lisa," Morgan said, snatching up Walter's hand and dragging him through the crowds of tourists that all looked as miserably hot as they both felt.
"It's not as impressive as you think it is," Walter warned, trying to slow down the aggressive tug against his arm. He gave a laugh at the dark look Morgan shot him.
"You know damn well that da Vinci is my favorite," Morgan hissed through his lips, desperately trying to get Walter to stop dragging his feet purposefully. "I don't care how small the painting is or if it's faded or I have to wait until closing to see it, we are going to see it."
"Ok, ok," Walter laughed deeply, tugging back on Morgan's hand with much more strength than what Morgan possessed. Morgan whipped around, stumbling. "Chill, alright? I promise we will see the Mona Lisa. We still need to buy tickets. She'll still be there with her creepy little smile in ten minutes."
"Walter," Morgan pouted, bouncing up and down and shaking Walter's hand, tugging on it once more. "Hurry."
Walter made a show of rolling his eyes. "God, you're a child. What on earth do Dad and Father do with you?"
"They give me what I want when I want it. Wally!" Another futile tug. "Please, Walter. Stop being a dick."
Walter couldn't stop the scoff that exited through his nose, and he leaned over with a laugh. "I'm being a dick? You're such a fucking spoiled princess." He wheezed as he straightened himself up. "Why do I put up with you?"
"You have to," Morgan answered. "Can we please go in now?"
Walter shook his head and looked over the building. "I think I get why you always stop outside," Walter said, his sarcasm strong and Morgan just bounced at his side with another tug of his arm. "It is quite pretty, isn't it? Did you know that the Pyramide du Louvre was built in-"
"1989 and designed by Chinese-American architect I. M. Pei," Morgan interrupted impatiently. "I know, I know, I know!"
"Spoiled-"
"-Please-"
"-Little-"
"-Wally-"
"Princess."
"I am going to break your wrist if we do not go in there right now," Morgan hissed, though his face was simply pleading despite the harshness of the words.
"You wouldn't," Walter snorted.
"Try me."
Walter was silent for a moment, weighing his options and at another impatient tug on his hand, he sighed, shocking Morgan with the gentleness of his smile.
"Alright. Come on." Walter nodded his head towards the glass structure and Morgan beamed, dragging Walter along once more.