you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

Moriarty Manor Daily Life, Act One:

"so won't you break me down, break me down (make me get better)"

February, 1875

Louis James Moriarty did not think he could be blamed for being unenthused about their new houseguest. It was not as if the Moriartys had never opened their doors to anyone, and on occasion they would take responsibility for those displaced due to their plans. However, in most cases, that would involve providing external lodgings for a short time, a handful of weeks at the most. That was often more than enough for the affected party to get themselves together and move on to the next stage of their life.

Having someone stay for longer or even join their cause was also not uncommon, and some of those people had even become essential aides in future cases, should they need them. But to have someone with such dubious intentions join their group as a permanent member of their home—their family, even—whenever they had more than enough resources to fend for themself?

No, Louis was not pleased by Jameson's presence, not at all.

But Albert had made his stance on the matter clear. And, even more important than that, William had asked for Louis's cooperation. So Louis could put up with it, and Jameson had made himself somewhat tolerable by assisting with the housework, but that didn't erase the feeling of distaste for the situation whatsoever, and even more so when Louis had found Jameson coming from his brother's chambers, his appearance making it clear he'd spent the night there. Such things were William's prerogative, but Louis couldn't help but be suspicious of the whole affair.

Except then Jameson had made a request to deliver punishment onto someone who'd hurt him, and Louis's feelings had become a lot more complicated.

Like William, Louis wanted to better the world, and he believed the course of action he and his brothers were taking was the correct way to do it. Not to mention that it was William's own desire to cleanse their country of its devils, and Louis had sworn to always give his support. That was closer to his true motivations, but he didn't like seeing others beaten down, either. Louis didn't think he'd gotten the full picture of Jameson's situation, but after seeing him interact with the woman in Whitechapel who'd helped raise him, after knowing that he was pushed into his situation…

Well, it was becoming harder to hate him on nothing but principle.

That did not by any means, however, mean that Louis had to like him. And if, by chance, William's judgement was wrong, and Jameson became a liability—

William had given him permission to stop such an event, and Louis would do so with no hesitation, no matter what methods he needed to employ.

"Is something the matter?" William asked, making Louis realize that he'd left his omelette half-eaten in favour of gripping at his knife. "You're making such a serious face. If you're concerned about the food, I assure you that you've done just as well with breakfast as always."

"No, that's not it. I was just thinking over some important household matters I might need to attend to soon." It was, if you looked at it right, an explanation adjacent to the truth, so William didn't question him further. Having been together their entire lives, Louis suspected he was the one person in the world who could get away with lying to his brother's face—though that might have been because William had always tended to dote on Louis. "That said, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the meal." It wasn't anything complex, just a part of their usual breakfast rotation, but Louis strove to make sure each meal was as good as it could be.

His brothers deserved at least that much, after all.

"That's because there's never anything to complain about whenever you're cooking," Albert said, adding onto the praise. It was rather difficult for Louis to focus on his more frustrated thoughts whenever both of them complimented him that way. "Though perhaps some of your consternation was because you prepared a meal for four, and yet Jameson has yet to join us?"

Yes, that was part of what had set Louis to contemplating his feelings on the matter; while Jameson had not come from William's room on that particular morning, he had yet to exit his own room at all. Louis had been somewhat relieved about the news, seeing as it left a more peaceful atmosphere at the breakfast table—and that had set him upon a reflection of his own thoughts on the matter. It was not an unusual circumstance for Jameson to be late to the breakfast table, but it was unusual for him to not arrive at all.

"Jameson," Louis said, "is more than capable of eating from the leftovers whenever he wakes up." So long as the man continued to help with the housework as promised, Louis had no concern for his comings and goings—unless they concerned William, of course.

And the fact of that matter was that William did look concerned at the mention, his eyes flicking over to the clock in the room. "I'm sure that Jameson is still recovering from his job. It's the first time he's done such a thing, after all." Right, Louis supposed that most people would take some time to adjust to the fact that they'd taken someone else's life; he'd just never had the experience himself. "I'm done with my meal anyways, so I'll take breakfast up to him. He did ask that I didn't let him sleep the days away, after all."

"Brother, I—"

"Don't worry yourself, Louis. You can finish your meal." William's voice was gentle, and that made it all the harder for Louis to protest as his brother stood from the table. "You have a busy day ahead of you, yes? Allow me to take this much into my own hands." And with one more thanks for the meal, William had picked up his plate along with Jameson's to exit the dining room.

That Brother's acting like that whenever Jameson isn't even here means…

"You're looking rather cross again," Albert said, though his tone was light. Louis knew better than to take that at face value. William may have been the most accomplished in the learned arts of them all, but Albert was no less sharp. Louis could say nothing at all, and Albert would still have a rather accurate grasp of his thoughts on the matter. "Are you still displeased by having Jameson in the house at all?"

"I've come to accept that much at least." If William said that Jameson would be helpful in their plans and that he wished for the man to stay, Louis wouldn't object to his brother's wishes. "Given what happened with the Earl Charleville, it would be unfair to say that Jameson doesn't deserve some help. I'm just not so certain that help should have to come from us." There was no point in hiding his true feelings on the matter, not with how well the Moriarty brothers all knew each other.

And yet, in spite of that familiarity, Louis still didn't understand why the other two had become so accepting from the start.

"Brother is one thing," Louis said, "because he can't stand to leave anyone who needs help alone. That much I understand. But when it comes to you, Albert…"

"Ah, you're wondering why I went so far so soon." Albert sipped at his tea, making the action look just as classy as whenever he was indulging in one of his preferred wines. "Well, as much as I trust Will's judgement, there was the possibility that Jameson was hiding something. Even now, a part of me can't help but wonder if he's in part using us to get rid of those who've hurt him in the past. But, Louis, don't you think that, if something like that were the case, it's much more probable that he'd confess such a thing to someone who's done nothing but treat him with kindness?"

There it was, that shrewd part of Albert that he didn't let many people see. No, he was always the polite one, the sociable one, and his greatest public fault was that he spent a bit too much of his time chasing the affections of others—the sort of thing that one might expect of any other young member of nobility. And it wasn't that such behaviour was a façade, but rather that there was a much deeper complexity to Albert waiting for anyone who might be paying attention.

Most people, in Louis's experience, were far too focused on the other, prettier aspects of Albert to notice.

"That said, I think that being kind to him is the right thing to do," Albert continued, but at least it didn't feel as if he was scolding Louis. "It sounds like he's endured very much, so having people on his side will help him. I'm sure that Will is thinking much of the same thing." Yes, Louis was certain of that, too. "Even so, we care about you as well, Louis. So I hope that letting you know my actions aren't without due consideration will help assuage some of your worries."

Albert's gentle smile was enough for Louis to realize that it wasn't a conversation about Jameson at all; it was a conversation about himself, Albert providing reassurance that he hadn't realized he needed. No matter what, no matter who else might come to help with their plans, no matter what assistance they may provide someone else, the Moriarty brothers still had an unshakeable bond that none of them wished to discard in the slightest.

And it was because of their different approaches to the same situation that it took all three of them to serve as James Moriarty.

William made his way upstairs with care, ensuring he didn't disturb the tray of food he was taking to Jameson while on the way. Though Jameson had acknowledged that he did need rest, he'd also noted that he felt better when waking up earlier rather than later, so if William could stop him from having too much of a lie-in, that would be most appreciated.

That William's first thought on the matter was that it would be a simple request to fulfil if Jameson were to always share his bed was one he had not voiced aloud. It would be inaccurate to call such a thing pure attachment, but William had found that he didn't mind the extra body in his bed whenever Jameson asked to fall asleep at his side, at least for the time being.

But saying such a thing would doubtless push the tentative trust forming between them. While Jameson was capable of being intimate with William, he was just as capable of not even wanting to be touched in a casual context. Such ups and downs were to be expected, but they were also all the more reason not to push any further until Jameson asked for it, which he had yet to do.

So coming to Jameson's room to check on him and bringing him breakfast in the process it was.

Adjusting so he could hold the tray with one hand, William knocked on the guest room that was shaping up to be a much more permanent residence at the rate things were going. "Jameson, are you awake? I've brought you breakfast." He waited half a minute, just to be polite, but there was no response. "Apologies, but in order to keep my word, I'm going to be coming in."

"No, wait—"

The protest was muffled, but it was also too late. William had already turned the knob and nudged open the door, and his new grip on the tray made it difficult to halt the momentum. Half expecting Jameson to be in some form of undress, he prepared an apology, but instead he found the other man still curled up in bed, the blankets bunched tight around him. Jameson had half sat up, but one look at his face made it beyond clear that he was feeling unwell, which would explain why he hadn't attended breakfast; William was just grateful it wasn't because Jameson had had another night of nightmares to make him fear the world around him.

It did, however, present other issues.

"Are you feeling ill?" William asked, depositing the breakfast tray upon the bedside table as soon as he was able. He took a seat upon the edge of the bed, reaching for Jameson's forehead. "Let me see if you have a fever—"

He recognized the mistake far too late: today was not to be a day where Jameson was comfortable with close contact, and the fact that he was still upon a bed also added more unpleasant associations to the equation. William stopped himself before he made physical contact, but Jameson was already frozen, his eyes squeezed shut as if bracing himself for what was to come next. Guilt panged through William's chest at recognizing what he'd caused, but there was no time for inaction. No, whatever might be going on with Jameson's physical health, it would not do to add any mental strain upon it.

So William pulled back, easing himself off the mattress. "Jameson," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "Jameson, it's alright. I'm sorry I startled you." Appropriating the desk chair for himself, William lifted it up and deposited it at the bedside, careful not to make any additional noise in the process. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. However, I'd like to check on you to make sure you haven't come down with any sort of sickness."

Jameson shook his head—not a refusal of help, but instead a denial of William's words. "I'm…I'm not sick."

The weakness of his voice did not lend the statement much credibility, but William was not about to argue with someone about their own wellbeing. Up close, it was clear enough to see that Jameson didn't have many signs of an illness, but that didn't make him look any less drained. "Alright," William said, "but please understand that you look unwell. I'm concerned for you. If it's not illness, then—"

The words stopped forming as his eyes at last caught onto it: the dark coloured drops against the sheets that had revealed themselves as Jameson had pulled the blankets closer to him. There was blood upon the bed, and, while the amount wasn't anything dangerous, it was still concerning to see. For a moment, William's mind landed upon the possibility that Jameson had done something to hurt himself, but that didn't fit right with everything else he knew about Jameson's behaviour. And while there was a chance that William's idea of the other man might be wrong, there was a much simpler explanation than that.

Jameson was menstruating.

The realisation must have been obvious on William's face, for Jameson's own expression soon became one of shame as he buried his face into his blanket-covered knees. What William had seen of his face had made it clear how distraught he was on the matter. "Apologies," William said, "all things considered, I didn't expect…"

"For me to still be able to bleed like this?" Jameson's voice wasn't quite hollow, but there was enough of an edge to it that William grimaced. Sometimes, even with all his brilliance, William sometimes forgot that other people wouldn't always take the most logical route. Or perhaps that was just his pride covering up for the fact that he didn't want to consider the implications. "I told you about the regulars, right? For some, this would be considered a benefit rather than a detriment, you know."

After all, you weren't anywhere the closest to the messiest of the lot I've dealt with.

William's hands curled into fists upon his lap. While he didn't find the idea of bedding someone who was menstruating to be an abhorrent idea, it wasn't one he'd pursue with repeated enthusiasm. Not to mention that he was well aware that his own tastes in bed were on the rougher side, were of the sort that not many people would want to indulge in. But to push forward with something with someone who looked so uncomfortable at the idea…

Perhaps it had been for the best that Jameson had yet to offer any additional names.

"Besides," Jameson muttered, "an inconvenience it might have been at the present, I'm sure my patron would have wanted to…"

There was no need to provide an end to that sentence. If Stratford had been using Jameson as a substitute for Verity, it wouldn't be surprising if he'd want a child in that context, either. And yet, there William was, still reflecting upon his incomplete knowledge, and each new revelation felt like a fresh blow.

How much Jameson had endured, how much more could come to the surface as their relationship continued…

"I'm sorry," Jameson said, the sudden change in conversation on purpose, and William couldn't fault the other man for wishing to drag his thoughts away from whatever dark corners they might be wandering into. "The sheets. I made a mess."

"You say that as if we're not accustomed to washing blood out of our fabrics." William offered a smile, hoping to relieve some of Jameson's worries as best he could. While it was true they had the money to replace any such sullied garments, that didn't mean the Moriartys didn't attempt to salvage what they could. "You cannot control the processes of your body, so there is no fault with you. Even so…" Jameson had raised his head, but he was worrying on his lower lip. "Forgive me for assuming, but it doesn't seem to be a pleasant experience for you."

Jameson's mouth opened, as if he were about to say something—and then he seemed to think better of it. If William were to wager, he'd guess that Jameson had been about to brush the situation off before realizing it was pointless. "It's…discomforting," he said, and William chose not to comment on the rather tame choice of words, lest he discourage Jameson from continuing. "I mean, aside from the cramping. The pain isn't…" He clutched tighter onto the blankets but forced himself to press onward. "It's a reminder of how my body doesn't match my mind, one I can't just cover up with different clothes, something that won't change no matter how careful I am with my behaviour."

William thought that it must've been a struggle, to feel so helpless about something you couldn't control, no matter the effort you put forth.

"I… Most of the time, I don't mind my body. So long as I can act as I please, the rest is easy to forget. But this…" There was that tremble to Jameson's shoulders, but William didn't dare reach out. "Between the fact that it was just another excuse to toy with me and the possibility of having to bear a child…" Jameson swallowed, his opinion on the matter very clear. "I know I shouldn't, but I hate it."

There was another long pause during which William waited to make sure that Jameson didn't have anything else to say. But, despite the fact that it was clear the gears were still turning in his mind, Jameson didn't continue, and William cleared his throat. Having caught Jameson's attention (and satisfied that he didn't seem to be disconnecting from reality), William said, "If it's something that bothers you, we do know a doctor that would be willing to operate to stop that." Jameson was too distraught to be outright shocked, but his surprise was still evident enough. "If menstruating is uncomfortable for you, it wouldn't be something you'd need to go through. There's no need to suffer on a month-to-month basis when we can stop it now. And do stop me if I'm getting ahead of myself, but she'd be willing to make alterations to your chest as well." Because even if Jameson hadn't said anything, William had noticed enough the way Jameson took great care to hide his breasts, the way he flinched away from contact with them, even in their first altercation together.

"That's…" Jameson hugged himself tighter, chewing on his lip once more. "William, you keep making me fear more and more that this might all just be some long dream I've been having."

"I swear to you that this is reality." It just would have been better to know that such concerns were on the table, seeing as he could have better planned for them, but there was no changing the past. "That being said, such choices would be up to you. But know that if you wish to do so, I'll arrange for things at a moment's notice." He could promise that much, without fail. "But for now, let's focus on your comfort in the present. Aside from a change of blankets, is there anything else I can get for you? I doubt that you'd want to stay in bed all day." Not with the memories associated with such a thing.

Jameson peered at William for a long while, as if ascertaining that he was genuine in his intentions. At any rate, he didn't ask for confirmation, which seemed to suggest that he was starting to believe William was offering help without any caveats. "The…first day is the worst," he whispered, just loud enough for William to hear. "There's…there's a lot, and it makes a mess, and the cramps aren't unbearable, but they're not pleasant." William added some pain relief medicine to the list he'd already formed in his mind. "And if I could also have some spare cloth so I don't bleed through to my pants, I'd appreciate it, too." Right; in men's attire, Jameson didn't have layers of drawers and petticoats to keep his bleeding contained with.

"Simple enough. What about your breakfast? Do you need something easier on your stomach?"

"No, I can eat. Fortunate for me, I don't get nauseous." That was a relief, if nothing else. The level of discomfort that Jameson had already described was more than enough; to have more on top of that would have been nothing more than pure cruelty. Jameson wrung the edge of the blanket between his hands for a moment before adding, "If I could, though, one more request?"

William nodded, more than ready to agree, no matter what it might be. "Whatever you need, I'll take care of it."

"I know it's early in the day, but…could you please draw me a bath? I…"

"Of course." There was no need to say any more, and William stood, offering Jameson a reassuring smile. "Why don't you eat first, and I'll come and get you once I arrange all the rest?"

The expression was somewhat shaky, but Jameson returned the smile, nonetheless.

With careful attention from William for his general wellbeing, careful attention from Jameson to make sure he didn't ruin another new set of clothes so soon, several rounds of financial documents, some books Albert had recommended, and what chores he could handle doing after some medicine, Jameson survived the five days of his menstrual cycle with minimal discomfort and no one but William knowing. Oh, sure, it couldn't erase the nasty feeling prickling through his skin whenever he traded out one brownish-red-stained rag for another, but it was, all things considered, the most pleasant cycle he could recall in recent memory.

Not having to subject himself to Westmeath's desires for several nights in a row had helped.

The thought more than enough to distract him, Jameson dropped his pen to the table in the library and abandoned the notes he was taking on the Aldborough Viscounty's finances. Enough time had passed that his former patron's will had been processed, giving Jameson proper access to all of the available records. With the Viscount's status now in his hands, Jameson would be responsible for the couple of labour houses they'd maintained and small sections of land they'd rented out, though most of the income had been from ongoing investments into other industries.

Well, most of the income aside from Jameson's own activities.

If nothing else, his former patron had set up an efficient-enough system that Jameson would not want for anything, even if he'd chosen to keep the estate and the handful of other vacation properties. With the manor burnt down and the rest sold off, Jameson intended to set that land for rent as well, allow some labourer to use it as they needed. In comparing the new numbers to the Moriarty's own bookkeeping (while they didn't have control over too much, they still were in charge of a land of similar size), Jameson also had plans to lower the rent costs; there was no need to bleed the working class dry whenever it was just himself. If it weren't for the fact that passing on the resources to some other noble ran the chance of the people now under Jameson's care getting taken advantage of, he would have traded it off and been done with it.

Maybe I can enact some sort of rent to ownership system? I don't need all this land, and it's not as if I'll ever have an heir to pass this down to… No, if Jameson were to bear the title of his patron, he would let it die with him. Hell, if by some chance he did manage to have an heir, the investments alone would be more than enough for him, even if he counted the contributions he planned to make to Miss Penny and the Moriarty family.

All that money in one place, and for what?

Knowing he wasn't about to get anywhere with his mind a mess, Jameson shuffled the papers into more organized piles and stood up from the library's worktable. He needed a way to clear his mind, and even more so once he realized he'd been at it for several hours. For all his training to act as a noble, Stratford had never had any interest in teaching Jameson to act as the head of the estate. Most likely because he'd viewed Jameson as nothing more than a substitute for his mother, and who would ever expect a woman to manage an estate on her own?

Feeling even more frustrated than he'd already been, Jameson set off at a brisk pace towards the kitchen. It was a mite early for afternoon tea, but it was Jameson's prerogative to decide that much, now wasn't it? It might not have been the best approach to process his feelings with sweets, but a biscuit or two couldn't hurt. Besides, William had left in the morning to complete some pressing errands, so he wouldn't be home for quite some time yet. Jameson had to do something other than sit and wallow in it all.

Except enroute to the kitchen, Jameson heard the clatter of dishware from the dining room, and he couldn't help but peek his head in. He'd been rather certain that Louis had work to do outside the manor today—shopping for various necessities along with some other matters that Jameson had not earned the trust to know about—and that supposition had been correct. Instead of Louis, it was Albert who was at work, spreading out an intricate tablecloth that Jameson had but glanced in the cabinets, and several pieces of the finer China waiting at the side.

Were they to have a guest over that night? No, Jameson would have at least been told that much, not to mention there weren't more than the usual four place settings at the ready. Still, the number of dishes suggested a much more intricate meal than the norm, so perhaps there was some special occasion? Grasping for the date and not finding anything of import, Jameson had to admit he was at a loss before also having to admit he should stop running circles in his mind and just ask.

With the same amount of concentration Jameson had seen upon his face whilst he sorted books in the library, Albert took precise care with the placement of each dish in relation to each other. Jameson almost felt guilty for wanting to interrupt, and he had to force himself to remember that Albert wouldn't care about such things at all. With a simple clearing of his throat, those forest green eyes swivelled to Jameson as he walked through the doorway. "Is tonight's dinner special, or is it a case of indulging just because?" Given what he knew about Albert, the latter wouldn't be out of character for him in the slightest.

Except where Jameson suspected that usual easy smile in return, Albert looked almost ashamed for a moment before it was wiped away into a much more personable expression. "The former, I must admit," he said, inspecting one of the water glasses for smudges before placing it on the table. "You'll have to forgive us. We're not used to sharing the occasion with others, so it seemed to have slipped all our minds to let you know that today is Louis's birthday."

The pieces clicked together in time with Albert's apologetic smile. Jameson wasn't offended that he hadn't been told—for one, such a thing must have been common knowledge to the elder of the brothers, and, for another, it was clear they'd spent almost a decade with just the three of them and no one else. But even that understanding couldn't stop Jameson from feeling more out of place than ever.

It was to be a day celebrating Louis, and yet Jameson was there, a clear discomfort in the youngest Moriarty's life. It wouldn't have helped if Jameson had known, because he very much doubted that Louis would want a gift of any sort from him. And on top of that, why in the world was there a spot for Jameson at the table on night like that?

Feeling even more guilt that Albert had wasted his time, Jameson began to stack the few dishes already laid out at what had become his usual spot during meals. "Jameson, what—"

"You—you don't need to set a place at the table for me." Jameson swallowed down the lump in his throat, the usual wave of self-hatred washing over him with even more intensity than usual. "We all know that Louis doesn't care for me, so I don't need to interfere with this, too." Not when he was already imposing so much on them. "I'd just feel awkward there, after all. I don't mind eating in my room tonight, so please don't worry about—"

With a touch from Albert, Jameson stilled. His hands felt so small, so fragile in Albert's larger grasp, but the elder man was gentle. "Jameson," he said, so similar to the same way William called his name whenever he was about to deliver a motivational lecture, "in case you have forgotten, you are a part of this family now. That means you have just as much of a right to be here as the rest of us."

Jameson shook his head, but Albert didn't seem willing to budge. Would it kill him and William to act with a little less kindness every now and then? "I-I'm not refuting that—" more so because it would be pointless rather than that Jameson believed it "—but today is about Louis." Louis, who did so much for his brothers; Louis, who hated Jameson and had every right to do so. "Let it be about him. If you insist on me going, I'll just have to sit there and act like everything's okay, and it'll be just as fake as I had to be back then, and I don't want to do that again!"

The shame crashed into him the moment the words ended up leaving his mouth; Jameson shouldn't have let himself become so overwhelmed that he ended up shouting. Part of him wanted nothing more than to pull away from Albert's grasp—it wasn't as if his hold was tight enough to prevent Jameson from doing so—but he also didn't have the strength to do it.

A soft fabric brushed against Jameson's cheeks, Albert using his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that were spilling down Jameson's face. Before his mind caught up with the rest of him, he'd already begun to cry, and it was enough for Jameson to want to retreat to his room, curl into a ball, and never come out. "Forgive me," Albert said, "it seems in my hope to help you feel more comfortable, I've had the opposite effect instead." Already feeling as if he were imposing enough, Jameson went to wipe up his own face, and Albert relented his handkerchief without argument. "If it will be stressful for you to share dinner with us tonight, there's no need to force the issue. I just hope that you'll be more inclined to join us another time."

Jameson sniffed, but he hummed his agreement anyways. "I do enjoy…sharing meals with you all." Even if Louis was still the bare minimum of courteous, the otherwise relaxed atmosphere at the table helped put Jameson at ease, so long as he was in a state where being around other people didn't make him want to jump out of his skin. "Just not tonight. Any other time, I'll be there, but not tonight."

Not when he'd just be getting in the way.

"I'll be sure to hold you to that promise, then," Albert said, but his voice was playful rather than making any sort of binding agreement.

Jameson tried to be as quiet as possible while he blew his nose, but there was minimal success in that matter. Afterwards, though, there was a long silence where Albert studied him, and Jameson tried not to reveal the heat creeping up his neck.

"We celebrate William's birthday on April first." Jameson's mind might have been fuzzy from his still rioting emotions, but he recognized enough to know that had been the birthday of the original William James Moriarty, rather than the one Jameson knew first-hand. "And mine is on May ninth." Albert's smile was back—the soft one that Jameson thought complimented the rest of the other man's looks the best. "Now that you know, you can be prepared in advance. I'm sure you won't turn down the opportunity to celebrate Will's, now would you?"

"N-no." Blast, he'd ended up stating his true thoughts without thinking, and he'd stuttered while he'd done it, too.

Albert chuckled, at last putting some space between them as he went to put away what would have been the fourth seat at the table that night, and Jameson helped by collecting the glassware. "Good. And if you insist that we should make the days of our birth about the people we're celebrating, then I expect you to attend my dinner as well."

The fact that he'd been invited was more than enough to send a warm feeling through Jameson's chest, and he nodded. February sixth, April first, and May ninth, he thought, repeating the dates so he wouldn't forget them before he had the opportunity to write them down. Once done with rearranging his dish cart, Albert accepted the glassware from Jameson before going back to setting the rest of the table with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. Not wanting to get any more in the way, Jameson let Albert continue the rest of the work, watching as he continued his methodological approach to making each place with a level of precision and skill not many other nobles would be able to match. And though it was a chore, Albert seemed more than content to take it slow, one small item at a time.

"…November eleventh."

That utterance brought Albert to a pause midway through placing a butterknife next to William's plate, and he looked to Jameson again, who flushed upon the eye contact. "My birthday," he made himself say, "is November eleventh." The implications of such a statement caught up to him in the very next breath, and Jameson course corrected in an instant. "Apologies, I know that's presumptuous of me that you'd even bother to celebrate for me, but I thought you might be interested to know, Lord Albert, and—"

"Again, you don't have to call me 'Lord,'" Albert said, cutting off Jameson's tirade before he could make an even bigger fool of himself. Well, at least Albert didn't seem upset; that was a good sign. "And of course I have every intention to celebrate for you as well. I'm glad you told me. All our birthdays are close to each other, and that leaves the second half of the year bereft of such celebrations." Jameson might have been reading him wrong, but Albert seemed even more excited by the possibility of hosting a party for someone else than he had about doing so for his own sake. "Whether you intended for such a thing or not, Jameson, I plan to spoil you in every possible way then." It wouldn't have done any good to point out that Albert had already done more than enough to spoil him; somehow, Jameson had no doubt that Albert would manage to outdo himself.

Besides, even more surprising than the declaration to celebrate his birthday, Jameson was more stunned by the assumption that he'd still be in the Moriarty household at that time to even celebrate in the first place.

Jameson had thought he'd be able to manage the evening of Louis's birthday without anyone else's company without issue.

He had thought wrong.

It was not any sense that he did, in fact, want to attend the dinner that bothered him, oh no. That was a decision he had been more than correct in making, because it had been difficult enough to slip around Louis to get a meal from the kitchen. In fact, Jameson had been more than content, knowing that he'd be able to sneak a piece of the cake they'd had without having to endure any of the awkwardness.

His mind did not seem to want to let him go, no matter how much tea he brewed or books he failed to read or thoughts he attempted to purge by inscribing them in his journal. Phantom touches pressed against his skin, echoes of past voices slipped into his ears, and every shadow seemed to contain a figure, waiting to pounce the moment that Jameson let his guard down.

It was not a good night to be alone, and yet he didn't have any other choice but to remain on his own. His social circle consisted of three people, after all, and all of them were having the enjoyable family dinner they deserved. What was the alternative: go and pull William away so that Louis would have yet another justified reason to view Jameson as an inconvenience? Not on his life could he ever excuse such a thing.

Outsider, outsider, outsider.

Sinking into the couch cushions, Jameson wrapped himself in a blanket, tracing the shapes in his fireplace and hoping that would do something. While his body temperature was warm, something in the core of his chest felt cold, and he did the one thing he could to defend himself: stare past everything he could around him and pretend like nothing existed.

If Jameson wasn't there, nothing could hurt him.

He was safe, he was safe, he was safe—

He was safe.

The knock on the door managed to startle Jameson enough that he almost slipped off the couch. In the fireplace, there was little more than embers remaining, though he'd put plenty of logs on beforehand. The hours had disappeared, which Jameson was fine with. After all, he'd rather that time vanish than have to endure his own thoughts through the whole of it. His mind felt sluggish, though, as it tended to do once he came back to himself; perhaps he'd be able to sleep if he crawled into bed?

Right, there'd been a knock at the door.

Jameson hadn't noticed before, but, given how he'd been sitting, his legs were halfway numb. He managed not to pitch over onto the floor, but his pace was an ambling thing. Oh, he'd get scolded for taking too long, now wouldn't he? He hoped that whoever the guest was tonight, they didn't expect much of him, because Jameson had oh so very little left to give—

Except, on the other side of the door was not Stratford nor a regular, but instead William.

Right. This is Moriarty Manor.

Jameson swallowed, trying to get some words, any words at all out, but he didn't know what to say. By the time it occurred to him that he should at least greet William, the smile on the other man's pretty face had shifted into—concern? Yes, concern, because William cared about him for some reason.

"Jameson," William said, and it was that that managed to snap Jameson back into himself, "are you alright?"

The one good thing about crying in front of Albert earlier that day was that Jameson had no tears left in him to give. The honest answer to William's question would be no, but he couldn't bring himself to say that; and yet, didn't want to lie and say yes, either. William seemed to have realized the conundrum that Jameson was in (or perhaps it was that his silence had been answer enough), because William went on to ask, "What do you need?"

Jameson swallowed again, though that time there was at least spit to swallow. "Don't…" he managed to whisper as he reached out for William's sleeve, "Don't leave me alone."

Knowing that he'd feel lost otherwise, Jameson shuffled the few steps forward necessary to press his face into William's chest. He'd already lost his usual jacket in favour of his robe, though he still had his vest and shirt proper on underneath, and there was a sweet aroma of wine clinging to him that mixed into his usual cinnamon and lily scent in a beautiful, safe harmony. Whenever William asked, Jameson nodded his permission for the other man to initiate contact, relishing in the feeling of William's arms curling around him in the best possible embrace.

"I understand if you don't wish to talk about it," William said, his voice careful not to rise above a murmur, "but I would at least like to check that this isn't about feeling left out of tonight's festivities, is it?"

That time, whenever Jameson shook his head no, it wasn't a lie. "It's just…" William had been right; he didn't wish to talk about it at all, not at the moment. "Tonight. It feels…it feels like I'm still there." Not feeling worthy enough of returning the embrace in full, Jameson instead clutched onto the front of William's robe for security. "I can't forget, but being by you…it makes it all seem much more distant."

"If my company can help, then it's all yours." The reassurance was just what Jameson needed, the promise of not being alone allowing himself to begin to calm down, though he still felt out of it. "How about we go and use the kitchen for a bit? No need to worry. Since it's Louis's birthday, we already chased him out to go get some rest instead of cleaning up."

The thought of encountering Louis hadn't even crossed Jameson's mind, which was as sure of a sign of his overall distress as any. To think that such a thing had been his biggest concern just that afternoon. In the present moment, Jameson would take Louis's displeasure over the shadows of his past any day.

"Is there cake left over?" Jameson asked as they began their trip to the ground floor. With the feeble tone of his voice, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, and the way he was still clinging to William's arm, Jameson felt juvenile, but William just smiled at the inquiry.

"Yes, and there's more than we can hope to eat before it goes stale. We can make some tea to go with it then. I'm sure we still have some herbal blends left." The proposal sounded wonderful, an excellent way to realign his mind into something more functional, and Jameson would not say no to cake whenever he had the opportunity. "Ah, but I did receive some good news today. Would you like to hear it?"

Jameson didn't have the mental capacity to even guess at what sort of news would be worth telling him, but he could admit to being curious. "If you don't mind sharing it."

"Not at all. As it were, I received an answer from the doctor I'd mentioned before." That statement made perfect sense to Jameson, though it did take a few moments to do so. In any event, he and William had discussed a doctor but once. "She had to travel to take care of a particular client request, but she'll be back in London in a fortnight. She'd be happy to begin the surgery process then—ah, after the necessary check-ups first. Though I suppose that's assuming you're still willing to go forth with such a thing."

The news was so great that Jameson came to a dead stop right there in the hallway. In a few short weeks, he could be—well, becoming a man in a full biological sense wasn't something possible, but he could at least be as close as he could get. "Of course I'm willing." It was, in plenty of ways, almost all he'd ever wanted. "I—This is—Sorry, I can't think straight—" But he was happy, and he hoped William could tell as much, when he'd already learned how to read Jameson so well.

William squeezed Jameson's hand and urged him to continue. He did so, making sure that he was walking and not just making William shepherd him along. "It's a rather monumental piece of news. Take as much time as you need."

Said amount of time happened to be all the way until they'd made it to the kitchen, which was one of the few rooms in the manor still lit up in full. All of the dishware for the evening was out to dry, and Jameson was grateful he'd eaten before the others and cleaned up his own mess long before Louis had even made it back home. William offered to pull out a chair at the table, but Jameson opted to help with putting together a tea kettle, rather than risk staring into space again.

"Thank you," Jameson at last said after he'd turned on the stove. William paused in the middle of pulling out a snack plate to go with the tea set. "You keep doing so much for me, so all I can say is thank you. I…don't think I would've considered such a thing possible on my own." His world, though it had been expanding as of late, was still so very small.

"Considering that we've already made her acquaintance, it would be a waste not to allow you the opportunity." William went about procuring a knife enroute to the cake that was waiting for him. "You may have as much as you like. How big of a piece can I get for you?"

"Ah, about a half slice." Though it looked delicious, with its cream frosting, Jameson didn't trust his stomach to handle too much just yet. William's responding glance was just enough to make it clear he was concerned that Jameson was holding back, so he amended, "To start. I'm still a bit full, so I don't want to overdo it."

William seemed to consider that a fair enough compromise, and he went back to serving the slice of cake with no issues. Jameson picked a tea set at random, though he appreciated the design of peony flowers and gold trim over the blue background in the process. Within the space of a few minutes, the rose tea was brewing, and the two had settled down at the table. Jameson, who had been looking forward to doing so, took a bite of his cake with absolute relish.

Delicious. While it wasn't anything too rich, the simple flavours of the white cake with its cream icing made a wonderful combination, and even more so since it had been baked not even half a day ago. Just another small boost to Jameson's mood that made existing so much easier to deal with.

It was halfway to bringing the third bite to his mouth that Jameson caught sight of William watching him, a look of clear amusement on his face. "S-sorry," Jameson said, hastening to reach for a napkin so he could remove any stray icing from his face. "I forgot myself…"

"I'm far less concerned with your manners at the moment, and far gladder to see that your mood is somewhat improved." Even so, Jameson couldn't help but be embarrassed, and he attempted to take a much smaller forkful for his next bite. "Though I suppose it might be a bit unsettling for me to just be sitting here and observing you. Would you allow me to propose a topic for conversation?"

Jameson chose not to mention that he didn't mind William observing him with such intensity in the least. "I'd be glad to talk about anything you like, William." And it wasn't as if Jameson had any sort of ideas of what to talk about.

"Very well, then. I think it might be important for the two of us to discuss some ground rules." Jameson paused mid chewing, though he couldn't erase the feeling of stress starting to well up in his stomach. He swallowed in hopes that the sugar would keep it down. "Since you've come here, it's become quite apparent that we both have an…intimate interest in each other, shall we say?"

Jameson flushed at the reminder, though part of him couldn't help but think that their conversation would be what it took to put an end to the affair. Perhaps, with some time in Jameson's presence, William had come to his senses about all the pretty words he'd said before, realised just how tainted Jameson was. Continuing to indulge him would be a fool's game; it would be better to cut the whole thing off early, before it would become too late. At least it had been a nice bit of escapism in the meantime—

"If we were to continue," William said, and Jameson braced himself for the words as if they would be a hit, "I fear I might make you uncomfortable." That…hadn't been what Jameson had been expecting to hear, and he tried to clear his head, to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding William's words. "The more time I spend with you, Jameson, the more desirable you become. However, I know and respect that you won't always be in a frame of mind where such attraction is agreeable. I stand by what I said before: that I'm always happy to indulge you, even if it's but for a mere taste. I don't expect that to change, either. But more than that, I don't wish to make any advances on you that are unwelcome."

His speech had contained a lot of words, and Jameson understood them well enough, but they felt much more like a fantasy than any sort of reality. Despite his handful of weeks in the Moriarty household, Jameson had yet to acclimate to such things in full.

"I'd like to say that your advances are always welcome," Jameson murmured, "but, as you said…"

"I'll reiterate that such responses are natural." Having been paying much closer attention to the time than Jameson had, William set about pouring them both a cup of tea. "And I would not be upset if you ever chose not to engage with me. But I am also very open to maintaining an intimate arrangement, should you be comfortable with that."

Of course he would; Jameson had never felt attraction to another person the way he ever had with William. But he'd embarrassed himself enough for the conversation, so Jameson instead nodded and replied, "I am."

William's resulting smile was gorgeous, and Jameson busied himself with adding each of his sugar cubes to his cup, one at a time, and watching them melt. "Well I'm grateful to hear that we seem to be in agreement to that point. Which brings me to one of those ground rules I think it would be important to establish: that I shall refrain from making advances, but you're free to do so whenever and in whichever form you like."

Jameson's spoon slipped out of his fingers, but he'd still been stirring his tea, so it didn't make too much of a racket. "A-are you sure? I mean that's giving me a lot of control. Not to mention I might decide to impose on you at an inopportune time, and—"

"Control," William said, looking beyond serious, "is the exact thing I wished to give you. It would be unfair of me to continue to take that away from you. No, I want you to know you're in full control, to know that you do not need to worry about fending off unwanted proposals. That said, if you tell me you'd like to try opening yourself up to my propositions, I will do so, but I'd consider it a temporary allowance, rather than a permanent one." In short, he wouldn't even be giving himself the opportunity to act in the way Stratford and the other regulars had. "And as to your second point, Jameson—

"As far as I'm concerned, you choosing to proposition me would never be an inopportune event."

If he'd been in any other state of mind beforehand, Jameson might have very well become aroused from those words alone. As it were, though, he still felt flustered to such an extreme that he couldn't form words, a fact that he attempted to cover up by devouring the rest of his cake. It didn't stop him from being embarrassed, but it gave him enough time to muster up the ability to say, "I-if that's the case, then I'd be happy to accept those terms."

"Excellent. You have full permission to do as you like with me should I break them." William's tone was light, but Jameson had no doubt that he was just as serious about that as he was the deal they were making in the first place. "Oh, but I did forget to mention. Whatever rules we decide on now needn't be permanent. As time goes on, if you change your mind, we can always discuss them then. So while you should think about what sort of boundaries you wish to have, don't worry about the possibility that you might want to alter them. Of course, that goes just as much for adding new rules as taking them away. If something comes up that we didn't anticipate, do please let me know."

"I understand." He hadn't even needed to say anything before William had brought up the possibility. "Does this…include if I ever start something and want to stop?"

"Of course it does," William said with no hesitation. "All you need to do is tell me, and I'll listen. Though I'll also be sure to keep an eye out if it seems as if you're uncomfortable and check in with you." Jameson tried his best to repeat the words in his mind, as if that would make them seem any more real. But even if it was a dream, he never wanted to wake up from it. "Shall we discuss what you are and aren't comfortable with me trying in bed, then?"

It was a surreal choice of conversation to be having at the kitchen table, but it was just the two of them—a much better environment than William's flirtations at their previous lunch date, at any rate. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about, though? I can handle pretty much anything."

"That's not what I asked for. You may be able to endure much—" William reached for Jameson's hand, stopping just short of touching him, and Jameson made the move to complete the contact "—but that does not mean you are comfortable with it. Consider this a clean slate, Jameson, one where you and you alone get to decide what will be placed on it." In other words, he could control not just when and where their potential trysts would occur, but also the entirety of their contents. "You mentioned…some things in passing that seemed harmful. Anything like that, I never wish to do to you. Though if dredging up the memories now is too much, I don't want to force you to relive them, either."

"A-ah…" Jameson tried to swallow down the forming sob, but it didn't work. Even without tears, the concept of words seemed to fail him. William gave his hand a squeeze, and Jameson squeezed back, though his grip was much tighter. "You promise?" he whispered. "If I tell you, you promise not to…"

"I swear it upon my very life." He was so sincere, too, and that just made Jameson's heart ache. It was selfish of him, to want to keep such a kind, wonderful person all to himself, but Jameson wanted him anyway, wanted William to be by his side in every conceivable way.

"I…don't have it in me to talk about everything. Not tonight. But I think, with a bit more cake, I could speak of it for a little while?"

William's answering soft chuckle was more than enough to make Jameson feel like it would be okay, and that feeling stayed with him, all the way until they turned in for the night, Jameson taking a kiss for himself before he sunk into William's blankets and fell asleep.

From there, the days fell into a somewhat comfortable pattern. Jameson alternated between waking up in his own bed and William's, and from there he would assemble himself and go to help Louis with the household affairs. Some days that meant serving as a sous chef, following the simple preparation instructions (cooking, he was finding, was a much more logical process then he'd expected, though it did require some skill and finesse to make excellent dishes rather than just passable ones), other days that meant assisting with the regular cleaning rotations, and, on rare occasion, helping choose between certain menu options. No matter what, Louis was always the one to take care of the shopping out of the house, though William and Albert seemed to have some sort of agreement that Jameson should at least leave the manor every couple of days, which turned into regular outings to various restaurants around the area.

Not every day was the exact same, but there were enough familiar actions that Jameson was starting to establish a new normal for himself. That said, aside from the housework, Jameson had put a significant amount of work into further familiarizing himself with the viscounty's affairs, with the occasional advice from William or Albert on how to better adjust his investments for the future. And since Jameson hadn't wanted to deal with the details ever again if he could help it, he'd dove into the task with a sense of determination to complete it all as soon as possible. Sure, there would be a regular check-in with the financials, but at least most of Stratford's ventures had other people in charge of all the actual work, while the viscount had reaped the benefits. That, at least, made things easier once Jameson confirmed the affairs he was keeping and which ones he would pull his support out of.

Also, Jameson had thrown himself so deep into the process because he wasn't sure what else to do with his time.

Such uncertainty remained buried with so much work to take care of, but it resurfaced once all the busyness had been cleared. While the regular trips out of the house allowed him to experience new things (he'd determined that he did, in fact, enjoy trying out new foods), that didn't feel like a proper hobby, nor did it provide a further sense of purpose. Further, it didn't seem that the Moriartys had been asked to complete any work as a crime consultant, which had been Jameson's excuse for sticking around.

He was once again left with the question of who was he?

Flipping through his journal provided partial results. He'd written down many things he was interested in trying, yes, but half of them were partway illegible thanks to how drunk he'd been at the time, another half involved certain activities with William, and the remainder were a mix of places in London he wouldn't mind exploring should he have the chance. Upon further reflection, he added the names of the remaining regulars, with Westmeath the foremost target, but that didn't provide him a solution to the issue of what he could do when he was alone, activities to complete that would be for his enjoyment and his enjoyment alone.

Jameson needed a hobby, and he didn't have the slightest possible idea of where to start.

He found reading enjoyable, and the volumes Albert had recommended to him left no shortage of options, but Jameson often found himself growing antsy if he sat around too long. Tending to the finances was work, not pleasure. Drinking tea and enjoying the variety of snacks Louis stocked the kitchen with was enjoyable, but that was just a normal part of life, so did that even count?

After about an hour in thought on the matter and getting nowhere, Jameson stood up from the worktable in his room and flipped his journal shut with frustration. William had said it was alright for him to take his time in figuring himself out, but Jameson still felt like a blank canvas—no, that wasn't right, either. He felt like a canvas that had already been painted over by other people, and dropping a fresh layer of white on top wasn't enough to get rid of the weight of all the brushstrokes underneath.

Knowing he was just going to work himself up into a tizzy if he kept pondering the topic on his own, Jameson gave up and went to find William, who didn't have any lectures to attend to for the day, so he'd be somewhere in the manor. Even without an outside obligation, though, William spent a lot of time cooped up in his study, working on theses and math problems that Jameson didn't have the knowledge to understand in full. And yet, he looked so peaceful while doing it, a noticeable excitement in his expressions whenever he made a successful amount of progress.

Why can't I have something that I care about that much?

The answer: Stratford had never given him the chance to try, and Jameson hadn't ever fought him on the matter, either, too occupied with attempting to survive to think about his own pleasure.

As he headed down the stairs, Jameson gripped tight onto the banister but forced himself to keep going. If his mind was wandering to such places, then he needed company anyways, so at least the timing was fortunate in that regard. Except before he could even make it to the first floor, the distant but noticeable sound of a piano met his ears and piqued his curiosity.

That there was a piano in the manor was not a surprise in the slightest—Jameson had cleaned the drawing room it was in a few times—nor was it that one of the residents of the manor knew how to play it—such a skill was common for nobles to learn. Still, in seeing it, the instrument hadn't seemed to get much use, so Jameson had suspected it was more of a set piece than anything else.

I wouldn't mind listening for a while, Jameson thought, stuck on the step as he debated his options. A little music is pleasant every now and then. But what if it's Louis that's playing? But if I can hear it this clear from such a distance, that must mean the door's open, so it'll be easy enough to check. Committing to the idea, Jameson made his way to the ground floor and towards the drawing room. If nothing else, the arrangement of the room meant that whichever brother was at the piano would have his back to the door, so it would be easy enough to slip away should it be Louis that was performing.

Jameson's heart almost sunk once he saw the blond head of hair upon checking, but further observation indicated that it was William who was playing. It was clear from the smoothness that he wasn't out of practice in the slightest, a conclusion that was further supported by the fact that he seemed to be playing from memory, rather than off of any sheet music. Not wanting to interrupt, Jameson snuck into the room and took a seat, allowing himself to relax into the gentle melody for a while, all the way until the piece reached its conclusion. Jameson considered it for a moment, then chose to give a gentle round of applause.

William glanced over his shoulder, not looking surprised by Jameson's presence in the slightest. Instead, he smiled, as if he were glad for the company, and Jameson couldn't ignore the flip in his stomach at the sight.

"I wasn't aware you played," Jameson said, nodding in the direction of the piano. "It was lovely to listen to."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll admit I don't play as often as I should to keep up the skill, but it felt like a good pastime this morning." If that was what William was capable of after not playing as often as he should, Jameson couldn't even imagine what it would be like should the man take on a more rigorous routine. "What about you? Do you play at all?"

"Not too much beyond the basics." Jameson rolled a cluster of hair between his thumb and forefinger. His patron had considered it a good skill for a noble lady to have, though Jameson hadn't done much more than the odd demonstration at a social gathering here and there outside of his required practice.

"In which case, would you like to play with me?"

William accompanied the offer with a pat at the bench beside him, and Jameson's heart caught in his throat. "I'm afraid I'm rather rusty…"

"No matter. I wouldn't be bothered by that in the slightest." He leaned over, reaching into a box by the piano's side, opening it to shuffle through the papers. "I assume you've played some of the classics before, then? If we take things at a slower tempo, then I'm sure it'll all come back to you." He paused, catching himself. "Apologies. I don't mean to pressure you, Jameson. I just thought I'd offer, but you're under no obligation to do more than sit and listen."

So he said, but it was the fact that he'd seemed almost excited (or at the very least interested) at the idea of playing a duet that had Jameson standing and heading to the bench. William gestured for him to pick his preference, and Jameson settled down on the upper-end of the piano, running his fingers across the keys without pressing down to play any notes. The bench had more than enough room for each of them to have enough space, but Jameson still pressed his thigh against William's, just to feel the other man's warmth.

William didn't pull away.

Instead, William busied himself with setting up the score upon the music rest, though the sheet was old and battered enough that the title was half blurred under some sort of stain. The notes were more than clear enough, though, and Jameson found that—after reciting a short mnemonic to remember which positions meant which notes—he remembered how to read it well enough. Finding the closest C to centre himself around, Jameson at last played a few notes, his fingers working their way through the warm-up scales as if it hadn't been months since he'd last performed.

Jameson glanced over to William, and he was rewarded with an encouraging smile. "Whenever you're ready," William said, and Jameson nodded, scanning the notes on the page and miming the keystrokes before counting them off at what had to be at least half the pace of the intended tempo. Jameson's first movements were clumsy, but William didn't stop whenever Jameson hit a wrong note, so neither did he. In fact, William kept pace with Jameson, even as he sped up and slowed down, making a jilted but recognizable melody.

Yes, Jameson had played the piece before, though he'd always been rubbish at recalling which songs were which, and even more so when it came to the works that were a collection of numbers for names. But the melody was comforting, and Jameson's playing smoothed out—not to a presentable standard by any means, but an improved state at least—William effortlessly keeping up with him through the handful of minutes it took to reach the final bar, the last chord settling into place as Jameson contemplated what he'd just done.

"Bravo," William said, though it was much too high a level of praise for such a basic level of accomplishment. "Even if all you had was a rudimentary instruction, you've managed to maintain much of it in your memory, it seems."

"It's funny, the things our bodies recall even without trying." Jameson might have shoved down much of his recollections of his time in Aldborough Manor, and yet he could recall almost every song he'd learned to perform, or at least snippets of them. "I don't think I ever enjoyed playing the piano before. I never disliked it, but it wasn't something that brought me much joy, either."

William's expression turned apologetic, and Jameson went back to studying the black and white keys so he wouldn't have to face it head on. "In which case, I thank you for indulging me. We've all become so busy as of late that I haven't played with someone else in a while."

"I wouldn't mind being your duet partner then." Knowing he wouldn't be able to take whatever look William was giving him, Jameson busied himself with playing a few soft notes. "I never thought of piano as anything other than a chore, since it's something my patron insisted I know how to do. But if it's with you, I might enjoy it more." He offered William a smile, and the expression was genuine as it welled up inside him. "I'm at a bit of a loss for how to spend my time anyways, so it'll give me something to look forward to." It would give him a further excuse to spend time with William, in any event, and it wasn't as if he couldn't drop out in the future should he decide it wasn't something he enjoyed. "I won't be able to tell what I like if I don't give it a try, yes? So…"

"In which case, I'll have to practice more often." Between the two of them, Jameson was certain that he was the one who needed much more practice, but William must've had his own standards that he wished to meet. "But before that, we should settle on a piece to play together. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

Jameson shook his head; remembering the songs didn't mean he had any positive associations with them. "You can pick, William. If it's something you like, I'm sure I'll come to enjoy it as well. At least, if I have something new to associate it with."

"Alright, then I'll select a few. Can you pass me the scores?" Jameson complied, scooting the wooden container across the floor. Even something as simple as a box to hold papers had a detailed lattice etching upon it, the design textured beneath his fingers. William lifted the whole thing up and into his lap, thumbing through the papers within. He wasn't the sort to mutter to himself, but he did gain a furrow between his brows whenever he was in deep thought. Using getting a better look as an excuse, Jameson shuffled closer into William's side. He didn't intend to initiate anything further, but being close was nice, and he hoped that regular contact would help him stop jumping out of his skin in William's presence whenever Jameson was in a less than ideal state of mind.

He wanted to have moments like these, where it was nothing but the two of them, feeling safe.

After he'd flipped through the whole contents of the box, William settled upon pulling out three different pieces. "These should do well enough," he said, and Jameson wondered if that assessment accounted for his moderate level of skill. Well, even if it didn't, practice would count as something he could spend his time on, so it was one step closer to determining a hobby, and that one step was all he could accomplish at once. "Feel free to pick out whichever one you like most, and we can start there. Also, you're more than welcome to the rest of our music whenever you like." Jameson accepted the scores, familiarizing himself with the titles so he could remember them when he came back later. They didn't look too complex, so with some regular effort, he felt confident enough in making a passable performance. "And should you ever want to practice together, you can come and ask me any time."

Jameson knew that he'd at least get the basics down before he took William up on his offer, but it was nice to know the option was available to him. "At the rate you keep offering your time to me, you won't have a spare moment in your schedule for anything else."

"And would that be so unfortunate?" For Jameson, no, though he might become overwhelmed by embarrassment before they could reach such a point. William chuckled at Jameson's blush, though he didn't make any further move than that. "But I do mean it, Jameson. Whenever you're ready for it, I'll be glad to play with you again."

"I want to practice more first." Good, his voice wasn't shaking just yet. "I want to get back into the swing of things, and then I'll have you join me." That way, his flaws wouldn't be so obvious next to William's impeccable playing. Besides, there was something he wanted more than that first, and Jameson set the scores in his lap so he could grasp William's closest hand and pull it up to cup Jameson's own cheek in the process. William's breath caught, or perhaps it was Jameson in response to his own boldness, but he relished the sensation, nonetheless. Yes, he thought, I want this. "For today. This much is alright."

William brought his free hand up to Jameson's other cheek without any guidance. "Then this as well?" Jameson nodded, and William's response was to rest their foreheads together. "And this?"

"I thought the point of our conversation the other night was to answer these questions in advance," Jameson said, though it wasn't as if he were cross at the matter. While William's current actions were much more preferrable to what he'd experienced before, it would be a tedious time indeed if he checked every single action he made—and that effect would be even more pronounced once they passed casual touches and went further.

"It was, yes," William said, looking right into Jameson's eyes. "But you also set those terms in a very different situation. I want to make sure you still feel comfortable with this much affection—though I promise to do it but the once, and afterwards I shall take your word for it."

It seemed a reasonable enough compromise, and Jameson relented. "Very well. I don't believe your checking each and every possible movement during intercourse would make for an enjoyable time for either of us."

"Perhaps not, but I'm sure your commanding my every move would prove to be very delectable indeed." The pang that sent through Jameson's body seemed to agree, but it wasn't enough to spur him on to attempt it. No, it was just enough for Jameson to sear that tone of voice into his memory for later. "But we can discuss that matter whenever the time is right. For the time being, this will do." And before Jameson could form a response, William had dropped a kiss onto Jameson's forehead before pulling back to reveal the full brightness of his enchanting smile. "Now, shall we play another song together?"

And Jameson felt so fulfilled in that moment that he was rather inclined to agree.

[Author's Notes]

Happy birthday-not-birthday to William! May Takeuchi and Miyoshi one day decide to give us William's actual birthday and name, please and thank you.

First up: exceptional thanks to Punk Trash Noiz for dropping the pile of reviews on the first season, and extra thanks to them for being my beta and putting up with these massive chapters. I couldn't do it without them.

The irony of this chapter is that I'm posting on William's "birthday," but it's actually about Louis's birthday (and other things). I'm writing the chapter with William's birthday now, though, so maybe that counts for something?

That said, we're setting up some plotline things and also having my usual indulgence of exploring the world and life in intricate detail, because I like it when fics do that. Also Jameson very much needs some positive affirmation and learning what he likes doing, so we'll be exploring bits of that while the Moriartys let some time settle before getting into the full scope of Jameson's crime consultancy.

On the self promo chain, I finally finished scanning and posting all my backlog art! You can find plenty of art for this fic (including the cover page image) on both my DeviantArt (Aviantei) and Instagram (aviplotbunny). I'm really happy with how the recent art pieces came out, so do go check them out!

Season two of this fic will be five parts long and will update every other Saturday until its completion! Also next week I'll be posting the first piece of my nsfw collection for my Kimetsu no Yaiba fic, so if you want more queer smut, I gotchu covered.

Title of the chapter is from Bring Me the Horizon's "Strangers."

Next time: Moriarty Manor Daily Life, Act Two. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[04.01.2023]