Courtship Stop #1: The Keats Estate
Orpheus kept his eyes down, feeling Ilyas’ presence standing before him. He refused to look. The sight of Ilyas’ smug smirk or casual posture was likely to send Orpheus back into the depths of the anger he no longer had the energy to fuel. Still, even without making eye contact, Orpheus could feel the tension in the air like a heavy blanket that seemed to continually shroud them in discomfort when they were near each other.
The weight of their previous interactions was laced into every movement and spoken word, weaving the past into each present moment they spent together.
The two of them seemed horridly preordained, continually pulled together by the twisted strings of fate that refused to allow them a moments rest.
[color= #D7BBA8] “So, what dire news or juicy gossip brings you to my doorstep today, Orpheus? Couldn’t resist the temptation to see if I’m still the prodigal son you love to hate?” [/color] Ilyas’ words dripped with sarcasm, causing Orpheus’ jaw and fists to clench at the mere sound of his voice.
However, Orpheus knew Ilyas held the upper hand now, and he knew if he created more of a scene than he had the previous night, his welcome home today would be far less kind than it had last night.
[color= #BC0057] “You have not changed in twenty years…I doubt you would become less hateable overnight…” [/color] Orpheus mumbled, tugging at his sleeves again.
[color= #D7BBA8] “If you’re worried about eavesdroppers, we could always find a more private spot. Wouldn’t want any rumors spreading about our clandestine meetings, would we?” [/color] Ilyas continued.
Orpheus flinched. People were already likely to talk if he was seen outside of the Keats’ estate, and rumors involving the two of them were the last thing Orpheus needed to spread.
The last thing he wanted was alone time with Ilyas Keats, yet if he did not apologize properly, his father might not let up next time. The bruises would take up a permanent residence on his skin yet again, the thought of each night behind locked doors sending shivers down his spine.
It had been nearly a year since Orpheus felt the burning sting of metal against his stomach. His father’s cane being his favorite tool, especially when heated over open flame. The bruises of the past had long faded after his brother’s death. The scarring, never did. Orpheus thought his father had finally tired of his torment. Yet, it seemed his father regained some of the previous anger he had held before Vincent’s death, brought about by the reminder of how dissimilar Orpheus and Vincent truly were. Vincent, the perfect Langston heir, the golden child of the golden family.
Then there was Orpheus. A sad, hollow mimicry of his older brother’s presence, Orpheus was a reminder of everything Ezra Langston had lost in his first son. A sorry excuse for a nobleman that was not worthy of the Langston name.
And Duke Langston was sure to remind Orpheus of this fact at every available opportunity.
Orpheus hesitated, the fear of losing his composure with Ilyas fighting against the fear of his father, both unpredictable and fiery in their outcomes.
Orpheus took a breath, keeping his eyes low.
[color= #BC0057] “Lead the way…” [/color] He muttered, following the sight of Ilyas’ feet through the estate halls.
Orpheus knew the interior well, the design being eerily similar to his own.
As Ilyas led him out to the garden, Orpheus hesitated on the back garden porch, the soft creak of the wood sending flashes of memories of drunken and withered nights crumpled in the corner of a porch so similar it could have been the very same.
The warm brush of soft lips, the gentle chill of fingertips…the memory was enough to start Orpheus’ breath with a hitch. He tried to calm himself, his eyes never leaving Ilyas’ shoes as they walked to another small room in the back of the garden, a greenhouse.
The warmth of the enclosed glass space fell over Orpheus’ body as they entered, pushing out the morning chill from his bones.
Orpheus looked up. Just for a moment.
A small smile tore at the corner of his mouth as he looked around the room.
Greenery hung from every inch of the walls, the golden glow of morning light setting the entire enclosure ablaze in a tinted hue. Orpheus admired the expanse of it all, his own version having long since been torn apart.
Orpheus had once held a greenhouse of his own, built for Lia for a date long ago, filled with roses that were never pulled from their roots, the entirety of it burned to the ground the very same night.
Orpheus missed the warmth the greenhouse provided, the inescapable beauty and peace that came with each breath.
Orpheus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself to relax a bit more. As he opened his eyes, he scanned the area, taking in each aspect of the expansive and lush space. Small pots and vases, plain clay in pieces, scattered across table tops and underneath on the floors. A small easel sat in the corner with assorted colors of paint along the table next to it.
It seemed it was not just a greenhouse, but a workshop of sorts.
Orpheus trailed his fingers along the jagged, broken pieces of clay, smiling at the finger indentations that were pressed into some of the pieces. Orpheus sat for a moment, his own hand lined up with the prints and indents along the clay, measuring them against each other, feeling the edges of each finger’s curve, tracing the fingerprints he could find with a gentle curiosity.
For a moment, he had forgotten Ilyas was even there.
Suddenly feeling the burning watchfulness of his company’s eyes, Orpheus dropped his hand and his eyes at once, standing with his back to Ilyas. Orpheus struggled to move, his mind racing with a hundred thoughts and anxious notions of how to even begin the conversation.
The prospect of apologizing to someone like Ilyas, despite the conviction that he had done no wrong, set Orpheus’ nerves on edge. The once warm and comforting air, seemed thick with the discomfort of anticipated awkwardness. Orpheus felt his eyes burning with embarrassment, threatening tears before the words even left his mouth. His stomach twisted in butterfly filled knots at the realization of their isolation and the impending conversation that he could not avoid now.
Orpheus tried to steady himself against the table, his hands gripping the edges of the wood tightly. He took a calming breath and forced the tears from his eyes before speaking, even more terrified of Ilyas seeing tears fall from his cheeks.
[color= #BC0057] “About last night…” [/color] Orpheus started, trying to steady his shaking breath as he spoke. His back remained turned from Ilyas, his eyes down.
He was so focused on calming himself, he had not realized his grip on the table had caused his sleeves to pull up slightly, exposing the tinted imprints of the cane underneath.
mentioned :
Ilyas (@Madilfill)
Lia (@benitz786)
