Work Text:
Why?
Of all the things that could have happened to Richard, this was by far the worst and the cruelest.
Falling in love is beautiful; the act of waking up from a gray and apathetic world to open your eyes and see the blues of the most stunning sky, the greens of the woods and parks, the yellow of the burning sun and of those angelic, wavy golden locks.
To leave a dull world behind to experience the most wonderful grace of love.
Living while loving and being loved; sharing whispers and soft laughter with your beloved; walking hand in hand, wanting to entwine much more than fingers — but the soul itself. Sharing tender and loving kisses, the thirsty ones and the hurried ones; walking alone along the shore as if there were no one else left in the world.
Something as beautiful as loving like this should be portrayed by the greatest artists in the world. Richard did not consider himself an artist, but for every moment, there was a piece of art that will live forever, telling anyone who sees it an unfair love story.
In every brushstroke, feelings were poured out; in every line and rhyme of poetry, Richard smiled, happy to express his love; between notes and chords, Richard shed bitter tears over the end that eventually comes for us all.
And if he could, if he had the chance, he would have said much more than he was able to.
He would speak of how the occurrences and actions of fate united them; how the chances of never getting involved were far greater than the chances of meeting and falling in love. Love is unfair and it destroys the soul, but ironically, he wouldn't change a thing.
He wouldn't change anything between them, but he would change the world.
In a perfect world, he would say everything and more, and Henry would be ready to listen. There would be no barriers of homophobia between them; Henry wouldn't have the scars that prevented him from feeling, the ones that let him be dominated by fear and turned him into a coward.
Henry wasn't ready for love, but Richard was.
There is so much I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it. Life, fate, God, the universe — it doesn’t matter — something beyond us surely united your rare life to mine; we intertwined and we loved.
Oh, if you would only let me, I would eradicate every doubt regarding this freedom of yours that haunts you so much. My heart twists and fills me with anxiety; I live in daily torment over the idea of what we could have been. These ghosts always return to haunt me when I think of us.
If you knew of my torment, would you still come to save me?
I think of how I could scream to the world how much I love you and want you by my side. I could go on the most dangerous missions if only you could guarantee me one more encounter with you. I would open up like never before; I would expose myself and leave every comfort zone just to return to that sanctuary of ours — that dark bedroom where you told me your deepest secrets in a low, husky voice. There, I saw your universe in your clear blue eyes.
While you wait for a discreet love, I showed indiscreetly how much I love you.
Yes.
You weren't ready, but I was.
And I still am.
Living while dying of love is still better than returning to the moment before I met you. Living just for the sake of living, the days being gray and empty... that apathetic life scares me. Living with this ache in my chest burns my heart and makes me feel alive.
I am still waiting for you.
I am still longing for you.
And so I shall remain, until inevitably my heart forgets you.
But until then, I will be here.
And I hope that I am there, in your heart, too.