Chapter Text
How much more vibrant, Monty wondered, could the world get?
Black-and-white couldn’t be all that bad, really, not if Percy still looked so gorgeous in such muted tones. Not if Monty could still see the freckles decorating Percy’s checks like splattered paint, and notice the white gleam glinting in the dark of his eyes. Monty couldn’t imagine Percy looking any more lovely than he already did, color be damned, and surely he didn’t even need a soulmate if he could keep looking at Percy’s perfect, perfect countenance.
But, damn, did he want to know.
“I think I’m going out tonight,” Monty announced, falling back to sprawl himself over Percy’s lap. “Will you be keeping me company?”
Percy hummed and ran his fingers through the hair that had fallen over Monty’s eyes, pushing it back. With the dark strands out of the way, he could meet Percy’s fond gaze and watch the easy smile spread over his face. “Depends,” Percy said, light and teasing. “What type of outing will this be?”
“Are you implying that there is any sort of event that wouldn’t be made perfect merely by my presence?”
“Perish the thought,” Percy deadpanned, the tone belied by the smile he was barely forcing down and the pleasant tug of his fingers in Monty’s hair. “Really, darling, what are you thinking?”
“Oh,” Monty ventured, “just imagining an evening spent with pretty strangers and potential soulmates.”
And that was about where the fond teasing ended. Percy looked up and away from Monty, and took his hand from Monty’s hair, resting it instead on the arm of the couch. Disappointing, but not unpredictable. Percy had been squeamish about soulmates as long as Monty had thought to notice that kind of thing, and that squeamishness was about all that had kept Monty from kissing him, just to see—
“Sorry, Monty,” Percy said, and maybe if Monty hadn’t known him all their lives, he would’ve bought the apologetic tone. “I think I’ll leave you to have that adventure on your own.” Monty had only half-formed a pout when Percy looked back down at him. “I’m sure all those pretty strangers will thank me, getting you all on their own.”
Figuring he probably shouldn’t lie himself all over Percy when he was in this soulmate thing was, Monty sat up and, with an exaggerated groan, collapsed so that his back was resting on Percy’s arm. (It wasn’t like he was going to keep from all contact.) “But Perce—” he dragged out the word until he heard Percy laugh under his breath. “Everything is so dreadfully dull without you. Who’s going to help me weed out the bad people? Or fill the time between them? Who’s going to take that carriage home with me at the end of the night, the only one to stick around? Who’s—”
“Monty, I’m really just tired.” That was a lie, but Monty figured there was no point calling him on it. “You go have fun.”
“Fine,” Monty whined the concession. “Under one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You tell me,” he started, turning so that instead of his back being flush to Percy’s shoulder, his chest was. “why you hate talking about soulmates.”
Percy blanched and looked away. “I don’t hate— I have no problem talking about soulmates.”
“Oh really?” Monty countered, grinning in a way he hoped came off casual and charming, not desperate and tinged with the all too present sentiment of God-I-want-to-kiss-you. “Because from what I’ve noticed, the topic makes you practically squeamish. Might as well tell me why.”
Percy returned Monty’s smile in kind, but if he really thought Monty couldn’t notice the way the tight-lipped expression differed from his actual grin— “I think you’re seeing things, Monty. It’s not like you ever bring up the subject, either.”
“I just did, and you are very pointedly not answering.”
As Percy rolled his eyes, the dark of his irises caught the light from the window opposite them. Fucking gorgeous. “What’s got you thinking about soulmates, Monty?”
“Say what you will about me, darling, but I can tell when someone’s dodging a question.” Monty stood and stretched, before holding out a hand to help Percy up as well.
Percy’s hand lingered in Monty’s for a beautifully long moment after they were both standing, but Monty knew where to let things end, and stepped away from him. He didn’t trust himself around Percy when they were talking about this. He smiled, and tried not to read disappointment into the half-second frown Percy’s expression slipped into as he stepped away. Because, in so short a moment that Monty must have imagined it, he was smiling again.
“Set a good example for me, then, and answer mine.”
Monty shrugged as he made his way over to the decanter. Perhaps the only good thing, besides Percy, about being back in the house was that preppy boarding schools were far more discerning about leaving alcohol around. “God, I don’t know, Perce.” It wasn’t even a lie. Most of the time, he forgot soulmates were even a thing; since hardly a tenth of people ever found theirs, and many not until quite a bit older than Monty, it wasn’t that much of a prevalent thing. But every so often, when he looked at Percy, he couldn’t help but wonder. “Suppose, when everything you see is just like this—” He gestured vaguely around him. “I forget that there’s anything else. But then sometimes you just, out of nowhere, remember. Yeah?”
“I suppose,” Percy said, pushing himself up to sit on the windowsill. Even better than it had looked reflected in his eyes, the sunlight haloing Percy was… holy. Angelic in a way that made Monty almost guilty about the entirely blasphemous things he was thinking, looking at his friend.
Christ, he needed that drink.
“Now, your turn,” Monty prompted, all too ready to get out of his head.
“Really, Monty, it just doesn’t interest me all that much,” Percy said, the shadows cast over his face hiding whether or not his expression was sincere. “I think it’s an irrelevant system, and a flawed one, and that it’s silly to stake one’s hope of a relationship on whether or not you can see in color the first time you kiss.”
“I figure it must be nice, though.” Monty paused to take a sip of his drink. “The artists won’t shut up about it, how empty the world without color seems, in comparison to the vibrant one.”
“It’s overrated.” When Monty frowned at him, Percy continued, “From what I’d guess. And lovely as anything, must be, but… useless, really. It isn’t like the world bothers with color; hell, most people can’t even name a good number of shades. It’s a luxury for the lucky.”
Monty smiled and tilted his glass towards Percy. “Well, I center my life around gaining as much luxury and luck as I can, so here’s hoping.”
Percy chuckled. Maybe he didn’t have color, Monty thought, but there seemed a complexity to the sound of Percy’s voice, of his laugh, that was layered in a way he’d heard color described, and that was enough for him, he’d found.
Because, the thing was, Monty really was alright with not finding a soulmate. He’d given it a good deal of thought, and the world seemed just fine as it was. Percy had said it perfectly; no one bothered with color, and things looked fine enough as they were. Sure, he wouldn’t mind having one, he’d quite like it, really, but it was…
Well, really, the whole wrench in the being-blase-about-soulmates plan was Percy. Because, on one hand, why would he need a soulmate if he had Percy? Even if Percy didn’t feel the same— which was a ‘though’ more than an ‘if’, he had to remind himself, lest he get too hopeful and try to kiss a boy with no interest— he couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than he loved Percy, soulmate or not, and Percy’s friendship was far better than any relationship he’d had in his life, so why bother with trying to find some maybe-connection that might as well have no bearing on his life?
On the other hand, he couldn’t quite get it out of his head that maybe, maybe, Percy was his soulmate.
Which might just be some sort of deluded hope or desperation, he knew. He’d never heard talk of two men— or two ladies, for that matter— being soulmates, but for the record, never had he heard about a charming young rake falling head over heels in love with his male best friend. But that was beside the point, because even if they were, what would it matter? Monty would still inherit the manor and marry some woman his father picked out, and Percy still had a bright future going off and making the world a far better place than it currently was. Soulmates had no sway on that.
However, hope was not such an easily extinguished thing.
“But I understand what you mean,” Monty finally continued, figuring it was only fair to give his own side of things. “I don’t really put much stock in it either, really. As much as I’d like a soulmate, it’s not really likely to happen, as many ladies have the pleasure of kissing me.”
“Don’t discount the lads,” Percy interjected, light and teasing, as if it wouldn’t turn Monty’s world on its head.
“Oh?” Monty questioned, trying to sound far more casual than he felt. “You think it could be? I’ve never been sure.”
Percy blinked, as if realizing what the objection there may be, and then looked down. He said nothing for a moment, stared at the shadow his lithe arms cast a shadow over the windowsill, a hint of a frown on his face. “I mean— I don’t suppose why not.”
“Percy Newton, I have seen you in a church before, you know there’s a reason to suppose why not.” Monty put down his drink, the ice clinking against the otherwise empty glass. He missed the proximity to Percy the way he did whenever they were more than a few feet apart, which was ridiculous, he knew, but couldn’t be helped. He walked over to join Percy on the sill. “The holiness of ‘heaven-made pairs’ blessed with color and the wretchedness of those who have ‘impure thoughts’ about members of the same sex are both fairly popular topics. And look, it is quite possible I am mixing things up, but those don’t exactly add up into ‘Monty’s soulmate could be a lad’, do they?”
Percy snorted and moved over so Monty could take the seat next to him. “The church doesn’t know about soulmates any better than you do. And they’re wrong about a lot of things.” He passed his fingers over Monty’s, then. It was a barely-there touch, not taking his hand, just reminding him that his was there to take. And Monty hadn’t given a damn about religion in longer than he could remember, but that didn’t make it easier to be told his attractions were inherently sinful, time and time again. And Percy knew that, without every asking, because he was Percy.
“Regardless,” Monty changed the subject, not wanting to dwell too much on the idea of his soulmate potentially being a lad, because that just led to him dwelling on the idea of his soulmate being Percy, and that would just lead to him trying to kiss Percy, and that would be messy. “Lad or lady, odds are I’d never find them. And even if I did, what are the actual chances I’d be able to marry them? My father has an absurd list of requirements for the women I’m permitted to be seen with, and even if I found my soulmate and she met every single one of those expectations, I’m sure he’d force me to marry another girl, just to ensure my misery. I’d just end up heartbroken, so I think I’m better living life with my fun little dalliances and not getting too worried over that kind of thing.”
Then Percy really did take his hand, long fingers twining between Monty’s own. He didn’t say anything, didn’t comment on the way Monty’s voice had cracked when talking about that future, didn’t apologize, just held his hand. Monty took the opportunity to drop his head on Percy’s shoulder. “We could always run away,” Percy said, after a good moment. He was joking, obviously; Monty didn’t have to look up to hear the slight smile in his voice. And even though Monty knew it was a joke, even though he knew it was silly to even consider it—who would he be, even, without the family money?—thinking about a life with Percy was… Well, who needed color, when Percy could make him feel like that? “Head off to the hills, swear off marriage entirely, and you can have as many dalliances as your heart pleases.”
“Two dashing young men out in the countryside, without a thought to soulmates or weddings or commitment. We’d be the heart of the country’s rumor mill,” Monty joked, infusing increasing levels of drama into his tone until he could feel Percy laugh beneath him. “Monty and Percy, us against the world, stealing hearts and going on grand adventures.” He laughed. “It would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Percy murmured, and the tone struck Monty immediately. It wasn’t light, it sure as hell wasn’t jovial; Monty didn’t know what it was. Almost embarrassingly fast, Monty turned to look him in the eyes, and found that his expression matched his tone, one-to-one. The slim, closed-lipped smile, the soft eyes with irises shaded by long dark eyelashes, eyebrows drawn up and towards each other… Percy looked awed. He was looking at Monty like Monty was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And Monty— Monty wanted to kiss him.
He wanted to kiss him because he loved him, because he wanted to know if they were fated by this flawed system, because someone as brilliant and radiant as Percy deserved to be kissed by someone who so adored him. He wanted to kiss Percy because it was what he himself wanted. He wanted to kiss Percy because who would look at someone so softly—drag their fingertips, slow and determined, down someone’s arm—without wanting to kiss?
He’s had nearly deluded himself into doing it, but then Percy’s hand found its destination, clamped around Monty’s wrist. Percy pulled him up as he stood, and any tension in the moment was dust. Then it was just Percy, standing there with a half-smile and not looking in the least affected by what just happened—because, Monty realized with that same dull ache that always arose when he let himself have the smallest dash of hope, nothing just happened. To Percy, it was just them. It was just a joke shared between friends, just platonic proximity and gazes that lingered because where else would they land?, and Monty was the fool for thinking otherwise.
“Are you still going out tonight?” Percy asked, letting go of Monty’s wrist and leaving him, shrouded in disappointment and monochrome, still standing by the windowsill. “I’m feeling more myself now; I’ll tag along if you still want me.”
And Monty, after giving himself just one more moment of self-pity, smiled. Because, well, he had to. Because as desperate as he was to know, he couldn’t help but read Percy’s distance as a rejection. And he knew it wasn’t, really. He knew that he couldn’t have gotten a ‘no’ in response to a question he never asked. And part of him, so desperately, wanted to ask. Wanted to pull Percy into a corner, late in the night, and lean in far enough so that Percy would have no choice but to either close the distance or reject Monty entirely. And maybe he’d do it— that night or the next or a week from then or maybe never. In that moment, it didn’t really matter. In that moment, he just smiled, and drifted over to where Percy stood, and, tragically carefree as ever, told an unchangeable truth in the tone of a fickle joke:
“Darling, I will always want you.”