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It isn't so much love at first sight as it is attraction at first sight, something both special and not. It is special in the sense that there’s always something new and wonderful about each person he finds himself attracted to, and, for he who calls himself fickle with love, not special in the sense that the experience is not out of the ordinary by any means either.
Watching a play, for instance, would result in his attention being grabbed by multiple actors one after the other even as he evaluated the show as a whole. He simply could not help it, the shining passion and star power performers emanated on stage was incomparable to anything else!
Though perhaps it is a little unusual, Rook thinks, to draw his eyes towards a member of the ensemble while the lead actress is singing her heart out on stage. Singing an incredibly beautiful ballad, an award-winning one, might he add.
Now, he absolutely adores ensemble members; lovely as you are, you're not the first case of his attention being taken by one! Especially in productions like this, it was clear they had unmatched energy and dedication despite not being the leads. They were essential in bringing the world on stage to life, to make their fellow actors stand out, but in a scene like this , tone somber and spotlight on one being alone, he should not be looking at you.
But he looks at you.
Is it because you’re beautiful? You were most definitely beautiful, and he would be willing to tell you as much later should he get the chance, but so is everyone else on stage, thus that is not why he looks at you.
At this point in his life, Rook would describe himself as a master of stage play appreciation, and as much as he can praise, he can criticize all the same, and… your expression . It is your expression that draws his attention to you, for the simple fact that you should not have much of one present on your face.
Your fellow ensemble members are straight faced and still, unemotive until cued to be otherwise, but you, oh you , doe-eyed in amazement, looking just as enthralled as the audience as you watch your fellow cast member sing, a rookie mistake that only an actor making their stage début could make.
Still, mistake as it was, the pure adoration on your face, genuineness clear as a blue sky on the sunniest summer’s day, he could not help but adore it. How poetic was it that among a sea of people faking their emotions, people pretending to be one or the other, there you stood showing something real.
Among the cast, it is clear to him you are the baby bird amongst them, the little fledgling who cannot wait to be able to soar skies as vast as the others have. Would you be able to reach those heights? Rook isn’t completely sure, how could he be from one performance alone? Still, he thinks he would love to see you try and do so.
As an actor, you have much more to experience, but thinking of your potential brings him excitement, and your visible excitement he finds adorable, so who could blame him if he comes looking for you after the play? He’s more than ready to talk your ear off about the performance and give his comments, mostly praise of course, and he’s enthused to have spotted you backstage.
You don’t notice him approaching. It’s understandable when he’s still quite a distance away, and he generally makes sure most creatures hardly ever do see him coming, but he slows his tracks anyway. He doesn’t do it to not alarm you, a shocked expression would have been delightful to witness as well, but more so to have more time to observe you without your knowledge.
You should be reveling in your success, the collective success of opening night , but you’re not— you stand away from your fellow castmates, slumped against the wall as though you were to perform a requiem. Oh sorrow , what a sweetly cruel mistress she must be to try and visit you at a time like this! It is why Rook decides to step in, to shine a light so that she who is unwanted may depart.
“ Petit oiseau , this dark cloud looming above you, what could be causing so?” he gives you credit for not being too alarmed by his sudden presence, though your feathers do appear quite ruffled. “What is it that ails your soul, that which prevents you from celebrating tonight’s sh-”
“Petit… what?” you interrupted, some of the previous tension on your face leaving to make way for perplexity. “Who are you?”
He meant to answer, but you suddenly cleared your throat before he could so much as open his mouth.
“Oh, um, I mean… Do you need me for something, sir? Or, rather, monsieur?”
How cute. Were you suddenly worried he was some important figure who shouldn’t be crossed?
“No one you should worry too much about, but if you must know I am Rook Hunt, le chasseur d’amour , at your service.”
“Amour? Huh? Er, it’s nice to meet you, Monsieur Hunt. Oh, right, as for myself,” there’s bewilderment evident on your face but you nod along anyway, introducing yourself as well. For an actor, it’s amusing how you choose to not hide your judgment of him. You also don’t seem to want to answer his previous question, thus Rook decides to change his approach.
“Is this your first show? You looked quite skittish, my—”
“Was it really that obvious?”
Your defenses had dropped quicker than Rook had anticipated, needless worriedness shown in your face, traces of nervousness and the like seeping through your tone and voice. He had wanted to placate you, but instead you had wound up startled, almost like the docile but wild critters he would often come across in the forest.
It is rare for him to think so, but perhaps he had initiated this conversation the wrong way.
“ Non, non , I am simply more observant than most.” A minimization of his true abilities, but that was unimportant to the current situation. “But you have no reason to fret, oui? Mistakes can be avoided and skills can be improved, but you’ll be fine as long as you continue to carry one thing through each and every performance of yours.”
“...Which is?”
“ Fire ,” he responds, “blazing, burning, fire— in your heart, and in your soul, and in your spirit. Set the stage alight and dance in its flames, so that with just a glimpse the audience may ignite.”
“ Fire ,” you repeat, as if to taste the word for yourself, to see if the word burns your tongue, “do you think I have that?”
“ Oui! I speak from experience, of course, for your fire has enraptured me and set me ablaze.” Rook, ever honest when it comes to this hobby he adores, does not lie. You may have a ways to go but you have it — it is your friend, dormant within, and what he wants is for you to not simply recognize it but to embrace it with all that you have.
“Even talking to you now, as you are, as you begin to recover your pep and passion, I find myself melting-”
“ Okay! I think I’ve heard enough for tonight!” You wave your arms around wildly. “My castmates might be looking for me, so… you know.”
Rook could pout at how often you interrupt him, not just once or twice but thrice , but he accepts it all the same. He has other people left to give his praises to, after all! The other actors, the costume designers, the pit orchestra… Oh, he simply couldn’t wait!
“It’s a pity to bid you farewell so soon, but if it can’t be helped then I shall-”
“Wait- oh, sorry, I keep interrupting you, don’t I?” Rook couldn’t help but laugh at that, not that he had any plans of preventing himself in the first place. At least you were self-aware. “I just wanted to say thank you. You were right— it was my first show, and I knew I made a few mistakes… but thanks for cheering me up, even though I’m just an ensemble-”
“Oh, but there is no just , is there?” It’s his turn to interrupt you, and he smiles while doing so. “Just like anyone else, you’re still bringing this story to life. If you were just someone, you wouldn’t be trying to work so hard, would you?”
“Well, no-”
“Then continue to work hard no matter what, and if you want to expand your horizons and do even more roles, work even harder. There is nothing quite like the beauty of someone dedicating themselves to whatever it is they’re doing.” With that, he bids you adieu, tipping his hat in farewell. “I hope to see you on stage once more, little bird.”
“A while ago, that petit you said… little bird… hold on… monsieur! ”
Before he fully turns away he manages to catch you blink your pretty little eyes once, then twice, and at thrice he knows the realization has finally sunk in. He can’t help but grin widely, sneaking one more look at your expression, before leaving to chase after another member of the cast. Yes, he would definitely like to see you again soon.
When he had received the playbill for tonight’s show, it was a delightful surprise to see your name printed on the paper. To be casted in another show, how wonderful to see you continue reaching towards an inspiring dream! Ahh, if only he had known you were performing tonight, he would’ve prepared a rose, no, a bouquet to congratulate you!
And, oh, congratulate you he must! After that splendid performance of yours? He could shed a tear or two at your zest and zeal, beautiful, simply magnifique ! It is why when the curtain falls he cannot help but jump up from his seat to look for you, a thousand words that cannot help themselves from wanting to pour all out at once.
“Monsieur Hunt!” He spots you before you spot him, but you greet him before he does you. Oh, even after you’ve long left the stage you are simply beautiful, residual gleam and glow from the high of the show. He would not deny there was some beauty, a heartaching beauty in seeing you upset, but you are simply radiant as you beam at him. A bit of that fire has simmered out, likely out of exhaustion, but your beauty is blinding in the way the sun is, and what is the sun if not a ball of fire?
Gas. Plasma. It’s a big ball of gas and plasma, but he’ll push scientific accuracy aside for poetic imagery.
“Le petit oiseau remembers me? Who uses the language of love to address me? Had I perhaps come across a shooting star, and if not perhaps a four leaf clover, for how could such fortune be bestowed upon me? A hunter of love I may be, but still a humble man who is simply undeserving, who falters at-”
“Sorry, I’ll be interrupting you again,” you had the courtesy of informing him this time, laughing softly as you pulled him elsewhere, “because I’m not sure if you’re allowed to be here backstage, so let’s go somewhere more hidden.”
He was, actually. Allowed backstage, that is. With how long he’s possessed his hobby, he’s managed to be well-acquainted with a few people in the world of stage plays, including the director of the show you were in. He wasn’t going to tell you that, though, deciding it would be more entertaining to let you have your fun with this little secret .
“Oh my, merely our second encounter and we’re already having a clandestine rendezvous?”
“ Monsieur ,” you sound a little exasperated this time, miniscule warmth disappearing as the tips of your fingers escaped the grasp of his gloved hand, “and for the record, I called you that because you seemed to prefer it, given how you talk. Should I just stick to sir or mister ?”
“You may call me as you wish, for whichever way you choose to address me, they all carry the sweetness of honey, the brilliance of silver bells, the melody of a song— and oh, how melodious was the song you sang tonight! I’ve heard you sing in a chorus before, but to hear your voice singled out was simply a gratifying experience like no other!”
You looked more than a little embarrassed at his proclamations, feigning a cough into the palm of your hand. He wonders if your cheeks, or at the very least your ears, have heated up. “I had five lines in that song… It wasn’t that big of a deal…”
“Oh but it was, wouldn’t you say? That’s five more lines than last time and, if I do say so myself, your fiery flames of passion burned five times brighter as well! Fire no longer a simple, common red, but a dazzling white! Très bien! You should be more proud, mon ami!”
“ Mon ami? Really, all this time I thought you were flirting! So you really just talk like that to everyone?" You said, more to yourself than him, with a shake of your head, and Rook had to wonder if he was simply romanticizing the scenario in his head or if you were actually even the slightest bit disappointed.
Is there one scenario he prefers over the other?
“But you’re right… again. Seriously, are you some type of expert in theatre? Actor? Director? Maybe a stage manager or PA? Professional critic? Ugh, it’s the last one, isn’t it? You’re here during opening night, and last time, too…”
“Non, no professional!” he laughed as he watched you go from skittery to relieved, like a nervous prey accidentally caught in one of his traps only to be released. How cute! “I suppose you could call me a critic, though I much prefer to be called an appreciator of the arts of the stage.”
“So you heavily analyze shows?”
“Yes, exactly. You’ll find it very rare for me to have missed a detail. I could even recite to you every scene which you appeared in the background of.”
“I see…”
You were muttering something underneath your breath, something unintelligible considering even he couldn’t understand what exactly you were saying, but when you decidedly looked up from the ground to him your eyes had shone with resolve. It was a determination the origins of which he had no clue of, but one he could admire all the same.
“Then could you tell me? What you think about the show? As in depth as possible?” you suddenly asked. “It doesn’t have to be about me, it can be in general! I just, you know, want to listen to what you have to say.”
“Really? You want to listen to me talk?” Rook found himself a little stunned at that. He was well aware he was quite the talkative person, truly an understatement, and that most people tried to find a way to either get away from him or to stop him from talking on and on and on and -
“I must warn you, my friend, it might take me hours to simply finish talking about the first act. Perhaps, if we were to discuss the play in its entirety, right up to what I think about the play in comparison to previous adaptations I’ve watched in the past, it might take me until tomorrow’s sunset.”
“...Then give me your phone number. It’s getting late, so you can tell me all about it through text.”
A phone number? A phone number! That was unexpected, but so, so very interesting. It was more than clear to him now that you were just as worthy a person to observe, or rather get to know , even off the stage. If you were responding in kind instead of merely tolerating his presence or chasing him away, that must have meant you felt similarly, no?
“Fufufu. The little bird has gotten quite assertive, oui? Ahh, but that side of you is quite beautiful too, is it not?”
“Monsieur Hunt, has anyone ever told you you give mixed signals?”
“Not exactly. I’m a fickle person who grows absolutely enraptured at anything beautiful, and most people seem to know so.”
Your expression turned pensive as soon as he said that, but before he could ask if something had been wrong you turned to look at him once more, seemingly excited over something.
“So do I fit in that standard? A person you find beautiful?”
“But of course!” Had his words failed to convey as much if you had to even ask? Next time for sure, he will have to do better. In fact, he should begin preparing a few poems just to really instill it in your mind.
“Then that’s good enough for me!”
It’s rare for Rook to be at a loss for words but he finds himself in that position. It was only for a few seconds, yes, but that was a few seconds more than usual. The problem is that Rook can’t quite pinpoint if it was because of the uncertainty of your intentions, or the bright smile that had returned on your features, blooming even without the light of the sun.
It’s adorable, Rook thinks, how you refuse to tell him what your latest role is. When you tell him you successfully bagged another one for a new play he’s so excited for you, excited to see you on stage once more, but you refuse to tell him any details whatsoever! Oh it’s excruciating, having to wait over two months to find out—
Or he could just search it up. If you, as he expected based on your cryptic messages, achieved your goal of getting a role with even more speaking lines than the last, he’d probably be able to spot your name next to what character you’d be playing.
But there was no fun in that, was there? Clearly you had wanted to surprise him, so he would not let your efforts go to waste! He will let himself be surprised.
In turn, he would be surprising you by not telling you when he planned on showing up— he just hoped it would be a day you were actually there instead of being replaced by an understudy. He would more than likely find a way to enjoy the production nonetheless, but as a fourth year he was making a considerable trip just to see you, so he at least hoped the stars would align and… on second thought, Rook might not want to rely on fate, at least not this time.
Fate was romantic but she loved missed connections as much as she loved connecting people.
Opening night. It was at an inopportune time, a weekday where he would have been tired from attending to his studies, and the day after would be filled with research once more, but he could do it for you, he thinks.
You have grown to be a most dear… You are someone he is very endeared to.
He still won’t tell you when he’ll be there, but he certainly was going to up the ante when appearing before you. By that he meant preparing a bouquet of the nicest flowers he could find for sale that day, a bouquet he planned to present to you as soon as the curtain call finished. After all, it was in poor form to give it to you on stage, when the attention should be on you and your fellow actors rather than him.
Besides, he thinks the reactions you have backstage, particularly when you’re not holding back at all, are just as lovely to look at as the ones on stage, if not more so.
“Oi! Your boyfriend’s here! With flowers for you!” Someone, the dance captain of the show, if he remembered right, called for you.
Unsurprisingly, more than one head turned to look at him. He doesn’t blame them, not at all, it is only natural to be curious about the affairs of your fellow castmate, someone you spent weeks practicing with for hours on end, although…
“Oh, that’s the boyfriend you’re always texting? The one you were talking about a while ago?”
“Haha… hah. Already told you, not my boyfriend…”
“Right, okay, not that I believe you, but if you’re serious then I can go for him, right?”
“I’m sorry?!”
Rook stood there, shirt still nicely pressed and flowers still in hand, watching you bicker with a few of your castmates with fond amusement, one he knows must show on his face. He could wait for a minute or two longer, especially if that meant getting to see more exciting expressions out of you. How could it be that even something like frustration looked beautiful on you?
“Sorry for taking so long, Rook,” at some point you decided to just make your escape by running up to him abruptly, tugging on the long sleeve of his shirt. “We can talk now, just ignore them! Please ignore them, actually, unless it’s play-related. If it’s me-related and they’re not complimenting me, ignore it. Although maybe we should move somewhere? What if we get eavesdropped on? Maybe around-”
“Let’s have dinner together, then.”
You paused in your tracks, head tilted sideways, and Rook took that chance to place the bouquet into your free and waiting arms. Thankfully you don’t drop it, your hands quickly moving to hold the present properly.
“Huh?”
“Is it so surprising? Or do you have plans to celebrate with other people? If so, I-”
“No, no! No one! There’s no one! We can get dinner!” you interrupted, rather hastily in fact. It was quite endearing that you were making sure he wouldn’t be offended whatsoever. “I was just, you know, I thought you might want to stay back a bit more. Talk to the others, like you usually do? I was for certain you were going to serenade the cast with a few poems…”
Oh.
That… had not even crossed his mind, actually. Not to say he wasn’t appreciative of the production as a whole because he was! Everyone was spectacular, especially for an original as compared to an approved and well-loved adaptation, and everyone was absolutely beautiful on stage, but…
“I simply couldn’t, not when it’s opening night! I don’t want to take up their time, especially when I already got to spend 2 hours admiring them from my seat!” he said as he led the both of you towards the exit. “Plus, in exchange, I get to spend more time with my favorite performer of the night!”
“You don’t have to butter me up, Rook. If you want an autograph, or maybe a prop after the show closes, I’ll get it for you. I’ll even relay, word for word, every praise you want to give them. As long as mine’s the longest!” you winked at him afterwards, and oh, when it comes to you his luck has been spectacular, hasn’t it? You showed him your charming side just like that? For free? Without him having to lay down any traps or bait? No having to catch you off-guard?
“But was I really your favorite? Come on now… I know I actually got to sing one full solo song this time, a whole four minutes of it, but-”
“Of course you are!” he exclaimed, loud enough for him to spot a head or two turn towards your direction. “Do you think me a liar now? Oh, what pain you’ve come to bring me, after all I’ve done for you!”
He watches you let out a breathy exhale, a barely hidden laugh hidden underneath as you roll your eyes at him. Unfortunately for you, there’s no hiding that smile of yours, the truth of your emotions shining through teeth threatening to show themselves and quivering corners of the lips.
“Dramatic as ever! I was just making sure. It’s fine if you have a different character you like more!” So you said, but there was a certain skip to your step just now, like the beginning steps to a dance with nothing but the street and a lamp as your setting, and something told him if he had mentioned anyone else as his favorite he would not have gotten to see that just now.`
“Tell me, would I have given you those flowers if you weren’t my favorite?”
“Absolutely! You got them for me because I’m, as you would say, ton ami , and not because you knew what role I was going to play. You could have totally not liked the character, no matter how well I played them.”
Now that simply wasn’t true! Call it favoritism because that was exactly what it was. He was no professional to score and rank each actor, so was it not natural to simply enjoy and find your favorite person among the cast the most captivating?
“I’ve liked you in every role you’ve played so far, even when two out of the three were ensemble parts!” He made sure to remind you of that fact. He was a fan of yours from the very beginning, why would that change so suddenly? Why else would he come all this way for you? He would support you to the ends of the earth, especially when it was clear that you were improving your craft day by day, that slowly but surely you were steps closer to fulfilling your dream.
“I’d get you those flowers regardless of what role you played. No matter who you were, I knew you'd be beautiful up there.”
“Rook, you are so …!” you groaned into the palm of your hand, “ugh, never mind, I don’t have the words for it!”
He chuckled, “That’s alright. I’m certain I have more than enough words for the both of us. Now, will you let me praise your performance properly? I’ve been waiting to do so all night.”
“Do you not get tired of doing that?” you asked, your previously playful mood settling down into something much calmer and subdued, matching the mostly quiet night outside. “Praising me practically every day… or just, praising everyone, I guess.”
Did he get tired? No, not really— rather, he would say it was something that energized him. Finding beauty came to him easily, saying so was down to his honesty, but actually having his compliments received so gleefully, eagerly, and maybe even a little greedily by you… he could not get enough of it. More than seeing you on stage, it was your warm reception to his words that had him coming back to tell you over and over again.
“Well, I like hearing it, so I’m glad you do so. No one and nothing motivates me the way you do!” Your laughter comes like a cool breeze on a hot and humid day, one he instinctively relishes because he knows it’ll be gone quickly, like a flash of lightning. “Speaking of which, I haven’t thanked you yet, have I?”
Thanked him? What for? The dinner either of you had yet to partake in?
“Come closer for a bit.” A huntsman, for the most part, must always stay calm and collected when their prey crosses their path, no matter how exciting, but he cannot stop his heart from racing at the sight of you nearing him. Just what are you doing now?
He closes his eyes, just for a few seconds. You chuckle slightly in return, before pressing a kiss on both of his cheeks— no, not even quite a kiss, but the barely there press of your cheeks against his own, almost like a ghost. A social kiss. A belated greeting. Nothing special.
Except it is special. It is, to him. It’s the first time you’ve ever done anything like that, and firsts are always special aren’t they?
“I know you’re busy, so thanks for coming all this way to see the show. You’re probably one of the few people who bother coming to watch me… you’re easily the most thoughtful friend I’ve ever had.”
It’s common for people to heat up when discussing a lover, or confessing to a crush, but it might have been Rook’s first time to see someone bloom so daintily, not so much in color but more in movement, lips etching upwards so gently while talking about friendship .
“My dear friend, Monsieur Rook…”
Rook had not wanted to do anything, say anything knowing how his words could easily be interpreted in certain ways, so he stayed silent. You don’t follow up on it, moving on to talking about something else, so you’re okay with his rare lack of a reply.
Or maybe, just like your skills in theatre, you’d gotten better at hiding things from even someone as perceptive as him.
He is a fickle, fickle man who pursues anyone beautiful, yet when his epitome of beauty stands in front him, merely a few steps away and willing to be caught, he cannot bear to take it.
Rook’s running after a prey who cannot be caught— time. If sorrow was always cruel but not ever present, and fate was always present but not always cruel, then time… time was always cruel, but she was most cruel when she wasn’t present.
Closing night. Closing night. Had it really taken him until closing night?
You called him opening night. You refused to show your face on video but you called him, said it was the first thing you did after the curtain call. You said you looked for him instinctively in the crowd and behind the stage, forgetting that he told you he wouldn’t be able to make it. Or maybe you thought he said it to surprise you, just like he did last time.
But he isn’t there, and you tell him it’s okay when he apologizes. He believes you when you say you’re fine, believes that you’re happy because you think you did the best you could, but belief isn’t enough to stop the ache for good.
You don’t sound hurt but you do sound lonely, and though he tries he finds it’s different assuring you when he’s not there in person. He wishes he could praise you too, but praise based on assumptions was hardly ever as good as those based on experiences, and he thinks you wouldn’t appreciate them as much.
He tells you he’ll make it next time and you believe him, outlandish he may be but dishonest he is not, but the one week turns two turns three and he still can’t make it. You understand, you tell him as much with nothing but sympathy in your voice, and again he believes you, but you stop asking if he’ll come see the new show, or really just you, soon after.
It’s frustrating, Rook thinks, and he’s hardly ever frustrated so the discomfort is disconcerting.
He’s not obligated to attend, you told him, friends or otherwise. You wouldn’t be much of a friend if you tried to force him into coming when he was too busy, you said, you wouldn’t be much of a friend if one show was all it took to break your connection to him.
But Rook’s never done any of this out of obligation. It’s not out of obligation that he visits you when he can, or that he praises you for every little thing; it’s definitely not out of obligation that he books a ticket for closing night even though he’s not sure he can make it, not out of obligation that he moves around his schedule just to make sure he can make it, not out of obligation when he finds himself dressed to the nines and most certainly not obligation when he asks to see you backstage.
It is not obligation, because Rook is a man who runs primarily on wants and desires, but it is neither out of want nor desire that he reaches for your hand either. It is need .
You don’t pull him closer, but you whisper his name, “Rook,” and he knows you want him to stay.
He speaks your name in return and you look a little stunned. “Huh, no more petit oiseau? Not even mon ami? ”
“Neither really fit you anymore,” he tells you honestly, “the heart chooses the name, and it is the heart that chooses to let it go… But do you happen to like that nickname? Little bird?”
“I suppose it’s more sentimentality than the nickname itself,” Rook understands, those were his first words to you, weren’t they? “But does the heart have a new nickname for me?”
That was the thing— the heart didn’t know what to do when it came to you.
You were, by far, one of the most confusing subjects he has ever had the pleasure of observing, which was amusing a thought considering you were quite honest, if not obvious, about your attitude and feelings towards him— or feelings towards most things, but that was a topic for another time.
At this point, Rook has accepted that he is more than merely enraptured by your beauty, by you. Enchanted might have been the word for it. But was enchantment the last step before falling in love?
Aimer . To love, what is it to love? Is the beating of his heart enough a tell-tale sign?
After a minute passes, he chooses to respond, “The heart does not know yet, still troubled with indecision,” he calls it the heart, but he knows the heart has long chosen. It was the mind all along, the knowledge of the type of person that he was, preventing him from reaching a conclusion.
Was this even about nicknames anymore?
You let out a quiet laugh, and it’s only with your lack of volume that Rook remembers the two of you are still backstage, although when are the two of you not? He’s only grateful, for the sake of your potential embarrassment and his unwillingness to be seen even the least bit vulnerable, that the two of you are somewhere more secluded.
“Then the heart will eventually think of something. I mean, I remember you talking about what you called some of your schoolmates. Roi so and so, or Chevalier something… Those all sound kind of cool, right?”
You talk a bit more about his naming conventions, but Rook… he isn’t really there anymore.
“You’ve always been beautiful from the times I’ve seen you, especially on opening night, but there’s a certain kind of beauty to seeing you pour your heart out to the audience as this character one last time. You were simply magnificent, incroyable ,” he closes his eyes as he says it, as though he had burned that sight of you behind his eyelids so he could relive it again and again, “but rather than satisfaction, a part of me wishes I got to see you multiple times and not just tonight.”
Your hand is still wrapped around his and he feels it clench in his grasp, “Rook, you know more than anyone else how much I appreciate you coming to see me, your company in general, but I wouldn’t have gotten mad if you didn’t.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” you’re already looking at him when he opens his eyes to turn to you, and your gaze sends shivers down his spine despite not being fiery or passionate or anything of the sort. Even now you look at him with nothing but affection, and though he’s undeserving he cannot help but etch that into his mind as well. “But the point still stands. I wish I got to see you more.”
There’s something raw and honest about how he says it, and you must realize it isn’t simply about watching you on stage anymore.
“...I’ll admit, I was disappointed, upset, and a few other petty things I’m a little embarrassed to recall,” you began to say, laughing a little at yourself, “but I just pushed away those feelings. It was stupid, and I didn’t really, you know, have the right to feel that way.”
He furrowed his brows, “Non, you don’t need the right to feel, no matter how stupid you think it is! Feelings are… complicated matters that just happen, that’s just the way they are.”
“Guess so,” you agreed rather easily, though there’s a certain shakiness to your voice that he knows you’re trying to hide, “when I saw you in the crowd a while ago, I was so excited to see you I think I almost broke character. I thought I was going to cry and I felt dumb but… ugh, I don’t know, a part of me though you might have lost interest in me, so it’s… yeah, you know.”
Rook knows you don’t want to make him feel bad for something out of his control, hence your hesitance to let him know how you feel, but the image, even just the idea of you feeling upset due to him has him in shambles. It’s one thing to see you cry on stage, but the expected ache in his heart at seeing that is far different from the wrench in his gut at even a mere somber look in your eyes.
It’s not hideous, you could never be, but he hates it all the same.
If possible, he’d like it if he never made you upset ever again.
“I could never lose interest in you,” he says. For him to lose interest would equate to him not finding beauty in you, and there was nothing more impossible in the world than that. “I’ll always be your number one fan.”
“So you’ll continue watching any plays I’m in, right?”
“Does that even have to be said? Of course I will!”
It’s a sentence with four words, with none of his signature flowery language, but you light up all the same. No, not quite the same— you’re smiling and it is as if he’s on fire, and he knows if he could manifest that flame from within and lift it up high to the sky it would rival the sun with its intensity.
If there’s nothing more he’d hate in the world than seeing you hurt, then there’s nothing he finds beautiful than seeing you happy.
Aimer. Amour. It might have been simple and obvious and crystal clear to anyone else and he laughs at the thought, but it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? That it took him nearly two years to be sure of it?
The timing is hardly right so he doesn’t say anything, merely fixing his hold on your hand to hold it more delicately, as if he was holding your heart. The both of you can wait a little longer.
Rook knows what you are to him now, it’s amour .
Rook isn’t known to stick to just one place at a time, and his travels have gotten more frequent since graduating, but when you tell him you want to send him something through mail he delays any and all trips for you. He can stay in one place for a little longer if it means what he thinks it means.
There are two things in the envelope and though he knows what the other one is, recognizes the shape and the width even against the envelope, he takes the time to take in your ink-written words— every stroke and line and dot.
The paper is scented , too, clearly spritzed with some cologne or perfume and though you’ve never worn it, he would have remembered if you had, it reminds him of you all the same.
With each line he reads he feels himself trembling in excitement, exemplified by finally pulling out the present you had prepared for him.
A ticket to opening night.
He would get to see you again.
When he sees the date he promptly cancels all his plans, for that day, the day before, and at least three days after— admittedly, Rook just knows he’ll be too focused on you to the point that he’ll need to watch the play a second time just to pay attention to everyone else.
Fickle he could be at times, he’s always wanted to become a man faithful to his own heart, just like the huntsman of tales was, and though you’re quite a distance away his heart lies with you; it doesn’t matter where you end up performing, because what else can he do if not chase you?
Chasing you has always seemed easy, and he thought capturing you might be as well, but then he sees you up there, and…
He’s known for a while that you’ve long moved past being a fledgling baby bird, and even back then he’d already found you wonderful, but now… Now your passion is searing , a trail of scorching fire left in your wake, and you’re soaring the vast skies like the most radiant phoenix, one he must climb up high to even touch the wings—
No. Rook stands corrected because thinks you’ve done more than soar the vast skies. His little songbird has become the stars themselves. Stars are a whole other entity than any beast he’d ever laid eyes on, an entity close enough to see but much too far to touch. A hunter can capture a bird just fine, but could his arrow of love reach a star?
He isn’t sure, but when you catch his eyes before the curtain comes to fall, he thinks he might give it a try.
When you drag him somewhere backstage there are a thousand things he could say or do. He could give you the flowers he’d grown and preserved just for you. He could spill his endless praises for you and you alone, the poems forming in his head by the minute simply waiting to be said. He could take you in his arms and sway you around, humming a love ballad the both of you know. He could even stop you in your tracks and lock his lips with yours, uncaring of who would be there to see.
He does none of those things, at least not until a little later. Instead, he asks you a question.
“How could one such as I obtain a star without plucking it from the sky where it now resides?” he wonders if you understand, and when you turn to look at him with wonder in your eyes he knows you do.
“You wish upon it,” your reply is quiet, as if you were telling him a secret. “Whisper that you want it to be yours, and it will give itself to you.”
There’s still much he wants to confess and flowers may bloom in his chest for how he aches to speak of his love for you, but he has the whole night and, if you’ll allow it, the day after, and the one after that, and the one after that, and for as long as you’ll have him.
“Thank you, mon étoile .”
“Your star?”
“Oui, my star , mon étoile .”