Chapter Text
My dear Margaret,
You should feel almost enlightened to hear of my visitor’s balletic, eloquent agility! Through each passing day, my delightful impression of him remains unparalleled, for the words that escape his lips vary from forms of mediocre comments to the brightest means of wit, all of which are held under his tragically handsome expression, unable to conceal a magnitude of unrivaled confidence and raw truth. I remain firm in my stance that I shall learn much from him during his visit, as his words are thickly veiled with layers of natural intelligence, one that I haven’t seen come to physical expression prior to my discovery of him.
Most of all, I’m truly indebted to have unearthed such a fascinating being, one who I am effortlessly able to hold amiable affection towards. His words hold a deep position within my very core, to such a degree that, as the poets would so often utter, he is almost considered to complete me. While not an affable person at heart (as demonstrated by his various stories which he tells with intricate levels of regret), my attachment to him has allowed me to succumb to his alienated sympathies, for with a glance at his eyes I am able to understand the amplitude of his current desires, whether it be a desire to remain isolated for the remainder of the day or to aimlessly tell me of his regrets, his fears.
Yes, dear sister, I am certainly aware of your skepticism, and although I cannot truly empathize with you after carefully observing this guest’s engaging qualities, I can fathom the suspicion that may accompany his arrival. If you were in his presence, however, I could imagine how easily this fear would dissipate, for his eyes would certainly generate a degree of romantic affections within any female interactions. I’d imagine you reaffirming his gentle precision with a flushed face, accompanied by gushing of his endearing nature and perhaps even validation of my stance towards him. I hold no doubt within my mind that you’d find yourself allured by the variety of this man, both within his talents and passions.
With affection,
R.W.
Walton sat at the foot of the bed, anxiously tracing circles within the soft plush of his mattress beneath him. He found himself desiring to pace around the room in a fit of anxiety, though he quickly repelled this urge through a reminder that there were several others compelled by a deep sleep below deck. Truthfully, the man endowed by his abhorrent desires was flooded with envy at the thought of those who rested below him, sighing at his fate to once again resume his role on the ship come dawn.
In spite of his duties and unholy firmness to retain his position of superiority, Walton remained awake in the midst of a quiet night, consumed by the arrival of a friend of sorts to the lonely man, his initial eagerness soon falling, swiftly replaced by a feeling those back home would grotesquely describe as yearning beyond sinful, beyond any means of salvation. The thought lurched in his stomach, recoiling as dreadful impulses circled his mind, fighting the urge to run straight to Victor Frankenstein right in that moment and collapse within his frail frame.
For one who would engage in conventional endeavors, Walton’s incessant interactions with the haunted scientist would likely be a cause for concern, irrespective of any degree of romantic interest behind his attraction to the man. For Walton himself, he was akin to a fool for the visitor, endlessly desiring to engage in meaningless conversation with the man anxiously battling the torment of his past and present. Prior to a week ago, Walton could utter with confidence that his goals within his journey to the Arctic solely lay within his fixation to create a meaningful reputation in regards to his name. However, his plans almost immediately collapsed the second his gaze fluttered upon the tragedy of a man who’d feebly faced him after a frantic search for what he could only describe as a physical sin.
Though every instinct in his body rang with caution, reminded of his sister’s fear regarding his perilous travels, the effortless charisma that radiated from the frail being before him acted as a barrier to any magnitude of reproach for Walton, his devotion to Frankenstein gradually securing as he told his tale of caution. Walton, by all accords (including that of his own), had always been a stubborn man, but the regrets within the scientist’s eyes as he dazedly recalled his tale had degraded his desire of glory as quickly as it had formed. His arrogance had almost deflated in a sense, his eyes decidedly travelling against the frame of a once beloved, intelligent man who was almost a shell of himself— Walton feared that this fascination was nearly predatory, for his reverence of such a raw man seemed to be a transgression of sorts.
Yet, this desire was nothing above a form of unholy intemperance, a manifestation of his beloved sister’s worries that his isolation would soon mutate his psychological state. Surely, Walton reaffirmed, these ideas would soon become nothing more than a brief apparition, a brief confirmation that upon his return home he should meet up with a group of peers and delve into his journey, along the way letting go of the man whose eyes told of his foreign nature in regards to admiration above superficiality, the man who had been so deeply haunted by visions of glory and prestige.
Though, the captain concluded, such a deep abandonment would do nothing but torment his insolent heart, for the companionship he had desired for what he perceived as a millennia had arrived in the frame of an exhausted visitor, whose carefully cultivated elegance deserved nothing less than the barest form of adoration from Walton. Rather unjust it would be, to abandon Victor in his time of abundant need in favor of his own grievances, as the man’s own experiences had very visibly taken their toll on his deteriorating physique, for his hands trembled with dread as he spoke to Walton. Yes, the latter supposed, it’d be of his best interest to continue nursing Victor through his ailments; perhaps any further degree of recovery for the scientist would dissipate this lechery, thereby stripping Walton of any form of heresy that remained.
With this repentance in mind, the sailor decided it’d be best to settle down for the night and prepare for dawn; this deep contemplation was sure to have an impact on his presentation towards his crew. Walton optimistically believed that upon the sunrise, Victor should likely be healed of any further physical trauma and consequently be revoked of any sort of impact on him, for surely this allurement was nothing but a deep form of sympathetic reverence.
Walton arose with an aching feeling in his lower back. This pain was no surprise to the man, who’d found himself barely resting following his spiral the previous night. Regardless, he stood up, stretching his muscles out with a groan and wiping a brief, exhausted tear from the corner of his eye. His first instinct, naturally, was to check on Frankenstein, for after all his time of being a guest it would be worrying for him to not feel at least slightly better, even this improvement lied in his spirit rather than his physique.
As he exited his bunker, a colder than accustomed breeze tickled his neck, earning a hissed breath from the sailor as he was reminded of his current predicament. He sighed, turning around to grab an extra scarf to hopefully combat the weather. While he rummaged through his belongings, grumbling under his breath about the Arctic climate, his hands brushed upon a smaller than anticipated scarf.
He tossed aside the garment he’d chosen for himself, grabbing the knitted fabric of his new discovery as he inspected it. Walton quickly came upon the realization that, in all of his excitement for his expedition, he’d taken his dear sister’s scarf, for she’d visited him prior to his leave. A sense of guilt beset him at the moment, sympathizing for Margaret, who was sure to write him in piercing annoyance at any given moment when she realized she’d been out of a scarf.
Walton considered leaving it be, though as he looked over the soft fabric, he decided that its design for a thinner, more gaunt frame would likely leave it reserved for Victor, who, in all his tumult, was likely unaccustomed to the cold weather, let alone the freezing nature during this journey.
He gently carried the scarf and made his way towards Victor’s room, briefly greeting a few of his crewmates with well wishes for the new dawn. As his footsteps approached Victor’s less than suitable bunker, he briefly stumbled upon his lieutenant, who, with sleepy eyes and abnormal posture, informed him of their plans for that day. Walton’s mind wandered as the sir rambled regarding the irregular cold front, barely snapping out of his trance when the lieutenant clapped his hands upon his shoulders and wished him well, before making his way up the deck.
Walton’s footsteps quieted once he’d caught sight of Victor’s curls, careful to not disturb the scientist upon realizing he’d been lulled by a deep sleep. While not an entirely unusual occurrence, to observe the gaunt man entranced by rest, it appeared almost unnatural at the moment, Walton watching him nearly cradle his own thin frame as his eyelashes fluttered open.
The sailor’s face flushed as Victor sleepily shifted his head upward, eyes barely registering Walton before he startled awake, overcome with unease upon observing Walton’s larger frame shadowing above him. Walton cringed upon seeing Victor tremble, deep guilt flooding his core as he came to realize his grave error. He swallowed, the sight of Victor scrambling to compose his slender build feeling almost unfit for his eyes.
Victor coughed. “Why, Sir Walton, your presence is rather unexpected this morning! I apologize for my inappropriate response, you simply startled me is all. Now then, what reason do you have to engage in conversation with me as of this moment? I am of the understanding that your duties may burden you today, for I was informed by one of your men that the weather would be approaching unusually freezing temperatures. My goal, after all, isn’t to burden you with any requests, for you’ve already been quite of service towards my being.”
Walton hid a smile behind his expression, overcome with joy upon hearing the melodic tones of Victor’s endless bounds of humility. He took him in, observing how he anxiously stared back at Walton, his unkempt curls shadowing over his eyes riddled with unease, the sight almost too endearing to bear. Victor’s posture was ordinary for his character, almost destined to be perpetually hunched over, though he seemed to attempt to straighten up a bit upon coming to realize Walton’s presence.
The captain cleared his throat, the prolonged silence shattering his reverie as Victor’s distressed stare bore into him. “Well, Victor, I hope your health has been improving in its physical ailments. I’d like to offer you an apology, for my intentions did not lie in disturbing your rest. Yes, I’ve understood the cold, and was under the assumption you’d be a bit unprepared.” At this, Victor appeared feverishly crimson. Walton continued. “I was looking through my clothing and stumbled upon an old scarf of my sister’s, which it seems I unintentionally took during my preparations for this journey. I’d like to offer it to you, for approaching this weather in your current attire would likely be inappropriate, given your current state.”
Victor’s breath hitched, tentatively reaching for the scarf as Walton’s grip on it ceased. While he fumbled to adjust it over his neck, he offered the other man grateful acknowledgements. “I am truly indebted in your concern for my care, sir, for I was certainly going to lack the means to adjust to this weather. On your behalf, I’d appreciate it if you would inform your sister of my gratitude, as I’m certain this mishap may be taxing on her own management.” As Victor spoke, his hands struggled to properly align the scarf upon his neck, as his incessant shakiness only sabotaged his attempts at dressing himself.
Walton deliberately avoided the last aspect of Victor’s outspoken gratitude, careful to avoid mentioning Mrs. Saville’s increased skepticism towards him. Instead, he grabbed the soft fabric of the scarf and readjusted it on Victor’s neck, refusing to meet his eyes as he properly set it upon him. “You need not to thank me, for your role as a guest is certain to guarantee a sort of privilege, Victor. On a separate note, feel free to request any assistance in putting on any other winter garments, as you seem a bit inexperienced.”
At this gentle teasing, Victor bashfully responded, careful to hide his increasingly heated reaction from the perpetrator of this embarrassment. “You mustn't tease, sir, for my inexperience certainly is a consequence of my deep devotion to my studies, as I’ve so thoughtfully shared with you.” Walton let out a fragment of huffed laughter, hands lingering on Victor’s slightly exposed collarbones as he finalized the assembly of the scarf. He gently pressed his thumbs over Victor’s thin frame, briefly admiring his gaunt structure, eliciting a quiet gasp from the man below him.
Walton froze, the sound from the man gazing up at him forcing him back to the current reality he was set in. Victor dazedly stared at him, cheeks painted a pale rose as Walton’s thumbs dawdled over his decolletage. By this point, the tension in the room seemed all too thick, with Walton’s quiet veneration of the decrepit man below him catalyzing an awkward glance between the two.
The sailor suddenly tore his calloused fingers away from Victor’s collarbones, the weight lingering as Victor flinched from the motion. Walton sucked in a breath, eager to escape the indignant affair. “Well, Victor, we best get going. I’m sure the rest of the crew is ardently awaiting our presence, for my absence especially is likely a cause for concern. If you will.” He swiftly turned around, shamefully hiding his flushed expression and making his way towards the rest, all while Victor remained in his gawking state, similarly disheveled.