Work Text:
Franklin's hand lay loose on the doorknob in front of him. The door he had to walk through, the door to his boss’ rooms. He gripped it tighter, but hesitated once again just a moment later. A mix of fear and excitement pressed against his chest, making it harder to breathe. In, out. In, out. The man closed his eyes to set his mind straight. This is what he had always wanted, since he had written his first words, his first poems. Come on, Franklin. Stop being a coward.
He took one last breath and opened his eyes to see the wooden door again. Lord Cunningham surely had a taste for art, the light engravings on the dark wood shone bright in the light falling through the tall windows. Franklin slightly nodded to himself and turned the knob around, pushing the door open.
“And as this-oh!” came the soft voice of a man out of the room. He turned his head to see who had entered his chambers early in the morning.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, sir. My name is Franklin.” He bowed his head as he finished the sentence. “I’m the new butler, ready for your service.”
Franklin looked up again, seeing the kind eyes of Lord Cunningham.
“Very well, welcome, Franklin. I was just reading one of my poems.”
“Oh, I love your work, sir!”
Percy laughed a deep chuckle, deeper than Franklin had expected.
“Who doesn't, am I right?”
“Of course, sir. Every one of your poems is a masterpiece.”
Franklin felt his heart beating faster, immediately ashamed by his own words.
Franklin, you idiot. He gets compliments every day, you're here to work.
“But if you’re so fond of my poetry, would you like to accompany me as I read it out?”
Franklin's heart beat faster against his chest, he never would have dared to hope hearing the poet read his poems out loud.
“I would love to,” he stuttered, still in disbelief of this opportunity.
Percy nodded and picked up the paper in front of him in an extravagant movement. He cleared his throat and started to read:
“The first light of spring creeps its way into my room.
As I take a look, it tickles my skin, warms it like a loving embrace.
The sky, the world, it lights up in hope, shaking off the dozyness of the cold winter nights.
My heart blossoms like the flowers nodding their heads in the soft morning breeze.
The air tastes of grass and life, it enters my lungs and brings a smile to my face.
The spring loves me like no one else has, no one else can, no one else will ever do.”
Franklin took a shaky breath as Percy finished his reading and lay the paper down on his desk again. Franklin had read his poems before, of course he had. But hearing them in Lord Cunningham’s voice was something different. He brought so much emotion, so much more passion into them.
“What do you think, Franklin?” the poet inquired.
“It’s… it's beautiful, sir. I’m at a loss for words. Nothing I’d say could possibly describe what your poetry makes me feel.”
Percy chuckled again, a hint of pride showing in his smile. He had a beautiful smile. Suddenly, claps came from the side of the room and Franklin turned to see a flock of pigeons tightly sitting next to each other on a perch.
“Good, but be faster next time,” Percy reprimanded them. “Anyway. I’m happy you liked my poetry.”
“More than anything in the world, sir,” he nervously answered and shifted on his feet.
“Anything else, Franklin?”
“Nothing from my side, but I’ll be here if you need something.”
“Very well. We'll see each other at another time then, presumably soon.”
Franklin nodded and backed out of the room, still facing the man that had now resumed his writing.
We. He said we.
He closed the door behind him and couldn't do anything else than stare at a wall for a while. We. Perhaps Franklin liked more about the poet than just his poetry.