The Eyes Have It (Drabble)
The man was attractive; of that the Dragonslayer was accutely aware. It wasn’t his pleasing aesthetic that drew him in, though; not the pale blond locks two shades lighter than his own, nor the pleasantly slender physique that seemed juxtaposed against a charmingly uncouth persona. No, in the end, it was Hayes’ eyes that captured Ornstein’s interest.
Whenever he came into the brothel for his usual, mundane purposes of a reprieve from the night and somewhere to read in peace, he’d taken to studying those around him. Hayes in particular had proved curious in that regard. The man was, clearly, a master of his profession; putting forth charm, flirtation and sensuality in concise and complex blends that mesmerised many a client. However, there was, within those seductively blinking orbs, a flicker of detachment; a sign that the true object of his affection was not before him.
That object, Ornstein had learned through quiet study, was an absolute behemoth of a man called Gascoigne. It wasn’t often the knight encountered one who matched him in height, and the fellow was broader than he was by a significant margin. He seemed almost bestial in some ways; his eyes taking in everything at once with a few swift, darting movements as he moved quietly over to Hayes. Looking for threats, he’d realised with a tiny smile. The man had locked gazes with him once as he’d observed the two quietly interacting; sharp pupils boring into amber pools for but a moment longer than usual as his grip on his lover tightened infinitesimally. Ornstein had offered the man a small nod and resumed reading his book. They both understood.
That same glimmer of attachment and giddy affection would spring into Hayes’ eyes on other occasions, too; specifically upon receiving what the knight took to be letters now and then. Letters from Gascoigne, he’d deduced. Further study, though, revealed a blank frustration in the young man’s gaze; a swirling fusion of love and displeasure that baffled him for a a goodly time. It was when the hunter underlined a word with a pale digit, mouth tugging down on one side, he’d understood. You cannot read.
He’d felt a sense of sorrow at that; a man unable to take comfort in the words of his partner. He was readily conscious of Hayes’ pride, too; it was an obvious element to the man, so he knew pointing out the gap in his knowledge wouldn’t be received well. That had stumped him for the longest time, until he’d simply opted to act.
He’d walked over to the main bar and sat down by an off-duty Hayes; looking politely uninvested in the situation at hand. After quietly sipping his drink for a few moments, he’d started to read the letter in front of the smaller male in a gentle undertone; almost to himself, it appeared. When he had finished, he’d offered the blonde an innocent smile and asked forgiveness for is rudeness; the calligraphy used by Gascoigne had simply begged him to read it out loud. The shine of something other than lamplight in Haye’s eyes told him he’d done the right thing.
He’d started sitting by the fellow after that; softly reading the letters when they were present and, when the establishment was quiet, reading books he’d brought with him out loud into the semi-darkness. A tiny smile would touch at his mouth when Hayes’ movements stilled upon his narrations.
At one point, Gascoigne had walked in and noticed. In the brief moment before Hayes had gone over to his rain-drenched form, he swore to Gwyn he’d seen the big bastard smile.
