Percy’s hands are shaking, but not from nerves now...no, something else has begun to bloom in the hollow where his heart sits.
Something sharp. His knuckles whiten around the little ring hidden in his palm as he watches Duke, of all people, drag Luca closer and spit out words like poison.
Percy’s always been soft, always been the one to shrink when voices get too loud, but there’s a limit to that softness. There’s a point when even lace and velvet can’t muffle the heat rising in his chest.
He doesn’t realize he’s moving until some of the students part, startled by the suddenness of his stride. He’s never made anyone move before. He’s never needed to.
He doesn’t bother smoothing his dress; let it wrinkle, let it tangle, let every eye in the ballroom see him now. For once, Percy does not care.
He stops directly in front of Duke, chin high, curls wild, eyes bright with a storm he’s never let loose in public. His voice is clear, steady Austrian vowels crisp as frost.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Fortunato," He spits the words out, his voice mimicking a smooth French accent despite the harshness of his tone, "but if you must ruin a perfectly good evening, do it somewhere the rest of us needn’t witness your cruelty.”
He barely notices the tremor in his own hands. He’s never spoken like this before, not to anyone, least of all in English. It comes out clipped, precise, years of practiced politeness sharpened into something that could cut.
“You think yourself clever, I suppose, to toss someone’s heart about as if it’s a stage prop. Well, bravo." Percy does an exaggerated bow, his arms hitting Duke's chest on purpose. "You’ve made your scene. You’ve had your applause. Now get off the stage and let someone else try for once.”
He turns, but not before meeting Duke’s gaze, and for just a moment, letting all the disappointment and anger show, unhidden. He doesn’t wait for a reply. He’s not here for Duke. He’s here for the boy who taught him what hope felt like, who made him believe...
That he could be chosen, too.
Percy finds Luca slumped near the punch bowl, shoulders shaking. He kneels, heedless of the hem of his dress pooling on the sticky floor, and reaches out with hands that have never been steady but are brave enough now. He presses the ring; a golden ring with a ruby that's brighter than Percy's love for Luca, chosen for the way it caught the light just like how Luca's eyes glisten when he's happy, into Luca’s palm and curls his own fingers around it.
“Luca,” he whispers, voice trembling, “I don’t have the words you deserve. I wish I did. I wish I was braver, or brighter, or anything but what I am. But I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I have been loving you quietly for so long I hardly remember what it’s like not to ache for you.”
His throat tightens; there’s too much he wants to say, and the words keep tumbling over each other, desperate to be heard.
“I watched you smile for him. I watched you break for him. And I hated myself for wishing it was me. I am not proud of that. I am not proud of the jealousy or the fear or the way I let myself disappear whenever you looked at someone else. But I am here now. I am here, and I am asking, begging, really, let me try. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved. Without games. Without hiding. Without pretending.”
He searches Luca’s face, tears threatening to spill, and for once, he doesn’t try to hide them. Let the whole room see him, ruined and raw and real.
“My whole life I have been waiting for someone to choose me. Not the version of me that’s quiet and careful and easy to ignore, but the real me. The one who laughs too loud, who cries at dances, who loves you so much it makes him foolish.”
His voice breaks. He presses on.
“I know I’m not much. I know I’m not the most dazzling thing in any room. But I swear to you, Luca, I would never make you feel small. I would never use your heart as a prop. I would hold it like something sacred. I would hold you like something precious.”
He takes a shaky breath, and it feels like tearing the last piece of himself open.
“So, will you let me? Will you let me love you? Will you marry me? Or, at least, will you say yes to me, just this once?”
The music swells, distant and ghostly. The room is silent except for the sound of Percy’s ragged breathing and the soft hitch of Luca’s sobs.
Percy's heart is in pieces, dress ruined, every hope he’s ever had trembling on the edge of a yes or a no.
He looks up at Luca with everything he has left to give.
And waits.
@teaandcheckmates
[Luca finds himself over the table with the punch and finger snacks, supporting his entire weight upon it; his arms struggling enough as it is to maintain his balance centered. Tears had been running down his face long enough to allow his eyes and cheekbones to adapt towards a redder hue.]
[It wasn't a pretty, losing his voice in such an undignified manner; leaving nothing but a poor, thin whisper behind. Occasionally, spams would be caused by the constant sobbing and airing of the lungs -trying best to keep quiet, away from making another scene, he had fled to the furthest place. Yet, somehow.. somehow the clicks of an unfamiliar pair of heels had traced their way back to him.]
[He couldn't quite recognise them, not even bothering to do so; his head didn't turn a singular inch in order to identify the young mademoiselle.]
[Everything had been irreversibly destroyed, the one only chance he had to truly turn the page between him and his.. boss, or so to speak was now burnt to smithereens. Oh, and what a fool he was. People were laughing, of course they were; unlike him, people are actually enjoying themselves. Alas, it felt mocking, as if it was all directed at him.]
[His head hadn't stop spinning ever since that argument.]
[ -and then it gets worse. It gets so. much. worse.]
“But I swear to you, Luca, I would never make you feel small. I would never use your heart as a prop.”
“I would hold it like something sacred. I would hold you like something precious.”
[You don't know what I've done to deserve this, I've earned my misery, I've burnt those bridges I-] “Percy-” [Luca turns around, his body and soul have yet to process this -already, he had fucked up once. Once it was all it took, afterall; what gives that the very same thing wouldn't happen with Percy? What gives that he wouldn't grow sick of him after mere months? How long will it take for him until he actually realises what had been going on?]
“Percy I don't feel so good-” [his boy sways slightly side to side, not wishing to become a further burden and cling onto him] “Oh god-”
[How long until the crowd stops applauding? Will Percy take it? Will he withstand the great disappointment of what is called "Luca Fauntleroy" in all it's glory -not only during the show- but also back stage?]
