An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For Francis, the London house is not quite a home, though it certainly feels more like one when Thomas Jopson joins him.
@theterrorbingo for the prompt over-stimulation
(Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson, rated E, 5k words)
Home has been a paltry word for most of Francis’s life. It defines neither house nor city, hardly speaks of family or lovers. Home was always a friendly star in the sky, a familiar drink in his hand, the shared confidence of a rare companion, or the routine set by time at sea.
A home is something that Francis has never truly desired, not even when he vied for the hand of his beloved Sophia. Home was an abstract ideal and a comfort unwelcome by men like him, or so he had begun to believe as age and a stagnating career began to take its toll.
So, it is with reluctance that Francis returns to England, with retirement on his mind and a house purchased in London on an empty, tranquil street. Though the house itself is small, the rooms are airy and bright, and the back garden is surrounded by tall brick walls, each plot of dirt overflowing with roses, lavender, and hollyhocks.
The house — not a home, not yet, not quite — is his gift to Thomas who joins him in his nascent retirement with his usual, unassuming grace.
[read the rest on Ao3]
