Thanks for taking care of me these past couple of months! I thought I’d repay the favour, so I’ve included a care package for you. Healthy snacks, vitamins and Fiji water!!! (because if you’re going to stay hydrated, it might as well be fancy, right?)
A Granbull has arrived at the Indigo Plateau, carrying a slightly crumpled box in his jaws. It’s stamped with the logo of a distant bakery.
Inside were several malasadas, colored orange, teal, and pale yellow like a Dragonite. Underneath those, and wrapped carefully was some butter mochi [x] with a coconut topping. There was a note attached to the top of the box:
“To the one who swept me away in their arms, I hope you enjoy these treats. I could have made them myself…But I wouldn’t want to see you end up in the hospital like the last time I cooked something for you. I will be waiting for your return my love. Yours truly, Morty”
–
Sweet Valentine’s wishes have been sent by Soulbxnd! If possible, please tag with #Seafolk Valentines 2k18!
Lance prefers not to pay too much attention to Valentines day, having too much to do every holiday. Many of the employees had taken the day off to go on dates and the like, leaving the Dragon Master to do most of the day’s work, including sorting packages and letters. Granted, most of it was for him on this day, from fans and acquaintances so he wasn’t quite that annoyed.
He thought he was done with it until a late package was delivered by a Granbull. Eyebrows raising in curiosity he took the package with a thank you. His eyes light up and a wide smile grows on his face as he reads the note, a rueful laugh escaping as he remembers that hospital incident.
Folding the note, Lance slips it into his pocket before turning his attention to the box. The selection of sweets wasn’t traditional for this day, but an unusual treat from an unusual love was just perfect.
Summary: Arthur gets involved with a fabled mathematician obsessed with theorising the wonders of love.
a/n: Happy valentine’s! This was my fic for @01blackcat02 for the event of the @usuknetwork! Enjoy my pretty loose interpretation of platonic love just because I love Plato and my dad’s actually given me one of his books :O I hope y’all like it :)
*
“I’ve never been in love.”
They were in Arthur’s bedroom, contemplating how the sky drowned with colours which welcomed a new day. Arthur had sat up on the bed, with a sheet covering most of his naked body. His partner was upright, looking at his garden until his words broke the magic spell.
“You’ve never tried.”
Oh, that could be true. And, given the place Arthur worked in, opportunities to fall in love weren’t scarce, or so he had been told.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t take your word for it.”
“Why do you say that?” Alfred, that was his name, walked to his side, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Arthur leaned into the touch, relying on Alfred’s belly when he suddenly snorted.
“What was that?” Alfred was smiling. Arthur could bet his life he was, the cocky boy.
See, Alfred had a reputation. After all, being the handsome CEO of a company that promised love wasn’t all but a bit eerie. Alfred knew how to like — hell, he had worked on the algorithm since he was in highschool— and had his fair share of love interests.
But he was insatiable. Rumour has it that is why he started his project in the first place. Alfred could never be satisfied. He didn’t settle for attractive people or virtuous ones. He didn’t want money, nor did he want intelligence. And he didn’t want sex.
But then, what could Alfred want? Most people settled for the premise of the young man living on hedonistic pleasures without any commitment. Consequently and given all evidence, Arthur had accepted the fact that, someday, Alfred would get tired of him.
“Why do you like me? What could I possibly have to offer you?”
“Well, why do you like me?”
Ah, dodging the question. In times like these Arthur could tell the boy was still nineteen.
“What? The little genius can’t find the answer himself?” Arthur could remember his own face the first time Alfred invited him to his house, full of blackboards with complicated formulas. He’d shown Arthur, smiling from ear to ear as he explained the logic behind, well, love.
“You should try the service,” Alfred had said, and Arthur had frowned. Now, looking his know-it-all expression, Arthur remembered what he’d said.
“I don’t think that’d work with me.”
“Why not?” Alfred had asked, moving his arms towards the numbers as he started to explain his theory. Arthur was not fond of interrupting him, but he felt that was the only way Alfred would listen to his point.
“Life’s not black and white, you know,” and Arthur remembered Alfred’s expression, with his sunny smile frozen and his eyes open with uncertainty.
“What do you mean?”
“Alfred, I’m a lawyer. I spend my days looking at what did go wrong,” and they were, might’ve he added, as varied as they could get. From spiteful ex-partners to employees wanting to take over their boss’ company, Arthur had discovered just how ill of a weapon such a sentiment like love was.
“Oh, come on, Art, you know there’s always— ”
“I know, trial errors. I get it, Alfred, I — ” Arthur started, then snorted as he bit his lip. “I have enough pragmatism in my life. Come on, look at that: what is genuine in there? There are only patterns. Conditioning. Oh, Alfred, I don’t want to be part of the table’s results.”
“You don’t— ” Alfred’s baby blue eyes seemed to stare right into his soul, “You don’t understand. Feelings are nothing but— ”
“I’m afraid I do, lad,” and Arthur had started walking towards the door, buttoning his jacket as he witnessed the raindrops which stick in Alfred’s window. But Alfred didn’t let go.
“There’s already so much control over our lives, our thoughts, what we learn, what we are, how we’re supposed to feel. Why is it wrong to search control over feelings themselves, over perceptions? What is odd about wanting to give a sensation a value?” he had positioned in front of Arthur, and his manner told him Alfred had certainly learnt from Arthur’s own many ramblings between breaks.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Arthur said, after pausing to think of the proper answer. “Blimey, I guess I’m a romantic.”
Alfred had opened his mouth as he was about to say something but kept quiet. His blond cowlick covered part of his left eye, so he lightly blew over it. Arthur had the impulse to run his hand through Alfred’s tuft, but decided against it and, instead, tightly closed the palm of his hand.
“Well, I want you to say it,” they were on Arthur’s room again, and the Englishman blinked a few times as wondered how much time had he been dozing off. Arthur chuckled, a wave of shame rolling his body until he felt his lip would bleed if he kept chewing it.
They weren’t supposed to be like this.
The day before, Arthur had been occupied for the wave of contracts that preceded Valentine’s day along with the myriad of interested clients. Alfred, on the other hand, had invited the guests to explain the process of his method thoughtfully, and they both had ended the day feeling unbelievably tired. Afterwards, they both had gone to a bar next to Alfred’s company, where Arthur had the chance to relax after a long day. However, Alfred’s quieter manner than usual told Arthur there was something wrong, and so the Englishman decided to put his assertive skills to a good use for once.
“What? You worried about me?” Alfred patted his back, and they had asked for another round. After drinking the liquor, Alfred used his palm to support his own head on the table, tilting it slightly to face Arthur. “I heard Bonnefoy’s affairs has made you an offer.”
Bloody Feliks, Arthur thought but decided to play it cooly. “Oh, that. Yes, I’ve got an acquaintance there, and they’ve just opened their office in New York, so…”
“Are you planning on accepting?” Alfred’s lips were chapped, of a glossy pink that were outlined by the lights of the bar. Arthur gulped, looking down as he swallowed his drink.
“Of course not, now please may we talk about something else?” Arthur asked, avoiding, by all means, Alfred’s sight.
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Arthur said. “It’s — It’s fine, really. Francis Bonnefoy is just a cheeky bastard. Though I hate to admit that I’m especially bitter at the truest statements,” because Francis Bonnefoy didn’t have any problem in using whatever weakness his opponent had in order to get to his target.
“What did he say?” Alfred’s voice was soft, so much that Arthur had actually to lean in closer than he expected to. Arthur wasn’t drunk, but he couldn’t deny the tingly feeling he felt into his stomach.
“He said — hmph, how to put it, he said he’d help me find love. Gave me a bottle of his, too. A cadeaux so I can make up my mind, he told me,” Bonnefoy’s affairs had the same target as them, even though their methods were different. Their approach was focused on pheromones, which was accompanied by the solid release of their exclusive perfumes.
“But you don’t want it,” said Alfred. “Not like this, right?”
“I’m sure you already know the answer,” because what is left then, Arthur wondered, what was there more to desire than a willing companion, one who’d be out of all gimmicks, only subjected to the purest magic of the unknown?
But then, Alfred inched closer — their noses almost touched, and Arthur could smell Alfred’s vanilla hair shampoo, and then his lips were touching Alfred’s, moving in sync — so much, so deep, that Arthur had practically seen stars by the end of the night.
“So,” now Alfred had fallen onto the bed again, and was stroking Arthur’s side as he hushed his whispers, “Why do you like me?”
“I like how you make me feel,” Arthur said, “I like — I like how I always want to be with you. I like how I always feel my best when I’m around you. I like how I don’t have to pretend.”
They kissed again — it was their first kiss in the morning, on Valentine’s day, and it was so sweet Arthur felt dizzy under it, but he wanted an answer, so he resumed his advances to let his partner speak.
“I— to be honest, I think you’re beautiful,” said Alfred, “You see, at first I wanted to be loved by beautiful people. I polished myself and learnt their behaviour and I understood how to attract the best response from them.
But, I mean, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted something more special, so I started looking for beautiful minds. And I found them — and yes, they were brilliant, but then again they weren’t what I was looking for.
And then, oh Arthur, then I met you, with so much knowledge and a beautiful soul. I didn’t think it was possible — I thought I had to work too much, too much, but when I fell in love I discovered that working on it didn’t put me off.
So now, my love, I crave you like oxygen. Because you’re not a beautiful body, you’re— you’re the whole essence is lovely, my Arthur!”
And oh, how could Arthur respond to such a sincere sentiment?
He took Alfred’s hands and covered them with his own, as he did nothing but ask:
