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Henry let out an exasperated sigh--It was one of those nights where the house lay quiet in rest as all others were asleep, every creak and shift of movement amplified. It was one of those nights where Henry remained wide awake, despite just how late the clock ticked. He probably only had a bit more time to his own thoughts (not to say that were a good thing) before Randall felt the coldness of his absence and would get up to go get him. But until then, Henry’s anxieties would not have to fitfully go to rest.
Henry tidied up the best he could, dusting furniture that already had not a single speck of dust, readjusting picture frames already perfectly aligned. As a stress cleaner, so frustrating was it when all was already shimmering and spotless. With a relinquished grown, Henry finally set down the feather duster aside, resolving to make a cup of tea or the other to try to calm his nerves and satiate his anxieties.
Unfortunately for Henry, his tea would never be made.
A dull knock resonated at the door, only auxillating through the still room ever so slightly--But through his years as a servant, Henry was keen to sharply pick up on it. With a morose sigh, Henry already headed for the door before his thoughts on who it could be at this ungodly hour dragged on for too long. A solicitor perhaps? Or it could be urgent business news… Frankly, Henry didn’t want to deal with either one. But as Monte d’Or’s founder, he would.
With a twist of just one knob, Henry let the door creak open in hesitance, just in case someone of mal-intent was awaiting. Peering as he opened the door, Henry glimpsed the person in suspicion as closely as he could before the door would reveal himself completely; the man before him were rather average in stature, though he maintained hair of a caramel color, curled in an indiscernible manner (perhaps, due to the limited indulgence the porch lights allowed on the eyes). He held a red glasses frame perched on his nose, similar in shape to Randall’s yet somehow slimmer in a way.
Even after those few moments before the door let itself be opened all the way, Henry did not recognize this face.
Yet something about who stood before him were unpleasantly sinister.
Clearing his throat and maintaining his posture, Henry brought a hand up to his tie.
“Pardon me, but it is rather late. To what business do I owe you?” Henry asked, his eyebrows creased slightly, his body already on the defense.
“Ah, well…” The man brought a hand up awkwardly to the back of his head, averting his eyes from gazing at Henry. “I was hoping to speak to Ascot- Erm, Randall Ascot that is, your… Husband, I believe?”
His voice resonated in a way that held a sort of formality to it, much like Henry’s, though somehow, it felt as if it hid something beneath it, scratching to be let free in each syllable it uttered. Henry did not like it at all.
“I’m sorry,” Henry apologized, being as polite as he could, though even he could admit the stiffness and curtness that lay in his tone. “But I don’t know what you would need with him at this time of night.” Henry felt his lip curl a little in annoyance, though he quickly forced it down. It was just the tiredness that was getting to him, Henry assured himself.
“If you have something to do with my husband, I find it rather odd I don’t recognize you,” Henry said in slight suspicions.
“Oh, well… I should have introduced myself. My name is Professor Desmond Sycamore, an archaeologist. Your husband is as well. We’ve known each other for quite a few years.”
Henry let out a little huff of contempt. There weren’t many people who truly knew him ever since 18 years ago. Even if it had been a few years since Randall’s return… He should have heard of a new ‘friend’ or someone of the sort. Henry tried to force a smile, though it did not come to his visage. The name didn’t ring a bell though. Perhaps this ‘Professor Sycamore’ had been in a magazine of Randall’s long ago. Though still, something didn’t settle right in Henry’s stomach.
“Forgive my curtness,” Henry rebuked. “But if you have archaeological business with my husband, you may discuss it at a later time. And besides, I find it hard to believe you know him. He’s only been here for a few years. Yet I’ve never heard of you in my life. Just what relationship do you two maintain?”
Desmond gave an awkward shrug in response. “Ascot--” Desmond cleared his throat, quickly correcting himself. “ Randall and I met each other around that time. We don’t get out much publicly,” Desmond admitted. “Though I assure you, we remain close.”
After Henry heard him refer to Randall as just ‘Ascot’ for the second time tonight, his brain tuned out, something stirring inside Henry, nearly on the verge of finally breaking free.
Ascot… Ascot… Who called Randall just ‘Ascot?
Henry could only think of one man.
Anger quickly boiled within every last blood vessel of Henry’s body. Did he-- Jean Descole -- Truly have the audacity to show up on his doorstep, requesting to see his Randall, saying that they were close?! Henry bit down quickly on his cheek, trying to keep his body from reacting in a less than appropriate way. His mind quickly searched for something to say, though he couldn’t think of anything to quickly retort at the man. Only a single question, though he already knew the answer, managed to escape Henry’s mouth.
“You’re Descole, aren’t you?”
Rather than the coy smirk, devilish laughter one might expect from a man as cruel and quick-witted as Descole might give, all that he offered was a clumsy smile, his eyebrows turned down and eyes averted.
“If you wish to call me that, yes,” was all he offered in short response.
Henry didn’t know what to do. He felt a growl trap in his throat, a million possibilities rushing through his head; he could slam the door shut, call the police--Yet still, he couldn’t believe that this man remained bold enough to stay on his doorstep.
“How dare you?! What gives you the audacity to show up on my doorstep, claiming such a bond with my husband after everything you did to us!” Henry shouted in acrimony. Henry winced a little, aware of the volume of his voice. “If Randall wasn’t asleep right now, I would have your head,” he snarled.
Desmond fought back his own curl of his lip, trying to remain the calm one here--Though regardless of how he felt about it, one couldn’t lie that Henry was in the right to feel this way.
“I--I’m not claiming such a relationship, Mr. Ledore. Ascot an I remain best friends even through…” Desmond eyes shifted, gazing towards the ground with a shine of remorse. “Even through what happened between us.”
Henry’s eyes glowered in anger. “It’s Mr. Ascot now.”
Desmond waved his hand dismissively. “Regardless, I just wish to speak with him. I’m sure he won’t mind, despite the hour.”
Henry’s head felt like it was spinning like a carousel. Still, he couldn’t believe, couldn’t process what this man was saying. Every inch of his body felt hot and itchy, his brain screaming at him to do something, hurt him, make him pay for what he did, did to the Monte d’Or, did to him--Did to Randall . Yet hearing those thoughts, feeling those thoughts coming from his mind made him feel sicker to the stomach yet.
“Don’t you dare enter our home,” Henry barked. “You ruined everything! You--” Henry felt himself reach forward without control grabbing Desmond by the tie. “You destroyed my city, you did unspeakable things, you--You hurt and took MY Randall!”
Desmond stepped back, pulling out of Henry’s (surprisingly iron-like) grip with a scoff. “I had no way of knowing that you didn’t betray Randall like I told him!” he defended, a glare in his eyes. “That doesn’t erase our friendship, our bond, none of that! Look,” Desmond sighed, pinching his forehead. “I regret what I did. To Randall, at least. I may not forgive myself, but he forgives me. I… I love him, with all my heart” With a sneer, Desmond’s lip curled. “But at least I was able to find him.
Henry took a step forward, glaring directly in Desmond’s eyes, Henry’s stature slightly above his. “I don’t care if you ‘love him, I don’t care if he ‘forgives’ you,” Henry threatened. “I will never forgive you, not now, not ever. And if Randall truly has found forgiveness in himself, I will carry more than enough hatred and anger at you for the both of us. Now,” Henry snapped. “I believe you should be making your leave.”
Desmond remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes unreadable as he seemed to adjust them in a manner of discontempt.
“I shall meet your husband at a later time. Just as a red string of fate is tied to him, I understand that yours is as well. Perhaps if not in this life, things will be different. I don’t hate you, Henry.”
Henry felt cruelty bubble up within his heart once more. “I hate you, Descole. I will hate you this life, and I will hate you into the next. I will never forgive you. After everything you’ve done, I will
never
believe that Randall deserves to find friendship in you.”
All Desmond gave was a small, lingering apprehensive smile.
“Good-bye, Mr. Ascot.”
Before Henry could even see his figure walk away, Henry slammed the doors shut. Every last inch of his body seethed with rage, replacing any thoughts of what had happened before this moment. But before he could move or even realize it, Randall, yawning with weariness, slothed over to Henry, placing an unknowing hand on his shoulder.
“Love?” Randall asked, his voice gravelly and laced with sleep. “Was someone at the door?” Randall yawned again, covering his mouth with his spare hand. “I heard a commotion.”
Any spare bit of jealousy, anger, fury seemed to flitter away when Henry turned around and caught eyes with Randall.
His chest drained from its pain, refilling with nearly just adoration and reverence for the one who stood with him now.
“Sorry to have woken you, my dear,” Henry said. But don’t worry.” Henry daintily brought up Randall’s calloused hand, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “It was no one.”
Randall gave a drowsy smile, one filled with the mellow peace of rest. “That’s good to hear,” Randall hummed. “Now then, let’s go to bed together,” Randall laughed lightly. “Shall we?”
Henry gave a genuine smile in what felt like was the first time in ages.
“Yes,” Henry said. “Let’s.”