A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Not that he believed the lad wanted to hear it, but something or other in him wished he could make the words cross his lips. Only in the highly improbable event that Hyacinth might someday really want to hear them…

  In that case it would be advantageous if he were capable of confessing to his husband just how intense his feelings were. Of course, he was too cowardly for that, and those passionate sentiments aroused too much fear to let him admit he had such sentiments and thereby risk never again being able to suppress them. For he’d have to, if Hyacinth were to disappear from his life one day to lead his own without him.

  *

  After they’d washed dishes and cleared the table, Vrila had sat on the sofa before the blazing fire in the hearth.

  Along with a pile of his books, Hyacinth sat near him on the thick rug in front of the sofa. An idea had come to him, and he hoped his husband would be receptive to it. He pulled out and opened an empty notebook Mr Wiplay had given him. “Vrila, I thought we could use this book to…” He hesitated and made the greatest effort possible to write their names neatly on the first page.

  “To do what?” Vrila sounded weary, but allowed him to press a pencil into his cold hand.

  “Well, to speak with one another,” he completed the sentence with a delicate voice.

  “We’re speaking with one another right now, boy. Without the book.”

  “But usually we’re talking about things that aren’t very important,” Hyacinth corrected him and wrote on the first line a very important question he wanted to have answered. He tried hard to make the handwriting legible, but by the way he wrote, one could recognise the dumb boy in him. He wondered if Vrila would notice that in the same way he’d previously remarked on his weakness as a reader.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” was the uneasy reply, and his husband’s tone let one know that he indeed knew clearly what was meant.

  Why didn’t you kiss me?

  Without replying, Hyacinth handed him the notebook and noticed how Vrila turned more ashen when he read the question which seemed to strike him mute.

  “I won’t answer that. Neither by speaking nor by writing.” He returned the book to him and stared at the ceiling.

  Hyacinth didn’t give up so easily, even if his disappointment and his racing heart wanted him to. He scribbled the next question under the first.

  Didn’t you want to?

  Vrila read the words with a tormented groan as Hyacinth held the book to his nose. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not even in writing.”

  “But I want to talk about it and demand an answer.”

  “You can demand an answer all you want; I’ll not give you one,” Vrila replied stubbornly and turned his face away.

  Hyacinth tossed the notebook back onto the pile and produced a hushed sigh. “You still like me, don’t you?” He blushed and hung down his head.

  “Of course I do,” Vrila retorted. It was the truth, even though his tone didn’t reveal it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t say it.

  So what in hell is your problem? He wanted to scream at him, but regardless, Vrila would keep silent. Then he might as well keep his mouth shut to avoid the argument that his enquiry would turn into. He didn’t want to get into another fight. Quite the contrary. With another sigh, he rose to sit on the sofa beside his husband.

  Vrila cringed and widened his eyes to stare at him in disbelief when Hyacinth grabbed his legs and placed them on his lap.

  “What are you doing?” he asked irritated – or actually horrified.

  Hyacinth shrugged and spread a blanket over Vrila and a small part of himself. “I feel cold, and it’s your duty as my beloved husband to keep me warm.” He picked up one of the thick volumes about the language of the Empire and laid it open on top of Vrila’s shins then began to read. At least he was pretending to, but in truth he was too nervous to concentrate on the words.

  Inconspicuously, he let his right hand wander up Vrila’s leg and rubbed affectionately over his foot hidden beneath the blanket, the coldness of which he felt despite the woollen material.

  “Hyacinth, what…?” It was almost impossible to miss hearing his astonishment.

  Despite his excitement, Hyacinth pretended to be imperturbable and stared at his book. “Earlier, you didn’t want to talk, so now you can also be quiet.” Gently he held on to Vrila’s ankle, stroked across it, then along the top of his foot. He attempted to appear casual with that transition, but his concentration rested on his movements and not on the pages.

  Indeed, Vrila remained silent, but his tension was perceptible.

  It couldn’t be said for sure whether or not what Hyacinth did pleased him. However, obviously it did, otherwise he would have told him to stop. That was an encouraging thought. When Vrila moaned softly, as he lightly rubbed over his sole, Hyacinth had to smile. Yes, he liked it and that urged him on to go about the matter a little less casually.

  He changed his position and with his other hand quite openly and earnestly massaged both feet. “They’re ice cold. I’d hoped to be warmed. Now I’m the one who has to warm you, Sir,“ he muttered because he had the impression he needed to say something to tease him.

  “I’m sorry,” Vrila replied in a whisper and thereby confused him.

  Surely it was once more the matter of deserving. Probably, Vrila meant he didn’t deserve to have anyone care for him.

  “There’s nothing you need to excuse yourself for, my Lord. I’m quite glad to warm you.” He returned the thick volume to the pile, knowing he wouldn’t pay any further attention to it and devoted himself entirely to his husband’s cold feet. Tenderly, he rubbed every inch of them and felt them slowly thaw out. He extended the caresses, also stroking under Vrila’s shins and calves and observed how his husband relaxed. Vrila had closed his eyes, and his head, which was resting on the cushion, had slid to the side. His facial expression became softer with each passing moment, while his breaths accelerated until they slowed, became so regular and peaceful like Hyacinth had never heard from him before.

  He warmed Vrila’s soles on his lower arm while he tended to the tops of his feet and legs by stroking them tirelessly.

  Time passed, and the ticking of the clock, together with the crackling of the fire, created a homelike, drowsy atmosphere.

  “I hadn’t expected that your skin could actually become so warm,” he whispered self-satisfied, but no reaction followed.

  Irritated, he scrutinised his husband’s gaunt, hard facial lines which didn’t twitch even an eyelash. With an incredulous smile he muttered Vrila’s name, but even that elicited no reply.

  “You’ve fallen asleep,” he mumbled after a gulp and found himself deeply moved by the circumstance that he had truly caused Vrila to drift off. At once his eyes burned hot, but not, as usual, with sadness. He licked his lips, sniffled and smiled happily while incessantly blinking. Good Lord, could anything ever happen in his life without making him cry?

  The simple reality was that he’d racked his brains over how he could help Vrila find a little sleep or at least some rest because it would kill him in the long run if he didn’t. Now he’d caused it to happen without even having intended to. He’d simply done it.

  To see Vrila lying before him – sleeping – meant so much. It boggled his mind, and he could only lay down beside him, snuggle between him and the back of the sofa and bed his head on his husband’s chest. To his astonishment, Vrila grunted quietly and took him in his arms.

  Hyacinth held his breath, so overwhelmed by his emotions, and for a moment found the tingling in his abdomen too intense to bear.

  *

  Totally confused, Vrila started when he heard the loud knocking on the glass door. Hyacinth, who lay cuddled tightly against him – more like half-way on top of him – stretched sleepily and had trouble opening his eyes. What in hell had happened? A glance at the clock told him it was half past seven. What had happened during the past few hours? Why was he unable to remember? He was overtaken by an uneasy sense of r
ising panic that made his skin break out in sweat. His pulse increased in a most unpleasant manner until he comprehended at last that he’d merely been sleeping. Really and truly sleeping. How could that have happened? Bewildered, he righted himself, and his husband did the same with an energetic yawn, looking unbelievably sweet.

  Once more someone insistently knocked on the door. It was sure to be Perkovic, who’d turned up somewhat early for their card game.

  Vrila still had enough time to notice that he felt unusually fine and well-rested and to remind himself why he’d fallen asleep. His face flushed, and he used Sergei’s appearance to spare himself and Hyacinth the awkward discussion they’d have perhaps had otherwise.

  With a jerk he was on his feet and at the door met a man sporting a dirty grin leaning with his back against the wall. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Oh, keep your mouth shut,” Vrila growled and sensed the flush in his cheeks deepen.

  “So, yes?” Perkovic laughed brazenly then came in, removed his tattered overcoat and hung it on a hook before he sat down at the table and nodded a greeting to Hyacinth.

  “Would you like some pastry?” the young man asked courteously and, already knowing the answer, got up to rewarm lunch.

  “I’d never say no to that. Thanks.” With a breathy sigh, Sergei removed his threadbare gloves from his fingers and smiled in the direction of the hearth.

  Vrila sat down beside him and self-consciously ran his hands through his hair, which was perhaps still noticeably dishevelled. “Any news?”

  “Not much has gone on in our beautiful city. So I thought I’d come early and honour you with my presence.”

  That caused Vrila to scornfully raise a brow, sparking his guest to laugh in amusement.

  “Indeed, I couldn’t imagine I’d be keeping you from something.”

  “We were only sleeping,” Vrila hissed with a warning glare and hoped the annoying man would finally wipe the insinuating grin off his face.

  Instead, the grin became even broader. “Yes, I assumed as much.”

  “Not with each other!” Disconcerted, his hands clenched into fists and he produced a Stakian curse word, causing Hyacinth to raise his head with a start.

  “What did you just say? It sounded rather indecent,” the lad asked, eyes wide open, but Vrila gruffly waved him off.

  “In our mother tongue, everything sounds rather indecent.” Sergei was amusing himself over the discussion and rubbed his abdomen. One could hear his stomach growling as Hyacinth brought two plates to the table.

  The first one he put down in front of Vrila, who elicited a faint, astonished thank-you. It touched him that his husband had thought of him.

  After Hyacinth had brought his own serving from the kitchen, he joined them, and Sergei hurriedly wished them a good appetite so he could quickly shove the first bite into his mouth.

  As he slowly consumed dinner, Vrila became lost in thought.

  Why had Hyacinth lain down with him? He could have gone to the bed if he was tired. He wouldn’t have had to lie with him if he… if he hadn’t wanted to. Realising that, his heart pounded faster, and he looked furtively at Hyacinth who also appeared to be distracted, his head propped up on a hand, an elbow resting improperly on the table.

  Against his will, Vrila’s lips contorted into a tickled grimace, and when he could shake it off again, he used the opportunity to touch Hyacinth – he nudged him in the side and nodded toward the elbow that didn’t belong on the table.

  At first the boy turned to him in confusion then blushed when he understood he was being admonished. He quickly sat up straight. “It’s only Sergei. I hardly think he’ll be offended by my table manners.“

  “Of course not,” Vrila admitted patiently. “Nevertheless, you should mind your manners. You constantly tell me I should learn to restrain you. It seems to me, Seymour must first give me a course called ‘The Education of J. Hyacinth Ardenovic’. Only then can I keep you in check.”

  For that unoriginal joke, Hyacinth responded with a chuckle that struck Vrila directly in the gut.

  To his surprise, Sergei made no derisive comment. Instead, he produced an incredulous smile as he witnessed their flirtation.

  Not for the first time Vrila found himself wondering what the man was hiding from him.

  It appeared Sergei had guessed his thoughts as he hastily tried to divert Vrila’s attention with a disingenuous grin. He then asked: “Wonder if Fletcher will have himself escorted here again by his peculiar friends?”

  “What’s he so afraid of?” Hyacinth spoke with his mouth full, causing Vrila to suppress a grin.

  “Nobody knows exactly. Probably not even himself,” Sergei replied with a shrug and scraped the remainders from his plate.

  “Allegedly of the secret society. Though it’s nonsense, because if they had wanted him, they would have taken him along with his wife.” Vrila grabbed for a glass of water. Fletcher hadn’t been able to get over it. Just as Vrila wouldn’t be able to get over it if something ever happened to Hyacinth. The very idea sent shivers down his spine. He swiftly suppressed them and calmed himself with the resolution to do anything to shield his precious husband from all evil. Hyacinth meant the world to him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to harm him. Dammit, not a soul would harm his lad!

  “Do you want to break it?” Hyacinth’s hushed voice recalled him to the present. He made him aware that his fingers were holding his glass so firmly his knuckles had turned white.

  “Of course not,” he muttered after a nervous cough and returned the innocent beaker to the table without taking a drink. Now his jaw ached because he’d gnashed his crooked teeth so hard.

  Hyacinth watched him with suspicion but said nothing.

  By contrast, Sergei couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “What are you thinking about? Howard? The bastard could have pulled a fast one on us. Maybe the file on Fowler was fabricated.”

  “Nonsense,” Vrila objected but was secretly happy for the diversion. “What would he have gained? Nothing at all.”

  “You’re probably right,” Sergei replied with a nod and massaged his unshaven chin, causing a soft scratching sound. “I’m just disappointed because all of that effort brought us so little.”

  Exasperated, Vrila looked heavenward. As if he didn’t feel the same way! After all, it had been Hyacinth and he who’d gone through hell for that favour. Without a doubt, and much more than anyone could have imagined, that particular characterisation applied to Ferdill’s estate.

  Despite all of it, Sergei had intervened for him when it was necessary to get him out of prison. He was thankful, though he’d keep that thought to himself.

  A knocking shattered the silence, and he raised his head to see that the remainder of their small group had turned up earlier than usual.

  “I’ll go let the gentlemen in. Then I can act a bit like the lord of the house,” Sergei said in a bantering tone and stood up to match his words with deeds.

  In the meantime, Vrila helped his husband carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. “Leave them. I’ll do that afterwards,” he said calmly and signalled Hyacinth to just put them in the sink.

  Bartie and Haggard greeted them while they took off their coats. Fletcher waddled over to the hearth to warm his hands. His corpulent body trembled as always, but probably more out of fear.

  Vrila intended to sit at the table again, except Hyacinth restrained him by grabbing his arm then gave him an intense look as he shoved an open notebook into his hands. Vrila returned a look of distress because it was the notebook which contained the uncomfortable questions.

  The young man passed behind him and took a seat beside Bartie to exchange words with him and intentionally pay no further attention to Vrila.

  Vrila cast a glance into the leather-bound book and his heart skipped several beats when he read the scrawly, inaccurate words Hyacinth had written on the sheet.

  By the wey, I realy wanted that kiss.

  *

  Anxious, Hy
acinth observed his husband turn pale and shut the notebook with a flinch as if its contents appalled him.

  “How are you doing? You two disappeared so quickly yesterday I was worried about you,” Bartie mumbled to him, his expression revealing sincerity.

  “Doing well,” Hyacinth replied evasively. He reached for his pencil and a notebook which differed in colour and size from the one Vrila was holding and appeared intent on concealing. At least, from Hyacinth’s sideways glance, it seemed he was searching for an appropriate place to hide it.

  Soon Vrila entered the bedroom and returned from it then retrieved something from the kitchen to hand to Haggard and sat directly across from Hyacinth without looking at him. Hyacinth’s declaration had a clearly discomforting effect on him.

  Sergei coughed into a hand and began to speak: “We have new information which might interest you.” He told them about Fowler and what they’d discovered.

  Haggard already knew the story but listened with full attention. Fletcher again trembled and seemed less than completely focused, while Bartholomew visibly cocked his ears. “Can I see the portrait of the man?”

  Vrila fished it from a pocket of his trousers and handed it to the man with the snow-white beard and long, braided hair. Bartie examined the image for a while and with a mild exhale returned the picture to Gavrila. “Interesting,” he muttered then kneaded his chin between his fingers and a thumb until they became lost in his beard.

  Silence fell over the room.

  Hyacinth directed attention to himself with a slight cough. “I want everyone to tell me what happened to each of you in particular. We need to collect information so we can finally move a step forward.”

  They all nodded. All except Fletcher who as usual gave the impression of being distracted and was constantly glancing around. “You… you want to write it down? What good is it supposed to do? What… what does he intend to do with these notes? Bring them to the police?” He glimpsed from side to side as if seeking help.