2.6k words, written in full english. bxb. major character death. terminal illness. mentions of blood. 19th century AU.
The day was chilly, the wind whipped through the air, and clouds obscured the sky. Rain might fall anytime soon. Howard rearranged his scarf, searching for warmth to prevent his weakened body from further decline.
He sighed, his breath forming white. He was so tired of walking from his client’s house while bringing a large, heavy box of his makeup tools.
He walked with no energy.
So when his cash-filled pouch was stolen from his trousers' pocket, he could only freeze.
When the culprits―street kids, a group of three―were laughing happily, running away from him, he could only massage his forehead defeatedly.
That was his last hope for this month. He finally got a call for a job, thinking he could make himself warm this upcoming winter.
But unfortunately, his wages got stolen and he could do nothing because he already felt so weak. He might faint pathetically if he ran chasing the kids.
He was so near of feeling his eyes getting wet, when a blonde guy suddenly grabbed one of the kids' hands. He might be someone from the streets, too, looking at his clothes. So Howard was almost convinced that he was the ally of the kids.
But the guy scolded them, until they cried, then walked to Howard with a wide grin, holding the pouch in his left hand.
"Here you go. I told them many times to not steal from worker classes, don't know why they never listened."
The blonde gave him the pouch back. Howard received it with a small smile.
"Thank you. You helped me."
"As I should." The guy replied with a cheerful voice, tapping his own chest with his hand.
Then he turned away, walked in the direction he came from. One step, two steps, and he suddenly crouched down on the road, holding his stomach in pain.
It was from a moldy bread, Howard learned after he brought the blonde guy to his small house. They were both sitting on his old chairs in front of the empty chimney, with a cup of tea and an edible bread on the table.
"Thank you, you even gave me food. You ended up helping me more."
Howard shook his head, "It wasn’t even enough to repay you. That was my last money that you saved."
The guy sipped the tea, "Really? I should scold the kids more, then. I can't let them make others suffer."
Howard hummed, staring at the broken window to check for the rain. It hadn’t rained yet, but the clouds made the streets so dark already.
"I'm Gilbert, by the way. Can we get to know each other, now?" The blonde―Gilbert said, right hand reaching out.
Howard received the handshake, "You are not from here?"
"Don't know." Gilbert shrugged, "Also, don't care. As far as I know, I've been living on the streets, moving from alley to alley."
"I see. I'm Howard."
"From a noble family?" Gilbert's eyes widen, almost choking on the bread he was eating.
Howard chuckled, "Just the name. Don't even know my origin. I used to live on the slums, before my dad got to rent this house. But then he died, so I'm now living alone."
Then the rain finally poured. It was a heavy one, almost felt like a mini-storm. The house felt cold, Howard apologized to Gilbert that he ran out of the woods to make a fire.
"You can sleep here for tonight." That was what Howard offered.
And Gilbert was more than happy.
He made a note on his mind to tell this story to the kids: helping others might grant you luck.
But there was one more thing Howard needed to apologize for. He saw it coming when the sky was cloudy and the air felt colder.
That was why he kept the rain in check.
Because whenever it rained, he was dying.
"Howard―are you okay?" Gilbert asked with a shaking voice. Ah, he made him frightened.
It was midnight and the rain was still noisy. But what was noisier was Howard’s breathing. He kept coughing and choking on his own wheezes. He sat on the bed, leaning on the wall to be able to breathe easily. He could feel his temperature rising and he felt too weak to even speak.
"Don't mind me," he whispered, "sorry, you can just sleep in my father's room."
Gilbert shook his head, insisting to ask where his medicines were. He also looked like he wanted to ask something, but he didn't.
Instead, after Howard downed the medicine, Gilbert sat on the bed, right beside Howard.
"You are shivering," he said, "and you don’t have anything to make the room warmer. But I’m here."
He hugged Howard, and wrapped him in the blanket along with his clothes.
And suddenly Howard felt like he might survive tonight.
It was a pulmonary illness, but even Howard didn’t know what the exact name was. His father brought him to a doctor once, when he was a child. It was said to have developed from the dirty and humid environment of the slums he lived in.
And that was all. He never went to any doctors from there on. He depended fully on medicines that the pharmacist told him would help.
He told Gilbert, and the blonde wore a worried expression and proposed: he wanted to be Howard's caretaker, and the payment would be a roof to live in.
Basically, it sounded like a proposal to live together to Howard. He didn't mind.
In fact, he missed the warmth of someone alive. The embrace Gilbert gave was enough to make him crave more. Which was unusual. He wasn't fond of physical touches, but when he thought about it again, that might be because everything he had touched was―corpses.
He felt better when the morning came, along with the disappearance of the rain. He could breathe more easily. His cough lessen. His fever gone.
He gave Gilbert a bread for breakfast.
"What is your occupation, by the way?" Gilbert asked. He glanced at the case he brought yesterday when they first met.
"A cosmetologist," Howard sipped his tea. They were sitting in the living room like they did yesterday. He continued after an inhale, "for dead people."
Gilbert gasped, "You mean―mortuary cosmetologist?"
"Yes, and embalmer. Freelance. But embalming was... quite heavy for me, so I usually choose the cosmetology job―"
"Embalmer?!"
Howard chuckled, softly, "Are you frightened? It wasn't a scary job, though. I enjoy arts, and I feel closer to death than to life. Looking at the dead, putting makeup on them until they looked alive was... beautiful. It made me not afraid of dying."
The sun was getting higher, and Gilbert wasn't responding.
So he continued, "As you can see. I will die soon, Gilbert."
Then they exchanged information about each other that morning until Gilbert announced he needed to go to work. He worked at a small shoe store as a helper for the owner: an elder he was fond of.
It was a low-paying job, but Gilbert seemed to enjoy it. Howard was jealous of how Gilbert saw the world. It was as if the world was always bright in his eyes.
Unlike his.
Howard also told Gilbert that he sometimes worked for a theatre too when he didn’t have a mortuary job. But he stayed home today.
And tomorrow.
And the day after tomorrow.
Then Gilbert came home with a serious face, "Let's get you to a doctor."
Howard refused. They still need to pay for the house rent, and water, and bathroom. So instead, they ate a warm meat that night.
Howard went to the theatre two days later. He usually helped with the costumes. His makeup tools are all expired, so he could only use them on corpses, not actresses.
His days felt more lively. People there told him that he looked happier. He smiled as an answer.
He came home later than Gilbert, and four pieces of bread already awaited him. He gave Gilbert a kiss on the forehead.
His roommate blushed, and so did him. Then they both kissed each other under the dim light of their house.
Gilbert brought him to the shoe store he worked in. It was indeed small, and not many people came to buy the shoes. Still, he could tell why Gilbert stayed in this workplace.
He met the grandfather, the owner of the shop, and his son who Gilbert called Uncle John. It felt warm.
Unlike his job.
He felt reluctant to bring Gilbert to his work the next day. He finally got another mortuary job. They went out of the house early in the morning. This job took place in a farther area, like usual.
They rode the train. And as Howard predicted, Gilbert felt uneasy when he saw the corpse.
But the blonde then smiled after Howard finished the makeup.
"Like you said, it was beautiful. She looked just like she was sleeping peacefully. You did a great job!"
Howard couldn’t bear his tears from falling down. He accepted him.
They ate warm soup and hugged each other in their sleep that night.
Gilbert told him about his love for books one night. He loved both fiction and non-fiction.
Howard let Gilbert talk about the books he read for a whole night. He smiled bitterly, Gil would be an honored person if he went to college with this knowledge.
Gilbert said he had some books in the alley he used to live in. He bought them secondhand, sometimes he also picked up the books that the nobles threw away. They were stored in an abandoned storefront.
"Why don't you bring them here?"
"Can I?!"
Howard nodded, and Gilbert's smile was brighter than any star. Especially when they both arrived at the said storefront on their day off.
"The books are still here!!!" Gilbert jumped happily. Howard could tell he loved books so much.
They brought the books back home using two boxes.
They sat side by side when the sun set, rearranging the books on the empty spaces of Howard's shelves.
"Ah―this book..." Gilbert stopped his movement when he held a book, "Sonnets from the Portuguese."
"Your favorite book?" Howard asked, his head tilted slightly.
Gilbert shook his head, "not my favorite. But... can I take this chance now?"
Howard blinked confusedly, "what chance?"
Shaking nervously, Gilbert's face grew red. He opened his mouth and spoke, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."
Seeing Howard not laughing at him, Gilbert smiled calmly. He leaned nearer to Howard, looking at his eyes straight.
He continued, "I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight. For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s. Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light."
He breathed, slightly delirious from shyness.
"Is this―" Howard blinked, not sure on how he should respond. His face was also red. "Is this a confession...?"
"Your―your answer is?"
Gilbert held Howard's right hand, raising it to his chest, waiting for the black-haired man to answer.
But Howard couldn't feel his own tongue. He was lost of words. So he could only cry quietly, letting tears streamed down his rosy cheeks.
Gilbert panicked and hugged him immediately, "sorry―I'm sorry for saying these things so suddenly. It's okay if you reject me..."
They hugged for a minute, letting only sobs fill the air while the orange-ish light seeped through the window.
Then Howard let go of the hug. He inhaled deeply, "Gilbert, I have grieved so I am hard to love."
Gilbert's eyes widened, he wanted to open his mouth but Howard cut him first.
"Yet love me–wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, and fold within, the wet wings of thy dove."
"You know that too?!"
Howard chuckled, pinching Gilbert's cheek. "I work in a theatre, right? And that was my answer."
"Howard!!!!"
They hugged for the second time, then they kissed, and cuddled on the floor. The books were left in a mess.
They became a loving couple. Every day was full of love.
Well, if only life could be peaceful for eternity.
Howard and Gilbert had been living together for six months now. Half a year already.
Howard found Gilbert coming home with bad bruises five times. A cold one time. An injured leg one time.
He didn't know how to take care of others at first, having lived alone for years. But he learned, and Gilbert always appreciated him. He felt happy, and grateful.
Gilbert found Howard collapsed on the street once, inside their house thrice. Fever.. many times. Bad episodes of his illness five times. Coughed up blood four times.
He was―terrified. He worked hard to gain more cash. He wanted Howard to receive proper treatment. He took another night job in the third month, but then he let go of the job after coming home late at night seeing Howard struggling alone with a bad fever, coughs―and bloods on the table.
He realized that staying at Howard's side was more important. At least, that was what his sweetheart begged for.
It was morning. The snow piled up outside the house.
Gilbert made a tea for Howard, who had stayed home for a week.
"Your tea, sweetie." He placed the tea on the bedside table. His beloved one was sitting on the floor, grabbing his makeup tools from the box.
Gil's heart ached when he saw a new red spot on the bed's sheet, but he knew Howard didn't want him to mention it.
"Thank you." Howard smiled. He closed his eyes when Gilbert came closer and touched his feverish cheek, knowing he would kiss his forehead. Then Howard kissed him back.
That was their morning routine. Forehead kisses.
"What are you doing? You are not working today, right? Your condition is..."
Howard shook his head in tiny, "I want to put these on my face. I grew paler every day... I hate looking at the mirror. I want to look bright for once in front of my loved one."
Gilbert smiled softly, his hands stroked Howard's hair.
"I love you no matter how you look like, don't you know that?"
"I know, it's just... let me do it this time, please?"
Gilbert sighed endearingly. He gave Howard one last kiss before he went to work.
Howard's lips were hot from the fever, and it fitted well in Gil's cold one. It was a gentle, deep kiss. Full of love.
And with that, Gilbert left the house. Just like what he did every day.
He met the granny and Uncle John in the shoe store.
He got some customers today.
Uncle John smiled brightly and gave him a warm soup for lunch.
So when the sun set, he went home with a wide smile.
He stopped by at the pharmacy.
He bought two warm soups on the way home because he wanted Howard to eat what he ate.
Then he arrived home.
It had been almost a year now since he decided to live here.
And almost half a year since he declared his love for Howard.
And―
Almost a year since he was afraid Howard would leave him.
He put the soup in the living room.
Then he entered their bedroom.
His breath―he couldn't breathe.
He never dared to imagine seeing Howard replacing the dead girl he put makeup on back then.
Yet it was exactly what he saw right now.
Howard was sleeping on the bed, with makeup on his face. The same products he used for the corpses on his job.
His hands were on his stomach.
Howard was sleeping.
He looked just like he was sleeping.
The only difference was―he wasn't breathing.
ーfin.
