#but i was so desperately unhappy w the shit i wrote that i considered dropping this thing altogether

[damianosismyking]

Part IX

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII

CW: Mentions of Grief and Mourning. 

In the days that followed, Laurent often found himself in a state of confusion and uncertainty he could not shake. A general and constant feeling of being utterly at loss. 

It came from being around Damen, at the main house, where he was now installed. ‘It is the least I can do’ Damen justified Laurent and Auguste having to stay there and not at Laurent’s real room, down at the stables – that wasn’t his room anymore, he had to remind himself. 

It came from not knowing how to properly behave around him because of the feelings he couldn’t name, and the way Damen was polite but distant and looked at Laurent a certain way. 

It came from spotting Damen around the ranch and watching him spin on his heels to walk in the opposite direction whenever he saw Laurent approaching – and doing it himself when Damen didn’t.

From sitting in that office in the second floor to listen to Damen talk and talk about the case and their uncle and what they’d do next, if they’d settle or go to court, if there was a chance Laurent would have to testify in front of a grand jury and whatnots, all the while Damen would meet Auguste’s eyes but never his. And when he did, when Laurent managed to capture his attention, it was for only the breath of a moment.

It came from not being sure either Damen hated him so much he could not stand a glimpse of Laurent or if it was something else that pushed him away.

Most of the loss and confusion came from being around Auguste, though.

And the more he was around Auguste, the stronger it got because once the initial shock was over, Auguste was less and less what Laurent remembered him to be.

Every attempt of apologizing Laurent made was met with a consistent sneak away from the subject to question, instead, if the sun was always this hot around here or if the sky was always this blue.

Any mention of their old lives, their parents, the last time they saw each other, or the day Laurent disappeared caused Auguste to tense and bring up the lawsuit. Whenever Laurent asked about the wife or the child Auguste left in the city to come to the countryside – still in Dice, to where they moved since Laurent saw them last – earned a quick ‘they’re great’ before Auguste was talking, for the tenth time that day, about a funny-shaped tree or a bush.

“How was it,” Laurent inquired at their third day together. “When I left?”

“I managed,” Auguste gritted out. “Let's not talk about this.”

He said that a lot. ‘Let's not talk about this’. ‘Let's not get into that’. ‘Let the past stay in the past’. ‘I managed’. ‘It doesn’t matter’.

It did matter.

Laurent couldn’t tell if Auguste resent him or if he meant it and there was nothing he was holding against him. He couldn’t tell if Auguste was as pleased to see him as he claimed to be. At times, Laurent caught Auguste watching him speak of horses and grapes and wines like he’s been narrating the most compelling story. Other times, Laurent told him about the school he attended and his job with the horses and Auguste would darken, his eyes would pierce through him and there wasn’t a single expression on his face Laurent could make out.

He tried to get into that once.

“Are you mad at me?” he questioned while guiding Auguste through a path in the woods that led to a river with water so clear you could see every fish and rock underneath. He went there with Damen sometimes.

“Never,” Auguste had reassured, so cutting and exasperated Laurent didn’t have the guts to ask again.

For days, Laurent tried not to converge too much on that.

It was thrilling and terrifying to show Auguste the place he’s been living in for the past five and a half years. The view, no matter where they looked, was dizzying, beautiful and wide. Laurent was so excited to point, at distance, the places he cherished the most; to take Auguste to the white fence where they later sat for hours talking about nothing, bantering and teasing back and forth; to show Auguste to the trees he climbs proficiently and to challenge Auguste to do the same. Ride with him through the Vineyard. Laurent didn’t find it in him to care that he sounded childish pointing and rambling because Auguste looked at him and laughed at his little anecdotes and detailed stories of the ranch.

At the stables, Laurent introduced Auguste to each horse by name, glad Auguste took him seriously as he did so. Laurent introduced Auguste to his own horse last. “Remember when I told you about my brother?” Laurent whispered, “This is him. Why don’t you say hello?”

Laurent turned to find Auguste smiling at him. Fond. Sad. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear that you kept my brother company when I couldn’t. Thank you so much for that.” He scratched behind its ear. Laurent knew what Auguste meant to say.

However much Auguste tried to hide, he was unhappy. Like an underlying of helplessness just underneath the surface that he failed to fully conceal. It was there when Laurent described to Auguste about how he escaped and how he ended up with the deAkielos. It was there when Auguste stopped laughing at a joke Laurent told and immediately closed himself off, almost as if reminded of something inexcusable.

So, in all, Laurent was confused a lot of the time.

A week later, worried by Theomedes’ constant dissatisfied glares in his directions, the muttering under his breath that followed, and the wearyness that came from seeing Damen and never talking to him (unless it was about legal matters), Laurent convinced Auguste to sneak out to spend the night at his old room. It didn’t take much persuading before Auguste was following him down the stone path and humming along as Laurent pointed him the constellations he invented throughout his adolescence.

They sat for a picnic inside the mostly empty space.

Although Laurent packed most of everything after the break up, Auguste took his time to study the place, poking at shelves and opening boxes. Strangely apprehensive, as if expecting Auguste to give his approval, Laurent watched from the floor, leaning his weight on his arms stretched behind him.

“It’s great in here,” Auguste said at last. “The smell though?”

“You get used to it.”

They said nothing for a while, having run out of shallow topics days ago. Auguste, at some point, made a joke about them being too old and too big to share the only bed in the room and Laurent bit his tongue not to say that he knew for a fact someone much bigger than Auguste fit there with him just fine. “Maybe we should go back and spend the night at the house?”

“No,” Laurent said, “I want to stay here. If it makes you feel better, I have an air mattress somewhere, we’ll just have to find it.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He kept peaking around until, from the box of books, Auguste pulled the photo album.

Careful to contain his tremble, he opened it slowly. Then, one page at a time, breathing loud and heavy, he went through it. Part of Laurent expected Auguste to smile at the memories, point at funny baby pictures and laugh. Maybe provide context to some of the photos Laurent came up with himself, not knowing anything about the real memory behind. Instead, Auguste’s face twisted into something resembling pain. Even when all Laurent could see was Auguste’s profile, he spotted the downwards twist of his lips.

Auguste excused himself. He had to take a call, he said, although his cellphone was not buzzing. Laurent knew it was best not to follow him, but he did it anyway.

Auguste was far away, beside the fence that encircled the stable area, his hand on the wood to support his weight. By the way his shoulders moved up then down, Laurent wondered whether he was crying or trying to grasp for air. 

He stood pressing a hand to his diaphragm, probably – Laurent was not sure being so far away and Auguste being on his back and it being night already. Auguste tilted his head up them raised his shoulders all the way up to his ears; when he dropped them, he was shaking his head.

“Auguste?”

He startled but did not turn. “I’m sorry,” clearing his throat. “You were an adorable baby. I’d forgotten about that.” Auguste sniffed. 

“Is everything –” Laurent stopped. “What is wrong?”

Auguste shook his head. “I’m fine. I needed – some air, it’s all.”

Laurent waited, for some time. Then some more. Auguste no longer shook his shoulders, taking up a motionless stance instead. His sniffing decreased to a stop and after that there were only the sounds of the night. Where they’d be relaxing any other day, now they only served to amplify how Auguste wasn’t saying anything or looking at Laurent.

Hesitant, Laurent said, “What was it like? When I ran away.” He thought it was the wrong thing to ask, but it was all that he had on his mind.

Auguste sighed. “Hard.” Laurent had no reason to hope Auguste would say anything to follow-up. “I can’t even put into words.”

It was better not to push. Auguste could not make it any clearer that he did not want to discuss this. Laurent bit on his lip and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry."

Auguste shook his head again. Laurent waited for it –  don’t apologize; it’s in the past; it was not your fault . “You could have called,” Auguste's voice was barely a breath. “One time. Only once to let me know –” his voice grew thicker. “You could’ve written to me. Anything. I would take anything .”

Laurent’s heart clenched. “I’m – sorry.”

“I mourned you,” Auguste said. “I am. I was. Mourning you. I buried your casket with our parents' because I couldn’t get your – ” A long pause followed that. “I thought he killed you. I thought he’s done something, killed you and hid your body somewhere. He was so  eager  to get your custody and I didn’t know why. I thought –”

“Auguste.”

“I looked everywhere, Laurent. I turned every last stone in that town. I... broke in into his house because I thought maybe he was keeping you from talking to me. I beat him up so he’d confess he did something and he wouldn’t. I ended up in prison for a minute for that and I didn’t care because I fucked up and he won and you were gone because of me. I finally stopped looking and someone told me - I should give you a proper burial. For closure. But I couldn’t even get your body back...”

Auguste stopped when his words became unintelligible. When Laurent reached for his shoulder, Auguste shuddered, and he let go. Apologies weren’t enough and Laurent knew it, so he just stood there and listened as Auguste gasped and mumbled with his face buried in his hand.

“I’m here,” Laurent said, mindlessly

Auguste nodded into his hand and after a moment he turned. “You are," he said after a sharp breath

This time when Laurent reached, Auguste let him. Auguste breathed unevenly. “I should’ve called,” Laurent admitted.

“You could have,” Auguste almost whimpered. Laurent never comforted anyone before. “Why didn’t you?”

“I –”  was scared ;  was being unreasonable ;  Was ashamed . “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He looked resigned.

Laurent gave Auguste’s shoulders a little squeeze. Auguste placed his hand on top of Laurent’s.

On their way back inside there was nothing Laurent could say that felt right so he said nothing. Auguste went for the photo album the first thing after entering the room and he mentioned, hoarse and with the tease of a smile on his lips, that his son resembles Laurent when Laurent was a baby. He pulled a picture from his wallet for proof.

Laurent carefully inspected the image and the beaming faces of the woman and child that were Auguste’s family. The family Laurent wasn’t a part of. One that was there for Auguste when all Laurent did was hurt him.

“What’s his name?” he asked, quietly.

“Aleron Laurent,” Auguste said. “We call him Ally.”

Two dead people , Laurent didn’t say. “Tell me about them,” he handed the photo back.

Auguste deliberated about it while carefully folding and tucking the picture back in the wallet. “Ok,” he said, then went about telling the story of how he met his wife in a support group meeting.

Laurent made sure to stay quiet and listen, not wanting to miss anything.

__

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#i love how u went 'OH I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT' #and then i.... didn't write shit? #but i was so desperately unhappy w the shit i wrote that i considered dropping this thing altogether #i didn't obviously #but i'm still not happy w this #it seems logical to me Auguste would've mourned Laurent??? he had no reasons to believe the kid was alive #AnYwAy #to the 4 people who like this #THIS IS FOR U #StableBoy!Laurent au #Laurent #Damen #BARELY DAMEN OMG WHY I DID THIS #Auguste #Captive Prince #My writing #fic #CW: grief #CW: mourning