CHAPTER FOUR.     How To Forgive

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Content Warning: Death of a Parent,
Suggestion of Child Abuse

The terrace was exceptionally quiet beneath the shadow of the swallowed sun. It was one of Cassidy's chosen places of solitude. His father, nor his mother, ever graced the chipped cobblestone that engulfed the space. It was too visibly impaired. They made no efforts to renovate the space, and for that Cassidy was grateful.

He was also grateful that his father retired early so that he wouldn't have to face his wrath until the sun returned. Another day, he'd live unscathed.

Josette didn't mind it too well, either. Not due to the imperfections, but because of the Mulberry tree nestled between the hedgerows encircling the cement railing. She was moderately allergic to its pollen, as well as the fruit itself; for that she was more than moderately, so the avoidance was justified.

Cassidy plucks a berry from a low-hanging stalk, and tosses one onto the tip of his tongue as his fingers creep toward the pocket of his shirt. There, he uncovers a hidden cigarette. It is between his lips in a swift second and ignited with another.

He disposes of his dull match against the grain of the earth, between two lively hedges. He takes a slow, steady drag, permitting the smoke to coat his throat, and travel toward his chest with a means to soothe the ache in his still-beating heart.

With it pressed between his fingertips, he gazes out upon the grounds. His eyes shift between two trees to assess the waves, and that is when he finally heard the soft footfall echoing behind him.

He places the rolled tobacco between his lips, takes a long pull, then rolls his neck until his eyes are able to make acquaintance with the only person who could possibly be in his presence.

"Those will lead you to an early grave, I hear." Killian speaks out against the stillness of the night. 

"Oh, yeah?" Cassidy matches, amused. He pivots so that he is able to press his backside against the railing and see the man more clearly. Killian edges closer. Cassidy's space becomes absorbed by faint hints of lavender and patchouli.

Killian merely drones in affirmation.

Cassidy sighs wistfully, then takes another drag with a smirk lining his lips. Killian emerges through the fading smoke, propping himself against the railing.

"Doctors promote it, don't you know?" Cassidy counters.

Killian nods, averting his eyes from Cassidy's. He could get lost there if he lingers for more than a moment deemed acceptable.

"Doctors also administered morphine to my father for onset chest pain. As it turns out, he was having heart attack. He went into cardiac arrest. Died before the doctors were able to do so much as blink," His tone was rather empty as he spoke of the details of his father's abrupt passing, though his eyes were a murky and pained shade of blue.

Cassidy swallows harshly, "My apologies," he pauses, takes a much-needed breath and tucks his chin into his chest, "My condolences as well."

Killian's eyes hasten in Cassidy's direction, "We all succumb to something, do we not?"

"That we do." Cassidy didn't like to ponder such thoughts much. Filled him with dread, as well as ease. It was an odd paradox, indeed.

They sit in a somewhat tense silence until Killian extends his arm a mere inch above Cassidy's shoulder. He reaches out to extract a ripened berry from its stem. He plops it into his mouth and Cassidy watches closely, studying. Memorizing.

"Rather dreary direction of conversation, Mr. Chevalier?"

"Cassidy," he insists.

"Cassidy." Killian echoes, a low and startling sound. It sounds like worship on his tongue. Cassidy was surely falling within the grips of madness at such a notion.

"Tell me something, Cassidy," Killian hums. He plucks another berry and Cassidy follows suit. They both savor the saccharine flavor. A bit of juice drips onto Cassidy's lower lip. Killian's fingers begin to tingle. Instead of becoming a slave to his urges, he swipes his tongue across his own bottom lip, pretends to taste anything but nought.

Cassidy doesn't respond, only continues to watch.

"What is it about the sea that draws you?"

Killian discerns Cassidy's eyes sparkle with unmistakeable, pure, unadulterated delight. No one ever asks of his nautical interest. Except, of course, only if it's met with disdain through his father's lips. His mother ignores him nowadays, and Josette only listens, but never asks.

Cassidy sighs, another wistful note, and drives the filtered tobacco into the cement rail, "Everything." he murmurs.

"So it's not about the methods of escape?"

Cassidy's head fleets, "Of escape?"

"Precisely," Killian affirms. He plucks another berry, swallows it after two chews. "It's either that or the journey. The latter, though applicable and reasonable, just doesn't have the same . . . appeal, it would seem."

"What are you implying exactly, Mr. Alcott?"

"Killian," he maintains.

"Again, what are you implying exactly, Mr. Alcott?" Cassidy bites, though his heart is shouting: It is a relief, someone is finally conscious. He feels rather pathetic, in truth.

"I see," Killian murmurs, his face contorting, conveying an emotion of sorts. Despair? Regret? Disappointment? Cassidy isn't able to make much sense of it.

"My apologies," he continues, his face enveloped by an onset flush. "I had a bit to drink. Exceeded my limit, perhaps. I didn't intend to pry."

Cassidy was bred to forgive. It is in veins, permeating every facet of his spirit.

"No need," Cassidy returns quickly. "I, too, have indulged. I'm a bit bottle-weary, figured these berries could swear it off."

"To no avail, it seems?"

A laugh escapes from between Cassidy's crimson-stained lips, unveiling two rows of faultless teeth. Crisp, linear pearls. The sight has Killian's lips unfurling. "To no avail, indeed, Killian."

"It is remarkable," Killian notes, tone stricken by an unspoken need. Cassidy's eyes snap to attention at the sound. His eyes convey a question, though his mouth remains clasped shut.

"Your entire face ignites whenever you smile."

"You say that as if you've never seen it." Cassidy replies, a playful air to his tone.

"It's because I haven't." Killian divulges.

Cassidy is positively perplexed, so Killian carries on with a cheeky smile of his own, "You smirk, you never smile. All smug, like the others."

The others, a reference to Cassidy's relatives.

Cassidy's lips purse, gaze angling outward and away from the introspective eye of his peer. A smirk lines his lips eventually. That soft, precarious glow melts from his boyish features, replaced by the imagery of Chevalier. Smug, self-assured, yet still radiant all the same.

"It's a shame, really." Killian murmurs, his arms folded inward as his body slouches against the stone fencing lining the property.

"What's that?" Cassidy inquires, eyes newly affixed onto the man's broad frame. He admires how the man's features gleam against the mark of the moon. The newspapers were honest when they spoke so highly of the man's appearance. He was indisputably handsome. (Cassidy has those news clippings tucked into a hidden hole in the wall. No one knows of its existence. No one ever will.)

"That I am unable to see it more often." he states, quite unabashed. His eyes carry over the top of his right shoulder, so that he is able to capture Cassidy in his line of sight once more.

Cassidy's lips extend outward. In a flash, his perfectly lined teeth are on full display, by reason of the compliments from the young novelist. Two divots indent the outer edges of his perfect smile. His eyes crinkle and shine brightly, full-fledged silver and cobalt.

"There it is," Killian whispers, almost too faintly for Cassidy to discern, but the eldest Chevalier ears prevail nonetheless. He becomes quite internally gladdened to have overheard such an admission. A bona fide admission, indeed, with faint hints of something much more sensual.

There was something in the way he spoke so hushed, so tender, that had gooseflesh dancing on every area of his tanned skin. A smothered secret shared between them in the form of flattery.

And Cassidy didn't mind it one bit. Not even in the slightest.

It was then that a profound realization dawned on the eldest heir: amidst the wreckage that he was, when he was within the presence of Mr. Alcott, it was as if he was experiencing true religion for the first time.

It occurred to Cassidy, no—was embedded within the planes of his barren soul—the belief that he would sacrifice himself for a man such as he. No matter the time frame in which he'd come to know of him.

And he'd die with a smile carved into his skin, a heart so sturdy, and a soul of pure bliss.

His smile died, just then. Because he registered just how much fear that belief instilled in him.

How much embarrassment.

Because men like Killian Alcott paid no mind to men like himself. And if they so much as contemplated it, it was not permitted nevertheless. It was damned.

They were damned from the very start.