"Lord Harrington, there is a visitor for you. A 'Mr. Munson'."

Stephen raised his head, eyes focusing on the servant that stood in the doorway to his study. "Let him know that I will meet with him in the sitting room shortly. And then ask the cook to prepare some more food. We might have guests", he answered with a pleasant smile.

Quickly, he finished with his paperwork before hurrying to the sitting area, where Mr. Munson was already awaiting him, clutching his hat in his hands.

"Lord Harrington." He stood quickly, extending a hand toward Stephen.

"Mr. Munson, I am so pleased to have you here. Even though I was not expecting guests," Stephen answered, shaking his hand once.

The man lowered his head in shame. "Forgive me. I came as soon as the letter arrived. There was simply no time for pleasantries."

"Which letter is it that you speak of?" Stephen inquired, furrowing his eyebrows at the urgency the man carried in his voice. He seemed truly troubled.

"The invitation, which you had the kindness to extend to me."

"The invitation to the ball I will be hosting this week?"

"That exact invitation."

"What is wrong with it?" Stephen started to worry. Had the printer made an error? Was there something wrong with the design? He had picked the cards out himself. It would be a great shame if somehow they had gotten ruined.

"There is nothing wrong with the cards themselves. The only fault is that I received one."

"If you have no wish to come, I will by no means force you. I had no idea that an invitation would offend you this much." Stephen did his best to hide away his disappointment about the news. He had looked forward to another opportunity to meet the man, and maybe engage in some further conversation. But if the man had no interest in seeing him again, then Stephen had to accept that.

Mr. Munson shook his head, a few hair falling loose from the bun and into his warm eyes. "I'm afraid you misunderstand me, my Lord. I am not declining your invitation because I do not wish to see you again, but because by inviting me you would ruin your reputation and your good name."

"Why? What could a good man like you possibly have done to deserve such treatment from the world?" Stephen asked directly, crossing his arms. He knew more than enough that society was rarely fair, and never gave what one deserved. Still, he craved knowledge of the dark past of this man.

He was so much more interesting that anyone Stephen had ever spoken to. His choice of clothing, his hair, his articulation - everything about him intrigued Stephen to learn more about him.

Mr. Munson let out a rough laugh, slowly stepping closer toward him. "People such as yourself will never understand that the world never gives us what we deserve. You don't deserve your title, or your money. Your servants do not deserve to work until late at night for what little pay you offer them. And nobody deserves to be cast out of society like I was. Yet here we are. The world does not give what one deserves, Lord. Harrington."

The words stung into Stephen's chest like icy north wind on a particularly cold winters night.

Stephen had experienced such a night only once in his life.

Nine years ago, his father had sent him outside into a snow storm with only a knife. The Duke Harrington wanted to test his son's ability to survive in nature at the tender age of ten and four years. 'My father made me do it, like his father made him do it, and his father before that. It shall help you on your journey to manhood, boy.'

His mother had cried silently into her tissue, but never spoken up. Stephen had not expected her to. She was a good wife to her husband - never disobeyed; never raised her voice.

Rex had held him company through the night, never leaving his side.

When the light of day finally broke through the endless darkness, the servants found Stephen inside a deer's corpse. Frozen blood covered his blue skin, and stuck to his beautiful hair. Stephen wouldn't forget the smell until the day he himself became one with the earth.

The only thing worse than the deer had been the cold of Rex's body in the morning. He was still in the same position as the night before, only now he was stiff and motionless.

It had been the first time Stephen had lost someone he loved and cared for.

The Duke had been proud. He had clapped Stephen on the shoulder, while the child was trembling and shivering near the fireplace. 'See what the boy can do if his life depends on it? Be proud, Maria, we raised a strong man.'

His mother nodded silently, then ordered the servants to make warm soup and tea and everything hot they could think of.

That deer had not deserved to die that night. It should have lived a long and happy life with its family, raising its babies, protecting them from the cold.

Rex had not deserved to die that night. Duke Harrington had ordered him to stay inside, but the loyal animal decided to stay with its master until its end.

Stephen had not deserved to be sent out into the cold. He had not deserved to lose his friend.

Neither had he deserved his fathers praise.

"I know that," Stephen replied coldly, his eyes meeting those of the other man. "Which is why I intended to give you a second chance. You do not deserve to be treated in such a way and I am trying my best to treat you differently. You can either accept it, or tell me that you do not wish to come. Either way, I will accept your decision." He took a deep breath. "Now, if you excuse me, I have an event to plan."

Stephen had half a mind to turn on his heel and leave Mr. Munson to himself, but about halfway through the room on his way to the door, he felt a hand around his wrist. The sensation was the same as touching an open flame on accident. Burning and dangerous, but also warm, almost kind. His fingers were rough in the tips, but otherwise gentle.

Quickly, Mr. Munson let go, eyes fixed upon the ground. "Forgive me, I- I did not mean to be so rude towards you..." he cleared his throat and reminded himself to stand taller. "I appreciate your invitation very much. I dare even say that, if we got to know each other better, I would consider you my friend. But for this exact reason you cannot invite me to this ball. I am not trying to do you a disservice or insult your hospitality, but rather to keep you from making a mistake that could ruin you and those dear to you," he warned.

"Do you truly believe me to be so unintelligent?" Stephen turned toward his guest once again, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I am very well aware of the consequences my actions may result in. I have considered them, and found them in adequate relation to the gains I will get from it."

"The gains?" Mr. Munson drew back, eyeing him almost confusedly.

"I do believe conversation with you to be rather pleasurable. So yes, gains."

Mr. Munson opened his mouth in response, but no words were ready to leave the soft lips.

"I have sent you the invitation. How you respond to it is up to you, but I take nothing back," Stephen clarified, taking another step back to clear the way toward the door.

After a few seconds, Mr. Munson had caught himself again and nodded shortly. He collected his tophat from the sofa, then bid Stephen a good day before leaving him alone in the vast room.

His acceptance letter arrived that same evening.

~

The same night, Stephen met Mr. Munson again. This time, in the shape of a very delicate and shocking dream.

In this dream, Mr. Munson had come to the ball in a beautiful suit, his hair falling onto his shoulders in open, untamed waves. They danced. Stephen had the feeling that it was meant as an apology, although no such thing was ever said out loud.

Mr. Munson was a flawless dancer, guiding them over the dancefloor in smooth motions, holding Stephen's hand in his own, their fingers inappropriately intertwined.

Steven woke from this dream with a racing heart and a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

~

Another night, he dreamt about the man's lips.

Soft lines and curves in the gentle pink of young roses. He traced them with the tips of his fingers, exploring every little corner.

~

The last night was the worst.

Hands on skin, striping away the fabric from their bodies, softly murmured words for only them to hear, quiet gasps as they became one with each other, claiming the other partner completely.

~

Four out of five nights in total, Edward Munson had haunted his mind, occupying not only his waking, but also his sleeping thoughts in a way no man should ever think about another man.

Stephen had considered attending church for a confession. He was well aware that those thoughts were improper and sinful, and that he would likely burn in hell for them. Not mentioning what society would do to him, if anyone found out.

Nobody could ever know... Nobody at all. Not even the priest. Stephen could not afford having his name on the line over a silly dream.

And if God intended to make him suffer for these thoughts, then that was Stephen's problem, and nobody could do anything about it.