Present day ~ December 3rd
I believe that when you are with me, a fire burns in your heart. You look at me with the embers as your eyes.
I touch you, and your skin tingles under my fingers.
You touch me, and I’m born again.
I believe we will stay like this forever. Burned from this feeling.
We will live but suffer in flames.
I believe, therefore I am.
You love, therefore you suffer.
Silence could be meaningful. It could be louder than a shout, clearer than words. Bathed in its embrace, wet with snow, they moved forward. One of them warmed by the power of love, the other freezing in the heat of the former’s feelings.
Gaston was unaware of LeFou’s emotions; he noticed his blissful smiles, goo-goo eyes, and vague whispers. He did not suspect him of love - Gaston did not understand this feeling. He loved his wife. It wasn’t true.
However, he was able to use the information he had collected over the years. LeFou was weak under his touch and piercing eyes. He would do anything if Gaston only tamed him with that life-giving smile. This knowledge allowed Gaston to benefit from his friend’s innocent heart. He gave small gestures of kindness in return for his obedience. Perhaps this consideration was partially authentic. There was a grain of sincerity in every lie.
Now, too, by asking him to button his jacket, he was building the foundation for his friend’s following use. Even so, a genuine smile appeared on his face as LeFou agreed with his suggestion to buy gloves. Something broke deep down in him.
“Are you… cold, Gaston?” the uncertain question escaped LeFou’s lips. Unlike the former, his concern was not aligned with selfish intentions.
Gaston pushed his chest forward. Snow beat off his brawny ribs. “I’m never cold, LeFou.” It was easy for a man with an icy heart. Gaston looked serious. His hands were shaking. His lips were blue from the melting ice on them. “Never assume that.”
Gaston didn’t know, or maybe he didn’t want to realize, that he was hurting LeFou with this dialogue. He broke his heart with words as sharp as icicles.
They spent time together. Always. They have been doing it so much lately that Gaston has started to question his friend’s position in the hierarchy of his companions. He wondered if his vertical mobility was going up or down. With each meeting, his friend grew restlessly annoying. Today (and not only) - he made him embarrassed. Once, he, for example, spilled cold beer on Gaston when he stumbled (on the air, he thought - LeFou was charmingly clumsy). The crimson shirt could no longer be saved.
And yet… yet, those encounters evoked a pleasant ecstasy to which he had no courage to admit to. Gaston rejoiced in his subconscious at their forays. He put on the pedestal of his memories every song LeFou sang to him indistinctly (because after a few mugs of beer). His smile warmed him. His massages were relaxing. LeFou comforted him, made him laugh, and worshiped him. He was always there, even when the chopping snow blocked their way.
Gaston’s inborn boldness led him to be ready to lose it all for one successful meeting with his wife. One moment with her was worth more than a thousand with LeFou. It was more mattering for his reputation than for his soul.
Pragmatically speaking, he should be glad to see the possibility of his wife appearing in the tavern. She would certainly like it there. Essentially, what could be more associated with her husband than alcohol and trite excesses. She loved him… so she would love the place too. And that pleased him. However, something was weighing on his heart. It could be described as something strange, something that has been there for a long time. Perhaps once he knew what it was. He previously could identify it, name it even. Now it had mixed into a dubious mush. This thing, shrouded in a haze of his ego and narcissism, was gone… but not lost.
LeFou agreed with him. Not for the first time, and probably not the last. He seemed occupied analyzing Belle’s behavior. His bewilderment and disbelief were hidden under cherry cheeks. “She recently installed a coffee machine,” Gaston said, desperately trying to look for evidence. He was surprised he remembered such insignificant details. It couldn’t be it, though. Coffee, even if imported straight from Ethiopia, couldn’t be better than him, Gaston himself.
Nothing could be better than him.
LeFou also seemed to be in a fix. He didn’t seem to agree with it all himself, and he put it quite bluntly, stating that Gaston was, after all, perfect.
Gaston deemed he was more than perfect. He was immaculate, incomparable, and his whole was underestimated in just one two-syllable word. There were, however, more adjectives in LeFou’s sentence; they clung to the tongue, trying to squeeze to the surface. At least, Gaston could figure that out based on his voice - filled with rapture. Although the word ‘rapture’ also could not reflect what his timbre sounded like.
“Then ideality is not enough for Belle,” he said bitterly. “But…” he put his mouth into a pout, the ‘th’ syllable almost escaping them. “Thinking about it is ridiculous.” He finished quickly. That wasn’t what he meant to say. “However, I agree with you.” Only now did he allow himself to smile. It was delicate as snowflakes, warm as dark chocolate.
Unquestionably, it was a perfect smile… perfect and more, perhaps.
“Tonight will be the best night of your marriage.”
LeFou’s words rang in his head. They pleasantly caressed his now lifted-up soul. Gaston trusted his friend; he knew that he could trust him… even with his life.
“I am sure of it,” Gaston confirmed.
Words hurt. Sometimes more than a punch.
Gaston noted that his reaction led LeFou into obvious suffering. He stood stuck to the ground, surprised by his rough reply. The snow was crumbling under their feet. It melted away with every second of that frightening silence. Gaston could see LeFou wanted to say something. His companion had a need to apologize… LeFou was very good at it. It had become a habit for him.
Before LeFou even started forming the first ‘s’ in his head, Gaston grabbed his hand, put it on his shoulder, and they continued on their way. LeFou was prancing with a grateful smile, Gaston - with still visible distress.
Even though he wasn’t looking at him, Gaston was aware that LeFou was now redder than his burgundy jacket. He was close to him. Nearer and nearer. He narrowed the gap between them. His grip tightened. Gaston felt the heat of his friend’s body. It warmed him, sending pleasant electric shocks through the veins to his heart. Gaston felt as if he was sitting by a warm fireplace covered with a fluffy beige blanket. So homey.
Their legs were close; clothes were rubbing against each other. Gaston had to be careful not to step on his friend’s foot. The man was filled with barely palpable satisfaction. He liked that he had caused someone such a strong feeling of admiration and praise for him.
“Thank you, Gaston,” LeFou lovingly chimed out. He didn’t have to say it. Gaston knew he was grateful. Words, however, influenced him more than suspicions. A short smile crossed his face. It looked like a bright crescent moon in a cloudy sky. However, it quickly disappeared.
“You should not tell anyone about this,” he demanded. “If someone finds out, people will think I have become soft. Or weak.” He let out a short, harsh laugh. Nobody could think of him like that; it was ridiculous. “I only did it because no one is here, fortunately for you.”
Words hurt more.
“Otherwise, you would have fallen to the icy ground long ago,” a short sigh - an indication of the change of heart? Not right now… but soon, perhaps. Gaston’s face became serious again. He composed himself quickly. “You would have probably frozen… but… but I wouldn’t care.”
Sometimes, they hurt more than a bullet.
LeFou listened to him. Even Gaston’s words could not break him, it seemed. The perfection of a man thought it was shameful, but… he appreciated it in his own way. Although, he had to admit… his friend had no dignity. Sometimes Gaston wondered what he would have to do to make LeFou snap back at him. To hit him, to shout at him. How far would Gaston have to cross that breaking point for LeFou to abandon him?
It gave him a chuckle. It made him laugh that he even considered such a crazy possibility. LeFou was his faithful orderly. His companion. His friend.
He would never leave his side, no matter what Gaston did.
His friend’s eyebrows were raised in amusing curiosity. Gaston did not fail to indulge LeFou in the rest of the story. “I can see your face.” He started. An expression of surprise was visible on his friend’s young features. Gaston could feel his pulse. His heart was beating madly.
Or maybe it was Gaston’s heart? The man preferred not to even acknowledge this option.
LeFou didn’t interrupt his story with his guesses. Gaston decided to keep him in a moment of uncertainty. With the unspoken words stuck to his mouth, which was twisted in a smile, he walked forward without slowing down.
He knew LeFou was holding his breath, watching Gaston like a majestic figure. Gaston let the mystery stir LeFou’s mind for a few more seconds. What could this Aphro do? Had she fled? Did she start crying? Perhaps, she jumped on him and…
Gaston shook his head quickly. There was no time for such filthy daydreams.
He was silent a moment longer. His friend’s reaction and Gaston’s inscrutability were proud and over-the-top. They contrasted comically with the crude tone of the man’s speech.
Eventually, Gaston took a deep breath. “She kissed me,” he finally blurted out. But it was probably not that worth of all this build-up. Gaston decided to complete his statement; he had to maintain the suspense of his story. "It was not an ordinary kiss. Without any practical use to stimulate the senses. It was…” he was looking for a good word. However, he was not a bibliophile. “…different.”
He thought that LeFou did not understand the ridiculousness of the whole event. He continued to explain it to him unscrupulously. “Well, as you already know, Aphro has sworn she didn’t like me. She even had the nerve to assume I’d fall in love with her first. She has an extremely high opinion of herself." Gaston shook his head. If he was even a little self-aware, it might be considered ironic. “And yet… it was she who crushed first. She likes me, and she proved it yesterday. Isn’t that funny? This is another one yet, that got so tangled up. I am flattered," he completed sincerely. “You know, I almost feel sorry for her.” His expression changed in the blink of an eye. His face dropped, black eyebrows covered his eyes, his mouth became a rough line.
In his life, however, Gaston never felt sorry for his lover. Especially the ones who began to have feelings for him, which were stronger than lust.
He could not hold this pose any longer. He let out a brutal, harsh laugh. “I hope this girl doesn’t think I’ll leave my wife for her. If so, she’s a fool,” he cast a brief glance at his friend and smiled bitterly. “I’ll leave her if she gets too obsessive. I don’t have time and strength to hide anything more serious. For now, the most important thing is that I was right."
He straightened up. Pride shone in his eyes, which now seemed more navy blue than cerulean.
“For I’m always right.”
You are evil
The part in cursive, at the very beginning one is, like… Gaston’s true feelings. He doesn’t know about them (for now, at least) but I do, so, oh well. I’ll try to write those in every (or some of them, at least) post, yep