veinilla | open rp post

He drapes himself on the couch a little, making himself more comfortable.

"So how old are you? You can't tell me what you are, can you tell me that?"

The dragon laughs, mirroring Ethan's movement to get more comfortable.

"A millenia or two. I often hop dimensions and time has ceased to apply to me in the linear sense."

He'll be draped across you before long.

"What--" he chokes, nearly dropping his drink. "A millennia or two</i?"

Francis immediately reaches out to steady Ethan. Are you okay my dear? Don't choke.

"It's true. More likely two by now."

It is, after all, only a thousand years.

Give him a moment, he'll get it down.

"God," he says, coughing a little before managing a chuckle. "That's...wow. That's crazy."

Honestly it's surprising it's not more, the number of times you've run into your idiot ex.

He is, perhaps, giving a very light estimate. Ethan is precious and already trying to digest a lot of information.

"Mm.. I've stopped counting. Enough to meet the same person's reincarnation several times across multiple dimensions."

But saying something like old as time itself isn't correct. He is a living, breathing creature. There were many before him.

"I have been particularly fortunate to live this long."

Fortunate or cursed. He can't quite decide.

"Wow," he says, a little breathy, because holy shit you're...that's amazing.

"That's amazing," he says out loud, leaning in a little as if to study his face in closer detail, drinking every inch in. "Really? So reincarnation is...actually a thing?"

Another curve ball. This is a hell of a wedding night.

Francis removes his spectacles and sets them aside as if to encourage Ethan's approach. His eyes are remarkably green, emerald even, and ringed with gold. Pale skin with a light dusting of freckles. He and Ethan aren't that dissimilar in their coloring though Francis' brown hair is a shade or two mousier. His bone structure classical and thin with high cheek bones. French, maybe English in origin. Easy enough to imagine in a tunic and tabard as he is in modern clothes.

"It is, my love. Everything in life is cyclical. Souls and bonds included. It is only the body that dies."

They're pretty. Up close like this, away from the harsh light of the courthouse, in the flickering fire, he can actually see them. Francis is a good looking man. Ethan could have it a lot worse.

"Souls and bonds, huh?" He dips his gaze briefly to where he thinks his husbands heart would be, then back up. "What, like soulmate stuff?" He laughs. It's clearly not something he bought into before.

"That as well."

There are, after all, many kinds of bond.

Francis studies his husband. Skin deep he is very pleasing but deeper still he can tell Ethan is the same on the inside. What a kind, gentle soul. Yes, he couldn't have done much worse as well.

Marcus had said Ethan was a sweet kid. He was correct. And honestly there was no way Francis was going to entangle himself with Marcus himself. What a mess of a man. Hearing about Ethan caught some string inside Francis' heart. Like he almost.. needed to have him, if only to save him from whatever trouble Marcus would inevitably drag him into.

"It's such a romantic concept, isn't it. An inspiration of so many beautiful words."

And yet in reality it is so very, very, utterly, completely painful when you are a lesser one of many and live long enough to feel the pain of rejection and breakdown over and over again.

No...Marcus was a fucking mess. Francis would have eaten him quickly. Ethan is just a genuinely good person. He doesn't have that twisted, dark sickness that always eats Raleigh up from the inside out. He doesn't have a soulmate on the other side of the world, clawing to get to him. Ethan comes with no drama, beyond some questionable circumstances regarding his chance and his sires death, but that in comparison to the shit Francis has dealt with is minimal.

Ethan probably would have eventually ended up dead not long after Marcus. With Francis in his circle, it'll be a rare thing indeed if someone messes with him. They'd have to be very, very stupid - or incredibly dangerous.

"I guess. But it sounds lonely, kinda. You said you're super old, if your soulmate isn't, then you just...watch them die." It's why he started to assume he'd never marry.

could have done much worse** lmao

"Mm." soft. The smallest nod.

"Yes. You would." There's a weight to his words. Francis is just so old that he's experienced most things.

"More complicated still when you have several. Sometimes bonds end up split and twisted. Your soulmate may have another with a stronger bond. And so you could be pulled to them only to find them taken with another. It is more trouble than it's worth."

A thin smile.

Because knowing all this, having lived all this, despite all his bitter resentment and jaded exhaustion, there's still a little part of him that thinks maybe Ethan would be his like Raleigh is to Chuck. That maybe they might fall madly in love and choose to tether their souls. That maybe it wouldn't hurt so damn much and maybe- just maybe this love won't destroy him.

"Nothing you have to worry about. Your soul feels young."

"Several?" He twists his face up, because that sounds heartbreaking and that sounds...sad. Just sad and lonely and achingly painful. "That sounds terrible. I'm sure it's nice in the moment but if they have several and they meet them..." He trails off.

"You don't think I have a soulmate?" He looks down, like he's expecting to see something, and plucks absently at his shirt. "I don't know how I feel about that."

Francis reaches to take Ethan's hand.

"Not at all. I know you do."

Fingers playing against his. That isn't what he meant.

"I don't think that you haven't met them yet. Or carry the weight of a soul bond."

He lets Francis take his hand, fingers cool against his husbands. He's always cold, and he idly wonders if that bothers Francis at all.

"Oh," he says, because that's a little better. Relief, worry, several things coupled together race through him, because Francis doesn't make it sound like a super great thing. Romantic in idea only, in reality it sounds a bit like torment.

"I always felt like an old soul growing up. I was happy in my own company, reading history books or playing my Nintendo. I didn't really have a whole lot of friends, and my mom always said it was because I had an old soul. But.." He plays his fingers lightly over Francis's, tracing over his skin, enjoying the heat under his fingers. "I dunno. I don't feel...heavy. If that makes sense." He doesn't feel like there's any kind of weight in his heart, beyond normal people emotions.

"It does," gently.

"That's a good thing."

He turns Ethan's hand over in his own, studying the lines of his palm. The elegance of his fingers.

"And there's nothing wrong with being solitary. I quite enjoy it."

Placing his thumb in the middle of Ethan's hand, Francis wraps his fingers around the back of it and holds him, looking back up to meet eyes.

"Perhaps you were merely waiting for the right friend to share your time with."

There's a little flicker of...

something low in Ethan's belly. He can't quite place it just yet, and everything is glowing a bit from the wine so he doesn't quite have the wits to even try to place it, but it is there all the same.

Desire, hope. Want, a desperate need to be wanted in return. His husbands hand is warm on his, and he can't look away from those green eyes, not even if he wanted to - which he most certainly does not.

"Like you?"

Well.. yes. like him. But saying it aloud brings on a sudden rise of bashfulness. An unfamiliar feeling. Oh dear.

Cheeks flooding with color, lips thinning as he tries (and fails) to suppress a smile.

"Are you accepting applications?"

He laughs, tipping his head back as the room swims pleasantly around them, the candlelight dancing out of the corner of his eyes.

"Just yours," he says, shifting his hand to lace their fingers, testing the waters, liking how it feels, how it fits. "It's accepted, by the way. You're hired."

"Oh good," with some relief, and he allows himself the smile he'd been trying to hold back.

"Maybe it's been you I've been waiting for all this time."

His cheeks burn with stolen blood, flooding with color. That's...that's something else. It makes his smile brighten.

"Yeah? You think that's the case?"

"It's very possible. It feels possible."

Is he drifting closer? Sure feels like it. Maybe they're just drunk and flushed from the fire.

"I could see myself falling madly in love with you, Ethan."

Maybe. Or maybe they are leaning into each other, just a little.

"I--really?" He clears his throat, wetting his lips. That just...does so many things to him, makes his little dead heart that doesn't beat squeeze in his chest, hope bubbling up, slow and sure.

"Yeah I could...see it going that way. For sure."

What a beautiful hurt hope summons in his chest. Maybe this time with every beat. Not a shared soulmate. Not a demon found in self destruction. A beautiful, pure soul to focus his love and spoil absolutely rotten. Someone to nurture and protect and grow with.

He may the the one breathing but he has been so numb for so long now... this is almost a threat to feel alive again. And he wants it. So badly.

Gently, gently, not too fast. Don't spook him, Francis.

"I would very much like that."

Someone sweet and kind, who has no baggage, no drama, no darkness. All Ethan has is himself and his little corner of the world to offer -- and an exceptionally long life. He can give you so, so much, if you open your heart to him and let him in.

He scoots a little closer, eyes fixed on those green eyes, gently squeezing the hand he holds in his own.

"I would, too. A lot."

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