Chanel No. 5

[NOTE: Homophobia within the context of the type of society these characters live in]

It happened in Spring.

Twilight to be exact, as the taste of sweet nectar wafted through the air of Penge Place, onto the surface of Mr. James Altawood’s lips. While he lay in Mother Earth, yearning for his few too many whiskeys to block out the insipid echos of high society in the glass cathedral nearby; the cacophony of witch-like laughter, the “Oh, but he will make such a darling husband indeed”, and the floating debutantes with daring necklines, auditioning for their futures. There in the gardens of Crystal Palace, amongst cigar smoke and a desperate desire to escape, he saw her…

A dashing silhouette emerged from the shadows of the dimly lit street across, and oh was she gorgeous. From her walk that could’ve put a film star to shame, to her dark wild locks that lay in perfect disarray, and her captivating scent of Chanel No. 5 that made James feel ignited by a sense of life and longing. Mr. Altawood’s heart flourished and flickered as the incandescent dame approached. However, with each footstep closer, trepidation arose, as the enchanting figure’s features became more apparent, more… masculine.

Oh God, it wasn’t a dame at all, but a gentleman- And quite a flamboyant gentleman at that.

By the time he was at an arm's length from James, the young socialite was frozen in such an incredulous state that he didn’t dare raise his hand in greeting. Amused, the mysterious cavalier chuckled softly, eyeing James with a soothing warmth.

“Good evening, Sir”, he beamed with a smile sent from the heavens. “Adrian Clearwater”, his received pronunciation clashed against the flare of his fur trim coat and velvet waistcoat, as he extended his hand out. Still abashed by his prior ogling, James barely managed so much as a tilt of the head in response, yet the lavish stranger wasn’t dissuaded in the slightest.

“Well aren’t you ravishing”, Adrian exclaimed, earning a perplexed look across James’ face.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Clearwater’s expression muted suddenly from a grin to a faded smirk.

“Forgive me” he murmured "For I have lost my manners”.

Conflicted by shame, insulted by what could have only been mockery on Adrian’s behalf, and pressed against the remnants of what he’d mistaken for electric attraction mere moments ago, James Altawood fluttered his eyes in every direction until they finally caught the mesmerising stranger’s twinkling gaze: A beguiling amber that sent goosebumps cascading down his arms, yet somehow released an ease in James that he hadn’t known since childhood. It was a labyrinth of light and darkness all at once.

And for that split moment, the pair were immersed in utter utopia, as both sets of pupils dilated like they had long found a piece of forbidden fruit in the forest: A piece of each other’s soul. Perhaps emboldened by the light of Adrian’s charm, Mr. Altawood dared to lean just a fraction forwards, much too close to Mr. Clearwater’s flawless porcelain cheeks to be dismissed as a simple gesture of pleasantries. He expected such audacious behaviour to make himself sick with perturbation, after all, one head turn and Adrian could be storming off to the authorities, plunging the “well-bred” gentleman into indefinite ruin. Yet James had never felt more at peace. His newfound wonderwall just stood there; feet planted and pulchritudinous, the only movement coming from the soft graze of his fingers, gently making their way from his sides to the curve of James’ ever-burning cheeks.

“What’s your name, dear?” A whisper so tender it echoed straight into his heart.

“J-James. James Altawood.” Answered with clumsy breathless glee.

Melting with delight, Adrian began to delicately run his fingers through the caramel waves of his radiant companion, guiding James’ head to rest upon the pillow of his shoulder.

But then that shoulder became damp, consumed by the inexplicable tears that bled from Mr. Atwood's lashes; no longer at peace but instead, overwhelmed by the shame of what he had become. What he was.

A disgrace.

A sin.

A crime.

Practically yelping, James attempted to break free from the beautiful turmoil of Adrian’s touch, yet he was no match for the potent grip that steadily pulled him back against Mr.Clearwater’s chest.

No-No!

I can’t do this. This is wrong, this is…

A disgrace.

A sin.

A crime!

Oh, but Adrian…

Not even the slightest bit deterred, Adrian Clearwater–the Angel: James’ angel–started to caressingly brush his thumb against the glistening drops that wept down James’ cheek, wiping them away as he cupped James’ chin and gently leveled it to meet his gaze–that bewitching amber gaze.

“Don’t cry, my darling,” He muttered under his breath, breaking eye contact to transfix on the faint tremble of James Altawood’s parted lips.

“Don’t you cry.” Perhaps talking to himself as much as he was James.

Delirious by the ineffable pull between them, James drew himself even closer, perfectly in sync with the hush between their mouths.

So close that he didn’t even notice the blinding red and blue flashes lighting up Adrian’s horror-stricken face, as a deafening siren wailed through Penge Place…

James woke up to an empty cell; the squalid tiles further stained by a trail of crimson, circling his head like a merciless halo. As he cradled himself in a fetal position, making the frivolous attempt to numb the throbbing torture radiating through his bones, James caught a waft of that alluring Chanel No. 5–so intoxicating, it altered his mind like ecstasy. Exhausting the last of his energy, the defeated detainee just managed to lift his frail shoulders, shifting his body toward the filthy metal bars that separated him from the dashing Adrian Clearwater in the cell adjacent; his once vivacious persona as bruised as the outer rings of his glassy eyes.

“Not my first time here.” Adrian spoke through a rueful smile, but it faded as soon as he caught a glimpse of James’ crestfallen expression; a kaleidoscope of sorrow, yearning and despair all in one. The type of face that knew he would never lose himself in that amber gaze ever again. Choking back sobs, James pushed himself against the corroded iron bars, longing for one last spark of utopia.

And as Adrian Clearwater pressed his soft, mournful lips against James Altawood’s quivering mouth, their souls whispered a bittersweet truth- fragile and fleeting, a “happily never after” they were doomed to never meet.

Like a pair of flowers who can only bloom in Spring, only to be wilted by the harsh sting of the sun.