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The key to longevity, Adam posits, is adoration.
A broken heart is a heart that is waning and muddled, one is that is lost to the ravages of time and recovering sensibilities. A heart abloom with pining, however, signals that it is alive, it is present, a mindful beating manifestation of love and love and love—
And 'tis love that Adam finds unfastening within his chest whenever he catches sight of Lord Montague exiting the courtrooms, brows furrowed from the day's hearings; 'tis love that he feels as he observes the humility that Joel unerringly reveals every time the younger man ruminates upon his own flaws and shortcomings. Adam has had flings aplenty before, but one of this width, depth and rarity?
'Tis love, just simply and just true.
Even now as they are playing cards in Joel's quarters, Adam takes the greatest pleasure and exasperation with each incurring loss, delighting in every double ace or blackjacks that Joel promptly puts down barely seconds after surveying the hand he has been dealt. "You just don't ever lose, do you?" He muses with pride, feeling extremely soft in both heart and mind.
"I don't suppose I have," Joel replies, frowning as he takes a sip of wine. "What? Would you rather we play something else, instead?"
Adam smiles blithely and slyly chooses not to make a salacious comment about a certain other "game" that they could play in bed. A flummoxed Joel is impossibly cute, but tonight the moon shines and the night is humid, the perfect combination for some languid lounging. Tonight, Adam intends to savour Joel's company, not infuriate.
He leans forward and laughs. "And continue my losing streak in whatever new game that is to come from our choosing? Just lead the way I suppose, my lord!"
Joel snorts, downing the rest of his glass in response. The abrupt consumption reddens his cheeks and loosens the curve of his shoulders. His dark hair, tousled, falls gently over his eyes with each push and pull of the breeze.
Adam swallows.
Joel is so beautiful and Adam is beyond salvation.
He has once apologised for being a fool on a night like this weeks ago, and though he is no less mercurial than before, Adam, at the very least, has now come to learn that with Joel, there is no such thing as an easy fall: to find a place beside Joel is to earn a trust fragile but hard won.
To matter to Joel is to tread surely and carefully over his walls and stumbling blocks, to find a way between the cracks— honourably.
Adam sets his cards down, and carefully, ever so carefully, reaches out to tuck a curly lock of hair behind the man's ear, revelling in the softness of his skin and cartilage. "Ah," he says, "a toast to the smaller blessings in life."
The flush on Joel's cheeks darken. "Menace."
"Only for you."
He withdraws his fingers and cradles his drink: an aged port wine that bursts and smoothens over his tongue tartly. The only thing missing now is a rich dessert to enhance its flavour, but Adam can live with this. Good wine is still good wine, after all.
The curtain shadows tremble and flicker, the candle flame their puppeteer. He takes another sip.
"What is on your mind?" Joel asks, unbidden. There is a shuffle of movement as he makes himself more comfortable on his chair, stretching his legs out from under his long and fair nightgown. Adam tries his best to not ogle at them too obviously.
"You," he answers without missing a beat. "And only you."
There is a blessed silence for a minute or two as Joel takes in his words, and Adam utilises it by topping up his glass. No matter what Joel may come to remark about it, Adam knows that his devotion is absolute and full.
There is no other that he would brave arrows and swords for, no fervency as the one he has to keep Joel alive and breathing, all for the man to to be able to lead his dual life and astute proceedings.
('Tis love, so humbly.)
"Always the fool," comes the reply finally, and Adam has come to expect the familiar incredulity, has gotten accustomed to it. However, what he does not anticipate is for Joel to smile so honestly and drunkenly, a miracle to be graced with on a rustic night such as this. "And so I thank you— for your neverending foolery." He pauses, amends. "For being beside me."
As is wont during his many dealings with Joel, Adam finds himself speechless. To be offered such sincerity and at so sudden a notice...Adam blinks and coughs into the cuff of his sleeve, his own cheeks starting to rival the colour of Joel's. "You are most welcome?" He offers, a little giddily, feeling like a young maiden noticed by her beloved, and tinkles at his glass with the back of one of his rings. "To what do I owe this splendiferous generosity? To whose cause shall I toast this benediction to?"
Joel scoffs and waves a hand. "Surely a gesture of appreciation does not deserve such an overt reciprocation—"
"Absolutely not!" Adam counters and puffs up his cheeks. He even sits up straighter out of sheer indignance. "Have some sense of romance!"
"Have I not told you before that I do not possess that!"
"Still!" Adam sighs dramatically and sinks back into his seat, mourning the loss of the previous mood. The wine bottle has never looked more inviting to drink directly from. "These circles we get into, I swear…"
"They are fun though, sometimes, I'll admit," Joel chips in, grabbing his and Adam's cards from the table and shuffling them with deft and ease, in spite of his current tipsiness. He tilts his head inquiringly towards Adam. "Fancy a round of gin rummy?"
Adam sighs loudly again, then gives in. After all, the course of true love has never claimed to have run smoothly. "May I still offer a toast, first?"
Joel merely arches an eyebrow at that, long used to Adam's stubbornness by now. "Do be my guest."
"Well then!" Adam beams beautifically. "To the essence of surprise and clandestine romances," he proclaims, raising his wine glass. "Three cheers!"
And so they drink and play, long and warm into the late hours until Joel passes out and Adam has to carry him to bed again. He pauses by the doorway and looks back at Joel's dishevelled countenance and sleeping face, a surge of tenderness coursing through his veins and breath.
Oh, 'tis love, indeed.