Chapter Text
Dear Martin,
This is one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever had to do. Just the act of writing these words is arduous for me, not that writing is hard but the words themselves make this difficult. I remember walking up to Mr. Huffman and asking his advice on what to do with my feelings, of course not saying who it was for, and he didn’t press. Instead, he told me feelings have no place in this great conservatory where we must become strong men for society. He’s stupid I must say because how can one not fall in love when they look at you, your smile enchanting one to stare but look away all the same to not be blinded by its beauty. Your eyes that hold so many secrets that I wish to uncover, I wish to be brought down by those strong hands of yours, the sacred skin I wish to touch but also feel unworthy to. You could command armies with your voice and your words, the power you hold with just the tip of your finger. I digress, I'm getting off track and this will most definitely have to be rewritten. With Mr. Huffman’s words I went off to find Mr. Scamander who I’ve confided in about these feelings and desires, he’s like me surprisingly only he didn’t have the confidence to confess to his love. He thinks I have the confidence to do so but he is wrong, you're the confident one not me. I’m the monotonous background character to your play of life, I’m not exceptionally smart, confident, or even interesting and yet you stay by my side, and I have to ask why. Why when you arrived from such a faraway place did you look at me and think yes that’s who I want to befriend. Not saying there were many good options here as most of the boys are annoying louts, Is that just a European thing? Doesn’t matter you were obstinate on your decision as you’ve stuck by my side for the past four years. What will happen to that when you leave back to America, and I have to go back to the Austere dog I call a father. What is America like? from what you’ve told me and what we learned, It doesn't seem much different, but I would one day like to go there with you, maybe I can, no running away will do no one any good. The farm you talk about sounds fun, a wonderful place to live with loved ones instead of the large manor where I’m lucky if I see my family once a week and even if I do, they all have these repugnant looks on their faces like I can never make up for what I did. I haven’t told you about that yet, so please don’t pry into it. I do not wish to discuss it with you even though you are probably figuring out what it is already with that intelligent beautiful brain of yours. Oh god this was supposed to be slowly building up to everything and here I am laying it all out for you to see, well never see as this is going in the trash after I’m done. I just know the look you’d give me if you saw this, the look you get when one looks at an invalid animal. Well, I guess it's out there now or it's been, gosh I'm not good at these things, I can write essays and reports like second nature but writing my emotions down is a strenuous activity. As much as I wish I could denude myself of them I have to take Mr. Scamander’s words into consideration which is why I’m writing this in the first place and hoping you don’t walk in. At the same time, I do wish you were here just to calm my mind like you always do, that brings us to another question I want to ask but never can. what are you ruminating about when you look at me with those melancholy sunset eyes. What sad thoughts must lie behind those orange hues that you get a look like that when you stare at me. Sometimes I think you look at me with wistfulness, but it disappears deep into those sunny waters when I look again. It must be my own hopefulness that causes me to be so delusional to think you would like me the same way I like you. The chances of you liking me are diminutive and the only way to raise those chances would be if I was a woman. I wouldn't be looked at with such disgust by my family and my father would finally be able to stop talking to me with such reproach. life would be so much better if I was a woman but of course that's not possible so I’m content with fading into the background never to disrupt your wonderful life with my sinful ways. This wasn’t supposed to be a letter of just my horrible thoughts and emotions but that’s what it’s turning out to be and honestly, it’s making me feel better. I guess Mr. Scamander was right, writing feelings is ameliorating for the soul. It almost gives me motivation to actually give this to you but the actual thought of going through with it makes me timorous. Now I am glad you are not here as you would ask me what’s wrong and I could never lie to those honey eyes. Ah there’s the dinner bell, guess I have to go find you know and continue this later.
Narrator: Elliot leaves hiding the letter in a locked drawer, he heads down to dinner not being able to find Martin anywhere. After dinner he returns to find the drawer open but the letter still in its place.
You won’t believe the strangest of things has happened. Who comes into a room, shuffles through my things but doesn’t take anything. I hope they didn’t see this, the amount of chagrin I would feel if this was read aloud, I would rather die than go through that. I haven’t seen you in a while, it’s past curfew and I’m getting concerned you would have told me if something changed, and you were leaving early. This feels wrong but I also don’t think anything severely bad has happened. You never do things like this though always worried about being thrown out. I’ve opened the window for some moonlight to continue writing, where are you, did something happen? I should go look, shouldn’t I or at least tell a teacher but that would do neither of us any good. The perversity in this school is insane, if I go out to find you, I get in trouble, if I go out to get help, I still get in trouble, no matter what I try I will get in trouble. The soughing of the window is happening again. I need to ask the headmaster about replacing it or at least fixing it again. I don't understand why it's happening again. He locked it last time I complained. Maybe he will actually fix it this time. Well, it doesn't matter at the moment, that's a problem for the morning, For now I must focus on what to do about you. Why is this school so strict on curfew? If I break curfew not only do I get in trouble, my father gets called and we both know how that ends, there is not enough cream and back rubs to get the sting and pain away. You know what screw it all, consequences be damned a few scars is nothing if it means you are safe back where you're supposed to be.
Narrator: Elliot got up walking over to his bed putting on his robes and then grabbing a candle before walking back to the door, letter forgotten on the table as the adrenaline and confidence coursed through him. What he failed to notice on his mission out the door and down the hall was a few fingers peeking out grasping the windowsill. pulling up with little to no struggle two golden eyes glanced around the room, leather like appendages stuck out behind the eyes. Moving up and into the room the moonlight from the opposite window lit up the creature's face revealing a brown-haired boy in a school uniform. The boy quickly glances at the last few sloppy sentences written on the page before taking the paper in a claw-like hand. He opens the unlocked drawer, placing the paper inside before closing and locking the drawer again. a small smile appeared on the face of the boy, but it looked inhuman; he was happy with his task finished. looking in the mirror on the other side of the room the reflection showed a normal 17-year-old boy at average height and dim toned yellow eyes. The smile widened to reveal a set of inhuman teeth. With the knowledge of himself looking normal he walked out the door dashing after his love to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.