Description: ❝ Edward felt so real, a sure sturdy and warm body under his back. Aurelius gazed up at him lazily with shameless adoration in his eyes as Edward read out in a slow and raspy voice the pieces of his favorite love poetry. A light pink hue tainted his pale face, Aurelius noted, his eyes twinkled in outmost happiness. Wine-drunk and love sick was a good luck on his man. ❞
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❝Most of his favorites were buried alone. Plath left Hughes. Van Gogh longed for loved ones but went to his grave without any. His favorite book itself was a series of love letters between two who did not end up together and though he did not consider himself amongst those great minds, his own parents failed at the task so who could in their right mind think he would know anything about love and yet here he was; nineteen and breathless, tangled limbs, damp hair and rapidly cooling skin with the very vivid realization that he was in love, so much in love it made his heart ache and flutter.❞
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There are three: Edward D. Choffin drowns in art. Aurelius loves life so much he lets it kill him. Villette once asked if grief could swallow a person whole; it swallowed her.
There are two: Edward's best friend and Villette's second favorite human being may only be present virtually but his presence is felt, as much as the baby that the three have to raise.
There is one: A boy who haunts them all.
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The world has shut down. Edward is glad for the time to work consumingly and become a master of his art. No matter what. The thing is, his new employee from across the pond is the matter and a stubborn one at that. Luckily for Edward, he is a good kisser too.
Indulgence, Edward decides as he lets his eyes get their fill of the boy sitting in the grass, is something all of his favorites had a soft corner for and so why should he not follow in their footsteps?
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A/N: Just read it.
