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It is not uncommon for Percy to make dinner for the two of them. Given Monty’s lousy history with even working a kettle, it is usually Percy that makes dinner for the two of them. That is not unusual. What should have struck Monty as unusual is the whole display Percy makes out of it. He tells Monty to wear something nice, that they are going to have a romantic night together, just the two of them. (Monty still doesn’t see how that’s any different when most nights they spend together are just the two of them except on the rare visit from Felicity, Johanna, or the rare investor or client of Hoffman Enterprises . Though those nights are certainly lacking in romance.) However, Monty will happily seize any opportunity to dress nicely now that, after two years working with Johanna in Stuttgart, it’s something he can afford again. So he obliges, and doesn’t think twice when he comes downstairs to find the table finely set with an ornate bouquet in the center. He doesn’t think twice when Percy surprises him with raspberry tarts from their favorite bakery in the city. Despite all the warning signs, Monty doesn’t even entertain the thought until Percy stands and gets down on one knee in front of him.
Monty has faced many harrowing moments in his lifetime. He’s been kidnapped by pirates and had pistols held to his temple and masqueraded for visiting lawyers to convince them that yes, I am Johanna Platt’s husband, yes the Doctor Platt . None of those moments made his heart pound quite as much as realizing that Percy is about to propose to him.
The first two times he asks, Monty is able to more or less deflect the question. He makes a show of offering Percy his better ear. “What’s that, darling?” and “Didn’t quite hear you the first time.” as if Percy’s position on one knee isn’t telling enough and Monty hadn’t been hearing perfectly fine all night because Percy always keeps to his good side when he can.
By the third time, Percy loses some of his patience and is no longer asking. But because he is Percy, he is still a perfect angel in the way he says, with a fond smile, “I want to marry you, you goose.”
To his credit, Monty realizes his response is perhaps the worst possible thing one can say to a proposal about a second before he says it. However, detracting from his credit, he says it anyway.
He laughs, a shrill combination of shock and disbelief, and says “Don’t do that.”
Percy doesn’t react at first. He only stares, processing Monty’s words, until his face falls. “What?”
“Well, I certainly won’t tell you what you can and can’t do,” Monty says in a rush. He stands. He doesn’t know why he stands. He feels the sudden need to make a hasty exit. “But I strongly advise against that .”
Percy stands too and grabs Monty’s hand. Monty realizes he’s taken a few steps back now. “ Monty ,” he says, holding him in place, “I said I want to marry you.”
And Monty wishes he would stop saying it. “I know.”
“And you…don’t want to marry me?”
“I—” Monty chokes on his words. “I do, darling.”
“Then what—”
“But you don’t want to marry me.”
“I very clearly do.”
“Percy, think about this,” Monty presses, pulling his hand away.
“I have,” Percy says, matter-of-fact. “Quite a bit.”
“It’s not even a legal marriage,” Monty insists. “It wouldn’t change anything.” And yet, somehow, it would change so much.
“Then I don’t see why it bothers you so much,” Percy points out.
“I’m not bothered .”
Percy crosses his arms. “What else would you call this?”
Monty doesn’t have an answer to that. He can’t give Percy any of the answers that he’s looking for. He can’t think with Percy watching him like that. Anything he could have said shrivels up and dies in his throat. Instead, he continues his retreat, moving at such a pace it can hardly be considered a walk.
“Monty,” Percy calls, “Monty!” He follows Monty all the way to the base of the stairs, where they stop. Monty won’t face him, can’t face him, only stares up at the steps and tries to breathe. “Why are you running from this?”
Monty bristles, turning. “I am not running.”
“Then why won’t you give me a straight answer?” Percy asks. When Monty can’t answer that either, he can almost see the fight melting out of Percy. “I just thought…I thought you wanted a life with me,” he says, resigned, and he looks so disappointed it hurts.
And really, that’s why. Monty wants a life with Percy more than anything. But not like this. Not when all he can do is disappoint him. Think about this, he wants to shout at him. This is what it’s always going to be like.
“You don’t want that,” Monty tries again.
Percy takes a step back. “Christ, Monty, would you stop?”
“What?”
“Stop telling me what I want.”
“What you want doesn’t make any sense, Perce.”
Percy flinches, but he doesn’t deign to respond to that. “ I know what I want. At least I did.” The addendum feels like a kick in the teeth. “But you can’t blame it on me if you don’t.”
“I—”
Percy sighs. Monty knows him too well to mistake the look on his face for anything but a concentrated effort to not cry. “I’m going to take a walk.”
And Monty, too much of a coward and a fool to do anything else, lets him go. He waits until he hears the front door shut—Percy never slams it, even when Monty has countless times. He stands there, feeling his breath rattle in his chest and letting the past half hour (less than that?) wash over him.
He needs a drink.
Monty finally continues his path up the stairs and into one of the guest rooms. It’s the room Monty sleeps in—or, more aptly, retires to for a few hours before slipping back into his and Percy’s bedroom in the middle of the night—when they have unfamiliar guests, so it very rarely gets any actual use.
As a teenager, Monty grew very skilled at spotting and utilizing loose floorboards. He noticed one in the guest room when they moved in and, after a few months’ certainty that Percy hadn’t noticed it as well, hid a few bottles under it. Just in case. Monty always keeps a stash. He indiscriminately digs through the nook until a bottle of cognac emerges, and he decides that’ll do just fine.
As he clambers onto the guest bed with the bottle, he is dimly aware of what a poor idea this is. Nearly a year and a half of sobriety thrown away. It’s the longest he’s ever lasted. Then again, only Percy believed he had it in him to quit.
Percy is going to be upset when he finds out about this. He’s going to be disappointed. Maybe it’s for the best. Percy needs to see him for what he is. He needs to see that Monty can’t give him the life he wants. He needs to see that it will always be disappointments.
Monty takes a swig straight from the bottle. Immediately, something inside him settles. He leans back into the pillows and lets his mind wander the deeper into the bottle he goes. Every time Monty drinks again, he forgets why he ever stopped. He feels lighter. His argument with Percy gets farther and farther away until it feels like a scene he’s watching from across a river. When that bottle is gone, he replaces it with another one.
He stays that way for a while, long enough for the room to grow fully dark with the setting of the sun and his thoughts to turn sluggish. He considers staying where he is to sleep until he hears doors open and shut downstairs, signaling Percy’s return. Monty wonders if he should move, try to make himself look presentable, but he knows there’s no point. Better for Percy to see him this way anyhow.
There are more doors. Footsteps. Monty’s name, once or twice. Monty doesn’t have it in him to respond. He hears Percy pass by and go to their room. Moments later, he comes back. He stops. Monty holds his breath.
Percy slowly pushes open the door. He stops, taking in the sight of Monty cradling a bottle in bed and the revealed stash in the floorboards. (Monty realizes too late that he should have at least tried to hide that.) “Oh, Monty,” he says. Monty can’t see his face, but his voice is a combination of exhaustion and disappointment that makes Monty want to bury himself in the covers so Percy doesn’t have to look at him.
Percy perches on the side of the bed. He slowly reaches out to touch Monty’s shoulder, coaxing him out of the fetal position. Monty can’t bear to look at his face and stares at his collarbone instead. He was wearing a gorgeous emerald green waistcoat earlier in the night—one that Monty has happily unbuttoned after much more successful dinners—but he’s down to his shirtsleeves now. His hair is pulled back in a hasty queue and Monty wants to twirl one of the errant curls in his fingers as he’s done a thousand times before but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed. He isn’t sure he could exercise so much control over his hands if he wanted to.
“You want to give me that bottle?” Percy asks softly, already reaching for it. Monty makes a pathetic sound in the back of his throat and lets him take it. Percy sets it on the bedside table. It’s a routine they’ve rehearsed so many times by now.
Monty makes that same sound again before forcing words out. “You can’t marry me, Perce.”
Percy inhales sharply. His hand traces gentle shapes on Monty’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”
“You’ll be here in the morning?”
Percy nods, leaning down to press a kiss to Monty’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”
When Monty wakes up, he is alone. He has vague memories of falling asleep with Percy at his back, but wonders if daylight brought Percy the clarity he needed to walk out. He wonders if last night was some sort of tipping point. All or nothing.
But as Monty’s senses return to him, he hears the gentle notes of Percy practicing violin downstairs. He still practices daily, even though he doesn’t need to fiddle to pay rent anymore. He says it’s nice to have consistency, a comforting familiarity.
Monty can’t say the same. He’s never been consistent in anything except failing sobriety and being shit at billiards. He’s never quite understood the passion Percy has for playing violin, the passion that Monty can’t seem to find in himself for anything. Of course, Percy has more talent in a finger than Monty has in his whole body.
He forces himself to sit up despite the ache throbbing behind his eyes. (Every time he forgets why he ever stopped drinking, he is soundly reminded.) A cup of tea sits on the bedside table. He picks it up and sips from it. It’s still warm.
When he manages to pull himself out of bed, he notices the loose floorboard. It’s still pulled out but the stash is gone. Percy must have thrown it out while Monty slept. He steps over the nook and creeps out into the hallway. The playing downstairs doesn’t stop. Monty crosses over to their bedroom. He’s still in last night’s clothes and is definitely not looking for every excuse to avoid Percy for a little while longer.
After Monty changes, he makes it to the top of the stairs before he stops again. He should go down there. He knows he should. But every instinct he has is telling him to lock himself in the guestroom or, better yet, slip out of the back door unnoticed and find somewhere to get another drink. As Percy’s playing comes to an end, Monty freezes. He doesn’t get the chance to make up his mind because, moments later, Percy rounds the corner and stops at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh.” Monty isn’t sure if it’s a noise of pleasure or displeasure. He can’t quite read Percy’s face as he stares up at him. “I was about to come to check on you.”
“Ah, well,” Monty says stupidly, “here I am.” He remembers the cup in his hand and adds, perhaps even more stupidly, “I found the tea.”
“I see that,” Percy says. He’s looking at Monty funny now.
“Thank you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Percy’s mouth, and Monty feels like he’s finally said something right. “Of course. Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
There’s a pause, and Monty vividly remembers Percy taking a bottle from his hands. Now, Percy stares at Monty like a problem that needs to be solved, furrowing his brow and biting the inside of his cheek. It makes Monty want to throw himself down the stairs on the slim chance that he’ll hit his head and be able to forget all of this.
Finally, Percy breaks the silence. “I could go for another cup of tea,” he says, “if you’ll sit with me.”
Monty gets the sense that it’s a request he can’t really refuse, as much as he wants to. They have to talk about this. Percy at least deserves to know why . “Alright.”
Monty follows Percy to the kitchen and sits while Percy pours himself another cup. The remnants of the night before are gone, though the flowers are set aside on a windowsill. Percy settles into a seat across from Monty. Monty tries not to feel like it’s the beginning of a standoff. Neither of them actually touches their tea.
Again, Percy is the first to cave. “Look, Monty, about last night—”
“I’m sorry,” Monty interrupts.
Percy looks taken aback by the apology. Monty tries to ignore how that stings. “For what?”
“For turning you down.”
“That’s…not quite what I’m upset about.”
Monty pauses. “You’re not?”
“Well, I’m not happy about that either, but—”
“I never meant to hurt you, Perce.”
“I know.” Percy sighs. “I’d like to know what you did mean though.”
“What?”
“Why were you so adamant that I shouldn’t marry you? If you don’t want that—”
“Christ, it’s not that .”
“Then what is it?”
Monty huffs, tugging at a curl at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know how to explain this to Percy. Percy, who is wonderful and uncomplicated and any man’s dream. Percy, who has always excelled in all the areas Monty lacks. Percy, who could do great things if he didn’t have Monty to hold him back. “I can’t…I love you too much to let you shackle yourself to me.”
“Shackle?”
“You can’t tie yourself to me.”
“I want to.”
“You can’t make a life with me, Percy.”
“Then what have I been doing for the past three years?” Percy points out. He says it with a small smile like that might put Monty at ease, but it only makes Monty’s chest feel tight. Three years, and Percy is still cleaning up Monty’s messes like they’re teenagers in Cheshire.
“But marriage is binding .”
“This one isn’t.”
Monty bites back a groan of frustration because Percy doesn’t get it . He knew that he wouldn’t. It takes Monty back to the long weeks after his expulsion from Eton, half-drunk in his bedroom without any light trying to explain what it was like to want to die so badly and Percy only giving him puzzled, pitying looks. Percy has never fully understood the machinations of Monty’s mind.
Yet he understands them well enough to recognize the frustration, reaching across the table to take Monty’s hand. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Monty, I’m just trying to understand .”
“I want to spend my life with you,” Monty says slowly, “but I don’t want you to spend your life with me.”
“I still don’t understand,” Percy says, and Monty wants to tear his own hair out. “If you want it too, then why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’ll regret it!” Monty snaps, pulling his hand away. “You will regret choosing me. Because I am going to hold you back. Because I am going to disappoint you. I already disappoint you. Because I do it all wrong and I’m not what you need and I have never and will never deserve you. Because I’m a wreck who can’t even manage sobriety and you are going to waste your whole bleeding life picking up my pieces and you will grow old and resentful and regret throwing it all away to be with me .”
It’s much more than Monty intended to say. He finds himself breathless, only half as surprised by his words as Percy, who stares wide-eyed. He wasn’t expecting this, and again Monty can’t imagine letting Percy tie himself to Monty without realizing what he’s condemning himself to.
For a stretch that seems to last three of Monty’s lifetimes, Percy doesn’t say anything. He takes a long sip of his tea, then only asks, “You think that you hold me back?”
“ That is what you’re hung up on here?”
Percy gently nudges Monty’s foot with his own. “Humor me.”
“I…yes?”
“You think that I’m disappointed by you?”
Monty hesitates. “Oftentimes, yes.”
“You think that I’m going to regret you?”
“What are we doing , Percy?”
Percy holds out his hand and, after a moment, Monty takes it. Percy brings Monty’s hand to his lips and presses a long kiss to the back. “I want you to hear how silly it sounds outside of your own head.”
Monty stares at him.
“There are plenty of things I regret,” Percy continues. “I regret having the study repainted that certain shade of green because it gets terribly dark at night even with lamps. I regret letting Johanna’s dog on the sofas because I’m still finding his hair between the cushions. I regret not putting a bullet through your father’s head before we left London.” That one surprises Monty so much that he laughs, making Percy smile. “But I have never and will never regret you. That’s just foolishness.”
Monty sits with that. He lets Percy’s words settle in until they start to feel something like the truth. “And you still want me?” He asks, so quietly he barely hears himself. “Even after everything?”
“If by everything you mean the past twelve hours, then I can safely say not much has changed.” Percy squeezes his hand. “I want you, and everything that encapsulates, now and forever. I still want to marry you just as much as I did last night. But if you’re not quite ready for that—”
“I’m not,” Monty says, “not yet.”
“That’s alright. We don’t have to do it all now. Even without the rings and the ceremony, I’m staying right here for as long as you’ll have me. Because I choose to. Because I love you. We have our whole lives together to get married if we want to,” Percy assures him. “Perhaps I was a bit overzealous. I know I asked rather early.”
“Early?” Monty scoffs. “Please, Perce, I’m twenty-two and unmarried. I’m practically a spinster.”
Percy laughs, and it puts Monty at ease. He still isn’t ready to commit. He still can’t fully make himself believe that Percy is going to be here forever . But he’s here now, and Monty still makes him smile, and that’s really all he wants.