Luke Garroway (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notaretriever) wrote2017-09-23 10:05 am
notaretriever) wrote2017-09-23 10:05 am
Entry tags:
[october 15]
There's a mailbox that doesn't go anywhere.
Maybe that's unfair, because the note on the side of the mailbox says it's meant to sent letters to somewhere else, whatever that means, and Luke reads it over three times the first time he really stops to look at it, then heads home to mull it over.
It's another week before he goes again, this time with a folded over note tucked in between the pages of a notebook, a pen and an envelope in another pocket. The first note was written by him a long time ago, his jagged, scrawling handwriting lettering out a love poem for Spencer Reid, one of the many he'd found in books and sent to the man who would eventually become his husband in lieu of truly admitting to his feelings.
It had all worked out in the end, Spencer had been the brave one, he'd come to Luke with the poems and admitted to wishing they were all from him and from there everything else had simply fallen into place. Those letters are all in the apartment now, but they shouldn't be. They're not Luke's, they belong to Reid, and so he's brought the first of them with him today.
The note he writes isn't verbose, he doesn't think he needs to be. Reid always knew what he was feeling or thinking, sometimes before he even had any sort of idea of it himself. But he sits on a nearby bench and writes carefully and concisely, because if there's some way for this to actually reach his husband, he wants him to know he's still so loved and that everything is going to be okay.
Spencer,
I won't pretend I don't miss you or that it doesn't hurt, but you know everything about me and you can trust me to be okay. I will never stop loving you and I will never love anyone the way I love you. Never doubt that. Hold onto that, because I always will.
Love, Luke
And then, just inside the folds of this note, he tucks the verse he'd written all that time ago.
and suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be
yet it is only love
which sets us free
Then he seals both pieces of paper inside the envelope, addresses it to Spencer Reid, and slips it into the mailbox. He's still standing there a few minutes later when he realizes he recognizes the man coming toward him in the park and he smiles and lifts his hand to wave to Lyall.
Maybe that's unfair, because the note on the side of the mailbox says it's meant to sent letters to somewhere else, whatever that means, and Luke reads it over three times the first time he really stops to look at it, then heads home to mull it over.
It's another week before he goes again, this time with a folded over note tucked in between the pages of a notebook, a pen and an envelope in another pocket. The first note was written by him a long time ago, his jagged, scrawling handwriting lettering out a love poem for Spencer Reid, one of the many he'd found in books and sent to the man who would eventually become his husband in lieu of truly admitting to his feelings.
It had all worked out in the end, Spencer had been the brave one, he'd come to Luke with the poems and admitted to wishing they were all from him and from there everything else had simply fallen into place. Those letters are all in the apartment now, but they shouldn't be. They're not Luke's, they belong to Reid, and so he's brought the first of them with him today.
The note he writes isn't verbose, he doesn't think he needs to be. Reid always knew what he was feeling or thinking, sometimes before he even had any sort of idea of it himself. But he sits on a nearby bench and writes carefully and concisely, because if there's some way for this to actually reach his husband, he wants him to know he's still so loved and that everything is going to be okay.
Spencer,
I won't pretend I don't miss you or that it doesn't hurt, but you know everything about me and you can trust me to be okay. I will never stop loving you and I will never love anyone the way I love you. Never doubt that. Hold onto that, because I always will.
Love, Luke
And then, just inside the folds of this note, he tucks the verse he'd written all that time ago.
and suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be
yet it is only love
which sets us free
Then he seals both pieces of paper inside the envelope, addresses it to Spencer Reid, and slips it into the mailbox. He's still standing there a few minutes later when he realizes he recognizes the man coming toward him in the park and he smiles and lifts his hand to wave to Lyall.
no subject
Perhaps the slight strangeness to the air -- foreboding as signs about the Purge have gone up -- but also strange fits of magical failing that nag him out in search of their cause -- perhaps that's just a bit of home as well, if not quite as beautifully one.
Whatever it is, it's turned into a walk, and he scents Luke's presence before he notices the post box he's walking toward. It's not that he hasn't seen the thing before, but he's never really noticed it, the bright sigils, the flowers and candles at its base. A sort of shrine, almost.
He raises a hand in greeting, turning it over in his mind, the people he'd like to write to and can't. "Does it go anywhere?" he asks, feeling very foolish no matter what the answer may be. "The post."
no subject
Besides, it isn't as if he doesn't have others still folded gently in the drawer on Reid's side of the bed. The last one, the one he never sent, he's been thinking of framing that one and putting it on the wall somewhere in the apartment, a reminder to himself and to Jack of the man they'd had in their lives.
"It says it does," he adds. "I hope it does, otherwise I've just sent a very private letter off into the universe without any idea who might read it."
no subject
All this to say, he's heard that Luke's partner is gone. He didn't know the man, except to see them together with their son at the Lightwood-Bane wedding. But he knew the name Reid in connection with Luke Garroway, and he and Biffy both pick up more gossip than is probably normal.
With this in mind, he doesn't inquire too directly, nodding solemnly instead. "I hope it does as well," he says genuinely, and puts a hand on the box. "I might have some letters to send, myself," Lyall adds, with a small twist of his lips.
If he could write to Conall, what would he say? Apologize? Defend himself? Or, since this mailbox had to be able to take its postage to any time as well as in space, Alessandro? Dearest Sandy, I'm very much in love with your daughter's best friend, as it happens, but I still miss you every day. P.S: you're an idiot. No graceful turn of phrases there, and yet.
"I like to think that if this place can bring us here from every corner of the universe, there's some force that can let people know we're thinking of them. If not a God, then something more concrete." He shrugs one shoulder, glancing up at Luke.
no subject
And Lyall doesn't ask, which makes Luke wonder if he already knows. They're not close -- not yet, anyway, he's pleased with himself in the past year or so, how he's opened himself up to friendships with other wolves that he's never allowed himself before -- but news travels in a city like Darrow and they do share friends.
"I was writing to Spencer," he says, tilting his head slightly. "I'm not sure if you and he ever met. He was at Magnus and Alec's wedding."
no subject
"We weren't properly introduced, I'm sorry to say," he answers. "But I did see the two of you at the wedding, and I knew you were together. I did hear --" He presses his lips together. It's an awkward sort of thing. "I'm -- a collection of news, quite a lot of the time," he finishes, half-apologetic, and tugs at his sleeve.
"I'm terribly sorry," Lyall says, knowing it's not very useful as a sentiment, even if he does mean it. He looks at the mailbox and tilts his head. "If it helps, I say do it. I lost a lover a very long time ago, and I'd still send him letters if I thought this thing would get them to him." Lyall doesn't speak of Alessandro often, to anyone. Few people here have any of the context, and he doesn't feel the need to bring him up to Biffy, really; they both know about each other's past. But it's true, and it feels like a moment to confess that sort of thing.
no subject
"Before we were together, when we were just friends, I didn't know how to tell him what I felt for him," Luke says. "I haven't been very good at it in the past, so instead I found love poems in all these books and I wrote them out and sent them to him anonymously. I love poetry and we had talked about it, so I think I was hoping he would realize it was me."
He smiles a little and touches the mailbox briefly. "I sent him one just now. I'd like to think he'll get it somehow and recognize it for what it is."
no subject
But he's very old.
And he smiles because it's a bit lovely, too, and he says as much. "I hope he does. It's lucky you have a taste for the arts," he adds more lightly, eyes crinkling at the corner. "I think if I had sent a beau a particularly beautiful excerpt on physics, they might not understand."
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It's true Luke knows less about physics than he does poetry, but he loves books and learning well enough that he's done his best to pick up a little bit of everything during his time living among mundanes. Reid was the real genius, though, the one who knew more than just a little bit about nearly everything and his ability to talk on any topic had been one of the many things Luke loves so much about him.
"I could probably send him an entire essay on just about anything and he would find it romantic," he says. "Just because I was sending him something I thought he might like to read."
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"I wish I'd had the opportunity to meet him," he says, quietly, smiling at the idea of such a little thing being found romantic. He thinks, perhaps, that Biffy would appreciate being thought of in the same way, though rather than reading material he tends to show his affection in removing worry: waking earlier to put the tea on, feeding the cat, checking that the house is solid for the fall rains, having groceries ordered and put away. And in little indulgences he wouldn't choose for himself, available and thought of.
Perhaps he should share some reading material with Biffy. Or music. Biffy would like music.
"He sounds like a very good man, your Spencer. It's not often two people meet who fit so well." It's a hard sentiment, right now. But Lyall knows too well that nothing he says will better or particularly worsen that gap in Luke's life. It's there, already, present whether he calls attention to it or not.
no subject
"I wish you could have, too," he says. "Spencer tended to worry people didn't like him or they found him annoying. He's very smart, the sort that few people I've ever known could even hope to match, and he remembers everything he's ever learned. The capacity he has for knowledge is just incredible, but it made him worry that people thought he was being a know-it-all or that they found him boring when he would just pick a subject and tell you every last detail you might ever hope to know."
But Luke had loved it. Listening to Reid talk about any subject in the world had been one of his favourite things. He had learned so much in their time together and it had never felt like he was being lectured, but like he was listening to someone share something they loved. Learning from Reid had been one of the many amazing things about their life together and now all Luke can do is hope what he learns on his own can pay even a fraction of respect to what Reid had given him.