Chapter Text
“Curse that damned mask, curse Henry Brenner, in fact, curse the entirety of Brenner house!” Will mutters, storming back into the kitchen. “He’s lost it! How has he lost it? I set it on his nightstand this very morning!”
Jonathan’s gaze flicks up as he enters, softening into something like pity.
“He’s probably hidden it on purpose, just to fuck with you.” Robin scowls. “Assholes, the lot of them.”
Will shoots a paranoid glance over his shoulder at her words. “You mustn’t speak so loudly!” He hisses, beginning to rifle through the armoire for anything resembling a mask. They have about 4 hours until the ball- he may be able to make a replacement if he is hasty. The original had been beautiful too- a deep blue mask with turquoise accents, amber gems sewn along the edges, and real peacock feathers decorating the right side, trailing up to surround the wearer’s face, creating a beautiful asymmetrical effect. It had taken Will two weeks to make.
A sense of panic engulfs him- there’s no way he will be able to make a replacement of the same caliber. If Henry had lost it before seeing it, he may be able to get away with a much simpler one. Still, Will knows he will be blamed for sabotage if even the slightest thing is awry.
His hands shake as he pulls out a piece of the deep blue fabric, and reaches for the closest sharp object, which happens to be a butcher’s knife. Will raises it and strikes down, effectively cutting out a square of fabric. Robin and Jonathan both jump at the sound, and Jonathan’s gaze stays on him, worried.
“I can help-“ He starts, but he’s cut off by the ringing of a bell.
All three of the servants’ gazes fall upon the bell- it’s a signal from the drawing room. Will knows it’s for him, most of the family’s requests are. He offers a pleading glance to Jonathan, but the other boy is already on his way to take his place at the table, working on the mask.
He rounds the table, and rests his hand on Will’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” He soothes, offering him a small smile.
Will very weakly returns the smile, and rushes out of the kitchen. His quick footsteps down the hall and up the staircase match the fast beats of his heart, though his heart seems to be beating much louder. He halts for a moment when he reaches the doors to the drawing room. He allows himself to take one deep breath, and then he pushes the doors open.
Sitting comfortably on the plush couches are Henry, Lord Brenner, Jane, and Kali. Some of Will’s nausea eases at the sight of the ladies. Perhaps it had been one of them who called for him.
Will bows when he enters, and waits to be addressed. Unluckily for him, it is not Jane or Kali who speaks.
“William,” Lord Brenner starts. “I assume you did not find my son’s missing mask?”
“No, Lord Brenner.” Will replies. Hastily, he adds: “His replacement mask will be finished before the ball, I assure you.”
“Actually, there will be no need for a replacement.” The lord says. “We have found the mask.”
“It was under my nightstand.” Henry adds smugly.
Instantly, some of the tension drains out of Will. He is still surprised, though. “Ah. That is most fortunate.” He replies, and he fears the surprise is obvious in his voice.
“Well then?” Henry sneers, and Will is back to being confused. His gaze flicks over to Jane and Kali, unconsciously hoping for some sort of support. Jane is already watching him with a look of compassion.
“Apologize to my heir, William.” Lord Brenner says. “The floor is a most unusual place for a mask to be left. I do hope you weren’t trying to sabotage tonight for this family.”
Will is not an angry person. He is even tempered and calm, much like his brother. Robin tells him he’s too kind, and keeps bottling everything up. She says all of that anger is going to come spilling out one day. Will doesn’t really believe her, but Brenner’s last statement sends a jolt of something akin to anger through him. “This family” implies Will is a part of it, and he knows Brenner is saying this for a reason. He’s trying to make Will feel guilty- and for what? What on earth should he be grateful for, all the abuse and mistreatment he’s been subjected to, working for Brenner? It makes his blood boil. These people are no family of his. His only family apart from Jonathan is dead, and the implication that these people are in any of the same categories as his mother makes him feel as if he’s been impaled.
Jane must see it on his face, because she interrupts. “I’m sure Will didn’t leave it there on purpose- Henry, are you sure you didn’t knock it onto the floor by mistake?”
Jane truly is an angel, he thinks, as the men’s stares turn to her, and she doesn’t even flinch.
“Do not address a servant so informally.” Brenner whispers, in a voice not meant for Will to hear, but he does regardless. It is not the first time he’s scolded her for this, but ever since Will has asked Jane to call him as such, she has.
“Well then, boy?” Brenner nearly barks, seemingly fed up.
Will knows how to pick his battles. This is not an argument he could ever win.
“My deepest apologies, sirs. I will make sure a mistake like this does not happen again.”
Henry looks satisfied with that response, and nods at Brenner.
“You are dismissed.” The lord says, and Will leaves the drawing room as quickly as his legs will take him. He doesn’t even spare a glance back at Jane, knowing he will have to thank her later.
Will hurries back down to the kitchen, walking in as Jonathan pokes himself with a sewing needle, instantly recoiling. He lets out a huff of amusement that alerts the other two to his presence.
“Alright?” Robin asks, and Will sighs.
“The idiot knocked the mask off his nightstand and couldn’t find it. They made me apologize for leaving it on the floor.”
Robin’s face nearly makes him laugh, regardless of his foul mood. She squints at him, mouth dropping open and brows furrowing.
“They’re ridiculous.” Jonathan says, tossing the sewing needle aside. “Though, I’m grateful I don’t have to use this any longer, I’m sure I’d have bled out.”
Will gives him another faint smile. It’s just about all he’s capable of, these days. “Thank you anyway. I’m going to finish laying out the others’ outfits.”
He stalks back out of the kitchen, feet aching. Will wonders if they know how lucky they are, being able to relax, knowing someone else will take care of each and every of their needs. The hardest thing they will do tonight is waltz, he thinks bitterly. Part of Will wishes he could go too, and dance, and drink, and flirt. For a moment, he lets himself get caught up in the fantasy. He could meet a nice, open minded man, and have a bit of fun.
As soon as he thinks it, Will suppresses the thought- he knows better than to rise above his station.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
“I don’t want to go to another ball, mother! The last season has barely ended, why am I being forced back into this hell so early!” Mike complains, from where he’s draped across a cushioned sofa, head on one armrest, feet sticking out over the other. He’s well aware he sounds like a petulant child, but he simply cannot take it. There is nothing he hates more than those dreaded events, full of people who all want something out of him.
“You’re whining like a child.” Nancy snarks from her seat upon an armchair, book in her lap. Her posture is straight, and she doesn’t sink into the plush cushions behind her. “I’m not sure which ones are worse, your cries about attending the ball, or Holly’s about not being able to.”
“Nancy, you know insulting him will do no good.” Karen says from where she is standing over them. “Michael, you are attending the ball, and that is final. How would it look if my only son did not attend a ball being hosted in our own home, no less, the first ball of the season?”
Mike rolls his eyes. “I do not care what the ton thinks of me-“
“But you must, Mike! You are to be Lord Wheeler, head of this family. Not to mention, you are now twenty- it is about time you begin looking for a wife.”
Mike shoots up, and twists to stare at his mother in horror. “Did I hear that correctly?”
She frowns. “Yes, you did. You will need a good wife, who will complete her duties as the Viscountess with grace. I’ve been looking at the list of debutants-“
“Mother!” Mike shouts. He’s appalled. A wife? His nose wrinkles at the thought- he doesn’t want to get married, he’s only twenty! A wife means children, and responsibilities, and being the head of Wheeler house. Mike isn’t ready for that, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.
“Don’t act so shocked- you know, Maxine will be looking for a husband too this season-“
“Maxine will what!?” A voice shrieks, and Max bursts into the room, red hair flying behind her. She’s in a long white dress with golden stitching, it’s draped like a Roman toga would be. It’s likely her outfit for the masquerade.
“And what are you supposed to be dressed as, a clown?” Mike jives, hoping to turn the subject away from wives and husbands.
“No, I’d be wearing a black wig and a fake nose if I had wanted to dress as a clown like yourself!” She hisses at him before turning back to face Karen. “A husband? No, it is only my second season out, I don’t want a husband!”
Karen sighs. “You two will be the death of me. Michael, get up and begin to prepare for the ball. Maxine, finish getting ready for the ball. You both will be prompt, and you will both speak to debutants and suitors alike tonight. Do not be late, Michael.” She adds on at the end, and with a whoosh of her skirts, she exits the room.
Mike groans, sinking back into the plush sofa. Nancy is snickering at him. He can hear Max stomping back up the stairs. This may just end up being the worst night of his life.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Will sighs as he sinks down onto his small bed, letting himself fall back against the pillows. His feet ache more than they ever have. This day may have contained the most stress he’s ever experienced. Finally, the Brenners are leaving. The footmen are helping them to their carriage, so Will can sit down for a moment. He’ll have to prepare their nightly tea before they come back, but he might have time for a quick nap, as long as he wakes up promptly.
Just as his eyes are falling shut, his door is flung open. Will sits up with a start, blinking awake, only to see Robin standing in front of him.
“I have an idea.” She says breathlessly.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
“Your costume is superb,” The masked woman purrs. Mike thinks her name is Hannah? Heather? Something of the like- he’s almost certain she’s the daughter of the man 3 houses over. He’s also certain that she’s too drunk to even tell what his costume is. He’s a paladin, but from the way she’d squinted at him earlier, he assumes she gave up trying to guess. Regardless, Mike has not had nearly enough alcohol to carry on a conversation with a debutante, let alone a drunk one. He’s not really sure what he says back- hopefully something semi-polite, lest his mother have his head- and he slips away to weave through the crowd.
He dances around the older men vying to suck him into a conversation about house finances. It would be quite awkward to explain that no, Mike does not manage their money, he lets Nancy do that- yes he knows she’s a woman, yes he knows she never attended university- it’s improper, both in action and to speak of it. Privately, Mike wishes Nancy could fully be named Lord Wheeler in his place, so she would be subjected to those mind-numbing conversations to spare him. Lord Harrington tries to wave him over, and Mike pretends not to see him.
Ducking around another cluster of debutants, Mike beelines for a table full of champagne. He grabs one glass, furtively glances around for his mother, and once he knows he’s in the clear, he chugs the small flute. He puts the empty one down, and then snags a second one to sip. He sees the young women giggling, and one starts to approach him. Mike panics, making a sharp turn, and flying through the crowd as fast as his feet will take him.
He makes it to a wall clear from people, and leans back, finally taking a sip of his champagne. He lets his gaze slide over the crowd, observing. He spots Nancy, who is accompanying her friend Barb as they go around greeting other women. Max is all the way across the room; Mike spots her red hair through a gap in the crowd when the dancers lift their partners. He is debating whether or not it is worth it to make his way over to her, and trying to guess how likely it is that someone stops him on the way, when suddenly his train of thought comes to a screeching halt.
There, to his right, is a boy dressed in purple. His waistcoat is draped in such a manner it looks like a gown, and it’s decorated with tiny, glimmering, silver stars. There’s a silver belt looped around his waist. His mask is the same shade of purple, and it is adorned with the same stars. They look like diamonds. He looks like a diamond. He follows the others’ gaze, and sees him staring in awe at the large painting of angels upon the wall.
Before Mike knows what is happening, his feet are bringing him closer. Suddenly, he’s not a foot away from him, and goodness is he prettier up close.
His purple mask conceals the upper half of his face, but Mike can see full, pink lips with a mole dotted above. Tan skin, with the faintest dusting of freckles dancing across his nose. He’s got delicate, soft bone structure, unlike the harsh lines of Mike’s face.
And his eyes are gorgeous, Mike realizes, as warm brown eyes blink up at him.
Oh. They’re blinking up at him.
The boy’s brow furrows, and Mike has the urge to press his thumb into it to smooth it out. He quickly shoves the urge down, and clears his throat.
“Uh- hello. My name is Micheal Wheeler, I don’t believe we’ve met?”
He frowns, and those pink lips open ever so slightly in an expression of confusion. It’s only then that Mike realizes that this is slightly rude, walking up to a stranger without a proper introduction, more or less forcing him to give Mike his name. A gentleman would certainly never do this to any young lady he was trying to court.
But then the boy speaks, and Mike’s worries all but disappear at the sound of that velvety, slightly lilted voice.
“I- no, I don’t believe we have.”
For a moment, Mike merely stares at him, gaze admiring. There’s a pregnant pause, but Mike is content to stare at those rosy cheeks.
The other clearly disagrees, as he clears his throat and says; “Your costume is lovely, Lord Wheeler. You’re dressed as a paladin, correct? I recognize the sigil.”
Mike’s face lights up, and he feels a beaming grin form. “I am! Nearly every young lady here has mistaken me for a common knight, much to my dismay. I’m glad that someone has finally recognized my costume for what it is!”
Mike’s words are met with a soft smile. “I read many tales about paladins when I was young. I am dressed as a cleric tonight, actually.” He says shyly, his head tilting down as he speaks.
And oh, if Mike wasn’t already enamored, he most certainly is now.
“How lucky it is that we’ve met, then! Is it fate, do you think?”
The boy- well, cleric, Mike supposes, turns the most delightful shade of pink.
“I- perhaps. Perhaps it is.” He says, eyes not meeting Mike’s.
And at this moment, everything around Mike fades to background noise. He is no longer concerned with the ball, or dancing, or debutantes- all he can think about is the boy standing in front of him. The way his skin heats to be the same shade of pink as his lips, the way he smiles, the way the belt of his costume highlights the slight curve of his waist- all of it. Mike wants more. He wants to know this boy’s name, he wants to know everything about him. He’d said that he likes to read- how did that start? Is his favorite genre fantasy? Have him and Mike read any of the same books? Where is his family from? Does he have siblings? Would he like to meet Mike’s siblings- no, that’s ridiculous- they’d scare him off immediately.
“I find myself tired of this ball- would you perhaps like to accompany me to one of the private balconies? We could escape the dancing and instead talk of clerics and paladins?” The words are tumbling out of Mike’s mouth before he knows what he’s saying. For a moment, he’s worried that he’s overstepped, but the other boy’s warm brown eyes flick up to meet his, and he gives Mike a soft smile.
“I think that would be much more to my taste. I’d love to.”
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Will thinks he’s dreaming. There is certainly no other explanation for how he’s ended up on a balcony with Lord Wheeler- a Viscount- ranting about their favorite novels. They’d had a surprising amount in common, and Will had silently thanked Jane for all of the books she’d bought just so he could read them. His gaze slides back onto Lord Wheeler, who is ranting about his difficulties with the young ladies at the ball.
“And she was quite pleasant, but I’d rather have been lounging on a sofa with a book in hand- perhaps then my feet would not ache so very much. Do yours not as well, after tonight?” He asks.
Will hums in consideration. “Not really, however, I have not danced, merely stood, so-“
“You have not danced?” He asks, frowning. “It is a ball, and you have not danced?”
It’s then that Will realizes his mistake. His mind races to think of a valid excuse, only to come up with nothing.
“I do not mean to be rude!” Lord Wheeler cuts in, “I am only asking out of envy- I wish I had been able to avoid dancing tonight as well.”
Will chews on his bottom lip, hesitant. He shouldn’t say this, it may raise suspicions. However, when he looks at the other, he for some reason feels like he could tell him anything.
“I… I cannot dance.”
There’s a pause, and then Lord Wheeler speaks.
“Truely? How has a nobleman never been instructed in dance?”
Will considers. There is no easy explanation for this, other than ‘I’m actually a servant who’s snuck into this ball in hopes of unwinding’ which would likely be met with him being humiliated, kicked out of the ball, and fired.
“It was not my decision,” Will starts, slowly. “My parents never gave me lessons.”
And in the most surprising turn of events, Lord Wheeler- accepts his words?
“I see. I take it you do not go to many balls, then?”
“… no” Will replies, still wary.
“Well, that is a shame. If you do not commonly attend balls, how are we to meet again?”
Will’s head snaps around, eyes connecting with Lord Wheelers. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, and his eyes widen as he sees the other staring at him with a slight smile.
“I could teach you, you know? That way we might meet again?” Lord Wheeler says, his tone going soft. He has to tilt his head down for his dark brown eyes to meet Will’s, something that makes his head spin.
“Well then? May I have this dance?” Lord Wheeler says, and Will is positive now that this must be a dream. But even if it is, Will doesn’t think he’s ever felt this light.
“Yes, you may.” Will says, and the other man grins.
“I can lead the first one, and then we can switch?” He says, and Will nods.
But then, he’s moving towards Will, and oh yes, dancing requires them to be touching. To be chest to chest.
Lord Wheeler does not seem to have any such reservations, as he places one hand on Will’s waist, and uses the other to grasp Will’s hand.
“Place your left hand on my shoulder.” He instructs, and for some reason, Will listens.
He feels like he’s on fire in the places they’re touching. Will is struck by the impropriety of it all- a high ranking Viscount on a private balcony dancing with another man- not to mention, he’s a servant as well. His eyes dart to the doors, but he can’t spot any figures lingering near.
Will is pulled back into the moment when Lord Wheeler begins to move. They start by swaying, ever so slightly, and Will is grateful for the other man’s grip on his waist, because he feels as if he’s going to fall over.
“So, you’re nobility from London, you have never learned how to dance, but you are the most well-read person I’ve ever met. You get more intriguing by the moment- you must tell me your name.” Lord Wheeler says, soft as a whisper.
For a moment, Will wishes he was someone else. He wishes he really was a noble, and he could meet Lord Wheeler at balls and speak of books, and people, and dancing.
Or maybe he wishes they really were just a cleric and a paladin, questing together and living freely, able to touch and dance and talk.
And then something sour settles in his gut. That tiny voice in his head starts to whisper- if you were a woman, it would be different.
But Will doesn’t want to think like that. He wants to live in the moment, and in this moment, he’s dancing with a gorgeous man at a ball. This is already more than he deserves, he isn’t greedy enough to desire anything more.
“I’m sorry,” Will says. “I cannot.” His eyes shift away, and they dance on in silence.
“I suppose I’m lucky you cannot dance.” Lord Wheeler murmurs, snapping Will out of his thoughts.
“If you could, I’m certain you’d be in there, dancing with all of the most eligible young ladies.” He says. “You’re the most beautiful man at this ball, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He continues, something like reverence in his voice. “You could have anyone you want in there.” He whispers, and Will very nearly avoids stumbling and falling. He feels an all encompassing heat lick across his face and down his neck. He surely looks quite similar to a garden tomato at this moment.
Lord Wheeler’s hand on his waist pulls him in, and now they’re chest to chest. Will looks up to meet the others gaze, already looking down at him.
“You’re here, on a balcony, with me.” He whispers it so softly, like it’s a prayer. His thumb absentmindedly strokes up and down Will’s waist, and he shivers.
“I’m here, with you.” Will repeats, and it may be his imagination, but a look of pure joy seems to cross the other man’s face.
“I-“ Lord Wheeler starts, but he is interrupted by a loud toll of a bell. A moment later, there’s another, and they keep happening.
It must be midnight, Will realizes with a start, but before he can say anything, the other man speaks.
“It’s midnight,” he says, a hint of wonder lacing his voice. “That means the masks come off, and identities are revealed. You can tell me your name now.”
He whispers the last part like it’s a secret. It is, Will supposes, because Lord Wheeler can never know his name. Oh god, he’d probably be disgusted to learn he’d been holding a servant so gently-
That thought strikes Will like a blow to the head, and he wrenches himself out of Lord Wheeler’s grip.
“I’m sorry- I have to go.” He hastens out, but he can’t hear his own voice over his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“Wait!” Lord Wheeler calls, and Will turns back from where he’d already taken a few quick steps forward. The other man has an expression like a kicked puppy, and Will feels a pang in his chest.
“Please, don’t leave. If I’ve offered you, I sincerely apologize, but I must know your name.” Lord Wheeler all but begs, and Will wonders what he’d done in a past life to be subjected to this sort of torture.
Against his will, his body takes a step back towards the other man.
“I beg you, give me something.”
This time he really does plead, and it feels like an undeniable request. Will can’t refuse him.
“Something?” He echos, stepping closer.
They’re as close as they had been before, only lacking Lord Wheeler’s hand on Will’s waist. He already misses the comfort.
“Anything.” The other man says, softer than a whisper.
Will feels like he’s no longer in control of his body- like he’s been possessed by some sort of spirit whose only objective is to make horrible, rash decisions.
Because in an instant, his hand is on the back of Lord Wheeler’s neck, and he’s pulling him down, and his lips are on Will’s.
Kissing him is like nothing he’s ever felt, and Lord Wheeler’s hands come down to fit on both sides of his waist. It feels so, so right. His lips are so soft and fit against Will’s so perfectly, and he could almost swear Lord Wheeler sighs into the contact.
It’s perfect, for a moment. Like something out of a fairytale.
But then, he remembers. Where they are, who he is, who he’s kissing. Will recoils. A cold sense of dread creeps up his spine, and he pulls back, away from the others’ hands. For a moment, he stares at the other man. Lord Wheeler looks star struck. Will’s head is screaming at him.
Without a word, Will turns, and runs.
One moment, he’s on the balcony, and the next, he’s on the steps leading down to the road. He doesn’t stop running. If he does, he fears he may puke.
Will feels a trickle of liquid run down his face, and he only then realizes that he’s crying. Even so, he doesn’t stop. He runs, and lets his tears slide down his chin and onto the pavement, the wet spots left in their wake being the only sign he’d been there at all.