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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 years

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“Your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.” For Garcy because Reasons.

I hope you know that I resent you deeply for this.

Flynn had, near and dear to his heart, quite a few literary writers that he enjoyed reading time and again, although he would’ve refused to admit them to most people. Jane Austen was a particular favorite. Mary Shelley. Guy Gavriel Kay.

One of his favorites as a gloomy romantic teenager was The Picture of Dorian Gray. Perhaps it was because he understood the kind of love that Basil had for the title character, recognized it in his own self, and used it as a sort of warning sign, a cautionary tale. He would not doom himself and the person he loved by failing to see their faults, by trying to keep them shut up and unspoiled by the world. At the same time it was a sign of how he loved–how his soul seemed naturally to turn towards the unrequited.

Not that he hadn’t ever had love in return. Lorena was proof enough of that. And she had been gentle and lighthearted with his affection, had seen it written in his face and not taken advantage but addressed it and claimed it for her own, and then made him claim hers in return.

Before Lorena though, there had been another, a shining boy that Flynn had adored for years and years and then lost, knowing all the while that his best friend didn’t feel the same.

And so when he found himself staring at Lucy, wondering how her hands had looked writing out the words of the journal, considering the exact shade of her hair, memorizing how she liked her coffee…

He had little doubt what his fate was to be.

Getting to go back in time to meet Wilde was not what he’d expected, and in fact their mission wasn’t about Wilde at all, but they were in London, and he was apparently doing a reading of The Happy Prince in the salon of a friend. They all deserved a night off, didn’t they?

Flynn somehow found himself standing next to the man as they all assembled and chatted with him, and afterwards they managed to make their way over to congratulate him, Lucy asking him a thousand questions and gushing the way that she always did. Flynn could feel himself smiling at her and knew he should stop, knew that he should quit staring and definitely quit smiling, but as always he couldn’t seem to make himself.

Not until Lucy and Wilde turned back to look at him and Flynn schooled his expression into something more casual. Lucy’s eyes on him were always so dark and wide, like she could see right through to the bones of him, and this was the one thing he didn’t want her to see, to be burdened with, not after she’d helped him to shoulder so many of his sins.

Someone approached, asked about singing, Lucy was impressed upon to join the other ladies at the piano, and Flynn found himself alone with Wilde.

“I’ve greatly enjoyed your essays,” Flynn said, scrambling to remember what of the man’s works had been written in what year. “You should think about writing plays.”

“I’ve considered it.” Wilde’s gaze darted between Flynn and Lucy, who was laughing as she sang with the others. “If my inclinations stood in that regard I would find myself in danger of becoming quite a fool over her.”

It was a comment that could be taken either about Wilde’s being married, or about his love for men. It was the sort of towing of the line that would get Wilde arrested for gross indecency a few years from now. Many people thought that a particular line on page 147 of Dorian Gray was part of what sealed his fate, where Basil confesses his romantic love for Dorian.

Lucy glanced over at them and some color rose in her cheeks before she glanced away, focusing on the sheets of music at the piano.

“I can’t tell which one of you is luckier,” Wilde added.

Flynn snorted before he could stop himself. “I’m afraid you misunderstand. Miss Preston and I are not… our relationship is not of that nature.”

“Is that your doing or hers?” Wilde shook his head. “It can’t be hers, surely…”

“…Miss Preston isn’t…” Flynn fumbled for words. “I… I am not the sort of person that would make her happy.”

“Forgive my saying so, but I doubt you are the type of person who could fail to make anyone happy. And your looks towards her might as well be shrieks of agony, they are rather loud.”

Flynn could feel his face flushing with embarrassment. Was he really that obvious? Was Lucy feigning a lack of knowledge all this time just to be polite? Was…

Wilde looked like he would roll his eyes if that were the custom at the time. “I’ve seen men heading to the gallows with looks of less misery on their faces when you have to leave her side.”

“What can I say?” Flynn replied without thinking, feeling wrong footed, feeling exposed and called out. “My soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.”

Wilde stared at him for a moment. “Careful with that tongue of yours, if you say lines like that you might find me stealing them.”

“Steal away.” Flynn shrugged. It was Wilde’s line, after all.

“You’re welcome to whatever opinion you like of yourself, Mr. Flynn, but I will say this: I’d give just about anything for a portrait of yourself a decade or two earlier. I have a feeling you broke, and continue to break, quite a lot more hearts than you suspect, and I’m not talking merely about your countenance. In your youth you must have been a menace. If your soul is so sick…” Wilde nodded towards Lucy, who was trying a solo and managing quite well despite not knowing any of the songs until that moment and being obliged to sight-read. “…then there’s the remedy, and I suspect it’s yours for the taking.”

Someone else grabbed Wilde at that point, drawing him away, but Flynn hardly noticed. He was all in a fog.

“Shall we?” Lucy asked him, as she finished singing and begged off any more, fighting back through the assembled partiers to reach his side. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed and she looked… happy. She should always look this happy, Flynn thought.

…for the things it has forbidden to itself.

He had always thought that line was about things forbidden because they must be so. Forbidden because it was better that way. But now he wondered if it was supposed to be about something else. About self-denial of the stupid kind, of the blind, of the person who loses out because they didn’t dare to ask.

“Flynn?” Lucy repeated.

He shook himself, and held out his arm. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Lucy took his arm, they made their excuses, and departed.

Afterwards, as they climbed out of the Lifeboat, Denise asked how the mission was. “How’d it go?”

“Stopped the bad guys,” Wyatt said.

“Learned Flynn is Dorian Gray,” Rufus said.

Wyatt tripped on the last step down from the Lifeboat and only barely stopped himself from smashing his face on the concrete. “What!?”

Flynn almost tripped himself. “Sorry?”

“Oh, come on.” Rufus gestured wildly. “Tall, dark haired, gray eyes, handsome!? Falls for an actress!?”

“Last I checked I hadn’t sold my soul to a life of hedonism,” Flynn remarked.

Lucy was biting her lip to try and stifle her laughter. Flynn glanced at her. “What?”

“Why do you think I let them drag me over to sing? I knew he wanted to get you alone, he was enamored with you.”

“No, he wasn’t.” As much as his hero worship of Wilde was purely platonic, it was still a thrill to know that someone you so admired liked you. Flynn felt his face heating up. “Was he? And besides, you enjoyed the singing, you were great.”

Lucy looked at him for a moment, glanced around as if scared someone might overhear, and then said, her voice low and soft, “I liked it because you were watching. I don’t like… crowds. But I… wanted to sing for you.”

Flynn gaped at her as Lucy turned and walked quickly over to Denise to finish reporting in.

Perhaps… perhaps Basil’s fate wasn’t his after all.

#mads answers things #mads writes stuff #timeless #timeless fanfic #garcy #garcy fanfic #li'l ficlet #I actually adore that novel #so when I got this quote I was so damn excited #yes I am proud of this Dorian Gray identity twist #come on it was right there #I couldn't resist #extasiswings

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