It was to be masquerade of the season at Oxford, and despite his rather disinterest in such things—Abercrombie Smith was a man that spent most of his time dedicated to specific goals, and he worked ceaselessly toward them the way others might be dedicated to gambling, or to good liquor—he would of course go. For one, he had recently come off a particularly harrowing experience, and he felt that a light evening of dancing ought to do him some good. And for the other, William Monkhouse Lee was attending.

It was a weakness of Smith’s, perhaps, the way he had grown quite fond of the young chap after their shared horror. He could not help but walk with Monkhouse Lee to the dinner table, some evenings, when the studies he had buried himself in for so long grew lighter.

So that even, Smith dressed smartly, caring possibly a scant too much about the way his hair laid, and if his tie matched his shirt. His mask was barely passable, he was forced to admit, but this was a last minute decision, and he had simply purchased the first he found. It was a plan black mask for the top of his face, lacking in any decoration.

He felt rather under-dressed, truly, when he reached the masquerade. And he rather felt quite foolish, too, for not simply asking Lee’s companionship for the event. It was altogether more dignified than lurking in the corner near the entrance, looking to each new entrant in search of familiar eyes.

He did not doubt he’d recognize Lee, regardless of what an opulent mask the man might choose to wear.

And he was right.

Lee walked into the room in the most magnificent dress, suiting his coloring to such that even Smith, who didn’t pay much attention to fashion, could tell it must have been picked with utmost consideration. And the dark mask glimmered with gold, and feathers. Smith, who had been prepared to greet Lee as soon as he saw him, was so ensorcelled that he got out not a single word, and Lee walked onward without noticing him.

Smith felt very foolish, indeed.

Catching up to Lee, he said only, “Lee.” It was not even a fraction of the speech he’d planned—it was supposed to culminate in an elegant request for a dance, but when Lee turned at his presence and gazed upon him, Smith discovered that the expression ‘tongue-tied’ felt quite literal. He looked at Lee, and he could not help but glance up and down Lee’s body. Swallowing, Smith nevertheless straightened his back, raised his head high, and held out his hand.

Smith was no coward.

He was, one might even say, the furthest thing from one. And though he had had a moment of panic when he realized the depth of his feelings for Lee, when he at last acknowledged how utterly smitten he was, he knew at once what he must do about it. A proper courtship, of course.

“May I have this dance?” asked Smith.

Lee smiled brilliantly. “Of course, good sir,” he said, and Smith thought Lee sounded very pleased, indeed. And when Lee grabbed his hand, Smith held his breath as he led Lee into the start of the dance as a the musicians shifted to a new melody.

“You look enchanting tonight,” said Smith, and Lee laughed. He had a very beautiful laugh: Smith had grown to hear it in his dreams lately.

“So do you,” said Lee, and spun beautifully. His dress was elegant, modern, gorgeous. Smith knew not the word for it—he had no familiarity with dresses of any kinds and prior to tonight, that was exactly how he’d liked it. But he rather regretted, now, that he could not accurately describe Lee’s dress even in his own mind, for it was such a view he should never forget.

“I should have asked your company to the masquerade,” said Smith, and spun them around again. Lee nodded with a shy smile, and Smith’s heart thumped. He licked his lips, and he asked, “Would you like to go for a walk, in the moonlight?”

“It is a full moon tonight,” Lee said and glanced around the ballroom. “I should think it’d be a must gorgeous night. But I could hardly gallivant off early with a suitor, could I? If, that is, you are…” And Lee blushed, then, a most fetching expression.

“I am.” Smith smiled. He looked around the room, at the people dancing, talking. At the masks, and the lit candles in the chandeliers, at the musicians who were quite talented. The night pressed down upon the old windows, and the shadows swirled around them, a hazy quality to the air. Smith felt altogether drunk on it, but more than anything he was drunk on having Lee in his arms. He was utterly and totally lost, so consumed by Lee’s touch that he could scarcely think for a moment.

Then he said, “I am, Lee. You must know that I am.”

Lee looked at him. “You are a remarkable man, I hope you know,” he said, and Smith came the closest to blushing he ever had in his life. He still did not—he simply did not have the predisposition for it. But he still felt warm down to his bones, and though they did not sneak out of the masquerade that night for a walk in the moonlight, it was no hardship to dance with Lee.

Of course, it did not go unnoticed, Smith’s monopolization. Lee was a lovely young man of kind disposition, who never had a bad word for anybody. Not even the most despicable of all. It was inevitable, that he drew gazes.

But Lee had never looked back.

And yet now he gazed deep into Smith’s eyes, so deep that Smith was trapped within it, and danced with him. And as the evening drew to a close, they did leave the ball together, walking out arm in arm. It was rather improper, of course, but Smith consoled himself with the fact that first thing tomorrow, he was bringing Lee a proper proposal—he deserved nothing less.

And, in truth, he wanted to give Lee nothing less. Smith quite feared that ‘smitten’ was too weak a word for his devotion.

They parted, in the darkness of their tower. Lee went alone to his chambers, and Smith did the same to his. And he sat upon his bed for quite some time, simply looking at the floor. Then he stood, at last. For he had a great deal of planning to do.

Smith was the kind of man that planned everything, and gave up for nothing. With a goal he was fearsome—always had been. This should be no different, he reckoned, for he could conceive of no greater endeavor than Lee’s company, his companionship, his partnership.

“I think I’ll make quite a fool of myself, Mr. Monkhouse Lee,” said Smith in the darkness, and smiled. For he had never courted a person before.

But he was certain, like in all his life, that there was no thing he would not give his everything to.