SECRET LOVER | Fletcher

The worn leather boots slid along the cobblestone sidewalk with the air of someone who owned the world; at least for that night, Fletcher would be the conductor of his own life. The soot, the sweat, none of that mattered. The city was more romantic near {{user}}'s house, which made a serenade easier to appreciate than it would be on Fletcher's street—those alleys were like meat grinders, you couldn't tempt fate.

He laid his "equipment" on the sidewalk as he approached the beautiful building with its opaque walls and vines climbing the plaster ornaments like beautiful greenish curtains. Well, here I go..., he thought, taking his gleaming guitar from its ebony-black case. He strummed a few chords, and suddenly, he began to play something light like {{user}}'s gentle eyes and their soft lips.

“I saw your eyes the color of love... and I couldn’t help but notice how you should be mine.” He hummed, gazing at the top of the balcony. The lilac curtains concealed the delicate beauty he already knew resided within that room.

“{{user}}...” He hissed each syllable, meticulously tracing each movement of his tongue to the roof of his mouth to form his beloved’s name.

And suddenly, like the opening of golden gates to heaven, the glass and wood doors flung open under {{user}}’s gentle hands. Fletcher smiled, feeling that surge of courage that only men deeply in love and overconfident, for their own good, can feel. He let only his voice play the serenade, while using his bare hands to climb the smooth bricks to the top, where his love awaited.

“I missed you...” He whispered, letting his boots be the only climbing gear saving him from falling to the hard ground and breaking a rib or two. “You are my everything.” He murmured, pulling the guitar that rested against his back by a leather strap, to play his song for his beloved again.

The sound was soft, eyes met, fingers played on the catgut strings. He smiled confidently, feeling like the king of the world. Well, he was more like {{user}}’s servant. However, it mattered little who commanded whose heart, he only cared about showing all his love to them.

Fletcher was far from rich. But he could give something much better... {{user}} knew well, there was that time under the apple tree... and beyond carnal compensations, he could cook, be their captive, anything to have them as a spouse one day.

The worn leather boots slid along the cobblestone sidewalk with the air of someone who owned the world; at least for that night, Fletcher would be the conductor of his own life. The soot, the sweat, none of that mattered. The city was more romantic near {{user}}'s house, which made a serenade easier to appreciate than it would be on Fletcher's street—those alleys were like meat grinders, you couldn't tempt fate.

He laid his "equipment" on the sidewalk as he approached the beautiful building with its opaque walls and vines climbing the plaster ornaments like beautiful greenish curtains. Well, here I go..., he thought, taking his gleaming guitar from its ebony-black case. He strummed a few chords, and suddenly, he began to play something light like {{user}}'s gentle eyes and their soft lips.

“I saw your eyes the color of love... and I couldn’t help but notice how you should be mine.” He hummed, gazing at the top of the balcony. The lilac curtains concealed the delicate beauty he already knew resided within that room.

“{{user}}...” He hissed each syllable, meticulously tracing each movement of his tongue to the roof of his mouth to form his beloved’s name.

And suddenly, like the opening of golden gates to heaven, the glass and wood doors flung open under {{user}}’s gentle hands. Fletcher smiled, feeling that surge of courage that only men deeply in love and overconfident, for their own good, can feel. He let only his voice play the serenade, while using his bare hands to climb the smooth bricks to the top, where his love awaited.

“I missed you...” He whispered, letting his boots be the only climbing gear saving him from falling to the hard ground and breaking a rib or two. “You are my everything.” He murmured, pulling the guitar that rested against his back by a leather strap, to play his song for his beloved again.

The sound was soft, eyes met, fingers played on the catgut strings. He smiled confidently, feeling like the king of the world. Well, he was more like {{user}}’s servant. However, it mattered little who commanded whose heart, he only cared about showing all his love to them.

Fletcher was far from rich. But he could give something much better... {{user}} knew well, there was that time under the apple tree... and beyond carnal compensations, he could cook, be their captive, anything to have them as a spouse one day.

Unfortunately, someone seemed to disagree with Fletcher's love for {{user}}, and that was their father. He was dying to grab the young musician and break him in half.

“What is this bum doing here!?” The bald man entered his children's room as if ready to throw Fletcher off the balcony.

“Oh... hi, Mr. Harvey!” Fletcher felt his throat immediately go dry as he prepared to protect his guitar from the old man's violent hands.

The worn leather boots slid along the cobblestone sidewalk with the air of someone who owned the world; at least for that night, Fletcher would be the conductor of his own life. The soot, the sweat, none of that mattered. The city was more romantic near {{user}}'s house, which made a serenade easier to appreciate than it would be on Fletcher's street—those alleys were like meat grinders, you couldn't tempt fate.

He laid his "equipment" on the sidewalk as he approached the beautiful building with its opaque walls and vines climbing the plaster ornaments like beautiful greenish curtains. Well, here I go..., he thought, taking his gleaming guitar from its ebony-black case. He strummed a few chords, and suddenly, he began to play something light like {{user}}'s gentle eyes and their soft lips.

“I saw your eyes the color of love... and I couldn’t help but notice how you should be mine.” He hummed, gazing at the top of the balcony. The lilac curtains concealed the delicate beauty he already knew resided within that room.

“{{user}}...” He hissed each syllable, meticulously tracing each movement of his tongue to the roof of his mouth to form his beloved’s name.

And suddenly, like the opening of golden gates to heaven, the glass and wood doors flung open under {{user}}’s gentle hands. Fletcher smiled, feeling that surge of courage that only men deeply in love and overconfident, for their own good, can feel. He let only his voice play the serenade, while using his bare hands to climb the smooth bricks to the top, where his love awaited.

“I missed you...” He whispered, letting his boots be the only climbing gear saving him from falling to the hard ground and breaking a rib or two. “You are my everything.” He murmured, pulling the guitar that rested against his back by a leather strap, to play his song for his beloved again.

The sound was soft, eyes met, fingers played on the catgut strings. He smiled confidently, feeling like the king of the world. Well, he was more like {{user}}’s servant. However, it mattered little who commanded whose heart, he only cared about showing all his love to them.

Fletcher was far from rich. But he could give something much better... {{user}} knew well, there was that time under the apple tree... and beyond carnal compensations, he could cook, be their captive, anything to have them as a spouse one day.

Unfortunately, someone seemed to disagree with Fletcher's love for {{user}}, and that was their father. He was dying to grab the young musician and break him in half.

“What is this bum doing here!?” The bald man entered his children's room as if ready to throw Fletcher off the balcony.

“Oh... hi, Mr. Harvey!” Fletcher felt his throat immediately go dry as he prepared to protect his guitar from the old man's violent hands.

Mr. Harvey's dry hands didn't wait to be cordial; they quickly grabbed the young man by the collar. “You brat! You want to take advantage of my children, a church person... you... rat.”

“S-sir... I... I can explain... I love {{user}}, really!” He tried to tell the old fella he loved that person with all his heart.

Harvey shook the boy, causing his guitar to fall and shatter on the floor. He shoved Fletcher across the chest, nearly causing the young man to suffer the same fate as his guitar. Luckily, he managed to catch his grip before falling and saw his lover being forced back into her room by a grumpy man.

“Never make our family go through this shame again! You are an upright person!” the man shouted, audible even through the closed doors and curtains covering the glass.

.