#[ also i'm not over the fact that ronnie gave him his signet ring. Vic's gonna cherish it forever ]

[vxctorx]

My darling Ronnie,

You have given me your signet ring, and it is so much more than anything I could have ever asked for. When I first held it in my palms, I gave it a kiss for luck in lieu of your hand. It is a little loose on my fingers, though it does manage to stay on my thumb. I shall keep it close to my heart, where it is safest.

You may be pleased to know that I am travelling back to Cambridge in a day's time to resume my studies, which means I will be once again only a train's distance away from you. When shall I come and see you? I did want to surprise you with an impromptu visit, but decided against it, as I don't like the idea of wandering aimlessly between pubs whilst looking for you, not to mention the impression which that may give to some of your associates.

I think you would enjoy Camus' work. He, too, was a product of the war. When it comes to philosophy, however, I don't believe one should adhere to any single principle, since philosophy is really about broadening one's feild of vision towards different facets of life. I would happily lend you my own books, if you'd like. You will find that I occasionally scribble notes into the edges of the pages, which of course is considered a blasphemy, though it may give you more of an insight into my way of thinking.

The nights seem to have stretched here, as well. Last evening, I found myself wondering whether you also enjoy looking at the nightsky. As smoggy as London's skies are, we would still be looking at the same stars. Someday soon, I want to show you the Milky Way from the top of the hills near my home. There are so many things that I wish to show you here, including the small lake hidden away in the midst of the woods, where I occasionally take late night swims during the warmer months.

We do have horses here, though they remain inside the stables throughout Winter. We've recently had a new Arabian stallion added to the two which we already had, since our mare gave birth a couple of months ago. I would love to show them to you. The stallions are quite the beastly creatures. Apparently, one of them once almost kicked its trainer all the way across the fence. It is good thing that I was practically raised on horseback, so I have an inkling as to how to handle them. I suppose I have always had a talent for taming charmingly wild beings.

Speaking of which, I cannot help feeling oddly exhilarated whenever you promise to keep me protected against the rest of the world, albeit by force. I suppose I do possess a bit of a wild streak of my own, after all. What does that say about me?

As for our next opera viewing, I believe La Bohème befits the melancholic mood of the season. Already, I am imagining myself held in your arms as we look over the spectacle.

Yours and no one else's,

Victor

P.S. I did wonder what places your mind had wandered to whilst thinking of the answer to that last question.

Dear Victor,

Getting on for November now, ain't it. The air is cold when I walk my dogs before sunup. There's frost starting to appear on windowpanes and on the cobbles in the pub's work yard. The nights drawing in round you up north too? I didn't know you had horses - stable lad, you said. Do you ride? Closest I usually get to them things is betting on them at the races. They can't half kick.

Boring, the life of the born-wealthy, aye? That Camus might be right, I suppose. Even caviar, after a life of it, loses its taste. Never read him myself - Camus. Think I should, since you have. I can tell by how you write that you're very well read. "Rotting pieces of flesh dressed in fine fabrics and jewels, who occasionally nod and drink wine in order to throw off all suspicions." I'd never put them words in that order to describe people. I enjoy reading history, Churchill's writing most of all.

Look far enough back up a family's line and you'll always find the poor. Even kings began with nothing if you look far enough back. Your granddad and great granddad must have had great stories. Mine is still with us, and he does. Mostly about his sporting days though. Like me, he boxed. Used to roughhouse with me when I was smaller - only gently, like a lion with a cub. He don't do that no more though. He made toys too. Still does for my nephew sometimes. I don't think he knows men like you exist outside of high-top tearooms in the West End. I'm glad I know that though.

Thank you for sending that treasure you found with your letter. I've put a bit of polish to it, bought the luster up gorgeous. Might get it set into jewellery. I've looked and looked while on my way about town and couldn't find anything on London's cobbles or pavements to send back, so instead you'll find one of my signets hidden between these pages. Keep it safe for me until I see you again, please.

Keep safe until I see you again, please.

You'd not experience my worst parts as worst, Victor. The person causing you trouble would. To you it'd look like protectiveness. And it would be. You walk the streets of London, East London especially, on my arm? You're the safest man alive. Them hands of mine you write about wanting to kiss would never put violence on you. Speaking of, which opera should we go and see next? We'll rent a box out this time, so I can hold you like I want to without getting looks off the people round us.

Yours always,

Ron

P.S. Glad I got that answer right. More sure about the one I've included this time, so it's in pen - Harem. Your mention of India, Calicut, made it click. Thank you.