The Quiet Corner

A request, my noble Arno mutual. My French baby needs some love too. Can you start an Arno x Reader with the sentence: "You will always love Élise, I know..."

OK sounds angsty, but you can do magic with some fluff at the end, dear! Your writing is A+ amazing.

Ngl, my mysterious Arno mutual, you certainly presented a challenge, but it was one I was happy to take on! I confess I cheated and did 21 sentences, but I hope I did justice to your request! (Not sure how well I did with integrating the fluff at the end, but I tried my best. ^^) I also thank you very much for your kind words, as well, and I hope you enjoy!

July 1798, Paris

“You will always love Élise, I know—”

“Must we have this conversation again?” Arno groaned, cutting you off.

“If even after all this time, you’re still avoiding me during this time of year, then yes, we do!” you insisted, frustration replacing the previous gentleness in your voice.

“I’m only doing so for your sake!” he exclaimed as he sprang to his feet, before slipping back into his somber state. “I...I don’t want you to see me like this.”

His statement almost confused you; after all, it wasn’t like you didn’t know that he had spent nearly half the day at Élise’s grave, he had done so for the past few years, even after you two had gotten together.

Not sure what else to say, he now shook his head with a sigh and sunk back down upon the side of the bed. “You wouldn’t understand—”

“You think I don’t understand deep loss or haven’t experienced heart-wrenching grief?” you challenged him as you moved closer. “You forget, my love, that I too, had lost someone very close to my heart!” The emotion from that recollection made your chest tighten, and you as wrapped your arms around yourself and looked towards the floor, you added in a quieter voice, “That revolution wasn’t kind to any of us.”

Your words must’ve caught Arno’s attention, because the next thing you knew, he was standing right in front of you, cupping your face in his hands and pressing several kisses against your forehead with the heartfelt murmur of, “Oh, mon cœur... mon cœur...forgive me, I wasn’t trying to be insensitive—”

“I know you weren’t,” you whispered back as you looked up at him.

“It’s just...so often I wish I could just block it all out...just...forget,” he admitted, “but sometimes, she still penetrates my mind and—”

“Arno,” you interjected gently, “I don’t expect you to just forget about her.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I don’t love you,” he said with concern as he tenderly touched his forehead against yours. “Don’t ever think that.”

“I know you do,” you assured him, taking one of his hands and giving it a gentle squeeze, “and you know I return that love.”

Seeing the raw honesty in your eyes and the tiniest of smiles upon your lips, Arno rapidly blinked a few times as his face twisted with emotion, before his mouth unexpectedly came crashing down upon yours.

The two of you shared a few brief, but no less passionate kisses before you both tightly embraced, with you rubbing his back as he tried to muffle a sob into your shoulder.

The rest of the evening was spent quietly: you read to him, held him, conversed with him on any subject he desired, until finally, with his head rested upon your chest, he slipped into a deep sleep...and for the first time in four summers, Arno slept without any dreams of her.