Every night for three weeks, Gaston would listen to the Beast slowly attempt to read the book. At first, he would make snide remarks but, when the Beast refused to read one night, he shut up and said nothing short of encouragement. He knew he would die of boredom in the castle if these nights of listening ceased. Plus, there was something strangely relaxing about listening to a children’s story in front of a fire.
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Snow began to fall after the third week. Gaston made a snowman in the courtyard and pummeled it with snowballs. The Beast exited the castle, clad in a white shirt and blue cape that made his eyes pop, and was greeted by a giant snowball. He frowned at first, shocked, before scampering to the courtyard and rolling a snowball worth five of Gaston’s measly attempts.
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As he pummeled it towards Gaston, the other man raced away from it, only for it to tap the heels of his boots and trip him over. The ball collapsed atop Gaston’s body, snow dispersing across it. The Beast winced but tried to remain as cool as the snow. This got much more difficult as Gaston slowly rose from the pile of snow like a fish-man monster rising from the sea.
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Gaston shook his head like a wet dog, inadvertently sending clumps of snow onto the heads of the servants in the courtyard. Lumiere scowled at him for taking out the flames on his hands but changed his tune upon seeing Gaston grin proudly at the Beast. The candelabra repeatedly nudged his elbow against Cogsworth’s door.
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Gaston stood with a wide stance and his fists on his hips. His laugh carried the arrogance of someone who had conquered a town and collected an assortment of women along the way.
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‘You thought that puny little tennis ball could defeat me?’
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The Beast’s laugh was that of someone watching their pet kitten fail to catch a fly. Gaston threw another ball but the Beast dodged it. They danced around each other in a flurry of snowballs until the Beast, dodging yet another attack, fell atop Gaston. Seizing the opportunity, Gaston hit the Beast with a snowball without it leaving his hand. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, the snow falling from their heads onto Gaston’s chest. It started to melt under the heat of his full-body blush.
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‘If you want to win against me, you’re going to have to practice your aim,’ The Beast said. A moment later, the Beast took note of their proximity and rolled onto his back. ‘Um, you see, uh, there’s something I want to show you. If… if that’s alright with you.’
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The unsure frown on the creature’s face took Gaston back to when the Beast was wounded by the pack of wolves. Half of him was tempted to grab a cloth and tend to his face like he did his arm that night. The other half of him was calling himself crazier than Maurice. It would take more than a cloth to cure a face like that.
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Gaston stood up and brushed the remaining snow off his tights. He smiled down at the Beast, who eventually lifted himself and led Gaston to a spot behind the castle.
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Snow covered much of the clearing, which was the size of five tennis courts. The snow’s range included the twenty or so white, red-lined targets that stood in a line waiting to be hit by an arrow. Gaston regretted leaving his weapons behind the day he rescued Maurice. Before he could think about the beautiful blue-clad reason for his rescue attempt, The Beast placed a gentle arm behind his back and nudged him towards the shed just outside the range.
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The shed was the size of a horse stable and housed dozens of bows against the walls, some seemingly from other countries judging by the unfamiliar shapes and carvings. Arrows of various materials filled ornately decorated leather quivers.
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Gaston lovingly rubbed his hands over the bows. Stuck in his small provincial town, he had never come across so many varieties of archery equipment before. His smile itself was like a brow, curved from one ear to the other.
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‘This is incredible,’ was all he could say, transfixed by a thin indigo bow with white stripes wrapped around it.
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‘It’s yours.’
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Gaston took the bow off its rack. ‘The bow?’
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‘The range.’
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Gaston blinked with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He would have taken this as a given a few weeks ago. If there was something he wanted, he would have it. Belle’s rejection complicated things, but even after that, he was sure that he would be able to have her anyway. After all, he deserved a reward for his troubles.
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And yet, here he stood, dumbfounded at this gift. ‘You can’t be serious.’
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‘Do you… not like it?’
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As Gaston shook his head, more snow fell from his hair to the ground. ‘Are you kidding me? This is the most amazing place I’ve ever been to.’ He picked up a quiver. ‘Why not keep this place for yourself?’
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The Beast held his claws up. ‘I don’t need it anymore.’ He lowered them and looked down at them wistfully.
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Gaston’s blood reached a temperature not matched since Belle’s rejection. He shoved the bow and quiver in the Beast’s arms and grabbed another set for himself.
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‘I’ll break the string,’ the Beast warned, shaking his sharp-clawed pinky for emphasis.
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‘You think I haven’t done that before?’
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The Beast sighed and fumbled with the bow, carefully examining where his claws were. Gaston took a deep breath before raising his bow, eyeing one of the targets and releasing the arrow. It hit just outside of a bullseye.
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Gaston rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. ‘I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll be back to being perfect in no time.’
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The Beast shook as he raised the bow. Gaston clicked his tongue in disapproval and wrapped his hand around the bow.
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‘Breathe in, then lift.’
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‘I really don’t think my claws will let-’
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Gaston glared at him, letting go of the bow. ‘Breathe in, then lift,’ he repeated more sternly.
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The Beast did as he was told. Gaston stepped behind the Beast and reached around to his arms, holding them in the correct position. The Beast’s shoulders flew into the air and, as a result, he missed his shot. The arrow hit the ground just below the target.
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Gaston let go of the Beast. He was about to give the Beast a pep talk when the creature, the absolute madman, immediately prepared the next shot and got a bullseye.
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His goofy grin of victory was so radiant that Gaston barely noticed how sharp the Beast’s teeth were.
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As the sky grew darker and the duo grew tired of archery practice, they headed back to the castle. They went their separate ways for dinner, Gaston to the kitchen and the Beast to his living quarters.273Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyR47r64TUv
