Prompt Post 4!
The first, second, and third posts are now shut down for prompting. All new prompts must be posted here. Any new prompts posted to Prompt Post 1, 2, and 3 will be deleted without warning.
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Cogsworth can't be in a room with a clock and keep things quiet. The ticking drowns out all feelings of rationality in him until he just feels fear, deep and powerful fear and a touch of madness. He just feels out of control with panic. All clocks were removed from his room and, in a fit, he crushed his once-beloved pocket watch under the heel of his shoe. He relies heavily on music to help him, and lucky, the castle is often full of that. And now, all this time later, he is starting to not always notice the ticking right away. Unfortunately, this sometimes means he can be caught off-guard.
He's reviewing seating arrangements for an upcoming event, alone in one of the many rooms of the large castle that doesn't exactly have set purpose. He didn't even register that there was a clock on the mantle upon entering, but that was about twenty minutes ago.
It doesn't sneak up on him so much as jump on him in an attack, all at once. The ticking fills his ears, until it feels like his head is pounding with the clock's rhythm. His heart is beating far too quickly and his breath is shallow. He's so scared, and the worst part is, he doesn't know why. He knows he'll never be a clock again. He knows it's all in the past. And yet this is torture to him in a way he doesn't understand.
He must have let out a cry at some point, because he hears - barely just - someone else run into the room. He hears the clock smash to the ground, but the ticking is still lingering in his head. Two hands are on his shoulders, shaking him slightly.
“Steady, man!”
Oh God, it's Lumiere. Of all the people who could see him break down, Cogsworth would pick Lumiere last, without question: Lumiere is the person in the castle who he hates and loves the most, all at once. It's complicated and wrong, but there you have it.
Regardless, that's who found him. Nothing can be done about it now. Cogsworth tries to slow his breathing, and gets himself to a please where he can speak. “Talk. Loudly, please,” he forces out. Lumiere nods.
“You are going to be fine. I promise, mon ami. I hate to see you like this, you are always so together.”
“I'm never together,” Cogsworth spits back, finding it eager to speak, but also finding himself honest and vulnerable. “I'm always nervous, and now this... I'm more pathetic than before.”
“There's nothing pathetic about it, Cogsworth. We all went through Hell and back and it hurt us all. You have to know this does not make you weak.” Lumiere pauses, a troubled look on his face, and then he kisses Cogsworth on the forehead. This takes Cogsworth by surprise, of course, but it makes sense. Lumiere is physical even for a Frenchman, and being physical is the best way he can comfort someone, surely. That's all it is, even if that reality makes Cogsworth's heart ache just a bit.
“You are perfect,” Lumiere whispers, his face close to Cogsworth's. Hope is ignited.
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