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“Let me.”
Yuder walks up to Kishiar and stands still. Kishiar’s hands reach over for the garment around his neck, fiddling with it at an astonishing speed.
“It is a little cute that my talented assistant struggles with tying a tie.”
“... I’d usually prefer to forego it entirely.”
“Certainly, I can see you wearing your uniform in the previous game even at formal events.” Kishiar hums, pondering the image. In this lifetime, the white uniform is his and hasn’t been passed over to someone else — his head curiously turns over the notion of seeing Yuder in his clothes. It sounds like a delightful idea to be attempted another day, so naturally, he files it off another part in his brain.
A loop here and a pull there — it’s a picture-perfect tie he’s more than used to doing. Other nobles perhaps would have struggled, however, by the nature of just always having to dress himself, Kishiar can put on his own outfit with eyes closed and still come out flawless without a single thing off, not even a wrinkle. It’s an unnecessary skill, though there are some functions to it regardless, it seems.
“Thank you, Commander.”
“You’re welcome, Dear.” Yuder allows him when Kishiar dives in to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. “Wear a jacket on your way out — it’s cold outside.”
Yuder might be the pinnacle of health, a sturdy and youthful body that grew up close to nature that is well-maintained in both nutrition and exercise. Still, he worries. It’s reasonable to have such concerns though, when the person in question is horrendously used to taking every burden on his shoulders. Yuder doesn’t seem to mind either, complying obediently with every single whim Kishiar asks of him. Concurrently, as Kishiar feels his mind race on and on, the very subject of his thoughts is nodding, reaching for the outer of the formal attire Kishiar had personally commissioned for him, throwing it on with a quiet affirmation.
It warms his heart infinitely.
Any other day, he would have said no. Though it seems like the betting pool ongoing among the Cavalry members would grow larger and larger — Kishiar prefers to have such things contained as soon as possible. It isn’t a bad idea to have fun and play around with possibilities, certainly, but let on for too long these kinds of things have a small chance of backfiring into unsavory rumors. He himself is more than used to those — with how the Imperial Palace is, the kind of poisonous environment unideal for children to grow up in, enemies at every direction and life a fine tightrope one needs to know how to tread — though Kishiar isn’t sure if he would be able to tolerate even a single syllable when the target is Yuder Aile.
Then, he had smiled wryly before he finally indulged.
Now, the aftermath: the training grounds around them are more than thoroughly wrecked from the spar. They might need to work on tidying it up before it was the turn of the Imperial Knights to use them. Theo wouldn’t mind — but it’s just the minimal responsibility and an olive branch that rightfully has to be extended in order to coexist. At the very least, it has been a while since a spar was that fun. The only other person that could get his blood boiling so much is Nathan when he has a sword in hand. Having fought alongside Yuder all this time, Kishiar of course knows the extent of his abilities, though he often suspects everything Yuder has shown in front of him hasn’t even grazed his limits.
Sweat rolls down his forehead, though instead of wiping it off, Kishiar hands the handkerchief in his back pocket to Yuder. Yuder who is almost absent-minded as he looks at Kishiar’s hand on top of his — like he hasn’t even considered the idea of a friendly spar between fellow members of the same Cavalry before and his eyes are only now opened to it. He can imagine it’s just as hard for Yuder to find someone of an equal footing — Kishiar wonders if in the first place, that is why they’re so drawn to each other.
“Here, use mine.”
“What about you?”
He makes eye contact with Nathan, who diligently gives him the backup handkerchief he had with him. As always, a capable adjutant.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You were amazing, it has been a while since I had this much fun.” And if it isn’t the truth — every careful handling of each element under Yuder’s hands was a challenge to reflect or block. “My assistant truly is a talented fighter.”
This isn’t the first nor will it be the last time Kishiar praises him. But the cute assistant in front of him beams a thousand times brighter whenever he swings a sword, glows like the moon high up in the sky when he pushes himself to his limits and goes above and beyond. This time too, it’s no different — rather than any compliments towards his beautiful looks or his calm problem-solving, Yuder warms up and melts like a cat letting himself petted and purring whenever this part of him is acknowledged.
“You, as well, Commander. I’ve always known you were strong, but to be at the other end of your sword is an honor in itself.”
He pauses, adding. “Your awakener ability as well — as I’ve thought, it’s a fascinating power.”
Kishiar can’t help the curl lifting the edges of his lips.
“High praises, Dear assistant. But I thank you too. Let’s wrap up the training now and retreat back to rest.”
There are activities and discussions that await them still, a stack of paperwork to be looked over regarding the next round of recruitment and a letter that surely should have arrived from the Emperor’s residence by this hour — and yet, the thing he looks forward to the most is the sensation of Yuder’s body in his arms, the comforting weight as he sits on Kishiar’s lap, the future plans laid out in front of them like a path they will only ever walk on together.
“Is this…”
“It’s a gift. You should try it on, I thought it’d complement your eyes.”
A silver earring — only one — lies in the velvet box opened in Yuder’s hands.
Naturally, Kishiar has the other one.
Confused gaze finds his own. “What is the occasion?”
“Should there be an occasion? I simply wanted to give it to you.”
After all, it is hard to look around stores nowadays without seeing a thing or two or even three that remind him of Yuder — at times, Kishiar wonders how it is possible for a person’s presence to take up so much space in his life. Wherever he looks, a trace of Yuder seems to linger and remain in his surroundings. Everything almost reminds him of Yuder.
“Would you like to look at mine? I have the matching pair.”
He pulls out another box, the same color and material, out of his coat pockets and cranks it open. In there, is the aforementioned pair, gold and dainty, a long earring that reaches down the neck at around the chin’s height. Kishiar takes it out of the box and makes quick work to put it on, showing it off to Yuder.
Yuder’s dark eyes visibly soften.
“... It’s beautiful. You look good, Commander.”
His heart soars — for a second Kishiar is afraid Yuder will hear the heavy thumps of his heart protesting against his rib cages, asking to be let out fully and to be allowed to wholly love him all day everyday without anything else staining his time with little importance. Calm down, calm down, he has to calm himself down. The fondness doesn’t leave his face though and Kishiar is sure it shows even in the way he smiles — especially knowing how perceptive Yuder is.
Before he can say anything, Yuder continues. “Will you help me try it on?”
“Shall I?”
Kishiar breathes out an affirmative laugh, taking the box out of Yuder’s hand. Nimble fingers, far too used to the many jewelry pieces he owns, handle it with care, tucking Yuder’s silky dark hair behind his ear and gently, very gently, putting on the earring on Yuder’s left ear, mirroring his own.
He pulls back to admire the sight of his lover. The earring has a longer chain and a slightly bulbous end. Kishiar is proven right, the silver contrasts enchantingly against Yuder’s black hair, drawing more attention to his handsome face.
“And now we match.”
His dearest assistant’s expression might be hard to read to some people — to Kishiar, the pleased, barely there wisp of a smile sitting on Yuder’s pale lips is clear as flowing water.
They share the bed often these days, more nights than not in a single week even on normal days. Today is the start of a four day vacation — after the successful recruitment and disaster relief done well, it's several moments worth of reprieve much needed after back to back stressful situations. Yuder spent last night on Kishiar’s bed and he probably will for the whole period of their vacation time.
Waking up to his assistant’s lovely face is something Kishiar doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. His lines are softer as he slumbers away, hair dark as the obscurity of the night splayed all over Kishiar’s white sheets. Yuder looks a lot younger like this, addled with peace and surrounded by safety. Kishiar’s hand automatically moves to trail a line down his cheekbone.
He immediately stirs under Kishiar’s touch, the black orbs Kishiar absolutely adores blinking awake.
“Commander..?”
Infinitely endearing, his Yuder at times wakes up as sharp as an utility knife flipped open, a predator disturbed awake. Other times like today, especially as winter draws closer and closer upon them, Yuder stays malleable and tender, seeking Kishiar’s body heat and snuggling closer into the warmth.
Kishiar welcomes him with everything he can possibly offer, accepting Yuder with all his heart and tightening his arms around him.
“Good morning. Did you have a good rest?”
He presses a kiss onto Yuder’s forehead. His assistant who is too cute for the entire world flutters his eyes shut while receiving the chaste peck before his eyes fully open. Yuder looks a little more awake now.
“Yes. I slept well.” A small pause. “Did you?”
“I did as well. I’ve thought about it before but the bed really does feel immensely more comfortable with you here.”
And he isn’t joking at all about it — the mere presence of Yuder by his side chases away any possible nightmares that might have once plagued his sleep. Kishiar isn’t the prince banished to desolate lands anymore, nor is he the sacrificial lamb seconds away from having the flame burn him whole with the stake he’s tied on to — he has long shed those identities to be someone else entirely, all thanks to the fall of the Red Stone more than two years ago. Even so, at times, the memories of the past haunt the mundaneness of his daily life, not allowing to have a single moment of rest. Kishiar is self-aware enough to at least admit in his heart that the reason he packs his twenty four hours with so many activities is rooted in this.
They spend a few more hours doing nothing but lazily stretching and basking in each other’s presence under the pretense of sharing physical warmth. To him, it’s a memorable day more than just well spent — in the future, Kishiar still recalls perfectly every bit of expression Yuder makes as they chat without an end about everything and nothing at all under that very roof.
Albeit a common-born man, the way Yuder handles his silverware and his table etiquette matches up with an aristocrat who has never known anything but noble manners. The particular way of placing one’s teacup without making a clinking noise, which fork to use during appetizers for formal dinners, the attitude rules when drinking wine during standing banquets held in the Imperial Palace — in a way that truly speaks of his decade as the Cavalry Commander in the previous game, Kishiar’s beloved assistant presents himself flawlessly at every occasion.
It truly is an amusing and yet surprising sight to see a stray crumb find its way on the side of his mouth.
Mischief bubbles up in Kishiar and he restrains himself so he doesn’t let the entirety of his mirth and the unending affection show too transparently.
“You have something on your face,” he points. Yuder blinks at him with those too-wide eyes and Kishiar finally breaks, letting an exhale escape his lips.
A hand carefully cups Yuder’s cheek and brings him closer as Kishiar leans in, mouthing along where the crumb is, a square kiss at the very edge of Yuder’s lips.
When they separate, a rare flush sits on the face of his dearest — Kishiar can’t help the way he beams brighter, a little too playful and entirely too happy the way he never would have thought he will now be.
“There we go.”
For once, his Yuder has no other reply on the tip of his tongue, words stolen away by the mere press of Kishiar’s lips.
+
Philosophy had been one of Kishiar’s favorite subjects to study while growing up. Of the recent era, dating back to his grandfather’s predecessor, scholar Geg once tried to define love as an ongoing verb. Not an adjective, nor a destination of life, nor a state of perfect deed. But a verb that has yet to start and has yet to finish — something akin to running or struggling, ever-present as breathing is and natural as blinking is. A constant that never hits a wall, almost.
It’s a meaning that only really clicks within Kishiar’s mind’s eye the moment he met Yuder Aile.
His whole life, he has always been loved — Keilusa’s sincere advice, Nathan’s grounding presence, Faria’s silent support, Hellem’s gentle instructions, Mick’s desire to always be of use, the Peletta Knights and every other bypasser that walked into or went by his life. It is only with the huge amount of love he received that he can in turn try to nourish other people, watch them from afar as they flourished.
And yet, Yuder Aile is a strange case to deconstruct. An unexpected whirlwind in the body of an awakener too strong to be contained in this whole world, a young man with the wisdom and resilience of people decades older — a captivating existence as brilliant and beautiful as the sun itself. To watch over him isn’t just to find a seedling breaking through the soil and into the light, like Kishiar looks over other people beneath his wing. It is to witness the creation of an unnamed force that shakes the world itself and turns Kishiar’s axis upside down.
Again and again, Yuder Aile continues to surprise him. Kishiar who has always been observant to social cues and underlying meanings at long last finds himself staring into the dark eyes of a person too entirely honest and yet unreadable as uncharted skies.
The agenda of the day requires them to once again suit up into formal attire. He had placed orders to a tailor beforehand for another custom piece, still making use of the red lining of his mother’s dress as an accessory. Today, Kishiar is the one in the black of the night sky, the color of Yuder’s hair and eyes, while Yuder’s suit places him in white. That much is well within expectations.
Still, his beloved assistant must be dead set on giving him a heart attack — since he comes out of his room in full attire, clad in all white safe for the red of Kishiar’s mother dress as a sash and the familiar silver glint of the earring he once gave him on the left side of his face.
Kishiar, the ever-eloquent Duke of Peletta, whom Yuder himself often praises in his mastery for all things verbal, finds himself speechless, helpless eyes drinking in the sight before him again and again.
Similarly, Yuder’s gaze fixates on him without moving.
In that moment, the awe that he feels at Yuder’s appearance — the open forehead that showcases his mesmerizing eyes, his slicked back hair dark as fateful eclipses contrasting against the white garment wrapped around his body, his pale skin and the bright red sash, the delicate silver earpiece dangling by his sharp jawline, a loud and proud symbol of Kishiar’s love that he welcomes, all the best and the most hideous parts that he too loves about Kishiar — mingles and entangles, blends into one with the warm sensation of being desired the same way he loves Yuder.
Kishiar opens his mouth, slightly hoarse, “You look incredible.” As you always do.
Yuder’s expression melts into a soft smile.
“And you as well, Commander.”