finalflight | psl; [i feel you, your rising sun]

psl; [i feel you, your rising sun]

[Hubert gazes across the ballroom in the same way he assesses the tides of war.

He thinks he prefers blood and steel as opposed to orchestrated music, tailored garb and dresses trimmed with lace. In the midst of battle, he can judge more poignantly where dangers lie — the tip of a lance glinting in the sun, a line of archers nocking their arrows in synchronicity — and adjust his own actions accordingly. Here, everything is so much more… nebulous. He hates all manner of pomp and circumstance, the noblesse oblige never completely wrung out from this societal circle; even this remains untouched by sweeping reform thus far. Everyone makes it purposefully harder to ascertain intention. Never is the case when an enemy comes rushing forth with their sword at the ready, anger flashing in their eyes. That is a straightforward problem to tackle.

Yet Hubert still plays the game, still reads the room, as it were second nature. Can spy which nobles seek the company of those who might grant them a higher rung of influence on the ever-changing, post-war social ladder. Keeps Emperor Edelgard in the scope of his vision more often than not, creeping along the fringes of the Imperial Palace’s ballroom, until she herself makes her way over, strongly suggesting that he take a moment to himself to enjoy a dance or two. (And to stop hovering like a dread shade, making several attendees sweat nervously for fear of retribution due to some unknown offense.)

And so he humors her for now — planning on detaching himself just long enough to abate her exasperation — though he doesn’t linger in near the dance floor, too brimming with faux smiles and posh sentiments of this tastes. It’s easy enough to slip outdoors to the adjacent courtyard, where some of the celebrations have begun to eke out under a stung-up lamplight in the clear night, cordoned off from the rest of the outside world by a picturesque wall of rose bushes that remind him of the cultivated flora within the confines of the monastery.

Here, he can while away the time, undoubtedly looking intimidating and unapproachable in a corner. And he would delegate himself to doing just that, as talented as he is in it, were it not for a shock of orange-red hair nearby, belonging to a man whose company he had somehow lost track of within the first hour of this mandatory celebration.

Hubert pauses for a whole half-second before he strides forward, coming up to meet him. His greeting is less of a greeting than it is an action: reaching out to untangle a long strand of his hair that has caught itself up in the stem of rose leaves, the latter growing against a tall wooden lattice just behind him.

Disapprovingly-]

You should pay closer attention to your surroundings, else you come away with thorns in your hair.

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So cruel! [ His shoulders shake a little with suppressed laughter, but to his credit he remains mostly still. Since he’s committed himself to keeping this ridiculous hairstyle, he’s been consulting Dorothea and even Petra on ways to keep it manageable. Dorothea has swatted at him more than once for moving around too much while she’s trying to tame his mane. ]

But I will admit that the feeling was entirely mutual – excepting the magic, of course. I thought our differences insurmountable, but I am… glad that was not the case at all.

I would have missed out on an exceptional friendship.

[An exceptional friendship. That was the easiest way to quantify it, a rather mismatched pair that had grown friendly all the same; but Hubert casts his proverbial net a little wider, still fishing, even as he continues deft work with fingers threading through Ferdinand's hair.

The braid is neat, but not too tight. Loose enough to not pretend to tame this man's impossible mane.]

I'm certain you would have found someone else to share your tea with, and to braid your hair, if I could not have filled that spot for you.

[ A pause. He’s not certain if Hubert is fishing for something or if the remark is an idle one. It is always difficult to tell with Hubert, not helped at all by the fact that Ferdinand can’t see his face. ]

Perhaps, but…

[ But what? Ferdinand’s thoughts drift back – to the moment that concluded their dance the previous day, yes, but further than that. To the moment he’d spotted a certain kind of coffee for sale with a merchant in town, and unbidden, Hubert had sprung to his mind. ]

But I do not think I would want anyone else to fill that spot.

[If pressed, he’d admit he’s not certain exactly what he is fishing for. Some small shift between them, a crack in their usual relations that had let something else slip in? Or for the opposite, for his touch to disarm or cause Ferdinand to reply in a more sentimental and obvious way? Something in-between?

He cannot say. He does not know, much less understand what to hope for. It is easier to qualify all of it as distraction if that is the case, for Hubert knows better how to deal with potential issues when viewed under the light of inconvenience.

Still. But I do not think I would want anyone else to fill that spot. His fingers pause, readjust themselves, and Hubert swallows. He wishes he could control his body better, to stop the infuriating way his heart stutters at that simple statement.]

...Rather sentimental of you, Ferdinand. Why not? Don’t tell me you’ve grown that fond of me already.

[ Hubert’s hands still in his hair, and Ferdinand’s heart leaps into his throat with… with what, he’s not certain. Anticipation? Fear? Hope? He can’t help but feel that he’s suddenly sent speeding away on a road for which he has no map, with no idea of the intended destination. It could just as easily send him careening off a cliff as it could see him someplace safe and warm.

And perhaps Hubert, too, has no idea where this is going. His questions come at him like curves in the road, and all Ferdinand can do is lean into them with the hope that he doesn’t crash and burn.

Ferdinand’s fingers curl into the edge of the tablecloth, eyes squarely upon the half-full teacup left to cool on the table. Another breeze sets the surface of the liquid rippling. ]

If you do not wish me to tell you, then I will not, but I think you already know that I am.

[There is something disarming about Ferdinand’s plain affirmation of his question. Hubert is much more the type to play the game, dancing along the edges of whatever he chooses to uncover — and his friend, ever bright and straightforward (and lacking in the art of subtlety) does what he can to unknowingly throttle it to pieces.

What to say? Why does he feel like he’s set a trap and is now the one to have fallen into it? His finger slips, losing a pleat of hair, and he has to undo a bit of the braid to compensate. What is it that he’s aiming for?]

Do I? [Hubert loses some of his figurative gentle prodding, getting more to the point, then. His face still feels too warm.] All I can know for sure is that you have been detrimental to my focus since last night.

[He lets that sit there, shining a spotlight on the elephant in the room.]

And that’s dangerous, you know, between two figures of such import within the workings of the Empire itself.

[ Ferdinand loves dancing, but not when it comes to conversation. That he has gone this long tiptoeing around Hubert’s questions is really something, but it seems that by being forthright himself, he has managed to pry an elusive straightforward answer out of Hubert as well.

And what an answer it is. He would have thought Hubert’s focus infallible, set upon its path like a cannonball, but of all the things, it is Ferdinand who has knocked it askew. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, there is no anger there so much as it is… an admission of sorts. An admission that Ferdinand is not alone in being unable to forget their dance.

A hand comes reaching back over his shoulder, fingers seeking out and closing around Hubert’s wrist to still his hands. Ferdinand turns in his chair to face his friend, eyes wide and sweeping over Hubert’s face. ]

Is it?

[His friend’s grip loosely curls around Hubert’s wrist, and his movement stills, thrown askew with mild confusion. Only seconds later does his mind catch up with what his body is already feeling, as if Ferdinand had sent a shock of electricity jolting down his arm, originating from that touch — or that his fingertips were made of flame, setting a flushed warmth rushing across his skin.

He cannot stop it, and hating being the one easy to read should Ferdinand do little more than turn around, it becomes the second day in a row where he mentally admonishes himself for making yet another mistake. He's never one to be passive, and yet also never one to take action that only muddies up the waters in any given situation, whether it be politically or socially charged. This? Was certainly neither, but the same concept applied.

Or at least he thought it did. Desire rolls through Hubert, muted behind sharp eyes, and he knows that his face has reddened when his friend turns around. (Of course he turns around. Braiding his hair had been a tactical choice, in that the other would not be able to read his face all that well, forced to keep his gaze straight. Of course Ferdinand shatters that same advantage without care.)]

Yes. [He forces out the word before the moment lingers too long, not breaking his gaze from the other.] It is distraction, my friend, when neither of us can afford to be distracted.

[ Hubert is blushing. Hubert is blushing. Ferdinand has seen him flush with exertion during battle, but this is completely different. His friend has gone red from... from what exactly, Ferdinand isn't sure, but he can proffer a guess. He can feel the warmth of Hubert's skin through the fabric of his gloves, a warmth that spreads through the rest of him to curl tightly though not unpleasantly around his heart. He wonders if perhaps that warmth flows both ways.

Their eyes lock, catching and holding Ferdinand in place in a way that is utterly contradictory to the way Hubert tries to shove him away with his words. Leave it to Hubert von Vestra to equate matters of love to a distraction. ]

No, Hubert. [ He shakes his head a little, the motion freeing a strand of copper hair from the half-finished braid at his back. The lock drifts over his shoulder, carried by the breeze. He pays it no mind. ] It is joy. Happiness. After all we have been through to get this far, surely we deserve to reach out and take it.

[That’s right, Hubert is blushing, the pale pink across his cheeks so very stark against his skin. But even that isn't nearly enough to dispel the reply that comes, twisting a bit wry from his mouth, nor is it enough for him to banish his eyes away from Ferdinand’s face. Grasping onto control in any way he can, as ever.]

You would say such a thing.

[Ferdinand sees all the work they’ve done, the victory they’ve earned, and the right they have to lay claim to joy. And Hubert, he sees a thousand more moving parts now under Edelgard’s revolutionary reign; a thousand more potential enemies that may lurk in the shadows, so many meetings that burst with political maneuvering, small skirmishes of lingering unrest spotted across various territories that they must tend to. Countless little embers to stamp out before they spark into unwanted immolations.

He sees work. So much more of it, an endless flow. And he thinks Ferdinand should be quite aware of this reality, as well. The two of them see it best from their positions — Ferdinand advising the Emperor over one shoulder, while Hubert stands at the other.]

Then tell me, when will there be time for such a thing to even take shape? Perhaps the lamplight from last night’s ball has blinded you, Ferdinand, but do recall that our responsibilities have not come to a halt just because the war’s ended. The most we spend in each other’s company is when there is official work to be done, and if the best we can manage is hovering in each other’s periphery, both mentally and physically distracted, I wonder if it should be worth it at all.

[His duty, as ever, is to Her Majesty. If he cannot account for how to wrap something else around that, perhaps it is not to be considered at all. He wonders if his friend realizes this, or speaks so impulsively from the heart that he has not considered the long-term.]

[ Ferdinand's brow creases slightly, out of confusion or some small hurt or both, as Hubert tries once again to put an end to this before it can even begin. Attraction, want, buzzes between them like a physical force, and yet Hubert comes at him with more talk of duty and distraction, as if--

And there it is, the sudden light of realization in Ferdinand's eyes, and, of all things, he laughs. ]

Oh, Hubert. I can keep my personal life and my duties separate, but if you have never had the former I can see why you do not know such a thing is possible.

[ Hubert's whole life has revolved around Edelgard, his every moment devoted to her to the point where he didn't know he could even have moments for himself. ]

[Ferdinand’s peal of laughter rings bright between them, and this, coupled with the ease of admission behind his words, do cause Hubert to glance away. His gaze lands upon some nameless spot just beyond the other’s shoulder.

His friend is not wrong, however. His life defined only by duty, of course he has difficulties envisioning how anything else might fit that mould. Even their time as students had been all in service to Edelgard — any bettering of himself was secondary, though not unwelcome.]

I see it as a valid concern, certainly nothing to be laughing about.

[He slips his wrist free of Ferdinand’s touch, crossing his arms!! To water the whole thing down to Hubert’s own personal shortcomings...]

My point remains.

Edited 2019-10-05 16:09 (UTC)

Forgive me, I do not mean to make light of your concerns.

[ For Hubert, romance must be so far from his mind that he can only see it as an obstacle, a needless distraction, even if his heart tells him differently. Ferdinand may not truly understand what that's like, but at the very least he can try to be sympathetic.

His hand, now relieved of Hubert's wrist, comes to rest on the back of his chair as he leans his way back into his friend's field of vision. ]

It is not my intention to be a distraction. I... have have come to see you as someone to challenge myself against. Your views and your methods are so different from my own that your perspective has proven invaluable, even if I do not always agree. That is why we work so well together. Do you not agree?

[Either Ferdinand’s apology appeases something in Hubert, or the way his friend eases into his periphery forces him to meet his gaze. Regardless, he’s earned a searching look in return, brows still at a slant, mouth tugging downwards.]

Yes, I agree. I might even say that the feeling is mutual.

[Though Ferdinand will continue to work in ways that Hubert occasionally deems ineffective, or needlessly affable, he has learned that there is wisdom in observation. Many times he’s watched the other open up surprising opportunities, new routes to walk; ones that otherwise never would’ve unhinged their gates with Hubert’s duplicitous tactics.]

But it is as you say — that is work. Not… romance. [The word falls awkwardly off his tongue, like he speaks another language. Hubert is not the sentimental sort. Romance and all it encompasses lies in a realm beyond his understanding.]

True, but I do not believe that romance would hinder our ability to work. There are many nobles who govern alongside their spouses, after all.

[ There is a part of him that wishes for nothing more than to reach out and take Hubert’s hand again. To guide his fingers back through his hair, that he might at last close this troublesome gap between them, but such a thing has just as much of a chance of scaring Hubert away as it does the opposite. What a conundrum to be in. ]

Besides, now that it is here, out in the open, I imagine it will be even harder to ignore. More of a distraction, rather than less.

[It is true, of course. Many who work in political and social circles of import cross paths with their significant others on frequent occasions, but until now, Hubert had always considered that a disadvantage. A distraction, as he said, the danger of emotional investment intersecting lines with the practical necessities of work. How he had looked upon such couples, not with disdain, but something close to it — never understanding why either party would find the situation agreeable, or without awkward hurdles to surmount that were surely not worth the effort.

And now here he sits, the very same considerations turning over in his head, argued to him by a man he was quite sure he hated in the burgeoning stages of their acquaintance. How strange. If Hubert believed more in fate, he would accuse it of having a twisted sense of humor.]

…As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with that, too.

[Out in the open as it is, now it’s something that they must address. It was why Hubert wanted to approach this with a more subtle hand before Ferdinand decided to completely derail his focus by being… Ferdinand.]

And yet despite all of that, I cannot say that I regret our dance. [The spark that made the rest of it unravel.] Or any of it, really, though I never thought I would utter such words in my lifetime.

[Never thought that errant desire would demand a portion of his focus, that being in the presence of another was equal parts comforting and all-too stimulating.]

But I’m not terribly good at sentiment, nor anything related to the tedious dance of courtship. You know that, don’t you?

[This surprises no one, Hubert.]

[ This is progress, he thinks. Hubert is no longer trying to push him away with excuses, and even gives some bit of ground. For all that Ferdinand thinks heart, he is not completely incapable of logic, and it seems that Hubert has at least seen some wisdom in his words.

Hubert even goes so far as to say he doesn't regret their dance - doesn't regret anything - and something warm wraps around Ferdinand's heart, bringing and open and affectionate sort of smile to his face. If someone had told him years, even months, ago that he would find himself falling for Hubert of all people, he'd have thought them mad. Now, however, it feels like the easiest thing in the world. ]

I would have been surprised if you were.

[ His tone very much mirrors the way he looks at Hubert. A fond joke, then, rather than any sort of true judgement. ]

Even knowing that does not change the way I feel. I do not want this because I think it will be perfect. I want this... because it is you.

[That joke appears to lure his body language back in — Hubert’s arms uncross, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards with dim amusement. No, he supposes out of all the people circling the orbit of his life, Ferdinand especially might know what to expect. Hubert possesses a clever mind, sharp and tactical and scheming, an endless well of devotion to a cause he truly believes in, and yet he is not without his faults. His friend, he thinks, can see that just as clearly as his advantages, given the tumultuous start of their friendship (which was not a friendship at all, at that point). This is the rare instance that someone seeing right through him is preferable.]

Then fortunate for you that I feel similarly.

[Today is a day of agreeing with Ferdinand, apparently — what a lark, made a reality.

Hubert leans forward, faux conspiratorial, offering his usual tone of shadowed humor while ignoring the way his heart is now hammering in his chest at Ferdinand’s admission. He does not know if they’ve crossed a threshold just now, but it feels like it. A switch flipped, an official shift between them, made prevalent by a simple conversation. The flush has still not left his cheeks, but Hubert remains unashamed.]

Then if you realize that holding ridiculous expectations over my head will be a waste of time and effort, I see no reason why we cannot… try. Because, despite how utterly exasperating you can be, [a fond joke, indeed] I find that I’ve grown very attached to you as the years have passed us by.

[ Hubert is awfully agreeable today, something Ferdinand might call strange if not for the rapid beating of his own heart, the anticipation that buzzes impatiently under his skin as they slowly, slowly work out just where their relationship is heading.

Somewhere very good indeed, it looks like.

Whether they crossed a threshold earlier or not, they certainly have now. I see no reason why we cannot try, says Hubert, leaning forward, and defying all logic of the universe, Ferdinand’s expression seems to brighten even more. One of his hands remains clutching the back of his chair, and he uses it to leverage himself forward, free hand coming up to cup Hubert’s cheek as he brings their lips together. It’s a gentle thing, almost chaste if not for the way it lingers for a moment too long, Ferdinand savoring the feeling of the other’s lips, the smell of coffee that lingers there.

When he draws away, he’s flushed as well, smiling warmly. ]

And I you.

[ You know, if that wasn’t obvious. ]

[It happens before Hubert can account for it. But even if he had preemptively known that Ferdinand meant to grace him with a whisper of a kiss, drawing him forth with his hand on his cheek, he doesn’t believe he would have done anything to halt it.

He knows, logically, that it lasts only a moment. But when their lips meet, how languorous time becomes, how hyperaware he is of Ferdinand’s warmth, his scent — tea, floral and aromatic — as if his focus has sharpened to a singular point, revolving only around his friend. (Though perhaps ‘friend’ is no longer an accurate label; he will have to consider alternatives.)

When the other pulls away and speaks, Hubert feels like he’s stepped away from a flame. It did not do his heart any favors, and his blood feels so warm, buzzing just millimeters beneath his skin. He speaks in the wake of an exhale.]

How bold of you, stealing a kiss when the other party is unprepared for it. Who knew you were so eager?

[And yet Hubert sure isn’t complaining, teasing aside.]

Can you blame me?

[ He laughs, letting the joyous sound carry the end of his question. Hubert is the one who just had his fingers in Ferdinand’s hair, he is the one who leaned in first. Ferdinand couldn’t very well resist in the face of all that.

His lips still feel warm from where they had been pressed to Hubert’s, tongue darting out to sweep up the bitter taste of coffee that lingers there. For as much as Ferdinand proclaims to hate the stuff, he might come to like it, if he could drink it from Hubert’s lips, again and again. ]

I might like to steal another. Or… perhaps I do not need to steal at all?

[ If Hubert would give him a kiss instead, he means. ]

[Oh, he can read in-between those lines, teasingly blatant they are. A second kiss might do a number on his body, on his heart, for there's not yet been enough time to allow him to recover from the first.

But it is too tempting. Ferdinand sits so closely, and whatever wall has been shattered between them, Hubert knows that there is no picking up the pieces and attempting to reassemble them again. There is no hiding from what they both want, nor is there any desire to. He did say he would try, after all, and for all that he lacks a romantic bone in his body, it would seem that the tinge of desire is more than enough to replace that dearth.]

No, you don't.

[He reaches out behind Ferdinand's head, to entangle ungloved fingers in his hair once more.]

Though I would hear you ask for it, this time.

[ It might not be too far-fetched to say that once Ferdinand realized that the wall between them was beginning to crack, he barreled straight through it – heart-first, as is his wont. And now here they are, so very close, Hubert’s bare fingers sliding through his hair in a way that makes his heart leap in anticipation. The rosy color that’s settled on his cheeks may well never fade at this rate.

His lips curl into a smile, head tilting just enough to look at Hubert through his lashes. ]

Hubert… would you kiss me?

[A satisfied request earns an equally satisfied hum, the noise rumbling from Hubert’s throat as his lips quirk into a wider grin. He says nothing, and Ferdinand will feel the pressure of those fingers in his hair, pulling him gently forward as he leans in and answers his question with a kiss.

His heart, barely having time to calm itself, ratchets up once more. The blood in his veins runs heated, too close to the surface, but none of that matters now — with the shape of their relationship now beginning to take another form, they can allow to be bolder between them, in moments belonging only to them.

Not that either party was ever very shy to begin with, mind.

So Hubert’s kiss is an earnest one, tasting once more the faintly floral scent of tea on the other’s lips. He will never not associate it with Ferdinand now, if he had not already before.]

[ It is a bit awkward, with the back of Ferdinand’s chair still acting as a barrier between them. Everything in him wants to jolt to his feet, to sweep the taller man into his arms and kiss him like – he’s now realizing – he’s wanted to kiss him for a while. But the moment they share over the back of the chair is a sweet one in its own right, Hubert pressing their lips together with purpose, as if he could do anything without it.

They must part eventually, spurred by the troublesome need to breathe and the awkward angle. Still, Ferdinand is grinning, flushed and entirely too happy. Despite the wind, it’s a sunny day, though he may well put the sun to shame with his smile.

Even when the wind whips a bit of his hair, now freed from the half-finished braid at his back, across his face. It simply startles a laugh out of him. ]

Ah, I interrupted your braiding.

[ He doesn’t seem terribly sorry about that. ]

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psl; [i feel you, your rising sun]

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