psl; [i feel you, your rising sun]

[bodeful]

[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.

Comments

[proclaiming]

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.

[bodeful]

[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.]

[proclaiming]

[ 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.

[bodeful]

[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.

[proclaiming]

[ 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. ]

[bodeful]

[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.]

[proclaiming]

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. ]

[bodeful]

[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.

[proclaiming]

[ 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?

[bodeful]

[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.]

[proclaiming]

[ 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. ]