*     One thing that was becoming clear to Claude  when it came to dealing with the king of Faerghus was that being vague often wasnât an option. If he needed Dimitri to understand something immediately, he had to say it outright. Still, old habits died hard. When theyâd run into each other outside of the Astra Research Center, Claude initially had tried to shake him off subtly. When that had failed, he tried making his intent to brave the building alone known. That had also failed, and now they stood at the entrance, stubborn and at a stalemate.
What was he supposed to do if being direct didnât work?
   âDimitri, Iâm telling you,â Claude continued, unable to keep exasperation from coloring his tone, âwith how deep I plan on going in there, I canât guarantee it wonât be dangerous. Yes, I know very well how capable you are, but itâs easier for me to look out for myself alone than two people, understand?â      ⧠@expieerâ (sc.)
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âŠăăfamiliar faces were few and far between, but felix wasnât watching for them anyway. he knew the ones that mattered would catch him first, long before he spotted them, and make themselves known as loudly as necessary; a benefit of being so standoffish was that those who actually wanted his company knew damn well theyâd have to seek it out.
unfortunately, one person didnât fit those criteria. a loner not by nature but by fitful choice, sequestering himself away even though he needed companionship to keep himself in his right mind. felix had no reason to think the beast present, but he hunted all the same, for some days and nights. he knew its patterns, its preferences, its likely mental state when wrested from its home, only just won. if it was here, felix would find it.
and he did.
what old instinct told him to approach quietly, carefully, as if it would strike at any moment? an expired concept to others, perhaps, but felix knew better. his dominant hand remained at ease, but the other rested casually on the hilt of his sword, prepared for beast or man alike. âthere you are, boar. let me guess: no matter how long youâve been here, youâve barely spoken a word to another human. you know, if you only speak to yourself, youâll hate everything you hear.â
The pair had been seated on the couch for a while, doing their own thing. Linhardt was half curled in a ball on one end of the couch, while Dimitri was seated on the other end. Still, the other man complied and looked over, obviously confused as to why.
Without saying anything else, they repositioned themself on the the couch, moving closer so there was barely any room between them. Dimitri leaned back a bit, clearly not one for having his personal space invaded, while Linhardt wasnât one that acknowledged such a thing existed. Completely ignoring the otherâs shift backward, they reached out and placed one hand on either side of his face. Silently, they tilted his head side to side, giving a soft âhmmâ before moving a bit closer.
Closing the distance fully, they pressed a kiss to the otherâs lips. It was short and chaste, nothing to think on. Pulling back, they let go and stood up, tilting their head in thought for a moment.
âHmm⊠No, nothing. No feeling whatsoever. You can go back to⊠whatever it was you were doing.â
With that, they turned to go back to their room, leaving the confused flustered Dimitri to figure out what just happened on his own.
*     The technology on this island  was something to investigate. Claude had been doing his best to learn as much as he could, determined to be on par with the residents. It was a lofty endeavor, but he was making progress. He enjoyed sharing his findings with those he knew, and thatâs exactly why heâd invited Dimitri to his apartment.
The âcell phoneâ was plugged into the âspeakersâ using the âaux cordâ, a âmusic appâ on screen. Not wanting to ruin his demonstration, Claude had played with the setup prior, but he still remained only half confident that everything would work correctly. It still looked like magic, and the stare Dimitri directed at the electronics during the explanation told him he wasnât alone in that opinion.Â
His single eye widened when the music began. Claude found himself as taken with the sounds as he was with Dimitriâs reactions. Heâd left part of what played up to chance, for better or for worse. Some pieces had them swaying along. Others, grimacing and cringing with Claude eagerly pressing skip. But, for the most part, they sat together wordless, an occasional glance thrown between them that mutually asking âcan music sound like that?â
As much as he enjoyed their joint exploration, Claude had other plans. In his experiments, heâd managed to find songs that reminded him of Fodlan: symphonic, grand, and far easier on the ears. It got them talking again, as they were no longer taking in something novel, but basking in familiarity.
   âThis kind of music reminds me of the ball,â Claude muses, a tentative glance thrown towards Dimitri. While most had agreed that their time at the Officerâs Academy held better days, the bittersweet nature of them often make it a subject his ex-classmates donât want to discuss. When he doesnât receive a hostile response, he continues. âThat sure was an event, huh? The decorations, the food, the music... I prefer my parties less stuffy, but it was lots of fun. Too bad about the dancing though.â
   âOh?â Heâs earned an inquisitive look from Dimitri, âI would have thought that out of everything, the dancing would be what you enjoyed the most.â
   âI mean,â Claude starts, waving a hand half-dismissively, âthe dancingâs okay, but noble dances are so... stuffy. Itâs not bad when youâre dancing with the right person though.â
   âHmm... If I recall, you did not dance with many people there.â
   âOh? Were you watching me? Iâm flattered, your majesty.â His teasing seems to take Dimitri off base, but Claude continues before an objection can be raised. âYouâre right though. Honestly there werenât many people I could dance with. Would raise too many eyebrows, cause others too many inconveniences, etc.â He sighs, already wanting to be rid of the path this topic could lead down. âAnyway, you were quite popular, o shining prince. The ladies were practically lining up at the chance to be in your arms.â
   âIt wasnât-- it was more trouble than you make it sound.â Dimitri sighs. âI would have preferred to dance with âthe right personâ myself.â He looks off towards the speaker system, chin perched in his hand. âEnjoying each otherâs company because one wants to, not out of obligation...â
The room goes quiet, sans for sloping strings. They remain still, Claude watching the king and ruminating on his words. He has to look away before he speaks:
   âWe could dance...âÂ
All of Dimitriâs surprise is directed directly at him. It takes Claude a moment to realize those words were out loud.
   âI mean-- it could be fun, right? It doesnât have to be some super formal thing. Werenât you saying before that you kinda like dancing anyway?â Now that heâs talking, he canât stop. âUp to you though. We can just sit here. Musicâs nice, right? And the technology is amazing, so--â
   âYes.â
That single word silences Claude. He's wide-eyed, searching for any sign that Dimitri is joking. He doesnât find it. Instead, the other man stands, clears his throat, and offers his hand.
   âClaude, may I have this dance?â
And Claude freezes.
This is not a ballroom with glistening chandeliers, guests in ritzy accouterments, and a full chamber band. They're in an apartment in some other world, under low light, music stemming from a recording trapped in a box. But, there stands Dimitri in a perfect half bow that must have been schooled into him since when was a child. He eyes him with sincerity thatâs always impressed Claude.
Claude gives a breathy chuckle and let's the warmth flow through him.
"Shouldn't I be the one offering like that? It was my idea after all." But even with his comment, he doesn't let Dimitri back pedal. A calloused hand is taken with a calloused hand. "You may, your majesty."
He'll remember the smile his acceptance earns forever.
They walk to the "dance floor", and Claude is quicker to put his hand on Dimitri's waist than vice versa. The king gives him a look, to which Claude replies that as he's the one with less experience, he should be the one to take the position he's more comfortable in. Surely his highness can adapt properly, right? Dimitri mutters something about it being five years since he's even thought about dancing, but places his hand on Claude's shoulder anyway.
They waltz easy circles around the living room. Besides his feet, Claude finds the only thing there is to stare at is Dimitri.Â
Champagne hair sways as they move, passing over his eye and eye patch. Said crystal iris is focused. Claude doubts it will ever lose the pierce light blue naturally has, but with his deceptively long eyelashes and pupil blown wide, itâs tame.
This is the first time he gets to think on how Dimitri has grown, their once small difference in height much larger. Thatâs not all thatâs changed, Claude realizes. His features are sharper: stronger jawline, firmer nose, more prominent cheek bones. He was never a soft-looking man. and the changes are subtle, but theyâre there.Â
Thereâs a scar peeking past the collar of his shirt, another one scraping across the back of his hand. There must be a scar where his right eye should be. His scant remaining boyhood is gone.
So lost in thought is Claude that he neglects to watch his feet. He trips, they both gasp, but before he can fall, heâs caught, pulled close, and steadied in strong arms. Claude grips Dimitriâs sleeve as he reorients. He turns his head and opens his mouth only to close it.
Theyâre close. Very close. Close enough for Claude to feel Dimitriâs breath ghost over his lips and quicken his pulse.
But he canât move. Itâs warm in these arms, he realizes. Secure in this grip. Dimitri looks as startled as Claude feels, but at this distance, he canât miss the feathery pink spread on his cheeks.
     That blue, blue eye reflects him like a mirror. Like ice coating a lake.
     Itâs beautiful. Heâs beautiful.
Thatâs when Claude knows he has to pull away. Fortunately, Dimitri lets go of him without resistance, and they both look anywhere but each other. With nothing else to go on, Claude eventually barks an awkward laugh.
   âSheesh, I knew I wasnât great at Fodlan dances, but I didnât think I was that bad.â He forces himself to look back at Dimitri. The blush has spread across his whole face, he notices with a pang of delight. âYou okay?â
The transition from that back to normal conversation is rocky, but it happens. Claude is grateful that he can obscure how much it affected him. Mercifully, but at the same time not, it isnât long after that Dimitri leaves.
As Claude sits alone on his couch, he canât stop thinking of arms around him, the warmth of shared breaths, and a brilliant eye.
     When was the last time heâd held and been held?
*      They all had ghosts now.  Regrets. Guilt. It was inevitable in war, inevitable when you survive. If he claimed not to feel the burdens of the victor, heâd be a liar. Theyâd won, but at what cost? The cost of what he couldnât save, who he couldnât save. He ruminated on it, stewed over it, tried hard not to let it eat him, but he hadnât expected to face it here. Here of all places.
That was a real ghost. Over to his left, not too far. Right near the apartments. A ghost with golden hair he knew far too well.
Claude doesnât remember closing the distance between them. He also doesnât remember reaching out and grabbing his forearm. Heâs sure if he could, he wouldnât have, not when his last encounter with the king was on a battlefield, fires burning and blood spilling, chaos in abundance.
Thereâs more blatant shock on his face than he ever shows people. Shock and disbelief. Enough that instead of a nickname or title, what ends up coming out of Claudeâs mouth is a simple:
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@expieerâ said:
[ cover ] (i never know what the order of these are but one of these guys has a bigass cape u kno what to do)
*    It's late. Claude should have gone home ages ago, but the ever-present darkness made time hard to gauge. Before he knew it, it was almost 3 AM.
No one should be awake at this hour. Generally, Claude would be fast asleep by now, but here he was in an apartment that wasn't his in a world that wasn't his own, talking to a man he'd dashed any chance of growing close to again.
From the look of it, Dimitri wasn't unused to this hour. He moved as usual, talked as usual, and held the general, soul-deep exhaustion he had during the day too.Â
That would have to be addressed, but as things stood, Claude couldn't pry no matter how much his curiosity, and worry, bit at his heels.
So he teased instead, seeing what it took to draw out eye rolls and frustrated "Claude"s that hearkened back to five years ago. The Alliance Leader had been particularly proud of the reaction he'd caused shortly after the late hour had been pointed out. The remark "I'd ask to share your bed, but we wouldn't want to cause a political scandal, now would we~?" had Dimitri balking. The ensuing "CLAUDE!" was muffled last second by his hand, a glance thrown towards Linhardt's room. Claude thought to tell him that the mage was likely wide awake still, but he was too busy laughing.
The best part of that reaction though, was that pink dusting Claudeâs sure he saw on those cheeks.
A bit more banter later and Claude found himself lying on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. He hadn't thought too much about his lounging, until Dimitri said:
       "Are you not going to head back to your apartment?"
      "Nah, I'm too tired,â Claude replied, eyes closing. âBesides, the other guy probably likes his alone time. If this is a hassle, I'll cook for you both in the morning. Can't vouch too much for how it'll turn out, but it's the least I can do."
He gets a grunt and then silence in response. The air remains quiet around them, long enough for Claude to open his eyes a sliver and peer up at the other man. As suspected, he's being peered at back, consideration evident in the focus tightening Dimitri's features.Â
   âThinking about something?â Claude ventures.
   â... You have no blankets or anything.â Is the unexpected response. Claudeâs eyes flit around as if to search for one. His mouth opens, but whatever comment he was going to make is forgotten instantly.
The regal blue, heavy cloak is slid off of Dimitriâs shoulders and held almost expectantly before he approaches. And Claude, whose eyes have widened and eyebrows raised, is frozen, stuck watching the blond contemplate what the best way to drape it over him would be.
        Because heâs going to be using Dimitriâs cloak as a blanket.
He shifts to prop himself up on his forearms, and eventually to sit so he can help place it atop himself. The fur tickles his nose, and whatever cloth the thing is made out of instantly traps heat beneath. It is far more than he needs, but he finds himself adjusting to it anyway. Adjusting, relaxing, and maneuvering around Dimitriâs too-careful hands.
Claude can see the tension in those broad shoulders, the way the glow of the lamp highlights the sharp, downward tug of Dimitriâs lips. Heâs focusing hard, and Claude canât fathom why until he remembers the deliberation heâs seen him take when doing anything delicate. Is he afraid of hurting him? Of somehow breaking him even though this task is so simple? If thatâs so, then thatâs...
Dimitriâs head snaps up to look at him, surprise replacing concentration. His stare moves between Claudeâs face and their hands-- Their hands?
    âIs there something wrong...?â He ventures, and Claude is too distracted by the fact that he reached for him again to read what emotion fills his words. Heâs distracted by their joined hands, his on top, stark against the pepper fur. It takes a moment before Claude draws his gaze up.
      That eye of his is so, so blue. So, so clear.
Concern. Thatâs the feeling in the words and the actions. Itâs concern. And the realization, for whatever reason, hits Claude like a sword handle to the sternum. His mind begs him to analyze it more, dissect exactly why this revelation surprises him so, but the weight of the cape and the late night hour have brought his exhaustion to the forefront. His thumb smooths over Dimitriâs knuckles before he squeezes his hand.
    âNothingâs wrong,â Claude states, consoling, and lies back until his head sinks into the pillow. His usual grin is gone, replaced with something soft. âThank you, Dimitri.â
This seems to placate the other man, and heâs granted a smile in return. They exchange âgood nightâs, with Claude making a point of slipping in a lighthearted comment or two before Dimitri leaves. Now in the dark, he stares at the ceiling until his eyelids droop shut.
Thereâs too much to unpack at this time. Too much relief. Too much regret. Too much warmth. Too much blood. Too many memories. But, before sleep fully takes him, he knows one thing for sure:
     Itâs good to see him again.
[ cover ] Â for your muse to cover mine with a blanket or a jacket
đ« Theyâre both plenty sensible by themselves, but there are some real One Shared Brain Cell moments that pop up every once in a while when theyâre together. Claude wants to add spinach while cooking. Dimitri agrees because he likes the texture. Theyâre making brownies.
đ« Once the touch barrier is broken, casual touches are a very frequent thing, mostly Claude -> Dimitri because heâs the more touchy-feely one. Claude gets used to feeling Dimitri right against his back and hearing him speak above his ear because heâs leaning in to look at whatever Claudeâs working on at his desk. Dimitri isnât using his left hand for whatever heâs doing so Claudeâs playing with his fingers because heâs bored. That sort of thing and more.
In other words, I can see there being a point of contention where Claudeâs tendency to hide things even when he doesnât need to completely clashes with the way Dimitri trusts him and doesnât hide anything. âDo you trust me?â is sort of the unspoken vibe here. Made worse by a potential âall take no giveâ that could happen since Claude is completely and totally willing to shoulder and try and help with any demons Dimitri has but any of his own hang ups and traumas are under lock and key.
đ« Claude doesnât actually like puns much but heâll make 80 if it means hearing Dimitri laugh that hard.
OH SHIT BONUS HEADCANON
đ« When neither of them can sleep for one reason for another, they meet up and have chamomile and talk until they feel like trying again (chamomile is a natural sedative btw)
