#fatesmarked

            “ ... CHROM? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

CONCERN DOUSED IN well-meant suspicion tinged his tone, golden eyes narrowing at the presence of the prince who rarely ever had time to engage outside of war meetings.

            “SHOULDN’T YOU BE in council with Say’ri and Flavia right now? Frederick can’t cover for you for something like that.”

Send me, “its way past your bedtime” for your muse to walk in at 3:37 in the morning to find my muse isn’t asleep. ( not accepting )

Chrom’s sudden discovery of the overbearing tactician shouldn’t really come as a surprise to him anymore, but Robin’s still whirring around all the same, with wide eyes like that of a child caught doing something rotten. He blinks – staring at the prince, who takes his place standing in the door way with a stern expression. The weight of his presence comes crashing down all at once, and Robin turns back around, gazing upon the piles of parchments scattered out across his desk. Shakily do his hands hover over these papers, and Robin finally wonders for a single moment if he really is losing some of his sanity. 

When he looks back at all the scribbles notes, none of them make sense – these fragmented thoughts jotted with haste, or sometimes intricately written out with the most legible handwriting possible. Robin’s breathing is uneven, shallow with arising panic that settles uncomfortably in his gut. However, he forces himself to regain composure. 

He can’t show these to anyone, especially not with Chrom standing there. 

                                                                                                            He absolutely can’t. 

That single thought is what drives him to organize the sheets of paper. Robin’s scrambling about when he does this, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor when he pushes it back to stand. In the midst of it all, one piece forces him to pause for one moment – reading a particular bit of his chicken scratch on the worn texture of the paper. Robin’s brows furrow together, his teeth clenching with… uncertainty? Fear?

                                 I REALLY AM THE FELL DRAGON

Robin’s mind comes to a sudden halt, and he’s lowering his hands that both hold the now crinkled and scrunched up sheets of paper. With that sudden stop lasting longer than he’d like, it takes the tactician moment. A single moment, just to properly soak in the question. Robin stays quiet, completely still. Finally, Robin’s giving Chrom a response – only to answer himself in the midst of his inner turmoil.

The sudden interaction derives a small jolt from the tactician, eyes fluttering wide open in the fleeting moment. It doesn’t take long, however, before all the once tensed muscles relax when he feels the very familiar caress of fingers gently pressing into the cloth just above his abdomen, and Robin’s wasting no time in offering a tender smile. Lashes obscure his vision as he gazes down -- cheeks deepening in color as his bashfulness gets the best of him. 

It’s been quite sometime since I’ve gotten to hold you like this.

That he knows, unfortunately so. Robin’s smile falters a bit, because he can’t help the unpleasant memories to follow suit after Chrom says what he says. A sigh is emitted, and Robin cranes his neck a bit to properly look at his commander.

     “ Wouldn’t that be because time is fleeting right before us with this ongoing war? It surely doesn’t seem to take too kindly of you smothering me with affection, my dear prince. “

His smile returns, gentle and patient -- just as it’s always been. Robin’s gaze lingers for a moment, as though he were pondering about something, before he’s shifting his position. Robin turns around to wrap an arm around the expanse of Chrom’s shoulders -- his other arm tucking into Chrom’s side. Robin peers up at the prince with that smile plastered onto his visage, head canting to the side as he huffs a bit; his voice is now more quiet -- endearment shimmering in hazel irises.

     “ I’m only joking. I really do appreciate these moments as well. “

His expression contorts into that of something more private -- intimate. His words weren’t meant for anyone else, and they carry into the still air surrounding them both. Robin’s heaving another sigh, only this time his expression is holding an unnameable warmth -- bitter sweet tone accompanied with an airy, elusive grin.