Send “5 Times the Love” and I will write a drabble about the five times my muse fell in love with your muse.
i. “There are better places to take a nap than on the ground you know -” His voice was like velvet; devoid of scars that would have made its tone rough and ragged. Filled with an impossible, overbearing generosity that was just as hideous to Robin’s ears as it was beautiful. A kindness in his eyes that was a stark contrast to the nothingness that swamped the wayward tactician’s mind, and the cruelty reflected in his own irises. His features were smooth, visage unblemished by the sharp fangs of the world, and oh so lovely, as it bore down upon him; the sun’s light just so perfectly kissing the crown of his dark hair. Its locks swaying gently against his cheeks that seemed to shine with his gentle, concerned smile that made the mage’s chest constrict painfully. Leaving him breathless, and plunging his foggy mind into its very depths; a word lingering upon his lips as stared up at the radiant man with a helplessness that felt just as foreign to him as the earth pressing hard against his bony back.
But beyond everything, there was a welcomed warmth to his hand. One that threatened to melt Robin’s frigid fingers, as they settled reluctantly within this man’s palm. Curling against his calloused skin with the gentle touch of his thumb, as his fingertips briefly ghosted over the marks etched into that unbearably hot palm until the man’s fingers clamped around his hand. Locking them into place beneath his hand. The heat of which felt as if it was burning against Robin’s, but that heat was all he had, as his index finger slipped out from the man’s grip to brush over his wrist. Feeling the slow, throbbing of his pulse beneath fragile skin. He was alive, more so than Robin had ever been; more than the murk within his mind that left him confused, and desperate.
And he knew, somewhere within his core, that this man was so very different from himself; so very full of life, will, and pride. He realized there was a distance despite their proximity, and it within him desperation boiled because he didn’t quite know why they were so unalike. But there was a warmth within his cold chest that was both uncomfortable, and reassuring. And in that moment, he never wanted to let it go.
ii. A single light flickered in the collection of filthy, white tents. Its fire casting a long shadow against the earth that reached out to kiss his worn boots. White locks highlighting by the deep darkness of the night, as his gaze lifted from the heavy collection of tomes gathered within his scrawny arms to the thin sheet of fabric rocking slightly in the breeze. Lifting up from the dirt before falling back into the mud, and he dropped the armload of books he had been bearing to quietly slip through the flimsy door of the massive tent. Those abused boots tracking grime onto the rock, and his arms sore from the burden of too many nights of a restless sleep; for peace was known to him in his nightmares. But Chrom was not like him; the distance between them only proving to push a weight down upon Robin that he couldn’t hold, but would endure regardless.
A gentle smile that didn’t fit upon his scarred features brushed over his chapped lips. Gracefully moving to the man who had fallen upon his desk; hunched over onto a stack of a thousand crumpled papers. Ink smearing into his silky hair, and chair only a few inches away from throwing him onto the hard ground. But his lips quivered, and his fingers twitched. Rigidly grasping at the air to curl into the shape of the hilt of his sword. And as Robin moved closer; leaning over the man, he could see where scars had begun to claw into the face that had once been so smooth. Bags etched beneath his sockets, and damp streaks plastering his hair to his slick forehead. And the difference that had once been so firmly wedged between himself and the prince was slowly becoming undone.
His hands reached out, chest gingerly resting upon Chrom’s back, slowly threading his fingers through Chrom’s fist. Uncurling his stiff fingers from the imaginary blade they were so firmly wrapped around to slot his own fingers between Chrom’s. Feeling the warmth of the other man’s body as it was pressed against his own. His head leaned forward to gingerly rest upon the other’s. And with time, he felt the prince’s shallow, bumpy breathing even out. His lips rolling into a smooth line, as his fingers curled back around Robin’s. But despite the warmth within his chest, there was a sadness that had slipped within Robin’s heart when he held the prince in such a manner. Vulnerable and raw beneath the tactician’s touch.
iii. His voice was hoarse that night. It cracked when he spoke, but the soldiers pretended not to take notice. Give him time were the words that floated around the camp, but time was a luxury they would never again possess. Only the crunching of his worn boots could drown out the awful, grating sound of Chrom’s words within his reeling mind; an anger had settled in within his chest, mixing with the warmth, and sorrow that drove his aching legs forward. And it was so painful that he wanted to dig his beating heart out from his flesh and bone; if only that could subdue that awful throbbing that made his lips purse at the soldiers he passed. As if not a single one of them had noticed; as if they hadn’t cared how he changed. How the marks upon his face became longer with each day that passed, or how there was a coldness to his gaze that had not been there before. How Chrom become closer and closer to him with every life that slipped through his fingers.
But the newly crowned Exalt was naive, and it was Robin’s own selfish desire to keep it that way, even as it slowly slithered out of his grasp. Yet, it was all he could do. Blade clutched tightly within his hand, he walked through the camp. Head held high, as whispers brushed over his ears. Hesitation; however, was not among his steps, as he strode through the dirt. Ignoring how the soldiers scattered when he took a single step; watching them vanish out of the corners of his eyes with fear in their hearts. A cruel smile playing onto his features; oh yes, they all hated him. Every last one of them. There was no among this army that held any ounce of sympathy for the amnesiac; he was isolated, and alone. No, that was a lie. All he had ever had was Chrom.
His arm extended, grabbing a fistful of a soldier’s uniform within his palm, and shoving him onto the ground. There were words that left his mouth; mercy, mercy, but there wasn’t an ounce of mercy in the tactician’s body for those who would betray the Exalt. The blade within his hand plunging effortlessly into the man’s beating heart. Blood spilling out onto his cloak, and hands as he sealed the weapon. Grabbing hold of the man’s body, and leaving the camp. Where he would throw him into the river, just as he had done countless times before. Hands dyed such a deep red that he would never be able to touch the Exalt as he once had. But it was enough for Robin; all that mattered was serving Chrom, both mind and body, until the day he died. This was enough for Robin; it always had been.
iv. There was sorrow within his voice that day that went unnoticed by all but the tactician, as he held her hand within his for the first time. Her petite frame gracefully walking beside the Exalt’s battered body. A bright smile lighting up her beautiful features; shinning whenever she turned to look at him. But when he looked at her, there was always something else hidden among the joy in his gaze. The way his lips pulled into a smile was unnatural, and the way he hesitated as they reached the alter. His eyes searching the crowd for his best friend, but Robin was not among the countless nobles and soldiers filling the room to its capacity.
He was outside. Far away from the chaotic noise of the wedding, but he would never forgot the expression upon Chrom’s features when he left him that day. His own features distorted with the agony and longing that played in the back of his mind, as he stood at the gates. His hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of his blade. Her skin was soft to the touch, unlike his, and her hands were such a pure color that his hands looked red in comparison. Her smile could light up room; he had forgotten how to. Her gaze was warm, and caring; his was harsh, and cold. She could love with all of her heart; he could not. She was perfect. She could stand beside him in a way Robin had always been painfully aware that he couldn’t. And on this day, she would remain at his side when they were vowed together; not him. No, his hands would dig deeper into the bloody hell of war to save the Exalt from the reality a country torn apart held.
But he didn’t look at her like he looked at him. His fingers pulled away from his sword. Back pressed firmly to the gates, as he slid onto the ground. And she didn’t love him body, soul, and mind; she was so different from him. He knew she could bring happiness with each word that spilled from her lips, and the future she could promise him when all he could bring the Exalt was shame and hardship. But his heart ached more terribly than it ever had before. His knees pressed hard into his chest, as if the pressure would numb the pain; it didn’t. It never would because she wasn’t him, but she was the one there now; touching him with her lips, and cherishing the future they had. His arm rested upon his knees, hand balling into a fist, But no matter how painful it was; no matter how much it made his entire being tremble, she was better for him than he could ever be. He leaned forward,burying his head against his arms, as he sucked in a deep breath. His throat shaking, as he swallowed back the lump that had lodged itself there. Teeth sinking into his quivering lips, as the hot sensation of a liquid stinking his skin warmed his entire face. He would never be able to look into his war-torn eyes again.
v. His voice was no longer like velvet when it spoke his name. It broke before the words could fall from his chapped, scarred lips. But its tone against the tactician’s ears was still so very warm, even if he could no longer hear what it was saying, as it distorted Chrom’s worn features. Hollows etched so deeply upon the Exalt’s features that Robin could barely recall that he had looked like before they had wormed themselves onto the face he loved so dearly. But there was still so much kindness hidden among the agony, and it made his chest swell when those gentle, compassionate eyes were locked onto only him. His hands, still hot to the touch, grasped at the air about him. Tangling into Robin’s tunic with a feverish urge that was not unlike the heat he had felt when they first met. He was different; he had suffered, and he had changed, but his heart had remained, protected by bone and flesh that was unwavering.
A genuine smile found itself upon Robin’s lips for the first time since the Exalt had gotten married, as he lifted his cold hands to Chrom’s face. Gently resting his palms against the other man’s paling cheeks, and holding him within his hands for what would be the last time. Ignoring the pain that surged through him when Chrom’s hands tore away from his shirt to grasp so tightly upon his wrists that it made his fingers go numb. His dull nails digging into the thin skin upon his arms, as the Exalt clawed at his flesh; holding onto him with all of the strength his body possessed. Yet, Robin was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time; his body longing for the sensation of those hands upon his skin, and his heart aching for the warmth of Chrom’s. They were different; they always had been. And that brought relief to Robin. Chrom had a future. The tactician did not. He had given him everything. Body, soul, and mind; he would belong to the Exalt until the end of time itself. That was enough for Robin.
And he leaned forward with his final wish upon his tongue, pushing his ailing body towards the only person he had ever cared for; the only person whose happiness he had ever longed for. Hands still holding onto the Exalt’s face rooting him in place, as he ever so carefully pressed his lips to Chrom’s. Feeling the heat of the man’s touch against his mouth, and the sensation of the Exalt’s lips pressing into his; so gently that it was almost impossible to notice. But Robin did, and that was all he needed; it was all he had ever needed. His smile brightening against their kiss before he slowly faded. A collection of sand spilling out onto Chrom’s clothes, and into his shaking hands. His fists tightening around the grains slowly crawling out of his palm, as he threw himself into the pile. Hands scratching themselves raw as they dug at the earth, but there was nothing left for him to grasp; the warmth he had felt was gone.
