“ with people like azul and his henchmen, a good word of advice is always to never give them the impression that they have a chance at actually swindling you into one of their ploys. why do you think he occasionally sends jade over, if not to try to trick me into giving the lounge some free pr ? ” a chuckle, such a delicate sound from queen’s lips that only rook dearmost could ever witness –for that was the extent of their comfort, of their trust, of the way hunter’s arrow could keep aiming and aiming to beauty incarnate’s heart and he’d never fear for it to dent and scratch and cause the endless hurt many had already given. “ but it’s funny to see him try, i suppose. isn’t this the beauty and thrill you find in the hunt, after all ? ”
after all, it was that very thrill that brought their fates together, a hunter’s instinct tied in a red string –that very hunter that still sat nearby as if three years hadn’t passed and rook hunt still wore beastking’s vestiges and promises in carelessness that needed to be parched and refined for it to be truly deadly.
( like a poison’s crafting, droplet by droplet, dust by dust. )
“ oh, nein. i just need to make sure the makeup remover is well shaken, and that the cloths are warmed up enough. ”
thus with ease queen’s graceful frame had returned to sit right in front to dearest hunter whose hands were bare and there for his own to grasp and feel underneath ceremonious touch –trailing along scars that never would go but that felt at least a bit more soothed, a bit more cared for.
“ my day was as tiring as you’ve been able to witness by staying by my side, rook. but alas, a queen always obliges to the services the weight of the crown requires. ” ever so daring and delicately so, like feathers and dandelions barely realizing summer breeze’s fleeting presence –fingertips tapping below hunter’s chin to lift it up ever so slightly, eyes admiring, scanning, hiding away how fast his own ashen heart would beat –other hand still holding other’s, thumb circling on middle finger’s knuckle. “ always threading such words of praise, mein jager. will you ever reach a point where you won’t be able to find any anymore ? ”
ALIKE VIL, OF COURSE rook has his suspicions of the octavinelle housewarden, the question with every eager compromise that settles on his tongue. there is the delusion that, maybe, rook would be allowed even a glimpse of whatever nature azul hid behind his business persona. what instincts would he show once his carefully built walls were cracked and pushed aside. hunter hums to vil’s words, his smile only softening at the release of the queen’s laughter, no matter how small. a blessing that he was given the chance to witness. he is grateful. forever proud.
( prideful in the manner of knowing the differences between each noise that slips from starlight’s lips. the beauty in every sigh, laugh, and stifle of a cry. three years together and yet there is always more of vil to study; to love and care for. )
“ of course! every attempt of sir azul always leads to such delight. ” almost enough to wish his company in the octavinelle dormitory. only for a study or two. though it’d be a sacrifice to leave vil to his own leadership — a sacrifice he would never think of taking. instead, he shares attention and nods to the clarification his question is given.
it is difficult to not shiver when vil’s hands close around his. while no insecurity rested in the existence of his scars nor the light freckles that dust his face, there is the idea of rarity in them being noticed and examined. rook shows none of his emotions besides the constant smile that sticks to his lips. he almost tempts the question of how well has he been performing his routine, but critique would come soon. there is no reason to starve for it now.
rook nods again, responsive automatically without hesitation, “ oui, i would not have been able to recognize your exhaustion if not by my close understanding of your behavior. you’re the only fitted person for such a crown, bien sûr. ” of course, he had realized the subtilty of vil’s actions as the ceremony pressed forward. the sigh that would build and slip from him; rook named the cause of the sigh. named the cause of each of his actions and noises.
hunter barely flinches at the touch of vil’s fingertips beneath his chin, ever graceful, ever fleeting. faint, as to the smell of spring in the plains of his homeland. when his little siblings would mistake the wind as cool and the sunlight as restless, coming back inside with slightly drenched shirts and exasperated at the thought of rain drizzling during heated hours of the day. vil’s touch is light and easily overlooked by the admiration in his gaze. rook does not recognize this look as much as he’d like to.
“ never, roi de poison, ” his smile widens. he elaborates, “ there will never be a moment where my muse for you sinks empty. praise is what you deserve; as does each of your imperfections and virtues. ” because there is a beauty in something that is endless. something so desired, so pleasant, that its span of existence has no bounds. ( you want to believe that it ties the string between you two. )
then rook gasps, “ oh, i had almost forgotten! hopefully, if time allows us the indulgence, i would be best grateful to share a few works of poetry with you, vil~! ”
