Completely self indulgent childhood friends AU where they meet and become friends at the age of 7
They become friends because they're sat together in class and Harmony keeps stealing Urbain's stuff because she really likes his cool pencil (and in exchange, he can use her markers since he only has the little pack and she has the mega pack). They become fast friends, despite the cooties epidemic taking over the class of second graders.
It doesn't take long before Urbain is going over to Harmony's house to play, and it takes even less time for Harmony's parents to go "holy shit we need to feed this child and-- What do you mean his mother is in her mid-20s and working 50 hour weeks? Oh no, we're taking care of both of them but we can't let them think we're taking them in like a charity case" because Harmony comes from a middle class family that has more than enough.
Urbain is over every day (mostly because Harmony's parents are picking him up after school because they are not letting that little kid go home alone. His mother can come pick him up from their place after dinner, and she can leave with leftovers for herself so she can eat, despite her insisting she's fine, she has food, they don't need to feed her and her son) and even sleeping over on weekends because Harmony wants to continue playing with her best friend
Urbain accidentally calling Harmony's father "dad" when he's like 10 and completely panicking. He has no father and he's so used to hearing Harmony call him dad (duh), and it just slips. Harmony's father immediately answers with "yes, son?" because he loves this kid and he's basically his other kid at this point
Harmony almost getting expelled for punching someone because they called Urbain fatherless and insulting his mother. Urbain apologizing profusely to Harmony's mother because it's his fault Harms is in trouble. Harmony will not apologize to the other kid because they were telling lies: Urbain has a father ("He has dad! He's also Urbain's dad!) and his mother is awesome and that jerk is just jealous that Urbain has two homes ("I mean, he's always over so he basically lives with us")
Harmony throwing a tantrum at her parents because "what do you mean Urbain can't sleep in my room anymore?" when they're 11-12. What has possibly changed that Urbain now has to sleep in the guest room when he stays over? Harmony's parents don't exactly know how to explain it to her, because every time they try to give the "you guys are getting older and boys and girls" speech, Harmony just screams "It's just Urbain!"
Harmony and Urbain going through a rough patch in middle school where they have other friends and start drifting apart because it's not cool being friends with guys/girls. It lasts about a month of not really seeing each other, and they break because they miss each other too much. Urbain is the one to reach back out, finding Harmony who is eating lunch all alone. They have lunch together every day after that, and then Urbain starts carrying Harmony's books to class, just to spend more time with his best friend. And Harmony is a yapper when it comes to Urbain; she will tell him every single thing she is thinking, and sometimes that means they're late to class because they got caught up talking
Their friends start teasing them about them dating. Both deny it (they're not dating!) and Harmony starts telling people that Urbain is basically her brother. Enter the slippery slop of feelings.
By the time they're in high school, they're inseparable once more. They spend every waking moment together. One will not be found without the other, except in specific situations such as when Urbain is working (he really wants to help his mother with the bills, so he gets a part time job at the grocery store and is a math tutor during lunch hours because his grades out through the roof, another thing he does to make things easier for his mother wHO IS NOT DEAD) or when Harmony is out at a party since she's part of the popular crowd at school (she's a cool kid who is also really pretty)
But otherwise, they're joint at the hip. And more often than not, they're crashing at Urbain's place after school because his mother doesn't get home until late, so they're alone, no parents supervising them. And they're not doing anything wrong. They're mostly doing homework and scrolling social media (or Urbain is doing homework and trying his best to get Harmony to do hers as well because she will fail otherwise and she really needs the help when it comes to numbers, but she has the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to homework)
And they're good at following the rules: don't break anything, don't do anything illegal, keep the door open when at Urbain's place (Harmony's parents let them close the door), and don't set anything on fire. They don't break the rules. And there are no rules about how to do homework. Or what they're not allowed to do.
If back in middle school Harmony insisted that Urbain is like her brother, by the time they're midway through high school, they're both fighting back feelings. It's weird, because they've been best friends since forever. They've always been joint at the hip. One cannot have Harmony without Urbain, so much so that he gets pulled to parties he's not invited to because if he can't be there, Harmony isn't showing up. And she needs someone to drive her home since she knows he won't be drinking. They're best friends. What if they add a new label to their relationship?
Their first kiss is clumsy. They're sitting on Urbain's floor, math textbooks open but unused. Harmony is complaining about some social event the school is preparing, and it's stupid because who would want to go back to school after school to be hanging out around teachers? Just do that at the park or the mall. And she's leaning against Urbain, which isn't weird. She's grabbing his face, which is also not weird because she's pretty physical. What's new and weird is his blue eyes flickering down to her mouth. What's strange is that Harmony is suddenly very quiet. What's new is that they're moving in sync again, both leaning in for a kiss that doesn't feel completely wrong. It's... new. Not wrong. And when they break apart, both blinking and shocked, hormones are through the roof. Something snaps and they're making out like they've been missing out on for the last eternity.
They only break apart at the sound of the apartment door opening, Urbain's mother finally getting home. They're both a complete mess, and by the time Harmony is grabbing her phone, she's cursing because her parents have called her about 100 times. She's cursing, grabbing her stuff and running out. Urbain doesn't have time to even offer to drive her home; she's already out the door, running home
It takes Urbain's mother 5 minutes to figure out what happened. Her son is dishevelled, his eyes aren't as sharp as they normally are, he kinda looks like he's on a cloud, and he's got a pretty visible hickey. Urbain wants to die when his mother points it out to him. He locks himself in his room and refuses to talk about any of it with his mother who is still teasing him through his closed door.
Harmony's parents quickly learn about the changing relationship when Harmony is begging them for a bit more pocket money because she needs to go to the mall to find a new outfit. After a bit of prodding, she blurts out that it's because she has a date with Urbain. Harmony's father pulls out his wallet, handing his daughter some cash and slapping a 20$ bill in his wife's hand as she grins (Harmony will later learn that they had placed bets on how long it would take her and Urbain to get together)
Another tantrum is thrown when she is no longer allowed to close her door when Urbain is over. That does not stop Harmony from pushing her luck. And that also doesn't stop them from finding moments when they're alone to have fun. Their parents can't stop them, but they can make both of them want to die by giving them the sex talk at the same time over dinner.
SUMMARY: When her pink convertible sputters into a no-nonsense auto shop, she’s expecting a fix — not a mechanic with grease on his hands and a cicky smirk always on his face. Patrick Zweig is rough, quiet, and the kind of trouble her friends warn her about. She’s high heels and shiny clear lip gloss.
content warning: mild swearing, smoking, gendered stereotypes, implied sexual tension, suggestive language
She was driving her baby-pink convertible to the nail salon when the engine started choking like it had just smoked a pack of cigarettes.
She barely managed to pull into the nearest open garage, the sign above the entrance reading:
"Zweig Auto Repair" — No Bullshit, Just Engines.
Inside: low rock music, the smell of rubber and coffee, and a guy half-covered in grease with a rag hanging out the back pocket of his oil-stained work jeans. He was leaned over a small metal table in the corner of the garage, doing God knew what on his phone.
That was Patrick.
He didn’t look up at first, but she wasn’t exactly subtle either — a denim mini skirt, pink crop top, perfume that smelled like strawberries, and a little purse with more charms than anyone could count, jingling with every step she took.
She cleared her throat to catch his attention, suddenly feeling a little out of place after taking a quick look around the place
Finally, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning her once — head to toe — then flicking back to the car after doing a double take.
“You lose a drag race, or just drive it like you hate it?” he asked dryly, his gravelly voice echoing through the garage, blending with the rock music in the background.
She blinked. “Excuse me?” she asked, clearly taken aback by his tone.
He smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. “The car’s crying sugar” he said with a condescending tone
She was torn between being offended and impressed. “That’s so rude. You don’t even know her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Her?” he said, confused but amused.
“She’s called Baby. She’s special.”
“…Right,” he said after a moment of hesitation, not sure if she was joking or actually serious.
The tension was instant. He was rough hands and dark sarcasm; she was pink lip gloss and no patience for anyone’s attitude.
But the way he looked at her wasn’t dismissive — it was curious, like he was trying to figure her out.
He leaned into the open hood, muttering something about spark plugs and engine abuse, while she leaned against the wall, casually snapping her gum, arms crossed — watching him. Maybe a little too much.
Finally, without turning around, he called out:
“You gonna stand there looking pretty, or tell me what you did to it?”
She smiled slowly. “Maybe I look pretty and know exactly what I did.”
He straightened up, eyes meeting hers with that cocky little half-laugh he gave when someone surprised him.
It was the first time he really saw her.
There was a beat of silence. He stepped a little closer.
“You talk a lot” he said.
“So do you” she replied looking up at him
He didn’t say anything — but a grin flickered on his lips.
Patrick turned back to the engine, the air between them still humming with whatever had just passed.
She didn’t move from where she stood, arms crossed and one heeled foot pointed slightly outward, like she was posing without trying to. Her eyes stayed on him — on the way his forearms flexed as he leaned into the hood, sleeves rolled halfway up. His hands moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he didn’t care whether anyone noticed.
Of course, she noticed.
“Okay, be honest,” she said, loud enough to cut through the hum of music and tools. “Is it, like, dead-dead?”
He didn’t turn around. “Depends. You treat it like a car, or like a purse on wheels?”
She scoffed, offended. “That’s sexist, you know?”
He smirked. “That’s an engine full of coconut-scented disaster.”
She rolled her eyes but chuckled, despite herself. “It was cute. And the bottle was pink.”
He finally looked at her, eyes steady. “That engine doesn’t care about cute, sweetheart.”
She shifted her weight to one hip, unfazed. “Whatever,” she said, then paused at the moment of silence that followed.
“Office is open,” he said eventually, voice low. “If you wanna wait while I check the damage.”
She hesitated — then nodded, but stayed where she was.
“Let me guess. No air conditioning, no Wi-Fi, and an old, stained, dirty couch that smells like gasoline?” she asked with a slight tone of disgust.
He shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve been here before, sugar”
“I haven’t,” she said. “You just seem like the type.”
That pulled a real smile from him — small and slightly crooked, a little cocky too
“Yeah?” he said. “What type’s that?”
She took a step closer, lips parted just enough to hold his attention. “Rough, controlling, and has issues with girls who wear platform heels.”
He looked her over slowly, from her pink crop top to the sparkle of the tiny gems on her nails.
“Maybe I just like when people know what they want.”
“Maybe I do.”
He held her gaze a second longer, then — with no warning — turned back to the car.
Heat rose to her cheeks. Whatever game this was, he wasn’t playing it safe.
“Fifteen minutes,” he called over his shoulder, already elbow-deep in the hood again. “Then I’ll tell you if she’s worth saving.”
His voice rang out, muffled under the metal.
She watched him work for another beat before finally walking toward the office, hips swaying and eyes still lingering.
She hums as Urbain’s arms circle her waist and his nose finds the crook of her neck. She leans into his chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek before returning to the leftovers she’s been packing away. They’ll make for a nice work lunch; they always end up ordering too much takeout. But who is she to complain? It makes things so much easier. Leftovers means she doesn’t have to cook, nor does she have to go out to buy lunch. It’s already there, ready to be reheated and enjoyed.
“Harmony, please…”
“What’s wrong?”
Urbain’s been particularly clingy this evening, which isn’t anything new, but it’s also different from how he usually is. He’s a little less cheerful than usual, and a little more touchy than normal. He’s taken every opportunity to be within arms reach, almost as if he was afraid that she’s slip right through his fingers, lost forever. Which is ridiculous. Because she’s right here. She’s almost always right here.
“What’s wrong, Urbain?”
Her thumb traces the natural line of his cheekbone. She sometimes forgets how pretty he is. She sometimes forgets, but never enough to not come back to him. He’s intoxicating like that. He’s addictive, and no matter how much she tries, Harmony just cannot quit him.
His kisses are sweet and soft and slow. And they’ve become routine. Those kisses of his, kisses that make her feel like they have forever, when did they become her normal? Once upon a time, there was nothing but rushed, sloppy, and fiery kisses, kisses dripping with desperation and need. Once upon a time, their reunions were quick with just one goal in mind. Back then, the few kisses they did share before getting down to business were just a bad habit. They were nothing like these slow kisses, kisses that feel like what Harmony believes a kiss should feel like.
“Stay here. Please.”
“I wasn’t going to leave. When’s the last time I didn’t spend the night?”
Another thing that had become routine: waking up in Urbain’s bed. Or him waking up in her bed. It doesn’t matter if the dip in the mattress doesn’t perfectly match the other’s body, it doesn’t matter if the warmth of the covers isn’t always that comforting feeling of the other, in the end, all that matters are those nights they spend next to each other. Because those are the nights Harmony remembers. Those are the nights she looks forward to, as twisted as it sounds.
“Harmony…”
Another hum as she presses another kiss to his soft lips. Her name always sounds so sweet when it’s him calling for her, be it the way he always finds a way to slip it into conversation or when he’s desperately pleading her to keep going. Her name has never sounded better than in his voice.
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
“Please. Please…”
Urbain’s nose finds the warm spot of her neck. He presses another kiss, but it’s obvious that he’s not trying to pull her to bed. He just wants to be here. Standing in the kitchen. Arms tightly holding onto Harmony.
“Please, just for tonight, can we pretend it’s just us?”
Pretend it’s just them? Is there someone here that Harmony isn’t aware of? And sure, Urbain probably has someone else he’s been seeing, or maybe just hooking up with, but tonight? It’s already just them.
“What?”
“Just for one night. Just for tonight. Can we please pretend that you’re mine? Just mine.”
His? Why would he ask for that? They know what their arrangement has been for years. It’s love until the sun comes up. But beyond that, they’re nothing. He’s not hers, the same way she’s not his. They have lives outside one another. Harmony still has a man who calls her and takes her out from time to time, though that is also fizzling out. But that has nothing to do with Urbain. And it’s also none of his business.
“Why would we do that?”
Harmony’s gotten pretty good at pretending, but this? This might be a step too far. Not for her, though. She’d be fine pretending for a night; isn’t that what she doesn’t every time she spends the night next to Urbain? For a moment, he’s the only one in her life. But she’s able to wake up and walk away. She has that strength. Urbain though? He’s softer than her. He gets attached more easily than she does. And she’s already hurt him once because they found themselves in this exact situation.
“Because I need it. Because I need you. Because I…”
Love you. Harmony knows that’s what he wants to say. He hasn’t said it in years, sure, but she can tell when it’s about to slip. And that’s when she knows she has to take a step back and remind him of what they are. He might have hurt her first, but that doesn’t mean she has to hurt him back. Not like that, at least. He deserves to love someone who can say it back to him. Someone who can feel it with him. Someone who can love him in the light of the city, not only in the darkness of the night.
“It’s not a good idea. And you know it.”
“Just one night. Give me just one night. Let me believe for one night.”
His eyes seem so blue in this light. It’s so brief, the color filling Harmony’s world before going back to darkness as he presses his forehead to hers. They’re so blue, so sad, so… Urbain. In all of her years meeting different people, there has never been anyone who ever came close to that color. And Harmony has searched. She really has, be it subconsciously or not.
“Tell me why you want to and we can maybe.”
“You know why, Harmony. You know why I want this.”
“I want to hear you say it. I won’t push you away this time.”
“Harmony…” Another kiss. Another long, slow kiss. “Please… Please…”
“Say it and—”
“Because I love you! Because I love you and you know it! Because I’ve always loved you! Okay? Is that enough? Please… please, I love you, and I can’t… I can’t… This…”
If he’s crying, Harmony doesn’t know. She doesn’t want to know. All she wants to know is the feeling of his lips on hers. All she wants is his body on hers. All she wants is his love flowing through her veins. All she wants is her name on his tongue. All she wants is another night.
“I’m yours. All yours, Urbain. Only yours.”
It’s not a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. He might be able to tell her that she’s his first choice and still walk away in the morning, meeting others while she’s gone, but that’s not something she can do. There are others in her life. She can’t tell Urbain that she will always choose him, always come back to him, but still stay with the others who keep her company. He might get the wrong idea if she tells him for real. Or maybe she’ll wonder the wrong things about what they have going on.
If she tells him the truth, maybe tonight would repeat itself too often. Knowing what love feels like, actual love rather than just the casual sex they’ve been having for too many years, she can’t know it. If she knows it, she’ll crave it. She’ll crave the way his hands feel as he slowly unbuttons her shirt, pressing kisses to her skin as he calls her beautiful. She’ll crave the way his skin feels under her fingertips as she plays with the waistband of his pants, not worried about getting this over with quickly, not worried about diving right in to relieve the stress and tension. She’ll crave the slowness of it, the attention and care of it. She’ll crave the way her back sinks into the mattress as she’s slowly undressed, bring called a million things she had never heard before. If she tells him the truth, then she’ll know what she had been missing out on for years.
If she tells him the truth, then what would stop him from pressing kisses to her inner thighs over and over again? What would stop him from taking his time with his tongue inside her? What would stop him from running his hands down her body, leaving a trail of fire as he never had before? What would stop him from smiling as she begs him for more, calling his name over and over again? What would stop him from making his name the only thing known to her?
If she tells him the truth, what would stop him from telling her he loves her over and over again as he wraps her body in the sheets that smell of him? What would happen if that became their reality?
It’s actually quite simple: the icing glues the whole things together and makes the house stand. The process of building a gingerbread house is pretty basic, really; it’s definitely a thousand times simpler than the complex boards Reki has built and perfected over the years. It’s so easy, and yet, he still can’t manage to make his little house hold together. Every time he tries to put two walls together, they just collapse over each other. And he’s tried putting more icing, less icing; he’s tried it all and still he fails. And in the odd event that he does manage to get two walls to hold up, the third one makes everything tumble over, leaving Reki groaning in annoyance.
“I don’t see what’s the big deal with getting everything to hold. We’re gonna destroy is anyway.”
Reki side-eyes Langa as the boys pulls a chair next to him. He has to slap his hand away from the bowl of chocolate before he finishes it. Again. He’s already emptied two bowls of chocolate chips, and at this rate, there won’t be any left when comes time to actually decorate the gingerbread house.
It had been a mistake to bring out the cany decorations before they were needed. He now knows he should have left them sealed, stashed away from Langa, but it’s too late now. Even if Reki were to put them away, Langa knows of their existence. It would only be a matter of minutes before he’d find the open bags of sweets. And no matter what anyone said, Langa is anything but an airhead. That boy is sharp when he wants to be, and when he wants something, he will get it, no matter the cost. Anyway, Reki isn’t in the mood to fight with a sugar fiend or deal with a pouting 18-year-old.
“We are not going to destroy it, as you say.” He huffs as he narrows his eyes onto Langa, slapping his hand away yet again. “And isn’t this like a Canadian thing or something? Didn’t you make gingerbread houses as a kid?”
Langa shrugs as he drops a pinch of colorful sprinkles in his mouth. Reki sighs as he watches him, not bothering to stop him from the house’s eventual decorations; he’ll have to content himself with decorating it with only icing, it seems.
“The most we did were the gingerbread men. Never actually made a house. My mom always insisted we decorate them as a fun family activity, but my dad preferred them without the icing and as soon as I was in front of the cookies, I’d forget I was supposed to decorate them. So I’d end up just eating them like that and my mom gave up after a few years. So we didn’t really…”
Langa gestures at the mess of collapsed walls as he sticks of the tiny candy canes Reki had found at a market a few weeks ago. He seems so unbothered, but Reki is determined, a smile spreading across his cheeks.
“You’re a menace, dude.” He nudges Langa, causing him to drop a few of the sprinkles he had snatched yet again. “C’mon! Help me with this! It’ll be fun, I promise!”
Langa’s smile mirrors Reki’s as he leans into him. It’s instinctual, the intertwining of fingers under the table; they know they don’t have to hide their affection, but it’s become a habit. After months of having done it, it just feels natural there. It feels natural to pull Langa’s hand onto his lap. And with Langa this close, Reki can’t help but grin as that pretty smile is pressed to his cheek. He can’t help the giggles that break form his lips as Langa whispers into his skin.
“Anything with you is fun, Reki. You make everything fun.”
“Only because you’re also there.”
Both burst out laughing, foreheads pressed together. They giggle together, their noses brushing against one another. They smile at one another, smiles that are impossible to hide or supress – Reki knows that no matter what happens, even if their project is a complete failure, they’ll have enjoyed themselves trying. And just like the walls of the house Reki had tried building, the pair break down, laughing that uncontrollable laughter, that laughter caused by nothing more than a glance. They laugh until it’s hard to breathe, the air between them too heavy. An when it gets heavy like that, silence falls. Silence falls as does Reki.
“Reki?”
Reki hums, his eyes having fallen shut. He never really can keep his eyes open around Langa, not when they’re this close. He likes falling into a world of fantasies, one where he can kiss Langa without any worries. He likes that world where nothing really matters, nothing except the one he loves. He likes falling into that world, a world he finds against Langa’s lips.
“Reki.”
Reki sighs, but his eyes stay shut. He doesn’t want to leave this dreamland, not before he’s gotten his kiss. And with the pad of Langa’s thumb pressed to his bottom lip, Reki can’t help but want that kiss even more.
It feels so close; it feels like it’s right there. It’s not a kiss yet, but with Langa’s warm breath on Reki’s lips, it’s only a matter of moments before the distance is closed. It’s a matter of moments before he can feel those lips against his, the ocean of love crashing against him. It’s only a matter of moments before the tide washes him ashore, finding his paradise.
“Reki…”
Finally. Finally, a kiss. It’s chaste, nothing more than a quick peck to the lips, but it’s a kiss nonetheless. It’s a kiss and Reki is more than happy about it. He’s so happy as love spills against his lips, love like and overflowing, ever-flowing fountain. It tastes like their first kiss, the warmth of Langa’s breath, the cool of his lips. It tastes like their first kiss, quick but sweet. And as Langa presses another kiss to Reki’s lips, a kiss that lasts longer this time as he moves even closer, their knees bumping together under the table, it feels like time has slowed around them. When it’s just them, everything fades. When it’s just them, all that remains is the love that unites them.
“Reki?”
His eyes finally flutter open to find the ocean-blue of Langa’s eyes. Waves of emotion play in those eyes he loves so much, color that glistens under the kitchen lights. Langa really is the prettiest boy Reki has ever laid his eyes on; who could possibly be prettier than the boy in blue who saves his look of adoration just for Reki? Who could ever feel more like home than him?
“Reki? Don’t we have a house to build?”
“Our home.”
Langa’s breath hitches as Reki pulls him close, closing the distance with another kiss. Home is found in those lips. Home is found in those eyes that grow wide before being squeezed shut. Home is that skin that’s always so soft. Home is that silky hair that slips between Reki’s fingers. Home is Langa, all that he is and all that he will be.
“We’ll build a home.”
“A home as sweet as you, my Love. A home I’ll love more than even those sweets you refuse to let me eat. A home where everyone will know that I love you and only you.”
“A home where all I’ll do is love you. Because it’s you. You’re my home, Langa. You’re my home and I love you. And I promise to love you infinitely.”
One last kiss. One last kiss to seal the promise. One last kiss before more giggles break them apart. One last kiss before they turn back to their project: building a home out of gingerbread.
It takes a moment for Byleth to look up from the lake. Ripples break her reflection as she pulls her soaked cloak onto her lap. Red stains the fabric, stains that bleed onto the girl’s hands and knees. And she almost seems frazzled as her eyes find Claude’s; or at least, she seems as frazzled as an emotionless Ashen Demon can be.
“I’m trying to get these stains out before it’s too late.”
“Why not just use another one instead? If you want, we can get you a new one as soon as we’re back in the capital.”
Claude must have been blessed by the goddess, or perhaps it’s just a stroke of luck. Regardless, it’s nice not being chased away as he takes a seat next to Byleth on the grass. The summer air is almost choking, dry heat pounding down onto the heads that have the misfortune of being exposed, but by the water, it’s a little more bearable. It’s a little fresher, the cool breeze brushing Claude’s cheeks. Or maybe it’s the sparkle in those green eyes that makes it worth being outside under the blazing sun.
“Jeralt said the same thing.”
He waits for more to come, but the wait is in vain. Byleth simply goes back to scrubbing her cloak, her green eyes glistening like the still lake under the sun. She seems determined to get her cloak back into its original state, but the blood is stubborn, clinging to the fabric. It clings like the memories of the last battle, one that had been far more brutal than the rest. It clings like the pit that forms at the bottom of Claude’s stomach; he couldn’t ignore the casualties that had come with his lack of preparation. He can’t ignore the wave of nausea that hits him, the smell of bloodshed leaving him sick all over again.
“You were good in the last battle.” Claude’s eyes leave the bloody garment only to fall back onto Byleth. She doesn’t look away from her work, but he knows she’s addressing him. He knows the words are for him, an attempt at comfort; he knows she had seen him detach himself from his celebrating troops to be sick on his own. “You did what you had to do to win, even if it wasn’t the victory you had wanted.” Green eyes find each other; they’re dusted with sunlight, a flicker of warmth he’s never seen in Byleth. “You’re a good leader. You’re a smart one.”
The blush that heats his face catches him by surprise. Claude’s heard it a million times before, heard the whispers and the praises for how smart he is, how cunning he is, how he plans for everything, but none of those compliments had left him swelling with pride. Every pat on the back he had gotten had felt like a stepping stone leading him to his next scheme, approval for him to keep going, but coming from Byleth, it feels different. From Byleth, he believes it; Claude doesn’t feel the need to be humble or deny his intelligence. With Byleth, he doesn’t need to put up this perfect political leader persona he has perfected for everyone else; Claude can just be himself, this kid that’s just trying his best to survive a worthless war.
“You’re pretty smart yourself, you know. And you’re crazy strong, taking those guys out like it was nothing to you.” Maybe the wink and bumping of shoulders was unnecessary, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t back away or leave; she simply shakes her head as she continues scrubbing her cloak. “I mean it, though. You’re an incredible mercenary. And I kinda wish we had met sooner, been on the same team from the start. Kinda wish I had gotten to know you sooner.”
Byleth hums, a sound Claude has grown accustomed to hearing. He still hasn’t figured out the meaning of the sound, but he knows it’s better than silence. He knows that if she’s humming, it means she’s not chasing him away. If she’s humming, it means he gets to stay by her side, even if just for a moment longer.
It’s peaceful by the lake. Everything is still besides the weak ripples of water Byleth produces from plunging her cloak into the water. Everything is calm; birds chirp from the treetops and Claude even spots a pair of ducks diving for fish. Everything is so serene; if it weren’t for the camps set up a little further away, if it weren’t for the bloodshed that stains the soles of their shoes, if it weren’t for the dark circles that stain Claude’s face, it would have been impossible to know they were plunged in the midst of a war. If it weren’t for the weight on his heart, everything would have almost felt normal.
“Here.” Byleth furrows her brows as Claude pulls her cloak out of her hands. “Let help.”
“I’ve never seen a king be so adamant about doing laundry before.”
Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he plunges the fabric into the water. He’s never had to wash anything on his own before, he’s always had someone do it for him, but it’s never too late to learn. And maybe he’s not as methodical as Byleth had been, maybe his fingers are not yet familiar with the weight of wet cottons or the proper way of scrubbing stains out, but it’s not so terrible. It’s almost pleasant, the little mundane tasks Claude never got to do, having been raised in silks and perfumes. He almost feels normal, just a little more like everyone else. Maybe once this wretched war settles down, he’ll take up doing more chores instead of delegating them. Or maybe he’ll content himself with this one time, enjoying the freshness of the water against his skin.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; Claude knows waiting is useless. “Friends help each other out.”
It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Around Byleth, there’s an ease to every one of Claude’s grins, an ease he hadn’t known possible for him. Every smile he’s sported before, be it for his friends or for his troops, they’ve always weighed him down. They’ve always been an obligation to Claude, a duty he owes his people, especially during wartimes. Smiling has always been a tool for Claude, a way to instill confidence in the people he faces, but here, with Byleth, it almost feels like none of that matters. He doesn’t need to convince her of his abilities as a leader. He doesn’t need to convince her of anything, really. With Byleth, it almost feels like everything will simply be alright.
“You’re kind.” Byleth purses her lips as she tilts her head at Claude, her eyes running over his body before settling on his face. “You’re a lot kinder than most nobles I’ve come across.”
The statement begs for questions. It’s right there, an invitation for Claude to pry, but he doesn’t dare. Every question that forms at the tip of his tongue is swallowed back; he knows better than to try to break Byleth open. If she wants to tell him about her days before being hired by Leicester, if she wants to tell him about all her wandering, all the people she has met before him, then she will. She will tell him on her own terms. She’ll open up, little by little, whenever she feels like it. And as much as Claude hates waiting, his impatience and curiosity getting the better of him most of the time, he knows when to back down. He knows he has to content himself with the bits of information that are slowly handed to him.
A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pushes himself up from the grass. Byleth’s eyes flicker between the boy standing before her and the cloak he’s left laying at his feet, left to soak in more stains than what Claude had gotten out. Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t move. She makes no move to take back what is rightfully hers, nor does she follow Claude’s lead. She simply sits there, her expression unreadable as always.
Maybe Claude should have let her be. Maybe he should have sat back down and gone back to the little task he had imposed upon himself. Maybe he should have been thinking more rationally, but whatever brains he’s known for has since been left at the conference table. Here, under the blazing sun, under that green gaze, he’s letting his heart lead. Here, now, he’s following where fate leads him.
“I don’t know if kind is the best way to describe me, but,” he holds his hand out to Byleth, a hand she contemplates for a moment, “I promise you I’ll never be like any of the nobles of this place. Not Lorenz, not Hilda, not any of them. I’m just not one of them, no matter how hard I try. So please,” finally, fingers curl around the hand that touches his, “think of me as your friend instead of your leader, your king. Please?”
Pretty eyes roll back as Claude pulls Byleth to her feet. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her this relaxed; it’s the first time he doesn’t panic at their proximity, afraid she might take his life. It’s the first time he feels they’re equals; it’s the first time they feel like just people rather than soldiers striving to survive a war.
Byleth’s hand quickly falls away from Claude’s, but not as quickly as her eyes. They fall onto the horizon, onto the sun that’s still high, still plummeting down onto their heads. They shimmer like the lake reflecting the leaves in the trees, they’re captivating as always, always filled with a mystery that draws Claude in, but they’re not alone in holding his gaze. He can’t help but trace the lines of reddening skin, skin he knows is normally so pale. He can’t help but want to touch the splotches of burns that have started to sprinkle Byleth’s skin. And maybe that’s why she always has something to cover herself; maybe she, unlike Claude, burns under the scorching summer sun. Maybe Byleth, unlike Claude, didn’t spend her entire childhood playing under blazing rays.
“Not to pry or anything, but,” green finds green once more, “when’s the last time you just had fun?”
“Fun?”
Claude almost laughs at the way Byleth tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed. It’s almost as if she’d never heard the word; it’s almost as if it had no meaning to her.
“Let loose, had fun. Didn’t think about the shitty state of the world. Just thought of yourself for a moment, been a little impulsive maybe. Not been all serious all the time.” Claude shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’know, just had fun.”
Byleth furrows her brows once more, concentration staining her delicate features. She’s searching for a time she had done something other than work; by the looks of it, maybe the answer to Claude’s question is “never.” Had the Ashen Demon ever had a moment where she just got to have fun? Or had she been born a fighter, born with a sword weighing down her little hands? Did a mercenary, no matter how young, ever have the opportunity to just kick back and have fun in their life?
Claude doesn’t wait for an answer. If Byleth has never had the chance to let loose before, then it’s become Claude’s personal mission to change that here and now. Now matter how dire their circumstances, they’re allowed a moment of indulgence. No matter how deadly the outside world is, they’re entitled to a moment of peace, a moment of their own. No matter what, they’re allowed to take back a moment of their idle childhood and make the world their own. They’re allowed to reclaim the childhood they lost to war.
Green eyes fall back onto Claude, eyes that follow the lines of his body as he spins on his heel, his arms thrown back behind his head. He knows Byleth can’t look away; ever since she’s been hired to be a part of the Leicester army, her eyes have rarely left him. She’s followed his every movement as if it had become her personal mission to ensure his safety. She’s never been far; she’s always known his exact whereabouts. And it makes sense: the death of her employer would mean the end of her income. It makes sense that she has to ensure her own survival; money is just as vital to life as not being cut down by a sword, not that Byleth would ever be careless enough to be ambushed. It makes sense that her eyes are drawn towards Claude, but this time, she’s not looking at him as if he were this fragile little thing that needed protecting. This time, she’s looking at him, all of him, all of Claude. This time, she doesn’t seem as guarded as she watches him. Perfect.
The sound that breaks from Claude’s lips is far pitchier than he had expected from himself. It’s far from that deep battle cry, that powerful voice he uses as he sends his troops forwards. This scream is one far more natural, a yelp one would expect from a child rather than from a man leading an army. This shriek as he trips back towards the water is one that pulls Byleth’s complete attention to him, her eyes suddenly huge as she reaches out to grab him. And she’s right where Claude wants her; his fingers curl around the hand extended towards him and yank the girl forward, both bodies plunging into the lake.
Cool water surrounds them as Claude pulls Byleth into his chest. It’s almost as if time slows as they sink into the lake, glistening freshness enveloping them like a blanket. Down here, the blazing hot sun can’t reach them. Down here, the world seems to disappear. At least, until Byleth is pushing Claude away and rising to the surface. Or maybe the world vanishes even more as he watches her glide against the water. Everything goes away, everything but Byleth’s elegance as she pierces through the surface, her fanned out hair now clinging to her cheeks. Nothing matters when Byleth’s looking that pretty as she catches her breath, coughing out the water she’s accidentally swallowed. Everything is Byleth, Byleth who has never seemed more human than in this moment.
Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he joins her at the surface. It’s uncontrolled, rolling out in snorts and choked breaths, but it’s by far the most genuine laugh he’s let out in a long time. It’s a laugh he’s forgotten himself capable of, but as Byleth glares at him, her soaked hair a mess, how is he supposed to not laugh? How can he help the fits of laughter as he sees her face twist upon realizing she fell for another of his dirty little tricks? How can he not laugh or sport a grin so wide it hurts his cheeks? It’s not every day he gets to trick the Ashen Demon, the girl who’s always so on guard, so ready to read through every one of his schemes. Claude’s not as predictable as she had made it seem; Byleth hadn’t planned for this outcome.
More laughter spills as a wave slaps Claude across the face. He can’t see the face Byleth is pulling, too busy rubbing the water out of his eyes, but he can imagine it. He can perfectly picture her half-hearted frown, that near pout that perfectly encapsulates her disappointment in herself for falling for something so obvious. She should have known better than to be fooled by Claude’s scream. She should have known that he isn’t one to trip over his own two feet. She should have known that he was as steady as any archer needs to be in order to survive. She should have known so much, expected so much, and yet she had been fooled by his cunning. She had expected the best of him, which had been her biggest mistake.
“You tricked me.”
“Told you I wasn’t kind.”
Another grin breaks across Claude’s face as water washes over him, a wave he gladly returns. He won’t be the only one engulfed by the cool water sent his way; Byleth disappears into the lake, though only for a split second. It’s only a second before she’s bobbing back up, having pushed herself back to the surface. It’s only a second before she’s back on the offensive, blinding Claude through the means of splashes and sunlight.
He shouldn’t have expected any less from the Ashen Demon. Why wouldn’t she be just as competitive as she is fearless? It’s anything but a surprise that she wants nothing more than to win the battles she’s engaged in, even if those battles are silly little games played out in the middle of a lake. She’ll force Claude to surrender if she must, just as she had once tried on the battlefield. She’ll do anything to hear his gasping breaths declaring her the victor. She’ll force him into a corner, trap him just as he had once trapped her, but such a feat doesn’t come as easily as she might have hoped. If she’s stubborn enough to fight until the very end, then Claude is three times stubborner than her. He has to lead her to her demise. He has to lead her to surrender rather than to victory.
“Is that really the best you can do?” War-hardened eyes narrow onto him as he grins, trying his best to not sound winded despite the exhaustion starting to weigh him down. “Guess the rumors about how strong the unbeatable, the unshakable Ashen Demon is are all wrong. Because I swear I’ve fought stronger practice dummies.” Claude shakes his head as he let out another laugh. “And here I was expecting a bit of a challenge. Guess you’re just too predictable.”
Something flashes in Byleth’s eyes. It’s a glint Claude’s only seen a handful of times, a twinkle he had once feared when he opposed the Ashen Demon on the battlefield. It’s a shine that had once shaken him to his core, leaving him sleepless from the paralyzing fear of her power. But here, under the blazing summer sun, fear is left to the shadows; now, as heat flushes Byleth’s cheeks, he knows the shimmer can only mean he’s in for a good time. Who would have guessed that all it took was a little taunt for Byleth to take the bait? Who would have thought that a little taunt would be enough for her to rise to the challenge, ready to display her true strength to Claude, though this time without the worry of his life being taken? He’d finally get an up-close glimpse of the tactics of the fabled Ashen Demon but without the anxiety that had accompanied him the last time he had challenged her on a battlefield.
Byleth’s a lot faster now, disappearing underwater before reappearing behind him. She’s a lot more silent, a lot more unpredictable. The splashes she had once directed at Claude, the waves that had washed over him, they’ve become more precise, as if magic is controlling the bursts that catch him off guard. And every ambush has Claude’s mind racing, trying desperately to predict and counter Byleth’s next move. Every attack pushes him further from his goal; maybe this is the time he finally loses to her.
Another yelp breaks from his lips as he’s dragged down into the lake. Arms wrap around his neck as water engulfs him. The sun seems to be growing farther away as Claude reaches out to the surface. The light seems to disappear as he tries his best to wiggle out of his opponent’s iron grip. Everything seems to fade away when he finally breaks free, finally able to push himself to the surface, which seems so far away.
Everything seems to vanish. Maybe the water had gotten to his head, hazing his mind. Maybe he had sunk too deep. Maybe he had been deprived of oxygen for too long, even if he knows he’s stayed underwater far longer in the past. But what other explanation can there be for his gasps as he reaches the surface, gasps that sound like he hasn’t had a chance to breathe for hours? Why else would his eyes feel so wide, the sunlight blinding him completely? Why else would he think he met his siren at the bottom of the lake?
Everything had happened so fast, from the plunge to the resurfacing. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye, fragments Claude is only now starting to put together as he catches his breath. Everything had felt unreal; maybe none of it happened, or maybe everything really did happen.
Byleth’s arms had been iron-tight around Claude’s neck as she pulled him down into the water with her. She had been a lot stronger than he had anticipated, immobilizing him in a way he hadn’t known possible. She had been a lot swifter as well, her arms falling away from him before she circled him. And she had been stunning in that moment, despite the blur of water. Byleth had appeared before him like one of the paintings that had adorned the walls of the Riegan estate, those paintings of worship he had once spent hours observing, those gorgeous painting which depicted beauty incarnate. Right there, she had seemed almost divine under the filtered sunlight.
Byleth had been the only thing Claude could see despite his burning and blurring eyesight. Byleth, she had been so breathtaking with her hair suspended around her as if forming a halo around her face. Byleth, how could something so deadly be so pretty?
Maybe it’s the loss of oxygen playing tricks on Claude’s hazy mind. Maybe the burning lake water had been the reason he had squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe everything that supposedly happened is nothing more than the replay of a fantasy Claude has dreamt up. Maybe he’s making everything up, convincing himself that his desires are reciprocated. Maybe he’s nothing more than a dreamer; but then again, everything had felt too real to be a figment of his imagination.
He couldn’t have conjured up the feeling of hands on his cheeks. He couldn’t have made up the way he had been pulled closer. He couldn’t have imagined the light touch of lips to his. It couldn’t be a fantasy playing over in his mind; he knows the feeling of Byleth haunting his dreams, always three steps too far for him to catch her. Claude knows the difference between dreams and reality; he knows he didn’t imagine grabbing Byleth’s arm as he tried his best to press a kiss back to her lips. He knows he’s not that delusional; he can’t be that delusional. If this had all been delusion, why had Byleth broken away from him, leaving him with nothing but his gasps, air bubbles rushing from his mouth to the surface?
Everything had happened so fast; everything had felt so real, yet so uncertain as Claude raises a finger to his lips. Who would believe him if he told them the story of what had just happened? No one would; no one had witnessed the scene, not even the sun. And as Claude remains alone at the center of the lake, drenched and heaving, he knows he’d have been called a liar. Byleth is nowhere near him; she didn’t resurface alongside him, coughing out water as she had earlier. No, she’s far from him, already sitting on the shore and ringing out water from her hair. If it weren’t for the fact that she, too, was soaked down to her core, Claude might have even believed he had made up the plunge they had taken together.
But he didn’t make anything up. His sleepless nights had not caught up to him, leaving him with fabricated memories. The sun had not been too much for him. He’s not going crazy from some cold that washed over him from the bit of time he spent in the lake. It’s impossible, even if he knows nature is more unpredictable than he’ll ever be. It’s impossible for the sun to have pounded such delusions into his head, even if he’s been warned that it has the power to daze and confuse those who stayed under it for too long. Claude knows he hasn’t gone crazy. Not yet, at least. He hasn’t yet lost all his senses to the one sitting there, all pretty under the harsh sunlight.
Byleth’s eyes rise towards Claude, but they quickly dart away as she kicks the water her feet are soaking in. And something pulls on Claude’s heartstrings as he watches her fidget with her hair. He’s never seen her like this; he’s only known her to be the fearless Ashen Demon, the girl who had glared daggers at him, the girl who had narrowed her twinkling eyes onto him. He’s never seen Byleth look shy, glancing away as he draws closers to her. He’s never seen a blush stain her cheeks. And she looks so beautiful like that, the color creeping into her face, leaving her looking bashful. She looks beautiful and human; maybe she’s not as untouchable and mysterious as Claude had thought.
“I shouldn’t have…”
Byleth purses her lips. Her eyes flicker all around before falling back to her hands now resting against her lap. The thoughts are racing through her mind; Claude can see them bounce all around. He can easily imagine her trying to grab onto a few of them, trying her best to find the right words, but nothing comes of it. She remains silent, biting the insides of her cheeks.
Claude can’t fault her for her silence. He knows what it’s like trying to explain a decision that has no explanation. He knows what it’s like to act impulsively, act rashly. He knows what it’s like to do something only to realize too later there were other ways. He knows the feeling all too well.
“But you did.”
Green eyes flicker towards Claude as he pushes himself out of the water. He’s heavy from the lake-soaked cottons clinging to his skin, and he feels gross, sinking into the now flooded muddy grass, but neither say anything about it. Neither seem ready to acknowledge what has happened. They don’t mention the plunge they took, nor do they mention the moment they shared. At least, they don’t mention it outright; putting it into words, addressing it, that would make it too real. They know it happened, but talking about it, it’s scarier than the battles they lead. The only thing more terrifying that talking is the prospect of losing the moment to foggy memories.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.” A pause. The longest pause Claude has ever had to endure. “I wasn’t thinking. It was impulsive.”
“Do you often go around disarming your opponents with kisses?”
Something swells inside of Claude as Byleth shakes her head. The smallest sliver of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she lets her head hang forward. The tiniest hint of a laugh drips from her lips as she straightens out, leaving Claude to fall for her smile. It’s the first time he’s ever seen one on her, and it lights up her face. It leaves her glowing, leaves her with a radiance he has never witnessed before.
“No. Only you.”
Claude’s heart flips as slender fingers find his against the grass. They curl over each other, locking together as a perfect fit. It’s almost as if they had been fated for this moment, this exchange of shy smiles and glances. It’s as if Claude had been destined to fall for that smile, that smile that is all for him, caused by him. That smile he had only dreamt of witnessing, what ever had he done to be deserving of such beauty?
“I think—” Byleth purses her lips once more before shaking her head and turning to Claude. She sucks in a breath, her exhale a little shakier than usual. “I’d like to do it again. Without catching you off guard. Not impulsively, but on purpose this time.”
It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Nothing’s ever been easier than the grin that tugs at the corners of Claude’s mouth. Nothing’s ever felt better than the butterflies that erupt in his stomach as he brushes a strand of hair out of Byleth’s eyes before closing the distance between them. Nothing has ever felt as good as the smile pressed to his, a smile he never even dared dream of tasting. Nothing can compare to this. Absolutely nothing.
Claude knows no one will believe him if he spills the secret behind his pounding heart. He knows no one would believe that the Ashen Demon had smiled at him or that Byleth had let him thread his fingers through her damp hair. He knows he’d be called a liar or a dreamer if he dared insinuate that he has gotten a taste of those soft lips. He knows it all sounds too good to be true, but even so, he knows he didn’t make it up.
No one will believe Claude’s tales, no one but the sun that has borne witness to the tender hearts learning to beat for one another. No one would know if this moment, no one but the ducks that cheer as laughter fills the little space separating the two. No one has witnessed Claude’s compliance as he’s pulled closer once more, no one but the birds that sing of love. No one could imagine the beauty that has bloom under the summer sun, no one but the trees that had swayed as another kiss seals the promise of care and devotion.
The room is silent, almost deadly from its quiet. Three bodies are the only source of heat in the old conference room; the cold of winter is harsh on the walls of the old crumbling monastery. Three bodies heat the room, one on each side of the wooden table, and one to the side, refusing to choose either leader. They’re supposed to be working together, not against each other.
“You’ve grown soft, Claude. So soft that your friends have died. Died from your recklessness and your sentimentality.”
Claude snaps at the woman, his sharp warning reminding her of his place in her, no, their fleet. She needs him, they both know that, but that won’t stop her. It might be their fight, they might rely on each other, but she’s the one with the education, the knowledge, the upbringing. They’re both leaders, but Edelgard is the one who grew up with that expectation; Claude’s leadership is but a happy accident.
“You’re a warrior who’s meant to lead his troupes. Lead them to victory, not to their demise. I taught you to lead with your mind, not your heart, and yet here we are, blood on our hands. Blood that had no business being spilled.”
She’s cold. She’s calculating. She doesn’t want her troupes to die, but not because of the bond she has with her soldiers. She needs them, but she hasn’t brought herself to love them. At least, not the way Claude has. Claude leads with humanity; Edelgard leads with knowledge. They both knew this would end in war between them at some point, but it had worked. They’ve been fighting side-by-side for years now. Their differences caused conflicts in this very conference room, but everything had always been resolved. Every dispute has led to better ideas. Or at least, their differences had never led to significant losses. Not until now.
“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted this bloodshed? You think I wanted to lose my second in command?”
Claude’s fingers dig into the rich wood of the table. Bare nails carve their presence into it, evidence of his frustration that will last forever, evidence that will find itself in the history books that will be written when this war will finally be over.
“Unlike you, I can’t just brush off the feelings when someone dies. Unlike you, I have to not only deal with the pain myself, but I have to cheer the troupes up. Because I’m not the only one who lost someone dear to them. But then again,” his fingers relax, revealing the fresh indentation of the wood, and he cocks his head to the side with a bitter smirk, “what was I expecting from the emperor of the Adrestian Empire? The selfish and prideful and vain emperor. All that matters are your numbers and your advancement.”
Edelgard watches him from a distance, her eyes never leaving his face, not even once. It’s the way she’s been raised to rule: never let your guard down; always show that you’re on top. She doesn’t let anyone see how she’s feeling; her emotions are concealed behind the face of a strong emperor. She almost glows in the dim room, glows against the horrors of war.
But across from her, Claude is tired. He’s frustrated. He’s the opposite of the Adrestian emperor, the leader of the Alliance that wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s a great schemer, everyone knows that, but he’s not the best at putting his feelings aside when it comes to lost lives and war. The dark circles are proof of his sleepless nights spent thinking of ways to avoid death, both for himself and for his troupes. He doesn’t stand as tall as the woman in front of him. If anything, he looks like he’s about to crumble, crumble from sheer exhaustion and exasperation.
“Do you think it does nothing to me when—”
“Hilda is dead!”
Something from that cry strikes Edelgard, but just for a moment. She recomposes herself rather quickly, both hands folded themselves. She speaks once more with that clear and crisp voice of hers, a voice that has left chills in her audiences.
“Claude, this is your sentimentality speaking once more. Please compose yourself. Captain Goneril will be remembered as someone exceptional and you will learn to lead with more of an iron fist next time. You’re still my general and I need you to start being rational. This war won’t be won by matters of the heart, Claude.”
“Captain Goneril…” Claude snorts. He looks even worse than at the beginning of the conversation. He looks like he sees ghosts circling the emperor’s head. “You can’t even say her name, just her rank. But please, please my dearest Emperor,” venom coats the title, the strongest of the Alliance’s leader’s poisons, “tell me, what good is a title given by you if I’m slowly driven to madness from all my sleepless nights? Tell me, what good does a title holds when my friends die in your little game of chess? What good is a damned title when it changes nothing in the way we’re all dropping like flies on the battlefield?”
His words grew louder and harsher, more frantic than ever. Claude was right; he was growing madder as the months of war stretched on and his own nights of sleep became less and less frequent. There was too much going on in that head of his. He had told his friends so much. He had confided in his professor. But with the never-ending war, there was nothing more that he could do except push forth and hope for the end.
Or let himself be consumed by his own delusions and madness.
“That’s right,” another snort, some sort of choked laughter, “you have nothing to say to that, do you? Because you know I’m right. This whole thing is insane and you know that your way of leading isn’t right. You’re too far from your armies; you lead them like they’re pawns on a board. You don’t care for the losses; you just care for an end. Your end.”
“Claude, please—”
“I saw you as a friend, Edelgard. I thought we could lead Fódlan to a brighter tomorrow, one where the wall would be taken down, one where we could all be united. I thought you were like me on that point; that’s the only reason I agreed to join you. But clearly, I was wrong. I was wrong to think that you cared about my people, about your people, about our friends.”
“Claude, you’re being irrational again.”
She takes a deep breath before she continues. She’s reassessing her words, thinking about them carefully before letting them flutter free for the man to seize. She doesn’t want another outburst from him. She doesn’t want to drive him away more than she already has. More than he’s already driven himself.
“You know as well as I that we’re not here to make friends. This is war. This is bloodshed. This is a massacre. We knew this from the start. We knew there would be blood on our hands, the blood of our enemies and the blood of our allies. We knew we had to lead with an iron fist, not with a heart of gold. Emotions only get in the way of our schemes, of our victory. Just look at you. Look at the condition you’re in.”
There’s a pause in the conversation. Edelgard watches Claude’s chest rise and fall, watching him struggle to breathe. Had he been hit during the previous battle? Is he suffering from something hidden, something he’s disregarded due to his blind fury about Hilda’s passing? Or is it anger choking him?
“I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t think you’re here to learn from me. We misjudged our situations and, perhaps until now, it has worked in our favor, but that time has ended. I mistook you for someone that was ready to be my general, but that was my error.” Violet eyes pierced every heart, sharper than the lances that lined the wall. “Claude von Riegan, I release you from your position as a general of the Adrestian army.”
Silence hangs heavy in the room. Edelgard’s words were clear and precise, as if she had rehearsed them for weeks. There was not a stumble nor a pause, just a flow as smooth as the run of a river. Her heart had no say in what came out of her mouth, a true demonstration of her motto: rule with the mind, not the heart. There is no place for passions in the midst of a war.
“You…”
Claude straightens his back, suddenly looking far taller. He wasn’t the tallest man they had encountered, but in this room, in this old conference room that felt like it was caving in on itself, he seemed taller than even the worst of the demonic beasts they had slain.
“Fine, but hear this before I leave. You may be releasing me from my position in this army, but that won’t take my convictions away. You won’t take my beliefs away. I will continue to fight for the unification of Fódlan. I will continue to fight for the people. Because at least I know what I’m fighting for. But you, Edelgard, do you know what you’re fighting for?” He cocks his head to the side, that sly smile of his reappearing. “Glory? To be known? To be in the history books? I know what my goal is, but do you?” There’s a taunt in his voice, a dangerously cool taunt that could unleash a brand-new war. “Do you know what you’re fighting for, o wise one? You with all the answers, tell me, what are you fighting for?”
“I’m fighting for the unification of Fódlan as well, and you know that. I want a better place for our people to live.”
“If you’re fighting for the people, then why’s your life spent all alone? Hear me, Edelgard von Hresvelg, you’re—” his hands slam down on the table— “alone!”
The word echoes throughout the room. It rains down like a shower of arrows, sharp and deadly. Alone. Edelgard is alone. She’s alone at the top of her throne, and she knows this. She knows this, she’s always known this, but she’s never let it show. Or at least, she doesn’t let it show that it affects her until now.
There’s a shift in Edelgard’s stance. Her eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second, something that’s rarely ever seen in her. And they drop. Her gaze drops down onto the table, though not for very long. But it’s long enough. It’s long enough for anyone to have noticed the change in the emperor’s posture. She’s just a little bit smaller, just a little bit caught off guard, just a little bit more like a girl. She’s just a little bit more like the girl she had once talked about, ever so briefly, the girl who is deadly afraid of rats and who doesn’t like constrained spaces. It’s a tiny change in her attitude, almost invisible, but as noticeable as the ruins in which Fódlan finds itself.
Eyes meet from across the table, one glare far harder than the other. Emperor versus leader. Mentor versus student. Leicester versus Adrestria. Riegan versus Hresvelg. Claude versus Edelgard. It’s a war with no beginning; it’s a war with no end. It’s a broken pact that never should have happened in the first place.
“One day,” Edelgard’s voice is soft, softer than it’s ever been, “you’ll understand what I’ve been trying to do. One day, you’ll see why I’ve been so hard on you. One day, you’ll finally grasp what comes with being a good leader. But not today. After all,” a smile stretches across her lips, crinkling the corner’s of her eyes, “you’re just another man. Raised so far from the court, so far from war councils, all the way in Almyra, how are you to know what it’s like to rule a country? You’ll never know what I go through!”
Edelgard’s hands on the table don’t echo the way Claude’s did, but the violence is there. It’s there in her eyes. It’s there in her hair that’s slipped out of their neat buns. It’s there in her clenched jaw. Frustration radiates off of her body leaning over the conference table, the only thing keeping her from striking Claude with all her concealed violence. Politics and diplomacy vanish at that moment; her whole façade falls, leaving her baring her true self.
“I had no childhood! I didn’t get to play with other children! I didn’t get to live as a big happy family! I had to flee my country, flee my family, flee everything I knew! I had to watch my siblings die or go mad from horrific experiments! I was the sole survivor! I was the only one who made it! And my country depended on me to guide it correctly after all of that!
“I was thought to put my emotions aside. I was taught that the ends justify the means. I was taught everything you reproach of me, von Riegan, and I don’t plan on changing the way I view the world. If you decide to go against me, I will not hesitate to take you down. But I promise you this: when I’m done with Fódlan, it will be united like you so want it. I just won’t bring it together with your sentimentality. I won’t let myself lose it because I put my emotions where rationality should have been.
“Now,” Edelgard straightens, taking her air of an emperor once more despite her dishevelled state, “get out. Get out before I kick you out myself!”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Claude scoffs, finally turning away from the emperor. He looks a little less blinded by his frustrations, but he still holds his head high. Perhaps watching the stoic woman turn into something so emotional made him understand where she was coming from, but his pride won’t let him admit to such a thing. So he just turns away from her, not letting his eyes linger on her any longer. Instead, green finds green, a spark of hope glistening in Claude’s eyes.
“Well, Teach?” He extends his hand to the one who silently stood to the side, his smile looking soft on his lips. “You coming with?”
“Professor.” Edelgard’s voice is sharp with a warning from her corner of the room. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”
“Congratulations on the last financial quarter, Mr. Lucille. Those profit margins truly don’t lie about your potential.”
“I have all of my employees to thank for that. Without them, Quasartico Inc. would be nothing. And of course,” Urbain smiles, a smile he’s practiced in the mirror far too many times before mastering it, “without my mentor or the help of others, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I am infinitely grateful to everyone helping me and the patience they allot me in this transitional period.”
The man lets out a laugh that sounds a little too hollow and fake, but Urbain doesn’t mind. He knows every one of these conversations are for show; he has long learned that connections and networking are nothing but show. So he just laughs along and nods when the man bids him farewell and wishes him luck before moving on to talk to the next person he crosses paths with.
A sigh breaks from Urbain’s lips, but he’s quick to straighten his back as a hand is placed on his shoulder. He’s standing as straight as he can, as tall as he can, but his shoulders slump just as quickly as another man moves into sight. Everything inside relaxes as Vinnie gives him a sliver of a smile.
“How are you holding up, Mr. President?”
Urbain sighs again as he accepts the flute of champagne Vinnie is holding out to him. He might actually need the alcohol to get through this night.
“If I have another empty conversation about financial quarters and deep dives and touching bases, I might kill myself.” A long sip of the drink fizzles up his nose, but it’s fine. It’s better than overly polished fake conversations. “If I’m going to touch a base, it won’t be a work base.”
“Urbain.”
Vinnie’s tone is warning, but he doesn’t proceed to scold Urbain. And that’s what he loved about Vinnie: he knows how to keep Urbain in check, but doesn’t baby him or lecture him for the things he says. Vinnie knows that sometimes he just needs to blow off steam; Urbain, unlike most of the people here, wasn’t raised around these polished rich people who frequently stay at Le Richissime. He might blend into them now, but it’s exhausting pretending. It’s exhausting being the CEO of Quasartico Inc.
“I’m just kidding, Vinnie.” He forces a smile as his fingers curl around his half empty flute. “I’ve just been having the same 5-minute conversation for the past hour. And my brain feels like it’s melting.”
“Not to alarm you, but you will be having this 5-minute conversation many more times tonight. That is what happens at these types of events; we’re looking to find new investors and partners after all.”
“I know. I know all too well. I just… I just need a minute.”
“And a minute you may have. How about you go take a breather outside? No one should bother you there.”
Urbain nods as he slips out of Vinnie’s grip. The cool night air sounds good. Just a few deep breaths outside the hotel should be more than enough to get his head back into business mode. He really just needs a short moment of being Urbain and not Mr. President.
“Congratulations on the promotion, Ms. Pax! The whole team was quite excited when we saw your name on the list of candidates, and, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I did have my fingers crossed that it would be you that they pick. It’s a little silly, but I was so, so excited to potentially having you on the team. You’re going to be such an amazing addition!”
This isn’t a conversation that involved Urbain. Normally, he would have long walked away, but he stops dead in his tracks. How can he walk away when he hears someone congratulating a Ms. Pax? How can his attention not be turned to this conversation? How can he not be interested when the only Ms. Pax he knows of is none other than Harmony Pax?
“I am so grateful for the opportunities this company is giving me. And even more grateful for the welcome you and everyone on the team has given me.” Her laughter is like a song. “I was so surprised that any of you wanted me here tonight. I haven’t even started the new position and you’re already inviting me such nice company events! I almost feel out of place.”
Harmony? Out of place? That is impossible. Wherever she stands, she commands the room. Everything spins around her, not the other way around. Her presence is something Urbain always envied; everyone always gravitated towards her, hanging onto her every word without her even having to try.
“Well, in my humble opinion, you look like you fit in perfectly. I must ask, where did you get that lovely dress? It suits you so perfectly, I wonder if they carry anything that can fit me as well as it fits you.”
The sea of people fades away as Urbain’s eyes finally find the source of that pretty laughter. Everything fades away; nothing but one exists. Nothing but one girl is left in the crowd, one girl in a dress that could probably kill a man. Well, given the tightness in Urbain’s chest and the heat the rises into his face, she’s probably already killed one. And if he’s not already dead, he’s on the verge of death.
Urbain tries to scurry away before she spots him, but he’s too slow. As he’s tightening his blazer around himself to head out into the night, fingers are already curling around his wrist, drawing him back to the figure that haunts his dreams.
“I’ve been looking all over for you!” Painted lips have his whole attention. “I didn’t think it would be so hard crossing paths with you, given that you’re, like, the main event here!”
She genuinely looks so gorgeous. Like, objectively, Harmony is stunning. Her hair is tied up into a perfectly styled yet lax updo; every loose strand is perfectly curled alongside her bangs that frame her pretty face. Her makeup also looks professionally done; it’s nothing too flashy, but the colors compliment her eyes. And her lips. Urbain really should not be staring at them, and he has to force himself to look away, but the gloss makes it so hard for his gaze to not linger there. Her lips and her dress, that dark dress with the high neckline and open back, have his eyes bouncing between her and his shoes. Harmony is undeniably beautiful.
“How have you been holding up?”
She’s so cheerful, grinning like she’s probably had a few flutes of champagne herself. She’s smiling so big as her fingers tighten around Urbain’s wrist, keeping him from running out of the hotel. She’s so ridiculously attractive and he can’t do anything to hide from her.
“I’ve, uh, been talking to way too many people.”
Harmony’s face drops as her fingers loosen. He’s said something stupid; Urbain knows for a fact that whatever just came out of his mouth was the wrong thing to say. He’s said the absolute wrong thing; though it’s true that he has been talking to too many people, Harmony is not one of them. If it’s Harmony, he could talk to her all night without even realizing it’s been hours. Harmony has always had this way of making time fly; she’s always had this ability to make every moment timeless and delightful.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Not you! You’re not one of those people! We can keep talking!”
Urbain needs to shut up. He’s honestly just digging his grave deeper and deeper with each word that comes out of his mouth. And by the look on Harmony’s face, she agrees, though she isn’t running away. She’s actually smiling as she quietly chuckles. Urbain might be stupid, but at least it’s entertaining to the woman in front of him.
“I was just…” Urbain’s eyes glance at the door ahead of them, the one leading to the North Boulevard. “I was thinking of maybe getting a bit of fresh air before my next round of networking conversations?” Harmony doesn’t move; maybe he should be clearer. “Would you like to come with me? We’ll be able to chat in peace out there?”
Harmony’s smile really is a masterpiece. Harmony as a whole is a treasure one should cherish if they have the chance to be in her proximity. She is by far the most beautiful woman Urbain has ever laid eyes on; he feels his stomach flip on itself as Harmony loops her arm with his, leaning her weight against him as they make their way towards the door.
Harmony’s forwardness is nothing new to Urbain, and it’s not like she’s doing anything crazy. And knowing her, she’s probably adopted this position because she’s at risk of toppling over in her heels; with those one, she’s almost taller than Urbain, not that he’s a particularly tall man. Regardless, even if his heart is hammering through his chest as she leans into him, he keeps walking. He walks, though a little slower than he normally would; he doesn’t want Harmony tripping and falling. And if she’s anything like how she was when they were younger, Urbain knows to take his time when she’s in heels; those have never been in her favor.
The night air is fresh. The cool breeze feels nice against Urbain’s cheeks; he can feel his lungs fill with something a little closer to clean than the stuffy air inside the hotel. And as he breathes out, he feels a little more like himself. As his eyes fall shut, he feels a little more like Urbain and a little less like the CEO of Quasartico Inc.
“I always forget how pretty the city is at night.”
Urbain’s eyes fall to his side. Harmony is still there, though she’s not hanging onto him anymore. She’s just standing there, both of them at the top of the stair leading down to the boulevard. She’s just standing there, her perfectly painted nails digging into her elbows as her eyes scan over the street.
He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Actually, Urbain probably isn’t thinking at all as he shrugs his blazer off of his shoulders. His mind is completely blank as he covers Harmony’s bare shoulders with his jacket, something that pulls gray eyes towards him. He wasn’t thinking at all, but now he’s overthinking it. Is he being too forward? Should he have asked? She looked like she was cold, the night air leaving goosebumps along her arms, but still. For all Urbain knows, she has a boyfriend inside, waiting for her, or better yet, a coat that’s in the coat check. She might not need Urbain’s jacket at all! She might not need it, but she doesn’t reject it. No. Instead, gray eyes soften as Harmony pulls the blazer closed around her body and burying her nose in the lapel.
It’s stupid. It means nothing. Urbain needs to get out of his head. He needs to stop imagining things that are not there, like the smile that pulls at the corners of Harmony’s mouth or the creases at the corners of her eyes. She’s not looking at him, not like that, not like he’s looking at her. She’s just looking at someone who placed a jacket on her shoulders, completely unprompted. She’s just acknowledging his presence, a presence that he is far too aware of at this moment.
The city sounds drown out whatever was about to come out of Urbain’s mouth, not that anything coherent would have come out. Whatever he was thinking, it has vanished; the only thing invading every one of his senses is Harmony, beautiful in the moonlight, beautiful as she always is. The only thing on Urbain’s mind is Harmony; it always is whenever he ventures too close to the sun.
“Hey, I was wondering if—”
“Mr. Lucille!”
A smile climbs onto Urbain’s lips, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile he never feels. It’s become a habit, plastering a charming smile onto his face the moment he hears his name; what else can he do when people are expecting nothing but pleasantries from him?
“How may I help you this evening, Mr. D’Amboise?”
Words comes out of the man’s mouth, words that Urbain does not catch despite his nods and smiles. He knows he’s technically conversing with the man at this point, but everything is on autopilot; his eyes remain on Harmony, Harmony who is just standing there, smiling ever so slightly. She, too, is smiling to charm; she, too, knows that none of this is real.
“Oh!” The man is practically vibrating now. “Did you speak to the director from the Devon Corporation? His name escapes me now, but I do know he was looking for you, Mr. Lucille!”
Another smile hangs on Harmony’s lips as Urbain’s eyes fall back onto her. She nods; he doesn’t want to go. She steps away from him; Urbain has no choice but to follow the man back into the banquet hall. Does it always have to be this difficult to find a moment to himself? Must he always be pulled away from Harmony?
Waves of faces come and go. Urbain knows everyone’s names, knows every position, every exploit. He knows who to charm and who to not waste time on. He’s smiling and mingling, just like Vinnie asked him to; Vinnie is also back at this side, playing this game they both despise but must continue playing until the very end. At least, with Vinnie by his side, time goes by much faster. At least, with Vinnie by his side, Urbain can cover up his distracted mind every time he swears his eyes catch on a blue dress. At least, with Vinnie, Urbain can pretend he’s following the conversations he is cycling through.
One, two, three more flutes of champagne have made their way into Urbain’s hands. One, two, three more high ranking directors are asking for his advice on subject matters he is not familiar with. One, two, three more hours have passed by the time Urbain can let his body hit a chair. His whole body is sore; his head is pounding from the alcohol he should not have been consuming. Why does he do this to himself? He knows he can’t hold anything down, especially if he hasn’t eaten in hours. But at least he can still feel all of his limbs; his throat burns, begging him for mercy, pleading him for a sip of water.
“Here.”
Urbain jumps at the feeling of ice against his neck. It snaps him out of whatever exhausted trance he was starting to fall into; gray eyes smile upon him as a water bottle is held out to him.
He hesitates for a beat too long; Harmony pulls the bottle out of his reach just as Urbain is about to accept it. She pulls it away, a grin stretching across her face; does she have to be this beautiful? Must she look like an angel at all times? Must she draw Urbain in like this, his hand reaching out to the water bottle she’s now holding above her head like a child at the park?
“What do we say?”
“Harmony…”
Giggles erupt from her lips as she finally hands him the bottle. It’s been a while he’s seen her laugh so freely; it’s been a while since the last time he’s seen her, period. How did they ever go from best friends to practically strangers? How did Urbain mess up so bad that he lost track of someone as wonderful as Harmony?
“You’re surprisingly difficult to find, y’know?”
Half of the water bottle has been consumed; the cold soaks through Urbain’s pants as he lets his hands rest against his thighs.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” It takes everything in Urbain to not reach out to her face and tuck the stray strand of hair behind Harmony’s ear. “I just wanted to give you this back before I head home.”
He watches as Harmony pulls his jacket off from her shoulders and holds it out to him. Every movement of his feels mechanical next to Harmony’s fluidity. Urbain looks almost robotic, his fingers curling around his blazer before almost dropping it back into his lap; Harmony is like water, rearranging the high neckline of her dress, tugging at it ever so slightly. It’s stupid, Urbain needs to push the thought away, but still, it lingers: has she always been this beautiful?
He should look away; his eyes seem glued to her, to the dip in her bare shoulder, to the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, now starting to pierce through the light layer of makeup applied to the entirety of her face, to the curve of her lips as she watches the dwindling crowd of self-important people. She’s exactly the same as she was all those years ago; she’s a completely different person from the girl he met at the train station on that fateful day. She’s Harmony; she’s still just Harmony.
“Anyway,” her heels click under her as she dusts her dress for some unknown reason, “I shouldn’t take up much more of your time. I’m sure you’re plenty busy, Mr. Popular Guy, and I, for one, am ready to go home.”
“Do you have a ride?”
Urbain might just die if she stares at him for too long. He might just combust as she tilts her head ever so slightly, pulling her brows together. One would think that he has just spoken pure gibberish; Harmony is hesitantly shaking her head.
“I’ll drive you home then.”
“Oh, no! No, don’t worry about me! I’m just gonna walk—”
“In heels? All the way back to the hotel?” Urbain has got to stop being so rash; he’s pushing himself off his chair and digging through his blazer’s pockets. “I’m just gonna tell Vinnie I’m calling it a night and I’ll drive you home.”
For once, Harmony complies. She folds her hands and nods, not uttering another word. Her steps are quiet, or as quiet as clicky heels can be, as she trails behind Urbain who is making a beeline for Vinnie. She’s always a few steps behind him, never too close; she doesn’t approach as Urbain grins at a man who is has decided to strike up a conversation with him, though it is cut short as the CEO of Quasartico Inc. excuses himself. No one argues with him as he informs his guest that he must head out; they bid him a good night as he retreats back to Harmony’s side.
“You’re still staying at the hotel, right?”
Harmony nods in response. Her silence is almost worrisome; Urbain stops in his tracks to watch her, take in her expression, and internally kick himself. Has he been too forward again? Is he imposing himself? Has he become one of them, thinking he can make decisions for others now?
“Hey, if you want, I can also just call you a taxi. I just don’t want you out at this—”
“It’s not that, Urbain.” Gray eyes fall to the ground. “I just don’t want to impose or anything.”
“Harms.” Is he still allowed to call her that? “I offered. I want to do this for you.”
Finally, another one of her smiles. Another one of her breathtaking smiles that have Urbain’s lungs giving out ever so slightly. She’s beautiful. She has to stop being so beautiful. Her beauty makes Urbain stupid, and he can’t afford being stupider than he already is. If he’s stupid, who knows what he’s going to do. Who knows what’s going to come out of his mouth as Harmony loops her arm through his once more, leaning her weight into his shoulder.
It’s not a long walk to his car, but every click of Harmony’s heels, first on the tile, then on the concrete, reminds Urbain of her presence. Well, that and the overwhelming heat that’s erupted in his cheeks every time her weight shifts away and back against him. She’s steadying herself with every wobbly step; he’s losing his mind with every rigid step.
“That’s… your car?”
“Is there something wrong with it?”
Urbain watches as Harmony peels herself off of him and inspect the car. She goes around it once, then twice before looking up at him with bewilderment in her eyes.
“I don’t think I’m in the right tax bracket to be seen near this thing.”
Ah. So that’s what it is. Admittedly, this is the first and only overly frivolous purchase Urbain has ever made in his life. It’s a little shameful to him that he, who was once counting coins to pay for his groceries, was able to afford a luxury car like this, but walking out of the lot with the keys to a brand-new car had, funnily enough, healed something in him that day. Money can, apparently, buy a semblance of happiness.
He pulls the door open and plops himself down in the driver’s seat. “Just get it.”
There’s a little more hesitation from Harmony, but she finally relents once Urbain pushes her door open, forcing her to acknowledge the leather seat he’s patting. She’s careful as she slips in; she seems almost afraid to break something with her gaze alone. Her hands are cautious, fingers gentle around the seatbelt; Harmony who had once kicked her shoes off and taken up as much space as she could in the old, nearly broken-down car Urbain had gotten his hands on when they were teenagers was now making herself as small as she possibly could.
“I’m guessing you’re paid well?”
“Something like that.”
They’re both aware that Urbain is paid quite handsomely; neither one dares acknowledge the number out loud, but they’re both thinking about it, Urbain ever so slightly more concretely. Neither one wants to acknowledge the gap that has formed; the rift in their friendship is demoralizing enough.
The car ride is silent; nothing but the sounds of the city and, on occasion, the blinker can be heard. It shouldn’t have to be this quietly awkward; every time Urbain catches a glance of Harmony, ready to try a topic of conversation, he deflates. He can’t bring himself to shatter the silence, not when Harmony is staring out the window. He wants to ask her what she’s thinking about, what’s bothering her, but he he’s too much of a coward to do so. He doesn’t want to bother her, so he turns his attention back to the road, back to the cars that surround him, back to the roads he still remembers by heart.
“Take a left here.”
“What?”
Harmony is still looking out the window; her head is pressed to the glass, gray eyes scanning the environment. Urbain knows for a fact that the hotel is only two blocks away and that taking a left is absurd, but still, he follows Harmony instructions. He still, after all the years, trusts her.
Her directions are clear: a left, then a right, then another right. Urbain is ever so slightly lost, despite having lived in the neighborhood for well-over half a decade. He had been through every alleyway, every rooftop, every little nook and cranky the Vert District could offer; he has never, in all the years he’s lived in Lumiose City, been down this road. And yet, as Harmony instructs him to one last left, Urbain pulls through the hotel’s gates. The key is turned, the engine is cut, and Urbain’s eyes fall on that old familiar building.
“Sorry for the weird detours and all.” Harmony is stretching her back as she pulls pins out of her hair, letting it fall loose over her shoulder. “They blocked off the normal route like two weeks ago. A real pain in the ass if you ask me.”
That makes a lot more sense. And it makes perfect sense that Harmony would know that; it’s a little sad that Urbain doesn’t know these little details anymore. How long has it been since the last time he’s been at Hotel Z?
“Well,” for the first time all night, a genuine smile climbs onto Urbain’s lips, “regardless of the road blocks, we got here in one piece.”
“Ever the smooth driver.”
She’s driving him crazy, with her hand on his arm. He’s losing all of his reason whenever she’s near; it’s always been this way, hasn’t it? Urbain really has always been a mess when Harmony is around him.
“Anyway!” He’s quick to clear his throat; if he squeaks one more time, he might go throw himself in the Pyroar enclosure after this. “I shouldn’t take up more of your night. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“At this hour?” Must she have the prettiest laughter Urbain’s ever heard? “Please. My plans consist of crashing in bed and falling asleep to some video essay or reality tv or whatever. Unless…” How is it that she only gets prettier with time? “Do you wanna come in for a bit?”
“I couldn’t possibly impose—”
“I offered. You can’t impose since I want to do this for you.”
Urbain sighs. She parroting his own words, using them against him. And it would be rude to deny her such a small favor.
“Well,” it’s so easy to smile around Harmony as Urbain leans closer, “since you asked so nicely.”
Pretty laughter falls from perfect lips. They’re not as sparkly as they had been at the start of the night, most of the gloss having been worn away, but they still look perfect. They still look so inviting. Are they as soft as the had once been? As soft as he remembers her kisses to be? Are they—
Urbain pulls back, panic coursing through him. His mind has wandered into dangerous wastelands. He is in no position to be thinking of Harmony that way, of what had once been there, of what no longer exists. He cannot afford to go back to a place that no longer exists.
“Lemme get the door for you!”
Everything is racing; Urbain is racing to Harmony’s side. She’s barely sat back up by the time he’s pulling the passenger door open, giving her one of his signature bows, a smile, and his arm.
“Your castle awaits, m’lady.”
A snort echoes through the night as Harmony kicks him in the thigh. It’s nothing hard, and thankfully her heel only grazes his pants instead of stabbing him, but Urbain can’t help but gasp. He offers her hospitality and she returns the gesture with violence; some things really don’t ever change.
“You,” she’s catching her breath as she, nonetheless, loops her arms with his and gets out of the car, “are so cringe.”
“And yet, you’re still inviting me in.”
Harmony doesn’t deny it; they’re both making their way to the front door. She fumbles with the key for a moment, which gives Urbain just enough time to take in his surroundings. The hotel has changed over the years, though not by as much as one would think. The grass is still overgrown and vines still hang from the walls. Truly, the only thing that seems different is the front door; the once open door now bares a lock. What once was an isolated hotel that wanted to welcome the world has been turned to home. Maybe, in the end, this is what AZ wanted.
“Sorry for the mess.”
The interior really does look like a home now. The lobby is a lot more cluttered; a collection of shoes has begun piling by the door, one Harmony contributes to as she kicks off her heels and slips into something more comfortable. The plants Urbain had once watered on the daily are shrivelled or gone. It feels more lived in now; perhaps all the overcleaning he had once been in charge of kept the hotel from giving this homey vibe.
“Make yourself comfy.” Harmony gestures at the couches and armchairs that have since been rearranged around a modern television that stands out just a little too much. “I’ll be back with coffee or something.”
Perhaps Urbain should offer to help. Maybe he should ask her if she needs anything from him. There are a thousand things he could be doing, but instead, he nods and complies with her wishes. He lets his body sink into the old couch, in the same spot he used to spend his evenings with his friends. Old habits die hard, after all.
Harmony isn’t gone very long. But in the five to ten minutes that Urbain finds himself alone, he scrutinizes his surroundings. He takes in everything, letting memories flood through him. He lets his eyes linger on the bookshelf, the one with the books AZ had collected over the years; it’s collected dust over the years, dust that no one but Urbain ever cared to clear. His feet find the carpet that has not been changed in decades; it’s beginning to fray at the corners, though he can see the little repairs Naveen has made, little embroidered stitches keeping the thing together. His hands find the lobby desk, the one now cluttered with mail addressed to Harmony, Lida, and Naveen, and other junk they haven’t bothered to throw away. His fingers find a framed picture of Team MZ, a picture he has long forgotten about.
They’re a lot younger in this picture. They’re all smiling so big, so genuinely. Urbain had forgotten about that day; a warm feeling blooms in his chest as he remembers how he had been so excited that day, getting to hang out with his best friends and do things he loved. He remembers how he had come home and AZ had joined them for dinner, a rare event. He remembers everything so clearly now; it would be a lie to say he doesn’t miss those days.
“Whatcha looking at?”
Mismatched mugs are set on the counter as Harmony peers over Urbain’s shoulder. Gray eyes scan the picture frame he’s still holding; a smile curves onto her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Urbain nods, not trusting his voice. He knows that it’s his fault that Team MZ is no more; he is, after all, the one who left the group despite claiming to be their leader. He really did think he could balance his friendships and climbing to the top of a company; he gave up on what should have been the most important thing to him. He gave up on Naveen, on Lida, and most heart wrenching of all, on Harmony. He put her in second place; Harmony deserves to be someone’s priority.
“So,” Urbain slowly puts the frame down as Harmony makes her way to the couch, plopping herself down like she must have done a thousand times in the past, “how are Naveen and Lida?”
“Naveen’s recently signed a contract with some streamer to design and produce their merch, and he’s pretty excited about that.” She takes a long sip of what probably cannot legally be considered coffee if her order has not changed over the years; Urbain mirrors her as he carefully lowers himself into the tattered couch. “He’s one step closer to becoming Canari’s merch designer, but he won’t ever admit that that’s still the goal. Though I have heard that she did commission him for like… a hoodie or something, but she’s never worn it on stream, so he was a little disappointed about that. He’s still holding out hope that she will, but between you and me,” Harmony leans closer to Urbain, her voice dropping to a whisper despite no one being around to listen, “I’m pretty sure Canari actually commissioned it to give it to Gwynn. Like, maybe my eyes deceived me, but I’m pretty sure I saw her wearing the hoodie Navi made last time I went to see Ivor.”
A light chuckle bubbles out of Urbain as he sips his coffee. It’s definitely a lot more bitter than what he’s used to, but it’s not unbearable. He’s almost tempted to ask for some milk to mellow it out, but he can’t bring himself to do that. He doesn’t want to be difficult, asking Harmony for more than what she’s so kindly already offered.
“Sorry about the, uh… less than stellar coffee. I know it’s nothing like the fancy coffees you’re probably used to.”
“No, it’s great!”
Harmony raises an eyebrow and flicks his cheek. “You’re a bad liar.”
Fine. It’s atrocious. It’s, quite frankly, the worst coffee Urbain has ever had, and he’s had bad coffees. But still, it’s the thought that counts. Harmony so kindly offered him a coffee and went through the trouble of making him a cup; Urbain isn’t enough of an ass to send it back and have another one made for him.
“Really, it’s not that bad.”
“You don’t have to finish it if you don’t want it.” She sets her cup down and folds her legs under her. Her body is turned to Urbain; he can’t help but mirror her actions. He can’t help getting lost in the depth of her eyes. “I won’t lie; I kinda just wanted you to come in so I could talk to you a bit longer.”
And Urbain doesn’t like lying either: he, too, wanted to spend a little more time with Harmony. He, too, wanted to make up for lost time and hear her voice for a little longer. He, too, missed spending his evenings sunken in a couch, just talking about everything and nothing.
It really is just so nice getting to talk to someone without having to anticipate their next words. When was the last time Urbain has had a casual conversation with someone, a conversation with no social hierarchy, no stakes, no mask? When was the last time he got to relax, laugh, and chat the night away? It feels like forever ago. Maybe it was forever ago.
“Oh! Oh! I totally forgot, but Lida recently started a new job at a new studio! She’s just replacing one of the teachers or whatever, so I don’t know how long it will last, but she’s been having so much fun! She’s doing a ballet class and a hip hop one which is really cool! Something about one of her old mentors opening up a new studio in Lumiose and needing new teachers. I really don’t know the details, but she’s really been enjoying her new job.”
A sigh breaks from Harmony’s lips as she lets her head fall onto Urbain’s shoulder. It’s stupid, but his heart jumps to his throat at the contact; her eyes have since fallen shut.
“But what about you? How do you like being Mr. President of Quasartico Inc.?”
It’s Urbain’s turn to sigh. He knows he should say that he loves it, that he’s grateful for all the opportunities, that he loves the daily challenges, but if he’s being honest, it’s just exhausting. What seemed like a dream too good to be true turned to be that exactly: being CEO is nothing like he thought it would be. Now, he has no time for friends or hobbies or anything that doesn’t involve Quasartico. Now, it really feels like he has no life left outside of the job.
“It’s… okay, I guess.”
“Yeah? Enjoy getting to spend money you never had before?”
Of course, that’s where Harmony’s mind would go. Urbain can’t blame her; he was pretty stingy back then, but that was just because he didn’t have money to spend and he didn’t want to spend AZ’s money. So he had to make due with the little that he did have. But now, he has more money than he knows what to do with; now, money is completely arbitrary and he can’t even fully enjoy it.
“Don’t have much to spend on, if I’m being honest. The car’s the only real big purchase I’ve made. The rest, well, I don’t really have time for anything else.”
Silence falls across the dimly lit hotel. The shadows on the walls dance, just as Urbain remembers them; he knows it’s just Harmony’s shadow being projected onto the fading wallpaper as she sits back up, but Urbain always wondered if those shadows had lives of their own. Perhaps they’re squatting Pokemon looking for a cozy place to stay; maybe it really just his active imagination letting him believe in ghost stories.
“You know,” blue skies are clouded by piercing gray, “you can always come by and hang out with us, if you have the time. It was your home first, and, though I can’t speak for Lida and Navi, I know I’d really like it if we got to hang out a bit. Even if it’s just for like… dinner or something. I’d just really… yeah.”
Is it selfish of Urbain to also want to spend more time with Harmony? And their friends, of course! But right here, right now, all he can think about it how much he wants to spend time with Harmony, and Harmony alone. If he could have anything he wants, he’d ask for the night to never come to an end. If he could have absolutely anything he wants, he’d want for them to keep talking until he physically cannot form a sentence anymore. If it were fully up to Urbain, he’d make the moment last forever. He’d ask for things to go back to how they once were.
Harmony winces as Urbain’s brushes his thumb against her cheek. She doesn’t recoil, but he definitely did catch her by surprise. Maybe he should have asked, or at least warned her that he was going to touch her face, but at this hour, Urbain isn’t thinking straight. Then again, when is he ever truly thinking clearly?
“Sorry, you just—” he holds out his thumb for Harmony to see— “had an eyelash.”
“Can I make a wish?”
Urbain blinks. A wish? What wish? Or maybe this is a custom he’s not used to. And Harmony seems to have gathered that he has no idea what she’s talking about; she scoots closer, careful to keep his hand up with the eyelash still there. His heart is racing at the contact once more, but he needs to stay cool. Urbain must remain chill.
“Have you never made a wish on an eyelash before?” Urbain shakes his head. “I mean, it’s super simple. Make a wish and blow on it. Something, something, your wish will come true. Wanna try?”
“I mean, it’s your eyelash, so you should probably make the wish?”
Harmony doesn’t push. She just closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. She’s completely quiet, and Urbain can’t help but take in how beautiful she is, especially up close like this. She is, by far, the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on; who knows if he’ll ever be lucky enough to encounter someone who is even half as gorgeous as Harmony is. Only time will tell, but for now, Urbain is brought back to the here and now, back to Harmony’s eyes fluttering open as she blows her eyelash away.
“Wish made.” She smiles as she lets her hand drop from Urbain’s. “Wanna know what I wished for?”
“Doesn’t that make your wish not come true?”
“Maybe. But maybe if I tell you, then you’ll let me know if it can come true.”
She really does have a way of saying things so cryptically. None of what she just said makes sense with the customs of wish making; secrecy is what allows a wish to come true. But now Harmony is telling him that he’s the one who will tell her if her wish can come true, like he’s some wish-granting magician. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Please let me tell you what I wished for? You don’t even have to make it come true. I just… want you to know.”
Who is Urbain to deny Harmony anything? So of course, he’s nodding his head like an idiot. Of course, he’s letting her come closer, her shoulder pressing against his. Of course, his head feels like it’s spinning as she whispers her secret wish into his ear like they’re little kids and not full-grown adults.
“I wished that I could kiss you.”
Obviously, Urbain misheard that. Maybe the champagne from earlier is now hitting harder than ever. Or maybe he’s just so tired that he’s hallucinating the conversation. Regardless, there is no way that Harmony just told him that she wants to kiss him. Or wishes to kiss him. Because that’s completely absurd. There is no way that Harmony, of all people, wants to kiss him. Not after everything he’s put her through; not after having left her with barely any warning all those years ago.
“You don’t have to say anything. Or do anything.” Her back hits the couch, leaving the air around Urbain frigid. “For all I know, you’ve got a pretty girl at home waiting for you and I’m just keeping you from her and wasting you time and—”
“Harms.” This is insanity. Urbain is going absolutely insane. “Harmony.” His knees are sinking into the old couch cushion as he turns to her. “Harmony, you are not wasting my time.” She’s so beautiful. Urbain probably shouldn’t touch her. Her cheek is so soft. “No one is waiting for me.” Her eyes are just as he remembers them. He’s falling over and over again. “Harmony, you are the most breathtakingly, beautiful woman I have ever seen. All night, I’ve just been going insane because I just cannot keep myself from looking at you. And I know that sounds mega weird, but I just—”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
There’s no time to react. There’s no time for logic to catch up with Urbain’s actions. All he knows is that Harmony is grabbing his face and that he’s tumbling forward. All he knows is that her kisses are nothing like the memories he has of them; they’re so much better than what he remembers. She’s softer and sweeter, though that last part might be from the alleged coffee she’d been drinking. She’s sweeter, far more addictive than Urbain remembers her to be; will he have the strength to stop kissing her? Will he have it in him to walk away tonight? Not that he ever wants to walk away from Harmony if he can help it; he did it once, and it was the worst mistake he has made in his life. Nothing was worst than fighting with Harmony and leaving her without any warning.
A gasp break from Harmony’s lips; nails dig into Urbain’s shoulder as he pulls at the soft skin of her neck. He needs her close; he cannot lose her again. And maybe, just maybe, she feels the same way. Maybe, just maybe, that is why she’s pulling him closer. Maybe, just maybe, this can last more than an instant.
Kisses upon kisses are shared; Urbain can’t keep away from Harmony’s lips, not when he’s missed them this much. It’s not selfish of him to steal as many kisses as he can if Harmony is pleading him for more, is it? He’s giving her what she wished for; he’s taking what he’s been dreaming of. He’s slow and careful; he doesn’t want to ever forget the curve of her smile against his. Urbain needs this moment to last forever.
He’s gentle, peppering kisses to every freckle he can find on her face. If it were up to him, he would cover every inch of Harmony’s skin in adoring kisses, but now is not the time for that. Now is the time to bury his face in the crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around him. Now is the time to take in the moment of peace, focusing on the rising and falling of her chest against him. Now is the time to wonder if he took things too far.
“I—” Urbain is pushing himself away; Harmony’s fingers are curling around the collar of his shirt. “I should probably head out and—"
“Stay.” There’s a finality in her tone that he doesn’t want to fight, even if he had the energy to do so. “It’s late and you’re tired and I… don’t want you to go. So please, stay.”
Against his better judgment, Urbain nods. He’s not convinced he won’t fall asleep on his drive home; more realistically, he’s not sure that he’s strong enough to leave Harmony. Not when she’s slipping her fingers through his and pushing herself back into a sitting position. Not when she’s tugging at her dress, trying to loosen it. Not when he’s being impulsive again, pressing a kiss to her skin once more, as he pulls the bow holding the dress up undone.
Giggles bubble out of Harmony as blood rushes to Urbain’s cheeks. She’s teasing him, asking him if there’s something that he wants; truly, he had not meant it like that. All he had wanted to do was to loosen the neckline since it looked like it was bothering her; he’s quick to tie it back up, though not as tightly or prettily as it had previously been. He’s quick to fix what he has undone; Harmony assures him that he’s done nothing wrong.
“If you want, we haven’t touched your room since you left.” Urbain melts into her kisses once more; how he’s missed her between-kisses whispers. “But that also means there’s probably a bunch of dust. So…” He knows that look; he is weak to that look. “You can always stay with me, if you’d like?”
“I really don’t want to impose.”
“It’s not imposing if I’m asking you.”
A sigh; a smile. A hand that fits perfectly against his; a look he’s missed more than anything in the world. “Then lead the way.”
