Lovelocks
Title: Lovelocks
Ship: Merold/Romaricche
Fandom: Fragaria Memories
Word Count: 1,334
Rating: T
Warning: None
Tags: Fluff, Childhood Friends, Crushes, Unrequited Pining, Pampering
Merold yawned nostalgically as he appreciated having Romaricche run his hands through his curls and brush out his hair. Romaricche was gentle and attentive. There was tenderness in his fingertips as he went section by section through Merold’s hair.
Romaricche was good at it. He was good at all kinds of domestic things and homemaking, self care, and Merold was spoiled by such favours from where Romaricche dabbled. Merold shuddered as he was pampered by Romaricche. The bristles on the brush were soft and yet glided through his hair which was full of kinks and curls with ease.
“I remember…” Merold mused aloud. “When we were kids… Your hair was much shorter.”
“Mm, it was about your length, actually.” Romaricche said. “Although, dead straight.”
Merold laughed. That was true.
Romaricche could see it very clearly in his mind’s eye, how they looked when they were little. He had been an introverted young boy once upon a time with a tragic bowl cut. Merold had always been more aloof and good-looking. In their opposites, they had found contrast thus they made a pair then and still very much now: the shy child and the outgoing child, the polite child and the wild child, the bookworm and the activity seeker. It was nice to reminisce now and then.
“So, why did you grow your hair out?” Merold asked as he another stroke of Romaricche’s hairbrush went through his own fluffy mop.
“I liked the way it looks on other people so I thought I would grow it out.” Romaricche replied. “I think it's more knightly.”
Merold hummed. He sounded unconvinced. Romaricche didn’t mind. It was an unconvincing reply and he knew it.
After all, Romaricche had his more private reasons for growing out his hair and it's not that he did not trust Merold with them, nor want him to know, it just trod a little too deep in places that Romaricche did not dare to tread. He didn’t want to ruin what he had with his longest and dearest companion. Adding into the layers of the years they had enjoyed together, romantic feelings could complicate.
They could sour.
They could fragment relationships beyond the present and into the past.
The thought of that happening to them frightened Romaricche so
would much rather prefer to keep things as they were. Traditional. He was just like his elders and their precious quilts in that way.
Afternoons such as these were simply far too precious to Romaricche to complicate. The flavour of their raspberry and ceylon tea, the tortes with thick, vanilla cream, and the ease of conversation all hued in goldenrod and maple foliage. Romaricche would not trade them for the world as he enjoyed them, and Merold, far too much.
“I guess so.” Merold sighed. “Like the knights in your books that you would read as kids. I recall, what was his name? He had long hair.”
Romaricche chuckled, “Lancelot?”
“Ah! Yes! Him.” Merold replied, his voice tinged with the satisfaction of eureka.
“I’m surprised you remember.” Romaricche said. Another stroke of the brush through Merold’s hair, he divided it a little more.
“I remember thinking they were dumb.” Merold teased.
Romaricche’s lips twinged. Mostly as a smile, mostly not trying to laugh again as that made sense to Merold’s character. His hands twitched as he held onto the wooden handle of his hairbrush just a little too tight for what the moment called for.
All because now, there was a pang in his chest, a small wound akin to a papercut, because Lancelot had devoted himself to Arthur and to demonstrate his love, he grew out his hair and wore it over his shoulder.
The book had called it a lovelock and Romaricche called it an inspiration.
Romaricche felt that way unto Merold. Devotion. Something he could not touch but could certainly abide by. Merold took his love unto his Lord seriously and he need not ask for love for anyone but her. So long as My Melody was content, as was Merold.
Attaining My Melody’s accolade had been Merold’s dream since he was young. If it were not for meeting Merold, Romaricche was uncertain as to what his own dream would have been. He had read the stories of triumph and camaraderie and they were resonated well enough for Romaricche but not in the way that Merold’s stories of how he projected his future to look did.
Romaricche wanted to see it. He wanted to see Merold make his dreams come true, so he decided that he would turn his gaze upon the Lord of his own homeland and attain her Accolade. That made them brothers in arms, just like Romaricche’s books but Merold didn’t see knighthood as a communal experience. To him, it was just himself and his lord. All else was collateral, irrelevant.
That included even Romaricche, his brother… It was bittersweet but Romaricche understood. Particularly now that he was thorned by chivalry in much the same way. To become a Fragarian, it was lonely in that they would pledge their love to their lord and now only their lord could love them. That love was their only payment for their duties as knights.
Yet Romaricche was not inhuman. He still had his emotions, his feelings, his thoughts and prayers, his wishes. They might not be grounded in his reality but he still felt that way. He still loved Merold, even though he knew that loving him would complicate things and create fraught situations not only for himself but Merold, too.
And so, to do something with his feelings, Romaricche grew out his hair. He kept it shiny and smooth with a brown hair tie to complete the look and posed it over his shoulder.
Of course, Lancelot had braided his hair. Romaricche was content with a sleek ponytail to rest over his breast. He did not want to be too conspicuous about his feelings. Especially if they were unrequited. Merold was not fettered by too many matters of the heart. For better or for worse.
Merold turned his head slightly, “Are you done?” he asked as he blinked owlishly. “You stopped, is all.”
“Ah, oops. Got lost in my thoughts.” Romaricche replied.
“That’s okay.” Merold said.
Romaricche continued to brush Merold’s hair. It was already looking a lot more tame due to Romaricche’s attention. His artfully wild curls and strands were now arranged more straightly and in a way which made sense to the whorl at the back of his head.
“Thank you.” Merold purred.
“You're welcome.” Romaricche replied.
Merold reached for his cup of tea and had a sip from it. Romaricche caught the whiff of its delicious, raspberry aroma and Merold sighed. Out the corner of his eye, he looked at Romaricche.
“Maybe when you're done,” Merold teased, “I should brush your hair. Quid pro quo and all that.”
“How kind of you to offer,” Romaricche replied, his fingers twitched once more, it's not as though Merold would be able to detect his feelings through the strands of his hair grown long for him and yet, Romaricche denied the offer, “but it's not necessary, Merold.”
“If you say so.” Merold shrugged.
Romaricche chuckled, “Sit still, I’m almost done.” He pulled back his brush as though to convey the pout that he had on his face to Merold.
“Sorry, sorry.” Merold giggled. Though, that only jostled him some more but Romaricche found it endearing despite the prior admonishment.
Romaricche smiled. Genuinely. Merold settled again and Romaricche resumed his brushing of Merold’s hair but it was obvious to him, Merold knew that Romaricche had been taking his sweet time so he could savour the touch of Merold. His soft hair, his slender neck, and so on and so forth. He truly did enjoy these moments in time where it was just the two of them in his garden, spending quality time together. Romaricche wouldn’t do a thing to risk them, not even tell Merold how much it all meant to him.
