Chapter Text
Katias woke to the sound of shattering glass.
As someone who had spent a lifetime training in the art of silence, he performed perfectly. He did not cry out, he did not jolt upwards, he did not draw the knife he kept under his pillow, even as a burning sensation crept up his arms. Rather, he opened his eyes with a quiet gasp, steadied his breaths, and listened.
There was no further commotion; no sounds of conversation, frenzied or otherwise, no clash of weapons, no frantic knocks at his door. After a moment, the searing sensation in his arms began to fade, a phantom pain that left behind scars, only scars.
Just a dream, then.
The sun was rising in Mor Dhona, and nothing seemed notable beyond some early morning birdsong and the quiet inhale, exhale of the body beside him.
But oh, if that wasn’t different, Kat thought, noting the way the breaths brushed at the back of his neck, the way the arm that was not his own wrapped around his torso, protective, grounding. As though he would disappear if he weren’t held close, slipping away like a shadow in the night to another city, another continent, another world.
Reluctantly, he supposed it was not a concern without precedent.
As a rule, Kat disliked the concept of wasted time. He often woke before sunrise, slept long after sunset, and busied himself during the hours in between with things that needed to be done. And yet, right now, all he wanted was to be here, in his own room, in his own bed, delightfully, strangely, not alone. It still seemed absurd, even knowing it was real.
With practiced care, Kat wrapped slender fingers around a hand calloused by a lifetime of war and politics alike, and he lifted, returning the limb to its slumbering owner. Though he made no sound as he began to twist in place, he was grateful that the man beside him was a heavier sleeper than he, for the sight that awaited him was surely a gift from Halone herself.
Aymeric de Borel, the most beautiful man he had ever known, sleeping soundly as beams of sunlight settled over dark hair that curled at the edges, over the sharp, graceful frame of his face, over the point of his visible ear. That he was here, in his bed, after so many years of yearning…
That he would likely need to leave as soon as he awoke, already too long away from his many responsibilities in Ishgard, Kat tried not to dwell on.
Instead, he reached out to brush away a stray lock of hair, letting the tips of his fingers linger on Aymeric’s cheek before tucking the strands behind his ear, delighting in the way his eyelashes fluttered, noting how the corners of his lips turned upwards so slightly, and committing every ilm of him to memory.
He felt selfish. Undeserving. Like a thief who had made off with a prize far beyond his talents.
And yet.
He wanted so badly—couldn’t remember wanting anything more, excluding, perhaps, when he had first set out from Ishgard all those years ago, expecting never to return, and had first felt what it was like to be free.
And look at you now, he thought, finding any excuse to go back. Like a lovesick puppy, and yet it’s never enough. It could be weeks before you see him again. You could die tomorrow, or the day after, and never see him again at all.
He would mourn you.
And what a thought that was. That he was cherished. That he would be missed. Every one of the Scions considered him a dear friend, he knew, despite his nature. Despite his lies and distrust, the ugliness of his work, That they would see him as a compatriot rather than a tool—
That Aymeric, noble and kind and just as he was, would profess to love him.
Kat’s heart leapt at the thought, as it always did, and his head flooded with recollections of the previous night, the sensation of Aymeric’s lips on his, of Aymeric’s hands in his hair, of Aymeric’s heartbeat strong and steady within his chest. He was not the most gentle, perhaps, nor the most graceful, but gods, Kat thought him perfect.
He knew it to be true as sky blue eyes blinked open across from him, still heavy with sleep, and the first thing Aymeric did was smile. It was a rare opportunity, Kat realized, to see his lover this closely, so used as he was to studying the bottom of his chin, or watching him speak so eloquently from across a war room table.
Perhaps, if he were lucky, it would not be so rare anymore.
“Good morning,” Aymeric said slowly, his voice gravelly, and while it was true he’d only just awoken, it seemed that shouting orders on the battlefield at Carteneau the day before had taken their toll. “I hope you haven’t been waiting overlong.”
“I would have quite willingly waited far longer,” Kat admitted, watching Aymeric stretch as a yawn overtook him. “I’d hoped you would sleep in.”
“Mm, there’s an idea. I cannot think of the last time I did such a thing.”
In that moment, Kat dared to hope he would stay. Not all day, of course, but a few more hours. A few more hours would be enough. Aymeric knew his mind, he was certain, as the elezen leaned forward, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Kat whispered against him.
“Then it is a good thing indeed that I trust you to keep a secret.”