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Your lover held the most suspicious looking honey bun in the history of Fodlan. Sure, it had the appearance of a typical honey bun. Sweet bun, honey glaze. It was passing all the marks so far. But why, exactly, had Claude woken you before sunrise to hand you a honey bun? And those puppy dog eyes, the way he expectantly stared at you, bun inching toward your mouth –
You stopped, putting the bun back on its plate and narrowing your eyes at your lover.
“What did you do to it?”
“Wh- what do you mean?”
“The bun. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it!”
“You never bring me buns. Tea yes. Buns no. So what’s the occasion, unless you have poisoned this bun?”
Claude stared at you for a long moment, as though expecting you to relent, before slowly replying.
“…Because it’s our anniversary, and I love you?”
Your face dropped. Oh dear. Oh no.
“By the Saints, Claude! I am so sorry I forgot, I-“
He laughed, low and soft, but your heart cracked despite it. How could you have forgotten? The mark of one year with the man you loved – that should have been at the forefront of your mind.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “We are literally in a war, so you have more important things to worry about. There’s always next year to remember, yeah?”
You sighed, eyes cast down, but Claude slipped a finger beneath your chin and made you meet his eyes. Even after so long, you still felt yourself blush. He was far too handsome – no amount of time spent with him would ever still the flustered beating of your heart.
“It’s really okay,” he whispered.
You offered a small smile, relenting, and he dropped his hand.
“Eat your bun. It took me probably seventy-five years to get that recipe out of Hilda, so it better be delicious.”
Between the two of you, you devoured it. It was just the right amount of sweet and sticky, and you didn’t believe for a moment Claude had made it. You believed he had tried, sure – but it was Claude. He’d likely ruined it in some spectacular way and begged Hilda to make him an edible one. You didn’t really mind. He’d still gone through all that trouble for you.
When he’d finished his little piece, Claude leaned over and pressed his lips to your cheek, leaving an awful sticky spot on your skin.
“Ugh, Claude,” you groaned, laughing. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, and you leaned into the touch, head resting on his chest. Naturally, you made sure to wipe all the honey on your face onto his shirt.
When it was just the two of you like this, curled up with the covers and listening to the other breathe, the rest of the world simply ceased to be. All that mattered was you and him, limbs tangled together, hearts beating in a slow requiem.
“I wish we could stay like this,” you whispered. Tucked away in your cloister, your lover beside you and your world at ease. No one would find you, not for a few hours. Until the sun rose, there was no war.
“One day,” he vowed, lacing his fingers between yours. You believed him.
When Claude kissed you, you could taste the honey and sugar on his lips, and it made your heart rush even more. Your free hand tangled in his morning hair, and he groaned at the sudden pull to it.
“I love you,” you breathed.
“Marry me,” he replied.
You jumped, eyes wide. Had you heard that right?
“…Sorry,” he replied sheepishly. “I’ve been planning how to ask you, but I promised I would wait until after the war was over. Not just spring it on you.”
Flowers bloomed in your lungs.
“And without a ring,” you teased. “Truly terrible.”
Claude kissed your forehead, grinning. “Am I really such a bad man? Come on. Look at my hair. I’m a catch!”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your awful bedhead, you mean?”
Claude offered loud objections to that, combing a hand through his hair. He turned away to face the mirror on the wall, muttering about being seen so messy. Behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist. Your head fit right on his shoulder, and you breathed him in. Your Claude. Your beautiful, cunning, prodigal Claude.
“Yes, by the way,” you whispered.
He turned to you, grinning, and for once his eyes lit up with it.
“When this is over,” he vowed, “I’ll buy you a ring and ask you again. And I promise you everything that I have.”
He yanked you into his lap, pressing kisses to your temple.
“Can you imagine how handsome our little Claudes will be? Like, just saying-“
You punched his arm.
“Ow, okay, okay. Hey.”
You hummed.
“I have to admit something.”
“You didn’t bake the bun?”
“Hehe… love you…”