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Ferdinand has always been an attractive young man. Hubert acknowledged it five years ago when they were younger, and he’d gladly acknowledge it now. He sees how other men and women alike would turn their heads as soon as he enters the room, exuding all the airs of regality and elegance that a noble strives to present. Tall with perfect posture, a bright smile that’s open and welcoming to all, sharp, keen eyes, and that flowing, gorgeous hair?
Watching Ferdinand ride into battle on his steed is always a sight to behold, and it was at first distracting for other soldiers to see him galloping majestically with that long mane of his behind him. It didn’t take long for it to become a flag of sorts, not only gorgeous in the way a perfect noble should be, but a welcome sign that one of their strongest was here to save the day.
Yes, it’s all quite majestic–until you’re the one riding behind him.
Hubert feels like he’s spitting amber hair out of his mouth every five seconds. As heroic as Ferdinand looks upon his mighty steed, hair flowing freely behind him, it makes it quite difficult for anyone else to share the saddle should their own horse fall unfortunately in battle. Ferdinand, kind and generous as ever, offered a ride on his horse without a second thought, and of course Hubert would accept without thinking about it.
“Ferdinand, are you purposely trying to smother me?” Hubert finally asks against the wind and being appropriately slapped in the face by Ferdinand’s hair as the other turns his head back to look at him. He slows the horse to a more reasonable trot, not hurrying to reach the front of the march so he and Hubert can have a conversation.
Ferdinand’s face turns pink, laughing with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Hubert! I didn’t even consider with you riding behind me… I don’t have anything to pull it back in either.” Hubert allows his mind to wander to the image of Ferdinand with his hair pulled back in a ribbon like Linhardt might when he was younger. He’ll have to remind himself to make a stop at the market before they set out next.
Hubert lifts a gloved hand to sweep Ferdinand’s hair out of his face and over his other shoulder, shuffling closer to his back to avoid being hit by the inevitable fallout. “You never pay much attention to the length of your hair despite growing it out, do you?” Trying on helmets and getting his hair caught in them, underestimating the time it’ll take to wash… even Hubert had been more considerate of his hair when it was longer, and that’s why he had it cut.
“I didn’t mean to grow it out,” Ferdinand confesses, and Hubert can’t help but laugh.
“You didn’t mean to grow your hair a foot and a half long? Your humility exceeds you, Ferdinand.”
“I just kept forgetting to get it cut, and the next thing I know it’s like this! Don’t tease me, you know how busy we’ve been.” Pieces of his hair continue to bounce loose from where Hubert tried to keep them over his shoulder until he’s keeping a hand on the back of Ferdinand’s neck to hold it in place. Not only is his hair long, but it seems to have a mind of its own. A mind that’s intent on strangling Hubert. “Should I cut it short again?”
There’s a hint of insecurity in his voice that isn’t common from Ferdinand, but not so rare, either. Surprisingly, Hubert’s the person who probably knows the most about his weaknesses now with all the time they’ve spent together. Hubert sighs through his nose before hooking his chin over Ferdinand’s other shoulder, letting his hair fall free behind him. At least this way it won’t get in his face.
He isn’t much different from those soldiers who would cheer as soon as Ferdinand swooped into battle, waving his mane of bright orange hair behind him like the dawning sun. Although he isn’t quite as outward about his approval, Hubert can’t deny he always feels a sense of relief seeing that long hair flowing in the wind, a sign that everything will be okay accompanied by that bright, bright smile he’s come to love.
But he gets to appreciate it much more intimately, too. He sees golden rivers across their pillows every morning, waterfalling down bare shoulders or strands stuck to a sweaty face. He gets to feel how soft it is when he uses an ungloved hand to tuck it behind his ear, like parting amber curtains to see the sun every morning.
“No,” Hubert says. “It suits you.”