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It wasn’t uncommon for Linhardt to appear in Caspar’s dreams. After all, they’d been best friends for most of their lives, so even after he had to return to his family’s estate when the war began, he was bound to think about him from time to time. But the dream he’d had tonight was different.
The two were alone in a grassy field, the vast expanse of the night sky spread out above them. The moon was so big and bright that they could see each other perfectly. Caspar didn’t really know what they were doing there, or why it was so quiet, but he didn’t really give it a single thought in the first place. Instead, he stared at Linhardt. The taller man was gorgeous, with his hair down and tumbling over his shoulders and his silky white shirt worn loose and buttoned lazily. Somewhere along the line, a conversation started. They chatted casually as if it hadn’t been almost three years since they had last seen each other, about things that would no longer make sense when Caspar awoke. And then he felt Linhardt’s hands wrap around his waist and pull him in tight, and then his lips were on his own and they kissed like they’d been without each other for much longer than three years— and then he woke up, his heart pounding out of his chest.
Caspar missed Linhardt— he’d known that much for a while. He missed the company of his best friend; his laid-back attitude, his odd sense of humor, his excitement when he had found a lead in his research, and even his constant stream of petty complaints. But what he hadn’t realized was the nature or extent of his feelings.
In the quiet of his room, it was now quite apparent to Caspar why his heart sped up a little when he remembered how Linhardt would fall asleep on his shoulder back when they were classmates at the Officer’s Academy, and why he always ended up thinking about him before he fell asleep, and why he kept re-reading his letters like his life depended on it. He had previously brushed it off as a combination of loneliness and missing his best friend. But he couldn’t really deny it anymore as he processed the dream he’d just had, and how heavy his heart felt when he woke up and found that it wasn’t a reality. He loved Linhardt like he’d never loved anyone or anything else before. And now that he admitted that to himself, he realized how much he wanted him. He wanted to be the light in Linhardt’s deep blue eyes, to stroke through his lovely evergreen hair, to hold him close, especially in the lonely pre-dawn hours when he’d wake up and think about everyone he’d failed to protect from the ravages of the war as guilt rose up in his throat.
Was it even realistic to think that he had a chance to be with Linhardt? As nonchalant as he was about his noble duties, he was supposed to inherit his father’s position as Minister of Domestic Affairs. With a position like that, he’d surely have to get married to a noblewoman and have kids until one of them had a suitable Crest. Getting married to a noblewoman— Goddess, did that hurt to think about. Imagining Linhardt is anyone’s arms other than his own caused an ache in his chest that seemed almost overwhelming. Linhardt wasn’t even engaged yet— Caspar knew that much from the letters they sent back and forth. Still, it almost felt like he was pining over a married man.
Caspar shook his head. If there was one thing he knew about Linhardt, it was that he cared nothing about his noble house. So after the war, was there a chance that they could run away together? He himself had nothing to lose, and Linhardt only had to lose things that he didn’t even want in the first place. Even if he didn’t get to have Linhardt in the way he wanted to, he would still have him by his side. Was that selfish, to ask Linhardt to stay with him when he knew how much he was looking forward to finally having the time to take proper naps?
Putting his palm over his heart as if he could still its beating, Caspar figured that it didn’t really matter because again, he had nothing to lose. So he swore to himself that next time he saw Linhardt, he’d talk with him just like they used to. And then he’d tell him about his feelings, and his idea to travel the world together and leave everything else behind. And if his feelings were returned, Caspar would wrap his hands around Linhardt’s waist and pull him in tight and kiss him like they’d been apart for a lifetime.
Or at least, one could dream.