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It is a fine evening. There is a slight breeze, attempting to tangle the fairy lights and flirting with the table clothes and teasing wisps of hair from their pinned styles. The sky is cleared of clouds, the stars winking down at the party that is happening. The garden is twinkling with fairy lights, the paths lit by lanterns. The gazebo pillars are spiraling with flowers—dendrobiums and baby’s breath with an added splash of red roses.
Everyone cheers as the professor stands and offers her outstretched hand to Edelgard. Edelgard has had a pinkish tinge across her cheeks all evening and it deepens as she takes the professor’s hand and is led to the gazebo for their first dance as a married couple.
Hubert claps from where he is standing near the back, sipping wine and staying nearly hidden. His Majesty—his friend has requested that he save a dance for her and Hubert knows he will need some alcohol in him to loosen his stiff shoulders and uncoordinated feet. He knows he has about ten minutes before he must make his presence known so in the meantime, he’ll stay here.
His eyes roam across everyone. It’s been a year and yet. Everyone is still here. Caspar and Dorothea hoot loudly as the professor twirls Edelgard and dips her unexpectedly. Caspar has an arm around Linhardt, who isn’t sleeping but is trading what is likely gossip with Petra. Bernadetta flits around, nervous but keen on finding that right angle as she takes photos of the dancing couple.
Even allies he had not expected. School mates who’d been in other houses but had followed their cause. Ignatz running after Bernadetta. Lorenz and Sylvain, who seem to be in the middle of some slight bickering, Felix sitting in between, scowling and rolling his eyes at both. Mercedes wiping away tears at the couple. Ingrid laughing at Raphael stuff himself with bread rolls.
That just leaves--
“Looking for me?”
Hubert freezes and then forces himself to relax. He hears Ferdinand approach and he inclines his head in greeting.
Ferdinand returns his greeting with a shy smile and Hubert feels something in him crack.
“You really think that highly of yourself Aegir?” Hubert says. Ferdinand throws his head back and laughs. Hubert tracks the braid of his hair, the line of this throat, the slope of his shoulders—
Perhaps he has drank too much wine.
“Not really,” Ferdinand answers, joking so easily when he would have taken offense before. And then he does the unthinkable: he throws an arm around Hubert’s shoulder and pats Hubert’s chest. “I was just hoping you'd missed me.”
Perhaps Hubert hasn’t drank enough.
“Aegir, your breath stinks of alcohol.” With this excuse, Hubert takes a casual step aside to keep Ferdinand from feeling his heart, which has started beating faster. His cheeks feel warm. The wine must be doing its job.
“Come now, Hubert. You jest but you have yet to dismiss me. You must truly miss me.”
Hubert looks at Ferdinand. His tone remains light. But there is something unsure in his expression—the tension in his smile, the question in his eyes. Hubert is not weak, but he seems to make exceptions when it comes to this man.
With his other hand, he cups Ferdinand’s face, thumb caressing his cheek where a blush is starting to form.
“Perhaps I do.” Hubert allows himself this version of a confession. It’s been a year since he has seen Ferdinand. Their roles after the war had pulled them apart and there had been no time to discuss any form of Afterwards. They sent correspondences, of course. Emails, at first. Texts for official business, which led to personal messages. But Ferdinand never brought it up and Hubert had been convinced by his own pride that this only meant Ferdinand was no longer interested in pursuing what they had been building up to.
So they never talked about it.
But it doesn’t mean Hubert never thought about it.
Before he can add anything more, Bernadetta tugs on his sleeve. “You’re up Hubie,” she says and actually taps her foot with impatience. She sees Ferdinand and probably notices Hubert’s hand on Ferdinand’s because she squeaks out “Th-three minutes!”, waves to Ferdinand and disappears back into the party.
When Hubert turns back, Ferdinand looks ready to laugh at him again. “Hubie?” is all Ferdinand asks as Hubert brings his hand down.
“Dorothea’s fault. It caught on. Unfortunately.” Hubert drains the rest of the glass. “I promised the lady a dance.”
Ferdinand nods. He reaches out, fixes the orchid pinned on Hubert’s lapel. This time, Hubert doesn’t step back. Instead, he clasps Ferdinand’s hand, lets him feel his beating heart. “I’ll look for you,” Hubert promises. “After.”
**
Up close, Edelgard is even more beautiful. Her dress wrapped with lacing, flowered vines that trailed from her neckline to her bodice, down her skirt and train. She has swapped her crown for a silver headband, matching her dress and the flower arrangement of the venue. She looks elegant.
She asks him about Ferdinand and Hubert nearly trips on her train.
“Do not laugh, this is not funny,” Hubert murmurs, turning them so that his back is to the crowd, hiding his embarrassment. Edelgard bites her lips.
“I just want you to be happy,” she says after a beat.
“I am happy to be of your service.” He counters but this argument is old, and Hubert’s heart isn’t really in it. He spins Edelgard and turns them again so that he is facing the crowd. His eyes quickly search for that flash of orange hair. He spots Ferdinand talking to Dorothea, hand on a curled fist as he leans close to her.
“So you say,” Edelgard says. “But when you look at Ferdinand, I don’t think that’s the whole truth anymore.”
**
After, Hubert is unable to go find Ferdinand. There had been too many things happening one after the other—more dances, speeches. Cutting the cake, tossing the bouquets, releasing the lanterns. It’s during this moment that Ferdinand finds Hubert.
“Here you are.” Ferdinand offers a lantern, already holding his own.
“Ah, I—thank you,” Hubert murmurs. It’s quiet now, everyone settling for this somber moment. The lights have been dimmed to near darkness. There is just enough light to guide them to the lake, where Edelgard and the professor will release their lanterns. Everyone else's will follow when theirs has reached past the tree lines. It’s supposed to be symbolic— the lanterns, each housing a wish made. The couple’s guiding lanterns everyone else’s to the heavens.
As they walk, Hubert stands close and dares to brush his knuckles against Ferdinand’s. Ferdinand catches Hubert’s pinkie with his own.
“Vestra, how bold of you.” Ferdinand says.
“Hush, Aegir.” But Hubert takes this as his cue to wrap his hand around Ferdinand’s, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.
The walk to the lake is short and soon enough, a candle is passed around. First, from the couple and then down the crowd. Ferdinand lets go of Hubert to light his lantern, and then Hubert’s. Beside Ferdinand, Dorothea smirks at them but Hubert is too distracted to do anything in retaliation. The candlelight casts a soft glow at Ferdinand, coloring his skin a warm yellow, bringing out his hair further in contrast to the dark sky. Hubert wants to reach out, part the braided hair that is starting to fall apart. He wants to..
So many things. He wants to do so many things.
Apologize. Ask Ferdinand if they can start again. Ask for a.. for an embrace, of all things.
“You’re staring,” Ferdinand whispers as he passes the candle to Linhardt. Hubert’s instinct is to deny it but instead, he replies:
“How can I not?”
Ferdinand does blush at that. Hubert smirks. He catches Ferdinand’s hand as he attempts a playful swat at him. Hubert brings Ferdinand’s hand to his lips, barely brushing the knuckles with a kiss.
“Ferdie. Ahem, Ferdinand. I—”
“It’s starting,” Caspar nudges them to keep quiet.
Edelgard and the professor makes a speech about.. what about, Hubert can’t absorb. They say something about love found and all Hubert sees is Ferdinand’s profile, warm and inviting, eyes filling up with tears as the professor kisses Edelgard’s hands like a promise.
As they release their lanterns, Ferdinand finally looks back at Hubert. “I wished for you,” Ferdinand whispers, his own version of his confession. Hubert—
takes hold of his hands.