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Breathing heavily with his back pressed against the wall, the young magus known as Waver Velvet found himself grateful for the pitter-patter of shower water coming from the bathroom downstairs. No sound could have masked his occasional sniffling more conveniently. He figured that the water must have been running thanks to his servant, who had bounded down the staircase after finishing another documentary, babbling something about the chance to enjoy a revolutionary new way of bathing. That was over half an hour ago. Normally, Waver would have been appalled by the amount of water that his servant was wasting. Showering was an absolutely useless function for spirits without traditional needs, but the magus was too preoccupied by the burden of his own thoughts to complain.
Waver had expected the thoughts to stop by the time he boarded the flight to Japan, no longer surrounded by Clock Tower imbeciles and forced to defend himself at any given moment. Oh, how he had hoped that those terrible thoughts would stop. He had expected the presence of a servant, a grand heroic spirit summoned to do his bidding, to drive the thoughts away like the sun chases the night away from the horizon. He never would have expected that his former teacher would follow him all the way to Fuyuki, even without a relic, nor would he have expected his own insecurities to be so bloody relentless.
Even in the moment, it seemed so silly, worrying about the little things that his classmates had said and done when so many lives — so many wishes — were on the line. Waver had fled from the oppressive lifestyle of a student of magecraft to join a magical war in the Far East, yet he was still crying over classroom nonsense like a child. If this drastic change of environment had failed to rid him of these insecure thoughts, how could a golden cup manage to help such a lost cause?
Twisting the bedsheets in his fists, the young magus let out a strained sob. His cheeks were dampened and puffed, and his body was curled up defensively. Before he could take another breath, the sound of shower water stopped, and silence filled the house. Fearing his servant's return to the attic bedroom, Waver hastily wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing tears and snot all over his heated face. He threw himself onto his side, remaining curled up with his chin tucked against his chest and his knees pointing towards the wall. If he simply pretended to be asleep, maybe Iskandar would ignore him and go back to enjoying whatever frivolities had caught his attention (and drained his master's poor wallet).
Still, Waver had never been skilled at masking his emotional outbursts.
As hard as Waver tried to calm himself down, the tears kept flowing, and his breathing pattern remained frantic. The sound of Iskandar's footsteps thundering up the staircase only made his situation worse. By the time his footsteps reached the door, as the knob rattled and the hinges squeaked, Waver could hear his own heartbeat racing in his ears. The pressure leaked from his eyes and threatened to spill from his lips at any moment.
Iskandar groaned obscenely as he entered the room, tossing what was probably a towel onto the floor and sauntering over to his futon. Waver tried to breathe as if he were asleep, but he found himself overthinking the whole process. His chest suddenly felt too tight for his lungs, and he caught himself breathing too loudly. Before he could realize what was happening, he was gasping for air, and it was only a matter of time before Iskandar noticed that something was awry. The thought of being discovered in such a pathetic state brought another surge of tears, followed by a helpless whimper that crushed all hope of evasion.
"Boy? Is something the matter?"
"N-No!" Waver squeaked, voice cracking. "I'm ju… just trying to sleep, and you're being so loud!"
After the sound of a grunt and a couple of heavy footsteps, Waver could already sense Iskandar looming over the bed. He tried to keep his face hidden by burying it against the bedsheets, but it was no use. He had been caught red-faced, and there was nothing more he could do.
"Any man with a pair of ears could tell that you were crying," Iskandar insisted, voice firm. "Now, do you intend to lie there in such a state all night, or do you wish to speak of it?"
Waver sniffled loudly and pulled his knees closer to his face.
"It's not anything that concerns a servant like you."
"Those are bold words for a man with a face covered in snot."
The ancient king's words were harsh, but his tone was easy, and he punctuated his retort with a chuckle. Somehow, that made the wound in Waver's pride sting even more.
"Fine," Waver bit back, "it's not important enough for the ears of such a greaaat and pooowerful king!"
Iskandar exhaled slowly. Waver could sense the larger man lowering himself onto his knees and pressing his forearms into the bed. His weight caused the bed to dip, sending Waver rolling in his servant's direction against his will. Embarrassed, the magus tried to cover his face with his hands, but Iskandar had already seen everything. No sarcastic tone or petulant attitude would be enough to deter the oh-so-stubborn King of Conquerors, and any attempts at hiding would be futile in the presence of a man who had nearly traveled half the globe on foot.
"Nonsense. As your servant, your worries are my worries, and as a king, it is my honor to give you an audience."
Waver found himself peeking at the heroic spirit from the gaps between his fingers. He was almost grateful for his pitiful state, knowing that, even without a spell of crying to warm his cheeks, he would still be blushing at his servant's words. The thin towel that was barely clinging to his servant's hips, leaving little to the imagination, only made matters worse.
"Ri… Rider…"
"Speak, boy."
With a shaky exhale passing through his quivering lips, Waver lowered his hands and pressed them against the bed. He shifted his weight into his arms and lifted himself back into a sitting position, back against the wall once again.
"I…" Waver began, reluctant to expose the foolishness of his own thoughts. "I can't stop thinking about everyone at the bloody Clock Tower. All my classmates and instructors and everyone who just passed me by in the hallway. They… Those bastards always had such nasty things to say about me, and I never had anyone to stand up for me! How is that even fair?"
The tears were rolling again, but the young magus could no longer find it in himself to care. He was letting it all spill out, arms shaking and jaw trembling from the force of his emotions. His worries may have been trivial, but the power that they held over him was great.
The boy glanced up at Iskandar, and Iskandar nodded for him to continue.
"And then there was this Melvin guy who was always saying rubbish like, 'Oh, I like you so much, Waver! Oh, you're so interesting, Waver!' but he would get along with the others like it was no big deal! He would just sit by as they laughed at me like it was some sort of game! How can you say you like someone if you won't even bloody stand up for them?! How could he expect me to be his friend?!"
As soon as Waver's burst of emotion died down, his self-consciousness returned. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and wiped his face with his sleeve once again, trying not to wince at the repulsive friction of dried snot against his sensitive nose. Part of him wanted to leap off the bed and run out of the house before he could hear anything Iskandar had to say, but he was done running. Running had landed him into this mess, and he had no desire to make his sorry state even sorrier.
The King of Conquerors sighed deeply, betraying a twinge of exasperation, and ran a hand through his own hair.
"Boy," Iskandar began with an expression that was serious enough to be grim, “I know nothing about these people, but why should you care what they think of you? Your path has led you here, far across the ocean, and they can no longer hurt you. If anyone opposes your campaign, you have the choice to pardon their folly or to silence them. That is how I believe one ought to live."
Waver shook his head.
"You don't understand! How can I silence anyone if I don't even have the strength to defend myself? No one cares if I forgive them, and they probably want me to try to shut them up! They want a reason to go after me because they know that I'm powerless!"
There was a pause followed by a sniffle.
"I'll always be powerless so long as I'm alone. Even if someone says they like me, it doesn't change a thing. I'm not like you. I don't have a whole bloody army at my command to back me up. It's just me."
Iskandar let out another sigh, but this one was full of concern. He leaned forward, setting his grip around Waver's knees. The boy’s eyes widened, and Iskandar offered the subtlest of smiles in return.
"A man like you or me has no need for such things. Even if every last member of my army were to disappear, I would still defend my own person to my final breath."
The ancient king's expression darkened, and his subtle smile curled into a haughty grin.
"Besides, what better support can a man have than a conquering king? Did I not defend you against the Master of Lancer when he seeked to humiliate you? If anyone less cowardly ever dared to say such things about you in my presence, they would wish they never learned to speak."
Waver swallowed loudly. He felt Iskandar’s arms enveloping him, and he sensed his body wincing reflexively, but his brain was too overwhelmed to acknowledge what was happening in the moment. A shiver coursed through his entire being, and he found himself overwhelmed by two contrary forces — a soothing wave of catharsis and an unexpected tug of arousal. Part of him yearned to pursue the latter, but that could wait. For now, he was content with the promise that someone — and not just anyone, but his Rider, the great King Iskandar of Macedonia — would always support him.
Even if it was spoken out of obligation, even if it would no longer matter once the war had ended, and even if it was just a lie offered to calm a pathetic master, that promise meant the world to Waver Velvet. An offering of thanks could never do, so he refused to bother with such overused words. Instead, he leaned into his servant's warm embrace and decided that, from now on, his wish would no longer be his own. Perhaps a holy grail could never fix his problems, nor could anything else in this world, but it no longer mattered. Those problems suddenly seemed infinitesimal in the arms of a man so much larger than life, like grains of sand already washing away in the tide of a great love.