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Lorenz found that, lately, he never seemed to sleep too deeply.
The cause was uncertain—it might have been the constant looming presence of war that prompted him to wake to any unusual noise in the night, or it simply might have been that the mattresses they had recovered around the monastery since reclaiming it were a little lumpier than the feather bed he had left behind at the Gloucester estate. Whatever the reason, Lorenz was not surprised when he woke abruptly to find his room still dark, lit dimly by the moon lingering in the sky. He held his breath a moment, staring into the gloom, listening for whatever it was that had disturbed him—faintly, he recalled the sound of a door closing echoing incongruously in his dreams from just before waking. Sure enough, a quiet creak of footsteps passed his door only a few seconds later. Apparently, someone else was suffering from sleeplessness.
Lorenz moved to roll over and get comfortable again, but curiosity got the better of him. He slipped out of his sheets and tiptoed the two steps to the door—inching it open, he peered out into the corridor just in time to see a familiar dark-haired individual disappear down the stairs.
Claude.
Lorenz watched the empty hallway for a beat, then withdrew into his room and gently closed the door.
Then he pulled on his boots, snatched an embroidered dressing gown from a hook, and re-emerged into the hallway to follow.
It was not suspicion that compelled him to go after the Alliance leader—he was past his phase of distrusting Claude’s every action. Perhaps the impulse was born of lingering instincts from those years—his father’s voice, echoing in his head with don’t let that outsider out of your sight—but at the moment it was nothing more than a whim. He had a feeling sleep would elude him, and the night was clear and quiet. Claude or no Claude, a walk would do him good.
And when he reached the bottom of the stairs, it seemed he was destined for the latter. There was no one in sight along the pathway beside the dormitories.
Where did he—
A weight fell on his shoulder. Lorenz nearly jumped clear of his boots, catching himself just short of crying out by covering his mouth with one hand.
He whipped his head around to see Claude, doubling over in stifled laughter, now gripping Lorenz’s shoulder to support himself.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, recovering. “I heard someone on the stairs, and I couldn’t resist.”
Wondering if he should reconsider his assessment that this man was fit to rule a nation, Lorenz scowled at him. “By the Goddess, Claude,” he hissed, “are you a child?”
“Hey, now, you’re the one who followed me,” Claude pointed out, still grinning. “You should have known the risks.”
Lorenz just fumed silently at that, and Claude laughed.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” he apologized, more sincerely this time. “Anyway, care to join me?”
He gestured down the path. Letting out a quiet huff and straightening the lapels of his dressing gown, Lorenz nodded for him to lead the way.
They walked side-by-side towards the reservoir, in silence at first. Claude was dressed in a loose tunic, mostly concealed beneath many folds of a colorful knitted scarf which looked well-suited to ward off the nighttime chill. Lorenz’s dressing gown was a little less appropriate, and he tugged it closer around himself, fighting off a shiver.
Claude, sharp-eyed as always, noticed anyway. “Cold?”
There was no point in lying about it. “I should have brought my cloak,” Lorenz admitted.
As an answer, Claude tilted his head questioningly towards the greenhouse. The windows glinted in the moonlight and were fogged with humidity on the inside, betraying the temperature difference between the open air and the building.
The doors were unlocked, and the damp air inside was noticeably warmer. Lorenz relaxed his hunched shoulders a little, breathing in the mingled scents of earth and greenery. The greenhouse, neglected for five long years, was well on its way to recovering—overgrown shrubs had been trimmed back, wilted plants had been uprooted and replaced, and new seeds had been planted in freshly tilled dirt. It would still be some time before its former glory was entirely restored, as some of the more delicate fruit trees would take years to grow back and the army was naturally prioritizing practical crops over flowers for the time being, but there was a unique charm in the work in progress, where deceptively barren stretches of dirt neighbored overgrown clumps of ivy that spilled onto the paths and climbed the walls, casting irregular shadows in the moonlight.
“I haven’t seen any roses here, since we’ve been back,” Claude remarked as the door closed behind them and they started strolling down the greenhouse path.
“They are a bit delicate,” Lorenz replied. “And hardly a practical use of space in times such as these.”
“Maybe not,” Claude agreed. He let out a quiet laugh. “Did Teach ever give you flowers?”
“Quite often,” Lorenz recalled. There had been a rose from the professor adorning his desk more often than not, back in their academy days. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason, really. I thought it was so unusual at first, until I realized he just liked picking them and didn’t have anything else to do with them.” He shook his head, still smiling. “It was kind of nice, though. It would be a shame not to grow any flowers in here, war or not. Maybe I’ll check if there are any seeds left in the storehouse.”
He knelt down to examine some tiny buds on a recently-trimmed shrub, and Lorenz stopped beside him, although the plant only held his attention for a moment before his gaze drifted to Claude.
He spent the better part of most days with the Alliance leader, either going over strategies, sharing meals, training, or fighting—by now, he thought, he should have been exhausted of things to notice about him. But as familiar as Claude’s face was, Lorenz’s eyes always seemed to find something to fall on. Tonight, it was his hair, more tousled than usual, with a few locks falling across his forehead.
With Claude’s head right at the level of his hand, it would have been so easy to reach out and brush back those stray locks from his forehead. Lorenz imagined it, for just a moment, then drew his fingers into a fist and cast around for a topic of conversation to distract him.
“What brought you out of your room tonight?” He had half-expected Claude to drag him along on some strange errand to the library, or even on a late-night exploration of some once-forbidden corridor that had been left unguarded with so many of the knights now gone, but Claude did not seem to be in a rush to leave the greenhouse.
He didn’t seem to be in a rush to answer, either, straightening up again and beginning a slow amble down the greenhouse path before speaking.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” he said at last. “I know I’m not alone. You’re not the only person I’ve run into wandering the monastery at night—I think Byleth and I basically have weekly stargazing at this point.” He laughed a little. “I don’t know if the walking helps, but if I stay in my room, I start to feel like I’m wasting time, since I’m awake and not using the time for research, or tactics—but nothing good ever comes of a plan schemed up on a sleep-deprived mind, so I walk instead.”
“That seems prudent,” Lorenz agreed. “Although, I am not sure I would be able to tell the difference between one of your usual schemes and one that resulted from lack of sleep.”
“Oh, trust me, you would know,” Claude assured him. “And hopefully I can count on you to call me out on it. But everyone else…they all expect me to know what I’m doing all the time, to have a master plan to take every eventuality into account. And I do, a lot of the time, but…” He sighed. “You would think with how exhausting it all is, I would be able to sleep.”
Lorenz's brows drew together. “I have a lovely chamomile mint tea…”
Claude cast him a sideways glance. “I think I’ve tried just about every kind of tea there is at this point. It doesn’t make a difference—I’m dead tired, but I close my eyes, and all I see is Ashe, burning up at Ailell. Or Ferdinand, defending the Great Bridge with his life, or Caspar and Linhardt stuck in Fort Merceus when those things came out of the sky…You could have been out there, if things had turned out differently, and one of us would have had to…augh.” He ran his hands down his face. “I never know what’s right—don’t let it affect me, and become callous to it, or face the reality of what we’re doing and never sleep another night in my life.”
Lorenz clenched his teeth as those same memories sprang to the forefront of his mind. Ashe in particular…he shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the evening chill.
“I never knew it bothered you so,” he said to Claude.
Claude opened one eye. “Does that affect your assessment that I’m fit to govern?”
“Not at all. I am on this side of the war because I do not want a leader who finds death and chaos an acceptable means of progress. The people are suffering.”
“And yet…we have to accept it anyway, if we’re going to keep resisting the Empire,” Claude pointed out. “Should we just roll over and accept Edelgard’s rule, then? Are our ideals worth our people’s lives any more than hers are?”
Lorenz paused a moment, then decisively shook his head. “No, we should fight. The people want to resist. Those who joined with the Empire only did so because of threats they could not ignore. To simply surrender when so many believe in this cause would be irresponsible, especially when we’ve come this far.”
Claude smiled slightly. “Glad you agree. That means we have a long road ahead of us, though. Which means a lot more sleepless nights.” He sighed and stretched his arms behind his head. “Maybe this isn’t the kind of thought a leader should have, but it would be nice if someone could just take the reins for a while…” He cast Lorenz a sideways glance. “Want to be Alliance leader for a day?”
Lorenz arched one eyebrow. “Just one day? I believe it would take far longer than that to correct some of the current mismanagements.”
“Ooh, harsh,” Claude winced. “What mismanagements, if I may ask? I’m always ready to listen to my advisors.”
His bluff called, Lorenz hesitated a moment, and Claude was too sharp to miss it.
“You know, it’s just us here,” he added. “You can say you think I’m a good leader again. No one will hear you.” Claude’s expression was fully a smirk now, and Lorenz pursed his lips.
“There is no need for me to repeat myself,” he retorted stiffly.
“So stingy,” Claude tutted, shaking his head ruefully and taking a few steps down the path. “Compliments from you mean a lot, you know.”
Lorenz felt a blush prickle on his cheeks, and he was immensely relieved that Claude was still turned away from him. “…is that so?”
“Well, I know from past experience that you won’t keep it to yourself if I’m doing something you don’t like,” Claude explained, “so I know that your compliments are honest, too. There’s something reassuring about that.”
“…I see.”
“Don’t take that the wrong way,” Claude added. “I always know where I stand with you. It’s nice to have something to trust, in times like these.”
For some reason, something in Lorenz’s chest twisted at that, and his expression must have mirrored the sensation, because Claude caught sight of him and frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“It is nothing.” He would not be able to articulate it, at least, the bitterness snaking around his heart.
“Come on, after listening to me gripe you should at least be able to do some complaining of your own,” Claude urged.
“That is not necessary.”
“Would you tell me if I was Byleth?”
Lorenz thought about the Professor’s quiet attentiveness, the way his brief but pointed questions always seemed to dig to the heart of matters, and wondered if Byleth would be capable of getting the truth out of him. He bit his lip and looked down at his hand, still closed in a loose fist.
“Is that truly what it is? Trust?” he said at last.
“What?”
“You trust my honesty, yes, but not…me.”
Claude frowned. “I trust you,” he protested, but there was an unmistakable strain to the words.
“To an extent, perhaps,” Lorenz conceded. “But not enough to explain where your thoughts go at the ends of our war meetings, when even the professor’s attention is elsewhere and I’m the only one who sees—”
He managed to catch control of his tongue, but too late. I am too tired, he thought, far too tired and saying far too much.
Claude’s brow furrowed. “Who sees…what?”
“The way you look east,” Lorenz blurted, “with a weight on your brow even after our most successful battles, like there is something over the horizon that none of the rest of us are able to see. I want”—his throat caught again, and he swallowed thickly before going on—“…perhaps it is foolish, but I want to ease that weight, if it is at all within my power to do so. I can guess—but only guess!—at what preoccupies you, while I am trusted to play out my role as a knight upon your chessboard. I will do my duty, naturally, and should you vanish, as you have…threatened, I would certainly rule in your stead. But I would much prefer to—”
He made the mistake of looking up then, to where Claude stood beside him, eyes wide and astonished as words poured from Lorenz’s lips—although it felt more like they were welling up from his very heart, instead.
“But I should much prefer to rule by your side, as an equal, with your full trust,” he finished, quietly, the words seemingly drawn from his lips by Claude’s steady gaze, “if that would not be considered too selfish.”
As soon as he finished, he wished he could pull the words back, edit them, dilute their earnestness. Because he meant them, of course, but to say them and have Claude realize he meant them—and how he meant them—was another thing entirely, one he had not intended to confess on a dark midnight in the middle of a war.
For a few seconds, Claude just stared at him. And when he spoke, it wasn’t what Lorenz was expecting.
“Selfish…” he mused, looking away and starting to walk along the path again. “That’s an interesting choice of words, for you.”
Unsure how to respond, Lorenz shook himself and followed a few steps behind.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever known you to be selfish,” Claude went on. “Have you ever done anything truly to benefit your own interests—your interests, not your father’s, or your subjects’, or the army’s—except for maybe, I don’t know, taking an extra cup of Teach’s Leicester Cortania when you could have shared it? You’re ambitious, sure, but selfish?
“Besides, I can’t really fault you for selfishness,” Claude continued. “All of this, the reason I came to Fódlan…it’s for my own self-indulgence, at the heart of it. And—ah, no, you can’t argue, you’ve already said you don’t know my plans—maybe that’s why I haven’t told you. If you know, maybe you’ll take back all those compliments I valued so much.”
Lorenz, who had opened his mouth to protest, fell silent again.
“But being selfish…it’s not always bad, you know. Like—ah!” Claude broke off with a small exclamation of delight that almost made Lorenz jump, for how unexpected it was. Dropping to his knees again at the edge of the path, Claude reached into a mess of overgrown bushes that hadn’t yet been cleared away, wincing a little as his hand disappeared into the branches.
“Claude, what are you—”
“Like growing flowers in wartime,” Claude interrupted, springing to his feet again and holding out a small, pale pink rosebud, just starting to spread its petals, “maybe it’s not practical, maybe it’s a small, selfish indulgence, but I don’t think that means it’s a waste.”
Lorenz stared at the improbable flower. Claude’s finger was bleeding, where he had pricked it on a thorn. Almost mechanically, Lorenz tugged a handkerchief from a pocket of his dressing gown, pressing it to the wound and watching red bloom across the fabric, like a smaller, darker rose. Claude laughed a little at the sight.
“You’re ruining a nice handkerchief.”
“You are hurt,” Lorenz huffed, focusing his attention on the wound to avoid Claude’s gaze.
But Claude placed his free hand over Lorenz’s, stilling his ministrations and drawing Lorenz’s eyes up to his.
“The truth is…” he said, “I like the sound of that. Ruling with you. I’ve been finding we make a pretty good team, you and I.”
A good team. Lorenz felt his heart sink even as he cursed himself for ever feeling hope. That was all he had said, wasn’t it? He had made no declaration of love, yet somehow, Claude’s words still stung like a rejection.
“I…you…you misunderstand me,” Lorenz stammered, tugging his hand away and turning on his heel to hide his face. He felt hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he willed them to disappear. He had been foolish to ever think Claude would harbor feelings towards him that matched his own—it served him right for indulging the feelings at all.
“Lorenz—hey, wait.” Claude caught the sleeve of his robe. “I understand you just fine.”
Even worse, Lorenz despaired, but Claude had grasped his arm and moved in front of him, blocking his route to flee. He felt a flush rise to his face. Mortifying.
“I can’t give you what you want,” Claude went on. “I can’t stay in Fodlan after the war—I have too much to do elsewhere, and I think…well, I think you probably know more about it than you let on, if you’re really watching so closely. And I know you won’t leave. But someday…well, who knows?”
Lorenz sniffed. “You do not need to soften the blow. I should not have spoken. Now, if you would excuse me…”
Claude’s grip only tightened. “No, hold on. Lorenz, I think you misunderstand me.”
Lorenz had turned his chin away and up, pressing his lips together in a posture that most people took for haughtiness, when it was more often than not just a habit to hold his features steady when he thought they might break. So focused was he on keeping his lip from quivering that one tear escaped his eye.
Claude caught it on his thumb before it could slide down his cheek, and Lorenz couldn’t suppress a quick intake of breath.
“Sorry,” Claude murmured. “You just surprised me. I never thought you would say anything.”
“…what?” The words escaped Lorenz’s lips in a hoarse whisper.
“You have House Gloucester, I have…well.” Claude grimaced and dropped his hand, and Lorenz immediately missed the warmth against his face. “I figured we would spend the whole war dancing around it, and then I would leave, and that would be that.”
“Claude, what are you…”
“Lorenz, don’t tell me you noticed the cardinal direction of my wistful stares but not—” He broke off with a quiet laugh. “You didn’t even take the rose.”
The aforementioned flower was still hanging in Claude’s other hand, the stem wrapped in Lorenz’s blood-spotted handkerchief. Lorenz took it from him now, frowning down at the pale petals.
Claude exhaled. “Can I start over?”
Lorenz gave a silent nod, not trusting his voice.
“Okay. Forget the whole flower thing. I panicked.” Lorenz arched an eyebrow, and Claude grimaced. “I did, really! I never bothered making any plans for…this.”
“A rather grave oversight for our Master Tactician,” Lorenz managed to remark.
“Yeah, yeah.” Claude rubbed his neck sheepishly, then gestured to a bench placed beside one of the arched windows. “Can we sit?”
Lorenz followed him to the bench, barely daring to breath. He felt caught in an uncertain limbo, too aware of the rose in his hand and the blush on Claude’s cheeks, but not willing to risk any hopefully conclusions from such evidence.
Claude settled on the bench and drew his scarf more tightly around him, as though struck with a sudden chill. He didn’t look at Lorenz when he spoke.
“How about I tell you everything?”
Lorenz stared. It was what he had been after for years, and yet… “Claude, you do not have to—”
“No, listen. I’ll tell you everything, and if you still feel the same way, then…” He smiled a little, his eyes falling on the rose. “Well, then maybe I can allow myself a little selfishness, too.”
“I…I will not stop you.”
“No, I didn’t think you would,” Claude replied.
So Claude started with his mother, who was thought by most of the Alliance to have vanished decades ago. Lorenz inhaled sharply when Claude revealed that the man Tiana had fallen for was in fact Almyra’s king, but he held his tongue as Claude described his less-than-luxurious upbringing, the attempts on his life, and hatred he had faced from his own countrymen.
And he listened raptly as Claude finally laid out his true plan—to set his sights on Almyra when he was finished in Fódlan, using his royal connections to eventually break down the walls between the two countries, even if he had to become king to do it. He called it selfish, his desire to change the world so that no one would ever grow up feeling the way that he had felt—an outsider no matter where he went—but Lorenz wasn’t sure he agreed.
“So how much of that had you guessed?” Claude asked when he had finished, with a wry smile that left his eyes dark.
Lorenz let out a breath that he felt like he had been holding for the entire story. “…Almyra was…obvious enough,” he began. “But…prince?” He shook his head. “You always used to scoff at Dimitri and Edelgard.”
Claude shrugged. “It’s hard to feel like royalty when half your country wants you dead. Guess I thought they had it easy.” His lips twisted. “Not so sure about that anymore, though.” He exhaled heavily. “Anyway, that’s the whole sordid tale. Still want to ‘ease the weight,’ or—”
Claude’s tone was still light, but he was gripping the edge of the bench with both hands. Almost without thinking, Lorenz reached out to cover one of Claude’s hands with his own. Claude’s knuckles twitched like he had been shocked, but he didn’t pull away.
“Claude,” Lorenz began, looking down. “To think that any of this would change my opinion of you…well, I can understand why you might fear as much. I know I have been vocal about my distrust of Almyra in the past. I will not waste time making excuses for my behavior, or that of my fellow nobles. But in the last month alone, you have done more to sway the people’s attitudes towards their neighboring country than the church or any government of Fódlan has done in the last millennium. If anyone can accomplish this goal, it is you.” He spoke the last sentence with a conviction he usually reserved for statement about his own ambitions, and noticed the corner of Claude’s lip twitch into a smile.
“Even so,” Lorenz went on, “this is not a burden one should attempt to carry alone.” Gently, he pried Claude’s hand from the bench, feeling the tension ease out of the muscles. “It would be my honor to assist in any way that I can. Even if it is simply as a pawn in one of your schemes.”
Claude laughed, a little weakly. “Don’t get all humble on me now, Gloucester. I’m going to put you to work.”
Lorenz smiled. “Very well.” He lifted Claude’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles—the movement was almost automatic, an instinct born of his upbringing, but when he looked up, Claude was staring at him with an expression Lorenz had never seen, wide-eyed and astonished, entirely unguarded. His deep blush drew an answering warmth to Lorenz’s cheeks, but seeing Claude so uncharacteristically flustered granted him a measure of confidence.
“Seeing as my feelings remain quite unchanged,” Lorenz added, “may I ask what manner of selfishness the future king of Almyra might wish to allow himself…?”
For a moment, Claude seemed unable to do anything but stare at him. There was still a blotchy flush across his cheeks, which made him look younger than he was. Wrapped in the thick folds of his colorful scarf, with his hair still disarrayed, Lorenz saw beyond the Alliance leader to the scared boy of the past, a child of two tumultuous nations, belonging to both and neither at once. It was just a glimpse, before Claude ducked his head to hide his face, but it was strangely disarming.
“To be honest,” Claude said, his voice somewhat muffled in his scarf, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Perhaps,” Lorenz ventured, “it is something we can consider over a pot of chamomile mint tea.”
Without looking up, Claude hummed something that sounded like agreement. His hair had fallen over his forehead, and, tentatively, Lorenz reached out to brush it back. To his surprise, Claude relaxed at his touch, slumping to let his head fall against Lorenz’s shoulder.
“Goddess, I’m tired,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ve slept since…when did we get back from that skirmish with the bandits?”
Lorenz drew a sharp breath. “Claude, it has been four days.”
“Mm, sounds about right…”
“When you said you were having trouble sleeping…”
“I might have painted the situation in a more of a positive light than it deserved,” Claude admitted. “Sometimes, that’s what you have to do”—he broke off to yawn widely, before settling more comfortably on Lorenz’s shoulder—“when you’re…a leader…”
Even though the weight of Claude leaning against him was causing a tingling warmth to flood his chest, Lorenz felt he had to protest.
“Claude, you cannot fall asleep here—”
Claude grumbled a complaint. “What if that’s the selfishness I want, though?”
Lorenz scowled at him, even though Claude had his eyes closed. “Are you entirely sure you understood—”
“Yes, Lorenz,” Claude sighed. He reached around blindly with one hand for a moment before finding Lorenz’s and clasping their fingers together. “We can discuss how exactly you plan to court the future king of Almyra once he’s slept a little.”
Hearing their conversation summed up so directly, Lorenz was struck by a strange sort of vertigo. For a moment, his thoughts shifted beyond the close warmth of the greenhouse to the potential waiting just past the war ravaging the continent. Though still half-obscured by the battles and bloodshed, it was a future that promised to be so different from what Lorenz had ever imagined even five years ago—or even a few months ago—that even to think about it was a bit dizzying. Unconsciously, he gripped Claude’s fingers a little tighter.
“In that case,” he said when he found his voice again, “we should get you back to your room.”
“Bed’s covered in books. Bad for sleeping.”
Lorenz sighed. “My room, then.”
“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” Claude gasped, turning his head a little to eye him with a small smirk. “How very forward of you.”
“That is not—” Lorenz broke off with a huff. “What did you have in mind, then?”
“Oh, no, that’s exactly what I had in mind. I just wanted to defend my honor.”
“My intentions were entirely honorable!”
“Entirely? That’s no fun.”
“You are talking quite a bit for someone who is supposedly too exhausted to move.”
“Mm. You have a point.” Claude let his head settle back on Lorenz’s shoulder and fell silent. Too silent.
“Claude,” Lorenz said. There was no response. Lorenz wiggled his shoulder. “Claude.”
Claude’s breathing had settled into a slow, even pattern, and the hand holding Lorenz’s relaxed.
“Unbelievable.”
With a sigh, Lorenz wormed an arm around Claude’s back, then another under his knees. As an afterthought, he took the rose from where it had ended up beside him on the bench and tucked it in his pocket, and then, with a grunt of effort, he hefted the sleeping Alliance leader into his arms and started a slow progress out of the greenhouse.
Blessedly, Claude stirred once they were outside, blinking up at Lorenz in momentary confusion, and Lorenz was relieved to set him back on his feet as soon as his eyes cleared. He seemed only half-awake as they scaled the stairs, though, and when they reached Lorenz’s room, Lorenz realized tea wouldn’t be necessary, as Claude’s eyes were closed again almost before he touched the mattress.
Leaving him to rest, Lorenz unwrapped the handkerchief from the stem of the rose, staying mindful of the thorns, and placed the flower into a vase on his desk. Then he turned around and started—Claude was gazing at him from the bed, eyes wide and ringed in shadows, and Lorenz recalled what he had said about Ashe, and Ferdinand, and the countless others they had been forced to cut down over the course of their resistance. He felt like he would be able to see those deaths playing out endlessly in Claude’s eyes if he looked hard enough.
Wordlessly, Claude shifted towards the wall, leaving a space beside him on the mattress. There were no more quips about honor, just a quiet plea in his eyes: this will help.
Even with a space between them, Lorenz could feel the tension gripping Claude’s frame as he settled next to him. He drew a quick breath when Claude reached out to join their hands again, and he wondered if Claude could feel the racing of his pulse through his palm.
It felt like hours before Claude’s breathing became slow and regular again, and when it did, Lorenz finally drifted into sleep as well.
When he woke, Claude was tucked against his side, still snoring softly. Across the room, the budding rose had unfurled in the pale light of the imminent dawn, and Lorenz watched the sunrise slowly paint the petals in gold for several timeless minutes before a quiet noise drew his attention. Lorenz turned to Claude with some dismay—something like five scant hours wasn’t nearly enough rest to remedy four days of sleeplessness—but Claude had just curled closer to him in response to the sunlight, still fast asleep.
Lorenz didn’t dare move, but he felt something blossom in his chest that rivaled the warmly gilded rose on the desk. He allowed Claude’s even breathing to lull him back into a doze, letting his dreams drift to the future and pitying anyone who might dare to disturb the two of them before noon.