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He isn’t sure for how long he’s been awake, only aware of the fact that when he’d woken up, the sun was barely rising. Now, however, your shared bedroom is fully lit, the powerful Almyran sunlight shining through the cracks in the curtains.
With a smile, Claude pulls your sleeping form closer to his own, feeling his heartbeat speed up when your bare skin makes contact with his. There’s a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, a reminder that–even after all these years–you still haven’t fully gotten used to his homeland’s natural heat.
“I can’t see!” he heard you comment from behind him, your arms locked firmly around his middle as his Wyvern soared under the blistering sun, the gigantic mountains of Almyra slowly coming into view. “It’s too bright!”
Claude would have regarded it as a complaint if it weren’t for the laughter that followed your elated words. He couldn’t help but notice his heart starting to pound wildly within the confines of his chest as if the organ itself was so overwhelmed it wanted to free itself.
“Do you like it?” he shouted over the sound of wind he knew was whipping past both your ears. He knew what your answer would be but for some reason, he desperately needed some form of verbal confirmation; needed to hear the love of his life say that they, too, loved his home as much as he did.
“Like it?” you shouted back, your chest pressed close to his broad back, “I love it!”
You stir in your sleep, as though his gaze alone was strong enough to wake you up. Thankfully, though, you merely roll over so that your back is facing his way instead. Carefully, Claude leans forward to press his lips against the nape of your neck, his calloused hands tenderly trailing down your spine until his fingertips reach an odd section of jagged skin. It sits in a sea of smaller, more insignificant scars that you’ve collected, mostly during the war; and to some, the marred skin that stands out so much to him might seem equally as unimportant.
Except it’s not. Not to Claude, at least.
A piercing scream ripped across the battlefield, a dangerous distraction for those who recognised the owner of the pained voice. Claude was one of them.
Atop his Wyvern, the Alliance leader shot the arrow he had already aimed towards an Imperial soldier while his eyes prematurely left its target in favour of looking for the person who had screamed. He practically felt his heart stop beating altogether as he scanned the battlefield, hoping desperately that his mind had been playing tricks on him.
Even as he steered his trusty Wyvern in your direction at a nearly ninety-degree angle, Claude prayed to a goddess he knew didn’t care that it was all merely an illusion; that maybe he wasn’t as familiar with your outward appearance as he would’ve hoped to be.
Unfortunately, he knew you like the back of his hand.
As he flew, arrow nocked and ready to fire at the soldier whose lance was piercing your back, he couldn’t help but think to himself:
‘Please, (Y/N), don’t die. I love you.’
When you let out a groan of discomfort, Claude retracts his hand so quickly one would think your skin was made of molten lava. It’s been years since your injury healed and yet he briefly recalls how you’d complained about the scar hurting as recent as a few days ago.
“‘m sorry,” he whispers, his lips still pressing against the skin of your nape. It’s a phrase he’s grown accustomed to saying in your relationship, albeit in a joking manner most of the time, usually after he’s successfully pranked you in one way or another.
Other times, however, his ‘sorry’s are heavier and more sincere. As the king of Almyra and leader of the Alliance back in Fodlan, Claude’s responsibilities more often than not take precedence in terms of his time. So much so that he finds himself unable to even take a second just to breathe on many days.
This morning in bed with you is a luxury he’s been waiting for for a long time and yet he knows that you’ve been waiting impossibly longer. He presses his chest to your back, tucking your head carefully under his chin as his arms wrap around your front with his fingers grasping your own.
“‘m sorry,” he says again, knowing that if you’re awake to respond you would most certainly chide him for it. After all, you were the one who was so persistent in wriggling your way into his heart–not that he’d put up much of a fight to begin with.
“You’re leaving?”
He winced, hands tightening around the rein attached to his Wyvern. He was so close to leaving without making a scene and yet he can’t help but feel an immense sense of relief that you’d caught him redhanded.
Even though he knew his answer would be ‘no’, Claude wanted you to ask him to stay.
“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” you asked instead, eyes beginning to tear up. He hadn’t expected that to happen, neither did he anticipate his heart aching as much as it did when he detected the bit of betrayal in your voice.
“I’ll be back eventually,” he replied, intending to flash you his trademark smile only to fail miserably when the corner of his lips refused to budge from the frown they were currently in.
“So what? Was I supposed to not realise you were gone until you come back?” you said with a humourless laugh, your own lips curling into an upset frown. He wanted badly to kiss you right then and there, to tell you that he’d stay if you asked it of him even though he knew he would never do such a thing, not when Almyra and Fodlan were still on bad terms.
“Your future is here,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck as he willed himself to look away from your distraught face only to fail miserably. “You belong in Fodlan. You’re supposed to fall in love with and then marry some rich noble guy and have tons of babies with him, no?”
What was he saying? He was speaking out of his ass and he knew it.
“… I already have,” you muttered under your breath, eyes cast down at your feet.
“What?”
“I mean, you’re going to be Almyra’s king, right?” He felt his heart stop. “That’s why you’re leaving everything to the professor.” You looked back up at him, this time with tears streaming down your face, past your lips tugged into a genuine smile. “Your future is not with me, is it?–“
No, wait.
“–I will accept the fact and I won’t stop you from leaving–”
This isn’t what he wanted.
“–Goodbye, Claude.”
He reached out and grabbed your arm without thinking, tugging you towards him as he planted his lips right atop of your own. His heart was aching painfully in his chest, his hands shook as he held onto you for dear life. Never before had he felt such raw desperation.
“Come with me,” he muttered against your lips, afraid to break the kiss entirely. “Come with me to Almyra. I want my future to be with you, even if it’s not here.”
“Good morning,” you yawned, intertwining your fingers with his. “You were holding my hand so tightly I woke up,” you laugh, turning around so that your chest rested against his own.
“My bad,” Claude chuckles, “good morning, my love… and thank you.”
“What for?” you glance up at him, concern flooding your eyes. Instinctively, he brushes his lips against your forehead as a form of reassurance while he holds you closer.
“For coming with me… and being my future.”