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It was astonishing how much could change in five years. The monastery was all but unrecognizable from its former majesty, broken down and overgrown. Cyril remembered how dirty just one nook could get if neglected for even two days at a time— really, the amount of grime and dust that had built up was far from surprising. It was still daunting, though. Almost impossible to believe the grounds could ever return to how they once were.
Most people did their part for the restoration process. Cyril himself did much more. He knew the monastery better than anyone with higher status. The monks and the knights could still get lost after a wrong turn. But Cyril— he knew every corner. Every tile and every brick.
Breaking the habit was difficult. He couldn’t simply walk past a pile of rubble without giving in to the urge to chip away at its mass. It was because of such habits he stopped on his way to the training grounds one morning, distracted by a patch of weeds growing behind the fishing pond. Since it was still early, he figured he had plenty of time to clear them out.
So he got to work, carefully tugging at purslane and stalks of lambs quarters. The latter had grown tall— nothing unmanageable, but annoying nonetheless. One particular stalk overshadowed him as he knelt and he didn’t notice as something else uprooted until he tossed the plant aside. A small sprig of tiny flowers caught his attention, then, and he leaned towards the pile of discarded weeds to pick it out. Baby’s breath. He frowned a little. They were his favorite— there was just something charming about their minute blossoms.
Though there was a patch in the greenhouse dedicated to them, they were still considered weeds in large quantities. What's more, they were growing in a place they didn’t belong. But even knowing that, Cyril felt a little sad at the thought of pulling them up. No matter how many people thought they shouldn’t be there, they still grew. And they were still pretty.
What a lonely thought.
“Need any help with all that?”
Cyril turned his attention from the flowers to the voice. Ashe stood in the direction of it, a smile on his face that grew when Cyril’s gaze rested upon him. Like the first flare of a freshly lit candle, a pleasant warmth spread through Cyril’s chest at the sight.
He shook his head. “I’m almost done.”
“I see… Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I join you for a moment?” Ashe lifted a small basket as he spoke. He didn’t wait for an answer, though, and instead closed their distance and settled down by Cyril’s side. “I made some pastries this morning and saved some for you. Figured you would be around here overworking yourself again.”
Their shoulders brushed and the heat in Cyril’s core spread from a simple candle to a hearthstone set aflame. He was filled with a particular fondness as he looked up to his lover. The loneliness that stirred from the flowers in his hand was forgotten as their eyes met, Cyril’s own gaze returned with warm affection that danced along the lines of Ashe’s irises.
Despite his feelings of elation, Cyril’s mouth tugged downwards at Ashe’s comment. “I’m not overworkin’,” he retorted. “It’s still early.”
“How early are you thinking, love? Because it’s already past lunch, and I’m willing to bet you skipped breakfast.” Cyril simply huffed, earning a light laugh from the other. “Just as I thought. Here— take your pick.” Ashe removed a hand towel from the top of the basket to reveal an assortment of pastries underneath. Cyril gaped a little in awe— they all looked stunning. Ashe’s creations always did and they never failed to make Cyril realize just how hungry he was.
A particular pastry called out to him— raspberry, from the looks of it— and he leaned over to grab it with his free hand. Ashe followed suit by picking a lemon one for himself. As they ate, Ashe tugged gently on the back of Cyril’s shirt and Cyril happily pressed into the other’s side. And as soon as his share of pastries were downed, he turned his head to nestle into the crook of Ashe’s neck.
The other’s warmth was comforting. It was nice; being able to seek and express affection as if it was something easy. Because it hadn’t always been that way. It used to be terrifying— he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Or if he even deserved such a thing. So much time was spent agonizing over whether it was appropriate or not to hold Ashe’s hand, afraid the action would somehow be wrong. Or would Ashe be upset if he did nothing at all?
Everything was like that the first time. The smallest of mistakes could be enough to get him thrown out of the monastery. And then what would he do? Polishing an expensive vase was enough to throw him into a panic if he thought too much about it. Terrified at every shift of the porcelain that it might break. If it wasn’t the fear of destroying something precious, it was of stepping a bit too loudly or being seen a bit too clearly.
He wasn’t wanted there, so he didn’t dare overgrow.
Every morning as he woke it felt as though he was thrown onto a stage— he had to act the part or be forced to exit the scene. Every piece of his routine was a different role. And some acts were harder than others. Of course, as time went on, he got much better at his job. There was room for nothing less than perfection, after all. But a relationship was uncharted territory. From the beginning, he had no idea what he was doing— he’d never had a friend before. When they walked together, his movements were rigid. And when they had tea, he sat up so straight his back ached.
For the most part, he was never concerned over what the students thought of him. It was the adults he had to worry about— the monks and the clergy— anyone with the power to uproot him. In his experience, the students either didn’t care or didn’t like him— nothing new. Neither case was something he was willing to rectify. He had plenty else to worry about, after all. But Ashe changed all of that— suddenly, he was very concerned over what a student thought.
It wasn’t just one role he had to learn, it was dozens. How to act around Ashe when they were alone or with certain people— every combination of students or teachers or what have yous was a role entirely on its own. Conversations, activities, meals— it was all so much to learn. And affection was a factor that differed with every single one. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He just second guessed everything so much that half the time he was frozen. If he did something wrong, Ashe wouldn’t talk to him anymore. That thought was almost as scary as losing his place in Garreg Mach.
Yet something that was so difficult for Cyril came so easily to Ashe. He didn’t seem to think about it at all, in fact— he would ask to hold Cyril’s hand or hug him like it was the easiest thing in the world. He was respectful when Cyril said no and patient as Cyril figured out how to initiate it himself. And before he knew it, spending time with Ashe was no longer one of the roles he had to play. It was just something he looked forward to— an oasis away from the stress that constantly wore on his bones.
Feeling Ashe’s warmth beside him in that moment… it almost made the war go away.
“I should get back to work now…”
“Very convincing,” Ashe’s voice was light with amusement. He pressed his lips to the side of Cyril’s head and ran his fingers through his curls. Cyril gave a contented sigh and leaned into the touch. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt. He shifted, just enough so he could wrap his arm around Ashe’s middle. But as he moved, the flowers in his hand caught his attention once more.
“Oh—” he blinked. “Forgot I had these.” He moved to set the flowers down, but Ashe reached over and took them before he could.
“Baby’s breath…” he muttered, then shifted his gaze to the wall beside them. “From over there?”
“Mm… found ‘em under the lambs quarters. I’m gonna clean the rest of ‘em up.”
“Hm… A shame, isn’t it? Even though they’re thriving just a few feet away…”
It was nice to hear from someone else’s lips. Cyril felt a bit silly for feeling terrible over a flower. He looked to the sprig he pulled up, now being rolled back and forth between Ashe’s fingers. “I don’t think they look bad there, but… it is what it is.”
“Then leave them.”
Cyril’s eyes shifted to Ashe, brow furrowed. “... Huh?”
“Just leave them,” Ashe repeated with a smile. “They aren’t hurting anyone. Besides, I don’t think anyone will notice them back here.” Cyril didn’t have time to be unsure— Ashe tucked the flowers behind his ear and his breath caught in his throat. “How beautiful…” Ashe’s voice was low. And then he was close. His thumb traced the line of Cyril’s jaw. Their foreheads bumped together and Cyril swallowed in anticipation before giving a small nod. It was a language all their own— one that was crafted to best suit Cyril’s dubiety.
Ashe had been given the go-ahead, so he pressed their lips together, a gesture equal parts soft and sweet. Butterflies emerged from Cyril’s stomach and into his chest— the beating wings spread warmth all the way to his fingertips.
It was over too soon, but not before Ashe intertwined their fingers. When they broke apart, Ashe tightened his grip on Cyril’s hand and gazed at him with half-lidded eyes— a look so loving it knocked the breath from Cyril’s lungs.
“... They can’t look that good on me,” Cyril said. Ashe blinked at him in a daze, then laughed.
“Of course they do.” Their lips touched again for a short moment. “You’re always beautiful, Cyril.”
Just when Cyril didn’t think he could flush any harder, the temperature of his cheeks rose. It wasn’t fair— Ashe could fluster him with the simplest of phrases and he would never know what to say in return. He cast his gaze away and bumped his forehead into the other’s shoulder.
“... I love you,” Cyril said. He heard Ashe let out a joyful hum and felt the other’s arms rest along his back
“I love you, too.”
They remained that way a few moments longer and Cyril reveled in the fondness. The surrounding desecration didn’t feel like home, but Ashe certainly did. It was moments like that where he felt almost grounded— like maybe everything could be all right.
Once they separated, Ashe insisted on helping Cyril finish up. Seeing as there wasn’t much left to do, he gave in, appreciating the other’s presence if nothing else. Between the two of them, they cleared the rest of the weeds in no time at all. They left the baby’s breath, though.
It turned out they were wanted there after all.