Work Text:
it was late on a saturday. hours into the night, the two were awake; far from unusual, that’s true, but the two were apart for once. the both of them had been busy for the past week, each consumed by their work for the opposite side of a never ending war, and they hadn’t had time to see each other. it was all fleeting looks and soft kisses to the other’s hand. never enough.
the palace fundy lived in was a strange one - the walls, built purely out of stone brick, were able to be moved quite easily; the paintings that adorned the walls had the eyes cut out, lest someone wanted to look through them; and the bookshelves were built tall and wide, a single forgettable book revealing a trap door. each one of the rooms led to another, the opposite always being concealed from the eye of anyone who hadn’t already known the rooms prior. it was a large maze that fundy knew how to navigate, and after weeks of contemplating it, he had given dream a way in.
dream knew he was only invited because his partner thought it was absolutely safe. he knew that fundy had made sure to find the very best path, spending hours and hours on calculations just to make sure he wouldn’t be harmed. it made him giddy, how concerned he was. he didn’t get to see that on the battlefield.
on the first day he was invited in, fundy had brought him to a dungeon. he had told him it was because he didn’t want to take any chances; that if he got caught, he wouldn’t know what to do. on the tenth, he was invited to a hidden hallway, and the two had talked under the stairs, telling him it was the most noise-blocking they’d get. on the twenty third, he was invited to his grand private library, and he told him he had a dream last night.
“i had a dream about you,” fundy had started. dream remembers that night clearly; the two were cuddling on the couch, the both of them very well near sleep. fundy’s voice was groggy and tired, very, very low, and dream remembers the absentminded thought of wanting to stay like this forever, never leaving. he remembers rubbing patterns into his partner’s back, listening to the quiet, calming breathing that surrounded them. the pure feeling of unadulterated love. “we were in a golden room where everyone gets what they want.”
he remembers the long pause, too, because the wait was killing him whole. “and - and you said, ‘tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light,’ and i said, ‘this is the moon, this is the sun, let me name the stars for you.’”
and then he remembers the shifting, the soft press of their lips against his, and the ‘i love you’ that was everlasting.