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It was an elusive and frightening concept, the matter of sweethearts. Hendrik had certainly never seized the opportunity to express himself in such a way, but his first year with Sylvando doubtlessly brought with it change… in more ways than one. It was exhilarating, intoxicating, but it did not come without its own set of challenges.
And now? There was the looming presence of Lover’s Day, floating over Hendrik’s head like a dark cloud.
How could he express his feelings for the other so openly? Heavens above, he still sweated profusely whenever his old friend even so much as held his hands in public.
Their tumultuous shared past did nothing to ease the strain surrounding the subject. Back then, when they had first reunited, Hendrik had been a complete brute to the other. A clown! Even before that time, he could still vividly recall his disagreeable mood swings as a reckless trainee, whenever Sylvando graciously blessed Hendrik with his presence. Akin to a boy with a schoolyard crush, he might as well have pulled at Sylvando’s ponytail.
That wasn’t his issue, not anymore. Hendrik was perfectly content to kiss his love on the brow, or to feel the warm heat of his body, entwined together under a blanket on the bed. When it came to his feelings, there was no stone left unturned. He loved Sylvando unequivocally.
His concern was the expected grandeur of it all.
Sylvando, on the other hand, loved any excuse for a spectacle. Hendrik should have expected no less, from the man who had dressed up like a peacock and trekked across Erdrea on top of a parade float. Yet even then, in all of the time they’ve known one another, Sylvando still found ways to surprise him… it was almost frightening, not to mention alluring. Like a spiraling flame, one that Hendrik could not tear his gaze away from.
He wanted to think it tragic, but oddly enough the other’s propensity for the dramatic only endeared Hendrik to him further. After spending years away from home, feeling as if he were living a useless charade, Sylvando more than deserved to express himself in whatever way he deemed suitable. To see Sylvando smiling, thriving in his own element, that pulled at Hendrik’s heart and lifted it up to float amongst the stars.
That was fine. Whatever Sylvando wanted to do, that was fine. But when he dragged Hendrik into it, he had to wonder… did it all have to be so… embarrassing?
Every single holiday served as a special occasion, and every occasion called for an excessive amount of pizazz (or so it was called). For Hendrik’s thirty seventh birthday, Sylvando had dressed up in a bear costume and popped out of a life-size cake. For Serena, he tasked Hendrik with the role of magicians assistant, and promptly instructed the former knight (fitted in a custom, Sylvando brand sequin dress) on how to saw Princess Jade in half. And for Lord Robert? He didn’t even want to think about what happened at Lord Robert’s birthday party. That was a secret that would die with Hendrik.
He didn’t want to think about much of anything, in fact, let alone about the day still ahead of him. There were preparations to be made, in light of Lover’s Day.
But Hendrik was more than content to spend another moment or so sprawled out on the mattress. Sylvando was the first to bed between them, often falling asleep after a nightly stretch or warm tea, and after putting on a pair of ear plugs, so as to avoid the sounds of Hendrik’s monstrous snores ripping through what was supposed to be the quiet of nightfall. According to Sylvando, his snoring was “so, so adorable”, but that accursed cuteness would no doubt fade fast if Hendrik were to keep the other up all night. Thusly, precautions were always taken.
With that, his love was also more often than not the first to rise: he was long gone by the time Hendrik stirred that morning, and the once warm spot next to him had grown almost miserably cold in Sylvando’s absence.
Absently, Hendrik reached out a lazy arm, to capture the vacant side of the bed for his own use. The faint smell of rose petals wafted toward his nostrils, and he idly wondered, still perhaps a little drunk off of sleep, how one person could always smell so enchantingly like a flower.
It was then, when Hendrik’s knees bumped against something soft and unfamiliar, that he reluctantly peeled his eyes open. A realization stopped the tired yawn that was halfway through tumbling out of his mouth. Hendrik, with a newfound horror clutching at his heart, remembered again what day it was.
Of course. It was Lover’s Day; his very first with Sylvando at that. And yet the man was nowhere to be seen. No singing from the kitchen, no jumping on the bed to beset Hendrik with a flurry of good morning kisses, and none of the typical sounds of Margarita and Obsidian grazing outside. It was oddly quiet—too quiet.
Unless, that was what he wanted Hendrik to think. What if Sylvando was here, biding his time, devilishly waiting to surprise his boyfriend once his guard was down? He stared bewildered at the lump under the sheets, where his knees had bumped. Soft, fuzzy, unfamiliar. It had to be Sylvando. It had to—no! The bear costume… it couldn’t be… Hendrik was strong in many ways, or so he was told, but found himself suddenly unprepared, terrified.
Suspicious.
“Sylvando…” Hendrik began, already loathing whatever answer that would follow, “Are you in there?”
To his astonishment, no reply came. Hendrik was alone in their small home, talking to himself like an utter fool. Perhaps Sylvando had realized the predictability in popping out of their bed dressed as a stupid bear. Hendrik would have expected that, lived in fear of it, and if he knew anything it was that Sylvando hated predictability.
“Darling, please. How tacky,” said the inner-Sylvando that dwelled within the recesses of Hendrik’s consciousness, “Dressing up as a bear is so last year. Have a little faith in me, why don’t you? What I’m planning for you is going to be so much worse! You’ll straight up die!”
Infuriated, Hendrik no longer felt like sleeping in. He tore the blanket from himself in an instant, but shrieked in complete, devastating terror that was poorly befitting for a man of his stature when he looked down at the fuzzy lump he had forgotten about. It was worse than the time Sylvando had slipped a live frog under Hendrik’s pillow.
What greeted him was a horse’s head, small and innocent and far too young for their time, but before Hendrik could grieve this unanticipated loss of life he realized that it was a stuffed animal. Attached to the cuddly creature’s head was the rest of their body. A small, chubby black horse, that possessed a striking resemblance to his beloved Obsidian, and they were dashingly dressed in a yellow sweater. What an odd chap.
Hendrik held out the dapper fellow at an arm’s length. He supposed this almost made sense. Sylvando always had an affinity towards stuffed animals, and had possessed a impressively sizable collection of them as a boy. Traces of that love still followed him to this day, so it was really no surprise to Hendrik that this creature had somehow found its way into their humble abode. But why? Upon the front of their obnoxiously bright turtle neck, crafted in a modest but meticulous hand stitching, spelled out the phrase: YOU ARE MY ROCK.
“Hello, little one,” he greeted, politely, before the interrogation began and Hendrik was once again a cunning, ruthless general. “Explain yourself. What sort of devilry do you wish to bring into our home—what have you done with Sylvando?”
As if Yggdrasil herself had heard his pleas, Hendrik then noticed a card attached to the little creature. He opened the envelope, to read:
My dearest Henrikito,
Good morning darling! I wanted to wake you before I left, but you just looked so precious sleeping there like a little angel. By the time you’re finally reading this, I’ll have already zoomed myself up to Cobblestone to help Ellie with—the next part was hurriedly scratched out, but soon replaced with—official, top-secret Luminary business.
I hope my new friend didn’t surprise you! I would hate for you two to get off on the wrong foot. Hoof? Especially since I made him just for you. Surprise!! Happy Lover’s Day, my love! Isn’t he the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen in your life? And just look at his itty bitty sweater! Ugh.
There was a crude sketch of Hendrik and Sylvando riding on the back of Obsidian, each of them in matching turtlenecks. Hendrik noted that the drawing of him made his muscles seem far bigger than they actually were.
But don’t think you’re getting off that easy, querido. The day has only just begun! And this is our very first Lover’s Day together after all; it has to be special, for the both of us. So I want to see your smiling face in Puerto Valor at sunset tonight, at our usual spot of course. I have another super wonderful, amazing surprise for you. Don’t keep a lady waiting, eh? I’ll see you there, honey! Love you!
Yours truly, Sylvando.
The end of his letter was trailed with so many tiny hearts and X-shaped kisses that Hendrik would’ve likely died from old age before he had the chance to count them all. To still the fluttering in his chest, he reread the card a few more times. Even then, the smell of roses was temptingly faint, the scent floating from Sylvando’s pristine handwriting.
“Tonight at sunset, in front of the field of gerbera daisies.” Hendrik told himself absentmindedly, far more occupied with holding Obsidian Jr. close to his breast.
That meant that Sylvando would make Hendrik wait the entire day without seeing him, and even worse still, without seeing what torturous surprise was in store, just waiting to be unleashed. Hendrik might have felt awfully lonely: it was not the first Lover’s Day he had ever spent alone, but he had preparations of his own to make. And… a new… friend, to fill his sullen world with cheer.
Though the stuffed horse was no Sylvando.
Realizing that the rest of the morning was quickly slipping away, Hendrik rushed to make the bed and placed Obsidian Jr. in the center of it all. If he were anything like the real Obsidian, then he would have no problem waiting there until his master again deemed it fit to return.
︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵
Hendrik may have since retired from his post in Heliodor, but that was not to say that he had become an idle layabout. Indeed, there was still much work to be done. After searching through the market like a lost child, looking for everything he needed to prepare his own surprise for Sylvando, Hendrik eventually found himself near the deep green outskirts Dundrasil.
Not much was there, especially not in terms of people or dwellings, but Lord Robert had provided him with unanticipated company on a day such as this. The old Drasilian king was perfectly content to spend Lover’s Day alone, it was a “special day for you young things” after all. But Hendrik found himself in need of assistance, if not a little guidance from someone as wise as the ruler of a country. Though that was not to say Lord Robert was overseeing much, these days. Whatever the case may be, Hendrik was appreciative of the other’s offer of help.
Dundrasil was not far out from where Hendrik and Sylvando lived, at least not by the way of Obsidian’s hooves. They had situated themselves in a small abode far from the ruins of Zwaardsrust, near the ocean, but still close enough to see the outlines of wheat-fields over the horizon. For Hendrik, it was the perfect amount of familiar so as to instill a sense of nostalgia, longing, but new enough to quell that longing with something far more cherished. The life he was building with Sylvando, and all of the mishaps that came with it.
Lord Robert seemed to have the same idea: he too wanted to remain close to his ancestral home. And as Hendrik arrived to his dwelling (no longer a castle, but certainly serviceable) he couldn’t help but notice the changes since his last visit. There were more homes scattered over the hills, no doubt Drasilians like the king who were happy to return at last, to heal from the tragedy that ravished the land almost twenty years ago.
Pain was a part of them, now, as well as a part of the land beneath their feet, and some scars never quite faded.
That was to say: that even though Zwaardsrust and Dundrasil would likely never attain the same glory they once bore, to people like Hendrik and Rab? The sights they now woke to every morning, just within arms reach, were more than splendorous enough.
For Sylvando, too, who was just as much of a part of the Drustian diaspora as Hendrik was. Getting to finally see the home he had never known, but that his mother and his Hendrik loved, and hated to part with, allowed him to nourish a part of his soul that had always been too quiet.
But he was losing track of his thoughts. What guidance could a lost knight seek from a king? Why, Hendrik needed help preparing a cake, for his dear Sylvando. His skill in the kitchen was, for all intents, lacking.
His first response had been to ask Serena. The girl was far too wise on the matter of sweets, almost fearfully so. She and Jasper might have gotten along in light of that small fact, had he never tried to kill her and her friends. But Hendrik was not so innocent in that regard, either, so he thought it best to retract his judgements before they came back to bite him with a vengeance. Presently, she was far too occupied in spending her day with Princess Jade… doing whatever it was that young girlfriends did.
“Ahh, if it isn’t the wee Sir Hendrik,” Lord Robert greeted him, for some reason acting surprised as if Hendrik’s thundering footsteps couldn’t be heard from miles away. “Come inside now laddie, and watch your head—“ He was interrupted by a solid thunk! “—on the doorframe there.”
Hendrik wandered in, head aching, and observed the quiet surroundings of Rab’s home. It was no castle, that was certain, but he doubted the old king had put up much protest. Through their journey, the seven of them—eight of them had formed a strange household of their own. To say that a part of Hendrik didn’t miss it would have been a lie. Sleeping next to a campfire or in a tent was a normal occurrence back then; and now here they all were, living in regular homes, living regular lives like regular people.
“Now, what has you in such a tizzy that you’ve had to come over for a visit?” Lord Robert asked, not unkindly.
In Hendrik’s arm was a bag, filled with flour, eggs, whatever one needed to make a cake. The only thing he was lacking, however, was the know how.
He told Rab as much, “It is Lover’s Day you see, and I have never… Sylvando, he…” The words were so much easier to formulate in his mind, but they failed him now. “I wanted to make him a cake, but I am afraid the path of the chef is one that is frustratingly puzzling.”
“Never made a cake before?” The other asked, to which Hendrik slowly shook his head. If only it were that simple.
His ears began to turn red.
He had tried, many times in fact, to bake something on his own. But Hendrik had a hidden flaw, one that this predicament made all too glaring, like a gaping wound. In all of his years, Hendrik had never learned to cook, to bake, to convince his two gigantic, stupid hands to become coordinated enough so as to not set everything ablaze in the oven, what have you. It was all a confounding mystery.
Hendrik had always been impartial to the world of culinary delights; he could eat raw mushrooms, plucked straight from the earth, and call that a good meal. Sustenance was sustenance.
That mindset had served him just fine, that was, until he and Sylvando started to live underneath the same roof. In sharing a life with someone else, it couldn’t be helped when their world started to blend in with your own, bit by bit. That did not mean that the culmination was not without its complications, so to speak. A cake of their own, with mismatched ingredients.
As always, Sylvando was one step ahead of Hendrik. Actually, no; that was far too generous, now that he gave a little more thought to it. Sylvando was not merely one step ahead, but they were oceans apart. In the realm of domesticity, his dearest friend exceeded all expectations. Whether it was cooking, cleaning, or showing Hendrik the proper way to fold socks, it mattered not. He was good at all of it, and seemed so beautifully at peace while doing so. It was inspiring and infuriating all at once.
It reminded him of the old days.
Back then, Sylvando had knocked Hendrik straight down onto his knees. More than twenty years later, he still couldn’t quite peel his poor heart back up from where it lay slain like a great beast on the ground, subdued by Sylvando’s ethereal eyes and skillful blade.
Instead of confessing to all of that, Hendrik instead replied, “I have been… practicing.” That was a word for it. “Whenever I find myself alone, I face the challenge with all of the diligence I can muster, but every time—it all ends in a horrible, fiery failure.”
The old king laughed a little, for Hendrik was a simple man with simple problems. “I can’t promise you that you’ve journeyed to the right place, but I’ll see what I can do.”
✿❀✿
Rab stroked his mustache, as if he were wholly in deep meditation atop of the icy peaks of Mount Pang-Lai. “You know, lad, it really doesn’t look all that bad if you squint.”
As if turned out, having been a prince and later a king, waited on by servants and chefs hand and foot for the vast majority of his life, Lord Robert hardly knew his way around the kitchen either. That would have been nice to know beforehand, all things considered.
“It is a heinous act against all that Lover’s Day stands for, and a crime against Yggdrasil herself.” Hendrik immediately replied. There was no reason he needed to be coddled like a child—he could handle brutal honesty.
“I can’t stand to lie to you.” Surprisingly, Rab surrendered quickly and tossed away the sugar coated façade, “I’ve had my share of sweets, to be sure. This one is rather unfortunate looking. Though it is a wee bit funny, don’t you think; the great Sir Hendrik, bested by the art of confectioneries? I never realized all along that Heliodor’s defenses had such a glaring weakness.”
The jab might have been in poor taste, much like the former knight’s monstrous cake, but only because Heliodor had in fact been destroyed. Though Hendrik’s pride was able to suffer the blow somehow. At least back then, cake hadn’t been involved (as far as Hendrik knew).
He had far too much else weighing on his mind, like the crumbling remains of the gift for his intended.
The cake now sat in a box: prettily wrapped and prepared to be presented, and no one would have been any wiser to the disaster that lurked within. Like a forbidden gentleman's periodical, tucked under the mattress. Goddess, all Hendrik wanted to do was bake a damned cake—which he did, if you could call that thing a cake, but at what cost?
Only the two of them knew what dwelled inside, and neither were ready to yet again have pure evil be unleashed upon the world.
“I cannot bring myself to present this to Sylvando. Surely it would be an insult, if not worse.” Hendrik held his head in his hands, “What am I to do? There might still be time to find something to bestow him—flowers, perhaps? No… that is far too predicable. Why did I not just purchase a cake from Gondolia! Lord Robert, I bid thee farewell, for I must take Obsidian and flee the continent posthaste!”
That caught Rab’s attention, and the cake was momentarily forgotten. “Slow your roll, Hendrik!” he reeled the man back in like a spooked horse, “At this rate you’ll bring the whole house down! And enough of that m’lord nonsense already, laddie. It’s Rab.”
“If you are no lord then I am assuredly no laddie,” Hendrik retorted, sourly, and the Drasilian term of endearment felt strange rolling off his own tongue. Even if it had been said in mockery. “That still does not put an end to this botheration.”
“Everyone’s a laddie to me, laddie. I’m old enough to be your boban, so keep your nose clean and mind your manners while you’re at it.” That stern display of fathership was enough to make Hendrik sit down and shut up (for a moment). “Here’s what we’re going to do:
I’m going to stay here and catch up on my articles, and you’ll march straight up to dear ol’ Sylv and give him that beautiful cake that you worked so hard on.”
That was not the advice Hendrik was expecting, nor wanted to hear. “But…” he began to protest, which did nothing to help keep him from feeling even more like a child under Rab’s stern gaze.
“Listen, if you ever get to be my age, you’re gonna wish that you didn’t waste so much of your time worrying. All of that mindless ruminating over things that haven’t even happened, it’ll get you nowhere in no time fast.”
“And if he does detest the cake? What will I do then?” Rab may have known a lot of things, but only Hendrik knew the true pain that was swiftly delivered when Sylvando was in one of his moods.
That instilled another fear in him; one that wasn’t about cake. Hendrik made his worries well known, “Sylvando is adored by everyone, everywhere he graces with his presence… he could have spent this occasion with anyone in the world if he so desired. And yet instead he chose me—and what do I bring forth to repay him for sharing his love? A miserable tribute?” The taste of defeat was overwhelming, harsher than any battle Hendrik had ever put behind him. To disappoint Sylvando would be his greatest shame.
“So you burned a cake or four! I bet there’s many more where that came from. You’ve got someone to share it with, so just eat the crumbs and move on.” Rab laughed mirthfully, “You’ve suffered through much worse only to make it through to the other side, haven’t you?”
Hendrik gazed down at him in surprise, and was surprised once more to suddenly find the boxed cake back in his hands.
“You mean of course, to tell me that somehow my dedication will still shine through?” Hendrik asked. He didn’t understand why he had never thought of it that way, not until it was spelled out so plainly in front of him.
“No, I mean you’re a terrible cook, laddie. But Sylv will likely find it in his heart to forgive you.”
“It seems there is still some hope to be had then. Thank you, Lord—Rab. Sincerely, how may I ever repay you?”
“You can thank me by taking a cooking class, now off with you. Go on and tell your boy how much you love him,” Rab waved him away, but Hendrik needn’t be told twice.
︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵
Astride the back of Obsidian, Hendrik made his way to the outskirts of Puerto Valor. From there, as flower petals and dirt scattered underneath the heavy gallop of his beloved companion’s hooves, he was soon able to make out the familiar forms of Sylvando and Margarita.
“Henny, you’re finally here!” Sylvando spoke from the ground, nestled lazily on an old cloth that served as a makeshift picnic blanket, “and here I was starting to think my handsome knight was getting cold feet on our amazingly special day! Took you long enough, eh?”
Hendrik swung a leg over Obsidian, and was soon upon his knees to receive the other in a warm embrace, his arms practically swallowing Sylvando whole. Though they were only apart for but a day, he had very much missed the smell of roses.
Indeed, the sun was almost gone for the evening, crowning the nearby Valorian sea with bright strokes of oranges and yellows. It enhanced the scene before him: gerberas and marigolds standing proudly in full bloom almost as far as the eye could see. Yet Hendrik’s gaze was fixated solely upon Sylvando’s doting, smiling face. There, he pecked the other with a tender kiss.
The hopeless old knight struggled to battle down a blush, especially when he began to explain the reason for his lateness. “My apologies,” Hendrik started, “I did not mean to keep you waiting, but I come bearing… a gift, of sorts.”
To Sylvando, Hendrik needn’t have brought anything else but his charming self to make tonight a perfect occasion. But the other man’s expression still alighted in a wondrous, joyful surprise as Hendrik presented him with the white box, tied elegantly with a bow.
At his beloved’s excitement, the infuriatingly protective part of Hendrik felt compelled to warn him of the tragedy that lay underneath.
“It was, a…” He struggled to find the right words of warning, “An unfortunate experiment. But please know that despite my shortcomings, I invested myself fully into its creation! With all of my…” Hendrik cringed, “With all of my love, my entire heart, for you. Happy Lover’s Day, my dear.”
“For little old me? I’m sure whatever you’ve made me, I’ll just love it to pieces!” It was Sylvando’s turn to blush. Normally Hendrik was charmed at how eminent danger never seemed to have an effect on Sylvando, how hardship rolled off of him like water off of a duck’s back, but this time it only made Hendrik more nervous.
Sylvando took the box, still beaming, “Oh, cariño, really! You shouldn’t have!” He untied and opened it then, before his thin eyebrows raised up with surprise. As Sylvando gaped in awe at the cake (if the monstrosity could even be called that), Hendrik practiced true conviction by staying put. Even when every nerve in his body screamed at him to run as far away as he could… Sylvando was distracted—he still had time to flee!
“Oh, Hendrik! ...You really shouldn’t have!” Never one to mask his feelings, Sylvando hastily made them known. Though instead of righteous anger, he only burst into a sudden, uncontrollable fit of laughter, “What even is this? I don’t know if I’m looking at it or if it’s looking at me! You said you made this?” His voice heightened in glee.
“It’s—it is a cake! For Lover’s Day!” Hendrik argued, but the corners of his lips were upturned in a lopsided smile. Since their confession, and the subsequent explorations of their emotions, Sylvando’s laughter had developed a contagious effect on him. Of which, there was no cure.
Sylvando only laughed harder, nearly kneeling over with the loss of whatever control he used to possess over his lungs. “For Lover’s Day!” he mirrored, but turned the cake back for Hendrik’s inspection, “Then tell me, Mr. Hero, why does it say ‘Happy Birthday Sylvando’?”
“You are enjoying my plight far too much! It says no such thing—!” came Hendrik’s immediate retort. He looked only to prove the other wrong, merely to humor his boyfriend’s jest, but when Hendrik did at last read the cake again, that was exactly what it said.
There, in his own horrendous, sugary handwriting, laced with icing, were the words: Happy Birthday Sylvando.
Humiliated, Hendrik snatched the prized dessert away from the fiendish jester, who was far too occupied with a lethal fit of hysterics to so much as fight back.
“I—!” He stuttered, eyes nearly bulging from his skull, “Your day of birth is not far off! I must have restively mixed up the occasion, is all! I knew it was a doomed prospect all along, but Lord Robert should have said something about… this!”
Sylvando wiped a tear, “Sweet Yggdrasil, you got Rab to help you? Oh, that explains so much.” He corralled Hendrik back to him, before the sullen hero could chuck the cake over a cliffside. “But don’t be such a baby, darling, I’m sure it tastes delicious. Cut me a slice, won’t you? I’ll take the corner piece with the cute little sun you drew on it.”
Hendrik muttered something under his breath.
“Honey, you know nobody understands your mumbling. What did you just say?” Sylvando had started to cut away two pieces, one for him and another for Hendrik.
Hendrik turned to face him, but did not avert his gaze back from where it was fixated at their feet. “Not a sun. It was supposed to be a flower.”
“I only call ‘em like I see ‘em, sweetheart. Now, buen provecho!” His love angled a dangerously large piece toward Hendrik’s mouth. “Open wide and say ‘ahh!’”
Whatever reply Hendrik had in mind was cut off by cake being shoved down his maw. There was a long silence between them, serving as a strange contrast to the laughter and arguing that had filled the air just moments prior, as the couple dined on Hendrik’s long day of handiwork. To any denizen of Puerto Valor, their childlike hollering might have been like a nostalgic tune. As the ex-knight chewed, jaw clicking, he thought gleefully to himself that the cake did not in fact taste nearly as bad as he had anticipated. He had forgotten to taste test the batter beforehand, but perhaps there was a small glimmer of hope for his culinary career after all.
“Give me your honest input. Do you… do you like it?” Hendrik asked after he had finished swallowing. His voice carried an almost tepid, innocent tone.
Sylvando, meanwhile, seemed to contemplate his answer. Which was odd, given that on a normal day he always had proverbial canons ready to unleash a reign of sassy terror.
Quietly, through the heavy mouthful of cake between his teeth, he gently answered the question with another, “Darling, did you… did you put salt in this?”
Hendrik thought for a moment, remembering that he had grabbed salt instead of sugar because the merchant had been out of the latter. “Yes, I did indeed! I substituted it for sugar. I heard that salt verily brings out the underlying flavors!” The recipe hadn’t called for it, but had it not been Sylvando who prided himself on his ability to improvise? It had been done with his spirit in mind.
Sylvando seemed a little defeated, deflated, but he smiled warmly at Hendrik regardless. It was one of the smiles that the former hero cherished the most: from the deepest, most secretive crevices of his heart, and solely for him.
“Querido, you’re missing something in that head of yours, something that the rest of us normal people have.”
As if that wretched man, the same one that Hendrik loved so terribly, had ever been normal—never! At least not since he’d met the boy, many, many years ago. With the cake forgotten, Hendrik pulled his cherished friend in close and grinned mischievously despite it all.
He asked, coyly, “Is that a good thing?”
“Hmm, no,” Sylvando deadpanned, “But don’t worry, somehow I find myself still loving you anyway.”
✿❀✿
“That was so intoxicatingly delicious,” Sylvando sat up, “that I almost forgot to give you your second gift! Silly me!”
Hendrik titled his head in curiosity, and perhaps in a little bit of underlying fear. The day had not yet ended, so there was still time for Sylvando to don the bear costume. As his beloved pulled him back up to his feet, however, there was hope that his paranoid fantasy was still only just a nightmare, banished forever to Hendrik’s memories.
“May I have this dance, querido?”
A dance?
There was no time to rebuff Sylvando’s proposition, as the other had brandished a sword from the depths of who-knows-where and had the sharp blade pointed straight towards Hendrik’s face. Well, that was certainly a surprise, and the sight of Sylvando wielding a sword, as beautifully at home with it in his hands as he was, nearly made Hendrik vomit from excitement—or it might have been the salty cake crawling back up. Whatever the reason, his stomach had twisted itself into a knot.
“O-oh,” Hendrik stuttered, but then understanding flashed across his awe-stricken face, “Oh! Yes, a dance! I will go fetch my sword! One moment!” Rushing right to the satchel he had strapped to Obsidian, Hendrik retrieved a heavy great-sword.
As he nearly tripped and impaled himself on it, the horses meanwhile grazed idly by. Their fathers often liked to spar, and more often than not their tense fights bordered toward the side of embarrassingly erotic. No business of Obsidian or Margarita, that was to be sure, but if the two men found happiness in trying to kill one another, then who were they to judge? The black steed decided to nose through the barely-eaten cake as a means of distraction, but turned his head in dismay after one ill-fated sniff.
“It has been a long while since we last sparred, I find my excitement increasingly difficult to maintain.” Hendrik said, even as the tone of his voice was arguably reserved—but Sylvando must have known that despite his quiet countenance, his boyfriend was extremely pleased with his second gift.
Some were made to swoon with flowers, over a nice dinner, and that was all well and good, but when it came to Hendrik? The only way to knock him off of his feet was through violence. To send him reeling, you needed to literally knock him off of his feet. Sylvando understood that sentiment well enough; he had also been raised as a knight, and could appreciate a little innocent bodily harm from time to time. It was a bonding exercise.
Indeed, the only way to create a path towards Hendrik’s heart, was to carve it out with a blade.
Dramatically, flower petals breezed past Sylvando as he awaited Hendrik’s first strike. “I know what my baby likes,” Sylvando wore a relaxed, prideful smile, “Don’t hold back, darling, I know you can’t wait to wrestle me to the ground.”
Hendrik took his stance: his boots planted firmly against the ground, a strong back straightened to keep himself centered, and heavy sword raised to the side.
“Prepare yourself!” He warned, before their battle unfolded.
The first swing came from Hendrik, powerful and commanding, with his great-sword merely serving as an extension of his body, and the force of his strike was met by Sylvando catching it with his own blade. Impenetrable, it was steel against steel when their eyes met. Wryly, the former knight gave a strained little smile towards his old friend, which was eagerly returned in kind, before they pulled away to lock blades once again.
As Hendrik lurched forward, he unleashed a stalwart swing with all of the power lurking within his two arms. Upon deliverance, his blade only cut through the night air. Sylvando had projected himself out of even the larger man’s extensive range, all with just a delicate spin and flourish on the tips of his heels. Cunning, elusive.
“Now, this is what I call ‘romance’!” Sylvando winked.
If these two warriors, demonstrating their own unique approaches through life and battle, were the elements: Hendrik would be the earth, and Sylvando the air.
Hendrik carried with him an unfiltered might and power. He was like a mountain, perhaps akin to the ever looming Cobblestone Tor. Yet that raw strength was slowly whittled away and formed into something much more brilliant, skillful, through years of diligence and training. Indeed, what good was so much power if you could not control it? And control it Hendrik did, which required temperance, not only externally but from within. Through the years, he had shifted into a culmination of every sword-master he had ever known, including Sylvando, who helped shape the man Hendrik was even up until that very moment.
Nothing could move him, so long as Hendrik stood his ground, and therefore he could suffer blow after blow as if Sylvando’s own calculated strikes were simply nothing, just a mere breeze. Hendrik was weathered, sure, but that only served to make him stronger.
Sylvando meanwhile was the pull to Hendrik’s push. He moved about freely, as a bird in flight, using his Whoosh to enhance his movements instead of taking the easily readable offensive route. Wind couldn’t move a mountain, after all, at least not immediately. And though it was impossible for a mere human to fly, Sylvando in all of his splendor came fairly close to achieving those soaring heights. As he swung his sword, twirled and spun on graceful feet, he seemed to almost float through the air. Like a tiny leaf against a whirlwind, as if he was working alongside gravity instead of moving against it.
The lithe performer thrived in evasive technique, using Hendrik’s sheer size to his own advantage. The ex-knight had more range, more strength, but he was also a bigger target. For every heave of his sword Hendrik delivered, Sylvando could unleash a counter strike that was tenfold.
But Hendrik was accustomed to this, too, through the months they had spent practicing after their reunion. Suffice to say, they knew each other inside and out.
Though they were opposing forces, the two swordsmen moved as one, locked in a dance all their own.
For a fleeting moment Hendrik was almost out maneuvered, as his great-sword slipped past Sylvando’s to pierce into the ground. With a graceful flair, Sylvando then poised himself along the edge of Hendrik’s stuck blade, a matter of showmanship, balancing along it like mischievous cat on a tightrope. He weighed almost nothing, still using his air-based magic to lighten his body.
But suddenly Hendrik gave a hearty heave and a shout, unlatching his sword at last and all but launching Sylvando into the sky. Were it anyone less graceful, they might have been sent barreling into the ground immediately, into a lifeless heap of defeat, but this was his dear Sylvando after all, and everything the man did was a work of art. A performance, with Hendrik as his magicians assistant (though it was fortunate that, this time, Sylvando hadn’t put him in a beautiful sequin gown).
Sylvando flipped through the air, forming an arc above Hendrik’s head. His long legs were already poised to land, with his magic all but carrying him. As their two pairs of eyes locked together, blue against grey, and both blazing with excitement and determination, it was almost as if everything else around them slowed to a near stop.
Flower petals of varying shades of golden yellow scattered around them, flowing amongst the night air like a storm of burning stars. Hendrik was for a moment struck with such an intense longing for the other that it might have been Sylvando’s intention all along: to distract him with his sheer magnificence.
Though Hendrik was not always immune to the other’s charms, this time he was able to stop the fluttering of his captivated heart and the world around him once again resumed a regular pace, and he abruptly smacked Sylvando in mid-air with the flat side of his blade.
It was a less than graceful end to their performance, but Sylvando rolling into a flower bed in a heap was good enough indication that their fight had come to a conclusion, with Hendrik’s victory solidified.
Giddy, Hendrik might have bowed at his opponent then, like Sylvando had done time and time again after a circus show, but stopped himself.
He made his way over to his fallen friend, and though the other may have had his pride a little wounded, and perhaps a nice bruise later, he was for all intents fine.
Sylvando let this fact be known, with a whining, “¡Ay, coño! Way to ruin the moment, you big brute!” ripping through the sudden quiet. He looked handsome then, Hendrik thought, with his cheeks flushed from exertion and normally perfect hair knocked a bit astray.
“Do not be so churlish, Sylvando, and mind your swearing around the horses.” Hendrik chided, “Though I may have bested you, my swordsmanship would never have been so polished if not without your intervention.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m so amazing, I know. You’re welcome by the way! Now how about you use those stupid muscles of yours and pull me up, hmm? I’m waiting!”
“Come now, being a poor sport is unbecoming. I won this round fair and square,” At his love’s sulking, Hendrik could only chuckle. After all, how many times had Sylvando been there to comfort him during an embarrassing fit of tears? They were a distant memory now, but he still fondly recalled the nights they spent cuddling as trainees. Costume or none, Sylvando truly bore the essence of a teddy bear through and through.
But really, who would have thought Sylvando of all people turned out to be such a sore loser? Hendrik had merely wiped the floor with him a little, just a tiny bit, and solely because nowadays the other practiced his juggling more often than he did his swordplay. Regardless, Hendrik extended his arm out for Sylvando to grab a hold on, only for the trickster to tug him down instead.
Sylvando might have sorely regretted his prank, for he sputtered a bit while underneath Hendrik’s full weight after it ungracefully slammed into him. Served him right! But Hendrik was appreciative no less, for now within but a hair’s breadth away he was able to get a much closer look at the other man.
“And viola! Sneak attack!” Through a cough, Sylvando still lay trapped underneath a wall shaped like Hendrik, but cheerfully stated, “Looks like I win this round, darling.”
“You are infeasible! And remarkable, as much as you are a menace,” Hendrik laughed. Without consulting his addled, love stricken mind, he placed a chaste kiss from his lips to Sylvando’s. “But very well then. I will allow it so long as you cease your sulking.”
That was no obstacle, given that Sylvando was never actually upset to begin with, but he made a good show of it by pushing Hendrik’s hulking frame off from on top of him. For a moment, they lied idly by one another’s side, tired and reeling from their exploit. The night had since arrived to greet them, with the world having turned dark as the sky blanketed itself with a cloak of blinking stars.
“This is nice,” Sylvando observed, and Hendrik was inclined to agree despite the disaster he had nearly brought upon the world. He had been blessed by the heavens above with a narrow escape—for baking Sylvando a salt flavored cake and then beating him up in a sword fight could have gone much worse on a regular evening.
His dear friend’s left hand shifted just slightly, so that he was able to lace his fingers with Hendrik’s own in a gentle grip. Warm, and calloused, from a life of hard-work. Hands that he adored. Sylvando then asked suddenly, “Do you know why they call it ‘Lover’s Day’?”
“Truth be told, I am not well versed on the tale—would you be kind enough to tell me?” Though Hendrik knew that the holiday had been named for the Luminary of legend, regaling stories concerning matters of the heart were more often than not lost on him. It was a world he more than eagerly avoided, but he was willing to listen, now, that he had Sylvando near.
Sylvando shifted, to gaze at Hendrik protectively, “Well, you know how it goes here on Erdrea: the people love themselves a nice sob story mixed in with a little bit of hero worship.” Having been falsely revered as a hero at the Last Bastion, it was a tender subject for Hendrik. He knew all too well, and so did Sylvando, who continued, “There’s those old tales of that Luminary fellow, you know the one, who left behind his true love to watch over the world as a star, or so they say. Such a sacrifice—I would hate to see our Ellie somehow following down the same path. Diosa, he’s already a star in my eyes! But that’s not really the point, I guess.
Poor Erdwin and Serenica were destined to be apart forever. So that’s why we have ‘Lover’s Day’: to honor those poor kids, and to remind ourselves that life is best shared with the ones you love.” His explanation by then seemed more like a soulless passage written down in a textbook, until Sylvando added, “But ‘life’ and ‘love’ are both such fickle things, aren’t they?”
“‘Life’ I am still unsure of, however… I would not call my love for you ‘fickle’ by any means,” Hendrik replied, and it was the honest truth. He had loved the other, steadfast and endless, before he had even understood what it meant to love someone.
At such a bold claim, Sylvando fought down a blush.
“Right, you’re a man who lives by his vows, aren’t you, Henrikito? There’s nothing fickle about you. But I love you too, for what it’s worth.”
“And I love you. Forgive me, for never saying it enough,” For the past several months, through the growing pains of beginning his shared life with Sylvando, Hendrik felt it appropriate to indeed count his blessings.
“Oh darling, don’t blame yourself. There are only so many hours in the day,” the other man joked before he then leaned against him. From there, Hendrik felt he held the entire world in his arms. A heat stirred within his heart.
He didn’t know what the future still had in store, what destiny would write down after everything was said and done, but through it all Sylvando had always been by his side. If Hendrik was lucky, and he liked to believe that he was, beside him would Sylvando forever stay.