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Of all the things to be jealous of, a butterfly was not one of them.
Yet Hubert was jealous of the insect with yellow and black striped wings that tapered off into "swallow tails," giving this particular specimen its name. Or so Ferdinand said, anyway.
The sunflowers in the garden were a favourite of swallowtails and this one was originally tempted over by the fresh cut stems on display between Ferdinand's tea pot and Hubert's coffee cup. But how could it resist, when the sun itself shone so brightly before it?
Ferdinand's forearm was resting on the table, wrist up, and the butterfly had taken temporary residence there.
At least it gave Hubert an excuse to stare. The strong tendons were visible straining against the paler skin, still darker than Hubert's own, as if it had been kissed by the sun. It looked impossibly soft, softer still than Ferdinand's luscious red hair, ignited under the afternoon sun.
He could see where blue veins crisscrossed under paper thin skin. How would they feel beneath his lips? Would he be able to feel Ferdinand's beating heart? Could he feel it speed up as he brushed his lips against the skin just beneath Ferdinand's palm? Could he watch the colour flood into Ferdinand's face at the simple, intimate gesture? Hear Ferdinand gasp, breath hitching in his throat when he parted his lips to press a proper kiss against it?
Hubert suppressed a shudder at the thought, feeling his own aching heart thunder in his chest. The butterfly fluttered its wings, setting off a similar reaction in Hubert's stomach.
Could he taste salty sweat upon Ferdinand's skin? Or would he be overcome by the delicate scent of Ferdinand's cologne as his nose traced circles on the sensitive skin of Ferdinand's forearm?
(It was jasmine coupled with something a little bit musky and a little bit spicy that combined into something truly sensual that lingered in Hubert's nose for hours after they parted company. It even allowed him to sleep more soundly. He'd tried to replicate it on no fewer than five occasions, with no success.)
Would Ferdinand's hands--callused yet soft, an oxymoron that spoke to his noble disposition and hands on work ethic--cup his chin? Stroke his face? Tug gently at his hair, perhaps, or pull him up to meet the eager, plush lips Hubert usually could not draw his gaze from?
What would he taste like? Would Hubert find the overly saccharine taste of southern fruit blend more tolerable on Ferdinand's tongue? Would his lips be as soft as they looked when Ferdinand sunk his teeth into them in concentration, or would they press hard against Hubert with the same determination Ferdinand demonstrated when wielding his lance?
Ferdinand's sudden silence drew Hubert from his active imagination. It weighed heavily in the air, like the muggy heat before a thunderstorm breaks to clear away the tension. Hubert's breathing was slightly laboured, all the more noticeable in the quiet gardens. He inhaled deeply and held it, coaching his breaths back to normal. Hoping the heat he could feel coursing through his body did not show on his face, Hubert shifted in his seat. He could not be so obvious in his affections.
(He needed to be more obvious in his affections.)
The butterfly was gone. For how long, Hubert did not know. Yet he could not drag his eyes away from where they were fixed. Ferdinand's hand was right there. He could reach out and take it. Feel the warmth of his flesh, finally show Ferdinand how he felt. What he wanted. Entwine their fingers and never let go. Let the emotions he'd kept imprisoned in a cage deep inside him loose on the world in a torrent of adoration and affection and...love.
The word terrified him. How it made him feel scared him more. Like everything would be okay if only he could hold Ferdinand tight, breathe in his calming scent to reassure himself when the world looked bleak and inescapable faces from his past reared their ugly heads. Like the sun would set forever, casting him in permanent darkness, without the sunshine of Ferdinand von Aegir in his life.
Be mine, Ferdinand. How difficult was it to say?
More difficult than anything else he'd ever said.
Grasping Ferdinand's hand in his own and physically representing his feelings was also an insurmountable task. Hubert was capable of a great many things in service of Lady Edelgard, but he did not know how to do things for himself.
Ferdinand had once encouraged him to learn. Was today the day he finally took that step? He could do it. The distance was not that great. Closer still since they began these afternoon tea sessions, chatting about all aspects of Fódlan's future. With Lady Edelgard and Ferdinand at the helm, it was sure to be a bright one.
Was there a place for shadows, in the radiance before him?
Of course, Hubert knew he was being foolish. Emotions were pesky things; he should be logical instead. Shadows did not exist before light but next to it, and there was nowhere he'd rather be than alongside Ferdinand.
Hubert willed his fingers to reach out for Ferdinand, ignoring the warnings screaming in his head about the dangers of chasing the sun. Ferdinand would not burn him.
A sigh broke the heavy silence between them.
"Ah, the hour is late. My apologies Hubert, but I must retire--the tax plans for Hrym still need work, I have an important meeting on the morrow and my mare is due to foal any day now. I do so enjoy these afternoons with you, they are the highlight of my week. I am sorry we will miss the next one while I am away in Almyra." Ferdinand's small smile radiated fondness. Caring.
He could match it. He could say something. Anything.
The words remained lodged in his chest; his hands remained against the table. Birds chirped in the background.
"If I do not see you before--goodbye, Hubert. I'll miss--" Ferdinand cut off. Every fibre of Hubert's being shouted at him to reach for Ferdinand's hand and take it into his own. He longed for Ferdinand to finish the sentence, to be the strong one and carry them both. To put into words what Hubert could not, so he only had to respond in kind. "No matter," said Ferdinand, shaking his head. "Ignore me, I am being foolish for missing-" Ferdinand paused, swallowing heavily. "-for missing our afternoon tea when we will resume it two weeks from now. That is not such a long time to wait."
To Hubert, it sounded like an eternity of endless night, like winters in Sreng when the sun didn't rise for months at a time.
"I have stolen you from your duties for too long. Until the next time." Ferdinand stood, inclining his head before heading towards the concealed archway that led to the grounds proper.
Hubert merely nodded at him, unable to manage anything else.
It could not be a coincidence that as Ferdinand left the gardens, the sun vanished behind the clouds.
Of all the things to be jealous of, a butterfly was not one of them. Yet how could Hubert not be jealous when it dared to touch the dazzling Ferdinand von Aegir? When it was permitted to touch his golden skin?
He removed the sunflowers from the vase, holding them as tenderly as he longed to hold Ferdinand. They would join his collection of pressed flowers from the rest of their afternoon teas.
For now, it was enough. Barely, but enough. And in future? If Hubert could find a way to reach out for his own goals--for Ferdinand--he hoped to one day immortalise their wedding flowers.