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This is definitely not how you thought your confession would happen.
You’re in the middle of a battlefield. You’re in the middle of a war. You’re in a different country. You’re freezing cold. There’s a blizzard outside. There are devils everywhere. To add to this already disastrous situation, Yami’s squad members are all sobbing, crying, yelling, wailing, shouting, having breakdowns over the person that they basically all consider like their father or brother, breakdowns of various intensity and violence (there are a few stray spells that are definitely concerning, but thankfully the few members who still have their act together are taking care of these). Besides all the noise from their outbursts of emotions, you can also hear the shouts of the few knights who are fighting the last of devils outside, the creaking of a palace whose roof is not going to hold for long, and the intempestive and annoying meowing of a cat. It’s messy, noisy, and dangerous as well. But more importantly, Yami is dying. He is barely conscious as a worn-out healer is working on him, muttering things you can’t really make out but are most likely supplications, prayers and you might distinguish a few curses too.
This disaster is, basically, what one would call ‘the end’. And in the middle of this, there’s you, by Yami’s side, and for some reason, you remember Puli’s words about how a confession on the brink of death is very romantic. You think she even used the expression ‘the pinnacle of romanticism’ and you also remember failing at grasping how exactly. You have your doubts about this, but you still can’t help but think about confessing right now. You don’t know much about romance, but you do think (and know) that there would be better ways to confess.
You have actually prepared for doing it much better. When you weren’t working on a day to break free of your curse, to use it to your advantage, to become stronger just as you’ve always striven to be, your squad members, much more versed into romance, helped you practice. You can’t say you’re there. You had a few meltdowns over how terrible you are at confessing. You can’t exactly be blamed for that; it’s not like you have given romance much thought in your life and you discovered that confessing has to be the most nerve-wracking experience you’ve ever had to face. You can handle anything in battle but getting three words out? Completely out of your area of expertise. Now, you had a few awful mock confessions that were both embarrassing and worth going into hiding for months. Often you’ve preferred going back to working on arrays, on runes, on understanding the nature of your curse because that, you thought, you could do it right.
You’re a captain and a captain is simply not allowed to fail.
It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about battle or confessing.
Still, you remember all these failed attempts at getting your confession right as you’re here, kneeling beside him, staring at his face, at his glazed over eyes, at the blood running down his jaw, and you think that if he’s going to die anyway, might as well let him go without him ever knowing. You, above everything, don’t want his last memory of you to be an embarrassing confession. There are just limits at how much more you can make a fool of yourself in his presence.
And yet.
What if this was actually a once in a lifetime opportunity? It’s messy, noisy, and dangerous. It’s messy: maybe no one will notice. It’s noisy: maybe he won’t hear you. It’s dangerous: so if you want to do it, you’d better do it fast.
“Yami,” you start, “I’m—”
“Can you hold up his wrist?”
Your eyes leave Yami’s face to stare at the healer who is still working on making him come back from the dead. Right. You had almost forgotten that the healer was right here.
“And mind that cat,” the healer tells you as your hand brushes past Rouge, who hisses in retaliation, “it’s a godsend, don’t disturb him.”
This ‘godsend’ had been hissing at you for minutes until he finally got to work on Yami. The witch said that Rouge didn’t like anything related to Fate or curses, so she speculated that it was because of your still unsolved curse. You have your doubts about the explanation, but you have decided to accept the curse hypothesis. It doesn’t matter anyway; the cat is helping keep Yami alive, the healer looks ready to start worshipping him, so you decide to simply ignore the animal and focus on the task at hand.
So, you hold Yami’s wrist up. The healer stares at the bloodied wrist, gestures for you to try bending it and sighs, “Put it down.”
You obey. You have no idea what she saw on Yami’s wrist, but you obey.
Now, you have to go back to working up the courage. Courage for what anyway? You sigh and decide that you’ll just blurt it out.
“Yami.”
He strainfully opens his eyes to stare back at you.
“I’m in love with you.”
It’s still very noisy around and you’re grateful for that. But you know you didn’t really do good with this confession. You thought you would use more words. Like you’re supposed to. There are ways to say these things, no? You’re supposed to explain how and why, to develop why you have feelings. Not… whatever you just said.
The cat meows again.
You’re too flustered to use more words, and then time goes by and you think that it would be more awkward to add anything, so you keep quiet. You hope that besides the healer, no one has heard you. You think this has to be the worst confession ever. Then you think about Gadjah’s confession and you think: maybe second worst. Loropechka is still processing, rendered absolutely useless, and Gadjah is so bothered by the fact that she’s completely flustered and unable to do anything that he’s also made useless. They’re sitting awkwardly in the corner, in silence.
Yami just says: “‘kay” before drifting back to sleep and you decide that this isn’t the second worst confession, no. Whatever just happened is infinitely worse.
“He’s out cold.”
You stare back at the healer who looks like she’s watching a movie she’s seen a hundred times and we’re reaching the scene she hates the most. Now, you think that maybe confessions on battlefields are just this common.
“Doing it now wasn’t a good idea, love,” she says in a sigh. “Chances are he won’t even remember.”
Right. You knew that much.
Maybe deep down you wanted him not to know just yet.
♣
Yami lives. Of course he does. So you visit with the firm intention to, this time, confess properly. Yami is awake when you enter the room, a handful of Black Bulls teasing him, bickering with him, talking excitedly. They’re so loud, but they all stop, grow silent abruptly and stare right back at you. The witch strangely gets up first and shoves everyone out of the room. You swore you saw her wink at you, but there’s no way she did so you simply stand still. You don’t phrase your thanks, you don’t really know how or why you would anyway. You’re much too focused on what you have to say right now, on knowing whether or not Yami remembers what you told him, on picking up every clue sent your way.
You can’t say there’s much clue. He’s sitting up in bed, his hair a bigger mess than usual, dark circles under his eyes and he’s not shaven at all. He doesn’t look fine but then again, he’s just escaped death.
“I’m glad to see you’re fine,” you simply say.
“Yeah.”
That’s all he answers. He just stares back at you like it’s the first time you two ever met.
“I wouldn’t have died on you,” he added before turning his head to stare out the window. “Think you could get a pack of cigs for me?”
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
He brings his eyes on you again and chortles, “Maybe. So, are you gonna give me these or not?”
Yami points at the stupid fruit basket you’re carrying. That’s what he brought you last time, back when you were resting after the whole elf incident, so you thought it would be appropriate to pay him back in the same manner.
You close the distance to his bed and put the basket on the table by the bed.
“So, um…” you start, “do you remember anything from Spade?”
“You mean when you were here, I was dying, and the healer was cursing more than me?”
“...yes.”
Yami almost cracks a smile. You don’t know what to make of it, but you don't hate the sight. His mouth opens again and he’s about to answer when the door opens to reveal Nozel and Fuegoleon, carrying gifts.
You all stare at each other for a while, until Fuegoleon, maybe the less dense of the two royal captains, gets the hint and asks, “Are we interrupting something?”
“Yes,” you answer, trying to keep calm. “This won’t be long, can you two wait outside?”
Nozel slightly frowns, “I do have to go back to my squad so I’d rather not waste my time wai—“
“Thank you.”
You sound very annoyed, so even Nozel and his attitude understands and silently retreats. You’re certain that Fuegoleon and Nozel are still both behind the door, wondering what the hell is happening. You’re pretty sure they’re just confused right now and haven’t pieced anything together. More than you’re pretty sure, you hope.
You turn your attention back to the matter at hand.
“So… Do you remember anything?”
“Yeah. You were here with me and I was dying.”
“Yes. Do you, perhaps—“
The door opens once more and you’re a hair breadth away from getting your grimoire out to get Nozel and Fuegoleon to understand when you see the healer, the one from Spade, the one who saved Yami. You two look at each other for a few seconds before she sighs, throws both her hands in the air in resignation and turns away. When the door closes, you don’t feel like confessing anymore, you just want to burn down the entire world.
“Calm down, Prickly Queen.”
“I am calm.”
“No, you’re not.”
Now, you hate everything about Yami being able to read ki.
You explain, “I just can’t understand how two people can’t have an ounce of peace to have a conversation.”
“Yeah, we’ll get that later.”
“What?”
“We’ll get plenty of time alone together later. When I’m out of here and my guys aren’t scared of me dying on them or whatever.”
Once more, you want to say ‘what’ but can only manage to blink a few times. Yami looks up at you, frowning.
“What? We’re together now, no?”
This time, you can’t even blink. You stare back at him and you’re also pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“You said you were in love with me, I don’t exactly hate you either, we’re together. End of story, no?”
End of story, he says. As if it hadn’t taken everything in you to confess.
You’re pretty sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, but it’s not as if you knew anything about romance in the first place. You can’t understand, much less process, so you simply nod, dumbfounded.
“‘kay, let the royals inside now, I’m getting these fancy gifts.”
At this point, you honestly can’t do anything but obey.
This is definitely not how you thought any of this would happen. But you don't hate it.