Chapter Text
Rook Hunt says a lot of things.
Vil knew this to be the case from the moment he met the other, from the way he exclaimed at anything beautiful to the way he analyzed things aloud under his breath, Rook Hunt always found ways to express himself in words.
That isn’t to call him talkative, though he certainly can be, Rook does know when to be quiet. He’s a huntsman after all, he’s impeccably aware of when he should and should not be speaking. Rook can stay silent for days if he needs to, never uttering a single word or making a single sound.
All in all however, words are how Rook Hunt expresses himself. Out loud, on paper, in speeches or in verse, words are Rook Hunts creative medium.
In a way Vil loves this about him, especially because Rook would never tarnish his words with lies, at the same time, for the same reason, it terrifies Vil.
For one very specific reason why:
“I love you.”
Vil says it to Rook because it’s true; simple as that.
It wasn’t something Vil spoke often, he was careful with his words and timing, after living a life watching people he knew act out love stories that weren’t actually real, the words had become very important to Vil on where he used them. It might’ve been silly, but that part of him, that child that had seen his father proclaim false love on a screen to others multiple times, that part of him thought that if he said it too much, his own words would become as fake as any other line from a script.
The first time Vil had ever said it to Rook, he held no fear before or afterwards. It had been about three months after they had started dating in second year and Vil only said it to let the other know. He hadn’t expected a response, nor had he minded the lack of verbal reciprocation.
This time however, Vil felt as if he was about to snap; as if he might at any moment shatter and Rook would simply be there to look at his broken pieces.
He had said it a few times since the first, and he had never felt insecure or unsure of his feelings being returned before, but now it ate away at his heart and a feeling of unease settled in his throat.
They had been in Vil’s bed, Vil was exhausted emotionally and physically, and in pain in every way imaginable. Not only had he near killed others and himself in his temper tantrum of an overblot, but he couldn’t even perform well enough for his boyfriend to feel confident voting for them.
Vil couldn’t blame Rook; not for any of it. Vil knew exactly what it was like to know the feeling of having been beaten, he had experienced it many times, he knew exactly why Rook had voted for Royal Sword. He respected it too, no matter the fact that it stung that Rook felt such a way.
Honestly, he couldn’t be upset any Rook for anything, the huntsman had in every way, been perfect and completely supportive of Vil for every step he made in progress towards his goals, and he had been there to stop Vil exactly when he need to be stopped.
This, however, does not negate the hole in Vil’s chest from having his heart ripped out; because no matter what happened today or any day, Vil felt as if he didn’t know Rook at all.
Scratch that.
Vil Schönheit knew two things about Rook Hunt:
One, that Rook Hunt does not tell lies, and two, Vil Schönheit loved Rook Hunt.
So that’s why he had said it.
His head tucked under Rook’s chin, Rook’s arms around his waist to keep Vil flush against him, legs intertwined with one another’s, in that moment, lying in Vil’s bed, Vil had to say it, if only in hopes of hearing it back and knowing at the very least that Rook Hunt did in fact love Vil Schönheit the same way Vil Schönheit loved Rook Hunt.
And yet the boy had offered no response beyond moving his head to tilt down and kiss Vil’s hair.
Vil pulled his head away so that he could look up, he stared into Rook’s eyes and his own voice might’ve shaken with fear if the actor hadn’t learned years ago how to make his voice come across smooth and calm even in some of his most emotional moments.
“Rook? I said, I love you.”
Selfish.
Selfish and greedy.
That’s what Vil Schönheit was.
It’s what his mind hissed at him as his eyes started to sting from Rook’s lack of response.
He shouldn’t beg for a response, he shouldn’t have to pressure his boyfriend into loving him, and yet he stared into his eyes in hope that he could draw out the words. He had to hear it. He had to.
Because if Rook couldn’t say that he loved Vil, then he must not.
And if not even Rook, who had seen Vil at his absolute lowest and his best, if not even he could love Rook, who would?
But Room didn’t speak and Vil wanted to scream.
He wanted to scream, and cry, and yell at Rook to just once say it back.
He wanted to cling to the huntsman and push him into saying those words.
But when Vil stared at those eyes and saw that there was not a single thought that might be of saying it back he felt the stinging in his eyes immediately be replaced by water and he shoved his face into Rook’s chest as he sobbed loudly.
Rook took immediate action in those moments, pulling Vil closer than what must have been possible for their already close proximity, petting the housewarden’s hair and shushing him gently.
Vil wanted to squirm out of reach, shove Rook out of the bed, force him to go to his own room and slam the door in his face but every action and movement from Rook screamed that he was loved and cared for by his Vice and he craved it so much that he only held on tighter as his sobs increased.
Vil cried for what seemed like hours as his heart had shattered and was left in pieces in Rook’s hands; the very boy to whom he had given the heart to in the first place.
Rook never once said those three words in that time but he didn’t ever complain, only making soft soothing noises as he cradled Vil in his arms like he was more precious than anything else on this earth.
Only did Vil’s crying subside when he fell asleep next to Rook, and only then did Rook speak:
“Je t'aime, ma plus douce reine, je suis désolé, je suis trop lâche pour te le dire en face”
Rook Hunt says a lot of things, but never “I love you”.