Work Text:
It’s like this:
Everyone is absolutely sick of how in love Feliks and Tolys are, even though they’d never even officially said it. Sure, Natalka may coo and giggle over any gifts exchanges between the two, and Raivis may wax his childish poetry about love and marriage and family and all they entail, and Eduard may make attempts at learning love songs, and even Gilbert may grudgingly offer to look after the others so Feliks and Tolys could get time to themselves, and Katya herself may embroider matching hearts and flowers on their clothes when she gets her hands on them — but honestly, they’re all sick of them acting like young virgins around each other when they’ve been married for two centuries.
Seriously, how long does it take to say “I love you?”. Humans must never get to say it, with how short their lives are.
And the thing is? They both know exactly how deeply they care for each other; how could they not, if they have functioning eyes?
(At least, Katya thinks they do. Maybe not, and that’s why Feliks is so horrible at archery? Except even a blind man can see it!)
But it’s like this:
Neither has ever said aloud that they love each other, but they do, and it’s so obvious that their King-Grand Duke has to separate them at any gathering he doesn’t want a not-in-the-know human to call them out on it. They do, and it’s obvious not because of the matching rings they wear on strings tied around their necks, not because they share a room and bed every night, not because they giggle and dissolve into flustered messes whenever they manage to steal kisses and hold hands without reprimand.
It’s obvious because Feliks doesn’t cook anything except a few select dishes, very rarely, and the one he makes most often is Tolys’s favourite soup. It’s obvious because Tolys doesn’t sing unless it’s for some sort of ceremony, yet will take up whatever song Feliks requests the moment he does. It’s obvious because Feliks can tell when Tolys needs him to be quiet and shuts up, for once. It’s obvious because Tolys can tell when Feliks needs him to pay attention, to listen, and does so. It’s obvious because they don’t leave each other’s side if one of them is injured.
It’s obvious.
And yet, no one’s ever heard them say it.
And it’s like this:
When Feliks gets comfortable around someone, he isn’t one to mince his affection or keep it so incredibly private. Sure, he can be blunt or callous or self-centred sometimes, and he forgets that nobody can hear his thoughts, but he’s been getting so much better at it since others had come under his roof. He tucks Natalka in with a soft “Good night, I love you”. He holds Raivis’s shaking hands and murmurs “I’ll protect you for as long as I can because I care about you”. He pats Eduard’s head with a grin and says “That’s my little brother, everyone, feast your eyes on his greatness”. He winds bandages around Gilbert’s wounds with a tut and a disapproving “Must you sully our family’s name with your bullheadedness?”. He braids Katya’s own hair with a hummed “Your hair’s getting long, love, are you sure you can brush it by yourself every day?”.
He’s better.
But he’s never said he loves Tolys, and she can count on one hand the number of times she’s heard him call him his husband or partner, even in a company that doesn’t care that they’re both men.
And it’s like this:
Tolys doesn’t do words, finds them awkward and stilting and incapable of carrying the messages of care they’re meant to. Still, he knows others need them, sometimes, so he tries hard to give them — a “Good job, dear” to Natalka after she brings him a basket of mushrooms for inspection; an “Everybody makes mistakes, kid” to Raivis after he comes crying about a broken vase; an “A strong body is important, but a good head can go a long way as well” to Eduard after yet another training session completed and little progress made; an “I suppose you’re not the devil’s spawn” to Gilbert after the boy helps dress his and Feliks’s injuries; a “You’re strong and we’ll help you get through it, it’s okay” to Katya herself after she gets sick from eating some berries she found in the forest.
And Katya would think, with how he watches and learns and figures things out, he would’ve said he loves Feliks already, as spouses are wont to do, because Tolys observes and repeats what he’s seen other people say or do in certain situations, people that know how to deal with emotions.
But he never does.
And it’s like this:
Katya knows you don’t need words to love another. You don’t need to tell someone you love them for it to be clear you do. Words aren’t even enough, most of the time, and here, she agrees with Tolys — she loves her words, loves nursery rhymes and lullabies, but you can’t capture all the love and care you have for a person in them, even if you’re the best poet in the world. Words just don’t work, not alone, you need to couple them with giving someone their favourite flowers and little paintings you made for them and soup when they’re sick and other such things.
But words make things real, in a way no action she can think of does.
(Her mother wasn’t truly dead until Feliks gathered her and Ivan and Natalka into a hug and said, voice small and quiet and mournful, “I’ve never seen a Nation die before”)
(She wasn't truly a Nation until Danylo Romanovych called her his kingdom)
Words make things real, so she doesn't know why Feliks and Tolys refuse to say it. Do they not want it to seem as real as it is? Except that doesn't make sense. How could it, when the two are attached at the hip more days than not?
(She asks Gilbert about it, once, if he knows why, because he's older and has more experience being a Nation and independent. He stares at her for a moment, wiping the blood from his broken nose, and barks out a hollow laugh)
("They like to think they're less dependent on each other than they really are," he says in a thin voice before sending her to fetch him a bowl of water and some bandages)
(She doesn't really understand yet, still too young and inexperienced to grasp everything that goes into being a Nation, but she doesn't ask him again)
In the end, it's like this:
Feliks and Tolys love each other even if they never say it, as far as Katya is aware, and maybe that's okay because words are hard and make things too real, no matter how sick everyone is of the two tip-toeing around the phrase.