Work Text:
Hubert loved Ferdinand loudly in little ways. In hot cups of tea set at the his bedside every night, in freshly plucked roses placed on the desk in his office when he arrived for work, with a tender brush of the lips on his forehead when he found him asleep against piles of work yet again, and in magic-stained fingers running gently through wavy amber tendrils as he helped him prepare himself in the mornings. Yet Ferdinand’s favorite was in ink dotted parchment, crafted of compliments, both in view and blotted beneath hasty quill streaks, written and rewritten as Hubert searched for the words he wished to say. Ferdinand cherished these letters, reread them often, especially when his husband was away. They were etched in his memory and recited in every great high and every great low.
Hubert had a poetic way of speaking that held captive his heart even despite the mundanity of some of their topics. As he reread each one within the comfort of their bed which smelled so strongly of his husband in his absence, Ferdinand smiled to himself. Some of them had been reminders during the early start of the war, demanding him to get better rest, to eat more than one meal a day, to take a break with him when he pushed himself too hard, and he couldn’t understand how he had not seen it before when he was younger; written between the lines, between the guise of an order, was the admission of his love. Rest more —I'm worried for you. Take more time to eat —I care for you. Take a break with me —I’m looking out for you.
How silly of him to not notice for so long. Ferdinand chuckled to himself, shook his head as he brought the next letter into the candlelight. His eyes grew teary at the words, wetting the paper and smudging the fainted ink. His letter of confession, short and plain, yet no less profound. Even now it stirred his heart to flutter.
Ferdie,
Three words, in my opinion, seem too frail to carry the weight of such hefty emotions, but I give them to you anyways: I love you deeply—fondly and wholly. I can only hope you feel the same.”
— H
Ferdinand pressed his lips to the letter softly, smelling the lingering scent of dark magic as he did. I love you too. He could not wait until Hubert returned home so that he could tell him once again.