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The thing about living a double-life is that it comes with a cost. The irregular displacement forces Yuuri to choose, like a suspended pendulum that forgets whether it should swing backward or forward. When he's on Earth, he has to pretend that everything's okay and that he's just any other regular high school boy slacking off (just a little bit). When he's the maou, he has to pretend like he knows everything and he's making the correct decisions. He's adapting rather quickly, but that's because you can't be thinking too much during a match. After the sweat has evaporated, the team finished showering, and the chattering around him softens into a mere memory and is replaced by the rattling of his bicycle chains as he cycles home, Yuuri thinks.
Nowadays, he's quieter when he returns. Here, on Earth, his mind processes the development. Sometimes, he needs more answers. Some instances of political diplomacy slip past his fingers, so he dives into books to get answers. It used to make him proud because now, his life has another cornerstone entirely of his own making. He could build it into something useful, something helpful to many people who look up to him as their king.
However, no book could help him reconcile with what happened in Big Cimaron. How was one expected to see the world the same after it had been flipped upside down? He was a boat stuck in a storm after losing its anchor. He was a bird struck out of the air by a gunshot to the wing. He was so alone in a world where Conrad was dead.
He was crying over many things when the day settled, and Yuuri was granted time to breathe and think. But when Conrad, his Nazukeoya, his soldier, looks as alive as ever and walks towards him, the match goes silent, and Yuuri is caught astray. Conrad had his arm intact, although Yuuri had bid farewell to it a couple of days before. That arm was strong enough to wield a sword against Yuuri and he had to grip Morgif with two hands. Conrad's hand was warm, his pulse on his wrist, but the joy did not reach Conrad's magnificent brown eyes. Conrad was so close Yuuri could've kissed him, but the Conrad he met was so far out of reach; present in person, but not in spirit. Conrad's pale complexion due to the cold in Big Cimaron made Yuuri want to bundle him up and take him forcefully back to someplace warm, share an onsen with him or something until his face retained a healthy flush and a happy smile.
You shouldn't think too much during an active match; you risk overthinking your moves and flunking them. Conrad was enough of a reason for Yuuri to pause for a thought. Every night, he finds himself poised by a window or staring awake at the ceiling as tears drip silently down the corner of his eyes so Wolfram doesn't stir. Yuuri thinks of all the possible choices he could've made during the match.
He thinks of hugging Conrad when he shows up as his third opponent. Would Conrad stab him first? He thinks of surrendering like Conrad suggested, so would Conrad agree to follow him home. He thinks of throwing his sword midway through the exhausting fight with Adalbert to see if Conrad would come forth to save him as he did so many times before. He thinks of that last time he saw Conrad disappear into the snow with his accursed Big Cimaron uniform flapping in the wind and wonders if he had confessed all these feelings he's secretly buried deep in his heart to him at that moment, would Conrad leave his false master's side to stand by Yuuri?
These were all speculations, all alternatives of a future that would be out of reach for Yuuri, all because he was a stupid, emotional, bumbling idiot of a wimp who crumbles at the mere sight of Conrad standing in front of him.
But Yuuri must remain strong. He mustn't fall victim to his own rampant emotions because people would get hurt. His "maou" side would emerge when he let loose, and he couldn't promise not to hurt an innocent in the process. It's hard sometimes, perhaps it's because he was also a hormonal teenager, to reign in his emotions and put on a smile. His maryoku is an amplification of his inner self, and he needs to be the maou now more than ever.
Especially when his beloved soldier isn't there beside him to catch him if he falls.
X
"Your Majesty," a honeyed voice breaks through his cloud of thoughts.
Yuuri startles, but a smile is quick to form on his lips when he sees who it is.
Conrad, in all his khaki green uniform glory, was approaching with the familiar quirk of his lips. His posture is upright now that he's free from the stranglehold of Gisela's bandages. The visible bruises above Conrad's neckline were gone, only serving as ghostly shadows his eyes subconsciously trace, as if to uncover the hidden wounds upon his soldier. Most of all, his arm sways freely beside him, attached and mobile.
"It's Yuuri, Conrad." Yuuri's voice is subdued in the tranquility of the night.
Conrad seems to have noticed something, his walk becoming slower and purposeful. Yuuri's gaze skitters away, returning to his absentminded observation of the mostly empty castle grounds save for a few soldiers patrolling in the distance. Conrad stops at Yuuri's side, his right arm almost certainly brushing Yuuri's pajama sleeve.
"Is there anything I can do to help, Yuuri?" Conrad's tone drops into barely hidden concern, but it isn't the kind that made Yuuri want to bristle and brush off like Günter's. The lilt to his words was a promise to right a wrong, a vow to see to any of Yuuri's needs.
Yuuri closes his eyes and thinks.
"It's nothing. I was just..." He trails off into uncertainty. For all that Yuuri was outspoken about his ideas, he was still raised in Japan for most of his life. So, he settles for the simple truth.
"I'm really, really happy you're back Conrad."
The croak in his voice may have given too much away because the next thing Yuuri knows is Conrad's warm, firm embrace. Yuuri's breath is sharp, but his slow release tells Conrad that this development was welcomed, so the soldier clings on, pressing his chin against Yuuri's head.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, for causing you such heartache."
Yuuri shakes his head and shifts in the hold, pressing his face against Conrad's chest. His eyes linger on the spot where a Big Cimaron arrow pierced Conrad and his fingers curl into fists. Heartache was an understatement. Each time Conrad turned away from him and looked at him with those cold, distant eyes, Yuuri felt his heart trampled, kicked, and buried in an icy tundra.
"No, I'm sorry I did not try to understand how it must've been difficult for you too." The words barely escaped Yuuri's mouth when his eyes began to water. He curses himself; why was he crying?
What right did he have to cry when all he wanted was right here with him? Conrad is back at his side, his body hale and whole, his laughter deep in his ears. Wolfram was right-- He indeed was a wimp.
"Yuuri..." Conrad begins, but Yuuri quickly shakes his head again.
He couldn't let Conrad continue to take the fall for Yuuri, not after this.
"No, let me, let me apologise-" Half of him fears his maryoku flaring again, but surprisingly, it remains calm beneath his skin as if Conrad's tightening grip paralysed it. "-I am sorry for making you lose your arm in the first place. If I wasn't so useless at defending myself-"
"Yuuri," Conrad interrupted curtly. "It is my duty to protect you, you should never feel sorry for such a thing."
Yuuri raised his head to send Conrad an indignified glare, surely then the message would come through, "I never wanted you to die for me Conrad! If you, if you didn't break formation," Yuuri's breath hitched at the mere thought of the guns. The aftermath still rattles his bones and makes him sway on his feet. His fingers froze as if he was the one that was about to lose his arm next.
Conrad's response was a heartbreakingly soft murmur. "Accidents happen sometimes. I am not invincible and I do get injured, but all of it is worth it to protect you."
It was hard to explain because suddenly, a switch inside of Yuuri's head was flipped. The overwhelming melancholy in his heart twists into anger when he pushes away slightly from Conrad, bruising Conrad's chin and hurting his own head. But the soldier does not wince. Instead, he frets about injuring his king and lifts a hand to touch Yuuri's head. Throughout this, his maryoku slowly awakens, purring beneath his skin like a dragon raising its wings to take flight. It tints his periphery blue as he feels Conrad tighten his grip on his biceps.
"But who will protect you?" His lips overflow with acerbic words and it stills Conrad, who becomes torn between worry and bewilderment.
"Your majesty..." Conrad, again, tries to explain, but Yuuri's had enough. All the secrets, political alliances, and leftover pains from the recent debacle were stirred too quickly, and Yuuri's thoughts spilled over the rim.
"I know, I understand the consequences of what you did. I've thought long and hard about all this. You were tasked by Shinou himself to collect the boxes, to help me bring peace, but at what cost? Peace without you is no peace at all," Yuuri heaves a breath but pushes on, " You could've died. Big Cimaron could've swept the rug from under your feet. Shin Makoku could've killed you for treason. But you had no choice, this was never your fault. I don't really have a reference point, but I get it. Shinou's will is everything, you must obey his words above all. But that's unfair! It's unfair that he places this responsibility on you! And worse of all, I-"
Conrad cuts Yuuri off, pulling him back into a crushing embrace. All Yuuri could do was feel the tautness of Conrad's body around him, as if he was going to lift Yuuri into the skies or bury him deep in the ground. Then, Yuuri hears a sniffle. His maryoku disappears like will-o'-wisps in the fire.
"Yuuri, I'm sorry," Conrad's apology is muffled by Yuuri's own sobs, but he feels it now. Conrad's breathing was irregular, with wet spots on his back.
"Don't be. I failed you just as much," Yuuri admits remorsefully, "I didn't manage to help you at all."
All he did was cry and beg for Conrad to return home. All he could do was keep Wolfram's and Yozak's swords in their sheaths so they wouldn't try to behead Conrad at first sight. All he could do was rush headfirst into trouble and get Conrad injured. He was a pitiful king, naive and incapable of defending his own people.
"Yuuri." Conrad's tone was grave as he pulled back. A bit of Yuuri was shaken by the sight of Conrad's tear-stained cheeks. It felt wrong like he'd committed a great sin by making Conrad cry. Conrad's fingers gently brushed away Yuuri's tears from his lashes as he spoke, and his warm hands cupped Yuuri's face like he was holding the finest China.
"You've helped me much more than you know," Conrad smiles a little, "When I came to terms with my task, the hardest thing I had to do was to disobey you. Infiltration was child's play, but you, you were my biggest obstacle. I had to repeatedly push you away, but you come running back. You never stopped hoping, even when you sound like you were about to give up on me," Conrad's voice cracks a little at those words, "I could see it in your eyes. You never stopped finding a way to get me back, to take me home, and that. That is the greatest blessing of them all."
Conrad leans close and closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against Yuuri's. "You were my hope, my candle in the darkness. I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be able to call my brothers family anymore. You gave me my greatest gift by allowing me to stay here, by your side. And that is more than I could've asked for."
Yuuri's lashes flutter shut. Everything that followed happened in quick concession.
He himself had no idea who moved first, but soon, Yuuri's lips met with Conrad's. Their first kiss was chaste as Yuuri's lips twitched after they soon parted, but that wasn't enough. Yuuri leans in again, crushing his own lips against Conrad's. The incandescent taste shoots Yuuri's brain into sparking wires. His hands start moving, blindly brushing against Conrad's abdomen to find his shoulders before cupping the back of his head. The spikes of Conrad's hair send his spine tingling. Conrad's hands leave Yuuri's face, and his digits dig into Yuuri's hair, latching on like a drowning man on a piece of driftwood. It was a desperate conversation as they exchanged apologies and forgiveness by prying their mouths and clashing tongues. It was hard to keep their teeth from clinking, but Yuuri could not stop himself. The pent-up emotions and thoughts had only one funnel to go through-- and Conrad accepted it all with his wet, hungry mouth.
It was like a dance. Their bodies pushed and pulled against each other, their hips joined, and the warmth pooled in Yuuri's pants. It tasted of salt and mind-blowing sweetness. He went lightheaded, and he felt his knees weaken from the kisses.
Eventually, Conrad pulls back far enough that Yuuri has more breathing time. Their saliva is a white highlight between them, a twinkling evidence of their deeds for all to see. Yuuri sees Conrad's swollen lips and licks his own. Through half-lidden eyes, he drinks in Conrad's disheveled appearance and etches this into memory.
"That was," Yuuri swallows. "Amazing."
He leans against Conrad who still stands strong, while Yuuri looks close to keeling over. Whether from arousal or exhaustion, he couldn't tell, but his eyes were drooping against his will.
"Your majesty, you should sleep now," Conrad's apologetic voice wakes him up a little.
Yuuri shakes his head. He thinks of Wolfram and Greta in his bedroom. He couldn't go back there, not after what transpired here tonight. He did something wrong, he knows, but it felt right. The questions all had one finite answer, so he stubbornly hugged Conrad's left arm.
"Don't wanna," Yuuri mumbles. "Take me, Conrad."
His nonsensical words jolt him awake; he hadn't meant to say that.
"I- I mean to your room. Anywhere. Not here, I can't sleep here."
It takes a moment, and Yuuri thought he was about to refuse. But no, Conrad obeys.
He takes Yuuri into his arms, Yuuri's lithe body sliding into his arms, and the puzzle feels complete. Yuuri greedily absorbs Conrad's warmth and allows his body to languish in his hold. He falls asleep before they arrive.
X
Conrad is aware that Yuuri hasn't been sleeping well. In the past couple of days, he patrols as he usually does and hears a pair of footsteps shifting Yuuri's bedroom. Wolfram couldn't be awake at this time of night, so that left Yuuri. But it was improper to enter his king's room without permission, even if he knew he had to make it up to Yuuri because this was probably his fault. So he waits for the right opportunity. It was hard to not position himself outside of his bedroom, but that would make things pressuring for Yuuri, and he didn't want that either. So, he does his rounds as usual.
Finally, the time was bestowed on him when he spots Yuuri standing outside his bedroom door, gazing through the window. Conrad's breath catches in his throat.
Yuuri was beautiful. His jet-black hair and eyes gleamed like jewels in the night, precious beyond measure. His blue pajamas draped over his body loosely, but Conrad's carried him enough to outline Yuuri's body in the dark. There were no traces of physical ailments plaguing him, but judging by the melancholy in Yuuri's eyes, it was definitely something of the mind. Conrad's heart drops when he sees the redness in Yuuri's eyes framed by the faint shadows of eye bags. The guilt stabs him deep in the gut, so Conrad sets out to right his wrong.
His majesty is the world's most empathetic, kindest creature Conrad has ever known. Perhaps it was from Yuuri's lack of aristocratic background, but Conrad loves to believe this came from the soul. His words do more than echo in his ears; they worm their way into the cold, abandoned corners of his heart, alighting them with hope. Many times, it was thanks to Conrad's position as Yuuri's subordinate that stops him from outright declaring his love for Yuuri. He hides the motives behind his duty to his country and masks the devotion behind his duty as Yuuri's bodyguard. Yuuri's shining engagement with Wolfram blinds the rest of Conrad's slipups so no one notices. Not even Yuuri himself.
It was both a blessing and a curse.
Conrad was a warrior, drenched in blood, and stood tall against the discrimination from humans and mazoku for the longest time. Even if everything were to be stripped away from him, he always had his willpower to rely on. But in the face of Yuuri's shaky voice and large, gleaming tears streaming down his cheeks, his willpower falls apart like a sandcastle in the tide. The guilt clogs his nose, and it makes him want to heave. His left arm burns as Shinou's words ring in his ears again, a cold, vicious promise overruled by Yuuri's kindness towards a nobody like him. It wasn't the brightest move, but Conrad had never claimed to be a bright person. So he confesses. The skeletons were out of the closet, its cadaver open for the judge who holds his heart.
He speaks as Conrart Weller, barren of his position, responsibilities, and hesitation.
And Yuuri.
Yuuri accepts.
Their kiss was beyond everything Conrad had ever imagined. It wasn't Conrad's first, but it might as well have been because everything before that pales in comparison. The remaining thin layer of decorum instilled in his bones prevents him from kissing like a starving man, but the way Yuuri leans on his body makes him taut. He gently pries Yuuri's mouth open, drinking in the sweet nectar. Yuuri's pliant tongue welcomes him, and Conrad swallows every moan that escapes Yuuri's throat. The lion shivers when the hand on the back of his neck tightens. His back arches forward, pressing the younger teen's body against his chest as if saying, "Can you hear my rapid heartbeat? Let me feel yours."
When they part, Conrad watches. He knows he must look like a mess, but Yuuri's visage is enough to stop his heart. His black eyes roam over Conrad's features. His lips were swollen with a sheen of saliva, his tongue resting limply behind his lower lips. Conrad tightens his grip over Yuuri and closes his own traitorous mouth.
He's committed a crime that not even Yuuri can save him from. An impossible love, although reciprocated, should've never come to light. Yuuri was young, naive, and distraught. The guilt returns and cloaks Conrad's figure like a heavy blanket. He wants to apologise, but his heart refuses. This won't go any further, and Conrad has to content himself with getting a single slice of pie. There wouldn't be any seconds. He can't, under good conscience, put Yuuri or Wolfram through this. He stifles the cries in his heart and stills himself.
But Yuuri doesn't let go. His fingers latch onto Conrad, and he leans his sweaty head against him. He begs Conrad to whisk him away, to protect him. Conrad shouldn't, he knows. He should force Yuuri back to his bedroom so Yuuri would come to terms with what they did in the morning and see Wolfram, and they would have a mutual promise to put this behind them, to pretend like nothing happened. But again, he falters. One night, that's all Conrad would have.
Wolfram would have Yuuri for an eternity, long after Conrad goes gray and dies.
He gives in and takes Yuuri into his arms. Long after Yuuri falls asleep and is tucked into Conrad's bed, sleep continues to flee away. He watches Yuuri's chest rise and fall. The way his hair falls across his fair face. The parting of the lips that he will never taste again.
As the sun rises, Conrad closes his eyes and replays the scene repeatedly like a broken record. All the while, he steels himself against what will come when Yuuri wakes up.
Every battle needs to come to an end eventually. Perhaps it was finally his time to lose.