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The cool air of night fills Chrom’s lungs, refreshing him as soon as he steps into Ylisstol castle’s courtyard. With damn near half the kingdom roaming the castle’s halls, inside was much hotter than outside due to everyone’s shared body heat. The copious flow of liquor and the ongoing dancing of guests didn’t help—it certainly had gotten him sweating.
His Exalted robe was shed following his conjoined coronation/wedding ceremony, and now having a moment away from the crowds of nobility, he takes off and drapes the navy jacket of his suit over his forearm. He’s still too warm in the remaining layers of his vest, dress shirt, and undershirt, but at the very least, it’s more comfortable.
Chrom strolls at an easy pace, noticing how the live music fades into the chirping chorus of crickets the further he moves away from the ballroom. He admires the carefully landscaped gardens. White and blue are the most common colors amongst the various patches of flowers, a symbol of celebration of the end of the war and to usher in his new reign. While he’s never been a particular fan of flowers, he likes them well enough, and appreciates the work that goes into raising them. He’s especially glad the landscapers went heavy on the gardenias—those were Emmeryn’s favorite.
Eventually, Chrom comes upon a surprise; sitting in one of the areas of plain grass is Robin. His tactician, friend, and other half—added most recently to that list of titles is royal advisor. Chrom doesn’t recall when he would have slipped away to come out here. There were too many guests constantly swarming for his attention for him to have noticed.
“White doesn’t mix well with grass, you know,” he says as he walks towards Robin from behind, referencing the main color of his outfit.
Robin glances over his shoulder and up at him, one corner of his lips raising in a crooked smile at seeing him. “Take it up with the Exalt—he’s the one who wanted me to wear it.”
He’s aware it’s odd to have his best man in the same palette as his bride, especially considering that color is white. Chrom would argue that he sees enough of Robin in black with that coat he wears all the time. It’s nice to switch it up every once in awhile. Besides, he matches the gardens better this way.
Not particularly caring if it stains his own clothes, Chrom settles in the grass next to him, close enough that his shoulder brushes against Robin’s. At this level, Chrom notices the bottle he holds between his raised knees.
He nods to it. “May I?”
His friend takes a swig of it before wordlessly passing it over. They’ve shared enough food, drink, medicine, likely even blood from emergencies on the battlefield, that Chrom doesn’t bother wiping the lip of the bottle prior to taking a sip. He cringes as the liquid washes over his tongue. Not due to the strength of the spirit, but because it tastes like pure sugar rather than alcohol.
“It’s... awfully sweet,” Chrom manages once he’s swallowed a few times to rid his mouth of the overwhelming flavor.
Robin accepts the bottle when he hands it back. “It gets the job done. Blame Gaius.”
His eyebrow lifts questioningly. “He gave it to you?”
“I stole it,” Robin admits with a smile. “Trust me, he was done with it. Last I saw, he was facedown at one of the tables.”
“Last I saw, he was hunched over a vase, vomiting.”
Robin’s face scrunches up in disgust, yet his smirk remains. “Heh, heh. Gross.”
“Ha! Yeah.”
A comfortable silence overtakes them. Chrom examines the stars overhead for a while, before his gaze drifts to Robin. He can tell his friend is tipsy based on the intonation of his words being slightly more exaggerated than usual, but despite being a lightweight, he’s not really drunk. Chrom’s in about the same spot from the festivities throughout the night. He’s not so intoxicated that it’s majorly affecting him—just enough to take the edge off. He hasn’t allowed himself to go overboard tonight, like he normally would if it was just him and the Shepherds. As Exalt, he has appearances to upkeep that he was otherwise much more lax about as prince.
He’ll have to worry about that as long as he reigns. Even at his own reception.
Robin catches onto his stare. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he look away, meeting his eyes with an openness that Chrom doesn’t think he’d be able to share with anyone else. Robin occasionally needs some time away from everyone, but he never seems to mind when Chrom accidentally intrudes on that, as he has now. He cherishes that privilege. He feels the same way in that any alone time he might need is better spent in Robin’s company.
“It’s been awhile since we were last out here,” Chrom says eventually, reaching down to run his fingers through the grass. Though the castle was in mayhem that night due to the assassins targeting him and his sisters, and though his conversation with Robin preceding those events wasn’t quite a happy one, he still recalls it with some fondness. It was the first time Chrom truly opened up to Robin. When he really began to feel close to the other man. He liked him the moment he found him, but that night was the start of something deeper between them. Something that grew into the deep trust they shared, enough for each of them to deem themselves two halves of the same whole.
“Right after the war began,” Robin acknowledges. “It feels as though a lifetime has passed since then.”
“Yes... I hold guilt over the burden I placed on you, having to act as Ylisse’s tactician when you hadn’t the first clue on the world around you,” Chrom confesses. “But... I’m grateful you did. I’m grateful you’re still here... I would have lost myself without you.”
“Even if I had somewhere else to go, there’s no place I’d rather be than your side,” Robin says. “I’m grateful you took that chance on me, picking me up in that field.”
Chrom looks at him, his heart fluttering as his breath catches in his throat. Robin’s white hair glows in the moonlight, and the dark expanses of his eyes are too mesmerizing not to be engulfed in. This isn’t the first time Robin’s attention has induced Chrom with the sensation of hunger, something his new wife has never roused in him. He wonders if she knows. If she’s accepted that he will never view her like that. Deep down, he thinks she must have.
Chrom’s accepted it. Maybe that’s horrible of him, but then, it’s horrible that his duty requires him to marry someone he doesn’t want to. He loves her—just not like that. Not like he does Robin.
He’d be lying to himself if he tried to argue his next actions came to him without prior thought. There’s one.
I will never have another chance to do this.
Robin doesn’t pull away when Chrom’s hand goes to his cheek. He turns his body towards Chrom’s when he leans in, and Robin’s lips move immediately with his when Chrom kisses him.
If this is the single opportunity Chrom has to act on his feelings, so be it.
But no matter how timeless it feels in the moment, the kiss ends. They each need to catch their breaths, and with a single inhale, the window of anything beyond ‘friends’ slams shut. And Chrom realizes how wrong he is—because that hunger won’t be satiated by one little kiss, and it was foolish to imagine otherwise. It’s only split into a gaping hole in his chest, demanding to be filled with a burning need for that which it cannot have.
“Chrom...” Robin mutters, his tone almost one of annoyance. There’s frustration there. And sadness, and longing, and all of those things that have plagued Chrom just the same as when he realized that he has no future with Robin. That there is no future in which he hadn’t returned from war to get coronated as Exalt, to marry a woman, and to have a child with her.
Chrom drops his hand from his face and retreats, an invisible curtain marking the end of their moment falling between them. “I’m sorry.” Whether he means for kissing him, or for taking a bride, or for some other twisted thing he’s done to Robin is anyone’s guess. For everything, he supposes. “I... don’t know what—”
“—It’s fine.”
He’s just saying that. They both know it’s not.
What seemed like a good enough idea a mere minute ago now strikes Chrom with just how stupid it was—and hurtful. The alcohol in his system urges him to spill his guts, and he barely suppresses it. He refrains from rambling how regretful he is, how he never meant for things to turn out like this, how he wants Robin more than anything. But there’s nothing he can say that will make it better.
All he can do is make things worse.
“...It’s getting late,” Robin says, looking anywhere but Chrom and plunging a dagger into his heart. Retrieving the bottle of liquor, Robin raises himself to his feet. “I’m going to retire for the night and get some rest.”
“Okay.” Chrom is unable to take his eyes off of him, as if it’ll make him change his mind. “Good night, Robin.”
“...’Night.”
Robin leaves, Chrom’s gaze following him through the courtyard and lingering at the door he disappears into. The best thing for Chrom to do would be to go back inside, distract himself with the festivities, maybe seek out his wife. Remind himself what he’s promised her.
Instead, he remains put. He presses his face into his hands; he crumbles.