Work Text:
JULIUS NOVACHRONO’S POV:
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There had been many things clouding my mind lately.
From matters of the spade infiltration, to the aftermath thereof, and even matters more personal… There was only so much fresh air that could take away the lingering feeling, gnawing at my chest.
The sound of my own footsteps faded to white noise as I ambled down the familiar castle halls, velvet red carpet and white-stone walls illuminated by nothing but candlelight and whatever moonlight came seeping through the uniformed windows.
Time seemed to numb as reality began to fade, thoughts turning over once and twice more in my head.
Before I could put words to the feeling or soothe the anxiousness with a cleansing breath, my hand had found its place at the handle of my office. Clean, polished oak, glinting warm yellow from leftover torchlight behind me. I took a moment to observe it. To name what exactly I saw in front of me. The feeling of its cool hardness against the flesh of my palm, the faint scent of nature emanating from my clothes, the shape of my own hand as it clutched the handle; it was the clearest thing I’ve noticed all day.
My feet had led me here without me quite knowing why, in all honesty. Perhaps it was the familiar voice in the back of my mind, telling me to finish the leftover stack of papers I’d long abandoned earlier, with an apologetic note to Marx. Maybe it was only habit. Who knows. My mind has been quite out of it, lately.
Thus, I opened the door and rather audibly froze when my gaze fell on an all-too familiar silhouette sitting —or rather resting— at the desk. Quill in hand, face obscured, and head of pale blue locks resting against the crook of his own arm.
It was Marx.
The thought would have been dreadful given the situation, if it weren’t for the fact that…
I quietly shut the door behind me as I crept closer, watching carefully in doubt of my suspicion.
…he was asleep.
The stiffness all but left my body as I sighed a breath of relief, curiosity all but piqued and amused at the prospect.
He fell asleep while signing papers. The thought itself warranted quite a bit of pity from the guilty part of me.
Originally before I left, I made sure to sign at least a small stack of the papers he’d left me this morning as to not merit too angry of a reaction, but judging by the stack of papers that were signed, and the larger stack of papers that were still unsigned… it seems there had been quite another large pile added to the equation sometime after I left.
The next sigh that slipped past my lips was sadder this time. The strength in me had been all but exhausted from thinking so much, and the biting feeling of guilt that now clawed at my conscience was leaving me to wilt inside like a plant deprived of sustenance.
Sparing one more long glance at his sleeping face, I pulled an extra chair to the side of the desk and sat down, carefully lifting the quill from his hand and sliding an unsigned document toward myself.
Read. Signed. Start a new one.
Read. Signed. Start the next one.
Read. Rejected. Start the next.
The moon scaled higher yet in the starry, twinkling sky just past the high windows as the monotony of work began to peel the storm of thoughts away.
Read—
A hitched breath cut through the sleepy silence.
I blinked once. Twice. Looked to the sleeping person not far before me.
Marx’s brows furrowed slightly in his rest, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
It’s rare to see him so calm. So close. The stress of work and the upholding of grace merely a mask of before, softening his eyes, his expression, his lips…
It was… quite adorable, actually.
The beginnings of a smile began to emerge on my lips. Marx… always frowning all the time…
Who knew you were capable of such a sweet expression.
Something warm kindled somewhere in my chest at the sight.
A lock of hair fell over his cheek as he fussed in his sleep, kind expression nearly reacting telepathically to my prior thoughts as I suppressed a humorous chuckle.
I hardly realized what I was doing until the feeling of his soft hair ghosting my fingertips shook me from my daze.
I watched almost absently at the hand that hovered just above his cheek.
The warmth that started in my chest began to reach my face. Then, I lowered a careful hand to his hair, brushing it gently away from his face, fingers ghosting the shell of his ear as I tucked it there.
Somehow, I almost felt dizzy.
Even long after I pulled my hand away, my fingertips still remembered the cold, soft feeling of his skin, the accidental graze against his ear, and the lingering brush of his hair…
Almost as soon as I finished my ‘handiwork,’ his face fell back to its peaceful, soft state, with eyebrows unfurled and long eyelashes casting gentle shadows over his cheekbones. Every second longer I watched, the more something tightened the reign around my heart. The more the dizziness prevailed.
Sometimes looking at him did this to me. Its a strange feeling. Almost like alcohol, with the way you can’t help but feed more of the addiction. The addiction that is simply looking at you. The addiction that is being a little too near you.
Sometimes I wondered if my heart could really handle this.
Every second longer that I watched you, the more the magnetic pull between us urged my hands to reach for you. To touch you. To linger my hand just above your hair again. To do more than just stare; to pull you toward me so that it wasn’t the desk you were resting on, but me. To feel the weight of your head against my shoulder, and your warmth against my chest.
When you’d scold me, I’d want to kiss you. When you’d rest, I’d want to hold you. And, even more rarely, when you’d smile, I’d want to give you every bit of my worthless heart, like there was nothing more special than a simple curve of your lips.
but the knowledge of my desire and the impossibility of my having it, made weak the pull in my heart with a dull ache.
I could never tell you what I feel. You wouldn’t accept it. You don’t feel the same. In fact, it’s been like this for the many years I’ve known you, and I’ve always made peace with my silence for as long as I’ve had these unrequited things, because it was you I cared about, not my feelings. If you didn’t want them, I wouldn’t force them on you, no; not if they hurt you in any kind of way, or push you away. I’d rather die than think about you with sadness in your eyes.
But… even so… even if I can never say these things to you outright… even if I have to keep these thoughts to myself for all eternity… even if things have to stay this quiet way, where I’m merely left to watch you as you live unaware…
Carefully, with just a whisper of touch and a wealth of warmth, I took the hand he once used for the quill and held it, gently. The feeling of his soft fingers, warm, and half-furled, added to the sweetness of my bitter situation.
"…I love you."
“…Do you mean it?”
The sound of a quiet voice cut through my thoughts. As soon as the realization hit me, I tried to release his hand but he gripped mine instead, seizing it in place with his.
Heart pounding with fear, I watched as Marx lifted his head from his arm, marigold eyes glinting from the half light. The pressure of his stare in that moment would have been enough to crush mountains, and worse yet, they landed right on mine.
And yet, in the silence, as the tightness in my chest fastened and the blistering heat in my face muddled the coherency of my thoughts, I realized something else.
His expression. It wasn’t… disgusted. It wasn’t uncomfortable, no, the only thing I saw really was intense focus. His gaze was sharp but not piercing. His expression wasn’t tight; there was something soft about it.
Somehow it didn’t ease this new wave of anxiety in the slightest. Not even a little.
The only clear thing I knew about this situation was the pressure of his hand clutching mine with strength that told me he wasn’t letting go.
“Julius...”
The words all but dried away in my throat.
“…Do you mean it?” His voice was barely a whisper and yet the room was so quiet, and the distance between us was so short that I could hear it clear as day.
There was no running away from this. He’d caught me by surprise, and my heart in a snare. I couldn’t run like I always did, be it from my feelings, or from work… right now, there was only here and now.
But… what was this reaction? The lines were blurring, my comprehension skills were all but fizzled out like a spark and his own words gave no way of sight into what it was he was thinking and what he was feeling.
The feeling in my chest tightened with apprehension.
“I…” the first word I’d managed to utter since. “…I… you don’t have to—“
“That’s not what I asked.”
“—But I don’t want to burden you, it’s nothing, really—“
His gaze sharpened in the dull light. “It’s nothing?”
Panic made my heart race. So many things were holding me back, and even now as the mistakes were made and the aftermath was left to happen, I couldn’t face the situation or my own heart head on. Guilt manifested like sickening sludge in my chest.
“No, it’s…” I took a shaky breath, a moment of silence as my mind remained on the hand he held mine with. “…it’s not nothing. I really meant it.”
With each word my voice grew quieter, as if it could hide behind the silence of the room, but I knew it would still reach his ears. Every word made my heart ache.
As the silence prolonged and his lips began to part with words, I cut in once more, finally meeting his gaze. “But I didn’t want to burden you, or… make you uncomfortable… I didn’t realize you were awake when I spoke, and I…”
Marigold eyes continued to watch me intently as I spoke. “…You can just forget I ever said anything. I understand you might now like me crossing boundaries, and I respect that. Please don’t feel burdened because of me.”
“Julius.”
As he spoke, I began to stand from my seat with a small, polite smile plastered to my lips. However as soon as he saw me standing, his grip on my hand tightened and threw me off balance when he pulled.
“Julius.”
The next time he spoke my name, our faces were inches apart, with only a hand on the frame of his seat to catch me from falling any further. Warm breath trailed my face and added to the wealth of blistering heat. He was so close. Too close—
“You never even asked for my answer.”
I was too stunned to speak. Every breath made it impossible to think, impossible to speak; I could only watch as his lips curved with every word. Watch the glint of warm candlelight in his eyes flicker. These were the eyes I surrendered my heart to long ago.
My words were only a breath of wind. “…may I ask what it is?”
And his answer?
It was nothing, except for the fingers he trailed behind my neck, the motion of his hands guiding my face to his and the infinitely soft, warm feeling of his lips pressed to mine.