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I.
Hubert von Vestra was a nightmare.
Not, perhaps, in the sense that he would like to be, but Ferdinand still found him horrible and frustrating nonetheless. This time, their argument had been about something innocuous, so unimportant that the original source of the bickering had been lost in the aftermath. Truly, this happened more and more often these days, and it felt as though they were both just looking for reasons to be angry with one another.
It wasn't difficult to do that. The two of them seemed never to see eye to eye, and Ferdinand had grown more exasperated with Hubert than with anyone else he had ever known. This was, in part, because he knew Hubert was intelligent, and knew the man could understand his perspective more than he chose to.
However.
As Ferdinand clenched his fists at his side and tensed his shoulders, he also knew he was fighting a losing battle.
"If you would only listen to what I am telling you!" he said, raising his voice as he did so.
Hubert scowled back at him. "It's impossible not to listen, with you shrieking like that."
"I am not shrieking!" said Ferdinand. "And regardless, hearing and listening are hardly the same thing."
"And you would just love it if the whole world listened to you. Is that it?"
Oh how desperately he wanted to punch that annoyed frown off of Hubert's smug, stupid face. It would be so simple. He'd been developing his lancing skills and had quite the powerful arm these days, and he felt certain Hubert's face was made of glass anyway. Hitting him would be easy, and justified. Perhaps Edelgard would scold him a bit, but there would be no real repercussions for a noble of his standing.
Still… he supposed he shouldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead he sputtered, "You… you are insufferable!" and regretted his lack of a good comeback immediately.
"Then I will spare you any further attempts at such suffering," said Hubert, "and exit this conversation." Then he tuned and stormed off, leaving Ferdinand stammering angrily in his wake.
"Oh you miserable man!" he spat, far too long after Hubert was out of earshot.
II.
Hubert von Vestra was away.
He had gone somewhere with Edelgard, and it must have been terribly important, because it had been sudden and lengthy. Ferdinand had not had the chance to bid either of them farewell before they disappeared. This bothered him more than it should have, but he told himself that he simply wanted to be let in on the matter that had drawn them away so quickly, and there was no other reason behind his concern.
Certainly he didn't miss his regular conversations with Hubert. And he absolutely didn't miss the attention Hubert gave him when he had something to complain about. It would be foolish to even consider that he might miss Hubert's presence… his eyes… his face…
His obnoxious face. As their year at the Academy had progressed, Ferdinand had, at the least, developed some tolerance for the looks Hubert shot him when they disagreed. Their regular arguments had mellowed into something akin to friendly bickering, and he had even conceded a handful of times when Hubert's points had been particularly strong ones. But many times, well after the arguing had subsided, Ferdinand found that he couldn't shake off the memory of Hubert's expressions. Those biting green eyes peering at him, sometimes shooting daggers and always searching his body language for any sign of weakness, had come to be a normal part of Ferdinand's daily life.
He missed that, now. As much as he didn't want to believe it. Closing his eyes for a few moments in the dim light of the school library, he thought about the way Hubert's face looked when they sat in here together, whispering intensely about their debate of the day. The candlelight gave Hubert's skin a warmth that it typically didn't carry, and it highlighted his sharp features. Now, in the faint corner of his mind that escaped shame and avoided knowing better, he wondered what it might be like to touch those very features, to trail his fingers softly along the cheekbones that drew his attention more often than he'd care to admit. What might Hubert's skin feel like under Ferdinand's own hands? Would he feel as delicate as he looked?
Someone scooted a chair away from the study table across from him, jolting Ferdinand painfully back to reality. What on earth was that fantasy? Never had he allowed himself to think such a thing, and especially not about Hubert! He supposed he could chalk it up to being a teenager. Yes, that was all. At least no one would know—
"Wow, Ferdie, what are you over here thinking about?" said Dorothea, who was leaning with her chin in her hand and watching him closely. "Your face is so red! Daydreaming about a pretty girl?"
"No, certainly not," he said, too quickly.
"I see. A pretty boy."
"N…no," he repeated, and Dorothea raised an eyebrow at his lack of conviction.
"Is it Lorenz?"
"What—no!!" he said, loudly enough that he earned a shush from several other nearby students.
His response was also loud enough for Dorothea, who giggled. "Okay, fair enough. Not Lorenz. Who then?"
"I need to study," said Ferdinand, because the thought of Dorothea correctly guessing where his mind had gone was simply unbearable. He propped his book up in front of his face and added, "Please do not speak to me unless it is to help me with our upcoming test."
"Oh, fine," said Dorothea, and kept her word for the remainder of their study session. But when they parted ways later, she said, "I hope Edie and Hubie come back soon," and Ferdinand was sure she was on to him.
III.
Hubert von Vestra was annoying.
There was an entire war going on, and yet here he was, insisting that Ferdinand was doing everything wrong as if they were back in school together. Ferdinand suspected that Hubert might be a touch jealous, given that Edelgard had just named him to the position of General, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was causing Hubert to lash out like this.
"Honestly, I don't know what you think you're doing, taking that lance into battle," he spat, watching Ferdinand prepare his mount and himself for the upcoming encounter. "It looks terrible."
"I am quite certain I know my way around a lance better than you do," said Ferdinand. "Just because I have not had much time to polish my weapons lately, that does not mean they are in disrepair."
"While we're on the subject," said Hubert, "have you realized you haven't cut your hair in well over two years?"
Ferdinand paused in his preparations, took a breath, and turned to give Hubert a quizzical look. "Are you keeping track of how frequently I cut my hair, Hubert?"
As anticipated, this made Hubert clear his throat in the particular manner that meant he had been perceived in a way he didn't approve of. Ferdinand had come to especially enjoy that little noise. "It's… hardly difficult to notice," Hubert said, having regained his composure quickly enough. "Particularly when you stand in the sunlight. It's so vibrant."
Ferdinand blinked at him, and found himself wanting nothing more than to cup a hand around his cheek and tell him everything would be alright, to reassure him that his concerns about the upcoming battle were unfounded. Even with his lips downturned and his brow knitted together like that, Ferdinand couldn't help but want to caress his worries away. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, but it was an unexpected one.
"Hubert—"
"I have to prepare for battle, too."
Before he could hurry off, Ferdinand quickly spoke up again. "Are you worried about me?" he asked, too loudly.
With a short little sigh, Hubert said, "Yes. You fool."
Then he turned and glided away, disappearing easily into the shadows, leaving Ferdinand terribly and utterly confused in his wake.
IV.
Hubert von Vestra was wounded.
The battle had raged for days, and the causalities were many. Ferdinand counted himself lucky that he was not injured badly enough to warrant concern, but Hubert was not so fortunate. He had faced one of the Kingdom's top swordsmen, and had come out much the worse for wear: Ferdinand found him after the battle bleeding out in the mud, with a deeply open gash in his left side.
"Hubert," Ferdinand said softly, falling to his knees beside him and pressing his palm against the wound. Operating automatically, he began examining the injury, unable to quite fathom that Hubert, of all people, had taken such a nasty hit. "It is alright. You are alright."
When Hubert spoke, his voice was thick with blood and heavy with pain. "Ferdinand," he gasped, clamoring for something to hold onto. He found Ferdinand's tunic and twisted his fingers into the fabric. "Help—help me…"
"Shh, shh, I am." Ferdinand struggled to keep his own voice calm, but knew he had to. Hubert had never come close to begging for help before, and it was horrifying to hear now; Ferdinand had to be strong enough to handle this, even though his stomach was dipping in a way that reminded him of his wyvern practice back in school. Mercifully, he had been training in this sort of magic for some time and knew what he was doing when it came to field healing.
Even so, it was difficult to focus as he gathered Hubert into his arms and began working the required spells. Hubert groaned, agonized and unable to stay still, and Ferdinand tried not to notice how quickly the color was fading from his face or how he began to shudder and whimper as the seconds ticked by. Dying really was quite the equalizer, bringing everyone to the same frightened brink regardless of who they might be. But these bitter thoughts had no space in the healing process, and Ferdinand had to push them aside in favor of tending to the situation at hand.
"Look at me," he said, and was relieved when Hubert's glassy eyes came into focus again, however briefly. "Yes, good. I need you to keep breathing, Hubert. I will take care of the rest, just keep breathing."
Hubert did as he was told. Minutes passed in excruciating slowness, with Ferdinand gripping Hubert as tightly as he could and muttering the necessary healing spells desperately into the space between them. After some time, Hubert began to take longer, deeper breaths, and Ferdinand sunk into him, letting out the breath he himself had been holding.
"Let us get you to the proper healers," he said, but took a moment longer to gather himself before pulling the both of them upright and half-slinging Hubert over his shoulder.
"…don't have to…" Hubert murmured as his head lolled forward.
"Hush," said Ferdinand. "You will be alright with stronger healing and better medical care, and I am most certainly not leaving you here to die." His voice wavered as he said this, but his resolve never did, and he hoisted Hubert slowly through the mud and the dead toward the infirmary tents.
It took longer than it should have for the both of them to return to the relative safety of the battle camp, but healers were ready to assist as soon as they arrived. Ferdinand updated a frightened Edelgard on what he knew of Hubert's condition, and then—much to Linhardt's chagrin—took up vigil alongside the cot where Hubert lay, recovering. As he waited there, he took the opportunity to doze a bit off and on, but never fully let himself fall asleep lest he miss the chance to see Hubert awaken once more.
With his eyes closed and his breathing now even and normal once again, Hubert looked as though he might simply be dozing, too. His hair had fallen to the side at some point, leaving his face much more exposed than usual; it was all Ferdinand could do to resist touching him like this. Surely no one would notice, least of all Hubert, if Ferdinand simply trailed his fingertips across that pale skin, caressed his cheek in comfort, brushed back his hair a little more…
He didn't. He couldn't.
A strange feeling settled somewhere in his chest, and he had read enough bawdy fiction that his mind unhelpfully offered the term "yearning" when he tried to label it.
He was probaly just tired.
For the remainder of Hubert's sleep, Ferdinand actively ignored the desire to touch him. He was so caught up in avoiding his impulses that when Hubert finally did begin to stir, he almost didn't notice, until a soft groan escaped Hubert's lips and drew his attention.
"Ah—Hubert!" Ferdinand bent forward to look more closely, quite certain that he didn't believe everything was alright, yet. As he did so, some of his own hair fell into his face, and he didn't take the time to push it back where it belonged. "I have been so terribly worried," he said softly.
Hubert's gaze drifted to the loose hair, then down to Ferdinand's hands clenched on the side of the cot, before returning to make eye contact. "You saved my life," he said, his voice thin. "You didn't… have to do that."
"I could not lose you," Ferdinand breathed before he could stop himself.
"Oh." A long pause. Hubert moved his hand, nearly imperceptibly, to wrap his fingers around Ferdinand's. "Thank you."
Ferdinand's neck felt strangely hot as he replied, "Do not ever scare me like that again."
Hubert gave him a tired but well-practiced smirk. "Yes, General Aegir."
Ferdinand would have to remember to chide him for that sarcasm when he felt a bit better.
V.
Hubert von Vestra was stunning.
How terribly Ferdinand wished he hadn't noticed.
It was, of course, bad enough that he was forced to play nice with the lesser nobility at this horrible social function; Ferdinand was quite skilled at doing just that, but with the war drawing ever closer to its end, this hardly seemed the time. Edelgard had decided that hosting a formal gathering might help improve overall relations between the next generation of Adrestian leadership and the last—or, at least, it might boost the team's morale to have a bit of a party.
Ferdinand had disagreed with her on both counts, and to his surprise, so had Hubert. But tonight they were both in attendance, following orders, and dressed in their finest. Ferdinand wore his favorite gold brocade vest over a red silk shirt, and he was pleased with his own appearance, even if he hadn't been able to tame his mane of hair quite the way he had hoped. But the moment he spotted Hubert, all of his other concerns somehow dissipated.
Edelgard had convinced Hubert to not only wear a well-tailored and form-fitting suit and tailcoat to the event, but also to wear it in a deep, rich navy that was unlike anything Ferdinand had ever seen him in before. He stood now, alongside their Emperor, bending to ask her a question now and then and fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit jacket in a way that clearly indicated his discomfort.
On the other side of the room, Ferdinand could not tear his eyes away. Hubert's figure was slight, but the suit managed to accentuate all the best parts. It was entirely uncalled for, the way his shoulders and hips and long legs looked in something other than his usual formless clothing, and if he had been anyone else, he surely would have been doing it on purpose just to antagonize Ferdinand.
But this was Hubert. Even his long-lived interest in aggravating other people was surely not enough to overrule his disdain for being seen.
It was maybe the way Hubert moved in the quality fabric he now wore, or the light catching in his eyes as he kept an ever-watchful gaze on Edelgard's surroundings, which held Ferdinand's attention the longest. Either way, he found himself quickly crossing the room, pulled by something strong and unavoidable, and tired of ignoring it.
He had ignored it, and for far too long. He was growing tired of denying that he had feelings, and why should he keep doing so? For some perceived notion that society may take issue? Or the risk of a broken heart? Society was soon going to change drastically, regardless of the war's outcome, and a broken heart could be healed if it must. Such excuses meant very little, these days. Either one of them could die any day at the hands of their enemies, and then what? Something had to be done about this, before it was too late. He did not want to go to his grave pretending he had not tripped over his own feet and fallen into a mire of affection for Hubert on the way there.
But his determination faltered when Hubert noticed his approach and allowed his expression to ease into a smile, brief but sincere. Oh, Ferdinand's heart could not stand it… to be looked at with such admiration and relief by someone as impenetrable as Hubert was nothing short of perfect. Ferdinand hesitated for the space of a few breaths, and in that space, he realized Hubert deserved something more than a brash declaration of intent and too much attention in the middle of a function he did not want to be attending.
Still. Hubert had noticed him, and he had to say something.
"You look absolutely lovely tonight," he said, with every ounce of sincerity he had.
The pink tinge that dusted Hubert's lovely cheekbones provided more than enough payoff for such an unabashed compliment. He stammered as he replied, "That's… thank you?"
"Of course."
"Are you trying to get something out of me?"
"What?" Ferdinand laughed. "No, Hubert. I am simply paying you a compliment, because even though you appear atrociously uncomfortable, you also look very dashing in these clothes."
"I am miserable," Hubert agreed.
"Would you care to make yourself even more miserable?"
Hubert frowned. "What on earth could you possibly be suggesting…"
But Ferdinand, undeterred and unwilling to let the night pass without the company of the attractive man in front of him, simply bowed with a little flourish. "May I have this dance?" he asked, eyes raised to watch for a reaction.
He would deserve whatever he got, really. This was a bold move, even for him, and it had already drawn the attention of Edelgard and Dorothea, the latter of which gasped loudly enough that Ferdinand was sure the whole crowd heard. Regardless, he held out a hand, feeling his ears getting hot, and smiled brightly.
Hubert's one visible green eye had widened before immediately casting a glance toward Edelgard nearby. Checking for approval, thought Ferdinand, and although he very much wanted to tell Hubert that Edelgard shouldn't dictate his answer, he didn't really want this to devolve into an argument. Perhaps he would save that one for another time.
Hubert made a microscopic expression at Edelgard, which Ferdinand noticed but could not read. Part of their communication with one another, and something he wasn't meant to understand, but afterward Hubert turned back to face him.
"Yes," he said.
"What… really?"
"Don't make me second guess myself." Hubert slid a gloved hand into Ferdinand's still-outstretched one and added, quietly, "I would very much like to dance with you."
Ferdinand drew in a deep breath and steeled himself to behave as normally as possible, wrapping his fingers around Hubert's and leading him out to the midst of the other dancers. Heads turned, as expected; Ferdinand was Duke Aegir in full now, and this meant everyone would want to know who occupied his time and attention at such events.
And he knew there would be whispers, and that those whispers would bother Hubert more than he would ever admit. But perhaps Ferdinand could help him through that. Perhaps, if they could both just let it happen, this would be alright.
Ferdinand beamed, puffed up and proud, as he slipped an arm around Hubert and pressed his palm against the small of his back. "May I lead?" he asked.
Hubert responded by cautiously placing his hand on Ferdinand's shoulder and nodding. "Please do."
"Wonderful!" chirped Ferdinand. He felt as though he could fly to the sun on nothing more than his own happiness, and as he whirled Hubert across the dance floor, he was pleased to see the other man relaxing a bit too. Hubert even managed to laugh, that soul-aching sweet soft laughter that meant he was being genuine and not trying to hide behind his careful façade; Ferdinand could've easily dissolved into it, like honey melting in a warm drink. The way Hubert's laughter brought a little touch of pink to his face only made it all the more enticing.
It would be so nice to caress that beautiful face. Even better, to plant a kiss on Hubert's cheek, to see just how deeply he might blush over something so affectionate. Ferdinand nearly stumbled over his own feet once, too caught up in the fantasy of pressing his lips againt Hubert's to notice what he was doing. But Hubert appeared to be nearly as lost in the moment as Ferdinand was, and by the end of the dance, they were both laughing and enjoying themselves entirely, all decorum forgotten.
Hubert casually flattened a palm against Ferdinand's chest, leaned in close and whispered, "Thank you…for wanting to be with me tonight."
Just as quickly, he pulled away again, giving a little nod and returning to his post near Edelgard. Ferdinand hovered dizzy and speechless on the dance floor for a few beats too long before trailing after him, calling, "Hubert! I was not finished with you!" and earning plenty of confused glances from the crowd around him.
I.
Ferdinand von Aegir was in love.
Fingers clenched around the bag of tea leaves he had just been handed, hair blowing in the soft breeze, wide brown eyes fixed on Hubert as he etched this moment into his heart for always: he was so carried away, and he was so in love.
Yes, it is for someone I fancy. It is for you.
"Hubert," he said, soft and sweet.
"Ferdinand," Hubert replied, with a nervous little waver in his voice.
"All this time," said Ferdinand, "I suppose we ought to have said something to one another sooner, yes?"
"No need to think like that." A pause; a smirk. "I have enjoyed the chase."
"And I have enjoyed the yearning!" Ferdinand said, laughter bubbling forth once again. "Oh and there has been a great deal of yearning."
"Really, how can you enjoy that? It's been terrible. I thought I was going to suffocate when I found out you wear sock garters."
Ferdinand raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Well, please let me tell you my own tale of woe, centered of course around the way your wrist becomes slightly exposed when you pour your coffee."
"Good heavens." Hubert laughed quietly. "You degenerate."
"I truly am." Ferdinand sidled forward, a practiced move he had used countless times on others, but one he intended to follow through on now. With one shoulder just shy of pressing into Hubert's chest, he gazed up at him and said, "And this degenerate would like to kiss you, right now."
"R…right here? Outdoors?"
"Oh yes."
"I suppose that would be…," Hubert began, before clearing his throat and trying again. "Yes. I'd like that too."
"Good." Ferdinand smiled. Then finally, mercifully, after years of longing, he reached up to brush his fingers against Hubert's cheek, to run his thumb along Hubert's jawline. The face he had wanted so badly to touch for so long was delicate glass, as he had always imagined, but it was also sharp and strong and warm. Ferdinand marveled at the way Hubert's skin felt to his touch now, and more so at the way Hubert's eyes had widened as he gazed at Ferdinand with an expression reserved only for him.
Being in love was wonderful.
Ferdinand rocked up onto his tiptoes just enough to reach and pressed his lips gently against Hubert's.
Almost immediately, Hubert's arms were around him, and Ferdinand gave a little "mm!" of surprise and delight at the feeling of being wrapped up in so much affection. When they parted from the kiss, he smiled dreamily and said, "I have wanted to do that for so long."
"So have I." Hubert chuckled quietly. "I'd like to do it again soon, too."
"Heavens!" said Ferdinand. "I thought I would be the one initiating any sort of physical contact between us, but you are proving me wrong, once again."
"I prove you wrong all the time," said Hubert, disentangling himself from Ferdinand and stepping back slightly.
"I am certain you do not."
"…are you arguing with me, right after you've just kissed me?"
Ferdinand drew himself up to his full height and said, "I will argue with you any time I see fit to do so, Hubert von Vestra."
"Mm-hm. And if I kiss you again, will it keep your mouth occupied long enough that you forget to pick a fight with me?"
"Hubert!" Ferdinand scolded, although he dissolved into a laugh in spite of himself. "Oh, you are horrible. Come, take a walk with me, and perhaps we can test your theory before the day is done."
Ferdinand held out a hand; Hubert took it, and together they walked, fingers interlaced and hearts light, in the warmth of the afternoon.