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Ambrosius has heard far too often how stunning he is.
Not pretty or handsome - stunning, as if he was a drop of sunlight from the great star itself, formed into a human. They say even his soul is bright - unyielding but kind, stern but fair. The perfect person to wield a sword and defend people.
Ambrosius hears it all over and over. After a while, it gets annoying. Which is why it takes him aback when Ballister, during their first ever fight, called him high maintenance.
"W-What?" Ambrosius looks over at his friend as they jog. Since they were late to training, their instructor forced them to run ten laps before dinner-an exhausting and irritating punishment.
Ballister kept a steady pace beside him so he could speak. "You're high maintenance. We wouldn't have been late to training and made to run laps had it not been for you."
"I was getting ready!"
"Getting your hair ready, more like. Half of the space in the bathroom is all your creams and oils and other bullshit."
"You look like a greasy rat right now."
Ballister sped up and stopped just a couple of feet in front of the blond man. He laughed, placing his hands on his hips. "Oh, do I?"
Ambrosius was forced to look at his (then) friend. The sun was falling down on Ballister's face, making those dark brown eyes look layered; honey gold and tawny, warm and inviting and windows to the soul of a man desperately trying to prove himself. The sweat growing on Ballister's face made his high cheekbones shine as if sparkles had been dusted onto them. His hair was all over the place, and Ambrosius suddenly was filled with the urge to run both his hands through it.
(Also, his shirt was really, really tight. For someone who was a man, there were a nice pair of-)
"Hello? Ambrosius?"
Said man snapped back into attention, sputtered out some vague answer, and jogged off. He heard Ballister let out a low chuckle (that did things to him) before footsteps followed after him. A mixture of annoyance and fondness swelled up inside of Ambrosius as he came to a conclusion - his best friend (at the time) was kind of an asshole.
Except when Ballister helped him study. Except the times when they both knew each other coffee preferences. Except when Ballister was the one to contact his parents when a harsh fever overtook Ambrosius. Except when they found themselves laughing one moment and then kissing, open-mouthed and breathing like they ran an extra twenty laps.
"You're so-" Ballister had begun to say, when they pulled away for air. Both of them were lying on his bed, homework forgotten.
"Hmm?" Ambrosius threw a leg over Ballister's waist, intent on continuing the kissing.
Ballister looked at him-not like the sun, not like a miracle. But, like the bed after a long day or a cup of something warm. Something tender in his expression. "You're so wonderful. I want to be with you as much as I can," he had breathed out as if those words were as natural as breathing.
And, oh, did that not steal the breath away from Ambrosius. Did that not make him kiss this man senselessly, as if pouring his love into him. Here was a man who cloaked himself in walls, and Ambrosius was the giant that came stumbling to smash them down. Here was their love, forged in the shadows and refined until it was sharp enough to cut them both.
Later, when they save their home and their relationship comes to light, there are some assholes that linger at the edge of their world. People who are still wary of Ballister Blackheart, the supposed villain in the children's fairy tales. People who are not silent as they speculated the nature of their relationship. People who eye Ballister's dark skin and hair with disgust, and are stupid enough to say it out loud.
It makes Ambrosius's blood boil. Do they not see how precious this man was? That he was so strong he let such words slide off his back like water off of a duck's feathers. That he didn't blink when government officials accused him of being a supposed murderer still. That Ballister still saw this place his home despite the fact that the people here did not see him as their equal.
People believe that the shine from Ambrosius will wear off the longer he is around Ballister. And he wants to laugh in their faces.
He is not a drop of sun for them, with gleaming hair and intelligent eyes. He is not the perfect role model. He is a man who spends too much time preening and bugs the waitress about their foods, and stops people from eating so he could take a picture. He is a man who believed in the wrong person solely because of biases, and it almost cost him so much. The sword they need stumbles and falls, but is caught by a man with dark eyes and the most beautiful smile ever.
How luck is he?