[It happens so fast-- the door flies open before he can get to it, Sylvain rushing in-- then he rushes right past him, a sturdy arm knocking him backwards as his husband steps in between him and Mihill.
Between him and the knife Mihill had been about to bury into his back.
Claude's heart simultaneously tries to sink into his stomach and leap into his throat and he feels nauseous with it, frozen in place, in shock. Not that yet another attempt has been made on his life, but that Sylvain has thrown himself at the attempted assassin.
Sylvain's question brings him back into the moment with a jolt.]
Yes. I-- [He turns his head, shouts for the guards, then rushes to Sylvain's side. He's been stabbed-- and it's not just the wound that's a danger, the knife could very well be poisoned.] Leave him for the guards, you need a healer.
[The overwhelming mass of emotions is thrown aside for the very practical issue of making sure his husband doesn't die because of him. He knows not to just pull the knife out, especially not without a healer directly present.
The world rushes around them-- palace guards take Mihill to the cells to be questioned, and Claude walks Sylvain to the infirmary, where the palace healers remove the knife and treat the wound. Claude tests for poison himself, and thank every god in existence there is none. Still, Sylvain is put on bedrest for a few days, to recover from internal bleeding-- healing spells can only do so much.
Given his status as the crown prince's husband, rather than staying in the infirmary, an unconscious but healing Sylvain is brought to their room. Still, Claude is hesitant to join him on the bed, for a multitude of tangled up reasons. Instead he pulls up the chair from the desk, taking one of Sylvain's hands in his own and playing with his fingers, running his thumb over his knuckles. His thoughts circle and spiral in anxious, guilty loops, and eventually he falls asleep, still in the chair but with his head and shoulders on the bed, one hand still loosely gripping Sylvain's.]
[ Sylvain lets out a dark laugh as he's half led half carried away to be healed. ]
Wish you'd have... let me kill him...
[ He's serious about that desire, but growing quickly delirious from shock and loss of blood. The world swims, and even while he's conscious for some of he healing process and the removing of the knife, he doesn't remember it.
His dreams are swimming strange things, hard to grasp and full of faulty logic, but among them he recalls a dream of laying in a field of flowers, somewhere in Fodlan probably and strangely enough, with Claude, watching clouds go by as his husband holds his hand...
That dream slowly meshes with reality, stretching, stretching, until it breaks, and Sylvain feels the familiar pressure of bed beneath him. His eyes flutter open and he groans softly. He's so stiff... But as he starts to try to move, he realizes there's a hand draped over his own, and he turns his head to see Claude half folded over onto the bed. Sitting on a chair for some reason. He's going to feel that when he wakes up, for sure. Sylvain's fingers curl around that hand to hold it properly, feeling several emotions rise up in his chest all at once.
Above all, he's just relieved that Claude is alive. ]
[The groan has him starting to stir even before Sylvain's hand moves to hold his more firmly. His eyes blink open, bleary, mind fogged with worry-filled sleep. Then the memories of why exactly he'd fallen asleep like that, hunched over the bed instead of in it, come rushing back and he jerkily sits up, suddenly wide awake.]
Sylvain--? [The smile he forces is weak, wavering, holding none of his usual confidence.] How are you feeling?
[Guilt twists in his stomach. It's his fault this happened... the knife was meant for him, he'd told his parents to accept the marriage offer in the first place, knowing full well the sort of life he'd be dragging him into.
He should have heeded Sylvain's warning. But no, he'd made the gamble anyway... and his husband had made the payment for him.]
[ It isn't a surprise anymore, how quickly Claude awakens from sleep. It still causes a little flutter in Sylvain to see Claude's face snap so harshly into sober wakefulness. Maybe that's mostly because of the pain in his eyes. His smile is hollow, and it hurts to look at it.
Had he really worried his husband so much? He tries to muffle it, but there's true surprise in Sylvain's eyes. ]
Hey, handsome~
[ His line doesn't hold the same saucy tone he usually greets Claude with. He squeezes that hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. ]
[Claude lets out a shuddering breath, pulling Sylvain's hand up to press the back of it to his forehead and closing his eyes.]
Please... [His voice is quiet, choked with more emotion than he's ever shown the other man. With his expression somewhat hidden, between the lowering of his head and their arms blocking it from Sylvain's view, the poor attempt at a smile is gone, his face instead tight with anguish.] Please, never do that again.
Sylvain's heart gives a seize, a tight squeeze as if it's trying to shrink away into nothing. His breath comes out in a soft little wheeze, as if his whole chest is being compressed along with his heart. ]
I... don't know if I can promise you that.
[ He feels compelled to be honest, here. ]
I'm... really sorry I scared you so much. I didn't... [ He bites his tongue to cut that sentence off. No, too honest. ]
[The guilt when Sylvain apologizes hits him like a physical blow. Claude grips his hand tighter, shaking his head.] Don't-- I...
[He could have lost him. They've only even known each other a few months, but Sylvain has already become such an invaluable presence in his life; he'd listened to Claude's dream without ridicule, had all but jumped onto the blade himself to protect him... things no one else had ever done, that he'd never expected anyone to be willing to do for him.
And all for Claude's manipulations. His selfish schemes.] I'm so sorry. This is my fault. It's because of me you've been put in harm's way.
[ Sylvain doesn't want to regret apologizing, but there's an immediate sense of having made a mistake, when Claude grips at his hand and nearly quivers in response.
Love in a political marriage was a wild and impractical dream that Sylvain never let himself have, and yet here he is, seeing what is very clearly that level of fondness in his husband, and feeling a frankly terrifying amount of it himself. He's called it so many other things up to this point: affection, adoration, fondness. In this moment, though, he has to call the spade a spade. ]
Claude-
[ He cuts himself off with a soft little gasp. He'd tried to move too much too fast and while he may not be bleeding out anymore, he is sore as hell, and there's awful tenderness where the wound had been. ]
I put myself in harm's way. I saw the harm and I put myself between you and it. We should be celebrating that you're alive and unharmed, not... [ Fussing over a little stab wound, worrying about the more expendable of us, feeling guilty over nothing important... ]
I frankly don't think my heart can handle you sounding like this.
My heart can't handle losing you! [Claude chokes out in return, raw, reluctantly letting go of Sylvain's hand like it physically pains him to do so and instead pressing his hands over his face, feeling the threat of tears spilling over. He can't remember ever crying in front of someone else-- he knows he must have, but it would have been when he was very young.]
It is my fault. I told my parents to accept the marriage proposal. I brought you into this situation, knowing it would put your life at risk. I knew anyone I chose to marry would be at risk, but I didn't-- I never anticipated-- [He'd never imagined Sylvain would put himself between Claude and a deadly blow. He barrels on.] It's my fault, and I've been too selfish to tell you... I know how much you despise being used, and I used you, Sylvain. I told them to pick you because of your strength, your ability in combat. I didn't want you to hate me, so I never told you. I'm s-so sorry... [He takes a shaky breath, braced for the worst. Braced to lose Sylvain anyway, though at least not to death. It would still break him, but maybe not as much, if he had any luck remaining.]
I-I understand if... you want to leave. Or want me to leave. I can look into a-annuling the marriage if you want, or you can just-- never speak to me again, if--
[ Now those are words Sylvain never expected to hear with so much strangled truth behind them. Not in this moment, after everything that's happened, can he write it off or see it as simply said in selfish passion. He has to admit the truth to himself: Claude deeply cares for him.
A strange cocktail of emotions rises up in his chest and makes him feel like his heart is lodged in his throat. He has to focus to hear the rest of what Claude says through the pounding of his ears.
In addition to the struggle to focus on it, the panicked ramblings are confusing, at first. Sylvain's brain scrambles to catch up to what Claude is saying. ]
Hey, hey, hey, slow down.
[ He tenderly adjusts himself to sit more upright, using his arms more than his torso to move himself. He uses his new leverage point to reach for Claude, touching the hands at his face gently, trying to pull them away. ]
Let me sort through all this, give me a moment, but I'm not going to leave. I don't want an annulment, and I don't want to stop talking to you.
[ Even with his confusing tangle of emotions, he knows that much. ]
You're... you're right that I hate being used, and that I resented the idea of being used like a pawn for a political marriage. But... that was before I knew that a political move involving me could be done for more than just personal gain, or curated genetics. It wasn't just because I'm a good soldier, right? It's cause my family has influence in the Kingdom and you wanted that connection to further your dream of connectedness.
[ A minor wince, but then he smiles, a small and wry smile. ]
And that was also before I got so attached to you. [ He looks away, then, embarrassment coming out to the forefront of all his other emotions, love trailing along behind it. ] Before I... realized something I thought was impossible was happening.
I almost want to be mad at you, for being the real mastermind behind this arrangement, but I just... don't have it in me. Not when you're crying like that. What kind of husband would I be, yelling at you while you're crying?
[ The same kind of boyfriend he had been to so many young women... He has changed so much. ]
[Claude lets Sylvain pull his hands away from his face, though he shies away from meeting his eyes, uncertain and afraid of what he would see in them.
He nods hesitantly-- it wasn't even just his strength, and his family's connections. Sylvain had been picked to prove Almyran stereotypes about Fodlanders wrong. He keeps quiet, though, unwilling to interrupt after Sylvain had let him ramble.
For all his fear of Sylvain's reaction, though-- it's impossible to deny the affection in his words. Claude looks up at him, searching Sylvain's expression. Though he's turned away, Claude can see the emotion there. The full force of his own feelings towards his husband hit him like a punch to the gut.
His own parents had been a love match, hell, they'd eloped... and it was a secret wish Claude had harbored ever since he was old enough to understand romantic love as separate from platonic or familial love, that some day he'd have a relationship like that. He'd wished for it, but practicality and his own dreams had overruled that childish hope.]
You should be mad at me... [He says softly, gaze shifting back down to their joined hands.] For doing that, and for keeping it from you, even after I knew how you felt. ...I really am a coward, after all. [Not because of his Fodlan blood, though. No, it's his own fault.
He sighs, looking back up at his husband. He doesn't want to be a coward anymore. No more excuses or dancing around it.] Sylvain? [He waits until brown eyes meet his own.] I love you. ...I never expected to, at best I hoped we would get along and you could find some manner of happiness here, but... I do.
[ Sylvain can feel Claude's eyes on him, but that doesn't make him turn. Making eye contact now feels too vulnerable, and Sylvain already feels like he's shaking from these shows of weakness. He feels nearly sick to his stomach with it, bubbling full of emotions he can't name, control, or sort.
Love has always been a difficult and complicated subject for him. It's not really an emotion he's ever understood, because it was never modeled for him. His parents never loved each other, and they certainly never loved him. They took pride in him, they were happy to have him, because he represented the heir they wanted. He could perform for them. He was a protege with a lance. He was their offspring, but he was never their son.
It's more complicated with his friends, though less obviously transactional.
He's drawn back in from his spiraling thoughts when Claude so tenderly calls his name. His eyes focus again, and he turns at last to meet his worried husband's gaze.
Only to suddenly feel so dizzy he's certain he's falling, despite being lain in bed. He forgets how to breathe, for a moment, his chest tight and shivering. He's trembling like a leaf. ]
G-get up on the bed with me. Please?
[ He needs Claude closer. He needs... something. To cling, to hold on tight? To feel grounded? He doesn't even know. He still feels like his chest is caving in, and tears are stinging his eyes and goddess damn it now he's crying too. He struggles in a deep breath, and it shakes on the way in, and as he breathes it out the tears come in earnest.
He waits until Claude joins him, and he wraps arms around him and clings, pulling in tight, and not even caring that his side hurts from the moving and stretching and weight of Claude's body. That doesn't matter right now. Any pain in his body is survivable because the constant pain in his heart is finally starting to ease. ]
[Claude doesn't feel inclined to deny Sylvain anything right now, even if he wasn't trembling and tearing up. He's moving onto the bed before Sylvain has finished speaking, careful not to lean too heavily on his side. He cups Sylvain's cheeks in his hands, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.
They haven't spoken much about their lives before they got married, and Claude didn't know for fact what had gone on in the Gautier family... but he has a pretty good idea. Love is a complicated and painful thing, the lack of it a gaping wound they both share.
Claude pays his own tears no mind, instead pressing featherlight kisses over Sylvain's face, shushing him softly and running soothing fingers through his hair. He presses their foreheads together, whispering the words again.] I love you.
[ Whatever barriers Sylvain still had erected up around his heart are dissolving like so much paper in the rain. He even starts to feel like he doesn't care about the pathetic amount of crying he's letting out, all over Claude's hands, kissed away by too-tender kisses.
He nuzzles back into the forehead touch, clinging onto his husband for dear life. He hiccups. ]
I love you.
[ It comes out in a croak, and Sylvain swallows it down to repeat it again. ]
I love you, too.
[ And as it says it he knows it's true. Confirmation of something that had been true already, but Sylvain had denied. Had tried to deny even as he was putting his life in danger for it. If Claude can be brave enough to say it... so will Sylvain.
He shakes again, but this time it's with a slightly hysterical laughter. It's wild and emotional and strange, but it doesn't last long. As it dies, Sylvain takes Claude's face in his hands in return, and kisses him square on the lips. It's firm and definitive but chaste, the punctuation on his statement. ]
[Claude can't help a breathy laugh at the words-- it's a sound of nearly overwhelming relief and sheer happiness. And it's lost in the sound of Sylvain's wild laugh, in the kiss. In many ways, it feels like a first kiss. The first truly honest one, maybe.
Claude smiles against Sylvain's lips, and the warmth of it more than reaches his eyes. He can't resist going in for another kiss, brief and sweet.]
You'd better heal quickly. [He kisses him again, pressing closer.] I need to thank you for saving my life, [kiss] reward you for your bravery, [kiss] and make sure you understand how important you are to me. [and one more kiss for good measure, this one deeper, every bit as promising as the words it punctuates.]
[ Just like that, a heart that had felt like a stone in its heaviness lifts as if grown wings. That look on Claude's face could do Sylvain in, in an instant. It's so genuine and Sylvain realizes in that moment that he's never seen his husband smile like that before.
He makes a soft sound into that second kiss, almost a hum and almost a whimper. The last remaining feeling of loneliness being banishes from his chest via his mouth. ]
Is that s-mmm [ He tries to respond but instead is kissed and he's okay with that. He lets them keep coming, smiling against Claude's lips and chuckling. The final kiss draws a sigh out of him, adoration and joy filling him up. He's breathless when Claude finally releases him from the gauntlet of smooches, and his eyes sparkle with a new light. ]
I promise I will be less reckless about it, if a second time comes. I never want to see you that upset, ever again.
[ His turn to pull Claude in for a kiss. ]
I want you to kiss me like that every day from now on.
[Interrupting Sylvain with a kiss makes him chuckle too, the lightness in his chest now a bit disorienting after the heaviness he'd felt earlier, watching over his husband's prone form. How did he ever get so lucky?]
I suppose that's all I can ask. [He tucks some of Sylvain's hair behind his ear, hand stroking along the man's jaw as he's pulled into yet another kiss.]
Good, because I was going to anyway. [He moves to settle at Sylvain's side, trying to alleviate the strain on his wound but unwilling to move away any further.] You need anything? I'll-- get someone else to bring it. [He grins-- yeah, he's definitely not going to be leaving Sylvain's side for a while.]
[If only the mood here could last forever, with Claude's light laughter and all the sweetness on his face. Sylvain may explode from the feelings of love that fill his chest, but that would be the best possible death he's ever considered for himself.
He sighs into that touch, that final kiss, a delighted rather than an embarrassed flush crossing his cheeks.
Claude settles in and Sylvain tangles fingers in his hair, idly toying with it.]
What do you want to eat more than anything in the world right now?
[He's very much in the mood for spoiling his husband, and lucky enough to have the resources to go through with pretty much any request. He rests his head on Sylvain's shoulder, enjoying the feeling of those lance-calloused fingers combing through his curls.]
If it's something that will take a significant amount of time, though, you might want to consider a faster back-up choice to tide you over. [He captures Sylvain's free hand in his own, threading their fingers together and pulling it up to his lips to kiss the back of Sylvain's knuckles.]
[Sylvain, stranger still, is in the mood to be spoiled. He turns his head to kiss Claude's forehead in some measure of retaliation for that hand kiss. Which has his cheeks feeling warm, as embarrassing as that is.]
Truthfully... [Goddess he is such a child.] Sweet buns.
[Sure enough, the forehead kiss makes him blush. Another thing he's not experienced since he was too young to remember.]
I can make that happen. [No judging here! He just squeezes Sylvain's hand, then eyes the door. The mature thing to do would be to suck it up, dislodge himself from his husband, and tell the guard at the door to get a servant on making those sweet buns. But Claude doesn't particularly want to be mature right now. Yelling will do just fine.]
Guards!
[Being good enough guards that Claude trusts them to defend his bed chambers, where his injured husband lays, they immediately burst into the room, expecting a threat. Claude grins, utterly unrepentant.]
We need sweet buns. It's very important. Please pass that along to the head of staff. [She'll be sure it's all done correctly-- no one Claude doesn't personally trust makes it past the lowest rungs in his family's employ, not since he started taking on duties as crown prince.] And sorry to startle you. [But not that sorry.]
[Sylvain watches with a slowly raising eyebrow as Claude turns to the door. He can practically see the cogs turning behind those brown curls.
Claude shouts for the guards, the poor put-upon guards who probably think it's another attempt on his life, and Sylvain lifts his free hand to cover his mouth. Which has broken into a shit-eating grin. He stifles his giggles, somehow, until the order is given and the guards scurry off, at which point he dissolves into childish peals of laughter.]
Claude you're terrible! [Chastizing holds no power, however, because Sylvain is nudging with his forehead and squeezing their joined hands.] I think you just shaved five years off of each of their lives.
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Between him and the knife Mihill had been about to bury into his back.
Claude's heart simultaneously tries to sink into his stomach and leap into his throat and he feels nauseous with it, frozen in place, in shock. Not that yet another attempt has been made on his life, but that Sylvain has thrown himself at the attempted assassin.
Sylvain's question brings him back into the moment with a jolt.]
Yes. I-- [He turns his head, shouts for the guards, then rushes to Sylvain's side. He's been stabbed-- and it's not just the wound that's a danger, the knife could very well be poisoned.] Leave him for the guards, you need a healer.
[The overwhelming mass of emotions is thrown aside for the very practical issue of making sure his husband doesn't die because of him. He knows not to just pull the knife out, especially not without a healer directly present.
The world rushes around them-- palace guards take Mihill to the cells to be questioned, and Claude walks Sylvain to the infirmary, where the palace healers remove the knife and treat the wound. Claude tests for poison himself, and thank every god in existence there is none. Still, Sylvain is put on bedrest for a few days, to recover from internal bleeding-- healing spells can only do so much.
Given his status as the crown prince's husband, rather than staying in the infirmary, an unconscious but healing Sylvain is brought to their room. Still, Claude is hesitant to join him on the bed, for a multitude of tangled up reasons. Instead he pulls up the chair from the desk, taking one of Sylvain's hands in his own and playing with his fingers, running his thumb over his knuckles. His thoughts circle and spiral in anxious, guilty loops, and eventually he falls asleep, still in the chair but with his head and shoulders on the bed, one hand still loosely gripping Sylvain's.]
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Wish you'd have... let me kill him...
[ He's serious about that desire, but growing quickly delirious from shock and loss of blood. The world swims, and even while he's conscious for some of he healing process and the removing of the knife, he doesn't remember it.
His dreams are swimming strange things, hard to grasp and full of faulty logic, but among them he recalls a dream of laying in a field of flowers, somewhere in Fodlan probably and strangely enough, with Claude, watching clouds go by as his husband holds his hand...
That dream slowly meshes with reality, stretching, stretching, until it breaks, and Sylvain feels the familiar pressure of bed beneath him. His eyes flutter open and he groans softly. He's so stiff... But as he starts to try to move, he realizes there's a hand draped over his own, and he turns his head to see Claude half folded over onto the bed. Sitting on a chair for some reason. He's going to feel that when he wakes up, for sure. Sylvain's fingers curl around that hand to hold it properly, feeling several emotions rise up in his chest all at once.
Above all, he's just relieved that Claude is alive. ]
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Sylvain--? [The smile he forces is weak, wavering, holding none of his usual confidence.] How are you feeling?
[Guilt twists in his stomach. It's his fault this happened... the knife was meant for him, he'd told his parents to accept the marriage offer in the first place, knowing full well the sort of life he'd be dragging him into.
He should have heeded Sylvain's warning. But no, he'd made the gamble anyway... and his husband had made the payment for him.]
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Had he really worried his husband so much? He tries to muffle it, but there's true surprise in Sylvain's eyes. ]
Hey, handsome~
[ His line doesn't hold the same saucy tone he usually greets Claude with. He squeezes that hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. ]
You look almost as pale as me. Was I that bad?
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Please... [His voice is quiet, choked with more emotion than he's ever shown the other man. With his expression somewhat hidden, between the lowering of his head and their arms blocking it from Sylvain's view, the poor attempt at a smile is gone, his face instead tight with anguish.] Please, never do that again.
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Sylvain's heart gives a seize, a tight squeeze as if it's trying to shrink away into nothing. His breath comes out in a soft little wheeze, as if his whole chest is being compressed along with his heart. ]
I... don't know if I can promise you that.
[ He feels compelled to be honest, here. ]
I'm... really sorry I scared you so much. I didn't... [ He bites his tongue to cut that sentence off. No, too honest. ]
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[He could have lost him. They've only even known each other a few months, but Sylvain has already become such an invaluable presence in his life; he'd listened to Claude's dream without ridicule, had all but jumped onto the blade himself to protect him... things no one else had ever done, that he'd never expected anyone to be willing to do for him.
And all for Claude's manipulations. His selfish schemes.] I'm so sorry. This is my fault. It's because of me you've been put in harm's way.
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Love in a political marriage was a wild and impractical dream that Sylvain never let himself have, and yet here he is, seeing what is very clearly that level of fondness in his husband, and feeling a frankly terrifying amount of it himself. He's called it so many other things up to this point: affection, adoration, fondness. In this moment, though, he has to call the spade a spade. ]
Claude-
[ He cuts himself off with a soft little gasp. He'd tried to move too much too fast and while he may not be bleeding out anymore, he is sore as hell, and there's awful tenderness where the wound had been. ]
I put myself in harm's way. I saw the harm and I put myself between you and it. We should be celebrating that you're alive and unharmed, not... [ Fussing over a little stab wound, worrying about the more expendable of us, feeling guilty over nothing important... ]
I frankly don't think my heart can handle you sounding like this.
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It is my fault. I told my parents to accept the marriage proposal. I brought you into this situation, knowing it would put your life at risk. I knew anyone I chose to marry would be at risk, but I didn't-- I never anticipated-- [He'd never imagined Sylvain would put himself between Claude and a deadly blow. He barrels on.] It's my fault, and I've been too selfish to tell you... I know how much you despise being used, and I used you, Sylvain. I told them to pick you because of your strength, your ability in combat. I didn't want you to hate me, so I never told you. I'm s-so sorry... [He takes a shaky breath, braced for the worst. Braced to lose Sylvain anyway, though at least not to death. It would still break him, but maybe not as much, if he had any luck remaining.]
I-I understand if... you want to leave. Or want me to leave. I can look into a-annuling the marriage if you want, or you can just-- never speak to me again, if--
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A strange cocktail of emotions rises up in his chest and makes him feel like his heart is lodged in his throat. He has to focus to hear the rest of what Claude says through the pounding of his ears.
In addition to the struggle to focus on it, the panicked ramblings are confusing, at first. Sylvain's brain scrambles to catch up to what Claude is saying. ]
Hey, hey, hey, slow down.
[ He tenderly adjusts himself to sit more upright, using his arms more than his torso to move himself. He uses his new leverage point to reach for Claude, touching the hands at his face gently, trying to pull them away. ]
Let me sort through all this, give me a moment, but I'm not going to leave. I don't want an annulment, and I don't want to stop talking to you.
[ Even with his confusing tangle of emotions, he knows that much. ]
You're... you're right that I hate being used, and that I resented the idea of being used like a pawn for a political marriage. But... that was before I knew that a political move involving me could be done for more than just personal gain, or curated genetics. It wasn't just because I'm a good soldier, right? It's cause my family has influence in the Kingdom and you wanted that connection to further your dream of connectedness.
[ A minor wince, but then he smiles, a small and wry smile. ]
And that was also before I got so attached to you. [ He looks away, then, embarrassment coming out to the forefront of all his other emotions, love trailing along behind it. ] Before I... realized something I thought was impossible was happening.
I almost want to be mad at you, for being the real mastermind behind this arrangement, but I just... don't have it in me. Not when you're crying like that. What kind of husband would I be, yelling at you while you're crying?
[ The same kind of boyfriend he had been to so many young women... He has changed so much. ]
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He nods hesitantly-- it wasn't even just his strength, and his family's connections. Sylvain had been picked to prove Almyran stereotypes about Fodlanders wrong. He keeps quiet, though, unwilling to interrupt after Sylvain had let him ramble.
For all his fear of Sylvain's reaction, though-- it's impossible to deny the affection in his words. Claude looks up at him, searching Sylvain's expression. Though he's turned away, Claude can see the emotion there. The full force of his own feelings towards his husband hit him like a punch to the gut.
His own parents had been a love match, hell, they'd eloped... and it was a secret wish Claude had harbored ever since he was old enough to understand romantic love as separate from platonic or familial love, that some day he'd have a relationship like that. He'd wished for it, but practicality and his own dreams had overruled that childish hope.]
You should be mad at me... [He says softly, gaze shifting back down to their joined hands.] For doing that, and for keeping it from you, even after I knew how you felt. ...I really am a coward, after all. [Not because of his Fodlan blood, though. No, it's his own fault.
He sighs, looking back up at his husband. He doesn't want to be a coward anymore. No more excuses or dancing around it.] Sylvain? [He waits until brown eyes meet his own.] I love you. ...I never expected to, at best I hoped we would get along and you could find some manner of happiness here, but... I do.
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Love has always been a difficult and complicated subject for him. It's not really an emotion he's ever understood, because it was never modeled for him. His parents never loved each other, and they certainly never loved him. They took pride in him, they were happy to have him, because he represented the heir they wanted. He could perform for them. He was a protege with a lance. He was their offspring, but he was never their son.
It's more complicated with his friends, though less obviously transactional.
He's drawn back in from his spiraling thoughts when Claude so tenderly calls his name. His eyes focus again, and he turns at last to meet his worried husband's gaze.
Only to suddenly feel so dizzy he's certain he's falling, despite being lain in bed. He forgets how to breathe, for a moment, his chest tight and shivering. He's trembling like a leaf. ]
G-get up on the bed with me. Please?
[ He needs Claude closer. He needs... something. To cling, to hold on tight? To feel grounded? He doesn't even know. He still feels like his chest is caving in, and tears are stinging his eyes and goddess damn it now he's crying too. He struggles in a deep breath, and it shakes on the way in, and as he breathes it out the tears come in earnest.
He waits until Claude joins him, and he wraps arms around him and clings, pulling in tight, and not even caring that his side hurts from the moving and stretching and weight of Claude's body. That doesn't matter right now. Any pain in his body is survivable because the constant pain in his heart is finally starting to ease. ]
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They haven't spoken much about their lives before they got married, and Claude didn't know for fact what had gone on in the Gautier family... but he has a pretty good idea. Love is a complicated and painful thing, the lack of it a gaping wound they both share.
Claude pays his own tears no mind, instead pressing featherlight kisses over Sylvain's face, shushing him softly and running soothing fingers through his hair. He presses their foreheads together, whispering the words again.] I love you.
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He nuzzles back into the forehead touch, clinging onto his husband for dear life. He hiccups. ]
I love you.
[ It comes out in a croak, and Sylvain swallows it down to repeat it again. ]
I love you, too.
[ And as it says it he knows it's true. Confirmation of something that had been true already, but Sylvain had denied. Had tried to deny even as he was putting his life in danger for it. If Claude can be brave enough to say it... so will Sylvain.
He shakes again, but this time it's with a slightly hysterical laughter. It's wild and emotional and strange, but it doesn't last long. As it dies, Sylvain takes Claude's face in his hands in return, and kisses him square on the lips. It's firm and definitive but chaste, the punctuation on his statement. ]
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Claude smiles against Sylvain's lips, and the warmth of it more than reaches his eyes. He can't resist going in for another kiss, brief and sweet.]
You'd better heal quickly. [He kisses him again, pressing closer.] I need to thank you for saving my life, [kiss] reward you for your bravery, [kiss] and make sure you understand how important you are to me. [and one more kiss for good measure, this one deeper, every bit as promising as the words it punctuates.]
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He makes a soft sound into that second kiss, almost a hum and almost a whimper. The last remaining feeling of loneliness being banishes from his chest via his mouth. ]
Is that s-mmm [ He tries to respond but instead is kissed and he's okay with that. He lets them keep coming, smiling against Claude's lips and chuckling. The final kiss draws a sigh out of him, adoration and joy filling him up. He's breathless when Claude finally releases him from the gauntlet of smooches, and his eyes sparkle with a new light. ]
I promise I will be less reckless about it, if a second time comes. I never want to see you that upset, ever again.
[ His turn to pull Claude in for a kiss. ]
I want you to kiss me like that every day from now on.
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I suppose that's all I can ask. [He tucks some of Sylvain's hair behind his ear, hand stroking along the man's jaw as he's pulled into yet another kiss.]
Good, because I was going to anyway. [He moves to settle at Sylvain's side, trying to alleviate the strain on his wound but unwilling to move away any further.] You need anything? I'll-- get someone else to bring it. [He grins-- yeah, he's definitely not going to be leaving Sylvain's side for a while.]
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He sighs into that touch, that final kiss, a delighted rather than an embarrassed flush crossing his cheeks.
Claude settles in and Sylvain tangles fingers in his hair, idly toying with it.]
Just you. Mmmn- no, I told a lie. I'm hungry...
[Recovering from a wound is hard work!]
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[He's very much in the mood for spoiling his husband, and lucky enough to have the resources to go through with pretty much any request. He rests his head on Sylvain's shoulder, enjoying the feeling of those lance-calloused fingers combing through his curls.]
If it's something that will take a significant amount of time, though, you might want to consider a faster back-up choice to tide you over. [He captures Sylvain's free hand in his own, threading their fingers together and pulling it up to his lips to kiss the back of Sylvain's knuckles.]
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Truthfully... [Goddess he is such a child.] Sweet buns.
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I can make that happen. [No judging here! He just squeezes Sylvain's hand, then eyes the door. The mature thing to do would be to suck it up, dislodge himself from his husband, and tell the guard at the door to get a servant on making those sweet buns. But Claude doesn't particularly want to be mature right now. Yelling will do just fine.]
Guards!
[Being good enough guards that Claude trusts them to defend his bed chambers, where his injured husband lays, they immediately burst into the room, expecting a threat. Claude grins, utterly unrepentant.]
We need sweet buns. It's very important. Please pass that along to the head of staff. [She'll be sure it's all done correctly-- no one Claude doesn't personally trust makes it past the lowest rungs in his family's employ, not since he started taking on duties as crown prince.] And sorry to startle you. [But not that sorry.]
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Claude shouts for the guards, the poor put-upon guards who probably think it's another attempt on his life, and Sylvain lifts his free hand to cover his mouth. Which has broken into a shit-eating grin. He stifles his giggles, somehow, until the order is given and the guards scurry off, at which point he dissolves into childish peals of laughter.]
Claude you're terrible! [Chastizing holds no power, however, because Sylvain is nudging with his forehead and squeezing their joined hands.] I think you just shaved five years off of each of their lives.