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The palace in Enbarr was asleep, save for a handful of bored guards, a few yawning scullery maids, and the minister of the imperial household. Still, Hubert took great care to remain unseen as he stole into the prime minister’s suite.
He’d been avoiding those familiar rooms ever since the incident. Its aftermath kept him too busy, or at least that was what he told himself to assuage the pang of guilt that stabbed at him when he crossed the threshold.
He lingered in the desolate parlour for a moment. Everything greeted him just the way he'd left it – the twin armchairs by the fireplace, the chess set at the window, the clock on the mantelpiece measuring his hesitation second by second.
His gaze fell on the empty shelf where a fine porcelain tea set used to sit, and the ache flared up anew.
Many thought him unfeeling, and he himself saw no reason to defend himself. The role came to him easily enough, and maintaining that image was a calculated, deliberate choice. He had never been the sort to act out his feelings for other people’s benefit. His sentiments and his thoughts remained his own.
And so his expression revealed nothing when he slipped into the bedroom. It was a foreign territory to him, but under the circumstances, he had no doubt that Ferdinand would forgive the intrusion.
There had been more than a few pamphlets of dubious quality on the subject of the prime minister’s inner sanctum and what was going on inside after nightfall. The reality was underwhelming. Ferdinand rose early and retired late, accompanied only by a book.
The last one to be brought in was a slender volume of anonymous poetry bound in red and gold that he'd picked up during his last trip to Gloucester, now resting on the night-stand. Hubert looked at it, because he couldn't bear to look at the bed.
Such cowardice.
He approached the bed, scarcely daring to breathe. Ferdinand was asleep. It felt wrong to see him so inert – even when they'd take a break from their duties to enjoy a leisurely cup of tea or an evening walk, he’d be normally so animated that the present stillness seemed unnatural.
His hand itched to reach out and stroke his cheek, but he restrained himself. What Ferdinand needed the most was rest.
Suddenly, as if sensing his presence, Ferdinand cracked one eye open. He mumbled something unintelligible – it sounded like Hubert’s name, but it might have been only wishful thinking – then opened his other eye, and blinked.
“Go back to sleep,” Hubert whispered, but Ferdinand didn't listen. Of course he didn't. It was a quality as infuriating as it was reliable.
With some effort, he raised himself up on his elbows, and beckoned Hubert to sit down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he managed, impeccably courteous even then, his voice rough with sleep, hair dishevelled, nightclothes rumpled.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Hubert sat on the very edge of the bed, gloved hands folded on his lap, if only to prevent himself from fidgeting. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.” He offered the other a feeble smile. “But surely, you did not come here to ask after my health.”
The early hour was to blame for the smile Hubert gave him in response. “Would that be so unthinkable?”
“No, no, I suppose it is only natural you would wish to remain apprised of such matters.” He huffed out a laugh. “One would expect that after years in your company I would be quite immune to poison. Is it an unkind joke to make? I am sure you would make it yourself had I not beaten you to it.”
“You may be right,” Hubert teased, his shoulders relaxing. It was one thing to receive updates from his people, and an entirely another one to see the man alive and in high spirits. They sat together for a while, but then Hubert’s face turned grave. There was still something that had to be said. “Ferdinand?”
A hum in response.
“I owe you an apology. This never would have happened if I weren’t so blind to-”
Ferdinand silenced him with a gesture. “I will hear none of that, Hubert. You could not have possibly predicted that someone would make an attempt on my life. Judging by your presence here, I take it the culprit has been apprehended anyway.”
“Yes, that is the case.” Hubert swallowed hard. “It was… one of my own sorcery engineers.”
Ferdinand’s eyes widened in shock. “You jest!”
“Apparently, said engineer came to the conclusion that the two of you were competing for my affections,” Hubert explained. As the words left his lips, the full weight of the past days made itself felt. He was drained. He didn't want to discuss that misguided fool. He wanted to lie down, rest his eyes, and think of nothing.
He added, tenderly: “Even if there was a competition, they came far too late.”
At the same time, Ferdinand said: “I should be flattered they believed me a worthy rival.”
They both froze. Uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
“When you say ‘far too late’,” Ferdinand started cautiously, “what exactly do you mean?”
Hubert, pale at the best of times, turned chalky before Ferdinand’s eyes. “Was I… mistaken in believing that we are courting?”
“Since when?” Ferdinand blurted out before he could compose himself. “I did not have the slightest idea you felt that way about me. And you say… Hubert von Vestra, do not even think about Warping away! I am not done speaking to you!”
Hubert Warped away.
It was the duty of the minister of the imperial household to know everything, and so it should surprise no one that the ability to gather intel was an essential quality for those under his direct command. In other words, the Vestra sorcery engineers were the most gossipy bunch in all of Fódlan.
They crowded the antechamber of lord Vestra’s offices, speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves, resembling nothing as much as a mischief of magpies in their beaked masks.
One of their comrades tiptoed out, closed the door with excessive care, and only then shook her head.
“Do you think we’re going to war again?” Sperata, the newest addition, asked.
A shrug. “He’s just standing there,” said Manon, which was, as her colleagues noted, not a no.
“So, what are our orders?” Grieux drawled from his perch on the windowsill.
“Business as usual.” Manon lowered her voice: “You don’t think the prime minister has gotten worse, or…?”
There was a murmur amongst the engineers and general shuffling of feet. They began to trickle out of the antechamber in something that could be charitably described as a tactical retreat. No one wanted to risk getting caught idling by lord Vestra in foul humour – especially not after the stunt pulled by one from their own ranks.
Lord Vestra’s office was about as welcoming as a bear trap. Lord Vestra, however, saw none of it – he was staring out of the window, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight line.
Clearly, there had been a misunderstanding.
He started pacing around his office. Now that the initial shock had passed, the full horror of his situation began to sink in.
The only reasonable course of action was to change his name and fake his death. Her Majesty would understand.
He'd been operating under the impression that his intentions had been made abundantly clear. The first attempt went poorly, sure – the compliments were, in hindsight, miscalculated.
It was curious that Ferdinand could be simultaneously so hungry for praise, yet so reluctant to receive it.
Hubert cared none for reminiscing at the best of times, but that day was a memory he wished he could erase completely. He panicked. Ferdinand thought him ill. The words “contemptible degenerate” may or may not have left Hubert’s lips.
The second time, he planned his approach more carefully. A gift. A convenient pretext for sharing a drink, spending some time in each other’s company, and a chance to turn the conversation to the question haunting Hubert’s lonely mornings.
And then, when he finally gathered the courage, Ferdinand rushed to meet him halfway with the coffee beans. What more was there to say?
Much more, apparently.
Ferdinand was picking at his breakfast. The crux of the matter was, he concluded over sweet tea and sweeter buns, that Hubert wasn't the kind of man to jump to conclusions. If he believed they were courting, there had to be a solid reason. Which meant Ferdinand must have missed something. Something fairly major, at that.
He missed things, he knew that well.
With some effort, he got up and hobbled to the corner of his bedroom, to his stash of volumes about all matters equestrian. Sadly, his friends who frequented Enbarr didn't share his enthusiasm for horses, and so he kept his diary there as well, hidden in plain sight. Ferdinand sighed. If Hubert offered at least a hint, figuring out the starting point of their alleged romance would surely not be too difficult.
When he opened the window, he was greeted by a gust of icy wind and the imperial gardens, white and featureless under the layers of snow that had accumulated over the past two weeks. He stood there for a moment, letting the air cool his face while he thumbed through his diary.
A single hint – was that too much to ask?
They’d never kissed. Not everyone cared for kissing, but surely, it would come up in conversation? Or maybe it was Hubert’s decision to allow him to make that step. He paused on the first pages of his diary. He got that one shortly before the end of the war, for his birthday, and made an effort to write at least a line every day.
He nearly kissed Hubert once.
The war had ended, but there was no time to celebrate. Not while Fhirdiad was burning, and every hand was needed to put down the flames alongside the citizens of the newly conquered city. Whatever their feelings were, the need to save what could be saved of their homes took precedence.
Ferdinand would be exhausted if he had the time for that sort of thing. In truth, the finer details of that day mostly vanished from his memory. The day dissolved into the night, and the fires faded into ash. The stench of smoke clung to his his hair, following him back to the camp.
The war had ended. Tomorrow they’d start rebuilding their world.
He meant to head straight for his tent and lumpy bedroll, but a lone figure by the bonfire gave him a pause.
“Hubert!”
The mage glanced over his shoulder and gave him a slight nod. “Ferdinand. You’re back.”
“Were you waiting for me?” Ferdinand shot back, his tone light.
Hubert averted his face. “Yes. Is that so shocking?”
“No, I suppose it is not.” The holy knight sat down next to his dear ally. Of course, Hubert would stay up as long as possible to make sure everyone returned safely.
There were so many things he could say. Right things, correct things, sentimental things. Something about new dawns, something about the path ahead, something about treasured friends. He did not. The comfortable silence between them expressed it all far more eloquently.
Ferdinand sat there, staring into the fire, not even stirring when Hubert rested his head on his shoulder. Minutes later, he heard a faint snore, and when he looked at the other, he found his eyes closed, his face slack with sleep. The flickering fire cast strange shadows over his face, as pale as the slip of the moon hanging above. Warm gold eyes flickered to his parted lips, and for a moment – a fleeting instant, only half of a full thought – he wondered what they might feel like against Ferdinand’s own.
Flushed, he looked away and went on watching the flames.
Ferdinand shuts his diary closed. Nostalgic as such musings were, they failed to explain the source of their misunderstanding.
He headed back to bed, the diary tucked under his arm. Next time – for there would be a next time, he’d make sure of it – he couldn't risk making everything worse with hasty assumptions. Hubert had to be mortified. The mere thought made his stomach twist. In all fairness, the remains of poison still in his system weren't helping, but mostly it was the thought of causing Hubert any pain, even if inadvertently.
He nestled against the veritable mountain of pillows heaped by the headboard and flipped forward a few pages.
After breakfast, Hubert gathered together the letters Ferdinand had sent to him throughout the year, as well as copies of some of the letters addressed to their friends for comparison. How did he get his hands on those? Well.
At any rate, it was becoming abundantly clear that the warm and affectionate tone of Ferdinand’s letters to him had more to do with the man’s habits than any particular favour.
Most of them dated from the period shortly after the war. While Hubert followed Her Majesty to Enbarr, Ferdinand returned to Aegir, to settle some of his affairs before taking up the mantle of prime minister.
He brewed himself another cup of coffee, hoping for a little clarity. The first cup didn’t do the trick, but the sixth one might.
A steaming cup in hand, he approached the table where the letters waited for him, spread out for a vivisection. A part of him was sorely tempted to pour the brew over them, as if destroying them could undo his foolishness.
He couldn't even focus on any single letter anymore, the lines swimming in front of his eyes, each word mocking him.
Hubert…
Dear Hubert…
My dearest friend…
I hope this letter finds you well.
It didn't. But he cherished the messages amidst the chaos of his varied duties nevertheless.
I have much to write about, and very little to write about that would interest you. As you can imagine, there is plenty of work to be done between the sowing and the harvest, figuratively and literally speaking. Please, if you have developed sudden and ardent interest in animal husbandry in my absence, let me know at once. Recently, I have been learning a great deal about this most fascinating subject, but I am quickly running out of willing listeners.
Hubert chuckled at that, though now even the amusement tasted bitter on his tongue.
We must have tea as soon as I arrive in Enbarr. While I doubt I will ever understand your fondness for that muddy liquid you favour, I must confess that I miss the fragrance .
Aegir is beautiful in summer. I wish you were able to see it, at least once – perhaps next year? Though my work here keeps me busy, I do my best to squeeze in a morning ride whenever the weather permits. Early in the morning, when the air is still crisp and cool, the Pearl Sea glitters more than the finest jewels in all of Fódlan. You think I exaggerate-
He did.
-but if you could see it, you would change your mind.
Come see me, if you can. Write to me soon, if you cannot.
Faithfully…
Sincerely…
With my warmest regards…
Hubert gathered up the well-thumbed papers into a neat stack, and shoved them back into the false bottom of the secret drawer in his desk.
Wishful thinking, nothing more.
Ferdinand’s index finger lingered on an ink stain. The entries from last summer were all brief, almost curt, in startling contrast with the ones that came after. Not because his days in Aegir were dull, or because he couldn’t spare the time, it was simply that…
...most of what he’d normally write down travelled to Enbarr, in stacks upon stacks of letters to Hubert.
The replies he received were considerably shorter and more sparse, and at times Ferdinand worried that he was making himself a nuisance. But Hubert made it clear that he was simply swamped with other tasks, and as he’d never made a habit of sugarcoating things around him, Ferdinand believed him.
The entries grew lengthier around mid-autumn, after the harvest season in Aegir ended, after he left the estate in the hands of a capable manager, and after he made for Enbarr, to serve Fódlan to the best of his ability.
The roads were good and he travelled light, having sent most of his luggage ahead. All the same, he was glad to arrive late at night. That way he would be able to report to Her Majesty after a couple of hours of sleep and a bath.
A servant escorted him to his suite, asking if His Grace required anything else approximately every five steps, but she was clearly relieved when he dismissed her for the night.
What he wanted the most was to sit down. He absolutely could not do that though, or else nothing else would get done. And he truly needed to wash off the dust before he went to bed. With gratitude, he noted that there was a tray with food waiting for him.
He emerged out of the bathroom half an hour later, feeling more or less human again, already in his nightclothes, hair dripping wet and refusing to stay in the towel. Only now it was hitting him just how tired he truly was, and he had half a mind to forgo dinner and go straight to-
“I trust you find the suite acceptable.”
“Hubert?” he blurted out in a dazzling display of eloquence. “What in the world are you doing here?”
The other blinked and raised the strainer in his hand. “Making tea.”
Maybe it was merely one of his dear friend’s idiosyncrasies – having to make sure every cog in the complex machine that was the imperial household ran smoothly or something – but Ferdinand’s surprise quickly turned into delight upon seeing him.
“Saints, it is so good to see you again!” Before he could think better of it, he crossed the room and pulled him into a tight hug.
The other froze, but instead of pushing him away, he shyly wrapped his arms around his waist, the touch light. “Be that as it may, that’s still not a reason to break my ribs.”
Ferdinand quickly released him from the embrace and stepped back, flustered beyond measure. “I apologise, this was… extremely forward. I hope you can forgive me.”
Maybe it was only a trick of light, but Ferdinand would swear Hubert’s cheeks were a shade pinker than usual. “You’ve done nothing to offend. Though… a word of warning in advance would be appreciated.” He cleared his throat. “Should you attempt this again in the future.”
Looking back, Ferdinand couldn't shake off the suspicion that it wasn’t a clumsy attempt to brush the whole thing aside, but an invitation. Naturally, he hadn't hugged him since – partly out of decorum, partly out of respect for Hubert’s personal space.
Regardless of how tempting it was at times.
It wasn't that Hubert expected Ferdinand to be angry about his… presumption. His heart was too generous for that. And so it would fall to Hubert to do the decent thing and put enough distance between them to spare them at least some of the inevitable awkwardness. As always, he would do what he had to, and yet… the mere thought of losing their easy intimacy made his heart ache.
“Now, are you not glad I dragged you out of your lair?”
Snow was rare in Enbarr, even in winter, but still not rare enough to justify all that fuss. Hubert shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Debatable.”
Ferdinand rolled his eyes and linked their arms, the warmth of his body seeping even through the layers of fabric separating them. “I would be quite shocked if some fresh air and a leisurely walk were enough to harm one of Her Majesty’s most accomplished generals.”
“I see your point, but where in the blazes are you going to find fresh air in Enbarr?”Hubert retorted, leaning into his companion.
For all his grumbling, he welcomed the break, if only for the opportunity to admire the snowflakes melting in Ferdinand’s hair. A more… whimsical person might go as far as to suggest that he envied them.
“Had I known you were going to be like this…” He shook his head and squeezed Hubert’s arm. “Do not make me spoil the surprise.”
“Surprise?” Hubert repeated with a touch of alarm in his voice. Old habits, and all that.
The other was quick to reassure him: “A perfectly harmless one. You will see for yourself right about…”
He came to a halt in front of a narrow building, tucked between two shops, only the discreet signboard hanging above the entry signalling that it was a place of business.
“… now. Did you know there was a Dagdan café in the city?”
“Well, yes, but unless you have a reservation-”
“Who do you take me for? Of course, we have a reservation.”
"How much blackmail was required?" he teased, lest he be forced to admit he was impressed. Then again, when Ferdinand dialled up the charm, his targets frequently found themselves unwilling to say no to him, including those who should know better. The minister of the imperial household knew that from a reliable source.
"You don't even like coffee," Hubert whispered, as a smiling waiter ushered them to their seats. Two armchairs in a corner, Hubert's back safely against the wall.
"I am open to broadening my horizons," Ferdinand said with exaggerated haughtiness. Why, it made one want to silence him in a direct yet agreeable manner. Alas, they were in public, and keeping their courtship private.
The interior was plain, with white walls, solid dark wood furniture, and antique bronze coffee-making paraphernalia displayed in ornate glass cabinets. The rich fragrance of coffee hung in the air, and the café hummed with the clinking of cups and hushed conversation.
"Are you buttering me up for something?" Hubert inquired pleasantly as soon as their drinks arrived, cradling the cup between his palms. "As far as such attempts go, I can't say I object to this approach."
Ferdinand picked up his cup, his ring finger stuck out in an ungainly fashion. An injury from the Leicester campaign, Hubert's mind supplied readily. Though Manuela had done a remarkable job fixing the burns from a blast of Bolganone, some damage lingered.
"That joke was not in good taste. I simply wanted to spend some time with you outside of work for a change. The affairs of the Empire have kept us too occupied to enjoy each other's company lately."
Hubert gave a slight bow. "It is as surprising as it is heartening that you are not sick of my presence by now."
His companion took a sip of his milky coffee, sweetened with caramel, and leaned back in the armchair. "Why? Did you expect me to take your feedback on my proposals personally? I like to imagine I understand you better than that. Still, there have been precious few opportunities to simply converse." He huffed out a laugh. "It rather makes me feel as though we were fresh parents."
Hubert turned an expensive shade of purple, brought the cup to his lips, and promptly burnt the roof of his mouth with the scalding coffee.
"Fresh parents," he echoed faintly.
"Precisely," Ferdinand said, smiling, blissfully unaware of the path Hubert's thoughts were taking. "Just like fresh parents."
Hubert sat at his desk, his face buried in his hands, inventing entirely new stages of grief. If nothing, now he knew that the outing wasn't meant to be a date. His faulty assumptions didn't make the gesture any less thoughtful.
Slowly, he stood up. He felt sick — not because he'd been subsiding on nothing but coffee since last night, that was clearly not something that could ever happen to him, no matter how many times Ferdinand made pointed remarks about his habits — and even sicker as it began to sink in that he would have to address the debacle sooner rather than later.
The selection of fake identities he'd crafted for his engineers' use had never looked more appealing.
Ferdinand kept dozing off in his pillow nest, the words in the diary a blur as he went on flipping through the pages, searching for clues. In vain. No particular incident stood out to him in their well-established routine of shared breaks, casual visits, and the occasional outing.
He paused, stroking an opera ticket pasted to the page.
"Would I be correct in assuming that you have no plans for the Day of Devotion?" Hubert asked over their rather belated lunch.
Ferdinand shook his head. "Nothing in particular, I am afraid. Why?"
That earned him a raised eyebrow. "Well, I'm a little surprised. I would've thought that such a saccharine holiday would find its most ardent supporter in you."
He flushed. "You are not wrong. I do enjoy the celebrations a great deal — alas, I do not expect to find much time for them this year. You know my schedule as well as I do."
"That I do." The smirk that appeared on Hubert's face could only be described as victorious. He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table. "For your consideration."
Ferdinand picked it up, puzzled, but then his face lit up when he saw the tell-tale lettering used by the Mittelfrank company. Eyes wide with wonder, he looked up at his dear friend, for once at a loss for words. "Why, Hubert-"
"That settles it," the mage said with a slight nod, satisfied with the response. "Now, I believe we should return to work if we are to finish the revisions at any point in this century."
Ferdinand's laughter rang through the office, bright and warm.
Hm. Well. That explained things.
Even after years of knowing Hubert, his motives and feelings were seldom in plain view. Still, he should've realised. Hubert cared for holidays only as much as they affected the running of the imperial court, and going out of his way to celebrate the Day of Devotion was as direct a confession as anyone could ever hope for from him.
He shoved the diary under the poetry collection, and sank into the pillows.
How could he have been so blind? He picked at the stitching on the edge of his quilt with restless fingers. To think Hubert had felt about him that way for such a long time… it should disconcert him, he knew, yet all he felt was a sense of warmth he couldn't quite name.
He couldn't tell what marked the start of their presumed courtship, but the mere thought of losing what they had was unbearable. Unsteady, he dragged himself out of bed once again.
He didn't have a plan, but he knew that he needed to talk to Hubert at once, or spend the rest of his life in bitter regret.
The palace in Enbarr was bustling with activity, full of servants, clerks, minor nobles hoping to be granted an audience, and the minister of the imperial household. Naturally, Hubert took great care to remain unseen as he stole into the prime minister's suite. He'd resume avoiding those familiar rooms soon enough.
He lingered in the desolate parlour for a moment. Everything greeted him just the way he'd left it — the kitschy porcelain pot overflowing with orange orchids, the framed opera poster on the wall, and the old candelabra that he'd never see burn again.
His gaze fell on the door to Ferdinand's bedroom, and Hubert ached.
The door opened.
Time stilled. Hubert couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze just yet, instead studying the fleur-de-lis pattern on Ferdinand's dressing gown, distorted where he gripped the fabric in a clenched fist. Ferdinand grasped at the doorframe to steady himself.
He was the first to break the silence. "When did we start courting?"
Hubert crossed his arms. "I believe we've established that we aren't involved in that way. It… it seems that I should have been clearer about my intentions. I apologise for any distress my presumption may have caused."
"That does not answer my question." He shook his head, a hint of a pout forming on his lips. Keeping one hand on the wall, he made for his usual armchair and plopped down with obvious relief. "Was it after the war? During?"
"It matters not."
Ferdinand bristled up, digging his fingers into the upholstery, because it was the next best thing after grabbing Hubert by the lapels and shaking him until some truth tumbled out. "Then you may as well humour me. Or… or I will start guessing, and I assure you, neither of us wants that."
"You are being ridiculous. Let's put this unfortunate affair behind us and focus on how to ensure that it doesn't affect our work."
"I will be as ridiculous as I please." He held out his hand. "Sit down, please. Had I known we were courting, I would have comported myself far more appropriately."
"We are not courting," Hubert corrected him, but sat down in the opposite armchair, long legs nonchalantly crossed.
"You are contradicting yourself. You said that we were courting mere hours ago."
"I am not contradicting myself. I am owning up to an unforgivable error on my part." His face was unnaturally still as he spoke, his eyes fixed somewhere over Ferdinand's shoulder.
Ferdinand leaned forward and reached for Hubert's hand, yet stopped himself before any contact could be made. "Hubert," he started, then fell mute. Their eyes met. The clock on the mantelpiece kept ticking away, the gentle rhythm deafening in the silence between them. Ferdinand set his jaw, stubborn and vulnerable at the same time. "I liked courting you."
"If you're trying to spare my feelings, then I must ask you to stop. It's… needlessly cruel in a way I know you are not." Hubert's hands twitched to loosen his collar, in the room that had grown so stifling so suddenly.
"Saints, I only found out you felt that way about me this morning!"
"I will endeavour not to make it your problem going forward."
"Nobody- I do not want that." Ferdinand ran a hand through his hair, as if he wasn't dishevelled enough, flush creeping up his neck. "In hindsight… I realised yours were not the only feelings I was too blind to see. Goodness gracious, even your people noticed before I did!"
Normally, Hubert might say something about that being their job, but given that one of them very much did try to poison Ferdinand, he reconsidered. In the name of diplomacy.
"Maybe I should've put it in writing," Hubert replied, his voice distant to his own ears as the meaning of Ferdinand's words started to sink in. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Well, I think that we have established that as mind-readers we are equally miserable," Ferdinand grumbled, winding a strand of hair around his fingers. "What I mean is that I am fond of you. Fonder than I have realised, and… won't you give me a chance to court you knowingly?"
Hubert looked away. "Perhaps it is madness."
"I prefer to call it courage." A mischievous glint flashed in Ferdinand's eyes. "Of course, if you wish to break up, then I will have to respect your decision, as much as it may pain me."
Hubert pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ferdinand, we were not courting."
"Well, did you see me courting anyone else?"
"Even you have to admit that's a rather poor argument."
"If my arguments are not up to your exacting standards, then you will have to forgive me." He was playing up the petulance, and he knew Hubert knew, but that wasn't enough to deter him. "It may have escaped your notice, but I am currently recovering from a poisoning attempt, orchestrated by one of your admirers."
It was a joke, but Hubert sucked in a breath, and his eyes flitted to the empty shelf once more.
Ferdinand's expression softened when he noticed. "Do not even think about blaming yourself."
"You're asking for the impossible."
With a grunt, Ferdinand rose from the armchair and came to stand in front of Hubert. "On my honour as a noble, I will never bring it up again if that is what you want, but do not leave me guessing. Not about this."
Hubert looked up, and his words caught in his throat. They seemed too flimsy for the dizzying tangle of feelings squeezing his heart anyway. Instead, he reached for Ferdinand's hand and brought it to his lips.
At that proximity, he could hear Ferdinand's shuddering exhale as he stepped even closer, and drew Hubert's head to his chest in a clumsy embrace. "What do you say, Hubert? Should we try again?"
His companion's laughter was muffled. "For this first time, you mean." He lifted his face, unwilling to let go of Ferdinand's hand just yet. "Are you sure?"
He earned himself an exasperated sigh for that. "I am running out of ideas as to how to make myself any clearer."
"There are mistakes I'd rather not re-"
Ferdinand leaned down and cut him off with a kiss. It proved more effective than a Silence spell, though as a kiss it left ample space for improvement. The tilt was awkward, and Hubert was too startled to respond, and their noses were in the way, and…
… and the moment they parted, Hubert surged up to kiss him again.
Ferdinand wavered on his feet, but just about regained his balance. Resting his knee on the armchair between Hubert's legs, he cradled his chin in calloused hands for a better angle as he returned the kiss, honey-gold waves soft against Hubert's cheek.
By the time they parted, the room was filled with new shadows, and the sky was the striking orange of winter sunset. One armchair, it turned out, accommodated the two of them perfectly sufficiently. As long as nobody insisted on maintaining decorum.
Hubert's arm was wrapped around Ferdinand's waist, his chin resting on top of his head, Ferdinand nestled against him. He hadn't stopped smiling, and all Hubert wanted was to reach out and trace the curve of that smile with his fingertips.
Then he realised, giddy, that he could act upon that impulse. But he didn't. Not that time. That time he simply revelled in having the option.
With a hum, Ferdinand nuzzled his neck, and it was all Hubert could do not to squirm, more ticklish than anyone could ever know.
"Hubert?" he murmured against his pulse point.
"What is it?"
"But really, when did we start courting?"
Hubert looked down. The other watched him expectantly, his golden eyes full of wonder. Something warm and tender flickered in his chest as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Ferdinand's ear. Unable to resist — not that he tried to — he pecked the corner of his mouth before he leaned down, and whispered into his ear: "I'm not telling you."
The outburst of indignation was absolutely worth it.