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The window was cold.
Illuga pressed his palm to the cold glass and did not move. Outside, snow fell in silence. Inside, the hearth had dimmed to embers, and the only light came from a single lamp.
He should have been in bed.
Instead, he was standing at the window, watching snow fall, thinking about Flins.
Flins sat behind him in the chair by the hearth. The book was open, but Illuga doubted he was reading. The pages had not moved in minutes. His thumb rested on the same page. And his eyes—Flins's eyes stayed on Illuga, watching him.
He never said what he was thinking. Just sat in silence, waiting. And Illuga had learned that those silences were never empty. They were filled with things Flins could not say. Things that lingered between them, unnamed but impossible to ignore.
The fire is low, Flins would say when he meant I am cold without you beside me.
You should eat, when he meant I have been watching you forget to take care of yourself and it scares me.
I will be here, when he means I am not going anywhere, even when you try to push me away.
Illuga was tired of translating. Tired of standing beside Flins and waiting for him to close the gap. Of the almosts that lived in every glance, touches that hesitated, words that meant more than they said.
Say it, Illuga thought, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. Just say it. One time. That is all I need.
But Flins never did.
And so Illuga stood at the window, tried to find the courage to say it first.
“You are thinking too loud,” Flins said from the chair.
Illuga did not turn around. “I am not thinking.”
“You are always thinking.” The soft creak of the chair as Flins shifted, leaning forward. “It is one of the things I like about you. And one of the things that drives me insane.”
Illuga's lips twitched. There it was. One of the things I like about you. He already knew Flins liked him. That was not the issue. The issue was that like was not love, and Flins had never said that word. Not once.
Flins gave him everything but those three words.
And Illuga was beginning to wonder if he ever would.
“Come back to the fire,” Flins said. “You are letting all the cold in.”
Illuga turned from the window.
Flins looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. The firelight caught the gold in his eyes, and made them warm. He looked comfortable. Legs stretched toward the hearth, book open in his lap, his whole body loose in a way it rarely was during the day.
He did not know what was coming.
Illuga walked over. His boots were clattering on the stone floor. The only sounds were his own breathing and the turn of a page as Flins went back to his book.
He stopped in front of Flins's chair and looked down at him.
Flins's book lowered. “What is it?”
Illuga's heart pounded against his ribs, so loud he was sure Flins must hear it.
He had imagined this moment for months. Lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, running the words over and over until they lost all meaning. Practiced in front of the mirror, watching his own mouth form the words, testing how they would feel. Whispered the words to empty rooms while Flins slept beside him.
Those were just dry runs. Rehearsals where no one could hear him stumble or fail. He could take them back, pretend they never happened.
But this was the real thing. And his hands were shaking.
“I need to tell you something.”
Flins's expression shifted. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by attentiveness. He closed his book with a soft thud, his fingers lingering on the cover. Hands stayed there, pressed against the leather.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is not serious. It is just... something.”
Flins tilted his head, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You are being mysterious. I did not think you had it in you.”
Illuga felt the warmth creep up his neck. “I am not being mysterious.”
“You are standing in front of my chair at midnight, looking like you are about to confess a crime." Flins's smirk widened. “That is mysterious.”
“I do not look like that.”
“You look exactly like that.” Flins set his book aside and folded his arms, settling deeper into the chair. “Should I be worried? Are you about to break up with me?”
Illuga stared at him. “What? No. That is not—“ He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Just let me say it.”
Flins's smirk faded. He nodded. “Then say it.”
Illuga's mouth opened, then closed. His voice had left him. He could not get the words out.
Flins waited, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. “You are doing the thing where you open and close your mouth like a fish.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” Flins's smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It is almost endearing. Almost.”
Illuga glared at him. “Can you be serious for one minute?”
Flins's expression gentled. “I am always serious. You just never notice because you are too busy overthinking.”
Illuga closed his eyes for a moment. He pressed his fingers against his thighs, feeling the fabric of his pants, grounding himself. Then he opened his eyes and took a long, slow breath.
“I love you.”
Just like that. He had imagined saying it a thousand times. He had never imagined it would feel like this.
Flins went completely still.
Illuga's heart pounded. His hands shook. His face flushed so hot he was sure he must be glowing. But he had said it. Finally, after months of carrying it.
“I love you,” Illuga said again, louder, stronger. The words came easier this time. “I am sorry I did not say it much earlier.”
He paused, his throat tightening. Flins still had not moved. But his hands had uncurled from fists he had not known he was making, resting open on his knees.
“I was not ready," Illuga continued. "I kept telling myself I needed more time to be sure, to be worthy of this." He let out a shaky laugh. "But you never asked me to be worthy. You just stayed.”
Illuga swallowed hard.
“I kept thinking there would be a perfect moment. A moment when I was not scared. When I was sure I would not mess it up.”
He let out a shaky breath. The tears in his eyes were threatening to spill over, and he blinked it back.
“That moment never came. So I am making it now. I love you, and I am sorry it took this long to say it.”
Flins did not move. His face was unreadable. His knuckles were white where his hands gripped his knees, the tendons standing out against his skin. His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath his ear. His chest barely moved—one shallow breath, then nothing. He had stopped breathing altogether.
Illuga's stomach dropped. The silence was crushing. “Say something. Please.”
Flins's throat moved. He swallowed once, twice, forcing down something that wanted to come out. His voice, when it finally came, was low.
“You have been standing at that window for one hour,” Flins said, “working up the courage to tell me you love me?”
Illuga's face flushed. “That is not—I was not—“
“You were.” Flins's smile grew. “Your ears are red.”
“I am going to leave,” Illuga said. “I am going to walk out that door and never come back.”
“No, you are not,” Flins said. His voice was soft now. The teasing faded. “You would have left by now.”
Illuga started to protest, then stopped himself. His mouth hung open for a moment. What’s the point? He let his shoulders drop.
Flins's eyes searched his face. He must have seen something there, because his expression shifted. The last traces of humor faded, leaving something Illuga had never seen before.
“Say it again.”
Illuga blinked. “What?”
“Say it again,” Flins's voice cracked on the last word, and he did not try to hide it.
His fingers reached out and found Illuga's wrist.
“I love you,” Illuga said.
Flins's hand tightened slightly around Illuga's wrist.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
Flins's other hand settled on Illuga's hip. He pulled gently, barely a tug, just enough for Illuga to notice the heat of his palm
“Again.”
“Flins—“
“Please,” Flins said, his voice barely audible. His eyes were closed, hands on Illuga's wrist and hip. He was begging. Flins, who never begged for anything, was begging. “Again.”
Illuga's throat tightened. Flins never said please. Not like this. He had heard Flins say many things, but he had never heard him sound so vulnerable.
“I love you,” Illuga said. Softer this time.
Flins's grip on his hip tightened. He pulled, and Illuga followed, stumbling until his knees pressed against the chair.
“Again,” Flins whispered.
“I love you.”
Another tug, and Illuga was there—knees on either side of Flins's thighs, hovering over him, close enough to feel his breath.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
Flins's hands circled Illuga's waist. He pulled, and Illuga crumbled forward, knees slipping off the cushion, body falling against Flins's chest. His hands scrambled to steady themselves against Flins's chest.
“I love you,” Illuga said, breathless.
Flins pulled him closer, arms wrapping tight around his waist. One hand spread across his lower back, holding him there. The other cupped the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his hair.
Illuga went still.
“Again,” Flins murmured against Illuga's ear.
“I love you.”
Flins pulled him closer, tighter, until there was nothing between them. Illuga's face was pressed to Flins's neck, his nose against the warm skin where a pulse thrummed beneath.
“Again,” Flins whispered.
Illuga's voice was muffled against Flins's skin. “I love you.”
His hand kept Illuga's head pressed close, refusing to let him pull back.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Illuga did not pull back. He pressed deeper, face buried in Flins's neck, lips against the edge of his collar. He did not want to move.
He wanted to stay here forever, hidden in the warmth of Flins's neck, wrapped in Flins's arms, held together by three words he had finally said.
Then Flins shifted.
Flins's hand slipped from Illuga's head to his shoulder. He pulled back just enough to turn, then buried his face in Illuga's neck.
The touch was soft. Breath warm and uneven, arms pulling him closer. Illuga closed his eyes and let himself be held.
Neither moved. Flins tucked into Illuga, Illuga tucked into Flins. Two people who had spent months not saying the words, finally letting the silence speak for them.
“I have been waiting,” Flins said softly, his words muffled against Illuga's skin, “to hear you say that.”
Illuga did not lift his face. He kept it buried in Flins's neck. His voice was muffled. “How long?”
Flins smiled against Illuga's throat. Illuga could feel it.
“Since the infirmary.”
Illuga's chest ached. “That was months ago.”
“I know.”
“You never said—“
“I knew you would say it when you were ready.” Flins's thumb traced slow circles on Illuga's lower back. “I did not need to hear it to know it was true.”
Illuga's eyes stung. “You could have said it first.”
Flins's smile widened against Illuga's skin. “Would you have believed me?”
Illuga shook his head against Flins's neck. No. He would not have. If Flins had said it first, Illuga would have asked himself if Flins really meant it or if he was just being kind. He would have found reasons not to believe.
Flins's arms tightened around him.
“I love you too,” Flins said.
Illuga closed his eyes and let the words in. They arrived soft against his neck, then spread through every part of him that had been waiting. When they stopped moving, they had made a home.
“I love you,” Flins said again. “And I have marked every part of you without you even noticing. The way you lean into me when you are tired. When you reach for me in your sleep. The way you say my name when you think I cannot hear you.”
His voice faltered.
“You have already claimed me. Every corner of my heart. I did not even notice it happening. One day I was just watching you from across the room. The next, I could not look away. And now I cannot imagine looking anywhere else.”
Illuga's breath caught against Flins's skin.
“I am done being careful with it,” Flins continued, his fingers tightening in Illuga's hair. “Done holding back. I love you, and I want everyone to know it—but after you stop doubting what you have always seen in my eyes, felt in my touch, heard in the way your name breaks against my lips.”
He pulled back just enough to look at Illuga's face. Illuga felt the loss of warmth immediately. But Flins's hands stayed on him. One on his waist. One on his cheek.
“Because you are mine,” Flins said. His voice was low. “And I am done pretending otherwise.”
Illuga could not breathe.
Flins's thumb brushed across Illuga's cheekbone.
“I was afraid you would not believe me,” Flins admitted. “So I never said it. I just... held on. I thought holding on was louder than words. I thought you would understand.”
Illuga wanted to say something. That he saw it now. That he had always understood, somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and the doubt. But the words stuck in his throat, and Flins was still speaking.
“But you said it first. You gave me permission.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “So I am saying it now. I love you and I am yours.”
Illuga's throat was too tight to speak. His chest was too full. His vision blurred, but he refused to let the tears fall. He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
“You are mine too,” Illuga said. “I am not sharing.”
He held Flins tighter, arms locked around his shoulders, as if daring the world to try and take him. Flins went still for a moment, surprised by the possessiveness in Illuga's voice. Then the tension in him seemed to loosen, shoulders relaxing, arms pulling Illuga closer.
Then Illuga pulled Flins back toward him and buried his face in his neck again, breathing him in. Flins's arms came around him immediately, pulling him closer, and Flins tucked his face into Illuga's neck in return. Their breath mingled. Hearts beat against each other, two rhythms slowly finding the same pace.
After a long moment, Flins drew back just enough to look at Illuga's face. His eyes were soft, still glistening, but there was a glint in them—the familiar spark of mischief that Illuga had come to love.
“You know,” Flins said, his voice light with teasing, “you could have just told me you loved me. The window treatment was a bit dramatic.”
Illuga's face turned crimson. “I was not being dramatic!”
“You were standing at the window for an hour. In the dark. Staring at nothing.”
“I was thinking.”
“You were panicking.” Flins's smile widened. “Your ears are still red.”
Illuga swatted at his chest. “I am leaving.”
“Liar.” Flins caught his hand and held it, fingers intertwining with his own. “You already said you love me. You cannot leave now. That would be cruel.”
Illuga groaned. “You are never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Never.” Flins pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then another. “I am going to bring it up every day. I am going to wake you up and say, ‘Remember that time you stood at the window for an hour like a lovesick fool?’”
“I hate you.”
“No, you do not.” Flins smiled against his skin. “You love me. You said so. Fifteen times. I was counting.”
Illuga buried his face in Flins's shoulder. “I regret everything.”
“Sure you do.” Flins pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Illuga's waist. “You are happy. Admit it.”
“I am not giving you the satisfaction.”
“Your ears are still red.”
“Flins.”
“And you are hiding in my shoulder.” Flins's voice impossibly fond. “And you said 'I love you' first. I have never been more satisfied in my entire life.”
Illuga lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” Flins said, brushing a strand of hair from Illuga's forehead, tucking it behind his ear, “you still love me.”
Illuga held his gaze for a moment. The teasing faded from his expression.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Flins's smile gentled. He pressed his forehead to Illuga's, their noses brushing.
“I love you too,” he said softly. “Even when you are dramatic.”
Illuga sighed. “Fine. Maybe I was panicking a little.”
“A little?” Flins raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. A lot.”
Flins laughed, the sound filling the quiet room. He pulled Illuga close, tucking Illuga's head under his chin, one hand coming up to stroke through his hair.
Illuga let himself be held. He listened to the beat of Flins's heart beneath his ear, felt the rise and fall of his chest, the gentle pull of fingers through his hair. And for once, his mind was quiet.
He lifted his head just enough to press his lips against Flins's chest.
“I love you,” Illuga whispered.
Flins's hand stilled in his hair. For a moment, he did not move. Then his arms tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the side of Illuga's head.
“I love you too,” Flins said softly.
The room grew quiet around them. The fire settled into embers. Snow drifted past the window. The lamp flickered once, twice, then burned again.
And still, they held each other.
For once, Illuga did not regret speaking first.
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The End