𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

第十三 | THIRTEEN

the angst seems to be repeatedly delayed. oh well. next chapter it is. anyway; today as a reward for waiting patiently you shall get tooth rotting fluff and y/n character development. enjoy my hungry little brothers and sisters

leave a comment in paragraphs as you read' u have no idea how comments influence the speed of updates. I tend to get very demotivated without comments

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In Claude's dreams you were a vestige of his past.

He knew—he knew that you were alive in the present. That he had disrupted Flow, and had managed to bring you back to the life. But now Claude knew, with overwhelming despair and pain, that this would be the very reason that you suffered in this life. Was your eye not proof of that?

In his dreams he traced the outline of your face in the dark—his fingers would linger on the slope of your cheek, trickle down to the curve of your jawline, then at your pretty mouth. Claude knew every inch of your skin like a map engraved on his fingertips; he would feel your pulse beneath his fingers, thudding softly yet quickly, and he would smile, his lips tugging up.

Then when Claude woke up, he would close his eyes and try desperately to return to that fleeting, beautiful moment. Yes, the two of you were lovers now (lovers—how wondrous, how precious) but for how long could this last? If he had his way, Claude would have engraved it upon the earth so that the gods would have known not to touch you (who would dare? Claude alone possessed the power to rival them) or even talk about you. To fight against divinity was risky. But to lose you was the greatest risk.

He was gratified, immensely so, to see you as the first thing when he woke up. Similar to when Claude had slipped between universes and had woken up from the coma, he had seen you, biting your lip nervously, pacing back and down. And Claude had the pleasure of seeing your face light up; you rushing towards him, before your hands had briefly touched his cheek. Your expression had crumpled for a moment, and Claude had been quickly to reassure you.

You were always there as a constant figure in his life. Claude hardly slept on the bed; he often slept on couches, sofas, even with his head on the desks. You fared the same, and it was an often sight for maids to see the two of you in odd places drifting off to sleep. Papers were often sprawled around carelessly.

This time was different.

"...Claude," you said slowly, though the Duke could see a faint blush spreading across your cheeks to your ears. "You surely cannot be asking..."

"What's wrong? It's what lovers do, is it not?" Claude hummed, unbothered by the dumbfounded expression on your face. "Why? Does the thought of getting close to me make you uncomfortable?"

Claude finger's were stroking your hair lightly. You found, to your surprise and slight embarrassment, the two of you sprawled on the bed, the papers around in a mess. Claude's smile dazzled you and you had to blink.

How, and when, did we get into this position?

Of course you knew. A few days had passed since that dear kiss, and today had been normal, like any other—but it seemed the Duke seemed restless, almost; and the two of you had gone down in a tangle of limbs, with breathless laughs and kisses. It was just like when the two of you were kids; you two would always be in close proximity, lying around on the cushions, the floor, the bed. There was something so intimate yet so innocent about this.

"I think we are already incredibly close," you answered lightly, before you looked away. "I've known you longer than anyone else."

"You have, haven't you?" Claude said, his tone affectionate. You were learning, bit by bit, step by step, on how to accept this. This arrangement. This love. It was foreign in so many aspects; but oh, so welcomed. For so long you yearned for this and for this to unfold right before your eyes—you detailed every contour, detail, of Claude's adoring smile to your face. "We both know I'm talking about different things, however."