Love and War

Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of it's characters.

In which there is a long Yuuri/Wolfram scene where they partake in much discussion…

Love and War
By Mikage

Chapter Eleven

Yuuri leaned with his forehead pressed against the cool glass of one of the tall windows in his bedchamber, black eyes peering into the darkness of the outside world, as if this simple activity to unveil to him all the answers to life’s many questions. He’d just returned from Earth only a couple of days ago, only to be told upon his arrival that another one of their villages had been completely destroyed, hundreds more lives ended. With everything else that had been going on recently, he hadn’t been very surprised, although the internal pain he’d felt when he’d been informed about the attack on Fane had risen again.

Outside the world seemed to be at peace, although he knew that in other places in their country, there were others who were suffering. The stars were twinkling in the deep black sky and the moon was bright and full, it’s white beams shining down on him as he stood there, his black jacket somewhere on the other side of the room. His white undershirt was half unbuttoned, though left tucked into his pants. He’d been in the process of getting undressed before moving to stand there, the task now almost completely forgotten as he let his mind wander.

He’d taken to looking out over the castle grounds a lot in the last few days, whether it was morning or night, pondering what course of action they should take next, asking questions of himself that he could not answer, mourning for those who’d died, lives he could have saved if only he hadn’t been so stubborn, so foolish. If he’d only done more, tried harder, both Fane and Merton wouldn’t be piles of wreckage in the middle of no where right now, but the lively, bustling villages they had once been. If he hadn’t been so… so uncompromising, that little boy who’d been brought to the castle wouldn’t have suffered, wouldn’t have been so scarred.

He didn’t want a war, no matter what anyone said, and though he still believed in diplomacy, in peace, he couldn’t help but wonder if the others were right, if waiting for another solution would take too long, lead to even more destruction. Even if they didn’t fight, they could still do more in offering protection to their people, right? Or would all of their efforts be made in vain now that it had gotten this far, now that things had become so bleak? Was it possible that they must go to war in order to bring peace? Could a war really end with their country better off than it was now?

He didn’t think so.

‘A war to end all wars,’ Yuuri thought, but shook his head almost immediately. It was a nice idea, he supposed, that wars could end with peace, the statement itself used to justify the decision to go to battle, to make it seem more worthwhile than it really was, but he knew that such a thing couldn’t possibly be true. That’s what the second World War on Earth was supposed to have been, but those sentiments had not lasted long. The Korean War had followed, the Cold War, the war in Vietnam, the Gulf War, and all the problems that constantly plagued his home world. There was no end to the violence and hatred. It was like a continuous loop that went on throughout time, with no way of ever stopping. He refused to start that cycle here.

The nineteen year old hardly heard the door creak open as such thoughts and convictions were playing themselves out in his head, though he was aware of Wolfram entering the room, could see his reflection in the glass of the window. He must have just come from the bath, his blond hair limp, a damp tangle about his face. His nightgown hung from his narrow shoulders the way it always did, and Yuuri was glad that the image in the window was a faint one, so that he was prevented from seeing clearly what he knew was there.

Bruises had marred the pale skin that was exposed, and even now they were still visible, faint but there nonetheless. It hurt to look at them, to know that he’d been the one to put them there, to think of how much his control had slipped, his erratically shifting emotions bringing harm to his friend. He didn’t know how to explain what was happening to him, or how he’d reacted to some of Wolfram’s statements that night of the massacre in Fane, but he was afraid. He didn’t like the person he’d turned into over the last few weeks, though he didn’t know what had brought the change about or how to stop it from continuing.

He felt like he was losing who he was, who he used to be, the carefree boy who’d once jumped every hurdle and crossed all obstacles with confidence and lighthearted cheer. The anger that had been so easily pushed away or ignored in childhood was now a dark cloud over his head, something he dreaded and felt ashamed of, growing inside of him until he could physically feel the pressure, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Before, whenever the Maou had been released in times of danger, the sensation had come and gone quickly, usually within a matter of minutes. Now it was with him practically all the time, steadily growing stronger, waiting for the right moment to release itself.

He hated violence of any kind, hated it even more when he used it himself - though if it meant saving someone else’s life, he’d do anything he could. It made him sick and deathly afraid to think of what he was capable of, the spectacles brought about by his alternate personality, the powers he possessed as the king of the Mazoku. He didn’t like that power, didn’t want it if that’s what was making him feel like this. What was the point of possessing something that would only hurt others?

“Yuuri?” he heard Wolfram call his name questioningly, walking up behind him with a frown on his pretty face, waiting for the dark haired man to acknowledge his presence before speaking again. “Come away from the window,” he requested, as he had many times since the king had started this routine.

“Why?” Yuuri asked absently, refusing to remove his forehead from the cool surface it was pressed against.

“It’s getting late,” Wolfram told him. “You should go to bed and try to get some sleep.”

The king let out a light sigh, but still did not move an inch. “I’m not tired,” he said in return, though it was only half true. Ever since he’d been told about what happened in Fane, he’d been unable to sleep, waking up after only a few hours from nightmares of fire and death. Truthfully he was exhausted, but he ignored his fatigue as best he could. He’d rather live the rest of his life with hardly any sleep than have anymore of those frightening dreams.

“Even so,” the blond replied, “you can’t stand here all night.”

“Can’t I?”

Wolfram frowned at his clipped answer and empty tone, moving closer so that he could wrap his arms around Yuuri from behind, resting against is back as he’d done once before, trying his hardest to give comfort, to lessen the pain that was hurting him inside. He wasn’t used to this, to comforting people. Hugging was almost completely alien to him. There were few people he’d embraced besides his mother, and although he felt as if he were trying his best now, Yuuri’s lack of a reaction wasn’t much of a reassurance.

“Stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault,” he breathed, taking in Yuuri’s scent as he slowly inhaled, thankful that he was able to be close like this, but wishing it were under better circumstances. Why couldn’t he and Yuuri be like this on normal terms, without being incited by a heated argument or the effects of a national disaster?

“It was my fault,” the raven haired male said, closing his eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

“It wasn’t,” Wolf returned forcefully, hating the hint of self-loathing he could hear in the younger man’s voice.

“Murata’s mad at me,” the King continued sadly, one of his hands raising up to clutch onto one of the paler ones against his chest, unconsciously seeking the comfort and understanding only Wolfram was able to provide him with.

“He’ll get over it,” was the quiet reassurance. “The Sage just needs to take some time to cool off. He’s been spending too many hours in Gwendal’s company.

Yuuri frowned at the mention of his dark haired Chief of State, easily remembering the look of rage that had been directed at him a week ago, the last time the two of them had spoken to one another or been in the same room with each other for more than a few seconds. “Gwendal must be so angry right now,” he said, shaking his head dejectedly. “After what I said and how I acted… I can’t even face him,” he told the slighter boy. “I feel like I’ve taken all the years that he’s been loyal and looked out for me and thrown it right back into his face.”

He paused, feeling a familiar disappointment squeeze his heart. “Why did I say that to him?” he wondered, more to himself than to the young man at his back. The words he’d spoken to the blond’s eldest brother had sounded smart at the time he’d thought of them, but once they’d tumbled from his lips he’d realized just how insulting they’d truly been, especially in the manner in which he’d said them.

“You were angry and upset,” the full blooded mazoku responded, tightening his hold a bit more.

“That’s not much of an excuse, is it?” Yuuri asked before releasing a heavy breath. “I’ve never felt so out of control,” he voiced some of his earlier thoughts out loud. “It’s like I can’t stop myself. I say things that I don’t mean to say, and do things that I…” He envisioned himself gripping onto his friend’s shoulders, leaving the bruises that left splotches of color on near white flesh. “…that I wouldn’t ever do otherwise.”

“You’re stressed,” Wolfram reminded him, the same thing he’d said on other occasions, as if explaining the king’s shift in behavior was as simple as that. “You have to calm down, Yuuri.” He thought it ironic that he was telling Yuuri such a thing, when usually it was he who had trouble controlling his temper. It was amazing how much they’d changed over the years.

“Do you really think they’re right? Should we go to war with Shimeron? Is trying to talk to Belal or any of the others really such a waste of our time?”

Slowly Wolfram removed his arms from around the taller man, sliding his hands from within Yuuri’s own to press against the tense muscle of the king’s back, rubbing comfortingly. “I don’t know what to think,” he said in answer, finding that that was really the most truthful one he could give. Years ago he wouldn’t have hesitated about going to battle or starting a war with the humans. Now, however, things were different, and he’d learned to rethink he old ways. “What’s important is what you think.”

“You know what I think,” Yuuri replied with another sigh, moving to turn around and face his friend, feeling as Wolfram’s palms lightly pressed against his chest. The double black didn’t bother to push them away or ask that the mazoku prince remove them. He found that he didn’t much care what Wolfram did as long as he didn’t leave. “But what if Murata’s right?” he asked. “What if I’m wrong this time? What if I’m just creating more problems by trying to talk to him and not doing anything else?”

“You shouldn’t live you life based on ‘what ifs,’” his counterpart said. “What matters is ‘what is.’ You’re the king, and as your subjects they’ll follow your orders, whether they agree with them or not. They’ve already overstepped their bounds more that once by questioning your will. Even the Sage, with all of his power and authority, crossed the line the other night.”

“He had every right to express his opinion. So did Gwendal. I shouldn’t be angry about that.”

Even after their argument, and even though they hadn’t spoken a word to one another since, Yuuri still felt the need to defend his human friend. They’d never had such a huge misunderstanding before, and even though he’d been mad at Murata at the time and upset over the fact that the other earthen man was turning against him at a time when the king needed his support the most, he could understand where Ken was coming from, at least somewhat. He and the others were worried - and rightly so - that Belal would continue to ignore their demands, and that the state of Shin Makoku would grow worse as the days and weeks went on.

He just wished Murata and the others would trust him more, and realize that he only wanted what would be in the best interest of the people. Certainly that wasn’t war. How could it be?

“It’s one thing to express an opinion that differs from your own,” Wolfram calmly told him. “It’s completely different when they’re shouting insults at you.”

Yuuri was actually amused by that statement, enough so that he smiled down at the blond teasingly. “This from the person who’s called me a ‘wimp’ and a ‘cheater’ on a daily basis. Not to mention all the other names and curses you’ve screamed into my face.”

The blond flushed, red rising to color his fair cheeks, and he averted his eyes to the floor, either embarrassed or angry that Yuuri had pointed that out to him and turned his words back on him. “That’s different,” he claimed, though he didn’t sound very convincing. “I have certain rights as your fian-” he stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d just been about to say, correcting himself quietly, “… as your husband.”

Yuuri either didn’t notice the slip or was nice enough to refrain from calling him on it. “Really?” he inquired instead.

Wolfram’s frown deepened, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced back up at the half-human, shaking his head as he finally admitted, “No. It’s improper for someone of a lower rank to insult the king. Some would even consider it treasonous.”

“You’re a prince now,” Yuuri reminded him of his recently elevated status.

“You still out rank me.”

The King paused to consider this for a moment, thinking on all the times Wolfram had gotten into his face to shout at or reprimand him, and though it had always been more of an annoyance than anything, he knew it would have been odd had Wolfram refrained from doing such things. The attitude and mood swings were all a part of the other boy’s character; he wouldn’t be Wolfram without the petulance and the jealousy, the demands and forwardness. It was actually strangely cute, Yuuri decided, like a spoiled little brother and an overprotective older one rolled up into a single person.

“I don’t really mind so much,” he admitted, flashing the other boy another small smile. “I’d get a little annoyed if all of you said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty. Whatever you say, Your Majesty’ about everything I do. I want you to speak up when something bothers you or if you don’t agree with me. Otherwise, how am I supposed to know when I’m-” he cut himself off, his smile fading as the next word struck something within him, the memories of last week’s argument returning. “… wrong…”

‘How can I say something like that when I didn’t even listen to what Murata and Gwendal were saying?’ he wondered to himself.

Wolfram stared up at him, noting the saddened look that had quickly replaced his teasing one. “You’re a very unusual king,” he said, remembering all the times when Yuuri had taken the blame and responsibility onto his own shoulders, even if it wasn’t truly his to bear, carrying the burden on his own. He wondered over it, sliding is hands up the king’s chest until they came to rest upon those shoulders, tense beneath his touch, weighed down by too much. He couldn’t readily think of another person who accepted so many hardships the way Yuuri did, except for Conrart, and perhaps Gwendal, the former more so than the later.

‘I’ve fallen in love with a man who acts like my brothers,’ he thought to himself, wishing - not for the first time - that there was more he could do to help the king, to relieve him of the oppressing weight accompanying his responsibilities. He didn’t want Yuuri to end up like his older siblings, cold and bitter inside like Conrart - though successfully able to hide behind an empty, fake smile - and harsh and aloof like Gwendal, angry at the world and all the people in it. Yuuri was too pure, too innocent to become like them, forced to grow old too quickly.

“Unusual compared to who?” Yuuri asked, his lips forming a smile again, not seeming to notice the serious path Wolfram’s thoughts had suddenly taken. “I haven’t met many people in this world who aren’t more than a little odd.”

“Compared to my mother, you’re not much different,” the prince replied, glad to see Yuuri’s mood lighten, even if it only lasted for a little while. “She could never punish or hurt anyone, but she had Stoffel to handle those sorts of things for her, just as I suppose you have Gwendal now,” he said with a tiny smile of his own. “But compared to all the other kings and queens I learned about when I was younger, you’re a complete pushover.”

Yuuri released a short, amused chuckle. “Would you rather I be more like King Slaughter?” he wondered, thinking of the most menacing of all the previous mazoku king’s he’d learned about under Gunter’s tutelage. King Slaughter had truly lived up to his name, savagely murdering many of his own people, most of whom he considered weak or inferior, wanting only those who’s powers were great to reside in the lands of the monarchy. He’d gone through four wives and two husbands, most of whom he’d had beheaded when his desire for them waned.

“Of course not,” Wolfram answered, echoing the dark haired man’s light laugh. He couldn’t imagine Yuuri doing anything even remotely cruel to his people, much less physically harming him in any way. “But it wouldn’t hurt for you to be a bit more forceful. If people like Belal see a weakness in you, they won’t hesitate to exploit it.”

“How should I act then?”

Wolfram looked at him, his bright emerald gaze meeting black, and he could have sworn there was a challenging glint in those dark eyes, even if only for a second. “Hold your head up,” he told him, lifting a hand to tap his chin, watching as he did as he’d been told. “Stand straight, keep your shoulders back. Don’t slouch.”

Obediently Yuuri followed his instructions, standing taller than he had a few short moments ago, when he’d been slumped in defeat, plagued by his unending troubles. He looked handsome, the slighter young man admitted to himself, dark hair falling around his face and brushing against his shoulders, bangs hanging into eyes that were darker than night, skin tan and smooth to the touch. Double Black as he was, his exotic looks gave him a naturally regal air, even when he didn’t act at all as a king should. Yuuri possessed a certain charm, a charisma that attracted people to him. It was almost effortless.

“Stop smiling like a fool,” the blond continued, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. It was no wonder he was attracted to the half-human man. Standing there in his dark pants and half unbuttoned white shirt, with his black hair and eyes catching the light of the stars, the moon, and the candles that had been lit in their room, he was one of the most physically appealing men Wolfram had met in his entire life. He was tempted to touch him again, to place his hands against the portion of his chest exposed by the partially opened shirt, but stubbornly held back, knowing how Yuuri would react to being pushed too quickly.

Even so, he couldn’t control the impulse completely. “Fix your shirt,” he demanded, but did it himself, smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the collar, able to feel Yuuri’s body heat through the thin material. “I don’t think you should leave your hair like that,” he added after another thought, lighting fingering a black lock.

“You’re the one who wanted me to grow it out a little,” he reminded him with a confused, slightly annoyed frown. “I thought you said it made me look more regal.”

“It does, but you could at least take the time to do more than just brush it.”

“Like what? Curl it?” Yuuri asked, a look of distaste crossing his handsome visage.

Wolfram snorted at the mental picture, then rolled his eyes the way he always did when the other boy was being stupid. “Of course not. You’d look ridiculous.”

“Well, what else would I do with it?”

Wolfram released a sigh, as if he were becoming exasperated, when really he was enjoying this time alone with Yuuri. It seemed as if he’d successfully managed to take the taller man’s mind off of the problems concerning the kingdom and their human enemies, at least for the moment. Now that they’d started this little etiquette lesson, Yuuri seemed willing the play along, and Wolfram would sooner die that do anything that would cause the king to revert back to the solemn, heartbroken young man he’d been while staring out the window. At least now his mind was focused on something else, and Wolfram was being given one of those rare opportunities to be close to him.

“Stay right here,” he said, moving to the vanity, to begin digging around in one of the drawers, pulling out a thin piece of white ribbon. “You could use this.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you have a hair ribbon in here.”

“Greta left it, you moron,” the prince replied as he moved back to where he’d left him standing, rolling his eyes once again. He stood behind long enough to pull his hair back, tying the ribbon to it to form a little ponytail at the nape of his neck. “There,” he said once he’d finished, stepping back around to get a better look at him. “Now you look at least a little better. You don’t seem like such a slob.”

“Jee, thanks, Wolf,” Yuuri said sarcastically, moving to peer into the mirror, a bit surprised when he caught sight of his reflection. His bangs and a few shorter pieces of hair still fell into and around his face, but having the rest of it held back gave him a look that was a little more sharp and sophisticated than usual, more like how he’d imagined royalty would appear. “You’re right, though,” he admitted, turning back to his friend with a winning smile.

Wolfram simply snorted and said, “Of course I am,” while lifting his nose into the air arrogantly.

“Alright,” Yuuri began again, indulging him for the moment. “What else do I need to work on?”

“Walking.”

The Earthen man looked confused, raising one dark eyebrow curiously. “Walking? Why?”

“You stumble around like a fool,” Wolfram answered his inquiries, then gave him a push in the shoulder as a sign for him to start ambling around the room. “You should be more graceful. Keep your head up and shoulders back. Look confident.”

The darker man did what was requested of him, circling the room with sure, precise steps, concentrating on getting it right. He’d never put much thought into how he walked before, and now that he was putting so much focus into it he realized how hard it was to do it correctly. He felt more likely to trip himself up now that he was conscious of the way his feet were moving, and he had to force himself to keep from glancing down, keeping his head up like Wolfram has said, staring ahead of him with his back and shoulders as straight as he could possibly make them, appearing as confident as he could.

“If you want to greet someone, nod at them,” Wolfram went on with his lecture, keeping his eyes on the other man the entire time, drinking in his every move. “Don’t shout out ‘hi,’ ‘what’s up,’ or ‘how’s it going.’”

“Why do I get the impression that you’re going to nag at me about the way I talk?” Yuuri wondered out loud.

“Maybe because I am,” the fair haired mazoku prince said, putting a hand to Yuuri’s chest to stop him from walking more. “You speak like a commoner, even to your guests. It wouldn’t kill you to be a bit more polite.”

“I am polite,” Yuuri claimed. “I’m just not used to all these formalities. I don’t want to seem so stiff and unapproachable like Gwendal of Hube. I want people to know that they can talk to me without me looking down my nose at them.”

“Gwendal and Lord Griesela were born and raised during a time when formalities were expected.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Not really,” Wolfram answered him with a quick shake of his head. “By then my mother was Queen, and she’d begun to set a new example for our people.”

“If she did, then why can’t I?” he asked.

“Because Mother knew when it was appropriate to be informal and when it wasn’t,” the blond replied easily. “Certain people get very insulted when they’re spoken to like that. You have to know who to be polite to and who you can be a little more friendly with. You’re friendly with everyone,” Wolf pointed out, “and if you keep that up some people might begin to question your intentions.”

“I don’t want to be cruel to anyone.”

“You don’t have to be,” Wolfram shook his head again. “The only difference between being formal and informal is how you say things. If you’re talking to Conrart or me, it’s alright to say ‘hell no’ or ‘no way,’ but if you’re speaking to any other high standing nobleman, what would you say to refuse them?”

Yuuri grinned cheekily. “I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.”

Wolfram raised an eyebrow, but otherwise appeared unimpressed.

“I got that from a movie,” the king explained.

“Be serious,” his friend demanded, shooting him an annoyed look.

“I am.”

“Then stop joking around.”

“I’m not,” Yuuri said, seeming confused again. “I used big words and said ‘no’ formally.”

“That sounded insulting and contemptuous,” the other boy told him with a huff. “You should have said ‘no, thank you,’ or ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I really can’t accept.”

Yuuri released a heavy sigh, his shoulder slumping as he did so. “I don’t like being formal if it’s so damned confusing. How am I supposed to know what sounds good and what doesn’t?”

“Don’t slouch!” Wolfram snapped, pleased when the young man instantly straightened up. “Next you need to work on your dancing.”

“Oh, come on!” the darker male let out a loud and quite undignified groan. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Hardly,” the prince snorted derisively.

Yuuri was beginning to become annoyed at this point, but relented without too much fuss. “Teach me to dance, then.”

Neither of them moved for a long moment, Yuuri waiting for Wolfram to give him instructions and Wolfram deciding how he wanted to go about doing this. He didn’t want to get too close, didn’t want to make the other man feel cornered and threatened, but he had to admit that he liked the thought of dancing with Yuuri, especially if he was coming into it willingly. When they’d danced together on the night of their wedding, he’d been happy for the excuse to stand close, to hold his hand, to feel Yuuri’s arm around him. The only thing that had ruined the experience had been the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into them, making them both nervous and unable to enjoy it as they should have.

Now he was being given another chance, but Wolfram didn’t want to push things too far. Yuuri was being amazingly responsive - he’d thought the other young man would want to quit this by now, had expected him to balk at the idea of dancing and refuse to go any further. To have him willing and unafraid of being so close was almost a dream come true. It gave Wolfram the hope that things could work out, that if they took it slow, started off easily, maybe the delicate thing that was their relationship would start to take off, perhaps grow one day.

But those thoughts didn’t last long at all, and Wolfram squashed them before they could further evolve, shoving that hope away and reminding himself that he’d already been through this more than once before. He was being foolish, wanting things that could never be, hoping for what he could never have. This dance, it wouldn’t mean anything to Yuuri, just as it had meant nothing to him the last time. Yuuri was only doing this to humor him, of that he was almost certain; either that or he thought of this as nothing more than one of his many lessons - which, in truth, it had started out as. If he’d thought it was anything else, Yuuri would have instantly refused.

“Fine,” he eventually said, forcing himself into the mindset of an instructor and not of a romantic partner. “Hold my right hand with your left,” he told him, lifting his arm so that it was at a right angle and slipping his palm into Yuuri’s slightly larger one. “Now, I’ll put my left hand on your shoulder, and you put your right arm around me, with your hand on my back.”

A look of concentration crossed the king’s face then, as if he really wanted to do this right, and he did as Wolfram said, placing his free hand against the blond’s upper back, just below his shoulder blades. “My lower back, you wimp,” Wolf was quick to correct him, “with your arm around my waist.”

Yuuri blushed lightly in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he apologized, and Wolfram was almost ready for him to pull away and suggest that they forget all about this. Surprisingly, Yuuri remained where he was and corrected his mistake instead, sliding his hand down until it rested gently against the small of his back. Wolfram found himself blushing as well when he thought that the movement of Yuuri’s palm down his spine had felt like a caress, and was unable to look the king in the eye when he asked, “Like this?”

“Right,” Wolf answered, wondering if this were really such a good idea. Any minute now he was going to be pushed away again - he just knew it - and then he’d be left disappointed, just like he always was. “Now lead me.”

“Why do I have to lead?” the half-human wondered, sounding as if he didn’t very much like the idea.

“You’re the king,” Wolfram reminded him. “If you allow someone else to lead you it would make you appear weak and incapable.”

“I don’t care. It’s not like there’s anyone else in here.”

“Just do it. I already know how to dance. You’re the one who needs practice.”

“But there isn’t any music.”

“Do you always have to be so difficult?” Wolfram nearly growled, agitated.

Yuuri was about to tell the slighter boy that he was ten-times more difficult even on his good days, but was prevented from doing so when Wolfram began humming a familiar tune. Yuuri took a few moments to collect himself, then began to lead Wolfram across the floor of the bedroom. He began somewhat slowly, peering downwards so that he would not step on the blond’s bare feet, but once a few moments had gone by without any mistakes being made, he began to gain more confidence, speeding up to match the pace of the song, which wasn’t fast at all, but not nearly as slow as he’d originally been taking it.

It was at this point that Wolfram’s humming morphed into soft singing, and the words that reached Yuuri’s ears brought to mind memories of the earlier portion of their wedding night, and the awkward dance they’d shared within the crowded ballroom. He hadn’t really listened to the words then, too distracted and lost in thought to care much for what the minstrel had been singing about, but now that he and the prince were alone and he no longer had to worry about the impression he was making in front of more than a hundred other people, he was able to relax and better appreciate the lyrics that Wolfram sang - he would admit - quite beautifully.

After a while, when nothing disastrous had happened to cause either man to stop, Yuuri slowly lifted his dark eyes, trailing them over the body in front of him, watching the fluid movements it made, in awe of the almost effortless grace that was shown. The pink fabric of Wolfram’s nightdress swayed about his legs as they moved, and if he stared at the bottom half long enough - and took in the way the gown flowed loosely - he could almost imagine that he was dancing with a woman. It was only when his eyes trialed up to the flat chest that he was reminded, and the fantasy died a quick death, leaving him with his arms full of a too pretty male.

Somehow that didn’t seem so bad, and the warmth he always felt when they embraced swept through him again, until he felt strangely detached. He and Wolfram weren’t really touching; they held hands, there was a light pressure against his shoulder, and his arm was around Wolfram’s waist, but they weren’t nearly as close together as they had been a few times before. And yet he could still feel the heat from his slender frame, could almost feel what it was like to have Wolfram locked against his side. All it would take was a pull of the arm he had around him and the blond would be pressed to him, safe and close, warm and comforting.

‘I can’t do that,’ he thought to himself, black eyes landing on the bruises that were almost gone, but still caused a pain in his heart. ‘I can’t get to close. It wouldn’t be right.’

But what did it really mean to be right, to be normal? Who was he to say what was right and what was wrong? How could anything or anyone possibly be considered normal when they were all so different? How was he supposed to know what he really wanted if he never gave anyone a chance, if he never took the opportunity to find out? How was he supposed to sort out his feelings and come to a conclusion if he didn’t take the first steps required to start? How was he supposed to know anything about love if he didn’t even accept it when it was given to him?

‘I can’t,’ his mind said again, constantly at odds with his heart. Where his heart wanted to try, to take what was being offered and hold onto it - because he may never experience the joy of being loved again - his mind would rather be safe than sorry, and talked him out of all the mistakes he could have made. ‘This is wrong. This isn’t what I want,’ he thought, eyes finally making it up to Wolfram’s face.

His friend was looking up at him, his voice still gently lilting, and Yuuri felt a familiar tightening in his chest - the one that made it difficult to breath, the one he’d suffered from when Wolf had walked down the isle during their wedding ceremony. Had Wolfram’s eyes always been so green, he wondered as his mouth suddenly went dry, leaving him dazed. Had his hair always been so blond, a golden crown atop his head, perfectly framing his pretty face, even if it had yet to be brushed after his bath. Had his skin always been so white and amazingly flawless, soft and warm to the tough? Had Wolfram always looked so breathtaking?

He supposed Wolf had, since the smaller boy hadn’t changed at all since they’d met. Hair that was two or so inches longer than it used to be did nothing to alter his appearance, and so Yuuri could only assume that he’d never noticed just how refined his best friend looked, or he hadn’t taken the time required to truly appreciate it. He was stunning; Yuuri would say that he was akin to the princes of fairytales if only they could measure up to him. Even one of the princesses would pale when placed next to him - even Aurora, with all the beauty gifted to her by the good fairies.

Staring at him, Yuuri felt as if he’d been put under some kind of spell, or perhaps he’d been drugged, his senses failing to work properly. He didn’t see the room around them or the stars and moon through the window, just gold hair, emerald eyes and porcelain skin. He couldn’t smell the scent of the polish the maids used on the wooden furniture, just the light, sweet smell of soap, the fresh scent of water. He didn’t hear anyone bustling down the halls or tree branches scraping against the castle, just Wolfram’s voice, soft and smooth as he continued to sing. And he didn’t feel the floor beneath his feet as they danced, but a pale hand, lightly callused but still soft within his own.

‘Stop,’ he told himself, his heartbeat picking up when he realized that he couldn’t. ‘Stop! This is wrong!’ his mind reminded him again, shouting loudly, trying to be heard over the singing that was coming from the young man in his arms.

Wolfram didn’t seem to notice his discomfort or the war currently going on inside of him, green eyes still locked with black, a small, barely there smile lifting a pair of full, pink lips. He seemed to be enjoying himself, perhaps able to think for the time being that things were okay between them. They weren’t arguing or worrying about anything outside of the four walls that surrounded them, lost in the quiet moment they’d found, the peace that filled them. It was as if all was right in the world when, in reality, things couldn’t have been any worse.

‘Get away!’ his mind was still trying to convince him, a frown finding it’s way onto his face as the inner battle continued. ‘You’re going to hurt him,’ he thought, eyes flicking back down to narrow shoulders. ‘In the end, you’ll only hurt him.’

‘I don’t want to,’ he told himself. ‘I’ll never forgive myself. Never.’

‘Then stop this before it’s too late!’

Almost in response to his inner dialogue, the spell was broken just as quickly as it had fallen over him, and he winced in sympathy when he unintentionally stepped on Wolfram’s right foot.

“Ow! Be careful, you moron!” Wolfram snapped loudly, eyes narrowing dangerously as he removed the hand that had been held in the king’s own in order to smack the taller man on the back of the head as punishment for his folly. “That’s why I told you to practice, you dimwitted fool!”

“Sorry,” the black haired boy muttered an apology, watching as the blond hobbled over to the bed to inspect his abused toe. Yuuri followed him after a moment, kneeling down in front of him to get a better look at it. “It looks fine,” he observed, glancing up at his friend from his place on the floor. “It’s not like it’s broken or anything.”

“You’re such an insensitive jerk!” Wolfram accused, glaring, his lips now pulling themselves into a pouty frown. “It doesn’t matter if you broke it or not! It still hurts!”

“Don’t be a baby,” Yuuri shot him another teasing smile, leaning back with his hands pressed to the floor, supporting his weight.

“Shut up! You’re the one who should watch out where you’re stepping with your big, stupid feet! I’ve never seen a king as ungraceful as you!”

Yuuri’s grin widened, stretching across his face as he joked, “You know what they say about guys with big feet.”

Wolfram’s face flushed bright red. Reaching towards the head of the bed, he snatched one of the large pillows, lifting it high to begin flailing Yuuri with it, whatever mood they’d had going for them before now completely ruined. “Don’t be so crude!” he shouted, beating Yuuri on the side of the head with the soft, stuffed cushion.

Yuuri easily grabbed it, laughing as he tossed it aside. “How do you know I was being crude?”

“I could tell by the look on your face, you classless dope!” the pale prince answered, standing up in order to stalk across the room, heading back over to the vanity. “Why did I fall in love with such an idiot?” he mumbled to himself, taking a seat in front of the mirror.

The black haired man watched him for a few seconds, his smile disappearing. Slowly he stood to his feet, stopping long enough to retrieve the pillow and return it back to it’s rightful place. His shoulders went back to the dejected slump they’d been in before Wolfram had come into the room, his playfulness suddenly gone. “I was only joking,” he informed the other man, following his path over to the vanity along the wall, stopping directly behind him, looking into the green eyes reflected in the glass. “Do you really know what I meant?” he asked curiously.

“I have an idea,” Wolfram replied, cheeks still slightly pink. “It’s some sort of an innuendo, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nodded, then smiled sadly, thinking he’d destroyed the peaceful camaraderie they’d had going on between them. “I’m sorry if it offended you or anything.”

“Why would I be offended?” the prince wondered, his anger slowly seeping away at the look on the other man’s face. “I just wish you’d be serious for more than five minutes. Stop making everything seem like a joke.”

“I don’t.”

Wolfram watched his reflection, his frown deepening as dark eyes lowered to glance at the floor. The distraction was over now and Yuuri was going back into the solemn, self-deprecating mood he’d been in earlier. The fair prince scowled at that, knowing that the other boy was finding fault with himself and his actions again, just like he always did. It seemed as if he’d never stop his one person version of the blame game.

Quickly Wolfram picked up his hair brush, thrusting it back towards Yuuri with an expectant look on his face. “Here,” he said, then demanded, “brush my hair.”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri wondered, glancing back up and quirking an eyebrow.

“You heard me.”

“Can’t you get one of the maids to do it for you - or, better yet, do it yourself.”

“I want you to do it,” Wolfram said, smiling. “Consider it punishment for injuring my toe.”

“If I’m a classless dope, you’re a spoiled brat,” the demon king mumbled under his breath. Still, he took the brush from Wolfram’s hand a slowly began sliding it through his still damp hair. “Are you happy now?” he asked, somewhat moodily, shooting the smaller boy an annoyed glare.

“Very,” his smile remained. “Just don’t pull so hard.”

“I don’t think a normal king would do something like this.”

“You’re not doing it as the king. You’re doing it as my friend,” Wolfram explained.

“Yeah, but usually it’s girls who brush each other’s hair, not guys.”

“Just shut up and stop complaining.”

Yuuri groaned but did as he was told, closing his mouth as he continued to pull the brush through golden blond locks, working the knots out, though being careful not to pull too hard. He was actually tempted to yank on some of it just out of spite, but decided he’d rather not have Wolfram shouting at him again. He frowned as he went about his task, noticing the way each thin strand glistened in the candlelight, and how a few waves and curls began to form as it slowly dried. After a few quiet moment, his eyes drifted from the mass of hair to pale shoulders, and his strokes slowed unintentionally.

“Stop it,” Wolfram said suddenly, forcing dark eyes up to meet his own through the glass.

“Stop what?” the king inquired, pausing momentarily in his brushing, thinking it was a bit odd that his friend would cease his actions so soon after he’d begun.

“Stop thinking that way,” he elaborated, “like everything’s your fault. It isn’t.”

“I’m not so sure everyone here agrees with you.”

“I suppose I’ll have to find some other way to distract you, then.”

“Is that what you were doing with that spur of the moment lecture on royal etiquette?” Yuuri asked curiously.

Wolfram smiled lightly, closing his eyes as he leaned back into his chair, the back of his head pressing against Yuuri’s front. “I was trying to,” he replied softly.

“It worked for a while,” the double black told him with a sad smile, sliding the brush through blond hair again, even though he’d already succeeded in getting all of the knots and tangles out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about it entirely, but…” he said, trailing off with a shake of his head, swiftly changing the subject as he absentmindedly continued his current task. “You know what?” he asked instead.

“What?”

“I like this.”

A look of confusion crossed Wolfram’s face. “Brushing my hair?” he wondered, thinking that was a really stupid thing to enjoy, especially since he’d previously complained about doing it.

“No,” Yuuri replied with a short laugh. “Talking like this,” he said. “Usually after we argue we don’t talk to one another for a while, or you fall asleep, or we get interrupted, or I’m distracted by one thing or another. But recently we’ve been able to have decent conversations, and I realized how nice it is just to be able to do that. I feel like I can talk to you about anything.”

“You can, if you want,” Wolfram smiled, finding the younger man’s declaration strangely sweet. Only Yuuri could say something like that without sounding sappy or dorky, and the sincerity in his voice was enough to make the prince’s heart swell.

“What about you?” Yuuri asked him then.

“What about me?”

“This,” Yuuri said in return, setting the brush down onto the surface of the vanity, staring into Wolfram’s eyes nervously. “Talking like we are. Do you like it?”

The blond shrugged in reply. “I like spending time with you. It doesn’t really matter what we’re doing.”

For some reason, Wolfram’s words saddened Yuuri, and he was unable to look him in the eye again, guilt blossoming in his chest. The movement of Wolf’s shoulders drew his gaze down again anyway, and he was once more assaulted by waves of shame and resentment. How could Wolfram say that and mean it after all the times that Yuuri himself had ignored it? How could he still be honest about his feelings, all the while knowing that they weren’t returned? Didn’t it get exhausting and frustrating after a while? Yuuri didn’t know how Wolfram could handle it; he couldn’t imagine he’d be as accepting if their roles were reversed.

Carefully, almost unconsciously, the half-human man let his hands come up to rest against Wolfram’s shoulders, hoping the light pressure he placed upon them offered his friend as least a little comfort. He curled a lock of hair around one of his index fingers for a moment, nervously licking his lips at the period of silence they’d fallen in to. Timidly he ran his hands over the splotches of blue that were revealed by Wolfram’s nightgown, awkwardly caressing the soft skin, internally berating himself for being such a jerk. How could Wolfram - proud, strong Wolfram - allow himself to be subjected to this kind of relationship, this one sided affair?

The mazoku prince must have noticed the guilt ridden look on his face, because he turned to glance up at him over his shoulder. “Yuuri?” he called his name quietly, as if he were afraid of making his sullen mood any worse.

“I’m sorry,” the Japanese man responded to his questioning tone, shaking his head, a few strands of raven hair falling into his black eyes.

“For what?” Wolfram wondered. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t been very good to you,” Yuuri pointed out, hands stroking over soft skin again, careful not to press too hard. “I mean, after everything you’ve done for me, I… I’ve never done anything to repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” his friend reassured him.

“But I feel so guilty,” the older looking man admitted, closing his eyes in shame. “Especially after I…”

“You didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Wolfram told him once his speech had trailed off. “I just bruise easy is all,” he said in explanation, “and since I’m pale, it shows more.”

Yuuri frowned at that, unable to tell whether the blond was lying or telling the truth. Somehow he didn’t think Wolf had been completely honest in his statements, but he was sure the slighter male would continue to deny it if he questioned him any further. “Ever since I’ve learned to control my maryoku,” he said instead, “I’ve felt like I’ve lost control over something else, and it scares the shit out of me.”

“Have you talked to Gunter about it?”

“No,” he shook his head once more. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” Wolfram prodded, showing an unusual amount of patience.

The nineteen year old paused to think for a moment. He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn’t think it made much sense, at least not in his mind, where his thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess. The change that had come about him over the last couple of years - especially recently - wasn’t something he was exceptionally proud of. Outside, his physical appearance had indeed improved, but on the inside… inside he’d become unstable, and he dreaded to think that it would only get worse. It was already bad enough; he didn’t need to add anything on to it.

“When I used to get angry,” he finally began, “really angry, I’d transform into that… that thing, but it was always for a good reason - to save or protect someone - and I’d feel better afterwards, like some kind of tension had been released from inside of me. Now I don’t need him anymore since I’ve learned to use my maryoku on my own, but when I get mad, even if it’s over something stupid…” he paused again, trying to come up with the right words. “It’s like there’s something… I don’t know, but… I end up… doing or saying things that… that I don’t mean. And it just keeps getting worse every time. I feel like I’ll eventually end up hurting someone if I don’t stop it.”

“Is there anything in particular that usually triggers it?” his blond counterpart asked seriously, concerned for his well being and state of mind.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri repeated with a quick shrug. “It seems like it could be anything as long as I get angry enough.”

Wolfram tried his best to smile up at him comfortingly, though hearing Yuuri admit that he actually had a problem - and now knowing that the sudden, uncontrolled burst of anger he’d had a week ago hadn’t been a fluke - increased his worry quite a bit. It was something they should probably inform Gunter of, since the lavender haired man was the one responsible for the king’s majutsu training, but the blond didn’t think Yuuri could handle talking about it to someone else at the moment. It would be better to worry about it once he’d rested and was a little more clear headed.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; you’re frustrated with everything that’s going on right now. Stop putting so much of the blame on yourself and maybe you won’t get angry over every little thing,” he golden haired boy suggested, even if he truthfully didn’t think the answer was as simple as that. “You’re tired and stressed out. If you keep going on that way, you’re just going to make things worse for yourself.”

“I didn’t used to be this way,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Using and controlling maryoku puts a lot of stress on the body, mind and spirit, and since your powers are so great I’m sure it’s at least twice as worse.”

“But I-”

“Yuuri,” Wolfram cut him off, turning as much as he could in the chair in order to look at him, placing a slender index finger against his lips to prevent him from speaking any more. “Don’t worry about it.”

The dark haired king sighed deeply, taking hold of his friend’s hand to pull it away, his eyes catching sight of the band circling his ring finger, and the three diamonds sparkling in the room’s dim lighting. A part of him thought it was a little strange for the other boy to wear a ring, especially when the circumstances of their wedding had been anything but traditional. It was weird to see it adorning his finger, as if it were some sort of reminder, a symbol of what they were to each other now. Even so, he couldn’t find it within himself to ask him to take it off, or suggest that he wear it on a necklace instead.

“You haven’t taken it off,” he observed anyway, lightly touching the piece of jewelry that was originally supposed to have been saved until he or his older brother proposed.

“Am I supposed to?” Wolfram wondered, not understanding the true significance of the ring the way Yuuri did.

“No,” he shook his head in reply. “It’s an engagement ring. Usually people rarely take them off. It’s supposed to symbolize…” He took a short moment to think of the correct word to use, not wanting to say ‘love’ or ‘commitment’ when those two things had had very little to do with their marriage. “A… a promise,” he finally decided. “It’s usually the girl who wears it, though,” he added as an afterthought.

“I think it’s perfectly fine for me to wear a ring that your mother gave me when you wear a necklace given to you by Conrart, a necklace that - I’ll remind you - used to belong to a woman.”

‘Used to belong to me in a past life,’ Yuuri almost said, but refrained, not thinking it was very appropriate to bring up such a thing. Often he had wondered if the reason everyone in this world seemed to care for him so much was because of who’s soul belonged to him, but now he no longer questioned it. She’d been loved by all those who’d become important to him, but he was not Julia. She was a part of him, but they were not the same person. She was his courage, his hope, his perseverance, but nothing more.

“Does it bother you?” Wolfram asked, jarring him from his thoughts before they could go too far.

“What?” Yuuri questioned, snapping back to the present.

“Does it bother you that I wear it?”

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s important to my mother, and it’s obviously important to you, too. If you want to wear it, then… I don’t have any problem with it.” It was better to agree than tell him the truth, the king thought, for although he didn’t really mind, it made him feel a bit strange.

Wolfram seemed pleased by his answer, his smile widening just slightly, and Yuuri had to wonder how something so simple could make the blond as happy as he presently appeared. He’d never been very good at bringing a smile to the other boy’s face, no matter how hard he’d tried to get a better reaction than harsh insults and jealous ranting. Everything he’d ever said always seemed to be the wrong thing, just as everything he did had Wolfram cursing and shouting. The only person he knew who could make Wolfram smile on a daily basis was Greta, but then there weren’t many people who could remain sullen in her presence.

He found it odd that only now, after everything that had gone on between them in recent weeks, he was beginning to discover ways in which to make Wolfram happy, and he was surprised to find out how simple it really was. He knew he couldn’t give Wolfram what he wanted most in the world, or say the words he was dying to hear, but he could do the little things - hold his hand, lay close to him late at night, alone in their room where no one else could interfere, and offer him a comforting hug when he was upset. Perhaps this is what he should have done from the beginning, acknowledge the other man instead of trying to ignore him.

Looking back and placing himself in his friend’s position, he couldn’t see how in the world Wolfram had managed to hang on this whole time, how he could still love him after Yuuri had put him through so much heartache and pain. He’d never given Wolf any indication that he was interested, never treated him as more than just a friend, never reciprocated any of his deeper feelings, and yet Wolfram was still here, still with him, and it didn’t seem as if he’d ever leave. Yuuri found it hard to understand how anyone with so much pride could possibly subject himself to that sort of loneliness.

And he knew Wolfram was lonely; it was easy to see when he looked deep enough, when he stared into those green eyes of his and carefully picked through the swirl of emotions. Of course it was well hidden, like most of the other feelings Wolfram refused to show just anyone. Only a select few were given that privilege, Yuuri knew - those who didn’t pose a threat, those he could trust. Only people Wolfram deemed fit were given a glimpse of what was truly in his heart, and the king wondered why he - out of everyone else in the world - had been granted access.

What had he ever done to deserve it?

“Why do you love me?” he suddenly asked, voicing the thoughts and questions that rushed trough his mind.

Wolfram’s eyes widened as he continued looking up at the half-human, his lips parting slightly as a look of astonishment momentarily crossed his face. He stood to his feet very slowly, standing in front of his dark haired king, tilting his head to the side in confusion, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard him right. “What did you say?” he quietly wondered, his voice almost a whisper.

“Why do you love me?” Yuuri repeated, more firmly this time, so that there was no way the blond could mistake his words, internally telling himself that he really did want to know the answer.

“Why are you asking me something like that?”

“Well, I…” he tried to explain. “I just want to know,” he eventually said. “In the beginning, when I first proposed to you, you said you wouldn’t break it off because of honor and pride; it would look bad in the eyes of everyone else. Then when I offered to break it, you said it would be an insult. It was like the only thing you cared about was your reputation,” he observed, remembering their first real discussion concerning their engagement, during their travels to retrieve the demon sword. “What… what changed?”

Wolfram didn’t answer right away. He averted his eyes, staring hard at the floor as his brows furrowed, his lips forming a straight line as he thought over the inquiry. The silence that overtook them was tense and uncomfortable, and the fair mazoku ended up pacing, leaving the vanity to walk back and forth across the ground. Yuuri watched his reaction carefully, wondering if it was really so hard for him to answer, or if he was debating with himself on whether he should or not. Wolf’s mouth opened a few times as if to speak, but no words ever came out, leaving Yuuri waiting in anticipation, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have asked after all.

Finally Wolfram released a heavy sigh, ceasing his movements to climb up onto the wide mattress in the middle of the room, his eyes still downcast. Almost tiredly he leaned against the bed post, facing the king though refusing to meet his gaze, one of his thin hands nervously fidgeting with a sash that kept the bed curtains open. He looked vulnerable, sitting there as he attempted to find the correct words, perhaps worried about what Yuuri’s reaction would be to whatever he said. Yuuri, for his part, remained quiet, allowing Wolf the time to sort everything out.

After a few minutes had passed by like this, his fiend opened his mouth again, only this time he was capable of speech. “I don’t really know,” he replied, voice calm and level, revealing nothing more of what he was feeling at the moment. “It’s not like I wanted to fall in love with you,” he added then, as if to hide his sudden discomfort. “There are plenty of more refined and attractive men out there.”

“Hey…” Yuuri began, frowning just slightly, not sure if he should feel insulted (or if it was even natural for him to be insulted over that fact that Wolfram may find others more attractive than him).

“You’re stupid and uncouth,” the blond continued, ignoring the other man, “undignified, naïve, and your manners require some serious improvement. You speak like a commoner, act like an imbecile, and you can’t dance to save your life. You haven’t the faintest idea how to court someone properly; you can’t just propose to the first pretty young boy you see without getting to know him first.” He said this with a pointed look in the king’s direction, frowning at his original forwardness.

“I didn’t know what I was doing!” the black haired boy said in defense of his actions.

“Which only proves how unbelievably clueless you are,” Wolfram went on, pointing out every fault he could possibly think of. “You hardly listen to what anyone has to say about anything. You’re uneducated, moronic, and crude, but…” he paused, a small, tranquil smile tugging at his lips, eyes lowering again as a slight blush fanned across his cheeks. “You’re handsome, brave, and strong. You stand up for what you believe in and don’t back down no matter how hopeless things seem. You’re caring, and somehow your wimpiness is endearing, and…”

Another pause, this one bringing about a deepening in the color of Wolfram’s cheeks, letting Yuuri know that it was taking a lot for his friend to say all of this. “You accept me. You don’t expect me to change,” the prince said quietly. “I feel… safe… when I’m with you. I feel like I don’t have to worry about anything as long as you’re here.”

Yuuri smiled at that admittance. He found it ironic that Wolfram would feel that way, considering the blond was always the one protecting him. Rarely had it been the other way around. Yuuri may have chased after him when he’d been unexpectedly kidnapped, and he’d been determined to get his heart back and bring his friend back to life, but that could never compare to all Wolf had done for him. Never in a million years could Yuuri hope to even come close. He’d have to do something extremely bold or daring to even match him halfway, something he’d never done for anyone else.

“That sounds so sappy,” the demon king observed playfully, his grin widening as he stepped over to stand in front of the slighter man.

“Shut up!” Wolfram snapped, his pale face flaming red. “You’re the one who asked! I’m just being honest!”

Yuuri chuckled lightly and shook his head at the prince’s embarrassed response. “What did I do to make you feel that way about me?”

“Stop making fun of me or I won’t answer that!”

“I’m not making fun of you,” the double black raised both hands in defense.

Wolf frowned and eyed him critically, silently warning him to stop his teasing. “I don’t know what you did. I didn’t want to fall in love with you,” he finally said, looking away once more. “Things would be so much easier if I could stop feeling this way.”

“Would you want to stop it… if you could?” Yuuri wondered curiously.

Wolfram paused again before answering, finding that it was really a difficult question to form a reply to. How would things be now if he didn’t love Yuuri? Would life be easier, or would it have been more difficult? He couldn’t readily imagine it. Somehow it didn’t seem as if his life would have have as much meaning. He’d spent the last four years serving the young king, acting at his fiancé in any way that Yuuri would allow, and even though is devotion remained unreturned, staying by Yuuri’s side left him with a feeling of fulfillment, like his life now had a purpose.

“I don’t think so,” he said carefully, though he refused to look up at the taller male. He felt too exposed as it was.

“Really?” Yuuri asked him, surprised. “Even though I…”

“It hurts that you don’t feel the same,” Wolfram agreed, hoping the pain didn’t show through on his face or in his voice as he said it, “but I wouldn’t want to change how I feel about you. I don’t know why, I just… I couldn’t.” Slowly he shook his head, golden bangs shifting in front of his eyes. “It’s a part of me, and I feel like if I stopped I wouldn’t be able to live anymore. It’s hard to explain. Everything I say doesn’t sound like it makes any sense,” he said sadly.

“No, it’s okay,” the black haired man reassured his fairer partner. “I think I understand, at least a little.”

“How?” Wolfram asked, not thinking it was anything the king would be able to comprehend.

“It’s like baseball.”

It only took a second for green eyes to narrow, and Wolfram glared up at him angrily, appearing offended. “Don’t compare my feelings for you to baseball,” he warned.

“Wait, wait,” Yuuri tried to curtail his anger, placing his hands on Wolf’s shoulders to keep him in place and prevent him from jumping off of the bed and stomping away again. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. How dare you think my feelings are that petty and juvenile.”

“It’s not like that,” the darker male claimed. “You love me, and I’m just…” he trailed off, fighting with himself so as not to start stuttering. “I try to think of something that I love so that I can try and understand your feelings, and I think ‘baseball.’”

Wolfram’s frown only deepened.

“It’s true,” Yuuri tried to convince him, though it didn’t appear as if it had worked. “I’ve played it ever since I was a little kid, almost my whole life. Even when I quit playing, I couldn’t pull away from it entirely. Like you said, ‘It’s a part of me.’ I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t play, that’s why I’m trying to start a team here. When I was younger I used to dream of going pro, or maybe playing in the United States, even if I wasn’t as good as the other kids. In Junior High I spent most of my time as a bench warmer; I think I only started one or two games, and that was only when our other catcher was injured.”

Wolfram refrained from saying anything, even when one of Yuuri’s hand grabbed onto his own. It was unintentional, he was sure, as the nineteen year old had adopted a look of nostalgia, his eyes not gazing at the one in front of him, but at something far away, a memory perhaps, one that lit up his face and morphed his lips into a contented smile. He still couldn’t believe the man had the nerve to make such a comparison, but noting the sparkle in onyx eyes and the expression on his handsome visage, Wolfram could see something there, an emotion he’d become all too familiar with.

“I remember the first time Dad took me to a ball game,” Yuuri continued wistfully. “It was amazing! I mean, you go there and you see the ballpark and the players, the grass, and you smell all the different scents and hear the noise from the crowd… you… you just get lost in the moment. Everytime I think about love, it seems like that’s what it should feel like - exciting, thrilling, and… and just as consuming,” he finished, absentmindedly playing with the ring on Wolfram’s left hand.

Wolf allowed him to do so, his heart fluttering in his chest. “Only you could compare love to baseball and make the two sound at least a little similar.”

“So I’m right?” the king asked, finally looking him in the eye again, snapped back to the present by the blond’s mumbled confession. “That’s what it feels like?”

“I suppose,” the full blooded mazoku replied. “In a round about way.”

“And you feel like that? For me?”

Wolfram nodded timidly, noting the look of awe that had entered Yuuri’s eyes. “But it’s deeper,” he said, searching inside of himself to try and come up with an appropriate elaboration. “It doesn’t have anything to do with logic; it just is. I love you, and there isn’t anything that could change that. There’s nothing that you could say or… or do that could make me stop. If I stopped, I’d stop living.”

“I don’t deserve that,” Yuuri breathed, having never heard Wolfram speak so candidly about his feelings before. It was almost overwhelming to know that the blond boy felt so strongly, and that he had an affect on something so powerful. Again he wondered why. Why him? Why not someone more suited to the prince? What made him so special to Wolf that he’d associate those sort of emotions with him? ‘I don’t deserve that from you,’ he thought sadly.

“Maybe not,” Wolfram answered his spoken statement, “but it’s not about deserving. These sorts of things, they happen for a reason, even if you never know what that reason is,” he said, as if he could somehow read the king’s mind. “There are some questions in life that don’t have any concrete answers.”

Yuuri marveled over his sudden show of wisdom, his hand slipping into Wolfram’s palm, their fingers intertwining. “When did you become so mature?” he wondered, remaining in his place directly in front of him.

“I don’t know,” the blond replied with a tiny smirk, “although I think it may have something to do with you?”

“With me?” Yuuri wondered, a bit confused.

“You make me want to be stronger, better.”

The double black let this information sink in for a few moments, mulling it over in his head, sorting through his own reactions to the words that had been spoken. It was somewhat frightening to know how Wolfram felt, or at least to have some sort of a clue now. He’d always assumed that his friend’s feelings had run deeper than he could possibly imagine. He never would have been able to guess how much of an affect it had had on him, on the way he lived his life, on the way he’d grown. Love had changed him, definitely for the better. Love had really defined him as an individual.

And then Yuuri wondered if he would have cared how the other young man felt and what he thought about him had Wolfram not loved him so. He couldn’t say with any sort of certainty that he loved him back - not as much as Wolfram seemed to care - but he would admit, even if only to himself, that Wolfram’s love was important to him. He cherished it as much as Conrad’s guidance and Gwendal’s wisdom, as much as Gunter’s protectiveness and Murata’s friendship. It scared him, yes, but he couldn’t imagine life without it. It was a part of him as much as baseball, as much as it was a part of Wolfram. It was who they were.

A shiver ran down Yuuri’s spine at the thought, and his gaze traveled down to their joined hands, looking at how their fingers locked together, how Wolfram’s skin was shades lighter than his own, and how the ring gleamed brightly amongst flesh and tangled digits. He could feel something in the air between them then, a warmth that was thicker than usual, heady, pulsing. It was hard to ignore once he noticed it, and he absently wondered if the mazoku prince could feel it, too, of if it was just him.

“What do you think about me?” Wolfram asked with a smile, staring up at him expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“Think about you?” Yuuri repeated dumbly, swallowing down a lump that had formed in his throat. “What do you mean?”

“When you look at me, what do you see?” the pretty blond explained. “What kinds of thoughts go through your head?”

“Well,” the Japanese man tried to start, thinking hard. Describing Wolfram was easy, but he didn’t want to say anything that would make their situation more confusing. “You’re pushy, bratty, loud and demanding. You don’t know when to just shut the hell up,” he said, making a list of his faults first, like Wolfram had done to him, earning a pouty frown. “You’re obnoxious, annoying, childish, rude, and you throw the dumbest things way out of proportion. Your attitude could use a little adjusting, and you have mood swings like… like a pregnant woman.”

Wolfram frowned, obviously insulted, but Yuuri simply smiled at him, amused by the petulant look on his face. “But underneath all that,” he continued, “you have a good heart. I’ve always heard that it’s what’s in the heart that matters most, and with you I think that’s true,” he told him, lifting his free hand to place it lightly against Wolfram’s chest, feeling the steady beating of the organ in question.

Wolfram, in turn, raised his own hand, bringing it up to clasp onto Yuuri’s tightly, holding it in place as his breathing began to pick up. Rare were the times when Yuuri would initiate any sort of intimate contact, even something as simple as this, and Wolfram could only pray that this would last, that he wouldn’t pull away soon, and that nothing would happen to ruin this. Having Yuuri touching him so tenderly, no matter how innocent the action was, was almost more than he could bear.

“You’re sweet and kind when it counts,” the dark haired half-mazoku declared. “You’re loyal, dependable, courageous. You don’t treat me any differently because I’m the king. You’re always there when I need you, and…” He paused, staring at the boy on the bed, taking in the way the burning candlelight played off of his hair, dancing in green eyes, pale cheeks again stained a light rosy hue.

“And?” Wolfram prodded almost breathlessly, waiting for him to finish.

“You’re…” Yuuri stuttered, his throat once again going dry, and he swallowed thickly in an attempt to solve his little problem. “You’re so beautiful,” he eventually managed, wondering why he felt so nervous all of a sudden. It wasn’t like he’d never told Wolfram what he thought of him before. He’d said that very thing plenty of times, in various forms of ‘you’re pretty,’ and ‘you’re way cuter than me.’ Why now did it sound so different? Why was it that he could feel the tension grow?

Wolfram didn’t exactly look pleased by the whispered compliment. His face fell, as if he’d been told something completely opposite, and the curious sparkle that had been in his eyes went out in an instant. His lips pulled themselves down into another one of his pouty frowns, and he once more averted his gaze, shifting his eyes away to glance around the room, never staring at the same thing for longer than a few seconds. He was silent as he seemed to think of something to say in response, appearing more disappointed than anything else.

“Wolfram?” Yuuri called softly, trying to regain his attention, confused as to why the blond would react in such a way. Normally he would simply brush it off, deem it unimportant and change the subject, or he’d stick his nose in the air with a huff to hide any embarrassment he may happen to feel. A few times he’d blushed when receiving similar compliments, before mumbling something that sounded somewhat like a ‘thank you,’ although, knowing Wolfram, it could have just as well been ‘Of course I am.’

“Wolf?” he tried again when the boy still refused to look at him, releasing the hold he had on his hand to gently place his own against a set of narrow shoulders. Still the prince gave him no response, besides a short, quick shake of his head, a few more strands of blond hair falling to irritate his eyes. Instinctively Yuuri moved to brush them away, the act causing pools of vibrant green to snap back towards him, wide and filled with confusion, golden brows furrowing slightly as a look of pain seeped across his face.

Only then did Wolfram push him away, pale hands coming up to press at his chest, forcing the dark haired king to take a few steps back. He slipped off the bed, intent on brushing passed the younger man, though Yuuri hadn’t a clue as to where he planned to go this late into the evening. Not that the nineteen year old had any intention of just letting him up and leave without first explaining what was wrong, and Yuuri grabbed onto his upper arm to pull him back with what was quickly becoming a familiar hold. How many times had be restrained Wolfram like this in the last week alone?

“Wolfram, what’s the matter?” he asked, thoroughly baffled. He’d thought they’d been doing good, having a nice conversation, a much needed heart-to-heart. How could a simple compliment - the truth of which was already well known throughout the kingdom - been the wrong thing to say?

“Don’t,” the blond tried to stop him, though he knew it was useless to try and pull away. “Just don’t.”

“But I don’t understand why you-”

“You can’t just say things like that!” Wolfram exclaimed, effectively cutting him off, looking betrayed, though Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was because of what he’d said or because he couldn’t seem to control his emotions at the moment. The pain laced in his words was proof enough of how upset he was.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s not supposed to mean anything!”

The half-human quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly, loosening his grip when no attempt was made to get away, though he still did not release him.

Wolfram glared up at him in an accusing manner, eyes shining with a mixture of hurt, anger, resentment, and the tiniest spark of hope. “I’ve been told that I’m beautiful my whole life,” he explained, forcing his voice not to crack. “My mother says it, my brothers say it, everyone in the entire kingdom says it! But it’s never meant anything, not until…” he stumbled, inwardly cursing himself for suddenly adopting the king’s nervous habit of stuttering. “Not until you said it.”

“Wolfram…”

“Why?” his friend asked him, distraught. “Why does it matter so much when you say things like that? Why can’t it sound just as dull and empty coming from you as it does coming from everyone else?”

“Because I mean it!” Yuuri replied, pulling him just a fraction closer. “I’m trying to be open and honest with you, so when you asked me what I think about you, I… I said everything that came to mind, and I meant it! But it’s not… it’s not just how you look that makes you beautiful, it’s…” he paused, pulling the slighter boy so that they were standing face to face, again looking into one another’s eyes. “It’s your passion, your compassion, your loyalty, your strength, your courage, it’s…” Another pause, in which he tried to find the right words, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “It’s everything.”

Wolfram drew his lips into a thin line, his hands trembling by his sides, trying so hard not to let his surging emotions get the better of him. “Why?” he asked again, almost brokenly. “Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me these things? Every time you do… I end up feeling so confused.”

“You’re not the only one,” Yuuri told him with a small half smile. “But I’m trying to sort everything out. I’m trying so hard to fix everything.”

“And how do you expect to do that?” the blond inquired incredulously. “You know what I want, Yuuri,” he said with a faint blush. “You know how I feel about you.”

“I know,” the Japanese man agreed, nodding. “But I don’t know what I want.”

“You want a woman,” Wolfram told him bitterly, looking off to the side. “You want your perfect little Earthen family, with a wife and children. I can’t give you that. I can’t give you anything!” he said, swallowing passed the lump that nearly clogged his throat. “I can only love you, but that’s not enough. It’s never been enough for you!”

Why, he wondered again, why was Yuuri making him admit to all of this? Why couldn’t he hold back and keep things hidden like he always did? Yuuri didn’t need to be made aware of all of this, didn’t need to see how torn up he was inside, not when he’d already shown him enough, more than he’d ever shown anyone. But just like that night a little more than a month ago, he couldn’t stop it now that it had begun to release itself. He could only hold in the pain for so long, and he’d been doing so for nearly four years. It hurt too much to keep it in any longer. He felt like he was dying.

“Please,” he found himself begging, fisting Yuuri’s white shirt desperately. “Please, just stop. Don’t say anything, don’t do anything; don’t make me think I stand a chance when we both know I really don’t.”

“Wolfram…” Yuuri tried again, finding it hard to look at his face, at the heartache mirrored in his emerald eyes. He couldn’t hear the other boy’s reply, nothing but quiet pleas made it passed Wolfram’s lips, repeated over and over again in an endless litany. Once more he found himself drowning in insurmountable guilt, hating himself for doing this to one of his close friends, despising himself for keeping him hanging on, for being too selfish to let him go.

And he couldn’t, he realized; he couldn’t release him from the pain just the same as he couldn’t force himself to reciprocate. Either way, things would change. Either he’d have to accept certain things about himself, things he feared, things he didn’t want to be, or he’d end up pushing Wolfram away. The blond boy would leave him if things turned out that way, he knew he would. Nothing would ever be the same between them. Their friendship would die with their relationship, because both were so affected by Wolfram’s love, so dependant on it.

Yuuri didn’t want anything to change, but it had to; he had to. They couldn’t keep going on this way, tangled in a web of their own making, created through confusion, fear and need. Their feelings for one another were so similar, and yet so completely different at the same time. They were both lost and confused, both afraid of what the future would bring, of what would happen to them as time passed them by, sharpening the pain. And each of them needed the other, for comfort, for understanding, for the companionship that was so hard to find anywhere else. Yuuri needed to know that Wolfram was there for him, just as Wolfram needed to know that he had a place by Yuuri’s side.

“I’m sorry,” the king apologized, watching as his friend struggled to hold back such deep rooted sorrow. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know,” Wolfram said, his voice finally cracking. “Neither did I,” he added, so tempted to rest his head against Yuuri’s shoulder and cry for the both of them, though he knew it wouldn’t solve a single thing. “But it’s not your fault,” he said as a way to perhaps lessen the guilt he knew Yuuri was forcing onto himself. “It’s mine. I’m the stupid fool who…”

‘You’re wrong,’ Yuuri thought, though he didn’t say it out loud, even when Wolfram trailed off. ‘It is my fault. Maybe… maybe everything isn’t, but this… this is my fault.’

‘You didn’t make him love you,’ the other half of his mind said - the half that always tried to justify his actions, that tried to deny everything and free himself from blame. ‘You didn’t ask for this.’

‘He didn’t either.’

But what were they supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? Yuuri had a pretty strong feeling that continuing on as they normally did would only worsen things. They were already too close, too dependant on one another, despite the fact that he had yet to discover his true feelings. If Wolfram broke, so would he, and vice versa. It had always been that way, ever since they’d first met, ever since Wolfram had pulled him back over that ledge, when the blond had made the most important promise out of all the promises he’d ever made to anyone. Their lives were too interconnected. They’d fall together, bleed together, hurt together, and die together.

‘I’m so stupid,’ Yuuri’s mind readily supplied, more than happy to point out all the ways in which he’d screwed up. ‘But I can’t stop it. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.’

His hands, with a mind of their own, rose up to frame the other boy’s face, releasing the hold he’d had on his arm, moving close to lean down and touch their foreheads together. Wolfram had closed his eyes, long, golden lashes resting against smooth, pale cheeks, and Yuuri stroked a finger over them gently, brushing a single tear away, listening as the prince took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Wolfram’s hands still gripped his shirt tightly, bunching and wrinkling the fabric, the two appendages shaking ever so slightly. He was trying to hold back, to keep it all in, bottling it up inside of himself like he always did.

Yuuri’s lips quirked into a smile filled with irony, thinking he and Wolfram were similar in so many different ways. Here he was struggling with his anger, with his feelings for the other boy, and Wolfram was doing the same thing with his sadness and pain, concealing it behind careless smiles, behind well-used denial. Neither of them were being completely open with the other, in spite of all their efforts. Somewhere inside Yuuri knew nothing would be resolved until they were, until they could trust enough to admit to things that were constantly kept locked away.

‘We have to try,’ he thought, brushing Wolfram’s hair out of his face again, hand tangling into golden locks, taking in the way the silken strands slid through his fingers. ‘Try.’ The word reverberated within his mind, his own eyes trailing lower, passed his nose to the lips that were so close. All it would take was the slightest of movements; he could easily pull the prince closer, lean further down. It wouldn’t take much of an effort, and he could do it quickly, before the other half of his brain could stop him, before his courage could slip away.

‘Try.’

He leaned in before he could think better of the idea, before he could think of a hundred and one reasons why he shouldn’t, pressing his lips to Wolfram’s before he could mess things up again (though he was dimly aware of the fact that this could have been just the mistake required to do so). Wolfram’s eyes fluttered open in shock, his breath catching in his throat, green staring directly into black, and Yuuri almost pulled away, almost stopped, intent on apologizing, feeling like a fool. But then his friend’s lids slid shut again, and the hands that had been gripping so tightly to his shirt loosened, palms flattening against his chest as Wolfram drew closer, sighing lightly through his nose.

Yuuri’s eyes slipped closed only seconds later, one hand still tangled in Wolfram’s hair, the other resting against the softness of his cheek, keeping him in place. His mind fogged up and shut down as he was filled with an inexplicable warmth, his heart hammering away in his chest, so hard and fast he was sure Wolfram could feel it. His blood washed swiftly through his veins, leaving him dizzy, and he wondered in a second’s worth of clarity if Wolfram was experiencing similar sensations. He felt detached from the rest of the world, like this was the only thing that mattered, like he and the blond were the only two people alive.

It was hot, and the tension he’d felt between them earlier was suddenly ten times thicker, sweeping over and through him in harsh, searing waves, his senses again focused on the boy in front of him. The kiss itself was light and chaste, shy and a little awkward, just as it had been the first time their lips had sealed together; but behind it he could feel something deeper, more primal than the innocence of before. It was like there was something inside of them, inside of him, waiting right beneath the surface, lurking in the darkness of his mind, waiting patiently for the right moment to consume them. It caused a tingle to shoot down his spine, and he shivered, his hand tightening in Wolfram’s hair.

The fear that gripped him then was sudden, forcing away every other feeling that had arisen. Fear of change, fear of becoming someone he wasn’t, fear of destroying everything he and Wolfram had built over the years, fear of hurting the one person who meant the most to him. He feared the power he had over the blond, the same power Wolfram had over him, feared making a mistake, feared the pain of disappointment, of betrayal. It scared him how his world had so suddenly narrowed down to one person, so that nothing else seemed to matter but him.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Wolfram wasn’t supposed to mean so much. He couldn’t be distracted, couldn’t cross that line he’d been straddling for so long, not now, not yet, not when so many other people needed him. He had to focus, had to do his job. He couldn’t allow anyone else to be placed into a position of danger, not Wolfram and not their people. This… this attachment… it would only cause them more problems in the end, more troubles that couldn’t be solved, more heartache than what was already being felt. There wasn’t any way this could work, not with things currently as they were.

The realization was enough to have Yuuri jerking back, their lips separating, and his eyes snapping open, his mind coming back to him as the fog lifted. His hands slid away from the slighter boy, Wolfram looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and concern shining in his wide green eyes, reaching out to the king as Yuuri moved back. He could feel hands against his chest, rubbing lightly, comfortingly, trailing up to his shoulder, like they could lift the weight that rested upon them. But they were too small, too pale, too thin, and they only added to the oppressing heaviness that weighed him down.

“No… no…” the dark haired king muttered, slowly shaking his head, forcing his mind away from the softness of Wolfram’s skin, from the warmth and care, from the love that radiated from him.

“Yuuri?”

The demon king was quick to push the blond away, causing him to crash into the bed, those thin, pale hands grabbing onto the bed post, keeping him upright. “No!” Yuuri said again, his own hands coming up to cover his face in shame. “I can’t…” he muttered in between his palms. “I don’t…”

Wolfram pushed himself up, emerald eyes gleaming in absolute fury, his heart clenching tightly in his chest, an inner pain that was almost too much to handle. He glared at the man he’d married, although he was also angry with himself; he couldn’t believe he’d allowed that to happen knowing full well that that was not what Yuuri wanted, knowing that it would be too much too fast… for both of them.

“I told you!” the young prince shouted, feeling tears enter his eyes, though he stubbornly held them back, refusing to show any more weakness to this man than he already had. “I told you! I knew things would still be the same after the wedding, and I was right!” he spat, cursing himself for believing that there could ever be anything between them. “What is this, some sort of game? ‘Let me see how far I can string poor, pathetic Wolfram along before reminding him that I don’t want him?’”

“No,” Yuuri swiftly shook his head, not seeming as if he’d truly been listening to what his friend was saying, but repeating his mantra of ‘no’ over and over, as if that could somehow fix their sudden problem. His insides were churning, a mix of anxious anticipation - finding it hard to believe that he’d given into curiosity and kissed his best friend - and nervousness, knowing that there was no possible way that this could end well. He’d made a mistake, had gotten too close, and had inevitably made their situation even worse.

He hated himself for doing such a thing, for getting the other boy’s hopes up, for hurting Wolfram and playing with his feelings, taking advantage of them simply to satisfy his own curiosity. And when that self-hatred mixed with his ever present guilt… there is was again, that uncontrollable anger surging up within him, boiling his blood and making him tremble. It was more difficult to keep down than it probably should have been, considering it was his fault that all this had happened; Wolfram had had little to do with it - besides inciting a slight attraction.

It would be so easy to release it, to blame Wolfram for everything and save himself the guilt-trip, but the king was well aware that he was the one truly at fault. In his heart he knew he had to push it down, force it away; he couldn’t give into the rage, not now, not over something like this. His mind, however, didn’t want to feel so lost anymore, wanted to be free of the anger, free of the confusion, and go back to how things used to be, back to when life was simple, when he didn’t have to worry about things like love.

“You always do this,” Wolfram continued his pained rant, his face reddening with an increase in his ire. “You get closer and then you pull away again! You hug me, then try to skip out on the reception on the night of our wedding! You hold me when we sleep, then tell me to go away when the only thing I want to do is help you! Do you enjoy it?! If you don’t really want me, stop acting like you do! It’s not fair!”

“Don’t tell me what’s not fair!” Yuuri spat in return, finally losing control, releasing the uncontrollable pent up frustrations that threatened to consume him. “I could have been a normal kid with a normal life, but I got dragged here instead to become king, and now I have to put up with all this shit because people are too damned stupid to talk to one another! That’s not fair! I never asked to come here! I never asked to care about you or anyone else! And now you expect me to change who I am, what I’ve always thought, and how I feel because you just so happened to fall in love with me!”

“I’m not expecting you to change!” the blond claimed vehemently. “I just want you to stop giving me all these mixed signals! If you’re going to kiss me, then do it, damn it!”

“That’s not…” Yuuri began, shaking his head once more, his hands now lowered by his sides, clenched tightly into fists. “That’s not what I was doing!”

The prince’s pretty face turned completely scarlet in resentment. How could Yuuri possibly deny what he’d only just been doing? Did he truly believe what he was saying? Did he honestly expect Wolfram to believe it? “That’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard in my life!” Wolfram nearly shrieked, and he had to hold himself in check so as no to attack the other young man, wanting to inflict as much pain on the king as Yuuri had on him. “You kissed me and you liked it, and you damned well know it!”

Wolfram watched Yuuri’s reaction, green eyes taking in the way his fists shook. The black haired man lifted one trembling hand almost as if to lash out at the blond, to punish him for causing him so much turmoil, but he didn’t follow through with it, bringing his palm to his forehead instead, as if to fight off a pounding ache within. Wolfram almost wished the king would hit him, if only to have a good excuse to return the gesture.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Yuuri muttered, then immediately turned around and headed towards the bedroom door.

Wolfram stood still and watched him go for a moment, the king’s intent not really registering until the door had opened and Yuuri had crossed through the threshold, entering into the hallway with quick, stiff strides. Only then did the blond mazoku follow him, standing in the doorway as green eyes gazed upon the Japanese man’s retreating figure. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded loudly, not caring if he awoke anyone in some of the nearby rooms or attracted the attention of the guards on patrol.

“I’m going home!” Yuuri shot over his shoulder, stopping momentarily in his journey to the private baths.

Wolfram’s wrath only increased, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Now?!”

“Yes, now!”

The prince nearly sputtered, almost ready to run after the dark haired male and pull him back. “But you can’t just leave!” he shouted, taking a few steps into the empty hall, his near hysterical voice echoing off the stone walls. “You’ve got things to do, and-”

“You deal with it!” Yuuri spat, his own eyes narrowed, glaring heavily at the other boy. “That’s what I married you for, isn’t it?”

Wolfram felt as if he’d been stabbed as that inquiry repeated itself within his brain, the thought that Yuuri was using him again materializing in his mind. His throat constricted and pain filled his heart, making it difficult to speak, to fight back, to continue with the anger that worked so well in concealing his insecurities. He felt as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out, Yuuri’s words like sharp daggers that plunged into him repeatedly, through skin, muscle and bone, into the very core of his being.

He trembled harshly, his knees buckling, legs threatening to give out beneath him, and the tears that hung in the corners of his eyes stung so much it was nearly impossible not to release him. Only Yuuri could bring this sort of reaction out of him through words alone, only Yuuri had enough power over his emotions to reduce him to nothing more than a weeping child. He hated it, despised feeling so vulnerable before someone who could so easily break him, but there was nothing he could do to change it.

“Fine!” he managed to say, his voice cracking with emotion. “Go home! Run away, you coward!”

Yuuri flinched at his choice of insults, ‘coward’ hurting tens times more than the weak and often times affectionate ‘wimp.’ “Shut up!” was all he could think to say to save himself from the overwhelming guilt. “Maybe things wouldn’t be so hard if you’d stop pushing me!” he said, though he knew that over the last few months Wolfram had been nothing if not accommodating.

“I’m pushing you?” the full blooded mazoku questioned him, finding it difficult to cease the shouting. “You’re the one who kissed me, you brainless fool!” he reminded him, his breath hitching somewhat as he did so. “I didn’t hold you down and force that on you! You did that on your own!”

“I wasn’t kissing you!” Yuuri denied again, his handsome face flushing in a mix of anger and embarrassment, knowing that what he spoke was nothing but lies, but unable to explain what he’d done and why, nor was he willing to sort it all out at the moment.

“Keep telling yourself that! Keep drowning yourself in your denial! That’s what you’re good at!”

“What the hell would you know?!” the Demon King shouted, then completed his escape to the bath, slamming the door violently behind him.

By this time a few guards had appeared to see what was the cause of all the commotion this late in the evening, and seeing their prince standing in the doorway of the royal bed chambers, obviously distraught, did nothing to alleviate their curiosity. There were whispers between a couple of them, none of the men having heard the beginning of the argument that had led to the departure of their king, and so they could only draw conclusions from the little they had heard. It wasn’t very helpful, and so they could only stare at the blond, waiting for whatever his reaction would be.

“Stupid!” Wolfram muttered, though he didn’t know if his insult was intended to be directed at Yuuri or at himself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he repeated, lifting one of his clenched hands and punching the stone wall, paying no attention to the gossiping guards or the pain shooting through his fist.

Everything had been going so well tonight. He’d managed to pull Yuuri away from his self-imposed guilt, had spent an extremely rare period of quality time with the man he loved, a man who was now his husband - although Yuuri seemed adept at forgetting that fact until it served him well - and now things had been thrown backwards, ruined nearly beyond recognition. A part of him wondered if he was being too selfish, if he was expecting too much out of the dark young man despite his best intentions, but then he reminded himself that Yuuri had been the one to initiate the kiss. The king could deny it all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

At the time that it had occurred, he’d debated with himself on whether or not he should have stopped Yuuri and pulled away. He’d known that Yuuri hadn’t really meant it, had probably done it to ease whatever curiosities he had, but Wolfram had been waiting so long for some show of affection from the other boy, was starved for his touch, his attention, wanted nothing more than to hold him close and let the world go by around them. He wanted more than what they had now, even though he’d promised Yuuri that he wouldn’t push him into anything he didn’t want. If anything happened between them, it would be Yuuri’s choice.

But that kiss… when the king had pressed his lips to his own, it had been the best feeling in the world. The first kiss they’d shared during their wedding couldn’t even compare, though it had been just as chaste. He’d wanted to pull the black haired man closer, press up against him so it was like they were one body, had wanted to throw his arms around his neck and run his hands through Yuuri’s thick black hair. If he hadn’t been so surprised, he probably would have done just that. If Yuuri hadn’t changed his mind and pulled away so soon, he could have enjoyed it.

“Stupid!” he hissed again, heedless of the pain lacing through his abused hand, unable to stop one tear from trickling down the side of his face, inwardly telling himself that he shouldn’t be thinking of such things right now, not when Yuuri was leaving.

That thought was enough to have him sprouting into action, his eyes widening again as the true meaning behind Yuuri’s escape hit him like a smack in the face. The king fully intended to return to his home world, to go back to Earth for Shinou only knew how long, leaving the blond to deal with a kingdom in the midst of chaos. Wolfram knew he probably should have been angry, but he inevitably found that he was more scared than anything else, forcing that fear down as best as he could. He was tempted to run towards the bath and stop Yuuri before he could complete the teleportation, but he knew he’d already wasted too much time.

Yuuri was most likely already home at that point.

‘That coward,’ he thought, livid in the face of rejection and his new responsibilities.

“Your Majesty,” a male voice called from somewhere near by, but Wolfram paid no attention to it, too focused on more important things than the meddling guards that ambled about the halls.

‘Damn him!’

“Your Majesty?”

‘Who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t have any right to treat me like this!’ the blond prince internally told himself, conveniently forgetting that Yuuri was the king and could legally do whatever he wanted to whomever he chose.

“Your Majesty!”

It wasn’t until a hand came up to rest upon one of his shoulders that Wolfram realized that the person the guards were talking to was actually him. He wasn’t used to the title, not when he’d been referred to as ‘Your Excellency’ for as long as he could remember. It was odd having everyone call him the same thing they called Yuuri.

‘Yuuri…’

“Leave me alone,” he commanded, shrugging the hand away and moving so that no one was close enough to reach out to him. He didn’t want their comfort, their concern, or their pity. The only thing he wanted was Yuuri.

“But, Your Majesty,” the same guard tried again, nervous in the face of the prince’s anger, well aware of how easy it was to set him off. “Your hand,” he said, motioning to the appendage in question. “It’s bleeding.”

Wolfram looked down then, gazing upon the hand he’d previously been bashing into the stone wall. It throbbed in pain, a sensation he hadn’t been able to notice while so consumed by anger and grief, too concerned about Yuuri’s escape to care about any harm he may have caused himself in the middle of his fit. The knuckles had cracked, blood dripping down and in between his finger in tiny rivulets, a few stray drops splattering against the stone floor. His digits twitched when he tried to move them, but he couldn’t bend them too far before it hurt too much to move, his fingers cramping painfully.

Somehow, though, the self-inflicted injury didn’t seem all that important.

“I don’t care,” he muttered quietly, turning away from the guards so he wouldn’t have to look at them, and so they couldn’t see the way he clutched his bruised and bleeding hand to his chest, right over his bruised and bleeding heart.

“Would you like for me to call Gisela?” the same guard inquired.

“No,” Wolfram replied with a swift shake of his head. “I just want to be left alone.”

“But-”

“Shut up and return to your duties!” the prince viciously snapped, causing the men who had gathered in the hallway to jump and scatter, returning to their posts as they’d been told and not daring to speak even another word to the irate blond, fearful for their lives.

Wincing at the physical pain he finally allowed himself to feel, Wolfram slowly walk backed into the room he shared with the absent king, wondering how long it would take for word to spread that Yuuri had left. Frowning as this evening’s events replayed in his mind, the golden haired prince shut the thick wooden door, resting his back against it as he slid to the ground. He felt like weeping, but he held back, choosing instead to glare at the far wall and curse his fate.

He couldn’t take much more of this. He was dying inside. With every cruel word uttered from Yuuri’s lips and every push back after getting so close, Wolfram could feel his heart splitting down the middle, close to breaking completely.

TBC…

A/N: Alrighty… I’m sorry to say that this might be it for another month or two, depending on if I can actually finish the chapter I’m currently working on or not. It’s giving me some problems, and my muse had been a really big pain lately. I’ll try to see what I can do.