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“Can I say something?”
Lear’s voice was quiet, unnaturally so as Cheren held him, chin nestled snugly in the crook of his shoulder. Tonight, they were giving themselves a well-earned break—something that Lear, for once, was more than inclined to agree to. (They hadn’t been doing much except for this, honestly, but to Lear it seemed more than enough, which was what mattered most in the end anyway.)
After a pause, he speaks again, sounding almost... nervous? “It’s going to sound a little sudden, actually.”
“Go for it,” Cheren says, voice muffled as their fingers intertwine. “I don’t mind.” With his free hand, he cards fingers through Lear’s hair, satisfied by the soft press against his palm and the content sigh that slips out in response. “What’s going on?”
Lear tilts his head up to meet Cheren’s eyes, gaze full of unbridled adoration, and Cheren has to stop what he’s doing just to take it all in. His eyes are a sea of emotion, just like the rest of him, Cheren thinks fondly, cupping his cheek with the gentle touch of familiarity, of gestures done time and time again. “I... I just.” His eyes dart off to the side, struggling to continue. “I want you to know that I—uh.”
“Go on...” Cheren gives him a reassuring smile, always eager, yet never pushy. He knows him well enough now not to press him too hard on these kinds of matters. “It’s not like I won’t judge you for it... right?”
He’s given a not-so-friendly look, and Cheren laughs, the irritated expression a surprisingly welcomed response. “It’s not like that. You’ll rather like this, as a matter of fact.”
“If you can get it out of your system, that is.”
“And I will, if you would stop interrupting me!” Lear huffs, but he can’t bite back the smile on his lips, and Cheren doesn’t miss it—he never does. “It’s just that... over these past few days, er, weeks, perhaps, things have. Happened. Quite a lot of things, as a matter of fact.”
Lear’s, well, roundabout way of speaking—seemingly uncharacteristic, though Cheren supposes there are many sides of him he just hasn’t seen enough of—was pretty endearing. Despite this, however, he couldn’t stop himself from teasing him. (Maybe that was why he liked doing so? He’d never really know.) “Want to cite something? List an example, maybe?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean!” Lear rolls his eyes, frowning at his apparent inability to speak. “You know, ever since we got closer and all that.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively, then, as if the simple movement makes up for all the words he finds too difficult to speak. Cheren would actually find it sweet if it wasn’t so frustrating at the moment. “Everything. It’s obviously a lot—nothing I can’t handle, as you know. Still...” Lear pauses suddenly before squirming in Cheren’s hold, letting out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Ugh. I can’t say this if we’re cuddling!”
“Why not? I mean, I don’t even know what it is.” Cheren raises an eyebrow, but slowly moves away, sitting up against the headboard. “Is this serious?”
After a moment to collect himself along with a bit of a struggle (one that Cheren won’t mention just for the sake of the prince’s pride), Lear follows suit, fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. “You could say it is.” A smirk crosses his face, and Cheren tries not to laugh at his (frankly) strange burst of confidence. “You’ll think it’s a big deal, but personally such trifles are of no such importance to me—”
“If it really doesn’t affect you then why don’t you say it?” Cheren teases, at which Lear sputters briefly before falling silent. Looking over and noticing his tense shoulders, Cheren took his hand gently, smoothing over his knuckles with his thumb. “If it’s too much you don’t have to say anything,” he tells him softly, voice even. “Just let me know and we’ll go back to what we were doing before this.”
Lear hesitates before squeezing his hand tightly, meeting his eyes with a determined look. “No, no, I want to do this. You deserve to hear it.” He clears his throat abruptly, trying to diffuse the awkward tension by scooting closer until their shoulders brushed. “Cheren...” He swallows thickly, taking a deep breath. “I have many reasons to appreciate you. You came to my aid despite knowing you would receive nothing in return, despite the fact that I was not very...inclined to accept your help, especially not at first. Although I made that quite clear, you stayed, and I admit that I would not be the person I am right now without your interference.”
Lear’s eyes briefly fluttered shut, face highlighted by the moonlight, and even then Cheren admired him, longed to trace his thumb along his cheek and memorize every feature laid bare. As much as he wanted to do so right now, Lear seemed far from finished, and for that he settled on listening patiently. “Ever since we started dating, you’ve made me feel wanted, needed—so much more than I thought I would ever get to feel, actually.” Another shaky breath, another small squeeze of his hand. “I have no way to convey everything that I feel about you, Cheren, not currently.” His voice is soft, and he shifts slightly, eyes fully transfixed on him now. “You mean so much to me.”
Lear’s hands slipped seamlessly out of Cheren’s hold, one cupping his cheek and the other clinging onto his arm. They were much closer now, and in a moment so rare as this, Cheren couldn’t help but remember how beautiful he was. “Nonetheless—and despite its inability to accurately describe all there is to say—there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you. Really, I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, but, um...” He swallowed thickly before closing his eyes, pressing their foreheads together.
Oh.
At that moment, something clicked, and Cheren held his breath, waiting.
“I love you.”
His heart beat impossibly fast, a hand folded over his chest in an attempt to calm himself. “Lear, you...” Once the words settled in, unfiltered delight washed over him, a smile bright on his face. “You said it first.”
“What?” His momentary spell of bold arrogance broken, Lear scrambled backward, any semblance of his poetic words gone as Cheren grinned at him. “I didn’t— well—”
He tried to hide his face in Cheren’s shoulder, held back by the hands on his shoulders keeping him steady. “You’re amazing,” Cheren breathes, shaking his head with joy. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear that from you.”
“Desperate, were you?” Lear’s smug expression is fueled by his praise, yet betrayed shortly after by the tremble of his mouth and his clearly flushed face, lit up as if aflame. “If that’s the case, then there’s your wish, you fool. Happy?”
“Unbelievably,” Cheren whispers against his lips, unable to stop smiling even in the slightest. For Lear of all people to say his feelings out loud—well, it gives him a rush of an addicting emotion he can’t quite name. It was bigger than simple satisfaction or endearment; rather an amalgamation of the two and many more. Ah, he wishes he could make this day a regional holiday. “I adore you, my prince. A frankly alarming amount, at that.”
“I’m more than aware,” Lear huffs, a wobbly smile on his lips as Cheren began playing with his hair. “Was it so rewarding for you to hear my feelings outright?”
“Definitely.”
Lear raises his head, leaning into his touch. “Really?”
“Well, it’s not every day a prince confesses his love to me,” and Cheren laughs, choosing to ignore how Lear rolls his eyes. “Especially one who finds it so difficult to say how he really feels.” He leans his head onto Lear’s shoulder and breathes in, wrapping his arms around him. Before, Lear would have tensed up at his touch or pushed him away, but now he melts, hands finding purchase in his sweater and pulling slightly. “I’m so in love with you,” he says, and although his voice is muffled, the way Lear’s breath hitches is proof enough that he heard every word. “Not a moment goes by that I’m not thinking about you.”
Lear lets out a surprised sound, eyes wide. “That’s—that’s so corny!” He covers his hand with his mouth, undoubtedly suppressing a smile. “Did that really leave your mouth just now? Perhaps I’m dreaming?”
Cheren raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Does that mean you dream about me?” Not long after asking he burst into laughter, watching with amusement as Lear’s face turned a rather alarming shade of red. “Do you, though?”
“What a foolish question,” Lear grumbles, shaking his head quickly. “Of course I don’t! And even if I did— this doesn’t mean I do, but of course you will end up assuming as such—I would never admit it!”
Cheren lets out a small huff of laughter, eyes crinkled at the corners. “You just ‘admitted’ that you love me,” he teases, and Lear seemingly struggles to speak upon remembering it. “You’re more than welcome to say whatever you like.”
Lear falls silent as if heavily considering something, taking a few moments to think before crossing his arms and letting out a half-hearted scoff. “I suppose I have... once or twice,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear. Almost. “On occasion.”
“Oh? And, pray tell, what happens in them?”
“Well...” Lear trails off, chewing his lip. “Just going on dates and similar outings is all.” His eyes brighten in recollection of them, and Cheren can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight. “I’m sure you’d want to hear about one of my many great ideas for us!”
“Without a doubt,” Cheren responds, tracing the shape of Lear’s jaw with his fingertips. “I’d be willing to make those dreams a reality—depending on what it is, anyways. But we should save that for another time.” He pulls him in, a hand tucked in his hair and the other on his sleeve, tugging him along. There was something more important he’d like to focus on now. “I hope you know how much I love you, Lear.”
The prince freezes briefly at the close contact before letting their noses brush, meeting him halfway with a shaky breath. “I love you too. No matter what.”
With a smile he doesn’t dare bite back, Cheren kisses the boy that has entranced him the moment they met—the one that he falls further and further in love with every day, without fail or hesitation.
From now, he thinks, until the end of the line.