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Ferdinand von Aegir’s second life is nothing like his first.
There is a part of him that still expects to wake up tomorrow in the throes of war. For whatever bliss his brain has invented in the interim to disintegrate back into flaming battlefields and gut wrenching screams and lances being speared through his chest.
The tomorrows never arrive. Instead, Ferdinand adjusts to a new world.
In Ferdinand’s second life, he’s a lawyer. And a damn good one, if he may say so himself. When the memories of diplomacy of his first life had returned to him, so had his passions for constitutions and charters. Unwilling to let the memories of his first life chain him down, Ferdinand has worked tirelessly to prove himself in this modern world. It has paid off spectacularly—ambition is one material that Ferdinand will never run out of. He has achieved most anything he has set his mind to.
Almost anything, he should say.
Certain ghosts of the past still haunt him. He still looks for their echoes in the breeze, even now.
While society is different—Enbarr is unrecognisable from the past—and Ferdinand has a brand new life, some things remain the same.
Everywhere Ferdinand goes, he meets people from his first life. Sometimes, they greet each other in a warm embrace, commiserate their shared history, and never speak of the matter again. To be stuck in times long gone would hold them back from embracing their future. No one is quite naive enough to waste a second chance. They enjoy each other’s company freely the second time, without war looming over them like an executioner’s axe.
In this life, Ferdinand has grown closer with old friends such as Dorothea and Lorenz, and even made new friends in Sylvain and Mercedes. He has crossed paths with almost all of his ex-classmates now—he can count on his fingers those he hasn’t met yet. While they reminisce about the war, they also share their current lives as often as they can, too.
On other occasions, he meets ghosts of a lifetime past that cannot remember their shared history.
Ferdinand’s own father, Ludwig von Aegir, is the prime example of this. He is still a politician in this life, and still absent in any fatherly duties, but he does not recall his first life in any capacity. Ferdinand has dug, poked and prodded, but his father has never once shown any glimpse of recognition. Ferdinand finds that it’s never bothered him.
The memories are absent for others too. Hilda, Jeritza and Bernadetta, as far as Ferdinand has been made aware, have not recalled their previous lives. They enjoy the well-earned peace of the present without the chains of the past threatening to strangle them at any moment.
A part of Ferdinand has always been jealous of them for it. To not be burdened with such a shattering past is a fate that Ferdinand cannot even comprehend. What does it mean to walk around each day without seeing blood every time one blinks? Are their dreams infinitely more pleasant than barren fields and fiery battles? A life without the phantom pains of a lance piercing his chest and an agonisingly slow death upon a bridge is more than Ferdinand knows how to pray for.
It is not fair to be resentful of them for memories that are out of their control to reject, so Ferdinand grits his teeth in a smile and pretends that meeting them is some grand coincidence. He can bear the weight of times long past, so he does. The bitterness is nothing compared with the relief of seeing his beloved comrades happy in this second chance. To see them thrive is all he could ask for.
It isn’t as though every one of his memories fills him with sorrow and revulsion. Mixed in are the ones he holds closest to his heart to be replayed on the darkest days. Warm days spent with the ex-Eagles, long nights spent laughing so hard that they spilled tears, and the knowledge that one can build a family with bonds thicker than blood.
There is one particular pair of green eyes, however, that dominates Ferdinand’s sweetest memories. The memories that keep Ferdinand’s heart hopeful consist of gentle lips against his skin, a scarred hand entwined with his own, and an ever-devoted presence by his side.
He misses Hubert more than he knows how to say. Every day since his memories returned to him, he has yearned to reunite with his fiancé. To finally fall back into Hubert’s arms is all he could ever wish for, his greatest ambition of all.
Yet, Hubert evades him. Ferdinand has tried just about every method to track him down, from asking as many of his ex-classmates as he can, to committing the most in-depth social media search of all time, but has yielded no results. It is as though in this life, Hubert is a phantom.
Ferdinand refuses to lose hope. He knows Hubert is out there, somewhere. Perhaps he is looking for Ferdinand too, or perhaps he has no idea who Ferdinand is at all. Either way, Ferdinand can feel him—like a tug of his heart pulling him forward with each beat of chest.
Until then, Ferdinand works. He works, and he prays, and he carries on. He collects stories to tell Hubert once they reunite, and dreams of the day the other half of his heart will be in reach.
He just wishes it would come faster. It is days like today, when work exhausts him so deeply that he almost misses the war, and the rain that soaks his shirt as he comes down the sidewalk ruins his day that he misses Hubert more than ever. He misses sharing a long pot of coffee, and warm embraces, and the person who believed in him without fail.
As it stands, there is scarcely anything Ferdinand can do to cheer himself up after such a day. When Ferdinand had chosen to go into family law, he hadn’t expected to get so emotionally invested in every case. Every setback feels like a personal failing, even after three years of the job.
Today’s setback was going to haunt him until he solves it, and he predicts a long day ahead of him come tomorrow. Delicate matters require delicate hands, and Ferdinand plans on giving his everything to his work when he returns to the office tomorrow.
But to do so, he must refresh his mind somehow, and nothing sounds quite as appealing as a hot cup of tea to keep him company on his commute back to his apartment. So Ferdinand makes a detour on his walk to the train station, gets rained on in the process, all to come to his favourite cafe.
Ferdinand was a tea snob in his past life, and he’ll remain a tea snob in this one. Only The Eagle’s Roast has the imported hibiscus tea that Ferdinand currently favours, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
The bell atop the door softly rings as Ferdinand swings the door open. He’s immediately greeted with a welcome blast of warm air and the aroma of baked goods. It’s enough to take the edge off his day, and a fraction of the tension in his shoulders dissipates immediately.
He waves at the barista as he steps inside, taking off his overcoat and slinging it over his arm. It is surprisingly empty for peak hour—most of the wooden tables are unoccupied, and there is no queue that leads up to the rustic counter.
It is a benefit for Ferdinand. He won’t have to wait for long, and his favourite seat by the window, ideal for people-watching, should be unoccupied.
Just as he cranes his neck to check his hypothesis, Ferdinand von Aegir receives the biggest shock of his two lifetimes.
At the table in the furthest corner, is none other than Hubert von Vestra.
Ferdinand could recognise him anywhere, at any time. Ferdinand’s heart lurches in his chest as he takes in every detail, soaking them in so they never escape his memory. Hubert looks just how Ferdinand remembers, if not a couple of years older. His eyes are the same striking shade of green, his hands long and slender as he types away at the laptop before him, and his skin the same milky white that Ferdinand once loved running his hands over. Even Hubert’s hair remains the same, shorter on the sides with waved bangs covering the left-side of his face.
There is not a single doubt in Ferdinand’s mind. It is most definitely his Hubert. Breathing, and alive, and here.
It is difficult to resist the urge not to sprint over and hold Hubert tight. Ferdinand cannot think of anything more important in this moment than grabbing Hubert and never letting him go again, keeping him as safe as he can within his grasp. He feels the moment in every cell of his body, from his shaking hands and pounding heart to the stinging of his eyes as his vision blurs.
Such an intense wave of tenderness and grief overtakes Ferdinand all at once. He remains frozen in the entry of the cafe, legs unwilling to move, gaze captured by Hubert. The irrational fear runs though Ferdinand that if he looks away, even if he blinks, that his love will disappear.
But as it stands, Hubert remains. He’s completely oblivious to Ferdinand’s doorway panic. He sits in the corner, empty mug of coffee to his left, brows scrunched the way they always have as he tries to conceptualise new information. Ferdinand’s fingers twitch with the urge to run his fingers across his forehead. Telling Hubert that frowning would give him wrinkles had become an everyday part of Ferdinand’s vernacular, once upon a different life.
Ferdinand takes a deep breath, forcing air into all the parts of his chest that had felt achingly empty up until now. As much as he longs to jump over all the tables in the way to kiss Hubert, he knows better. Two lifetimes have left him with enough wisdom to at least think such a moment through.
Just as Ferdinand had never found Hubert, Hubert had never found Ferdinand either. Considering that Ferdinand had made his every social media profile public, just in case, there is no way it is due to difficulties in searching. Hubert has never looked for him.
If there is one thing that Ferdinand von Aegir remembers from his last life, it is just how deeply Hubert von Vestra loved him. He had never left room in Ferdinand’s mind for doubt that he was adored. It would never be for lack of wanting to find Ferdinand.
Hubert doesn’t remember him.
Just like Bernadetta and Jeritza, as far as Hubert must be concerned, this is his first life.
Ferdinand doesn’t even feel the need to confirm it with Hubert. He knows, well and true within every inch of his heart, that the only thing that would ever stop Hubert finding him was lack of knowledge to.
A part of him hurts at the thought of Hubert not sharing their memories, that he is the only one who holds onto the memories that are most dear. Ferdinand is the only one to carry on their story now.
The majority of Ferdinand’s feelings, however, leave him feeling absolutely giddy. He cannot remember the last time he felt such delicate butterflies in his stomach or a deep, fragile warmth permeating his chest. Merely looking at Hubert brings a resurgence of so much light to Ferdinand’s being—he had forgotten how sweet the feeling is.
Ferdinand knows he must tread carefully now. He is a stranger to this Hubert, and Hubert has never quite taken well to strangers. But Ferdinand does not plan on leaving this cafe without giving his everything in reuniting with Hubert. Hubert had loved him once, and with any luck, he’ll love him again.
So Ferdinand forces his legs, one step at a time, to the counter of The Eagle’s Roast. He is ashamed that he stutters for a moment over his words as he orders his drinks: one hibiscus tea, and one ristretto, while ignoring how his hands shake as he taps his card to pay. He watches Hubert out of the corner of his eye as he waits for his order, and holds the cups close to his chest as he weaves his way through the empty tables to reach the one that truly matters.
As he approaches Hubert, Ferdinand cannot help the flutter in his chest at the mere sight of him. He’s always thought Hubert was handsome—beautiful in a truly unique way—with a stately nose and cheekbones that could cut through marble. He is just as ethereal in this life, with only subtle differences that it took Ferdinand being so close to notice. There are no dark circles under Hubert’s eyes now, and no staining of his hands from overusing dark magic.
In this world, it seems Hubert’s demons haven’t followed him at all. There is no reason to run himself to the bone, and no threat to keep him from sleep. It fills Ferdinand with a soft peace. To see the one he loves happy makes every tragedy of their past life worth it.
In their last life, Hubert had always called Ferdinand brave. Before and after every battle, during every night terror and for no reason at all. Ferdinand replays such sweet words in his mind, and begs them to give him strength. He has never before needed to be brave quite like he has now.
“Excuse me,” Ferdinand says, commending himself for the steadiness of his voice. “Is this seat taken?”
Hubert lifts his head immediately from whatever has him so engrossed on his screen. He still maintains a blank stare, but Ferdinand can read him, even now. The slight twitch of his eye indicates he’s been startled, and the tongue subtly poking his inner cheek that he’s confused.
Hubert’s eyes skim just about everywhere. First, he looks at Ferdinand. No recognition graces his face, and Ferdinand confirms once more that his suspicions of a lack of memory ring true. Still, his eyes linger for a fraction longer than necessary, before continuing over to the otherwise-empty cafe.
Ferdinand doesn’t wait for an answer, because Hubert will definitely turn him down. There are far too many vacant tables for him to agree to a random man’s company. Ferdinand must take matters into his own hands.
The chair scrapes against the panels of the floor as Ferdinand takes the seat opposite Hubert, setting his two cups down atop the table between them. Hubert opens his mouth to say goddess knows what, before promptly shutting it again.
“I have always loved this spot. It is an excellent place to watch the world from, correct?” Ferdinand says. He slides the ristretto towards Hubert, offering him the drink, before taking a sip of his own. It’s sweet on his tongue, albeit slightly tart, but he savours it on his tongue.
Hubert can no longer hide the confusion on his face. His brows draw together as he regards Ferdinand with a deeply questioning glance. It’s endearing, so much so that Ferdinand finds himself grinning wider than he ever has in this life.
“Do I know you?” Hubert asks.
Ferdinand hadn’t realised how much he missed Hubert’s voice until he hears it again, deep and sultry and as smooth as coffee. The sound echoes right through Ferdinand’s core and makes a quick home inside his heart.
It is becoming increasingly difficult to contain his glee as Ferdinand shakes his head. “No. We do not. I am Ferdinand von Aegir, who might you be?”
“You definitely have the wrong person,” Hubert says. He tries to push the coffee cup Ferdinand had given him away, but Ferdinand doesn’t take it back. “Have a nice da—”
“Do you agree that the rain provides most excellent cafe ambience?” Ferdinand asks. To most, it would seem a chaotically random question. But Ferdinand has already run this race before.
Back in his Garreg Mach days, getting Hubert to initially drop his walls had been a delicate art. It had taken a fine amount of distracting conversation and well-timed segues that had gotten Hubert accustomed to Ferdinand’s presence, much like taming a wild horse. He is not afraid to repeat such measures. Ferdinand has never been the type to shy away from a challenge.
It works in their second life, too. Hubert doesn’t protest, though he narrows his eyes at Ferdinand. “Even after you got caught in it?”
Ferdinand, as it turns out, has been too distracted to remember that he is soaked through to the bone. He grins sheepishly before pulling his hair out of its braid to allow it to dry faster. “Pathetic fallacy.”
It should be more surprising that it is as easy as breathing to fall back into conversation with Hubert. Whatever fear that had run Ferdinand’s blood to ice prior melts away in just a few short sentences. Comfort has always come quick when in the presence of his other half, on battlefields of days gone, and in coffeeshops of new beginnings.
“You didn’t strike me as a literature person.” Hubert’s voice is low, judgemental, even. Ferdinand had missed that, too.
“What sort of person do I strike you for?” Ferdinand takes the chance to bat his lashes at Hubert.
That’s the moment Hubert seems to remember the predicament he’s in. Cornered by a stranger was never Hubert’s idea of a good time, though now he lacks the ability to warp away.
“An annoying one. There are about a dozen empty tables here.” Hubert loosely gestures around the cafe with one gloriously unscarred hand. “Try one.”
“I prefer this table, I will have you know.”
“Well, it’s occupied.”
“Then we will have to share it.” Ferdinand knows he’s won—he’s just as stubborn as Hubert is. Neither of them would give in such a situation. Hubert won’t vacate a spot he’s already claimed, and Ferdinand never wants to let Hubert out of his sight again. “Try your coffee.”
Hubert looks at Ferdinand as though he’s gone mad, which perhaps he has. Ferdinand only smiles brighter in response.
“Did you poison it?” Hubert asks, which is exactly what he would have asked 500 years ago. It’s delightful in a way that makes Ferdinand shuffle his chair closer as he shakes his head.
In this life, when Hubert takes a sip of his drink, he doesn’t first pass it under his nose to check if it has been tampered with.
It’s the first time that Ferdinand watches someone with no recollection of their own history and feels no envy at all.
Instead, he’s filled with pure relief. Hubert doesn’t have to worry that some dark force may be plotting to kill him, or the fate of the continent upon his shoulders, or a war that was always going to be too big for him to hold.
He is not shackled by the past, a prisoner to unwanted memories. He doesn’t know of pain long gone, of fear and desperation.
Hubert has no idea how terribly he’s suffered.
Ferdinand finds himself praying that it stays that way. For Hubert to keep his innocence is more than Ferdinand knew he wanted. There is a light in Hubert’s eyes now, one that had long gone out the first time they had met. And Ferdinand wants to protect that.
He will gladly carry the memories of their great love story all on his own if it means Hubert can stay safely tucked away from memories of calamity. To be spared such grief is a mercy that Ferdinand wants for him. Hubert deserves that.
Now their paths have crossed once more, Ferdinand has no doubt that they can write a new love story this time. One without fear, and danger and the ever-constant threat of losing one another. This time, Ferdinand gets to approach a handsome stranger in a coffee shop rather than a battlefield.
For the first time, Ferdinand longs for the future instead of clinging onto the past. A whole new realm of making brand new, unmarred memories has just been opened to him, and he will chase it as far as it carries him.
“How did you know my order?” Hubert questions. The corner of his lip is quirked up ever so slightly. “Pray, do tell, are you a stalker of some sort?”
“First a murderer and now a stalker? Oh, how you offend me. I am a professional psychic. Ferdinand the Great.”
Hubert scoffs. “Incorrect. A lawyer, definitely.”
Ferdinand cannot help the way his jaw drops. He had not mentioned that, had he? No, no, as much as Ferdinand is excellent at sharing, he’s chosen his words carefully up until now. He would remember saying such a thing.
“How?” he asks, head cocked to one side.
“Only a lawyer would have the audacity to sit down at an occupied table and flirt so shamelessly.” Hubert says this so matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his coffee as he does.
A brilliant, scarlet blush paints Ferdinand’s face immediately. It tickles the tips of his ears and warms him right to the chest. He has to avert his gaze to the window and watch the rain patter over the sidewalk to contain himself.
He wonders if the memories of the past lay dormant in Hubert’s subconscious somewhere. The Hubert that Ferdinand once knew wouldn’t have dropped his guard even a fraction, not like Hubert has now. He certainly wouldn’t have been watching Ferdinand with a keenly curious gaze over his cup, chin tilted up slightly in an unfairly attractive manner.
“It’s on your pen,” Hubert amends. He nods his head towards Ferdinand’s chest to make himself clear.
Of course it’s on Ferdinand’s pen. The name of his law firm is right across the clip, visible from its position inside Ferdinand’s shirt pocket. Ferdinand runs his fingers over the offensive item, before tugging at his own shirt collar to loosen it. Hubert hasn’t lost his penchant for observation, even if it is unlikely he needs it anymore
“And what do you do with yourself?” Ferdinand asks. He thinks Hubert would be wonderful at any job he puts his mind towards, knowing just how dedicated he’s always been. In no life has Ferdinand met anyone with a work ethic quite as dedicated as Hubert’s. No one has ever matched him in levels of devotion.
“You’re a terrible stalker if you don’t know that. Absolutely abysmal performance.”
Ferdinand cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest. He feels somewhat ridiculous, blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl at quite literally anything Hubert says, but he cannot help it. It has been all too long since Ferdinand has seen his beloved—what is he to do other than react accordingly? If anything, he’s holding himself back a fraction. He still wants to leap across the table and take Hubert into his hold—only a thin veil of restraint stops him.
“I was top of my class in stalker school, I will have you know. I cannot be beat.” Ferdinand enjoys the way Hubert rolls his eyes at such a statement. It’s such an echo of their past life that Ferdinand almost asks him to do it again.
Instead, Hubert angles the lid of his laptop closed. Ferdinand has won the battle, then, with a reward of promised conversation and attention. He preens himself for his efforts. “Then you should know that I’m a pharmacist.”
It wasn’t one of the possibilities that Ferdinand predicted. He always pictured Hubert as a lawyer, or doctor, or unfortunately, a hitman. Hubert always had a good grasp on chemicals, though—it is no surprise it has followed him now. It suits him quite excellently.
Their conversation flows easily after that. The cafe fades away, in that moment it is as though Hubert is the only thing that exists. Ferdinand tells him stories from his university days, his morally superior food preferences, and argues about how minimalism is ruining the world. In turn, Hubert shares some fascinating tidbits from work, talks of his siblings, and antagonises Ferdinand every chance he gets.
Ferdinand couldn’t have asked for anything more. It’s so easy between them—even now, no one else comes close to the ideal conversation partner. But then again, no one would even be capable of holding Ferdinand’s attention in such a way. Ferdinand hangs onto every word that spills from Hubert’s perfect lips. He hasn’t been able to dote on Hubert for far too long, and now he wants nothing more than to make up for it with his undivided attention and admittedly excellent conversational skills.
However, as all things do, the afternoon comes to an end. The rain stops as the sun well and truly begins its descent, and with it, The Eagle’s Roast closes. It forces Hubert and Ferdinand onto the sidewalk outside.
“You never told me your name, you know,” Ferdinand says as he shuffles his way back into his coat. “It is quite rude. How am I meant to continue my stalk onto social media when I lack such vital information?”
Hubert looks exasperated, eyes flickering up to the grey sky above them in a silent prayer. “You wouldn’t have much luck. Social media is a disease. Give me your phone.”
It’s an explanation as to why Ferdinand has had no luck finding Hubert, at least. He adds making Hubert learn to take a selfie onto his list of immediate priorities as he hands over his unlocked phone.
“There,” Hubert says as he types. “I hope that suffices.”
Ferdinand reaches across to retrieve his phone, but he accidentally grazes his fingers against Hubert’s instead. It’s as though he’s touched a live wire, the feeling of Hubert’s skin against his own causing an immediate spark to ignite. It shocks him the moment he makes contact with Hubert’s cold skin, sending a thrill through Ferdinand as the hairs on his arm stand in salute.
Hubert feels it too, because he freezes the moment they touch. His eyes widening slightly as he regards Ferdinand with a curious look. Once he pushes Ferdinand’s phone back into his hands, he looks down to his own, as though inspecting for damage from what has occurred.
The pounding of Ferdinand’s heart in his ears drowns out the rest of the city around them. He begs it to calm down, regardless of how sweet the lingering prickle of his fingers is. Ferdinand cannot help his smile as he looks to his phone, absolutely delighted to see Hubert’s name and number inserted in his contacts.
“You are sure we’ve never met?” Hubert asks. His brows remain drawn together as his gaze stays firm on Ferdinand’s face. “I feel awfully like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“Not in this life.” Ferdinand hasn’t quite mourned the fact that he’s lost the Hubert that made him feel strong, and brave, and unconditionally loved in the face of the end of the world. But with this Hubert within arm's reach, who is without a doubt the same man at his core, he cannot bring himself to feel heartbroken.
Instead, Ferdinand chooses to feel hopeful. Hope makes a warm home in his chest, inviting and calming. Ferdinand finds himself looking forward to all his tomorrows, and whatever memories he will create with them.
Hubert still twitches his hand where they had touched, shoving it into the pockets of his dark trousers. “Regardless, I suppose seeing you again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
Ferdinand beams. It’s the smile that used to have Hubert weak in the knees, and even now he involuntarily smiles back at the sight of it. It feels somewhat like cheating, to know exactly what to do and say to Hubert to garner his affections, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Ferdinand is a desperate man.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to request to meet tomorrow? Same place, same time?” Ferdinand bounces on the balls of his feet.
“I’ll see you then, Ferdinand,” Hubert says, tipping his head in a quick farewell as he turns to walk away.
And oh, Ferdinand has missed the way his name sounds in Hubert’s voice. It’s enough to bring another wave of tears prickling at his eyes. He finds himself grateful for the fact Hubert’s back is turned. Explaining why he’s suddenly filled with a strange mix of grief and joy would be impossible to explain.
He’s grateful for everything. Grateful that they’ve been given a second chance at life, grateful that this time it’s free of hurt and turmoil, and more grateful than ever that fate has reunited him with Hubert once more.
But more than anything, Ferdinand von Aegir is grateful for the new memories he will get to create with Hubert, and all the love they will undoubtedly bring.