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“Y’know, you’d think after a while we’d stop finding so many dangerous magic artifacts and machines,” Yuuri sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as Ao trudged along towards Blood Pledge Castle. They were just returning from a trip to fetch the newest magical item—one that had been sitting forgotten in the attic of some old collector who’d had no idea what danger was gathering dust up there.
“Ages ago,” Wolfram explained dully, lacking its usual edge, “there was far more magic in the world. More ability and more reason to create things.”
Yuuri frowned at the hollowness in his fiance’s voice. He’d spent half the ride back listening to Wolfram rant about how he’d allegedly been absolutely fawning over the collector’s granddaughter—when really, all Yuuri had done was smile, thank her politely, and assure her they’d keep the artifact somewhere it couldn’t hurt anyone.
“Yeah, but still,” Yuuri muttered in reply, a whine in his voice, “I’d be glad if they stopped cropping up. So many of them always cause problems.”
Almost immediately, his thoughts drifted unhelpfully back to one of the worst incidents.
…Well, maybe not the worst, depending on who you asked.
The Dry Wind Machine incident had been… well, one of the main reasons Yuuri had developed such a strong dislike for the magical devices of this world. Honestly, who made a machine that worked by kissing? It was downright absurd. Though, his problems with that machine had all been Shinou’s fault. His Wolfram—despite being exceedingly touchy-feely at times—would never have tied him up, gagged him, dragged him through the castle, and kissed him without warning.
… Probably… Maybe… The jury was out on that one.
Even now, years later, the mere thought of that kiss sent heat creeping up Yuuri’s neck and into his cheeks. He hadn’t reacted to the kiss in the way he would’ve expected—in fact, he’d handled it shockingly well, with minimal embarrassment involved. It was partly because it wasn’t really his Wolfram, and partly because…well. After a while, he’d started to realize he might not have minded the kiss.
Obviously, he’d never acted on that thought, or even spoken it aloud, but it had certainly lingered—quitely and stubbornly, turning over in the back of his mind. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped pushing Wolfram away so quickly. He’d caught himself, once or twice, wondering what it might be like to actually kiss Wolfram. It wasn’t uncommon for Yuuri to find his gaze lingering on Wolfram’s lips in their many conversations, or his mind wandering to similar places when he was supposed to be focusing on his kingly duties.
…Ah. He wasn’t ready to unpack all of that. Not yet. He liked Wolfram, of course, but it felt weird to think about it too long, and especially strange to say it. He suddenly found himself feeling very grateful that Wolfram seemed to have infinite patience when it came to him.
Yuuri instead turned his focus to literally anything else—the familiar courtyard coming into view, the quiet rhythm of Ao’s steps.
“You cheating wimp!” Wolfram’s voice broke Yuuri out of his stupor, and he nearly jolted out of the saddle. “You’re blushing! I bet you’re thinking about that—that tramp from the collector’s house!”
“Wha— No I'm not!?!” Yuuri flushed, having been caught blushing while thinking about kissing Wolfram, of all people.
Wolfram twisted around in his saddle, eyes narrowing as they locked onto Yuuri’s face, zeroing in on the blush that had only deepened. Flatly, he replied, “You are a terrible liar.”
“I was just being polite to her!”
“You were being shameless!”
“I said thank you and didn’t kill her,” Yuuri exclaimed exasperatedly as they entered the castle gates. “What more could you possibly want from me?!”
Wolfram scoffed, turning forward again with an annoyed huff, seemingly ending the conversation even though he was the one who started it in the first place. Yuuri suppressed a groan—Wolfram was nothing if not unpredictable.
Conrad was waiting in the courtyard for them as they pulled their horses to a stop. Conrad caught Yuuri’s gaze and offered him the slightest of amused grins and a small shrug—at least someone was entertained. Yuuri swung his legs around Ao and slid off, Wolfram following suit.
Yuuri frowned as Wolfram began unloading the items. “H–Hey, be careful with that pack, it’s got the…”
Wolfram cut Yuuri off with a seething glare and for one of the first times, Yuuri caught something other than jealousy. Something tight. Sharp. Not the usual flare of anger, but something that didn’t belong on Wolfram’s face at all. He didn’t raise his voice when he spoke this time—that, more than anything, felt wrong.
“Sometimes I wish I’d never met you, you wimp.”
Yuuri froze in place, like time itself had stopped.
The words came out too fast, and it felt like someone had poured cold water over Yuuri. Wolfram stilled, like what he said wasn’t meant to leave his lips, and the pack slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a clink.
Suddenly, Wolfram was engulfed in the thick black smoke that rose from the smoldering pack at his feet. He stared at it, confusion first flashing across his face, then sudden terror. His head snapped up.
Yuuri was already moving before his mind even registered what was happening. “Wolfram—!”
Their eyes met for just a split second before the smoke swallowed him. By the time the smoke cleared, Wolfram’s eyes were closed—and he fell to the ground.
“I’m so incredibly sorry I’m not a better expert on what happens when people go throwing around dangerous, ancient magical artifacts,” Anissina snapped at the 27th Maoh of the Demon Kingdom, her eyes aflame and her patience wearing thin.
Yuuri barely heard her. He hadn’t stopped pacing since they’d gotten Wolfram into bed. Gizela said she couldn’t find anything wrong with him and that they’d just have to wait and see. Yuuri hated that.
“His Majesty is just worried about Wolfram,” Conrad consoled gently.
Worried was an understatement. Yuuri dragged a hand through his hair, turning again at the edge of the room for the umpteenth time. Frankly, all of them were worried. Time continued to pass at a snail’s pace. People fluttered in and out of the room as the sun moved across the sky.
Across the room, Wolfram lay still, one of his hands held between Cecilie’s, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over his knuckles, her brow furrowed—it was undeniable how much she loved her sons. Greta sat beside her, eyes wide and glassy.
Gwendal sat in the corner, knitting with enough force that the needles clicked sharply with every movement. Gunter and Anissina were currently absent, tearing through the library in search of a solution.
“We just want Wolfram to wake up safe and sound,” Cecilie said quietly to no one in particular.
“Miss Gizela…” Greta’s voice wavered as she looked up at the healer. “When will Papa Wolf wake up?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted softly. “There’s nothing physically wrong with him. By all accounts, he should’ve woken up by now.”
Should’ve. Yuuri’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t exactly comforting to know. Once more, the group fell into silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft tap of Yuuri’s pacing and the sharp, relentless clicking of Gwendal’s knitting needles.
Several more hours passed.
It wasn’t until Cecilie’s sharp intake of breath that the stillness broke. Wolfram stirred, and everyone moved at once, gathering around his bed—even Gwendal abandoned his knitting.
“Wolf?” Cecilie whispered, squeezing his hand. A small groan escaped him and he shifted in the bed.
Slowly, he blinked open, his emerald eyes finding hers. “...Mother?” His voice was rough, barely there.
Cecilie immediately dissolved into quiet tears, smiling through them. She bowed down, lowering her head to where she was squeezing Wolfram’s hand, her tears wetting his skin and her body shaking with small sobs. “Yes, Wolfie—are you alright? How do you feel? Oh, we were all so worried—”
Wolfram shifted slightly, his gaze unfocused as it drifted across the room. He frowned, confusion setting in and resting between furrowed brows. “What…happened? Where am I?”
“You’re in your room,” Cecilie explained gently. “You’ve been out for a few hours. Don’t you remember breaking that magic machine?”
“Yeah, Papa!” Greta chimed in, rushing forward. “We were so worried! You wouldn’t wake up…” She sniffed back her tears. “I’m so happy you’re awake!”
She threw her arms around him—or, at least, tried to. Wolfram recoiled from her touch, his eyes wide as he stared at her.
“Papa?! What the hell? I’m not your father.” His voice sharpened and he turned back towards Cecilie, eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation. “Mother, what kind of ridiculous joke is this? This isn’t even my room.”
Silence.
Cecilie’s smile faltered as she pulled Greta back, holding her close as the girl’s confusion crumpled into hurt.
“Wolfram…” Conrad stepped forward carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You don’t remember Greta? You adopted her years ago.”
Wolfram’s gaze flicked to him—sharp, searching, and filled with an anger towards him that Conrad hadn’t seen in a long time.
A beat.
“... Hmph, what do you mean, ‘years ago’?”
Conrad glanced towards Gwendal cautiously. “Has he… forgotten everything?”
“Not everything.”
Yuuri’s voice cut through the room—quiet enough to make everyone pause. He’d stopped his pacing and was just standing there, looking at Wolfram.
“Just…me,” he said. He paused and swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry and his chest hollow. “Everything since me.”
Silence.
Gwendal’s gaze shot between Gizela and Conrad, his eyes a little wide. “What was that last thing he said?”
Conrad frowned slightly. “He said…he wished he’d never met Yuuri.”
“...Right.” Gwendal exhaled. “I’ll inform Gunter and Anissina. That’s too specific to ignore.”
Gwendal left, and Conrad turned to Wolfram. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”
“I remember…” Wolfram trailed off, frowning and pressing a hand lightly to his head. “I don’t know. It’s…fuzzy. Like I was drunk. I didn’t get drunk, did I?”
“No,” Conrad said, a little too carefully. “There was…an incident earlier today involving a magical artifact you and Yuuri retrieved. It seems you’re missing the last several years of your memories.”
“...Several years?” Wolfram echoed hollowly. He went quiet, trying to process the information, and then: “…Who’s Yuuri?”
Yuuri didn’t move—couldn’t, really. He licked his lips, nervous energy shooting through every part of his body. “Me.”
Wolfram looked at him properly for the first time since passing out—really looked, like he was trying to put a name to his features. “...And I know you how?”
Cecilie gave a soft, wavering laugh. “Wolfram, honey…he’s your fiance. And little Greta here—she’s your adopted daughter. Yours and Yuuri’s.”
Wolfram narrowed his eyes and shifted back on the bed, putting more space between himself and the others.
Yuuri sighed slowly. “Y’know…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’d almost take you getting mad at me for slapping you over…this.” A weak huff of a laugh. “...You look terrified.”
Irritation flashed in Wolfram’s eyes. “I would never have agreed to something like this,” he said sharply. “And mother is the Maoh—she wouldn’t allow it. Especially not to some… wimpy looking kid.”
Wolfram had hoped the words would sting, but his mother and even Conrad let out light chuckles. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Conrad cleared his throat. “Wolfram…Mother is not the Maoh. Look a little closer at Yuuri.”
For a moment, Wolfram did. He studied Yuuri closely—Yuuri, for his part, shifted under the attention, shoulders tightening slightly.
What the hell does Conrad mean by look? Wolfram thought in agitation. He frowned. …Well. He wasn’t unattractive. Annoyingly so. Dark hair, a mess of it. Eyes too dark to read properly.
Wolfram blinked. Black hair. Black eyes.
“...You can’t be—”
“Yuuri is the current Maoh,” Conrad said gently. “And has been for some time.”
Wolfram’s expression flickered. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You stood by him,” Conrad added. “Through everything. It’s been a difficult journey, but our land is at peace now thanks to you two. You really can’t remember any of it?”
Wolfram shook his head, slower this time. He remembered some things, but…nothing of what Conrad was saying. Fiance? Daughter? It was all just…so outlandish. But would Conrad create such an elaborate lie? Would his mother join in on it? He chewed his bottom lip as he thought. There had to be something else going on, but he just…couldn’t remember what.
“I…” Yuuri began, his voice trembling, “I should probably have the maids make sure your room is clean. You’ll probably feel more comfortable somewhere a little more familiar.”
Yuuri didn’t look back as he left, just shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Wolfram’s eyes followed him anyway, and for a moment something tugged at his heart. Like something was horribly, tragically wrong.
…But the larger part of him was still just drawing a blank on the unfamiliar double-black. Wolfram clenched the bedsheets in his hands tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Is Papa Wolf gonna remember us?” Greta asked quietly, turning tearful eyes up to Celi.
Cecilie pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We don’t know. But Wolfie is still Wolfie, and we’re just glad he’s safe.”
Wolfram looked down at his hands.
Safe.
He’d wanted to talk to Gwendal, but his eldest brother seemed to be busy, working on a great deal of paperwork with this new Maoh.
And, if Wolfram was being honest…he’d been avoiding him—this ‘Yuuri’ kid. So Gwendal was off the table since he could never find him alone.
So instead, he sought out Conrad.
“Can I help you, Wolfram?” Conrad asked, wiping sweat from his sparring match off his face with a towel.
“I want…” Wolfram hesitated, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I want answers.” Hastily, he added, “And Gwendal is busy.”
A small, knowing sigh. “I figured you’d come to me eventually.” Conrad sat on a nearby wooden bench and gestured for Wolfram to do the same. “What exactly do you want to know?”
Once again, Wolfram hesitated. He stared at his hands, fidgeting with his own fingers. Then—
“Did I love him?”
“Yes,” Conrad answered easily. “But not at first.” He paused. “I’m not sure when or how, but there’s no doubt in my mind that you loved Yuuri a great deal.”
Wolfram frowned. “But he’s such a…a wimp.”
That earned the faintest smile.
“So you’ve said. Repeatedly, actually.” Conrad glanced at him. “And yet, you stayed.”
Wolfram looked away. “...And he?” he asked, quieter this time, like he was afraid to hear the answer. “Did he love me?”
Conrad’s expression softened. “He… hasn’t said so. His Majesty isn’t always good with words,” he said carefully. “Where he comes from, things are…different. Same sex couples are frowned upon.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” Conrad agreed with a nod. “It isn’t.” A pause. “But if you’re asking whether he cares,” he added, “whether he’d choose you, again and again—then yes. I believe his actions speak louder than his words.”
“What does that even mean? What deeds could possibly trump actually voicing your love for your own fiance?” Wolfram demanded, a little affronted.
Conrad leaned back slightly. “For one, you sleep in his bed and he’s yet to kick you out. When you broke the engagement and left him with just a letter, he not only chased you down, but allowed you to reinstate the engagement as if nothing had happened. He turned the full brunt of his own power back on himself to keep from harming you after you challenged him to a duel,” Conrart said, ticking off his fingers as he went down the list. “It means he didn’t leave when things were difficult. It means he stood by you. It means he fought for you more than once. And it means that even when you pushed him away…he always came back.”
Silence settled between them. Wolfram’s brow furrowed as he tried to process what Conrad told him. He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “...That sounds stupid.”
“Perhaps,” Conrad said mildly. “But you accepted it.”
Wolfram huffed under his breath.
Conrad smiled lightly at his younger brother. “Do you have more questions?”
Wolfram hesitated. “...No. Well…yes.” He looked away. “Us. You and I—we’re…?”
“We’re fine,” Conrad said with ease. “Better than we were. Thanks to Yuuri. You’ve certainly matured a lot since meeting him and raising Greta.”
Wolfram nodded slowly. “...I’m glad,” he said, softer than he intended. And before Conrad could comment, he stood and left. Conrad just smiled, shaking his head as he watched Wolfram go.
It didn’t feel right.
His bed, his room—everything should have been familiar. And yet—
Wolfram turned onto his side, then his back again, irritation creeping in.
He’d been doing that for hours. Days.
The sheets were too warm. Or too cold. The pillow sat wrong beneath his head. He would find himself waking fitfully from his dreams and reaching across the bed for something that wasn’t there. His hand would hover over the empty space, but he wouldn’t know what he’d been reaching for.
That was the problem.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling. Something was missing—not gone, but missing. Like he’d left something behind and couldn’t remember where. Even in his dreams, he could sense something’s absence, but he could never quite see or feel it. The most he could recall was some strangely specific scent—something wild and serene all at once, like a waterfall in the middle of the forest.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face, exhaustion etched into his skin. He couldn’t even think about sleeping anymore—sleep refused to accept him. Wolfram sat up abruptly.
“...Ridiculous,” he muttered.
He was tired. That was all. Tired and surrounded by people insisting that his life had drastically changed because of some random kid, and he had no idea this occurred because of a strange, large, magic-induced gap in his memory. Still…
His gaze drifted to the door. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“...If this is his fault,” Wolfram said under his breath, already pushing himself to his feet, “then the least he can do is explain it.”
Ten minutes later, he almost regretted it. He’d forgotten about the guards, and the fact that he was still in his nightclothes. Wolfram closed his eyes and straightened his back anyway, lifting his chin as he approached. If he was this man’s fiance as everyone insisted, then he had every right to be there. He’d act like he had a private audience with the Maoh if necessary.
The guards barely even glanced at him as he passed—apparently he really did have every right to be there. Strange.
Wolfram paused at the door, then knocked, deciding answers were more important than the Maoh’s rest. He didn’t have to wait long before the heavy door swung open. Yuuri stood there, dressed in dark silk, hair slightly mussed—but judging by his face and the candlelight burning inside the room, he hadn’t slept yet, either.
Their eyes met. Wolfram expected Yuuri to care about his appearance and mode of dress, but to his surprise the Maoh said nothing.
“Can’t sleep?” Yuuri asked, stepping aside to let him in. Wolfram hesitated, then stepped past him.
“No,” he said plainly, suddenly feeling at a loss. “It just doesn’t feel… right.”
Yuuri shut the door quietly behind them.
“Yeah,” he replied after a moment. “That makes sense.”
Wolfram frowned slightly, glancing back at him. “It shouldn’t.”
“No,” Yuuri agreed with a nod, his eyes tired. “It shouldn’t.” A beat, and then, quieter, “...I guess your body is just used to sleeping in a certain way.”
Wolfram stilled. “And…what way is it used to?”
Yuuri blinked—then flushed, a soft, almost embarrassed sound leaving him. He gestured vaguely to the bed. “That’s your side. Or where you usually start off, anyway.” A small huff. “You steal the blankets. Kick me. Occasionally shove me off entirely.” He paused, a small smile on his lips. “...You’re kind of a menace to sleep with.” He blushed again, looking down at the floor. “...Holding you down makes you not starfish out as much, though.”
Wolfram frowned. That felt…oddly believable. He tried not to flush at the implications of how Yuuri prevented himself from getting kicked out of bed. “...Is that why you can’t sleep?”
Yuuri nodded once, fidgeting with his hands.
Before he could say anything else, Wolfram marched over to the bed and climbed in like it was the most obvious solution in the world. Yuuri stared at him incredulously.
“I don’t like not sleeping,” Wolfram said simply, already settling under the covers and making himself at home. “Plus it’s inconvenient if the king is exhausted. If your theory is right, this should fix it.”
Yuuri stared at him and then sighed and shook his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, a small smile on his lips as he put out the lights and claimed his side of the bed.
Yuuri laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, but Wolfram lay facing him, his emerald eyes watching him intently in the darkness. A long, deeply uncomfortable silence stretched, but it didn’t take long for Wolfram to break it, since it was becoming increasingly clear that neither of them were falling asleep any time soon.
Wolfram shifted slightly closer. “...Tell me something.”
Yuuri glanced over, confusion written plainly across his face. “Like what?”
“I dunno.” Wolfram stared back up at the ceiling. “Anything.”
Yuuri snorted softly. “That’s vague.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke again. Moonlight shone dimly through the window.
Then Wolfram asked, quieter this time, “What was I like?”
Yuuri blinked. “...You?”
“Yes, me.” Wolfram rolled his eyes. “Unless there was another nobleman sleeping in your bed before I arrived.”
Yuuri laughed despite himself. “Absolutely not. One of you is already too much.” Wolfram shot him a small glare. “You were…” Yuuri’s expression softened faintly. “Loud.” Wolfram grabbed the pillow, ready to smack Yuuri. Yuuri desperately waved his hands in front of his face, begging for mercy. “You asked!”
“Hmph.” Wolfram set the pillow back down roughly. “I didn’t expect slander.”
Yuuri grinned sleepily into his pillow, another near-death experience successfully evaded. “You were loud and stubborn and kinda scary when we first met.”
Wolfram raised an eyebrow. “Kinda?”
“Kinda very scary.”
“Hmph!”
“But…” Yuuri hesitated. “You were also very honest.”
Wolfram stilled slightly beside him.
“You cared about things very openly,” Yuuri continued. “Said whatever you felt—usually violently, but still.”
“Did we spend a lot of time together?”
“Mmn,” Yuuri nodded. “I was kinda put off by it at first, just ‘cause sometimes you would sneak along without telling me. You hated being left out,” he added with a faint smile, “so no matter where I was, you always found me.”
Wolfram eyed Yuuri curiously. “I really followed you around that much?”
Yuuri laughed fondly. “You’re terrible about it.”
“Hm.” Despite the dryness of the response, Wolfram didn’t sound particularly bothered by the things Yuuri suggested. If anything, he sounded almost thoughtful. After a moment, he cautiously began, “Conrad mentioned some…things.”
Yuuri glanced over. “About what?”
“About me breaking the engagement.” Wolfram’s gaze sat fixed on the ceiling. “And…you still taking me back.”
Yuuri exhaled. “It wasn’t like that.” He was quiet for a moment before he rolled onto his side, facing Wolfram. “For a while, everyone thought I was gone. Back to my world, and that I wasn’t coming back. So, they chose you to replace me.”
Wolfram blinked. “Me?”
Yuuri nodded. “You didn’t want it. You sent me a letter, broke off the engagement.” Wolfram winced slightly at that—it sounded like him, at least. “But I couldn’t just…let you leave. Not like that. So I went there and, well…you challenged me to a duel.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t understand. You knew I didn’t want to hurt you, and you knew you’d…lose.”
“What happened next?” Wolfram prompted gently when Yuuri fell silent again.
“You fought as hard as you could,” Yuuri said simply, “and I just…snapped. Something just comes over me at times like that. You’d tried to kill me, so…I fought back.” He shuddered, like the memory itself hurt to recall. “I was going to kill you.”
“And you didn’t. Why?”
“I’ve…” Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed. “I’ve never told anyone what happened. But you…you said something, when…” He trailed off, and then started to ramble: “I was so close to killing you, but then you—you told me to be a good king. And I…I just couldn’t do it. I saw you. And I knew I’d rather die than hurt you, Wolfram. I couldn’t—I couldn’t do something like that.”
They were just close enough for Wolfram to be able to watch various emotions make their way across Yuuri’s face—self-hatred, guilt, fear, sadness, anger. The events of the day Yuuri spoke of had clearly left deep wounds on Yuuri’s heart.
He remembered what else Conrad had told him about this duel. “You took it back. You took the blow meant for me.”
Yuuri’s eyes closed. “It wasn’t hard to figure out, then, what you’d been trying to do. You were…willing to die.”
Yuuri didn’t look at him.
“...And I thought that was proof that you’d be the best king,” Wolfram murmured. Had he…really believed in Yuuri like that?
Yuuri winced and blinked away the small tear that formed in the corner of his eye.
“...What happened after that?” Wolfram asked.
“You came back,” Yuuri said. “Decided to…annul the annulment of our engagement.” He huffed a small laugh. “That’s what you called it, anyway.”
Wolfram frowned. “Most people wouldn’t have let that happen. If I broke it off…you had every right to throw me out. Completely.”
Yuuri went quiet for a second. Then, a soft, genuine smile lit up his face. There was a nostalgic, loving sort of warmth in his eyes when he said, “Have you ever tried to deny something you wanted? You make it shockingly difficult.” Wolfram blinked, a flush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks, and Yuuri laughed. “It just doesn’t really work," Yuuri added. “Life just—doesn’t feel right without you.”
Wolfram didn’t answer: he wasn’t exactly sure how to. Something pulled at his heart again—that same unfamiliar, frustrating feeling from earlier. He knew he was difficult to work with, to live with—difficult in general, really. But here he was, in bed with someone who, with complete honesty and sincerity, had just said he couldn’t find life the same without him.
Wolfram stared at the ceiling again, narrowing his eyes like the answer he was searching for was written up there. “Then why?” he wondered aloud. “Why would I wish I’ve never met someone like you? Why would I wish to forget you?”
Yuuri didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter. “You thought I was cheating.”
Wolfram’s eyes widened at that. He had that look on his face that Wolfram always had when he was preparing to chew him out.
“I wasn’t,” Yuuri amended quickly, almost desperately. He waved his hands in front of his face as he spoke. “I’ve never done that, it’s just—” He paused and exhaled, hands dropping back down to his sides. “It’s just always been like that with you—your sore spot, I guess. Even when I’m just being polite to people, like I’m supposed to as king, you look at me like I’ve done something wrong. You accused me of flirting with the woman we’d gotten the jar from, and you were…you were so mad. And then you…well, you said what you know.” He paused. “I don’t know what I did to make you think that about me.”
Wolfram’s chest tightened.
“...Do you love me?” he asked, his eyes searching Yuuri’s desperately. Conrad’s words from earlier still stuck with him.
Yuuri froze and blinked rapidly, a little taken aback. “What?’
“Have you ever told me you loved me?” Wolfram pressed. “Are you in love with me?”
Yuuri’s face burned beet red, even in the dark. He stammered, stumbling over his words. “I— That’s not…Well, I–I mean—”
He couldn’t get it out.
Wolfram stared at him for a long moment, and then frowned. “I see,” he said softly.
He turned away.
“Good night, Your Majesty,” he whispered.
“Wolf—” Yuuri reached for him, but his hand stopped short. Nothing followed.
Wolfram shut his eyes tight. His chest ached.
The days settled into something strange. Not good, but not necessarily bad, either. Just…off.
He trained, though he’d been barred from taking any assignments outside the castle. He spent time with his mother. Listened, reluctantly at first, to Conrad’s stories about the past several years he couldn’t remember. He even took tea with Greta, who he found increasingly difficult to not fall in love with. She would make him flower crowns almost every day, chattering as she worked, carefully weaving together blue blossoms with white. Of course, he accepted the crowns with all due dignity and grace—he’d been shocked to be called someone’s ‘papa’ when he first woke up, but he was no monster.
The nights, however, were worse than the days.
At first, he’d tried to sleep in his own bed, but he hadn’t even managed to last through the whole night before he marched through the castle and back into the Maoh’s bedchamber. The second and third nights, Yuuri had let him in. By the fourth, Wolfram stopped knocking at all.
By the time a week had passed, he’d completely given up on starting out in his own bed at all. Yuuri never once told him to leave.
They didn’t talk, and if they did, it was brief. Polite. Direct and civil.
Distant.
After that first night, Wolfram had decided there wasn’t much point in saying anything more. Because no matter what Conrad claimed—Yuuri didn’t love him. At all. He could see why his past self had hated that…and yet he still couldn’t bear to sleep away from him.
So, if Yuuri ended up shoved to the floor more often than not, well…Wolfram didn’t feel particularly guilty about that. Served him right.
Yuuri, for his part, had never complained. He tried to just accept things for what they were. There were no arguments, no awkward tension thick enough to choke on. No stumbling conversations that went nowhere while Wolfram looked at him with that awful wounded expression that Yuuri still didn’t know how to fix. Things got…quieter.
Sometime during one of their many quiet, empty nights together, Yuuri woke blearily as Wolfram shifted beside him. The mattress dipped slightly with movement and the blankets rustled softly in the darkness. Half asleep, Yuuri reached out to him out of habit. His hand brushed across the sheets in search of familiar warmth before settling against Wolfram’s arm.
Usually, even with how awkward things had been lately, Wolfram would make some soft, grumbling noise and move a little closer—perhaps also out of habit. Sometimes he’d complain that Yuuri was stealing space (despite him being the one pressed halfway into his side). Other times, he’d simply huff and settle back down.
This time, though, Wolfram quietly pulled away. There was no huge movement, no scene made—it was just enough to break contact before he rolled around onto his other side, facing away from Yuuri.
Yuuri’s hand fell uselessly against cold sheets. For a second, he simply blinked into the darkness, his mind still sluggish with sleep. Then, slowly, Yuuri looked at Wolfram’s back. The distance between them wasn’t particularly large. Barely noticeable, really.
But somehow, it felt enormous.
Something uncomfortable twisted in Yuuri’s chest. He told himself almost immediately that he was overthinking it. Wolfram was still upset with him—nothing unusual. Of course he didn’t want to be touched right now. Yuuri couldn’t find it in him to blame him for that.
And yet…
Wolfram had been upset with him before. Plenty of times. That had never stopped him from reaching back.
Yuuri swallowed hard. Only then, lying awake in the silence, did he begin noticing all the other little things, too. He no longer argued when Yuuri was busy, no longer waited on him after meetings or busy work. There were no complaints if they went an entire day barely speaking. It made sense, of course, considering he’d lost his memories—he was bound to be different. But that first night, there was still Wolfram. It hadn’t felt all that different.
Somehow, without Yuuri realizing it, the sharp edges of Wolfram’s anger and jealousy had disappeared into something quieter. Something apathetic.
Yuuri stared at the back of Wolfram’s head for a long time.
“You’ve reread the same sentence three times,” Murata observed mildly from across the table.
Yuuri lifted his head slowly and blinked. He had, apparently, been staring at the same trade summary for the better part of five minutes. He’d made almost zero progress since sitting at the desk—the pile of documents that surrounded him lay virtually untouched. Yuuri winced.
“...I’m tired,” he groaned, dropping his head into his palms.
“Right.”
The silence that followed felt suspiciously patient. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the study windows in warm gold bands across the floor. The air felt stifling.
“So,” Murata said at last, folding his hands on the table, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Yuuri replied hollowly, his face still buried in his hands.
Murata hummed pleasantly. “Y’know, Shibuya, most people try to sound a bit convincing when they lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Mm.”
Yuuri lifted his head slowly and hollowly, his eye twitching. Murata smiled serenely.
Yuuri dragged his hands down his face with a groan, leaning back in his chair. “You’re unbelievably unhelpful.”
“And yet you sought me out anyway. Curious.”
“...Details.”
Murata conceded with a shrug. Then, leaning forward and crossing his legs, he said, “What’s going on, Shibuya?”
Yuuri stared at the mountain of untouched paperwork in front of him. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the quiet rustle of paper beneath Yuuri’s fingers.
“Things have been…weird with Wolfram lately,” he admitted finally with a sigh.
Murata tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. “He did lose his memories, Shibuya. Try and be a little more understanding.”
Yuuri let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I have been.”
“...Hm.”
“No, seriously.” Yuuri visibly deflated in his chair. “I know this hasn’t exactly been easy for him. I’m sure he’s, like, confused.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
Yuuri opened his mouth. Paused. Then frowned down at the papers in front of him. “I…” He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know, he’s just…different. Like, distant.”
Murata was quiet for a moment. “Distant how?”
“I don’t know.” He slumped farther into his chair. “He just doesn’t really,” —he gestured vaguely with one hand— “react to me anymore. Like he doesn’t care anymore. If that….makes sense.”
Murata stared.
Yuuri exhaled slowly through his nose. “Before, even after losing his memory, he was still, like, the same. We had this whole conversation and it was still Wolfram.”
“Wait,” Murata interrupted, waving his hand. “What conversation?”
Yuuri frowned down at the papers once more, like it was their fault. “A couple nights ago. We were talking about…us, I guess.”
“Ah, that sounds promising.”
“I was explaining things,” Yuuri continued tiredly, ignoring Murata’s interjection. “Our engagement. What things used to be like. Y’know, stuff like that.” A weak laugh escaped him. “He almost yelled at me about cheating, so honestly, I thought things were gonna be normal again.”
“And then?”
“I dunno, the next morning, it was like something just…” He gestured vaguely, like he was hoping he could grab the word he was searching for out of thin air. “Switched.”
“Switched?”
Yuuri frowned. “He’s been, like, avoiding me, I think.”
Murata snorted.
“This isn’t funny,” Yuuri complained indignantly.
“What exactly did you say during this conversation?”
Yuuri squinted. “We were just talking.”
“That is generally how conversations work, yes.”
Yuuri restrained himself from throwing a pen at his friend’s face. “I told you—I was just explaining things.”
Murata hummed thoughtfully.
“And he kept asking questions,” Yuuri continued. “Stuff about us, mostly.”
“And then?” Murata pressed.
“...I dunno.” He rubbed at his temple. “He asked if…If I loved him.”
Murata stared at him. “Shibuya.”
Yuuri looked up. “What?”
“Did you answer him?”
Yuuri blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Murata let out a long sigh. “...Oh no.”
Yuuri sat up straighter. “What?”
Murata stared at him incredulously. “Shibuya, he asked if you loved him.”
“Yeah, I know, I was there—”
“And did you say yes?”
Yuuri flushed immediately, shooting upright in his chair. “I panicked!”
“Yeah, I gathered that.”
“It was the middle of the night!”
“Ah, right,” Murata deadpanned, giving him a flat look. “That changes everything. Silly me.”
“This still isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Yuuri groaned and dropped his head into his hands again. For a moment, Murata simply watched him. Then, “Shibuya. Think about this from Wolfram’s perspective for a second.” Yuuri stilled. Murata leaned in. “He loses all his memories. Wakes up engaged to someone he doesn’t remember. Spends time trying to figure out what your relationship was even like or how he’s supposed to feel about the whole thing.” He paused. “Then, finally, when he asks you outright if you love him…” Yuuri’s stomach twisted. “You don’t answer.”
Yuuri rubbed at his face miserably. “I tried to.”
“I’m sure.” Murata’s expression softened slightly and he pushed up his glasses. “But that’s probably not what it looked like to him.”
Yuuri went quiet, his expression folding in on itself. “...Oh.”
When Murata explained it to him, well…he was starting to understand why Wolfram had looked so hurt that night.
Yuuri’s brows knitted, and he stared at his hands in his lap. “Can I…fix this?”
Murata was quiet for a moment, pondering. Then, finally, he said, “I think so.”
Yuuri exhaled shakily, a weight he didn’t realize he felt lifted off his shoulders.
“But,” Murata added, “probably not if you keep expecting him to read your mind.”
Yuuri grimaced immediately and buried his face in his hands again. Murata watched him for a moment on the other side of his desk. Softly, he said, “Shibuya, the old Wolfram loved you enough to keep waiting on you. But this Wolfram doesn’t have those years behind him.”
Yuuri swallowed hard. “So he thinks…That I never really…”
Murata didn’t answer immediately, which, somehow, was worse than an answer.
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”
“That’s not a no.”
“No,” Murata admitted, “it’s not.”
Yuuri dragged his hands across his face once more. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside the study windows, the late afternoon sunlight had begun fading into softer shades of gold. Somewhere deeper in the castle, Yuuri could faintly hear servants moving through the halls preparing for dinner. The normalcy of it all felt vaguely offensive.
“For what it’s worth,” Murata said mildly, breaking the silence, “you may genuinely be the least verbally affectionate person I’ve ever met.”
Yuuri glared at him through his fingers. “How is this somehow becoming all my fault?”
Murata stared at him. “Shibuya.”
“...Right. Fair.” He sighed and stared at the desk helplessly. “I just—I dunno, I thought he knew.”
“You spent years denying your engagement to him,” Murata said plainly. “You’ve publicly shut him down more times than I can count. You’ve stopped doing that, sure, but I think you’ve been relying on Wolfram to fill in the blanks for a very long time.”
“...Oh,” Yuuri muttered faintly, guilt creeping in.
Murata sighed, something in his expression resembling pity. “The good news is, like I said, this isn’t unsalvageable. The bad news is, you’ll have to actually communicate with him like a normal, functioning human being. Tell him how you feel, obviously.”
Yuuri stared at him in abject horror.
Murata snorted. “Yes, that reaction right there is exactly the problem here.”
Despite everything, a strained laugh escaped from Yuuri’s lips. After a moment, he looked down at his hands again. “...What if I already messed it up too badly?”
I don’t want to lose him went unspoken.
“Wolfram’s still here, isn’t he?”
Yuuri blinked.
He was. Even after all this—the distance, the hurt, the silence—Wolfram still came back to his room every night. Still slept beside him. Still stayed. He wasn’t gone, not yet.
Hope curled in Yuuri’s chest.
Murata stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Well,” he said lightly, “far be it from me to interfere in whatever deeply repressed romantic disaster the two of you have going on.”
“Murata.”
“But,” he continued over him, “I would recommend fixing this soon. You’ll be fine,” he assured him. Then, after a beat: “Probably.”
The ball smacked cleanly into Yuuri’s glove. A second later, he threw it back harder than necessary.
Conrad caught it easily. “Something on your mind?”
“Am I really that obvious?”
A faint smile touched Conrad’s face as he tossed the ball back toward him in an easy arc. The evening sun hung low over the training field, casting long shadows across the grass beneath their feet. Yuuri caught the ball against his chest and stared down at it for a moment before speaking again. “Wolfram talked with you, I heard.”
Conrad’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “A little.”
Yuuri sighed through his nose. “Great.”
“He didn’t tell me anything particularly private, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Yuuri shrugged. “Honestly, I think I’m more worried about the fact that he apparently talks to everyone except me.”
Conrad tossed the ball again. “Things are still difficult between you two?”
Yuuri snorted humorlessly as he caught the ball. “That’s one way to put it.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The steady rhythm of throwing and catching filled the silence instead. Finally, Yuuri muttered, “I think I really screwed this up. He asked me if I loved him.”
“And?”
“And apparently I reacted so badly that Wolfram interpreted it as a rejection.”
“Did you reject him?”
“What? No!” Yuuri looked horrified. “Of course not.”
“Did you tell him that?”
Yuuri stared, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Conrad smiled. “Ah.”
“Okay, in my defense—” Yuuri sighed, cutting himself off. Somehow, he felt like I panicked wasn’t a good enough excuse to use twice. Instead, he groaned and threw the ball back harder this time.
“You know,” Conrad said, breaking the silence as he threw the ball back to Yuuri, “Wolfram has always been braver about loving you than you are.”
Yuuri froze mid-catch, the ball slipping awkwardly from his fingers and bouncing uselessly into the grass. Yuuri trudged forward to retrieve the ball, staring down at the grass as he picked it up. The awful thing was—Conrad was right. Between them, Wolfram had always been the one willing to say things outright. Even when it was embarrassing, even when it hurt, even when Yuuri didn’t know how to answer properly. And somehow, Yuuri had gotten so used to that certainty that he’d mistaken it for permanence.
“...Did he really mean it?” Yuuri asked quietly once he’d returned with the ball. “Back then, when he said he wished he’d never met me?”
“I think,” Conrad replied carefully, “Wolfram loved you for a very long time without always feeling loved the same way in return.”
Yuuri’s chest tightened painfully and he blinked rapidly. He looked away at first. The sun had dipped lower now, washing the training grounds in hazy gold. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted instructions across the field, followed by the dull clang of practice swords. It all felt strangely far away.
“That’s the problem, though,” Yuuri admitted quietly. “I don’t know how to explain it to him.”
“Explain what?”
Yuuri made a frustrated sound. “Any of it.” He threw the ball again before continuing. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? Sorry I looked like I was having a psychological breakdown when you asked if I loved you?”
Conrad’s mouth twitched faintly. “That would certainly be honest.”
“I hate that everyone’s finding this funny.”
A quiet laugh escaped Conrad before his expression softened again. Yuuri caught the next throw against his chest with less coordination than before. “I just…keep thinking about his face afterward. Like he was trying really hard to not look disappointed.”
“Wolfram’s always been very proud,” Conrad said. “Especially when it comes to being vulnerable.” Yuuri nodded weakly. “And asking someone if they love you is probably one of the most vulnerable things a person can do.”
Yuuri winced like he’d been struck. “Yeah, Murata’s already emotionally beat me to death about that part.”
“You know,” Conrad continued, “I don’t think Wolfram needed a perfect answer from you.”
Yuuri looked up, confused.
Conrad shrugged lightly. “I doubt he cares about perfect wording. It’s the sincerity that matters.”
Yuuri chewed at his bottom lip. “I’m…bad at this.”
Conrad looked amused. “That’s hardly new information.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched weakly upward anyway. It faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What if…he doesn’t believe me now?”
“I think,” Conrad began slowly, “Wolfram spent a very long time believing in your feelings without hearing them said outright.” Conrad’s next throw arced cleanly through the air between them. “Maybe it’s your turn to be brave first.”
The bedroom was quiet save for the occasional rustle of paper whenever Wolfram turned a page. Yuuri, for his part, had unfortunately not absorbed a single word of the document sitting open in front of him for the past twenty minutes. His eyes kept drifting upwards instead.
Wolfram sat near the edge of the bed, one leg folded beneath him, attention seemingly fixed on the book resting in his lap. The firelight caught warm gold against his hair, softening the sharpness of his expression.
Yuuri swallowed. Conrad’s words kept replaying in his head. Maybe it’s your turn to be brave first.
Internally, Yuuri ripped his hair out. Easier said than done.
Yuuri stared down at the report again, reading the same sentence four more times.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “...Wolfram.”
The word left his mouth before he could lose his nerve.
Wolfram glanced up almost immediately. “Hm?”
Yuuri’s courage evaporated upon eye contact. “Um. Did, uh, did Gwendal ever…end up approving those…budget revisions?”
A beat of silence.
Wolfram slowly lowered the book a few inches, an unamused look on his face. “...You interrupted me to ask about paperwork?”
Yuuri prayed the floor would open up and consume him whole.
“Right,” he muttered, mentally berating himself. “Never mind.”
Wolfram stared at him for another second before clicking his tongue softly and returning to his book.
Yuuri buried his face in his hands. Conrad had made this sound so achievable.
Several excruciating minutes passed, consisting of Yuuri trying and failing to get any work done.
“...Wolfram?”
Another page turned lazily. “Yes?”
Yuuri opened his mouth and nothing came out. He was trying to find the words, trying to find some way to fix what he’d broken.
Wolfram looked up again, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Are you dying?”
“...Possibly.”
“That’s inconvenient.”
Despite himself, Yuuri laughed weakly. Wolfram’s expression softened faintly at the sound before he closed the book fully, setting it aside at last.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
An opening! Yuuri thought excitedly. Immediately, his heart started trying to claw its way out of his chest.
He looked down at his shaking hands instead, trying to will them to calm down. “I’ve, um, been thinking about the conversation we had the other night.” Wolfram did not reply. Yuuri swallowed hard. “For the record,” he said carefully, his voice sounding just a few octaves higher than usual, “I was…trying to say yes.”
Wolfram frowned softly. “...What?”
Yuuri forced himself to keep going before he lost the nerve entirely. “That night,” he said quickly, “when you…asked me if I loved you.”
Wolfram didn’t respond, just watched him with that same patience he’s had for the past several years.
Yuuri’s pulse hammered painfully in his throat. He cleared it with a cough and rushed on, “I know I reacted badly. And I know it probably sounded like I was avoiding the question, but I wasn’t. I just—” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I…panicked.”
Wolfram continued to stare at him silently.
“I’m not…good at this stuff,” Yuuri admitted miserably. “Which isn’t exactly new information, apparently.”
The corner of Wolfram’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Encouraged slightly, Yuuri pressed forward, albeit a little nervously. “But I do love you.” A little quieter, he added, “Always have.”
The words settled quietly into the room. Yuuri could feel his heartbeat everywhere.
Wolfram looked down at the blankets gathered loosely in his lap and clutched them tightly in his hands. After a long moment, he whispered, “You hesitated.”
Yuuri looked down. “I know.”
“I–” Wolfram started. He paused, frowning, like he was trying to find his words. “I didn’t know what that meant.”
Without really thinking about it this time, he reached across the space between them, placing his hand on Wolfram’s. Wolfram’s gaze flicked downward towards their hands. Yuuri swallowed his nervousness once more.
“It meant I was scared,” he admitted softly. “Not—not that I didn’t love you.”
Wolfram looked at him for a long time after that, like he was trying very carefully to decide whether or not to believe him. Honestly, Yuuri felt he deserved that skeptical look.
After what felt like a million years, Wolfram looked away, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.
“You’re terrible at this,” he muttered softly.
Relief hit Yuuri so hard it almost made him dizzy. A laugh burst forth from him before he could stop it. “Yeah. I know.”
“Horrifyingly terrible.”
“...Okay, you can stop now.”
Slowly, carefully, Wolfram shifted closer on the bed until their shoulders brushed lightly together. Yuuri closed his eyes briefly, and then, before he could overthink himself back into nervous silence, he turned his hand and threaded their fingers together properly.
“I love you,” he said again, quieter but steadier this time. “Just—Just so we’re clear.”
Wolfram was silent for a second, and then: “Good.”
And he didn’t pull away.
For a long time, neither of them spoke—but this time, it was a comfortable silence. An easy one. The room felt strangely still around them: warm firelight flickering softly against the walls, the mattress dipping slightly beneath their combined weight, Wolfram’s hand steady and grounding in Yuuri’s. Fragile in a way that made Yuuri almost afraid to move too quickly and break it.
Beside him, Wolfram exhaled slowly through his nose. Quietly, he murmured, “You really are unfair, you know that?”
Yuuri blinked and turned to him, genuinely confused. “What did I do now?”
“You wait until I finally decide to stop making a fool of myself over you,” he muttered, though there was no bitterness in his voice, “and then you start saying things properly.”
Yuuri laughed softly, running his thumb across Wolfram’s soft hand. “Sorry.”
“Hmph.”
Wolfram’s hand tightened once absently around Yuuri’s, and then—
He froze.
Yuuri could feel the sudden tension locking through Wolfram’s hand and shoulders all at once almost immediately. “...Wolfram?”
Wolfram’s breathing hitched sharply, and his grip tightened hard enough to hurt. Yuuri pushed himself upright. “Hey—”
Wolfram could hear Yuuri talking to him, but his voice felt so distant even though he was right there. Memories crashed into him without warning. Yuuri’s sudden arrival, the engagement, the duel immediately afterwards, chasing him across vast lands every time he set off on a new adventure, Greta’s appearance in the castle, their silly matching bear hats, the crushing, horrible ache of wondering for years if he loved harder than Yuuri ever could—everything from the past several years poured into his mind at once.
Wolfram sucked in a sharp, shaking breath, his free hand flying to his head. It was too much all at once, old emotions colliding violently with newer ones. Before he could stop it, his vision blurred abruptly with burning tears.
Yuuri looked terrified. He grabbed Wolfram’s shoulders gently, turning him to face him. “Wolfram? What’s wrong?”
“I—” Wolfram choked out, attempting to blink back the small tears that were trying to force their way out of his eyes, “I remember.”
Yuuri froze, and the entire room seemed to stop breathing with him. “...What?”
“I remember,” Wolfram repeated shakily, pressing a hand hard over his eyes. “Everything.”
Yuuri stared at him like he’d forgotten how to speak, his mouth hanging open dumbly. Wolfram laughed once—a broken, watery sound. Suddenly, he remembered everything—every stupid argument, every moment of devotion, every day spent waiting for Yuuri to say something first. And now—now Yuuri was staring at him with panic and love etched openly across his face in a way Wolfram had wanted for years.
Years.
“You finally said it,” Wolfram whispered hoarsely before he could stop himself.
Yuuri’s expression crumpled instantly. “Oh, Wolf—”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. Yuuri pulled him in immediately, arms wrapping around him tightly enough to make Wolfram’s chest ache. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly against long blond hair, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”
Wolfram shut his eyes hard. His hands clenched weakly in the fabric of Yuuri’s shirt.
“You wimp,” he whispered shakily.
“I know.”
“I really hated you sometimes.”
Yuuri let out a wavering laugh that sounded dangerously close to crying himself. “Yeah,” he conceded quietly, “I know that too.”
Wolfram buried his face hard against his shoulder. Yuuri only held him tighter.