Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

Beta-ed by: G

Warnings: See previous chapters!

Pairings(s):

Setting: This part spans Yuuri's life from the age of 22 to 23.

Rating: M.

A/N: Well, it's been over two years. I am so, so, so sorry. orz

The Happy Life

by Mikage

Part Five

Somehow, despite the abnormal amount of crazy that had made up existence in the Great Demon Kingdom, life had a way of working itself out.

This was especially true when Yuuri sat back and let the universe take control, as if there were some great cosmic power out there and everything that happened in his life was merely a part of its much bigger plan. He hesitated to call this power "God," because even though he'd been raised to appreciate all manner of religious thought (and now he wondered if his parents had done that on purpose in preparation for his life as king), he wasn't quite sure if he believed one over than the other, if it had all mingled together in his brain and become a single, comprehensive doctrine, or if he didn't believe in it at all.

Most days he ended up somewhere in the middle, acknowledging the possibility but refusing to structure his life around a manner of thought that may or may not be true.

But Yuuri did believe in fate. In some ways he even believed in predestination. He supposed he had to now that he knew the truth of his birth. His parents had been chosen for him by the Demon King of Earth. His soul had been carefully cultivated over hundreds of years, going from life to life to life as it was fashioned into the perfect vessel for the Great One's bidding. If it hadn't been for the Great One, Yuuri would not be who he was today. In fact, it was very likely that there would not be a Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri at all.

Life was full of choices, yes, but his life was also full of "this is your destiny"s and "it was meant to be"s. He wasn't really sure if this was true for everyone (the only person he knew with a similarly controlled journey of the soul was Murata). It could be that fate or destiny or whatever it was really called liked to pick and choose its instruments from the masses of innocents that were otherwise left wandering around unawares, going about their lives without the cosmic interference known by only the select few.

Yuuri didn't think this made him special. Really he thought it meant he was supremely unlucky, because he could never be completely sure which parts of his life were part of his overall "destiny" and which parts were completely his own doing.

He wished the Great One would have told him, but of course he'd never thought to ask him that when he'd actually had the chance.

"Was I meant to slap Wolfram?"

The Great One's Temple felt tainted now that one of his adulterous transgressions had occurred within it. He could not walk through its halls and corridors or spy it from a distance without remembering Elizabeth, the room and the door and the sights and sounds, with the result that he'd since taken to avoiding the place as much as he could. Where it had once been a sacred and spiritual place, it was now defiled with a frustrated lust and a brazen faithlessness.

Not that it had ever truly been the sort of pure, holy place Yuuri used to like to think it was (Murata had seen to that when he'd taken to bedding the shrine maidens one-by-one), but there was definitely something more wicked about the place now, like the remnants of his coupling with Elizabeth had seeped into the walls and spread throughout the building to cast it in a monstrous shadow—worse than the darkness of the Originators, because this was a much more personal offense compared to the abstract power of hate.

Yet he felt the need to enter nearly a week after the event in question. It wasn't meant to comfort. It wasn't even meant to add to the blame. More than anything the journey was made in search of an answer, one Yuuri feared he would never be fortunate enough to obtain.

His voice echoed off of the thick stone walls of the lowest chamber, sunlight streaming through the glass-bottom fountain centered in the ground high above his head. Tendrils of light refracted through the water and threw undulating patterns along the walls and floor. In front of him was the dais with its collection of wooden boxes—useless now, but reminders of a different time. The End of the Wind, The End of the Earth, and Hellfire in Frozen Land (perhaps the worst of the three, because of what it had taken to open). Only the Mirror at the Bottom of the Sea was gone, broken into fragments by Morgif during the final battle, fragments that had been collected for historical preservation and set on display in another area of the Temple for traveling pilgrims to view.

Six years was a long time. At sixteen, saving the world had seemed like the most difficult trial he would ever have to face. It was certainly the defining moment of his seven-year reign. Everything after it seemed somehow less important, less universally significant.

Living after that, in the shadow of a victory that knew no comparison, was not as easy as one might expect.

Nothing he did for the rest of his life would ever be that momentous again.

"If you're looking for advice, you're not going to find it here," a voice spoke from behind him.

It was not the voice Yuuri had hoped to hear in answer, but he'd known he was being too hopeful. Many things had changed since the boxes had been opened, and some of the things he used to be able to rely on were no longer present.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder to see Murata strolling toward him, his gait easy and unconcerned. Murata had never been uncomfortable in the Temple. He took to it like a second home, lorded over it like a king in his castle, and the boxes (practically worthless but demanding a certain reverence due to the power they once held) were his throne.

Murata walked right by Yuuri and sat himself on the middle box, as if it were a normal seat and hadn't been responsible for the death of someone they both knew well.

"Problem?" Murata asked with an expression that was open and free and just as careless as his choice of a seat.

"Aren't there always problems?" Yuuri wondered.

"Depends on who you're talking to."

Yuuri frowned, hardly in the mood for evasion and riddles. He was hardly in the mood for anything. The emotional turmoil wasn't quite as tumultuous as it'd been days ago, but he didn't expect the guilt would ever go away. He'd likely carry it around for the rest of his life, another blemish on a soul that had once been pure.

"I think I've got plenty," he said.

"Nah, just one," Murata corrected him with a dismissive wave of one of his hands.

"And are you here to offer some of your great wisdom?" Yuuri mocked, rolling his eyes.

"That is my job."

"Sounds like an easy one."

"You'd be surprised," Murata grinned. "Really it depends on who's in charge. You're pretty troublesome. So was he."

The comment ended with Murata jerking his head back to the wall behind him, and Yuuri's gaze wandered up to the crest that once held the Great One's soul.

"He's not here, is he?" Yuuri asked.

"I expect not," Murata said. The lenses of his glasses caught some of the light filtering through the water fountain.

Yuuri wondered if Murata was lying. He suspected he'd never know. Even now that the job was done and the Originators had been vanquished, Murata still kept his secrets. It was probably habit after so many thousands of years. He revealed what needed to be revealed when it was necessary to do so. Everything else he kept to himself.

"We always knew he wouldn't be able to stay forever," Murata continued. "Once you'd destroyed the Originators, it was only a matter of time."

Yuuri didn't think that was true. He didn't want to think it was true. The only reason he was king was because the Great One had made it so. The only reason he'd ever come to this world was because the Great One had brought him. If the Great One had truly gone to someplace from which he could not return, did his absence delegitimize Yuuri's presence here? Did it diminish his worth?

The Great One had come back once before, when all except Murata and Ulrike had thought him dead and gone. Yuuri liked to think there would always be a piece of him in the Temple, whether or not he could be seen or heard or touched.

"He never told me everything, did he?"

"He told you enough," Murata replied. "He told you as much as you needed. The rest is up to you. You're the king now. The kingdom is yours. He holds no claim to it anymore. You're not ruling in his shadow, Shibuya."

"People like to compare me to him," Yuuri pointed out. "It's a lot to live up to."

"He wasn't perfect," Murata said.

"I know."

"In fact, he was pretty damned obnoxious."

"And I'm not?"

"You're less arrogant," Murata told him. "Makes you more tolerable."

Yuuri shifted his eyes from the crest down the length of the wall and focused on Murata, who remained grinning at him.

"Did he plan everything?" Yuuri asked. "Did it all happen like he wanted it to?"

"You're asking about the von Bielefeld thing," Murata observed.

Yuuri didn't think something as serious as that should be classified as a "thing," but he nodded in answer regardless.

"As amusing as he found it, no, he didn't plan that," Murata said with a slow shake of his head.

"Why was it amusing?"

"A lot of things were amusing to him. He was sort of smug about the engagement. Like… of course the perfect soul he created would choose one of his descendants as a spouse. To him it seemed fitting."

"I haven't chosen anything," Yuuri reminded him.

"Not yet," Murata allowed.

"So it's not fate?" Yuuri wondered.

He didn't know what he hoped the answer would be. On one hand, it would be a relief to have some sort of an explanation, to have an excuse or something else to blame other than his curiosity and insensitivity. On the other hand, it seemed so unfair to think that one's entire life had already been planned out for them from beginning to end. What was the point of living if everything you said and did was merely another step in a grander plan?

Yuuri didn't want to follow a predetermined path forever. At some point he wanted to be able to prove that he was more than what he'd been made to be.

"Fate has its limits," Murata said. "If you base your entire life around a concept like fate, it's very likely you'll miss out on a lot you would have been able to experience otherwise. Fate can only do so much. The rest is up to you."

"So not marrying Wolfram won't cause some paradoxical, universe-ending catastrophe?"

Murata released an amused snort. "Not likely. The choice is yours to make."

"Sometimes I wish it wasn't," Yuuri admitted.

Looking back, he wondered if he should have just let Wolfram win their first duel. He wouldn't have proven himself as king, but at least then the engagement might have been over before it'd even begun. Wolfram wouldn't have had any more reason to like him than he had when he'd stood on the stairs looking down his nose at him. Yuuri thought he could have tolerated being hated by Wolfram for longer than he had. Maybe they could have become friends later, without the engagement forcing them together.

Now it was nothing more than a complete mess. He was damned if he broke it and damned if he didn't. He couldn't let it go on forever, but if he were honest with himself he also wasn't quite ready for it to end. It had become such a large part of his life, whether he liked to admit it or not. Wolfram had become an integral part of his existence. Without him, things would have been much different for him. Yuuri thought it might have even been lonely.

It was a simple enough choice under normal circumstances, but all the more difficult thanks to the attachment between them. And there was an attachment of some sort, otherwise he should have been able to come to a decision years ago. Elizabeth had been right about one thing: he didn't need anyone's consent to break the engagement. He could do it on his own. If only he was confident enough. If only there wasn't that worry—that fear that he'd one day come to regret it.

"Murata, were you ever gay?"

The question had come involuntarily. It didn't even register in Yuuri's mind that his mouth was moving until his ears picked up the word "gay" in a voice that definitely sounded like his own. Then his brain caught up with what his mouth was doing and he felt awkward, shifting his weight from one foot to the next as his face grew warm.

Which was totally embarrassing. And also completely unnecessary. The question was a valid one, and he was only talking about Murata, who'd never had a problem sharing anything personal with him before.

His friend snorted again and chuckled quietly. "You mean in all of my many lives?" he assumed.

"Er… right," Yuuri agreed. "I mean… obviously you're not gay now, but… you know… maybe before…"

Murata shrugged unconcernedly. "A few times," he said.

"Is it weird having those sorts of memories?"

"No weirder than anything else, really. Why?"

"I don't know," Yuuri replied. He frowned and stared at the box Murata had parked his ass on. "I guess because everyone expects me to be."

"I don't think they expect that," Murata told him.

"Well, they sure could have fooled me. Everyone seems to want me to stick with Wolfram. I don't give off any gay vibes, do I?"

For a brief moment he was concerned that the answer was "yes" and he actually paused to consider what he was doing to be giving them off. Then he thought about how ridiculous that was and how he shouldn't be relying on stereotypes in the first place, especially in a world and a society where homosexual relationships were far more common and more easily accepted than they were on Earth.

Murata chuckled again. "The only vibes you give off are the vibes of a guy who doesn't have a clue what he wants."

"That's about right," Yuuri muttered bitterly.

"Besides, they don't want you to marry von Bielefeld because they think you're gay. They want you to marry him because you proposed and never took it back well enough to satisfy them."

"Can't marry him if I don't like him," Yuuri said.

"You like him well enough," Murata argued.

"Yeah, but it's not romantic or sexual at all."

"Could it ever be?" Murata wondered. His brows were quirked like he was interested in the answer, but considering he knew everything about everything, Yuuri didn't know why Murata wouldn't already have all this figured out.

He wanted to say "no," not only because that was the answer he'd been giving all along but because he thought the fact that he'd slept with three women meant it was true. What he ended up saying instead was, "I don't know."

Murata's grin shifted into a smirk.

Yuuri quickly realized what he'd said and backtracked to correct himself. "I mean, I don't think so."

"Why's that?"

"Well… it's just that I can't really have sex with him if I can't even get it up."

"But you've never bothered to really look before, have you?" Murata asked. "So how do you really know?"

"I don't want to look," Yuuri said.

"Why not?"

"Because that's… because I like girls."

"People can like both," Murata said.

"But why do I have to be one of those people?" Yuuri wondered. His voice raised quite suddenly, momentarily hysterical. "I already know that I like girls. I like liking girls. Why does there have to be anything more to it than that?"

"There doesn't," Murata said, shrugging again. "But closing yourself off from the possibility seems a bit counter-productive."

"I can't make myself gay, Murata. I either am or I'm not."

"You're also operating under the assumption that once you know you like one thing, there can't be any way you can also like the other, which is fundamentally wrong. There's plenty of fluidity in sexuality, Shibuya."

"What, so you want me to sex it up with Wolfram?" Yuuri asked. He shifted his weight back to the other foot. In his awkwardness, he suddenly had no idea what to do with his hands and settled for wiping his palms along the legs of his pants before shoving them in his pockets to keep himself from flailing.

"No, I don't care if you sex him up or not," Murata answered, "I just think the easiest way for you to solve your little problem would be for you to make an effort to find out if there's potential for you to actually have an attraction."

Yuuri frowned in response. Wasn't that sort of what Elizabeth had said? "Make an effort"?

"If you really don't know then there can't be any harm in trying," Murata explained. "You'll either find out you've been wrong or find out you've been right. There can't be an easier way of coming to a decision than that."

"That seems just as messy as what I've been doing," Yuuri said.

He could see just as many ways for it to go wrong. After everything, he didn't trust himself to do it right.

"So what more could it hurt?" Murata said.

Yuuri figured Murata had a point—one of the many points Murata had made that Yuuri couldn't disagree with.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Murata suddenly asked.

Yuuri sputtered and nearly choked on his own spit. "What?" he squeaked.

Murata's grin was back in place. "Come on, Shibuya, it's not a hard question. Just take a little look-see."

He didn't want to. Yuuri felt awkward enough as it was just having this conversation. He didn't want to give Murata the chance to make it even worse. Besides, they were both straight. He didn't see much of a point in it.

But it was either answer the question or have Murata tease him about it, and Yuuri wasn't in the mood to be teased when all he wanted was help and advice. He mumbled something unintelligible to himself about dumbass best friends before forcing his eyes to land on Murata and stay there long enough to satisfy him.

He could still see traces of Murata the geeky fifteen year old, but there was more maturity in his features than there'd been when they'd become reacquainted with one another in high school. The structure of his face was a little sharper, though his eyes were still the most prominent feature, both because they were quite large but also because of the glasses that framed them. The glasses themselves were different, too; chic and sophisticated black frames in the place of the huge, round lenses he used to wear. They made him look more adult, less gawkish and more cultured—almost polished, like a proper gentleman (except for the fact that he was the biggest perv Yuuri had ever known).

Murata had a wide, lazy smile that possessed not a trace of innocence, even when he tried to act as if he was. Between the two of them, Yuuri had to say Murata's grin was more rakish, dashing in a way Yuuri wished he were able to emulate. Murata had grown taller than him, too. He almost felt insecure standing next to him. Maybe he always had. Murata was smart and funny and not bad looking at all, a little paler than Yuuri, with his hair just as shaggy as it'd been in youth. Girls seemed to find it easy to like him. The only area Yuuri thought he could win in was fitness. He was more athletic, with muscle from baseball and sword training. Murata was still fairly skinny in comparison.

"I mean, I guess you're okay looking," Yuuri admitted.

"Just okay?" Murata asked, throwing him a suggestive wink as he lounged back on his box of choice. It might have been meant to look seductive if it didn't look absolutely ridiculous.

Yuuri knew his friend was joking, but it bothered him and he shifted his eyes off to the side anyway.

He told himself it was because Murata was being weird and purposefully obnoxious.

"It doesn't get me all hot and bothered, no," Yuuri said.

"That's too bad," Murata joked. "There's probably a few people in the kingdom who'd get off on seeing us together."

"Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not. I'm totally serious."

"Except you're totally into girls."

Murata batted his lashes in an obviously exaggerated fashion. "For you, I could make an exception."

Yuuri sputtered and shifted in place in a nervously uncomfortable sort of wiggle. "Stop that," he demanded.

"Stop what?" Murata asked with faux innocence.

"Stop being weird and making jokes that aren't funny."

"How is it not funny? I think it's hilarious."

"You and me having sex for the enjoyment of a few perverts is not hilarious," Yuuri insisted.

"What if it was for our enjoyment?" Murata teased.

"Jeez, seriously, will you stop it? Now you're just being awkward."

Murata didn't even bother to stifle a laugh. He looked cheerful and wicked. Seconds later he lied back on the box with his legs dangling over the side of it and started filling the chamber with the echoes of his overly exaggerated moans.

Yuuri never wanted to hear him moan like that.

Ever. Again.

"Come on, Shibuya, I'm all ready for it and everything!"

"Murata, if you don't stop, I am going to find a way to hurt you," Yuuri threatened. He tried to frown like he meant it, but he felt so uncomfortable he didn't think he managed to get it across as well as he would have liked.

"Maybe I want to be hurt," Murata countered. "Maybe I like it rough."

"I am not hearing this," Yuuri whined, jerking his hands out of his pockets to cover his ears—as if that would actually do anything more than make him look like a child.

"I bet von Bielefeld likes it rough," Murata continued as if he didn't notice Yuuri's discomfort at all. "You know he gets off on you being crude, right?"

Yuuri didn't want to listen. He didn't want to hear any of this. He definitely didn't want Murata to start talking about Wolfram, because this whole conversation was already awkward enough. He didn't want to give his brain the chance to start providing some unwanted imagery and make it even more so.

The comments made their way through the cover of his hands, though, and he found himself looking back toward his friend despite himself.

"Wait, what? That's not true. How do you know that?"

Murata sat up to level him with a "duh, I know everything" stare.

"He didn't tell you that, did he?" Yuuri hesitated to ask.

"Of course not," Murata said while rolling his eyes. "Von Bielefeld's even less likely to talk to me about the things that get him off than you are to actually read a book."

"Then you're joking," Yuuri guessed.

"Did I say I was joking? He doesn't need to tell me for me to know. It's about as obvious as the fact that Yozak and Lord Weller are totally hot for each other."

"W-What? B-But they're just friends!"

"That's what they want you to think," Murata said. "Seriously, if you ever want to get into von Bielefeld's pants, sidle up real close and say something dirty."

"Thanks but no thanks. He'll just harp at me for being vulgar and inappropriate. You know, like he always does."

"You don't trust me?" Murata asked. His grin returned in full force.

Yuuri didn't want to allow his brain the time to contemplate Murata's revelation or hypothesis or whatever his unnecessary comments inevitably were—Truth? Lies? An over-exaggeration?

Unfortunately the moment he told himself not to think of such things was the exact moment his thoughts tended to turn in that direction, and his subconscious helpfully supplied him with an image of Wolfram's disgruntled face, complete with a flush of pink upon his cheeks and across his nose. If was not, Yuuri concluded, the expression of someone who "got off" on his choice of language, but it was, he had to admit, oddly cute in its discomfort nonetheless, and one of the less worrying expressions Wolfram had in his expansive repertoire, as it tended to accompany an awkward mood that was less anger and more captivating clumsiness.

Wolfram was rarely ever clumsy—though captivating, yes, Yuuri would admit there were times when he was captivated by his fiancé—but when he was off his guard and floundering for his usual surety there was certainly something endearing about him.

It was almost sweet, which was not often a word Yuuri could associate with such a temperamental individual.

He was tempted to try it out, to say something dirty just to see what Wolfram's reaction would be, but he'd already had a book thrown at his head more than once for bringing up inappropriate topics of discussions with his fiancé. The next time Wolfram might actually do some damage.

Deciding it was best to just let that topic go, Yuuri stared at Murata for a long moment, considered him, then said, "No, I don't."

There was a very real possibility Murata was just trying to get him into trouble, because while his friend excelled in giving advice, he also had the habit of exaggerating or understating when it suited his purposes to do so, particularly when he was in the mood to be entertained by the dramatic events of someone else's life.

"Ouch," Murata feigned a wince. "What's with you abusing my ego today?"

Yuuri rolled his eyes but failed to say anything in response, though he was certain Murata's ego, large as it was, could survive whatever abuse he happened to throw at him.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to the crest high up on the wall, and he considered what steps he should take next, or if he should take any at all. Perhaps it would be better to let things play out on their own, or perhaps he should endeavor to take more control and stop leaving things up to fate and chance. It was difficult to say. Without being able to get an accurate view of the future, he had no way of knowing which option would have the best results.

He didn't even know what those "best results" would be. How could he when he didn't even know what he wanted?

He thought he knew sometimes. Occasionally he had little inklings of how he wanted all of this to turn out, but mostly he was still just as confused as he'd been when he'd been sixteen. At the time he hadn't realized he'd been confused, but looking back now he realized just how long he'd been floundering. He had moments of clarity interspersed throughout all the madness, but for the most part his thoughts and feelings were a jumble of questions and sensations he didn't know how to answer or put in an order that made any sense.

All he knew for sure was that Wolfram was there now—through Hashimoto, through Lady Flynn, and now through Elizabeth, Wolfram had been a constant presence, and his being there both exacerbated Yuuri's guilt and filled him with a sense of relief.

Wolfram was closer to him now, perhaps, than he'd ever been, even through the strained conversations and tense silences that made up their days. By all rights sleeping with Elizabeth, whether it had been intentional or not, should have forced Wolfram away. Instead, Yuuri felt connected to him in a way he'd never been before.

It was because Wolfram still saw good in him, he thought. Even after all the terrible things Yuuri had done in the process of growing up and spreading his wings, Wolfram still thought him worthy of his love and loyalty. And if someone like Wolfram, who was prideful and arrogant enough to know better, still saw something worth hanging onto, Yuuri figured it had to be there whether he could see it for himself or not.

"I don't like thinking I don't know who I am," Yuuri said when the silence had stretched on too long.

Murata's grin had faded by this point, and his expression, when Yuuri focused on him again, was more serious than it'd been since he first walked in.

"But isn't that the point of all this?" Murata asked. "Because you don't know?"

Yuuri looked off to the side and shrugged.

Murata copied the quick rise and fall of Yuuri's shoulders, then jumped off of the box to stroll passed him again, heading back for the door.

He slapped Yuuri companionably on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Figure it out, Shibuya."

Yuuri turned to watch him go, face marred by a disgruntled frown.

That was so easy for Murata to say.

It was much harder for Yuuri to put into practice.

Yuuri began the next step to the process of figuring it out by engaging in a tried and true method that often ended in failure but still allowed him the necessary time to resign himself to the fact that this was what he must do, and commit himself to the knowledge that he would likely not come out of it without a few mishaps and oversights.

That was to say he avoided it altogether, with the result that he spent much more time in his office and pointedly stayed away from his bedchamber or any other place that might put him in close proximity to Wolfram, whose presence had a way of making Yuuri think of things he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be thinking about—now or ever.

Gwendal was noticeably impressed by Yuuri's renewed dedication to his work.

For a while there Yuuri hadn't felt too guilty about slacking off and avoiding his office, particularly since he'd taken to blaming Gwendal for what he had come to mentally refer to as the Elizabeth Disaster, seeing as Gwendal had refused to help him out when he was in need, which had resulted in Yuuri retreating to the seclusion of the Temple and had opened the door for a private meeting between he and Elizabeth that might have been avoided if he'd felt safe enough to remain at the castle, where the amount of witnesses might have been preventative enough to forestall any possible dalliance.

But after his conversation with Murata, Yuuri's week of lazing in bed feeling sorry for himself came to an end, and he threw himself back into his work with the hope that it would be enough to distract him from any thoughts of Wolfram or Elizabeth or any of his previous sexual encounters and the results thereof.

He was determined that Elizabeth would be the last blunder. He didn't need sex, he told himself. He hadn't needed it before he was sixteen, so there shouldn't be any reason why he should need it now.

Instead, he should strive to be more like Wolfram—sensible, composed, guarded, and chaste.

Unfortunately, he was not Wolfram.

In any case, Yuuri took to his work with a renewed vigor, plowing through his paperwork in record time and impressing Gwendal so much he thought he heard his Chief Advisor mutter a quiet apology that was nearly lost beneath a cough meant to conceal it.

For just a moment, Yuuri felt proud of himself, and he convinced himself that, yes, this was the path he was supposed to be taking, the manner in which he was supposed to be living out his days—training at sunrise, breakfast, a bath, then work, work, work, a break for lunch, more work, afternoon tea, a lecture or two from Gunter, then dinner, then more work again, until finally he went to bed too tired and bleary eyed to consider any possibility of sex with anyone.

Relationships were complicated, he'd learned. Even a life without them, a life of careless one-night-stands, was more trouble that it was worth.

Yuuri was so engrossed in this new work schedule of his that he didn't even realize Elizabeth hadn't left the castle yet.

She barged into his office two weeks after their last encounter, slammed the door with a bang that startled him out of his intense concentration, and marched to a spot in front of his desk that Wolfram had occupied many times before, with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips in a position that was so like Wolfram Yuuri actually had to do a double-take.

"Uh… Elizabeth…" he hesitantly greeted her. He was pleased with himself when he was actually able to look her in the eye. "What… er… what do you want?"

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"Um… I don't know… what you're talking about…"

"What did you say to Wolfram?" she clarified.

The mention of his fiancé's name brought a sudden flash of work-suppressed guilt, and Yuuri shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his thoughts turned to Wolfram, who he had not seen since he'd left him in bed early that morning.

"Well… today I said 'good morning,' but he was still half asleep, so I don't really think he heard me…"

"Don't be a fool," Elizabeth said. "What did you tell him about us?"

As much as Yuuri would have liked to reply that there was no "us" when it came to the two of them, he opted for a much less contentious answer and went with the truth by saying, "I didn't tell him anything."

"Then he doesn't know?"

"Now who's being a fool?" Yuuri said. "Of course he knows."

"Then why is he acting like nothing's happened?"

Yuuri would have liked to play dumb in order to avoid this entire conversation, maybe frustrate her enough to have her huffing right back out before things grew too uncomfortable, but he knew exactly what she was talking about because it was a method of coping Wolfram had enacted before.

In the two weeks that had passed since that night at the Temple, after Yuuri had returned and cried out his shame, Wolfram hadn't said a single word about it, nor had he ranted or railed or used it against Yuuri in any of their subsequent disagreements. If not for the memories that sat heavy in Yuuri's mind, or the guilt that filled his heart and occasionally rose to darken his otherwise bright days, it would have almost seemed as if it had never happened at all.

He could easily imagine the sort of behavior Elizabeth must be receiving from his fiancé—purposefully polite, Wolfram was likely very careful to act just as he'd acted toward her before, proper, dignified, and grudgingly fond.

"Why don't you ask him?" Yuuri said.

"And risk his temper?" she asked, skeptical.

Yuuri shrugged and attempted to go back to his paperwork lest he lose the battle with his eyes and find himself trying for a few peeks at the ample cleavage exposed by the bodice of Elizabeth's dress.

He was not a perv, he told himself. He was not like Murata, or his older brother. He was perfectly capable of looking a woman in the eye in the manner she deserved. He could be respectful, even to someone he'd slept with in a moment of extreme weakness that he regretted far more than he'd ever regretted Hashimoto or Lady Flynn.

Then again, he couldn't say he'd regretted either of those instances. He felt guilt for them, yes, but regret?

No, not at all. They had happened for a reason. Hashimoto was an exploration and adventure into a part of life he'd never been aware of before, into a form of desire and a manner of expression he'd not allowed himself to feel until then; Lady Flynn had been different, a quick romp into idyllic romance, his first real contact with love—however briefly it might have been.

His mistake with Elizabeth hadn't been like either one of his previous affairs. This was about his inability to come to terms with himself, his fear that he didn't know himself, a staggering sense of inferiority that flared up and broke through all the confidence he'd managed to feel in himself, leaving him as nothing more than another immoral fool in a world already too full of them. It was full of anger, frustration, denial—not toward Elizabeth, but toward himself.

Toward Wolfram, too.

Elizabeth had simply been a convenient outlet, a safe middle-ground between what Hashimoto and Lady Flynn had meant to him, and the prominence Wolfram was gaining over all of them.

The farther Yuuri fell, the higher Wolfram rose until he sat there, perfect and unblemished—flawed, but in Yuuri's eyes the best of them all.

"I've made a terrible mistake," Elizabeth said, hardly deterred by his silence on the matter.

"You and me both," he mumbled back.

Elizabeth circled around his desk to stand by the windows, looking out on the grounds below as sunlight streamed in and caught the blonde strands of her hair, making them shimmer. Yuuri sat rather stiffly in his chair, unnerved by her proximity and confused as to why she'd come in the first place.

Why couldn't she just leave him be? Hadn't she shoved his mistakes in his face enough already?

"People talked of your time with Lady Flynn," she said.

"It was one night," Yuuri told her, not wanting her to get the impression that it had lasted a significant amount of time, despite what any of the rumors might say.

"And it was said you had a mistress on your home-world," she added.

Yuuri rolled his eyes but decided not to make the distinction between "mistress" and "girlfriend." To the people here he supposed it all amounted to the same thing when one considered he was engaged.

"I wanted to know the truth," she said, "and when I knew the truth I couldn't understand why Wolfram hadn't said anything, why he allowed you to do these things, why he stayed with you when it meant sacrificing his pride and putting his reputation at risk."

Had he been able to speak through the obstruction his guilt had caused to rise in his throat, Yuuri would have told her that he didn't understand it either.

There was a part of him, however, that thought he had an idea, but saying "because he loves me, because he sees something better in me than I see in myself" seemed to him to be too boastful and somewhat presumptuous when set against all of his lapses in judgment.

"So I wanted to prove to him… I wanted to show him what kind of man you are," Elizabeth admitted.

"Doing that doesn't make you any better than I am," Yuuri said.

"I know that now."

"You should have just left it alone."

"I thought I was protecting him. I thought, if he only knew how unscrupulous you are…"

"I think he knows what I am better than I do," Yuuri concluded.

In his peripheral vision he saw Elizabeth turn to glance at him, and she quieted for a moment before she turned back to the window. Yuuri didn't know what she was looking at, or if she was looking at anything at all, but not having to look at her while they conversed made the confrontation easier, so he remained in his chair facing his paperwork and let her stay behind him.

"I don't know why I do this," she said. "I always end up hurting him."

It was easier to focus on Elizabeth's actions than to recount his own involvement in each circumstance.

But they were both guilty in both events—years ago, she'd used him to get closer to Wolfram, and he'd used her in the hopes of experiencing a relationship he'd thought would be more "normal." This time she'd used him for many of the same reasons, to open Wolfram's eyes to Yuuri infidelity and maybe, Yuuri thought, to place herself between them. Maybe she hadn't given up on Wolfram after all, and had merely waited for another opportune moment to take back what she'd always thought of as hers.

On Yuuri's part, there'd been desperation, a startling need to find some sort of worth in himself when he was beginning to feel like he had nothing at all to offer anyone.

"Did you think of him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Huh?" Yuuri said, pulled from his thoughts prematurely. He looked over his shoulder to glance at her, but Elizabeth was still staring out the window.

"Did you think of him?" she repeated. "Wolfram. When we were together, did you think of him?"

The answer he wanted to give was "no," but that answer wasn't quite the truth.

With Elizabeth more than with Hashimoto or Lady Flynn, he'd had more opportunities, and more of a need, to think of his fiancé.

Perhaps the event had occurred within the walls of the Great One's Temple, away from the castle, away from his retainers, away from Wolfram's eyes and ears, but a part of Wolfram had still been there with him. Yuuri knew that now, as much as he would have liked to deny it for what it might mean. Wolfram was, perhaps, one of the only things he and Elizabeth had in common. She had been engaged to him, however unintentionally the childhood proposal might have been made, long before Yuuri had come to know him; now Yuuri had taken her place, and he felt as frustrated by that as she must feel.

Once, he had wanted to give Wolfram up to her. Elizabeth had let Wolfram go when that turned out not to be the case, though Yuuri had been unwilling to accept.

Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to give Wolfram up at all, even if it would have been the kinder thing to do under the circumstances.

There was too much there to let go of. This thing with Elizabeth had taught him that.

He'd heard Wolfram's voice beneath her moans, had seen Wolfram's face in her eyes. When he delved into his memories of it, he saw himself and Elizabeth and the door, and Wolfram standing directly between them both.

"Yes," he said.

Yuuri didn't ask if Elizabeth had thought of Wolfram, too. He could barely understand why he had, nor was he too confident of what it meant—the very thought of it scared him. The last thing he needed was to carry around one of Elizabeth's fantasies; his own thoughts concerning Elizabeth and Wolfram were often disturbing enough without compounding them further.

No matter what either of them felt, Wolfram didn't want Elizabeth. Yuuri suspected he never had, but had been too concerned for her feelings to say anything about it until the duel to decide which proposal took supremacy.

The truth of the matter was that Wolfram didn't want anyone—except Yuuri, and that was a reality Yuuri was beginning to accept more and more the longer Wolfram stood by him.

Whether or not Elizabeth knew any of this, Yuuri would never know. He had no idea what she was thinking, how deeply her own guilt flowed within her, or how she intended to go on from this point. She didn't seem all that inclined to tell him, finally turning from the window to pass around his desk, making her way for the door.

"Keep thinking of him," she said.

Yuuri sat quietly and watched her go, and then released a heavy sigh into his paperwork once the door had shut behind her.

Three days later she left for home without another word to Yuuri.

They never spoke of their affair again.

Following his conversation with Elizabeth, Yuuri thought of Wolfram frequently.

That wasn't to say he'd never thought of Wolfram before—that would be far from the truth—but none of his thoughts had ever been particularly important. While on Earth, he'd wondered from time to time what Wolfram might be up to without him, considering whether he might be training or out on patrols or spending time with Greta, and in the Great Demon Kingdom he'd envied Wolfram the occasional freedoms not allowed to a Demon King busy playing catch-up with previously neglected paperwork. It was just that before, many of his thoughts concerning his fiancé had been in relation to other people, or else as part of a lamentation for the fact that he was stuck seeing to his duties while Wolfram could do as he pleased.

He still had those thoughts from time to time. No recent event had changed that; his mostly one-sided discussion with Elizabeth had simply added to what he'd thought of Wolfram before, so that he often thought of his fiancé for no reason at all—or at least for no reason that he was yet aware of, whether or not there truly was one.

Yuuri could be in the middle of his paperwork and experience a sudden flash of Wolfram's face in his mind, or seated beside his fiancé at dinner and feel an acute need to look in Wolfram's direction. He could be awake at night, plagued by guilt and unable to sleep, and be calmed by Wolfram's presence beside him, already asleep or up in bed reading one of his many books. He could be on Earth, visiting his mother and father and brother, and without a single mention of his fiancé he would think of a time years ago, when Wolfram and the others had accompanied him, and how well Wolfram had gotten along with his family.

He didn't let Wolfram know that he thought of these things. He wasn't sure what good it would do when he had little to no explanation for it, except that Elizabeth had told him to and the guilt made it easy to keep thinking of Wolfram at any time of any day. He didn't talk about it with anyone, though Conrad seemed to realize that something was going on (Yuuri's godfather took to bringing Wolfram up at random, sharing little tidbits of information regarding Wolfram's thoughts and moods, or regaling a few quaint stories of Wolfram's childhood), and Murata never hesitated to offer some of his own advice, even when it was unwanted ("You remember what I told you, right?" he said. "Sidle up close and say something dirty.")

For the most part, Yuuri attempted to borrow a page from Wolfram's book and pretended as if nothing had changed. If he didn't acknowledge the differences, surely everything would settle back into place.

But even he knew, naïve as he often was, that nothing ever happened the way he wanted it to.

That winter, months after the heat of summer had finally vanished, when the trees had lost their autumn colors and stood bare on the castle grounds, Wolfram departed the castle to spend the season at his uncle's Bielefeld estate.

"Is this because of me?" Yuuri asked.

He stood helplessly in the middle of their room, watching a few soldiers and groomsmen take heavy chests of Wolfram's clothes and other belongings out to join the transport that would take Wolfram to Waltorana.

Wolfram seemed unconcerned by the temporary parting. In fact, Yuuri thought his fiancé looked upon it with a sense of relief. He smiled whenever they talked about it, and brought it up so often Yuuri suspected Wolfram was impatient to be on his way.

"Is what because of you?" Wolfram asked, pulling on a heavy coat over his uniform.

"You're leaving," Yuuri said.

"Only until spring."

The reminder caused Yuuri to shift in place, made uncomfortable by a sudden unhappiness he couldn't explain, except that Wolfram was his friend and he didn't like to be without his friends for very long.

And spring seemed very far away.

"Is it because of me?" he asked again.

Wolfram pulled a familiar hat over his hair, bear ears lending a sort of childishness to his already youthful looks. He turned to Yuuri with a frown, propping his hands onto his hips and staring him in the eye.

"It's been a long time since I spent time with my father's kin," he explained. "This visit is about them, not you."

"We saw them a few years ago," Yuuri reminded him. Even now he could not escape the memory of Waltorana's glower, or the attempts of Wolfram's many relatives to extol Wolfram's good qualities in the hopes that Yuuri would put aside all others and finally commit himself to the engagement.

"That visit was more about us than it was about them," Wolfram said, and looked at Yuuri challengingly. "Are you saying I don't have permission to visit my family alone?"

"No," Yuuri said, "that's not what I'm saying. I just…"

Wolfram stood patiently—or as patiently as it was possible for Wolfram to do anything—and gave Yuuri the necessary time to formulate a response.

"The castle's always… really quiet… when you're not around," he finished lamely. "And I guess I just… I don't know… I'll… I mean, it's going to be a while, and I…"

"I'll write to you," Wolfram said.

"Okay…" Yuuri agreed, but it didn't satisfy him at all.

What was a letter compared to all the nights they'd spent in bed beside one another, talking to one another—about marriage, about sex, about wants and needs, about propriety, and about less awkward things, too, like their families, their memories of their parents, their brothers, themselves, or Greta, mutual friends and unshared ones, their allies, history, politics, and other things that could be considered important but between them were less confusing than the aforementioned alternative.

What was a letter compared to having Wolfram there beside him, his presence made solid by proximity and the many conflicting feelings between them?

Would any of that matter in the distance between Blood Pledge Castle and Bielefeld?

"Is something wrong?" Wolfram asked, his expression becoming curious as he finally seemed to realize that Yuuri was not as anxious to see him gone as Wolfram seemed to be to go.

"No," Yuuri said, forcing himself to shake his head and throw on a lopsided smile. "Just… be careful…"

"I'm a trained soldier, Yuuri," Wolfram reminded him.

"I know that," Yuuri replied.

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

"I'm not as weak as you often make me out to be," Wolfram said.

"When have I ever—"

Yuuri cut himself off before he could finish the question, as Wolfram met him with a raised eyebrow.

Whatever Wolfram was accusing him of, Yuuri knew he was guilty. He looked at Wolfram differently than he looked at Conrad and Gwendal. Of course he worried about all of his friends, but there was something about Wolfram's older brothers that made them seem… not more capable, because Wolfram certainly knew what he was doing and had proven himself enough times for Yuuri to realize that he wasn't just a pretty face… but Yuuri worried less about two full-grown men than he did for a hot-tempered adolescent who was not always as successful as he might wish at concealing pain or discomfort.

It wasn't something he'd ever really considered before, but now that it was staring Yuuri in the face he knew he had to examine it, follow it deep within himself and find the reason for it, the meaning behind it, because he knew there had to be one.

Wolfram was different somehow. He inspired different feelings and reactions than any of Yuuri's other friends. For a long time Yuuri had gone without bothering to explain it, slapped it with a "because Wolfram's Wolfram" and left it at that, because at the time that was all the explanation his fifteen and sixteen year old self had needed. Now he had the benefit of seven years of experience, and three instances of exposure to sex and various forms of innocent puppy love. It was time to do what he'd been told by both Elizabeth and Murata to do—make an effort, look at Wolfram and face their problems head on rather than confronting them peripherally.

It was time to figure it out.

There were numerous explanations he could provide now. It was simply a matter of deciding which one was most true.

Part of his feelings, he knew, stemmed from the fact that Wolfram was young. It didn't matter how capable Wolfram was, or how many times he'd proven himself, or what he said or did to get the point across that he knew what he was doing, Yuuri would always see him the way he'd always seen himself—just a kid in need of guidance trying to take too much onto a set of shoulders that weren't strong enough to hold it yet. Before Murata had come with Yuuri to this world, Wolfram had been the only one Yuuri knew who was roughly his age, and a sort of companionship and understanding had sprouted up between them because of it.

They were two kids muddling through a bunch of adult problems, doing their best to keep their heads above the water with varying degrees of success. Yuuri still felt like a kid even now at twenty-two; when he looked at Wolfram, who looked as if he hadn't aged a day in the last seven years, Yuuri supposed he felt a sort of protectiveness.

Another part of his feelings, Yuuri suspected, stemmed from the fact that Wolfram was pretty.

He felt guilty again in thinking it, because looks shouldn't have anything to do with one's capabilities or worth, but he looked at Wolfram and he didn't see someone who should be out on a battlefield or wielding a sword or exerting himself through grueling physical training, but as someone who should be pampered. Perhaps the clichés were overdone, but they still occasionally plagued Yuuri's immature young mind, and the clichés dictated that someone of Wolfram's beauty shouldn't have to do such unpleasant things; he should be sitting in the castle surrounded by things of equal beauty, basking in the attention and adoration people with his looks would receive on Earth.

And he knew Wolfram had not gone without such coddling. Many people muttered about how spoiled Wolfram was, called him a selfish prince even when he often showed himself to be quite unselfish—Gunter in particular, and other courtiers, too, Anissina, Gwendal, people who had known Wolfram far longer than Yuuri had. Wolfram had been indulged as a child, with sweets, with toys, with money, with affection, and his adolescent tantrums were likely due to previous childhood experiences that had ended with the desired results.

But there were other feelings nestled beneath all those superficial concerns, and Yuuri was only now beginning to get real glimpses of them. He wasn't sure if they were a byproduct of his guilt or if they'd been there for a while now; whatever the case, they filled him with a sense of impending loneliness, and he worried, perhaps unnecessarily, for Wolfram's safety and welfare while Wolfram was otherwise absent.

"Do I have permission to leave then?" Wolfram asked, the annoyance in his voice breaking through Yuuri's thoughts, and making Yuuri wonder if Wolfram might have said something he'd missed.

"Why are you asking my permission?" he wondered.

"If the King does not wish me to go then I am obligated to heed those wishes."

"Come on, Wolf, seriously?"

Wolfram's expression was impassive. He stared at Yuuri expectantly, the hands that had been before perched on his hips now cinched across his chest.

Yuuri heaved a sigh and capitulated. "Right," he said, "You can go."

"Thank you," Wolfram said.

"Just be careful, okay?"

Wolfram gave him an odd look, his eyes alight with confusion as his lips pursed primly. After a moment he rolled his eyes and shook his head, stalking passed Yuuri while muttering about "stupid wimps" and "senseless worrying" that did not quite explain the trace of color Yuuri could just see burning the tips of Wolfram's ears.

Yuuri turned to watch his fiancé leave the room.

He wanted to say something else, but had no idea how to put it into words.

Instead, Yuuri stood and let himself absorb the silence and the loneliness that had descended upon the room as soon as Wolfram was no longer in view and his muttering died away down the hall, keenly aware that without him there to nag at him, insult him, and center him in the moments when Yuuri felt the most unbalanced, everything felt wrong.

An emptiness settled somewhere inside of him, and Yuuri was sure that it would remain for the duration of the season, until the day Wolfram stalked back through the door and greeted him with a gruff "didn't you miss me, you wimp?"

With him gone, a piece of Yuuri was missing.

After everything, this was the first time Yuuri had ever felt it so profoundly.

In all of their previous partings, Yuuri had been able to believe that his instinctive reactions had been for Wolfram's sake. When Wolfram was kidnapped, when Wolfram's heart had stopped beating, Yuuri had never let himself believe or even so much as think that he'd done the saving out of anything more than a feeling of friendship, or an obligation to a comrade who likely would have (and had) done the same for him. He'd thought of Wolfram's family in those moments, of Greta, how other people would feel if something should happen to prevent Wolfram from coming back.

This time he could only think of himself.

Most Gracious Majesty, the letter began.

It seemed sarcastic. Indeed, the exaggeratedly precise and delicate script in which Wolfram had written his salutations appeared to indicate that he'd meant it that way. The rest of the letter, its tone less mocking and more down-to-business, was written in Wolfram's usual hand—legible, and nothing like Yuuri's jumble of chicken scratch, but somewhat rushed.

Wolfram was not normally one for letters, Yuuri had learned. He thought too much about what to include and grew frustrated with the time it took to write them.

You will be relieved to learn that the journey to Bielefeld prove uneventful. I arrived some hours ago and have settled in to my rooms here at Bielefeld Castle. Don't expect to hear much news of me, as I doubt little of interest will occur while I'm here. I intend to use my absence from Blood Pledge as an opportunity to relax. I suggest you do the same.

I bid that you not concern yourself with me overmuch. I am well. I will be well, and I will return.

Yours,

Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld

Short and succinct. It offered little insight into Wolfram's feelings, offered little in the way of reassurance, and gave Yuuri no sense of comfort.

Even so, he placed the parchment in a letter box for safe keeping.

Winter passed him by at a pace Yuuri could only describe as torturously slow.

If he'd been impressing Gwendal with his work ethic before, he was now the sole source of Gwendal's impatience and fury. Paperwork sat piled on top of Yuuri's desk for days, and meetings that before would have been met with enthusiasm were no repeatedly postponed. Yuuri found any excuse he needed to refrain from his work—"I'm tired," he tried, or, "I don't feel so well," which resulted in a visit from Gisela to pronounce him in good health, and a final, "it's he holidays, so I should go to Earth and visit my family" that had sounded more whiney than genuinely earnest.

He didn't go to Earth. Instead he remained at Blood Pledge Castle, utterly morose, with nothing to occupy his mind but guilt and worry.

He was overcome by lethargy that neither work nor baseball nor the promise of his mother's curry could cure. When the snows began to fall and Greta tempted him outside to build snowmen and engage in their annual snowball fight, Yuuri's resulting attempts to be cheerful and enjoy himself were half-hearted at best. When Lady Ceil ventured to cheer him up with a succession of parties and banquets attended by some of the most beautiful women in the land, Yuuri couldn't find it in himself to feign interest; he sat sullenly with a cup of wine and wondered what Wolfram was up to in Bielefeld.

"Your Majesty," one lovely young lady would purr.

"King Yuuri~," another would simper.

And Yuuri would respond with bland greetings and a forced smile before excusing himself to take refuge in Conrad's company, or else escape to his room and spend a night tossing and turning in a bed that felt lifeless and cold.

He noticed some weeks into the season the repeated efforts of certain ambitious ladies to garner his attention, but instead of feeling flattered he just felt guilty and weary of the compliments and the interruptions to his dismal solitude.

"What do they want from me?" he asked Conrad one evening, having escaped the banquet hall for some fresh air out on one of the balconies, with Conrad beside him and Hube and Yozak stopping his guests at the door.

"Whatever you see fit to give them, I suppose," Conrad said.

"They want to seduce me," Yuuri surmised.

Years ago he would have felt presumptuous for saying so, but with the recent turn his reputation had taken following the rumors in the wake of Lady Flynn and Elizabeth, he wasn't so naïve as to think they wanted his friendship for friendship's sake. He still wasn't entirely certain what anyone hoped to gain from him by sleeping with him, but he was well aware that it was a method of advancement many people were not against using if it ended up benefiting them in some way.

Conrad looked part amused and part sympathetic as he said, "Unfortunately, it's not an uncommon practice at court."

"They probably expect it to work," Yuuri bitterly observed.

"Will it?" Conrad challenged.

It seemed a very brave thing for him to do when Conrad rarely challenged him over anything—at least not anything that didn't compromise Yuuri's safety.

Yuuri heaved a sigh and leaned heavily against the stone railing, propping himself upright with his arms draped over top of it.

"So this is what people think of me now?" he wondered. "That I'm some oversexed pig?"

"Many people were anxious for your attention before," Conrad gently reminded him, and then added, "However, the outcome of your relationships with Lady Flynn and Lady Elizabeth—"

"What relationships?" Yuuri stopped him to ask, wincing as he did so. It was the first time he and Conrad had ever openly talked about his affairs, and he couldn't help but feel that Conrad might be disappointed in him despite the fact that the only disappointment Conrad had ever shown for either instance had been directed toward Conrad himself.

His godfather had never placed any sort of blame on him, though Yuuri thought he deserved plenty of it.

"With Lady Flynn it was one night. With Elizabeth… less than an hour," he admitted.

"And the young lady on Earth?" Conrad asked.

"A couple of years," Yuuri said.

He hung his head in shame, but when minutes passed without another word from Conrad, Yuuri turned to catch his expression.

Conrad had not moved, standing resolute by Yuuri's side and gazing out into the horizon. Occasionally Yuuri wondered how Conrad must feel about his affairs, aside from the guilt Conrad clearly harbored for not guiding him well enough. Whatever annoyance and dislike Wolfram tried to project when it came to his second brother, and however much importance Conrad had always placed in his duties toward Yuuri, above even that of his own family, Wolfram was still his younger brother, and to see him unhappy must have some sort of an effect on a man who, as a boy, had spent a lot of time caring for and protecting Wolfram as he cared for and protected Yuuri now.

When Yuuri looked into Conrad's face, he thought he saw some of that conflict there, though Conrad never once faced him with reproach.

"Why did you enter into a relationship with the young lady?" he asked instead.

"I don't know," Yuuri said. It was an inadequate answer, he knew, and so he struggled to explain. "I mean, I liked her. We had some things in common, and she was easy to talk to. She didn't ask any awkward questions when I acted weird and… I was always sort of… curious… about what it was like, you know? Having a girlfriend. I liked it. It liked that it meant I was normal. I liked how it made me feel about myself."

"You didn't feel guilty?"

"Sometimes I did," he admitted, "when I came home and Wolfram tried to pretend like he didn't miss me."

"Why continue?"

"Because… I never really thought I was good enough for anyone. I guess I felt sort of… I mean, I didn't feel really good about myself when it came to things like how I looked or what girls thought about me. I know I'm not this ultra-handsome beefcake everyone here makes me out to be. I'm just an average guy, but with Hashimoto… I think it was the first time in my life I ever felt attractive, because she didn't look at me like that. She just looked at me as Yuuri and she liked it anyway."

"You base your worth on your attractiveness to others," Conrad observed.

Yuuri didn't like the way that sounded, but he realized after Conrad said it that it was at least partially true.

"And Lady Flynn?" his godfather prodded, his voice gentle with kindness.

"Lady Flynn was like a dream," Yuuri said. "I always thought she was perfect. You know, she's strong and determined, she loves her people, and she was just so… dignified, but still humble and gentle, too. I could see myself with a woman like that, but then… I mean, she's beautiful. For a while she just felt out of my league. So when we were together and I realized she wanted me, too… I felt good, like I did with Hashimoto, but it was different, too, because by the end of it she was still perfect and I just… wasn't."

"Because you felt guilty," Conrad guessed.

"Yeah," Yuuri agreed. "I hadn't felt that way with Hashimoto."

"Why did experience guilt then and not before?"

"Because I—" Yuuri began, but cut himself off so that he might give a more thoughtful answer.

Why had he?

At the time he'd thought it was because the second affair had been more blatant than the first. His court had certainly known of it, and Wolfram had not been as removed as he'd been when Yuuri had spent time with Hashimoto on Earth. Everything about Lady Flynn had seemed very present and very real, despite the dream-like quality of their union. He knew what he was doing when he slept with her, and he was intensely aware of its effect on other people.

Hashimoto hadn't been like that. He hadn't cared much about other people during his relationship with her because he hadn't needed to.

By the time he slept with Lady Flynn, he was much more conscious of the effect his actions had on others.

At some point he'd grown to care.

"Because by the time I was with Lady Flynn I'd already decided that Wolfram's feelings were important to me," he realized.

"But you still followed through with it," Conrad said.

"Because it felt good," Yuuri told him, "knowing someone like Lady Flynn wanted me."

"And Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth was still something of a conundrum, though Yuuri was drawing closer to a more concrete answer.

"Elizabeth was… she was anger and guilt. Like I was trying to just… get it all out," Yuuri said. "I wanted someone else to be responsible. I wanted someone else to blame so I could stop blaming myself."

"Has it worked?" Conrad asked.

"No," Yuuri said.

"And how do you feel now?"

It was a terrifying question because of its ultimate answer. As much as Yuuri would have liked to, it wasn't an answer he could hide from, not when he'd been searching for it for so long only to find that it'd been staring him in the face.

He was still scared of what it meant, and he was still confused as to how he was supposed to continue from this point, but it was something, and after seven years of nothing it was a relief to finally have a clue, small as it was now.

"I miss Wolfram," he said.

He missed Wolfram's presence in his life, he missed him in his room, in his bed, in his every day. He missed the fun they used to have, the trouble they used to get in together, and all the stupid arguments that had made up their lives before all this. He missed Wolfram's jealousy, his possessiveness, because as annoying as it had been at times it was still proof that Wolfram had wanted him, that he was important to Wolfram in a way few other people were, that he meant something to Wolfram, that he might even be needed.

No one had ever wanted or needed him that way before—not Hashimoto, not Lady Flynn, not Elizabeth, not any of the men and women that made up his court.

And that scared him, but it didn't make him so uncomfortable anymore.

He wanted Wolfram think of him as someone worthy.

He wanted Wolfram to love him, selfish as that was.

Conrad said nothing in response, just kept staring off toward the houses lining the streets of the capitol, and the little pinpricks of light from windows that from this distance looked as small and flickering as stars.

"And I think… I think I do have feelings for him," Yuuri decided, part resigned and part in awe. "But I… I don't really know what they are. I just know they're different from the way I feel about you… or Murata… or Gwendal… or the way I felt about Hashimoto and Lady Flynn."

"Is it different than that?" Conrad wondered, and there was a quality to his voice that made it seem as if he'd drawn something from Yuuri's halting explanations that Yuuri hadn't been able to see himself.

His godfather finally turned to look at him, his eyes soft and kind, and his smile as warm with love and devotion as it'd always been.

"Is it different," he repeated, "or have you been projecting your feelings for Wolfram onto other people?"

"I don't… understand…" Yuuri said.

Conrad chuckled quietly and lifted a hand to pat Yuuri's shoulder. "Think about it," he said, then left him there to converse with Yozak and Hube about the evening's security.

Yuuri considered him for a while, and though he was tempted to go after him and demand an explanation, seven years had gone a long way to teach him that he couldn't just ask for an answer and expect it to be given so easily.

Sometimes he had to come to the realization himself.

Yuuri,

Word has reached me that you have been neglecting your duties. I do hope the neglect has not been on my account. I assure you that all is well here. My uncle is and has always been a gracious host and pleasant company. I beseech you to cast your worries aside so that you might see to your duties more efficiently, and strive, as always, to be the king your people deserve.

I expect to return by the end of March.

Yours,

Wolfram

Yuuri's thumb caressed Wolfram's chosen closing.

"Yours," he always said.

It was, Yuuri thought, a most appropriate statement.

TBC...