sleepytimejunction | ⚘ two giant handsome men

⚘ two giant handsome men

[The greenhouse is one of the few spots that Dedue feels comfortable enough in. He's given plenty of space usually by other students and staff, so he has little to be concerned for as he tends to the plants. That being said, he's also quite used to people hovering, whether being wary of him or being curious. Neither really matters as Dedue minds his business and continues to work.

It's not often that Balthus is out of Abyss, though.

For several minutes, he is quiet, disposing of weeds into a basket before he's watering some of the plants. Some are left alone as they don't need as much attention.

Eventually, he finally addresses Balthus.]

What is it?

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That is a terrible idea for several reasons, Balthus.

[But he obeys, turning his chin, letting Balthus tend to him. There have been so many times he's gone over the thought about Dimitri, his unconditional love for the prince. As years have gone on, the more complicated things have become.]

A lance was swung at me.

[Rugged. His first thought is that scars on his face will only serve to make people more intimidated by him. Balthus would feel differently about that, wouldn't he?]

And you caught it with your face?

[He sounds almost cheerful. Not mocking, but deliberately light, in that mood-lifting way he has such an innate knack for.

The damp rag dabs gently against the cut. There's dirt in it, and dried blood, so he wets it again and decides to hold it against Dedue's face, trying to soak as much of it loose as he can.]

It's a good idea for one big reason. He deserves to hear you say it.

My hands were busy. Truthfully, I did not expect to live anyway.

[There's a sharp inhale at the rag cleaning away at the wound, but he doesn't flinch away. Balthus is only doing what is necessary, after all. He can bear a bit of stinging pain to let his wounds be tended to.]

There are too many difficulties.

There really aren't.

[Both his hands are occupied, now; one holding the rag against Dedue's face, the other with its fingers woven through the injured man's. It's kind of nice, that way, to be bound up so inextricably in each other. It doesn't leave anybody the opportunity for flinching away or trying to be avoidant.]

War's had me thinkin' about that a lot lately. How anytime you see somebody, it might just be the last. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a big fan of living today for today and worrying about tomorrow tomorrow. But I wouldn't want to risk it, either — someone I care about dying without knowing I cared about 'em.

[The topic frustrates him. Maybe he would handle this better if he wasn't barely awake after a violent rescue from the kingdom capitol, if he was not feverish. That, and Balthus has had a habit of encouraging Dedue to be less restrained in the past.

His hand curls, squeezing Balthus' hand, as if that somehow helps his emotions.]

Stop.

[For how usually calm he typically is, he feels the abrupt urge to be angry. Lash out. Hide. Grieve. There's too much and he feels more tired but hatefully awake.]

When he takes his place again as the Kingdom's prince, I cannot risk the well-being of my people. We are hated, especially by Faerghus. It is not my heart I am protecting, it is their lives. His Highness must remain unburdened from such things when there is enough at stake. Too much I have considered this, and there is nothing good that can happen from it.

Rejection is not my worry. It is the absurd politics these people carry. It is because of the war. And I cannot afford to risk what little remains of my country.

And I do not appreciate your hypocrisy.

[Balthus's eyebrows bolt for his hairline; there's no denying he'd been provoking Dedue to some degree, carrying on the way he had, but it's clear he wasn't expecting that vehement of a reaction. His lips purse, and he's the one who finally gives in and looks askance, stinging with the barbs of Dedue's words.

Dedue never talks about Duscur, or when he does it's only in bits and pieces pried out of him, or coaxed out, or referenced sideways in other things. To hear his thoughts and feelings laid bare so openly like this...

Of course he thinks of Kupala. Why wouldn't he? And it'd be easy to assume that that's the hypocrisy that Dedue identifies in him, but there's an equally good chance that it's not.]

My hypocrisy, huh.

[He says, a little flat, and waits.]

You do not wish to be a burden to those you also love, Balthus. Whether it is the other Wolves, or it is Holst. Perhaps that is primarily with your debts, but I hear how you speak of him.

It is not so far from my respect for His Highness.

If I am wrong, then tell me.

[...Ah. So there it is.]

...You're not wrong.

[He falls silent, uncertain beneath the weight of that admission.]

But I meant what I said, even if it makes me a hypocrite. About how it's been on my mind. Losing people. Not getting to say...things that maybe you wanted to say.

[There's a pause as Dedue feels the fire fade a bit in his chest. He's tired from everything, but also has no doubt that Balthus means what he says. If anything, he is absurdly honest in a lot of ways, after all.

His eyes trail down to look at their hands. Still linked together despite everything. He thinks about Abyss, how he'd regularly go down to see Balthus. How much the other man just slowly found ways to encourage him to hold back less. Tiny actions, like Dedue's cooking, speaking. There'd been a day that he brought Duscur garb with him to change into once he arrived below. Those things made him happy. Balthus made him happy.

He knows that.]

...Before I set out to free His Highness, I admit I had... considered writing a letter for you. I am not skilled with words and could not find ones that felt appropriate. Eventually, I decided the concept was impersonal. I did not like it.

I did not know if I would live. And I could not be happy burdening you either if I died in my actions and leaving you with nothing but written words. I would have regretted that.

...Dedue.

[He swallows hard, still not quite looking at him — until at last something seems to rally within him, and he turns his eyes back to find Dedue's, determinedly holding his gaze.

...Hypocrisy, huh...]

I thought you were dead. When we spotted your wyvern — from that distance, it looked like you were dead. Like she was just dragging you along, but you were already gone.

[His grip tightens, just faintly.]

If I'm gonna quit being a hypocrite, then I've got to start somewhere, haven't I...?

[...Ah. It's not like this should be a surprise, but still it somehow manages to startle him. The implication of it all. Balthus' flirting, Dedue slowly reciprocating, kisses and time spent together -- yet there'd never really been words about it.

He had hated the idea of not seeing the others again. He hated that it was very possible, very likely. He especially hated the notion he could not have another hesitant smile with this man that manages to encourage him to be more himself, despite all of his fears.]

...I suppose that you do.

I don't want you to think...that I'd ever ask you to stop loving Dimitri. I don't want you to think that I don't understand. I want you to love him. You wouldn't be you if you stopped.

[He probably shouldn't set the damp rag aside this early in the soak, but he does. It drops back into the pail with a soft plop, and his damp fingertips come to rest against Dedue's uninjured cheek, just like they had the first time they'd kissed.]

Earlier, I meant you. That I don't want you to die without knowing I care about you. And I don't ever want you to feel...like I felt, when I saw your wyvern and thought we'd gotten to you too late.

[The touch makes him swallow a breath for a moment. Balthus is just as capable of affection as he is capable of throwing himself blindly into a brawl. One moment foolhardy and another he's considerate.]

...I would also not ask you to stop loving those that you do. You would not have stopped by the greenhouse otherwise.

[Slowly, he turns his head. It takes a bit of effort, but he leans his cheek into Balthus' hand.]

I know you do not care for gardening, but... if there comes a day that I can help my country, then please. Let me show you Duscur flowers. That is something I want to hope for.

Hey...if anybody could change my mind about it, it's you.

[He smiles, and it's far from his usual brash, bold grin. It's fainter, but still just as warm: a sunset, rather than the brilliance of midday.]

What kind of climate do Duscur flowers need? Is it hot there? Dry?

I would not be so selfish with you.

[Slowly, his face eases into a small smile. Everything still aches, his face included, but he is quietly happy.]

Faerghus is cold, and wet. By comparison Duscur, it is usually dry, but also cold. There are many mountains. There were once many forests as well.

Flowers bloom only in spring and summer. It is temperate then.

I wonder, then. I know a place in the eastern mountains, out on the edge of the Alliance. It's probably not much like Duscur. But maybe your flowers would grow there, too.

[He laughs, softly.]

If those flowers are anything like you, I bet they'd be hardy enough to weather it.

It could be worth trying, if nothing else.

...I will do everything I can to live to see the day I can try to grow those flowers.

Believe me when I say they'd welcome you with open arms. The villagers there don't like to leave much, but I know they'd like to see what you could make grow there.

[His fingers graze light against Dedue's cheek, once again.]

Now rest up. It's a long way back to Abyss, and you'll want to get your strength back as soon as you can. It's my cooking you're eating until you're well enough to take over.

Then I suppose I've no choice but to have a swift recovery. For everyone's sakes.

[He turns his head again, but this time to lightly kiss the tips of Balthus' fingers.]

[Recovery in Abyss has taken time, but they do get the help they need. They're careful, just in case Imperial soldiers are indeed looking in the monastery, which means both Dedue and Dimitri have no opportunity to leave anytime soon even if they miraculously recover. Mostly, he feels for Sufficient, who mopes but is otherwise fine so long as her master is near.

Dimitri is more withdrawn. Somber. That is understandable. Dedue wishes he'd gotten to him sooner so he didn't lose an eye, but his prince is alive. He has only given Dedue one order so far: he is not allowed to die for Dimitri.

That's... fair. There is more to live for than to die for, after all. For both of them, he hopes.

Finally, there comes the day that Dedue is able to walk, and he's determined to make a decent meal. Balthus does fine, doing his best, but he knows that the man doesn't exactly enjoy it either.

So he gets to work, even if he has to take the occasional break to not push himself too hard.]

[On its face, maybe some would find it odd, the fact that when the day comes that Dedue is able to get up and keep himself up on his own two feet, Balthus's response is quite simply to...grab his gear and leave Abyss to head out into the wild on a moment's notice. If someone didn't know better, it would seem strange, leaving Dedue alone at such a significant moment. If someone really didn't know better, they might even think it was an abandonment.

But if there's one thing that Balthus knows Dedue probably doesn't want, it's having people hover around him and fuss over him while he slowly and methodically works things out for himself. And he would hover if he were there, so he simply respectfully makes sure not to be. Give Dedue plenty of chance to figure things out on his own terms, at first; there'll be plenty of time for the rest of it later.

Besides. He's got a promise to keep.]

Hey, where's the chef? Special delivery!

[He raps on the kitchen door with the toe of his boot, the sound distinctive from the leather on wood, rather than a gauntlet or fist knocking.]

[The space given to him is something he's actually grateful for. Being fussed over is not something he'd much enjoy; it's usually easier if he's the one fussing over someone else, anyway. Even then, he remains quiet about it, just doing things his own muted away.

When he hears the boot-knock, Dedue can't help but smile wryly to himself. It's more expressive than he's been in quite sometime.

But he does not keep Balthus waiting, and he opens the door.]

Arms full?

Better believe it. Brought you something good, too, I think.

["Good" comes in the form of what appears to be a wild goat, freshly-killed, with its legs trussed front and back for ease of carrying across his broad shoulders, and a big cloth sack dangling from one hand that, somehow, appears to be squirming.]

Had a lucky break out there. Think you can do something with this?

[Well, that's definitely a pleasant surprise. Dedue's brows raise, and he steps back to let Balthus in to drop off the carcass.]

Yes, I can. Lay it down, I can take care of it.

And what of the contents of the bag?

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