Flowers of the night

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Prompt: Cafuné (m2)
Nickname utente ldf/lettera iniziale: sakurai
Parole: 1221
Warnings: pre time skip. Not sure there really is a day when parents go at the monastery but this is all very self indulgent, so yeah. Let’s pretend.

Sun is setting already and Linhardt loves this moment of the day, when there are no more classes to attend - with no expectations of him staying awake the whole time - and he has the free time he needs to do one of the two favourite activities he treasures so much: sleep or study out of his curiosity and not because he has to. He has to admit he is not at all interested in how to fight and kill and all those stuff, but magic and healing and how to win without much effort… that’s a whole different story. Not to mention the interesting crest the professor seems to possess.

«Linhardt!»

A loud voice echoes in the corridor, way before its owner reaches the door of Linhardt’s room. The heir of the von Hevring could recognise that voice everywhere, not only because he’s fond of it, which is something he avoids telling to the boy who is about to disrupt his peace, but mainly because it’s the voice he knows better. The perks of having a very loud childhood friend who talks non-stop, he supposes.

A few seconds more and Caspar opens the door, a big smile on his face as he slams it behind him, walks towards Linhardt’s bed - where he is and not without a lot of obstacles called: books on the floor - and lets himself fall on said bed. He doesn’t even ask for permission nor he checks if there is enough room on it for him; there isn’t, but Caspar doesn’t mind. Linhardt doesn’t either, but moves the book he was reading away just in case.

«You are surprisingly… woundless.» he notices, a flat tone while looking at the other. Caspar is practically unable to stay still when he arrives like this, full of adrenaline and stuff to tell Linhardt; it’s not surprising how he manages to undo the bed while turning and adjusting in order to look at Linhardt, weight on his elbows and light blue eyes on him.

«Why do you want to see me with wounds?!»
«I don’t, in fact. It’s a lot of work and I’m tired.»
«You always are.» Caspar says while chuckling «You should exercise more.»
«You can exercise for me, thank you very  much.» Linhardt replies, his eyes on his book once again, a small note of sarcasm in his voice. He ignores Caspar when he starts telling him (for the umpteenth time) that he should strengthen himself because that’s a conversation they have had too many times already - and seriously, it’s useless at this point, as much as asking Caspar to stop involving himself with fights.

When Caspar goes silent, that’s when Linhardt looks at him: he sees the other now with his head on the pillow, closed eyes, as if suddenly asleep. There is no way Caspar, who moves continuously when it comes to sleep together, is unconscious already. So Linhardt waits and it doesn’t take long before Caspar speaks again.

«Do you think our parents will have the time to come at Garreg Mach this year?» he asks without looking at him. Linhardt knows what he’s referring to: every year the monastery hosts the parents for a day, which is both the occasion for the families to reunite with their children and the chance for them to know how many progresses they are making. And for public relations as well, of course.

Linhardt is not sure about what to reply: frankly speaking, he doesn’t really feel the urge to see his parents. After all it’s not like he has this relationship made of small talk and shared secrets with them; it’s already complicated enough to be an only child who should bring them honour by fighting (and be a healer who prefers to study and observe) and give them an heir (which is impossible considering how he does not like girls) as it is. He doesn’t need a day to show them everything he is not. Yet, he can understand how this means so much more to Caspar.

«Maybe? I haven’t heard anything from mine in the last letter they sent.» Linhardt chooses a neutral answer out of concern or something along that line. Caspar grumbles against the pillow but doesn’t say anything, just hides his face - or tries to suffocate himself, Linhardt hopes this is not the case.

Should he comfort him? Their friendship has never really been the one where people comfort each other and share small secrets and talk all night long. Not that Caspar is able to keep things to himself, in Linhardt’s opinion, but…

He moves his hand, slowly, until he touches Caspar’s neck. The other doesn’t seem to mind at all, considering how he stays still, something unbelievable per se. Linhardt looks at him, almost expecting a reaction from him, but then he brushes with his fingers against the skin, goes up until he meets the hairline which, in Caspar’s case, it’s basically the beginning of his shave. It’s a funny feeling, both the sensation under his index and middle finger and the way Caspar shivers imperceptibly.

This must be one of the most intimate gestures Linhardt has allowed to himself since figuring out how he likes guys and how much he likes them when it comes to Caspar. He still hasn’t told him and doesn’t know if he will ever do it, yet the thought of distancing himself has never crossed his mind - it would be impossible, with Caspar being the kind of best friend who would ask again and again for the reason and Linhardt not having the patience to deal with it.

So he keeps going on with that gesture of pure affection, his fingers climbing up from the shaved part to where Caspar’s hair grows a bit longer, that tiny bit enough for Linhardt’s fingers to go through it. Caspar’s shoulders relax gradually, he can see it clearly and it also encourages him. It’s strange how much silence fills the room now, despite Caspar being there, at least until a small, satisfied sigh escapes his lips. Linhardt stops his caress - because, let’s be real, at some point this is what the gesture became - and Caspar opens his eyes in response, frowns a little bit.

«Why did you stop?»

It’s such a stupid question that not even Linhardt has an answer; so he shakes his head (seriously, Caspar? Do you have to hear a direct answer to know that normally guys don’t do this to each other? he would like to ask him but does not) and moves his hand again, slowly and tenderly through Caspar’s hair.

«Stop acting so spoiled.» it could sound like he’s scolding him but, really, none of them takes it seriously. Caspar laughs like a kid and goes back to hug the pillow and half hide his face against it.

Linhardt can’t say this is completely okay - would it be, if both of them knew what the gesture really means? - but there will be time to think, to decide, to confess (eventually).

For now, the perks of being a quiet and sometimes enigmatic childhood friend are stroking the one you adore the most as if it’s the most natural thing to do.

If you have a very dense friend, that helps too.