At times, Yuuri wished the castle were not so terribly crowded.

Because there was always someone around (though one less person than there should have been). Soldiers were everywhere, even now in times of relative peace. Servants and maids came and went at all hours of the day and night (and at least the former, while just as numerous, were not quite as prone to gossip). And when Yuuri was not surrounded by either of these two groups, there were always others. Gunter, flitting about like an excited white butterfly. Gwendal, signalling with his signature frown whether or not he was pleased with the progress of Yuuri’s paperwork. Wolfram, stalking into whatever room Yuuri had escaped to this time and demanding to know why Yuuri hadn’t been keeping up with his sword practice (Yuuri still preferred practicing baseball, even with that one less person).

He couldn’t help but wish Conrad were there. Somehow, it would have made the noise and kerfuffle of the everyday seem less. The burden of being King had truly sunk in now that Conrad was no longer there to distract him from it, and while Yuuri never once so much as considered ever putting in less than his all to the task (no matter his other faults as ruler, nobody could ever criticise the young Maou’s levels of sheer determination), saying that it did not tire him out would have been a blatant lie.

He stayed up at night now, sometimes. There no longer seemed enough hours in the day, especially without Conrad. Logically, this made no sense, because if Conrad were there, Yuuri would have been spending more time with him and still somehow managing to get to bed by midnight. But nonetheless, the days seemed stretched thin; there was always something important he had to do, someone who needed to speak with him at once, a report he absolutely must read through and sign.

If he were honest with himself, the bed waiting for him seemed cold and empty. He did not miss Wolfram exactly, but he missed the supportive company – missed the fact alone that someone would be waiting up for him when he eventually staggered to bed in the early, frozen hours of the morning. Winter was never a good time for staying up late; the cold seemed to seep through his very bones, making him stiff and ever wearier, ever harder to force himself out of bed the next day.

If he were even more honest with himself, the bed waiting for him also spoke to him of guilt. Because no matter how exhausted he felt, he always dreamed of Conrad. And even though he and Wolfram had parted months ago on relatively good terms, and before Conrad had left on a mission with Josak and a few select others, it still felt like partly Wolfram’s bed. It meant that every time Yuuri awoke from a dream, trembling and sweaty and restless with a need he did not wish to name, he felt like he was doing and thinking something wrong.

He had worked up the courage to kiss Conrad, once, just before the soldier’s departure. He had thought it might put the dreams to rest, since it had certainly put to rest the question of whether or not his feelings towards Conrad were reciprocated. The dreams, however, persisted, and indeed only seemed to grow stronger with each passing phase of the moon.

Yuuri counted the days with a pen stroke on the bottom of an ever-present stack of paper on his desk. It had been nearly two months, and Yuuri had begun prowling the hallways even after he had finished with his work of the day. More than once now, he had come to himself abruptly after hearing the clatter of dishes in the kitchen or the scraping of chairs in the dining room, only to realise that the sun was already rising.

Tonight though, the castle inhabitants and the paperwork and the cold and the threat of helpless, writhing dreaming all seemed to come together and gather into one, unstoppable knot within his body. He fell asleep in his study, slumped forward with his head resting beside a rather wobbly stack of freshly-marked paper, and dreamed it was summer.

Conrad was just there, standing in front of him. Yuuri could see the castle in the distance, which meant that people must surely be about somewhere. But around him and Conrad, there was nobody. The sun touched Conrad’s hair to a reddish gold, and the breeze lifted strands of it from his forehead, allowing Yuuri a clear look into his eyes. What Yuuri found there made him want to smile. Or more than that, to reach out and grasp Conrad’s hand. Or still more than that, to run over and bury his head into Conrad’s chest and listen to his heartbeat. Or more than that still, to tilt his head upwards and-

-And-

Yuuri blinked, and Conrad was further away. He took an uncertain step forward, and the earth seemed to resist the movement. When Yuuri looked back up from the ground, Conrad was only a green-clad figure in the distance. The breeze blew harder, and it did not simply brush through Conrad’s hair this time, but rather rustled loudly through the field, making Yuuri shield his eyes from the stinging in his eyes.

By the time Yuuri had composed himself, Conrad was gone. Yuuri knew that the wind had flown him away, although it did not stop him from reaching out with his arm as if Conrad were still within reach; invisible but there.

“Conrad!”

His own voice startled him awake. Yuuri bolted upright with a start, gasping at the twinge in his back and his legs from the suddenness of it all. His hand swept across the desk in front of him in surprise, and the papers scattered every which way, rustling like the breeze he swore he had just heard. A pot of ink clattered down along with them, luckily nearly empty. By the time the last of the pieces of paper had finished fluttering to the ground and the room had finally stilled, Conrad stood in front of him, searching Yuuri’s face with concern.

“Heika-“

Yuuri simply stood and stared in shock, before reaching out with a tremulous hand. His fingers grazed Conrad’s military jacket on a spot just above his heart, assuring himself that Conrad was real, that he was truly there.

“Conrad-!” His voice came out in a rush of air, the name barely more than the breeze itself. Belatedly, he tried to collect himself, realising he must look a fool. But Conrad, upon hearing his name spoken, would not wait. He simply, literally, swept Yuuri off his feet, ignoring the half-hearted protests from a still only half-awake Yuuri.

“Conrad, what-“

“If you are unable to sleep in your own chambers, Yuuri, then you should have at least allowed yourself to sleep in mine while I was gone.”

Yuuri, half-awake or not, felt his face flood red. Why did Conrad read him so well even now?

“I- it wasn’t that- I tried to- I only meant-“ Conrad stopped Yuuri’s embarrassed ramblings with his lips before lowered him gently onto the bed.

Yuuri blinked. When had they arrived in Conrad’s room? He would have felt embarrassed all over again if Conrad had given him time to. But Yuuri said nothing as Conrad quickly pulled off his boots and his jacket, lying down beside Yuuri on the bed. There was no opportunity to fuss or feel anything more beyond relief that Conrad had come home.

“I missed you”, he said softly, voice just above a whisper, into the air. Somehow he could say that at least without blushing, perhaps because he was not facing Conrad and did not have to meet his eyes; Conrad had positioned himself behind Yuuri, warming him with his body and knowing at the same time that Yuuri would feel more comfortable this way.

“I missed you, Yuuri. And I think you need to get some sleep now, since you have not been able to sleep elsewhere.”

There was no trace of anything in Conrad’s voice but kindness, and a tone of voice that soothed Yuuri’s nerves and spoke of warm safety. Summer. Golden, sun-kissed fields. A quiet breeze…

Yuuri fell back asleep with Conrad’s arms about him, and wishing for nothing more.