When Yuuri wakes up suddenly, it is too dark for Conrad to see the fear in his eyes. But he knows it is there, because he can feel it in his heartbeat.

There’s a distinct sound to it; the way in which it thumps against Conrad’s own chest, that unique rhythm that differs from the rhythm it has whenever Yuuri has simply been running, or playing baseball, or kissing Conrad. Those rhythms, Conrad likes.

This one, his instincts tell him to flinch away from, even while both his head and his heart make him hold Yuuri closer. He says nothing for a few minutes, waiting for Yuuri to take back some control. That’s important. Yuuri is not the kind of person to want to be crowded whenever something like this happens. Not because he is proud, but because he hates to be fussed over. He’s stubborn. It’s part of the reason Conrad loves him, and all of the reason why Conrad is here, now, like this. If not for Yuuri’s stubbornness, Conrad knows – they both know – that Conrad would probably be dead.

So only when Yuuri’s heart isn’t thumping quite so rapidly and when he shifts restlessly in the bed as he tries to make himself comfortable again does Conrad open his mouth to speak.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I woke you.”

“No, I was already awake. It’s nearly morning.”

And so it is. There’s a dusky-grey light beginning to filter in between a crack between the curtains. Nearly time for Conrad to be up and about his duties.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I… that is… it’s not often, not at all.”

That’s true. Yuuri is usually a long and heavy sleeper (he has to be now, with his work load), so times like these are rare. Conrad is usually two hours into his day by the time Yuuri wakes up.

… It’s just. I dreamed you were gone.”

Conrad’s fingers draw small soothing circles over Yuuri’s back. “I’m right here, Yuuri. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No. I dreamed you were gone.”

Conrad’s fingers are stopped in their tracks in a split second of painful recognition, before he makes himself breathe again.

Yuuri still trusts Conrad absolutely. He never forgave him, because he claimed that there was nothing he needed to forgive. That was Yuuri, inside and out.

But for Conrad, the word betrayal sifts treacherously through his mind like a whisper, and he is glad Yuuri is not looking at his face. Conrad, master of the neutral expression, is not certain of what Yuuri would find there if he looked now, and does not want Yuuri to find out either way. Has he not already caused his King and his lover enough distress? Yuuri is nineteen and has grown tremendously in the last handful of years, but is still easily upset by other peoples’ suffering.

“Conrad?”

The soldier exhales, consciously relaxing his body. He does not feel it right to contemplate these things, long past yet still capable of causing regret, with Yuuri in Conrad’s bed. Their bed. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” Conrad reassures both of them.

Yuuri is no longer as naïve as he once was, and he clasps Conrad’s hand tightly, trying to be reassuring in his own way. “Yes, it is.”

Conrad really should be getting up now. But he stays at Yuuri’s side instead, this time obeying the instincts which tell him not to leave. Yuuri needs him. He needs Yuuri. And he needs to feel forgiven. Day by day he forgives himself, just a little at a time.

So they remain pressed up against one another as the sun finishes rising. Yuuri’s fear is gone, vanishing with the last of the night.

Conrad’s fear of his own betrayal lingers, perhaps lying in wait to reappear another day.