Notes: I'm a sucker for childhood friends "getting the girl", so to speak. Karl POV, nameless male is the player-summoner.
You were just boys, then, sitting down by the river where you saved his life once. There'd been a lull in the conversation, the silence between you comfortable, when you'd suddenly said, "Tomorrow," and here you met his eyes, haltingly, unsure, "I'm going to the capital." Very carefully, you did not say, "I'm going to join the army." But then, you didn't have to. He understood anyway. "Now you're not just going to be my hero." He'd replied with a smile, and you'd grinned back, because, yes. You were his hero, weren't you? And nothing anyone said or did would ever change that. Then, because it felt right, you leaned down and kissed him. He tasted like summer, and lazy afternoons spent in the cool shade of rustling leaves.
When Seria kissed you, your first thought was that it was as fiery and passionate as everything else she did. Your second was that, then, there, surrounded by smoking craters and the snickering ghosts of heroes long dead – it really wasn't the place for this. But that thought had been fleeting, and with the surging adrenaline of a battle hard-won still singing in your veins, you kissed back. Her summer was the heat of the solstice, the inconsolable burn of the sun over the desert, and the unrelenting march of victory to the sound of drums. Absently, your thoughts had drifted to a summer with a gentler touch.
In the immediate aftermath of the truly enormous train wreck that was the dragon incident, Lugina was furious with you. But then, he was furious with you before the dragon thing, too. "I can't believe what a fucking glory-hogging, absolutely useless waste of space you are!" He ranted as the two of you carefully picked your way out from the corpses (just as many human as not, but you were trying not to think about that) and, because you're just that kind of person, you hummed in genial agreement. This only seemed to stoke the fire, however, as your fellow summoner looked to be seriously contemplating the merits of homicide. "Damn it, pretty boy, what is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how dangerous, how ridiculously powerful that thing was?" He kept going, of course, but you'd already begun to tune him out, because oh. So that was it. He was just worried. For all that Lugina's brutally honest, he's also a lot like Seria, in that he'd rather swallow nails than admit he cares. But he was still talking (shouting), and you thought maybe you should do something about that, so you interrupted with, "Why do you always call me pretty? It's not really an insult." He sputtered at that, and before he could recover, you laughed, silencing him with a soft press of lips. The aftermath of that was a train wreck all its own. He still hasn't forgiven you. Ostensibly, it's because of the dragon thing.
You are men, now, and he's become strong. He no longer needs a hero. But even though years (a lifetime, for the boys you had been) separate your last meeting, it feels as though you never parted at all. "Hey." You say, would-be casual even as an uncontrollable grin steals the use of your face from you. "Hey yourself." He replies, smile just as bright. Then, because it feels right, you lean down and kiss him.
And he tastes like summer.