"Can I ask you a question?"

Crescendo glanced up slightly, a smile curling at his lips as he set the chess piece down. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"Yes," Jazz chuckled, "but it's a legitimate question. Besides, you don't want to put your rook there anyway: I'd have your queen in three turns."

Crescendo studied the board for a moment before nodding in surprise. "You're right."

"I'm always right."

"How did you get so good at this game?"

"It's not like there's a lot of things to do underground."

The prince picked up another piece, set it down and looked back up at his friend. "What is it you wanted to ask?"

"It's kind of personal."

"You're kind of personal."

"Touche. When was the first time you realized you were in love with Serenade?"

"Is that your question?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just expected something else."

"Like what?"

Crescendo chuckled and shook his head, murmuring, "Well, when you said personal..."

"Don't flatter yourself, Princey. I don't want to know about your sex life."

He laughed again and smiled over at the warrior fondly, blue eyes bright with the light of the candles. "You always assume I'm talking about sex."

"And you always assume I'm making a joke about it."

"Usually you are."

"No argument."

"Why do you want to know about Serenade?"

"I didn't realize it was a crime to be interested in my friends' lives."

"I didn't realize she was your friend."

"The two of you are married now, right? So I guess that makes her a friend-in-law."

"Your logic worries me sometimes."

"I hear that a lot."

Crescendo leaned back in his chair and considered the man sitting across from him. "I'm not sure, exactly, when I knew I loved her. It's never quite worked that way between us."

"How do you mean?"

"We have been arranged to marry since we were children; it was our duty to form alliances to protect our people. I guess we always looked at love as more of a frivolity than anything else."

"You think it's possible to have a sturdy marriage without love?"

"I don't know. No, I suppose not, but it wasn't a marriage we were after—it was an alliance. And in the world of politics, all emotion is unnecessary."

"But you do love her."

"You know I do."

"So what happened?"

Crescendo examined one of the pawn pieces, scratching his thumbnail over a crack in the polished wood. "If you're hoping for a revelation of some kind, Jazz, I'm afraid I don't have one for you."

"I know," Jazz sighed. "I don't want a revelation. Just–"

"Just what?"

He sighed again and shrugged uncomfortably, forcing a small smile. "Just advice."

"Advice?" Crescendo repeated. "On what?"

"Falling in love, I guess."

"Are you in love?"

"If I knew that already, I wouldn't be asking you."

"I never even considered that there might be someone who'd caught you eye."

"Neither did I."

"But...?""

"But maybe I've just been blind. Have you gone yet?" He gestured to the board.

"No. You're distracting me, remember?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Tell me more about this girl. Do I know her?"

"It's– no. It's not a she."

Crescendo blinked in surprise and then shook his head hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I just thought... Claves."

"Yeah."

"You know I don't care either way."

"Yeah."

"So tell me about him, then. What's he like?"

"You already know him," Jazz answered, his voice just barely above a whisper. The prince had to lean forward to make out the words.

"I do?"

"He lives down here."

"Oh," Crescendo chuckled, and sat back in his chair. "Well, then. I already like him."

"I don't think you heard what I said."

"He can't be too bad, if he lives in Baroque."

"You know, you have one of the worst cases of nationalism I have ever seen."

"I run the country, Jazz—of course I have a bad case of nationalism. Especially when the only other country around here is Forte."

"Your wife is from Forte."

"But she speaks for Baroque."

"Besides," Jazz grinned, "he could be foreign."

"An immigrant?"

"Or an emigrant, depending on how you look at it."

"Are you giving me clues or just throwing me off track?"

"I thought it was my job to distract you."

"Only with legitimate questions."

"And honest answers."

"Then I guess that makes it my turn to ask the questions. What did you mean when you told me I hadn't heard what you said?"

The smile slid off Jazz's face, and he answered, slowly, "I said you already know him."

"Yes."

"You know him."

"You mean–?"

"He was at dinner with us tonight."

Crescendo paused, trying to compose himself as he went through a mental checklist of the people they had dined with. "There weren't... very many gentlemen there."

"Please don't start guessing random people, Princey. This conversation is awkward enough as it is."

"Then you had better just tell me who it is—I'm never going to be able to look at any of the other boys the same way until you do."

Jazz laughed half-heartedly and Crescendo smiled, knocking their feet together under the table. "So?"

"So you have to promise not to laugh."

"You do me wrong, Jazz! I would never laugh at you."

"Whatever. That's what you said last time."

"That was a long time ago."

"So?"

"So we've grown up since then."

Jazz sighed and smiled a little. "Maybe you have. I still feel like I'm stuck at fourteen."

"Love does that to you, I guess. There are days when I feel that way too."

"Funny how we were always in such a hurry to grow up."

"Stop beating around the bush, Jazz. I want to know who's got your heart all tied up in knots like this."

The swordsman glanced down at his hands, brushing rough fingertips over a callous on his palm. "His name is… Frederic."

"Frederic?"

"Um–"

"Did I hear you right?"

"If the screaming is anything to go by, yeah."

"What? I mean… what?"

"You promised not to laugh at me," Jazz muttered, "remember?"

"No, no, Jazz, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing. It's just—I didn't expect that."

"There's nothing wrong with him."

"Of course not. Of course not. There's nothing wrong with that at all. I can think of no other people more deserving of happiness than you two."

"You're getting formal on me again."

"Well, formality is generally a good way to cover up the fact that I'm being an ass."

Jazz sighed again and shook his head. "You're not an ass, Crescendo."

"I am sorry."

"I know. It's really okay. It still kind a freaks me out, too."

"I'm also sorry I didn't realize you were looking for a boyfriend; I would have been arranging the dinner seating differently."

Jazz laughed and kicked Crescendo under the table, rolling his eyes. "Don't say shit like that. It makes me shy."

"A little shyness could do you good. Honestly, though, I never realized you were trying to get away from all those women—I just thought you were playing hard to get."

"Yeah, it was a little awkward."

"What was your sweetheartdoing while all the girls made spectacles of themselves?"

"He isn't..." Jazz glanced away, and the prince fancied he could see a faint blush settling across his friend's cheek. "We're not sweethearts, Crescendo. He just happens to be a man that I just happen to be desperately in love with, that's all."

"You mean he doesn't know?"

"He has no idea."

"You're joking."

"…No. I'm not."

Crescendo grinned and sat forward, setting down the pawn he'd been holding. "We must fix this at once, Jazz!"

"Oh, no, Princey, let's not. I'm a much better lover when the other person doesn't know."

"At least give him a chance to accept your affection!"

"That would also give him the chance to reject me, which would be worse."

"What if he doesn't reject you?"

"How would I even tell him?" Jazz leaned his head against the back of the chair in defeat, scrubbing one hand across his face. "You can't just go up to someone and say, 'Oh, hey, somewhere in between meeting you in prison and right now, I think I might have tripped up and maybe accidentally fallen in love with you.'"

"I don't see why not."

"Really? If I came up and told you that, you wouldn't care?"

"Well, no, of course not. I already know you're in love with me."

"Don't tease me, Crescendo, please. I'm being serious."

"So was I."

"You're saying if I confessed my love to you right now, you would just throw yourself at me and we would go off and live happily ever after."

"I'm married… but Frederic's not."

"You make it sound so easy."

"You make it sound too hard."

"I don't even know if he likes boys! I'm probably just wasting my time here, sighing over something that's never going to be mine."

"You will be if you never tell him."

Jazz managed a small smile and turned his face towards the ceiling as if in prayer. "Oh, my dear, dear prince. I wish the world worked the way you think it does."

"We can make it work!" Crescendo leaned forward, and Jazz's smile widened at the excitement in his friend's eyes. "We'll find a way to tell Frederic—and if he doesn't care for you, why, we'llfind a way to make him. I'm sure we can."

"I love you, Crescendo," Jazz murmured, "I really, really do. But do me a favor and stay out of this, okay? I'm already fucked enough as it is."

"No! Jazz, in all my life I have never seen you smile like this, or be shy like this, and by God I am not going to let you run away again. I will lock you both in the closet if it comes down to that."

"Oh, lord," Jazz laughed, "Princey, please don't. Remember how that turned out last time?"

"It turned out just fine. She was a really nice girl."

"Yeah, except for the part where she never spoke to me again."

"I wouldn't have put you in there if I had known you were going to reach under her dress!"

"I was a horny teenage boy locked in a closet with a beautiful girl—what exactly did you expect me to do?"

"Talk, maybe?"

"We tried talking. It didn't work."

"That is precisely your problem, Jazz: you try something once and never bother with it again. Maybe things would be different this time."

"And maybe they wouldn't and I would have lost one of the only things I really care about!"

Crescendo stopped, mouth part-way open, and the Jazz flushed under the weight of his own admission. "Oh my God, Jazz."

"What?"

"You love him."

"I think I said that already."

"You love him."

"Wasn't that what this entire conversation was about?"

"I just… I don't think I realized that entirely." He laughed suddenly and added, "We're not children anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't some adolescent fancy. This is—real."

Jazz answered with a shaky sigh, folding his hands in his lap and then resting them on the arms of the upholstered chair. "…Yeah."

Crescendo gave him a small smile, torn somewhere between laughter and despair. "I guess that's the thing about living, isn't it? You might as well risk everything if you're never going to get out alive."

"Yeah." Jazz nodded, and raised his eyes slowly when Crescendo reached across the table to cover the brunette's hand with one of his own.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Yes. Maybe."

"Tell me what's going through your head."

Jazz glanced down at the prince's hand and then back up into bright blue eyes. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"When I started to tell you, it just kind of seemed like a joke. Or, at least, I wanted to make it into a joke. But I really—" he stopped suddenly and shook his head. "I don't know."

"You're really in love with him."

"I don't want to have my heart stepped on again. There are so many fucking little pieces that I still haven't found from the last time that happened… I don't know if I could stand it again."

"I know you, Jazz," Crescendo murmured. "You could stand it."

"What if I don't want to stand it, then? What if I just barely got my life taped back together and I don't want to risk losing it?"

"What would you lose?"

"Maybe everything," Jazz whispered, turning his eyes down to the floor.

"And what would you gain?"

"Maybe everything." When he looked up again there were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling in a way Crescendo had never seen before. "I'm so fucking scared."

The prince nodded slowly. "I know."

"Do you ever feel like this?"

"All the time."

"And—what? You just learn how to deal with it?"

"You do the best you can with what you have, I suppose."

"What if all you have is a case of crippling self-doubt and a really, really big sword?"

Crescendo's lips turned up into a small smile. "Well, the sword is a good start."

"Oh my God, was that an innuendo?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Jazz stared at him for a moment and then broke laughing, his head thrown back against the upholstered chair. "Saints, Princey, I've missed you… and I'm starting to remember why we don't talk."

"You mean besides the fact that we've been living in entirely separate countries hundreds of miles apart?"

"Letters definitely can't capture these kinds of conversations," Jazz agreed.

"I think that's probably a good thing. These moments shouldn't be preserved for posterity."

"Are you kidding? Posterity would love this."

"There are plenty of rumors about me without the innuendos getting out."

"It's like four AM—we're allowed to talk about sex if we want to."

"Of course we can, I just don't need the whole castle to know."

"Like the whole castle's not doing the same thing."

"Hell, the rest of the castle is probably having sex. I still don't want the gossip."

"We could be having sex too, you know."

"I'm starting to remember why we don't talk."

Jazz laughed again and kicked his friend under the table, winking. "You know you love me."

"Yes. And I would love you more if you changed the topic."

"You're the one who started this."

"Alright, I'll change the topic. Which closet would you like me to lock Frederic in?"

"I get to choose?"

"Of course."

"Well, anything except the cleaning closet, I guess. It took me ages to wash the smell of ammonia out of my hair last time."

"If it ended badly, you could always suggest he was hallucinating."

"See now, there's an idea."

"It wasn't a joke."

"I know. But if I don't make it into a joke I'm going to panic." He laughed weakly and Crescendo leaned forward, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't…" Jazz shrugged. "If I'm going to do this, I'm not going to back out."

"That's very admirable of you."

"It's actually pretty cowardly, but thanks anyway."

"No, Jazz, it isn't. It's admirable."

"It's just—I want him to know. And if he turns me down I probably won't ever be able to look him in the eye again, but I still want him to know."

"Why?"

"You're a smart man, Crescendo. Why do you think?"

"I want to hear you say it."

"I've spent my whole life hiding from things—"

"Like Forte?" the prince cut in.

"Like your father."

"Ah. Yes. I spent a lot of time hiding you from my father, too."

"I swear, that man is evil."

"Don't speak ill of the dead, Jazz."

"He's not dead yet."

"He will be soon."

"Well, then, I had better get out all my ill speaking now."

"Besides, it isn't his fault he didn't like you. You went out of your way to be a royal pain in the ass."

Jazz grinned. "Was that another innuendo?"

"No. I'm not that drunk yet."

"I'd be happy to find us another bottle of wine."

"At four in the morning?"

"Why not? The only places open at this hour are the ones that sell alcohol."

"Last time I let you buy me a bottle of wine I was hung-over for days."

"And had a royal pain in the ass."

"Maybe there's a reason why my father didn't like you."

"But you like me."

"I'm sure Frederic would like you, too."

"Oh, gods, Crescendo. Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Of course not. That's what friends are for—to take your deepest secrets and confessions and then use them for blackmail."

"What is it you're trying to blackmail me into? I already said I'd buy the wine."

"I want you to tell him."

"Good luck."

"I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I."

"What point is there in loving someone if you never tell them?"

"I don't know… the satisfaction in knowing they'll never leave you at the altar?"

"I didn't realize you were already planning a wedding."

"I'm not. I'm talking about you."

"You think Serenade will leave me at the altar?"

"Gods, Crescendo, don't you? Don't you ever lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling and wonder what you would do if she ever walked away?"

The prince shook his head slowly, staring at the chess board. "Everybody does."

"But if I never tell him, I never need to worry."

"But you do anyway!" Crescendo exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jazz, this is ridiculous; you want to protect yourself, so you're willing to tear out your own heart instead of risking it with the person you love. Don't you see how ludicrous this is?"

"At least I control it. At least this madness is controlled while I'm holding it."

"We can't control it, Jazz. Love can't be contained."

"I don't want to get hurt." Suddenly Jazz was crying, his face hidden in one hand, and his friend shifted uncomfortably in the heavy silence that followed.

"Jay," he called softly, and stood up. "Jay."

He crossed around the table and wrapped one arm around the other man's shoulders, pressing the dark head against his hip. Jazz sobbed, and his voice came out muffled and weak. "You haven't called me that since we were kids."

"I haven't seen you cry since we were kids."

"Yeah, I know," Jazz mumbled. "Stupid, huh? At least back then I had stuff to cry about."

"I have never thought more of you than I do right now."

"That's nice of you to say."

"It's true."

"You're such a girl." Jazz sat back, smiling bashfully despite the bravado of the words. Crescendo squeezed his shoulder.

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you, too, Princey. Even if you're a girl."

"You deserve all the happiness this world can give you—and God knows it doesn't have a lot to give."

"It's–"

"I know. It is. And it's okay."

"Prince…" Jazz gave another, more genuine smile. "My prince."

"My rebel."

"Thanks for not kicking me out when you realized I was in love with your pianist."

"It's going to be hard to part with him, I will admit."

"You make it sound like I'm going to keep him chained up in the bedroom all the time."

"Knowing you, yes, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"Well, I presume he's going to want to elope with you to some remote island so you can both live happily ever after for the rest of your days."

"You presume too much. He loves it here."

"Maybe you could go see the world together."

"Gods, no. We've seen plenty of the world already. Besides, he wouldn't go anywhere with me unless we brought that stupid piano along."

"That would make for an interesting wedding picture."

"Now who's planning the wedding, hm?"

"I'm engaged, Jazz. It's what I do."

"That sounds like the best damn job description I've ever heard of."

"I think so, too."

The clock struck a quarter past five and Jazz sighed softly, scrubbing one hand across his face. "We've talked the night away."

"Just like old times."

"You know, I'm starting to get why your father hated me."

"Why's that?"

"We're both going to be totally useless today, we'll be so tired."

"You should go back to your own room and lie down for a while. Breakfast isn't for another few hours."

"Can't I lie down in your room for a while?"

"No. We'll end up talking again."

"That's true. Alright, good night then… or good morning, I suppose."

"Good morning. Sleep well."

Jazz stood up and stretched slowly, not quite ready to leave. "'Cendo?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. I owe you."

"You owe me a lot."

"Yeah, I do—so thanks."

"You're welcome. And Jazz?"

"Mm?"

"Check mate."

Jazz glanced at the chess board and swore loudly while Crescendo laughed, pushing him towards the door.