a/n: i can't believe i'm writing again. it's been like what, over three years? hope i still know how to do this haha. this, despite being somewhat of a chrobin piece, was actually inspired by a grima/robin art commission on tumblr by spaghetti-draws (the cover art). please do consider commissioning spaghetti-draws as well because his artwork is absolutely fantastic! and hope y'all enjoy this fic as well.

muscle memory

Robin had grown used to Chrom's odd requests during the war that he was no stranger to today's latest one. Chrom asked him to meet in the throne room after everyone was asleep to help practice his court etiquette, but Chrom's sudden stutter and inability to make eye contact made Robin think perhaps it was best not to question further.

As for now, hearing only his footsteps echo through the dim halls was a nice change of pace. During the day, the halls would be filled with Shepherds and palace staff roaming about. It had only been a couple weeks since Robin returned to the palace after Chrom found him lying in the field—after their battle with Grima. He lacked the energy to keep up with every hug, every "Welcome back," and "We missed you," but any time alone with Chrom was a grace-given chance to relax again. Robin found his way to the grand doors of the throne room and stepped through, entering a space that seemed endlessly wide when engulfed in the dark, save for the moonlight peering through the side stain glass window.

Yet Robin couldn't shake off the unease. The shadows felt too familiar, too close, like constant whisperings surrounding him in the dark.

But Grima is gone, Robin reminded himself. They made sure of it. He made sure of it.

Following the carpet toward the end of the room, he soon caught sight of Chrom staring back at an empty throne. Robin had grown so used to seeing Chrom in armor and a single sleeve during the war. Watching him now even if from the back, all clad in a clean tunic and fitted trousers, felt like Robin was looking at a completely different person. Not as the Shepherd's leader he once was nor even as the Exalt Chrom was now, but as the prince he could've been if he had chosen to master appearances instead of sword play.

It was only when Robin was ten feet away that Chrom perked up at the sound of his footsteps. He turned around, a grin radiating on his face, brighter than the moon tonight could ever be.

"You actually came," Chrom said. "I know you're still recovering, but I'd much rather practice with you than Frederick or Lissa again."

Robin gave a light scoff. "Three years without me and you still haven't mastered court etiquette yet?"

Chrom's smile faltered. "Three years too long, Robin."

Yet you haven't changed a bit, Robin wanted to say, but that in itself was a lie. For him, the battle with Grima felt like close enough to consider it as yesterday, but for Chrom, even with the limited aid of the moonlight, Robin could see the dark circles and creases around his eyes. Every line aged the man by years the closer he looked, years Robin didn't have the heart to ask about.

Before his thoughts could sink further, Chrom broke the silence with a shaky laugh and a sheepish grin. "Anyways, it's a different kind of practice this time. How good is your dancing?"

"Wouldn't Olivia make a much better dance partner?"

"There's no one else I'd rather make a fool of myself with." Chrom's face reddened to the tip of his ears, but he held his gaze to focus on Robin. "Besides, the best way to remember how to do something is to teach it to someone else."

So he dipped into a quick bow and held out a hand.

"Dance with me?"

Robin couldn't hide the smile forming on his lips and he gave in, accepting Chrom's hand with his own. Chrom lead him to the centre of the throne room just under the moonlight. A spotlight made for the two of them. In one motion, Chrom guided Robin's left hand to rest on top his shoulder. Then he wrapped his own free hand around Robin's waist, pulling him in closer to his chest.

"Just follow my lead."

Robin swallowed. He had forgotten how it felt to be this close to Chrom. Chrom still hadn't let go of his other hand, the warmth gathering between their palms as he lifted them both into the starting position for the waltz. Robin couldn't even decide whether to look up at Chrom's face or down at their feet because of all the damn heat rising to his own cheeks. He settled for resting in the crook of Chrom's neck, drawn to the heat of his skin, chest against his chest, wondering if he could feel his heartbeat between the layers of their clothing.

A breath tickled through his hair as he heard Chrom muttered to himself. "One, two, three, and…"

Then Chrom took the lead. Their bodies swayed to each "One, two, three. One, two, three." They kept their strides slow, Robin making sure his feet stayed in tandem with Chrom's steps. One, two, three. They made slow spins together across the throne room floor, and for some reason, Robin felt a sense of déjà vu linger around him.

Have I done this before? Robin couldn't recall ever dancing on any occasion. Even so, his body moved under some guise of familiarity, and he found himself occasionally shifting Chrom's shoulder to adjust in whichever direction their feet took them.

"I can't believe you would feign being an amateur," Chrom said as if reading Robin's thoughts. "Here I thought for once I was finally an expert of something between us two."

"I'm sure you still are," Robin said. "Maybe I happen to have some form of muscle memory?"

"Then perhaps you remember how to do this."

Without warning, Chrom pushed Robin off him and spun him outward till both of their arms were outstretched. Robin's heart raced a little faster, jolted by the sudden movement. But the smile blooming on Chrom's face brought him back to the days in the barracks, when the man still had the heart of a boy whose energy rivaled the sun. Robin gripped Chrom's hand tighter, hoping to never let it go. He'd missed this.

Chrom soon pulled Robin back, spinning him around again until Robin nearly fell against his chest.

Robin's chuckle came out muffled from being buried in Chrom's shirt. "A little eager to do tricks, are we?"

"I'll be gentler next time," Chrom said with amusement in his tone.

Yet even with Chrom in his arms, the initial unease Robin had when he first entered the room returned. Everything about this felt familiar, and he was sure he must've done this once before, yet he still couldn't place where or when, or with who.

At least, not until Chrom started humming.

It was a soft melody, something akin to a lullaby. Chrom has a wonderful singing voice, Robin once discovered when he passed by the bathing tents during one of their camp nights admist the war campaign. Most of the songs Chrom knew were taught by Emmeryn when they were younger, so he'd said.

But this was the first time Robin heard him hum this song, and yet Robin found that he knew every note that came next. It took another second to notice he'd been humming along until he saw Chrom staring back at him without breaking his tune. A song from Plegia? Robin didn't bother to ask, instead closing his eyes as he let the melody drift in, searching deep in the recesses of his mind for a thought, a memory, the voice in the darkness to say yes, can you see it? Do you remember it? Do you remember me?

Then Chrom's humming stopped and their dancing stopped with it. Robin opened his eyes, ready to ask why.

Instead he found himself looking out the balcony of a red sky. The smell of smoke and sulfer mixed in the air, and outside all he could see were ashen buildings, charred trees, dust-coated earth—

And a dragon's skull in the courtyard.

This is Plegia, the realization sunk in. But this couldn't be real. He was just in the throne room with Chrom.

As if on cue, he heard a faint voice in his ear start the count again. "One, two, three." And they were moving again, following the same rhythm and pace, step upon step, but Robin was too busy trying to take in his new surroundings. It was no longer night and he could see every part of the room with full clarity. Where banners should've been blue, instead he saw shredded cloths of purple and black.

Only when he tried to focus on listening to the counting sets of three that he heard the song being hummed again, not by Chrom, but by a different voice. His own voice.

Robin stopped moving. He wasn't even the one humming.

A gentle push separated Robin from his dance partner, and Robin found he didn't need to look up to see their face—to see his own face, his white hair, his skin. Robin's mind screamed when he saw four more eyes, two etched on each cheek on the face of the man before him and he couldn't move his mouth when other parts of his body kept screaming the same name.

Grima.

Robin tried to let go, but Grima gripped his hand and waist tighter. Grima's eyes burned red as he held Robin in place with only a gaze. He couldn't move. He couldn't will his body to. This isn't real, his mind chanted. Grima was gone.

But Grima was right here, his six red eyes watching him. He also wasn't doing anything, Robin realized. Even though the adrenaline made Robin's heartbeat thunder in his head and in his hands, made it harder to stay calm, Grima hadn't given him any sneer or indication of malice. Only watchful to each of Robin's reactions as if noting down observations.

Even the hand still gripping his own, though tight, was still nothing short of gentle. No nails digging into Robin's skin to keep him locked in place. His head stayed on guard, but his body relaxed against his will. Was this a memory or a trick from a enemy who was never really gone?

"Robin?" a faint voice echoed in his mind.

Grima brought Robin's hand over to his lips and kissed it.

"Robin?"

His eyes widened at the sudden gentleness. Grima soon closed his eyes and began humming the same lullaby.

"Robin!"

He blinked and the room turned dark again. The red sky was gone and his vision tried to process the sudden blur of shadowy blues and moonlit skin of a face leaning too close to his.

"You alright there?"

Taking a quick glance around, he could make out blue banners again hiding in the shadows of night. Then Robin stared at the man before him, who looked back with blue eyes and had blue hair and worry written all over his furrowed brows and pursed lips.

"Perhaps we should take a break."

He was with Chrom again, Robin realized. He was back. This was Ylisse. Processing Chrom's voice again, Robin shook his head, trying to shake off what he just saw. "I'm alright." He closed his eyes, burying himself back into Chrom's neck, chest against his chest. He thought the nightmares would've ended with Grima's fall, but could he call what he just saw a nightmare too?

"Are you sure?" Chrom said. He took his hand off Robin's waist and held the back of his head, cradling him closer.

In return, Robin squeezed Chrom's other hand tighter, breathing in Chrom's scent, sinking into the warmth of his skin.

This is now, Robin reminded himself.

"I'm sure."

This is here.