A/N: Just a heads-up – while this is not a direct sequel, necessarily, it does follow the events from my Lucinigo fic "nuance." You don't have to read that to read this; however it would just provide some context, and these two did have some interaction in it. [fyi, in this !verse, Cyn is Henry's daughter and Gerome is Lon'qu's son.]

This was intended to be a one-shot, but it's shaping up to be more like "nuance" - under ten chapters, each 1-2k words long.

I WILL BE POSTING EVERY OTHER DAY as it's mostly complete.

Disclaimer - this will draw from their in-game support conversations every once in a while, and the Cyn/Inigo broship is my life.

It was through a mouthful of blackberry scone that Cynthia found herself spluttering, "What?!"

Inigo donned a look of incredulity as he inspected the damage to his shirt. "Gods, Cyn, say it, don't spray it!" he exclaimed, hurriedly brushing himself off.

"Sorry," she muttered. Swallowing the remnants of the sweet that hadn't made it all over Inigo, she attempted a calmer tone. "But are you serious? Lucina is in love with you?!"

They were alone in her tent, but he glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. Silently, he nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "We're getting married. Not right now, of course, but once things settle down–"

"Oh my goodness, Inigo!" she squealed happily, leaping over to hug him. "That's so great!"

"Cyn...thia... can't… breathe!" he pushed her off of him with an insincere glare. "For Naga's sake, woman, calm yourself!"

She was practically bouncing up and down with glee as she excused her enthusiasm, "But I'm just so so so so happy for you guys!"

"Yeah…" he said softly, a wistful smile on his lips, "It's… more than I ever hoped for."

"Right! And you thought you didn't have a chance," the blonde scoffed, poking Inigo in the chest. "I told you I was right! Cynthia saves the day again! You're welcome," she sang.

"Seriously, Cynthia, thank you. If I can ever do anything to–"

She cut him off, face suddenly serious, "Yes, there's something you can do!"

Expression apprehensive, Inigo ventured, "I'm guessing it has something to do with our favorite misanthropic, mask-wearing wyvern rider?"

"Doesn't it always?" Cynthia sighed, for once her cheerful disposition conceding to exasperation. "I just don't understand … boys, men, him, whatever!" she said, waving her hands about.

"So what is it you would have me do?" Inigo asked, assuming an air of nonchalance as he slathered a scone with jam. "I mean, I would venture to say he and I are friends – I did drag him out to try to pick up girls a time or two… But you are much closer to him than I am." He bit into his snack, "You always have been."

"That's exactly the point!" she moaned, throwing her hands over her face. "We have been. As in the past, as in not anymore. Now he practically bolts every time he sees me!"

Inigo munched silently, contemplating whether or not he should reveal the real reason behind Gerome's behavior. He had a feeling that it wasn't a good idea, but he thought of Cynthia like a little sister, and seeing her so distressed was distressing to him.

Before he could say anything one way or the other, dark eyes peered out from behind the pegasus knight's fingers. "Do you think… Do you think he hates me, Inigo?" Her hands and gaze fell to her lap, "I thought he liked me, too, but… maybe I was wrong."

Her breath hitched, "I – I've told him so many times that I love him, tried so hard to make him happy, even just to have a simple conversation with him but… Maybe he really does hate me."

"To be fair, Cyn, he kind of treats everyone like that–"

"But I'm supposed to be different!" she exclaimed, desperation evident. "When we were kids, we were best friends! We would talk for hours, ride my pegasus all afternoon, play Justice Cabal together… He told me I was graceful and beautiful and smart and a hero! And all this time, I've tried my very best to become those things…" Her voice broke, "But last time I tried to talk to him, he yelled at me that we weren't children anymore. Maybe… Maybe it's just not good enough. Maybe it will never be good enough."

Sighing loudly, Inigo decided to at least give her a push in the right direction. "Cynthia," he broke into the downward spiral of her thoughts, "I highly doubt that's the case. But there's only one way to find out."

She looked up at him hopefully, and he answered her unspoken question, "You're going to have to ask him."

Cynthia sat on a crate in the food supply tent, kicking up dust as she scuffed her boot back and forth, deep in thought. What Inigo had said had made sense in an obvious sort of way, but what if she asked Gerome and the truth was that he did hate her? Her expression turned sour. No, that – that would be worse than not knowing! But the not-knowing had been driving her crazy… She sighed. Her thoughts were going nowhere but in circles. Giving up on "pointless thinking time" as she had dubbed it, the blonde raised her head, preparing to leave, and lo and behold, the object of her contemplation had appeared across the tent. Just my luck, she thought almost despondently. Her heart gave a lurch at the sight of him, painfully handsome and apparently completely oblivious to her presence. Well… perhaps Inigo is right, Cynthia decided on a whim, and hopped down from the crate.

As she approached, she heard Gerome muttering to himself as he picked through a basket of vegetables, his back to her. Curiosity getting the better of her, she stayed silent for a few moments, waiting for him to say something intelligible. Eventually, he said in a self-admonishing tone, "I shouldn't have done it. It was cruel."

Popping into his field of vision, she plastered on a smile and forced cheer into her voice, "What was cruel?!"

He yelled in surprise, stumbling backwards and losing his grip on the potatoes he'd had in hand. Regaining his balance, he asked, "H-how long have you been there?!"

Cynthia reined in a chuckle as she bent to retrieve the potatoes he'd dropped – she couldn't help thinking he was adorable when he was all flustered. "Oh, I've been here forever! You would have noticed too, if you weren't so completely lost in thought. If I was a foe, I could have lopped off your head without you ever realizing it."

Gerome bristled at this, "Yes, but in battle, I would be much more dilig–"

"Don't forget, you're a proper hero now! You can't afford to let your guard down." She decided to tease him just a bit, adding with a facade of intense disappointment, "It just looks bad."

Cynthia was sure that his eyes were narrowed in annoyance beneath the impenetrable surface of his mask. "Who said I was a hero? Apart from you, I mean."

Her voice regained its usual cheeriness as she took his hands and returned their previous contents, "Oh, Gerome, you don't have to be so modest. I love you anyway!"

"Y-you love me?"

Resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation – how dense could he be? – she smiled. "Yeah, of course I do, silly. Anyway, that's not why I came to talk to you. I have a question for you." Leaning in so closely that she could smell the faint scent of Minerva's tack, she informed him solemnly, "A very important question."

The dark-haired man moved to keep her at arm's length, "Hold! Return to the part about lo—"

But Cynthia didn't even register his protest, all her courage focused into a single sentence. "Do you hate me?"

"What?" After a moment, it was clear she wouldn't budge without some sort of answer, and he countered with a question of his own, " ...Why do you ask?"

A sigh escaped her, and she couldn't keep the vulnerable look off of her face as she swallowed visibly. Silent seconds passed as she nervously twirled a lock of silvery-blonde hair around her index finger, and when Cynthia responded, her voice was honest but very small. "Because, it sometimes feels like you're trying very, very hard to avoid me."

Gerome did not refute the claim, and suddenly Cynthia realized the weight of her question. This was exactly what she had feared – he really did hate her, he was avoiding her on purpose! A sense of dread settled in her stomach like a stone, and her heart seemed lodged in her throat. Or maybe it was oncoming sobs, she couldn't tell, and it didn't really matter anyway. He hated her; the world would never be bright again. Biting her lip so hard she thought she'd break the skin, Cynthia dared not say anything more.

At length, he turned away, saying softly, "I find you difficult to be around."

Pale fingers flew up to her mouth as the pegasus knight gasped in shock. She reminded herself that she had asked for this, but the despair in her voice was clear as she whispered defeatedly, "No…" It had been one thing to admit the truth inwardly, but to hear the words from his lips… it was more painful than she could have imagined. "Oh I knew it…"

"I'm not finished," Gerome interrupted her train of thought. His expression was perplexed for a moment, as if he was trying very hard to get things sorted out in his head, to select the correct words. "You have always been a perpetual ray of sunshine in my life," he admitted, though he still wore a frown. "But sometimes, a man like me wishes to draw the curtains and sit in the dark."

Her question was innocent, merely curious, "Like a troglodyte?"

"Please don't misunderstand me. I don't dislike you. Your good humor raises people's spirits and dispels the horrors of war. You are a shining beacon of hope, reminding us there can be a better future. You light the fires of optimism and inspire us to keep striving."

Eyes widening, Cynthia almost could not believe what she had just heard. "...Gosh. You make me sound so… important." A toothy grin split her face – "More of this please!" – before her thoughts caught up to her mouth. "But wait… I guess if you think that, you can't possibly hate me…" A few seconds passed, before she added hopefully, "...Right?

"None of your comrades dislike you, myself included," Gerome answered firmly, and though the words sounded a little more grudging than she would have preferred, Cynthia would take it.

"Phew! That's a relief!" Clapping him on the back she said, "Thanks, Gerome! We'll talk soon, I promise."

Making her way the entrance of the tent, she could hardly keep from skipping in joy, even when she heard behind her, "W-wait! My point was that I do not want to talk!"

Well, that's just too bad mister, she thought gleefully. A hero always keeps her promises!