Chapter 2
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"Is this some kind of joke? What are you thinking?!" Gwendal demanded, looming closer to the infirmary bed. An intimidating shadow fell over the blond. This was all nonsense to him.
Murata noticed storm clouds gathering. It was amazing how quickly Wolfram's temper could turn.
"Excuse me?" Wolfram growled back with a mixture of astonishment and hurt. "Since when have you disapproved of the one I am happily married to?" Refusing help from Conrad, the youngest brother forced himself up clumsily into a sitting position in the bed. The white blankets pooled into his lap. "If you had opposition, Gwendal, you should have voiced it long before now. Long before the wedding! But what did you do? Hmm? You decided to do it today…with an audience!" Livid, angry emeralds shined with an edge to them. "This is an insult!"
"Wolfram!" Gwendal barked.
"Yes, I am 'Wolfram.' And, if you need a reminder, I am 'Wolfram Altair von Bielefeld Murata! I am husband to The Great Sage and no other!" He leaned forward in the eldest brother's direction, ready to defend his position. This was who he was. It would be respected. He would not yield.
"Altair? Murata?" Conrad shook his head impossibly at that. "Please, Wolfram…be reasonable…"
The furious blond clinched his hands, wincing slightly with the bandaged one. "Not you, too!"
"Now, now!" Gissela stepped in, doing her best to calm things down and restore order before fire became involved.
Yuuri cringed slightly and then looked to Greta. "I think we need to have you spend some time with Doria in the kitchen for a cookie break." He opened the door and politely steered the child out by gently placing a hand on her small right shoulder. "We'll sort this out. We'll fix it."
"But, Yuuri!" she worried openly, watching Wolfram's angry stare-down between himself and Gwendal before finding herself in the hallway with the door closed. She could still make out the voices coming through the door, though. Wolfram was confused and furious while Gwendal was certain that he was faking it.
"What do mean 'Get over it'?" the bishonen's muffled voice seeped through the door. "It'd better not mean what I think it means!"
"Toilet!" Murata's somewhat loud, immediate request seemed to silence the room. "Ummm…Lord Weller, would you be so kind as to help me to the privy in the hallway? I'd prefer that one, if you don't mind."
"But…there's…" Gissela jumped in.
"I'll take you," Wolfram offered, his temper simmering down somewhat.
"Please, Lord Weller."
And Greta made a quick run for the nearest cleaning closet to hide. The maids had taught her a thing or two about listening in and she was going to get a few answers "now" rather than later.
The door to the infirmary opened and, for a brief second, the little girl thought the sage had seen her hiding. Then, they continued on. Murata was escorted by Gwendal, Conrad, and, oddly, Yuuri. An entourage to the bathroom seemed strange to Greta and she was about to leave her hiding place when Gissela left, too, with a strained look on her face. Murata pointed to the healer's office with "Let's talk in here" and the little group went in, firmly closing the door behind them.
The little girl tiptoed closer and placed her ear on the neatly painted white door. But, sadly, this was of no use. Much to Greta's disappointment, Gissela had, long ago, made her office soundproof for just this very reason.
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"What is going on?" Gwendal wanted to know, looking at the group assembled around a plain oak table that the green-haired woman kept for conferences with her medical staff.
"I don't know," Murata said, "but I believe that he thinks, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's telling the truth." The dark haired sage laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. Things had gotten complicated fairly quickly. The blond ex-prince's volatile emotions were typical of a fire wielder—sensual, bold, and tenacious. To say that their kind did not give up easily was an understatement. But there was something frail about them and for Wolfram, someone who had always wanted approval in some way—whether it be earned or given—his struggles followed him even though he chose not to recognize them.
Even Murata knew that much.
The double black looked at his closest friend. "I have to agree. Wolf, somehow, thinks that the two of you are…married."
Murata studied Yuuri's face without appearing to. He seemed lost and lonely already—a stark contrast to the "full of life" or "genki," as the Japanese would say, king who claimed openly things like: "But I like girls…" and "We are not getting married this year or any other!" while running down the hall with the angry blond hot on his heels.
Running like children. Running away from fate and feelings. Still, was it his place as "sage" to reveal that? Would it be the kind of meddling that Shinou was always famous for? The thoughts, alone, wore him thin. I don't feel like dealing with this.
"But… Altair? Where did he get that from?" Conrad wondered aloud, breaking into his thoughts.
Gwendal folded his beefy arms defensively against his chest. "Beats me."
Murata scratched his chin in thought. Something was nagging at him, tugging at the back of his mind. Why was it so hard to think? To remember? His mind searched until he got a flash of memory—a vivid one. They were walking down the hall, chatting and laughing. Murata groaned "no" and let his head fall back heavily on his shoulders. For certain, he really didn't feel like dealing with this.
"Murata?" the double black worried, leaning closer.
"I think…I think I get it now," Murata admitted slowly.
"Then, what is it?" Gissela asked, curious.
Murata glanced wearily around the table. "Altair is a character from a book. It's called The Chronicles of the Great Sage in Bygone Days …a 'classic' or so I'm told." He added that last part with an almost acidic taste in his mouth. "It's entirely possible that von Bielefeld has cast himself in the role of 'Altair'…the handsome knight on a white horse who meets up with Shin Makoku's sage, follows him endlessly…no matter how many times he's told to 'go home'…and swears a holy oath to Shinou on bended knee that his commitment will last forever."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Yuuri said hopefully.
Murata gave a level stare. "At the end of the book, Altair finally gets the sage to accept his feelings for him and they have a rose garden wedding next to a tall castle."
"Oh, that's right!" Conrad said, snapping his fingers as he recalled it. "I remember reading that book long ago."
Gwendal shook his head at that. "I told my tutors I'd be better off reading war diaries and books on battle strategies than some ridiculous romance. Luckily for me, they agreed."
"Greta had just finished reading Chronicles and was quoting from the book right before we met all of you in the Royal Throne Room," Murata informed them. "So, logically, it would still be on his mind." Murata pushed his dark hair out of his face. "Or, it could also be the poison's effect…making him confused…or, possibly, the crystal… if a powerful shamanistic spell had been placed on it…." It was so hard to think. He felt so drained, so "out of it" as though he hadn't slept in a week. "It could be a combination, I suppose." He took off his glasses briefly and rubbed his eyes. "I wish I had answers…or even a solid guess…"
"Then, all we have to do is tell Wolfram that he's mistaken," Gwendal suggested, confident that this would make all well again. Speedy, efficient solutions. He really liked those.
"With respect, I disagree." Murata put his glasses on and adjusted them with a finger. "To have an entirely new set of memories…or even to be told that everything you know is wrong…" He shook his head. "…To have that forced onto you…" He put his elbows on the table, laced his hands together, and rested his chin on them. "It has happened to me twice, later in my lifetime than usual…I remember… It's sketchy, but, I recall…" Why was this so hard to admit? These people were his friends. They would understand. "Twice, I almost…" Murata's voice grew husky and low, "Feelings you don't understand with nothing to tie them to…memories that are disjointed and in vivid detail…" How to put this delicately? He closed his eyes briefly and admitted, "It's the kind of thing that can break you."
Murata looked at Gwendal. "For now, considering his current physical state, is it absolutely necessary to tell him? That's my only question."
"True," Gissela said. It made sense.
"We can't tell him, then, until he's stronger," Yuuri agreed. But Murata could sense that some part of the double black's heart was aching and he didn't want to admit exactly why. Or, possibly, he was denying the extent to his hurt feelings because now was not the time to analyze.
For once, Wolfram would come first.
"As you explained to Greta," Murata said, trying his best to be supportive, "we will find a way, Shibuya. Everyone is here to help."
"Yes, we will." Conrad gave the room his trademark secretive smile. "We'll focus on his body healing first and, then, when the time is right, we'll tell him gently and properly."
"Who knows? Maybe his memories will return to normal by that time." Murata gave Yuuri a pat on the back to assure him. But the reality was that he had no idea how this whole scenario would really play out. Worse yet, the sage had a feeling that there were other elements to this situation that had gone unnoticed—even by him.
Murata returned alone, shutting the door behind him silently. He hoped not to wake the blond resting in the next bed. But the moment he approached, Wolfram detected his movements and opened his eyes. He watched the sage pull the covers back and sit wearily on his bed.
The springs gave a squeak.
Murata stretched his arms.
Head on the pillow, Wolfram looked to his left, still watching him with green eyes.
"So, husband. You were taking quite a long time in the privy." A small smirk came to his lips. "I doubt it was dysentery. Did my brothers try to convince you to leave me or were they so crass as to try to get Yuuri Heika to order it?"
Murata curled his legs into the bed and reclined. He folded his arms behind his head, propping it up. "Neither one."
A disbelieving "hmmm" came to the sage's ears. This was not the "Wolfram" that Murata knew. But who knew the way Wolfram and Yuuri spoke to each other in bed before they fell asleep? Or, maybe, this was the "Wolfram" who would have been had Yuuri accepted his heart earlier.
"But you took quite a group with you for such a simple jaunt to relieve yourself," the blond observed.
"No fooling you, huh?" There was a wink that followed it.
"Yes, I am not the fool they believe I am," Wolfram agreed easily, getting up out of the bed. To the sage's surprise, he nimbly stepped over and lifted the covers on his bed with "Slide over."
"With me?" Murata glanced at the door.
"Do it," the blond almost demanded, a bratty tone creeping in.
"Well…" Yes, there was great temptation now, he had to admit, as he followed orders and tried to stay in character. The problem was that the blond fire wielder was toothsome: slim built, sunny-haired, and boyishly handsome in the face. The voice was teasing at times with a slightly husky lilt. Just his type—unfortunately. Murata's dark eyes fell on the closed door again.
The bishonen chuckled at him as he tucked them both in under the blankets. "Why are you like this? You've never complained before. I'm usually the prude…but we're newlyweds. Who can blame us?" Wolfram snuggled closer but didn't get the instant gratification he was looking for. Murata was stiff in the shoulders but nowhere else. "Hmm… But, I can see your point." He turned his head to look at the door as well. "If we get caught, gossip may spread about what we can do in an infirmary bed." The pale-skinned beauty leaned in near and whispered into Murata's ear, "I am quite flexible and you are a lucky man."
Murata forced his head away at an angle and reminded him, "There is a reason why we are both here." He tried to focus on his own symptoms for once, them being of use at the moment. He let his exhaustion show. "Not tonight, Dear. I have a headache."
At that, Wolfram's face slackened and there was a spark of fear in his eyes. "How bad are you? Is that why you left the room? You didn't want me to hear?" He put a callused hand against Murata's forehead. Was there a fever? He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. "Humans have such frail bodies… I should have realized. I should have thought of your welfare first. Forgive my selfishness…everyone says I am selfish…that and more…I…"
"Calm down," Murata said firmly. "We are both here…together…where we need to be. We're fine."
The blond frowned at him slightly, disbelieving him. "You would say anything to keep me from worrying." He shook a finger at him. "I know you." With his good hand, he carded black hair away tenderly. "In this life, I am first in your heart."
The sage swallowed thickly at that. "First…"
"Yes, I know this," Wolfram told him with a slightly playful edge. "And, for that blessing, I am grateful." He placed his head on Murata's shoulder and felt the warmth there. Murata could smell Wolfram and his slightly musky scent combined with the herbs used to scrub the poison off. A part of him couldn't help wondering what Wolfram's skin smelled like on an ordinary day.
"And I love you, too…every part of me does," Wolfram whispered intimately. "You are The Great Sage and I am only a lonely knight. I have nothing of any real value to offer you. I can give you neither children nor an easy life. But you have…my heart, my loyalty, and my protection. And should the heavens grant my only wish, I would gladly trade any cruel fate you have with mine." The blond head leaned a little heavier and Murata found himself placing an arm around Wolfram's shoulder, bringing him in. "I know you have told Shinou that in your next life, you will be born anew and you will forget all of your past lives…your past 'selves'. And, in doing so, you will forget me. But, I am fine with that." He rubbed his blond locks slightly against Murata, enjoying the feeling. "To free you from your painful memories and your sorrows is worth the price of forgetting me."
Murata held the thin body against his a little tighter.
"And in this lifetime," Wolfram promised, "knowing that your memories will never truly stay…I will enjoy the days we have left and treasure you… every moment that you are mine…"
A sigh came next. A sad one.
The sage waited for more, but it never came. The room with the row of eight beds grew silent and all Murata could feel was the fire wielder's gentle breathing. "Are…you asleep?" he asked hesitantly, turning his own head to the side for a better view and touching the bandaged face gently.
It was only then that Murata realized that Wolfram had been crying.
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Early morning came and much to Conrad and Yuuri's surprise, there were two in Murata's bed sleeping soundly. Murata, his hospital gown loose around his shoulders, had his arms possessively around Wolfram and the blond seemed comforted. His golden hair was splayed out on the shared pillow and thick, dark blond eyelashes rested on pale skin.
"I think we should go have breakfast," the double black told his godfather. Yuuri's mouth was a tight, thin line and he was making his way for the door before he even heard Murata's soft comment. "He's been waking every three or four hours. His face and hand are still burning."
Yuuri turned back. "Wha-?"
Conrad looked at Murata as he sat up more in the bed and put his glasses on.
"On top of that, something is still wrong…with both of us. I'm certain of it. " The young sage's eyes barely focused on the visitors. He wasn't embarrassed about the situation in the bed he found himself in. Their night together was totally innocent. He wouldn't apologize for that.
Yuuri knelt down next to the bed, looking at them both as though he could make some sort of sense out of things. "Do you know what it is?"
Murata frowned slightly at his own incompetence. "I'll meet with Gissela today and suggest that we look up a few things in the old texts. Maybe, we can find some answers there." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll do our best, right?"
The double black looked back and forth between the two in the bed and gave a small nod. "Our best," he echoed. But, once again, it seemed that his emotions were conflicting. It wasn't hard to tell.
"You could help in a small way, though, if you have the time," Murata suggested and, without hesitation, the double black nodded curiously. "When he's strong enough to get out and about around the castle, spend some time with him. Maybe, he will remember more if he's with you."
The sage waited to see how that suggestion went over.
"That's not a bad idea," Conrad said, his voice cheerful. "We could have him enjoy a meal or, maybe, take tea in the rose garden."
The double black seemed a bit more upbeat. "Yeah, and Greta would like it, too, because she misses him a lot."
"Then, it is agreed." Murata put his hand out and the two of them shook on it while Conrad smiled on.
"Now," Murata said, looking down at the sleeping blond, "all you have to do is feel better."
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Murata'd come back from the privy—this time, really needing to go. The healers were leaving, having finished changing the bandages on Wolfram's face. His eyes were closed and, for some odd reason, he seemed incredibly alone.
I've seen that way about him before. Why have I never really noticed it?
Scratching his head, Murata got back into the bed next to Wolfram and tried, for the next two hours, to sleep. But the room was quiet—a little too quiet. And Murata was growing tired of the silence. Silence always bothered him somehow. He needed noise of some particular kind to keep him going. He didn't even mind houses that settled—giving odd sounds in the night that would keep anyone else awake.
The sage pulled the covers back only to find his sleeve tugging, getting his attention. He turned and faced Wolfram watching him musingly.
"Going somewhere?" the fire wielder asked, sounding better.
"Why don't you try going back to sleep?" Murata suggested. "You've been having a hard time…not sleeping well…and I think the rest would be good for you." The sage glanced at the bandaged face. "How is the burning?"
"I'm fine," he dismissed all too easily.
A lie. You don't like admitting to weakness. But that would be typical. "Then, back to sleep."
A cocky smile from his bandaged face and the blond snaked an arm around Murata's waist, holding him. "A kiss first."
Murata found himself sweating slightly at the thought. He had to be good. He'd seen for himself the reaction Yuuri had had just from witnessing his "fiancé" in bed with someone else. And it was reasonable to react that way he told himself.
"Well?"
Murata had to think fast. "Umm…" he covered his mouth. "Morning breath…sorry…"
Wolfram almost laughed at him. "I don't care."
"No, seriously." The sage tried being charming and flirted a bit, hand still over his mouth as though being coy. "I'm absolutely terrible…unappealing…revolting…" What else could he say? He was running out of descriptors.
The blond's expression gradually changed. He folded his arms against his chest the best that he could, relaxed in the bed, and turned his face away. This was the "Wolfram" that Murata knew well and it surprised him that now was the time that he should "return." But it wasn't from a memory coming to mind or recognizing an object. It was from something else—suspicion.
A bratty "humph" and "Do as you like" was what the blond told him. There was a sudden wall there, as though Wolfram had built it brick by brick unnoticeably for when he needed it most. And, apparently, he needed it right now.
The sage readjusted his glasses and looked down his nose at him. "Something?"
"I told you…" and a shrug "…Do whatever you like… Apparently, I'm just as 'terrible, unappealing, and revolting' as you are…" Then he sat up and gave Murata the kind of bullying stare that Yuuri always got when really pushed to the limit. "But, for different reasons."
Murata, confused, could only blink at that. "What exactly…?"
"What do you mean by that?" the blond interrupted. "That my own husband won't hold me the way he used to? Or, make love to me? Or even so much as kiss me?"
Oh, no. This was bad. "You see, von Bielefeld, I…"
"That!" Wolfram pointed at him, practically jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "I have changed or done something! I knew it! Because you haven't called me 'von Bielefeld' for ages!" The incredulous expression just emphasized his last point.
Murata cringed at his mistake. Why had he made it? He thought he knew better but it only slipped out at the last second. And arguing with someone sitting so closely next to him, in the same bed, was not what he wanted, either.
They had to stop this. He would have to think of a way.
"So, why don't you just come out and tell me what it is?!" Wolfram fumed. "We both know it. So, just tell me…say it…get it over with!"
Murata frowned and returned with, "I have no idea what you're getting at."
"Yes, you do!" Wolfram's eyes were filled with angry tears. "I'm not the way I was." He placed a hand against the fresh bandage on his face. "The healers have told me already. There's a possibility that my face will still have scars from this. I don't mind the hand. I can still hold a sword. But, my face!" He shook his head angry, impossibly furious with fate for putting him in this place. "It's my only redeeming feature. And, now, I've lost it."
The sage could feel his temper, his voice lowering dangerously. "Do you think I would be so shallow as to reject you over some scarred skin?"
"Obviously! Who wouldn't?" the blond growled back, refusing to let even a single tear fall. He would do anything to keep that from happening. "I've been called 'pretty' and a 'doll' behind my back my whole life. And you can only imagine what courtiers have said to my face…my attractive face…my whole life. On the day we were married, people told you that I was a prize…a beautiful prize…nothing more."
A dangerous glare lit in Murata's eyes, taking Wolfram aback a little. "When I fall in love with someone, it's for what is in here." He placed an open palm against Wolfram's heart, feeling it beating furiously through the hospital gown. "A pretty face fades as the seasons change. I should know that better than anyone. But, adoration, tenderness, and companionship are the truest treasures that anyone can have."
"But, Ken, look at what you have to deal with!" Yes, it was "Ken" and not the loving "husband."
"Did you listen to nothing I just said?!" He was coming very close to losing it.
"Ken!" Wolfram growled in return, not letting up.
And, at that moment, the sage pulled his hand back and barely stopped himself from striking Wolfram. Not unpredictably, the blond simply sat there—unflinching—waiting to take the blow as though deserving it. Not even he would defend himself when it came to The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. Husband or not, he would take anything directed at him. Words, only words, would he allow.
Murata slowly lowered his hand, furious with the two of them.
Wolfram lowered his head in defeat. "I'm sorry… Forgive me…" A tear fell followed by a second one onto the white blanket. "For your sake, I shall hope for the best. Maybe, it won't scar after all… But, to not desire this body would still be reasonable."
He felt like leaving, like walking away and not turning back. Wolfram wasn't listening to him—deciding to not understand. Had this been an ordinary lover, he probably would have. "Shut up," Murat a sighed and wrapped his arms around Wolfram, pulling him into a warm hug instead. "In time, you'll see just how much you mean to everyone…and you'll see your true place in the world."
Which isn't with me... It's with Shibuya.
"As you say," Wolfram whispered in a wet voice, resting a chin on Murata's narrow shoulder.
"I'll get you there…to that place," he promised, burying his face against soft blond hair. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."
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It was a sunny late afternoon and Murata had just finished his bath. Walking with the mien of a defeated man, he passed by a window only to see Wolfram, wandering in one of Lady Cheri's flower gardens, admiring the white roses. There was a noble, knightly quality about him as he did so coming from the way he walked and the position he held his head when something caught his eye. The blond picked a perfect, delicate flower and had a brief sniff of it, enjoying the scent.
"It's good that you're out," Murata said aloud. "Your favorite blue uniform suits you much better than that hospital gown."
Then, a baseball rolled across the neatly cut green lawn and Yuuri, in his baseball uniform, jogged after it with an amused expression on his face. The smile widened to a grin when he noticed Wolfram standing there. He seemed legitimately happy to see the blond. Then, he leaned over to pick up the ball, talking all the while.
"Ah…good… He's doing what I asked. This may help," Murata observed. But, the sage also found himself, for his own sake, feeling dejected. Something unquestionably sad tugged at his heart from watching the scene play out below him. Disappointment and loneliness. Those were emotions he wasn't expecting. He should be feeling relief. He wanted to when it came to this topic.
But, he wasn't.
No, he was a "grown up" many times over. He couldn't allow himself to be…
"Keep on, Shibuya," he urged suddenly, trying to force himself to feel happy. Then, he looked to Wolfram. "Come on… Not long ago, this little bit of attention from Shibuya would have made you happy for the rest of the week. It's your heart's desire…your true heart."
Wolfram stood politely, hands behind his back. He gave, it seemed, very short and simple answers to Yuuri's questions. A slight nod of the head here and a dim smile there. And a few well-choreographed steps away each time Yuuri tried to come near.
"Not going well now…" Murat said to himself, narrowing his eyes as he studied them. "It seems, von Bielefeld, you are treating Shibuya the same way you'd treat any monarch."
Greta came racing along, as only a child her age could, and then ran up to Wolfram, thrilled to see him. She pointed at his bandaged face. "She's worried about her other father," Murata observed, "and he is putting her fears to rest, I see. Good…very mature of him…" The child modeled her new sandals. Wolfram seemed to be complementing them. Then, Greta spoke in an animated way, arms waving, and she pointed back at the castle. Clearly, she wanted something. Most likely, she wanted the three of them to spend time together.
A polished, polite smile and a low bow of apology.
The child looked awfully disappointed and turned to Yuuri who, it appeared, could do nothing.
Light flashed across the sage's glasses. "I suppose that is my cue to take center stage again." And, as he walked, his heart felt lighter. He chastised himself, though—telling himself that he should not be so eager to be joining the three outside. He was "the sage" and his job was to remain not only loyal but aloof as well. And, in the long run, it would be much easier that way. But, the cruel reality was that he enjoyed being with them. And the sad truth was, even for a short time, he appreciated having a place to belong and a role to play out.
Murata went down the stone steps to the lower floor, opened the nearest door, and took the moss-covered flagstone path out. Quickly enough, the three of them saw him approaching. And even though they had been arguing earlier, the moment Wolfram saw him, his eyes lit up. He was looking at him exactly the same way he always did at Yuuri.
And Yuuri noticed.
And he almost sulked.
Murata forced a placid smile. "Hi, everyone. I was just thinking that tonight would be a wonderful night for star gazing with some delicious snacks. Why don't we do that?" He turned to Greta. "Wouldn't that be fun? The moonrise should be spectacular with this being so close to the full moon."
"Yes! Yes!" She rushed up to Yuuri, excited all over again. "Can we all do that, Yuuri? Please? I can stay up past my bedtime and everything?!"
"Well…uh…sure…" His shy smile returned. He placed a hand behind his head sheepishly. It seemed like everyone was watching him.
"I think it will be fun, right? It beats hospital food," Murata said to Wolfram. Oh, yes. He'd brought that up—the infirmary. Their argument. That was probably a mistake, though.
Wolfram gave a short nod. But his mind seemed to be on other things now or other worries. So, Murata tried again with a loving voice. "Right, Wolf?"
Green eyes looked to him, warm and pleased. "Ah…yes…"
So, he really wanted to make up, the sage thought.
With intention, he stood next to the fire wielder and told the group, "Then, it's a deal. It should be fun." He got a playful nudge from the bishonen and a loving smile which was reciprocated. "I'll go talk to the kitchen staff," Murata said agreeably as they all walked inside. But, from the corner of his eye, Murata could still see the reaction Yuuri had from him using his "Wolf" nickname for Wolfram. It was still there, frozen. And, strangely, Murata realized, he didn't feel the least bit guilt-ridden for doing so. His own heart had a pleasant purr and appreciated the way the back of Wolfram's hand would, at times, casually brush up against his as they walked.
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