KKM 'A Yuuri-less Year' Chapter Two: "All I Ever Wanted"

Wolfram was on his knees without realizing it, glued intently on the scene playing out before him, though his eyes clung only to his Yuuri. Dirt was smeared on the 27th Maou's sweaty cheek and his hair was damp-streaked with exertion. He was grinning to beat the band, though, having just managed to whack the fourth ball thrown at him by some other young man right over the heads of all the other ones as they scrambled and shouted silently. Wolfram thought his ex-Fiancé had never looked so good.

The King of Shin Makoku remained in that humble pose throughout the remainder of the entire afternoon and well into autumn's chill twilight, never shifting from his spot, gazing spellbound into the miraculous pool that gave him his Yuuri back for the space of a few hours. His green eyes locked on and never left the rippling faraway figure of a youth who played baseball with vigor under the noonday sun and then loitered about with his various friends for hours, eventually cycled off home down lamplit streets as the reflected evening cast its long, dark fingers across the summer sky, lost to the pool's encroaching twilight.

Wolfram's straining eyes were nearly unblinking the entire time he crouched there, for he was deathly afraid to miss even a second--a breath, a shout, a grin--his shoulders hunched and bowed as he leant forward, hands gripping the cold stone lip for balance. Ulrike, returning with the book and the message, was quite positive her noble visitor would tumble right into the shallow water in his unswerving eagerness, but somehow he never did, though he never, ever glanced away either, virtually ignoring everyone else who lingered in the courtyard, even her.

Ulrike, who knew a thing or two about fate and destiny and all that hoo-hah, subsided into silence after a few token protests and sighed with resignation. She requested a temporary honor guard of Maidens be stationed in courtyard to protect his Majesty, as well as a bed made up in the Maou's Quarters, should His Majesty care to venture out of the confines of the courtyard. She knew, somehow, that their Maou would leave the pool only when it was full dark. If then.

The Maou ate his dinner alone in his rooms, late and sparingly, his attention clearly abstracted.

By eleven o'clock the following day Lord Gwendal von Voltaire had sent another message to the High Priestess, by way of pigeon-post, asking for the immediate and safe return of his youngest brother, the 28th Maou. She wrote her apologies to his lordship in a terse little note, informing Gwendal bluntly that the Demon King flatly refused to depart. The distracted fire-wielder was now reduced to taking his meals poolside, if he remembered to eat at all, and left the guarded courtyard only when his predecessor was no longer even a vague glimmer in the dusk. He slept only a few short hours that night, and fitfully, according to the Maidens stationed outside the Maou's Quarters, and was to be found at water's edge at the very crack of dawn.

She was worried about him. Enough to pray to a silent Shinou, and enough to send another, even briefer note to the Lords von Voltaire and von Kleist. When Yosak Gurrier knocked nearly silently on her study door late that third evening, Ulrike only then felt the rush of relief in her ancient veins. Help was on its way at last.

Conrad arrived promptly at noon on the fourth endless day, returned from whatever mysterious mission he'd been engaged upon, and politely queried the Maidens and Ulrike as to his half-sibling's odd behavior. Wolfram didn't even glance up when Conrad strolled over and greeted him, his attention then entirely captured by a Shibuya Yuuri sprawled on his stomach in his mother's flower garden, desultorily doing his required homework in the late afternoon sun, but obviously more nearly nine-tenths into 'nap mode'.

"Wolfram," Conrad began gently, having sent everyone else away the moment he'd gotten a good look at the 28th Maou's face. He, too, let his gaze stray absentmindedly to the peaceful figure of the 27th Maou, though he glanced more often at the haunted expression on his little brother's inordinately handsome features. Contrarily, the clean sharp-cut features glowed through the gauntness resulting from days without proper rest or nutrition; Wolfram von Bielefeld was joyful as he had not been in many months, perhaps an entire lifetime. For one who'd just spent weeks covertly observing Shibuya Yuuri slip easily back into the flow of his Earthly existence, those snapping emeralds and the pretty flush were utterly heart-wrenching. Conrad found himself wishing passionately that his cute baby brother loved his absentee fiancé but a smidgeon less. Not that he didn't understand it – he did – but Wolf would never recover at this rate.

"Wolfram, you seem…tired," Conrad observed, mildly. "I think perhaps you should—"

"The wimp looks very well, don't you agree?"

But the young von Bielefeld lord was clearly not paying any real attention to his half-sibling, other than this casual question tossed in Conrad's direction, which could've been so easily asked of anyone passing by. His attention was centered on his ex-Fiancé, as always. Wolfram was speaking, Conrad realized with a jolt, simply for the sake of hearing his own voice talk of Yuuri in the present tense. As if Yuuri were here, or shortly to be so, and Wolf was merely chatting to pass the time while he awaited Yuuri's arrival.

"Healthy and tanned," Wolfram went on, oblivious to the grim path his elder younger brother's thoughts were treading, "and, you know, I think he's grown a bit. He looks like he might even be taller than me, now. Not that I can judge all that well, since the wimp's lying down again. See? Look at him, all sprawled out like that. Useless half-wit—he's supposed to be working on those papers."

The fair brow crinkled into the fond memory of what had been nearly a constant, disapproving frown. Conrad coughed several times into his hand to clear his throat of the prickly lump that had taken up residence there. When he spoke again, his voice was stern and colorless.

"It's time to return to Blood Pledge, Heika. The Princess is in dire need of you. Your duties await your pleasure."

Wolfram's half-brother's tone held no hint of brotherly disapproval, no indication that in the eyes of Shin Makoku the King was clearly abandoning his responsibilities for the frivolous pleasure of watching shadows dance in a body of water. He merely stated the outcome of his and Gwendal's and Gunter's heated three-way discussion, as much as it pained him to do so, and then waited patiently for his baby brother to respond. To remember.

"…I guess he's not missing us much, is he?" Wolfram sniped, not heeding, Conrad's presence apparently already dismissed as being of far less importance than the minutiae of Yuuri routinely avoiding his schoolwork. Wolf's green eyes darkened but they never wavered once from his ex-fiancé's face. Yuuri, head bowed over his math book, let his pen drop and laid his head on his English textbook, oblivious.

"Heika," Conrad repeated, with admirable patience. He knew young Wolfram meant no disrespect; that was not the issue here.

"You realize, though, he's having an awful lot of fun without us," Wolfram continued in a perfectly reasonable tone, as if relating the antics of a beloved child, whose misbehavior was to be expected, "what with constantly playing that annoying game of balls and sticks he loves so much and living with Mama and Lord Shoma and his honored elder brother once again…and his studies of those queer languages and then spending so much time with all those other uniformed boys who're always fawning after him…."

"Your Majesty," Conrad tried again. "Wolfram."

"…Which is understandable, I'm sure, as Yuuri is adorable, really he is," Wolfram's dulled eyes lit up for a brief moment as he defended his absent ex-Fiancé. "I never understood why he wouldn't admit it; I'm sure those boys realize…and the girls, too; the ones at his Earth school and those gaming arcades he loves so much. There are so many of them, Weller-kyo…so very many double-blacks on Yuuri's Earth. But he's special, Yuuri is."

Conrad only waited, summoning the patience he was famed for.

"So…it's only natural, isn't it, big brother? That he would be happy to be home again, with his family, his friends. That they would all be so thankful to have him return. He must've missed them so much while he was here—and they, him."

A silence followed that last, unfortunate realization and then Wolfram blinked rapidly, for the hot tears welling in his eyes had risen in a flood-tide, obscuring his vision nearly enough for him to lose sight of that black-haired, dark-eyed teenage boy, now napping peacefully on the green grass of his homeland, homework successfully avoided for the afternoon. The powerful ruler of an ancient, magic-imbued kingdom rubbed his pale, handsome face wearily to scrub away any telltale moisture and leaned forward just a little farther, straining to capture that precious image again, hold it close to his jealous heart.

"Not that this is a bad thing, right, Conrad? It's good, isn't it? Yuuri shouldn't be sad."

Conrad winced, for once unable to force any sort of smile at all, not even a wry one. He fought to keep his hands limp and relaxed at his sides, so as not to give in to the compelling urge to wrench Wolfram back from the waking dream that bespelled him.

Wolfram swallowed hard, for his light tenor had suddenly cracked on the lilt of that half-rhetorical question, disintegrating under the force of the barely suppressed words of betrayal and loss that logjammed in his jabot-bedecked throat. He brought himself back under his usual rigid control with some little effort, mainly by recalling what he'd so selflessly wished for Shibuya Yuuri, all those many months ago.

"I don't want him to miss us, Conrad – I don't, really. He should be carefree, having returned to his real f-family—"

Here again his earnest dispassionate tone disappeared altogether and Wolfram stopped, unable to speak at all whilst he forced back the hot anger and the cold resentment that sought to choke him, and then had to wait a moment more before he could continue in any sort of fashion.

Yuuri had a 'family' here, too, didn't he? Conrad was certain his beautiful boy king realized that; that he'd not for one moment forgotten. But—this. This travesty of misbegotten hope-against-hope playing out before could not be bourn.

Wolfram's elder brother could stay himself no more and swept out a quick, hard arm, gently bracketing it 'round Wolfram's thin shoulders in a manly gesture that was pure emotional short-hand for the fact that he longed to sweep his little Wolfie up and away from this anguished enchantment and hug him so hard he'd squeeze out all this festering misery that bedeviled him. By Shinou, Conrad swore, life should not be so cruel to the young. It sliced him open merely to stand by and observe this from the sidelines; how must Wolfram feel, going through his days in this state?

"I-I want him to be happy, I really want that," Wolfram stumbled on softly when he was able, fingers swiping ineffectually at the tears now trickling down his bishounen face, tucked for a moment into the comforting curve of his larger, broader elder brother's shoulder, "'because he s-should be…he deserves it, Conrad, e-even though h-he's only a w-wimp and a fool and a—and an indecisive c-coward!"

Wolf snarled and sobbed the familiar well-worn insults and flung a dismissive hand out over the still water to point out the idiot who'd blithely turned his back on all that was Shin Makoku to anyone who might still be watching, from the impassive guards Ulrike had set in place to the strained hazel gaze of Weller-kyo, and the tips of his calloused sword-rounghened fingers dipped too low and sent faint ripples to disrupt the clear-as-glass image of a soundly sleeping dark-haired teenager.

Wolfram snatched the offensive limb away immediately, rocking back on his heels, cursing his irrational impulse to reach out across the irreconcilable divide when he knew there was no possible way to do so. Conrad squeezed his arm harder around shaking shoulders, settling him firmly, and the trembling Maou fought a silent battle with his wayward tear ducts and believed for a moment he'd won, the unasked-for comfort from his own family easing the constriction in his chest. Scrabbling hard and deep for his pride, Wolf even found the courage for the tiniest burst of healthy anger—

"—running away!—"

--until he remembered that he'd allowed this actuality, had encouraged it to happen, with all the love hidden in his fiery, impulsive heart.

It was a nearly silent sob, swallowed back bravely. The last one, truly, that signified Wolfram's triumph over greed and self-interest. He would do it all again, exactly as he had, if he must.

"Leaving like that, I didn't get a chance to tell him—"

But there was still regret.

"Wolfram."

The young Mazoku shrugged irritably at what he thought was pity in his older brother's husky voice, losing Conrad's arm in the process, and shifted to sit on his haunches, wrapping his arms around his bruised, tattered knees. He peeked once more at the pale transparency that reflected the 27th Maou from between the mishappen shield of kneecaps, insanely reassured to see the reformed image had not dissipated while he'd been busy being weak-willed and unjustifiably angry. Though, if he had to admit it…

…If he had to admit it, this ireful venting on his big brother was crucial to Wolfram's wavering heart; someone else should hear and acknowledge and share them - these oft-swallowed regrets, these bitter ramblings - before they drowned his kingly resolve altogether and sent him fleeing back to the dubious comfort of the von Bielefeld estate. Wolf was no coward; had never been. He was angry. Understandably so.

"I didn't," Wolf started firmly, recognizing that, acknowledging it and putting it behind him without a backwards glance. "I wasn't given the opportunity to tell that wimp much of anything, not even that I was proud of him, not even that I'd miss him."

One of the Maou's long elegant hands slid from a knee and found the stone lip of the pool, caressing the carved edges of the hewn black marble lightly as he rambled. Conrad hesitated over grabbing at it – if he did, he could silently reinforce for his little brother that he had full support from his loving family, in everything he did, in every battle won or weakness revealed. If he didn't, Wolfram's fragile pride wouldn't be offended. And his little brother so very much needed his trademark pride right at this crucial moment, Conrad knew—perhaps more so now than at any other time in his short life.

"I had so much to say to him and now he can't hear me anymore, Conrad. He can't see me—"

"Wolfram, I'm sorry," Conrad interrupted, sighing bitterly. He knew 'regret' himself, far too intimately for his liking. Its poisonous effects could only be countered with positive action, with the steady hope that all had been for the best. But how could he – or anyone, really? - possibly in good conscious advise his brother that Yuuri had done the right thing by leaving his fiancé behind when Conrad didn't believe that himself?

"...but at least I can see him."

It was pure unadulterated comfort, this simple vision of Shibuya Yuuri going about his unremarkable days; nothing more, nothing less. It didn't make the physical distance between them any smaller; it didn't solve the insurmountable problem of 'here' and 'there', but it did somehow lessen the sting of Wolfram's self-imposed exile.

The Maou sniffled delicately, rubbing his damp nose on his much-abused knee, a crooked and rueful half-smile reluctantly turning up the corner of his perfectly-formed and kissable mouth. True, this particular feature of Wolf's was made for that type of exercise but Shibuya Yuuri had kissed it only once, only once, and now there would never be another chance of that.

And yes, Wolf could consider it that way and angrily mourn all that he'd done for Yuuri's sake, every silent sacrifice, every weak-willed leap into the breach…or he could be grateful for this unexpected gift – this vicarious sharing of Yuuri's current Earth-centered life.

Conrad sat back and watched as the 28th Maou huddled in silence for a while longer, his thoughtful eyes on Yuuri's lips and Yuuri's brows, the line of Yuuri's jaw and the black hair ruffling in some unfelt breeze, the width of shoulders in a casual T-shirt and the length of leg sprawled elegantly across grass. Wolfram memorized all these graces, as though they weren't already engraved on his retinas; he devoured them, storing them up as fuel for the cold, lonely days to come. He'd have to leave soon; Greta was waiting. He could tell her all about it, though carefully, for fear of getting her hopes up, as his had been, the moment those laughing black eyes had rippled into clarity beneath his very nose.

It had been sorely tempting, not begging Ulrike for some hint as to how to cross the ineluctable divide that separated him from his fiancé. If he could have managed it just by jumping in the water at his feet, Wolf would have long since drowned there, battering his body against the tiled bottom of the reflecting pool. But it was not so simple, Shinou's magic, and he knew that Ulrike could not oblige him – that power was gone with Shinou and Yuuri, as the Original King was gone, as his darling wimp was gone, forevermore.

Wolf would've run after him way back when, if he could've, if he'd been certain he was welcome. If Yuuri had looked back even once, or even turned his head that miniscule amount needed to acknowledge him, he would've flung himself into the void, welcome or not. It had taken every uncountable drop of love in his heart to urge Yuuri to go back to his 'real' home – Wolfram von Bielefeld would have sold his immortal soul to the devil to go with.

And he'd been barely half-alive since Yuuri had departed his kingdom, Wolf realized, for his heart had managed to follow even if his body could not, trailing forlornly after Yuuri on Earth as surely as he'd followed him about like a mad nanny here in Shin Makoku.

It didn't seem fair, not at first, Yuuri laughing and joking and obviously having a very good time without him. It didn't seem right, Wolfram fumed, that he should be here all alone and suffering and Yuuri should be surrounded by the people he loved best in the world. But nothing was fair or right or equitable about unrequited love and he didn't even care about that anymore, if only Yuuri would return to his rightful place.

They needed him here, didn't they? He wasn't alone in his unending longing, was he? But he wasn't supposed to even wish for it, Wolfram admitted, or never aloud, at least. Such selfish words had power, and his Yuuri had chosen elsewhere.

Beside him, Conrad climbed at last to his feet, his legs stiff from sitting so long in one position. He was older and wiser than the boy who sat so patiently before him, Conrad knew, but maybe Wolfram had the right of it, all the same. Passion was the lifeblood of Shin Mazoku—better a Maou who would willingly die for a cause than a wishy-washy fence-sitter waiting on the sidelines. On impulse, Conrad patted the bright head below him reassuringly, as he had done when Wolfram was but a very small child.

"I'm going in, Wolfram. Lunch is laid out – come join us when you're ready."

Weller strolled away, his face set in grave lines, for if Wolfram still point-blank refused to leave now that Conrad had come to fetch him, it would be very difficult to force him further. And had they not already done him enough disservice?

"Damn you, oh Wise Shinou," Conrad muttered, his voice low enough not to be overheard by any of Ulrike's watchful Maidens. "You'd better be absolutely certain of exactly what've you've done--this time."