He slept uneasily, worrying in his sleep, and he woke in the morning at a light tap on his door. "Enter," he called, sitting up, and a maid peered inside. "Oh, Your Eminence! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's no problem. Is there something...?"

"Yes, Your Eminence, I was asked to deliver a note by Lord von Bielefeld."

Murata threw back the covers and fairly jumped out of bed. "Thank you," he said, taking hold of the proffered missive and unfolding it.

Request afternoon tea.

If none makes them fall out, how many does it take to seal them shut?

Murata bit his lip. He had an urge to drop the note and rush down the halls in his pajamas, but he decided to give his friend the option of privacy for the morning. So instead, he found a fresh piece of paper and scrawled a reply.

Tea or any time. Available now if requested.

18,550.

He sent the maid off with the note and a clumsy attempt at a reassuring smile. He dressed, sat down to pretend to read, and fidgeted with a bookmark until a reply arrived.

Come at own risk.

Half of quota used.

He thanked the maid, set out down the hall, turned around to hail the maid again, requested a light breakfast for two to be left outside Lord von Bielefeld's room, thanked her again, and hurried on his way.

He arrived at the double-door to his friend's room and tapped. No answer. He knocked a little louder and called, "Wolfram? It's Ken."

A moment more and one side of the door opened wide enough for a person to slip inside. Murata obliged, and found Wolfram closing the door behind him, having carefully kept out of line of sight of anyone that might be passing by in the hall. Wolfram left one hand on the door and leaned against it, face downturned so that his hair obscured it, blue pajamas rumpled and damp around the sleeves.

Murata waited, unsure if he should say or do anything at all right away, browsing memories to look for a similar situation, and after a moment Wolfram turned around, keeping his face pointed away from Murata, and gestured wordlessly at an overstuffed chair next to a small table with a handful of books. Murata moved to sit as indicated, and watched Wolfram haltingly pace around the room, apparently undecided as to whether he wanted to sit or stand. Finally, he stopped next to the bed, which sported tangled blankets trailing over the edge, and sank to the floor with his back to it, arms loosely resting on knees pulled up towards the chin. Hair still across his face, stuck to it in places.

"It's over." Low, rough. "He ended it."

"Last night?"

Nod. A few minutes of silence. Murata shifted into a comfortable position.

"You didn't have to come here right now. I...don't think I'll be very good company for a while."

"I don't mind. Um...I'm not really sure what to say or do, so tell me if there's something you think would help, but I didn't want you to be alone right now."

Moment of silence. "Make sure the swords stay sheathed?" This with a self-mocking twist of the mouth and black humor lacing his voice, still pitched low and soft.

Murata sat perfectly still for a moment, then said softly, "Among other reasons. If you were thinking that way, I wish you'd called on me sooner."

A sigh, and a hand coming up to finally scrub the hair and the tear streaks off of the face, revealing dark circles under the eyes. "I wasn't, really. That would make..." voice closing up for a moment, "Him sad. And I still don't want that." A few carefully even breaths. "Never want that."

"Well...in this regard, I guess I'm glad of it."

Another moment of quiet. An outburst – "He wants to be friends." A flash of determined anger brought the volume up, rough voice still unwieldy. "No, not that, he just assumes it. 'You'll always be my friend, no matter what.'" Voice breaking at the end.

Another moment, and the next sound was a tap at the door. Wolfram glowered fiercely in its direction, but the sound didn't come again.

Low growl, "Don't want anyone to see me like this." Perhaps consideration of evidence to the contrary: "You don't count. You've already seen me being a complete wimp about this."

Murata smiled crookedly, then looked suddenly at the door. "Oh! That might be breakfast. I told them to leave it outside. Don't worry, I'll go see."

A moment later, he carried in a tray that held pastries, fruit, and juice, and kicked the door shut behind him. He placed the tray on the floor in front of Wolfram and sat down next to him.

"I'm not hungry."

Murata eyed the tray, picked up the stickiest looking pastry, coated with glaze, and pressed it firmly into Wolfram's hand. Then he picked up one for himself, sat back so that his shoulder bumped into Wolfram's, and paused expectantly.

Wolfram left his pastry hand where it was and stared at it. "What." He moved his mouth a little, then shut it, apparently giving up on finding more words.

"Hurry up, I'm starving."

He thought he could see Wolfram looking at him from the corner of his eye, though he hadn't turned his face.

"The host has to take a bite before the guest can eat anything." No reaction. "That means you, since it's your room." Nothing. "It's the rules."

"Whose rules are these?" A hint of amusement? A slight tone of challenge? Murata hoped.

"Everyone knows that's the rule for breakfast amongst gentlemen eating from a tray on the floor in a private gathering."

"Of course." Definitely wry, now, if still subdued. Wolfram shook his head slightly and conceded defeat by taking a small bite.

Murata nodded and started eating with more enthusiasm than he really felt like putting forth. "Eat more. I don't care if you're not hungry; I won't forgive you if half of this is left on the tray and the cook is so insulted that neither of us is given anything besides plain lettuce to eat for the rest of the day."

Finally, an identifiable smile. They sat shoulder to shoulder and ate breakfast, Murata using the absurdities game to draw Wolfram out until he was smiling more than not, and he was satisfied afterwards that his companion was not going to waste away.

Murata pushed the nearly empty tray away with his foot and stretched out his legs, and steered the conversation to minutiae, rambling about details of his life on Earth and day-to-day living at Shinou's temple. Wolfram seemed content to listen, venturing a very occasional question to clarify some unfamiliar detail, which reassured Murata that this distraction wasn't unwelcome.

Then came another timid tap on the door. Wolfram tensed next to him.

"Wolfram? Are you in there? It's me. Wolfram! Can I come in?" Though muffled, the voice clearly belonged to Shibuya.

Wolfram closed his eyes and swallowed. Then he took a deep breath, and hoarsely yelled, "Go away!"

"Wolfram, are you – you're mad, aren't you."

"Wimp," Wolfram breathed. "I'm not mad," he shouted furiously, "But leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Oh. Uh, okay."

Wolfram waited, glaring at the floor with jaw clenched, and when nothing else proved forthcoming, he slouched, forehead resting against his knees. Murata looked at him with concern: he seemed to be weeping, silently, body rocking with the effort of keeping everything inside.

"Honestly, I've never seen a more miserable-looking method of crying. It's all right, it's just me here, and I've already seen anyway, right?" This won him something that seemed to be a laugh and a sob in one.

With a notion that a comforting touch probably wasn't something Wolfram had experienced much for a long time, he reached out and rested a hand lightly on his friend's far shoulder, and when it wasn't shrugged off, he gently pulled so that Wolfram sat up straight with Murata's arm draped across his shoulders. For a moment the shoulders stayed tense, desperately controlled, and then with an explosive breath, Wolfram relaxed into a more normal quiet crying.

When the crying trickled off in favor of exhaustion, and the blond head drooped down unaware to rest on Murata's shoulder, he fell into a reflective mood, thinking about lives and loves and friendships that existed centuries ago, and feeling that people in any time and place were mostly the same as people in any other, and always a little bit different. Sometimes, he thought, it's helpful to remember what worked and what didn't in the past, and sometimes, it works to just blunder ahead as best one can without thinking too far ahead or behind.

Then he let his mind be still and focused on the current world. Warm presence next to him. Physical connection, human touch. Comfort, trust. Don't think about it, don't read into it. Just appreciate its presence. Just be.

He found he'd started drifting off, himself, when another tap on the door brought him back to alertness.

"Wolfram?" Pause. "Wolfram, it's Conrad. I'm coming in."

Weller stepped into the room, and Murata caught the anxiety on his face as he looked in, until he located the pair of them. Then he smiled, and he met Murata's eyes. "Thank you," he said, softly. Murata smiled back.

The door closed behind him, and he drifted closer, quietly. "I just found out. How is he?"

"Better than he was, I think. I hope." Murata tried speaking softly as well, but Wolfram stirred and looked up blearily. Then he sat up suddenly, dislodging Murata's arm and looking for a moment like he might bolt or try to throw somebody out of the room, before he gave it up as too much effort and collapsed back against the bedside.

"Conrad, you don't need to be here." Wolfram tried a sleeve across the face, as though to erase all signs of his distress. "You don't...need to see me like this."

"Wolfram..." Weller moved closer and joined them, sitting down on the other side of Wolfram, back resting against the side of the bed in imitation of the two of them. "I won't ever think less of you for showing emotion."

"Hm." Wolfram shifted uneasily and moved his mouth a couple times as if he wished to protest, but he relaxed and became still after a moment. Then, softly, "Yuuri told you?"

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

"I was worried about you."

Wolfram seemed to think better of continuing that line of questioning. He stared blankly across the room. Then, "It's not like I couldn't have seen it coming." Pause. "It was...pretty obvious, really. That he never..." He trailed off.

"He was raised in a different place, with different beliefs. There's nothing you could do about that."

Wolfram considered. Then he said, in a very small voice, "He could have changed his mind. Eventually."

Gently, "It's possible. But how long would you have to make yourself miserable, in the meantime?"

Wolfram sighed, and didn't answer.

Another few moments, and Conrad – at some point in the last five minutes, Murata had stopped thinking of Weller by his last name – began speaking again. "You know, I think our family is full of people who put themselves in painful situations regarding love."

"Julia," murmured Wolfram.

"Yes."

"Do you love Yuuri?" Wolfram bit his lip, looking like he wanted to retract the question.

Conrad paused before answering. "I do love Yuuri, but, it's not...It's similar to if she'd had a child. That child would be like her in some ways, but he would be a different person. And I'd want to know that child, and protect him, because it is a way to honor her memory." Another pause. "In Yuuri's case, since I've come to know him, the way I feel about him is a lot like the way I feel about my younger brother."

Wolfram looked up, startled, at Conrad, who was studiously inspecting the ceiling. He looked away as quickly, then bowed his head with an involuntary smile.

"So." Wolfram cleared his throat. "Who else? In our family?"

"Well, there's Mother. I can't say I entirely understand her outlook on love, but I know she's had her share of sorrow because of it. Particularly with some of our fathers."

They were silent for a moment, apparently in mutual agreement.

"...What about Gwendal?" Wolfram asked, the humorous tone sneaking his voice again.

"Gwendal...He doesn't show much, and he never talks about it, but I'm relatively certain he torments himself as much as the rest of us, in his own way."

"What? He doesn't even talk to anyone in a, a conversational way. I can't see..." Wolfram trailed off, frowning. "Does it have to do with Anissina?"

"That is my suspicion."

"Huh."

Murata felt his grasp of the conversation slipping, lacking knowledge to interpret the implied references to previous events, so he let himself listen to the undercurrent, Wolfram's gradual relaxation and willingness to be drawn in, and the tentative overture on Conrad's part evolving to warmth. He wondered how long it had been since the two brothers had talked like this, and he guessed it was long overdue.

"Conrad? I...I'm sorry I was so horrible to you for so long...big brother."

Over Wolfram's bowed head, Murata could see Conrad smile. "If I have been redeemed in the eyes of my younger brother, I am deeply relieved."

Another period of quiet. Murata looked away, allowing them privacy with their thoughts.

"I don't know what to do." Wolfram's voice was back to the low, soft tone of difficult confessions. "I want to keep on protecting him, but I don't know if I can be around him and...maintain my composure."

Murata took a long moment in thought to try to craft some advice or input, but Conrad beat him to it. "Is it so different from how things were yesterday? He considers you a friend, as he always has."

"...I guess so. It's just...it was easier to pretend, before. I just...avoided thinking about it. Much." After a moment, "How did you...what was it like, with Julia? Did – did you ever tell her?"

"I never told her. But I think she knew. And she still made her choice, and it wasn't me."

A respectful silence. Softly, "I'm sorry."

"It is how it is. I won't say I've never thought about how else things could have been, but I've learned to try and be grateful for what there was – that I knew her at all, that she...Well. It helps to have found other things in life to focus on, now, besides the might-have-beens."

"Yuuri."

"Largely, yes."

"Like a brother. Or...a son."

"...Yes."

Wolfram closed his eyes and swallowed. "I..." His voice failed him again, and he took a few shaky breaths. "I don't know what to do regarding Greta. If I'm not...if...I won't be her father anymore." Tears again, seeping.

This one, Murata felt he could field, having observed or lived through a hundred stories of broken families, the same tragedy in different configurations. "Wolfram. You'll always be a part of her life, even a father to her, as long as you continue to put the effort into it, whether the title's officially there or not. Do you really think Yuuri is going to suddenly shut you away from her?"

This broke free a fresh start to the tears, and Wolfram put an arm over his knees to cry into. "No."

This time it was Conrad who put a comforting hand on the shoulder nearest to him, and they let him purge this latest worry until he calmed.

He sat up, sleeve passing over his face, and Conrad let his hand drop. "Sorry," from the younger brother.

"It's all right," from the older brother.

"Don't you have lessons with...lessons to give today?

"This was more important."

"You'd better go, or he'll get worried and come looking, and I'm still not ready to see him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Conrad leaned forward to peer around him and met Murata's eyes. "Will you stay with him?"

"Gladly."

The older man nodded, cast one more affectionate look at his brother, and stood. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

As Conrad walked towards the door, Murata thought of something. "Conrad – excuse me, Weller—"

Conrad smiled at him. "You may call me Conrad if you wish, Eminence."

"Well...I guess you'd better start calling me Ken, then. Ah, could you ask someone to bring us lunch later? Ask them to knock and leave it outside the door again."

"Of course."

After the door closed, Wolfram shifted, stretching his legs out from the huddled position he'd been in all morning. "I...didn't expect that."

Murata smiled at him. "Maybe it's not the thing that you've been wanting the most, but there are people that love you."

"Mm." Wolfram stretched, and caught Murata off-guard with a change of subject. "What about you? Do you...miss your family, when you're here?"

Murata's smile faded, and he looked away. "I...sometimes. But...well."

"Sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

Murata was silent a moment, flooded with memories that held the more intense emotions that had collected in this lifetime. The shouting, the departure, the loneliness, the sneaking guilt.

"It's just my dad, really. My mother left when I was young, and I have no brothers or sisters. I..." He hesitated, a little surprised to find the remembrance still affected him, when he was almost grown, now, and had grown used to borrowing memories from other lives to make sense of things in this one. "It was when I was old enough to have memories of when we were happy, a family. And after I'd started trying to tell them about the memories. Just after I'd stopped, actually – they'd taken me to a doctor, which was what it took this time around for me to learn not to talk about it to most people, because you don't go to a doctor all the time if there's nothing wrong with you. And on Earth, there's certainly no one who will recognize you as the reincarnation of the Great Sage – everyone will just think you're crazy.

"Anyway, it was a little while after that, they started fighting, and she left. She said it wasn't my fault, but she had to go. And then I got a little older, and met some other kids whose parents were apart, but they still got to spend time with both parents, and I...started wondering..." Now Murata felt his own composure slipping, childhood guilt welling up from somewhere buried. "Maybe it was my fault, maybe if I'd seemed like a normal child – maybe if I'd been a normal child – she would have stayed, and we'd all have been happy together..." He swallowed against the sharpness in his throat, his turn to stare away, avoiding green eyes. "It's stupid, I know, no child can be that responsible for their parents – but – damn. I thought I was over this."

They were both leaning back against the furniture, and side by side, so Wolfram shifted a little closer until their shoulders touched, as Murata had brazenly initiated at breakfast to help distract him. Murata closed his eyes and smiled crookedly, drawing comfort from the contact.

"Anyway, it's...good to see my father when I've been over here for a while, but he's pretty absorbed in his work, so he doesn't pay much attention to what time I come home, and I'm not sure he'd notice if I was gone there for a few days."

Murata fell silent with mixed feelings about sharing so much. It was probably good to be letting some of this out, lessening the burden of it, but he felt uncomfortable to have this part of himself exposed, not safely behind the happy-go-lucky Ken Murata face nor the mysterious and aloof Great Sage face.

"Do you like it better, here?"

Murata considered for a minute. "I feel like this is where I belong. There are important, useful things I can help with, and I can make use of the memories more, instead of keeping them secret all the time. It's like it's easier to be who I'm supposed to be."

"So, you're happier here?"

"I..." He thought about the calm routine of school, the beach with people running and laughing, the occasional warm moments with his father, the exuberance shared with Shibuya's Mama-san. He thought about war, moments of danger and fear, people struck by disaster, people's hearts being changed by a charismatic ruler who believed in peace, libraries full of knowledge that complemented his own. And he thought of the past week, growing roots to what might become a deeper friendship than he'd had in this life, and he smiled. "Yes, I think so."