A/N: This takes place before chapter 1, and was inspired by Yuuri's character song, Be All Right.

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Just Two Boys (and a Ball)

Downtime.

Lord Weller, having finished his evening patrol, sits alone in the courtyard watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He should be grateful to have a moment to rest, but the fact is he's much more comfortable when he's working.

Lord Weller is in high demand. When he isn't acting as the king's bodyguard, he's patrolling the borders and protecting the people. When he's not off defending the land, he's personally overseeing the castle's security and the soldiers as they go through practice drills. Correcting grips and stances, or giving out terse instructions, he is always, always in control.

Lord Weller throws himself into service because he is a coward. His duty defines him. He is afraid of who he is (or isn't) without it, and perhaps he is also afraid of living for himself. He knows this, and yet he forges on, convincing himself that duty is the only way to happiness.

A bush rustles from behind and he turns to see His Majesty approaching, ball and gloves in hand.

"Hey, Conrad! Let's play catch!"

Lord Weller feels slightly out of his element. It is unusual for His Majesty to be the one to prepare the equipment for their game, or to be the one to approach him in the first place, because Lord Weller is the king's shadow, and he is always, always attentive.

It should not be the other way around, he thinks. It is bad enough that His Majesty insists on being so familiar with him, even worse that he cannot find the heart to do more than use titles and ranks as an excuse to distance himself, and even worse still that he feels himself responding.

Seeing an opening to regain his bearings, he hides behind a perfectly polite, perfectly controlled smile. He answers the way proper decorum demands, with a courteous yet impeccably neutral tone.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Instead of his usual retort, His Majesty freezes up for a second, then launches himself gracelessly onto their now-shared bench. Then he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and says, agonizingly simply, just two words.

"Just Yuuri."

Just Yuuri turns to look at Lord Weller expectantly, holding out a glove. A choice.

Calling himself a fool ten times over, Lord Weller takes it. He lets out a barely audible sigh, dropping his smile, his face, his titles and ranks, and is just Conrad for a while. Just Yuuri and Just Conrad play catch. They play as the sun is setting, and play as the stars shine overhead.

Swish.

Thump.

When the sun rises again, they can be His Majesty and Lord Weller, two men whose childhoods were cut short by circumstance. Tomorrow they can play at being adults again – at holding conferences and "talking things through" and drowning in a sea of words but never truly understanding anything.

For now, though, they are just two baseball boys.

Swish.

Thump.

Over and over, and all through the night, they wad their feelings up into a ball and throw. Yuuri speaks once, and that is only to say, "Baseball players should use baseball to express themselves."

Swish.

Thump.

Conrad carefully wraps his heart into the worn leather in his hands and gives it away. It comes back. He gives it away.

Blood is rushing through his ears. The pounding echoes thump-thump-thump in perfect synchronization with their game.

And in Yuuri's returns he feels…something strange.

Swish.

Thump.

Could it be…?

Swish.

Thump.

Could it be…?

Swish.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The sound of happiness?