Chapter 18
It was too warm—again. He wiped the sweat from his brow and prayed for a breeze that he was certain would never come. But, turning his head a little to observe the ones around him, he was certain that he wasn't the only one with that same wish.
Yes, it was hot. But, maybe, it wasn't the heat getting to him after all. He'd been through much worse during his basic training decades ago. But, at that time, he was simply too busy to feel anything. He was taught to act and react to danger, to accept protocol without question because it kept everyone informed, and to look upon "routine" as "normalcy."
He felt it again. It was a hollow echo inside—a kind of ringing noise with no physical sound. That, he told himself, was becoming annoying.
Wolfram noticed the local village and that the road was swinging closer to the edge of it. The blond lowered his head. He knew what he looked like—not the prince in the nice clothes, not the handsome young man with the grace and features to attract to him anyone he wished. His eyes glanced to "Yuuri the Clueless" who had given him very little attention on the way back.
If my looks are taken away… if I'm not handsome… Then, what do I have left…?
"Heika! Heika!" Two girls squealed.
Their little group stopped before two young ladies standing by the side of the road with the quaint village as a backdrop behind them. They were both cute and blond, one slightly older than the other, and very buxom—a bit heavy for their frames, which made them seem like very "healthy" young ladies in Murata's opinion. He readjusted his glasses to get a better view of them.
The well dressed ladies, in almost identical green dresses, looked up adoringly with honey-colored eyes.
"King Yuuri," they both said and did a fine curtsey in unison—with scooped necklines that showed off their jiggling charms to the riders. "I'm Anna and this is my younger sister, Jeanette."
"You're the mayor's daughters," Murata said, recognizing them.
Both girls turned and grinned brightly. They'd met the sage before in the square and had shown great interest in his adventures. "Hello again," Jeanette said, cocking her head proudly to one side. "We thought we would greet Heika with these flowers. Hopefully, he will accept them."
Anna held up a large bouquet of ten red roses with two orange rosebuds set in the center tied together with black ribbons cascading down.
Shocked, Conrad stared with his mouth hanging open and, at the rear, Yozak did exactly the same. It was unexpected and, in a nightmarish way, things seemed to move in slow motion. Murata, seeing Yuuri reach his hand down to take the bouquet, rode his horse in between them and snatched up the flowers instead. "I'm sorry," he said diplomatically, "Yuuri Heika doesn't like the color orange. Next time, I would suggest yellow roses." He handed the bouquet back to the girls. The sage turned to the person stopped behind him and said, "Isn't that right, Lord von Bielefeld?"
In unison, both girls gasped and placed their hands over their mouths. They looked at him without totally taking in his expression. Wolfram's clothes were ripped, his hair windblown, and his face filthy. He seemed to be a cruel kind of handsome, fresh from a fight, but empty somehow.
"We're sorry!" Anna said, "We didn't…recognize you…and…you know, we heard that…"
Everyone looked to Wolfram. It was the jealousy and the verbal explosion of "Cheater!" in Yuuri's direction that they were expecting. Possibly a fireball or two would be hurled, or even a fire lion. Fire. Brimstone. Even Yuuri cringed, waiting. When nothing happened, the double black looked to his ex-fiancé who stared out at the field, seemingly bored and uncaring.
An awkward silence followed.
"It's nothing," Murata said cheerfully, trying to cover the uncomfortable gap. "Don't worry about it. No harm done." He smiled winningly. "But, we've just returned from an adventure—maybe, I'll tell you two about it the next time we meet—and, at the moment, we're all exhausted." He gave his raven hair a tussle.
The girls nodded helplessly and backed away, glad in their hearts that the only thing that they had done was make fools of themselves.
Conrad, relieved, gave his reins a flick and off they went with a very confused Yuuri in tow.
What just happened? Something did, obviously. He could feel it.
"Geez, Murata…that was rude," he grumbled under his breath once they got far enough down the road.
The sage rolled his eyes and said quietly, "Do you ever pay attention to anything Günter teaches you about protocol, customs, or symbolism?"
"What do you mean?"
Murata gave a huffy, impatient groan and cut his eyes behind him at Wolfram to make sure he wasn't listening in. Luckily, the blond was staring off into space again. It was a hollow look that deeply worried Murata.
"The bouquet was red—a symbol of passion. You know, koi? And the two clashing orange roses in the center represented Anna and Jeanette."
Yuuri still didn't understand and his innocent, onyx eyes spoke of that.
"In this world, orange roses are the traditional symbols for concubines. The girls were offering themselves to you." He gave a quick glare when Yuuri's face drained of color. "Their father, of course, would want compensation—a significant amount of money—and the girls would move into a far part of the castle because they can't mix openly with the royal family. But, at night, you…could…"
Yuuri raised a hand that told Murata to stop. But it didn't work. He went on anyway. "So, I got in the way and told the girls that 'yellow'—the color for friendship—would be better. And if that's 'rude' in your opinion…"
"No…no… You're right…" he gritted out.
Murata glanced back at Wolfram again. "Word about your engagement ending has, obviously, spread. And there will be those who will take advantage if they can. The only reason why no one has even offered themselves as a concubine in the past was because a certain blond, fire wielding fiancé of yours was notoriously jealous."
Yuuri felt sick inside. "But to offer…in front of …everyone…" He made a face.
"They wanted to be first," Murata theorized. "Besides, the bouquet is considered an elegant way to make such a proposal."
The double black stared, shocked, in front of him. "Oh, no! Wolfram saw this." He fought the urge to look back.
Murata looked down at his reins. "He didn't seem surprised."
Yuuri cringed and let his head fall back. "I really should apologize for being stupid, huh?"
Murata looked at Yuuri, forcing himself not to dope-slap his friend. "I'm not even sure that would work anymore."
"Why?" Then, he turned to glance behind him. Wolfram was watching the scenery go by, seemingly uncaring about anything or anyone. There was something ghostly about him now.
"Think about it," the sage said. "No screaming or fireballs over the bouquet…" Murata locked eyes with Yuuri. "That's not a good sign of him being back to normal. Physically, he's a mess. Emotionally, he's alone."
Yuuri shook his head worriedly at that. "But, he's not alone, Murata. And, this whole time, he just hasn't said much."
"This whole trip back, you haven't said much to him, either. You didn't spend time with him…or ride next to him." Murata's mouth slowly frowned as he spoke. "And it's the rest of us who've been looking out for von Bielefeld…in our own way."
Yuuri shrugged. "I'm trying to give Wolfram some space…and some… time…to think."
"Maybe," Murata said and pushed his glasses up his nose a bit, "or, maybe the closer we get to the castle, the easier it will be to go back to 'business as usual.' Ever think of that?"
I wonder why I go through these things? In the military, we put ourselves through Hell and back to toughen ourselves up…so that we don't crack under pressure. If we fall apart, we're no good to anybody. "Crazy" makes you dead pretty quickly. And a dead soldier is useless to the maou.
Wolfram's faded green eyes looked at the back of Yuuri's head. For some reason, he'd just tilted it all the way backwards, and it seemed that Murata was fussing at him in a harsh whisper about something. Wolfram gave a mental shrug to it and decided that it was none of his business.
From now on, I suppose, things will be different. And I don't really need someone's love in order to be a good person…a good father…a good soldier… Maybe, from all of this, I can make myself stronger and more independent. At least, I hope so He glanced at the double black again.. But I know that Yuuri can still hurt me.
Wolfram's mind flashed to the roses—red and orange. He could see the double black reaching his hand out to take the bouquet. Then, the hand became a palm with a love note, written in purple ink, lying in the middle of it.
Maybe, it would have been for the best if Murata had let Yuuri take it. Obviously, stupid Yuuri didn't know what it meant. Still, it would have been fun to see his face when the girls showed up at the castle with their luggage. Then, Wolfram found himself surprised. He didn't feel jealous over the scenario, just slightly amused.
The scenery passed by very slowly. Blood Pledge Castle was in the distance, waiting for them. The castle walls were outstretched arms in the late afternoon sun.
Wolfram cut his eyes to the right. He knew this patch of field pretty well. Based on the scorch marks left over from last month's "flames and swords" practice, which was a total success in his mind, the practice field was a testament to the awesome power of his own private guard. The thought made Wolfram smile as did the sight of the blue clad figures far off in the distance.
There was something about the fellowship and camaraderie of his private guard that gave him a sense of "place"—of "accomplishment."
Wolfram had insisted upon forming his elite group long before Yuuri had come to Shin Makoku. It took some convincing and a ton of reports to show the actual need for such a military group—which impressed Gwendal, not that he would have admitted it. And, once given the chance, Wolfram turned what had been a fluffy little assignment to distract a spoiled prince into one of the most polished and respected guards in the country's history. The only down side to it, in Wolfram's opinion, was the irritating fact that his men's loyalty seemed to be tied to their desire for him. Inwardly, he shivered at the thought of seeing a commanding officer in that light. All his life, his commanders were either blood relatives or hairy, battle-weary old men.
He stopped his horse and stared at them. Yes, those were his men. A part of Wolfram longed to join them.
When Wolfram halted, the others in his party did, too.
"Is there a problem?" Yuuri asked with concern, turning in his saddle. He stared at Wolfram's profile and saw the distant look in his eyes. He followed the stare.
Apparently, the soldiers saw them, too. And there was a mad dash from the practice area to the road where they were now loitering.
"Lord von Bielefeld!" the men shouted, voices drowning out each other as they ran. A few waved before taking off in his direction.
Wolfram smiled a little at that. It felt good to know that they missed him.
At the head of the pack was Logan Adler—with his watery blue-grey eyes and lithe build. Apparently, being the youngest of the group, and being the most agile was an advantage (as in this case) as he weaved his way around a few of his comrades. And he knew the others would eventually give him hell for being first. Logan kept up an even pace and continued to out distance the others. Only when he was within three meters of his commanding officer did the thought strike him that he should slow down. He almost slid to a stop but had his head turned up high to take in the brilliant sight of Lord von Bielefeld.
Wolfram noticed Logan's devilish grin fade away into something akin to disbelief. He looked up at the blond on the horse as though he barely knew the young man, eyes searching for something familiar he could latch onto.
It hurt. He pretended it didn't. "Is there a problem?" Wolfram said with a commanding tone.
"No…no sir!" Logan said with a profound bow. Staring at the ground was much easier now than looking at Wolfram. He exaggerated his breathing, too, to make it appear he was much more tired than he actually was.
The other men caught up to him, joking and laughing—some slapping others on the back—until they got a good look at Wolfram, too.
It was the same reaction.
Some of the stares were akin to shock. Some merely allowed their jaws to hang down. The veterans, though, seemed to understand—even though they didn't like what they were seeing—and made vague nods. But all of them spoke of worry with their expressions.
Guessing the reason why, Conrad said, "Wolfram, you might want to have your men fall in with us. We can all go back to the castle together. It's unbearably hot…even with the sun setting. The day is practically over anyway."
Wolfram gave a curt nod to that and motioned for the men to get their horses.
As the group of blue uniforms made their way back to their steeds, Yuuri wondered if this was going to be a crushing blow to Wolfram. The blond took great pride in his appearance; and his men, as everyone knew so well, were so enamored with him.
Yuuri wanted to say something encouraging. But, he just didn't know what. More to the point, he didn't know what Wolfram would say in return.
The blond sighed to himself and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his left ear. He was so numb, from the loss of Tra'va, he didn't care what anyone thought at the moment. What he wanted more than anything was to be alone. But logic dictated that he would not have that—not for awhile—and that there was more to come.
He would endure it, as always.
They were nearing home. Yuuri dropped back a little in the group to speak with Wolfram. He felt that it was about time that he did. The blond, on the other hand, shook his head "no" and slowed his white steed down even more.
The double black raised a twitchy eyebrow at that. He didn't like being avoided so childishly. "Wolfram, we need to talk."
"It would probably be best to do that later," Wolfram said, his voice hoarse from disuse.
"Come on," the double black persisted, doing his level best to sound like the mature one in the conversation, "could you at least ride next to me?" Then, maybe, I can get a word in.
The dull green eyes gave an insulted glare. Wolfram's mouth frowned. "We're nearing the castle. You have to be the lead horse because you're the king. I have to follow behind the sage."
"Eh? Why?" Yuuri scratched his head. "You always ride next to me."
The sudden silence was uncomfortable. Even Wolfram's men had stopped chatting amongst themselves.
"That was back when you were engaged to Wolfram," Conrad said quietly at Yuuri's other side. "And I'm here as your personal guard and godfather."
"Oh…I see…"
No, he doesn't see. Murata smacked his hand over his face.
The silence continued as the group entered the castle grounds and Wolfram stiffened as he did so. Yuuri noticed the firm jaw and the posture in the saddle that showed style and sophistication even if his clothes were little more than shreds of cloth.
Passersby stared.
Wolfram kept going. He reminded himself that riding practically naked, which was how he saw himself at the moment, wasn't his idea at all—and that he just wanted to get back to the castle, out of the clothes, and into a steaming hot bath. That would be his reward for going through this.
The blond decided to make his way for the stables but saw the imposing image of his brother, Gwendal, far off in the distance—beckoning to their group. Wolfram lowered his head in defeat.
Well, I suppose…I'd better get this over with. He couldn't stop grinding his teeth as his horse clomped along with the others. Dread was building. And some part of him wondered just how bad it was going to be.
"Heika," Gwendal said, addressing Yuuri first because he was both "king" and at the front of the group. His eyes narrowed when his ears caught a "Yuurish" whispering sound in Conrad's direction that seemed to come to his own ears as the words "Just act normally!" But, surely, Gwendal decided, he was mistaken. Nevertheless, the administrator raised a stern eyebrow. No tomfoolery here. He wouldn't allow it.
"I would like to be informed of…" Gwendal went on evenly as he scanned the riders. Then, his indigo eyes widened in shock.
"What…THE HELL?!" he roared. Some of Gwendal's magic leaked from him in his moment of fury and the ground shook. It spooked the horses, which whinnied and stomped in fright. Wolfram's white steed bucked and he had to struggle to regain control.
"Gwendal!" Wolfram complained bitterly, "Could you not shake everything?!"
The well chiseled face was set with clinched teeth and a squinted glare. Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, Commander of the Demon Army and Chief Administrator of Shin Makoku, was clearly not pleased. In fact, he was pissed off beyond measure. Wolfram, his cute baby brother, was before him--dressed in filthy, ragged clothing that looked like he'd been rolling around in the dirt. His hair was no longer the sunny blond color it had been all his life. It was a kind of blond, yes, but it had thick strands of a "wheat" color in it. The deep circles under the eyes spoke of hardship and a lack of sleep. The frame was skinny. But, what worried him the most was the color of Wolfram's eyes. They were wrong—totally wrong! A dark, waxy green shade.
"Get down from there, Wolfram," Gwendal ordered, pointing a finger towards the ground.
Wolfram's face fell at that. He hated it when his brother acted like that in public. It was embarrassing and people would think he's a child—a weakling. In fact, neither one of them would never treat Greta that way, and she actually was a child.
Wolfram lowered his head stubbornly with fists clinched at his sides. Yuuri felt sorry for him. He knew only too well what his own brother, Shori, would be like in such circumstances.
"Do it!" Gwendal growled dangerously.
Wolfram forced himself to unball his fists. He needed to let go of the anger and be a good role model to his men. "Look, I know that I'm a real fright right now, but…"
"Down now OR IT'S INSUBORDINATION!" Gwendal roared. And when Wolfram's shocked expression was the only movement he made, the oldest brother grabbed a thin wrist and pulled the unnaturally lean body down from the horse.
Yuuri couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gwendal? Don't you think that…?"
Gwendal shot a heated glare at the king which shut him up immediately. The older man also placed a firm hand on the back of Wolfram's collar, practically steering him closer for inspection.
"What, the hell, happened to you?" It wasn't a question, really. The indigo eyes ran up and down Wolfram's body. The blond looked away, mortified. People were gawking—many, his own men. "And just who do I hold responsible for this…?! This…!" He gestured to Wolfram, eyes wide and incredulous.
Gwendal stared at the group. The private guard, many of whom had gotten down quietly from their horses in all the fuss and were eyeing the spectacle, crossed their arms and allowed their gazes to land on Yuuri.
The double black could see it—the accusing eyes, the angry or resentful stares. "Well, I…um…" He had to stop himself from muttering, but didn't know quite how.
That snapped Gwendal out of his fury-trance. "Everyone go about your business," he ordered with a dismissive wave. The soldiers made their way, slowly, to the stables—hoping to eavesdrop a bit. The servants moved on, too, in the same way and with the same hopes. Then, Gwendal turned to Yuuri with the coldest expression he could muster. Yuuri found himself shrinking back at it. "Heika," he said stiffly, "Wolfram's health is, of course, a family matter. Please excuse us." He fisted what was left of Wolfram's collar and steered the young man into the castle, the exact location being the privacy of his office. Over his shoulder Gwendal called, "You too, Conrad. I want to know if that thing is still possessing our brother!"
"Her name is 'Tra'va,' and she's not a thing," Wolfram yelled at the walls, which echoed and announced his homecoming.
"You're being difficult, Wolfram!" Gwendal's voice followed-up.
With an apologetic smile in Yuuri's direction, Conrad handed the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys and walked slowly into the castle, smoothing out his uniform as he did so.
Yuuri pretended to stretch his legs a little as he handed the reins of his horse over, too. He felt guilty for what just happened. And he could just imagine what Wolfram was going through, being interrogated by his older brother all the while exhaustion was eating at him. A part of Yuuri longed to be in that meeting, too. He wanted to be with Wolfram and to help somehow.
Before Yuuri knew it, he was standing with the sage—just the two of them, alone.
"I know what you're going to say, Murata," Yuuri mumbled. Fingers combed back raven hair.
Glasses shined when light fell on the lenses. He gave a shrug and decided to say the words anyway. "Boy, your day keeps getting better and better…huh, Shibuya?" Murata said cheekily.
"That wasn't what I thought you'd say." A frown followed.
"Yes, but that's what you needed to hear," Murata said, "and it's high time I started to do my job again…as the sage."
"Just look at him!" Gwendal fumed. He touched Wolfram's face with his index finger and smudged it the way a mother-in-law inspects for dust.
"I'm fine, brother," Wolfram growled under his breath. He started to stand up and Gwendal pushed him backwards into the chair with two fingers against his chest.
The legs of the chair scraped against the floor.
"I think Wolfram is telling the truth," Conrad chimed in, trying to steady the back of the chair and to keep it from falling over. "With a little time, some rest, and his uniform back…he'll look like the Wolfram we all know…" Conrad was about to add "and love" but was silenced by an upward glare from Wolfram. This was not a time for sentimentalities.
Gwendal sat down on the edge of his desk and folded his arms against his chest. "It's more than just what he looks like—which, by the way, will be whispered and gossiped about all over the kingdom by sunrise tomorrow. Have you both forgotten that the engagement to our king has been called off?"
Wolfram nodded sadly and Conrad sighed to himself. Yes, they were back to the reality of castle life.
Gwendal reached behind him saying, "There are ramifications and this is the start."
Letters began to fall—sliding from Gwendal's hands and landing in Wolfram's lap.
"What are these?" Wolfram said, his mouth going dry because he already knew.
"Letters of…interest," Gwendal said tartly. "And I opened those two before I realized that they were meant for you." He motioned to the top two letters. "They're from Mother. Apparently, word of your breakup has reached her on her 'free love' cruise. Now, she's getting more attention than ever from people who want the latest gossip from her. There's three letters from your Uncle Waltorana. Care to guess why?" That last sentence had an acid edge. It was well known that what Waltorana wanted for Wolfram and what Gwendal wanted were two different things.
Wolfram nodded and frowned.
"But, if Wolfram and Yuuri don't want to marry…?" Conrad said, trying to be hopeful about the situation. He was certain that, either way, he'd still have the two young men with him at the castle. He didn't want to lose his family. And Yuuri was as close as a brother to him.
"Would you stop favoring the heika for once," Gwendal growled under his voice.
"Sorry?" Conrad said. He really hadn't heard him, but Wolfram did.
"Let's just quit arguing," Wolfram said, standing up. He looked at the armful of letters. He hadn't seen so many since before his relationship with Tasha. Wolfram walked across the room. "I just…don't want to hear it. I don't want to argue anymore. I'm done with it."
Wolfram tossed the letters into the fireplace. He cupped his hands together and spat a spark into them.
"Wolfram!" Gwendal barked. "That's crude!"
The blond winked at him as he tossed a small, marble sized fireball into the fireplace and it immediately blazed into life. The unopened letters curled with brittle, black edges. Within seconds, they crumpled in upon themselves in the warmth of yellow-orange fire.
"It's a trick I learned," Wolfram mused. "You see, you don't actually 'spit a spark.' You just look like you can do it. Pucker, form a flame in front of your face, and make it fall into your hands." He chuckled at Tra'va's favorite trick. "Then, people believe that you can actually breathe fire and not just wield it."
Gwendal changed the subject. "It still doesn't alter the fact that those rags are practically hanging on your body…not to mention your skin." He approached Wolfram and gripped his shoulder. "I can feel the bones."
Wolfram shrugged the hand off. There was no counterargument to that. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, head down. "I know my looks matter to you."
Conrad could see where this was going. They'd had this discussion before. "We want you healthy, Wolfram."
The blond nodded back, not convinced in the slightest.
"And that's why I'm reassigning you." Gwendal said, circling around to his desk and taking a seat.
Conrad's eyes widened at that.
"You heard me."
"What?!" Wolfram growled. He stormed in the direction of his brother, slapped his palms down on the desk, and leaned over threateningly—now eye to eye. "You can't do that! My men depend on me!"
Gwendal caught his brother's sharp chin in his hand and narrowed his eyes defensively—glaring across at his baby brother, who was acting even more like a baby (in his humble opinion) which further confirmed his suspicions.
"You will be reassigned to serve as my liaison for the next two months, or I will force you to go on leave…"
Yuuri had finished with his bath and had on a fresh set of clothes. It felt good to be clean again. Now, he was hungry and looking forward to seeing everyone at dinner. He wanted to catch up with Greta and the others who had remained at the castle. He was certain a lot had gone on without him. Then, Yuuri's thoughts drifted to Wolfram. He wondered how the interrogation went. Was he okay? The double black decided that he'd find out at dinner and, if not, he'd pull Wolfram aside afterwards to have a heart to heart.
Shoes tied, the double black sat on the edge of the bed and glanced around the room. It seemed neat—a little too neat. But he wasn't exactly sure why.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Yuuri went to answer it.
He opened the door wide and was surprised to see Wolfram on the other side. Wolfram mirrored the look.
"Since when do you ever knock?" he said teasingly. "You usually just barge in."
Wolfram blinked at Yuuri for a second, gathering his thoughts. "Oh, I thought you'd be in the dining room already. I can come back later." He started to go.
Yuuri noticed that Wolfram had a large box in his hands.
"No, it's fine. You can come in."
With an awkward glance down, Wolfram entered the room and went to the closet. He said in a tone he hoped would sound casual, "I thought that the maids had gathered all of my things. But, of course, they missed some stuff." He placed the box down and got onto his knees—rummaging around.
Yuuri found it hard to breathe for a second. He's leaving…? Wolfram's moving out for good? Yuuri waited a beat to see if The Maou would protest, but none came. He turned back to Wolfram."You don't have to do that," he said, which got him an incredulous glance from the person kneeling in the closet.
The blond leaned backwards and looked over his shoulder. "You're the king," Wolfram explained, "and I have no business keeping anything in your room." He gave an uncomfortable shrug and went back to his work. "It would imply a relationship that we don't have."
Yuuri tucked a raven strand of hair behind his ear. "I don't care about…"
"I know you don't care, Yuuri," Wolfram interrupted. "But, what I do or don't do hurts more than just me. It's my brothers' reputations, my mother's, my extended family's… You could never understand that, could you?"
Not being born in Shin Makoku, Yuuri could only guess, in theory, what Wolfram meant. Still, he agreed to it anyway. Yes, he was an idiot.
The blond, on his knees, reached in and grabbed his extra set of uniform boots and placed them in the box. He reached up, grabbed the frilly nightgown off the hanger, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it carelessly inside, too—not caring if it got dirty next to the boots. Next, came a white cravat. Wolfram reached in and found a shopping bag and peeked cutely inside, almost owlishly. He pulled out a framed photograph. Yuuri recognized the picture. It was one his mother had taken.
"This was your festival called…Ka-ru-ee-su-ma-su." Holding it with both hands, Wolfram smiled wryly at the Christmas photo. The silver frame set it off well. In the picture, Wolfram and Yuuri stood side by side wearing Santa hats. Wolfram had an arm around Yuuri's neck protectively with a sexy look that said, "Back off. He's mine!" But, inspecting closer, Wolfram could see Yuuri's eyes were wide and innocent to it all. The tan hand clutched a pale wrist—whether to pull Wolfram in closer or to push him away, it was impossible to tell.
Yuuri worried when he noticed Wolfram's smile changing. It faded into the kind of smile that someone gets while looking at an old yearbook. It's the smile that clearly said, "Just look at me. I was so stupid back then."
Carelessly, he tossed it aside and went excavating in the closet again.
The double black bit his lip a little. At one time, that photo must have been Wolfram's treasure.
"Umm…I guess my mother gave you that picture, huh?" Yuuri said, looking down at it. The color photo had shifted a bit in the frame and it was crooked now.
"Hm?" came from the closet.
"I said that my mother gave you the picture."
"Yes," came the muffled voice, "and the frame, too."
"It sounds like her," he said.
Wolfram reached in for a pair of his rolled up socks in the corner. I was going to give you that photo as a birthday gift… To show how much we belong together... It's pointless now, though. "Just about done."
Yuuri put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Wolfram was leaving and he felt that he couldn't stop it.
"You could stay if you wanted to," he added lamely.
"I think we've just established that I can't," Wolfram said coldly and tossed the socks in the box. It was followed by a riding crop from his childhood and a spare uniform belt.
Wolfram reached in and removed piles of folded clothes—shirts, jeans, sneakers, and two red ties. He dumped them on top of the photo frame. Earth clothes. "I'll ask the maids to throw that stuff out." A part of Wolfram wanted to cry about that. He liked Earth very much and the clothes were fun to wear.
Yuuri scratched his head. "Why get rid of them? The next time we go, you're going to need them."
Wolfram picked up the box. "I'm not going back to Earth…anymore, Yuuri."
"Why?"
Another wry smile. "I don't need to."
He picked up the box and the items slid. He had to shift his stance in order to keep from spilling everything.
Crunch. It was the sound of glass breaking.
"What was…?" Wolfram's eyes bugged out a little. He'd stomped on the clothes and… "Oh, the picture frame. It's under the pile." He shifted the box in his hands. "My apologies. I'll send in a maid to clean it up."
The blond started to head for the door, feeling a little bad that he was leaving a mess behind for someone else to clean up. Like it or not, he accepted the fact that he was a neatnik.
"Wolfram, wait," Yuuri called, desperate to think of a way to save the situation.
The blond stopped, but didn't turn around. "Oh, and one more thing... Please tell Miko-san goodbye for me."
In the next second, the room began to fill with people. Greta popped her head in the door and jumped with glee to see both of her fathers. She wanted to hear all of the details of their trip. Wolfram gave a nod in Yuuri's direction, hands full. Günter entered to announce that dinner was just about ready. He placed his hands together and gushed at his idol. Anissina and Gisela stopped by to see what Günter was going on about. Soldiers guarding the hallway peeked in. And Gwendal and Conrad entered because a crowd had gathered for some inexplicable reason in the king's bed chambers.
With the noise and the people gathered around Yuuri, Wolfram took that opportunity to slip out of the room quietly.
No one heard him close the door.