Fourier's first clue that something is wrong is the unusual lack of anything in his lungs. No air. No pain. No sensation at all. But that's hardly surprising once he realizes he feels neither the hard wall he is resting on nor the rough floor under his feet.

He is floating, moving inside a black, detached bubble of nothing but his thoughts and prayers. Flying high above with the stars and the dragons his Kingdom's history is so fond of. 'Happiness' isn't quite the word, but 'numbness' doesn't feel right either.

He just is. He, his bubble, and his troubled mind.

"It worked—?" A desperate voice calls, "your Highness...?" It's chilling, faint and so, so familiar it stops Fourier's train of thought altogether. There is hope inside that person, Fourier thinks. Hope, fear, and maybe a tint of madness.

And just like that, the bubble pops and he falls down to earth, to solid ground and what might very well be his coffin.

But somehow he still doesn't feel the floor or the wall or anything... except the creeping dread within him.

Felix Argyle's damp face tears up even more as he jumps toward the dead prince's stiff arms, sobbing and begging for forgiveness as he calls his name time and time again. Fourier doesn't feel the familiar warmth of his old friend on his touch, nor does he perceive the cold, wet sensation of his knight's tears falling onto his hands.

This startles Fourier. He raises his right hand: he opens, closes, and studies it but nothing looks amiss. It's only his senses that are off, he guesses, almost as if they remained inside the bubble,

Fourier softly pets his friend. His presence is a welcome but unexpected sight. He tells him that it is okay, that everything is alright with a voice fluffy as velvet. "I'm here, you don't need to cry anymore," the prince knows that he is telling a lie, of course, but he manages to sound confident. He doesn't feel his friend's usually well-kept hair as he strokes it, but he forces himself to ignore that disturbing realization for the moment. "What's wrong Ferris? I need you to tell me so I can help". He focuses on the younger boy's face, his disheveled clothes, and how that's all the information that matters. That his dear friend is in dire need of assistance. Not the frightening numbness gnawing at his core. Ferris is the priority. Fourier keeps talking and reassuring him that no one is mad at him and that no grave sin he supposedly committed would deserve so many of his lovely tears.

Fourier doesn't believe in his own words, but convincing himself isn't the point, not really. He is almost as scared as he is confused, and he is utterly delighted to find out he can at least discern that much.

Fourier isn't sure about how long it took for Ferris to stop crying, but it comes across as hours. For the prince, it looks like there is a large gap in his memory. Ferris looks older than he should be and more haggard than he has ever been—at least in Fourier's presence.

He recalls speaking with Crusch inside the Royal Palace, but any events after that are beyond him.

"Ferris promised he wouldn't do it. Ferris didn't keep his promise," the knight confesses between a hundred other words that are too mumbled to be understood, and that's when the prince catches sight of the inconspicuous book his dear friend is hugging tightly. "I'm sorry."

The pieces finally fall into place. A promise, a bed, and how much it used to hurt to breathe back when feeling was a thing for him. Back when he wasn't a ghost.

…But Fourier is no longer rotting or underground. He wants to scream, so he remains silent.

Fourier understands that while he now knows the situation at hand, he doesn't truly get how the situation came to be. All he knows is that he is dead and probably has been for years. Bad things happened, and Ferris had to deal with the aftermath.

"I'm not angry," he starts, once he is confident he can finish at least one sentence without breaking. "I would rather have you in the company of a friendly undead than alone right now." He is surprised that he isn't lying. He doesn't know what happened to Ferris, but if he was desperate enough to summon him, it was bad. His friend answers with a hollow laugh and hides his face on Fourier's shoulder.

"Everything is wrong—I don't know..? I just..."

"What is everything?" He presses on, trying to make sense of his friend's pleas.

"Everything!" He cries, loudly, as he looks at Fourier. Hoping, begging for him to understand the words he is unable to tell. "Everyone! Me!"

The prince's confusion grows tenfold. He frowns. "But..." he despises the fact that he can't feel Ferris' tight hold on his shoulders. It's difficult not to focus on how painful it should feel. "What is wrong with you?"

"Everything!" The knight shrinks and starts sobbing again. Fourier attempts to give a deep breath as he decides that the conversation is going nowhere. He has to ask better questions.

"What's the state of the Kingdom?" The one thing that had troubled the entire Royal Family before their imminent death was the knowledge that without them, the treaty with the Dragon would fall to pieces. They knew the illness wasn't their fault, but leaving Lugunica in a state of chaos felt a lot like a failure.

Sweet old Ferris is happy to lighten his mind though. He tells him about the Dragon's prophecy. The Royal Election. The council. General world news. They talk for hours about the Royal Knights, the Witch Cult, and other unrelated familiar names. "Julius is serving a lady called Anastasia—she is from Kararagi. I'm not exactly fond of her, but she is better than Priscilla or the half-elf."

"That's good," the world is alright, in the grand scheme of things. "I'm happy he moved on." And he is indeed happy to learn that all their worries had been in vain: The Kingdom has once again managed to prosper. Fourier doesn't have it in him to feel bitter about it, at least not when he remembers those he left behind— those who had to deal with the aftermath: Ferris, Crusch…the real victims.

Crusch…the ghost of an ache tugs his heart as he remembers his Lady's face. There are only so many plausible reasons to explain why Ferris is crying on his own, far away from her helping hand, and none of them are good—especially considering the knight's awful state of mind.

The sudden comprehension that Crusch is probably dead hits him like a carriage, and leaves Fourier dazed and drained. It pains him to consider it, but he cannot picture any other scenario capable of pushing Ferris to the point of summoning him.

Nonetheless, as he watches his friend's body tremble like a lost child, he cannot bring himself to ask just what had become of Crusch. If her death was the reason his mind shattered in so many pieces, he'd rather wait for some days before bringing the topic up—Fourier doesn't like the idea of stepping on a landmine when he knows Ferris can't handle them well.

…especially when he isn't sure he can handle the truth himself. His body feels like a foreign puppet, and his mind barely registers that not knowing where Crusch is, is supposed to make him sad.

He is conscious enough to understand such a thing is terrifying, but not enough to actually care about it.

So, instead he asks him when the last time he ate anything was, and when Ferris stares, dumbfounded at him with those beautiful big eyes of his, Fourier forces a laugh. He is counting this as his first real win as an undead prince. "I have an idea then—you do have a kitchen here, right?"

Fourier is glad he had bothered his maids for weeks until they taught him how to prepare some basic meals. He had always wanted to impress Crusch, even with the food he offered her when she visited the Palace.

Still, he is somehow annoyed that the cabbage chowder in front of him doesn't look nearly as appealing as he remembers, but as he watches Ferris eat happily, he guesses it was decent enough. "Next one will be better," he promises, "I'm just a little bit rusty, but I'll get there." He wants Ferris to understand that he shall make him as many meals as he needs. Even if he doesn't feel the touch of the rice he is cooking or the spoon he is using or the knife he is holding.

Ferris never lets go of his arm, and if Fourier weren't so focused on how he couldn't feel it, he would be more alarmed. He knows that. He gets it. But he is just too numbed to think about meanings and attachments. So instead he prepares food, jokes, and tries his best to make Ferris smile.

The knight holds a galaxy in his eyes as he giggles freely at every comment Fourier makes. "It's perfect—you really shouldn't have—Ferris should be the one cooking for you, nyot the other way around," with every second that passes, the healer known as The Blue drinks the sight of his friend alive— or as alive as his prince could ever be again. Close enough for Ferris to fool himself into believing he was safe and sound, once again at his mortal reach.

Fourier wants to believe Ferris is being cute instead of disturbing, if only to keep his sanity in check. They both know Fourier will never be able to eat again, and they both are quite good at ignoring that little fact. But when his friend confesses he has been skipping work for two entire weeks —or more precisely, ever since they fought the White Whale— Fourier knows that there is no turning back, and pretending things could get better was a fool's dream. If the reason 'everything' was so wrong was linked to the Witch Cult, chances were the only thing Fourier could do is damage control and give his friend free therapy, enough therapy to hopefully convince him to break the spell that binds him before the Sage Council does by force.

It's a challenge, but Fourier isn't one to give up on his friends.

He asks what Ferris' excuses are and how he plans on convincing Marcos not to fire him, but the knight just laughs and answers that the captain of the Royal Guard would never fire his best healer, even if he ignored his duty for a handful of days.

He barely restrains himself from correcting his friend. No one would fire him for taking some time off, but if the Royal Knights were to learn he had brought back to life a member of the dead Royal Family, they would brand him a traitor, just like his father before him.

Fourier swallows as he studies his hand once again. It looks normal, if only a tad too gray. He is grateful he doesn't look like he's rotting, but the short-lived happiness also leaves a metaphorical bitter taste in his mouth. Ferris was amazing, but not even The Blue could fix the Immortal King's Sacrament in such a short period of time. The spell Fourier had seen back when he was alive had been lacking, and the undead it forged were more like moving corpses than living people.

It takes him a full minute to understand that Ferris started studying the spell long before the Cult's attack…that his knight upgraded it for years under Crusch's nose.

Fourier blames himself. In his eyes, it obviously means that the speech he had prepared for his friend shortly before his death hadn't been enough, and as a consequence, Ferris never learnt to move on or accept death as a natural part of life.

He doesn't ask Ferris any more questions. He takes care of the dishes, helps his friend do his hair and convinces him they aren't going to fix the Kingdom in a single day. Even if Felix Argyle is the best healer in the entire world, he too needs sleep. "I'm sorry," he whispers. His friend, stiffening, proceeds to hold his hand even tighter.

"About what?!" Ferris cries, "Ferris should have been a better healer, a better knight… a better friend." He is still suffering, even after all this time. "Ferris just can't—won't accept it's too late." The last part comes as a whisper—a mournful lament Fourier isn't sure was meant for his ears. "And that's miew fault too."

That day's revelations leave the dead prince even more detached from reality. He gladly welcomes night's embrace as he watches Ferris sleep— fall in a state in which he couldn't break any more sacred rules or promises.

Fourier curses that, from all things, jealousy has yet to abandon him. He misses being able to fall unconscious and the sweet comfort of lying on a bed. He watches as his friend's chest raises and falls every two or three seconds. It's both hypnotic and maddening, especially now that his eyes do not require him to blink. Naturally, it takes him two hours to snap and leave the room.

But two hours is enough for him to understand that maybe he did lie when he said he wasn't angry. He is quite mad with his friend for seeking his help even when he is dead. Or better yet, he is just upset at himself, for being angry at Ferris when the disturbed knight can barely think straight. He knows that his job as a friend is to protect Ferris. Added to that, he is also aware that his duty as a royal is to take care of his subjects.

It comes to him as a promise. A promise to the boy he used to be, the girl he used to love, and the friend he used to cherish. He will help Ferris, even if he must get used to whatever the hell he became.

Hours pass as he walks through the mansion he is sure will become his prison for the time being, he wanders aimlessly like the ghost he knows he is, even if he doesn't look the part. He only stops once he stumbles across the manor's ball room.

Between the golden pillars and antique Karsten paintings lay several mirrors. He hesitates, not sure he wants to see his reflection just yet. He closes his eyes and gathers enough courage to walk towards them. His steps falter the closer he gets to the glass.

Standing in front of him is his father's sharp jaw, his mother's thin mouth and his oldest brother's crooked teeth. There are also fangs, a physical trait that had never left the Lugunica Royal Family, and a formal robe, with long red sleeves that match their typical red eyes.

He stares at the reflection for minutes, hours. He isn't sure whether he recognizes himself in it. The skin is too pale, and the face is too unexpressive to belong to Lugunica Fourier, even if it does look like him. He attempts to grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

It doesn't take him long to decide that the nights alone were the worst part of being dead. He spends the rest of the time practicing his old expressions and familiarizing himself with his new old familiar face. If he wants to help his friend, he will have to become a better actor.

He is preparing breakfast when Ferris enters the kitchen. Fourier raises an eyebrow as he sees his friend's pajamas and tangled hair. The knight leaps at him and Fourier feels guilty once he realizes that Ferris had probably gotten quite scared when he woke up and didn't see him. "I'm only preparing some toasts, but I won't be giving them to you until you go change into one of your dresses." The knight hesitates but nods, neither of them talks about the tears falling from his cheeks. "Ah—wait! Better yet, put on some training clothes."

His friend looks confused. Fourier just smiles knowingly, for he had already decided what he and his friend were going to do today. "I don't care that you are a healer—I won't be so lenient as to let you neglect your swordsmanship." Ferris can't help but cringe, and the sight almost makes Fourier grin for real.

His friend doesn't back down to the challenge though, "if his Highnyess' sword skills became as good as his cooking skills Ferris might even have a chance this time around."

Ferris indeed almost gets him one or two times at first, but by the end Fourier finally gets used to his new body and his knight doesn't stand a chance. "You do get a passing grade, but I'll be training you every morning from now on." His friend doesn't even bother enough to pretend he is annoyed, instead he gifts him a cocky smile and promises Fourier he is going to defeat him. Neither of them believes it, but the prince grows even more proud of his chosen knight.

Against the odds, they somehow develop a routine.

"You have to go back to work," by the fourth day, Fourier finally gathers enough courage to step on one of the landmines.

"Nyo—Ferris doesn't need to go yet—Ferris is with his liege, that's where a knight belongs." Fourier frowns. As far as looks are concerned, Ferris finally gives the impression of a decent demi-human being. Not only his hair is on point, with ribbons decorating each side of his face, but his dresses are also as spotless as they used to be. The mad glint in his eyes has finally faded and he no longer needs to be physically attached to Fourier twenty-four seven. But there is something deeper that hasn't fixed itself yet and can't be healed in three days work.

There is still no word about Crusch, and Ferris's omittance of her name is beginning to drive an already shaken Fourier over the edge

He doesn't want to pull the authority card, but he hasn't got much of an option. "Your place as a knight is to follow my orders," Ferris stiffens and lowers his ears, clearly ashamed by his actions. "My orders for you are to go back to the garrison," he holds him tight, desperate. "I won't be leaving anytime soon." Truth be told, Fourier doesn't like the idea of Ferris going back either. The more time Fourier stays alone without his friend puncturing his personal space and reminding him where he is, the more he feels he is back in his bubble.

Floating, drifting.

A sudden knock coming from the front door startles both of them. Fourier is sure Ferris isn't expecting anyone. He isn't meeting Meckart until Friday and Ferris has never been one to make many friends. The prince thinks it could be another member of the Karsten Duchy, but Ferris' sulk tells him otherwise. "Shall I prepare dinner for three?"

Ferris knits his brows together, not appreciating the joke, "Nyo—Ferris will be right back. Wait inside the Blue Office."

Fourier rolls his eyes. Ferris' residence was as Karsten as possible. It had many offices. Flashy offices, hidden offices, decoy offices—all of them were decorated with class, purpose and traps. The amount of rooms the house held spoke volumes of how much Lord Meckart cared about his adopted child. And of course, the lack of staff also showed how much Ferris wanted to keep his existence a secret.

"Reinhard?" Ferris' eyes widen once he catches sight of the legendary Sword Saint standing in front of his door. "What a surprrrise!" he sings, ears twitching. "What can Ferris do for nya?" The demi-human hides his hands behind his back, showing proudly how well the dress his Highness had selected fits him.

The redhead gifts him one of his apologetic smiles when he sees him. "Ferris—It's good to see you," he falls silent for a second, considering twice how to continue the conversation properly, "I'm truly glad to see you are safe." He adds, almost as an afterthought. But of course Ferris knows better, and so he smiles. As annoyed as he is that the man dared to interrupt his time with his Highness, he thinks it's moving that Reinhard cared enough to visit him…

…again. Because it was already the second time the man stopped at his place since his unit fought the White Whale.

Ferris' eyes twitch alongside his ears. The Sword Saint never seemed to get a hint. "Yes! Ferris is better than ever meow. No need to worry about him!" He considers offering his friend a cup of tea but—

"—I hope I'm not interfering with anything." Ferris raises his gaze. He hadn't even realized he had lowered it. "I can come later."

"—yeah Ferris is with some company right nyow."

"…company?" Reinhard opens his mouth again but this time no sound comes out of it. "I see, my mistake then. I'm sorry," the man openly studies the facade of the mansion in front of him. Ferris tilts his head, confused. "Would you be able to get a drink or dinner with Julius and I before the week ends? We were a bit worried— It looks like you are alright but—"

"—Ferris will be coming back to the garrison tomorrow, so we might as well catch up there," he informs Reinhard with a side smile. Ferris' fake grin becomes a little bit more honest once he notices how happy the redhead got. For all his greatness, the Sword Saint was more like a lost puppy than he was.

"That's great then," Ferris manages to nod even if he inwardly disagrees with his friend. He was only going back because his Highness ordered him to, not because he wanted to. If it were up to him, he would resign and move to a far away village with Fourier and his adoptive father. But he couldn't tell Reinhard such a thing, not when the man would interpret it as a personal failure.

Nonetheless, Ferris still likes to imagine the scenery. It's only a fantasy, but he is sure they would all be happy there—happy, safe, and within reach. Meckart had confided to him several times that he was growing increasingly tired and wanted to officially make him the next Duke and retire. Ferris loves him, but the idea of inheriting the Dukedom leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Ferris sighs in relief when the Sword Saint finally leaves his front door. He knows he will have to tell him some excuses later, but as long as 'later' was inside the Palace and not next to the room he was hiding a very much illegal undead, he is sure he will be alright and able to serve his Liege for another day.

"Was that the Sword Saint?" Fourier asks, peeking out from the kitchen's door. The unexpected appearance of his Highness makes Ferris jump from shock. "You guys became friends with him? Why didn't you say so! Tell me all the juicy details."

"His—his Highness?" he barely contains himself from shrieking. If Reinhard was within a mile, he was well within hearing range. "Ferris said the office—the Blue Office nya! The kitchen isn't even near the Blue Office nya!"

Fourier chuckles, "but there is no green tea in that office. I wanted green tea," and when Ferris growls in answer, Fourier roars in laughter.

Only minutes later, the prince watches his friend prepare his tea with a satisfied smile. From trial and error they had discovered that the only thing his body could digest were liquids—if only with a little bit of help from Ferris' magic.

But then again, he needed Ferris' magic for everything nowadays. The knight had already confessed that Fourier needed to be healed every 24 hours to make sure his body didn't stiffen.

Nonetheless, he still wanted to drink tea. Even if he couldn't actually taste the brewage or feel the touch of the porcelain cup, it made him feel like things were back to normal.

It also meant that the excuse of wanting green tea was completely ridiculous. Green, black, breakfast tea, cold water… they all were the same to him. And truth be told, Fourier had always despised green tea.

"It tastes like grass," he would complain to Crusch.

"As all tea should taste," she would retort.

"This brings up some really good memories," he admits to Ferris.

The knight sighs and smiles softly, "It does, doesn't it?"

And when evening light shines upon the window, Fourier is almost sure he can sense Crusch holding his hand.

…It's calm, Fourier realizes. He can't feel the heat of the lights or the cushion of his chair, but he can hear the birds singing, see the rays of the sun, serve himself some tea and watch his friend laugh. He hasn't felt this comfortable since before he fell sick. "So," Fourier asks his friend as he takes a sip from his cup, "the Sword Saint, eh? How did that happen?" the prince is honestly curious. He doesn't know much about the living legend, but he's aware Wilhelm isn't exactly close to his grandson, and that is enough to get his attention.

"It just happened," Ferris confesses, "he was with Julius the first day I joined the Knights." Fourier nods remembering that day. "We started getting missions together after…" Ferris doesn't finish his sentence but they both know what he was about to say. The prince taps the table uncomfortably.

"I bet he must be a good friend to have, especially if he is anything like his grandfather." Fourier would prefer it if Ferris stopped considering his death a taboo. Switching topics too fast broke their semblance of normality. It displaced him.

"His grandfather?" Ferris tilts his head, confused and not really understanding what Fourier is talking about. "Ferris doesn't know about that, but he is good enough, I guess. He always tries to help."

Fourier nods, happy enough with his answer, "I'm glad you have him in your life then." And he is. Meckart, Julius and Reinhard. Those were the three names he could use to get Ferris back in line. If he could somehow reach them, maybe switching Ferris' loyalty towards them was possible. Ferris needed to see there were more people out there. People that liked him, loved him and wanted to hold his hand.

"They aren't you though," Ferris confesses as if he had read his mind, "they are good but…it's just different."

"All friendships are different, no two people are the same—"

"I know that!" his friend snaps, clearly annoyed. "It's just—they weren't there! They met Ferris the person—Felix Argyle, the Royal Knight! Not—" Ferris' voice breaks and Fourier isn't sure he wants him to finish that sentence. "—not the filthy animal locked inside his father's basement."

Fourier closes his eyes. He was already aware of his friend's insecurities, but it still hurt to know Ferris thought that way about himself, "but it was Ferris the person all along, even when you aren't dressed in white, with ribbons and high class, you are always Ferris." He thought about his family. He had always been proud of them, not because of their many military achievements but because they were good, fair people, "Your worth is not defined by your clothes or titles. I'm sure they already know that, you wouldn't be friends with them otherwise. Trust your guts a little, Ferris, I know I do."

Ferris nods, lowering his face, "I already knyow that," but the prince is still considering Ferris' words. It saddens Fourier to be told that Ferris thinks so little of himself, but it isn't unexpected.

…what is unexpected, is that Ferris is implying they met each other before he became Felix Argyle 'the person', when in fact it wasn't until he met Crusch that they befriended each other.

It's only a small little detail, unimportant enough for most unconcerned minds to skip it, but for some reason it makes the prince hesitate for some seconds.

It makes him uncomfortable.

He focuses on the green tea leaves drowning inside the cup he is holding. He knows he can't ignore talking about Crusch forever, but he doesn't think talking about her the night before Ferris goes back to work is a good idea, "you were always amazing, even when you were locked in—and it has nothing to do with your healing magic! What I'm trying to point out is you aren't less of a person just because you have a sob story," when he sees Ferris start to tear up, he lowers his cup, stands up and sits next to him. He hugs him tightly as he voices words of comfort. "You don't have to feel guilty about getting new friends. We didn't help you because we wanted you to follow our orders and dictate your life but because we wanted you to have the opportunity to do whatever you choose in life." His friend is openly sobbing now, as quiet as he can so as to not cover his prince's words. "There are no slaves in Lugunica. Everyone is free to do their will here—and as such, when Meckart freed you he fought for this land's laws. Not you."

"I love you Ferris—I always will, that's why I want you to move on and be happy in life." Fourier gives a deep breath and searches for his friend's hands. He holds them firmly because right now that's the only thing he can do.

"And so did Crusch," he feels his friend stiffen, but Fourier doesn't stop and instead holds his hands even tighter. "She loved you more than anything in the world, she wouldn't want you to cry and sob forever. That much I'm sure." He lets go of one hand to caress his friend's check. "You are loved Ferris, you always will be, even if we aren't physically with you our love will always remain here by your side in every step you take."

They fall silent for some minutes. Fourier knows his friend is deep in thought, he can see it in his eyes, so when Ferris finally raises his gaze, the prince smiles warmly. It doesn't last long though. The smile falters the second he notices Ferris looks more confused than haunted.

Ferris meets the prince's scared gaze with his big, brown eyes. "Your Highness?"

Fourier lets go of the remaining hand and gulps. In an unexpected turn of events, it is now Ferris the one who looks worried. "Yes?" he asks, not sure about what was on his knight's mind.

"—who is Crusch?"

First of all, please tell me if I made any mistakes (I beg you). Also, the following chapter (We need to talk about Crusch) should be up in a week or so.
Lastly, I'd like to thank my boyfriend for beta reading this and telling me to post it!