Universe: Kyou Kara Maou
Character/Pairing/s: ConradxYuuri, mentioned YuurixWolfram
Warnings/Spoilers: Nothing major I can imagine.
Word Count: 853
Time: like, 2 hours for this dinky little thing. ARGH.
Summary: Yuuri shouldn’t have to fight wars in his room as well.
Dedication: sherrymarie’s request on my lj. Hope this is okay!
A/N: Haha this ended up being sappy. I didn’t really want it to be, but this is just how it goes sometimes, I suppose. XD
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.
When Yuuri retired to his quarters for the night it was always with the intention of sleeping.
When Wolfram retired to Yuuri’s quarters for the night, it was a physical declaration of the privileges only he, as the king’s fiancé, should be privy too. The message was clear—“He’s mine, stay away.”
But on some nights, Yuuri just didn’t want to feel like there was a war in his room on top of everything else.
On those nights he kissed Greta on the forehead and then crawled stealthily out of bed after the two other occupants of the room had fallen asleep, leaving Wolfram to murmur his “Cheaters!” and “He’s my fiancés!” to himself in his sleep. He padded tiredly down the hallway just a little ways, and there he found a door that was always an open for him should he need it.
Conrad didn’t say anything whenever Yuuri crept into his bedroom-- not since the first night his king had stood at his bedside looking weary and hopeless at least— and so whenever he heard the door open he simply moved over and let Yuuri under the blankets next to him.
The first night this happened, Yuuri had looked so relieved at the quiet invitation that Conrad had almost laughed out loud at him when he’d murmured a thankful, “I’m saved!” and nestled down on the large bed beside his daytime bodyguard.
On the nights when Wolfram wanted to fight a war in Yuuri’s bed, Yuuri came here and knew that if any battles dared to trespass upon this place of rest, they would be warded off by the protective presence beside him, the one who always watched over him when he needed it most keeping silent vigil throughout the night so that the tired young king of Shin Makoku could get some of the peace he always worked so hard to secure for everyone else.
Conrad didn’t think it would do for someone like Yuuri to always have to fight, after all, and so he let the younger Mazoku curl up beside him on those nights when he needed to most, letting him bury his nose against Conrad’s shoulder blade and sleep deep to regain his strength.
Conrad was the simple soldier of the two after all, and felt he should be the one who fought in his king's stead, who always watched over him.
The mornings after those nights when Yuuri sought refuge here, Conrad would always gently stir him awake just before dawn— once again, working in the interests of peace. This morning was no different from the others, and so as the sun began to just peek over the horizon, he moved to rouse his king. “Yuuri,” he called softly, and rested his hand on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Nnngh,” Yuuri murmured, and curled closer, shoving his face into Conrad’s chest.
“Heika,” he continued, and felt a bit bad for forcing the young king awake this early in the morning.
“Don’t call me that,” Yuuri groaned on reflex, but didn’t move to open his eyes.
“Yuuri, it’s morning,” Conrad said with a small smile, and squeezed the teen’s shoulder again. “If you don’t return now…”
Dark eyes shot open at that, and Yuuri sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake. “Oh, Wolfram,” he recalled, and looked vaguely horrified at what repercussions he would have to face if the surly blond found him here rather than there. “Sorry, Conrad,” he apologized, and ran a sheepish hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I’m awake.”
Conrad’s smile broadened, just a bit. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Yuuri smiled back. “Morning. And yeah, thanks.”
“I’ll see you at morning sword practice then,” Conrad said, by way of “good-bye for now.” Yuuri nodded at that and stretched, looking refreshed.
“Breakfast first though!” he declared, and it was the friendliest order Sir Weller had ever heard.
“Breakfast first,” he agreed, and watched as Yuuri stood and padded towards the door.
When Yuuri returned to his room Wolfram was stretched out in the very middle of the bed and snoring delicately away, still murmuring various remonstrations in his sleep while Greta snoozed above, happily curled up on Yuuri’s vacant pillow.
It looked as if neither of them had missed him, but he was glad that Conrad always had the foresight to wake him early and send him back anyway. In his short time as Maou here, he’d since learned that sometimes, the battle not fought was the noblest course of action one might choose, if only for the avoidance of tears and bloodshed.
Feeling more rested than he had in a great while, Yuuri looked down at the scene on his bed for a moment longer, and when Wolfram sniffed and muttered, “Wimp!” under his breath rather vehemently, Yuuri thought that maybe it would be best to leave him be and get an early start on the day while he was up already anyway.
He pressed another kiss to Greta’s forehead before dressing and heading downstairs.
As luck would have it, he was just in time to join Conrad for breakfast.