Conrad has been doing a very good job of acting normal over the past month. Conrad has also not had people glomping him and hefting him about like a sack of potatoes, though. He goes completely stiff as Gwendal spins him around, both alarmed and humiliated. Then the apologies end and he's back on solid land again and it takes all his self control not to whack the other man with the flat of his sword. The arm around his shoulder pulls him close, the proximity making the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and it suddenly occurs to him that no one but Yozak has really touched him in several weeks. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to avoid others' touch until tonight.
That still does not make him any more comfortable right now. Nor is he thrilled about being treated like a damn woman in the courtyard in front of his men. Not even his lover would have dared that much, and if Yozak ever even thought of doing something like that, Conrad would have boxed his ears.
He smiles but rolls his shoulder, escaping the touch and the embarrassing mess of public affection. The brunet starts walking back towards the , eager to be away from the eyes he could feel watching them. Gwendal falls into step beside him. "It was . . . fine. Took a bit longer than expected, though."
His fringe falls into his eyes and he runs a free hand through his hair. Warren has the decency not to snicker at the scene in the courtyard as they pass.
"I'm sorry I didn't write. I was ill for a bit." A nice lie. Well practiced.
He opened the door to the palace and looked back over at the taller Mazoku. "I heard you were injured when--when I was taken?"
It hurts a little when Conrad shrugs him off, but it's understandable. He should have known better than to express his relief quite so physically, but it seems he never learns. Just walking together is surprisingly cathartic; Conrad is back and talking to him, safe at last, a brother who reminds him of the comfort of his own world and family instead of avoiding him with obvious distaste. [That other one must really hate his Gwendal...although, really, I think he hates everyone.]
His brother's apology surprises him. "Don't worry about it. I figured if you were going to write to anyone, it would have been mother or Wolfram, or even the Maou. Yozak let us know you were safe and free. That was all I needed." He waves off the mention of his own injury. If it had occurred at a more peaceful time, it would doubtless have seemed severe, but compared to the suffering of the common soldiers in the war it scarcely matters. "It was nothing - a flesh-wound. Gisela took care of it, and--it was nothing." He doesn't feel like bringing Murata up just yet.
Gwendal turns to Conrad with a smile. "I'm glad you're back. I hope you are, too."
The half demon looks over at the other man, watching him for a moment. Gwendal looks . . . different. Not bad, just different. No longer quite the same easygoing man he left behind. Conrad smiles slightly to cover the curiosity he knows would be showing on his face otherwise.
It's almost surprising to realize that he truly cares about what could be weighing down this stranger with his brother's face. Conrad is hardly stingy with his affections, but he is also not very open.
Still . . . the real Gwendal has not come down. Nor has Wolfram, or Hahaue. It is really no more than he expected, but it still stings a bit. And . . .
He saw me. When he came for Greta. He saw me.
The brunet looks away suddenly finding it harder to meet the other man's gaze. "I am," he answers truthfully. "I . . ." He pauses for a moment, sorting through possible lines of conversation. "I didn't want to for a bit," he finally says. It's a small sliver, but true, and far more than he thought he'd say to anyone, let alone one who is like one of his brothers. Strange how much easier it is to reach out towards something new than something familiar at times.
Conrad looks back up and smiles slightly. "I'm glad I did, though. Nowhere else really feels like home."
Gwendal's missed that smile. Even the one that Conrad hides behind. He clamps down on the instincts that make him want to sling an arm around his brother and hug him tightly; from his initial reaction, physical contact is not the best way to make this a happy reunion.
Dangerous words try to bubble up and spill out - apologies, questions, pointless reminders of the time Conrad has spent trapped in that place. But Gwendal knows that trying to force Conrad to understand why he was left behind can, at best, only soothe his own conscience at the expense of his brother's fragile peace.
Robbed of his usual means of making connections, he settles for walking beside the brunet in what he hopes is companionable silence, doing his best to keep a comfortable distance. It's harder than it sounds; it takes more control than he would have believed possible not to tussle playfully with his brother, but after all he's been through, it's not fair to encroach on Conrad's space.
That still does not make him any more comfortable right now. Nor is he thrilled about being treated like a damn woman in the courtyard in front of his men. Not even his lover would have dared that much, and if Yozak ever even thought of doing something like that, Conrad would have boxed his ears.
He smiles but rolls his shoulder, escaping the touch and the embarrassing mess of public affection. The brunet starts walking back towards the , eager to be away from the eyes he could feel watching them. Gwendal falls into step beside him. "It was . . . fine. Took a bit longer than expected, though."
His fringe falls into his eyes and he runs a free hand through his hair. Warren has the decency not to snicker at the scene in the courtyard as they pass.
"I'm sorry I didn't write. I was ill for a bit." A nice lie. Well practiced.
He opened the door to the palace and looked back over at the taller Mazoku. "I heard you were injured when--when I was taken?"
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His brother's apology surprises him. "Don't worry about it. I figured if you were going to write to anyone, it would have been mother or Wolfram, or even the Maou. Yozak let us know you were safe and free. That was all I needed." He waves off the mention of his own injury. If it had occurred at a more peaceful time, it would doubtless have seemed severe, but compared to the suffering of the common soldiers in the war it scarcely matters. "It was nothing - a flesh-wound. Gisela took care of it, and--it was nothing." He doesn't feel like bringing Murata up just yet.
Gwendal turns to Conrad with a smile. "I'm glad you're back. I hope you are, too."
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It's almost surprising to realize that he truly cares about what could be weighing down this stranger with his brother's face. Conrad is hardly stingy with his affections, but he is also not very open.
Still . . . the real Gwendal has not come down. Nor has Wolfram, or Hahaue. It is really no more than he expected, but it still stings a bit. And . . .
He saw me. When he came for Greta. He saw me.
The brunet looks away suddenly finding it harder to meet the other man's gaze. "I am," he answers truthfully. "I . . ." He pauses for a moment, sorting through possible lines of conversation. "I didn't want to for a bit," he finally says. It's a small sliver, but true, and far more than he thought he'd say to anyone, let alone one who is like one of his brothers. Strange how much easier it is to reach out towards something new than something familiar at times.
Conrad looks back up and smiles slightly. "I'm glad I did, though. Nowhere else really feels like home."
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Dangerous words try to bubble up and spill out - apologies, questions, pointless reminders of the time Conrad has spent trapped in that place. But Gwendal knows that trying to force Conrad to understand why he was left behind can, at best, only soothe his own conscience at the expense of his brother's fragile peace.
Robbed of his usual means of making connections, he settles for walking beside the brunet in what he hopes is companionable silence, doing his best to keep a comfortable distance. It's harder than it sounds; it takes more control than he would have believed possible not to tussle playfully with his brother, but after all he's been through, it's not fair to encroach on Conrad's space.
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