Fanfiction: Shape of the Heart (Metaphor: ReFantazio, Strohl/protagonist)
H-how many fics is a normal number of fics to write when you're only a fifth of the way through the game?
Here's another Strohl/protagonist fic for Metaphor: ReFantazio, in any case, because there are not enough fanworks for these two. I realise 'the game has only been out for a week and nobody's had time to finish it' is a pretty solid reason for the lack of fanworks, but it's my duty to rectify this regardless. No spoilers.
Title: Shape of the Heart
Fandom: Metaphor: ReFantazio
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Strohl/protagonist
Wordcount: 1,700
Summary: Will breathes out, slowly, a little unsteadily. Things might be different in the world of his book. But the idea of being desired here, now, in a world that despises him-
“Will?” Strohl asks, very quietly. “Are you awake?”
Will sits up in his bed. Calls just a trace of fire magic to his fingertips, and reaches out to pinch his bedside candle back to life.
“That’s a yes, I suppose,” Strohl says, with a hint of a smile. He’s sitting on the side of his own bed: one foot propped on the mattress, the other resting on the floor. “I should be thankful you’re as bad at sleeping as I am, although I doubt you share my gratitude for it.”
The truth is that Will used to be better at getting to sleep, before he made Strohl’s acquaintance. Of course, a lot has happened since then; there’s plenty to keep his mind busy.
But, if he’s honest, it’s Strohl who keeps him awake. It’s become a common occurrence, Strohl wanting to converse at late hours, restless in the night. These days, Will finds himself staving off sleep, waiting for Strohl to say his name.
He says none of that; it’ll make Strohl feel guilty, it’ll end these nighttime conversations altogether. “What is it?”
Strohl seems, for a moment, as if he’s about to speak. But he only sighs, scrubs his hands through his hair.
Will raises his eyebrows. “Is that all?”
“No.” Strohl stands up. “No, I promise I’ve disturbed you for a reason.” He takes a seat on Will’s bed, next to him.
They usually sit like this when they’re reading together. Will reaches for his book, but Strohl stays him by catching hold of his hand.
“There’s something I need to say to you,” Strohl says.
He sounds serious. Will tenses a little. Is he leaving? Is he...
He still hasn’t let go of Will’s hand. The realisation sends a sudden spark of confused adrenaline through Will, like he’s just walked into an ambush.
“I never really expected romance to be a part of my life,” Strohl says. “I was born into a noble family. I’d dutifully be married off, dutifully birth heirs. Well, not that I’d be doing much birthing myself, but...” He pauses. “I understood that my life had already been decided. My own feelings didn’t factor into it.”
Will looks down, at his hand in Strohl’s.
“Strohl,” he says. It sounds strangely distant, somehow, like he’s hearing his own voice through glass.
“I suppose it’s only lately that I’ve realised those feelings might be worth paying attention to,” Strohl says, “now that I’ve been set on a different course.”
He kisses the inside of Will’s wrist.
Will breathes out, slowly, a little unsteadily. Things might be different in the world of his book. But the idea of being desired here, now, in a world that despises him-
It’s intoxicating. He can’t trust it.
“Strohl,” he says. His voice feels unstable in his throat.
Strohl closes his eyes, just for an instant. Opens them again. “I... I know this might not be what you want from me. But I needed you to know.”
Will needs some time to hunt for what to say. Too long, apparently; Strohl lets go of his hand.
“I... appreciate it,” Will says at last. The words feel inadequate, pathetic. “But I don’t-”
“You don’t feel the same way,” Strohl says, quietly. “Of course. I understand.”
Will hesitates.
“You can speak freely with me,” Strohl says. “I may not always like what you have to say, but I promise I’ll listen.”
Be polite, be friendly, be nonthreatening. Be unobtrusive; ideally, don’t be noticed at all. Avoid eye contact. If a stranger approaches you, smile, but don’t smile too much. If they ask a question, tell them what they want to hear.
Who is Will, when he’s able to speak freely? He’s not sure he knows himself; he’s never had much opportunity to learn.
“I don’t - know how I feel about you,” Will says, a little desperate. “No one’s ever-” He gestures, helplessly. “I don’t know if I actually want this or I’m just... overwhelmed.”
Strohl is silent, for a long moment. “So... you think you might want this? That’s a possibility?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” Strohl says, gently. He moves away from Will, sits on the edge of the other bed, his hands laced between his knees. “I’m not going to hound you for an answer.” There’s a brief pause. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not upset,” Will protests. “I just - I haven’t thought about this, I’m not ready to - why me?”
Strohl cocks his head to one side. “You’re asking why I might be drawn to you? You’re a person who draws others; have you not noticed how your following has been growing?”
“They’re not all propositioning me in an inn room in the middle of the night,” Will points out.
Strohl smiles at that, just a little. “More fool them. I’ve been a little afraid someone more desirable might confess to you before I found the courage. Perhaps Hulkenberg would have had more success.”
Hulkenberg, confessing to him? Will almost bursts out laughing at the thought. But he reins it in; Strohl has laid his feelings bare, and Will owes it to him to take this moment seriously.
“I’m not saying no.” It feels terrifying to say it. “I just... need to sit with this for a while, I think. I need to figure out what I’m feeling. I - I can’t promise anything.”
There’s a tension in the way Strohl is sitting, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. But his voice sounds steady when he says, “Of course. Take as long as you’d like. I’ll hear your answer when the time comes, whatever it might be.”
Will nods. “Okay. Thank you. Uh, good night.”
He hastens to blow out the candle, so he won’t have to see Strohl looking at him.
Will pulls the covers back over himself, hearing the rustle of Strohl doing the same. Lies on his back in bed, looking up at the darkness of the ceiling. It’ll be a while before either of them can get to sleep, he suspects.
It’s a couple of minutes before he registers that he’s rubbing two fingers against his wrist where Strohl kissed it. With some effort, he folds his hands over each other, lets them rest together on his stomach.
There’s a kind of suspense in the knowledge that Strohl will have heard the motion, that Strohl will know he’s still awake. If he has anything more to say, he’ll say it now. Will breathes in, slowly, and waits.
“Would you still have me by your side?” Strohl asks, quietly, from the darkness. “Knowing how I feel about you?”
There’s a waver to it. Strohl’s voice didn’t waver when he was confessing his feelings. But it’s wavering now.
“Are you afraid I’ll say no?” Will asks.
A moment passes. Will turns his head towards Strohl, although it’s too dark to make anything out.
“Whether I’m afraid is irrelevant,” Strohl says at last. “You shouldn’t let it sway you. This is your decision.”
“Of course it’s relevant.” Will pushes himself up to sit again. “It matters to me that you want to be here.”
“The cause you’re pursuing is pure,” Strohl says. “But I’m here for you, as a person, not just for the prince or the future of this land.” There’s a tiny pause, a brief hesitation. “I thought that might bother you. That I might be fighting with you for the wrong reasons.”
It sends something through Will: a shiver, almost, although that might not be the right word for it. He’s always thought of himself and his companions as being drawn together by a common cause. The thought that Strohl might be here for him, that Strohl might still choose to be here even with nothing to fight for...
But he wouldn’t, of course. He’s Strohl; he’d find somewhere else to lend a sword, something worthwhile to dedicate himself to.
It makes this seem less intimidating, somehow. However Strohl might feel about him, he’s Strohl. Will is never going to be his only priority; he’ll always want to do what’s right, to defend those who need his protection.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Will says. “I know you still care about the things that matter.”
His words seem to vanish into the dark stillness of the room. For a moment, absurdly, he catches himself wondering if Strohl might not have heard them, even with so little distance between them.
“You’re one of the things that matter,” Strohl says, after a pause. “I hope you know that.”
It feels like it cracks something open in Will’s chest. He’s spent so long being told he’s worthless, by word or by glance.
But he-
He still doesn’t know if it’s Strohl. If he’s feeling this way because it’s Strohl, or if he’d just feel it if anyone spoke to him like this.
He climbs out of his bed. He doesn’t know why; he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It feels like there are sandworms in his stomach.
It’s too dark to see anything. But he touches the edge of Strohl’s mattress with his hand, feels his way towards the pillow.
His fingers find Strohl’s horn, his ear, his cheek. He hears Strohl’s breathing go still.
“I’m not ready to give you an answer,” Will says. “I’m - I’m trying to find it, I think I might find it if-”
“Whatever you need,” Strohl says, very softly.
Will finds Strohl’s mouth as he falls silent, traces his lips with his fingertips. He stoops down and kisses him.
Strohl kisses back. Cautious at first, gentle, chaste, letting Will lead the way. But then Will tries to deepen the kiss, experimental, and Strohl lets out a shaking breath against his mouth and reaches up to pull him closer.
It doesn’t feel real, in the darkness. It feels like a safe way to explore these feelings, like they’ll both have forgotten this by the morning.
They won’t have, of course. But, in this moment, it’s easier to pretend that there won’t be consequences.
Here's another Strohl/protagonist fic for Metaphor: ReFantazio, in any case, because there are not enough fanworks for these two. I realise 'the game has only been out for a week and nobody's had time to finish it' is a pretty solid reason for the lack of fanworks, but it's my duty to rectify this regardless. No spoilers.
Title: Shape of the Heart
Fandom: Metaphor: ReFantazio
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Strohl/protagonist
Wordcount: 1,700
Summary: Will breathes out, slowly, a little unsteadily. Things might be different in the world of his book. But the idea of being desired here, now, in a world that despises him-
“Will?” Strohl asks, very quietly. “Are you awake?”
Will sits up in his bed. Calls just a trace of fire magic to his fingertips, and reaches out to pinch his bedside candle back to life.
“That’s a yes, I suppose,” Strohl says, with a hint of a smile. He’s sitting on the side of his own bed: one foot propped on the mattress, the other resting on the floor. “I should be thankful you’re as bad at sleeping as I am, although I doubt you share my gratitude for it.”
The truth is that Will used to be better at getting to sleep, before he made Strohl’s acquaintance. Of course, a lot has happened since then; there’s plenty to keep his mind busy.
But, if he’s honest, it’s Strohl who keeps him awake. It’s become a common occurrence, Strohl wanting to converse at late hours, restless in the night. These days, Will finds himself staving off sleep, waiting for Strohl to say his name.
He says none of that; it’ll make Strohl feel guilty, it’ll end these nighttime conversations altogether. “What is it?”
Strohl seems, for a moment, as if he’s about to speak. But he only sighs, scrubs his hands through his hair.
Will raises his eyebrows. “Is that all?”
“No.” Strohl stands up. “No, I promise I’ve disturbed you for a reason.” He takes a seat on Will’s bed, next to him.
They usually sit like this when they’re reading together. Will reaches for his book, but Strohl stays him by catching hold of his hand.
“There’s something I need to say to you,” Strohl says.
He sounds serious. Will tenses a little. Is he leaving? Is he...
He still hasn’t let go of Will’s hand. The realisation sends a sudden spark of confused adrenaline through Will, like he’s just walked into an ambush.
“I never really expected romance to be a part of my life,” Strohl says. “I was born into a noble family. I’d dutifully be married off, dutifully birth heirs. Well, not that I’d be doing much birthing myself, but...” He pauses. “I understood that my life had already been decided. My own feelings didn’t factor into it.”
Will looks down, at his hand in Strohl’s.
“Strohl,” he says. It sounds strangely distant, somehow, like he’s hearing his own voice through glass.
“I suppose it’s only lately that I’ve realised those feelings might be worth paying attention to,” Strohl says, “now that I’ve been set on a different course.”
He kisses the inside of Will’s wrist.
Will breathes out, slowly, a little unsteadily. Things might be different in the world of his book. But the idea of being desired here, now, in a world that despises him-
It’s intoxicating. He can’t trust it.
“Strohl,” he says. His voice feels unstable in his throat.
Strohl closes his eyes, just for an instant. Opens them again. “I... I know this might not be what you want from me. But I needed you to know.”
Will needs some time to hunt for what to say. Too long, apparently; Strohl lets go of his hand.
“I... appreciate it,” Will says at last. The words feel inadequate, pathetic. “But I don’t-”
“You don’t feel the same way,” Strohl says, quietly. “Of course. I understand.”
Will hesitates.
“You can speak freely with me,” Strohl says. “I may not always like what you have to say, but I promise I’ll listen.”
Be polite, be friendly, be nonthreatening. Be unobtrusive; ideally, don’t be noticed at all. Avoid eye contact. If a stranger approaches you, smile, but don’t smile too much. If they ask a question, tell them what they want to hear.
Who is Will, when he’s able to speak freely? He’s not sure he knows himself; he’s never had much opportunity to learn.
“I don’t - know how I feel about you,” Will says, a little desperate. “No one’s ever-” He gestures, helplessly. “I don’t know if I actually want this or I’m just... overwhelmed.”
Strohl is silent, for a long moment. “So... you think you might want this? That’s a possibility?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” Strohl says, gently. He moves away from Will, sits on the edge of the other bed, his hands laced between his knees. “I’m not going to hound you for an answer.” There’s a brief pause. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not upset,” Will protests. “I just - I haven’t thought about this, I’m not ready to - why me?”
Strohl cocks his head to one side. “You’re asking why I might be drawn to you? You’re a person who draws others; have you not noticed how your following has been growing?”
“They’re not all propositioning me in an inn room in the middle of the night,” Will points out.
Strohl smiles at that, just a little. “More fool them. I’ve been a little afraid someone more desirable might confess to you before I found the courage. Perhaps Hulkenberg would have had more success.”
Hulkenberg, confessing to him? Will almost bursts out laughing at the thought. But he reins it in; Strohl has laid his feelings bare, and Will owes it to him to take this moment seriously.
“I’m not saying no.” It feels terrifying to say it. “I just... need to sit with this for a while, I think. I need to figure out what I’m feeling. I - I can’t promise anything.”
There’s a tension in the way Strohl is sitting, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. But his voice sounds steady when he says, “Of course. Take as long as you’d like. I’ll hear your answer when the time comes, whatever it might be.”
Will nods. “Okay. Thank you. Uh, good night.”
He hastens to blow out the candle, so he won’t have to see Strohl looking at him.
Will pulls the covers back over himself, hearing the rustle of Strohl doing the same. Lies on his back in bed, looking up at the darkness of the ceiling. It’ll be a while before either of them can get to sleep, he suspects.
It’s a couple of minutes before he registers that he’s rubbing two fingers against his wrist where Strohl kissed it. With some effort, he folds his hands over each other, lets them rest together on his stomach.
There’s a kind of suspense in the knowledge that Strohl will have heard the motion, that Strohl will know he’s still awake. If he has anything more to say, he’ll say it now. Will breathes in, slowly, and waits.
“Would you still have me by your side?” Strohl asks, quietly, from the darkness. “Knowing how I feel about you?”
There’s a waver to it. Strohl’s voice didn’t waver when he was confessing his feelings. But it’s wavering now.
“Are you afraid I’ll say no?” Will asks.
A moment passes. Will turns his head towards Strohl, although it’s too dark to make anything out.
“Whether I’m afraid is irrelevant,” Strohl says at last. “You shouldn’t let it sway you. This is your decision.”
“Of course it’s relevant.” Will pushes himself up to sit again. “It matters to me that you want to be here.”
“The cause you’re pursuing is pure,” Strohl says. “But I’m here for you, as a person, not just for the prince or the future of this land.” There’s a tiny pause, a brief hesitation. “I thought that might bother you. That I might be fighting with you for the wrong reasons.”
It sends something through Will: a shiver, almost, although that might not be the right word for it. He’s always thought of himself and his companions as being drawn together by a common cause. The thought that Strohl might be here for him, that Strohl might still choose to be here even with nothing to fight for...
But he wouldn’t, of course. He’s Strohl; he’d find somewhere else to lend a sword, something worthwhile to dedicate himself to.
It makes this seem less intimidating, somehow. However Strohl might feel about him, he’s Strohl. Will is never going to be his only priority; he’ll always want to do what’s right, to defend those who need his protection.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Will says. “I know you still care about the things that matter.”
His words seem to vanish into the dark stillness of the room. For a moment, absurdly, he catches himself wondering if Strohl might not have heard them, even with so little distance between them.
“You’re one of the things that matter,” Strohl says, after a pause. “I hope you know that.”
It feels like it cracks something open in Will’s chest. He’s spent so long being told he’s worthless, by word or by glance.
But he-
He still doesn’t know if it’s Strohl. If he’s feeling this way because it’s Strohl, or if he’d just feel it if anyone spoke to him like this.
He climbs out of his bed. He doesn’t know why; he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It feels like there are sandworms in his stomach.
It’s too dark to see anything. But he touches the edge of Strohl’s mattress with his hand, feels his way towards the pillow.
His fingers find Strohl’s horn, his ear, his cheek. He hears Strohl’s breathing go still.
“I’m not ready to give you an answer,” Will says. “I’m - I’m trying to find it, I think I might find it if-”
“Whatever you need,” Strohl says, very softly.
Will finds Strohl’s mouth as he falls silent, traces his lips with his fingertips. He stoops down and kisses him.
Strohl kisses back. Cautious at first, gentle, chaste, letting Will lead the way. But then Will tries to deepen the kiss, experimental, and Strohl lets out a shaking breath against his mouth and reaches up to pull him closer.
It doesn’t feel real, in the darkness. It feels like a safe way to explore these feelings, like they’ll both have forgotten this by the morning.
They won’t have, of course. But, in this moment, it’s easier to pretend that there won’t be consequences.