𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

第十一 | ELEVEN

beware of some um...idk but you guys will be happy so

comment for motivation! just go wild it gives me so much motivation like literally not joking

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PAST

You didn't know when you realised your feelings. Was it when you realised that you wanted to be held in Claude's arms? Was it when you realised that you wanted his eyes to soften when he looked at you? There were a million things that you could have thought of—there were a million things you wanted—but to seek all that would be greedy, and to be greedy was a sin.

You learned to bottle your emotions; to shut them out. You learned how to control them—to push them down and pretend like they never existed. Some would have said that perhaps your emotions would fester, and you would have become a human being incapable of loving—of being loved, but you disagreed with the former.

There was a hole in your heart the shape of Claude. Only he could fill it and yet you were ready for it to remain hollow; empty. There were bigger and greater ambitions in mind, and one involved him becoming Emperor.

Claude Valeria becoming Emperor would make life easier for you. When he turned Emperor, it would mean there would be a distance between the two of you. And distance was fine. Welcome, even. For a while you thought it was a joke — played it down to mere feelings of affection for your close friend. Because surely it was normal, you had reasoned, to like someone you have known for so long. You had told yourself multiple times, almost just to convince yourself, that your feelings were merely platonic.

(Because what good would there be in liking your close friend?) Nothing, of course. While same sex marriages were not banned, it was certainly not normal. You had heard tales from high society before — weeping ladies crying as they recounted how they had destroyed their relationship with their former male best friends by confessing to them. You couldn't imagine the bravery they had to even do such an act—to even ponder over the implications.

To be loved was an embarrassing act—it meant groveling for it. Love was attained through embarrassing yourself from asking for it—and you did not want that.

Perhaps one day your love would change. Perhaps one day you would meet someone who would love you back. But right now, it seemed impossible. Every time you spotted Claude it seemed the hole in your heart flayed deeper, bits and bits falling out. Every time you spotted a dandelion your wishes grew more and more selfish and predictable. On the petals you would gently trace the wishes and you would carve them into the bark of the slumbering trees, so it would be permanent, somewhat. Them, as your wishes could not be counted and they were so bountiful in number. If your feelings ever changed, then the wish would become irony. Proof. And that very fleeting love would become immortalised.

"You work too hard," Claude had said on one occasion as you buried yourself on piles and piles of work, "I have never seen you eat before."

"Everyone is working hard," you replied lightly.

"No. You look upset."

You faltered, speechless. You look upset—every time your mood dropped the slightest, your father would sigh exasperatedly, berating you. Not again, he would gripe, why did I get such a son so...

So what? Finish your sentence.

You wanted to promise you weren't upset on purpose. But you were—and you were just as sick and tired of it.

"Maybe I am," you sighed. "Anyway, the plan is tying up nicely. There's only some loose ends that I need to cover left."

"...Do you want me to help?"