The Captive Prince (o/o) closed

Fi's eyebrows were pressed together slightly, and his lips were curved down in a faint frown. Not upset, though to somebody unfamiliar it may have seemed that way, simply concentrated on the task at hand. He pressed Johan's hand flat where it rested on top of his so he could wipe the blood away and then gently turned it over, every touch so soft it almost seemed like he thought Johan was something precious.

"You're right, I don't understand." His eyes flicked up to meet Johan's for a moment, searching. "I can't. Because to me you are… you are so… special—I could never treat you the way you treat yourself. You act like healing is some obstacle on your great journey. Like letting yourself get better isn't worth it."

There was a second or two of silence where Fiori went still and let everything sink in, and then he hummed quietly and turned Johan's fist over in his hands, touch as soft and careful as ever. His thumb ran over Johan's knuckles, the same absent affection as when he'd started.

"I cannot change the way I feel, Johannan, and I will not lie to you." The washcloth moved down slowly, from hand to wrist, movements sure despite their gentleness. Fi's eyes flicked up every now and then, observing for a while before they slipped away. Never looking too long. Never prying when Johan was clearly vulnerable, merely watching so he knew when this was getting to be too much. "I find you special, and brilliant, and a thousand other things besides. I know what you've done, and I hate it, but there isn't a single part of me that can bring itself to hate you." He pulled Johan's arm forward slowly, so he could clean the blood that had pooled at his elbow, and this time when he looked up his eyes lingered. There was something terribly soft in them, so close to tender that it almost made Fi wince. "You have done a terrible thing, but… that doesn't mean you are one."

"I'm telling you how I feel." There was a hint of reproach in Fi's voice. This wasn't some empty attempt to win Johan's favor. This was Fi being honest, spilling his messy emotions across the bathroom floor for Johan to pick through and understand. And of course, he couldn't be surprised when Johan explained it away as flattery, but that didn't make the way he brushed it all off sting any less. "And I'll not hide it. I don't hate you, Johannan, I can't. Every time I look at you… every time I see you…" He sighed quietly, finally looking away. It was difficult to explain this, and it felt wrong, almost. Like a betrayal. Like he was leaving Cadmus behind too quickly. "… you keep becoming more and more important."

Johan's hand was clean now, and the cloth was a rusty red-brown. Fi set it aside so he could reach up again—moving slow the way he always did when he was about to touch Johan—and pressed his hand back against the cloth. Almost cupping Johan's face. Almost affectionate. "Tell me to stop, Johannan, and I will, but until then I won't keep myself from caring for you. This hate you feel is yours. Don't make me bear it's burden too."

It surprised Fiori, how two words could have him so completely floored. It wasn't just the don't stop, he knew that. There was context. There was the way he saw Johan looking at him, when he let himself glance up for a moment, the way he leaned in like he needed this—the way he sounded. All of that came together to make him feel this way, he knew that, and yet it still felt like those two little words were all it took to break the dam. Suddenly it was all he could do to keep from reaching out and holding Johan, from carding through his hair, from pressing kisses to the palms of his hands. He wanted to be so sweet that they both got sick of it, and just thinking about it made his chest ache.

"I won't." The promise sounded too simple, but it was all he had at the moment. "I won't, Johannan. Hate me all you want, and I will still be here to take care of you. I'll still be here to talk." His fingertips brushed across the curve of Johan's cheek. "Tell me what to do to make you less afraid, and I'll do it happily, because I will always be here until you tell me not to be."

Fi had been worrying over going before, not eager to be around a child who feared him despite what he'd asked of Leviticus, but now, because Johan had asked him to, the answer fell off his lips thoughtlessly. "Yes, Johannan, I will." He let himself smile at Johan for a moment, let his thumb run over the curve of Johan's cheek, and then pulled away. The straight razor wasn't damaged when he picked it up from it's corner, so he simply rinsed it and offered Johan it's handle. "Now. You need to finish shaving, would you like to finish? Or… should I?"

"Of course." Fi didn't let himself smile but there was something pleased in his eyes. Johan had never thanked him before. Had never seemed like talking to Fiori was anything but painful, after everything was said and done. He had to admit, he was touched. "I… ah… I do not know if any of your old clothing is still here. Most of it has been replaced with things that I can wear."

Still, he ducked out of the bathroom and began to look. There wasn't anything formal left over, hardly anything nice, but he managed to find a rumpled pair of pants and a few layers of shirts that he hoped Jonah would deem suitable. "These will have to work, I'm afraid."

Fi offered Johan a soft smile as their eyes met, but he was quick to look away again, attention turning towards the apparently unworthy pair of trousers. They didn't look so bad to him—wrinkled, yes, and slightly moth eaten but certainly wearable—but he was beginning to understand that Johan had much higher standards than he. "They're all I could find. You have an iron, don't you?" He glanced around the room, eyes catching on the slowly dying fire. "We can fix them up a bit before you go and see your brother—unless you'd like to visit without any pants at all."

Fi followed Johan over to the fireplace, settling a few feet away and basking in the warmth with not so subtle excitement. Widonia was much colder than he'd expected, and even with all his new clothing the chill managed to sink down to his bones. Of course, the small talk Johan offered him was every bit as comforting as the fire. Guilt had, deservedly, been eating him alive all night, and it felt good to be on even footing with him again. Better footing, even, than they had been on before. "I'm surprised, Johannan." He gave the prince a warm slip of a smile, just present enough to signal that he was teasing. "I didn't think you were so easily persuaded."

The fire crackled quietly in the background as Fi listened, accompanied by the soft clanking of the iron and the easy tenor of Johan's voice. It was soothing somehow, similar enough to the sounds of home that for the first time in days he felt some of the tension in his body relax. "You're very different than I thought you would be, Johannan." His voice was soft. His eyes moved lazily over Johan's face, taking in the flush and the half-pleased expression without lingering for more than a moment or two. Internally, it left him feeling warm. There was something very comforting about knowing that Johan was pleased by his company and his closeness, even if that feeling might be fleeting. "Much… much softer, around the edges. Much more kind."

Fi subtly started to shift closer as Johan struggled with the iron, but he stopped himself almost at once. Johan was still hurt, yes, but he wasn't fragile—not anymore. Caring for him, at least in the pushy, insistent way he had when Johan was too broken up to do things for himself and too angry and proud to accept help. And of course, he didn't want to keep pushing Johan's boundaries like that. Even the slight offense being leveled on him now, far less caustic than most of what had been aimed at him, had him flushing slightly, ducking his head with a faint, sheepish smile of apology. "I know that my Widonian isn't the most polished, I don't mean to insult you." He was almost surprised when he looked up and found Johan going red at the cheeks. "I'm glad you see me for more than you thought, I… I am glad that we have come to know each other, in this way. I just… I never thought that you could be so easy to sit with. To talk to."

Fi still had to force himself not to wince as he processed the words, no matter where they were directed. Leviticus was his friend, after all. It felt wrong to let Johan call him cruel, even though he knew that their relationships with the man were vastly different. "He told me to look after you, yes." He couldn't help but soften the nature of his involvement, not quite willing to face the fact that he would eventually have to discipline Johan instead of caring for him. It was cowardice, plain and simple, but he had never been brave when it came to this. "But not for the reasons you think. He said… he said he trusted that I would not go too far. That I would treat you fairly where others could not."

(School is starting and I'm a bit busy, so it might take me until the weekend to get a reply up. Sorry for the wait!)

No doubt Leviticus considered Johan cruel as well, perhaps for more valid, obvious reasons. Johan’s thought patterns were flawed. He saw slights against him when there were none, and he was hyper-vigilant against perceived injustices done to him. Levi saw that, and for the longest time felt sympathy for his little brother. Until recently, when he crossed the line. Although it begged the questions—how long had he been scheming Levi’s capture, and how had it been successful when on the surface it appeared Johan was the only one who had a vendetta?

Johan pulled the iron out of the fire and brought it over to his pants thrown over the board. He chewed on his lip, processing Fiori’s words, while he worked in slow easy movements. Wary of his physical limitations. “That sounds like him too. Because it doesn’t make sense, I mean, why give me someone like you? You’re…” loathsome, yet so damn attractive because of it was one way to put it.

Fiori had never been one to consider the difficult questions, not when there were easier things to puzzle out. The part of him that was a strategist, that had once been a general, screamed at him to consider how Johan had gotten the support necessary to send Levi away, to consider who was a risk, but the sting of being around the other nobles was too much for him to bear, and so he threw his mind into more comfortable things, like the conversation at hand.

He was quiet for a moment, puzzling out what Johan thought he was—cruel, perhaps? kind? soft? strict?—and when he did speak his voice was soft. Almost reverent. "It has been a great reward looking after you, Johannan. It… it is good, for me, and for you I hope, and I don't care to think about why I am allowed to do it. Only fools question their blessings."