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【Of Lemons, Letters, and First Love】
In the clean morning light streaming through the window, the master of the room sat at his desk, outwardly composed while inwardly clutching his head.
(No, seriously—what the hell is wrong with me?)
To sum up his current problem in a single sentence: apparently, he had fallen head over heels for the protagonist of a novel he used to read.
He had only realized it moments ago, and yet it also felt as though he had been suffering from it for years. Perhaps he had noticed it unconsciously all along—but now, his heart was screaming too loudly to deny it any longer.
Kim Suho—no, Lloyd Frontera.
Quite possibly his first lovesickness.
“Wait… is this what they call being a yume shipper…!?”
【I don’t think so.】
The object of his affection existed right in front of him as a living, breathing human being, so no—it probably wasn’t that.
Ignoring the immediate rebuttal from the blue message window, Lloyd muttered nonsense in his agitation, then sank deep into his chair with a long sigh, twisting and writhing awkwardly.
【Ugh… your movements are gross…】
“Shut up.”
【If anyone saw you like that, even a hundred-year love would freeze solid.】
“Let me be however I want when I’m alone, damn it.”
He snapped back on reflex, but honestly, it was a blessing that the person in question wasn’t in the room right now. My odd behavior was nothing new, but this time it would have truly looked like he’d finally lost his mind.
“…Haaah…”
Exhaling deeply once more, Lloyd tried to organize his thoughts.
The realization had come suddenly.
After the Summer’s Eye conferral ceremony in the capital, during the short interval before he would head back to the Pantara Mountains for border development accompanying the new railway—this very morning, when he had planned to clear up work back in the territory. As always, he was buried in tasks. He shook his sleep-deprived head as he forced himself out of bed.
He had always been good at waking up—no, rather, Kim Suho’s lifestyle had made it impossible not to be. Still, when you stayed up until the sky began to pale, wrestling with paperwork and design simulations, your body and mind were bound to feel heavy.
As usual, he ignored it all. He shoved his feet into his boots, roughly poured water from the pitcher atop the chest into a glass, and gulped down his first drink of the day.
“…Huh?”
Normally, it would have just been lukewarm water wetting his throat. But this morning, for some reason, it was faintly cool—pleasant against his dryness. A subtle citrus scent drifted up as well. Without thinking, Lloyd peered into the ceramic pitcher.
Inside, thinly peeled strips of lemon rind floated gently.
Before he could even dwell on it, his eyes caught a small slip of paper placed beneath the pitcher.
‘Your duties today will begin in the afternoon, so going to the site would be pointless.’
Recognizing the neat, meticulous handwriting at once, Lloyd reflexively glanced back toward the bedside.
The man who had been dozing there the night before—hugging a pillow after Lloyd had lulled him to sleep with what could generously be called a lullaby of niche engineering trivia—was, of course, nowhere to be seen now.
(That bastard…)
Which meant that sometime after Lloyd had finally fallen into his brief predawn sleep, he had gotten up, drawn fresh water, gone to the kitchen to procure fruit, used mana manipulation to cool the pitcher to the perfect temperature—calculated precisely for Lloyd’s waking time—then deduced from the documents on the desk that Lloyd’s next task would be on-site inspection (which was correct), negotiated directly with Foreman Bayern to rearrange the schedule without permission, and finally left behind this sarcastic little message before disappearing.
“…He really went all out with this.”
Muttering, Lloyd took another sip from the glass, the refreshing aroma lingering as it passed his lips. Using only the peel to add fragrance without acidity, so as not to shock his waking body—such thoughtful finesse was downright irritating. Honestly, even Emily wouldn’t have gone that far.
Setting the glass down, Lloyd picked up the note, now faintly smudged from condensation, and examined it closely.
(So basically, this means ‘get some rest,’ right?)
The phrasing dripped with irony, as though sincerity were something to be avoided at all costs. And yet his actions spoke of nothing but care.
A pair of clear blue eyes flashed through Lloyd’s mind. He could almost see those glossy lips forming the words, hear the voice as if it were right beside him. Along with the rising lemon scent, a phantom Javier seemed to materialize—gentle, sweet, and faintly fragile.
‘Please, get some rest, Lord Lloyd—’
That was the moment.
Lloyd understood that the pounding in his chest, directed at that imagined figure, stemmed from a feeling he had never experienced before.
“No way… you’ve got to be kidding me…”
He staggered and collapsed back into his chair, his thoughts and heartbeat racing faster than ever.
He had always wanted Javier to be happy.
Back when Javier had been nothing more than a fictional character in a novel. When they had met as flesh-and-blood beings and been forced to work together despite mutual hostility. After Lloyd earned his respect and trust. When they became irreplaceable friends. When they had risked their lives to protect one another.
That wish had never changed.
It wasn’t something formed overnight—after all, Lloyd was currently challenging the very structure of the world to alter Javier’s fate. Whatever this feeling was, it had been maturing for a long, long time.
Calling it simply love might not be entirely accurate. But within the tangle of emotions he held for Javier, there was undoubtedly something that went by that name.
(But—he’s just… important.)
Lloyd didn’t think romance was foolish, nor did he see the desires that accompanied it as impure. He might not be qualified to speak, having never known either bitterness or sweetness—but more than anything, he believed that wanting someone to be happy was a precious thing.
Whether his own feelings were noble or not, at least wishing happiness upon someone dear could never be something to despise.
“…Yeah. That’s right.”
So he decided.
He would say nothing.
There was no reason to stir unnecessary trouble or destroy the current state of affairs. And above all, the battle against the force of fate left no room for such matters. When that force was finally defeated and Javier reached the future where he was meant to be happy, the one standing beside him likely wouldn’t be Lloyd.
【—Are you sure about that?】
“Yeah. I am.”
The message window asked in an unusually solemn tone, and Lloyd deliberately laughed it off.
From his chest, Ppodong peeked out, chirping anxiously. Lloyd stroked its back, then slipped the note into his pocket, exhaling as though emptying his lungs completely while gazing up at the ceiling.
“It’s fine. I’ll forget eventually.”
“What will you forget?”
The door suddenly opened, and a young man with blue-silver hair strode in. Lloyd nearly toppled out of his chair, barely managing to keep his balance before shouting on reflex.
“Knock first, you idiot! I almost had a heart attack!”
“Even as a joke, please refrain from heart-related remarks. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
At Javier’s furrowed brow and concerned voice, Lloyd felt his chest tighten despite knowing this was their usual exchange. The fact that Lloyd was seated at his desk chair instead of on the bed only seemed to deepen Javier’s frown.
“…I’m fine already.”
“Your heart may be fine, but mine is not.”
As Lloyd remembered the moment during the Summer’s Eye ceremony—when he turned after reviving himself through sheer rhetoric and saw Javier’s face, breath caught in his throat. The raw burns scarring that divine beauty were painful enough, but it was that expression that had seared itself into his memory.
Though Lloyd had returned at last, Javier had looked as though he were seeing someone off—lonely, fragile. That gaze wouldn’t leave Lloyd’s mind.
Noticing Lloyd’s silence, Javier stepped closer without hesitation and placed a hand against his forehead.
“Your temperature… seems normal.”
“Why are we checking my temperature right now?”
“You didn’t retort. That concerned me.”
“That’s reason enough?”
“I wondered whether you had truly recovered.”
Javier clearly sensed something different. Lloyd hesitated over how to respond, while the knight tilted his head slightly, pressing his own hand to his forehead as well.
“It’s not like I was born talking, you know. I can keep my mouth shut sometimes—!?”
Mid-sentence, Lloyd froze as he realized just how close that flawless face had come.
“H-Hey—”
“Perhaps you are running a slight fever?”
At that distance, Javier’s long blue-silver lashes lowered softly. Their foreheads touched—cool, whether due to the Summer’s Eye or Lloyd’s own rising temperature.
“…Don’t do stuff like this with just anyone!”
Lloyd leapt back instinctively, nearly tipping his chair over again.
【You really do look like a slapstick routine today.】
(None of your business.)
Seeing Javier’s eyes widen slightly, Lloyd worried he’d overreacted—but the knight merely tilted his head, curious rather than offended.
“I do not do this with just anyone.”
“Then who do you do it with?”
“Well…”
As Javier pondered, Lloyd forced himself to breathe, hoping his racing heart would settle. One would expect the Grand Master to have already seen through him, but Javier merely gazed off for a moment.
“…When I think about it, perhaps only with you, Lord Lloyd.”
It was true—Javier had no friends without hierarchy. Lloyd was the same.
The faint hint of embarrassment he thought he saw in Javier—was that really there, or was it just love making Lloyd blind?
(Can I really… forget?)
This time, the answer didn’t come.
****
Ignoring the fact that the day of departure for Pantara was drawing near once again, letters pleading for love continued to arrive in heaps at the side of the unrivaled escort knight, whose beauty and martial prowess were without equal.
That day, a courier on his way to the lord’s estate of Frontera slipped and fell. Watching from a window as a swarm of love letters spilled out and danced through the air, Lloyd—who happened to be walking down the first-floor corridor—thought:
A pink rain, falling from the sky.
Countless amorous feelings, all meant to bury him.
(…One drop mixed in wouldn’t hurt, would it?)
Always prepared for sudden contracts or urgent correspondence, Lloyd habitually kept a full set of documents close at hand. He swiftly scribbled a few words onto a blank sheet of stationery, slipped it into an envelope, and hurried outside.
As he helped the courier back to his feet and gathered the scattered deliveries, he quietly mixed in the letter from moments before. A plain white envelope bearing nothing but an address—utterly unremarkable—vanished at once into the sea of mail.
The courier, himself a resident of Frontera, was familiar enough with Lloyd to know that whenever the young lord paired suspicious cheerfulness with good deeds, he was usually plotting something. Even so, there was no way he could tell what Lloyd had done just now.
Even if something had been slipped in—or taken out—the mail was destined for the lord’s estate to begin with. Concluding there was no issue, the courier offered his thanks and took his leave.
Cradling the pile of letters, Lloyd waved lightly and returned to the mansion, where he handed the mail over to the steward.
“Same as usual—take care of it for me.”
“…Very well.”
The steward found it curious that it wasn’t the usual courier, but rather the eldest son—who had been away from the territory for extended periods of late—who had delivered the post himself. Still, he judged it best not to pry and began sorting the letters as he always did.
Even so, that there were more love letters addressed to a single knight than correspondence meant for the count’s household itself was, as ever, a problem that defied solution.
The following day, Lloyd reunited with Javier, who had been absent the day before overseeing preparations for the demons’ relocation to Frontera. Although Javier must have seen the mail delivered to his room, he appeared no different than usual—engaging Lloyd in their customary sharp-tongued exchanges and performing his duties as escort flawlessly.
Truth be told, Lloyd hadn’t been hoping Javier would notice anything. If anything, he felt relieved.
(Self-satisfaction—end of story.)
Drawing a quiet line beneath the matter in his mind, Lloyd shifted his focus to the affairs concerning the incoming demon settlers, and to the preparations for crossing beyond the Pantara mountain range.
****
Time flows, people come and go, and even the fate of the world drifts onward.
Five years after the great calamity—the decisive battle against Hell that had engulfed Frontera—came the commemorative ceremony and banquet on the night Kim Suho returned to this world once more.
In the heat of the moment, he had told the queen that he loved her—only to foolishly add, “as a person.” For that, he’d been soundly beaten. And yet, she had still been smiling.
“In the end, it seems I was right not to expect too much from you,” she said.
“I—I’m sorry…?”
There are feelings that can never come to fruition—shaped by the hearts of those involved, their positions, and countless other factors. For one of noble birth, marriage bound not by love but by circumstance alone is hardly unusual. And for Alicia, Lloyd should have been the one person who fulfilled both.
And yet—she let go.
Before the crowd, who burst into tearful laughter at the familiar sight of Lloyd being pummeled atop the stage upon his return, Alicia removed her veil along with the tiara nestled in her hair. With a distant look, she smiled softly.
“One day, when you lift a veil like this…”
“…whose face do you think you’ll want to see beneath it?”
The night wind stirred her hair as she murmured those words. Even after five years, the queen remained dignified and beautiful—so much so that it felt as though she knew the answer better than Lloyd himself ever could.
****
And so Lloyd returned to the position of an ordinary subject, devoting himself day after day to the prosperity of Frontera and the kingdom.
The escort knight who had crossed dimensions to find him and bring him back—having fulfilled that mission—might reasonably have been expected to marry into Namaran as Siluria’s partner. And yet, for reasons unknown, he showed no sign of doing so. Instead, just as he had five years ago, he continued to remain at Lloyd’s side.
Lloyd had caught a glimpse of Siluria clinging to him in tears at the return ceremony, but since then, there had been no word of progress at all. Even with Lloyd’s usually infallible instincts when it came to other people’s romances, there was something missing—Javier himself showed no trace of such feelings.
(…Did he get turned down by Lady Siluria, maybe?)
If that were the case—if Javier’s devotion to searching for Lloyd had caused him to neglect that path—then some degree of guilt was unavoidable. Five years was, after all, no small span of time for a woman.
The very next night after those thoughts crossed his mind, Lloyd set down his pen at his desk and turned toward Javier, who sat watching over him from a nearby chair.
Scratching lightly at his temple, Lloyd spoke.
“Hey… you know, were you actually sleeping properly while I was gone?”
“What an abrupt question.”
“Well, I’m done for the night. Thought I’d sing you a lullaby for once.”
A pitiful sort of atonement, perhaps—but maybe enough to ease his conscience just a little.
Javier looked dubious, yet the offer must have tempted him. He hesitated, then nodded once. Leaving the room briefly, he returned having removed his jacket and cravat, hugging his beloved pillow as he took his place again.
“…Then, if you would.”
With the world no longer hostile and the force of fate no longer at work, there was little need for an escort knight to sleep in the same room. And yet, ever since Lloyd’s return, Javier had spent nearly every night stationed beside Lloyd’s bed, seated in that chair until morning.
Lloyd had chosen not to ask why. Surely, once Javier was fully convinced Lloyd would not disappear again, he would finally return to his own room.
He had seen Javier sleeping only once since then. Curled slightly inward, one hand clutched to his chest as though guarding his heart, eyes barely closed. It was not how he used to sleep—and realizing that such a defensive posture might have been learned during his long wandering made something ache sharply in Lloyd’s chest.
As Lloyd rambled on with increasingly polished engineering trivia—befitting the youngest manager of a massive conglomerate—the blue-silver head began to nod. The sight of Javier drifting toward sleep was unguarded, almost childlike, tinged with a faint vulnerability he never showed while awake.
Judging the lullaby sufficient, Lloyd rose quietly from his chair. Thinking to drape a blanket over him, he reached for the bedcovers—
—and then heard a small voice cling to him.
“…Don’t…”
“Hm?”
Javier speaking in his sleep—rare enough to give Lloyd pause.
“…Don’t leave me behind…”
Lloyd’s heart gave a heavy, singular thud.
As he turned back, his sharpened senses caught the faint sound of fabric crumpling—Javier’s fist tightening against his chest. At the same time, a clear trail slid down from the corner of his closed eyes, stealing Lloyd’s breath.
“Javi—”
“…You… wished that I would be happy—with the one I love…”
The blurred words—utterly unlike him—triggered a memory that made Lloyd swallow hard.
(Could it be—)
Swallowing both his words and the thought that had risen in his mind, Lloyd tightened his grip on the thin blanket and crept closer to the drowsing Javier.
Seen up close, tears clung in a faint film to his lowered blue-silver lashes, and it was impossible to tell whether his eyes were fully closed or not.
Even when Lloyd reached toward his chest under the guise of draping the blanket over him, there was no response.
“…Javier?”
“……”
He whispered Javier’s name softly, but there was no reply.
His heart felt as though it might leap from his chest as, with the utmost care, Lloyd slid his fingers between the gaps of Javier’s clenched hand—
and gently plucked out the small scrap of paper hidden there.
(This is…)
The folded scrap of paper was old and yellowed, its edges worn down to tatters. It had clearly been unfolded and refolded countless times—so much so that a faint sheen from accumulated fingerprints blurred the traces of where fingers had lingered. The dry, deep creases that looked as though they might crack and tear at any moment bore the stains of passing time and of an unrelenting attachment.
With trembling fingers, Lloyd carefully unfolded the paper, taking care not to damage it. The moment he did, handwriting he knew all too well leapt into his field of vision.
’—That you—’
The hand holding the paper shook.
’That you may never freeze, nor hunger, nor be lonely—
and that you may be happy, together with the one you love—’
He had kept something like this.
This hastily scribbled note.
Something that could not even be called a love letter—only a one-sided list of feelings. A selfish catalog of wishes, nothing more than the anonymous prayers of someone unknown.
And even in this sleeping posture, what the knight had been protecting was not his own heart. Night after night, he had clutched this scrap of paper—kept hidden against his chest, never letting it leave his grasp, as though clinging to it for dear life.
A nameless letter. An unsigned message from someone who never identified themselves.
And yet he had taken it out again and again, worn it down to rags through repetition, and carried it with him always—cherishing it beyond reason.
No—
that was wrong.
He must have known.
He must have known exactly who the sender was.
Once more, Lloyd looked at the drowsing knight before him.
This man—unquestionably the strongest of all humanity—showing a face so defenseless, so strangely childlike, so painfully beautiful that it stirred an almost unbearable urge to protect him. A face Lloyd was certain no one else in this world was allowed to see.
(…Ah. Damn it.)
The realization struck him all at once.
As if drawn in, Lloyd reached out, his hand enveloping the knight’s tear-dampened cheek.
“—Nn… fh, nngh!?”
The small lips he touched for the first time tasted like nectar itself—an otherworldly sweetness—and a phantom scent of lemon brushed faintly through his nose.
“L-Lloyd!? What are you—”
“You’re the one at fault.”
Cutting off the startled voice, Lloyd heard his own come out hoarse, weaving a shameless excuse that pushed the blame away from himself. At a distance so close that even the slightest movement made their lips brush together again, he saw—through the unfocused edge of his vision—how Javier’s eyes widened, a flush blooming instantly across his face.
“If you really hate this, then knock me away and run. Grandmaster.”
At the low whisper, Javier—who had been twisting atop the chair—froze.
“…That’s… that’s not fair…”
—That alone felt like the answer.
In an instant, Lloyd seized one of Javier’s hands and laced their fingers together. As though pinning him in place, he dropped to one knee in the narrow space before the chair and leaned in. When he sealed their lips again—stealing his breath this time—Javier shrank back slightly, yet did not resist. The tears that slipped from his cheeks and soaked between them tasted faintly of salt.
In the stillness of the night, the quiet sound of damp contact mingled obscenely with the silence.
“Mm—nh, fh—”
“Hah—n, nngh…!”
Unfamiliar—no, this was Lloyd’s first kiss in his entire life. There was no room for composure. Rather than touching, he devoured—biting into the resilient lips, prying open the slight parting of teeth, greedily claiming the warmth within.
“L-Lloyd… ple— ngh, wait— mmh…”
Javier’s voice, tinged with strain and caught in his nose, should have been a restraint—but instead it urged him on, driving Lloyd’s tongue deeper.
Only when his own lungs began to burn did he finally pull away, the two of them staring at each other as they gasped for breath. Lloyd’s heart felt swollen to the point of bursting, pounding violently within his chest.
“The unfair one is you… keeping something like this, all this time—what the hell was I supposed to do…!”
His palm burned hot around the scrap of paper, damp enough now that it felt as though it might soak through.
He knew it was true—exactly as Javier had said. Here he was, having ambushed the person he loved in their sleep, and then having the gall to blame them for it. It was an argument so sound there was nothing he could say in response. As a man, it was the height of cowardice.
And yet—
He wanted it.
He wanted him.
There were no more excuses, no more evasions left to cling to. That detached, indifferent version of himself—watching everything as though it had nothing to do with him—had always been nothing more than self-defense, a shield for a cowardly heart. He had known that all along.
He had been seeking it.
Endlessly.
Someone who would stand beside him at the same height.
A fate where they believed, utterly, that there was no one else.
This one and only—this irreplaceable existence—
he wanted him so badly it hurt.
“Because… there was no one else but you.”
The words struck him as though his thoughts had been laid bare, and Lloyd’s shoulders jerked in a small flinch. From lips reddened and faintly swollen in the short span since before, Javier’s hoarse, wavering voice spilled forth—carrying not only tears, but something unmistakably real. Even setting Lloyd’s own desires aside, it felt like joy.
“If I were to be wished happiness—together with the one I love—
then there was no one for me but you.”
The words were barely more than a whisper. And yet the feelings packed within them carried a weight heavy enough to make one tremble.
“I know it’s unbecoming of me… even pathetic, perhaps…”
From the outside, it would have looked unbearably heavy—an overwhelming emotion that bordered on madness—pressed down and hidden within that immaculate, crystalline beauty. Since when had it begun? If it dated back even to the moment he first received this fleeting, self-indulgent kindness from Lloyd, then it had already been far longer than six years.
“…Was it all right for me… to keep waiting for you…?”
Spoken on unsteady breaths, with lashes wet and eyes and lips glistening. Did he understand how sinful—and at the same time how salvific—such a guileless question was?
“…You idiot. You must’ve gotten tired of waiting and nearly fallen asleep.”
Holding back with everything he had the urge to bite into him again, Lloyd forced his answer into words that were, at the very least, recognizably his own. At that reply—laced with both reproach and self-rebuke—the knight blinked slowly, then smiled as though a flower were softly coming into bloom, lifting his free hand to rest it gently against Lloyd’s cheek.
“…I was waiting for you so eagerly that I couldn’t sleep.”
Only later would Lloyd realize that, in that moment, the dam holding back the flood—where reason and instinct blurred together at the boundary between man and beast—had finally burst.
****
After finally releasing the knight from that first, impulsive kiss—more like a desperate struggle than a gentle exchange—they spent a short while in silence.
The two of them moved to the bed so they could sit side by side, sharing the blanket Lloyd had prepared earlier, draping it over their shoulders as they leaned against one another. Javier, now fully awake, rubbed at his damp eyes—not from lingering drowsiness, but for another reason entirely.
“…How did you know?”
It was clear he meant the sender. Casting a brief glance at the scrap of paper in Lloyd’s hand, the young man looked away and answered in a low murmur.
“Well… your handwriting, for one.”
“You seriously read all of those letters? There were tons.”
“As many as I reasonably could…”
Perhaps sensing the disbelief in Lloyd’s gaze at such unimaginable diligence, Javier hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
“…The scent was different.”
“Huh…?”
“I wasn’t deliberately sniffing them, you know!”
Letters from women, while not always, often bore some sort of added flourish—perfume, or a sachet tucked inside. Calling it coquettish would be uncharitable, but among all those efforts meant simply to catch the eye, the quietness of this letter stood out all the more, the knight explained.
“That letter smelled only of paper, ink… and earth. …It reminded me of you.”
At the straightforward observation murmured so softly, Lloyd scratched at his temple, feeling oddly self-conscious. Watching him, Javier let out a small breath of laughter, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Besides, mail usually shows some wear by the time it arrives. But that envelope was pristine. And it had nothing written on it but the name. So… it stood out.”
“Seriously…?”
Realizing—several years too late—that he’d been astonishingly careless from the very start, Lloyd felt unbearably awkward and pulled the blanket up over his head to hide his face. From beside him—closer than ever before—he could hear a suppressed chuckle, and for reasons entirely unlike himself, his chest warmed painfully.
“By the way… that. Please give it back.”
“Oh—right. Yeah.”
He hesitated for just a second, since he himself had written it, but ownership clearly belonged to Javier. Pulling the blanket off his head, Lloyd handed over the tattered scrap of paper—something any third party would dismiss as trash. Javier received it with reverent care and gently tucked it back against his chest. The gesture alone was strangely ticklish to watch.
Even now, with Lloyd sitting right beside him, Javier still cherished that worn slip of paper and refused to let it go. The sight stirred a peculiar mix of jealousy and superiority in Lloyd’s chest.
“…Wish I had something left too.”
The note that had blurred under the water pitcher had always been kept close to his heart, but he couldn’t very well take it with him through a reincarnation gate that erased even the body itself. Clutching only Javier’s words like a talisman, the five years that had slowly turned to ash felt unbearably long, even now.
At Lloyd’s offhand remark, Javier paused before quietly murmuring:
“But you… didn’t accept it, did you?”
“…Huh?”
He ran through every possibility he could think of, but nothing fit. If it had been that note, Lloyd would have noticed picking it up back then—he certainly didn’t remember refusing anything. Seeing the confusion plain on Lloyd’s face, the knight looked away again, lips faintly pursed as he continued.
“Before… I offered you a letter.”
At that, a scene suddenly flashed through Lloyd’s mind.
A knight holding a basket piled high with love letters, casually offering one of them to him as if it were surplus fruit—
“How the hell was I supposed to know?!”
True, back then their relationship hadn’t been this deep. But now Lloyd knew all too well that Javier wasn’t the sort of man to treat another’s sincerity lightly. Which meant that letter hadn’t been from some nameless stranger at all—it had been written by the man himself, and handed directly to Lloyd.
“That was way too roundabout!”
“Even if I’d given it to you plainly, you would’ve suspected something and refused it anyway, wouldn’t you?”
“…Ugh.”
Seen straight through, Lloyd faltered.
“Well, even if you had read it, I doubt it would’ve made you happy. So… I suppose this outcome was for the best.”
“Wait—so you liked me back then too? What did you even write? Tell me!”
“How many years ago do you think that was? I’ve forgotten already.”
As the young man turned away, Lloyd smiled wryly and leaned his head gently against the shoulder beside him, closing the distance between them.
Warmth seeped through the single layer of fabric, spreading softly into his cheek.
“…While I was gone, weren’t you cold?”
“I was fine.”
A lie, surely. Kim Suho knew all too well that cold doubled when one was alone—and turned into loneliness, into pain.
“…You weren’t hungry?”
“I was fine.”
Another lie. Or perhaps, in Javier’s mind, the truth—proof that he’d been so focused on searching for Lloyd that everything else faded away.
“…You weren’t lonely?”
“…I might not have been fine.”
That one was true.
Knowing there was no need to dig any deeper, Lloyd murmured one final question.
“…Were you happy?”
“Yes. Now I am.”
The immediate answer made Lloyd turn to him in surprise—not only because of its honesty, but because he simply wanted to see the face that could say such a thing.
But this time, it was Javier who pulled the blanket over his head, hiding his expression just as Lloyd had earlier.
“Hey. Javier.”
“…I think I said too much.”
“Don’t get shy now, of all times…”
Flustered himself now, Lloyd muttered irritably and leaned over, lifting the blanket with both hands.
Only then did he realize the gesture was like lifting a veil—and the king’s words from long ago echoed in his mind.
“Someday, when you lift that veil… whose face will you wish to see beneath it?”
Waiting beneath the thin fabric was a pair of slightly tear-bright, shimmering blue eyes, and a faintly flushed face that looked almost unbearably tender—as if Lloyd’s own heat had transferred to him.
After holding his breath for a moment, Lloyd slowly leaned closer. And at last, Javier’s eyes gently closed.
A story brought to light by a letter, and bound together by a letter—
one story, for two people.
It was the night of a happy ending that would never be written down in any letter.