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Gerome liked being hard to read. There was no need to make others privy to his thoughts, lest they try to get closer than necessary or, worse, meddle in his affairs and glimpse the foolish softness he harboured for a certain prince.
Despite himself, it was a welcome coincidence that he met Inigo almost every day about the camp. It was also by “coincidence” that he often noticed Inigo’s rusting armour beside his tent. As he cleaned it—because rusted armour meant danger for Inigo, which could jeopardise their standing in the war—his mind drifted to the growing list of coincidences.
All his actions were in favor of the war effort. That was what he told himself as he deliberately ignored the looks others cast his way as he stored the polishing implements away.
He realised, however, that his careful mask had slightly slipped one evening after supper. He had shared part of his rations with Inigo, who had arrived late to the mess tent and failed to secure a proper portion. The prince had thanked him with a warm glint in his eye, so Gerome counted it as a victory. And yet, he could feel Lucina’s eyes on him as he returned to his meal.
Unnerved, he rose from dinner to tend to Minerva. Once he fetched the brush and filled a bucket with water, he heard a faint rustle behind him.
He glanced back to find Lucina a few steps away.
Deciding on ignoring her, he resumed brushing Minerva’s wings.
“Gerome—”
“What do you need?” he cut her off quickly, something in his gut warning him that he wouldn’t like where the conversation headed.
“It’s about Inigo.”
That earned his attention, though he didn’t pause his hands as they curried through Minerva’s wings.
“I don’t believe the way you are approaching Inigo will bear results.”
Gerome let the damp cloth slip from his hand, dropping it to the dirt. He was minutely annoyed; he would have to clean that later.
“What do you mean?”
“Your courting,” said Lucina, blunt as ever. “He is none the wiser of your affections.”
“I’m not courting him.”
“You’re not?” She widened her eyes. “My apologies—I was quite sure.”
“How could you be sure?” Gerome asked, already regretting the question.
“You are always near him in camp.”
“The camp is small.”
“You let him pet Minerva.”
“She likes him. It spares me her sulking.”
Lucina gave him a look he did not have the mental energy to decipher.
“You compliment him openly.” She lifted a hand as he bristled. “Allow me to finish—this was when I realised it myself. The others had been aware of your affections long before I was.”
“I don’t see how any of that is indicative of affection—wait. Others?”
Gerome stilled. The emotions he believed so carefully sealed were apparently anything but, if his impertinent regard for Inigo had leaked through the cracks of the mask he thought secure.
He could deny everything Lucina had said, dismiss her outright…but given her approach, she seemed interested to help him court her brother.
Gerome was long past hoping it was a passing fancy that would fade. He had come to this world following Inigo, for Naga’s sake. Yet, Inigo’s fondness for the fairer sex had made their union seem impossible.
But if Lucina believed there was something to be done…
Gerome sighed and crouched down to retrieve the damp cloth, throwing it into the water bucket before turning back to Lucina.
“‘Others,’ you said,” he kept his voice level. “Whom do you include in that?”
“Those of us from the future, many of them suspected it before we came back in time,” said Lucina. “But back then, we didn’t have the luxury of frivolous gossip. It was difficult to maintain the thread of hope we had, after all.”
He paled. “Does Inigo know?”
“No,” she said, and Gerome felt something within him loosen. “Which is why I came in the name of everyone, to offer my support. My brother can be rather scatterbrained.”
Gerome grunted. He was still adamant about accepting her help.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to help?”
Lucina looked at him as if he’d missed something obvious.
“I’m his sister. I want to see him happy.”
“And you think I’m the man for the job?” Gerome sneered, knowing it was an unwise to say to someone offering help.
Thankfully, Lucina did not respond to his self-deprecating remark. She merely turned to Minerva, as if waiting for another answer from him.
He adjusted the strap of his mask.
“Tell me what you propose at a later time,” he said.
Lucina turned to him with a satisfied smile. “With pleasure.”
He nodded and returned to the bucket, resuming Minerva’s grooming. Yet as he listened to Lucina leave, a sudden panic shot through his spine.
“Wait.”
Lucina turned, tilting her head.
“When you said ‘our support’…you mean—”
“Oh yes, everyone is eager to help,” Lucina answered matter-of-factly, as if it weren’t the most terrifying thing Gerome had ever heard. “Don’t worry, I’ll pass on the news. They’ve been growing restless.”
Lucina’s footsteps faded.
He exhaled once and bent back to Minerva. This was already spiraling beyond his control.
Having everyone privy to his business was as miserable as he’d expected. Nearly as miserable as realising they had all known his most closely guarded secret long before he admitted it to himself.
Still, he held his tongue and let them chatter through their plans. Gerome had harbored those feelings for the prince for longer than he wished to admit, but he knew far less about Inigo’s habits and wants than the others did. Their input, annoying as it was, had been useful.
If nothing else, the others’ involvement had stopped Inigo's escapades, by which Gerome was quietly relieved.
That night it was Severa who held Inigo back by claiming she needed assistance. Thankfully, Inigo didn’t notice the glaring holes in Severa’s excuse, all too eager to lend a hand.
After he helped Severa sharpen her weapons, it was finally his turn to approach Inigo with the plan that Cynthia had devised for him.
“Inigo.”
“Gods!” Inigo yelped, stumbling and colliding against Severa’s tent flap. “Gerome? Where did you come from? You scared the life out of me.”
“That’s exaggeration. You’re still alive.”
“… It’s a saying.”
“A foolish one.”
From Severa’s half-open tent, he could see her scowling. Had he done something wrong already?
He glanced back at Inigo, who shifted his weight nervously between the balls of his feet.
“Come with me," he blurted out.
“Where?” Inigo asked, but Gerome was already moving, too tense to meet his eyes for long.
Cynthia had suggested that a walk would be the ideal activity and that a wyvern ride would be even better. “Romantic!” she had exclaimed. He didn’t see how, but he would follow the plan as best he could.
Stopping in front of Minerva, who waited at the edge of the camp, he looked toward Inigo.
“Come.”
“Wait, me? On top of Minerva?”
“Do you see someone else here?”
Though it was clearly a rhetorical question, Inigo looked behind him. He wondered, not for the first time, why he tolerated this man.
Inigo finally climbed onto Minerva’s saddle. The wyvern, perceptive as ever, crouched lower to make it easier for him. Stroking her neck in thanks, he climbed onto her back as well and grasped the leather reins.
She surged forward before lifting into flight. Inigo grabbed him with a startled yelp. Gerome felt the tight clutch at his shirt and, despite himself, conceded that the others had chosen well; this closeness was welcome.
Yet a crucial realisation he had not accounted for struck him. Flying on Minerva had the advantage of privacy. But the downside was equally clear: it was indeed only the two of them. No distractions or excuses, nothing to occupy his thoughts besides the warmth pressed against his back.
He glanced over his shoulder. Inigo was looking down at the shrinking camp, wind rippling through his hair. Gerome took advantage of Inigo’s averted gaze to look at him, just for a moment.
His private contemplation, however, was short-lived. Sharp only when inconvenient, Inigo looked back at that exact moment, meeting Gerome’s eyes.
The voices of the others’ advice flashed through his mind. Cynthia had described such a moment, emphasising that when their eyes met in the sky, it would be crucial. Gerome had grunted at the idea before, unable to imagine how eyes could meet while riding a wyvern, but now that it had happened, he wished he had listened, as every word fled him and he froze.
Worse still, panic took over, and without intending to, he yanked Minerva’s reins, sending her into a steep climb.
Inigo’s panicked shrieks accompanied him for the rest of the evening as he tried to calm Minerva from the reckless command.
At least he wouldn’t need to report back to the others. Judging by the volume of the screams, the entire continent had heard how the evening went.
“It didn’t work,” Gerome announced the next morning, after Inigo had been summoned by Robin to discuss matters regarding their upcoming battle.
Once he was alone, he found himself surrounded by Lucina, Severa, Cynthia, and Owain, each wearing a different expression. The most prevalent emotion he could detect was exasperation, and he decided he did not want to deal with it.
“I won’t be needing your advice anymore.”
“Whether you want it or not is one thing,” Cynthia replied, “but I’m pretty sure you do need it.”
Gerome turned away.
“Gerome, don’t be like this. We just want the best for you two,” said Owain.
He kept walking, but a sudden, firm hand on his elbow stopped him.
“That’s enough out of you,” Severa snapped. “You can mope all you want alone in your tent at night—”
“I’m not moping.”
“—but right now you need to get over yourself and listen,” she continued, ignoring his defense. “I thought you were taking this seriously.”
He froze and looked at her, eyes narrowing. She returned the glare with one of her own.
“There’s a fair in the neighbouring town tonight,” Severa said. “Inigo’s been saying he’d love to go.”
“Good for him.”
Pain flared at the spot Severa’s hand gripped his elbow, but he refused to acknowledge it.
“You’re going to take him,” she finished, retracting her hand and crossing her arms. “Buy him whatever catches his eye. And don’t make that face, it’s pathetic.”
“I don’t see the use.”
“If I may,” Lucina said, stepping forward, “people often treat others as they themselves wish to be treated. My brother is no exception. I trust you’ve noticed how he fusses over women, trying to get them everything they desire.”
“You are telling me…to fuss?” Gerome asked flatly, squinting his eyes.
“As if you don’t already,” Owain said, earning a sharp elbow from Cynthia. “But it’s true!”
“I don’t fuss.”
“Gerome, even someone without an all-seeing eye like mine can tell that you do.” Owain gave him a lopsided smile. “You always keep an eye on him during battle.”
“We fight near each other. It’s expected.”
“You cheer him up every time he gets rejected,” Cynthia added.
“It’s irritating when he cries.”
“You clean his armour,” Lucina noted.
“It would be inconvenient if it were to break mid-battle.”
“You never clean mine, though?” Owain muttered.
“Why would I clean yours?”
Owain lifted an eyebrow. “Right…”
“I believe he understands. No need to press further,” Lucina said, stepping in before his mood soured further. As she ushered the others away, she turned back. “Thank you, Gerome. I’m certain he will enjoy himself.”
Gerome frowned. He had no memory of agreeing to anything. He certainly had no intention of participating. What good would going to the fair do? It would be the usual: Inigo grovelling for the attention of every woman, who would then decide, for some unfathomable reason, to approach Gerome instead. Inigo would wilt, Gerome would get irritated, and the whole ordeal would repeat.
Yes, attending was a terrible idea. No matter what anyone said, he was not so whipped as to—
“Thank you for bringing me, Gerome! I really wanted to come,” Inigo beamed, stepping into the fair.
“... Figures.”
“What was that?”
“Keep walking.”
Well, he was already there, so he might as well follow the advice he’d been given. Otherwise, the entire ordeal would be a waste.
As they walked through the bustling market, he spotted a large, bright green flower with a white centre among the stalls. He had often seen Inigo buying flowers, always ready with a fresh bundle to present to any woman who so much as glanced at him. Gerome himself had even been a victim of Inigo’s flower-giving habits. If he had pressed one of those flowers between two books and kept it, that was between him and the flower.
People usually do what they wish others would do for them.
Lucina’s voice echoed annoyingly in his mind.
He glanced at Inigo. The man was absorbed by a necklace hanging from a vendor’s rack. Good, that meant he would not be moving for a while. Gerome took the chance and approached the green flower, staring at the merchant.
“Esteemed customer! You have a good eye, would you—”
“How much for the flower?”
“The…cauliflower?” The man sniffed. “Only one silver young man, though I wouldn’t call this a flo—”
Gerome handed over the coins before the sentence could finish, took the cauliflower, and turned back toward Inigo, who was still fawning over the necklace, asking the vendor countless questions.
“—lady would be happy to wear it,” he heard the vendor say as he stepped closer, shifting the necklace toward Inigo. “You will certainly capture her heart.”
“Ah—haha, lady?” Inigo blinked, startled, but recovered quickly. “Right! Yes, of course. Any would, I’m sure. Though…this lady has a, um, broad neck. Could the chain be adjusted?”
Gerome raised an eyebrow. He shifted the green flower under his arm and took in the necklace properly.
It was intricate, all blue charms shaped like leaves and droplets. He didn’t know much about jewellery, but the design clearly fit Inigo.
Despite what the rest of the Shepherds might think of him, Gerome did know a few things about the prince. It was obvious he was eyeing the necklace for himself. What he couldn’t understand was why he was being so cryptic about it.
Inigo stepped back from the stall, searching the crowd. When his eyes finally landed on Gerome, he visibly tensed before smoothing his expression and walking over.
“Gerome! Where did you run off to? Were you flirting without me?” His voice was bright but sounded forced at the edges.
Gerome looked down to avoid the probing eyes, only to notice his hands were empty.
“Did you not buy it?”
“Buy what?” Inigo nearly yelped, making Gerome almost drop the flower tucked under his arm. “Oh, you did buy something. What is it?”
Gerome ignored the forced change of subject over the panic rising in his chest now that Inigo had noticed the thing he’d bought for him. He had to give it to him now; waiting would be weirder.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Inigo gave flowers to everyone all the time.
But Gerome had never given one to anyone.
“Gerome?” Inigo asked, his smile slightly fading.
He looked from Gerome to the flower, then back again, expression twisting slowly into something like confusion and mild alarm.
"Take it, it's yours."
Inigo slowly reached out, hands tentative, and stared at it with an increasingly deep frown. He kept turning it slightly in his hands, examining its strange texture as if trying to decipher what manner of flower it was.
Gerome assumed the size impressed him. Flowers that large were rare.
Naturally, it made approaching every passing woman awkward, but that only proved its value. Women glanced at the enormous bloom and promptly retreated, likely assuming he was already spoken for.
Gerome considered this. Courtships did involve flowers. Perhaps larger gestures were simply more effective.
“I see the flower has its uses,” he said, satisfied.
Inigo stared at him, but his wide eyes did not carry the look of awe Gerome expected.
“… Gerome,” he said carefully, “why did you come with me today?”
“What?” Gerome asked, confused. The outing was going exactly as the others had planned, was it not?
“I saw you talking to Lucina after I left Robin’s tent.” He clutched the flower tighter, a chunk of the green head crumbling off and falling to the ground. Inigo winced at it. “Did she tell you to bring me here?”
“Yes,” Gerome answered plainly. It was the truth. “But I fail to see how that—”
He stopped.
Inigo’s eyes shone with unmistakable hurt.
Inigo lowered his head, hiding his face. Something unpleasant coiled in Gerome’s chest.
“Tell Lucina I don’t need a babysitter,” Inigo whispered. “Don’t worry, I won’t be muddying my royal name today.”
Gerome didn’t know what to say, only that he needed Inigo to stop looking like that. He reached out, but Inigo stepped back.
“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be this creative with it,” Inigo said, offering him a crooked smile. His gaze flicked down to the enormous flower in his hands, and gave it a look of disbelief.
Before Gerome could reach for him again, Inigo was gone.
Gerome retraced his steps through the fair, turning over the evening in his mind, though he could make no sense of what he had supposedly done wrong. His feet eventually brought him back to the small stall Inigo had lingered at earlier. The blue necklace still hung on display.
“Come, come!” the vendor beckoned. “Have you an eye on this necklace? A fine piece. Any lady would be delighted to receive it.”
“How much?”
“Ten gold!”
Gerome threw the coins on the counter as he stared at the necklace.
“Dear customer?”
“Can you make it bigger?” Gerome asked. “It may not fit.”
The vendor raised an eyebrow. “There must be a very sturdy lady in town! Another lad asked me the same question before, but I told him not to worry.” He handed the necklace to Gerome. “It would fit any woman! Only if you tried it yourself would it break.”
Gerome looked down at the necklace pressed to his chest and back at the vendor. “You must not know many women.”
“Excuse me?”
“And it’s not for one anyway,” Gerome added, shoving the piece back into the man’s hands. “Widen it.”
At least the vendor complied, adding extra chain length. “This will cost extra…” he muttered.
“No trouble.” He wasn’t paying the extra regardless.
When the adjustments were complete, Gerome took the necklace and turned to leave. The merchant called after him, but Gerome ignored that easily enough. Yet, before the vendor could follow, a crowd surged from the centre of town. Gerome craned his neck to see the source of the commotion.
“RISEN! THE RISEN ARE HERE! THEY ARE COMING FROM THE SOUTHERN GATE!”
Gerome frowned; he had left Minerva at camp.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come today."
Gerome did not intend to die for strangers. There were many heroes in the company, but he was most certainly not one of them.
If he could have forced his way out of the crowd, he would have run back to camp for Minerva and returned with proper reinforcements. But frightened civilians clogged every exit, and with people from nearby towns swelling the fair, the streets had become an impassable mess of bodies and panic.
He was searching for any opening when a far more chilling thought struck him: Inigo might still be inside the town.
That froze him more effectively than the mob ever could. Inigo would absolutely be the sort to play the hero.
Grabbing an axe from an abandoned stall—and a sword just in case he found Inigo—he did the most illogical thing of his life and darted toward the southern gate, where the Risen had been said to be coming from.
His fears were immediately confirmed.
Inigo, along with a handful of terrified villagers, was attempting to hold back the Risen. The brunt of the assault fell mostly on Inigo’s shoulders, as most of the townsfolk appeared to have never wielded a weapon.
And Inigo was fending off the undead with what looked like…a decorative wooden pole.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to die?” he heard himself scream, heart pounding hard enough to split his ribs. He slashed a Risen through the middle just as it lunged at Inigo. “You can’t take them alone!”
“Gerome? You—”
Inigo couldn’t finish his sentence as Gerome shoved the stolen sword against his chest. Inigo fumbled it into his grip.
“Too busy playing hero to arm yourself properly?” Gerome growled, swinging at another Risen. “You’re lucky I’m here.”
“Shut up! They needed help. If I ran off to get a weapon, more people would’ve died!”
“You could have died!”
“Why do you care!?” Inigo shouted back, frustration sharpening his voice. He struck the next Risen too hard, and its head flew past Gerome in an arc of black blood.
“What are you doing?” Gerome snapped.
“What are you doing?” Inigo mirrored, furious. “Go get the others! Isn’t that the logical thing? I’ll hold them off.”
“Are you thinking at all? You’d be dead before I got halfway there.”
“What do you care? That would be easier for you. You wouldn't have to babysit me anymore!”
Gerome snapped his head to the side. Inigo had meant that as bite, but it still stung. Worse, somewhere deep down, he feared Inigo might have meant it.
He deflected a Risen’s strike and landed next to Inigo, their backs touching. His breathing ragged.
“What are you even talking about?”
“You hate me! I know it.”
“Hate you? I love you!”
Inigo stumbled mid-swing. “Well, I—wait, what?”
Count on Inigo to get distracted in the middle of a fight. His desperate eyes locked onto Gerome’s face instead of the approaching enemy, leaving a Risen dangerously close behind him.
Gerome didn’t miss it. Apparently, he’d also developed the idiotic habit of watching Inigo instead of the battlefield.
He grabbed Inigo’s shoulder and shoved him out of the line of attack.
Without Inigo there to intercept the blow, the sword carved into Gerome instead. He staggered back before driving his axe into the Risen’s skull.
Blood poured freely from his shoulder where the enemy’s blade had cut. The wound was messy, and the amount of blood leaving his body was entirely inconvenient.
“Why did you do that?” Inigo’s voice trembled. He looked like he wanted to check on him, but the chaos around them wouldn’t allow it.
“I knew you were slow,” Gerome managed, “but I didn’t take you for deaf.”
Something fell from his belt then, a small metallic clatter lost under the chaos. Inigo glanced down, eyes widening.
“You…” Inigo’s voice trembled, looking down at the necklace. “Are you serious?”
“No,” Gerome deadpanned. “I routinely carry jewellery into battle. Of course I’m serious.”
“What was the cauliflower about then?!”
Gerome blinked. The world was beginning to sound distant, the edges of vision blurring. Still, he steeled himself. He would keep fighting, at least long enough to buy the Shepherds more time to get there.
“Gerome!”
“It was only a flower,” he muttered. “Stop making a fuss.”
He focused only on Inigo and the immediate threat. His vision tunnelled, enemies and allies blending into the periphery. He didn’t pause as more Risen fell to his axe, nor as strangers’ hands touched his shoulders.
He was forced to stop, however, when a swift blow landed on the back of his head, knocking him to the ground.
When Gerome came to, he was in a medical tent. The sharp smell of medicinal herbs filled the air.
He tried to sit up, only for sharp pain to flare through his shoulder. Looking down, his chest was bound tightly in layers of bandages, and he was cocooned in more than just the medical tent’s blankets.
Only then did he notice the shape slumped by his bedside. Inigo was asleep in a chair, his cheek resting against the blankets as his blue hair spilled over the edge of the mattress.
Gerome’s mind took a moment to function.
Then the memory of the fight, and everything he had yelled, hit him all at once.
Gerome shifted to get out of bed. He needed to leave before he made a bigger fool of himself.
But the sudden movement yanked against something.
A hand.
Inigo’s hand.
He hadn’t even noticed their fingers were interlocked until they tightened around his. The jolt was enough to wake Inigo, who rubbed his eyes, still disoriented, before snapping his gaze to Gerome.
Gerome forced his expression to appear neutral, but his mind raced. He needed a way out that didn’t expose him further.
“You—” Inigo began, then stopped, a flush blooming across his cheeks.
Gerome felt heat creep up his own neck in response. He realised then, with a sinking sense of dread, that he had no mask to hide any of it.
Inigo finally released his hand, and Gerome’s first instinct was to use that freedom to escape, but the moment Inigo looked at him again with a soft expression, the strength to flee evaporated. He was at the mercy of the man before him.
He really had it bad.
“Wait here, I made you something…” Inigo said, turning away. “I left it under a warming stone, so it should still be edible.”
A small bowl was set before him, releasing a pleasant aroma.
“Thank you,” Gerome managed, slightly confused.
“I made it with the cauliflower you gave me,” Inigo continued, looking anywhere but at him. “I thought…well, it could serve as…”
“The flower I gave you was edible?”
Inigo froze. “Gerome… What do you think a cauliflower is? A normal flower?”
“… Is it not?”
Inigo studied him for a moment longer, then burst out laughing.
“It’s a vegetable!”
Gerome’s brows tightened. A slow, sinking shame crawled up his chest. He immediately searched the room for his mask.
“Wait, Gerome, what are you—”
“Leave.”
“What?” Inigo’s frantic hands froze mid-gesture. “Why? What do you—”
“If you’re done laughing, leave,” Gerome muttered.
“Will you quit telling me to leave?”
“I can do whatever—” His retort cut off when a warm hand closed over his, nearly causing him to spill the soup he was holding.
“It’d be pretty awful manners to leave someone you care about alone, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about…” Gerome trailed off, feeling the faint press of Inigo’s hands over his own.
His eyes widened as he looked up. Inigo’s head was tilted downward, blush trailing from his neck into his ears. Glancing along that line of sight, Gerome noticed sunlight catching on a familiar chain around the prince's neck, the one he had requested be enlarged in the city.
Something other than dread tightened his chest, and his mouth went dry.
Gerome exhaled and set the bowl aside on the bedside table. Inigo looked up, confused and nervous, the red in his cheeks not gone yet.
He opened his mouth to ask Inigo what he meant by holding his hand, lest he allow foolish hope to flourish. However, nothing managed to come out, as his lips were suddenly covered by Inigo’s.
His wide eyes locked onto Inigo's panicked ones, and Inigo seemed to panic further, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss as if afraid to lose his nerve.
Gerome fought against the need to push Inigo back, and his breath stuttered. For a moment, he stopped thinking altogether. He didn’t shut his eyes so much as let them fall, overwhelmed by heat and proximity and the impossible fact that Inigo had pulled him in.
It was more than he understood. More than he’d expected from him. Far more than any of those idiotic “plans” the others had schemed.
If anything, it made one truth sink in with humiliating clarity.
Of course, he’d been the fool. Inigo had liked him all along.