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“Is this what you meant when you said you have a “bright" idea?”
There was no reply.
Then, quietly. "... No.”
The two men stood before the crackling flames as wood burned steadily inside the bedroom.
Florian was going to tell Hernando his great plan for their next game together- in the middle of the night, when great ideas usually happen to strike him. Just like any other sane person. The brass holder in his hand once held a wax candle… one that lay in a melting puddle on the burning floor of Hernando’s room, swallowed by the thick smoke and searing embers. There was no need for artificial illumination on the corridor, not when the fire was outshining the feeble torches lining the walls between gold-framed paintings.
The great Fire Investigator lacked the proper equipment to put it out… Evidently. At least they were brave (and stupid) enough to jump into the fire while it was still weak to save Hernando’s belongings–Florian couldn't say no to some fire fighting. The Butler ran towards the chamber with a fire extinguisher after a while too long, their loud voices alarming the neighbouring residents. Some survivors stepped out of their rooms, clad in nightwear and dizzy with sleepiness, unable to comprehend what could have possibly happened for Hernando’s room to be lit up in actual flames like an oven in the midst of a disaster.
Hernando leaned against the wall with a look of dismay, refusing to answer questions. Florian fiddled with the hem of his shirt, fascinated by a crack on the ceiling.
“... His fault." The Matador bluntly pointed at the curly-haired man.
Well, so much for Florian’s great idea and his even greater lack of surrounding awareness called clumsiness.
The awkwardness settled between them while the butler fought valiantly to weaken the fire. The air sizzled with smoke, tasting bitter on their tongues.
"... Do you want to sleep in my-”
"No."
“Oh, okay."
They stood in silence.
Hernando had his belongings, sure. He was already dressed for the night, but as the Butler so regretfully announced, no guest room was currently prepared to host a person. Hernando didn't have much of a choice but to share a bedroom with someone until his own would be… what, fixed? Cleaned? Surely the fire ravaged everything beyond mere salvation.
Florian’s bedroom was an honest to God “no’ after this ordeal. Hernando considered his options.
Few options, to be frank.
He wouldn't say he had friends. All things considered, no one in the Manor indulged in friendships. Most sought their own agenda, while others were simply too crispated for lasting social interaction–much less sharing a bed.
And then, he remembered. Hernando beamed.
Surely he wouldn't reject him!
Blue and brown irises stared at him with the sharpness of a poisoned arrow ready to strike him clean in the head.
"Absolutely not."
Hernando winced as the door slammed in his face.
Well… that didn't go too well.
"... Ey, w-wait-! Richard!”
He pressed himself to the door, listening to the muffled shuffling behind the thick wood with a plaintive whine.
“Richard! ¡Por favor! Help a poor man in need, will you? I promise I won't burn your room down! Alright that was Florian, not me, but you get my point–”
Hernando yelped as the door got shoved in his face.
Richard’s head peeked through, holding the same contemptuous, sleep-deprived glare from seconds ago.
“I said get out before I convince you with my sword, Romero.” He hissed threateningly.
Despite all warnings, nothing could deter Hernando.
Just as Richard was about to close the door again, Hernando suddenly placed his hand on it, gripping the polished edge with surprising strength. The “Knight" tugged on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. Not with the way Hernando held it like he was planning to break it out of its hinges.
Richard looked down at the slightly shorter man and his earnest expression of utter pleading that shouldn't have given him a reason to contemplate.
And yet it did. Of course it did.
Richard rolled his eyes and let out a heavy, displeased sigh, stepping aside rather begrudgingly.
“Sleep on the floor."
Hernando grimaced at the thought, however it was better than sleeping in the hallway. Or the main lounge.
“Sí, caballero." He smiled sheepishly, passing the threshold.
Richard’s room was modestly furnished, with a sense of personality that Hernando could only attribute to Richard.
Neat and tidy. Dark. Quiet. Eerily quiet. A bit sinister with the deathly silence, in all honesty.
Fortunately, Hernando was so attuned to danger he could hardly find it an issue. Survival instincts? They were there, really. When that sweet middle of the night tiredness wasn't a thing though.
Richard walked past the Matador, nearly shoving the man aside with his sharp stride. He slipped into bed with a gracefulness that Hernando was sure it belonged to a feline, not a human, pulling the pristine white blanket over himself before he could leap at Hernando with the dagger he had prepared for this kind of eventuality–and which he must have misplaced somewhere. The “Knight" grumbled something under the bedsheets, hardly audible over the soft rustling of fabric.
Hernando stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, holding onto a pillow. Not his, Richard’s. He picked it up from the floor a moment ago. Must've fell when Richard stormed out of bed to answer his slightly too enthusiastic knocking. The brunet glanced at the fluffy pillow clutched leisurely under his arm, then at the ornate rug on the floor, then at the bundle beneath the blanket that was Richard.
Was he really going to sleep on the floor?
Hernando kneeled, caressing the soft rug.
… A fascinating concept. But no.
Richard tensed like a taut bowstring as the mattress dipped on the opposite side of the bed.
"... What are you doing?”
Hernando settled comfortably, testing the waters. It was a lot like his. All beds were the same in the Manor. As Richard slowly turned his head to stare at him, Hernando hummed a soft tune and gently placed the pillow back in its spot.
"Preparandome para dormir, why?”
Hernando replied a little too casually. Then he made the mistake of looking at Richard.
If eyes could kill, he would've died in all ways possible and in any timeline imaginable in less than a second.
Richard was going to strangle him for sure, but Hernando wouldn't say no to a brand new nightly challenge.
Hernando smiled awkwardly. “Richard, I can't sleep on the floor."
“You will sleep on the floor or else you will get intimately acquainted with the Manor’s gardens at night." Richard growled, ready to fling him out the window.
Hernando sat up quickly, gesturing a sign of peace. “I-I promise I'll let you kill me in the next game!"
Richard paused. Staring. Considering.
“... The following five games. In any way I desire."
Hernando grinned, flashing a wink. “Deal. Now then. ¡Buenas noches, caballero!”
Hernando plopped down with a soft thump, settling in the clean sheets with a quiet sigh of satisfaction. Richard was there, quite possibly plotting his murder outside the games too, but he couldn't bring himself to care when sleep was gradually pulling him under. The faint scent of lavender tickled his senses pleasantly… with a whiff of something not quite there. Something akin to the scent that clung to Richard like perfume, not too sweet but not too strong. Pleasant and warm and inviting.
Hernando had to force himself to not move too close to Richard, lest he wanted more of the man’s wrath to befall him. Instead, he forced himself to close his eyes and think of what fate haunted his room.
The minutes ticked by as silence settled like lead.
The Matador found he couldn't sleep at all, not even after an hour of staring between the ceiling and Richard’s backside. He couldn't get an ounce of rest when the “Knight" was so close within reach, not with the tantalizing urge to wrap his arms around that slender waist. Not with the need to embrace him tight in gratitude for allowing him a place to rest for the night.
A part of him knew it was wrong of him to desire such closeness, after being denied it for years. And yet, Richard was the only person he felt connected to, despite the man’s cold face and harsh words wrapped in poison and feigned intentions. He was pretty in ways that Hernando found strange and appealing and dangerous all the same.
Better yet, he was even prettier when he didn't look murderous.
Richard’s shoulders slumped as soon as alertness no longer had a grip on him, his chest rising and falling with soft, even breaths. Hernando waited for any sign of wakefulness with baited breath.
Not a single twitch.
He turned to face Richard, careful not to jostle the mattress with his added bulk. Locks of bluish-silver hair spilled onto the pillow like liquid mercury, brushing the nape of his neck in messy strands. Hernando hesitated, torn between the need to get closer and a sense of respect for Richard’s personal space, especially after Richard resentfully accepted to allow him into his room and his bed.
Despite the self control ingrained in him, Hernando found that he was only a man.
A second passed. He shifted closer, close enough to feel Richard’s lukewarmth radiating outward. Hernando toyed with a particularly long strand, relishing the silkiness of Richard’s hair slipping between his fingers so fluidly. He caught a faint whiff of the man’s shampoo–a blend of lilies and something else he couldn't quite name. Something too enticing to resist in the throes of exhaustion.
Just as Hernando was about to lean closer, a weak shimmer caught his eye. Curious, he slowly propped himself on his elbows and glanced over Richard’s shoulder.
The “Knight"’s arms were tightly wound around his silvery helmet, holding it against his cheek like a child holding onto a plushie for comfort. The metallic edges pressed against his palms, leaving faint welts biting into the skin. Richard was too deeply asleep to feel the discomfort.
Hernando frowned at the unusual sight, taking in the scene and all its details. Richard looked so… peaceful. So unperturbed, vulnerable, unaware of everything and anything. Unaware of how soft he looked in Hernando’s eyes.
A sense of affection welled in his chest. Hernando smiled as he watched Richard’s minuscule expressions in his sleep, absorbing the rare moment of intimacy like a man dying of thirst. He wondered what it would take to replace the armour helmet with his own body. What it would take to make Richard look at him with something other than ignorance and venom.
The brunet slowly reached for the helmet, his desire for closeness easily throwing his caution out the window. For a moment, he worried Richard would wake up. The “Knight" tightened his hold on the helmet, a cute frown pulling at his eyebrows as the familiar pressure abandoned him. Hernando was met with little resistance and soon slipped the object free of Richard’s hug, quietly leaving it on the nightstand.
"Phew…” he muttered.
Hernando looked down at Richard, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Should he? Should he not…? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He would allow Richard to kill him in all their games for the rest of eternity just for this one moment of indulgence.
Hernando lowered himself back on the bed, hesitantly pressing his body against Richard's back. The other man’s warmth seeped into his clothes, sparking a pleasant shiver–he relaxed incrementally, sliding his arms around Richard’s curves.
Suddenly, Richard stirred at the contact.
“Mmh…”
Hernando froze in place.
That breathy hum did something to him. Something a little shameful.
Richard shifted lightly, too engrossed in the throes of sleep to fully notice the missing helmet. He settled deeper in Hernando’s tentative embrace, pushing his face in the pillow before going limp again after what felt like an eternity for the panicked Matador.
Hernando released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, a sense of contentment washing over him after the danger passed. He pulled Richard close, careful not to awaken him, and nuzzled his shoulder, breathing in his scent and soaking in the softness of his body against his own. Richard was surprisingly svelte beneath his clothes, not too lean and not too thin. In his arms he felt just right, like two puzzle pieces falling into place as they were always meant to.
Pressed this firmly against him, Hernando felt like he could pull Richard into the recesses of his body and finally become one. He tightened his arms a little more if that was even possible, hiding his face in Richard’s hair just to feel him a little nearer to his heart, his mind, his everything. The sleeping “Knight" couldn't free himself even if he wanted to, because Hernando was hell-bent on basking in the embrace for as long as the night would allow him.
Hernando sighed happily, pressing one hand against Richard’s chest. The soft beat of his heart tickled his palm, doing wonders to his racing mind. Soon, he realized he was feeling more tired than ever, the night’s events finally catching up to him. The fatigue settled like a bone-deep wariness, one that Hernando always wished he could chase away, never succeeding.
Maybe… if he slept with Richard in his arms, that quiet, ever present dread would go away. Just for one night would be enough.
His thoughts turned fuzzy and his senses numbed pleasantly as Hernando eventually slipped into dreamland, soothed by the man in his arms and his heart.