#in this au they would abandon the game but sebinsky wouldn't heal that quickly imo. but it would be a good ending nonetheless

[magistralucis]

Lib sebinsky 16 I Love u So Much It's Incalculable 💟💟💟💟💟

16: Quiet warm summer mornings in bed // Lib Sebinsky

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At daybreak the Captain discovers Sebastian outside the front doors.

“Monsieur?”

The sun rises early at this time of year. The actual hour is not remotely close to the morning, as common sense would accept it. Early to bed, early to rise, the Captain marvels at the old adage; he doesn’t know about healthy, wealthy, or wise, but then Sebastian only recently developed the habit of disappearing into his quarters straight after dinner.

“Sebastian.”

He’ll find out in a few weeks. If they’re still hanging on by then.

Sebastian startles to see the Captain there. His back straightens and he folds his hands together in front of him, his voice mechanical as he recites an explanation. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought counting my paces would help. I’ll go now.”

He turns and leaves. Not long ago the Captain would have let him go without a word, or worse, taunted him with such things as the game. But things have been different recently: this time, he simply falls into step with Sebastian, escorting him in silence. Sebastian doesn’t stop him. They make it all the way down the corridor before the Captain speaks up again. “How many?”

Sebastian looks down the path they came. “A hundred and eight steps.”

“Monsieur le Chauffeur would like that. And how wide?”

An irrelevant question: no one paces the shortest distance available while trying for sleep. But it does earn him the first tiny smile of the day. “Considerably less.”

The Captain chuckles. He feels at once incredibly awkward and yet at home. It feels like forever since he tried to goad Sebastian into an argument - or been this conciliatory, on the other hand. “I understand. I prefer the upstairs, the carpet here is thicker.” He points down at their feet as they climb the stairs. “No danger of being seen, either, there’s only us and the occasional guest as high up as you can go.”

“I’d frequent it myself. But the corridor is shorter here.”

“True.” The top floor has less space than it looks. A born anomaly of this palace that centuries of time haven’t corrected. “Funny how you mention it now. That was what I spent last night figuring out.”

Sebastian lifts his head. For the first time in this conversation he looks hard at Vincent, his gaze searching. He was under the impression the Captain stumbled across him after patrol - but he doesn’t usually do that within the palace, and no patrol involves counting one’s footfalls for a night. Slowly, understanding dawns upon him. He gives him a faint smile.

“You were scolded as well, then?”

The Captain hates to admit it, but: yes.

They enter Sebastian’s quarters. Sebastian takes off his jacket and loosens the buttons of his shirt; the Captain heads straight over to the balcony and leans out of it, gazing down at the gardens. It is not until Sebastian rests a pale hand on his shoulder that he blurts it all out. “It’s a travesty! The nerve of the bastard. First cornering us in their atelier, making us - sit down - before throwing out all those suggestions. Like they know anything about us! For God’s sake. I thought you’d hired a correspondent for the nation’s good, Sebastian, not some prying little brat.”

Sebastian’s smile turns bittersweet. When they accepted a newcomer into the palace, they were bound to be discovered at some point; Franck has made no secret of what they think of his and the Captain’s relationship. That they need help, so much goddamned help, that Franck can’t understand how the two haven’t ended up murdering each other already. Harsh words, but neither of them could deny it. They’ve been trying to tiptoe around Franck ever since.

“And that’s not all! Would you believe they came knocking on my door last night? So now they not only feel entitled to two rooms in this palace, but my privacy too?” The Captain exhales hard, glaring down at the roses as if he considers them responsible. “Have you lived vicariously today, Captain. and have you bid Sebastian hello? When do I not do that? I've half a mind to show them one of the bodies I have lying around, maybe it’ll inspire them to treasure their life while they still have it.”

The President sighs. “Please do not actually show them a body.”

“I shan’t. But it’s tempting.”

He looks at his lover with sympathy. Sebastian is also familiar with Franck’s attempts to understand their relationship, as well as the strange behaviour that accompanies it; doubtless the Captain sees it as a challenge. “Please be gentle with them, it was my fault. Franck might not understand everything about us, but they have the right to demand we are civil when we’re in their atelier.”

“Yes, the atelier that happens to be in this palace, which belongs to you-”

“And I gave it to them.” Sebastian quietens him gently. “Besides, what do we know about living vicariously? Once upon a time we might have known, but we really don’t have an answer to that, do we?”

At that, the Captain sighs as well. “We don’t.”

He probably dislikes Franck for reminding him of that more than anything else.

In the days to come, the couple will put their feuds aside and discuss what it means to live vicariously. There will be hesitant lunches by the balcony, without Franck in attendance, as this is a problem between themselves. What they don’t know is that their progress lies in the steps they don’t pay attention to; Sebastian abruptly steps back from the balcony, shivering. “I can’t feel my arm.”

“Oh.” Even in summer the mornings are chilly, enough to tense a battle-worn body. “You ought to rest. Come on.”

The Captain is glad enough with his new priority: preparing the bed, plumping the pillows, and tucking Sebastian in are all part of a familiar routine. The sun shines through the window upon the bed, and he makes haste to shut the curtains over it. “Leave the windows open,” his lover commands sleepily, which he complies with. Sebastian’s still shifting about in bed, trying to find the right place in the mattress that supports the sore right half of his body. “You’ve been on duty all night, Vinco. How about you take the day off to rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Vincent’s hand stills for a moment. Being called that nickname always softens something in him, as well as flood him with bitter-cold urges to forget about it. “What, with full pay, Monsieur?”

“Yes.”

His meanness is a paper-thin front. He never truly means it, but he has been adversarial with Sebastian for so long that it feels necessary to him. “I suppose I shall be fed on your francs as well, despite not working for it. Do I also get my meals delivered to my quarters while I’m resting?”

Sebastian remains entirely serene. “Not just your quarters, if you’re willing.”

All the fight leaves Vincent’s body at that. He stays there for a long time, searching Sebastian’s face for any hint of a jest. He finds none: Sebastian continues to lie in bed, eyes closed and his hands folded nearly atop his chest. After a while, Vincent opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, finding himself defeated. Slowly, he undoes his jacket and leaves it slung over a chair. All his weapons follow suit, as well as his boots, which he takes off and leaves in a corner. Sebastian doesn’t move at all as he cautiously takes the empty spot beside him, flicking up one corner of the duvet and slipping inside.

The bed is soft and cosy. Aside from faint birdsong there is complete silence. The sun warms the sheet through the curtains.

“Seb.”

Vincent half expects no answer, but it comes. “Yes.”

“I kind of want some grapes.” He turns over to face Sebastian, who notably doesn’t do the same. Staunchly facing the ceiling, as always. Something about that hurts Vincent in a way that doesn’t make him want to hurt back, and he leans his cheek into the pillow, murmuring as if in a dream. “Fresh from the market in Saint-Ouen, maybe with a round of brie and some red on the side. Remember how we’d go out to the Belgian place nearby for dinner? I wonder if it’s still open. It must be long gone by now. What wouldn’t I give for one last plate of their frites and sausages, sitting at that counter by the window.”

“And from the sounds of it, what wouldn’t you give for love, the world on a platter, and a pony.“ Sebastian says dryly, lifting his good arm over his eyes. Vincent turns very pink, but there’s no need to take back anything he said, the ridiculous sentimentality aside. “You’ll have your grapes, Vinco, and the whole picnic. But for now, let us close our eyes and be silent.”

Sighing, Vincent does as asked. It’s a blessing he’s actually tired enough to obey. But just as he’s about to slip into unconsciousness, he feels the weight of Sebastian’s head settling gently atop his shoulder, and smiles. “Thank you.”

The roses are in full bloom. Their scent wafts all the way up here. Dust motes dance like little stars in the warm breeze. Beneath them the palace is stirring, but they sleep on, undaunted by day’s golden complexion drifting into the room.