#the other 1% of his time he spends on famous crit fails like

[rigil-kentauris]

Wolmeric Week 2024 - Day 5 - Time Apart

ao3 link

The Warrior of Light turns to leave off into the sunset for an unknowably long journey to unite the star and save the world, again.

Aymeric panics. He grabs the Enguerran's hand at the last minute.

“Write me,” he blurts.

Enguerran tilts his head. “Uh,” he says awkwardly. “Okay?”

Aymeric frets incessantly for an entire day. Had he misinterpreting things? He hadn’t. He can’t have. They’d had dinner. Acquaintances have dinner all the time. Enguerran had arrived in transparent ribbed leggings with a slim-cut coat that had a socially indecent number of buttons undone up top. The Warrior of Light was an Ul’dah trained weaver who once, or so it was said, publicly and frequently wore grape-purple subligar out on the open streets. Aymeric had never said what he’d thought’d they were, but, well, they’d kissed, hadn’t they? Held hands? He blushes. He’d wanted more than that. He'd thought Enguerran had wanted more than that. Was he wrong? He shouldn't have asked. Three moons ‘till their ship is due in the East, and it’s a long time to wait, but he’ll write back and send it on the very next ship, he will, he’ll fix it, he’ll say-

His private linkpearl chimes. Enguerran is on the other end, with the sound of sailors singing and lines snapping and waves spraying.

Ah, Aymeric thinks.

He puts it out of his mind. He forces it out of his mind. He doesn’t think about it any further, until the first letter from Kugane arrives moons later, dated to the very day Enguerran left Ishgard, and it reads:

To my dearest most darling lover who did panic and forget he does not live in a period Ishgardian romance novel where no-one has any clue what a linkpearl is-

Aymeric slowly and carefully deposits his head on his writing table.

He’ll live – there’s an entire, thick, perfumed letter from the Warrior of Light on his desk to entice him, after all -

But first, he’s going to spend some time on his desk.