( There are fifteen minutes before the intermission concldes, which means that Yuri has fifteen minutes left to make himself presentable for the second half of the performance. It's a good crowd tonight — respectful, responsive, applauding thunderously where appropriate — and Yuri is looking forward to breaking all their hearts with the conclusion of the opera. It's a tragic tale of a love too precious to ever last: the climax ends with the heroine's own father killing the hero — that would be Yuri — on the eve of their wedding, at which point she pulls the blade from between his ribs and turns it on herself.
All that good stuff.
As such, Yuri is making himself wedding-ready when a knock rattles against his door. He glances towards the clock as he returns his powder-puff to the pot: it's too early for him to be summoned to his starting position for the second act, and management don't allow the audience backstage during the intermission for fear of overwhelimg their singers before they perform. He has, however, been on the receiving end of a seemingly endless stream of bouquets of roses — there were several in his dressing room beore he arrived for the evening, and the stagehand has already brought him two more over the course of the interval.
Roses, roses, roses — he's sick to his back teeth of the things, although he's fairly certain he'd offend a not insignifcant chunk of the nobility if he issued a statement asking them to try bringing him something else for a change. No doubt his fiancé, Deklan, would be the first among them.
His curiosity only deepens when he opens the door to reveal the stunning blond man on the other side: )
Huh ...
( He seems vaguely familiar, but Yuri can't quite place where he might have seen him before. A regular in the crowd, perhaps? One of Deklan's peers, cronies, or subordinates? Whoever he is, he's far too handsome for Yuri to brush him off as a nobody, and he's already earned a sliver of his favour by bringing him a bouquet of something new. )
Are those for me?
( He glances towards the flowers, his smile taking on a curl of something flirtatious as he opens the door a little wider. )
C'mon, you'd better come in before someone catches you back here.
I — I hope you don't object. It's only that I couldn't simply sit idly by without — erm.
[It seems to occur to him, halfway through his sentence, that his instinctive desire to flatter and compliment is probably nothing that the star tenor of the opera hasn't already heard a thousand times before, and that continuing on with it — however earnestly — will only come off sounding disingenuous in the long run. Instead, he swallows the words back and nods as he steps inside the dressing room, grateful to be out of sight. Felix will notice he's gone before long, and his usual guards will notice it about ten minutes later than Felix does, and anyway, if he's not back in his seat before the opera resumes, everyone will notice, and not for good reasons.
So he hurries through the door and into the warmth of the little dressing room, waiting until it's been shut behind him before offering the fragrant bouquet. There are already so many flowers littering every surface of the room; he might feel self-conscious about his own, were it not for the fact that it's at least blessedly different from the others.]
Please. Your performance so far has been magnificent, and you've not even reached the final act yet. I simply wanted to offer my compliments, and my admiration.
( Yuri raises an eyebrow as he takes the flowers, bringing them up closer to his face so that he can enjoy their gentle fragrance. His pleasure is immediate and evident: the smile that curves his lips is an easy thing that warms the lilac of his eyes, and he sighs his exhale before turning to give them pride of place on his vanity. )
Luckily for you, you've got great taste. I couldn't object to them even if I wanted to—
( There's a moment of pause as Yuri tilts his head in question, a little mischief touching the corners of his smile as he runs a fingertip over one of the fluffy peonies. )
This must be the part where you tell me your name, huh?
[It's nice to see Yuri enjoying the flowers; he'd been more than a little anxious about how they'd ultimately be received, no great surprise there, but at least the gift seems to have gone over well, and the uniqueness appreciated even if the arrangement isn't strictly traditional.
He flicks a quick glance at the blossoms, looking for the hidden glint of gemstone that he knows is hidden away beneath them. Still there — good. He'll find it later, hopefully.]
It's, ah. Alexandre. I'm, er. With the Faerghan entourage.
[It's not even technically a lie; were he thinking more quickly, maybe he would've offered up Hugo or Jose, borrowing one of his friends' names for extra cover, but it's not as though he's ever been a particularly skilled liar. At least his own lengthy name isn't common knowledge anyway, and certainly not so this deep into the heart of the Empire.]
I'm sorry, I'm sure I've made this very awkward for you. Interrupting your preparation time, and all. Please don't feel as though you need to...entertain me, or anything like that. I only wanted to thank you for a. A magnificent performance.
( Yuri turns the name over on his tongue thoughtfully, as though considering whether or not it's up to some kind of imagined standard. Dimitri is in luck: )
Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre. I'm Yuri.
( Not that the guy doesn't know as much — he sought out his dressing room specifically to bring him a gift, after all — but it's only polite to at least stick to some form of scripted small-talk. Besides, the guy's handsome exterior is already melting away into something kind of precious, and Yuri can't help but let him sweat for a moment before offering him a silvery little chuckle. )
And believe me, friend, I've had much more awkward encounters than this. Some flowers and a shower of compliments is positively tame.
( A beat of easy silence fills the space between them as Yuri turns back to the mirror, where he resumes powdering his face and the front of his throat. )
Will you be staying for the second half? Sometimes people slip out in the interval to do something else with the rest of their evening, but ...
( He glances towards the flowers, then back to Dimitri with a pretty little smirk. )
I'd hope to have your attention for the rest of it.
I will, yes. And the gala after, as a matter of fact. I'm told Enbarr affairs are quite the spectacle, and the Prime Minister himself has a hand in this one?
[Even as he says it, he wonders if he's tipped his hand a little too much. But then again, he did say he was Faerghan — and frankly, even if he hadn't, his looks would've betrayed him that far anyway — and it's not as though there are many "entourages" he might belong to that are visiting Enbarr at the moment. Anyone with a little common sense could pick up on it, and Yuri doesn't strike him as a fool. There's a cleverness in his eyes, an awareness that was never there in all the simpering daughters of lords and nobles that have tried their damnedest to become his queen over the years.]
But even if I weren't, I can't imagine any engagement that could be more compelling than seeing your finale firsthand. Truly, truly —
[He pauses, then coughs sheepishly.]
This would make the third time I've called you magnificent, wouldn't it. Well. I should...let you get back to your preparations. Is there anything I might do for you before I go? Please don't hesitate to ask, I am in all things your humble servant.
Oh, the Prime Minister's events have to be seen to be believed. You're in for quite a treat tonight, Alexandre.
( Yuri shoots him a playful wink through the mirror. )
And I'll be there with my fiancé, so if you need a friendly face to see you through all the promp and circumstance ...
( But he just hums thoughtfully, before tossing the powderpuff back into the pot and turning around to face him. Leaning back against his vanity, Yuri folds his arms across his chest as he lets his gaze flit over the man from top to toe again: )
As my humble servant, I order you to look for my company if you find yourself in need of rescuing from boorish conversation.
( Honestly? It's as much for himself as it is an offer for this mysterious Alexandre — the Faerghan soldier with a taste for the opera and an eye for beautiful blooms. Yuri's aversion to these events is so strong that Deklan has to force him to attend: usually with promises of money and supplies to be sent to the village in Faerghus where his mother still resides.
In exchange, Yuri remains on his arm like the pretty jewel he's supposed to be. )
Your — your fiancé. I...had no idea you were spoken for. Does he know what a fortunate man he is?
[It's almost odd; for all that he'd been flustered and bashful just moments before, the mention of a significant other — and a serious one at that — actually seems to instill him with confidence, of all things. It's not so surprising, for anyone acquainted with Dimitri, the king of Faerghus; for all that he might be enchanted by the darling tenor of the Mittelfrank Opera, he's still not a man to covet another's lover.
For Alexandre the Faerghan soldier, perhaps it's a little more surprising. Or maybe it just comes off like he doesn't want to cause a diplomatic incident with his own whims.]
If not, perhaps I'll have occasion to tell him so, this evening. If I'm able to slip away from my...post.
[He pauses. Considers.]
Well. Thank you for indulging this whim of mine, and for accepting my flowers. I know roses are more traditional, but lilacs and peonies have...remarkable qualities, if one only looks closely enough.
[Maybe that will be enough. Hopefully it will. And with that, he bows and makes his quiet exit.]
( Yuri’s eyebrows bump up towards his hairline as Alexandre relays his surprise — but then he supposes it’s possible that the man was under the impression he hadn’t yet left his escorting days behind. He wouldn’t be the first man to slip into his dressing room in the hopes of securing Yuri’s company after the show — it’s how he met Deklan, after all, and the rest is mostly history.
Disappointing, but hey, at least the guy has recovered easily enough. )
Well … that’d certainly be nice of you. Think you could give it to him in writing, for the times when he forgets?
( But he catches himself before his bitterness manifests any more directly, and offers Alexandre a polite nod as he bows and takes his leave of the room.
He doesn’t return to the bouquet flowers until after the show is over. It’s a resounding success, as it always is, and Yuri’s curtain call is as long as the heroine’s, to the point where he’s able to beg off having to entertain fans afterwards in the name of needing time to get himself turned around for the gala. Deklan is collecting him from the theatre directly which means Yuri needs to wash, change, and make himself beautiful in the space of about an hour.
Easy.
It’s his hurried turn-around that brings the flowers back to the fore. In his urgency to get ready he knocks the bouquet over and scatters the tissue, revealing a glint of something bright and sparkling wrapped around the dark bundle of the stems. Carefully, Yuri extracts the piece of jewellery from the bottom on the bouquet, and stands momentarily stunned by the exquisite craftsmanship of the piece that Alexandre hid for him.
Saints, but he must have been a man of means to be able to afford such a gift — although Yuri is quickly brought back down to earth by the realisation that he’ll hVe to give it back to him. He’s engaged, after all. Alexandre hadn’t realised that when he’d spent a small fortune on a necklace for him, and while Yuri is usually all too happy to exploit the wealthy? It wouldn’t do for Deklan’s fiancé to foster such a reputation.
He slips it into his pocket as he heads from the opera house and into the carriage waiting outside. He can always return it to Alexandre if they bump into one another at the gala - a pity, really, when he looks so good in shades of blue and pearl.
Ah, well.
🎶🎶🎶
Deklan is a strong, handsome man around twenty years Yuri’s senior. His chestnut brown hair is richly complemented by the burnt-orange and burgundy of his House, and there’s a glint of gold in his ears that catch the light when he tosses his head in a booming laugh. By his side, Yuri is a vision in the floor-skimming plum and crimson that he was firmly instructed to wear, his smile in perfect place as Deklan flaunts the treasure he’s managed to claim as his own.
Just a few more hours, he tells himself. Just a few more hours, then he’ll be able to flash Deklan that smoldering look that never fails to get him quickly taken home.
[As predicted, the post-opera gala keeps Dimitri busy; the Adrestian prime minister has a particular gift for the orchestration — pun intended — of such affairs, and the real genius of it lies in the way he crafts them to seem egalitarian to minor nobles and wealthy patrons, while still maintaining exclusivity for the truly royal and well-off. It's a spectacle with choreography nearly as good as the opera's itself, carefully arranged to allow titled guests to keep their personal guards close at hand without attracting undue attention from others, retaining military security while providing the appearance of liberty.
What it means in practice, of course, is that Dimitri never sees the vast majority of the guests attending the gala, save from a concealed balcony here or the one-way glass of an antechamber there. His companions are the Emperor and her spymaster, his own entourage, a handful of Adrestian political leaders, and of course, the head of the opera serving as host alongside the prime minister himself. Felix hates it, of course, and claims it's because it makes security difficult, but really Dimitri knows he just loathes the pomp and circumstance.
And he does too, really.
As the night wears on, he finds himself thinking again and again about Yuri's invitation from the dressing room before — and catches himself occupying the vantage points that overlook the more common crowds more and more, hoping to spot a glimpse of the elusive tenor.
Finally, he sees him — and ah, that must be the enigmatic fiancé there at his side. It's hard to say what it is, but there's something about the man that Dimitri finds immediately disagreeable; perhaps he's too loud or too crass or perhaps he's just looking for reasons to dislike the man, yes, all right, it's likely just that.
Well.
Drink in hand, he conceals himself near the edge of the balcony that overlooks the main ballroom, hidden neatly behind the shadows of draperies, and watches from above as Yuri and his intended mill about down below. Adrestian reds are almost too rich a hue against Yuri's delicate coloring, Dimitri thinks a little pettily. Something softer would surely suit him better.]
( The evening doesn't turn sour until Yuri's second glass of champagne.
It isn't that he needed the courage to speak up, exactly, but more like he's less inclined to follow Deklan's unspoken rules after he's sunk a drink or two. He should know better than to expect him to say silent when he's being paraded around in front of the Minister for Housing: Deklan knows of Yuri's dreams, his goals, his vision for the slums and orphanages of Enbarr, but he's been ...
Well. Slow, in making good on those whispered promises that had delivered him Yuri's hand, and so it's after those two glasses of champagne that he decides to speak up and lay out his ideas in front of the Minister.
To say that it doesn't go well would be an understatement - but one would have to be paying close attentio from, say, behind some balcony draperies, to catch the moment when it happens. Deklan's grip on Yuri's wrist tightens suddenly, dramatically, until the singer's expression twists with pain, and an onlooker might notice how uncomfortable the Minister seems as a few well-chosen words strike Yuri where it hurts.
—dare you interrupt me, Yuri— —petty gripes of yours are of no concern to the Minister—
When he's eventually released, Yuri's expression is flat and distant as he cradles his damaged wrist close to his chest. His lips shape an apology — short and curt — before he excuses himself to one of the lower balconies for some fresh air, his gait as smooth as it was when he'd been playing the hero gliding across the centre-stage.
It isn't until he finds a secluded spot out in the night air that, in a tight rush of breath, he lets himself sag against the wall as he inspects his rapidly bruising wrist. )
[What marvelous acoustics this opera house has. Stand in the right place, and you can hear — why, almost anything.
The drink in his hand shatters, spilling shards of crystal and champagne onto the ornate and rather ugly carpet beneath his feet; lucky thing that he's wearing gloves, or bits and pieces of the remains of his glass might've easily wound up embedded in his skin. And yet the eerie thing is, it's as though he and the Minister are the only ones even cognizant of what's happening right there on the floor. No one takes note. No one intervenes. A sharp flash of pain mars Yuri's delicate features and it goes past without remark — Enbarr society condoning the action with its silence.
But he is not of Enbarr society, and right now all he holds is contempt for it.
He leaves the wreckage of his glass where it lies, hurrying out and abandoning the cape and trappings that are littered with his coat of arms. It's never easy to get past Sylvain and it's all but impossible to bypass Felix, but just because they'll notice his absence doesn't mean they'll be able to stop him. Something he'll just have to worry about later.
Right now, what matters is making his way down to the lower levels, and finding his way to the balcony where he'd seen Yuri duck off to. As tempting as it is to burst right in and start making demands, he just barely manages to catch himself. Reminds himself that for all he wants to be the King of Faerghus, and wield all the powers afforded to him because of it, there are too many reasons why he can't.]
...Yuri?
[He announces himself quietly, leaning in through the arched entrance, before slowly making his way onto the balcony proper, to leave plenty of time for Yuri to react as he likes.]
I thought I saw you come this way. Are you...out here?
( The appearance of Alexandre is a surprise, to say the least. Later he might be grateful that the man gave him enough time to pull himself together: Yuri straightens up, dusts off his attire where dust from the stone might have stuck to him, and has positioned himself just so that his injured wrist is only visible to someone making the effort to see it. )
Well, how about that. Pomp and circumstance getting you down?
( The mask slides into place effortlessly — in no small part because it's easy to let the tightness in his shoulders relax a little in the presence of this man. Perhaps it's their make-believe power dynamic: Yuri, the dazzling tenor with the world eating out of his palm, and Alexandre, a man who claims himself in all things his humble servant.
It's kind of cute, really. )
It's good to see you. I was wondering whether you'd be able to find me again in the midst of all ...
( He makes a vague gesture towards the light and laughter trickling out from inside. )
... That.
( A flash of pain passes over his expression as Yuri realises he's using the wrong hand — his injured hand — and he quickly lowers it again before clearing his throat just the once. )
It's good to get a little fresh air during these things, huh?
Yes, I'm afraid so. I only just managed to get myself free of it.
[That's the wrist the brute twisted, Dimitri muses darkly as he watches the pained expression blossom and wither on Yuri's features. It must not have just been a momentary twist; if it's still hurting him even now, the damage must have been more severe than it seemed from a distance.
(Idly, he wonders if Edelgard would give him a man's head on a platter if he asked. Dimitri hadn't recognized him, so he must only be a lesser noble, if that. Surely no one would miss him.)
But he presses his lips together, trying to stay focused. Wanting to press, without placing Yuri in an awkward position, or causing him any more stress than he's already been through this evening.]
Don't worry. If anyone comes looking, I'll tell them I'm alone out here. You can feel free to enjoy the night air as much and as long as you like, have no fear of that.
( It's a small but surprisingly kind gesture — the kind of gesture that Yuri hasn't had extended to him since his acceptance of Deklan's marriage proposal. He'd been surprised by how quickly he transitioned from an adored treasure to a closely-guarded possession; Deklan isn't kind to the things he owns, but rather he feels a sense of entitlement to them, and Yuri most certainly counts as something he has no need to treat with care.
If Yuri stares, it's because the unquestioning way Alexandre puts his needs first is actually a little painful. )
Tch. There you go, being all adorable again.
( Fortunately, he recovers well enough that he hopes he'll be able to play the moment off. Yuri nods his appreciation, lilac eyes meeting clear blue for a long moment before he remembers the weight of the gift in his pocket. )
Ah, and speaking of adorable ...
( A hand dips into a crimson fold where it rummages for a moment, then carefully withdraws with the stunning necklace in all its sapphire and pearl glory. )
Not to seem ungrateful, but I thought you might want this back. It's a beautiful gift — much too beautiful for a lowly singer who can't give you anything in return.
( The corner of Yuri's lips lift into an unreadable smile as he offers the necklace back to him. )
Those days are behind me, y'know? Ever since Deklan ... yeah. Kinda part of the deal.
[What an unusual look on Yuri's face — such surprise over a passing kindness that amounts to nothing at all. It leaves Dimitri with an even more sour feeling about this Deklan character than he'd had before, and it already wasn't a sweet one.
But then Yuri extends a hand, offering him the necklace back, and he raises his own palm-out in a gently negating gesture.]
It wasn't given with the expectation of anything in return. Please. But I...I understand how such a thing might cause trouble for you, in the eyes of your intended. Of course he would prefer to adorn you with jewels himself, rather than see you in those from another, regardless of how respectfully they may have been given.
["Alexandre the soldier" speaks like a diplomat, choosing careful words like a master chef chooses seasonings. If he cared about maintaining his facade right now, he might realize he'd made a mistake.
He doesn't care right now. This isn't the time for caring about things like that.]
Keep it and sell it. You outshine the beauty of the jewels already, and perhaps its value can be of more use to you than its appearance.
( "Alexandre the soldier" is beginning to raise Yuri's suspicions. He can't help but feel like he's missing some curious piece of information: he claims to be as ordinary as any other soldier, and yet he's huge, striking, somehow able to bestow extremely lavish gifts upon near strangers, and now he's speaking to him with all the careful diplomacy of a man who's used to skirting conflict.
The fact that he doesn't want the necklace back ... )
... My guess is that a soldier would have had to save up for months to afford something like this. Maybe even come into a tidy inheritance and put some of that towards it.
( He says thoughtfully, turning the dangling sapphire this way and that so that it catches the scattered starlight. )
I figured you'd been coming to my shows for a while, putting away a little of your pay, waiting until you found something that was just right.
( There's a sharpness in Yuri's eyes now — the kind that suggests he's figured out he's being lied to, he just can't quite put his finger on what it is he's being lied to about. He doesn't withdraw his hand, nor does he make any move to pocket the piece again: )
But you don't want it back, even though I've said I can't accept it. ( A beat, followed by a moment of close scrutiny. ) Did you steal it?
[It's almost comical, how so much of this conversation has been Yuri making remarks and Dimitri being thrown for such a loop that he's left to just awkwardly repeat whatever assertion was just made. But what kind of an assumption is that, he wonders — assuming a Faerghan soldier stole a piece of jewelry? Do...do people think his soldiers do that?
...
Do his soldiers do that?
Lord, but he's going to have a lot of questions to ask Sylavin when he's back.]
I told you — it was given without expectation. I don't want it back because it was a gift. I don't care about the money. If you don't want it, then don't keep it, I have no control over that. Give it away, sell it — leave it here for someone to find, if you must. But you dispense with it however you see fit. It's yours.
( Yuri just looks at him for a long, hard moment, before finally slipping the necklace back into the fold of his pocket. He's going to need to give this situation some serious consideration: if Deklan finds it without context he'll likelt receive more than a bruised wrist, but if Yuri is upfront about the gift he'll be forced into selling it as a contribution to the household.
Perhaps it's time to get in touch with his old pal Balthus — see if he could sell it on for a decent price.
Perhaps he should simply keep it, tuck it away, to be a treasure no-one knows about but him. )
... You're a strange one, Alexandre. You know that, right?
( Yuri raises an eyebrow at the other man, a little genuine amusement curling back into his smile. He isn't a fool: Yuri is well aware that his line of questioning has Alexandre more than a little uncomfortable, and he doesn't want to spook him before he's gotten to the bottom of the mystery. )
I've never met a soldier who doesn't care about money. What's that all about, huh? Are you some tired Lord's sixteenth son?
( He wouldn't be the first surplus son sent off to join the army, after all. )
Let me guess: dreamt of a life on the stage, were forced to get a real job, now you've pinned all your fantasies on my voice.
[He's too well-trained to fidget, but were Dimitri any less than the king he is, he might well be shifting from foot to foot beneath the polite interrogation. Probably he should've thought further ahead when it had come to justifying his cover story, but the truth is, he — hadn't really thought he'd be asked about it. That Yuri is so curious, his wit so sharp, is as refreshing as it is unnerving. Most of the lovely performers and entertainers he's met in his life have come off as rather dull and simpering, more interesting in fawning than in holding up their own end of a conversation. But not Yuri Leclerc. Not this man with the voice of a songbird, and a cunning as sharp as its talons.]
If you must know, the King of Faerghus — I saved the life of one of his ministers.
[Yes, that's better, he decides with his thoughts racing. A personal relationship with the king himself would pose too many problems. But a common guard might find himself in the right place at the right time and be rewarded for it, surely.]
He gave me that as a reward. That's — that's why it's Faerghus blue.
[It seems...REASONABLE...]
I have no spouse to give it to, and I don't need the money. My duties serving His Majesty suit me more than enough. So, should I drink or gamble away the token of my lord's esteem, or is it a better way of honoring his appreciation to...
[...]
Isn't it enough that I want you to have it? Must I justify my heart any more than that?
( Honestly? Alexandre just needs to stop talking. Everything he says about the necklace makes him even more of a suspicious character in Yuri's eyes: the King of Faerghus gave his soldier — his huge, muscular soldier — a pretty necklace as a reward? Not a new lance, or a sword, or some kind of pointless yet powerful title?
It's unlikely, all things considered, unless ... )
Seems like he was showing you what his heart wants by giving it to you.
( Said with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. )
Unless he's not that way inclined. I'll be honest, I don't know all that much about the guy—
( Yuri looks thoughtful for a moment. )
For all I'm Faerghan myself. My mother still lives in one of the northern villages. If I sold it, I might be able to send her a little more money this month.
( Or, y'know, put it towards his own funding for orphanage reform — which will be something to seriously think about at some point after the gala. )
You're sure we won't be breaking His Majesty's heart if I decide to accept the justification of your own?
In a single sentence, it's like the sky opens up overhead, clouds parting to make room for a divine revelation descending. He wouldn't have assumed that the darling tenor of the Enbarr opera was, in fact, one of his own subjects, but as soon as Yuri says it, it's like a once-blurry picture suddenly snaps into focus. And there's so much to unpack, besides just that — the idea that his mother still lives in Faerghus, though her son is so far from home; the fact that he sends money home to her. He wonders if she knows her son is set to be wed. He wonders if she would approve of his choice.
(His king certainly doesn't.)
But now, at last, he sees an opening to turn the conversation around and get back on the right foot; the King of Faerghus is a topic he can talk about with great authority, after all.]
No. No, he would approve, actually. He —
[He pauses a minute. Tries to think of how to say this in a way that's truthful without being insulting or presumptuous.]
He cares deeply about his subjects. I'm sure he would consider it money well spent, if it went to help your mother. I could tell him the truth of where the jewels ended up, and his heart would be glad, not broken.
Oh yeah? I guess that means we can both rest easy if I ever meet him, huh?
( He teases, raising an eyebrow in Alexandre's direction to include him in his amused little quip. His expression softens ever so slightly a moment later as he reaches out to touch the soldier's arm: )
And you're gonna have to let me thank you properly — even if it's just with words. I never liked the idea of being in anyone's debt, but if you're sure I can accept it without getting tangled up in any of that ...
( Yuri hesitates for a moment, unsure what to make of Alexandre's request. He's not the kind of person who likes to be seen in moments of weakness; anything that suggests vulnerability must be carefully covered so that no one dares make the mistake of thinking less of him.
How typical of Deklan to chip away at Yuri's public face. How typical of him to try to remind him that he's owned, that he's the only person whose opinion Yuri should care about, and that he quite likes leaving marks of how touchable he is pressed into the pale of his skin. )
... If you must.
( But, balance is balance. Alexandre has asked for nothing in return for the necklace other than a look at his wrist, and Yuri would feel silly for making a fuss in light of such a generous gift.
He extends his arm, lifting his wrist high enough that Alexandre could take it if he so wishes. )
I've always bruised like a noa fruit. I daresay it looks worse than it is — plain old bad luck, y'know?
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( There are fifteen minutes before the intermission concldes, which means that Yuri has fifteen minutes left to make himself presentable for the second half of the performance. It's a good crowd tonight — respectful, responsive, applauding thunderously where appropriate — and Yuri is looking forward to breaking all their hearts with the conclusion of the opera. It's a tragic tale of a love too precious to ever last: the climax ends with the heroine's own father killing the hero — that would be Yuri — on the eve of their wedding, at which point she pulls the blade from between his ribs and turns it on herself.
All that good stuff.
As such, Yuri is making himself wedding-ready when a knock rattles against his door. He glances towards the clock as he returns his powder-puff to the pot: it's too early for him to be summoned to his starting position for the second act, and management don't allow the audience backstage during the intermission for fear of overwhelimg their singers before they perform. He has, however, been on the receiving end of a seemingly endless stream of bouquets of roses — there were several in his dressing room beore he arrived for the evening, and the stagehand has already brought him two more over the course of the interval.
Roses, roses, roses — he's sick to his back teeth of the things, although he's fairly certain he'd offend a not insignifcant chunk of the nobility if he issued a statement asking them to try bringing him something else for a change. No doubt his fiancé, Deklan, would be the first among them.
His curiosity only deepens when he opens the door to reveal the stunning blond man on the other side: )
Huh ...
( He seems vaguely familiar, but Yuri can't quite place where he might have seen him before. A regular in the crowd, perhaps? One of Deklan's peers, cronies, or subordinates? Whoever he is, he's far too handsome for Yuri to brush him off as a nobody, and he's already earned a sliver of his favour by bringing him a bouquet of something new. )
Are those for me?
( He glances towards the flowers, his smile taking on a curl of something flirtatious as he opens the door a little wider. )
C'mon, you'd better come in before someone catches you back here.
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[It seems to occur to him, halfway through his sentence, that his instinctive desire to flatter and compliment is probably nothing that the star tenor of the opera hasn't already heard a thousand times before, and that continuing on with it — however earnestly — will only come off sounding disingenuous in the long run. Instead, he swallows the words back and nods as he steps inside the dressing room, grateful to be out of sight. Felix will notice he's gone before long, and his usual guards will notice it about ten minutes later than Felix does, and anyway, if he's not back in his seat before the opera resumes, everyone will notice, and not for good reasons.
So he hurries through the door and into the warmth of the little dressing room, waiting until it's been shut behind him before offering the fragrant bouquet. There are already so many flowers littering every surface of the room; he might feel self-conscious about his own, were it not for the fact that it's at least blessedly different from the others.]
Please. Your performance so far has been magnificent, and you've not even reached the final act yet. I simply wanted to offer my compliments, and my admiration.
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Object?
( Yuri raises an eyebrow as he takes the flowers, bringing them up closer to his face so that he can enjoy their gentle fragrance. His pleasure is immediate and evident: the smile that curves his lips is an easy thing that warms the lilac of his eyes, and he sighs his exhale before turning to give them pride of place on his vanity. )
Luckily for you, you've got great taste. I couldn't object to them even if I wanted to—
( There's a moment of pause as Yuri tilts his head in question, a little mischief touching the corners of his smile as he runs a fingertip over one of the fluffy peonies. )
This must be the part where you tell me your name, huh?
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He flicks a quick glance at the blossoms, looking for the hidden glint of gemstone that he knows is hidden away beneath them. Still there — good. He'll find it later, hopefully.]
It's, ah. Alexandre. I'm, er. With the Faerghan entourage.
[It's not even technically a lie; were he thinking more quickly, maybe he would've offered up Hugo or Jose, borrowing one of his friends' names for extra cover, but it's not as though he's ever been a particularly skilled liar. At least his own lengthy name isn't common knowledge anyway, and certainly not so this deep into the heart of the Empire.]
I'm sorry, I'm sure I've made this very awkward for you. Interrupting your preparation time, and all. Please don't feel as though you need to...entertain me, or anything like that. I only wanted to thank you for a. A magnificent performance.
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Alexandre ...
( Yuri turns the name over on his tongue thoughtfully, as though considering whether or not it's up to some kind of imagined standard. Dimitri is in luck: )
Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre. I'm Yuri.
( Not that the guy doesn't know as much — he sought out his dressing room specifically to bring him a gift, after all — but it's only polite to at least stick to some form of scripted small-talk. Besides, the guy's handsome exterior is already melting away into something kind of precious, and Yuri can't help but let him sweat for a moment before offering him a silvery little chuckle. )
And believe me, friend, I've had much more awkward encounters than this. Some flowers and a shower of compliments is positively tame.
( A beat of easy silence fills the space between them as Yuri turns back to the mirror, where he resumes powdering his face and the front of his throat. )
Will you be staying for the second half? Sometimes people slip out in the interval to do something else with the rest of their evening, but ...
( He glances towards the flowers, then back to Dimitri with a pretty little smirk. )
I'd hope to have your attention for the rest of it.
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[Even as he says it, he wonders if he's tipped his hand a little too much. But then again, he did say he was Faerghan — and frankly, even if he hadn't, his looks would've betrayed him that far anyway — and it's not as though there are many "entourages" he might belong to that are visiting Enbarr at the moment. Anyone with a little common sense could pick up on it, and Yuri doesn't strike him as a fool. There's a cleverness in his eyes, an awareness that was never there in all the simpering daughters of lords and nobles that have tried their damnedest to become his queen over the years.]
But even if I weren't, I can't imagine any engagement that could be more compelling than seeing your finale firsthand. Truly, truly —
[He pauses, then coughs sheepishly.]
This would make the third time I've called you magnificent, wouldn't it. Well. I should...let you get back to your preparations. Is there anything I might do for you before I go? Please don't hesitate to ask, I am in all things your humble servant.
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Oh, the Prime Minister's events have to be seen to be believed. You're in for quite a treat tonight, Alexandre.
( Yuri shoots him a playful wink through the mirror. )
And I'll be there with my fiancé, so if you need a friendly face to see you through all the promp and circumstance ...
( But he just hums thoughtfully, before tossing the powderpuff back into the pot and turning around to face him. Leaning back against his vanity, Yuri folds his arms across his chest as he lets his gaze flit over the man from top to toe again: )
As my humble servant, I order you to look for my company if you find yourself in need of rescuing from boorish conversation.
( Honestly? It's as much for himself as it is an offer for this mysterious Alexandre — the Faerghan soldier with a taste for the opera and an eye for beautiful blooms. Yuri's aversion to these events is so strong that Deklan has to force him to attend: usually with promises of money and supplies to be sent to the village in Faerghus where his mother still resides.
In exchange, Yuri remains on his arm like the pretty jewel he's supposed to be. )
How does that sound?
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[It's almost odd; for all that he'd been flustered and bashful just moments before, the mention of a significant other — and a serious one at that — actually seems to instill him with confidence, of all things. It's not so surprising, for anyone acquainted with Dimitri, the king of Faerghus; for all that he might be enchanted by the darling tenor of the Mittelfrank Opera, he's still not a man to covet another's lover.
For Alexandre the Faerghan soldier, perhaps it's a little more surprising. Or maybe it just comes off like he doesn't want to cause a diplomatic incident with his own whims.]
If not, perhaps I'll have occasion to tell him so, this evening. If I'm able to slip away from my...post.
[He pauses. Considers.]
Well. Thank you for indulging this whim of mine, and for accepting my flowers. I know roses are more traditional, but lilacs and peonies have...remarkable qualities, if one only looks closely enough.
[Maybe that will be enough. Hopefully it will. And with that, he bows and makes his quiet exit.]
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( Yuri’s eyebrows bump up towards his hairline as Alexandre relays his surprise — but then he supposes it’s possible that the man was under the impression he hadn’t yet left his escorting days behind. He wouldn’t be the first man to slip into his dressing room in the hopes of securing Yuri’s company after the show — it’s how he met Deklan, after all, and the rest is mostly history.
🎶🎶🎶
Disappointing, but hey, at least the guy has recovered easily enough. )
Well … that’d certainly be nice of you. Think you could give it to him in writing, for the times when he forgets?
( But he catches himself before his bitterness manifests any more directly, and offers Alexandre a polite nod as he bows and takes his leave of the room.
He doesn’t return to the bouquet flowers until after the show is over. It’s a resounding success, as it always is, and Yuri’s curtain call is as long as the heroine’s, to the point where he’s able to beg off having to entertain fans afterwards in the name of needing time to get himself turned around for the gala. Deklan is collecting him from the theatre directly which means Yuri needs to wash, change, and make himself beautiful in the space of about an hour.
Easy.
It’s his hurried turn-around that brings the flowers back to the fore. In his urgency to get ready he knocks the bouquet over and scatters the tissue, revealing a glint of something bright and sparkling wrapped around the dark bundle of the stems. Carefully, Yuri extracts the piece of jewellery from the bottom on the bouquet, and stands momentarily stunned by the exquisite craftsmanship of the piece that Alexandre hid for him.
Saints, but he must have been a man of means to be able to afford such a gift — although Yuri is quickly brought back down to earth by the realisation that he’ll hVe to give it back to him. He’s engaged, after all. Alexandre hadn’t realised that when he’d spent a small fortune on a necklace for him, and while Yuri is usually all too happy to exploit the wealthy? It wouldn’t do for Deklan’s fiancé to foster such a reputation.
He slips it into his pocket as he heads from the opera house and into the carriage waiting outside. He can always return it to Alexandre if they bump into one another at the gala - a pity, really, when he looks so good in shades of blue and pearl.
Ah, well.
Deklan is a strong, handsome man around twenty years Yuri’s senior. His chestnut brown hair is richly complemented by the burnt-orange and burgundy of his House, and there’s a glint of gold in his ears that catch the light when he tosses his head in a booming laugh. By his side, Yuri is a vision in the floor-skimming plum and crimson that he was firmly instructed to wear, his smile in perfect place as Deklan flaunts the treasure he’s managed to claim as his own.
)Just a few more hours, he tells himself. Just a few more hours, then he’ll be able to flash Deklan that smoldering look that never fails to get him quickly taken home.
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What it means in practice, of course, is that Dimitri never sees the vast majority of the guests attending the gala, save from a concealed balcony here or the one-way glass of an antechamber there. His companions are the Emperor and her spymaster, his own entourage, a handful of Adrestian political leaders, and of course, the head of the opera serving as host alongside the prime minister himself. Felix hates it, of course, and claims it's because it makes security difficult, but really Dimitri knows he just loathes the pomp and circumstance.
And he does too, really.
As the night wears on, he finds himself thinking again and again about Yuri's invitation from the dressing room before — and catches himself occupying the vantage points that overlook the more common crowds more and more, hoping to spot a glimpse of the elusive tenor.
Finally, he sees him — and ah, that must be the enigmatic fiancé there at his side. It's hard to say what it is, but there's something about the man that Dimitri finds immediately disagreeable; perhaps he's too loud or too crass or perhaps he's just looking for reasons to dislike the man, yes, all right, it's likely just that.
Well.
Drink in hand, he conceals himself near the edge of the balcony that overlooks the main ballroom, hidden neatly behind the shadows of draperies, and watches from above as Yuri and his intended mill about down below. Adrestian reds are almost too rich a hue against Yuri's delicate coloring, Dimitri thinks a little pettily. Something softer would surely suit him better.]
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( The evening doesn't turn sour until Yuri's second glass of champagne.
It isn't that he needed the courage to speak up, exactly, but more like he's less inclined to follow Deklan's unspoken rules after he's sunk a drink or two. He should know better than to expect him to say silent when he's being paraded around in front of the Minister for Housing: Deklan knows of Yuri's dreams, his goals, his vision for the slums and orphanages of Enbarr, but he's been ...
Well. Slow, in making good on those whispered promises that had delivered him Yuri's hand, and so it's after those two glasses of champagne that he decides to speak up and lay out his ideas in front of the Minister.
To say that it doesn't go well would be an understatement - but one would have to be paying close attentio from, say, behind some balcony draperies, to catch the moment when it happens. Deklan's grip on Yuri's wrist tightens suddenly, dramatically, until the singer's expression twists with pain, and an onlooker might notice how uncomfortable the Minister seems as a few well-chosen words strike Yuri where it hurts.
—dare you interrupt me, Yuri—
—petty gripes of yours are of no concern to the Minister—
When he's eventually released, Yuri's expression is flat and distant as he cradles his damaged wrist close to his chest. His lips shape an apology — short and curt — before he excuses himself to one of the lower balconies for some fresh air, his gait as smooth as it was when he'd been playing the hero gliding across the centre-stage.
It isn't until he finds a secluded spot out in the night air that, in a tight rush of breath, he lets himself sag against the wall as he inspects his rapidly bruising wrist. )
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The drink in his hand shatters, spilling shards of crystal and champagne onto the ornate and rather ugly carpet beneath his feet; lucky thing that he's wearing gloves, or bits and pieces of the remains of his glass might've easily wound up embedded in his skin. And yet the eerie thing is, it's as though he and the Minister are the only ones even cognizant of what's happening right there on the floor. No one takes note. No one intervenes. A sharp flash of pain mars Yuri's delicate features and it goes past without remark — Enbarr society condoning the action with its silence.
But he is not of Enbarr society, and right now all he holds is contempt for it.
He leaves the wreckage of his glass where it lies, hurrying out and abandoning the cape and trappings that are littered with his coat of arms. It's never easy to get past Sylvain and it's all but impossible to bypass Felix, but just because they'll notice his absence doesn't mean they'll be able to stop him. Something he'll just have to worry about later.
Right now, what matters is making his way down to the lower levels, and finding his way to the balcony where he'd seen Yuri duck off to. As tempting as it is to burst right in and start making demands, he just barely manages to catch himself. Reminds himself that for all he wants to be the King of Faerghus, and wield all the powers afforded to him because of it, there are too many reasons why he can't.]
...Yuri?
[He announces himself quietly, leaning in through the arched entrance, before slowly making his way onto the balcony proper, to leave plenty of time for Yuri to react as he likes.]
I thought I saw you come this way. Are you...out here?
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( The appearance of Alexandre is a surprise, to say the least. Later he might be grateful that the man gave him enough time to pull himself together: Yuri straightens up, dusts off his attire where dust from the stone might have stuck to him, and has positioned himself just so that his injured wrist is only visible to someone making the effort to see it. )
Well, how about that. Pomp and circumstance getting you down?
( The mask slides into place effortlessly — in no small part because it's easy to let the tightness in his shoulders relax a little in the presence of this man. Perhaps it's their make-believe power dynamic: Yuri, the dazzling tenor with the world eating out of his palm, and Alexandre, a man who claims himself in all things his humble servant.
It's kind of cute, really. )
It's good to see you. I was wondering whether you'd be able to find me again in the midst of all ...
( He makes a vague gesture towards the light and laughter trickling out from inside. )
... That.
( A flash of pain passes over his expression as Yuri realises he's using the wrong hand — his injured hand — and he quickly lowers it again before clearing his throat just the once. )
It's good to get a little fresh air during these things, huh?
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[That's the wrist the brute twisted, Dimitri muses darkly as he watches the pained expression blossom and wither on Yuri's features. It must not have just been a momentary twist; if it's still hurting him even now, the damage must have been more severe than it seemed from a distance.
(Idly, he wonders if Edelgard would give him a man's head on a platter if he asked. Dimitri hadn't recognized him, so he must only be a lesser noble, if that. Surely no one would miss him.)
But he presses his lips together, trying to stay focused. Wanting to press, without placing Yuri in an awkward position, or causing him any more stress than he's already been through this evening.]
Don't worry. If anyone comes looking, I'll tell them I'm alone out here. You can feel free to enjoy the night air as much and as long as you like, have no fear of that.
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( It's a small but surprisingly kind gesture — the kind of gesture that Yuri hasn't had extended to him since his acceptance of Deklan's marriage proposal. He'd been surprised by how quickly he transitioned from an adored treasure to a closely-guarded possession; Deklan isn't kind to the things he owns, but rather he feels a sense of entitlement to them, and Yuri most certainly counts as something he has no need to treat with care.
If Yuri stares, it's because the unquestioning way Alexandre puts his needs first is actually a little painful. )
Tch. There you go, being all adorable again.
( Fortunately, he recovers well enough that he hopes he'll be able to play the moment off. Yuri nods his appreciation, lilac eyes meeting clear blue for a long moment before he remembers the weight of the gift in his pocket. )
Ah, and speaking of adorable ...
( A hand dips into a crimson fold where it rummages for a moment, then carefully withdraws with the stunning necklace in all its sapphire and pearl glory. )
Not to seem ungrateful, but I thought you might want this back. It's a beautiful gift — much too beautiful for a lowly singer who can't give you anything in return.
( The corner of Yuri's lips lift into an unreadable smile as he offers the necklace back to him. )
Those days are behind me, y'know? Ever since Deklan ... yeah. Kinda part of the deal.
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[What an unusual look on Yuri's face — such surprise over a passing kindness that amounts to nothing at all. It leaves Dimitri with an even more sour feeling about this Deklan character than he'd had before, and it already wasn't a sweet one.
But then Yuri extends a hand, offering him the necklace back, and he raises his own palm-out in a gently negating gesture.]
It wasn't given with the expectation of anything in return. Please. But I...I understand how such a thing might cause trouble for you, in the eyes of your intended. Of course he would prefer to adorn you with jewels himself, rather than see you in those from another, regardless of how respectfully they may have been given.
["Alexandre the soldier" speaks like a diplomat, choosing careful words like a master chef chooses seasonings. If he cared about maintaining his facade right now, he might realize he'd made a mistake.
He doesn't care right now. This isn't the time for caring about things like that.]
Keep it and sell it. You outshine the beauty of the jewels already, and perhaps its value can be of more use to you than its appearance.
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( "Alexandre the soldier" is beginning to raise Yuri's suspicions. He can't help but feel like he's missing some curious piece of information: he claims to be as ordinary as any other soldier, and yet he's huge, striking, somehow able to bestow extremely lavish gifts upon near strangers, and now he's speaking to him with all the careful diplomacy of a man who's used to skirting conflict.
The fact that he doesn't want the necklace back ... )
... My guess is that a soldier would have had to save up for months to afford something like this. Maybe even come into a tidy inheritance and put some of that towards it.
( He says thoughtfully, turning the dangling sapphire this way and that so that it catches the scattered starlight. )
I figured you'd been coming to my shows for a while, putting away a little of your pay, waiting until you found something that was just right.
( There's a sharpness in Yuri's eyes now — the kind that suggests he's figured out he's being lied to, he just can't quite put his finger on what it is he's being lied to about. He doesn't withdraw his hand, nor does he make any move to pocket the piece again: )
But you don't want it back, even though I've said I can't accept it. ( A beat, followed by a moment of close scrutiny. ) Did you steal it?
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[It's almost comical, how so much of this conversation has been Yuri making remarks and Dimitri being thrown for such a loop that he's left to just awkwardly repeat whatever assertion was just made. But what kind of an assumption is that, he wonders — assuming a Faerghan soldier stole a piece of jewelry? Do...do people think his soldiers do that?
...
Do his soldiers do that?
Lord, but he's going to have a lot of questions to ask Sylavin when he's back.]
I told you — it was given without expectation. I don't want it back because it was a gift. I don't care about the money. If you don't want it, then don't keep it, I have no control over that. Give it away, sell it — leave it here for someone to find, if you must. But you dispense with it however you see fit. It's yours.
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( Yuri just looks at him for a long, hard moment, before finally slipping the necklace back into the fold of his pocket. He's going to need to give this situation some serious consideration: if Deklan finds it without context he'll likelt receive more than a bruised wrist, but if Yuri is upfront about the gift he'll be forced into selling it as a contribution to the household.
Perhaps it's time to get in touch with his old pal Balthus — see if he could sell it on for a decent price.
Perhaps he should simply keep it, tuck it away, to be a treasure no-one knows about but him. )
... You're a strange one, Alexandre. You know that, right?
( Yuri raises an eyebrow at the other man, a little genuine amusement curling back into his smile. He isn't a fool: Yuri is well aware that his line of questioning has Alexandre more than a little uncomfortable, and he doesn't want to spook him before he's gotten to the bottom of the mystery. )
I've never met a soldier who doesn't care about money. What's that all about, huh? Are you some tired Lord's sixteenth son?
( He wouldn't be the first surplus son sent off to join the army, after all. )
Let me guess: dreamt of a life on the stage, were forced to get a real job, now you've pinned all your fantasies on my voice.
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If you must know, the King of Faerghus — I saved the life of one of his ministers.
[Yes, that's better, he decides with his thoughts racing. A personal relationship with the king himself would pose too many problems. But a common guard might find himself in the right place at the right time and be rewarded for it, surely.]
He gave me that as a reward. That's — that's why it's Faerghus blue.
[It seems...REASONABLE...]
I have no spouse to give it to, and I don't need the money. My duties serving His Majesty suit me more than enough. So, should I drink or gamble away the token of my lord's esteem, or is it a better way of honoring his appreciation to...
[...]
Isn't it enough that I want you to have it? Must I justify my heart any more than that?
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( Honestly? Alexandre just needs to stop talking. Everything he says about the necklace makes him even more of a suspicious character in Yuri's eyes: the King of Faerghus gave his soldier — his huge, muscular soldier — a pretty necklace as a reward? Not a new lance, or a sword, or some kind of pointless yet powerful title?
It's unlikely, all things considered, unless ... )
Seems like he was showing you what his heart wants by giving it to you.
( Said with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. )
Unless he's not that way inclined. I'll be honest, I don't know all that much about the guy—
( Yuri looks thoughtful for a moment. )
For all I'm Faerghan myself. My mother still lives in one of the northern villages. If I sold it, I might be able to send her a little more money this month.
( Or, y'know, put it towards his own funding for orphanage reform — which will be something to seriously think about at some point after the gala. )
You're sure we won't be breaking His Majesty's heart if I decide to accept the justification of your own?
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In a single sentence, it's like the sky opens up overhead, clouds parting to make room for a divine revelation descending. He wouldn't have assumed that the darling tenor of the Enbarr opera was, in fact, one of his own subjects, but as soon as Yuri says it, it's like a once-blurry picture suddenly snaps into focus. And there's so much to unpack, besides just that — the idea that his mother still lives in Faerghus, though her son is so far from home; the fact that he sends money home to her. He wonders if she knows her son is set to be wed. He wonders if she would approve of his choice.
(His king certainly doesn't.)
But now, at last, he sees an opening to turn the conversation around and get back on the right foot; the King of Faerghus is a topic he can talk about with great authority, after all.]
No. No, he would approve, actually. He —
[He pauses a minute. Tries to think of how to say this in a way that's truthful without being insulting or presumptuous.]
He cares deeply about his subjects. I'm sure he would consider it money well spent, if it went to help your mother. I could tell him the truth of where the jewels ended up, and his heart would be glad, not broken.
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Oh yeah? I guess that means we can both rest easy if I ever meet him, huh?
( He teases, raising an eyebrow in Alexandre's direction to include him in his amused little quip. His expression softens ever so slightly a moment later as he reaches out to touch the soldier's arm: )
And you're gonna have to let me thank you properly — even if it's just with words. I never liked the idea of being in anyone's debt, but if you're sure I can accept it without getting tangled up in any of that ...
( Yuri gives his forearm a little squeeze. )
Then I thank you, Alexandre.
( A wink is tossed in his direction. )
You're a good guy.
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[But he repeats himself. Recovering quickly, he swallows and moves on.]
But if it would make you feel as though there is more balance, to offer something in return, then.
[This is pushing his luck, and he knows it, but he can't resist.]
Then let me see your wrist. The one that pains you.
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( Yuri hesitates for a moment, unsure what to make of Alexandre's request. He's not the kind of person who likes to be seen in moments of weakness; anything that suggests vulnerability must be carefully covered so that no one dares make the mistake of thinking less of him.
How typical of Deklan to chip away at Yuri's public face. How typical of him to try to remind him that he's owned, that he's the only person whose opinion Yuri should care about, and that he quite likes leaving marks of how touchable he is pressed into the pale of his skin. )
... If you must.
( But, balance is balance. Alexandre has asked for nothing in return for the necklace other than a look at his wrist, and Yuri would feel silly for making a fuss in light of such a generous gift.
He extends his arm, lifting his wrist high enough that Alexandre could take it if he so wishes. )
I've always bruised like a noa fruit. I daresay it looks worse than it is — plain old bad luck, y'know?
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