[Day 50; 11:17pm]

[goldenbishounen]

The nameless restlessness of the day had turned into something different now that the day was done, but he was still far from anything resembling comforted. The burst of relief that had come when the word reached him that Conrad had returned had vanished under anger at the unease that had kept him from joining those that had rushed to greet the

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[sekinin]

It's late--almost midnight. And he's tired. He should go to bed soon, and yet . . . It's good to be home. To walk these halls.

And he knows that a mess of paperwork and a mess of reports and a mess that is his life is waiting there in his rooms. A life where were things were difficult, but the difficulties had been different . . . Easier, maybe. So he walks.

The darkness of Dai Shimeron and the bitter arguments, anger, and subterfuge of Caloria seem like a dream now that he's back home. And how long will it last?He doesn't have time to think long on the question when he turns the corner and find himself looking down at a familiar cap of blond hair. It's the exact same as he recalls it--calculatingly careless--as is the expression on the younger demon's face. Familiar green eyes, painfully fair skin, delicate, flawless bone structure . . . Wolfram took as heavily after their mother as Conrad took after his father, neither of them bore features from their opposing parent. But the blond soon-to-be Consort's temperament was a

[goldenbishounen]

He refuses to let himself flinch upon looking up to find the subject that consumed his thoughts right in front of him. He keeps his chin up, and holds to his silence, feeling a small thrill of victory when Conrad looks away and speaks first

[sekinin]

This is to be a night of awkward meetings, it seems. All he needs is for Rad and Gwendal to emerge from the shadows to make the quartet complete. Still, it is . . . nice . . . in a way. He and Wolfram have not really spoken in literal decades.

A swirl of bitterness wiggles its way towards the forefront of his mind, but he quashes it. He can be bitter tomorrow, with a sword in his hand and his father goading him on; tonight, it would be very, very nice to simply talk to his little brother.

Conrad smiles, a soft expression. "Ah. A bit. It was a long journey back, but--" 'I don't sleep well' sounds bad. "It's nice to be home again. I missed this place."

He ignores an reference to why he may have been gone. Sorrow will be a part of tomorrow, too. It will also have to wait for swords and sunlight.

[goldenbishounen]

Surprised to find himself agreeing, he meets Conrad's eyes without thinking about it. He can't quite smile the same way Conrad does, but a little of the awkward tension leaves him

[sekinin]

Conrad tilts his head to the side ever so slightly as he works to decode that. It's been too long; his Wolfram-to-Mazoku translator is slower than usual. It still works, though, and the sentiment is so . . . Wolfram that he can't keep back a small chuckle.

"Ah." It's a hard to resist the urge to touch Wolfram's hair--another familiarity from decades past--but he manages. "A lot of things are easy to forget until you don't have them. Sometimes some things can be replaced, though. Or even reclaimed entirely."

[goldenbishounen]

The chuckle brings an edge of anger, though the words that follow don't seem mocking.

"It isn't... I don't mean that I want to, but..."

This is too hard, and words have never been something he's been good at, and when he stops he gives a frustrated huff of breath.

"It's late."

He looks at Conrad as he says the words, almost smiling and somehow sad. Then he steps to the side, starting to walk past his brother toward his room. Next to Conrad, he pauses. Carefully, he touches Conrad's shoulder, not squeezing, just a light brush of his fingers.

"You should rest."

The words come out sharper than he'd intended, but he can't take them back, and he's too confused to risk trying to say anything else. He lowers his hand back to his side, finally feeling ready to seek his own bed.

[sekinin]

This truly is to be a night of awkward meetings, it seems. But the feather-light brush of fingers at his shoulder . . . the uncomfortable rainfall of words . . . It's worth it.

A decade of progress in five minutes.

Some part of Conrad wants to stop the younger man and try to untangle all this, but neither of them are good with these kinds of words and a conversation can only last so long when it's based on all the things that are not being said.

His lips part and words of import hang there for an instant before dissipating without ever being spoken. Wolfram is right; it really is rather late. "Hai." The brunet bows his head in acquiescence. His voice is soft. "Goodnight, Wolfram."