Kyou Kara Maou, Something Borrowed

Title: Something Borrowed [Conrad/Yuuri unrequited]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, and as usual, it’s all Yozak’s fault.
Summary: Yuuri’s having some trouble tying up loose ends on the morning of his wedding, and Conrad has to be the reasonable one like usual.
AN: This is about as close to angst as I get, I think. WTF am I writing Conyuu for? marksykins, think of this as your welcome gift basket into the fandom (and you completely need to start writing me woobie Yuuri and Wolfram).

Also, the phrase ‘a Shibuya second’ is an actual Japanese expression, sort of like our ‘New York Minute’, only shadier.

Something Borrowed

“Gift from Spitzburg, gift from Cabalcade…” Murata rifled through a few more envelopes, the paper of the thick envelopes even sounding expensive as they slid through his fingers. Next to him, Yuuri stared into the full-length mirror and fussed with the sweep of his purple cloak for the thousandth time, until Murata reached over to slap his hand away from the velvet. “Offer of truce from Dai Shimeron…ha, that’ll last a Shibuya second.” He grinned at his Maou. “No offence.”

“Fuck you, Sage,” Yuuri replied, but there was more nausea than heat in it. He tried to take a calming breath and nearly lost his breakfast right on Murata’s pointy little shoes.

A knock on the door stopped whatever Murata was going to say next, and after a look at Yuuri’s white face, he called for whoever it was to come in.

Conrad pushed the door open, and it had been so long since Yuuri had seen him in anything besides his military browns, that Yuuri forgot all about his churning stomach and blinked hard a few times. The white brocade of the traditional best man uniform made Conrad’s swordsman’s tan glow, and his eyes looked darker for the pale material.

“How are you doing, Your Majesty?” he asked, and Yuuri groaned. Behind Conrad, Yozak stuck his head through the doorway, and if the emerald silk ribbons tying his hair up were any indication, it was probably a good thing Conrad was blocking the rest of his outfit.

“Oi, Sage,” he called, catching Murata’s eye with a directional head-jerk. “We need you out here a minute. Something about the champagne tower flowing the wrong way.”

“That son of a bitch, he swore he’d contain himself today.” Murata rolled his eyes, tapping the envelopes into a neat pile and leaving them on the desk. He and Conrad exchanged nods as Murata passed him and headed out the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.

The silence in the room was thick on Yuuri’s tongue, and he fought his rising nausea yet again.

“You look good, Your Majesty,” Conrad finally said, crossing the room to fix Yuuri’s cloak. Two passes of his hand, and he undid all of Yuuri’s nervous damage, making the heavy material lie in perfect, flowing folds.

“You…you do too,” Yuuri finally managed miserably. Conrad’s hands were still resting on his shoulders, and he could feel the warmth of them sinking into his shoulders. “Conrad, I…”

“Cold feet?” Conrad asked, and that smile would have been mocking on anybody else, but on Conrad’s lips it made Yuuri’s heart clench painfully, and to his horror, he felt tears gather in his eyes.

“Dammit,” Yuuri reached up to scrub at his eyes, staring at the floor. “Sorry, I’m so fucking wound up.” One of Conrad’s hands left Yuuri’s shoulders, and he took the handkerchief Conrad pressed into one of his hands, still not looking up.

“Not every day you get married,” Conrad murmured as Yuuri gave an undignified honk into the handkerchief. “It’s to be expected, Your Majesty.”

“Stop fucking calling me that.” Yuuri’s voice was choked, and he clenched the handkerchief into a crushed ball. He still couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Conrad’s feet, and he found himself missing the sensible brown of Conrad’s normal boots. He swallowed hard. “White’s a wedding color in my world, you know.”

“Yuuri.” Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut at Conrad’s low voice, but they snapped open against when Conrad slid his palm across Yuuri’s cheek until his fingers brushed through Yuuri’s hair. When he lifted his head, Conrad’s face was still set in that neutral way of his, but his eyes looked suspiciously damp as well.

“Conrad,” Yuuri swallowed hard, his voice refusing to stay even. “I’m scared…and I…you…Conrad…”

“Yuuri,” Conrad said again, and Yuuri cut off with a little hiccup. “You’ve been engaged to Wolfram for three years, surely this can’t be that much of a shock.”

“Conraaaaad!” Yuuri wailed, but he laughed a tiny bit too, raising the handkerchief up to brush across his eyes. It was warm and damp from being clutched in his hand.

“Wolfram loves you,” Conrad said, letting his hand fall from Yuuri’s face, and when Yuuri started to speak, he cut him off. “And you love him.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri shook his head just a little, “but…”

“Everything will work better this way,” Conrad assured him, giving his shoulder a last squeeze before letting that hand fall too. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a slender blue flower, and the corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitched in recognition. When Conrad went to tuck it into the clasp of Yuuri’s cloak where it rested on his shoulder, Yuuri’s hands closed over his.

“It’s not fair,” he hissed, fingers tightening over Conrad’s. “You never…”

“Oi oi!” Yozak threw the door open at that moment, startling Yuuri half out of his skin. Conrad adjusted the flower and smiled without looking over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Your Majesty, or you’ll be late for your own wedding!”

“I do,” Conrad said, low enough that only Yuuri could hear, then let his hands fall away from under Yuuri’s nerveless fingers. “We’d better get moving, Your Majesty. I don’t want to miss my one chance to give you away.”

Yuuri swallowed again, and when Conrad smiled like that, only a moron wouldn’t smile back.

Out in the hallway, Murata was waiting as well, and performed the final inspection.

“Got everything?” he asked. “Ring? Garter? Something old, something new?”

“Yes, Murata,” Yuuri snapped. “I’ve even got something…” Yuuri’s voice trailed off as he reached up to touch the delicate blue petals of the flower tucked into his cloak’s clasp. His jaw tightened slightly. “I’m set.”

He started down the hall with Murata, and Conrad stepped forward to follow, but Yozak caught at his arm.

“You look like you could use a minute,” he commented, and when Conrad murmured a protest, folded his arms and eyed his commander until he shrugged with a rueful smile. Expression softening, Yozak lifted a hand to graze his palm over Conrad’s cheekbone until his fingers brushed in the soft, brown hair. “You haven’t even told me how good I look.”

“I’ve never seen a bridesmaid’s dress with a slit that high before, certainly,” Conrad chuckled, reaching up to brush Yozak’s fingers briefly before they both dropped their hands. “Is that entirely proper for a state occasion?”

“Have you seen what your little brother’s wearing?” Yozak made a dismissive noise and tossed his head a little, and Conrad noticed for first time the delicate yellow flowers tucked into Yozak’s hair along with the ribbon.

“What are those?” Conrad reached up to pluck one of the tiny blossoms, and Yozak gave an indignant ‘hmph’ as he reached up to make sure Conrad hadn’t dislodged anything else. Conrad twirled the flower between his thumb and forefinger. “Are these new?”

“Your mother made them special for today,” Yozak nodded, tucking one errant curl back into place. He raised an eyebrow. “They’re called ‘Yuuri Spread-Eagle For the Wedding Night’.”

“They are not!” Conrad exclaimed, laughing until he had to lean against Yozak’s side. Yozak took the opportunity to pluck the flower from Conrad’s fingers and tuck it behind his ear, and he did not complain that Conrad was creasing his silk.

“Conrad!” Yuuri yelled from the end of the hallway, waving for him to hurry up. “Are you giving me away or not?”