Cloths of Heaven
(i)
Ran sat on the couch, that Crawford had bought for him, in the library as he opened the gift. When he saw the title of the book he jumped up and wrapped his arms about Crawford and kissed him on the cheek. Then he blushed as bright red as his hair as he realised what he had done.
Across the library, his champion, Yohji snickered but said nothing. Crawford wasn't sure if he was laughing at the impromptu show of gratitude or the boy's reaction to it. Crawford was secretly pleased, part of him wanted to grab Ran and to show him how to kiss him properly, but the other half didn't want to offend the boy in any way. He was very young. “I've wanted this book it seems like forever,” Ran enthused, “Omi and I have been reading the entire series, I'm sorry, I got a little overexcited.”
Crawford just gave a soft and almost silent laugh, “it's no problem, I noticed you didn't have this one so I sent my secretary to get it for you. Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Ran said offering him one of his very innocent and sweet smiles, “I like it very much.”
“I'm glad.” Crawford said and he meant it, he would have paid a thousand king's ransoms for one of the boy's genuine smiles. “But now I have to wonder is Omi going to kiss me too?”
Yohji snorted out a laugh at the image. “You'd have to get through Manx first, and believe me, you'd need an entire armed guard to manage that.”
“I don't think Manx likes you much, Yotan,” Ran said teasing his champion. Wherever Ran was Yohji was not far behind. Crawford was glad, it meant his precious innocent Ran stayed innocent, even in the presence of such a notorious seducer. Yohji seemed to look on the boy as a younger brother who should be protected from all the evils of the world, and although he shared some jokes with him Crawford knew that they had been censored for his ears.
He liked the idea that all Ran would learn of love he would learn from him. The boy's naiveté was charming and Crawford wouldn't take it from him for the very world.
“I get the impression,” Yohji said leaning in like a conspirator, “that Manx doesn't like people much.”
Ran's instant peal of laughter rang around the room and Crawford smiled despite himself. He wondered what great act had earned him this reward, this perfect, beautiful, innocent boy; part of him even considered if a thank you note to the King of Inabayama was necessary because he had received a great gift indeed.
He was slowly, very slowly, coming out of the shell his shyness kept him in. He was getting bolder, slowly but improving every day. He still backed down from Naoe's demands and tantrums but he was answering Crawford. He was even ranging out on his horse, a placid mare that Crawford had bought for him specially, even though he denied it because Ran didn't like receiving expensive gifts. Crawford would have given him the world if he would have accepted it, he would have pulled the moon down from the sky for one of those innocent and dazzling smiles.
He wondered if soon Ran would be making sly, and rather innocent, asides with Yohji who he called Yotan and he called Schuldig Schu even though Schuldig protested, a little too much to really hate it in Crawford's opinion. He had even, sidling up to Schuldig with a rather wicked expression, which in Crawford's eyes was just adorable, called him Schu-Schu just to watch him splutter on the mouthful of wine he had just swallowed. He even got the idea that he had timed it for that reason.
Ran offered him a second smile, and then bit his bottom lip with perfect white teeth. “Thank you for the book,” he said and then began gnawing his lip a little more, “it has illustrations, would you like to see?” And then Ran was beside him with the book open and Crawford could smell the herbal scent of his shampoo and feel the heat of his body against him. He had to force himself to remember that although he was to marry Ran it wasn't for eighteen months yet.
He suspected the boy had no idea just how lovely he truly was. “See,” Ran said pointing to one of the illustrations, it was of a man in heavily spiked black armour, “this is the Nemesis who is laying siege to the West, and this,” he turned the page to show a knight in rather scanty armour, “this is the great knight Alaric who has been forced by wicked sorcerers to serve the Nemesis, and this,” the next picture was of a tall and willowy maiden, “is Celabrien and Alaric loves her but can't go to her until someone defeats the Nemesis in his terrible advance.”
Crawford began to regret buying the boy the book. The Hordes of the Nemesis and the armies of Estet were slowly swallowing the outlying kingdoms one by one and Ran was reading a rather ridiculous set of romances about them. Crawford himself had met the Hordes of the Nemesis on the field of battle and had been impressed by their prowess; he had only won that day by a slim margin.
“And Alaric is forced to bring beautiful things to the Nemesis, because it's the only thing that appeases his terrible hunger for human souls, and he is fighting to protect Celabrien from him, because she's the most beautiful girl in the world.” Ran was animated as he talked about the book. “I used to pretend, with Aya, that I was Alaric and she was Celabrien and that I had to protect her from Masafumi, who was the Nemesis, though we never told him.”
Yohji spluttered out a laugh at the boy's description. “I like that one,” he said with a laugh, “personally I'm not sure he's not worse than the Nemesis.”
“Who is the Nemesis?” Ran asked suddenly, “I only know about him from these books and I know they change him to make him worse than he is.”
“Nobody knows,” Crawford said softly, “all we know is that he collects beautiful things and his armies devastate and conquer.” He put his hand on Ran's shoulder in a placating manner, “but Eressea is a long way from his reach, you have nothing to fear from him.”
“You might have to go to war to face him.” Ran said sadly.
“Then I'll take you with me.” Crawford said firmly. “I'll never let you fear for the Nemesis or his hordes.”
(ii)
Ran crept down the corridors of the manor house as silent as an assassin on his plan. He stopped outside the double door and nodded to the guard there. She nodded and let him pass. He opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped inside and towards the huge curtained bed. He tugged back the covers to reveal the inhabitants.
His initial shock was quickly replaced by a warm smile as he reached out to the shoulder next to him, “Naoe,” he said softly, “Naoe,” he repeated. The figure came to wakefulness slowly, “Naoe, wake up.” Naoe looked at him sleepily, as he reached across him, “Omi,” he said in the soft tone, “Omi,” he repeated as the blonde boy woke up, “come see,” he held out his hand as he led them to the window, opening the shutters and then the window. “It's snowing.”
And it was, the snow was falling in soft white feathers. “It does that,” Naoe whined, pulling his blanket tighter about his shoulders, “it's winter.”
Omi understood. “The first snow of winter is precious.” He said staring up at the indigo sky, “wishes made in it come true.” Although like Naoe he had a blanket pulled tight about his shoulders he used his free hand to catch one of the falling snowflakes. “It hardly ever snowed in Inabayama.” He said, “and I never got to see the first snows.” Then with a winning grin he threw his arms around Ran and hugged him tight, his blanket falling down.
“This doesn't make us friends.” Naoe said stiffly, almost embarrassed by his friend's overt display of affection.
“I know,” Ran said quietly, “but it's no fun sharing the snow on your own.”
(iii)
Every day Ran wrote to his sister to be sent on the weekly ship to Inabayama. He wrote his parents long rambling letters but his secrets he saved for Aya. He told her of his nightly suppers with Crawford, of his uphill battle to make friends with Naoe, although he confided in her that she would have had no trouble there because everyone loved Aya, and how Omi had befriended the boy almost against Naoe's better judgement. He told Aya how the two of them pretty much went everywhere hand in hand with Manx trailing behind them like a mothering shadow.
He told Aya about Crawford, about how handsome he was, and how kind. He told her that Crawford had bought him this, or had the cooks make him that. He told her about the lingering smell of his cologne and the cut of his clothes. Then he told her about how he felt sheepish admitting that to her because it made him sound like a girl with a crush.
He told her about Yohji and how being with him almost all the time made him feel very adult. He told her about how easy it was to make him splutter instead of laugh.
He told her about how fond he was becoming of Eressea but how desperately he missed Inabayama and the sea. He thought he might miss the sea most of all.
That he never got an answer didn't seem to bother him, for after all Aya was very ill, because if she wasn't then he wouldn't be here, in her place. He imagined her, lying in her bed, as their mother read out the letters to her, pretending not to listen as Ran told her of his secrets. He had never hidden anything from Aya and he wouldn't start now.
He told her how he missed her on his daily ride with Yohji and Schuldig, because in Inabayama he would have ridden with her.
That he missed being in her shadow he didn't tell her.
That he wanted her to get well he stressed in every letter, and sometimes, it felt, every word.
Yet when the mail from the ship came in he waited impatiently for Crawford's steward to hand him his own bundle of letters, and he would smile at his mother's and beam at his fathers, and then his heart would break, as there was never a letter from Aya. He repeated the words over and over again, she never responded because she was sick.
As the steward handed him the bundle of letters he ruffled through them and then he must have frowned because Crawford came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, he didn't say anything, he didn't need to, but Ran would have given him anything for that moment of understanding and comfort.
(iv)
At supper that night Ran was despondent. Yohji had wisely decided to sit outside the door rather than waiting for him inside the room, and Crawford could tell that the boy was upset by the way he moved his dinner around his plate and wouldn't meet his gaze.
“You miss her, don't you?” Crawford said, pushing away his own plate. “Your sister.”
Ran met Crawford's consoling gaze across the table. “I,” he started but the words were gone. It was clear that he swallowed a sob.
Crawford let out a sigh and then stood up, going around the table and wrapping his arms about the boy, “sometimes we're all so grown up,” he said, “that we forget it's fine to be weak sometimes.” Ran looked up at him from the pillow of the broad chest he leant against, Crawford could see the line of shimmering tears welling in the boy's beautiful violet eyes, “Just let it out.”
That was all the permission Ran needed, he started to cry, thick roaring sobs that seemed to rough for his throat, his fingers twisted in the fabric of Crawford's shirt as he clutched to him to let out the rage and pain and frustration he felt.
Crawford just tightened his arms about him and let him cry.
When he was done Ran looked a little sheepish. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, though his voice was still thick with tears.
“Don't be,” Crawford told him, “I'm glad you trusted me enough to share this with me.”
“Now, I'm all ugly.” Crawford chuckled at Ran's response. “my eyes are all puffy and my cheeks are all sticky and I'm probably really snotty.” Crawford wiped Ran's cheek with his palm, even as his other hand remained between the boy's shoulder blades. He leant in then, smelling the boy's lemon and soap freshness, and pressed a kiss upon the pouting lips.
“You're never going to be ugly.” Crawford said honestly, “you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, I don't ever want you to think that you're ugly.” The boy's vanilla sweetness was still on his lips, the hint of the herbs from the stew. “I'm going to kiss you now, Ran, if you don't want me to, you only have to say.”
Ran blushed as bright as his hair even as his fingers tangled even tighter in the fabric of Crawford's shirt. He lowered his head but let Crawford slowly, softly, raise his jaw with his fingertips and with his eyes closed he sighed into the kiss that Crawford gave him.
The boy was unskilled and nervous and Crawford could feel the manic thump of Ran's heart against his chest as his long white fingers pulled at his shirt trying to pull Crawford closer.
The kiss was innocent and rather naïve, Crawford merely pulled his lips over the boy's, but it was rewarding none the less when he pulled back and saw Ran's eyes closed and his lips still pursed, reaching out for him. Crawford, for a brief moment, considered all the reasons he shouldn't kiss the boy again, and decided they were irrelevant, the boy, whatever else he was, was his, and because he had never been good at self denial he kissed him again.
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