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poisonangelTitle: The Next Time We Meet
Chapter: Chapter 1: The King of Denial
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poisonangel7
Characters/Pairings: Hints of Conrad/Yuuri and one-sided Yuuri/Wolfram
Word Count: 2618
Rating: PG
Warnings: This storyline takes place directly after episode 40, so it will be canon up until that point and then AU.
Author's Note: This was my very first KKM fic back when I wrote chapter fics. I'm working on editing and finishing it!
Everything was as it should be.
The army of Dai Shimaron had been defeated through the combined efforts of Shin Makoku and the human-run countries that assisted them. Alliances had been forged. Friendships had grown. And the people Yuuri cared most about in his home away from home were all returning to where they belonged.
The young king struggled to keep his large, obsidian eyes open. He had been awake for most of the voyage back to Shin Makoku. Whenever Gunter had fawned over him in concern, he simply pretended he was too wound up from all the excitement to sleep, but in truth his small body was limp with exhaustion. The only thing keeping his exceedingly heavy eyelids from slipping closed and sending him off into a deep sleep was fear.
Fear that if he closed his eyes Conrad would be gone when he reopened them.
Ever since finding himself sucked through a very unlikely toilet—something he still wasn’t comfortable thinking about—he had one constant in his life—Conrad. The tawny haired man with rich, copper eyes had served as his friend, confidant, advisor, protector, and most recently traitor.
But it wasn’t the fact Conrad had held a sword against him or the way he said Yuuri was no longer his master that really caused the young maou pain. After all, he had never actually considered himself Conrad’s master and as his sword instructor they had battled on countless occasions. What was unfamiliar and more than a little unsettling was his prolonged absence. Somehow being with the tall soldier even when they were supposedly meeting as enemies was a more comforting prospect than being without him—wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why.
He knew in his heart that Conrad had never truly betrayed him...them. He meant them of course. Conrad never betrayed Shin Makoku. His actions in battle against Dai Shimaron proved that clearly enough. He had almost died protecting Yuuri, and now he was healing and on his way home to Blood Pledge Castle.
Everything was as it should be, but the dark-haired boy still avoided sleep just to be sure.
Yuuri had a history of having bizarre dreams like the time he was the leader of a crime syndicate that made its riches by stealing yard gnomes or the time he fought off a team of ninjas using only a banana and a piece of twine. His mother always said it came from the peculiar snacks he craved before bedtime. The oddest of which had to be the peanut butter and bacon sandwich complete with green olives. But the student turned king stood by his culinary creation, challenging people to try it before criticizing it! No one ever did.
Whether his dreamscapes were inspired by randomly associated bits of memory or randomly assembled bits of food, one thing was for sure, he wanted to wake up. Instead of the abnormal or fantastic he was reliving a nightmare.
He was trekking through unfamiliar territory where the sharp, frozen air stung his overexerted lungs. He was trying to escape an army of pursers when a lone, silhouetted figure came into view before him. He felt a warm swell of hope ballooning inside his chest. He knew he was right after all. Conrad had returned to explain why he had been acting that way.
Only that isn’t how nightmares go, and it isn’t how the past went either. The man in the white uniform warned them of danger ahead, which seemed to be validation for the faith Yuuri had bestowed in him. Only then the words fell from his lips—those words that tore at the young king’s heart and cruelly repeated in his mind. “The next time we meet, I will really be your enemy.”
The dark haired youth sat up straight with a glimmer of sweat barreling down his damp forehead. He blinked hard, thinking he had almost allowed himself to drift off. But when his dark lashes separated fully and his surroundings came into view, he realized he was no longer aboard the transport ship—he was in his room at the castle.
“Huh?” he blinked again, thinking he would find himself back aboard the high seas, but nothing had changed. He was sitting in the center of his soft, lavish bed that seemed much bigger without a certain blonde taking up more than his fair portion of space.
Nothing seemed peculiar or out of place except him not remembering how he got there.
He stretched his arms out and released a much needed yawn as he racked his brain for any memory of leaving the ship. It was then an expanse of pink caught his eye. Holding his breath, he allowed his head to tip downward to fully take in what he was wearing. It was a light pink, very frilly, very non-baseball-looking set of pajamas, typically worn by Wolfram, but never by his majesty.
“AAAAAH!” he shouted out in surprise while jumping to his feet as though he had been attacked by the flimsy material that loosely flowed over his thin frame. His hands even reflexively smacked the cloth as if it were on fire.
“Your Majesty, what is wrong?” Gunter called out in concern as he burst into the room at full tilt, rapidly darting his eyes around in search of attackers who no doubt wanted to rob him of his precious king.
“What am I wearing?” cried Yuuri with a touch of irritation and a healthy dose of shock. His voice sounded more like Wolfram’s than his own typically sweet, forgiving tone.
“Pajamas, Your Majesty,” Gunter answered succinctly with a hint of confusion.
“No, I mean, how did I end up wearing them?” he relaxed his voice and asked with more of his usual kindness.
“Oh...that. Well, I dressed you, Your Majesty.” A small pool of blood formed just beneath his right nostril as he spoke.
Yuuri couldn’t prevent the blush that deepened the pink tones in his pale complexion. His desire to discuss his unorthodox sleepwear had suddenly vanished. Looking anywhere, but at the similarly blushing lavender-haired advisor he noticed how bright it was outside his grand windows. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Lunch will be served shortly.”
“I’m late for my sword practice with Conrad. Why didn’t he wake...?” The words froze unspoken in his throat. Sad eyes cast themselves toward the elaborate tiled flooring. “Right,” he responded to himself when the answer became clear. It seemed his long sleep had made everything seem more dreamlike.
He had almost forgotten about the absence, the betrayal, and the injuries. Almost.
His slightly mused bed hair fell in wild patterns over his forehead until he jerked his head back upright. “Well, he will be well enough to continue my training soon. Until then I better get some food before Wolfram eats it all.” Laughing a bit at his own jest, Yuuri went to his wardrobe to begin getting dressed.
He missed the wounded look on Gunter’s face as he slowly excused himself from the bedchambers. His king was smiling again, and the last thing he wanted to do was face those downcast eyes or watch the sparkle fade from view as he tried to explain why Yuuri couldn’t trust the man he trusted more than anyone to hold a sword near him again.
Yuuri's stomach scolded him as he dashed through the long stone corridors of the castle on his way to lunch. He hadn’t realized how hungry sleeping could make a person. Upon arriving he dramatically swung the doors to the dining room open and exclaimed, “I’m starved! What’s for lunch?”
Former maou, Cheri, smiled winningly at him before returning her exuberant attentions to Yozak, who looked frightened for the first time since Yuuri could remember. Gwendal gave only a curt nod as a sign of acknowledgement. Gunter looked as though he was ready to launch into some elaborate greeting when he was cut off by a certain prince.
“You were late, wimp. So I ate yours,” Wolfram stated dismissively without making eye contact. His words seemed edged with an extra douse of vinegar.
“What?”
“I am your fiancé. It was my duty to see it didn’t go to waste,” the emerald-eyed boy replied haughtily.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Yuuri muttered as he looked longingly at the nearly empty plates of food.
“Don’t worry, I saved a plate for you, Your Majesty,” Gunter interjected.
“Great! Actually, I think since all of you are basically done I’ll just go eat with Conrad.”
Looks were exchanged all over the table, but it was Gwendal who finally spoke. “That is not the best idea right now.”
Yuuri’s eyes narrowed defensively, “Why not?”
“He is still recovering from his injuries,” Cheri interjected.
“All the more reason for me to go! He needs some company to cheer him up so he gets well sooner.” Awkward silence was his only response.
“Perhaps, later,” Gunter offered vaguely.
“Why not now?” Yuuri was becoming frustrated. He was certain they were hiding something from him, and after all the surprises and upheavals of the last few weeks he was not in the mood for anymore secrets.
Wolfram snapped to his feet and angrily slammed his palms on the large oak table before him. “Because Weller is a traitor, and a wimp like you can’t tell the difference between someone who cares about him and someone who is just hurting him!”
Yuuri felt a spike of rage like a river of fire bubbling up inside. Instinctively, he raised his hand to strike the bold young prince, but stopped inches from his face. He had made that mistake once before and knowing the consequences now he was in no mood to repeat it.
Letting his arm fall to his side limply, he simply turned and walked out without another word and without his meal. He had suddenly lost his appetite.
Conrad stared at a particularly long crack in the ceiling. It splintered into a hundred smaller cracks, tracing their own path along the gray stone. He tried to count them, but they were far away and too interconnected to discern one from another. He only wanted some activity to keep himself from thinking about the past few weeks, but no amount of distraction was enough to prevent the image of Yuuri’s tear-stained face from reappearing in his mind’s eye.
Even resting on a cot in the medical ward of the castle, under guard and attended by the talented Gisela he was haunted. He could still hear the pained crack in Yuuri’s gentle voice as he asked, no, begged to know why. Why was his trusted friend was telling him they were enemies? Why had he remorselessly thrown his long time friend, Yozak, from a towering cliff? Why did he betray him?
Conrad wanted to tell Yuuri why.
His heart clenched as though it were trapped in a vice each time he saw the pain he was inflicting on his king and his brothers and his friends. If he could spare even a fraction of that suffering with an explanation he would have done it in a heartbeat. But to explain was to fail in his assignment. Only he had failed, and in so many different ways.
“Time to check your bandages,” the doctor with jewel-toned hair called out. She eased herself into a sitting position on the edge of his bed as she gingerly lifted the blood-soaked rags that covered deep puncture wounds from the arrows he had physically blocked for Yuuri.
The boy had used his powers to heal the wounds there on the battlefield, but even with his raw power and eagerness to make the solider healthy again, he was a novice and the wounds were deep and many.
“The others are healing nicely, but this one is being stubborn. It is a lucky thing for you that I came back from Caloria when I did,” she chuckled with a friendly attitude. But inside she struggled with her thoughts too, wondering what could have made the man she had known most of her life act so strangely.
“It has been awhile since I’ve treated an arrow injury. With tensions as high as they have been recently we have been lucky not to have more battles. King Yuuri seems to be doing quite a good job for a newcomer to our world.”
He nodded weakly, and it was obvious to her that he lacked the will to respond, so she didn’t push him. “You should get some rest,” she advised before leaving his side. Healers could seldom go wrong with a prescription for rest. She'd mention plenty of fluids later. There was no need to use them all up at once.
Conrad only continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling where instead of a pattern of interlaced cracks, he saw glistening tears streaming down the youthful face of a shattered maou.
Wolfram had taken his cue to exit the dining room immediately after Yuuri, though he took care to go the opposite direction from the angry king. He had no desire to be lectured by Gunter or yelled at further by the dark haired boy. Then again, perhaps the distance was more to protect himself from another outburst.
The fair-skinned boy with dazzling green eyes and golden hair leaned on a cold, stone wall for support, but found himself sinking to the ground. He absently touched his left cheek with delicate fingertips that even after years of sword use had never developed a single rough callous.
He had noticed the way Yuuri purposefully avoided slapping him the way he had when he became outraged at their first meeting. That first flesh to flesh contact between the young men had entered them into an engagement that Yuuri never embraced, but never dissolved either.
Wolfram had grown to care deeply about the young king whose heart seemed large enough to show kindness to everyone in the country or, perhaps, even the world. So when he pulled away or shunned his own fiancé the pain ran even deeper because he knew a stranger would have received more affection.
Still, he could hardly blame Yuuri for being angry this time. He was still a little shocked by what he had done. He thought he trusted Conrad.
It was true that Conrad was half human and that knowledge had all but severed the brotherly bonds they shared, but ever since Yuuri had become Maou, Wolfram had been able to view his half brother through new eyes—devoted eyes—Yuuri's eyes. Somewhere along the way of sharply referring to his brother as Weller he had begun to gently call him Conrad again. Of course, he blamed it on spending too much time with his wimp fiancé, but it was still not so bad having him back in his life.
And then all of this had to happen. Even as he watched his brother don the Dai Shimaron uniform and say he was no longer loyal to Shin Makoku, he couldn’t believe it. Deep down, he knew his brother was no more a traitor than he was a wimp.
He was thrilled when Conrad released their bonds and joined them in battle. And then when he agreed to return it was like everything was going back to normal—something that had been desirable ever since Yuuri arrived. And yet, there he was in the dining hall, screaming at the top of his lungs that Weller was a traitor.
Everything had been fine until he had seen that innocent look in Yuuri’s pitch black eyes.
Apparently, he trusted Conrad, just not with Yuuri.
Chapter 2
Chapter: Chapter 1: The King of Denial
Author:
poisonangel7Characters/Pairings: Hints of Conrad/Yuuri and one-sided Yuuri/Wolfram
Word Count: 2618
Rating: PG
Warnings: This storyline takes place directly after episode 40, so it will be canon up until that point and then AU.
Author's Note: This was my very first KKM fic back when I wrote chapter fics. I'm working on editing and finishing it!
Everything was as it should be.
The army of Dai Shimaron had been defeated through the combined efforts of Shin Makoku and the human-run countries that assisted them. Alliances had been forged. Friendships had grown. And the people Yuuri cared most about in his home away from home were all returning to where they belonged.
The young king struggled to keep his large, obsidian eyes open. He had been awake for most of the voyage back to Shin Makoku. Whenever Gunter had fawned over him in concern, he simply pretended he was too wound up from all the excitement to sleep, but in truth his small body was limp with exhaustion. The only thing keeping his exceedingly heavy eyelids from slipping closed and sending him off into a deep sleep was fear.
Fear that if he closed his eyes Conrad would be gone when he reopened them.
Ever since finding himself sucked through a very unlikely toilet—something he still wasn’t comfortable thinking about—he had one constant in his life—Conrad. The tawny haired man with rich, copper eyes had served as his friend, confidant, advisor, protector, and most recently traitor.
But it wasn’t the fact Conrad had held a sword against him or the way he said Yuuri was no longer his master that really caused the young maou pain. After all, he had never actually considered himself Conrad’s master and as his sword instructor they had battled on countless occasions. What was unfamiliar and more than a little unsettling was his prolonged absence. Somehow being with the tall soldier even when they were supposedly meeting as enemies was a more comforting prospect than being without him—wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why.
He knew in his heart that Conrad had never truly betrayed him...them. He meant them of course. Conrad never betrayed Shin Makoku. His actions in battle against Dai Shimaron proved that clearly enough. He had almost died protecting Yuuri, and now he was healing and on his way home to Blood Pledge Castle.
Everything was as it should be, but the dark-haired boy still avoided sleep just to be sure.
Yuuri had a history of having bizarre dreams like the time he was the leader of a crime syndicate that made its riches by stealing yard gnomes or the time he fought off a team of ninjas using only a banana and a piece of twine. His mother always said it came from the peculiar snacks he craved before bedtime. The oddest of which had to be the peanut butter and bacon sandwich complete with green olives. But the student turned king stood by his culinary creation, challenging people to try it before criticizing it! No one ever did.
Whether his dreamscapes were inspired by randomly associated bits of memory or randomly assembled bits of food, one thing was for sure, he wanted to wake up. Instead of the abnormal or fantastic he was reliving a nightmare.
He was trekking through unfamiliar territory where the sharp, frozen air stung his overexerted lungs. He was trying to escape an army of pursers when a lone, silhouetted figure came into view before him. He felt a warm swell of hope ballooning inside his chest. He knew he was right after all. Conrad had returned to explain why he had been acting that way.
Only that isn’t how nightmares go, and it isn’t how the past went either. The man in the white uniform warned them of danger ahead, which seemed to be validation for the faith Yuuri had bestowed in him. Only then the words fell from his lips—those words that tore at the young king’s heart and cruelly repeated in his mind. “The next time we meet, I will really be your enemy.”
The dark haired youth sat up straight with a glimmer of sweat barreling down his damp forehead. He blinked hard, thinking he had almost allowed himself to drift off. But when his dark lashes separated fully and his surroundings came into view, he realized he was no longer aboard the transport ship—he was in his room at the castle.
“Huh?” he blinked again, thinking he would find himself back aboard the high seas, but nothing had changed. He was sitting in the center of his soft, lavish bed that seemed much bigger without a certain blonde taking up more than his fair portion of space.
Nothing seemed peculiar or out of place except him not remembering how he got there.
He stretched his arms out and released a much needed yawn as he racked his brain for any memory of leaving the ship. It was then an expanse of pink caught his eye. Holding his breath, he allowed his head to tip downward to fully take in what he was wearing. It was a light pink, very frilly, very non-baseball-looking set of pajamas, typically worn by Wolfram, but never by his majesty.
“AAAAAH!” he shouted out in surprise while jumping to his feet as though he had been attacked by the flimsy material that loosely flowed over his thin frame. His hands even reflexively smacked the cloth as if it were on fire.
“Your Majesty, what is wrong?” Gunter called out in concern as he burst into the room at full tilt, rapidly darting his eyes around in search of attackers who no doubt wanted to rob him of his precious king.
“What am I wearing?” cried Yuuri with a touch of irritation and a healthy dose of shock. His voice sounded more like Wolfram’s than his own typically sweet, forgiving tone.
“Pajamas, Your Majesty,” Gunter answered succinctly with a hint of confusion.
“No, I mean, how did I end up wearing them?” he relaxed his voice and asked with more of his usual kindness.
“Oh...that. Well, I dressed you, Your Majesty.” A small pool of blood formed just beneath his right nostril as he spoke.
Yuuri couldn’t prevent the blush that deepened the pink tones in his pale complexion. His desire to discuss his unorthodox sleepwear had suddenly vanished. Looking anywhere, but at the similarly blushing lavender-haired advisor he noticed how bright it was outside his grand windows. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Lunch will be served shortly.”
“I’m late for my sword practice with Conrad. Why didn’t he wake...?” The words froze unspoken in his throat. Sad eyes cast themselves toward the elaborate tiled flooring. “Right,” he responded to himself when the answer became clear. It seemed his long sleep had made everything seem more dreamlike.
He had almost forgotten about the absence, the betrayal, and the injuries. Almost.
His slightly mused bed hair fell in wild patterns over his forehead until he jerked his head back upright. “Well, he will be well enough to continue my training soon. Until then I better get some food before Wolfram eats it all.” Laughing a bit at his own jest, Yuuri went to his wardrobe to begin getting dressed.
He missed the wounded look on Gunter’s face as he slowly excused himself from the bedchambers. His king was smiling again, and the last thing he wanted to do was face those downcast eyes or watch the sparkle fade from view as he tried to explain why Yuuri couldn’t trust the man he trusted more than anyone to hold a sword near him again.
Yuuri's stomach scolded him as he dashed through the long stone corridors of the castle on his way to lunch. He hadn’t realized how hungry sleeping could make a person. Upon arriving he dramatically swung the doors to the dining room open and exclaimed, “I’m starved! What’s for lunch?”
Former maou, Cheri, smiled winningly at him before returning her exuberant attentions to Yozak, who looked frightened for the first time since Yuuri could remember. Gwendal gave only a curt nod as a sign of acknowledgement. Gunter looked as though he was ready to launch into some elaborate greeting when he was cut off by a certain prince.
“You were late, wimp. So I ate yours,” Wolfram stated dismissively without making eye contact. His words seemed edged with an extra douse of vinegar.
“What?”
“I am your fiancé. It was my duty to see it didn’t go to waste,” the emerald-eyed boy replied haughtily.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Yuuri muttered as he looked longingly at the nearly empty plates of food.
“Don’t worry, I saved a plate for you, Your Majesty,” Gunter interjected.
“Great! Actually, I think since all of you are basically done I’ll just go eat with Conrad.”
Looks were exchanged all over the table, but it was Gwendal who finally spoke. “That is not the best idea right now.”
Yuuri’s eyes narrowed defensively, “Why not?”
“He is still recovering from his injuries,” Cheri interjected.
“All the more reason for me to go! He needs some company to cheer him up so he gets well sooner.” Awkward silence was his only response.
“Perhaps, later,” Gunter offered vaguely.
“Why not now?” Yuuri was becoming frustrated. He was certain they were hiding something from him, and after all the surprises and upheavals of the last few weeks he was not in the mood for anymore secrets.
Wolfram snapped to his feet and angrily slammed his palms on the large oak table before him. “Because Weller is a traitor, and a wimp like you can’t tell the difference between someone who cares about him and someone who is just hurting him!”
Yuuri felt a spike of rage like a river of fire bubbling up inside. Instinctively, he raised his hand to strike the bold young prince, but stopped inches from his face. He had made that mistake once before and knowing the consequences now he was in no mood to repeat it.
Letting his arm fall to his side limply, he simply turned and walked out without another word and without his meal. He had suddenly lost his appetite.
Conrad stared at a particularly long crack in the ceiling. It splintered into a hundred smaller cracks, tracing their own path along the gray stone. He tried to count them, but they were far away and too interconnected to discern one from another. He only wanted some activity to keep himself from thinking about the past few weeks, but no amount of distraction was enough to prevent the image of Yuuri’s tear-stained face from reappearing in his mind’s eye.
Even resting on a cot in the medical ward of the castle, under guard and attended by the talented Gisela he was haunted. He could still hear the pained crack in Yuuri’s gentle voice as he asked, no, begged to know why. Why was his trusted friend was telling him they were enemies? Why had he remorselessly thrown his long time friend, Yozak, from a towering cliff? Why did he betray him?
Conrad wanted to tell Yuuri why.
His heart clenched as though it were trapped in a vice each time he saw the pain he was inflicting on his king and his brothers and his friends. If he could spare even a fraction of that suffering with an explanation he would have done it in a heartbeat. But to explain was to fail in his assignment. Only he had failed, and in so many different ways.
“Time to check your bandages,” the doctor with jewel-toned hair called out. She eased herself into a sitting position on the edge of his bed as she gingerly lifted the blood-soaked rags that covered deep puncture wounds from the arrows he had physically blocked for Yuuri.
The boy had used his powers to heal the wounds there on the battlefield, but even with his raw power and eagerness to make the solider healthy again, he was a novice and the wounds were deep and many.
“The others are healing nicely, but this one is being stubborn. It is a lucky thing for you that I came back from Caloria when I did,” she chuckled with a friendly attitude. But inside she struggled with her thoughts too, wondering what could have made the man she had known most of her life act so strangely.
“It has been awhile since I’ve treated an arrow injury. With tensions as high as they have been recently we have been lucky not to have more battles. King Yuuri seems to be doing quite a good job for a newcomer to our world.”
He nodded weakly, and it was obvious to her that he lacked the will to respond, so she didn’t push him. “You should get some rest,” she advised before leaving his side. Healers could seldom go wrong with a prescription for rest. She'd mention plenty of fluids later. There was no need to use them all up at once.
Conrad only continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling where instead of a pattern of interlaced cracks, he saw glistening tears streaming down the youthful face of a shattered maou.
Wolfram had taken his cue to exit the dining room immediately after Yuuri, though he took care to go the opposite direction from the angry king. He had no desire to be lectured by Gunter or yelled at further by the dark haired boy. Then again, perhaps the distance was more to protect himself from another outburst.
The fair-skinned boy with dazzling green eyes and golden hair leaned on a cold, stone wall for support, but found himself sinking to the ground. He absently touched his left cheek with delicate fingertips that even after years of sword use had never developed a single rough callous.
He had noticed the way Yuuri purposefully avoided slapping him the way he had when he became outraged at their first meeting. That first flesh to flesh contact between the young men had entered them into an engagement that Yuuri never embraced, but never dissolved either.
Wolfram had grown to care deeply about the young king whose heart seemed large enough to show kindness to everyone in the country or, perhaps, even the world. So when he pulled away or shunned his own fiancé the pain ran even deeper because he knew a stranger would have received more affection.
Still, he could hardly blame Yuuri for being angry this time. He was still a little shocked by what he had done. He thought he trusted Conrad.
It was true that Conrad was half human and that knowledge had all but severed the brotherly bonds they shared, but ever since Yuuri had become Maou, Wolfram had been able to view his half brother through new eyes—devoted eyes—Yuuri's eyes. Somewhere along the way of sharply referring to his brother as Weller he had begun to gently call him Conrad again. Of course, he blamed it on spending too much time with his wimp fiancé, but it was still not so bad having him back in his life.
And then all of this had to happen. Even as he watched his brother don the Dai Shimaron uniform and say he was no longer loyal to Shin Makoku, he couldn’t believe it. Deep down, he knew his brother was no more a traitor than he was a wimp.
He was thrilled when Conrad released their bonds and joined them in battle. And then when he agreed to return it was like everything was going back to normal—something that had been desirable ever since Yuuri arrived. And yet, there he was in the dining hall, screaming at the top of his lungs that Weller was a traitor.
Everything had been fine until he had seen that innocent look in Yuuri’s pitch black eyes.
Apparently, he trusted Conrad, just not with Yuuri.
Chapter 2
