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anythingdrabbleTitle: Absence
Fandom: Who Made Me a Princess
Characters/Pairings: Felix/Claude
Word Count: 200
Rating: General
Their heads knock together, forehead to forehead, and his body relaxes. It feels like something he knows, and yet he can't remember a thing. Something is stolen from him, and so too is a piece of Felix. He can't recall seeing that piece, no— just that he knows well the absence of beings.
It's like a hole in his chest. Nine years and nothing for it. Yet, Felix spouts tales of his love for his daughter, spinning her in a carry at the girl's débutante, and he can't recall ever seeing the girl.
Then, Felix stroked his shoulder, rhythmic, soothing —familiar. It was a constant, concealed ache. Yet, his body hadn't registered the touch of another until Felix pulled away, mortified and melancholy.
"Give me your memories." Claude murmurs because he needs to know; he needs to know no matter the cost.
Maybe Felix had always stared at him with the that soft light and the purity of affection in his eyes. Felix had always remained devoted, following, and perhaps he hadn't noticed that maintaining the country and paving the path forward, too busy to glance back.
Felix breathes, strokes his cheek with a calloused thumb.
Claude has his answer.
Fandom: Who Made Me a Princess
Characters/Pairings: Felix/Claude
Word Count: 200
Rating: General
Their heads knock together, forehead to forehead, and his body relaxes. It feels like something he knows, and yet he can't remember a thing. Something is stolen from him, and so too is a piece of Felix. He can't recall seeing that piece, no— just that he knows well the absence of beings.
It's like a hole in his chest. Nine years and nothing for it. Yet, Felix spouts tales of his love for his daughter, spinning her in a carry at the girl's débutante, and he can't recall ever seeing the girl.
Then, Felix stroked his shoulder, rhythmic, soothing —familiar. It was a constant, concealed ache. Yet, his body hadn't registered the touch of another until Felix pulled away, mortified and melancholy.
"Give me your memories." Claude murmurs because he needs to know; he needs to know no matter the cost.
Maybe Felix had always stared at him with the that soft light and the purity of affection in his eyes. Felix had always remained devoted, following, and perhaps he hadn't noticed that maintaining the country and paving the path forward, too busy to glance back.
Felix breathes, strokes his cheek with a calloused thumb.
Claude has his answer.
