#dksjflfogjdfkalsdfjkdg

[moonraccoon-exe]

Imagine Regis and Clarus sitting together in the Amicitia manor (because Regis needs a break from serving people sometimes, and Clarus is the perfect person to give him that space) listening to old songs on Clarus's turntable. Regis eventually falls asleep exhausted from the long days from all his duties. Clarus smiles to himself and Iris, who was looking for her dad, finds him tucking the king in bed and kissing him on the forehead. She ends up leaving them alone :')) #regclarforthewin

I don’t even

* ugly gasp*

I don’t even need to add anything else, this is PERFECT as it is. Ohmygod, I don’t know if I want to react to this with overdramatic gifs or if I should comment or if I should turn this into a little fic because IT’S SO FLUFFY. DearAstrals, my heart ACHES only in the beautiful feelings from this, I’m not able to stand this quantity of fluff, I’m just-

*bawls*

The mental image is so pure, dear Astrals, I’m loving this.

Imagine Clarus didn’t see him fall asleep, he found Regis like that.

Like, both were sat at the living room, enjoying some conversation, but mostly the music. Silence between the two are usual and terribly comfortable; no need for words to grow a bond. So they stay quiet, Regis on the comfy chair that Clarus insisted he sat at, and the Shield at the sofá nearby. 

It’s a soft opera. Both like the arts, so it’s a nice thing to stay quiet and hear the tenor go with ancient Lucian singing. None say a word; it’s already night but it’s not what you’d say “late” just yet. The first section finishes, and both men smile. Regis had the eyes softly closed and the head resting against a hand, but that he widens a smile when the song finishes has it clear he’s awake.

“I think the coffee’s ready. I’ll be right back.”

Clarus sees Regis nod at him, but keeping the eyes closed. The Shield guesses it’s just his friend trying to not lose focus on the opera, as if he’s mentally picturing the theatre, the singer, the orchestra, everything, so he lets him be and quietly leaves towards the kitchen. 

Only when he arrives there he remembers he could have asked Jared to bring him the cups, and he smiles when he realizes he forgot about his Lord status. It’s amazing, he thinks, that the same person that makes him forget he’s the King’s second-hand is the king himself. With Regis there’s no titles or lands or names or duties; it’s just a pair of friends listening to music and talking, preparing a pair of cups of coffee. He forgets he has servants. He forgets about his wealth and name. He’s not Amicitia. He’s just Clarus, bringing coffee to his friend Regis, who also doesn’t have a name besides just that. Regis. Reg. Reggy. 

Clarus takes the pair of cups and starts heading back to the living room. He enters and opens the mouth to say something, but he shuts himself before he can make any sound when he sees Regis.The younger man still has the head against a weakly-done fist, but it’s gone down in total physical relaxation; his eyes are closed, and his tummy grows with every soft, slow breath he takes in, heavier than a normal pace.

The opera’s still sounding, and despite the trumpets and the high pitched note from the tenor, Regis reacts in nothing. This is his absolute favorite part of the musical piece; still, he offers no reaction to it. 

Clarus, at first, only blinks and stays still in his place. But he soon smiles, realizing the coffee arrived too late. So he leaves the cups at the table and reaches for his king, softly, and leans down to see his face; eyes closed and expression calm. 

“Even kings need a rest, you know that?” he whispers to the sleeping man. “You work too hard, Reggy. Be selfish for once.”

Despite the age, Clarus has yet not lost his strenght; that it has weakened, perhaps. But he could still lead an army or stand first-row in a fight. Carrying his king was absolutely no troubles at all. Besides, Regis, despite his worked-out body from youth, stayed relatively small and slender when growing up. The power he lent to the Crystal made him physically age faster, so he had come to lose some weight; he was easy to carry around. The only detail that troubled Clarus was the worry on hoping he wouldn’t make his king’s knee hurt enough to wake him, but that doesn’t happen when he pulls him into his arms.

He adjustes Regis a bit so his head doesn’t fall back too roughly, nesting him in his arms, and he smiles down at him for a second before starting to walk, exiting the living room and leaving the music on. Somebody would take care of that later. 

Clarus reaches for his own room. He opens the dual doors of the ancient Amicitia’s Lord-Chambers and heads for the bed, walking as quietly as he can manage, without going especially slow. He gently sits Regis on it, only to free a hand and pull the blankets down, before carrying his king again and lying him down very carefully. Clarus takes a bit of his time on the duty; like Regis is made of fragile glass and one false step, a single inch badly positioned could break him, the Shield makes sure to be as careful as never before when placing him down, before pulling the blankets up.

Iris had been about to half-yell for her dad’s attention and whether he knew where her Moogle plush doll was, but she swallowed her own words as soon as she came through the half-opened door of her dad’s bedroom. She, by reflex, takes a step back to half-hide behind the doors, looking at the inside, curious.

Clarus is busy tucking the king in his bed; making sure the blankets are warming him, wrapping him in them while being careful to not shake him much. King Regis had never had such a relaxed expression, Iris notices; he’s sleeping like a log. 

The Shield, once done, is sat at the edge of the bed, in a similar way, Iris remembers quietly, to the times he tucked her in bed after a short story of his young days (most made up and extremely soaked in fantasy, for there was no other way to satisfy her curiosity). Except it’s also different; it’s the same visual scenario, but the air to it has a different kind of love.

But it’s love, nonetheless. So she, smiling widely, decides that it’s best to pretend nothing happened, and leaves through the hallway.

Clarus, on his side, is too busy staring at Regis for only a small moment to have heard the steps outside. He smiles at the sleeping king, adoring to see him calm, appreciating he’s relaxed, loving that he’s finally taking a break. He realizes how tired and wrinkled Regis’ fave has come to become, and he can’t help but feel a pinch of sadness in his heart. The Crystal demands too much from Regis…and while it is not a Must to feed it, Regis still does. For his kingdom, sure. But for his people, mostly. 

The love of a king, so misunderstood. So unseen, shadowed by one or two “bad” decisions he had to make in the past. People not understanding that for one “bad” decision, there were a hundred good ones. People not seeing how much Regis physically suffered and struggled to keep them safe and sound. 

Clarus thanks to see him sleep. It feels like years since he last saw it happen first-hand. So the feelings in his heart can’t help it, and he reaches closer.

A hand caresses Regis’ grey hair and pulls it away of his forehead for a moment, so that Clarus can press a little kiss to it. Quiet but not short; innocent but not shy. Long lasting, the kiss tries to channel all the affection nested in his heart, and he pulls away as quietly as before.

“Please, have good dreams, Regis” he whispers. “Nightmares won’t come. I’ll stay on watch to make sure. It’s my duty after all, isn’t it? To keep you safe.”

Regis doesn’t hear that, despite the distance of mere inches. But he does; he has good dreams. 

#what #have you done #dreamyblossoms #YOU TRIGGERED ME #I WAS NOT- #*heavy breath* #I...actually...regret nothing #BUT HOW YA DID THAT #i was typing a small response i was not- #how did you- #dksjflfogjdfkalsdfjkdg #regclar #regis x clarus #i breathe for this ship