Meddie was violently aware of the fact that there were six plainclothes guards in the crowd, keeping an eye on him, and people were openly staring at him. The prince seemed entirely unaffected by it all, walking alongside Meddie, and Meddie was wishing he was anywhere but here. People would not stop staring at him, and he knew he technically had three heads, but seriously, it was not that big of a deal.

At least it was pretty outside. There were paper lanterns strung up along the rooftops, and it smelled of food and the perfumes of ladies. There were a lot of students out here, and he was viscerally aware of the fact that they were shooting him glances. He was not loved at the academy. He knew that. But, still, why couldn’t he be left alone?

“You’re somewhere else,” the prince said, and Meddie glanced at him.

“I’m simply hyper aware of the fact that I am being stared at,” Meddie said, and the prince grinned.

“Let them stare. You’re---”

“If you’re about to compliment me, save it,” Meddie bit out, and the prince laughed softly.

“You’re so prickly,” he teased, and Meddie was quiet as he proceeded down the street. “Shall we watch the show?”

“Which show?” Meddie asked, because he had no idea what was going on at this festival. He barely remembered the events of the otome game at this point, and he was completely lost. He thought he was in a fanfiction for ten years, and by then, the memories except major plot points had faded. Really, he should have written everything down, but it was a solid four years before he had mastery over his hands to write, and he would have forgotten by then.

“It’s about the prince who fell in love with a princess from Demonias,” Tristan explained, and Meddie stilled. “Star crossed lovers and all of that. It’s good. We should watch it.”

Well, that felt like ominous foreshadowing.

“Is the ending happy?” Meddie asked, and Tristan grinned.

“No,” he replied, and Meddie pursed his lips.

“Then, no,” he said, and looked up at the lanterns over his head. “I can’t take an unhappy ending right now.”

“Why, because you think this is your bad ending?” Tristan asked and then paused. “Did you leave behind a lover in Demonias?”

Meddie blinked at that.

“What makes you think any of them would touch me?” he asked in amusement, because what? Tristan paused. “I didn’t even have a friend. Why would I have a lover?”

“... You had no friends?” Tristan asked, and Meddie looked away.

“I was the cursed prince. No one wanted anything to do with me,” he said, and Tristan was still. “No political power whatsoever.”

He had tried, but the only power he had was in the military. Which was, admittedly, quite a lot of power, but after the war, he hadn’t had a chance to solidify that power before he was shipped off to the Holy Empire. He was useless, really. He had tried to get the hang of politics, but he didn’t have the personality for it. You had to be more sneaky and mercantile than he actually was.

“So, all those years…” Tristan trailed off, and Meddie abruptly decided this was an uncomfortable conversation.

“You know what? I changed my mind. Let’s go,” he said and turned for the square where they were setting up the stage. A small crowd had already gathered, and he headed for it with Tristan on his heels. Their hands brushed, and Meddie ignored that, but Tristan looked down at him all the same with a weird expression on his face.

They came to a halt just on the edge of the stage, and Meddie stared up at it. The play was set to begin soon, and he didn’t know if he actually wanted to watch it, but he supposed it was better than holding conversation. He didn’t remember this happening in the game. Did it? He didn’t really remember the events, but he supposed Tatiana was around here somewhere. She was…

Ah. There she was. With… Corina???

Yes, she was standing there with her arm wrapped around Corina’s, just a little ways away. Meddie thought to call out to her, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to create a problem. Let them have their fun, he thought to himself, and turned aside. Tatiana could use more female friends. In the otome, she had been surrounded by men at all times, and did not have any friends whatsoever. Poor girl. All that damn testosterone---

There was someone walking up to Meddie, and Meddie stared in confusion as Michael DuPont stood across from them. He had his long, gray hair pulled back, and his piercing blue eyes were staring down at Meddie with clear disdain in his gaze. Was he here to pick a fight?

“Ah, hello, Michael,” Tristan said and wrapped his arm around Meddie’s shoulder, heedless of the snakes attached to his head. “What brings you here?”

“You realize this is going to be in the tabloids?” Michael asked, and Tristan grinned.

“Let them talk,” he declared, and Meddie internally cringed. “I’m just having an outing with a friend.”

“Meduso is not your friend,” Michael pointed out. “He is your hostage, and at this point, you’re making his life more miserable than it needs to be.”

“Well, it’s my duty as his captor to make sure he’s taken care of,” Tristan said, and Michael frowned at him.

“He obviously does not want to be here.”

“The show is about to start,” Meddie interrupted. “Can we save the arguments for later?”

Michael turned and fell into place at Meddie’s left, and Meddie realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that he was going to be dealing with both of them during his outing. Tristan was one thing, but this was a whole other problem. Why did he keep getting caught between the MLs?

Michael seemingly ignored him as the torches lit on the stage with a flare of magic, and Meddie crossed his arms and shrugged Tristan’s grip off his shoulder, Ada and Gladys curled around his upper arms, and he stared up at the stage in silence. The narrator began to speak, his voice a deep rumble of oration, and Meddie waited patiently for the show to start. It was probably going to be an hour or two, and Meddie didn’t want to---

Well, his feet were probably going to be hurting by the end of this, he thought wryly, and he didn’t know why Tristan kept insisting on dressing him. Was it a kink thing, or a dominance thing? Tristan was a little young to be thinking about kinks, but the war had probably crossed a wire or two. Gods only knew Meddie had come out of it more fucked up than before. He had a thing for blood now, and he was more of a masochist than ever before, and he had been into some heavy BDSM shit before he died the first time. Really, he would prefer someone older and more mature and practiced in BDSM as a partner. Why was he stuck with all of these teenagers? It was annoying.

Then again, it would probably be really fucking weird if someone in their mid twenties was interested in him. That was a red flag and a half, really.

The play began, and he watched as the story unfolded. It took him approximately twenty minutes to realize this was a knockoff of Romeo and Juliet, just with the prince and princess being the same age, around 20 or so. 20 was still an age to be stupid. He had done a lot of stupid shit when he was 20. The play continued on, and he found that he was thirsty. There was a mulled wine stand near them, but he didn’t have a whole lot of money. He had an allowance, but it was minimal, and it was better to save his money. His father was sending more money, but he knew he would be cut off as soon as his father died. How long was he going to be a hostage here? He had no idea.

There was a big gong, a sound effect, and Meddie froze. In an instant, all thoughts of wine and food were stripped away. He could smell the spray of the sea, the salt in the air, and he could feel the wind on his face. Rows of ships were heading for him, and every muscle in his body coiled. He could smell the ozone of magic, spells speeding at them to rip their ship to pieces, and he could hear the cry of dying sailors. He saw that man, ripped in two, bleeding out as he screamed for someone to save him because he didn’t want to die---

“Are you alright?” Michael murmured in his ear, and Meddie’s breath was caught in his chest. It was just a sound effect. It wasn’t actually the alarm bell for approaching ships. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine---

“Meduso?” Tristan asked, and then understanding dawned on his face. “Do you want to go get a drink?”

Meddie was shaking slightly, his eyes wide and unfocused, and someone’s hand laced their fingers through his and led him off. He went numbly, smelling the metallic scent of blood, burned into his nostrils, and bodies dropping into the sea for a sea burial, wrapped in white, with the bulges of their horns on display.

They could have won the war, he realized. If his brothers had cooperated with him, they could have won the war, but they didn’t. He didn’t even have to be here. He had given up from the start, but shouldn’t he have fought a little harder? Shouldn’t he have done a little more to save himself? Now, he didn’t know what his story was going to be. He had no idea what the future held for him. Was he going to be captive here for the rest of his life? He didn’t know. He had no idea how long he was going to live and what he was going to do.

It was terrifying.

Tristan came to a stop outside the mulled wine stand and counted out his money.

“Two mulled wines, please,” he said, and the vendor served them up. The wine was pressed into Meddie’s hands, and he stared down at it. There was a piece of citrus in it, and something that smelled like ginger. Without even really thinking about it, he took a sip and swallowed it down. The hot, spicy wine washed over him, reminding him of home, and he froze.

Home?

No.

That palace was never his home. It was a death trap.

“Alright?” Tristan asked lowly, and Meddie stared down at the wine. “The gong… Didn’t you use that in the war to warn of approaching ships?”

“Yes,” Meddie forced out, and Tristan was quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Meddie started speaking before he even realized what he was doing.

“There was a sailor that was chopped in half at the middle. He survived for ten minutes before he bled out, and he was screaming the whole time,” he said, and Tristan pursed his lips. “His entrails fell out.”

“I saw someone get their head blown off with a spell,” Tristan said, and Meddie was quiet. “Clean off. He fell off his horse, and his own horse trampled him in the confusion. One second, he was alive. The next, he wasn’t. Just a stray spell. They weren’t aiming for his head specifically, but a death is one step closer to victory.”

Meddie said nothing, and Tristan stared down at his mug of mulled wine.

“Should we go and get some food? I was bored with the play, anyway,” Tristan said, and Meddie slowly nodded. “Let’s go.”

The two of them turned and walked off, Meddie cradling his mug of mulled wine, and Tristan looked down at him as he walked.

“Meduso…” he said slowly. “You know it’s over, right?”

“I was happy to be sent to war,” Meddie said, and he didn’t know why he was saying it. “With every major loss, my brothers tried to kill me again, and my father seemingly hated me. I was a reminder of someone he wanted to forget, and he hated my very presence. We never saw each other, never talked, no matter how well I did in my classes or how well I carried myself. I was perfect, but it wasn’t enough to forgive me for the crime of being born.”

Tristan was silent, and Meddie cleared his throat.

“I wish I was upset to go to war. I wish I had that privilege,” he said, and Tristan studied him in silence.

“I wasn’t upset to go to war,” Tristan said, and Meddie looked up at him. “I thought it would be glorious, but all it taught me was that men and demons alike are animals. I once watched a man hack off a demon’s head and hold it up to intimidate the other demons. It took five strikes of his dulled blade. He didn’t… He didn’t have to do that.”

Meddie processed that for a moment. The two of them really were just traumatized child soldiers, weren’t they? He kept pushing Tristan away, and maybe it was for this exact reason. He was terrified to find that he had more in common with Tristan than he had different. He was scared to know him, and he was scared to get close.

“When I’m Emperor…” Tristan stared to say and trailed off. “When I’m Emperor, I will do everything in my power to avoid war. It shouldn’t be an easy decision.”

“No,” Meddie agreed quietly. “It shouldn’t be an easy decision.”

“I know I may not have a choice, but all I can think is those men I met will go home to friends, to lovers, and they will remember it for the rest of their lives. Some of them will never be happy again,” Tristan said softly, and Meddie wished the game had gone into the after effects of a war like this. He wished the game had some depth, because then maybe he could have been prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for this.

“I don’t even know how long I’ll be here,” Meddie said softly, and Tristan looked over at him.

“If I can have it my way, you’ll be here for the rest of your life,” he said, and Meddie stilled.

What?

“I don’t know how else to protect you,” Tristan said softly, and Meddie stared at him in silence.

“Oh,” he said, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I don’t need to be protected.”

“When I met you…” Tristan said and trailed off. “You reminded me of my humanity. I wanted to save you. Let me save you.”

Meddie didn’t know how to respond to that. He had initially thought this was about some kind of crazy ploy for dominance, but he was wrong. He was wrong, but he might not be wrong. He knew what kind of lover Tristan was. He was obsessive, manipulative, a walking red flag, but…

Meddie looked down at his red coat.

Red had always been his favorite color.