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Three seconds after exiting Chrom’s tent, and already Robin was longingly looking back at the sliver of candlelight illuminating the night through the crack in the tent flaps. It was irrational, and impossible, and impractical, the things he’d been trying to deny he wanted out of that man. He chose to count himself blessed just to be the one whom Chrom declared his “best friend” and “right-hand man”. It meant the pair got to spend a substantial amount of time together, both on the battlefield and off. It meant getting tantalizingly close to him, close enough that Robin felt Chrom’s breath on the back of his neck, or his clothed arm (always the clothed one, never the bare one, the dastard) brushing against him. And it meant occasionally being invited into Chrom’s personal tent, usually to lend an ear to Chrom’s venting of some everyday frustration.
Not tonight, though. Frederick’s birthday was coming up soon, and given that he’d never ask for so much as a new pair of socks, Chrom had called upon Robin’s second head to bounce gift ideas to foist on him. And the decidedly less intimate nature of their conversation had made it easier for Robin to occupy with hands with scribbling in a notebook, rather than reaching for phantom sensations of Chrom’s hand clasped in his own, left over from the day he woke up. Though, it was always hard to ignore the smoothness of his voice—
Er, wait a minute…
…Ah, nuts. Good thing he thought to pat himself down and check his pockets. That blasted notebook was too small to be vanishing from his hands and sight like this. Spinning back around, he barged back into the tent without bothering to knock on the post. “Chrom—”
“Mmph!” A wide-eyed Chrom nearly choked on the swig of… some potion he was drinking… in private… for some reason? There wasn’t a label on it, not that Robin felt able to read one from this distance anyway. “Robin!“ he called back, coughing into his fist. “You forget something in here?”
“I did, actually. That notebook behind you. Although… can I ask what you were drin—”
“J-just something for my health.” It was as if Chrom already had an answer rehearsed and ready. “It’s nothing.”
“Er…” Robin debated in his mind if he should press him. If it truly was ‘something for his health’, why would he need to take it in secret? If word got out that the commander was taking some unknown substance, there’d be chaos on their hands. Yet the prospect of a confrontation didn’t sit right with him.
“…Wait, why should I keep this from you?”
“Huh?”
It fortunately seemed like Robin wouldn’t need to make that decision himself. “You’re my dearest friend. There ought to be no secrets between us.” Chrom picked up the potion again, oblivious to how his use of the term dearest made Robin’s chest twinge more than it should’ve been allowed to. And he wanted to agree. Selfishly, Robin wanted to know everything he possibly could about his savior. More things than he had any right to even think about. Unlocking secrets about what he looked like under the uniform… how his hands would feel against the rest of Robin’s skin… what a kiss from him would taste like—
Urk. Now was not the time. “L-look,” he started, “I won’t force you to—”
Chrom’s palm came up to silence him, with darkened determination in his eyes backing it up. “You’re not forcing me. It’s important to me that you know this.”
Robin was suddenly acutely aware of how sticky his own mouth felt. “A-alright.”
“I… um…” He collected himself in a deep breath. “Robin, have you ever heard of male and female shifters?”
There was a pause for Robin to blink. “…Shifters?” If he’d heard that term before, it was wiped from his memory along with everything else. “No, at least not since waking up.”
“They’re people who are born as one gender but then choose to change into another. You know, like this potion shapeshifts a woman into a man… Hence, male shifter.”
“…Oh.” It wasn’t the craziest idea he’d heard of. Magic and medicine were quite strong forces that worked stranger miracles on the regular.
“Well… mostly. There are some things it can’t change...” Chrom trailed off there for a moment, before adding, “But I don’t mind.”
Robin felt confident he knew what Chrom may have been alluding to, and swallowed. This was getting into some deeply personal territory, and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle any more of the iron grip Chrom held on it. “W-well,” he began, cursing his stammer, “I must say it’s very effective. You’ve always looked so… effortlessly manly to me.”
“O-oh, w-well…”
It was only as soon as those words left Robin’s mouth that he realized just what type of compliment they sounded like. Chrom’s free hand shot up to the back of his neck, and Robin felt about ten extra shades of dizzying warmth getting tacked onto his cheeks and ears. Did this tent shrink?
“…Th-thank you,” Chrom finished after a moment, sheepishly staring towards any part of Robin that wasn’t his face — currently, his elbow perhaps. “That means a lot.”
“S-sorry if that came out a little weird.”
“Uhh, no! No, no, it’s fine! ‘Effortlessly manly’ is what I was going for, ha ha!”
Falchion would have struggled to cleave the awkward silence that hung in the air for the few seconds before Chrom cleared his throat.
“So, um, I’d rather this information not be passed around to everyone, if that’s okay?” he said. “I mean, I don’t mind if my Shepherds know — some of them already do — but people like me don’t always get respected, or taken seriously, or…”
“You have my word,” Robin responded.
“I trust you.”
“I’m aware.”
He tried not to look too closely at Chrom’s eyes, but Robin guessed there was a little protest behind them, perhaps anticipating another warning about his recklessness, or at least some ribbing in that direction. There wasn’t a need. Not when Chrom was being this vulnerable.
”So…” Robin started, “I-I should probably get going now…”
”Yes, I hate to keep you up when you’re sleepless enough as is.”
Robin was too molten to be offended. “Good night, Chrom.”
“Good night.”
It was a farce thinking he could sleep. There was far too much jittery energy begging to be released from his feet and hands.
A secret. Chrom entrusted Robin with a secret. A secret about his body. He called Robin his dearest friend. He wanted him to know all of this. And he seemed so pleased to hear Robin call him manly…
Gods, the thought that Chrom wanted him too was driving Robin and his loins utterly insane.
…No, he chided himself. However flustered Chrom may have been, that’s not your cue to make any moves. The Ylissean prince doesn’t need some Plegian nobody in a suspicious coat sullying his reputation.
…Wait. His coat. Robin patted himself down and fumbled through several of his pockets.
Damn it. He forgot his blasted notebook again.