Burying The Shovel

Rating: G | Category: Multi (Gen & M/M) | No Warnings Apply | Originally Posted May 2nd 2022

Swaine & Micah | Marcassin/Micah (though marcassin himself isn't here)

"Oh. I heard about you and Marcassin, by the way." He said far too casually, tacking it on at the end like what he just said didn't mean anything at all.

Micah felt his blood run cold

Micah made his way down the corridors of the Porcine Palace. He was in the middle of a shift change, on his way to his second post of the day. He did his best to make it to and from his stations on time, given that he was now officially the Captain of Hamelin's Guard, not just a title a prince cursed had bestowed upon him with no paperwork involved.

It was, however, very unbecoming of a guard of any rank to crash into whoever made a sharp turn round the corner Micah was about to walk through.

Micah stumbled, his eyes closed. Mumbling apologies as he went to look at who he had quite literally run into.

His stomach dropped when he saw that standing in front of him was the eldest prince of the Hamelin empire, clutching a set of what seemed like blueprints in his hand.

The eldest prince, brother to the current Emperor of Hamelin Marcassin. Said Emperor, who also happened to be Micah's partner.

Marcassin and Micah's relationship turning romantic in nature had been quite the recent development. There was a meager chance that any Hamelin resident would know about it. Marcassin's older brother, however, was one of the few who was sure to have known about it by now.

Marcassin's older brother. Who was known for being quite the shot with his custom revolver.

A custom revolver that could spit out all sorts of things from poison to curses to god only knows what.

It had been a moment before Micah realized the prince had said something. He blinked hard and shook his head to drag himself back to reality. "Deepest apologies, could you repeat that?"

"All I said was 'Scuse me." He repeated, the eldest prince's gaze shifting quickly from Micah back to his blueprints.

Micah quickly regained his composure, nodding. "No need to apologize, Yo-" his voice faltered as he suddenly remembered how the eldest prince of Hamelin despised being called anything besides his name. "Swaine."

"Don't worry 'bout it." Swaine shrugged. Micah was about to be on his way before he heard him click his tongue.

"Oh. I heard about you and Marcassin, by the way." He said far too casually, tacking it on at the end like what he just said didn't mean anything at all.

Micah felt his blood run cold.

Some variation of 'This is it. This is the end' ran through his mind. He tried to stop himself from imaging the hundred and one things Swaine could threaten him with if Micah somehow ended up breaking Marcassin's heart worse than The Dark Djinn himself had.

However, Swaine didn't even look up at him, his eyes still trained on the blueprint he held. "Congrats on that."

Micah blinked. "That's...that's all?"

Swaine finally looked at him with an eyebrow raised and a voice oozing sarcasm. "What were you expecting? A dowry?"

"N-No! No!" Micah said quickly, his face red. "I just thought that...you know...since Marcassin is-"

" Marcassin is an adult who can go however about his life as he pleases. I don't care much about the decisions he makes as long as they're not going to kill him." Swaine gave Micah a quick look up and down. "And I don't think you're going to kill him."

"I-I would never! I promise you that!"

"Never said you were planning to." Swaine retorted, suddenly walking closer to him. "I did remember one more thing, though."

As Swaine approached, Micah did his best not to shrink into himself, mentally preparing for the worst.

"He will not shut up about you." Was all he said.

"...Really?" Micah replied, barely a whisper.

"Really. I don't think he would if it was the end of the world." Swaine's gaze shifted to the side. "He...he cares about you a lot. Be nice to him, alright?"

"I-"

"Micaiah!"

They both turned to look up at the hall, seeing another one of the guards walk around the corner. Micah felt sheepish as he recognized him as the boarrior who guards his station before his shift. The shift Micah should've been at minutes ago.

"Where in the hell have-ack!" The soldier straightened as soon as he realized who was standing alongside Micah. "Y-Y-Your..."

Swaine waved his hand. "This one is my fault. We were discussing plans. He is the captain of the guard, after all. Micah will be at his post shortly. You can go."

The guard saluted hurriedly, speed walking down the hall. Once he was gone, Swaine turned back to Micah.

"...Micaiah?"

"Micah is...a nickname. Technically." He admitted. His full name was, in fact, Micaiah. It said as much on his files, but everyone had called him Micah for as long as he could remember. "I would vastly prefer it though if-"

"No, no, I quite understand." Swaine looked at him, expression unreadable. "Barrow Gascon Hamelin the Fourteenth."

Micah blinked, confused. "Excuse me?!"

"Since we're sharing." He explained, Micah still not quite sure what he meant. "You never repeat that one in your life, though, got it?"

"I...I suppose...?"

Swaine nodded. "Good. I've kept you long enough. Get to your post."

Micah tensed. "Right. Of course."

And with that, the two went their separate ways. Though Micah could've sworn he saw the faintest smile on Swaine's face as he turned and walked down the hall.