Michael knows what love is.

He had fallen in love with Rosamund once upon a time back then, after all, and why not?

She was beautiful, rich, gifted, and so, so compassionate.

Who couldn't love someone like that?

But she was unreachable for the someone like him. Unobtainable.

And Michael suffered like the love-sick fool he is, feeling pained ever since realizing the fact that he can't have her. So he went, thinking that even though he couldn't have her, he would still love and cherish her, would help her when needed, would do anything for her.

Even delivering her to her true love.

Watching Rudy and Rosamund embrace and kiss, Michael wanted to kill himself, feeling dejected, rejected, hurt, and he shouldn't feel that way, but he did, and it just was too painful.

After Rose and Rudy finally left to start another story with each other together, Michael felt empty, but still so much in love.

So with that emotion in mind, the knight vowed to upheld that love and never betray it.

But Fisk.

Fisk was a whole new matter.

Fisk, who's been with him through thick and thin, saved him, helped him, was by his side for so long…

Fisk who was talented, secretly caring, and so, so amazing.

Fisk wasn't Rosamund.

But why did Michael still hold the con man in the same regard as his past love, if not even higher?

It was wrong, wasn't it?

He and his squire were both men.

He loved Rosamund, right?

Didn't he promise not to love another?

But Fisk…he was something else.

And that scared Michael.

Sure, maybe he could blame it on the closeness. The two were never separated, they were constantly at each other's side, always together.

So, with that plausible theory in mind, Michael purposely separated from Fisk for a whole month.

A whole month without Fisk.

It should've worked. Should've cured the feelings Michael felt towards his squire.

But it didn't.

Michael really did try, honestly.

He went out drinking, meeting new girls to try to speed the process, but nothing worked.

A whole month passed with Michael wondering and worrying about his squire, missing him, empty without him.

And then Fisk found him.

Glorious, furious, livid, Fisk.

A raging Fisk had screamed, pummeled, and snarled at him some more, asking where the knight had gone and why.

Staring into his Squire's bright eyes, Michael felt himself falling in love even more.

But he still lied and said, "I got lost."

He might seem to others as a courageous fool, but in reality, Michael considered himself a coward.

A coward who was so far deep in love, but couldn't even confess to someone that was sitting right next to him.

He loved Fisk's rare smiles. Loved his laugh. Loved how he looked when concentrating over something.

Michael was in love with Fisk and not Rosamund.

He remembered panicking over that fact, trying to not fall for his squire and remember the love he felt for the beautiful girl.

But he couldn't remember anything and could only think of Fisk's devotion and determination to stand by him, nothing about Rosamund.

At that point, Michael realized that the days of love for the unobtainable girl was over.

But he was still a coward towards Fisk.

He shouldn't be, he knew, for, Fisk must somehow inadvertently return the same feelings, too, right?

Whatever Fisk did for Michael, it was full of care and gentle aid. The man had stood by him, stand up for him, cared for him, and Michael had thought, once catching his Squire staring at him on accident and noting the indescribable look in the sandy-haired man's eyes, he had thought Fisk loved him, too.

Until Fisk had murmured something that made Michael stopped in his tracks cold.

It was night and the two were sleeping.

Michael couldn't fall in slumber, and instead, decided to pass the time watching his squire sleep.

The moonlight bounced playfully off of Fisk's hair and face, making it glow and look unearthly, magical.

As if to add to the magic, Fisk muttered lowly in his sleep, a needy "Michael."

Needless to say, Michael's heart soared and he sat up, intent on going over to his companion and reciprocate the feelings, but then Fisk turned over, breathing out, "Jack."

Michael froze, feeling his heart shatter.

The way Fisk had said his past partner- in- crime's name. The way he breathed it out gently, sadly, angrily, lovingly?

Michael just had to wonder how deep Fisk's and Jack Bannister's partnership really was, and he felt angry and cheated, that how someone that had hurt Fisk so much, could still be loved by him, even when there's someone else, Michael, to love Fisk.

It wasn't fair. But Michael had no say.

He was a knight, and therefore, he couldn't accost Fisk and steal him away, because he wanted Fisk willing, wanted Fisk to love him for him, not as a replacement, nothing like that.

And with his heart broken, Michael still loved Fisk.

Michael woke up with a lurch.

The room smelled like alcohol, and he wondered why until he remembered the happenings of yesterday.

He noticed the pan of water next to his bedside and he panicked, wondering if Fisk had seen him in his drunk condition, wondering what exactly happened yesterday.

Where was Fisk?

Seeing the bed across from him made and not at all looking like it was slept in, Michael felt his heart sank.

What did he do yesterday?

He knew that being under the influence of alcohol tend to usually make him more truthful than he dared, so did he say something that made Fisk run?

Wondering if that thought was true or not, it made Michael's heart hurt as he realized that whatever he unconditionally did yesterday could've drove Fisk away.

He couldn't live with that if the con man left him.

So after cleaning himself up, Michael set out to find his elusive squire, wondering and anxious.

He instead found Talon Weaver, one of the various men that got him drunk.

With blood boiling, Michael was angry and intent on hammering that face in for what the other had done, but before he could do so, Talon held up his hands defensively and said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Michael asked, livid. "Sorry for getting me drunk and doing something that could've drove my squire away? You're sorry, now?"

Talon winced. "Erm…yes. I apologized for that." The blonde man paused. "And well, you didn't really drove him away. You had merely, ah, drunkenly confessed your love for him. And…well. He delivered you to your room and walked away."

Michael groaned, slumping against a helpful wall. "What have I done…?" He stared desolately into the distance, a million thoughts racing through his mind, but the one that stuck out the most was, "What will I do if he goes away for good…?"

Silence.

Then Talon Weaver said, conversationally, "He loves you, you know."

Michael snapped to attention. "What?"

"Fisk loves you, too, you know," Talon answered, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined.

Michael glared. "Liar," he spat out uncharacteristically venomously. "You've caused me to get drunk, made my squire leave, and now you're feeding me these lies? Haven't you have enough of your fun?"

"I'm not lying," Talon protested. "It's true! He said he loved you, also!"

"If you go along with a drunken man's ramblings, things would usually turn out all right, even if 'tis a lie," Michael told the other man darkly.

Talon shook his head. "No…I'm telling the truth, Sir Michael." He looked deep in thought, as if remembering something crucial. "You should've seen the look in his eyes when he told you he loved you," Talon said finally. "I… I can't describe it. But it was real. Whatever Fisk was feeling, whatever he was saying to you, it was all real. It wasn't a lie."

Michael stared silently. "How do I know if you're telling the truth…?" He said, sounding small and young. "How would I know?"

Talon finally smiled. "Go ask him. He's in the stables with your horses, Knight. He hasn't left, and I'm sure he won't. Just go ask."

"What if he refuses?"

Talon shrugged, beginning to turn on heel and stride away. "You never know until you try, Sir Michael."

Watching the receding back, Michael felt a surge of confidence, and he stood up, going in the directions of the stables.

Minutes later, he arrived, and he peered in, seeing Fisk brushing Tipple, talking gently to True.

Seeing how soft Fisk's eyes looked, how careful he handled the animals, how his lips curved gently, Michael smiled.

For once, he'll take hold of his free-flying courage and Talon's advice.

"Fisk."

End.

Yes, that's the end. Finally. I apologize for the late as heck update! But it's finally done! *parties* And it's been some time since I read the books, so, er, yeah…some things might be wrong. *dies*

Expect another KnR oneshot soon! XD

Reviews are always welcomed and loved and cherished. 8D