Chapter Text
The prince and his minder went ahead first, because, as Kiyoshi pointed out, Tetsuya was not exactly appropriately dressed for a romp around the woods. That suited Daiki just fine, since it’d at least preserve some element of surprise about what they’d been getting up to these past few years. The moment they had left, he dashed to his bedroom to pull the sword his father had forged for him out from under his bed. It was a plain but sturdy weapon, made from fine steel—one-handed and double-edged, with a crossguard and an undecorated pommel. A richer man might have sneered to see it, but Daiki trusted his father’s craftsmanship. Would have to trust his life to it, actually, if he was serious about what he was training for—and he’d never been more serious about anything in his life.
He buckled it to his belt and then left the house, setting off at a run for the forest clearing where Kiyoshi had been teaching him. Along the way he attracted a few curious glances, but the speed at which he was going prevented anyone from striking up a conversation.
Once there, he spent a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes loitering about, waiting for the others to show up. But if he’d hoped that Tetsuya’s arrival would expel his agitation, he was mistaken; catching sight of his friend as well as his teacher approaching through the trees only increased his anxiety. Was he ready? Well, it was too late to second-guess himself—backing out now would only make him look like a fool.
“So,” said Tetsuya, rather peevishly, as they came within earshot, “what is this all about?” Then he caught sight of the sword buckled to Daiki’s side, and stopped abruptly.
All bravado, Daiki smirked and unsheathed it. The edge of the blade caught the afternoon light as it faded, glinting dangerously.
“That’s...” Daiki was pleased to detect a note of awe in Tetsuya’s voice. “Where’d you get that?”
“Had my da’ forge it for me,” he said casually, before giving it a few test swings; the sound of it slicing through the air stung their ears. “Needed something to do when Tetsu wasn’t around, didn’t I?”
“Did you,” Tetsuya echoed, quietly, eyes still round as saucers. Kiyoshi gave a light cough, and then patted his charge on the shoulder, briskly.
“You haven’t even seen him use it yet,” he said, stifling a chuckle behind one gauntleted hand. “Save your admiration for later, all right?” Then he gestured at Daiki. “Go on, then, lad,” he said, steadily. “Show him what you’ve learned.”
Jaw set, Daiki nodded, then moved away from where they were standing, out into the center of the clearing. He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling, and then raised his sword, adjusting to its balance by muscle memory.
Then he swung, and swung again. The blade whistled through the air as he cycled through the stances Kiyoshi had taught him; wanting to impress, every movement was crisp and perfectly executed. He beheaded one imaginary enemy, then fended off a second challenger and ran him through with a flourish. Throughout his routine, he had moved closer and closer to Tetsuya, though taking care to leave a wide-enough berth that there would be no chance of accidentally striking him.
At last, a mere few feet away from his two onlookers, he came to a stop, plunging his sword deep into the ground while dropping to one knee and bowing his head. Bowing it to Tetsuya, yes—Kiyoshi hadn’t taught him all the details of the knight’s code of honor yet, but he knew enough to understand what it was he was doing. Pledging fealty to the little prince is how Kiyoshi would have put it, and the significance of that action would not be lost on any of them.
He was breathing heavily from exertion, and there was sweat dripping into his eyes, but a quick peek upwards through his damp bangs revealed that Tetsuya was still staring—stunned, and maybe even blushing a little. Daiki ducked his head back down and bit his lip to keep from smiling, since knights, and by extension knight-hopefuls, were supposed to approach everything with the appropriate gravitas.
Even Kiyoshi seemed impressed—or at least, not terribly disappointed with his performance. (Which was a good thing, because otherwise Daiki might have wanted to kill himself from shame.)
“You did good, lad,” said Kiyoshi, dropping his hand onto Tetsuya’s shoulder again, as though trying to snap him out of his trance. “Noticed you’ve been focusing on your footwork, like I told you to.” He paused for a moment, then grinned at Daiki, a little uncertain. “I don’t recall teaching you that little move you used at the end, there, though...”
“Thought it up myself,” said Daiki, as casually as he could, getting back to his feet and yanking the blade out of the dirt. He wiped the dusty blade off on one of his trouser legs, then sheathed it.
“Oh, did you?” Kiyoshi answered, good-naturedly, though he clearly wasn’t buying it. Lucky for Daiki, he didn’t push the matter, and at any rate Tetsuya had finally found his tongue.
“That was...” The prince blinked, and then clasped his hand together, earnestly, all his irritation from earlier forgotten. “...absolutely fantastic. Really, it was.” He waited long enough for Daiki to start fidgeting from embarrassment, before a cheeky gleam entered his eye. “Shall I address you as ‘ser Daiki’ from now on?”
Daiki was mortified, and even more so when he felt his face burning. “ Tetsu !”
“Well, you already address me by my first name, so I don’t see what the problem is,” Tetsuya said to him, being deliberately obtuse. Daiki was on the verge of arguing, but then stopped in his tracks—the cat might have been out of the bag when it came to his lessons, but his secret ambition was still that: a secret.
Just then, Kiyoshi cleared his throat.
“That was nice, but I think the little prince ought to be getting back to his lessons now, don’t you?” he said, in a strangely pointed tone of voice, though he was still smiling down at them both, in a genial sort of way.
Tetsuya shook himself a little, unhappily, looking up at Kiyoshi with a frown, but finally nodded.
“I’ll come by again soon,” he promised, turning back to Daiki. “Later this week.”
Daiki nodded, awkwardly, with one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Like the pose he had ended his demonstration with, this was something he’d picked up from observing real knights as they went about their business. Perhaps it really was impossible for him to be a knight—but, he thought, he’d do his damnedest to behave like one, anyway.
He watched and waited until they had disappeared between the trees, headed in the direction of the castle, and then, with shoulders slumped, he made his way home alone.
*
As Tetsuya had promised, he came by later that week, and again the next. Difficult though it might have been for him to peel himself away from his various minders and tutors, he never failed to set aside time for his dearest childhood friend.
Daiki appreciated the breaks from his training, but on the other hand, he found himself coming no closer to his goal of receiving a knighthood... and on some nights, when it was very late and very quiet, a dark little voice would surface in his head, telling him in no uncertain tones that it was futile—that everything he’d done up to this point had been for naught. To silence it, he could do nothing else but throw himself deeper into his training, trapping himself in a cycle of hopelessness. Still, as the years passed, he became quite handy with a sword—so much so that even his teacher had to give him grudging respect.
The last time they had trained together in that little forest clearing had been one of his best performances. Having come this far, they were sparring with shields and real weapons, with some light armor for basic protection. Kiyoshi, of course, had his bulk and the weight of experience on his side, but Daiki had the advantage of youth and burning enthusiasm. A few narrow misses with the pointy end of Kiyoshi’s blade had Daiki on his guard, and now they circled each other, each waiting for the other to make a misstep.
At last, Daiki saw an opportunity, feinting swiftly to one side and then diving low to sweep out a foot across the dusty ground. The movement took Kiyoshi completely by surprise, and he stumbled, which Daiki further capitalized on by slamming his shield into his teacher’s to overbalance him.
The end result of all of this was Kiyoshi lying on his back, winded, Daiki’s blade held over his throat. For a moment, they were still—neither quite able to believe what had just happened. Then, very slowly, a grin spread over Daiki’s face.
“Do you yield?” he demanded, shakily, his eyes shining.
Kiyoshi barked out a laugh at that, dropping his sword with a clank in surrender.
“I yield, lad,” he cried, “Now let me up!”
Daiki tossed his weapons aside and grabbed Kiyoshi’s hand to drag him back to his feet. Then he whooped, leaping about with joy; his sheer exhilaration put a smile on Kiyoshi’s face.
“Did you see that?!” Daiki yelled, punching the air. “I finally bested you, didn’t I?!”
“That you did,” said Kiyoshi, with real pride in his voice, clapping him on the back. “You’ll make a fine...” he cleared his throat, and then went on, “a fine... swordsman one day, mark my words.”
Daiki’s smile froze on his face, and then faded a bit. But after a moment, he simply nodded to acknowledge Kiyoshi’s words, and then drew himself away to gather up their discarded gear.
He was still thinking about that the next day, standing out in the yard with broom in hand as he swept off the cobblestone path in front of their house. He knew what Kiyoshi had wanted to say, knew exactly what words he had taken back, and... well, it hurt. On some level, he understood that Kiyoshi was only trying to spare his feelings, but somehow that only made it worse. It wasn’t fair of him to resent the man, he knew—after all, Kiyoshi was simply being realistic about his prospects—but then again, it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be a knight, either. Life, as his father often cheerfully told him, wasn’t fair, and he had never felt it more strongly than at that moment, standing in that clearing with his teacher.
He lifted his head to mop some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and then spotted a very familiar silhouette approaching from across the way. Strangely, though, the other was alone—and that was enough to make the hairs on the back of Daiki’s neck prickle.
“Where’s ser Kiyoshi?” said Daiki, by way of greeting, as soon as Tetsuya had reached him.
Tetsuya’s expression was sour; he gave a little toss of his head, as if that was so far below his notice that it hadn’t even occurred to him to care. He’d long since given up on his habit of stealing apparel from the servants, but he was at least dressed modestly today—no frills, ruffles, or lace; just a plain cotton shirt and trousers. (His boots, on the other hand, crafted from expensive leather and polished to a shine, still made their difference in stations clear.)
“Let’s go for a walk,” he announced, imperiously. Daiki could hardly say no when he got like that, so he left the broom resting by the gate, and followed Tetsuya out towards the village proper.
“Tetsu didn’t answer me,” he noted, casually, as they walked along, tucking his hands up behind his head. But Tetsuya only made a derisive noise, tossing his head once more, as though Daiki was pursuing a subject that was most dreadfully dull and Tetsuya was only humoring him with his replies.
“I got into a row with my brother,” he said, at last—Daiki didn’t have to ask which brother—”so I decided to step out for a bit.” He gave Daiki a slightly flirtatious look from beneath his lashes, and added, “Besides, I have you with me, don’t I?”
That you do, thought Aomine, but he averted his gaze anyway. It pleased him to hear that, and yet not having the good ser knight’s presence with them unnerved him a little. But Tetsuya seemed to feel no such anxiety; he strode ahead, leading the way into the market in which they had met so many years before. Now that he knew his way about the place, he hardly needed an escort—but, Daiki quickly reminded himself, he wasn’t simply there to show Tetsuya around.
The first stall they passed was stacked high with pastries and baskets of bread. Tetsuya paused to sample their wares, then left a few copper behind for what he’d taken.
“Good?” Daiki inquired, tipping a glance at him as he munched on a meat bun.
“Nostalgic,” Tetsuya answered, with a small smile. Daiki chuckled.
As they turned the corner, the village flower-seller swept past, carrying the fresh sweet scent of cut grass with her. Normally, this would have intrigued Daiki, but at the moment it barely occurred to him to give her the time of day—Tetsuya raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, well?, while Daiki studiously ignored him. Down at the end of the lane, the old fishmonger was enthusiastically peddling that day’s catch. The stench of fish mingled with the aroma of herbs and perfumes as well as the faint scent of freshly-baked bread, forming the unique smell of a market at midday.
It appeared the tinker was in town that week as well, for beside the fishmonger’s stall stood a tired workhorse hooked up to a wagon, with a nest of pots, pans and various knick-knacks strung over its entryway like a curtain. The tinker himself peered out from behind all of this as they passed, ever watchful for potential customers.
It was a scene that they’d walked through together countless times, soothing in its familiarity, and when Tetsuya caught his eye and smiled a little, he found himself smiling back, despite all his misgivings.
Daiki was just beginning to relax a little when some movement near Tetsuya caught his eye. To start with, he had stuck close to his friend’s side, but Tetsuya had always had a bothersome habit of wandering a little, as though trying to see how far he could go and still get away with it. It wasn’t anything to worry about, he figured, until he realized that the man he’d pegged as moving strangely had really no reason to be walking so close to Tetsuya.
No reason at all, and when he saw the naked blade in the man’s hand, he simply did the first thing that came to mind—he threw himself forward and grabbed it.
It cut his palm, almost down to the bone, but the pain of it only sharpened his focus. When the man turned to him, mouth opening in shock and outrage, Daiki took the opportunity to stop whatever he was about to say by grabbing his throat and taking him to the ground.
Someone screamed something, then, but the words barely penetrated Daiki’s mind. Finding his hand already positioned over the man’s throat, he brought the other one up to pair them together and squeeze. The man’s eyes bulged; he wheezed, face gone bloodless, and flailed an arm about—
Too late, Daiki realized that reaching up to choke the stranger had left his knife hand free. A white hot pain blossomed in his side, then spread rapidly to his extremities. He gasped and let go, reaching to clutch at the knife which was buried in his side to the hilt. The man took this opportunity to slip out from under him, and began shoving his way through the gathering crowd to make his escape.
Having lost track of the attacker, the red haze that had taken over Daiki’s thoughts began to lift, and he raised his eyes up in what felt like slow-motion to find Tetsuya’s. The prince’s face was taut and pale; he clutched at Daiki’s shoulders in a panic, mouth moving frantically, but Daiki’s ears seemed to have failed him, for he could make out nothing at all.
He let go of the knife, and reached for Tetsuya, but his hands were slippery with blood, and with everything fading rapidly, he found it difficult to hold on. Were people screaming? Ah, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except—
“Good,” he managed to force out, focusing on Tetsuya’s face one last time. “You’re safe.”
Then he collapsed, and knew no more.
*
Daiki awoke to find himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The pungent scent of herbs immediately assaulted him; he snorted, once, then blew out a long breath, trying to clear his head. He was warm and comfortable, at least, on a bed far softer than the straw-filled mattress he used at home, and buried under thick, downy blankets. However, the simple act of moving hurt—there was a piercing pain radiating through his body from somewhere below his ribcage, and with a start, he recalled just how he had received that wound.
“Ah, you’re awake, are you, lad?” said a voice from somewhere off to the side. With a great effort, Daiki tilted his head to follow it to its source.
It was Kiyoshi who stood beside his sickbed, his face more lined than Daiki could ever remember it being. And there, resting by his good hand—squeezing it tightly between both palms, in fact, while he dozed with his head resting against the sheets, was Tetsuya, asleep in a chair that had been pushed right up by the side of the bed. Daiki flexed his fingers a little, wondering, and was almost shocked as he absorbed the soft, warm sensation of Tetsuya’s skin against his.
Seeing where Daiki’s gaze had fallen, Kiyoshi quickly shushed him.
“Don’t wake the little prince just yet,” he murmured. Then, as though he knew better than to tell Daiki, but had decided to anyway, he went on, “He’s been worried sick about you, you know. He even scared off all the healers when they went to bleed you—said you’d done quite enough of that already, thank you. They’re not happy with him, I can tell you that, but...” He paused to smile a little, fondly, down at his charge, “no one argues with the little prince when he’s worked himself up into such a fury.”
They were quiet for a while, then; Daiki amused himself in the meantime trying to imagine that. Eventually, he cleared his throat to speak—but his voice was too rough, and Kiyoshi went to fetched him a cup of water for it.
Once he’d managed to drag himself up into a sitting position, and downed the water in a few long gulps—doing all of this, incidentally, without letting go of Tetsuya’s hands for a moment—he turned his gaze back to Kiyoshi, who was observing the two of them patiently.
“How long... have I...”
“Four days,” Kiyoshi said, as he drew up a chair beside the bed, next to Tetsuya’s. “That knife went deep. I almost thought...” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and then gave a slightly-pained smile. “...well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re still with us, lad.”
Daiki couldn’t help but agree—and yet somehow, the thought of dying while protecting Tetsuya didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He mulled that over for a while, and Kiyoshi was content to let him do so, studying the weave on the sheets, or the shadows on ceiling—looking basically anywhere except at their clasped hands.
After another long while of listening to Tetsuya’s quiet breathing in his sleep, Daiki found his voice again.
“Did you tell my da’...?”
“I did,” said Kiyoshi, with a nod. He paused, then added, “He called you a fool boy without the good sense the gods gave a goat. And said that you ought to come home as quickly as you could.”
Despite himself, that made Daiki smile a bit; there was no doubt that that message had come straight from the horse’s mouth. But he was quickly distracted, because Tetsuya had begun to stir, fingers twitching and shifting a little where they were entwined with Daiki’s.
Kiyoshi cleared his throat, which had the added effect of dragging Tetsuya the rest of the way into consciousness, and then got to his feet.
“I’ll leave you two alone now, shall I?” he said, briskly, and, without waiting for a response, showed himself out of the infirmary. A moment or two after the door had swung shut behind Kiyoshi, Tetsuya sat up abruptly, smacking his lips a little.
He frowned, then his eyes went wide, as he saw that Daiki was sitting up and conscious.
“You’re—you—“ he stammered, clutching at Daiki’s hand, hard enough to make it ache.
Daiki couldn’t help himself—it was amusing, and possibly the first time he’d ever seen Tetsuya at a loss for words, too, so he chuckled a bit, hoarsely.
“I?” he echoed, teasing. “Me?”
Tetsuya scowled, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the brightest smile Daiki had ever seen on his face. He half clambered onto the bed, flinging his arms around Daiki’s shoulders and holding on tight. Though it made him wince, Aomine reached up with his good hand, patting the other awkwardly on the back... before giving up and hugging him too, squeezing as hard as he could. They stayed like that for a while, quiet and awkwardly affectionate, neither wishing to be the first to let go.
At last, Tetsuya murmured, somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, “... You’re alive.”
“Never miss a thing, do you?” Daiki replied—but in a strange quiet voice, as though they were sharing a secret.
“I see your smart mouth is very much alive, as well,” Tetsuya remarked, nuzzling his nose along the other’s cheek. Then he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something. “... Now close your eyes. Lift your head up a bit, too.”
“Why?” said Aomine, grinning, but he did it anyway.
He felt Tetsuya’s breath against his lips just before it all made sense, and—yeah, it was definitely a good day for firsts.
*
It was almost two weeks before they let Daiki out of bed, and that was only because he seemed about ready to snap. Lying on his back doing nothing only suited him fine when it was by choice, and being confined to that stuffy little room was hell on earth when he’d much rather have been by Tetsuya’s side.
Thankfully, on that day, Kiyoshi had arrived on the scene rather soon after Daiki had taken that blade to the hand, and apprehended the would-be killer before he’d escaped. (He’d fetched help, too, before Daiki could bleed out to a very ignoble death on the street.)
The man turned out to be little more than a disgruntled citizen with a grudge and a poor sense of judgment. Turned down at an audience with the king, he had apparently decided to take out his frustrations on the most convenient member of the royal family, and given Tetsuya’s penchant for exploring the village unaccompanied, he was the obvious choice. Fortunately, that man was now rotting in the castle dungeons, and would presumably be making no further attempts on any princely lives.
At any rate, given that he wasn't supposed to be moving around at all, he was very surprised when Kiyoshi showed up at the infirmary one day with a fine shirt and trousers folded over his arm, himself dressed in his full ceremonial plate armor. (It was actually rather impressive, seeing it this close up; Daiki tried not to look too star-struck.)
"No time for questions," Kiyoshi had said, in a strangely terse voice. "Put these on, then come with me. You've been summoned for an audience with the king."
"What for?" Daiki grumbled, though he was already pulling off his shirt awkwardly with his good hand. (Even Daiki wasn’t stupid enough to bring his attitude before the king.)
Kiyoshi only smiled.
“You’ll see.”
The attire Kiyoshi had brought him was about as stiff and uncomfortable as he’d been expecting, with the high collar and the trousers that were so tight that they pinched at the groin. He sighed, mincing along behind Kiyoshi on their way to their throne room; his injury made his gait slightly awkward, but he managed well enough.
When they arrived, the throne room was nearly empty. Apart from the king, the prince—well, the only prince who mattered to Daiki, anyway—a handful of knights, and a scribe with quill and parchment in hand, there was no one else to be seen. Daiki permitted himself a moment to wonder about the strangeness of it all before Kiyoshi prodded him in the small of his back, making him stumble a bit.
“Go on, then,” he murmured. Still, Daiki hesitated, glancing back at his old mentor with wide, uncertain eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything remotely like fear before, not even when he’d grabbed the knife that that stranger had intended to bury in Tetsuya’s back, but this... this was something else altogether.
At that moment, the king himself spoke.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he called, pushing himself to his feet. “Step forward.”
So Daiki approached the throne—gods, but it was a long walk up to the dais, how had he never noticed that?—and then knelt before it, keeping his eyes lowered respectfully, until the king took pity on him and said, “You may rise.”
For a while after that, the king studied him in silence—though his eyes were kind, and perhaps twinkling a little with amusement.
"Do you know why you're here today, boy?" he said, eventually, slightly gruff.
Daiki looked round at the room, at everyone gathered—at the scribe taking notes, the knights in their ceremonial armor, and Tetsuya smiling at him nervously, standing at his father’s side. He swallowed, hard, and shut his eyes tight for a moment, before opening again. The scene had not changed—everyone was still watching him silently.
“... I daren’t hope,” he said, at last, “for you’d all laugh if I was wrong.”
At that, the king cracked a smile beneath his bristly moustache, which was peppered through with grey.
“Well,” he said, shaking his head a bit, “you’d best start believing it. Truth be told, it’s not exactly proper, but Teppei—and little Tetsuya here, too—appealed rather fervently on your behalf.”
“Father,” Tetsuya interjected, looking mortified.
“Not to mention your heroics...” the king went on, tipping his head graciously in Daiki’s direction. “We are not ungrateful for the services you have rendered unto this kingdom… and our family, as well.” He paused for a moment, and then smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” said Daiki, without hesitation. “I would. For Tetsu—I mean—the prince.”
The king chuckled. “Well, ‘tleast there’s no doubt you’re a brave one.” He gestured, then, to Kiyoshi, who had moved up closer and was currently standing where the other knights were gathered, looking on with mild interest. “Teppei, come over here and have him repeat the oath after you. Let’s get on with it, or we’ll be standing here all day.”
Daiki’s throat was dry. This was the moment that he’d been waiting for... for what felt like his entire life. He wouldn’t need someone to whisper the words into his ear, either; he’d memorized them years ago, having asked his father—who, as always, humored him when it came to this—to recite them.
He dropped to one knee, and bowed his head; the sudden movement stopped Kiyoshi in his tracks, and drew every eye in the room to him.
“I swear,” he said, in a strong, clear voice which echoed through the hall, “on my honor to be ever faithful to my king, to serve justice unto those who would harm him, and be forever true and without deceit in his service.”
A silence fell over the room, broken only by a soft gasp—Tetsuya, from the sound of it. Belatedly, but recovering gracefully from his surprise, the king drew the sword that was sheathed at his side, and raised it up to tap Daiki on the head with the flat of the blade.
“And now, I dub thee ser Aomine.” He sheathed the sword again. “You may rise.”
He did so, and those gathered brought their hands together; their applause filled the hall. Soon afterwards, the other knights dispersed; they’d come to observe the ceremony out of obligation, and once it was over, they were more than happy to return to their regular duties.
All of them except one, anyway... who approached him quickly, the look on his face cool and business-like. He stopped in front of Daiki, and they stared at each other for a long moment, before they both burst into peals of laughter.
“Well done, lad,” Kiyoshi cried, clapping Daiki round the back so hard he stumbled. “I’m proud of you!”
Daiki looked up at his teacher—his mentor—and was utterly horrified to discover his eyes were stinging. He looked away, quickly. “I couldn’t...” he tried, and then halted. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d...”
“No need to say anything at all,” said Kiyoshi, cheerfully. Then he looked up. “Ah. Well, it looks like someone else wants to speak with you.” He elbowed Daiki in a brotherly sort of way, and then chuckled. “We’ll talk later, all right?”
He slipped away, then, joining the king as he exited the throne room, leaving Daiki with the only other person who remained behind. There, in all his regal finery, standing just a few feet from Daiki, was Tetsuya.
“Tetsu,” Daiki mumbled, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious with his childhood friend, in a way he never had before.
“Father says you’ll be looking after me, now,” Tetsuya told him, calmly. “I hope it won’t grow tiresome, being by my side all the time.” He smiled a bit; Daiki stammered something incoherent, and then stopped before he made a bigger idiot of himself.
They looked at each other for what seemed like ages, both quiet; Daiki hardly daring to breathe.
At long last, Tetsuya broke the silence.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
This seemed like an abrupt change of topics to Daiki, who only blinked. “What?”
Tetsuya frowned at him, though in a playful manner. “Do keep up, Daiki. I asked if you were hungry.”
Daiki reflected for a moment, and then shrugged. “I s’pose I could eat,” he said, uncertain.
“Good,” said Tetsuya, and took Daiki’s arm before he had a moment to react, steering him forcefully in the direction of the kitchens. “Normally on a day like this they’d have a feast,” he said as they went, conversationally, “but they decided it ‘wasn’t necessary’ this time.” Tetsuya’s tone of voice showed, quite succinctly, what he thought of that notion. “So I took the liberty of asking the cook to do up a little something, just for the two of us. I don’t think it will disappoint.”
Daiki racked his brain for something clever to say—something more meaningful than ‘thank you’, yet not soppy—but came up empty. So he just linked his arm through Tetsuya’s, and then grinned as Tetsuya rested a cheek briefly against his shoulder. There was no need to rush things; he figured; he had plenty of time to find the words to say.
After all, their life together was just beginning.