Chapter Text
Magic is a finicky thing.
It bursts with potential, hungry as wildfire and unyielding as ice. As such, the first and most important lesson is always the failsafe.
For example: take a simple heating spell. A pinch of sulfur, a clump of wool or down, and a container such as a tinderbox. With these alone, a mage of basic proficiency can warm a house for an entire winter.
With these alone, that same mage would find themselves in a house burning in perpetual flames come spring. The critical step here is to first add a few gypsum crystals which, in turn, can act as a focus point for anyone who cares to stop the spell in the future.
But of course, there are always those who cut corners. It’s those cases that result in… the Monkey’s Paws. The Midas’ golden touches. The very worst examples of every magical ‘You got what you wished for!’ moment.
Sakusa doesn’t cut corners.
At the moment, he’s guiding a glowing stream of light towards the egg-shaped chunk of ice on the table, perched on a small pedestal of gold filigree. Once it enters, the light swirls and fills its container, flickering one final time before settling into its glittering cage.
The light thrums to a distant beat. The surface of the ice sparkles blue, silver and purple, emanating magic and life.
“So that’s m’heart?”
Sakusa is jolted out of his casting reverie.
Right, the client. Prince Atsumu breathes softly as he gazes at his own frozen heart, mesmerized. There’s something characteristically narcissistic about that, but for this, Sakusa doesn’t blame him. There’s no denying the sheer beauty of such vivacious emotion, somehow captured in cold, sparkling ice.
“Yes. But we’re not done.” Sakusa sits back in his chair, all business. “Where is the failsafe?”
Atsumu looks up at Sakusa at this. “Well, I thought ‘bout what ya said, but ya didn’t give me much t’ work with, y’know.” He pulls out a smattering of jewelry, a handkerchief, and a waterskin from his pocket, along with a small pile of lint.
Sakusa does his best to not jump out of his chair to immediately do a deep clean of his desk, the room, and maybe the whole tower.
“What is this.”
“It’s whatcha asked for! C’mon, Sakusa-san—” Sakusa winces at the whiny tone. “—these’re all things that remind me of Shou-kun.”
Sakusa sighs as he carefully picks out anything that sings with even the tiniest bit of magic potential. In other words, anything with sentiment. The sun-emblazoned ring looks promising.
He holds it up to the heart, and—
“Holy gods, Sakusa! Are ya tryin’ ta kill me?” Atsumu exclaims, just as the light inside flashes once in a blinding burst. Sakusa doesn’t almost drop it, because he’s a professional.
Sakusa clicks his tongue impatiently. “It’s rejecting the ring because it’s not… strong enough. Do you have anything better? Of more sentimental value to you?”
Atsumu’s face is comically draped in disbelief. “Sakusa. Th’ hell, man. Have some mercy. Ya ask a guy to bring you tokens of affection from his ex. That,” he jabs a pained finger at the golden ring, “was literally my engagement ring. I asked ya t' help with the heartbreak, not to twist th’ dagger.”
Sakusa scrunches his nose as he picks up the next trinket from the pile, an amber earring. It’s highly unlikely that it’s been cleaned, but the last time he had tried casting spells with gloves on, he had ended up nearly freezing his own arms off.
Again, the blue light flares out and Sakusa yanks his hand back. The heart itself seems to revel in having an ego to match its owner’s. Typical. Sakusa takes a moment to wipe his hands and pinch the bridge of his nose.
“The failsafe,” Sakusa begins, and Atsumu lets out a groan. Sakusa shoots him a glare before restarting. “The failsafe is meant to represent the return of emotion. Of love. Like springtime.” Sakusa twists his mouth a little. A little maudlin for his tastes, but let it be known that he does cater to his clients, thank you very much, Komori, now go mind your own business.
Where was he? Ah. Right. “It’s like a stopper in the bottom of a tub. And thus, it needs to be as strong as the emotions inside. I need something of magical potency as strong as your feelings.”
Tirade over, Sakusa glances back towards Atsumu’s face. The prince’s eyes have darkened somewhat, and the teasing tone from their conversation up to now seems to have drained away. Atsumu pulls his eyes back from where he was staring into the wall, and he stays silent.
Then he lets out a short bark of laughter.
“Somethin’ as strong as my feelin’s, huh?” He chuckles, the sound bitter with derision. “So damn frigid. Is it true what they say about ice mages, then? Jus’ a cold, empty cavern where a heart should be?”
Sakusa scowls in response.
Atsumu scoffs before leaning back with his hands on his eyes. Like this, with half his face hidden from view, he looks—tired. Resigned.
“I can’t bring ya th’ literal sun, Sakusa,” he says quietly. “That’s what he is t’ me.”
Well.
A pity, Sakusa supposes. This would certainly make casting the spell a little more difficult. If he’s being honest, he had not expected Prince Atsumu Miya, infamous adventurer and breaker of maidens’ hearts, to be caught in this particular dilemma.
But palace gossip aside, there are always solutions, if only one knows where to look. In this case…
Sakusa clears his throat. “We can find alternatives. As far as effectiveness goes—what you can’t get in intensity, you can make up for in duration.”
A pause.
“Heh.” The corners of Atsumu’s mouth curve upwards, just slightly. “That’s what she—actually, no, that’d kinda suck—”
“So do you have any personal items that are of sentimental value? They wouldn’t be as directly relevant to the spell, but anything close to your own heart, perhaps, that you’ve had for a long time?”
Atsumu pauses for a second before perking up. “Right! I knew this’d come in useful some day.” He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a small wooden pendant on a chain. Sakusa blinks, examining its magical signature.
It’s powerful. The pendant practically sings with the essence of its owner, having literally been near his heart for—years, at least, probably.
“I’ve had that fer ages. Me n’ Osamu bought ‘em when we were, what, eight? I don’t really remember,” Atsumu comments. “Dad said they were good luck. Dunno ‘bout that, but we jus’ kinda kept ‘em on.”
Sakusa takes the chain off and holds the pendant carefully between two fingers, bringing it up to the frozen heart. The light brightens, shifting around Sakusa’s hand. For a second, Sakusa feels his hand being pushed away, but then—a click.
The pendant slips into place like a magnet, sitting on the front of the heart.
Sakusa lets out the breath he was holding before quickly fastening on a gold filigree casing, matching the little stand. The heart continues to beat, almost cheerfully bright, shining a calm blue light over the table.
Well, despite everything—it was, overall, a job well done. Sakusa wouldn’t settle for anything less, after all.
It was a job well done.
Emphasis on done. Completed. Paid for. Wrapped up. Finished.
So why is Atsumu here again, tracking in all manner of… is it magical animal entrails, this time?
“Wait!” Atsumu yells before Sakusa can blast him backwards through the door with an icy squall. “I’ve got somethin’ fer ya, Omi-Omi!”
“Hey there, Atsumu!” Komori calls cheerfully from where he’s carrying in a crate of silver apples from the orchard. “Welcome back. Where were you this time, Aoba Johsai?”
Atsumu waves at him before hopping to sit on Sakusa’s desk. At this point, he’s probably immune to Sakusa’s disdainful expressions, but that doesn’t mean Sakusa’s going to stop making them.
“Nah. Fuku Desert. Man, y’ever been t’ one of the oases? Those birds can party,” Atsumu drawls. Sakusa considers pushing him off the table, but he’s still not sure what the mysterious green substance on his shoulder is, and he’s not about to find out.
But Atsumu places a small jar of glittering white powder on his desk, and—was that fairy sand? From Bokuto’s garden?
Sakusa sniffs. Atsumu lives another day then.
Atsumu stays there for a while, as always, terrorizing the two mages (“He’s helping us in the garden. It is apple season, Sakusa,” Komori says). At one point, he mercifully falls asleep on the old bench in his study (“Oh, you’re looking for the blanket? Why are you making that face—anyway, it’s in the back room,” Komori prattles). And before Atsumu leaves, he snatches an ugly bear carving off of Sakusa’s shelf.
“You’re literally stealing from me, Prince Miya.”
“Omi-kun, we’ve known each other this long. C’mon, drop the title. I’m Atsumu.”
“Miya, put it back.”
“I’ll return it. I always do, Omi-Omi! And besides, I can’t find my way back t’ yer tower without somethin’ from inside it already, right?”
Sakusa deeply resents his cousin for explaining to Atsumu how the wards worked. Atsumu is right. Those who attempted to find the tower usually wound up lost, wandering through a forest bathed in perpetual winter, unless they had an invitation in the form of a token from the tower itself.
Of course, this doesn’t explain how Atsumu found his way into the tower that first time. Well, it is said that the twin princes were born under a lucky star. Maybe a wishing star; say, for instance, a tiny meteorite.
Anyways, he and Komori have sold many charms and potions in the past to people of all walks. It is entirely possible that Atsumu owns an enchanted dagger, or a minor protection charm, or something of the sort.
But clearly, he’d rather be equipped with the (thankfully unmagical) bear carving. Atsumu should be all set to go—but instead, he stands in the doorway, looking at Sakusa with a thoughtful expression.
“Hey, Omi-Omi.”
That was a Proposition voice.
“I was wonderin’ if ya—”
“No.”
“Ya didn’t even hear me out!”
“Still, no.”
“What if I tell ya it’s about White Eagle Mountain?”
Unfortunately, that catches Sakusa’s attention. He’s been itching for a chance to visit for a long time. He hasn’t seen Wakatoshi in a while, and he was running low on ground swan eggshells. Atsumu takes the pause as a go-ahead to keep speaking.
“It’s where th’ phoenixes roost about this time’a year, yeah? It’s a great time t’ get out and do some bird-watchin’, is what I was thinkin’. And maybe you’d get ta collect some shiny plants or magic rocks or somethin’.”
Sakusa narrows his eyes at Atsumu, who squirms a little under his gaze.
“...Alright, I’m not exactly in it fer the bird-watchin’,” he admits. “I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ a few phoenix feathers.”
A flashy trophy, as always. But something about it bothers Sakusa.
“What for?”
Atsumu still refuses to make eye contact, choosing to look off to the side. “... I want t’ get somethin’ special. For… for Shouyou-kun’s weddin’ next year.”
Ah. That’s right, the phoenix is a particularly sacred symbol in the neighbouring country of Karas.
Prince Hinata would be delighted. Endeared, even, at such an extravagant gift.
Ignoring the growing irritation in his chest, Sakusa does what he does best and points out the obvious. “The phoenix roosting grounds are very dangerous. You’ll kill yourself getting there.”
Atsumu finally looks back at Sakusa, and his grin is bright in a way that Sakusa has never seen before. “So I figured y’ could come with me, Omi-Omi!”
This whole trip screams bad idea.
But Sakusa thinks back to Atsumu, yelping as the garden pixies chased him out a week ago. He thinks of Atsumu, bruised and battered and scarred, but triumphantly holding the head of a hydra as he stumbled through the tower doors.
He thinks of Atsumu, asleep in his study, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks damp as he huddles further into the blanket Sakusa draped over his shoulders.
Sakusa looks up at Atsumu now.
“Fine,” he mutters, and Atsumu cheers.
The trip to White Eagle Mountain typically takes Sakusa two weeks, and the ascent to Wakatoshi’s village another five days.
With Atsumu as his companion, it’s been three weeks, and they have yet to make it to the foothills of the mountain—and still, Sakusa doesn’t find himself as annoyed as he probably should be.
But, it is now the fifth day since they’ve been in a hotel with a proper bath. It goes without saying that Sakusa has perfected the art of cleaning himself with a sanitizing frozen mist shower, but… Atsumu.
Atsumu smells foul.
“Don’t get yer panties ‘n a knot, Omi-Omi, I washed my pits in the river yesterday.”
Sakusa wastes no time in kicking Atsumu into the spring, clothes and all. Frankly, those need washing even more than Atsumu’s body does. Sakusa doesn’t spare a glance over his shoulder as he gets soap from his pack—the jerk can swim. Probably.
When he gets back, Atsumu is nowhere to be seen. A stream of bubbles collects where Sakusa had pushed Atsumu in.
Sakusa is all but ready to drag the pool with a makeshift ice rake when Atsumu bobs up on the other side of the spring, laughing and gasping for air.
“Hey, Omi-Omi! Did I getcha?”
Sakusa glares. Atsumu grins wildly, canines flashing in the low evening light, and Sakusa feels his heart stutter and his brows twitch.
“Scrub your clothes.” Sakusa snaps. “Use my soap; you smell. And wash your hair properly, for once.”
“Huh. Well, if ya know so much about hair,” Atsumu lilts as he swims to where Sakusa is standing, stripping and dumping his wet clothes in a pile on the shore, “why dontcha wash it for me?”
Sakusa considers the soap in his hands. “Alright. Hold still.”
Sakusa registers the blushing shock on Atsumu’s face with a smug sense of accomplishment. Before he can dwell too long on what exactly he thinks of Atsumu’s cheeks, he dives into the coarse, yellow hair with lather on his fingers.
After a few minutes of forceful scrubbing, Sakusa is slightly disappointed that Atsumu hadn’t been squirmier. He had told Atsumu to be still, but this is inhuman.
“You alright?”
A pause.
“Uh—wha—”
“Did you fall asleep?”
“No! No. Uh, I just—yer hands’re—warm, Omi-Omi.”
Sakusa doesn’t bother to respond, and Atsumu seems to sense the unimpressed scowl through the back of his own head.
“Just—I kinda fig’red ya’d have cold hands, or somethin’.”
“Ha, ha.”
“No, like—” Atsumu’s hair is rough but pleasantly pliant when soaked in water and soap. Sakusa pulls his fingers over Atsumu’s scalp soothingly, feeling a little guilty about the rough treatment from earlier.
“Ah—It’s… nice,” Atsumu finishes lamely.
After ensuring that Atsumu has rinsed out his hair, scrubbed off his top layer of skin, and laundered all his clothes, Sakusa allows Atsumu to step out of the spring.
Of course he gives him the expected amount of privacy while he dresses, but—while Atsumu is still putting on his change of clothes, Sakusa notices the pendant hanging on his chest.
Atsumu sees Sakusa’s gaze. “Like what ya—”
“Did you always have two necklaces?” Sakusa knows by now to cut him off before the flirting gets out of hand. The pendant really is interesting, though, glowing with a different energy from the one Sakusa had used on Atsumu’s heart. Subdued somehow. Colder, perhaps?
“It’s ‘Samu’s.” Atsumu pauses. “My brother’s. He said that he’d break m’ neck if I died ‘fore I returned it.”
Sakusa squints. Having a twin must be an extraordinary experience.
“I hate ‘im,” Atsumu says affectionately.
But something about the necklace seems… oddly familiar.
The magic radiating from it is far less flashy than that of Atsumu’s, so Sakusa steps in to get a better look. As he peers past the magic to see the wooden charm itself, he is suddenly struck with obvious familiarity.
The rune pattern is one that he, Komori, and even Iizuna had carved hundreds of times, back in their early apprenticeship days.
As Sakusa turns the charm over in his hands, he remembers their master jokingly asking them to make a thousand each—and Sakusa had carved each one out meticulously. He had reached the total in his second year.
Then, stuck with a pile of very redundant wooden trinkets, he had visited town with Komori on market day and sold almost all of them in one go. He would find out later that they had vastly undercharged, but what do you expect of children?
“—Omi-kun!” Atsumu stammers, voice strained.
Sakusa flicks his eyes up to meet Atsumu’s.
Ah. He’s… very close. Sakusa’s hair is one puff away from brushing Atsumu’s still-damp forehead, and Atsumu’s eyes, normally fox-like and teasing, are wide and bright in the moonlight as he stares up at Sakusa.
Sakusa blinks.
He steps back and—how long had he been holding this breath?
“Sorry,” he mutters quietly. Atsumu stands there, equally shell-shocked.
“Uh—” Atsumu shakes his head, dripping water around him like a wet dog. Sakusa’s out of splash range, but he steps further away anyways. “I mean—no worries. Is there somethin’ wrong with ‘Samu’s necklace?”
“It’s likely that I was the one who made it. And yours, too.”
Atsumu looks at him suspiciously. “When y’were, like, eight?”
“Seven, yes.”
Atsumu pauses before shrugging. “Yeah, guess I’m not surprised. I’m not payin’ extra fer that, though.”
It is later that night, after Atsumu’s breathing has evened out from the truly peaceful sleep only idiots know, that Sakusa finds himself still thinking about the pendant—the one back in his tower.
In general, Sakusa doesn’t linger much on the fate of his merchandise. But, thinking about his work—his mark, his signature—hanging around Atsumu’s neck brings a bloom of satisfaction to his chest.
That’s when it clicks.
He’d finally let Atsumu’s incessant flirting get to his head, apparently.
Disappointing, but not irreversible. Of the thousands of souls who were unlucky enough to meet the prince, there must be laughably many who have had their hearts gently smashed to the ground, pieces kicked aside as Hurricane Atsumu blasted through their lives.
(There is, of course, that one bright and burning exception. The one Atsumu had carefully picked up and cherished, only to find himself at Sakusa’s doorstep, begging for his own heart to be frozen.)
(Because that is what Sakusa does best.)
It will not be difficult to root Atsumu out of his “cold, empty cavern” of a heart. To borrow from Atsumu’s melodramatic spiel: nothing takes to permafrost well.