Work Text:
Jean Pierre Polnareff has been serving the Royal Family as a messenger for years now. Which means he has known the crown prince since he was much younger.
He has been with the boy through his lowest low and highest high, has witnessed that sharp mind at work when trouble presents itself, has enjoyed the curious nature that asks him for stories of his travels, has supported the strong will that matches, perhaps even surpasses, his own, has broken down the many walls of charisma and seen what the royal hides deep inside his eyes.
Jean is proud to say that he knows Prince Kakyoin Noriaki like no one else but perhaps the King and Queen.
So, of course, as soon as he hears the sigh, he knows it is a different sigh from the ones out of boredom or annoyance.
He hears that particular sigh enough, thanks to his incorrigible romantic of a sister, to know what it means, yet he can’t help the surprise when he hears it.
“My Prince,” he says, knowing the man dislikes titles when alone with friends and enjoying the scowl he’s given, "who is holding that mysterious heart of yours?"
The Prince tilts his head in confusion, hands fiddling with the book he clearly can’t concentrate enough to read past the first line. Reading in the steps of the garden is a luxury the future King rarely is able to indulge, and every chance to do so is met with enthusiastic reverence, the closest thing to "sacred" in the man’s life, yet today he can’t seem to concentrate on anything but the one plaguing his thoughts and filling his heart so much that sighs leave his lips.
“I hear that type of sighing every time Sherri finds her ’one’, my friend. That is a sigh reserved for love, or at least the beginnings of it. So tell me, who is your one?”
“... Does it matter, if we can’t be?”
Jean is yet again surprised by the Prince. Despite the charisma, the redhead is as closed off as they come, and getting information from him sometimes can feel like pulling teeth. It seems not even the witty Prince is immune to the crooked ways love writes itself, however.
“Does it matter that you can’t be? What’s stopping you?”
“He’s a blacksmith, I’m the Prince, do the math.”
“My math tells me that you should cherish this, even if it’s to end eventually. If heartbreak is inevitable, then it might as well come later, don’t you think?”
Prince Noriaki fiddles with his book yet again, holding the page he’s been valiantly trying to read for the last minutes between his fingers and gently playing with it. His intelligent eyes glint, thoughts running behind them. A few moments later, he sighs, a long sigh that is probably taking with it the worries and doubts the redhead created, before leaning against Jean’s side, head resting on his shoulder, much how he used to do when he was young and lonelier. They stay in silence, watching the busy bees fly from one flower to another.
Jean isn’t known to be the most patient man in the Kindgom, but the years with the Prince have taught him to wait. He knows the Prince sometimes needs time to organize his thoughts, time the messenger will gladly give him each time.
“... His name is Jotaro.” The redhead breaks the silence after a minute or two. “He comes from a family of blacksmiths. I met him when he came to the castle to deliver a commission.”
“How did it go?”
“Terrible!” He laughs, “At first I thought him to be a mindless brute, and he told me his first impression of me was of an arrogant brat. God, that first encounter was a disaster!”
They laugh, voices echoing on the vast garden the Prince cherishes so much. To see the redhead smile with such happiness is forever a joy; some part of Jean wishes they weren’t so rare. The older the Prince gets, the heavier the burdens of royalty get, making even the strongest man stagger. So the man commits this image of his favorite redhead to mind, picture hanging besides the other great memories of the past.
“The second time we met was better. You were out of the Kingdom, and I was bored, so I sneaked my way out of the castle and into the city.”
“Of course you did. Let me guess, he saved you from being mugged?”
“I saved him, actually.” Prince Noriaki’s smile changes into a secretive smirk. “He was going to be arrested for beating some guys to a bloody pulp, but I helped him escape before he got caught.”
“Good Lord, you really like the intense ones, don’t you? You problem prince!”
The Prince only laughs, weakly pawing away the hand messing with his hair, complaining about his curls getting tangled in the crown. Once Jean finishes messing with the red mop of hair, now a red nest, the younger man shoves him, making the messenger laugh boisterously as he theatrically falls, cheek touching the cold steps.
“Shut up, or I won’t tell you the rest.”
“Oh, the cruelty! So cold!” Jean fakes an exaggerated shiver as he sits up. “Please have mercy, my Prince.”
“You know you don’t have to call me that.”
“It's a habit by now.” The messenger sighs, bringing the young man to a side hug. “So tell me, my Prince, oh my dear Prince, all about the Blacksmith Jotaro forging his way to your heart.”
“... That was terrible.”
“Oh, c’mon! It was great, you just don’t have taste for poetry! And stop stalling!”
“He brought me to his house… I helped him clean his injuries, and when I asked why he was fighting people in the middle of the day, he told me they were ‘assholes saying shit they didn’t understand’ and glared at me when I let it clear I knew it wasn’t the whole story.”
“How charming.”
“I left after that. Third time we met, he had brought something to the castle again. His mom came with him, apparently she’s friends with some of the maids. She is the sweetest lady I’ve ever met, and probably will ever meet.”
“Happy to have a nice mother-in-law?”
“Shut up.” The Prince hit Jean’s leg with his book without much strength. “She’s also the reason he beats people up, since her husband travels a lot and people like to gossip.”
Jean winces at that. He knows better than anyone, himself having lived in the middle of them, that the crowd can be very unforgiving to anything or anyone that doesn’t fit the “normal”. Jean had suffered the results of gossip, and shielded his sister as much as he possibly could, before they found their places in the castle.
“Ends up the brute is actually a mommy’s boy with the heart of a softie and a nice smile. We have been meeting ever since, and when we can’t, we send letters...” He sighs again, and the messenger remembers an old saying about young ladies and sighing. Something about being so in love they need to let some of it out. “More like notes, though. It’s hard to send actual letters without the worry of someone being suspicious.”
“Good thing then you have me, eh?”
As smart as the Prince is, sometimes Jean is reminded of how young he still is, letting himself be overwhelmed with multiple thoughts without considering the easiest solution. The redhead’s expression goes from forlorn to confused to pensive and finally it lights up like a beacon, lavender eyes shining with an idea. Next thing he knows, Prince Noriaki is rushing to his room, no doubt to write a letter to his beloved blacksmith.
Jean can’t do much but laugh.
Who would have thought? Well, who can predict what the heart does, anyways?
“Huh… ‘Darkest hair, very tall, beautiful eyes like pieces of the ocean’ is what he said, but… So scary…” Jean whispers to himself, watching the man described to him from the entrance of the shop.
Jotaro honestly looks like he could skin a bear with his bare hands without blinking. He looks like he could bring a fortress down with a hammer. He looks like he could open a crater in the ground with a single brick. He looks like he could kill a man with one punch and half intent. He looks like he’s glaring the life out of Jean.
Oh, wait.
He is glaring the life out of Jean.
“Can I… help you?”
Faintly, the messenger can hear his Prince’s voice rhapsodizing about the deep voice of his dear blacksmith. Yet the man cannot remember the redhead telling him the Blacksmith’s voice would grip his poor heart and squeeze it like a beast from the depths of the Unknown.
“I… I have a message for the Blacksmith Jotaro.”
If possible, the other man’s glare gets even worse. Jean could swear the man’s eyes had some sort of dark magic in them, and that he’d kill the messenger for real.
“It’s from Prince Kakyoin Noriaki.” Jean says in one breath, determined to finish his duty to his Prince, offering the Prince’s precious words.
The change gives him whiplash. As soon as the last syllable of Prince Noriaki’s name leaves his lips, Jotaro's very being softens, frown relaxing and… Oh, there is a very faint blush painting his tanned cheeks as he hastily cleans his hands on his leather apron. He grabs the letter offered to him with a gentleness no one would believe, turbulent ocean eyes calming down to a pleasant tide.
Oh.
Each word makes the giant man relax more, eyes drinking the obvious tenderness the letter was written with with loving delight. Like this, Jotaro doesn’t look like a beast or an intimidating giant, just a lovesick young man who found his happiness in the most unexpected person. There’s even the beginnings of a smile on his scarred face—because he wasn't scary enough by himself, he needed a scar crossing half of his face to add to the “charm”—as he quickly forgets he still has company.
“You love him.” It’s not a question, but it startles the other man the same, attention snapping from the letter to stare at the messenger with wide eyes. “Good, then I don’t have to worry.”
“... Pardon…?”
Jean Pierre Polnareff has not survived so many years and so many travels without good fighting skills and a trusty sword. Many before have looked oddly at him for carrying a sword everywhere, but the Royal Family couldn’t care less that one of their messengers could easily kill a man, if only because said messenger is absurdly loyal to the Prince.
Some piece of his mind is surprised with how quick the man reacts, being able to dodge the attack before he gets his head cut off. Before he can throw a punch, his intentions made clear by his clenching fist, Jean puts distance between them, the very end of his sword resting comfortably on the other man’s Adam’s apple.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Jotaro asks, voice rough with anger.
“Meaning…? Isn’t it obvious? It’s a threat.”
“What am I being threatened for?”
“Jotaro, I’ve been by the Prince’s side since he was much younger. I saw him grow up into the great man he is today, I consider him a sibling as much as my real sister.” His sword, made of a beautiful silver metal, moves up Jotaro’s neck, almost caressingly. “If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure the shine of my sword will be the last thing you see.”
Silence fills the empty shop as both men glare at each other. Jean won’t lie, some of his instincts are still screaming at him, ordering him to not go against a guy who could punch the living shit out of him, but he holds himself in place. Something tells him Jotaro isn’t one to be mindlessly aggressive, and his duty to his Prince, to his brother, speaks louder than any instinct. So he hardens his gaze and doesn’t back down even as the other man touches the blade with uncharacteristic nimble fingers.
“... I made this sword.”
“Even more fitting, then.”
“Yes.” Jotaro smirks, his other hand coming up to mess with his already wild curls. “It’s only fair that I let you, then.”
Jean can see the resolve in Jotaro’s eyes, the acceptance and the challenge, and can’t help but huff in amusement. With eyes like those, no wonder Prince Noriaki fell so hard. The sword glints as the blade moves away from the taller man’s neck, going back to its place on the messenger’s hip.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ll leave you to your pretty words, loverboy~”
The messenger quickly leaves before Jotaro fulfills the promise of throwing something at his head written on his face, a skip to his step and a smile on his face. His heart sings for the Prince and his beloved Blacksmith.
And who can say for sure the heart is wrong, anyways?