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Kiyoomi stands in a field, squinting as he looks up into the sky.
A bright sky beams over the land in which it envelopes, the sun creates shadows on uncharted territories and provides warmth to all that lie under it.
The sun knows all, no secrets can hide from one always watching. Kiyoomi is most familiar with the sun's watchful eye, knowing all acts and words said under her are permanent.
Although well acquainted with the sun, Kiyoomi is most familiar with a handful of things.
He knows the trades that come into his town during the certain seasons of the year, he knows where points of vulnerability lie on the human body in sword fights, he knows the name of every person who works under the Miya family, and he knows every constellation that hangs up in the sky on the darkest of nights.
“Omi! Let’s go, we haf’ta wash up before dinner!” A voice calls out for him in the distance, a voice so familiar and something synonymous with home.
He turns, facing the direction of the voice.
His eye lands on the owner, the voice that calls out to him and rings in the back of his mind in the few hours he’s allotted to have to himself.
The body stands a little ways away, hands on his hips as his chest rises up and down in a steady rhythm, a direct result of him running a long way.
He stands in front of the sun, her rays surround him, creating an outline of perfection in her wake. She knows this body all too well, his aura exudes the warmth the sun gives during the brightest hours of the day.
Kiyoomi nods, making the same run the other just made as he approaches him.
He comes closer, the figure still stands still as he catches his breath.
“Prince Atsumu, forgive me,” he speaks as he comes closer. “I was distracted for a moment there.”
The prince gives him a small smile, soft lines barely forming along his cheekbones as he does so.
“As long as ya don’t keep me waitin’ too long, I’ll allow it.”
Kiyoomi is most familiar with a handful of things, most of all, a prince of the Hyogo kingdom.
Miya Atsumu, one of the two princes of the Hyogo kingdom and possible heir to the crown.
“I’d never let you wait on me, it’s impolite to make a royal wait on anyone.”
“Good thing yer not just anyone.”
He turns and starts to walk away, heat rises to Kiyoomis neck and blooms across his face; he decides he’ll blame it on the heat of the sun if asked about it.
Sakusa Kiyoomi, personal guard of Prince Atsumu of the Hyogo kingdom.
Kiyoomi is most familiar with Prince Miya Atsumu of the Hyogo kingdom.
Although most familiar with him, he wouldn’t know where to start if he had to describe him.
A word that comes to mind in the moment is oblivious. Atsumu is completely oblivious about what his sharp tongue does when his honey coated words are directed to Kiyoomi, even if he glows pink from it right in front of him.
Whether the prince chooses this oblivion or not, Kiyoomi doesn’t know. He doesn’t like to ponder on the thought either, afraid of where it will lead him once he digs a hole too deep to climb out of.
They walk alongside each other, the soft clinking of the hilt of Kiyoomis sword against his belt comes about occasionally.
Sunlight comes through the windows, the periodic tinted glass casts a colorful beam of light on the granite. Kiyoomi looks at it and a small part of him wishes to see the prince under such light, painted and washed out by beautiful hues.
Perhaps a dark navy or a rich purple would suit him nicely.
The word oblivion hangs in his mind as they climb stairs, no words spoken between either of them as they go about in a comfortable silence.
Kiyoomi thinks of words to describe the prince often, as he finds himself in situations, he thinks of a word and commits it to memory.
One of the first words that came to him about the prince was a flirt . The family had thrown a party, celebrating some kind of major trade they had conducted. Many other royal families were invited. Girls had come, clad in beautiful dresses adorned with jewels as they danced with their male counterparts, also dressed in their finest suits, form fitting as it hugged their features.
Atsumu had done his own fair share of dancing, making girls blush under his touch as he held their waists and whispered into their ears. Kiyoomi didn’t care to know what he was saying, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to leave the prince unsupervised, especially during an event with so many people.
After an hour or so, the prince returned to his table, sitting besides Kiyoomi as he stood against a wall.
“Looked like ya wanted to dance.” Atsumu commented, taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t dance, Prince Atsumu.”
“Maybe not now, but who knows. I’ll always be waitin’ to teach ya.”
I’ll be waitin’ to teach ya.
The phrase is a promise, but it’s not said outright. It is like most of the things he says, subtext underscores his words as double meanings cut as deep as an end of a double-edged sword.
Atsumus words cut him, and he would bleed out with not a single regret in his mind, unsaid words hanging on his tongue as his final breath escapes him.
The days continue on as they always do, the sun comes up as the moon goes down and vise versa, the two never meeting one another under the same sky.
Kiyoomis life continues how it always did, quiet moments of yearning wash over him, the need to feel soft skin under the pads of his fingers, or to wake up to the soft snores of the prince in the morning when sunlight just beings to peek through the curtains; her soft rays casting shadows as they dance on the face of the one he wishes to hold close.
Like a rare gem behind glass, the prince is merely a spectacle, even to those who spend every moment with him. You can look, but you can’t touch, even if it’s the one thing you desire.
“Omi.” The familiar voice speaks his name, pulling the guard away from his thoughts and bringing his attention to the figure that stands in his peripheral.
He turns, facing Atsumu as he stands outside of his bedroom door as he did every morning.
“Your Highness.” He replies, bowing as he speaks.
“We’re alone, ya don’t have to be so formal.”
“My apologies, Atsumu.”
“Could’ja at least say ‘I’m sorry’ and not ‘my apologies’? Yer makin’ me feel like I did somethin’ wrong…”
Time passes, the sun hangs high in the center of the sky as they sit in the garden. The sweet scent of flowers encases them, the array of colors and soft petals puts them at ease.
Under the sun once more, the prince sips from fine china as his guard stands behind him, keeping watch as he always did.
“How long has it been since ya sparred, Omi?” He questions, not looking at him as he speaks.
“I’d say a week.” Kiyoomi starts. “I practice every so often, it’s hard to forget how to wield a sword but it’s easy to have your technique falter.”
“How long has it been since I sparred?”
“A few months.”
Atsumu stands up after he speaks, stretching his upper extremities. The guard watches, he starts to get an idea of where this conversation will lead.
“Do you want to spar, Prince Atsumu?”
“Now, what would have given that away?” He turns to face the other, a coy smile on his face.
“Did you have anyone in mind to practice with? I’m sure I could go find a partner easily.”
Atsumu quirks an eyebrow, Kiyoomi just stares in return.
“I thought it was obvious. I want to practice with you, Omi.”
A chuckle makes its way up Kiyoomis throat, he releases it without thinking. He shakes his head, even if he’s not allowed to say no to the prince, he can say no in the name of keeping his safe.
“That’s not a good idea. You haven’t practiced in months, I could hurt you-”
“‘N you won’t hurt me, right?”
The question turns a tide in Kiyoomis stomach as all ease escapes him.
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
The answer is obvious, but knowing he could bring any kind of harm to Atsumu brings a kind of nervousness he can’t seem to shake.
Still, the prince is set. He wants to spar with Kiyoomi, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He has to obey whatever commands he’s given. Damn Atsumu and his power over Kiyoomi, he curses him quietly in his head as they walk to the field.
And so, their duel goes something like this:
Atsumu spills teases in an attempt to break Kiyoomis focus, but it doesn’t work; he knows better than to let something like this give Atsumu the upperhand.
Atsumu makes the first advance, although it’s easily parried, it begins the momentum to the fight.
The clash of their swords becomes white noise, the prince's erratic hits paired along with the experienced hand of Kiyoomi seem to fare well together. They trade off offense and defense, each one making strikes when they see fit.
Their heels dig into the soft earth as they continue on, dirt and sweat becomes the least of their concerns as steel crashes into one another, the movement is neverending in the moment.
Although absolute focus takes a form on Atsumus face. Kiyoomi catches him smiling sometimes; the sight is like a breath of fresh air.
This, doing something he’s committed his life to alongside the one person he’s sworn to protect, the one person who occupies his mind in the late hours of the night.
Prince Miya Atsumu of Hyogo.
His Prince Atsumu.
A feeling starts to course through his veins, one that buzzes under his skin and a new kind of warmth swallows him whole.
It feels like home.
Kiyoomi falters for a moment, the feeling provides a distraction that creates an opening for his opponent.
Atsumus sword hits dangerously close to the others hand, out of instinct, he drops the weapon.
The sound is dense as the sword hits the ground. Atsumu points his sword at Kiyoomis chest, and the guard puts his hand up as a sign of surrender.
There’s stillness for a few beats,
“I win, don’t I?” He asks between breaths.
The tip of his blade only misses Kiyoomis shirt by a small margin, he too is in the middle of taking deep breaths; trying to recover from the rigorous activity.
“Yes, Prince Atsumu. Disarming me means you win.”
Atsumu smiles wide now, his eyes glitter with pride as he retracts his sword.
“Not like it was hard, anyways.” His sarcasm rings through, Kiyoomi scoffs at the comment.
Atsumu holds his hand out, offering it to the other.
“Princes never shake hands.” Kiyoomi says.
“Well, you’ve always been the exception, haven’t ya?”
Another sentence that holds double meaning, Kiyoomi tucks the thought away for later, he can’t ponder now.
Kiyoomi simply opts for holding onto the prince's wrist instead, he doesn’t even know what the prince's hands feel like now and for the first time, he doesn’t really want to know. Atsumu grabs his wrist too, his head nods in approval at his victory.
And just then, there’s another word Kiyoomi can use to describe the prince.
Overconfident.
Kiyoomi uses all of his might to pull the prince forward, the sudden use of power causes the prince to fall to the ground as he quickly grabs Atsumus sword from his hand. The prince falls, Kiyoomi quickly moves to stand over him, crouching down as he brackets the other between his thighs. He holds the hilt of the sword in one hand and the tip in another, the edge of the blade now comes up to the prince's neck.
Atsumu watches for a moment, craning his neck to try and look at the sword. He looks up to the other, still trying to catch his breath.
The silence overtakes them once more, only the sound of breathing filling their space.
“I win, don’t I?” Kiyoomi mimics, Atsumus tongue peeks from between his teeth as he smiles.
“That was a dirty play, Omi.”
“Either way, I’ve got a sword and you don’t.”
They fall into silence once more, breathing heavily as they stay still, looking at one another.
“I like ya from this angle.” He speaks barely above a whisper.
“I have a sword to your throat, and that’s all you have to say?”
Atsumu shrugs, as best he can in their compromised position.
“I should’ve known better than to fight the best swordsman in Hyogo, hm?” Atsumu questions, followed by a dry laugh.
“I’d argue that a swordsman who doesn’t know what he’s doing is a more dangerous one.” Kiyoomi counters.
Dark red against tan skin catches his eye, Kiyoomis eyes quickly flit to the highest point of the prince's cheekbone.
He gasps, the sight of the wound makes his stomach drop.
His earlier promise is now nothing but meaningless words as he lays his eyes upon broken skin, a slender stream of blood comes from it.
“What?” Atsumu asks, he lifts a hand up to his face before it’s quickly stopped by his guard. He holds onto his wrist with caution, as if he’ll be hurt again.
“Don’t touch it, your hands are dirty. You could get an infection.”
“Is it bad? I don’t even feel anythin’...”
Kiyoomi works quickly, standing up and offering a hand to the prince. He takes it, helping the prince stand up.
“We have to go to the infirmary.” He speaks squarely, Atsumu nods and follows him with no further comments or questions.
Kiyoomi quickly picks up his sword, placing it back into its sheath.
They walk at a fast pace, Kiyoomi looks over to the prince from time to time to make sure he’s okay. Atsumu says nothing, his features have turned soft, he seems concerned too, but more so for Kiyoomis sake than his own.
They find themselves in front of a wooden door, chipped and worn as it’s been lost to time.
Kiyoomi knocks, standing in front of the prince. They wait a few moments, awaiting the opening of the door of the doctor or a nurse.
But nobody came.
He looks back to Atsumu, who only nods, indicating that Kiyoomi can enter the room.
He opens the door and peers inside, but he’s only met with a dark room and not a single body inside.
Kiyoomi opens the door wider, the room is completely devoid of windows. The only light source comes from where the light leaks in from the open door.
They walk in, the guard quickly begins to search for matches, opening various drawers and looking inside.
“Ya don’t haf’ta be so frantic, I told ya I feel fine Omi.”
“You’re still hurt. And I was the one who did it.” He speaks as he strikes a match, holding the flame up to an already blackened candle wick.
Atsumu closes the door as he lights another candle. Even though the glow is soft, it’s enough.
Atsumu approaches a mirror above a sink, inspecting the cut on his face.
“Jesus Omi, ya sure do overreact. It’s a little cut!” He laughs, Kiyoomi doesn’t join his bout of laughter.
“Sit over there, I’ll bandage you up.” He points to an elevated cushion against a wall as he once again goes through drawers. Atsumu doesn’t refute or say anything as he sits on the cushion and waits. He quickly washes his hands, barely giving himself the time to dry them off.
With supplies in hand, he approaches the prince. He sets everything down on a metal cart, he places a hand carefully on the left side of the others face, turning it slightly so he can get a better look at it.
“This is gonna sting a little.” He says as he tips over the bottle of alcohol into a soft towel.
Atsumu winces as he wipes at the wound, Kiyoomi spills a dozen apologies as he does so. He tenderly dabs a dry part of the towel at his forehead where sweat had formed from previous activities.
He unwraps an all white bandage, carefully placing it over the wound. He lightly runs his finger over it, ensuring that it’ll stick for the time being.
“There…” He says quietly, pointer finger lingering on the edge of the bandage.
Atsumus face fosters shadows, creating him in an entirely new light. All Kiyoomi can do is stare, all he can do is stare at the hills and valleys of the others' faces which holds nothing but grace and beauty.
Kiyoomis finger moves on its own accord now.
It runs down to his chin, then up over his lips and nose, runs through his eyebrow before it makes its way back down, slowing down as it runs across his lips. He pulls down at his bottom lip in the process, revealing only a bit of a bottom row of teeth.
Atsumu lifts his hand, grabbing Kiyoomis hand.
His fingers wrap around the tips of Kiyoomis fingers, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. Kiyoomis chest tightens as his breath gets caught in his throat.
A garden comes into full bloom in Kiyoomis stomach, butterflies fly freely as his heart jackrabbits in his chest.
And weirdly enough, it feels like home once again.
As if his hand had been held near a flame, Kiyoomi quickly brings his hand back, breaking him from his trance. Atsumu seems to have been under it too, he blinks quickly as he’s brought back to reality.
“You should wash up, Prince Atsumu. I’ll take you to your quarters, then I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Omi…” He starts.
The guard looks at him, waiting for him to continue speaking. He then shakes his head.
“Nevermind, we should go.”
Kiyoomi walks to the candles, taking a moment to stare at the flaming wick, wax pools at the drip pan as he feels the heat. He blows one out, then two before shutting the door on the infirmary.
Their walk is once again silent, but a different feeling overcomes them. The feeling is suffocating.
The feeling of yearning burns like magma in his veins, flowing thick and heavy, the burning is simply a reminder of words better left unsaid.
In the days that follow, Atsumu seems more reserved. He spends more time in his room while Kiyoomi stands outside, letting the stifling silence consume them whole.
Kiyoomi doesn’t question this or try to break through this silence, he feels that it’s not his place. If the prince wants silence, Kiyoomi is the first one who should follow the unspoken directions.
To any bystander, not a single thing has changed; Prince Atsumu and his solemn guard who accompany each other everywhere. In public spaces, Atsumus charming nature never wavers, his smile still reaches his eyes and his tongue is as sharp as ever.
But, when it’s just the two of them, the aura that followed them after the infirmary that day has stuck around. Atsumu has forfeited the nickname he gave the other, only calling him “Sakusa” when he has to address him.
Kiyoomi feels the tension wrap its hands around his neck, threatening to make all air escape from his lungs unless he does something to break this silence.
He refuses though, he doesn’t know if it’s pride or fear, or a sick combination of the two. No matter what it is, it causes him to cower away from what he doesn’t know: whatever the hell Prince Miya Atsumu of the Hyogo kingdom is thinking about that has turned him into a Sakusa Kiyoomi copy.
There’s a part of him that knows, a part that wails to him. That part knows what he won’t admit, but he refuses to ever listen to it, whatever it has to say. Is it the voice of reason, or the voice of obscurity? Will whatever the voice have to say bring him peace, or will it only bring more trouble than it’s worth?
The sky is dark as he sits in the palace library, a place he usually finds for solace when his mind is nothing but a vicious web of thoughts, one line of thought always leads to another, and to another, and to another, and so on.
The light of a single candle sits on the table where Kiyoomi currently sits behind, leaning back in a seat as he observes the stars hung in the sky.
“Orion, Cassiopeia, Tucana, and Andromeda…” He speaks quietly to himself, connecting the dots of the meadow in the sky with his eyes.
“Venus too… and of course the moon.” He sighs to himself, sinking down into the seat.
While the sun exudes warmth and strength, the moon offers stillness and serenity. The moon lulls you to sleep, her dim glow is kind and easygoing, even as she takes on different shapes throughout the month, you can always feel her presence.
His body feels heavy, certain thoughts and feelings are impossible to evade when you have to face the cause of them every single day.
Prince Miya Atsumu of the Hyogo kingdom.
His Prince Atsumu.
Was his Prince Atsumu ever truly his ?
Maybe his first mistake was ever believing he would be his.
Or perhaps, it was allowing himself to fall for the prince.
Or maybe, it was ever agreeing to go to Hyogo at fourteen to protect some prince.
Kiyoomi looks up to the sky again, to all the constellations and planets, displayed in front of a dark abyss of a sky.
He stares at them, awaiting an answer to a question he doesn’t need to ask aloud.
What am I meant to do?
“Sakusa,” A voice calls out for him, quietly behind him. The voice is familiar and reminds him of a feeling he’s pushed down and words that have died in his throat.
He turns, facing the direction of the voice.
His eyes land on the owner, the voice that called for him and has now become cold and distant.
“Prince Atsumu.” He immediately stands and bows. “I thought Aone was meant to be standing post in front of your quarters tonight, is he not there?”
“No, no he’s there. I just… knew ya’d be here so…” His words continue to trail off, Kiyoomi just nods.
“Is there something wrong?”
Atsumu stands there for a moment, eyes focused on the floor, saying nothing.
Kiyoomi wonders if he doesn’t even want to look at him.
The guard turns around to sit again, deciding that if Atsumu needed anything, he’d just tell him.
“Do ya remember the first ball ya went to as my guard?”
Kiyoomi stops, holding on to the back of his seat, continuing to stand.
“Yes.” The guard responds.
“Remember what I told ya that night?”
“Yes.” He repeats. “You told me that you’d teach me how to dance.”.
Kiyoomi chuckles, shaking his head at the ground as he thinks about the current situation he’s in.
“I’ve told you I can’t dance, Prince Atsumu.”
“Just this once?” He pleads, and Kiyoomi can feel his defenses crumble into a pile of nothing. The yearning practically seeps through him, drawing him to the other.
He turns on his heels, walking up to the other.
“Okay.” He breathes out. “Teach me how to dance, then.”
Atsumu nods, a quiet agreement.
“So, first ya take my hand,” He begins, holding out his left hand. Kiyoomi hesitates. “Washed my hands before I came here.”
He slips his hand into the other's hold, he wraps his fingers around his palm. Atsumu slowly does the same, staring at their joined hands before continuing.
“‘M gonna put my hand on yer waist,” A warm hand finds itself right above his hip. “Then, ya put yer hand on my shoulder.”
Now his hand finds itself firm on his shoulder. He squeezes Atsumus shoulder, trying to convey a feeling through touch instead of words.
“Then… we just waltz. Follow my lead. Oh, and watch out for my feet.”
Atsumu slowly starts by taking a step to the left, to which Kiyoomi follows. Then, a step to the right, also which Kiyoomi follows. A step back, then a step forward, then to the left again, and to the right again.
“Knowin’ where to go is the most important thing. It’s gonna take a second, but soon enough, you won’t have to stare at yer feet to know which direction we’re goin’ in.”
This continues on, Kiyoomi watches as Atsumu leads him in their dance.
Kiyoomi is hyper-aware of everything in the moment; how gentle Atsumus touch is on his waist, how soft his hands are in his, how he can hear every breath Atsumu takes.
He can feel the eyes of the moon watching over them, that same dim glow alongside the light of the candle gives them more than enough light.
Is this what the stars had in store for him, he wonders? Whatever it is that’s going on right now, was that always their plan?
If so, what is the end they have planned for Prince Miya Atsumu and his faithful guard?
Surely enough, Kiyoomi finds the rhythm between him and Atsumu. He looks up, staring straight at the prince as he continues to take steps that he’s committed to memory.
“Ya got it…” The prince speaks, a half-smile on his face. “Ya can dance just fine… just needed a little bit of practice, is all.”
“It would seem so.” Kiyoomi replies, studying Atsumus face.
The same hills and valleys of the princes face now home a different kind of shadow, one that almost swallows him whole, but leaves a bit for the other to admire.
“I’ve missed ya, Omi.”
Omi.
“I know.” He whispers. “I’ve missed you too.”
They continue to dance, a step to the left, a step to the right, a step back, then a step forward.
“We’re gettin’ pretty old, aren’t we?” Atsumus words are casual, but his tone is bittersweet.
“For a prince, I’d say you’re at the right age for your life to start. To begin planning for you and Prince Osamus rule.”
“Yes. Our rule…”
A step back, then a step forward.
“I’ve heard Prince Osamu has met with a princess from the Shimane kingdom. A beautiful kingdom, plentiful farms, good relationships with other Kingdoms, and even other countries.” Kiyoomi recalls from memory, from reading about other kingdoms during his guard training.
“Princess Tokui is wonderful. Osamu says they might even get married soon.”
“And you’re just going to let Prince Osamu beat you to the punch?”
A step to the left, a step to the right.
Atsumu continues to lead their dance, Kiyoomi bites the inside of his cheek.
“Omi.” The prince whispers, leaning in close to Kiyoomis ear.
“Please, spend the rest of my life with me.”
The request makes Kiyoomis grip on his hand tighten.
“I won’t be able to be your guard forever, Atsumu. I’ll grow old one day too.” He hopes this is all he meant. Kiyoomi prays to the stars, and the moon, and even to the sun that this is what he meant.
He doesn’t know how much more of the charade he can handle, if he can even handle the course of this conversation.
“Omi.” Atsumu begs. He takes a deep breath, his exhale fanning onto Kiyoomis neck.
All words escape him, he’s left completely speechless.
Their waltz continues, calculated steps being taken as they dance in the dark library.
Atsumu retracts his head, looking head-on at his guard.
His guard.
“You have princesses lining up to marry you. You can pick any of them… and… you’d be happy.”
“I couldn’t be happy with any of them. Not a single one.”
A step forward, a step to the left.
“Any girl would be ecstatic to marry Prince Miya Atsumu. Your kingdom would flourish, and you’d have a beautiful wife, and your brother, and his beautiful wife to do it with you.”
“I don’t need a beautiful wife to rule. I don’t want a beautiful wife to rule with.”
“Your people have been waiting to see you get married since you were young. They’ve been waiting for the day the crown princes will rule their land.”
“Ya can’t… ya can’t seriously believe any of this, Omi.”
A step back, then a step forward.
“It doesn’t matter. I have to believe it because I’ve seen it everyday for years, Atsumu.”
“Just stay with me.”
The plea rings in Kiyoomis head, he yearns for the same thing; but it’s just unattainable.
“I never said I was going to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” His grasp tightens again. “But, you have duties. You made a promise to your people-”
“I never promised anyone anything.”
“It’s a promise you had no say in. A promise that every royal family member is sworn to at birth.”
A step to the left, then a step to the right.
“What I want is simple.”
“We all can’t get what we want, Atsumu.”
“Run away with me, then.”
Kiyoomis laughs a laugh of despair. He truly is saying anything at this point. And maybe, if he were in a worse state, he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.
Packing their bags in the dark of night and leaving, together, to start their own lives. Not one where you are destined by blood, or bound by a promise made when you were just a child. Just them.
It’s all he wants.
Again, it’s just unattainable.
“Don’t speak so recklessly.”
“Just be mine, Omi.”
“Prince Atsumu, I am yours. I’ve been yours for a long time.”
Kiyoomi ends up being the one to stop their waltz. He holds on tightly to the other, as if he could slip through his fingers at any moment, becoming nothing but dust; a distant memory in the mind of Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“I’m never going to leave you, not as long as I have anything to say about it.”
Atsumus fingers dig into his waist as he speaks.
“We have obligations. I accepted it a long time ago, and so should you, Prince Atsumu.”
Atsumu exhales, drinking in everything he’s been told.
“Yer never gonna leave, right?”
“Never.”
“And what if I do get married?”
The guard gives him a sad smile.
“I’m still going to be here.” He nods, assuring Atsumu. “I’ll always be here. Waiting, I suppose.”
Atsumu leans in. To kiss him, the thing he’s wanted for god knows how long. The yearning that’s weighed him down, burned him with desire is right in front of him.
All he’s wanted is right in front of him, begging him to fulfill his wildest fantasies.
Desire and yearning run deep, but sensibility seems to run deeper in the moment.
He turns his head, causing the prince to kiss his cheek.
“I won’t kiss you, Atsumu.”
It would hurt even more if I let you.
And so commences the quiet that’s damned them for so long. The silence rings in their ears, louder than any shrill of a crying child or the crash of steel. The silence seems to hurt more than anything.
Atsumu pulls away, he breathes in shallow breaths.
“Ya can’t give me anything I want, can’t ya, Kiyoomi?”
Kiyoomi looks to the other, his eyes shimmer, but not with pride or joy as he’s often seen. They shine under the moon's dim light with tears, they overflow and fall onto his cheek.
They shine as they fall down his face, it’s a pretty sight in the saddest way possible.
Kiyoomi begins to fix the collar of the prince's shirt, straightening it out as he flattens his hands against his chest, smoothing out the creases.
Atsumus hand slips from its grasp on his waist. They stand separated, not a single thing connecting them now that can be seen by the naked eye.
“Yer never gonna leave, right?”
“Never.”
“And that’s a promise?”
“I swear on the gods, I will never leave.”
If the gods were there, would they have disposed us to a fate better than this one? Was there ever a chance for us, in any universe?
They stare at one another, the promise is now spoken to the universe, and he will never break it.
“I’ll prove ya wrong.” Atsumu declares. “I’ll rule and keep my people happy. And you’ll be besides me while I do it. Not just as my guard.”
“Okay, Prince Atsumu.” He only speaks to comfort the other, not to agree with him or show that he thinks his plan is possible.
Hundreds of years of tradition can’t be tossed aside just for the sake of a single prince and his guard.
Kiyoomi approaches the prince, he can feel the burn of his yearning subside as he plants a kiss on his head, often where the weight of a crown sits.
He’s sure this is heavier than any crown he could ever adorn.
Kiyoomi leaves first that night, the prince stands in the middle of the dark library as he makes his way back to his quarters.
His heart is heavy as it sits in his chest. It is still beating and pumping blood throughout his body, but he doesn’t feel as alive as his heart is trying to prove he is.
He walks outside, standing under the constellations and moon that hang high in the sky. They’re so far, Kiyoomi swears if he could just reach a little higher, he could grab one, hold the warm star in the palm of his hand.
Kiyoomi stands on the pavement, just outside of where his living space resides, looking up into the sky.
A dark sky swallows the land whole, casting a shadow over every single thing it touches, the only light being man-made so as to guide others through the night.
The moon knows all, but she cannot speak or act. She simply sits, watching as all those under her as her dim glow illumantes them.
Kiyoomi is alive, the stars and the moon are a testament to this as they watch him, but it doesn't seem to feel that way.
There is no familiar voice now other than his own, and there is no symbolism of home; there is virtually nothing but a sole guard as he makes his way into his bedroom.
Sakusa Kiyoomi is just a guard to the prince of the Hyogo kingdom. He is not able to grab the stars, and even when he had one cradled in the palm of his hand, it was let go.
He is not the moon, or the stars, or the sun; he is not a single thing in the sky they occupy or in the land they watch over.
He is nothing but someone for them all to watch die, another being lost to his own devices.