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Bedtime for the young Gold Saints. A trio of boys shared a room together. One had white hair, one had black hair, and one was blond. Due to the Pope and Aiolos being occupied with the youngest Golds, Saga was the one who came to their room to read them their bedtime stories.
On this particular night, the black-haired boy left his bedside to help Aiolos. The white-haired boy, who pouted every night that he was not sleepy, snored from his bunk. It was him and the blond tonight.
As a special treat, Saga was able to procure a book of folktales from the boy’s homeland. Unsure what to choose, he read a title at random. Aphrodite rejoiced when he heard the title. It was one he remembered hearing while he trained. He listened to the older boy’s reading anyway. It was one of his favorite stories, after all.
There once was a king and queen who had a firstborn son. He went to war overseas and was caught in a storm on the victory journey home. In order to save his men, the king made a deal with a sea queen to sacrifice the person to greet him at the harbor. It was his firstborn.
But the king didn’t want to send his son to an early grave. Not a single boat landed safely at their docks as a consequence. Efforts were made to protect the prince, but fate conspired and took the firstborn away to sea.
Another prince was born and reared to inherit the throne, but the firstborn still lived as a sea monstrosity. Sixteen years old, he demanded his rightful inheritance to be honored and a wife to reign beside him. The king and the queen raised three sisters to lay with the firstborn prince every night, each warned to always face the wall in bed and to never look behind them. Two elder sisters were too curious and off went their hands!
The youngest and sweetest daughter was the one who ultimately won the first born’s trust and heart. After many trials and death threats from her sisters, the firstborn prince and the good princess married. The prince became human and king, living happily ever after with his devoted and faithful queen.
Bouncing in the bed, Aphrodite asked for his reader’s thoughts. Of course he had to love it, right? The older boy sighed.
“I’m not sure if I liked that story, Aphrodite.”
Saga bowed his head.
“The poor king and queen. And those princesses... It was a rather violent tale, wasn’t it?”
Red eyes narrowed.
“It’s their fault. They weren’t true to their word. They didn’t listen, and they got what was coming to them. If I was there, I would’ve punished them myself.”
Saga chuckled, his fingers curling against a page.
“You have… a strong way of thinking.”
“Saints fight for justice. We can’t be weak if we are to hold peace. Everybody knows that.”
Sweat formed on Saga’s brow.
“Yes, we... do. Don’t we...”
He coughed, his voice brightening.
“Would you like to become a prince?”
“Of course!”
“Then, I promise I’ll make you into one.”
“Really? How?”
The older boy chuckled.
“Oh, I’ll find a way. Someday. You’ll know when.“
“Wow!”
“But you have to be a good little Saint. We don’t want to reward evil, do we?”
“I’ll be good, you’ll see. I won’t be like those naughty princesses!”
Saga laughed as he closed the book.
“Yes, we don’t want any hands chopped off.”
Aphrodite giggled. The older blond tucked the younger one under his cover. He took the lantern away from the side table and patted the little one’s head. Candlelight shone on his sweet smile.
“Good night, Aphrodite. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Saga!”
When he shut his eyes, Pisces wanted to dream of a peaceful land of no war and no illness. A land where everyone was happy, everyone untouched by the evils of the world. If he were a prince, he’d swore he’d make it happen.
Even if it meant getting blood on his hands.
* * * * *
Cancer stretched his arms and legs, yawning away the morning haze. Pisces draped an arm across his bare shoulder.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Eh, well enough. Your bed is always too soft for me. Needs more support.”
Chuckling to the complaint, Aphrodite pinched his cheek.
“And yours is too hard. It’s like sleeping on rock.”
“Hey, rocks aren’t all bad. Weren’t you paying attention last night?”
Blond hair twirled upright. White haired followed. Both Saints laid on their bellies, their elbows in front of them and touching one another. Their legs thumped onto the pillows. Death Mask punted one of the decorative ones away.
“And it wouldn’t kill you to use all of your pillows. What are they good for anyway?”
“They set a mood. Ambiance.”
“They waste space is what they do.”
“So says the cold-blooded murderer.”
Their red eyes shined at one another. Cancer cackled, his hand slapping Pisces’s slim back. His teeth bared a sharp gleam.
“That’s rich coming from you!”
“Is it now?”
“You’re a real piece of work, Aphro, accusing me like that.”
They rubbed shoulders together. Death Mask placing his thumb on the fair one’s chin.
“I still remember that time when you were protecting that one girl, saying that she was the key to peace. But when the Pope ordered her dead, you took her out like she was nothing to you.”
“Do you remember when you were ordered to take out one ringleader? You sent their entire inner circle to the Underworld.”
“Hey, I’m not going to apologize for what I said or did. If those suck ups were willing to turn a blind eye to that psycho, what difference does sparing one or two of them make?”
Aphrodite chuckled, drawing circles on the mattress.
“Perhaps you have a point.”
“I know I do. Unlike you.”
“Your powers are strong, and they can be just.”
The beautiful Saint flipped with his fingers, a red rose manifested between them. His red eyes were hooded, his lips curled into a small smirk. His voice was low and sweet.
“So be a good man, Death.”
Death Mask smirked. He licked his lips.
“That’s it, Aphro. That’s the smile I want to see.”
Cancer leaned in, pressing against the rose aimed at his throat. Before their lips touched—
Bam!
Their heads turned to the swinging bedroom door, the lock smashed to bits. Capricorn lowered his foot. A blue frosted cake in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. A cloth bag hooked at his elbow, and a guitar strapped to his back. He plodded into the room, his black eyes kept to the floor. One glance to the table in the room, which he kicked to land upright next to the bed.
Pisces supported his cheek with his hand. Cancer laid on his side and propped himself on a bent elbow. The blanket barely covered his naked torso.
Shura set the table, pulling wine glasses, plates, and utensils from the bag. He shoved a chair next to the bed and sat to flip the guitar onto his lap. Brushing away a few clouds of dust, he played a few chords. One string was so sharp, it stung straight to the bones. He tuned it, five or six times, before coughing. Wood legs whined as he straightened his back.
He cleared his throat and began to play a bouncy tune. A few chords in, he started to sing.
“Ja, ma han leva. Ja, ma han leva~”
In a flat voice and closed eyes, the black-haired man sang the song by himself. The fishes clapped when his guitar echoed the last note. Four hurrahs shared by the trio.
Heaving a long sigh, Shura laid the guitar on his lap. Two pairs of red eyes fixed on his bowed head. He opened the embellished envelope tucked along his belt and read.
“By the decree of the Pope, I hereby celebrate the eighteenth year of Pisces Aphrodite’s birth. As promised to the affected party, these offerings shall be presented before the first order of the day. Due to unforeseen circumstances, His Holiness cannot attend in person. Therefore, this message shall be read by his trusted representative who shall fulfill any additional requests by the affected party for the entirety of this blessed day. May you be felicitous and fortunate.”
Aphrodite balanced himself on his elbows, his legs sleeking under the blanket. He twirled the rose from his dangling fingertips.
“I liked the guitar. Nice touch.”
“...It was the Pope’s idea.”
“Really? How thoughtful of him. Tell him thank you.”
Death Mask scratched his belly.
“Good job, Shura. Got it rough, dontcha?”
“I’m only following orders.”
“You wanna stick around for some cake?”
Shura sighed out of the chair, slinging his musical instrument onto his back. With a single pinky, he sliced the cake into even slices. He flicked his finger to uncork the wine, showed the label to the fishes—who oohed and ahhed with appreciation, Cancer whining that it was non alcoholic—, and tipped the bottle to two glasses. Capricorn took a cake slice on a plate and headed for the door.
Pisces chirped.
“Shura.”
The swordsman froze.
“You can’t take the first slice. It’s not your birthday.”
Shura groaned. He whirled on his heel, took a fork from the table, and approached the bed. He kept his face to the left as he presented the plate to the blond. Aphrodite chuckled, his bare legs kicking the air past the bedsheet.
“You know, I’d like to be fed in bed too. Would you hold it for me?”
Another long sigh as Shura stabbed the cake slice with a fork. He held an entire layer stiffly toward the fair one’s mouth.
“Oh, that’s far too much to take in at once. Why not give me a proper first bite?”
Death Mask snickered, reaching across to grab a wine glass. He rolled on his belly as he gave it to Aphrodite. Rose was traded for the drink which dangled gingerly over the edge of the bed. Pisces instructed his server to cut—”Too big.” “Too small”—, smiling when the portion size was to his satisfaction.
“That’s more like it.”
When Shura held the fork towards Aphrodite, the birthday honoree grabbed the swordsman’s hand. His shoulders jerked as the fork twisted in his grip. Pisces slid his prize into his mouth and grinned at the fruity flavors on this tongue. Another red rose manifested, one that he tucked in Shura’s spiky hair.
“Delicious. Can you tell the Pope that too?”
Capricorn frowned, his cheeks coloring.
“Can I go now?”
“May.”
“May I go now?”
Pisces hummed, his drink hand swishing the wine in lazy circles.
“For now. As long as you pledge to return to me later in the day. I should have something for you to do by then.”
“...I pledge to return to you.”
“When?”
“Later in the day.”
Shura bowed his head. Placing the dish next to Death Mask’s elbow, he approached the table. One hand on the second plate, he shoved another cake slice onto it.
When he was a step away from the door, Aphrodite chirped again.
“Shura.”
The swordsman’s fist quaked.
“When you give your word, you have to do something to honor it. You can be creative, but please make a good impression.”
The longest sigh yet from Shura as he spun around a second time. His gaze fixed to the floor as the plate tapped the table and the guitar thumped the chair. His steps to the bed were slow and firm. This time he kneeled closer to the edge, inches away from the blond.
Black eyes met with red, two tanned hands cupped pale skin. Shura held for a moment before he moved his thumbs aside. Two kisses on each cheek and one on the forehead. Thin lips lingered, his breath parting blond bangs.
A pale index finger trailed along a tanned cheek.
“Thank you, Shura. That will do.”
White hair meshed with blond as Death Mask wrapped an arm over Aphrodite. He sneered at the swordsman.
“Nice one, lover boy.”
Black eyebrows creased. His fingers brushed Aphrodite’s cheeks before whipping to his side. In a hurried march, Shura gathered his belongings and opened the door. Shoulders hunched, Capricorn halted and turned. His opened mouth was frozen on a thought, his eyes lowered. Four slow blinks later, his chest heaved deep and his back faced the duo.
At last, the door shut behind him.
Cancer’s laughter shook the mattress. Pisces poked his nose.
“He’s rather sweet.”
“Ha! Long as he thinks you’re stronger than him.”
“And he’s going to murder you someday.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be alive for today.”
Death Mask grabbed the other wine glass, the bed creaking to his sliding weight. With a gentle smile, Aphrodite turned to him with his toast.
“To peace and justice.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
Their wine glasses rang.