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Knock. The door sounds once, swinging wide open before Rintarou had the chance to respond. Osamu strides in, gracelessly flopping onto the seat placed in front of Rintarou’s desk.
The wide walls are painted in a warm flush of rosiness, the culprit being none other than the rich sunset, unveiled by the large windows in the back. Rintarou, in the center of it all, could care less about that view. He watches as Osamu makes himself comfortable.
The chair creaks under Osamu’s weight. Without a pretense for formality, he plants an elbow on the armrest, resting his chin on his fist.
Rintarou raises an eyebrow and asks, “Hungry?” He places down the report in his hand and picks up the stack of papers in front of Osamu to put aside, on top of another pile of unreviewed reports.
Osamu nods with a resigned sigh. “Just got kicked out of the cafeteria. Sumu, that bastard,” he accuses, wrinkling his nose, “the maids told me off for trying to grab seconds. I just came home, I haven’t even gotten my first serving!”
Rintarou wordlessly nudges a half-empty cup of tea toward Osamu, who thanks him with a nod before draining it in one go.
He continues, “The next time fatty tuna is on the menu, I’m heading to the dining hall first. I don’t care if I’m on the job. The princess can defend herself.”
“Why don’t you use the kitchen? Shouldn’t be busy right now,” Rintarou suggests, casually brushing aside the declaration that he was going to leave Rintarou’s sister to fend for herself outside the palace for the sake of fish. He picks up the report again without giving any actual attempt to read it.
“I can’t, I don’t have a pass,” Osamu responds, a pout on his lips.
“That sounds like quitter talk, Osamu.” His lips twitch.
“I’m not particularly interested in getting fired.”
“Hmm. Not even for a good steak?”
Osamu grins, slouching further in his seat. “You’re worth more than a steak, Rin. How could I get myself fired and leave you here all by yourself?”
Rintarou squints. “Aww, I’m so flattered I mean so much to you,” he states as blankly as possible.
“You do. You’re at least one and a half steaks,” he claims, and Rintarou chuckles in response.
Rintarou shuffles through a drawer to his right, carelessly pushing things aside until he pulls out a palm-sized jade badge with gold engraving from the bottom. He places it in front of Osamu. “Go ahead and do what you want, I’ll come drop by later when I finish...this,” he finishes lamely, waving the report in his hand.
He must have done the right thing, because Osamu’s eyes visibly brighten. He grins and springs up from his seat with newfound energy. Rintarou watches him leave the room until the door closes behind him, the corner of his lips helplessly lifting up.
Osamu had mentioned cooking in the past, much more often before he entered the palace and sometimes when he snuck into the royal kitchen on multiple occasions, until he got caught by the kitchen staff and Rintarou had to head over and pull him out of trouble.
That time, he had led Osamu to sit down with him, then without wasting another second, proceeded to eat a bit of everything that Osamu cooked despite the protests coming from maids and advisors alike. They’d been so worried—some about food poisoning and others about overeating—that the royal doctor was immediately called over to watch Rintarou like a hawk for the rest of the day, and Rintarou was later given a chiding by his parents for causing such a ruckus. Needless to say, although it wasn’t the original intention, it had spread all around the palace overnight that Miya Osamu was someone who held the crown prince’s favor.
But even then, he hadn’t had the chance to witness Osamu going through the motions of cooking until now.
“So you really do cook for yourself,” Rintarou muses, leaning against the open entrance to the kitchen. Rather than a thoughtful comment, it was more out of an intent to announce his arrival.
To Osamu’s credit, the sound of the knife on the cutting board remains steady as Osamu replies, “‘Course I do. You’ve definitely heard the rumors about Sumu, haven’t you?” He pauses for a moment to transfer the diced onions into a bowl and clean his hands. The light splashes of water fill the silence from where Osamu rinses his hands, the cool droplets occasionally splattering out from the bucket.
Rintarou hums.
“There’s no way he’s really that talented. Of all the things they praise him for, at least eight out of ten are probably about me,” he grins cheekily, finally lifting his head to face Rintarou while wiping his hands dry.
‘Contagious,’ Rintarou thinks as he catches his own lips returning a smile.
“Eight out of ten, huh.”
“You don’t believe me?” Osamu raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips still lifted.
Rintarou can’t get rid of the stupid smile on his own face, so he simply doesn’t. His brain may be occupied with trying to sear the image of Osamu smiling at him—for who knows how many times—into his permanent memory, but conversations with Osamu have always come easy to him, so the distraction is nothing to worry about.
“Of course I believe you. When have I ever doubted you?” He pouts in a pitiful attempt to play innocent, tilting his head to the side in a mock gesture of thought—a gesture that has resulted in both Osamu and Atsumu previously and separately comparing him to a mischievous fox. He finds it just slightly insulting that two of the most troublesome people he’s ever met in his life are calling him mischievous.
Osamu laughs, interrupting his thoughts. “Good. That’s why I like you.”
Rintarou is stunned in place, unable to do any more than twitch his lips.
The melodious laughter followed by the proclamation of...he knows that Osamu doesn’t mean it that way, but the words themselves—
“...Simple-minded and easy to manipulate. When I turn against you and claim the thro— hey! ” Nearly kicking over a bucket of water, Osamu quickly scrambles to his left, though not quickly enough to avoid the taller man’s grasp.
“Say that again, you—“ Rintarou cuts himself off with a laugh as he successfully gets both his hands Osamu's waist, but not without the both of them stumbling backwards into the kitchen and knocking over several things on the floor and the counters in the process. Osamu grabs haphazardly at the counter behind him, desperately trying to regain his balance with a seventy-three kilogram man flailing over him.
“You’re not gonna help me usurp the throne? And here I was thinking you were my best bet.” Leaning against the countertop, Osamu laments dramatically, fully aware that that was not what Rintarou was referring to.
“Apologize for calling me simple-minded and gullible. Then maybe we can talk about the throne,” Rintarou’s eyelids lower as he looks down to meet Osamu’s eyes in fake-seriousness, almost like a glare.
And maybe he’s been overworked as of late, because he’s caught off guard yet again; in the eyes of Osamu, who was staring fixedly at him, was the sight of himself enveloping Osamu’s vision completely. He didn’t realize Osamu’s expression morphing into one of worry when Rintarou didn’t bulge for a second too long.
“Sorry, I took it too far. Are you mad at me, Rin?” Osamu asked softly and tentatively, wrapping his arms with unexpected delicacy around the other’s waist. His gaze did not leave Rintarou once.
As it turns out, it’s not only Osamu's smiles that are contagious. When Osamu is unhappy, Rintarou can’t help but feel dispirited too. He’d think that maybe he’s caught some form of Osamuitis where he turns into Osamu’s twin, but that would make him Atsumu, and he’d never wish that on anyone, including himself. He groans at the many different directions his brain has taken him in the span of five minutes. The stupidity, at the very least, must be contagious.
“I’m not mad,” Rintarou reassures him. He doesn’t have the heart to joke when Osamu sounds genuinely worried.
Osamu stares him in the eyes, looking for any signs of hesitance. He probably doesn’t find what he’s searching for, because his grin is smug again when he says, “So you’ll be securing the throne for me?”
Rintarou gently brushes back Osamu’s bangs falling over his eyes. Osamu’s cheeks seem a little flushed, possibly from the tussle. Rintarou is enamored with the color red on Osamu. He’s long accepted that he finds Osamu attractive.
He huffs. “Of course. It’ll be all yours.”
“That’s good, ‘cause the princess already agreed to help me. If you said no, that would’ve been a problem. We’d have to get rid of you,” he jokes. Osamu lets go of him to reach over and grab a clean towel. Rintarou takes the cue to step back as Osamu wipes the spilled water and cleans up the scattered containers of various ingredients that Rintarou doesn’t know the names of.
Rintarou blinks. “You talk to my sister?”
“Yeah?” comes a halfhearted response without looking up. He swats at Rintarou’s hand reaching to pick up an overturned basket. “Let me do this.”
‘Strange.’ For as long as he’s known his sister—which is her whole life—Rena does not have a habit of initiating conversations with her guards, and Osamu isn’t the type to do small talk either.
He makes a mental note to ask his sister next time. For now, he’s content watching Osamu in his element, moving around the kitchen with ease.
Osamu is responsible for protecting Rena when she leaves the palace. In truth, he should be guarding her bedroom door at all times. But even though she doesn’t leave the palace often, she’s hardly ever in her bedroom. She usually dismisses him along with the rest of her maids whenever she’s elsewhere in the palace, whether it’s her office, the training grounds, or somewhere else, preferring to be alone or accompanied by a single maid at best. Essentially, as long as she remains in the palace, they’re free to do as they wish.
That being said, he should still be on standby and ready to do his job at any moment. He’s learned that the hard way, after being dragged outside within five minutes of waking up because he tried to sleep in one fine afternoon.
His position came to be as a result of the princess’s choice herself. Why that was , he may never know. He’d tried to bring up the topic with her before, finally succumbing to his curiosity a couple weeks into his new position. She only answered him with an amused hum, followed by a devious smirk like she knew something he didn’t, and the topic was never brought up again.
His job was easy, maybe a little too easy if someone asked, but you wouldn’t catch him complaining. The prince and princess were both friendly, and he enjoyed their company, no matter how many foreign ambassadors would disagree with him.
Today, both Rintarou and Rena were attending the private royal family dinner that was scheduled for every month. That left Osamu with a couple hours of free time uninterrupted, which is how he found himself being dragged out to Atsumu’s latest favorite tavern by the very man himself.
“C’mon, Samu, let loose and drink with me. I hardly get to see you lately! If you’re not with the princess, you’re with Sunarin,” Atsumu rambles, leading Osamu further into the tavern and expertly weaving through the crowds. “And it’s usually the latter,” he mumbles under his breath, but Osamu catches it all the same.
“That’s my job , Sumu,” Osamu grumbles, but willingly follows his brother. Admittedly, it has been a while since they were able to have time for just the two of them. Brotherly bonding is what Atsumu calls it. Atsumu takes a seat at a small table in the back, and Osamu fills the other chair across from him.
“Following Sunarin around is not your job and you know it.” He grins and gets an eye roll in response.
Atsumu leans back in his seat, and an older bearded man who smiles like he’s familiar with Atsumu shuffles over to take their order. Distracted from taking in the new setting, he only realizes Atsumu must have chosen a drink for him as well when the man only nods at Osamu in greeting before walking away. Osamu doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t have known what to order anyway.
Ignoring Atsumu’s implications, he replies, “It’s not like you never see me. You just keep coincidentally having to leave the training grounds when the princess wants to practice.” He stresses coincidentally enough to make it clear he doesn’t believe Atsumu.
He sputters, “I do, I’m a busy man!” Which is the most obvious lie Osamu has heard today. If there’s anywhere Atsumu has to be for his job, it’s to be on the training grounds.
“You’re scared of her.”
“I am not!”
“...”
“Okay, look...,” Atsumu begins reluctantly, eliciting a laugh from Osamu.
“Be careful, your position might be stolen if you slack off.”
“That’s great, she can be the captain. I’ll be the princess instead.” He jokes with ease, but they both know he’s proud of the position that he worked so hard to earn.
Their drinks arrive—Osamu’s smelling surprisingly sweet—and the two of them fall into a steady stream of conversation, telling stories like they hadn’t seen each other in years when it might’ve been two or three weeks at best.
Atsumu tells him about how Hitoshi sat on a training sword and broke it last week, and how he nearly got Aran to admit who the love letter they caught him writing was for. He asks about how Rintarou is doing, and when things are finally going to progress between the two of them, to which Osamu answers with a stomp on his foot. Osamu talks about his latest kitchen adventures and the shenanigans that Rena gets up to when no one can stop her, which is always. Caught up in the high spirits, they end up drinking a little more than either of them had planned to.
The Miya twins had been a phenomenon when they first entered the palace gates just a little over six autumns ago.
Being two fresh, young faces who were hand-picked and recruited for the highest knight’s order was no small feat, and their names became the topic for many lunchtime conversations and teatime gossip. To top it off, they had been recommended by Kita Shinsuke himself, the most distinguished advisor within the palace.
The novelty wore off quickly, however, when Atsumu opened his mouth and Osamu got swept up by his flow.
It was far too easy for the crown prince to fall into step with them. It must have felt like second-nature to be around the twins, who were the closest to his age in the palace, and warming up to them happened faster than he could control it. In hindsight, he should have been more wary. But Shinsuke’s title wasn’t for show, and the entire royal family trusted him.
In fact, the prince had attempted to promote Atsumu to his personal guard position soon after Osamu took up the spot next to the princess, but Atsumu denied the offer, claiming the lack of freedom was too much of a sacrifice for him.
The two of them trudge back toward the palace, Osamu stumbling along and Atsumu struggling to keep his brother from falling over and collapsing on the street. Atsumu should have known better than to let his brother consume drink after drink, considering his brother was the type to get sleepy right when he hit his limits. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to lug Osamu out of a tavern. Despite popular belief amongst the other knights and retainers, Atsumu is a tad better at handling his alcohol. Although this time around, Osamu slipping in his drunken state and accidentally knocking Atsumu over onto the floor of the tavern may have had something to do with him feeling a little more sobered up than his twin. Atsumu doesn’t think it’s an accident.
Atsumu heaves a sigh when he finally steps into the palace from one of the back gates, sides still aching from the fall. He makes a mental note to train harder tomorrow, because he must really be out of shape if carrying his brother this short of a distance makes his shoulders feel like they’ve gone and melted off. Or maybe Osamu has just gained a ton of weight since they last saw each other. Atsumu feels better about himself believing the latter.
“Damn you Samu, get the fuck up,” he whisper-yells, less out of courtesy and moreso because of his lack of breath.
He’s dreading the walk all the way to Osamu’s room, and just when he’s considering dropping his brother right where he’s standing on the floor and leaving, he spots a familiar fox-eyed figure turning the corner just in front of him.
“Sunarin, wait!” he calls, and with an amount of energy he’s dearly missed in the last few hours, he speeds toward his savior before said savior has a chance to decline. “I’ve got something to attend to, so you can take care of my brother, right? Thanks!” Atsumu drops his brother in Rintarou’s arms, stopping only for a second to pat himself down before scampering off again. Rintarou instinctively opens his arms to catch Osamu in his surprise.
“Atsumu, what,” Rintarou tries, befuddled, but Atsumu had already turned the corner without pausing despite definitely being within hearing distance. Only the distant sounds of Atsumu’s rushed footsteps fill the empty corridors.
“I get no respect from either of you,” he mutters, shifting Osamu to get a better look at him without dropping him.
Osamu is practically dead quiet, and Rintarou would think he was asleep if he didn’t know him any better. At this distance, it’s obvious that Osamu is drunk, based on his flushed cheeks if not the scent of alcohol.
“Hey, wake up. I’m not carrying you to your room.” He pinches Osamu’s nose, eliciting a small whine from him but nothing more. Osamu swats his hand away and drops his head onto Rintarou’s shoulder, like he plans to go to sleep right there, standing up and all.
He stares at Osamu from above, as if Osamu would miraculously get up if he stared hard enough. Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed, eyelashes fluttering in discomfort.
Rintarou gives in with a resounding sigh.
He pushes Osamu upright, quickly bending his knees and lowering himself. He grabs Osamu by the waist with both arms and heaves him over one shoulder. Osamu doesn’t fight it one bit, even going as far as wrapping his arms around Rintarou’s neck, although he grumbles a little. Rintarou prays he won’t vomit now, or anytime at all.
With the man himself in tow, Rintarou heads toward Osamu’s room. He knew its location by heart because it was placed near his sister’s in the case of an emergency, and it was just down the hall from his own bedroom. He comes across several maids as he walks, all offering to help him carry Osamu back. He politely turns them down, to save them from the struggle of having to handle the weight of an able-bodied knight like Osamu.
When he reaches Osamu’s door, he nudges the man on his shoulders and says, “Osamu, keys.” Osamu grumbles again in response, shifting on Rintarou’s back. For a moment, Rintarou thinks he’ll actually reach for his key, but Osamu doesn’t move again after that.
“I’m not your pillow, Osamu. Give me your keys and then you can go sleep all you want,” he pushes, a little too soft to be demanding. Osamu only offers an unintelligible noise in complaint, doing nothing at all to help Rintarou with his dilemma. “You know what, fine. I’ll look for it myself,” he sighs.
He pats down all the visible pockets on Osamu’s body, finding plenty of food wrappers but no shiny piece of metal to save him from his misery. He glances back at Osamu, who looks stupidly at peace hanging over Rintarou, and directs his eyes back at the door in front of him.
‘...Should I kick it down?’
The thought crosses his mind for all of fifteen seconds, before he decides that it would be too much trouble to deal with tomorrow.
He ends up opening the door to his own room instead, the one he actually has a key to, all while wondering which god he’d offended in his past life to be tested like this. At the limits of his strength, he nearly stumbles over the carpet and barely manages to get Osamu to sit up on his bed.
Taking a breather, he stops to consider Osamu’s state. He seems a little uncomfortable in his layers, but he still looks as stunning as ever even in his drunken and sleepy state.
‘Unfair,’ Rintarou thinks, ‘you don’t even know the effect you have on me.’
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he reaches over to peel Osamu’s thick coat off of his body and hang it on his coat hanger, thinking it would probably be too stuffy for him to sleep comfortably in. He glances at the rest of Osamu’s rumpled clothes, feels the exhaustion in his own body, and promptly decides that it should be fine for Osamu to sleep in those clothes.
Rintarou holds him up by the waist and flips over the covers with his free hand. Mumbling sleepily, Osamu leans his full weight onto Rintarou. He shamelessly sticks his nose into the crook of Rintarou’s neck, one hand clutching loosely on Rintarou’s shirt that was coming untucked.
“Mn...”
“What is it?”
“Rin...,” he mutters softly, snaking both arms around Rintarou’s waist.
Rintarou’s ears immediately turn pink. “Don’t utter nonsense. If you’re gonna talk then you should’ve spoken up when I asked for your key five minutes ago. Lay down,” Rintarou hushes. He taps Osamu’s arms and Osamu obediently lets go, but only to wrap his hands around one of Rintarou’s instead, as he lays down and curls around himself.
Rintarou huffs, trying to pull his hand out of Osamu’s grip, but his hold is surprisingly tight and Rintarou doesn’t want to risk pulling a muscle. Despite being the taller one, Osamu has always been stronger than him, but he didn’t think that would still be the case when Osamu was half asleep.
While idly brushing his thumb back and forth of Osamu’s hand, he reaches up with his other hand to sweep Osamu’s bangs away from his face. It’s been a while since either of them were able to spare a moment to get a trim, so lately Osamu’s bangs have been drooping over his eyes, causing him to scrunch his nose when it gets in his way. Rintarou was lucky that his hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears.
The gentle actions must have been soothing, because Osamu’s face visibly relaxes in response and his grip loosens. Rintarou takes the chance to slip his hand out. With a breath of relief, he gives Osamu a proper look. He seems comfortable enough, so Rintarou tucks Osamu snugly under the blanket and pulls it up to his neck.
Standing up straight, he quietly opens his closet to pull out a simple and clean set of clothes for Osamu to change into when he wakes up tomorrow. He places a cup of water next to the neatly folded pile of clothes and gives Osamu one last glance.
“Goodnight, Osamu,” he whispers, and clicks the door shut behind him on the way out.
Heading to his office in preparation to spend the rest of the night there, Rintarou thinks back to the conversation he had just earlier during the day with his sister. He’d accompanied his sister on the walk back to her office after the dinner concluded.
“What do we talk about together? Oh, all sorts of things,“ Rena rambles off, “we’re great friends. I tell him about your childhood stories that Mama likes to tell me, like how you tripped on your—”
“Rena, if you’re serious, I swear that I will—”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Jeez, it’s like you like him or something,” she says in a singsong voice, laughing cheekily when he shoots her a glare. “We just chat while sparring, nothing incriminating. So don’t worry, he doesn’t know how pathetic you are. Yet.” She pats him on the arm in what he guesses is supposed to be a reassuring manner. The little devil.
“You two spar together?” he chooses to ask instead.
“Who else would practice with me?” she responds, like he’s asking a stupid question with an obvious answer. It’s true, and Rintarou really should have connected the dots earlier, but he didn’t think about it. Not many are brave enough to point a sword—fake or not—against royalty. But more than that, there aren’t many people that are worth her match to begin with.
“Okay, yes, but when you said you finally found a sparring partner, I didn’t know he was your sparring partner,” he sniffed.
She shrugs. “I thought he would tell you if it mattered, so I didn’t.”
“Why do you talk to him anyway? You’d never tried to make conversation with your previous guards,” he pushes.
She glances up, hands pausing in the middle of messing with the papers on her desk, to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you like him? That’s why I’m trying to get along with him. Isn’t it about time you stop denying it?”
He responds with nothing but the blankest stare, hoping to intimidate her to back down. Unfortunately for Rintarou, his sister isn’t easily intimidated—especially not by him—and knows that it just means he can’t refute it. She smirks in turn, fully aware of how aggravating it is to him.
“Goodnight,” he says abruptly, rising from his seat with the intention of leaving her office as soon as possible. She cackles, like the menace that she is.
“Give my future brother-in-law my greetings!” slips through the door just before it closes shut.
Osamu, being the personal guard to the sole cherished princess, meant that he had to be informed of any threats against royalty at all times.
So of course, before the sun even had a chance to rise, he was shaken awake by the butler and given no time to comprehend his surroundings. Osamu was hastily briefed about the recent assassination attempt against Rintarou, and then sent to work with his head still in a daze.
The bedroom he woke up in was not his—and he has more than a suspicion as to who it belongs to. The clothes he was forced to quickly change into (because “those unkempt clothes are unbecoming of someone who stands beside royalty” ) were definitely not his either. And now he has to be by the princess’s side at once, with all sorts of unanswered questions swarming his head. He’s lucky he doesn’t have a massive headache from how much he drank yesterday from his recollection, but his confusion at this moment may as well make up for it.
Between spending a much-needed break with his brother and waking up in someone else’s room, he vaguely remembers dragging his feet across the floor, and then somewhere along the way, being swept off his feet. From his dream last night, he recalls a gentle caress from a familiar hand, on his hands, on his forehead, and then nothing else. His entire body heats up thinking about how absurdly self-indulgent that dream was.
He decides to hammer his brother later, and after picking up his sword on the way out, he rushes to Rena’s office.
The thoughts consuming him are variants of How is Rin? and I want to see him right now , although the more reasonable side of him knows that the palace would be in much greater chaos if Rintarou had been successfully targeted.
‘It’s not the first time I’ve been woken up in the dead of the night for the same reasons,’ he tells himself, although it does nothing to get rid of the gnawing feeling at his heart. Still, the urge to abandon his duty and be by Rintarou’s side at this very moment does not falter at all.
Osamu knows, that in all of Rintarou’s life, the number of people who he could trust can be counted on a single hand.
It's a widely-known fact that, for a crown prince of a long-established kingdom, it must be ingrained in him at birth that he can never let his guard down. He has long since stopped keeping count of the amount of times he’s been betrayed by an advisor or a guard. That’s why, if there wasn’t a knight he could trust wholeheartedly, he’d rather not have a personal guard at all.
So when his previous guard double-crossed him two years ago—soon after Rena appointed Osamu as her own personal guard—and Atsumu declined to step up to the position, he chose to leave it empty indefinitely, much to the disappointment of his parents and advisors.
Keeping to himself and remaining distrustful of anyone who came near him made him a difficult target, and it had been a long four months since the last time a daring attempt was able to get this far.
When Osamu arrives, he knocks twice and announces his name. The door is quickly opened by one of the princess’s maids—a short and shy blonde girl with a ponytail. He nods to her in greeting and steps in to avoid blocking the doorway, hearing it shut tight behind him. The room is generously illuminated, a stark contrast to the outside, and Osamu takes a moment to adjust his vision.
When his eyes finally meet the princess’s, he offers a bow and a greeting, and she gestures for him to take a seat across from her desk.
“Are those my brother’s clothes?” Rena asks, surprised. Her hand holding a teacup is frozen in the air as she takes in Osamu’s appearance.
Osamu blinks twice, unprepared for the question. “Uh, yes? Yes. I just—”
“It’s okay, please spare me the details,” she interrupts, looking strangely giddy. He wishes he knew the details. He really can’t find a reason that could explain her giddiness about meeting up at an hour before the sunrise because of an assassination attempt on her brother, but he’s never been able to get a grasp on her anyway.
The same maid from before approaches from his side to place a fresh cup of tea on the desk in front of him, and he offers his polite gratitude.
“In any case, my brother is fine, he handled the intruder on his own. I know you were called here because the advisors were worried about follow-up attempts, but all evidence points to it being a one-off.” She pauses to take a sip of tea. He notices her hands tremble just the slightest bit when she puts the cup down, so small he might have missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.
He waits quietly for her to continue.
“Be careful, Osamu. Some servants have gotten too brave in brewing up baseless rumors, and this time it involves you being an accomplice in the plan.”
Osamu realizes his expression failed in concealing his confusion, because she gives him answers before he has a chance to ask them.
“It’s because they couldn’t find you in your bedroom earlier. It was my brother that told them where to find you.”
There are multiple implications in her words, and her eyes burn into him as she gauges his reaction.
Osamu waves it off and brings his own cup of tea to his lips. “That kind of thing doesn’t bother me, your highness. As long as the princess believes in me, then it’s alright.”
“The princess? Or the prince?” she questions with a teasing lilt. He nearly chokes on his tea.
“Your highness,” he insists. He feels his cheeks heating up, and from the widening grin on Rena’s face, he knows she doesn’t believe him.
“Sure, sure, whatever you say.”
It’s worse , because the royal siblings look so alike, and he can see Rintarou’s smile appear in his head when he looks at her.
She clears her throat and adds, “It’ll blow over soon no matter what I do, because there was no basis to them from the start, but I’ll see to it that we catch the source of those rumors.”
“I really don’t mind it. I can survive with people talking about me.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not just for you. If we let them get away with running their mouths once, they’ll do it a second time, and then a third time. If we allow them to become daring enough to spread even more dangerous rumors, then what? These kinds of problems have to be dealt with before they can grow.”
Osamu nods slowly in understanding. “That makes sense,” he agrees.
Then, “Is there anything I can help your highness with?”
Rena drums her fingers on the desk next to the teacup, humming in thought. She pauses suddenly in her actions, and rummages through a drawer to pull out a blank sheet of paper.
“Give me a minute, I need you to do me a favor,” she says, quickly putting ink to paper. Out of courtesy, he looks away from what Rena is writing and lets his eyes wander across the office. This office is a place he’s found himself in plenty of times in the past few years, so there isn’t anything new in particular that catches his attention.
True to her word, she’s sealed up the letter into an envelope by the next minute, and slides it toward Osamu. For a second, he thinks he spots her lips twitching, like there’s a joke that he’s not in on.
“I need you to deliver this to my brother.”
He stares at the envelope placed in front of him, then back at Rena. He wonders what she could possibly have to tell Rintarou that Osamu couldn’t just pass on verbally, but reaches for the envelope without questioning it.
Instead, he asks, “Should I head out now?”
“Yes. My brother is probably getting berated right now, for not keeping a guard by his side. You want to go to him, don’t you?” she claims, eyes wide and knowing. “There’s nothing left for you to do here, so go.”
“...Yeah, I do,” he admits, the burst of courage perhaps coming from the lack of sleep. “Thank you, your highness. I’ll be on my way.”
With a pleased expression, she waves him goodbye. He bows before her and promptly takes his leave with a destination in mind.
The twilight before sunrise greets him, giving color and life to the palace grounds, gardens, and everything all the same. At the horizon, the vast, gentle blues embrace a fierce orange—it is a bewitchingly welcome sight, but one that also invokes a feeling of smallness, and perhaps envy too. It remains untainted; the palace and the disorder within are but a speck in comparison to the boundless skies. In spite of everything, there will always be one constant—the sun will rise.
He hurries past corridor after corridor to the prince’s office where he knew Rintarou would be, catching snippets of conversation along the way. He hadn’t noticed them before, but perhaps he was just too preoccupied with his thoughts to eavesdrop on the voices around him.
“...Was just leaving the office this morning...”
“Isn’t his highness usually in his bedroom at that time?”
“Shh, don’t speak anymore. Do you want to lose your job?”
With the office in sight, his strides gradually slow down as he passes another door down the hallway. His legs feel heavier with every step closer to the office doors.
Before he loses his resolve, he gives the door a single knock and twists the knob without waiting for a response.
“Rin,” he calls out by habit.
Belatedly, he realizes that Rintarou is not the only person in the room. All three people in the room turn to look at him, surprised by the sudden entrance. Next to Rintarou are two elder advisors dressed in clean, pale jade robes. Judging from their defensive stances against one another and the tension in the air, the conversation that was going on could not have been a pleasant one.
Osamu is the first to break the silence. Clearing his throat, he announces with some embarrassment, “My apologies for interrupting, I come with a message from the princess.”
The elder closest to Osamu sighs with clear dissatisfaction. “We will reconvene another day,” he addresses Rintarou. On his way out, he gives Osamu a pointed look. “Mind your manners before his highness.”
“You will mind yourself,” Rintarou warns.
The elder glances back at the prince, body language betraying no surprise. He bows almost begrudgingly, and gets pulled out of the office by his companion.
At the click of the door, Osamu directs his gaze back at Rintarou and takes in his current state.
“You look stressed,” he states plainly.
Rintarou let out a heavy sigh and rolled his shoulders. “I’m alright. It wasn’t that bad, those wrinkly old men just wouldn’t stop nagging me, so you saved me.”
Rintarou’s eyebrows are scrunched up and Osamu is a little afraid they’ll be permanently stuck that way. He’s been rubbing at his temples relentlessly while glaring at the wall like it has personally insulted all eight generations of his bloodline.
He doesn’t say anything after that, so Osamu takes it as his cue to continue.
“Sorry—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Rintarou immediately stops him, turning to face Osamu with a frown, “It’s my fault for letting them irritate and provoke me. Or if you’re saying sorry for using my room, don’t apologize either, because that was entirely my decision.”
Osamu blinks.
“Oh. Uh, thanks. I didn’t know that was you. I mean I guessed that was the case, but I wasn’t sure.” He fidgets with his fingers. “But I wasn’t talking about that. I’m sorry for ruining your shirt, I...uh, popped a button by accident.” He points to the loose thread hanging from where the second shirt button should be, on his chest.
Rintarou’s eyes follow to where Osamu’s finger leads, and at the sight, he releases a deep breath before breaking out in laughter, shoulders loosening.
It’s an unexpected sudden shift in mood, but not one that Osamu will complain about. He rolls his eyes, a gentle smile hanging from his lips.
It’s too easy for Rintarou to draw a smile out of him; he doesn’t even have to try.
Rintarou appears a lot more relaxed when he says, “You look good in it, popped button or not. Get the button fixed and you can keep it.”
Osamu feels the incoming flush rising up his neck, and he tries his best to calm his traitor of a heart.
“It’s not like I’m short on clothes. I’ll get it washed and returned to you in two days,” he says instead.
“It wasn’t just an offer. I want you to keep wearing it,” Rintarou insists. “Please?” He tilts his head, and the bastard looks at him with the eyes he knows Osamu can’t say no to.
Rintarou takes Osamu’s huff as a yes. He looks pleased with himself, an unabashed victory grin glued to his face.
He then peers over at Osamu’s other hand and at the envelope still in his clutch.
“Osamu, what’s that?”
Following Rintarou’s gaze, he peers down and recalls the letter that Rena wrote.
“Oh, right. It’s her highness’s letter for you,” he explains, handling the envelope over.
“Huh,” Rintarou mutters.
He rips it open on the spot to see the contents. “I didn’t know you were serious. Why would Rena write me a...,” he stops partway, scowling, and holds it over a candle flame on top of his desk without hesitation.
Osamu raises an eyebrow at the reaction. “What was it about?”
“Nothing important. Just a meddlesome fly on the letter,” he says with a tone of mock disdain, although Osamu can hear the amusement in his voice. He’s quiet after that though, and Osamu acknowledges that he’s lost in thought. He refrains from speaking to give Rintarou the time to organize his thoughts.
Barely five minutes later, he turns back toward Osamu and asks, “I haven’t had a chance to rest yet. Will you walk me to my bedroom, Osamu?”
“Yes,” Osamu replies a little too hastily.
His eyes instinctively snap up to gauge Rintarou’s reaction, just in case he needs to defend his dignity. But Rintarou doesn’t seem to have noticed, and Osamu feels strangely disappointed.
They still don’t speak during the walk—Rintarou because he seems preoccupied with his thoughts, and Osamu because he doesn’t want to disturb him. Although comfortable silences are abundant between the two of them, this one fills Osamu with a sense of unease.
They’re walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and he doesn’t know what Rintarou is thinking at all, but he wants to.
With no ongoing conversation to distract him, his own thoughts automatically go to the back of his mind, where he’s always known that Rintarou treats him differently from everyone else.
The way in which he brings Osamu his favorite dishes after a tiring journey despite being a busy person himself is different from the way that he pushes the vegetables he dislikes onto his sister’s plate. He never offers Atsumu a hand after knocking him to the floor during training sessions like he does for Osamu. He doesn’t openly quarrel with the kingdom’s advisors unless they’ve involved Osamu somehow.
Perhaps Osamu was unprepared, or maybe afraid, to unravel the tangled strings, afraid to uncover the truth he’s been diverting his own attention from over and over again. He’ll admit that it would be difficult to misinterpret all of Rintarou’s actions and behaviors around Osamu up until now.
Now, Osamu is kind of done with running.
At their arrival, Rintarou holds the door open for him, and he is greeted by the sight of the still-rumpled covers from when he rushed out of the room earlier.
The thud of the door comes only a second before Osamu witnesses Rintarou envelop his entire vision, a subtle herbaceous scent then traveling past his senses, followed by the pleasant weight of Rintarou’s forehead resting on his shoulder. Strands of Rintarou’s hair tickle Osamu’s neck, and it leaves him feeling completely overwhelmed by Rintarou’s presence.
And so quietly, almost as if he’s afraid to interrupt whatever atmosphere there is, he whispers, “Osamu, what should I do?”
Osamu takes in Rintarou's posture. Everything, from his quiet voice to his slouch, says that he’s beyond tired.
Rena said he was fine, and while he may be physically unharmed, there’s no doubt that the mental exhaustion on top of the physical fatigue has weighed him down. It might not be the first time he’s dealt with the same issue, but it won’t be the last either. It’ll continue to happen, time and time again, for as long as this palace stands.
Tentatively, so as not to startle him, Osamu wraps both arms around Rintarou’s waist. When he doesn’t pull away, Osamu guides him closer.
“Do you want to tell me about it? I’d like to shoulder your burdens too,” he whispers back softly.
He hears a hitch in Rintarou’s breath.
A moment later, he hears, “Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Right now, I just want to run from it all.”
“Run away, then. I’ll take you away,” he blurts.
“Okay,” Rintarou laughs soundlessly, but they both know he doesn't really mean that, because he has too much to lose.
“Can I stay here with you then?” Osamu asks.
Rintarou breathes. “Your job is to protect my sister, not me. Don’t forget your duty, Osamu.”
He tries to pull back, but Osamu tightens his hold.
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t mean stay in that sense,” he pauses, turning to face Rintarou, although all he can see in his vision is the back of Rintarou’s head. “I want to be by your side,” he finishes.
Osamu has never been shy about speaking his mind and making a move when he’s confident he knows what he wants—even if it has taken him a while to figure it out.
When Rintarou twists in his arms to look him in the eye, the way in which his gaze is focused on Osamu unflinchingly has him feeling like he’s been ignited, like Rintarou set him on fire with his eyes alone. He shudders.
While they’ve stood this close to each other countless times in the past, this is the first time it actually meant anything more, and the exhilaration is breathtaking. There’s something about being the only person, the only thing holding Rintarou’s attention, that floods Osamu with a sense of euphoria and pride.
“I’m a selfish man, Osamu. You can't take that back once you’ve said it. Do you really want that?” he asks. The desperation and weakness in his voice is one that he’d usually never let escape him.
“I want to be by your side,” Osamu repeats with as much determination in his tone as he can muster, “I want to be yours.”
Something cold touches the crook of his neck and trickles down his shirt, and he comes to a realization that Rintarou is crying .
His expression tells Osamu that he’s just as surprised as Osamu is. By instinct, Rintarou buries his head in the crook of Osamu’s neck to hide it.
Osamu brings one hand up to tuck a strand of Rintarou’s hair behind his ear. “Let me see you,” Osamu urges, “please.”
Rintarou shows not a single ounce of resistance, and Osamu gingerly shifts his hand to cup his cheek as Rintarou raises his head. Rintarou goes as far as to rest his cheek in the shape of Osamu’s hand, a comfortable weight in his palm.
He does not tremble nor weep—nothing about his person gives him away except for the single teardrop and a heartbreakingly tender look in his eyes.
Osamu catches the teardrop just before it falls, then wipes his thumb gently over Rintarou’s cheek to erase the trail.
“You’re really unfair, y’know,” Osamu mutters, “you’re pretty even when you’re crying.”
Rintarou scoffs in embarrassment; his ears tint into a lovely pink and it has Osamu mesmerized on the spot. He doesn’t get to see Rintarou flustered often—between the two of them, Osamu blushes much more easily. Or maybe Rintarou is just better at throwing him off balance all the time.
Rintarou takes a step back, and the sudden lack of a body in front of him leaves the air feeling a little too cold. A delicate but warm grip around his wrist fixes that, followed by an inviting tug further into the room.
At the edge of the bed, Rintarou nearly collapses onto the crumpled covers but keeps himself sitting upright, fingers still enclosing Osamu’s wrist.
“Will you lay next to me?” he hesitantly asks, rubbing circles on Osamu’s wrist nervously. “I want to see you when I wake up.”
Osamu inhales. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” The smile that blooms on Rintarou’s face is enchanting.
Rintarou scoots further back into the bed and lets Osamu climb up next to him, the bed frame creaking and mattress dipping from the weight of two grown men. It’s certainly big enough to fit the two of them, but it’s a tad awkward for Osamu, who hasn’t slept next to someone solely for the sake of sleeping and nothing else since the time when he used to share a sleeping space with Atsumu. Judging from the snicker that comes from Rintarou, similar thoughts are likely going through his head.
Rintarou’s weariness is very much evident from his complexion, but his eyes carry a new, invigorated air to them.
“So...you think I’m pretty?” he gloats.
Osamu almost sputters, but recovers with surprising forwardness and replies, “You are. I’ve never met anyone more charming than you.”
Reddened, Rintarou opens his mouth, ready to retort. But perhaps he’s too tired to think of a comeback for once despite it being his talent, because only a huff comes out of his mouth. He gives in and shuffles closer to Osamu.
“I should have made you mine long ago,” Rintarou whispers.
Osamu agrees, “You should have. I should have, too.”
A chuckle. “We should have gotten our shit together six years ago.”
“As long as we made it, then it’s fine, isn’t it?”
Rintarou hums his approval.
“Yeah. As long as I have you now.”
When Rintarou awakens again, the sun is glaring down at him from its highest point in the sky. He shifts around to hide from the blinding rays. He ends up ducking behind a body—which he recognizes belatedly—and comes face to face with the subject of his desires for an overwhelmingly long few years. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest until his memory takes mercy on him and replays the events from the past couple hours.
With a rare kind of patience, he slowly takes in Osamu, who lays contentedly snoring away by his side.
And he thinks, ‘I have everything that I want.’
He will admit, inside him somewhere still lies an old, lingering fear—fear that these fragile feelings of his will someday lift its veil to reveal a bitterness underneath the sweet facade.
Perhaps like a smoke that he cannot grasp or contain, it will be a slowly burning strain that pulls at their tender heartstrings, while he can only watch as it completely ruins them. Or perhaps it would be like a curse, his flaws gradually becoming more evident until he’s unable to pretend they aren’t there, and worst of all, they’ll be visible to the pair of eyes he least wants to see them.
But Osamu just has to look at him in the way that he does, and suddenly all of his worries are silly and trivial in the presence of the man who holds his heart.
He adores the sound of Osamu’s laugh, whether it’s the snickering he makes in response to Rintarou’s huff because that same stray strand of hair won’t behave, or the roar of laughter followed by wheezing when his brother trips over his own feet in the ballroom. But Rintarou relishes in the fact that he’s the only one who gets to hear that soft chuckle when they wake up in a tangle of limbs, the one with no particular reason other than the fondness it conveys, and Rintarou can’t help but fall a little harder each morning.
The light fluttering of Osamu’s eyelashes tells Rintarou that he’s stirring awake. He’s happy to let Osamu continue resting and bask in his presence, but he’s more eager to spend as much time as possible together with his beloved, before he inevitably has to perform his tasks that are likely piling up by the minute.
While waiting for Osamu to blink away his sleepiness, he takes one of Osamu’s hands into his own and intertwines their fingers, peppering lazy kisses all over the back of his hand.
“G’morning,” Osamu’s groggy morning voice greets him, the sleep still not expelled from his body. “What’s on your mind?”
Rintarou feels a hand pleasantly weaving through his hair, satisfying a craving for some kind of domestic warmth that he didn’t even realize he wanted.
“I was just thinking...I don’t really want to tell Rena. She’s going to be so smug and annoying about it.”
When Rintarou finally looks up at him, Osamu’s eyes are crinkled in a smile so endearing, and Rintarou feels loved.
“We don’t have to tell her. Or Atsumu. We can flirt and let them lose their minds over it,” Osamu suggests casually.
A rustle of the blankets fills the air before Rintarou responds, “I like the sound of that. Does that make me your partner in crime?”
He snorts, “I think we’re partners in more than just crime.”
“Ooh, you’re getting awfully bold, Osamu. It’s a good thing for you that I like that about you.”
“That can’t be the only thing you like about me. Tell me, what do you like about me?”
“Don’t go fishing for compliments now,” he huffs, amused. He gets a cheeky peck to the nose in response.
Truth to be told, Rintarou wouldn’t know where to start.
He likes how gentle Osamu’s touches are despite the rough pads of his fingers and the scars littered all over his hands. He likes that his fingers tower over Osamu’s just a little when they are palm to palm.
He likes the light in Osamu’s eyes when any type of food enters his field of vision. He likes how Osamu enjoys every dish like it’s his favorite, and how he’ll never allow Rintarou to skip a meal if he knew about it.
He likes how Osamu more or less lacks the idea of personal space and tends to flood Rintarou’s senses with his presence at times. He likes both the selfish and selfless sides to Osamu, and both the bashful and overconfident sides as well. He likes Osamu so much, and he’d run out of breath trying to list all the reasons before he’d get a quarter of the way through.
He doesn’t know where to start, but it’s okay, because they have time. Tomorrow is another day to love Osamu.
Today, he simply gives Osamu’s shirt a tug and indulgently leans over, sealing their lips together in a wordless vow.