Chapter Text
Yahaba had always found a certain comfort in the mundane. He had been following the same strict routine for 10 years of his life and he had never felt the inclination to change it. Structure brought an element of predictability to the day that he had lacked for the earlier years of his life and now any and all semblance of stability was clung to.
Unfortunately, his schedule included waking up Prince Kyoutani every morning at dawn. Yahaba was an early riser- you didn’t exactly have a choice coming from the position of less than glorious wealth that he did- but waking with the sun every day left him too exhausted to enjoy the sparse free time he did get.
Exhaustion haunted his every waking hour until his work became sloppy and his relationships were hanging on by a thread.
God knows how Kyoutani did it without a fuss. He would wake without any difficulty every morning, he wasn’t cheery but that was no different from Kyoutani’s natural demeanour. Unless he had been so sorely sleep deprived his whole life that Yahaba couldn’t tell the difference between fatigued and well rested Kyoutani, grumpiness was just Kyoutani’s natural state, regardless of whether he awoke at a reasonable time or not.
It must be nice to not need to be pleasant. To be able to glare and insult and still remain in a position of favour. It would be pointless to complain that it was unfair, every toddler knew the world wasn't fair, but when Kyoutani blatantly disrespected a man that would have thrown Yahaba in a prison cell for the same retort, it stung slightly.
This morning was not unlike any of the others, Yahaba awoke with a stiff back and an achy neck. He dressed in his uniform and set off from the servants’ chambers, down the winding corridors, to the prince’s bedroom.
There were times when Yahaba had slept particularly poorly where he allowed the bitter part of him to rule and he could feel little other than jealousy for the prince. Even his bedroom door was more ornate than anything Yahaba had ever owned, all white marble and golden details.
The first time he had stood before it, he had been awed, but now the charm had worn off and all he could see was impracticalities and a need to show off. Yahaba knocked once, it was a courtesy, Kyoutani would never respond even if he was already awake.
Silence.
Yahaba pushed open the door. It was heavy, solid enough that the effort to force it open hurt Yahaba’s already sore muscles. He had been mopping yesterday and his joints were screaming with each unnecessary movement. Pushing open a solid marble door definitely constituted unnecessary movement.
“Good morning, my prince.” He didn’t hide the annoyance in his tone. There was no need to anymore. The mutual understanding was that they tolerated each other, nothing more, nothing less.
The prince was already sitting up in bed. His gaze was set on the window, not quite focusing on anything in particular. His face was twisted in a scowl, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. It was rarer to see Prince Kyoutani without a scowl than with; his face was permanently contorted into some emotional extremity.
There was no morning greeting back, not verbally anyway, but he did nod with his head in some semblance of half-assed recognition. Yahaba bit back a retort, annoyance bubbling like acid in his chest.
“Are you ready to get dressed, my prince?”
Kyoutani’s eyes met his at last. Eye contact with Kyoutani had always been hard to hold. There was a burn to his stare, like he was looking straight through Yahaba. Even though Kyoutani was one of the least perceptive people Yahaba had ever met, when he looked at him like that it felt like every shameful secret had been spilled out into the open.
“Do you need to ask the same question every time?” The prince pulled the duvet off himself. The only times Yahaba had touched it was when he was making the bed but even that was enough to stimulate relaxation, silk so smooth to touch it felt like water.
Yahaba would kill a man for sheets as nice as this.
The tone wasn’t rude exactly, more a kind of tired genuinity so prominent in how Kyoutani talked to people. Still, Yahaba bristled.
“Do you have to be so rude every morning?” Yahaba responded, pulling the sheets tightly over the mattress so not a wrinkle was left. Any joy found in the luxuriousness was lost. This kind of trivial rudeness seemed to be allowed by Kyoutani, he would snarl and spit back but no official reports or accusations were ever leveled against Yahaba like he feared they would be the first few times he had snapped.
Kyoutani sneered in response, top lip curling up in a way that resembled a wolf more than an heir prince.
“I will be eating breakfast with the king today. Dress me appropriately,” a hesitation and then, “please.”
Yahaba couldn’t help the smile that made its way to his face. In moments when Kyoutani made the effort to be polite- as rare as it was, it was still more common than any other nobleman Yahaba had encountered- it was hard not to find him endearing.
“Of course, my prince.”
Yahaba had been dressing Kyoutani for as long as he had been waking him. There was no room for shame in their arrangement as Yahaba tightened the strings of his shirt. There was also no room for conversation.
They had a mutual disinterest in each others’ lives. Yahaba’s born from his proximity to royal affairs at all times, he had little need for more of the same nonsense, and Kyoutani’s from a complete lack of social awareness that he should be interested in people’s lives outside his own.
Any attempts at filling the silence would have probably turned to argument. Neither were built for patience, especially when it came to each other, so as awkward as constant lack of noise was it was a blessing really.
Yahaba finished the last bow, relishing in the grunt Kyoutani released as he pulled the strings tight (maybe tighter than necessary, but it’s not like Kyoutani was capable of making that distinction). The prince had never suited formal garbs, his posture was awful and he held himself in a way that screamed a wish to be left alone.
The stuffiness of his outfits only accentuated the fact that by all accounts, Prince Kyoutani should not be a prince.
He was not unkind per say, but he did lack an understanding of others that was essential to a ruler. He lacked any ability to communicate or guide. His reluctance to plan left him late to most meetings and Yahaba cleaning up the trail of annoyed nobles and barons.
As soon as Prince Kyoutani turned into King Kyoutani, Yahaba was quitting and running very far away. He was not waiting around to see what horrors would be unleashed upon the kingdom.
Kyoutani did not thank him as they made their way to the dining room, nor did he make eye contact or attempt friendliness. Even if exchanging niceties would have been forced and rough, Yahaba couldn’t help but feel squandered.
When he had first been promoted to the prince’s personal helper all the servants had been abuzz. Whispering that if he got on the prince’s good side he would see nothing but riches and early retirement.
Needless to say, Yahaba failed to get on his good side.
They walked in a kind of rhythm, Yahaba three steps behind, half jogging to keep up with Kyoutani’s stride. By the time they reached the dining room, Yahaba was close to out of breath. The pace Kyoutani set meant there was no time to take in the corridors with the high painted ceilings and ornate walls.
He entered behind Kyoutani, as servants do, and pulled the chair out for him. It screeched awfully against the floor, earning him a glare from Kyoutani and a reprimand from the older maid setting the table.
Again, no thanks. Yahaba sneered at the back of his stupid, shorn head.
The dining room was just as pointlessly grand as Kyoutani’s bedroom door. The windows were lavish, golden details around the edges and sunlight pouring through. There was a brief moment, as Yahaba stood back to stand at the outskirts of the room, when he could make out Kyoutani’s face, lit golden and pursed with worry, and in that brief moment a horrifying, carnal part of Yahaba’s mind whispered ‘he’s kind of cute’.
The part was quickly buried underneath disgust. It was not a new thought, Kyoutani had always had a certain cuteness around him that annoyed Yahaba more than it endeared him. How dare someone so rude have such a pleasant face?
The first time he had thought Kyoutani cute had been soul destroying. He had nearly cried himself to sleep due to the irony of it all. But now he was accustomed to ignoring his own thoughts.
Just as Yahaba was shaking his head of the embarrassing thought, the door swung open to reveal the king. He was a tall man but not a grand one. Where his son was stocky and muscular, the king looked like a man who had sat on a throne his entire life. Which, to be fair to him, had made the kingdom a prosperous one.
His face was aged, smile wrinkles heavy at his eyes and sunspots building on his forehead. Yahaba could feel little other than fondness for the man before him, he was gentle and compassionate and wise. Kyoutani must take after his mother.
“Good morning, father,” Kyotani greeted. His voice was strained. He never seemed to be able to relax around the king, all hunched shoulders and unblinking eyes.
There was a pressure there that Yahaba couldn’t relate to. He had never felt the weight of a kingdom bear down his shoulders. He had also never had pockets lined with gold, so he could hardly feel too much sympathy.
“Good morning. I am sorry if I seem a bit out of it, I am not used to waking so early but I felt it was important to eat with you this morning. I have some important news.”
His tone betrayed nothing of whether this news was good or not but his smile didn’t falter as he sat. Kyoutani nodded sharply in response, hands fisting the tablecloth tightly.
In the corner of the room, Yahaba suddenly felt very much out of place, an intrusion in a private conversation, but he was yet to be asked to leave and departing before permission would be presumptuous so he was forced to stay.
Breakfast was served shortly, fruits Yahaba couldn’t even name and would kill to try served on silver platters. Watching the two men dig in with little care for what Yahaba would consider a delicacy stung and he must have let it show.
He had never had a talent in hiding his emotions, but for his expression to be so obvious that a king that shouldn’t even know he was in the room to address him directly was humiliating.
“Would you care to join us?” the king invited, smiling as if what he had just said wasn’t completely outlandish. “There is far too much for two here and I’m afraid my news involves you as well.”
That was unexpected. The whole invitation was like being punched in the face multiple times, too much to process at once so all Yahaba could do was numbly obey. He pulled out a chair opposite Kyoutani and sat in the royal dining room with the king and the prince for breakfast.
Yahaba’s mother would be bawling at the sight.
Ignoring the glare Kyoutani was sending him, Yahaba spooned chunks of all the fruit he could get his hands on onto his plate. He couldn’t bring himself to care if it was barbaric or rude, he wasn’t going to skimp out when he was presented with this opportunity. Each bite was sweet and juicy and fresh. Yahaba was so consumed in eating that he almost didn’t hear the king.
“- I know this is a sudden request but I think it will do you some good.” He sounded like a man preparing to be yelled at. “I have told King Oikawa and Iwaizumi to the west that you will attend their harvest ball.”
Silence.
“Okay.”
That was not the reaction Yahaba expected, or the king if his very unsubtle eyebrow movement was anything to go by.
“You will go?” the king asked, an uncharacteristic uncertainty entering his voice.
Kyoutani looked up from his plate to make eye contact with his father for the first time since the meal had began, “I know that I have never made the best impression on the other nobles...” he hesitated, struggling to find his words, “but I want to be a good ruler one day. International communication is a key part of that, is it not?”
There was an earnestness to him that made Yahaba’s chest tighten. It had been obvious for many years that Kyoutani’s social ineptness was a source of insecurity for him. Yahaba had once walked in on him practicing what should have been a casual, natural greeting in the mirror and he had restrained himself from commenting on such things when he could ever since.
The king smiled, “And you will take your servant with you. I’m sure he will provide you support in areas you struggle with.”
Yahaba no longer liked the king.
He had assumed that best case scenario he would receive paid leave in Kyoutani’s absence, worst he would be assigned to another member of the household but this was a different breed of evil. This was eighth circle of hell type torture.
As much as Yahaba pitied Kyoutani (though he would never allow those words to leave his lips) he still struggled to see him as anything other than crass and rude. Yahaba had been on the receiving end of one too many glares and sneers to feel anything more than vague sympathy and distaste for his prince.
Being in a carriage with him for weeks on end was not how Yahaba wanted to spend his time.
“...my servant.” Kyoutani clearly shared the same sentiment. His scowl had increased tenfold.
“Yes, I think some company for the journey will do you good. It is not a short one and you could use the time to learn more about each other. Maybe become friends.”
“Right. Friends,” Kyoutani said through clenched teeth. It sounded so reluctant that Yahaba was almost impressed he managed.
There was no gaps in the conversation for Yahaba to butt in to offer his own distaste for the suggestion but when the king said, “You leave this morning,” Yahaba created his own gap.
“Excuse me? We leave this morning? Had it not occurred to you that you might need my permission before shipping me off to a different kingdom? Did you not stop to think for a second that maybe I needed more than an hour's notice?”
He tried to keep his tone level. It didn’t work, and as he finished Yahaba found himself grateful the death penalty was no longer in use or he would have probably found his neck on the chopping block shortly.
The king blinked slowly, processing. He almost looked like his son for a second, confused and unsure whether to be angry or amused.
“Right. You’re right. My sincere apologies. You will go though, won’t you? I’m afraid I’m rather relying on you with this. You're the only servant Kyoutani has actually kept for more than a week so I assumed you two at least tolerated each other. You will be rewarded handsomely for the trip, of course, and you will be given your own guest suite at Oikawa’s palace.”
Two pairs of eyes were on him now, Kyoutani’s challenging and the king’s pleading. Finally, Yahaba relented. It wasn’t like he actually had any reason beyond a dislike for Kyoutani to refuse. There were no younger siblings to find careers for or friends to warn of his absence.
The promise of monetary rewards didn’t hurt either.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go, just a warning would have been nice.”
The king’s smile returned in full force, teeth and dimples on show. Yahaba wondered if Kyoutani had dimples as well.
Sometimes Yahaba worried about his indecisiveness on Kyoutani, sympathy and mild attraction warred against the deep rooted envy and annoyance. Stormy sea met cliff face and now it was a test of endurance, which would last longer: the wind or the stone.
“Kyoutani, go help the maid pack your luggage.” The king turned to Yahaba and faltered, it was clear he didn’t know his name and was unsure what to refer to him as. “You, the stable hand could use some help with the carriage.”
It was hardly the worst thing Yahaba had been called so he took it with all the grace he could manage, pulling back his chair and standing with a bow. Working with the stable hand was a welcome change, Watari was a pleasant man, soft smiles and good advice.
When he was little and new to the capital, Yahaba had gone to bed each night with dreams of being a horse racer, of caring for a noble steed and journeying across the continent. It was a futile fantasy but a pretty one that he still thought of sometimes on the rare occasions his work led him to the stables.
Kyoutani bowed as well, it was stiff and awkward and Yahaba bit back a laugh as he stumbled slightly, but it was deep enough to convey a genuine respect.
“Will you see us off?” The hope was poorly disguised and fragile.
“I have a meeting in an hour so I’m afraid you will have to do without my presence at the send off. I wish you luck on your travels. The cart driver is the best man I can offer, kind as he is experienced.”
Kyoutani hid his disappointment about as well as he hid his hope which is to say not at all. His whole face crumpled. The king didn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t let it show that he was regretful. Maybe Kyoutani took after his father in more ways than he appeared to on the surface, aggressive obliviousness must be passed down the generations.
“I understand. I will see you when we return.”
“Don’t forget to have a good time, Kentarou,” the king said. Kyoutani didn’t respond, merely brushing past his father and disappearing down the corridor.
The king sighed heavily but Yahaba didn’t care to pry into the royal family drama so he bowed once more and excused himself as politely as he could manage.
To say he was excited about this journey would be an overstatement of a heinous degree but it wasn’t quite dread that flooded Yahaba as he made his way to the stables. He had not left this kingdom since his family had arrived here when he was too young to actually remember his old home.
Seeing the western kingdom, a place he had only really known through his mother’s stories, could be nice. He had always felt a disconnect to his heritage and a single journey of political motivation probably wouldn’t fix that but still it couldn’t hurt (unless he ended up strangling Kyoutani, that might cause a few problems).
The stables were a great distance from the main rooms of the castle, it made sense in terms of hygiene but Yahaba’s feet did not thank him for it. The soles of his shoes had become worn and now his feet grew sore easily.
Hardly his biggest problem but certainly a notable one. Maybe when he got his pay he would splurge at the cobblers; he could get shoes with stronger soles, maybe even leather with fancy laces and a soft inside.
The fantasy was enough to distract him until he was out in the gardens. Not fully appreciating the garden would be a cardinal sin. The flowers all had names Yahaba couldn’t even begin to pronounce but he could still appreciate their beauty (and the apples that hung low enough for him to pick and snack on).
Watari was waiting for him at the gate between the garden and the stables, smiling knowingly. His sleeves were rolled up and he had mud smeared across his left cheekbone. Watching the sweat drip down his friend’s face so early in the morning, he felt guilty for his annoyance at his work schedule.
He had grown pampered.
“I hear you are being sent off on a mission,” Watari said, opening the gate for Yahaba to pass through.
“Mission is a generous word for it. We are going to a dance.” Yahaba made an effort not to sound too complainitive, not when Watari was clearly already being worked to the bone. Complaining about having to visit a palace seemed a bit petty.
Watari led him through to the horses, “Maybe some time with Prince Kyoutani will be nice.”
Watari was pretty much everything Kyoutani wasn’t: whilst his gaze was unthreatening his powers of perception were frankly frightening. He had to be some kind of mindreader.
“You need to get the idea that I like the prince out of your head. It’s getting a bit creepy at this point.”
Watari laughed but he did shut up.
There were two horses waiting for them, one grey and one brown. Both already had bridles wrapped around their snouts; the servant holding them passed them one to Watari with a smile and the other to Yahaba with a blank face.
Personal attendants were not the most popular members of staff. There was a sense of hierarchy, even though they were all in the same rapidly sinking boat. Yahaba tried to smile back but if it looked as forced as it felt it did nothing to fix his reputation.
The lead felt nice in his palm as he took it, soft leather and golden buckles. His horse, the brown one, whinnied softly as he tried to guide it out of the door. Despite his childhood wishes, Yahaba had very limited exposure to horses and the sound was enough to spook him slightly.
The yelp that escaped him when the horse nuzzled the top of his head, nibbling his hair, was not a dignified one but completely justifiable if you ask Yahaba. Watari laughed regardless. He waved goodbye to the other man and then took the lead in showing Yahaba where the coach was waiting.
Kyoutani rarely wished to leave the castle so Yahaba had very little experience with this part of the castle. Watari didn’t mock him for his cluelessness, something Yahaba appreciated.
“Here it is,” Watari announced after they crossed the paddock to reach a small patch of smooth land. A cart was waiting for them there. It was painted dark green, fresh by the looks of the unchipped quality, and decorated with golden details. The windows were curtained for privacy and the seats inside were cushioned.
It was the carriage of a travelling prince. Not his servant. Surely, he should be riding up front with the driver. But the way the king framed the idea of Yahaba going as well made it seem like he was to converse with Kyoutani, something not possible if he wasn’t sat with him.
Kyoutani would decide where he sat. It’s not like he cared much either way, the disadvantage of sitting near Kyoutani was equaled by the advantage of comfortable seating. So really, whether he was sat in the carriage or the bench didn’t matter.
Still, the cushions looked unbelievably soft.
“Do you know how to sort the horses?” Watari asked, there was no judgement in his tone so any shame Yahaba felt in admitting he didn’t was of his own creation.
“That’s fine. They’ll start bringing luggage down soon so you can just help with that.”
Standing and doing nothing felt wrong, like he was proving the rest of the staff right in thinking him pretentious, so Yahaba chose instead to observe. He memorised the method of attaching the horses. Feeling useless was an awful emotion, one Yahaba was determined not to feel on this trip.
Sure enough, after Watari finished the first horse a butler arrived with some luggage. Yahaba took it quickly, almost dropping it as he realised it was much heavier than anticipated, and shoved it in the storage compartment of the carriage.
“There is more coming,” the butler half warned, half informed, “A lot more.”
Yahaba would not have taken Kyoutani as an over-packer. He seemed more of a ‘this pair of underwear can last me a couple more days’ kind of guy.
How wrong he was. Bag after bag after bag was stuffed into the rapidly filling storage. Each one was full to the brim and heavy. By the time Kyoutani came down with the last bag, Yahaba was puffing and sweating.
His arms were killing him and his brow was dripping. Kyoutani curled his lip up at him and Yahaba stuck his tongue out in return. Petty? Maybe. Deserved? Absolutely.
“Are you ready to set off?” Yahaba asked, pulling himself up into standing from where he had been crouched in the shade cast by the carriage.
Kyoutani hesitated, his bottom lip worried beneath his teeth. His fists clenched reflexively and then he turned to Yahaba, a million indistinguishable emotions in his eyes. He smiled, a small fake thing. It didn’t show dimples or teeth but it was enough for Yahaba to know that he was managing whatever he was dealing with.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”