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King prefers communicating through non-verbal means. A charcoal feather is forgotten on Katakuri's pillow or buried in his scarves.
Occasionally, his favorite scarves go missing. King always returns them, smelling of dried herbs, sword polish, and a heady sweetness.
Katakuri finds them tangled in a branch mixed with silver-white hair when he finally returns them.
The paper is his favorite, though. King always chooses delicate paper and manages to weave and tug it into an animal. Sometimes he gets enough paper and creates a bouquet that will never wither away.
He would prefer food. Cooking a meal? Simple. Attempting to decipher the message in King’s bouquet? Katakuri's dug through several shelves and managed to come up with a thick book describing flower language. The main problem is that one thing can have several meanings. Color can change the meaning to something brand new as well.
Hence his reason for coming to Onigashima with paper in hand. Going right into Onigashima is too dangerous; King never lingers on Whole Cake Island. Instead, Katakuri goes to the designated area on a long and rough sail from Onigashima.
Few can access the island. Either the unforgiving weather devours them or the impossible to scale cliff sides have them tumbling down, ensuring death. Climbing the sheer cliffs is simple work for him, his mochi leaving a sticky trail.
King has the advantage, though, and will never allow him to forget. He comes low, wings brushing the ground, and then gliding high again. Even something as simple as a kiss involves him showing off, hoping higher and higher then diving towards him.
A second later and King would crash into him. Instead, he lands and that stoic expression cracks with a smile, fingers brushing his cheek as he leans in, lips brushing Katakuris forehead.
Kissing without the scarves, without the mask is something the two have worked toward for a long while. King no longer winces when fingers trace the tattoo on his face, and Katakuri's willing to allow King to lean in for a kiss, gripping the scarves between his fingers, eager to tug them off and revel in his whole face.
King's willing to settle for his forehead and cheek, gripping the scarves between his fingers with a contemplative hum.
“I have to know something. I tried looking up the meaning. Everything gives a differing response, though and the color changes its answer as well.”
Katakuri raises his hand and uncurls his fingers to reveal the miniature clover. Sailing with the clover stowed would have been better. Except he imagined it being crushed or worse. Merely watching King lean in to examine it closer leaves him feeling overwhelmed with an urge to protect the little thing.
“People believe the clover can bring good fortune and protection.” King shrugs. “Maybe wishing the enemy luck and fortune goes against the mission. Giving a white clover is different. You're being asked to remember the person. Think of them.
Is the man serious? Katakuri’s face warms beneath his scarves. More than once he's attempted using his abilities to check whether King is well, sourness tainting his mood when he's unable to find a thing.
“I do. More than you know.”