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Spring breeze has a sweet scent, in king Bosse's kingdom. To be able to feel its tender caress on his warm skin, rendered damp with sweat after hours spent training under an unforgiving sun, is a blessing - a miracle even, that Domas doesn't deserve. He is well aware.
He breathes in, the fragrance of wildflowers and grass teasing his nostrils, as he lazily stretches his fatigued body. A sturdy tree shelters him from the worst of the sunbeams, and he looks up to observe as its leaves gently flutter alongside the draft.
Domas brings his prosthetic hand to the back of his neck, where he lets the metallic fingers play with his mop.
But for single moment, he longs for the days when his long, blonde hair danced just as gracefully to the notes of the wind. A deep shame washes over him then, and he lets his hand fall on his lap, scowling. Those times are long gone - he can no longer afford to be blinded by his presumption, all forms of petty vanity belong to the past.
"I admit it's not the most... fashionable haircut around town, but it suits you, Domas-sama!"
Hokuro's voice has him jolt so violently his head hits the trunk, but whatever scolding he had in store for him - the humiliation of letting someone sneak up on him like that only adding insult to the injury, dies in his throat as he sees him laughing quietly. Even if it's at him, Hokuro still looks lovely when he's happy, or having fun.
Domas blushes, his scowl worsening.
"Excuse me?" he asks undignified, trying his best to sound threatening. He knows it's a useless attempt, for Hokuro has long since seen past the proper king's sword facade, and knows by now what an awkward, pitiful man hides behind it.
It's fine, Hokuro is a good man and Domas finds comfort in being seen. It's like an enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
"Are you fishing for compliments? I said it suits you" Hokuro repeats, giving an exasperated eye roll as he takes seat right next to him, their bodies so close they're almost touching.
Domas raises his eyebrows at that. He is not particularly jealous of his personal space, nor he cares much for etiquette, but Hokuro's proximity affects him more than what he'd like to admit.
So, it's not that much of a surprise to him when his mind goes blank.
"Oh. Uh. S-see if I care!" he exclaims, rudely, "I'm not a fretting maiden, Hokuro! What makes you think-"
He's met by a skeptical expression and an amused, incredibly fond smile that have him stop in his tracks.
Their faces got closer somehow, and Domas feels like the whole situation is quickly spiraling out of his poor control. He gulps, then he clears his throat.
"Forgive me. I... T- thank you, Hokuro." He mutters in embarrassment, not quite meeting his eyes, "the thing is-"
Any solemn tangent on how his hair was but a small price to pay for his sins, on how the road of atonement will surely be filled with much harder endeavors than that, is cut short before it could even start by a hand casually brushing his fringe out of his eyes, only to rest against his cheek.
If his brain was empty before, Domas is now positive he is never going retain his ability to think again.
"Hokuro?" he barely recognizes his own voice, as he stares at him with his eyes wide open, face bright red.
His body is rigid like a statue and he can hardly breathe, yet he finds himself enjoying the warm feeling of Hokuro's hand against his skin, feels proud to feel the calluses on Hokuro's palm - an evidence of all the heart and effort he is putting into training. He must muster all of his self-control not to just lean into it.
"I can see for myself you're not a maiden, Domas-sama" Hokuro teases him, his gaze lingering on Domas's lips for a moment too long, before it raises to meet his eyes again.
Domas chokes, on the verge of a crisis. When did Hokuro get so bold?!
"Even with this annoying tuft hiding your pretty face..."
Domas closes his eyes at that, feels natural to di so, but he almost immediately regrets. Now he has nothing else to focus but the clean scent of Hokuro, the warmth of him, that touch of jam and fresh bread from breakfast in his breath.
Hokuro softly guides his face towards his, by the cheek, and their noses bump gently...
This time, when he hits the wooden head of the bed, the pain is much more intense. Much more real.
The realization of what just transpired in his dream hits him. Breathing quickly, he stares at the ceiling in shock.
"Shit."
"Mh... Is everything alright, Domas-sama?" a yawn follows the sleepy inquiry, coming from somewhere across their shared room, in the humble cottage king Bosse provided for them.
Shit.
"Y-YES. GO BACK TO SLEEP, I'M GOING TO TRAIN."
He exclaims loudly The hour is late, but there is no one but them at the edge of the forest, anyway.
He jumps out of the bed, giving his back to Hokuro as he looks for his boots, and prays that it is too dark in the room for him to notice how hard he is blushing. Or sweating. Or trembling.
He's already with a foot on the doorstep, when the meek observation comes.
"Domas-sama" Hokuro sounds much more awake, "it's the middle of the night... and you're still wearing your nightwear..."
"I TOLD YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP!"