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If someone were to ask you what it’s like serving under the esteemed Yashiro Commissioner himself, your answer would probably be that he is a difficult man.
You’re sure that the Kanjou Commissioner and Tenryou Commissioner would agree with you — both seem as though they have a rather pointy bone to pick with your lord, and knowing him, there is probably a wide variety of reasons with how often he muses about stepping on their toes. The Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine seems to think the same, referring to your master as ‘that Yashiro brat’ or ‘the Kamisato rascal’, whenever you’re sent to deliver missives or letters on his behalf. Although she’s never explicitly mentioned that she’s speaking about your master, it is quite obvious that the one she’s speaking about isn’t your lady Ayaka. Still, the most prominent of all his victims, however, would be poor Thoma — the savoury mizu manju your master had tried making really hadn’t sat well with his stomach, much to no one’s surprise.
For you, however, he’s difficult for a completely different reason.
“I know I’m considered to be quite the conventionally attractive looker,” the source of your current headache says, voice breathless yet still dripping slick with honeyed amusement that makes your irritation flare, “but this is just a little inappropriate, don’t you think, my dear?”
You make a lunge for him over his desk, but he manages to evade you far too skillfully for your liking. If someone were to walk in on the two of you right now, they would surely be stunned by the sight they’re greeted with: the ever composed Yashiro Commissioner with his clothes rumpled, face flushed and collar slipping down dangerously one shoulder, while his personal aide glares at him with an expression brimming over with ire.
“It wouldn’t have to be—” you say flatly, attempting a surprise grab for his sleeve that he dodges, silk fabric slipping between your fingers, “—if you would just sit still and let me take your temperature, milord. This is hardly how any self respecting adult should be acting, let alone the head of the Kamisato Clan.”
The two of you have been at this song and dance for far too long now, ever since Thoma had come to you in the morning commenting that the chief seemed to be feeling unwell. Knowing your master too well (unfortunately), you had made your way over to his office with a thermometer specially purchased from Fontaine, and sure enough, you had found him in full formal wear already going through the first missives for the day. The medical instrument now lies somewhere on the floor of his study, forgotten in your little scuffle with your master. You’ll have to look for it later under the stacks of books and papers littering the tatami mats.
“Ahh, but surely this isn’t how one’s personal aide should be treating their master either.” Why, this unreasonable, difficult man! Taking a step back from you, he shakes out his sleeves and brushes a tendril of cornflower blue hair behind his ear, before giving you an ineffable smile. “As your master, shouldn’t you trust my words when I tell you that I am feeling perfectly fine? The only trouble I am expecting today is the paperwork for the upcoming Irodori Festival,” he gestures to the precariously balanced stack of scrolls next to his desk, “and the dinner meeting with those pesky Kanjou officials, but there is nothing else to worry your pretty head about.”
Kamisato Ayato is difficult to read. No matter which way the political wind blows or how the tides shift, whether the sun is blazing bright in the sky with opportunities or lightning thunders ominously over Inazuma, the unruffled expression he wears on his face is ever constant — as though he’s a player and not simply a pawn on the power struggle chessboard, always three steps ahead of his opponent. He presents you with that same, perfectly immaculate expression now, the corner of his lips pulled up in a smile of amusement, as though waiting for you to entertain him with your next move. It’s only a little exasperating when you’re just trying to get him to rest.
Still, you like to think that after having served under him for so long, you’ve picked up one or two of his tricks. Subtlety, espionage, intelligence, and… nope. Tired of this, you finally give up on propriety and launch yourself at him, intent on pinning down the slippery man once and for all. The two of you go tumbling across the tatami mats with the momentum of your tackle, loose sheets of paper flying into the air and you bite back a wince when your knee bumps against the edge of his desk.
“Woah, woah. Calm down, don’t hurt yourself.” Firmly ignoring his words and the warmth of the hand pressing against your lower back, you straddle him tightly by the waist and look around for your thermometer — it lies just out of your reach behind some missives, and if you were to move off him to retrieve it, he would surely slip away again. The plan must adapt.
“Pardon my boldness, milord,” you mutter, with little to no sincerity in your voice. Shaking your head, you send a prayer to the Shogun for allowing you to keep your job somehow (it’s truly a miracle how you haven’t been fired yet), before leaning down to press your palm against his forehead. Lord Ayato looks up at you from the floor with wide eyes, something that you’ve only seen a handful of times when you truly take him by surprise, before he sighs and closes his eyes in resignation, long eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks. You try your best to ignore the way your mouth goes a little dry at the sight.
Just as you’d expected, his skin is burning hot against yours — it’s definitely a fever, and no mild one at that. You should have forced him to rest earlier, with how many all nighters he’s been pulling recently. Getting off him immediately, you kneel before him and bow low. “Milord, your fever is severe and you need to have some proper rest. I will have the kitchens bring some medicine to your quarters right away.”
“I could simply—” he begins to protest, and you give him a severe look. If you leave him in his office, he’ll have started on that paperwork before the water for his medicine has even begun to boil.
“Milord,” you enunciate very slowly, as if he’s a drunk and you’re asking how many fingers you’re holding up. His mouth closes with a quiet clop. “I will not allow you to compromise on your health when I am around. If you find me disagreeable, you are more than welcome to send me away.”
It’s a line that never fails to work on him. Lord Ayato fixes you with an unreadable look for a moment, and when you stare back at him with an unwavering expression, his pale eyes soften ever so slightly, before he lets out a defeated sigh and rises to his feet. He stumbles a little, but you’re immediately by his side when he does, supporting him by the arm.
“Send a messenger to the Ritou and have them postpone the meeting with the Hiiragi Clan to another day,” Lord Ayato looks over the piles of missives scattered across the floor, before reaching over to pinch you on the nose. “I hope you’re glad that you’ve bullied your master into getting your way, hmm?”
“Very happy, milord,” you answer, batting his hand away from your face. “Come now. Let’s get you to your rooms.”
In his quarters, you assist him with removing the outer layers of his clothes — you don’t even know how he managed to muster the strength to put all four of them on in the morning, sick as he is — before tucking him securely into his blankets. “It’s almost as if you think I’m going to try to escape,” he says, with far too much amusement in his voice for an ill man.
You simply give him a look before beginning to put up several folding screens to block out the light in his room. All the while, Ayato watches you contentedly from beneath the covers as you move around his room, as familiar with every nook and cranny of it as he is. There’s work to be done, so much of it, but it’s impossible for him to say no to you, especially when you insist. He’s tried before, and has never once succeeded.
So much for a master and servant, Ayato thinks, despairingly amused at his own behaviour. Still, you tend to be right about most things, and this is no exception. Already, he can feel his eyelids growing heavy, the uncomfortable throbbing behind his temples growing ever incessant. Perhaps some rest will do him some good.
By the time you’re done adjusting the screens and lighting a stick of incense, the scented wax meant to soothe the nerves and calm the mind, you turn around to see the Yashiro Commissioner already fast asleep in his blankets, lips slightly parted as his chest rises and falls with each steady breath. “So much for not needing any rest,” you mutter to yourself with a roll of the eyes, but he makes one fitful noise in his sleep and you’re instantly there to soothe him with fingers combing through silky locks.
For a moment (or perhaps a few), you simply watch him get the rest he more than deserves. Lord Ayato looks younger, asleep, as most people do, but it is not just age that melts away on his features when he’s lost to dreams. Ever the perfectly unshakeable Commissioner, cultured and accomplished clan head and ever reliable older brother, sometimes you wonder if he ever gets tired of fulfilling all those roles. It’s the innocence, you decide as you brush a stray lock of hair from the corner of his mouth, and watch as he fidgets in his sleep, kicking the blanket to one side.
Stifling a laugh, you tuck the blankets around him once more. Whoever would have thought that the graceful head of the Kamisato clan still hasn’t grown out of such a childish habit?
Careful not to disturb his rest, you slip out of his rooms to give instructions to the kitchens, sneaking his sleeping form one last glance before you slide the door shut behind you.
When Kamisato Ayato’s eyes blink open hours later, the first thing he becomes aware of is the damp towel resting on his forehead. Sitting up slowly, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and glances at the folding screens — what meagre light they’re letting in is a warm, syrupy, evening orange. Ayato estimates that he’s been asleep for most of the afternoon, and a good part of the evening as well.
He presses a hand to his own forehead, tastes the bitter residue of a herbal concoction on his teeth and tongue. It seems the medicine that you had the kitchens make was quite effective in breaking his fever after all. You must have gotten the medicine into him somehow, although he doesn’t quite remember it, most likely through a mixture of coaxing and threatening. He bites back a short laugh at the thought — he knows he’s far from well behaved when he’s feeling unwell.
The next thing Ayato becomes aware of is your absence. Even though you’re his personal aide, it doesn’t mean that your work vanishes when he decides to take a day off. You’re probably busy running around placating the people he was supposed to meet with today, doing your best to clear lower level missives and paperwork in his place. It’s late, and if he has to make a guess, you’ve probably forgotten to eat an evening meal, too busy being buried under a mountain of work.
Just as Ayato makes up his mind to look for you, the doors to his room slide open and you enter his quarters with a steaming tray in your hands. Attention focused on balancing its contents, you don’t notice that he’s already awake until he calls your name.
“Oh, milord, you’re awake!” There’s a relieved note in your voice that pleases him, for reasons he’s not quite ready to confront. Setting the tray in front of him, you press the back of your hand to his forehead, attentive eyes scanning his face. You’re close enough for him to pick up the scent of ink clinging to your clothes. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” he answers truthfully. The headache that has been plaguing him for most of the morning has subsided significantly, and he no longer feels like he might just keel over at any moment. “How did playing Commissioner for a day go? Perchance you have some interest in taking over my position?”
You give him a wry look, picking up a bowl of okayu that he recognises as Thoma’s cooking. “No more interested than I am in becoming the Shogun of Inazuma, I’m afraid. I had someone deliver a message to Lady Ayaka to inform her that you had taken ill, and she apologises for being held up with some ceremonial affairs at the Grand Narukami Shrine. She promises to come by once she returns to the estate.”
His little sister is working hard as usual. Perhaps taking a break for one day isn’t as catastrophic as he worried it might be. “It’s hardly anything for Ayaka to be worried about.” He allows himself to focus on the bowl in your hands, pouting a little when he sees its bland contents. “And this is hardly anything to look forward to when sick, is it?”
“Don’t say that about Thoma’s cooking when you can’t even boil water right.” Ouch, you had decided to go right for the throat. “Ill people should eat food that’s easy on the stomach, and the okayu has nourishing ingredients that are said to promote quick recovery.” You place the bowl in front of him, and give him an expectant look. While he usually has no qualms eating whatever the kitchen staff prepare for him on regular days, Ayato suddenly doesn’t feel like going along with today’s meal. Sleeping all day long has left him well rested, but also terribly bored. And he knows just what the perfect cure is.
“It looks unappetizing, and the fever has left my arms so weak I couldn’t possibly lift a spoon,” he complains dramatically, letting his voice stretch out into a long, pitiful whine. The way you eye him as though you intend on giving him a good spanking is enough to keep him amused for days. It’s no secret that he enjoys watching people squirm, but every expression you make captures his attention wholly. “As my personal aide, how about you feed me, hmm?”
He says that in jest, fully expecting you to make that funny face where you scrunch up your nose and wrinkle your brow before scolding him, but to his surprise, you frown for a moment, as though you’re actually considering his words. Then you let out a sigh and pick up the bowl, gesturing for him to move over. “If you say so, milord.”
Kamisato Ayato is rarely surprised by anything, preferring to stay multiple steps ahead of any opponent, but when coming face to face with a completely unexpected turn of events, well... “Wait,” he begins to say, finding himself at a loss. He blames the fever. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go. “I was just—”
He’s interrupted by a spoonful of hot porridge in his mouth. “Ow,” is all he manages to make out. Even the slight scald of his tongue and cheeks feels oddly pleasant. “Hot.”
“Sorry, sorry.” You blow lightly over the next spoonful of okayu before holding it to his lips. “Here, this bite should be fine.”
Ayato eats the rest of his meal obediently, all while sneaking furtive glances at you between bites. Contrary to his childish complaints, the okayu is actually quite delectable, its subtle flavour just enough to satisfy his appetite without making him feel sick. He shouldn’t have expected any less; he’s more than familiar with Thoma’s prowess in the kitchen. By the time he’s finished, the sides of the bowl are scraped clean and his eyes are starting to feel heavy once more. Although he tries to hide it, you notice when he subtly holds back a small yawn and move to pick up the tray. Oh, that won’t do
“Then, I’ll leave you to rest, milord—”.
“A moment, please.” No person who values their life would dare describe the Yashiro Commissioner as shameless, but perhaps this too can be blamed on the fever. He picks up his buckwheat pillow from where it lies on his futon and sets it to the side. “The headrest is a little too hard for my liking. My neck was sore when I woke up from my rest.”
You give him a frown (it’s a perfectly good pillow that he’s been using for months now), but you give in with a defeated sigh and swallow your retort, leaning over to pick up the pillow. “Then, I’ll get another one for you right away.”
“I’m tired now, unfortunately.” Too late, you see the mischievous flicker in those pale blue eyes and instantly make a face. Still, as familiar as you are with your master’s tricks, you don’t expect it when he shifts himself closer to where you’re sitting before he rests his head tentatively against the side of your thigh. “This would be far more comfortable, don’t you think?”
“Milord!” You can’t see your face right now, but you’re sure it’s scarlet with embarrassment. Why, if someone were to walk in on the two of you right now, there would be no way you could properly explain what had transpired—
His laughter bubbles up from between his lips like a clear spring, unrestrained peals of genuine amusement. The sound is so rare, you almost can’t find it in you to mind that it came at your expense. Huffing with irritation, you reach out and grab his head firmly with your hands, careful not to dig your nails into his soft skin, and set his head in the cradle of your lap. The laughter slowly fades as your master looks up at you with something that resembles pleased surprise in his eyes. You don’t comment on how it makes them sparkle like clear cut crystals in the afternoon sun.
“You’re being unusually accommodating of my whims today,” Lord Ayato comments after a moment, after his laughter has died down completely and you’ve shifted to make yourself comfortable against the wall. He looks comfortable situated in your lap like this, lazy and indulgent, tracing a fingertip along the pattern printed on your kimono. Although you’re more than aware of his preferences for dogs, you can’t help but feel that he resembles a feline far more. “Perhaps I should fall sick more often?”
“Please banish the thought, milord,” you answer immediately. His hair spills over your knee, and you have to fight the urge to run your fingers through the soft strands. “Or I will accept a marriage offer on your behalf and have you wedded off to someone who actually has the time to babysit you.” This is because he’s sick, you reason with yourself. As his personal aide, you know how hard he’s been working over the past few days, so it is also your responsibility to indulge him occasionally. “Instead, please take better care of your own health so as to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
Lord Ayato shivers, perhaps at the thought of getting married, making a face of displeasure. You are very familiar with his distaste for the subject, with how many marriage proposals he’s tasked you to write letters of refusal for. “I’d come right back,” he says softly, turning to bury — bury!— his face against your side. You nearly startle at the ticklish feeling, one hand coming to rest on his hair to steady yourself. Soft, your mind provides unhelpfully. “No one takes better care of me than you.”
His voice is muffled, making him sound all the more petulant, like a sulking child. The dignified Yashiro Commissioner, sulking! You fight back a smile. “You’re being ridiculous, milord,” you tell him, your fingers starting to card through his hair absentmindedly. “No matter who you get married to, I would still remain in your service, would I not?”
At your words, he peeps up at you with hopeful eyes, almost boyish. “So, you would be willing to stay by my side forever?”
There’s something about the way he asks that question that makes you wonder if he’s has another intention behind those words, but no matter how you think about it, your answer would always be yes. You’re not skilled at reading between the lines like your master is, unfortunately. And as much as you lament that he’s unreadable at times, that he enjoys watching you squirm, that he’s a difficult master to handle, you also know how dedicated and loving he can be, and how fiercely protective he is over the people he holds close.
You know that you’re one of those people, after all.
So you answer honestly. “As long as you need me, milord.” There’s a slow, silent pause before he answers.
“That’s good,” Lord Ayato whispers, his voice unusually soft and reverent as though the two of you are making some sort of a sacred vow. Goosebumps race over your skin at his words, a warmth curling in the pit of your belly. “I’ll hold you to that, then. No take backs, no going back on your word.”
Too late, you realise that you may have just agreed to something that you don’t completely understand. Instantly suspicious, you take your master by the shoulder and begin to shake him insistently. Just as you’d thought, his smile is wide with satisfaction as though he’s a cat that just got the canary, and you can’t help feeling as though you are the canary. “Milord,” you scold, shaking him harder, “Milord, explain yourself properly.”
Lord Ayato merely gives a big, dramatic yawn right on cue — so exaggerated it would have made Sayu proud — nuzzling softly against your thigh. You shiver a bit. “I’m going to rest now,” he hums, completely deaf to your protests. “Thank you for taking care of me today. I promise I’ll work hard tomorrow,” before he promptly closes his eyes and refuses to respond even when you smack him on the shoulder.
You stare down at him, before you let out a sigh of defeat and shake your head. Right, this master of yours is a difficult, difficult man. Yet, you still can’t think of any reason to take back what you’d said. Sighing, you begin to run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and it’s not long before your master genuinely falls asleep, the sound of low, steady breathing filling your ears like the pulse of the tide.
He looks so vulnerable like this, asleep in your lap, completely unguarded in your presence, and in that moment you know that you would do anything for this man, even if it means offering him your life and everything that you possess.
“Yes,” you whisper quietly to him as he sleeps, letting your fingers wander down from his hair to brush over the curve of his high cheekbones, then the ghost of a touch against his parted lips. “I’d be willing to stay by your side forever, Kamisato Ayato. For as long as you need me, and even after that.”
Vow made, you retract your hand quickly, returning them to a more appropriate place in his hair. Not that this position could be called proper by any means, but it’s late enough that no one should walk in on this. Very few people dare to enter Lord Ayato’s personal quarters after all. You find yourself settling against the wall, closing your own eyes. “Just for a few more minutes,” you mutter to yourself, exhaustion finally catching up to you as well. Just a few more minutes, and you’ll put Lord Ayato’s head back on his buckwheat pillow (which you know that he likes, the dolt) and tuck him in. Just a few more minutes…
And that’s how Lady Ayaka finds the two of you when she returns from the Grand Narukami Shrine, the radiant smile hidden behind her fan as she looks over at the position you’re in from the older. Her older brother, deep in slumber and head pillowed in your lap, while your own head has lolled to the side, knuckles resting lightly against his cheek.
“Why aren’t you heading in, milady?” Ayaka turns around to see Thoma approaching, looking confused. After all, he was the one who had relayed the message that her brother had fallen ill to her. “Has he fallen asleep already—”
Ayaka hushes him before he can wake the two of you, shifting to the side so that Thoma can peer in. When he does, his green eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says, before the corners of his mouth tugs into a pleased smile. “Oh.”
“I shall check in with Older Brother about his health tomorrow,” Ayaka announces to Thoma as she slides the doors shut to give the pair inside their privacy. It’s not good manners to show one’s expressions extravagantly, but Ayaka can’t help the smile that blooms over her cheeks. “I hope that you shall see that his rest is not disturbed.”
Thoma’s eyes crinkle in understanding.
“Of course, milady.”