Chapter Text
“My Lord?”
The housekeeper rubbed the sleep from his eyes as they adjusted to the dim light of the study.
The young master sat in front of a tall window, silhouetted by moonlight that poured in through a tall window. The sill was adorned by dainty ceramic pots filled with neatly pruned foliage. The damp soil glistened in the night’s pale glow, having been watered just a few hours earlier by Thoma’s own hand.
In a paperback novel, he had read that watering bonsai at night had the effect of keeping the roots healthy. The protagonist of the story had been a master botanist from Sumeru, and Thoma’s sense of wonder told him it must be true.
On his days off, he devoured the light reading from the local book stand. He could finish a novel in a single night. The style of casual, affordable, serial literature reminded him of his lonely boyhood in Mondstadt, where the format was more popular. He couldn’t help but wonder if the founder of the publishing house - none other than Guuji Yae herself - had ever visited the city of wind.
Something about the Commissioner’s posture set Thoma ill at ease. The other man’s shoulders were rigid with tension and his hands were clasped together tightly on his desk.
The realization that something was amiss made him stand up straighter. Thoma’s mind set about remedying the situation. Reflexively, he folded his hands together in front of his body.
The posture was formal; more formal than Ayato had ever demanded of him while working. It had been the late Kamisato master who had demanded professionalism of all the staff, housekeeping included. He wasn’t sure why he did it now, but it felt appropriate. He couldn’t help but worry Ayato’s mood was in some way related to something he had done.
He suddenly felt quite exposed and vulnerable, dressed only in his bedclothes and robe. He had been summoned from his quarters long after being relieved for the night. Locks of his golden hair clung to the soft off-white silk, cascading over the Kamisato family crest that was embroidered over his heart. Out of uniform, without his long hair neatly pinned away, he felt exposed. Ayato broke the heavy silence.
“I want to relieve you of your duties, Thoma.”
It was in this way that the young lord phrased many of his instructions to his staff. Unaware that he could simply demand anything his heart desired, Ayato often prefaced instructions with the words 'I want'. His father had understood that his word was the law of the land, but Ayato had not yet fully grasped this truth, still young and green, hardly halfway through his twenties and already burdened with so much responsibility.
Thoma felt his shoulders lower. A fatigued smile graced his face and he felt himself exhale a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Was that all?
“Waka, the Lady relieved me hours ago. Is your work getting to your head?”
He thought a moment,
“Would you like me to bring you tea?”
Really, Thoma was itching to return to his bed. He was tired after a long day of work and any other servant would be irritated at the lord for rousing them, only to send them back to their quarters-
“Indefinitely,” Ayato adds after a beat.
Tea indefinitely? No, relieved indefinitely. The words felt like stone hurled at Thoma’s chest. The idea of being let go knocked the wind out of him and settled heavily, making his breaths short.
“Pardon me?” Thoma couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. He could hardly believe the scene unfolding before him was real.
He straightened up again, muscles and tendons hard and taught with anxiety as he scoured his memory of the previous day for mistakes.
Ayato’s afternoon meeting had been tense, and then explosive. Thoma could hear shouts coming from inside the study as he prepared refreshments for the men inside.
As he worked, he felt his extremities grew hot and then hotter still as the older commissioners undermined Ayato. They interrupted him and spoke over him, cutting in before he could finish his sentences. Thoma thought to himself that they would never have deigned to speak to his father in such a manner. How low did one’s morals have to be to exploit a young man’s gentle heartedness in his time of grief?
In his eyes, Ayato was even more deserving of respect than his late senior. His honest nature put him far and above those other brutes who couldn’t keep their hands out of foreign cookie jars. The dirt had hardly settled on their deceased colleague's grave and already they sought to manipulate his son who had lost both parents, just months apart.
He hadn’t noticed his grip on the chasen growing tighter and tighter, until the dainty tines of the whisk snapped, sending little shards of bamboo into the green paste he had been mixing.
Because of this momentary lapse in emotional regulation, Thoma had arrived with the tea late to the meeting. Attendees pushed past him in the doorway, eager to flee the tense air of the room without any niceties. Ayato had looked positively downtrodden, sitting at his desk with none of his usual bravado. Thoma felt his previous indignation on the master’s behalf turn to pity.
“My apologies.”
Thoma had said, vying to be heard over the commotion of the meeting disbanding. Footfalls filed out of the room as the proverbial dust began to clear.
“My Lord, your-“
Thoma’s foot caught on the something and in an instant, he found himself chest-down on the tatami flooring, boiled water trickling from the spout of the tea pot he had held on an ornate wooden tray. He scrambled onto his knees and righted the kettle, even as the heat of the ceramic burned his bare hand and made him recoil reflexively.
“My Lord, I am sorry!”
The little dish of matcha had been overturned and Thoma ineffectually tried to scrape it from the porous flooring but after a moment of effort, he knew it was in vain. The flooring could not be cleaned; only torn out in that spot and replaced. It was something he had learned shortly after his arrival in Inazuma.
Tatami was precious and near impossible to wash and thus shoes were not to be worn on it and great care was to be taken that nothing should spill.
The ceramic cups had not broken and that was all that comforted him as he felt blood rush to his ears - embarrassment. Guests were still nearby and here he was, the housekeeper, on the ground, covered in water. He had made matters even more difficult for Ayato. He had humiliated him.
After a moment’s hesitation, he raised his head to look at the man behind the desk. He was shocked by the look of anger on Ayato’s face. Ayato’s temper was typically still as a calm pool of water but now he looked enraged, looking not at Thoma but past him at some form that Thoma could not see.
“Did you trip him?”
The Lord demanded. Thoma wondered if the voice he had heard belonged to Ayato, but he had seen his lips move. He had never heard Ayato so incredulous. It had not even crossed Thoma’s mind yet - in the short few moments that had elapsed - that someone had tripped him.
He looked back and a bespectacled man opened his mouth to speak but Thoma spoke first. He urgently felt the need to dispel blame from his superior.
“My Lord, Lord Kujou did nothing of the sort!”
Still on his knees, he pressed his palms and his forehead into the tatami.
“My apologies, my Lord. I ask your forgiveness for-“
“Out. All of you.”
Thoma was again taken off-guard by the gruff tone Ayato took with him. It was new to hear from him. All afternoon he had been walked over like a doormat but now?
Thoma scooped the remnants of the refreshments onto the little tray and hurried out, taking care to let the door slide closed gently behind him. Emotions swirled in his stomach as the last of the gentlemen cleared the front door of the estate home. He was worried, hurt, embarrassed, and as he stood there taking the moment in, he realized his burned hand was throbbing.
Later, Ayato apologized profusely for the events of the afternoon. He also helped Thoma treat his burn properly. Cold water had eased the raw feeling on his reddened skin, and a carefully applied bandage would allow the injury to blister and heal without interfering with his work.
The end to their night had been so pleasant. It was a return to the tenderness he was used to. They had laughed and Thoma had recounted the events of his most recently read novel to Ayato, who seldom had time for light reading. The little rendezvous had been casual, and Thoma had been himself. He was at ease, a stark contrast from how he felt now.
Thoma fidgeted with the edge of the bandage as he stood there in the dark, trying to comprehend Ayato’s sudden rejection.
They had grown up together in that house. Thoma had grown from an unruly, unhappy teenager into a man, and Ayato had transformed from an impetuous and spoiled Commissioner's son, into the Commissioner himself.
How could they part?
“My Lo-“
“Stop calling me that.”
Ayato turned so that Thoma could see part of his face. His eyes were dark and fatigued. Thoma was sure he hadn’t slept yet that night.
He held his tongue, tense, frightened, and unsure of what to do or say. It was rare that he found himself at a loss for words that would improve a situation or that would mend bridges and set things right. Something was dreadfully wrong right now and he had no contacts, no intel, no idea how to fix it.
“Ayato,”
Thoma began in desperation,
“If this is about the tatami, please take the cost of repairs from my wage. You have my word that it will never happen again.”
Neither Ayato, nor his father would ever have demanded such recompense from him. They were fair employers. They were forgiving and graceful and saw to it that house staff were paid appropriately.
“That was not your fault Thoma.”
Ayato weakly raised a hand to stop the other man’s pleading.
“Kujou Kamaji tripped you. The way these men behaved today… It disgusted me. It wounded my spirit.”
He shook his head, brows furrowing together. Thoma could see that his exposed forearm was tense as he drummed the tips of his fingers on the desk in agitation.
“Father always said,” Ayato continued, “‘if you lay down with dogs, sooner or later you’ll rise and find that you have caught their fleas.’”
Thoma could do little other than stare into the darkness, heart hammering in his chest as his mind raced in a thousand directions. Where would he go? What would he do? How could he change Ayato’s mind?
“Thoma,”
Ayato looked directly at him now. The moonlight illuminated dainty trails down his soft unmarred skin where tears had been, likely just moments earlier.
“I don’t want fleas. I don’t want to become like these people. I cannot allow it.”
Thoma spoke now, fearing he had nothing to lose,
“Ayato, you are nothing like them and you never will be. You’re an honest man. I’ve known plenty of honest men in my time and you’re one of them. They can’t shake that about you. But why do I have to leave?”
His own cheeks grow hot, and then wet.
“Why are you sending me away? Please, whatever it is, I can fix it.”
“There’s nothing here for you to fix, Thoma.”
Ayato looked away again, unable to face the look of sadness and desperation in Thoma’s green eyes.
“Both of us are leaving. I would like for you to leave at my side, but if you wish to go your own way you are free to do so. You will be looked after regardless. I fear you have given this family more than we deserve already.”
Ayato sighed, gripping a pen tightly in his right hand for no reason other than to release his tension,
“I am powerless to stop the events that I have learned were set in motion long before my time. I can only withdraw my participation and lay my trust in the will of the Shogun.”