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Partitio has two fatal flaws: firstly, the innate desire to help any troubled soul he comes across, and secondly, chronically caring too much. Both draw him to Hikari like a moth to a flame.
Being in the business of trade, Partitio meets his fair share of quirky characters—especially now, as they travel far and wide across Solistia. And yet, no one has quite captured his attention in the way Hikari has. There’s simply so much to look at, to wonder about.
Hikari is patient, dealing with any problems with a level head. Hikari is selfless, putting the safety of others above himself. Hikari is wise, Hikari is loyal, and most importantly of all, Hikari is kind. He’s naturally inclined towards peace, towards serving others, and when he smiles at Partitio over the campfire, eyes crinkled into half moons, the merchant can understand why total strangers are willing to take up their weapons for him. There’s something about him that simply warms people.
Hikari is good. And yet, there are times when he looks haunted.
In a way, it’s all the time: during the quiet moments before bed, amidst a rowdy dinner at the tavern, and even in the blur of action on the battlefield. Behind each kind smile, every tranquil expression, lies a hollowness in the prince’s dark eyes. Something both flaming and smouldering. Conflicted. Sad. At his core, Hikari is never truly at peace—though Partitio has no idea what goes on in the prince’s head, he knows this.
This unrest is a part of Hikari, one that the party tries to ease him of whenever possible. But there are times when it worsens—when Hikari is gripped with a shadow that seems to sap the life out of him, thinning his breaths and paling his skin. A flicker of violet smoke and a gleam of red marks its arrival, and before Partitio’s eyes, the man who hesitates to take even the most insignificant of lives, who pays his respects to ever dilapidated trailside grave they pass, changes. He grows irritable, frantic, furious, even. The swing of his blade, once born of pure necessity, becomes relentless and monstrous. And though it passes as quickly as it arrives, Hikari is never quite the same afterwards.
Partitio remembers Montwise—the arena, the gladiators, and all that unnecessary bloodshed. He remembers the trancelike state Hikari had gone into, nearly running that brute Bandelam through then and there. Partitio remembers him snapping out of it, and crying out to prevent any more needless death. What Partitio recalls most vividly, however, is how the prince didn’t get a wink of sleep that night—how he curled up in the bed across the room, shivering for hours on end.
That was the first time Partitio saw it. That dark, mysterious influence. And tonight, it had returned yet again.
“You’re getting careless, Hikari,” Castti murmurs disapprovingly, wrapping yet another bandage around the prince’s leg. Crimson blood promptly stains the gauze. “I can treat wounds, but I’m not a miracle worker.”
“I know,” Hikari replies softly. “My apologies, Castti.”
Moonlight streams in through the inn window, casting bright beams across the bedspread Hikari sits on, allowing himself to be treated. Nearby, Throné leans against the wall, looking troubled.
“What happened out there?” she asks. “Back in Wellgrove. It was like you lost control.”
The answer is hesitant, measured. “I don’t know. I must have blacked out.”
Partitio frowns. He’d lied the last time, too.
After delivering the recovered weapons to Kazan in Sai, their group of four had found lodgings in Canalbrine nearby. The travel hadn’t done Hikari any favors; though Castti had already patched him up after his encounter with those generals—Rou and Ritsu, if Partitio recalls correctly—he was still weak, and his movements while fighting off monsters had been exceedingly sloppier than usual. Part of the exhaustion is due to the wounds, true, but Partitio knows better than to chalk it all up to a few cuts. He’d seen the way Hikari had changed, how he’d almost brought General Rou’s life to an end in those woods. Once again, he’d nearly lost himself, and once again, it’s left him shaken.
It’s not their business to pry—Partitio knows this. Hikari has never been particularly secretive. If he wanted to tell them, he probably would. But Throné is too used to repressing, bottling up her own feelings, to deny him that same privilege. Castti doesn’t have to listen to him tremble all night long.
And the truth is, Partitio worries about him. Be it the stubborn desire to serve or the unfortunate flaw of caring more than he should, he hates feeling like he can’t do a thing. Hikari has been so happy these days, more open with them than ever before, and, well . . . Partitio’s gotten attached. The feelings of friendly curiosity he once harbored for the prince have grown into something more private, more personal—something too deep and longing for Partitio to wrap his head around. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t.
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Partitio is worried, and if he’s going to do anything about it, he can’t let some hopeless infatuation get in the way.
Castti is the first to go, scolding Hikari for a moment longer before sympathy softens her expression. She advises him to get some rest, then leaves the room to do just that. Throné follows closely behind, with nothing but a somber glance in the prince’s direction before slinking out the door.
For a moment, the room is very still.
Nervously, Partitio glances over at Hikari. He certainly doesn’t seem in the mood for drinks tonight, or anything of the sort, but an invitation couldn’t hurt. “I’m gonna head on down to the tavern,” the merchant says, trying to strike that balance between upbeat and overbearing. “Wanna tag along?”
As expected, Hikari gives a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Partitio doesn’t blame him; he must be exhausted.
“All righty. Well, if ya need me—”
“Would you mind staying, actually?” The hoarse request stops Partitio in his tracks, as two dark eyes lift to meet his, silently pleading. “I . . . don’t want to be alone.”
And, oh gods, that has something in Partitio’s chest squeezing. He couldn’t say no if he tried. Should Hikari ever ask, he would do everything in his power to ensure the prince was never alone again.
“‘Course I can,” he replies, promptly shrugging off his jacket and sitting on the opposite bed. “I reckon Castti was right. What you need is a good night’s rest.”
Hikari gives a thin smile of gratitude, but doesn’t reply. A million thoughts seem to be swirling in his head, keeping him preoccupied. Partitio figures he has a lot to think about, after everything that’s happened in the past day. He just wishes he knew what was on his mind.
Back in Montwise, he’d been too hesitant to provide any comfort. Now, he at least feels bold enough to give it a shot. Busying himself with unpacking his things, he poses the question carefully: “You doin’ all right, Hikari?”
The prince jolts slightly, blinking out of whatever reverie he’d slipped into. “What? Why do you ask?”
“Well, obviously you got roughed up somethin’ fierce during that fight. That ain’t what I mean, though. Somethin’ happened to you tonight. The same thing that happened back in Montwise.”
“Ah.” Hikari sounds resigned, defeated. “So it is noticeable.”
Partitio’s movements slow. He looks over to find the prince staring down at his hands, brows knit together. “Listen, I don’t mean to pry, honest. But I can’t help but fret a bit when you come out of battle lookin’ like you’ve seen a ghost. I just want to help, or at least know what’s goin’ on.”
The prince lets out a puff of air, almost a laugh. “You . . . have a tendency of wanting to help, don’t you?”
A stab of sheepishness warms Partitio’s cheeks, but he brushes it aside. “It’s what I do,” he replies firmly. “At least give me the chance to bear the load with ya.”
Hikari’s expression is gentle, pondering, as he looks Partitio over. At last, he sighs. “It is . . . not an easy load to bear. For generations, it has plagued my ancestors, and now it is my burden.”
“What is ‘it,’ exactly? A curse?”
“Of sorts.” Hikari frowns. “It is difficult to explain.”
“Try me.”
“All right.” He pauses, thinking. “Imagine being able to meet the worst possible version of yourself. The kind of person you would never wish to become, no matter how dire the situation was.”
Partitio hums, nodding, though he has a hard time picturing what such a version of himself would be. One of those greedy tycoons who’d squeezed the life out of Oresrush, maybe. A thief. A tyrant. The thought isn’t a pleasant one, that’s for sure.
Hikari continues. “Now imagine that, at your most vulnerable moments, this version of you haunted your thoughts, your actions, trying to drive you to give in to your worst traits. That is what I must endure.” His fingers ghost over one of his bandages, smoothing over the fresh stain. “Everytime I incapacitate an opponent, or come close to winning a battle, he— it tries to coax me into finishing them off. Shadow’s Hold.”
Partitio feels like he’s been gutted. Sure, he’d always knew Hikari was dealing with a lot, but a literal murderous spirit possessing him? It sounds like torture. And to think, the prince bears it with such resilience—only twice has it affected him enough for Partitio to notice. “That’s awful,” he says quietly. It’s all he can say.
Hikari just shakes his head, expression bittering. “He says it’s inevitable. He says it is who I am.”
“Hold on now. You know that ain’t true.”
“But what if he’s right?” Something desperate breaks Hikari’s voice as he looks up. “The clan Ku has always been bred for war. Perhaps—perhaps killing is all I’m good for.”
The sadness festering in Partitio’s chest quickly bubbles into hot indignance. Before he knows it, he’s risen to his feet. “Hikari, are you listenin’ to yourself? That shadow fella doesn’t know the first thing about ya! You’re upstandin’ and brave and good, and—and you don’t kill. Even when it’d be easier, and even when they probably deserve it, you never make the final blow. You stopped the cycle of violence in that arena and let those betters live. Hell, you even spared that general tonight.” He can hardly control his movements now—the way his feet carry him across the room, and his hands stretch out to help Hikari carefully to his feet. The prince’s hands are small, cool clasped between his. “Look at me. You aren’t the man he says you are.”
Hikari’s lips part softly, his eyes wide and glassy enough to show the merchant’s reflection. He doesn’t speak, and for one terrifying moment Partitio worries he’s overdone it. But instead, the prince does something unexpected; he leans forward to wrap his arms around Partitio, in an inexperienced but sincere embrace.
“Thank you, Partitio,” he murmurs into the merchant’s shoulder.
It’s awkward, with all the timidness of someone who doesn’t give many hugs but deserves hundreds more, and, oh gods, once he holds on Partitio never wants to let him go. If he were a more selfish person, he wouldn’t.
But respect comes first, and Partitio is the first to let go, politely allowing an out. But though Hikari retracts his arms as well, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he studies the merchant’s face, as if trying to memorize every line and freckle on his skin. The mere inches between them somehow feels more illegal than the proximity of zero inches mere moments ago, and Partitio clears his throat, a nervous sort of heat sweeping through his body.
Hikari’s eyes are dark and uncertain in the low light. Unexpectedly, his hand lifts upwards, adjusting the brim of Partitio’s hat, filling the air between them with something electric. Then, it falls to his side.
“. . . Hikari?”
“Forgive me,” the prince murmurs, before leaning in. The first brush of his lips against Partitio’s is a moment the latter isn’t sure he’ll ever forget.
Given the chastity of it, the stiffness of it all, the kiss really shouldn’t have the effect that it does. But suddenly the heat underneath Partitio’s skin is broiling, nearly lifting him right off the wooden floorboards. Hikari doesn’t touch him. The only point of contact is their mouths, only giving Partitio the opportunity to focus on the feeling of the prince’s lips more—the slight roughness to them, and the lingering sweetness from the grapes he’d had earlier. It’s electrifying—a strike of lightning on the spot, in the privacy of the inn, with their companions sleeping mere doors away.
It lasts both five seconds and an eternity. Hikari pulls away first, and he does so stoically, never taking his eyes off Partitio. But despite his courage, there’s a resignation to it; he’s already punishing himself for the weight of the decision. He opens his mouth—to apologize, to bid him goodnight, to ask him to never speak of this again—but Partitio doesn’t give him the time. For once, his selfish streak wins out. His hands move before his brain does, shooting out to grab some element of Hikari, his shoulders, his face, anything to pull him back in for another.
Their mouths clash unceremoniously this time, with a light inhale from Hikari and a terrifying thudding in Partitio’s chest. He’s never done this before, not with a man, certainly not with a prince, and definitely not with a prince that he likes. But the thrill surging through him, parts intrigue and desire and panic, is what guides his movements. As he gives Hikari a kiss, a real kiss, he feels the prince’s hands slowly settle onto his shoulders, sliding down his chest, hooking onto the fabric of his vest, and suddenly fireworks are going off in his stomach.
Time blurs into a haze again. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, maybe an hour. This time, Partitio breaks it first—mostly because he feels like he’s going to explode. The sight of Hikari, slightly dazed with cheeks dusted pink, makes him want to jump into bed and hide under the covers. It also makes Partitio want to kiss him silly.
He does neither of those things. Instead, he draws in a shaky breath, smoothing his thumbs over the silk sash encircling Hikari’s waist—when had his hands ended up there? It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the prince is watching him, so intensely he might as well burning holes through Partitio’s skull, and waiting for him to say something. Anything.
It isn’t an easy feat with the taste of grapes and the scent of jasmine still fogging up his brain, but Partitio gives it a shot. He lets the first coherent thought that comes to mind slip out. “Shucks.”
Genius.
It seems to be the right move, however, as it makes Hikari’s mouth turn shyly upwards; he’s always been fond of Partitio’s slang. “Shucks, indeed.”
“I—er—you—” No words left could properly convey how giddy Partitio feels right now. And stupid. The last time he stuttered this much was when Ochette asked him where babies came from. “Wow.”
It’s not enough reassurance. A shadow casts itself over Hikari’s face, warmth turning to worry in a matter of seconds. “I . . . apologize for advancing on you without warning. It wasn’t courteous of me.” He attempts to worm out of Partitio’s grasp, but the merchant’s hands are like iron on his waist.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on now. Are you just gonna mosey on past the fact that I kissed you back? Because that very much felt like a joint effort to me.”
“Ah,” Hikari says, his flush deepening—he’s even more endearing when flustered, Partitio notes with a slight pang of devastation. “Well, I wasn’t certain if . . .”
“If?”
“If you were just trying to appease me.” It comes out in a shameful mutter, as the warrior’s gaze falls. “I don’t want to make you feel like you need to do anything.”
Partitio blinks. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting at all. Does Hikari really see himself as someone who others merely tolerate to stay on his good side? An imposing prince who forces submission onto all he comes across? And, most baffling of all, he thinks Partitio wouldn’t want to kiss him?
“Hikari,” he begins gently. “Pardon my manners, but you aren’t makin’ a lick of sense.”
“You don’t owe me anything on account of my own foolishness. I know that. And I hope that we can continue to be friends—”
“Hikari, I kissed you back because I wanted to. I—” Partitio hesitates, swallowing. “I’ve been sweet on ya for a while now, y’know. Long before any of . . . this.”
This is what finally manages to clear the clouds from Hikari’s expression; nothing could overshadow the pure surprise that fills his face. “You have?”
“‘Course I have. Anyone would be. I just reckon I thought . . . Well, I figured you weren’t interested.”
“Why would you think that?”
It’s such an innocent question, posed with such bemusement, that Partitio nearly laughs. He really has no clue, does he? “Well, you’re royalty. Hell, for all I knew, you could’ve been betrothed to some Eastern Continent noble. All that aside, you’re a hard fella to read. I . . . didn’t want to be wrong.”
Hikari smiles, looking more at ease than he’s been in the past twelve hours. One of his hands slides up Partitio’s shoulder, along his neck, to toy with a dark tuft of hair. It feels strange, this closeness between them—foreign, but right. “Well, you don’t have to worry any longer. Whether I returned your feelings or not was never a question.” His voice grows coy. “If I’d known of your side of things sooner, perhaps I wouldn’t have spent as much time agonizing over a confession.”
Partitio feels like he could walk on air. “Aw, all that fuss over little ol’ me? You know I’d follow you anywhere, Hikari.”
“The path ahead will not be easy,” the prince replies, some of his solemnity returning. “You know this. Are you sure you wish to tread it with me?”
“I don’t make promises like that lightly, y’know,” Partitio replies simply. Leaning forward, he presses his lips softly against Hikari’s forehead. “You’re stuck with me, shadow curse or not.”
Hikari’s eyes glimmer as his hand slides downwards, wrapping around Partitio’s wrist. “And I’ll spend your journey by your side, no matter how many thugs you hire.”
“Hey, now, that was one time! I didn’t know he was a thief—”
The merchants protests are cut off by Hikari’s laugh, gentle and fond. It’s a sound that, as he’s playfully pulled into bed, Partitio thinks he’ll never get enough of.