Chapter Text
Kiyoomi hadn’t realized how much his life was about to change until he was almost killed in his marital bed.
It was the night after the wedding, the palace already long void of the clatter and music that had permeated the halls after the ceremony. Before falling asleep, the only thing Kiyoomi could hear was the faint humming of the autumnal wind, already freezing though it was barely September, and the soft breaths of his now-husband who lay next to him, too far away to touch.
It wasn’t as if Kiyoomi minded. He had always been particular about his personal space and was glad that though they had to share the bed this first night, they didn’t have to share their bodies. There was no need to consummate the marriage since either way there was no heir to be. There was no need for one. This, between the two of them, was merely a political alliance of kingdoms whose affairs had become progressively more strained throughout the years, and for their people who yearned for peace.
Kiyoomi had always known that he was nothing more than a political vessel – to both his parents and the entire kingdom of Itachiyama. He was the near youngest of the royal family of Sakusas and was likely never going to wield the power of the king. Because of this, he was also in no dire need to produce offspring to secure the continuation of their bloodline, unlike his older siblings. Someone more naïve would’ve thought that to be enough reason for him never needing to marry. They would’ve been wrong, obviously.
Kiyoomi had always been aware that even though his obligations were scarce, he would never be able to live his life freely. He would always remain a pawn under the rule of the king and the queen. It didn’t matter that he no longer lived under the same castle roof, opting to stay in the royal family’s spring palace instead, closer to their southern border where the wind only pierced and didn’t tear.
Despite the illusion of independence, he had always known that choice was one of the few privileges he wasn’t allowed to enjoy. And though that was a cold reality to face, Kiyoomi had decided not to submit to sadness. He had no choice, so why would he waste his only life by wallowing in self-pity when he could get through it maybe not happy but at least content? Content with the decisions he could make and brave when faced with those he couldn’t. When life was not soft on him, he hardened with it. What else could he have done?
So, Kiyoomi hadn’t chosen the thinly veiled threats Itachiyama had sent to Inarizaki during the past years.
He hadn’t chosen the conditions under which Itachiyama wouldn’t wage full-on war.
He hadn’t chosen to get married.
But that he now was, lying in bed with a two-meter space between him and his spouse he had never truly talked to. There was no need, really. He could tolerate his new husband and the change he brought with him, but he didn’t have to enjoy it. The bed they shared was merely a tradition – as Kiyoomi had curtly explained to him after seeing the uncomfortable look on his face – a show for the court and a promise to each other. Tomorrow night they would already get to spend in the comfort of their own chambers.
He could deal with this, he thought before falling asleep, he could manage this – as if turning a sentence into a mantra would somehow make it hold more truth. Both of them, Kiyoomi and his spouse, were mere pieces in their kingdoms’ political play, and thus there was no need nor sense to bear malice to his newly acquired other half.
That was before Kiyoomi fell asleep and before he woke up in the middle of the night, to the sight of a dagger raised above his chest.
The golden blade shone in the dim candlelight of the room, but not as brightly and dangerously as the gold-colored eyes of the one holding it. Kiyoomi could see how his pupils were almost slitted despite the darkness of the room, how wildly the flames in his irises danced. Kiyoomi could see how the fire inflamed his retinas, making his eyes gleam ever more brilliantly.
Kiyoomi could feel a weight on top of him, where his husband had straddled him between his tights. Kiyoomi could see his whole body tremble with rage, could hear the short, shaking breaths taken through teeth clenched together.
There was a monster in Kiyoomi’s bed, feral and unhinged and gorgeous.
That monster didn’t mind that Kiyoomi’s eyes were suddenly open, just stared straight back at him who was frozen in place, merely watching. Watching how rapidly his chest rose and fell. How his hands shook where he had raised the dagger. How his muscles tensed. How he cried.
Carefully, as if handling a beast, Kiyoomi raised his hand. His husband started but didn’t move.
“Lay down your arms, Atsumu,” he whispered, soft and careful, a tone unbecoming for the cold prince of the freezing lands – unbecoming for a situation as dire as this. “Otherwise, I’m forced to call for the guards.”
With the mention of guards, Atsumu glanced at the door of the chamber, though for but a moment. Before long, his wild gaze was back on Kiyoomi as if it had never left.
Atsumu did lower his arms, but not in a way more favorable to Kiyoomi. In a flash, the dagger was hovering close to Kiyoomi’s neck. He instinctively raised his chin to get some distance between his face and the dagger. When he swallowed, the blade scratched his adam’s apple.
He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was fear that held him paralyzed or the way he was enamored by the murderous sight before him, swimming in the warm hues of candlelight in juxtaposition to the silver moonlight of the night.
Atsumu’s face too was closer now. The blond strands, previously combed back, had fallen to his face. His nightwear was crumbled on his skin, the other sleeve had fallen off his shoulder. His hands didn’t shake anymore, but that didn’t mean he looked certain.
Kiyoomi felt a stray tear drop on his own face.
Kiyoomi was silenced by the scene unraveling in front of him, incapable of calling for help. Afterward, Kiyoomi would question his own sanity for this. Though his mind was reeling, his expression not once betrayed any emotion, if not for slight disbelief. Or perhaps, wonder.
Was that truly someone, kept better safe than hardly anyone else in the kingdom, in the face of death? Was he so certain that Atsumu wouldn’t kill him? Or was he willing to die?
“You took everything from me,” seethed Atsumu finally, silent but fierce. The words were tense as if they were hostages escaping his mouth. The tears were now running a rampant current down his cheeks. Some of them kept hitting Kiyoomi’s skin, warm wades of the man’s sorrow.
“I know,” answered Kiyoomi, breathless. “I know.”
Atsumu shook his head, a small, almost unnoticeable thing. It was weathered down by sadness, too enormous to bear.
“No, you don’t,” he whispered. “You truly don’t.”
Suddenly, the weight was off Kiyoomi’s lap. The dagger disappeared from his throat.
Atsumu slumped to the other side of the bed, the mattress jumping with the weight of his body. When Kiyoomi peeked from the corner of his eye, Atsumu was lying there, glossy, red-rimmed eyes unseeing the ceiling. There must’ve been something weighing him down too, but the pressure straddling him could not be made out with the naked eye.
Kiyoomi turned slowly to face him, and with careful movements peeled his fingers off the hilt and took the dagger from his hand. He barely touched Atsumu but shivered as their skin made contact for the first time. The man who cried warm tears had freezing skin.
The dagger itself was beautiful as Kiyoomi inspected it. The design on the handle was intricate as though it had been made of snake scales, and the blade had a skillfully carved fox symbol on it. Its familiar eyes held citrine in them.
Kiyoomi placed it on the bedside table.
When he was asked about it in the morning, he said that it had been a special gift from Inarizaki.
A mere letter opener.
Kiyoomi was determined on making the most of the life that was barely his but realized that this was something he had forced himself to learn out of necessity. Not everyone had the need or means to learn to cope with the whims of his parents and siblings – and that is not counting the instability of many matters of their kingdom.
Atsumu was one of those people. He had unwillingly become a pawn in the twisted game Kiyoomi’s parents played. He was unused to the rules that sometimes didn’t exist and the possibilities that would eat themselves inside out before ever appearing.
Kiyoomi remembered the first time he saw him. It was only two weeks before their marriage, and though Itachiyama’s winds had become howling and the air dry with the winter that was knocking at the door, Inarizaki was still in bloom. Some late summer flowers were still thriving though the air was cool, the sunshine was friendly and so was the breeze. Leaves were slowly being painted yellow, red, and orange, all warm hues of the breaking dawn.
It was a magical sight, and so were the princes. Yes, there were two.
They were nearly identical, but there were some things that very obviously told them apart. The other’s – who was introduced as Crown Prince Osamu – hair was a shade much darker than Atsumu’s, and though he was the next in line to the throne, he was dressed much more modestly than his brother. Atsumu was clad in burgundy so rich and dark that the untrained eye could’ve mistaken it for black. The crown on his head was garnished with blood rubies, and so were his golden earrings, necklaces, and rings.
His clothes were reminiscent of funeral attire – just a shade off. Kiyoomi doubted the choice was a coincidence.
As they were introduced to each other, Kiyoomi could feel Osamu’s gaze sitting on him and only him, stifling. Kiyoomi was close to adjusting his collar but refused to show how uncomfortable he truly was. He stood tall, even as the upcoming king’s cold inspection made him feel as though he were nothing but a worm.
Their interactions remained cordial despite the tension hanging heavily between them. Kiyoomi, out of nothing but respect for the royal family, asked for Atsumu’s hand from the Queen. As she accepted, Kiyoomi gave Atsumu the ring they had prepared for him; a simple golden band with three white diamonds. His wedding ring would bear a design much more intricate, with diamonds and rubies that were worth more than a mineful of gold. Atsumu bid his goodbyes smiling and without a scene, before rising to his own, personal carriage along with the two maids he brought with him.
After giving the extravagant gifts prepared beforehand and swearing on keeping Atsumu safe and happy, Kiyoomi turned his back on Osamu and the other members of the court present and went for his own carriage. Only when they were on the road and the palace disappeared from view, did Kiyoomi allow himself to relax.
His parents hadn’t allowed even a feast to take place before leaving with Atsumu – Kiyoomi was to be home at a few days’ notice with his fiancé in tow – not a preference but an order. They didn’t want him to stay in Inarizaki any longer than necessary. Likely, if not for the norms that were still to be respected, they would’ve rather he didn’t go at all. It was a land of savages, they’d not said but implied, and Kiyoomi had long ago become an expert at deciphering the language of what was left unsaid.
Kiyoomi felt as though he was a kidnapper taking someone as ransom.
He couldn’t even begin to fathom what Atsumu was feeling.
He looked out of the carriage window, at the calm lake that reflected both the sun and the sky above, and the city that rested on its shore. There were children playing on a sandy patch of the beach, running around flying colorful kites. Only after they’d nearly passed them by, did Kiyoomi notice the royal crest painted on every single one of the kites embracing the cloudless sky.
Kiyoomi thought of Itachiyama where winter ate most of the year and left the rest foggy and wet, of the silence that prevailed every time the royal family was present, ringing louder than words. Of children becoming adults too soon, of an army that took many and returned few. He thought of mountain tops that always wore a coat of snow, of the days of his childhood filled with studying, of the snappy voice of his royal tutor, the fear he still felt when faced with his father.
Kiyoomi thought of hatred, of frost, and games of chess that no one ever won – and couldn’t place any of it in Inarizaki. There, though his stay short and the Crown Prince’s glare icy, could he only see the warmth that permeated all.
A warmth from which Atsumu was stolen away.
After that first night together began the flood of nights spent apart. Kiyoomi settled back in his familiar chambers, and Atsumu was guided to his own. As Atsumu was first escorted, Kiyoomi could’ve sworn he looked back at him as if asking if Kiyoomi truly would let this happen. Let a threat into his home.
Kiyoomi raised a brow as if he had no idea what Atsumu was insinuating.
It was left at that. They didn’t mention that night for long afterward, not to each other or to anyone else. It was their little secret, and though grim and unpleasant, it tied them together. Two chess pieces always moving side by side, the other showing the way, the other following reluctantly behind.
Even though the bond was established, it was nothing to hold them physically together. Very rarely would you see the two of them stand side by side, and even more rarely would you see them talk to each other. They remained apart not only during the nights but also during the days. Because though they knew of their bond and its firm existence, they also knew it was one reluctantly and violently established.
Even if Atsumu now held some power in the eyes of both the court and the people, it was still a façade. Seen as the savage enemy of the South, it wasn’t as though anyone would’ve listened to him, so all political meetings Kiyoomi had to attend, he did so alone. He studied alone, rode his horse alone, and played violin alone. For the most part, he even ate alone. Atsumu didn’t always arrive to share their meals, and it wasn’t as if Kiyoomi would’ve reprimanded him for it.
One of the rare times Atsumu stood by his side was during their few public appearances. Those were arranged as a way to assure the people that everything between the nations was going smoothly and that there was no need for another war with yet another people. The silent message that Atsumu’s presence carried was often the lone reason for people to celebrate him, the one who was seen as nothing but a nuisance in the royal court.
The peasants quickly came to love the man that held a dashing smile and who spoke with soft words, who never looked down on them even as he stood taller than them. He had been the one to suggest he meet the people face to face, though not to Kiyoomi, and he was certainly keen on making the most of it for himself and the people that was now his.
Kiyoomi, watching from the sidelines, could tell that it was those occurrences that Atsumu truly loved. He was beautifully honest with the townsfolk; he meant every sugarcoated word and honeyed look. When he was asked how he liked it in Itachiyama, he avoided the question – refusing to lie. Kiyoomi respected it.
But the people didn’t know how the noblemen looked at Atsumu as if he were a vermin, a leech stuck to the side of the royal family. They didn’t know how they whispered about him, not only those with power but also the workers of the palace. They didn’t know how dark Atsumu’s eyebags were under the layers of makeup his maid had helped him put on. It was hard for even Kiyoomi to see it, but he did.
Somewhere along the way, he had become adamant about seeing everything there was to Atsumu.
Weeks passed by. The rain that drummed the palace windows turned vicious, and the winds that guided it strengthened each day. It was rare now for Kiyoomi to leave the palace grounds to ride or hunt – it would’ve been for naught, in this weather. They no longer met with the people either. That became irrelevant soon as their little tour was over. Kiyoomi remained inside for days on end, still rarely coming across the man he had promised the rest of his life to.
Sometimes he would ask the staff about Atsumu’s whereabouts, only to know that he was well and safe, he told himself. He learned that Atsumu spent most of his days in the royal library or his own chambers. Sometimes, a maid once told Kiyoomi, he would be in one of the rooms that held a piano and would play there for hours. None of the melodies were ones the staff could recognize.
He rarely ate is what Kiyoomi also came to know. And when he did, it would be little no matter how much his personal maids would beg of him. He was royal, after all. In the end, hardly anyone could tell him what to do.
To be quite frank, Kiyoomi didn’t mind the days spent in silence, not coming across anyone else but the staff and the few members of the court he must hold close. The palace and the whole kingdom were in a hibernation-like state, sleeping but not quite. But what he minded were the rumors that still ran rampant, the only form of entertainment the palace had to keep warm on these cold days.
The rumors never addressed Kiyoomi, which should’ve made him feel at ease. His staff still had high respect for him or feared him enough not to say an unpleasant word about the prince. But though that was the fact, it only made him feel worse. The whispers were always about Atsumu, who was cornered and shunned in his own house.
“Maybe that would be the reason why he never leaves his room,” said Motoya once, when Kiyoomi revealed his concerns and the disgust he held for the court on this subject.
They were having dinner, just the two of them since Atsumu hadn’t, yet again, shown up. There were no servants present, and the guards stood outside the dining hall, allowing them to talk freely.
“I know I wouldn’t want to show face if all that was said of me was as gross as it is.”
Kiyoomi remembered the whispers. The ones that told that Atsumu ate like a savage and therefore never shared his meals with the prince. The ones that told that he was illiterate since they had seen him struggle reading – not minding the fact that most of the books in their library were written in the language of Itachiyama, one Atsumu hadn’t grown up speaking. There were hushes about his looks and his mannerisms, of the way he spoke, of his accent, of everything a person could be criticized on.
“What can I do?” asked Kiyoomi. “It’s not as if I can address the rumors, it would only worsen the state of things.”
Motoya sighed, in the way he usually did when he thought Kiyoomi was blind to something so obvious he shouldn’t even have to state it. It made Kiyoomi’s eye twitch.
He wiped his lips clean before answering, “No, you can’t. But he needs an ally, Kiyo. I can only believe how it feels for him, to be alone against all this.”
Kiyoomi blinked, a bit dumbly.
Motoya sighed again, more dramatically. The lord leaned back in his chair in a way that would’ve gotten him harsh looks if there were anyone else present.
“He needs you as an ally, Kiyo.”
Kiyoomi thought of the man that held a dagger with unshaking hands, who seethed with anger and grief for a life that wasn’t his anymore. He thought of the way his tears had fallen on Kiyoomi’s face, burning his skin with unseen fire.
But he also thought of the man who made children laugh and took the gifts handed to him with grace, no matter how worthless they would’ve seemed in the eyes of someone who had grown in the middle of all riches imaginable.
“He would loathe me for trying to assist him,” Kiyoomi said. “He would think I see him as weak.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
Kiyoomi frowned. Motoya didn’t mind.
“He doesn’t need assistance; he needs someone on his side. If you show him that you are standing next to him, it’s enough. It’s also enough for all the rumors to die down, surely. The court respects you too much to slander a person you willingly share your time with.”
Though they dropped the subject at that, Kiyoomi held Motoya’s words close. There was a reason why Motoya was the self-dubbed favorite cousin as well as his closest advocate. He could be irritating at times, or most of the time, but he could also give good advice. And even if Kiyoomi usually pretended not to heed any of it, they both knew it was nothing but a front.
So that’s what had Kiyoomi rising the steps to Atsumu’s quarters, only a short way from his own, and asking the guards to let him in. They tried hard not to let their confusion show, but it was too clearly written on their faces as they scrambled to open the door for him.
When Kiyoomi stepped inside the spacious room, he felt as if he’d stepped inside a lion’s den. But there was no wild beast, only a man with the eyes of one. He was sitting on a lounge chair reading, clad in a white silk shirt and bright red pants to go with it. They were a far thing from loungewear, almost as if Atsumu had expected him.
That would’ve explained why as he raised his head, his expression held only thinly veiled contempt.
Kiyoomi motioned for the servants to leave and for the door to be closed. In seconds, they were alone, just the two of them. The last time they’d shared private time like this, Kiyoomi had almost been killed.
Kiyoomi stepped closer.
“Your Highness,” Atsumu addressed, not rising from his seat. “To whom do I owe the honor?”
“The honor is no one else’s but my own, Your Highness,” answered Kiyoomi, slightly bowing regardless of Atsumu not returning the favor.
Atsumu’s smile was so mean it could’ve bitten someone’s head off.
“How charming. What is that you require of me, sir? It must be something of importance since His Highness himself came to consult me at this hour.”
Why are you bothering me? It better be something very important, he was saying, speaking in the language Kiyoomi knew well – the one read between words.
Kiyoomi kept his expression in check. He didn’t want Atsumu to see how his words shook him, made flames dance in his spine. He didn’t avert his eyes even though the golden irises he stared at were nearly painful in their heat.
“Worry not, Your Highness, as I do not wish to bother you for long,” said Kiyoomi. “I wanted to come personally and request you to be present at breakfast.”
Atsumu raised his eyebrows.
“Oh. I wasn’t aware you would be housing visitors tomorrow,” he said.
“There are none to be aware of,” confirmed Kiyoomi. “It would be just the two of us. So once again, I am requesting your presence.”
“Is this a command?”
“It is nothing of the sort.”
Atsumu hummed. He put the book on the side table next to him and rose to stand. He took a few steps closer to Kiyoomi, standing now eye to eye with him.
“May I be fully honest with you, Your Highness?” he asked.
Kiyoomi bit the inside of his mouth before answering. “I would want nothing less.”
“Very well,” said Atsumu. His already biting smile turned even sharper, if possible. “I would rather choke on my own shit and die than be in your presence for a second longer than I’m required.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes widened. He couldn’t help it, he had never been spoken to in that way. He wasn’t even sure where Atsumu had learned words like that. They were ones you could not learn by studying the books they had in the palace.
It was for but a flash before he quickly schooled his expression back to the usual indifference.
“I understand,” he answered. “My offer still stands. If you ever change your mind, you’re always welcome at my table.”
Kiyoomi could swear there was a tad of frustration tied to Atsumu’s hands as he crossed his fingers together before himself. He must’ve expected more of a reaction out of Kiyoomi, but that wasn’t something Kiyoomi was willing to give him.
“His Highness is so kind,” he purred.
Kiyoomi couldn’t really return the sentiment, so he merely nodded in lieu of an answer.
“I will not take any more of your precious time,” he said. “Have a good night’s rest, Your Highness.”
There was something almost grim in the way Atsumu answered,
“You as well, sir.”
Kiyoomi stepped out of the room, blatantly ignoring the servants eavesdropping by the door. He massaged his temple as he made his way back to his own chambers, as fast as he could get away from his spouse whose presence at the palace was quickly forming into a headache.
When Kiyoomi slept that night, he dreamed of a fox tearing him apart, limb from limb. As it raised its bloody snout, Kiyoomi’s flesh hanging from between the sharp teeth, he noticed it had the most brilliant, golden eyes.
Kiyoomi, to no one’s surprise, ate alone that morning. Though he barely ate anything, too sick from the lack of sleep and the frustration that seemed to radiate off of him. The servants were uncomfortable around him and those that didn’t need to stand by his side ran a mile away.
He knew they were whispering again, of his sour mood and the visit he’d made to his royal consort’s chambers the evening before. That did nothing to dissipate his annoyance. He hadn’t been successful in the task he’d set out for himself, only worsened the situation tenfold.
For the next few days, he didn’t see Atsumu at all. Was it for the fact that Atsumu clearly avoided him as much as possible, or for the fact that Kiyoomi, too, was steering away from the other’s chambers and the halls he knew him to frequent the most? Perhaps it was a sum of both those factors.
But it wasn’t for long that the state of things remained so uncomplicated. The first storms of autumn were finally dying down, and thus there were more guests to feed and tend to. And due to this, both halves of the couple had to meet once more to fulfill these duties neither of them enjoyed.
The first few visits flew by with no added tension. The quests either remained cordial with Atsumu or ignored him most respectfully. They knew it wasn’t becoming to criticize their host – at least to his face.
Atsumu took everything with a stride. His smile would grow irritated at times, but Kiyoomi could bet his crown on the fact that no one else could notice that slight change. It wasn’t as if the others were paying any attention to Atsumu.
It wasn’t before Motoya came to visit, but this time along with his parents, that things started to get tense.
As they did with all their guests, Kiyoomi and Atsumu went together to the front hall to greet them. Atsumu must’ve heard murmurs of the Duke and Dutchess in question since he was looking even more dashing than usual. His attire was deep green with an extravagant print, along with hints of gold and black splattered across the expensive cloth. His crown, one with a vine-like design and enough emeralds to buy a city, went beautifully together with it all. Kiyoomi was glad that was the one he’d chosen to gift his spouse.
He was a sight far different from Kiyoomi, who was once again clad in only black clothes with sharp lines, and a crown that was intricate enough to show the family’s wealth, but simple enough for Kiyoomi to be comfortable wearing it.
“You look stunning,” Kiyoomi couldn’t help but say as they stood on the front steps, ready to meet their newly arrived guests.
That must’ve surprised Atsumu – Kiyoomi couldn’t tell for sure since he’d already averted his gaze in embarrassment – since it took him a while to answer.
“Thank you,” he answered. “So do you.”
Kiyoomi didn’t have time to dissect that, because as soon as the quiet words had left Atsumu’s mouth, the doors opened and their guests’ arrival was being announced.
Dutchess Ren Komori appeared into view first, as the King’s sister. Unlike Kiyoomi’s father, she was a kind and caring person, sometimes even a bit playful with words but never stingy with compliments. It was her from whom Motoya had inherited most of his kind nature, but it was his father he mostly got his looks from. Because like Kiyoomi’s and his father’s, Ren’s hair was a black ocean of curls, though now contained atop her head with flowery ornaments that complimented the rosy color of her dress.
Ren would give them no problems, but it was her husband, Duke Ichiro Komori, who often came with issues in tow. Though the man himself was almost a head shorter than Kiyoomi, his presence always filled up the entire room with how large his words and how bold his claims were. He wasn’t cold like Kiyoomi or his parents – he was generous with smiles and laughter. But he was also a man who thought himself much more important than he actually was.
As they gave their greetings, Kiyoomi unintentionally kept Atsumu an arm’s length away from his aunt and uncle, and in turn, let him become busy mingling with Motoya. The two of them got along as well as Atsumu could probably come along with anyone on Kiyoomi’s side of the family. Motoya seemed to be on board as well, keeping Atsumu busy with just enough questions to not seem overbearing. He truly was a gift sometimes. Well, most times.
Thanks to that, the atmosphere remained mostly pleasant throughout the evening. They ate their appetizers and main dishes in peace, Kiyoomi acting probably way too interested in his uncle’s estates and businesses and opinions to seem like himself. Of course, Ichiro didn’t object, probably didn’t even notice anything out of the ordinary, but Ren did look at him strangely a few times during all of it.
While this was going on, Motoya continued to chat Atsumu up as much as he could, and to Kiyoomi’s surprise, Atsumu seemed to enjoy himself as well. His smile wasn’t venomous, not sharp nor tight as he looked at Motoya, who was probably telling one of his tales from when he went traveling in the kingdoms of the East, Fukurodani and Nohebi.
Kiyoomi couldn’t regard them for too long so as not to divert the attention to Atsumu. But when he could spare a glance, Atsumu looked… content. Kiyoomi decided that the feeling in his gut at the sight wasn’t jealousy.
But of course, Kiyoomi was incapable of holding the reigns for the entire night, even with Motoya as his aid. It was during dessert that it all started to fall apart.
And it was because of his sweet aunt, who during the short silence caused by everyone enjoying their food, found Atsumu with her gaze.
“Oh, Your Highness,” she began, and Kiyoomi couldn’t help but freeze in place. “I must say, your earrings are gorgeous. They look so beautiful in contrast with your light hair. Where have you acquired jewelry so fine if you don’t mind me asking?”
Everyone’s gaze turned to Atsumu, but to his merit, he took the sudden attention with ease. His fingertips quickly grazed one of his earrings, the shining stones colored a forest green so deep one could’ve gotten lost in them. They were shaped like raindrops and were surrounded by smaller, clear crystals. They framed Atsumu’s jawline beautifully and indeed, did look mesmerizing when placed next to his hair.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” answered Atsumu with a smile as dazzling as the gems on his ears. “Sadly, I cannot tell you any specifics. They were given to me by my own aunt as a souvenir from Karasuno.”
Ren cooed at that. “Oh, that’s so darling of her. Did you hear that, Kiyoomi? Should I get you some earrings as well when we next visit Fukurodani? I hear they make lovely jewelry out of alexandrite there.”
Before Kiyoomi could take over and change the subject, Ichiro had already managed to weasel his way into the conversation.
“There’s no need for Kiyoomi to flaunt cheap stones like that, dear,” he scoffed. “He has more dignity than that.”
The whole table fell silent at the insinuation. Kiyoomi held back from frowning. Motoya visibly winced. Even Ren looked dumbfounded as she turned to her husband.
“But love, alexandrite isn’t cheap. And it would go so well with Kiyoomi’s eyes, don’t you think?”
“That wasn’t the point, darling,” Ichiro answered, not regarding her wife but staring at Atsumu the whole time, the challenge clear in his eyes. “The point was that Kiyoomi would feel no need to try and take advantage of a pretentious attention-grab like that.”
Kiyoomi followed Ichiro’s gaze to find a tense-looking Atsumu. His hands were not in view, but Kiyoomi could imagine how they were now balled into fists. He was also sure Atsumu would’ve loved nothing more than to strike Ichiro Komori with whichever hand bore the biggest rings.
Kiyoomi opened his mouth to speak but was yet again cut short by none other but his spouse himself.
“You have excellent taste, Your Grace,” Atsumu regarded not Ichiro, but Ren. “But don’t you think musgravite would look even grander when paired with Kiyoomi’s gray eyes? I hear they have some on the market in Seijoh.”
Ren nearly squealed in delight, but her excitement was again cut short by Ichiro.
“His Highness must not be aware of the political strain between Seijoh and Itachiyama,” he said. “It would be unbecoming for the prince to wear something so clearly acquired from there.”
Atsumu smiled, but this time it was clear as day how fake it was.
“Of course, Your Grace is correct. I must’ve forgotten,” he answered before turning to Ren once more. “I’ve also heard rumors of black opal having been found in the faraway lands of Dateko. The depth of the blue hues would certainly look beautiful against Kiyoomi’s fair skin.”
He then regarded Ichiro again, his smile still intact.
“Or are Itachiyama’s relations with Dateko too strained, as well?”
The tension was palpable, now. Even the servants standing nearby were twitching nervously. But Atsumu didn’t seem suffocated. Two can play this game, he seemed to say.
The corner of Ichiro’s mouth twitched in annoyance. He raised his wine glass to his mouth but didn’t drink.
“As Your Highness must already know well enough, our kingdom has no business with Dateko. They are far too close to Seijoh for us to mingle with them.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget? My memory is truly worse than I thought. Would Your Grace mind reminding me of the countries Itachiyama has good relations with?”
Ren audibly gasped while Motoya’s brows shot upwards on his forehead.
Ichiro slammed his glass to the table, red wine spilling over the tablecloth.
“What may you be insinuating, sir?” he asked, hardly containing his anger.
Atsumu’s eyes hardened. “I do not speak in insinuations,” he answered, his voice a calm current before the storm looming over the horizon. “Such an act would be unbecoming of someone of my status, don’t you agree?”
Kiyoomi could tell Ichiro’s barely polite façade was crumbling before their very eyes. He was far worse at hiding it than Atsumu was. Ichiro’s face was now colored a red nearly as bright as the rubies of Atsumu’s wedding band, though his knuckles were whiter than fresh snow. It was as though he needed to tense his whole body in order not to explode right there, over dinner with the prince and his spouse, in front of the palace workers who were surely already reiterating the words to each other.
“Your Highness is right, of course,” Ichiro managed to seethe, somehow, in a tone Kiyoomi didn’t appreciate at all. “But that is merely the state of things here in Itachiyama. I wouldn’t be in the know of how things are viewed in the South.”
It would make you look bad here, but I wouldn’t know the way of the savages – because you’re one of them and I am not.
For a fraction of a second, Atsumu looked shocked, before his expression turned to something akin to how he’d looked the night he’d shared with Kiyoomi. Though this time around, there was hardly any heat in his eyes where there used to be wildfires set ablaze. There was only the sadness present, the grief that he hid from view because that would tattle the tale of his weakness.
There might’ve not been any fire left in Atsumu, but in the absence of his flames, Kiyoomi’s own fire had more air to grow.
“That is quite enough, Uncle,” said Kiyoomi in a raised voice that had everyone at the table shell-shocked. It wasn’t a common occurrence for Kiyoomi to raise his voice – he preferred to use his words instead of his tone as an indicator of his power. But he couldn’t take this anymore.
Ichiro was astonished.
“But Kiyoomi, I – “
“It is Your Highness to you, Uncle,” Kiyoomi scowled. “And I do not see how difficult it is to comprehend that His Highness Miya Atsumu of Inarizaki stands next to me in all. Do not forget your place, or I will not hesitate to remind you of it.”
It was clear Ichiro wanted to protest, but his wife visibly pinched him to silence the words that were foaming in his mouth. He had no choice but to swallow deep and say,
“I understand, Your Highness, sir.”
Kiyoomi nodded, a bit rigid.
“Good. Remember that though His Highness’ forgiveness may be infinite, my patience is not.”
This time, Ichiro had the sense to try and seem a bit more apologetic as he voiced his awareness of the situation.
Not bothering to respond to him, Kiyoomi turned back to Atsumu to see how the man was managing. He was surprised to see Atsumu already looking back at him, with an unreadable expression on his face. All the anger and sadness had suddenly been swept away by a mysterious force Kiyoomi couldn’t begin to name. As soon as their eyes met though, that mysterious expression of his was once again hardened into a shield. Kiyoomi could do nothing but be relieved about not having overstepped any line.
If before the atmosphere had been tense, now the pressure of it was unbearable. The air had thickened with every word Kiyoomi had uttered, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry about it. They still needed to get through the evening, so Kiyoomi did the only thing he knew how to do – he looked at Motoya.
Motoya was quick to answer the silent plea.
“Speaking of outside kingdoms,” he started, turning to face Atsumu, “has Your Highness ever visited Karasuno himself? I’ve heard great things about the royal gardens there.”
It was enough to bring a sunny smile back to Atsumu’s face, and enough for Kiyoomi to breathe freely again.
He couldn’t be more thankful to his cousin.
The evening seemed to drag on forever as if time itself had transformed into something heavy and muddy, hindering its own movement. Finally, after hours of entertaining their guests, Kiyoomi was able to excuse himself for bed and leave his relatives in the hands of the chambermaids and servants. Atsumu had left their company a while ago already, excusing himself in the politest way imaginable. If he didn’t regard Ichiro as he did so, Kiyoomi didn’t fault him for it.
Blessed be, the Duke’s displeasure with Kiyoomi’s husband didn’t arise even after the man himself had left the room. Kiyoomi hoped, though most likely in vain, that it would continue on that course even without Kiyoomi present.
It was enough for now, he decided as he walked the hallways darkened by nightfall. It was enough for now that Atsumu didn’t have to face that sort of hatred alone.
Kiyoomi halted in his steps, startling the guard ghosting him. He had been on his way to his own chambers, throughoutly worn out by this visit. The thought of facing his uncle and aunt tomorrow morning once more made him want to shrink out of existence. But suddenly he took a sharp turn and headed for another door instead. He was let in without a knock.
This time when Kiyoomi stood in Atsumu’s chamber, he noticed a few changes. Though the rest of the room was kept clean by the maids, the desk placed in front of the window was filled with books old and new, familiar and unfamiliar to Kiyoomi. The bed, made of the best mahogany the kingdom had to offer, was unmade although Atsumu merely sat on the edge of it. Next to him on the table was a cup of tea, seemingly untouched. Kiyoomi didn’t need to ask for the maids to leave before they were already scrambling out of the room.
“Your Highness,” Kiyoomi regarded.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it surely wasn’t the reaction he got.
I would rather choke on my own shit and die –
When Atsumu greeted him back, he seemed tired – a man not defeated but drained from battle.
And when Kiyoomi attempted to gather anything to say that wouldn’t result in Atsumu getting mad or gloomier than he already seemed, Atsumu continued speaking.
“If this is about me using Your Highness’ given name during dinner, I… apologize. It’s not as valued a custom back ho- in Inarizaki.”
Kiyoomi frowned in thought. Had Atsumu called him by name? He couldn’t recall. He had been so immersed in figuring out how to get them out of that whole ordeal that he hadn’t really focused on the specifics – especially in company that usually did regard him by his given name.
“Oh no, that is no issue,” Kiyoomi answered, perhaps faster than he should’ve. He pursed his lips together, thinking of anything else to say. “You may call me by my given name as you wish – I do not mind.”
Atsumu huffed a laugh. If Kiyoomi could’ve tasted the sound, it would’ve sat bitter on his tongue.
“I’m certain that on that front you stand alone, Your Highness.”
Silence spread between them, not stifling. Not having been instantly shooed away, Kiyoomi could finally relax his posture a bit. It was almost friendly, how Kiyoomi made his way to the window while Atsumu took a sip of his tea, both of them simply existing among each other. Almost.
“So, what are you here for, then, if not to reprimand me?” Atsumu asked, kissing the rim of the cup.
Indeed, why was Kiyoomi there? And for the second time already, no less? Well, it wasn’t as if Kiyoomi himself didn’t know the answer. He knew well enough the worry that had made its home in his abdomen, how it curled there far too often and even more so when it came to Atsumu.
He didn’t fully understand why, but he wanted Atsumu to feel as warm as he’d seen Inarizaki be.
He couldn’t say that aloud. But he had to say something.
“I came to apologize on behalf of my uncle,” he decided. “The way he spoke to you today was unacceptable.”
It won’t happen again, Kiyoomi wanted to add, but he also didn’t want to lie.
Atsumu turned to face him, but Kiyoomi didn’t answer to the gaze. He was afraid his own eyes would betray him. He looked out of the window instead, though it was far too dark outside to make out anything but the outline of the forest in the distance and the silhouettes of the guards that carried lanterns with them.
Atsumu’s eyes burned holes to the back of his head with their intensity.
“Are you expecting forgiveness, Your Highness?”
Surprised by the question, Kiyoomi turned to see him. He couldn’t help the return of the frown on his face.
“No, I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Atsumu hummed, almost quizzically. He stared at Kiyoomi for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge out a lie. When he couldn’t find one, his expression hardened back to the usual biting smile Kiyoomi had gotten so used to.
“Good. Because I’m not easy to simply forgive and forget.”
This applies to you, as well. Go, before I curse you out again.
Kiyoomi bowed his head, messaging his understanding of both messages.
“I would expect nothing less,” he said as he started his way back to the door.
Atsumu answered with a tight nod, still regarding Kiyoomi very carefully, making contact with each eye at a time as if the right would be able to tell a different story from the left.
Kiyoomi’s hand was already on the handle of the door when Atsumu continued, “I am also not fond of expressing gratitude for people that do the bare minimum.”
Already facing the door, Kiyoomi didn’t bother to bite down his smile.
“Of course, I understand.”
Atsumu wasn’t present for their breakfast the next morning. It didn’t surprise Kiyoomi when a servant came to his chambers early to explain that Atsumu would be absent due to feeling unwell. Apparently, he had been feeling strange since their shared dinner and would like to rest a while longer. He had also asked to convey his apologies to the Komoris.
Kiyoomi played along, asking the servant to go tell the kitchen staff to inspect the quality of their food more carefully from this point forward.
Thanks to this, the rest of the Komori family’s stay remained bearable. All of them seemed to have willfully forgotten the last night’s unpleasant exchange and acted nothing but worried on Atsumu’s behalf. Though they all knew the real reason behind why Atsumu wasn’t present, Ichiro didn’t look smug one bit. Either he had grown a heart overnight, or Kiyoomi had scared the disrespect out of the hole in his chest.
Kiyoomi doubted it was either. In the end, he was only the last prince of their lot. He was certain the King and Queen and all of his siblings would excuse the Duke’s actions if he were to come forward with them. It wasn’t as though their thoughts on Atsumu would’ve been too different. The only thing they cared about was Kiyoomi’s position in all of this. If he were to be disrespected along with his spouse, they would not take the matter as lightly.
So, the most probable option was that Ichiro didn’t want to strain his relationship with the Crown – whomever it was worn by.
Kiyoomi’s brow twitched at the thought, but he reminded himself that it too was a beginning. No matter the means, his goal had been achieved. Everyone would shortly know not to mess around with the royal consort – not if they didn’t want Kiyoomi’s wrath raining down on them, hard.
They were both pieces of the same chessboard, previous opponents now playing on the same side. It was high time Kiyoomi acted like it, even as Atsumu didn’t.
Kiyoomi decided to try his luck and go visit him for the second day in a row. There was the risk that Atsumu wouldn’t tolerate the sight of him, never mind talking to him. But Kiyoomi was still riding the high of both the last time and the entire stay of the Komoris not ending in a disaster, so he didn’t pay that any mind.
When Kiyoomi got to Atsumu’s room, he was surprised to hear that he had left for the library first thing in the morning. Leave it for Atsumu to not even bother to keep up the front of his own story. Perhaps the reason behind his honesty was that he was terrible at lying.
Kiyoomi wasn’t that easily disheartened. He had decided to see to his husband, and that he would do.
The way to the palace library was not foreign to Kiyoomi, who had frequented it many times, whether it be for meetings, lessons, or personal research. It was a grand room, filled with tens upon tens of long mahogany shelves. The big windows overseeing the inner ward had beautiful glasswork done on them that colored the rare sunlight with all shades of the rainbow. But now, as Kiyoomi made his way there just as dusk was falling behind gray clouds, it was dim.
It made it easier to find Atsumu though, the only light in the library coming from the candle flames keeping him company. He wasn’t sitting in front of the table but on a windowsill, watching something that escaped Kiyoomi’s notice. There were a dozen books open on the table next to him and a cup of tea still unfinished. It looked as if Atsumu had decided to make this room his own, as well.
Kiyoomi walked toward him, stopping a few feet behind.
“Your Highness,” he spoke, announcing his presence.
Atsumu didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t grant him an answer. For a second, Kiyoomi thought he had fallen asleep.
“It’s snowing,” Atsumu suddenly said.
A frown, deeper than usual, distorted Kiyoomi’s face.
“What about it?”
It was that time when snow usually first fell in Itachiyama. It had stopped being a spectacle around the time when Kiyoomi turned eight – when he no longer found the idea of thrashing around in the cold pleasant and started to understand the true hardships of winter. How it brought hunger upon their people, how the flu spread, and lands and waters froze over. Rather than wondering about the falling flakes, he ignored them for as long as he could before they actually stuck to the ground and started to pile up, turning the forests around them into a deadly maze.
“I’ve never seen snow before,” mumbled Atsumu.
Kiyoomi blinked.
“Oh,” he said.
When Atsumu still didn’t grant him a look, Kiyoomi decided to walk to the next window over, to see the view for himself – to try and see what Atsumu probably did. He couldn’t. Instead, from this angle, he could see Atsumu’s profile lit by the gentle candlelight. Memories of a certain night whirled past Kiyoomi – but this time Atsumu’s face wasn’t contorted into a mean grimace or a sorrowful look. Instead, he had a look on his face that was completely new to Kiyoomi – an expression that hit him harder than the past ever could have.
His golden eyes were wide in wonder, his lips lightly ajar. There were still black circles under his eyes, and his cheekbones were more prominent than they should have been, but at this very moment, he looked alive in a way Kiyoomi couldn’t recall ever seeing. Not when meeting with the people of Itachiyama, not even when he got letters from his family. His happiness in those moments was visible, but not touchable. There were always other, more grim feelings laced to his expression – grief, longing, pain.
But not now. There was only curiosity on Atsumu’s face. Pure, unadulterated wonder.
In his rage, Atsumu had been beautiful. Clad in expensive garments, he had been beautiful.
But this was different. Now it was different.
Because right now, Atsumu was otherworldly.
“It’s gorgeous,” Atsumu whispered, forcing Kiyoomi out of his head but not out of his realization.
“Yes,” he answered, voice low.
He had thought he had no clue as to what Atsumu was feeling. But now, he was certain he knew.
At the very same time, they both had fallen in love.
The realization hit Kiyoomi the way the tide does. He had known of the possibility of it for a while, had known it was the full moon, but had stood still on the shore, nonetheless. It won’t come yet, he had naïvely thought. It’s still too early for that. But before he had realized it, the sea had already engulfed him in her cold, ruthless embrace.
And it’s never too early for the water to rise. The moon calls for it whenever it pleases, at just the right moment.
Kiyoomi licked his lips.
“Would Your Highness enjoy a stroll, come morning?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I would gladly show you around the premises.”
Finally, Atsumu turned to look at him. Kiyoomi couldn’t tell whether the look on his face told of the remnants of wonder still visible, or simply an unkind question asked in silence. These were nuances not even Kiyoomi could get a hold of. It made his fingers twitch for purchase.
Maybe he could allow himself to be ridiculed once more. Maybe for infinite times more, when Atsumu was in question. Because there was no way he would accept Kiyoomi’s offer. It was almost insulting, in a way – for Kiyoomi to ask such a thing so soon after Atsumu had clearly put his boundaries in place.
Kiyoomi was nothing but eager to break them, and that was frightening. Atsumu didn’t seem like a person who particularly enjoyed being broken.
Then Atsumu smiled, and everything Kiyoomi had ever believed to be certain came crashing down on him.
“I’d love to.”
That night, when Kiyoomi finally fell asleep after hours spent with nothing but the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest, he dreamt of the fox again. But this time, it only ripped open his bare chest.
His heart was still beating when the beast clutched it between its fangs.
The next morning, Kiyoomi ate his breakfast alone again. For the first time in a long while, he was glad about it. He knew his nerves were on show along with the night he had spent tossing and turning in bed. That, in practice, meant that he had a near-constant frown on his face, one even fouler than his regular resting face.
Kiyoomi couldn’t help it. He was afraid that when the clock struck nine and him and Atsumu were to meet at the entrance to the inner ward, he would be nowhere to be seen. He would’ve changed his mind and become as unapproachable as ever – have it all be for naught. To have that happen to Kiyoomi after coming to realize his emotions… That would’ve been a blow too harsh to bear.
But after he made his way to the entrance, fiddling with his hands all the way there, he came to find out he had only one concern after all.
“What are you wearing?” he blurted out.
Atsumu, who had his back turned, all but jumped at the sound. Kiyoomi would’ve celebrated finally catching him off guard if not for the offended look he got as an answer.
“Excuse me?” asked Atsumu.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean it like that,” Kiyoomi was quick to backtrack. “It’s just that… it is very cold out this time of the year.”
It was then that Atsumu seemed to realize the difference between Kiyoomi’s attire and his own. While Kiyoomi was clad in a sleek black winter cloak topped with a scarf, boots, and leather gloves, Atsumu was only wearing something that resembled a jacket better suited for a breezy spring afternoon. To his merit, he was wearing a scarf too, at least.
There was a strange look on Atsumu’s face as he looked away.
“These are the warmest clothes I have,” he said.
Kiyoomi frowned. How could that be the case? Itachiyama was infamous for its harsh winters – it held the northernmost point of the entire continent, after all. The high altitude did nothing to ease the issue, nor did the chilling winds that blew from the sea.
Surely Atsumu had been prepared, and if not, he’d been gifted appropriate clothing. Surely.
Kiyoomi’s frown was nearing a scowl at this point. How many things had he overlooked? In how many ways was Atsumu so, so alienated in his own home?
Surprising even himself, Kiyoomi didn’t so much as falter as he started working the buttons of his coat.
“Fetch me my blue coat,” Kiyoomi spoke to the nearest servant. “And afterward, go inform the seamstresses that they shall come to His Highness’s chambers at noon to take measurements for winter attire.”
The servant, despite looking confused, bowed deep before leaving the room.
Kiyoomi disrobed himself of his woolen coat and stepped forward.
“I apologize for that oversight,” said Kiyoomi. “For now, please help yourself to this one.”
Atsumu grimaced.
“Are you giving me a hand-me-down?” He said the word as if it were a curse. In another context, the utter disgust in his voice would’ve maybe been funny. A spoiled brat, he was.
“Of course not. This is my favorite coat. I wouldn’t dream of giving it away.”
“So why are you – “
“I’m not giving anything away,” Kiyoomi cut in. “What is mine, is yours.”
These specific words seemed to have an effect on Atsumu. He snapped his mouth shut, frozen on the spot, his eyes never losing Kiyoomi’s. Kiyoomi didn’t know what Atsumu was looking for, how could he? He just had to guess it was reassurance and offered it by shrugging the cloth in his hands.
Atsumu squinted at him but took the coat, nonetheless. His maid, standing to the side, hurried to help it on him. It was perfectly fitted to Kiyoomi’s body, so it looked slightly off on Atsumu. The sleeves were just a little bit too long, and the shoulders were just a tad too small. Kiyoomi was certain it wouldn’t have looked as big on him a couple of months ago.
After Kiyoomi got his other coat from the servant, they finally stepped out the door.
It was cold out – that was a given – but it wasn’t something to chill the soul frozen yet. Still, Atsumu visibly shivered the moment the air hit him, his cheeks reddening in seconds. He snuggled his nose to the high collar and tucked his hands deep in his pockets.
He looked annoyed, with his thick brows scrunched up, but his expression eased up as soon as they made it to the yard.
It wasn’t as grand as the main palace’s garden, but still well-kept. Though now, during the cold season, some of the usual plants had already shriveled away – never mind the flowers that blossomed only through a couple of months’ time in the summer. But the junipers, thujas, and yews stood tall, and so did the oaks and elms already barren of their leaf coats. Much like Atsumu, they had been gifted a new coat, this one made of what was left of last night’s snow. Most of it had already melted away, as Kiyoomi had anticipated, but some remained stuck to the ground and the leafless canopy. Frost had drawn flowers on the dull grass and the bark of the trees. The statues and empty fountains bore a frozen tint to them as well, making the dark gray look many shades lighter in some spots.
The scenery was dull and gloomy, void of any light. The rare sundrops that escaped the clutches of the cloudy sky were quickly devoured by the nothingness below.
Well, perhaps one drop found its home in Atsumu. He soon stopped sticking to Kiyoomi’s side and started to wander around more freely, while Kiyoomi followed close behind. He could feel the stares of the guards and other staff stuck to their backs, bemused. He didn’t care.
Atsumu only stopped to look at the statue protruding from the middle of the main fountain. It depicted a woman clad in nothing but a breezy cloth and wild hair, holding a vase from where water would pour out on a warmer day. She didn’t stand alone, for she was riding a deer, her other hand intertwined with its antlers.
Kiyoomi watched her and watched Atsumu. There was longing in the eyes of both.
After standing in silence for what felt close to an eternity, Kiyoomi cleared his throat, stealing Atsumu’s gaze away.
“The children in Itachiyama have many games they love to play in the snow,” he said. He could feel his pulse run wilder with every word he got out. “They will build men out of snow and play fights with balls molded from it. They will also lay down in the snow and swing their limbs to make silhouettes of fairies.”
The silence was so loud now that Kiyoomi felt as though it could deafen him.
His mouth felt dry when he faced Atsumu.
“Do the children of Inarizaki have games such as these, as well?”
Atsumu looked away, back to the eyes of the nymph.
For a second, Kiyoomi feared he had overstepped a line and was prepared to take his words back. But then he saw the small, tentative smile carved onto Atsumu’s lips and decided to stay quiet.
“Oh, they have many,” he started. “They love to fly kites and play with whirligigs. There is a lot of talented craftsmanship in the capital, but most make their own ones at home. I find them especially charming. We have tons of different folk songs and dances there too. Adults too will join along in festivals and such.”
He chuckled, and it was a wonderful sound.
“I would drag Samu along to dance with the children, even as we became adults, and he would act all annoyed and uninterested, but really, he loved it. I could tell. We would always have sore feet and throats by the end of the night, and Samu would blame me for it the next day and the one over, but it was worth it. It was always worth it.”
Kiyoomi couldn’t fathom something such as that being enjoyable.
“That sounds wonderful,” he said anyway.
“It was,” sighed Atsumu.
Kiyoomi feared that the awkward stillness between them would spread further, but Atsumu broke the silence before it could even ring loud enough.
“Has Your Highness ever made a fairy out of snow?” he asked.
It was such an innocent question, but so loaded, nonetheless.
“No, I have not.”
He didn’t face Atsumu, then. He feared that his gaze would receive nothing but pity.
Atsumu hummed.
“Would you like to, someday?”
Kiyoomi couldn’t help but frown at the question. They were adults already and married ones at that. If the circumstances were different, they’d be expecting their own child who would be the one laying on the ground, swinging their feet and arms around and laughing at the sky.
So why would Kiyoomi want to make snow fairies? It was a joy for children and the soaked clothing a pain for him.
His father’s voice suddenly rang in his head, words like icicles birthed by the coldest winter night. Ones that morphed laughter into wails, smiles into carefully sculpted voids.
You’re a child no more, Kiyoomi, he had said.
Kiyoomi had been nine.
He licked the frown off his lips.
“I’m not opposed to the idea.”