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Atsushi’s eyes flutter open and closed, clinging to the threads of consciousness.
The gentle swish, swish of bristles against stone, steady and metronomic, lulls him into a strange sort of hypnosis. His hands are used to the movements. Scrub, wipe, clean: a pattern and routine ingrained in his bones at this point. Though he’s only been alive for ten short years, he’s perfected the art of scrubbing floors.
A new sound is added to the mix. Slow at first, then picking up quickly, rain thumps against the roof of the colonnade.
Atsushi slumps forward. His body can barely hold the weight of his exhaustion.
Water pools just outside the structure. The ground drinks up the much-needed rain, though not quickly enough. Despite the stickiness of sweat against his skin, the air now thick with humidity, making the experience of cleaning the palace even more miserable, he’s still thankful. The colonnade is raised far enough from the ground that the rain hasn’t washed away the last several hours of hard work. He knows that when he’s done, he’s allowed to go back to the servants quarters, where he has an actual bed. It may be small and crowded with too many people packed into one tiny room, but it’s much better than anything he experienced at the orphanage.
Even still, once his job is complete, he certainly does not look forward to walking back in the pouring rain, getting drenched to the bone and looking like a drowned rodent. The chill will cling to his clothes. Laundry isn’t for another day. He’ll have to either sleep without his clothes or risk soaking through the bedding. Either way, what little chance he had of decent sleep will likely be thrown out the window just like the chamberpots he emptied earlier.
Atsushi is lost in thought when a series of echoing footsteps draws his attention.
The blood freezes in his veins.
Atsushi scrambles to his feet, nearly slipping on the wet stone, and bows deeply. “Y-Your Royal Highness.”
Eyes the same color as the storm raging outside bore holes through the top of Atsushi’s head.
Silence stretches on, the heavy rain keeping pace with Atsushi’s frantic heart. For a moment, he wonders if the prince intends to force him to stay in this position forever, never dismissing him, but then a sharp, biting voice speaks.
“What are you doing?”
Atsushi doesn’t dare lift his head. “B-Bowing, Your Royal Highness.”
“No,” the voice says, “I meant this.”
This time, Atsushi looks up to see a bony finger pointed at the scrub brush and bucket of soapy water having gone cold.
“Oh.” Taking the risk of being chastised, Atsushi rights himself. “I’m scrubbing the floors in the colonnade, Your Royal Highness.”
His voice gets smaller and weaker with every word as shame washes over him with more violent suddenness than the storm outside. Atsushi knows it was probably a prank, something from the older kids indeed to see just how far he’d go if under orders. It wasn’t uncommon at the orphanage and, if anything, it gives him a sense of comfort to know this kind of treatment continues. In this way, at least he knows what to expect.
But admitting such a thing in front of the crown prince—the second in line to take the throne after King Mori—is an utter embarrassment.
“There’s no need for that,” the prince responds. His voice is as cold as the rain splashing against the stone floors. “It’s a foolish endeavor. Whomever ordered you to do so is an imbecile.”
Atsushi picks up the soapy brush and pauses just before he places it back in the bucket. Wait, is this a trick?
He wracks his brain for a way this could possibly be some kind of test. It wasn’t a completely uncommon occurrence in the orphanage—the director would give false hope, acts of kindness thinly veiling the malicious intent beneath, inevitably handing out punishment however he saw fit, which typically meant with a vicious cruelty.
“Um, yes. Okay,” Atsushi stammers, unable to lift his gaze from the floor out of fear, “But, Your Highness, I’ve been instructed to clean the entire area and, as you can see, my job is not done.”
“And, as you can see, I am the third highest authority in this castle. My word is above the word of whoever ordered you to complete this ridiculous task.”
Though the words are harsh, Atsushi can hear a hint of kindness in his words. Like a starved man, even the smallest shred of empathy is a rare delicacy. Even more so when this unexpected compassion is coming from Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, the one whose reputation precedes him. The king and his oldest adoptive son, Dazai, are cunning and incredibly powerful with their magic. They’re haughty. Powerful, and pompous. Cold. And the king’s newest addition to the line of succession supposedly falls right in line with the others. Exceptionally talented at a young age and gifted with a magic perhaps more powerful than the king himself, all the other servants in the castle are already scared of the Young Master’s wrath.
But, instead of callousness, the child just a mere year older than himself, Atsushi is met with favor. Emboldened, Atsushi lifts his gaze for the first time.
The moment he does, a body comes flying in his direction and, just a second later, Atsushi’s back is crashing against the hard, stone floor.
Amethyst and gold. The colors of royalty, woven together in a marbled pattern that is more regal than anything Ryuunosuke has seen so far in the castle. Glinting like gems in the light, the boy’s eyes are stunning. But what catches Ryuunosuke’s attention the most is the raging storm behind them.
Bright and electric like lightning. Dozens of shades of violet mixing together like the overcast clouds just after a heavy rain.
He can practically feel the magic oozing off of Atsushi, spinning and swirling around him like miasma; it’s aura strong and powerful. The feeling of magic thrums beneath Ryuunosuke’s skin.
He has never felt anything like this in his life.
It’s why when he takes a step forward, his legs buckle beneath him like a newborn fawn and he loses his footing. The wet stone under his feet causes him to slide forward and directly into the boy. They fall to the ground with a heavy thud.
“Agh!”
Ryuunosuke grinds his teeth together and ignores the stinging of his palms. He summoned Rashoumon in time to catch the boy, his back hovering just above the ground, but not enough to ease his own fall. He’s otherwise fine, if naught for the terrible pounding of his heart against his ribcage, one that the boy very well may feel through their joined chests.
The boy stares, wide-eyed, with terror in his eyes.
Ryuunosuke rears back. He uses Rashoumon to right the boy as they both stand.
“S-s-sorry,” the boy stammers, his tiny frame shaking. “Your Royal—”
“Tell me your name” Ryuunosuke blurts the command—one that was supposed to be a question—before he can think any differently.
Slender, calloused fingers toy with the hem of the boy’s flimsy shirt. “Atsushi,” he answers, his gaze turning downward. “Just Atsushi.”
“No last name?” Ryuunosuke inquires.
“N-no, Sir.”
Atsushi doesn’t have to elaborate for Ryuunosuke to understand. He’s a servant. Probably an orphan. He has no formal name to call his own.
Something pulls at the corners of Ryuunosuke’s heart. Atsushi is a kindred spirit, though one less fortunate than himself. As Atsushi continues to shake like a leaf, Ryuunosuke wonders why. When a child can hold this much power, they need not cower in fear of anything.
Regardless, Atsushi is like an animal trapped by a predator. Ryuunosuke heaves a sigh and remembers the ‘socialization lessons’ his adoptive brother taught him. He softens his voice, mimicking how Dazai might approach the situation. “You have no need to be afraid. Just Atsushi.”
The hint of the joking tone draws an easy smile from the orphan.
Ryuunosuke’s eyes return to the bucket of dirty water sitting next to the wall. Beneath his calm facade, anger boils hot in his veins. This servant has no right being just that—a mere servant. If he were less prideful, Ryuunosuke would willingly admit Atsushi may have just as much power, if not more, than himself. And yet here he is, relegated to a Sisyphean effort.
“If anyone gives you trouble,” he explains, “they are free to inquire with me. You are dismissed for the evening.”
Atsushi bows once again. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Akutagawa.”
Those stunning, gemstone eyes once again find Ryuunosuke’s, and Atsushi’s brows pinch together in question.
“Just call me Akutagawa.”
Atsushi looks at him as if he just grew a second head. “But—”
“What did I just say?” Once again he returns to the harsh tone he’s used to. Though it seems that it has much less of an effect on Atsushi than before. “My word is above yours is it not?”
“Yes… Akutagawa,” he responds hesitantly.
The sound of his name once again tugs at something oft unused in Ryuunosuke’s chest.
Satisfied, Ryuunosuke carefully makes his way to the exit and stands next to one of the large columns. As easily as he breathes, he summons Rashoumon, then uses her to cover his head in place of an umbrella.
“Wow.”
Ryuunosuke turns. The breath is stolen from his lungs as he takes in the look of sheer amazement in Atsushi’s expression.
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s simple.” Despite the flippant tone, pride wells in Ryuunosuke’s chest. Atsushi eyes both him and Rashoumon in turn before letting his gaze drift over to the raging storm outside. Ryuunosuke puts the pieces together.
It’s likely Atsushi stays in the servants quarters. Ryuunosuke quickly notes, then ignores the small part of his mind that says it’s ‘fortunate’ that he and Atsushi happen to be heading in the same direction. Ryuunosuke turns away from Atsushi but calls out clear enough for him to hear. “Are you coming, or what?”
The words spur Atsushi into action, and he’s at Ryuunosuke’s side in a flash.
He notices that Atsushi keeps a respectable distance. He convinces himself it’s not disappointing.
Ryuunosuke starts forward, and Atsushi remains in step with him. They walk in silence, crossing the courtyard and making their way to the opposing side of the castle grounds. Ryuunosuke can’t help but wonder why Atsushi is stuck being a measly servant. There has to be a reason. Unless Mori isn’t aware of his strong magical potential.
He makes a mental note to bring it up with the king.
From his periphery, Ryuunosuke notices Atsushi is lagging behind. The rain is no match for the thick, black riding boots on Ryuunosuke’s feet, but Asushi’s threadbare slippers are soaked through and caked with mud, dragging him down. Ryuunosuke extends Rashoumon to keep Atsushi covered and slows his pace.
Under his breath, Atsushi mutters a quick, “Thank you.”
By the time they reach the servant’s quarters, the rain has slowed to a light drizzle. Overhead, the clouds start to break, the thin wisps leaving room for the moon’s pale light to filter through. They stop just short of the door and continue to stand in silence.
Atsushi turns to Ryuunosuke and breaks the tension first. He flashes a blindingly white smile, and Ryuunosuke catches a hint of sharp canines. “I appreciate the help… Akutagawa.”
He turns away, hiding the shame of having heat crawl up his neck and face just from hearing his name in Atsushi’s voice. “It is of no consequence.”
Rather than turn away, Atsushi stays in place in front of Ryuunosuke. With Rashoumon gone, Atsushi looks up to get a clear view of the sky, his wide smile transforming into something softer. More reverent.
Those mesmerizing eyes shine beneath the moonlight. Almost as if they were made for it.
Atsushi speaks in a low, hushed tone. “The sky is lovely tonight.”
Though Ryuunosuke’s eyes never once move away from Atsushi’s expression, he can’t help but agree. “Yes. It is.”