Archive of Our Own

Shouyou’s father, the late King of Yukigaoka, used to say that a wedding is a celebration of love—love for the person you’ve chosen to spend the rest of your life with, as well as for all those who came to witness it with you. A day for reaffirming bonds and sealing promises, and for starting new ones. It marks the beginning of a new chapter, which you will then spend filling in the rest of the pages until the end of the story, with the person you are committing your heart and soul to, for as long as eternity will permit.

Ever since he heard those words as a young, impressionable boy, Shouyou has fantasized about this momentous occasion. He dreamt of getting married to a pretty princess or noble girl, with flowing locks of hair and a sweet smile. When he came of age and understood that the world was so much more just than black and white, he began to dream of a wedding with a dashing man, a gallant prince, perhaps, or a strong knight. For years, he has wished for this “perfect day” that his father had described, attempting to have this yearning fulfilled by accepting courtships and pursuing them on his own, in hopes of finding his beautiful bride or charming groom.

At the tender age of nineteen, Shouyou’s wish comes to pass on a warm, summer morning. He is finally getting married.

But it is absolutely, by no means at all, the perfect moment he had dreamt of.

It’s the most horrible torture, if he has ever seen one—not that he has witnessed many, or at all, with how peaceful life had been for their small kingdom. But that’s beside the point. This wedding feels like a death sentence, one that he has to relive over and over again, every day, for the rest of his life. And the enforcer is none other than the person he is due to marry.

For years, the Kingdom of Yukigaoka had fended off invaders, all thanks to their mountainous terrain lending them the advantage when holding off a siege that could last months, forcing the enemies to back down either due to dwindling resources or simply impatience. No cavalry or infantry stood a chance against their mighty mountain range, as if Mother Nature herself shielded them from would-be usurpers. They had enjoyed peace and autonomy for decades, a tiny monarchy in the middle of grand kingdoms who all failed to conquer them.

That is, until the Kingdom of Karasuno, under the reign of their very first Queen in history, managed to seize control of Yukigaoka as if it was nothing. A perfectly planned infiltration and a few select soldiers who operated like clockwork were all it took for Shouyou’s home to be invaded. Yukigaoka fought valiantly, of course, but in the end, they still lost, pride and dignity shattered along with their surrender. And it’s all thanks to the usurping kingdom’s Royal Commander and Prince, Kageyama Tobio, that Shouyou’s life has irrevocably and horribly changed in the span of just a week.

And as if matters couldn’t get any worse, Shouyou is now bound by both duty and responsibility as Yukigaoka’s crown prince and heir to marry him, to be this same man’s lawfully wedded husband mere minutes from now.

As the priest drones on about the sanctity and purpose of marriage, Shouyou takes a small, furtive glance at the man he is committing the rest of eternity to be with.

Correction. Forced to be with.

It was a surprise when the peace treaty declared by the Queen of Karasuno included a marriage pact, one that would seal the permanent allegiance of Yukigaoka to Karasuno. But it wasn’t the proposal of marriage itself that shocked many—it was the matter of who would be wedded.

Next to him, Kageyama is as still as a statue. gaze fixed straight ahead (never mind that with his… more than adequate physique and handsome features, he really does look like a godly statue come to life), demeanor and aura just as intimidating here in the bright and gilded throne room as they were in the battlefield. He towers a full head over Shouyou, too, but it’s not just the vast difference in their frames that clearly defines this line of superiority between them; Kageyama just has that heavy air of confidence and authority, almost reeking masculine dominance.

It makes Shouyou seethe, blood turning hot and bones rattling him to his core, a nasty mixture of bitterness and despair and anger burbling inside him like the world’s most horrible pot of stew.

But that’s all he can do, really. He doesn’t have a say in this—or rather, their kingdom’s demise brought him no choice but to agree to this arrangement. As its Crown Prince and Heir, it is Shouyou’s duty to ensure he keeps his people safe, and marrying their conqueror is the best way to ensure Karasuno doesn’t forget its responsibility towards them. It doesn’t matter (although Shouyou still wonders) why he, a man, was chosen to be Kageyama’s beau, not when he would’ve stepped forward anyway if these usurpers touched even a strand on Natsu’s hair, what with the little princess having barely approached womanhood. Not when Shouyou sees this arrangement as a form of penance for his failure to protect their kingdom, a blight in his late father’s legacy.

So on his wedding day he will be thinking of his people. Like a prince is supposed to do. If the crown on his head only comes with a ring on his finger, then he will have to accept that, whether he likes it or not.

He closes his eyes, taking in a small inhale as the priest nears the end of his sermon, drawing closer and closer to the exchange of vows. Once again, he takes a subtle sideway glance to the man beside him, careful not to do it too obviously—

A pair of steely blue eyes meet his secret gaze.

One second. Two seconds. A whole five seconds pass of them silently staring at each other, before Kageyama’s mildly surprised look turns sour, brows furrowing and lips curling down before he hastily looks away, a huff escaping him as he does. It’s small, barely a whiff of air, but Shouyou hears it all the same, along with the irritation and annoyance that comes with it. The bastard is even turning pink in the ears—in bitter anger, no doubt.

Well, at least he’s not the only one suffering with this hell-crafted torture.

And that notion is pretty much solidified with how much Kageyama rushes through his vows, grumbling the words as if they’re burning his tongue, eyes purposely avoiding coming into contact with Shouyou’s.

“I, Kageyama Tobio, Prince of Karasuno, take thee, Hinata Shouyou, Prince of Yukigaoka, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part…”

The pink on Kageyama’s ears deepens, almost spreading through his entire, scrunched up face, as if he’s being stabbed by the words spilling out of his mouth.

It makes the back of Shouyou’s neck blister as well, damn near boiling as Kageyama slides the ring on his finger, a band of ice-cold platinum circling his skin.

When it’s Shouyou’s turn, he looks at Kageyama squarely in the eyes as he recites his vows, because he’s not a freaking coward.

“I, Hinata Shouyou, Prince of Yukigaoka, take thee, Kageyama Tobio, Prince of Karasuno, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part.”

A part of Shouyou wishes the ring won’t fit as he slips it into Kageyama’s finger, just so he can see the clear annoyance in the man’s face grow even bigger. But it is an exact fit, looking elegant as it glimmers in Kageyama’s long, slender digit.

“…as Prince Kageyama Tobio and Prince Hinata Shouyou have given and pledged their vows to each other and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of rings, and by the joining of hands; I hereby pronounce that they be husband and husband together.”

Shouyou isn’t sure if he even heard the priest say those infamous words, the ones he dreamt about with childish wonder for so many years, ever since his father planted the idea of marriages as perfect celebrations of love and promises, in his head, because he’s suddenly pulled in, chest to chest with the man he now calls his husband.

Intense blue eyes fill his vision again. He’s starting to hate this color, no matter how pretty they are; this scent of wintergreen that’s too alluring yet somehow comforting; this warmth at being held as if he’s delicate; and this almost shy softness of lips pressing against his.

A not-so-perfect wedding, indeed.

Married life isn’t as Shouyou thought it would be.

In fact, it’s not much different than when he was a bachelor. He still goes about his basic duties of running the estate, joining the knights for training on some days, and making sure to keep up with his own studies, even if he hates them.

Maybe the reason why is because he doesn’t feel like he’s married. Not when he can only count on one hand the times he has actually seen his husband in the past two weeks of their union.

Prince Kageyama’s frequent absence from the palace isn't intentional, or so Shouyou likes to think. It’s just that he still has his many duties to fulfill as the Royal Commander, leading the troops in small campaigns to seize control of other smaller kingdoms in their mission to expand the Karasuno sovereignty. Shouyou supposes he should be supportive, now that his own kingdom is technically under their rule now too, and that he is, very technically, married to the prince of said conquering nation.

But it’s hard to portray the dutiful husband role when he doesn’t know how to be one, because truth be told, he is still feeling bitter over Yukigaoka’s defeat, once a small yet mighty kingdom and now a mere province under Karasuno, and the consequences of such a loss. He knows it is his duty and he vowed to fulfill it for the sake of his people, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be resentful of the conditions imposed on him, right?

And the feeling of being neglected like this isn’t making the situation any better.

He tells Natsu as much when she comes to visit. She’s been living in the Hikari Manor, which is just adjacent to the main palace where the princes reside, but with Shouyou’s duties and Natsu’s own lessons, they haven’t had time to see each other often. It’s one of the things that makes Shouyou feel like utter shit— he was very used to Natsu’s presence in his everyday life, and her honest-to-a-fault advice that is far too insightful for a ten-year-old girl.

“Sooo, in short, you’re lonely,” she says, smirking, lips dotted with crumbs from the lemon cake they’ve been snacking on.

“Fine, I am,” Shouyou grumbles. He takes a bite of cake himself and mumbles as the soft pastry melts in his mouth, “But that’s only because you’re not here, and all I talk to are Tadashi and Kei.” He gestures to his personal butler, Yamaguchi, who just smiles as he fills their cups with more tea then steps back next to the tray of refills.

“I also don’t find delight in engaging in nonstop conversations with you, Your Highness, if you must know,” Tsukishima, his no-nonsense adviser and probably his closest friend, says, eyes still glued to the book he’s reading as he sits on a nearby bench.

“Oh, please, Kei. Stop with the titles. It’s just us here,” Shouyou scoffs. Tsukishima simply shrugs.

“You’re all getting along as great as ever, so I don’t think it’s something to do with us,” Natsu says, almost matter-of-factly. She daintily pats her mouth free of crumbs and tea before sitting straight, golden eyes staring squarely into Shouyou’s own. “Niichan, I know it was your dream to get married—”

“I-It was not!” Shouyou screeches, cheeks starting to burn.

“It was,” Tsukishima and Yamaguchi butt in in tandem, almost instinctively.

Natsu smiles. “It was. So I think all this sulking is just you expecting something from your new husband—who is so dreamy, by the way—even if you claim and act to be all bitter about it.”

Shouyou sighs. There’s no way out of the hole he dug for himself; once his sister and friends drive him into a corner like this, there’s no escape. “Fine! Okay, yes, maybe I am a bit disappointed. I haven’t even seen Kageyama all week! Sure, he’s out there winning more lands for the Queen, but I just wish he put in some effort, you know? I mean, we don’t even share the same chamber. I wake and go to bed alone.”

He doesn’t mean to sound so dejected, but his own voice betrays him. It’s been a whole two weeks of marriage with the prince, goddammit, and they’ve yet to share a night in their marital bed. It’s not that Shouyou is anticipating it—although he had to psych himself up the day before and on the actual day of his wedding, chugging two glasses of wine towards the end of the night to calm his nerves and cloud his brain enough to go through… whatever it was that was supposed to await him on the prepared nuptial chamber.

But Kageyama never entered through the ornate door to join Shouyou. Nor was he there the morning after. Shouyou only received a message from one of the knights much later, informing him that Kageyama had to leave immediately after the ceremony to oversee the quelling down of a rebelling group in another recently acquired province, before it broke into an all-out war. The messenger knight did say something about Kageyama expressing his regret of abandoning his husband on the night of their wedding, but Shouyou wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was too angry, too slighted.

Rejected.

In the following days of sleeping alone in the large, cold bed, Shouyou’s anger eventually simmered. Maybe consummating their union wasn’t really something Kageyama intended to do to begin with. Neither did Shouyou, for the record—as he said, he only agreed to their marriage in response to his responsibilities. Maybe it was for the best, considering it wasn’t a requirement that applied to a union such as theirs; the burden of procreation would never befall them, after all. The act would only be meaningless without a genuine reason for it, and Shouyou was all too aware the other reason for consummating their union, aside from producing an heir, had a chance of zero to none of happening in their case.

“That’s… not right,” Natsu says quietly, pulling Shouyou out of his thoughts. “Are you sure he’s not sleeping with you? You know how you sleep like the dead.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shouyou confirms, indignant. “What other reason could he have for not sleeping on the same bed with me aside from the fact that he simply does not wish to?”

Natsu has no response to that, wordlessly lifting her cup to sip at her tea, a pensive expression on her face. Tsukishima briefly glances up from his book, as if to say something, but elects to remain silent, paying attention back to his reading. Probably just another snide comment he debated against saying.

“Whatever, he can do what he wants,” Shouyou huffs, stuffing a vanilla wafer in his mouth, throwing all table manners to the void with his messy chewing while talking. “He clearly does not want to put effort into this and who am I to demand? He’s the oh-so-mighty prince. Who is, like me, just upholding his responsibilities as commander of the kingdom.”

“And you’re his husband.”

Shouyou blinks at his sister, her serious tone effectively stopping his aggressive munching. “What?”

“You’re his husband,” Natsu says again gravely. “You have the right to demand. But also… the duty to act like it. Have you ever done anything, any effort, to be like one?”

Such is the question Natsu leaves him with after her visit, and which continues to torment Shouyou for the next few days. It’s not that he’s denying it, the thought just never crossed his mind, least of all to spare any conscious effort to act like a spouse is supposed to.

In his defense, he has had no opportunities to do so when his husband is so rarely home, and on the brief occasions that he is, they barely spend any time together. There was one instance, though—a dinner, or more accurately, a feast, with the long dining table covered with plates and trays of food from end to end. It was an apology, Kageyama said (mumbled, more like), for suddenly taking off after their wedding ceremony. They were quiet as they ate, though he had to admit Kageyama did try to open conversation about how Shouyou found the food, which he had given stiff, awkward answers to.

It wasn’t exactly the fondest memory he had with Kageyama—not that there were many to begin with—but it did give Shouyou something to work with after days of agonizing over Natsu’s question (which, quite honestly, had sounded more like an accusation, or a challenge, but was most likely both). It couldn’t hurt to try, and things couldn’t get much worse than what they were. 

At least that’s what Shouyou keeps telling himself. But it’s too late to turn back now as he makes up his mind. This is just part of his duties, a responsibility tied with his agreement to marry the prince of Karasuno. This is for his people.

Armed with that motivation, Shouyou gets to work. That short, uneventful dinner gives him a couple of ideas.

First, a spouse is expected to take care of their other half and preparing a meal for them is as good a place to start as any.

Second, one can never go wrong using food as a guise to bond

And third, he remembers that Kageyama seemed to enjoy eating a simple pork curry over any of the other lavish, fancy dishes served at the feast.

Procuring the necessary ingredients is easy enough; curry needs only basic stuff and the palace’s pantry is well stocked with them. That’s one task off his imaginary list. Now he just needs to learn how to make the actual dish. Good thing the cooks and maids are all too eager to assist Shouyou when he enlists their help to teach him how to make it, watching as they guide him through all the steps, careful not to get in the way of the busy kitchen.

The next part of his plan to actually try and cook it once as practice before serving it to his husband gets unceremoniously derailed when Kageyama suddenly comes home after almost two weeks of absence.

Either the universe is conspiring with or against him, but this is as good an opportunity as any. He has no time for a test run, he doesn’t know until when Kageyama will stay in the palace, and he needs to do this now. Curry isn’t that complicated, judging from the demonstration the cooks did for him; he just has to chop some vegetables and pork meat and let them boil with the curry mixture. How hard can it be?

Answer: very, very hard.

But Shouyou is no quitter. Cooking a meal is nothing compared to charging into battle, or even having to deal with the intricacies of managing a kingdom. He’s a goddamn prince, for goodness sake, and his pride won’t let him be bested by a mere homecooked recipe.

He spends the entire morning slaving away in the kitchen, refusing any help from the cooks despite their insistence. Eventually, they stop pestering him after he commands them not to talk to him until he’s done. He doesn’t like abusing his authority like this, but this is no time to act all noble. Right now, he needs to act like a dutiful husband preparing a meal for his just-returned spouse.

“Done,” Shouyou heaves a sigh as he gives the stew a final stir. He’s beyond exhausted, his face is stippled with sweat and his shirt is drenched, apron splashed with a variety of condiments. But he feels accomplished staring at the bubbling pot, the smell of curry wafting in the air. He even takes a bow when the kitchen staff claps for him.

But he has no time to delight in his accomplishment; it is nearing lunchtime and he still needs to freshen up and prepare the dining hall before he invites Kageyama over for their meal. He has ordered Yamaguchi to inform him of Kageyama’s whereabouts and he must be on his way back to report. Time is not on his side, and he just has to trust that the food he made tastes adequate.

“Your Highness, Prince Kageyama is in the training grounds, overseeing the drills of the new soldiers,” Yamaguchi tells him as Shouyou struggles to put on his vest. His butler is quick to help him get the rest of his attire on and tame his still slightly wet hair from his quick shower.

The dining table is already set as he had instructed the maids to do so, and all that is needed is to carry out the final task in his list.

Shouyou finds his husband in the training yard as Yamaguchi had informed him. He looks… Shouyou isn't sure what to think of the prince.

Kageyama has always been agreeable to the eyes, of course; after all, his aloof handsomeness was one of the few selling points of their union, at least in what Shouyou was concerned. But this is the first time he's seen the prince looking so…  relaxed, so at ease. He's shunned the usual heavily ornamented black and gold commander's uniform that Shouyou had seen him on most occasions so far, and is standing in a corner of the training yard, wearing nothing more than a simple white tunic and black breeches, paired with some sturdy leather boots. All garments appear of excellent quality, of course, but still, astounding in their simplicity.

There's a faint rosy hue to his chiseled features, thanks to the exercise, and his skin, glistening with sweat, is definitely a little bit darker than Shouyou remembers it from the failed feast over a week ago.

He's… stunning, really. That's the only word fitting enough, for how incredibly attractive his wayward spouse looks right now.

Shouyou stares from the tall oak doors that lead outside, unable to tear his gaze away from the breathtaking sight that is Kageyama, inky black hair shimmering in the sunlight, quietly yet confidently dispensing advice to the knights training all around him, a word of praise to this one here, a demonstration of how to parry to that other one there, calm and composed, in his element.

Shouyou can see it in the knights' eyes, how much they admire and respect their Commander, how grateful and keen they are for his guidance. It almost makes Shouyou feel like he’s trespassing, somehow, an intruder that would wrench away the attention of the soldiers’ esteemed commander. His feet start to back up, but as soon as he does, he stills.

Why the hell should he feel intimidated? He is a prince—by rights, these knights are under his command, too, and beyond that, Kageyama is his husband. More than anyone else, he has the most right to Kageyama’s attention in their goddamn household.

Squaring his shoulders, he steps forward into the courtyard. At first, no one notices him—Kageyama sure doesn’t, too busy sparing with a squire—but Shouyou’s hair has always been a glaring beacon, and he can feel a dozen eyes follow him as he strides across the ground, moving towards Kageyama.

He’s near enough to hear someone mutter a reluctant, “Sir, we have company.” Shouyou has to quell down the urge to correct whoever spoke that he isn’t just ‘company;’ after all, he’s not here to make a scene.

He’s here for something far more embarrassing.

“Your Highness,” he starts, keeping his voice even and clear, loud enough to be heard above the sounds of clashing metal and crunching soil, “Would you care to join me for lunch? I’ve prepared—”

“Later,” comes the gruff reply, utterly exasperated, as if that one word is already a bother to spare the effort. Kageyama doesn’t even look at him.

The eerie silence that follows makes Shouyou’s head throb. He can feel the tips of his fingers go ice cold, trembling at the joint forces of humiliation and rage. He knows everyone in the yard has heard them, all witnesses as Shouyou, a supposed prince, makes a fool of himself.

Red-faced and fuming, he storms off the training ground, indignantly ignoring the judging stares and hushed whispers. He can feel a pinch on his brow, eyes quickly prickling but he inhales it all in until he’s inside the palace.

He remains standing, motionless, in the hallway, making a conscious effort to not let the constricting feeling in his chest overcome him. He won’t give Kageyama the satisfaction—not now, not ever. He’s been humiliated enough.

“Of all the insufferable… scumbag… jerk… how dare he?!” Shouyou grumbles as he finally makes himself move, stomping across the hall, his leather boots leaving raging echoes in his wake. He’s angrier now than mortified, although the claws of shame still cling stubbornly to him.

That’s it. He’s done. Enough playing a part if this is what he gets for being too diligent. If he’s going to be married only by name and for the sake of legalities and treaties, then so be it. He’d rather be alone for the rest of his life than suffer this constant insult to his pride from that pompous, heartless jerk.

“Your Highnesses, lunch is… uhh… where’s your husband, Your Highness?” Yamaguchi fumbles when Shouyou enters the dining hall, huffing and very much alone.

“Dead,” he snaps, slumping on a chair. “He’s dead to me. I’m a widower now.”

“Uhm…”

“Just serve me the food, Tadashi. And I want to eat alone. Please.”

His butler hesitates at first but one look at Shouyou and he does as he’s commanded, calling orders to the maids to start serving the food. They proceed with organized haste and immediately leave once their tasks are completed.

Shouyou has half a mind to have them make more than this simple food but he’s too hungry to wait. And modesty aside, the curry looks inviting, as its aromatic smell instantly fills the room.

As soon as the thick gravy hits his mouth, however, Shouyou realizes he has never been more wrong in his life.

“Eugh! What the f—”

His words get lost as he retches, spitting the spoonful of god-awful, horrendous goo he just put in his mouth.

The god-awful, horrendous goo he spent an entire morning making.

The curry, if it’s even that, is downright inedible. It might even be poisonous. Oh gods, it would have been a hundred times more humiliating if he fed Kageyama this… this disgusting gloop of pure misery.

“Is everything all right, Your Highness?” Yamaguchi says as he rushes quickly back to Shouyou's side. He always has that uncanny ability to sense something’s amiss, even if he’s on the other side of the room. “Was the curry too cold? Someone, kindly reheat—”

“Dump it.”

“Pardon, my liege?”

Shouyou wipes his mouth with a napkin, partly to hide the red shade of shame coloring his face. “Dump it all out. This tastes disgusting.”

“But—”

“Tadashi, please. Just do as I ordered. Clean out everything before the prince sees this.”

Yamaguchi nods, then bows. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Shouyou can hear his butler bark out orders as he exits the dining hall. He starts feeling nauseous, either from the garbage he just put in his mouth or from the barrage of humiliation burying his very soul alive.

Tired and dejected, he retreats back to his chambers. He doesn’t bother to strip off his day clothes and hurls himself face down onto the satin sheets. The smell of roses wafting from the fabric calms him a little, but only for a short while, until it mutates again to utter misery when he’s reminded that the only reason the bed smells like this, exactly as it did on the night of his wedding, is because it’s barely been used.

A trickle of anger begins crawling in, but it feels meaningless when he doesn’t even know who this fury could be directed at. Sure, Kageyama turns out to be a complete miscreant, but it’s not like he promised to shower Shouyou with affection and adoration when they got married. The vows they uttered meant nothing—they were just a string of impassive, trivial words only meant to honor and appease a bonded agreement. Maybe Kageyama feels as miserable as Shouyou does, tied to a stranger against his will. Maybe he has someone back in Karasuno, someone he has reserved all of his devotion for, someone who could warm up his bed at night and fill his stomach in the morning.

But now he’s stuck with Shouyou, inadequate and incapable, and the only pull to his name is his status as a prince, which he’s also failing spectacularly at.

The tendrils of sleep eventually claim him as he drowns in self-pity and misery amidst the rose-scented mattress.

When Shouyou comes to, it’s to his stomach grumbling and protesting. With a yawn, he stretches up. He still feels pretty wretched and pathetic, and the nap has done next to nothing to relieve him of it. Deliberating if food—actual, edible food, not his curry of death—can at least appease this sense of gloominess, he wanders back to the dining area to have something prepared.

As he opens the doors to the kitchen, any traces of sleep and grogginess strip off his body at the sight that greets him.

There’s his prince husband, still clad in his training ensemble, eating the gloop-disguised-as-curry Shouyou made by the spoonfuls, chowing down on it straight from the pot.

“What in the gods—”

The maids startle at Shouyou’s remark, just now noticing his appearance and stumbling over themselves as they attempt to bow. “Y-Your Highness! We were trying to dispose of the dish, as you requested! But the prince—he insisted…”

Shouyou can barely hear the maids' clamors, or Yamaguchi frantically trying to stop Kageyama from eating—he’s too confused and flabbergasted as to what to make of the scene unfolding before him. All he can do is stand, frozen, by the doorway, eyes wide, unable to look away from the proud prince eating with such gusto, as if he’s being fed the most delicious food in the world.

When Kageyama finally sees him, stormy blue eyes striking Shouyou like lightning, he slows down from his enthusiastic munching as he regards him.

“I told you later. Couldn’t you wait for me for ten more minutes before I finished training?” he says, obviously irate. But then he slides across his seat and pats the space beside him. “Come, join me.”

The first sound that comes out of Shouyou’s mouth is this weird choking noise of disbelief, followed by a bellow of, “Spit that out!” as he stomps right towards the prince and attempts to take matters into his own hands—literally.

“Ha?! Why—the hell—stop choking me!” Kageyama yells, fingers clawing into Shouyou’s hands on his neck.

“It’s—it’s not edible!” Shouyou wails, but he does stop trying to suffocate his husband. “That—that thing is awful! It could be poisonous!”

“No, it’s not, let me finish eating, dumbass, I’m hungry—”

“I’ll have food prepared, just not that! Can someone please bring the prince—”

“No. You, stop right there,” Kageyama orders, and the cook instantly freezes at the prince's commanding voice, bowing and scurrying away instead. He turns to Shouyou, standing to his full height. He stares down at him with such an air of authority and dominion that it makes Shouyou step back, heart thundering in his chest, and he flinches when Kageyama moves his hand.

He shuts his eyes on reflex, but then he feels warmth curl over his hand. Gentle. Soft. He opens his eyes, warily meeting his husband’s azure ones.

“I don’t want any other food,” Kageyama tells him, his tone suddenly turning quiet.

“B-But—”

“I want to eat the food my husband made for me.” Kageyama squeezes his wrist, slowly guiding Shouyou back to the table. “And from now on, that’s all I would ever eat.”

He drags Shouyou to sit with him, and all Shouyou can do is follow. This day has been such a turbulence of clashing emotions and seeing Kageyama act like this, all gentlemanly and amicable and dare he say it, even sweet, is throwing Shouyou off. He can only watch as Kageyama resumes eating, not a hint of disgust in his face as he slurps down the horrid thing.

“Next time, please, wait for me. It wouldn’t kill you to spare a few more minutes to wait for your husband to dine with you,” Kageyama says, almost a whisper, almost… shy, what with the slight color blooming across Kageyama’s cheeks.

Or maybe Shouyou is hallucinating.

The bewilderment must be apparent on his face because then Kageyama reverts back to his default expression, lips curling down to a frown and brows knitting together.

“What? Are you objecting to that?”

Shouyou blinks out of his own haze and shakes his head. “N-No! No!” When Kageyama frowns even harder, Shouyou clarifies, “I-I mean, no, I’m not objecting. If that’s what you wish, Your Highness.”

Satisfied, Kageyama nods. “Good. And please, call me by my name. There’s no need for formalities between us.”

“O-Okay… Kageyama.”

Now it’s definitely Shouyou whose face is flooded with color—good thing the maids and the cooks pay them no mind, probably mindful enough to give them privacy. Although it doesn’t lessen whatever it is that Shouyou is feeling right now, all tingly and fuzzy in the depths of his chest.

Maybe it’s for the best that he can’t yet put a name to it. It makes it a little less scary.

Kageyama comes down with a terrible stomachache that night, and Shouyou doesn’t have the heart to tell him “I told you so,” not when this is, actually, partly, his fault. So as atonement, he tends to the sick prince all night and the day after, shooing away the maids who try to assist him. This is, after all, his duty as a spouse as well.

And besides, Kageyama doesn’t seem all too imposing and stately when he’s incapacitated like this.

“Oi, I need water. Cold one. Hurry.”

“Of course.” Shouyou bows then rolls his eyes once he’s turned his back. He’s still so insufferably bossy, though.

“Hurry back to me.”

Shouyou smiles, that weird feeling surfacing up into his chest again.

He doesn’t mind it too much, not this time.

“My sister wants us to have the Winter Lodge.”

Shouyou stops midway from eating his eggs. Eggs that he cooked, mind you. Kageyama was not jesting when he told Shouyou he’d be eating his cooking only since the ‘curry incident.’

Not wanting to give his husband more food poisoning and consequently reduce himself into a young widower, Shouyou has been dedicating most of his time learning how to cook proper, non-poisonous dishes with actual hands-on experiences.

It was a taxing endeavor, and there has been more mishaps following that first disaster (with Kageyama ending up with a mild stomach ache after he ate a bread Shouyou had baked—turned out he interchanged the proportions of flour and baking soda; how was he supposed to know they’re not the same thing?), but he eventually managed to get acquainted with the simple mechanics of cooking. Just two days ago, he recreated the curry he first made, correctly and edible this time around. Kageyama didn’t say anything when he ate it, but Shouyou was sure the faint pink on his cheeks was telling enough. Or maybe that was just the heat from the curry.

Either way, Shouyou rode the momentum of his first success and in the following two weeks, he expanded his culinary repertoire with even more dishes. Simple, for now—he doesn’t want to get too ambitious—but he figured it’s more than enough to satisfy Kageyama.

That morning, he made them scrambled eggs with tomatoes for breakfast and even though they were a little burned, it was still good in Shouyou’s humble opinion. Kageyama had already finished a plate and was going in for seconds when he made his remark.

“The Queen?” Shouyou asks.

“Hmm.” Kageyama swallows before continuing, “She says she’s giving us the Winter Lodge as a wedding gift.”

“That seems… a bit much for a gift,” Shouyou says. 

The Winter Lodge was a glorious castle, glistening like a magnificent white eagle perched on top of Shiratorizawa Mountain. It was not as grand as the Queen’s Castle in Sendai and was definitely smaller than their castle here in Yukigaoka, but the Winter Lodge held a different kind of splendor and enchantment from all the rest. Shouyou had only seen it from afar, and only thanks to the vantage point of their own castle. Never in a million dreams did he ever think he’d be able to enter it, much less own the marvelous castle.

Kageyama shrugs. “No one lives there anyway, only the caretakers. Not since the Duke of Shiratorizawa died during one of our campaigns. They didn’t have an heir, so the castle was repossessed by the Crown.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Shouyou says. “But fortunate for us, I guess?”

Kageyama stops munching on his eggs to stare—or glare, more like it— at Shouyou. “Would you... like to have it?”

“W-Well… I’ve always wanted to go there… I have only ever seen it from afar.”

Kageyama is silent for a moment, gaze still fixed on Shouyou. “Then we’ll have it renovated.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not as grand as it used to be, since we used it as a fort for our campaigns. But if we’re to have it as our own place, then we’ll have to make it a residence fitting for royalty,” Kageyama says. “But I know next to nothing about decorations or pretty things and stuff like that. So, I was wondering, if maybe you could oversee the renovations?”

The imploring tone in Kageyama’s voice takes Shouyou off guard. He hasn’t heard him like this before, even in the little time they’ve been spending together recently. Angry and demanding, sure, but shy and unsure, face coloring deeper with each passing second? It makes Shouyou grasp for the correct response.

Yet still, he tries. “I can?”

“Of course. I want you to make decisions as well. It will be, after all, our home.”

“Our home,” Shouyou echoes. The words feel foreign in his mouth. But much like his burnt scrambled eggs, it doesn’t taste half as bad. “I’ll do it, then. But on one condition.”

Kageyama cocks his head to the side, raising a brow. “What?”

Shouyou grins. “You’re coming into town with me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want an entourage, Your Highness?” Yamaguchi asks for the fifth time as he opens the door to the carriage. Shouyou pats Yamaguchi in the shoulder as he gets in.

“Nah, it’ll be too crowded. Besides, I don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

“I don’t think the entourage would be the problem, sire,” Yamaguchi says, eyes sliding towards the approaching somber figure.

Shouyou sometimes hates how often Yamaguchi can be so maddeningly right.

They all watch as Kageyama strides across the courtyard, imperious and regal in his every step, with his towering height and his general… attractiveness. Shouyou can even see a few court ladies get flustered and whisper among themselves as the prince passes by them—he’s like a shadow that demands to be worshiped in its presence. Kageyama just exudes the very essence of what a prince should be, elegant yet fearsome, authoritative yet respected.

“Good morning,” Kageyama greets as he enters the carriage. He squeezes in next to Shouyou, taking up almost half the space. This is the first time they’ve been this close and every pore of Shouyou’s body is instantly filled with the scent of wintergreen and leather; a smell so pleasant he has to physically stop himself from sniffing.

“So, where are we off to?”

Shouyou jolts out of his trance. “Oh, uhm, I was thinking if maybe we could visit the…uhh…”

The rest of his words falter, breaking into an incomprehensible mix of letters and syllables when he is suddenly face to face with Kageyama, so close he can actually see himself reflected in those stormy blue eyes, can count the long lashes framing them, can see the tiny diagonal scar on his otherwise flawless cheek, can appreciate how plump and rosy his lips are—

“The uhh?”

Shouyou shakes his head, as if physically willing away the intrusive, unnecessary thoughts. “There’s, uhm, a bazaar in town right now. Merchants from neighboring kingdoms and nations will all be there. It’s something the Merchant’s Consortium organizes once every two months, hopping from one place to another.” He shifts in his seat furtively, inching away from the uncomfortable closeness. It doesn’t do much, what with Kageyama taking up pretty much the entire carriage with more than just his physique.

Kageyama seems unbothered, though. Of course he does. “Hmm. I don’t know much about these sorts of things, as I explained, so I will be trusting your judgment in this,” he says, leaning back on the seat cushions and folding his arms over his chest.

As much as Shouyou tries, the swell beneath Kageyama’s shirt sleeves is too prominent not to notice. The man really is… impressive. But some lingering, intact piece of self-preservation and dignity makes him yank his gaze away, coughing.

“Well, I’ll try my best, then.”

“I was hoping you would,” Kageyama responds, lips curling into a ghost of a smile. No—a smirk. He’s smirking at him. As if provoking. Challenging.

Shouyou can’t help himself; he mirrors the same shit-eating grin back. “Oh, I will.”

As the carriage rolls along the cobblestone road, Shouyou stares out the window at the picturesque landscape that stretches before him. The sun casts its warm glow upon the lush green fields, and a gentle breeze whispers through the trees, carrying the scent of blossoming wildflowers. It’s a beautiful day, a day filled with possibilities but also, uncertainties.

The ride to town is uneventful, and eerily quiet. Kageyama barely speaks and only answers Shouyou’s queries about his plans and ideas for the renovations.

“I told you. I’ll leave it all to you,” Kageyama says, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “I don’t even know why you wanted me to come along.”

“Because—!” Shouyou starts, then pauses. Because… what, exactly? Why did he insist on bringing Kageyama along? Even he knows the prince would rather spend his day training or doing whatever folly he’d rather be doing instead of going shopping with Shouyou.

“I didn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you.”

Shouyou turns to the hushed, low voice. Kageyama meets his gaze at the corner of his eyes. “I’m not really… used to crowds. And I don't know a thing about bargaining, or decor. I’ll just get in your way.”

Kageyama looks vulnerable right now, a sight so unprecedented compared to his usual imposing facade. His crossed arms appear tensed as slender fingers pick at the sleeves.

Shouyou’s own hands twitch, wanting to wrap it around his husband’s, the same way he does when Natsu’s nerves get the best of her before her piano recitals. It wouldn’t be too weird, he reasons, they are married after all, and he’s about to reach over when Kageyama shifts, uncrossing his arms to clasp his hands together in his lap instead. Shouyou retracts his own faster than a nervous animal.

“I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you to see your new subjects,” Shouyou offers. This was partially true; even if the peace treaty had been well received by the majority, Shouyou had heard talk about some unease among the populace, especially with regards to their new prince. “And, well, it might be a nice change of scenery for you. A break from your endless training.”

One look at the puzzled expression on Kageyama’s face and Shouyou knows he just said something incredibly careless and impertinent. An apology starts to form on his tongue when Kageyama lets out the tiniest laugh, amused.

“The scenery is beautiful, I must admit,” he says, blue eyes locked with Shouyou’s.

The rest of the ride is spent with Shouyou silently battling the rapt pounding in his chest.

Upon arriving in the bustling town, they step out of the carriage to be greeted by the vibrant, loud sights and sounds of the market. The vendors display their wares with pride, their voices intertwining into a symphony of calls and cheerful banter. It’s a stark contrast to the solemnity of the palace, and Shouyou finds solace in the lively atmosphere; he always did love going into town, especially during the Merchant’s Bazaar. There were always so many interesting things to see, so many people to meet.

As they enter the market, the townspeople bow and curtsy in respect, and Shouyou smiles graciously in return. But his smile drops when he looks over at his husband. He looks uncomfortable, like a fish out of water, which in a sense, is true. He is an outsider, and no matter how many treaties and agreements are made by the monarchy, the common folk will always see him as an usurper. And Shouyou can see that Kageyama is very aware of that fact, his body language says as much—walls drawn up so high, like an impenetrable fortress. The scowl on his face isn’t helping either.

Shouyou steps back, and before his cowardice overcomes him, he takes one of the prince’s hands on his, and starts walking. It’s far too intimate for two people who have yet to spend more than just a couple of hours together every day, and Shouyou can see how this startles Kageyama too, frown giving place to widening eyes and a shy blush high on his cheeks. 

It suits his husband so much better than the rigid seriousness of earlier, Shouyou thinks, as he pulls him along through the different stands, stopping here and there to acknowledge a vendor or another, eyes scanning each product studiously, querying prices, checking the quality of the materials, asking questions about where each piece came from, admiring and contrasting the craftsmanship of everything he takes a shine or interest in.

One stand, however, captures Shouyou’s attention more than the others. It’s a fabrics stall, and Shouyou marvels at the array of colors and textures carefully and meticulously hung, each one holding the potential to breathe new life into their recently acquired castle’s interior. As Shouyou peruses the luxurious fabrics, his eyes are drawn to a bolt of sapphire blue silk.

“Oh my goodness. This is beautiful,” Shouyou gawks and the stall merchant is quick to materialize next to him—an old man adorned with colorful garments as if to match his wares.

“You’ve got a good eye, sire. This fabric is an import from overseas, all the way from the Middle East,” the merchant tells him. “They have dyes only they can replicate, like this shade of beautiful blue—perfect for royalties such as yourselves, Your Highnesses.”

Even without the merchant’s sales patter, Shouyou is already mesmerized by the product, his fingers gently fiddling with the cloth. Its softness and sheen remind him of the tranquility of a summer’s night sky, or maybe a cascading waterfall, gently swaying in the breeze once hung as curtains for the windows of the Winter Lodge.

Plus this shade of blue… it reminds him of something else. 

It’s only when he feels a tug on his entangled hand and gazes up, that he realizes the beautiful fabric reflects the same brilliance as the blue in those intense eyes.

“Do you like this one?” Kageyama asks, softly.

Shouyou does not hesitate, as if bound in a spell. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll get it.” Kageyama turns to the merchant. “We’ll take every yard you have of this fabric.”

The old man stumbles, obviously flabbergasted at the request, “T-That would be tens of yards, my liege…”

“That’s fine.  We’ll take all of it.” Kageyama’s attention turns back to Shouyou; his focus, on the other hand, has never left his husband. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

Shouyou shakes his head. “Uhm, just this.”

A few more instructions for the logistics of the delivery (it is, as the merchant said, a lot of fabric) and the transaction is settled. The merchant will be paid once it arrives at the castle, which Shouyou suspects will be an exorbitant amount of money, even for him. He’s been taught to be mindful of finances since he was a young prince, as their small kingdom often struggled with commerce and exchanges due to their topography limiting trade routes somewhat, so luxuries like this, even as a royal, weren’t frequent. It’s why the Merchant’s Bazaar has always been such a treat for their kingdom, a rarity to splurge and experience a piece of the outside world in their small, secluded land.

So maybe it’s not too audacious of him to find a slight feeling of delight in being spoiled like this. With each stall and shop they pass by, Kageyama relaxes a bit more, showing himself keen to listen and indulge in every single one of Shouyou’s whims. When he takes an interest in a beautifully ornate chandelier dripping with crystal pendants that cast enthralling patterns of light when hit by the sun, his husband is quick to inquire about the piece, not even batting an eye at the excessive price tag. 

Another lavish purchase is made after Shouyou gushes at a masterpiece in an art gallery: a landscape painting that depicts rolling hills and mountains bathed in the golden light of sunrise, meeting the fading navy blue of the incoming night sky. The way the colors dance and merge speaks to Shouyou’s very soul, creating this sense and feeling of serenity and harmony.

“Beautiful,” Kageyama breathes next to him. Shouyou can only nod in agreement.

As they explore the great wood-carving workshops where all the best furniture in the land is made, Shouyou is careful not to look up at Kageyama very often, lest he make a fool of himself being caught gazing, quite literally red-faced. The hand-holding he’s gotten acquainted with after some time, but this? This indulging spree that seems so unprecedented for the stern, stoic prince is making Shouyou’s stomach knot in on itself, like the giddy feeling he gets when he wins at something he’s trained hard for. 

He takes it as that—a win for finally improving his relationship with his husband. Baby steps, but successful, nonetheless.

But by the gods, does this feeling grant him more than just giddiness as the day drags on. There’s even a moment that leaves Shouyou’s heart rabbiting madly in his chest again (as if the whole experience today hasn’t been enough of an assault on his confused, tumultuous feelings), when Kageyama locks their hands firmly together and prevents Shouyou from taking it away, as Shouyou goes to free it so he can pay the sweet bun vendor for the bag of desserts he just bought for them to snack on. 

The prince stays silent as he takes a gold coin from the small leather purse at his belt and pays the man, who stares at it in bewilderment before stammering, “B-But, sire… I-I can’t accept this, it’s too much!”

Kageyama replies quietly, in a tone that exudes authority but is also, Shouyou notices with surprise, much more amenable than anyone would expect from the prince, “Keep it. You’ve earned it well, with such good buns.”

Shouyou is not the kind to go silent easily. Growing up, he always made sure to make his opinions heard and known, and his parents always listened to what he had to say. His noble friends and companions were a merry bunch (even though Tsukishima could sometimes, if not often, be a sour puss), and Shouyou always found himself exuberantly chatting away to everyone and anyone who’d listen to him, and generally speaking, he always had a captive audience, too.

But right now, Shouyou doesn’t know what to say. He’s been rendered speechless, not just by the prince’s acts of generosity—both grand and simple—but also by the sudden realization that Kageyama has proven himself to be, as the day has worn out, much less awkward and frumpy than he’d imagined him. Shouyou isn’t sure if it had been his brazen hand-holding or just the fact that, as they walked around the streets of the Bazaar, the people’s friendliness and the gentle bustling of the marketplace had been enough to relax the initially wary prince.

He supposes he should express his gratitude, and now is the perfect time to do so, with them sitting at a low bench beside a stall selling fresh refreshments, Kageyama once again paying more than the simple drinks’ worth, to go with their steamy, doughy buns. The hand-holding is put on hold for now, as they do need to eat, but Shouyou notices how Kageyama hesitates unclasping their hands, but eventually does so.

“Thank you,” Shouyou says, peeking at his husband through his lashes. He can feel the warmth rise up to his collar, but it seems pointless to hide it when he’s been sporting the same shade of red all day. “For…everything, really.”

Kageyama quirks up a brow at him. “What are you being thankful for? It is only right for me to indulge my husband with whatever you desire. It is my duty after all.”

Shouyou’s grip on his bun tightens, almost spilling its sweet filling. Of course, Kageyama is only acting out of duty, like the obedient soldier he is. They’re both just keeping up with responsibilities and expectations; there’s really nothing else to it.

So why does his stupid, thrashing heart wish there was?

“But…”

The breath that snags in Shouyou’s throat tastes awfully like hope.

“I did enjoy myself,” Kageyama says, and without breaking his gaze, he slips his hand back into Shouyou’s—smoothly, with no hint of hesitation. As if he’s done it a hundred times before. As if he’s finally allowed to.

Shouyou can only stare back at those tantalizing blue eyes, breath still held.

“And I like…seeing you smile so genuinely around me, for once.”

It might have been said matter-of-factly, but the hint of sadness laced in the comment doesn’t go amiss. Shouyou’s mind reels at this revelation. He has smiled at him before this…right?

Kageyama is the first to dart away his stare. “Regardless, it was indeed a productive day and I—”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Kageyama’s blue gaze turns back to Shouyou once again, this time framed with confusion.

“I didn’t mean not to smile when you’re around,” Shouyou clarifies. He arranges himself so he can face the prince properly. “Although I admit I didn’t know how to act around you in the first weeks of our marriage. But I will try to be more pleasant—”

“That’s not my intention!” Kageyama jolts. He sounds frantic; another first that Shouyou had yet to see the prince express. “I just meant that… well…” Now he’s slowly but quickly turning pink, lips pursing into a pout, murmuring the next of his words, “What I meant was… seeing you happy… makes me happy.”

“Oh.”

Once again, words fall out of Shouyou’s reach. But to his defense, how is he supposed to respond to that?

Maybe he’ll start by being honest.

“Me, too,” he whispers, too quiet to be heard amidst the bustling market, too small that it gets drowned in the cacophony. “I like… seeing you happy, too.”

But it is heard for whom it’s intended, because the small, soft smile that illuminates Kageyama’s face is telling enough, and Shouyou hopes it’s the first of many he’s entitled to witness.

With their team of hired proficient workers and some of the castle’s staff coming in to help, the renovations on the Winter Lodge are completed in a single two weeks' time. They did well in their selections for the decor, if Shouyou does say so himself; the blue silk fabric contrasting nicely with the snowy-white finish of the Winter Lodge—that is, after it was completely scrubbed clean of all the moss and grime, and repainted. With each new chandelier hung, tapestry displayed, and furniture placed, the forgotten castle once more transformed into its previous delicate elegance, maybe even more so.

“Great work, Your Highness,” Sugawara-san, Kageyama’s trusted head of staff and personal advisor, commends Shouyou with a deep bow. “Prince Kageyama will be very pleased.”

Shouyou had only met Kageyama’s advisor once before, during their wedding. Sugawara-san was a pleasant young man, agreeable and kind, but who could also be stern and resolute when the situation called for it. Shouyou found that he likes Sugawara-san a lot, and he believes the camaraderie is mutual.

“You think so?” Shouyou preens, unable to subdue the anticipation and hopefulness that leak through his voice.

“Of course.” The advisor smiles at him, that knowing, almost mischievous smile that tells Shouyou he knows more than he lets on. “The prince will adore it.”

And Sugawara-san is right—Shouyou’s hand on the refurbishment of the Winter Lodge is firmly sealed with Kageyama’s approval once he visits a day later, after taking away some time off his training regime.

“Excellent,” he muses, and without so much of a look or any preamble, the prince takes Shouyou’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes, hard. Shouyou can hear Sugawara-san’s soft chuckle from behind.

Well…rosy face aside, he takes that as a very definite proof of approval.

But it seems Shouyou’s efforts at stewarding his responsibilities as prince of both Yukigaoka and Karasuno are only just beginning.

It is on a crisp winter morning after the first snowfall of the year when he receives a letter bearing the seal of Queen Miwa, Kageyama’s sister and the esteemed ruler of Karasuno, renowned for her otherworldly beauty and sharp intelligence. Shouyou hasn’t yet gotten the chance to actually meet her; their short interaction on his wedding day is the only instance they’ve been acquainted with each other, but he can attest to the rumors about her allure and wisdom are not exaggerations. And, well, her brother is an impressive specimen of a man, so it’s only sensible to assume that the elder sister, the Queen, would be just as impressive.

So it is entirely justified for Shouyou to feel slightly unnerved upon receiving a personal letter from Her Majesty herself. With shaky fingers, he gingerly opens the letter.

Dearest Shouyou,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. With the onset of winter, preparations for our beloved Winter Carnival are underway. As the queen and your sister-in-law, I kindly request your assistance in overseeing the festivities this year.

The Winter Carnival is a cherished tradition that brings joy and merriment to our people. I have heard tales of your creativity and organizational skills, given your recent success with the renovations of the Winter Lodge, of which I give my highest commendations. Tobio has spoken of your keen eye for detail and your ability to bring magic to any occasion. As such, I believe you are the perfect person to ensure this year’s Carnival’s success. 

I shall be visiting the palace in a week’s time to discuss the event with you in person. I eagerly await our meeting and the opportunity to witness your ideas firsthand. Together, we shall create a Winter Carnival that will dazzle the kingdom and warm the hearts of all who attend, marking a new era of peace and prosperity for our joined monarchies.

Until then, may the winter winds bring you inspiration and joy.

With warm regards,

Miwa Kageyama

The pit of Shouyou’s stomach swells with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The Winter Carnival is an annual Karasuno tradition, and it just so happens that it coincides with Kageyama’s birthday. It’s an evening full of festivity and enchantment, showcasing dazzling performances and a delectable spread—or at least that’s what Shouyou has heard. Their humble kingdom has never been invited to one, which makes sense given that the Carnival only opens its doors to Karasuno allies.

Which makes Shouyou suspect the main reason why the Queen has given him the gargantuan task of organizing such a big and important event is to serve as a rite of passage, both as a new ally to their kingdom and as a new member of the royal family. It’s definitely not because Kageyama actually told his sister the things mentioned in the letter… right? Kageyama doesn’t strike Shouyou as the type to give such high acclaim, more less in relation to him.

Right?

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. He has been given a tremendous responsibility, by the Queen no less, and Shouyou has to follow through. Besides, he is excited. Anxious and nervous as all hell, but genuinely excited; he can literally feel the sparks dancing beneath his skin, making him quiver.

“Tadashi?” he calls, and his butler is on his side immediately.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Kindly make sure the drawing room on the East Hall is replaced with new draperies and carpet, the fireplace cleaned and stocked with fir logs, and the furniture spotless. I need everything done before the end of the week. Oh, and reserve some of the gyokuro tea and those ohigashi we purchased from the Bazaar.”

“Consider it done, sire. Are we expecting a guest to come?”

“Yes.” Shouyou smiles. “The Queen is visiting.”

When the day Queen Miwa is expected at the Lodge arrives, it’s as if the very weather cowers in her presence, and temporarily stops the flurry of snow that’s been raining down on the castle for the past three days.

The sky is clear, yet the chill in the air remains and Shouyou shivers despite donning his thickest cashmere winter coat. He’s been standing by the main door of the castle along with his small entourage, waiting as the revered Queen of Karasuno gets off her luxurious carriage.

“Your Majesty, Queen Miwa, it is an honor to have you here. We welcome you to our humble home,” Shouyou greets her with a deferential bow.

He hears a quiet laugh and Shouyou feels soft yet steady hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him up from his bent position.

“Oh, hush, Shouyou-kun. Call me Miwa, or Nee-san, whichever you prefer. We are family now.” The Queen squeezes his shoulders then pulls him in for an embrace. When she releases him, her brilliant smile is blinding. The rumors and gossip do not do her justice—she is breathtakingly beautiful.

“Uhm, if you insist, Your Ma—I mean… M-Miwa-neesama,” Shouyou stutters, inwardly cringing at his awkwardness.

The Queen laughs again. “You are as adorable as Tobio says. But as much as I would like to discuss that at length, we have a Carnival to plan.”

Shouyou is still processing the first part of that exchange when Tsukishima nudges him from the back. “Uhh, right! Of course, Your—erm—Neesama. This way, please."

They retreat together to the drawing room Shouyou had prepared a week prior. A crackling fire casts a warm glow on the room, and the heavy draperies make the space a bit cozier. A tray of tea has been prepared, the thick aroma of the gyokuro leaves wafting in the air. The handmade ohigashi is set daintily next to the tea, its colorful and intricate designs inviting them to partake of the small treats.

“It smells wonderful in here,” Queen Miwa muses, taking off her fur coat and handing it to one of her handmaidens before sitting down on one of the cushioned seats. She then waves her entourage off, and Shouyou, catching that the Queen wants to discuss matters in private, dismisses his attendees as well. They bow and leave silently, closing the large ornate door behind them.

“The evergreen smell is from the fir burned in the fireplace, uhh, M-Miwa-neesama,” Shouyou stumbles. He has to get used to calling her that, or else he will appear disrespectful. “And the nori smell is from the gyokuro tea. May I?”

The Queen nods. “Ah, yes, please.” She reaches over so Shouyou can fill her cup. “Tobio is still out on a campaign, I take it?”

“Yes. There were reports of bandits causing trouble in the Minami region.”

“Hmm. Well, I am confident they will drive them away.” She smiles at Shouyou, gesturing at the journal he’s been clutching at the entire time. “As much as I would love to talk more about Tobio, we have our own mission to face.”

Over steaming cups of tea and nibbles of sweets, Queen Miwa details the centuries-long tradition of the Winter Carnival, and how, since Kageyama’s birth, it has been a special occasion for the Queen personally.

“This is not meant to give you more of a burden than I already have, but I want the celebrations to be perfect,” the Queen says. She sets down her teacup, stormy blue eyes staring right into Shouyou’s soul. “It is my beloved brother’s birthday after all, and well, I expect his husband to be as keen on making him happy and beloved as I do.”

If there’s any doubt that the Queen and Kageyama are siblings (not that there was any in the first place), the rigid chill that comes with that same imposing aura very well solidifies it. But after almost a month of being the prime subject of those piercing stares and cold demeanor, its effect on Shouyou has lessened. Or maybe, he has gotten used to it, now that he understands that behind the icy exterior is a hidden warmth that just needs the proper coaxing to shine through.

He smiles, giving a slight nod. “Of course, Miwa-neesama.”

The radiant smile the Queen returns him makes the room feel just that little bit warmer.

Over the following weeks, Shouyou throws himself wholly into the preparations for the Winter Carnival. He consults with artisans, decorators, and performers, weaving his vision into the fabric of the festivities. The kingdom buzzes with anticipation as well, eager to experience the magic that is to come.

As it is done every year, the Carnival is to be held at the Winter Lodge, which triples Shouyou’s nerves. It would be the first time the castle would be open to the public since its restoration.

“Calm down, will you? You did good on the renovations,” Tsukishima tells him.

They’ve been sequestered in the library for most of the day, along with Yamaguchi and Sugawara-san (who Kageyama had sent to assist Shouyou), fine-tuning the arrangements and coordinating the myriad aspects of the upcoming event, which would take place in a mere three weeks' time. The weather seems to reflect their commotion, as it has been snowing nonstop for over ten days now. They’re already short-staffed as it is, and now the palace is divided into making preparations for the Carnival and making sure they have enough provisions to last the winter.

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Shouyou says, slumping over the mahogany table covered with sketches and drawn-up plans. “But you can’t blame me for being overwhelmed! There’s still so much to do! One of the ice sculptors injured himself and now we have to compensate for their injury and find a replacement. I’ve yet to hear from the Chief Carver for any updates.”

“I’ll follow up on that,” Tsukishima assures him, scribbling away in his journal. “The Head Chef has yet to procure some of the ingredients needed for the menu, mainly meat, but the hunters are due to return within this weekend, so we’ll see until then if we need to ask the capital to send us some more.” He looks up, adjusting his glasses as he regards Shouyou attentively. “Speaking of returns… has Prince Kageyama arrived yet?”

Shouyou shakes his head, knocking his forehead against the wood in the process. “No. His last letter said they got stuck in a blizzard going up the mountains. They will probably arrive in three days’ time.”

“He should be helping you prepare for this.”

“Agreed,” Sugawara-san chimes in, nodding his head. “He should’ve joined the hunters; his skills would’ve been useful.”

Shouyou shoots up from his slumped-up form, frowning at both men. “The Carnival is for him. We can’t have the celebrant organize his own party! Least of all hunt for it!”

The taller man shrugs, gesturing at the other advisor. “It is their tradition.”

“Kei!”

Another exasperated exhale, then Tsukishima bows. “Apologies, sire.”

“Oh, shut up, you don’t mean that,” Shouyou scoffs.

“Yes, I do not.”

That makes Shouyou burst into laughter. It eases the jumble of jitters in his stomach for a bit. He knows what Tsukishima is doing, and he’s grateful for it. He might be snarky and cold sometimes, but he does have Shouyou’s best interests at heart, always.

“But he’s right, sire,” Sugawara-san says. “One of the generals could very well handle those measly bandits. I said as much to the prince, but he said he’d be of no help in matters such as this and that he’d just be a nuisance.”

“That’s something he would say, all right. But it is better this way. It will be a nice surprise, don’t you think?”

No one opposes that—Tsukishima even gives the tiniest nod, and Sugawara-san is smiling behind his palm, amusement dancing in his cinnamon eyes.

“Okay, then!” Shouyou stands, feeling reinvigorated. “Let’s finalize everything before my husband gets home.”

Weeks are reduced to days, and the grand celebration draws nearer and nearer. Shouyou has never seen a palace this bustling before—maids and workers running around like headless chickens, making sure everything is as impeccable as possible, down to the very last detail. They’ve all relocated to the Winter Lodge to begin the intricate decorations and make sure the chambers are well stocked with thick quilts and fir firewood for the dignitaries that will be spending the night after the revelries, the Queen herself included.

Heedless of his reservations at first, Shouyou eventually orders for his and Kageyama’s supposed chamber to be prepped as well, even though they still do not share the same bed.

“It’s better to be prepared, Your Highness,” Sugawara-san tells him. “Allow me to take the burden off your hands in preparing the lodgings. You have too much on your plate as it is.”

He does have a lot to deal with so he gladly relinquishes the preparations for the chambers and their guests’ lodgings to Sugawara-san.

But despite the chaos, Shouyou is feeling less apprehensive than he did all those weeks before. Everything has been perfect so far, from the ice sculptors (thankfully, they found a replacement for the injured carver who was just as skilled) to the curated menu they designed for the feast (the meat brought in by their hunters was enough, though the Queen surprised them by having a batch of high-quality venison delivered as well). It also helps that he has such competent attendants at his disposal, with Yamaguchi leading as helm of the staff, Tsukishima making sure everything is right on schedule and every expense accounted for, and Sugawara-san being able to spot even the smallest oversights with his eye for detail. Shouyou can’t help the burst of pride swelling in him as his vision for the grandest celebration of the year slowly turns into reality.

“Your husband would be proud, Niichan,” Natsu says as they both admire the glimmering crystals strewn all over the blue silk curtains they purchased ages ago. The brilliance of the crystals and the dark contrast of the fabric gives the mesmerizing illusion of a starry night sky.

Shouyou flusters, pulse quickening at the prospect of Kageyama appreciating his efforts. His husband still hasn’t come home; another blizzard struck their battalion on their way over and in his letter that had arrived just last night, he advised Shouyou they wouldn’t be home until the actual day of the Carnival. “You think so? I didn’t want the decorations to be too garish. I don’t think Kageyama is the kind of person who likes overly ostentatious things.”

“Absolutely!” Natsu beams. “I think it’s perfect.” Then she’s grinning at Shouyou. “Look at you. Just two months ago you were sulking about how you were being neglected by your husband, and now you’re throwing surprise parties specially for him.”

Her little sister’s grin turns into laughter when Shouyou flushes. “S-Shut up, Natsu.”

“Oh, Niichan,” she continues to tease. “Well, I suppose I should look forward to your birthday present for your beloved husband, if you’re going all out with the celebration”

Shouyou freezes, as if he’s turned into one of the swan ice sculptures himself.

“Niichan? Is something the matter? Niichan? Where are you going?”

The calls of his sister turn into a droning noise as Shouyou walks away, not really knowing where his steps are taking him. He feels slightly lightheaded, and he has to lean on one of the ornate columns of the castle to steady himself.

He had been so swept up in the whirlwind of arrangements and planning, so preoccupied with meeting expectations and trying not to succumb to the crushing pressure of it all that it is only now, three days until the most anticipated event of his life, that Shouyou realizes in mounting horror that he had forgotten to prepare a gift for Kageyama.

“Goddamn it,” he curses under his breath. Okay, breathe in, breathe out. He has no time to panic.

Taking another steeling inhale, he resumes his aimless walk around the castle, hoping for inspiration to strike. But all the commotion and buzz only make his head spin even more, reminding him that his efforts will all be for naught if he does not have an actual gift to present to his husband. It is unacceptable; he might as well be absent from the event altogether just to save himself the humiliation.

And, oh gods, what would the Queen think? What would Kageyama think?

Exhaustion catches up to him and he retreats back to the solitude of his study. He gazes at the floor to ceiling shelves occupying half of the room. Maybe he could give Kageyama one of his treasured globe collections? Or that antique compass he bought at the Bazaar last year? That knife scabbard encrusted with precious stones?

No, none of these are worthy of a gift befitting a man of Kageyama’s status. He needs something special, something meaningful and heartfelt, something—

Shouyou’s frantic gaze lands on his violin, carefully laying on its stand.

It has been a while since he last played, the barrage of events in the last few months—from getting married to handling official court affairs—hindering him from touching it. Gingerly, he picks up the instrument, giving it a gentle caress over its beautifully varnished finish, as if greeting an old friend.

Shouyou is by no means an accomplished violinist, much less a composer, but his options are next to nonexistent against the dwindling timeframe. So he hefts the violin and rests it on his collarbone, muscle memory taking over as he allows the melodies flowing within him to surface.

Night after night when he’s sure everyone has retired for the day, Shouyou pours his all onto the blank sheets of music, weaving tune after tune that accompany each emotion that dwells in him since the day his hand was offered to Kageyama’s.

Fear, excitement, unease, comfort.

Longing.

Admiration.

It’s a piece that captures the essence of the beginning of their relationship; the soaring highs, the gentle lulls, and this confusing yet comforting harmony they share at the moment, and that Shouyou has yet to fully understand. His fingers fly across the fret, bow gliding over the strings. He lets his emotions and feelings overtake him, lets them take control, allowing them to make him a conduit to their exuberance and vivacity.

Shouyou finishes his composition with a day to spare. He spends this extra time polishing his piece, ordering Yamaguchi to keep everyone from disturbing him as he rehearses as much as he can.

It’s nowhere near perfect, but, Shouyou supposes, neither are the feelings that inspired it.

As the day of the Winter Carnival and Kageyama's birthday arrive, the palace brims with feverish anticipation. Guests arrive, dressed in their finest attire, excitement palpable. The Winter Lodge has transformed into a wonderland of sparkling ice sculptures, vibrant decorations, and enchanting performances. The air is filled with laughter, music, and the delightful aromas of hot cocoa and freshly baked pastries. Ice skaters twirl gracefully on the frozen lake, children build snowmen, and families enjoy sweet treats from the stalls. The ambiance is one of happiness and camaraderie.

As much as Shouyou longs to revel in the success of his preparations, his stomach is a roaring hurricane of nerves, unease gripping his heart. He couldn’t even thoroughly admire the attire Queen Miwa has sent for him— a tailored black velvet suit that falls gracefully to his knees, adorned with delicate, ornate patterns of intricate golden embroidery, all along its hem, lapels and cuffs. A golden crown rests over his head, and Shouyou couldn’t be more grateful for the tens of pins his stylist used to secure it amidst his curly locks.

But next to Kageyama, he seems shabby and simple.

His husband and guest of honor is adorned in a resplendent ensemble that blends the ethereal hues of white and gold, evoking an aura of sophistication. Draped over his broad shoulders is a magnificent white velvet cape that cascades down to the floor. The cape is fancily embroidered with golden thread, forming delicate patterns of snowflakes and frost. The golden embellishments catch the thousand lights illuminating the castle, casting a shimmering glow as he moves. The regal crown on his head glints majestically, and even though it matches with Shouyou’s, it looks far more elegant on him.

Kageyama looks—there’s really no other way to describe it—beautiful. It makes the knot in Shouyou’s chest tighten even more, stomach tumbling with unease.

“Are you okay?” Kageyama asks, a hand lightly cuffing Shouyou’s elbow.

Shouyou forces a smile, meant to reassure and appease, but he doubts he looks anything but. “Yes. I just had a little too much eggnog, I think…”

“You have barely touched anything since the party began.”

“Ah, well…” Think, think! “I-I’ve had a couple in the kitchen earlier.”

The frown on Kageyama’s face remains, obviously unconvinced by Shouyou’s poor fibbing. “Are you sure?”

“O-Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? Uh, why don’t we try those curry buns?” Shouyou fumbles, pointing at a stall. “I know how much you liked them when we tried them at the Bazaar.”

The curry buns are a pleasant distraction, not just for Kageyama but for Shouyou as well, and as they mingle with the crowd, greeting nobles and common folks alike, Shouyou’s nerves slowly alleviate. It’s high time he enjoys the festivities he worked so hard to materialize and allows himself to feel pride as Queen Miwa showers him with praise and commendations for his efforts.

“It’s everything and more than I expected, Shouyou-kun,” she beams, giving Shouyou a soft kiss on the cheek. “Such a fine husband my brother has chosen.”

The heat that gathers on Shouoyu’s face is enough to melt away the fine layer of chill over his skin. “Thank you, Miwa-neesama”

“Oh, marvelous! You’re getting used to it! Now I await the day you two are just as familiar with each other.” And with that remark, the Queen excuses herself, leaving Shouyou a flustered crimson red, and Kageyama… well, he can’t really tell since his husband has turned to his side, the back of his hand covering his face.

“Don’t mind her. She’s doing it mostly to tease me,” Kageyama mumbles. He finally turns towards Shouyou, and his rosy cheeks and ears do not go unnoticed. “Would you like to go ice skating with me?” he offers.

Shouyou takes the gloved hand extended in his direction. “I would love to.”

It comes as no surprise that Kageyama is as fine an ice skater as he is a knight wielding a sword, as he glides and spins around Shouyou. The smug grin on his face is taunting, challenging, and that sparks a competitive fire in Shouyou, who gives his best to keep up with the other man. They must skate for hours, or maybe it’s just been minutes, but Shouyou can’t be bothered with time as they leap and spin in circles around each other, too distracted by the clear ringing sound of Kageyama’s laughter when Shouyou falls on his butt while attempting a trick. It’s a sound so carefree and playful, words that wouldn’t normally describe cold, imposing Kageyama, but that’s exactly the feeling that bursts within Shouyou, taking him by surprise. The warmth it creates within him brings him solace, as if he’s in the comfort of a cozy hearth. 

Home—that’s what it is. Kageyama’s laughter feels like home.

When Kageyama bends to help him up, giggles still filtering from him, Shouyou pulls him down, and then it’s his turn to laugh and laugh as Kageyama and his long legs struggle to get himself back upright.

They’re still grinning as they exchange amused jabs and banter as to who's the best skater was when the fanfare trumpets signal an announcement, just as Sugawara-san appears by Kageyama’s side.

“Pardon for interrupting, Your Highnesses, but the Queen requires Prince Tobio’s presence in the dais,” Sugawara-san says, expression apologetic.

The massive ball of anxiety from earlier returns to Shouyou’s gut a hundredfold.

“But, Hinata…” Kageyama begins to protest, hand clutching Shouyou’s wrist.

“It’s okay, Your Highness. Go,” Shouyou says, trying not to appear as tense as he feels. “I will be with you shortly.”

Hesitantly, Kageyama lets go of Shouyou’s hand. Shouyou conjures up the most reassuring smile he can muster as Sugawara-san ushers the prince away, leading him up the dais.

Shouyou sets out to prepare, too, despite his trembling body and fretful brain protesting to just ditch the party while he has the chance. He shakes his head free of the unacceptable prospect; he is going to see this through, no matter the outcome.

Like clockwork, Yamaguchi finds him, Shouyou’s violin case in hand. He gives a few final instructions to his butler before making his way to the dais, just as the Queen is making her announcement.

“This year’s Winter Carnival has been magical and enchanting, all thanks to the commendable leadership of my brother’s husband and my brother-in-law, Prince Shouyou.”

Applause resounds throughout the courtyard, a hundred gazes and beaming faces falling on him. Shouyou gives a slight bow in acknowledgement, which is a struggle with how much his legs are quaking beneath him, especially when he sees Kageyama staring at him, ocean eyes glimmering above the blinding lights of the venue.

“On this majestic night, we gather not only to celebrate the wonders of the Winter Carnival but also to honor a very special occasion—the birthday of my beloved brother and Royal Commander, Prince Tobio."

A wave of applause and cheers erupts from the crowd, accompanied by the harmonious sounds of joyous music. Kageyama peels his eyes away from Shouyou to take a step forward, bowing gracefully before the crowd.

The Queen continues, her voice filled with warmth, "In honor of this special day, I present to you a display of love and appreciation. The Winter Carnival shall from this day forward be an embodiment of the affection and admiration we hold for our dearest prince and knight, who strives so hard to keep our kingdom safe.”

At her words, attendants step forward, each carrying a beautifully wrapped gift. The crowd leans in, their curiosity piqued, as the presents are laid out before the dais, forming a colorful tableau.

"These gifts represent the diverse talents and heartfelt wishes of the people of our host and new ally, Yukigaoka.”

One by one, Kageyama unwraps his gifts, revealing treasures upon treasures as the crowd exclaims in awe. The prince utters his appreciation for each one, and even though his face remains as composed as ever, Shouyou can tell he truly does appreciate everything—the cherry hue on his cheeks says as much.

He gives himself a mental smack upside the head. He can’t let himself be distracted, or else he’ll miss his cue. With a nod at Yamaguchi, who’s standing near the stage, he watches as his butler whispers to Sugawara-san, who in turn discreetly relays the message to the Queen.

“Ah, it appears there’s one more special gift for our beloved prince,” Queen Miwa announces to the crowd, earning hushed murmurs of interest.

Shouyou barely hears her words, what with the rapid drumming of his heart thundering in his ears. But he steps forward nonetheless, head held high and shoulders squared as he makes his way to the center of the Grand Hall, a soft spotlight following his movements.

With a deep breath, Shouyou closes his eyes, allowing the music to flow through him and uttering a silent prayer up to the gods to bless him. Then, he begins to play.

The first notes resonate through the room, delicate and hauntingly beautiful. Shouyou plays as if on instinct, as if he’s played this piece a million times before, each stroke of the bow bringing his last-minute composition to life.

As the music swells and sways through the hall, Shouyou's fingers and bow dance across the strings with unparalleled grace and emotion. His eyes remain closed, lost in the memories of the moments he’s shared with Kageyama, however little they are. His music becomes more than a collection of notes—he is weaving a tapestry of emotions, every note a testament to the vulnerability of his growing feelings.

It is a symphony of admiration, but also of bewilderment, evoking sensations and wishes that words alone cannot express.

Shouyou’s final note lingers in the air, enveloping them all in a tender silence. The collective breath held by the guests is released in a thunderous applause, but all Shouyou can focus on is Kageyama in his all-white splendor. There’s this indescribable look on his face, an intensity that seems to ignite the very air around him. He steps off the dais, a storm of inexplicable sentiments flickering within the azure depths of his eyes as he approaches Shouyou in firm, resolute steps.

Shouyou doesn't realize he has stopped breathing altogether until Kageyama is literally in front of him. But his breathing is cut short again, when Kageyama leans in close, closer, until Shouyou feels a warm pressure on his flushed cheeks, sending a wave of liquid fire through his veins.

“Thank you,” Kageyama murmurs by his ear, soft as a breeze yet loud enough for everyone around them to hear.

Shouyou can only stand there in utter shock and awe, one tremulous palm coming up to touch at his skin where Kageyama just kissed him. He vaguely hears Kageyama declare to resume the festivities, and for a second, Shouyou thinks Kageyama is pulling him in to dance, but then the other man whispers, deep and commanding, next to his ear, in a tone that Shouyou has no capacity to refuse.

“Follow me.”

So he does, letting himself get dragged away from the revelries, having only enough sense to leave his violin and bow behind, sitting atop a nearby table. His jelly feet struggle to keep up with Kageyama’s urgent pace, but even more worrying is the silence.

Is he mad? Was Shouyou’s composition not to his satisfaction? Did he play that badly that his display of intimacy earlier was just a facade to appease the masses, to spare Shouyou the humiliation, and he was going to instead convey his disappointment in privacy?

They find themselves in a dark hallway, and despite the lack of illumination, Shouyou knows they’re right outside the chamber he had prepared for the both of them. Good, this way he can conveniently lock himself in misery once Kageyama is done berating him.

Shouyou is suddenly plastered against the cool wall, trapped between the wallpaper and Kageyama’s broad chest, arms caging him from both sides, effectively cutting off any escape routes. He swallows through his dry throat, directing his eyes to the carpeted floor, hands clenched and heart galloping, mentally and emotionally preparing himself for the mortification that is to come.

But Kageyama doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stands in front of Shouyou, with only his ragged breath filling the eerie silence of the hallway. Is he too angry to even speak? Too disappointed with Shouyou that words aren’t enough to reprimand him?

Tentatively, Shouyou lifts his head, but his courage only gets as far as staring into Kageyama’s heaving chest, focusing instead on the golden braiding embroidered on the edges of his tunic.

“I-I’m sorry,” Shouyou begins, words shaky and pathetic to his own ears. “It was the only gift I could think of. I was too busy with the preparations and it completely slipped my mind to arrange a much more acceptable present. I am really sorry. I know it was a foolish, lousy gift, but I—”

The rest of his words die on the tip of his tongue when a finger tilts his chin up, forcing him to meet navy eyes, so dark they’re almost black, infused with something dangerous, something raw, something that looks so much like… desire.

Smoldering, unfiltered desire.

“You talk too much,” Kageyama murmurs in a deep voice that seems to drag Shouyou’s knees all the way down into the floor, but with strong arms now wrapped around his waist, pulling him close, up he remains, chin tipping forward as Kageyama claims his mouth.

The surprised noise that escapes from Shouyou melts into a sigh as the warmth of Kageyama’s soft lips ravage his own, hungry and urgent. It’s the first time Shouyou has experienced such a kiss, not that he has had many, but all other past instances are squarely erased by the smoldering heat that Kageyama is filling him with, with every push of his lips, every gentle nip, every desperate movement.

But as soon as it starts, it stops, their moist lips parting with a smack, a quivering breath leaving out of Kageyama’s mouth. He knocks their forehead together, blue eyes imploring. Pleading.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he whispers, voice husky and hoarse. Shouyou can feel the syrupy tone travel all the way up his spine, making him shiver uncontrollably. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to. I will have you the way I’ve always wanted. I will give you the same passion as you did with the music you made just for me, because this is all I can give you in return, all I can offer. Just—tell me, Hinata. Tell me…if you want me, too.”

The avalanche of emotions crashing over Shouyou at the weight of Kageyama’s words and the vulnerability that comes with them almost knocks him down to his knees again. He feels overwhelmed, his world suddenly shifting, trying to make sense of this, of everything; of the way Kageyama is looking at him as if he has been left to starve for centuries and is now being offered a measly piece of reprieve. 

And Shouyou knows that feeling all too well, even if he has tried his best to ignore it.

So he stops trying to rationalize things, stops trying to use logic, stops letting his pride rule over his actions, and lets go of his inhibitions, allowing his own desires to take over the reins. He meets the burning gaze of his husband straight on, and the fire he can glance there seems to burst even hotter as he draws closer, back curving against the steady, firm body of the prince, as if they are each other’s center of gravity.

“I want you,” Shouyou says in the tiniest of whispers, but his actions speak louder than any words as he throws his arms around Kageyama’s neck to pull him down, lips meeting once again in a passionate collision.

The taste of anticipation is so potent as their mouths explore each other with a fervent hunger, far different from the first kiss they shared. This one is more intoxicating, more passionate, more… more in every possible way. When Shouyou lets out a tiny sigh to take in some much needed air, Kageyama wastes no time in tasting him even deeper, and Shouyou yields, driven by longing and yearning. The rhythmic pulse of their hearts echoes in the dark, along with the whimpers and gasps that mingle in the air, escaping from parted lips. The world beyond the deserted hallway ceases to exist, lost in their shared haze of want and desire.

Kageyama’s hands roam Shouyou’s body, tracing a trail of sparks along every line and curve. With each touch, heat spreads like wildfire through Shouyou’s veins, fueling his own hands to wander boldly, joining Kageyama’s in their delicate caressing of each other through the fabric of their clothes. Shouyou’s fingers find themselves entangled in soft hair, gripping gently, giving in to that primal need for closeness. He arches into Kageyama, his body pressing against the other man’s bigger, bulkier build. It draws an undignified sound out of him, but his mind is far too cloudy to be bothered, not when Kageyama groans at the shared gratification, Shouyou’s enthusiasm adding to the inebriating feeling

“H-Hinata,” Kageyama breathes.

“More,” he urges, and it’s all Kageyama needed to hear to capture Shouyou’s lips once more, his hold tightening on Shouyou’s waist as if he’s afraid of letting go, of letting him go. Shouyou has no intention to. So he says again, “More. Kageyama… more. ”

In the darkness, their passion burns bright, an untamed flame that consumes them, the only witness to an intimacy long overdue, and when Kageyama lays Shouyou down on the soft, silken sheets of the bed—their bed—he fully surrenders his everything, all these complicated, confusing feelings for the complicated, confusing man he calls his husband.

The Winter Lodge really lives up to its name because as they move through the winter season, it slowly  becomes Shouyou’s home.

No, scratch that—his and Kageyama’s home.

The night of the Winter Carnival became the catalyst of a profound change in their relationship. When the sunlight filtered through the draperies the morning after, the bedroom’s atmosphere seemingly shimmering with an aura of intimacy, the tousled sheets where Shouyou laid, all wrapped up in Kageyama’s arms and nuzzled against his broad chest, whispering the secrets of their passion and revealing the aftermath of their union.

It was their first night properly spent together, and certainly not their last.

No dull moment is wasted with them not warming up their bed, and Shouyou sometimes finds himself shedding a tear or two, at how quickly he has gotten used to what a warm bed feels like, after two months enduring the cold and solitude.

He has never felt so cared for like this, either. Kageyama, despite all the roughness and sharp edges of his exterior, touches him with a gentleness Shouyou has never thought possible, the words he murmurs just as sweet and pleasurable as the magic that he does to Shouyou’s body. But there is this ferocity tangled along with the tenderness, some level of desperation that verges on greed, and yet Shouyou is willing to offer whatever it is that Kageyama asks of him, so long as his own hunger is fed. And Kageyama always gives him everything, and then some more.

He has gotten used to waking up with a warm body next to his, bodies laying intertwined, limbs tangled, their skin glowing with a gentle sheen as the first rays of morning light filter through their chamber. He has gotten used to sleepy, mellow blue eyes gazing at him through lidded lashes, the husky whisper of a groggy ‘good morning’ greeting him, the embrace around Shouyou’s shoulder tightening. He has gotten used to letting himself be held, be caressed, be wanted like this.

And as it turns out, all these affections from Kageyama bleed well past the confines of their bedroom.

His husband has never leaves his side at the times he’s on leave from his Royal Commander duties, and in the instances he has to go, he turns all pouty, hands squeezing Shouyou’s so forcefully it almost cuts off his circulation, then giving him the most licentious yet sweetest kiss before he departs. And he does this even when there are people around them. Kageyama has no shame, it turns out, and no regard whatsoever for the fact that Shouyou is the exact opposite, face turning cherry red at his husband’s bold displays of affection, much to their retinue's amusement.

Before, Kageyama would be gone for weeks at a time; now, he’s only away for two days at most, yet still murmuring against his ear, “Too long,” as he crushes Shouyou in a hug when he comes home, before capturing his lips into a heated kiss as they burn a trail all the way to their chambers.

But as much as Shouyou delights in the sudden turn of his relationship with Kageyama, it would be a lie not to admit that he's slowly drowning in his muddled feelings. Don’t get him wrong; he is appreciative of his husband’s steadily increasing presence in his daily life, and it shouldn’t be at all unusual to be this intimate; it’s what Shouyou had been longing for in his marriage, despite his earlier denial.

But that is also what throws him into such inner turmoil. Why now? Why has Kageyama suddenly decided to be all doting and attached, after all this time? Surely their intimacy the night of the Winter Carnival isn’t the sole reason for all this. It’s as if the surly, intimidating Kageyama he was married to in their early days of wedlock was an altogether different person from this clingy, affectionate Kageyama that brightens his days and warms his nights.

Maybe…maybe Kageyama is just seeking companionship, the same way Shouyou has longed for it. Maybe he’s just tired from his responsibilities— between training and setting out for yet another military campaign, it must have finally taken a toll on his psyche. Kageyama is only human after all, no matter how perfect he seems to be. And who better to seek warmth from than Shouyou, his husband, his partner, the literal person with every right and duty to provide that for him.

This is what Shouyou tells himself when he succumbs to the caress of red-tipped fingers and burning gazes of blue-tinged desire. It’s not borne of passionate love; this is merely a way to ease the loneliness they share, and maybe fulfill a part of their duty as husbands. This is not love, this feeling that blossoms within him like a garden carefully tended, the secrets his heart whispers to him whenever Kageyama is with him, turning into echoing shouts when he is away.

Shouts that are worryingly manifesting themselves physically at this very moment.

“Another campaign? Again?” Shouyou says, voice shrill. They have just finished dinner and he can sense how the maids quickly clean the table, more hurried than usual, before scurrying away. He can’t blame them; he sounds like he’s starting a squabble, which he isn’t.

Kageyama sighs, leaning forward and folding his hands together. “Yes. It’s what we’ve been preparing for these last few weeks. The bandits turned out to be much better organized than we initially thought. We might be dealing with a rebellion, and we need to root it out before it gets to that point.”

“Then let me come with you.”

Shouyou’s words seem to take some time before Kageyama comprehends them completely. He just stares blankly at him as Shouyou presses on, “These are my people now, too. I know I’m not much of a knight, but I can fi—”

“No.”

The word reverberates, ripping through their conversation, carrying a tone that brooks no dissent, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise. But Shouyou is as firm and resolute as his obstinate husband.

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I may not look like it, but I can fight—”

“I said no!” Kageyama bellows, fists pounding on the table as he stands. Plates and silverwares clatter, making a high-pitch ringing that sounds deafening to Shouyou’s ears, making him flinch. But it’s nothing compared to the dread that fills him at the look of unbridled anger coming from Kageyama—shoulders hunched and fists clenched over the table, breaths coming in rapid and heavy, brows furrowed and eyes in fiery fury, consuming the once serene gaze he has directed at Shouyou these past few weeks.

But Kageyama’s sudden anger is infectious, or maybe it’s a trigger, because Shouyou can feel his skin flush, a physical manifestation of the boiling rage similarly coursing through his vessels.

“Don’t treat me like I’m useless! I am a prince! Not some dainty trophy husband!” Shouyou yells back, pushing his chair off and mirroring the other man’s stance, sharp and provoking.

“What makes you think you’re a trophy husband?”

Kageyama’s tone is disbelieving, almost mocking, and Shouyou seethes, nostrils flaring. His breath is getting shallower, struggling to contain the volatility inside him, so much that he’s subconsciously concerned he’s going to implode with how much he’s burning right now.

He might be close to actually realizing that concern, as Kageyama’s expression softens, his frown more of worry rather than displeasure now. He steps off to the other side of the table, inching closer towards Shouyou, hands reaching out. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then what did you mean, Your Highness?” Shouyou spats out, like the word is a curse, and the prince actually winces; he hasn’t called Kageyama by his title for weeks. Shouyou releases a heavy exhale, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t understand you, Kageyama. Or your intentions.”

He’s face to face with him now, not realizing that he has closed the gap between them. He can see the agitation etched into Kageyama’s handsome features, yet his aggravation is just as prominent, feeding Shouyou’s own vexation.

“I already told you! I care about you too much to purposely put you in danger, when I have the means and opportunity not to!” Kageyama exclaims.

“You care about me, how?”

The prince throws his hands up in exasperation. “By the gods, Hinata, how blind can you be? What other reason do I need to care for my husband if not from affection?”

Shouyou stills then, but deep inside it’s like an invisible force has just pushed him off a cliff, and he feels lightheaded, thoughts scattering. “D-Do you mean—”

“I love you,” Kageyama says, and the words hang leaden in the air, as if grappling with the weight of the sentiment carried behind each syllable, just as Shouyou grapples to keep his thrashing heart caged inside his chest and force his lungs to work properly. Kageyama’s unyielding gaze locks with his, and despite the conviction to his statement, there’s a flicker of vulnerability amidst the hues of blue, and it becomes even more clouded with disbelief when he asks, “How can you not know that after all this time?”

Shouyou can hear the confusion in Kageyama’s tone, but the question rings too much like an accusation to his own ears right now, feels too much like he’s being made the butt of a joke he didn’t even know was being played at his expense. It reignites his anger, makes him take a step back, crossing his arms to stare at his husband with all the contempt and unhappiness he had stored inside him for all the long months he spent alone, without a real spouse by his side. 

“So it’s my fault now, is it?” he grouses. “How was I supposed to know that? Or if your words are even real? You don’t even know me!”

Shouyou can pinpoint the exact moment Kageyama’s features contort from confusion into sheer disbelief— eyes widening, jaw falling open then closing, like the words got snagged in his throat and he’s struggling to voice them out. He releases a sound that resembles a choking gasp before stuttering out, “W-What?”

“You don’t know me. And you haven’t done anything to change that.” Now it’s Shouyou’s tone which turns accusatory. “You can’t just say something as fact without proving it.”

Kageyama is still looking at Shouyou like a deer caught in the headlights, with no rebuttal to fire back. As if he’s caught. Exposed. But Shouyou feels no gratification at being proven right. He just feels… numb. 

“Your silence tells me more than enough. More than your meaningless words ever could,” he says brusquely. The air around them suddenly drops in temperature, too heavy to breathe in, too suffocating. And the next words that leave Shouyou’s mouth only make the ambiance more vile. “You don’t love me, Kageyama. You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all yourself.”

He walks out of the dining hall without so much as a second glance, eager to leave the charged, stifling atmosphere, but it follows him as he trudges through the freezing hallway with heavy steps and an even heavier heart.

The following days feel as if an old cycle has restarted—with Shouyou waking up shivering, the other side of the bed cold and empty. It doesn’t come as a surprise, but it still leaves him shaking and disoriented, like he was just violently woken up from a beautiful dream and is now forced to face a dreadful reality.

He didn’t see Kageyama the morning after their argument, nor the day after that. He’s also nowhere in sight today, three days into their spat. Not that Shouyou’s counting.

I’m used to this. This is normal. We were never really close. We were never a real, loving couple, he tells himself, willing the words to turn into reality. But as much as Shouyou would like to convince himself that their current separation has always been the norm, that their relationship has been consistently marked by distance and two mostly secluded existences, the knowledge and feel of those blessed few weeks they spent together clung stubbornly to his memory and dreams, robbing him of what little peace of mind his self-righteousness had provided him in the aftermath of their fight.

It’s late in the afternoon of the fifth day when Yamaguchi knocks on the door of his study, where Shouyou has been reviewing some of the household accounts with Tsukishima, a task he’d been putting off for some time and that his advisor had finally wrangled him to complete earlier that morning.

“Your Highness, I bring news.” 

Shouyou lifts his eyes from the paperwork he’s been surveying, stretching tiredly, and makes a motion for Yamaguchi to come in. 

“I’ve told you a million times, you don’t have to use my title when it’s just us, Tadashi,” he sighs, and Tsukishima takes the opportunity to pour them a fresh cup of tea from the pot that had just been brought in by one of the maids. “What is it?”

He takes in the concern writ large across his butler’s features, and something about the solemnity of his expression makes him uneasy. “Tadashi, what happened? What news do you have for me?”

Yamaguchi still looks serious and worried as he responds, “His Highness your lord husband asked me to let you know that he’ll be leaving for the campaign today at sundown. He would’ve preferred to come and tell you this personally, but he worries that you are still upset with him, so His Highness asked me to pass along his affection and his wish that you be well and keep safe while he’s away indefinitely.”

“Wait, what? They are leaving tonight? I thought the campaign wasn't due to start for another week?” Shouyou asks, rattled by the suddenness of it. Something about the message sits wrong with him. Resigned, it sounds. As if Kageyama is afraid of Shouyou seeing him off. 

“The rebels have staged a violent uprising across a vast swathe of the affected region, and there are reports of mass displacement among the populations there. His Highness and Her Majesty are worried that it will lead to ruin should the army not take charge of the situation quickly.”

“Oh.” 

Shouyou sits in silence, dumbfounded at the implications of the news Yamaguchi just shared. It sounds much more severe than he’d been aware, but then he’d barely been able to get the full details from Kageyama owing to the argument that had followed. And also… 

What was that bit about Kageyama being away indefinitely?

“Tadashi, how long did Kageyama say the campaign might last?”

Yamaguchi seems positively nervous now, if he wasn’t so before. “His Highness didn’t provide a timeframe, sire. He said he expects to be away for an undetermined amount of time. It will depend on how long it will take for the rebellion to be dismantled and the villages to be rebuilt.”

An undetermined amount of time. Does that mean it could be months, maybe even longer, before Shouyou sees Kageyama again? 

A deep apprehension takes hold of him at that moment. As much as Shouyou is still hurt, the idea that they wouldn’t even get to say goodbye makes him stand up suddenly, struck by a painful squeezing to his heart that has nothing to do with mere dutiful worry.

“Your Highness—” He hears Yamaguchi call from behind him, but Shouyou is already out of the door, running as fast as he can towards the main entrance hall.

He ignores the gasps of surprise as the servants scurry out of his way as he speeds through the corridors, determined to make it on time. Glancing out of the windows, he can see and hear the commotion of several hundred horses and men gathered outside, and he gnaws at his bottom lip as he wills his legs to pump faster, taking shortcuts he discovered with Kageyama when they were on the lookout for little niches and hidden crannies to make out or simply be together alone, before their wretched falling out.

Just the memory of those times makes Shouyou’s stomach turn, as he realizes that he and Kageyama have yet to make up, regret and shame welling up to the surface. At the very least, let me see you one last time, you idiot! Don’t just leave without a word, stupid!

He arrives at the top of the Grand Staircase just in time to see Kageyama’s figure walking out of the Lodge’s main entrance doors. No! Don’t go yet!

“KAGEYAMA!”

As Kageyama turns, caught off guard by his shout, Shouyou flies down the stairs to come to a stand in front of him. 

“Shouyou…” his husband murmurs, still in shock, before his usual studied composure returns to his face. “Is something the matter? Do you need me to arrange for something before I leave?”

Shouyou doesn’t have the time to get irritated at Kageyama’s forced solemnity, as he blurts out, “Were you really going to leave without coming to see me? Without even saying goodbye? When you don’t even know when you are coming back?” His hand comes up of its own accord to rub at his chest, which still feels uncomfortably tight. 

The look of complete surprise that washes over Kageyama’s features does nothing to assuage Shouyou’s discomfort, especially as the prince then averts his gaze to the side, a sigh coming out of him as he replies quietly, “I thought you were still upset with me, and I didn’t want another fight. I wanted to see you, but not at the expense of making you angry again. So I thought it wiser to send word through your attendant.”

He then retrieves a small letter from a concealed pocket in his cape and, taking one of Shouyou’s hands in his much larger ones, places it there, before kissing at his knuckles softly. His gaze is as gentle as Shouyou remembers it being after the Winter Carnival, and he almost makes a move to grab at Kageyama’s hand and not let go as the prince takes a step back and bows in deference.

“May the gods keep you well, Shouyou, and pray that I’m able to return to your side. I'll write letters as much as I'm able to during my absence. You’re not obliged to write back, but hearing from you would be…good. For me.”

Shouyou clutches the letter in his hand to his chest. “I’ll—I’ll try.”

A flicker of a smile forms in Kageyama’s lips but as he stares right into Shouyou’s eyes, the midnight blue shining softly, there’s sadness painted all over his gaze despite its tenderness, an hidden ache peeking from beneath the calm exterior. It robs what little breath Shouyou still possesses from his lungs, and his chest caves in on itself even more, at the sorrow etched deep into Kageyama’s next words.

“I may have your ring on my finger, but I'm still waiting for your heart. If I could have one reward after this, it’s to finally own both, if and when I make it back home to you.”

He bows his head again and turns to go, but then doubles back. For a moment Shouyou thinks Kageyama is leaning in for a kiss, but Shouyou is still too affected by the gravity of the moment to react, and he can see the exact moment Kageyama takes a different route at sensing his hesitation, and instead tilts Shouyou’s head back, depositing a brief kiss onto his forehead.

“See you later,” he murmurs, and with that, Kageyama disappears from his sight, out the intricately carved doors and into the military cacophony of the courtyard. 

Shouyou stays rooted to the spot, gaze vacant, lost in the whirlwind of emotions their goodbye wrought through him. When he finally finds the strength to gain control over his paralyzed body, he moves as if in a daze, back to his chambers. 

His bed feels especially empty and cold that night, as if even the faintest, lingering traces of Kageyama’s warm scent that still clung to the sheets and covers had left as well, in the wake of their owner’s departure.

Time over the following six months passes so slowly that whole days and weeks drag by like centuries, and yet, ironically, so rapidly that Shouyou has barely realized spring and summer have come and gone amidst his busy schedule attending to all matters of their estate, practicing the violin once again and keeping company to his sister and his sister-in-law the Queen. 

Now the chilly winds of fall are once again blowing gently at the yellow-brown and orange-red leaves of the surrounding woodlands, turning them into dense carpets of gold and crimson all around the Winter Lodge.

Shouyou takes in the beauty of the scenery from the corner window of the Lodge’s very old (and very rarely visited) library. For once, he embraces the solitude and quiet it offers him; before, the silence seemed like torture designed specifically for him. Now, he inflicts himself with a different form of punishment as he gazes at the pile letters in front of him, all written in the same spidery, cursive handwriting that is so distinctly his husband’s, spread across the large mahogany table he’s been sitting at.

Shouyou has yet to answer a single one, and that knowledge has been sitting heavy and unwieldy in his gut for months now, especially as each new letter from Kageyama sounded more yearning than the last. 

At no point did the prince ever demand that Shouyou pen a response back, just as he had told him the day he left. The guilt gnaws at him now, as his fingers leaf through the crinkling paper, edges worn and frayed from the numerous times Shouyou has read them. He has every sentence memorized, every stroke engraved in his subconscious, that he can recite every note by heart, yet his own voice doesn’t convey the same sentiment, the longing and love that grace each piece of paper.

It hurt, to read Kageyama’s messages to him. They weren’t very long, but there was an honest simplicity to them that made Shouyou cry many times, his tears staining the crumpled paper, hands coming up to his face in shame and sorrow, regretful to his core of the unfairness he’d brandished oh-so-haughtily during their argument. 

Because Shouyou was wrong. Shouyou had been so, so wrong in his declaration that his husband did not love him.

Shouyou could see it plainly and clearly now, could hear it loud and deafening even if it was conveyed in writing— Kageyama did indeed love him, as he had confessed and showed in the many gestures he’d displayed towards him before he’d left for the current campaign. Shouyou’s reticent and troubled heart was finally convinced, but it had taken a whole damn war and their consequential separation to make him realize this.

Each new letter, starting with that first one Kageyama had deposited in his hands before kissing him farewell—and the lasting impression of that kiss still burned hot like a brand on Shouyou’s skin, still made Shouyou bring the pads of his fingers up to the spot and rub at it absently, as if by doing so he could conjure into being the rough sensation of his husband’s chapped lips brushing sweetly against his forehead once again— speaks of the genuine, candid love the prince harbors for Shouyou, and Shouyou alone.

But this realization brings him more agony than bliss, another torture that torments him every waking hour and every sleepless night.

The lack of news from the battlefront has had Shouyou on edge for days now, and the sudden halt to any messages or letters from Kageyama going on for a whole fortnight now brings him dread. He can’t fathom the idea that he could have lost Kageyama—just thinking of the possibility makes him sick to his stomach, dizzy to the point of near fainting, regret and guilt bringing about his demise, at the thought of not being able to tell Kageyama how he feels, before it’s too late.

So here he is, locked in the library in the quiet of the late evening, rereading every single letter and getting lost all over again in the earnest affection that bleeds freely from the ink of each and every cursive, more abundant than all the blood Shouyou is certain has been shed so far in the terrible conflict the prince is trying to put an end to.

Shouyou,

I have no experience whatsoever of writing letters that aren’t official orders or declarations, so forgive me if my composition isn’t the best. 

Frankly, I do not know what to write. This is at most an exercise, when I deliver you letters while I am out on the battlefield. Perhaps I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry for the squabble we had, and that I will forever regret that I didn’t just demand your forgiveness at that very moment, instead of wallowing in my pride and wasting precious days I could have spent with you before I took my leave. I wanted to apologize, not because of what I said, but because of what I didn’t get to say. You can be angry, but I will have you know that no rejection, no doubt, no dismissal will ever change the way I feel for you.

Tobio

Shouyou,

The night sky here in the mountains has such a vibrant hue. It’s the same as the fabric you chose when we went shopping at the Bazaar. Do you still remember that day, Shouyou? I think about it often, because it’s when I first learned how much you like the color. You made that fabric into the nicest furnishings I’ve ever had in my chambers. I miss them. I miss you. Every single day.

Tobio

Shouyou,

We had curry for our midday meal today. But instead of pork, we had rabbit meat. It was decent, but nowhere near as tasty as your recipe. I’m not talking about the first one you made me, of course. That one was awful. But, well, I was hungry enough, and you had made it especially for me, so… And besides, it was nice having someone to share a meal with. Before our marriage, I almost always ate alone. I’m not great company, I know that, so I always appreciated how you carefully ensured we had at least one meal together each day. I miss eating with you, Shouyou. I miss you.

Tobio

Shouyou,

I had a traveling minstrel play the fiddle for me and my men tonight. His melodies were rustic, but pleasant all the same, after days on end with only those blasted drums for music. It reminded me of when you played the violin for my birthday. I have yet in all my years alive to hear a more beautiful sound, and the fact you composed it solely for me still brings a shiver down my spine. I wish I could hear you play again. I wish you were here by my side.

Tobio

Shouyou,

I am drenched in sweat, blood and tears, and the remnants of those who died at my hands, clinging to me and my soiled armor like curses. I hate this war I’m forced to wage against our subjects, this endless stream of skirmishes that prevents me from returning to your side. Each hour that passes without me being able to bask in your smile or revel in the warmth of your embrace darkens my spirit a little more, makes me snap at those around me… I miss you more than I care to have words for, Shouyou.

Tobio

Shouyou,

Every day that passes feels like I’m inching closer to darkness and farther away from your light, and this morbid thought only allows hidden guilt and shame to surface, secrets that I swore I would take with me to the grave. But as I get nearer to that possibility with every battle that I face, the more I want to free myself from their burden.

I used to slip into our chambers while you were sleeping, during the early days of our marriage. But I was a coward and would often leave after just a couple of hours lying on the bed next to you, when your soft snores and the way the moonlight lit your sleeping face became like a siren song beckoning me to gather you in my arms, to feed in the warmth you radiated.

I did none of those things; I was far too scared, and I did not want to do anything that would make you hate me even more than I believed you already did. You acquiring knowledge of me slipping in like some thief would only brand me as a creep; it was why I demanded your advisor Tsukishima to keep his lips shut when he caught me one night as I was leaving our chamber.

And so, even if you might not grant me forgiveness, at least give me the chance to apologize now for my uncomely behavior. It was my overflowing affection for you that drove me to do such improper things. For that, I have no excuse.

But I do hope you forgive me.

Tobio

Shouyou,

Can’t this wretched rebellion be over, by the gods! It’s driving me crazy, how much longer this may last. Shouyou, pray this war ends soon, for I don’t know if you’ll still have me by the end of it all.

Whatever may happen, I hope you know how much I cherish you, how my affection for you is true and genuine. I have only ever had your love in my heart; there was no one before you, and there will be no one after you. My body and soul have always belonged to you, and you only, since the day I first saw you.

I love you, Shouyou.

Tobio

The last two of Kageyama’s letters were written in an almost illegible scrawl, splatters of ink dotting all over the page as if Kageyama was in too much of a hurry and desperation to finish. And with Shouyou’s tears trickling down his cheeks to the crinkled paper, it smears the writing even more. Maybe a subconscious part of him wants to erase the words, because they read so much like a goodbye, as if Kageyama has given up hope that he’ll ever get to return to him, his despair transcending ink and paper despite the heartfelt sentiment and declarations of love.

But if there’s anything Shouyou is good at, it’s at being stubborn. Hope hasn’t abandoned him just yet, and he has no intention of letting go of it either. He can wallow in guilt and regret, or he can finally face his fears and vanquish his pride.

Pen in one hand and his heart on the other, he begins to compose his response.

Kageyama,

You claim not to have a way with words, but I am calling your bluff because each letter you've taken the time to dedicate to me are like psalms that make my heart sing.

I have never in my life written a love letter before this. Yes, you read that right. I am writing you a love letter. Because this is but a confession in response to yours, feelings that I caged in the deepest recesses of my heart while my doubtful, unsure self held onto the key. 

I guess I should start with the plain, simple truth: I love you. I love you, Kageyama. I love you with a love that I never thought I’m capable of. I love you and every odd, mysterious intricacy that comes with you.

I love the way your stoic face lights up at the sight of marigolds in the gardens, how you get instinctively drawn to them like a giddy little kid, and I love knowing you favor the color yellow because of that fact.

I love the way your face scrunches into a disgruntled pout at the sight and taste of anything sweet; you do not like them, at all, and I learned the hard way when I baked you that rose cake and you grumpily munched on the pastry and drowned on your tea to wash out the sweet taste. Still, you finished your plate for my sake, and I love you for that.

I love the way you genuinely try to connect with people, how you’re aware that you’re not as socially adept as you’d like, and you put in effort to change that and better yourself. I’ve seen that firsthand during our visit at the Bazaar, and I was blessed enough to witness it in many other instances as well. I want you to know how immensely proud I am of your endeavors.

I love the way you care for me; all the clumsy affections you showered me with before you went away are the only thing keeping me sane in your absence. It made me mad knowing you were secretly sneaking into our chamber knowing full well that you had every right to stay by my side and do… whatever it was that you desired. I would’ve let you, not because it’s my duty, no matter how much I tell myself that it is, but because I truly, desperately, maddeningly yearn for you, too.

It would take me more than a few pieces of paper to elaborate on all the things that I adore about you, but I won’t burden both of us with that inconvenience when it all culminates into one thing: I love you. My only regret is that I didn’t realize it earlier. I was too stubborn to take notice, and too prideful to admit it. 

When we had that disagreement, I was angrier at myself than at you, to be honest. I didn’t want to believe that you could love me, not when I was still figuring out the mess that was my heart. It felt like losing, somehow; for you to come to terms with what you felt for me before I did, only because I was desperately trying to convince myself that there was no way you could’ve fallen for me, and I for you, when we barely knew each other. 

But that was just another one of the lies I was forcefully feeding myself. I do know you, I’m well aware of it now, in a way that feels as if I’ve been next to you for years and years. Hopefully you feel the same way about me. I’d like to think that you do.

There was a time when I was desperate to get away from you. Now I want nothing more than to have you here by my side, always. I would play you a thousand symphonies, if that’s what it takes for you to come home. 

Please come back to me, husband. It’s been too long. I miss you.

Yours forever,

Shouyou

The autumn breeze brings a chill that runs through Shouyou’s skin despite his thick woolen coat. He shivers again, and it’s taking all of him not to turn around and return back to the comfort of his bed and the embers of the fireplace. But the accounting ledgers undoubtedly already prepared by Tsukishima in the study won’t take care of themselves, so with a grudging sigh and another shudder, he traverses the long hallway in the direction of his study.

As he does, he stares out the stone windows of the Lodge. The trees stand tall, adorned in a splendid array of fiery hues, swaying gently in the autumn wind. The ground below is carpeted with fallen leaves, a rich tapestry of russet and amber. In the distance, meandering pathways wind through wooded groves, framed by trees ablaze with color. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminates the scene. But as warm as it is visually, the cool breeze making Shouyou’s skin prickle says otherwise. Another month and it will be winter again, and that awareness brings a painful twinge to Shouyou’s chest.

Two weeks have passed since Shouyou sent his letter, hoping that would be just the thing that could bring Kageyama’s silence to an end. But he had his expectations set way too high, so when he didn’t receive anything back within the first week, the disappointment was enough to drag him down to the depths of the earth. Yet still, he never gave up on hope, guarding it as fiercely as if he were a dragon tasked with protecting a treasure.

Kageyama would come back to him, alive and well. He better be.

The best thing Shouyou can do for now is to keep their estate well-tended to and managed. It also serves as a distraction, taking his mind off unwanted thoughts of despair and longing, of regrets and what ifs.

A group of maids pass by him, greeting him in earnest. He returns the same gesture in kind and goes on his way, but when he turns a corner, he feels an iron grip wrap on his arm, and then he’s getting pulled forcefully, away from the sunlit hallway.

Pulse quickening as panic douses him, he opens his mouth to scream, but any potential sound is quashed by a large, gloved hand covering almost half of his face, his muffled cries drowning in the darkness of the corridor he finds himself in.

Oh gods, have the rebels found their way into the castle? Is he being kidnapped? Or worse, getting assassinated? Does this mean—no. No. He refuses to believe it. Kageyama isn’t—

He struggles to whisk away the horrible thought just as he wrestles to free himself from his attacker—squirming and flailing his limbs as much as he can. But his captor is built like a damn rock, and he’s easily subdued, breath escaping his lungs when he’s pushed against the rough wall.

With fearful eyes, he stares up at the attacker. He can’t see much, he can only make out the silhouette of a tall figure shrouded in a dark cloak, and despite the lower half of his face still obscured by the gloved hand, the strong smell of horse and leather and peppermint hang heavy in the air.

“Stop struggling, dumbass.”

The sound of that deep, velvety voice is enough to seize control of his heart, the rapid beating taking on a different yet familiar rhythm. When the figure steps back and releases Shouyou, only to pull back their cloak and reveal raven hair and stormy blue eyes, he breathes out the name that’s been his prayer for over half a year now,

“Tobio…”

“Shouyou,” Kageyama whispers back, and it feels so surreal to hear his name uttered by that deep-toned voice in the flesh again, how it sounds so beautiful coming from those lips.

And for a moment Shouyou thinks he’s hallucinating, his mind finally breaking after all these anxiety-driven months waiting for Kageyama to return to him, to once again feel the warmth of his breath billowing against Shouyou’s skin, to have those midnight blue eyes gaze at him again with such tender affection. These are sensations and feelings that often visit him in his dreams and he’s afraid the thin line between reality and fantasy have already blurred and merged, giving in on the heaviness of longing in his heart.

But then Kageyama reaches out, calloused hands gently caressing Shouyou’s face as if he’s making sure he’s not a figment of his imagination as well. Shouyou can hear them both sigh in palpable repose as they both lean into each other’s touch, to the feel of their hearts and souls being mended at their long-awaited reconciliation.

“I’m sorry for my silence. I really, really am.” Kageyama’s voice sounds…tired. Yet it doesn’t stop him from rambling, not giving time for Shouyou to intervene. “But we purposely cut off communication when we got wind of a report that there was a spy among the troops. I just couldn’t risk it, Shouyou. Sugawara told me they thought some had infiltrated the palace. But I—I couldn’t just leave my men and abandon my post. I would be branded as a deserter and even executed, even if I am the prince. So… so I fought hard, the thought of your safety being compromised was the only thing that kept me going. And—and we did it… we won. I came as quickly as I could. I rode day and night because every second that I spent without you was what could actually kill me. ”

A shaky breath slips past Kageyama’s lips, hands resting over Shouyou’s shoulders as if to ground and steady himself. Shouyou wants to tell him to calm down, but he’s in no position to make such a request when his own throbbing pulse is making his head spin, just barely able to make sense of Kageyama’s words.

Kageyama breathes another exhale, before continuing, words overlapping over each other, sounding almost delirious, “I-If anything had happened to you, I—I wouldn’t have been able to cope… I don’t think I could’ve been stopped if I wanted to. I just… I was so afraid. I just… I just needed to ensure you were still alive…”

Kageyama’s chest heaves with great effort once he’s done, but he wheezes when Shouyou pounds on his chest, shaking fists thumping.

“You… you bastard…” Shouyou sobs. “You were scared? What about me? I was losing my mind all these months without a single word from you!”

Kageyama winces. “I know, I’m sorry—”

The apology in Kageyama’s chapped lips tastes mournful, but then it becomes the sweetest thing Shouyou has ever tasted when Kageyama returns his sudden kiss—clumsily, desperately, lovingly. It’s a kiss that is laced with longing, an unspoken language of need and affection, lips moving in a delicate dance, as if rediscovering the taste of each other. Their bodies press closer—Shouyou throwing his arms over Kageyama’s neck to pull him down, just as his husband wraps his hands around Shouyou’s waist, the same possessive touch that often visits Shouyou in his dreams. 

In this moment, time seems to drag, as if the universe granted them an eternity to savor the warmth of their embrace after suffering the cold loneliness of the past half year, and Shouyou can feel himself surrender to this unexplainable connection, this vulnerability, while at the same time, he has never felt so invincible, to finally be in the arms of the one person who has ignited his heart and set his soul alight.

As their lips reluctantly part, their breaths intermingle, hearts racing in tandem. Their eyes meet, and Shouyou can see himself reflected in the soft shades of blue shimmering with joy and relief, full of a love that burns bright for him, and him only.

“I love you, too,” Shouyou responds with words, in the way he knows best, because Kageyama deserves to hear it, deserves to have it known, finally.

His husband lets out a small laugh, sounding so much like bells ringing. It sounds so nice. “I know. I’ve read your letter,” he says, amusement dancing in his tone.

“Did you, now?” Shouyou teases back, even as his cheeks bloom crimson. He doesn’t mind. “And what is your response to that, Your Highness?”

A sigh leaves Shouyou’s parted mouth when Kageyama backs him against the wall, a finger tilting his chin up, leaning closer, until there’s not a molecule of air between them.

Lips brushing against Shouyou’s, Kageyama whispers, “this,” before claiming him once again.

That evening, the moon looks especially radiant and serene, illuminating the landscape below with its gentle glow, as if to mirror the shining euphoria within Shouyou. Its silvery light spills across the balcony, casting delicate shadows, and along with the symphony of the night, the rustling leaves in the gentle breeze, and with the threat of a rebellion vanishing and the grime of unease in his heart washed away, it feels all the more serene and comforting.

There’s no other word to describe the night except perfect.

And it continues to be as he senses Kageyama come up behind him, strong arms circling around Shouyou’s waist, accompanied with a soft nuzzle on his head. He breathes out a contented sigh as he lets himself be held, snuggling back onto his husband’s shoulder, his hands resting over the larger ones holding tight around him.

For a while they just bask in the breathtaking panorama of the evening sky unfolding before them. The velvety backdrop of the night is adorned with a vast tapestry of twinkling stars, showcasing constellations from the books Shouyou has read during his frequent visits to the library.

“It’s a nice evening,” Kageyama says, gently cutting through the comfortable silence. “Would you like to take a stroll through the garden?”

Shouyou tilts his head up, so now he’s staring at his husband upside down. He looks stupid, but not much stupider than this inexplicable happiness welling in him. “Ahh, are you asking me out on a date, Your Highness?” he teases.

Kageyama raises a brow. “Your Highness?”

“What?” Shouyou turns around so he can look at Kageyama properly, his neck was starting to strain. He grins at him. “Do you want me to call you ‘dear husband’ instead?”

“Oh gods, no. I want to hear you call me by my name.”

“Kageyama.”

“No. My name. I want to hear it in your voice.”

“Oh. Tobio.”

Try as he might, Shouyou couldn’t help the waver in his voice and the pink on his cheeks that formed at the roll of his husband’s name on his lips. But it does feel nice, especially when it makes Kageyama blush pink as well.

“Again.”

“Tobio.”

“Again.” The arms around Shouyou tighten, face nuzzling on his neck, and he trembles when Kageyama whispers right by his ear. “Shouyou… again…”

Shouyou takes Kageyama’s left hand, his fingers slotting over the gaps, smiling as their shared rings align. He nudges at the face buried on the crook of his neck, just so he can stare at Kageyama’s blushing face as he says, “I would love to take a stroll in the gardens with you, Tobio.”

Kageyama smiles then, and Shouyou has never seen a sight more beautiful.

“Anything for you… dear husband.”