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“We must not.”
It is a feeble thing, his pride. For him to deny himself of the love he wishes to hold is despicable, but he knows it is not in his right to do so. It is wrong. They both know it is wrong; that their love is immoral and unjust, that it will only bring them to ruins. And yet. And yet.
They both lie on top of their shattered prides, bleeding against mutual promises to never hold what fate has given them: a chance at love, immortal and beating against the roots of the earth. But they cannot—they must not. And yet. And yet.
Kei holds him dearly, his slender fingers caressing the expanse of Tadashi’s back. He has wandered before, alone and seeking of solitude, but only now has he discovered the beauty of having a home. This is home—the smooth curve of Tadashi’s spine, his skin littered with goosebumps and a light trail of blooming marks near the base of his neck.
“We cannot.”
Tadashi’s breath fans over his neck. Kei suppresses a shudder. It should be impossible for him to become exposed like this. It is his duty to fight; it is in his blood to bathe in people’s blood—it is not for him to love and be loved in return. And yet.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers against Tadashi’s hair. They shift against each other’s limbs, thankful for the security provided by the seclusion of Kei’s room, away from prying eyes.
Tadashi sighs against Kei’s chest. Sleep does not come easy to them, but Tadashi eventually finds it in him to close his eyes and let his dreams take him away. Kei mutters an oath under his breath—a promise of a life near the mountains, where commitments are not honored and titles are stripped away from their bones. A life of solitude, together.
The next day arrives quietly. Tadashi has long since left, and Kei starts his day with an armor on his chest, bounded by duty to the palace and the king.
He ignores the prince, but Tadashi’s scent remains on his skin.
“Father wants me to marry.”
Kei keeps his eyes trained on the clear lake below the bridge. He stands a few inches behind Tadashi, conscious of their place within the palace. The crown commands him during daylight, not Tadashi.
“To secure the crown.”
Cold wind presses against their cheeks. Kei remains unmoving behind Tadashi. His arms twitch beside him. He wants to reach out, to feel Tadashi’s hair on his palms the same way he does when the moon watches over them in awe. A flash of worry passes through him in a frown.
“You know what I must do, right?”
Kei doesn’t answer him. It is like this, has always been like this—Tadashi speaking to him with words that cut through grass and rich soil. He wants to dig his fingertips through the mud, digging and digging and digging until he reaches the center of the earth. Perhaps there he would find all the gods they have been praying to every single day of their life. He would ask them questions that should easily be remedied with a simple answer: why can I not love? Perhaps the gods would smile and offer and reassuring nod. Because of your pride.
But what pride does he have now? He lowers his eyes onto the lake, glistening under the heat of the sun.
He has long since drowned his pride in place of Tadashi. It rests underneath lily pads and lotus roots.
Tadashi marries in fall. Kei watches from a distance. They are served with amaryllis tea at dawn.
At midnight, Kei swims in the lake to retrieve what he has lost. He wears his pride on his sleeves as he passes through the palace gates with nothing but rich soil staining his feet.
Tadashi visits Kei’s room the next day. He finds the familiar room empty. A cup of cold amaryllis tea lies untouched on a wooden table.