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They were watching the stars together when he confessed. It was a very narcissistic confession, almost forgetting even what a confession should be. But it was a confession nonetheless.
“You know, if I really had no other choice in the world, I’d choose you.”
Kiku, all cool refinement and tired haughtiness, considered the glass in his hand. The alcohol was a burnt amber, nothing at all like the clear sake he was used to, and so he just swirled it around, not daring to take a drink.
He considers Arthur’s words. He also considers the stink of alcohol coming off of him.
“Am I supposed to be flattered?” Kiku asks.
Besides him comes the gruff snort he’s so used to now, and he finally looks at the casual figure besides him. Arthur is leaned back on his elbows, his clothes uncharacteristic on Kiku’s porch, near his garden. He’s rough and unrefined as always. His eyes are half-lidded and his hair's a mess.
It almost makes Kiku want to kiss him. Almost.
“Most people would be flattered to hear that from me. It’s an honor really.”
“Most people being who?” Kiku smirks, “Desperate prostitutes and your idiotic crew?”
“Don’t insult my crew.”
Kiku’s smile widens. He takes some pleasure in the flat tone Arthur used, his drunken stupor stopped momentarily. Kiku decides to take a sip then, but it burns down his throat and he ends up coughing. Arthur besides him laughs, and Kiku’s given a rough pat on the back that shakes and annoys him greatly.
“You’re such a child, Kiku.” He mocks, but Kiku swallows roughly. He’s mad.
“You’re the one who loves me.”
“I never said that.”
(Kiku hates to admit it, but his heart feels it’s been stabbed and there’s a sharp pain to his gut.)
“All I said was that if I had no other choice, I’d choose you.”
(His throat is still burning and there’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the situation, but he feels like he’s going to throw up.)
“Where did you get love from that?”
(Kiku feels pressured.)
(He feels raw.)
Kiku turns to look at him. He’s not sure what look he’s giving Arthur, but it’s enough that the pirate is suddenly quiet. He’s guarded but scared. They sit there, in a delicate situation. Kiku was used to these moments though; they always did dance around things, they always did give and take. Arthur was insufferable and he was irritating. Yet, he was also relatable and insightful. Kiku could see Arthur for the sort of pathetic upstart he was. He saw Arthur’s loneliness. He knew his pain.
In return, Arthur knew his. It was a delicate balance between them, of which they knew each other’s secrets and yet bonded over them. It was hostile and vulnerable. It was risky and intimate. He hates Arthur barging into his house like he was now. He hated how Arthur had suggested they share a drink that night. He hated how he agreed and he absolutely loved being by his side.
He was at a crossroads like always and he hates that Arthur had put him in this position. But, to be fair, Kiku has put Arthur in this same spot many times before. They just kept egging on each other, trying to get the other to confess, to decide something for them, to finally put them out of their misery.
But Kiku smiles. He puts his glass to the side, and in a swift motion he forces Arthur down, the bottle flying out of his grip. Arthur’s face is shocked as he finds himself being pinned down by his wrists and Kiku’s face is malicious amusement. The moon shines behind him, and he smiles like a fox.
“I just thought you had finally given in.”
And so Kiku keeps the dance going, the torture continues, and still they have reached no resolution. But Arthur smiles back. He tries to say something equally cutting back, but Kiku silences him with a kiss and he lets it go.
They dissolve into something passionate and empty. Kiku tells himself it’s fine this way.
It really must be fine this way.
Hearing the news now, Kiku wishes he had been kinder than. He’s a nation of course, he’s not a stranger to regrets. But for now, it comes at him full force, as if it was the first time. Kiku had started his day like he always had; he met with the overlords he had breakfast, he indulged in a bit of court gossip while remaining faithful to the emperor and so on...Kiku was artful really, a cat on top of a line, balancing easily. But it was when Osaka burst into his house and gave the news was when Kiku toppled.
They found Arthur’s body washed up on shore.
Now, as said before, Kiku is a nation. He’s also not a stranger to death. And, honestly, Arthur would be just fine given a day or two.
But Kiku isn’t so heartless as to say he didn’t feel extreme sadness when he rushed to the scene. He’s not so inhuman that he didn’t crumple onto his knees letting out an anguished scream as he gripped that iconic red coat.
But that’s all drama really. To put it short, they looked for more survivors along the debris from a shattered pirate ship. There were some, and some dead bodies, and Kiku ordered them all to be taken in and taken care of. But not Arthur, no. Arthur was special.
Kiku specifically took care of him in his own room and everyone knew better then to question it.
Some clarification: if anyone were to claim Kiku secretly hated Arthur getting hurt, then they’d be dead wrong. It’s more complicated then that. There is a part of Kiku that hates Arthur and loves nothing more then to see him squirm in pain and admit defeat. It’s befitting of him, it balances out the scales. He has so much pride, Kiku doesn’t see anything wrong when he loses even a little of it. He had more then enough, honestly.
However, right now, Kiku feels nothing more than pain himself. He’s trying to decipher it as he cleans Arthur’s wounds. There are bruises and cuts and gunshot wounds, and Kiku works diligently on each. Osaka keeps bringing bandages and water, and no matter how many times he asks if he should bring the doctor, Kiku flatly refuses. Arthur’s men needed him more than Arthur did now. Arthur was a nation, he had time. And so Kiku would take care of his kin. So with sleeves rolled up and sweat beading down his forehead, he kept at it. Osaka wondered if he’d crumple again and begin crying, but no ounce of frailty was on Kiku then. There just wasn’t time for it.
Back on the matter before: there have been countless times Kiku has hurt Arthur and he’s regretted none of it. But this time, he knew it was someone other than him and it made him feel...it made him feel…
Anger. Yes. Kiku finally recognized it as anger. Because this person didn’t know Arthur like he did: he didn’t know his limits or his history or his weaknesses or his dreams. This person had no right. They had not earned that right. While twisted a thought it was, it made a fire burn in Kiku’s belly, something hateful and venomous and violent.
Kiku was done in three hours and in the morning, Arthur came to.
Some clarification: if someone thought Kiku could care less when Arthur finally woke up, they’d be dead wrong. He was nothing but relieved happiness then, restrained tears, and thankful prayers.
Arthur was safe. How couldn’t he be happy?
It was early in the morning, when it was still dark out. Kiku blearily opened his eyes, the lamp light from his room still burning. It was dim and Kiku had to come to for a bit, before recognizing someone was staring back. Hazy green eyes and an exhausted expression met him. Arthur smiled a bit.
“Hullo, Kiku.” He said hoarsely. Kiku bolted up then, shocked. A moment passed and Arthur looked around his surroundings. He was laid out on Kiku’s futon, Kiku curled up on the floor next to him. The room stank of blood.
“I feel like shit” he announced. Kiku responded by hugging him, catching Arthur off guard. It was strangely intimate of him, and for a moment Arthur was reminded of Alfred. Alfred who launched himself at Arthur the same way whenever Arthur came to visit. But Kiku never did this, he was always sarcastic acknowledgement whenever Arthur came around. This was different of him. This was sweet. Immediately, Arthur moved to embrace him back, but a sharp pain rocked his body and he flinched. It all came back to him, and Kiku got up, looking down.
Arthur couldn’t read his expression. Was it indifference? Was it anger? And yet there was a tenderness he couldn’t comprehend.
“You’re badly hurt.” Kiku told him, trying to steady his voice, “You shouldn’t move so much.”
“Funny words, coming from the person who just lunged at me.”
“What happened.”
“What?”
“What happened.”
Arthur blinked. Kiku was shaking. Not just his body, but his voice as well. Arthur has never seen Kiku so defenseless and unguarded. The atmosphere felt different between them and he was treading on thin ice. Had he done that to him?
“I’m sorry I’m causing you trouble.” Arthur frowned, hurt.
“You’re not-!” Kiku shut his eyes in frustration, sighed heavily. “My men found you and what was left of your crew on my shores. I nursed you back to health. Now, tell me what happened.”
His explanation was quick and annoyed. Kiku had a goal here, Arthur could tell. His temper was short, and Arthur could only do as told. He felt he should’ve been distrustful but the fact that Kiku had helped him...he couldn’t help but feel a bit humbled. Arthur looked away, and licked his cut lip. Took his time.
“We were ambushed. They were using a British flag, I thought it was my people...but we were tricked.”
Arthur tells the story plainly, with no whistles and bell because he’s accustomed to these experiences. He’s lived for so long, that violence against him wasn’t so traumatic anymore. It was just a part of life.
(He’s lying of course, but as if he’d ever tell the truth to Kiku.)
“They injured you.”
“They had themselves a field day when they found out I was a nation.”
Kiku is quiet. He says nothing at this. Arthur dares not to look.
A moment passes and Arthur is happy and angry that of all people Kiku was there to see him like this.
“How many survivors?” He asks instead.
“Not many.”
Arthur’s heart lurches. He closes his eyes, and gives a soft ‘Mmm’ as confirmation. It all weighs heavily on him, as it always does, and he hides everything from Kiku. If only he wasn’t here. Why did he have to be here?
“You were right. I’m too arrogant for my own good,” Arthur laughs, “I suppose I’m in debt to you now?”
“What did the ship look like?”
“What?”
Arthur turns his head, and Kiku’s expression catches him. He’s seen it before, and he knows it by heart. He knows to fear it. His eyes are dark and uncaring, his expression is like that of a concentrated predator. A cat before the strike, focused and bestial. Kiku doesn’t wear anger on his face. What’s scary is when he shows less of it. It means there’s less of man to him, and it was the human part of him that made him kinder.
“Kiku?”
“What did the ship look like? The men who did this to you?” he demands, “Tell me everything.”
“Why?”
Kiku doesn’t say anything, but Arthur knows.
“Kiku, you don’t...are you…” Arthur gulps, “Are you going after them?”
It sounded so strange to Arthur, so unlike Kiku. Since when has Kiku ever gone out of his way for Arthur? Since when has he ever put his life on the line for him? They did the exact opposite of this notion, they didn’t sacrifice themselves for the other, that was just unheard of, that was just strange. Arthur wondered if he was dreaming, still swimming deep in the ocean, near death.
But Kiku keeps his gaze, determined. He slides it away and gets up.
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask one of your crew.” He announces as he begins to change. Arthur is distracted as Kiku strips of his kimono, and its blood-stained sleeves. He’s pulling out his military outfit, and Arthur doesn’t even know what to say to this madness.
“Kiku, they were able to overpower me, you can’t be serious.” He tries to reason, “Besides it would take you days! What’s even the point?!”
“I have my own ships, you know that.” Kiku answers, back turned to Arthur as he buttons up his shirt.
“Your boss won’t allow this operation.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
“They’ll kill you!”
“I’d like to see them try.”
Arthur’s head is spinning. He had never seen Kiku so driven for his sake. He felt lost, he felt confused. Who was this? Why was he doing this?
“I’ll be just fine! I don’t need you doing this for me!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I asked for your approval.”
Ah, there it was, Arthur noticed. There’s a hint of the Kiku he knew. So this really wasn’t a dream. Arthur tries to get up to stop him, but he doubles over. His body is in too much pain. It’s then he realizes: why does he, himself, care? Who cares if Kiku throws himself in dangers way for him? Why does he care if Kiku does this for him? Shouldn’t he be ecstatic, killing two birds with one stone? But there was a sharp pain in Arthur’s stomach, a hammering in his chest, and he realized he was scared.
He was so scared for him.
“I’ll have Osaka and the rest of my attendants take care of you and your men while I’m gone,” Kiku explains as he grabs his sword from its stand, “Don’t be afraid to ask for anything. I’ll make sure this doesn’t reflect on our country’s relationship. This is merely me, helping you as a human.”
Kiku walks past the futon, and Arthur’s desperate.
“Kiku.” he gulps, “Kiku don’t go.”
“It’s been decided. Please take care to rest while I’m gone.”
The door slides open, and Arthur shuts his eyes.
“My love, please don’t go.”
The both of them stop. Immediately, Arthur’s hands fly to his mouth, shocked at his own words.
A long moment passes. The sun is slowly rising, and the room is bathed orange.
The thing about Arthur and Kiku’s relationship is that it wasn’t decided. Perhaps, in a way, that was it’s charm. While one could easily write them off as people who hated each other so much, it boarded on erotic; this would be simplifying it too much. They were strangely alike in a lot of ways; they were both young empires who were still growing up but told to have pride so as to not die. They lived in a risky time where any wrong move put you at the bottom of the hierarchy. They were trying to survive, that’s all. They were bad people, but that was their only choice.
So, in this way, they perfectly understood each other. In this way, they were connected in a way that could be unbreakable, unstoppable, and transcendent. However, as they were taught to always be on guard, to always put themselves first, otherwise they would face rejection and pain, is it any wonder why they never made this move?
So in an attempt to guard themselves, they never reached out to the other. They could be soulmates if they lived in a kinder time, honestly. But they don’t, so in the end they make up for it by keeping a vitriolic relationship that sometimes boarded on romance and more times boarded on misdirect passion. They could tip the scales and decide once and for all what they were. But where was the fun in that?
But this is why Arthur felt ashamed then. Scared. In one sentence, he had decided his stance. In one impulsive sentence, he had changed things.
Kiku slowly turns to look at Arthur, shocked, all angry bravado gone. Arthur meets his gaze. His eyes are large and frightened. It was then Kiku remembered just how young Arthur really was. Without his coat and hat, Arthur really was still just a budding nation like himself. A teenager trying to be a man. He looked fragile then. Real. Bandaged up and scared and young.
They had always put on such airs. He had forgotten how they looked without them.
Kiku forgets the last time he was allowed to be young himself.
Kiku approaches Arthur, and Arthur instinctively tenses up. He drops his sword. He kneels down in front of him.
Kiku answers in return. He takes Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. Arthur forgets to close his eyes. He’s much too shocked.
In that moment, Arthur knew just what all those sappy love sonnets really meant.
When they part, Kiku’s face is gentle. He smiles, but there’s a sharpness to it.
“Please don’t underestimate me.”
He kisses him again, and this time Arthur accepts it. There’s a million things they’re losing here, and he wants to turn back. But there’s still Kiku’s haughtiness and there’s still his sword. His Kiku never changed. He had only shifted, just a bit.
But Kiku breaks it off, and he grabs his sword, and he’s still leaving. Arthur feels the right thing to do would be to call him back. The romantic thing is to forget about revenge and to confess their feelings in more detail, and for Kiku to nurse him back to health.
But Arthur doesn’t even try. He’s smiling sadistically.
“Give them hell.” He calls out.
Kiku turns around and gives him one last smirk, before closing the door.
(Since when were they about romance?)
If Kiku went alone or with help is irrelevant. All that really matter is it took him a week to return. The revenge was not swift, it was not painless, it was not pretty. Kiku is fine with this; he was expecting it. So, in the end, when Kiku ends up worse for wear but successful, he wonders why philosophers are liars. He’s wondered why people always spoke against revenge. Looking down at the carnage, he has never felt so alive, and he has never felt so satisfied.
He decides: Clearly, they haven’t loved someone so passionately as he has.
They don’t talk about it when Kiku comes back. They don’t make a dramatic change. Perhaps, that’s for the better. Perhaps they never had to change in the first place. Maybe all they ever had to do was talk.
Kiku continues to nurse Arthur back to health. Arthur trusts his word when he says he took care of the problem. Kiku had presented his blood-stained sword as proof. Arthur felt flattered when he saw it.
The days dissolve into cleaning up the political mess and between all that, Kiku was his same prideful self. He fed Arthur manju while making comments how much better it must taste then his foul British food. Arthur shot back that all Kiku was really good at was cooking. It was a shame he still couldn’t grow taller.
Kiku punched his arm, and Arthur laughed through the pain.
Nothing had really changed.
One evening, they had sat on the porch, drinking green tea. They were both still bandaged, but they barely felt it at this point. Arthur would be leaving soon. He still had his own things to attend to, but Arthur marveled how painful it must be to leave Eden.
“I have something to confess.”
Arthur looks up. Kiku’s profile is soft in the moonlight, and he makes it a point not to look at Arthur.
“You poisoned the tea.” Arthur guesses.
“Please,” Kiku smirks, “I believe your tolerance is too high, seeing as what you usually eat.”
“What is it?”
Kiku is silent a moment. He looks away.
“I would choose you too.”
“Sorry?”
“You said before, if you had no other choice, you’d choose me.” Kiku pauses, “I’d choose you too.”
Arthur blushes. And upon closer inspection, he sees Kiku’s ears reddening. He leans in, his lips next to Kiku’s ear, making the other gasp.
“You better.” he whispers.
He hears Kiku gulp loudly, and Arthur smiles. He begins to move in closer until he feels Kiku’s palm on his lips.
“It’s good you have so much energy. You’ll heal properly in no time. But, please, don’t push it.”
Arthur slumps. Kiku chuckles as he gets up, saying something about how they need snacks. Arthur glares at his retreating figure, frustrated.
“Minx.” He accuses. Kiku laughs behind his kimono sleeve.
They really were better off this way.