Archive of Our Own

Mornings have always been peaceful in the Tsukishima castle. It would seem that being an early bird is a trait passed down generation after generation, the strongest gene in their DNA after strikingly blond hair. Most days, Kei rises even before the sun does, and he's well awake by the time the roosters cry their good mornings and his dogs come greet him with wagging tails and slobbery kisses. 

Every single soul in the castle staff knows that mornings are the way they are and that it's always been like this. The kitchen knows the Tsukishimas break their fast a couple of hours after they've awakened. The guards know to take light steps so their armor doesn't clank around loudly. 

So why is it that, not even five minutes after Kei rises from his slumber, he hears yelling, something crashing down, and a painful-sounding thud that makes the walls in his room rumble? 

Kei rubs his eyes and reaches for his glasses. In the years that he's been responsible for the maintenance of his family's biggest and most important heirloom, Kei has done an incredible job. Taking care of an entire castle is no easy feat, but he understands the need to surround himself with trustworthy staff that in time start to care for the castle just as much as he does. But people are fickle, and accidents are bound to happen. Which is fine, even if quite annoying. 

Except that accidents don't happen three times a week. At this point someone might be breaking things and burning food just to fuck around with Kei. 

When he comes down to eat, he enquires Yachi, the head of staff and part-time interior decorator, about this.  

"My apologies, Tsukishima-san! Our new hire is still getting used to the routine, and I would like to ask you to be patient with him for just a while longer. Yamaguchi Tadashi is his name, Your Grace, and he is a friend of mine whom I trust with my life," she says. 

Kei sighs, "You have yet to fail to pick only the best people for me, Yachi-san, I trust you. Though I would like to put a face to the loud noises I hear, if you could lead me to him."

They meander through the long halls, Yachi guiding him until they reach one of the lower balconies that face the endless fields of wheat. A breeze swims through the long stems and makes them dance in a lawless tune. 

"He's right there, Tsukishima-san, working the ground with the hoe. With the dark hair tied in a small ponytail, see?" Yachi stands on her tippy toes to get closer to Kei's eyesight height –although she remains much shorter than him still, so he crouches down slightly to assist her. She points down to their left. 

There stands a man with a half ponytail, just like Yachi said. His hair is unruly, wild strands sticking out in every direction and as he runs a hand through it, most of his bangs stubbornly cling to his sweaty skin. The more Kei stares, the more freckles he can count over every bit of uncovered skin. He works the hoe with ease, and the sun kisses his complexion just right. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, you said?” Kei asks. 

He doesn't hear if Yachi answers. He doesn't care, either. Kei understands why the stalks of wheat don't object to the wind rushing through it, the immediate release of being subjected to a force impossibly stronger than you and just giving in without a fight. His heart swoons. A feeling he doesn't understand takes over his limbs and chest and ricochets inside his ribs. His fingers clench over the railings, and the cold metal does nothing to atone the way his ears burn when he gets a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile, uneven and crooked but gods above– 

The ever-balanced scales inside Kei take a dip.

xx

“You asked for me, Your Grace? May I come in?” 

Muffled words float in the air with the same gentleness of a swan gliding through water– although swans can and do fly, Kei can’t attest to their gentleness mid air. So, swans swimming swiftly through the mirror-like surface of lakes it is. The cadence of said words lets Kei know that the visitor is Yamaguchi, who can and should let himself in, and Yamaguchi is doing his best to let the wavering of his voice be disguised by its volume. Which he's failing miserably at. 

“Come in, Yamaguchi-san,” Kei commands. 

His guards open the doors fully, revealing an incredibly sweaty and sun-kissed servant, red skin peeling on his shoulders and freckled nose. The backlit body that stands before him is drowned out by shadows, leaving little for Kei to appreciate, but he sees the lankiness of his limbs, muscles few and sparse but certainly there. A body crtainly more athletic than Kei’s, who spends most of his days sitting on his ass studying and dealing with futile politics. 

Yamaguchi bows deeply, “I apologize for my attire, Your Grace, but I was in the fields when it was told to me that you require my presence. I came as soon as I could.” 

Kei can’t see his face, but his hands grip the cloth of his pants tight enough for the knuckles to whiten. Something inside Kei aches for the way his presence alone makes Yamaguchi as skittish as a hurt stray cat in the busy street markets. 

“No need to apologize. Please stand,” Kei says. 

He waves and the doors creak loudly until they shut. His eyes adjust to the loss of brightness coming from the corridor, and they land on Yamaguchi’s face, now easy to see properly. New freckles show up on his face each time their paths cross in the vastness of his home. Yamaguchi hides his hands behind his back, his eyes fluttering around the room, never sticking to one place and seemingly incapable of meeting Kei’s. 

“It has come to my attention that perhaps you haven’t been adapting properly to the roles assigned to you so far. I was hoping we could rectify that, Yamaguchi-san.” 

Now, in all of his short-lived experience as a somewhat important Royal figure, Kei has never been known as the gentle type. It’s beneath him to be rude to people he’s not close to, and he does have an image to uphold, but he’ll tell it like it is, and his words of choice won’t contain flourishes or sugar-coating of any kind. If you fuck up, you fuck up, and you deal with the consequences. 

However, even after having his mornings disrupted many times and two incredibly disastrous encounters with Yamaguchi – involving buckets full of water and a sopping wet Kei – , Kei hasn't told him off. Not only that, but is now getting out of his way to help a newcomer servant feel safer and comfortable inside his castle walls. 

What's even worse, it seems that with every clumsy encounter of theirs, Kei becomes more and more enamored with Yamaguchi

Kei cares for everyone under his protection and his jurisdiction. Truly, he does. He's pretty shit at showing it, his brother Akiteru much better at the bare bones demonstrations of emotions that aren't negative or self destructive. Kei gives his servants time off during the holidays, or when they have sick children at home. He pays them accordingly, treats them with respect, and leans on their expertises to run his household with practiced perfection. He trusts, and he hopes they trust him in return. Kei shows his appreciation from the shadows, but everyone knows who the captain of this ship is. 

Anyone with a working set of eyes and a minor understanding of how Kei functions can see something's different in the way he's been treating Yamaguchi. Kei just can't bring himself to care. 

Yamaguchi stops fidgeting and stares back at Kei. He looks scared no longer, the stillness of his body a sign that he probably won't sprint out of the room the first chance he gets. Half the oxygen in the room flits inside Yamaguchi's lungs with every deep breath he takes, his chest rising and dropping heavily underneath his muddy garments. The other half only lingers so the dust particles can float through the sunbeams in a way that makes even the most mundane of situations appear magical in its simplicity. 

"Your Grace, am I being dismissed from my duties at the castle?" Yamaguchi's voice is small, but unwavering. It sets Kei's heart aflame. He struggles to keep his face neutral, shoving his surprise, his desperation, his panic deep down. 

Kei swallows, pushes the papers on his desk to the side just to give his hands something to do, to give himself time to think his next words carefully. 

"Not at all, Yamaguchi-san. I apologize if that is what I made it sound like." Okay, that's reassuring enough, probably. Kei looks for relief in Yamaguchi's façade and finds none. He goes on: "I meant to say that I wish to work alongside you to discover where your talents work best. To find the job where you feel the most comfortable, is all I wish for." 

Yamaguchi, who's eyes had long drifted away from Kei's gaze, swaying swiftly along the intricately carved surface of the wooden table, now snap back up. Golden hues diving into rich, warm brown. 

"Oh," Yamaguchi whispers. His lips part in surprise, and Kei clearly sees his entire body relaxing, muscle by defined muscle untightening at the realization that he was not, in fact, being let go. Quite the opposite, if anything. Kei refuses to let go. 

"I do not mean to sound rude, Your Grace, but…" Yamaguchi brings his hands forward, fidgets with his dirt-crusted nails. "This doesn't seem like something you should care about. If I'm not being of use to you, shouldn't you just let me go? Or at the very least have someone else help me out? I understand you're a very busy man, yet you would choose to waste your afternoon with a mere servant." 

"This is, by no means, a waste to me, Yamaguchi-san. I would appreciate it if you didn't think so little of yourself, as you are, as every other servant under my roof, a valuable cog in the machine that is this household. I would not be able to do my job so easily if it weren't for you all. I care deeply for your safety and your well being, and if you would let me, I would very much like to waste my afternoon with you," Kei says, the words tumbling out of him aimlessly yet sure of their meaning. Please allow me this fleeting moment, this fickle excuse to stay near you, to hear your thoughts and understand you wholly. I would beg, if it were allowed. I might do it anyway. 

"Of course, Your Grace, I– anything you wish for." Yamaguchi half bows, perhaps to hide the blush that dances in between freckles dotting tanned stretches of skin. "Anything for you." 

The ruffles adoring the ends of Kei's sleeves seem moments away from bursting into flames, fervently burning his skin with every subtle move of his hands. He itches to learn if Yamaguchi's skin is as rough as it looks. 

Words are Kei's specialty, and each syllable holds meaning in his letters, in his speeches. Yamaguchi spits out words belonging in declarations of love and expects things to move about as if the cadence in which he said anything for you isn't threatening to crush Kei into royal pulp on the fancy tapestry beneath his feet. Kei recomposes himself. 

He points his open hand to the chair on the opposing side of the desk. "Please be seated, Yamaguchi-san." 

Yamaguchi does as asked, pulling at the chair quietly and looking incredibly out of place. The shade of brown of the wood matches his hair. He waits in silence. 

"Where did you work before coming here? I know you were recommended by Yachi-san, but truthfully I don't know much else; Yachi-san's approval was enough for me."

Yamaguchi brightens at the mention of his friend. "Ah, I'm glad Hitoka has made a name for herself here. She has always been too good at her job, but our old boss refused to acknowledge it.

"We worked in a bakery together, for a couple of years. It was on the outskirts of the city, so I don't expect you to know it, Your Grace. But it was good. We were good. I would work in the kitchen, mixing dough and carrying the heavy bags of wheat around. Technically, Hitoka was the salesperson, but dealing with people has never been her strongest suit– so I would sneak her away when movement was slow, and I would get her to decorate the pastries for me. And– oh, um." 

For the first time, Kei is fortunate enough to see Yamaguchi stripped away from some of the heavy layers of formality that stand between them. It is likely this has been the most Kei has seen Yamaguchi speak ever. And heavens , does he want him to keep going endlessly. 

If any of his long term friends would see him now, years of coexistence blooming into the inevitable heyday of being known, they would see it in the way his fingers still, the way his lips curve upwards ever so slightly, the way his forehead is free of any wrinkles, and they would tell him that "yes, Kei, you are incredibly and utterly smitten for a man you know very little about, congrats, you're an idiot". 

"You can cut me off if I'm boring you, Your Grace. I tend to get carried away," Yamaguchi says. 

"I will let you know when I wish for you to stop talking. Otherwise, please go on," Kei replies. He knows he sounds rude, but it has been proven to be futile to fight against his own straightforward nature. He just hopes Yamaguchi understands this, too. 

"Right. My apologies." Yamaguchi's tone maintains its lightness and nostalgia. "In short I was a baker, and I helped with the recipes and the heavy work." 

Kei shoves any and all thoughts of Yamaguchi in an apron, cutely covered in flour, to the back of his mind. "You have worked in my kitchen before, though. It ended poorly." 

"I… did cut myself, yes. Again, I am sor–" 

"I forbid you from apologizing in my presence, Yamaguchi-san. What are you even apologizing for? Accidents happen. You could have injured yourself badly. Be glad that you didn't." 

Kei gives them room to breathe. Dust bunnies shiver underneath the long bookshelves lining the walls, inanimate objects brought to life with the sheer power of anticipation. How on earth will this exchange between them even end? 

Something flies by the windows, quick shadows cast over men and objects alike. Kei and Yamaguchi turn to see who dares disturb their little pocket of time, workers pulled from their frenzy routines to indulge in something as insignificant as chatting. 

When Kei tears his gaze away from the window, he catches Yamaguchi taking in his surroundings. Poor guy couldn't properly appreciate the details in Kei's study when he first came in, mind set on being fired. His neck cranes form left to right, eyes wide and curious, catching the framed bugs on the walls and inching closer to read the titles of books that he's never heard of before in languages he surely can't understand. Yamaguchi is in awe, and what Kei doesn't know is that Yamaguchi also feels a tinge of jealousy creeping up his throat. 

"Have you been taught how to read, Yamaguchi-san?" Kei asks. 

"Yes, sir. My mother works in a printing shop, so she taught me how to read and write," Yamaguchi replies. "You see, at first she was in charge of mixing the colors for the ukiyo-e that adorned and accompanied the texts. From there, she taught herself how to carve the wood and the entirety of the printmaking process, but what she loves most is inking the carved pieces of wood and being able to see the layers be built upon each other to form incredibly colorful pictures. She…" 

Yamaguchi pauses, gulps, and gets lost in the unconscious stern look that overtakes Kei's features, something his parents have always pointed out: Kei looks serious when he cares. 

Suddenly self aware, Kei relaxes his frown. Yamaguchi continues to dig for something, anything, eyes flitting from golden locks of hair, to golden eyes, to pursed lips. Kei nods for him to continue. 

"Mother wished to understand the context of the images she helped make, which is what motivated her to learn how to read and consequently write. She then taught me and my father. However, I haven't had many opportunities to practice what I learnt." Yamaguchi rubs the side of his neck sheepishly. 

Kei hums, "I see. It's very fortunate that your mother taught you those skills." 

Cogs twist and turn inside Kei's mind. He wonders if the sounds can be heard outside his body. 

"Say, Yamaguchi-san," Kei calls for his attention. Yamaguchi complies, his short fingernails scraping against each other in a nervous habit. 

"I am a man who is deeply involved with the local politics, as you probably are aware," Yamaguchi nods. "And I do my research to understand as much of other people's way of life so as to cater to everyone's needs the best I can. Yet there is just so much of it that I can only experience through books or second-hand stories. A nobleman such as myself can't be seen wandering the less… favored parts of town, lest nasty rumors start to emerge about me and my family. Unfortunately.

"I would do good to have someone like you by my side as an adviser of sorts. You can write, you can read, and surely you know this town's habitants better than I do. Our library is open to everyone, but these–" Kei gestures towards his prized collection of books and journals and scrolls. "These I keep to myself. You would have access to them anytime, of course, if you choose to accept this position." 

As the words come to an end, uncertainty slithered around each syllable and stripped them of their usual confidence. Kei feels his heart beating faster than usual, reminding him of those extravagant dinner parties his family insists on hosting. Sitting there, on a high pedestal for everyone to ogle, to gossip about, to be perceived by hundreds yet unable to discern a single face in the dancing crowd. 

Kei deals with rejection with cold eyes and a heart of stone. Somehow this feels like a life or death situation.

Yamaguchi looks shocked to say the least. His brows furrow in confusion, and now the cogs in his brain are the ones to twist and turn. "What… position am I being offered exactly, Your Grace?" He asks. 

"My Hand, I suppose. You would aid me in my letters, in my research, visit folk around town and take note of their complaints, their struggles. You would practice your writing and your reading, stay away from harm's way – be that your own or someone else's – and, well." 

Kei does his best to discreetly clear his throat and keep his voice from straining. "You would be in my company for most of it. I wholly understand if that's not something too desirable to you, and if you deny it you would simply switch to a more fitting job around the house. Yamaguchi-san, you don't have to answer me right n–" 

"I'll do it." 

The air around them stills . 

"You'll do it," Kei echoes, half in surprise and half in disbelief.

"Yes, Your Grace." Yamaguchi stares into Kei and he can practically see confidence overflowing from him. His expression is serious, but his eyes shine more than a hundred stars, and his lips shiver like they're struggling to stay in a straight line. Kei wonders how Yamaguchi's prideful smile looks like. "I would love to, and I will do my best to aid you, I promise." 

This time, Kei doesn't hold back his grin. "You start in the morrow. Be ready." 

Yamaguchi stands up abruptly, "Yes, Your Grace! Thank you so much, Your Grace!" And he bows so sharply and so lowly that his forehead hits the desk in what Kei hopes to be his last clumsiness-related accident in a very long time. Once Yamaguchi leaves, Kei hurries to hide any and all sharp objects in sight. 

xx

Turns out that Yamaguchi is an avid bug catcher. Kei learns this a few days after, once Yamaguchi finally starts feeling more confident and comfortable in his new work place. Everyday he would eye the still wings of the framed butterflies on the wall and everyday Kei would see the interest in his stare; but alas, Yamaguchi would never do anything about it. 

“Is that a black alpine swallowtail, Your Grace?” Yamaguchi asked once, first thing in the morning, before even saying his hellos. 

Kei turns in his chair to look at said butterfly, pushing his glasses up his face. “I’m not sure, I only know its scientific name. Papilio maackii. ” 

When he turns back around, there’s a certain disappointment tugging at the corners of Yamaguchi’s lips. Sirens start blaring inside Kei’s mind. 

“I can check, though,” and he stands up immediately, walking up to his collection of biology books. 

Footsteps get closer and closer until Yamaguchi fills Kei's peripheral vision, and his smile is big enough to be seen from the corner of his eyes. Kei scans the books quickly and finds what he’s looking for: an old, yellow-paged encyclopedia that Kei has had for as long as he remembers, some pages scribbled with incoherent thoughts his tiny child brain thought too important to not jut down. He opens the book on the table, Yamaguchi's warmth a homeric longing hovering by his side. 

“Let's see…” Kei flips the pages until he finds what he's looking for. “Papilio maackii, more commonly known as the alpine black swallowtail or emerald machaonoviy peacock, is found in Central Asia, Russia, Japan, China and South Korea. There you have it.” 

“Wow. Could I…?” Yamaguchi points to the book, mouth agape and focus solely on the colorful depictions of watercolor butterflies. 

Kei nudges the book toward him. “Go ahead.” 

Magically, Kei forgets all about the work he's supposed to be doing. Hours go by with them delving into book after book, Kei using up all of his arsenal of random animal facts and Yamaguchi exploding with delight each time they come across a bug he's caught before, or an animal he's seen in the woods as a kid. 

The first few days go by with ease. An exchange of realities, the noble born and the common folk, sat in front of each other sharing the same quill and paper. Childhood stories long buried now unearthed to quell Yamaguchi's innocent curiosity and avid hunger for knowledge. They are much alike, Kei and him. 

In the early mornings after, Kei would look outside his window to find Yamaguchi strolling through the fields of wheat with a glass container in hand. Every other minute a different bug would show up in his hands, and he would inspect them thoroughly before letting them go. Some rare ones he would put in the jar, and Kei came to realize those were the ones they had seen in his biology books. 

Yamaguchi would come into his study with dirt under his fingernails, but Kei would gloss over it and pretend he didn't see it. 

Underneath the comfort of the stars, bright yellows burning over the walls from the raging fireplace, Kei allows himself freedom. He analyzes every word, every smile they share. Then, he safely puts rationality on the bed side table, and thinks that maybe his feelings for Yamaguchi don't go unnoticed, and might even be a two-way street.

Kei's adoration shines like the full moon, powerful and mighty yet out of reach. If Yamaguchi truly does feel something for him, it is but a twinkling star in comparison– but for as long as the night sky has existed, never have they been thought of as two separated astral bodies. 

The moon rises, and the stars soon follow.

xx

Time swings by in the following week. Days are spent showing Yamaguchi the basics of his new job, and thankfully he catches on quickly. Kei teaches him how he likes his books to be organized – by topic, then by historical order –, how to properly address royalty members when writing to them, how to do the 'pretty upper case letters that look like they belong in books' – Yamaguchi's words, not his. It took Kei one full day to convince Yamaguchi that yes, he did deserve the raise that came with his newfound position, and no, I will not be giving the money difference to the poor, if you want to do that you can do it yourself, I already fund half the town's orphanages. 

Afternoons that used to be spent in silence, hunched over towers of paperwork and crumpled pieces of half scribbled letters, are still spent the same, but Kei has found himself a wonderful distraction to his mundane routine. 

By the time the second week arrives, something changes. 

“My Lord, where should I put these papers?” Crumpled drafts of letters rest on Yamaguchi's hands.

Without taking his eyes off his work, Kei points to a box by the fireplace. “We'll use them to start the fi-”

Realization dawns on him. The quill in Kei's hand stills, and ink drips from it into a black puddle.   

“My Lord?” Yamaguchi calls. 

“Yes?” Kei answers, movements jerky and robotic. He looks up just to look right through Yamaguchi, his vision blurry even with his glasses on.

Yamaguchi points his chin forward. “The ink is staining the paper.”

Kei looks back down. Takes him a moment to process what's happening, but when it sinks in he quickly raises his arm, spreading droplets of black all over his desk. “Right. Um.” 

“Are you feeling alright?” Yamaguchi asks with a worried countenance.

“Yes, I am.” Kei fiddles with his glasses and turns his head away. “Thank you for asking.” 

Work resumes as usual. Except, throughout the entire afternoon, the words loop inside Kei's mind. My Lord, My Lord, My Lord, My Lord, My Lord .

It's rather embarrassing to hold tightly onto something that truthfully holds so little meaning, and something that Kei has been called before numerous times. But Kei would want nothing more than to be Yamaguchi's, and he will take anything he can get. 

Third week comes knocking on Kei's door. Work has never been easier, and unintentionally Yamaguchi fills the Akiteru-shaped hole in his social life– they walk in the promenade on sunny weekdays to mingle with his fellow noblemen, not before Kei convinces Yamaguchi to get new clothes more befitting of his position. Ruffles and coats and earthy tones to match his eyes override his closet.

For the first time in months, Kei goes out himself to get the newest releases in his nearby bookstore. He might've snuck in a couple more books on bugs for no particular reason. Rifts in the aged marble and wagging tails greet him when he returns to his study, Yamaguchi's usual chipper welcome! immediately missed. 

Given the late hour, it's rather unusual that Yamaguchi isn't busy at work yet, so Kei goes to find him, and he does so in the castle's kitchens. With each step down the stairs, an intoxicatingly sweetness takes over, a smell so strong and so different that Kei has no idea what the source could be, which is odd for him. His cooks know exactly which sweets Kei craves, and they don't dare steer away from his family's recipes. 

The doors open to a small crowd of people surrounding Yamaguchi, who stands out like sequoia in a forest, comically taller than everyone else. He holds a fouet in his hand, vigorously whipping something pink inside a bowl. 

Even though he wears an apron, it does little to keep his clothes clean, and there's flour and other ingredients dusted over him from head to toe. Kei remembers when he first found out Yamaguchi's previous life as a baker, and thinks this might be some sort of silly thanks from the beyond, for all the good work he's done for the town. Whatever it might be that allows him to have what was once  a thought in his head materialized right in front of him, makes Kei consider becoming religious. 

The crowd of onlookers asks questions, and Yamaguchi answers them all with a smile on his face. The strain of the repetitive movement must burn his arm, but if it does then he doesn't show; more pressingly, the strain of the repetitive movement makes his muscles and veins stand out, and there's an interesting lack of thoughts going through Kei's brain right now. 

When Kei gets close enough, his presence is noted. "Oh, My Lord! Good morning," says Yamaguchi, his smile somehow stretching out even more. 

Everyone else turns to him then, bowing and greeting him before giving him room to get closer to Yamaguchi. "Good afternoon might be more accurate, Yamaguchi-san." 

"...afternoon?" Yamaguchi stops his whisking to turn to the windows, only to be greeted by the heavy midday sun. "Oh my stars, I must have lost track of time! My apologies, My Lord, I didn't realize how late it got, I'll meet you in the study in a heartbeat. I just need a change of clothes, I promise."

Yamaguchi is halfway through pulling out his apron when Kei steps even closer and stops him. He holds his open palm over Yamaguchi's closed fists, and the sudden warmth immediately stops Yamaguchi in his tracks. He stands at an awkward angle, frozen like one of Medusa's victims halfway through a movement. 

"Have you already forgotten what I told you about apologizing in my presence?" Kei challenges, intentionally teasing him. 

Yamaguchi shyly meets his gaze. "But, My Lord, we have much work to do, and here I am, slacking off–"

"Yamaguchi-san," Kei calls out in vain. 

"–meanwhile you were out running errands, and now it's nearing lunch hour already–" Yamaguchi rambles on, arms still pointing to the heavens. 

Kei quickly scans the kitchen, happy to find his staff busy with their affairs. There is no other word better used to describe Kei's next move than the following: Kei indulges , makes good use of Yamaguchi's peculiar position, his hands out of commission for the moment being, and Kei puts to the test his reputation for being smart and calculated. He swiftly repositions his hands from flour-dusted fingers to jam-smeared cheeks which, once again, shocks Yamaguchi just enough to get him to stop talking. 

"Tadashi ," experiments Kei, and oh how he loves the way it rolls off his tongue, a velvety sound so smooth he could lay down and take the best nap of his life on it. 

A few seconds of silence, only the far clinking of kitchen utensils being used filling up the air. "Yes?" Yamaguchi whispers. 

"We can allow ourselves a leisure day every once in a while. Please continue what you were doing."  

Kei slowly lifts his hands from Yamaguchi's face, doing his best to keep his eyes from wandering to the other's lips. They maintain eye contact for the entirety of it. 

Something gooey and red sticks to Kei's thumb, and as he looks down into it, whatever spell that kept Yamaguchi stuck in place fades away, letting him tie his apron back on. Curious, Kei licks at the gooeyness. "Strawberry jam?"

Yamaguchi blushes and turns his attention to the neglected bowl he placed on the counter. "Y-yes, My Lord. It's your favorite, is it not?" 

Kei can't help the way his eyebrows rise, surprise painted all over his face. He hates the way he can feel his heart melt into a dripping mess. "It is." 

"I heard that your birthday was coming around, and I couldn't think of a single thing money could buy that you haven't got already. I managed to get my hands on a recipe for strawberry macarons, but they can be quite difficult to get right," Yamaguchi starts whisking the batter again. 

"So I am, uh, practicing, I suppose," he concludes. 

Taiko drums could not be louder than the beating of Kei's heart. A rush of emotions floods his senses, making him dizzy with hope. 

Yamaguchi spares him a side glance and a nervous grin. The shape of his crooked smile is enough to put Kei's heart to ease. They forgo lunch and dinner altogether and spend the afternoon stuffing themselves with failed yet tasty attempts at macaron baking. 

xx

The castle wakes up to fussing staff running along its halls. All sorts of cleaners, maids, guards and cooks go past Kei, slowing down and bowing as they approach him, only to return to their hurried steps moments later. Kei can't make it to his dining room before curiosity takes the best of him. 

“What's going on?” Kei asks the nearest guard. Early morning shines on his plate of armor and his hazelnut eyes. 

“It seems someone has had a heatstroke out on the fields, My Lord. Summer truly has arrived,” replies Kuroo. 

“The fields?” Kei had been watching the frenzy of people rush past him, but with a few words Kuroo manages to snag his full attention. “Who was it?” 

Kuroo smirks at the hints of desperation that bleed into Kei's voice. “Why do you ask? Worried about someone specific ?” 

“Kuroo, I swear to god–”

“He was brought to the infirmary, Kei. The servant's on the lower floors.” 

Kei barely registers the end of that sentence before he's striding down the hallways, giving up maintaining one last shred of composure before he starts running to the first floor. He joins the waves of servants heading to the infirmary. 

Muffled voices grow louder with each step until Kei is standing under the doorframe, and the chattering ceases. 

“Tsukishima-san?” Asks Yachi, a mix of curiosity and surprise on her face.

The only occupied bed holds an incredibly sunburnt and unconscious Yamaguchi. He babbles nonsense and tosses around as if reacting to the commotion around him, but his eyes stay shut. “How is he? What happened?” Kei makes way past the wall of prying onlookers. 

He stands by the bed, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself. A voice in the back of his head rages loudly, reminding him of his royal blood, of how someone such as he, graced by regalia from birth, should act. It screeches and throws a tantrum and for the first time it finds the space to grow until the tip of his fingers gets numb and his knees waver. The weight of everyone's eyes on him gets heavier by the heartbeat. 

Yamaguchi lets out a string of pained moans, prompting the nurses to lay down as many wet cloths over him as they can. Kei clenches his fingers, wanting nothing more than to be useful, to help. 

When Kei takes a deep breath, a last effort to shut down the doubt in his mind, his exhale comes out shaky and weak, and he is breaking . 

He meets Yachi's gaze, a silent plea in the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips form a straight line. 

“Alright, everyone out! Back to work!” She commands, pushing everyone out until it's just Kei, Yamaguchi and the nurses. She closes the doors behind her. 

Kei breathes, finally. He sits on the edge of the bed, fighting the urge to put his hands on Yamaguchi, to feel his damaged skin and bring him some comfort, even if in vain. The bright colors of the infirmary's walls makes his sweaty skin look incredibly fragile. 

“He'll be fine, My Liege. Your Hand just needs rest and a cool environment to recover.” 

The nurse's gentle and reassuring voice matches his green eyes. It's enough to settle most of Kei's anxieties. 

“I will ask for a cold bath to be run for him, and we'll leave him there to rest until he awakens.” 

Kei nods, “Thank you, Akaashi-san. You may use my chambers for that.”

If Akaashi finds it odd, he doesn't say. But a barely visible grin shows up in his unreadable façade. “Yes, My Liege,” and he ushers the other nurses out of the room. “I will have them call you once he's better and we transfer him.” 

Kei knows when he's being dismissed, and he can rest assured that Yamaguchi is in capable hands. Akaashi bows to him as he crosses the sterile archways into the bleak corridor; Kei appreciates the way his staff waits until they're out of his line of sight to cast him curious looks. His body feels too small for the mountain of feelings that have been piling up inside of him unattended, and it would seem that the addition of fear– of losing Yamaguchi– was the catalyst for an avalanche. 

He steps outside, into the gardens. There is solace to be found in the way both he and the skittish lizards find comfort in the warmth of the sun, the sway of the trees. Crunchy footsteps and the beating of his own heart are the only things Kei hears, but at least he can be thankful his mind is no longer stuck in a whirlwind of self doubt. 

Kei paces some more, relishing the cool breeze that blows by him every other minute. He can hear the castle slowly getting into gear again, the staff surely at ease knowing that no lasting harm has come to Yamaguchi, who has so quickly won over everyone with his easy-going attitude and warm demeanor. Yamaguchi, who at heart is deathly scared of being a disappointment and is a people-pleaser. Yamaguchi, who let himself be open with Kei long enough for him to know these things about him. 

A second set of footsteps echo between the tall shrubs. "Your Grace, Keiji has asked me to–" 

Keiji? It takes Kei a moment to realize who that is, and when he does Kei turns a bit too eagerly. "Has he awakened?" He asks.

"Oh, uh." The guard is taken aback, and his ridiculously styled hair bounces as he steps away from Kei. "Not yet, Your Grace, but he has stabilized. I was asked to let you know he has been transferred as you wished!" 

There's a glint in his almost golden eyes, and that combined with the way he's a bit too excited to break the news to Kei brings his impulsivity to a stop. He puts aside his emotions and allows his rationality to flourish; he eyes the shiny ring on the guard's left hand, glances at the flashing red of his cape, putting him in the same squad as– 

Ah, right. Of course. 

Kei recomposes himself, clears his throat and throws a curt grin to the guard. "Thank you. Please let Kuroo know that I am never talking to him ever again," and Kei walks past him too fast to see his reaction, but not fast enough to not hear a loud and boisterous laugh behind him. 

A path that would usually take much longer is somehow done in a matter of minutes, and Kei reaches his bedroom doors slightly out of breath. Nurses greet him and leave just as he arrives. His own room feels unwelcoming, muted colors that once made calm waves wash over him now feel lifeless. 

Step after step, Kei makes his way into his bath. The curtains are pulled close, candles lit all around the room and its shivering flames move akin to Kei's heart. Right in the center of the room, like an ancient statue with its own wing in the museum, is Yamaguchi laid in a bathtub. His arms and torso are bare, and so is… Kei averts his gaze. 

There's a small table placed by the bathtub, and its contents go by unnoticed until Kei comes closer. A glass jar filled with water, two glasses, loose pieces of fabric, a plate of food. Two very different handwritings are seen on a note placed underneath the plate: Eat your food, Kei, you are too skinny as it is, and then Make sure your Hand drinks as much water as possible, and eats some of the fruits if he can, My Liege. 

Kei sighs. Never has he felt uncared for in his home, but it still surprises him how someone so apathetic has managed to be surrounded by people who notice even the smallest details about him. 

He sits down by Yamaguchi, soaked cloth in hand as he carefully squeezes cold water over scorched skin. Yamaguchi's breathing is even, and there's little reaction to Kei's movements, so he continues. 

It feels wrong, somehow, to indulge in his own agenda when the brightest star he has ever met burns so weakly right in front of him. But it still doesn’t stop Kei from carding his fingers through Yamaguchi’s damp bangs and exposing his forehead. Gentle droplets of water are squeezed over freckled skin, from his neck up to his cheeks, and Kei leaves the cloth to rest over his forehead. He carefully wipes away any stray drop that falls, and turns to the side to fetch another piece of fabric.

The sound of water sloshing around reverberates around the room.

“Hm…?” Yamaguchi makes a pained expression before he blinks his eyes open. He looks at his surroundings, confused. Then, his bleary vision makes out Kei, who’s eyes are wide and trailing his every move. His slender fingers grip the edge of the bathtub with an iron grip. “Tsukish– Uh, My Lord–”

A burning takes over Yamaguchi’s throat, and it cuts his sentence in half as a raging coughing fit takes over him.

Kei is quick to pour over a glass of water and hand it over. He places a soothing hand over Yamaguchi’s bare back, “Here, Yamaguchi, deep breaths. Take a sip when you’re able.”

Yamaguchi does so, taking huge swigs from the glass that Kei is quick to refill. Even after Yamaguchi has stopped coughing, Kei's touch is an anchor on his back.

Silence reigns. Kei savors the way he can feel each and every time air travels to and from Yamaguchi’s lungs.

“Where are we, My Lord?” Yamaguchi asks, eyes wandering the room. “Why am I… nude, in a bathtub?” The realization doesn't faze him in the slightest, only confuses him more.

“You suffered a heat stroke. This is my bathing room.”

Kei switches the glass of water in Yamaguchi’s hands for a juicy slice of watermelon. Yamaguchi has yet to meet his gaze, eyes busy with his surroundings. If Kei were to guess, he’d say it’s on purpose, but can Yamaguchi be to blame? Would you meet the eye of someone who is fully clothed – and is technically your superior – while you yourself are naked and confused?

“Oh. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble.” Yamaguchi ducks his head to take a bite of watermelon, but not before Kei sees guilt swimming in his eyes.

Uncharted territory calls for Kei. He picks up the fabric left over Yamaguchi’s forehead and places his palm in its stead. The touch is enough to make Yamaguchi finally look at Kei. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, I think. My skin feels like it wants to crawl out of my body, and it burns.” Yamaguchi’s voice is tiny, laced with embarrassment. A kind of shame that comes with feeling so incapable and helpless. The kind that Kei dreads with all of his heart. “But I am alright, My Lord, I– Why aren’t I with the nurses? Are you not busy with work?” 

It’s a shame that there’s no discerning sun damage from blush on Yamaguchi’s skin. But his eyes trail Kei’s hand when he pulls away, and something in the way his eyebrows rise slightly almost looks like a protest. Don’t go, please, but my ego, you see. I can’t bear to be a burden. 

It’s like looking into a mirror. 

“As I have told you before, I can choose to waste my days however I want. I am choosing to be here." Kei watches as Yamaguchi takes another bite, and his cheek puffs with discarded watermelon seeds. He picks up a towel, drenches it in the cold water of the bathtub under Yamaguchi's wary gaze, and places it over Yamaguchi's shoulders. "Does this feel better?" He asks. 

Yamaguchi notices the way Kei's sleeves are soaking wet. The way there is water all over his shoes and pants, and the way Kei has not once steered his gaze past Yamaguchi's shoulders. "It does, My Lord. Thank you." Yamaguchi grins. 

Kei clears his throat. "You don't have to address me so formally when it's just the two of us."

"Well, how else would I address you?"

"I do have a name, you know." Kei adjusts his glasses, hiding the start of a smirk behind busy hands. His entire body feels the pleasure of relief with each work they exchange. Casualty has never felt so rewarding. 

Yamaguchi laughs, "I'm well aware. Then, Tsu–" A watermelon seed flies out of his lips, and the suddenness of it all is enough to send Kei into a laughing fit. He doubles down and buries his head on his hands to muffle the sounds, but it does nothing to atone his full-body shaking. 

"Stop laughing at me!" Yamaguchi's words are all jumbled, the watermelon seeds leaving little room for the tongue in his mouth. 

Kei wipes his eyes and takes a breath. "That caught me off guard, sorry." He puts his hand in front of Yamaguchi's face, palm facing up. "Now spit."

Yamaguchi eyes his hand. "What?" 

"The seeds, spit them out so you can speak properly and drink more water." 

"But that's your hand." 

"Indeed, it is."

"I shouldn't–"

"Just do it." 

"But–"

"Tadashi."

It shuts Yamaguchi up. He looks down at Kei's hand once more before doing as asked. "You really ought to stop using my given name when it suits your needs," he mumbles. 

"What do you mean by that?" Kei places the seeds on the plate and pours another glass of water for Yamaguchi, who says nothing. When Kei faces him once more, he's met with a piercing gaze.

Yamaguchi takes the glass, worrying his bottom lip. "It's nothing, forget I said anything, My Lord," he says, voice barely a whisper. The dried skin of his lip cracks under his teeth, and blood threatens to spill out. 

"Stop that," Kei orders, yet his voice is impossibly soft. His words hold double meaning, and he hopes Yamaguchi understands it the same way he seems to understand everything else about Kei. He brings his hand to Yamaguchi's lip, cupping his chin in the process, the same way his mother would do to him when he was but a small anxious child. Comparing this moment to Kei's memories feels like an insult. 

The impulsive movement has Kei stretched over the rim of the tub, their faces aligned and close enough for Yamaguchi to see his own reflection in Kei's glasses. Impulsiveness is still new to Kei, but each time he has allowed impulsiveness to take over he has been graced with yet another memory to treasure. Another step closer to Yamaguchi. Their breaths mingle. 

Yamaguchi releases his lip and leaves it like that, mouth parted, tantalizing Kei. 

“Are you loyal to me, Tadashi?” Kei asks.

Yamaguchi scoffs, then hastily looks away. "My apolog–" Kei gives him a look to dismiss what would certainly turn into a minute long apology. “I am nothing if not loyal. It is, quite literally, in my name.” 

Each word smells sweet and sounds like a melody. Kei swipes his thumb over Yamaguchi's bottom lip, and lets his eyes follow the motion.

“Then are you so blind in your loyalty that you cannot see my own devotion to you?”

Gravity ceases to exist, and the entire world floats away. Kei feels his heart thumping inside him, begging to be let out and proclaim its wants for everyone to see. Do you understand this feeling, this thing that is so much bigger than myself? I need to love! I am bursting with a want that only you seem to satisfy! Is this truly love? 

A rush of emotions crosses Yamaguchi's face, and Kei reads him like a book. The very tip of Kei's finger brushes against Yamaguchi's pulse point and he finds solace in how erratically his heart seems to beat, out of step yet following the exact same rhythm of Kei's own pulse. 

"I'm not sure I understand," something outside of themselves whispers.

 "Would you call me by my given name?" Something else new whispers back. 

"Kei ," Tadashi answers, like a dog who had been waiting to hear the beckoning whistle of its owner. Eager to show off its tricks. 

Gravity returns, and it mistakes them for astral bodies with the way they shine and glimmer. Gravity pulls, and they fall prey to it. 

Kei leans down, mustering every ounce of restraint he can to not slam their lips together, mindful of Yamaguchi's sensitive skin. But Yamaguchi has other plans. 

It's easy to push aside the burning Yamaguchi feels as he rakes his hands through Kei's hair and holds on to any short strand of hair willing to gripped. It forces Kei forward, and he sits over the wet rim of the bathtub, his arms framed around Yamaguchi's head and upheld by the cool limestone. Kei feels as if he was the one who had a heatstroke. 

Their kiss is unstoppable. It feels wrong to even think to stop. It's a priceless reward that is worth so much more than Kei could even manage to put into a sentence, years of writing letters and reading books failing to teach him enough words to describe it. 

All Kei hears is Yamaguchi's heavy breathing, the sounds his own shirt makes when Yamaguchi rubs his hand over it, the rocking of the water as Yamaguchi moves around, how pliable Kei's own actions become with every overwhelming noise they make and every touch they share and every swipe of their tongues that gets Kei wishing he was religious just so he would have someone to beg mercy to. 

Reluctantly, they pull apart, but Kei keeps them close as he rests his forehead on Yamaguchi's. A better part of his clothes is now sheer given the amount of water that has sloshed over him. 

When he opens his eyes, Yamaguchi is there, waiting for him. The rumbling inside their chests dissipates. 

"What will people think when they see a Tsukishima royal with common folk such as myself?" Tadashi worries. 

"I don't much care about them right now, or ever. I care about you – shit, I care about you so much , Tadashi. Please ." Kei kisses Yamaguchi once more, quickly and gently, as if needing to prove himself that this is real. He reaches down and holds freckled hands in between his own, adoring the way their complexions are so different. 

"Please what, Kei?" 

His name sounds like a prayer. Kei chuckles, "I think I understand what you said about given names now." 

Yamaguchi's face can't contain the smile that adorns it. They search for something in each other's eyes, something neither of them can't explain but they find it all the same. 

"Please be mine," Kei begs. "As I have been yours from the beginning." 

Yamaguchi caves in to Kei's kisses before he can say anything, but his reply would come much later, after the dandelions have grown and died and grown; after they have shared a bed enough times to know each other's sleep patterns and morning habits. "If I am to die with nothing to my name," Yamaguchi claims, hair tousled from sleep, a silver ring in his palm, "Let it at least be known that I was yours. That is more than enough for me."