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Every good, successful romance starts with hello.
Kenjirou was raised to be a gentleman, and every polite gentleman would wait until the time was right to approach a potential lover. So he waited for it, ignoring everything around him until the song was finished, because the man he was staring at was the most devastatingly attractive guy he’d ever seen.
But Kenjirou also had an image to maintain. He was the second son of his father, the king, and at an event such as this, eyes would be on him at all time.
Unfortunately, he only had eyes for a certain musician there tonight.
Kenjirou had never seen him before tonight, but the musician intrigued him. He was, as previously mentioned, an incredibly handsome man, but watching him play was even more magical. His slim, nimble fingers seemed to dance over the strings of the lute, plucking at them as if it were breathing.
Leaning over to his right, Kenjirou glanced at his companion, Taichi, to see him just as enraptured by the band.
“The one with silver hair?” he asked, hoping that Taichi didn’t have his eyes on the lute player. “With bits of dark at the end?”
Taichi shook his head slowly. “The one on the cello,” he said softly. “Darker hair. About as tall as the cello itself.” He seemed to shake himself out of whatever stupor the cellist had put him into and returned Kenjirou’s gaze. “You have a thing for the silver hair.”
Kenjirou felt his cheeks prickle. “Do you know anything about him?” he whispered after a guest came up to say hello and left again. “His name? Where he lives? His family? How he came here? If he’d be returning?” Taichi fixed him with his Look and Kenjirou huffed. “Forgive me for trying to find out more about him.”
His friend’s eyes flickered between him and the band. “I’ll ask,” Taichi said, finally, as they began to move in someone new. Kenjirou didn’t thank him, but he figured that if helping Kenjirou got Taichi a date, Taichi couldn’t complain, right?
He watched him walk up to the band and bow slightly to them, making a few gestures to… Taichi was gesturing to him. Why was he gesturing to him?
The hot lutist looked over to Kenjirou with a smile as he followed Taichi’s hand, and much to Kenjirou’s delight— and mortification— winked.
Holy shit.
Kenjirou was going to have Taichi executed. Or knighted. He didn’t know. He couldn’t decide.
After another minute, Taichi came back to sit next to Kenjirou, who stared at him until he started to speak. “The one with the silver hair is named Semi Eita,” Taichi told him. “A somewhat famous performer. He’s friends with Reon, who’s friends with your brother, so he was invited tonight to showcase his skills, maybe catch someone’s eye. He plays the lute, the cello, the violin, and the harpsichord. He sings and he’s literate, and specifically told me to mention that he was single.”
Kenjirou’s cheeks warmed even more. “Is he a courtesan, then?” he asked, not wanting to get his hopes up. “Is this all an advertisement of his willingness?”
“No, actually,” Taichi said. “He said that he was waiting for someone special. You’d think so, though, wouldn’t you?”
Kenjirou looked at the lutist, with his shining hair and his shirt loosened around his throat, with his bright eyes and his smile, the jewels on his wrist. The slope of his neck, bare of any claim from any noble, whether it be a hot iron brand or a heavy necklace that would’ve likely glittered in its opulence, since a beauty such as his only deserved the best.
“When you go back,” Kenjirou said, “because I saw you with the cellist and I know you’ll be going back to see him after this song, tell Semi-san that I wish to see him after the ball. In my drawing room.”
Taichi looked at him with another one of his Looks for a moment, and nodded.
After the message had been delivered and Semi had sent him another one of his brilliant smiles, Kenjirou suddenly felt as if the ball would drag on forever. The hall was stifling, and the alcohol would never stop flowing, and he would be trapped in a sort of hell— and then, it was over.
It was over. He could leave. If Kenjirou was that type of person, he would’ve whooped for joy.
As soon as he was dismissed, he left that suffocating room as quickly as he could without seeming inelegant, and told his servants to run a rosewater bath to scrub the ball’s dirt off of him. Kenjirou didn’t let himself soak this time; he would’ve, usually, but he needed to be quick. They dressed him in the clothes he picked. He slid on a few bracelets from his jewelry box. He fixed his hair.
By the time Kenjirou made his way to his drawing room, Semi was already there, a book in hand. It was quickly forgotten when he spotted Kenjirou at the door, standing up and bowing with a little smile.
“Your highness,” he greeted.
Kenjirou finally let himself smile back. “Hello.”
Semi’s gaze dropped from his face to trail from his feet back up, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. “You cleaned up from the ball,” he noted quietly. “Am I to presume…?”
Kenjirou blinked. “I’m not propositioning you, Semi-san,” he said hastily. “I just wanted to know you better. I’ve never seen you here before. I liked your music. And Kawanishi told me you were literate.” He nodded at the book in Semi’s hand. “I enjoyed that one. Good pick.”
If anything, Semi’s ears reddened even more. He said a quiet thank you, and Kenjirou frowned. This was nothing like the bright performer he saw earlier.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
Semi hummed in response. “I’m nervous,” he replied. “I apologize. You’re… beautiful. And you’re the prince. I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. A specimen of a noble, both studious and dutiful as a son, but independent and contrary as a person. Musically inclined. Clever. And who has no intention of pursuing a marriage.”
“Had,” Kenjirou corrected. He didn’t miss the way Semi’s eyes lit up at that. “I had no intention of pursuing a marriage.”
“Has that changed?” Semi asked carefully.
Kenjirou gazed at him, at the man in front of him. He made sure they were making eye contact before he said, “Yes.” A beat. “In fact, it changed just tonight.”
Semi’s eyelashes fluttered almost imperceptibly. But Kenjirou saw. He was watching for it. “I must’ve come just in time then,” Semi murmured. Kenjirou had stepped closer, and he realized belatedly that the lutist was taller than him. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky you,” Kenjirou echoed.
And then all of a sudden, Semi was closer, and it was by Kenjirou’s doing again. He couldn’t help it. Semi had a magnetic presence. He smelled like the wood used to make his lute, a soft oil, and despite performing for hours on end, looked like he was freshly dressed for it.
“Please, your highness,” Semi breathed. Kenjirou’s heart pounded. He could hear it. Semi’s fingers reached out to brush against his hands, ever so slightly, ghosting over his skin. Kenjirou wanted more. “Please. Allow me to court you.”
Yes, yes, I’ll let you court me, I’ll let you marry me, you could be my prince and we could be together and you could play while I read. Or we would read together.
Kenjirou let out a soft sigh. He grasped Semi’s hands lightly. He didn’t want him to go away.
“I will prove to you,” Semi said softly, “that I am worthy of your hand.”
“My hand,” Kenjirou repeated. “You already have it.”
“I will earn it retroactively,” Semi insisted. “It’ll be worth the wait. I swear it.” He kissed the back of Kenjirou’s hand, just a faint brush of his lips, but Kenjirou swore the skin he touched was lit on fire. “I swear it. And you can call me Eita, if you so wish.”
“Eita.” Kenjirou rolled the name over in his mouth. He liked it on his tongue. “I do wish. And I do hope it’s worth the wait. But I suppose I’ll be the judge of that.”
Semi smiled. “You will be. You are.”
Kenjirou tilted his head to the side, feeling Semi press his lips against the side of his neck. Once, twice, trailing from his throat to just under his ear. He tugged at the hem of Semi’s shirt to pull him back. “Come with me,” he said; a bit desperately, really, but he didn’t care about that right now. “Please.”
He lead, and Semi followed.
Yes, Kenjirou decided that this would turn out just fine.