Chapter Text
“Hey, you.”
Tetsuya looked up, eyes wide. All around him, the market bustled—chickens pecked fretfully at the cobblestones around his feet, searching for stray grain, and a plump woman in a long woolen dress brushed past him with a basket of freshly-baked muffins on her arm. (The fragrant scent of them caught his attention and held it for a long moment, until she’d disappeared down the street.)
The boy who had spoken to him looked to be about his age, give or take a year. He had no shoes, but wore a rough, homespun tunic, with a rope cinched around his waist in place of a belt, and there was a smudge of dirt across one of his cheeks.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you.” The boy squinted at him consideringly, head cocked to one side. “You new around here? I’ve never seen you before.”
Tetsuya opened his mouth, then shut it again sheepishly. There was a very good reason the boy had never seen him around before, and it was this: by rights, he wasn’t supposed to be there at all. At that particular moment, he was supposed to be attending his history lessons in the castle library—however, being the youngest and least noteworthy of the kingdom’s three princes, it had been but the work of a moment to capitalize on his tutor’s distraction and simply... slip away.
By now, they were probably turning the castle upside down trying to find him, but Tetsuya was not concerned by this. Eventually, as it always had, it’d occur to one of his frantic minders that he’d probably left the castle grounds entirely, and then they’d send someone down to the village to fetch him—but for now, he was safe. Or at least, as safe as a young prince could be while exploring the village his father ruled over, unaccompanied and unseen.
At any rate, since the boy was still staring at him in puzzlement, Tetsuya felt that he’d best say something.
“‘m new here,” he mumbled, clutching nervously at the linen tunic he’d “borrowed” from one of the kitchen boys. It was a little too big for him, bagging at the elbows and sagging halfway down his thighs, but for a lad of his size that was hardly unusual.
The other boy blinked at that, and then nodded, looking satisfied.
“Thought you might be,” he said, with a grin. “You’re not ‘alf grimy enough to be one of us, yet.” He cocked his head to one side, thoughtful, and then reached over, scrubbing his fingers through Tetsuya’s hair to muss it up. His touch wasn’t quite gentle, but it wasn’t rough, either, and his palms were broad and warm, in a comforting way. (It was strange, but despite the fact that Tetsuya usually shied away from others touching him, he found that he had no objections to this.) Then the boy knelt and scooped up a handful of dirt, reaching out and smearing it into the fabric of Tetsuya’s tunic to discolor it; he had a look of such comical concentration on his face as he did this that Tetsuya hardly dared to interrupt him.
Only after all he had finished did the boy dust his hands off and settle back, satisfied with his work.
“That ought to do it,” he said, cheerfully. “The name’s Aomine—Aomine Daiki. What’s yours?”
Put on the spot, Tetsuya couldn’t help but tell the truth.
“... Tetsuya,” he mumbled, staring at his feet and hoping desperately that that wouldn’t be the spark of recognition that would bring their conversation to an abrupt end. However, his concern was misplaced—the boy named Aomine simply laughed and stuck his hands casually behind his head.
“Tetsu, huh? Okay, then.” He cracked a grin. “You hungry, Tetsu?”
Tetsuya opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach—having long since finished with the breakfast he’d eaten several hours before—got there first, emitting a loud and rather bad-mannered gurgle. He gave it a look of dismay, but Aomine only chuckled and reached out to grab his hand.
“You just leave that up to me, then,” he said, hauling Tetsuya along in the direction of the nearest food stall. Blinking in bewilderment, Tetsuya followed.
*
Ten minutes later, Tetsuya found himself in a narrow alleyway off the main market street, seated on an upturned crate with a piping hot pasty in his hands. Aomine, sitting atop a nearby barrel with his feet dangling several inches off the floor, was already digging into his own pasty with relish.
“You stole this,” Tetsuya said, aghast. He found himself glancing towards the mouth of the alleyway, where he could people passing by, and wondered if someone wasn’t going to come along and whip them both for their crime.
“Uh-huh,” said Aomine, carelessly, and also somewhat muffled through a mouthful of meat and floury crust. He gestured over at the pasty in Tetsuya’s hands, which remained untouched. “Best eat that while it’s hot,” he advised, “else it’s no good anymore.”
Tetsuya swallowed, hard, his eyes going to the pasty in question. It was fresh-made, swiped from the tray on its way from the oven to the baker’s stall, and smelled so amazing that, if he hadn’t been hungry before all of this, by now he most certainly would be. He looked at Aomine again, who just rolled his eyes and grinned. The amusement on his face dissolved Tetsuya’s remaining willpower, and eventually he gave in and began to eat, too.
“My da’s a blacksmith,” said Aomine, as they both tucked in. He took a humongous bite and chewed noisily, ruminating. “But he’s getting on in years, so it’s been hard for him to keep up with orders.”
Tetsuya made an attentive noise, averting his eyes from Aomine’s flagrant disregard for table manners as the other boy stuffed the rest of his pasty into his mouth at one go. (This was followed by another minute of furious chewing, after which he swallowed, then belched loudly, dragging the back of his sleeve over his mouth to wipe it clean, with the look of one who is proud of a job well done.)
“What about you?” he said, once he had finished eating, turning back to Tetsuya and licking crumbs off his fingers with great relish. “What’s your da’ do?”
What about him? Tetsuya thought, despairingly. Once more, he found himself casting about frantically for a convincing lie, but came up empty-handed.
“My father...” he began, then hesitated. (He was pretty sure My father’s the king, you see wouldn’t cut it, but try as he might, he simply could not think of anything else.)
“Go on, then,” Aomine prompted after a moment, with a laugh. “Or don’t you know what your own father does?” But Tetsuya never got another opportunity to answer, for at that moment, they were interrupted.
“There you are,” said a familiar voice, from near the alley’s entrance.
Tetsuya jumped in surprise, and then wilted a little. He knew that voice, and it meant that today’s adventure was about to come to an end. He looked up, then, to see a knight in full chainmail approaching them, his armor clinking with every step. (In retrospect, it was a good thing Aomine had finished with his pasty, because had he still been holding it when Kiyoshi showed up, it would now have been resting on the ground alongside his jaw.)
“Made a new friend, have we?” said Kiyoshi bracingly, pulling up next to Tetsuya to rest one gauntleted hand upon his shoulder.
Tetsuya looked up at him with a small smile, and nodded. He wasn’t terribly fond of most of his father’s knights—they were stuffy, and strict, and never let him get away with anything—but Kiyoshi was all right. Kiyoshi’d looked after him since he was little, so he was always the one sent to fetch Tetsuya back whenever he escaped the castle, but the important thing was that he never scolded or fussed. He just showed up, took Tetsuya home, and that was the end of it.
Finally done with his pasty, Tetsuya reached up and put his little hand in Kiyoshi’s gauntlet, ready to leave—then he remembered Aomine. He looked back at the other boy, and saw that his face was frozen in terror.
“Am I going to be thrown in the dungeons...?” Aomine murmured, staring shakily up at Kiyoshi.
Kiyoshi threw his head back and laughed, heartily, startling them both. Then he shook his head. “No, no,” he said, brightly. “Nothing of the sort.” He made a shooing motion. “You run along now; I’ve got to take the little prince back home.”
“The little...” Aomine echoed, still gulping down huge mouthfuls of air, like a fish out of water. Tetsuya had the good grace to blush and look embarrassed by this; but then again, his attempt to evade Aomine’s questions had been so transparently awful that there wasn’t much for him to feel bad about.
He waved a bit as Kiyoshi began to herd him away, still tossing shy glances back over his shoulder at the other boy, who continued to sit there in stunned silence.
Just as they were about to round the corner, though, Aomine managed to snap himself out of his trance. He hopped down off the barrel he was sitting on, cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after the two of them, “So what’s your name, then, really?”
Tetsuya planted his feet to stop Kiyoshi from herding him along, and then whirled round to face the other boy.
“It’s Tetsuya,” he called back, with a smile. “Just that.”
*
Naturally, the next time the little prince had an opportunity to escape the confines of the castle, he immediately used it to try and track down his new friend. It didn’t take long to find him, either—Tetsuya had only been wandering about the village for fifteen minutes, tops, before he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a fencepost, rifling idly through a small coin purse.
After a few moments, the boy sighted his approach, and then leaped to attention, tucking the purse into his pocket and loping over to meet him halfway.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said, looking a bit nervous as he drew close to the other. “Tetsu... ya?” He gestured vaguely, as though it wasn’t obvious who he meant. “The prince?”
Tetsuya, pleased to have located who he was looking for, smiled a bit and nodded—though inwardly, it also occurred to him that he’d preferred the way Aomine had treated him before he’d known Tetsuya’s father was the king.
“Just ‘Tetsu’ is fine,” he said, carefully.
A frown creased Aomine’s brow.
“Are you sure? I mean—I didn’t know—you didn’t think it was rude or anything before, did you?”
“... I don’t mind if you don’t,” Tetsuya replied, fidgeting a little.
The other boy hesitated for a long moment, then reached out and gingerly took Tetsuya’s hand. His palm was callused against Tetsuya’s, but shockingly warm, and for some reason Tetsuya felt his face heating up a little.
“Will you come with me, then?” Aomine asked, fumbling for words. “Just f’ today?” He made a face. “My da’ told me to do the shopping, though, so s’pose it might be boring for you—“
“It won’t be,” said Tetsuya, quickly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
He ended up tailing Aomine throughout his errands, looking on with curiosity as Aomine purchased a box of candles from the chandler, counting out the coins for the purchase from his purse with great care. At some point they passed by a produce stall, from which Aomine picked up an armful of vegetables—“For dinner,” he’d said, with Tetsuya listening and nodding attentively. Finally, laden down with food and other goods, they returned to Aomine’s house and deposited everything with his father, but they weren’t home for a minute before Aomine was scampering off again and dragging Tetsuya in his wake.
“Where are we going?” Tetsuya asked, as Aomine led the way—not in the direction of the village proper, but off through the trees behind his house instead. Though there was no path to guide them, Aomine’s footsteps were sure; watching him, Tetsuya had the sense that he had probably come this way countless times before.
“It’s hot out,” Aomine replied, hands tucked casually behind his head, “and da’s let us off for the afternoon.” He flashed Tetsuya a grin. “That means one thing.”
“What?” said Tetsuya, not entirely sure that he was going to like the answer.
Aomine beamed. “We’re going swimming!”
This announcement made Tetsuya stop short so suddenly that he almost tripped over his own feet. He recovered quickly enough, though, straightening up and brushing himself off skittishly as though that might conceal his discomfort. (Judging from the way that Aomine was staring at him, however, he might only have been drawing more attention to himself.)
“I’m not so certain that’s...” he started to say.
Aomine shot him a quizzical look. “You don’t like swimming?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Tetsuya babbled, “it’s just—“ He saw the realization dawning upon Aomine’s face, and tried not to wither away from embarrassment.
“But... can’t Tetsu swim?” asked Aomine, tipping his head to one side.
When Tetsuya didn’t respond to that, he just laughed. “Well, whatever,” he said, grabbing Tetsuya by the arm and pulling him along again. “I’ll teach you!”
Before Tetsuya had time to protest, they came upon a small grove formed by a gap in the trees, with a clear pool of still water situated at its heart. A diffuse light filtered through the treetops, dappling the shore through tree branches which were stirred into movement by the breeze. Across the way a miniature waterfall, just a few feet high, spilled a stream of water in a long curved arc onto a flat bed of rocks, where it sublimated into a fine, glittering mist.
Having grown up largely within the confines of the castle, Tetsuya’s experiences with mother nature were generally limited to what little of it he could see from his bedroom window. As such, the sight of this secret place, in all its pristine splendor, very nearly took his breath away.
“Nice, huh?” said Aomine, absently, with the air of one who had long since come to take sights like this for granted. He was already stripping off his shirt and trousers, not bothering to fold them, but instead draping them over a nearby branch.
Stunned into inaction by the suddenness of it all, Tetsuya could only stare; Aomine, already in the nude, tossed a glance his way and then grinned.
“Going swimming in all your clothes, then?” he teased, before clambering carefully down to the bank to dip his toes in the water.
“I’m not—I can’t,” said Tetsuya, utterly dismayed, even as some tiny part of him took in the sight of the pool with barely a ripple upon its surface and found it quite inviting.
“You can,” Aomine countered, stubbornly. “Promise.” Then he pointed at Tetsuya, firmly. “But if you don’t get your clothes off first, they’ll be ruined—and you can be sure I’m not taking responsibility f’ that!”
Tetsuya dithered for a while more, uncertain, before finally whirling about on the spot, reaching around himself to drag his shirt up and over his head. Perhaps Aomine might have been perfectly comfortable naked, but as for Tetsuya, he’d had certain concepts hammered into him from a young age—things like modesty, or propriety, or even just not taking off your pants when in polite company. Nevertheless, they could not go on without his cooperation, and as much as the thought of getting in the water filled him with anxiety, he was loathe to let their afternoon together end here.
At last, naked and resisting the pressing urge to seize his clothes and cover himself up again, he slid down to the bank beside Aomine, shivering a little as a breeze gusted by. (Awkward though the situation was, it felt good to be free of his stuffy clothes, and the cool air on his skin refreshed him.)
“Comin’ along well, I see,” Aomine noted, with a grin. “Now we just have to get you into the water.”
Automatically, Tetsuya told him, “You first.”
Aomine lifted an eyebrow at him, then laughed and took a running leap into the very middle of the pool, where it was deepest. The water displaced by this action drenched Tetsuya from head to toe; he scowled, shying away from the small waves that broke at the water’s edge as Aomine surfaced once more, shaking his head like a dog to send water flying everywhere and laughing up a storm.
“You got me wet,” Tetsuya complained, trying to slick water out of his hair, though he was biting back a smile.
Aomine swam towards the bank, until it was shallow enough for him to stand. “Well, that’s kind of the idea,” he replied, sounding amused. “Look, it only comes up to my waist here. It’s safe!”
“How safe?” Tetsuya wanted to know.
Aomine heaved a sigh, and then rested his arms upon the shore, staring intently up at the other boy. “I won’t let anything happen to Tetsu,” he said. “I promise. Okay?”
He was so earnest, and his eyes were so serious, that Tetsuya felt himself flushing again. At last, he turned round, shutting his eyes for a moment to steel his nerves, and then lowered himself inch by inch into the water, still clinging on to the bank as though it were a lifeline.
Aomine chuckled to see it, but didn’t say anything else until Tetsuya’s feet were resting firmly on the bottom of the pool and he’d relaxed.
“There, now,” he said, patronizingly, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Tetsuya’s only reply was to turn and shunt a handful of water into Aomine’s open mouth. This led to a rather messy splash fight in which no one was the victor—though since Aomine couldn’t stop laughing he ended up swallowing twice as much water as Tetsuya did, which was kind of a victory in itself. Afterwards, Aomine held onto Tetsuya’s hands while he took his first few floundering attempts to doggy paddle; at this, Tetsuya was only marginally successful, though he did eventually figure out how to float on his back, which wasn’t too awful for a single afternoon of trying.
After that, they lay side by side on the bank for a while, drying off, and talking about nothing of consequence—Tetsuya complaining about his lessons, Aomine about his chores; each of them marveling at the unfamiliar world the other lived in. (At some point, too, Tetsuya noticed that they were once again holding hands, but found that this didn’t bother him in the least.)
It was evening by the time Tetsuya returned to the castle, muddied up and kind of tan all over. He received quite the dressing-down for his trouble and got sent to bed with his supper to boot—but to him, at least, deep down inside, there was no question that it’d been worth it
*
It was hardly proper, of course, for a young prince to make a habit of consorting with the peasantry; however, given that there were two other princes in line for the throne before him, what he got up to was often simply beneath the notice of his olders and betters. While Seijuurou and Shintarou were off learning about diplomacy or practicing calligraphy, Tetsuya was busy horsing around down at the docks with his new friend, or else rampaging through the woods, terrorizing the local wildlife.
Being the little prince’s designated keeper, Teppei became quite familiar with the blacksmith’s young son, almost as a matter of course. He had looked after Tetsuya since he was but a babe; had dandled Tetsuya on his knee when the lad was little enough for it, and also terrified him with his ill-advised Old Man Winter costume on Christmas season. He was kind to the child, and he felt that Tetsuya was positively inclined towards him in turn, but there was one thing that he could never be for Tetsuya, given their stations and his duties—and that was a friend.
So it pleased Teppei to see the young prince’s bond with the blacksmith’s son grow, a friend to him in ways that Tetsuya’s brothers had never been. Reminded him of his childhood days, almost, before Jun had become the court wizard and Riko had taken over from the old master-at-arms...
While he was caught up in reminiscing, one of the little troublemakers came tumbling out of the house behind him, beaming from ear to ear.
“Tetsu!”
The boy looked round eagerly, but was crestfallen to find only Teppei waiting for him. Faintly amused, the knight gave Aomine a small smile.
“Only me, I’m afraid.” He gestured back towards the house. “I believe the prince is still within.”
Aomine’s mouth formed into a round ‘o’ of silent understanding. After a moment or two, he scrambled over to plop down next to Teppei and wait, glancing up at him every now and then, shyly. Teppei tolerated this—he was used to being the target of curious looks, especially whenever he ventured this far from the castle. (Though, to be fair, that had tapered off a bit in recent years, as people grew accustomed to seeing him out and about.)
After some time sitting together quietly, Aomine piped up. “What’s it like?” he asked, legs swinging restlessly. “Bein’ a knight an’ all, I mean.”
Teppei stretched his hands up over his head, working the kinks out of his shoulder with a sigh.
“It’s hard work,” he said, cheerfully. “I travel out out to the nearby villages every now and then, to check on how they’re doing. Sometimes further, when the king needs me to. And, of course, I do a bit of fighting when it’s needed.” He noticed the way Aomine’s eyes lit up at this, and quickly amended, “Not too much fighting, mind you. Just a little.”
“And?” Aomine prompted, intently.
“And?” Teppei considered this for a moment, then went on, “And I look after the little prince, of course.”
“Tetsu doesn’t need lookin’ after,” Aomine said, scandalized. Teppei only chuckled.
“Well, of course not,” he said, patiently. “But I swore an oath to the king, you see, to protect the little prince from anyone who might seek to harm him. At the cost of my own life, if need be.” He leaned back a bit to let his head loll on his shoulders, looking up at the sky. “So that’s my job, too.” Then he glanced back at Aomine, who blinked several times, as though he was digesting everything he’d just been told.
“... Huh,” said Aomine, very slowly.
“Indeed,” Teppei replied. (The boy seemed unusually thoughtful, and Teppei wasn’t sure if that ought to worry him or not.)
After nearly a full minute of silence—an eternity in little-boy time—Aomine turned back to him, eyes bright.
“So,” he said, as casual as a kid with a plan can be, “how d’you become a knight, anyway?”
Oops, Teppei thought.
*
To Daiki’s great disappointment, however, the townspeople were not impressed with his new ambition so much as... amused.
“You’re going to be a what, now?” asked the fishmonger, cupping one wrinkled hand round his ear.
“A knight,” Daiki told him, proudly.
The fishmonger chuckled indulgently; though it was entirely without malice, it still stung a little. “Oh, you are, are you? Well...” He scratched the back of his head, and chuckled again, before getting back to packing up his stall for the day. “Good luck with that.”
It was simply one of the harsh realities of the world in which they lived that Daiki now found himself coming up against: only those born from nobility could be considered for knighthood, and a peasant like him didn’t even come close. It was a blessing—and also the fact that Tetsuya was the littlest prince; the one that, well, didn’t matter all too much, in the grand scheme of things—that he’d even made it this far, that no one had yet stepped in to put an end to their “unsightly” friendship.
“What’s the matter, Daiki?” his father asked, as Daiki was brooding over his dinner and the injustices of life one evening. Hearing that, Daiki just made a face, pushing his stew sullenly around in its bowl.
“Everyone’s been havin’ a go at me,” he said, unhappily. “Tellin’ me I can’t be a knight. That I can’t look out for Tetsu.”
His father favored him with a smile that he was rather familiar with; it was his humoring my wayward son while he goes through a phase look.
“You don’t have to listen to them,” said his father, patiently. “Just... try your best, right? No one can fault you for that, ‘specially not the prince.”
But Daiki only scowled down at what remained of his dinner, then whipped his head back up so fiercely that it made his father jump.
“Can I ask you for a favor, da’?” he asked, strangely intent.
“...What is it, lad?”
“Would you forge me a sword?”
His father blinked, drummed his fingers on the table for a bit, and then heaved a deep sigh.
“You’ve got me now, haven’t you?” he said, with a chortle. “With me openin’ my big mouth, tellin’ you to try your best and all. All right, then—I’ll do one for you. But,” he went on, before Daiki could jump to his feet and whoop, “only if you get someone to teach how to use it proper.”
Daiki, who had looked rather concerned just then, relaxed again with a grin.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, cheerfully. “I know just the man.”
*
Of course, Daiki only knew one actual knight, but he turned out to be easy to convince—Daiki’s enthusiasm was infectious, and at any rate Kiyoshi seemed reluctant to say ‘no’, given that Daiki’s stated motivation for learning swordplay was so he could protect his best friend. Most conveniently, around the time that Daiki got his fool idea into his head, Tetsuya had himself reached an age where he had to start a whole new catalog of lessons: things like formal dancing, or statecraft; all the other lessons that his brothers had been forced to sit through before him. All utterly insipid, according to Tetsuya—and, in the case of dancing, tortuous, too—but it freed Kiyoshi temporarily from his responsibility of looking after the prince, giving him the time to deal with Daiki’s request.
“Classes” were held in a small forest clearing near the castle, with wooden swords that Kiyoshi had scrounged up from somewhere—”Courtesy of a generous friend,” he’d said, while looking slightly sheepish. (As for why they had to be made of wood instead of steel, like the splendid new weapon Daiki’s father had forged for him, Kiyoshi merely answered that he was happy to teach the lad... but not so much that he was willing to die in the process of it.)
However, in Daiki’s opinion, the pacing of their lessons left much to be desired. The first thing they covered was not, as he’d been hoping, how to decapitate people with one mighty swing, but simply on how to hold the damn thing in the first place. Once he’d mastered that, they moved on to defensive stances, and within a few weeks, Daiki was thoroughly bored.
“I thought you were going to teach me how to kill people,” he groused, after another spirited lesson on how to guard if someone was trying to stab you in the stomach.
“Bloodthirsty, aren’t we?” Kiyoshi chuckled, with a sort of paternal air. “Well, yes, we will—but that comes later. You have to learn this first, and you’d best learn it well. Can’t very well protect the little prince if you’re dead, can you?”
He had a point, but Daiki would rather have died than admit it—figuratively speaking, at least. He stuck out his lower lip petulantly, and crossed his arms (which turned out to be slightly awkward, since he still had his sword in hand).
“It’s not like we’re using real swords, though,” he said. “Can’t we do something interesting for once?”
Kiyoshi pinched his chin between thumb and finger, mock-thoughtful, and then gave him a smile.
“Hmm...” he said, lightly. “Well, why not? Go on, then.” He waved at the boy, and then readied himself. “Show me what you can do.”
At that invitation, Daiki bared his teeth in a grin, raised his dinky little wooden sword, and charged.
Ten seconds later he found himself flat on his back, his weapon lying halfway across the clearing and his wrist aching something fierce. He shook himself a bit, dazed, and then went to get to his feet—except he couldn’t, for there was something holding him in place.
Kiyoshi beamed down at him, the point of his sword at Daiki’s throat.
“You see?” he said, ever mild. “You’ve still got a ways to go before you can even think about protecting the prince, lad.”
Daiki glared up at him huffily and opened his mouth to complain—but then shut it again suddenly as something occurred to him, becoming thoughtful.
“... About Tetsu...” he said, slowly.
“Yes?”
He peered up at Kiyoshi, watching him closely. “You haven’t... mentioned any of this to him, have you?”
“Never occurred to me,” said Kiyoshi, breezily.
“Don’t, then,” said Daiki, suddenly fierce—which was probably amusing, since he had no weapon in hand and was still lying on his back helplessly, but Kiyoshi didn’t even crack a smile. “Don’t tell him.”
Kiyoshi studied him for a moment, as though taking his measure of the boy, and then nodded, once.
“All right,” he said, gravely. “I’ll keep your secret.” He pulled his sword back, and then offered a hand to pull the boy back to his feet. After a moment of hesitation, Daiki took it.
“... Good,” said Daiki, a little uncertain. “That’s... good, then.” He looked around for his sword, spotted it lying over by a bush, and then scampered off to pick it up before returning to Kiyoshi’s side.
“Okay,” he said, ready at last, dropping himself back into his defensive stance. He lifted his chin impertinently to Kiyoshi, and then flashed him a grin, toothy and defiant. “One more time?”
“One more time,” Kiyoshi agreed, and swung.
*
Being a prince, as Tetsuya had learned, was something that had both its advantages and disadvantages. Rationally, he understood that the pros of his situation far outweighed its cons—however, there were moments when it seemed otherwise, no matter how objective he tried to be about it. As of late, he’d had the unfortunate matter of betrothals on his mind. He had reached the age for a politically expedient match to be made, as Seijuurou reminded him every chance he got.
Once again, Tetsuya was saved by grace of being the youngest of three, not to mention it was hardly a secret that he was the king’s favorite son—but neither of those things guaranteed safety; they only bought him time.
Nor was Seijuurou’s prodding helpful in the least. He had never met Aomine, but he had enough of a head on his shoulders to infer that there must have been some reason for Tetsuya to always be mingling with the common folk—and as luck would have it, his inference was correct. Tetsuya himself had long since come to the realization that his feelings towards his friend were... out of the ordinary, to say the least... but, with their vastly different stations and other things between them, he hadn’t the faintest idea what he could do about it.
They saw each other less often, these days, with Tetsuya occupied with his lessons and Aomine presumably apprenticing under his father. Contrary to expectation, though, this only made each individual meeting more precious; they treasured their time alone when they could find it, Kiyoshi’s constant presence notwithstanding.
But even the good ser knight seemed disinclined to smother them. He couldn’t escape his duties, but whenever the two of them were safely within Aomine’s humble home, he’d adopted a habit of excusing himself, stepping just outside the door, ostensibly for some air. Tetsuya, for his part, had to wonder if it was intentional. Given that Kiyoshi had all but raised him, and probably knew him better than Tetsuya’s own father did, he had to know—had to have seen the way Tetsuya looked at Aomine, and understand what that meant. He had done nothing with that knowledge so far, but with the threat of it hanging over his head, Tetsuya could not let himself be at ease.
Nevertheless, now that they had been left alone, Tetsuya was not about to let the time go to waste. He looked on as his friend sprawled lazily across his mattress, then joined him, sitting alongside the wall so as to lean against it. They were quiet for a while—not awkwardly so, but rather the kind of quiet that comes with knowing another person for a long time, and being perfectly comfortable with them. He shifted a little; his bare ankle brushed against Aomine’s shoulder, and he thought he saw a faint, contented smile on Aomine’s face.
He did not know what possessed him, at that particular moment, but he found himself saying—in a voice quite unlike himself—“Seijuurou says I’m to be married someday.”
On the bed next to him, he felt Aomine stiffen.
“Married...?” he echoed, after Tetsuya, as though the thought of it had never even crossed his mind. He bit his lip, then, eyes coming fully open so he could frown up at the ceiling. “... Tetsu wants to, then?”
“Of course not,” said Tetsuya, indignant. Immediately, he felt Aomine relax.
“... Well, that’s all right then,” said Aomine, cheerfully enough. “Tetsu’ll just tell them he’s not going to, and that’ll be that.”
As though it could be that easy, Tetsuya thought, wryly. But then again, why shouldn’t it be? There was Seijuurou and Shintarou before him, after all; surely no one would pay any mind to the third son. Surely...
His eyes came to rest on Aomine’s palm, then, as it lay open, resting on the bed. There were calluses lining his grip, where one might hold a blacksmith’s hammer or, perhaps, a sword. It was the hand of a man full grown, not a boy’s, and the realization shocked him a little—how had he missed it? On a whim, he reached out, setting his hand over Aomine’s, then curling his fingers inwards to hold on to it. This was something they had done often, in their younger days; less often as of recent years—but not, it had to be said, for a lack of wanting to.
At the touch of their skin, Aomine sucked in a sharp breath, and then closed his eyes again, relaxing into it.
“Careful, Tetsu,” he chuckled, voice slightly hoarse. He licked his lips; Tetsuya’s eyes were drawn to the movement of his tongue over them. “D’you know what you’re doing to me?”
“What am I doing to you?” Tetsuya asked, softly.
But Aomine didn’t answer; he only gave a quiet laugh, as though Tetsuya had just told a most excellent joke. Then he lifted their hands, joined as they were, to his mouth; Tetsuya held his breath as he brushed his lips over Tetsuya’s knuckles, one by one.
Afterwards he brought Tetsuya’s hand to the side of his neck, where it was warm, and held it there, pressed to his skin. Tetsuya tried to speak, then, but found that he had to first swallow around the lump in his throat. “Daiki...”
Lazily, Aomine blinked up at him. “Yeah?”
“... You never answered my question,” Tetsuya murmured.
Aomine grinned, then, eyes bright with affection and something else—something unspoken. But all he said was, “Didn’t I?”, before letting go of Tetsuya’s hand, and shifting away.
And even after Kiyoshi had come to fetch him home, it remained a mystery—one for Tetsuya to ponder, alone in his bed at night, along with the feeling of Aomine’s hand in his and the faint, secretive smile on Aomine’s face.
*
It was late afternoon a few weeks later when Daiki opened the door and discovered that the person knocking on it was not, in fact, his annoying blonde neighbor coming round for the tenth time that day to ask if Daiki wanted to go to the town circle and look at pretty girls—but instead Kiyoshi, clanking along in his usual suit of armor and escorting a very tetchy-looking Tetsuya, who was himself wearing the ponciest set of dress clothes Daiki had ever seen him in.
“May we come in?” asked Tetsuya, whose tone was as black as his expression, Stifling laughter, Daiki stepped aside to let them in.
Once they were all seated in the front room of Daiki’s house, Tetsuya simply plopped down in the middle of the floor and began ripping at the fastenings of his shoes.
“In my opinion,” he began, sounding perfectly calm and reasonable even as he was stripping himself like a madman, “the invention of dance lessons was one of the low points in the history of mankind.” He paused, then, holding up one of the dress shoes for their inspection. “Would you mind terribly if I threw these into your fireplace?”
“Please don’t,” Kiyoshi chimed in, tucked as unobtrusively as he could manage into a corner of the room. (He still stuck out like a sore thumb, but then again the room wasn’t all that spacious to begin with.) “They’ll have my hide for that.”
Tetsuya huffed, but then merely tossed the shoe grumpily back to the floor.
“How bad could it be?” Daiki asked, still grinning as he watched Tetsuya move on to undoing a few buttons on his shirt—it was done all the way up to his chin, for pete’s sake, that can’t have made it easy to breathe.
“Easy for you to say,” said Tetsuya, haughtily, once he’d loosened his collar enough to let himself breathe. “You’ve never had to sit through an afternoon of lessons, bored out of your skull.”
At this, Daiki exchanged a meaningful look with Kiyoshi, which Tetsuya missed because he was now trying to roll up the legs of his trousers—except they were so tight that he could barely get the folds up his calves.
It had been three years since Daiki had started his not-quite-kosher swordplay training, and in that time, he’d at least learned how to handle a blade without cutting off his own arm—as long as he was paying attention, that is. That, as Kiyoshi had said, proudly and without a trace of sarcasm, was real progress.
“Well, actually...” Daiki began.
Kiyoshi, still standing over by the wall with his arms folded across his chest, raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said you didn’t want the little prince to know about that.”
“Didn’t want to let me know about what?” Tetsuya interjected, looking annoyed.
Daiki just shrugged, a cocky little smirk making its way onto his face. “I’m good at it now,” he said, carelessly, “so it’s fine if he finds out, right?”
“Finds out what?”
“Are you, now,” Kiyoshi answered, amused.
“I am!” said Daiki, indignant, and ignoring the filthy look that Tetsuya was favoring him with now, for ignoring him. “So can we show him?” He made his eyes as wide and hopeful as he could manage. “Please?”
“Weeell...” Kiyoshi took his time thinking about his answer, though, like as not, it was only because he enjoyed watching Daiki squirm with barely-smothered excitement. “If it’s what the little prince wants,” he said, finally, with a smile. “Though I’m afraid he’ll have to put his shoes back on for it.”
“Why?” Tetsuya asked, immediately suspicious.
Still smiling, Kiyoshi clapped him on the arm. “Come along, and you’ll find out.”