Archive of Our Own ^beta

The room was dim. Always dim. Shadows pooled in the corners like it was alive.

Sakura knelt before the figure cloaked in silk and silence, head bowed low, fingers steady against the stone floor. Behind him, the door shut with a dull thud.

“You’ve never failed us,” the voice said, smooth as still water.

“I won’t start now,” Sakura replied.

A pause. Then the scroll was set before him—sealed, weighted with finality. He didn’t have to open it to know what it said. He already knew the name.

“Crown Prince Suo Hayato.”

The words echoed, soft and absolute.

“He’s guarded. Cautious,” the voice continued. “Get close. Gain his trust. Then end him.”

Sakura didn’t flinch.

He had killed for less.

“Understood.”

“Make it clean. Make it quiet. And when it’s done, leave no trace.”

Sakura rose, scroll in hand. His mask hung at his hip, as it always did—ready to hide the face that had no name, no home, no self.

Assassins weren’t supposed to hesitate.

And he didn’t.

It was easy to get a spot in the palace. A forged name, a clean record, a fabricated history as a transfer from a distant province, just another recruit in the royal guard rotation. No one questioned it. No one looked twice at the quiet, efficient new hire who followed orders without complaint. Sakura knew how to blend in.

He kept his head down, eyes sharp.

Memorized the patrol schedules. Noted the blind spots in the palace corridors, the shift changes, the guards who talked too much and the ones who drank too little. It wasn’t hard.

The Crown Prince, though—that was different.

Suo Hayato wasn’t what Sakura expected.

He was composed, yes. Sharp, guarded, always three steps ahead. But he was also… annoyingly observant. Too perceptive. The kind of man who noticed when someone flinched a second too late or stood a little too still.

Their first meeting was brief. A passing glance in the courtyard. Suo’s gaze landed on Sakura like it was deliberate.

And then—he smiled.

It wasn’t warm. Not cold either. Just calm.

Curious.

Sakura bowed as protocol demanded, keeping his face blank.

But later, when the prince passed him again in the hall and said, “You’re new,” Sakura had to force himself not to tense.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied evenly.

Suo’s eye narrowed—like he saw something in Sakura no one else had.

“Hmm,” was all he said before moving on.

Sakura watched his back as he disappeared down the corridor.

He’d killed people more powerful. More dangerous.

So why did this feel like it was going to be harder than any mission before?

From that day on, Sakura didn’t see the Crown Prince again. Not that it mattered.

He had time. A mission like this was never rushed. It took patience, observation, and trust-building. Eventually, Suo would notice him again. Eventually, he’d get close enough.

So for now, Sakura fell into rhythm.

He cleaned armor, helped in the stables, and handled errands between wings of the palace. He ate when allowed, slept when permitted, and memorized the corridors in silence. No one suspected him. No one paid him much mind.

Except for one boy.

He met him by accident, in the quieter hall that led behind the gardens. A servant boy—slim, sharp-featured, with bandages wrapped lazily over his right eye. His uniform was simple, and his sleeves always rolled up, like he was never done working.

He introduced himself as “Su.”

“Just Su,” he said casually, crouched by the pond scooping leaves from the water. “Don’t ask what it’s short for. I’m not interesting.”

Sakura eyed him, cautious.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Su grinned. “Now I’m offended.”

They saw each other again the next day.

Then again, and again, always in quiet corners and odd times, late morning between tasks, near the kitchens, out by the back corridor steps where no nobles walked.

Sakura found himself speaking more than he meant to.

Su was easy to talk to. A little cocky, maybe. His smile was lazy, but his gaze was sharp. Watchful.

Too watchful, sometimes.

But Sakura didn’t question it.

He thought he would feel alone in this place. Detached. Cold. But then there was Su—laughing at dumb jokes, commenting on the bad soup, sitting beside him during shared breaks like they’d known each other longer than a week.

It was strange.

But not unwelcome.

Still, every time Sakura looked at that single visible eye, something itched in the back of his mind. Something familiar he couldn’t place.

He pushed it aside.

After all, it wasn’t like the Crown Prince would ever waste time talking to a nameless servant.

Right?

Sakura wasn’t sure when it became routine. Maybe it was the third time Su appeared beside him with a stolen steamed bun, grinning like a troublemaker. Or maybe it was when Su started calling him a “grumpy kitten” every time he frowned too hard at palace chores.

Either way, Su had a talent for making himself at home in Sakura’s space.

One morning, as Sakura scrubbed down wooden training weapons in the corner of the storage room, Su plopped beside him and offered a plum.

“I don’t trust fruit from mysterious servant boys,” Sakura said flatly.

“Rude,” Su said, biting into one himself. “I’m not mysterious. I’m charming. It’s different.”

“You’re too cheerful.”

“And you’re grumpy,” Su replied, grinning as juice ran down his fingers. “That’s why we balance each other out.”

Sakura rolled his eyes but took the plum anyway.

Their banter became a familiar rhythm.

When Sakura was on garden duty, Su would somehow end up beside him, pretending to help but mostly talking nonsense.

“You think the Crown Prince has nice hair?” Su asked out of nowhere once, while they trimmed hedges.

Sakura blinked. “Why would I think about that?”

Su just laughed.

It was always like that—light teasing, casual closeness. Su would lean in too far, toss him extra desserts at dinner, complain loudly about chores so Sakura would scold him.

He’d bandage Sakura’s fingers after training and say things like, “You need to stop fighting like you’re made of knives.”

Sakura, despite himself, started looking forward to those moments.

Sometimes Su would talk about strange things too—what it’d be like to travel, to see the sea, to escape the palace.

“Where would you go if you could vanish?” he asked once.

Sakura thought for a long moment. “Somewhere warm.”

Su smiled, soft for once. “Yeah. Me too.”

For someone who claimed to be unimportant, Su had a way of making himself unforgettable.

And for someone who was supposed to be a weapon, Sakura was beginning to feel... dangerously human.

One day, while delivering scrolls across the courtyard, Su turned to him with a look Sakura knew too well.

“You ever run through this place just for fun?”

Sakura blinked. “No?”

Su grinned. “Wanna race?”

“No.”

“Great. Let’s go!”

“Wait—what?”

But Su was already gone, dashing across the courtyard like a madman, laughing loud and free like the concept of consequences had never applied to him.

Sakura stared after him, dumbfounded.

He considered dropping the scrolls, screaming, and returning to his room to write resignation in bold ink.

But instead, with a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he broke into a run.

“IDIOT!”

From somewhere ahead, Su yelled back, “YOU LOVE IT!”

They tore through the halls like chaos wearing shoes, Sakura trying desperately not to lose the scrolls clutched under one arm. Servants leapt out of their way, guards shouted confused warnings, and a passing noblewoman gasped as Su nearly clipped her potted azalea.

“Sorry, lady!” Su called, not slowing for a second.

“You’re going to get us executed,” Sakura snapped, feet pounding against stone as he chased after him.

Su ducked under an archway, twisted down a narrow side path, and bounded toward the wide marble steps near the fountain like a deer with a death wish.

Sakura lunged forward, determined to catch him—

—and missed.

Instead, his foot caught on the edge of a step.

The world tilted.

The scrolls went flying.

And Sakura crashed into Su with all the grace and subtlety of a dropped sack of bricks.

“—OOF!”

Su hit the stone pathway with a solid thud, arms flying out to catch himself, legs tangling with Sakura’s.

Sakura landed right on top of him.

Face-to-face.

Chest-to-chest.

Knees planted on either side of Su’s hips, forehead bumping Su’s shoulder. One hand on his chest, the other braced awkwardly on the ground.

Everything stopped.

Even the wind had the decency to pause.

Sakura blinked.

Su blinked back, eyes wide and a little dazed. His mouth twitched, clearly fighting a grin.

Sakura’s face went up in flames.

“I—” Sakura stammered, trying to peel himself off like the floor was electrified. “Shut up—don’t say anything—!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Su said, voice low and unreasonably amused. “But if I had to… this is a very bold position you’ve put me in, Sakura-kun.”

“I swear to god—”

Su lifted one hand lazily and tapped Sakura’s head. “Trying to confess, are we?”

Sakura made a strangled noise, scrambled to his feet, and immediately slipped on a scroll, almost falling again.

Su didn’t help.

He laughed. Out loud. Full-bodied.

Still flat on the ground, arms behind his head like this was a sunny nap, he looked up at Sakura with a look of pure smugness and mischief.

“You know,” he said, lips twitching, “for someone who swears they hate me, you sure seem to be taking your sweet time getting off of me.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sakura hissed, brushing dirt off his sleeves as if it would also remove the embarrassment melting his face.

“Not when I’m being crushed by someone this adorable.”

Sakura launched a scroll at him.

Su dodged, still laughing.

“Come on,” he said, bouncing to his feet with annoying ease, “we should pick these up before someone walks in and thinks we were making out by the fountain.”

“WE WEREN’T—” Sakura barked, stuffing a scroll back into its case with shaking hands.

“Mmhm. Whatever you say, loverboy.”

“I will end you.”

Su grinned, linking his arm through Sakura’s as they walked back. “So dramatic.”

Sakura considered elbowing him. Or maybe letting go and walking into the nearest pond. Either option felt reasonable.

And yet… he didn’t let go.

The rain had started unexpectedly—thick, heavy droplets drumming against the palace roof like war drums. By the time Sakura and Su finished checking on the horses, the dirt paths had turned to slick mud, and a thin chill clung to the wind.

Sakura pulled his sleeves over his hands, shaking water from his bangs as they stood beneath the overhang of the stable roof.

Su clicked his tongue, holding up the umbrella he’d swiped from the storage area. “We’ll have to walk slowly,” he said, opening it with a snap. “You fall in the mud, I’m not pulling you out.”

Sakura scowled but said nothing, stepping beneath the umbrella beside him.

It was a tight fit, the umbrella was clearly made for one.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked, barely enough space between them to breathe comfortably. The scent of rain-soaked grass and damp stone lingered in the air.

“You’re shivering,” Su said quietly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Sakura stiffened. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

Before Sakura could protest, Su shrugged off his half-drenched cloak and wrapped it around Sakura’s shoulders, pulling the collar snug around his neck.

“Su—”

“You’ll catch a cold,” Su said simply. “You’ve got terrible luck as it is. Don’t tempt fate.”

The cloak was warm. A little too warm, actually. It smelled like Su—something fresh and calming, like jasmine tea.

Sakura’s face burned. He ducked his head, pretending to focus on the rain pooling between the cracks in the stone path.

Su didn’t say anything more. They just walked, close enough their steps synced without trying.

For once, Sakura didn’t rush to step away.

That night, the storm returned—softer now, but persistent, tapping against the windows like a lullaby.

Sakura couldn’t sleep.

He lay on his side, eyes open in the dark, the blanket pulled up to his chin. His mind raced with too many thoughts. His mission. Su’s laugh. The way his heart seemed to stutter when their hands brushed.

He hated it.

He hated how complicated everything felt.

So when a knock came at the door—soft, three gentle raps—his heart jumped to his throat.

He stood slowly and cracked the door open.

Su stood in the hallway, hair damp from the walk, holding a tiny ceramic cup with both hands.

“Still awake?” he asked.

“…Yeah.”

Su offered the cup.

“Ginger and honey,” he said. “For warmth.”

Sakura hesitated, then stepped back to let him in.

Su entered quietly, bare feet whispering against the wooden floor. They sat together near the window, cross-legged on the floor. Su passed him the cup.

The warmth seeped into Sakura’s hands instantly.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Sakura took a sip. It was slightly too sweet.

“You made this?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“You’re… surprisingly domestic.”

“I contain multitudes,” Su said, tone dry.

Sakura snorted softly, hiding it behind the rim of the cup.

Outside, rain murmured against the window panes.

Su looked at him, eyes steady.

“You looked cold today,” he said.

Sakura stared into his tea.

“I’m fine.”

“I know,” Su said gently. “But you don’t always have to be.”

That made Sakura pause.

The room felt heavier somehow. Or maybe just warmer.

Su didn’t push. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms behind his head like they did this every night.

And for a fleeting second, Sakura wished they did.

Sakura had just finished hauling two buckets of fresh water across the courtyard, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, when Su sidled up beside him with his usual infuriatingly relaxed smile.

“Break time,” Su announced.

Sakura glanced at the sun. “You made that up.”

“Nope,” Su said, already tugging lightly on his sleeve. “C’mon. You’ll thank me later.”

“I have ten more things to—”

“You’ll survive.”

Before he could argue, Su tugged lightly at his sleeve and gestured toward the narrow hallway near the back of the wing.

“Come on. I know a place.”

Sakura sighed, but his resistance was thin. He was too tired to argue. Too tired to fight that stupid, easy grin.

“Fine. But if we get caught—”

“I’ll take all the blame,” Su said proudly. “As a gentleman should.”

Sakura muttered under his breath but followed.

The linen storage room was tucked far enough away that no one passed through unless they needed something specific. The air inside was warm and quiet, thick with the faint smell of chamomile and cedar.

Su shut the door behind them and flopped onto a pile of folded blankets with all the elegance of a cat collapsing in a sunbeam.
Sakura lingered near the doorway.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told,” Su said, folding his arms behind his head. “But also—very persuasive.”

“You tricked me.”

“Persuaded,” Su corrected. “Come sit.”

Reluctantly, Sakura approached and settled down beside him, sitting stiffly atop the soft blankets like they were booby-trapped. Su didn’t move, but his body was warm and relaxed, and there was a calmness in the air that Sakura hadn’t felt in days.

The silence stretched. Peaceful. Heavy.

Eventually, Su turned his head slightly and said, “You can lie down too, you know.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tense.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your entire spine is clenched like you’re bracing for a swordfight.”

“I said—”

Before he could finish, Su shifted closer and gently, gently, tugged on Sakura’s sleeve again.

Sakura glared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you to relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re vibrating like a terrified squirrel.”

Su’s hand didn’t move. It stayed wrapped loosely around Sakura’s sleeve, warm and steady.

It was stupid.

But somehow, that tiny bit of contact made Sakura sigh and finally let go.

“…Fine.”

He lay back—slowly, warily—and stared at the ceiling. The cloth under him was soft, worn from use. Su was close. Too close. Sakura could feel the heat from his arm, the faint brush of fabric against his own.

They didn’t speak.

Minutes passed.

The silence thickened, not with tension but with something more delicate. Trust. Quiet companionship. A sense of… safety.

It felt strange.

Nice.

And before Sakura could stop it—before he could even think to fight it—his eyes began to flutter shut.

The last thing he remembered before drifting off was Su’s steady breathing beside him, the low hum of wind outside, and the warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with blankets.

Sakura stirred slowly, the weight of sleep clinging to him like mist. His eyes blinked open, groggy and confused, met by the soft glow of candlelight flickering along the wooden beams above.

For a second, he didn’t remember where he was.

Then he felt it.

Warmth beneath his head. Fingers threading lazily through his hair. The steady rise and fall of breathing—not his own—under his cheek.

His entire body stiffened.

He tilted his head slightly and looked up.

Su was already watching him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, voice low and smug.

Sakura blinked again. His heart made a very stupid fluttery noise in his chest. “What—how long—?”

“About two hours,” Su said, glancing at the darkened window. “Give or take. You drooled on me.”

“I did not—!”

“Only a little.” Su grinned. “Enough to prove you were comfy.”

Sakura sat up too fast, hair sticking to one side of his face, cheeks flushing red. “You could’ve moved me!”

“I could have,” Su said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. “But then I’d miss the rare chance to be your pillow. Besides, you looked peaceful. It was cute.”

Sakura’s entire soul left his body.

“I’m never sleeping near you again,” he muttered, brushing hair from his face and trying to will his blush away.

Su laughed, leaning closer, eyes glinting. “Also, you talk in your sleep.”

Sakura froze. “...What did I say?”

Su raised a brow. “That sounds like something a guilty man would ask.”

“Su—”

“Don’t worry.” His voice softened. “It was nothing embarrassing.”

Sakura’s shoulders eased slightly.

“You just said my name,” Su added, far too innocently.

Sakura choked. “I—WHAT—?!”

Su winked. “Guess I really am your favorite.”

Sakura picked up the nearest thing and threw it at him.

The next few days passed in a blur.

Sakura hadn’t meant to fall into routine with Su again, but somehow he did. They ate together, snuck snacks from the kitchens, lazed around on rooftops when no one was looking. Su dragged him to explore unused hallways. He made fun of Sakura’s walk. He tripped over a broom and tried to blame it on “the ghost of a clumsy prince.”

It was reckless. Dangerous. Close.

And Sakura didn’t stop it.

Even though he knew he should.

Even though, some nights, he stared at his dagger and reminded himself that he was only here for one reason.

Still, he found himself smiling more easily. Laughing, even.

He hadn’t done that in years.

So when Su didn’t show up one morning, it threw him off.

It unsettled Sakura more than he wanted to admit.

The first day, he assumed Su was shirking his duties and hiding somewhere ridiculous—like the top of the linen shelf or wedged inside the rice barrel again.

The second day, he searched. Quietly, subtly. Asked a few people. Got vague shrugs and “Haven’t seen him” in return.

By the third day, Sakura was irritated. Not because Su had vanished, Su did that all the time. But because his chest ached. He was annoyed. Angry. And under it all, worried.

He didn’t want to be. But he was.

So when the palace buzzed with whispers of the Crown Prince’s arrival, Sakura didn’t connect the dots. Not right away. He was too distracted trying to shake off the hollow feeling that had settled in his stomach.

The Crown Prince never visited this wing. Never entered this part of the palace. He was an abstract concept—a royal figure meant to be bowed to, discussed in hushed tones, and never seen.

But that morning, the guards straightened. Servants rushed around in chaos.

Supervisors shouted for uniforms to be cleaned and positions to be manned.

Sakura was pulled into line along with the rest of the outer hall staff.

He didn’t care. He was barely listening.

Until the crowd parted.

And he looked up.

And his heart stopped.

There he was. Walking toward them like he owned the ground itself. Robes of black and crimson, gold thread shimmering along the sleeves, posture impossibly straight. A black silk cloth covered his right eye, pristine and formal.

But the other eye…

Wine red.

Sharp. Familiar. Alive.

No way.

Sakura’s breath hitched in his throat.

The Crown Prince walked like someone used to being watched. But he wasn’t looking at the line of servants.

He was looking straight at Sakura.

“You,” he said.

Sakura flinched.

“That one,” the prince repeated, voice calm. “He’ll be reassigned. I want him as my personal aide and bodyguard.”

Sakura bowed automatically, words catching in his throat.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The prince turned away without another glance.

And Sakura just stood there, heart pounding, face pale, one word screaming over and over in his mind:

Su.

He didn’t say anything during the walk to the royal quarters. He didn’t have words. His mind was on fire.

He lied to me. All this time. He was the Crown Prince.

Everything made sense now—the bandage, the confidence that always felt too polished.

But also...

The warmth. The laughter. The small, quiet kindnesses. The way Su had looked at him when no one else did.

Was that real?

Or just another part of the game?

They reached the Crown Prince’s private chambers.

The guards bowed and left. The door clicked shut.

Sakura didn’t wait.

He stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You—!” he started, voice shaking with something he couldn’t name. “You’re the prince?!”

The Crown Prince turned to him, unbothered.

He reached up and gave a little wave.

“Miss me?”

Sakura gawked. “You—You lied—!”

“I withheld information,” Suo said smoothly, walking to the table like this was any other afternoon. “You never asked.”

“I—! I thought you were just a servant—!”

“I am.” He smiled, tilting his head. “I serve the people.”

“DON’T GET CLEVER WITH ME!”

Sakura practically stomped forward, pointing. “You lied for weeks! You followed me around and teased me and—! You let me think you were just some idiot!”

“You’re the one who kept running into me.”

“You tripped me into the fountain!”

“You landed on top of me. I was the victim.”

Sakura was so red he looked ready to explode.

Suo leaned on the table casually, red eye sparkling.

“Also,” he said with mock innocence. “Sakura-kun… I noticed something odd.”

“What now?!”

“You’re not using honorifics. That’s no way to speak to your prince.”

“I’M GOING TO STRANGLE YOU.”

Suo snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first attempt on my life.”

Sakura froze at that.

The reminder hit hard—colder than it should have.

Because he was still here to kill him.

Suo’s smile faded a little, though the warmth in his gaze stayed.

“I meant all of it, you know,” he said softly.

Sakura’s breath caught.

Suo looked at him—not like a prince.

Just like Su.

“I wasn’t pretending to like you. That part was real.”

Sakura’s fingers curled at his sides.

Silence.

Then, weakly, Sakura muttered, “…You still lied.”

“I did,” Suo agreed. “And I’ll keep apologizing for that.”

Sakura hated how fast his heart was beating.

He hated how much he wanted to believe him.

He hated that he already did.

“…I hate you,” he said again, voice a little less certain.

Suo smiled, stepping closer. “Then why haven’t you walked away?”

Sakura had no answer.

Because the answer was dangerous.

Sakura didn’t ask why Suo had chosen him. He didn’t ask why Suo hadn’t exposed him. He didn’t even ask what Suo wanted from him.

But he stayed.

Because he didn’t know how to leave.

And Suo, well, Suo acted like nothing had changed.

He still teased. Still gave him a hard time about how stiffly he bowed. Still called him “Sakura-kun” with that infuriating warmth that made Sakura feel like something in his chest was melting and curling all at once. But something had changed.

The distance between them had closed.

Not just physically—although Suo had a terrible habit of leaning over his shoulder when he was reading documents or pressing a cup of tea into his hand with his fingers brushing too long.

It was the silences, too. The comfortable ones.

The way they sat on the floor some nights, Suo draped across a cushion in his silken robes, hair loose and soft around his face, while Sakura quietly folded laundry beside him.

The way Suo sometimes hummed under his breath without realizing. The way he looked up from his reading and smiled like he was glad Sakura was there.

And the way, tonight, Suo looked completely at peace—robe sleeves pushed back, sleeves rolled as he poured two cups of tea in the candlelight.

Sakura sat on the cushion across from him, trying not to stare.

“You keep looking at me,” Suo said, voice low.

Sakura startled. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Suo said with a slight smile, handing him a cup. “It’s okay. I am very pretty.”

“Shut up.”

Suo’s smile deepened.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping quietly. Outside the window, the moon was high, casting silver shadows on the wooden floor.

“…Why are you being so normal?” Sakura asked eventually.

Suo blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know who I am,” Sakura muttered. “You know what I’m here for.”

Suo was quiet for a long moment.

Then he said, “Yeah.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look afraid.

He just sipped his tea again and looked at Sakura like it didn’t matter. Like Sakura hadn’t been sent to kill him.

Like he still trusted him anyway.

Sakura’s throat felt tight.

“I keep waiting for you to throw me in the dungeons or… or order me to be executed or something,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Suo tilted his head. “Why would I do that to someone I—?”

He stopped.

The silence throbbed.

“…To someone you what?” Sakura asked before he could stop himself.

Suo gave him a soft look. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Sakura didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Later that night, when Suo had fallen asleep—half-curled against the cushions, his chest rising and falling steadily—Sakura stood beside the bed, staring down at him.

He could do it. Right now.

He could end it.

The dagger was tucked in his sleeve. One quick movement. One clean strike. He reached for it.

But his hand shook.

Because Suo looked so peaceful. Because Suo trusted him. Because Suo had offered him warmth and kindness even after knowing the truth.

Because Suo had said: Why would I do that to someone I—

Sakura’s fingers curled into a fist.

He turned away from the bed, walked out of the room, and didn’t look back.

He couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

The days after that were heavier.

Sakura couldn’t look at Suo the same. He tried to—forced himself to keep his expression steady, to go through the motions of his duties as if nothing had shifted—but every time Suo smiled at him, something twisted painfully in his chest.

He shouldn’t still be here.

But he couldn’t walk away.

Suo didn’t mention that night again. He simply carried on—offering Sakura tea in the mornings, pulling him into light conversation over meals, brushing against him just slightly when handing him scrolls.

Like he knew.

Like he was waiting.

Sakura started waking up in the middle of the night. Sweating. Breathing hard. Sometimes from dreams where he’d gone through with it. Sometimes from ones where he hadn’t—and everything still fell apart anyway.

He avoided his handler’s messages.

He ignored the tightening deadline.

And one day, when Suo was watching the rain through the open window, face calm and distant, Sakura found himself blurting—
“Why?”

Suo glanced back. “Why what?”

“Why are you treating me like this hasn’t changed anything?”

A beat.

Then Suo said softly, “Because it hasn’t. Not for me.”

Sakura didn’t know what to say to that.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

So he stood there, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the boy—no, the prince—he was supposed to kill.

The prince who smiled at him like he was something more than a weapon.

And in that moment, for the first time in his life, Sakura wished he’d never accepted the mission at all.

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the palace window as Suo lounged on a velvet cushion, eyes half-closed but alert. Sakura sat nearby, tidying some scrolls, when a young servant approached carrying a small, ornate box.

“Your Highness, this was sent from the Queen,” the servant announced, bowing before placing the box gently in front of Suo.

Suo opened it slowly, revealing an assortment of colorful pastries, their sweet aroma drifting temptingly into the room.

Sakura glanced at the box, then at Suo. “Your mom must really care about you.”

Suo’s relaxed expression stiffened just a little. His eyes darkened slightly as he said, “It’s nothing. Just something she sends every now and then.”

He set the box aside as if it were a minor annoyance.

Sakura’s gaze followed the box. “You’re not going to eat any?”

Suo’s eyes flicked back to the pastries with a faint smirk. “I’m on a diet. I decided it myself.”

Sakura blinked in surprise. “Since when does the Crown Prince go on a diet? What’s the occasion?”

Suo stretched one elegant hand toward the box and plucked up a tiny pastry—no bigger than a bite. “Nothing. Just felt like it.”

He held the pastry just out of reach. “But I can always share.”

Before Sakura could say anything, Suo leaned forward, his movements smooth and confident. He pressed the sweet treat gently to Sakura’s lips.

“No, I—” Sakura began, but Suo’s patience ran thin.

Instead, Suo carefully fed him the pastry, watching Sakura’s eyes widen in surprised delight. The warmth of Suo’s hand on his chin, the soft brush of fingertips against his skin, sent a ripple of heat through him.

Sakura pulled back, cheeks flaming. “I can feed myself, you know.”

Suo only laughed—a low, teasing sound that made Sakura’s heart skip. “I know. But it’s more fun like this.”

He picked up another pastry and held it out with a raised eyebrow. “One more? Come on, don’t be shy.”

Sakura huffed but opened his mouth, letting Suo feed him again. Each bite was a small thrill, and the simple closeness made his face burn brighter.

As Suo fed him, Sakura caught himself watching every little gesture—the way Suo’s lashes flickered, how his fingers brushed over the soft curve of Sakura’s lips. It was ridiculous how much warmth spread through him from something so simple.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sakura said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “You’re spoiling me.”

Suo shrugged innocently. “I’m just making sure you eat well. Can’t have my favorite servant wasting away.”

Sakura rolled his eyes but didn’t push the box away. Instead, he settled back beside Suo, their shoulders almost touching.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Suo grinned.

For a long while, they sat like that—quiet, easy, filled with the kind of closeness that didn’t need words.

The next morning, Suo lounged against the stone pillar near the kitchen courtyard, arms crossed, watching Sakura meticulously wipe down the worn wooden bench. His lips tugged into a smirk.

“Seriously, Sakura-kun,” Suo called out with a teasing tone, “how many times do you have to clean that bench? It’s not going to get any cleaner.”

Sakura didn’t look up but shot back without missing a beat. “It’s not about getting it cleaner. It’s about doing it right. Unlike some people who just lean around and look pretty.”

Suo’s smirk widened. “Aw, so you think I’m pretty now?”

Sakura’s cheeks instantly flushed a deep red, and he quickly averted his gaze. “W-What? No, I didn’t say that!”

Suo chuckled softly, enjoying the rare sight of Sakura flustered like this. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Trying to recover, Sakura waved a hand dismissively. “Anyways, shouldn’t you be doing your duties as the crown prince or whatever, instead of just standing there watching me work?”

Suo gave a lazy shrug, still grinning. “Sometimes the best way to do my duties is to supervise hard work… like yours.”

Sakura rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sure. Supervise all you want.”

Before Suo could reply, a servant hurried around the corner, bowing quickly.

“Your Highness, the King requests your presence in the council chambers.”

Suo’s playful demeanor shifted immediately to something sharper, colder. He stood, smoothing his sleeves.

“Very well,” he said. “Sakura, you’re coming with me.”

Sakura blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “M-me? With you?”

Suo glanced at him with a small, almost amused smile. “You’re coming. I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

Sakura swallowed hard, nerves twisting in his stomach. This was the first time he’d meet the king—Suo’s father—and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. But there was no way he could say no.

He nodded stiffly. “Okay… let’s go.”

As they walked through the grand marble halls toward the council chambers, Suo’s steps were confident and measured. Sakura hurried to keep pace, nerves still prickling at his skin.

Suo glanced at him briefly. “Listen,” he said quietly, voice low, “just stand near the back. Don’t say anything unless I tell you to. Got it?”

Sakura nodded, swallowing his nervousness. “Yeah… I’ll try.”

The heavy doors of the council chamber creaked open with a long, drawn-out groan. Suo stepped inside first, his posture impeccable, every movement precise and measured. Sakura followed quietly behind, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. This was his first time in the king’s presence—the tyrant who ruled the vast kingdom of Furin with an iron will and a sharp mind.

The chamber was cavernous and imposing. Towering stone pillars stretched toward a vaulted ceiling, carved with ancient sigils that flickered in the dim light of ornate sconces. The marble floor was polished so finely it reflected the flickering flames of massive candelabras. Around the long, mahogany council table, robed advisors whispered in low tones, their faces grave as they awaited the session to begin.

At the head of the table sat the king. His presence filled the room, regal and unyielding. His piercing gaze swept over Suo and Sakura with silent scrutiny.

Suo’s posture stiffened, his usual calm replaced by a hard edge. He bowed briefly but with little warmth. “Father.”

The king’s gaze flicked over Suo and then to Sakura standing quietly at his side. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Suo’s jaw tightened as he met his father’s cold stare.

Sakura stayed silent, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him like a heavy cloak.

The murmurs hushed as the king’s voice cut through the air, steady and commanding.

“Suo, you bring a new attendant into your service. Present him.”

Suo bowed his head slightly. “This is Sakura. He serves as my personal bodyguard and attendant.”

Sakura instinctively lowered his gaze and dipped into a deep bow. “Your Majesty.”

The king’s eyes lingered on Sakura for a moment longer, taking in his every detail—the way he stood, his bearing, the steadiness in his expression despite the obvious tension. Then his gaze returned to Suo.

“Loyalty and duty must come first. I will not tolerate distractions.”

Suo’s jaw clenched for a brief second, but his voice was calm and resolute. “I understand, Father.”

The king’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the polished wood.

“And this Sakura… what is his background? Will he be worthy of your trust and of the station you hold?”

Sakura felt a tightening in his chest. The implication was clear: the king was not merely inquiring about loyalty but about lineage, status, and alliances.

Suo’s gaze darkened momentarily, then settled into firm resolve. “His skill and loyalty are without question. His family’s rank is irrelevant.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, then he nodded slowly.

“You have matured swiftly in your responsibilities. Yet, your marriage remains unfulfilled. You understand the importance of securing alliances through matrimony.”

Suo’s eyes flickered with quiet defiance. “Marriage is a duty, yes. But I will not marry solely for political convenience.”

The king’s tone hardened, every word heavy with command.

“You will do what is necessary for the kingdom’s future. Your personal desires must be set aside.”

Sakura caught the subtle shift—the tightness in Suo’s shoulders, the clenching of his jaw.

The king’s gaze swept over both young men, his voice lowering to a serious timbre.

“In two weeks, the neighboring kingdom of Valoria will host the Grand Alliance Ball. Nobles and royals from across the continent will gather there. Many eligible young women will attend—suitable matches for you, Suo.”

He paused to let the gravity of his words sink in.

“You will attend. Your presence there is a duty to the crown and to the future.”

Suo nodded slowly, a flicker of reluctant acceptance crossing his features. “I understand.”

The king’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“If Sakura is to remain at your side, he must comprehend the demands this role entails.”

Suo’s head dipped in assent.

“He understands.”

The chamber buzzed softly with resumed council whispers, but the heavy tension between father and son lingered like a thick fog.
As the session ended, the king’s voice echoed once more, chilling and resolute.

“Do not disappoint me.”

Outside the chamber, Suo exhaled deeply, his usual confident smirk returning as he glanced sideways at Sakura.

“Well, that was far from a warm welcome.”

Sakura swallowed, feeling the enormity of the moment settle deep in his chest.

“You handled that better than I would have.”

Suo shrugged, a faint glint of humor in his eye.

“It’s palace life—politics, duty, and a never-ending stream of royal headaches.”

Sakura forced a small smile but remained quiet.

As they walked through the echoing halls, the king’s words replayed in his head. A ball. Eligible young women. Potential brides.

Why did the mention of brides make his chest tighten?

He stole a glance at Suo, who carried himself with that usual effortless confidence—unfazed, unbothered.

But Sakura couldn’t shake the strange ache inside him, a flutter of confusion and something heavier, something like… jealousy?

He didn’t understand it. Not yet.

All he knew was that, despite everything, his heart was suddenly anything but quiet.

The day of the ball arrived.

Sakura stood by the dressing area, hands trembling slightly as he held the intricate ceremonial robe that Suo had been asked to wear. The fabric was heavier and more ornate than anything Sakura had worked with before—gold embroidery curling like flames along the edges, deep blues and blacks weaving through the fine silk.

Suo was already standing before the large mirror, bare-chested, with his hair loose. His sharp jawline caught the light, and the calm in his dark eye made Sakura’s heart skip.

“Here,” Suo said smoothly, holding out his arms with a faint smile. “I need you to help me get into this without messing it up.”

Sakura swallowed hard, stepping closer. His fingers brushed Suo’s skin as he began to fasten the robe’s clasps. The warmth from Suo’s body seeped through the thin silk to Sakura’s palms, and suddenly the simple task felt impossible to focus on.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his shaking hands, but as he lifted the collar around Suo’s neck, their eyes met in the mirror.

Suo’s gaze was calm, almost amused, but something softer flickered there too.

Sakura felt the heat rise immediately, spreading like wildfire to his cheeks. He quickly looked down, pretending to check the folds of the robe. “It’s—uh—it fits perfectly,” he mumbled, voice uneven.

Suo’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “You’re awfully red, Sakura-kun.”

Sakura’s heart thundered in his chest. “I-I’m not—” He stammered, trying to sound convincing but failing miserably. “It’s hot in here! Yeah, that’s it.”

Suo laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. He stepped closer so their shoulders nearly touched. “You’re such a tsundere, you know that?”

Sakura’s eyes widened, and he glanced up to meet Suo’s teasing gaze. “I’m not! Stop saying things like that.”

Suo’s grin deepened, and he reached out to tousle Sakura’s hair playfully. “Relax, Sakura-kun. You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Sakura blushed harder, swatting Suo’s hand away, but his smile betrayed his embarrassment. “Y-You’re impossible.”

The moment stretched between them—tense, electric, and quietly intimate.

Sakura’s heart was pounding so loud he was sure Suo could hear it.

He tried to steady himself, but all he could think was how good Suo looked—the way the robe draped perfectly over his tall frame, how the sunlight caught his eye, and how impossibly close he was.

A servant appeared from around the corner, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, the carriage awaits outside. It is time to depart for the ball.”

Suo stretched languidly, running a hand through his loose hair, then glanced over at Sakura with a slow smile that held a hint of mischief. “Well, looks like our moment has arrived.”

He gestured with a casual wave. “Shall we?”

Sakura nodded, trying to steady his nerves. They began to walk through the grand marble halls side by side. The echo of their footsteps bounced softly off the high ceilings, the faint scent of polished wood and fresh flowers lingering in the air. Suo’s silk robe swayed with each step, and Sakura found himself distracted by how naturally Suo carried himself—effortless, regal, yet somehow approachable.

As they passed other servants and nobles, a few curious glances followed them, but Suo ignored it all, his expression calm and collected.

Sakura struggled to keep pace, his heart beating faster—not just from the brisk walk. He stole a quick glance at Suo’s profile, feeling an unexpected warmth rising in his chest.

The large wooden doors opened onto the courtyard, where a magnificent carriage awaited. Its black lacquer gleamed under the afternoon sun, accented with gold trim that caught the light and shimmered. Plush velvet cushions peeked from inside.
Suo led the way, his fingers brushing the polished brass handle with a practiced ease. He pushed the door open with a soft creak and turned to Sakura with a sly smile.

“Come on. You’re riding with me.”

Sakura’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. “Isn’t that… improper? I mean, shouldn’t I ride separately? Or—”

Suo chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Relax. You’re my personal bodyguard. Someone has to stay close and keep me safe.”

He settled into the carriage seat with a graceful ease and patted the spot next to him.

Sakura hesitated a moment before climbing in, the soft cushion swallowing his feet. He sank down, still flustered.

Suo’s eyes twinkled as he looked sideways at him.

“Don’t say anything,” Sakura muttered, trying to focus on the plush fabric rather than Suo’s teasing smile.

The coachman cracked the reins, and the horses sprang to life, the wheels clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones as the carriage began to move.

Suo leaned back, stretching out his long legs and folding his arms behind his head. “See? Nothing scandalous about this. Just duty.”

Sakura let out a grumble still feeling the heat of Suo’s teasing but secretly pleased at the closeness.

The sunlight filtered softly through the carriage windows as they rolled toward the neighboring kingdom, and for a moment, the usual pressure of the mission faded, replaced by a quiet warmth between them.

The carriage rocked gently as it glided smoothly along the winding stone path. Outside, trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another.

Suo relaxed into the cushions, eyes half-closed. Sakura sat nearby, his hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the scenery drift by in a soothing blur. For a brief moment, the weight of their duties, the palace intrigue, and the looming ball seemed far away.

The only sounds were the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves and the distant chirping of birds.

“Not bad, huh?” Suo murmured, his voice low and calm. “A rare quiet moment.”

Sakura nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… peaceful.”

Suddenly, the soft crunch of twigs snapping and hurried footsteps broke the calm.

Suo’s eyes snapped open. “Trouble.”

Before Sakura could react, masked figures leapt from the underbrush, weapons glinting in the sunlight. The carriage jolted violently as the horses reared in panic, their hooves pounding the dirt road. Sakura’s heart hammered in his chest, but his training kicked in instantly. Without hesitation, he drew his blade in a smooth, practiced motion, stepping between Suo and the sudden threat.

“Stay in the carriage!” Sakura ordered, voice low but urgent.

Suo’s eyes met his, calm and steady despite the chaos erupting around them. For a moment, Sakura caught a flicker of surprise there—surprise that he was so quick to protect.

The first attacker lunged, blades clashing with a sharp ring. Sakura parried, muscles straining to keep the deadly dance controlled. Every move, every breath, was to keep Suo safe—the boy he was supposed to kill, but couldn’t bring himself to.
Blow after blow, Sakura’s mind raced. He was a trained assassin, conditioned to take lives swiftly and without hesitation. Yet here he was, risking his own to keep Suo alive.

Why?

The question throbbed at the edge of his consciousness.

I was sent to kill him.

This is my mission.

Shouldn’t I let them succeed?

The doubt clawed at his resolve, and for a fleeting moment his grip on the sword slackened. An enemy’s blade came dangerously close, forcing Sakura to stagger back, heart pounding for reasons beyond the fight.

But as he glanced at Suo, serene and unafraid even in the face of danger, something shifted deep inside him.

No. I don’t want him to die. Not yet.

That thought flared like a sudden flame, igniting a fierce protectiveness that overrode all else.

With renewed determination, Sakura lunged forward, intercepting an attacker who aimed a swift strike at Suo’s side. His blade met theirs with a ringing clash, forcing the enemy back.

Sakura’s breath came in sharp bursts, sweat stinging his eyes. Every time he blocked a blow meant for Suo, his heart ached with the weight of his secret mission and the undeniable bond growing between them.

The attackers hesitated as the tide of the fight turned. Sakura pressed forward, shielding Suo with a fierce protectiveness he never expected to feel.

As the last attacker fled into the forest, Sakura lowered his sword slowly, heart still racing. He wiped sweat from his brow but winced when his hand brushed against a sharp sting on his cheek.

He touched the spot and felt the warm trickle of blood.

“Oh,” he muttered, stepping closer to Suo, who noticed immediately.

Suo’s eye narrowed slightly, his usual teasing tone replaced with quiet concern. “Let me see.”

Before Sakura could protest, Suo reached out, his fingers gentle and sure as he pulled back Sakura’s hair from his face.

The cut was small, a thin red line along his cheekbone, but enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from Suo.

“Not too deep,” Suo murmured, pulling a clean cloth from his sleeve. “But we need to clean it before it gets infected.”

Sakura glanced away, a little embarrassed to be cared for like this.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly.

Suo ignored the protest and carefully dabbed at the cut with the cloth, then took out a small bandage from his pouch.

“You’re stubborn,” Suo said softly, pressing the bandage gently over the wound.

Sakura’s breath hitched at the touch—so light it barely felt like contact, but somehow it sent a warmth blooming through him.

“There,” Suo said, his voice low and a little teasing now. “All fixed.”

Sakura blinked, feeling oddly exposed under Suo’s steady gaze.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, not sure why his voice felt so small.

Suo smiled, a slow, genuine smile that crinkled the corner of his visible eye.

“Don’t mention it. If you get hurt, I’ll take care of you.”

Sakura’s cheeks flushed deeper—was that teasing? Or something else?

“Well,” Suo said quietly, “I suppose that was quite the welcome.”

Sakura sheathed his sword, struggling to steady his hands.

“I should’ve let them...”

He trailed off, unable to finish.

Suo’s gaze softened.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked gently.

Sakura swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper.

“Because... I didn’t want you to...” he trailed off.

I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

Before the silence could stretch further, a voice called out from the road:

“Your Highness! Are you alright?”

A palace guard, face pale and eyes wide with panic, jogged toward them, sword drawn.

Suo straightened, the warmth in his expression slipping back behind a composed, princely mask.

“I’m fine,” he called. “We’re both unharmed. Secure the area and report to the captain.”

The guard bowed hurriedly and ran off to relay the order.

Suo turned back to Sakura, gaze unreadable now.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

The two climbed back into the carriage. The seats were still warm, but the tension between them had shifted. The emotional weight of what had almost been said hung heavy in the air, and neither spoke as the horses resumed their pace.

Sakura stared out the window, watching the trees blur past.

He could still feel the ghost of Suo’s hand on his face. The way he had looked at him. The way something almost—almost—slipped free between them before it had been cut off.

And yet, the quiet between them wasn’t cold.

It was something else. Something unspoken.

By the time they reached the gates of the neighboring kingdom’s castle, the sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

The carriage rolled to a smooth stop.

Guards in foreign livery approached to open the door.

“Announcing the Crown Prince of Furin,” one of them declared.

Suo stepped out gracefully, back straight, chin lifted with royal poise. The moment his boots touched the marble landing, dignitaries began to bow and welcome him in, their voices a chorus of polite greetings.

Sakura stepped out a moment after, a quiet shadow behind him.

No one paid him much mind—just another servant.

But Suo glanced back, just once, to make sure he was there.

Their eyes met briefly.

And then the castle doors opened wide to receive them.

The ballroom was a breathtaking sight—warm, golden light spilled from crystal chandeliers that glittered like stars against the domed ceiling. Silken drapes in soft shades of ivory and pale blue framed every arched window, swaying gently with the breeze from the open balconies. Lush floral arrangements lined the walls, bursting with seasonal blossoms that filled the air with a faint, pleasant fragrance.

The atmosphere was alive—an elegant sort of chaos. Nobles from across kingdoms mingled in fine silk and brocade, their voices a low hum of laughter, flirtation, and political gossip. Footmen weaved through the crowd carrying trays stacked with delicate hors d'oeuvres and sparkling drinks. At the far end, a long banquet table sagged slightly under the weight of it all: roasted meats, freshly baked bread, jewel-toned fruits, intricate desserts that looked too pretty to eat.

Musicians in tailored uniforms played from the raised platform, their strings and flutes filling the air with a waltz that swirled with the spinning of dancers on the polished marble floor.

It was overwhelming, almost surreal.

Sakura lingered a step behind Suo, his eyes sweeping the opulence with quiet awe. Everything sparkled. Everything moved.
The moment they entered, Suo was swept into the tide of greetings.

“Your Highness,” a duke said, bowing low. “An honor to finally meet the future of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Suo smiled politely. “The honor is mine, Duke Kael.”

From there, it didn’t stop. Nobles from all corners of the ballroom came to pay their respects—lords and ladies with painted smiles and glittering eyes, their voices syrupy-sweet, full of flattery and subtle ambitions.

Sakura stood just behind and to the right of Suo, exactly where a personal guard should be. Silent. Still. Invisible.

But it didn’t stop him from hearing.

“Oh, Your Highness,” cooed one duchess’s daughter, fluttering her lashes. “The rumors were true—you really are as handsome as they say.”

“Careful,” Suo replied smoothly, tone light, “I might start to believe you.”

Another girl—tall, elegant, draped in velvet—placed a hand lightly on Suo’s arm. “Do let me steal a dance later, won’t you?”

“We’ll see if my schedule allows,” Suo answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And yet he kept smiling. Kept charming. Kept accepting compliments and chatting warmly.

Sakura stared blankly at a nearby decorative vase.

He wasn't sure why it annoyed him so much. It wasn’t like Suo was doing anything wrong. This was part of his job—networking, diplomacy, being charming and personable. It made sense.

But still.

Did she really need to touch his arm like that?

Sakura folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes just slightly as another noblewoman laughed just a little too hard at something Suo had said.

Suo glanced sideways at him once, maybe sensing the shift in his mood, and raised a brow—but said nothing. Just smiled again at the next person who came up.

Sakura muttered something under his breath. It might’ve been “flirtatious vulture” or “fancy mop with a tiara”.

Either way, he was starting to regret not slipping out and hiding near the pastry table.

A string quartet began to play a more spirited tune, signaling the start of the formal dances.

Couples began to drift onto the floor—swirling silks and polished shoes, glittering jewelry catching the candlelight. Laughter chimed between graceful spins, the energy in the room lifting like a held breath released.

Suo stood beside Sakura now, momentarily freed from conversation. He looked over the ballroom with a cool expression, wine glass in hand, his posture straight but relaxed.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, not looking directly at Sakura.

Sakura blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Suo smirked, sipping from his glass. “You’ve been glaring at every girl within a ten-foot radius like you’re about to duel them.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

“You were.”

“I was observing.”

“Intensely.”

Sakura huffed and looked away. “Tch. They keep touching you.”

Suo tilted his head, amused. “Jealous?”

Sakura sputtered. “Wh—no! I just—what if one of them was dangerous?”

Suo chuckled, low and knowing. “Ah. So you’re being protective. My personal guard, hard at work.”

“I am your guard,” Sakura muttered. “It’s literally my job.”

Suo didn’t respond—just smiled, slow and satisfied, like he’d won something.

Before Sakura could recover, a high-ranking noble approached.

“Your Highness,” she said, curtseying gracefully. “May I request a dance?”

Suo’s expression didn’t falter. “Of course.”

He handed his glass off to a passing attendant, shot Sakura one last glance, then let himself be led to the dance floor.

Sakura watched them go, arms crossed.

The noblewoman laughed at something Suo said—something charming, no doubt. She moved gracefully, like she’d been practicing for this moment since childhood. And Suo, for all his teasing and laziness, danced with perfect form. Regal. Elegant. Like he was made for this.

Sakura’s fingers curled around the hilt of his hidden dagger—not out of intent, but out of habit. Grounding himself. Reminding himself of what he was supposed to do.

What he should have already done.

But every time he looked at Suo, something tightened in his chest.

Not yet, he thought again.

Not tonight.

He turned away from the ballroom floor and stepped back into the shadows, where no one would notice the way he looked at a prince like he was something he couldn’t have.

Sakura sighed, shoulders tense beneath the formal uniform they’d pressed onto him for the ball. He stood just inside the entrance to the ballroom, half-shadowed by one of the grand marble pillars. His eyes never left Suo.

The Crown Prince moved with effortless grace, a soft, charming smile playing on his lips as he greeted nobles, dignitaries, and princesses from kingdoms near and far. The room shimmered with gold and silk and candlelight, every guest dressed to impress.

Music drifted from the quartet near the front, gentle and elegant, the kind of waltz that made the world feel unreal.

But Sakura wasn’t listening to the music. He was watching Suo.

More specifically, watching the way Suo was being watched.

He could barely count how many ladies had tried to talk to him in the past half hour. Laughing, brushing their fingers along Suo’s sleeve, complimenting his robes, his posture, his poise. And Suo… Suo smiled through all of it. Not coldly, not dismissively. He was kind. That was the problem.

Sakura’s throat tightened.

He knew. He knew this was how it was supposed to go. Suo was the Crown Prince. The ball was for political diplomacy, alliances, and prospects. Potential brides.

It had nothing to do with him.

And yet.

Every time Suo leaned a little closer to hear a princess’s soft-spoken words, every time someone dared to touch his arm like they had a right to it—Sakura wanted to scream.

He hated himself for it. Hated how childish it felt. How selfish.

Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t go away.

Sakura turned before he could stop himself. He slipped past the servants along the wall and out through the side corridor, footsteps quiet on the polished floors.

Eventually, he reached a quiet balcony tucked just off the grand hall. The doors were cracked open, moonlight spilling across the floor. Sakura stepped outside and let the cool night air wash over him like a tide.

He gripped the stone railing and exhaled hard.

The garden below was still, kissed with silver. Lanterns floated in the fountains. Ivy curled along the balcony columns. Somewhere far below, the faint sound of laughter drifted up from the hedged courtyards.

Above, the sky stretched out endlessly—cloudless, calm, and brilliant with stars. A soft breeze tousled his hair.

It was quiet.

Peaceful.

And yet inside, Sakura’s heart was anything but.

He tilted his head back, gazing at the sky like it might give him answers.

Why did it hurt so much?

Why did seeing Suo surrounded by others feel like this—like something inside him was splintering quietly, and he didn’t know how to stop it?

He was an assassin.

He had no right to feel anything.

And yet… when Suo had smiled at those girls, Sakura had wanted to grab his hand and pull him away. Not as a bodyguard. Not even as a friend.

Something deeper. Something terrifying.

And that scared him more than any blade ever could.

He lowered his head, staring down at his own hands clenched on the balcony’s edge.

“…Get it together,” he muttered under his breath.

But even the stars didn’t answer him.

The soft hum of music still floated from the ballroom behind him, but it felt far away now—muted, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been more.

He was so lost in thought, in the quiet ache of his chest, that he didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until—

“There you are,” came a voice, low and familiar. “I was wondering where you went.”

Sakura stiffened.

He turned slowly, and there—framed in the golden light of the ballroom doors, with the faintest glint of amusement in his eye—stood Suo.

The sight of him made Sakura’s heart do something inconvenient.

“…Shouldn’t you be inside?” Sakura asked, trying to sound casual, crossing his arms to hide how his fingers twitched.

Suo stepped onto the balcony, hands tucked behind his back. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I needed air,” Sakura muttered.

“You disappeared,” Suo said, his tone teasing but soft. “For a second I thought you’d fled the country.”

“I should have,” Sakura grumbled.

Suo walked up beside him, gaze flicking to the garden. “You didn’t like the ball?”

Sakura hesitated, then said quietly, “I didn’t like the crowd.”

A pause.

Then, lightly, “Or was it the crowd around me?”

Sakura’s head whipped around, flustered. “What—!?”

Suo looked at him with raised brows, clearly enjoying himself.

Sakura opened his mouth, closed it, then looked away with a mutter. “...You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Suo leaned closer. “Your ears are red.”

“They are not!”

“They are.”

Sakura huffed and refused to look at him. “Shouldn’t you be charming princesses or something?”

“I got bored.”

“…That fast?”

Suo shrugged. “They weren’t the person I was hoping to spend time with.”

Sakura turned to look at him again—and this time, Suo wasn’t smiling in the way he usually did. It was something quieter. Warmer. Real.

The breath caught in Sakura’s throat.

Sakura looked away quickly, his fingers curling over the stone railing. His heart thudded once—hard—and he hated how easily Suo could do that to him. Just a few words, a look, and suddenly his chest felt too tight.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he muttered, barely above the wind. “I might… misunderstand.”

Suo blinked. Then tilted his head slightly, a soft lock of hair falling across his cheek. “Misunderstand what?”

Sakura’s ears burned. He didn’t answer at first, just kept his eyes on the hedges below, the night breeze brushing against his skin.

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” Suo said, and his voice was lower now, gentler. “I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Sakura clenched his jaw. “If you keep saying things like that—about wanting to spend time with me… it’s going to sound like you…” He trailed off, swallowing.

Suo waited. Patient. Close.

Sakura inhaled slowly. “It’s going to sound like you feel something for me.”

A beat of silence.

Then Suo stepped closer. Just enough for his sleeve to brush Sakura’s. His voice dropped.

“What if I do?”

Sakura’s head whipped toward him. “What?”

Suo didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease. His expression stayed open, honest, uncharacteristically serious. “I said—what if I do?”

Sakura blinked, stunned. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“But…” Sakura’s brows knit together, voice cracking slightly, “you’re the crown prince. You’re—” He faltered. “And I’m just—”

“You’re not just anything,” Suo said quietly. “You’re the person I look for in every room. The one I think about before I fall asleep.” He gave a faint smile. “The only one who’s ever really looked at me like I’m just… me.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. His heart was doing something wild and frantic in his chest, like it was trying to claw its way out.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Suo added, a little softer now, almost cautious. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t care. That I don’t want you close.”

Sakura could barely think. His fingers tightened around the stone railing again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“…You’re serious,” he finally said.

“I am.” Suo’s smile turned slightly rueful. “Unless I have misunderstood. And you don’t feel the same.”

Sakura swallowed hard, the words caught in his throat.

“I do,” he whispered, voice trembling just enough to betray the certainty beneath. “But—“

We can’t be together…

Before he could finish, Suo stepped closer, closing the space between them.

His hands rose slowly, palms resting gently on either side of Sakura’s face, softly caging him in. Their eyes locked—intense, unyielding.

“Don’t say anything,” Suo whispered, voice low. Sakura’s breath caught, trapped in the warmth of Suo’s presence.

Suo’s lips crashed against Sakura’s with a hunger that made his knees weak. His hands weren’t gentle anymore—they gripped the sides of Sakura’s face, sliding down his neck and into the curls at the nape, pulling him impossibly closer. Heat blazed between them, fierce and relentless.

Sakura’s breath caught as Suo’s tongue swept inside, tasting and teasing, exploring every inch with fiery intent. His hands trembled, roaming over the firm planes of Suo’s chest, fingers pressing into the taut muscles beneath silk and skin.

Their bodies pressed flush, skin burning through layers of fabric, a silent battle of control and surrender. Suo’s hands slid lower, tracing the curve of Sakura’s waist, pulling him even tighter against the heat radiating between them.

Sakura’s lips parted in a soft gasp, the ache building deep inside him, reckless and raw. His fingers tangled in Suo’s hair, pulling the prince’s face harder against his own as the world narrowed to nothing but the sound of ragged breaths and the desperate beating of two hearts.

Every touch was electric, every kiss a promise of something more, something dangerously intoxicating.

He should stop this, Sakura thought.

But he didn’t want to.

A low, breathy sound slipped from Suo’s throat as he pressed closer, his hands roaming with quiet urgency. Sakura’s fingers trembled as they curled tightly into the fabric of Suo’s shirt, heart hammering wildly against his chest. Every brush of Suo’s lips sent sparks shooting through him, igniting a fire that raced from his lips, down his neck, and deep into his core.

Their kiss deepened slowly, intentionally—no rush, just the slow, scorching exploration of each other’s mouths and breaths. Sakura’s breath stuttered as the world narrowed to the feel of Suo’s lips, the steady beat of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body pressed flush against his own.

After what felt like a timeless moment, Suo eased back just enough to rest his forehead against Sakura’s, their breaths mingling in the tight space between them. His eyes, dark and glimmering, searched Sakura’s face as if memorizing every line and curve.

“Don’t say you don’t want this,” Suo murmured, his voice low and thick with something raw.

Sakura swallowed hard, breath catching in his throat.

They stayed like that, heartbeats syncing, until the spell slowly broke and they pulled apart, reluctant but breathless, cheeks flushed and bodies humming with heat.

The carriage hummed softly as it carried them back through moonlit roads. Inside, the warmth between them lingered, fingers still intertwined, the faint scent of jasmine and sweat clinging to their skin.

Sakura rested his head on Suo’s shoulder, eyes half-closed, the fire in his chest quieting into a gentle warmth. The silence between them was comfortable—intimate.

Suo’s hand tightened around Sakura’s just a little before he murmured, “We should rest.”

Sakura nodded, the weight of the night pressing softly on his eyelids. Outside, the stars traced a cold, indifferent path across the sky.

Once the carriage doors slid open back at the palace, the familiar bustle of servants and guards buzzed around them, but Suo’s gaze sharpened. His fingers curled possessively around Sakura’s wrist, pulling him through the labyrinth of dim corridors with quiet urgency before reaching his private chambers.

Suddenly, Suo’s hands were on his collar again, dragging him close. Their lips collided in a fierce, desperate kiss—hungry and claiming. Sakura’s hands flew up, tangling in Suo’s dark hair as he melted against him, every nerve alive and aching.

He took his time, kissing and nipping at Sakura's neck, shoulders, and chest, marking him with gentle bites and soft kisses. His hands explored every curve and dip of Sakura's body, learning it intimately as he slowly removed more clothing.

"Sakura..." He breathed against his skin. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. “Me too.”

The kiss grew more intense, tongues dancing and teeth nipping. Suo's hands roamed freely now, one sliding down to grip Sakura's hip while the other slipped under his shirt to caress his bare back. He pressed Sakura against the wall, grinding their hips together through their remaining clothes.

"Fuck..."

Between passionate kisses and caresses, Suo carefully peeled away Sakura's clothes until he stood there nude and trembling. Suo stepped back briefly to take him in.

"God, you're perfect..." He traced a finger down Sakura's chest. "Every inch of you..."

“S-Stop saying stuff like that.”

But Suo wasn’t listening.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he pushed Sakura gently onto the bed, climbing over him with a gaze so soft it almost hurt. The air shifted, tender and electric.

He reached for Sakura’s hand—trembling, tense—and brought it to his lips. His kiss was slow, lingering, like he was memorizing the shape of it.

“You don’t even realize,” Suo whispered, eyes locked on Sakura’s. “You make it impossible not to fall. Every part of you—your strength, your stubbornness, even that sharp tongue of yours—I want all of it.”

Sakura’s breath caught, heart racing in his chest.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” Suo murmured, brushing his lips against Sakura’s knuckles again. “So let me show you, alright?”

Suo's eyes never left Sakura's as he slowly lowered Sakura's hand back down to the bed. He leaned in close, pressing soft kisses along Sakura's jawline before moving back down to capture his lips once more. "Let me show you how much I want you..." He whispered between kisses.

His hands began to explore Sakura's body again, touching him with a gentle reverence. He caressed Sakura's chest, his sides, his hips, as if committing every curve and line to memory. His lips followed the same path, leaving a trail of soft kisses and gentle nips.

“Wait.” Sakura gasps out.

Suo froze, lifting his head to meet Sakura's eyes. His hair fell messily over his forehead, making him look boyish and innocent.

"Hmm?" He murmured softly.

“It’s just—it’s just that um,” Sakura averts his eyes. “You’re still clothed and.. I’m…”

Suo's lips twitched into a small smile at Sakura's awkward words. Slowly sitting back up on his knees between Sakura's spread thighs, Suo started unbuttoning his own shirt with deliberate slowness.

"Is that a problem?" He asked teasingly.

Sakura’s face flushed deeper, his eyes darting to the side as he muttered, “It’s not a problem—I just—”

His voice broke off when Suo let his shirt fall open, revealing smooth skin and the soft dip of his collarbone. The candlelight flickered against him, casting warm shadows along his torso.

“You just…?” Suo echoed, amused, leaning in again, his hands braced on either side of Sakura’s hips.

“N-Nothing.”

Suo chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against Sakura's skin as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

"Liar." He murmured, his fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down his hips. "Let me fix that problem for you then."

Suo stepped out of his pants and underwear in one fluid motion, kicking them aside. He was now fully naked, his body on display for Sakura to see—toned muscles and an impressive erection standing proud between his thighs. "Better?"

His smirk widened as he watched Sakura's eyes dart down to his groin before quickly looking back up. The way Sakura's face was burning with embarrassment only served to turn Suo on even more.

He crawled back over Sakura, pressing their bare bodies together. "Now, where was I?"

Suo captured Sakura's lips in a deep kiss, his hands roaming over Sakura's chest and stomach possessively. He broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down Sakura's neck and chest, and took one of Sakura's pink peaks into his mouth, sucking gently. Sakura gasped and moaned softly, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. Suo switched to the other side, giving it equal attention before moving lower, kissing and licking Sakura's stomach.

“S-Suo—“

“Call me Hayato.”

“Huh?”

Suo paused his ministrations and looked up at Sakura, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of amusement.

"Say it. Call me by my name." His voice was low and commanding, his hands gripping Sakura's hips tightly. "I want to hear you scream it when you come."

Sakura’s face immediately turned the same shade as a tomato. “Wh—WHAT?!”

Suo's lips curled into a smirk as he watched Sakura's reaction. He knew he was pushing boundaries and didn’t expect Sakura to actually fulfill his request, but he wanted Sakura completely unraveled and begging for more.

Suo shifted, reaching one hand over to slide open the drawer beside the bed.

Sakura blinked. “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Relax,” Suo said casually, rummaging for a second. Then, with a little victorious hum, he pulled something out and held it up.

Sakura’s face turned crimson.

“Is that—?!”

Suo didn’t even flinch. “Lube. Obviously.”

“Why do you have that in your bedside table?” Sakura demanded, voice cracking slightly.

Suo raised a brow, entirely too smug. “Just in case.”

Sakura sputtered. “Just in case what?!”

“I don’t know.” Suo smirked. “Just in case I get a certain cute assassin in my bed.”

Sakura’s face lit up in horror. “You—! You planned this?!”

Suo laughed, low and delighted, tossing the small bottle lightly between his hands. “Planned? No. Hoped? Maybe.”

Sakura buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re blushing,” Suo teased, inching closer. “Which means you’re not saying no.”

“That’s not the point!” Sakura hissed.

Suo leaned in, voice dropping to something softer. “Then what is the point, Sakura-kun?”

Sakura peeked at him from between his fingers—his ears red, his voice small. “…That you’re making it really hard to think right now.”

“Then don’t think,” Suo says softly. He opens the bottle, pouring a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

Sakura’s breath hitched as he glanced up, eyes wide and uncertain.

“Wait,” he said softly, almost like he was embarrassed to speak. “Suo… I haven’t… I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure…”

His voice trailed off, cheeks burning as he looked away.

Suo’s teasing smile faded into something gentler, warmer.

“That’s okay,” he said, voice low and steady. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I mean that.”

Sakura hesitated, staring at Suo’s face.

“I want to,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Suo chuckled quietly. “Then we’ll take our time. You don’t have to know everything. I’ll be with you the whole way.”

With that reassurance, he began to prepare Sakura, his touch gentle and patient. As he pushed a finger inside, Sakura gasped, gripping the sheets tightly. Suo watched his face closely, making sure he wasn't hurting him.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

Sakura shook his head slightly, eyes fluttering closed. Suo took that as a sign to continue, moving his finger slowly in and out, giving Sakura time to adjust.

“Just let me know if it hurts,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sakura’s forehead.

After a moment, Suo added a second finger, moving them both slowly, stretching Sakura open. Sakura whimpered, squirming beneath him, but didn't ask him to stop. Instead, his legs fell open wider, giving Suo more room.

Suo continued to stretch him out, adding a third finger when Sakura seemed ready. He watched Sakura's face closely, loving how his cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes were filled with a mix of nerves and desire.

“You're doing so well,” he praised softly.

The words felt warm and low against Sakura’s ear, and they hit harder than they should have. His breath caught. His fingers curled into the sheets. A tremble ran through him that had nothing to do with fear.

Suo paused, noticing. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh~?” he murmured, voice dipped in teasing affection. “You like praise, Sakura-kun?”

Sakura’s face went crimson.

“I—I don’t—” he stammered, but the way his cheeks darkened even more betrayed him.

Suo chuckled softly, loving the way Sakura blushed at his teasing. He withdrew his fingers slowly, making sure to coat them with more lube before pressing them back inside, this time with a bit more pressure.

"I think you do," he said, his thumb finding Sakura's sensitive spot.

"Look at you, getting all flustered," Suo pressed against that spot again, making Sakura gasp and arch into his touch.

"Such a cute reaction..." He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you want me to keep praising you?"

“Mhm,” Sakura nodded frantically, face buried in the pillow to muffle his moans.

Suo smiled, feeling incredibly fond of his adorable lover.

“Good boy,” he praised, moving his fingers faster, pressing against Sakura's prostrate repeatedly.

Sakura's body trembled and convulsed around Suo's fingers as he came undone from the intense stimulation and praise. His hole clenched tightly, trying to pull Suo's fingers deeper inside him. Suo kissed his neck soothingly, slowing down his movements to gently ride out Sakura's orgasm.

“M—More,” Sakura pleaded, his legs spreading wider without being told. He was incredibly responsive to touch and praise, making Suo want to spoil him rotten.

Suo gently removed his fingers and positioned himself between Sakura's legs.

"Are you sure?" he asked, wanting to be absolutely certain. He was rock hard, but he'd stop everything if Sakura needed him to.

“Just put it in!” Sakura grumbled, clearly impatient.

Suo threw his head back and laughed at Sakura's snappy reply.

"So pushy," he sighed, positioning the head of his dick at Sakura's entrance. Without warning, he snapped his hips forward, pushing inside slightly.

Sakura gasped sharply at the sudden intrusion, gripping the sheets tightly. Suo held still, allowing Sakura to adjust to his size.

"Too much?" he asked softly.

When Sakura shook his head, he began to push inside further, inching his way deeper until he was fully seated inside. Suo paused for a moment, letting Sakura get used to his size. He was buried deep inside Sakura's tight heat, and it felt incredible.

He reached down to gently grab Sakura's legs, pulling them up higher over his shoulders to get a deeper angle. "I'm going to move now.”

"Nnnh—!" Sakura cried out as Suo pulled back slightly then snapped his hips forward again. He was bigger than the fingers he'd used to prepare Sakura, hitting places that made Sakura see stars.

"Suo—" He gripped Suo's arms tightly as the other boy set a steady rhythm.

Suo's thrusts became more forceful. He could feel Sakura's body responding, his hole tightening around him deliciously. He leaned down to capture Sakura's mouth in a passionate kiss, their bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm. He could feel Sakura's own arousal pressing against his stomach, and he reached down to start jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

"Ahhhn—" Sakura moaned loudly into Suo's mouth as the other boy hit his sensitive spot repeatedly, his fingers working Sakura's dick expertly. Suo could feel Sakura's hole fluttering around his dick, and he knew he was close.

With a final deep thrust and a tight squeeze around his cock, Sakura came hard, his release coating Suo's hand and stomach. The feeling of Sakura's orgasm milking his dick pushed Suo over the edge too. He buried himself balls deep and came inside Sakura with a loud groan.

Panting heavily, Suo collapsed beside Sakura, still buried inside him as they both rode out the aftershocks of their intense release.

After a few moments, he slowly pulled out, wincing slightly as his sensitive dick slipped free from Sakura's still-tight hole.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the lantern flame and the low rhythm of their breathing.

Sakura lay on his side, curled slightly toward Suo, the blankets pooled loosely around his hips. His hair was a mess, his cheeks still pink, and his expression… oddly peaceful. A little dazed, too.

Suo was sprawled beside him, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting lazily across Sakura’s waist. His fingers traced idle circles along his skin, slow and absentminded. Suo shifted, resting his chin lightly on Sakura’s shoulder, voice low and teasing.

“So…” he said, drawing out the word. “How was it?”

Sakura let out a soft groan and buried his face in his arm. “…Don’t ask that.”

Suo chuckled. “Why not? I think it’s a perfectly valid question.”

“…It was good,” Sakura mumbled, barely audible.

“Good?” Suo echoed, smirking. “That’s all I get?”

Sakura peeked at him, ears bright red. “You want me to write you a five-page essay?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Suo said, mock thoughtful. “In fact, I expect footnotes and citations.”

Sakura swatted at him weakly, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

Suo leaned in, brushing a kiss against his temple. “But you like me anyway.”

Sakura hesitated, cheeks still flushed, eyes darting to the side. For a moment, it looked like he might deflect again.

But then, softly—quiet as a breath—he said,

“…Yeah. I do.”

Suo stilled.

His teasing smile faded into something gentler.

He reached out, threading their fingers together beneath the sheets, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said, thumb brushing over Sakura’s knuckles. “Because I really, really like you too.”

After that day, everything between them changed—though nothing looked different on the surface.

Suo’s teasing grew bolder. The way he caught Sakura’s hand as they passed in narrow hallways, the way his fingers lingered too long when he helped adjust Sakura’s collar, the almost mischievous sparkle in his eye when he leaned in a little closer than necessary. It was subtle, but it was there—an unspoken claim wrapped in soft smiles and quiet touches.

Sakura tried to act like it didn’t affect him, tried to keep his guard up. But it was impossible.

Because when Suo pulled him into shadowed corners away from prying eyes, those light touches became lingering ones.

A brush of lips against his temple. A whispered word meant only for him.

Suo would smile that slow, lazy smile and say, “Can’t help myself, Sakura-kun.”

And Sakura—no matter how much he scolded himself—found himself melting every time.

“I’m warning you,” Sakura would hiss breathlessly, “we’ll get caught.”

But his hands wouldn’t push Suo away. They barely moved at all.

Instead, they slid up under Suo’s sleeves, traced the bare skin of his wrist, and held him closer.

Because with every stolen moment, every shared secret and shy kiss, the walls Sakura had built around himself cracked a little more.
And with every crack, he realized how much he didn’t want to leave.

One night, Suo found him again—this time in the quiet courtyard that led into the back gardens. The air was cool, the sky velvet dark and sprinkled with stars, and the scent of damp earth clung to the stones beneath their feet.

“Come with me,” Suo said, his fingers brushing lightly against Sakura’s.

Sakura gave him a look. “Again? If the guards see us sneaking around like this—”

“I’ll tell them I was seducing you,” Suo said, deadpan.

“You—!” Sakura spluttered, but Suo was already walking.

With a reluctant sigh, Sakura followed.

They lay together in the grass beneath a plum tree, the petals drifting in the night breeze like pale ghosts. This time, Suo didn’t hesitate. He tugged Sakura down beside him, pulled him close, and rested his head against Sakura’s shoulder like he belonged there.

“You’re clingy,” Sakura muttered.

“You like it,” Suo murmured back.

And… maybe he did.

They were quiet for a while, tangled together under the stars. Suo’s hand found Sakura’s, fingers brushing his knuckles, slow and absent like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I keep thinking,” Suo said softly, “how peaceful it is out here.”

Sakura hummed in response.

“I think I could stay here forever,” Suo added. “With you.”

Sakura turned his head just slightly. “…Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might believe you.”

Suo tilted his face up, meeting Sakura’s eyes.

His smile wasn’t teasing this time. It was soft.

“Then believe me.”

Sakura’s heart stuttered.

He looked away, jaw clenched, but Suo’s hand tightened just slightly in his.

I wish I could.

The days that followed felt like a dream Sakura never expected to live.

Every morning, waking up next to Suo—or even just knowing Suo was nearby—made his chest swell with a quiet, steady warmth. It was new, and strange, and wonderfully real.

He never thought he’d understand love. Not like this. Not the kind that didn’t leave bruises or regrets, but one that healed, soft and slow.

Suo’s touch had become a comfort Sakura craved. The way Suo’s fingers found his hand in a crowded room. The careless way Suo rested his head on Sakura’s shoulder during quiet moments. The gentle teasing smiles exchanged in the middle of the day.

Sakura caught himself smiling more than he thought possible.

He was happy.

More than that—he was whole.

And for the first time, he wasn’t just the assassin with a mission. He was someone who belonged. With Suo by his side, the weight of the world felt lighter.

And Sakura, for the first time, dared to believe that maybe this fragile happiness could last.

Suo’s relationship with his parents, especially the king, kept getting worse. The once distant coldness between them had grown sharper, like frost biting deeper with each passing day. The king’s demands grew harsher, his expectations heavier, and Suo felt the weight of a crown he never truly wanted pressing down harder on his shoulders.

In the grand halls of the palace, Suo moved with quiet grace, but behind closed doors, his father’s voice thundered—full of disappointment and anger.

“You must be stronger, Suo. You are the future of this kingdom. Weakness is a luxury you cannot afford.”

Suo clenched his fists, biting back words that would only widen the gulf between them.

Meanwhile, his mother remained distant and silent, watching from the sidelines, her eyes heavy with unspoken sorrow.

Suo’s only solace came in stolen moments with Sakura, whose presence was a soft light amidst the growing storm.

One evening, after a particularly grueling council meeting, Suo returned to his chambers with his shoulders slumped and his usual composure shattered.

Sakura was there when Suo entered, quietly folding some linens by the window. He looked up as Suo sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the exhaustion etched deeply in his features. His visible eye was clouded with something fragile and raw, the usual sharpness dulled by weariness.

Suo let out a slow breath, sinking onto the edge of his bed. “I hate this,” he muttered, voice rough. “I hate being the crown prince.”

Sakura sat beside him, watching him carefully.

Suo let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through his tangled hair. “The king… my father… he doesn’t just expect me to be the crown prince. He demands it. Demands perfection. And if I falter, if I show any weakness… he’s quick to remind me that I’m failing him.”

He paused, voice catching. “I wish I could just walk away. Just live like a commoner. No expectations, no endless meetings, no court politics. Just… simple days, free of the crown.”

Sakura moved closer, his heart aching to see Suo like this—so unguarded and vulnerable. “Do you think that’s possible?”

Suo shook his head slowly, bitterness tinting his words. “No. Not for me. I was born into this. Raised to carry this burden. Every choice I make is dictated by duty, not desire.”

He stared at his hands, as if seeing the invisible chains wrapped around his fingers. “Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I were just… me. Not the crown prince, but Suo.”

“Maybe,” he said softly. “Maybe having you here… makes it a little easier to bear.”

Sakura’s breath hitched, heart tightening in his chest. He looked down at their hands—his resting gently over Suo’s—and for a moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to crumble.

Just maybe, things could be different.

But of course, his delusions couldn’t last forever.

Every glance from Suo, every teasing smile, every brush of their fingers sent Sakura’s heart soaring. He felt alive in a way he never had before, as if the pieces of his fractured soul were slowly knitting back together.

Yet, beneath the surface, the weight of his secret mission still lingered like a shadow refusing to fade.

One morning, as dawn painted the sky in pale pinks, Sakura was startled by a sharp tapping at his window.

A sleek black crow perched there, steady and silent.

It dropped a small folded note at his feet, then flew away without a sound.

Sakura’s fingers trembled as he unfolded the letter.

The familiar handwriting of his master stared back at him: Remember your mission. The crown prince must die.

His chest tightened painfully. The fragile bubble of happiness threatened to burst.

Just then, Suo stepped into the room, his eyes immediately locking onto Sakura’s pale face.

“Hey,” Suo said softly, concern threading his voice as he took a cautious step closer. “You look off. Are you alright? You’re… pale.”

Sakura forced a small, shaky smile. “I’m fine,” he whispered, folding the letter carefully and hiding it in his sleeve.

But Suo’s gaze was too sharp to be fooled.

“Don’t lie to me,” Suo said gently. “Talk to me, Sakura-kun. You know you can.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. For a long moment, he said nothing, battling the storm inside.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Suo hesitated before he nodded slowly, eyes still searching but willing to respect the space Sakura was trying to create.

“Okay,” Suo said softly, voice low but steady. “If you say so.”

Sakura swallowed hard, relief and guilt twisting inside him.

Suo gave a small, almost sad smile, then stepped back, folding his arms with a quiet grace.

“Just… remember, Sakura-kun,” he said, “I’m here. No matter what.”

Sakura’s heart clenched.

He wanted so badly to believe it.

For now, he nodded, swallowing his fears beneath a veil of calm.

“I know.”

The letter from Sakura’s master lingered in his thoughts like a shadow that refused to lift. No matter how hard he tried to focus on Suo, on the rare moments of peace they found together, that single reminder gnawed at the edges of his mind.

He knew what the letter meant. The mission wasn’t optional. Sakura was the best assassin in the clan, the one who had never failed. If he failed now, it wasn’t just his own failure; it meant handing the task over to someone far more ruthless. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate. And that thought chilled him far more than any threat the king or court could muster.

The king, Suo’s father, had ruled for decades with an iron grip, but he was old now, fragile, and surrounded by layers of loyal guards that made any direct attack impossible. Sakura’s master had made it clear: assassinating the king was out of the question. The palace was a fortress, and the king’s protection was nearly impenetrable.

But even if the king were gone, the crown prince would inherit the throne—Suo would become the next ruler, perpetuating the same system Sakura’s clan wanted to dismantle.

That meant the only way to truly end the tyranny was to eliminate the crown prince. It was a brutal, unforgiving plan, but it was the only way to cut the root of the regime.

Sakura hated the truth in that. He hated that the mission required such cold calculation. But the reality was unavoidable.

He was tasked with ending a dynasty, and that meant the prince he’d come to care for had to die.

How could he betray someone who had become his reason to keep going?

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” Suo asked one day, his voice casual but with an edge that made Sakura’s heart skip.

“What?” Sakura blinked, caught off guard.

“Assassinating me,” Suo said, leaning back with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve had many chances.”

Sakura swallowed hard, the weight of those words settling heavily between them. He looked away, unable to meet Suo’s gaze. “It’s not that simple.”

Suo’s expression softened, though his tone remained steady. “I know. But still... why?”

For a long moment, Sakura hesitated. Then, quietly, he confessed, “Because I don’t want to.”

Suo’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering through them before it melted into something more genuine. “I see.”

He grabs Sakura’s hand.

“You can do it, you know?” Suo said softly, his eyes serious now. “I know my father’s not a good person, and this is the only way to end this tyranny.”

Sakura’s breath caught. He looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling the weight of Suo’s words—and the heavy truth behind them.

Suo looked at Sakura with a strange, tired softness. “If you have to do it—if your mission can’t change—then…” He paused, swallowing hard as if the words hurt him to say. “I won’t stop you.”

Sakura blinked, shock freezing his voice.

Suo’s gaze was steady, almost gentle. “You don’t have to carry this alone. If this is the way it has to be, then I want you to know… I understand.”

His voice cracked just a little, but he forced a small, sad smile. “I want you to be free of this burden. You don’t owe me anything.”

Sakura’s heart ached at the raw vulnerability in Suo’s words.

“No matter what happens, know that I… care about you. More than I ever thought possible.”

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sakura’s forehead. “So if this is the end… please don’t hate yourself.”

Sakura’s lips trembled. “Suo…”

But the words stuck in his throat, drowned by the weight of what Suo had just given him—the permission to choose, even if that choice was so cruel.

Sakura’s chest tightened, breath hitching as he looked at Suo—his confidant, his lover, the person who had somehow become the center of his fragile world. His fingers tightened around Suo’s hand, desperate to hold on, to anchor him.

“No, Suo,” he whispered, voice trembling with urgency and fear. “We don’t have to stay here. We don’t have to live like this—under all this pressure, all these expectations. We can leave. Together. Somewhere no one knows us, no one cares who you are or where you came from. Just a simple life... just us.”

But Suo’s gaze dropped, heavy with a sorrow so deep it seemed to darken the air around them. His hand slipped from Sakura’s slowly, his voice barely audible.

“I wish it were that easy,” he said, eyes glistening with a quiet torment. “You don’t know what it’s like, Sakura. The things I’ve done… things I never wanted to do, but was forced to. My father—he twisted me into what I am now. And those scars... they don’t heal.”
He swallowed hard, as if each word cost him something precious.

“I’m not a prince who dreams of freedom. I’m a prince haunted by the shadows of his past. Running away won’t erase what’s inside me. I can’t live with that knowledge, not anymore. I don’t know how to live... I don’t know if I even want to.”

Sakura’s heart shattered, a cold ache spreading through his chest. He saw the weight Suo carried—the burden of secrets and regrets no one else could bear. His own mission, his deadly task, suddenly felt like a cruel joke against the fragile hope he had dared to feel.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was thick, heavy with grief and unspoken truths. Sakura’s eyes filled with tears he refused to shed, and in that quiet space, he realized the cruelest truth of all—Suo wasn’t just trapped by duty or bloodline. Suo was trapped in a darkness he couldn’t escape, and maybe... maybe he never wanted to.

Suo’s voice cracked, raw with emotion as he spoke, the weight of his confession hanging heavily between them.

“Sakura—no, Haruka,” he corrected gently, his fingers brushing against Sakura’s cheek with trembling tenderness. “You were the best thing that has ever happened to me. Before you, I thought I was already lost, a shadow destined to fade away. But you… you made me think maybe I could live. Maybe there was something worth holding on to.”

His visible eye glistened with unshed tears, the usual sharpness replaced by something painfully vulnerable.

“I wanted to live… for you. I wanted to believe there was a future worth fighting for.”

He swallowed hard, voice breaking again. “But I can’t. Not like this. Not with all the things I carry inside.”

He took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to say the words that tore at his soul.

“I love you, Haruka. I know you feel the same, even if you don’t say it.”

His hand lingered, warm and fragile.

“I’m so sorry—for everything. For the pain this will cause, for asking this of you. But please… do me one last thing.”

His eyes searched Sakura’s, desperate and pleading.

“Kill me.”

Sakura’s breath caught in his throat.

His fingers trembled where they gripped Suo’s hand, eyes wide and wet with disbelief. “No…” he whispered, voice barely audible. “No, I can’t…”

Suo didn’t move. He just looked at him, gaze quiet, accepting.

“You don’t understand,” Sakura choked out, shaking his head. “You think I can just walk away from this? That I can watch you close your eyes and let go like it’s nothing?”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“You think I haven’t imagined it? Over and over?” His grip tightened. “I’ve thought about how I’d do it—how quick it would be, how clean. I memorized the places where it wouldn’t hurt. I thought I could. I thought I would. But then I met you. Then I knew you.”
He was breathing too fast now, his heart pounding like it might break through his ribs. “You made me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. You… you gave me something that felt like love.”

A pause. A soft, broken breath.

“And now you want me to take it all away.”

Suo's eyes darkened, pain flickering across his face.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Sakura whispered. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t want—” He broke off, biting down hard on the sob rising in his throat.

“But if you really wanted to die,” he continued, his voice shaking, “you wouldn’t have let me in. You wouldn’t have held me like that. Kissed me like that. You wouldn’t have looked at me like I was something worth holding onto.”

He reached up, gently cupping Suo’s face in both hands.

“I can’t kill you,” Sakura said again, firmer this time. “Because I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the thudding of their hearts and the echo of words that had changed everything.

Suo’s breath hitched.

For a moment, he looked like he might say something—eyes wide, lips parted, throat working around something unspoken.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed his forehead against Sakura’s, their breaths mingling between them. His voice, when it came, was soft and raw.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, Sakura-kun.”

Sakura’s eyes burned. “Then don’t ask me to do it. Please.”

Suo’s hands found his, their fingers weaving tightly together like he was anchoring himself.

“I’m sorry,” Suo said, and the way he said it—quiet, final—made something inside Sakura splinter.

“Stop saying sorry,” Sakura snapped, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Don’t act like this is already decided.”

“But it is,” Suo said, his voice steady now in a way that made it worse. “You were sent to kill me. If you don’t… someone else will. Or worse, they’ll kill you for failing.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

Sakura shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks now, and Suo reached up to brush them away, gentle, almost reverent. Like Sakura would break. Like he would.

“I’m not afraid of dying, Suo,” Sakura said. “But I’m terrified of losing you.”

Suo smiled, but it was the kind of smile that hurt to look at. “Then don’t lose me,” he murmured. “Just remember me.”

“Don’t talk like that—”

“I love you, Haruka,” Suo said again, brushing his thumb over Sakura’s cheek. “And I’m so glad I met you.”

Sakura couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even breathe.

Because deep down, he understood.

This wasn’t just Suo resigning to fate. This was him choosing it.

And nothing Sakura said could change that.

Not even love.

That night, Sakura’s hands trembled as he poured the tea.

The scent of jasmine filled the small room, gentle and warm—so unbearably normal it made his chest ache. The vial was already empty, the pale traces of the poison dissolving instantly as they touched the liquid. Odorless. Tasteless. Painless. Just one sip was all it would take.

His fingers curled tightly around the tray as he stood.

He walked through the quiet halls, the sound of his footsteps too loud in the silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. His legs moved, but his mind screamed at him to stop. Turn around. Throw the tea away. Run.

But he couldn’t.

Because it had to be him.

It couldn’t be someone else. Not someone who didn’t know Suo’s laughter, or the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. Not someone who didn’t know how warm his hands were, or how soft his voice became when he whispered Sakura’s name in the dark.

No. It had to be him.

Because Suo deserved kindness—even in death.

Sakura pushed open the door to Suo’s chambers.

Suo sat by the window, moonlight painting silver into his hair. He looked up as Sakura entered, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of curtains.

Sakura’s heart cracked.

“I brought tea,” he said, voice barely steady.

Suo smiled gently. He didn’t look surprised.

He always knew.

Sakura set the tray down carefully. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Suo’s eyes flicked to the cup. Then back to Sakura. Slowly, he reached out and picked it up.

He didn’t drink it yet.

Instead, he studied Sakura’s face—quietly, lovingly.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said softly.

Sakura’s throat closed.

He shook his head, stepping closer, voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this. We could— we could still run. We could—”

“No.” Suo’s voice was soft, but firm. “You already know, Sakura. I was never meant to live free. And I don’t want to keep running from the weight of what I’ve done… what I’ve been part of.”

Sakura fell to his knees before him, his hands clutching Suo’s robe, his tears falling hot and fast.

“I didn’t want this,” he choked. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Suo reached out and brushed his knuckles gently down Sakura’s cheek.

“I would have liked meeting you,” he murmured, voice almost a breath. “As ordinary people. No crowns. No daggers. Just… you and me. Maybe in another life, Haruka.”

Sakura’s shoulders shook.

“Can I ask you for one last thing, Haruka?” Suo asks quietly.

Sakura’s throat clenched. His voice came out hoarse.

“Anything.”

Suo’s smile was gentle. Bittersweet. “Call me Hayato. Just once.”

The request hit him like a blade between the ribs. Sakura’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. The name felt too sacred. Too intimate. Too final.

But Suo—Hayato—was still looking at him, waiting.

“…Hayato,” Sakura breathed at last.

Suo smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sakura breathed.

“I’m not,” Suo said. “I got to love you.”

Then, without hesitation, Suo lifted the cup.

Sakura reached out—but too late.

The tea touched Suo’s lips.

He drank.

Just a sip.

Sakura caught him before he could fall.

Suo sagged forward into Sakura’s arms, the cup slipping from his fingers with a soft clatter against the floor.

Sakura held him tightly, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head.

“Hayato—” he choked, the name a desperate prayer on his lips now.

“No, no—please—”

But Suo was still smiling, even as his body grew heavy. His lashes fluttered weakly, and his gaze remained fixed on Sakura’s face, as if trying to take in every last detail before darkness took him.

“I’m glad it was you,” Suo whispered, his breath warm against Sakura’s collar. “If it had to be anyone… I’m glad it was you.”

Sakura’s heart shattered. His grip tightened.

“You idiot,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why couldn’t you just live on?”

For me.

Suo didn’t answer.

His eyes slipped shut.

His body went still.

Sakura trembled, clutching him close as silence settled over the room like snowfall. The cup lay shattered at their feet.

Maybe in another life, Hayato.