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It’s dark in the forest, even on the trail, the foliage above doing its utmost to block Hira from the stars. He has the brightest star of all nestled inside his carriage, and he’s perched on the very edge of his seat, leaning forward, peering at the road ahead with all of his attention, so he can deliver that star home safely. Paper lanterns dangle from all four sides of the carriage roof and try to light the way, while the horses surge steadily onward through the darkness. They’re well trained and well taken care of, because Hira makes sure of it; anything that carries Lord Kiyoi must be in peak condition. Still, he holds their reins; in the end, it’s his responsibility to guide them. If bandits break onto the trail, he’ll be the one to chase them off. If a fox startles the horses, he’ll be the one to soothe them. If the forest catches fire, he’ll be the one to jump down and stomp out the flames, throwing himself headlong into peril, anything for Kiyoi.
Usually, Hira’s good at that. Serving Kiyoi. Ever since he got his job at Kiyoi’s estate and saw Kiyoi’s first play, it’s been his entire life’s purpose. Before that, he had no purpose. He drifted aimlessly down life’s dirty stream like a helpless duckling. He’s grown into a hawk. He focuses on his duties like he’s the king’s personal bodyguard, because in his head, he is. But it’s difficult, because he blasphemously snuck into the back of the theatre during Kiyoi’s performance, and he’s still breathless from it. Kiyoi was amazing. The play was just alright. The script was mediocre. But Kiyoi’s performance was captivating, his charisma enchanting, the sheer power of his presence something that lives in Hira’s soul. He keeps replaying scenes in his head. He clapped faster, harder, louder than all the proper lords and ladies that gave a standing ovation. A number of them delayed Kiyoi afterwards with their shallow complements, especially the young ingenues vying for his attention. It took everything Hira has not to shoo them off himself. It’s their fault Kiyoi set out so late. The moon’s high, the temperature low, and Kiyoi should be home already, warm under the covers.
Every so often, he bangs against the carriage and calls that to Hira, and Hira will shiver at his muffled voice. Hira adores it. He stutters out that he’ll do his best, which is rarely good enough, but he’ll give it none the less, and he’ll spur the horses just a tiny bit faster, even though the wind bites icier that way. He never goes too fast. Kiyoi deserves his soft, plush, cozy fourposter bed, but any faster could tip the carriage or run them into someone coming the other way. Hira’s holding the reins so tight that his hands are shaking; he’ll absolutely get Kiyoi home safely.
Then one of the horses shrieks, tosses its head, and kicks. A younger Hira would’ve panicked. Kiyoi-driven Hira holds fast and pulls both to a stop, just as the carriage jostles, and a horrible crunch rings through the night. The carriage sags. Hira’s heart is hammering, his blood running cold. It sounded like wood splintering. At a halt, he vaults over the side, down to the massive wheels holding up Kiyoi’s palanquin, and sure enough, one’s broken—two spokes are split with a third badly cracked. A jagged rock’s dug into the side, threatening to shatter the whole structure. Hira curses himself for not seeing it in time. He failed.
The door flies open. It nearly hits Hira in the head, but he stumbles back in time. Kiyoi’s gorgeous face pokes out, into the flickering lantern light, warm and beautiful, terribly distracting—for a moment, Hira’s too awed to care about anything else. Then Kiyoi huffs, “What’s the hold up?” and Hira’s heart plummets into his stomach.
“Th-th-the um, the wheel—”
Before he’s finished, Kiyoi shoves the door all the way open. His feet swing over the side, and he moves to step down—Hira rushes to help, offering a hand that Kiyoi takes. Hira’s wearing thin gloves, but Kiyoi’s are bare. Exposed skin under ruffled sleeves. The touch is scintillating. Hira nearly swoons. Kiyoi fluidly reaches the ground in his best dress shoes that should never touch dirt. He takes one look at the carriage and hones in on the problem, mouth twisting in distaste. Hira instantly snaps into a full-body bow and splutters, “S-sorry! Sorry! Will get it repaired right away, as soon as—!” As soon as it’s brought home. They’ll have to bring another few horses to drag it, or perhaps a repairman out to the trail, or—
“We can’t continue on with that, can we?” Kiyoi gestures at the broken wheel. Hira awkwardly nods. It’s late and cold enough that he might make a less sacred client risk it, but he’d never risk Kiyoi. He chews his bottom lip, brain whirring for a solution, but nothing works—they’re a long ways off still, but he’d run it if he had to, except he can’t leave Kiyoi alone like that, and he couldn’t make Kiyoi walk such a distance. They have two horses with them, but without the right equipment, it’d be improper to make Kiyoi ride, especially in the dark along an uneven trail. He could carry Kiyoi, but surely such prolongued contact would earn him the wrath of the gods, who must already hate him for all his sinful thoughts and his proximity to Kiyoi—
Kiyoi crosses his arms and grumbles, “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait it out. Someone will come this way eventually, and we’ll catch a ride with them.”
Of course. Kiyoi’s so smart. Hira frantically nods, even though the thought of Kiyoi having to spend a night in the gloomy, frigid woods, is horrifying. Hira, of course, will wait outside, keeping watch, so no stray wolves or even noisy owls can disturb Kiyoi’s slumber. Hira considers pulling the rest of the wheel’s spokes out and kindling a fire so he can at least keep Kiyoi warm. He’s just about to collect the fallen spindles when Kiyoi starts, “You’ll have to keep me company, of course.”
“Wh—” Hira’s head whips up, eyes wide at his idol. In the dim light, half candle and half stars, Kiyoi’s particularly ethereal. His chin is lifted, gaze cast aside, anywhere but Hira’s grotesque presence. He commands the situation with ease, even though it’s all new and untenable—he’s such a stable, cool, clever person, even when he’s tired and cold. His resilience is dazzling.
“We have no idea how long it’ll take for someone else to come along, so there’s no sense waiting up—besides, we’re in the middle of the path, so they’ll obviously see and stop for us, the noise of which will alert us. In the meantime, it’s much too cold to get any kind of rest. Since there’s two of us, we may as well use each other’s body heat to keep warm. It just makes sense.” The words are pointed, matter-of-fact, inarguable. It must pain Kiyoi to say them, but he must be freezing already; his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink that brings out the colour in his eyes and rich brown hair. Hira, as always, is awed by him. It blows Hira’s mind that Kiyoi would allow him in the carriage too; Kiyoi is an extremely generous ruler. When Hira doesn’t say anything, because he’s in a reverent daze, Kiyoi blushes redder and snaps, “What? It’s not like I’m saying we should snuggle for no good reason or something. It’s just necessary. For survival.”
Hira nods. Of course. Survival. He has to cuddle with Kiyoi to keep Kiyoi warm. It might be blasphemous for pond scum like Hira to adhere to a king, but they’re alone in the woods, so it has to be Hira. No one else can do it. Hira must snuggle Kiyoi for Kiyoi’s precious survival.
The horses keep shifting in place and neighing; the poor things must be anxious to get going. At least they can handle the cold better. A part of Hira feels bad for abandoning them for the inside of the carriage, but he has no choice in the matter. He must snuggle Kiyoi. There’s no other way.
Kiyoi, looking rightfully frustrated, pink and oh-so pretty, mutters, “Right,” and turns back for the carriage. Hira cups his hands together to boost Kiyoi back inside. He can’t wait to touch the underside of Kiyoi’s boot. Then he’ll follow. And touch more. He’ll press close to Kiyoi’s slender frame so his own body heat can warm Kiyoi’s flawless figure. He’ll be Kiyoi’s blanket, and wrap his arms tight around Kiyoi’s waist, gently place a leg over Kiyoi’s soft thighs, nuzzles his cheek against Kiyoi’s creamy skin, breathe in the rich scent of—
Kiyoi glances down the way they came, and Hira could cry—he hears horses. Hooves beating the earth. Then he feels worse, guilty, for being sad; he should be overjoyed that Kiyoi will be rescued. Kiyoi’s comfort is far more important than forbidden snuggles. Kiyoi mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Damn it...” and then swats Hira’s shoulder and orders, “Go flag them down.”
So Hira walks around the carriage to wave his arms, until a set of large chestnut horses appear through the trees, and Hira spots a familiar coachmen bouncing right behind them. Koyama pulls to a halt, and Hira shuffles over.
“Hira?” Koyama blinks, clearly startled but at least not puffing visible cold breath like Hira—he’s smartly bundled up in a thick overcoat and top hat. “Are you alright?”
Hira’s disappointed and ashamed of himself and nods. “M’fine, but, um... the carriage...”
A familiar feminine face pokes out the window on the carriage door. Hira bows to Lady Anna, one of Kiyoi’s costars, that Kiyoi likes so is officially in Hira’s good books, even though most other human beings mean nothing to Hira. Koyama’s alright. He’s always nice to Hira for some reason. They got lucky. If it had been bandits or even some other aristocrat too selfish to stop and save Kiyoi, Hira would’ve had to take them out with his bare hands and take their carriage for his own. Anything for Kiyoi. Kiyoi’s come up behind Hira and calls, “Anna? It’s good to see you. One of the wheels on our carriage broke... do you think you could give us a ride home?” Us. Hira too. Kiyoi is truly a kind king.
Anna opens the door invitingly. “Goodness, of course! I’m glad we ran into you; I hope you haven’t been out in this cold too long...”
“No, it’s fine...” Kiyoi heads for her, and Hira goes to boost him up, except Koyama’s already gotten down and tugs Hira the other way.
“C’mon, we should rig the horses up so we can bring them back with us. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back for the rest of the carriage tomorrow, though...”
Hira nods, knowing that, and follows Koyama to help, even though his heart longs to leap head-first into the carriage, onto Kiyoi’s lap, and keep Kiyoi toasty warm all through the long night.