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Being a Prince's personal guard? Not all it's cracked up to be.
No, really. All those stories about glory, about the pride that is protecting the symbols of the great Soledo Empire? Those dreams he used to hear from random soldiers in the trenches, going on and on about making it big, living a life at the palace and being recognized for their role?
He'd say they were nothing but dreams, fantasies of desperate men clinging to every silver of hope they could find, but… there's always food for him in the kitchens, and Kotoha even finds time to slip him some snacks every now and again. The workers are always friendly with him - maybe even a little too friendly sometimes - and so are most of the other guards. Hiragi and Sugishita (in his own way) have been the friendliest, between breakfasts and sparring sessions. In fact, he has a standing invitation to train with the Order of Bofurin whenever he wants, which he usually takes up two times a week.
So, all in all, he can't complain. Is he the glorified babysitter of the most stubborn Prince in the continent? Yes. Would he be arrested if someone took a look at what's going inside his mind whenever said Prince gets in one of his irritating moods? Also yes. Would he change any of it? Well, yes, actually. There are a couple of nobles - like Lord Toad and Lord Kasa-whatever-was-his-name that might as well ‘disappear under mysterious circumstances’ for all he cares. Beyond that, however, nothing comes to mind.
Well, most times, anyhow.
“So.”
Haruka raises one eyebrow at the Prince, hoping his expression displays just how unimpressed he feels with the whole ordeal. Going by the expectant look on the other's face, he must not be doing a very good job. Either that, or the Second Prince simply doesn't care. Somehow, something tells him the latter option is the likeliest one.
“You're telling me you suspect one of the cooks to belong to the Rebels. The same Rebels that-” once tried to kill you. But that feels too strong, too close to home. And Haruka is only trying to prove a point, there's no need to hurt a friend. “That literally made a fucking newspaper to talk shit about your family and everything that it represents? Those Rebels? And yet you still hired him?”
“Mah, when you speak of it like that…”
“Like what? The truth?” He pauses, taking in a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. Honestly, do all princes lack the bare minimum self-preservation instincts, or did he just happen to get hired by the only one? “Say, have you ever thought of reviewing your hiring process?”
Prince Suo sniffs, nose upturned in offense. With his eyes closed and lips halfway into a pout, he looks so startlingly different from the elegant image he presents to the outside world that it almost seems like a different person. A twin alike Suo Hayato in everything but behaviour.
He tries not to dwell on the little curl of heat that nestles itself beneath his ribcage, small and soft and coloured with misplaced elation at being one of the few allowed to witness such dichotomy.
“I'll have you know that I was not the one who hired him. In fact, the only person I've ever hired was you. And you haven't tried to kill me yet, have you?”
Haruka shrugs, “well, I did punch you in the face.”
“Mm, perhaps,” concedes the Prince, tilting his head just so, “but that was before I hired you, was it not?”
Haruka snorts, at the words and at the confident tone and most of all at Prince Suo's expression, shrouded in the smug sort of self-satisfaction that usually accompanies an absolute belief in being right. And because he might lack quite a few self-preservation instincts himself, he says “Sure, let's go with that.”
“Sakura-kun?”
Haruka crosses his arms, giving yet another shrug as he does his best to feign nonchalance. He's never been that good of an actor, but surely even he can manage to keep a lid on the smirk that threatens to burst forward. “Look, all I'm saying is that you can be pretty annoying when you put your mind to it.” Prince Suo blinks once, twice, so caught off guard that he seems incapable of forming a proper response. “So what if I've pondered on the best ways to wring your neck without putting in too much effort? Considered the advantages and disadvantages of ‘accidentally’ punching you again?” A pause. Small, deliberate. “You don't see me acting on it, do you?”
The poor Prince needs a moment to gather his bearings enough to answer. When he does, his voice carries an amused perplexment that only comes out when Haruka manages to truly surprise him. “You know, most people would throw you to the gallows (?) for that comment.”
Biting down on his smirk, Haruka shoots back, “most people wouldn't have even hired me in the first place. You'll survive.”
“Not if you wring my neck!”
Another snort “I literally just said I wouldn't.”
Prince Suo leans back on his chair, arms carelessly splayed over the armrests as he rests his head against the cushion. There's a smile playing on his lips, curving them ever so slightly and making his cheeks look even softer.
Just another thing in the long list of things he shouldn't be noticing about the Prince, but alas. He has eyes, doesn't he? As long as he doesn't do anything about it, there should be no harm.
The quiet interlude brings his attention back towards the problem at hand. Better saying, the exquisite dessert innocently placed in front of the Prince, perched on its fine china plate and with equally sophisticated silverware perfectly arranged next to it. A dark, spongy base - possibly chocolate - carefully cut into a circle, on top of which a thick cream is laid in wide swirls. Of an orange so light it borders on white, it looks like it would just about melt in one's mouth. The height of luxury, Haruka thinks, as he spots what appears to be little golden shavings flecked on top.
And yet, the Prince looks at it with the distrust normally reserved for a suspicious barrel left unsupervised in the center of the city square.
Which, considering the possibility that there might be a member of the Rebels working at the kitchens, might not be all that misplaced.
“Okay, look” he tries to think for a bit, but there's not actually much he can do. Not right now, at least. “Do you want me to throw this out? Ask Kotoha for something else?”
“We don't even know if this was prepared by that man, though” Prince Suo argues back, because of course he does. “It would be a waste of a perfectly fine dessert.”
Resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, Haruka takes in a deep, slow breath, as inconspicuously as possible. Tries to keep a hold of his irritation.
The Prince can be difficult. Haruka already knew that, pretty much since the very beginning. For all that he might joke about it, he doesn't actually want to reach the point of punching the Prince. No matter how much he might deserve it sometimes.
“Then do you want me to go to the kitchens and ask around for who made it?”
With a resolute shake of his head, Prince Suo reasons “a dessert like this was probably made in the morning. Whoever made it has surely already ended their shift.”
“I don't know what else you want me to do” he confesses “do you want me to taste it? Make sure it's not poisoned?”
Like the sun breaking over the horizon, an excited expression takes over Prince Suo's face. Haruka fights to hold on to the relieved sigh that threatens to escape, so much so that he nearly misses the slight disbelief mixed in among the eagerness.
“You'd do that for me?”
Nearly, but not quite.
Taking the liberty to sit down on the plush chair placed in front of the desk, Haruka pushes a paper pile to the side and tugs the dessert closer to himself. It gives him the cover he needs not to look into the Prince's eye as he says, “it is my job to keep you as safe as I can, isn't it? For all that you might annoy the hell out of me sometimes, I do like you alive.”
“Aww” there's movement on the chair in front of him, followed by the soft thud of the Prince's elbows hitting the table. Haruka doesn't even need to look up to know that he must be sporting some kind of too-wide, irritating smile “You do like me, Sakura-kun!”
A wave of blood rushes to his cheeks from the overly amused tone, and as it tends to happen in situations like these, Haruka finds himself stuck between embarrassment and cover-up anger. “Fuck off! I just don't want to lose the best paying job I've had in years!”
Prince Suo hums, and when Haruka dares to look up at him, it's to find him supporting his chin in his interwoven fingers. Confronted with soft eyes and a soft smile and a soft everything, Haruka finds himself fighting not to flush even harder under the Prince's gaze. He's not sure he's very successful in that particular endeavour.
The fork is cool to the touch when Haruka picks it up, delicate in a way that leaves him afraid he'll somehow damage it from holding it wrong. Is this what being part of the royalty feels like? Using silverware that feels like it'll disintegrate if you hold it too tightly and eating show-stopping desserts that might as well be capable of stopping your heart too?
Swallowing down around nothing - he can barely believe he's really doing this, but there's no going back now, is there? - Haruka cuts a piece of it and brings it to his mouth. Does his best to ignore the penetrating gaze boring into him and the owner who doesn't do a thing to try to disguise it. Of course that Prince Suo would have no shame, not even in this situation.
Closing his mouth around it he- it's heavenly. Chocolate cake and hazelnut cream, along with something richer, spicier - nutmeg, maybe? - that makes a feast of flavours erupt on his tongue. It's sweet, but not overly so, and the way it melts in his mouth nearly makes Haruka himself melt back all over the chair. He's only able to reign himself back at the last moment, forcing weight onto his limbs to lock them in their place. His expression - well, the damage is already done, probably. No use in trying to school his features now.
So lost in the headiness of it, Haruka takes a moment too long to remember why he's even doing this in the first place. But not even the knowledge that the dessert might be poisoned makes any dent in the satisfaction he feels from merely a bite. It's maybe a bit pathetic, yes, but Haruka finds that he doesn't really care.
This is the Prince that found him living deep in the heart of the poorest neighbourhood in Cison, the capital city. Even if Haruka was one to care about something like pride, not much of it would have survived after their incident of a first meeting, anyhow.
“I don't feel anything odd” he informs the Prince after a while, during which the expectant look in the other's face just keeps getting bigger and bigger. “Unless it's a slow acting poison, it should be safe.”
Prince Suo nods once, and then again, as if he forgot he had already done it once before. A careful - maybe too careful - blankness blankets his previous expression, until there's no trace left of it any longer. Except that perhaps the Prince is more careless than he should, or Haruka has become more well-versed in reading him than he knew, because he's pretty sure he spies a hint of nervous energy hidden underneath his mask.
But why? Does he still not trust the dessert? There's logic in it, of course, but if the Prince has feared a slow acting poison all along, why did he even ask Haruka to try it?
His musings, however, are rudely interrupted by having the Prince nearly steal the fork out of his hand, after which he takes a small - smaller than Haruka's, at least - bite of the dessert. So not afraid of poison, then. But why-
Prince Suo's beautiful face scrunches up in an expression of displeasure. “This is far too sweet for me” he coughs out, handing the fork back to Haruka. “There. You liked it, didn't you? Finish it for me.”
Still trying to wrap his head around it all, Haruka blinks back at him, mindlessly accepting the fork back. What is even happening?
“Prince Suo?”
“I already said it's too sweet, Sakura-kun” shaking his head in a clearly dismissive manner, the Prince pouts “and such a shame, it looks absolutely lovely. Don't let it go to waste, will you?”
Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Haruka pulls the plate just a bit closer to himself. When he eats, he does it slowly, trying to imprint into his memory such a divine taste and equally eye-catching appearance. With how unlikely the possibility of a similar incident occurring once again is, he'd do well to remember what is surely the best dessert he's ever tasted in his life.
“Do you enjoy sweet things, Sakura-kun?” Prince Suo pipes up when Haruka goes to scoop another bite, something gentle on the line of a ruby eye as it gazes at him.
Haruka stops, takes a moment to consider. “Depends on what kind of sweetness.”
Suo Hayato is a dignified prince. He is.
His mother has beaten manners and elegance into him ever since he could walk. The way he talks and walks and sits and holds the cutlery and waves and-, everything he does has to be royal. Worthy of a Prince. He should never, ever, under any circumstance, do anything that might tarnish his family's reputation.
Somebody should say that to the heap of limbs messily thrown over one of the kitchen's tables. Completed with messy hair and ruffled clothes and the sort of despondency that would give his mother a heart attack if she saw him like this. And then make her come back from the grave to beat him up until he's black and blue.
But his mother isn't here to see, is she?
No, instead his woes are observed by Kotoha, his partner in crime and the exasperated recipient of his latest ramble. Perhaps she's already regretting going along with his idea. Perhaps she's getting some kind of twisted amusement from seeing the normally prim Prince being a complete mess on her working table. There's really no way to tell.
“What I still don't understand” hands on her hips, Kotoha holds the tone of a deeply unimpressed mother when she catches her children trying to sneak their way to the cookie jar “is why did you have to tell Sakura a whole tale about the cake being poisoned. Couldn't you have just told him you requested it specially for him?”
Hayato shoots her a look of disbelief, which may or may not be a little undermined by the fact that his face is still half buried in his arms. Adjusting himself just so, he drones “because that wouldn't be weird at all, would it?”
“Probably less weird than feeding him a whole conspiracy theory, yes” shrugging her shoulders, Kotoha turns her attention back to the dough she'd been working on when Hayato arrived. “I'm half surprised he hasn't come here already to ask around for the ‘Rebel’.”
“It's not for the lack of trying, I assure you. I told him I already had someone looking into it. Someone who's known the staff for longer.”
Kotoha raises an eyebrow at him, though Hayato can't quite tell if it's in surprise or reproach. “Using the ‘you're new here’ card, I see” she hums “how did he take it?”
“As well as he could, I suppose. Not exactly happy about it, but didn't glare at me too much either.”
Though such wasn't the intention, his comment drags a laugh out of Kotoha, who shakes her head but doesn't comment. For a while neither of them says anything, content to keep to themselves while Kotoha works the dough and Hayato observes the soothing, repetitive motions.
“Did he like it, at least?” the question is so sudden that it throws Hayato off for a moment, not immediately making the connection to the topic they were discussing earlier. But when he does-
The blissful expression on Sakura's face is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind, the memory so strong that he swears his ears still hear the echoes of the little hum that had accompanied it. His heart jumps at the thought of it, at the idea that he'd been the one responsible for the smile he'd seen on Sakura's face. The one he hadn't even tried to contain while he all but melted all over the desk with each bite taken.
It had been so alike his usual behaviour, so different from the Sakura that tends to oscillate between sheer unbotheredness and explosive embarrassment. Hayato hadn’t been able to help it, looking his fill in a way that was certainly very undignified and probably even bordering on uncomfortable. Sakura, bless him, had said nothing about it - though there’s also the possibility he was too busy enjoying his cake to notice.
“He… really liked it, I think” biting down on his lower lip, Hayato resists the urge to borrow further into his arms, hide away from the world and especially from Kotoha’s knowing grin. “I’d never seen him smiling like that, Kotoha.”
“Well, then you better start thinking about which lie to tell him next time, don’t you?”