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The motion of the car's door opening appears to be slower than it originally was; it swings tardily, like the wind were pushing it back. Nonetheless, it was wide open as fast as an eye blink, as self-doubting, incredulous thoughts of a low-esteem person.
Once the door was open, Nakajima Atsushi got out of the car, silk suit pants slid off the leather seat, a flossy, tiger-pattern boa in tow, the fabrics slipped off the leather like waterfalls on a cliff. The silver-haired man was met by a bowing chauffeur holding the door for him.
Dazai was there, with a casual, delicate bow, and his hand tucked under his chest.
Upon seeing Dazai, Atsushi's ceremonious smile stretches more genuine. The brunette walks in strides towards him, stopping before, sprucing whatever flaw he saw in Atsushi's attire, trimming his collar, adjusting the boa, and buttoning the last button on the vest— Atsushi wanted that one open. The silver-haired fought off a blush. How tousled does he look now in front of his subordinates?
Dazai taps the side of his index finger upon Atsushi's chin, pleasingly, before stepping away merrily, guiding Atsushi forward. The chauffeur closed the door after them, returning back inside the car.
Atsushi stared nostalgically at this majestic palace, his childhood home, the home he got chased out of a decade ago. It stands as glorious as it was, composed of one big, centering, glass dome, towering turrets. He climbed to the top of each of them, and big, arched windows, and he still remembers the long, idle hours he spent tarrying with Dazai looking out of them.
The palace was pure white in color with golden emboss, equally paved, a white yard, and a lawn path leading to the garden, the mesmeric garden hiding behind trimmed shrubs. It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from holding Dazai's hand and dashing to the garden.
To control his palpitations, —nostalgia, and desires— Atsushi folds his arms over the boa, which was a gift from an ally, a French fashion designer, with whom they established their alliance by annihilating from illegal experiments laboratory on abilities users and exposing them to the public.
For decade, loyalty to the throne, loathing for fake king, and common anguish caused to the people by said king had formed forces first of their own, at stand by fighting with sweat and blood, working with tremendous dedication, and what was Atsushi feeling now isn't anxiety but excitement, today, the day he would return to his rightful place, and all hard work would payoff.
Dazai gesticulates for the guards before falling in behind him, letting Atsushi lead the way. The silver-haired faltered for a moment, but before any ideas could devolve into premonitions, he blew the thoughts away with a sharp sigh.
Atsushi suppressed a snort while looking at his guards; they looked like mafia, pacing to their positions, all dressed sharp in black, with sunglasses, and weapons at hand reach, but they had proven their loyalty plenty of times.
With head held high, straight posture, and steady steps, the lost crown prince carves his way to the royal palace, where today a ceremony was held in memory of the royal family, who each had been found murdered in the chambers a decade ago, sans one missing member, who many believed his dead body had been dragged somewhere for his special powers.
All by orders of the current king— Shibusawa Tatsuhiko, the fake king who killed the royals and cried at their funeral the next day. No one has figured out Shibusawa's play, and if they do but aren't careful, their missing would be the next big thing for the kingdom, joining the prince and a long, never-ending list.
However, no one in the palace —either from Shibusawa's allies or honest to the throne politicians— knows that Atsushi caught Shibusawa himself last night, nor that the crown prince has returned, fit as a fiddle, to claim the throne back.
"My prince…" Dazai calls out in a smooth noncommittal tone before slipping in front of him, beckoning for the guards. On cue, the guards walk over, revealing numerous servants they have been holding hostage, "My prince, these are extra workers who came today's morning as backup for tonight's ceremony."
Leaning in, Dazai covers his mouth while whispering in his ear, "We don't know if any of them were undercovered."
Atsushi, trying to focus on Dazai's words rather than voice or the breath caressing his ear, —gosh, the things they remind the prince of— nodded ruefully, "They weren't here last night raid?"
"No, they haven't."
Atsushi heaved a sigh, seeing a diligent citizen under interrogation was immensely disturbing. "Alright, assign a team to verify their credentials and backgrounds, then let them go if they are clean."
"As you want, my prince." Dazai nodded with a small, elegant bow before turning around. Just as glamorous, he raises his hand, gesturing for a blonde woman guard, "Captain! Come here for a second."
The woman, wearing a finer black suit than most, hurried to them from her position by the entry staircase, bowing once she was before them, "My prince…"
"Captain, did you check the way?" Dazai asked her flatly, as he already knew the answer.
Dazai was a prodigy in every field, impeccable, academically, militarily and in tact. Atsushi forgot that the older was supposed to be his personal butler occasionally, it wasn't fair. Dazai would've been a better crown prince, a greater king than Atsushi could ever be. If Dazai were in his shoes, would it take him a decade to return to the throne?
Would it take Atsushi a decade if Dazai weren't with him?
"We did. All the corridors and rooms, from the workers' floor to the grand hall, are clear." The captain answered instantly, straightening her posture slightly.
Atsushi hums in approval, "And the workers?"
"We have clarified their identities; we're only waiting for orders."
"Very well, I guess you know what you must do from here?" A deep, respectful nod, "Then, you're dismissed."
The blonde captain paced away, Dazai tracked her for a second before turning back to his prince, offering him his hand with an ever charming smile, "Shall we go?"
Atsushi's heartbeats were rapid, and his palms were sweating bullets inside his gloves, not only because of the handsome man before him asking to accompany him, but for the fact because his retrieved home was steps away.
Accepting the offered hand to him, Atsushi walked to the entrance with Dazai, climbing the white marble staircase. He lets go once the older's hand slips off his. Dazai lingers behind him for a second, whispering orders, Atsushi didn't stop nor budge, too catch on with the moment.
Before him was a familiar, heavy, wooden door, the entry to the ground floor— the workers' floor. Atsushi used to sneak out with Dazai to the garden via it. The prince thought he was being sneaky, running out every day, from the same route, at the same time, later Dazai told him that everyone knew about his breaks—his parents, the teachers and workers, but decided to play along.
The ground floor was like a maze, connecting to the upper floors by a web of corridors, stairs, and elevators; no stranger could find his way in. It takes months for new workers to memorize it, let alone that no stranger knew about the floor. The floor was literally under the ground; the palace's design gave it a fake facade. One who's looking for the ground entry would find it.
Atsushi chose this entry so he could reappear as the true heir of the throne through the royal wing, like every ruler hosting a ceremony, demonstrating his dominance over the palace, showing up through the main entrance like a guest wouldn't be wise to him.
A palm landed upon the small of his back, warm and encouraging. Atsushi doesn't need to look to know who, "You can do it, my prince."
And he does.
The corridor was just like the day they left, neat, walls half down way in crimson brown, and gold-whitish moquette, the scent of bygone years and yearning saturated the air.
The ground floor was a simpler vision from the upper ones, no pictures hung on the walls nor curious decoration every few meters, the corridors were narrower and rooms smaller, practical for daily chores
Atsushi walked in, pretty much indulged with the moment he almost missed Dazai coming to a halt at the doorway; nevertheless, he walked till he reached corridor's intersection. In the right hallway, there was an elevator that would to the royal wing, the crown prince stared distractedly, reminiscing.
Atsushi turned around, locking eyes with Dazai, who caught up with him. A tear rolled down once the crown prince blinked. Shock and exasperation overwhelmed him, would have been emitted if Dazai didn't step in, wiping the tear —the sign of weakness— genially.
"How much time do we still have?" Atsushi asks him, voice trembling, drenched in self-frustrated.
"I fear not much." Dazai didn't seem as disturbed as his words were; in fact, a sly smirk colored his face maliciously, "But why do we let them wait longer? You're the future king, at the end."
The edges of Atsushi's lips stretch upwards, but it's the last genuine expression he's capable of. His heart was heavy with feelings now.
Wordlessly, Dazai took Atsushi's hand into his, interlocking their fingers, before taking the left way.
Walking to their destination, a path both still memorized, it didn't take them long to reach.
A guard who was standing by had paced away once seeing them approaching, or rather, once he saw Dazai. Atsushi tried keeping a straight face. Most of the workers, either servants or guards, fear Dazai more than him, and Atsushi doesn't know what he should be feels as king; his people fear his personal butler than him.
Atsushi pushes those thoughts aside for later when they come to a stop just outside a clean, humble kitchen.
This kitchen was one of two on the ground floor, and the closest to the entrance. As kids, he and Dazai would come here to have a quick snack after playing in the garden.
Unlike the corridors, the kitchen had changed marginally, with the stove, the simple decoration, and the tidy utensils around the kitchen.
Atsushi crept inside. This kitchen was the last room he hid in before escaping, the memory still as hazy as it was, dusky with gunpowder, fear and tears, a memory never would he forget, nor does he want to.
The kitchen was clean, one small pot rested on the turn-off stove, opposite it was a fridge, a new, double-door fridge instead of the old, single-door one.
Atsushi stood in front of it, joined by Dazai, behind the new, bigger fridge were a secret drawer, more like hideout, it was big enough for several children, it's main purpose was hiding weapons, and only chosen people know about it's existing, but now, giving the empty space next to the fridge, the person who put the fridge here properly does know about the drawer, unless they were trying to hide it more, it was a weak chance, because no one reaches for it at the raid last night.
Both men pushed aside the fridge with little help from Atsushi's power, Dazai didn't want Atsushi to help him, let alone use his ability; it would ruin his attire, and he had a ceremony to attend, but Atsushi adamantly refused, insisting that he was weak physically. Eventually, Dazai gave in and let the crown prince do whatever he pleased.
When the fridge was pushed aside, Dazai squats, fumbling over the wall where he remembers the hidden door was, and once he was sure with his fingers' locating, he pushes.
The door swift open mechanically, on cue. Atsushi squats next to Dazai, collecting his boa into his lap, staring absentmindedly inside the relatively empty drawer. A single thin envelope was lying there, with a thick sheet of dust covering the space, and a thinner layer of dust was covering the small room walls.
Relief and guilt, poignancy and lament, new sentiments accumulate over old, smoldering ones, but happiness had overshone. Atsushi thought he lost that envelope forever; the guilt he felt all these years was unbearable.
Dazai, next to him, reached out for the envelope, shaking the dust off at hand length before handing it to him with considerable care, careful not to damage the tender paper nor its contents.
Atsushi took the envelope in tremulous ardor, opening the envelope, dust emitted along with the Polaroid sheet he drew out.
It was a photo of him with his late family, an unprompted, casual photo they took in their last summer together. Atsushi sweeps his hand fondly over the photo, falling on his knees, legs gone weak, and his heart beating hardly, shaking his whole upper body with every beat.
Atsushi intended to take it, he needed it, but fright and inquietude have misting up his contemplates, he was a small, lone, scared kid in this dark, cramped room, when Dazai came to get him out, he was pretty much engaged in getting as far as they can that when he noticed the photo disappearance it was too late. Going back would've cost them more than their lives, since Shibusawa wanted Atsushi alive.
As a kid, Atsushi carried on plenty of regrets, but losing the photo was the heaviest. His regrets as the crown prince were just as heavy, of how much Failure he was as the crown prince, whilst everyone was fighting for a way out, Atsushi was just a burden, an obligation.
It took Dazai years to convince him otherwise, but when faced firsthand with the past and its aftermath, doubts always find a way to creep in.
A Feather-like soft kerchief landed on his damp, left cheek, wiping the tears that fell reluctantly. A gloved hand pressed the silver-haired face intimately against the brunette's chest, and warmth seeps through lukewarm fabrics.
Dazai rests his chin above Atsushi's head, the older's heart throbs in a way Atsushi has never heard before, sturdy and delicate all at once.
Dazai let Atsushi disclose his pent-up feelings after years of pretending apathy. He sobs quietly, whimpering while clenching the back of the brunette's vest. It was a long, hard decade, feeling more like a century; it could've taken Atsushi more without Dazai.
The silver-haired, he doesn't want to even think about it, Dazai's existence is a part of Atsushi's being.
They stayed like that for a while longer before Dazai broke the moment, standing up with a firm hold of Atsushi's hands, helping him to his feet again. He leans down, wiping Atsushi's face and preening him once again, "I fear I must cut our time short, Atsushi-kun. We still have a whole nation to bombshell."
Looking down at the photo, Atsushi smiles weakly, "Yes, you're right. We still have one more step."
Dazai closes their palms together, caressing the younger's hands before taking the photo, "I'll hide this with me, you go and knock them sideways."
Atsushi nodded tardily, squeezing back the other's hand, "Will do."
A heartbeat, "And Dazai-san?"
"Humm?"
"I'm sorry…" Atsushi said shamefully, looking down at their joined hands.
Dazai raised his hand, rubbing his thumb over Atsushi's cheek, "You're forgiven."
The younger leans in with a loving smile, and eyes glistening like a kid seeing the starlit sky for the first time.
"Thank you."
Atsushi's words of appreciation were for far different reasons.
Dazai smiles back, a carefree, genuine smile, "Anything for you."
With more confidence, the crown prince stepped away. He kept holding the older hand momentarily before letting go, fingers twitching after the warmth. Dazai jutted his head, a silent promise for more than holding hands afterwards.
Atsushi's face flared up, pursing his lips in a rather fond way. The crown prince strode away, his boa dangling behind, but instead of going outside, he moved towards the stove.
Seamlessly, he took off the pot's small lid, steam flux outside, revealing several boiled eggs inside. Atsushi should be leaving for the ceremony, but he felt quite hungry. This will do.
"Dazai-san, crack these eggs for me." Atsushi turned around, a strong appetite written all over his face.
"Of course, my prince."
✥
Every part of the woods looked the same, brown, orange and red, trees with thick brown trunks, dry, hot colored tree leaves scattered around the path, sunbeams peeking through the heavy rain clouds, painting the gray sky gold.
Autumn wasn't the ideal season to stay outside for the whole day, but the twelve-year-old Dazai, with a runaway eight-year-old crown prince, never stopped walking since yesterday, albeit starving and drowsy.
Occasionally, Dazai would turn around to drag groggy Atsushi, who either fell asleep against a tree mid walking or tripped over and decided to never stand up.
The younger boy was wearing Dazai's black beanie after losing his fancy trapper.
The brunette would've let the boy be exposed to the autumn's cold winds and unstable weather if it wasn't for how noticeable the crown prince was; his bright white hair stood out between the woods' dark and hot colors. It would be over if anyone caught them, Dazai would be killed, and Atsushi would be kidnapped.
"Come'n, Atsushi-sama, we need to be outside the capital by tonight!" The older boy cried out, expecting to hear a grumble or protest, but he was met with silence.
Precipitately, Dazai spins around, sighing in relief once he sees the crown prince sitting under a tree.
Atsushi was shrinking on himself, hugging his knees close to him, and his head hanging low, "It's over…"
"Huh…?" Dazai moved closer to the younger boy, "What is over?"
Atsushi didn't answer right away, and Dazai felt his wrath swelling; time was running out for them, and they couldn't afford such luxuries as sitting or chatting around.
"Atsushi-same?" He called the other in a questioning manner, leaning down.
"It's over. Everything! Everyone, we have! No one would help us, no one for us! Shibusawa, soon, will…" Atsushi's voice was dry, flat, with not a single trace of tears. Like someone else has taken over— a miserable adult instead of the eight-year-old crybaby prince he knew.
"Why don't you hand me over? There's no one ordering you around anymore, do whatever you want."
From all the probabilities, Dazai didn't see that coming; had the kid gone mad from lack of sleep, or was he in despair?
Nonetheless, shock hit him first, like slap he didn't deserve, then anger as reflex to the slap— as reflex for much more, he was livid, but he didn't talk, didn't react, he was raised in the royal palace to be the future butler for the future king, aggressive reacts and remarks were for street thugs and noble women who did nothing but think the world own them something.
Instead, he counted his teeth till he came to a resolution.
The brunette crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow challengingly. "Now, there's no one to tell me what to do, I won't be calling you Atsushi-sama nor my prince anymore!"
Atsushi stiffens, lifting his head slowly, a query written all over his face. Dazai flashes him a smirk, "You never seem like a fitting king anyway."
The younger tensed, "You're just a snotty, crying twerp. How could someone like you be the crown prince, let alone a king?!"
Dazai, in all his short life, didn't think that he would be happy to see tears pooling in Atsushi's eyes.
"R-right…"
That's all what the crown prince, the future king could say in his defense. How pathetic.
Dazai heaved a sigh, crouching before the younger, Atsushi, on his side, only shot him a big, teary puppy eye.
"You know…" a pause, "after everything we have gone through, your ill assumption has really wounded me…"
Atsushi's shift in his place, guilt crept into his features, "I'm sorry, don't know what has come over me, I shouldn't have— sorry…"
"Don't beat yourself about it. We all had a disastrous day."
"But I—"
"Shhh!" Dazai interrupts him with a finger on his lips, "You're just a crybaby now, we're gonna talk about it when you're older."
Atsushi gaped at him, like he wanted to protest, but no words left him.
"You're a great friend, a nice person and a kind-hearted prince… maybe with little… err, much training, you would be a greater king."
Dazai stood up, stretching his hand out for Atsushi.
The younger took his hand, "Thank you…"
"Don't thank me yet." Dazai ruffles the beanie, scattering the locks underneath it wildly, before knitting their fingers together, "Now, don't let go of my hand, alright?"
The younger boy nodded vigorously, clutching the older's hand tightly.