Archive of Our Own

The third knock in ten minutes made Hakuryuu’s pen skid across his ledger. He sighed, pushing back from his desk just as the door swung open without waiting for permission. Judar stood framed in the doorway, arms stacked precariously with an assortment of small, ribbon-tied boxes that teetered dangerously with every shift of his weight.

"Here," Judar announced, and dumped the entire pile onto Hakuryuu’s paperwork. The boxes slid in a cascade, one bouncing off the edge of the desk before Hakuryuu caught it mid-air. He turned it over—gilded script spelled out Meltique Confiserie across the lid.

"Chocolates?" Hakuryuu flipped open the nearest box. Inside lay neat rows of cocoa-dusted truffles, each nestled in a frilled paper cup. He plucked one out and popped it into his mouth. Dark, bitter-sweet, with a hint of orange peel. Expensive.

"What on earth is going on today?" Judar groaned, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I keep getting ambushed by people I don’t even know," he hissed, pacing the length of the study. "They corner me in hallways, shove these at me, and start rambling about appreciation and fondness like I’m supposed to care!" A particularly violent turn sent another box toppling. Hakuryuu caught that one too.

"It’s a special day," Hakuryuu said mildly, licking powdered sugar from his thumb. "They’re trying to start a new tradition. Showing affection, mostly romantic. It’s—"

"Stupid," Judar snapped. He whirled, braid lashing like an agitated tail. "The moment I get involved with someone, suddenly everyone develops an interest in me? Where was this energy last year? Last decade?" His crimson eyes flicked to the mountain of chocolates with undisguised irritation. "I don’t even like sweets."

Hakuryuu hid a smirk behind another truffle. "You could’ve refused them."

"And deal with the wounded looks? The drama?" Judar mimed a dramatic swoon, clutching imaginary pearls. "‘Oh, Judar-sama, you´re breaking my heart!’ Spare me." He flopped into the chair across from Hakuryuu, long legs sprawling. "Besides," he added, quieter now, "some of them were… nervous. Like they’d practiced this."

Hakuryuu paused mid-chew. That was new. Judar didn’t usually notice—or care—about other people’s vulnerabilities. He set the half-eaten chocolate aside. "So what are you going to do with all these?"

Judar flicked a stray piece of chocolate wrapper off Hakuryuu's desk with a careless fingertip. "Just giving them to you," he said, waving vaguely at the scattered sweets. "Like you can see. I don’t want any of those." His crimson eyes darted away, avoiding Hakuryuu’s gaze as he slouched deeper into the chair, arms crossed defensively over his chest. The afternoon sunlight caught the loose strands of his dark hair, casting faint shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

"Well, thank you," Hakuryuu said dryly, leaning his chin on one hand, elbow propped against the polished wood. His blue eyes gleamed with something between amusement and curiosity. "But I doubt this is really the first time you’ve been approached by others." He reached for another chocolate, unwrapping it slowly. "Even back then, I noticed you had admirers. You just never paid attention."

Judar scoffed. "Probably because they were boring." His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against his forearm.

Hakuryuu shook his head, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "No. I think it was more than that." He paused, studying Judar’s reaction carefully. "You wanted to keep up the appearance of someone radiating power—untouchable, strong. You said something like that once." A beat. "But mostly, you’re too focused on whatever obsession you’ve got at the moment to notice anything else." He tilted his head slightly, voice lowering. "Or maybe... you just couldn’t imagine someone liking you?"

Judar stiffened, his fingers stilling mid-tap. His gaze snapped back to Hakuryuu’s, sharp and assessing. For a moment, the air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken tension. Then Judar shrugged, deliberately casual, though the movement lacked its usual fluidity. "Doesn’t matter," he muttered. "I’m not interested either way."

Hakuryuu raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I told you," Judar said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I’m involved." He bit out the word like it was a challenge.

Hakuryuu blinked, genuinely caught off guard. He set the half-eaten chocolate down. "With who?" he asked, voice carefully neutral.

Judar shot him a glare that could peel paint. "With you! Don't play dumb and tell me this is nothing." His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, leather creaking under his grip. "We're talking, fucking, sharing meals. You always approach me now—like you want me around." His voice cracked on the last word, raw in a way that made Hakuryuu's stomach twist. "That's not nothing, Ryuu. We are something."

Hakuryuu exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. "Yeah," he murmured, tracing the edge of a chocolate wrapper with his thumb. "I'm sure we are... something. Probably." The words came out flat, detached—like he was discussing the weather.

The anger hit Judar like a lightning bolt, white-hot and staggering. His breath came sharp, ribs burning with the force of it. Why? Why does that— He didn’t finish the thought. I didn´t need to. The fury was already coiling in his gut, venomous and familiar. "Anyway," he spat, shoving upright so fast the chair screeched against marble. "Enjoy your stuff. I have things to do."

He was halfway to the door when Hakuryuu’s voice cut through the silence—quiet, but razor-edged. "Judar."

Judar didn’t turn. Couldn’t. His pulse roared in his ears.

"Who are you really mad at?"

The question hung between them, sharp as a knife. Judar’s shoulders stiffened. "Fuck off," he muttered.

Hakuryuu stood, methodically brushing chocolate crumbs from his sleeves. "You’re the one who walked in here ranting about gifts you didn’t ask for," he said evenly. "You’re the one who dumped them on my desk like they offended you personally." He rounded the desk, steps deliberate. "And now you’re furious because I didn’t—what? Declare my undying devotion the second you said ‘we’re something’?"

Judar whirled, braid lashing. "I didn’t ask for—"

"No, you didn’t," Hakuryuu interrupted, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You never ask. You take. You assume." Blue eyes locked onto crimson, unflinching. "So tell me—when have I ever been allowed to want you first?"

Judar’s breath caught. The words hit like a blow, knocking the fury clean out of him. He stared, lips parted, at the simmering intensity in Hakuryuu’s gaze—the quiet, seething hurt beneath the calm.

Hakuryuu stepped closer, close enough that Judar could see the faint scar along his jawline, the way his pulse jumped in his throat. "You think I don’t care?" he whispered, voice rough. "You think I’d let just anyone drag me into bed, into my life, if I didn’t—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

Judar swallowed hard. The silence stretched, thick with something unsaid.

"Being like that is not who I am," Hakuryuu snapped, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab something—Judar’s shoulders, maybe, or his throat. "I’m no blushing woman who’ll tell you every damn day that I like you being around, that you have beautiful eyes—" His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, jaw working. "But you should know I care. I swear to god, Judar."

Judar blinked.

"It’s so hard with you sometimes," Hakuryuu continued, quieter now, but no less intense. His hands flexed, then clenched into fists. "Some days you shut off completely. You vanish for weeks to gods-know-where without a word about when you’ll be back. You don’t tell me what’s wrong, even when I catch you—" He broke off, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Angry. Or sad. And I get it. I know what it’s like, wanting to deal with everything alone. But then you—" His voice rose again, incredulous. "Demand I declare I love you? Out of nowhere? Like it’s owed to you?"

Judar bristled. "I’d puke if you confessed all the time," he shot back, crossing his arms. His heart hammered against his ribs—too fast, too loud. "You know I don’t like romantic shit."

Hakuryuu nodded once, sharp. "Exactly. So why—"

"Because!" Judar interrupted, louder than he meant to. The word hung between them, raw and unfinished. He swallowed, forcing his voice lower. "It pissed me off when you acted like you didn’t give a shit." His throat tightened. "Because I do care. And you should know that."

The admission landed like a stone in still water. Hakuryuu stared at him, breath caught somewhere in his chest. Judar could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and searching. He hated it. Hated the way Hakuryuu looked at him like he was something fragile suddenly laid bare.

Judar turned abruptly, striding toward the window just to escape that look.

Behind him, Hakuryuu moved closer, footsteps careful. "You’re right," he said finally, voice low. "I do know." A pause. "But sometimes I need you to say it."

Judar scoffed, fingers digging into the windowsill. "Why?"

"Because I’m not you," Hakuryuu said simply. "I don’t—read you the way you think I do. And when you disappear, or shut down, or snap at me—" He exhaled sharply. "I don’t know if it’s just your mood, or if I did something wrong, or if you’ve decided you’re done with me this time."

"I'll never be done with you," Judar said, the words rough but certain, like he was stating a law of physics. Hakuryuu nodded, almost shy, fingers twitching against his sleeves before he tucked them behind his back—a habit left over from his imperial days. "So," Hakuryuu cleared his throat, "should I get you flowers then?" The question was absurd enough that Judar's eyebrows shot up. "I've thought about it," Hakuryuu added, quieter now, like he was confessing to some minor treason.

Judar barked a laugh, sharp and startled. "No fucking way," he said, but there was no venom in it. His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, betraying him. He scowled at his own body's mutiny before jerking his chin toward the door. "You could cook me something instead." He paused, considering, then grinned—all teeth. "Yeah," he decided, "I'd like that."

Hakuryuu exhaled through his nose, long-suffering but fond. "Fine," he said. "What do you want?"

Judar leaned back against the windowsill, crossing his arms. "Duck confit," he announced with relish. "The kind that takes three days to brine, then slow-cooked in its own fat until it falls off the bone. With those little potatoes roasted in the drippings." He licked his lips theatrically. "And a plum wine reduction."

Hakuryuu's frown was immediate. "You should've told me this yesterday," he said, exasperated. "How was I supposed to know you'd demand something like that? It takes a day just to prepare the brine—don't you know that?"

Judar shrugged, unrepentant. "You asked."

"Insufferable," Hakuryuu muttered under his breath, but there was no real heat to it. "Spoiled rotten."

Judar's eyes narrowed. "The fuck did you just—"

"Follow me," Hakuryuu interrupted, already striding toward the door. When Judar didn't immediately move, Hakuryuu glanced back over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Unless you'd prefer to starve out of spite?"

Judar scowled but pushed off the windowsill, falling into step beside him. The corridors were quiet at this hour, their footsteps echoing off the marble. Hakuryuu kept his gaze forward as he spoke. "Alibaba mentioned something interesting last week," he said, tone deliberately casual. "Said he was impressed by how adaptable you were while traveling through the desert. That you've got good survival instincts when you bother to use them."

Judar shot him a sidelong glance. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

Hakuryuu allowed himself a small smile. "It means," he said slowly, "that I know you're capable of patience when it suits you. And that I'm..." He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. "Proud. Of how far you've come."

Judar didn't answer. His footsteps stuttered for half a second—just long enough for Hakuryuu to notice—before he lengthened his stride, overtaking Hakuryuu to push open the kitchen doors with unnecessary force. The cooks scattered like startled birds, accustomed by now to Judar's abrupt entrances.

Hakuryuu dismissed the cooks with a curt wave of his hand before turning to the massive cast-iron pot simmering on the stove. The scent of duck fat and herbs filled the kitchen, rich and heavy. Judar stared at the pot, then at Hakuryuu’s back as he lifted the lid with practiced ease. Steam curled upward, revealing golden duck legs submerged in shimmering fat, the skin crisp and blistered perfectly.

"Sometimes," Hakuryuu said, voice low as he stirred the contents with a wooden spoon, "it's like walking on eggshells trying to get you to open up to me." He didn’t look up as he spoke, as if the admission was something he could only say while distracted by the motion of the spoon. "But I know you." A pause. "I am prepared."

Judar’s fingers twitched at his sides. "You made this?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically quiet. He stepped closer, peering into the pot like it might be some elaborate trick. "I was just kidding earlier, you know?"

Hakuryuu exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "It’s your favorite," he said simply, as if that explained everything. He tapped the spoon against the rim, letting excess fat drip back into the pot. "I figured you'd want to eat it from time to time. Especially today."

Judar didn’t answer immediately. He watched Hakuryuu move through the kitchen with quiet efficiency—checking the potatoes roasting in a separate pan, adjusting the flame beneath a small saucepan where a deep red reduction bubbled. Judar had seen Hakuryuu fight, had seen him command armies and negotiate treaties, but there was something oddly intimate about watching him cook. The precision of his movements, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration—Judar found himself staring, throat tight.

Hakuryuu glanced up, catching him looking. "What?"

Judar jerked his chin toward the pot. "Just didn’t peg you for the type to remember shit like that," he muttered, crossing his arms. "What I like to eat."

Hakuryuu shrugged, turning back to the stove. "I pay attention," he said, voice casual, but there was weight beneath the words. He lifted a fork, testing the doneness of the potatoes. "I’ve always enjoyed cooking," he added after a beat, almost absently. "But before you, I mostly just..." His grip tightened on the fork. "Threw it away. No point in making elaborate meals for one."

Judar’s chest did something complicated at that. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally managed a rough, "Well, sucks to be you."

Hakuryuu snorted, shaking his head. "Thank you," he said quietly, "for your company."

Judar stiffened, then scowled. "Don’t get sappy," he snapped, though there was no real bite to it. He dragged a hand through his hair, avoiding Hakuryuu’s gaze. "Just because I wanted you to stop acting indifferent when it comes to—us—doesn’t mean you need to start confessing shit now or something."

Hakuryuu hummed, unbothered. He plated the duck with careful precision, the meat falling apart at the slightest pressure of his tongs. "Noted," he said dryly. He handed Judar the plate, their fingers brushing briefly—warmth against warmth.

Judar took the plate, hesitated, then muttered, "It smells good."

Hakuryuu’s lips quirked. "I know."

Judar rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He carried his plate to the small table in the corner, dropping into a chair with his usual lack of grace. Hakuryuu followed, setting down his own plate before retrieving two glasses and a bottle of plum wine from the cellar.

Judar watched him pour, the liquid dark and fragrant. "You had this ready too?"

Hakuryuu didn’t look up. "I told you," he said softly, pushing one glass toward Judar. "I pay attention. Now eat before it gets cold."

"Whatever you say," Judar muttered, eyes closing briefly at the rich, savory taste of the duck. The meat melted on his tongue, the fat perfectly rendered—just how he liked it. When he opened his eyes again, Hakuryuu was staring out the kitchen window, his fingers curled loosely around his untouched wine glass. Outside, rain lashed against the panes, the storm rolling in with sudden, violent force. Lightning flickered, painting Hakuryuu’s profile in stark relief for a heartbeat before the thunder growled.

Judar watched him, the taut line of his shoulders. "You want some too?" he asked gruffly, nudging the plate between them with his fork. "Not like I’ll fucking starve if you take half."

Hakuryuu blinked, pulled from whatever thought had gripped him. His gaze dropped to the food, then flicked back to the storm. "No," he said quietly. "It’s just—" He exhaled sharply, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "The rain. It reminds me." A pause. "After the fire, I used to... hate storms. The sound of thunder, the way the walls would shake. But I couldn’t—" His jaw tightened. "I couldn’t go to Hakuei anymore. Or my mother. I had to be strong. Independent. Then you started showing up and comforted me, without saying a word. You never held it against me, or even mentioned anything. I was grateful for that."

Judar snorted, stabbing a potato forcefully. "Yeah, well. You were fucking terrible at trying to play strong." He chewed slowly, watching Hakuryuu’s face. "You whimpered like a kicked puppy in your sleep. Loud enough to wake me up three rooms over."

Hakuryuu’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "I—what?"

Judar smirked, swirling his wine. "Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t crawling into your bed out of the goodness of my heart." He took a long sip, savoring the tartness before adding, "I was scared shitless too. And your fucking noises were annoying."

Hakuryuu's eyes widened slightly—just enough for Judar to notice before he schooled his expression back into neutrality. But Judar saw it, that flicker of surprise, and grinned sharply before the expression faltered. He set his fork down with deliberate care, the metal clinking against porcelain louder than necessary in the sudden quiet between them.

"I was a kid too," Judar said abruptly, staring at his half-eaten duck like it held answers. His fingers flexed against the table edge. "A Magi, yeah, but still just..." He swallowed audibly. "Couldn't exactly go crying to Sinbad or Ugo every time I got spooked, could I?" His laugh was brittle, self-mocking. "Not that I ever fucking would've admitted being scared in the first place."

Hakuryuu watched him silently, pulse thudding in his throat. This—Judar unprompted, unpracticed, without his usual armor of sarcasm—was rare enough to feel sacred.

Judar's gaze flicked up, held. "You never laughed," he said, quieter now. "Didn't judge me for being..." His jaw worked. "Human." The word came out like a confession, rough-edged and reluctant.

The rain lashed harder against the windows. Hakuryuu reached across the table without thinking, his fingers brushing Judar's wrist. Judar didn't pull away—another small miracle. "I enjoyed it too," Hakuryuu admitted softly. "Your... presence. Even when you pretended it was just to mock my nightmares."

Judar's nostrils flared. For a heartbeat, Hakuryuu thought he'd bolt. Then Judar surged forward, chair scraping loudly as he gripped Hakuryuu's collar and hauled him into a kiss that tasted of plum wine and shared history. Hakuryuu made a startled noise against Judar's mouth before reciprocating fiercely, fingers tangling in that familiar dark braid—

The kitchen door swung open with a creak.

They broke apart just as Alibaba stepped inside, shaking rainwater from his cloak. He froze mid-motion, taking in the scene: Judar half sprawled across the table, Hakuryuu's lips still parted and flushed, the charged silence thicker than the scent of duck fat hanging in the air.

Judar groaned internally as Alibaba's wide-eyed stare burned into the back of his skull. Great, the idiot has to see me like this. He disentangled himself from Hakuryuu with exaggerated roughness, knocking over his wine glass in the process. The plum liquid spread across the table like blood. "Talk to him," Judar muttered under his breath, already striding toward the door. "I don't have the fucking nerves today." He shoulder-checked Alibaba on his way out—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make his displeasure clear—and disappeared into the storm-darkened hallway.

Alibaba stood frozen, rainwater still dripping from his cloak onto the stone floor. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "What—"

"Alibaba," Hakuryuu cut in smoothly, righting Judar's toppled glass with practiced calm. He didn't look up as he mopped the spilled wine with a cloth. "Shouldn't you be with Morgiana? Doing something... romantic?" The last word came out pointed, edged with something that wasn't quite irritation but close enough to make Alibaba blink.

Alibaba's cloak hit the floor with a wet splat as he crossed his arms. "What the hell was that?" He gestured wildly toward the empty doorway where Judar had vanished. "Since when do you two—"

"We´re just friends," Hakuryuu interrupted, too quickly. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue even as he said it. He remembered the way Judar's fingers had trembled against his collar just moments before, the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes when he'd admitted to childhood fears. Friends didn't cover half of what they were.

Alibaba scoffed. "Right. And I'm the King of Sindria." He leaned against the table, sending Judar's abandoned plate skidding slightly. "Come on, Hakuryuu. You can't seriously expect me to believe—"

"It's not your business," Hakuryuu snapped, sharper than intended. The words hung between them, taut with the weight of everything unspoken. Hakuryuu exhaled through his nose, forcing his grip on the wine glass to relax before it shattered. "But fine. Yes. We're together." The admission felt like pulling teeth—not out of shame, but because Judar's absence made it feel like a betrayal.

Alibaba's eyebrows shot up. "Like... man and wife?"

Hakuryuu gave him a withering look. "For someone who grew up seeing probably a lot," he said dryly, "your worldview is embarrassingly narrow."

Alibaba flushed, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair. "I was five when my mom—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Look, that's not the point. If you two are actually..." He hesitated, visibly struggling with the word. "In love, then why'd he run off like someone lit his braid on fire.

"Who knows," Hakuryuu muttered, watching the doorway where Judar had vanished. His fingers traced the damp ring of spilled wine on the tabletop. "When it comes to Judar's private matters, he keeps them strictly to himself." His thumb pressed hard into the wood grain, as if trying to erase the stain entirely.

Alibaba hovered awkwardly by the table, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a scolded child. "So, uh... you two really don't... in public?" He mimed kissing with his hands, then immediately flushed crimson.

Hakuryuu's glare could have frozen boiling oil. "Things like that should be private," he said icily. "Between the people participating." His gaze flicked to the kitchen door again, involuntary. Somewhere in the palace, Judar was probably pacing like a caged animal, cursing Alibaba's existence—or worse, regretting the moment of vulnerability he'd shown Hakuryuu moments before.

"Wow," Alibaba breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I kinda figured Judar would be... y'know. The type to flaunt it."

Hakuryuu's lips twitched despite himself. "You'd think." He pushed back from the table abruptly, chair legs scraping stone. The storm outside had intensified, rain hammering the windows like thrown pebbles. "But he's surprisingly..." He trailed off, remembering the way Judar had tensed whenever palace staff lingered too long near them, how he'd once snapped at a servant for bringing breakfast to Hakuryuu's chambers "like some damn concubine."

Alibaba snorted. "Shy?"

"Shut up," Hakuryuu said without heat, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. He gathered their plates with more force than necessary, stacking them with precise, measured movements. The duck grease had congealed at the edges—Judar's favorite, barely touched.

The kitchen door creaked again. Both men turned sharply, but it was only a kitchen maid hesitating in the threshold, eyes darting between them and the mess on the table. Hakuryuu waved her off with a curt gesture, already moving toward the sink.

Alibaba cleared his throat. "So. Should I... pretend I didn't see anything?"

Hakuryuu turned the faucet on too hard, water spraying the front of his tunic. "Yes."

"Right." Alibaba scooped up his soaked cloak, wringing it out with unnecessary vigor. "And Morgiana—"

"Doesn't need to know," Hakuryuu cut in, scrubbing at a plate with more aggression than it warranted. The porcelain squeaked under his fingers.

Alibaba hesitated, then nodded. "Got it." He edged toward the door, dripping rainwater all over the floor. "For what it's worth... I'm happy for you guys."

Hakuryuu's hands stilled in the soapy water. He didn't turn around.

The door clicked shut behind Alibaba with finality. The kitchen fell silent save for the rushing water and the storm's distant growl. Hakuryuu stared at his reflection in the soap bubbles—distorted, wavering.

A floorboard creaked behind him.

He didn't turn. "Come to finish your food?"

Judar leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that their sleeves brushed. His braid was damp at the ends, as if he'd stood in the rain for a moment before returning. "Wasn't hungry," he muttered.

Hakuryuu shut off the water. Droplets clung to his wrists as he turned to face Judar fully. "Liar."

Judar's jaw worked. He glared at a spot over Hakuryuu's shoulder. "That idiot still here?"

"No."

"Good." Judar's fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Tell him if he breathes a word—"

"I did."

Judar exhaled sharply through his nose. His gaze flicked to Hakuryuu's mouth, then away. "You shouldn't have."

Hakuryuu reached for him instinctively, then checked himself. His hand hovered between them, unsure. "I know."

Judar stared at that suspended hand like it might bite him. Then, with a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl, he grabbed Hakuryuu's wrist and yanked him forward. Their mouths crashed together—less a kiss than a collision, all teeth and shared frustration. Judar's free hand fisted in Hakuryuu's damp tunic, holding him there as if he might vanish.

Hakuryuu exhaled sharply through his nose, breaking the kiss just enough to speak against Judar's mouth. "I have something else for you." His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the small porcelain dish on the counter, the one he'd kept hidden behind stacked bowls. The peach tart glistened under the kitchen lanterns, its caramelized edges still warm from the oven.

Judar stared at it blankly, his grip on Hakuryuu's tunic slackening. "What the fuck is this?"

"When you were gone," Hakuryuu said, carefully placing the dessert in Judar's free hand, "I'd walk three blocks out of my way to avoid the spice market. Couldn't stand the smell of cardamom. I avoided everything that could´ve reminded me of you." His thumb brushed Judar's wrist. "But on the other hand I tried to be near you. I tried everything. Foods you might've liked. Couldn't ask you to try them, obviously." He swallowed hard. "You told me to stop confessing things, but—I can´t help it anymore. Because earlier you reacted like you wanted to hear it."

Judar's fingers convulsed around the dish. The tart tumbled to the floor, ceramic shattering against stone. Hakuryuu barely had time to register the loss before Judar slammed into him, arms locking around his ribs like iron bands. His face pressed hard into Hakuryuu's shoulder, muffling the ragged "You fucking idiot" growled against fabric.

Hakuryuu staggered back a step, hands hovering. "The dessert—"

"I don't care," Judar snarled, fingers digging deeper into Hakuryuu's back. "Still eating it off the damn floor later." His voice cracked on the last word, and Hakuryuu froze when he felt the damp heat seeping through his tunic. Judar's shoulders shook violently against him. "This is the first fucking time," Judar gasped, the words wet and fractured. "First goddamn time someone—made anything for me." He made a sound like a wounded animal, nails scraping fabric. "And don´t you fucking dare say Al-Thamen spoiled me. That wasn't—" His breath hitched. "I was being groomed, drowned in luxuries and servants so I would do anything they said once I grew up! And those chocolates? People want something in return, I can´t stand it!"

Hakuryuu's arms came up slowly, encircling Judar's trembling frame. He pressed his lips to the crown of Judar's head, inhaling the scent of rain and faint smoke clinging to dark hair.

"And you," Judar continued, voice raw, "cook my favorite duck without me asking. Learn how I take my tea. Memorize which side of the bed I steal." He laughed brokenly. "You´re the best damn thing that ever happened to me, what´s wrong if I want you to say stupid things like that from time to time?!" A shudder ran through him. "We're meant to be. Even if I never say it right. Even if you have to guess if this might be a day where I can´t say it back. It´s hard, you know? Saying what´s on my mind. But I can´t stop now either."

Hakuryuu's throat constricted. His fingers traced the knobs of Judar's spine through thin fabric. "See?" he murmured. "Even there—you eating whatever I cook now. Neither of us..." He swallowed against the thickness in his voice. "Neither of us eats alone anymore."

Judar licked caramelized peach glaze off his thumb, the edges of his mouth curling in satisfaction despite the shattered dish at their feet. "Guess we compliment each other," he muttered, scooping up another sticky bite with his fingers. He glanced up through his lashes, daring Hakuryuu to comment on the mess or the impropriety. Hakuryuu didn't. Just watched the syrup cling to Judar's knuckles with an unreadable expression.

"What did that idiot want anyway?" Judar asked abruptly, sucking a stray crumb from his index finger. The question was too casual, the shift too sharp—like tearing off a bandage.

Hakuryuu exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the counter. "I haven't asked," he admitted, watching rainwater drip from Judar's braid onto the tiles. "I told him he should be home taking care of his wife. It's a special occasion, after all."

Judar paused mid-bite. "Hm." The sound was thoughtful, unexpected. He stared at the ruined tart between them. "Maybe since his father was an ass that abandoned his mother and him..." He trailed off, fingers flexing against his own knees. "It's harder for him, you know? To know what he should do."

Hakuryuu blinked. The faucet dripped loudly in the sudden silence. "That's... strangely considerate of you," he said slowly, reaching out to brush a damp strand from Judar's forehead. "Are you sure you're Judar?"

Judar swatted his hand away with a scoff, but the usual venom was missing. "Pretty sure," he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Alibaba just wouldn't stop telling me about his childhood and all that shit when we were traveling together. Things kinda got stuck, I guess." His nose wrinkled. "Ugh. Disgusting. Delete that from your memory."

"You're just a nice person," Hakuryuu laughed, the sound warm and startled—cut off abruptly when Judar's elbow connected with his ribs.

"Shut up," Judar growled, but there was no heat in it. He jabbed a sticky finger against Hakuryuu's collarbone. "Make me a new dessert. Or two." His gaze flicked to Hakuryuu's untouched plate by the sink. "You should eat too."

Hakuryuu caught his wrist, thumb brushing the syrup-smeared pulse point. "Demanding," he murmured, but he was already reaching for the flour canister. Judar watched him move through the kitchen with familiar efficiency—the precise measuring of ingredients, the practiced kneading of dough. His shoulders relaxed incrementally with each mundane motion.

"You know," Hakuryuu said after a while, dusting his hands on a towel, "I think that's the first time you've ever admitted to remembering someone else's problems."

Judar stiffened. "Don't get used to it," he muttered, but his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the countertop—restless, uncertain.

Hakuryuu didn't push. Just slid a bowl of leftover peach filling toward him. "Here. Since you ruined the first one."

Judar's answering grin was all teeth. He dipped two fingers into the bowl, licking them clean with exaggerated slowness, eyes locked on Hakuryuu's face. "Worth it," he declared, and something unknotted in Hakuryuu's chest at the familiar bravado.