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The candles in Prince Hakuryuu’s quarters had burned down to cold, pooling wax hours ago.
Outside, the late summer night was suffocatingly still. The only sound in the high tower room was the soft, rhythmic rustle of silk curtains drawn against the moonlight, and the steady, quiet breath of a man who had long forgotten how to rest.
Hakuryuu sat motionless on the edge of the low wooden divan. He hadn't changed out of his formal robes, nor had he unclasped the silver pin holding his dark hair in place. His hands rested flat against his knees, his fingers pale and tense.
He didn't need a clock to know it was nearly three in the morning. He knew the passage of time by the shift of shadows across the floorboards, by the way the nighttime breeze chilled the rain-slicked balcony, and by the dull, familiar ache sitting like a lead weight behind his ribs.
Three days.
It had been three whole days since the argument.
It hadn't even been about anything grand or monumental. No dark magic, no imperial threats, no blood spilled on palace marble. It had been a quiet, stupid disagreement over something small—a passing comment about military deployments that had unexpectedly dredged up old, jagged scars from their shared past.
Hakuryuu had tried to keep his voice steady, tried to explain why the subject made him uneasy. But the moment the tension in the room had shifted—the moment the air had grown heavy with genuine, uncomfortable emotion—Judar’s eyes had gone dark and icy.
Judar hadn't yelled. He hadn't drawn his wand or smashed an inkstone.
He had simply scoffed, backed away toward the open window, and vanished into the night sky like smoke caught in a gust of wind.
And Hakuryuu had been left standing alone in an empty room, holding a conversation with the air.
Rustle.
A faint, whisper-thin sound brushed against the balcony railing outside.
Hakuryuu didn't flinch. He didn't turn his head. He kept his dark eyes fixed on the dim moonlight reflecting off the floor, listening as a pair of soft, familiar footsteps landed soundlessly on the balcony tile.
Judar slipped through the sheer silk curtains like a phantom.
He was quiet—impossibly quiet—moving with the practiced ease of someone who had spent his entire life sneaking into places he didn't belong. His long, dark braid was slightly disheveled, dusted with the damp sea air of whatever distant coast he had flown to during his three-day retreat. He smelled faintly of ozone, salt water, and cold wind.
In the dark, Judar glanced toward the bed, expecting to see Hakuryuu fast asleep. He expected to slip off his shadowy silks, slide under the heavy blankets, press his cold nose against the crook of Hakuryuu's warm neck, and let physical touch erase the lingering sourness of his departure.
That was how they always did it.
Judar would run when the air got too thick to breathe. Hakuryuu would wait. Judar would return under the cover of night, crawl into his arms, and they would lose themselves in desperate, wordless touch until the sun came up and made the fight feel like a distant bad dream.
It was easy. It was safe. It required zero words, zero vulnerability, and zero explanations.
Judar took a step toward the bed—and then froze.
His red eyes adjusted to the gloom, landing on the dark silhouette sitting upright on the divan in the far corner of the room.
Hakuryuu was watching him.
Judar’s chest gave a sharp, uncomfortable twitch. He quickly masked it, throwing his chin up and letting a familiar, arrogant smirk slide across his face. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the doorframe as if he hadn't just been caught sneaking in like a thief.
"Well, look at you," Judar drawled, his voice a little rough from days of disuse, carrying that classic, defensive bite. "Still up? You look like a ghost sitting over there, Ryuu. If you missed me that much, you could have just gone to sleep. I was coming back anyway."
Hakuryuu didn't rise to the bait. He didn't snap. He didn't get angry.
He just sat there, looking at Judar with a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that felt far more terrifying than a blade.
"I know you were coming back," Hakuryuu said softly. His voice was quiet, stripped of all posturing, completely raw. "You always come back."
Judar scoffed, waving a pale hand dismissively, though his boots shifted uncomfortably against the floorboards. "Then what’s with the gloomy face? I was bored, so I went to the coast to watch the storms over the ocean. Big deal. I'm here now."
Judar uncrossed his arms, stepping closer to the divan. He reached out, intending to grab Hakuryuu by the front of his robes, to pull the prince down into a kiss that would drown out whatever heavy thoughts were spinning in Hakuryuu’s head.
"Come on," Judar muttered, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive tone he used when he wanted to skip straight to the end. "Stop acting like a tragedy. Let's just go to—"
Hakuryuu raised a hand, gently—but firmly—stopping Judar’s wrist in mid-air.
He didn't grip it tightly. He just held it, his warm fingers resting lightly against Judar’s skin, preventing him from closing the physical distance between them.
Judar blinked, his red eyes widening in genuine shock. He... pushed me away?
"Don't, Judar," Hakuryuu murmured, looking up into Judar’s eyes.
"What?" Judar snapped, a sudden spike of irritation hiding the cold knot of panic tightening in his throat. He jerked his wrist back out of Hakuryuu's grasp. "What is your problem? I came back! Isn't that what you want?!"
"I know things are hard for you," Hakuryuu said softly, ignoring Judar's defensive glare. His dark eyes were soft, swimming with a quiet, terrible sorrow. "I know how you grew up, Judar. I know that whenever things get difficult, or when emotions get too heavy, your instinct is to fly away. I know you've spent your whole life using distance and violence to protect yourself because no one ever taught you how to stay."
Judar’s breath hitched. His jaw clenched tightly, his pale cheeks flushing with a sudden, hot wave of humiliation. "Don't talk like you know everything about me," he hissed, taking a step backward. "I don't need your stupid psychoanalysis!"
"I'm not trying to analyze you," Hakuryuu replied, his voice breaking slightly. He stood up slowly from the divan, standing before Judar in the dim moonlight. He looked so tired, so fragile, yet so undeniably grounded. "I'm trying to tell you how it feels for me."
Judar swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hated this. He hated the way the air in the room felt like it was pressing down on his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to scream, to blast a hole in the wall, to fly out the window and never come back.
"Whenever you ignore me like that..." Hakuryuu whispered, his voice trembling as he looked straight into Judar’s eyes. "Whenever you get angry, shut down, and vanish for days without a word... it hurts, Judar."
Judar flinched.
"It makes me feel... rejected," Hakuryuu continued, a single tear escaping his eye, tracing a quiet line down his scarred cheek. "It makes me feel like I don't matter to you. Like everything we have built here can be thrown away the moment a conversation becomes uncomfortable. I sit here in the dark, night after night, feeling entirely helpless... wondering if this is the time you finally decide I'm not worth coming back for."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Judar stood frozen on the floorboards, his red eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.
Every insult, every sarcastic remark, every defensive violent threat Judar had ever used to protect himself completely disintegrated in his throat. He had expected Hakuryuu to be mad. He had expected a shouting match, a clash of wills, something he could fight back against.
He hadn't expected Hakuryuu to lay his bare, bleeding heart out on the floor between them.
Rejected.
Like I don't matter.
Helpless.
The words echoed in Judar’s head, sharp and brutal, cutting through his thick armor like a hot knife through butter. He stared at Hakuryuu’s wet eyes, at the quiet pain etched into the prince's face—a pain that he had caused. Not Gyokuen, not Al-Thamen, not war... but him.
"I..." Judar choked out, his chest heaving as panic surged through his veins.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here and look at what he had done. His brain was screaming at him, a chaotic flurry of red alarms warning him to run, to escape, to get away from the terrifying weight of Hakuryuu's vulnerability before it crushed him completely.
"I can't do this!" Judar squeaked out, his voice cracking horribly.
Without waiting another second, Judar turned on his heel, vaulted over the balcony railing, and threw himself into the night air.
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The wind on the high palace roof was biting, carrying the sharp chill of the late-night air, but Judar barely felt it.
He sat perched on the crest of the curved black tiles, high above the silent courtyards of the imperial capital. His knees were pulled tight against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around his legs, and his chin rested heavily on his knees.
He looked small up here. Small, isolated, and completely, utterly miserable.
Tears of pure, frustrated rage spilled over his eyelashes, hot against his cold cheeks. He wiped them away furiously with the back of his sleeve, leaving red smudges against his pale skin.
"Stupid... preachy... arrogant Hakuryuu..." Judar muttered into the dark, his voice choked and shaking. "Who does he think he is? Sitting there... looking at me like I'm some kind of monster..."
He dug his fingernails into his forearms through his sleeves. But no matter how hard he tried to work up a comforting shield of anger, Hakuryuu’s words kept hammering relentlessly inside his head.
A wet, jagged sob tore from Judar’s throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face deeper into his knees.
It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
For his entire life—from the moment Al-Thamen stole him from his village to the days he spent tearing down kingdoms—Judar had survived on one rule: never let anyone touch your heart. If you cared, you got hurt. If you showed weakness, you got used. If you stayed, you got chained.
Violence was simple. If someone pissed you off, you threw a spear of ice through their chest. If a situation got complicated, you blew up the building and flew away. Blood, black magic, and destruction were easy. They didn't require explanations. They didn't require sitting in a quiet room, looking into someone's wet eyes, and admitting that you were terrified.
There is something fundamentally wrong with me, Judar thought, his chest heaving with quiet, bitter self-loathing. I’m broken. I don't know how to do this stupid emotional shit. I always fuck everything up.
He didn't want to hurt Hakuryuu. The mere thought of Hakuryuu looking at him with those sad, exhausted eyes made Judar feel like his own soul was being torn apart piece by piece. He would willingly massacre an entire army to keep Hakuryuu safe. He would throw himself in front of Gyokuen's spells a thousand times over.
So why was it that the moment Hakuryuu needed him to just stay and talk, Judar’s brain short-circuited into total, cowardly panic?
"You know, sitting on the roof at four in the morning usually means someone is throwing a dramatic tantrum."
Judar flinched violently, his dark magic flaring up for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. He jerked his head up, his red eyes wide and bloodshot, to see empress Kougyoku casually stepping onto the roof tiles.
She wasn't wearing her elaborate court robes—just a simple silk nightgown under a heavy velvet cloak. She carried a warm lantern in one hand, casting a soft, golden glow over the cold black tiles.
"Go away, shorty," Judar snapped, his voice rough and defensive as he turned his face away, frantically trying to wipe his damp cheeks on his shoulder. "I'm not in the mood for you."
Kougyoku didn't turn back. She just carefully navigated the steep incline of the roof, set her lantern down on a flat stone pillar, and unceremoniously dropped herself down right next to him.
"Well, too bad," Kougyoku said lightly, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I saw a black streak fly out of Hakuryuu's balcony fifteen minutes ago, and then I heard someone snickering—and by snickering, I mean weeping—up on the roof. I figured it was either you or a very dramatic cat."
"I wasn't weeping!" Judar yelled, his face burning hot. He glared at her, his fangs bared, but there was zero real threat behind it. He looked like an angry, cornered stray.
Kougyoku looked at him quietly. Her pink eyes lacked their usual theatrical dramatic flair; instead, they were soft, knowing, and surprisingly gentle.
"You had another fight," she said softly. It wasn't a question.
Judar let out a harsh, bitter laugh, resting his chin back on his knees and staring down at his boots. "Yeah. I fucked up. Like always." He dragged a hand through his messy black hair, letting out a heavy, ragged breath. "Something is wrong with me, Kougyoku. I... I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
"Any of it!" Judar gestured wildly into the dark night sky. "This whole... 'relationship' thing! Discussing feelings, sitting around talking about why we're mad, laying everything out like some stupid, vulnerable heart-to-heart... it isn't my style! I hate it! It makes me feel sick! It makes me feel like I'm completely naked and trapped in a cage!"
He pulled his braid over his shoulder, twisting the end nervously around his fingers.
"Hakuryuu sat there and told me that whenever I fly off, I make him feel rejected. Like he doesn't matter," Judar whispered, his voice cracking horribly, tears threatening to spill over again. "I would never... I don't want to hurt him, Kougyoku. I swear I don't. But every time things get heavy, I just... run. I panic and I leave. And now he thinks I don't care about him."
He turned his head away, his voice dropping into a small, broken murmur. "Maybe I don't deserve him. He deserves someone who isn't a ruined, broken mess."
For a long moment, the only sound on the roof was the howling of the night wind.
Then, Kougyoku reached out and gave Judar’s shoulder a firm, surprisingly hard shove.
"Ow! What was that for?!" Judar yelped, rubbing his arm.
"For being a dramatic idiot," Kougyoku snapped, though her eyes were warm. She leaned back against the roof tiles, looking up at the stars. "Do you think Hakuryuu expects you to magically transform into a soft, poetic prince overnight?"
Judar blinked, his brows furrowing. "I... what?"
"Judar, Hakuryuu knows who you are," Kougyoku said gently. "He knows you were raised by monsters. He knows you use violence and running away as a shield because that’s the only way you survived for years. He doesn't expect you to suddenly love sitting down for three-hour talks about your emotions. He knows that’s not who you are."
Judar stared at her, stunned into silence.
"What Hakuryuu is asking for isn't for you to change your entire personality," Kougyoku continued, turning to look Judar straight in the eye. "He just wants to know that he matters to you enough for you to try. He’s tired of feeling like he’s the only one holding onto the rope. You don't have to fix your entire communication style overnight, Judar. But you can't just keep running away to the ocean every time you have a disagreement, leaving him in the dark."
Judar swallowed hard, the tight, suffocating knot in his chest loosening just a tiny bit. "I... I don't know how to fix it. My brain just screams at me to get out."
"Then don't fix it all at once," Kougyoku offered, giving him a gentle, encouraging smile. "Meet him halfway. Take small steps. If you can't talk right away, fine—but don't vanish. Stay in the room. Or if you have to step away, tell him you'll come back in an hour instead of vanishing for three days. Show him that even when things are hard, you're not abandoning him."
Judar stared at the golden light of the lantern sitting between them.
Meet him halfway.
It sounded so simple. So terrifyingly simple.
Judar looked down at his trembling, pale hands. For the first time, he realized that staying wasn't about giving up his power or exposing his throat to a blade. It was about choosing Hakuryuu—choosing him over the old, paranoid fear that had ruled his life for far too long.
"He's probably asleep," Judar muttered quietly, his voice small.
"He’s definitely not asleep," Kougyoku countered, standing up and smoothing down her robes. She picked up her lantern, looking down at the former magi with a soft, affectionate smile. "Go back, Judar. Stop being a coward."
Judar sat on the cold roof tiles for a long time after Kougyoku’s footsteps faded into the darkness.
He thought about his usual routine. Usually, right about now, he would wait until the pre-dawn darkness was thickest. He would slip silently through Hakuryuu's balcony, slide under the covers, and pull Hakuryuu into an intense, desperate kiss. They would tangle their limbs together, letting hot, heavy physical intimacy drown out the anger, using sex as an escape hatch so they never had to address the elephant in the room.
It was a distraction. A bandage over a gaping wound.
Judar looked down toward the high tower windows. The faint, warm flicker of a single candle was still burning in Hakuryuu’s room.
Judar took a deep breath of the cold night air.
No, he decided, his red eyes hardening with a quiet, unprecedented resolve. Not tonight. No shortcuts.
For the first time in his life, Judar didn't sneak through the window. He didn't force a kiss. He didn't try to drown out the tension with touch.
He stayed on the roof, watching the candle burn, waiting for the morning to come.
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The sky slowly shifted from ink-black to a pale, bruised violet.
Judar watched the horizon bleed into shades of pale pink and gold. His legs were stiff from sitting on the cold roof tiles for so many hours, his pale skin chilled to the bone, but his mind had never been clearer.
Every impulse in his body was still screaming at him to stick to the old playbook.
Just slide into his bed, the voice in his head urged. Grab him. Pull him close until he forgets why he was sad. It’s easy. He loves you, he won't push you away if you kiss him.
Judar clenched his fists in his lap, fighting the urge.
In the past, sex had been their ultimate relief valve. When the weight of their shared trauma became too heavy, when the ghosts of Al-Thamen and their broken pasts threatened to drag them under, they would tear at each other's clothes in the dark, losing themselves in raw, desperate touch. It was fierce, passionate, and comforting—but it was also a shield. It was a way to feel connected without Judar ever having to open his mouth and say: I am terrified of losing you, and I don't know how to be normal.
He couldn't do that to Hakuryuu again. Not after Hakuryuu had sat on that divan, looking so small and tired, admitting that Judar’s disappearances made him feel helpless and rejected. Using physical intimacy right now to sweep those words under the rug would just be another way of running away.
Judar stood up slowly on the roof tiles, stretching his sore limbs.
He didn't fly down to the balcony.
Instead, Judar dropped lightly onto the stone walkway of the courtyard below, walked up the grand staircase like a guest, and stood right outside the heavy wooden front doors of Hakuryuu’s quarters.
His heart was hammering against his ribs—a frantic, terrifying rhythm. Facing an army of dark metal vessel users felt like child's play compared to turning this brass doorknob.
Judar took a deep breath, forced his trembling fingers to steady, and pushed the door open.
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The morning sun streamed brightly through the high arched windows, casting long, golden geometric patterns across the polished wooden floorboards of the study.
Hakuryuu was sitting at the low table near the balcony. He was wearing a fresh, simple navy-blue robe, though the dark, heavy shadows beneath his eyes betrayed the fact that he hadn't slept a single second all night.
On the table sat a quiet breakfast: a pot of steaming jasmine tea, a basket of warm scallion pancakes, and two small bowls of rice porridge.
Hakuryuu was staring quietly out the window, a teacup held loosely in his hands, when he heard the latch of the main door click.
He turned his head, expecting a palace servant or Hakuei.
Instead, he saw Judar standing in the doorway.
Hakuryuu froze, his dark eyes widening in genuine shock. Judar wasn't floating. He wasn't dropping down from the ceiling rafters. He hadn't snuck in through the balcony like a ghost in the dead of night. He was standing right there on his own two feet, looking tired, wind-ruffled, and entirely human.
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them said a word.
Judar swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing a faint, flustered pink. He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn't say a cocky joke. He didn't smirk.
When he reached the table, Judar unceremoniously dropped himself down right onto Hakuryuu's side of the divan. Without asking for permission, Judar leaned over, wrapping his pale arms tightly around Hakuryuu's waist, burying his face directly into the crook of the prince's neck.
Hakuryuu’s breath caught in his throat. He sat completely still for a second, overwhelmed by the sudden, warm weight of the boy pressed against him.
Judar’s skin was ice-cold from spending all night on the roof, but he was holding onto Hakuryuu with a desperate, fierce intensity—his fingers clutching the navy silk of Hakuryuu’s robes as if anchoring himself to the earth.
Slowly, carefully, Hakuryuu raised his hands, wrapping his arms around Judar’s back and pulling him closer. He rested his chin on Judar’s messy black hair, letting out a long, trembling breath he felt like he’d been holding for days.
"You're freezing," Hakuryuu whispered softly into Judar's hair, his tone devoid of anger—only deep, quiet tenderness. "Where were you?"
Judar squeezed him tighter, his voice muffled against Hakuryuu's collarbone. "On the roof."
"All night?"
"Yeah." Judar’s voice was rough, quiet, and devoid of its usual arrogant bite. He shifted, pulling back just enough to look up into Hakuryuu's face. His red eyes were slightly bloodshot, but they were clear, honest, and completely unguarded. "I... I was gonna creep in through the window while you were asleep. I was gonna kiss you until you stopped being mad, and then we'd just... ignore everything."
Hakuryuu listened quietly, his thumb gently tracing the line of Judar’s cheekbone. "Why didn't you?"
"Because..." Judar swallowed hard, his cheeks burning hotter, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. He didn't look away. "Because that’s what a coward does. And... you said it hurt when I ignored you. You said I made you feel like you didn't matter."
Judar’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening on Hakuryuu’s waist.
"You matter to me, Hakuryuu," Judar whispered, the words raw, clumsy, and terrifying for him to utter out loud, but spoken with absolute sincerity. "You matter more than anything. I'm... I'm really bad at this. I hate talking about my feelings. It makes me feel sick, and it makes me feel like I'm crazy. My whole life, whenever things got bad, I blew shit up or I ran away. It's the only way I knew how to stay safe."
Hakuryuu felt a quiet warmth bloom in his chest, a tear pricking the corner of his eye as he listened.
"I know I'm a mess," Judar continued, his voice trembling slightly. "And I know I'm probably gonna get overwhelmed and want to run away again. But... I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to sit in the dark feeling like I abandoned you."
Judar leaned up, pressing his forehead directly against Hakuryuu's, closing his eyes.
"Kougyoku said I don't have to fix everything overnight," Judar murmured softly. "She said... we can meet halfway. So... if I get mad, or if things get too heavy and I need to step away... I swear I won't just vanish into the sky for days anymore. I'll tell you I need a minute. And I'll come back. I promise I'll always come back to you, Ryuu."
A single, warm tear escaped Hakuryuu’s eye, slipping down his cheek and catching on Judar’s skin where their faces met.
Hakuryuu let out a soft, breathtakingly sweet laugh—a sound full of relief, love, and profound healing. He cupped the back of Judar's head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against Judar's temple, then his cheek, and finally settling his lips gently against Judar's in a sweet, slow, unhurried kiss.
It wasn't a distraction. It wasn't an escape hatch. It was simply an anchor.
When they parted, Judar’s face was bright red, but the defensive, paranoid tension that usually held his shoulders rigid had completely melted away.
"You're a total sap," Judar muttered weakly, though a genuine, soft smile touched his lips. He reached over, grabbing a warm scallion pancake from the basket and taking a huge bite, leaning his heavy body comfortably back against Hakuryuu's chest. "Now feed me. I froze my ass off on your roof for you."
Hakuryuu smiled, wrapping his arm securely around Judar’s waist, pulling the former magi flush against him as he picked up his teacup.
"Eat as much as you want," Hakuryuu whispered softly, resting his chin on Judar’s shoulder as the morning sun warmed the room. "We have all the time in the world."