Work Text:
Even Rui Kamishiro, conditioned to the blazing fires of the forge, had to admit that today was the hottest day of the year in Serenia. His uniform, which typically would be only damp by the end of a day’s hard work, was dripping with sweat at the edges of the sleeves. The cheap fabric clinged uncomfortably to his back, causing every minor movement to rub against him like a dirty washcloth, slowly turning the epidermis red and raw. He blindly reached for his towel after quenching yet another sword, trading the sweat off his face in turn for new streaks of soot.
It would be cruel to let anybody work under these conditions, “You’re all free to go!” The royal blacksmith called out to his assistants, smiling to himself as loud ‘THANK YOU’s from too-tired apprentices called back to him. He’s pretty sure someone even gave him a hug, though the boiling heat numbed his senses beyond what was needed to process basic human touch. I should go home too. Mizuki probably doesn’t want to handle the laundry this week… but the work… ah, never mind.
Kamishiro’s thoughts halted as a small dizzy spell washed over him, temporarily blurring his vision as he cautiously brought himself to a sitting position on the floor. I’m dehydrated. He desperately grabbed a small bottle of water, still chilled from the forge’s sole cooler just outside of the main area. His sweat, now diluted due to the condensation on the glass, would make opening the bottle difficult for the average person. However, Kamishiro was far from average, whether it be his eccentricities, or his odd obsession with lugging an unholy amount of scrap metal back to his home for impulsive projects. The bottle opened with a small ‘pop’, and the cool liquid hastily trickled down Kamishiro’s too-dry esophagus. If the royal blacksmith felt any attraction to objects whatsoever (which he doesn’t, because he already has a little crush, and that is stupid), he most certainly would marry the water then and there.
The royal blacksmith enjoyed his solitude on the ground for a couple minutes, appreciating the odd quietness of the forge due to the lack of business. His eyes began to close, and the water bottle nearly slipped from his hands–
KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK
“Master Kamishiro?”
KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK
Kamishiro’s spine immediately straightened at the now-familiar tone, “Please wait just a moment, Your Royal Highness!” He forced himself off the ground with a muffed groan, not wanting his prince to hear the misery that was the heat of work. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally exited the main heat zone, the cooler air feeling like heaven against his skin despite being comparable to the surface of the sun. I can’t believe he’s visiting me today of all days… Kamishiro’s heart did a little jump, and the nerves on his face somehow decided that he was back in the main firing area of the forge again. A giddy, unintentional smile formed on his face, but he quickly replaced it with a neutral look as to not concern his prince with his complicated feelings. After wiping his face for the last time, embarrassed that he couldn’t do the same for the sweat on his clothes, he reached for the large, indestructible door and opened it effortlessly.
“Good afternoon, Your Roy– oh my god.” Kamishiro’s bow halted halfway as his eyes focused on the subject in front of him, who seemed to be faring the milder outdoor heat worse than him in the scalding inner forge temperatures. The prince in question–His Royal Highness, Prince Tsukasa Temna I–looked at the royal blacksmith with confusion, seemingly unaware that his appearance started the inappropriate reaction. Tenma’s face, in every place except for his cheeks and nose which were unmistakably red, was paler than a sheet. His legs were planted into the ground, which wouldn’t be abnormal if it wasn’t for the fact that his knees were trembling like the sheer act of standing up was more difficult than hammering metal all day. In fact, the prince’s entire body seemed to be doing the same, almost as if he was cold despite the summer heat. “You shouldn’t be in the sun, let alone here, with all due respect, Your Royal Highness.”
Kamishiro’s words seemed to fly straight over Tenma’s head, if there was anything going on in the prince’s head. “Hi,” the prince responded with a delirious smile, his voice unmistakably nasal and hoarse, “for the last time, just call me Tsukasa…”
It was clear that the prince was still talking, but Kamishiro lacked the ability to decipher the incoherent ramblings. Still, the royal blacksmith stood there, feigning understanding, until the prince finished outputting noise in favor of breathing; Kamishiro winced as he heard exactly how stuffed up his prince was, clearly putting in a lot of effort just to breathe through his nose. “Alright, Prince Tsukasa, could I at least get you some water?” He waited patiently for a response, only to be met with a suspiciously warm and prince-like weight to drop onto him, “Oh– hey!” Kamishiro adjusted his stance to support both him and Tenma's weight. He quickly ignored how the prince’s outfit would most certainly be unusable, due to the collision with all the soot caking the royal blacksmith, for there was something more concerning he noticed now that the prince was against him: he's burning up.
The prince wrapped his arms around Kamishiro’s waist, burrowing his face into the royal blacksmith’s surprisingly-clean shoulder, ignoring the sweat, “I love you,” he said plainly, squeezing Kamishiro tightly. Kamishiro was sure that the prince was deliberately ignoring how the heat was crawling up his neck, too. He’s delirious, he doesn’t mean it. We are friends. This is a completely normal thing to say to friends. Kamishiro, keeping his left hand on Tenma's back, lifted his right and placed the back of it onto the prince’s forehead to confirm what he feared. He has a fever. He’s obviously ill.
Kamishiro chose to not respond to the prince’s words, for saying anything on the matter would make his heart beat out of his chest. “Come on, my prince, we should get you back to the castle.” He prayed that this would be the end of the matter, and his childish crush would just listen and stumble back to the castle where he belonged. The prince simply shook his head, took his face out of the royal blacksmith’s shoulder, and stared at him with two large, glassy eyes. They looked like the sunset, and the royal blacksmith had to fight every neuron in his body to not get captivated by them. His heart fluttered, and he was grateful that Tenma was too out of it to hear the organ. “Okay, then, uh, come on.”
It was probably illegal to lead a royal currently unable to make decisions into a non-noble home, but Kamishiro couldn’t care less for the rules in favor of a colder environment. The prince had already abandoned most of his outer layers under the decree that he was ‘simply too important for such restrictive outfits’, which the royal blacksmith mentally translated as the fever and sun are making him feel too warm, and he wants to cool down. Akiyama would understand too, and not rat him out. Probably.
Kamishiro hastily unlocked the door to his house, gently ushered the prince inside with him, and closed it to trap the cold air as much as possible. He slid off his shoes, and then his prince’s (with arguably more work, since they were intricate in a way only nobles could pull off), not bothering to straighten them up before steering Tenma into the living room. He frowned as his prince immediately collapsed onto the nearby couch, clearly exhausted and in need of better rest than cheap furniture could provide. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”
“Mhm…” God, he needs medical attention.
It didn’t take long for the royal blacksmith to return with a tall glass of water, as well as a clean, wet towel for Tenma’s burning forehead. He should have checked his temperature, but he couldn’t remember where the thermometer was, even if his life depended on it. Instead, he kneeled beside his prince, who had his head elevated by a couple pillows, and brought the glass to his lips, “You don’t have to drink all of it in one go, but you should take a couple sips.” Using his other hand, he took the towel and gently placed it onto the prince’s forehead with utmost care.
Tenma gratefully accepted the glass, only to take a single sip and turn his head away with a wince, “I don’t want anymore, please,” he rasped. Kamishiro felt his heart lurch all over again; His throat is probably sore. The royal blacksmith moved to get him some tea, honey, or just something to soothe the pain, but his wrist was suddenly grabbed with strength comparable to a god. “Just stay.”
The royal blacksmith finally took a moment to pause, and fully allowed himself to drown in the prince’s eyes. His stare was more addicting than the most potent drug, clearly focused on every visible and invisible feature of Kamishiro. They shined in a way that wasn’t entirely the fault of fever; it was as if the sheer sight of the royal blacksmith was enough to stuff his heart uncomfortably full, and then some. While he would never wish his prince ill, Kamishiro longed for the moment to continue forever. His hand instinctively rose up to his own chest, rubbing it in hopes to calm his overactive heart. He wanted to say, no, scream his confession to the prince then and there: I love you. I want to spend my years with you. I may be a friend to you, but you are much more than a friend to me. What I say and do is only a fraction of how I feel, for it is impossible to put these feelings into words and actions.
Still, it wasn’t fair for him to selfishly throw his heart toward Tenma, for the prince’s own was struggling just to keep itself beating amidst sickness. Furthermore, there was no way his feelings would be returned. Not when the prince had a thousand noble women waiting for his answer in marriage. So, after swallowing his pounding heart down into the depths of ignorance, Kamishiro smiled softly and moved the prince’s grip toward his fingers instead of his wrist, holding his delicate hand, “Of course, Your Highness.” He sat down on the edge of the couch, and began to rub his thumb over each of the prince's knuckles, mouthing a “Have a good rest” as he watched him close his eyes. Then, Kamishiro slowly lowered until his head was on the prince’s lap. A nap sounded like a lovely way to spend a summer afternoon with his prince.
Obviously, the castle would be terrified if the prince was nowhere to be found by sunset, but Kamishiro had become unmistakably talented at sneaking the prince in and out of the castle at odd hours (because friends totally do that). He isn’t too concerned about that, not when he can spend a tranquil moment with his prince, even in sleep.
I love you too, Your Royal Highness.
~Bonus~
“Rui, sick, in this economy?!” Akiyama laughed as she took sight of the man in front of her, bundled in a blanket and sipping hot tea with a pitiful expression. Kamishiro should have known it would be unwise to cuddle with a sick person, let alone when he was already exhausted from working in the heat. Now, however, with his body wracked with chills, he wouldn’t mind being in the blazing forge.
Kamishiro shoved his roommate crankily. Of course Akiyama, the person he loved and trusted like she was the sibling he never had, would make fun of him when sick. How rude! “Go awayyy–” His voice suddenly caught on his already-aching larynx, and he leaned forward as he coughed into his elbow with unwanted effort. Even with a lack of words, the glare he gave Akiyama was hot enough to rival his own current body temperature.
Even so, the sewist kept prying, patting Kamishiro’s aching head with more force than necessary, “You know, I read in the paper the other day that the prince came down with a cold too. By any chance were you, oh I don’t know, close to him–MMMPH!!”
Akiyama was promptly smothered with a pillow.