the thread may tangle, but it will never break

With their shining armour, gleaming swords and most importantly, the respect of his fellow man, it was a tantalising fantasy and one he had harboured since the day he was saved by one. The details didn’t matter, and in truth, he was too young to recall the event, but everyone had told him that a knight had been the one to save him and his mother from the brutality of drunkards. 

At the age of fourteen he started training when everyone else had gone to bed for the night. His body might have been weary from the day’s chores, but his determination saw him through the routines he had memorised from watching the soldiers and the knights practising in the yard. He oftentimes pushed himself until he was physically sick from the exertion; muscles aching from overuse, legs trembling and head swimming, and yet he never gave up. 

And it paid off. 

Now, at the age of twenty-three, he was a part of the elite training unit. Yaku was no knight and never would be, he knew that, but he was still a part of their world. However, he was still underestimated, especially by new recruits, and he sorely enjoyed proving them wrong and quickly too. No one was more skilled or proficient in hand-to-hand combat than he, and in his mind, he deserved a little more recognition than he got.  

Those destined to join the illustrious ranks of the knights had a way of looking down their nose at Yaku, and it never failed to rub him the wrong way. Those chosen to fill in with the ranks of regular soldiers didn’t bother him as much, not unless there was someone looking to prove themselves and unwittingly deciding that Yaku would be the easiest target. It never ended well for those ones. 

So, here he was; mud seeping into his boots which had one too many holes in them and a steady trickle of rain impairing his vision and bringing his sandy hair low across his brow. That same mud was splattered across his opponent in dirty streaks; his backside sodden from where he had landed and a nasty cut to his temple from where Yaku’s fist had caught harder than intended. The man looked stunned from being knocked down by someone nearly a head shorter than he, his face twisting into an ugly sneer as he planted two hands into the muck in an effort to right himself. 

“I think,” came the voice of the instructor, Sir Nekomata, “that is enough training for one day.” 

Yaku was about object when a hand landed on his shoulder, the fingers squeezing with enough strength to carry the warning. He had always liked Nekomata, and of all the retired knight captains, he was the nicest to him. He didn’t talk about him behind his back, didn’t scoff when he was called up to demonstrate strategic moves to be used in the event a knight lost his sword, and he even smiled, which in itself was a rarity. 

“You two,” Ser Nekomata called to two soldiers standing to the side laughing behind their hands like hyenas. They stiffened at being spoken to, the laughter dying in an instant and their bodies jerking into action from years of rigorous discipline. “Take this one to have his wound tended then report back to your squad captain, and let this be a lesson to you all… never underestimate your opponent until you see them fight.” 

One by one, they all left until it was only Yaku remaining. He huffed loudly, the cold air shocking his lungs, but at least the rain had stopped. There was a thrill in his heart at hearing Nekomata’s words, and as he stood in the centre of the training circle clenching his fists, he wondered if you had been watching. 

He didn’t know your name, just that you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. Soft generous curves, supple skin and the warmest smile. You laughed often whenever he saw you in the courtyard and the sound followed him home on those nights where his body ached the most. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laughter and know he was the reason, not for you to laugh at him, but with him. He reckoned it would make his world all the brighter. 

Once or twice, he had caught your eye in passing, although he was always quick to avert his gaze and once, he thought he had glimpsed you reaching out to him from the corner of his eye. It was probably wishful thinking on his part, the household staff rarely mingled with the outside staff, and he was nothing special to warrant the attention from one so beautiful. 

To his disappointment, the courtyard was quiet. It made sense given the weather, but he couldn’t help the sense of regret which lingered upon his skin much like the sweat rapidly cooling on him did. He had been paid a rare compliment, and you hadn’t been around to hear it, not that you would have heard it even had you been present because again, why would you pay him any mind? 

Yaku turned in the direction of his barracks with only thoughts of tending to his wounds and hopes of a lukewarm bath before dinner was served. He picked up his modest medical supplies and let his feet carry him in the familiar direction of where he went to patch himself up away from prying eyes, or worse, mocking tongues. 

The spot he chose was his favourite place in the world. It afforded him a vantage of the sun setting in the west, the golden rays warming the kingdom below in radiant light and dancing upon the waters which curved around the isle which was his home. No one had ever disturbed him here as it took some twists and turns through the warren of paths which made up part of the defence of the castle. It was always peaceful here, far enough away from the hustle and bustle to allow the sounds of nature to reach his ears. 

Thankfully, it was mostly dry when he sat on the low roof arched over a disused doorway which had once led to the old infirmary. His back ached as it rested against the stone wall, the efforts of the day settling into his bones. He kicked out of his boots, tutting at the state of them, and knowing he’d had to use some of his saved coin to either have them repaired (again) or replaced.  

So distracted was he that he didn’t hear someone clearing their throat, not until they tried again, followed by a voice he knew all too well despite never having spoken to you. 

“I didn’t mean to snoop…” you said from the path below. Your hands rested on the white apron covering your dress, two forefingers interlinked as if it were some old habit deployed to prevent fidgeting. 

Yaku didn’t know what to say, instead he remained quiet, watching. 

“Your shoulder is bleeding. I don’t think you noticed and I would feel guilty if it went untended and you became ill. I can help. If that’s okay?” 

His heart was thundering a mile a minute because what the hell was he meant to say? His fingers came away wet and sticky when they touched the shoulder you had nodded towards, crimson turning brown as it mixed with the dirt on his hands. 

Your patience was clearly fraying, a frown tugging your brow low and your lips which were so often upturned into sunshine smiles were suddenly pursed. “I know you’re not a mute. Not when I’ve heard the filth that’s come from your mouth when someone tries to provoke you… I’ve never heard such colourful language.” 

“Sorry.” 

Yaku heard your sigh and watched your shoulders slump as if in defeat. Before he could think of something better to say or do, like excuse himself, you were rolling up your sleeves and eyeing the path which would see you up on the roof with him. His eyes widened because surely you were not going to do what he thought you were planning, and then, you were. 

All he could do was watch, utterly mesmerised, as you lifted your skirts and scrambled up using the footholes inset in the wall just as he did. You were formidable, and he felt like he was falling in love, if this was what love felt like… it wasn’t like he had any experience with it. 

He was pleased you were smiling again when you sat down beside him, triumphant in surprising him and rightfully so. There was a waft of the soap used in the laundry rooms mixed with a soft feminine scent he had never smelled before. It made him want to lean close and inhale it deeply, but that wouldn’t be polite. In fact, it was the type of thing which could very well see him punished if you were frightened by it and reported him. However, he had a sneaking suspicion that if you were, you’d punch him yourself. 

“I feel like I’ve known you for years, and yet we’ve never spoken. Is that weird?” you asked, eyes steady on his face. 

“No, I don’t think it is. I feel the same. You light up the courtyard with your presence, it’s impossible not to notice,” he freely admitted although he didn’t know where the courage to say such a thing came from. Perhaps he was simply done with cowing to the manners of others, it always seemed so avoidant, and he didn’t like that. 

For a long moment, you were quiet as if contemplating. When you met his eye again, you smiled. “Let me see your shoulder. I’m a seamstress so I can stitch it up if the wound is deep enough, if not I can at least wash it and apply some salve. Do you have some?” 

Yaku nodded, handing you the small pot of salve from his kit along with a clean rag and half full waterskin. Was it proper for him to disrobe in front of a lady? He didn’t have time to question it, not given the insistent look you levelled in his direction before you averted your gaze. He pulled his tunic overhead and laid it across his lap, turning to offer you his back and no more. 

He wasn’t sure if he should tell you he was ready, but in the end, he didn’t need to. Careful fingers touched his skin like feathers tickling silk, and it was all he could do to suppress the shudder from his spine. He had no desire to make you think he disliked your touch when the truth was far from it. 

“It’s okay if it hurts, I’m used to it.” 

“I’ve noticed,” you mused quietly as you worked to clean the wound. It stung but he grit his teeth so as not to hiss out loud. 

“You watch me fight?” he asked, curious. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of a needle being produced from somewhere about your person. It made him smile to know you carried them around; happy you were armed with something should anyone dare to press their unwanted suit. The idea of you being harassed filled him with a cold fury like no other, and the feeling was disorientating as it was overwhelming. 

“I watch you beat the shit out of those new recruits, yes. It knocks them down a peg or two, and I have to thank you for it.” 

“Thank me?”  

He winced when the needle first bit into his skin, thread pulled taut and knitting the gash closed under your expertise.  

“After they’ve taken their lumps from you, they tend to be nicer to us girls. I don’t know exactly why it changes them, or maybe it’s just the fear that there is someone amongst them who could and would put them down if necessary. You’re not the same as the knights; you’re more like one of us.” 

You seemed to sense how he slumped at those final words, rushing on to clarify. “You’re better than them and they fear that. I didn’t mean to offend… should I stop talking?” 

“No. Please continue, but I do wish you would tell me more about yourself since you seem to know me very well and I know so little about you.” 

The next thirty minutes was spent listening to you raptly. He finally had a name to put to the face, and what a beautiful name it was. It laid as yet unspoken on his tongue, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be used.  

You were born on the castle grounds; your mother having been the queen’s personal seamstress until arthritis stole her ability to hold needle and thread. She lived comfortably thanks to her good relationship with the queen, and you were now the seamstress to the queen’s two young daughters. You worried that one day they would marry and move away, you wouldn’t wish to leave the only home you had ever known and not while your mother still lived. 

Your favourite colour was orange and before you had even said it, he had guessed and been correct. It suited you perfectly, just like this moment with the burnt orange hues of the sunset in the distance. It made him think of a roaring hearth in winter, of the orange zinnias which signal the transition from spring to summer, and most of all, of happiness. A bright, bold colour for a bright, bold woman. 

You loved sneaking into the kitchens when you weren’t supposed to and gossiping with the maids, often over freshly baked scones with warm honey butter. 

“Here, all done,” you said with finality and one last smear of salve over the neat stitches. 

It was like waking from the most pleasant dream; Yaku blinked and turned, completely oblivious to his half naked state. He reached for your hand after you put away the needle in the folds of your dress and drew it close to his face. Your fingers were so pretty, the nails short and perfectly clean, and not a callous in sight despite your craft. He traced a whorl into your palm with one finger, making sure to touch your heart and your life lines. 

“Thank you. I don’t deserve such kindness but thank you and your magical fingers.” 

He had never been this close to a woman before, his eyes roaming your face to drink in every detail he couldn’t decipher from far away. You had faint laughter lines at your eyes, your cheeks were soft and round, and that smile… from across the courtyard you dazzled him, up close you entirely bewitched him. 

“Everyone deserves kindness, Yaku,” you all but whispered.  

He didn’t know what the expression you wore meant, having so little experience with the opposite sex, and it bothered him more than he would admit. What he did know is that he wanted you to use his first name since you had been gracious enough to gift him yours. 

“It’s Morisuke… please.” 

Your hand gently slipped free from his and you shuffled closer to the edge and the path to retreat. It hurt to watch you go, but neither of you could stay much longer given that the sun had nearly fully set and the hour grew late. 

“What about Mori?” you asked with a grin when you reached the path unharmed once more. 

“If it pleases you,” he conceded, wiping a hand through his hair. 

There was no answer, only a smile which stole his breath, and with that you left. Unknowingly you parted ways having kept a piece of his heart, and he hoped this wouldn’t be the only interaction you would have or he would be an incomplete man for the rest of his days. 

Yaku started coming to this secret spot more regularly after that fateful encounter, even when he wasn’t tending his own wounds or cooling off from the insults hurled at him from men who could not even best him at footrace let alone a weapon less brawl. He always hoped you would come, and he was not disappointed. 

It became a habit to spend as many sunsets here as possible, and each time he arrived to find you already perched in your favoured spot, he felt his heart growing larger and fuller. 

You snuck him sweet treats from the kitchens, helped to clean his knuckles when his fingers refused to flex in the way they should, provided a sympathetic sounding board for his frustrations and above all you made him laugh. That musical sound which followed him into sleep every night only grew brighter and more brilliant. 

He recalled the day you had waved at him when your eyes had met in the crowded courtyard; him leaning by the railing of the training grounds waiting to be called forward and you walking behind two older women with kindly expressions. He waved back without thought, and only when he realised the men around him had stopped conversing to stare at him did he realise his ears were a burning crimson. 

Sir Nekomata had noticed too and offered the slightest inclination of his head. The gesture had nearly toppled him from where he stood, and Yaku recognised the acknowledgement with all the gratitude he had for the old man. 

To acknowledge him so publicly was surely a sign that you weren’t ashamed to be associated with him. What if he were to ask you on an outing, or a date as he knew them to be referred by some. He heard the men talking about the dates they had been on, and whilst he was certain half their claims were wildly exaggerated, it would be nice to go somewhere together for a bit longer than an hour at sunset. 

“Did you say something?” you asked when he made an unintelligible noise suddenly. 

Your name had gotten stuck on the way out, coming out like a garbled yelp. He flushed a brilliant red and was grateful for the sunset which hid the worst of the heat from your scrutinising gaze. 

He cleared his throat in an attempt to recentre himself. “I’d like to take out to the meadows the next day you have off… that’s… I mean… if you would like that. It’s okay if you don’t, I know I’m not a knight just a human punching bag.” 

You hummed softly, mischief painted into the smile you wore, the smile he loved. If he wasn’t looking at you with his own eyes, he would never believe the amount of playfulness you could pack into the sway of your head as you considered his proposal. 

“Tell me, Mori, why the meadows and what could we do there that we can’t do here?” 

His tongue was heavy in his mouth, he did his best to wet his lips, but all the saliva was gone. You would bring him to his knees with one simple crook of your finger, and he wasn’t sure you realised it, not yet at least. It would be so easy, and he liked the thought of it very much. 

“The zinnias are in bloom. They remind me of you because you love orange and you’re both so bright and beautiful, and… we could pack a lunch. I have coin saved so I thought I could buy a bottle of honey mead too. I’ve got a mate who brews his own and it wont leave you wanting to die the next morning either.” 

“Tempting,” you said, tapping your lip and making him want to be that finger which touched the plush of your mouth. Suddenly, he felt the little finger of your other hand touch his and soon enough the two were twinned around each other. 

“Would you kiss me there, Morisuke?” 

Yaku did his best not to let his gaze drop to your mouth, but he failed miserably. Not only did he fail, but his eyes also fell further south to the tight hold of your dress and the ampleness at your neckline. He would have whimpered had he not scolded himself at that moment and reminded himself that he was a gentleman and not an animal. 

“I’d kiss you here if you’d let me.” 

He didn’t need to hear your answer; it was written explicitly across your face. Your eyes were low-lidded, he could feel the warmth in your skin and see the shallow breaths which made your chest puff in the most appealing way. It was the easiest decision he had ever made, and also the best. 

A hand slid into your hair, his palm cradling your cheek as he kissed you for the very first time. It wasn’t in a field of blooming zinnias, and it wasn’t whilst tipsy on excellent honey mead, it was on your secret rooftop hidden away from everyone in the castle during the last sunset of spring. It was slow and it was sweet, a kiss which didn’t seem to have an end and neither of you seemed to mind.  

When your fingertips stroked over the scars on his knuckles with nothing but careful affection, he sighed and felt for the first time that he was seen for who really was and not a series of judgements based on prejudices.