🎆

On the fourth night, they make camp long before the sun threatened the horizon, the forest dim and cool beneath the canopy. Hein busies himself with small, necessary tasks: unrolling blankets, checking the perimeter wards Ishida places, and tending to the fire Myya coaxed to life. Anything to keep his hands moving. Anything to keep his eyes from drifting towards his master.

But they do anyway.

His master works in silence, gathering fallen branches, his movement sharp, efficient, and painfully distant. Hein feels the weight of the distance like a stone lodged beneath his ribs. It’s his doing—his words, spoken days ago, still hanging between them like a blade suspended by a thread.

He expected more anger. Not this quiet ache that radiates from the prince every time their paths cross and he refuses to look at him. Hein does his best to ignore him. He focuses on the fire, on the crackle of resin, on the faint hum of Ishida’s talismans in the trees. He listens to Ryuji and Myya whispering about the route ahead, pretending he doesn’t feel his masters presence like a second heartbeat just behind him. As if the tension isn’t thick enough to taste.

When Master Takashi finally sits at the edge of camp, back turned to everyone, Hein forces himself not to follow, not to speak, not to reach out. He has made his choice and now he has to live inside it. But as the night deepens and the forest settles, he finds himself staring at the faint outline of the princes shoulders, wondering how long a man can hold himself together after cutting out a piece of his own heart.

“You two are very bad at pretending nothing happened,” Ishida says while scanning the spines.

“N-nothing did happen,” Hein tries.

Ishida turns, giving him a look that cuts straight through him. “You don’t have to lie to me, Hein.”

He knows. But if he lets the truth out—if he admits it—everything he’s been trying to protect will crumble. If he pretends long enough, maybe the pain will dull.

“Nothing happened,” he repeats. “Master is focusing on stopping the King. That’s his priority.”

“Hmm,” Ishida hums. “Funny. It seemed to me that you were at the top of his priorities.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Is that what you told him?” Ishida asks, motioning for Hein to take the right corridor. “Because of your positions?”

“He is a Prince,” Hein says quietly. “I am an Essence.”

“I don’t recall his highness ever caring about such things,” Ishida says. “He’s never been one for labels or class structure. I quite like that about him.” He points at Hein. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“But you heard what Lord Senven said.”

“Hein—”

“What’s going to happen after he warns Rah? Where will he go? I’ve ruined him.”

“No, no, no.” Ishida stops and gently cups Hein’s face in both hands. “You have done no such thing, sweet boy.” He smiles softly. “If anything, you’ve lit the fire under him. Given him purpose.”

Hein sniffles.

“And you want to know what I think?”

He nods.

“I think he’d burn down the whole world for you without a second thought.”

Hein lets out a shaky breath. “But I’m—I’m not—”

“You are,” Ishida says, squeezing his cheeks lightly. “But none of that matters. What matters is how you feel. What you want.” He places a hand over Hein’s heart. “No one can command this.”

Hein wishes someone could. It would be easier. Then he would know what was right. His heart has never mattered before—just an organ beating while the world chipped away at it. Now it feels like a ship on a stormy sea, every beat a drum he can’t ignore.

“What if my heart is wrong?” he whispers. “What if the only reason it feels this way is because Master Takashi has been kind to me?”

“I can’t answer that,” Ishida says gently. “But I think you already know you care for him. That much is obvious.”

“What if that’s not enough?” Hein’s voice trembles. “If I did feel that way, wouldn’t I… want other things? Those kinds of things? But I don’t. I don’t have those feelings. I don’t know if I ever will.” He clenches his fists. “But Master Takashi does. And if he wants that… what if I can’t give it to him?”

Ishida stills — just for a heartbeat — and something warm flickers in his eyes. Not surprise. Recognition. 

His voice, when it comes, is warm enough to melt stone. “Love is limitless, Chestnut. It has no parameters. It doesn’t hinge on physical desire.” He tilts Hein’s chin up with a tenderness that asks permission rather than assumes it. “You of all people know that. Love is intangible. It’s whatever you make it. And however you love someone — they are better for it.”

Hein can only nod. The idea that his love—quiet, slow, tender—could ever be enough feels impossible. He has always felt defective, like something inside him was missing. He doesn’t fear intimacy. Even after everything he’s endured, the idea of sharing a bed doesn’t repulse him. It simply isn’t something he needs to feel whole. Being cherished without being touched gives him the same warmth others find in physical closeness. And maybe, with the right person—someone he trusts deeply—that could change. He’s open to the possibility.

2. A Lucky Guess

[This is canon moment from the story, and one of my favorite moments, where Myya accidentally uncovers Ryuji’s deepest secret while they are searching the Stronghold]

“Ugh, you’re just like him,” Ryuji groans. “So many questions. Nosy.” 

“Who? Ishida? I take that as a compliment,” Myya smiles, hurrying to keep pace with him. “and besides, I’m not being nosy. I’m only trying to have a conversation. The only time you usually talk is to express how much you hate all of us.” 

“I don’t hate all of you.” 

“Then why do you act like it? Especially, with Ishida, what’s he ever done to you?” 

“That caster-“

“Ishida.”

“Shouldn’t even be here, it’s far too dangerous- not to mention he’s been acting strange since we arrived. Constantly spacing out and fiddling with that necklace. He’s going to-“

“You’re worried about him?” 

The question nearly stops the archer in his tracks, “What? No.”

“Kinda sounds like you are.” 

“Him being here puts everyone at risk. Especially, Takashi if we get caught.”

“Ishida knows what he’s doing, trust him.” 

“Casters cannot be trusted.” 

“Do you seriously still consider him your enemy? He’s saved your life how many times?” 

“He’s a caster,” she hears the archer mutter behind her.

“You keep saying that like you want it to mean something. Take that away, what’s your problem with him?”

“Everything. He’s horrible. He’s loud and arrogant. He has no respect for people of power and higher status—not to mention personal space. He’s always spouting off opinions, using those ridiculous nicknames, flirting with complete strangers—“

“Why do you care who he flirts with?” 

“W-wha, I don’t. I’m saying his shameless behavior is inappropriate, obnoxious, and—“ 

Myya eyes him as the list goes on. She has half a mind to tell the archer where he can stick his bow, but when she sees the pensive look on his face, she stops. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you like Ishida.” 

Ryuji comes to a dead stop, his head spinning around to face her like an owl.

“What?”

“You like him,” she repeats, deciding not to waiver. “You like Ishida.” 

“That’s ridiculous” Ryuji scoffs. 

“Is it?” 

“He’s a caster.” 

“And you like him.” 

The assassin’s face scrunches, his eye almost twitching. 

“It all makes sense now,” she grins. “Your  tough-guy bully routine is just an act so none of your assassin buddies find out that you—“ 

Ryuji grabs her arm. 

“Hey! Watch it!” She exclaims, “That hurts!” 

There are voices coming from around the corner and Ryuji puts a hand over her mouth and tucks them behind a stone column.

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” He hisses in a whisper. “He’s a man.” 

Myya squints, “Ok and?” 

“I’m not-“ the archer nearly shouts, but collects himself, lowering his voice. “I do not like men.” 

“I never said that you did. I said you liked Ishida.”  

She gasps when Ryuji grabs her arm and drags her into one of the rooms. 

“You,” he starts, his voice shaking, “have no idea what you’re saying, what you’re insinuating.” 

“What’s the big deal?” Myya grunts, “I didn’t say you were in love with him and besides even if you did like guys it doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you’re getting so upset about it. Look at Takashi! He doesn't care about that sort of thing, and he’s a Prince!” 

Ryuji scoffs, releasing his grip. “Don't preach to me about things you know nothing about. Someone like you could never understand. I am a soldier.”

"Someone like me? What- Did your brain stop developing so your legs could keep growing? What does liking men have to do with being a Kemuri or whatever you call yourself?”

“You don’t get it. My family—I don’t—I’m not,” he bites his lip. “I can’t.” 

Myya watches him and the way his hands shake. His entire body is ridged and there’s a fear in his eyes she’s never seen before. He looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” she says, feeling guilty about unintentionally exposing something she wasn’t meant to know, “and your family shouldn't care either way. Neither should you. It shouldn’t matter who they are, their gender, their family, nothing.” 

“You say that like it’s easy,” Ryuji scoffs. 

“It is easy. Love is love. It’s as simple as that.” 

Ryuji shakes his head. “You don’t get it.” 

He claps his hands behind his back and walks over to the window. Myya takes a few tentative steps towards him. Hesitantly, she places her hand on his arm, feeling him tense. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs. “But you shouldn’t let other’s dictate your happiness. It isn’t fair to you,” she watches the archer wrinkle his nose before stepping away to give him space. 

“And for the record,” she adds hanging in the doorway, “you could do way worse than Ishida. He’s an amazing person. He changed my life and I wouldn’t trade his friendship for anything.” 

Before he can respond, she exits into the hallway. Maybe Ishida is right, maybe there is more to Ryuji than meets the eye, you just have to chip through his hard outer shell. She hopes her words provided some encouragement, but as the archer strides past her, like she’s not even there it fills her with doubt. She has to nearly jog to keep up with him as they set off back down the carpeted hallways. It’s clear that he’s still hell bent at keeping everyone at a distance, including himself.

3. A Friend Knows

[Another canon moment from the story where Takashi reveals he’s known all along. It is important to note here that Takashi is very drunk (upset over the break up with Hein) and it's also important to note that drunk Takashi is my favorite hahaha.]

Ryuji’s eyes follow them out onto the dance floor until his neck strains from the angle. He turns back sighing and looks over at the Prince still slouched on the stool like a squashed mushroom.

"Sit up," he tells him, pushing against his back. 

"He won't even look at me," Takashi whines and Ryuji rolls his eyes. 

"I wouldn't want to look at you right now either," he grumbles, glancing back at the dance floor. 

“That’s mean,” the Prince pouts and tilts his glass upside down to get the last drop. “You don’t have to be so -hic- oops,- hic- mean all the time. You can relax and have- have a good time—hic—

"What are you going on about now?" 

"You know what," Takashi emphasizes waving at the groups around them. The gesture causes him to lose his balance, but he catches himself on the counter. 

"We need to get something to eat." 

"Ugh, there you go, avoiding the topic, like you always do." 

"Can you blame me? You make it look like such a messy business,” He looks down at the glass Ishida had left behind. “Love is the death of peace of mind.” 

“No, no. You’re-you’re wrong. You need, you know what you need? You need a wingman!” He throws his arm around Ryuji’s neck. “Who shall we get?”

“No,” Ryuji refuses, shifting in his seat in hopes Takashi will let him go.

"How about the bartender?He— hic— seems interested.” 

Ryuji looks over, watching as Garron mixes a few drinks. When he catches Ryuji staring he winks at him. Ryuji ducks. How did— his head snaps to the drunken Prince.

"What makes you think-"

“Not into Udrons? Ok,” Takashi spins on the stool, “how about the guy over there?” He points to one of the men by the band.

Ryuji grabs his arm and turns him back to face the bar. 

“Did Myya—“ 

“Myya?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Let’s just—”

"Come on Ryuji, I may be a dumb Prince, but I'm not—I’m not stupid. I saw who’d catch your eye at all of those parties, while you, you were sulking. It wasn’t the girls.” 

“I-I, I’m not. I don’t.”

“It’sok,” Takashi pats his back. “I get it. So tell me whatdoyoulike?”

“Can we not talk about this?” Ryuji asks, feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin. "I am not that kind of man, and I never will be." 

“That’s not true,” Takashi pouts. “You, you just have to take a dance—a chance. Stop doing duty stuff and do for you,” he presses a finger to Ryuji’s chest tapping it with each word. “Because you need happy.” 

"Takashi-"

"Ah! Ah! I am the Prince, I have spoken!" he pounds his fists on the bar counter like a gavel. “And you owe me for, cus I’m your best friend and you told Myya.”

“I didn’t tell her,” Ryuji corrects, “she figured it out somehow.” 

“Aw, I can’t stay mad at you,” Takashi sings, not having heard what he said. He wraps his arms around his neck like a child. Ryuji grabs onto him to keep them steady on the stool.

+ 1 A Choice

[This scene doesn't happen in the story, but I wanted to give it to Ryuji because he deserves it. Perhaps something close to it will happen...we'll see]

Lanterns float overhead in a haze of orange, casting the bar in a warm, restless glow. Ryuji traces his finger around the glass in front of him, focusing on the disappearing froth instead of the celebration that’s pressing in from every side. His eyes slip to the shadowed corners where the lanterns can’t reach, quick, subtle sweeps to make sure the atmosphere stays harmless.

Takashi sits next to him, a seat away, a collection of empty glasses crowding the shelf. He chats with a small group of girls, the same group that swarmed him the moment he arrived, begging for a dance. He’d refused with a grin, eyes never leaving the field ahead of them. 

Sorry, ladies, my heart is happily spoken for, he’d said, as effortlessly as breathing. 

Ryuji’s gaze drifts to the field as well, scanning unfamiliar faces out of habit before settling—inevitably—on one. Lantern-light washes over Myya, Ishida, and Hein as they dance, but it’s Ishida who holds him still. The way he moves, the way he laughs, the way the orange glow reflects off the white of his hair…it tugs at something he keeps locked behind his ribs. 

When the song ends, Hein makes his way towards the bar, flushed and breathless from the dance. Takashi doesn’t hesitate; he reaches out and pulls the Essence into his lap, the girls forgotten in an instant. It’s so natural for him, so unthinking, so open. Ryuji watches the ease of it, the comfort, the certainty, and swallows the quiet ache he feels. 

He wishes it were that simple for him. 

Ishida joins them a moment later, slipping into the seat between him and Takashi. Close enough to be near, but just far enough that no one will think twice about it. It’s a habit he’s picked up ever since they became…whatever it is they are. Ryuji notices it every time. Feels it every time. 

Like Takashi, Ishida expresses most of his affection through touch. When they are alone, he’s all warm hands and easy closeness, leaning into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But out here, surrounded by strangers, he holds himself carefully in check. A few inches of space. A polite distance. A quiet question: are you ok with this? 

In truth, Ryuji hates the distance. Hates that Ishida feels he needs to create it, and yet he understands and appreciates the gentleness behind it. The patience. The way Ishida has never pushed him towards the truth, he still can't say out loud. 

He wishes he could reach across the space. Just a brush of fingers. A touch to say I’m yours too. He wishes he could be as open as Takashi, as unafraid. He wishes he didn’t have to think so hard about something that should feel simple. But the words stay locked behind his teeth, and the inches between them feel heavier than they should. 

Myya drifts up to the bar on Ryuji’s other side next, cheeks red and hair sticking to her temples in the lantern-lit heat. She leans across the counter with a grin and calls for a drink. The bartender slides it across the bar with a practiced flick. Then, busy, distracted, he reaches for the nearest glass out of habit. Ryuji’s glass. 

He plucks it from his hand before Ryuji can protest, eyeing the warm, frothiness that remains with a raised brow. 

“It’d be a crime to drink that,” he says, setting it aside. “What can I get for you and your friend?” He nods towards Ishida, already reaching for clean glasses.

Ryuji feels the word settle in his chest—simple, harmless, ordinary. Friend. He could let it pass. He always does. But Ishida is right there beside him, sitting carefully, respectfully, leaving those few inches of space that only exist because he’s never been brave enough to close them. And suddenly, with the lantern-light warm on his skin, Myya humming beside them, and Takashi laughing under his breath, the distance feels unnecessary. Small, silly. 

He reaches out before he can talk himself out of it. His fingers brush Ishida’s hand on the counter, light at first, then firmer, threading through so their fingers interlock. 

“He’s not my friend,” he says, voice steadier than he expected. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The bartender blinks, then smiles like what he said was nothing out of the ordinary. “Then I’ll make it two of my best.” And he moves off to prepare the drinks. 

Ishida shifts closer, not casually this time, but with a soft, relieved exhale, and presses a small kiss to Ryuji’s arm, right below the shoulder. Warm. Certain. Proud. Takashi lets out a low whistle and claps Ryuji on the back, not teasing, just…pleased. Then he slides over to stand beside Myya, Hein on his arm, both grinning so wide their cheeks probably hurt. 

Ryuji lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Something inside him loosens. Something tight and knotted and old. The air feels lighter. He feels lighter.

For the first time, the space around him doesn’t feel like something he has to guard. It feels like something he can live in.