another writing blog.

When morning came, Izumo dressed and was set to meet Seri to speak of the political side of their almost-betrothal. He loathed political talk, even when it was limited.

He didn’t dare enter her room when she was unprepared, knocking lightly on the door and asking for permission to come in. “You again?” She held no annoyance in those words, welcoming another kiss that lingered too long on her lips and dared to go farther. She coughed  “I thought you’d left me for good this time.”

The corset was back, it would be every day until he took it off with his own two hands and felt more satisfaction from it than any other task. “We’ll send for the rest of your belongings tonight if all goes well, then I’m never leaving you for good.”

“We’ll settle that affair after the peace talks, I intend to get to know your parents well today.”

“You’re dangerous, my love, already winning over the king and queen?” Izumo snuck yet another chaste kiss in while they walked, careful not to leave a mark this time. “What’s next, taking my spot on the throne?”

“I could rule without you just fine, but I’d prefer to have you by my side.”

*

“You two have forged an even stronger, unintentional alliance between the kingdoms.” The king looked them over, his son’s attention split between Seri’s fingers linked with his own and at his father. “This will benefit everyone, without a doubt.”

As much as Izumo wanted to bask in his father’s praise, taking his happiness and spinning it for ‘the good of the kingdom’ did not blow over well. His audible sighs were enough.

“You’ve grown up so much,” His mother smiled and the wrinkles around her eyes crinkled. “My son will be married, finally.”

“Please, don’t cry.” He held a weak spot for his mother’s emotional well-being. Perhaps Seri liked that side of him too. “Otherwise I may myself.”

“I raised you, I’m allowed to cry when I find it appropriate.” 

*

Izumo rode by himself and took two guards for protection, dressed casually except for his horse’s tack of red and gold. Blue territory was not a far way’s away, and his racing heart was audible over horse hooves on the ground.

He was greeted by the Blue King’s advisor, the same one he fought with. “How pleasant to see you again so soon. Is all well?”

“The better question is what brings you here? You were just celebrating last night, you should be resting.”

“I have business with someone here, she and I are close.” The king’s advisor raised an eyebrow, curious. “Is the father of Lady Awashima present?”

“He is, as a matter of fact.”

Izumo motioned for the two guards to stay alert and mounted while he dismounted and followed the king inside on foot.

*

“Your Highness, I am here on behalf of a personal request.”

The Blue King was notoriously soft spoken, nodding at Izumo’s presence. “I request to speak with the father of Lady Seri, if I may.”

He had met Seri’s father on a few occasions before with some intimidation. This time was no different from the rest, a stern face hiding his own paternal worry for his only daughter. “Treat her well.” Prince or not, he would respect her father’s (and Seri’s own) wishes. “I’d like to see her one last time before you take her away from me.”

“I have no intentions to keep her from seeing her loved ones if she needs to. Now, or later.”

“Seri is all I have left, your Highness.”

“She is your daughter first, and my wife second.” Seri was, and always would remain, her own person. Izumo was not the type to undermine her capabilities.

*

The bells had not yet rung two when the thud of horse tracks signaled his arrival. Seri could barely contain herself despite holding a conversation with the queen and hopefully making a good impression. Izumo thanked the guards at the door and tread softly through the great hall he had left earlier, already tired from the day’s activities.

“The talks went well, as I expected.” He played it calm, internally he was riddled with contentment that there was little in their way now. “And you? Are you getting accustomed to it here?”

“What of my father, did he give his approval?”

“Of course he did. But do I have your approval?”

“Don’t be foolish, Izumo, you had my approval months ago.”

His mother didn’t say a word, instead she quietly left the room to leave them alone. Seri’s not so quiet ‘I love you’ drifted by his mother’s ear.

*

Mikoto captured Izumo in a headlock that evening, singing his praises. “We’re losing a friend to a lady! Tatara, we need to make the best of his last days as a bachelor!”

“That’s the next king you’re choking, Mikoto, let him go or you’ll have to deal with three people scolding you instead of two.” Tatara straightened out Izumo’s collar and gracefully accepted the drink offered to him. “Next time you choose to have a little night time adventure with the Lady, be more discreet.”

“I’m not ashamed of my talents.”

“The guards had a few stories of,” Tatara steepled his fingers in search of the proper word. “Some strange noises coming from her room the night she stayed over.”

Everyone in the surrounding kingdoms could not hold their excitement on the day of the ball, all roads leading to the Reds marred with carriage tracks by evening.

The campaign in the east was still the talk of the kingdom, as was the Prince’s age. “It’s always the same, isn’t it?” Sorting through letters from foreign dignitaries, hopeful princesses, and even more hopeful parents of eligible girls, Izumo finally found something worth reading. His courtship with Seri was progressing well, he believed so, judging by the nature and content of their letters.

Instead of being sent to “Your Highness” or “The Prince” it was simply his first name or ‘My Dearest’. After his time spent in the Blue Kingdom, he was making trips over to get to know Seri’s home when his father didn’t require his attention.

The letter was written in Seri’s clean script, as brief and nondescript as her letters usually were when not dripping with emotion. The wax seal was printed with her family’s crest and a royal blue color.

He smelled flowers after breaking the wax seal and the privacy of his room gave him the opportunity to indulge in the sweetness. My Dearest Izumo, the letter began, Sentimental you and faithful me...

*

Izumo clutched Seri’s note in his hand until it creased and he could smell the sweet perfume she’d sprayed on it before the wax-seal hid her words.

At the ball tonight is when we’ll meet again. I’ll be waiting for you by the stables when the bells ring nine times.

Love,

Seri

She dotted the i with a sharp quill accent and every letter curved just so. It looked like a well trained scribe had done it all, Izumo thought, dressing for the ball that was originally meant to find him a wife. It wasn’t necessary at all at this point, was it? He already had one, so long as his parents understood he was serious.

“Tatara, will you be in the stables tonight?”

“If you ask me to, I will be.”

“I’ll be needing your help, I’m expecting a visitor.” The velvet lining of the mask felt soft against the tip of his nose as he brought it up to his face to secure it with ribbon in the back. “How do I look, Tatara?”

“She’ll love it.”

*

The Prince had no problem introducing himself to every girl, smiling and kissing their hands as if it was second nature. (Which it was - women came as easy as breathing.) He lost track of how many times he gave empty compliments on dresses, hair, and whatever parts of their faces weren’t obscured by a mask.

It was a masked ball, as per request of the royal family. The anonymity of the prince’s identity wouldn’t last long, not when someone got a particularly good look at his eyes or recognized his voice, but it helped more shy guests adjust to the environment. The gold crown forced him to stand out in the room against his will, always catching the light. Izumo used the little bit of anonymity as a way to escape from the room without too much judgement from the other guests, standing on the outdoor terrace to watch.

An hour of vapid compliments and too-eager girls shoving each other for a dance with him passed and he was already done with the night. The band kept playing without a trace of exhaustion, albeit some intoxication. He wondered if Mikoto and Totsuka had snuck in to get a meal and a bit of drink.

“Your Highness,” This one had stepped on a few toes to get her spot in line, and more than likely proud of it. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“Oh?” He pressed for more information, one hand resting on the small of her back inching upwards. “Please go on, my dear.”

“A-Ah, yes.” She blushed a similar pink to the silks on her dress. “I heard amazing stories of how you fought in the war and lead a successful campaign against the Greens.”

“That’s close enough, I suppose.” Their (blessedly) short dance ended and he sent her off in the direction of someone his age who’d been looking at her all night. “You were a pleasure to dance with.”

*

Since their first accidental encounter, and the second, and the third, and every subsequent letter exchanged, he was taken by Seri. Taken by her beauty and personality - she was far above him in so many categories.

Izumo wondered if she was equally as taken with him.

He waited until the cathedral bells rang nine times, obscured by the stable doors. He stood out in his dress clothes and gilded mask while standing beside a pile of clean hay. The horses were better company than the party guests because they only demanded fruit and carrots instead of his attention. Soft whinnying and stomping prevented Izumo from hearing Seri’s arrival, her carriage somewhere off in the distance on its way back to the Blue Kingdom.

“Izumo! Talking to your horse again?”

“My princess,” Totsuka had long since left the stables to go drinking with Mikoto for the evening, so they were alone. “You look even more beautiful, as if that’s possible for a lady such as yourself.”

Seri’s mild disdain for the compliment was enough to make him chuckle and lean against the wall. Her lack of reaction to being called princess was a good one. “There’s hay in my dress, isn’t there?” She kicked uselessly to shake it out.

“It doesn’t matter to me.” His crown was knocked to one side from a particularly touchy party-goer. “Was the journey safe?”

“It was, and it was quiet. It’s a wonder what arriving late does for the streets.” He offered Seri his hand, one of hers lifting up layers of dress as they walked away from the stables and to the pathways lit up by oil lanterns. “Taking me away from the party this early? I thought you wanted to brag about me?”

“You’re too good to mix with the likes of those people. You never threw yourself at me, or shoved others away just to be in my field of view. And you certainly didn’t -” Boots crunched on the ground and his words were cut short.

Izumo pulled Seri close to his chest and they ducked into the topiary maze, away from the night guard rotation. “The guards would tell the King about us sneaking around. He wants to maintain a good image of me until an official announcement is made.”

Blindsided by the soft lanterns overhead giving Seri an angelic-glow in contrast to her blue dress - she looked ethereal. “Izumo?” She touched his face to bring his focus back. “Are you well?”

“I’m perfectly fine, just a little overwhelmed.” They could kiss right there and any doubts of marriage would be gone but Seri might leave and change her mind. “You look even better in this light, if that’s possible.”

“Again with that?” Even though the night guards had passed and they were in the safety of the maze, they remained close. “Take your mask off, we’re not at the party yet.”

He was relieved of the mask and the weight it carried and Seri’s expression softened at seeing his face again. “Better now?” It went unsaid that it was in fact better even with his hair slightly tousled from untying the ribbon.

“Much better.” He shivered at the briefest contact of Seri removing the mask from his face, tracing the laugh lines and combing her fingers through his hair. “I expect the royal treatment from you tonight.” The roses in the maze smelled like Seri’s perfume.

*

Re-joining the ball later on and smelling like the garden, girls who had been hopeful for the Prince’s hand were now dancing with other guests. “I think you missed your own party, your Highness.” Seri was careful about latching onto his arm or resting her head upon his shoulder until the timing was right. “Do you think this was all part of your plan? For the other girls to resort to other guests and leave us alone?”

“This night was my father’s idea, it’s mostly for his ego. I only wanted you here, I could care less about who attends.” Izumo wanted to be with Seri without the mask and royal colors on. “If it were up to me, it’d be a much more intimate affair.”

“How so?” Seri lead him to the dance floor after securing her own mask and fixing his for the sake of identity. “I’m all yours and nobody needs to know about our little adventure earlier.”

“Well,” Izumo led her into a slow minuet, a simple three step that anyone knew in their sleep. “It would be you and I somewhere private, perhaps my chambers if you felt so inclined.”

He had an excuse to touch her more, a hand secure on her waist and the other clasping her right one. He groaned inwardly at the corset under her dress. Again, more metal. “The other girls are whispering.”

“Because I was polite enough to not come off as a barbarian but I held no interest in any of them except for you,” A particularly dramatic twirl put her dress in motion, a dramatic flair of skirts and embroidery and it wasn’t every day that the Prince smiled at his dance partner, who happened to be wearing the same blue as the Blue Kingdom. How dare the prince dance with a Blue Kingdom girl, is he too picky for someone from his own land? Do the king and queen permit this? “Gossip keeps them occupied when drink doesn’t.”

“How noble of you to say that, Your Highness.” She lead where he followed until the music stopped and they were expected to separate and act as though they were strangers. “Stay.”

“I’d want nothing else.”

*

The night went on until the clock rang one and then two, and guests were in higher spirits due to the spirits being served non-stop. They filtered out until only a few remained, two of them being the Prince and his beloved.

“Until next time, my Princess?” Izumo walked Seri up to her room for the night, past guards and guests that were prepared to leave.

“It’s late, don’t you think?” His eyes wandered and settled on the neckline of her dress, cut in a small v. “Don’t princes need their beauty sleep?”

“Yes, it is. Far too late for a lady like yourself to be awake.” A playful grin took over Izumo’s face, obscured by the mask still. “Could you oblige me one more thing before we part tonight?”

“Perhaps.” The facade of of saying your Highness was fading quickly, despite their isolated location from prying eyes.

“A kiss to remember the night?”

“I could do that much.” Seri stood only a few inches below him now thanks to a heel on her shoes - she let his hands rest on her waist and her back once more, leaning into his touch and reaching for his shoulders to hold. The stone wall felt cool against his back after passing the evening in a crowd.

They had abstained from kissing since their first meeting but in the cover of the night, one was destined to happen. He did not want it to end, he wanted more of Seri when the time was right. It was short and sweet, the more daring ones reserves for later and Seri tasted of the drinks being served that night. “You’re being watched, my love.”

“My father will rejoice once I explain.”

“I will leave a key for you outside my doorway.”

*

The King was blocking Izumo’s door as he came down from the rush of his first kiss with Seri. “So you’ve finally chosen a wife? After we took you to the Blue Kingdom and you disappeared with her for the entire day, I expect nothing less.”

“That’s a bit archaic, father, don’t you think? She isn’t a work of art, she’s a person.” He retained his sobriety the entire night, in case he needed an alibi. “I do want to propose to her, so long as she says yes.”

“She will, have no doubt about that.”

“You’re drunk, father. Go to bed.” The guards posted at his bedroom door shrugged as Izumo walked his father to bed, away from prying eyes and ears. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

*

Sleep was restless and unsatisfying - Seri’s chamber was just down the hall and she had left him with a lingering taste on his mouth from their chaste kiss.

Would she still be awake if he went to her room?

*

He paid no mind to the guards stationed by Seri’s door, cutting through the servant’s entrance that would let him directly in. Candlelight signaled that she had not yet gone to sleep yet; he was overtaken with himself.

One tap on the door separating them and Seri looked around until the tapping increased and she treaded softly across the cold floor to let him in. “Finally, I feared that you’d never notice.”

“Perhaps I wanted to sleep.”

“Not when I’m around,” Seri did not falter in rolling her eyes at that, welcoming his touch when it had been mere hours since. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Don’t waste your breath on foolish questions.” Seri initiated the next kiss, the remains of her styled hair falling in waves around her face. “Come to bed, please.”

“What about you wanting sleep?” Izumo teased and picked her up to even out their height difference once more, linen sleep clothes against her own silk ones. “Or is that not necessary?”

Seri teased and leaned in close to whisper in his ear “I spent countless nights thinking of us in this position. Can you surpass my expectations?” The moon lit up parts of the room that candlelight failed to reach.

He had been saving himself for this moment, to be intimate with her. The latter comment set a blush upon his face as far as his ears. There was no corset stifling her movement and he reveled in that fact, relieved her figure was equally pleasing without the help of steel. “Sleep later, when we’re married. In your -”

“Our, my love.”

“Our chambers.”

Seri fell back against the bed while taking Izumo down with her, overwhelmingly content. “Put the candle out before sleep takes us for the night.”

“That won’t be for some time if I have my way.” He kissed the junction where neck became shoulder and drew soft sounds out of her until she gave him permission to keep going.

*

At sunrise he gently woke Seri to part until he would walk her to her carriage. “I’m returning to my chambers.” He kissed her again, coaxing one last sweet noise from her and planning the rest of their time together.

“Don’t go.”

“I must.” He had heard Seri’s pleading voice just a few hours before, this tone much more personal. “Go back to sleep, I’m only down the hall from here.”

Gossip was a secondary trade of nearly everyone in both kingdoms - some curious squire had caught a glimpse of red and blue coats of arms, and a crown. It didn’t require an education to see the prince’s smile aimed in the direction of a woman, known as cold hearted and distant.

That was expected as daughter of the constable, whose mother passed unfortunately early. The idea of Lady Awashima having a suitor astounded the curious squire. The prince smiled at her with a palm cupping her cheek and the temptation to claim her with a soft kiss was written all over his face.

He withdrew. The curious squire frowned in confusion. Why? Why would the prince stop there?

*

The morning after his arrival home, Izumo dressed for breakfast and expected his mother’s disapproval of his choice, or his father’s joy for his choice.

He barely reached the table when the topic of courtship came up - not exactly the proper conversation. “This early?”

“It’s not every day you pick a wife. And it’s in our best interest to help you court her properly.” The subtle ‘for the good of the kingdom’ was left out. “She’s quite beautiful, Izumo.”

“Thank you, mother.” Not that her appearance mattered, he thought, but it certainly helped. “Where do I begin?”

*

He took up his quill once more - not that he hadn’t before.

My Love,

I miss your voice once more - yesterday was just a taste of what we could have. I yearn to kiss you but I will be good and wait til you are ready. Included in this letter is an invitation to our ball - my parents request that you stay overnight so they may get to know you better.

If you stay overnight til morning, I fear I won’t sleep because my thoughts will be consumed by you once more. Your hands are so strong for a lady such as yourself, you must show me how well you handle a bow and arrow one day. Or perhaps a sword, whichever you’re more proficient with.

Am I selfish for wanting you even more now?

Yours,

Izumo

*

Seri received his letter and the invitation, now increasingly popular within the court. She didn’t enjoy the attention, not from other ladies who preened and lacked the knowledge to keep gossip to oneself.

“Must be lucky to have the Prince’s attention.” One said.

“I heard he’s having a ball, perhaps we could dance with him once or twice.”

“He’s a hopeless flirt, it wouldn’t take much to convince him to s-”

That was enough.

Izumo,

I now understand why you become so sentimental over quill and ink - I shall arrange to stay overnight and continue to enjoy your gradual courtship. I’m shocked there are no flowers or grand gestures fit for a prince such as yourself, but I appreciate it. There’s enough talk here that I despise it even more than usual.

I want to be with you as soon as possible, no matter the cost.

Love,

Seri.

Her heart raced while sealing the letter, an unfamiliar blush decorating her face. Is this what it was meant to feel like?

*

The ball preparations consumed the next coming days - Izumo barely found a minute to sit and reply to his beloved’s letters, savoring the crisp paper and blue wax seal.

He was tugged between seamstresses and chefs, one of them fitting clothing and the other fitting a menu to his preferences.

The guest room Seri was meant to stay in was prepared well in advance, long enough for Izumo to plan a route to meet at her door or under the window, in the event of being caught there was an escape plan. Her trunk would arrive before her and set aside in the room, and then she would arrive that night.

Their moment was interrupted by the blue king’s large hands on their shoulders, separating them so he could step between. “Lady Awashima has caught your attention?”

“Well, I would like to speak to her to get to know her better. It’d be in poor taste of me to only judge off appearance. If that’s alright with Lady Awashima, of course.”

“How considerate of you, your Highness.” Seri struggled with maintaining her facade in front of Izumo and their kings, not after the piles of letters on her desk and hopeless nights had anything to do with it. “It’s absolutely fine with me, your Highness.”

Outside in the same courtyard there were no parents or kings watching over their shoulders. “You lied to me this whole time!” Seri was displeased, as would anyone be. “I thought you were different.”

“You like me regardless of my title.” Izumo flinched at the last remark, not showing it on his face and only by his tone. “Different how?”

“You didn’t trust me to be genuine with you if I knew the truth. Did you believe I’d use your status and deceive you or be unfaithful? I think of nobody but you.” Seri wouldn’t look at him, not even when he twined their fingers together and she didn’t fight it. “Was that your reasoning for deceiving me?”

“I wanted to come forward with the truth earlier but I wanted to see you one more time to verify that our feelings are the same.”

“I can’t be entirely sure of that now that you’ve come forward as a pr-”

“A prince?” It was difficult not to notice how nicely their hands fit together even when their blooming relationship was already weathering a storm. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, Seri. I wanted to tell you the next time we were together.”

She remained with her back to him, something their kings would have her punished for if she were caught. “That doesn’t excuse the fact you were brazen enough to approach me today.” Seri led him through the courtyard in bloom, blue hyacinths beside them. “So, your Highness, am I going to be under scrutiny of the Red Kingdom now?”

“Not unless I permit it.” Instead of standing at arms length, her temper slowly cooled and Seri came to his side. “You have my permission to be mad at me as long as you’d like, I won’t be offended.”

“May we speak candidly? Perhaps your words may sway me once more.”

*

Side by side felt like a good place to be, the gentle swish of skirt layers held up ever so slightly off the ground matching pace with Izumo’s steps. The stiff corset kept her posture straight and he wasn’t shy at admiring how she looked in it. “So, the crown prince?”

“Are we really bringing this topic back? I’m aware you’re not pleased with my actions.” A nondescript bench somewhere in the maze of flowers became their destination, “What else would you like to know?”

“Nothing, our first conversation came to mind again, I feel foolish.”

“I’m the foolish one here for withholding this from you.” When she turned to face him her mouth slightly agape and if he were a weaker man he’d kiss her there. “You lauded me for being intelligent and a skilled fighter, did you not?”

“I was defending you, unbeknownst to me.” Their hands never separated. “Tell me something you haven’t confessed in a letter.”

“Something I haven’t told you yet? As if the pages of letters aren’t enough to satisfy you, My Lady?” Seri cocked one eyebrow at his remark. “I suppose there’s more about me. Can you handle it?”

The corset made getting closer a strain; she lacked the mobility that Izumo had and she wished to feel him without a layer of steel and fabric between them. “Perhaps, I enjoy a challenge.”

Izumo’s grin grew wider as Seri bantered back and forth with him until their shoulders touched and there was no space left between them. “Tell me about your family.”

He searched his memories for something to say about his father that would pull a smile from Seri’s lips but settled on the story of how his mother questioned his father’s sense humor in front of dinner guests.

*

Seri unbuttoned the heavy outer layers of Izumo’s jackets, taking time to feel the embroidery and silk beneath her fingers. “I remember you dressed like this,” The plain linen shirt was a neutral off-white, not the pure white of Seri’s kingdom. “You talked to your steed and laid in the grass with me until it grew dark.”

Letting the weight of the kingdom drop from his shoulders and sitting beside Seri left him at peace, if only temporarily. “Well,” feeling the breeze hit his neck, “I have some time until we depart, if I may spend the rest with you.” Somewhere along their walk he picked a stray red flower among the hundreds of blue and tucked it behind Seri’s ear.

“I want nothing less.”

*

As much as neither of them wanted the day to come to an end, five bells rang. “My father is having a ball for me and for the war celebration. He feared I’d never settle down and invited princesses to try and marry me off. Having you there with me would be the perfect opportunity for us to quell those worries for good.”

“Are you inviting me to your unofficial engagement celebration, Izumo?” Seri relaxed her free hand, the other still intertwined with his until his grip tightened momentarily.

“Our engagement celebration, if you’d like to make it truly official then. But it’d be entirely your choice after today’s events and my lack of honesty.” His hand relaxed as well, feeling the pads of Seri’s fingers and the physical memory of her touch for a later date. “It would be an honor to be promised to a lady such as yourself.”

“Aren’t I the one who should be fawning? Swooning over His Highness and his warm eyes, strong hands, and quick wit?” They were dangerously close again with Seri feigning fatigue and leaning into his touch just to savor it a little longer. “Send me a proper invitation and I’ll join you that evening.”

*

Izumo adjusted his crown and embroidered jackets once more before stepping into the carriage lighter than he had been earlier that day.

With every letter that exchanged hands, Izumo had to restrain himself from telling the entire kingdom about Seri, his Seri, and all of her attributes. He imagined Seri at her desk, sporting the same plaited hair that he ran his fingers through that fateful day, writing her own responses with carefully crafted words.

Seri was only human, as much as Izumo wanted to believe she was something ethereal. He watched a candle burn and flicker as he re-read her letter late into the night, neat and refined writing on paper with care.

Seri,

Is it too soon to add a “my love” on the end of your name? I can’t imagine a day without you now that you’ve enriched my life. I have many things to tell you about myself, since you so graciously told me many things about you.

Our next meeting is approaching rapidly, should I bring refreshments for us to enjoy together? I can make that happen if you request it. And I haven’t forgotten about the flowers either, it would be impossible for me to when they remind me so much of you.

Love With love Yours,

Izumo

The letter would have to wait until morning to reach her; they had spoken of her noble status before in writing, she was noble enough to be considered acceptable but not noble enough to please the court. “A prince must marry a princess that is equal to him.” His mother would say to him as a child, never saying what kind of equal. It wasn’t too late at night to join Mikoto and Totsuka for a game or three.

*

“What’s got you smiling so much?” Totsuka never used Izumo’s title when he wasn’t surrounded by court members. “That Blue Kingdom girl again?”

“Tatara, it’s been two months and I’ve told you her name before.” Izumo’s usual poker face gives way whenever someone mentions Seri. “We were fated to meet.”

“Like you’ve said before, waxing poetic about her late into the night.” Mikoto stretched out on a makeshift bed of hay, choosing not to join in on the poker game. “Tell us something new.”

“Father wants me to join him on diplomatic missions to the Blue Kingdom come tomorrow, something about maintaining peaceful relations.”

“You’ll make peaceful relations with Seri given a moment to sneak away.” Izumo didn’t respond to Mikoto’s snide comment, instead he smiled into his cup and looked over at Totsuka.

“I never said I would not, she is quite...” He made a gesture with his hands that meant well endowed, much to Mikoto’s enjoyment. “Was that enough for you?”

“Plenty.”

Izumo,

I heard that the Red King will be here tomorrow, but I will not present. I wish I could meet the prince, but my father says the court is not needed and it’s better if I remain home. Are you joining the prince tomorrow? It would be fortunate if you were.

Always yours, Seri.

That letter would arrive a day late.

*

Sunlight woke Izumo up in the morning, spooning his pillow in place of Seri. The maids had seen (and heard) worse but he’d prefer to spare the blush.

It was hard not to stand out when he was obligated to wear the royal colors and crest, have his mother fuss over his hair, shirt collars, and sash no less than three times. “My handsome son.” The crinkles around her eyes were more prominent now, even more evidence of his age. “I haven’t gotten to dress you since you were a child, and you latched onto me every time. Your clothes were much smaller then,”

“I was also smaller then too, mother.” He’d be leaving any minute, the carriage waiting for himself, and the king and queen. “Come, father’s waiting on us.”

The journey to the Blue Kingdom was short and unsettling - what if Seri discovered his true identity in front of the court? Would she play along and never speak to him again for lying? He would not know until it happened.

They were greeted by attendants in blue and white - their neighboring kingdom’s colors. Izumo treaded lightly in unfamiliar territory, the heavy footsteps of his father and gentle tapping from his mother as the ascended stairs into the main hall. He was only present for courtesy’s sake - the real diplomacy talks were handled by his parents and he felt like a child sitting at the adult’s table instead of being left to his own devices. In red and gold, he did not fit in with the cool blues, whites, and silvers of this kingdom. He did not fit in until the blue king asked a servant to bring drinks, and to speak privately with Izumo.

“Yes, your Highness?” He reserved his best polite tone for other royals, the charming smile that placated lovestruck girls. “How have you been since we last spoke?”

“Very well, but I think I’m better suited to war than ruling.”

“I’ve seen the former firsthand, you’re brilliant with a sword.” The conversation relaxed when out of earshot of the red king, their posture less stiff and more receptive to joking. “I assume my father brought up the marriage issue with you? Some kind of thinly veiled political alliance if he had his way.”

“Smart as you are handsome, it must be hereditary.” The blue king didn’t mention the topic again, only left Izumo to meet the members of the court that were there. Specifically eligible young women, but that was intentional.

Instead of being left to the diplomatic talks, he wandered the palace property. He wasn’t likely to run into Seri at this rate.

*

Courtyards looked too similar after years of growing up in them, chasing Totska and MIkoto all around rolling hills and fields. It was another person’s voice that caught him off guard, a familiar timbre that reminded him of Seri’s. It’d been months since he’d heard her voice (in person, that is, in his dreams it was reoccurring).

It was safer back inside at his mother’s side, Izumo rationalized.

*

“What’s all this about?” The main hall looked more like a lineup, his father scrutinizing the blue kingdom’s ladies in waiting and members of the court as if they were prizes to be won. “Father, you didn’t.”

“He’s much more handsome in person, you were right.” One of them said to her friend, covering her blush with a well-timed cough. “Your Highness, excuse my behavior.”

“Please, my lady, it’s my fault for intruding on this, whatever this is.” He gestured at his father, leaving his mother out of it. “And what is this, father?”

“These beautiful young ladies here are all noble daughters, and eligible for marriage. As are you.”

In the crowd of chatter, Izumo saw Seri looking more displeased than pleased to be there. It didn’t take long for him to meander around until he stood behind her, the thrill of a reunion making his heart race. “Pardon the intrusion, my lady, but your eyes have stolen my attention.”

Seri huffed and the pieces of hair that fell out of her braid moved with her exasperated noise. “And how would you know what they look li-”

It was past dinner time by the time Izumo arrived home, but rather than tell his parents what had occurred today, Totsuka and Mikoto were fortunate enough to hear the tale.

“A girl? Not like you’ve never met one of those before” Mikoto cushioned more hay in the stalls and narrowly avoided any affection from the horse inside. “Were you two cautious in your endeavors?”

“We only talked, everything is still intact.” Did Mikoto think he’d fall that easily? The rumors of his adventures were mostly rumors, save for the few that were true. But he didn’t disclose which were true. “She’s beautiful, Mikoto, I don’t have the words to describe her.”

Totsuka tutted and pet one of the horses before locking up its stall for the night, refilling the water pail. “Did you two promise to meet again?”

“She’s not making it an easy task to meet again, but I like the challenge.”

*

To say that his parents were upset with Izumo missing dinner was an understatement. “Where were you?” First was his father, his ears an unattractive red and an unsightly vein strained in his forehead. “We thought you were missing, explain yourself!”

“I met a girl and spent the day with her, father, I was perfectly safe.”

The king was silent, the unsightly vein calming down to something less unsightly. “Is she noble?”

“I failed to ask her of her status.”

The king asked for a servant to refill his cup, motioning for his son to leave.

“Your safety and well being is our concern.” His mother politely asked one of the servants to bring food out when her son’s stomach growled at the smell of roasted chicken. “And remember to pack something next time you go out exploring.”

*

It was his mission in life to go back to the same field and find Seri again, day in and day out.

He waited patiently, weaving crowns of wild flowers in the hours he waited, feeding his horse and telling it his life’s hopes and dreams. “We’ll return again tomorrow, I suppose.”

After every failed excursion he was convinced that Seri would never return and he’d have to settle for an empty-headed princess and a political marriage. “One more try,” Izumo told himself and his horse, taking the remainder of his optimism with him. “If we don’t meet again, this is the last try.”

“Your Highness?” The one stable boy that actually did his job was there practically every hour of every day.

“Yes, Yata?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to yourself the last week. You said her name was Seri, was it not?”

“It is, I’ve been hoping to see her once more but I’ve had no luck.”

“My acquaintance is a squire in the Blue Kingdom, he knows of her family. She’s of noble blood and we may be of use for you two to communicate.”

Izumo had begun to dress his horse but faltered - he may see her again. “Would it cause you any trouble to do that?”

“Not at all, your Highness.”

“You’re in my debt if this succeeds.”

*

Instead of pacing til the floor wore down under his feet and he grew tired, he wrote a letter.

Seri,

It has been an arduous week without hearing your voice or seeing your face. How are you faring? I wish to see you again to talk more and to feel your presence once more. Please respond quickly, my lady.

Sincerely,

Izumo.

He sealed it off and returned to the stables, requesting that Yata deliver it immediately. “On my life, your Highness, this will reach her.”

“I’m grateful, truly.”

When would he reveal his status as prince? He couldn’t fool someone as sharp as Seri forever, not when the wax seal was of Red Royalty and he was far too educated for just a nobleman.

The sun was waning on the horizon when Yata returned with a letter safe in his pouch. “Your Highness! She replied!”

“It’s a miracle.”

“Not a miracle, your Highness, although my acquaintance is less excited about the exchange than I. Any excuse to see him, I imagine.”

“Keep trying, he’ll come around.”

*

Izumo,

You’re quite persistent to court me of all people. But I expected that after only a day of knowing you, that smile seemed far too sweet. I miss your presence near me but court duties have kept me busy so we could not meet. Are you well? I hope you are, my father is enamored by the idea of a man of nobility finding me suitable company.

Where shall we meet again? Your presence has taken over my dreams since our first encounter.

Yours,

Seri.

He wrote back once more, their quick exchange of letters the only means of communication until they found time to meet again.

Seri,

I want to know everything about you, no matter how common it may be. Your hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, all of it. I can’t imagine how much there is to know about you, but I await all of it.

The next time we meet I’ll bring you flowers as blue as your eyes so you have something to remember me by.

Yours,

Izumo.

The Red Kingdom was a different world from the battle field - no tents or fires to set up, and certainly no heavy clanking of swords. Unless one considered the young men practicing sword fighting in the courtyards or the blacksmith.

Home smelled like the kitchen, bread dough rising in the early morning and animals butchered for that day’s meal. It smelled like his mother’s perfume and his father’s favorite mead.

It was best seen on horseback; Izumo dressed his own horse as Totsuka threw a pair of aces at Mikoto, claiming victory. “We await your return, don’t get kidnapped!” Totsuka emptied Mikoto’s purse of all of its coin.

*

On the edge of the kingdom, there was a hidden patch of fields that was neutral territory with the Blues. Since he was old enough to ride, Izumo spent afternoons in the sun there, shedding any royal garments and insignia.

The talk of his age, marriage, becoming king, all of it was far too much after coming home and washing blood off his shield.

When the fields were in bloom, wild gardenias and blue hyacinths populating the land. He found a spot where none of the flowers would be trampled under horse hooves and dismounted by a pond.

His summer jacket was crafted of red linen and sufficed as a blanket, brown lining of cotton facing the sun. He managed to hide the gold stitching and royal embroidery work well enough before, should anyone come by and see.

He’d return home with a sun-burned nose and an empty stomach, perhaps a story or two.

*

His horse nibbled at his hair sometime later, whinnying for a snack. “Wait a moment, there’s an apple in my bag.” The horse ate the apple in loud crunches, dipping into the pond for a drink after. “Well, aren’t you pleased? I may have a carrot somewhere if you try to stop eating my sleeve.”

Between talking to his horse and finding another treat, he didn’t hear someone approaching behind him. “You’re quite fond of that horse, aren’t you?”

“It’s not polite to sneak up on someone,” His horse seemed full enough and sleeves weren’t tasty enough, either. “What brings you out here?”

“Berry picking is lovely this time of year.” Somehow that didn’t sound believable, judging by her lack of a basket or any bushes nearby. Her blonde hair curled inside the restraints of its braid, held together by a blue ribbon. “Where do you hail from?”

“The Red Kingdom.” Neglecting to say he was the crown prince, it was of no importance. “And yourself?”

“The Blue Kingdom, in case that may cause any trouble.”

“We’re allies, aren’t we? I see no reason to dislike someone as beautiful as yourself.” That got a reaction out of her, albeit masked by a scowl.

“If that was an attempt at flirting I think you need more practice.” She didn’t leave, Izumo noted, thankful. “It’d be a dishonor for you to try and win over a lady’s heart with poor words such as those. May I sit and pass some more time?”

“So long as it doesn’t pain you to hear me speak, my lady.”

*

“What brings you down to this part of the kingdom, Izumo?” Seri asked him. He reveled in the motion of his name rolling off her tongue, forgetting to ask her of her status. “Surely you must have family to attend to.”

“We’re noble enough to have attendants for those needs.” Seri had settled comfortably next to him and let her braid loose, waves of blonde hair that moved in the slight breeze. “And your own family?”

“My mother passed last year, but my father and I are close. The other ladies of the court are questionable, though. Too much gossiping of who will marry the prince, I don’t see the appeal of him.”

“Oh?” Izumo has had his character insulted before. Backhanded comments like this caught him off guard, if only for a moment. “Have you ever gotten a close look at him? Perhaps everything you know about him is just talk.”

“He’s nothing but looks. His intelligence isn’t praised, only his charm and ability to find his way into corsets.” Seri punctuated that with annoyance. “He’s much smarter than that, of course. I heard from the king’s assistant that he was incredibly skilled in battle.”

It was difficult to not be flattered from the praise, unbeknownst to Seri. “Is that all? Or is it just the beginning?” He teased just so slightly, enough to make her flustered.

“Talking about the Prince in front of you is disrespectful, I apologize.”

“Your eyes take on a certain shine when you speak of his better traits, I was captivated by them.”

“Tell me then, what color are they?”

“Blue,” Izumo started with, gathering his thoughts. “They’re blue like the hyacinths growing nearby.” He picked one in bloom, tucking it behind her ear.

*

“Will I see you again?” He gave Seri a hand up, displeased for their day to end. It was dusk, and sunset was approaching. “I greatly enjoyed your company today.”

“And I as well.”

He offered Seri a ride back to the Blue Kingdom gates on horseback, and she accepted. The ride was silent, save for the sound of hooves on the ground and Seri commenting on the quick arrival home. “I await our next meeting.”

“If you happen to run into me again, then so do I.”

“You don’t want to see me again, my lady?”

“Oh, I do. But I’m not making it an easy task the second time.”

week zero

seeing antonio off isn’t the part that bothers roderich most. it’s the mostly quiet car ride from the airport that settles in his bones.

antonio’s parents break up the silence by asking roderich what he’s doing for school, mundane questions that most people use to break the ice. he can manage that much for now, playing with antonio’s cuff bracelet taking up residence on his wrist for the duration of summer. he’s more than fine with getting to know them, this is the best time to do so.

antonio’s mom, carmen, offhandedly mentions how her son wouldn’t stop talking about him. he doesn’t visibly blush. not even when she mentions how wonderful it is that he can play piano, and drops a few hints about wanting her son to channel his extra energy into something besides soccer.

when they arrive at the train station, he’s left with a crushing hug that smells like home cooking and the ocean, one of those things antonio will be missing for eight weeks. “take care of yourself, and don’t hesitate to call us whenever you want to hear embarrassing stories!”

roderich privately admits that he likes the company of his boyfriend’s parents. he also likes the fact he was wearing antonio’s jacket the entire trip back, grasping at the last of his presence in the same time zone. “thank you, have a safe trip back.”

they’re going off again for a week, to some faraway city they haven’t crossed off their bucket list yet. he’s too polite, sometimes too distant with the people who welcomed him into their family without hesitation.

roderich’s own parents send a brief text asking if he boarded his train on time. he already misses the spanish pop music in the background and pulls antonio’s jacket collar up higher to pretend he’s accompaniment on the train.

week one

before he left, antonio nudged roderich to download whatsapp so they could talk without needing an international data plan. (it actually went more like antonio taking the other’s phone and downloading it for him while his attention was somewhere else. either way, it happened.)

the good morning texts are received and sent six hours apart, reaching the other by afternoon or too early in the morning. antonio likes sending them even though he knows it’s too early in one part of the world, but just right in his own.

he doesn’t hear from roderich for the first week, which in retrospect is a good thing, because adjusting to his temporary home takes more than one. it’s not much longer until a coworker asks if he has a girl back home and he has to face the question.

week two

it’s four in the morning back in the states when antonio calls - he’s on a break and the opportunity to rest his feet isn’t wasted. “did i wake you up?” of course he did, it’s ten (four) in the morning. the lobby chair feels like a cloud and he props his feet up.

“doesn’t matter, it’s you.” roderich’s bedhead is probably awful right now, antonio imagines, stretching and feeling a stiff joint pop in his shoulder. his boyfriend’s bedhead is charmingly messy, except he’d never say it out loud. “i miss you a lot.”

antonio doesn’t comment on how cute roderich sounds when he’s half awake, because he’s witnessed it personally before. “it’s beautiful here, i see the ocean every morning.” the tourists all start to look the same after a while, a mixed bag of accents and nationalities checking in and out. “it’s not the same without you, though.”

“i bet you’re just saying that to make me feel better. and you know how i feel about the ocean.” a yawn on the other end of the call and antonio knows it’s a strain on their new relationship, a risk that could end what they have or make it even stronger. “i get every single one of your pictures, but i don’t have anything interesting to respond with.”

antonio laughs, warm and sugar-coated that seems to melt the tension in their phone call. “can we video call sometime? it’s not enough just to hear your voice.”

“when it’s not four ten in the morning, absolutely.” time (and antonio’s boss) wants him back at the front desk, aware of the company image of good customer service and eternal patience. “i’m going back to sleep, i’ll get up soon for work.”

“i have to get back to the desk.” antonio wants to be there to see roderich’s nose scrunch up in false-annoyance, his way of pretending to not be bothered by the distance and putting up a brave front. “i love you,”

“love you too,” it’s punctuated by rustling sheets and a soft click of a call ending.

*

“who was that?” tomas pokes his head out from the back office, sauntering over to the concierge desk. “talking to your girlfriend on the job?”

“no, it’s.” tomas is from the suburbs of lisbon and uses spanish with antonio, while sometimes teaching him basic portuguese. it’s a work in progress. “my boyfriend isn’t a morning person.”

“i didn’t know you were gay.” tomas is oddly cautious with his phrasing. “what’s he like?”

antonio exhales a heavy sigh of relief and keeps on going like nothing’s changed. and nothing has, thankfully. “i don’t know how to answer that.”

week three

are you busy? the text is short and to the point, as antonio’s used to.

not right now, did you want to call? he replies fast, making a few errors that autocorrect fixes for him. tomas and lewis (another coworker, this one from scotland) tried to take him barhopping but he didn’t read the atmosphere and opted to call it an early day instead.

that, and other things.

other things?

“are you okay? you sound out of breath.” is roderich sick? antonio can’t do anything from a continent away. “hello?”

“just,” there’s a groan, or something like it. “keep talking, alright? i missed the sound of your voice, is all.”

“if you say so.” he’s not going to argue with his boyfriend, not when he’s making noises to spur him on for mundane details about one of the local stores that has deceptively good coffee for less than five euro. “are you sure you’re alright? you’re breathing a little heavy.”

“antonio, my parents aren’t home and my door’s shut. what do you think i’m doing?” there’s a pause and antonio gets it, roderich called him for that, and he’s flattered. and maybe turned on too, despite it being eleven pm and his host family sound asleep.

“you’re gonna be the death of me.” he can’t do this in his host family’s extra room, it’s some unspoken law of remaining in favor with the big guy upstairs.

week four

antonio’s voicemail flashes with a missed call, so he presses the play button. it’s silent for a few seconds, and then piano music starts to play. it’s the same piece that roderich used to practice in the basement music room for hours when they first met, permanently burned into antonio’s memory. then a voice, a very tired voice that belongs to his boyfriend.

he’s rambling about how work drags by and the office he’s interning at is populated by people old enough to have kids, how he misses the big piano at the university and how he most of all misses antonio. i miss you every day, he says, sighing after, and antonio does too. he’s happy for roderich getting an internship of his own to keep busy while they’re apart, and to have something to add to his resume.

antonio’s coworkers take him down to the beach that weekend and they take turns throwing him into the water, asking how his boy back home is as a wave crashes over him. seawater starts to feel like a comfortable blanket around him, the permanent smell of salt in his hair.

week five

antonio updates instagram every day with scenic photos from work of the pristine hotel decor, a group selfie with his coworkers getting drinks and dinner after work, and more. it’s not just to remember this experience later on, it’s to give roderich a look into how he’s passing his time there.

sometimes there’s a notification of a liked photo or a comment, but it’s not always from the person antonio posted the photo for.

your hair’s getting long roderich comments on a photo, where antonio looks like a drowned rat after a wave took him off guard. i bet it’d be fun to play with at that length, is the text antonio receives privately, a suggestive meaning hiding inside.

you want me to cut it now or later? there are plenty of other things you could imagine in the meantime antonio replies, covering his blush as someone approaches the front desk.

week six

more than halfway through and the distance becomes a weight neither of them like to bring up. sometimes, antonio doesn’t catch the hints of exhaustion in roderich’s voice or lulls in their conversations that used to be daily but now are every other day.

“i’m giving you space to make friends that aren’t me” that isn’t the right thing to say. “we had lives before each other, i don’t expect that to change.”

antonio hears something in german, dialect and accent-thick. he can’t piece it all together and the video call drops without getting a word in.

*

the end of the week comes around and lewis takes antonio to a club notorious to take his mind off of his boyfriend, who still hasn’t spoken to him. “come on, you need a break.”

lewis is pleasantly buzzed off cheap beer and more focused on the heavy bass making the bar top vibrate.

sunday night and antonio’s pulling a late shift at the concierge desk, and he gets an i’m sorry for being an ass text. nobody’s around at the graveyard shift so antonio takes the bait.

you’re not off the hook for this, i’m still upset at you. that doesn’t mean i don’t want to talk.

i haven’t been considering your feelings this last week.

week seven

antonio starts to pack one suitcase with things he brought over, and another small one with things he acquired while abroad. mostly gifts from coworkers, and souvenirs for his family.

it’s almost time to head back. he’s excited to come home but there’s a part of him that’ll miss the view and the smells of barcelona.

week eight

another car ride back to the airport, and this time there isn’t a heavy sense of longing weighing roderich down; he couldn’t sit still on the train and fidgeted too much with the cuffs on antonio’s (his now, judging by how long he’s had it) jacket. he wants to be selfish and be the first one antonio runs to see, to see his boyish and familiar smile that he didn’t know eight weeks without was damn near torture.

“calm down back there, we can’t break the speed limit. his plane doesn’t land for another two hours, either.”

*

he fidgets some more in the uncomfortable plastic airport seats, his attention occupied by a score for the upcoming semester that the conductor wants him to look over and see if he liked the piece. “eat something, you’ve been staring at that  for the last twenty minutes.”

it’s torture not being able to wait closer to baggage pickup because of airport security, so they get comfortable in the waiting area.

carmen hands him some pre-packaged sandwich from the au bon pain across the way - it’s enough to placate his stomach until the nerves make it churn again. “you’re a good match, you know.”

“hm?” his hair is uncharacteristically shoved under a beanie, save for the strands that always stand up.

“you two. antonio’s a dreamer, he needs someone to keep him grounded.” carmen has some wrinkles around her eyes, stress lines from worrying about her son while he was away. “when he broke up with lovino he was a mess, i thought something was off when he called and didn’t sound like himself. mother’s intuition, you know?”

“i think so,” the plastic crinkles loudly when he unwraps the sandwich - antonio’s dad is looking at the arrival board and pacing aimlessly. his relationship with his own parents is so much different - they’re supportive from a distance. “he walked into the class i helped teach and i didn’t think anything of him the first time i saw him. and then,” he pauses, finding the right words, carmen’s expression calming his nerves immediately. “and then he smiled, i suppose.”

“his father was the same way, that smile is lethal.”

roderich jerks his head up from the score to listen to the overhead speaker. “is that his plane?”

the mechanical pencil clatters to the floor and he doesn’t even notice.

*

the wait until antonio passes through customs and baggage claim takes metaphorical years off roderich’s life. clicking suitcase wheels and conversations fill up the terminal and that sense of longing comes back at full strength, rattling around in his chest.

he didn’t cry when antonio left, but he cries a little bit now, small tears welling at the corners of his eyes that he quickly wipes away with his sleeve. he has an image to uphold even if nobody in the airport knows him.

“we had him for 21 years, go see him first.” carmen gives her approval and he takes off to meet antonio halfway, wading through the people in the crowd.

when he makes contact with antonio again, roderich can’t speak. he opens his mouth to say something but instead antonio kisses him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. he tastes like the in-flight snacks and spearmint gum, smells like home. they pull away just to make eye contact and roderich’s usually-solemn expression turns into one uncharacteristically soft. and then they kiss again, the slow ease of antonio’s hands coming to sit at the other’s sides until he runs out of air and they finally get to say something. “i missed you so much.”

“you’re finally home,” they need a minute to stay there and remember what each other felt like and looked like in person, but an airport terminal isn’t the place to do so. “let’s get out of here before we attract attention.”

*

“making out like teenagers on your childhood bed isn’t exactly the impression i want to give to your parents, but,” antonio threads their fingers together, the most basic contact enough to satisfy him until his parents go to bed. “i think my dignity can handle it.”

“i’m so glad you’re putting your ego aside just for me,” antonio has wanted this since his flight left, to touch his boyfriend again and see those pretty eyes focused on him alone. “how long do i have you here?”

“a few days, then i head back home and then back to school.” antonio strips his shirt off, tosses it in the laundry basket with the other dirty clothes that feel stiff and stale from a transatlantic flight. “we should make the most of it.”

“you read my mind,” it’s a new environment, the room antonio used to call home for eighteen years feels like home to roderich because of the person he’s in it with.

*

the signal that antonio’s parents have gone to bed give them the okay to go forward. “i missed seeing you this way,” flustered and turned on, is what antonio means. “that one time over the phone and over skype wasn’t enough,”

“it wasn’t enough for me either.” a bedroom door closes but that doesn’t mean his parents are asleep yet. “i wore your jacket when i thought of you doing this to me.”

“doing what?” he loves how indecent roderich is capable of being despite his well put-together demeanor. “tell me or i’ll stop,”

it’s not enough for verbal confirmation, so the aching hardness against antonio’s leg says even more. “when i thought of you fucking me,”

“jesus,” antonio says a prayer and apologizes to a higher power for the awful things running through his mind. “do you want to go that far? we can work up to it.”

“at some point, don’t feel any pressure.” there isn’t any; they can go as fast or slow as they feel, just so long as they do it together. “tell me how much you missed me,”

“every day, every day i texted you i missed you.” they’re at it again, kissing slowly until antonio trails his mouth to roderich’s neck and bites at the unmarked skin. “i missed waking up next to you every day, seeing your bedhead and getting to hold you a little longer.”

roderich grinds against antonio’s leg to relieve some of the ache, encouraging antonio to talk more. “what else?” seeing him come undone and put aside his pride is what antonio missed too.

“i missed hearing your voice, how you’re so easy to pull apart with just one touch,” keeping quiet is the challenge for the night, the most they can do is speak in hushed voices. “hey, let’s get your glasses off first before we break them.”

it’s an easy motion to slide the glasses off and antonio can see his boyfriend’s eyes clearly now, the same pretty violet that he fell for the first time they met. “as much as i want to be in your parent’s good graces, darling, i want you to get on with it.”

*

roderich spends too much time touching antonio’s bare torso and admiring how good the summer abroad was for his skin. “no other boys caught your attention while you were away?”

“maybe a few girls here and there. but they didn’t have eyes or hands like yours.” the kisses are hotter now, aggressive and needy now that they have the privacy to be a little louder.

antonio sits up and leans back against the pillows, his sheets already a wreck from earlier. “get over here, you look too good to be wearing clothes.”

“half of these are yours anyway,” roderich gestures to the sweatpants he’s wearing, the bright yellow fc barcelona logo embroidered on the leg. without his glasses, the eye roll isn’t nearly as effective. “i’ve been asking you to touch me all night, finally.”

“isn’t it a good thing i’m finally going to?” antonio teases, pulling the other forward by the elastic waistband.

“any longer and i’d get myself off without your help.” pianist hands are a curse, but also unfairly good at certain things. “i did all summer.”

“i apologize in advance for the things i’m about to do. what part is off-limits?”

“nothing above a shirt collar, preferably.” their parents aren’t oblivious, they just pretend that a sleepover doesn’t involve anything besides sleeping.

“and the rest?”

“all yours.”

*

“that was amazing.” roderich plays with antonio’s hair, the soft curls more prominent than ever after an extended period of time without a haircut. “we should do that more often.”

“i definitely agree with that.” the scratch marks offer a different answer, and so do the faint hickeys that reach far beyond a shirt collar. “we should sleep, it’s pretty late.”

“you’re still in a different time zone, i’m surprised you’re awake.” roderich, however, is more than ready to sleep, and more likely to now that his human furnace is back. “don’t wake me up before eleven.”

“go to sleep, your highness.”

“call me that again and i’ll start acting like it.”

*

carmen nudges antonio in the ribs when he comes down for a belated breakfast, giving her son a look. “mijo, put a shirt on before your father has a heart attack.”

“lo siento, mamá.” he didn’t realize how....visible anything was until his mother gave him a nod of approval. “did you, um. hear anything last night?”

antonio, for all of his good qualities, is too dense to realize his boyfriend is a little loud sometimes. “not over your father snoring.”

even with his summer tan, there’s still a visible blush. “just wondering. anyway. i’m gonna. go back upstairs.” he forgets breakfast and chooses to forgo it until roderich stirs and asks about coffee.

fall semester

they part again for a week and a half (and then some), at least until school starts. “don’t do anything stupid until the semester starts again.” roderich kisses antonio briefly on the cheek, their pda kept at a minimum. “i have scores to read and another class to TA.”

”and then we graduate this spring.”

“i could get used to the idea of keeping you around for a while, what do you think?” antonio sits and waits at the station with roderich until his train arrives, just like he did at the airport ten weeks ago. “maybe in a few years we’ll have a little apartment and a cat.”

“Izumo, my dear,” His mother’s voice was his fondest memory, since he was old enough to hear her voice and let become a permanent fixture in his mind. “One day, you’ll be a wonderful king, won’t you?”

Izumo, then a child of seven, nodded in agreement and the weight of his child-sized crown felt heavier. “You’ll grow up to be a fine gentleman,” She said, fixing the buttons on the front of his linen shirt and prompting him to put on the fine red and gold of the kingdom.

*

The Kingdom of Shizume had been ruled by one family for centuries - it was local lore that they were descendants of God himself, or perhaps even the truth. The Red Family was known for being incredibly diplomatic at politics, gifted with silver tongues, as well having a ruthless army. The crown prince Izumo’s father had ended the constant bloodshed between neighboring kingdoms, the Blue Family in particular, with just a treaty and not a single casualty involved. He took pride in making peace with the Regent King.

“One day,” They said over too many drinks and too little supervision of their wives, one of them with child. “My son will marry a noble girl from your kingdom, to truly unite us and keep the Green Family at bay with an army twice the size.”

“And twice as strong!” Said the Regent, wine sloshing out of his goblet.

“And twice as strong!” They clinked goblets again, talking of mundane things.

*

“Such a handsome prince, isn’t he?” The ladies-in-waiting cooed at how Prince Izumo had grown into his features, sandy-blond hair the same color as the southern beaches and eyes a warm hazel like his mother’s.

“He was such a cute child, it’s no wonder” Said another lady-in-waiting, clutching her fan tighter. “His wife will be so lucky.”

Between the chattering over his looks, the crown prince with only fifteen years of age had inherited his father’s ability to leave women speechless.

“Is the gossip interesting tonight? Did I miss any drunken stories or night caps?” Izumo interrupted their fawning, his head empty of the much less grand crown he was meant to wear at all times. The ladies blushed and feigned ignorance of their earlier discussion, blaming it on the warm air circulating through the main hall. “Ladies, please don’t be shy around me,”

Your smile is your best weapon, his mother had told him, be careful with who you use it on.

“Your highness! We were just talking about the weather.”

“The weather must be handsome then, judging by your conversation.” Izumo smiled at the trio of ladies, dressed down from his royal attire to something much more common. “Tell the weather I envy his looks.”

“O-Of course, your Highness.”

*

“Hiding from responsibility, your highness?” Mikoto, one of Izumo’s closest friends and the right-hand of the crown prince, punctuated your highness with a bit of sarcasm. “Join us, we are too.”

His father wouldn’t find him in the stables, nor would he dare look for Mikoto, or Totsuka. “And why should I?”

“Because we have mead from the pantry and a deck of cards,” Totsuka added in, shirking his stable duties onto the other stable boy, one named Misaki. “Yata, come and play a round!”

“I have other concerns right now, I’m awaiting a friend.”

“Like that squire from the Blue Kingdom?” Mikoto asked, refilling his cup again. “We won’t tell a soul, I promise with my life.”

Totsuka shuffled the cards and set his wager, only the little bit of coin he had on his person. Misaki turned red like Izumo’s formal wear and denied to answer. “He’s a friend of mine since childhood.”

“Go and see your squire, we’ll be here a while.” Izumo let him go, with royal permission, so there’d be no punishment. “Tell us how it goes!”

With good drink and good company, Izumo forgot he was a prince for a night.

*

By sixteen, he was on course to take over the throne in a few short years. That is, if he was to take a wife. If not, he had to wait until twenty-five, and if still unwed? Well, the King would remedy that.

“Mother?” Knocking before entering his mother’s personal chambers, her only and closest maid let him in. “We need to speak of. Something.”

His mother’s face brought a wave of relief, as did the smell of her perfume. “What is it?”

“Father keeps talking of marriage again.”

“He’s only doing what’s best for you,” His mother ushered him to sit on the bench beside her in a concerned but loving tone. “As the crown prince, it’s your duty to get married. And you’ve known this since you were a child.”

“Did you marry for love? Or just for politics, like everyone else here?” In front of the vanity, his mother stroked his hair.

“It started as political, but your father and I grew to love each other.” He instinctively leaned against her shoulder as if he was young again, the maternal feeling of calm taking over. “He’s doing this because he wants you to succeed us.”

“Is that what you want to say, or what you’re supposed to say?” His mother didn’t respond right away.

*

The relative peace with neighboring kingdoms came to a grinding halt by Izumo’s eighteenth birthday, as did the pestering about his marriage status. He went off to fight the Green Kingdom without any urging from his father, it was part of his duty as prince. “Are we fighting this alone?” Izumo asked on his last night in the safety of the palace.

“Of course not, the Blue Kingdom is part of this war as well.”

“Better Blue than none at all.”

*

Izumo sent letters home to his parents, Totsuka, and Mikoto about everything he’d seen, how he promised to never let this happen again.

He fought alongside the new blue king, a nephew of the king. He came off as less threatening than other nobility that he was forced to mingle with, or more threatening depending on how one read the situation read. “Kusanagi? It’s nice to finally meet you.” The unfortunate scent of drying blood and clothes that were in dire need of washing hung in the air.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” They sat by the campfire together, stew boiling over the fire for dinner. “Unfortunately in this situation I suppose it isn’t.”

“War is a part of life here, at least until we conquer the Greens.” They appreciated the silence. Soon, they’d be home again in the safety and peace of their own territories. Crickets chirped around them and Izumo wanted to retire to his tent for the night instead of hope uselessly about returning home.

*

one

One would think after nearly five hundred years separated that the feelings would wane away. They did - between war and bloodshed, Spain facing death at the hands of war and poverty, Austria at the mercy of nations with stronger armies and a weak moral compass. .

Spain, despite his adoration and loyalty, strayed more than a few times and fell to the charms of pretty girls and boys with long eyelashes and standoffish temperaments. Austria was no saint either, preferring handsome boys with green eyes and untamed hair.

They had a type, said their respective partners at the time, and filled the empty space left by history until fate was nice enough to bring them back together.

two

At the turn of the 2000′s they met again by chance. It was spring in Florence and Austria was invited to see the restoration on a building from when North Italy was a child and not yet unified with his brother. “Your city hasn’t changed much at all.” North Italy looked at Austria the same way a child seeking any kind of praise from their parent would. The streets were still too small for cars, instead crowded with pedestrians and bikes and mopeds. The buildings stood out of place in a city that had modernized so quickly. “Show me how the progress is coming, there’s too many people where we’re standing.”

“It’s always crowded here! I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Proud. The one emotion Austria felt regarding North Italy, how he had grown into his country and into his own personality after all. (He was the closest thing Austria had to a child after all - Hungary pointed it out first and he vehemently denied any attachment.)

North Italy talked endlessly about the history of the restored building - how the facade took years and nature weathered away the artist’s finer details. Austria half listened, he always did, but kept his attention on the surrounding area. “Did your brother see this yet?” Your Brother, not South Italy. Romano was always a little more bristly and cold towards Austria, weirdly possessive of Spain despite being centuries younger and his ward. “Does he still hate me?”

“I’m not really sure, Fratello isn’t good at talking about his feelings.” North Italy stirred his coffee a little too much thinking of a better response. “I invited him and Spain, if you don’t mind that.”

Austria didn’t mind. He didn’t care much for Spain or Romano, really, if someone asked him to be honest. “It’s perfectly fine.”

*

“Sorry we’re late! Romano stopped to talk to girls on the way here.” Oh, that familiar voice. “He’s not in much of a talking mood right now, not until he has something to eat.”

“That hasn’t changed since the 1000′s.” Austria commented and turned his attention to the church bells, dinging three times. “Antonio, it’s been a while.”

Charming as Spain always had been, Austria didn’t fumble over his words this time, nor did he when they first met. Not when there weren’t any feelings involved, or so they thought. He still looked nearly the same, sitting back in the chair with open posture and comfortable body language, loosely linking his and Romano’s fingers together. So they’re still dating. Good for them.

*

“We should catch up,” Maybe. If Austria really wanted to dredge up the past and remember how Spain was warmer than the fireplaces in Hofberg palace, how their afternoons in the gardens of Schönbrunn palace were short-lived and the smell of lilacs and roses linger in his memory, he’d say yes.

He wanted to reopen old wounds despite the fact Spain was a taken man and he didn’t intentionally play with people’s emotions. “I’d love to.”

three

Austria found himself back with Prussia in the years he and Spain grew closer together. Not that he minded it; it was a nice way to pass the time and Prussia was a fairly good kisser (and good at everything else). “Who’s messaging you so much?” In the early days of texting it was easier to call than anything else. “Turn your phone off, I want you alone.”

“It’s Spain, he can wait I suppose.”

Prussia kissed a spot of open skin on Austria’s neck, grateful for how easily the latter blushed. “Wanna go up to your room one more time, I know how you get about doing it near the piano.”

“Because the piano’s worth more than you are, dear.” He was trying to reply to Spain, to his short but poignant text reading call me later? romano’s sleeping right now giving away enough. “Don’t bite too hard, your teeth hurt.”

“But you like it when it hurts,” Prussia spun the piano bench around and picked Austria up whether he liked it or not, his phone stranded on the cushion. “I’ll carry you if you really don’t feel like walking.”

“Maybe.” Austria looked back at his phone, more emotionally invested in that than anything Prussia would ever do. “You know where my good leather is, after all.”

four

Too many three-am phone calls with Spain’s exhausted voice on the other line weren’t the reason he fell out of love with Prussia - tastes change, and Austria’s palate was craving something else. “Romano and I don’t agree on anything anymore, I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“It’s not you, it’s him.” Not the best choice of words, but late nights didn’t mean he had to be polite.

“Ro-” Spain paused mid-word. It didn’t matter whose name he was going to say, Austria thought, a warm feeling in his chest spreading just from hearing Spain’s sleepy voice crackle through a mediocre phone call. “He’s important to me, I can’t risk what we have together.”

Spain had always been loyal, sometimes frustratingly so to the point where he stayed in situations that weren’t worth it. “You’re important to me, doesn’t that matter?”

five

Nearly a decade passed - his calendar read late 2009 now, and Austria drifted away from Prussia to the point where he broke it off, probably for the better. “Gilbert, it’s not working out,” He said over a snowy walk in Stuttgart, his hand avoiding Prussia’s open palm and loosely curled fingers. “You’ve been so good to me all this time and I can’t give the same back to you.”

It hurt to say it out loud despite it being so easy to call Spain every night and count down the days until they would be together without the guilt of cheating.

“You’re gonna miss the train if we stretch this out any longer.” Someone had to get hurt in this scenario, life never was fair to both parties involved. “I’m not upset, I promise.”

“You’re an awful liar, Gilbert.” One more kiss, with all of the affection and love that Austria had left in his heart for Prussia, and it was over. “Take care of yourself.”

six

“How did Romano handle it?” Austria paced nervously awaiting an answer, good or bad. Everything was harder over the phone.

“He’s alright, I think. Probably angry at me for waiting this long.” Romano wasn’t stupid, checking Spain’s text messages and phone calls, and once the realization that his attention was elsewhere hit it was over. “Don’t call for a little while, okay? I have to clean up my messes first.”

So did he - a few boxes of Prussia’s things were packed and ready to be shipped back. He washed the sheets and pillow cases, starting over with clean laundry. How does someone strip eight years of shared lives overnight? How would Spain move on from over a decade of his life with someone else?

seven

There was silence for a few weeks, only sporadic texts and updates. A few texts saying how Romano wanted to reconcile and suddenly becoming the sweet and doting partner he was before everything changed, how Spain was moving his things out and cutting his losses.

Cleaning up messes took significantly longer than expected. “Romano called me a cheater on the night we broke up.”

“Oh?” Austria microwaved leftovers for dinner, on speakerphone with Spain for the third time that week. “What prompted that?”

“He saw my text messages.” The fault was both of theirs - it takes two to tango, or in this case, text. “Swore up and down about the Habsburgs and how nothing good came out of them.” Surely there were some insults hurled at Austria too, but Spain neglected to say.

*

At seven twenty three pm in the middle of 2010, Spain asked Austria out on a date. He sounded exhausted when he asked, the mentally-drained kind of exhausted that only came with significant life changes, half-asking for forgiveness because selfish kings and unstable politics split them apart the first time.

A few centuries forced him to grow up. “I’ve been waiting for that since the 1600′s.” Austria’s dry laughter filled the silence in their phone call, the first time he’d laughed in so long. “Tell me when and I’m all yours.”

Coordinating a flight was the most exciting thing he’d done in months, checking to see the earliest time he could go. Austria wondered if Spain still smelled like the summer palace gardens or if too much nostalgia set his expectations too high.

eight

At the airport there was a crowd of people of a variety of nationalities and tongues; the loudspeaker overhead was a dull drone against his nerves and mild anxiety. It wasn’t difficult to miss Spain by baggage claim, the same wonderfully green eyes scanning the crowd.

Their names were previously exchanged at night under the cover of sleeping partners out of earshot, so the rolling consonants and vowels of Spain’s name were caught in Austria’s throat. Being a few countries apart wasn’t an issue now, not when Spain caught his hand and pulled him so close that there wasn’t any space between them. “Not in the airport, it’s embarrassing.”

“You haven’t changed at all.” Spain threaded Austria’s fingers together with his; still the same long and pretty fingers attached to a much older body. “Nobody’s looking at us.”

“The last time we were this close airplanes weren’t even a thought, and the servants loved to gossip.”

“They gossiped more than worked at my house.“

“Not a lot of work happened at your house, dear, I’m sorry to tell you that.”

*

Too soon to call it their home, but Spain’s home was appropriate. “Antonio.” Austria took his shoes off by the door to avoid tracking dirt in.

Spain said his name, rolling the r’s enough to make a point. “Roderich.”

“Say it again.” So Antonio said it again, drawing him closer each time until his glasses were pushed on the top of his head to keep them out of harm’s way. “I missed saying your name.”

Antonio’s detergent was floral and soft - not exactly palace flowers, but the next best thing. The curling and twisting feeling of warmth, content, happiness spread to Roderich’s face. He didn’t mind the blush coloring his face, nor did he mind how positively Antonio reacted to it.

nine

The following day, they had plans to get lost somewhere for a few hours. Armed with a blanket and a cooler, they set off into one of the many lush parks to find a hidden spot to get away.

Roderich only complained a little bit about the walk, as much complaining from someone who didn’t get out of the house often. When they settled on a spot, he took the time to set out the blanket just right.

*

Their picnic was mostly just an excuse to drink and be in each other’s space without the distraction of real life. Neither really complained about the lack of phone service.

He kissed Antonio, with fervor and desperation that someone his age shouldn’t exhibit but did it anyway. He was mildly tipsy on sweet sangria - the same thing Antonio’s mouth and lips tasted of but he didn’t care. Somewhere in the back of his mind was lingering catholic guilt that used to punish people who indulged too much. Guilt be damned, they both thought, what good did abstaining ever do?

From his position straddling Antonio’s hips, his gold cross hung heavy around his neck. Roderich thought it complimented his skin tone; the slightest bit bronzed like he remembered from centuries ago.

It was all familiar territory - every scar and bruise were ages old and Roderich knew where most of them came from even when they were separated. He tasted the overwhelming flavor of cinnamon and sugar under an afternoon sun on Antonio’s skin, the top three buttons of his shirt undone to absorb more of the warmth. “I missed you so much.”

“What about Gilbert?” Antonio was earnest in that question - Roderich was selfish and selfless at the same time in leaving him. It wasn’t fair to lead him on, not when anything significant came out of it.

“Well,” Roderich huffed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the work he spent nearly an hour on. “What about Romano?”

And that brought them to a draw in the conversation, laying out on a blanket in some unknown countryside. “I think we should change the topic.” Antonio had a firm hold on the other and rolled until their positions were flipped around and his mouth met Roderich’s again.

“You’re a mind reader.”

ten

The subsequent days were spent indulging physically and emotionally in each other. “You look even better in my bed, I didn’t think it was possible for that to happen.”

“Possible for what? Me in your bed, or me looking better?” Roderich wore one of Antonio’s shirts around the house, an old soccer jersey from a few World Cups’ past that saw better days. “Be honest, I won’t be offended.”

“Both, actually.” Antonio curled a hand around Roderich’s hip, burying his nose in the short hairs at the back of his neck. “You smell like my shampoo, you’re spoiling me.”

“I think you’re the one spoiling me.” Their conversation ended with an appropriately-timed yawn that sounded closer to a moan.

eleven

Leaving hurt, just as it always did.

“There’s always a next time,” Antonio wiped a few stray tears that threatened to spill but he caught them before anyone saw. “It’s not very far away.”

There were no rules on where they had to live with their nation-status, but it wasn’t uncommon for them to live in other countries.

twelve

Settling into domesticity came easy to them both - the luxury of waking up next to each other wore off after a month of living together. “This reminds me of when we used to be married, except with running water and electricity.”

“How so?” They had rarely slept in the same room, were a month’s worth of traveling apart, and were teenagers at that point. “I don’t recall, I remember you hated sharing a bed with me.”

“I was stupid back then.” 

“You still are now.” Antonio pinned him to the bed for that comment, tickling his sides until he begged for mercy. “I’m not saying anything that isn’t true!”

thirteen

Schönbrunn opened up the gardens for the summer and they were the first two to visit. To any unsuspecting tourist or employee, they looked like an average couple. It was only a few employees and residents who knew the truth.

“Do you remember laying here until the servants called us in for lunch?” Hand in hand, they were transported centuries back in time by the smell of the flowers alone. “They hated it, we’d stay here until I got sunburned across my face and you were sick of playing guitar.”

“I did it just to annoy them, and to see you lighten up just for a little. You were always so tense.” Antonio ran his thumb over the impossibly pale skin on Roderich’s cheek right below his eye, noting the slight sunburn there. “It wasn’t every day I got you in less than three layers of shirts, you know.”

“Considering a war was happening in every direction you looked, I had a right to be.”

Antonio led Roderich under the garden’s pergola, thick layers of Wisteria covering the sunlight.

*

They got married for the second time in the loosest meaning of the word - both of them waning Catholics and looking at the world without rose colored glasses. No politics, pomp or circumstance involved this time, thankfully, as much as Spain wanted a reception as large as the continent of Europe and Austria preferred to keep it small.

one

antonio’s only taking this class because he’s in his third year and needs another elective - he certainly wasn’t taking it because he heard from a friend (his roommate, actually) that the TA is one of the few students at the university whom the professor actually tolerates.

he knows the absolute basics of music - he knows how to read it and play it and bullshit his way through describing it. he admits that’s the most he knows, but this class is completely opposite of his ex boyfriend’s in terms of content and when it meets. and that’s what counts this semester.

not to say he’s on bad terms with his ex - it’s a lot more civil and the signature ‘i hate you’s’ aren’t there anymore. a gradual drifting due to busy schedules and not enough time spent together made them break up.

really, antonio’s okay. so that’s why he’s taking a class entirely out of his comfort zone and out of his major.

two

finding this mysterious TA on the first day of class is the challenge - he takes a seat in the middle of the room, faced with a wall of dry erase boards on one side and a piano to his left. people file in with coffee and half-finished breakfasts, deciding on which seat will be theirs for the whole semester. some are well dressed for an eleven am and others showed up in varying degrees of pajamas. except for one, who looks too put together for a student. really nicely put together.

antonio notices a few things; he doesn’t slouch at all. he takes a clean notebook out (the sticker’s left on, small price tag pieces still stuck to it) and checks his phone a few times, keeping busy. antonio wants to say something to him - that his air of mild arrogance is annoying already, he walked in like he was better than the professor himself.

except whatever antonio wants to say gets stifled by the professor’s arrival and the hour long class makes him forget everything.

after class when the jokes about withdrawing start, antonio hangs back. he’d usually wait for lovino to get out of class and they’d get lunch, except now he has no plans after this until work.

he could hang around and take a guess, but all but two people have left. so it isn't hard, seeing as one of the remaining people is the professor and the other one isn't. the professor and that same well dressed student talk like they’re old friends, passing notes and lesson plans back and forth.

antonio wonders if the curl in his hair is natural and if his glasses are just a cosmetic thing. the profile view is pleasant; he has a nice face to say the least. the last thing antonio considers is asking him to coffee, because the next class is waiting outside to come in and everyone has to be out now. maybe later, if he works up the courage.

three

throughout the following weeks, some people withdraw and others just stop showing up. it isn’t an easy class, someone already walked out because the professor wouldn’t stop talking about Haydn and it was getting to be too much.

antonio’s not bothered by people disappearing because he gets the opportunity to gradually shift closer to the TA’s (whose name he still doesn’t know yet) seat until they’re two desks apart. his notes are flawless, rivaling the professor’s lectures that he’s probably sat in on just because he can. three times a week, an hour at a time, antonio gets lost in how well-spoken and put together the TA is between his clear pronunciation of composer’s names and recollection of vague historical facts.

it’s a little stupid of him to waste time and do nothing useful after class, and eventually a pair of (really distracting) violet eyes stare him down.

“you always stay after class.”

“is it bothering you?” his phone is very interesting. more interesting than the TA who’s inches from his face. “i could just stop showing up like everyone else has.”

“i’d rather you didn’t.” antonio didn’t want to skip either, it was just a cheap tactic to try and get a reaction out of him. “not particularly, but your test grades aren’t amazing.” of course they aren’t. he has other things to worry about. “the professor asked me to talk to you, since he’s always busy”

“so you’re the TA?”

“yes.”

a small light bulb goes off in antonio’s head, and somewhere an angel gets their wings. “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

four

antonio learns the TA’s name (roderich; it’s heavy on his tongue and foreign sounding and antonio would like to hear him speak more in that dialect he’s so proud of) and how he takes his coffee (roderich explains between watching the foam recede into the cup, blows away the excess steam and crinkles his nose when his glasses fog up.)  he learns that he drums his fingers constantly - to an invisible meter only he hears.

“what brings you to music theory? you don’t strike me as the kind.” a polite sip of coffee, between crossing things out of his planner in red pen and adding new tasks to a never-ending list in blue. “i mean no offense, of course.”

the same violet eyes watch antonio come up with a not-pathetic sounding answer, pleasantly surprised when he mentions playing guitar and needing an elective. “i’m not that good at it, at least my ex kept saying that.” smooth, the first thing he mentions is the ex, but at least he didn’t specify much else. “i’d be surprised if you didn’t know how to play.”

roderich cracks a little smile (who knew praise worked on people that easily?) at the last comment and quietly sips at his coffee again. “did i manage to make you smile? you haven’t shown any emotion this whole semester!”

“mostly because of the people in your class.” they’re kind of useless.

“that’s brutal.”

“but i’m not wrong.”

it becomes a ritual to talk about how awful everyone else’s grades are and how their days went while sharing a couch tucked away in the hidden corners of the library. neither pays any mind to the shrinking distance.

five

fall transitions to winter gradually like the scales on the sheet music antonio sees three hours a week - he adjusts to living without lovino and instead wastes countless hours between classes hanging out in the chilly basement music classrooms. roderich is wrapped in a scarf that served no actual purpose other than matching his outfit; antonio doesn’t get the point of them, but the skin that’s obscured by yarn is suddenly more attractive.

antonio gradually falls too - infatuation at first since the first day of class, the slow build of talking after class, to spending nearly every moment together and texting on work breaks and weekends off, until lovino is out of his life for good and antonio throws away the remains.

“what’s your major? is it music, or was that a stupid question?” antonio’s face is a little red from the cold wind outside. he’s there between classes and wooing roderich with warm drinks and pastries from a less expensive coffee shop off campus. “i mean, we never even talked about that much.” they talk a lot, for two strangers.

(not strangers anymore, because what strangers would willingly spend time together outside of class?)

“it’s finance, actually. this is my minor.” he gratefully accepts the warm cider from antonio’s gloved hands and presses it to his cheek. “it’s a little boring, i don’t have interesting professors like the engineers. and yours?”

“hospitality.” the barely-there response antonio receives is more than enough. any acknowledgement satisfies him, even if it is just a raised eyebrow or a look in his general direction. besides, getting to rest before work tears him away is worth being in the underbelly of the university.

six

their first kiss happens the first day it snowed enough to cover the walkways. roderich recoils a little at the idea of holding hands in public even if they both have gloves on. he’s never been one for hand-holding. and they aren’t even officially together yet. (“it’s not like you’re gonna catch cooties, they aren’t real.”

“that’s what you think.”)

“you’ve been sucking on a candy cane since before class,”

“i like peppermint, i’m sorry you have no holiday spirit.” antonio says, shuffling through songs on his phone to make their walk to a less populated part of campus more entertaining. he doesn’t work today but tomorrow he does, and wants to make the most of it. “afraid you’ll get coal this year?”

“i was more afraid of the krampus as a child, but coal seems more useful for throwing at thick headed people.”

seven

the sudden late october snowstorm comes and goes - snow on the soccer field turns to mud when it melts and antonio’s shoes become an unattractive brown color.

the season isn’t officially over yet; antonio nods to his roommate and teammate, gilbert, for a successful pass and francis, the other roommate and teammate, makes a face at him from the goal.

antonio slips in a patch of mud and falls on his ass - gilbert offers a hand up and then waves to someone sitting in the bleachers. “i look terrible right now.”

“you have a visitor, go get ‘em killer.” gilbert gives antonio a shove and francis spurs him on. 

*

“you have some. um.” roderich motions to antonio’s face. “here, let me get it.” antonio flinches as a thumb swipes away an offending bit of dirt and wiping it on a tissue from roderich’s pocket. “there, that looks better.”

“that’s it? you walked all the way from the auditorium to tell me my face is dirty?”

“i came to watch you practice, actually. if it’s not a problem.”

antonio scores more goals than usual. francis blames it on the unexpected guest and gilbert hauls antonio over his shoulder to celebrate.

eight

roderich’s hair is soft and easy to mess up, antonio learns, pressed against a hidden-away wall with their fingers intertwined. whatever shampoo he uses smells like mulling spices, fall, warm and comfortable; he takes long inhales of it and runs his mouth over open skin that blessedly isn’t covered by a scarf for once. antonio appreciates the aggravated noise that follows when his hair gets messy, which is similar to the noise a cat makes when its tail gets stepped on.

the campus has enough secluded areas tucked into empty corners and cushioned with chairs.

“your hands are rough” he says, running the pads of his fingers over antonio’s palms and fingertips, reading the bumps on his skin like long-forgotten writing. “and by the way, your test grades are a lot better now.”

“i’m really happy about that,” antonio gently pulls roderich forward by his cream colored knit scarf, catching his waist. “i’m also really happy about this” he says, pressing his closed mouth against the other’s cheek (and resisting the temptation to blow a raspberry).

“oh, are you? i wasn’t ready, we should try that again.” his expression is playful and mischievous, the purple in his eyes contrasting the faded colors of his winter coat. “as the old saying goes, practice makes perfect.”

“then feel free to practice whenever you’d like.”

nine

“you’re letting me watch you practice today?”

“it’s in the auditorium, so i wouldn’t notice if you were there.” that’s his way of saying he has permission, i want you to be there.

antonio isn’t the live music type. not usually. this time he’s sitting as close to the front as allowed, fixated on the stage.

the feeling and sight of roderich’s hands never bore antonio; he expected them to be delicate like the music he plays. instead they’re deceptively strong. narrow and soft, but the tips of his fingers hold a lot of power. antonio watches him play with complete focus and determination, keeping to an invisible metronome.

his posture is nearly perfect, and if antonio ran a finger down roderich’s spine, he’d be able to feel every vertebrae. it’s indecent watching roderich play piano, as if he’s interrupting some act more passionate and intimate than he could ever achieve. the sweat that dusts roderich’s face as he plays makes antonio jealous, because he’s not capable of doing that to him.

the closest word he can think of to describe it is erotic. antonio doesn’t notice he’s feeling warm all over the entire time.

the first time antonio asks him to come back to his apartment, it’s after roderich finishes a rehearsal for an upcoming concert. the immediate reply of a “yes” might be fueled by the day’s most recent events, but he’ll take what he can get.

they bump into antonio’s desk, roderich clearing everything off it and sitting on the open space. “i want you to stay here tonight,”

roderich can’t fight that, not when he’s busy stripping antonio from the waist up and thanking the university soccer team for keeping him in shape. “i’m all yours.”

borrowed sweatpants have never looked better before.

ten

sitting in class becomes a chore because antonio’s half paying attention to the professor while his mind is elsewhere. now he’s able to describe what a rising soprano line implies, how composers make political statements through notes on paper.

the navy scarf knotted around roderich’s neck is hiding what went on last night, and antonio’s a little smug about it. it’s hard to maintain a sense of normality when they had a sleepover the night before.

the difference now is that roderich shies away from his affection less often, sometimes invading antonio’s personal space and staying there with homework spread out around them or score pages clipped together so neatly with small but important markings all over. “c’mon, you’re done for the day, i’m done for the day.”

neither of them should be slacking off after class, but the times antonio’s free of roommates and work are rare and short-lived.

there’s laundry on the floor and some books left out on the desk, but so long as there’s a spot for roderich’s glasses on the nightstand it’s fine. “you can complain about my messy room later.”

“I wasn’t going to until you brought it up.” the front door slams and he lost the peace and quiet for the rest of the day. “you should let your roommates know you have a boyfriend now so they can relentlessly tease you about it.”

“you’re such a wise-ass sometimes.” but he said the word boyfriend, and antonio’s heart thuds a little louder in his chest at the verbal confirmation. “i’ll get you back for that, just wait.”

eleven

the bed isn’t uncomfortable, not like it even matters when antonio’s failing at whatever he’s supposedly doing. roderich is an endless supply of defensive layers made of sarcasm, topped off with being very demanding when it comes to how he wants to be kissed.

first it’s his sweater, where antonio lets roderich fall back and get settled against the mattress. antonio sits back on his knees and strips two layers off, stretching enough that his shirt rides up and exposes the piece of skin where his jeans stop. “if you stare any harder, your eyes might fall out,”

“then don’t keep me waiting anymore,” the (pretty, long, amazingly talented) fingers that brush against the soft skin below antonio’s navel catch him off guard.

antonio obliges the request, the atmosphere in his little room a lot brighter since the last person he’d slept with in here was his ex. he catches roderich’s bottom lip in his teeth and just barely kisses his mouth before his curiosity gets the better of him. “are you loud?”

“it depends,” what a beautiful sight, antonio thinks, pushing roderich’s shirt hem up and in awe at how pale he is all over. “if you try anything new, maybe i am.”

(baby steps, since the most they’d done beforehand was make out like teenagers on the couch and had to stop because one of the roommates came back early. it was cute and a little embarrassing while roderich buried his face in antonio’s shoulder and swore he’d never be able to show his face in public ever again.)

“i was just wondering,” and antonio kisses the milk-white skin of his boyfriend’s torso, dangerously close to places he shouldn’t be, “if you’d want me to make you feel good.”

it’s a strained groan that sounds more like a pathetic attempt at saying yes, please, god but antonio takes it as consent. “do you know how good you look right now? it’s unbelievable,”

kneeling over him, antonio kisses roderich’s neck and lets him be in charge, like he always is. “corazon?”

few things make roderich whimper and hastily take off his glasses, storing them away from harm. a blurry view is better than broken glasses. one thing that gets to him is pet names. “hurry up.”

antonio’s gold cross dangles in front, falling on white skin and the contrast between the two colors has him at a loss for words. he should say a prayer at this new alter, adorned with his blessings. “ask nicely or i won’t do anything.”

“you’re the worst.” antonio laughs and takes it as a compliment; it doesn’t sting like it used to.

“that’s not right.” he’s usually so put-together and dignified that seeing him like this makes antonio a little proud of himself, he hasn’t lost his touch.

“get on with it.” another indignant noise that antonio silenced in a too-wet kiss.

“try again.” one more wrong answer and he’ll stop, leaving roderich hard and wanting.

“bitte,” antonio’s far from stupid, he likes to believe he’s pretty smart. he knows that word means please, and it was dragged out longer than necessary.

that’s what he’s looking for.

what he isn’t looking for is the buzzing alarm that means he has to leave for work.

“fuck.”

twelve

his shift crawls by at a deathly slow pace. work isn’t busy tonight; he should be at home and thoroughly occupied in other ways. he groans and keeps busy with checking his phone while his boss isn’t looking.

he has a message, a picture from roderich.

i’ll be here when you get home is the message, and the attached photo is roderich with the same messed up hair from earlier, in antonio’s soccer team jacket and beautiful disheveled appearance.

it’s the polar opposite of how he normally looks. antonio grinds his teeth and thinks of unattractive things to get his blood flowing back to where it belongs.

you’re such a tease he replies quickly, nodding to his manager and taking note of the approaching dinner rush. don’t start without me.

work flies by after that and he’s never been more grateful for the endless stream of customers to keep his mind off of roderich in his bed, wearing his jacket.

closing is a test of willpower. he’s the first one to clock out and get to his car, breaking a few traffic laws on the way home.

thirteen

francis and gilbert are watching south park repeats when he gets home, acknowledging the dishes in the sink. there are three. “your boyfriend’s still here, we fed him and made sure he didn’t leave.”

antonio would kiss them both for extending the olive branch, feeding someone who’s essentially a stranger and probably telling him awful things about antonio. “thanks. also, whatever you told him, he probably already knows.”

“that’s what you think.” francis says pointedly, only a little smug. “have fun and use protection.” a dirty work shirt slaps francis in the face for that comment.

roderich is consumed by homework, or reading for fun, or both, when antonio surprises him. “you’re an ass, you almost killed me with that picture.”

“i’m glad you liked it.” he’s still wearing the jacket. “no more interruptions tonight?”

“not if i have something to do with it.”

fourteen

november means finals are that much closer, and roderich’s concert that he’d been planning since the previous semester. “i’m not giving you an A in the class because we’re dating,”

antonio’s hands rest easy in his jacket pockets. snow falls at a moderate rate now, some of it sticking to the ground beneath them and the rest melting on contact. “why not? i pay attention and take good notes.”

“you have a paper to write and i’m not helping you.”

“i see how it is,” roderich’s mouth curls into a smile, or the closest thing he’s capable of. “has the professor said anything?”

“he did comment on how i’m less grouchy.”

fifteen

“i got an internship,” antonio says, avoiding the location of it. “i don’t know if i’ll accept it, though.”

roderich pauses mid-measure on a sour and dissonant chord. “why wouldn’t you?”

“i applied last summer when i was having problems with my ex. i didn’t expect to get it, i just took a shot.” antonio looks away, looks at anything but his boyfriend’s face. “it’s in spain, my adviser pushed me to do it.”

“you should go for it, i’ll be here next semester.” roderich picks up where he left off, a little something off about his playing. “it’s not like we’re living together and you haven’t met my parents.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“if you’re serious about this, i want you to go for it.”

antonio leaves without saying anything, irritated at the situation.

*

they don’t talk for a few days. roderich practically lives in the practice room and antonio has a short number of days to accept or reject the offer.

his room is too quiet. francis and gilbert ask if he’s alright.

antonio accepts the internship and breaks the nearly-a-week-long stalemate. roderich answers his texts sporadically, back to the short answers they started with in september.

i miss you antonio texts while at work, killing time. i want us to stay together while i’m away he adds on, hitting send and putting his phone in his pocket.

*

on the calendar, thanksgiving rolls around and roderich goes home for four days. they’re talking again, back to their usual pace.

the first place roderich goes when he gets back to campus isn’t his own apartment or the music room, it’s to antonio’s apartment. antonio didn’t go home, not when his parents are globetrotting and expect him to do the same.

gilbert answers the door and roderich knows he’s at as much fault as antonio is. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” gilbert lets roderich in, the clattering suitcase wheels catching on tile. “he’s in his room, leave your shit out here.”

“thank you for not slamming the door in my face.” gilbert nods and francis would have gotten the last word if he was there.

sixteen

“i’m sorry for being an ass.” is what roderich says, waiting for permission to cross the threshold into antonio’s room. he’s been here before, in varying states of undress and distress. “it’s my fault for jumping to conclusions.”

antonio tears his attention away from the textbook on his desk and lets roderich in again, rolling his chair out so he can stand up and meet the other halfway. “antonio?”

he gets a kiss instead, pressed against the poster-covered wall and tangling his fingers in antonio’s curls. he smells and tastes like peppermint, the remainder of a candy cane in little pieces in the plastic wrapper. “jesus, i missed you. you’re awful at talking sometimes, do you know that?”

“i’m more than aware. my parents say hello, by the way.” roderich leads the kiss this time, tasting the last of the peppermint on antonio’s mouth. “mom approves of you.”

“you told them about me?” antonio doesn’t stop untucking roderich’s shirt from his nicely fitted jeans and planning wonderful make-up sex. “i didn’t think you were serious about us.”

“i thought about us. and my father is coming around to the idea of me not dating women, but he’s good at giving advice.” they walk backwards to bed, falling next to a pile of folded laundry. “you’re going abroad this summer?”

antonio nods. “you’re stuck with me for one more semester and then i go to spain for the summer.”

*

they don’t have make-up sex (because they haven’t gone that far yet.) but they do talk to make up for their lost time. “you wrote down my concert on your calendar?”

“i wanted to surprise you, but you stole my thunder again.”

“it’s my job as your boyfriend to do that, didn’t you know?”

seventeen

december brings more snow and single-digit days to the concert.

“break a leg out there,” backstage nerves build up on the day of. roderich doesn’t say he’s nervous but he noticeably is, judging by the number of cups of coffee he’s drank. “i’ll be in the front row.”

antonio is shooed away after one more squeeze of his hand. “i love you,” he doesn’t hear that, already finding his seat in the crowd.

*

it passes in a rush, in a blur that doesn’t sound like anything but feels euphoric. his professor is in the front row with his parents and antonio and they’re all he sees.

“you did so well,” antonio brought flowers, only what a student could afford. “i’ll leave you with your parents for tonight, they came all this way to see you.”

roderich doesn’t let antonio leave, refusing to let him drive back until the snow calms down and the crowd subsides. “mom won’t let you go, we’re going out to dinner and she’s expecting you to come with us.”

“i’m getting interrogated by your parents this soon?”

“dad, no. mom, possibly.”

eighteen

his parents leave them alone after dinner to walk around the nicer part of the city while his parents paid the bill and found the car. “you didn’t hear what i said before, did you?” antonio cocks his head to the side like a puppy. “backstage i said ‘i love you.”

“oh.” the one glass of wine antonio had isn’t enough to have an effect. “i love you too.”

nineteen

antonio does end up getting an A in the class.

roderich explains to the professor why he left all but one final paper graded, with his dignity intact. somewhat.

twenty

spring semester begins with a snowstorm and a promise to make time for soccer games and piano recitals between their already busy lives.

in may, antonio boards a plain and roderich sees him off. “i love you,” roderich says it the most now, constantly reaffirming it while antonio prefers to show it in other ways. “i’ll keep your jacket safe while you’re gone.” it’s a stark contrast from when they met.

one

“The weather’s picking up out there, isn’t it?” Izumo had his doubts that anyone would be coming into the bar when the snow was piling higher as minutes passed by. “Do you think the taxis are still running?”

“I don’t mind walking, you know that.” Seri’s usual trip to his bar was met with weather reports of snow, reaching upwards of a foot in some parts of Shizume. “I’ve been through worse at work.”

“Seri-chan, I don’t doubt you’re able to, it’s just easier if-” If she stayed overnight and kept some of Izumo’s nervous thoughts at bay.

“If what?” Her scarf was blue just like everything else scepter 4 issued, and as warm as it looked. Izumo imagined it smelled like her too, The emergency news broadcast interrupted Izumo’s next thought, though. “Damn it.”

Winter weather advisory for all of Shizume from now until early tomorrow morning. Driving is not permitted until emergency snow plows clear main streets. Low visibility and black ice warning. The robotic voice droned on and on until it went away, replaced by Seri’s irritated sigh. “I can’t believe this.”

Izumo shrugged and looked upwards at the ceiling, making a face at it. This was divine intervention from Tatara and Mikoto, nudging them both together one awkward encounter at a time. They were looking out for him (and being a giant pain in the ass) even in the afterlife. “Looks like you’re stuck here with me.”

two

He closed up early since the weather advisory kept everyone in until the next morning, or whenever the roads were clear. Not like it mattered to Izumo, really, because he talked Seri into a snowball that would be the talk of legends generations from there on.

Without the bustle of cars and blinding lights to pollute the night, the snow fell in big flakes that stuck to everything. Getting to relax and have a little fun was an event that didn’t happen very often, not when they were between fighting, flirting, and avoiding each other’s feelings.

The snow fell everywhere; on Seri’s hair, the tip of her nose and eyelashes, her jacket lapels. Izumo was distracted by the sight and she managed to hit him in the back of the neck with a snowball, with the added snow going down his shirt. “Shit, that’s cold!”

Time wasn’t an important thing, not when he had nothing to do the rest of the night and she couldn’t get back to headquarters. “If you’re a sore loser, let’s go for two out of three.”

“It’s on, Seri-chan, you’ll regret it.”

three

A well-timed tackle into the snow piled up behind the bar, heavy and wet snow layered on top of the powdery and fluffy variety, got them both sufficiently wet and the wind chill only made it worse. They only knew it was nearing eight pm by the digital clock big enough for the whole city to see, one of the only things still lit up.

Seri caught Izumo at his blindside, using her body weight and momentum to knock him off his feet. They both tumbled down together, Seri falling on top of Izumo at an uncomfortably close distance and the cold didn’t compete with how warm their faces were. “We should go inside, it’s not good if one of us gets sick.” Seri managed to get that excuse out and stayed an arm’s length away from Izumo until the color drained from her face.

“I was having fun out here, but I can’t argue with that logic.” Pointless flirting was one thing; their quips back and forth that drew an elusive smile out of Seri were his specialty. The conversations they had were ones that something more than friends had, judging by the gradual progression of Seri’s body language from closed off to comfortable. “Tea?”

He stood up and brushed the snow off, grateful that Seri didn’t fall directly on his lap or he’d have some explaining to do. “If you don’t mind.”

four

With the kettle set to boil water, the next best thing was to get out of their wet clothes and into something dry. Seri hesitated at the foot of the stairway leading to his apartment above the bar; she’d only been up there once after getting caught in a rainstorm. “Come on, I promise it’s clean. Mostly.” The life of a bachelor had some perks, like never having to clean up for anyone. He preferred to have his living space somewhat organized.

One stair at a time, she pushed the barriers of what was just friendship.”Mostly? Don’t your little conquests complain about the mess?” Of course he slept with other women, Seri knew this, because a man who flirts so openly and shamelessly would.

“Haven’t had one of those in a while, Seri-chan.” He laughed it off and kicked an empty box away. “Nights are a little busy for people like me.”

five

“It’ll be a little long on you, but it’s the effort that counts, right?” She caught a pair of pajama pants and t-shirt to sleep in. It smelled like his detergent; she didn’t mind it. The shirt was too tight in the bust and try as he might, Izumo was caught staring (only once).

Outside the snow went past the weather prediction’s warning, and no plows to be seen.

“You can have my bed, it’s not fair to make you sleep on the couch.” She wasn’t uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in Izumo’s bed - it wasn’t as if he’d be in there with her. “Did you call work and let them know you’re here? I don’t need your king holding a blade to my throat.”

The brief moment when Seri turned around, she caught him changing out of his usual shirt and into something more comfortable - it was adorable how easily flustered she became. “I called earlier, it’s fine.”

“Good, because the weather update said it’d be about 40cm of snow outside, and that’s the minimum.” In the living room, he channel surfed until a drama that didn’t resemble a romantic comedy was on - he was making it awkward enough as it was. Seri put enough space between them for two and a half people, sitting cross-legged and not making eye contact.

When she wasn’t paying attention, Izumo pulled her hair clip out and it all tumbled down, crimped at the spots where hair ties and the clip kept it in place. “I like this version of you a lot better.”

“Excuse me?” Why did Seri’s heart flutter at that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad, Seri-chan! Just...” Izumo gestured vaguely at the situation. “You look more relaxed. And less threatening, without a uniform on or sword attached to you.” He didn’t include the comment about her expression, one of the sleepy smiles that people rarely saw. If he had to pick a word, it’d be ‘cute’.

Having her hair down was a foreign feeling - so was Izumo playing with the ends of it, a subconscious action that was reserved for couples. She didn’t stop him, instead she moved closer and leaned against his shoulder. “Being stuck here with you isn’t too awful, I’m pleasently surprised.”

Izumo feigned offense at Seri’s comment, playing it off. “I’m honored, the great Awashima-san finds me acceptable company.”

six

There wasn’t much on later in the evening besides the news and dramas - two things they were the least interested in. “Tired already?” Feelings aside, Izumo was glad that Seri chose to stay even if it meant sleeping on the couch and keeping his thoughts from wandering and his hands from straying past his sides.

“No.” For someone so mature, Seri was acting a little childish right now. “You’re warm.” Bundled up in one of his sweatshirts and it’d smell like her scent mixed with his own, she refused to move.

“Then I have no choice but to carry you to bed, I’ll never hear the end of it tomorrow.” He valued their friendship over his own personal emotions - so long as she stayed his friend, he’d ignore his feelings until the day he died or confessed, whichever came first.

She didn’t fight back except for tucking her head underneath his chin and mumbling about how he smelled good. “Stay with me tonight, Izumo.”

Not when they were tip-toeing the line between friends and something more, when Seri batted her eyelashes one minute and shut herself off the next; when Izumo waited for her to make a move to respect her personal boundaries. “Maybe next time, Seri-chan.”

Seri didn’t weigh much, not when Izumo was used to carrying people. It felt right, all of it did, down to Seri fitting just right in his arms like they were meant to be.

seven

Izumo turned down the bed and expected Seri to go to sleep; she had something else in mind.

Seri caught Izumo’s mouth on her own - he tasted the tea from earlier and the remnants of her drink from when they were downstairs. “If you keep waiting for a sign it won’t be any bigger than this,” And he was done wondering if the feelings were mutual, if his days of creating what-ifs in his head were over. “Stop thinking for once in your life.”

“That’s pretty big coming from you, Seri-chan.” He managed to fire back at her just once before sitting on the bed and the mattress creaked beneath him. “How long?”

“Long enough to know our harmless flirting wasn’t exactly harmless.”

eight

Dai occasionally slept in Kuroo’s bed when he got lonely and she got cold. The first few scandalous times, Bokuto assumed the worst before Dai rubbed her eyes and threatened to scuff up his good volleyball sneakers.

Suga slept alone every night, a small mountain of stuffed animals scattered around her room and the string lights keeping shadows at bay. She was used to the emptiness of it all, substituting a person with a body pillow.

Sometimes she’d open her phone and hover over Dai’s contact info, wanted to send a goodnight or an I wish you were here text to her, but chickened out every time. Instead she recalled the rough pads of Dai’s hands against her own, worn from years of sports. Suga’s used to be like that until she stopped playing competitively and opted for working behind the counter.

She wondered if Dai would touch her beyond the occasional, short lived moment of holding hands that fizzled out too soon. Touch her in ways that she shouldn’t consider, because girls weren’t allowed to fantasize about things like that. Not when it involved girls like Dai with short hair, a charming smile, and confidence that usually belonged to men.

“Not fair, Dai-chan.” Suga gasped at the imaginary sensation of Dai’s rough hands all over her.

It wasn’t fair that Dai took time out of her schedule to come to this quasi-secluded cafe by a one-time stroke of misfortune (or luck, in Suga’s case) and keep coming back every day even if she didn’t buy anything. Her presence was a fixture in Suga’s workday, one that she looked forward to.

Suga was starting to fall for her, and it scared her.

nine

“Hey, Suga.” Dai caught her on the train, which for the first time this week was empty enough for leg room. Suga relished this occasion and stretched out. “This week is really busy, I’m sorry I haven’t had time to come by.”

“It’s fine, I have a few exams coming up so I haven’t been around as much either. Is volleyball practice running later than usual?” Their conversations somehow drifted back to the sport, and the fact Suga had yet to come to a game yet. She fidgeted with a key chain on her bag in the momentary silence and Dai’s tired sigh through the phone made her feel tired by association. “If you want to, um.”

“If I want to what?” On the other line, a car horn honked on the street Dai walked on. “Suga, what is it?”

“If you get out of practice too late you can crash at my place.” That was probably the worst thing to offer, because Suga’s face tinged pink and she felt too warm all over. Mostly in the bottom of her stomach where nervous butterflies multiplied. “I-If you need to! Your roommates might worry, and my parents don’t mind, there’s a guest futon.”

“I might take you up on that offer one day.” A pause, and Dai had to go otherwise she’d be late to work. “Text me later when I’m done, okay?”

The nervous butterflies turned into something bigger. Suga wasn’t supposed to feel this way. “Okay.”

ten

“Dai-chan, are you sexually frustrated?” Oikawa had no filter. “I mean, I know that’s a personal question! But we’re teammates and you’ve been...different lately.”

“Tooru, please.” Not when Dai had woken up last night in the middle of a dream she couldn’t discuss in public. “I should ask Hajime how last night was, judging by your neck.”

Oikawa had next to no shame, poorly covering up her collar with her jacket. “It was phenomenal, Dai-chan, I think if you finally experience it then you’d understand.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Tooru.”

eleven

“Tetsuro, Koutaro, I think I need you to kill me.” Dai threw herself on the floor in an undignified position but she didn’t care. “She’s too cute and I don’t know how to handle it,” Her phone was laying screen-up with a photo message from Suga, of her and her cat curled up in the corner table. Suga’s hair was the perfect ratio of fluffy to wavy, tucked under a cream colored knit beanie. The angelic, beaming smile really blew Dai away every time. “Help me?”

Bokuto made some kind of noise between a yell and a groan. “Sawamura, if you don’t get her then I will.”

“That’s really encouraging, Koutaro. I don’t know how to...talk to her outside of being friends.” Dai preferred to crawl away to her room and stay there until her feelings subsided. “It’s not like I know she’s into girls either, it could be a huge risk.”

Kuroo picked up Dai and hauled her over his shoulder, dropping her on her bed and then going back for her phone. “Call Suga and invite her on a date or I’ll take your phone and do it for you.”

“You’re the devil, Tetsuro.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere.”

twelve

Volleyballs hit the back wall of the gym with unnecessary force, thanks to Dai roping her roommates into playing. Oikawa was loving all of the praise that came with two relatively new people that hadn’t played with her before and were happily surprised to see her set with refined skill.

It was a distraction from talking to Suga, who had stopped replying to her texts earlier that day. “Dai-chan, you didn’t tell me you were talking to someone! Is Sugawara-kun cute?”

“She’s, ah,” Dai hated being put on the spot. “She’s really cute, and has a cat.”

“Even better! Operating Cupid is a go!” Oikawa leaped up to match Kuroo and Bokuto’s height, already scheming. “You’ll be thanking us, Dai-chan.”

thirteen

It was pouring ran and Dai had two options - run the distance to the train station or to Suga’s. That ambiguous offer of staying the night might be more than necessary, with the state of the roads and how heavy the rain was coming down. “Suga, I can’t make it home safe tonight. Is your offer still on the table?”

The first time they spoke in a handful of days and Dai still liked the sound of her voice with Kuma’s loud purring in the background. “Of course it is! How close are you?”

“A few minutes if I sprint. Can I use your shower too?”

fourteen

Dai was soaking wet, and everything went in the dryer as she showered. Suga paced while the water ran and she made room for the guest futon (that she hoped Dai would abandon and choose her bed).

 It was too late to feed that idea because Dai came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, mostly. Suga panicked at the thought of Dai being in her room even though she was the one to offer. “Do your roommates know you’re here? Just so they don’t freak out.”

“I already told Tetsuro and Koutaro, they’re not waiting up.” So Dai lived with two other guys? “Thanks for letting me stay over, it’s really bad out there.” And on cue, it rumbled and a small crack of lightning lit up the sky. “Oh, shit.”

“My parents sleep through anything, but I can’t when it’s thundering.” Suga dropped the not-so-subtle hint.

Dai laughed, one of her warm and reassuring laughs that Suga remembers by warm mugs of tea and easy afternoon customers who don’t mind if Suga sits too close to Dai and bats her eyelashes. “Well, Suga, if you feel scared I’d sleep next to you,” Dai winked and the metaphorical arrow shot through Suga’s heart.

“Protecting me from this storm? How brave of you.” Suga teased back and Dai settled on the guest futon long enough to throw the pillow back onto Suga’s bed. “What’s that for?”

“There’s no space on the floor for the guest futon and moving around. And it’d be nice to,” Dai rubbed the back of her neck, her short hair still wet. “To sleep next to someone. As friends, of course.”

one

Tooru has been part of Hajime’s life since he can remember, even when going in different directions for university. They were as close to dating without actually being together, no matter how badly Hajime wanted to be when he was in high school and foolishly in love with his best friend.

And now, at twenty-seven, he still is.

But that isn’t important right now, because Tooru is at his one-person apartment trying to calm down.

“She wants a divorce, Iwa-chan.” Hajime gets a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Kana is four years old, I can’t do that to her.”

Hajime expects to have a guest for a night and be making the couch presentable or even the futon, if he has one. Shoving a glass half full into Tooru’s hands, he tries to think of something.

“Drink first, and then tell me everything, okay?” He’s not rough on his best friend anymore, not spiking balls at his head or manhandling him. He wants so badly to thread their fingers together and wipe the tears that Tooru’s holding back. “It’ll be okay.”

“It will be okay, because I have Iwa-chan here.” They’re both adults, with jobs and bills and responsibilities, but Hajime’s heart races at the childish nickname Tooru still uses.

“Start from the beginning, and don’t leave out anything.”

two

Hajime cradles Tooru’s head in his lap and plays with his hair, still as soft as he remembers. He’s talking about the possible divorce and the potential of losing custody. It’s not that Hajime dislike’s Tooru’s wife, he was the best man at his wedding and was one of the first people Tooru called after Kana was born.

That isn’t saying much, and Hajime derails the subject. “Feel better now?” Tooru cried for a good twenty minutes and made Hajime promise to never tell a soul.

“We drank so much of that bottle, Iwa-chan! Your face is really red right now.” Of course, he gets his best friend drunk. Great job, Hajime. “Hey, Iwa-chan, you’re not seeing anyone right now, right?”

The tv flickers to life and some cheesy game show is on. It’s probably a repeat and good enough background noise. “Nope,” He really should put the nearly-empty whiskey bottle away, but Tooru’s a warm and comfortable presence he doesn’t want to lose.

“Trying to set me up again?” Like he’d even consider anyone else.  “I think I should be doing that for you now.”

“Very funny, Iwa-chan! I still have my boyish charm and good looks,” Tooru sits up, gradually. He looks like a complete wreck, but Hajime doesn’t mention it. It never bothered him before when they were kids and still playing volleyball together. The red around his eyes from crying will go away and the stress lines too. “You’re getting forehead wrinkles already, you’ll never be able to reverse those.”

A harsh shove, and Tooru falls back on the couch giggling. He’s drunk, and Hajime is so close to leaving him there to wallow in a hangover on his own. “Iwa-chan! I didn’t mean that!”

“Go clean yourself up, you smell like alcohol.” He’s had enough of life dangling everything he’s wanted in his face and then taking it away.

The apartment is a mess. Sometimes Hajime forgets to put away the dishes after they’re clean, and his laundry is growing by the day. It hasn’t felt like a home since he moved out of the one he shared with Tooru after he got engaged, no matter how hard he tried to recreate his friend’s presence.

Better some effort than none at all, and Hajime pulls a spare blanket and pillow out of the back of his closet that should fit on the couch just fine. There’s something around here that might work for pajamas, if Tooru doesn’t mind his ankles being cold.

three

It’s only one am, and Tooru’s in the affectionate stage of being drunk, which is his usual self, but amplified. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Hell no!” Best friends don’t sleep in the same bed, not when one still has a raging crush. “The couch is good enough for a night.”

Maybe it’s the two drinks, which really aren’t enough to stop him from thinking properly (because he drank enough to forget Tooru’s wedding), but Tooru’s puppy eyes get to him.  “....just don’t try anything.”

It’s reminiscent of the past, where Hajime ends up staying up too late with his best friend, talking about everything they’ve missed out on before calling it a night.

The familiar but uncomfortable feeling of anxiety settles in Hajime’s stomach and he isn’t about to ruin his friendship because of his own selfish want. “Thank you, Iwa-chan. For keeping me company.”

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” As your best friend is unspoken, because Tooru knows, but he doesn’t say because I love you, idiot. “Go to sleep and call out of work tomorrow.”

Even though Hajime stuck a pillow between them, somehow during the night it gets kicked away and Tooru sleeps close to him, apologizing for coming over. 

four

Tooru leaves in the morning to go back home and deal with the aftermath - Hajime spends ten minutes laying in bed and tries not to mope. He didn’t kiss Tooru, so there’s something to be proud of.

His pillow smells faintly of the same fruity shampoo Tooru uses and Hajime won’t sink that low. Probably.

He should have been leaving for work ten minutes ago, damn it.

five

No sign or word from Tooru all day at work for a week straight and then it’s a weekday when he comes over with a stack of papers and a six pack of beer. “She doesn’t want custody of Kana.”

“Are you gonna need any help?” Hajime doesn’t know anything about kids. Maybe enough that he can babysit, willing the fact Kana sleeps the entire time. “Jesus, Oikawa” ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t even sound appropriate enough here.

“My parents are helping. And my brother, whenever he can.” Tooru looks exhausted from just talking about it. “Once I sign the papers, it’s real.”

It’ll be more real when his ex moves out and the paperwork goes through. Hajime isn’t ready for that. Tooru reads (well, skims) through everything, rubbing his temples. “Is it okay to be scared?”

“Yes, idiot. Remember when you were scared about aliens taking me away?” He isn’t wearing his ring anymore. That sure was fast.

six

Hajime has another dream of Tooru - this one less tame than the previous and he wakes up feeling guilty. Except, Tooru’s divorce is finalized soon and the shame of lusting after a married man is a little less scandalous when the one in question is technically single.

He goes back to sleep and dream Tooru’s there too, underneath him and spread out for Hajime to use.

Sleep isn’t really possible tonight.

seven

Kana’s napping on the couch, never out of the line of Tooru’s sight. Hajime watches her and Tooru, how attentive he is and reacts immediately when she stirs.

Hajime puts a concerned (but he thinks it’s selfish) hand on his friend’s arm, fingers wrapping around it and keeping him grounded. “She wears herself out before I even get a chance to see her.”

“When she wakes up and sees you here, it won’t matter.” Hajime felt indifferent about kids of his own - sure, it’d be nice to say there’s someone out there who has half of his DNA. But it isn’t really important. “You look exhausted, have you been sleeping at all?”

“A little. Kana won’t leave me alone lately.” Hajime doesn’t take his hand off Tooru. “It’s better now that she’s getting used to her mother being out of the picture.”

Kana wakes up and stumbles over to Hajime, tugging at his shirt. “Up!” Hajime picks up the four year old, a spitting image of her father down to the personality and lethal pout. “Go to sleep, dad.” She extends an arm and pats Tooru on the head.

Hajime feels like he’s invading on a private family moment he wasn’t invited to see. “In a little bit, the adults are talking and then we’ll go home.”

“Can uncle Iwa come with us?”

“Sorry, kid, not tonight.” Kana’s whining lasts all of two seconds before Tooru’s face reads ‘Don’t try your luck’ and she quiets down. “Maybe later, when your dad needs a night off.”

eight

Hajime visits more frequently after the divorce is settled for good and Tooru needs the occasional baby sitter for the between hours his parents can’t do. “Uncle Iwa!” Kana jumps up in the air, and Hajime knows she’d be great at volleyball given the opportunity. “Are we going home now?”

“I was thinking we try something different, but don’t tell anyone, got it?” Kids have big mouths and he might get in trouble for this, but it’s worth it.

“Okay!” She has to take more steps to match his pace and he finds it easier to carry her the short distance to Tooru’s apartment. “What are we gonna do?”

Hajime brought a volleyball, a kid-sized one in the same teal and white as his old uniform. Kana squeezes it in her hands and it’s a lot softer than the ones he got accustomed to. “Your dad and I used to play this together all the time.”

“I want to try!” She is an Oikawa, after all. Determination and being stubborn is in her blood.

-

“Iwa-chan.” It’s late enough that Kana’s settled down in bed and Tooru should be trying to clean up the wreckage of dinner. “Did you give Kana-chan a volleyball?”

“If she’s anything like you, I thought she’d like it.” Hajime nudges at signing her up for kids classes so she has friends outside of day care. “And she liked it, after deciding she’d be just like her father and the Best Player Ever,” He punctuates the last words with the intonation in his voice. “Imagine her going to Aoba Josai and terrorizing another generation with an Oikawa?”

Tooru looks a little proud, but mostly tired. “It’s a big name to live up to.” Even he couldn’t make it professionally. “She’d do even better than me, without the knee injury.”

“You were invincible, Tooru, don’t say stupid shit.”

Hajime feels like he’s overstayed his welcome and leaves for the night even though Kana comes running and clings onto his leg. She pleads for him to stay until bedtime and he pulls the four year old off, telling her he has to go. He thinks he hears Tooru asking him to stay, but he’s out the door before anything else happens.

nine

Kana wakes Tooru up at two-eighteen am and crawls in his bed, the patter of little feet on the floor echoing. “Dad, get up.”

“Wh’is it, Kana-chan?”

“Do you like Uncle Iwa?”

“He’s my best friend, of course.” Tooru grabs her and she squeals, falls onto the mattress next to her dad. “Now go to sleep.”

Kana huffs and pouts, makes a noise akin to a discontent cat and pokes her dad in the cheek. “Do you like him like you used to like mommy?”

“Kana-chan, don’t be ridiculous.” He has work in the morning. “He’s my best friend.”

ten

On tuesdays and thursdays, Hajime goes to pick up Kana from day care because Tooru works late and his parents go out to the senior center on those nights. “Kana, do you want to play volleyball with me tonight?”

“Yeah! I want to be like dad one day!” Hajime lets the four year old trail behind him a few steps, her shoes clicking against the concrete. “Do you have pictures?”

-

Kana watches from the bleachers, far away enough that a stray volleyball wouldn’t hit her but she can still see. “Hajime, when did you get a kid?” The other guys on the neighborhood team poke fun at him, how he can easily swap between being the tough captain and a doting uncle.

“Real funny,” Hajime stretches and peeks over at Kana, who’s engrossed in her nintendo DS. “I’m not the parenting type, she’s the exception.”

Kana puts down her nintendo ds, little hands resting on her chin and watching the court with intensity. Maybe there will be another Oikawa on the court. Kana slowly descends down the bleachers and sits closer, her big brown eyes on Hajime, on the ball flying in the air, on everything.

Hajime has to carry Kana back home, so tuckered out from watching the game. She fits comfortably on his shoulders, half asleep but talking his ear off about the last hour. “Uncle Iwa?”

Hajime’s shoulders ache in a good way. “Yeah?”

“Do you like dad?”

“Your dad’s my friend, of course I do.” Kana huffs. Actually huffs in an exaggerated way. “What’s that for?”

“No, Uncle Iwa, do you like him?” She stresses the word like, more than a four year old should.

Kids have big mouths, and Hajime would lose his niece and best friend if he answered honestly. “That’s not something you ask people, Kana, some things are personal.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Her pout is audible, and Hajime can’t see but knows she’s gonna run home to Tooru and ask him the same question. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

“Maybe later, squirt.” He drops Kana off at home and Tooru’s just getting back. “Tooru, can we talk after Kana goes to bed?”

-

Kana’s sitting and reading a picture book, while Tooru has the news on in the background. “What’s the matter? Is watching Kana-chan too much, because I can arrange her to stay longer at daycare if it is.”

“Jesus, no, Tooru, that’s not it.” Kana’s improving his life so much more than he ever expected; his apartment is spotless and remnants of Kana and Tooru are everywhere. He even took out his old high school photos and put them in frames so Kana can look at them and gawk at her dad. “Kana asked me if I like you.”

Tooru blushes from the tips of his ears down to his cheeks. “Kids sure are funny, aren’t they, Iwa-chan? Kana must be watching some kind of tv show with her grandma again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Hajime catches Tooru’s wrist and pulls him back to face him. “She’s a lot smarter than I thought. She wanted to see pictures of us back in high school and in college, back when we were damn near inseparable.”

The kettle dings and the water Tooru put on for tea is done. It’ll wait. “She saw the candid ones the team got of us,” The photos of Hajime with one arm supporting Tooru as he limped off court after winning and subsequently throwing his knee out, crying from pain and happiness. The photos at graduation, where Hajime let his hand wander and hold Tooru’s so tight, knowing they’d be separated soon. “Did she ask you the same question yet?”

“A few days ago, Iwa-chan.” Tooru chews on his bottom lip and his chin trembles, like he wants to cry. “Kana-chan’s a mind-reader, isn’t she?”

“When you showed up after that bitch served you papers, I wanted to,” Hajime’s mouth goes dry, because finishing the sentence means losing his best friend. “I wanted to kiss you right there, because I thought I had a chance again.”

Tooru does cry, the small and nonthreatening tears that would open the floodgates in his tiny kitchen. “How long, Iwa-chan?”

“What?”

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” More tears, these a little bigger and wetter, leaving trails down his face. “I need to know.”

“Twelve years.” And it’s out, his big gay secret is out of the bag, and Tooru sobs the most he’s ever cried since the divorce. “Do I have a chance again?”

“Yes, Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s been starved for affection since the divorce, has put his own needs aside for Kana’s, even when she asks why her mother isn’t around anymore and he needs to lie to keep her safe.

Tooru is an ugly crier, Hajime knows this from the many times he’s seen his best friend cry. “Hajime, please?” Tooru’s eyes are only a little red around the edges, beckoning him forward.

Hajime does, ignores the terrifying pace his heart is beating at and closes the distance. “Tooru, I’m here,” One kiss on his cheek, to catch the last stray tears that he doesn’t wipe away with his thumbs. “You don’t need to cry anymore.”

Backed against the counter top, Hajime kisses Tooru properly on the mouth like he’s been wanting to for nearly half his life. It snowballs into something much bigger, wanting to feel it again, the spark of electricity that went out. “Ahn, Hajime,” They can’t be loud, not when Kana’s a room away and has ridiculously good hearing. “Soon, okay? I’ll put her to bed early.”

eleven

They wait until Kana is definitely asleep until they go to Tooru’s room; Hajime feels him purr between kisses, a soft vibration against his mouth. “God, Tooru, how long has it been?”

“Since I had sex? Two, ah!” Hajime hates clothing in the way of getting to Tooru’s skin. “Two years maybe? Not fair, Iwa-chan,”

Tooru falls ungracefully against the mattress, already aching and hard. “Don’t wake up Kana.”

-

Tooru clings to Hajime, riding the cresting wave of pleasure hitting him over and over. It’s not even anything intense, just kissing and a sloppy handjob with not enough lube. He looks like a wreck, rumpled shirt collar and all over blush. “Iwa-cha-” He’d sob again if he could find the energy to.

Hajime watches Tooru come undone in his hands, moaning “Don’t leave me,” between “I love you”. Tooru sucks every single one of Hajime’s fingers clean of his mess, making Hajime splutter and choke on his words.

twelve

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru pokes at Hajime’s side, being openly affectionate in front of Kana. “You should move in.”

“My lease isn’t up yet, Tooru.”

“When is it up?” Kana climbs up on her dad’s lap and her big wide eyes gawk at Hajime’s smile, how he’s been doing that more and more.  “What, Kana-chan?”

“So you do like Uncle Iwa!”

“Not Uncle Iwa anymore, squirt.” Hajime snatches the four year old off Tooru’s lap and has her in a tickle hold. She laughs and wiggles out of his hold, rolls onto the floor and her gaze gets even wider.

“You’re my other dad now!” Hajime nods yes. “So you’re staying forever?”

“Pretty much.” Hajime’s lease is up in six months; that’s plenty of time to clear out his old apartment and gradually move things over to Tooru’s house. “Are you excited?”

Tooru kisses Hajime because he can, and there’s nothing stopping him from doing so. “I know I am, Iwa-chan.”

one

Missing the train happened at least once a week - the punctual trains never spared a second for Dai trying to make it in time before the doors closed.

And the next one wasn’t for another hour.

She was close to calling Kuroo and asking to catch a ride back home; it wasn’t a crime to ask for a ride when she stopped him from lighting the kitchen on fire.

Instead, there was a small cafe open late near the station. She was tired from a short shift at work and then practice running late. She still had homework to do. “Damn train.”

The warmth and light radiating through the windows tempted Dai even more. “Fine, you win.”

She tucked her volleyball uniform back into her bag, one leg sticking out and threatening to escape. The fact it wasn’t cold enough for a scarf yet was a blessing.

two

Dai sat down in one of the clean booths and kept her gym bag on the floor - it was rude to put her dirty bag where people sat. Where were the owners?

There was someone behind the counter that Dai guessed was around her age, a textbook open on the small space available. Maybe it was too many volleyballs to the head, but Dai thought she was pretty cute.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” Even her voice was cute. Dai opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. “Well, whenever you remember how to talk, give me a heads up.”

“N-No, I’m still looking. I feel bad sitting here not getting anything.” Dai’s stomach churned when she looked away from the textbook, a beauty mark dotting her face. “What do you recommend?”

“Well, it’s a little late for coffee, unless you have things to do later. I’d recommend oolong tea.” Dai approached the counter and she looked like a walking advertisement for the university team - her sweatpants in the school colors and sweatshirt embroidered with the volleyball team symbol. “Maybe something to help sore muscles instead.”

“What makes you say that? I’m not completely broken yet.” The way her eyes crinkled at the corner made Dai’s heart beat a little faster - girls weren’t supposed to think other girls were cute. “Oh. The volleyball stuff.”

“You know,” And the girl behind the counter came around, abandoning her textbook for the night, “I used to be a setter in high school. What position do you play?”

“I. uh. Wing Spiker. I was captain at my high school but now I’m just number six.” Dai still didn’t get her name and her train had twenty minutes until it arrived. “Sorry, I’m bad at small talk.”

“So am I, don’t worry about it!” Dai had the sinking feeling that pining after this girl would end in misery, if not for the fact she had a magnetic personality. “I’m Sugawara Kumiko, by the way.”

“Sawamura Dai.” Dai extended her hand to Kumiko and the short-lived handshake sent a tremor down her spine. “That’s a nice name, by the way.”

“So is yours,” Kumiko smiled again and Dai was so done for it wasn’t even funny. “Do you happen to know someone named Tooru? She was pretty well known a few years ago, there were rumours of her going pro.”

“She’s the setter for my team, of course I know her.” Suga’ eyes went wide. “She’s not as awful as the gossip says. Even if Hajime gets protective.”

They talked about volleyball until Suga’s gray cat purred and wanted Dai’s attention. It was getting late.

The alarm Dai set earlier chirped and broke the comfortable silence. “I should go catch my train and get home before eleven. I’ll see you later, maybe? There’s a match this weekend at the university, in case you want to go.”

Suga fished a marker out of her apron pocket. “I have a better idea, give me something to write on.” Dai pulled a test out of her backpack, one that she passed, thankfully. “Here’s my number! Text me when you get home safe so I don’t worry.”

“It’s really not necessary...” It’d make her get attached faster. “I’ll be fine, Kumik-”

“It’s not every day a cute girl comes in and keeps me company. We close soon, so it’s usually me and Kuma at night.”

“Kuma?”

“I got her when I was eight, I wasn’t a very creative child.” Suga pulled Kuma off Dai’s lap but the soft purring didn’t stop. “She doesn’t warm up to people this quickly, something must be special about you.”

“I don’t think so, must be something in the air tonight.” Dai studied her handwriting, so elegant and crisp and pretty. “I’ll see you around.”

Suga waved through the small curtain and waved Kuma’s paw with one hand as Dai walked away.

three

“Tetsuro, Koutaro. I’m alive.” Bokuto was eating cereal out of the box and had his attention consumed by his laptop. Kuroo was asleep, probably. “And I got someone’s number.”

That was enough to summon her roommates.

“Oh ho?

“Oh ho?”

Dai regretted living with these two sometimes. “She’s really cute, but I’m not getting my hopes up for this one.”

“Hey, man, you never know. This one might not be completely straight.” Bokuto tossed a piece of cereal at Kuroo’s open mouth. He caught it and they high fived, a little too loud for mostly grown adults. “Tetsu managed to get Kenma after five years of trying.”

“That’s a bit different, Kou. A lot different, actually.” B- for effort, at least.

“She has a cat named Kuma and I forgot to buy something when I was there. Fuck.”

“Just go back tomorrow.” Kuroo patted Dai’s back in a “cheer up,” kind of way. “And don’t forget to look cute.”

Dai punched Kuroo in the shoulder for that last comment. Everyone assumed they were dating at some point but they were more like siblings. “Kidding, you always look cute.”

“I’m going to bed. Koutaro, don’t drop any cereal between the cushions.”

“I promise nothing.”

“I expected that from you.”

Dai’s phone buzzed with a new message from Suga, dotted with emojis. I’m going to bed, don’t stay up too late!! I’m waiting for you to come back and buy something too!! (≧ω≦)

Maybe tomorrow after practice? Dai typed out. I took a rain check on that tea so I owe you at least that much.

Oh god, what was she getting into?

four

Dai took three volleyballs to the face at practice the next day. “What’s got you off game today?” Oikawa, despite living up to her grand queen title, was a good person who cared about her teammates. “A lovers quarrel with that Kuroo guy?”

“For the millionth time, we aren’t dating, so no.” Kuroo was just fine, despite Dai having to babysit her roommates sometimes. “I’m just distracted, I guess.”

Dai got Oikawa’s typical “okay, sure.” face in response. Oikawa wasn’t joined at the hip with Iwaizumi anymore, not since they went to different colleges but still somehow made it work. And Dai got along well with Iwaizumi. “You can tell me anything, I’m all ears.”

“And you’re all something else,” Dai’s short break ended already and Oikawa trotted back to the court, an excited bounce in her step after checking her phone. “Toss to me until we collapse?”

“Got it, Dai-chan!”

There was an uncomfortable twinge in Dai’s shoulder that she’d ask Kuroo to rub out later after practice.

Dai nearly forgot her promise to Suga (she wasn’t quite ready yet for the first name basis) and had started to walk in the same direction as Oikawa. “I need to go somewhere, I made plans for later.”

“You made plans that don’t revolve around homework and texting me the antics of your disastrous roommates?”

“Very funny.” Dai pretended to push Oikawa off the sidewalk and into the empty street. “I met this girl at a cafe near the train station yesterday. She’s cute and has a cat.”

“That’s impressive, Dai-chan.” Oikawa tapped away at her phone, hastily replying to Iwaizumi for the umpteenth time. “How cute? Like little sister cute or the other kind?”

“The other kind of cute, it’s really unfair.”

Dai went in a separate direction, towards the cafe once more.

five

Suga wasn’t behind the counter when Dai showed up - and there were a fair amount of customers there too. An older woman, Suga’s mother probably, was watching the small room.

Dai stood awkwardly in the doorway, hoping that Suga was here or she was wasting her time.

A cat brushed against her ankle and Suga followed soon after, dressed down in a cardigan with sleeves just a little too long, and light wash jeans. “Kuma ran downstairs before I could catch up, it’s like he knew you were here.”

“You asked, and I’m here” Dai immediately regretted saying that after it came out, it was as if Suga took away her ability to speak right. “Kuma is too.”

“Kuma’s going back upstairs so he doesn’t get out, isn’t that right?” Suga cradled the cat in her arms and motioned for Dai to follow her to the upstairs apartment so the cat would be safe. “My parents are downstairs at the cafe so I’m free for a little while.”

They talked for less than an hour just the day before, but Suga’s personality was too warm and inviting for Dai to say no. Even the little nubby ponytail keeping Suga’s silver hair was cute, how there were flyaway strands sticking out of it.

Dai was taken back at how homey looking the upstairs apartment was. Just enough space for three people, Suga’s room pushed back the furthest and somewhere Kuma hid for the night. “What did you have in mind?”

“You promised you’d get something from the cafe tonight, I have the text to prove it.”

“You choose and I’ll order whatever you recommend.” Dai was starting to get comfortable in the quiet and cozy stairwell, waiting for Suga to return from her room.

“That’s a lot of power for one person, Dai.” Suga had a devious smile on her face. “I’ll try my hardest not to disappoint you.”

“Somehow I have a feeling you could never do that.” Suga took Dai by the hand and lead her back to the downstairs cafe, pointing to what sweets she preferred and what drinks paired well with it.

six

Dai lost track of the time because when Suga talked, her brain short circuited. The adorably long sleeves on the cardigan did nothing to stop a warm blush from taking over the apples of Dai’s cheeks whenever Suga talked and got a little too excited.

The manju wasn’t too sweet, and Dai normally didn’t go for red bean paste but the fact Suga helped make them might have been the reason it was better than usual. That and she was starving. “Did you have anything after practice?”

“I had an energy bar, I think?” Dai needed someone that wasn’t Kuroo to remind her to do basic things sometimes. It was also kind of cute how Suga’s face twisted into a worried pout. “The manju was delicious, by the way.”

“If I didn’t like your company I’d tell you to go home and make dinner, but I’ve talked for the better part of an hour now.”

Dai learned, between dreamily staring at Suga’s beauty mark and watching her mouth move, that she was studying to become a physical therapist after playing volleyball for so long. And she liked living at home, her room had tea lights strung along the ceiling that Kuma tried to bat at the first time she hung them.

She learned enough about Suga to wholly admit that she probably had a small crush on her and hoped it passed.

“So,” Suga gradually closed the chair’s worth of distance between them, “What about you?”

seven

Dai finally left after it got dark enough for Suga’s parents to turn the outside lights on. “I’ll walk you to the station, it’s not far from here.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Her gym bag wasn’t too heavy balanced on the opposite shoulder so she could walk freely with Suga. “Gonna worry about me the whole train ride back?”

“If I say yes, would that be too much?” Suga pinned stray hair back but Dai wanted to tuck it behind her ear instead. “I consider you one of my friends, I don’t have many of those between working here and taking classes.”

Outside, their hands brushed together consistently enough that the cover of night hid Dai’s blush. Soon, maybe. When Dai worked up the courage to come to terms with it herself, she’d bring it up with Suga.

“You should come to the games. Oik- Tooru would like talking to you, and Hajime visits often enough. And I’ll come around whenever I can.” Dai didn’t want this to snowball into anything bigger than friendship. “I like talking to you too, Suga.”

If Dai’s heartbeat was audible, it would be beating out of her chest.