rosie

“If you glare any more fiercely, you may just burn holes through their skulls,” comes an airy voice from beside you. 

“Would that not be convenient?” you drawl, draining your glass and replacing it with another from the tray of a passing server. You feel a little more warm than is comfortable, a slight buzz humming through your bones.

“Careful. There are eyes everywhere, you ought to be more subtle with your distaste - and slow down with the champagne.”

You watch as the prince’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, his warm, cinnamon gaze sparkling in such a way that makes your heart flutter. He shifts them in your direction as if feeling the weight of your own stare, softening around the edges as your gazes lock. For a moment, the ability to speak leaves you. Even from across the ballroom, you find yourself pinned in place with a mere look.

“How utterly devastating,” you murmur, daring not to blink. But he tears his gaze away and returns to smiling at his best friend and fiance, as though he’d never laid eyes upon you. Your chest aches, hurt and anger squeezing at your butterfly heart in equal measure, so you take another gulp to chase away the pain. But it persists, filling every crevice with black tar and slowly pulling the air from your lungs. Blinking twice, you force back the burn in your eyes and throat and look to your friend, Tetsuro, instead. He raises an eyebrow at the strained expression on your face and sighs.

“Perhaps some air?”

“I have no need for air,” you say through grit teeth.

“And some cold water, too.” He takes your arm regardless and gently ferries you through the throng of guests, towards the doors that open out to the gardens, leading you out of them and smiling politely at passersby. Once outside, the two of you round a corner and walk a short way before you come to a stop. Here, you’re shrouded by tall, neatly manicured hedges that offer you some privacy. You can still hear the noise from inside but it is muffled here, no louder than chattering insects. Tetsuro allows you a moment of grace to gather your thoughts before he speaks.

“You told me there was nothing more left between you.”

“There isn’t!” You sigh heavily, leaning against the wall behind you as your voice grows soft. “There wasn’t.”

“You’ve known of his betrothal since the beginning,” Tetsuro says, mirroring your stance. 

“I know.”

“He agreed to it. Without complaint.”

“I know.”

“And there is very little chance that the engagement will break.”

“I know, Tetsuro!” you snap, glaring at him with tears in your eyes. “I know! You needn’t remind me. I am more than aware of the situation!”

“Then why are you doing this to yourself?” 

Your gaze shifts upwards, to the heavens dyed in ink and scattered with the lights of a million souls as you ponder his question. The truth is that there is no reason. There is no logical explanation for the things you do when it comes to the prince - when it comes to Tooru. All sense leaves you when you are in his presence with only the thump of your heart to guide you blindly into turmoil. The only reason you can find, flimsy as it may seem, is this.

“Because I love him.”

Love. You have come to learn of its nonsensical nature over the past few seasons. How it forces you to bend and bow to its every whim. How it whispers in your ear to follow after it, chase it barefoot, so that you might taste the sweetest of happiness, even if you stumble and scrape your knees in your haste. And, though this love fills you with warmth and light like you have never felt before, it is also able to cripple you. It can break and bruise you. Make you grieve a life you do not know yet - a life you may not ever know. 

Perhaps that is why so few marry for love. 

“Does he love you?” Tetsuro asks softly, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. You look at him, at the sadness in his golden eyes and you nod, a bitter smile twitching at your lips.

“He does.”

Tetsuro looks back at you, unconvinced. “And he told you this? Those words passed his lips?”

You glare at him, offended that he insinuates otherwise. “It is the truth. Do you think I am lying?”

He holds up his hands placatingly and speaks gently. “I have no doubts about your honesty. His, on the other hand… well.”

“What are you suggesting?” you ask hotly. 

Pursing his lips, he chooses his words carefully. “I… understand how the mind of a man works. You would not be the first girl to be sold dreams of devotion, only to be left waiting in the wings. Some men will go to any lengths for the sake of quenching their desires.”

With warm cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. How could he even entertain the thought that the prince was only using you? You refuse to consider the possibility - you know what sort of man Tooru is. He’s shown you. Each time he lays with you, you’ve felt his love through every brush of his skin, every press of his gentle lips. If he did not love you, then why would he gaze upon you so ardently when you are caught in his embrace? Why would he hold you so tenderly as you sleep?

“I am not his whore,” you tell him stiffly. 

“I did not say-”

His words reignite your anger and you whirl on him, your skirts rustling with the movement. “He loves me, Tetsuro! Why is that notion so difficult for you to grasp? I know that I am lowborn, but when has love ever considered status? I have fallen for a prince, why is it so unthinkable that a prince might fall for me too?”

“You misunderstand me!” he insists, placing his hands on your shoulders, hoping that it might somehow cool your fire. “Men of his ilk are unworthy of women like you!”

“His ilk?” you scoff loudly, brushing his hands off your shoulders roughly. “Is royalty beneath the great Kuroo Tetsuro? You speak as if you are worthy of me!”

He flinches but presses on. “Open your eyes!” he cries, glancing around and dropping his voice to a low hiss when he remembers where you are. “He is to marry another woman without any consideration for your feelings and yet you still choose to chase after him like a lost duckling! Have you no sense of dignity?”

“What would you have me do?” Tears fill your eyes, frustration tracking down your powdered cheeks in twin rivers. He softens at the sight of you in distress, reaching out a hand to you before dropping it, unwilling to cross any more lines tonight. “I love him so much, Tetsuro! I can’t- I need him!”

“Let him go,” he pleads quietly. “For your own sake, let go. Do you not see what this man is doing to you? You’re- you’re in pieces - I can’t bear to see you this way.”

“How am I to let him go? He holds my very heart in his hands and you expect me to walk away? As if it is so simple?” you sniffle, dabbing delicately under your eyes. “I can’t expect you to understand. You have never fallen in love. You couldn’t possibly understand how I feel.”

Your friend stares at you for a moment, his jaw working in irritation. “You sound awfully certain about that.”

“You have never shared anything to the contrary with me,” you point out with a careless shrug.

“I have not had the opportunity-”

“Because there is nothing for you to share.”

He opens his mouth to retort but pauses and thinks better of it, knowing the dangers of revealing the truths he keeps hidden. Swallowing roughly he nods and offers you a rueful smile. “Perhaps you are right.” He takes a few steps back, in the direction of the ballroom. “Forgive me, dear friend, for failing to understand such complex matters. I had only hoped to help ease the pain you feel. Do what makes you happiest. If you’ll excuse me.”

The scathing words you spat at him begin to register in your mind as excessive as he walks away. Though he masks it well, he can never hide the gloss of hurt shining in his ochre eyes from you. “Tetsuro, wait!” Cursing under your breath, you gather your skirts and follow, calling out to him as he quickly strides back inside.  Unfortunately, his gait is far too long for you to keep up with in your heavy gown and his tousled hair quickly melts into the rest of the crowd. Sagging, you trudge in the direction of the front doors, wanting nothing more than to escape this dreadful night. But after taking no more than a few steps, hoping to find another server carrying full flutes on your way out, you collide with something solid and warm, tripping over your skirts with a sharp yelp. A firm grip around your waist keeps you from tumbling to the ground, catching you mid-fall. Your saviour gently straightens you up. 

“Careful, my lady.” The singsong lilt in his voice is unmistakable and you grimace. Slowly, you turn away from him, praying that he has not seen your face, but he clears his throat, any chance of escape slipping right through your fingers. Taking a step back, you reluctantly raise your head and come face to face with the source of your distress - the prince himself.

“Forgive me, your highness,” you say stiffly, inclining your head. His hand on your waist lingers, burning through the silk of your gown and warming your skin. “These western skirts can be rather difficult to walk in.”

Prince Oikawa appraises your silhouette, chestnut eyes roving appreciatively from top to bottom. You feel naked under his stare, as though he is slowly unravelling you, layer by layer - the way he has so many times before under the cloak of night. He smirks slightly to himself and meets your flustered gaze. “A shame. It is a lovely dress, made far more beautiful by the wearer.”

Clearing your throat, you smile a brittle smile and nod. “Your highness flatters me.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy his new fiancee, laughing politely behind her hand as she converses with his mother. You cannot help yourself - it seems you are in quite the bitter mood tonight and the champagne has only emboldened you. “I believe I must congratulate you on your engagement! The two of you make a wonderful match, so I must insist that you save such compliments for your bride to be. To waste them on any other woman would be an insult.”

The prince pauses, his smile disappearing, countenance hardening into something unreadable. The hand he has on your waist tightens slightly before he releases you, reaching up to run it through his loose curls. “Complimenting you is never a waste,” he murmurs. “I would spend the rest of my days singing of your beauty, if only-”

“If only ‘what?’, your highness?” The words hiss through grit teeth like the slash of a blade before you can remember to temper the steel in your jaw. Your composure is slipping. Who can blame you, when the man before you evokes such strong emotions in you? You swallow and force another smile. “You are to be wed soon. To a beautiful princess, no less. You should spend your life singing to her.”

With that, you turn on your heel and continue to forge your way through knots of guests until you finally make it to the main staircase, sweeping into the centre of the main hall. All that runs through your mind right now is to put as much distance between yourself and Prince Oikawa as possible, never mind that the doors leading out to the grounds are in the opposite direction. But you hear him call your name as he makes chase, so you grasp your skirts between your fingers and begin to climb, hoping to lose sight of him in the vastness of the palace.

At the top of the stairs, you glance behind you, hoping to have lost sight of him, only to find him hurrying up the staircase himself. Cursing under your breath, you veer left, rushing down the corridors as fast as your pinching shoes will allow. Your chest heaves with exhaustion, straining against the stiffness of your corset as you bolt right and down another empty corridor. The moon shines high and bright, flooding silver light through tall arched windows as you barrel through another set of french doors. Pausing for a moment to catch your breath, you strain your ears for a snatch of his voice or footsteps, relaxing a little when you’re met with silence. 

Scanning the hallway, a new pit of dread settles in your stomach. The tapestry that decorates the wall you lean against is dreadfully familiar. As is the door across from it. After all, you have frequented this wing often enough, and it seems that your feet carried you here of their own volition, despite your attempts to get lost elsewhere. And if the prince is as clever as you know him to be, then he has likely deduced exactly where you are.

Right outside his personal chambers.

If you head inside, you can attempt to conceal yourself, but your voluminous skirts are difficult to tuck away and his sharp eyes might still catch sight of you. Should you return the way you came and find your way to a different part of the palace, you could escape - or run into him. Your mind whirs with possibilities, every scenario that you can think of playing in your mind's eye one after the other until your temples begin to throb. Unsure, you turn on your heel, ready to throw the doors open again and leave. Your hands curl around the ornate handles and pull.

The doors open with far more force than you exert and you are very nearly hurled backwards as the person on the other side pushes them open at the same time. The prince appears a little winded, his cheeks flushed pink, eyes wild and searching. The moonlight kisses his hair, giving him an angelic, almost otherworldly appearance. 

You stand frozen, staring at one another, trying to decipher what truths and lies you can uncover in his eyes. 

What secrets remain to be learned.

You are two beings composed of secrets, most learned in the art of keeping them hidden. Those only the eyes and ears of a lover are privy to. Those that are whispered between sheets of silk at dawn. Those shared by the tongue, burned into your very skin by ardent fingertips. The secrets that lay woven through your very veins, the sacred murmurs that lie in your heart, protected by a cage of bone and sinew, a cage that only he has the key to. Every wish, every dream, the pains and hurts of your life - you have shared it all with him.

Secrets are kept in shadow. 

Just like you.

“The moon is lovely tonight,” you blurt, fire bursting under your cheeks as you shatter the silence. 

“The moon and stars are naught to me,” he says breathlessly, taking a step towards you, darkness swallowing half of his face. “Not when I fell for the light in your eyes.”

Uneasy, you step back. “Your highness is quite bold.”

“It is the truth,” he says more firmly, stepping closer.

You ignore him and move back. “Your guests will be missing you downstairs, your highness. Your fiancee, too.”

“I don’t care about them.” Another step forwards.

“You are their host and their prince-”

A step back.

“Why do you keep running from me?” 

“I merely wished to get some air-”

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

“It’s awfully warm up here-”

“Answer me!” he cries, frustrated.

“I CAN’T!”

Your screech echoes throughout the empty corridor. Somehow, you’re pressed against the wall beside the door to his bedchamber. Oikawa crowds your space, staring down at you almost pleadingly as he searches your face, softening as he notes the glassiness welling in your eyes. You swallow roughly, shake your head and look away, whispering brokenly under your breath. “I can’t.” 

“Can’t? Can’t what?” He takes your hand and raises it to his lips, pressing achingly soft kisses to your knuckles, nestling his cheek in your palm as though it is the softest pillow to ever cradle him. “What is the matter, my love? Please, tell me.”

You choke back a sob and pull your hand away. “I am not your love.”

Sorrow and hurt flash across his handsome features and you wish for nothing more than to take him into your arms and soothe the sad furrow in his brow. He sighs, his forehead resting against the wall above your shoulder. “Forgive me,” he says quietly.

“You told me again and again that this would not happen.“

“I tried! Truly, I did! But my father-”

“You did not try hard enough!”

“What would you have me do? Tell me, what would you do in my place?”

“I would refuse!” you tell him, the tears dripping down your cheeks only angering you further. “I would fight for you!”

“You do not know what it is like!” he shouts, thumping his fist against the wall. You do not flinch. “You are not royalty, what notion could you possibly have of the burden resting on my shoulders?”

“Oh, of course, I could never understand the woes of a spoilt, bratty prince!” you sneer.

“You are being a brat right now!” he retorts.

“It is true what they say about royal families. They all have golden spoons shoved so far up their arses that they believe their troubles are the only ones that matter!” He scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. “No, we could never measure up to the great fucking Prince Oikawa, an unfaithful womaniser who has probably been up the skirts of every maiden in the kingdom!”

The prince falls deathly quiet at that, his eyes narrowing. “I am not a womaniser. Nor am I unfaithful. I have never betrayed your love. Never.”

“Oh, sweet Tooru, how I wish that were true,” you lament bitterly, pushing him back with two hands to his chest. Every word drips heavy with scorn. “Pray, what is the term given to a man who is betrothed to another, yet fucks another behind her back? What sort of man keeps their lover a complete secret, sneaking her out of the palace at dawn, before even the servants wake?”

“You are the only woman I have ever wanted,” he says steadily, his eyes boring into yours as though to sear his honesty into you.

“Then why are you engaged to another?”

Oikawa takes your hands in his and holds them to his chest. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at you pleadingly. “Please, my love,” he begs. “Please, believe me when I say that I do not want the princess. I want you. I have only ever yearned for you.”

Behind him, the doors click shut, but it goes unnoticed by the pair of you.

“How can I believe that when you are to marry her?”

“Because it was not my choice,” he says. “It is difficult to break a betrothal that has allowed us to keep the peace for so long. Please, try to understand.”

“Then why would you make such empty promises? Why would you drag me along in this farce if you knew we could never be together? Why can’t you let me go?” Your voice is broken and tired. 

“The same reason you keep coming back to me,” he says quietly, brushing back a loose lock of your hair. “A love like ours doesn’t die. Even if we were to be thousands of miles apart.”

“No,” you murmur. “It consumes you instead. Until there is nothing left. ‘Tis a parasite.”

“That’s not true-”

“Yes it is!” you cry, pressing a hand to your chest as if your heart will really fall to pieces if you don’t. “This love burns me! It hurts me! I spend the better part of my days praying and aching for the day that you will call me yours, not just in secret, but proudly! I want more than sporadic nights of passion! I want to spend my life in your arms! I want to live and die at your side, Tooru I- mph!”

Your words are cut off by soft lips, arms snaking around your waist and holding you flush to his body. His mouth lingers upon yours, pliant and warm, insisting on stealing your every breath. When he kisses you like this, when he holds you tightly to his beating chest, your mind fills with cottony wool and any ire within you dissipates like wisps of smoke. His touch is silken ribbon, winding taut about your waist and wrists, pinning you against the wall, reeling you back in when you begin to stray too far. 

You didn’t lie to Tetsuro. You were done. It was over. You swore to yourself that you would not look back, forging ahead instead to find something better. This night was to be spent at home, whiling away the evening by the fire with a book and yet you found yourself being squeezed into a new gown at the behest of your mother, harping on once again about finding a suitor. Had you not met eyes tonight, had you not fallen folly to your own damned skirt, if your heart wasn’t so weak to the man slipping his tongue into your mouth and backing you into the door of his bedchamber, you would not be here. Your heart would not be breaking for the umpteenth time and mending itself all in the same breath.

“I want you, my love,” he whispers, breaking away from your lips to paint letters of love across the jut of your jaw and the delicate skin of your throat. Fumbling with the door handle, he manages to push it open before hoisting you into his arms and striding towards his bed. He nips at your skin as he gently lays you down, sucking a blooming bruise there that pulls the sweetest gasp from you, so at odds with the bitter venom you hurled at him mere moments ago.

“Tooru- we can’t-” Your words are cut off by a whimper as his hand sneaks under your heavy skirts to find your soft thighs. The sleeves of your gown hang off your shoulders, the bodice slipping out of place as he jostles you in his haste to press himself to places only he has ever known. 

“We can.”

“Tooru- please-”

“What?” he breathes, all but whining like a petulant child that has been refused his favourite toy. 

“The door is open.” 

“Then I shall close it.”

“What if someone hears-”

“We can be quiet.”

“But Tooru, what of-“

Fingers and thumb pinch your cheeks together and halt your words, pushing your plump lips out in a pretty pucker. He kisses you gently, once and then twice, then twice more, lingering for the beat of a bird's wing before withdrawing to study your flustered features. Your eyes shine brighter than the stars as you blink up at him, infinitely more breathtaking. “There is nothing to fear, my sweet angel. You are with the prince of this kingdom, no harm can befall you unless I will it. You are safe.”

Releasing a shaky breath, you reach up and cup his cheek. He sinks into your touch, twisting his head to kiss your palm. “Tooru,” you whisper, his given name dripping from your tongue almost reverently as you drink in the sight of his handsome face, soft with love.  

“Please, let me love you,” he begs quietly, his warm eyes glistening with raw emotion. “Let me prove that my feelings are true. You say you ache for me? I ache for you, too! This engagement has torn my heart to pieces and I feel- I am caged by my own blood! It matters not what my heart wants- my life has always been about the betterment of this kingdom!”

Crystalline tears drip down his rosy cheekbones, seeds of guilt blooming into regret in your stomach. Damn him. Beautiful, even when he weeps. He takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head. “I am a tool. Nothing more. I have been moulded into this from the moment I was born, polished and perfected for people I do not even know.” He sniffles, closes his eyes and traps your hand against his cheek, fingers slotting between their gaps.  “But when I am with you, I am not Prince Oikawa, I am just a man. Just your Tooru.”

Your heart cracks at his words, and all you can do is pull him down into an embrace, cradling him close as hot tears soak your clavicle. A moment of quiet passes between you as your fingers comb through his hair and you press soothing kisses to his temple. Always so weak for him. “Forgive me for earlier,” you mumble. “I spoke out of turn.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Raising his head, he wipes away the wetness from his flushed cheeks with his knuckles. “You have every reason to be angry.”

“Be that as it may, anger offers us no solution.” He sighs and lays beside you, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. 

“We should just run far, far away, never to be found again. Fake our deaths like star crossed lovers so that nobody comes looking for us.”

Laughing, you roll your eyes. “Must you be so dramatic?”

“What would you suggest?”

You sigh, heavy and worn. “Perhaps the princess can be convinced to refuse this marriage.”

“Perhaps,” he hums. 

“The ball has not ended yet,” you say hopefully. “If we return now…”

“I had hoped to spend a little more time here,” he frowns. You poke his lips and he chases your fingertips with his teeth bared playfully. “In the arms of my angel.”

“Any more time spent here and they will send out search parties for their beloved prince.”

Oikawa scoffs and rolls his eyes, hiding his face in your neck. “Their beloved prince is occupied with the most beautiful maiden to grace this sordid earth. It would be treason to interrupt him during such precious moments.”

“Tooru,” you warn.

Groaning, he releases you and sits up. “Very well.” He offers you his palm upturned, wearing a gentle smile. The smile he keeps for you. “Come.”

After straightening your clothes and being tugged back into his arms for a few more kisses, the two of you traipse back through the halls of the palace. The prince takes a different route to the ballroom to avoid rousing suspicion and as you rejoin his guests, you spy the princess, seated at the back of the room alone. Oddly, the radiance on her countenance has dimmed and she appears sullen almost. 

She must be quite tired.

“Princess.” Oikawa inclines his head and shoots her his most perfect smile. “Forgive my absence, I ran into an old friend of mine.”

She purses her lips as he takes a seat beside her, and nods politely. “It is quite alright, my prince. I cannot expect you to remain beside me forever.”

Her words strike him as a little odd, but he ignores it, assuming it to be dry jest on her part. “I hope you enjoyed the momentary peace,” he chuckles, and she smiles, false and forced. 

“Indeed,” she murmurs. Oikawa clears his throat, choosing his words carefully before he speaks.

“There is something I would like to discuss with you. Privately.”

Her response is abrupt. “Tell me, my prince. Do you love your kingdom?” He looks at her quizzically, brow furrowed in confusion. “You see, in your absence, I was pondering the notion of love. How those like us experience a different sort of love to the rest. The love of our people. Though we do not know each of them personally, we sacrifice much for their sakes, for their happiness and ease. For peace and prosperity.”

Oikawa sighs, leaning back in his seat thoughtfully. “I do love my people. They are kind to me even when I feel I do not deserve it. They look to me for guidance. But sometimes…”

“Yes?”

Shaking his head, he chuckles. “I think they just love my appearance - I would not blame them one bit if they did!”

The princess does not laugh, dares not even crack a smile. “You wish to be seen for more.”

“Don’t you?” he asks, his grin fading into something more downcast. “Do you not wish to be loved as a woman, not just a princess? To be… more?”

“Our wishes are irrelevant,” she murmurs. “Duty comes first.”

“And if they weren’t? If duty didn’t matter? What would you wish for?” he asks softly. “I know what I’d wish for.”

“I have never spared it much thought,” she says.

“Everyone dreams. Including us.” His gaze roams the room, landing on your figure at the fringes of the crowd, arguing with some dark-haired man who rolls his eyes at you. It is difficult to hide the affection in his eyes, even as the rest of his face remains neutral.

“And how long will you chase this dream of yours?”

“For as long as I am able.” He does not even blink as he watches you. 

“Will she be able to wait that long?”

Freezing at her words, the prince turns slowly to face her, eyes wide. “What?”

“Your lover,” she clarifies, nodding in your direction. “Will she wait?”

“I- I-“

“No sane woman would. A man who cannot make a choice is no man at all.”

“But-”

“I know you do not want me in the slightest. This betrothal has always been purely political, I have known that since the very start. It has served my kingdom and yours well and I have no intention of relinquishing the advantage it has given us. Of course, that is just my personal view - I cannot force you to remain at my side.”

“You don’t understand-”

“No. You do not understand,” she hisses. “There is far more at stake than your pathetic desire to be with some lowborn noblewoman! You either choose your kingdom or you forsake it - that is the choice you are making here!”

“But I love her,” he whispers, glancing over to you. Pain ripples through his heart, like thorns dragging through flesh. “She is the other half of my soul. How am I to turn away from someone so deeply entwined with my spirit?”

“The way we all do.” The princess’ words are harsh but he knows that she has a point. Still. His heart refuses to accept it.

“Why?” he asks, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. “I did not choose this, I choose her! A million times over, my heart will always lie with her!”

“Then you are a coward,” she says, standing from her seat. She stares down her nose at him, colder than the winds of winter. “And you are not worthy of being King.”

As she stalks away, Oikawa sags in his seat. His eyes shift from the princess to you and back again. Both mind and heart are at war, logic and emotion crossing swords, there in the centre of the ballroom - a battle that his ancestors are no strangers to. Whichever side triumphs, be it love or duty, Oikawa will mourn the loss of the other. There is nowhere to run - so he jumps into the fray and hopes he is not torn to pieces when he lands.