#bornfor

Send 💋+ a number to kiss my Muse! - Not Accepting

@bornfor​ - 2. On the cheek

          How frail and delicate such a young life could be. How thoughts would rummage around certain goals and processes, finding, deep down, a will to change for the slightest margin [ shifting up his behaviour, that cold and distanced demeanour ]. It’s visible for all those around them [ had been commented upon quite as well ], when the ghost-like knight would wander the Raggs’ imperiums endless corridors and rooms - just to find himself followed quickly by the sound of small feet padding along.

          “Your Royal Highness, you could just call me—”

          With how swiftly and obviously tone and voice would shift when that tall form of his turns and moves to crouch down. Moves to be on the regal child’s level, as much as only possible for a youth quite so small. That little fidgeting mannerism, the way Tiashe’s moving in his place as if dire words would need to be said [ an ‘announcement’ to be made, Arima was just so aware of it by now ], all leaving him to draw nought but a smile only for that holy child in his reach, the one that was such elusively taken by visualities singular and hard to be earned.

          And how quickly the boy had done so. Had turned around that chilling facade, opened it up, to appreciate and learn the slightest bit more. “But!—” And there he goes, with visage shifting the slightest in mild mirthful expectation of whatever it was that would be in need to be declared so urgently that voice was not enough to reach him. “—There’s things only you should know….” Only things, specific knowledge [ the fleeting ideas in the young’s brilliant mind ], all too willing does he find himself to actually indulge in it, to simply reach out with an arm towards that small, relentless soul, drawing him further and further out of Arima’s usual mannerism.

          Soon enough that the boy would move to take up offered place, so that he could be lifted high and above the shining marble surface. Getting a different form of view, before the knight made to wander off, to find a place far more suitable for whatever little secret his charge may want to offer for him.

          And with the pace he took up, with small hands curling securely into long flow of his attire, soon enough the pair would find themselves in the vast expanse of garden area [ warm, the sun hanging high, marvelous in its magnificence and soon enough he’s tucked upon to be drawn out of thoughts ]. Nothing like back in his own home. Nothing like the time he would gaze upon his own family’s residency with large eyes and wondrous thoughts [ so many years ago ], it all appeared so small and discardable, upon the royal family’s own excellence of work and beauty.

          Like desired, he would set the boy down, would watch him skip off for only a moment in one direction, before deciding differently, leaving Arima to tilt his head in quiet wonder upon what was wanted [ how those around them might stand and stare, might take in that picture of peacefulness with sure surprise ]. “Your Royal Highness, if you want to—” And stopped he is again. By small fingers to wrap upon sturdy material of his sleeve so that he could be led out and around, tame to the touch he would follow any unspoken command, watch that smile spread upon the holy child’s lips, as if he had found a secret [ and was about to share it with someone quite so special ]. “Look Kishou! To the pond!” How quaint to think, that his name was so seldom used—

          —how surprising it sounded, and did nought but make him follow suit.

          With all these moments he’s sparing, despite that the warrior had been asked before by multitude of men and women, to assess to this or that order [ given by the King, requested by servants and scholars alike ], nothing was quite as important as this idle back and forth, the way he sat so patiently beneath a tree’s monumental shadow, and would wait - even still - for whatever secret it was that should be shared. “My Prince, what—” Stopped short, before he could continue.

          “You are always so stiff, Kishou!” Ah, truly, hadn’t he been chided by the King himself upon being quite so cold and distanced? How similar they truly were, that child of royalty and the man he’s sworn to protect, who he taken off as an order, to cherish and guard that boy now climbing up upon his lap, staring at him with an expression of displeasure [ as much as a child was able to, with that frowning turn and large eyes ] that was to make him smile. “My apologies.”

          And just like this, an everlasting calm would settle upon them. Would have that precious youth so close, reach out for him in ways of childish innocence [ did he taint it? no, that was impossible ]. Such a valuable little life, twisting and turning him around, bending him out of shape in the very smallest of ways and forms - in a kind that no one would ever be allowed to. “You know!” With how that soft and gentle voice, all but chirps out to him with now bright smile that adorns juvenile features—

          —”Hm?” Nothing else there, but to listen

          “The secret is - that you are important to me.”

          ‘ Important in ways to me as well ’, so he thinks in return, ‘ that can’t be fathomed nor explained. ‘ But lips remain sealed, remain all but with that curl that was faintly present, and still not shown to everybody else. “You are like my big brother! Will you be that…. for me?” And how bright and peaceful that sun above them shone, still not able to reach that secrecy of an offer in words, that very opportunity of showing loyalty, in the most benign of ways that no one ever would permit.

          A brother - does he not want to have that for himself? How fitting the young knight might really be for that very role? But if he’s asked upon for it, if there’s all but the desire to find solace like this?

          Who was he to deny?

          “Of course, I see no reason why not.” Their gestures always spoke so much more than a thousand different words could [ as they were futile, easily learned even at such a tender age ], shown with how Arima’s hand moved, to carefully take that delicate, small one upon his grasp while leaning the slightest bit closer. He would place a kiss upon the back of his charge’s hand, would press it there as to underline that - yes - that wish had been heard, that desire understood. He would be the last upon them all, to disturb and push away a longing such immaculate and pure. For, truly, does he not even feel the same?