#heartamplifier

The bundle in his arms grunts, arms and legs straining against the swaddle. A smile steals across Izana’s face before he can think to bite down on it, happiness slipping through his teeth like silk. He reaches down, moving aside the linen to uncover more ruddy cheeks, more moue of displeasure.

A malcontent, this second son is. Determined. A babe destined to grown into a man and make change. And make trouble for his brother, if history repeats itself.

It’s odd, how eager he is to see it. To discover how these small hands will shape this world, when they grow big enough.

His other son is quiet, asleep on his mother’s breast, pale and perfect and resembling no one more than Zen. Izana remembers that feathery white down that covers his son’s head, the same as the stuff that had fallen out when Zen was bare months old, the same as the stuff sent their mother rushing to the pharmacy. She’d sat in tears as the physician had tried to muffle his chuckle, as he told her it was normal, that some children lost the soft peachy fuzz to grow hair anew.

You’re so different, Mother had sighed when pale white had fluffed over Zen’s crown, uneven, months later. You never did this.

“Be good to each other,” Izana murmurs, running a hand through that down. “Remember that you are brothers. Even when it’s difficult.” He laughs, weak. “Especially when it’s difficult.”

His gaze slips from his son, traces up porcelain breast – he does not bother to hide when it lingers; she is far too deep in sleep to know, and he probably ceded that ground long ago, besides – to take in the peaceful countenance of their mother.

He is used to finding her beautiful – he thought so when he first met her, years ago, barely more than children – but it is different now. He doesn’t wonder at the curve of her cheekbones or the delicate slope of her nose, but instead he lingers at the phantom lines that still crease her brow, evidence of this day’s struggle; at the way her silken hair frizzes at the scalp, sweat still drying. His breath slows to match hers, makes him aware of how close he came to no longer hearing it, how near death had lingered in this room.

A moment’s hesitation, a quiver in conviction – any of it could have taken this. Taken this second son before he’d had the chance to hear his discontented grunting, before he’d known how sweet such a grumpy, rumpled face could be.

It could have taken her from him, taken her before he’d seen her arrayed like a goddess on this bed, taken her before he’d seen her determination, before he’d seen the softness in her as she looked at their son, before he’d known –

“Mm, husband,” she murmurs, eyelashes fluttering over sleepy blue eyes. “You’re still here.”

“I love you.”

The words leave him unbidden; he’s hardly known he’s said them – hardly known he’s felt them – until her eyes widen into wakefulness, until her body stills beside his.

“I love you,” he says again, because it feels right, feels perfect to fill the air between them with it. “I can’t bear the thought of being without you.”

“Oh, husband,” she sighs, lifting her head to nuzzle his shoulder. “Izana. Why must you say these things when I cannot even fathom having you inside me again.”

“Haki.” His breath rasps from his lungs. “There’s children.”

“Well, we could have had my ladies take them,” she informs him, half-cross. “But I think if you came at me with that look in your eyes now, I would have to strangle you.”

“I didn’t –”

“I know.” She winces, pushing herself up the last few inches to lay a kiss on his lips, lingering just long enough to tantalize, to leave his blood at a simmer. “But I love you too.”

“Ah.” Blushing is not the proper response to such a confession. He’s learning bad habits from that pharmacist, clearly. “Oh.”

“Tell me again in three months.”She settles back on the pillows. “And every day in between, of course.”

He looks down at her, eyes wide with mock-offense. “Miss, you couldn’t possibly think –”

“Oh.” Ryuu stops short in the doorway. Shirayuki breaks away from Obi to face him, watching as the boy – the young man, really – shuffles his feet. “You’re both here.”

Obi is serious now, his face all tense planes. “Is everything all right, Little Ryuu?”

Ryuu flushes, eyes not meeting theirs like always, but also somehow more. It’s as if he wants their gaze to slip off of him, as if he’d like them to politely pretend he isn’t there at all.

“Yes,” he says finally, “it’s just…”

His head sweeps wildly from side to side before he shuts the door. Shirayuki’s heart pounds against her chest. She reaches out to Obi, only to find he is reaching out to her as well. Their backs hide the way their fingers tangle, the way he rubs soothing circles against the soft skin of her wrist. It doesn’t ease her worry, but it soothes her to know she isn’t alone.

“I have something for you,” Ryuu blurts out, digging into his pockets. “Both of you.”

He thrusts out his arms, his gaze fixedly on the floor, and Shirayuki sees that in each hand he holds a thin, knotted rope of thick-bladed grass.

“What is this, Ryuu?” she asks gently, untangling her fingers from Obi’s to take her gift.

“It’s a…wish bracelet.” He mutters the last words, as if he is embarrassed by them. “Kirito showed me how. They are made with an…intention. The longer they last, the stronger it is.”

It’s cunningly woven, beautiful in its simplicity, just long enough to wrap comfortably around her wrist. “It’s lovely, Ryuu.”

Obi reaches over, gently knotting it over her pulse point. It fits perfectly.

He’s turns back to his own, deftly tying it with one hand. “And what wish did you make, Little Ryuu?”

The young man is suddenly quiet, fiddling with the ends of his bracelet. Obi reaches out, tying his as well, and Ryuu finally, reluctantly, admits, “That we would all stay together. That is why I made three.”

Obi is still, so still, his face so carefully blank.

“I-if you don’t like it,” Ryuu stammers, “you can always just take them off.”

She puts her hand on Obi elbow, giving him a subtle push, and suddenly he comes to life again, like a child’s toy freshly wound.

His smile is earnest, bright, so wide it threatens to split his face in two. “That’s a good one, Little Ryuu.” He taps the boy’s wrist and winks. “I hope mine never falls off.”

Shirayuki puts a hand on Ryuu’s shoulder, holding both of them in either hand. “I’m sure they never will.”

Like most promises, this one is easier made than kept.

She knows they have to fall off at some point; grass, live or no, does not last forever. She just doesn’t expect it to be so soon.

A puff of steam scalds her wrist in lab, and as she cradles it against her chest, pressing snow to the angry red patch on her skin, she notices.

The bracelet is no longer a vibrant green, instead faded to a dried, more yellowish color. It’s threadbare by the knot; the wide blades of the tundra glass worn thin enough to be almost translucent.

It’s only been two weeks, but she reasons that the environment of the lab is not hospitable to such delicate things. It only makes sense that it is starting to fray.

Until she sees the one on Ryuu’s wrist still looks as fresh as the day it is made.

Shirayuki worries. Is she being too hard on hers? If it breaks, will Ryuu think she doesn’t mean to keep her promise?

She consoles herself with the idea that Obi’s has to be in more raggedy shape that her own. He spends eight hours a day sparring or patrolling in the cold Lyrias air. There’s no possible way his could be in better condition.

His coat rides up at dinner as he fights Suzu for the last dumpling, and she sees –

Green, bright and still carefully knotted.

She may…go overboard.

She soaks her wrist in warm water baths, then cold ones. She finds a cream Izuru makes for one of Wilant’s older ladies, one used to hide wrinkles, but the science is the same so –

None of it works. Each day she watches her bracelet get tattier as the ones on Obi and Ryuu’s say pristine, vibrant, intact.

It’s just before dinner that her poor, beleaguered bracelet finally gives up the ghost.

It flutters to the floor, and Shirayuki’s hands freeze in their braiding, the whole of her focused upon the small bit refuse at her feet.

When Obi finds her, ten minutes late for dinner and still in her room, her sobbing has not subsided in the slightest.

“Miss.” His hand is warm on her back, rubbing soothingly over her spine. “Miss, what’s the matter?”

She thrusts the bracelet out at him, holding it in both her hands like a child with a dead pet. “I couldn’t do it,” she sobs, big ugly things that make it hard to breathe, hard to think. “I couldn’t keep it alive.”

He stares at her, shocked. “Miss –”

“I tried,” she promises, clutching tightly to his coat. “I tried, but I – I must not have wanted it as much. I –”

“Miss,” he says again, his hand lacing through her hair, ruining what little of her braid was left. “I’ve been replacing mine.”

It’s her turn to stare. “Replacing?”

He shrugs, his skin darkening just slightly. “It hardly lasted a week. Jirou gave me a closer shave than he meant to. And Hiro grabbed my second by accident. And the third –”

“How many have you had?” she demands, her eyes suddenly dry.

He grimaces. “Six.”

“Six?” Her mind roils with the things she’s like to say to that. “You made a new one every week?”

“Yours still looked so nice!” he protests. “Not to mention Little Ryuu’s. I didn’t want to disappoint him.” She’s close enough that she hears his added, “Either of you.”

“I…” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this.”

He seems to realize just how angry she is, coming to take her hands in his. “If it makes you feel better, Miss,” he starts, innocent. “I could make you another as well?”

“Well.” Her anger ebbs. “That’s a start.”

They catch Ryuu at nearly two months, his broken bracelet beside him as he makes a perfect replica.

“But yours are so nice!” he protests, color high on his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t – I didn’t mean it.”

“Ryuu,” Shirayuki says carefully, kneeling beside him. “How many have you made?”

He ducks his head. “This is my fourth.”

“My ninth,” Obi admits, pulling back his sleeve.

“My third,” Shirayuki adds. Ryuu stares at both of them, wide-eyed, almost uncomprehending. “I think…we all wanted to show just how much we meant to each other.”

He nods, gaze slipping to the floor.

She licks her lips, suddenly nervous. “But I think that we might be much better served if we just…say what we mean.” She reaches forward, holding his hand gently in her own. “I want to stay with both of you. For as long as I can.”

“Forever,” Ryuu presses, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, then Obi’s. “I don’t want – I don’t want to be alone again.”

Obi crouches, resting his hand on the young man’s shoulders. “You won’t. You’ll always have us.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “All right,” he says, the tension leaving his long limbs. “All right.”

Obi is silent, oddly silent, after Ryuu leaves.

“Is something bothering you?” she asks, laying a hand on his arm. She knows he’s not – not used to this, to the feeling of belonging.

Of family.

It’s not that. “Should you have promised that?”

She rears back, but he chases her, face grave. “What do you mean?”

“He believes you,” Obi presses, and there is something more to this as well. “But you can’t keep that promise.”

“Of course I can,” she says, “I meant it.”

“I know you do.” His tone is aggravated, as if she is the one being inscrutable. “But can you really keep it?”

His gaze is fixed on her, unrelenting amber, and she is frozen beneath it. “I don’t think…” His hand tugs at his shoulder. “They don’t let Princesses work beside common boys, do they?”

She had – she had never thought of that –

“Ah, never mind, Miss.” He shakes his head. “Forget I said anything.”

Buts she can’t, not now that it’s been said, but he –

He is already gone.

She shuts the window, shivering at the cold. Against her wrist, the grass has never felt so brittle, so fragile, so…

He’s in town for a series of meetings that stretch over the weekend; it’s an inconvenience to spend so much time away from the office, but it is an opportunity to invest more attention to this arrangement with Bergstrom’s daughter.

They eat lunch her favorite spot: a small yet upscale taqueria with a terrace that would be delightfully private if it weren’t for the two dozen or so paparazzo hiding in the bushes. He would normally have security take care of them – no one needs to know whether he prefers pork or beef carnitas – but as Haki is quick to point out, being seen is the point.

“Do you think Medina will take your deal?”

He knows he must be staring; not how Zen stares, all slack-jawed and obvious, but the way Haki’s mouth curves around her straw tells him she’s noted his surprise. “You have a meeting with him on Monday, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She never ceases to surprise. It should unsettle him how much she knows of his schedule, but instead he is – pleased. “And I don’t know. After the incident with the Olin maris, I don’t know if he’ll think we’re committed to the area. He might try cutting corners, thinking we won’t be paying attention.”

She props her chin in her hand and looks out over the ocean view. She’s the very picture of privileged idleness: fashionably slender and sun-kissed, beautiful and bored. The paps agree, by the number of clicking shutters.

He can’t read her expression, not with her Louis Vuitton sunglasses obscuring half her face, but he knows she’s mulling it over, devising a solution. As much as their arrangement is a scheduling nightmare – Haki is too clever by a half, but she cannot make more hours in a day – this has almost made it all worth it. It is…nice, to not be the only one thinking three moves in advance. To have someone in his corner, watching over him.

“I think it’s time that you stayed over my place.”

He startles, nearly upending his sparkling water. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been together for a month or two now, haven’t we?” As if she does not have an accurate count down to the day. “By this point it’s probably surprising that you’ve not.”

Izana takes a sip from his glass, stalling for time. He should know better than to cede any sort of territory to her by now.

“Pack an overnight bag.” She runs the pad of her finger around her glass’s sweating rim. He swallows. “Let yourself be seen coming into my building with it.”

“I don’t think I’m the sort of man who brings an overnight bag.” His image is more the discreet playboy; he has any number of women willing to attest to having infrequent but intensely satisfying sex with him. None of them would vouch for his qualities as – as a boyfriend.

Haki’s mouth twists up in displeasure – a warning sign he misses. “And so I must be the kind of girl who gets taken to charity balls to be fucked in the toilets?”

He flinches; a loss of ground. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what exactly are you saying?” Her mouth pulls into a bright smile, playing it up for the cameras, but he doubts it reaches her eyes. She has spent most of her life cultivating her public persona; she’s the good girl, the doting daughter, seen with all the young socialites someone her age should be seen with, but never close enough to their inevitable falls from grace to let her own halo to be tarnished. It would be so easy to spoil that, to make her just one more girl he’s used and discarded.

It would take a scandal to ruin him, but all it takes is the lack of an overnight bag to ruin hers.

“I could be seen entering your building,” he offers, far more calm than he feels. “I don’t see the need for a bag.”

The bag is planning. It’s commitment.

Haki’s lips curl up at the edge, playful and almost sultry. “The bag is the point,” she tells him, voice low. Her hand smooths over his, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his bones, and he find it hard to follow her logic.

“Is it?” he asks, so even.

She leans close, head tilted coyly. “If Izana Wisteria, consummate bachelor, is seen entering the building of Karl Bergstrom’s daughter with an overnight bag, what do you think that says about his commitment to the area?”

Her glasses have slid down her nose, just the smallest bit, but he can see the brightness of her eyes, the way her eyebrows lift in expectation, aren’t I so clever?

And she is, she is; he’s a man that looks at the world and sees a chessboard, but sitting here he sees an equal, an ally, maybe even a –

He tilts his head, closes the distance. He’s kissed her before for a number of reasons, but never have her lips felt like this beneath his, soft and full and pliant with surprise. Time stretches painfully in the single moment it takes for her to respond, but the way she presses up into him is so sweet he hardly minds the tightness in his chest.

When he pulls away, her eyes flutter open, her whole face wide with wonder. “What was that for?” she asks him, breathless.

He watches her fingers brush over her lips. Because I wanted to.

There are some things even he can’t say. Instead he smile, the same disaffected playboy smile the paps love, but – more. Or maybe this time, less.

“Do you suppose I should pack for the night?” he asks, leaning back. “Or have the young lovers planned for a weekend?”

Her smile curves into something far more sly. “Pack for one night.” She settles back, her foot brushing against his leg in a move that has more purpose than an accident. “It’ll be more meaningful, I think, if our bachelor gets carried away.”

Brilliant. “What would I do without you?” The words are teasing, even if the message is true.

Her eyebrows raise behind her sunglasses. “Not get this deal, for one.”