#katyu

Looks like shit + ill never finish it but wtv here take it

Yuder has barely stepped into the Crown Prince's chambers when slight arms already pull at him, desperation wrapping around his torso like a noose. Threat and insecurity choke like a sailor left alone in the blackened sea. The familiarity tugs at strings Yuder thought unraveled with the tapestry of time.

As he's done a hundred times before, he wraps his arms around the other. They sink to the floor slowly, decades of straw mattresses and wooden floors more familiar to them than down feathers and marbled floors.

"Your hair is longer," Yuder observes, a change he hasn't expected.

His own hair grew longer with time, inattention and interest in other matters. The Emperor's hair had been shorter in turn, ensuring he looked older, less like a child.

They'll eat us alive, Yudrein. Let's not make it a feast.

"Of course, it is," Katchian replies, his voice the same sharp deriding tone as always. "Duke Diarca told me to keep it like that."

He pauses, his head against Yuder's chest, a steady heartbeat as efficient as any sleeping draught. "I grew it out after your death."

Yuder can't quite imagine, but he knows what Katchian refuses to acknowledge.

There was nobody left to cut his hair, anyone he'd trust near his throat with a knife in their hand.

"What of Myra?" Yuder thought she'd hold down the fortress at the very least.

“Imperial blood,” Katchian says with a satisfied smile, studying his son the same way he looks at Yuder; a particularly useful tool, a fully assembled masterpiece.