#violet;fics

in a way, it's reminiscent. suna wonders if this is how you felt the whole time—to feel like you have half a heart and nothing more.

he can feel the cut, it slices across his palm—he thinks about who could be washing your wound clean without him around as he hisses in pain at the sting.

but you've grown, suna knows it best. you probably don't hate it as much when you have to clean up your wound, when the sting of it doubles over. otherwise, you probably wouldn't have left him.

probably.

because the echo of you leaving him never leaves. it bounces around his head in infinities.

you've given him so many chances—suna has no one to blame but himself. he's bitten his tongue in arguments and very rarely has he ever said anything out of line because, not for you. not with you. but in exchange, suna had offered you nothing but silence—no reassurance of a love that you had eventually thought didn't exist, no reassurance to hold on to him and stick around.

suna kept quiet until you did, too. you're soulmates and that's enough, that's what he always said.

he gets it now.

you're soulmates, he can tell because he knows, despite not knowing where you are right now—that you've gotten hurt and you're cleaning up the wound. you're soulmates, and he can tell because almost everyday, he feels the small nip of cooking oil on the skin of his hand, or when his tongue feels like it's been scalded when he's not even eating anything.

you're soulmates but that isn't enough—because everyday, suna comes home only to feel his heart getting chipped away all over again til he's hollow from inside out. it's only been three weeks and he's been leaving you alone in this apartment for over a year—so he wonders how you did it.

his heart aches, just like the way you told him it did. it's the perfect karma. to feel the same sort of loneliness he put you through.

"we're soulmates," he repeats like a broken record. with his eyes, he pleads.

"we're soulmates," he insists, like it's a substitute for i love you. but he's greeted by your silence. your eyes refusing to meet his, it stays grounded to the floor.

he calls out your name while you sink your teeth down your bottom lip because your eyes sting—suna can feel it too, the welling of tears in his eyes. even if your tears fall over first, he knows the sting in his eyes isn't all yours. for a moment, you look up, and your gaze meets his.

"i just-i can't do this anymore. i'm—i think i'm tired, rintarou."

your shoulders sag at your admission, like you're finally feeling the complete weight of it. then you look away with a sigh, "you don't need me around, rintarou—and i can't, i can't stay around you anymore."

his lips part, he wants to say he does. he needs you around, more than you know. but you shake your head like you know exactly what he'll say, "you're never around, you know. i get you're busy, i get you're tired but…" your sigh is tainted by a mirthless laugh. "i can't be with you anymore—not like this."

i can't be with you anymore. it's the words that echo in his head and follow him in his dreams. he feels every part of himself dying inside—it's hard for him to breathe; you have him in a chokehold. even in the very words that would become his nightmare, he thinks: but i love you.

suna watches you smile a little. it's a consolation prize before you're turning around and locking the door behind you.

People mistake you for the princess so often, and the Queen, whenever within earshot, would plaster a graceful smile to her face, saying, she's like our own daughter.

It makes your skin crawl—you never knew why, so you always let it slip.

The neckline of the dress feels more so like a chestline, dropping a bit too low than what you're used to so much that your chest feels bare. Still, the dress was beautiful, complimenting the color of your skin and making you look worth like the finest of diamonds. Beautiful.

With a purse of your lips, you exhale. You let the servants do their job and look over to your right.

The princess, Alisa, looks back at you with a bright smile as if she's reassuring you.

You think, she should be reassuring herself. You smile back at her instead.

You did look like a princess. Only a princess would be—should be—dressed this way, pampered this way, lavished with riches this way.

For a second, the corset feels like it's starting to hug you tighter like it wants to mold you smaller until you're no more. Perhaps it's because you're being pushed out of the room and into the corridor that lead its way to the ball—one which was clamoring with chatter that the entrancing sound of the music could barely be heard.

There's a tap on your shoulder. It makes you nearly jump, instincts rushing in as you look behind you wide-eyed.

It's the princess, with expectant eyes and a smile. 

"Shall we?"

Nodding, you brace yourself for the people you're about to meet. Then, you're walking side by side with the princess herself, emerging from the heavy curtains.

The announcement of your arrival is one you hate most, with the princess by your side, it only makes it worse.

"Her royal highness, Princess Alisa and the cornerstone of the Great Kingdom, Lady—" The person yells after the sound of the trumpet, you blank out your introduction, still, you hear your name.

There had been too many grand balls you've attended that people mistaking you for the princess has been reduced to a rarity. At this juncture, you part ways with the princess without a word as the nobles flock her, greeting her eagerly.

Already sick from the event so early on, you walk towards the beverages; as you did, the pianist, you note, was doing splendidly. Your tense body feel swayed by the soft tune, every key seemingly reducing the levels of your anxiety.

Much to your dismay, as you made your way towards the beverages, you're stopped by a servant. He's holding a tray of drinks, offering them to you as he lowers his hand. You offer him a tight lipped smile, trying your best not to let your jaw tick, then reach for one of the glasses full of red wine.

He walks away without a word.

Sighing sadly, you look at the pianist again. He looks too engrossed in his music to consider his surroundings; the envy is quick to rush through you, wishing you could feel the same when you're in such an event.

You had wanted to be left alone, thinking sticking to where the beverages were could've given you that. One glance at the drink on your hand and unto the bar full of people, you deduce it's not quite the kind of luxury you own.

The liquid crimson on your glass stares back at you, you frown. Your legs quicker than your brain somehow, bring you to the corner where the pianist sat, whose fingers moved delicately and expertly against the keys.

Figuring he was too focused to take notice of you, it startles you when you lean on the piano and he speaks.

"Shouldn't you be mingling amongst the important people, princess?"

The frown that curls on your lips isn't something you find yourself being able to hold back. Not realizing you haven't answered, the pianist faces you.

Only then do you notice it. The striking green eyes, sharp and pretty, the pink hue of his lips, the angled jaw like he was cut out with perfection in mind—the look on his face is impassive, cold, unyielding, but your intuition tells you he looks most beautiful like this.

You had half the mind to argue.

"Princess?" He calls out to you, hiding behind a smirk for as much as he can muster because your immediate attraction is far too obvious for your own good.

You clear your throat, standing straight so suddenly, "I'm not the princess."

The glass in your hand trembled slightly. If he noticed, he doesn't comment on it. To make a show for it, you bring it to your lips, tipping with a sip. The sweetness to it is pleasant, but not more pleasant than the sound of his voice when he speaks again.

"I'm aware."

"Yes, it's a common reoccur—" you stop yourself, blinking at him, "You know?"

"Mhm, I do."

"Then why would you address me in such a way—" Your lips part in a scowl.

He breathes out a laugh, looking somewhat amused.

"You mustn't look so offended by it, princess. Most would take it as a compliment. Reacting in such a way's comin' off suspicious,'' He warns lightheartedly, yet with an indistinct message beneath.

"It's only because it's disrespectful to the princess herself," You answer defensively, and he hums in acknowledgement.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Your movements are stiff as you bring the wine to your lips. Oddly enough, it's starting to taste more bitter than it had originally been, so you set it down on top of the grand piano.

"What do you suppose I call you then, hm? Doll? Pretty face? Love?" He suggests as he continued to play the notes of the piece without a second of hesitation in his movements, as if his attention isn't on you. "Or, perhaps the title this kingdom has bestowed upon you? The cornerst—"

"Don't," you pause, gritting your teeth together, "finish that sentence."

While he doesn't continue to speak, he doesn't concede, because you've never been more annoyed at such a pretty—goddamn arrogant—face.

The same kind of air of arrogance that reminds you of a masked man with the same green eyes you've chased around the kingdom as he continued to ask you, why not join me, Princess?

And truthfully, it scares you. If this wasn't a ball inside the palace itself, you would've thought it really was him.

But Suna Rintarō wouldn't.

Too soon, the last note of the piece he'd been playing fades and he's standing as he offers his hand out to you.

"Dance with me."

“You speak as if I have a choice.”

Not with all the eyes on you. Not when they watch the man in front of you hold out his hand and ask you for a dance.

Not when he looks like he could have you on the floor if he wanted to.

Even he doesn't expect the chuckle he lets out at your dripping sarcasm, “Don’t you?”

Before you could speak again, he cuts you off, “You look like you think I’d say you don’t. Let’s be honest with ourselves, shall we? You do.”

You clear your throat before speaking, searching for a hint of malice in his eyes yet you're coming back with none.

"Then, who would play the piano?"

He cocks an eyebrow, for whatever reason, the corner of his lips are twitching upwards, "Was merely borrowing the piano for a while. I'm not the musician of this ball—though I think I should be honored that I had made you think so?"

Of that skill? You don't let it show, but you're utterly awestruck. He must be a musician in some way, so as you place your hand in his, you take in the way he's dressed.

He makes your mind run in circles even further. If indeed he is, he must have the fame and fortune for it and with it—no man could dress as he has tonight without the riches for it. These are thoughts he entangles you with as the music starts once again.

His hand is calloused yet soft against yours in the same, paradoxical manner as he leads you to the floor.

He lets go of your hand, bows slightly— the only split second he takes his eyes off you. You curtsy, then your hand is in his again.

You couldn't have prepared yourself for it when his other hand rests on the curve of your waist. A small gasp escapes you.

"You're captivating, princess. Got everyone's eyes on you," Your face flushes, your movements following his in your own learned manner.

"You couldn't be more wrong," You replied right before he spins you and he pulls you back to him again

"Yeah?" A glint in his eyes appeared. The tone of his voice is constantly so teasing, almost as if constantly luring you in, constantly testing your character.

"But, it's impolite," you start, "not bothering to introduce yourself to someone you know of—someone you're taking by the waist and dancing with."

He holds your stare for a while after, "Should I apologize?"

"No."

"Good," he quips; it's enough of a hint that had you said yes, he still wouldn't have. The question prior sounded uncaring on its own.

You allow the silence that follows after, only because your body is flowing with every movement against his like water. Again, he proves he's more princely than he ought to be.

"You easy to scare, princess?" He asks so suddenly as he dips your body, then guides you up to him again.

"What do you take me for?"

He hums, "I take that as a promise you'd move just as gracefully upon the mention of my name?"

It unnerves you, hollowing a corner of your chest. "If it's what you expect of me."

A beat of silence.

"Suna," His voice low, every reaction out of you he takes note of, "Rintarō."

And you thought you would be caught dead first before being so enamored by an enemy. How deceitful of him. You feel your heart racing for all the wrong reasons—or the right ones, you weren't sure anymore.

Your body is tense against him, you know this and you understand he does too—but you're forced to look into his eyes again as he lifts you off the ground slightly—effortlessly, graciously, flawlessly.

You forget his name for a second.

"How very brave of you," Your voice comes out more quiet than you thought, “Don’t you think it foolish to be surrounded by a crowd willing to kill you? More so, I?"

“It's you—at least your people—who think of me as enemy, not I. Never I.”

"You don't see me as an enemy, then?"

"The strongest woman of the kingdom set out to assassinate me on sight?" He clarifies following a thoughtful hum, "Seein' you as an enemy would be so audacious of me, wouldn't it?"

His own sort of sarcasm cut deep, wounding you without a care.

"I could kill you right now," You speak out defiantly, but it's so soft you barely believe yourself—especially when you'd only said so out of your own doubt.

"'m sure you could, princess," He replies without a hint of teasing or sarcasm this time, like he truly believes it so. Then, he leans in close to you, lips barely grazing the skin under your ear, "So why haven't you? Hm?"

"Do you have a death wish? Is that it?"

"If I did, don't you think I would've revealed myself with my name before comin' to see you?"

Comin' to see you. To see you. See you. You.

You almost choke. Eyes widening, because sure you were strong, and smart, and powerful—but you were nothing like the man in front of you who wore a blank expression no matter the circumstance, hardly able to be taken by surprise.

Rintarō pulls back, just enough to watch your baffled expression at his statement.

"This is your chance, isn't it? You're the only enemy who've seen my face," His lips tug into a smile so vague and faint it's more so a smirk.

"In fact," He speaks while leaning closer again, "Won't you have investigators sketch me down? Maybe I'd love the company of the women who'd find me if you do."

You grit your teeth together, pushing him away disguised like you're still dancing yet as expected of him, he's quick on his feet and in his actions—he pulls you back, your dress spinning in such a beautiful way.

You find yourself back in his arms with a sigh far too relieved.

"Or you could keep me to yourself, if you'd have me."

You look up at him, a mirthless laugh following, "If I'd have you? As if I would want a man infamous for the murder of his own parents."

But then he smiles, and his smile is charming as ever. You're convinced he must've used it against everyone, the smile he had that was so entrancing it could prove to be sinful.

"Is that what they tell you?"

"Yes," you hiss, "because it's the truth of the matter, isn't it?"

"Like the truth of your parents death?"

You feel your body practically paralyze in his hold, but he keeps you upright, keeps you close to him and even as your knees buckle from beneath you, he holds you steady. You tremble slightly, only because he's right—he keeps saying all the right things.

He doesn't let you ponder over it any further.

Teasingly, as if trying to lighten up the tense air, his voice comes, "You're too comfortable, hm?" He eyes you, almost like he's mocking you.

There's a hint of offense to it that you take, and you're straightening your spine, looking at him hard in the eyes.

"What are you insinuating?"

The tone of your voice—so accusatory that his smile only widens as it breaks apart his serious expression like he was handed exactly the reaction he wanted.

You scowl.

"Insinuating?" He echoes like he's offended, "I'm merely making an observation, yeah? 's no need to be so hostile," He grinned.

You feel the world more deceptive than he is—because he should look like the enemy he is. Instead, he's alluring like a crowned prince.

In any case, he looks stunning. The warm glow of the chandeliers from above as he guided your body along the music with every crescendo shines luxurious gold in his green eyes.

It sparkles with interest.

"Tell me something," you ask of him, too vague that you wonder if he would understand, give you the answer you want.

Your hand holding on to his shoulder moves as he laughs silently at your request.

"Was thinkin'… Are you really surrendering yourself to monarchs who use you as a symbol of their power? You do… so much saving, my love…" His head tilts at you with a pause, "But you know, don't you? They keep you and pretend you're like a daughter to them but the second you're of no use to them…" He trails off, there's still a small smile on his face, but it looks particularly sad now.

Doubts that already plagued you for the longest time resurface, weighing you down.

Following his remark is something that hits a sore, unmended part of you, "And they won't even tell you the truth of your parent's death. Do you know why that is, princess?"

"So what?" You hiss, the hold you have over his shoulder tightening to a death grip—you know it should be painful, yet he pays it no mind. "What do you get out of bringing me to your side?"

He grins, "s'that what you think I'm doing, princess?"

"What else?" You scoffed a reply.

"I think," he leans in, voice dropping a whisper so soft, like getting ready to tell a secret, "You're the most important person in this kingdom."

One would argue that you already know this. With your own title, that's what it must mean—still, Rintarō with snide remarks and deceiving beauty brings the words over to you in a way that you understand he means there's more to it.

"Do you vow to drop dead the very second you so much as think to betray me?"

 "Trust me a little more, hm? I vow to drop dead if I even so much as mistreat you."

You allow a second to push past you. Pretending your cheeks aren't flushed bright red at his flirtatious remarks, you focus on his hand on your waist, gentle yet firm with guidance; you focus on the weakening way his eyes observe you earnestly, green like proper kryptonite, and on the scent that lingered on him, clean and intoxicatingly him.

"Take me," The words slip out of your mouth, and they taste like poison.

He smirks, cocking an eyebrow, hand on your waist pulling you closer. "Here?" 

You glare at him. "You're appallingly vulgar."

"Yeah?" 

"I'm giving you permission to bring me with you against my will."

"Take you as hostage?" He rephrases.

"I'm not a hos—"

His finger presses against your lips, cutting you off. you want to bite it off, but the way he's looking down at you with so much contentment stops you.

"Ah-ah-ah," He cautions, "Y'said so."

You decide he's cunning on the outside as he is on the inside—leaving no room for deceit—and that sounds paradoxical once again, it doesn't make sense.

But then, perhaps he was but a walking paradox.

Tired from dancing, you lean your body to rest against his and for once this takes him by surprise enough for him to pause. Against you, his chest vibrates at his own amusement.

"Good thing you're intelligent, hm? You're too transparent," states Suna, "You're handing yourself over to an enemy; makes you seem so vulnerable."

"How dare—"

He shakes his head lightly, just enough for you to catch on, "You're far from vulnerable, princess. I know."

The crowd's applause knocks you back into reality—that you're being watched from the second you danced with and leaned against the enemy of the kingdom. Though the last bit of information no one else knew, being reminded of it threatens to make you shudder.

You would be named a traitor, enemy of the people, target of the kingdom.

Heart thumping wildly, your wrist is tugged away from the prying eyes and into the corner of the room. The dancing and chatter resumes, the heights of your anxiety doesn't falter.

But you follow him anyway.