Chapter Text
Looking back, Atsumu could probably admit it was his fault.
It had been his idea to take a stroll through the forest, it had been him who dragged his brother along instead of letting him stay cooped up inside all day, it had been him who’d suggested they ditch their guards that had been steadily trailing them. His brother had sighed and played along like always, had agreed to come along, had rolled his eyes and closed his mouth and quieted his footsteps as they weaved among the trees. They’d both laughed about it when they realized Ginjima and Riseki had lost them, continuing their trek through the forest in relative peace until they came across a small clearing to pause in.
Looking back, Atsumu is probably the only reason he and his brother were still alive.
Osamu hadn't been paying enough attention to their surroundings, too preoccupied cutting up an apple. And maybe it had been Atsumu’s idea to ditch their guards, but that didn’t mean he had completely let his guard down; he was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t careless. He doesn’t know what sets him on edge, but he suddenly stops dead in his tracks, the hairs on the back of his standing on end and his spine tingling. He has his brother’s name on the top of his tongue when he does hear it; the slightest woosh, the soft cracking of twigs on the forest floor. Before he can think he’s diving for Osamu, knocking them both to the ground just before the arrow flies over their heads.
They land with twin grunts, Atsumu rolling off his brother and staying flat on the ground. They’re silent for a moment, Osamu sitting up slightly to glance at Atsumu before rolling onto his stomach again.
“Hey!” Osamu shouts in the general direction the arrow came from, “we ain’t fuckin’ game, and poaching’s illegal in these woods!”
His shout is met with silence, and the unease in Atsumu’s gut only intensifies as he starts quietly shuffling backwards on his stomach, whispering heatedly, “‘Samu, I think we should head back.”
His brother glances at him, and then back towards the trees before nodding slowly. Together, they crawl quietly backwards, back to the treeline they’d come from in the first place, towards where their guards must still be looking for them. They’re quiet and careful as they slowly get to their feet, staying low to the ground until the second arrow comes flying out of the trees and Atsumu’s forced to fall back to avoid getting shot. His brother is quick to turn, to grab his hand and start dragging him through the treeline until he can get to his feet and sprint alongside him.
Together, they weave their way through the trees, heads low. Atsumu can’t even be sure whoever shot at them is following them, wouldn’t even be able to hear if they were. He can barely hear anything over the sounds of them crashing through the foliage, of his heavy panting as he pushes himself further forward, of the screaming in his head. When he glances to his side to see Osamu falling slightly behind, his arm shoots out in some aborted movement, waving in the air until he’s able to latch onto his brother’s wrist, pulling him to keep pace.
Distantly, he hears shouting, distorted like he’s underwater with no idea as to the direction it’s coming from, and for a moment he fears it is their pursuer, that as the distant shouting gets closer he and Osamu are in real danger. It isn’t until he crashes through the treeline into another small clearing, Osamu tripping and cursing behind him that he realizes they’d been running towards the shouting. That it had been shouts of their own names. He barely registers the shock on their guards' faces as he tumbles forward, his brother’s wrist still firmly clasped in his hand, dagging him forward as Osamu tries to get his feet back under him. He barely registers Riseki drawing his sword, moving himself between the twins and the treeline as he collapses against Ginjima.
His breaths come heavy, and he only realizes how weak his legs feel when Ginjima supports him with both arms. He’s gasping for air, hands scrambling along armor, barely able to get “ Gin—” out of his mouth around his attempts for air before he’s being thrown to the ground again.
Whatever air he’d managed to suck into his lungs is immediately shoved out of him as he hits the ground. He lies there for a moment, trying to process the shouting that’s started up once more with a more panicked edge to it, and then he’s being helped to his feet, Osamu already standing, staring blankly in front of them. Ginjima’s face comes into view once more, a hard edge to it as he gently pushes a dagger into Atsumu’s hand.
“Go, both of you,” He says, glancing between him and Osamu as he gently pushes them forward, “Go find Aran or Kita. Preferably both.”
Atsumu feels like he’s in slow motion while the world around him maintains its own pace as he stumbles forward. He looks in the direction Osamu is starring in, jaw clenching at the sight of the arrow sticking out of the tree. He feels Ginjima push at his shoulder again, and his brother grabs his arm, pulling him forward himself this time.
It doesn’t take long after that, before the untamed foliage of the forest shifts into something neater, until the trees become further spaced apart as they reach the manicured path that leads them towards the castle. There are few people on the path, and some gasp and jump out of the way as the twins continue their mad dash onwards, weaving around anyone who doesn’t move on their own in time. There are a few carriages lined up at the gates, someone speaking to the driver of the one at the front, but they’re still too far away to be anything more than shapes to Atsumu. Instead, he looks up, towards the ramparts, waving his arm frantically as they approach.
They’re both out of breath by the time they reach the inner courtyard. They slow their pace once they’re inside, trudging towards the guard room in silence. They only find Akagi there, and after one look at the pair of them the man is pushing them towards chairs to sit down. Osamu asks him to find Kita, and he runs out of the room in search of the captain, leaving them alone.
They sit at the small, round table the guards usually play cards at between shifts, in tense silence as the adrenaline fades. Atsumu stares down at the table, slumping over and folding in on himself as his forehead eventually makes its way down onto the wood. He nearly died today, not even an hour ago; he and his brother could have been murdered and it would have been his fault. He keeps his breathing steady and slow, staring intently at the woodgrain just centimeters in front of his eyes, trying to map out the lines and cracks of it to keep himself from losing his already tenuous cool. They’re within the castle’s walls, and Riskei and Ginjima had been pursuing their attacker as they’d ran. Unless something happened to them, Atsumu and his brother were almost certainly safe, but if something had happened it would have been his fault. The table starts to blur, and he squeezes his eyes shut. With the adrenaline fading, the nauseating anxiety starts to creep in, but he doesn’t even have the energy to fidget enough to distract himself.
He’d wanted to ditch their guards, his brother always argued against those impulses but eventually agreed with him. If they had all been together, the man might not have even taken the shot, let alone been as close to successful as he’d been. He thinks of his brother’s face when he’d pushed him to the ground, the confusion giving way to panic and fear as they’d landed on the forest floor. If he’d been a moment slower, if he hadn’t been on edge enough to react as quickly as he had, then—
“Ya know,” Osamu starts quietly, breaking the silence and curbing Atsumu’s anxious spiral. “I bet he only even saw us because you insist on dyeing yer stupid hair so bright all the time.”
Atsumu exhales harshly from his nose, raising his head just enough to rest his chin uncomfortably on the edge of the table to glare at his brother. Osamu isn’t looking at him, face twisted in thought as he stares straight ahead at the wall, but as if sensing his brother’s ire he turns to face him. “Yer the absolute worst, ya know that?”
Osamu rolls his eyes. “That’s yer title, actually. His Royal Highness Miya Atsumu, the absolute worst.” Atsumu scoffs, pushing up from the table to fold his arms across his chest. He pretends it doesn’t make him seem petulant. His brother continues after a moment, almost bored, “Ya need to get out of yer head, ‘Tsumu.”
“We almost died today, ‘Samu.” He chooses to ignore how his voice cracks the slightest bit, how tired he sounds.
He knows it’s not going to fool his brother, just like how Osamu can’t fully hide the way he winces from him. He covers it up with an attempt at an annoyed roll of his eyes. “ I almost died.”
This is a game Atsumu could play on most days, bickering back and forth on who has it best or who has it worst. He feels like his voice rings hollow when he tries today. “And if you’d died, I’d have been next.”
Osamu hums. “Second as always.”
He sighs. “Would ya shut up ya scrub—”
“Boys.” They both straighten in their seats at the softly chastising tone before turning to watch Kita walk into the room, face calm as always but steps urgent as he approaches them. He takes in their disheveled and exhausted appearances, and his eyes soften slightly, his face remaining neutral otherwise. “Where are Riseki and Ginjima?”
Atsumu winces, thoughts rapidly turning back to where they had been before Osamu opened his mouth. Osamu tells Kita, explains what happened, and Atsumu nods along numbly, watching Kita’s face for any shift. When his eyes turn hard and angry, the rest of his face as impassive as always, Atsumu prepares to be berated. What he gets is Kita stepping closer to them, hands reaching out to rest firmly on each of their shoulders. “I am sorry this happened to ya both, I’ll make sure we find them.” The grip on his shoulder tightens as Kita squeezes, before stepping back, arms folding seamlessly behind him. “In the meantime, the two of ya should go clean up. I’ll tell Aran to organize and inform the guards of this, and then I’m going to go speak to the Queen.” Both Atsumu and Osamu open their mouths at this, the beginning of objections passing their lips before Kita raises a hand and they settle. “She needs to know, and something will need to be done. I’m sure she’ll want to see ya both after anyways, so ya’d be best off getting clean and calm.”
Atsumu opens his mouth to protest still, isn’t even sure what he was going to say, probably something stupid about wanting to go out with Aran and the guards, but Osamu cuts him off, stands from his chair and shoots Atsumu a sharp look. He turns back to Kita, bowing slightly. “Thank you Kita, for taking care of this. We’ll take your advice.”
Kita’s head tilts to the side, impassively stern face soft around the edges where he regards the two of them. “There’s no need to thank me, this is my duty.”
Atsumu stands then too, lowers his head in a bow to match Osamu’s. “Regardless, thanks Kita.”
The older man huffs a quiet laugh, nodding the two of them along. After having sat still, walking out of the guard room and towards the castle itself is its own form of punishment, as if the day hadn’t been awful enough, as if it wasn’t already going to become worse. His muscles ache, his feet dragging along the ground because to do otherwise would take far more energy than he has left in his body. With the prospect of a bath in mind, he becomes acutely aware of the thin layer of dirt and grime on his clothes and skin, his drying sweat leaving him feeling sticky and gross. He absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair, shaking it in disgust when it comes back feeling greasy.
He watches his brother from the corner of his eye as they walk quietly back to the inner keep and down the corridors together. He looks as put together as he normally does, outward appearances as stoic as ever. But his eyes are stormy and his entire body is tense as he practically marches down the hall, his movements purposeful and mechanical despite the apparent fatigue in them. While Atsumu wears his heart on his sleeve, Osamu keeps it locked up tight, but never so tight as to keep Atsumu from reaching it.
They’ve nearly reached their own rooms, will have to separate soon to bathe and prepare to speak to their mother about what happened, when Atsumu finally breaks the heavy silence. “Do you really think my hair is stupid?”
Osamu’s steps falter slightly, the carefully blank mask of his face cracking around the edges at the unexpected question. “No,” he says, and then winces, like he meant to lie about it, meant to be able to tease Atsumu even still, even while he’s clearly overthinking.
Atsumu lets out a slow breath through pursed lips, loud enough for Osamu to hear the sigh in it. “Do you think it’s what nearly killed us?”
He isn’t looking, but he doesn’t need to see him to know how Osamu’s face twists, that he probably has his eyes scrunched closed and his teeth grit. “No. Maybe. It doesn’t really matter.”
Atsumu hums, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as they walk. “Guess not, but I figured I’d ask for yer input before dyeing it again. Not that I would have listened to you, but I figured I’d ask to be polite.”
“You’re never polite,” Osamu scoffs, and the air is still tense, their limbs still weary, but Atsumu at least thinks he can breathe a little easier. When he chances a glance at his brother, his face has relaxed somewhat, clearly still deep in thought, but at least he isn’t trying to hide behind walls anymore. “We’re gonna be fine, Kita, Aran, and Ma will take care of it.”
Atsumu hums non committedly; he wants to believe him, knows Osamu wants to believe it himself, and if he trusts anyone to keep them all safe it’s them. He wants to think this is something that can just be taken care of, but he doesn’t know if it can be, and he doesn’t want to lie, to himself or to his brother. The image of an arrow flashing just over Osamu’s head is playing on a constant loop in his mind, leaving him paranoid and afraid.
They go their separate ways, to separate chambers already prepared for them to wash the nightmare of a day off of them. The water is comfortably warm, softly fragrant with soaps and oils, but even that isn’t enough to fully relax him, to fully ease the tension from Atsumu’s body. He spends longer than he usually would cleaning himself up, scrubbing just a little harder, as if he could wash away the lingering paranoia under his skin if he just rubbed at it hard enough. His skin tingles and aches in new ways by the time he’s done, rubbed raw and aggravated but at least, he thinks, it’s something else to focus on. When his skin is red, pruning at the fingertips, he finally allows himself to relax into the water, to soak until the pain eases out of him, and all he has left to focus on are his thoughts.
It isn’t like he can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill either of them or both. They’re the crown princes; killing one of them would destabilize Inarizaki, killing both would be hell for their mother. Atsumu would like to think they’re on good terms with their neighbours, have had steady alliances and peace with most of them for most of his life—but all it takes is an opportunity. His tutors had taught him that, had taught him to always be on guard, to never expect peace. On the other hand, Atsumu knows he can be abrasive, and a personal vendetta against one or both of the princes of Inarizaki would be just as troubling. He racks his brain to think of a reason, to come up with something he’d done recently that would warrant an attack—because it would have been him, never polite and well-mannered Osamu. He thinks he might have dismissed a visiting noble this past year, but he’d been rude in the first place, had disrespected their servants and nearly knocked Kurosu down the stairs without even a hint of apology. He certainly wouldn’t have the audacity or the funds to hire anyone to pull this off, let alone do it himself.
Atsumu allows himself to sink further into the water, blows a harsh breath out with the resulting bubbles tickling the underside of his nose. He supposes the why doesn't really matter, not as much as what they’ll end up doing about it. He imagines increased personal guards, ones who won’t be as lax around him and Osamu as their current ones, imagines having to train harder with Kurosu until every day ends with him soaking in this tub as a desperate plea against sore muscles. He imagines getting locked up in a tower for the rest of eternity and never being allowed outside again so long as his mother is Queen because he clearly doesn’t have the ability to fend for himself.
He pushes himself out of the tub with that, water splashing around him onto the floor. He grumbles to himself as he towels off roughly and shoves his clothes onto still damp limbs. That’s the worst case scenario he decides, as he drops to the floor to mop up the mess he’d made so he won’t add another item to the list of things he’ll end up getting chewed out for. To lose his freedom over this, when he can’t think of anything he’d done to cause it besides being born under his family’s crest. The one solace he has is that Osamu would be stuck right alongside him, so at least he wouldn’t be alone.
When they arrive in their mother’s court Atsumu discovers his worst case scenario is not, in fact, the worst. Aran and Kita are still speaking to her when they arrive, but the conversation is cut short by her rushing over, throwing her arms around both Atsumu and Osamu’s necks, pulling them down enough to hold them close. She fusses over them for a while, twisting their heads this way and that to check for injuries and make them promise her that they’re fine. As she fawns over Osamu, Atsumu watches Kita and Aran slip out from the corner of his eye. They nod to him as a greeting, and Atsumu nods back in thanks. He’s not sure he wants them to leave, thinks that Kita’s calming presence would serve them well when their mother inevitably turns the conversation serious, thinks that Aran would stop him and Osamu from saying anything too stupid or ridiculous. He watches them leave and feels the creeping anxiety take hold just that much tighter.
When she decides the twins really are fine, that they’re uninjured if not still shaken, she sits them down and serves them tea herself. She tells them of her conversation with Kita and Aran, that she intends to discuss further with Kurosu later this evening. She tells them that this attempt on their lives means two things; the first, that outside the castle is not as safe as they had thought and the twins would need to stay inside the castle walls in the coming weeks, and the second, that their borders are weaker than they thought and their alliances are at risk if someone believes they can attempt to assassinate one or both of the crown princes successfully. She tells them that they were unable to find their assailant as of yet, but they were still looking. Atsumu thinks again of being locked in his room, of never being allowed to leave the castle grounds again and he has to grit his teeth as she continues.
She tells them that she has a plan, and that it will both strengthen existing alliances and protect the twins. Atsumu and Osamu share a look, because any solution that could solve these problems so quickly is surely too good to be true.
And it is.
Atsumu’s knuckles are white and he feels his breath pause when she explains that a political marriage is the easiest solution in the interim. And it is, and he knows it, has known his whole life that something like this was a possibility for him or his brother, but he never truly considered it. Not like this at least, not with their mother telling them that they’ll hold a banquet in a few weeks with neighbouring kingdom dignitaries to discuss a potential suitor. Nothing about either he or Osamu’s opinion on the matter, because at the end of the day this is purely political. He understands this, he does.
He still asks to be excused once she’s finished laying it out. He still lowers his head at the soft remorse in his mother’s eyes when she tells him that of course he can go, but that he should keep what she’d said about not leaving the grounds in mind. And he will, of course, because he loves and respects her word, will respect this decision as much as all her others, but that doesn’t mean he can stay and listen to her rewrite their future much longer, not when he feels like his world is caving in.
He supposes this isn’t as bad as being locked away for the rest of his life, but it doesn’t really matter. He and his brother will be separated at least, and one of them will lose their home and freedom. He thinks the worst part is he knows it’s more likely to be Osamu, that of the two he’s more agreeable, more willing to put others before him than Atsumu is.
It doesn’t make the weeks between much easier. He has all the angry and anxious energy, and very few outlets for them, while Osamu is filled with subdued resignation. His and Osamu’s guards never truly leave their sides, and there are more with them at any given time. He can’t leave the castle grounds, and is barely even able to leave the walls of the inner keep itself without someone suggesting he pass his time inside. It’s infuriating, only exacerbated by the knowledge that they’re right to suggest it. The weeks are painfully boring and slow, filled with hours agonizing over his and his brother’s futures without ever truly speaking on the matter, merely around it. Then suddenly time is up. Handmaids help him prepare for the banquet, touching up his roots in the morning and dressing him in finery come afternoon.
He thinks he can suck it up, accept it for what it is and play the part of a gracious host. He tells himself this up until the first guests arrive and he already knows he’s doomed.
Atsumu doesn’t mind attending banquets. He doesn’t enjoy them as much as his brother, who he’s watched stuff himself to the point of bursting at nearly every one that they’ve held or attended. The food is always worthwhile, and he doesn’t mind the dressing up, or the preening, or the attention of the dignitaries and nobles, all up until they become irritating and grating. Up until this point, he thought them fun enough.
He can’t find his usual light-hearted enjoyment tonight. They’re sitting further from their mother than they normally would, but the head table is filled with the leaders of other kingdoms and their advisors and the topic of conversation wasn’t one Atsumu wanted to be privy to regardless. He thought he should be, but both he and Samu had been forced into the spotlight enough as it was, the collar of his red and gold tunic suffocating him in the already stuffy room. He makes small talk, less so than he normally would, but even Osamu can tell that the chatter of the dining hall chafes on his already frayed nerves. He wishes he could enjoy the event like his brother, nip his swirling thoughts in the bud. This was supposed to be his element, but the circumstances leading them to this point, the forced spotlight, the intent to find him or his brother some partner —it was too much.
They’ve held banquets for when other kingdom’s dignitaries visited before, he even recognizes a fair few of them including Prince Kageyama of Karasuno being pestered a number of seats away from him by Prince Oikawa of Seijoh. But even seeing his and friendlier faces does nothing to soothe his nerves, just frays them even further. The night is mostly a blur of more and more extravagant courses, loud voices and idle chatter, a newly forming bruise in his side from his brother’s constant elbowing. When he nearly snaps at the Prince of Nekoma, a man who seemed to be their age with just as little interest in being here as Atsumu, his brother kicks him under the table.
Eventually, the tables are cleared in favour of spiced wine, and the music that had been softly swelling over the final courses of the banquet turns into something meant less as an undercurrent to conversation and more as an invitation to enjoy. Nobles and dignitaries at various tables rise to move onto the dance floor, and Atsumu uses the movement as his cue to glance again at the head table as he has been the entire night. No one moves, or even looks like they might , and Atsumu huffs irritatedly into his chalice. His brother shoots him a pointed look, gesturing minutely towards the dancefloor, where Atsumu could find a nice corner to sulk in.
It’s a good attempt in theory, he thinks as he excuses himself from the table, but even with so many still sitting the room is filled to the brim and he garners attention wherever he goes. He doesn’t really feel inclined to dance either, despite what he said as he’d left, and he slips between groups of dancers and partners towards the edges of the room. He does his best to move swiftly between conversations, interjecting a witty comment or polite compliment here and there as he creeps closer towards a corner. He tries his damndest to keep up appearances at his own banquet, deflating only slightly the moment he’s left alone. It doesn’t last long.
“Which one are you?”
“Pardon me?” Atsumu snaps, straightening immediately, turning to face the man speaking to him. He doesn’t recognize him specifically, can’t recall if he’d been seated near him or at another table. He’d be hard to miss under any circumstances that didn’t include Atsumu’s distraction the entire night; tall, dark, and handsome, dressed in black and gold finery suggesting he’s one of the nobles he’s meant to be entertaining to one extent or another. He looks bored, mouth set in a tight line while his dark eyes gaze down at Atsumu, bereft of emotion. He’s beautiful in a regal way, two moles delicately placed above his slightly raised eyebrow. Atsumu thinks for a moment that he wouldn’t necessarily mind talking to this stranger any other night.
“Of the princes. There are two of you, and you’re the same, so which one are you?”
No, Atsumu thinks, it isn’t the circumstances making this conversation unbearable. He feels his eyes narrow, his jaw twitch slightly, but he takes a quiet breath before speaking. He’s already snapped at another prince and has been in a palpably foul mood the whole night, he can’t afford to cause a scene right now, not after everything. So instead, he steps away from the wall just enough, bowing only enough to remain polite as he addresses the man. “I’m Atsumu, of the princes .” He doesn’t miss the light scoff from his partner in conversation, barely fights the urge to grit his teeth. “And you are?”
“Kiyoomi.” The answer is short and clipped, coming off the tail end of a pause as if he were debating whether or not to even give Atsumu that much. He refrains from rolling his eyes—Kiyoomi was the one to approach him in the first place. “Shouldn’t you be attending to your guests instead of hiding in the corner? I saw you nearly bite Prince Kozume’s head off earlier.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes, trying to maintain a smile. So, he was either sitting near him, or near enough at least to have seen him. His side throbs at the memory of Osamu hitting him. “I apologized and he said he didn’t really care for honorifics anyway. B’sides, you were already sequestered away over here by the time I arrived. Not enjoyin’ the party Omi ?” He drawls, grin widening at the flash of annoyance that arises from the nickname.
“It’s… adequate,” is the slow reply he gets, watching Kiyoomi’s jaw clench as he glances around the room briefly.
“Adequate,” Atsumu repeats, raising an eyebrow. “This yer way of sayin’ you need attending to, Omi-kun?”
A harsh scoff. “From you? No. And don’t call me that.”
Atsumu glances around them before turning back to Kiyoomi and shrugging, eyes heavy-lidded. “Well, you approached me from what I recall, and I’m one of the princes , so I suppose it’s my job to ensure you leave thinking of this banquet as more than adequate. ”
Kiyoomi stiffens, much to Atsumu’s amusement. “A lapse in judgement on my part, I must have been hoping you were your brother.”
Atsumu snorts before he extends a hand, sharp smile gracing his lips. “Care for a dance?”
It’s a challenge, one he knows Kiyoomi recognizes by the way his shoulders rise slightly, by the way his otherwise impassive eyes narrow and darken minutely. He’s silent for a moment, leaving Atsumu to keep his hand held out into the open air for a moment too long before he takes it in his own sturdy grip. It’s only now that he realizes Kiyoomi is wearing black gloves to match the rest of his attire, as the silken texture meets the rough calluses of his own palm.
Atsumu turns, walks further from the edges of the hall, closer to where the many couples and groups are dancing. He keeps them near the outskirts, both for his own sake, so that his Ma doesn’t get too many ideas or Osamu makes a scene of it, but also for the way Kiyoomi slows steadily as they approach the mass of people.
Dancing is Atsumu’s least favourite part of these evenings. Not for lack of skill or ability to find a partner, but he finds that the experience is more draining than it is fun at these events. His partners are never good enough to match his pace, or trying too hard to impress a prince, or far too interested in the fact that he is a prince to remember that he’s also a person. He can’t say he’s entirely thrilled at the prospect of dancing with Kiyoomi, but he thinks that the pinched look on the man’s face as he adjusts his grip on Atsumu’s hand almost makes it worthwhile.
It takes a moment for the music to swell to an appropriate place to join in, but before Atsumu has the chance he’s being pushed and pulled in time with Kiyoomi’s steps, forced to follow Kiyoomi’s lead by a hand on his waist and the steady pressure of the hand in his own. He frowns slightly, falling into step just a moment behind as Kiyoomi smirks. “Can’t keep up?”
Atsumu grins, more teeth than anything as he tightens his grip on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Of course, I can, just didn’t expect ya ta get so handsy so quickly.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow further, the curls of his hair falling into his face as he repositions his hands. The hand at Atsumu’s waist creeps further back, pressing at the small of his back to pull them tighter together as they continue to move in time with the music. It isn’t the sort of dance Atsumu was going to start, he had intended to lead them in a minuet when he realized Kiyoomi wouldn’t join in a group dance.
Atsumu’s quick to adjust—he’s always been a better lead, but he learned to follow just as well, and he’ll be damned if he messes up in front of Kiyoomi.
“Y’know,” Atsumu starts, turning his face slightly to glance up at Kiyoomi, their faces closer than he anticipated, “fer someone who seems so uptight, you’re pretty light on your feet.”
The slight downturn of Kiyoomi’s lips isn’t quite the grand reaction Atsumu had hoped for, but something about managing even this slight shift feels like a victory. “And your technique is just as careless as I would have expected from someone like you.”
Atsumu sneers slightly but reigns himself in when he notices the satisfaction in Kiyoomi’s eyes at his expression. His dancing is fine , backhanded compliment or no, but he finds himself tightening his movements, following the lead Kiyoomi has set and then pushing forward, trying to see if he can take the lead back.
Atsumu feels his pace incrementally speeding up. He can’t tell if it’s the music reaching a crescendo and increasing in tempo, or if he’s following the rapid beat of his heart, but what he does know is that Kiyoomi is right there along with him, matching his pace for every step, turn, and hand movement. Perhaps Kiyoomi is still the one leading him in this pace, daring Atsumu to follow him. Regardless of the reason, they continue to accelerate, the room a blur beyond him and Kiyoomi dancing, biting words long since cut off. Instead they whirl around each other in an empty room, heated glares matched with pressing palms.
It’s dizzying. Atsumu’s not sure he’s been at such odds with another man before. It’s intoxicating.
Then suddenly the song is over, and it’s like it all comes back to him. The other dancers surrounding him, laughing and chatting as he and Kiyoomi stand still, hands still pressed together. He thinks if he looked hard enough, he could believe that he was just as out of breath as Atsumu, but another moment passes and their hands drop, and the glare his partner had maintained through most of the dance smooths over into a more general scowl.
Atsumu clears his throat, bowing slightly to the man in front of him and muttering a smug, “Thank you for the dance,” before turning on his heel and striding off to find his brother.
He isn’t exactly hard to find: not quite at the table where Atsumu had left him, but close enough. He’s moved closer to the dance floor, but not quite in the way of the dancers. He’s fairly surrounded both by nobles eager for a prince’s attention and, slightly further back, guards who were equally antsy about the attention. Atsumu makes eye contact with Suna, the guard closest to his brother, eyes quickly flitting between the two of them.
Suna hasn’t been around forever, had only come to the castle when the twins were well into their teen years, but it certainly felt like he’d always been there in some way. Even more so in recent years as he gained trust both with the princes and within their royal guards. And perhaps, as a well-trusted guard, and given the current circumstances, Suna could get a pass for being far closer to Osamu than he should be at this event, and for the near imperceptible discomfort in his face as another hand reaches for Osamu’s. Atsumu knew better.
Regardless, Suna’s head tilts slightly in understanding, impassive eyes slanting towards the woman currently speaking to Osamu. Once she’s finished , is what Atusmu gathers, and he’s quick to pivot in his pursuit, turning instead to where he was sitting to grab his chalice to soothe the dryness of his throat.
He doesn’t bother to sit, most of the table having already moved to the dance floor or some other space to talk. He glances at the head table once again, somewhat thinned out by now, but his mother still sits in her throne, speaking to those who have yet to retire for the night. He tries to make out who remains without looking so obvious, but before he has the chance his brother appears by his side.
“What was that about?” He says in way of greeting, standing with his arms crossed.
Atsumu squints, attention shifting fully away from the head table to look at his brother. “What was what about? ‘M not allowed to try to talk to my brother anymore?”
Atsumu watches his brother’s shoulder shift, before freezing, as if he had been intending to punch him but quickly remembered where they were. Instead he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Rin told me ya wanted my attention, but what were ya doing out there?”
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Dancing?”
“With Sakusa Kiyoomi?”
“You know him?”
Osamu just stands there, staring blankly at him for a moment. Atsumu stares back, waiting for an answer he’s beginning to feel he doesn’t want. He takes a sip from his drink and realizes a moment too late that may have been the opening his brother had been waiting for. “Yer asking if I know the Prince of Itachiyama?”
Atsumu sucks in a breath so quickly he chokes. He sputters, tries to keep from spitting it out even as it burns his throat and his eyes water. He coughs, muffled by the fabric of his tunic as he desperately tries to save face, to not give his brother more satisfaction than he’s already gotten from this interaction. He glares when Osamu’s hand thumps aggressively against his back, self-satisfied smirk on his face. When he does finally catch his breath, his brother doesn’t bother to let him speak.
“I can’t believe ya danced with him without even knowin’ who he was. Usually, yer way pickier about yer dance partners.”
Atsumu clears his throat, glancing around them quickly. “He said his name too, I thought it was familiar.”
A scoff. “So yer just an idiot then. See, this is why I’m gonna be king—”
“Ah, shut it Samu, I’m older and I’d make a better king—”
Their hushed bickering cuts off quickly with matching glares that smooth into placid neutrality. They’ve been fighting with each other before they were able to talk, in public or otherwise, and they’re practiced enough to know when exactly to stop and pick it up again later, because they will be picking it up later. But for now, the only noise audible from either of them is the click of teeth as they shut their jaws just as they’re approached.
Osamu looks away first, something smug settling lightly in his expression as he takes in their new company. It makes something apprehensive settle in Atsumu’s chest, and he already knows exactly who he’ll find as he turns away from his brother just a moment later. Kiyoomi—Prince Sakusa Kiyoomi—appears in front of him, prim and proper, with a look of utter dissatisfaction. He stands ramrod straight, a solid attempt at a neutral expression betrayed by the slight downturn of a sneer gracing his lips, his eyes inky and disinterested until he makes eye contact with Atsumu, causing his eyes to narrow slightly.
“I hope we aren’t interrupting.”
Atsumu wrenches his gaze from Kiyoomi to the shorter man standing next to him. He looks far more enthused than his counterpart, a wide, welcoming smile on his face and his hand still up in a small wave as he glances between Atsumu and Osamu. His eyes are bright, friendly and warm, the complete opposite of Kiyoomi’s, but Atsumu’s gaze quickly moves from them and up higher, to the circular bushes he’s not sure he’d dare to call eyebrows hovering on his forehead.
Osamu moves first, bowing slightly, and Atsumu is quick to follow, even before Osamu can shoot him a glare.
“Not at all, we weren’t talkin’ about anything important,” Atsumu says, grin sliding onto his face as he raises himself back up.
“I don’t think we’ve ever officially been introduced,” Osamu adds, inclining his head slightly, “I’m Osamu, the more annoying one is Atsumu.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes, grin tightening as he catches a glimpse of his brother’s smug face from the corner of his eye.
“I take it that beyond the hair, that’s the main differentiator between you two, then?” Atsumu’s eyes snap towards Kiyoomi, face falling into a slight frown as he watches amusement dance in Kiyoomi’s eyes, his expression otherwise the perfect picture of bored neutrality.
His companion laughs then, hand reaching up to rest on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I apologize for him; he doesn’t always think before he speaks. Or at least, doesn’t think to filter his thoughts all the time.” Kiyoomi frowns like he wants to disagree, but stays silent as Eyebrows, as Atsumu has decided to name him for the time being, barrels on. “I’m Komori Motoya, from Itachiyama, this is my cousin Sakusa Kiyoomi. But you two are already acquainted right?” He asks, turning to face Atsumu slightly.
Atsumu smiles. “Yes, we met earlier tonight, though formal introductions were skipped. I’m already aware of how prickly Omi-Omi can be, kinda like a sea urchin.”
Motoya laughs again, eyes twinkling, but Atsumu is more focused on the way Kiyoomi’s nose scrunches up as he leans back, as if he’s rearing away from Atsumu and his comments while trying to maintain his indifferent façade. He looks down his scrunched-up nose, eyes narrowed at Atsumu and mouth pinched, and all Atsumu’s brain can supply in response is cute. Which is unhelpful at best, and humiliating at worst, so instead he sneers back.
Osamu sighs beside him, arm coming up to thump at his back, harder than strictly necessary. “I’d apologize on his behalf too, but I told ya first thing that he’s the annoying one.”
They talk for a short while afterwards, Kiyoomi barely moving his mouth from the line he’d set it in, let alone speaking much more, but Atsumu finds his attention drifting towards Kiyoomi more often than not, trying to track any reactions he has no matter how slight or negative. When he asks Motoya about his evening, he makes a point of reiterating Kiyoomi’s adequate comment and is delighted by the annoyed scoff he gets from him as he turns away. Judging by the very slight flush Atsumu catches on his cheeks, he has enough grace to be at least slightly embarrassed to be called out. It delights the sick little instincts Atsumu was born with as a twin to poke and prod.
They take their leave shortly after, and Atsumu and Osamu have the good grace to keep from further arguing for the rest of the evening.
They don’t talk about the banquet afterwards. They spend the evening up excruciatingly late, saying goodbye to all of their guests before they can retire for the night. The servants spend the next day cleaning up after the event, and Atsumu and Osamu return to their normal duties.
When their mother requests their presence a few days later, they don’t think much of it. They’re served tea, and she asks about their studies and training to pass the time until their cups run empty. It’s only then that she tells them the purpose of this afternoon audience. She tells them that she has come to an agreement with King Sakusa of Itachiyama, that he has agreed to a union between their kingdoms, facilitated by a marriage between one of the twins and Prince Kiyoomi.
When their mother tells them that Osamu will be the one to marry Kiyoomi, Atsumu expects to feel relieved. He thinks of a disinterested gaze, of a near-permanent scowl, of hands that seemed reluctant to touch, even through all the barriers of clothing. He wants to laugh, wants to shove Osamu’s predetermined unhappy life in his face, but it all feels like a bucket of cold water down his back. He doesn’t turn to his brother, but he feels him tense where he sits beside him, before the tension slowly eases from him in resignation.
Atsumu wants to feel relieved, but it feels like a piece of him has been taken away, and his brother is still within arms length.
Their mother tells them that Osamu will be leaving for Itachiyama soon, but that the wedding would not be for a month or so after his arrival. She tells them that it is for a number of reasons, both an assurance of their loyalties, and of a decent match between princes, as well as it is to ensure an acceptable amount of time for Osamu’s settling in at the castle, and for the wedding preparations.
She sends them away shortly after, and the walk back to their quarters is quiet. They say nothing, but their displeasure must be evident if the way all the castle staff quickly move out of their way says anything. When they reach their rooms, Atsumu stays standing in the middle of the hallway as his brother opens his own door but doesn’t walk inside. After a moment, Atsumu can see from the corner of his eye how his brother’s shoulders droop, how he steps in and to the side, how he keeps the door open, waiting expectantly.
Atsumu walks in without a word.
He stands in the center of the room for a while, watches his brother let the door fall shut behind him before going to sit on his bed. They don’t speak, but they don’t need to, not really. Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his hair as he starts pacing back and forth. None of this is ideal; not their lives being in constant danger, not the guards keeping an even closer eye on them than usual, not their kingdom being on the brink of war, not his brother being married off for the sake of peace. None of this is how Atsumu had wanted their lives to go, but at the end of the day it never really was their decision to make. They are the Crown Princes—one of them would take the throne, the other would inevitably be married off to another kingdom. He knew this, had for the longest time, but suddenly being faced with an impending wedding neither of them wanted—
“What if we switched places?”
He’s stopped his pacing, turning to face his brother fully. Osamu is still sitting on the edge of his bed, blinking silently at him before narrowing his eyes. “What?”
“What if we switched places.”
“I heard ya,” Osamu says slowly, raising an eyebrow, “That doesn’t make it any clearer.”
Atsumu lets out a long breath, squaring his shoulders. “Well, they probably don’t really care which twin gets married right?” Osamu nods slowly. “And we’re identical, right?” Another nod. “So, we could just switch places, and no one would be the wiser!”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas!” Atsumu snaps, resuming his pacing.
“That doesn’t fix anything though,” Osamu says, “One of us still goes. They’re sendin’ me because they think I’ll get along with the prince better, ‘cause you irritate everyone ya meet.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to go.”
“Neither do you.”
Atsumu stops his pacing, this time in front of the window. He rests his hands on the sill, staring out into the courtyard to avoid having to meet his brother’s eyes. “I don’t, but you have more reason to stay than I do.”
“What happened to swearing up and down you’d make a better king than me?”
Atsumu snorts, fingers clenching on the wood of the windowsill to keep himself from fidgeting too much. “I still will be, swear it.” He sighs, turns around and creeps slightly to the left, still too distrusting to allow his back to face the window as he leans against the wall. “Look, Samu, I don’t say this to be mean—”
“Yes, you do, you always do.”
“—but you’re… thing with Suna ain’t sustainable.” He bites his lips, watches his brother freeze, eyes widening slightly before he looks away. “Ya don’t need me to tell ya that, I know, but… He makes you happy, Samu, happier than I’ve ever seen ya, so if I can help you keep that happiness, at least for a while longer, then it’s worth it.”
They’re silent for a while, the seconds ticking by as Atsumu stares at his brother who stares at the wall. Eventually, slowly, Osamu turns to look back at him, face carefully neutral, hands carefully placed in his lap. “You’re sayin’ you’d do this, go get married to some prince that’ll probably hate yer guts—already kinda does—and give up yer happiness here, just so that I can… can keep Suna? You’d trade yer happiness for mine?”
“In a heartbeat.” His answer is immediate, unconscious, because of course he would. He’s always known he would, always known that Osamu’s happiness was far more important than his own. He’d still live a happier life, he’d make sure of it, but for now, he can make sacrifices.
“We shouldn’t do this, Tsumu,” Osamu’s voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes giving way to something pained, something wet and scared, “Ma will be so mad .”
Atsumu grins at him, big with too many teeth, trying to aim for the confidence he lacks, trying to cover up how worried and afraid he truly is. “Yeah, but it’ll be the best prank yet. No one will know, and when they do, it’ll be way too late. ‘S’not like they can send a letter sayin’ ‘we sent the wrong prince by accident, please return him and we’ll send the right one.’”
Osamu sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. “We could… we should talk to her first. Say we discussed it, an’ came to our own decision. Or maybe…” He sighs, pushing his bangs back as he looks out the window just next to Atsumu’s head. “Or maybe she’s right, and this really is the best decision and—”
Atsumu’s about to interrupt when a knock on the door does it for him. He closes his jaw tightly, glaring holes into the wood. His brother sighs, rubbing at his eyes again before calling for whoever’s at the door to just come in.
When the door slowly swings open, Atsumu barely represses a scoff when he sees Suna standing there, watches him take in the scene before him. He bows slightly before stepping into the room, glancing out the still open door quickly and then back to Atsumu. He does let out the scoff now, pushing himself away from the wall.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wasn’t going to ask you to leave, your hi—”
“Stuff it, Sunarin, ya were and it’s fine,” Atsumu says, clearly unhappy with the interruption regardless. He pauses halfway across the room, pointing at his brother. “We ain’t done with this conversation yet, so don’t start getting any stupid ideas, ‘Samu.”
Osamu glares at him, but it lacks heat, weakened by the tiredness in his eyes, even when he replies, “Yer the one who has the stupid ideas, ‘Tsumu.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t really have the energy to, and instead breezes past Suna, tugging the door closed quietly behind him. He sighs once he’s out of the room, stares silently at the door to his own, before trudging his way back through the halls to find his mother once again.