Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bushi sat stiffly on the plush cushions of the carriage, trying to hold his slight body still as the carriage rocked and swayed along the cobblestone road. He could hear the horses trotting merrily ahead, and past the red velvet curtains neat houses and buildings with carefully curated gardens swung by in a gaiety of colors made warmer by the amber glow of the spell-lights lining the streets.

Inside the car of the carriage, Bushi’s elfin face was mostly hidden behind a delicate mask--shimmery pink, matching his elegant suit. Only his clever eyes and usually wry lips were visible. Bushi’s carefully made up eyes, shaded lightly with pink powder and lined sparingly in kohl, sparkled with anticipation, though his candy-pink painted lips were held in a tight line. Anxiety had finally reached him through the cloud of excitement and relief. He had worked so long to be where he was now, headed where he was, but would everything work out as it was supposed to?

He took a steadying breath and smoothed his hands over the fine silk of his coat, barely present enough to revel in the softness, the rich embroidery of roses and fruits done in soft blush and brighter sparkling fuschia, curling and looping on the snowy white fabric like frosting on an intricately decorated cake. Not really fitting with his current tastes, but Bushi felt something classically beautiful and eye catching would be the way to go, if he was really going to meet him.

Him. Yohei Komatsu, the Silver Prince, the beautiful man that had been the center of Bushi’s world, the object of his dreams for so long. Bushi sighed and tried to relax into the luscious velvet of the carriage seat. Prince Yohei. Bushi could hardly believe this day had finally come. He tried to shrug off the anxiety threatening to overwhelm him; there was still so much work to do. To be able to see Yohei was a miracle in itself, but Bushi planned to meet him, talk to him, get to know him, maybe even get close to him. Maybe even…but he couldn’t let himself dream, not yet. It was too close now, too real, and if something went wrong at this point? Heartbreak.

Bushi took another deep calming breath and, aided by the strength of years of forcing his emotions behind a mask of calm, forcing unpleasantness into a small box in the back of his mind and locking it up tight, found himself able to relax his shoulders and curve his mouth into a soft smile. Five years of dismal backbreaking work had a few advantages, it seemed. But now he was here, surrounded by beauty. His heart soared as the carriage passed through the tall white and gold gates marking the transition from the posh residentials to the royal grounds.

Multicolored spell-lights glinted off fountains of gold and silver and drew the rare and colorful flowers into powerful brilliancy. The air was mellow with the scent of unfamiliar blossoms and fruits. As the carriage swung through delicate patterns and mazes of lush growth he caught glimpses of heavy silver and gold fruits glinting in the light, and wondered vaguely if they were simply decoration or had a magical purpose. Bushi found himself staring in awe at the royal gardens. Had he ever been in the presence of such beauty?

A flickering glow in the rainbow light distracted him. Fairies! They had actual fairies to illuminate the garden strolls of the royalty. Bushi hadn’t been so close to anything this magical, or at least, not such pure magic, in so long. Most working folks like him had an untrained mage or local witch to take their unsolvable problems to, but that was all homegrown herbs and partial spells stolen and shared from some nobleman’s library. Bushi was actually very close to a hedgewitch, but even all the power Nabe could pull from the shadows was nothing as grand as this.

Passing a large fountain, Bushi realized there were naiads dancing in the sparkling water, and heard himself gasp at the loveliness. He blushed deeply and forced his mouth closed and eyes ahead, trying to not think about how he wished he could stay in the presence of this glamour and refinement. This life wasn’t meant for him, after all. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Five years ago, he had been an affluent young man. He had been accepted into the city, and society, with open arms, enchanting all with his style and wit. He had been instantly beloved among the nobility, dined with the best of them, invited to the most exclusive parties. He had supped under magicked chandeliers of singing rainbow orbs, danced with beautiful men along shining golden floors, worn the finest imported silks and ate delicacies of exotic fruits from goblin markets and sugar spun by pixie hands.

But then, disaster. Injury. He had been promenading arm in arm with some lovely young dandy along the best street in the city, surrounded by luxury, blissfully content with the world, when, drunk with youthful joy, and a little bubbling wine, he had stumbled into the lane in front of a skittish horse.

He couldn’t remember the accident itself, but the month in bed--that, he remembered clearly. First, it wasn’t so bad. He brought in the best healers and knew that, with work, he could walk again. His rooms were comfortable and lavish.

But in paying the healers, his gold began to run out. He had to move, to smaller rooms, and smaller again, to keep up with the bills from the medical guild. His friends stopped visiting, and he couldn’t blame them, not when he only had one small sitting room to see them in and bread and tea to offer, but soon he lost even that, eating thin broth and scraps and living in a single room in the bad part of the city above a pub that always smelled like frying oil. But that is the place he took his first steps as a healed man. That is where he took a job to pay for the cramped bedroom, more like a spare closet than anything else, the thin wooden slats that made up the walls more like sticks with large gaps in between. He scrubbed the floors, cleaned the latrines, sorted lentils and plucked chickens, worked day and night for scraps of bread and that dingy space to sleep. Though his back healed, it ached, but he worked. What choice was there?

At night, though, he dreamt of the life he had. The parties, the laughter, the sparkling of crystal and glow of magic. The fine clothes, the scents and oils and lotions, the heated baths--oh how his aching back yearned for a single warm bath. He had only cold showers now, but told himself to be grateful for running water. He saw others who only had rainwater collected in barrels, used for bathing, cooking, drinking. He saw others who did not even have measly meals made of the pub’s leftovers to eat as he did, who could never even dream of the life he had once had. He saw sickness and death. He yearned for his old life even while he was ashamed of who he once was. His dreams of the past luxuries were flecked with guilt and frustration. He knew this was wrong, but what could be done?

Chapter Text

As he stepped from the carriage, Bushi breathed in the scents of the night-blooming flowers and the perfumes of the other guests. It smelled of genteel elegance. It smelled of security and privilege. It smelled intoxicating. Through the low excited murmurs and swish and rustling of silks and lace, he heard the genial strains of music, cornet and violin lilting merrily through the sweet night air. Bushi let himself relax into a genuine smile. While he still had so much to do, he could allow for some enjoyment.

The receiving line had clearly been decided against for this evening. With no host to greet or thank, he proceeded to the ballroom--an enormous room, soft blue walls and ceiling dripping with gold and silver chandeliers and ornaments, filled with people, dazzlingly dressed and all partially hidden behind whimsical masks, all conveniently revealing their most striking features.

Upon entering, he was bumped rudely to the side as a large man with curly blonde hair ran by. Bushi tried not to stare; it had been long since he’d been in such an environment but basic decorum didn’t change. He was distracted by an older man with ruffled brown hair who asked him to dance. Bushi accepted, always intending to spend the evening dancing as much as possible, and was whisked away.

His first partner was pleasant, though he talked too much about the food. Bushi looked forward to the delicacies that would be served but could only hear so much about bread. He was followed by a man with a shaved head and slight accent, handsome and an excellent dancer, but forgettable. Bushi let his mind and eyes wander and noticed the clumsy man with blonde hair dancing with a beautiful man in blue and white, both looking absolutely entranced with each other. Bushi smiled.

The next several dances flashed by, Bushi only half paying attention to his partners, until he found himself agreeing to dance with a man in a royal golden suit--realizing seconds later that he had accepted the invitation of the head of the Royal Guard, Sho Tanaka. Bushi smiled, pleased; this was an honor indeed. He must have been noticed to be dancing with the Prince’s right hand man.

Sho, with strong features clear behind his plain mask and shining golden hair matching his suit, was very handsome, and a very elegant dancer, though this was belied by the stern air he carried in addressing Bushi, and the interrogative questions he fired off once they began dancing.

“Who’s your family?”

“All my close family are gone; I was alone when I moved to the city. I may have some distant relatives left alive somewhere but we don’t talk. Is your family well?”

“Where are you from?”

“A suburb not too far. Were you born nearby?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty six. How old are you?”

Sho eyed him irritably. “Your name?”

“Tetsuya Bushi, but please, call me Bushi.” He tilted his head and smiled sweetly at Sho, who gave a stiff smile in return. In the brief silence Bushi decided to redirect the conversational flow.

“Are you enjoying the ball? I wouldn’t imagine you normally have the opportunity to dance much.”

Sho looked away, a startled blush pinking his cheeks.

“No.”

The dance ended and Sho walked away. Hiding a smile, Bushi watched him go, wondering if he was heading towards the Prince, wondering if perhaps he could follow.

Chapter Text

Bushi slumped against the wall, exhausted. He’d had nothing to eat today. The owners of the pub said they had nothing to give him that morning, and he had been working hard on an empty stomach since dawn. Feeling faint, he allowed himself to slide down the uneven brick wall and rest briefly on the cold cobblestone. He knew he didn’t have the time to allow himself this luxury; the kitchen needed to be prepped for the next meal, the linens needed to be washed and mended, and the main room of the pub was still not clean, but at the moment his body was refusing to respond. And so he sat and waited for the will to move to return, listening to carts jumping past on the uneven road. His thin, cheap clothing, which he no longer had the energy to mind, did nothing to keep the rough stone and brick from leaching his heat, and he began to shiver.

“Oi.”

A foot nudged him gently. Too tired to be properly offended, Bushi merely turned a cold gaze to the irritant.

“Keep walking, asshole.”

The scruffy man who had bothered him bowed his head slightly in apology. “Just checking if you were okay. You look dead.”

“Maybe I am.”

The man paused, then asked, his voice gentle, “Are you okay?”

Bushi examined him indignantly. He looked rather odd, though perhaps he wasn’t that scruffy; the long orange hair that framed his face was indeed shaggy and his chin and cheeks needed shaving, but his clothes, though simple, were neat and clean. Bushi noticed, too, that his large brown eyes were expressive and filled with concern. Something in those eyes made Bushi feel uncomfortably vulnerable, like a dam in him was breaking and all the horrible things he had seen and been through were going to burst from that locked box in the back of his mind. His own eyes stung a little, but Bushi refused to cry.

“It’s been a rough day,” he heard himself say, voice cracking a little at the understatement.

The man looked at him a little longer and knelt down, pushing his shoulder under Bushi’s arm and wrapping his own arm around Bushi’s waist. Bushi allowed himself to be pulled to a standing position and leaned against the wall.

“Let’s get some food,” the man said. His voice was direct and clear; Bushi liked that. He nodded, dizzy, and leaned against the man, who guided him carefully down the street.

“Hiro! Bring us something to eat!”

“Naito, you’ve already eaten, I can’t keep feeding you! I need to work!”

Bushi shook his head, confused and surprised at the noise. He couldn’t remember how they got here, sitting around a large, rough wooden table, and realized he must have been more out of it than he knew. He looked around, moving carefully to not cause more dizzy spells.

The man had taken him inside what seemed to be a small house. There was a cramped stairwell in the corner, and across from the front door was a little stone fireplace next to a smaller wooden door. It was through this door that the voice had come. He could see the street from the window and knew immediately where he was: not that far from the inn, near the baker.

The air smelled like bread, and the emptiness of his stomach came roaring painfully into his mind.

“Naito, you brought a friend! You should have said!”

A stocky man skipped in through the door holding a tray with a crusty hunk of bread and lump of cheese. This man was as distinctive as the other, perhaps more so: his black hair, sweeping just past his shoulders, was tipped in red pigment, a rainbow of other colors splattered across his baker’s apron, and though he was short, his deep voice and comfortably lazy air suggested carried confidence and power.

“I didn’t know until recently, calm down. This is, ah…” he paused. Bushi, staring at the food, realized after a beat that the man was waiting for him.

“I’m Bushi, hello.” He allowed himself a small nod by way of greeting, still dizzy, but the proximity of food had him feeling more present.

“Bushi. This is my friend Hiromu,” he gestured to the colorful man who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, apparently unable to keep still, the bread dancing around provocatively on the tray as he did so, “and I’m Naito. Hiro, hand over the food already.”

Chapter Text

Naito and Hiromu had their fair share of troubles too, as Bushi learned over the simple but enormously appreciated meal. Naito had been well-to-do once. As a youth he had tutors, learned fencing, went hunting with his father, and when his father died he had inherited a small fortune and built a modest importing business. He never seemed able to really make it work, competing with folks who had been born and raised merchants or took to the cut-throat merchant world as naturals, and slowly, no matter how hard he worked, the business crumbled.

With the skills he was taught in his youth, he used his clever mind and agile body to enter into the less than reputable business of pilfering. Naito pawned his stolen goods to support his family, as he called them.

Hiromu, the youngest of Naito’s chosen family, was apprenticing as a painter and helped the baker down the street, though he too was recovering from an accident that had grievously injured his neck. Naito had pulled off several dangerous heists to cover the medical bills, but clearly didn’t mind, expressing only relief in Hiromu’s full recovery and pride in being able to help.

There was also Nabe, working as a palace guard and self-taught hedgewitch, who could draw on power from the shadows themselves and sold small blessings and protective tokens. Sanada worked as a guard in the palace too, and helped Naito out in heists. Shingo was the most recent member of their band, a mercenary fallen on hard times, now living with Naito and Hiromu as he found work as a hired hand, though it was hoped that Nabe could swing him a position as a guard or sentry around the city.

And, Bushi got to meet Daryl, Hiromu’s round and lazy black-and-white cat, who upon entering the room immediately plopped himself into Bushi’s lap, occasionally emitting nasal demands for head-scratches as the three men talked. Bushi found himself sharing his own story, there at the wooden table with a warm cat in his lap, flanked by two strangers, in an unfamiliar home, revealing things he hadn’t yet said to another human. He felt desperate for this closeness he had been lacking long before he had lost his friends, an intimacy he realized he may have never actually had in his life, and the two men, Hiromu with a bubbling, chaotic energy and Naito in a tranquil calm, welcomed him.

They talked for hours. Bushi was aware of the passing of time. The sunlight, shining a soft cool gold on the unpolished wood of the floor and walls and catching in the roughness of a simple rag rug before the fireplace, grew dim. Yet he did not care. He knew his absence may have already lost him his job and the cramped room above the pub but he felt happier in this clean little room with Hiromu and Naito and the cat--who had begun a rumbling purr--than he had in all his years at the inn.

Being in a literal den of thieves didn’t matter either; in fact, it gave Bushi hope. He had watched as others attempted to live within the confines of what was right and correct and failed, he had experienced it himself. Here were people living outside of these confines, ungovernable, people who were happy and compassionate. He could be like them. He could perhaps be one of them.

As the sun set outside, they were interrupted by the front door bursting open. An impressively muscular man entered with a swagger, tossing his wild dark hair that seemed to glint green in the light.

“Oh Shingo! We’ve made a friend!” Hiromu jumped up enthusiastically hugging the man, whose surly expression softened, then dragged more chairs to the table.

“Bushi, this is Shingo, famed and feared warrior! Ah, I should fetch dinner, Nabe and Sanada should be here soon...” Naito rose and left with Hiromu, presumably to help him.

Shingo jutted his chin at Bushi in greeting, but his face broke into a rough smile and he extended his hand with a laugh.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget I’m not at war! I’m still not used to being a person again, you know?” His voice was gravelly but friendly, and his hand felt scarred and heavily calloused in Bushi’s. Bushi found himself thinking wistfully that his hands must be more like Shingo’s now then the soft smoothness he once cultivated with sweetly scented oils and lotions. This train of thought was cut off when Shingo left for the kitchen, shouting, “Hiro, why don’t I smell vegetables? You need to eat greens or you’re gonna die!”

The front door opened again, and inside the doorway a broad man with a heart shaped face and mysterious shadowy eyes paused, examining Bushi. He was muscular, though not quite like Shingo, with thick streaks of purple, red and blue in his long black hair and a neat short beard framing his mouth. He nodded to himself and entered, letting the door shut behind him. The shadows in the room seemed to jump separate from the movement of the fire in fireplace. The man’s eyes rested on Daryl still purring comfortably in Bushi’s lap, and he smiled slightly and extended his hand.

“I’m Nabe.” His voice was low and thoughtful. Bushi took his hand and smiled back a little nervously.

“Bushi. I’ve heard about you from Hiromu and Naito.”

Nabe, who had quietly seated himself at the table, was leaning back in his chair, stroking his beard and looking curiously at Bushi. “Tell me, how did you meet Hiro and Naito, and come to be here?”

Bushi paused, looking down at the table, trying to decide how much he felt comfortable sharing in this moment. “I’ve been…having a difficult time. Naito found me, and brought me here.” He looked up and gave Nabe a wry smile. “It’s been a long day.”

Nabe’s inquisitive eyes softened. “It was like that for all of us, you know. Naito found us, and we never looked back.” He leaned forward and patted Bushi’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”

Bushi’s smile turned genuine- and suddenly a soft voice next to him spoke, “Who is this guy?”

Startled, Bushi jumped and nearly slipped from his chair.

“Sanada! You’ll give him a heart attack,” Hiromu scolded as he returned to the room holding a large earthenware pot, followed by Naito with more bread and cheese, and Shingo carrying a full pitcher and what appeared to be an entire raw cabbage. Bushi, having righted himself, turned to the tall man who had silently planted himself next to him.

The man had a beautiful face. The shaved sides of his head drew attention to his serious eyes and left a wide strip of golden hair stuck up like a fan along his skull. An unruly beard the texture of hay stuck out from his chin, sharply turning the man’s appearance from stunning to eccentric.

Bushi blinked and extended his hand. “My name’s Bushi.”

The man’s face remained stoic but his voice was friendly as he took Bushi’s hand. “Sanada.”

Naito began dishing out an aromatic soup from the pot Hiromu had set on the table. “He’s met everyone, eh? Good, let’s eat.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that Nabe had indeed managed to get Shingo a temporary job as a guard, maybe even at the palace if things went well the first week or so. Apparently a big event was coming up in the next few months and more security had been requested by the head of the royal guard. To celebrate, this odd jumble of friends got a little drunk and very loud.

Quiet Sanada joined Shingo in singing ballads of clever tricksters outsmarting the wealthy and making off with impossible amounts of gold, while Nabe alternated between singing along and creating pretty lights and illusions of smoke to entertain Hiromu and Daryl. This was apparently a highly desired entertainment for them as Hiromu often demanded particular tricks and would sulk until Nabe, smiling to himself, finally relented and presented Hiro with whatever magical apparition he had requested, to Hiro’s immense delight. Naito sat back, laughing, looking as content as anyone could. Bushi sat back silently too, until Naito beckoned to him.

“So, you should stay with us for a while. Your situation isn’t good, we can help you find a better one.”

Bushi wanted to cry. Looking into Naito’s warm brown eyes, he was transported back to the moment they met, only hours ago, when Naito had disarmed him so completely. A part of Bushi was screaming that this man was dangerous, that he was able to get too deep, too close, that Bushi needed to put up barriers and distance himself, now…But he was happy here. He felt comfortable, and, strangely, cared for. Among these strange people he had only just met, he felt more at home than he had since he came to this city. Bushi wanted to respond but knew if he spoke that final dam would break and tears would be inevitable, so he simply smiled and nodded, hoping his eyes could tell Naito how grateful he was.

The little house had become completely full up with the arrival of Bushi. Shingo slept there in the main room with the table for now, though with his new job he thought he might find a more independent situation soon. Hiromu and Naito each had a small room upstairs, and Bushi would sleep in the kitchen next door to the main room. It was warm from the cooking fire even after the fire had faded to cinders, and thick blankets and rugs were brought out to make sure he would sleep comfortably on the old wooden floor.

Bushi curled up under the heavy blankets, listening to the creaks of the house and the little noises of the rest of the inhabitants each settling in for the night. He closed his eyes and shifted, finding a comfortable spot on the makeshift mattress, and felt sleep pulling at him almost immediately. For the first time in five years, Bushi fell asleep not revisiting the things he had lost but thinking about the next day, and the new friends who had found him.

Chapter Text

Bushi’s feet and back began to ache with dancing, and though he would have happily continued without stop, the guests were finally summoned to supper. This was served at several long tables in a cavernous room of pale lilac. The Prince’s table, seating maybe fifty or more by Bushi’s estimate, was raised on a slight dais. Whereas all the other tables had gold dishes and candlesticks, the Prince’s gold was decorated with silver filigree as a nod to the Silver Prince’s nickname. Bushi, startled and pleased, was escorted to a seat near the middle of this table. Through lowered eyes he noted the other guests also honored with a place at the silver table, looking up as those around him began to murmur.

Prince Yohei, grand in an outfit of silver trimmed in gold, was taking his seat at the head of the table, smiling around him graciously. His features were so fine that pretty seemed the only appropriate word, but that was not nearly strong enough. The Prince’s delicate face, his silvery-pale skin highlighted by his hair, dark with lighter almost golden streaks, and his thick dark lashes were offset by his strong frame and the confidence he carried. Bushi lowered his eyes again, anxious to not be caught staring, though all attention in the room was drawn to the beautiful Silver Prince.

Bushi instead turned his gaze to the man next to the Prince, Sho. He stood proudly behind the Prince, serious eyes scanning the room for any danger, until Yohei, laughing, motioned for him to sit and join the meal. Sho blushed and suddenly seemed so much smaller, looking up at the Prince through his golden hair, trying to hide a smile.

Bushi raised his brows. This was a very different man than the one who had interrogated him earlier. How interesting; the Prince’s personal guard was in love. Bushi played with the stem of the wineglass at his place and took a sip, pitying the man. Unrequited love is so painful.

A woman next to Bushi began a polite conversation about the first course, and Bushi happily shared his thoughts on the shellfish aspic, which had been served in such a beautiful and unusual style--the gelatine set with herbs and miniscule carved vegetables to create a scene of cats fishing and frolicking at the oceanside--that he felt compelled to praise it, hoping the cook was aware of how it was enjoyed. He smiled at a little black and white cat playing with a lobster in his spoon before savoring the taste, trying to memorize each flavor and scent. Who knew when he’d be able to dine like this again?

Chapter Text

The early morning sun was shining on the wall above Bushi’s head. He stretched, curled his arms back under the blanket and sighed comfortably. It took a minute to realize a sound had awakened him, a soft scritching and chirping. He sat up and looked around the small kitchen, seeing it in the daylight for the first time: the growing light glinted cheerily off copper pots and pans stacked by the sink and bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling and around the fireplace, still in the morning air.

Movement caught his eye; a small number of mice and birds were carefully rolling eggs out of a gleaming wire basket on the counter and pulling a wrapped package from the larder, holding it carefully between them to keep it off the floor. Bushi blinked and looked around, eyebrows raised in bemusement. On the hearth, a couple of little songbirds were scraping the ashes of last night’s fire into a bucket conveniently placed below. Daryl the cat was sitting at the foot of Bushi’s makeshift bed, critically watching the proceedings like a craftsman watching his apprentices.

“Nabe put a spell on them, back when he was still learning.” Hiromu bustled into the kitchen, tying his apron over his plainclothes, the bright red of his hair like fire in the crisp light. “He didn’t mean to. He was practicing and must have gotten something wrong. All the small animals around suddenly got more clever. He fed them and they started coming around to help out.”

“...Ah…Was Daryl affected?”

“We aren’t sure. Sometimes we think he’s playing dumb so he doesn’t have to help, but all cats do that whether they’re under a spell or not, so there you are.”

Bushi nodded and stood, keeping an eye on the creatures as he folded the rugs and blankets and set them in a neat stack against the wall. Hiromu was adding logs to a pile of kindling the birds had prepared, while a pan scurried towards him, apparently on the backs of several mice.

“Would you like any help with breakfast?” Bushi asked, watching Hiromu unwrap the package the creatures had set by the eggs, revealing thick cuts of bacon.

“Ah, thank you Bushi! You can wash up first, but then would you start water boiling for tea? The kettle’s too heavy for the little ones.”

Those first few days in that house, Bushi spent his time helping out Hiromu, giving him more time to work on his paintings, and the two of them were assisted by the mice and birds with cooking and cleaning for the household.

The first day Hiromu had proudly showed him some of his paintings. They were so unusual, brilliant and chaotic colors and images Bushi had never seen on a canvas before. He admired the mind that could create them and immediately wanted so much for him to succeed. Hiromu was a vibrant and strange young man, bursting with reckless energy. Bushi grew fond of him quickly, and was happy to be around him so much, supporting him.

When Shingo wasn’t off on some job or his new guarding duties, he entertained Bushi and Hiromu with stories of old battles and adventures while they worked, or over cups of tea when things were quiet. Bushi began to notice Shingo wincing as he would swing his feet up onto the table, making himself comfortable before describing an epic, though probably partially made-up, tale (both Bushi and Hiromu had trouble believing Shingo had actually fought a dragon, and the fact that Shingo supposedly colored his hair in honor of the dragon’s death didn’t change that), or performing morning exercises.

After having examined the herbs in the kitchen, Bushi approached Nabe during a quiet moment one night, and a few days later, Nabe slyly passed him a package. The next morning, Bushi presented it to Shingo: a balm crafted, based on Bushi memory of the luxury skin products of his past, from herbs and Nabe’s magic, to soothe the aches of his old battle wounds.

Naito always returned after dark, bringing home beautiful ill-gotten things that he had not yet been able to pawn off, and Nabe and Sanada always stopped by for dinner, or merely to chat.

One evening, Naito brought home some lovely, undoubtedly stolen, fabric. While the rest talked and laughed, Bushi, unable to stop himself, ran his hands over the bolts, feeling the weave. It was a dark blood red with a pattern of purple and blue. The colors were brilliant and the fabric was soft and heavy on his fingers. Naito watched him silently.

That night, Naito watched as Bushi considered the fabric with interest at first, a little line between his brows as he looked it over. As the others joked loudly about something or other, Bushi approached the fabric almost hesitantly. He traced his fingers over the pattern, then spread his hands over the fabric and stroked it softly. Bushi’s eyes lit up in a way that made Naito’s heart jump. He had seen that spark in Bushi’s eyes before, when Hiromu dramatically revealed a new painting, when his balm experiments with Nabe produced unexpectedly good results. Sometimes, in some beautiful moments, Bushi’s eyes lit up like that at him. This, here, this was a spark with a tangible cause, one Naito could cause again.

The next day, Naito, through his usual sources, looked into stories of a gentleman with a private tailor en suite. The gentleman was known for his senseless spending, refusing to drink anything but sparkling wine and water in which naiads had danced, demanding edible gold on everything he ate. Naito verified the stories. By the afternoon, Naito was observing this man’s city manor, and before the sun had set he was winding his way back through the hidden back alleys with an armload of fabrics. He had chosen carefully what to take, but was worried whether or not his choices would be acceptable, would bring that spark into Bushi’s eyes. He hugged the fabric, wrapped in an inconspicuous burlap, close to his body and had to stop himself skipping giddily the rest of the way home.

The night after Naito brought home that lovely length of fabric that had so struck Bushi, he returned home with even more: yards of fine silk and linen. He presented them to Bushi with an almost childlike air of embarrassment, keeping his head low and peering up at Bushi nervously. Bushi was delighted and exclaimed over the vibrant colors and complex embroidery. Rapt, he began to dream out loud of the kinds of clothing he would have had done in fabrics like these long ago, until Sanada dumped Daryl in his lap to shush him up.

A few nights later, Naito returned with some packages that he silently stowed away until Sanada and Nabe had left for the evening and Shingo was helping Hiromu in the kitchen. He brought them over to Bushi and placed them wordlessly on the table. Bushi stood and began unwrapping them curiously.

“I found some patterns…” Naito sat and looked around the room in an affectedly disinterested way, his face expressionless, “and some thread and needles. I thought you could maybe use them. They probably wouldn’t sell for anything anyway. Even though the patterns are supposed to be very fashionable.” Bushi pulled Naito, bewildered and pleased, from the chair and hugged him happily.

Chapter Text

After supper, dancing resumed. Bushi decided to force himself to take a rest, though, and wandered the palace, taking in the elegance and grace of it all. He paused to admire some paintings, often of Prince Yohei, sometimes accompanied by Sho and his advisor Romero, and sometimes other noblemen and advisors that Bushi didn’t recognize. There was a small series of one of the apparent advisors standing heroically on top of waterfalls, looking very muscular and rugged.

As he got further from the ballroom, he passed alcoves with nymphs playing harps and singing, and wondered if the songs were the infamous Romero’s composition. He listened a moment, trying to memorize every detail, and continued on.
The scent of flowers followed him everywhere, and even with the knowledge he had built up ages ago ordering and arranging the most exquisite flowers for bouquets and boutonnieres, he could not identify them; they were probably magical hybrids. Irises and orange blossoms, he eventually decided.

Bushi found himself on a little veranda, open to the late night--or perhaps, by this time, early morning--air. Vines crept along the railing and walls, opening into pastel blossoms that had been spelled to glow faintly, softly illuminating this space. The stars shone gold and silver in the deep blue sky, and he could still hear the occasional wisps of the nymphs’ voices, rising and falling together in sweet harmony. He was facing the wealthier district of the city, awash in the glow of a multitude of spell lights, shimmering and twinkling in the distance like a rainbow reflection of the stars above. Bushi stood silently, trying to note everything, refusing to let a single part of this moment vanish from him.

A soft rustling behind him broke his reverie, and he turned, and quickly swept into a deep bow to greet Prince Yohei standing behind him. He looked up from his bow to find the prince smiling at him and holding out his hand. Bushi took the offered hand and paused briefly before kissing the royal signet and rising. Past the prince, down the corridor, Bushi could see a small party of noblemen, probably Yohei’s escort. Sho stood amongst them, watching Bushi with quiet suspicion. This was probably the most privacy Yohei was allowed under usual circumstances. Bushi felt a spark of pity for the man.

As Bushi rose, he smiled and stepped aside for the prince to join him on the veranda. Yohei stepped forward into the gentle glow of the flowers and stared out at the distant city. Bushi stood next to him, watching out of the corner of his eye. The pale light seemed to make the Prince’s silvery skin glow like the moon, and at this intimate distance, Bushi could see how very lovely the Prince truly was. His dark eyes were sparkling, his delicate lips seemed made to smile. Yohei’s cheekbones and jaw were so finely cut there was no wondering at the number of paintings lining the halls with him as a subject; any artist would find inspiration in his face. He was, in appearance, a strange and perfect mix of fragility, strength, and warmth.

The silence between them grew as Bushi subtly observed the Silver Prince, until Yohei, eyes still on the distant lights, spoke.

“Such a lovely place. Each day I wake up amazed that it’s all mine.” His voice was remarkably soft. He turned slightly and continued, “It’s Bushi, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

“Hmm. You’ve met Sho?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

The Prince’s eyes crinkled a little in distaste. “You may call me Yohei, or simply Your Highness.”

“As you wish, Yohei.”

Yohei nodded, pleased. “He insisted, you know. Sho wasn’t happy with the decision to have these balls, and formally requested he be allowed to appraise anyone I found interesting before I could meet them in person.”

Bushi bowed his head slightly and murmured, “I am grateful for your attention, Yohei.”

Yohei chuckled a little.

“So what do you think of dear Sho?”

Bushi paused, considering his options. “He seems…very dedicated to the crown.”

“Impressive understatement, Bushi. Now, surprise me. Tell me something about yourself.”

Bushi held back a smile as he sorted through the immense list of surprising things he could share.

“Well, Your Highness, I am a thief and a scoundrel, and live amongst lowlifes and vagabonds, and have come here to rob you blind.” Bushi smiled coquettishly and batted his lashes. Yohei burst into laughter, head thrown back, his silver and gold jewelry glinting in the magical light, and turned to face Bushi fully.

“You do surprise me! Who are you really, Bushi?”

“Oh, only your average bachelor nobleman. Mine is a lonely existence, going from garrett to garrett mourning my solitude. My only comfort is in surrounding myself with extravagance. No matter how desolate my world, I can take pleasure in my exquisite taste.” Yohei laughed again, and Bushi’s smile softened, pleased to have entertained the Prince.

“I like you, Bushi,” Yohei turned to leave, and paused, “I’d like to get to know you better. I hope to see you at the next ball.” Bushi, deep in thought, watched him walk away. A clock chimed in the distance: two in the morning. Bushi nodded to himself. Time to go.

Chapter Text

In the afternoons when the chores were done and Hiromu was off painting or at the baker’s, or during those evenings with his new family, gathered around the table after a hearty meal prepared by Hiromu, whose skill in both painting and cooking was only ever increasing, Bushi taught himself to sew.

Sanada would drop by sometimes, after working, or Nabe, whenever their shifts at the palace allowed, and they would chat over tea or beer while Bushi stitched at the wooden table. Sanada, it turned out, was a hidden romantic, and had been in love with a handsome locksmith for years, pining from a distance. Bushi had helped him develop a plan to get to know the man, called Milano, and finally express his interest, and now Bushi and Sanada were frequently planning what he would wear next time, where they could eat, what little tokens he could bring Milano. Bushi even hemmed and embroidered a few handsome handkerchiefs for Sanada to give him.

After their collaboration for Shingo worked so well, Bushi discovered that his background was surprisingly helpful to Nabe, since in his privilege he had been around much more magic than most folks. He helped Nabe replicate spells he had seen, and with Bushi’s love and knowledge of beauty aids he was able to help Nabe in creating healing lotions and ointments to sell. He enjoyed the calm Nabe brought to the house, and the thoughtful quiet of Sanada, and was always happy when they came by to see him.

Nabe and Sanada began to bring home tales of interesting happenings at the palace, such as the new jewelry the Silver Prince had had made, costing more gold than any of them, even Bushi in his most decadent days, could have dreamed of, or when Royal Advisor Romero attempted to form a choir of sirens to sing his compositions and the resulting chaos when everyone within hearing distance rushed in to dash themselves against the floor at the sirens’ feet. Luckily, due to the soft carpeting, the worst that happened was a few bruises, and Romero quickly decided to switch from sirens to wood nymphs.

It was after one of Hiromu’s lovely dinners, while Bushi was working on a jacket that he was considering keeping for himself--all previous attempts had been given to Naito to sell as thanks for his kindness--that Nabe told them that the upcoming event which had the palace and wealthier parts of the city in an uproar was a series of balls held for Prince Yohei. It was time he found a partner and took his place on the throne, but being notoriously single the whimsical Prince and his chaotic counsel had decided to find him a suitable spouse during three extravagant and exclusive balls. Naito groaned and complained of the uselessness of such foolish rulers, and though Bushi agreed, he dreamed, quietly and self consciously, of what those grand nights would be like.

One evening soon afterward, Bushi settled down to sew after helping Hiromu prepare dinner. The jacket was nearly finished. He had taken special care to make the neatest, smallest stitches possible and so the process had taken a little longer, but he was pleased with the result. The tailored clothing he had ordered for himself in the past would have looked better, yes, but to all but the most discerning eye this was just as good, and he was excited to have something new to wear and to have that feeling of good and expensive cloth on his skin. He had chosen a modern but simple pattern, and the cloth was deceptively plain; it looked black unless it caught the light just right, and then it shone a beautiful dark green with a lacy silver pattern like scales. His old, more flamboyant style was no longer suitable for his current life, though he missed his extravagant wardrobe still.

The door opened gently and Naito entered, bringing a little chill of night air with him. He paused to watch Bushi work, smiling at the look of careful intensity on Bushi’s face, his bright, clever eyes narrowed in concentration, his expressive lips slightly pursed.

It had been only a month or so since Naito had brought Bushi here, but it felt perfectly natural for Naito come home to him every day, as though he had been there for years. It had been rather like this for each member of the family, but as for Bushi, Naito felt he was something special. He had fit into each of their lives so easily, so perfectly.

He took care of Hiromu like a mother, fussing over him, making sure he delivered bread on time and practiced painting each day. Sanada actually opened up to Bushi and talked about his love life, something none of them had been able to get out of him before, no matter their friendly cajoling or teasing. Nabe trusted Bushi to braid his hair and help him apply kohl when he wanted to look more mysterious for customers, or just to look pretty. Shingo, able to move without pain now, had become an outspoken supporter of Bushi. They had all fallen for his wise and caring presence. Before Bushi, they had been close, and happy. But Bushi had somehow brought them closer. They were truly like a family now.

Bushi glanced up and saw Naito watching him fondly. His lips curved in a playful smile, while Naito ducked his head, self consciously hiding his own smile as he pulled a chair up to Bushi.

“How are you doing today, Mama?” The lighthearted nickname for Bushi had come from Hiromu originally, joking at Bushi’s concern for his painting studies.

“Naito, I’ve been wondering…” Bushi bit his lip and looked away, hesitant. Naito waited patiently, eyes soft as he watched Bushi consider. “Do you think it would be possible for someone like me to go to one of those balls at the palace?”

Naito blinked slowly, surprised but trying to hide it. “Ah. I think we could arrange something if we all work together. We have two world class thieves after all, and two ins at the palace.”

Bushi nodded and they both sat in silence, thinking.

“Why would you want to go somewhere like that?” Naito was looking vaguely at the opposite wall.

“Sometimes I miss it. It’s all bullshit I guess but it’s, it’s fun and it’s beautiful, and I don’t like thinking I can never experience any of that kind of thing again. To live like that just once more, one more night, that would be enough, I think.”
Naito nodded, eyes on the wall, face expressionless.

“I’ll see what we can do for you, Bushi.” He got up and stretched. “I’m checking on dinner, I haven’t eaten in hours.” As Naito left the room, Bushi set down his sewing and allowed himself to slip into a daydream of the kinds of luxuries to be found at a royal ball at the palace of Prince Yohei. Bushi didn’t even notice that Naito had gone, not into the kitchen, but out the back, where he sat and watched the stars in silence.

Chapter Text

Under the glowing purple orbs Nabe had conjured to light their work, Naito, Shingo and Sanada softly talked over their next heist, Sanada wearing a smug smile unusual for their meetings. He had just come from his locksmith Milano; things were apparently going well. Bushi sat by the fire and sewed, listening curiously as the group planned. The house was little, but incredibly cozy with the few small changes Bushi had added: a small quilt over the back of the chair by the fire, a new rug in front of the hearth, a cloth over the rough wooden table, soft curtains over the window, all made in purples and reds by Bushi.

Hiromu and Nabe joined the planning with a pot of tea and tray of hot pastry Hiromu was practicing. Though only Naito and Sanada did the physical work, all five of them participated in some way. Nabe was party to a lot of gossip about the local nobility--who had inherited what and would be out of the country when--and Hiromu always had wild, unexpected ideas. Shingo was an endless source of information on battle strategy that was remarkably useful when looking at the layout of a building, creating plans of action or noting escape routes.

When Bushi first joined this family, he took only a passing interest in their less than law-abiding behaviors. Soon, though, he saw how these activities were for more than self gain. Bushi had observed that each of them took most of the gold they brought home and silently distributed it throughout their neighborhood, maybe further, giving some to those who needed healers, food, clothing, anything. They focused on taking only from the very wealthy districts too, folks who lived…well, like Bushi used to. To absolute excess.

This time, there was a couple who were importing some dwarvish jewelry and would be leaving to port in a few day, as apparently in the past there had been some trouble in shipping and they were insisting on collecting in person. Naito and Sanada had verified the story and dates Nabe reported yesterday, and now the real planning was underway. Nabe was very excited about this undertaking as he could strip the magic from the jewels to learn more spells and replicate them for his little magic shop.

Lately, Bushi had been thinking about joining in, but was still unsure what strengths he could bring to the table. He was small and slight, and now that he was well fed again, gaining in muscle, he thought he might like to go with Naito one of these times. He had talked it over thoroughly with Hiromu, who supported him enthusiastically, crowing over “Mama Bushi turning to a life of crime.” Sometimes he and Bushi had practiced knife fighting and moving undetected on the creaking wooden floors, while Daryl and the little ones watched completely mystified.

Bushi wasn’t quite ready to broach this idea to Naito though, worried that since asking Naito about the ball he had begun trusting him less, which hurt, and he didn’t want to put any more strain on their relationship. He was so important to Bushi. They all were; they had become his family,his life. But Naito...his presence was the one Bushi treasured the most, missed the most when he was gone. His large brown eyes had a way of drawing something to the surface of Bushi. Naito made him feel more real. It was as though he could see everything in him, everything he was, everything he had been and could be, and he understood and accepted it. Bushi felt laid bare by Naito's eyes on him, eyes filled with a tenderness deep and calming and entirely unfamiliar.

And Bushi didn’t want to lose that, not when he had only just found it.

He hadn’t planned on mentioning the ball again. He probably would have forgotten about it if Nabe and Sanada, and Shingo too, now that his transfer to the palace proper had gone through, weren’t bringing them stories almost every night revolving around it. The palace was in a state of chaos, the nobility were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and their little family enjoyed laughing over whatever new foolish thing was being done, and so the subject was being broached constantly. Naito was careful not to make eye contact with Bushi during these moments, but his eyes would slide over to Bushi when he thought Bushi couldn’t tell.

It had been maybe a week since Bushi and Naito had talked. Bushi was at the table sewing little outfits for Daryl and the birds and mice, just to refine his hand and practice pattern making. He particularly enjoyed making little masks for the creatures: tiny intricate things, each one wildly different from the one before. Naito, unusually early, walked through the front door. He joined Bushi at the table, leaning back in a chair and resting his feet on another. Naito looked around at the ceiling like his mind was elsewhere, absentmindedly gathering his soft hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Shorter hairs hung free and framed his face still -- Bushi resisted the urge to brush them gently aside, smooth them in with the rest, fingertips sliding from soft hair to soft, warm skin while enveloped in Naito's gaze --

“So...do you still want to go to the ball?”

Bushi jumped and reddened, feeling exposed. A little hesitant to answer, he continued sewing for a minute while he thought.

“Don’t worry about it, Naito. I left that stuff behind.”

Naito turned and looked at him closely. “If you want to go, Bushi, you deserve to go.”

Bushi paused mid-stitch. Truthfully, he desperately wanted to go. He never got a chance to say goodbye, to properly savor the food, the music, the lushness of it all, and just one more evening before it was all gone forever, to commit everything to memory...

And yet, though he refused to say it outright, this clearly made Naito unhappy. But he wouldn't let it be. It made Bushi wonder, really.

“What do you want?” He asked, running his needle through the fabric and setting his sewing down carefully. Naito, doe-eyed, blinked but looked directly into Bushi’s own expectant eyes.

“I want you to be happy.”

Chapter Text

The carriage turned down a small side street and came to a stop. They had long since passed through the nicer parts of the city and were now just on the other side of the market district, where the buildings grew smaller and shabbier, and spell lights were more often than not replaced with the dim smokey light of pierced copper or vellum lanterns.

The dawn was only just approaching, though, and in the soft bluish light these small lanterns shone golden. Bushi climbed reluctantly from the carriage, feeling stiff in the cold air, and patted the smoke-black horses. At his touch, they vanished like piles of ash in the wind, along with the carriage. In their place were a few squeaking mice. Bushi scooped them up carefully and, with a sigh, pulled off the delicate pink mask. His fine suit, in a brief swirl of oily color and shadow, was replaced by a simple outfit of plain breeches and an overcoat that, when catching the lantern light, sparkled dark green. Gently depositing the mice in a coat pocket, he began the walk home though his body ached from the long night.

When he reached the small house, the sun had risen and Bushi could hear the scuffling of breakfast being prepared inside. Upon entering, he was surprised to find Naito at the table, apparently asleep in the wooden chair, with Daryl curled up on his lap and a mug of tea, that was cold to the touch, on the table in front of him. Bushi sighed and silently carried the cold cup to the kitchen, putting water on to boil with a tired but grateful smile to the creatures who had already assembled the kitchen fire, and releasing the little mice from his pocket. Taking some cheese from the larder he thanked the mice individually, breaking off a piece of cheese for each of them, and sent them off to sleep. He took a minute to stretch and wash his face before washing the cup out and making a fresh pot of tea, selecting Naito’s favorite blend.

He brought a steaming cup out to the still sleeping Naito, then paused. The morning air was chilly, the fire still unlit. He took the quilt from beside the fireplace and gently wrapped it around Naito’s shoulders. Naito grunted and grabbed Bushi’s hand, cuddling it to his chest. A second later Naito's eyes opened wide to blink away sleep.

“Morning, Naito,” Bushi, cheeks a little pink, kept his voice soft, partially out of consideration for Naito’s sleepy state and partially because his voice was a little hoarse from the long night. Naito smiled and squeezed Bushi’s hand gently before letting go. He gingerly placed his hands around the mug, lowering his face into the steam. Freed, Bushi tamped down the urge to step closer and smooth Naito’s scruffy hair from his face, and joined him at the table instead. He sat facing Naito, absentmindedly running his fingertips over the back of the hand Naito had briefly held hostage.

“Did you just get home?” Naito’s voice was rough with sleep.

“A few minutes ago. You didn’t wait up all night, did you?”

Naito chuckled, eyes closed in the warm fragrant cloud from his cup. “Don’t worry, I got up early and came down to keep Daryl company. You know how he misses Hiromu.”

“No one else home yet?”

“You’re the first; you had your carriage to travel in. How’d that go?” Naito fiddled with the handle on the mug.

“Perfect. I’ll have to thank Nabe, the suit was gorgeous. I should make him something…any ideas?” Bushi rubbed his eyes sleepily and, resting his elbows together on the table, propped up his chin with his fists.

“Mmm. How was the ball?”

“Oh, Naito, it was lovely. I could have danced all night--”

“Did you meet Prince Yohei?” Naito finally took a sip of tea, staring deep into the cup, as Daryl hopped softly down from his lap and padded away.

“I did. He, ah, he actually invited me back,” Bushi smiled nervously at Naito, “How’s the tea?”

“It’s good, thanks," he set the cup down with a gentle clink. "I should probably go. Long day of thieving, you know?” Naito pushed himself back from the table and stood with a groan, the blanket falling, forgotten, onto the chair.

“No breakfast?” Bushi watched as Naito walked to the door, shoulders tense with concern.

“I’ll find something while I’m out, let the little ones take a break. I’ll eat something, relax.”

As the front door closed, Bushi stood and picked up the crumpled blanket, folding it slowly, smoothing it over his arm before setting it aside, and returned to the kitchen just in time to stop the birds from trying to lift the frying pan to the fire with a cobbled together pulley system they appeared to have just invented. Waving the little creatures away he began to prepare breakfast before Hiromu and Shingo returned.

Chapter Text

The date of the first ball was finally set, and invitations were beginning to be sent out. Nabe was sure he and Sanada could get Bushi onto the list, and they both seemed a little excited at the prospect of pulling the wool over the eyes of their absurd rulers. Already they had gotten Hiromu some work at the palace too, in the kitchens preparing dishes for the balls, where he could add to the information they gathered to rob the elite of their riches.

Each day, Bushi waited patiently for news of the invitation, but none came. Among the gossip--how much Prince Yohei spent on food, or imported magical creatures, or dwarven jewelry for the ball--they did bring more information, though. The first ball would be the largest; nearly every eligible person of rank in the country was being invited. However, only a small number would be invited back for the second--small being relative, as it seemed a hundred guests or so would be expected. Even fewer would be invited to the third ball a week after that, so few that they would actually be invited to stay in the palace the evening before the ball so that the Prince and his court could evaluate each possible suitor properly. Bushi, sure it would never apply, barely listened. Who was he to the Silver Prince? All Bushi wanted was one last night of elegance, not two, or a week, or lifetime.

Since their last conversation about the ball, things hadn’t exactly improved between Naito and Bushi. Naito still seemed distant in a way, though he was still warm and friendly. Topics of conversation were always breezy and light, they still joked together, Naito was as considerate as always. But Bushi felt like he had been shut out of a part of Naito, like he only had access to the pleasant, blank face Naito could slip on when thinking, and nothing deeper. No one else seemed to notice, or was willing to talk about it.

He wasn’t sure what exactly caused this change in Naito, other than it was focused on him and anxieties surrounding him and the ball, but he knew it would need to be addressed at some point, whatever it was. Bushi wasn’t ready to confront Naito yet, though, feeling it might be better to wait until Naito wanted to talk. He decided to let it go, for now, though it pained him. While Naito had that way of making Bushi feel like he couldn’t hide but also didn’t want to, made him feel seen and accepted, now there was a wall. Bushi ached for the way Naito had made him feel, ached so much he could feel it in his skin, like muscles sore from disuse, longing to be stretched. With the Naito he knew gone, before he slept, Bushi took to occasionally holding imaginary conversations with Naito, his warm and expressive eyes on Bushi, wide and full of interest like they used to be, his lips just barely turned up in that small intimate smile he had. It wasn't the same, and didn't really help.

Separated by the thick wooden beams of the second floor, Naito rolled over in his bed and stared at the wall. He hadn’t been sleeping well, not for weeks. Not since…around when Shingo got that guard job. Naito twisted, burying his face in his pillow. He knew it had nothing to do with Shingo. He didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to think about how everything had begun sparking since he, since Bushi, had come into this house. He didn’t want to think about how he felt like he was floating when Bushi smiled at him, or he made Bushi laugh. He didn’t want to think about how eager he was to comb through his scores at the end of the day in case there was some hidden treasure to present to Bushi, hoping for one of those smiles that shined on him like moonlight. He definitely didn’t want to think about how each time he did this, each time he presented Bushi with a gift, there was a little bubbling panic inside him at the thought that it wasn’t enough; Bushi deserved everything and Naito had so little to give.

Naito flopped onto his back and folded an arm over his eyes with a groan. What he didn’t want to think about most was how Bushi was absolutely made to wear a crown, how perfectly and happily he would fit back into that world and out of Naito's forever.

Chapter Text

Nabe handed him the mask for that night, an eye catching brilliant rainbow, very different from the first. Bushi looked at him, an eyebrow cocked in a silent question, and Nabe smiled wickedly.

“The Prince won’t be able to take his eyes off you in this.” Bushi laughed and pocketed the mask; he would change later, in the carriage. Nabe carefully handed him a little box, filled with the four mice who had volunteered today.

“The carriage will be the same. Bring out the mice when you’re ready and it’ll appear too. Remember the magic is strongest at two o’clock but will start to wear off at three.”

“Thank you Nabe.” Bushi hugged the broad man and gave him a small peck on the forehead, though Bushi had to go on tiptoe to reach.

“Anytime, Mama. It’s for a good cause.” Nabe’s wicked smile broadened, and Bushi smiled archly in return.

Several blocks from home, down an empty side street, Bushi pulled out the mice and set them gently on the ground before jumping back. A shadowy swirl engulfed the little mice, and in an instant four dark horses stood in their place, harnessed to a handsome carriage. Bushi climbed into the car, and the horses began to trot at a jolly, bouncing pace toward the palace. Inside, he examined the mask for a minute before putting it on. In another rush of darkness his clothing was transformed. He now wore a suit of shimmering, iridescent silver, trimmed in black and embroidered with swirling designs like dragons or snakes in a rainbow of thread. Pulling out a small mirror, Bushi examined his face through the mask: his lips were black now, but shone with silvery opalescent rainbows in the light, and with the soft kohl around his eyes was a sheen of silver pigment. He smiled to himself and settled into the cushions, determined to enjoy the ride this time.

The ball began much the same — dancing with a series of forgettable partners. Bushi kept an eye out for the Prince and found him quickly among a group of loud noblemen. Yohei, laughing, was pulling a furiously blushing Sho into a lively passepied. As Bushi waited in between dances, he mingled and chatted. He recognized the blonde man with his beautiful partner, still with eyes only for each other, wondering vaguely why they would bother coming back. He also recognized some of Yohei’s court from the paintings. The rugged man from the waterfalls was dancing with a lovely woman, gazing at her adoringly. Advisor Romero was chatting enthusiastically with an enchanting woman with long black hair falling straight past her shoulders, her hair blending with her black and gold dress and mask which threw her pale skin and red lips into startling contrast. She didn’t seem to hear a thing Romero was saying and instead was eyeing one of the musicians dreamily. The musician, in turn, observed the entire room with absolute distaste, apparently jaded with a ball thrown by a soon-to-be-king. A brilliant woman with hair colored red, green and blue and a long dress of vivid orange patterned with purple, hidden behind a full mask like a porcelain doll’s face, swept past, dancing with a woman in a white-trimmed, sky-colored dress and, unusually, a tricorn hat.

Bushi watched with amusement as a handsome young woman with short, smokey blonde hair in the uniform of a servant of the palace brazenly unhooked the necklace off a completely oblivious noblewoman under the guise of a romantic embrace in a secluded alcove. The servant caught Bushi watching as she pocketed the necklace and jerked her chin in a bold challenge. Bushi smiled complacently and let his eyes slip past her. The dance was ending soon and he should make himself available to a partner.

As luck would have it, he ended up near the Prince as the piece ended.

“Bushi! You returned, I’m glad.” Bushi bowed and glanced up at the Prince, whose smile was genuine. Bushi smiled warmly in return as he rose.

“So am I, Your Highness. Delighted to be in your presence again. Tell me, this evening, would you be so kind as to dance with me?” Yohei’s smile deepened.

It was a dance Bushi knew well, and could perform gracefully. To begin, he let the Prince guide him along the floor, allowing his fingers to linger on Yohei’s for slightly longer than was called for. He saw a delicate pink tinge the Prince’s pale cheeks, and as they stepped close and met hands, Bushi lightly brushed the Prince’s wrists and smiled coyly. Yohei’s eyes widened slightly as they seemed to darken, pupils dilating. Bushi had always reveled in the telltale signs of someone’s interest, and looked away as his own smile grew wider.

Bushi continued to flirt as they danced, in those small subtle ways few watching could possibly notice. Yohei grew more and more flustered as they glided over the floor together, and more and more keen, his eyes refusing to leave Bushi’s, a small bewildered and breathless smile on his lips. Bushi could feel the Prince’s pulse racing when he caressed his wrist, far faster than the physical act of the dance would cause.

They drew together one last time as the dance ended and Bushi took this opportunity to lean in slightly. In a voice so low that Yohei had to lean closer too, he murmured, “Would you like to take a walk with me, Your Highness?”

Yohei swallowed and seemed to gather himself together before answering in a passing imitation of his usual regal bravado, “Lead the way, Bushi.”

Bushi turned to lead Yohei out into the gardens, and paused midstep. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of orange hair disappearing into the crowd. Impossible. Naito would never be caught dead at a place like this; he was at home, probably having a cup of tea or some beer with Daryl on his lap before heading to bed, to wake up early and meet them as they came home weary and full of stories. Bushi mentally shook himself and pressed on, grateful his mask hid the confusion surely marking his forehead.

“Bushi?” Yohei had noticed. Bushi could have cursed. Instead, he turned and flashed a flirtatious smile. “Trying to decide where I should take you. I want to see you surrounded by flowers and stars.” Yohei looked away, thrown off guard and pleased.

Bushi took him to the gardens, pausing under a blossoming tree whose low, sweeping branches, creating a sense of privacy in this open space, were filled with fairies glowing lavender and pink and silver. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sho had trailed them and was watching from maybe thirty feet away, his face invisible in the shadows. The surrounding flora whispered in a breeze so soft Bushi could barely feel it.

“Poor Prince, you never get a moment to yourself, do you?” Bushi gently clasped Yohei’s hands with a sad, sympathetic smile. Yohei glanced around and saw his faithful guard. Bushi couldn’t tell in the darkness but would have bet Sho was scowling through a blush.

“Oh, Sho’s always there. I’m used to him,” Yohei replied casually, over the soft rustle of branches.

“So never a moment alone? No tender evenings stolen with a sweetheart?” Bushi raised Yohei’s hands in his own and turned them over, slowly running his fingertips over Yohei’s palm. Yohei licked his lips a little and looked away almost shyly. A bird somewhere nearby was startled awake and called out briefly before sleep overtook it again.

“Ah, no, I’ve…not since Sho started guarding me, I suppose…” Yohei’s voice was thick with suppressed feeling.

Tilting his head slightly, Bushi looked up at the Prince. His skin was glowing in the soft fairy light, his dark eyes looked almost black. The Silver Prince was so incredibly beautiful. Falling for him would be so easy.

“He hasn’t been chasing away your suitors, has he?” Bushi’s smile turned flirtatious. Yohei laughed, his cheeks pink. “Someone like you,” Bushi continued in a soft murmur as he raised the Prince’s hands to his lips, “should have lovers thronging to throw flowers at his feet.” He kissed the sensitive skin of the Prince’s wrists, first the left, then the right, looking up into his black eyes. A soft breeze blew past them rustling the leaves and carrying with it the scent of a hundred strange flowers and something familiar, comforting, distracting. Bushi let his eyelids flutter, just slightly, as he held Yohei’s gaze.

“Someone like you…” He raised a hand, first tracing up the fine silver and gold of the jewels Yohei wore around his neck, drawing a shiver and soft gasp from the Prince, then caressing down along his perfect jawline with his fingertips, pausing under his chin, tilting Yohei’s face to his, “deserves--” the clocktower chimed out the hour, two in the morning, “Ah…” Bushi bit his lip and let his hands drop, “I’m afraid I must go...”

Yohei grabbed Bushi’s hands and stepped closer, distressed. “Go? Bushi, it’s still early!”

Bushi looked up at Yohei sadly, “I’m afraid I have plans later today that I couldn’t move. I must leave.” He stepped away and turned, casting a regretful look back at the beautiful Prince.

“Bushi, wait!” Yohei stepped forward again. “I’ll…I’ll see you at the next ball?”

“I’d love that…Your Royal Highness,” Bushi smiled wryly as he swept into an elegant bow and stepped back, into the shadows.

Bushi danced quietly back to his carriage, heart thrumming, but still aware he must be careful that Sho wouldn’t be able to follow. He passed under a tree and stopped dead.

“Naito?” Even in his shock Bushi was careful to keep his voice low. Naito sat at the roots of the tree, an arm draped over a raised knee, staring off blankly into the branches. He was dressed in a formal suit, all white, with a dashing cape around his shoulders, and over his face was a small silver mask, but Bushi recognized him regardless. “What are you doing here?” Bushi bent to help Naito up, but he waved Bushi off and looked away. Raising a hand to stroke his chin lazily, he finally spoke.

“I came to keep an eye on you, Mama.” His voice sounded normal, level, quiet, but it felt flat. “I wanted to make sure you were fitting in all right.” He laughed a small heartbreaking laugh. “You’re fitting in just fine.”

“Naito, what--”

Naito stood and began walking away. Over his shoulder he called, “Relax. I’ll see you at home later.”

Chapter Text

“Naito!” Bushi burst into the house a little out of breath; he had run after he had let the carriage go. The room was cold and empty. He dashed to the kitchen, his footsteps echoing. Also empty. Looking around for signs of recent life--a mug of tea, an uneaten piece of bread left out, anything--he took the mice from his pockets and placed them on the counter, distractedly handing the lot of them some eggs from the basket which they eyed, perplexed. Bushi was out the door and running up the stairs before their indignant squeaking began.

“Oi, Naito!” Bushi knocked on his bedroom door loudly. No answer. He waited a minute, listening for movement behind the door, then turned and slipped down to the floor against it. “Shit.”

After Naito had left, Bushi realized what Naito had seen. That must have been him in the ballroom, watching him dance and flirt with the Prince. And in the gardens...if he was in the gardens…Shit.

He needed to find Naito, he needed to explain. He needed to tell him. Bushi closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, running through possible places Naito may be. There were his numerous fences across the city, but no, Naito was never very close to any of them. His old business partner, that mountain of a man with the long dark hair, but no, he had moved far away long ago. Nabe and Sanada’s small place on the outskirts of town? It would be empty now. Worth a look. Bushi rose with a small gasp; his back was a mass of stabbing pain from the sleepless night of dancing and then running hard on cobblestones. Setting his lips in a grim line he braced himself and sprinted back down the stairs.

Chapter Text

The day Nabe and Sanada had brought home his official invitation, Bushi was in the kitchen with Hiromu, waiting for Naito to come home, talking largely about when Sanada would propose to Milano now that he was officially courting the man. Nabe and Sanada had thrown open the door, eyes gleaming with excitement and pride at their accomplishment. Bushi had jumped, letting the dishes he was washing fall into the sink, and laughed out loud, hugging them all with soapy hands.

“Oh, Mama! You’re going to have so much fun!” Hiromu’s voice was a little muffled as Bushi squeezed him tightly.

Freeing Hiromu, Bushi turned to Nabe with a sudden look of worry, “It wasn’t much trouble, was it?” Nabe waved off his concern.

“Anything to make Mama happy.” Sanada grinned.

Bouncing enthusiastically, Hiromu shouted, “Wait until Naito hears you did it! He’s gonna be so proud!”

“Oh,” Nabe turned to Hiromu, “We saw him on our way here, he already knows. He said if he wasn’t back before us to say congratulations to Mama.”

Bushi’s smile faltered a little, but returned, shining gratefully at his loving family before anyone noticed. Shingo arrived home soon and the festivities moved to the main room and began anew.

As Nabe set out bowls and Sanada and Shingo carried food in from the kitchen, Bushi perched on the back of his chair, arms crossed over his chest, deep in thought. When he spoke, it was carefully, slowly. “You know, I’ve been thinking. There’s something I want to try.”

Chapter Text

Bushi hurried down the dark alleys and sidestreets, sticking to places where no one would look twice at someone running like their life depended on it. He began to pass small, scraggly trees curling up from the cobblestones and dirt. As the trees got bigger and the cobblestones fewer, he had to dodge thick roots fighting their way through the rock and dust. He understood that Nabe and Sanada liked to live further from people so they could conduct their respective illegal activities in private, but he cursed the distance now. Pausing for breath, he leaned against a rickety wooden building.

Though the distance was incredibly inconvenient -- not many could afford to live this far-removed from the center of the city where most opportunities for employment and markets for food and other essentials where located, and the lack of affordable health or safety spells made the distance dangerous-- things were allowed to spread out. Houses and shops were thin on the ground here, not piled on top of each other with no room to breathe like back home. Here, things were quieter.

He took a minute to allow his breath to return to normal, looking around as he wiped sweat from his forehead. Dawn was approaching. The silence was sweet here, calm and soft. There were some brave blades of grass by Bushi’s feet that were silvered with dew. Nearby, nestled in the roots of a tree, was a small patch of flowers. In the dim light they shone like jewels, red and purple. Bushi closed his eyes and forced himself to begin walking. Once he had pushed the pain in his back away he would begin running again. He was almost there.

Chapter Text

Naito didn’t come home at all the night Bushi got his invitation. The next morning, Sanada stopped by briefly to let him know that Naito had slept at their place and wouldn’t say why. Bushi was sure he knew the reason, but he was working on it, if Naito could just hold on…In the meantime, how could he reassure him? He put on his coat and began the long walk.

Nabe and Sanada usually caught a cart to and from their home. There were always folk coming to and going from the city, but when there weren’t, Nabe had found a way, using magic, to transport them quickly. But Bushi felt he needed the walk to clear his head, figure out what to say. And he didn’t want to have to talk to strangers. He loved his family with his whole heart, but folks outside of their circle? He’d rather not interact with them. He’d be happy helping them, bringing down the wealthy wretches that had just abandoned him when he could no longer afford their lifestyle, and making sure he never saw anyone die unnecessary deaths from lack of food or care. But he’d still rather not talk to anyone.

As the buildings thinned the birds became more frequent, and as the sun had only just risen, they were singing loudly and sweetly in the clear air. The sky was pale gold, small clouds brushed across the sky were blushing with purple and pink, and the air was fresh, smelling faintly of woodsmoke but mostly of pine and the wildflowers that were bursting into bloom. Bushi was tempted to pick some, but flowers weren’t really something Naito appreciated, so not much point in making him a bouquet. He found one blossom, a striking crimson cluster among bright yellow and white flowers, that he picked for himself, tucking it behind his ear. The scent of the flower stayed with him as he quickened his pace. He was almost there.

Chapter Text

Bushi knocked cautiously on the door of the little wooden house on the edge of the forest, unsure if Naito would be willing to talk. Bushi was determined to either way; It needed to be done, though he didn’t want to push Naito. There was no answer. Bushi turned and leaned against the door to think.

“Bushi!” Naito had apparently just turned down the path, leading a horse and cart loaded with bricks. “What are you doing here?”

Bushi’s heart beat faster at the sudden sight of Naito. “I came looking for you. We need to talk, Naito.” Bushi could have cringed; his words sounded so much colder than he meant. He didn’t want to be cold, not now.

“I know,” Naito replied as he turned and began unloading bricks from the cart.

Unable to push past his curiosity, Bushi had to ask, “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d build something,” was all he got in reply.

Bushi crossed his arms in mild irritation and watched Naito work before he made himself speak again.

“I think…I think you feel I’ve failed you.”

At that, Naito turned to look at him finally, his face incredulous. “What the hell? Why?”

“You think I haven’t let go of my past. But I want you to know, I need you to know, that our family is what matters to me.” Bushi took a step forward, torn between running away or toward Naito, throwing his arms around him, resting his cheek on Naito’s chest, or maybe-- Bushi blinked and restrained himself, held himself in place. “That bullshit, it’s just for fun. It doesn’t mean anything to me. If it were a choice between that life and this, I choose this one.”

Another step forward, toward Naito.

Naito watched him silently for a minute.

“Do you mean it though, Bushi? If you had the chance, would you go back?” It was Bushi’s turn to look incredulous.

“How would I even do that, Naito?” Bushi asked, baffled.

“You could marry him, you know. The Prince.”

Bushi blushed, but remained indignant. “Naito, I’m no one! I don’t even have the clothes for it, how am I supposed to go about seducing a prince?”

“You could, Bushi.” Naito took a step forward, then another, his large eyes sad, and something else too. Scared. “You deserve a prince. You deserve to live like that.”

“Naito--”

Raising a hand to silence him, Naito continued, “You’re so beautiful, Bushi, everyone loves you. You could do it so easily, and live in beauty and luxury and all those things you want. And leave us behind.” Naito’s shoulders slumped a little, his eyes glistened but the rest of his face remained masklike, blank.

“Naito. You idiot. You goddamn asshole.” Naito blinked and the mask broke into plain, powerful confusion. “I love you, I love our family, and I don’t want to leave. I need you to believe me.” Bushi reached forward and took his hands. Naito, still confused, let him. Bushi itched to do more but he couldn’t risk it. “I wasn’t happy before. I was never happy, living that life. I am happy here. I’m happy with you.” Bushi smiled at Naito, who returned the smile hesitantly.

“I want to go to the ball just to have some fun, have a last fling, and come back home to my family, whom I love more than anything. And if you don’t want me to go, I won’t,” he finished emphatically, searching Naito's face. Though he wasn't being entirely honest, he truly meant it when he said if Naito wanted him to stay he would, but he needed Naito to actually say what he wanted. Bushi wanted to go on, to pull answers from him, and to tell him everything, but now, Bushi felt like he was walking along a bridge of a single thread, ready to fall, and needed to hold himself back.

Naito squeezed Bushi hands and his smile strengthened, a little, though something in his expression made him seem small. “Okay, Mama.”

Chapter Text

When Naito had first come running to this little house on the edge of woods, running from his own feelings and fears, he hoped to find peace. He was horrified that the silence and solitude when Nabe and Sanada were gone had actually made his own thoughts feel that much louder. Now, Naito knew he wouldn’t find escape from what he was feeling. He wasn’t trying. He was miserable and had no right to avoid it since it was his own fault anyhow.

Naito had so wanted to make Bushi happy, give him everything he asked for, find a way for him to live in luxury one more night. But though he tried he couldn't make himself believe Bushi would choose to stay, not when he had everything he could ever want laid at his feet. What did Naito have to offer him? Nothing. Bushi loved the family, yes, but someone like him could draw together family anywhere he went. He could create a new family and love them instead, one that could treat him like he deserved. Not like Naito. It had been a mistake to believe Bushi could love him.

He had given Bushi what he wanted, anything for that smile, that spark in his eyes, but Naito, foolish and jealous and terrified of Bushi leaving, had followed and had now seen firsthand how comfortably, smoothly, naturally Bushi moved through that other world. And worse, how Bushi was drawn to the man who could give him a permanent place in that world and anything he could ever desire. Bushi was never meant for Naito. It had been a mistake to allow himself to think he might be.

Naito needed to feel his mistake now, so he would remember and never make that kind of mistake again. It was a mistake to let himself fall into Bushi’s sparkling, cunning eyes while Bushi told him stories of his past, or shared his thoughts and opinions and advice. It was a mistake to memorize the way Bushi’s lips moved as he talked, smiled, laughed or frowned. It was a mistake to imagine gently cupping Bushi’s face and pressing his lips to Bushi’s, pulling his slight, graceful body close, feeling the warmth of his skin, breathing in his scent, tasting him. It was a mistake to imagine the feeling of Bushi’s fingers running through his hair, Bushi’s tender, nimble hands on his chest, finding their way around his shoulders and neck, pulling him closer.

When he had finally reached the little house he’d been working on in secret, hoping to build a home all his family could live in, the sky was still dark but beginning to lighten. He let himself in, climbed the stairs, crawled into bed, and fell into a half sleep full of the miserable, beautiful mistakes he had allowed himself to make.

As Bushi approached the little house, his eyes widened. New additions had been added in brick, at least one new room on the ground and another one added in a second story. Was this what Naito had been doing?

He knocked on the door, quiet but firm.

“Naito?” He heard a small noise inside that eventually grew into shuffling and waited. The door cracked and Naito’s face, eyes crinkled with sleep like he had just woken up, appeared in the space. When he saw Bushi his eyes darted away immediately as though looking at Bushi caused him physical pain. Bushi’s throat ached and his eyes pricked to cause such a reaction in him. He wanted to grab Naito and comfort him, keep pain from ever touching him again, but he knew it would be better to hold back. Acting like that would only make Bushi feel better; it would be selfish.

Naito turned inside without a word, leaving the doorway empty. Bushi followed him inside, where Naito was seated at Nabe’s worktable in the main room. It was much as Bushi remembered: there was a large stone fireplace, hung all around with drying herbs and charms on ribbons, two doors off to the left, to the kitchen and to Nabe’s room, and one to the right to Sanada’s. But there were now two new doors, and a neat staircase leading up. Bushi took it all in silently, deciding to keep to the topic at hand for now.

“You didn’t come home last night.” Bushi was careful to keep his voice level. He was stating a fact, not accusing.

“I didn’t want to be there.” Naito’s voice was a little hoarse and quiet.

“Near me.”

“Yes.”

“Naito, I don’t have feelings for Yohei.”

“Bushi, I saw you. You were flirting with him, you were touching him--” Naito stood and began pacing quickly, interrupting himself. Bushi leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, and sighed.

“I know. That was something else, Naito. I don’t care about him.”

He opened his eyes and watched Naito, waiting for his response. Naito continued pacing, agitated, and then, as quickly as he had gotten up, collapsed back into the chair, burying his face in his hands.

“Bushi…you looked good.” Bushi frowned, trying to parse his meaning. “You looked like you belonged there. You did it all so comfortably, you knew…you knew all of it. How to be. That’s your world, it’s where you belong.”

Bushi jumped up from the wall, frustration finally boiling over. “Shit! Naito! I can’t keep telling you that that isn’t what I want. Yes, I’m good at it, but I don’t want it.” He looked down and noticed his hands were clenched into fists. With effort he relaxed them and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Naito. I just don’t know how to convince you, and I hate that you keep doubting me, and that you’re hurting.”

Naito lowered his hands, clasped them and rested them on the table before him. He kept his face down, staring at the table. “If you don’t want it, why are you flirting with the Prince when you don’t even care about him?” Naito’s voice was small, like it was a question he didn’t want to ask but had to force out.

Bushi leaned back against the wall and was silent for a moment.

“Naito…I wanted to give you a present.” Bushi knew he had handled this all so badly, but he needed to make it right. He wanted to look away, but he made himself look straight at Naito, willing him to look up and meet his gaze. Naito froze at his words, then gave a small laugh.

“You always surprise me, Bushi.”

Bushi rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache. “I knew you felt like I didn’t belong, or want to be here. I wanted to prove that wasn’t true. I was going to charm the Prince into proposing to me at the end of the last ball, and get him alone, and steal his jewels for you.”

Naito finally looked up. “What.”

“That’s the plan we came up with. The whole family was in on it, we were doing it for you. When you were upset after the invitation, I wanted to do something big to show you... how I felt.” Naito blinked slowly. Bushi continued, “I didn’t think you would be this upset, I was hoping you’d believe me when I told you this is what I wanted, enough to trust me. I didn’t think you’d come to the ball to watch me.” Bushi sighed. “You got hurt, and I really didn’t want that to happen. More than anything, I didn’t want that to happen,” Naito stood and watched him, eyes wide. Bushi continued, meeting his gaze, “I should have told you about it. I’m still figuring all this out, how to be in a family, how to show someone what they mean to me. I’m trying so hard because I need you to know, but I’m still stumbling...”

Naito took a few steps toward Bushi. He spoke softly, earnestly. “Bushi, no. I should have trusted you, I shouldn’t have followed you. I hurt myself, I’m an idiot,” he gave Bushi a small, hesitant, self-deprecating smile, “I’m just…I’m really scared to lose you.”

“You are a goddamn idiot, Naito, you’re never going to lose me,” Bushi’s voice was harsh with emotion as he crossed the space between them, frowning and twisting his fists in Naito’s hair, “I love you.” He pulled Naito’s lips even with his and kissed him, deeply, furiously, finally.

Everything else faded away as Bushi lost himself in Naito. He felt like his skin was burning; each point of contact between them sparked. More than anything he wanted to push further into this space, this feeling. With difficulty, he made himself pull away to gauge Naito’s reaction--but as he moved to step back strong arms encircled him and pulled him closer, Naito brushed his lips against his and whispered, “I love you too,” and then Naito kissed him hard, desperate, as though the seconds of separation were too much to bear.

Bushi let his fingers run through Naito’s hair, grazing his neck, pressing hungrily along Naito’s back. Bushi threw his head back, gasping for breath, Naito’s mouth moved to his neck, biting and sucking and he moaned softly.

“Ah, Naito, Naito, what if Nabe or Sanada come home,” Bushi gasped.

Naito hummed into his neck and adjusted his arms around Bushi, lifting him up and wrapping Bushi’s legs around his narrow waist.

“I’ll take you upstairs,” Naito replied breathlessly, “to our bedroom.”

“Our bedroom?” Bushi, arms clasped around Naito’s neck, pulled away for a moment to look at him with eyebrows raised.

Naito grinned, his eyes full of amusement, “I was going to share with Shingo if things didn’t work out.” Laughing, Bushi leaned in, peppering kisses along Naito’s jawline, weaving his fingers through Naito’s soft hair, as Naito carried him across the room to the stairs.

Chapter Text

In the early hours of the morning, while the birds were still sleepily deciding if it was time to sing, Sho Tanaka strolled up and down the lines of uniformed servants and guards. The entire palace staff had been gathered in the courtyard for special inspection and instructions. Sho wearily eyed a young servant with short blond hair who struck a preposterously elaborate salute with a barely hidden smirk as he passed. He eyed her sleeves, rolled up to her elbows; not part of the approved style the palace designer had dictated.

“Fix your uniform…” he began, already exhausted with the last ball though preparations had barely begun.

“Sir! Kagetsu, Sir!” Her exaggerated shout startled a nearby roosting flock of birds into flight.

“Fix your uniform, Kagetsu.”

Sho continued on, shaking his head, and paused to take in a row of particularly untrustworthy looking guards. Oh Great Lion, we’ll all be murdered in our sleep, Sho thought to himself. He sighed deeply.

“You, shave your beard, you look like beggar.”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

He had to stop himself from shooting the tall man with the ridiculous yellow hair and beard an exasperated look. There wasn’t enough time to hire entirely new staff, he reminded himself, cursing that other duties had left him unable to personally interview each new hire before they began. If he hadn’t been required to attend ridiculous parties, making polite conversation and dancing, and could spend his time actually trying to keep the Prince safe…

He paused at a new young cook bouncing on the balls of his feet and fixed him with a cold glare until the man stopped.

Finally reaching the end of the row, he spun on his foot and addressed the assemblage in his best battlefield voice, secretly pleased when those nearest jumped. “Alright, listen! We have important dignitaries and nobility from all over the country arriving today. The palace will be perfect, the food will be perfect, the magic will be perfect, and the security will be impeccable. You are all privileged to be allowed to serve the palace. Remember this, and show your gratitude by keeping Prince Yohei happy, and keeping him safe.”

He surveyed the lines of disappointments through narrowed eyes, ensuring his words took hold.

“If anything happens to Prince Yohei, it will be on each of your heads. Dismissed,” he watched the lines break as people scurried to their posts, and winced. He could feel a headache coming on.

Chapter Text

For the final time, Bushi stepped out of the carriage onto the grounds of the palace. He looked up and down the drive. All over, people were disembarking their carriages, and even more were still arriving. Though the ball was over twenty four hours away, people were already dressed excessively for the late afternoon. Bushi had decided, after much thought, to wear the coat he had made himself. The rest of the clothes he had purchased himself, with money made from selling things he had stitched, and were well made, but simple--dark green, trimmed in black.

Bushi could feel eyes sliding over him as the guests appraised each other, and could guess what they were thinking, but he was pleased with his appearance; his clothes were well suited to him, in cuts and colors that looked good. And as he had finished preparing to leave, Naito had looked him over with twinkling eyes. The memory made him smile.

As he moved through the crowd, he recognized some people from the previous balls, but seeing everyone without masks for the first time was a little bizarre, and he was feeling almost naked being barefaced. As Bushi was finally through most of the bodies and near the palace entrance, a tall blonde man with a haughty expression brushed past him imperiously, his long coat of purple and gold, trimmed in jewels and sparkling tassels of real gold thread, being carried like a train by a convoy of servants. Bushi cast a withering glare after the man, estimating the costs of such a ridiculous coat and how many mouths it could feed, and followed him through the palace doors.

A servant led Bushi to his quarters, a woman with short blonde hair and--once they were out of sight of the rest of the guests and other servants--an exaggerated swagger, and he recognized her as the servant stealing jewelry at the first ball.

“Oi, so you’re Bushi? You work with Naito, eh?” Bushi looked at her, disconcerted and unsure how to respond, but she continued, “I’m Kagetsu. Naito’s alright. His operation is a little small, though. He could use some ambition, he could be something big! And we need some real competition!”

She talked like she genuinely felt like she was bestowing valuable advice, so Bushi, too amused to be offended, just followed her, staring, until she stopped and presented a door to him with a wide, sweeping gesture and bow.

“Your quarters, Lord Bushi!” she began turning to leave, then paused, “Hey, you know Sho hates you? He’s getting real obsessed, wants to prove you aren’t good enough for the Prince or something. He’s been poking around. Keep an eye out.” And she was off, marching down the hallway. Bushi blinked and entered his suite.

The door was barely shut him when he heard a rustle behind him and arms wrapped around his waist. He leaned back into Naito’s chest and hummed happily.

“Just dropping by, I won’t be here long. I wanted to say goodluck,” Naito murmured gently. Bushi turned and kissed him through a smile.

“Big night planned?”

Naito bumped Bushi’s nose with his. “I wanted to check on everyone else and get back to make sure everything’s in order at home. And keep an eye on the mice, I think they’ve started a fighting ring wearing those little masks you made.”

“Of course. Hey, do you know someone called Kagetsu?” Bushi stepped back, stroking Naito’s hair, and began unpacking his luggage that had been brought to the room before him.

“We’ve worked on some projects together. I heard she was planning on infiltrating the palace but I didn’t think she’d actually manage it. She here?” Naito perched himself on the end of Bushi’s bed, watching Bushi sort through and refold his clothing.

“Yeah, she said Sho’s suspicious and plans on proving I’m not worthy of Yohei. Also that your enterprise is trifling and you have no ambition.”

“Ridiculous, I am the most driven thief in the kingdom and I could steal the Prince’s cheekbones without Sho noticing if I wanted. I’ll let everyone know about the Sho thing, see if they can assist?”

Bushi took a moment to think as he placed his neatly folded clothes into a wardrobe decorated with gold leaf and marble. “I’d like that. Give them all my love when you see them?” He turned to Naito, who smiled wickedly.

“I suppose you can keep some for yourself. Fool.” Bushi tried and failed to hide his own smile as he slid back into Naito’s embrace.

Chapter Text

The next day passed quietly for the most part. Bushi mixed with the nobles and royalty from distant lands. The tall blonde man who had swept past Bushi upon his arrival was apparently a great king of an incredibly prosperous kingdom, and clearly felt most of the proceedings were beneath him, refusing to interact with most of the guests and speaking almost solely to the Prince’s group of advisers and personal friends, arrogantly ignoring the rest. Bushi shrugged as the king swept by him imperiously again. He didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone either. However, he knew he needed to make nice, and so entered into pleasant, dull conversations that gave him headaches of irritation.

Sho kept an eye on him the entire day. Several times, members of the elite guard approached him to inconspicuously whisper in Sho’s ear, and each time, his face revealed a little more frustration. Bushi watched, amused. He knew they were searching his things. And he knew they would find nothing. Anything remotely suspicious or magical would be delivered by birds and mice later. Upsetting Sho even more was the fact that Yohei approached Bushi several times, bringing with him a different adviser to introduce, and Bushi left each one as charmed as the last. He flirted with Yohei in the quiet moments they could steal in near solitude, and the Prince’s eyes had begun to follow him with clear infatuation, and Sho’s followed him with clear vexation, as the day ticked past.

As hour passed hour, the feeling of anticipation and impatience among the guests grew palpable. This ball would be the final chance to impress the Prince, and earn the position of ruler alongside him. The chatter and laughter took on a frenzied, almost hysterical feeling and once the final meal had been served and guests could retire to prepare for the ball, the pent up emotions burst into frantic giddiness. As guests moved in giggling, shrieking clumps, Bushi walked calmly through the delirious atmosphere back to his rooms to prepare.

Chapter Text

Bushi held the last mask in his hands, taking in the detail. It was all black, matte, with a lacy scalloped pattern in shining black across it like scales. He ran his fingers over it, mentally sending gratitude to Nabe. It was beautiful. This felt like a representation of a part of himself that he’d only just become aware of, like seeing himself in a mirror for the first time.

“Do you like it?” Naito looked at him, a little anxious, “I helped Nabe design it.”

“It’s perfect, Naito. Easily the best of all three. How’d you know?”

“It’s just how I see you. I wanted you to be comfortable on this last night, Bushi. Beautiful and elegant and dangerous,” Naito smiled teasingly at Bushi, who laughed and kissed him in return. Naito sighed happily and pulled Bushi close. Bushi wanted nothing more than to keep going, but he made himself be firm and pulled away, first giving Naito one final quick kiss.

“That’s the last one. Once my face is all put together, no more kisses.”

“I know.” Naito pulled Bushi in once more and gave him a sweet kiss on the forehead. “Good luck, Mama.”

Bushi smiled and watch Naito climb out the window before he turned to the vanity and carefully put on the mask.

As Bushi walked the halls of the palace to the ballroom, he made himself focus on each step, sending his anxieties to the back of his mind. He reached the entrance and paused to arrange himself. He straightened his elegant suit of all black, patterned like his mask. His lips were all black too, no longer shining silver, and were set in a grim smile. Before entering the ball, he softened the smile to a look of pleasant cordiality, and stepped into the throng.

The ball went just like the others. Guests danced and laughed and fell in and out of love, squabbling and pining and giving Bushi a headache. He made himself dance to pass the time, each partner less remarkable than the last. To make the wait less irritating, he imagined what his family was up to now. Naito would be on his way home, Nabe, Shingo and Sanada quietly guarding as they waited for a signal from one of the birds, Hiromu probably in absolute pandemonium preparing dinner in the palace kitchens, with some little mice hidden around him keeping him updated. Dinner finally came and went, and Bushi wandered, doing his best to not appear as impatient as he felt, until he heard Yohei’s voice slightly raised in annoyance.

Pretending to be a part of a lively conversation in front of him, Bushi surreptitiously watched an apparent argument between the Prince and Sho. Yohei appeared irritated and indignant at what Sho, looking desperately uncomfortable, was trying to tell him. Romero approached the two and tried to make peace, but Yohei and Sho talked over him. Yohei, back straight and face authoritative with resolve, said something that made Sho freeze. Yohei watched coldly as Sho straightened his shoulders to put on his usual commanding air and swung round, pausing before walking away. Yohei said something brief to Romero, who had watched the interaction helplessly, and Romero left too.

Bushi shifted his attention to the conversation in front of him wearing an expression of mild curiosity at the nearby exchange he had been ignoring entirely as he felt Yohei turn to observe him. He counted out a few minutes before excusing himself and wandering alone, as in thought, and the Prince approached him.

Chapter Text

Bushi let Yohei lead him through corridors and hallways to a little veranda--the very same one where they had first officially met, he realized. A little bird resting on the railing took flight, chirping a little, the sound sweet in the cool air. Bushi watched the bird soar away and looked around with shining eyes, taking in the familiar lovely glowing flowers and distant city lights, whose illumination did not quite reach the empty hallway behind Yohei, before resting his gaze on the Prince softly, curiously. Yohei took a breath and looked deeply into Bushi’s eyes before speaking.

“Bushi, I…I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I feel like I’m going mad, I--” Yohei licked his lips and his eyelids fluttered slightly as he clasped Bushi’s hands in his, “I want you, Bushi. I want you with me. Come, be my king and I’ll be yours.”

Bushi gasped and blushed, and let his gaze roam as if he was completely thrown.“Yohei, you can’t mean--”

“Yes, Bushi,” Yohei’s voice was more confident now as he watched Bushi with a smile, pleased with his reaction, “I want you to marry me.”

“Oh, Yohei, I-- I--” Bushi opened his eyes wide and stared at the Prince, his expression a careful mixture of awestruck and giddy, and then, blushing harder, tentatively raised his lips to Yohei’s and kissed him chastely. Wrapping one arm around Bushi’s waist, Yohei cradled the back of Bushi’s head and deepened the kiss. Bushi pulled away and looked around as though flustered.

“Yohei, what if someone--”

Yohei looked down at Bushi, smiling proudly. “No one will bother us, Bushi. I made sure we could have--”

The echoing sound of running feet along the marble hallway reached them and Yohei looked up furiously. Sho Tanaka was dashing toward them, his face set in determination, followed by two elite guards. Bushi carefully slipped from Yohei’s embrace and stepped back towards to railing of the veranda, hands at his side.

“Sho! I told you if you interfered again I’d have you dismissed!’

“Prince Yohei, this man is dangerous and I will protect you from him even if it costs my position.”

“Again with this dangerous nonsense!”

Something flickered along the railing near Bushi like a little creature scuttling in the shadow. Bushi folded his arms over his chest and, stepping forward slightly, looking between the men with brows raised in innocent confusion.

“Ah, pardon me, Sho, I’m dangerous?”

Sho threw him a look of loathing before addressing the Prince.

“We’ve tracked down his home, he’s from the slums, he isn’t one of us! Why would he deceive you without harmful intent?”

Yohei blinked, caught off guard. “I…” helplessly, he turned to Bushi, “Is this true?”

Bushi raised a hand to his mouth as though confused, brow furrowed as in thought. “Well, Sho does raise a good point…” and tipped the small bottle hidden in his palm to his lips.

Sho and Yohei watched Bushi, frozen in that second as their minds worked. Pursing his lips slightly, Bushi puffed his cheeks and sprayed a black mist over them and the guards. With a roguish gesture he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Sho and the guards, now paralyzed by the potion Nabe had prepared, could only look on. Calmly, he smiled at Yohei.

“He is right, after all.”

Yohei pressed his fingers to lips, slightly grayed with the pigment Bushi’s lips had left when they kissed minutes before, as though his extremities were going numb with shock. “What is this, Bushi?”

“Thievery, dear Yohei!” Bushi smiled widely, so relieved at being able to drop the persona he had been wearing.

“But why? I thought--”

“You thought that I could love someone like you? After all I’ve seen in this world, all I feel for you is irritation and hate. People are dying in your own streets, and here you are hoarding wealth, magic, power!” Yohei’s hand fell to his sparkling jeweled necklace as Bushi talked, “Living like you’re all that matters. Pathetic little brat.” Bushi spit the last words at Yohei, who cringed but looked back at Bushi defiantly.

“You cannot hurt me, I have protection spells,” Yohei drew Sho’s sword in a swift and practiced movement and lowered himself into a fighting stance, Sho’s eyes moving between Bushi and Yohei in distress, “And I can and will fight you, Bushi.”

It was clear that Yohei knew how to use a sword, but Bushi only tipped his head and smiled sympathetically. “Your jewels? Everyone who works in the palace knows those protect you from magic. And magic alone. Not against, for instance, poison.”

Yohei frowned. Then, with his free hand, Yohei raised his fingers to his lips again in dawning realization, and staggered, dropping the sword, and slumped against the wall.

“Bushi,” Yohei looked at him, lost and heartbroken, “You’ve killed me…”

“No, you idiot, I’ve temporarily paralyzed you.” Bushi stepped closer and looked earnestly into the Prince’s eyes, “I want you to live with this. Everyone will know what has happened tonight. We’re going to make sure of it."

Bushi raised his hands to Yohei's neck. Sho, though paralyzed under Nabe's powerful magic, managed to produce a growl through bared teeth. Bushi ignored him and slipped off Yohei's necklace as Yohei watched, completely stunned.

"And we aren’t just going to melt down all this valuable metal and pry out these pretty jewels you wear to sell, we’re going to strip the magic and teach every hedgewitch and mage too poor for training how to protect themselves and everyone else as well as you have been protected."

Bushi lifted Yohei's hand delicately in his, almost as though about to kiss it, and began removing Yohei's numerous invaluable rings as he talked.

"I want your people to lose respect for you. And I want you to have to deal with the loss of power.” With a slight tilt of his head, Bushi smiled sweetly and dropped Yohei's hand. “It’s what you deserve.”

Stepping back to the edge of the veranda, Bushi stretched out his hand into the night air. With a twitter, a sturdy narrow rope dropped from the darkness. He caught the rope and turned to observe the group of frozen nobility.

“One thing I will leave you with, which you don’t deserve, Yohei: Sho loves you. It’s the one good thing you have in your life; don’t fuck it up, you absolute buffoon.” And with a mocking salute, Bushi slipped down from the veranda and into the night.

Chapter Text

Bushi glided quietly through the town in the shadows of the early morning, past the house that had been his beloved home for so long and the beginning of all this. Daryl sat on the cold cobblestone before it, waiting for him, and fell quickly into pace with Bushi as he continued on. No lights shone in the windows of the house. It was empty now, Bushi knew. Before he had left for the palace everything had been packed, and was moved, slowly, secretly.

As they crept further from home, Daryl turned and regarded him with a slow blink. Bushi calmed, allowing the two of them a comfortable pace. He had not been followed. A bird resting on a windowsill chirped at him sweetly before taking flight and soaring away and Bushi smiled. It seemed his family had gotten the message from the little bird on the palace veranda and had removed themselves from the palace in plenty of time. He made a mental note to ask Hiromu to make a loaf of bread each day for the birds. And he personally would set out a wheel of cheese for the mice, he thought, as he carefully lifted a mouse from his pocket.

“Thanks for the delivery from Nabe. You came at just the right time.” He placed the mouse on his shoulder with a little pat on the head. Daryl waddling along beside him, Bushi strolled, smiling and laden with riches to redistribute, to his new home at the forest’s edge where the band of thieves he now called his family waited for him.