𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 || 𝕂𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕠 𝔸𝕪𝕒𝕥𝕠

37. One For Sorrow, Two For Joy

A faint sound of his office door opening would've made Ayato look up, under normal circumstances. Today, however, he did not spare the disturbance a single glance, preoccupied with the countless notes and sketches scattered across his desk.

"Ayato?"

At the sound of his sister's voice, his gaze left his work for a single moment, regarding the pair in front of him expressionlessly.  

Ayaka stood by the door, a pensive expression on her face. Thoma's shiny blond hair peeked out over her shoulder, glimpses of his concern etched on his face. Their agitation would usually be deemed uncharacteristic, but in such a time of crisis, it was hardly surprising — expected, even.

She stepped towards the table, her eyes scanning the mess on the table with slight disdain. When her gaze landed upon the empty plastic cups balanced atop one another in a precarious pile, her eyes narrowed. 

"Have you had a meal today?" Asked Ayaka, pressing her lips together in a thin line. 

"A meal?" Ayato said, though his voice sounded distant. "I had breakfast." 

"It's nine o'clock!" she exclaimed, even more concern shining in her eyes. "Have you been living off of boba all day?"

His pen stopped tracing across paper and looked up tiredly. Dark circles hung under his usually bright eyes, clear evidence of his sleep deprivation. His unkempt hair covered his face in strange angles, instead of framing his features in silken locks. In fact, he seemed to be on the verge of collapse. 

Thoma silently stepped out from behind Ayaka and grabbed the wastebasket by the desk. He began to carefully place the empty cups in the bin, eyeing the siblings with caution as to not disrupt the tension between them. If they had noticed his actions, they certainly did not care, for they kept their eyes locked on each other. Identical frowns were plastered on their similar faces, neither likely to yield as they continued their impromptu staring contest.

Finally, Ayato looked down, a sigh escaping his lips. 

"I've been trying to piece together everything. None of it makes sense at all. I've marked possible locations for where they've been taken, but there are far too many. I need to find a way to narrow it down," he said breathlessly, as if exhaustion had finally gotten a hold of him. 

"You're overworking yourself like you used to. Why can't you get someone to help you?" Ayaka pleaded, looking at the piles of paper spread out on the desk, unorganized. "I can't bear to see you like this. Look at yourself. I mean no offense, but you're extremely disheveled." 

It was true. Within the small circle of people who have seen his working areas, it was widely known how proper the king was. He would lay out his stationery with care, not a single pen out of place. The paperwork would often be stacked and organized into different piles for each matter. It was a notable contrast to the state of his office now, with its hastily scribbled deductions threatening to topple from his desk.

"The only person I could trust in this situation happens to be the same person I'm losing sleep trying to save," he responded bitterly, glancing to his right. He knew Ayaka had followed his gaze as he stared at the corkboard he'd rolled into the office, for the tiniest of "oh"s was muttered. 

He had told himself that it was for getting his theories together, and indeed, it served its purpose. His most comprehensible papers were pinned on there, an attempt at organizing his currently scrambled thoughts. Though, if he were honest with himself, it was also there for another reason. He had placed it in front of Kanari's desk so he wouldn't have to see the empty space where she usually was.

He had taken her presence for granted so much he didn't realize how much it would hurt if she were not there. The weeks he spent getting accustomed to, and eventually coveting, her had left a mark on him. Now that those moments were no longer a thing of the present, he was left with dust and sand filtering through his fingers, the once rounded corners sharpening and cutting his skin as they became tinged with fear and desperation.