Midsummer Ambedance - A Free! Fantasy AU

The Night of May the Sixteenth

Haruka allowed the door to swing quietly shut behind him and breathed in relief. He had been holding in his breaths the whole time Kou had been there, finding the rise and fall of his chest extremely unattractive. As the dizzy lightheartedness caused by fear instead of hormonal surges like most boys his age would experience faded, and the room came back into view, he noticed his bed had been set for sleep. The pillows stuffed to bursting were placed at the angle he liked, the sheets pulled back invitingly, it was calling to him. He felt like he could melt into the floor like snowman in the morning after a flurry clears, but there was no way he could settle yet... Where was he?

As if his thoughts called out, the door creaked calmly behind him and momentarily closed again. Soft but heavy, gentle but firm footsteps padded behind then beside then around him, house shoes, not comfortable enough to be called slippers but too soft to be called loafers. Balanced. Comforting. A messy blur of greenish brown-blonde five or six inches above him, a well-built figure holding up gloriously wide shoulders, yet a slim, shaped waist above slender legs propelled by awkwardly large feet. It moved towards the bed as if guiding Haruka, like an angel from dreamland, came to a stop at the wooden footboard and began to hang fabrics around it. Haruka rubbed his eyes.

"Are you ready to sl - retire yet, Ha - Highness?" It turned around.

Haruka found himself staring up at a vision from heaven. The most serene smile and the faintest dimples framing it, the slightest shadow of freckles dotted here and there, angular circles of pure emerald forest and the most perfect furrow as the dark brows turned upwards. Haruka stared like he'd never seen it before. The truth was, he saw this every night, every day, always. But somehow he found himself shocked into silence, every. Damn. Time.

Haruka shook his head in answer, but it was really to get his brain into focus. He turned away and gave a short hysterical laugh, secretly clearing his throat. "Nanase. Or Haruka. I hate you calling me Highness. You know I hate it."

The young man clutched a pile of crisp shirts against his chest like a shield against the words. "Hate" coursed through his veins like molten steel, burning him and setting dry, sending a rigid shiver throughout his body. It was true, he did know it, how Haruka tensed up in annoyance when he heard the over-formal term, how he looked at him with those eyes of frozen lakes.

"I'm sorry, I just -"

"Leave it," Haruka called out as the young man began to clear the sizeable pile of stories and leather-backed notebooks off the bedside table. "I said!" Violent. Sudden. An outburst. Not out of anger for the man himself, but just out of a fed-up attitude he had developed over the day. He was exhausted. Although very down to earth for his social status, he still had an uppity spoilt personality that simply couldn't be helped. His patience span was, genetically, short.

The young man retracted his hand in fear. There was no reason to fear Haruka, to be sure. But his sharp, blunt words alone were enough to keep his nose clean around the prince. He stuttered quickly, dusting down his dark grey slacks. "I - apologise - Highness, I - Haruka -" Despite his large, solid frame, he now stood awkwardly in the huge cavern of the room, not wanting to make eye contact but feeling rude to look away.

Another sigh from across the room. The perpetrator of it gave a quick flick of his dark hair and padded over slowly. Towards the tall man with a messy blur of greenish blonde-brown five or six inches above him, and stood directly in front, eyes towards their feet.

"Sorry."

The young man widened his eyes at the gesture. Haruka was not one for saying sorry, or any form of the word. He was not the apologetic type.

"I'm sorry, Makoto."

And then he leaned his head forward and let it fall against the young man's chest. He looked like a child. He reached out and hung onto his arms, soft fingers making bruises on his forearms. He stood in that defeated pose just like Kou had minutes before, feeling just as small and pathetic as her.

"I'm going to bed now."

Reluctantly lifting his head away, Haruka turned towards his bed, as inviting as ever. His servant, just as reluctantly, jumped into action, preparing water, perfecting pillows, hanging up shirts.

Minutes later Haruka was placed into bed like a little baby, cuddled up between silk and sheets, on his side clutching a decorative cushion. He allowed Makoto to smooth down the sheets and move the books to place a jug of gently boiled water beside him. He stared at him whilst his back was turned, realising he was even more of an enigma than himself. What was he thinking? Just like Haruka's cold eyes hid his feelings too well, Makoto's gentle smile and delicately upturned brows hid his feelings too well also.

Like the veil of darkness that had settled over Haruka's mind, the candelabra in the dim room was blown out with a swift motion. He allowed his heavy eyelids to close, shutting out the figure moving silently around the room. After a few minutes he heard footsteps approaching the door, leaving, leaving him alone.

"Wait."

The figure turned, his face obscured as the light shone from behind his form. He approached again.

"Stay here for a while."

The figure, the boy's careful, quiet servant, Makoto Tachibana, leant against the wall supporting the door and slowly slipped down it, hands locked around the skirting boards, tip of his head resting against the hard wooden-spiralled walls. He too allowed his eyes to close, and soon all that was left was the slow, deep inhale and exhale rippling through the air. When Makoto finally believed he was sleeping, he leaned forward, clasping his hands over his knees like a seatbelt.

"Sweet dreams, Haruka."