Midsummer Ambedance - A Free! Fantasy AU

The Afternoon of May the Twenty-First

Metal crashed against metal, the sharp sound screaming around the hall, accented by an instinctive growl of the taller young man. He was on the attack: one leg pressing forward into the shiny marble floor, his arms focusing their energy into pushing the sword against the other. His teeth were gritted with effort. He had seemingly forgotten he was teaching a beginner.

Haruka held him off splendidly. Not out of skill or any kind of need to win, but to keep himself away from him. He had managed to delay this session for a few days, and he wasn't about to get any closer to him than he needed to be.

"You're good at this," Matsuoka grinned, whipping his overgrown purple-red hair out of his eyes, unsticking it from his forehead, sealed with a misty layer of sweat. "Not good enough, though!" He crossed one foot over the other - backwards - and released his sword from the locked position. He swung it backwards like a barbarian with an axe going in for the kill. Definitely not a formal move in fencing; but then, were they even fighting formally?

Haruka saw an opening and struck. Thrust his sword forward. Matsuoka jumped backwards in surprise. He wasn't expecting that.

Haruka's eyes dug deep into him, never leaving his gaze. He stood placidly, pressing insistingly and increasingly harder onto Matsuoka's stomach with the razor-tipped edge of the sword. One wisp of black partially covered his right eye, giving him a lopsided look, but no less intimidating. His expression hinted at no form of emotion. Matsuoka's hands slowly raised.

"Touché."

Released from the dangerous checkmate, Haruka discarded his sword in relief, flinching when it clattered to the floor. He stretched out his arms and wiped a sheen of sweat from the back of his neck. He silently hoped it wouldn't stain his shirt.

They were in a huge hall reserved for nothing in particular: usually miscellaneous activities such as this. It was white marble floored from end to end, arched windows lining the embroidered walls, but no curtains. The ceiling was painted like Sistine Chapel: adorned with cherubs and clouds and flowers and a huge landscape of an ocean containing a serene-looking merman with white hair. When he was younger, Haruka would look up to this massive mural and dream of swimming in the ocean with that slender-bodied siren, through the ocean and away from this place.

There was an oval-shaped platform in the centre of the floor with shallow steps leading up to it. Haruka slumped down on them, a grey-dotted towel leaning haphazardly over his head. He had unbuttoned his shirt from the top. From the corner of the hall Matsuoka fixed his eyes on the defined collarbone the prince sported, flicking between his chest and his face as he recovered. The sun sparkles through the windows, seemingly deliberately casting a spotlight onto the boy: illustrating each curve of his cheekbones; the natural pout of his slight lips; each ruffled flick in his locks; making each droplet of sweat gleam and each heavy breath disperse outwards in a visual wave.

Beautiful.

Matsuoka's reflexes kicked in as the grey-dotted towel was thrown in his general direction without much care. He caught Haruka in the corner of his sight - leaving. He reached out, grasping for his shirt like his sister had the week before.

"Where do you think you're going?" He almost snarled. Haruka recoiled in sudden begrudging anger. He seized his wrist and threw it back at its owner with shocking force.

"Don't touch me," he snapped under his still-heaving breath. He attempted another escape.

"Haruka -"

"Nanase."

"Nanase, we haven't finished yet. We still have half an hour left, ya know." He talked roughly for someone of his status, especially in comparison to Kou. She had a high singing voice like a bluebird - gentle, well-spoken. Where this guy had picked up his hard country accent was a mystery.

"Oh? What's next? You tie me up and gag me? Shove me against a wall and attack me?" Haruka retaliated with no real reason. What had agitated him so much? Matsuoka gritted his strange sharp teeth.

"Where's all this come from? I haven't done anything to you, Nanase, so don't pin whatever anger you have on me," he said, raising his voice enough to show he had taken offence. It wasn't Haruka's place to take notice of offence, however.

"I don't like your tone," he shouted back, imitating his father now. "You should know better than to speak to me like that. You had better learn your place." Then he left; leaving Matsuoka alone, reeling.

Haruka wiped the final wave of perspiration from his brow, flicking his hair back and forth angrily. True, he had no reason to hate Matsuoka: but as Matsuoka himself had said, he needed someone to pin his anger on. It couldn't be his parents, or Kou, god forbid it be Makoto. He found him the most insufferable bastard in the whole small world he was captive in, but he did make for a decent punching bag.