on homecoming
Summary: He does not know what he would do without him. Drabble- Zen (Mitsuhide) (Even the possibility is unthinkable.)
Warning: Language, marginally.
Set: The aftermath of ch. 92/93.
Disclaimer: Standards apply.
This might be the first time that I've put "Drabble" in the summary and it actually stayed one, length-wise.
On homecoming:
Zen returns from Lyrias with a heart fuller than ever before; two weeks of gloriously spent time with Shirayuki, what feels like an eternity and not enough time with the woman he wants to be with forever; with a few bruises from training with Obi and some very interesting insights into politics, society and education, specifically; with a new understanding of Queen Haki and a new respect for his Royal brother, King Izana. With an old resolution made new: This is the path we are taking together.
It sings in his heart.
Mitsuhide returns from Celeg with a haircut; a sudden, strange appreciation for open doors and windows; a weird new friendship with Celeg's Vice Commander and a painful-to-watch tension in his shoulders when he grips his sword. Also, quite possibly: with insomnia. It sucks. And it is hard to tell because of course Zen does not follow around his Sword but he knows when Mitsuhide looks exhausted and weary in the morning and still smiles. Because that he does, always and forever.
Zen does not know what he would do without him, really.
Kiki…
Kiki does not return at all.
She sends a letter instead.
And Zen… He gets it.
He gets her so well it hurts. Here was the woman he chose as Mitsuhide's partner, the woman he, too, would learn so much from. A woman, he had hoped, they might be able to teach something, too, and they had been perfect for a long time; the Prince and the Sword and the Lady Knight. But times change and end and in her neat handwriting and well-chosen words he can read everything Kiki is and more. I chose you. My loyalty is yours, forever. I am proud to have served under you. And, most painful of all: Thank you. Kiki, at the most emotional of moments, is not a person of many words. But it is enough. It always was.
And he gets it.
(He refused me.)
But.
Her absence is painful. Missing Kiki is like missing an arm, or a leg: one never really realizes how much one relies on it until it is gone, one day. And the echo of that loss stays with him, whether he eats or sleeps or works or trains. But returning to her family's home, taking up her duties as the heiress of the Seiran family: it is what she needs to do. And Zen is like her, more than he is like ever-loyal Mitsuhide; perhaps understands her better than he will ever understand Mitsuhide: Kiki and he, they do what needs to be done.
(And. Zen prays. Because Shirayuki is a part of him, loving her is who he is, unchangeable, forever, and he might be able to let go of her but he would never be the same again. So, he just… prays.)
The palace is busy at every time of the day.
However, the corridor is mercifully empty; echoes with his steps. His Sword is a shadow behind him, so silent Zen, in the past, sometimes forgot he was there. Nowadays, this is impossible.
All of it is.
Impossible.
Unbearable.
The silence looks at him from every corner, every shadow.
It is the silence that kills him, maybe, and he desperately wishes Shirayuki was there because if anyone, she would know what to do; what to say. Zen just… Zen knows shit.
"Mitsuhide!"
"Yes, Zen?"
"Stop freakin' pretending that everything is alright and that breathing doesn't freakin' hurt because you miss her!"
The moment the words are out of his mouth he regrets them. Mitsuhide's face does not change at all, the familiar, ditzy smile just there, and Zen wants to scream, rage, cry, just do something, anything, to change this. But he knows – has for a long time, beyond all doubt – that there are some things even he, Second Prince of Clarines, has no power over. He might command his loyalty and his sword, but he won't ever command Mitsuhide's heart.
(Not that he wants to. But still.)
"I'm sorry. I did not mean that. I should not have said that. I'm sorry, Mitsuhide."
And Mitsuhide.
Mitsuhide pats his head. Zen would have thought he had grown tall enough to make his friend stop doing that. The usual smile; indulgent, kind, patient, understanding – and why is it that he is the one close to tears and not that stupid, stupidly kind, overprotective, Gods-how-can-he-be-so-good-with-the-sword idiot?
His forehead connects with Mitsuhide's shoulder with an impact that is jarring, pain shooting through his skull. He ignores it, presses against the firm material of his Sword's uniform, feels the warmth seep through the clothing. Takes a deep breath and reminds himself. Mitsuhide waits, patiently, unmoving. Constant. Waits until Zen is ready to pull away and does. His fist connects with a shoulder, hard; the knight does not even flinch.
Just smiles.
"Your audience with His Majesty is in ten minutes."
Zen swallows a part of his heart. And smiles, too. He thinks it probably comes out all wrong, guilt and worry, edges and splinters and pity, but the hand that has softly nudged him forward for as long as he can remember never loses its steadiness.
"Let's go."
Mitsuhide follows, smiling quietly.
We never change.