The sinking feeling that had developed within my stomach fell through completely. I knew this would happen. The moment I stopped the execution two and a half months ago, I knew that something bad would happen. It always did. Every time I found myself in a position of happiness, something pushed me out.
It started out slowly, like rust developing on a sword. In the beginning, the blade gleamed in the sunlight, heavenly and bright—the envy of all others. No force stood a chance against that blade, whether another of its kind of an obstacle in need of elimination. As time went on, however, the wielder grew comfortable in the sword's abilities. He would see upkeep as less of a necessity—maybe lengthening the time between sharpenings, or perhaps only cleaning the blade when necessary. Eventually the wielder would grow so comfortable and confident that he wouldn't keep the sword in shape at all.
"There's no need," he'd say. "What'll happen to it?"
He says this with certainty, as if the sword was crafted by the gods themselves and therefore couldn't be damaged. But that was not true certainty; it was foolhardy certainty, born out of arrogance.
One day the sword's owner stores his weapon away. "I don't need it," he claims. "Not now. I'll wait until I need to use it."
So time passes. Slowly at first, just days and weeks, crawling along like a slug on the ground. Life progresses as normal, but the sword remains in the wielder's mind. Then time lengthens, stretching those weeks into months and those months into years. Life continues to progress. New memories are made, of both happiness and sadness. But to add new knowledge, old knowledge must be taken out. The sword's presence grows smaller and smaller, until eventually it fades away entirely.
A few years elapse, and with the force of a whip crack, conflict arises. Battles pop up like sores on a leper, and blood spews like pus. The threat inches closer and closer to the home of the wielder. Men dig out their weapons and prepare them to fight. Immediately the wielder digs out his trusty sword from where he'd stored it. Even though years have passed, he doesn't prepare it. He doesn't even remove it from the sheath! His confidence in the blade is that great.
Days pass, and sure enough the battle comes. Finally the sword leaves the sheath, and for the first time in so long the metal gets to breathe. But it takes shallow breaths, for its lungs are blocked by scars and scabs. Neglect morphed into rust, to the point where the blade was useless. The wielder's eyes are wide with shock, and at that moment he realizes his mistake. Something good isn't kept if you grow so comfortable with it that you neglect it.
While the aspects of that story and mine were wholly different, the principle remained the same. I'd been on edge in the beginning of mine and Souichi's new relationship as 'master and slave.' But that was only for the first few days. After that, Kunihiro grew distant in my mind. We rarely talked—hell, we rarely saw one another at all. Our lives went on separately, only coming together when there was no way to avoid it. Foolishly I'd deluded myself into thinking that he'd stopped caring about Souichi. For two and a half months I believed that.
"I can't change your preference," he told me, "even though I wish I could. Hating you over it's pointless, so...I'll try to accept it at least a little from now on."
I widened my eyes at that. He...he accepted my homosexuality…? Really? After all the hatred he'd given me for it? I nearly shot up from my seat and hugged him when he'd told me that. But I knew that'd ruin the moment.
"However," he continued.
All traces of happiness disappeared from my being. Of course there was a 'however.' When wasn't there one?
"I don't have to accept who your...partners are."
My eyes widened. He knew?
As if reading my mind, he said, "I learned from a few rumors that you'd had sex with a few of the prisoners you'd visited. I'm wholly convinced that attraction is the reason why you saved the assassin."
"You can't do anything about it," I said. My tone burst with defensiveness, but I didn't care. It was all I could do to keep from panicking.
"Originally, no," he admitted. "I couldn't. But I poked around a little. Turns out there's a condition that goes along with Captive's Choice. It's true that you, the former captive, can dictate his punishment. And that dictation will overrule anyone's declaration, including the current ruler." His eyes narrowed. "But only if the crime being replaced was non-lethal."
My heart crashed to a halt for a few moments.
"If the crime being replaced is lethal, the law still applies that I can't overrule it. But only for three months after the replacement is put in place."
Now everything stopped. It was...it wasn't valid forever…? No...no! This couldn't be! It just...it just couldn't!
"He'll be executed two weeks from now. Prepare yourself accordingly."
The scene had to have played through my head a hundred times. Maybe even more. I couldn't tell. The parts of my mind not replaying that event currently drowned in darkness. Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did this always have to happen? Why couldn't I be happy? Was that so much to ask for? Just a period of time where I could love and be loved without threat—that's all I wanted. That's all I ever wanted!
But no. No, of course I couldn't get that. But I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Someone I treasured being taken from me; just my luck.
All of my past relationships with lovers ended up this way. We would have a fiery, passionate romance, during which we both felt love with a force greater than the harshest storm. But most of those lovers had only accompanied me for a week or so. The lengthiest one I'd had lasted a mere two months. Keeping a legitimate lover was difficult, considering the amount of hiding we had to do to keep our relationships a secret. The separations had always been difficult; I couldn't recall a single moment when I'd gotten out of a relationship without some degree of pain involved. But I always managed to leave those lovers, and each time I did so without too much difficulty.
But Souichi...he was different. All the lovers I'd had in the past were whores compared to him—whores with nothing more to offer than sex. Granted, Souichi didn't have the best disposition. He was violent and unstable, not to mention dishonest and stubborn. Frustratingly so at times. Especially when it came to his feelings. I'd attempted to broach the topic a few times, but he'd either shut me out or harmed me before I could say anything more.
But that dishonesty itself was dishonest. He wasn't actually like that. Not fully, anyway. He hadn't shown it often, but compassion lay behind that irritated glare. Compassion that sent my heart fluttering. That compassion was the reason why I'd fallen in love with him. During my time with him at his fortress, he'd allowed me to see a gentler, more vulnerable side to him. I could tell that he hadn't shown it to anyone else, and if he had, he hadn't done it for awhile.
And after hearing his past...how couldn't I want to love him? I didn't know for certain, but I suspected that Ikasma character had meant a lot to him. I didn't think it was legitimate love; Souichi insisted heavily that he wasn't attracted to men—not emotionally, anyway. Whatever the feeling between them was, however, it was the closest thing to love that Souichi could have for someone not related to him. The betrayal had killed him. The Souichi that he'd been when he was eighteen had died alongside my father that day in the past. And this...this bitter, hateful, tyrannical, destructive creature had occupied his body afterward. The creature wrapped not only his body, but also his heart in chains. Heavy chains with a complex lock for which there was no key. But it wasn't just that creature—it may have done the wrapping, but Ikasma had crafted the chains. He was the reason why Souichi's body was surrounded in a thick layer of thorns and further guarded by enough arrows to arm an entire army. He'd imprisoned Souichi's heart.
But he hadn't killed it.
It was wilted and dry, but his heart wasn't dead. It could still come alive again. All it needed was a little bit of care. His heart was like a flower: it couldn't bloom without water. I'd make sure it bloomed. I would make it bloom. And when it did...its petals would be the most beautiful of any rose.
"Escape?"
I nodded. "That's the only way that you can definitely avoid being executed."
With an uneasy groan he turned away from me. His fingers ran through his hair, which he hadn't cut after I'd left him. Thankfully. I didn't think I could handle hearing of one tragedy and witnessing the aftermath of another. Not in such a short span of time.
His reaction hadn't been the one that I'd envisioned. I hadn't expected him to panic—that wasn't like him—but I also hadn't expected such a calm reaction. I thought there'd at least be one shout involved, if not two or three. But instead he exuded exasperation.
"You're sure there's no other way?" he asked.
I blinked. "I'm doubtful. I can only call Captive's Choice once."
He replied with a thoughtful noise. "And there's no chance of your brother being persuaded otherwise?"
I shook my head. Then, dawning upon me that his back was to me, I said, "No."
Another thoughtful noise. "And you still refuse to kill—?"
"I'm not going to kill him," I interrupted. Why did topics like murder always have to pop up in his mind whenever solving a problem was involved?
He sighed, and I was fully convinced that every part of him that generated exasperation now stood empty. "Wonderful," he mumbled. "Absolutely wonderful."
"Ah...Senpai? What's the…?" My voice trailed off.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. "What?"
"Ah...it's nothing, really…"
His gaze went flat along with his tone. "What?"
"Well...I just...you don't seem all that excited about escape…I thought you'd be happier."
"How can I be?" he grumbled, turning away once more.
He sounded so...disappointed… I blinked. Did...did that mean...did that mean he liked being here with me? Did he like the relationship we had? Did...did he like me?
I opened my mouth to ask him, then snapped it shut before any words could escape. If I asked him that, he'd probably hurt me, regardless of how calmly he reacted to the other information I'd shared.
"What do you mean?" I asked. This should've been a safe enough way to get what I wanted out of him. "You don't want to escape?"
"Not...necessarily…"
I blushed lightly. "Why not?"
"Because I…" His voice lowered, but it was just loud enough that I could make out what he said. "...don't want you to get hurt…"
My heart swelled three sizes, and a smile stretched across my face. He...he cared about me…
Somehow he must have seen my expression even with his back turned. Souichi stiffened in place. "But...i-it's not...I…" He stammered out a few more words before falling silent.
Tentatively I approached him. My arms wound around his waist from behind. If possible, he stiffened further. That stiffness lasted a mere moment before he started to struggle. Even through his shouting and wriggling, I didn't move an inch.
"You're worried about my safety?" I asked. "Really?"
Seemingly realizing it was pointless to continue fighting, he stood still in my hold. "It's...don't misconstrue what I say," he berated.
I couldn't keep my smile small. That was so like him. And so cute! "Who said anything about misconstruing? I just want to know if I heard you right."
He narrowed his eyes back at me but only for a moment. "I don't want you hurt because you don't deserve to be," he said. "If you accompany me, you'll be a target, too."
"Target?"
He nodded. "Execution of the assassin who killed the former king isn't minor news. I'm sure word of the first execution spread like disease, and the second one undoubtedly will spread faster."
I nodded. "And?"
Agitation slipped into his tone. "And, that means it's known that I'm alive. If I escape, that means I'm alive and in the nation somewhere."
I stared down at him. Once realization hit me, my eyes widened. "You think you'll be gone after by bandits looking for profit?"
He shook his head. "Well, those will probably be an issue, too, but they're insects compared to the real threat." He paused for a moment. "Remember what I told you? About Ikasma's men attacking me."
I nodded again. A soft chuckle escaped my throat. "Senpai, don't worry. They won't attack you. You said they stopped, didn't they? After you…" I ceased speaking, knowing that he'd just berate me more. "Oh...I see…"
"Took you long enough," he muttered. "I'm sure Ikasma's heard about me, and I'm confident that he's still holding that murderous intent against me. The attacks will start up again if I escape. That's why I wanted an alternative to escape." He sighed. "But if there's no other way, I suppose that I can find a way to fake my death again."
He mumbled a few sentences of planning, but I could tell that they were directed to himself. Instead, I focused on what he had said before. I don't want you getting hurt. You don't deserve to be. No matter how he tried to deny it, he cared. He cared about my life. He cared about me.
I pressed a kiss to his cheek. The action drew him out of his thoughts, and he tensed. "Wh-What're you—?"
"Can I ask you something?" Without waiting for him to reply, I continued, "Why is it that you assumed I'd be coming with you if you escaped?"
He didn't hesitate to answer, but his speech wasn't smooth. "You...that's because you wouldn't give me the option! You'd...you'd cling to my leg and cry and beg to come with me!"
I chuckled again. There was no way I could deny that. "Still...that was your concern about escape?"
"What?"
"Me getting hurt. That was the reason why you didn't want to escape. Right?"
He went silent once more, but I could feel heat radiating from his cheeks. "I...I-Ikasma was the reason!" he denied. "Not you. That came after."
"But it still came." I kissed him again, this time closer to his lips. "I'm glad that you're concerned about me. Even if it wasn't the first thought you had."
He moved his head away from me. "You say weird shit," he mumbled.
"Maybe so," I allowed with a shrug. "But it's all truthful."
"Bullshit…"
I sighed. Seems he was still in denial that he could be loved. "Um...can I ask you something else?"
"What now? If it's about emotions—"
"It's not," I assured. "Just...well...why were you going to cut your hair earlier?"
"Because it's annoying," he replied. "It's long and gets tangled as hell and unnecessary. The real question is, why were you screaming when I tried?"
Now it was my turn to blush. "It...I'd miss it if you cut it off."
He turned my way with a furrowed brow and skeptical eye. "What nonsense do you speak of now?"
"It's not nonsense. I love your hair the way it is now. It's soft and pretty and the color's beautiful."
His gaze went flat. "It'd be the same color if it was shorter. And probably the same softness."
"That's true, but it wouldn't be as fun to play with when you—" I halted. Shit, I'd said too much…
"When I, what?"
"Ah...n-nothing…"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
"Morinaga."
"Fine," I sighed. "When you fall asleep, I...I sometimes play with your hair…"
He stared, far more indifferently than I'd expected. "How?"
"Uh...well...combing it with my fingers...and sometimes braiding it…"
"You know how to braid?"
I nodded.
He looked away, and I could see the embarrassment creeping up on his cheeks. "Can...can you teach me how?"
I stared. "What? Why do you want to know?"
He sighed. "Well, you're going to cry if I cut it off, and I want to spare myself from that annoyance. If I know how to do...that, I should be able to keep it out of my way a little more than it is now. That way it doesn't get tangled in shit like it does now."
A smile lit my features. "All right. Sit down on the bed and I'll teach you."
