#cw premarital handholding

[nonamehorse]

Not to be a desprate horny slut on main

But

I want someone to hold my hand and tell me they like me

[kaadhalil]

i can feel you take control (of who i am)

context: @webheadstan and i were talking yesterday and basically i came up with the idea that there is not any birbal x akbar fics. and they kept enabling my bs and now we're here. im so sorry

cw: light swearing, pretentious fuckery, premarital handholding❤️

word count: 1,685

Short. Shorter. Comparative nouns. Mere concepts of measurement. Why would it matter? What is the point of any of this? Time trickles away as Birbal sits in his room, barely lit by a single candle. The breeze is strong tonight, the trees outside his windows shake their leaves, and Birbal feels as though the leaves are mocking him.

He's not doing okay, cut the man some slack.

He rises from his seat once the breeze picks up speed, threatening to snuff his candle. The wind is telling him to go to sleep. He tries to lie down and do just that. But he can't. He twists and turn in his bed, silky sheets tangling like his mind, every memory of the day running through his head over and over again and plaguing his dreams. He wants to sleep but sleep doesn't come. He's anxious. He's restless. He's worried. He's an idiot.

"So you think you're smart?" asked Akbar, his tone friendly, dripping with an emotion Birbal cannot understand. He fiddles his thumbs, watching the emperor intently. They are stood in the far end of the palace hallway, a balcony overlooking the mango groove. They stand silent, watching the sunset, the air is scented saccharine from the mangoes and thick from a tension Birbal cannot seem to understand.

Birbal smiles. Smart. Of course, he's smart. He'll crack the funniest jokes, he'll say the wittiest things just to see the emperor laugh. It's his favourite thing. Akbar laughing. Eyes shining brighter than the diamonds he's wearing, cheeks rosier than the roses that grow in the palace garden, a laughter that sounds like music to his ears, a rhythm so gentle and deep. He loves that he's the reason for that laughter.

("Oi Birbal," calls Kabir, the palace gardener when he catches Birbal sitting all by himself by the rose bushes cradling a duck in his arms. "What the fuck are you doing here, pal?"

Birbal turns. The duck quacks loudly, startling him, and pecks his hand. Birbal drops him in shock. The duck scoffs and slowly waddles away.

"What are you doing with one of the palace ducks? Don't you have like, I don't know, royal duties to do? Oh, my God are you ruining my roses?! Get out!"

"Nothing's wrong with your roses. I'm sorry. I needed somewhere quiet to think," says Birbal, sounding not sorry at all. No, he's busy thinking of other things.

The palace gardener looks down at him like a displeased mother. Birbal wants to disappear.

"Why'd you look so sad, buddy?" Kabir asks, as he begins plucking his roses.

Birbal looks up at the red, red roses in his hand. Some are small, some are big. He's beginning to go insane.

"How do you change things without changing them?" Birbal blurts. He doesn't know why he asked the gardener. If Birbal doesn't know, how would a mere gardener know?

Kabir gives him a look. "Something to do with the emperor?" Birbal doesn't answer. "I don't know what you're saying to be honest with you," says Kabir, twirling a large full bloomed rose in his hand. "But you change things without changing them by changing everything but them."

"Thanks, Kabir. That helped me in no way!" says Birbal, getting up. He shouldn't be wasting his time like this.

Kabir rolls his eyes as he picks a smaller rose and lays it in his basket right next to the bigger one he'd picked before.

"Sometimes, you are so dense, Birbal," he says.)

"Of course, I'm smart, your majesty," says Birbal. He isn't watching the sunset. He's too busy entranced with the single curl that rests near Akbar's ear. He wonders if that curl tickles.

"Well then, aren't you cocky?" chuckles Akbar. "You think you can answer every question ever?"

"No, but I'd love to try. I'm always up for a challenge. Even if it means doing the impossible."

("It's fucking impossible!" exclaims Birbal. "This is bullshit. I'm going to quit my job. It's not worth it!"

"Woah, hey, man. Keep the negativity away from the kitchens. This place is for good vibes and good vibes only. I'll kick you out. I don't care if you're a courtier," says Rahul, the head cook in-charge. Rahul is busy balancing plates and overlooking the dinner prep goes smoothly. The kitchen is hot, everyone is sweaty but Birbal has nowhere else to go. People keep kicking him out.

"I want to give up," whines Birbal, as he rolls one of the laddus in his hand. It's small.

Rahul comes closer to the forlorn courtier who's sitting atop one of the kitchen counters and silently muttering to himself like a madman. "Maybe if you shared your problem I could help you?"

Birbal sighs. Sure, why not? He's now accepted that he isn't as smart as he thought. "How do you change things with thout changing them?" he asks.

Rahul cocks an eyebrow at him. He reaches for the bowl next to Birbal and rolls a laddu. It's big. "You don't. You let things be. If change doesn't want to be forced then change shouldn't be," says Rahul. He yanks Birbal's smaller laddu from his hands and places it on the plate.

And then Rahul places his bigger laddu right next to it.

"What if change really, really needs to happen but it shouldn't?"

"Then it will. Or it already has. And you're just blind, Birbal.")

"Well then," says Akbar. He has a stick of charcoal in his hand. He looks at Birbal, something mischievous brewing beneath his eyes.

Birbal knows almost every emotion behind those honey coloured eyes like it's the back of his hand. Almost.

Emperor Akbar draws a line on one of the pillars next to him. He then turns to Birbal, a cheeky smile playing at his lips. "You see this line? If you're so smart then I want you to shorten it."

Birbal extends his hand to rub it off but Akbar catches it.

Birbal looks down at their hands. His fingers are long and slender compared to the emperor's short and thick ones. It's an imperfect fit. He could obsess over it.

"I want you to shorten it without touching it," says Akbar, his tone teasing. He graces Birbal with a playful smile.

"What?" exclaims Birbal. "That's not possible."

"Oh, so you aren't as smart as I thought?"

"No! I am! I mean..." says Birbal, flushed. "This is kind of ridiculous, your majesty."

"If so then do it. Make that line short. Go on."

Birbal blinks. He doesnt get it. He doesn't know what to do.

"Tell you what. We'll come back tomorrow. If you manage to do it, I'll reward you."

"What's the reward, your majesty?"

Akbar smiles even wider. His eyes shine with an emotion Birbal has grown so familiar to yet he doesn't understand. "Whatever you wish," says Akbar.

("It's so simple, dear Birbal," says Akbar, cupping the side of Birbal's face and gracing him with a fond smile. Birbal has seen that look plenty of times before. It's soft. It's comforting. It's kind. It's the same look he's graced with everytime Birbal lets the emperor win at Snakes & Ladders. It's the same look he's graced with when they feed the ducks together. It's the same look the king gives him in the court daily whenever their eyes meet. "Can't you see?" he asks.

"See what?" Birbal asks, frustrated. Why is everyone around him so cryptic?

"You really are so blind," teases Akbar. "The answer is right before you. It's staring you in the eye. The answer is begging you to notice but you don't."

"Why can't you just tell me the answer instead?"

"I believe you aren't that dense and you don't need things spelled out for you."

"I'm frustrated," pleads Birbal. He's at his wits end.

"So am I. I'm frustrated that you wake up everyday and you choose to be a blind idiot who thinks you could hide things from me."

"What?!"

"Wake up. I'm waiting for you. Always have been."

Birbal blinks awake.)

He stands in the same hallway as yesterday. The pillar with the line. It's a fine sunny afternoon. The breeze is light. The sky is cloudless. The bees are buzzing. There's a thousand butterflies dancing in his ribcage wanting fly away.

It's so easy. It's all he's ever wanted. He's just been too much of an idiot to understand.

To change something that shouldn't be changed you change the everything but that. Be and let it be.

Change isn't forced. It has already happened. It has happened unnoticed, quiet. How dare. Birbal would've liked to have been told when it had happened.

He would've liked to have been told he fell in love.

"Go on," urges Akbar, twirling a rose in his hand. "Do it."

Birbal grips his charcoal stick in his sweaty hand and clumsily reaches for the pillar. And slowly he draws a longer line next to the emperor's.

He feels Akbar's eyes on him. Doesn't understand why that makes him nervous. The charcoal stick breaks right as he finishes. He gripped it too hard.

"Short," says Birbal, facing the emperor. The emperor is a good 3 inches shorter than him. "Your line is now shorter. I didn't touch it."

Akbar smiles. "Very clever, Birbal." Akbar hasn't once looked at the lines. He's intently looking at Birbal. "Ask for your reward."

Birbal glances away. The bees are buzzing and the butterflies are out of control.

"I- I don't know," says Birbal, hesitation at his throat. "Would you like a walk in our rose garden, your majesty?"

"I would like that very much," he says. Akbar reaches over to tuck his rose into Birbal's hair. "I'd love to. I've been waiting for you. Always have been."

"You don't have to wait any longer," says Birbal, slipping his hand into the emperor's and pulling him to the gardens.

Birbal looks down. His fingers are long and slender compared to the emperor's short and thick ones. Akbar's fingers have more rings, they have a gentler grip.

Birbal grips tighter. It's a perfect fit.