#like YES he does feel dreadfully alone and that he has lost control and has no idea how to get it back. you got it right this time congrats

[hyphen-8-it]

"This Side of Paradise" is a whole mess and I hate almost every part of it, but boy would I be lying if I said I didn't absolutely cry my eyes out at that scene of Kirk all alone on the Enterprise bridge.

"I'm beginning to realize just how big this ship really is, how quiet."

I am being wrung like a wet towel.

[the-durin-boys]

You’re Okay Pt. 2 ~ Thorin and Company x Reader

Here’s part 1!!

-----

The weeks following the little itty-bitty hypothermia incident was kind of iffy, to say the least. Thorin hasn’t let you out of his sight, always insisting that you sit next to him for dinner, or that you sleep close during the night, and at first you didn’t mind enjoying the feeling of being looked after and cared for, but after a while, you began to feel very cramped and claustrophobic. Wherever you went, there was a dwarf. Whether it was Thorin himself or another member of the pitying party. But you didn’t complain, not wanting to seem ungrateful to the dwarves care. And so the over-protective watchfulness of Thorin Oakenshield continues.

“Everybody, get down!” The hushed, almost panicked whisper of Thorin resonates through the forest air, and everybody drops to the dirt, rolling to hide in bushes and behind boulders. The company has been hunted down by an orc pack for several weeks, and Thorin hasn’t let you leave his side. That’s how you got into your current situation, on the ground, shrouded by shadows and body pressed tightly against the warm, firm chest of the dwarven king. His hot breath tickles your ear and picks up the hair on the back of your neck as the orcs and warg scouts jump over the cleverly hidden divot in the forest. The orcs, having found nothing, continue on their path, but Thorin doesn’t allow any of the company to stand for the fear of one of the orcs looking back and seeing the dwarves rise out of the dirt. And so here you are, trapped between a boulder and Thorin, questioning why you could almost fall asleep, with Thorin’s arm curled protectively around your waist and steady breathing gently lulling you to sleep. Thorin must have taken notice of the gradual sleepy relaxation taking hold of your body, because he shifted away, just a bit, and let the cool evening air softly wake you once more. You, dreadfully tired from the journey and already now half asleep, moan quietly in disgruntled annoyance and you scootch back until your back finds its previous source of warmth. You can almost swear, through delirious haze of fog of sleep, that Thorin Oakenshield chuckled but you couldn’t really care less, because all you want to do right now is sleep. You, Thorin, and the rest of the company lay still for almost half an hour as the pack circles back. By the time that Thorin is sure that the orcs are long gone, the sun has set and so have you. Thorin can’t help but look at you and smile, feeling a fluttery touch on his heart knowing that you felt safe enough in his arms to fall asleep. He calls for camp to be set up, and while the others work, he stays next to you, a little upset that he can’t hold you in his arms in the presence of others, so he makes up for the loss of touch by covering you in your blanket and guarding you as you sleep, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The next morning, when you wake, you immediately felt that something was off. A sort of deep feeling that sits in your gut and twists your stomach into knots kind of a feeling.

“G’mornin’ lassie. Sleep well?” You blink up at Bofur and wipe your eyes, shaking sleep and that terrible feeling from your chest. You nod dazed as you try to take in your surroundings.

“Where did everyone go?” Bofur looks up from the small fire that he was tending (they kept building it really close to you in the night so you don’t freeze again.) and surveys the camp for himself.

“Well Thorin took the boys out huntin’ and I think Dwalin went with ‘em. Everyone else is down at the stream bathin’.” You yawn and pull yourself up onto the log that Bofur sits on.

“Why aren’t you at the stream too?” Bofur chuckles and pats your head, letting his head come to a rest on your shoulder.

“Well someone had to watchya, didn’t they?” Bofur looks at you, and before you can protest, continues speaking. “Of course, I agreed to stay behind an’ watch, so don’t feel bad about it. I don’t mind watching over someone as beautiful as you.”

“Bofur!” You squeak, hands flying to cover up your reddening cheeks. Bofur laughs and pats your shoulder, only causing you to burn a deeper red. “It’s not funny! Stop laughing!” Bofur is about to speak again when a deep, rumbling voice interrupts.

“Bofur.” There is no chill nor menacing tone nor a threat on Thorin’s tongue, but still Bofur stopped laughing and straightened out. He knows of the kings little crush on you, but he still smiles and seats himself further away from you to make room for the royalty.

“‘Mornin’ Thorin. Lovely day, innit?” Thorin looks at you, watching the shade of red fade to pink on your cheeks.

“Yes, I suppose it is a good morning.” He seats himself between you and Bofur (his spot since that night) “A good morning indeed.” The airy tone that contrasts so hilariously to his usual  regal tone, and the love-struck gaze in his eyes causes Bofur to smirk and then stand.

“I’m going to join the lads at the stream.” You look up at Bofur and playfully throw a twig at him when he waggles his eyebrows. “Want to join.”

“Bofur oh my goodness, give me a chance to wake up, will you?” Your face heats up again and Bofur watches victoriously as Thorin’s back shifts and his gaze turns to a glare.

“Oh so that means you’ll be joinin’ me later, then?”

“Bofur!” You throw another twig at him and Bofur laughs. “Get lost!” Another twig.

“Alright! Alright! I’m going!” Bofur holds up his hands in surrender. You don’t say anything, but Thorin does.

“Bofur, go clean yourself and inform the others that breakfast will be late.”

“On it. And (Y/N)?” You peak at him through your fingers while almost hiding behind Thorin.

“What?” Came your muffled reply.

“Have a good morning.” He winks and then sets off, not missing the growl from Thorin and the squeak from you. “It’s going to be a lovely day.”

--

Now, you aren’t a picky person at all, and you definitely don’t mind some attention now and then, but you do very much enjoy your own personal space, and being able to hang out with yourself and a good book. Ever since you fell asleep cuddling Thorin, (which was a direct result of the stupid hypothermia incident) he has grown so fiercly protective of you that you haven’t been able to hang out with Fili and Kili, even Bofur and Bilbo (especially Bofur). But still, you didn’t complain, aside from a few grumbles. You aren’t really sure why Thorin is acting the way he is (you know that you’re a bit emotional dense, that’s why you befriended Bilbo, who acts as a translator for these kinds of things) but it’s starting to grate on your nerves. Who does he think he is, trying to control you like this? It’s been starting to negatively affect you. Maybe it’s because he thinks that you’re weak? That you need protection? You sigh outwardly and bite at your thumbnail. It’s one of the rare moments of peace that you got without Thorin and an assortment of other dwarves breathing down your neck. Right now you are at the stream, alone. You had managed to whisper your whereabouts to Balin before slipping into the trees armed with your bag and blade. The water is cool and clear, and the stream is less of a stream and more of a shallow river. The warm afternoon air is tinged with the scent of rain and the forest is quiet. Almost too quiet, but you don’t pay attention to that, but instead pay attention to the thick layer of filth and grime covering your skin. You sigh and take off your shirt and fiddle with a tear in your sleeve, but decide that that is a problem for later and toss the shirt aside. You’re reluctant to take off anymore clothes, so you decide to bath in parts, to never be truly naked. You dip your makeshift washcloth in the water and start to scrub away at the grime, really wishing that you had picked up some more soap whilst you and the rest of the company were in a little town. A rustle and a few snaping of twigs catches your attention and you snap your head up and squint across the river, just in time to catch the familiar glint of an arrow as it flies through the air.

“Shit!” You throw yourself to the side, but the arrow still catches your shoulder, cutting deep into the flesh. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Several more arrows, by orc design, you note, fly from within the trees. You’re barely grab your blade to deflect the arrows when two stick, one in your left thigh and the other right under your ribs. You gasp, stunned for just a moment. You hear the notch and the fling of another arrow and duck out of the way just in time to let it fly by. The tree you lean against provides enough cover to duck out of the way and move quickly and swiftly through the woods, but you leave behind your bag, the only thing with you is your blade. The colors of the forest start to blur together as you stumble forward, following the smell of woodsmoke. There are no signs of your attackers from the river but you still move quietly along the skirts of the camp, just to make sure before you finally step in.

“(Y/N)?” You don’t know who’s speaking to you, you consciousness fading. You pitch forward and fall into the sturdy arms of a dwarf.

“Orcs. Orcs at the river. They’re at the river…” Your eyes roll back and you go limp, succumbing to your wounds.

-----------

“Where is (Y/N)?” Thorin returns back to his seat, next to where you should be, from his conversation with Dwalin.

“She’s gone down to the stream to bathe.” Thorin looks over at Balin.

“And you let her go alone?” Balin quirks an eyebrow up at Thorin.

“Did you want to join her?” Thorin scowls and turns away.

“When did she leave?”

“Five minutes ago.” Thorin almost growls but says nothing and sits down. Time passes extremely slowly for Thorin, but he doesn’t want to stand and go after you and cause an embarrassing scene for both you and himself, so he sits and waits, occupying himself by tending the fire.

Another five minutes pass.

“(Y/N)?” Thorin looks up at the sound of Ori’s voice and sees you pitch forward into his arms, speared with two arrows of orcs making. The company is up in a panic but everything else falls silent as Thorin races toward you, and everything slows, all he can see is you.

“Orcs. Orcs at the river. They’re at the river…” Your eyes roll back and you fall limp just as Thorin reaches you and Ori. All the blood in Ori’s face drains out as he passes you onto Thorin and as he stares down at his own bloodstained hands.

“Oin!” Thorin has never felt such red hot anger, such fierce and horrible burning hatred like he feels now. Orcs, disgusting pigs, attacked you when you were alone and the most vulnerable. Your soft skin, slick with blood, burns his skin. How….. how dare they! Oin shoves his way through the crowd and takes you from Thorin’s arms, leaving Thorin to stand so fiercely that the rest of the company backs off. His eyes miss the angry and tear-filled faces of the rest of the company, only seeing red.

“Everyone else, take up your arms and follow me.”

[thehoneygloss]

out of sight (but not out of mind)

In which Min Yoongi's supposed soulmate goes by the name of Park Jimin. But Jimin doesn't think so.

word count: 2.4k

genre: angst, soulmate au, bit of fluff

‘Whatever soulmates are made of, his and mine are the same’ - Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights.

Min Yoongi have always had the faintest memories of Park Jimin.

The first memory came to Yoongi at sixteen. It was of Jimin’s mother — or at least that’s what he thinks. The first thing he saw was a boy in a carnival, dressed in a red shirt and black washed-out jeans standing next to a woman with raven-black hair, and the boy was smiling. The boy chuckled, looked at his mother and smiled at her — it was real. Yoongi could feel it.

The little boy — not more than 10 years old, held his mother’s hand and his eyes were shining. He was mesmerized by the blue sky and white cotton candy clouds.

‘Ma, look at that one! It looks like a rabbit,’ his mother looked at him with so much fondness in her eyes that it made Yoongi miss his own mother. Although technically, she’s only a call away.

This memory is Yoongi’s favorite. It’s awfully pure and it reminds him of home, it’s in that short vision that Yoongi often finds comfort. As if the boy in red was Yoongi himself. But he knows it isn’t and Yoongi can’t wait to meet him.

It’s awfully dark outside. The pub near his dorm is packed, mostly filled with overly-excited college students soon to be graduating. It smells of alcohol, just as Yoongi expects. What else would there be anyway? Herbal medicines? He doesn’t think so.

He’s been sitting there for what seems like ten hours; in reality, though, it’s only been ten minutes. But Yoongi hates being stood up and this dreadfully unentertaining waiting game seems to be leading to one of those, ‘hey, sorry, can’t come. Maybe next time?’ texts.

Just as Yoongi is about to stand up and leave — a familiar face shows up. The man of the hour has finally arrived and he goes by Kim Namjoon.

‘What the hell took you so long?’ Yoongi grunts while sitting back on his chair and ordering two bottles of soju.

‘I had to finish the essay,’ but Namjoon’s eyes isn’t focused at Yoongi’s. He’s staring blankly into the wall behind him. He’s in another session of Memory Sighting.

Namjoon’s going to meet his soulmate soon, Yoongi can feel it. By the amount of times this happened, Yoongi could clearly tell how soon it is for Namjoon. And Yoongi can’t be happier. Because it’s Kim Namjoon he’s talking about, the absolute sweetest workaholic he’s ever known.

‘What’s this one about?’ Yoongi says as Namjoon re-focuses himself.

‘I see a girl in a blue dress, but her back is facing mine so I really can’t tell,’ Namjoon’s happy. At least that’s how it looks like from Yoongi’s point of view. His dimples are showing and it really has been a while since Yoongi last saw those two dimples of his.

‘You’ll meet your soulmate soon, I can feel it,’ Yoongi reassures.

‘Yeah well, you also said the same thing about me passing calculus in high school and look what that brought me into,’ Namjoon chuckles and Yoongi mouths an ‘I’m sorry’ and goes back to grilling his meat.

Until,

‘Jimin,’ the same woman from his first memory says. She looks much older, it seems that she has aged (except the little boy still looks as young as the carnival memory). It’s been a couple of years since Yoongi received another memory that included the raven black haired woman.

‘Yes, ma?’ The little boy replies. So he goes by Jimin. The sound of his name on Yoongi lips feels awfully familiar.

‘ Your dad isn’t coming home,’ the terribly straightforward respond shocks Yoongi. And the boy is crying. The evident sadness in his mother’s eyes shows how hard it is for her to have to comfort a young boy when in reality, it must be just as hard as comforting herself. But nonetheless, she tries.

‘Jimin, look at me,’ she cups the little boy’s face and kneels down to his height then says, ‘we are going to be okay, do you understand? I love you and that should be enough. I love you, remember that. A mother’s love is strong enough to move mountains. You’re safe with me.’

Yoongi sheds a tear he doesn’t realize he’s been holding.

‘Was it a sad one?’ Namjoon says, waking Yoongi up from his usual Memory Sighting.

‘Was it really obvious?’

‘I’ve never seen you shed a single tear ever since the thing with your brother,’ Namjoon quickly realizes how off-topic he’s getting and quickly shuts himself up. Yoongi ignores it.

‘Some people are just cruel,’ Yoongi says out loud resulting in a much startled Namjoon as he diverts his eyes from the cooked meat in front of him to the emotionless Min Yoongi sitting across from him.

‘You, out of all people, should really know by now,’ is Namjoon’s only response before he chugs a bottle of soju.

None of them can remember anything that goes on after that.

It’s two in the morning, the darkness is almost blinding, only tolerable because of the street lamps. And Yoongi is alone. It’s something he’s always done ever since he attended university — there’s something so enticing about being alone in (almost) pure darkness while listening to his playlist through his earphones.

Yoongi sees a boy — he doesn’t see his face, only the broad back of his body and a washed out jean jacket. He’s reading a book that Yoongi doesn’t know the title of - after all, he doesn’t read books unless he’s obligated to do so.

And then the sighting vanishes.

He sees a boy again, this time in real life. It’s his face that’s showing and the all too familiar chuckle resonates through Yoongi’s mind — he looks too awfully familiar.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ The boy asks, his eyes are barely visible, surrounded with the bleak surrounding.

‘Like what?’

‘Like I mean something to you — we don’t even know each other,’ Yoongi chuckles and looks at the ground, something feels right.

‘I was lost in thought, sorry about that,’ and it’s partially true — Yoongi was, as a matter of fact, lost in his train of thoughts. But then again, it was because of this boy, this boy that’s been appearing in Yoongi’s head since he was fifteen, this boy that Yoongi has been dying to meet right when he saw that first sighting of a little boy in red, this boy that’s standing a few centimeters away from Yoongi looking nonchalant as ever.

‘That’s okay. I’m Jimin, by the way,’ Jimin. Yoongi likes the sound that.

‘Sounds familiar, for some reason,’ Jimin diverts his eyes away from Yoongi and to his watch.

‘Fuck, I’m late. I have to go,’ and before Yoongi can even ask for a number, Jimin’s already walking away, slowly fading into the darkness.

The next time Yoongi meets Jimin is in creative writing class — one of his most dreaded classes, and yet for some apparent reason, the room seems to light up as soon as he sees a familiar a jean jacket and tousled black hair.

And hello to you too, Jimin.

‘Oh, you again? Didn’t even expect to see you here,’ Jimin sloppily sits down next to Yoongi, a bit too close to Yoongi’s liking.

‘Didn’t expect to see you here either — are you new? Or?’

‘I moved classes,’ Jimin softly replies while rummaging through his bag.

And then he sees it — Jimin’s taking a book out of his bag, the same book he saw in his last Memory Sighting before he met Jimin.

‘What book is that?’ Yoongi’s curiosity is killing him.

‘This? It’s ‘Clarissa’ by Samuel Richardson. I fucking love this book,’ Jimin chuckles and there’s a sudden tug in Yoongi’s heart.

‘Never heard of it,’ Yoongi leans back to his chair as he tries to focus himself on the lecture — something he’s been attempting to do ever since the semester started.

As soon as the class ends, Yoongi’s first act is asking Jimin out to lunch. Which, in Yoongi’s perspective is completely normal and casual, not a date. He’s making that very clear.

‘It’s still not a date,’ as he tries to walk faster than Jimin and failing incredibly at it (Jimin’s an athlete, Yoongi learns).

‘Nobody said it was a date though.’

Yoongi chooses to sit at the corner of the coffee shop behind campus. Yoongi doesn’t do relationships — nor does he talk about them.

So, of course, the first thing he says instead of ‘Is there anything you want to eat or drink?’ is,’ So, this is awkward as fuck but you’re my soulmate, like literally.’

Jimin bops his head up — his face is red from the heat and from the all so shocking news that Yoongi just casually addressed.

‘What?’

‘Memory Sightings? You know how it is,’ Jimin nods and gives Yoongi a half-hearted smile, Yoongi senses something going on.

And then he realizes it. He remembers it all too well — how broken his brother was when his soulmate wasn’t actually his; that the girl he had been seeing in his memories didn’t see him in hers.

‘I don’t appear in your sightings,’ it’s supposed to be a question, but instead it sounds like a fact. Apples are fruits, England is in Europe, water is liquid, I don’t appear in your sightings.

In a way, Yoongi should have known — from the way Jimin looked at him the first time in that park, to the way he smiled at Yoongi’s lunch invitation — because there was and is everything in Jimin’s eyes except a sense of familiarity.

‘I’m sorry?’ And he means it, he really does.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about, that’s just how life is.’

‘The soulmate system is fucked up — I mean if you’re going to control who people end up with, at least do it correctly,’ Yoongi wholeheartedly agrees, but then again, there’s nothing he can ever do to change it.

‘Don’t sweat it. It’s shitty enough that the same thing happened to my brother, I don’t need your fake sympathy, no thanks,’ this is what Yoongi does best. Putting a pseudo-strong facade just so that people won’t sympathize with him — he doesn't need sympathy, nor pity.

‘Do you need a bottle of soju or are you just an asshole?’

‘I’m both,’ Yoongi replies as he stands up and walks away.

Jimin doesn't go after him.

‘Yoongi?’ Is the first Yoongi hears when he wakes up.

‘Shut up, Namjoon,’ Yoongi’s voice is low — groggy, barely audible. But it sounds like honey; it’s sweet and Jimin can’t stop himself from replaying it in his head. A little too much, Jimin thinks. He hopes Yoongi won’t find out.

‘It’s Jimin,’ he coughs. Trying to act as casual as possible — but it’s a low blow, nothing about this is casual.

Not after what happened last night. Not after the tipsy Min Yoongi appearing at Jimin’s door step at 2 in the morning asking for Advil, not after seeing Yoongi cry for the first time over the fact that he might never have a chance of having a soulmate, not after the all-too-sloppy kiss they shared in Jimin’s patio under a blanket of stars (fucking romantic, Jimin thinks).

‘Wait, why am I here?’

‘You were drunk last night. I don’t know why but you came here asking for Advil and then fell asleep on my couch,’ Jimin chuckles — Yoongi lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding.

‘Dude, you’re drunk,’ Jimin sighs as he holds onto the railing of his patio.

‘Yeah, no shit I’m drunk.’

Jimin pauses as he contemplates whether or not he should say it, but he’s been sipping one too many glasses of wine and so he says an internal ‘fuck it’ and says, ‘I had my memory sighting tonight.’

‘Oh? You did? Who?’ Yoongi doesn’t care.

‘It’s someone I know back home.’

‘Back in Busan?’

‘How do you know I’m from Busan?’ Jimin then realizes it, but it’s too late now.

‘Images of you come to my head every so often and elements of Busan are always there,’ And for a short second, Jimin wishes that it’s Yoongi he sees in his Sightings.

It’s not until ten minutes later and two glasses of wine that Yoongi and Jimin are intertwining their lips together — Jimin’s are soft, plump and tastes like strawberry and Chardonay; Yoongi’s are a bit more chapped, he tastes like coffee and whiskey, two things Jimin dislikes very much.

And the kiss is slow and intoxicatingly delicate — much like a first kiss, except that both are far too experienced that it’s almost perfect. That if you ignore all the external elements of their situation, their kiss is perfect. Their night is perfect.

It’s the last thing Yoongi wants to ever remember of Jimin. It’s a kiss he wants to keep in his memory.

‘I just want someone to love me,’ Jimin suddenly says.

‘Someone will, someone does,’ Yoongi’s tone is reassuring.

‘I just don’t want that person to leave. I don’t want that person to be like my father, god forbid,’ Yoongi’s heart is breaking.

But it’s in that short statement that Yoongi realizes why Park Jimin wasn't made for him.

It’s in that short statement that Yoongi finds the strength in letting go.

‘Do you not remember anything?’

‘Okay, fuck, but I remember now. Fuck, I’m sorry.’

‘Can you not apologize? It’s not like we slept together, it was just a kiss. It’s okay, I enjoyed it too,’ all of a sudden, all Yoongi wants to do is to pin Jimin against the wall and kiss the living shit out of him.

All Yoongi wants to ever do is to spend the rest of his life with the man who’s standing in front of him in an almost see through white shirt and messy black hair.

But this world is not a wish-granting factory and Park Jimin has other people to love.

Because Min Yoongi has a habit of leaving and Jimin surely deserves better than that.

‘I want to be all friendly but as I learned from my brother, it’s better that I just cut you off?’ It comes out like a question instead of an answer.

‘I’m sorry, Yoongi.’

‘It’s not your fault; but I had fun. And maybe in another world things can be different for us,’ Jimin nods to that. Half-surprised from the all-too-wise statement that Yoongi just casually mustered.

‘So it’s good bye then?’ Jimin walks over to his door, opening it, giving Yoongi a warm smile.

‘It’s goodbye then,’ and it’s taking all of Min Yoongi to not touch Jimin. He can’t even hug him.

And there he goes, walking out of Jimin’s apartment and his life; slowly disappearing out of his sight and hopefully out of his mind too.

[thatishogwash]

All Bets Are Off

A/N: So I have a bunch of stories that I’ve written but for one reason or another, I never posted them. Decided to just start posting them in whatever shape they are in. Here’s some Bokuto/Sawamura! BoDai? SawaBo, BoSawa...

AO3

It starts off with a bet, as do most things involving Kuroo Tetsurou.  Bokuto and Kuroo have been betting against one another since their first training camp when they realized their competitive nature didn’t stop with practice games.  Bokuto could even say their friendship was built on bets and he really wouldn’t be far off.

Their bets start off involving volleyball, which is only natural.  First it’s who’s team wins the most games, then who can block or spike or receive the most, and it naturally progresses from there.  Years of volleyball related bets never get old, but slowly their bets divert elsewhere.  Suddenly it’s who can take the quickest shower or who can convince the most people to share food with them at dinner, which is always dangerous to get between a growing teenage boy and their food after a hard day of practice games and punishments for losing teams.

Some of their bets are more childish than others, who can hold their breath the longest or who can go the longest without laughing, Bokuto always hands down loses that last bet.  Some of them are less childish, like who can steal the most clothes from various teammates without said teammates noticing.

So it’s only natural that by their third year all the other third years, and the second years are completely done with the two captains.  Even the first years are wary, which only stands as great amusement for Bokuto and Kuroo.  Everyone is relieved and worried when Karasuno joins them for the first time, half way through their third year.  Bokuto can already hear Kuroo’s cackling, even though their schools are in different parts of Tokyo.

Bokuto had been worried at first, seeing the competitive handshake and thinly veiled smiles between the Karasuno captain, Sawamura Daichi, and Kuroo but he didn’t have to worry long because there were bets to be made.

Their first bet involved Karasuno’s ace, Azumane who was tall and broad shouldered with hair Bokuto and Kuroo were manly enough to admit they envied.

“I bet I can make him blush before you can,” Kuroo had nearly cooed as they watched the ace of Karasuno explain something to their first year setter, who had such a serious look on his face that it was nearly comical.

“You’re on.”  They had thought it was a challenge.  Team aces were notoriously tough, with backbones of steel and unshakable nerves.  Of course it was just the first day of training camp and neither of them knew much about Azumane Asahi besides the fact that he was an ace, had great hair and he spiked balls like his hand was a cannon.

During their next break they learned that Azumane Asahi blushed relatively easily.  Bokuto had never considered himself very good at flirting, Kuroo was better at it then him, but Bokuto was good at compliments and sounding sincere as all hell, because he was sincere.  So when he ran up to Azumane during the break, jumping around the other ace and dolling out one compliment after the other, he expected the other ace to laugh, smile, and thank him.  What Bokuto, nor anyone else that wasn’t on the Karasuno team, didn’t expect was the pained look on Azumanes face at the first compliment, the slumped shoulders at the second, the way his head dipped low at the third, and suddenly Bokuto was panicking as he gripped Azumanes admittedly nice shoulders and shook him lightly.

“Your spikes are so powerful Azumane!”  Bokuto yelled, nearly desperate.

“I think that owl-guy from Fukurdani broke Azumane.”  A soft voice deadpanned from his side, Bokuto didn’t have to look to know it was that glasses guy.  Bokuto was cheered up by the nickname ‘owl-guy’ but Azumane was nearly limp in his grip and his panic was overwhelming his better senses.

“I’m sorry Azumane!  You are just such a great ace I had to say something and you have such nice hair too!”  Bokuto was garnering more attention, he could hear Kuroo’s cackling laughter behind him for his spectacular failure.  Bokuto hoped Kuroo wouldn’t make him eat a bug for losing the bet.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Karasuno’s captain walked over, gently removing Azumane from Bokuto’s grip before passing him off to the gray-haired guy.  Bokuto had never been good with names, he made sure to know Azumane’s so he could properly compliment him.  “Our ace is just a little weak willed off the court.”  The other captain said, looking pained and Bokuto looked over to Azumane, who was trying to hide his bright red face behind his large hands.

It is then, during the first day of training camp and the second break, that Bokuto and Kuroo learn that not only does Azumane blush relatively easily, but he gets flustered even easier.  Watching the giant turn red and lose control of himself becomes a great source of amusement for Bokuto and Kuroo, and Azumane Asahi unfortunately becomes the new center of all their bets.

Until Karasuno’s number two comes to talk to them during dinner, all friendly smiles and soft pats on the shoulders.  He leaves behind two stunned captains and much more quiet table.

“Everything he said was so nice.”  Kuroo said, sounding utterly lost.

“But I’m so scared?”  Bokuto felt just as confused.

“He didn’t even threaten us at all.”  Kuroo’s chopsticks are still posed half way to his mouth, frozen from the moment Sugawara Koushi walked over with a soft smile and a warm greeting.

“But I feel like maybe we should leave Karasuno’s ace alone?”  Bokuto asked, his mind feeling scrambled, wondering what type of powers Sugawara Koushi has to shake the unshakable duo.  Both Bokuto and Kuroo look over to where Azumane sits, his fellow third years sitting on either side of him.  He’s hunched over his food but isn’t eating.  Sugawara catches their eyes and smiles.

“Fuck,” Kuroo and Bokuto quickly avoid eye contact before guilt eats at them.  They had been so caught up in their bet, in the cute way the other ace had reacted to Kuroo’s flirtation and Bokuto’s constant compliments that they hadn’t realized how uncomfortable they had made Azumane feel.

Kenma sighs across from them, not looking up from his game but Kuroo can tell by the relaxing of his shoulders he is glad that particular bet is done with.  Kuroo and Bokuto’s bets had never become cruel or mean towards other players, or even each other, but their treatment of Azumane had been causing a slight tension that neither captains had been noticing.  Kuroo and Bokuto sometimes forgot that looks can be deceiving, that just because Azumane wasn’t small and introverted like Kenma didn’t mean he wasn’t just as awkward and shy as the Nekoma setter.

“Should we apologize?”  Bokuto asked, facing Kuroo but the question was directed at Kenma.  Kuroo and Bokuto were as extroverted as they come, so they had no idea what would make things worse.

“No.”  Kenma said after a moment of silence.

Bokuto can’t help but feeling horrible, dreadfully guilty.  He didn’t even remember showering or curling up on a futon, rolling up in a blanket and stewing in his own disdainful behavior.  How could he have been so blind?  He knows he’s sometimes overly enthusiastic and sometimes he reads situations the wrong ways but why didn’t anyone tell him to knock it off?  That he was making Azumane uncomfortable and was causing tension with the other Karasuno players.  He didn’t want them to think he was cruel or unkind.

“Bokuto.”  Akaashi’s soft voice comes from right next to him, poking the blanket roll he had formed himself into.

“Leave me to die.”  Bokuto crowed from his blanket nest.

“You’ve taken everyone's blankets.”  Akaashi’s voice is still soft, his tone not betraying any emotion he is feeling.

“There, there Bokuto.”  Komi cooes and Bokuto squawks when an extra weight is added to his blanket fort.  “Do you feel that?  I’m hugging you captain so come out of your self imposed isolation.”

“I don’t deserve to be your captain!”  Bokuto yells but fights his way out of the blankets anyways before he’s face to face with Komi, who grins at him as Akaashi starts pulling the blankets apart and handing them out to various waiting team members.

“If you feel that bad about it then you should go apologize.”  Komi rubs Bokuto’s head, his hair flat from his shower.  Bokuto cooes and leans down further so they shorter man can better reach.

“All of Karasuno hates me.”  Bokuto pouted, falling face first into his pillow.

“You were giving him compliments, and it wasn’t done in a mean spirited way, right?”  Konoha asks from across the room as he is settling down on his futon.  Bokuto shakes his head, he had meant every compliment he had given Azumane.  He was a great ace, a solid volleyball player and he did have nice hair!  “Then they can’t possibly hate you.”

“And even if they do, it doesn’t matter because you’re our captain and we love you.”  Komi cheers, kneading Bokutos back before using his feet to roll Bokuto right off his futon.  “Go apologize and then be better tomorrow!”  Bokuto jumped up, suddenly re-energized.

“Yes!  I will do this for my team because I am your captain and you love me!”  Bokuto yelled before dashing out of the room.  “And I love you!”  Bokuto yells towards their shared room, because they need to know that, it’s key information.

It takes a while for Bokuto to find where Karasuno is stationed, he runs into Ubugawa first and spends a couple minutes bouncing around to each team member, yelling about well received spikes or various pajamas he likes before learning the real location of Karasuno before making his way over to them.

Bokuto comes to a full stop as he watches Karasuno’s captain in the hallway, shooing the first year duo towards the bathrooms.  Sawamura Daichi, Bokuto’s mind supplies for him.  Sawamura is like the captains Bokuto see’s on professional teams, stalwart and strong, just the right amount of encouraging  and stern.  It is blatantly obvious, even after just one day of training camp, that everyone on Karasuno respects Sawamura, even that snarky glasses wearing beanpole.

“Oh hello Bokuto.”  Sawamura’s look of surprise turns into a gentle smile and Bokuto studies the other captain, trying to read if there’s some sort of underlying disdain in Sawamura’s tone or stance, but Bokuto couldn’t see any.

“I need to apologize!”  Bokuto bellows out, hands on his hips, stance wide.  Sawamura’s eyes widen and a couple heads pop out from the door behind him.

“Apologize?”  Sawamura asked, still a little stunned at Bokuto’s loud pronouncement.  “For what?”  Bokuto is a little proud at how quickly Sawamura manages to pull himself together, but then again he has a couple of rowdy team members of his own, maybe Bokuto’s behavior isn’t too surprising.

“I made your ace- no, I made Azumane uncomfortable and I need to atone so that my team can be proud to have me as their captain again!”  Sawamura’s eyebrows raise before a wide, happy-looking smile spreads over his face, lighting up his features and making Bokuto’s heart pound a little more.  Bokuto wonders if this is what embarrassment feels like, his face feels hot and his heart is pounding too quickly, but he’s never felt embarrassed before.

“That’s really not necessary.”  Sawamura presses a hand against his mouth, but it’s really no use because he’s laughing and Bokuto feels himself deflating, hands falling off his hips, shoulders curling inwards.  “No, no please Bokuto, it’s fine.”  Sawamura’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him upwards and Bokuto can feel his face warm again.  Is he embarrassed again?  Sawamura’s hands are large and warm against the thin cotton of Bokuto’s t-shirt.  Is it weird he notices that or the barely-there dusting of freckles on the bridge of Sawamura’s nose.

“He’s a good ace.”  Bokuto finds himself saying and another warm smile lights up Sawamura’s face.  Bokuto is surprised at how easy Sawamura’s smiles come, his first impression is that he had been quite stern.  Were those soft gold flecks in Sawamura’s eyes?

“I know, and he appreciates the compliments though he has no idea how to take them.”  Sawamura’s hands are gone from Bokuto’s shoulders and he wonders why he feels a bit adrift.  “He’ll get over his embarrassment, if you want to compliment someone I know Hinata would love it.”  Sawamura points to the first year duo, walking back from the bathroom and arguing about who finished showering first.

“Shrimpy?”  Bokuto asks, not sure if Hinata is the tall broody setter or the small spider monkey, but small one’s head snaps up at the nickname, his narrowing before landing on Bokuto and going comically wide.  Yes, Hinata is Shrimpy.  Bokuto bounds over to him, grinning down at him.  “You sure can jump!”  Bokuto means to go on but Hinata begins vibrating so badly he looks like he’s going to come apart at the seams.

“I can!  Thank you Bokuto!  I will do my best!”  Hinata is bowing and Kageyama is kicking him into Karasuno’s room.  There’s a quick moment of silence before Hinata is crowing about how the captain from Fukurodani complimented him on his jumping abilities.

“Can I steal him?”  Bokuto asks Sawamura, only half serious.  He’s pretty sure if he steals Shrimpy he’d have to take tall and broody with him, and Bokuto didn’t know if he wanted him too.

“Gwah!”  A loud voice came from inside the room, followed quickly by a ‘shut up, dumbass!’  No, no Bokuto did not want tall and broody and insulty.

“Goodnight Bokuto.”  Sawamura gives him another smile and Bokuto stares at the curve of his lips, deciding he likes them, and wondering if he’s ever stared at anyone’s lips before.

“Night Sawamura!”  Bokuto crows before turning around and making his way back to the Fukurodani room, feeling much lighter than when he had left.  Tomorrow he would make sure to compliment Hinata on his weird-quick and maybe Sawamura would smile at him again.

-----

“What?”  Is Kuroo’s response when Bokuto suggests a bet the next morning.

“I bet you I can get Sawamura to smile more than you can.”  Bokuto sits on the bench next to Kuroo, both stretching out their long legs as the gym slowly fills with other players.  Kuroo watches Bokuto carefully, the way he does when they are playing against one another but Bokuto had three years to get use to that look so it no longer affects him.  He just has no idea what earned the look in the first place.

“You want to see who can make Karasuno’s captain smile more?”  Kuroo asks, though Bokuto has already said so twice.  Said captain is talking to the two rowdy members of his team, the one with the cool lightning hair and the bald one.  He’s frowning and shaking his head at whatever the two are enthusiastically explaining.

“After what happened yesterday I thought it would be best to ease back into our bets.”  Bokuto explained as he pulls his attention away from Sawamura back to Kuroo, who’s letting out a slow easy smirk that Bokuto isn’t sure what to make of.

“Sure, sounds good.”  Kuroo is cackling and Bokuto thinks that Kuroo thinks he can win this bet, but Bokuto already has a head start because of last night.

Throughout the day Bokuto learns that Sawamura has several smiles, but the one he gives Kuroo the most is his scary smile he usually reserves for his own team mates when they get too loud or competitive.  Bokuto also learns that Sawamura smiles his most genuine, soft smile when Bokuto compliments not him, but his other teammates.

“Hey hey hey!”  Bokuto greeted happily, grinning widely when Sawamura looked up from gathering spare balls.  Bokuto liked that the other captain never shirked clean up responsibilities onto the younger members.  Bokuto remembered his own first year of high school, how he and his fellow first years were always made to clean up alone and how it took twice as long.  He promised that when he was a third year he’d never leave his team to do all the clean up, it went by faster if they all helped out.

Well, he had kind of abandoned his team to clean up but he was helping Karasuno so he thought it was balanced itself out, somehow.  Plus he had a bet to win.

“Tsukishima you don’t want to stay for extra practice?”  Sawamura asked, not even turning around to see the tall blonde haired boy walking out of the gym.  Tsukishima adjusted his glasses before sighing.

“Is it mandatory?”  Tsukishima asked.

“No,” Sawamura said, grabbing the back of the bald head guys shirt when he leapt towards Tsukishima after the blonde waved and continued to walk out.

“That guy is a real waste!”  The bald guy said angrily.  Sawamura was frowning off in the direction that Tsukishima had left.

“I can help.”  Bokuto blurted out, catching the attention of the entire team.  Bokuto stood up a little taller, eyes meeting Sawamura’s.  “I can motivate him!”

“Ah- that’s really not necessary Bokuto, I’m sure Tsukishima will come around in his own time.”  Sawamura rubbed the back of his neck.  Bokuto stepped forward, tilted his head to the side to get a better angle on Sawamura’s face.  He was smiling but it was his polite smile and Bokuto much preferred his big warm one.

“Are you sure?”  Bokuto asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the other captain.  Yukie had drilled in the importance that other people sometimes didn’t like to be  touched.  Fukurodani and even most of the other schools at the training camp were use to Bokuto, but Karasuno was new.  Bokuto usually didn’t have a hard time remembering not to touch someone, but his fingers twitched at his side as he stared down at Sawamura.

“Well,” Sawamura used the collar of his shirt to wipe at the sweat that had gathered on his upper lip, it was a rather sweltering day.  Bokuto was momentarily distracted by the tanned skin the lifted shirt revealed.

“I do it for you!”  Bokuto shouted, though if asked later what he had said he wouldn’t be able to recall.  Sawamura looked surprised, eyebrows raised and brown eyes widening before he was laughing and smiling, that big warm one Bokuto liked so much.  Bokuto ran out of the gym before Sawamura could say anything more, well aware of the fact that his entire team was watching the two.

“Kuroo!”  Bokuto leaped onto the other captain and only years of knowing Bokuto and his athletic reflexes kept them both on their feet.  Bokuto had his arms wrapped around Kuroo’s neck, legs around his torso.

“You’re blushing Bo,” Kuroo smirked, that look that seemed to irriate a lot of people.  Bokuto didn’t mind it that much, unless Kuroo got the same look when he managed to block one of Bokuto’s spikes.  Then Bokuto minded it a lot.

“I think I like the Karasuno captain a lot and now I need to impress him by making that snarky glasses kid get motivated but I don’t know how to do that!”  Bokuto rushed out, causing Kuroo to cackle loudly.

“So you finally figured it out, hm?”  Kuroo patted Bokuto on the back as he began walking, still carrying Bokuto, towards the third gym.  “I think I’ve got a couple ideas.”

[ultramarcypan]

Porpoising

Characters/Pairings: Shingo Sawatari, Yuya Sakaki, implied Dartshipping

Summary: In the quiet early morning hours, Shingo sets off to train by himself, taking advantage of the solitude that the dawn brings. Serving a highly inquisitive Prince means he won't be alone for long, however.

Notes: Heyo, my lack of self-control means this AU continues on! Y'all are WELCOME.

Note, the title is an archery term; it refers to the movement of an arrow up or down during its flight.

Shingo’s had little choice in learning how to rise with the sun.  A knight’s duty starts well before first light and lasts long after the sun has set.  A small part of him (one with a very big mouth) resents how his expectations are so drastically different from his new Lord.  Yuya generally doesn’t move until late in the morning, and he sleeps like the dead—a blessing and a curse, given to how Shingo is somewhat prone to being loud by nature, even when checking on his Lord.  Still, the fact remains that Yuya gets to rest while Shingo labors away, making sure the grounds are safe, the armory is well stocked, and training himself so that his skills don’t get dull.

Though, he does suppose that are worse things in the world than training on his own, especially since he doesn’t have to deal with constant onlookers. For as many people as there are in the castle, Shingo is left alone fairly frequently.  He supposes it has something to do with him being a new knight, and one in service to the Prince and not the King, but it doesn’t really bother him.  Yuya is far from demanding, and Shingo stands by his choice in master; besides, being left alone gives him the opportunity to engage in more…frivolous pastimes.

On this particular morning, the sun has just barely risen over the trees, rays feebly warming the castle grounds.  The only creatures that are awake apart from Shingo are the birds that are chirping to one another, fluttering from tree to tree and watching him warily as he crosses the yard.

He’s not doing anything illegal or immoral, but that doesn’t stop Shingo from glancing all around him as he walks.  Nervously, he hefts the quiver of arrows he’s slung over his shoulder higher up, jumping slightly as the arrows in it rattle with the movement.

‘ Fool,’ he scolds himself.  ‘ You’ve committed no crime against Crown or God so stop looking so guilty!’   For reassurance, his hand comes up to press against his chest, feeling for the outline of the pendant that Yuya gave him.  He traces the now familiar sharp edges of the gem through the thin fabric of his tunic, taking comfort in the weight of the jewel around his neck.  He hasn’t taken if off since Yuya gave it to him on the day of the tournament; it’s become a part of him, a constant comfort and symbol for him to find strength in.  Yuya smiles every time he catches a glimpse of the silver chain that Shingo tries so diligently to hide beneath his clothes; admittedly, he finds that he doesn’t try quite so hard when he and Yuya are alone together.

Shingo is so lost in his thoughts (and the recollection of Yuya’s smile and laughter) that his foot catches against a clump of grass and he nearly falls flat.  He just barely manages to avoid face planting onto the dewy grass, though it does involve a good bit of flailing and a few tiny hops forward to regain his balance.  He can feel his face turning red as he straightens up and he glances around once more to make sure there are no witness to his embarrassing lapse of finesse and grace.

Unlike before, however, there is someone watching him this time.

It’s nearly impossible for Yuya to hide, even as he’s halfway behind a nearby tree.  His hair, such a beautiful bright red color, gives him away almost instantly, never mind the fact that Shingo seems to have developed a sixth sense as to when his Lord is nearby.  Brown eyes sparkling with mirth watch as Shingo flushes a shade darker.

“M-Milord!”  He doesn’t stutter and his voice doesn’t squeak, thank you very much.  He clears his throat and tries again.  “What are you doing up so early?”

“You’re dreadfully loud when you check up on me,” Yuya tells him, stepping out from behind the tree.  He’s still wearing only the thin satin nightclothes he’d worn to bed; the edges of his sleep pants are wet from the dew on the ground.  “And I’d been wondering where you go sneaking off to in the early hours of the day.”

Shingo sniffs.  “I do not sneak anywhere.”

Yuya grins.  “No,” he concedes.  “You’re much too clumsy to sneak anywhere, I suppose.”

His Lord’s laughter splits the air, ringing brightly in the silence around them.  Yuya has to lean against the tree to support himself, face turning pink from all his mirth.  With a huff, Shingo marches over to him, grabbing him by the arm.  “Come on; it doesn’t suit a noble to be running around in his nightclothes out on the grounds.”  He tugs slightly but Yuya digs his heels into the ground.

“Not until you explain to me what you’re doing sneaking around at dawn with a bow and arrow,” he says stubbornly.  Groaning, Shingo releases his arm.

“Practicing,” he says bluntly.  He’s hoping that will be enough of an answer to satisfy the Prince, but Yuya only frowns at him.

“And you can only practice before the sun has properly risen?”

Shingo sighs.  “If it’s archery I want to practice then yes.”  It doesn’t even occur to him to lie; he’s not even sure if he’s capable of lying to Yuya.  “Are you satisfied now?”

Yuya shakes his head.  “No; why can’t you practice archery whenever you want?”

“Because the bow and arrow are not the weapon of a Knight,” Shingo tells him.  

Despite the words that come out of his mouth, the quiver on his back and the bow in his hand feel like extensions of himself.  Shingo grew up being taught archery; according to his father, all noblemen should know how to shoot so that hunts would be more entertaining.  From the first time Shingo had picked up a bow, he had known that this would be his favorite weapon.  He had an uncanny talent for being able to hit a target from hundreds of paces away, without any hesitation or uncertainty.

And then he had taken his vows of knighthood, and his bow had been replaced by a sword and shield: the more honorable and traditional weapons for the defenders of the realm.

Archery is still a part of the tournaments held annually.  It’s the event that Shingo always, always wins, one that he loves to participate in more than he loves to actually win, though the victory is a nice perk.  He’s never more sure than when there’s a supple bow in his hands, a fine string pulled taut between his fingers and a carefully knocked arrow ready to be sent flying at a target.  But outside of competition, there’s little use for his beloved bow and so Shingo spends most of his time training with the other knights honing his skill with a blade so that he may best serve his Lord.

Yuya is still frowning at him, face scrunched up in thought.  It’s a look that Shingo has learned to be wary of in his short time at the Castle; he’s just about to suggest yet again that the Prince head back to his quarters when Yuya speaks up.  “Have you retained your skill with it?”

Briefly, Shingo bristles before he realizes that Yuya would have no way of knowing his talents, especially when he’s being doing his best to hide it from everyone else.  “See for yourself,” he says instead.  In one fluid motion, he’s pulled an arrow from his quiver and knocked it, planting his feet firmly on the ground.  With a deep breath, he takes only a second to aim at a tree about fifty paces away from where they’re standing before letting it loose.

Yuya barely has time to blink before the arrow has planted itself firmly into the trunk of the tree, positioned perfectly in the middle of it.  His mouth forms a tiny ‘o’ of amazement and his hands curl into fists by his side.  “That,” he breaths out, turning back to Shingo, “was amazing.”

“It was,” Shingo says, preening at the compliment.  He’s so busy basking in Yuya’s words that he doesn’t notice the Prince moving closer to him--by the time Shingo checks back into reality, Yuya’s face is mere inches from his own.  He doesn’t yelp (Knights do not yelp , thank you) but he does make a funny sort of noise and fumble with his bow briefly.

“Teach me.”

“I’m...I'm sorry?” Shingo’s primary concern is returning his heart rate to a more normal rhythm, so Yuya’s words go over his head initially.

“Teach me,” Yuya repeats, eyes sparkling.  “Teach me how to do what you just did with that bow.”

“I…” Shingo is at a loss for words for once in his life.  “It takes a while to master the bow and arrow.”

“Are you planning on leaving my service anytime soon?”  Yuya raises an eyebrow at him.

“No.”

“Excellent.”  Yuya claps his hands together.  “Then I see no reason why you can’t teach me.”

“Surely there are those more qualified to tutor your royal highness than I?”  It almost causes Shingo physical pain to say that, but he grates the words out, almost hissing them in his distaste.

“Perhaps; are there those who could best your skill with a bow?”

“No!”  Yuya smiles and Shingo realizes a second too late that he’s fallen for the Prince’s bait.

“Then ought not it best if I learned from you?” He asks smugly.  Shingo huffs and bites his lower lip, but he can’t think of any other reason he should refuse a direct request from Yuya.  Truthfully, his only reservation had been out of the differences between their status, but if Yuya has no issue with a knight--a servant, in essence, despite Shingo’s high birth--teaching a royal, then why should he?

“Fine,” he relents after a little bit of hesitation.  Yuya’s smile brightens further at his agreement and Shingo’s pulse, which had just returned to a steady rhythm, spikes again.  “I’ll teach you archery.  But--” he says, a hint of warning in his voice, “You’ll listen to what I say and not question it.  This isn’t up for debate.”

“Yes, yes,” Yuya says eagerly, bouncing up and down slightly where he’s standing.  “Now, give me the bow.”  He reaches for it with nimble fingers and Shingo is so taken aback that he doesn’t have the sense to fight back.  The bow is taken from him; Yuya holds it awkwardly in his hands, looking all over the polished wood.

Shingo attempts to snatch it back, only to have Yuya take a step just out of his reach.  “Give me that!”  He hisses.  “Before you shoot yourself in the foot!”

“First of all,” Yuya tells him, not the least bit intimidated by his anger, “I would need an arrow to shoot myself in the foot and I have none.  Second of all, how do you propose to teach me if I’m not holding a bow?”

“I’m not teaching you archery this morning.”  Shingo says flatly.  “I don’t mind teaching you, but God himself could not convince me to start your lessons right now.”

“Oh?”  Yuya’s smile turns coy and he presses close to Shingo.  “And what are the odds of me convincing you?”

Yuya’s close enough now that Shingo can count the individual eyelashes that are currently being fluttered at him.  “Did I not just say that you’re supposed to listen and obey me if I’m going to teach you?”  He protests weakly.

Yuya hums.  “You did, but I’m a terrible listener.”

“You aren’t properly dressed,” Shingo points out, and even Yuya can’t deny the truth in his words.  The sun is doing its best to bring the chill out of the early morning air but it has not yet taken effect; the result is that Yuya is shivering slightly dressed in only silk nightclothes, gooseflesh rising on his bare skin.  “You’ll catch cold if we’re out here much longer.”  Shingo adds, noticing with some slight horror that the Crown Prince hadn’t even seen fit to put on shoes before traipsing after him this morning.

“Then you’d better teach fast.”  Yuya holds his hand out expectantly and Shingo realizes that he’s waiting for an arrow.

For the second time that morning, words fail Shingo and he lets out a series of agitated snarls and groans.  “You are an incorrigible brat!”  He snaps, caring very little that he’s addressing his Prince in such a manner.  Yuya laughs and Shingo ignores how the bright sound lessens the irritation he feels.  “One shot.”  He tells the other.  “One shot and then both of us are heading back into the Castle.”

“Agreed.”  Yuya spins on his heels, facing the tree that Shingo had pierced before.  He shifts his weight, attempting to mimic Shingo’s shooting form.

His stance isn’t as terrible as Shingo had assumed it would be; he chastises himself silently--Yuya is far more observant and sharp than he ever lets on and he should know this by now.  He steps forward so that Yuya’s back is pressed against his front, leaning over the other slightly to raise his arms and adjust his grip on the bow.  “Relax your shoulders a bit,” Shingo says quietly into Yuya’s ear.  The Prince shivers as warm breath tickles his neck.  “And bring your front foot back slightly.”

Yuya obliges him.  “Like this?”

Shingo nods and then realizes that Yuya can’t seem him.  “Yes,” he says.  He reaches into his quiver drawing out another arrow and knocking it into place.  “Now, pull the string back, all the way to your cheek.”  Yuya huffs as he attempts to do as told and Shingo smiles.  “Having some trouble, milord?”

“Hush,” Yuya says, his voice tight.  The muscles in his arms flex and as close as Shingo is he can feel every minute movement.  With effort, Yuya manages to bring the string back to his cheek, though his arm holding the bow is wobbling dangerously.

“Careful,” Shingo warns.  He reaches out to hold Yuya’s arm steady, guiding the bow into position so that Yuya’s aiming at the tree dead on.  “That string will hurt if you let it snap your skin.”

“Do you know that from experience?”  Yuya teases him.  Shingo pinches his side in retaliation, taking pleasure in how the Prince yelps and squirms in his arms.  He does take care to make sure the string stays pulled back and the bow stays level, however.

“Focus.”  Shingo plants one of his own feet in between Yuya’s to brace both of them.  “Take a deep breath,” he says quietly.  “When you’re ready, release the string and the breath at the same time.  Don’t take your eyes off the target, understand?”

“Got it.”  Shingo both hears and feels Yuya breath in, and for a heartbeat, both of them are pressed close together with baited breath and the world seems to pause.  Then Yuya is realizing his breath in a whoosh and the arrow goes sailing across the yard and time resumes normally.

The arrow plants itself into the tree, not quite as deeply as Shingo’s nor directly in the middle but still a solid shot.  Yuya makes a tiny noise of surprise mixed with pleasure that echoes in Shingo’s own chest.  “I did it!”

“ We did it,” Shingo corrects.  Yuya turns to him with a pout and Shingo relents slightly.  “But for your first time firing a bow, it was excellent.”

“It’s all my wonderful tutor’s doing,” Yuya says sweetly and, predictably, Shingo flushes.  “Will I be able to shoot as fast as you can?”

“If you practice,” Shingo says, willing his blush away.  He reaches for the bow again and this time Yuya lets him take it without a fuss.  “But I believe you have the skills, yes.”  Yuya’s ever-present smile is turned on him and Shingo looks away, clearing his throat to regain his composure.  “Now back to the castle, you brat.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Yuya says.  He loops one of his arms through Shingo’s free arm.  “Now, Sir Knight, kindly escort me back to my chambers.  I fear I may get lost without your noble guidance.”  Shingo would protest, but it feels nice to still have Yuya so close to him so he lets the issue slide.  The two of them walk back to the castle, arm in arm, with the dew on their feet and the sun at their backs.