Work Text:
His skin is soft and cool under your fingertips, you brush a strand of hair from his forehead and watch movement occur behind his closed eyelids. A halo of moonlight casts against his cheek, shining from outside a partially open window allowing fresh air inside the wide room.
“Mmnh… am I disturbing your rest?” Ayato’s voice is heavy with sleep as his lashes flutter slightly and his eyes lazily open halfway. His gaze finds yours leaning above him, he doesn’t look to the moon to see if dawn is approaching, eyes fixed on your face as if it were far more interesting.
You hum, thumb gliding over his jaw and touching a tangled lock of hair falling down to his neck. “Should that not be my question? I was awake before you.”
His hand rises from under the thick cover, Ayato’s palm is warm despite the cool skin of his cheek and jaw, his touch gentle and fingertips soft. “Perhaps… but it seems to me that I may have distracted you.”
“You are rather distracting,” you agree as he lifts your palm to his lips, a chaste kiss placed upon your skin. Sleepy and dishevelled like this… how can you not touch his face? You’re hardly holding back from leaning down and giving him a proper kiss. But perhaps that’s not very productive when you both should be sleeping.
A smile tugs at Ayato’s lips and his half-lidded eyes crease only slightly. “Is that so?”
You raise an eyebrow down at him, leaning on your side and elbow to the futon—mostly to get a better vantage point to stare at him as he sleeps. Very normal (for you). “Mhm, now, go back to sleep,” your hand moves from his as you use your fingers to close his eyelids again. “Important meeting to be had in the morning, lords need a healthy sleep schedule.”
Making no move to take your hand from his eyes, a soft huff of amusement leaves his chest. “I am hardly on my feet all day,” Ayato makes a weak argument, these small moments of bedside chatter are scarce and short—can he be blamed for desiring to extend this chance? “Perhaps I will be further inclined with a more convincing reward.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Reward? Excitement won’t put you to sleep.” Despite your reluctance to indulge in whatever “reward” he deems himself worthy of, you tilt your head slightly, inclined in curiosity.
“A kiss, nothing more,” he says innocently, eyes practically shining as he gazes up at you. “On the lips?”
“How demanding,” you mumble, before leaning down and giving him what he wants—never has it been your strength to deny him anything… to a healthy extent. His lips are soft and well moist, as if he had quickly licked them after you closed your eyes. It’s a short peck, nothing to get him excited for—then you’d never fall back asleep. “There, is that—”
Clearly unsatisfied, Ayato’s hand reaches behind your head, curling at your nape as he pulls you back down—your elbow nearly slips but you manage to catch yourself by setting a hand down beside his head, ensuring you don’t crush your body to his so suddenly. The second touch of your lips is greedier, he holds the kiss for a few more seconds before his tongue touches your mouth—at which point you tug your head back a little and slip your hand between your faces, palm over his lips.
With a pout, you stare down at him with an unimpressed expression. “A kiss?”
His voice is muffled below your hand, but you can feel his smile. “My apologies, I couldn’t resist.”
You click your tongue, removing your hand from his mouth and wiping it on your clothes. “My lord should learn some discipline,” your tone is both scolding and mild, not a true fire beneath your tone. “Perhaps he should go without for a while.”
“My retainer would not be so cruel as to defy me the essence of life?” a smile tugs at his lips as you move back to where you were before he tugged you over, fingers covering your mouth as you yawn. “I wouldn’t have the strength to go on.”
“Essence of life? What have you been reading to find such lines? The only essence of life you consume is the finite supply of milk tea produced in the next three countries over,” you huff a laugh and lie back down beside him, tugging the covers back up to your shoulder. “We have much to do tomorrow, go to sleep.”
Ayato hums, scooting closer as you close your eyes, he snakes his arms around you and tugs you into himself, your face squishing into his chest—the front flaps of his robe are loose, opening like a maw to allow your cheek to be pressed to his skin. “Ayato…” you grumble against him, trying to shift to get more comfortable, ending up with setting a leg over his waist and arms in a somewhat awkward, but kind of comfortable position—you hope they won’t give you pins and needles in the middle of the night.
“It’s been too long since I had you here, let me keep you close for the night,” his words are low and quieter than before, undoubtedly he’s gotten comfortable and already starting to slow his breath for sleep. “You can turn around if you wish.”
“... no, this is fine,” you don’t move, while it might be more comfortable, he is right—it’s been many nights since you slept with him like this. As spring approaches the Yashiro commission gets more busy preparing for said spring, as well as summer, the real behemoth of Tasks-Need-To-Be-Done-Before-These-Months.
The sleep the two of you slip into is peaceful and serene, the cicadas haven’t emerged yet, and the partially open windows a comfortably cool breeze to slip through, ensuring neither of you feel too warm against each other.
As always, you wake far before Ayato does—fetching the freshly prepared clothes for the day, checking the day’s schedule with the general staff—though Thoma usually oversees the housekeeping schedule and staff, so you only check in with him to make sure everything is going smoothly. After doing the rounds and finally going to the kitchen to take the prepared tray of tea, you headed back to Ayato’s bedchambers… which is a mild way to put it, when his room, a general living and tea room attached to it as well as his private wash chambers span a good corner of the estate.
Sliding the door shut behind you, Ayato is already awake—it’s not very often that you have to rouse him yourself—and has freshened up. “Good morning,” you greet as you set the tray on the low table by the wall, raising the pot to pour some tea into a cup for him. “You mentioned the other day that this blend from Yashiori was refreshing, perhaps it’s good for mornings.”
He approaches you and accepts the offered cup, taking a small whiff of it as you set the pot down. Ayato takes a lingering sip and considers the taste for a moment before speaking. “Hm… refreshing, yes. Though, I do prefer my usual,” he takes another sip before setting it aside. “It is good.”
“I will inform the kitchens,” you nod and stand to find the folded fabrics you brought earlier. Sunlight filters through the paper walls, casting the room in a comfortable hue that nearly covers the white fabrics in your hands yellow. “Will you wear primarily white or blue tonight?”
“Blue, I wore white too many times in recent meetings,” Ayato muses as he fishes for some socks in a cabinet. He doesn’t care much for public appearances or gatherings, but he was officially invited along with the other Tri-Commissioners to celebrate a smooth winter and the coming of spring—he will stop by for a few hours at most and retire early; they at least expect him to show his face. Unfortunately. He could be doing far more productive things elsewhere.
With a sound of affirmation, you set the blue robes up to hang over the rack made for them. Your hands smoothe the fabrics out and ensure there’s no creases while you hear shuffling behind you, no doubt Ayato getting ready—at least, as far as he gets. You hear your name said behind you. “Ah, could you give me a hand?”
Setting the accessories of the outfit aside, you move around the futon laying on the floor to help Ayato with the layers of his clothes, though he can easily set most of it together, his undershirts are tied slightly behind him. “There,” you hum as you tie the knot and step back to reach for some of the accessories of his current outfit—your own clothes are rather simple compared to his, but his position demands more… grandeur than yours does.
As you help him with the finishing touches and ropes, Ayato gives you a smile. “I assume you’ve completed your duties for the morning, why don’t you join me for breakfast? We can discuss the day’s events while I go over a few reports that need oversight before noon.”
You wrack your brain for a few seconds—while you would love to agree immediately, you don’t recall if there’s anything of import that you’re supposed to do in the next hour… it’s best to consider it regardless. “I am not busy,” you say as you finalise the last accessory on his right arm. “I’ll bring it to your study when it’s ready, from what I saw in the kitchens earlier, it’s within the next ten minutes.”
“Wonderful, I’ll have settled by then.”
Thinking he was done and ready, you move to finalise his robe on the rack when a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Ah, I received no good morning kiss before you departed,” Ayato is smiling when you look back at him, eyes lightly crinkled in mirth.
“You did receive one, you were merely fast asleep,” you huff. He’s so greedy for attention for someone who is supposed to be subtle about it.
He inclines his head, his smile remaining as he pulls you closer. “It can hardly count if I wasn’t awake, no?” Ayato’s hand turns and loosens its grip, sliding towards your palm to hold your hand instead as he raises your knuckle to his lips. “Hm, please?” The tickle of his lips against your skin, and the glint in his eyes are hard to resist at once. “If only my puppy had a real tail, would it be wagging right now?”
This guy… you want to pinch his cheeks and really show him what happens if he ticks you off, but you don’t—he’ll enjoy the retaliation. “Tch, don’t you have reports to read? Or papers to sign?”
Exhaling in mock disappointment, Ayato lets go of your hand and fixes his sleeve. “Of course, I have not forgotten… my dear retainer seems to not allow me to do so.”
It’s a whole ritual to help Ayato put on his more formal robes, each layer is tugged and laid over the other in a careful manner and your practiced hands do so with little hesitation. He stays still as always, waiting patiently as you finalise the ornaments and accessories that complete the look—sometimes you wonder how he walks around in such a heavy outfit.
The trip to Inazuma City takes half the day, and thus you didn’t have much time to enjoy the breakfast Ayato insisted you share, there was much to finish before departing—and so you had scooped your breakfast in your mouth so quickly he had inquired whether your stomach wouldn’t reject it.
… and you didn’t exactly feel great during the ride here, it seems your stomach was a bit upset at you—but you just had to live with some discomfort.
The celebrations are held in a large hall made for such things not far from the Tenshukaku—the Shogun herself won’t be attending, but that’s neither surprising nor expected, and might even be… rather awkward. You’ve never met her yourself, and you’re unsure if you would want that first meeting to be surrounded by soon-to-be tipsy and bordering drunk nobles and vassals.
The venue is beautifully decorated, lanterns lit with decorative papers that set a subtle pink hue over the room, the branches hanging overhead as you enter the large hall haven’t bloomed yet, but in a matter of a few weeks they would become lovely. The celebration is held a little earlier this year, due to some changes in trade and an expansion of Ritou’s port, the petals would usually have at least peeked out a little.
It’s surprisingly well organised and set up, considering the Tenryou Commission practically demanded they take care of it this year… the Yashiro Commission is the most practiced for these types of affairs—but they’ve truly outdone themselves.
You accompany Ayato inside, taking your place at his southeast, as custom dictates—and follow only a couple of steps behind. He is stopped by every single noble the two of you pass, and you stand nearby in silence… and mild annoyance. There’s no burden to yourself, but you know how much Ayato dislikes the theatrics, the impossible perfection expected of one another in manners, interaction and even appearance. And an unhappy Ayato (beneath a perfectly crafted, polite smile), makes an unhappy, shadowing retainer.
There’s few that greet you, the most is a nod between retainers as their lords meet and giving a respectful bow to those of an appropriate station.
Long rows of tables have been laid out, plush cushions set in preparation as attendants moved about to ready the meals while the nobles socialised. At the head were three cushions with a back for the Tri-Commissioners, while all other seats were bare cushions… for a moment you envied Ayato for having something for his back, unless you consciously keep your posture straight and poised, you always end up hunching like some kind of floor-demon.
There’s a benefit for being both Ayato’s retainer and guard—you get to sit as close to him as possible, though not always as close as you’d like… there’s quite a few seats between you, and you are allowed to partake in the meal of the night.
The chatter of the hall grows louder the longer people remain inside, the doors have been slid open to reveal the gardens beyond the hall, but braziers have been lit to keep the space warm—there’s still quite an early-spring chill in the air, especially as evening darkens the skies. You follow Ayato to his spot overlooking the hall furthest from the doors, you lean down to whisper to him. “I will retreat to my own seat then.”
Ayato hums in acknowledgement. “Of course. I will signal you,” he replies without turning his head.
Satisfied, you make your way down past the nobles and vassals sitting closer to the Commissioners until you find your seat at the lower level. Enough to be within eyesight of your lord and most of the hall, and with your back to the cool outside of the room. The food presented is wonderful—the shoots are perfect as you scoop them into your mouth, almost forgetting to pay attention before catching yourself. The meals will be lovely tonight, but you shouldn’t forget why you’re here.
Straightening a bit—as you had started to slouch over the food in your interest and focus, you eyeball Ayato’s plate. He has already finished the small portion that was brought out as the first round of dishes, seeming to answer a question proposed to him from the sidelined table of lords on his right.
Momentarily, as his mouth moves—though you’re too far away to hear his voice—Ayato’s eyes shift and meet yours. You don’t make much movement, holding his gaze in case he was trying to tell you something… but none of his usual signs follow, and then he looks away.
Hahh… putting you on edge by looking into your eyes—can’t Ayato try and behave like a normal lord for a night? It wouldn’t kill him to follow some rules and procedures. He can be teasing and sly once you’re not in this particular environment.
The night goes on and more dishes are served, you shift your position slightly to rest your knees as some other have along the evening but are prepared to shoot back into position if needed. Your belly is overfull with food already, so you mostly indulge in the vegetables on your plate before starting the more heavy bites. You thought you had just started feeling better from earlier today… and here you are, scooping meal after meal down—it wouldn’t do to leave behind a full plate.
Ignoring as the attendants of the attendance hall take your empty plate, you prepare for the main course—the fourth out of five for this gathering.
But as the fresh plates are laid out and you thank the attendant next to you that gives you a clear pair of chopsticks, you notice movement in the corner of your eyes. Ayato raised his arm to fix his hair from his face with a slightly exaggerated flourish of his long sleeve, violet eyes staring directly at you—a call for attention.
He tilts his head to his cup, and you move after grabbing one of the cups by your plate. Staying low as you cross around the tables, you come up behind Ayato, leaning close to him so that he can whisper to you. “Take my sake,” he utters, lifting the cup to you.
Ayato doesn’t enjoy sake served hot, lukewarm is tolerable, but he’s not a fan of hot or warm beverages in general. You set your own cup by his hand, a tea that has cooled down—perhaps a bit more than can be acceptable to offer a lord, but Ayato takes it either way.
While such a high-ranking guest’s preferences would usually be catered to, Ayato doesn’t very much like discussing his preferences with those outside of his household… and he also just likes to give you whatever he doesn’t want, whether you like it or not.
“Of course,” you take his drink from his offered hands and move back to your seat. You’re thankfully not the only retainer that has stood up to attend to their master tonight, not that you’d let that thought stop you from tending to Ayato’s needs.
Sitting back down, you gulp down the sake while it’s hot before starting on the main meal. Perhaps having some sake will clear out some room in your stomach for the last two courses, the final one will likely be small anyway.
Chatter surrounds you, but you’ve been tuning it out most of the night—the Kamisato estate is rather far from the outskirts of the city, and thus you don’t exactly have close relations or friends with other retainers or servants of clans outside the Kamisato. No one addresses you in particular either, so you can mostly eat in peace and keep your attention where it’s required.
The food tastes okay—you expected the salt grilled prawn to have more of a taste than it does, all the foods have been rather surprising so far, surely the main dish isn’t the one to disappoint?
You feel kind of bad for thinking that while the prawn is just staring back up at you.
A voice next to you says your name that you snap out of your staring contest with the prawn on your plate—you didn’t even realise you were staring at it so intensely. Raising your head, you see the man next to you staring at you. “Ah, you were being addressed…”
There’s an attendant behind you, squatting down to not stand over you. “My apologies, you simply seemed uncomfortable, would you like me to bring you some water?”
Uncomfortable? You don’t feel uncomfortable—not much at least, maybe your tongue stings a little, but that might just be the salt off the prawn. “Oh… I’m sorry. Yes, thank you,” you take the empty sake cup and hold it to the woman as she tilts the water-filled flask to your cup. The bows and leaves, and the man next to you has turned back to his former conversations.
Had the attendant been calling for your attention? You didn’t hear her at all.
Raising your eyes towards Ayato again, you find him staring at you—it’s almost enough to knock attention back into you and straighten your back, almost. You sip the water in your cup slowly, but the cool water doesn’t parch the dryness in your throat, if anything, it stings your tongue—like ice on an open wound.
Your expression pinches, the numbing pins that follow spreading out your jaw and to your ears.
Across the room, Ayato is still staring at your face—he knows you like the back of his hand, better even… and there’s something wrong about the way your hand trembles as you lower your empty cup of water. He watches you subtly, pretending to focus on his meal as his eyes follow the furrow of your brow and discomfort in your eyes.
He can’t just stand up and approach you to ask whether you’re alright, nor does he want to bring attention to you—in the case it’s nothing more than a swallowed wrong sip… but something tugs at his nerves that something is wrong. Ayato is well-versed in preventative measures, and he ensures every corner is secure before he sets foot into a room that isn’t within his own home—had he missed a step?
His mind suddenly fills with thoughts and a step-to-step recollection of the earlier day—the moment the two of you left the estate and made for the city and to this moment. Nowhere had he suspected anything amiss, nor seen any signs that would send alarm bells in his mind.
But he cannot simply sit and wait until you show whether something is amiss or not—you might be his retainer and guard, but he would never have you lunge yourself onto a blade for him.
Your ears ache, and you feel nauseous, the entire room feels as if every single person is staring at you, but you can’t seem to tell their faces apart. You rub your eyes and shake your head to try and clear your thoughts, but it only invites a dizzying spin of the room with the turn of your head.
Your tongue still stings, the zapping pain that shot towards your ears is pricking down your throat now—there must something have been in the drinks you consumed, but your mind struggles to follow your instincts and as you shift to turn around, your hand misses the table where you attempted to lay it to assist with standing. You don’t have the balance to graciously save yourself, and you almost tumble into the man next to you, who turns around in bewilderment of practically getting body-checked.
Voices now form around you, louder than before—aimed at you. You apologise hurriedly, but your tongue doesn’t move and your words sound like the groans of a ghost. Hands steady you as the repeated sounds of what sounds like your name, or a formal kind of address fill your ears, and brain, and eyes—and you can’t focus on the blend of faces that all look like half-cooked seaweed in front of your eyes, or is that the back of someone’s head?
It hurts to breathe, every drag of your breath is painful, it hurts to keep your eyes open, to move your tongue—it hurts—fuck, it hurts so much—
The room turns on its head as blood spills from your lips, not in a wave or splatter—a single line mixed with drool that drips down from your chin and onto your chest. Attendants rush to move out of the way as half the sitting retainers and guards rush towards you, the hurry and chaos is enough to make you want to puke, but you doubt anything so wet would appear in your dry throat as is begins to burn, as if you swallowed something searing hot.
Ayato stands to his feet, striding across the room quickly without running as he shoulders his way past the crowd of people. He had been weighing his options on how to pull you away quietly without raising attention… before you decided to stand up on your own and crumpled onto the person next to you. As soon as you missed your grip on the table and your dazed eyes didn’t react, his heart had beat twice in place of one.
Getting to you was a fight and a half until the people blocking his way saw who it was that was trying to push past them. Your expression was pained, but your eyes were half-lidded and unresponsive to the movements before it, blood slipping from the corner of your mouth as your breaths heaved with great strain.
“What the hells happened to them?!!” “Hey! Wake up!” “Call for healers!”
Shouts and calls bounced back and forth in the wide hall, but Ayato’s attention was on your face—he finally reached your side and knelt down where someone had laid you on your side in case you would suddenly throw up. He says your name quietly—far too quiet to be heard beneath the shouting of the people standing above you. He longs to take your cheek and wipe the blood and spit from your skin, but such gentle gestures have no explanation between a lord and retainer.
“Look at me,” Ayato’s words are demanding, but his tone isn’t. If he can’t physically turn your face, he wants you to do it. He says your name, but there’s no reaction from you as the crowd parts for healers to fill their place, robes sickeningly white and pristine as they kneel down to examine you.
He watches their movements closely, but there’s little he can do—you’ve been poisoned. Such attempts at assassination are not few nor far between in a political landscape such as this, and Ayato could not count it on one hand the number of times he has refused or tossed out a compromised cup. He would recognise it anywhere—but how?
His usually carefully crafted measures of avoiding assassinations did not prevent this—the food is all supposed to be tested and carefully crafted before it’s served, no celebration that hosts all three Tri-Commissioners and several other nobles can afford to take half-measures, and it seems he is the fool for assuming the Tenryou Commission would take every step as seriously as they should, no matter how small.
Ayato longs to take your trembling hand—it hasn’t stopped shaking since you put your cup down, he wishes he could place your head on his lap and reassure you, whether you could hear him or not. The pained breaths leaving your lips sound like the groans of a dead man, every drag of air through your pained throat tying a tighter vice around his heart.
The healers pry open your mouth and eyelids, staring into them for answers as they feel for your pulse as well. Their mutterings fly by as Ayato’s hands clench on his lap, holding himself back. “—bleeding from the tongue and throat—” “—temperature dropping too fast—” “—pulse is too erratic—”
He can’t sit there anymore. “What has to be done?” Ayato’s voice silences their mutterings, every second you simply lay there, dying, gasping, is a second his nerves are trying to escape his body through his fingertips.
“Take them to a side room, we must determine what occu—”
“They were poisoned,” Ayato cuts the poor healer off halfway through their sentence, his tone bereft of patience. “Determine the root, I will find the cure.”
“O-of course, quickly now!” the same healer nods as the three raise you into their arms carefully. Mutters and conversation rumble among onlookers, the sudden chaos of someone dropping down could of course only mean one thing, and it’s ripe for speculation and rumours.
Ayato ignores them as he stands, but hasn’t made a step to follow the healers taking you away when Chisato suddenly appears by his side, her eyes wide and hands close to her chest. “What an awful sight—are you alright, Kamisato-san?”
He’d rather not keep up appearances and stay from your side too long… “My apologies for the commotion, I must ensure my retainer is alright,” Ayato was about to turn and leave the hall when he spotted Kamaji speaking hurriedly with his two retainers, waving one away as the second was nodding to whatever he was saying.
“Ah, do me a favour, my lady. Please try and find the employee list for me, if you could,” Ayato says to her, inclining his head only a little before turning and leaving the attendance hall without waiting for her response, or seeing her reaction. It would speed the process up for him if she would do it, but whether she accepts such a bold request from him is another matter.
The healers are already hard at work by the time he arrives, they’ve taken a blood sample, and called for a higher ranked healer who happens to have a vision on her hip. Ayato approaches the futon you’ve been laid out on and looks to the main healer. “Has there been any progress?”
You look awful, and still pained—Ayato wishes you had lost consciousness from the pain already, if only to spare you the agony… or perhaps himself, from having to watch it.
“The poison is a fast-acting one, but it does not spread as fast as it harms, nothing has reached or damaged any organs,” the woman speaks, her hand hovers over your chest—the flaps of your outfit pulled open for them to examine the skin and feel for your heart—and a faint glow emits from her palm. Immediately, your body jerks and a pained cry leaves your throat that makes Ayato nearly jump at attention.
“What is it?” he asks hurriedly, eyes flickering between your face and the healer beside you.
The woman retreats her hand. “It seems to have a burning reaction, perhaps a foreign herb—the bout of pain was from my pyro vision searching their body, it creates a warm feeling that seems to be unwelcome in the state they are in now.”
It’s a delicate situation—and if the plant used for the poison is foreign, it will add difficulty to find a suitable antidote… but it can also help narrow the perpetrator down. Though his desire to find the ones responsible for this are great—his desire to see your eyes open and focused again are greater. Thankfully, Ayato works well under pressure.
He glances towards a healer as they approach with a jug full of water to set aside. “We shall begin a simple preventative process,” he says, bowing his head at Ayato’s stare. They hurriedly set your body on its side again, it’s only been ten to fifteen minutes since you consumed the poison—and thus if they can make you empty your stomach, it could toss out a large part of the poison that hasn’t been digested.
Ayato doesn’t look away as vile tea is poured down your throat, it’s foul enough to make anyone immediately vomit. As half-digested food spills from your lips, tinted with blood and bile, it’s clear whatever poison was used is utterly colourless as there’s no strange discolouration in the contents, nothing unusual at least.
He takes a breath to reel in the frustrations searing the inside of his belly, to not let them overcome him—Ayato must have you stable, and a plan set out to locate the perpetrators before he can even consider allowing himself to feel.
After vomiting two more times, the healers let you rest for a minute or two—not that you recognise the time frame nor what is happening anyway—before practically pouring cup after cup down your throat, lighting incense beneath your nose so that you swallow as much of it as possible to dilute whatever poison still lines your stomach and throat.
If you’re lucky… they’ve acted quickly enough that more won’t be necessary, but Ayato won’t take the chance.
A healer from the side approaches Ayato where he stands and stares, eyes unblinking as he watches everything that’s happening to your poor body—he failed to prevent this, and thus he cannot be permitted to look away. “Kamisato-sama…” the healer calls to him quietly, and it snaps Ayato from his thoughtless gaze. “The ingredient itself that was used is unknown—likely foreign to Inazuma… but it shares similar components to dendrobium when ground and strained with strong alcohol, the symptoms are similar to that of the late Tanaka-sama’s death.”
If similar enough, the typical antidote commonly known should prove sufficient. Ayato didn’t bring many people with him to this gathering outside of himself and you, but the Shuumatsuban are never far. A simple step outside the room is enough to call for them. The Shuumatsuban would never enter or make themselves known in a public space such as this, if only because accusations would aim towards Ayato that he had assassins posted nearby for ill intentions. But at his call, a short woman wearing highly concealing clothing appears at his feet with her head bowed.
Sending her off with the orders to find the needed ingredients, Ayato lingers in the empty and quiet hallway for a time. He can do so little for you in the present moment that it tears him apart—he can only send for an antidote and pray it will prevent your untimely demise and departure from his side… there is a deep, consuming desire in his chest to be close to your side, to grasp your hand in his and feel your pulse beneath his own fingers.
Were it not for the damned ways of the Inazuman political landscape—were it not for the assumptions and social requirements that you be nothing more than a servant to him, disposable at worst and at arm’s length and best. Never to be allowed a simple touch or gentle caress be it not hidden behind concealing screens and behind solid walls.
Ayato runs a hand over his face, fingers rubbing at his eyes… of all the people in that room, it had to be you.
He hadn’t stopped and gathered his thoughts properly, rationality clawing from between bloated nerves, feeling as if they would explode at any moment so long as your eyes were unfocused and not fixed on him.
Going back to the scene would do him no good—undoubtedly the nobles and servants still whisper and discuss among themselves, and he would be bombarded with questions and assumptions, there's no space to think.
Thankfully, Ayato has an excellent memory… if he can just focus and think back. Was it from the food? Drink? The blood and space of damage was inside your mouth, it was consumed through there…
The memory of your trembling hand lowering the cup he had traded with you flashes in his mind and a sinking feeling tugged on his stomach just as it did churn with the beginnings of anger.
You had been drinking water when your hand shook… but the poison would not work so fast as to have such an effect immediately. It had to be from the sake—who would target you after all? Outside of being a respected servant of the Kamisato household, you had little else to your name.
The cup had been poisoned, meant for him… during the highlight of the feast, served with the main course. The thought of being the target of assassination does not shake him, but the thought—and reality—of you being caught in the crossfire does.
Ayato can’t stand being out in the hallway for longer, hopefully the Shuumatsuban will bring what he requested soon enough.
You had barely felt anything for a while, and though it was a nice change of pace… not feeling anything is both alarming and uncomfortable—you’re barely lucid enough to understand why you’re alarmed by it, you just know you are.
All you remember were hands touching you, hurried musings you couldn’t tell apart, and that your throat, mouth and eventually chest hurt so much you thought you might’ve been disembowelled.
Squinting your eyes open after wallowing in darkness for some time, you saw a familiar wooden ceiling… you’ve spent enough time in the estate’s infirmary wing to know the ceiling very well, as well as the scent of the flowers they decorate it with to cover up the smell of the medicines and gore that’s stuck to the floors and walls after generations of utilising it.
There’s no one around as you turn your head, you test your voice to be able to call out for someone later—you’re still a bit groggy to want to be poked at just yet—and find that the only sound that leaves you is a strained breath, but barely any sound.
You do feel rather thirsty.
Lying there for a while more hoping the heavy feeling in your body and head will dissipate at least somewhat, your wait amounts to nothing as you still feel as if there’s a whole horse sitting on you and refusing to budge.
You reach out and tug on the string to your left, a small chime hanging overhead to call for a healer—and you’re surprise with the speed (and force) that the door is slid open the moment your fingers touch the string. “Y-you’re awake! Please lower your arm!”
Doing as you’re told—not that you had much strength in it to hold it up like that for long—you blink a few times as Kanna hurried to you, and as you suspected… poking and prodding, she tilted your head up and poked at your throat. “Does this hurt?” “Do you feel this?” “Can you speak?” “Are you cold?”
She’s always a bit enthusiastic, but you feel that she should really know that a patient who just woke up should be spoken to… a bit more slowly. You attempt to reply to her, but make an incomprehensible sound—which prompts her to give you some water, finally.
After quenching your thirst and helping you sit up, the door slides open again and a slightly dishevelled looking Ayato stands there. His chest subtly rises and falls in a quicker rhythm than it should if he had simply walked here and he’s still holding a wet ink brush.
Kanna stands when he appears, giving a small bow. You were still a little disoriented as they exchange a quiet word and she leaves.
As you’re rubbing your eyes, Ayato slides the door closed and kneels down by you—four walls surround you, and only the head doctor of the estate as well as a handful of healers roam this side of the infirmary. You’ve barely croaked out a hello when Ayato’s hand touches your jaw, tilting your face towards him.
“You’ve… worried me,” he says slowly, as if there are a thousand words he must say, but had to push out one at a time. The muscles in his face pinch into an expression you’re not very familiar with. “How do you feel?”
“Not great,” you manage. Your eyes continue to stare at his pale expression, he seems paler than usual—the bags under his eyes are more prominent as well. “You… haven’t slept well…”
His lips part for a moment, before a small huff of laughter escapes him, lips tugging halfway upwards. “No, I haven’t. But you should hardly concern yourself with my health at this moment,” his hand on your face shifts slightly as you feel a pinch on your cheeks, he’s got your right cheek between his fingers. “You fool.”
“Ow—ow, stop… hey…” you try to tug your face out of his grip, but it just stings more and only your hand weakly prying at his own gets Ayato to loosen his grip. “Oww…” you rub your cheek, at least the sting distracts from the throbbing ache in your muscles.
“Have you not been taught to test your drinks before consuming them?” he continues to scold you—what are you being scolded for? He didn’t test his own either! “You…” Ayato sighs, sitting down onto your futon so that you have to shift your legs away a little to give him proper room. “The sake was poisoned, I was shortsighted—too relaxed.”
You didn’t say anything, but when you think back—it added up, the slowly growing discomforts and pains after drinking the hot sake… the temperature must have masked the off taste, you hadn’t even considered trying to smell a difference, considering the cup arrived at Ayato’s table.
“Who was it?” your hands clench on your lap, a pinching feeling of anger forming in your chest—someone had tried to poison Ayato, and nearly succeeded. You didn’t even care that it was you that took the fall in his place—if anything, you’re relieved.
Ayato’s eyes lower to your hands, and his palm lays over your left knuckle. “It’s handled. The perpetrators were discovered and hunted down. Details came come later, for now, you need rest,” he says, a firm look in his eyes—he knows that if he doesn’t practically tie you to the bed, you’ll try to be up on your feet again before you should be.
You huff at his answer, even if the situation wasn’t handled, he would still say it was—just so that you wouldn’t attempt to track them down yourself… not that you probably could in the next few days, or week. You haven’t even tried walking yet. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not long,” his voice softens again, thumb sliding over the waves of your knuckles as he speaks. “Less than a day, I had you moved here as soon as medicine was administered, I suspect most of your rest has been recovery sleep.”
Ah, not so long. That’s good… “I hope you didn’t worry for me too much.”
Ayato tilts his head, blue hair falling from behind his shoulder and over it. “Why not?”
“Ah… I do not like worrying you…?” your words come out as a question, you’re unsure exactly what to say. Wouldn’t it be natural for you not to worry him?
A small hum leaves his throat, and his hand rises to his chin. “Then… I hope you will work harder to stop worrying me in the future.”
“...?”
His hand lowers, and he begins counting on the finger on his other hand. “You must stop working further into the night than I do and rising before me as well, eat everything off your plate before rushing to the next awaiting task… hm, do not immediately put yourself in front of me at a hint of danger—” you feel like he’s reciting some sort of contract to you. “—and allow properly assigned tasters to examine my meals, not yourself. Perhaps also avoid bathing when I should be getting my tea—”
“A-Ayato…” the formalities forgo your mind in your haste to stop him. “I understand, please stop talking about it.”
He closes the hand he was counting with and a small smile touches his lips again—messing with you, as usual. Ayato shakes his head and inches closer, his hands brush against your cheeks as he cups them and leans his face close to yours… his forehead touches yours and you feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips and chin. “You did not respond to me, when I asked it of you,” his voice is tight, and his thumb slides over the skin of your cheekbone as he speaks.
Unsure how to answer him, as you have no recollection of him demanding your attention, you simply close your eyes, the softness and warmth of his hands on your cheeks is comforting. Your eyes flutter open as his right hand slides down to your shoulder and draws you into his embrace, one arm encircling your back and the other laying its palm against the back of your head.
You stay still as he does, allowing him to slot his body against yours before you relax fully, allowing your forehead to rest against his shoulder as his hair tickles your face. “I’m glad you are safe,” he utters against your ear. “You really did worry me, I would rather not lose you, if I am allowed… even unconscious, you stole my attention at every minute of the day. I could hardly finish any work.”
Your own arms reach around his waist, a bit too tired to raise them properly. He’s holding you so tightly that you can feel his heart beating even through the layers of his clothes, you almost want to ask if he’s truly alright as his fingers tighten in the thin robes at your back. “Thank you for your care.”
Ayato shakes his head slightly, only to pull back a little—and dip his head towards yours, his lips finding yours easily. He’s soft and warm, and you worry your lips are too chapped for a kiss, but Ayato doesn’t care. Thinking he had just leaned down for a simple peck of assurance, you tilt your head back—but his hand behind your head tugs you towards him again.
You hold onto him for balance as he kisses you properly, a hungry tinge to his tongue as it brushes against your lips—but he doesn’t press it further, as if to only taste the surface of your mouth. You’re sure you have a bad breath anyway.
Finally allowing you free from his lips, he sets another small kiss to your cheek where he had pinched you. “No need to thank me,” Ayato says, the setting sun filters through the papers of the door leading to the engawa outside, the warm light settling against his skin and giving it the life he felt fill his chest at the sight of your waking, aware eyes. “You will always be by my side—death will have to pry you from my hands.”