Chapter Text
The sake tasted bitter on Chuuya’s tongue. Bitter like the truth he refused to accept, yet sickly sweet like the pride he refused to swallow.
He is a prince, next in line to the throne. The one who inherited ‘For the Tainted Sorrow’.
He lowers his cup and hands it to his husband-to-be, the brunette’s long lithe fingers reaching out to take the cup, fingers brushing his light as a feather. He can hear the whispers of those around him as he takes his sip from the cup, the shame closing in on him with every sip of the sake passed between them.
‘- lose his place in line for the throne.’
First set of 3.
‘- bad omen.’
Second set of 3.
‘- shame.’
Third set of 3.
With that, he’s a married man.
Chuuya lets out a quiet sigh. He inhales deeply, keeping the intrusive thoughts out of his head, and exhales just as slowly to push it all away.
His late mother had been the one to arrange this marriage without the knowledge or consent of the family, though when she managed to do such a thing, no one knew. He only came to know about it when he turned 16, the news sending shockwaves across the country.
In the past, a union between the Nakahara and Tsushima clans would be a great cause for celebration, with two out of three of the nation’s most powerful clans joining together in a momentous occasion. However, the Tsushima clan fell out of favour when they reclaimed an estranged member of their family 8 years ago.
And his mother didn’t just choose any Tsushima, she chose the one whose mother tried to run away from the clan, only to be murdered by her husband. The skeleton in the family’s closet. The one who doesn’t even bear the family name.
That’s right, his mother secretly betrothed him to none other than Dazai Osamu.
Now don’t get me wrong. Nakahara Chuuya loves his mother. She taught him everything he knows; gave him all the love and care in the world. But he can’t for the life of him figure out what possessed her to betroth him to an emotionless enigma wrapped head to toe in bandages beside him. What is even up with that? Is he injured? His prior intel tells him that the brunette is a key member of the Tsushima’s strategic unit so he shouldn’t be. Not to that extent anyway.
Over the course of the wedding celebration, Chuuya finds himself stealing glances at the other. He is handsome, he’ll give you that. Scratch that, he’s fucking gorgeous. Outrageously so.
He is tall as well, from what the redhead can see.
Even the bandages around every limb of his body don’t deter from the almost undeniable fact that his husband is quite the sight to see, if it weren’t for the veil of darkness that seems to surround him.
He wears it like a cloak, pitch black as his haori.
Despite it being the wedding fit for a prince, the ceremony is dull at best, a formal affair consisting of lords and ladies in the region congratulating them on their union and offering them customary gifts as a sign of respect. Even his sister is too busy talking to the local lords and beneficiaries to talk to him.
He can still hear them though, the whispers and sneers that reverberate through the crowd.
“-killed the previous head.”
“-creepy-”
“- demon prodigy.”
“-isn’t even old enough to lead the clan.”
“-disgrace to the family’s history.”
“Shall we retire for the night?” a voice cuts in, a low and steady timbre, clear as the temple’s bell as it cuts through the noise.
He is grateful for the interruption. Any longer and he might have lost his patience and made a scene.
“Yes,” the redhead sighs. “I guess we shall.”
The servants help them get changed and lead them to their shared quarters, leaving the rest of the guests to continue their own celebrations and trade gossip without the subject in question present to hear them.
Chuuya takes a look at their new room. The panels between the reading room and the bedroom are left open, its clean wooden panels stretch high into the ceiling and the panels, ornate in design. On the screen doors, cranes, elegant as they stand on the river bed, poised to take flight. And in their bedroom, a large futon is laid out on the tatami mats. It is grand, as expected for a family with as much power and influence as the Tsushimas, and yet still cosy with the lanterns casting the room with a warm glow.
The redhead takes a seat in front of his husband, who has yet to say a word since they have arrived. Everyone expects them to fulfil their… marital duties… but it would likely be hard, painful even, to do so with someone they just met a mere 5 hours ago. He tried to do his research on the brunette, rummaging through reports his servants handed him before the wedding ceremony.
Rumour has it that the brunette is quite cruel by nature, vindictive and merciless. The Tsushima’s Demon Prodigy. Cold, sharp and ruthless. Chuuya has yet to see any proof in that regard so he chooses to put those rumours aside.
Because for all the rumours and all the reports accumulated by his clan, he never judges a person before actually meeting them. He keeps a dagger in his sleeve at all times in case the brunette tries anything funny, but the point still stands. He prefers to judge them by himself, though that is proving to be increasingly difficult with how quiet the other is being.
The silence is quite frankly unbearable, especially for someone as outgoing and extroverted as Chuuya.
A silence so uncomfortable you could probably cut through it with a knife. In fact, being stabbed by one is probably a lot more bearable than sitting through another minute of this. So Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, braces himself and tries to take the first step.
“So-”
“Please don’t talk to me. Your voice is very annoying.”
Chuuya blinks at the other in disbelief.
“Hahh?!”
No amount of bracing or preparing could have prepared him for that response.
“What? Are you hard of hearing as well? I said, your voice is annoying. Then again if I had a voice like yours I guess I would go deaf eventually as well.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem is, I’m exhausted but here you are, wasting my precious time. Time I could be using to sleep.”
“I’m just trying to be nice and hold a fucking civil conversation here.”
“About what? My favourite colour? The weather?”
"…"
“Or maybe you were keen on using that blade you have hidden in your sleeve.”
The redhead’s cheeks darken in embarrassment. He hasn’t really thought that far. All he knows is that the silence was down right unbearable and any bit of small talk would have been fine. So he does the most natural thing anyone would do when they have nothing else to say...
“Fuck off.”
…He cusses at them.
“My god, you truly are crass aren’t you? What? Does the palace hire sailors to teach their princes now?”
“If you think that that’s an acceptable way to talk to a prince then-”
“Oh, please,” the brunette rolls his eyes, hands brushing away the sentiment. “The only reason you’re a prince is because the emperor’s brothers all died of sickness a few years back and your sister just so happens to be married to the emperor.”
The young prince's face darkens. "Why you-"
A sharp knock can be heard from their door.
"Barely an hour since the wedding and you both are already arguing?" An exasperated voice says.
Chuuya looks up at the door with a scowl, the figure behind it still hidden by the screen doors.
"Odasaku!" Dazai’s voice suddenly changes into a light tinkling cadence as he addresses the man at the door.
That peaks Chuuya’s curiosity. Who could possibly be behind that door that causes the Demon Prodigy of all people to turn into a giddy child?
The redhead can feel a cool breeze past him as the frustrating brunette brushes past him to slide open the screen door and reveal…
A very handsome someone.
"Good evening, my prince. Oda Sakunosuke, at your service," Odasaku bows in greeting. "I am sorry to disturb you this momentous evening but I fear the servants are growing restless after hearing you both argue."
Straight forward, caring and not afraid to confront those above him. That, Chuuya can definitely get along with.
"Just Chuuya is fine," he sighs. "Sorry for the noise. Someone here," he sends a glare towards the brunette, "seems intent on ruining our marriage by insulting me at every turn."
"It's not my fault you get easily pissed off," the brunette in question drawls. "Besides, I'm not even the one making the noise."
"Be as it may,” Oda cuts in before any of them start arguing again. “I think it's best if we find a way to make all our nights more peaceful. May I suggest sleeping in separate quarters?"
"Yes, please," Chuuya says without hesitation.
And whatever the retort was that Dazai opened his mouth for, dies before it sees the light of day.
Or night.
"Well then allow me to escort you to your new quarters. One of the other servants will fetch your belongings soon," the older redhead says with his eyes lowered.
Oda lifts his gaze to look at the end of the corridor, to where all the gossip-driven frightened servants were piled on each other and gives them a nod, letting them know that they can rest peacefully tonight knowing the newly-formed marriage isn’t going to implode on itself because their young master decides to be a little too immature with his new partner. And to make sure the prince’s belongings are taken care of as promised.
Chuuya raises a perfectly shaped brow at that and wipes his hand down his face with a tired sigh.
“Whatever. Let’s go,” leaving the immature child of a brunette behind to sulk in his room.
Oda gives them both a small bow before leading the younger redhead down the corridor.
The walk to his new room is short but it gives Chuuya some time to measure up the older redhead. He must be close to Dazai, if his designated nickname is anything to go by.
“Oda, right? What is it that you do here?” Chuuya inquires as he enters his new quarters.
“Yes, sir. I have been put in charge of Dazai’s training since he was young.”
“Oh. What kind of training?” he says as he takes his time to inspect his new living space. “Also, I’m pretty sure I said Chuuya is fine. No need to be so formal.”
The older redhead blinks at the correction.
“Hand to hand combat, archery, swordsmanship. All the necessary combat skill a young lord would need,” Oda shrugs.
Chuuya’s eyebrows raise, obviously impressed at the older redhead’s proficiency in so many forms of martial arts. Especially considering the Oda is probably not that much older than him or Dazai.
"You guys seem close. Didn't Dazai call you Odakaku earlier?"
"Odasaku, yes. It is a nickname he gave me when we first met."
"Which was?"
"8 years ago, when he returned to the family's main house."
The younger redhead takes his time mulling over the new information. So Oda has known Dazai since the day he reintegrated into the clan. The man himself is quite nice to be around, calming and safe. In a way, he reminds the younger redhead of Kouyou.
Making a new friend in this new environment sounds nice as well.
“Are you open to taking in new students? The old geezers back in the palace drilled all sorts of martial arts into me but I must admit I am not as proficient in kyudo as I would like.”
Now Chuuya doesn't actually need to master kyudo, or any form of archery, not when he can use his ability to aim for him. But it doesn't hurt to master a new skill, and to gain a new sparring partner.
“It would be my pleasure, m- Chuuya,” Oda corrects himself before he is due for another scolding.
“What about your family?”
“I have none. The Tsushima family took me in when I was a child due to my ability.”
“Which is… what exactly?”
“I am afraid I am not at liberty to share that piece of information.”
“Let me guess, Dazai’s orders?”
“Yes.”
That does not surprise the younger redhead. The Tsushima clan has always been obsessed with unique and powerful abilities. And yet, the list of their ability users and their subsequent abilities is a closely guarded secret. Even their inherited ability is still a mystery. All that is known about it is that it makes no exceptions.
Chuuya decides to switch topics, hoping his voice does not give away how disappointed he is that he has learned absolutely nothing about his husband, his new clan or any of its retainers.
“Well then, tomorrow? Bright and early?”
“Yes, bright and early,” Oda nods. Good night, Chuuya.”
The screen doors shut and Chuuya lets out probably his hundredth sigh of the day. His sister would berate him for it. A prince should not sigh. It's unsightly and it makes him look ungrateful.
But can you blame him? His first night being married and he is already separated from his husband.
The redhead flops back onto the futon and stares at the ceiling.
Tomorrow. He swears.
He'll try to befriend Dazai again tomorrow. Though for now, sleep sounds very enticing.
So without even getting up from his spot, he pulls the blanket around him and rolls into place. His hair will be a nightmare to comb through but that is tomorrow's problem.
The new day brings on its own sets of challenges. As promised, Chuuya is up bright and early, dressed in his training nagagi and hakama, sleeves tied back for ease of movement. Not without stubbing his toe on the way out of his room or dropping all the practice swords on his foot when entering the dojo.
His hair… he chooses to tie it all up into a ponytail to deal with later.
Getting used to new equipment was a task in itself as well. And after he finishes warm ups, finishes running through all the techniques he has learned in the past, he meets up with Oda only for him to say…
“Yeah, about that,” the older redhead says as he scratches the back of his head. “By the looks of it, you already have the basics down. I can help you hit your target better but I don’t know if I can help you beyond that.”
Beyond that? There is a point beyond hitting the target with exact precision?
“What do you mean?” Chuuya asks instead.
“... I think it is best if you learn by example.”
By example apparently he meant watching someone else do it. It just so happens that that someone else is… Dazai.
Apparently the so-called ‘Demon Prodigy’ took up kyudo from a young age and has better mastery of the sport than all the other members of the family.
So Chuuya sits on the side, posture perfect but with a frown on his face as he has to watch the bandaged mummy of all people fire an arrow in a way Oda can’t seem to put into words.
Dazai, of course, blows a raspberry at him as he walks towards the starting point and takes a seat in line with the target, bow and arrow in hand. In that instant, Chuuya could feel a change in the brunette’s mood, a shift in tone so tangible he could almost taste it.
The darkness that shrouded the brunette lifts and in its place, something… someone… different.
Dazai rises from his seat, an arrow already notched onto the bow. His feet slide into position, eyes facing the target as he raises the bow above his head. He pulls the bowstring back, levelled just above his head and pauses before pulling it just behind his ears, the arrow just beneath his cheekbone.
There is a stillness that overcomes him, the world narrowing down to him, the bow, the arrow and the target. Chuuya has seen practitioners of different backgrounds, all perfect the same 8 forms and yet with Dazai, it seems different. It is calm, almost ethereal.
Then, hanare.
The brunette releases the string from his grip and the arrow takes flight.
He hears it, the sound of the arrow cutting through the air, clean and decisive. The clarity of it shocks him. It is not a sound Chuuya has ever heard before, but one he has heard his teachers talk about back in the palace.
A tsurune, the sound made when the bowstring comes in contact with the bow, pristine and clear.
The arrow pierced right through the target, hitting it right through the centre with extreme precision.
Chuuya looks away from the target and his eyes drift towards its archer. There, Dazai stands, tall and proud. His stance, regal with his hand still poised midair after releasing the arrow and the bow, slightly rotated in his grasp.
He has perfect form, one Oda likely wanted the younger redhead to pay close attention to if he wasn’t too preoccupied by something else.
But what garnered Chuuya’s attention the most is his face, his eyes half-lidded, as though the arrow was shot with his eyes shut. If Chuuya had to pick a word to describe the look in Dazai’s eyes, it would be… tranquillity.
Still as the waters after the rain.
Dazai lowers his arms and lets out a soft exhale before sitting back down, the bow now parallel to the ground.
Kyudo is as much a psychological sport as it is a physical one. It requires the archer to have absolute control over their thoughts, else the arrow will never meet its target.
And if he is not careful, he might find himself at the receiving end of that frightening tranquillity.