Archive of Our Own

Ushijima is a creature of routine.  He wakes up right before dawn, when the whole world is still bathed in a murky blue and the streets are a deafening type of silent.  There’s a unique stillness in the lack of life, a certain peace that can’t be obtained throughout the rest of the day.  He allows himself exactly ten minutes to bathe in the tranquility of it all and then he goes out for his morning run, doing a full lap around the borders of the city.

By the time he returns, his street has always woken up--still quiet, but gaps in the silence, little pieces of people going about and breathing life into the roads.  The bakery at the corner of the street is always open by the time he returns and every morning he buys a slice of ham and egg between two pieces of bread.  Occasionally, he sees the two sorcerer students who live across from him there--the ones that sometimes leave their light on far later than they should and Ushijima can only figure that they’re studying late into the night.  Seijoh’s mage school is no joke after all, led by King Oikawa himself--the (self-declared) most powerful mage in the kingdom.

The two students are generally good neighbors.  Kindaichi has even watered his plants for him on the rare occasions where he’s been sent outside the city, and Kunimi manages a silent nod whenever they pass each other on the streets.

All in all, Ushijima is fairly satisfied with the regular, familiar hum that makes up his life.  He checks how he’s doing on time with the sundial--he’s on time, he always is--and then he stops to water the three pots on his windowsill.  It’s another invaluable part of his routine--to water the two tulips on the side and then finally the camellia in the center, which is just beginning to bud.  If he’s lucky, he’ll see it unfurl in its full glory within the next three weeks or so.  (The flower had actually been a gift from King Iwaizumi himself, part thank-you-for-your-service, part thank-you-for-dealing-with-my-intolerable-husband’s-antics.)

His water cup is empty which means his time is up, so he sets it back onto the table, pulls on his armor and heads for the palace gates.

Ushijima picks up the shield proudly engraved with King Oikawa’s face–the emblem of Seijoh–and steels himself for another 8-hour-long shift.  Before he can make it to the exit of the small armory, there’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns to find both captains of the royal guard in front of him.

He has the vague impression of a child being scolded and unconsciously straightens his spine.  Matsukawa seems to notice though because he laughs at his tension.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says but then Hanamaki cuts in with a devilish grin.

“Well, in a sort of sense, you are in trouble.”

“True that.  I suppose you could say he might even be in the worst kind of trouble.”

“Quite tragic.  What I wouldn’t give to stay out of his position.”  Ushijima stands there with a polite expression fixed on his face, waiting for the two of them to finish.  His captains have an elaborate dance all figured out, a way of completely dodging the subject matter with words that leave Ushijima peering around sentences and under phrases to find the hidden meaning.  (He never does)

“As we were saying, we wish you the best of luck,” Hanamki says with a solemn nod and it sounds like their quips are finally winding down.

“The best est of luck,” Matsuwaka adds.  “We’ll water your daisies for you if you don’t come back.”  Ushijima frowns.

“They’re tulips and camellias,” he says and there’s a moment of silence as his two captains exchange a look.

“Right!” Hanamaki shouts and then he’s stepping out of the doorway, sweeping forward with one arm.  “Your future awaits.  The King has called for you.”

Matsuwaka swears that not even a muscle jumps in Ushijima’s face and he thinks he deserves a medal of bravery for that.

“Which?” Ushijima asks instead calmly.

“King Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki replies but then he inhales sharply.  “But where one is, the other always follows.”

“Good luck,” Matsukawa whispers as Ushijima walks past.

“Ushijima,” Iwaizumi says when he walks into the throne room, giving him a curt nod.  The walls curve so high they blur with the skylights in the ceiling and the armor stands that line the wall reflect the sunlight.  It’s all blinding, distracting, dizzying, making Ushijima’s head spin so fast he can’t think.

He must be hallucinating.  That’s the only way this scene can make any sense.

“Ushiwaka,” Oikawa says but he says it like he’s sucked on something sour.  He makes something like a disgruntled whine but doesn’t move from his position on Iwaizumi’s lap.  On Iwaizumi’s lap.  On King Iwaizumi’s lap.

These are the kings of Seijoh–one of the greatest nations in the region.  But whatever.  None of this has anything to do with Ushijima’s tasks so he backburners the whole thing and stands at attention.

“Your Majesties,” Ushijima says, dropping to a knee with one hand on his heart.  Hanamaki and Matsuwaka fall into some sort of half-assed curtsy behind him, covering their grins behind one hand.

“Ushijima, rise,” Iwaizumi says with a bit of a confused look in his eyes.  It’s easy to forget that neither of the kings are much older than him, but there’s sometimes moments like these where he gets a glimpse behind the mask, a glimpse through the facade.  Iwaizumi and Oikawa are kings but they’re still young too and he sees it now in the bags under Iwaizumi’s eyes and the way he anxiously runs one hand along the hilt of his sword.  (Oikawa grabs his fingers gently, intertwining them with his until Iwaizumi tenses and then sighs, a small smile cracking on his face.  Behind Ushijima, Hanamaki and Matsuwaka make fake gagging noises.)

“We have a task for you,” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa shuffles through the endless pockets of his robe until he withdraws a beaten-up scroll.  “As you know, we are currently at war with Karasuno over control of the small cluster of towns in between us.  We had a treaty of neutrality with them until someone got into a childish fight with one of the members of their royal court.”  Oikawa makes an offended hum until Iwaizumi smacks him on the head and he has the gall to look somewhat ashamed.  “And someone thought it was a good idea to use the towns as justification for an all-out war.”

Oikawa becomes suddenly infatuated with a crack in the ceiling and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes before pulling the scroll out of Oikawa’s hands.

“We need you to deliver this to Karasuno as soon as possible.  It spells out the terms of our treaty and returns the towns to a state of neutrality.  You’re our fastest knight, Ushijima.”

Matsukawa nudges him forward and Ushijima takes it as a sign to accept the extended scroll.  He slides it into the pocket of his uniform and then drops down into a bow.

“It would be my honor,” Ushijima says and he hears Oikawa mimic his words above him.  

“You leave immediately,” Matsuwaka says, handing him a map and herding him back towards the entrance.  The doors to the throne room slam shut behind him.

Apparently “immediately” means after Matsukawa and Hanamaki have had their daily mid-morning snack and planned their newest prank to drive Iwaizumi off the walls (bonus points if Oikawa throws a temper tantrum).  That works out fine for Ushijima though, because it leaves him time to say goodbye to his house and his three plants–the middle of which is just beginning to bud.

Kindaichi had volunteered to water them in his absence and Kunimi had given him a magical charm he’d made in class.

“It should ward against wild animals,” he’d said in a low, quiet voice.  “Or maybe attract them.  I’m not sure if I messed up the spell.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima had replied with a stone-faced expression and Kunimi had given him a small nod before disappearing back into his house, Kindaichi in tow.

Ushijima stares at the camellia on the windowsill now, the way the sunlight outlines its thin stem and fragile bud.  He frowns again at the unfortunate timing of his orders and makes sure the watering can is positioned in plain sight on the dining table.  He really does hate to leave things unfinished.

“Ushijima,” Matsukawa says, leaning in his door frame and smelling faintly of alcohol.  “It’s time.”

“Unfortunately,” Hanamaki says but he’s smiling like he’s won the lottery.  He figures it has something to do with the way Iwaizumi found his white outer coat stained bright pink earlier.  “The damages from the war have wrecked most of the main routes so we’ve plotted out a separate course for you to take to Karasuno.  The terrain is too steep for a horse so you’ll have to travel on foot–which of course, won’t be a problem for you.  Because… well, you’re Ushijima.”

Hanamaki gives him a once-over and gets a blank, lifeless stare in reply.

“Right then,” he says awkwardly and hands him the rolled-up map.  “Good luck and all that.”

Kyoutani looks like he’s ready to pummel the stranger, but Yahaba’s giving him a don’t-you-dare look so he settles for grinding the toothpick in his mouth to bits instead.  Watari forlornly thinks how well the nickname “Mad Dog” fits him (and Yahaba’s reputation as the only one who’s able to tame the Mad Dog is even more fitting).

“We couldn’t have picked a better location?” Watari asks, gesturing to the leaking roof and the light bulb that looks one spark from burning out completely.  Two years of their rebellion faction–if this ragtag group that meets biweekly in Yahaba’s parents’ basement can even be called that–and they’re still barely scraping by.

“The means justify the ends,” Yahaba says stiffly and that makes their mystery guest laugh.  The stranger has bright red hair that’s spiked straight up and wide eyes that feel like they’re staring straight into your soul.  He fixes those terrifying eyes on Watari now and it’s all he can do to not turn around and hightail it out of there.  (Watari remembers the assassin’s nickname now–from the posters plastered around the kingdom.  He’s called the “Guess Monster” because of how uncanny his predictions are in a fight and there’s been rumors that he’s part-telepathic.  Watari crosses his fingers and prays that those rumors aren’t true but he decides to fill his brain with a repeated chant of “the sky is blue and yahaba and kyoutani are in love but both of them will die before they admit it” just in case.)

“I can’t read minds,” the Guess Monster says but he has a terrifying smile that spans his entire face and Watari feels a chill run up his spine. 

“I-It’s kinda cold in here?” he says, but it comes out more as a question than a statement and it’s directly opposed by the sweat that Kyoutani rubs off his brow.  

“Back to business,” Yahaba calls, clearing his throat.  The stranger finally, finally looks away and Watari can breathe again.  “Thanks to King Oikawa, we’re all aware of how oppressive and horrific Karasuno was as partial rulers of the Border Towns–hence the war that’s been raging for the past few months.  However, an inside source has informed me that the kings are going to propose a treaty to Karasuno that will return the towns to a state of neutrality.  They’re dispatching a single messenger to carry the treaty to Karasuno so our goal is to take out that messenger.  That’s where you come in, Guess Monster.  Our allies on the frontlines say that victory is only a couple weeks away so if we can knock out the messenger, it’ll buy us enough time to win the war and secure the well-being of the Border Towns.”

Kyoutani grunts an affirmative and the Guess Monster stares at both of them, absentmindedly twirling his sai in his bony fingers while he thinks.  Watari briefly considers telling Yahaba that just yesterday Oikawa had tried to publicly execute a fly for its “crimes against humanity” after it landed on his hair, but he decides this isn’t the right time.  

“How much?” the Guess Monster asks and Yahaba grins.  He nods to Kyoutani, who lugs a wooden chest from underneath a blanket and flips the lid open, spraying dust everywhere.

“Five pounds of gold,” Yahaba says and Watari’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull because if they’ve had that much money this whole time, where has it been?  He isn’t able to verbalize that though because the Guess Monster’s eyes start roaming the room and they decide to settle on Watari, probably enjoying the way the sweat on his back suddenly turns cold.

“I’m bored, so why not?!” the assassin suddenly cackles and he kneels down to pick up a bar of gold.  He holds it up to the flickering lightbulb, taps the side and then licks it once before deeming it satisfactory and dropping it back into the chest.

Yahaba sticks out a hand stiffly and the Guess Monster contemplates it for a second before shaking it vigorously.  

“Leave the chest behind the house a quarter after midnight,” he says as he makes his way back towards the exit.  He’s halfway up the staircase when he turns around suddenly, his head nearly swiveling 180 degrees backwards (Watari’s sure he’ll have nightmares for days… no, weeks to come).  “Does the messenger have a name?”

“Ushijima,” Yahaba replies and the Guess Monster smiles wide before disappearing through the door completely.

The guards at the taverns have loose tongues when they’re sober and they sing like parakeets after a few drinks and a couple of pieces of gold.  Tendo doesn’t blame them.  Walking around the same city for hours at a time isn’t exactly the most exciting job.

He quickly compiles a mental checklist of what Ushijima looks like and spends the next morning clambering up a pine tree.  There’s only one entrance leading out towards Karasuno so he stays perched in his tree by the entrance, keeping one eye on anyone who passes through the gate.  

Tendo watches two squads and a solo scout–bright pink hair and weaselly grin so definitely not Ushijima–pass under him before he gets bored and tries to carve a self-portrait on the tree in front of him.  He manages to finish the eyes and nose and is just about to start on the mouth when the creaking of the gate pulls his attention away.  A single guard slips through the entrance and Tendo mentally runs through his checklist.

Olive-brown hair, check!  Seijoh armor, check!  Cloak, check!  Rolled-up paper with the Royal Seal sticking out of his belt, check!  Stone-faced expression, check!

It’s confirmed then–this is his man.  Tendo bids a tragic goodbye to his half-finished self-portrait and gingerly slides himself into the next tree over.  He could probably kill Ushijima from up high when they’re a little further from the city gates.  He’d bury the body in the woods, spend the gold bars on a particularly extravagant food binge and then continue on his merry way.

It’s not his style though.  It’s too crude, bold… inhumane almost.  It’s like taking a blank canvas and covering the whole thing in aggressive charcoal strokes before declaring it a masterpiece.  

Assassination is an art.  There’s a certain delicacy in the way people’s eyes widen before they realize their fates are sealed, the way they try to scramble and run even though they’re a million miles from any sort of civilization and Tendo is on top of them in a matter of seconds, sai at the ready in his hand.  It’s all a beautifully delicate game of cat-and-mouse and it’s the thrill of the chase that keeps him alive.  Plus, it pays the bills rather well.

So when Ushijima comes to a crossroad and he has to fish a tattered map out of his back pocket to figure out which way to go, Tendo doesn’t throw a blade at him.  He doesn’t prep a poisoned handkerchief to gag him or anything of the sort, rather he slides down the tree trunk with an elaborate spin and then he throws himself right in Ushijima’s path.

“Hi there!” Tendo shouts and to his credit, Ushijima hardly blinks.  His expression remains completely neutral, chiseled features staying stock-still (the guards at the tavern really weren’t kidding) as the gears inside his head turn.

“Hello,” he eventually says and then he looks back down at his map, matching a drawing on it with the mountain in front of them.  When he’s satisfied, he folds the paper back up and then neatly side-steps Tendo as he continues down the right fork.

Tendo quickly falls into step next to him, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement but it never comes.  Guess he’s shy then.

“Where are you headed?” he asks.  Ushijima’s eyes don’t leave the road but his mouth pulls into a frown so Tendo knows he heard the question.

“Classified,” he eventually huffs and Tendo laughs because anyone can see the red circle around Karasuno on his map.  

“Me too, me too,” he says when he finally finishes laughing.  “I’m on a classified mission as well.”  Ushijima doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead lifting a branch that’s suddenly blocking his path.

“What’s your name?” Tendo asks before he slips up and uses Ushijima’s name.  He’d done that once before on a job and the victim had gotten so spooked he nearly caused an avalanche when he tried to run.  That had been… messy, to say the least, and there was so much red that splattered the freshly fallen snow like a giant beacon for help.  The patrolling guards had found the body much quicker than he would’ve liked and he’d had to pay a visit to one of the neighboring markets to get the scent out of his clothes.

“Ushijima,” he replies and when he lifts the next branch, he holds it until Tendo grabs it.

“What’s your given name?”  Ushijima doesn’t turn back to look at him, but he does tip his head towards the ground, like he’s mulling the decision over in his mind.

“Wakatoshi,” he eventually says and Tendo smiles wide at that.

“That’s a pretty name, Wakatoshi-kun,” he replies, already liking the way it rolls off his tongue.  “My name is Tendo Satori. Sa-to-ri.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything but he nods ever-so-slightly and Tendo counts it as a victory.  They walk in silence for the rest of the day.

Ushijima sleeps on the ground after he puts out the embers of their campfire.  The dirt he’s lying on looks the furthest thing from comfortable but there’s no change in his expression as he lies flat on the ground.  (Tendo decides to mentally move that one guard’s theory about Ushijima being a robot from “hilarious” to “very possible”.)

Tendo, on the other hand, has a need for finesse and maybe slight paranoia after that one time he woke up to someone trying to suffocate him to death ( that had been a story for the books).  He doesn’t sleep much anymore but when he does, he prefers to do it up in the trees.  He has a thin rope coiled in the belt he always wears and although it had been sold to him by a Nekoma trader with an obnoxiously large mop of hair and a shit-eating grin, it’s served him well over the years.  He loops the rope around his legs once, tying himself to the branch, and then lays his head back against the trunk.

“Night, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Tendo is a light sleeper and he’s never been more grateful in his life.  He wakes up a few minutes after dawn (yes, dawn ) to Ushijima quietly finishing off a handful of berries by the remnants of last night’s campfire.  (If Ushijima had left before him, then he probably could have still tracked him down but it would’ve been a hassle and a pain and Tendo hates that.  But seriously, who willingly wakes up at the crack of dawn?)

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendo chirps as he unties the rope and slides down the tree trunk.  Ushijima gives him a stare that feels like the expression-equivalent of “you’re still here?” but Tendo decides to brush it off as his usual look.  “Did you sleep well?”

“It was sufficient,” Ushijima rumbles, like the robot he is. He finishes the berries, brushes off his hands as he stands back up, and then he steps back onto the path without waiting for Tendo to follow.

They enter one of the little towns that’s on the outskirts of Seijoh’s territory.  Tendo’s been here once or twice before, but his… occupation requires him to travel a lot so it’s honestly a bit of a blur.

The wooden sign on the outside reads “Dateko” so hey, at least he isn’t completely clueless.  The town itself looks a little run-down but well-loved–like a security blanket that’s been stitched back together time and time again.  There are plugs in the walls and several newer beams supporting buildings that look on the verge of collapse, but the town is still in one piece and Tendo can respect that.

A boy with a shepherd’s staff runs straight into Ushijima’s knee and promptly lands on his butt.  Ushijima looks at him like an ant on the underside of his shoe and Tendo can see the boy’s lip quiver slightly.

“Where is the marketplace?” Ushijima all but thunders and the kid’s eyes are practically watering at this point.  

“Don’t worry about him,” Tendo says, slinging one arm around Ushijima’s shoulders (they’re very… broad and they stiffen slightly at his touch).  “He’s still learning how to smile.”  The kid sniffles at that, although he still looks scared out of his mind.

“That is false.  I know the basic mechanics of a smile,” Ushijima replies, sounding a bit miffed.  It’s the most emotion that Tendo’s gotten out of him this whole time.

“Oh really?” he challenges and he swears he sees something light up in Ushijima’s eyes. 

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Ushijima says and then he gives them both a wide smile that look like he’s murdered someone in cold blood and successfully gotten away with it.

The kid screams and runs for the hills.  Ushijima looks a bit startled at that and Tendo takes pity on the way his (perfectly) chiseled features pull into a slight frown.

“We’ll keep working on that, Wakatoshi-kun,” he says, patting his shoulder.

With the help of a kind, elderly lady (whose sight is failing so Ushijima’s crocodile-smile looks no more intimidating than a fluffy sheep), they manage to find the town’s marketplace.  There’s an impressive array of little stalls but Ushijima makes a beeline for the butcher and Tendo trails after him curiously.

The man at the stall looks like he could be Ushijima in a different universe.  He looks about their age but his hair is all white and he’s practically towering over them (for the sake of his pride, Tendo decides to convince himself that the guy’s standing on a stool).  It’s the expression that really sells it though.  He has the same stone-cold look in his eyes, his mouth pulled into a permanent frown.

Ushijima points at the rack full of dried meat and the vendor nods, pulling a few strips off the rack and bundling them into a little sack.  Ushijima slides a bag of coins across the table, his doppelganger slides the meat towards him and that’s it.  It’s single-handedly the most silent and simple transaction Tendo’s ever seen.

“AONEEEEEE!” a voice suddenly yells and they turn to see a man with a messy mop of brown hair barreling towards them.  He smells significantly more dangerous than the vendor and Tendo doesn’t miss the way he plants himself almost protectively in front of the stall.

“Who are they?” he asks, with his nose turned up slightly.  He loops one arm around doppelganger-Ushijima’s shoulders.  Yep, definitely protective.

“Travelers,” Tendo says quickly.  Beside him, Ushijma’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly.  “Hungry travelers that are looking for food on our journey.”

“And where are these travelers going?” the man says.  His voice flows silky smooth but it grates against Tendo’s ears like sandpaper.

Ushijima’s mouth goes through a series of miniature acrobatics, mouth molding into a stiff frown.

“Places,” he eventually settles on and the vendor’s friend raises one eyebrow.

“Places that we’re in a rush to get to,” Tendo cuts in quickly.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”  The vendor nods gruffly and Ushijima nods back in response.

“The pleasure is all ours,” the friend replies with a sour smile.

Ushijima reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of dried meat.  He chews on one end and Tendo takes it as a sign to stealthily reach into the bag and grab his own piece.  Ushijima watches him do it but doesn’t comment.

“Thank you for the food, Wakatoshi-kun,” he says with his mouth full, but Ushijima doesn’t look up from his map.  They’ve long since passed Dateko and if Tendo’s internal GPS is right, they’re on track to reach the Border Towns within four or five days.  Maybe three with Ushjima’s crazy walking speed.  

They stand at a fork for a minute as Ushijima traces a path along his map, shaking his head before eventually flipping the whole thing upside down.

“Want some help?” Tendo asks, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile and Ushijima stares at him with that same stone-cold expression.

“My mission is classified,” he repeats and Tendo sighs, stretching his hands upwards.

“Well,” he says, caving in.  “ Your mission is classified so you can’t talk to me about it, but I can tell you that if I were trying to reach the Border Towns, I would need to take the left fork and then the right turn after that.”

Ushijima wordlessly takes the left path.

“Thank you,” he mumbles after they make the right turn.  Tendo smiles at that and tries his best not to skip along the path.

“No problem, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Tendo notices on the second night that Ushijima has a hard and fast bedtime of 8 pm.  If he’s a robot, his manufacturer seems to have forgotten night vision since Ushijima tends to avoid moving around after the sun sets.

“Where are you from, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendo asks, arms folded behind his head as he leans against the tree trunk.  Ushijima squints up at him, like he’s trying to decide if the question is a trap.  

“Seijoh,” he finally says and Tendo nods, feigning ignorance.

“What’s it like there?”  Ushijima purses his lips, mulling over the question.

“Loud,” he eventually decides on and Tendo snorts at that.  Yep, he’s heard the rumors about Seijoh’s two young and… unique kings.  Tendo winds the rope out of his belt and presses it against his knees, settling in for the night.

Ushijima’s voice in the dark catches him off guard.

“Where are you from?” he asks and Tendo’s fingers fumble against the rope.  He grabs the end before it falls to the ground and settles for staring at a point on the horizon.

There’s no one town or building that he calls home.  It took a mountain of people and places to raise him–his childhood a kaleidoscope of memories.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” he eventually decides.  Ushijima squints again, the space between his eyes furrowing.

“How can you be from everywhere and nowhere?” he asks and Tendo shrugs his shoulders.

“It’s a secret, Wakatoshi-kun,” he whispers and there’s no reply after that.

“Do you want to play a game, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendo asks, swinging his arms back and forth.  They’ve been walking for five hours straight now and Ushijima shows no intention of stopping.  Aside from a couple squirrels and a family of rabbits, they have yet to encounter anyone else on the road.

In summary, Tendo is bored.  He pulls a sai out from his belt and twirls it between his fingers (and that shouldn’t be too suspicious, right?  Travelers have to carry some sort of blade on them, at least for self-defense).  The metal feels cold and unfamiliar in his hands and he glares at it in reply.  It’s only been three days without killing.  Surely, he couldn’t have lost his edge in that short of a time.

“I don’t play games while on duty,” Ushijima eventually replies.  His shoulder bumps against a tree in their way but instead of bouncing off, it goes straight through it.  Tendo blinks and pokes the hole as they walk past.

“Okay, if not games then what about just talking?  You talk while on duty, right?” Tendo asks and he can practically see the gears turning in Ushijima’s head.

“I… do talk,” Ushijima says somewhat reluctantly and Tendo grins.  Score.

“What do you do for fun, Wakatoshi-kun?”

“...”

“You have to have something you do for yourself, right?”

“I have flowers.”

“Flowers?  What types?  And where’d you get them from?  Are they real?”

“Yes, they are real.  They were a gift from King Iwaizumi.  I currently have two tulips and a camellia.  The camellia was just about to bloom before I left.”

“Awww, sorry that you didn’t get to see it.”

“Yes, it is sad.”

Tendo learns that Ushijima is a gardener and full-time floral expert off the clock, that he respects his two young neighbors but worries occasionally for their sanity, and that he’d once been accidentally involved in one of his guard captains’ pranks on King Oikawa’s birthday.  He’s about to ask him about food preferences when they reach a giant wooden sign that has “SHIRATORIZAWA” sloppily carved into it.

Tendo lets out a low whistle at the bustling town behind it: merchants pulling carts towards the stalls, children running about with bags of coins gripped tightly in their fists, their older siblings hanging laundry out to dry.

“Welcome to the Border Towns,” he says with a grand flourish and waits for Ushijima to walk through the entrance before following suit.

When they reach the marketplace, they meet a boy with a bowl cut and an alarming amount of energy.  He introduces himself as Goshiki and he immediately takes a liking to Ushijima, examining the hilt of his sword and later the blade itself when Ushijima reluctantly unsheathes it to show him.  He’s staring awe-struck up at Ushijima now, having completely forgotten about his initial promise to introduce them to the butcher, when another person appears in the marketplace.

He also has a bowl cut (Tendo’s beginning to wonder if that’s a requirement for staying in this town) but his mouth is pulled into a frown and he regards them with a cold stare.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks, and Tendo lifts one eyebrow in response.

“Aren’t most of the people here not from around?” he asks and Bowl Cut scowls back in response.

“They’re just travelers, Shirabu-san!” Goshiki chirps, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling.  But his voice starts to fade as his mouth presses into a flat line and he stares at them with a puzzled expression, like he’s trying to place something he’s forgotten.

Tendo doesn’t like that look and he likes the way Shirabu’s eyes narrow at him even less, so he slowly slips his hand behind his back, disguising it as a nervous gesture.  He reaches down to his belt and then flexes his fingers until he can reach the metal handle of his sai, working it quietly into his palm.

“Travelers,” Shirabu repeats doubtfully.  “Travelers from where?”  Ushijima’s face is already neutral but the corner of his mouth dips down in a way that Tendo has learned to mean he’s upset.

Ushijima’s opening his mouth to rattle off his typical “From Places” answer when a kid abruptly barrels into him.  He slams straight into the bag slung across Ushijima’s body, sending the contents flying.

What’s left of their dried meat lands in a bundled heap at their feet.  A leather flask of water flops down beside it.  Flint, berries and a small dagger tumble out next.  And then finally, the paper scroll with the Seijoh Royal Seal emblazoned on it like a blinding beacon rolls out of Ushijima’s bag, coming to a stop at Shirabu’s feet.

“Just travelers,” Shirabu repeats dully.

Shirabu leads them to a larger building, Goshiki trailing after them like a curious puppy.  He heaves a long sigh and then he throws the door open, revealing a table messily covered in stacks and stacks of papers.  There’s a tattered map with paths outlined in every color of the rainbow hanging on the wall opposite them.  Tendo nearly steps on an empty leather flask when he ducks through the doorway.

A boy their age is seated at the table, drawing messy lines against a paper.  He doesn’t hear them enter and he doesn’t look up until Shirabu loudly clears his throat.  

When he does look up, Tendo notices that he has sharp gray eyes and bags a mile wide beneath them.  He doesn’t look as startled as he does dazed, like he’s been shaken from a foggy dream that’s still clinging to the edges of his mind.

“You have guests, senpai ,” Shirabu spits with clear sarcasm and the boy’s expression crumples instantly, mouth dissolving into a frown.

“This is our chieftain, Semi-san!” Goshiki shouts, smiling wide with pride.  

“Yes, our very smart, capable, and definitely resourceful chieftain,” Shirabu says, sarcasm still dripping from his words.  His face is expressionless as he says this, a clear contrast to Semi’s flushed cheeks and gaping mouth.

“We are travelers,” Ushijima interrupts abruptly, gripping the strap of his bag tightly.  Shirabu whirls around to give him a look of utter disbelief and Tendo leans over to stage-whisper in his ear.

“I think the jig is up,” he says and Ushijima furrows his brow in response.

“I am not sure what jig you are referring to, nor why it is up,” he replies and Tendo sticks the line in his rapidly increasing mental folder entitled “Reasons Why Wakatoshi-kun Might Actually Be a Robot”.  

“They’re travelers with the Royal Seal of Seijoh,” Shirabu finally says and Tendo watches Semi’s expression cloud over.  

“The Seijoh-Karasuno war has made a mess of our typical trade routes, making it significantly harder for merchants to reach us,” he says harshly.  The weariness in his expression is still there but now it makes him look sharper, colder in the cramped room.

Ushijima opens his mouth to reply but Tendo decides to cut him off before he can go on a speech for king and country.

“We’re more than aware of this.  We’re actually currently on a mission to fix this, so we’d be grateful if you could let us buy our food and be on our way,” he says and then mentally replays Goshiki’s introduction earlier.  “Semi-semi,” he tacks on and the chieftain visibly flinches at the nickname.  Shirabu, on the other hand, full-faced grins like Christmas came early.

Ushijima stares at him with a frown on his face but he chooses not to comment on Tendo’s explanation.  They’re all saved from answering when someone comes barreling through the entrance, a sword strapped to his waist.

The new person is as tall as Ushijima and built nearly as well.  He gives them a curious nod and then turns to face Semi, bowing slightly.

“There’s a storm coming,” he says, pointing to the sky behind him.  “We’ve already told everyone to take their livestock inside but we figured you should know.”  And with that, he bows once more to all of them and takes his exit, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Well,” Semi says, rubbing his forehead.  Tendo’s beginning to realize that the angry look might just be part of how the chieftain… looks rather than a deliberate, perpetual scowl.  He surveys them one more time and Tendo cocks an eyebrow at him when they make eye contact.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asks and Shirabu’s jaw drops to the floor.

Dinner turns out to be a mostly-water stew around the small table in Semi’s house.  Shirabu is flabbergasted that they manage to get him out of the room littered with maps and papers, claiming that he “hasn’t left in days but suddenly decides to come out for a bunch of random strangers”. 

“A bunch of random strangers with the Royal Seal of Seijoh ,” Tendo corrects and Shirabu scowls at him.  The table is low and there are no chairs so they sit on the ground instead (which must make Ushijima feel right at home).  Goshiki runs to get a couple of loaves of bread from someone named “Kawanishi-san” and Semi offers to refill Ushijima’s leather flask.

They eat by a crackling fire that pops and rumbles at random times during the night.  Ushijima spoons his stew into his mouth in a repeated, robotic motion that has exactly three seconds before each swallow.  Tendo attacks his stew with much less delicacy.

The dinner conversation is somehow even more messy than the meal itself. 

“Could you pass me that honey?” Semi asks from across the table and Shirabu grips the jar with almost enough force to make it shatter.

“Of course, dear ,” he replies dryly, sending it practically flying across the table as Semi chokes on his bread.  

Ushijima asks if Goshiki is Semi and Shirabu’s adopted son and inadvertently starts a heated argument between the two of them over who would be the better hypothetical parent.

“You can’t even remember to feed yourself–how would you take care of a child ?” Shirabu snaps and Semi recoils like he’s been burned.

“Have you seen yourself in the kitchen?” he yells back and Shirabu’s cheeks flush a deep shade of red.

“Gays say what,” Tendo mutters under his breath after five minutes of unintelligible screaming.

“WHAT?!” Shirabu and Semi simultaneously snap, jerking their heads over.  Tendo bats his eyes innocently, wiping his expression clean and plastering on a fake smile.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says and then hears a very indiscreet snort from Ushijima’s direction.  (Ushijima laughing ?  There must be something magical about this place.)  Thankfully, Semi and Shirabu are too occupied with their backhanded method of aggressively flirting to notice. 

Goshiki asks for “stories from the frontline” and Ushijima replies with a detailed description of his guard routine schedule, including the three breaks for mid-morning snacks, lunch and mid-afternoon snacks.  The kid looks two parts crestfallen, one part bored.

“Ushijima-san,” Goshiki says later when Tendo is coming back from the outhouse.  The door is ajar but the hushed tone alludes to some sort of intimacy so Tendo flattens himself against the wall and holds his breath.

“When Tendo-san was talking about… ending the war and getting things back to normal.”  There’s a swallow and the crackle of the fire.  “Was he telling the truth?”

Tendo doesn’t need to peer through the doorway to see Ushijima’s brow furrow.  He’s a soldier through-and-through–it’s carved into his bones, laced into his skin.  But Tendo’s beginning to realize that Ushijima is a little bit human too.  Through the small smiles that flit across his face, through the life of his eyebrows as they pass wrecked town after town, and through that one pathetic excuse of a joke Ushijima had tried to make when they ran across a squirrel, Tendo gets a glimpse of Ushijima’s humanity.

So, when he hears Ushijima’s low rumble of a voice, he leans a little closer to the doorway, eager to see who wins the battle between humanity and duty.

“Yes,” Ushijima says and it’s quiet, barely above a whisper.  “Yes,” he says again, more firmly this time and Tendo feels a tension relax in his shoulders.  “I am working to resolve this.”

“Eavesdropping?” a new voice cuts in and Tendo finds himself face-to-face with a scowling Shirabu.  He frowns reflexively and then twirls his fingers in an elaborate motion.

“Shirabu!” he says, patting his head.  “You’re still around!  Are you staying the night at Semi-Semi’s?”  The sun has long since set but there’s just enough light from the house to make out the way Shirabu’s cheeks flush and his jaw opens uselessly.

“I’m not ,” he snaps when he finds his voice again.  “Although Semi- senpai will probably offer to let you stay the night.  His heart is too big and I keep telling him people will take advantage of it but he never listens.”  Shirabu gives him a once-over and his glare somehow gets even colder.  “Point in case.”

“Don’t worry,” Tendo says, placing one arm on Shirabu’s shoulder.  He also maps out the path to the door in front of him so he’s ready to bolt once he finishes his sentence.  “I’m sure there’s still room in Semi-Semi’s heart for you.”

Shirabu chases after him like a banshee from hell.

True to Shirabu’s word, Semi does offer to let them stay the night and Ushijima is already lying down in a corner by the fireplace before Tendo can even accept the invitation.

“He has a hard bedtime of 8 pm,” he says by way of explanation.  Semi looks confused but Tendo just beckons him closer with one crooked finger and continues in a stage-whisper.  “I should warn you.  He’s an early-riser so we’ll probably be gone by the time you’re up.”

“That’s okay,” Semi replies.  The scowl is still there, making his features harsh in the flickering light of the fire.  “I’m a light sleeper and I’ll make sure to see you off.”

Tendo shrugs and folds a knitted blanket that’s crumpled on the floor.  There’s a rumpled tunic underneath it so he grabs that and folds it too.

“Suit yourself.”

The Shiratorizawa pseudo-greeting party wakes up at dawn to say goodbye.  Semi looks like he hasn’t slept at all (which is very possible considering the ink stains running up and down his arms), Shirabu looks like he’s trying to murder them both with just his gaze and Goshiki looks like he’s one head nod away from falling unconscous.

“Well, guess this is it,” Shirabu says, pushing them forwards in a very non-discrete motion.  Semi reaches one hand out to stop him, reconsiders, and then pulls the arm back.

“Thank you for your warm welcome, Semi-Semi,” Tendo chirps as Shirabu eventually gives up and makes his formal goodbyes to the “only other sane member at dinner last night”.  Tendo pulls out a sai from his belt and runs it through his fingers, letting the cool of the metal stir his senses back to life.

There’s a gasp behind his shoulder and he turns to find a wide-awake Goshiki.  His eyes look like saucers, mouth gaping as he stares and stares.

“I know you!” Goshiki shouts, way too loud for the crack of dawn.  “You’re the Gu-”

Tendo clamps one hand over his mouth, pressing the blade against the small of his back.  He feels Goshiki’s spine stiffen in his hands and he frowns at the bead of sweat that trickles down his temple.  

He likes Goshiki.  The kid is way too energetic and naive for his own good, but he’s earnest and he saw straight to Ushijima’s core, much like Tendo himself.  And generally speaking–Tendo already has so much blood on his hands (it’s drenched in his skin, seeping down into his soul) and he has no real desire to add more (not without a purpose, at least).

“Shhhh,” Tendo whispers, right into Goshiki’s ear and the kid seems to get the point because he nods and mimes a zipping motion across his mouth.

Tendo drops his hand and steps back just in time for the rest of the impromptu group to join them.  Shirabu looks between the two of them curiously.

“Everything okay?” he asks, but it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“Yep,” Goshiki replies, his voice an octave too high.  

“Let’s hit the road, Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendo says quickly, before Shirabu can probe any further.  He loops one arm through Ushijima’s and half-drags, half-walks back to the road.

They walk to the end of the path, the Shiratorizawa party’s figures a hazy silhouette in the distance, and then they turn the bend and they’re gone.

“The Border Towns were fun, weren’t they, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendo asks, hands clasped in front of him.  Ushijima blinks once but doesn’t look away from the path in front of them.

“The people were…” Ushijima trails off, lost.  He’s probably remembering more conversations from last night.  “Nice,” he eventually decides on and Tendo thinks that’s a gross overstatement of Shirabu’s behavior but Ushijima’s reacting positively to human interaction for the first time in… maybe forever , so he lets it slide.

“But it is good to be back on track,” Ushijima says and Tendo swears he sees his mouth quirk up for the tiniest second, like he’s aware of the pun he just made.  His mood sours though when the reality of Ushijima’s words sink in.  They’re on a mission .  They, plural .  Ushijima is on a boy-scout mission, playing the role of the faithful messenger in a quest to end a war.  And he’s playing the role of his killer.

The Border Towns are a halfway point, Tendo remembers, squinting up at the sun.  He tries to block it with his fingers but it just casts weird shadows on his face.  Halfway point meaning they have another four to five days to go before he has to wake up and face reality.

At the end of the day, they’re nothing more than an assassin and his unaware target wandering through the words.

Ushijima doesn’t sleep that night.  Tendo doesn’t really sleep anymore but he still goes through the motions, lying awake, listening to the forest breathe around him, as he slips in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours at a time.

Ushijima sits in front of the campfire, poking the base with the stick.  Tendo watches the shadows flicker across his face, waiting for a break in his stone-cold stare.

“Why did you lie?” Ushijima asks quietly after a while.  Tendo startles when he realizes the question is addressed to him.  (He hasn’t moved in the last hour.  His breathing is as shallow as it always is–even in his sleep, he’s certain his breaths remain short–so there shouldn’t have been any indication that he was awake.)

“Me?” Tendo asks as he unwinds the rope and climbs back down the tree. Ushijima stares at him blankly, the crackle of the dying fire reflected in his eyes.

“Yes,” he says simply.  “You said that we were messengers from Seijoh.”  Tendo sits on the log next to him and bites on a nail.  He’s not supposed to do that anymore. His hands are the most valuable part of him–and the dirtiest–so he’s not supposed to damage them.  But something in the air unnerves him, something about sitting next to Seijoh’s fastest and maybe fiercest warrior triggers his flight-or-fight response.  (And he’s learned over the years that the answer to that is always flight.  When you live your life on the run, you learn to trust the tug in your gut and you learn that danger means flee. )

Tendo doesn’t fly.  He ignores every warning bell going off in his head and digs his heels into the ground.

“Why didn’t you correct me?” he asks instead.  Ushijima stares straight into the fire and Tendo wonders for a split-second if the answer is hidden somewhere there in the flames.

“The penalty for lying about a king is death,” he says simply and Tendo lets out a low whistle.

“Well, aren’t you a bundle of joy?” he laughs, leaning back on the log.  And then a thought strikes him as he watches the blocky outline Ushijima makes in the night sky.  “Have you ever killed someone, Wakatoshi-kun?”

He swears he sees Ushijima’s shoulders stiffen for a moment and he wonders if maybe the tin man really does have a heart.

“I am a guard,” Ushijima replies simply but the words sound hollow.  “So yes.  I have killed someone before.”  The silence stretches before them like a canyon and Tendo wonders for a split-second if he’s opened a box he wasn’t supposed to.

“Me too,” he decides to say instead, patting Ushijima’s shoulder.  And maybe it’s an understatement (he’s killed so many people, he’s drowning in their blood, it’s under his nails, in his roots, woven into his skin), but it doesn’t make it any less true.

He doesn’t ask any more questions after that, instead regaling Ushijima with tales of a particularly nasty merchant that had tried to pull the wool over his eyes and gotten a taste of his own medicine in return.  Ushijima watches him from his place beside him, his posture straight as a rod and his expression unchanging.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendo says suddenly, and he’s blinking those big, wide eyes at him that seem to swallow the world whole.  “Don’t you normally sleep at 8?  It’s almost midnight.”

It’s Ushijima’s turn to blink and he tries to remember when it had gotten so dark.  And then his body creaks and groans and with one final sigh, the wave of fatigue crashes over him and he slumps against a tree.

“Night, Wakatoshi-kun,” comes Tendo’s voice from the darkness.  And then there’s something brushing Ushijima’s cheek as he’s slipping off into sleep.  It could be a stray leaf, or a passing bug but it could also be the long, worn-out knuckles of a hand that’s seen battle.

Ushijima tries to hold onto his consciousness but it’s a losing battle and sleep overtakes him before he can solve his own enigma.

Six years ago, Tendo had gotten a request (ha, request –like this is all some polite little business with “customers” and “jobs” instead of clients and cold-hearted assassinations) for some merchants that were siphoning funds in Shiratorizawa.  The request might have come from a rival wanting to claim their funds for their own or some sort of Good Samaritan wanting to re-establish fair trade.  Tendo hadn’t cared and he hadn’t asked.

It had been a middle-aged couple and he’d caught them as they were returning to town late one night.  He’d broken one of the wheels on their cart with a stone and when they turned to examine it, he’d sliced the backs of their necks in two quick motions.

It hadn’t really matched the Guess Monster’s mojo–it’d been a lot less flashy and he was barely able to make out their faces before they faded away–but he’d been brand-new to the whole assassin thing.  He’d made it quick and silent, ditching the bodies by the side of the road before prying the cart open to look for anything worthwhile.  Coins would be nice, but he’d been really craving sweets and he’d heard these merchants dealt primarily in sugar and spices.

He hadn’t been expecting the child.  Crammed between two giant cloth sacks was a boy of ten or eleven years of age.  In the moonlight, his hair shone blackberry–the same shade as the picture of the target that Tendo had been given two weeks earlier.

“Well, shit,” he had said as eyes (like saucers, mouth gaping) stared straight back at him.  “Nobody said they had a kid.”

His clothes were still splattered with blood but he’d hoisted the kid by his armpits, thrown him over his shoulders (and way to traumatize a child, right?  Ride into the night with the vision of their parents’ corpses in the background) and ran until he found a sign for a town.

He hadn’t paid as much attention to the words written on the sign as to the flickering lamps behind it.  Tendo had dropped the boy on the dirt, certain that someone would find him… and take him in maybe.  If Tendo was lucky, the kid would forget this night ever happened and not come looking for revenge a couple years down the line.

But as he’d been turning to go, he’d gotten a blur of purple in the garish yellow lights and when he’d looked a little closer, he’d noticed the bruises splattered against his skin.  They trailed up and down his arms and there was a particularly nasty black splotch on his leg that continued under his shorts.  It looked about the same size as an adult’s hand.

And then there were footsteps and gruff voices and Tendo had fled into the night, leaving the bruised child and his broken parents behind.

They don’t talk the next morning.  They never really talk –the furthest they get is Tendo having a blatantly one-sided conversation–but this morning, Ushijima keeps his eyes devotedly averted.  He stares at the trees, at the ground, at anything that isn’t Tendo’s face and he refuses to give anything other than monosyllabic responses.  (Tendo wonders if he crossed a line last night.  He didn’t even know Ushijima had lines.)

Ushijima tries to lose him in the woods later that day.  Tendo had stepped away for a moment to water a tree, but when he turned back, there had been nothing but a rabbit at his feet.

It hadn’t taken him long to find him, of course.  They were following a path that only went one way and clearly Ushijima hadn’t thought to get off the path or lose him at a fork.  Tendo had slipped wordlessly back into step with him but Ushijima’s brow had furrowed in a way that he knew meant concern and he’d tipped his face away in something like… embarrassment? 

Embarrassed about what, thought?  Embarrassed that Tendo had caught him–Seijoh’s prized knight–in a matter of minutes?  Embarrassed that he’d even tried to lose him in the first place?  Or maybe it had just been a crick in his neck, an unconscious twitch that Tendo was now ripping apart, trying to find hidden meanings behind.

He’d thought Ushijima had been plain and straightforward when they first met but now his mind is getting sore from doing somersaults trying to follow him.

The uneasy silence stretches into the next day and the next night.  Tendo watches the tension between them pull like taffy, thinner and thinner until holes burst in the middle and the whole thing snaps apart.

The night before they’re set to reach Karasuno, Tendo decides that it’s been long enough.  Playing cat-and-mouse for a week has been fun but there’s a chest of gold and a food coma with his name on it waiting for him back home.

He waits until he hears Ushijima’s deep breaths (he doesn’t snore–more proof that he’s a robot) an hour after 8.  And then he unwinds the rope and steals quietly down the tree, unhooking the sai from his belt.

His features are as impassive as ever, moonlight sliding down the harsh peak of his nose and dancing under his eyes.

Tendo likes his victims alive (and boy, doesn’t that make him sound like a serial killer), likes to watch the way their expressions shift in horror as the life drains out of them.  But something about seeing the way Ushijima’s face would change (if at all), to look him in the eye as he slits his throat open, unnerves him like nothing else before.

Quietly and quickly it is, he decides, squatting next to Ushijima’s motionless form.  He pulls one arm back, the blade casting shadows on Ushijima’s chest beneath him.

He wonders how long it’s been since someone was so… unafraid of him.  Even the villagers that took him in as a child treated him like he was in a bubble, placing food outside their door but never daring to touch him.  Like he was an atomic bomb on the brink of exploding.

Ushijima isn’t afraid of him–and it’s not like he’s hiding some small fear behind his unmoving eyes and tight mouth.  Tendo knows his tells well enough to read the subtle shifts in his emotion, and he knows that Ushijima isn’t afraid of him–just takes his non stop chatter and weird obsession with sais easily into stride.

It’ll be lonely without him, he realizes and watches the shadows on Ushiijima’s chest shiver in response.  Everything is going blurry and it feels like there are drums pounding in his ears so he tries to swing before he falls apart.

He remembers a wrinkled nose and Ushijima’s low voice in the middle of a clearing.

“You are strange,” he’d said and Tendo had gasped in mock-offense.  And he’d thought that had been it, that this was another of Ushijima’s blunt observations that were scattered through their conversations.  “But it is not bad.”

Tendo’s hand shakes one last time and the sai clatters to the ground.  He crumples into a heap beside it and lets chills rack his body until he collapses from exhaustion.

They reach the gates of Karasuno at noon the next day.  The kingdom itself looks a lot less… shiny than Seijoh but it’s still pretty in its own right.

Two sentries are posted by the entrance and Tendo waves one hand above his head in greeting.  One of the guards juts his bottom jaw out and bares his teeth like a feral dog in response.

“Who are you?” he yells when they’re close enough.  The other guard gives him a nervous look but doesn’t stop him.

Ushijima fishes the scroll out of his bag and for the second time that week, they use the Royal Seal of Seijoh like a secret password.  

“Huggghhh?!” the first guard growls and the second one rubs his eyes, like he’s not sure he’s seeing right.

“We come in peace,” Tendo tacks on quickly, but the guards still both draw their swords from their hilts.

“That’s the seal of Seijoh,” the second one says, and for a second the feral guard looks like he’s going to chop them both down then and there.  Tendo’s already hopping backwards, one hand snaking down his back to grab the sai hidden there, when a shadow suddenly falls over them.

“E-Ennoshita!” the first guard shouts, snapping to attention.  There’s a new person in the entrance now, with an important-looking badge pinned to his chest and a sleepy (or maybe tired ) expression plastered on his face.

“Tanaka,” he replies with a look that simultaneously says “please calm down” and “i will end you if you don’t”.

“I am a messenger from Aoba Johsai,” Ushijima says, stone-faced as always.  “I come with a letter for the Kings of Karasuno.”  

The guards exchange a look and then Ennoshita eventually sighs before beckoning them forwards with one hand.

Ennoshita leads them up a golden staircase with paintings of former rulers plastered against the wall.  Tendo recognizes the famed King Ukai and he spots a picture of the two current kings at the very top.

“I should warn you,” Ennoshita says, stopping in front of an ornate door covered in… bird engravings?  His eyes look hollow as he rubs his face with one hand and gestures wildly at the door with the other.  “You’ve come at a bit of a… bad time.”

Ushijima opens his mouth (to question or comment, Tendo doesn’t know) but a loud crash from inside the room cuts him off.

“HINATA BOKE!” someone roars and then there’s a shrill squeak and another crash.  Tendo swears he sees Ennoshita do a mini cross across his chest before flinging the door open and dropping into a deep bow.

“Your Majesties,” he says and Tendo spots the two people sitting in the thrones opposite them.  The silver-haired one with a 24-watt smile is probably the famed King Suga and the person beside him who looks more or less like an older Ennoshita must be King Daichi.  

“Are you rejecting my marriage proposal?” a boy with an extremely constipated look on his face asks and Tendo swears he’s seen him somewhere before.  Daichi looks extremely pained and Suga snickers behind one hand before eventually coming to his aid.

“We’re not rejecting you at all, Kageyama.  In fact, we’re delighted .”  Suga squeezes Daichi’s hand hard and he lets out a strangled yelp.

“Delighted,” Daichi repeats through clenched teeth.

“Delighted by your proposal to my nephew,” Suga continues, turning his blinding smile on the confused boy in front of him.  “We just think that… the middle of a war might not be the best time for a wedding.”

Kageyama looks like he’s about to protest but Daichi cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he says quickly, glancing in their direction.  “It seems we have… guests?”

“Messengers from Aoba Johsai,” Ennoshita confirms and for the first time, Suga’s smile falters.  Another boy emerges from a pillar (equipped with the same blinding Sugawara smile) and he spares them one glance before latching himself onto Kageyama like some sort of human leech and dragging him away.

And Tendo realizes with a jolt where he’s heard that name before.  Kageyama.  The prodigy mage of Seijoh, who had apparently been King Oikawa’s apprentice according to everyone but Oikawa himself.  And he was seemingly getting engaged to Karasuno’s heir–which would hopefully prevent any future journeys like the shitstorm that’s been his past week.

“Your Majesties,” Ushijima says, dropping into a deep bow and Tendo takes it as his cue to follow suit.  “I come bearing a letter from King Iwaizumi and King Oikawa of Aoba Johsai.”

Daichi takes the scroll from his hand and Suga passes him a small dagger.

“If it’s Oikawa gloating about his hair again, I will walk all the way to Seijoh and strangle him single-handedly,” Suga says, the smile never leaving his face.

“I think that would-”

“Start a war?  We’re already at war with Seijoh.  What else could they do?” Suga chirps and Daichi just sighs into his hands.  He breaks the wax and unrolls the letter, the tension in his posture finally relaxing when he hits the bottom.

“Thank God, it’s a treaty,” Daichi breathes and Suga sighs (in relief or disappointment, Tendo can’t tell).  

“We need to work on Kageyama’s table manners,” Suga says and the words bring back Daichi’s deepening frown.

“We still don’t know if Kageyama… accidentally turning Oikawa’s hair hot pink… in the middle of a royal banquet… with King Iwaizumi present… and then saying that he would surpass him one day as a magician… was the trigger for the war!” Daichi tries feebly and Suga just raises one eyebrow at him.  “This is a politically turbulent time… and there could’ve been a lot of factors for the war.”

“Sure, Daichi,” Suga says, patting his forearm.  “Please tell King Iwaizumi that we accept his treaty and wish for nothing but peace in our future.”  And then his smile turns impish.  “We should extend a formal invitation to Hinata and Kageyama’s wedding.”

“Suga, please.  A war just ended,” Daichi begs and Suga eventually caves, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you for your time,” Ushijima says, bowing and the kings nod before Ennoshita leads them back out of the room.

Seven years and the Guess Monster has never failed.  Delays?  Sure.  Messy, less-than-perfect executions?  Definitely.  But seven years of this… career and the Guess Monster has never failed.

Until today.  Tendo watches Ushijima walk out of the gates empty-handed and wonders how his reputation fell to a stone-faced soldier that’s one emotion away from a robot.  There’s no longer any reason for him to stay but he still finds himself matching Ushijima stride for stride.

Ushijima leads them outside the city gates and then he comes to a stop so abruptly Tendo nearly trips.  They’re standing at a fork in the road but Ushijima doesn’t reach for the map tucked into his belt, instead staring hard at the ground like the answer’s written somewhere there in the dirt.

“The way to Seijoh is the right fork,” Tendo says.

“Why did you not kill me?” Ushijima asks at the same time.  Tendo opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

“Kill you?” he eventually squawks when he finds his voice again.  His fingers feel cold and clumsy as they fumble down his back, looking for his sai.  “Why would I kill you?”

“Because you’re the Guess Monster,” Ushijima says casually, like he’s pointing out that there are clouds on the horizon or a bug on his nose.  

“I’m the Guess Monster,” Tendo repeats but it sounds more like a guilty confession than the skeptical remark he’d been going for.  “What makes you say that?”

“Because you told me,” Ushijima replies and for the first time in this bizarre conversation, he shows some emotion.  His brow furrows again and Tendo has to resist the urge to poke it.  “Do you not remember?”

Told him?  Told Ushijima that he was one of the most wanted criminals in five kingdoms and probably close to making the list on another two?  Why on earth would he do that?

And then it hits him like a two-ton train barreling straight for his chest.  He remembers the inky black night and the smoke of the campfire and his stupid confession, drunk on sleep deprivation and fantasies built from too many walks in the wood.

Karma was a bitch and years of sleep deprivation decided to exact their revenge in the form of a half-remembered conversation at ass-o’clock.

Tendo slipped in and out of consciousness on a regular basis but this time when he’d emerged from Dreamland, Ushijima was waiting, staring up at the sky.

“I have someth’ng to tell you,” Tendo had slurred and watched Ushijima’s eyes tip slightly in a motion that meant go ahead .  “I’m… “  The words had been hard to swallow, even in his half-conscious state, and he’d choked before spitting them out into the open. “I’m the Guess Monster.”

And Ushijima (damn him and his stone-faced expressions) hadn’t even flinched with the news, just nodded and accepted it like another factor in their weird relationship.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ushijima had asked when he finally spoke again.  And then Tendo had latched onto his arm, a sense of urgency suddenly burning a hole in his chest. 

“So you can kill me,” he had said, barely above a whisper and Ushijima’s expression shifted from confusion to concern.  “Before I have to kill you.”

“Right,” Tendo says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  “I’m the Guess Monster and I told you so.”  Ushijima nods and starts walking down the right path, leaving him behind in the dust.  

A thought strikes him suddenly and it puts a spring in his step as he rushes to catch up.

“But then, why didn’t you kill me ?”  Ushijima’s nostrils flare in response and his mouth twists slightly into a frown.  “Don’t tell me,” Tendo gasps, one hand over his heart.  “Was it love at first sight?”

“No,” Ushijima replies curtly.  “You looked like a flower.”

“A flower?” Tendo echoes, wrinkling his nose.  He grabs his hair and presses it together into a point, trying to figure out if it would look like a grossly oversized petal from far enough away.

“A flower that’s just begun to bud,” Ushijima clarifies and Tendo’s struck speechless by that. Ushijima clears his throat before continuing.  “I wanted to see you bloom.”

“So did you?” Tendo asks, leaning in close to peer into his eyes.  “Did I bloom?”

“Yes,” Ushijima says and his voice rumbles.  He refuses to make eye contact, instead becoming fascinated with some far-off point in the distance.  “Beautifully.”

So what now?  Tendo wants to ask but doesn’t, opting instead for silence as they walk along the beaten-down road.  Do I leave you here and continue on my merry way, pretending that our meeting was nothing but another lucky coincidence?  

“You can’t stay,” Tendo blurts out suddenly and Ushijima looks at him with an expression that could almost pass as sad.  Ushijima is a guard through and through and he goes where his kingdom sends him at the end of the day.  “And neither can I.”

Somewhere in the distance, a bird shrieks and he’s hit with the memory of blackberry hair and lovers’ quarrels.

“But maybe we can meet each other halfway,” Tendo says, eyes lighting up and raising one spindly finger in the air.  “If you request a change in post to Shiratorizawa, I could come stop by and see you from time to time.  Maybe I could even meet these famous flowers you keep chattering about.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything in response but he gives the slightest of nods and Tendo’s face splits into a grin (it’s probably the one that lingers in peoples’ nightmares, the only warning sign before imminent death but he’s using it now against a stone-faced soldier that doesn’t even budge).

“Well then,” Tendo says, taking Ushijima’s hand in his own.  Ushijima lifts one eyebrow slightly at that but he doesn’t protest.  “See you around, Wakatoshi-kun.”

And then he presses a kiss to the back of Ushijima’s hand and his lips are cold so Ushijima flinches with the touch but he still gives his hand a bone-crushing squeeze in response.

epilogue 

“Ushijima-san!” Goshiki cries because even after months of living in Shiratorizawa, he hasn’t lost that starstruck look in his eyes.

“Is there a problem, Goshiki?” Ushijima rumbles from his post by the entrance and Goshiki tries his best not to wilt under his gaze.

He looks left, right, and then left again before deciding that it’s safe enough and leans in close enough to whisper.

“The Gue–er, Tendo-san is back!” he shouts, scanning Ushijima’s face for any trace of emotion; but all he gets is a blank stare in reply.

“Thank you for informing me,” Ushijima says and Goshiki hopes he can be as cool as him one day–able to separate his work life and his personal one with ease.

It isn’t until after Ushijima’s finished his shift and seen the next guard off that he makes his way to their unappointed meeting spot: a little clearing in the woods by a trickling creek.  (Shirabu had begrudgingly showed the two of them that spot–claiming that he used it to think. “Think about what?” Tendo had asked with a grin like he already knew and Shirabu had hurled his bag at his head.)

Ushijima breaks into a jog and sure enough, there’s a familiar, spiny silhouette etched into the clearing.  Tendo turns to face him and he laughs, his hair the color of the fading sunset.

“Did you miss me, Wakatoshi-kun?” he croons and Ushijima’s full-faced grin–the same one that had sent that poor boy running months ago–makes a rare appearance.

“Yes.”