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The dance goes on and on all night, his fingers almost bleeding from playing all of his lute strings, his voice hoarse from the singing and the storytelling, the laugh and the alcohol in his system, his skin hurting from the mask of a cat he has to wear because the Crown Prince—no, the King, likes masked dances. He does his best songs, or at least he thinks they are his best; tales about Gods and spirits, about a pirate and a yokai, love and death and blood and life.
The new King’s coronation was a blessing to Takuto, after travelling for all over the region and beyond, with only his lute and his hunger as friends. He did leave privilege and comfort, something he was used to, to live on the road, dirty hair and nails, searching, finding, inspiration to compose great songs and meet new people to tell stories about. And he did, oh, he really did, like that bakeneko who lives in a house in the middle of nowhere waiting for his lover to come back home in the summer or the blacksmith and the nymph, always bickering about something but sleeping in the same bed, or that Princess of Dragons, pink hair and sharp eyes whose now in charge of a whole clan.
Spending all his money and losing his family name and his reputation in the process to buy a magic lute from an elf that he met in a tavern, one night, that promised Takuto it could bring him everywhere a story was, everywhere a tale and a love were, making Takuto’s eyes shine with want, with that something more he looked for the first time he played a instrument, when he was only three years old.
Music is everything to him, and it doesn’t matter he is hungry, bleeding, crying and alone, because he has music and a lute and story to tell, and one day people will tell about Takuto the Bard, pretty eyes and sweet voice, but mostly about his stubbornness and his will of iron. Also, very picky and capable to fuss over everything in his line of sight. It’s the nobility's blood in his veins, this is why he had to try and get hired to play the Incoronation’s Ball. First, because it’s his scene, he is born and raised to partecipe at these kinds of events, and second, he needs money and royal money is the best thing that can happen to a bard, or to Takuto, or Takuto the Bard.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Bard?” he hears as he opens the door of his room.
Kitchen boy--Munemasa is sitting on his bed, sleeves of his white shirt rolled over his elbows and thighs spread open, taking all the space over the mattress.
“You made yourself at home, I see,” Takuto replies.
Munemasa clicks his tongue and he falls back against the covers, “Was bored.”
“On the contrary, I enjoyed the night completely.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Munemasa hides his face with his arm, inked marks all over it, in contrast with his white hair.
Takuto kicks his ankle with the tip of his boot, Munemasa groans, but he moves, rolling on the other side of the bed.
“It’s a nice room,” Munemasa comments, after a few brief moments of silence and Takuto already misses it, “Not the dump I sleep in.”
“I’m the entertainer, not the kitchen boy.”
“Just remember who got you the job, Bard,” Munemasa whispers against his ear and Takuto has to keep all of composure to not shiver.
“I remember it was the innkeeper’s daughter,” Takuto turns to look at Munemasa, and their eyes meet, Munemasa’s plum against Takuto’s brown and he has to remember Munemasa is human, like him, not special, not magical, just human even if he feels like a dangerous spell. Maybe, he’s a wizard and this is why Takuto can’t escape him.
Munemasa hooks his chin on Takuto’s shoulder, “True, she got me my job too.”
“That you will lose if you keep running away in the middle of the night.”
Munemasa tilts his head, “They won’t notice I’m missing, they don’t care. They are celebrating the new King and winning the war, they don’t want to think about a kitchen boy.”
“You say that and then,” but Munemasa shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“It’s a day for celebration, the King is on the throne, alive,” Munemasa kisses his cheek, “the ex King Regent can finally sleep with both of his eyes closed, probably next to that dragon man and even the Royal Guards are getting drunk, they don’t care, Takuto,” he murmurs against the skin of Takuto’s neck, “They loved your performance.”
“Munemasa,” Takuto warns as his heart skips a beat and Munemasa huffs out a laugh.
“Fine, fine,” he hugs Takuto, his chest against Takuto’s back and Takuto sighs, content.
“Who told you?”
“Hayato,” he smiles against Takuto’s nape, “Can’t believe that little thief went from living on the streets to being a guest of the King.”
Takuto nods, thinking about Hayato talking to the King, “In the middle of a love triangle too.”
“It’s the King’s guard, isn’t it?”
“He didn’t stop staring at Tenma the whole night. I thought he was about to pass out when the Blessed Circlet touched the King’s forehead.”
Munemasa hums, “Love is tricky, don’t you think?”
Takuto chuckles, “It makes the best songs and poems, though.”
Munemasa keeps holding him.
It’s weird, this thing has with Munemasa, it’s weird but it works and Takuto doesn’t want to lose it. It feels like an epic love poem, sometimes and other times it feels like literal hell trying to drag him under.
He met Munemasa by chance after losing everything over a lute, his stomach empty and nowhere to stay. They didn’t like each other, they still don’t like each other, even now, Takuto always trying to make Munemasa lose his sneaky smile and Munemasa always trying to hit some sore spot, but in the end Takuto likes spending the night in Munemasa’s arms, big, warm, and welcoming.
He always leaves, Takuto, and Munemasa doesn’t wait for him—that’s a lie, though, because Takuto knows Munemasa waits for him, day after day, week after week and month after month. It’s nice to think he has a place to come back, where someone waits for him to listen to his tales and help him with his songs.
“Hey, let’s go to sleep, I have to work tomorrow.”