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He’s yanked out of sleep by the raucous sound of an off-beat alarm. It’s tuneless and jarring, and for a minute he doesn’t remember where he is, nor how he fell asleep at all. He must’ve passed out at some point in the night, while staring at the ceiling. Anticipating. Perhaps after a week of sleepless, wired nights, his body had grown fed up with his mind. Sleep had sucked him into its vacuum against his will. And the auditory assault of the alarm... It’s digging its pincers into the meat of his brain. Unbearable.
Zenitsu can’t even be happy about the fact that he managed to get a good night's sleep. His head feels leaded, huge and heavy as he tries to lift it off the pillow. And that sound, when did it become so invasive, so cruel and nightmarish? It’s the same alarm he always uses, but this morning it seems to have morphed into something new and torturous.
He was worried about Uzui not getting up on time, that was why he set it on full volume. And put it on the other side of the room, because neither of them are ever chipper enough to get up quickly in the morning.
Now he loathes the fact that he set it. He can barely pick his head up. On and on, the alarm drones, and no matter how much he tries to turn it off telepathically, it continues to shriek.
“Off,” he moans, shutting his eyes and pressing on them. “Tengennnn… Turn it off…” He kicks at the sleeping form beside him, letting out another long groan. Kicking again.
Finally, Uzui stirs. Slowly dragging himself upright, running a hand through his tangles. He gives Zenitsu’s shoulder a light shove, a casual retaliation for the rude awakening. Then he gets up, following the chirpy sound until he locates the phone on the dresser by the window. Shutting it off and bathing the room in merciful quiet.
He collapses back into bed, wrapping an arm around Zenitsu’s waist, reeling him in loosely.
“Happy birthday,” he mumbles, kissing the crown of Zenitsu’s head. One hand sliding lower to grasp at his ass.
“No time, get off of me,” Zenitsu mutters, shoving at him. “We have to get up.”
“Mmm, or not,” Uzui counters, pulling him back in, nudging at the space below his ear. Smiling when he hears Zenitsu’s breath hitch.
Such predictable reactions. He's already learned all the easy places, all the shortcuts that shut Zenitsu up real fast. Or at least they usually do. Today seems different. Zenitsu seems determined.
“Don’t forget my schedule,” Zenitsu huffs. “We need to get up now. The park opens at ten. I have a schedule . I briefed you on the schedule every day this week! Remember what I said? If it’s even one minute off–”
“--If it’s even one minute off, the whole thing is ruined, yes. You said it a hundred thousand times,” Uzui assures– though he makes no move to get up. He kisses the edge of Zenitsu’s jaw, unbothered by the insistence. Five more minutes. He leaves another kiss on the side of Zenitsu’s neck. They can waste five more minutes.
“Tengen…” Zenitsu protests, pushing at him weakly.
Uzui pauses. Not because he’s relenting, but because he’s awake enough to notice things, now. And he’s concerned by the rasp in Zenitsu's voice. The labored drag of his breathing.
He sits up a little, eyeing Zenitsu in the muted dark. There’s barely enough sunlight to see by, thanks to the tightly drawn curtains. But it’s still enough to see. Zenitsu’s skin is colorless. Pale and dewy with cold sweat. His eyes are screwed shut, and above that, a prominent crease between his eyebrows. He looks mildly anguished.
Uzui pulls the blanket back, slipping a hand beneath Zenitsu’s t-shirt, feeling his skin. It’s blazing, it’s like touching lit coal. He pulls his hand away. Zenitu makes a soft noise, shifting slightly, opening his eyes. Uzui pushes back sticky blond bangs, laying a palm over his forehead.
“You have a fever,” he observes.
“No I don’t,” Zenitsu frowns.
“Yes, you do. You’re way too hot. Your voice doesn’t sound great either.”
“I’m fine,” Zenitsu knocks his hand away. “Stop wasting time! We have to start getting ready!” he insists, shoving the blankets off, hurried as he climbs out of bed. He comes to standing for all of five seconds, before swooning and grabbing for the nightstand. It’s as if an invisible entity had clobbered him over the head, rendering him dizzy and silent. His wide eyes gaze at nothing as he tries to get his bearings.
“See? You’re not fine,” Uzui scoffs.
“I am! I’m perfectly fine, I just got dizzy for a second, okay? That doesn't mean anything– where are you going?”
“To get the thermometer,” Uzui answers from the doorway. “Sit back down, you shouldn’t be standing.”
“No, there’s no need for that!” Zenitsu calls after him. Sitting himself on the edge of the bed, despite how doing what he’s told makes him feel as though he’s already lost.
But he can’t keep standing, not with that vertigo. And there’s a dread in his heart, expanding quickly, spreading through him and making his eyes sting with frustrated tears. He’s biting back at his acceptance of reality. Because he cannot be sick. Today of all days, he cannot be sick. Not when he’d been looking forward to this day for weeks.
When Uzui returns with the thermometer, it feels as if the jury has reentered the courtroom. Wielding the verdict. Sparking panic in Zenitsu’s gut.
“Mouth. Open,” Uzui commands, grasping Zenitsu’s chin.
“I don’t want to! It’s not necessary! I told you I’m fine!”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Open your mouth,” Uzui repeats, eyes going narrow.
“NO!”
“Yes!”
Zenitsu cries out, he tries to wrench himself away. He only succeeds in falling back, his shoulders hitting the bed. Uzui goes after him, getting a handful of sheets as Zenitsu rolls away. Grabbing for him again, getting thwacked in the face with an attack-pillow. Powered by a rush of irritation, he rips the pillow out of Zenitsu’s hands, tossing it aside. Getting impatient, he slings a leg over Zenitsu’s hips, pinning him down. Grabbing his face with one hand and squeezing, trying to push the tip of the thermometer past tightly pursed lips. It takes a surprising amount of effort to breach that stubbornly sealed mouth, but he finally gets it past.
Victory.
Zenitsu’s eyes are full of murder as Uzui holds him in place. The sound of the button clicking sparks the air with an unspoken countdown. T-minus thirty seconds until the verdict is announced.
And lo and behold, the thermometer beeps with telltale urgency. Uzui releases his ironclad grip. He pulls the thermometer out, frowning at the read. He holds it in front of Zenitsu’s eyes, saying nothing. Watching Zenitsu’s face screw up with misery. A precursor of waterworks, one Uzui knows well.
Sure enough, Zenitsu’s bottom lip begins to wobble. And there it is. The tears sprout up and spill over his pallid face.
“That doesn’t mean anything. I can still go, we can still go,” he whimpers.
Uzui shakes his head.
“No, you can’t walk around in the hot sun all day. You can’t even stand up.”
“B-but, I already accounted for the heat, with the outfit I planned! It’s lightweight! Light colors that reflect the sun. I thought about it! I thought out every detail…”
“That doesn’t matter,” Uzui sighs, brushing away a lone tear from Zenitsu’s clammy cheek.
“It matters, all the details matter,” Zenitsu croaks. “Please! We can’t not go!” Fresh, fat tears begin making a mess of his skin. “It’s my birthday! You have to listen to me because it’s my birthday! You’re not allowed to say no!”
“Don’t cry like that. You’re going to make yourself feel worse…” Uzui chides.
Zenitsu bites his bottom lip, clamping his mouth shut for a good fifteen seconds. Then his resolve crumbles. He weeps quietly. Angrily. Angry at his shitty luck, angry at Uzui for being right, Angry at his body for doing exactly what Uzui said it would do– because the crying is making him feel worse. It’s making the dull headache ratchet up to a sharp, consistent throbbing. It’s pressing on his sinuses and making his nose run– which no amount of sniffling seems to be helping.
“Hey, it’s okay. We can always go to Disneyland another day,” Uzui says carefully, wiping up the tears with the pads of his thumbs. Cradling Zenitsu’s face in his hands.
“But it was supposed to be special! Special for my birthday! It won’t be the same!”
“I know…” Uzui sighs, sitting back. He reaches to rearrange the pillows against the headboard, settling against them. Gathering Zenitsu’s stiflingly warm body up in his arms.
Zenitsu curls up, like an isopod that has given up on life. The sound of his crying has taken on a gritty, strained quality.
“Shh, you’re hurting your throat with all this crying,” Uzui frets. His words seem to fall on deaf ears. Zenitsu’s shoulders begin to tremble as if another, even more upsetting thought has occurred to him.
“I wanted to go on the teacups!” he cries.
“I know. You were so excited, weren’t you?” Uzui murmurs, rubbing at the back of Zenitsu’s neck. Thumbing along his spine, because historically, it’s something that calms him down. “It’s unfair, isn’t it? To be sick today of all days…”
“And splash mountain. I wanted to go on there too,” Zenitsu sniffs, quieting down. He presses in closer, shutting his aching eyes.
“I know,” Uzui repeats, fingers slipping up into Zenitsu’s hair, glad to see the tears finally dying out. “I’ll take you another day. We’ll make it as special as you wanted it to be.”
“Do you promise?”
“I do. And my word is absolute. So there’s no need to worry.”
“Okay…” Zenitsu mumbles, resigned. He lifts his head, blinking up at Uzui with weary, glazed eyes.
“Your face is a mess,” Uzui smiles, wry as he tries to tidy up the tear tracks with his sleeve. Cupping Zenitsu’s cheek and drawing him into a short, coy kiss.
“Let's get you lying down,” he suggests. Zenitsu obeys wordlessly, letting himself be maneuvered and tucked in. Hiding his face against the pillow and pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering about his migraine.
“You need to sleep it off,” Uzui advises. “You haven’t been sleeping all week.”
“Because I was too excited to sleep,” Zenitsu shoots back, turning to display a tired scowl. “And my head hurts too badly to sleep right now.”
“I’ll get you painkillers from the kitchen.” Uzui stands, going off to retrieve them.
Zenitsu watches him leave, with half-lidded eyes, his vision murky with the low lighting and the steady pulse of pain in his skull. Closing his eyes again, because he has no energy to keep them open. After all the arguing, he’s belatedly feeling the rawness in his throat. He tries to cough past it, but that only seems to make it worse.
A hand touches his shoulder. He opens his eyes. Blearily, he can see Uzui holding out a glass of water. Looking like a hero, like the god he always proclaims himself to be.
Zenitsu props himself up shakily, taking a timid sip as Uzui holds the glass up to his mouth. It’s strenuous enough that he pauses, like a runner who can’t keep up.
“Drink some more,” Uzui urges, tipping the glass against his lips. Zenitsu takes another swallow, this time a longer one.
“Good,” Uzui says. “Do you think you can swallow pills right now?”
Zenitsu takes a long while to think about it, before shaking his head.
“Throat hurts too much,” he rasps, settling back against the pillows.
“Let’s try later, then. For now, I want you to sleep.”
“Sleep next to me,” Zenitsu pleads, tugging at the hem of Uzui’s sleeve. Feeling an onset of sudden, suffocating emotion. His eyes fog over with new tears, and his view of Uzui blurs at the edges. In the back of his mind, he’s irritated at his own crying. This fever has disarmed him. Every little thing is heavily upsetting.
Instead of laying beside him, Uzui moves to get up. Zenitsu’s grip on his sleeve locks up, his eyes go wide with confusion and panic.
“Relax, Zenitsu. I’m just getting an ice pack for your head.”
“No. Stay.” Zenitsu demands.
“It’ll help you feel better,” Uzui insists, trying to shake off Zenitsu’s hold. Zenitsu’s fingers only cinch up tighter. His mouth quirks. Tears pool at the corners of his eyes.
“Fine,” Uzui relents, climbing back into bed. “You’re too damn stubborn,” he mutters, pulling the covers up around them. Zenitsu immediately shifts to lie flush over him, fingers wrapping up in the front of his shirt. He tucks his head neatly against the slope of Uzui’s shoulder. After a moment, his breathing goes slow and even.
“This is uncomfortable. You’re boiling hot,” Uzui complains. Zenitsu doesn’t answer, and for a second Uzui wonders if he’s fallen asleep. Then he hears sniffling. He sighs, petting the back of Zenitsu’s head again. Wondering if he’s in for a whole lot more of this crying today.
“What’s on your mind, Zenitsu?” he asks softly.
“I’m sad,” Zenitsu replies, his voice meek.
“I can see that…”
“I’m sad that I won’t get to meet her today…”
“Who are you talking about?” Uzui asks.
“Cinderella…” Zenitsu mumbles.
“Oh, right.” Uzui can’t help the amusement that slips into his voice. Zenitsu is typically shy about his love for the Disney princesses. Ashamed about his favorite guilty pleasure: a classic love story– and always insecure over how much space it takes up in his mind. But Uzui’s always found it endearing, the way Zenitsu’s head is all filled up with idealized romance. It’s sweet.
“You relate to her, don’t you? Pretty blond with a Prince Charming of your own,” Uzui teases. Zenitsu hums softly. A non-answer.
“Is Cinderella your favorite princess, Zenitsu?”
The question is met with silence. The room is filled only with the sounds of birds chirping outside. And the lazy, rhythmic breathing of a dozing Zenitsu.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Zenitsu sleeps fitfully. At one point he awakens to the frozen press of an ice pack being placed on his forehead. At another point, he thinks he might’ve managed to sit up and take the painkillers. But maybe he had dreamed that. The memory is fuzzy.
But the headache has lessened. It’s morphed into more of an unpleasant pulse, so he assumes it must’ve happened. The pain is finally tolerable enough to sleep through.
When he rouses fully, the room is brighter. More sunlight slips in from around the edges of the curtain. The brightness makes his eyes sting– but he’s grateful to find that his headache has mostly subsided. His throat has gotten worse, though. Drier than before, coarse and painful. And notably, Uzui is no longer beside him. There’s a big cold pocket where the sheets have been pushed aside.
“Tengen,” Zenitsu attempts to shout– but it comes out as more of a croak.
“Tengen!” he tries again. It’s louder, but definitely not loud enough to breach the closed door. And the mistake of yelling quickly sends him into a coughing fit.
His eyes fly around the room desperately, searching for the glass of water Uzui brought him earlier. He spots it on the nightstand and grabs for it, taking a long, eager swig. Gasping as he sets it back down. Wondering absently what time it is, how long he slept for. He guesses it’s somewhere around noon, if the brighter sunlight is anything to go by.
He feels around the bed for his phone, and his hand closes around the soggy, melted ice pack instead.
No entertainment. And Uzui has gone off somewhere. He’s been abandoned, left to stew over his lack of Disneyland adventures. Left to lament over his ruined birthday.
He flops back down, staring up at the ceiling. Watching the blades of the fan do their languid circles. Bored out of his mind, and wide awake, too. Unable to tell the time.
Maybe he should try getting up.
It’s a bad idea, but the more the minutes pass, the more he entertains it.
“Tengennnnnn,” he whines into the empty air. As if this summons will do anything at all.
Time keeps passing, unquantifiable. Trying to get up seems more and more appealing. Worst case scenario, he falls and cracks his head open on the nightstand. It’s a chance he decides he is willing to take.
He pushes the blankets off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The motion is a little nauseating. It forces him to stop and contemplate. He can already picture the scolding he’ll receive for getting up.
The door creaks open, and Zenitsu perks up. Uzui enters with a steaming tea mug in one hand, and a slip of paper in the other.
“Good morning,” he chirps, coming over to pass Zenitsu the mug. “I thought this might help your throat. Maybe wait a bit, it’s still too hot to drink.”
“Thanks,” Zenitsu says. He holds the mug up to his face, enjoying the steam. The comforting scent. After a second, his fingers start to tingle from the heat. He sets it on the nightstand.
“How are you feeling?” Uzui asks.
“Bad,” Zenitsu deadpans.
“I figured…” Uzui reaches to push Zenitsu’s bangs aside. Feeling his forehead. Frowning.
“I think your fever is worse,” he sighs, dipping his hand beneath the skewed collar of Zenitsu’s shirt. Testing more skin. “Yep, definitely… but oh, what’s this?” he removes his hand, brandishing the folded slip of cardstock.
Zenitsu eyes him quizzically, slowly taking the note. Unfolding it to reveal a message written in green glitter ink. It’s surrounded by a hand-drawn border of hearts and stars. The color of the writing makes it hard to discern. He squints at it, reading.
Hear ye! Hear ye!
The flamboyantly handsome Prince Uzui Tengen shall be hosting a royal ball.
All blond cuties of the kingdom are invited required to attend, so that ONE LUCKY BRIDE may be chosen.
Flashy attire is required. ;)
“What is this?” Zenitsu scoffs.
“It’s an invitation to the royal ball. Clearly.”
Zenitsu ponders this for a moment, folding the paper up again. Staring at Uzui with a hardline expression.
“You said I was too sick to go anywhere. If I can’t go to Disneyland, how can I go to a ball?””
“Well, I know a certain flashy fairy godfather who can make any dream come true,” Uzui winks.
“... So… you’re both the prince and the fairy godmother, in this scenario? How does that make any sense?”
“As if the rest of Cinderella makes sense?” Uzui snaps. “Tell me how nobody else in the whole kingdom has the same shoe size as her! Does that make any sense? Is it logical for a pumpkin to magically turn into a chariot?” He snatches the invitation back. “Ungrateful guests are not welcome at this ball,” he declares. Punctuating his point by flicking Zenitsu in the forehead.
“Ow! Hey!” Zenitsu cries, glaring daggers as he rubs his smarting skin.
“Just go back to sleep, brat.”
Zenitsu frowns deeply, huffing as he cocoons himself back within the blankets. He spends a moment pouting, enduring the weighted silence between them. Irritated when he hears Uzui get up and leave the room.
He glowers for a bit. Then he exhales loudly, unable to force back the smile rising on his face. Nor the giggle trying to burst its way out of his mouth.
“I don’t have anything to wear to a royal ball,” he titters, grinning. “Oh, if only I had some magic to help me!” he announces, as loud as his hindered voice can manage. Hoping Uzui can hear him.
But nothing happens. Uzui does not return. And raising his voice has his throat feeling even worse. Sandpapery.
He braves the arduous task of sitting up again, reaching for the tea. Blowing on the surface and taking a sip. It’s a drinkable temperature now, and it feels wonderful going down. The ambrosia of the ill. He drains half the mug, and when he sets it back down he spots his phone, hiding behind the base of the lamp. It had been sitting there all along. Ridiculous.
He scoops it up, unlocking it, pulling up Uzui’s contact. Typing out the same sentiment as before. Sending his thoughts out one at a time, in piecemeal fashion.
( I dont have anything to wear to a ball :c
(( if only i had a fairy godmother of some kind
((( to make me something
(((( out of magic
((((( if only :,C
He stares at the screen, wondering if Uzui will ignore the messages. Sure enough, a read receipt surfaces. It sits there damningly. Followed by no reply.
Zenitsu bites the inside of his cheek, his thumbs doing a hovering dance above the keyboard as he thinks. He types another message out.
(((((( Come back. I miss u :c
He debates hitting send. The message is so full of defeat. Such a quick surrender. It’s also desperate. He’s not sure why he cares about sounding desperate. Maybe it’s a pride thing…
He’s deep in contemplation when Uzui bursts back into the room, ripping him out of his thoughts. The phone slips out of his hands and gets instantly lost in the vortex of blankets.
Zenitsu raises his eyebrows, staring at the sight in the doorway. Uzui has tied a blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and he appears to be wielding a kitchen ladle with a ribbon braided around the handle.
“Fear not, young blond! For your flamboyant Fairy Godfather has arrived!” Uzui declares, marching over with theatrical enthusiasm.
Zenitsu claps a hand over his own mouth, trying and failing to keep the incredulous laughter from spilling out. Rolling his eyes as Uzui uses the ladle to tap him on the crown of his head. A tap on his right shoulder, then his left. A gentle poke to the abdomen.
“Bibbidi. Bobbidi. Boo.” Uzui chants with each tap. Then he tosses the ladle aside.
“Be right back,” he grins, striding over to the door. “Stay put,” he points at Zenitsu authoritatively, then disappears.
The sound of rummaging floats through the open door. Moments later Uzui returns, this time with an armful of miscellaneous supplies. He dumps all of it onto the bed, and Zenitsu surveys the collection. There’s a wide-tooth comb, a random selection of clips, a handful of Uzui’s garish jewelry. There’s also a bundle of socks, and one of Uzui’s dress shirts. It’s a pale blue, silk garment, still with the tag on.
“There. Everything we need for a magical transformation, don’t you think?” Uzui asks, taking a seat on the bed.
“More than enough,” Zenitsu nods. He pushes the blanket back and attempts to sit up properly, but he gives up fast. It’s too tiring. He sighs, staring at Uzui dejectedly.
“You don’t need to sit up. Just lay back,” Uzui asserts, bracing a hand over Zenitsu’s chest. His fingers crawl under the sleep shirt, peeling it up. Finding that it’s damp with feverish sweat. Getting it off of Zenitsu is slow work, but he manages.
A shiver runs through Zenitsu's body as he struggles to adjust to the temperature. The cool air feels odd on his skin. Overstimulating. He flinches slightly when Uzui skims a hand up his stomach, feeling goosebumps blossom wherever he’s touched. There’s a strange, tired sensitivity he always experiences when he’s sick. The intensity has him falling quiet. Another shudder runs through him, and he can’t tell if it’s the fever, or the subtle intimacy, or both.
Uzui clicks his tongue sympathetically, running his fingers over Zenitsu’s ribs. Watching the dazed, delayed reaction.
Time to get to work.
He reaches for the silk shirt. Carefully helping Zenitsu thread his arms through the sleeves. Doing the buttons up with silent concentration. Rolling the too-long sleeves.
“This is my favorite color on you,” he remarks. Zenitsu only looks away bashfully, not replying.
“You like compliments, don’t you, babydoll?” Uzui grins, watching spots of bright color appear high on Zenitsu’s cheeks.
“Everyone likes compliments…” Zenitsu grumbles.
“Yes, but you especially,” Uzui points out as he reaches for the comb. “Now, let’s do your hair so I can compliment you even more,” he smiles, pulling Zenitsu into his lap.
Zenitsu settles back comfortably, letting Uzui get to work. Enjoying the rhythmic, gentle scrape of the comb passing through his hair. Giving his approval of various clips, disapproving of some others. He likes the thin ones with little pearls at the ends of them. And the small silver ones, dotted on the edges with glittery false diamonds. Uzui weaves them into his hair one at a time.
“You look dazzling,” Uzui comments as he inserts the last clip. He rests his chin over the curve of Zenitsu’s shoulder, hugging him closer. “The prince won’t know what hit him… He’ll probably try to fuck you right there on the dance floor,” he says in a low voice. This earns him an immediate elbow to the gut.
“The fairy godmother would never talk like that!” Zenitsu bleats, scandalized. “You just ruined the whole illusion!”
“I am so very sorry,” Uzui replies, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I’ll be more fairy godmother-like… let’s see…” He shifts to lay a kiss behind Zenitsu’s ear. “You look magical. Total princess material. No man would be able to take his eyes off of you. Or his hands off of you. In fact, I left your top button open, so the Prince has easy access—”
“-- you’re doing it again!” Zenitsu sputters. “That is not something a fairy godmother would say!”
“--He might try getting touchy, but you have a curfew, sweet princess,” Uzui speaks over him. “You’ll be back in your unflashy peasant clothes by midnight,” he warns. “The clock is ticking. We need to get you in your glass slippers and out the door.”
“And those socks are my glass slippers?” Zenitsu asks, pointing to the argyle bundle that at some point, had rolled off the bed and onto the floor.
“Bingo!”
Uzui maneuvers Zenitsu out of his lap, getting up to retrieve the socks from across the room. When he comes back over, he finds Zenitsu curled up on his side. A visible shudder rolls through Zenitsu’s body. He’s holding one of the necklaces that had scattered across the bed. A black corded choker with a teardrop ruby pendant.
“I like this one,” he holds it out as Uzui sits beside him. “Can you put it on me?”
Uzui nods.
“Socks first— I mean slippers,” he suggests, unraveling the bundle, turning the socks right-side out. He grasps Zenitsu’s calf, bringing it into his lap.
“Why didn’t you say your feet were cold? I would’ve brought you socks earlier,” he frowns as he rolls the socks over Zenitsu’s feet.
“I didn’t notice. Even if I did, I couldn’t shout for you.”
“Hmm..” Uzui contemplates this. Then he feels around the blankets, locating Zenitsu’s phone, putting it in his hands in exchange for the necklace.
“Hold onto this, then,” he instructs. He spends a minute untying a knot in the choker’s clasp. Then he takes on the challenge of getting it around Zenitsu’s neck without making him sit up. It requires a bit of fumbling and strategy, but he makes do.
The choker is too big. Instead of resting against his throat, the pendant droops over Zenitsu’s collarbone.
“Pretty,” Uzui smiles, adjusting the cord a little. He pats Zenitsu’s chest, then stands up.
“I’ll be back for you. This is… an intermission. Pretend you‘re in your chariot on the way to the ball,” Uzui says, heading for the living room. Zenitsu watches him leave. After a beat, Uzui’s face reappears in the door.
“Text me if you need anything,” he commands, his expression serious. Then he’s gone again.
Zenitsu closes his eyes, astounded by how worn out he feels over such minor excitement. It doesn’t take long before he slips into a partial sleep.
After a while, the clear sound of classical music drifts into the room. Not long after, he feels familiar hands slipping around him. He has a mild awareness of being hefted into Uzui’s arms and lifted off the bed.
He continues to doze as Uzui carries him out of the room, only opening his eyes as he’s propped up against the arm of the couch. Glad to see Uzui has done him the courtesy of leaving the lights off in the living room. On the mantle, there’s a lit scented candle Zenitsu forgot they owned. He realizes the source of the classical music– the ancient record player he’d inherited from Gramps. And he had inherited a huge pile of records along with it. Too many to sift through. Hours of music to listen to. The current record on the turntable must be one he’s never tried out. He doesn’t recognize the songs.
“Welcome to the royal ball!” Uzui declares, gesturing grandly, hijacking Zenitsu’s attention. There’s a crown made of construction paper resting on Uzui’s head. It’s slightly askew, and Zenitsu notices that there are diamond motifs drawn all over it.
“I like your crown, mister prince,” Zenitsu grins.
“This crown costs more than your village,” Uzui tells him, as he places a wine glass in Zenitsu’s hands. “So does this non-alcoholic wine.”
Zenitsu takes a tentative sip. Grape juice. Uzui retrieves a second glass from the coffee table, sitting beside him.
“I must say, you are by far the hottest guest at this ball,” Uzui remarks. He shifts a little closer, clinking his glass against Zenitsu’s own. Taking more of a gulp than a sip.
“Thank you.” Zenitsu’s mouth twists into a pleased smirk. “I had some fashion help.”
“You must be an aristocrat.”
“Nope,” Zenitsu shakes his head. “I’m just normal.”
“That’s no matter. I’m a very progressive prince. I judge by the gorgeousness of your face. Not your wallet,” Uzui says pointedly.
“My face? What about my heart?”
“I know nothing about your heart… yet,” Uzui says, setting his glass down. “I think we should change that.”
“How?” Zenitsu asks, tilting his head.
“We should dance. Then I’ll know… telepathically.”
“I’m up for a dance,” Zenitsu smiles.
“Excellent,” Uzui takes his glass from him, putting it aside. He moves forward, slinging an arm around Zenitsu’s back, drawing him into his lap.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructs. “And hold on, if you can.”
Zenitsu does as he’s told, pressing his thighs in tightly over Uzui’s waist. Mildly afraid he’ll be dropped as Uzui stands. But the hold is secure. The brief moment of anxiety fades out. He drapes his arms over Uzui’s shoulders, hugging loosely as Uzui begins moving along with the song.
“Is the music too loud for you?” Uzui asks.
“No. But you’re swaying too much, and it’s making me dizzy.”
Uzui slows down, swaying in time with the swells of the melody, instead of the beat. Gladly noting to himself that Zenitsu feels less warm than he did earlier.
“You know, I can tell your heart is as golden as your hair,” he quips.
“That’s so cheesy,” Zenitsu mumbles.
“I’m living up to my title as the Prince of Charm.”
“Mmhmm,” Zenitsu yawns, resting his cheek over Uzui’s clavicle, letting his sight go fuzzy as the music washes over him. The toned-down swaying is now soothing. So is Uzui’s body heat. He could almost fall asleep like this. But he doesn’t want to go slack and lose his grip, so he puts his energy into keeping himself awake through a couple of songs.
“Oh no…” Uzui mutters. “I just realized something.”
“What?” Zenitsu lifts his head, suddenly alert.
“The clock… It just struck twelve!” Uzui cries. And before Zenitsu can blink, he’s being rushed back towards the bedroom, jostling in Uzui’s hold as they circumvent the couch. Uzui drops him onto the bed, and the impact of the fall steals all the breath out of his lungs.
“Whoa!” he rasps. “Slower, wait–”
“-- The magic is wearing off!” Uzui yells, frantically pulling out all the pins and clips from Zenitsu’s hair. He hooks his hands beneath the collar of the button-down, ripping it open. Zenitsu gasps as buttons careen across the room. He can hardly believe Uzui would destroy an expensive shirt just to commit to the bit, but that appears to be what’s happening.
Uzui grasps Zenitsu’s ankle, yanking off one of his socks. Then he jumps back, tearing the blanket away and throwing it over Zenitsu with the flourish of a birthday party magician.
“TIME SKIP!” he shouts. From beneath the blanket, Zenitsu hears him race out the room. The door slams, rattling the picture frames hanging on the wall.
Zenitsu tries to catch his breath, head spinning from the chaos. The low throb of his headache has begun to creep up again. He struggles to anchor himself in the present moment. It seems his thoughts have been left behind in the living room.
A polite knock sounds from the door. He pulls the blanket off of his face right as Uzui reenters. The paper crown is no longer there. Instead, Uzui has placed the lone sock on a couch pillow. He’s holding it with delicate respect, using both hands– as if it really were a fantastical slipper made of glass, and not a limp trouser sock.
“Fair maiden. This slipper was left behind by the hottest attendee of the ball. If it fits you, the Prince will make you his bride,” Uzui informs. He comes over to the bedside, helping a shaken, disrobed Zenitsu adjust into a seated position. Then he kneels, gently taking Zenitsu’s foot in hand.
He puts the sock on with the unhurried pace of something ceremonial. Then his eyes snap up with exaggerated surprise.
“It fits!” he declares. “We need to get you into a wedding dress immediately!”
“I hope you mean pajamas,” Zenitsu sighs, rubbing one eye. Looking utterly spent.
“Hmm… Do you have any white t-shirts?” Uzui asks.
“I don’t think so…”
“I think I might have one,” Uzui says, getting up to go search through the dresser. Pawing through the clothing haphazardly. “Do I still have that one…?” he mutters to himself, opening another drawer.
Even from afar, Zenitsu can see he’s making a huge mess out of all the neatly folded clothes.
“Aha! Here it is!” Uzui holds the shirt up triumphantly. “A gown fit for a queen!”
Zenitsu accepts Uzui’s assistance in getting dressed, too drowsy to speak, but able to help with the process a bit more than he could earlier. He’s slowly but surely regaining his strength.
“I have a crown for you too,” Uzui says, ruffling Zenitsu’s hair. He reaches to unclasp the choker around Zenitsu’s neck, setting it neatly on the nightstand.
“Is it as nice a crown as yours was?” Zenitsu asks.
“Even better,” Uzui promises, standing. “Sit tight, princess,” he instructs, leaving Zenitsu behind for the kitchen.
A moment later, he returns, once again donning his paper crown. And in his hands is a second crown, fashioned out of tin foil.
“You weren’t kidding, it is nicer,” Zenitsu snickers, as Uzui places it on his head.
“Only the best for my princess,” Uzui smiles. “How does it feel to be coronated?”
“Pretty cool,” Zenitsu replies.
“Okay… one more thing. To officiate it,” Uzui says cryptically, leaning in closer. There’s a gleam in his eye that cannot mean anything good.
“What is it…?” Zenitsu frowns. Uzui doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns away to dig through the nightstand drawer. Whatever he retrieves, Zenitsu can’t get a good glimpse at it. His curiosity is piqued, even more so as Uzui gets off the bed.
“Why are you kneeling?” Zenitsu asks, mouth going dry. “W-we already did the glass slipper part.”
“I wanted to do this at Disneyland, but,” Uzui pulls out a little velvet box from behind his back. He flips it open. Zenitsu makes a strangled sound.
“Agatsuma Zenitsu. Wanna get married?”
Zenitsu only stares, shocked. Eyes laser-focused on that little platinum gold band. It’s inlaid with a single, elegant sapphire. He cannot breathe.
“Zenitsu?”
“This... I…” Zenitsu swallows thickly. “H-how long did you have that in there?”
“In the nightstand?” Uzui asks. Zenitsu gives a stunned nod.
“Hmm… maybe… nine months?” Uzui muses.
“That’s longer than we’ve been dating for!” Zenitsu squeaks, suddenly feeling woozy. He presses a hand over his own sternum, feeling like if he doesn't, his heart might burst out of his chest and onto the floor.
“You don’t have to say yes…” Uzui says, in a tone that is measured and neutral. But Zenitsu can see a spark of uncharacteristic worry in his eyes.
“This is a lot,” Zenitsu breathes. He clutches his chest a little tighter. Inhaling sharply, eyes as wide as dinner plates.
Then, as if it’s hit him all at once, he erupts into tears. A monsoon of emotions he can’t name, all of it spilling out in one graceless river of shock. He can’t see Uzui anymore, just a swimming mess.
“You, you, you–” he tries to choke out, but his own heavy, hiccuping sobs cut him off. He gathers up his train of thought. Tries again, with every bit of strength he has, he forces himself to speak. “You… you want to m-marry me? ”
“Only if you want me to,” Uzui answers gently, laying a hand over Zenitsu’s knee. “Do you want me to?”
Zenitsu nods frantically, covering his face with his hands. Unable to say anything anymore, too overwhelmed to do anything but weep. He feels the bed dip as Uzui sits beside him. Fingers wrap carefully around his left wrist, prying it away from his face. Through his soggy, ruined vision, he watches Uzui exhibit the patience of a saint, as he attempts to slip the ring onto an impossibly shaky ring finger. It takes a minute, but he gets it on there. And eventually, Zenitsu’s tears die down into sniffles. Now he can only stare at his own hand in disbelief. There’s a ring on it. There’s a ring on his hand.
“It’s so beautiful…” he murmurs, voice dreamy as he tilts his hand. Admiring the way the stone catches the light. He doesn’t take his eyes off of it, even when Uzui pulls him to lay back in bed, his gaze stays fixed. Mesmerized. He hardly registers the lingering kisses being placed on the side of his throat.
“I lied about how long I’ve been hiding it,” Uzui admits quietly.
Zenitsu finally breaks out of his trance, turning to face him.
“What do you mean?”
“I bought that ring right after I met you. It’s been living in my nightstand for five years.”
“What?" Zenitsu blinks, shocked all over again.
“I knew you had a kind heart right away,” Uzui says fondly. His smile twists, turning into something wry. “You know how it is. Telepathically. I could tell your heart was as golden as your hair.”