Chapter Text
It's a lovely day on the citadel. The arms of the stellar fortress flower like lotus petals to catch the solar winds emanating from the nearby Azophi star cluster. The energy it expels is faint and degraded at this vast distance but the citadel is a marvel of modern engineering that is nothing if not efficient at making them most of their resources.
Not that Horikawa Kunihiro is thinking about anything like geomagnetic fields and the properties of plasma as he stares at the void above, at the prism of lights that track the star studded sky in a slow waltz. They dance to the tune of the reservoir stream, the air cars zipping overhead and his father droning on about about this appointment he was being made to attend. A blue haired boy crosses their path and trips on the robes that pool clumsily around his feet but when Horikawa offers him a smile he only buries his face and his flush in his billowing mantle and scurries on his way without a sound. Back into the arms of an awaiting patron who leads him away. The words don't carry at this distance but he catches a trace of the admonishing tone.
Somewhere a dog barks and the aurora shimmers above the low hum of the citadel's artificial lights. It's always a lovely day on the citadel.
"Horikawa!" His father stands a few paces away with his half brothers dutifully by his side, Yamabushi bouncing on his heels with all the barely contained energy that inhabits an eight year old and Yamanbagiri with his eyes downcast, not unlike the little urchin that's already disappeared.
By the time he catches up to them Horikawa can make out the frown that creases his father's brow and the apology that comes like an instinct is ready to spring from the tip of his tongue.
"When are you going to start taking this seriously?" The elder Kunihiro cuts in without giving him a chance to speak. "If I were a less patient man you know I could have arranged something for you and been done with it!
"Yes father," he replies, trying to hide the weariness in his voice. It's not that he's not grateful. As oldest son and alpha heir, he had inherited his father's name, a promise that he would one day inherit the family and its estate and all the prestige that went with it. As oldest son he had to set an example as the future face of the Kunihiro name. As an alpha a few days shy of fifteen, he had to choose a mate that was worthy of that very name that was his fortune to protect.
And as his father, the senior Horikawa Kunihiro had every right to ensure that his son and future made the best match possible.
It's certainly not that he's not grateful to have the choice at all, only that he grows tired of the constant reminders of this charity. Such that he ceased to consider it much of a gift at all.
"Rumor has it one of the Sanjou stock will be in attendance and Ichigo always comes with at least a few of his brothers..."
Horikawa's attention is wandering again, from the round ebony buttons that decorate his father's high necked vest to the tempo of Yamabushi's steps as he skips ahead of them, always three forward and one back like he's lost in some game of which he is the only enlightened party. A smile tugs at his lips at the sight of his youngest brother but not the way the middle one, Yamanbagiri, clings to his hand. He shares a smile with the blonde haired child instead and although it isn't returned, his grip relaxes.
"...And then there's Kotetsu's boy that's just come of age."
It's a small commotion from a side street that has them all looking up. There's a shout and a gasp and then the crowd is shuffling, bubbling, like something is struggling to break the surface. That's when he appears, in a flurry of long dark hair and red silk robes, from the forest of adults standing around him. In one bound, he frees himself and barrels straight into Horikawa
The assailant is nothing more than a child, smaller than either of his brothers but tense and wired with the kind of feral energy of some prey on the run. Horikawa's breath leaves him in a rush as he lands on the ground but he still cradles the boy until he can determine that he's unharmed.
That's when the boy looks up and that's when it overtakes him, a deep aquamarine, burning, churning like a the tropical storms that ravaged the world their kind had left behind long ago. The face is framed in a curtain of black, styled in loose waves but already coming apart in the struggle. Horikawa finds it hard to breath for a second time as the child stares back, like looking into a mirror, a glassy liquid surface that ripples and disfigures the picture it reflects.
"Izuminokami!"
The boy turns to the crowd that is slow to part behind him, and then all that coiled energy is ready to spring. "Out of my way!" He gives a shout and shove.
Horikawa only barely reacts in time to catch his wrist, and though he reels and tugs with surprising vigor for his size, the teen holds fast. The consulate may be the safest place in the citadel, maybe in the whole galaxy even, but that didn't mean danger didn't still lurk within all the dark corners of a society that prized a look like the one this child wore should he find himself lost among them.
"Let go! I'm not going back!"
He does not. He tells himself he's doing the kid a favor.
"Horikawa." And then it's his father's authority that has his attention. "We don't have time for this"
"Ah..." Horikawa withers slightly beneath the man's stern gaze, made all the more so by the tight knot that gathers his hair at the base of his neck and usually leaves his son fussing with his own unruly fringe. Today, he wills his hands to remain still though he balls the one that hangs loose into a fist. The boy, Izuminokami, continues to fight for his freedom and that makes it all the more challenging to get back on his feet. "You can check in without me at least, can't you father? Just let me return him to his dame. I won't be late, I promise."
Horikawa thinks maybe he can steal some of that fire and maybe it works because the elder Kunihiro's expression softens. He's a hard man, his father, but not an unreasonable one and even he can appreciate that his son has only good intentions in mind with this simple request.
He nods. "See that you're not." And he turns, and wraps one arm each around his brothers to usher them the rest of the way to the banquet hall.
Horikawa breaths a sigh of relief that's short lived as his newly assumed charge shouts "No!" and suddenly his hands is throbbing with a kind of pain that could only be caused by a few dozen, sharp and tiny teeth biting into his hand. It's instinct alone that has him releasing Izuminokami. He sucks in a breath but he doesn't curse, nor does he lose sight of him.
Fortunately, the boy turns and runs right into an older man -- too old to be his dame, a patron then? -- who grabs him around the waist and hefts him into the air with a practiced ease that leaves him unscathed in spite of the squall of kicking and flailing that follows.
"There you are, you insolent brat! What have you done now?"
Horikawa, who watches the scene unfold in a kind of unsettled awe, remembers himself in that moment and quickly moves to fold his hands together, concealing the smear of blood that covers the back of his hand just in time for the other's eyes to fall on him. He can feel the gaze searching him, invasive at first, then with increasing reserve as he finds the crest emblazoned across Horikawa's breast.
"K-Kunihiro! Forgive us my lord. This child is young and untrained." He bows his head and forces the boy down in the same breath. "Izuminokami, apologize to the young lord."
"Eh?" he protests in both voice and body alike. "Why do I have to apologize!? He got in my way."
The sound of the slap that follows reverberates over the drone of voices lost in their own concerns and conversations but only a few look up. None of them linger. Except for Horikawa who moves to step between them but thinks better of it at the last second.
"Hey there's no need for that." The look the boy's patron turns on him is one of contempt veiled only by the respect that Horikawa commands, or his name at the very least considering he's behaving in a way that is hardly deserving of the esteem. A look that says some people don't know what they're talking about and they should mind their own business. Still, he squares his shoulders and fixes his gaze determinedly. "I only mean I'm not upset. I won't press the matter if that's what you're so worried about."
The patron eyes him warily, not entirely convinced and Horikawa shifts instead to regard Izuminokami. The poor boy is clutching at his cheek which burns red in the spaces between his fingers and he makes no attempt to quell the tears welling up in his eyes. "What's got him so upset anyway?"
The man scrubs at the boy's face. "He's got finishing school," he replies with a scoff. "Honestly it's the same damn fight every day. They'd be better off hiring a private tutor for a case like him only... well. It's not an option."
There's a number of things to comment on, not the least of which being this man's lack of discretion for the family he serves but there's one thing ringing in his ears every bit as loudly as the stinging in his hand.
"He's an omega?" Horikawa blurts out, dumbfounded though it's already a wonder that he didn't notice it before. Looking at him now there's no mistaking the status that is woven in his hair, his clothes, and most importantly, the way he smells, faint at this age but no less potent. But not in his words nor all the flames that spout from his tear studded eyes. The juxtaposition is nothing short of fascinating.
His patron, however, is clearly less impressed. "Obviously. And a rather significant one for his family."
That's when he notices it, the golden crest of a noble family like his own embroidered and half hidden in the folds of his refinery.
"Kanesada." Horikawa breathes the name like it's a prayer and an omen all at the same time.
Then he notices the boy staring and he composes himself, kneeling down and offering his uninjured hand in a gesture of apology that can't be expressed in words. A gesture that's answered with a glare. "So you're Izuminokami Kanesada? You've got an awful lot of energy. Has anyone every told you that?
It seems Izuminokami isn't used hearing that from a stranger and he has the decency to look shocked for a least a few seconds before remembering that he's supposed to be mad at Horikawa.
"Yeah. Right before they tell me it's a pain in the ass." Once he gets going, the fury takes on a new tone of arrogance. He lifts his chin and puffs out his chest like he knows exactly where he stands but he doesn't care. Because he also knows the truth in the words he's about to speak. Nothing has been made more clear to him from the day he was born and it forms the very foundations of the confidence upon which he stands so firmly. "But I guess it's better than just being beautiful."
His patron's eyes widen and he looks to be seconds away from striking the boy again but he only grabs his hand instead. "Come on! We're already late enough thanks to your little stunt."
They're about to leave without so much as another word when he turns again and pins the young Kunihiro with a querulous look. "If I am not mistaken, Lord Horikawa, you are meant to be at the matchmaking banquet, are you not? You wouldn't want to be late yourself."
The words hit him with all the force of the slap he leveled against Izuminokami and Horikawa can only stare after them as they disappear into the afternoon crowds. Don't get angry, he tells himself. If there's anyone to be angry with, it's only himself for thinking he could pass undetected through the mire of policy and politics when he himself is one of the coveted stepping stones to crossing that path.
And now he's gone and made trouble. Or rather, trouble has found him he thinks as he regards at the mark on his hand but only for a moment before he stuffs it in his mouth to suck at the blood that pools there. There isn't much time but as he runs to catch up in time, the blood rushes faster in his veins and he feels the wound begin to clot. At least it isn't so deep that it would leave a mark. But the memory of it has left a scar all it's own and it's all he need to make his decision.
The doors to the banquet hall are made of cherry wood, a deep sanguine brown that feels like a sin to touch but he faces them down, presses his hands to them firmly to push them both open to admit himself. Horikawa Kunihiro is waiting for his son inside.
"Father, I've decided."