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Easy as Life

Summary:

As the recently appointed king of Nekoma, Kuroo Tetsurou has many responsibilities, and the welfare of his people must be his top priority. So when his advisor suggests he marry the princess of Karasuno to unite the two kingdoms (which will strengthen their army and add to their resources), he knows it's the right thing to do.

But his brain wars with his heart when he runs into Kozume Kenma, one of the palace servants, and their relationship grows despite Kuroo's attempts to keep his selfish desires in check.

Notes:

this fic is already complete, so I'll be posting chapters every monday night/friday morning, as I edit them (and work on my other wips).

this is an idea I've had since 2015 ;;; it's heavily inspired by the song "easy as life" from the musical aida (fantastic song, tragic musical). if you listen to it, you'll get the overall vibe/theme of this fic

I hope you all enjoy it!

((there's a panic attack in this chapter. if that's triggering for you, please stop at "The silence that follows" and CTRL/Command + F to "He pulls his legs up"))

Chapter 1: Every Story is a Love Story

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

it's knowing what they want of me that scares me
it's knowing, having followed, i must lead
it's knowing that each person there compares me
to those in my past whom i now succeed
but how can whatever i do for them now be enough?
be enough

-- elton john, aida, "dance of the robe"


 

 

 

“. . . and resources. I really think this is the best course of action.”

Morisuke’s watching him expectantly, and Kuroo blinks, realizing he’s completely spaced out. He glances over at Nobuyuki, but the man just gives him a placid smile. Straightening his spine, Kuroo looks back over to Morisuke, who’s now regarding him with impatience.

“Sorry. What was that again?”

Morisuke heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Your desire to unite the kingdoms, heika. Nekoma and Karasuno against Nohebi? I believe marriage is the best option. Princess Hitoka is of age, and it would strengthen the alliance greatly. We will have a share of their resources, and with Nohebi mobilizing near our borders, I think it’s necessary to show we have strong allies at our backs.”

Kuroo grimaces, remembering now the topic of this meeting. It’s not a bad idea, by all accounts. He’d just always hoped to rule Nekoma without needing a Queen. Having access to Karasuno’s land and armies will definitely help, and maybe even deter Daishou over in Nohebi from stepping foot into Nekoma. But the thought of marrying a stranger, a woman at that . . . it flips his stomach over before it settles like a stone in his gut.

“Uh. Yeah,” he says with a weak smile. “You’re right, of course.” That’s why he chose Morisuke as his official advisor, isn’t it? To help him come up with ideas on how to keep Nekoma strong, how to rule well and justly. When Kuroo’s father died a year ago, he felt wholly unprepared to take his place as king, despite his training and schooling. Appointing his childhood friends and classmates, Yaku Morisuke and Kai Nobuyuki, as his advisors was a last-ditch effort to convince himself he could do this.

Now, though, everything’s grown heavy, again. The weight of knowing what he should do battling with what his heart wants. He’s sure he can come to love Yachi Hitoka, Princess of Karasuno; it’s very easy for him to love. But he’s sure he’ll never fall in love with her, and that’s a feeling he’s been chasing without luck since he was sixteen.

At twenty-two, he’s starting to think he’ll never get to experience it.

“Yes, send a letter to King Sawamura explaining the request,” he says, rising from his cushion, then. “Here’s hoping he doesn’t mind his baby sister marrying someone like me.” He smirks half-heartedly.

The other two stand as well. Yamamoto Taketora and Haiba Lev shift closer to him, hands resting lightly on the katana at their sides.

“Sir! The princess would be lucky to marry such an esteemed and thoughtful king, sir!” Taketora shouts loyally.

“I agree, heika sir!” Lev chimes in, just as loud.

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, honestly appreciating their words, but not entirely sure how to take them. Morisuke and Nobuyuki both bow deeply; Morisuke gives Lev a look out of the corner of his eye that makes Lev stand straighter at attention, lips pursed. Kuroo wants to ask what that’s all about, eager for distraction, but Morisuke rolls up his map and leaves the room before he can.

“Do you want me to send tea to your chambers, heika?” Nobuyuki asks, sympathy in his eyes.

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do with that, either. Back in school, Nobuyuki and Morisuke were his closest confidantes. Now, he feels like he shouldn’t confide in them too much, weigh them down with the burden of his doubts and fears. They have enough to handle in their new positions in the palace, and while sometimes he misses the easy banter and conversations they used to have beneath the wisteria trees, he knows he can’t do any of this without them by his side.

It’s a blessing and a curse, it seems. He gains two loyal advisors who he knows he can trust with any task, but he loses his two best friends.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks ‘Yuki,” Kuroo says with a fond smile.

Nobuyuki bows again before leaving. Running his hands over his face, Kuroo turns toward his bodyguards. “I’m going to take a walk,” he says, moving towards the door, then.

Taketora and Lev follow him on either side. He makes his way to the path that surrounds the courtyard, every now and then passing servants who stop and drop to the ground to bow with their foreheads pressed to stone as he walks by. He smiles and waves, each time embarrassed by the display. He’s content with a simple bow at the waist, or even just a nod of the head, but the show of respect is so ingrained in them from generations of royal tradition, he’s given up repeating himself each time.

The weather outside is pleasant, the smell of the wisteria trees wafting on the light breeze, the sun shining brightly overhead. He’s protected from it by the overhanging roof over the path, but he heads for the archway that will lead into the gardens, always feeling more at peace there than within the walls of the palace, despite having grown up there.

He steps forward eagerly once he sees the red pillars, and immediately stumbles into someone. Lev catches his arm, so he doesn’t fall, but the other isn’t so lucky. They tumble to the ground, landing on their backside, and a tray clatters to the stone between them and Kuroo, tea spilling out of a broken pot. A cup rolls across the stone to land in the dirt.

“HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” Taketora roars, hopping forward to grab the servant by the front of the white yukata all the servants wear in the spring and summer months (switching to warmer white kimonos for the fall and winter ones).

He ran into me,” the servant mutters, surprising Kuroo with their irritable tone. Their hair is jet black and framing their face, falling to just beneath their chin. Right now, their head is down, making the hair swing forward to hide their expression. “He should watch where he’s going.”

“Ah, ‘Tora,” Kuroo says, knowing it was his own fault. He steps forward, ready to apologize, but Taketora continues like he didn’t hear him.

“HE’S THE KING! HE DOESN’T NEED TO WATCH WHERE HE’S GOING!”

This causes the servant’s head to raise, and Kuroo finds himself frozen in place by the intensity of the bright, golden eyes that flash from behind the curtain of black hair.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” the servant hisses, pushing their fists against Taketora’s chest in an attempt to get away. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you apologize!” Taketora shakes the servant so their head wobbles back and forth.

“It wasn’t my fault!” the servant says, their own voice rising now, as they begin to punch harder at Taketora’s chest. “Let me go!”

“Hey, look, nobody got hurt, it’s fine,” Kuroo says quickly, guilt twisting his stomach into knots. Lev’s watching all of this with green eyes growing wider and wider, glancing between Kuroo and his fellow bodyguard, not sure what to do. Kuroo sighs. “Taketora, let him go. It’s fine. I’m the one who should apologize.”

Taketora releases the servant, turning to Kuroo with wide, watery eyes.

“Heika!” he exclaims, fist pressed over his heart. “You are a good and merciful king, heika!”

Kuroo resists the urge to roll his eyes. He kneels on the ground, carefully picking up the pieces of broken ceramic, setting them on the tray.

“Um, heika, should you really be kneeling in the dirt like that? The servant can clean it up,” Lev says, sounding more curious than anything else.

“I can clean up my own messes, thank you Lev,” Kuroo says, shaking his head.

After a moment, the servant kneels across from him, reaching to help pick up what’s left of the teapot.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve been paying attention,” Kuroo says earnestly, looking up and hoping to catch a glimpse of the servant’s face.

They’ve ducked their head again, though, hiding behind their hair. They don’t say anything, as they finish setting the rest of the pot on the tray. Both the servant and Kuroo reach for the teacup in the dirt, hesitating when they realize what the other is doing. Laughing sheepishly, Kuroo leans forward, picking up the cup and handing it to the servant.

“Here,” he says with a smile. “Sorry again for the trouble.”

“Thanks,” the servant mutters, lifting the tray as they stand. They skirt around Lev to hurry down the path.

Kuroo stands slowly, watching them go. He’s never seen a servant act so openly defiant before, especially in front of the king. Kuroo’s father wouldn’t have stood for it, would’ve punished it somehow. He can’t help but feel gratified, though. For once he was treated like a normal person, like he feels he was just eighteen months ago. A familiar ache curls through his chest, and he rubs at his sternum absently.

“Heika?” Taketora’s watching him closely, concern in his frown.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo assures him, smiling again. He steps around the splatter of tea on the stone and makes his way toward the red pillars once more.

“That boy should be punished,” Taketora mutters. “Nobody runs into my king and doesn’t apologize.”

“It really was Kuroo-sama’s fault, though,” Lev points out helpfully.

Taketora shoots him a murderous glare. “That doesn’t matter, Lev!” he exclaims, waving his arms in the air. “He’s the king! We’re not only supposed to protect his life, but also his dignity!”

“Guys, seriously, I really don’t mind,” Kuroo insists, feeling even more worn out than he had in the meeting. “Just let it go. No harm was done.”

Taketora still grumbles some under his breath, but Lev drops the topic, exclaiming over the beauty of the camellias, azaleas and other flora once they hit the garden. Kuroo finds a bench to sit and watches as Lev goes about picking a bouquet for “Yaku-dono,” as a thank you for something. Kuroo can’t really imagine Morisuke accepting something like flowers as a gift, but the thought of him holding a bouquet as big as his head makes him smile, so he doesn’t deter the lad.

Instead, his thoughts wander toward the rude servant. Is he a boy, as Taketora said? Kuroo can’t recall anyone matching his description from his childhood days, or even his teen and young adult years. He’s pretty sure he’d remember him. Is he new to the palace? That might explain his lack of proper manners.

He can’t help but be interested in finding out who he is, exactly. Despite himself, he’s oddly refreshed by the rudeness. He kind of wants the guy to be rude to him again, though that doesn’t make any sense.

Either way, he’s thoroughly distracted from the topic of the meeting earlier, enough so that his heart sinks in his chest when he retires to his chambers for the night and sees Morisuke there holding the letter for his approval.

Kuroo waves him off, passing by him to step over to his wardrobe, shedding the top layer of his kimono himself, despite the fact that he has servants to undress him. “I trust you said everything well,” he says, when Morisuke starts to protest.

“It still needs your signature.” Morisuke crosses over to Kuroo’s desk by the window, unfurling the scroll and gesturing to it.

“Can’t you just use the seal?”

“We’ll use the seal and the signature.”

Kuroo sighs, stepping over to pick up the brush, dipping it into the ink before signing his name at the bottom of the letter with a half-hearted flourish. He doesn’t try to read any of it, turning away almost immediately. He pauses before he continues undressing, though, realizing that if anyone should know the servant’s identity, it would be Morisuke.

“Hey, Mori,” he says lightly. “I came across a servant I didn’t recognize today. Short, with black hair about chin-length, big golden eyes, kind of a slight figure . . . I couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman, though Taketora called them ‘boy.’”

Morisuke taps his chin in thought, waiting for the signature to dry. “Hmm, we hired a few new servants within the past couple months. Nobuyuki noticed a few getting up there in age that should retire, so we encouraged new applicants.”

“And?” Kuroo watches him expectantly.

“I think you’re talking about Kozume Kenma,” Morisuke says with a snap of his fingers. “He’s one of the youngest we hired. Only twenty-one.”

Kuroo blinks. “Really? He looks younger than that.”

“He’s small, yeah, but he said he needs the money for his family. They live in one of our poorer districts and apparently have been struggling the past few years. He’s not very strong, but he’s stubborn. We put him in the kitchens, I think. And he does general housekeeping too, when not preparing meals.”

Kuroo chews on his lip. “Do you think you could have someone send for him?”

Is that too presumptuous? Too forward? He worries for a moment before remembering he’s the king and therefore can do whatever he wants.

“Of course,” Morisuke says, leaning across the desk to pick up the wax, melting the edge of it on one of the lit candles in the windowsill, allowing the wax to drip onto the paper. Then, taking Kuroo’s hand, he turns it knuckle side down to press his ring into the wax, completing the seal.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just asked for the ring,” he says.

“You’re not supposed to let anyone touch it,” Morisuke reminds him pointedly.

“Yeah, but you’re not just anyone.”

He likes the way Morisuke flushes, the pink blending his faint freckles together.

“Yes, well,” Morisuke sputters, hurrying to roll up the letter. He takes a step back, clutching it in his hand. “I’ll give this to a messenger tonight and have someone send for Kozume.” He bows before turning for the door.

“Hey Mori,” Kuroo calls after him, leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

Morisuke pauses, glancing back at him. “Yes, heika?”

“Do you ever miss how things were before? How . . . uncomplicated everything was?”

Morisuke purses his lips. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to dwell on the past.”

“Does that mean you regret taking this position?”

Morisuke shakes his head. “No. I was honored to be requested.”

Kuroo gives him a crooked half-smile. “Are you just saying that because you think you have to?”

Morisuke glares. “Am I the type of guy to try and spare your feelings?” he asks sharply.

Kuroo laughs. “I guess not,” he admits.

“I know there’s a lot going on, and you’ve got a lot on your shoulders,” Morisuke says, his tone softening. “Nobody really gave you a chance to grieve your father either. It must be difficult. But that’s why Nobuyuki and I are here, to help you carry the load. We want to be here. You’re our best friend, not just our king.”

Kuroo smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. “Thanks, Mori.”

Morisuke nods curtly. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says, before leaving.

Shoving off the desk, Kuroo crosses to his wardrobe once more, peeling off the rest of his layers before changing into a pair of long jinbei pants, preferring to sleep bare-chested in the warmer months. He grabs a book from one of his many bookshelves, bringing it over to his bed along with the candle. He reclines in bed with the book, reading about kings much more competent than he, until he hears a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls, sitting up and resting a faded bookmark on his current page, before setting the book beside him.

The door slides open slowly, a young servant stepping inside. Kuroo’s heart starts beating faster in his chest as he recognizes the cut of the hair, the quick flash of golden eyes behind it, as Kozume Kenma glances around the room curiously.

“Hey, Kuroo-sama, is it all right that he’s in here?” Lev pokes his head past the doorway to peer into the room.

“Yes, Lev, I sent for him,” Kuroo assures his guard, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit on its edge.

“Mmm, all right. Shout if he attacks you again,” Lev’s voice lilts with amusement, and he laughs to himself as he slides the door shut. Kuroo remembers he forgot to ask Morisuke if he liked his flowers and makes a mental note to do that later.

“So, uh, hi,” he says, folding his hands in his lap, as he watches Kozume watch the floor. “I didn’t catch your name earlier, so I got it from one of my advisors. It’s Kozume, right? Kozume Kenma?”

Kozume nods, once.

Kuroo frowns. There’s no sign of the irritable, rude servant from earlier. He looks perfectly docile now, almost shy, as he stares at his feet. Kuroo isn’t entirely sure what to say. In fact, he realizes he didn’t think this through at all. He must seem completely deranged, asking an unfamiliar servant into his chambers to simply stare at him.

“You know . . . it’s customary to bow when you enter the same room as the king,” he says after a moment.

Kozume bows stiffly from the waist, a quick up and down movement that feels completely contrived.

Kuroo can’t help but chuckle softly. “You don’t really have a lot of respect for authority, huh?”

“Have you earned my respect? You haven’t really done anything . . .”

Kuroo blinks, surprised by that response. “I’ve only been king for a year,” he points out.

All he gets is a dead-eye stare from behind strands of black. He sighs, running a hand through his hair agitatedly.

“I’m trying, all right? This shit is hard. A lot harder than I thought it’d be. I thought I’d get years more of training and tutoring. My dad got sick so unexpectedly, and then . . .” He rubs the back of his neck, chewing on his lip. “It’s so much. I’ve got nobles breathing down my neck about land taxes, I’ve got the middle class expanding and outgrowing their districts, and I’ve got the lower class starving in the streets. Not to mention fucking Daishou over in Nohebi nudging our borders, dangling a war above my head. I’m trying my best, here.”

Kozume tilts his head to the side. “Don’t you have people to help you with those kinds of things?”

“Yeah, but the final decision on everything has to be mine. My seal has to be on everything, which means if anything goes wrong that’s on me too.” Kuroo grimaces, rubbing his forehead. He’s not sure why he’s unloading all this onto Kozume, a servant who probably couldn’t care less about his problems. He’s doing all he can just to put food on his family’s table; what does he care about the nobles’ land taxes? Or Kuroo’s inferiority complex?

“Sorry. I don’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says, lowering his hand. He stares down at it, clenching his fingers together. “I don’t even really know why I asked for you. I just . . . this morning I agreed to ask Karasuno’s princess to marry me. They have resources we could use, and an army that might make Daishou back off if it joins with ours. But it’s not what I want. Not really. I don’t . . .” He hesitates, wincing at the words as they come, “like women. In that way.”

The silence that follows that admission feels heavy. He’s never said that aloud before. Has never dared to admit to it, even to his closest friends. Kuroo swallows hard, his heart hammering away in a chest that suddenly feels too small for it. It pounds frantically, searching for more space, more air. He inhales sharply, but it’s too shallow a breath. He can’t fully expand his lungs to ease the tightening around his heart. He tries again and again, faster, as spots appear in his vision. He can’t breathe. His lungs have shrunk. He can’t get enough air in them.

He finds himself sliding off the bed, dropping to his knees on the floor, clutching at his chest, as he gasps desperately.

A small, warm hand settles on his back, and another presses against his chest.

“Hey,” a low voice says sharply. “Calm down. You need to breathe.”

“I-I can’t,” Kuroo gasps, his voice thin. He shakes his head, even as he tries to obey. He feels like a fish out of water, flopping around as it dies slowly. Is he dying? Is that what this is?

“Yes, you can,” the voice says again firmly, like it’s a matter of fact. “Breathe. Deep, slow inhale, hold it for a count of five, and then slow exhale. Do it.”

Kuroo struggles to comply. His chest feels like it’s being stabbed by a thousand knives, but he tries to push past the sensation, opening up his lungs as he takes a deep breath, holding it as instructed, before releasing it slowly.

“Again.”

He does it again, and he finds it’s easier this time. Over and over he inhales and exhales with slow breaths that tremble as they slide past his lips. But gradually they even out, until they feel natural again. He pulls his legs up, setting his elbows on his knees, as he places his palms against his forehead. Kozume shifts to kneel beside him, and Kuroo can feel his gaze fixed on him.

“I know it’s not . . . uncommon,” he says hoarsely after a moment. “But as king I’m expected to have an heir. And to marry someone without knowing them, without knowing if I can ever love them . . . knowing I probably can’t. It sounds like a nightmare. Not just for me, but for her. She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Kozume doesn’t say anything. For a long moment they remain that way, neither speaking, until Kuroo’s heart eventually stops trying to escape out of his throat. He lowers his hands, crossing his arms loosely over his knees, staring at them.

“Well. There’s probably no way you’ll ever respect me after a display like that, huh?” He smirks half-heartedly.

“Being king doesn’t mean you can’t be vulnerable,” Kozume says, shaking his head. “Sure, you probably shouldn’t fall apart like this in public, but in here . . .” He glances around the room. “These are your chambers, aren’t they? You can do whatever you want, in here.”

Kuroo looks over at him. He’s kneeling with his hands on his thighs, curled into light fists. His head is tilted slightly, so that enough hair falls to the side to reveal a single golden eye, studying him. Hesitantly, Kuroo reaches up to brush the rest of Kozume’s hair away from his face. Kozume flinches and pulls back from his touch.

“Sorry,” Kuroo says, feeling like he can’t do anything right today.

“No, I just . . . I get anxious if my field of vision is too wide,” Kozume murmurs, turning his face away.

“Oh.” Kuroo considers that. “You didn’t seem that anxious earlier when you were yelling at Taketora. Or just now helping me through . . . whatever that was.”

“That was a panic attack,” Kozume informs him. “And Taketora pissed me off.”

“Ah, so you grow courage when you’re pissed off,” Kuroo teases gently, hoping Kozume doesn’t mind.

Thankfully it seems like he doesn’t, though he does give Kuroo a withering look. Kuroo grins before it fades, and he tilts his head back to lean it against his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“Am I doing the right thing by marrying Karasuno’s princess?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Well . . . because you’re here. And I get the feeling you’ll be brutally honest with me.”

Kozume doesn’t respond for a moment. When he does, his words are careful, measured. “It’s probably the right thing for Nekoma, which, as king, you’re supposed to do the right thing for it.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Kuroo admits, closing his eyes, guessing he should just resign himself to his fate.

“But . . . I don’t think it’s wrong to want more for yourself,” Kozume adds softly. “The situation isn’t fair, for you or for the princess. So . . . just do your best to make it as painless as possible, I guess.”

“How do I do that, exactly?” Kuroo asks, lowering his head to look over at him.

Kozume shrugs. “Maybe you should ask her what she wants. The two of you could probably come up with a plan together to at least get something good for yourselves out of the marriage.”

Kuroo stares at him for a moment, wondering why it feels so simple and natural speaking to him, like he’s been doing it his whole life. Everything Kozume has said feels right and insightful and helpful for Kuroo specifically . . . it’s different from when he asks Morisuke or Nobuyuki for advice these days. Their thoughts are skewed toward helping Nekoma, as they should be. But Kozume . . . he doesn’t have that responsibility. He can look at things from a personal perspective, knowing Kuroo can either take the advice or leave it. It probably won’t affect him, either way.

“That’s a good idea,” Kuroo admits. He glances toward the door, knowing he can’t keep Kozume in his room forever. Or, well, he could, but it wouldn’t be right. “I should let you go. I have no idea how early you have to get up to help prepare breakfast.”

“Too early,” Kozume admits, moving to stand. He pauses, holding his hand out to Kuroo.

It takes him a moment to realize he’s offering to help him up. Kuroo takes the hand, using the firm grip as leverage to hoist himself up to his feet. He marvels for a moment at how well Kozume’s hand fits in his, before it releases him and falls away.

“Can I call on you again?” he finds himself asking, as Kozume turns toward the door.

Kozume glances back at him, a smirk half-hidden behind his hair. “You’re the king, aren’t you?”

“Er, right,” Kuroo says, thinking that doesn’t exactly answer his question, even as Kozume slides the door back and disappears outside.

Notes:

https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/