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Once upon a time, in the high-peaked kingdom of Fukuroudani, there lived a prince whose laughter could shake the dust from the rafters of the palace halls.
Prince Bokuto Koutarou was bold, brilliant, and impossible to predict. His armor was always a little too shiny, his smile always a little too wide, and his ideas… well, they kept the royal advisors awake at night.
Assigned to keep him alive—and preferably out of trouble—was his personal attendant, Keiji Akaashi.
Keiji was everything the prince was not: calm, measured, soft-spoken, and perpetually prepared for disaster.
He carried three notebooks, five schedules, and the crushing knowledge that he could never let the prince know how often he had saved him from falling off balconies, wandering into restricted dungeons, or adopting stray wyverns.
Still, every morning began the same.
“KEIJI!” Bokuto shouted as he shoved open the doors to the servant’s quarters. “I had an idea!”
Keiji, who had been awake for hours preparing the prince’s itinerary, did not look up.
“Your Highness, last time you said that, we had to explain to the Queen why the royal garden was on fire.”
“That was one time.”
“And the time before that, you tried to joust a windmill.”
“It looked threatening.”
Keiji sighed and closed his notebook. “Very well, Your Highness. What is the idea?”
Bokuto grinned like a hero in a ballad. “We’re going on an adventure!”
Keiji blinked. “An… adventure.”
“Yes! A quest! A journey! Something epic that ballads will be written about!" Bokuto declared, already sweeping Keiji’s cloak off its hook and tossing it at him.
“We can’t be cooped up in the castle forever.”
“I assure you I could,” Keiji murmured, catching the cloak anyway.
But the prince was already marching down the corridor, shouting orders at startled guards, announcing that destiny awaited him in the great unknown.
Keiji watched him go—bright, loud, unstoppable—and felt a familiar tug in his chest.
Someone had to keep him safe.
Someone had to remind him when to duck.
Someone had to make sure the kingdom still had a prince to sing about.
And as always, Keiji sighed, adjusted his cloak, gathered the prince’s forgotten sword, and followed.
-~-~-~-
The sun had barely cleared the castle walls when Prince Bokuto insisted they take the “scenic route” into Fukuroudani's lower town, something Keiji knew was code for I am looking for trouble, and you cannot stop me.
The markets were already alive with color and noise: vendors shouting prices, children weaving between crowds, musicians playing lively tunes. Bokuto soaked it all in with a grin big enough to rival the morning sun.
“See, Keiji?” he said, throwing his arms wide. “Adventure! Freedom! The people love me!”
Most of the people were actually staring because the prince was balancing on a fountain edge like a tightrope walker, but Keiji chose not to comment.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, “please come down. If you fall, I’m the one the Queen will yell at.”
“I won’t fall!” Bokuto declared, right before slipping on wet stone.
Keiji caught him, barely, and guided him back to the cobblestones. “See? This is why I—”
Before he could finish, a loud crash echoed from the tavern nearby. A burly, red-faced man stumbled out, tankard in hand, swaying dangerously.
He pointed at Bokuto.
“You. Fancy boy! Think you can just prance around like you own the place?”
Keiji stiffened, stepping subtly in front of the prince. “Sir, he does own the place. He is—”
“I don’t care who he is!” the man slurred. “He’s lookin’ at me funny!”
Bokuto blinked. “I… was admiring your beard?”
That did not help.
The drunk lunged.
Keiji acted before Bokuto even processed what was happening. He shoved the prince back, intercepting the blow meant for him. The man swung again—wild, heavy, powerful.
Keiji dodged, grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted, pushed, but the man was huge. And angry. And drunk enough not to feel pain.
A crowd was forming, murmuring anxiously.
Bokuto shouted, “Keiji! Let me—”
“Stay back, Your Highness!” Keiji ordered, ducking under another swing.
He managed to land a sharp strike to the man’s ribs, but the brute barely flinched. Keiji felt the danger a moment too late. The man grabbed a broken bottle from the ground and swung it toward him in a jagged arc.
Keiji moved to block.
Too slow.
The glass tore across his side—deep, burning. Keiji gasped, staggering as warmth spread beneath his tunic.
“Keiji!” Bokuto’s voice cracked.
The drunk man raised the bottle again for a finishing blow—
But the prince charged, fury blazing in his eyes, tackling the man to the ground. Guards, finally alerted, swarmed in to restrain the attacker.
Bokuto didn’t stay to watch. He dropped to his knees beside Keiji, hands shaking as he pressed them against the spreading blood.
“Keiji... Keiji, hey, look at me. Stay awake,” Bokuto begged, voice breaking. “Why would you do that? Why would you—”
Keiji tried to speak, but the pain stole the breath from him. “Y-your Highness… it’s my duty…”
“No! Not like this!” Bokuto’s voice wobbled as he lifted Keiji into his arms, as gently as his panic allowed. “Hold on. Please, hold on.”
The market, so loud moments ago, had gone silent.
People watched as the prince—normally loud, brilliant, and unstoppable—ran through the streets cradling his injured servant, fear written across his face for the first time.
Keiji’s vision blurred.
“You’re safe…” he whispered.
And then everything went dark.
-~-~-~-
The palace gates slammed behind them with a hollow, unforgiving echo.
Bokuto had run all the way back, breathless, frantic, clutching Keiji’s limp form as if letting go would make him vanish. But the moment the guards realized who he was carrying, everything changed.
“Your Highness, servants are to be treated in their own quarters,” a steward said stiffly, stepping in front of Bokuto.
“He’s bleeding,” Bokuto snarled.
“Servants do not receive palace medical care,” the steward repeated, voice like ice. “They are expected to recover on their own or be… replaced.”
Bokuto’s heart stopped.
“Replaced?” he echoed, horror creeping in.
The steward bowed. “A new attendant will be assigned to you by morning.”
Before Bokuto could protest, two lower guards took Keiji from his arms—roughly, like he was luggage rather than a person—and carried him down a narrow, torchless corridor leading to the servant quarters far beneath the palace.
“Be careful!” Bokuto shouted after them, voice cracking.
But they didn’t look back.
He wasn’t allowed to follow.
He wasn’t allowed anything.
That night, Bokuto didn’t sleep. He sat upright in his lavish bed, fists clenched, every heartbeat echoing Keiji’s name.
The castle felt too big, too quiet, too wrong without him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw blood on Keiji’s tunic. He heard the sound he made when the glass cut him.
His chest burned with something he’d never felt before: a guilt so heavy it made him sick.
-~-~-~
The next morning, a soft knock sounded at Bokuto’s door.
“Your Highness,” a timid voice said, “I’m Yachi. I’ve been assigned as your new attendant.”
Bokuto didn’t answer at first. He stared at the girl—young, nervous, shaking with fear—and something inside him snapped.
“I don’t want you.”
She froze. “S-sir?”
“I said,” Bokuto growled, rising to his feet, “I don’t want you. I want Keiji.”
He didn’t wait for permission or explanation. Bokuto shoved past her, running barefoot down the marble halls, ignoring the guards calling after him. He knew the servants’ level was forbidden to nobles without escort, but he didn’t care.
He found the stairway hidden behind a locked gate, climbed over it, and descended.
The air grew colder. Damp stone. Iron doors. Silence.
When he pushed open the door to the servant quarters, he expected rows of beds.
Instead, he found a dim, windowless chamber with only thin mats on the floor. Most servants were already working, leaving the freezing room empty—
Except for one figure curled on the ground in the far corner.
Bokuto’s breath hitched.
“Keiji?”
He rushed forward, and the sight stopped his heart.
Keiji lay on the bare stone floor, not even a blanket beneath him. His skin was pale, almost grey, hair damp with sweat. His tunic was stuck to his side with dried blood. His breathing came in tight, shallow gasps as if each one hurt.
And when Bokuto touched his cheek,
It burned.
“Keiji… oh gods, Keiji—” Bokuto whispered, voice breaking as he knelt beside him. “Why didn’t anyone help you?”
Keiji didn’t wake. He trembled violently, teeth chattering, fever raging through his fragile, untreated body.
Bokuto felt something unmistakable inside him,
Rage.
The kind that didn’t shout.
The kind that destroyed.
He gathered Keiji into his arms, furious at how light he felt.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he murmured, holding him close. “I don’t care what the rules are. I don’t care who I have to fight.”
Keiji’s head rested weakly against his shoulder, feverish and burning but desperately cold.
“You took care of me,” Bokuto whispered, voice shaking. “Now I’m going to take care of you.”
He stood, cradling Keiji gently, protectively.
And this time, no one was going to stop him.
Bokuto moved like a shadow through the palace’s upper halls, Keiji limp against his chest. Every sound felt too loud—the creak of a floorboard, the distant voices of guards, even his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.
But somehow he reached his chambers without being seen.
He eased the door shut behind them, locked it, and turned the heavy bolt. Only then did he let himself breathe.
“Okay… okay, I’ve got you,” Bokuto whispered, kneeling beside his bed and lowering Keiji onto the soft blankets. Keiji shivered violently at the sudden warmth, curling in on himself.
Bokuto immediately piled blankets over him—three, four, five—anything within reach. He lit the fireplace with shaking hands, grabbed a basin of warm water, and wiped the sweat from Keiji’s forehead, trying to ignore how clammy his skin felt.
“Keiji,” Bokuto murmured, brushing damp hair from his face, “wake up, okay? Please.”
Keiji’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice.
“…Your… Highness…?” he croaked, voice so weak it sounded like it hurt him.
Relief broke over Bokuto like a wave.
He leaned in close.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. Gods, Keiji, I’m so sorry.”
Keiji blinked up at him slowly. Fever-glazed. Exhausted.
“Why… are you apologizing…?” he breathed.
Bokuto swallowed hard. “Because you got hurt protecting me. Because they left you down there. Because I didn’t get to you fast enough. Because... because you almost—”
His voice cracked. He looked away, eyes stinging.
Keiji slowly raised a trembling hand and brushed Bokuto’s wrist.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I chose to protect you.”
“It’s not okay,” Bokuto protested, gripping Keiji’s hand tightly, as if afraid it might slip away.
Keiji shook his head weakly. “Your Highness… you have to be more careful. You can’t… run into danger like that.”
“You almost died!” Bokuto choked out.
“But you didn’t,” Keiji murmured.
Bokuto froze.
Keiji’s eyes softened, tired and warm despite the fever.
“I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m glad it was me.”
Bokuto’s breath caught, his chest burning, not with guilt this time, but something deeper and aching.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t you ever say that. I need you, Keiji. I need you more than... I just—”
He shook his head, unable to form the words.
Keiji tried to sit up, but pain shot through him and he winced. Bokuto immediately steadied him with gentle hands.
“Hey, hey, don’t move. I’ve got you,” Bokuto murmured, adjusting the blankets.
Keiji managed a faint, weary smile.
“You always… do,” he murmured.
Bokuto’s heart twisted. He cupped the back of Keiji’s head, lowering his voice to barely a breath.
“I’m not leaving you,” he said. “Not today. Not ever.”
Keiji’s eyes drifted closed, comforted by the warmth, by Bokuto’s presence, by finally being safe.
And as he slipped back into sleep, still feverish but calmer, Bokuto stayed beside him—holding his hand, watching every breath, refusing to look away even for a second.
Because this time…
He was going to protect him.
Bokuto didn’t want to let him go.
He sat beside Keiji the entire night, a hand always resting on Keiji’s arm or shoulder, afraid that if he let go, Keiji might fade again. But by dawn, Keiji—still pale, still in pain—shifted weakly and whispered:
“Your Highness… I have to go back.”
Bokuto shook his head instantly. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Please,” Keiji murmured, reaching for his wrist. “If they realize I’m missing, they’ll come looking. And if they find me here, you… you’ll be punished too.”
“I don’t care—”
“I do.”
His voice was firm despite the tremor in it.
“You’re the prince. You can’t get in trouble for me.”
Bokuto looked at him, full of helpless frustration, then slowly, reluctantly helped Keiji stand. Keiji’s knees almost buckled, and Bokuto had to hold him upright.
“You’re still sick,” Bokuto whispered.
“I’ll be okay,” Keiji lied softly. “Just… stay out of trouble today.”
Bokuto didn’t want to open the door.
Didn’t want to let go.
But Keiji squeezed his hand and gave him a tiny, tired smile—the kind he usually saved for when Bokuto needed grounding.
And that was the only reason Bokuto finally nodded.
He sneaked Keiji back to the servants’ stairway before dawn, supporting him the whole way. At the bottom step, Keiji whispered:
“Thank you… for taking care of me.”
Bokuto’s heart cracked.
“I’ll come find you as soon as I can,” he promised.
Keiji shook his head. “Just… be careful.”
He disappeared into the dim corridor, and Bokuto watched until the shadows swallowed him.
-~-~-~
The following morning, the palace was tense.
Bokuto could feel it the moment he stepped into the main hall—the stiff-backed guards, the hushed whispers, the anger simmering in the air. His pulse quickened.
He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Not today.
Not yet.
But something was off.
When he reached the throne room, the doors were already open. Voices echoed inside, sharp and cold.
“…irresponsible behavior… disgrace to the crown… servants must be disciplined…”
Bokuto frowned and stepped forward,
Then froze.
Keiji was on the floor in the center of the throne room.
In chains.
His wrists were bound behind his back, arms pulled cruelly tight. He was kneeling, shoulders hunched, head bowed. His hair fell over his face, hiding the wince of pain each breath caused. His tunic was still stained with blood. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
And the council was circling him like vultures.
“This servant allowed the prince to enter dangerous territory,” one elder snapped.
“He failed to restrain him,” another added. “This recklessness reflects directly on the Crown.”
Keiji didn’t speak. He kept his gaze down, trembling slightly—whether from fever or fear, Bokuto couldn’t tell.
Someone raised a cane and cracked it across Keiji’s back.
Keiji gasped quietly, choking back a sound.
Bokuto saw red.
“STOP!”
His shout slammed through the hall like thunder.
Everyone turned.
The elders froze.
Keiji lifted his head weakly, eyes widening when he saw Bokuto standing at the doorway, chest heaving, fury blazing so bright it seemed the torches flickered in fear.
The head councilor frowned. “Your Highness, this is a disciplinary matter. You shouldn’t—”
“He didn’t do anything wrong!” Bokuto roared, storming down the steps toward Keiji. “I went into town. I made the choice. I caused the trouble. He protected me!”
Keiji shook his head desperately. “Your Highness, please—”
“No,” Bokuto said, kneeling beside him without hesitation. “No more.”
He grabbed the chains and tried to break them with his bare hands, muscles straining, fury giving him strength.
“Unhand the prisoner!” a guard barked.
“HE’S NOT A PRISONER!” Bokuto snarled. “He’s mine—my attendant, my protector—and you don’t get to touch him!”
The council gasped, scandalized.
“Your Highness,” one snapped, “you cannot interfere with servant punishment—”
“Watch me.”
His voice was low, dangerous, and nothing like the carefree prince they were used to.
He stood, placing himself between Keiji and the entire court, shielding him with his own body.
“If you want to punish someone,” Bokuto said, eyes blazing as he stared down the council, “then punish me.”
Silence fell.
Keiji stared at Bokuto’s back, stunned, breath shaking.
And the court realized that for the first time in his life, the prince was willing to fight the entire kingdom…
for a single servant kneeling behind him.
The council whispered among themselves—angry, offended, scandalized—but Bokuto didn’t move from where he stood, shielding Keiji with his entire body. His jaw was clenched, eyes hard, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles were white.
Finally, the head councilor exhaled sharply.
“…Very well, Your Highness,” he said through clenched teeth. “If you insist on taking responsibility for your misconduct, then the servant’s punishment will be… suspended.”
Bokuto didn’t thank them.
He didn’t bow.
He didn’t even look at them.
He just bent down, wrapped his arms around Keiji, chains and all, and lifted him carefully from the cold marble floor.
Keiji tried to protest, weakly. “Your Highness... please… you’ll get in trouble again…”
“They can try,” Bokuto growled, holding him closer. “I’m done letting them hurt you.”
-~-~-~-
Back in Bokuto’s chambers, he kicked the door shut behind them and brought Keiji straight to the bed, setting him down gently. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from a fury he still wasn’t finished feeling.
He worked at the chains with the small dagger he kept hidden, metal scraping until the cuffs finally snapped open. The marks on Keiji’s wrists were dark and bruised.
Bokuto touched them with shaking fingers.
His voice lowered to a whisper.
“They did this to you…? While you were still injured…?”
Keiji didn’t answer. He kept his head bowed, shoulders hunched in shame or exhaustion—Bokuto didn’t know which hurt worse.
Bokuto stood quickly and went to the door.
“You,” he barked at the guard standing outside, “fetch a nurse. Now. And bring fever medicine, bandages, and a warm compress. If anyone asks why, tell them the prince said so.”
The guard hesitated only a second before nodding and running off.
Bokuto slammed the door again and returned to Keiji.
“We’re alone now,” he said softly, kneeling in front of him. “They’re not going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”
Keiji slowly lifted his head.
And that’s when Bokuto saw it.
Tears.
Silent, hot tears streaming down Keiji’s face.
The first he had ever seen.
Keiji always held himself together—quiet, composed, unshakeable. Bokuto had never heard him cry, never seen more than a small frown or a tired smile.
But now,
Keiji covered his face with shaking hands, shoulders trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness—I caused trouble, I dragged you into this, I—”
“Keiji,” Bokuto breathed, crawling onto the bed and pulling him into his chest, “no. No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Keiji choked on a sob, fists gripping Bokuto’s tunic like he was afraid he’d be torn away again.
“I tried to protect you,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I tried so hard. And then they... they said I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me,” Bokuto said fiercely, arms tightening around him. “You saved me. You always save me.”
Keiji buried his face in Bokuto’s shoulder, tears soaking the fabric.
Bokuto held him like he was the most precious thing in the kingdom—one hand on the back of his head, the other around his shaking waist, rocking him gently.
Keiji’s breath hitched.
Another sob escaped.
Then another.
“I thought… I thought they were going to take you away from me,” Bokuto whispered, voice thick.
Keiji pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy from fever and tears.
“I’m still here,” he whispered. “As long as you’ll have me.”
Bokuto brushed a tear from his cheek with his thumb.
“I’m not letting anyone take you again.”
Keiji trembled, not from fear, but relief, and collapsed against Bokuto’s chest once more, clinging to him as if he were the only safe thing left in the world.
And Bokuto held him through every tear.
Every shaky breath.
Every tremor of pain and fear.
For the first time…
Keiji wasn’t the one protecting him.
Bokuto was protecting Keiji.