Thread by @pettykawas

#ushioi — arranged marriage, misunderstandings

Wakatoshi has known the realities of arranged marriages from a tender age. His parents’ marriage, as loveless as it is enduring, is one of convenience.

That’s why, when it was decided that Wakatoshi would marry Tooru,

a prince from the House of Aoba Johsai, Wakatoshi knew, more or less, what to expect. He’d been prepared for this. He must be strong for it would be a marriage that is cold, lonesome, and unhappy; they would be partners, but only in the most detached, distant sense.

Except, when Wakatoshi saw Tooru enter the House of Shiratorizawa for the first time, dressed in a variance of blue and green fabrics, smiling at Wakatoshi’s parents like Tooru had known them his whole life,

Wakatoshi felt a warm feeling blossom right over where his heart had been beating.

No one had told him about that. About what it would feel like to fall in love with your betrothed upon first glance. About the rush of heat that would have his palms sweat and his cheeks burn.

When he bowed in front of the prince, however, it quickly became clear that whatever Wakatoshi felt, Tooru did not himself feel.

The shrewdness in Tooru’s eyes could freeze Shiratorizawa’s seas even at the height of summer, and it was as unsettling as it was a source of wonderment, a beauty that inspired caution like a shard of stained glass.

Still, the warmth persisted, and Wakatoshi had been sure that his cheeks had reddened from it.

It would set the tone for their entire relationship: Wakatoshi wanting more. Tooru wanting nothing to do with Wakatoshi.

It is not as if Wakatoshi did not try to woo Tooru. He had courted him in every way Wakatoshi knew, in every language of love that he spoke. With flowers, with books, with food. Every time, Tooru fled, red in the face, like the very idea of being near Wakatoshi disgusted him.

Wakatoshi is a strong man, and he will endure just as his parents endured, but the rejection hurts all the same. It is, after all, his first time falling in love. He had not known of this great yearning before Tooru, nor of this terrible pain of having his love unreturned.

And so, eventually, he relented and gave Tooru what he always wanted: space, silence, and solitude.

He thought perhaps then Tooru would at least learn to see him as a friend. An ally.

He must have done something wrong because his withdrawal only served to incense his husband even more. Whereas Tooru would at least greet him before turning up his nose, nowadays, more often than not, Tooru would bow without even meeting Wakatoshi in the eye.

Wakatoshi feels helpless; he does not know how to get into Tooru’s good graces, especially when Tooru makes himself so scarce during the day that they only exchange a handful of words before retiring in their shared bed chamber.

So when he sees Tooru grinning while conversing with Osamu, one of the princes of the House of Inarizaki, Wakatoshi wonders if that is the answer to Tooru’s happiness: the company of another man.

A man who is not Wakatoshi.

The pair danced for only one song, but Wakatoshi feels as though it may as well have been an eternity before they curtsied and parted ways.

(Wakatoshi found it hard to complain, however. Not when he was able to witness Tooru’s smile, even from a distance. Even when he was not to thank for it.)

Wakatoshi smiles wryly before stepping out of the ballroom. He feels like he needs some air, and he knows the flowers in the palace gardens would provide him with the comfort his heart sorely sought.

Besides, it is not as though his presence would be missed.

By the time Wakatoshi walks back to his and Tooru’s room, he’s surprised to find his husband already in his night robes, sitting in one of the armchairs, looking thoroughly displeased. With what? Wakatoshi does not know, but he is certain it must not have anything to do with him.

“Where were you?” Tooru asks, and there is a loose quality to the way he holds himself that Wakatoshi deduces must be thanks to the wine they were served. Although, Tooru must only be slightly inebriated at best, for his eyes were sharp and his tone biting.

“I went to the gardens.”

“I don’t suppose you were joined by anyone?”

Wakatoshi frowns. “I was alone. Why would I be with anyone?”

At that, something inside Tooru seems to ease, but only marginally.

“I just—you know what? It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

Tooru stands, and perhaps he had had more wine than Wakatoshi thought, because he almost stumbles as he walks toward the bed. In a few swift strides, Wakatoshi crosses the threshold of the room, and he catches his husband in his arms.

He cradles the back of Tooru’s shoulders with one arm and grips the side of Tooru’s waist with his other hand.

They’re so close.

They haven’t been this close since they kissed at the altar.

Wakatoshi /aches/ to get closer, in every sense of the word.

Tooru wears his surprise beautifully; his lips are parted just so, and his eyes have widened just a fraction. Wakatoshi can even see the freckles that his husband must have gained while reading on the balcony, soaking in the afternoon sun.

Then, a thought, unbidden: Is this the same sight Osamu was treated to at the ballroom?

Wakatoshi’s heart throbs with a familiar ache, but he keeps hold of his husband and gently guides him to sit at the foot of their bed.

Now is as good a time as any, Wakatoshi supposes.

“Tooru,” he says, and Tooru snaps out of whatever reverie he had been caught in, and the sharpness in his eyes returns, much to Wakatoshi’s disappointment.

“What is it?”

Wakatoshi takes a deep breath and sets his gaze upon the full moon beyond their window.

“I understand how you feel about me,” Wakatoshi starts, and he tries not to feel discouraged when he sees Tooru visibly tenses from the corner of his eye,

“I often feel as though you have drawn the short end of the stick.” Wakatoshi smiles, lovelorn and sincere. “I married the boy I love; you married the person you detest. I am sorry this isn’t easier for you.”

Despite the loud silence in the room, Wakatoshi urges on.

“Tooru, it has always been you for me. I will have no one else. But…” he trails off, looking at his husband, “if you feel that you need another’s company, I will not stop you. I only ask that you be discreet.”

“What are you suggesting, Wakatoshi?” Tooru asks, sober and harsh, and Wakatoshi does not understand why Tooru has taken offense to Wakatoshi giving him his blessing.

“Have you not taken a liking to Inarizaki’s younger prince?”

Tooru scoffs, a sound that Wakatoshi has never heard before, and it takes him by surprise.

“How could I when all I think about is you? You dumb oaf!” Tooru’s hands form tight fists on his lap, gripping the hem of his robes furiously. “I’ve—I’ve loved you for so long!”

Wakatoshi swears, at that moment, the world stops.

In a small, disbelieving voice, he asks, “You love me?”

“I just said that! Haven’t you been paying attention?” Tooru says indignantly, then he rolls his eyes. “Although, I suppose you couldn’t have known. You’ve been avoiding me like—like—” Tooru looks away. “Like maybe you found someone else.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Wakatoshi counters, still dazed from Tooru’s admission. Tooru /loves/ him. “For me to give you space. You had rejected all my advances, Tooru. What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to try harder. See what /I/ like,” Tooru insists, brows furrowing, frown deepening. “You were supposed to /earn/ me.”

The words leave Wakatoshi dumbfounded, and he combs through every encounter with Tooru with this new understanding, with a clearer lens, with a different perspective, and he realizes he and Tooru have been very, very foolish.

His fingers reach for Tooru’s, finds that they’re soft and slender, and he feels a familiar tender feeling bloom and fill the hollow of his chest. When he sees a beautiful, delicate pink blossom underneath the apples of Tooru’s cheeks, the feeling grows and overflows.

Emboldened, he raises their joined fingers and presses a kiss unto Tooru’s hand, right where his wedding band rests. A promise of forever; a lifelong commitment to each other.

“I apologize for the hurt I’ve caused.”

Tooru scoffs again. “Are you sure you’re sorry? You’re smiling, Wakatoshi.”

And so he is. Wakatoshi did not realize it until his husband pointed it out.

“I cannot help it,” he admits, pressing another kiss onto Tooru’s ring, “You have made me very happy.”

Finally, /finally/, Tooru smiles.

Joyous, reverent, playful.

“And you have a lifetime to return the favor,” he remarks.

Wakatoshi laughs. “It would be an honor.”

They share their second kiss in the moment that follows, and Tooru opens up for him like one of the flowers in the palace’s gardens, sweet and gorgeous as he blooms under Wakatoshi’s touch. Wakatoshi aches to do it again, and again, and again,

and he realizes, with complete and utter delight, that he could.

And so he does.

/ Link to the top of the thread!

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