Chapter Text
Tenzo tries to convince himself that he isn’t upset, but the tree that he is slashing into is starting to look extremely mutilated. His shoulders are starting to burn as he hacks away at the bark, breaths coming out deep and ragged, and the tight ball of fury and disappointment in his chest starts to ebb away. It’s not like he wanted to be in an arranged marriage. If he had any say in the matter he would’ve been happily single in the castle forever and not stuck with the world’s most standoffish fiance. He doesn’t blame him for not being enthusiastic, but Tenzo is one dinner away from getting on his knees and begging the guy to hold a conversation that lasted longer than two minutes.
He swings his sword with more force than needed when he’s reminded of the flippant way his fiance had eyed him up and down before turning on his heel and walking away. Tenzo’s sword gets embedded into the tree and he stops to catch his breath. His grip loosens, he shuffles forward and he leans to press his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. Autumn is starting to sink in, Tenzo realises, his sweat cooling in the breeze and he observes the yellow tipped leaves that scatter across the forest floor.
He had tried. Tenzo wouldn’t brand himself as the most charming, but he could carry out interesting conversations and entertain any topic that people threw at him, yet it seemed like he didn’t manage to pique any of his fiance’s interests. Tenzo had tried to approach him outside of compulsory meetings to try to get to know him better, but it seems like his fiance is avoiding him, and he’s conveniently always either out of the palace or preoccupied in another meeting. Tenzo isn’t stupid. He knows when to take a hint and he eventually gave up all his valiant efforts, if you could brand his pathetic searches around the castle as valiant.
A bubble of frustration rises in his chest and Tenzo surges backwards, grabbing the sword again and yanks it out of the tree. He starts to swing his sword again to fight off the hot childish tears that sting his eyes, and the sharp shards of disappointment embed themselves into his chest. Their interaction in the corridor was borderline humiliating and he hated feeling belittled. Kakashi Hatake, the crown prince of the neighbouring kingdom, with his cold unresponsive eyes and unruly mop of silver hair, and that’s all that Kakashi had to offer because the rest was covered by a mask. He apparently also had his innate skill of whittling Tenzo down to an embarrassing example of a prince.
“If you wanted to cut down that tree, I would suggest you use an axe not a sword.”
The voice startles Tenzo and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He swivels round, sword cautiously lowered, and finds a stranger doting by the treeline, a canvas tucked under his left arm and his right hand preoccupied with a heavy satchel. Tenzo stares at the stranger for a moment and he has to squint because the sun is reflecting off the lake and into his eyes, the sound of his heavy breathing is his only response before he places his sword back into its sheath. He takes a wary eyeful of the stranger, the concept of assassinations is not foreign to Tenzo, and many unassuming figures had approached him before displaying a dagger or vial of poison. The man has loose brown curls that hang over his light grey eyes which are decorated with purple paint, the paint follows down the curve of his cheek and stops short above a sharp smile.
“Thank you, I can go back to painting in peace.” the stranger quips and it makes Tenzo’s eye twitch.
“You have a whole forest.” Tenzo snaps haughtily. He gestures his arm broadly in an arch to emphasise the neverending foliage. “You don’t have to paint right next to me.”
He did not have the patience to handle any snarky remarks today, and if someone complained to the palace that the crown prince was being rude, then he would just sit and pray that Tsunade would not reduce him to tears.
The stranger, who had begun to turn, looks over his shoulder and his eyes quickly flit over Tenzo, head to toe. Before Tenzo can feel like he’s a piece of meat that’s been hung and quartered at the butcher’s in the market, the stranger says, “I thought knights had their own training grounds.”
Tenzo quirks an eyebrow and quickly looks down at his apparel. He didn’t wear his usual princely outfit, it was difficult to move around in it, and god forbid he would ruin another set of silk shirts because he was reckless with his sword. Tsunade had been hesitant to even let him look at a blade, let alone handle one, so he instead sported a simple cotton tunic. The fabric was much more breathable and left him a lot of mobility to practice his sword fighting forms, or in this instance, space to take his frustrations out on a tree.
That was beside the point, this forest had been Tenzo’s getaway for as long as he could remember, a place where he could just be Tenzo and not have the weight of the kingdom weigh down on his shoulders. It was usually empty too, with his hideout in the furthest point of the forest, nobody bothered to venture out unless they were looking for an adventure and that suited Tenzo just fine. He didn’t have the towering walls of the palace, nor the suffocating gazes of the guards, and most importantly, the aloof fiance that wouldn’t spare a glance in his direction. What he had instead was the protective branches of the trees hanging over his head, providing shade when the sun was too hot, and the welcoming waters of the lake that twinkled brighter than the castle’s treasury.
“I’m not a knight,” Tenzo answers, but is careful to not reveal his true identity. It seems that the stranger hasn’t recognised the crown prince, afterall, he isn’t donning his crown or royal robes. “I just like to practice out here, it’s nice and quiet.”
The stranger mulls over Tenzo’s reply in silent thought before marching over to stand next to the crown prince. He’s slightly taller up close, Tenzo notes, his head tilts back slightly to look at the stranger in the face. “I suppose you don’t mind if I paint quietly then?” the stranger offers, voice light and soft.
Tenzo cocks a brow. “Right next to me?”
“It’s a nice view, can you blame me?”
Tenzo hopes the flush that spackles his face is from the earlier sword practice. The stranger starts to unfold his easel and props the canvas onto it, he drops the heavy satchel and the clatter of paints and brushes are muffled by the forest floor. Tenzo watches as the stranger sheds his coat and scarf, his scarf the same shade of purple that is painted on the stranger’s face. His shoulders are broad for an artist, Tenzo thinks, maybe he carved sculptures too?
“Are you planning on accompanying me?” the stranger asks as he rolls up his sleeves. “Seeing as you’ve made no move to leave.”
Tenzo whizzes through his plans for the rest of the day, he had initially planned on staying here until just before sunset in order to make it back home for dinner, but then he’s reminded of the empty chair across his table and the cold, rubbery food that is left at the end of the night. He thinks of the long winding and lonely halls of the palace, so large yet so small with the way it seems to constrict him, like a snake who had him in her vices. Her body coiling and contracting, her eyes cold and dark like his fiance’s, unwavering and closed off, offering no reply nor questions.
He decides, “Yes. I would like some company.”
The stranger smiles at him warmly. “It’s Sukea, by the way.”
“Oh,” the statement catches Tenzo off guard, he had forgotten to exchange names and then remembers he can’t expose his status. He tries to think of an alias, but the only thing coming up in his mind is the most recent discussion about the royal navy and their voyages, so the name he supplies is, “It’s Yamato.”
Sukea shares the same welcoming smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Yamato.”
He prepares his paints on a palette and Tenzo observes quietly. He didn’t really have many friends his age, it was difficult to make connections unless they were with other nobility, and most of the time there were underhanded intentions of marriage and it quickly gave Tenzo a distaste for spontaneous visits from other kingdoms, especially ones that hauled their crown princes or princesses along with them. Tsunade wasn’t opposed to the idea, she thought it would be beneficial for Tenzo to make bonds and you need friends, Tenzo, your friend who looks after the stables nor the knights constitute as friends. On the other hand, Tsunade also wasn’t the one who got pinned to the wall by a drunk crown prince who tried to strike up a conversation before promptly throwing up on Tenzo’s favourite pair of shoes.
So Tenzo patiently watches instead, he follows the swift and confident strokes that Sukea carves on the canvas. He’s never been on the artist’s side of the canvas before, and allows himself to be entertained by the art. His portrait sessions took hours and staggered over a few days, he used to dread the event every year, partly because keeping still for hours on end was difficult, but also the painters didn't partake his invitations for conversation or any form of brain stimuli. They were all mind numbingly boring, however, watching Sukea place jade greens across the landscape and scatter autumn’s sunset yellow across the treetops had Tenzo mesmerised.
“You’re surprisingly quiet for someone who decided to butcher a tree ten minutes ago.” Sukea’s tone is full of mirth.
“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t butcher trees in my spare time,” Tenzo matches Sukea’s lighthearted poke. “I just,” he sighs and tears his eyes away from the painting, “had a lot on my mind.”
Sukea makes a sympathetic noise, and then quickly smooths the tension in his face. “You know, other people find ways to let out their frustration without harming trees,” he suggests eyeing the mangled bark. “Painting, for example, is an excellent release.”
“I can’t paint,” Tenzo shrugs and his eyes survey the pots and brushes that lay around Sukea’s boots.
“Here.” Sukea holds out a spare brush. “I’ll teach you.”
Tenzo can’t help the smile that surges on his face as he takes the brush in his hand. For the first time, in a long time, he’s making friends with someone that isn’t blinded by the glare of the crown and it fills his chest with unbridled glee.
Sukea guides him through the process, voice gentle and teasing but he never reprimands Tenzo, even when the trunks of the trees look slightly too wide and the skyline isn’t blended as smoothly as the rest of the piece. Sukea explains the colours and how to mix them, how to measure objects and the perspective by just using his thumb for proportions. It’s only when Sukea begins to blend the reflection of the lake that Tenzo realises it is sunset and that he’s going to be late for dinner.
“Oh!” he exclaims, withdrawing his brush from the canvas and leaves the lake unfinished. “I didn’t realise the time, I have to--”
Tenzo places the brush on the stand, rummages around before finding his cloak and hastily fixing it over his shoulders, he didn’t bring anything else except his sword which is kept safe in the sheath that’s fastened around his hips.
“I’m so sorry but I have to leave.” Tenzo says.
“Don’t worry, I shan’t keep you any longer,” Sukea replies and waves a dismissive hand.
“I hope to see you again, Sukea.”
“I suppose if you are kind enough to share this patch of forest with me, then I shall return.” He winks and Tenzo resists the urge to scoff.
“Goodbye! I bid you goodnight.”
With that, Tenzo turns and all but runs back home.
To say that Tsuande is annoyed is an understatement. She’s borderline furious when Tenzo arrives at the gates and the night sky behind him has submerged into an inky darkness. When Tenzo reaches the top of the palace steps, she quickly huffs a sigh of relief before flicking him on the forehead. “What took you so long?” Tsunade asks as Tenzo rubs the sore spot on his forehead.
Her brows are furrowed, she has her arms crossed again and her rich blonde hair is tied back, as it is when she’s stressed or annoyed. She’s still wearing her day gown, a sage green floor length dress, and Tenzo knows she’s been in meetings with advisors all day.
“I lost track of time,” he reasons.
They begin to enter the palace and follow the route to the dining hall. Tenzo spares a terse bow to each guard at the doors while he follows behind Tsunade like a scolded child. Although there are colourful tapestries decorating the stone walls, they do little to hide the dull, repetitive lull that encompasses the palace, and if they were to take the shape of the dungeon bars, Tenzo wouldn’t notice the difference.
The doors to the dining hall are large, as most things are in the palace, obnoxiously grand but spiritually empty. The palace had lost most of its charm when King Hashirama passed, and when King Sarutobi took over with Lord Danzo as his advisor, the palace nearly became unsalvageable and it took lots of efforts from Tsunade to clean the mess that had been made. Unfortunately, Tenzo had grown up under Lord Danzo’s care and his early memories of the palace aren’t pleasant ones. It’s only the small places the Tsunade occupies that Tenzo feels true comfort in, and she’s still trying to reestablish the Senju name in the kingdom.
There are two plates left on the dining table, one for him and for his fiance, but it no longer strikes him the same pang of disappointment anymore. (But it still rings echoes in his chest). Although the dining table is long and wide, a size that could easily accommodate a small party, it is often used for dinners by the family in the palace and it makes the empty space Kakashi leaves every night far greater. Tenzo casts that thought aside as he takes his place on the table and Tsunade sits adjacently.
“Your hands are filthy, Tenzo.” Tsunade frowns when Tenzo brings them up from under the table.
He looks down and to find smears and splatterings of paint decorating his hands, he smiles to himself when he is reminded of his spontaneous afternoon. Although he’s hesitant to wash the paint and to part with the moments that they remind him of, Tenzo rises to quickly nip to the closest washroom which is only across the hall. As he reaches for the door, it swings open and nearly catches him in the face if he were not quick enough to jump back. Kakashi emerges from the other side, looking unimpressed with the sight that greets him on the other side and says nothing as he turns and leaves. Tenzo quickly stamps the bitter taste that rises in his mouth and goes to wash his hands.
Tsunade is quiet while Tenzo eats, but he knows she’s curious about the paint. At least she waits until he finishes his dinner to speak up, and with a teasing lilt she asks, “Why did you have paint on your hands, Tenzo?”
“I met a painter while I was out practicing.” Tenzo replies simply. “He taught me how to paint.”
Tsunade’s face tenses at the thought of Tenzo being unprotected at the hands of a stranger, but then she eases into a more amicable expression. “So you made a friend, Prince Tenzo?”
Tenzo tries not to flush because it’s borderline embarrassing that his aunt still interrogates him about making friends and he feels too old to be discussing these sorts of things with her. However, he still can’t help the smile that erupts on his face, “Yes--well I hope so,” Tenzo falters. “I was hoping to see him again tomorrow. I may teach him swordfighting in exchange.”
Tsunade laughs benevolently. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to teach a painter how to handle a sword? You’d have more luck practicing with the junior knights.”
“Y’know he wasn’t scrawny for an artist.” Tenzo comments mindlessly.
Tsunade’s eyebrows shoot up and she casts him a knowing look. “Don’t forget you’re still engaged, Tenzo.”
“I wasn’t implying anything!” Tenzo splutters as Tsunade laughs again.
Then her face becomes serious. “How is it going?” she asks, voice soft but firm.
Tsunade had been hopeful. The arranged marriage wasn’t her idea, but the royal cabinet had been urging her to find a solution for the lineage and since she had no direct heir, Tenzo had been the next candidate. It would’ve been easy if Tsunade could just pass the crown onto him, but after King Sarutobi’s disastrous reign the cabinet had urged connections with other kingdoms to be made. There had been controversy around Tenzo’s birthright too, many displaying their abject disgust due to his improper lineage and often casting him aside as the bastard son of an unknown Senju line that died in insignificance many years ago. Not to mention, the tightlipped secret about Lord Danzo’s interference with the Senju line that had directly affected Tenzo, which left Tsunade launching across the room and nearly throttling the Lord if her lady in waiting, Shizune, had not held her back. Tenzo had aired his qualms about the arranged marriage, but he was resigned to the idea of duty over heart and silently agreed to the offer unbeknownst to Tsunade.
“Not well.” Tenzo frowns, because he could never lie to Tsunade.
Her face copies the same expression, “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want it.”
“I needed to do it.”
“Tenzo.”
They’ve had this conversation before and Tenzo knows exactly how it’ll go. Tsunade will tell him that he doesn’t have to do this because she wants him to be happy, and then try to discreetly fight off the entire royal cabinet that aren’t concerned with expressing how they feel about the crown prince. He has tried to convince Tsunade that it was going well, but he could only keep the charade up for so long. He couldn’t even tell Tsunade what his fiance’s favourite colour is.
“I tried.” Tenzo offers exasperated. “It’s like he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Tsunade exhales deeply and brings two fingers up to rub her temple. “It’s going to take some time, I know that King Sakumo’s son had a reputation for being reserved but he had confidence that Kakashi would open up. I’m sure he’ll open up soon.”
Tenzo’s shoulders sag and he tries not to look unconvinced. “Thank you for keeping my dinner,” he says as he rises. “I think it’s best if I head to my chambers now.”
“Goodnight Tenzo.”
He bows and leaves.
The earliest memories of Danzo’s study are hazy. There were two walls lined with bookshelves and a large desk that was often cluttered with books left on opened pages, unfinished papers, and letters that waited patiently for a response. Much like the rest of the castle, Danzo’s study was unremarkable, and hidden in the deep recesses of the Southern Castle. The castle was still a part of the main palace, but it was reserved for members of the advisory board or other visiting nobles, and it was where Danzo hid Tenzo right under the noses of the royal family. Despite all its gloom, the Southern Castle was one of the warmest places in the kingdom, and the sun would cast her face to the garden and beckon the flowers to bloom. If Tenzo was fortunate enough, Danzo would allow him briefly into the garden where he would collect flowers and press them into his precious book. It wasn’t leather bound like the other books in Danzo’s collection, Tenzo couldn’t afford that, and Danzo wouldn’t spare him one either so he had to make do with a paper bound book.
Sukea is gentle when he paints the cover of the book a couple of weeks later after their initial meeting. Tenzo thinks that Sukea may be handling his book softer than he ever has. Large hands bending slightly at the knuckle, sturdy enough to keep the book still, but not too firm so that the book creases. He uses his watercolour paints because the oil paints take too long to dry, he had said, and Tenzo’s book would’ve been in the autumn sun for days before he could even touch the book without smudging the paint. He’s sitting cross legged under the shade of a tree, the jar of water collected from the lake are placed precariously next to Sukea’s left knee while Tenzo occupies the space on his right.
He tries not to stare but watching his book cover come to life is mesmerising, and when Sukea catches him looking for the fourth time in the span of twenty minutes, he laughs and lowers the book. “I thought you were collecting the autumn flowers,” Sukea says and his eyes drop down to look at the bundle in Tenzo’s grasp.
“I was,” Tenzo states and clutches the flowers closer to his chest defensively. “I just like to watch you paint.”
“I know.” Sukea says without missing a beat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sukea doesn’t reply, instead he hums and he continues with his work. Tenzo drops the subject and begins to inspect the chrysanthemums he collected earlier. He’d have to wait until Sukea is finished with the book to begin pressing, but he doesn’t mind, the flowers are wet with dew anyway and they could dry alongside the book cover. Besides, the sun is shining high in the sky and Tenzo invites the pleasant warmth on his shoulders that battles the cool, sharp air that announces autumn’s settling.
Tenzo is arranging the flowers on the ground when Sukea asks, “Who are you collecting flowers for?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the cover and Tenzo replies simply, “For me.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, Yamato.” Sukea prods lightly. “Pressing flowers in books for someone is quite a romantic gesture.”
Tenzo stops arranging the flowers to meet Sukea’s gaze. “They’re for me,” he parrots. “I’ve always collected flowers since I was young. It’s become a small hobby of mine.”
He remembers those moments when colour would fill his world and replace the neverending swirl of black ink on parchment paper. How he used to wake up bright and early during spring just to catch the different stages of a flower in bloom. He still has his first book tucked away in his drawers for safekeeping.
“I never pegged you for a flower pressing kind,” Sukea comments, “considering that you hacked up a tree two weeks ago.”
“When are you going to let me live that down?” Tenzo groans.
Sukea shares a snarky grin and Tenzo childishly sticks his tongue out in response before returning to his work. The silence here is a familiar one, it’s not suffocating like the one in the palace where every breath out of place felt loud, but peaceful. A silence that cuts the tension loose from Tenzo’s shoulders and one that he could lose himself forever. A balm to the constant chittering in his brain, but a different quiet starts to form. Sukea is starting to slowly occupy the empty space with the hum of his brushstrokes and the tinkle of water from the jar, the new silence is warm and friendly, and Tenzo is more than happy to welcome it.
“All finished.” Sukea says and places the book under the sunlight. He peers over Tenzo’s shoulder at the discarded flowers. “What’s wrong with those?”
“They won’t press properly if the flowers overlap on the page. I just picked the best flowers.” Tenzo shrugs.
Sukea leans over to take the excess flowers, and he places them in the space between his crossed legs before starting to intertwine them together. Tenzo immediately catches on and is up on his feet to collect a more colourful display. He picks other foliage, plucking at the brightest and greenest ones before they would wilt under autumn’s chill. When he returns to their space, Sukea is patiently waiting for the next bunch to add onto the chain and he stretches his arm out to take Tenzo’s bunches.
“I’ve always wondered how these were made.” Tenzo comments mirroring Sukea in his position and trying to figure out the rhythmic pattern that Sukea is tying the flowers in.
“It’s easy. My friend used to make one for me every summer.” Sukea says and tilts the crown towards Tenzo. “You begin with a flower with a long stem, add another and wrap its stem around the original flower. You keep repeating until you get a crown.”
Tenzo plucks a few from their shared pile and slowly crafts his own crown. It’s a little more sparse than Sukea’s and the spaces between the flower heads are uneven but Tenzo soon loses himself in the repetitive motion of it. He thinks of the summer festival and the stalls that would sell these every year, but only ever had the chance to wear it once, the summer before they found out his birthright. He wasn’t allowed to go to the festival, but Danzo had trusted him with a small errand that so happened to cut through the town.The flowers had been yellow and bright, and nearly as noisy as the festival. He’s cut loose from his thoughts when Sukea reaches over to place the crown on his head, and Tenzo nearly drops the crown he’s fiddling with.
“All finished.” Sukea says almost triumphantly. He leans back on his hands to admire his work.
The flower crown has pushed some of Tenzo’s hair into his eyes and he tries his best to summon a playful glare from under his hair, but his voice is soft when he says, “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sukea says with a nonchalant shake of his hand.
He then tilts his head and Tenzo tries not to flounder under Sukea’s gaze. He’s never done well under scrutiny. The artist shifts so he kneels in front of Tenzo, the flowers on the ground occupying the only space between them as Sukea threads more flowers through the crown to make it look fuller. Tenzo follows the drawl of Sukea’s scarf from around his neck to where it pools slightly on the grass to distract himself from the artist’s heavy gaze. Sukea then sits back on his heels, takes another long look and says, “Stay still.”
Tenzo is crafting his third crown when he realises he’s squinting in the quickly diminishing sunlight. Not again. Sukea had asked if he could keep making flower crowns while he painted and Tenzo had quietly obliged. At least Sukea was a lot more entertaining during portrait sessions than the ones that were commissioned by the palace, and Tenzo had started to become better at making the flower crowns. His third one looks firmer and fuller than the previous ones with Sukea sporting the initial one on his head, his brown curls poke through the spaces between the leaves and softly lay between the petals. Sukea is looking at Tenzo again, but the crown prince iis quickly rising to his feet and he looks over the lake to confirm that it’s time for him to leave.
“That time again?” Sukea quips and stops painting. He puts the brush in a cloth and cleans it.
“Unfortunately so.” Tenzo affirms and bends over to collect his book.
He gently smooths the cover and admires Sukea’s handiwork, the flowers are deep and vibrant on the page, brassy oranges, bold reds leap off the cover and the mossy green leaves seem to curl into themselves. He tucks the book into his satchel alongside the flowers wrapped in wax paper to press for later.
They bid their goodbyes and Tenzo rushes home again. Tsunade had warned him to not make it a habit, but it’s rapidly becoming one. He would turn up at the steps of the castle, already feeling half scolded, but then Tsunade would see that bright smile on his face and shake her head fondly instead.
“What’s this?” she asks.
She raises her hand to feel the petals. In his rush he had forgotten that he’s still donning the flower crown from earlier, Tenzo tries not to beam as he replies, “A flower crown. Sukea made it for me.”
“This Sukea looks like he’s trying to court you,” Tsunade says in a tone that Tenzo is sure that’s meant to be teasing, but there’s a crease between her brows as if she’s really contemplating the idea that there’s a chance that Sukea might really be courting Tenzo.
“Don’t worry, we’re just friends,” Tenzo assures her when they step inside the palace.
“You crown princes with your friends constantly showering you in flowers.” Tsunade remarks.
“I didn’t realise that there was such a convenient phrase.”
“Oh no, there isn’t,” Tsunade says. “You know for all that talk about how you don’t get along, you and Prince Kakashi have a lot in common.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came back to the palace leaving flowers everywhere. The maids kicked up quite a fuss about it.”
Later that evening, Tenzo is careful to not leave flowers anywhere when he places the crown on top of his dresser. When he arranges the chrysanthemums into the page, his mind drifts off to deft, long fingers tying stems together and the tender support of a warm palm under a blooming bud. When he slips into bed and closes his eyes, the imprints of colour are no longer the loud flowers, but instead the mild lavender paint that follows the curve of a cheek.