a/n: ayyy new chapter. :D here's a very late update since next week is my finals. if you're waiting for the vindictive paradise to be updated, it'll be updated next week saturday (10/5), so keep your chin up. anyways, thanks to whimsicalglow, Clavemien Nigram Rosa, dunnoifGraluorNalu, AspergianStoryteller, 2 Guests, .Zoldyck, Kerav, and mitsuyo-chan for the reviews! :'D i enjoyed reading them.

At night, he leans over the kitchen windowsill and closes the windows, latching it shut and shaking it once to ensure that it's sealed up tight. Once that's done, Seijūrō sighs and eyes Kuroko, who's contentedly rolling up daintily-knitted emerald laces into square crystal boxes and packing them into a drawer. His neck is stretched taut with swanlike grace and he manoeuvres around his living room with ease as though he's lived with those antlers for all his life, despite their constant shrill clattering. It doesn't seem to be an easy feat, yet Seijūrō thinks that Kuroko definitely won't appreciate it if he shoots a question, so he spares the boy and settles down onto a rickety stool.

Kuroko's movements are lethargic yet entrancing, like a slowly flickering flame that glows brighter than gold. He isn't perturbed with how Seijūrō blatantly stares at him, and he takes his time in piecing together beads of topaz into little cups that tinkle when he keeps them away. Something about Kuroko sings of mystery, and no, it isn't that sort of cheap mystery where he feigns himself to wear another's skin. Rather, Kuroko is an absent being; his body moves with the precision of a clockwork doll, yet, his soul has vanished from its container. A laughter or a smile hardly crosses his face, and all he ever does is to breathe, tinker around with objects, and breathe again.

It's odd.

Yet it's compelling.

Seijūrō's used to meeting chatty ladies and court members who just won't shut up about their trivial affairs of the day, so he hardly has the need to instigate a conversation. Not to say that he is awkward around others, oh no, but faced with a mystifying creature of sublime sophistication named Kuroko Tetsuya has him bemused on what to say, what to ask, what to be considerate of. So far, the jewel-eater has never forgotten his duty as the host of the house and he's been most gracious with food as well as explanations on the layout of his home in case Seijūrō needs a visit to the washroom, but... he is detached from it all.

He's just reciting things, letting meaningless words fall from his lips and expecting Seijūrō to take them at face value.

Even until now as Kuroko fastens the amaranthine bolt over the door and secures it with a diamond padlock, he is as calm as the moon's reflection in a pond, undisturbed with how Seijūrō's right there watching him.

He's beguiling.

Utterly beguiling.

"I usually don't have dinner, Your Majesty," Kuroko speaks up out of nowhere, and Seijūrō jerks out of his inner musings. Coral blue eyes slip over to meet burning crimson ones, and he makes his way over to the princeling, settling down by his feet like how a cat would. From his position, he cranes his head up to look at Seijūrō like a doting pet and continues talking, as though nothing is wrong with his mannerism. "If you'd like to have some bread and jam, I'd be happy to make it for you, as I do not have much to offer you."

Ah.

Dinner.

That's also something else that Seijūrō's noticed about Kuroko. He's been offering nothing but an array of garden-crisp fruits that are delectable to his palate, but Seijūrō's never seen the boy munch on anything else other than that. A strange diet befitting of a strange person, he thinks, especially if he adds the gemstones to the list.

"Some bread would be nice, but I'll make them myself," Seijūrō says, smiling amiably. At his answer, Kuroko tilts his head to the side and his brows furrow as he's about to object, but Seijūrō shakes his head and murmurs, "You needn't treat me as royalty if you need me to stay here, Kuroko. I'm more than capable of doing those things myself if you'll direct me to the kitchen. Treat me as a housemate, if you would."

A housemate is far from what he is, in all actuality, but he needed to establish some sort of rapport with this maker of sorts. It isn't an easy task, but what sort of king would he be if he could not understand his subject well? Especially the special ones like Kuroko. No doubt when he ascends the throne, he'll be hearing stranger cases from every nook and cranny of the Teikō Empire during court sessions, so this might as well be some sort of training for him for the future to come.

"You are still the prince of the empire, it'd be uncourteous of me to let you dirty your hands," Kuroko argues, pursing his lips. "Please, do let me serve you."

"Yet you still wish for me to stay with you in your home for as long as you needed to complete the crown, so you should treat me accordingly," Seijūrō points out, palming his chin as he rests his elbow on the armrest. Kuroko blinks up at him, chews on his lips contemplatively, averts his eyes, sighing—but he provides no response, and his fingers curl into his robes as he lowers his chin. Taking this as a sign of submission, Seijūrō continues. "I am aware that the castle will be in slight turmoil without my presence to regulate the proceedings as usual, but it is a risk that I'm willing to take. Like I've said, you need for me to stay here, then it is my duty to be with you, as long as you complete the task I've entrusted you with."

A pause.

The dim glow of the candles sitting on the mantelpiece over the fireplace stains the antlers on Kuroko's head amber as he sits by Seijūrō's feet, motionless. It's a recurring situation all over again with how Seijūrō says something and Kuroko is unable to respond simply because he chose to swallow his secrets, and it leads to nothing but a standstill, a complete and utter communication breakdown between the two of them. Kuroko's akin to an injured fawn, perhaps betrayed by someone he held close to his heart, and he chose not to expose himself out of fear of getting hurt again. The pain is exquisite, and many people chose to linger and wade through those sea of cuts because they cannot swim over it, and Seijūrō knows it all too well because he's seen it happening to people around him.

To his palace.

To his parents.

To his mother.

To his father.

And perhaps, to a certain extent, to himself.

As if affronted, as though the words finally hit Kuroko squarely in the jaw like a delayed reaction, he tenses and promptly unfolds himself from his spot, standing up and brushing his clothes. Seijūrō mimics Kuroko in the sense that he chose not to respond, to stay quiet to softly pressure him to speak, and merely contents himself with observing how the boy gathers his trailing stardust robes and gaits over to his bookshelf. The covers are lined with gilded filigrees and sparkle luminously in the room, just like everything else splendid in Kuroko's home, and his fingers select a book of amethyst wisterias splayed over the cover. He clutches the tome close to his heart and plods back to sit by Seijūrō's feet again, this time balancing the book on the redhead's lap and looking up at him expectantly.

"Then, I'll tell you a tale that nobody remembers, not even your ancestors, Your Majesty."

He doesn't wait for Seijūrō's response.

He doesn't need Seijūrō's response either.

Flipping the book open to a random page chock full with antlike scrawling, Kuroko's carefully trimmed fingernail points to a paragraph on the third quarter and answers with the knowledge of the world on the tip of his tongue, the details engraved into the very core of his memories; "Once, there were gods in our world, gods of fertility, gods of knowledge, gods of wealth, gods of every imaginable quality that you can think of."

Seijūrō smothers the urge to frown at the nonsense spewing out from the boy's lips and instead, chose to nod as though he understood the enigmatic words of Kuroko Tetsuya, when in all actuality, he thinks that the boy is either sleep-deprived or is just trying to pull a quick one on him. Despite the awkward position, the weight on his thighs is strangely comforting, and the feel of Kuroko's body pressed against his legs isn't upsetting either—but then again, it's been a long day today. Perhaps Seijūrō's brain is already addled and he isn't aware of it himself.

"The gods have worshippers—us, their creations—and they bless us with everything that we needed. Fertile lands, bountiful crops, and even healthy farm animals," Kuroko says without even stopping to take a breath, pointing to a paragraph near the end of the page and reading the squiggles fluently. "So we lived in excessive wealth, showered with longevity and free from malignant plagues that could devastate any land. But."

Then, he pauses almost dramatically, languidly pinching a page between his fingers and revealing the continuation of the scribbling that Seijūrō cannot decipher for the life of him, before continuing, "The humans are consumed by their own ego. A man thought that he could surpass the gods who have bestowed life upon him, and declared that the humankind were greater than these divine beings. At first, his divergent views were met with resistance as many people still revered the gods and dared not to oppose them."

Gods? Divine beings? Humans opposing gods?

Seijūrō's starting to get a headache from all of this.

For one, he's devoured almost every book out there on folklore and mythological beings within his palace library, and he's never once heard of 'gods'. Of course, the concept of a divine being looking out for them has crossed his mind a few times but there were no proofs of their existence, so he was forced to disregard it. But now, the jewel-eater who will craft his crown is educating him on gods, gods and divine beings, of historical moments where humanity wanted to break free from the gods' reign, and despite the ridiculousness of it all... Seijūrō couldn't dismiss how there's light in Kuroko's eyes as his lips kept uttering these words that he held dearly to his heart.

And he's sharing it with Seijūrō.

So Kuroko trusts Seijūrō enough to share this tale together, under the covers of the night.

"But after years pass, many more people accepted the notion that the gods should no longer be worshipped," the boy murmurs softly, his voice chipping from the despair. For a moment there, he leans his chin against the musty pages and gazes at the drawing of a creature of what Seijūrō assumes to be a god, from his magnificent wings to the enormous sceptre he wields. "They wanted to live in splendour without wasting time for worships, for tributes and little prayers, and as hundreds of years roll by... there are no worshippers left in the end. Even today, if you scour the lands for a man who knows the tale of the gods, you wouldn't find any, Your Majesty."

"If what you spoke truly took place hundreds of years before this, then yes, I suppose nobody would know," Seijūrō placidly agrees, his fingertips gently caressing the rough texture of the book in his lap. Some of the tangled chains on Kuroko's antlers sprawl over the pages and cast opaque shadows obscuring the words, and Seijūrō absently rolls a beaded pearl between his fingers as Kuroko mulls on, watching him from under his lashes. "But it is a wonderful story, nonetheless. I've never heard of anything like it. How did you ever come across such an intriguing tale?"

"I didn't make it up, if that's what you're wondering," Kuroko shoots back, almost affronted at Seijūrō's words. He raises his chin from the book and glowers at the redhead, rather upset at the accusation. "It's the story of the gods and the people before us, Your Majesty. The people who worshipped the gods, the man who stood against the divine beings because of his ego, and the ending of the tale. We are the product of their actions, in case you haven't noticed.

Huh.

Seijūrō's almost inclined to argue, but supposing that this is the first time Kuroko's almost passionately making his point and willingly opening his mouth, he just can't help but to nod along.

"All right, if you insist. So who is the egoistical man who managed to lead others away from the path of worshipping gods? I reckon he is quite a character with a strong personality."

And then Kuroko tilts his head to the side, looking at Seijūrō almost as though he's asking a foolish question.

"Of course he is, you would know him," he says flippantly. "He's your ancestor, King Akashi Reizei."

Oh.

Ouch.

Without even uttering another word to console Seijūrō—not that he needed it even though he's quite taken aback from how Kuroko announces the name as though he owns the list of names of kings who've ruled Teikō even hundreds of years back, Kuroko leaves his spot once again and makes his way towards the many drawers stacked by his work station, where he fishes out two gemstone blocks. One burns with the brightest hues of limes and moss, while the other is a calming lavender river, and he backtracks to stand in front of Seijūrō, shoving these two under his nose. It is only then, under intense scrutiny and mounting confusion, that Seijūrō finally makes out what seems to be two idols carved out from the amethyst and emerald blocks, with toothpick fine details of a solemn man in glasses and the other, a giant with an apple in his hand.

Slightly befuddled with his discovery, the princeling gazes at Kuroko.

"What... are these?"

"These are the gods whom I worship," Kuroko answers, nodding. "The one in green is Midorima-sama, and the titan is Murasakibara-sama. Midorima-sama is the god who showers us with knowledge, while Murasakibara-sama blesses us with fertile lands for tiling. They are the ones responsible for our empire's development and growth."

At this, Seijūrō raises his brows. Intrigued, yes, albeit the confusion that's filled his mind to the brim. Since he's mired in too deep, he might as well hear him out.

"And, pray tell Kuroko, how do you worship them? Do you offer them food or little trinkets in makeshift shrines?"

"No."

Kuroko shoots him a look as though he should feel ashamed of himself for asking such a stupidly obvious question. Promptly placing the two statues on the mantelpiece to compliment the littered vases of crystallized flowers, he whips around and all Seijuro sees is the flat plane of his back as he strides away. There's a clattering sound in the background and the curiosity gnaws away at Seijuro's mind, of Kuroko's mysterious actions and unfathomable actions, and he perches up on his seat to get a glimpse of what's going on. The opaque shadows on the walls move erratically now and more clunking follow, and then Kuroko returns like a fleeting shadow of the night, hoisting something in his arms. When all Seijuro could do is to regard the scene with obviously bemused silence, the teen quirks his head to the side.

"I dance for them."

Well, that's new.

"You dance for them?" Seijuro parrots, and he gets this feeling that echoing what Kuroko says is what he's been doing all day. He can't help it; there are so many incomprehensible things happening all around him when he's just here for the sake of a crown. He didn't sign up to be part of a new cult or religion from a boy with antlers, that's for sure, but there's something about Kuroko that gets him hooked like a desperate addict that thirsts after his unusualness. He's been educated with how many emperors have valiantly sacrificed the royal vaults to help the villages through winter, how many wives have taken their own lives out of jealousy, how many ministers have succumbed to corruption, but none have educated him on gods and sublime deities.

None except Kuroko Tetsuya.

As though trying to prove a point, Kuroko sets up his stage with his palms carrying bowls, and he stands poised in the center of a clearing, all the while staring at Seijuro defiantly. He doesn't utter a word now, he lets his body convey his words, and the dim lighting picks out the golden threads sewn into his robes as his hips sway to an imaginary beat. It's strange how Seijuro's only seen women doing these dances only for pleasure and entertainment in courts, during celebrations and high time festivities, but to Kuroko, it's almost a natural façade on him. The ornaments on his antlers clink with every accommodating shift of his body, and he places a foot forward with a knowing smile.

Not to the gods.

Not to the unseen eyes.

But to him—to Seijuro.

"Nobody pays attention to the gods anymore, not even our late kings," Kuroko says, and for a moment there, he looks like a lunatic as he lets his toe graze over the hardwood floor and skipping a few steps forward. Arms outstretched, poised magnificently with both his palms bearing two glittering rubelite bowls with cascading silver ornaments, the flickering flame of the candles shiver in the night with his every move. Kuroko's body is a pliant marionette, stringless without a conductor, yet each of his movement is accentuated with the silken flow of his spine, curved rigid, as his hips roll exotically from side to side.

And for a moment there, Seijūrō is wordless as he gazes upon Kuroko Tetsuya—Kuroko Tetsuya who eats jewels, Kuroko Tetsuya who worships the gods and deities, and Kuroko Tetsuya who dances to please the otherworldly beings.

#4: "I won't mind, but you might start growing mould," he replies with every inch of seriousness in his voice, and Seijūrō takes a moment to backtrack and piece together the puzzle that is Kuroko Tetsuya. The boy is still absently slicing the bread with a knife of sharpened jasper, careful enough to balance each meticulously measured slice onto the blade and depositing it on carnelian plates, and then he adds almost conspiratorially, "But if you do start growing mushrooms, then that would be great. I can use them for cooking."