
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4840877.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Free!
  Relationship:
      Nanase_Haruka/Tachibana_Makoto, Hazuki_Nagisa/Ryuugazaki_Rei
  Character:
      Nanase_Haruka, Tachibana_Makoto, Hazuki_Nagisa, Ryuugazaki_Rei, Matsuoka
      Rin, Yamazaki_Sousuke, Shigino_Kisumi, Nitori_Aiichirou
  Additional Tags:
      Master/Slave, Memory_Loss, Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Explicit
      Sexual_Content, Secret_Organizations, Past_Child_Abuse, Sexual_Slavery,
      Slow_Romance, Eventual_Happy_Ending, Childhood_Memories
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-20 Updated: 2015-09-21 Chapters: 2/? Words: 6251
****** The Boundaries of Proper Etiquette ******
by DarkestCornerOfMyMind
Summary
     Nanase Haruka is the young master of a wealthy family. Makoto is his
     personal manservant. Step by step, they grow closer and more in love,
     until Haruka is no longer able to tell who is the master, and who is
     the slave.
     Unfortunately for him, Makoto can.
Notes
     This story was originally posted on fanfiction.net under the same
     title and penname.
     The original story currently has 19 chapters which will eventually be
     posted here on AO3.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Slave and the Master *****
Quiet. Stillness. The soft yellow light bathed the marble tiles. Nanase Haruka,
age 17, sunk himself further down in the warm water and sighed contently. He
loved this time; the time that he could get away from everyone and immerse
himself within the hot steaming liquid which soothed his nerves.
Haruka's life rotated entirely around water. His family, as it were, had
ancestors ranging from fishermen to pirates. Now they were in charge of a
spring water import business with thriving results.
The water was starting to chill slightly but the young master didn't care. He
merely sank lower and fancied himself swimming in a cool lake on a hot summer
day. Eagerly, the water lapped at his ears as if begging him to give himself
over wholly. Complying, Haruka slid down the edge of his bathtub until he was
lying flat against the tiled floor...
The world was flipped upside down as a gloved hand plunged into the watery
stillness and grasped his forearm. Fighting it, Haruka attempted to yank away
but the hand was stronger and it pulled him back up to the surface.
Sputtering, he reared up angrily like an enraged cat and glared at the intruder
of his private time. Soft green eyes accompanied by a gentle smile gazed back
at him, unperturbed.
"My apologies, Master Haruka," his personal servant Makoto said respectfully.
He released Haruka's arm and began to peel off his wet glove. "I felt nervous
when I saw you sink under the water, Master Haruka. I thought that perhaps you
had fallen asleep."
"I'm fine," Haruka muttered. He still felt bitter about being interrupted. "Now
leave me alone."
"Yes Master," Makoto stood. Haruka noted that his knees, which must have gotten
splashed on, were wet. "Again, I apologize for my unnecessary interference."
Haruka did not bother with a reply and merely once more sank below the water's
surface.
.
.
.
Makoto was a slave.
The politer term to put it, Haruka supposed, would be an unpaid servant.
However, that meant that Makoto was basically a slave.
Haruka was not entirely sure of his servant's backstory, nor was he interested,
but he had drawn a few of his own conclusions during his daily ponderings in
the bathtub. The factual thing he knew was that Makoto was the same age, only a
few months younger.
Makoto had come to the Nanase household only a few weeks ago. He had a well-
groomed appearance and a handsome face which sent the maids in to a flutter of
excited whispers. Makoto had no last name, meaning that he was most likely a
child from the slums, perhaps the son of a prostitute. Whoever he was, he had
been presented in front of Haruka as his new manservant. He had been dressed in
attire similar to a footman, but his right ear sported a silver triangle
earring. "He's a slave," his father stated in a loud voice. This time it sent
all of the servants into controversial murmurs.
Being a slave meant that one's rights had either been taken away or sold. It
meant that Makoto's standing was far below a typical servant-rank. If Haruka,
the young master of an elite family, was an ocean, then his servants were
ponds. Makoto, at best, would be a puddle.
Haruka did not want a slave. Growing up in a noble family with parents with a
loveless marriage often caused Haruka to live under benign neglect with the
dutiful care of his domestic retainers. Haruka was usually alone, and he
preferred it to be that way.
He disliked Makoto, with his permanent smile and grass green eyes. He disliked
his often unfazed attitude and gentle words. Most of all, he disliked the
obvious sadness lurking behind his cheerful façade, but was never hinted at. It
seemed that the others, servants or his parents, did not see it. Or perhaps all
slaves had the same look in their eyes.
Either way, Haruka did not appreciate Makoto's presence. And he was determined
to have Makoto leave of his own volition no matter what.
.
.
.
... Was what Haruka was planning, but much to his frustration, Makoto's
seemingly unlimited patience bested him.
The slave seemed to have a natural inclination towards forgiveness. No matter
how many things he carelessly flung or spilled on the floor, no matter the
terrible things he would offhandedly say, no matter how much he flat
out ignored him, Makoto would forever obey his orders or brush away his
comments with that hated smile. There was not a speck of disgruntlement or
anger to be seen, and Haruka was getting rather bored of acting like a spoiled
brat. The young master was ordinarily self-sufficient and tried not to trouble
his servants unless necessary.
Haruka, once more bathing in his beloved water, pondered of what exactly he
could do to annoy his slave. Perhaps it was time to abuse his authority a
little bit and force Makoto to do something he hated. But what did he hate?
Haruka did not bother talking to him unless it was indispensable to his current
need. Filling the bathtub was the most he had ever ordered him to do and even
that was done with a cheery grin.
What could be done, he wondered, to make Makoto realize that he didn't want
him?
Feeling tired from overthinking, he slowly shut his eyes and didn't open them
again until Makoto came in an hour later to help him dress for bed. He hazily
opened his eyes to frantic green eyes, a terrified voice, and a spinning room
which made him feel the need to vomit.
.
.
.
When Haruka opened his eyes again, he was lying in his large and comfortable
bed, the ceiling lights swimming in his vision. Oh, he thought blearily, I got
sick again.
It didn't surprise him, at least not anymore. Since he frequently spent time
swimming or bathing, occasionally he would get carried away and the water would
get too cold for him. Then he would spend the next couple days in a foul mood
because he wasn't allowed to even touch any bodies of water until he was
completely healed, not that he always obeyed this rule. The servants would
often avoid his room during these times, only stopping by to drop off trays of
hot food for him to ignore because he wasn't hungry or up to it. Often times he
would force them into filling his bathtub for him even if he was sick. They
never refused him for long.
He sighed, irritated at himself for being so weak, and turned on his side to go
back to sleep. He felt a slight tug on his bed sheets as if they were caught on
something. Confused, he twisted his head to see a familiar mop of brown hair
lying on the side of the mattress.
Swallowing a surprised noise, he gazed at Makoto, who had fallen asleep at his
bedside with his head in his arms. Why was he here? Didn't he have the common
sense to stay away like the rest of the servants? Being a new slave was no
exception; he supposed it was the fault of the head butler for not informing
him properly.
He felt a scowl form on his face. Grabbing Makoto by the shoulder, he shook him
roughly, calling, "Hey, you. Wake up."
The slave made an undignified sound and lifted his head enough for Haruka to
see one sleepy green eye. "Haru-chan...?"
Blue eyes widening in shock, he gave Makoto a hefty slap on the back of his
head. Yelping, Makoto sat up immediately, rubbing the painful spot with a
grimace.
"Since when are slaves allowed to address their masters with noble-use
honorfics?" Haruka demanded, practically spitting acid. Makoto gasped and
immediately rectified his mistake.
"I am so sorry!" he cried, looking as if he were about to cry. "I didn't mean
to say such things, Master Haruka! I am sorry!" Makoto slid out of his chair to
the floor and performed a dogeza on the ground, face pressed hard in to the
carpet. "Please forgive me!"
Haruka was shocked to say the least. Makoto was usually so calm and collected
that it was strange to see him act so frantic and scared. The change in
attitude made him feel uncomfortable and he reached over the side of his bed to
tug a lock of brown hair. "I'm not mad," he muttered. "I just – "
Suddenly a wave of nausea swept over him and he wobbled. In a flash, Makoto had
the nearby wastebasket in his hands and under Haruka's face. "Here," Makoto
coaxed him. Haruka retched and coughed, but it even if he felt it coming, it
didn't.
"It won't come up," he muttered. His skin was starting to turn sickly pale and
it felt sticky with sweat. He hated of how weak he appeared and hated that it
was Makoto seeing him like this. He didn't even notice Makoto removing his
gloves with his teeth until he felt a large hand on the back of his head.
"Please excuse me, but this is necessary," Makoto murmured gently. Haruka
opened his mouth to demand an explanation when suddenly Makoto's long pointer
finger was in his mouth and pressing against his uvula.
Haruka gagged and vomited straight in to the wastebasket. Makoto soothingly
rubbed circles on his back with his clean hand as he emptied the little
contents of his stomach. Coughing the last out, he felt Makoto wiping his mouth
with his hand and promptly slapped it away. "That's dirty!" he managed to
growl.
"But do you feel better?" Makoto asked with his damned smile. Haruka, too proud
to admit it, turned his head to the side in a pout. He heard a soft chuckle and
hated it.
"Please go back to sleep if you can," Makoto requested in a soft but firm
voice. "Sleep is often the best medicine."
"I don't want to sleep," Haruka tried to sit up and failed. "Fill the bath. If
I soak in hot water long enough, I can heal myself."
"No, Master Haruka," Makoto said even more firmly, pushing him down again with
his clean hand. "Orders from the Master and Mistress. They say you are
absolutely not allowed to bathe again until you completely break your fever.
Bathing is the reason you became sick in the first place. What if your fever
becomes worse?"
"It won't," Haruka snapped, squirming. His nightwear stuck to his skin with
sweat and he hated the feeling. "Just obey my orders."
"I refuse."
Haruka shot him a glare with narrow eyes. None of the servants ever refused him
anything if pushed. "You would defy your master?"
"Only for the sake of your wellbeing," Makoto pushed him down for the final
time and tucked in the covers so snugly that Haruka, in his weakened state,
could barely move. "Please go back to sleep. I will wash my hands and return
shortly."
The door shut quietly behind him and Haruka scowled as he struggled.
Unfortunately the struggling made him feel more and more tired and he soon gave
up, once more slipping in to unconsciousness.
.
.
.
A cool, wet, welcomed feeling was gently caressing his body, cooling his
fevered skin. Confused, Haruka reached out and grabbed on to somebody's warm
hand, soaked with cold water. He heard soft splashing and his eyes snapped
open.
Makoto jumped in surprise, almost dropping the small wet towel in his hand. "My
goodness. You surprised me, Master Haruka," he exclaimed. The dim light next to
the bed gave his silver earring a dull shine. Haruka ignored him and instead
turned his head to stare at the small basin on his bedside table. He could see
the clear liquid within and felt himself swallow.
"Oh, are you thirsty, Master Haruka?" Makoto asked, surprising him. "I brought
a pitcher of water. Please wait a moment."
Makoto retreated from sight and from somewhere across the room, Haruka's ears
caught the sound of pouring water and he attempted to sit upright. Feeling a
cool breeze, he looked down and was shocked to see that he was half naked.
Makoto came back with a glass cup of water in his hand, which he handed to
Haruka. Haruka glared at him, wondering why he had removed his clothes.
"Are you wondering why I undressed you?" Makoto asked politely. Haruka blinked.
Again, had his slave read his mind...? "Earlier I noticed that you were
squirming around as if you felt uncomfortable. I guessed that you wanted to
bathe because you were sweating so much. I couldn't let you bathe, but the
least I can do for you is to wipe you down," he gestured to the basin and
towel. "After you have finished your water, please allow me to continue."
Haruka mentally weighed his options and had to admit to himself that he felt
better with his skin being sweat-free. He nodded his consent and he saw
Makoto's face light up with a dazzling smile.
Putting the cup to his lips, he thirstily gulped down the refreshing liquid
until none of it remained. Makoto took back the cup and put it down on the
bedside table before once more picking up the wet towel. "Please give me your
arm, Master Haruka."
Haruka complied and felt Makoto's hand take it in his gentle but strong grip.
Leaning back into his pillows, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of
being washed. Haruka hated being bathed by his servants because their touch was
flighty and nervous, as if they were going to break something made of delicate
glass. Makoto's touch was self-assured and strong, but at the same time, tender
and it felt pleasant. If it was Makoto who bathed him, Haruka mused, he
supposed he wouldn't mind.
"Would you like me to help you bathe from now on?" Makoto's voice cut in to his
thoughts with unnerving precision. Snapping open his eyes, he stared into
Makoto's emerald green eyes suspiciously.
"How are you doing that?"
"How am I doing what?"
"How are you able to tell what I'm thinking?"
Makoto blinked. Then he smiled, a bit incredulously. "Isn't it obvious from the
faces you are making?"
It was Haruka's turn to blink, bewildered. For so long his servants at secretly
complained behind his back about his expressionless behavior, about how it was
so difficult to understand him. Having someone who was able to read his
immobile face threw him for a loop.
"No one has ever said that to me before," was all he said aloud. Makoto tilted
his head, a little confused.
"Really?" Makoto mused for a moment before his smile, somehow not quite so
irritating anymore, blossomed on his face. "I suppose there is a difference."
"A difference of what?"
"Between the other servants and I," Makoto slipped a hand behind Haruka's head
and bent it forward to that he could wash the nape of his neck. "Because I am
Master Haruka's personal slave, you are the one I am most attentive to. So I am
able to read your expressions easily."
Haruka, for some reason, started to feel sulky again. "Because my parents put
you up to it, right," he muttered.
"That is incorrect," Makoto said firmly, again surprising his master. "I am the
one who requested to become your slave, Master Haruka."
"What?" this was the first time Haruka had heard of such a thing. "Why...?"
"..." Makoto remained silent for a pensive moment. "'Why' indeed," he murmured.
His grip on the back of Haruka's head tightened momentarily. Haruka was very
suddenly aware that Makoto was sitting far too close. Their faces were mere
inches apart from each other.
Slowly, Makoto's hand moved from his hair to his cheek in a smooth motion.
Unconsciously holding his breath, Haruka felt as if he was drowning in pools of
forest green.
"Master Haruka," Makoto said in a tone much lower than his usual voice. "You
are very important to me. I cannot tell you why or how but... please allow me
to tell you this: Master Haruka is very special to me, more so than the Master
and Mistress," he smiled and Haruka was struck by the realization that Makoto
was, in fact, very attractive. "Master Haruka is my only Master, and I am proud
to be your slave."
An odd tingly feeling followed by a burning hot sensation flared through
Haruka's face and he watched as Makoto's serious expression morphed into one of
astonishment.
"Your face is turning even redder," Makoto smiled, speaking in his normal light
tone again. He took his hand away and reached for the towel. "Please get some
rest. I'll go request food from the kitchens," he made to stand up but then
Haruka grabbed on to his sleeve. "Master Haruka?"
... Stay here, blue eyes implored. Makoto's smile, now beautiful instead of
irritating, made Haruka's chest feel tight.
"Very well," Makoto smiled. "Then I'll stay here until you fall asleep, Master
Haruka."
Makoto tugged his sleeve out of Haruka's grip, much to the young master's
disappointment, but he seated himself in his earlier chair by his bedside. Blue
eyes communicated what he was too proud – or scared – to ask.
"I'll be here when you wake up," Makoto comforted, reaching out to stroke his
hair. "Please, go to sleep."
The oceanic eyes eventually slid shut to the rhythm of Makoto's soft breathing.
So deeply asleep Haruka was, that he did not feel Makoto's head leave his
forehead, nor did he here the soft click of the door as he left the room.
However, as though as a breeze had crossed the room, he pulled his blankets
tighter towards himself, as if desperate not to lose something close at hand.
.
.
.
When Haruka opened his eyes the next morning, both his fever and Makoto were
gone.
He abruptly sat up and immediately regretted it as a bout of dizziness took
hold. His stomach growled loudly – he hadn't eaten anything for a full day.
I should have guessed that he wouldn't be here, Haruka sulked. All the servants
are the same in the end... they only do things out of duty. Even making empty
promises just to get me out of their hair –
His train of melodramatic thought was abruptly stopped as the door swung open
and Makoto stood there with a tray laden with breakfast. "Oh no! You're awake?"
Makoto said, a crease between his eyebrows. "I am terribly sorry, Master
Haruka. I only went out to get your breakfast..."
"What are you sorry for?" Haruka asked grumpily, secretly relieved.
"For not being here when you woke up. Isn't that what you are angry about right
now?"
Haruka visibly stiffened and turned his head away quickly. How was Makoto able
to do that? His body posture was too easy to read, it seemed, because he heard
Makoto chuckle.
"Like I have said before," Makoto said softly, "I only look at Master Haruka."
Again the warm feeling seemed to echo within him, and Haruka could feel his
face once more turning scarlet.
"Ah, your face is turning red again! Is your fever not completely gone?"
"... S-Shut up. Idiot."
***** The Scent of Perfume *****
Haruka was used to getting what he wanted.
Obviously it was because he was the son of an elite family with money to spare,
but it was also because Haruka did not actually demand that much. The only
frustrating things about him were his stoic attitude and his obsessive love for
water.
But none of the maids or butlers could ever say that he ever made unreasonable
demands. If he ever broke or spilled something, he himself would take the
responsibility to clean it up. Though he was prideful, he knew when to show
humility and apologize for his actions. And if he was ever angry, it wasn't
because of selfish reasons, it was always about the other person's sake.
Like the time where the house steward's youngest son called Haruka 'Haruka-san'
and used the honorfics by accident. Haruka had slapped the young boy, not even
six years old, across the face and ordered him to never do it again. The young
boy, lesson learned, stopped immediately. Now he would never make the same
mistake and could avoid punishment from people who were less lenient.
But as that particular incident showed, Haruka was incredibly clumsy when it
came to social interaction. That same young boy was now terrified of Haruka and
ran away anytime he saw him. It never occurred to Haruka that hitting the child
for disrespect was a bad thing; he himself had gotten hit plenty by his parents
or his deceased grandmother as a child. Often it was because he couldn't stop
his mouth from saying what was on his brain. Perhaps that was why he didn't
talk much as he grew older.
Speaking soon became a chore because everyone misunderstood or considered him
an odd. Surrounded by such people, Haruka didn't bother conveying his thoughts
anymore. It seemed so pointless and superficial...
At least until Makoto came along.
.
.
.
"Master Haruka, would you like any tea?"
"..."
"Ah, you would prefer water? Then I will go fetch a fresh pitcher for you."
Sitting on the wide window seat, Haruka watched as Makoto exited from the room,
wondering just how he looked in his servant's green eyes. Perhaps his face
showed more emotion than he thought? Glancing at the mirror, his reflection
difficult to see because of the rain and dim lighting, stared back at him in
total apathy. Haruka wondered if he were struck down right at that instant,
would his reflection change expression at all?
Somewhat entertained by the idea, he fancied that at the other side of the
mirror or window there was an entire world just like the one he was in. But
perhaps everything there was in reverse, like the mirror reflections
themselves. Or maybe they were upside down in which the ceiling was the floor,
but since it was under their feet it would be a floor instead of a ceiling. Did
they call it a ceiling because it was the opposite of floor? But how could a
floor be a ceiling and a ceiling be a floor? Maybe –
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the door swing open behind him and he
looked around, hoping that it was Makoto and his water. To his disappointment,
however, it was just another one of the maids – he didn't know her name nor did
he care – holding his desired pitcher of water. She set it down quietly on the
nearby dresser and bowed nervously, fiddling with her serving yukata. "Do you
require anything else, Young Master Haruka?"
"..."
She looked increasingly terrified. "Y-Young Master?"
Haruka mentally sighed. Well, at least he knew how his other servants viewed
him. "No..."
"Oh! T-Then I shall take my leave," she bowed again quickly and had her hand on
the doorknob before Haruka called out to her again.
"What happened to Makoto?"
"Ah," the servant girl managed to fix a glib smile on her face. "He was called
away for another matter. He asked me to give this to you," she pointed at the
pitcher. "He said to tell you that it would only take an hour or so to complete
his task. Well then, please excuse me," and she hurried away without another
word.
Haruka stared accusingly at the pitcher, as if it were its fault for not
bringing Makoto back with it. "Well," he muttered, "it's not like I need anyone
to pour the water for me," he grabbed a glass cup nearby and filled it with his
favorite liquid. The refreshing taste of pure spring water soothed his taste
buds and irritation and he sighed contently.
His bookshelf was made especially for him out of polished mahogany wood and
filled to the brim with empty sketchbooks. It had been a gift from his previous
art teacher, who had constantly swooned over Haruka's immense talent. Of
course, both of his parents thought that his ability was useless and had
nothing to do with the family business so art was still merely a hobby for him.
A pleasurable hobby perhaps, but a hobby nonetheless.
He had filled up about one-third of the sketchbooks, leaving more than half of
them empty. Selecting a new one, he opened up to a fresh page and picked up a
pencil. He sat himself back down at the window seat and stared outside. The
rain was beautiful and, in the sun, made everything glisten with light. But
right now it was cold and dark and not exactly the ideal picture for drawing.
Haruka was in the mood to draw something more cheerful anyway.
Closing his eyes lazily, he leaned back with his head against the wall and
waited for inspiration to take him and whisk him on his merry way.
.
.
.
Two and a half sketches of Makoto later, Haruka was getting rather bored.
Tracing the jawline with light strokes, he wondered what sort of body his
servant had underneath all those clothes. The only skin he had ever seen was of
Makoto's face and hands. Otherwise, his servant had remained fully clothed. His
artist senses tingled – he was sure that Makoto had a sculptured body, fit for
art.
There was a series of quiet knocks on his door and Haruka's eyes lit up. He
recognized that rhythm easily. "Come in."
Makoto stepped in, his green eyes clearly apologetic. "I'm sorry, Master
Haruka. I was called away for other duties and couldn't come back sooner."
"It's fine," Haruka looked down at his sketchbook. For some reason, seeing
Makoto in real life and imagining what he was like with his clothes off put a
funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"What are you drawing, Master Haruka? May I have a look?"
Haruka held out the sketchbook to him without complaint and watched Makoto's
expression carefully as he examined the two and a half drawings. First Makoto's
eyebrows creased slightly in confusion, then they went up in surprise. And
then, to the young master's secret relief, those beautiful green eyes lit up,
shining so brightly that they could put diamonds to shame.
"I am very flattered, Master Haruka," Makoto chuckled softly, his eyes still
glowing with happiness. "I never imagined that Master Haruka could draw so
well."
"It's just a hobby," Haruka grumbled, somewhat embarrassed. He reached out to
take the sketchbook back and scrutinized the differences between his sketch and
the real thing. Makoto leaned over to tap lightly on the unfinished sketch.
"Will you please show me this one when you are done?" he asked.
"... Sure," Haruka replied. Makoto drew away but then his master caught him on
the arm.
"Master Haruka?"
"... Before, did one of the women call you out?"
"Hm? ... I suppose you could say that. Why do you ask, Master Haruka?"
"... No reason," Haruka let go of his sleeve and sat back. Makoto smiled
curiously at him and turned around towards his bookshelf of sketchbooks.
"If possible, may I have a look at these as well?"
"Sure," Haruka said, his mind not processing anything Makoto said. Because at
that moment, that small moment of where Makoto had come close to him to look at
his drawings, Haruka had caught an unmistakable scent wafting off the taller
male.
The scent of a lady's perfume...
.
.
.
"My friends are coming over to visit me this Saturday," Haruka said as Makoto
scrubbed his back for him. Both teens were in the bathroom. Haruka, much do his
disappointment, was the only one naked. Makoto still kept fully clothed even at
the expense of getting them wet.
"Oh? Shall I prepare the guest room for them?" Makoto asked, pouring a bucket
of hot water on Haruka's back to wash off the suds.
"Yeah, two of them. And possibly two more for their servants."
"Very well then," Makoto reached for a container of shampoo. "Just out of
curiosity, who are your friends?"
"One of them is a childhood friend and the current owner of his family
business. The other one is the son of the Prime Minister," the young master
said offhandedly.
"Oh, I see. That is very admirable for someone of Master Haruka's age to run
his own – " there was a loud clattering noise and Haruka turned in alarm.
Fortunately, the shampoo was unharmed. Makoto's face was gaping with shock. "T-
The son of the Prime Minister? The Prime Minister?" he squeaked. It was funny
to hear such a high-pitched voice come out of such a huge body.
"Yeah..."
"... Master Haruka, I had no idea that you had such influential friends."
"He's just an annoying person who latched himself on to me," Haruka said
dismissively. He heard Makoto laugh softly behind him and he frowned without
turning around. "What?"
"I'm a little sad," Makoto's tone was light and teasing. The young master
shuddered as he could feel the soft warm breath on his bare neck. "I thought I
was the only one who could see Master Haruka's good points."
Ah, he doesn't smell like perfume anymore...
"You're annoying," Haruka dipped his hand into a bucket of water and swept
upwards to splash his servant in the face. Makoto gave a shout of surprise
before lapsing into coughing; some of the water had gotten in his nose.
"That wasn't nice, Master Haruka," Makoto choked out, pushing back his wet
bangs. Haruka, watching the water drip down his face and down towards his neck,
inadvertently swallowed. "Well, at any rate, I will prepare the best room and
comfort for your friends. Just leave it to me."
"Of course," the blue-eyed teen scoffed as he picked himself up to step into
the bathtub. "You wouldn't be worthy of being my servant otherwise."
"Slave, Master Haruka. There is a difference."
"I hate that word. Stop using it."
"Yes, Master."
.
.
.
"HARU-CHAN!"
Haruka winced in surprise as a shorter overenthusiastic blonde flung himself at
him. It was unpleasant to be interrupted from a daydream in your bed by getting
pounced on by a shota. "Nagisa...!"
"Haru-chan! I've missed you so much! Why don't you come visit me? How come you
haven't written me a letter? Haru-chan!"
"Nagisa, you're too noisy. Shut up for a bit," Haruka grumbled, rubbing at his
temples. He waved away the escorting maid, who looked appalled by the
situation. "Shouldn't the future Prime Minister have a little more dignity?"
"Just because my old man is the Prime Minister doesn't mean that I have to be,"
Hazuki Nagisa shrugged carelessly. He was only a few inches shorter than
Haruka, with blonde hair, pink eyes, and a cheery attitude that seemed to
brighten the room; or, in Haruka's case, irritated his eyes. "My sisters are
better at that political mumbo-jumbo than me. One of them can be the Prime
Minister."
"Girls can't be Prime Ministers."
"Who says? Girls can do anything that boys can. They just talk too much
sometimes, that's all," Nagisa flopped down on to the red velvet couch of
Haruka's room. "My sisters are strong, you know? They used to bully me all the
time as kids too! It was really difficult for me!"
"You've already told me," Haruka sat down in the armchair next to the couch.
"Is Rin coming soon?"
"Rin-chan should be here soon. He lives in the opposite direction than me from
Haru-chan's house," Nagisa pouted. "Because of that, it's so tedious to visit
him! It's a good thing that Haru-chan's house is right between ours!"
"Even so, don't use my house as a meeting point!" Haruka grumbled, feeling
particularly aggravated. It was so obvious that even Nagisa paused mid-rant and
peered at his friend's face.
"Haru-chan, are you alright? Did I come at a bad time? If that's the case, then
I can just go meet up with Rin-chan and go back to his house..."
Immediately Haruka felt guilty. "No, it's okay. You can stay," he said quickly.
"It's just..."
Nagisa frowned as Haruka's voice drifted off. "Haru-chan! I'm not a mind-
reader, as awesome as that would be! You need to clearly say what you're
thinking!" he
"... My manservant was called away for some kind of 'duty'," Haruka had to
resist the temptation to use air quotes. "He left this morning and hasn't come
back yet."
"Oh! Haru-chan, have you gotten a new servant? A personal one? What's his
name?"
"Makoto."
"... Makoto?"
"Just Makoto. He doesn't have a last name."
"Oh. Oh! I see..." Nagisa mused into thoughtful silence. "He must be a great
guy, huh?"
Haruka blinked. "Huh? Why do you say that?"
"Because if Haru-chan misses him so much already, then he must have been nice
to have around!" the blonde gave him a cheeky grin. "When he comes back, make
sure you introduce him to me, okay?"
"... Okay," Haruka gave him a rare tiny smile.
"Ah, did he ever tell you how to spell his name?"
"... Why would he know? Makoto shouldn't know how to read or write."
"Ah, that's true isn't it... most servants or lower-working class people don't
know how to read or write, do they?"
"Most of the servants here don't."
"Hmm... then, when I'm Prime Minister, I'll open up a free-of-charge school
that anybody can go to! Wouldn't it be good if everyone could have an
education?"
"Didn't you say that you would let one of your sisters be the Prime Minister?"
"Don't nitpick over details, Haru-chan!"
Haruka sighed. Nagisa spoke of giving everyone an education while his own
education was slightly questionable judging from his grades... not that Haruka
could really talk.
Soon they were engaged in a lively discussion – well, lively as in Nagisa was
spouting ideas and Haruka was quietly listening – of how to revamp the
education system when a young man with matching wine red eyes and hair burst
into the room.
"Sorry for being late," Matsuoka Rin apologized, his face looking harried. "My
new servant got a little too curious with exploring your house, Haru," he
pushed Nagisa's legs aside, still sprawled out on the couch, and plopped down
next to him. Nagisa giggled as he draped his legs in Rin's lap. Rin gave him an
affectionate slap on the back. "It's been a while, the two of you. How have you
been?"
"Listen to this, Rin-chan! Haru-chan and I were discussing what it would be
like if we could give the uneducated an education!"
"... But how would they be uneducated if they're educated? What would we call
that?"
"Exactly!"
"What?!"
Haruka gave a quiet snort of disbelief. Sinking himself further down into the
armchair he shut his eyes and let the bickering voices of his two friends wash
over him.
He and Rin had known each other as children, considering that their families
were in the same business and had reached a peaceful alliance between them. The
only difference was that Rin's father had died when he was very young, making
him the sole inheritor of the business. Determined at such a young age, Rin
succeeded his father's work at twelve-years-old, rising to become a corporate
star in the commerce industry. There had been many rough patches in his youth,
as well as rocky areas in his friendship with Haruka, but Nagisa had stepped in
like a blessed bridge, connecting them when they fell apart.
Nagisa may have been the son of the Prime Minister of all of Japan, but in
reality he was just a giggly kid with a mischievous mind and an attitude
permanently turned to immaturity. However, that didn't mean that the blonde
didn't know how to be serious. Sympathetic to the nobles and commoners alike,
Nagisa treated them all fairly with equal compassion. He loved the people of
Japan, and its conspicuousness caused many to hope that he would be the next
successor for ruling the country.
Nagisa and Haruka had been introduced through Rin, who had offered – without
Haruka's knowledge – to let Nagisa be a guest in the Nanase household. It was
the first time Haruka had ever seen someone with natural blonde hair. There
were rumors that Nagisa was the son of a foreigner woman whom his father had an
affair with... then again, considering that his would-be adoptive mother had
died giving birth, the gossip was considered unimportant and untrue.
"Like I was saying, Rin-chan – "
"Will you listen to me, dammit?!"
There was a sharp knock on the door, sounding almost frantic. Haruka's heart
leapt into his throat as his blue eyes instantly snapped open. "Enter!"
Makoto rushed in, his hair frazzled and his tie not quite put on straight. "I
am so, so sorry, Master Haruka! My appointment carried on more than I thought
it would. Please give me a moment to straighten myself...!" he began adjusting
his tie when he realized that he and his master weren't alone. "Oh, are you
Master's friends? My name is Makoto. I am Master Haruka's personal sla –
servant. It is a pleasure to meet you," he bowed respectfully. Nagisa giggled
at his mussed hair.
"Calm down, Makoto," Haruka reached out to smooth his hair for him, but when he
pulled up close to him his nose couldn't help but wrinkle.
Again, the scent of perfume... but it's a different scent this time.
He opened his mouth to order Makoto to tell him exactly where he had been, only
to realize that his servant's green eyes were not looking at him at all.
Instead they were staring straight at his redhead friend, who had the exact
same stunned expression on his face.
"R-Rin?"
"Makoto?"
End Notes
     In this world, honorfics are only allowed to be used by those of
     noble standing, like Haruka and his parents. Servants and slaves are
     strictly banned from such usage. Nobles are allowed to use honorfics
     towards servants and slaves, but it isn't often used. The honorfics
     are often used between nobles as a sign of respect or as a sign of
     closeness. Calling the first name flat out without honorfics is also
     allowed, though only between particularly close friends or relatives.
     Slaves are usually meant to wear a single distinguishing triangle
     shaped earring on the right to tell them apart from other servants.
     The material may vary depending on both the context of their position
     and the standing of their masters. Business-owning officials like the
     Nanase family would have their slaves wear silver earrings. Top of
     the ladder (prime ministers) could have gold. Rare jewel earrings
     often go to female slaves who are used as sexual pleasure or at most
     acknowledged as a concubine. Below the Nanase family's standing,
     other slave owners may use cheaper materials like copper.
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