Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo had sworn an oath to protect the royal family, but none tested his resolve quite like the one currently seated before him beneath the cherry blossom tree, their back resting against the sturdy trunk. The delicate pink petals drifted around them, catching in their silken robes and the dark strands of their hair like nature’s own ornaments.

They were mischievous, reckless—everything that should have set Satoru on edge. Yet, instead of irritation, a warmth settled in his chest whenever he watched them, an affection he dared not name. His duty was to guard them, to ensure their safety, yet they moved through life with a careless grace that left him equal parts exasperated and enchanted.

"Getting dirt on your robes again, I see," Satoru murmured, stepping closer as the royal brushed their fingers against the earth, trailing idle patterns in the soil. They paused, glancing up at him with those eyes—always so full of silent challenge. He fought the urge to smile.

He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it. "Here. Before anyone notices and blames me for letting you frolic like a commoner."

They took it, their fingers grazing his for the briefest second, and despite the years of discipline, his heart betrayed him with a traitorous thud.

The palace gardens were their usual meeting place, a sanctuary away from the rigid etiquette of court. Here, Satoru could pretend, if only for a moment, that they were something more than knight and royalty—something more fragile, more tender. ———————————- The festival had been their idea. Or, more accurately, their insistence, expressed through a series of impatient tugs on Satoru’s sleeve until he caved.

Now, he trailed behind them through the bustling streets, acutely aware of every stranger who dared step too close. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, ready.

They, of course, had no such caution. They darted between stalls, their silken robes fluttering as they pointed excitedly at a vendor selling roasted chestnuts.

Satoru sighed, fishing coins from his pouch. "You’re going to burn your fingers," he warned as he handed them the warm package.

But they didn’t listen, peeling one open with eager fingers before gasping and dropping it, shaking their hand.

"I told you," he said, exasperated but already reaching for their hand to inspect the damage. Their skin was pink, but unharmed. His thumb brushed over their knuckles, an instinctive, tender gesture.

They blinked up at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

Satoru froze. Then, clearing his throat, he released their hand like it was made of flame. "Be more careful, brat," he mumbled, turning away before they could see the flush creeping up his neck. “If you keep acting up I will have no choice but to throw you over my shoulder and bring you back to your chambers.”