Chapter Text
Ryou didn't see the stranger enter the tavern—the stranger, with several heavy gold decorations strung around his neck and about his head. Ryou didn't see the stranger take a seat or hear the stranger order food, nor was he privy to the thickening of the air as most other patrons took due notice.
Ryou's only concern was his own table, and the three men seated there. The man immediately beside him had one hand casually wrapped around the back of Ryou’s neck, all but concealed beneath luscious white hair, and that was much more relevant to Ryou than the appearance of some enigmatic stranger.
The conversation at Ryou's own table, however, drew up short at a crash from across the room, and then Ryou himself looked up.
The man—the stranger, with his ostentatious gold and his cowled red cloak—stood across from a regular patron of the tavern. A table had been knocked aside to make room and, as the onlookers watched, the two began slowly to circle one another.
"Great Ammit...!" one of the men at Ryou's table breathed. "That's the King of Thieves!"
The hand around Ryou's neck tightened, and he stiffened.
"Oh man, that guy should just run..." one of the men at Ryou's table muttered. "They say you should run, if you piss him off. Most times he's too lazy to chase you. But once he gets his hands on you, you're dead."
"Well, that guy clearly picked the fight," the other replied, "so he wouldn't run."
The man holding Ryou by the neck remained silent.
The two circling one another fell still, for a second, and then the stranger—the King of Thieves—darted forward. His challenger pulled back, but not quick enough; the Thief King caught his wrist and twisted it. The man threw a punch, and the Thief King ducked, catching the blow on his shoulder. He kept his grip on the man's wrist; wrenched it harder, until the man cried out, and then the Thief King threw a punch of his own. His challenger’s nose spewed blood, clearly broken, and he reeled back, but the Thief King didn't release him; indeed followed, as the man fell, and threw him to the ground. They tumbled, for a moment, the man's terrified shrieks rising as the crowd shifted to give them space. There was a crack, audible from the table where Ryou sat, and then silence.
The King of Thieves rose; brushed himself off and returned to his table, face still hidden in the shadow of his red hood. He sat down, resuming his meal.
"Anyone else want to die?" he snarled, after a moment. He swung his head, taking in the whole of the crowd from within his cowl. Ryou caught himself wondering what his face must look like, to match that fearsome voice.
The onlookers scattered—some fled the establishment, while others shakily returned to their own seats. The Thief King continued to eat.
"That's one guy in Egypt I'd never press with," one of the men at Ryou's table said, with a dark chuckle. The business talk carried on, then, and the grip on Ryou's neck loosened slightly.
Ryou's skin prickled; he glanced over. Though the Thief King’s face was still hidden in shadow, he had turned—was seemingly staring, directly, at Ryou. Ryou looked away before the man holding onto his neck could notice.
"That's that, then!" The hand tightened as it's owner spoke at last; an agreement had been reached. Ryou closed his eyes.
A shout from across the room made Ryou's eyes snap back open; he swung, along with the other three at his table, to see a man flying at the Thief King with a knife drawn. The Thief King responded with unnatural speed, grabbing the assailant without turning and lifting him, flipping the man over his own head to smash down onto the table.
"Now you've ruined my meal." The thief's head swung—disorientingly, to anyone watching—from side to side. The man, dazed, didn't try to rise. People with access to the door began to scramble from the tavern, then, and the two men at Ryou's table rose. Ryou did not, as the man holding his neck had not.
Several people took their chance—lunged, at the Thief King. He knocked them down seemingly without effort. One managed to get a hand on his cloak, though, and he gave a furious roar as his cowl was rent back. The assaulter, a moment later, was thrown aside.
Ryou's breath caught; he stared, rapt, at the face that had been properly revealed. It was a handsome face, or would've been if not for the gruesome scar that marred it's right side. The Thief King’s silver hair was tousled; his teeth borne in a feral snarl.
"Now you've done it!" The Thief King pulled his hood back up, then lunged for the man who'd exposed him.
In the chaos that followed, the two men who'd been at Ryou's table vanished; the man gripping his neck cursed and shifted his grip to Ryou's collar, dragging the boy from his seat. But as he bustled Ryou out of the establishment, Ryou's eyes remained on the Thief King.
At some point, the Thief King's eyes found Ryou, as well, and stayed on him for an inordinate length of time.
... ... ...
The next morning, Ryou woke beside a man—one of the men who'd been sitting at the table. Not the man who had held onto the back of his neck. He didn't know this person’s name, but nudged him gently, waking him with a kiss on the cheek.
"Would you like me to bring up some breakfast?" Ryou asked softly, and the man murmured an assent. Ryou slipped from the bed and pulled on a tan, gossamer robe.
The inn-keeper greeted Ryou familiarly, then went to fetch two breakfasts. They'd already been paid for. While Ryou waited, he combed pensively through his hair with his fingers, worked out a snarl.
"Hello, there."
Ryou turned, and stalled when he saw who had spoken. The figure had materialized behind him, not at all as tall as Ryou had assumed him to be—indeed, a few inches shorter than Ryou himself. Anything he lacked in stature, though, he made up for in aura, and Ryou’s skin prickled. A lion, though lacking the stature a man, could easily kill with powerful teeth and claws; Ryou had no doubt that this King of Thieves could do the same with no weaponry save for his own hands.
"Here you—“ The returning inn-keeper pulled up short.
"Leave it," the Thief King told him. The inn-keeper set the food down and did as he was told. The Thief King glanced down at the two plates—a slight incline of his head, though his eyes were concealed by the cowl of his cloak—and asked, "Here with someone?"
"Yes,” Ryou said.
The Thief King picked up a piece of meat from one plate and ate it, languidly. "Is that so?"
"I should..." Ryou began, making a move to pick up the plates. The Thief King caught his arm; his fingers were calloused, the skin itself almost rough enough to hurt, and Ryou froze. Without taking his eyes from Ryou's face, the Thief King released Ryou's arm; he threaded his fingers, instead, through Ryou's silken hair—white, light even in contrast to his pale skin. The King of Thieves lifted the strands and pressed them to his hidden face, taking in the sweet scent that clung to them. Ryou held still, heart beating painfully fast and eyes fixed on the thief who, oddly, didn't meet his gaze. Ryou could just make out his features in the shadows of the cowl.
"Lovely," the thief breathed. He let Ryou's hair fall, then gave Ryou's shoulder a startling and rough shove. "Run off, now! Get!"
Ryou staggered, but managed to keep his feet. "I..." he began, before he knew exactly what he wanted to say. Regardless, he had no chance to figure it out.
"Go on!" the Thief King snarled; bore his teeth. "You won't get another chance, you hear me?"
Ryou nodded, struck dumb. He picked up the plates, gave a quick bow, and hurried off. He glanced back; the Thief King stood unmoved, watching him go.
... ... ...
Ryou parted ways with the client that afternoon, returning to the man who held firmly to his neck. Ryou kept his head down, although he obliged when the client requested a farewell kiss.
"We've got something set up tonight, the other fellow from yesterday," the man said, flexing his grip slightly. Ryou nodded. "You okay to go ahead with it?"
"Fine."
"No damage?"
"No."
"Do you want anything? Wine?"
"No. It's fine."
"If you say so."
The man took Ryou to a different inn—a nicer one, more expensive. While he sat and talked to the new client—indeed, the other man from the day before—Ryou took the opportunity to politely excuse himself.
"Please. I'll go freshen myself up," he said, with a sweet smile.
The man who held his neck gave permission; the other, the client, grinned.
Ryou slipped off to the inn's washroom; the inn-keeper, recognizing him, waved him in easily. Ryou splashed cool water on his face. He combed his hair out carefully, until it was free of even the smallest grain of sand. He applied a bit of scented oil to his wrists.
And, upon exiting the washroom, he nearly collided with the King of Thieves.
"We meet again," the thief said, with a toothy grin. The cowl of his hood was up, once again, hiding his eyes and most of the disfiguring scar. He reached out, running a finger along Ryou's collar bone; Ryou shivered. "Are you still with someone, tonight?"
"I am," Ryou said softly, and the Thief King's head seemed to twitch—swung from side to side, for just a moment. His hand had settled on Ryou's shoulder.
"That fellow you came in with? Is he your master?"
Ryou stiffened. "I have no master."
"Nonsense," the King of Thieves scoffed. "If you had no master, you'd be snatched up and sold off in a day. With skin and hair like yours? You're a rare commodity, an exotic, beautiful thing to be bought and sold for high prices."
Ryou shook the Thief King's hand off. "I have no master. I chose the person I work for."
"You might've chosen him, but now he owns you. Isn't that right?"
"Like you said, I wouldn't have my freedom for long, otherwise," Ryou said, trying to maneuver past the other man. The Thief King blocked him casually. "I'm no fool."
"Freedom?" The Thief King laughed. "Is that your idea of freedom? Not even selling yourself, but letting someone else do it?"
"And what about you?" Ryou snapped. "You make a living on your reputation—a reputation of violence! If anyone knew the truth, they'd—!”
Ryou cut himself off, and the King of Thieves made a soft sound of interest. "The truth? And what's the truth, exactly?"
"You don't see well," Ryou said, his voice low. "It's obvious, with how your head moves, with how you keep that scar hidden. You won't chase people because you can't tell them apart, so when you fight you grab people and don't let go, so you won't loose track of your opponent. And you can see me, because..."
The King of Thieves kept silent, for a long moment, and then grabbed Ryou's wrist; Ryou cried out softly, but didn't shout. The Thief King pulled them closer together, gazing at Ryou from within the shadows of his cowl.
"I could kill you, for figuring all that out."
"So do it."
The Thief King scoffed, then threw Ryou backwards. "Go on. Get! Go serve your master well." And he stepped aside.
Ryou shifted, then bolted. The Thief King didn't try to follow, but watched him as he hurried away.
By the time Ryou returned to his table, he'd calmed the trembling of his hands. But the Thief King's scent had left him dizzy, and each place the Thief King had touched him—wrist, clavicle, shoulder—still tingled.
Desensitized to touch as he was, that amazed and bewildered him.
A deal had been reached, and so the client took him; the man he worked for left, his wrists decorated with new gold. And Ryou padded docilely behind the client, up to the room that had been rented, and wondered about his definition of freedom.