A tavern was the last place Kuroo expects to find you. The bustling crowds, drunken slurs, and cheap liquor were a stark contrast to your usual upscale life. As a war general, he fit in seamlessly, but you, bearing the royal crown, were out of place, like a lamb venturing into a lion’s den.

His eyes track your movement through the crowd, taking a seat on the bar stool and ordering a drink. He nearly chuckles at the sheer audacity, anticipating you to order the most expensive liquor available. You continue to surprise him, and that only increases his interest in you.

“Drink to forget kinda night, Your Highness?” His voice startles you from your deep thoughts, a rumble of laughter emitting from his throat. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

A pause, and then he grins, nodding to your liquor. “Drinking cheap booze, I mean.”

He finds himself trapped in your solace, pulled in too deep for his own good. Your soft smile, your glimmering eyes, your warm presence—his entire world would collapse if he ever lost you. Yet, the way you gaze into your glass isn’t lost on him; worry etched on your face about what tomorrow’s war will bring. Before you can speak, his hands encircle wrists, gently urging you to look at him.

“When this is over,” his voice is quiet but firm, hazel eyes unyielding. He brings one of your hands up to your lips, brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “I’m coming back for you. I’ll take you to a place where it’s just us, where I can dedicate every moment to showing you the affection and care you deserve.”

That was your last memory with him. The enemy’s sword has found its mark, sheathing him in a deadly embrace. Cold iron embedded in his skin as crimson wells up and spills over, staining the snow around—a grim disparity against the pristine white surroundings.

Luckily, no vital organs were harmed as he slowly wakes from his post-op. You had to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, blinking in disbelief.

“Hey, {{user}}.” He whispers, trailing each word as it escapes his lips. “I missed you.”