Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again?

Umemiya Hajime x Reader

You often heard the saying ‘time flies’ as a child, and you rarely found yourself believing it. Adulthood and the freedom you sought appeared so far away, and now, you realized how true that statement was.

It felt as if once you grew old enough to learn to balance freedom with responsibility, your aging never stopped. One moment you were a child, listening to fairy tales from your mother, and the next you were betrothed.

Your husband was a sweet man, he was kind and he made you happy. He was strong and fierce, and you, along with your country, saw and knew this. You had met at a party, hosted by some nobleman your family knew. There had been nothing romantic about it, the stories you fell asleep to spoke nothing of a man falling out of a tree mere inches in front of you.

You hadn’t even been able to feel anything other than panic— but luckily the worst he had was a sore back, and a bruised ego. Once your adrenaline had died down, the first thing you noticed was how blue his eyes were. The next was that his hair, as tangled with leaves as it was, was as white as the sugar cubes your older brother snuck for you.

That night of conversation led to more, and it felt like one day you woke up as the wife of Umemiya Hajime, the crowned ruler of Furin. Your meeting may not have been magical, but your wedding night had put stories to shame.

“Your Highness?”

You hummed, not tearing your eyes from where you were watching your daughter run around the garden, chasing a butterfly as the creature fluttered from flower to flower.

“Some of the suitors are requesting an audience with you, madame.”

Hajime had built this garden for you, every fruit grown was one of your favorites, every flower he had planted had meaning. Baby’s breath, red camellias, pink carnations, chamomile, white clovers, forget-me-nots. You had refused to ever plant anything else, the garden remained unchanged for years.

“Shall I turn them away?”

How you wished to say yes, to demand her to tell them to just leave. To take their sorry-hides and leave your kingdom, your land, your country, to never return. How you wished even more to tell them to gouge out their leering eyes, throw themselves into the sea they claimed took your husband.

Instead you stood, brushing your dress to lay flat, turning to your hear lady-in-waiting, sending her a small smile. “No, I shall see them.”

“Are you certain?”

For years men had come to your kingdom, your home, to request your hand. They acted as if the empty space in your bed was an opportunity for them, that the ring you still held onto was merely decorative. For years you turned them down, for years you held onto hope that your husband would return to you.

But men grew impatient, and your people became weary. You had to begin to entertain them, all the while your heart screamed for your husband, begged you to give him more time to return to you.

Your daughter, seeing you stand, left her butterfly hunt to rush over to you, the smile that matched her father’s painting her face. “We’re going inside now?”

You brushed her hair out of her face, the wavy curls that reminded you so much of Hajime, but the color that matched yours. Her smile was contagious, and you sent her one back, “Yes my dear. I believe you need a bath.”

At this, she made a face, cheeks puffed in an exaggerated pout. She hated bath time, she hated all the pampering she faced during and after. She was a free spirit, opting to play in the gardens. Hajime had left for war while you were pregnant, and the pair had never been able to meet, but every night since she was born you told her stories of her father. Of the man he was, the man he is.

You often woke in tears, dreams of your husband and daughter laughing in the gardens ringing in your ears. You only hoped one day they may come true.

“Now,” You turned back to your lady, “Have them gather in the foyer, refuse them any wine or ale they ask of, however. I don’t wish for any of them to be drunk when hearing what I have to offer.”

“Of course, my lady,” She bowed, heading inside, the worry in her eyes apparent.

Your daughter tugged your hand, “When can I have wine and ale?”

At this, you laughed, reaching to bring her to your chest, “Not for a long time my dear, I highly doubt you would enjoy them.”

She grumbled as the pair of your made your way inside, unknowing of the pair of eyes that tracked the two of you moving.

You had a small group of women working for you that you trusted with your life, of women you knew were faithful to you, and you alone. Years ago that number had been larger. You handed your daughter off to them, cited to have her bathed and ready for her afternoon nap, as unhappy as she was about this plan.

You took a moment for yourself, steeling the courage you needed. You held power, you could command armies worth of men should you need it, but you so often felt afraid without the comfort of your husband with you. But you refused to show this to these men. Once your main lady returned to you, you made your way where the entourage was awaiting you.

The doors opened, and whatever conversations that had been had paused. All eyes were on you, and you felt your skin crawl at the disgusting thoughts you could feel pouring towards you. But you kept your head high as you walked, making your way to the front.

You said nothing as you took your seat, refusing to stand when speaking to anyone. They didn’t deserve that, half of them hadn’t even waited for you to give birth to your daughter before showing up, seeking your hand, claiming your husband had no doubt perished at war.

“I suppose you all have waited long enough,” Was how you began speaking, pausing to allow the sneers and jeers to echo the room.

“I propose a challenge for all those still wishing for the throne, all those aiming for my hand.” Your left hand brushed your hair from your face, aiming to show how you still adorned your wedding ring, a challenge in itself.

“My husband had made many allies for us, and these allies are tough, formidable men. I have reached out to many, and have since then received my answers.” With a nod of yours, the side doors were opened, and more men filled in. For them, you stood, walking towards your husbands allies— his friends— to greet them.

“Shishitorin has been Furin’s closest allies for years, and have been a reason we have been able to hold our own against opponents who came to steal power. The only man who has ever held his own against their own leader, was my husband. No man had ever come close.”

It was a rare sight to see Togame serious, but it was even more rare to see Choji without his smile. Their letters in response had read serious, and you knew they wished to do what they could to ensure these suitors were unable to get their hands on you— or the throne.

They looked ready to kill, as did the rest of their men that arrived with them. They would play nice, as Choji stated in a letter, for you and your daughter.

“If any man can defeat their five strongest fighters, including Sir Togame and Sir Tomiyama, then they have proven themselves worthy for the throne, for the crown, and my hand.”

It appeared simple in writing, but you had been there when Furin and Shishitorin had begun their companionship. You had witnessed the blood shed, the tears, and the pain that came, and had been privileged to witness the relationship that came after. Had it not been for their strength for you to fall back on, you worry grief would have had you years ago.

“May the most worthy man win,” You nodded at the group of men, turning to nod at the guests, before taking your leave.

Murmurs broke out behind you, and for once, you heard the worry in the voices of the suitors. It filled you with a level of vindication you hadn’t known one could feel.

You knew there were very few men able to win five consecutive fights against Shishitorin’s strongest fighters, even if there was nothing on the line. But now your friends were armed with the determination to ensure your husbands place remained untouched, you felt strongly that no one would even come close to winning.

Despite the confidence you had in your friends, your heart still hammered, and you couldn’t fight the tears that filled your eyes. Silently sobbing was something you had long since mastered, you refused to appear weak in front of the men who had taken residence in your home, show fear to your daughter who looked up to you so.

You took a moment to collect yourself, eyes screwed tight as you willed the inevitable headache to leave you be. Knowing it was unavoidable, you continued down the hall, making your way to your daughter’s room. To no surprise, she wasn’t asleep.

“My dear,” You sighed dramatically, making your way to her bed, “I told you a growing girl needs ample rest.”

“I’m not tired!” The same old song and dance, truly.

“No? You woke so early this morning,” An exaggerated yawn left your mouth, “Even I find myself in need of an afternoon nap today.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, “You can nap with me, then. I guess that’s fine.”

“How gracious of you, my little princess,” You shifted to lay beside her, allowing her to move to lay so her head was on your chest, ear against your heart.

It was quiet for a bit, your fingers carding through her hair. At one point, you had thought she’d fallen asleep.

“Mama?”

You hummed, “Yes, my dear?”

“Am I ever going to meet daddy?”

It may have been less painful had she plunged a dagger into your chest, but you schooled that pain, your hand continued to brush through her hair, “You will, little princess, one day.”

“But when?”

“I don’t know,” Admitting that felt the same as admitting defeat, but you couldn’t lie to her.

She was quiet for another moment, “Do you think he’ll like me?”

That was enough to give you pause, and you moved her to look at you, noting the tears in her eyes.

“He loved you the moment I told him I was pregnant with you,” You brushed the first tear that fell away, “He often spoke to you in my belly when you moved around in the morning, he sang you lullabies every night, even before your ears had begun to form.”

You tickled the tips of her ears, her little giggles easing the ache in your chest, “He cried more than I did when he had to leave before you were born. He promised you, the day he left, he was fighting for me, and for you. He promised nothing would stop him from returning to us, that he’d destroy anything nature sent his way— every storm, every whirlpool. He’d even fight the gods should he have had to.”

“Is that where he is? Fighting gods?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps he’s commanding the storms to bring him home to us, and clouds aren’t the greatest with directions.”

She smiled, but it dimmed after a second, chewing her lip before speaking, her voice quiet, “Some of the men here said he was dead… said you were in- in denying that he was dead. They said I need a dad, that you need a King.”

The hatred you had in your heart originally swelled, and you felt anger eat at your heart, and she continued, “But I knew they were liars! I have a dad, and when he’s back they’ll have to leave!”

“That’s right,” You smiled at her, a forced feeling, “Now, my dear, a nap will do us both well.”

She laid down, her eyes fluttering shut soon after. You felt yourself drift off with her, the feeling of anger still fresh in your chest. You hadn’t realized how tired you were, until you were woken hours later. The sun had begun setting, the sky a bleeding red. Your heart was hammering, and you were holding your daughter close to your chest. Blinking blearily, you stared at the bedroom door. Why had you woken so afraid?

A muffled scream echoed throughout the building, and that gave you enough answer. Your daughter was half-awake, and you held her tight to your chest. The door was flung open, and your ladies rushed in, panicked looks on their faces.

“What is—”

“One of the men has gone mad,” One of them whispered to you, tone frantic, “The others were conspiring, ma’am, they were— they planned to—” Her eyes flickered to your daughter, but her message to you was clear as day.

The man had grown tired of waiting it seemed, perhaps some had gone to fight and lost, and they decided to act on their own accord.

“Shishitorin—”

“They took up arms against many of the suitors, but we came to find you, you two must hide,” Her eyes were frantic as she tugged at the two of you.

Your heart was hammering, your palms sweaty as you held your daughter to your chest. She had no idea what was happening, but her grip on your dress was tight.

You left your daughter’s room, taking up in a small room, one you recalled your husband saying was to only be used when necessary. Unfortunately, that necessary was here. You were all huddled close, your daughter, naturally, the most protected. You’d kill any man who entered that room before they touched her, and you would ensure if you died trying you wouldn’t be the only one.

Your dedication ladies were around you, ready to sacrifice themselves for you. But you prayed to whoever may be listening that shouldn’t happen. Hours crept by, slow as the sap that dripped in the garden during the springtime. There were screams and yells, the sound of gurgling and people choking on, what you assumed, was their own blood.

The silence that followed it all was deafening. None of you moved, no one shifted. You heard it then, a muffled call of your name. You felt the women around you tense, but you sat straight, “That’s Choji.”

Still weary, you ensured your daughter was safe in their arms before you stepped outside, clutching tight to a dagger you had grabbed on your way out the door.

“Choji?”

The shorter man looked frenzy, hair disheveled, blood on his clothes. But he was smiling— his eyes looked watery.

“Choji— are you—”

“He’s back,” He rushed to you, hands gripping your forearms, “Umemiya’s back.”

It was a blur, really, after Choji uttered those words. The night had shifted, darkness surrounding the walls of your home. Your daughter was whisked away, exhausted but placated by whatever you had said to her in a daze. You found yourself alone in your bedroom, as you had found yourself so many times before. It felt different now, and your wrapped your arms around you, an attempt of soothing yourself.

The door opened, and you couldn’t stop the wild beating of your heart. You turned only partly, looking at the man who entered. He wore your husband’s face, at least what you had assumed your husband would look like after eight years. This time of seasons, it was almost nine years.

He was taller than you recall, or perhaps it was how he held himself. His hair was longer, the ends curling almost identically to your daughter’s. His eyes, the same shade of blue as the ocean, were far sadder than you could ever remember.

“Is it really you?” Your voice was a whisper, but it echoed loud in your chambers, “I’ve often dreamt of you coming home to us, and I must admit each waking moment is more painful than the last.”

He stepped forward, and you couldn’t stop the step back, mirroring his closeness. The pain in his eyes intensified, and your resolve cracked some.

“Every time you reach to touch me I wake up, if this is another dream I’d wish to stay in it as long as I’m able.” He nodded slowly at your explanation, eyes staring at you, as if he was as afraid to look away as you were, “You look far different than you have when you’ve visited me in my dreams. You’d always great me with a smile.” Your voice cracked as you spoke.

He looked pained at this, and his shoulders tensed, looking as if he were hunching in on himself, “I’m not the same man I was when I left you.” His voice was quiet, deeper, but the same voice you wished to hear for years.

“I’m… different now, I’m afraid. War was not kind, and the journey home, my journey to you was unforgiving.” He swallowed hard, eyes pleading as he looked at you, “I’m not the man you took as your husband, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to love me as you did before.”

“Your journey took six years longer than you promised,” You all but whispered towards him, hands trembling as you fidgeted with your ring, “There was talk that you had died.”

He shook his head, “I had to come back to you, to— to our child. Nothing would have stopped me, not even death herself. She tried though,” His voice was thick, “I watched many men die, I took… so many lives. Their blood stains my hands, no matter how much I bathe.”

He looked at his palms, as if searching for the stainage.

“When I returned there were so many men here. They spoke vilely of you,” The words left his lips like poison being spat, “They spoke of your body as if it were a prize they sought after, one they would’ve taken if it were not given. Their fight with Shishitorin was a genius move on your end, my love.”

He smiled at you at that, and the tears that had been building spilled over. That smile had haunted your dreams and nightmares alike for years. And now it was here, mere feet in front of you.

“But they grew angrier. I wished to plot my arrival to be less dramatic, but the threats they spoke of. I’m only a man,” He closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment before looking back at you, “They cannot, and will not, ever harm you. Look at you. Or speak of you again. Years ago, the blood staining our home would have had me feeling guilty, but now I see it as a means to an end. I fear my hearts turned cold, it’s closed in my time away. I fear your husband doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Doesn’t exist?” He nodded at your whispered question, a shameful look on his face.

You turned away from him, the tears still steadily falling down your cheeks. The garden, your garden, stood as pristine as it had earlier, the cherry blossom tree standing in the middle, her branches swaying peacefully in the night wind.

“If you wish to prove you’re still my husband, or worthy of being so,” Your voice was thick as you spoke, your nose stuffed, head throbbing, “Then I shall give you a task as I have the others.”

“Anything for you.” The sincerity in his voice was borderline painful.

“I wish for you to uproot the garden outside,” You didn’t turn as you spoke, “My husband planted all types of flowers years ago, said there was meaning behind them. I have never met another man who understands the language flowers hide as he, and I have done my own research.”

Truth of the matter was you had found the notes your husband scribbled years ago, lists of flowers and their meanings, which ones he felt for you and which one he swore he’d never even look at.

“Indifference. Refusal. Disappointment. Resignation. Stupidity.” You forced a mirthful chuckle, “All things I fear my husband felt for me. Towards me.”

There was silence, not even the sound of breath other than yours. For a moment, you were terrified he had left the room, and you turned.

He was crying, silent tears falling down his face as he stared at you. Anger was written in his eyes, but he didn’t move, wasn’t even looking at you anymore. His gaze had matched yours, looking at to the garden and all her loving plants.

“For you to even suggest that—” He took a breath, his cheeks red.

“Everlasting love, the flame of my heart, an oath to never forget you, promised twice, patience, a wish for you to think of me, and only of me.” His voice grew louder as he spoke, “I had wished to plant hibiscus bushes under our window, but the scent made you sick while you were pregnant, and you told me on our wedding night that roses were too simple to express our relationship.”

He turned to you, the bright fury behind his eyes unleashing a storm of emotion. “I’d have burnt any flower, any tree, any bush that even suggested I thought such awful things about you.”

You stepped towards him, your chest bubbling with anger, with sorrow, love, pain— everything you had kept in for eight years.

“And the only man who knew all this was the man I married,” You were in front of him now, his faces inches from yours, “So I suppose that means you’re still him.”

The anger wavered for a moment, before you watched his face crumble. The silent tears turned into ragged breaths, and you stood tall, the pain in your chest aching to join him.

“I fell in love with you, and I have never stopped loving you. Time, distance— nothing will ever stop those feelings. Do not come into our bedroom and state I won’t love you as much as I did all those years ago, as much as I do now.”

“I have waited eight long years, alone and worried, but as in love with you as I was when we were first married. I was waiting for my husband, for you,” You poked at his chest, the first contact you had with him for eight years, “You absolute idiot.”

You weren’t sure who broke first, but the sobs causing your breath to hiccup broke free. His arms were around you, and you were weeping into his shoulder, as he was in yours. He was as warm as you recalled all those years ago, as solid as ever. He held you, as if he was terrified you’d move too far from his reach if he gave you the space to do so. You held him back equally as tight, if not more.

“My dear, how I have missed you.” He whispered against your hair, and the warmth of his lips against your forehead brought forth a fresh wave of tears.

“I knew you’d return,” You pulled back, cupping his cheeks, staring at the man you had loved for nearly a decade and a half.

He pulled you forward, crushing you into a kiss. His lips were rough, you could almost feel every crack in his skin against your own. But you melted into his embrace like it was your first kiss all over again. It was messy, both your cheeks still wet from your tears. You held each other, lips molded into one until you both had to pull back to breath, panting in each others space.

“We have a daughter?”

You laughed, broken and whole all at once, “Yes. She acts so much like you, I nearly named her Hajimia.”

He made a face, “Please tell me she isn’t named that.”

You shook your head, “No, Fumiko.”

Hajime echoed your laughter, just as wet and unbridled as yours, “Hibiscus.”

“I told her stories of you every night,” You traced a scar on his forehead, cutting straight through his eyebrow, “She already adores you so much.”

He grabbed your hand in his, the palms rougher and more calloused, but as warm and protecting as ever. He brought your knuckles to his lips, a kiss pressed against them, “And I already adore her, I did the moment she was conceived.”

“You fought nature and men’s deadliest armies to return to her, to me,” You pressed forward, your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat was music to your ears, “I love you. I never stopped.”

He took a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

a/n: so I whipped this out in one sitting, sat here and wrote for like 2 hours straight. if you can’t tell I’m a little Epic obsessed. I don’t even know if this is good or not!