The next day, Shouyou returned to the temple.
There was no use in staying at the villa—not when Kageyama would be gone, and no one left there to fill the awful hole that seemed to have opened in Shouyou’s heart.
It was different, than all the times they’d said goodbye before it. Different even than the first time, when Shouyou had thought he wouldn’t be returning month after month, to tumble from the carriage doors and run straight to where Kageyama waited, always, for him.
It was worse now, having made up his mind to stay, but having no idea when Kageyama could return to him. So Shouyou came back to the temple, to wait. At least there, he had the people he’d grown up with. He had his duties. He could try, as best he could, to be distracted.
And, as little as it was, he was not wholly without news of his centurion. For Kageyama sent him letters, as often as he was able.
The first letter came in place of the carriage that would have usually arrived to bring Shouyou to the temple. It was delivered by messenger, and Shouyou was so eager to open the wax seal with Kageyama’s insignia that he nearly ripped the paper in two. He snuck away to a secluded corner where he could read undisturbed.