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Forums > Roleplay > 1x1
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Tea x LackadaisyFebruary 7, 2025 08:37 PM


Lackadaisy

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Kyyre’s heart slammed against his ribs as the car lurched forward, carrying them away from the school, away from structure, away from the safety of routine. His fingers curled tighter in his lap, gripping the fabric of his sleeve as if anchoring himself, grounding against the creeping tide of panic that always came when he made a decision without fully thinking it through.

This was okay.

It was okay—wasn’t it?

His parents weren’t expecting him home for a while. He should be in class. Should be sitting at his desk, taking notes, doing something productive. If they somehow found out he’d skipped…

His stomach twisted violently, the familiar dread settling in his gut like a lead weight.

Would they find out?

Would someone notice he was missing? Would someone tell them?

The thought sent a shudder through him.

Johannes’s voice pulled him back before he could spiral any further.

"You’re okay with going to my home?"

The words my home made something in Kyyre’s chest tighten, his breath catching ever so slightly. He’d never been invited to Johannes’s house before. He’d barely been to anyone’s house in years, let alone a place as overwhelming as the royal estate. It wasn’t just a home—it was a palace, a fortress, something out of a storybook that felt like a different world entirely.

And he was going there.

His fingers twitched, the instinct to shrink nearly overwhelming.

He forced himself to nod, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

His gaze flickered up to Johannes, searching his face, trying to reassure himself that this wasn’t a mistake. But then Johannes kept talking—kept reassuring him in ways Kyyre hadn’t even realized he needed.

"We don’t have to do anything that… that you don’t want to."

"Doors can stay open."

"If your parents want there to be an adult, I can ask..?"

Kyyre inhaled sharply, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat as tension coiled tight in his chest. He hated how easily those words soothed him, how the simple acknowledgment of his fears made him want to melt into the seat.

Johannes knew.

Maybe not everything, maybe not how deep it ran, but he understood enough.

And the fact that he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t brushing off Kyyre’s nervousness or treating it like an inconvenience—it made something ache deep inside him.

He swallowed hard, nodding again, this time with a little more certainty. “I… I think it’s okay. I mean. Yeah. It’s fine. I mean, I-I don’t mind. We can do what you want. Door open. Door closed. Door out the window. Um. Anything’s fine.” His voice was quiet, careful. “U-Uhm.. no one will find out, right?”

That was the crux of it. The real fear beneath everything else.

If no one found out, there’d be no punishment. No consequences.

But if someone did—

He exhaled shakily, shoving the thought away.

Johannes’s voice was softer now, gentle in a way that sent warmth curling through Kyyre’s chest.

"Tell me if you change your mind. I’ll tell Maciej to turn around, no questions asked."

The sheer casualness of the offer was staggering.

He wasn’t used to having that.

His parents didn’t ask if he was okay with something. They didn’t offer him choices. Once something was decided, that was it.

Johannes was giving him a choice. A real one.

That realization alone made the tightness in his chest ease just a little.

Kyyre exhaled, forcing himself to sit back against the seat, though his posture remained tense, his shoulders tight with lingering unease.

“I won’t change my mind,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to Johannes.

He couldn’t change his mind now.

Not when they were already on their way.

Not when his heart was pounding so hard at the thought of being alone with Johannes—really alone, outside the safety of school, away from prying eyes, in a place where nothing was stopping them except Kyyre’s own fragile courage.

The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

He pressed his lips together, fingers still curled against his sleeve, trying to steady his breathing.

He was going to Johannes’s home.

It was already happening.


Edited at February 7, 2025 08:38 PM by Lackadaisy
Tea x LackadaisyFebruary 8, 2025 02:51 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Johannes’s brow furrowed at Kyyre's question, and he paused, trying to understand it.
"No one will find out?"* he repeated, wanting to be sure he grasped the concern fully. "No one at school? Or your parents? Or mine? I can promise you that no one has to know. I'll sort it. I always do."
His tone was unwavering, filled with an assurance that came naturally to him. Johannes wasn’t sure *which* set of people worried Kyyre the most, but it didn’t matter—he’d handle all of them if he had to. If the school asked, he’d have an excuse at the ready, something effortless and irrefutable. If the principal wanted a lecture, Johannes would sit through it with his usual detached composure. If his own parents took issue, well, that was nothing new—he was used to their disappointment, and his mother would never blame a guest. It would be Hasse’s fault, as usual.
Kyyre’s parents were the real unknown. Johannes had no clear plan for them, but he was certain he’d find one. He had connections, influence, and a way of making things *work*. A well-placed word from someone important could smooth things over later, could soften whatever backlash Kyyre might face. It *had* to work. He tapped his fingers on his thigh, betraying the sliver of nervous energy creeping into his carefully composed exterior.
Traffic was light for late afternoon, and Johannes was grateful for it. He felt *too warm*, and the proximity of the pale boy beside him only added to the suffocating heat coiling in his chest. There was something about the car ride, about being *stuck* in this small space with Kyyre, that made him hyperaware of every shift, every breath. He forced himself to look out the window as the car rolled up the long, winding, covered drive that led to the manor.
For some reason, bringing Kyyre here felt... strange.
Not *wrong*, exactly, but something about it sat awkwardly in Johannes’s chest, like he was doing things out of order, like this was a step in a process he hadn’t fully considered. It wasn’t as if he *cared* what Kyyre thought of the manor, but... he did feel a flicker of unease.
The car stopped at the main gate, and Maciej was already muttering something to the two guards stationed there. Johannes grimaced and turned back to Kyyre, voice carefully measured.
"Oh. They're going to screen your criminal record or something,"he said slowly, as if it were an afterthought. "And you'll have to sign an NDA, or something along those lines. For the safety of the country, that's their excuse. I'm sorry. They'll look at your parents' stuff too. Nothing really personal—they don’t have the clearance for that. Just to make sure you’re not a family of psycho killers or something."
He finished weakly, pausing to watch Kyyre’s face for a reaction, but before the other boy could say anything, Johannes pushed open the car door and stepped out.
The gravel crunched beneath his shoes, grounding him in routine. Some things about coming home never changed—some *couldn’t* change, or he’d lose his footing entirely. Slipping into autopilot, he glanced back to make sure Kyyre was following before heading toward the door.
Once inside, he kicked off his shoes but picked them up immediately—habit drilled into him from childhood. He stepped around a table that had once belonged to some 13th-century monarch (or something along those lines—he’d never bothered to remember), mumbled a few words to a maid, and exhaled.
It occurred to him that he *should* ask Kyyre what he wanted to do next, but the other boy had never been here before. He wouldn’t *know* what to do.
Johannes turned to face him fully, expression softening just a fraction.
"Don't worry. The whole place isn't this uptight. They do tours, you see. Appearances, and all. Follow me?"
Without waiting for confirmation, he headed up the grand staircase, moving quickly, half out of habit and half because he wanted to get this part over with. The hall was lined with portraits—an unbroken timeline of Johannes’s life, from infancy to the present.
He barely glanced at them.
But Kyyre did.
Johannes could feel his gaze lingering on this year’s portrait, the one he *loathed* the most. He’d finally been allowed to stand with Magnus in it, which was the only redeeming part, but it still felt stiff, unnatural. The problem with portraits was that they weren’t real—not *really*. They were curated, frozen moments meant to show something perfect and complete, when in reality, everything about his life was neither.
He still didn't understand why they couldn't do pictures, but his parents had always said that it connected them to the Royal Families of the past to do the same.
He sighed, pushing open his bedroom door.
"See? Normal room. Well, normal-ish, I guess."
The space was distinctly his, though its design leaned toward restraint rather than indulgence. Soft neutral tones dominated the walls, and while the decor was understated, the wall of books gave it a sense of personality. Thick blankets were folded neatly at the foot of his bed—a necessity, not an stylistic choice.
Johannes was *always* cold.
"Sit anywhere," he offered, tossing his shoes towards the bureau.

Edited at February 8, 2025 02:54 PM by The Tea Drinkers
Tea x LackadaisyFebruary 8, 2025 04:20 PM


Lackadaisy

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Kyyre’s breath stilled in his throat the moment Johannes repeated his question. His stomach turned, his fingers twitching against his thigh, and he barely stopped himself from pulling at the sleeves of his sweater—his usual nervous habit. He felt exposed, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have, like the words had given away too much of what lay just beneath the surface.

"No one at school? Or your parents? Or mine?"

All of them.

Every single one.

But especially his parents.

That was what truly mattered. Not the school, not the lectures, not the possibility of detention—he could survive that. But if his parents found out, if they knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with—

His stomach clenched painfully.

Johannes’s reassurance was quick, firm, and confident. "I can promise you that no one has to know. I'll sort it. I always do."

It should have been comforting. It was comforting.

But it also felt impossible.

Kyyre had spent his whole life walking on eggshells, knowing that no matter how careful he was, his parents always found out. They always knew when he had done something wrong, when he had made a mistake, when he had strayed even an inch from their expectations.

How could Johannes be so sure?

How could he know that Kyyre wouldn’t get caught?

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly even though the doubt still gnawed at him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Johannes—it was that he didn’t trust the universe to be kind to him.

The ride felt too quick and too slow at the same time, the weight of anticipation pressing down on him. He barely noticed the towering gates and the armed guards until Johannes mentioned them, his tone deliberately casual.

"Oh. They're going to screen your criminal record or something."

Kyyre stiffened.

"And you'll have to sign an NDA, or something along those lines. For the safety of the country, that's their excuse."

His fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves.

"I’m sorry."

An NDA.

A background check.

His parents' records.

A sharp, cold panic clawed up his throat, seizing his breath, making his skin feel too tight around his bones. He hadn't thought about that. Hadn’t even considered it. The idea of someone looking into his parents, into his family—

What if it flagged something?

What if they saw something they shouldn’t? What if it got back to his parents?

Kyyre felt small, like he was shrinking into himself, folding inward. His hands curled into fists, his nails pressing into his palms, and he forced himself to nod, even though his mind was screaming.

"Nothing really personal," Johannes had said. "Just to make sure you’re not a family of psycho killers or something."

He knew it was supposed to be a joke.

But Kyyre couldn’t laugh.

He wasn’t from a family of killers, but he was from a family that controlled him. That had spent his entire life dictating what he could and couldn’t do. That had taught him to be afraid.

And this—this could unravel everything.

The door opened, and the moment Johannes stepped out of the car, Kyyre hesitated.

The panic was right there, threatening to consume him, to make him tell Maciej to turn the car around, to run.

But he didn’t.

He forced himself to move, to follow Johannes, even though his legs felt like they weren’t entirely his own. His body was too light, his head too heavy, the world spinning at the edges of his vision.

He barely registered the grand entrance, the towering ceilings, the historical artifacts and expensive decor. The weight of history, of importance, settled on his shoulders, making him feel even smaller than before.

Johannes moved through the house with easy familiarity, mumbling a few words to a maid, his presence commanding without effort. Kyyre, on the other hand, felt like an intruder.

The portraits caught his attention before he could stop himself.

A timeline. A life.

Johannes, younger. Then older. Then older still.

And this year’s.

Kyyre’s breath hitched.

Johannes and Magnus, side by side.

It was official, posed, but even in the rigid formality of it, Johannes fit. He belonged. This was his world.

Kyyre didn’t belong here.

His chest ached at the thought, and he forced his gaze away, turning back just as Johannes opened a door.

"See? Normal room."

Kyyre hesitated on the threshold, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

It was normal. Or at least, normal for someone like Johannes. It wasn’t overly extravagant—it was controlled, restrained, just like him.

Johannes was already moving inside, tossing his shoes toward the bureau.

"Sit anywhere."

Kyyre lingered in the doorway for a second too long.

His body screamed for him to take up as little space as possible, to find a corner, to shrink.

He moved toward the bed but hesitated before sitting. Instead, he perched at the edge, his back straight, his hands clasped in his lap. He still felt too big for the space, like he was out of place, like he shouldn’t be here.

His chest felt tight.

His fingers twitched.

The NDA.

The background check.

Would it come back clean? Would his parents find out?

Would he be punished for this?

Kyyre pressed his lips together, trying to push the thoughts away.

He was here now.

Tea x LackadaisyFebruary 11, 2025 06:07 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Johannes felt like hehad never really *looked* at his room before—not like this. Not with someone else in it, their gaze tracing over the space that had always been his refuge from the outside world. And now that Kyyre was here, *really* here, it felt as though Johannes had laid himself bare without meaning to.
He had wanted to impress Kyyre—wanted to make this feel effortless, cool, controlled. Instead, it felt like he was being dissected, his entire existence on display, every little quirk of his space suddenly glaringly obvious.
It wasn’t that his room was particularly *revealing*—his mother’s obsessive need for appearances had made sure of that—but the little things still gave him away. The way the bookshelves were arranged *just so*, the thick blankets at the foot of his bed, the faint scent of clean linen and something faintly citrusy that always clung to his space. The *order* of it, the restraint, the lack of anything that felt impulsive or truly free.
Was it different? Did it make Kyyre feel like an outsider in his world?
Johannes didn’t *want* Kyyre to feel like that.
He dropped his gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of the blanket on his bed, pulling at a loose thread. He was about to ask Kyyre what he wanted to do—to find something, *anything* to fill the silence—but before he could, a loud knock sounded at the door, sharp and deliberate.
He was honestly glad for the interruption. It felt like such a juvenile question, something a child would ask their school friend when they came home for a playdate. *Do you want to ride our bikes, or play with play dough?*
Johannes barely had time to straighten before Maciej stepped inside, his expression carefully schooled.
Clearly, his bodyguard hadn’t been sure what to expect when walking into the Crown Prince’s room, and somehow, *that* made Johannes want to melt into a puddle on the floor even more.
Why was it so exhausting just being himself when someone else was watching?
Maciej’s sharp gaze locked onto Johannes, silently reminding him of the Queen’s guidelines—her constant expectations, her ever-present control. Then, with a subtle but unmistakable gesture, he gave the thumbs-up. Background checks cleared. No threats. No *complications*.
Johannes exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.
He hadn’t been *worried*, exactly—Kyyre didn’t strike him as someone who had skeletons in his closet—but some small, nagging part of him had *always* expected something to go wrong. That no one really wanted to be close to him. That *everything* was a game, a ruse, a carefully laid trap designed to land him in the worst possible position.
The thought alone made him feel like a terrible boyfriend.
Trust issues were the *worst*.
He mumbled a quiet *thank you* as Maciej turned to leave, and thankfully, the bodyguard closed the door behind him. The moment it clicked shut, Johannes dragged a hand through his hair, already moving before he could second-guess himself.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping in front of Kyyre, who sat perched on the edge of the bed. Johannes hesitated for only a second before nudging Kyyre’s knees apart, stepping between them in an easy, almost instinctive motion.
"Sorry." His voice was quieter now, edged with something that might have been exhaustion or something more vulnerable. "This is probably a lot. At least you don’t have to meet my mum."
He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it landed weakly.
His fingers itched to touch, to *anchor* himself in something real.
"Do you want... something to drink? Or anything?"
He didn’t know how to make this *easier*. He didn’t know how to make Kyyre forget that Johannes was tangled up in things that would never let him have a *normal* life.
So he just wanted to kiss him until it didn’t matter. Until Kyyre forgot to be nervous. Until *he* forgot, even just for a little while.
Instead, he swallowed the impulse and added, after a pause, "The checks all came back fine. If you were wondering."
Tea x LackadaisyFebruary 11, 2025 07:52 PM


Lackadaisy

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Kyyre barely registered the knock at the door—his mind was still stuck in a loop of spiraling thoughts, too tangled in the weight of being here to fully process the outside world. His body was tense, fingers twisted together in his lap, knuckles faintly pale—well, paler— from the pressure.

But when Maciej stepped inside, the sharp presence of someone else in the room made his stomach drop.

His muscles locked up, instinct kicking in before logic could catch up. He sat straighter, hands quickly smoothing over the fabric of his uniform, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. His breathing shallowed, barely audible, as if somehow making himself quieter would make him invisible.

The bodyguard's gaze flicked to Johannes, locking onto him.

Was this it?

Was this the moment where everything fell apart? Where they said he couldn’t be here, where they sent him home, where his parents found out—

Maciej gave a thumbs-up.

Kyyre blinked.

Just like that?

The background check was fine?

His parents’ names had been dragged through whatever system the royal family had, and… nothing?

His head spun, still bracing for a consequence that never came.

Johannes exhaled, and the quiet sound of relief hit Kyyre harder than it should have.

He had been worried, too.

Kyyre’s stomach twisted painfully. It wasn’t just that Johannes cared about the check coming back clean—it was that, somewhere in his mind, he had expected things to go wrong. He expected to be hurt, to be tricked, to be used.

That realization ached in a way Kyyre couldn’t name.

The door shut, and suddenly it was just them again.

The tension in Kyyre’s chest should have eased.

It didn’t.

Not when Johannes was suddenly moving toward him, closing the space between them so effortlessly, so naturally, that Kyyre could barely process it before Johannes was there—right there.

Kyyre inhaled sharply, heart lurching, mind going white-hot as he looked down to watch Johannes nudge his knees apart, stepping between them like he belonged there. Like this was something normal, something casual, something that didn’t send Kyyre’s brain spiraling into a frenzied, overloaded haze.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he managed to tear his gaze back up, the noise drowning out everything else. His whole body went rigid, not out of fear, but because he had no idea what to do with himself. His hands twitched uselessly in his lap, his breath catching in his throat.

Johannes was so close.

The warmth of him, the faint scent of citrus and clean linen, the weight of his presence pressing down on Kyyre’s senses like an avalanche. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

He wanted to reach for him.

Wanted to touch him.

Wanted—

"Sorry."

Johannes’s voice was quieter now, softer, edged with something that made Kyyre's heart try to escape his chest. His tone alone worried Kyyre if his heart might burst out and cling onto Johannes with all its might.

Kyyre swallowed hard, barely able to breathe.

"This is probably a lot. At least you don’t have to meet my mum."

It was meant to be a joke. Kyyre could tell it was supposed to be a joke. But his brain was still lagging behind, still trying to catch up to the fact that Johannes was standing between his legs, so close that Kyyre could count every shade of perfect, ethereal honey gold in his eyes if he wanted to.

He couldn’t laugh.

He couldn’t do anything.

Johannes kept talking, asking if he wanted something to drink, if he needed anything—anything at all.

Kyyre’s mouth was dry.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the words got stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue, because how was he supposed to think when Johannes was this close? When he could feel the heat of him, when he could see the way Johannes’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out too, like he was holding something back just as much as Kyyre was?

"The checks all came back fine. If you were wondering."

Right.

Right.

That should have been the most important thing. The relief of knowing he was safe here, that he wouldn’t be found out, that nothing had gone wrong.

But Kyyre’s mind wasn’t on the background check.

It was on Johannes’s body.

On the way he moved, the way he carried himself, the way his weight shifted ever so slightly as he stood there. It was on the fact that Johannes had stepped this close without hesitation, without awkwardness, without the stupid, trembling hesitation that Kyyre felt locking up every muscle in his body.

He should move.

He should say something.

He should do something.

But all he could do was sit there, staring up at Johannes like he was something impossible, something unreal, something Kyyre would never quite deserve but wanted more than anything in the world.


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