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Darkseeker
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Johannes beamed, the warmth of his smile bright enough to momentarily erase the fatigue weighing on his shoulders. Kyyre *knew.* He could see it, that faint flicker of acknowledgment, that subtle recognition of Johannes’s effort. Even if Johannes wasn’t doing everything perfectly, even if someone else might have handled the situation better, he was *trying.* And for now, that had to be enough. Then Kyyre’s quiet words about preferring to leave registered, and Johannes’s smile faltered. His shoulders tensed slightly as the reality sank in. Just because he'd suggested it didn't mean he was fully prepared for all the consequences. His heart skipped a beat. Deep down, Johannes knew leaving would be more than just an inconvenience. It would open up a minefield of complications. His mother’s inevitable wrath loomed large in his mind, her voice already echoing with disappointment. Maciej,as the ever-dutiful bodyguard, would no doubt respond with thinly veiled disapproval. And Magnus? Johannes could practically hear the teasing jabs his cousin would throw about skipping classes to hang out with some boy. The thought alone was enough to make him feel queasy. But looking at Kyyre, thin and clearly on edge, Johannes shoved those fears aside. He couldn’t say no—not right now. Kyyre needed this, and Johannes had promised himself he’d be there for him. No matter what. He tugged at the loose skin on his thumb cuticle, digging his middle finger's nail deep into the skin . “Of course,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady despite the tightness in his chest. “Yeah, we can go somewhere and get some food. Whatever sounds good to you.” To soften the moment, he brushed his fingers lightly over Kyyre’s, offering a small, shaky smile before standing. As much as he hated to break the brief moment of agreement between them, he knew he needed to handle the logistics. He turned toward Maciej, who was already watching him with a wary, knowing look. Standing in front of the taller man, Johannes hesitated, searching for the right words. He hated these moments—hated having to lean on the authority his title gave him. It always felt transactional, impersonal, and unfair. He didn’t want Maciej to feel like he had no choice. All Johannes wanted was to be treated with mutual respect, not blind deference. “Maciej,” he started, his voice quieter than usual, “I know this is...a lot to ask. Especially after everything with Mummy and, well, the classes.” He winced, tugging nervously at the cuffs of his uniform. “But this is important. Kyyre needs to get out of here for a bit. He needs food, and I think it’ll help him feel better. Could we...go somewhere? Somewhere quiet, where people won’t recognize me? I don’t want to make things harder for you—or anyone else—but I don’t know what else to do.” Maciej’s sharp gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. He sighed heavily, the sound both resigned and tinged with faint amusement at Johannes’s obvious distress. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll have someone bring the car around. But you need to understand, this isn’t simple. The security team will have to be alerted, and there’s always a risk when you leave like this. Your mother—” “I know,” Johannes interrupted quickly, his cheeks flushing. “I know. But thank you. Really. I won’t cause any trouble, I promise.” Maciej gave him a look that clearly said *we’ll see about that,* but nodded and stepped aside to make the necessary arrangements. Relieved, Johannes let out a slow breath and returned to the table where Kyyre sat, carefully lowering himself onto the bench beside him. He clasped his hands in his lap, shoving them deep into his pockets to keep from picking at his skin again. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking, his voice soft but steady. “They’re bringing the car around,” he said. “It’ll only take a few minutes.” He hesitated, studying Kyyre’s face for any signs of discomfort or unease. “Do you know where you’d like to go? Maybe for falafel or...there’s this sandwich place my mum likes. It’s nice, not super fancy. Or if you’re not feeling up for food right now, we could just go for a walk in the park. Whatever you want, okay?” He tried to sound casual, like this wasn’t a big deal, but his gaze remained fixed on Kyyre, twisting his fingers in his lap, painfully aware of how much harder these little escapades were going to be, thanks to his title. He wished he could just be normal. Just be a boy, with another boy, sneaking out for a nice little lunch. Calculus and the Crown could wait for now. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre hesitated, his chest tightening as he watched Johannes. He’d noticed the way Johannes shoved his hands into his pockets, the nervous way he twisted his fingers and made beads of blood rise up on his fingers. He didn’t know why he cared so much about it—why the small, anxious movements felt so significant—but the sight made his own stomach twist with unease. He wanted to help, to do something, even if he didn’t fully understand what that something was supposed to be. - For a long moment, he stared at Johannes’s hand, half-hidden in his pocket. The thought of reaching out made his pulse quicken, a strange mix of anxiety and something else he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched anyone before—he’d bumped shoulders in crowded hallways, endured obligatory handshakes at family events, and, of course, the hugs and 'cuddles' that were just fleeting things, things that didn't make his heart pound as much as this, this reaching out first. No, this felt different. The idea of deliberately holding Johannes’s hand sent a thrill through him that left him more confused than anything else. Why did he feel like this? Why did the thought of something so simple feel so… monumental? - His fingers twitched at his sides before he forced himself to act. Slowly, almost nervously, he reached out and took Johannes’s arm. His touch was featherlight at first, as though he were afraid Johannes might pull away. He carefully guided one of his hands out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them. Kyyre’s hand hovered for a moment before he brushed his thumb over the back of Johannes’s, the skin rough and uneven beneath his touch. His breath caught in his throat as a faint shiver ran through him, the thrill of the contact both exhilarating and terrifying. - “You shouldn’t do this to yourself,” Kyyre murmured, his voice softer than he intended. He kept his gaze fixed on Johannes’s hand, the broken cuticles standing out starkly against his otherwise neat appearance. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing the faint ridges and lines in a way that felt almost hypnotic. It was grounding in a strange way, giving him something tangible to focus on amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his chest. - Forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat, Kyyre let out a shaky breath. “I’ll try,” he said quietly, the words feeling heavier than they should. “To eat, I mean. I… I think I can manage something small.” He glanced up briefly, just long enough to meet Johannes’s gaze before his nerves got the better of him and he looked down again. His fingers stilled on Johannes’s hand, and he felt his cheeks warm. - “You’re doing so much for me, and I…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t want to say too much, to overwhelm either of them, but the thought of leaving things unsaid felt even worse. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to, you know? I don’t want you to hurt yourself because of me.” - The words left him feeling exposed, like he’d peeled back a layer of himself he wasn’t ready to share. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Johannes’s hand, holding onto it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His gaze flickered toward Johannes’s face, studying his expression for any sign of discomfort. - “I think…” He hesitated, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smile. “I think a sandwich sounds okay. Or the park. Whichever’s easier for you.” - The idea of eating still made his stomach churn, but he knew he had to try. For Johannes, if nothing else. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes jolted slightly when Kyyre gently tugged his hands out of his pockets. It caught him off guard; instinctively, he opened his mouth, ready to deflect with a string of well-rehearsed excuses about his ragged cuticles. His mother had always hated that particular habit more than most of his others—normally not out of concern for his well-being, but because it was so *obvious.* He’d spent years wishing her frustration stemmed from genuine worry that her son was so anxious he resorted to tearing at his fingers. But no, it was because it ruined the perfect image he was expected to present in public. Every time a journalist commented on the raw skin, or a magazine mentioned the state of his hands, Johannes found himself called into her private study. Those stern little meetings, delivered with a polished smile and thinly veiled condescension, always circled back to the same message: *As a prince, you must never appear imperfect to the public. It is your duty to exude flawlessness in every aspect of your life, thank you.* And so, Johannes was startled not just by Kyyre noticing but by the softness of his touch. The way the boy didn’t shy away from holding his worst feature. When Kyyre spoke, it wasn’t with criticism or pity, but with quiet concern: a simple wish that Johannes wouldn’t hurt himself anymore. Guilt twisted in Johannes’s chest as he met Kyyre’s gaze. Did he mean it? Or was this just another subtle way of saying it made him less appealing, less desirable? Johannes wanted so desperately to be liked by him, and having his flaws laid bare in the open felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of his insecurities. “I know,” Johannes said quietly, his voice edged with shame. “My mum hates it too. She says it makes me look... unprofessional.” He forced a shrug, the movement almost robotic, as he resisted the urge to snatch his hands away. Kyyre’s acceptance of this vulnerability felt unfamiliar, and it was hard not to retreat into old defenses. Still, he pushed past his discomfort, shifting focus to Kyyre instead. His boy was downplaying his own needs again, making excuses, trying not to impose. Johannes recognized that feeling all too well, having spent most of his life believing he was too much of a burden for anyone. Determined not to let Kyyre feel the same, he bumped his knee gently against the other boy’s. “Hey,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “I don’t mind. This is *way* better than sitting through Calculus.” He offered a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with a touch of quietly hopeful happiness. “And anyways, I want to help. Let me.” Before Kyyre could protest further, Maciej re-entered the cafeteria. The bodyguard gave Johannes a curt nod, signaling that the car was ready. Johannes stood quickly, offering his hand to Kyyre as he did. “The car’s here,” he said, his voice a mix of unsureness and excitement. “We can do both if you want. Grab some food first, then head to the park? I don’t think there’s anywhere to actually get food there—unless, you know, you want to eat the ducks.” Maciej, listening as always, began making arrangements on his phone, likely ensuring the park would be cleared and the press kept at bay. Johannes hated this part—the intricate choreography required just to leave the house without headlines the next morning. He tried not to let it show, following Maciej toward the car with Kyyre at his side. Out of habit, Johannes reached for the door, pulling it open and holding it for Kyyre. Once inside, the familiarity of the vehicle enveloped him. His seat was undeniably *his*, littered with crumpled caramel wrappers, battered books, and discarded drafts of speeches. Magnus’s seat, by an odd contrast, was far tidier, except for the spare pair of PE shoes crammed into the pocket of the seat in front. Johannes grimaced, scooping up the shoes and tossing them unceremoniously into the trunk. “Sorry,” he muttered, kicking the now-empty seat pocket lightly. “Mag never cleans up after himself.” The ride to the shop felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Johannes wasn’t sure if they’d talked—he was too preoccupied with the swirl of nerves in his chest. By the time the car pulled up to the small sandwich shop near the park, his thumbs were peeled raw again. Slipping out of the car, Johannes paused, waiting for Maciej to take his place at his side. He turned to Kyyre with a tired smile, his expression apologetic. “Sorry about all this,” he said quietly. “I wish I could just slip out like a normal kid, but, well... my face is sort of *everywhere.*” His voice held a note of self-deprecation, and he pulled his thumbs into his fists, not wanting the raw skin obvious in the cool air. |
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Neutral
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"Your mom shouldn't do that… why does she care more about your public appearance than how you're feeling?" Kyyre asked quietly, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and sadness. He reached out instinctively, letting Johannes’s hand linger in his own a little longer before using it to help himself up. His face flushed slightly at the gesture—a prince helping him up? His prince? The thought made his chest feel oddly light, and he ducked his head, letting his hair fall into his face as he murmured, “Thanks.” - Kyyre followed Johannes silently, stealing a weary glance at Maciej before stepping out into the hallway. His fingers twisted nervously against his stomach, a telltale habit of his own unease. When they reached the car, he froze for a moment, his eyes widening as Johannes opened the door for him. The gesture was so casual, so kind, that it left Kyyre blinking in surprise. His gaze flickered from the open door to Johannes’s face, then back to the door, before finally sliding into the seat. - The car itself was immaculate—at least, compared to anything Kyyre had ever been in. It was sleek, pristine, and exuded a kind of wealth he’d only ever seen in magazines or movies. Sitting in it felt surreal, like he was part of some fairy tale where ordinary boys like him got swept away by princes and taken to worlds beyond their imagining. It was nice, yes, but it also made his stomach churn. The thought of being surrounded by so much opulence was overwhelming. - “It’s okay,” Kyyre said quietly as Johannes apologized for the mess. His gaze flickered briefly over the caramel wrappers and the cluttered seat. “I don’t mind. I’m around mess a lot.” The words were simple, but the implication—that he wasn’t used to this level of extravagance—hung heavily in the air. - The ride to the sandwich shop passed in silence, Kyyre’s mind racing too fast to form coherent thoughts. His fingers fidgeted against his lap, his eyes fixed on the scenery outside but not really seeing it. He thought of Johannes—the way he spoke, the quiet kindness in his actions, the way he seemed so comfortable letting his guard down. It made Kyyre’s heart ache in a way he didn’t fully understand. Somewhere in the muddled swirl of thoughts, one realization floated to the surface: he loved Johannes. - The car came to an abrupt stop, jolting Kyyre out of his thoughts. His hands flew to the seat instinctively, clutching it as though it might keep him grounded. He watched as Johannes stepped out, then scrambled to follow, pressing close to Johannes’s side once they were outside. - Kyyre glanced around the street nervously, his unease growing as he took in the rows of restaurants and shops. The area was a stark contrast to the normally busy part of the city he’d been imagining to the one it was now. Oddly enough, it wasn’t as crowded as he’d expected. The sidewalks, usually teeming with people, seemed almost… empty. The realization made him glance toward Maciej, wondering just how much of this was deliberate. - “T-that’s okay… i-it isn’t much of a problem… it’s fine as long as I get to be with you…” The words tumbled out of Kyyre’s mouth before he could stop them, his voice dropping to a near whisper by the end. His cheeks burned as he clamped his lips shut, his eyes darting nervously toward Johannes. He prayed silently that Johannes wouldn’t read too much into it, even though a small part of him hoped he would. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes offered Kyyre a faint smile, brushing his knuckles against the other boy’s as they walked. The touch was fleeting, subtle enough to pass as just two boys out in public, but it steadied something deep inside him. Public displays of affection, even as small as holding hands, felt impossible right now—not with so many eyes constantly on him. But this? This was something he could manage, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection he craved so badly. The air was warm enough to leave his hands free, a small relief considering how often he found himself instinctively shoving them into his coat pockets. Johannes focused on the rhythm of their steps, trying to ignore the ever-present knowledge that there were at least five security guards blending into the background. Their practiced casualness didn’t fool him. He’d grown up with them, after all—men who pretended to be ordinary passersby but were ready to step in at the first sign of trouble. It was both comforting and suffocating, just like it always had been. As they reached the small sandwich shop, Johannes braced himself for what he knew was coming. He had only taken a step inside when the girl behind the counter gasped, her wide eyes snapping to his face. She wasn’t the usual owner, and the realization made his stomach clench, and his fingers went automatically to pull at the skin of his cuticles. With his mother’s meticulous planning, they’d always avoided moments like this. The shop would’ve been prepped, the staff carefully vetted, their food handed off quickly before anyone else could enter. This, by contrast, was a far cry from the orchestrated ease of those outings. Steeling himself, Johannes squared his shoulders and stepped toward the counter. The routines drilled into him from childhood clicked into place, guiding him through the interaction. He greeted the girl politely, his words measured and formal, careful not to stumble or overstep the invisible lines of protocol. It was a skill he’d mastered with years of practice, though he couldn’t deny it was far easier with Kyyre beside him rather than his mother looming in silent judgment. Johannes ordered something for himself, though he didn’t plan to eat much, and then gestured for Kyyre to order next. When the other boy hesitated, Johannes cut off any argument by insisting on paying for both meals. While they waited for their food, he busied himself folding paper cranes out of napkins. It was an old habit, something he did to soothe his nerves, and soon a small flock of cranes gathered on the counter. The girl behind the counter seemed bemused, watching him from the corner of her eye, but Johannes barely noticed. When their order was ready, he carefully picked up the bag and followed Maciej out of the shop. The walk to the park was mercifully uneventful, the quiet hum of the city fading into the background as they reached the park’s entrance. Johannes stopped, his gaze sweeping across the expanse of trees, benches, and winding paths. It struck him just how rare this moment was—being out in public, not for a carefully orchestrated event but just for the sake of spending time with someone. He sighed softly, turning to Kyyre. “Where do you want to sit?” he asked, tilting his head toward the fountain in the distance. “We could go over there, by the fountain, if you want. Or maybe one of the trails will lead to a better spot. Whatever works for you.” His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the paper bag, smoothing out invisible creases and flicking a stray piece of grass off his pant leg. He glanced at Kyyre, his expression open but uncertain. |
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Neutral
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As Johannes’s fingers tugged at the skin around his cuticles, Kyyre reached out without thinking, gently prying his hands apart. His touch was soft but steady, a silent way of saying stop without calling attention to it. He didn’t look up, didn’t say a word, just held Johannes’s hands for a second longer than necessary before releasing them. The brief contact sent a shiver through him, but he forced himself to stay focused. Johannes didn’t need to hurt himself just because someone else had disrupted their day. - When they reached the counter, Kyyre pressed his shoulder against Johannes’s anxiously, grounding himself in the contact. He avoided the girl’s wide-eyed stare as he stepped forward to order. “Uh… just… a small ham sandwich, please,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the hum of the shop. He hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously at Johannes, before stepping back to let him finish. - As they waited, Kyyre’s attention drifted to Johannes, who had taken a napkin and begun folding it with precise, practiced movements. At first, Kyyre wasn’t sure what he was doing, but then he saw the tiny paper crane take shape in his hands. He watched, entranced, as Johannes made another, and then another, a small flock of napkin cranes gathering on the counter. There was something mesmerizing about the way Johannes’s fingers worked, folding each corner with such care. Cute little things. Cute guy. Kyyre’s chest tightened as he let his thoughts wander, for once not stopping himself from acknowledging just how adorable Johannes was. - His eyes traced the curve of Johannes’s jaw, the slight crease of concentration in his brow, and the soft way his lips pressed together as he worked. Kyyre’s heart ached in a way that felt both painful and sweet. It was hard to imagine someone like Johannes—calm, poised, effortlessly kind—being in his life. It felt like a dream, one he was now afraid he’d wake from. - When Johannes took up the bag of food and turned to walk out, Kyyre moved to follow—but couldn’t resist picking up one of the paper cranes as well, cradling it in his hands as though it were fragile and precious. The tiny crane felt like a piece of Johannes himself, something small and fleeting yet filled with so much care. He held it close as they stepped out of the shop, glancing nervously toward Maciej, who followed at a distance with his usual unflinching focus. - The walk to the park passed in silence, the sounds of the city fading into the background as Kyyre stared down at the crane in his hands. It was such a simple thing, just a napkin folded into a shape, but it felt like more. Kyyre let the thought sit, his fingers tracing the delicate folds as they walked. - When they reached the park, Kyyre finally looked up, taking in the quiet beauty of the space around them. The paths wound gently through patches of trees, the benches scattered here and there, and in the distance, the sound of water trickling from the fountain caught his attention. As Johannes asked where they should sit, Kyyre hesitated for only a moment before taking a step forward. - The first step was small, tentative, but then another followed, and another, his confidence growing with each one. He didn’t look back, didn’t second-guess himself as he made his way to the fountain. The sound of the water grew louder, soothing in its simplicity, and when he reached the edge, he stopped and sat down carefully. - Setting the paper crane beside him on the cool stone, Kyyre glanced back at Johannes with a small, tentative smile. “Here’s good,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the gentle murmur of the fountain. He let his eyes linger on Johannes for a moment before turning his gaze back to the water, his fingers trailing over the edge of the crane as though it were a talisman of great worth. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes hadn’t even noticed that Kyyre had picked a spot until he was already settling beside him on the bench, handing over the carefully wrapped sandwich. His mind had been too tangled in a web of worries—about being out in public, his mother’s inevitable anger, the omnipresent security team, and, more distracting than anything else, how Kyyre seemed to glow in the sunlight, finally looking a little less weighed down by the world. It wasn’t until his eyes landed on the small, folded paper crane perched near Kyyre’s hand that he realized one of his impromptu creations had been rescued from the pile he’d left behind in the sandwich shop. Johannes blinked, tipping his head in curiosity. “You kept one?” he asked, his tone a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and quiet delight. He leaned forward, inspecting the little crane with a critical eye. “It’s... imperfect. That wing’s not right.” His brow furrowed as he reached out hesitantly. “Did you pick it on accident? I can fix it. I don’t want you to have a bad one.” His voice softened on the last sentence, as if he wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered so much to him. But it did. It mattered because Kyyre mattered, and Johannes couldn’t bear the idea of adding something flawed to his life. Kyyre already had to deal with him—a tangled mess of anxiety, scrutiny, and endless imperfections. The least Johannes could do was offer something whole, something right, to go along with his flaws. But then doubt crept in, and he pulled his hands back. What if Kyyre didn’t care? What if Kyyre liked it just the way it was? Johannes didn’t want to overstep, so instead, he focused on something he could control—his own hands. Without realizing it, his fingers were already at his thumb, pulling at the dry skin there in search of something to ease the restless energy that had taken root in his chest. A sharp sting broke his thoughts, and Johannes inhaled sharply, pressing the pads of his fingers against the fresh cut to staunch the small bead of blood welling up. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Fishing in his pocket for a tissue and coming up empty, he reached into the paper bag beside him, pulling out a crumpled napkin and wrapping it around his thumb. With a wry smile, he glanced at Kyyre. “I guess that’s what I get for always picking at them,” he said, shaking his head at himself. “It’s a terrible habit. I’ve tried to stop, but…” He trailed off, shrugging as he unwrapped his sandwich. “I don’t know. I don’t have anywhere else to put all the... bad feelings, I guess. It’s either this or something worse.” His voice dropped, tinged with something unspoken. “I used to take meds for it, but my mum doesn’t refill the prescription anymore.” He punctuated the statement with another small shrug, as if trying to downplay its significance, before plucking a stray jalapeño from the wrapper and eyeing it before eating it. The heat of the pepper brought a flicker of distraction, but his eyes drifted back to the paper crane. Quietly, he asked, “Do you like it that way? Even though it’s not perfect? I really don't mind fixing it. It would only take a second." |
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Neutral
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Kyyre’s heart raced when Johannes leaned in, his eyes so focused on the small paper crane that Kyyre had protected so carefully. Without thinking, he swatted at Johannes’s hands, the motion swift and almost frantic, as though he were stopping him from touching something fragile and irreplaceable. His breath hitched in his chest as he pulled the crane away, clutching it tightly in his lap. He felt the familiar rush of heat in his cheeks, the flush of embarrassment that always followed when he realized how possessive he’d become over something seemingly small. - “She’s precious,” he said, his voice sharp and defensive, much sharper than he intended. His fingers curled protectively around the crane, the small paper figure now a symbol of something deeply personal, something he wasn’t prepared to share—not even with Johannes. His hand trembled slightly as he held it, as if afraid it might crumble or fall apart if he let go. “She’s not a mistake. She’s perfect as she is. Don’t touch her.” - His tone softened a little as he spoke, but the words still carried a weight, a certain urgency that seemed to surprise him as they left his mouth. He wasn’t used to being this defensive, especially not over something so trivial as a folded napkin. But something about the way Johannes had looked at it—inspecting it so closely, as if it needed to be fixed—struck a nerve. Kyyre knew that it wasn’t just about the crane. It was about the idea that something of his, something he’d taken care of, something he felt a quiet attachment to, could be seen as flawed, even in the smallest way. - The idea that Johannes might try to fix it made Kyyre’s stomach churn with discomfort. He didn’t want it to be fixed. He didn’t want it to be perfect. The imperfection was part of its charm. It was part of *him*. And the thought of Johannes changing it felt wrong, like taking away something that mattered to him, something small but meaningful. - Kyyre quickly turned his attention to the sandwich, anything to distract himself from the rising tide of embarrassment. He unwrapped it with purpose, trying to calm the sudden rush of feelings that had overwhelmed him. He could feel the weight of Johannes’s gaze still lingering on him, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he’d said too much. Maybe Johannes would think it was strange, how attached he was to something so simple. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the crane wasn’t just some random thing. It was something Johannes had made. Something that had come from his hands. And that alone made it special. It wasn’t just a crumpled piece of paper. It was a piece of Johannes’s care, even if Johannes didn’t realize it. - He bit into the sandwich, the action slow and deliberate, his mind desperately trying to ground itself in something normal, something that didn’t involve feeling so exposed. The coolness of the lettuce and the bite of the ham did little to ease the heat building in his chest, but he focused on it, trying to hold onto the normalcy of the moment. His fingers trembled slightly as he unwrapped the sandwich, the smell of it grounding him, even if his thoughts were still scattered. - “You don't have to fix everything, Johannes,” Kyyre muttered, the words barely above a whisper, as he chewed slowly. His eyes flickered up at Johannes, who was still staring at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Kyyre’s throat tightened as he continued, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than he had meant it to be. “Some things are fine the way they are.” His hand, still holding the crane, tightened its grip slightly, as if reassuring himself more than anyone else. “I—I don’t mind the imperfections. I like it that way.” - He paused, his words lingering in the air for a moment, before he took another bite of his sandwich. There was something about the quiet acceptance of imperfection, of choosing to hold onto something that wasn’t flawless, that felt like a small victory. For so long, Kyyre had tried to hide his flaws, to bury them deep and pretend they didn’t exist. But here, in this strange, stolen moment with Johannes, he realized that maybe it was okay to let a few things stay broken. Maybe it was okay for something to be imperfect. - His fingers traced over the crane again, the tiny folds now familiar under his fingertips. There was something about the way Johannes had made it, the thoughtfulness behind each crease, that made it more meaningful than anything he could explain. Kyyre couldn’t articulate it in words, not even to himself, but he knew that the little crane was important. And somehow, in a world where nothing ever felt safe, it was one of the few things he had that he could protect. - Kyyre finally allowed himself to meet Johannes’s eyes again, offering a small, uncertain smile. “I don’t want to fix it,” he said softly, his voice steadier now. “It’s fine as it is. Lily’s fine.” His gaze flickered down to the crane, his thumb brushing over the soft folds once more. The simple gesture felt like a promise, even if he couldn’t quite put it into words. - Then his face flushed brighter. - Shit, he'd just named this napkin. - He shook it off, again hoping Johannes wouldn't think to deeply into that (or even worse, make fun of him for it) and watched Johannes pull his hands away, fingers nervously fidgeting at his cuticles again. Kyyre wanted to say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat as he bit into his sandwich, his gaze flicking between Johannes and the crane in his lap. His chest ached with an unfamiliar tightness, one that only worsened when Johannes flinched, muttered a soft curse, and grabbed a napkin to dab at the fresh cut he’d given himself. - It obviously wasn’t the first time Kyyre had seen him do this—pick at his own skin until it hurt—but something about it now felt heavier, more unbearable, after the words Johannes had let slip. - "I used to take meds for it, but my mum doesn’t refill the prescription anymore." - The statement rang in Kyyre’s ears, each word more devastating than the last. He lowered his sandwich slowly, his appetite fading completely as he stared at Johannes, his stomach twisting painfully. “Wait, what?” Kyyre blurted out, his voice sharper than he intended. He set the sandwich down on the bench beside him, ignoring the way the wrapper crinkled under his shaky hands. “She just stopped refilling them? Like, no warning? No... reason?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he could feel the heat rising in his face as anger and worry fought for dominance. - “That’s not— I mean, that’s not okay. You know that, right? You— You need those, don’t you?” His heart pounded as he spoke, the weight of Johannes’s words sinking in deeper and deeper. The thought of Johannes struggling, of trying to cope without the help he needed, made Kyyre’s chest tighten further. - His gaze flickered to Johannes’s thumb, where the napkin was now stained with a faint smear of blood. He reached shakily, carefully taking Johannes’s hand in his own, his fingers gentle as they pried it away from the napkin. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Kyyre repeated, his voice barely above a whisper now. He cradled Johannes’s hand in both of his, his touch careful, like he was holding something impossibly delicate. “I mean, I know you’re... dealing with a lot, but that doesn’t mean you have to deal with it like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it alone, either.” - Kyyre swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Johannes’s gaze. “You can’t just let her do that to you. Meds aren’t something you can just... stop taking because someone else thinks you don’t need them. They’re supposed to help you, right? So why—” He cut himself off, realizing his voice was growing louder, more frantic. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, though his hands were still trembling slightly as they held onto Johannes’s. “Why would she do that to you?” he asked softly, his voice breaking again. “Does she even realize what she’s doing? What it’s doing to you?” - His fingers tightened slightly around Johannes’s hand, his thumb brushing over the back of it in a soothing motion. “You’re not supposed to just... suffer through this,” Kyyre said, his words quieter now, but no less filled with urgency. “I—I know I can’t fix it, but I want to help. Even if it’s just... holding your hands so you don’t hurt yourself anymore. I don’t want you to go through this alone, Johannes. You don’t have to.” - The words felt clumsy, inadequate, but Kyyre meant every one of them. His heart ached as he looked at Johannes, at the quiet pain and exhaustion etched into his features. He didn’t know how to make things better—how to fix the mess that Johannes’s mother had left him in—but he knew he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Johannes mattered too much for that. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes hadn’t expected the intensity of Kyyre’s reaction to his offer to fix the paper crane. He should’ve known better, really. Kyyre wasn’t the type to care about perfection; he might even find beauty in the flaws. Still, the glaring unevenness of the wings, the awkward folds, made Hasse’s fingers itch to smooth it out, to erase any sign that it had ever been less than flawless. But Kyyre wanted it as it was—wanted it for what it was, not what it could be. To distract himself, he dug a bandaid out of his pocket to hopefully slow the steady crimson drip. The fierceness of that sentiment startled Johannes enough that a laugh escaped him, soft and genuine, as he gently bumped Kyyre’s knee with his own. “Sorry,” he murmured, the warmth in his tone diffusing the apology. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. But if you like it that way, then I like it that way too.” Still, his gaze flicked down to his own hands, his thumb now covered, hiding away the evidence of his nervousnesss. The faint red bloom beneath the edges of the bandaid betrayed his earlier carelessness. He’d meant to let the conversation flow, but Kyyre’s quiet words tugged at his focus. Hasse frowned as he processed them, his mind catching on the topic that had been left dangling: his medication. Or, more accurately, his lack of it. “She said it should have worked,” he admitted, his voice low and carefully measured. “That I shouldn’t rely on medication to... manage things. She thought if I took it for a while, then I’d be better. Just... fixed. Like it was a broken arm or a sprained ankle, something that would heal and never come back.” He paused, lips pressing together as he picked at the edges of the bandaid. “But even when I had it, I didn’t take it half the time. She hated the idea of it, so I felt guilty every time I took one. Like I was letting her down just by admitting I couldn’t handle it on my own.” He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing. “When the prescription ran out, she didn’t bother refilling it. My doctor isn’t even allowed to talk about it anymore. To her, anxiety isn’t a condition. It’s a problem you outgrow. And in her mind, I’ve outgrown it. I’m cured.” The bitterness in his tone made him wince, so he turned his attention to Kyyre’s hands instead of meeting his gaze. His fingers traced the lines of Kyyre’s palm absently, his touch light and almost reverent, as if Kyyre’s hands might hold answers that would fix his life. “It’s not her fault,” he said after a moment, though the words felt like they weighed a ton. “She doesn’t know what it’s like. She’s always had a purpose. Always known exactly where she was going and how to get there. I think she believes that if I just find my direction, everything else will... fall into place. That's a direct quote, by the way.” He hesitated, his voice dipping into a quieter, more vulnerable register. “I wish you could’ve met me when I was sixteen. I was far better then. I had fewer cracks to fill. I was happier. Probably easier to love.” The words seemed to linger in the air as Johannes tucked his uneaten sandwich back into its bag. He brushed a few crumbs off his lap, his movements unhurried, as if trying to shake off the weight of his own words. His gaze drifted to the gravel path beneath his feet, where he kicked at a stray pebble, finally letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Tell me about your family?" He asked softly. "Do you have siblings? I always wanted a brother." |
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Neutral
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Kyyre’s chest tightened painfully as Johannes’s words spilled out, each one sharper than the last, carving deep into the space between them. He watched Johannes’s hands fidget with the edges of the bandaid, his voice steady but burdened, as if he were dragging the weight of years behind him. Every word—about his mother’s indifference, the lost prescription, the overwhelming guilt—struck Kyyre harder than the last. And then, that final, quiet admission: “I was happier. Probably easier to love.” - The ache in Kyyre’s heart grew unbearable. He wanted to argue, to tell Johannes he was wrong, but the words caught in his throat. - "Don’t say that,” Kyyre said, his voice low but steady. “Don’t—don’t ever say you were easier to love back then.” He held Johannes’s gaze now, his eyes burning with something fierce and unrelenting. “You’re not broken. You’re not too much. You’re... you’re incredible, Johannes, and it doesn’t matter if you have cracks or rough edges or whatever you think makes you harder to love. Because it doesn’t.” - His fingers tightened slightly over Johannes’s, as if to emphasize the point. “If anything, it makes you more... more real. And I... I think I’d rather have this version of you, the one who lets me see those cracks, than someone who hides behind some perfect mask.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe, though his voice was trembling now. “You’re not a project to fix. You’re someone to care about, someone I do care about, no matter how many cracks you think you have.” - Kyyre exhaled shakily, leaning back slightly but keeping their hands connected. “And about your mom…” He hesitated, his anger and worry bubbling just beneath the surface. “I’m sorry, but she’s wrong. Taking meds doesn’t mean you’re broken or weak or anything like that. It means you’re trying to take care of yourself, and that’s not something you should feel guilty about. Ever. She doesn’t get to decide what’s best for you. Only you do.” - The passion in his voice caught him off guard, and he broke eye contact for a moment, staring down at their joined hands. “You deserve to have someone in your corner, Johannes. Someone who doesn’t just tell you to suck it up or get over it. Someone who... who wants to be there for you, even when things are hard. And I’m not saying I have all the answers, but...” He glanced back up, his expression softer now. “I want to be that someone. If you’ll let me.” - For a moment, the air between them felt too heavy to break, but then Johannes shifted slightly, asking about Kyyre’s family. The question was unexpected, and it took Kyyre a moment to gather himself. For a moment, he looked away, his gaze drifting to the fountain’s shimmering surface. The ripple of the water seemed to mirror the unease stirring inside him. Still, he let out a soft breath, deciding to answer. - “Well, I’ve got my mom and dad,” he said, his voice quiet, almost cautious. “They’re... around. I mean, they care. They want what’s best for me, I guess, but it’s always what *they* think is best, you know? They don’t really listen when I try to tell them what I want or how I feel. It’s like, as long as I follow their plan, everything’s fine. But if I step out of line, even a little…” He trailed off, his fingers curling slightly against Johannes’s hand. “Let’s just say they’re not great at handling that.” - His brows furrowed slightly, his expression darkening. “Then there’s my brother. He was the golden child—perfect grades, perfect behavior, everything my parents wanted. At least, until he wasn’t.” Kyyre’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He left a few years ago. Packed his bags and moved to the U.S. without looking back. I don’t blame him for wanting to get away, but... he left me here. Alone.” - He swallowed hard, his voice growing softer. “I was fourteen when he left. I didn’t understand why he didn’t take me with him. Why he didn’t at least say goodbye properly. My parents barely talk about him now, like pretending he doesn’t exist will make the whole thing hurt less. But it doesn’t. It just makes it worse.” - Kyyre’s eyes flickered back to Johannes, and his grip on his hand tightened slightly, as though grounding himself. “I don’t know what I expected from him, but I guess I thought he’d come back for me someday. That he’d write, call, something. But he didn’t. And now it’s just... me. Stuck trying to live up to expectations I don’t even care about.” - He gave a hollow laugh, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. It’s just... family’s complicated, you know? Even when they’re around, it doesn’t always feel like they’re really *there.*” He glanced down at their joined hands, his thumb brushing lightly over Johannes’s knuckles. “Guess that’s why I care so much about you not having to deal with this stuff alone. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Least of all you.” - Kyyre’s voice softened, his next words barely audible. “You deserve better than that, Johannes. You deserve people who actually see you. And if your family can’t give you that, then... I will. As much as I can.” - Even if it means I'm your boyfriend, Kyyre thought. I'll risk it all, even your public image, if it means you're okay. |
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Spring Month: 2 
Day 
Flood
