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Darkseeker
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Johannes’s eyes flickered with worry as he studied Kyyre, trying to make sense of the boy’s quiet determination. Kyyre had said he was ready to face the cafeteria, to eat in his usual spot far from where Johannes and Magnus typically sat. But Johannes couldn’t shake the gnawing unease in his chest. He tugged at the hem of his uniform jacket, another anxious habit that betrayed the tension bubbling beneath his carefully composed demeanor. He didn’t want to go out there, didn’t want to face the watchful eyes and whispered comments. He never ate in public—rarely ate much when he was back at home, preferring the solitude of his room, especially when his parents were absent. Yet, he was afraid that if he didn’t accompany Kyyre, or at least go himself, the boy wouldn’t eat at all. Johannes took a slow breath, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to steady himself. “Yeah, sure,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That would probably be good. The rumors... they wouldn’t be kind.” The words came out heavier than he intended, laced with the conflict that was tearing him apart. He didn’t want to leave Kyyre alone, not after everything that had just happened, but he also couldn’t linger forever. Magnus would be waiting at their usual table, confused and maybe even hurt by his absence. And the others—his so-called peers—would notice, not because they cared about him, but because they cared about his title. Johannes’s shoulders tensed as he struggled against the weight of his obligations, against the ache in his chest that begged him to stay, begged him to see how far Kyyre would let this moment go. He hesitated for a moment longer, then smiled—small, hesitant, shy—and stepped forward, pulling the pale boy into a gentle embrace. It wasn’t a long hug, just enough for Johannes to feel the warmth of Kyyre’s presence and remind himself that this connection, however fleeting, was real. When he stepped back, his cheeks were dusted pink, and he slowly waved, fingers tumbling down one after the other as though the gesture might mask the vulnerability of the moment. “See you soon,” he murmured, the words almost lost in the soft hum of his voice. Then, before he could talk himself into staying longer, he turned and slipped out of the bathroom. Maciej was waiting just outside, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with quiet understanding. Johannes offered him a guilty smile, attempting to show him that everything was fine, even if it wasn’t. There was also the lingering worry that even though Maciej's first duty was to him specifically, it was also to the Crown. Which might mean his bathroom escapades would be passed along to his mother, and they would have to have a long talk about civil duty again. As he made his way toward the cafeteria, Johannes could still feel the ghost of Kyyre’s presence in his arms. The warmth lingered, a small comfort against the storm of emotions swirling inside him. Whatever came next, he decided, he would hold on to that feeling for as long as he could, that knowledge that maybe there would be something in the future for them. Mangus was a pain as always when he arrived, sitting down at the table still feeling flustered and a little giggly. But he was easy to tune out, and Johannes found that his eyes were consistently drawn back to the table where Kyyre normally sat, and let his thoughts linger fondly on the boy who he'd finally gotten closer to. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre stood frozen in the bathroom, the faint echo of Johannes’s words and the warmth of his embrace lingering in the air like a fading melody. His heart hammered in his chest, refusing to slow even as the silence around him deepened. - He had, essentially, cuddled Johannes. And Johannes had comforted him—comforted him. And then hugged him right after. Kyyre’s hands flew up to cover his face, heat rising to his cheeks as the realization sunk in fully. His (what he now knew as) crush, the untouchable boy that seemed so far out of reach, had done this. - “Oh my God,” Kyyre muttered to himself, pacing a few steps before stopping abruptly. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his nerves making his movements erratic. “Oh my God, oh my God.” He couldn’t decide whether he was thrilled, embarrassed, or just plain overwhelmed. - The pressure of the moment seemed to close in, and he slumped back against the wall, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. “What do I even do with this?” he whispered, glancing toward the door Johannes had disappeared through. - For a few minutes, he just stood there, staring at the tiles, willing his heart to stop racing. He focused on his breathing—shaky and uneven at first, but slowly settling into something more manageable. His eyes drifted down to the floor, where his father’s coat and his phone lay in a crumpled heap. - The coat was old and worn, but it had always brought him a small sense of comfort. He crouched down, smoothing the fabric with care, and slung it over his arm. His phone, cracked in one corner but still functional, went into his pocket with a faint sigh. - “You have to go out there,” he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just hide in here forever.” - Even so, his feet dragged as he left the bathroom, stepping out into the bustling hallway that led to the cafeteria. The hum of voices grew louder as he neared, and the familiar weight of his anxiety returned, pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. - When he entered the cafeteria, he spotted Erik almost immediately, seated at their usual spot near the edge of the room. Erik was gesturing wildly, his voice carrying over the din as he animatedly recounted some dramatic tale about a fight between two of their classmates. - Kyyre sank into the seat across from him, his movements automatic as Erik barely acknowledged his arrival before diving back into his story. - “So then she’s like, ‘Oh, you think you’re better than me?’ And he just—get this—he just walks away! I mean, can you believe that? Who even does that?” Erik’s hands flailed as he leaned forward, his expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. - Kyyre nodded absently, his gaze drifting past Erik to the far side of the room. He couldn’t help but search for Johannes, wondering if he was already seated, if their earlier moment was still lingering in his thoughts too. - Erik’s voice became background noise, a steady hum that Kyyre only half-registered. His mind was still in the bathroom, replaying every detail, every second of Johannes’s warmth. He wanted to commit it to memory, to hold onto it like a secret treasure no one else could touch. - “Ky, are you even listening?” Erik’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and impatient. - “Uh, yeah,” Kyyre lied, forcing a faint smile as he turned his attention back to his friend. “Something about walking away?” - Erik huffed, clearly annoyed, but he launched back into his story without missing a beat. Kyyre nodded along, but his thoughts strayed once again, back to the boy who had made his heart race like nothing else. |
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Darkseeker
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Focusing on lunch proved far more difficult than Johannes had anticipated. His mind was elsewhere—on a pale boy with sharp cheekbones and a hesitant smile, a boy who might just like him back. Kyyre. The name alone stirred something warm and insistent in his chest. All Johannes wanted was to cross the room, slide into the seat beside him, and let everyone see what he already beginning to learn: that Kyyre was extraordinary, and that Johannes craved his presence. He wanted to sit close enough to brush their knees together under the table, to share the jokes that Magnus told him, and to make the whole cafeteria, all those horrible boys, understand that Kyyre was worth noticing. But reality was less kind than his daydreams. If he so much as approached Kyyre’s table, it would spark a wildfire of speculation. People would question why their prince had chosen to associate with someone so seemingly ordinary. Kyyre wasn’t a politician’s son or a minor royal from the extended Royal Family; he wasn’t anyone that fit the rigid, glittering world Johannes so unwillingly inhabited. Johannes knew all too well how cruel the attention could be, how relentless the whispers would become, and how the news sources would hold into it like a beacon. Even knowing this, the frustration burned. The rules of his life—the expectations, the scrutiny, the carefully polished image—felt suffocating. Why couldn’t he, for once, just *be*? He always played by their rules, and drew inside their lines. Why couldn’t he adore someone openly, without it becoming a whole ordeal? The unfairness of it all made his teeth clench, his appetite wane, and his mood darken. Magnus, seated to his right, continued to talk, oblivious to Johannes’s distraction. His voice was animated, recounting some story about what Hasse had missed when he'd ran ahead in PE, but the words barely registered. Johannes nodded when he thought it was appropriate and hummed in vague agreement, but his attention repeatedly drifted to the far side of the cafeteria. Kyyre had entered a few minutes after him, and Johannes couldn’t help but follow the boy with his eyes. His features softened at the sight. Kyyre looked uncomfortable, his slight frame rigid amidst the chaos of the lunchroom, his shoulders drawn inward as though he wished he could disappear. Despite this, he held himself with a quiet kind of dignity that made Johannes’s chest ache. The thought that Kyyre might feel as out of place as Johannes often did made the prince’s stomach twist. The cafeteria was a loud, boisterous space filled with cliques and chatter, a mix of expectations where every movement was noticed and dissected. Yet Kyyre was here anyways, and Hasse couldn't have been more proud of his boy. Even though he barely knew Kyyre, the other boy had a way of consuming his thoughts. The intensity of it was constantly catching him off guard. It had been only a few days, yet Johannes felt like Kyyre had already slipped under his skin, filling spaces he hadn’t realized were empty. His pulse quickened, and a quiet desire built in his chest—a desire to shield Kyyre from the world, and all their cruel words and ugly stares. The noise of the lunchroom faded into the background as Johannes absentmindedly plucked grapes from Magnus’s tray, popping them into his mouth without thinking. His friend shot him an exasperated look but said nothing, too used to Johannes’s silence during lunch to call him out on it. Physically, Johannes might have been there, seated at his usual table surrounded by boys who came and went, orbiting him like some distant sun, as if drawn to him by gravity. But mentally, he was miles away—in a daydream where Kyyre wasn’t talked down to, where Johannes wasn’t tethered by anxiety and the relentless expectations of royalty. In that far-off dream, Johannes could hold Kyyre’s hand without hesitation, brush a stray lock of hair from his face, and let him know just how much he cared. Reality snapped back when Magnus nudged his arm. “You good, Hasse?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. Johannes blinked, realizing he had been staring at Kyyre again. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft. “Just...thinking.” Magnus smirked, clearly unconvinced. “About calculus or someone special?” The heat that rushed to Johannes’s cheeks made him want to curl into a ball and die. He quickly averted his gaze, shoving his hands into his lap. “Shut up,” he muttered, terrified. He was not going to let Magnus ruin this for him, was not going to let him weasel the affection away. And he wasn't going to lie about some girl like last time. He would simply just keep it to himself. As the lunch period came to a close, Johannes tried to ground himself, forcing his attention back to Magnus and the other boys at the table. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept circling back to Kyyre, the boy who had, in the span of a few days, made everything and everyone else seem so much less important.. |
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Kyyre’s mind wandered, even as Erik’s voice carried on, his words blending into the cacophony of the cafeteria. He caught himself scanning the room again, his eyes darting from one table to the next, searching. He didn’t want to be obvious, but his pulse quickened at the thought of catching a glimpse of Johannes. - And then, he saw him. Johannes was seated at a table next to Magnus—of course—, who was yapping like anything he said was hilarious. Ky wanted to smack him. He wanted to smack both of them—Johannes, for ever even thinking that they could work out, and making his heart flutter like this, and Magnus, for being such a prick. - Then he noticed his eyes drifting, locking onto him. - Kyyre’s breath caught, and he quickly dropped his gaze to his hands, his heart threatening to betray him with its relentless pounding. - “Ky, seriously,” Erik said, snapping his fingers in front of Kyyre’s face. “What’s up with you today? You’re so spaced out.” - Kyyre blinked, startled, and gave Erik an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, just... distracted.” - “By what?” Erik leaned in, his eyebrows raised. - “Nothing,” Kyyre said quickly, but the heat creeping up his neck told a different story. - Erik squinted at him suspiciously before glancing around the room, following where he had seen Kyyre's gaze go. “Wait a second...” His gaze landed on Magnus, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh my God, is this about Magnus?” - "No." - "Johannes!" - “What? No!” Kyyre’s denial was too loud, too quick, and Erik’s grin only widened. He knew he was spot on. - “It is about Johannes!” Erik said, his voice full of glee. “Oh, this is gold. What happened? Did you two talk? Did he—wait, did he hug you or something?” - Kyyre’s face burned as he sank lower in his seat. “Shut up,” he muttered, glaring at Erik. - “He did!” Erik practically shouted, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. Kyyre shot him a panicked look, but Erik didn’t seem to care. “This is huge. Do you know what this means?” - “It means you’re going to stop talking about it,” Kyyre hissed, his eyes darting toward Johannes’s table to make sure he hadn’t overheard. - But Erik was relentless. “It means you’ve got a chance! I knew it—you’re totally his type.” - Kyyre groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please, Erik. Can you not? He's not even gay. I'm not even gay,” he added, trying to help restore at least a little bit of both of their dignities. - Erik ignored this. "You can’t just let this go. You have to do something about it.” - Kyyre peeked through his fingers, his voice small. “He's not gay." - “Like talk to him again. Flirt a little. See if he’s into you.” - The mere thought made Kyyre’s stomach flip. “No. You know why? Because he's not gay." - Erik rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be smooth. Just be yourself. Trust me, he’s already interested.” - Kyyre sighed and fell silent, his gaze drifting back to Johannes. Erik wasn't going to listen to him. No one ever did. It was better just to not speak at all. - “Wanna bet?” Erik said, his tone challenging. - Kyyre sighed, his nerves twisting into knots. Maybe Erik was right. Maybe he couldn’t just let this go. But the idea of putting himself out there, even knowing that he wouldn't be rejected for sure.. it terrified him. Ky couldn't hold out his heart like that. It had been broken too many times by people he wasn't even dating to do that. - Still, as he watched Johannes, their eyes meeting, his heart gave a hopeful thud. Maybe—just maybe—it was worth the risk. - The bell spooked him again, and he felt the strong urge to grab onto Erik's arm, but he did not. Instead, he white-knuckled the table until the bell was over, stood up abruptly, and then crashed back down onto his knees, lightheaded. - Shit. - He'd been so distracted by Johannes that he hadn't eaten. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes had been watching Kyyre with growing concern. The pale boy had stood up so abruptly when the bell rang, looking frazzled and more unwell than usual. His sharp movements, and the startled way his eyes darted around the cafeteria, had Hasse on edge. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table as his body tensed, ready to stand up at the first sign that something was wrong. What had happened? Did someone at Kyyre’s table say something cruel? Had his friend beside him crossed some invisible line between teasing and outright mockery? The thought made Johannes’s stomach twist. He hated that he hadn’t pushed Magnus to sit closer to Kyyre. If they had, he could have overheard if something had been said, been a reassuring presence, anything that would make Kyyre more comfortable at the stupid school. He let his eyes drift closed for a brief moment, as though preparing himself, but when he opened them again, his heart sank. Kyyre was no longer standing but slumped on the floor, his delicate features more haggard than before. Alarm flared in Johannes’s chest. The boy looked so small, so fragile, and the lack of a plate in front of him confirmed the worst. Kyyre still hadn’t eaten. Johannes’s lips parted in silent dismay as he shot to his feet, ignoring the sharp, questioning look from Magnus. His cousin called his name, but he didn’t respond, didn’t even glance back. Whatever Magnus had to say could wait, it always could. Right now, Kyyre needed someone, needed something, and Johannes would never put his needs on the back burner. He pushed through the tide of students leaving the cafeteria, weaving between groups with uncharacteristically public impatience. For once, the weight of his title didn’t stop him from bumping into a few people on his way. All he cared about was reaching Kyyre, and not letting anyone get there first. Finally, he stood beside the pale boy’s table. Without hesitation, Johannes crouched down to Kyyre’s level, his long legs folding awkwardly beneath him as concern etched itself deep into his features. He scanned Kyyre’s face, searching for any signs of pain or distress. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though the tension in his chest made it hard to breathe.
He wanted confirmation that nothing was broken, or too painfully bruised before he moved on to the more pressing matter of getting food to the boy beside him. “You didn’t eat,” Johannes said softly, his voice dipping with a quiet frustration that wasn’t directed at Kyyre but at the world for letting this happen. His gaze flicked to the emptying cafeteria, noting the trays being cleared and the dwindling supply of food. “And now,” he continued, a slight note of distress creeping into his voice, “they’ve stopped serving. What do you want? I’ll have Maciej bring something here. You need to eat, and I won’t let this slide.” His tone was firm but gentle, carrying the weight of someone who was used to getting his way but rarely for selfish reasons. For Johannes, ensuring Kyyre’s well-being wasn’t just an option—it was something he *wanted* to do. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Kyyre’s wrist, as though the small contact might reassure the boy. “Please,” he said, his voice softening. “Let me take care of this. It doesn’t matter what it is—soup, sandwich, a fucking buffet. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” Johannes’s eyes searched Kyyre’s, silently pleading with him to accept the help. He didn’t care if it meant inconveniencing someone or breaking a dozen unspoken social rules. All he cared about was that this boy—the one who had managed to make him care so much, that had snuck into his life, wouldn’t go another hour without something that he needed. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre shivered at the unexpected touch of Johannes’s fingers on his wrist, a warmth he wasn’t prepared for making his already lightheaded state even harder to navigate. His eyes darted up to meet Johannes’s for a fleeting moment before dropping away again, the concern etched in the other boy’s features far too overwhelming. Johannes’s touch was gentle but insistent, a quiet inquiry without words, and Kyyre’s chest tightened at the realization that he was being seen—really seen. Before Kyyre could muster a response, Erik was suddenly at his side, all boisterous confidence and effortless charm. With an ease that bordered on playful but was rooted in genuine care, Erik hoisted Kyyre to his feet, his arm slung around the smaller boy like a lifeline. “He’ll be alright, your majesty,” Erik said with a wide grin, his tone teasing as he addressed Johannes. There was a twinkle of mischief in Erik’s eye, but beneath it lay a steady undercurrent of protectiveness. Kyyre felt a flash of mortification flare hot in his chest, the teasing striking a nerve he hadn’t realized was so raw. “Stop it,” he muttered under his breath, shoving Erik’s arm off him with what little strength he could muster. The effort left him swaying slightly, but he steadied himself against the table, refusing to lean on anyone else. The last thing he wanted was to appear weaker than he already felt. “I’m fine,” Kyyre said quickly, though his voice lacked the conviction to back up the claim. He avoided both Erik’s amused gaze and Johannes’s more somber one, instead focusing on the worn edge of the table beneath his fingers. “I just… I need to get to class.” The words came out in a rush, a flimsy excuse to escape the weight of their attention. Erik frowned but said nothing, sensing the resistance in Kyyre’s tone. His usual easy demeanor shifted into something quieter, more thoughtful. Erik knew better than to push too hard, but the way his eyes lingered on Kyyre’s pale face betrayed his concern. “You should eat something first,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I’ll eat later,” Kyyre replied, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. He offered Johannes a weak, sheepish smile, the kind meant to reassure but that fell short. The truth was, his stomach churned at the thought of food, and his head felt like it was filled with static. But he couldn’t let that show. Not now. Not in front of them. Johannes’s gaze felt steady and searching, as if he could unravel all the half-truths and deflections with a single look. Kyyre wrapped his dad’s oversized coat closer around himself, the heavy fabric a small comfort against the cold he felt creeping into his bones. The gesture made him feel impossibly small, especially under Johannes’s unwavering attention. “Really, don’t worry about it,” Kyyre said, his voice firmer now but still lacking the strength he wished it carried. “I’m okay.” The words felt hollow, even to him. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Johannes’s eyes again, not when they held so much—concern, frustration, maybe even something softer that Kyyre couldn’t quite name. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else, and he took a small step toward the door, forcing his legs to move despite their reluctance. The world felt unsteady beneath him, but he couldn’t afford to falter. Not here. Not now. “Thank you, though,” he added, his voice just above a whisper. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced nervously around the room before looking back at Johannes. “You’re… not worried about anyone seeing you?” |
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Darkseeker
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Hurt flashed across Johannes's face like a shadow passing over the sun. He hadn’t expected Kyyre to readily accept his offer to arrange food—he’d braced himself for resistance—but the repeated, firm refusals still stung. It wasn’t just that Kyyre had said no; it was the underlying message Johannes heard echoed in his words: *I don't want your help.* For someone who had been raised to believe that action and service were the clearest expressions of care, Johannes felt suddenly, profoundly, utterly useless. He sat back on his heels, lingering for a moment in the awkward crouch he’d forced himself into in his rush to be at Kyyre’s side. The ache in his chest was sharp, gnawing at the edges of his composure, but he fought it back with a slow, steady breath. Kyyre wasn’t rejecting him out of malice—he reminded himself of that. No one wants to be caught in a vulnerable position. Still, the denial carried the weight of something that Johannes didn't understand, and that hurt him more than he was willing to admit. Standing, he unfolded from his awkward position with measured care, taking much more time than necessary, hoping to mask the sting he felt. He looked down at Kyyre, trying to meet the boy’s eyes, but he could barely keep his lips from trembling. “Of course,” Johannes said finally, his voice quiet. “I just... you'll eat. Sorry.” His lips twisted into a faint, apologetic smile. “I know that you will. Sorry.” He raked a hand through his now messy hair, his unease quite evident in the tense set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers were itching to pull at his cuticles again. His attention briefly shifted to Kyyre’s friend—a boy Johannes didn’t recognize. He searched the stranger’s face for a clue, a sign, anything that might offer reassurance. He wished Magnus were here, if only for his ability to casually rattle off names and gossip about half the student body. But then again, Johannes reminded himself, Magnus wouldn’t have helped. His cousin hadn’t been kind to Kyyre. Keeping him at a distance was probably for the best. Swallowing the urge to plead, Johannes forced himself to keep from shoot desperate, silent looks, begging the other boy with his eyes to make Kyyre eat. Make him take better care of himself. He stepped back, his movements deliberate, as though retreating would somehow ease the tension. “As long as you’re sure,” he repeated, his tone firm but tinged with resignation. “But you'll *have* to eat. Please. When you get home?” And then Kyyre spoke. *“You’re… not worried about anyone seeing you?”* The question hit Johannes like a bucket of cold water. His brows lifted, his mind scrambling to process what Kyyre had just said. Did he truly think Johannes would care about appearances right now? “Hell, no,” Johannes replied, the words escaping more forcefully than he intended. He winced and softened his tone, though the intensity in his eyes remained. “No, of course not. God, Kyyre, you almost pass out in the cafeteria, and you think I’m worried about *me*? Love, I’m worried about *you*. You’re not eating. You look like a victorian orphan, you look like you can barely keep standing!” The last words came out rough, his voice catching slightly under the weight of his unbidden concern. His hands hovered for a moment, as though he wanted to reach for Kyyre but thought better of it. “The only thing I’m worried about,” Johannes said, his tone fierce but steady, “is your health and the fact that you were so hungry, and then didn't eat?. Nothing else. Who could possibly get in the way of that? Magnus? His groupies?” |
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Neutral
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Erik studied Johannes for a moment, his sharp eyes catching the subtle tension in the other boy’s posture. He didn’t miss the way Johannes’s gaze flickered over him, nor the subtle way his jaw clenched after he spoke. It was a look Erik knew all too well—a mixture of frustration, concern, and something deeper that was harder to name. He couldn’t help but feel a small, private stir of curiosity. What was going on in Johannes’s mind? Why was he so… urgent about Kyyre? And, most importantly, why did he look at Erik like he needed something? - As Johannes’s words hung in the air, Kyyre’s body seemed to go rigid. His breath hitched in his throat, and his wide eyes, still glassy from the weight of their conversation, snapped down to the table. Johannes’s voice had been unexpectedly harsh, the force of his concern coming through in a way that made Kyyre flinch, as if the words were a slap he hadn’t seen coming. A lump formed in his throat, the realization that Johannes had been right—the truth in his words slamming into him like a wave. - You’re not eating. You look like a Victorian orphan, you can barely keep standing… - The harshness of it stung, a cold, aching sensation blooming across Kyyre’s chest. It wasn’t just the tone; it was the fact that Johannes was right. His stomach twisted at the thought of how thin he must look—how weak. His hand clutched the edge of the table so tightly his fingers started to tingle, his chest tightening as the sudden emotion of it all threatened to overwhelm him. His skin felt too tight, his body a hollow shell. He had been so busy trying to ignore it, but now, with Johannes’s words echoing in his ears, it was undeniable. - A knot formed in his throat as his eyes stung, and Kyyre blinked rapidly, trying to push the panic back. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—cry. Not now. Not in front of them. His stomach churned at the thought of food, but now the thought of just how frail he must look… It made everything feel worse. His breathing quickened, and he had to force himself to take a steadying breath, trying to focus on anything other than the way his own body felt so small under Johannes’s scrutiny. - Kyyre shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the cafeteria, his pulse quickening as he became aware of the time. I’m probably late for class, he thought, anxiety gnawing at his insides. He wanted to stay—wanted to sit with Johannes, maybe even eat something, feel cared for—but he could already hear his parents’ voices in his head, the reprimands, the disappointment. They would be furious if he missed another class. He could already picture his mom’s stern face, the way his dad would worry about his grades. You can't afford to fall behind, they'd say. - “Johannes,” Kyyre whispered, his voice barely a breath as he tried to meet the other boy’s eyes but found it hard to focus. He could feel the weight of everything pressing in on him, the heavy expectation to be strong, to hold it together, to do everything right. It was suffocating. - But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave. I just want to stay here, for a little while longer, he thought, his gaze flickering back to Johannes. There was something there, in the other boy’s eyes, something Kyyre couldn’t quite read but that felt like a lifeline, an invitation to be seen. He wanted to reach out, wanted to let himself be cared for, but the panic, the fear of disappointing everyone, gripped him tighter than ever. - “I have to go,” Kyyre said, his voice shaking slightly as he pushed himself to walk forward. The world around him wavered for a moment, his legs unsteady, but he caught himself, steeling his resolve. “I... I can’t miss any more classes.” His words sounded empty, even to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay. Not like this. - He hesitated at the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Something inside him screamed to stay, to let Johannes say something else, to let him take care of him, but instead, he forced a small, strained smile. “I’ll… I’ll eat later,” he said, even though he didn’t believe it. It was just something to say, something to get out of this moment. He needs me to be okay, Kyyre thought, and for a brief, heartbreaking moment, he wished he could be. - As Kyyre made to leave, Erik moved quickly, stepping into his path with an ease that belied the concern in his eyes. He held up a hand, stopping Kyyre from going any further. “Hey,” Erik said softly, but there was a firmness beneath his tone that made Kyyre freeze, uncertainty creeping back into his chest. - “Where do you think you’re going?” Erik’s voice was low, almost gentle, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of protectiveness in it. He didn’t wait for an answer, instead reaching out and placing a hand on Kyyre’s arm, giving him a reassuring but steady pull back toward the table. - Kyyre stumbled slightly, his breath quickening again as his pulse raced. “I can’t… I really have to—” He stopped himself, his voice faltering under the pressure of Erik’s quiet insistence. - Erik wasn’t letting go. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was unyielding, and Kyyre found himself being guided back to the seat without the strength to protest. “You don’t need to go anywhere right now,” Erik said, his words steady but calm. “You don’t have to do this alone. Sit down. Just… stay.” - Kyyre’s mind raced, the conflict building within him as he glanced at Johannes. He wanted to go, wanted to leave before anyone noticed just how badly he was falling apart. But Erik was right there, keeping him anchored, preventing him from slipping away. He didn’t have the energy to fight it. - For a moment, the weight of his own thoughts pressed against him like a wall, but something about Erik’s steady presence—his quiet insistence—seemed to settle the storm inside him, just enough to keep him from running. - With a soft sigh, Kyyre let himself be pulled back down into the seat, his eyes flitting around the cafeteria as though seeking an escape. But there was nowhere to go. Not now. - “I’m sorry,” Kyyre muttered again, his voice small as he looked down at the table. The words felt like a token—empty, but necessary to fill the silence. He still couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Johannes’s gaze, though the weight of his concern felt like a constant pressure on him. - Erik didn’t press him further, and watched for just a moment longer; enough to glance at Johannes, his expression trusting, and then slipped out of the cafeteria to his next class, leaving them alone. Leaving Kyyre's mind spinning about why everyone was so caring of him all of the sudden. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes was overwhelmed, more than he’d expected to be. The chain of events that had unfolded today—starting with simple, easy interactions like Spanish class and slowly escalating into something far more complicated—was beginning to take its toll on him. He hadn’t anticipated being thrust into this kind of emotional weight, not in his position, not when he’d only just begun to navigate his own feelings, let alone the complicated world Kyyre was living in. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Johannes had never imagined himself in the role of the *steady one*, the one who knew what to do and how to help. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to help himself, let alone Kyyre, let alone anyone else. His head hung low, eyes on the table, as he fought to steady his breathing, feeling an almost suffocating mix of exhaustion and frustration. Kyyre’s friend had disappeared, leaving him to shoulder this weight alone, and for a moment, Johannes felt paralyzed. He couldn’t quite grasp why Kyyre’s friend had left, nor what Kyyre needed from him, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. Had he made some kind of mistake? Was he being too pushy, or not enough? The feelings swirled together like a storm he couldn’t outrun, but he had to push through it. He wasn’t going to abandon Kyyre, not now. Not ever, if he could help it. He glanced at Kyyre again, trying his best to not project his exhaustion, or his growing confusion and silent hurt with the situation. He knew that Kyyre had been through enough, and the last thing he wanted to do was add to that by making him feel like a burden. “Okay,” Johannes started, his voice steady but soft, trying to find his footing. “So...” He trailed off, looking at Kyyre for some sign that he was hearing him, that he was doing okay. “Food-wise. Does anything sound good to you?” He paused, still unsure, but trying to push through the uncertainty. “Or do you want to just sit for a bit? We could go somewhere else if you’re not feeling the cafeteria. Maciej could pull the Range Rover up.” His nose scrunched slightly as he added, “I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to stay here. It’s not exactly the most pleasant place to be. The lovely scent of sweat and slimy green beans, or whatever they served today” A small, quiet laugh escaped him, though it lacked its usual cheer. “But if you don’t want to move right now, we don’t have to,” he added quickly. His mind raced, trying to think of anything that would make Kyyre feel better. Anything at all. He dugs his nails in his palm, forcing himself to stop rambling, as he came to the conclusion that he was probably making things worse. He really needed to think before speaking, dammit. Johannes gave Kyyre a weak smile, trying his best to be a calming presence. “Sorry,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I know I’m bombarding you with questions. I don’t mean to overwhelm you. Just...want to help figure it all out.” His phone buzzed again, and he knew it was either his mother or Magnus, but the last thing he wanted right now was to engage with anyone else. Kyyre was the priority. His mother had called him out on skipping classes before, and Magnus could wait for his gum or his notes. He wouldn’t let himself be distracted. Not now. Johannes leaned forward a little, giving Kyyre space, but remaining close. “Just know... I’m here, okay? Whatever you need. Whenever you need it. I promise I'm not always a mess," he mumbled, cheeks pink. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre looked down at the table, Johannes’s words filtering through the storm in his head. The weight in his chest hadn’t lessened, but the sharp edges of his panic seemed to soften ever so slightly in the presence of Johannes’s quiet determination; his effort to stay steady for him didn’t go unnoticed. It was almost grounding, like an anchor tethering him to the moment, keeping him from drifting too far into the sea of his own thoughts. - He swallowed hard, still unable to meet Johannes’s gaze for more than a fleeting second. His fingers curled against the edge of the table, the tingling sensation in his hands a stark reminder of how tightly he’d been gripping it. - Food. Johannes had asked about food. The thought twisted his stomach uncomfortably. He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t just about not wanting to eat—it was about not knowing if he could. The knot in his throat felt impossible to swallow around, and the idea of trying to force anything down made him feel even worse. But saying that aloud felt like too much. Too raw. - “I…” Kyyre started, his voice hoarse and fragile. He cleared his throat, gripping the table tighter as if it might give him the strength he needed to keep going. “I don’t… I’m not really hungry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. He was starving, in ways he couldn’t begin to articulate, but food wouldn’t fix it. At least, not right now. - Kyyre shifted in his seat, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve as Johannes’s words hung in the air. He could feel the expectation, the invitation in Johannes’s suggestion to leave the cafeteria, to go somewhere else—anywhere else. The idea was tempting, so much so that his stomach twisted with guilt at even considering it. His parents’ stern voices echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the expectations he carried. But Johannes’s presence, his insistence that Kyyre didn’t have to shoulder everything alone, was enough to make him consider breaking the rules, even if just for a moment. - “I…” Kyyre started, hesitating as he tried to find the right words. He bit his lip, his fingers still clutching the table as though it might keep him grounded. “I’d love to get out of here,” he admitted quietly, his voice so soft it was almost lost beneath the cafeteria noise. “This place…” He glanced around, the faintest hint of a grimace crossing his face. “It reeks like… well, like this.” He gestured vaguely to the room, the smell of sweat and undercooked food practically palpable. - His gaze flickered back to Johannes, catching the other boy’s steady eyes for the briefest moment before he looked away again. “But…” Kyyre sighed, the weight of his parents’ disapproval settling heavily on his chest. “My parents would kill me if they found out I left school. They’re already on me about… everything.” He trailed off, his voice faltering as the unspoken pressure hung between them. “They’d lose it if I missed a class.” - He paused, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as his thoughts warred with each other. Finally, he glanced at Johannes again, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “But… if you’re really okay with being in public, with people, I wouldn’t mind going somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like teenagers and regret.” - The faint attempt at humor surprised even him, and he felt his cheeks warm slightly as he glanced down again, bracing himself for whatever Johannes might say next. He'd probably laugh at him, which would be really awkward. Everything was already much too awkward. - His eyes flickered toward Johannes, catching the soft flush in his cheeks, the vulnerability in his expression as he apologized for rambling. It was so unlike the Johannes he’d come to know in passing—the one who always seemed so sure of himself, so put-together. Seeing this side of him made Kyyre’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite define. It was both comforting and unsettling, to know that Johannes was trying so hard to be there for him, even when he was clearly struggling too. - “You’re not a mess,” Kyyre murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They sounded foreign, as though someone else had spoken them, but once they were out, he realized he meant them. “You’re…” He hesitated, his throat tightening again. “You’re just trying. That’s… that’s more than I know how to do right now.” - It felt like a confession, one that left him feeling even smaller, but he couldn’t take it back. All he could do was sit there, hoping Johannes wouldn’t look at him differently for it. |
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Winter 
Night 
Blizzard Moon: 
