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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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Winter 
Night 
Blizzard Moon: 
