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Darkseeker
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Johannes let his head tilt back, letting the stillness envelop him. The quiet wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was just there, comforting in its simplicity. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t bracing himself, wasn’t hiding behind the polite masks his mother had insisted he wear since year nine. All those unspoken rules that dictated his life—rules about what he could say, who he could trust, even what parts of himself he was allowed to acknowledge—seemed to vanish in this moment. He’d broken them all just now, hadn’t he? He’d crossed a line he’d been told never to approach, let alone step over. But it didn’t feel wrong. In fact, it felt freeing. And as Kyyre sat across from him, seemingly unbothered, Johannes felt a fragile hope unfurl in his chest. Maybe this moment wouldn’t shatter. Maybe Kyyre wouldn’t look at him differently or pull away. The thought brought a flicker of warmth that was quickly overshadowed by the familiar weight of doubt. What would Norway think if they knew their perfect, polished prince wasn’t what they expected? He could already imagine the headlines, the disappointed faces, the quiet judgment of the very people he was supposed to lead. The little girls who'd dreamed of someday marrying their Prince Charming, only to learn that he wanted his own Prince Charming? He pressed his nails into his palms, the faint sting grounding him as he tried to push the thoughts aside. When Kyyre started speaking again, Johannes couldn’t help but look up, his gaze drawn to the boy’s soft, earnest expression. He listened intently, the boy’s words sinking into his chest and dislodging some of his lingering anxiety. “Mm,” he murmured in agreement, a small smile tugging at his lips. “The list. I don’t understand it either. Half the girls on it—I don’t even know who they are. Last year, when I asked to see it, I could only recognize two names. And even then, I only knew their names, not them.” He hesitated, glancing down at his hands. “And... you can say it. In here, at least. It’s not what I want either. My preferences... they don’t align with that.” His voice softened further, almost trembling. “I don’t know if I only like boys. Maybe one day, I could like a girl.” He let out a bitter laugh, tinged with resignation. “My mother would love that.” As the words left his mouth, his stomach twisted. Had he gone too far? Had he revealed too much? Johannes fought the instinct to pull back, to retreat into the safety of silence. Instead, he let himself look at Kyyre, taking in the boy’s delicate features, the soft curve of his lips, the pale eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and the question he’d been holding back hovered just out of reach: *Does he like me? Could he ever see me as more than a prince—more than a friend?* The thought weighed on him, a crushing mix of hope and fear. He rubbed his eyes, the paper-thin skin beneath his fingers a stark reminder of his fragility. The tension in his chest grew unbearable, and he shifted, moving to sit cross-legged, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his head in his hands. Looking at Kyyre was like staring directly at the sun—dazzling and vital, but too much all at once. It hurt, deep in his stomach, this ache that came from wanting something he wasn’t sure he could ever have. How could someone like him, with all his flaws and all the expectations weighing him down, ever deserve a life that wasn’t dictated by others? A shuddering breath escaped his lips as the anxiety threatened to overwhelm him. But slowly, bit by bit, it ebbed, leaving behind a faint but stubborn resolve. Johannes didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t know if he could ever truly escape the chains of his role, the crushing expectations of being a prince. But maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make space for something real—something for himself. He glanced at Kyyre again, his gaze softening. The question that haunted him lingered: Could this boy, so unlike anyone he’d ever known, fit into the life he was destined for? Or was he destined to lose him, too, because of the world he couldn’t escape? |
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Neutral
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Kyyre’s laugh came before he could stop it—a sharp, sudden sound that rang out in the quiet, slicing through the tension like a knife. It wasn’t mean or mocking, but it was raw, laced with something fragile that teetered between anxiety and disbelief. His hand flew to his mouth almost immediately, his eyes widening as though he could physically pull the sound back in, undoing the moment. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, his voice muffled behind his hand. “I didn’t—” He broke off, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the apology along with the spiraling embarrassment inside him. The laughter bubbled up again, quieter this time, but just as unbidden. He dropped his hand and let out a breath, trying and failing to steady himself. “It’s not you. It’s just… all of this.” He gestured vaguely at the space between them, the quiet bathroom, the weight of the tension that seemed to hang in the air like a tangible presence. His cheeks were hot with shame, the flush creeping all the way to his ears, branding him with his awkwardness. “I mean, God, listen to us. You’re over here spilling your guts about… everything, and I’m just—” He broke off again, his voice faltering like a broken thread. “I don’t know. It’s not funny, but it’s just so… much.” Kyyre’s hands fidgeted in his lap, his fingers twisting and untwisting like he could unravel his nerves if he tried hard enough. He felt the weight of Johannes’s gaze on him, steady and unflinching, and it made him squirm. There was no judgment in those eyes, but that only made it worse. The sheer openness of Johannes’s words had been overwhelming, like staring directly into the sun. It was the kind of honesty Kyyre wasn’t used to—maybe wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t sure if he was laughing because he didn’t know how else to react, or because the idea of a prince baring his soul to him was so absurd it bordered on surreal. “It’s just… God, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost to himself. His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders hunching slightly like he wanted to fold in on himself. “I guess I’m just not used to this. People being… real like this. It’s terrifying.” He let out another laugh, this one softer, tinged with a bitter edge of self-deprecation. “Not that you should stop or anything,” he added quickly, his words rushing out in a messy tumble. “It’s just—it’s a lot. For me. To process.” He risked a glance up at Johannes, his expression a mix of sheepishness and something else—something unspoken, raw and uncertain, hovering just below the surface. “Sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. Kyyre rubbed at his temple, trying to collect himself, though his thoughts seemed to scatter further with each attempt. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, and he finally broke it, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I don’t like girls, either,” he confessed abruptly, the statement hanging in the air like a confession. “They scare me. People scare me.” He sighed, his shoulders sinking further under the weight of his thoughts. “Boys scare me too. I have no idea how to even approach talking to the guy I like. If I tried, I’d probably trip over my words and my tongue like an idiot.” Self-deprecating thoughts crashed over him like a wave, relentless and merciless. That he shouldn’t be doing this—that no one would ever love him, let alone someone like Johannes, someone so grand, so unattainable. And— What? Love him? The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, sudden and jarring. It was slowly starting to register in his head, what his mouth and his brain were trying to tell him, but he didn’t want to believe it. No. No, no, no, that can’t be right. His breath hitched, and he took a deep, trembling inhale, trying to ground himself, to keep from falling apart again. But the truth lingered, stubborn and inescapable, burrowing deeper into the corners of his mind. Kyyre had a crush on Johannes. The thought was too big, too loud. It swallowed everything else, leaving him floundering in the wake of it. He rubbed his face with both hands, his fingers pressing into his temples as if he could push the realization away, make it disappear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, though he wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to—Johannes, or himself. His gaze flicked back up, just for a moment, catching Johannes’s steady eyes before darting away again. There was something warm in that gaze, something that both terrified and comforted him, and it made his chest ache with a confusing mix of emotions. “I don’t know how to do this,” Kyyre admitted quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “Any of this. But I think—” He stopped himself, the words too dangerous to finish. Instead, he let the silence fall between them again, uncertain and heavy, waiting to see if Johannes would break it first.
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Darkseeker
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(sorry, short post on the hail laptop cause i couldnt sleep) Johannes's eyes widened at the soft laughter from the pale boy opposite him, the sound catching him completely off-guard. His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a warmth spreading up his neck that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the strange, unspoken connection brewing between them. "Shit. I'm so sorry," he stammered, his words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "I really shouldn't be dumping all this on you. I don't know... I don’t know why—"
His voice cracked mid-sentence, and he stopped himself abruptly, teeth clicking together as if physically restraining the flood of oversharing threatening to pour out. No sense in making it worse. He couldn't scare Kyyre off. He wouldn’t. What would he even say?
*"Oops, sorry! Didn't mean to unload all that baggage about how my mom hates me and I hate my life. Anyway, wanna kiss?"*
God, he was such an idiot. His fingers fidgeted instinctively, finding the raw, reddened skin of a picked cuticle and pressing against it. He shouldn’t have spoken at all. The silence between them had been nice—comfortable, even. And then he’d gone and ruined it with his constant need to overexplain and apologize, spilling out all the details of his messy, pathetic existence like some soap opera villain begging for sympathy. He peeled at the loose skin absently, his thoughts spiraling. First, he hadn’t even been able to defend his own cousin properly, not without a long-winded speech about how awful Magnus could be—but how he sort of felt sorry for him because of the whole absent-dad situation. And then, of course, he’d veered straight into his sexuality like it was open-mic night at therapy. Poor Kyyre. First, he had to meet the Crown Prince of all people in a *bathroom,* and now he was stuck hearing a sob story no one had asked for. Kyyre was saying something again. Johannes dragged his guilty gaze up from the floor, forcing himself to stop picking at his cuticle. The other boy’s words were soft but steady, and they chipped away at the tension locked in Johannes's shoulders. Girls were scary. Boys were scary. Being out in public was fucking terrifying. Johannes managed a small, almost reluctant smile. It was something he could relate to—though for reasons Kyyre might never fully understand, just like he'd never understand precisely where the pale boy was coming from. He wasn’t bullied, exactly, but he was scrutinized. Watched like some fascinating specimen in a jar. Good for studying or gawking at when bored, but not someone you actually *befriended.* Definitely not someone you loved. He shifted slightly, his knees brushing against the cold tile floor. The absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. The deepest conversation of his life, on the floor of a bathroom, with a stranger he barely knew. And yet, it felt... right. Comfortable in a way Magnus never managed, even during his rare moments of drunken vulnerability. Magnus only pretended not to care because that was easier. Johannes had no such luxury. He cared too much, about everything. The silence stretched again, this time not oppressive but weighty, full of things unsaid. Johannes wanted to speak, to acknowledge how he felt for the first time in ages, but he hesitated. It would seem so contrived if he said anything now. Like he was fishing for pity—or worse, trying to manipulate Kyyre into saying something back. So instead, he said nothing, his gaze lingering on Kyyre's lips. Kyyre's next words spilled out, seeming unpolished and uncertain, like water tumbling over stones in a brook. *"I don’t know how to do this,"* he said softly. *"Any of this. But I think—"* Johannes leaned forward before he realized what he was doing, his hands tangling together in his lap. The vulnerability in Kyyre's voice tugged at something deep inside him, something he couldn’t name but didn’t want to lose. "You think...?" Johannes prompted, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried all the hope and fear he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t know what he wanted Kyyre to say. That they could be friends? That they could be... more? The latter felt impossible, far too much to ask, but the idea of settling for *just friends* stung in ways he didn’t fully understand. What if that wasn’t enough? What if saying it out loud made Kyyre think that was all Johannes wanted? His voice wavered as he offered, almost a whisper, "We could be something?" |
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Neutral
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Kyyre’s breath hitched—no, stopped—at the question, as did his heartbeat. Johannes’s words hung in the air like a fragile thread waiting to snap, stretching taut with unspoken meaning. The silence that followed felt oppressive, heavy with emotions Kyyre wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. Something stirred deep inside him—something raw, hesitant, and terrifyingly hopeful. It clawed at his chest, demanding attention, even as he pressed his trembling hands against his knees, grounding himself against the onslaught of feelings that threatened to unmoor him completely. - For a moment, all he could do was stare down at the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor, his breathing shallow and uneven. Something. The word echoed in his mind, deceptively simple yet impossibly complex. What did Johannes mean? Friends? More than friends? Kyyre’s stomach churned at the thought, his mind spinning in frantic circles as he tried to decipher the layers hidden in Johannes’s voice. Did he even dare to hope for anything beyond the improbable reality of this moment? The moment they were sharing, tucked away in this dimly lit bathroom that smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and old wood? - His eyes flickered upward, desperate yet fearful, and locked onto Johannes’s gaze. The warmth he found there unraveled him. It was too much—too much to hold inside, too much to process. His chest ached with an intensity that scared him, a fragile pressure building inside like a dam ready to burst. He let out a shaky exhale, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his pants as he fought to keep himself together. But even that felt futile; he could feel the cracks forming in his carefully constructed armor, the raw vulnerability beneath it beginning to show. - He looked down again and realized he was shaking even worse than before. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his vision blurred as tears welled up, threatening to spill. His face felt flushed, his skin burning hot as a wave of confusion, fear, and something else—something he couldn’t name—crashed over him. His breathing grew erratic, every inhale jagged, as if his lungs were struggling against the weight of emotions pressing down on him. - This was some kind of sick joke. It had to be. - “I don’t…” His voice cracked, the sound foreign and broken in his own ears. He looked away, his shame burning even hotter than the flush on his cheeks. “I can’t be anything good,” he blurted out, the words spilling forth before he could stop them, a flood of truth he’d kept bottled up for too long. “I’m—I’m a mess, Johannes. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, a-and the other half, I’m just trying not to screw everything up.” - The bitterness of his own admission made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t stop. It felt like if he didn’t say it now, he’d choke on it later. He needed Johannes to understand—needed him to see the truth before he got hurt. “You’re… you’re a prince, for God’s sake. You’re everything people look up to, and I’m—” His voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his self-loathing. “I’m nobody.” - He swallowed roughly, the lump in his throat refusing to go down. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out every rational thought as the walls of the small room seemed to close in around him. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t built for moments like this, wasn’t meant to be in this kind of spotlight. - He looked up again, his vision swimming. The dim lights above seemed suddenly too bright, their glare stabbing into his skull and making him wince. Even the coat he was sitting on felt uncomfortable now, its fabric scratching against his skin like sandpaper. His ears rang sharply, the sound drowning out Johannes’s presence, drowning out everything but the chaos in his own head. He was slipping away from reality again—floating further and further out of reach. And this time, he didn’t think he had the strength to pull himself back. - “I’m not even a good friend,” he mumbled, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Let alone a…” He trailed off, the word lover lingering unspoken on his lips, too heavy, too dangerous to say aloud. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, the thought of such a thing almost laughable. Boyfriend would have been worse. - His hands trembled harder, and he clenched them tightly in his lap, his nails biting into his palms. He hated how exposed he felt, how utterly raw he was in front of Johannes. He hated the way his emotions spilled out, uncontained and unfiltered, leaving him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years. But even as he spoke, even as he tried to convince Johannes—and himself—that he wasn’t worth it, a tiny, stubborn part of him refused to give up. It whispered quietly beneath all the fear and doubt, begging him to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. - And then the bell rang. - The sharp, jarring sound shattered the fragile silence like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls and slicing through Kyyre’s thoughts. He jumped, his entire body jerking as if he’d been electrocuted. His heart raced, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the noise rattled through his brain. The world around him blurred further, tilting dangerously as his head swam. - Without thinking, he reached out, his arms wrapping around the closest thing to him in a desperate bid for stability. - Johannes. |
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Darkseeker
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The words that fell from Kyyre’s lips had Johannes’s stomach twisting in knots, a sick, curling sensation that clawed its way up to his chest. Though Kyyre hadn’t yet said anything definitive, Johannes couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. It felt like the boy opposite him was building up to something that would hurt—something gentle, yes, but a rejection all the same. He could already picture it: Kyyre would put the blame entirely on himself, painting Johannes as someone too good, too untouchable, to ever deserve the complications of real, messy feelings. It would leave him perfect in concept, but isolated in practice. Perfect and broken. Alone. Johannes swallowed hard, his throat tight, and pinched his fingers together, a small, desperate attempt to keep himself grounded. He had to be ready. Ready to accept the sting of those inevitable words, to let them fall over him like cold rain. He could do that. He could be cool, composed, unbothered. *He had to.* Forcing a shaky smile, Johannes pulled his knees up to his chest and focused on slowing his breathing. He willed the nausea to stay put, his gaze flickering to Kyyre’s face as the other boy hesitated. And Johannes thought he knew why. The word lover felt too grand, too heavy for the moment they were in. Too formal, like an ill-fitting garment. But boyfriend—that word carried weight, too. boyfriend wasn’t just a title. It was an invitation, a demand for space in someone’s heart, their mind, their world. And that idea was terrifying. Johannes was so lost in his swirling thoughts that the sharp, grating sound of the bell made him flinch. The school’s bell had always bothered him, its shrillness like hot oil being poured into his ears. His nose wrinkled in irritation, and he opened his mouth to say something, anything, just to fill the silence between them. But the words never made it out. Kyyre moved suddenly, closing the small distance between them, and Johannes’s breath hitched. All at once, his space was invaded by warmth and presence—Kyyre’s arms slipping around his shoulders, his breath soft and shaky against Johannes’s neck. Ordinarily, Johannes would’ve jerked back, startled and indignant at the sudden closeness. He wasn’t used to people touching him, wasn’t comfortable with casual intimacy. But with Kyyre, in this corner ? It felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. At first, Johannes tensed instinctively, his muscles stiff and his heart hammering against his ribcage. But as Kyyre clung to him, trembling like a leaf in a storm, that tension bled away. It was replaced by something warmer, softer—a protective instinct so strong it startled him. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He could still feel the dull chill of the bathroom tiles beneath them, could hear the faint hum of conversation and footsteps outside the door. He knew, logically, that this was hardly the time or place. But the weight of Kyyre against him, the shaky rhythm of his breaths, anchored him in the moment. In the back of his mind, Johannes was vaguely aware that his bodyguard, Maciej, was still stationed outside the bathroom. No one would barge in. That was a privilege of being a prince, he supposed—though, as always, privileges seemed to appear when he least wanted or needed them. Shaking the thought away, he turned his full attention back to Kyyre, who was still trembling in his arms. Johannes shifted slightly, adjusting his position to better steady him. His own arms, hesitant at first, wrapped around Kyyre in a loose but reassuring embrace. “Do you want...” Johannes hesitated, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words. “Do you want me to stay? I don't have to go to my next class.” His whisper was quiet, almost tentative, as though he feared the question itself might be too much. But in that moment, his only concern was Kyyre—keeping him grounded, keeping him safe. Whatever happened next, he would deal with it. For now, he just wanted Kyyre to know he wasn’t going anywhere unless he was told to, that he could be solid. For now, at least. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre froze the moment his arms made contact, his breath catching in his throat. The realization of what he’d just done hit him like a crashing wave. He hadn’t thought—he couldn’t think. His body had moved on its own, driven by a desperate need for something solid to cling to amidst the chaos threatening to drown him. The warmth of Johannes’s presence seeped through the layers of their clothing, grounding and overwhelming all at once. It was intimate in a way that terrified him, but it also felt... safe. Safer than anything had in a long time. And that scared him even more. His trembling grew worse as Johannes’s voice cut through the static in his head—gentle, grounding, and so achingly kind that it nearly undid him. He wanted to pull away, to apologize, to take it all back and put the distance between them again. But he couldn’t. He was frozen, paralyzed by the storm inside him and the way Johannes’s arms had wrapped around him so easily, so instinctively. Why wasn’t he pulling away? Why wasn’t he angry? Johannes had every right to be. Kyyre felt like an intruder in his space, an unwelcome force burdening him with everything he was too weak to carry alone. The words Johannes had whispered lingered in the air: It’s okay. I’ve got you. Kyyre’s chest tightened painfully at the sheer sincerity in them. How could anyone say that to him? How could anyone be so calm, so steady, when faced with the mess he was? He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clutching at the back of Johannes’s shirt like a lifeline. He hated how raw he felt, how exposed. But as the seconds stretched on and Johannes didn’t pull away, some of that rawness softened, just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to breathe again—shallow, uneven breaths, but breaths nonetheless. When Johannes asked if he wanted him to stay, Kyyre hesitated, his mind spinning. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve the offer, the kindness, the stability Johannes was so freely giving him. But the thought of letting go, of facing the world beyond this moment without something to steady him... it was too much. “I...” His voice was barely audible, his throat tight and raw. He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump that had taken up residence there. “Please..” It was the truth, plain and simple. He didn’t know what he needed, what he wanted. All he knew was that he couldn’t let go just yet. Not now. Not when the pieces of himself felt so fragile, so close to shattering. His grip on Johannes tightened, a silent plea he couldn’t bring himself to voice. Please don’t go. Not yet. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes had no idea how to help. It wasn’t a role he was used to playing—being the steady ground, the soothing voice, the quiet wellspring of comfort. He’d always been the one crumbling, the one spiraling, the one clutching for a lifeline in the storm. And now, with Kyyre trembling against him, it struck him how terrifying it was to be on the other side of that equation. His heart ached with a newfound appreciation for everyone who’d ever sat with him through his own spirals—especially Magnus, who, despite his rough edges, had always shown up when it mattered. There was something uniquely agonizing about holding someone you cared for, knowing they were fighting a battle you couldn’t see, let alone win for them. If he could, Johannes would climb into Kyyre’s mind and plant every affirmation he could muster, ensuring that fear and pain never had a foothold there again. But he couldn’t do that. All he could do was hold him. Johannes’s eyes fluttered closed, the soft brush of his lashes against his cheeks grounding him in the moment. He thought back to his own experiences—how he’d hated being looked at during his lowest points, how it felt to be exposed and vulnerable. Maybe Kyyre felt the same. Slowly, Johannes adjusted their position, leaning back until his own shoulders rested against the cold, tiled wall. He wanted to be an anchor, something solid and dependable in this storm, even if his own heart was racing and his breaths were uneven. When he’d asked if Kyyre wanted him to stay, he hadn’t expected much—just a simple yes or no, something clear and definitive. But instead, he’d gotten soft murmurs and the weight of Kyyre’s hands clinging tightly to his shoulders. And that was enough. He’d made sure to leave his arms loose, giving Kyyre the freedom to pull away if he wanted, to make it clear he wouldn’t hold him here against his will. But for now, Kyyre stayed, leaning into him, and Johannes vowed he wouldn’t let go until he was told to. He sat there for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do next. Would it help to talk? Voices often helped him—something to latch onto, something to tether him to reality. But would his voice be enough for Kyyre, who might not even know him well enough to find comfort in it? It was a gamble, but Johannes was willing to take it. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak, his voice low and steady, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles on Kyyre’s back. “It’s okay. I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” His voice softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of the moment. “Not that I’d want to leave anyway. I mean, where would I go? Back to Spanish?” He gave a small, breathy chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “Actually, wait. It isn't even that period anymore. Is it lunch? I—” He faltered, the realization dawning on him. “Oh. If it *is* lunch, are you hungry? Because I don’t really eat at school, but I don’t know if—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if to clear the irrelevant thought. “Never mind that,” he said quickly. “Doesn’t matter. We can stay here as long as you want, I can have Maciej bring food later if you want it. And don’t worry about being marked tardy or absent or whatever. If they give you any trouble, I’ll just... talk to the headmaster or something. They’ll wipe it clean.” He fell quiet after that, letting his words settle. His hands stayed steady on Kyyre’s back, his touch gentle but constant. He could only hope that the simple things that he knew would be enough to help his boy. He hated watching him suffer. He would give anything to never see fear or pain on the boy's face ever again. |
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Neutral
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Johannes’s words continued to fill the silence that had slowly begun to soothe Kyyre—but for some reason, his voice seemed to ease the tension in his body even more. Each sentence carried a weight that was grounding in its simplicity, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t alone, even if it felt impossible to believe. He pressed his forehead more firmly against Johannes’s shoulder, seeking something solid amid the swirling chaos in his mind. But even as Johannes’s steady touch kept him tethered, a new awareness began to creep in—a nagging discomfort he couldn’t ignore. His stomach twisted, a sharp pang breaking through the haze. It wasn’t just the ache of nerves or stress. It was hunger, raw and undeniable. The realization was jarring, and Kyyre’s thoughts scrambled, fumbling for context. When had he last eaten? He sifted through his fragmented memories: the clock on his bedside table glowing in the early hours of the morning, a bowl of soup balanced precariously on his knee. He’d barely managed a few spoonfuls before setting it aside, the weight in his chest too heavy to allow for anything more. And before that? He couldn’t even recall. Shame clawed at him, hot and insidious, as the truth settled like a stone in his gut. He had ignored his needs for so long that his body had resorted to demanding them now, of all times. His stomach grumbled quietly, and he stiffened, mortified by the sound. Did Johannes hear it? Did he notice? The warmth of Johannes’s hands remained steady on his back, offering comfort without question. It should have been enough to keep him there, still and frozen, but something else stirred beneath the surface—a flicker of resolve, faint but growing. He couldn’t stay like this forever. As much as he hated the thought of moving, of breaking the fragile safety of this moment, he knew he had to. With a trembling exhale, Kyyre shifted against Johannes, loosening his grip on the back of his shirt. His fingers hesitated, reluctant to let go, but he forced them to release. It felt like severing a lifeline, and the loss of contact was immediate and jarring. Slowly, he leaned back, his movements awkward and uncertain, his gaze flicking down to avoid meeting Johannes’s eyes. His legs protested as he unfolded himself, the muscles stiff and uncooperative after so much tension. He wavered when he stood, the room tilting slightly, and his hand instinctively reached out to brace against the wall. A shaky breath escaped him, and for a moment, he considered sitting back down, retreating into the comfort he’d just left. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned his focus to Johannes, still seated against the tiled wall, watching him with a quiet patience that made Kyyre’s chest tighten. The words he wanted to say tangled in his throat, his voice refusing to cooperate. How could he explain what he needed when he barely understood it himself? His fingers twitched at his sides, curling into fists before relaxing again. Finally, he took a step closer, his hand trembling as he extended it toward Johannes. It was a small, hesitant gesture, but it felt monumental, like crossing an invisible threshold. His gaze darted away, unable to face the weight of Johannes’s expression. “Let’s… go,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and fragile. The words didn’t feel like enough to encompass everything he was trying to convey—the gratitude, the fear, the raw vulnerability of needing someone—but they were all he had. He stood there, his hand still outstretched, waiting and hoping that Johannes would understand what he couldn’t put into words. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not unbearable, and Kyyre braced himself for whatever came next, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and the faintest glimmer of hope.
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Winter 
Day 
Blizzard
