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Tea x LackadaisyDecember 30, 2024 09:19 PM


Lackadaisy

Neutral
 
Posts: 180
#3078618
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This is a private roleplay. Please do not post if you are not listed above, but feel free to follow along.
~
Two men - one a highly esteemed prince of Scandinavia, the other a little known, working class subject. Two people whose stories would not ever be expected to collide come together in a high school.
-
What happens when the prince - a man of noble blood, and expected to marry a princess of noble blood - falls in love with a quiet, simpleton working boy?
-
And most of all - what will the people think?
-

Edited at December 31, 2024 11:18 PM by Lackadaisy
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 30, 2024 11:00 PM


Lackadaisy

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Posts: 180
#3078628
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Kyyre Rüdiger Aakre

"Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a world where everyone speaks a language I can’t quite understand, but I’m still trying—because maybe, if I listen hard enough, I’ll find the words that make sense for me."
~
Nicknames
-
Ky, Rü, 'Snowflake' [OPEN]
-
Name Pronunciation
-
KIYE-ruh , ROO-de-gair , AH-kreh
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Name Meaning
-
Kyyre ; Norse, "Sacred"
Rüdiger ; Norse, "Renowned Spear"
Aakre ; Norse, "Field", "Meadow"
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Gender
-
Cisgender Male
-
Pronouns
-
He/Him (But he probably won't be offended or even correct you)
-
Sexuality
-
Closeted Gay Male
-
Age
-
18
-
Moral Alignment
-
Neutral Good
-
Personality
-
is an intricate blend of contradictions, shaped by his neurodiversity, anxieties, and life experiences. At his core, Kyyre is a deeply empathetic soul who cares profoundly for those around him. He has a rare ability to sense subtle shifts in others' emotions, which allows him to comfort and support his friends and family even when he struggles to articulate his own feelings. Despite this, his interactions with people are often fraught with self-doubt. He overanalyzes his words and actions to the point of paralysis, fearing he may come across as awkward or unworthy of attention. This leaves him hesitant to initiate conversations, though he secretly longs for deeper connections.
Kyyre is a daydreamer, spending much of his time lost in thought. His imagination is vivid and boundless, often manifesting in intricate drawings or creative writing. He is especially drawn to fantastical worlds, which provide him with an escape from the pressures of reality. His love for Norse mythology is not just an interest but a way of connecting to his heritage and finding meaning in archetypal stories of struggle and transformation. Loki, in particular, is a figure he relates to—misunderstood yet complex and multifaceted.
While Kyyre is gentle and accommodating, he can be prone to emotional outbursts when overwhelmed. His mood swings, often triggered by sensory overload or unexpected changes to his routine, can leave him feeling frustrated and ashamed. However, these moments are fleeting, and he is quick to retreat into solitude to recalibrate. He is highly introspective, often engaging in deep self-reflection, though this can lead to a vicious cycle of overthinking and self-criticism.
Despite his insecurities, Kyyre is fiercely loyal to those who earn his trust. He may take time to open up, but once he does, he invests deeply in his relationships. His close friends describe him as a safe haven, someone who listens without judgment and offers unwavering support. Yet, he rarely asks for help in return, preferring to shoulder his burdens alone. Kyyre’s desire to hide his struggles stems from a fear of being seen as weak or burdensome. This also extends to his sexuality, which he keeps hidden even from his closest confidants, worried about rejection or misunderstanding.
Creativity is both a strength and a coping mechanism for Kyyre. Whether through sketching, playing the piano, or writing, he uses art to process his emotions and explore parts of himself he struggles to verbalize. His work often features themes of duality and transformation, reflecting his inner conflicts. Though he is humble about his abilities, those who see his art are often captivated by its depth and emotional resonance.
Ultimately, Kyyre is a person of quiet strength. Though he wrestles with profound anxiety and self-doubt, he persists, driven by a deep desire to understand himself and the world around him. He is a work in progress, continually growing and finding ways to navigate his challenges while embracing his unique perspective.
-
Type of Neurodiversity
-
Undiagnosed ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder)
Undiagnosed ADD (Attention-Deficit Disorder)
-
Appearance
-

Kyyre’s appearance is as striking as it is delicate, a result of his albinism. Standing at 5’8” (172 cm), his stature is unassuming but carries an air of quiet grace. His build is average—neither overly muscular nor thin—with soft curves that suggest a life spent more in contemplation than physical exertion. Despite this, his arms and shoulders have a subtle strength, developed from years of carrying art supplies and spending hours at the piano.
His most distinguishing feature is his skin, which is a flawless, porcelain white. Its translucency reveals faint traces of blue veins along his wrists and temples, giving him an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. This pallor is both a source of admiration and frustration for Kyyre. While it draws compliments from strangers, it also makes him highly susceptible to sunlight, forcing him to take extra precautions whenever he goes outdoors. He rarely ventures out without a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, and his wardrobe is dominated by long sleeves and soft fabrics to protect his skin.
Kyyre’s snow-white hair is equally remarkable. Fluffy and slightly long, it seems to defy gravity, giving him a perpetually unkempt look that he often tries, and fails, to tame. It frames his face in soft waves, occasionally falling over his eyes, which adds to his dreamy, distracted demeanor. His hair is a point of self-consciousness for him, as it frequently draws attention he doesn’t know how to handle.
His eyes, pale pink with silvery undertones, are simultaneously haunting and mesmerizing. They are sensitive to bright light, which can make him squint or avert his gaze when outdoors, giving him an air of shyness. Up close, his eyes reveal a depth of emotion that words often fail to convey—sadness, curiosity, and quiet determination all seem to swirl within them. His lashes, long and almost invisible due to their pale color, further soften his gaze, making him appear even more delicate.
Kyyre’s facial features are finely sculpted, with high cheekbones and a narrow jawline that lend him a refined, almost aristocratic look. His lips are not full and often pressed together in a subtle expression of concentration or worry. A faint scar cuts through his left eyebrow, the result of a childhood accident he barely remembers. Though he views it as an imperfection, others see it as a mark of character, adding an edge to his otherwise gentle visage.
Due to his soft and almost feminine features, people can sometimes be tricked by his appearance. This also depends on what he's wearing, but he isn't fast to correct someone, and often doesn't even do it at all, if it's a short interaction.
His movements are measured and deliberate, with a slight hesitancy that reflects his inner caution. He has a habit of tucking his hair behind his ear when nervous, and his hands are rarely still. Whether he’s fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or tracing patterns on a table with his finger, his gestures are small but constant, revealing the anxiety simmering beneath his composed exterior.
Kyyre’s sense of style is understated but thoughtful. He favors muted tones like grey, navy, and soft green, which complement his pale complexion without drawing too much attention. He gravitates toward loose-fitting sweaters, scarves, and tailored coats, blending comfort with a touch of elegance. A small silver serpent pendant hangs from a chain around his neck, a personal talisman he never removes.
In summary, Kyyre’s appearance is a blend of fragility and quiet strength. Though he may try to downplay his unique features, they speak volumes about the complexity and beauty of his character. Whether through his striking coloring, his expressive eyes, or the subtle grace of his movements, Kyyre leaves an indelible impression on those who take the time to truly see him.
-
Voice & Accent
-
Kyyre’s voice is soft, warm, and slightly breathy, resembling the tones of Taron Egerton in his quieter roles. His Norwegian accent, gentle and melodic, becomes more pronounced when he’s speaking English. When nervous, his voice takes on a slightly higher pitch, a subtle giveaway of his anxiety.
-
Strengths
-
Empathy:
Kyyre’s ability to sense and understand the emotions of others is exceptional. Even without being explicitly told, he can pick up on subtle cues, such as body language or tone of voice, making him a source of comfort for those in distress. While he struggles to articulate his own feelings, his emotional awareness often bridges the gap between him and others.
Creativity:
Kyyre’s imagination is boundless, allowing him to create intricate drawings, evocative music, and even detailed narratives in his head. His art, often inspired by mythology and nature, has a depth that resonates with others on an emotional level. He is particularly skilled in blending traditional and digital mediums to create works that are both innovative and timeless.
Resilience:
Although he faces numerous challenges, Kyyre has a quiet determination that keeps him moving forward. Whether it’s dealing with his anxiety or navigating social situations, he consistently finds ways to adapt and persevere, even when the odds seem stacked against him.
Attention to Detail:
His neurodiversity gives him a unique ability to notice patterns, textures, and details that others might overlook. This makes him an excellent artist and problem-solver, as he can break down complex tasks into manageable parts and execute them with precision.
Loyalty:
Once someone earns his trust, Kyyre is unwaveringly devoted. He will go out of his way to support his friends, often prioritizing their needs above his own. While this sometimes leaves him emotionally drained, his commitment to those he cares about is one of his most admirable qualities.
Academic Prowess:
Kyyre excels in academic settings that focus on individual work, particularly in subjects like art, literature, and history. He has a talent for research and often immerses himself deeply in topics that fascinate him, such as ophiology and Norse mythology.
Strong Moral Compass:
Despite his self-doubt, Kyyre has an innate sense of right and wrong. He is guided by empathy and fairness, often standing up for others in quiet but meaningful ways. His actions are driven by a desire to make the world a kinder place, even if he doubts his ability to make a difference.
Artistic Vision:
Kyyre has a natural talent for visualizing concepts and translating them into tangible works of art. His unique perspective allows him to create pieces that challenge conventional norms, often blending the mythical and the modern in unexpected ways.
-
Weaknesses
-
Severe Social Anxiety:
Kyyre struggles in social settings, often feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of making conversation or being judged. This anxiety causes him to second-guess his words and actions, leading to a tendency to withdraw rather than engage with others.
Emotional Dysregulation:
His mood swings can be intense and unpredictable. When overwhelmed, he may experience sudden outbursts of anger or sadness, which he often regrets afterward. These fluctuations make it difficult for him to maintain consistent relationships or routines.
Sensitivity to Sensory Overload:
Due to his autism and albinism, Kyyre is highly sensitive to environmental stimuli. Bright lights, loud noises, or chaotic environments can leave him feeling disoriented or physically unwell, forcing him to seek quiet spaces to recover.
Physical Vulnerabilities:
Kyyre’s albinism makes him particularly sensitive to sunlight, requiring constant protection like sunscreen, sunglasses, and long sleeves. This limits his ability to spend extended periods outdoors and often makes him feel isolated from others who enjoy outdoor activities.
Self-Doubt:
Kyyre is his own harshest critic. He constantly questions his worth and abilities, which prevents him from taking risks or fully embracing his potential. This self-doubt often manifests as procrastination or avoidance, particularly in situations where failure feels like a possibility.
Fear of Rejection:
His closeted sexuality and struggles with self-acceptance make him hesitant to open up to others. Kyyre worries that being honest about his identity will lead to judgment or abandonment, which keeps him from forming deeper connections.
Overdependence on Routine:
While routines provide Kyyre with comfort and stability, his reliance on them can become a crutch. Any disruption to his schedule causes significant distress, making it difficult for him to adapt to unexpected changes or spontaneity.
Difficulty Asking for Help:
Kyyre has a strong desire to be self-sufficient, often to his detriment. He rarely asks for help, even when he’s struggling, because he doesn’t want to burden others or risk appearing weak. This tendency leaves him feeling isolated and overwhelmed.
Low Energy in High-Stress Situations:
Prolonged stress or anxiety drains Kyyre both mentally and physically. During periods of intense pressure, he often shuts down entirely, retreating into isolation to recover. This makes it difficult for him to meet deadlines or fulfill obligations when he’s overwhelmed.
Perfectionism:
While his attention to detail is a strength, it can also become a weakness. Kyyre has a tendency to fixate on minor flaws, which prevents him from completing tasks or sharing his work. This perfectionism often leaves him feeling frustrated and stuck in a cycle of self-criticism.
Limited Social Network:
His reluctance to engage socially has left him with a small, though deeply meaningful, circle of friends. While he values these relationships, his limited network often leaves him feeling isolated or disconnected from larger communities.
Struggles with Verbal Expression:
Although Kyyre is highly articulate in his art and writing, he struggles to express himself verbally, especially in high-pressure or emotional situations. This can lead to misunderstandings or a feeling of inadequacy when trying to communicate important thoughts.
-
Other
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He's fluent in English, Swedish, and Norse. Smart boy.
-

Edited at December 31, 2024 10:49 PM by Lackadaisy
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 02:03 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Posts: 2647
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Johannes Østen Åmås

Nicknames

TBA

Name Pronunciation

Yo-han-ess AA-stehn AH-mass

Name Meaning

God Is Gracious

Gender

Male

Pronouns

He/Him

Sexuality

Bisexual

Moral Alignment

Neutral Good

Personality

Johannes is rather withdrawn and quiet, and often attempts to hide from larger gatherings, feeling awkward and anxious in such situations. He is as kind as he can be, and often stretches himself thing to help others. He has trouble keeping his priorities straight, wanting to be the best he can, but knowing the pressure that is constantly on him. He displays considerable anxiety, often biting his nails and fidgeting. He has migraines occasionally, which can lead to a sharper, more tense version of him. He is only impulsive in high stress situations, meticulously thinking through things. He struggles to choose between his own happiness and the duties placed on him by his parents. Johannes takes multiple medications, and in the past struggled with a reliance on them.


Occasionally he seems very aggressive, though most of that stems from being extremely stressed and anxious, and being unsure how to cope with it, though once he learns to come out of his shell, he is talkative and a far softer person. When he is relaxed, he can be playful and sweet, and can enjoy a good laugh. He is always polite, even when he is uncomfortable and out of his element, knowing what is expected of him. His love language is physical touch. He is a strong natural leader, and has a way with words, and loves to compliment his friends.


He is painfully aware of the downfalls and shortcomings of the monarchy, and tries hard to not flaunt his position or power. Johannes does not have much of a real power within the palace, but within the schools and extracurriculars he is well-known, and normally holds some kind of sway over his friends.

Appearance

Johannes is the typical Scandinavian teenager, with the white blonde hair and pale skin, and his eyes are a dark brown. He is tall, nearly 6'1. He normally styles his hair to be longer bangs in the front, and short on the back. He technically needs glasses, but doesn't wear them in public. His dominant hand is his right. Johannes has a strong, sturdy build, and it's clear that he lifts. He has no tattoos or piercings, though he does want them. He can normally be found in a suit or the school uniform, and he always wears a silver chain with a cross on it, though it is normally hidden under his clothes. He is normally cold, so he will be nestled under many layers.

Voice & Accent

Johannes’s voice is light and airy, very much like a bird’s song. When he speaks, it’s lilting and melodic, and is rather soothing. If he becomes angry, then it becomes far darker, and his gestures become more sharp and purposely harsh.

Strengths

Loyal

Smart

Hard-working

Weaknesses

Anxious

Perfectionist

Insomniac

Backstory

TBA

Fears/Phobias

TBA

Favourite Quote

“Behind every sweet smile, there is a bitterness that no one can ever see or taste.”

Theme Song(s)

Mr. Brightside

Affiliations

TBA

Other

❤︎

Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 02:41 PM


Lackadaisy

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Posts: 180
#3078713
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Kyyre seemed to almost float through his classes, moving as though his feet barely touched the ground. It wasn’t that he was graceful—far from it—but rather that he always seemed to drift on the edges of everything, unnoticed and unbothered. He preferred it that way.
-
Hierarchy. That was what the world revolved around, whether people wanted to admit it or not. Certain people—usually the wealthy or well-connected—wielded more power than others. Even in so-called democracies, even in places like America. What was the deal with America, anyway? Why did his parents talk about it like it was some mythical promised land? Like crossing the ocean to that vast, sprawling country would solve every problem they had.
-
Not Ky's parents. Erik's parents.
-
“All everyone ever does is fight,” Erik muttered, his voice low but laced with irritation. “Guns, knives, protests—people act like they don’t even want peace. Why can’t we just have one day without chaos? Why is it so hard for people to reign it in? To just—”
-
“Erik.” Kyyre’s voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the plate of food in front of him. The sight of it made his stomach churn, and he swallowed against the wave of nausea rising in his throat. “Please stop.”
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Erik turned to him, his dark brows knitting together. “I thought you agreed with me?”
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“I do,” Kyyre murmured, still staring at his untouched food. He didn’t look up. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”
-
And he didn’t—not because he didn’t care about what Erik was saying, but because it was too much. Too much noise, too much tension, too much of everything all at once. Still, Kyyre didn’t mind listening to Erik most of the time. He loved the way Erik spoke, with so much conviction and fire in his voice. But not here. Not now.
-
Lunch was the worst part of Kyyre’s day. The cafeteria was always loud, packed with students who seemed to have no concept of an indoor voice. The din of chatter, laughter, and the occasional argument was overwhelming, like an endless tide crashing over him, drowning him in sound.
-
Upper secondary school had never been part of Kyyre’s plan. He would have been content to follow in his father’s footsteps, working with his hands. Welding, pouring concrete—jobs that didn’t require a fancy education. Sure, Kyyre wasn’t strong now, but he could get strong. He could build himself up. He could be a nobody and still provide for his family.
-
But then, out of nowhere, a mysterious aunt he’d never even met died, leaving Kyyre’s family an inheritance. Enough to cover tuition and then some. His mother, thrilled by the unexpected windfall, had insisted he go back to school. She saw it as his ticket to a better life—a life with opportunities they’d never had.
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A higher-class life.
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A life full of attention Kyyre didn’t want.
-
The thing about attention was that it was almost always bad. The thing about noise was that it was almost always worse.
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“Hey, snowflake!”
-
The voice came from a table across the room, and a wadded-up napkin hit Kyyre in the side of the face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look up. He just sat there, staring at his food, feeling his stomach twist into tighter knots.
-
He didn’t know what these people wanted from him. When he worked out, they mocked him for being too weak. When he ate normally, they called him a “walking eating disorder.”
-
Snowflake. That was the insult they’d decided on today. Really? That’s the best you’ve got for someone with albinism?
-
Kyyre sighed and pushed his plate away. He couldn’t eat now.
-
“Hey.” Erik slung an arm around Kyyre’s shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring. Kyyre wanted to lean into the gesture, to let himself feel comforted, but he couldn’t. Instead, he shrugged Erik off, like he always did.
-
He was an adult now. Adults didn’t need physical comfort to deal with petty bullies or the daily grind of life. Adults didn’t let napkins and insults get under their skin.
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Hierarchy.
-
Pattern.
-
Some things never changed.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 03:23 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Posts: 2647
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Johannes walked through the school corridors with his head down, his shoulders slightly hunched. This wasn’t something he enjoyed—being in the spotlight, surrounded by people who knew exactly who he was. The weight of being a Prince always seemed to press down heavier in public spaces, like he was flaunting a privilege he never asked for. His skin prickled with discomfort, but he let out a small breath of relief as one of the few people he actually liked fell into step beside him.
Magnus Foss. Technically his second cousin or something along those tangled royal lines, but more importantly, someone who understood—at least a little—what it meant to bear the constant pressure of being part of the Royal Family. Magnus flashed him a grin, effortlessly charming as always, and Johannes managed a weak smile in return.
Lunch. A strange kind of reprieve. It meant no classrooms filled with the stale smell of textbooks and too many perfumes, no stiff desks surrounded by classmates whispering about him while pretending not to. But the cafeteria wasn’t much better. It was always too loud, the air thick with the mingled scents of overcooked food and garbage. He trailed Magnus through the doorway, already dreading the cacophony.
Magnus was bantering with a passing student, his easy laughter cutting through the noise. Johannes felt a twinge of envy stab him in the chest. Magnus could slip so easily into conversation, navigating the social maze like it was second nature. He’d always wanted that—to be known, really known, for something beyond his title. He played sports: swimming, running, lacrosse. He was good—more than good—but it didn’t matter. He would always be Johannes, Crown Prince. Never Johannes, the athlete.
“Let’s go,” he muttered, tugging on Magnus’s sleeve. Magnus gave him a questioning look but followed without argument.
They were weaving through the crowded cafeteria when something flew past Johannes’s face. A napkin, crumpled and sailing through the air, missed him by inches. His sharp frown softened when his eyes landed on the intended target.
The boy was... striking. Pale, almost ethereal, with features that seemed delicate but not fragile. He stood out in a way that made it impossible for Johannes to look away, at least for a moment. The stranger was surrounded by a cluster of boys, their taunts loud enough to catch fragments of conversation. Johannes hesitated, his instinct to step in warring with his need to disappear.
Instead, he offered the boy a small, apologetic smile and pushed Magnus forward. “Come on,” he muttered, eager to slip out of the limelight and retreat to the sanctuary of their usual table at the back corner.
Magnus didn’t seem to notice the tension, already launching into his favorite pastime: gossip.
“Well,” Magnus began, dropping his tray onto the table with dramatic flair. “You’ll never guess what I heard. Isak was walking with a new girl earlier. She’s sooo pretty. I didn’t catch her name, but I’m pretty sure it’s something Norwegian—Helene? Helena? Maybe Heidi? Anyway, she’s not like that last American girl. Didn’t like her. You should talk to her.”
Johannes groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. Magnus always had a way of spinning his bisexuality into some kind of all-encompassing interest. As if it meant he was game for anyone and everyone, just waiting for a suggestion.
“I don’t know, man,” Johannes mumbled, plucking a grape from Magnus’s tray. “Half the girls here scare me. You’ve seen their little gangs. She’s probably already joined one.”
Magnus laughed, unfazed, but Johannes didn’t hear the rest of his reply. His gaze drifted back to the pale boy across the room, and he dug his nail into the table. He wished he'd said more.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 03:43 PM


Lackadaisy

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Kyyre kept his eyes fixed on his plate, though he no longer saw it. Erik had launched into another tirade—something about how people in positions of power should be doing more to keep the chaos of the world in check—but Kyyre wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even pretending to listen. His attention had shifted entirely.
-
Across the cafeteria, someone new had entered, someone who didn’t belong in the dull, fluorescent-lit mediocrity of this space.
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Prince Johannes Åmås.
-
Kyyre knew who he was—everyone did. He was practically a walking headline: the blonde-haired heir of one of Scandinavia’s most prominent royal families. His face had been splashed across countless magazines, his every move scrutinized by the media. To see him here, casually strolling into the cafeteria like he wasn’t out of place, was surreal.
-
Johannes wasn’t alone. A friend—loud, obnoxious, and grinning too broadly—trailed beside him, saying something that must have been hilarious based on the way he laughed at a passerby. Johannes didn’t laugh, though. Instead, his gaze followed the napkin that has hit Ky, and the prince's gaze landed directly onto him.
-
Kyyre froze.
-
There was no mistaking it: Johannes was looking directly at him. Not in a passing, uninterested way, either. His dark eyes lingered, sharp and focused, like he was trying to pin Kyyre down with his gaze. Then, as if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, Johannes smiled.
-
It wasn’t a big smile, not the kind plastered across tabloids or staged for royal portraits. It was small, subtle—a slight upward curve of his lips, soft enough to almost feel private.
-
Kyyre’s heart slammed against his ribs. He sat perfectly still, his muscles tense, his mind racing. Why was Johannes looking at him? Why was he smiling? Had Kyyre done something weird? Was there something on his face? His fingers itched to reach up and check, but he forced himself to stay still.
-
Erik’s voice droned on beside him, oblivious to Kyyre’s growing panic.
-
Don’t look back, Kyyre told himself. Don’t engage. But his eyes betrayed him, flicking up for the briefest moment. Johannes was still watching him.
-
Why?
-
Kyyre felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, every flaw magnified, every insecurity laid bare. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t care what some prince thought of him. He didn’t care about hierarchy or class or any of it.
-
Except he did.
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Kyyre didn’t belong in the same room as someone like Johannes Åmås. He wasn’t even sure he belonged in this school. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and escape the weight of that royal gaze.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 09:07 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Posts: 2647
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Magnus was still talking. He always was. The words drifted in and out of Johannes’s mind, blending with the indistinct hum of the lunchroom’s aftermath. He knew he should be paying attention—laughing at Magnus’s jokes or feigning interest in whatever scandal he was recounting—but he couldn’t focus.
Instead, his thoughts were preoccupied, circling back to the pale boy. He’d been horrified to realize he’d spent the entire lunch break trying to watch the stranger without being caught. Every glance had felt like a risk, and yet, he couldn’t stop. There was something magnetic about him, a pull Johannes couldn’t explain. He didn’t even know why he cared; he saw thousands of faces every day, most of them unremarkable, easily forgotten. But one fleeting look at this boy, and he was stuck.
By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Johannes still hadn’t shaken the spell. He slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary, his calculus textbook tucked under one arm. He needed to get his mind off this. Something productive, something grounding. Numbers would help. Numbers always helped.
Magnus had split off to grab his own books but reappeared just in time to jab Johannes sharply in the ribs as he tried to walk through the doorway to his next class.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Johannes muttered in English, swatting Magnus’s hand away with his pencil case. His choice of language wasn’t random—it was deliberate, a small attempt to make Magnus use his brain for once.
Magnus, predictably, replied in Norwegian, his grin widening. “No. Look! That girl is coming in. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Johannes glanced up as if on autopilot, following Magnus’s gaze to the girl stepping through the door a few feet behind them. She was... fine, he supposed. Conventionally pretty. Long blonde hair cascaded down past her waist, almost too perfect, like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Her eyes were bright blue, framed by lashes that looked suspiciously artificial, and she had the kind of poised smile that made it clear she knew exactly how attractive she was.
But Johannes wasn’t impressed. Her nose tilted up slightly at the end, her lips were thin, and while she checked all the boxes of traditional beauty, there was nothing there that struck him. Nothing different. He shrugged, answering Magnus in English again. “She looks like any other girl. Don’t you have a different class?”
Magnus waved a dismissive hand, his expression filled with exaggerated indignation. “Physics doesn’t matter, Hasse. Not when she and I could have chemistry.”
Johannes groaned audibly. “Stop calling me that,” he muttered, but Magnus was already halfway across the table, leaning back in his chair like he owned the room. The nickname grated on him—it always had. His mother had let it slip once in front of Magnus years ago, and the boy had never let it go.
“Come on,” Magnus teased, still speaking in Norwegian. “Admit it, she’s perfect.”
“I’d rather not take the exam in here,” Johannes said, deliberately changing the subject. He hated this kind of small talk—pointless chatter about people he barely knew. But Magnus didn’t take the hint.
Instead, he clapped Johannes on the shoulder with a grin so smug it almost felt rehearsed. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her myself. Someone’s gotta give her the attention she deserves.”
Before Johannes could protest, Magnus was already up and moving, weaving effortlessly through the crowded classroom toward the girl. Johannes sighed, sinking further into his chair as he dropped his pencil case on the desk.
Behind him, he could hear the faint shift of fabric and the subtle creak of leather. Maciej, his ever-present bodyguard, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t say anything—he never did unless necessary—but his presence was impossible to ignore. It was one of the many reasons people avoided Johannes.
Who would willingly approach one of the most well-known people in the country when he was always flanked by a six-foot-four wall of muscle? Maciej looked like he could crush a watermelon with his bare hands, and though Johannes appreciated the protection, it was suffocating in moments like these.
He tapped his pencil against the edge of his desk, trying to distract himself. His mind wandered back—again—to the pale boy from lunch. The sharp lines of his cheekbones. The quiet intensity in his expression. The way he seemed so out of place yet entirely unbothered by it.
Johannes shook his head, scowling at himself. This was ridiculous. He didn’t know anything about the boy, and staring at him like some lovesick idiot wouldn’t help.
But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t stop the small, flickering thought that maybe—just maybe—he could learn something more about him soon.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 09:18 PM


Lackadaisy

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The shrill sound of the bell sliced through the cafeteria, startling Kyyre out of his spiraling thoughts. It took him a moment to realize what it meant, and as soon as he did, he pushed back his chair, grabbing his tray with a speed that bordered on frantic.
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"Where are you going?" Erik asked, finally noticing Kyyre's abrupt movement.
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"Class," Kyyre muttered, not sparing him a glance. He dumped his untouched lunch in the nearest bin and headed for the exit, his feet carrying him toward the east wing of the school without conscious thought.
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The halls were already filling with students, the noise rising to an overwhelming buzz of conversation, laughter, and lockers slamming shut. Kyyre kept his head down, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease. His heart was still pounding, his mind spinning in a thousand directions at once. Why had Johannes been looking at him? What did it mean?
-
His next class was physics—hardly a comfort, but at least it was familiar. The sterile classroom, with its lab benches and cluttered shelves of equipment, was as close to predictable as Kyyre’s day ever got. If he could just make it through this lesson without being consumed by his own thoughts, he might be able to regain some sense of control.
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By the time he reached the physics lab, most of the other students were already seated. The usual chatter filled the room, punctuated by the occasional clink of glassware or the scraping of chairs against the floor. Kyyre slipped into his usual spot near the back, dropping his bag onto the floor and pulling out his notebook.
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His lab partner, Sara, was already there, hunched over her notebook and scribbling equations. She was a quiet girl, with dark curls that framed her face and a studious intensity that matched Kyyre’s preference for staying unnoticed. She glanced up as he sat down.
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"Are you okay?" she asked after a moment, her voice soft but curious.
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"Fine," Kyyre said, perhaps a little too quickly. He opened his notebook, pretending to review last week’s notes. His hands were trembling slightly, and he gripped his pen to steady them.
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Sara gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press further. Instead, she returned to her notes, her pen moving steadily across the page.
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Kyyre tried to focus on the whiteboard at the front of the room, where their teacher was setting up for a lecture on thermodynamics. He recognized the symbols and equations, but they felt distant, like static on a poorly tuned radio.
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No matter how hard he tried, his mind kept circling back to the cafeteria. To the napkin. To Johannes. To that smile.
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It wasn’t just the fact that someone like Johannes had looked at him. It was the way he had looked at him—sharp and deliberate, like he saw something in Kyyre that even Kyyre couldn’t see. The weight of it was unnerving.
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And yet, buried beneath the discomfort, there was a flicker of something else. Curiosity.
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Despite everything—despite knowing that Johannes belonged to a world he would never be a part of—Kyyre couldn’t stop wondering what that smile had meant.
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And a small, stubborn part of him hoped he’d see it again.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 10:01 PM


The Tea Drinkers

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Johannes had been hoping Magnus would leave quickly, preferably before saying something stupid. Unfortunately, Magnus came back to stand beside him, his words spilling out in a rush.
“That boy we passed,” Magnus said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “You know, the one who almost hit you with a napkin? He’s in my physics class. I never speak to him. Snowflake,” he added with a laugh that made Johannes’s stomach twist.
This time, Johannes didn’t hesitate. He swatted Magnus hard on the shoulder, his voice sharper than usual. “Watch your tongue,” he snapped. “You have no right to say that. He didn’t choose to have a genetic condition, Magnus. And you’re not exactly a toasted marshmallow yourself.”
Magnus winced, rubbing his arm, but Johannes wasn’t paying him much attention anymore. His mind was stuck on the fact that the pale boy—*his mystery boy*—was in Magnus’s class. For a brief, reckless moment, he considered marching straight into that room just to get another look at him, maybe even talk to him. His pulse quickened at the thought.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and lean on the table, half-closing his eyes as if the action would calm the storm of emotions threatening to overtake him. “Run along, Mag,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter but still firm. “You’re going to be late for class.”
Magnus grumbled under his breath but began gathering the books he’d strewn across Johannes’s desk. He made a point of being as slow as possible, dragging out each movement until Johannes shot him a pointed glare. With a final smirk, Magnus sauntered off toward the physics room.
Johannes shook his head, half-expecting Magnus to miss the bell entirely. Sure enough, he could hear it echoing through the halls just as Magnus ducked into his classroom. Johannes smiled faintly at the thought, but the moment of levity didn’t last.
The rest of the class dragged on, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts kept drifting back to the pale boy, replaying the way he’d looked, the way he’d moved, over and over in his mind. It wasn’t like him to be this distracted by someone he didn’t even know. Normally, people were easy to figure out. They tripped over themselves to talk to him, to share details about their lives, eager to be noticed by the Crown Prince.
But here, in this school, things were different. He was just another student buried under the weight of advanced classes, all of which seemed far more daunting now than they had in the carefree days of summer. Back then, he’d been optimistic, sure he could handle it all. Back then, life had felt lighter. His family had felt closer. Now, everything was overwhelming—an endless cycle of expectations and exhaustion.
Johannes sighed, gripping the edge of his desk. Why couldn’t he just do something spontaneous for once?
The thought lingered, daring him. And before he could overthink it, his hand shot up. “Miss? Can I go to the toilets, please?”
The teacher blinked, clearly startled. Johannes rarely spoke up in class unless it was to answer a question perfectly. The other students glanced at him, curious murmurs rippling through the room. He ignored them, rising smoothly from his seat as the teacher nodded her approval.
As he walked into the hall, Maciej fell into step behind him, silent as always but impossible to ignore. Johannes tried to shrug off the tension that came with being followed everywhere, focusing instead on his goal.
The physics classroom was at the edge of the school, tucked into a quiet corner. He’d always liked that room—the neatness of it, the way it felt calm and orderly. As he approached, he could hear Magnus arguing with the teacher, likely about his tardiness. Typical.
Johannes stepped inside just as Magnus was pleading his case. Without hesitation, he nudged his friend out of the way. “I’m here for this class, Miss,” he said smoothly. “I have a pass.”
He didn’t, of course, but it didn’t matter. Confidence was key, and Johannes had mastered the art of saying anything with enough authority to make it believable. Teachers rarely questioned the future monarch, and today was no exception. The teacher nodded, clearly flustered, and turned back to the board.
Johannes allowed himself a quick glance around the room, his eyes inevitably finding the pale boy. He was seated near the middle of the room, beside a dark-haired girl who was leaning toward him, whispering something. Johannes’s chest tightened. Was she his... girlfriend?
The thought sent a sharp pang through him, followed quickly by frustration. What was he doing, building entire fantasies around someone he didn’t even know? He shook his head slightly, forcing himself to focus.
“Also, Miss,” Johannes added, his tone casual. “Magnus doesn’t have the notes. Can he get them from someone? Sara, maybe?”
Before Magnus could protest, Johannes jabbed him sharply in the ribs, earning a stifled yelp. “I can sit beside her partner for the peer lecture at the end of the period,” he finished smoothly.
The teacher nodded again, waving him toward an empty seat. Johannes moved deliberately, his heart pounding as he made his way toward the back of the room, where he’d have the perfect view of the boy who had so quickly consumed his every thought.
Tea x LackadaisyDecember 31, 2024 10:25 PM


Lackadaisy

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Sara's voice cut through Kyyre’s thoughts, soft and steady. "So, the first law of thermodynamics states that energy can't be created or destroyed, just transferred. So when you’re looking at the heat exchange, remember that the energy in the system is constant. It's all about how it’s conserved."
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Kyyre nodded absently, his eyes glued to the whiteboard as if it would help pull him out of his spiraling thoughts. But the symbols and equations only blurred, a tangled mess of numbers and theory that felt miles away from where his mind was.
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"Right," he muttered, though he hadn’t really heard most of what Sara had said. He was trying—trying so hard—to focus, but every time he blinked, he saw the image of Johannes’s smile again, flashing behind his eyes. Sharp. Direct. Almost like the prince had seen him through some invisible veil, and that look... it unsettled him.
-
A loud voice interrupted his thoughts, followed by the unmistakable sound of loud, confident footsteps. Kyyre’s eyes darted to the door as Johannes’s friend strolled into the room, his presence immediately felt. This wasn’t unusual; the guy had a tendency to be late for class, always with a swagger in his step. But today, he seemed especially agitated, his words loud as he began arguing with the teacher about his tardiness.
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Kyyre turned back to Sara as she continued to speak, unfazed by the disruption. She was still calmly outlining the concepts from the board, her pen gliding across the paper. He focused on her voice again, trying to anchor himself. "So, basically, if you're measuring a system's heat, you have to account for work done by or on the system, right?"
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"Yeah," Kyyre responded quietly, but his attention wavered again. The conversation with the teacher wasn’t exactly a quiet one, and the raised voices were enough to pull his focus. He couldn’t help it—his gaze drifted back to the door.
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A few minutes passed, and the sound of the door opening drew Kyyre’s eyes toward it again. This time, it wasn’t just Johannes’s friend who entered; Johannes himself followed, stepping into the classroom with the same calm confidence that Kyyre had seen in the cafeteria.
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Kyyre’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected him to show up here, too.
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He could feel his own body stiffen involuntarily. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Johannes’s gaze scanned the room, landing briefly on Kyyre’s desk. It was a fraction of a second, but it felt like a thousand moments wrapped into one. Kyyre quickly dropped his eyes to his notebook, as if the paper could shield him from whatever was happening.
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Sara’s soft voice continued in his ear, but Kyyre barely heard her now. His mind was racing—spinning in circles as he tried to ignore the fact that Johannes had just walked into the room, that same quiet intensity following him like a shadow.
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"Are you alright?" Sara asked, this time her voice quieter, more concerned.
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Kyyre nodded sharply, not trusting himself to speak. He clenched his pen tighter, feeling the tension in his hands. He couldn’t look up again. Not now. Not while Johannes was here.
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Johannes took a seat near the back of the class. The rest of the students cared as much as usual—no one gave any more attention to the prince’s entrance than they did any other student, which was all of it.
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And Kyyre couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the weight of Johannes’s attention hanging in the air like a thick fog.
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Sara went back to explaining the notes, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing inside Kyyre’s chest. He nodded again, trying to ground himself in her words, but it was hard. It was hard to focus on anything except the fact that Johannes had come into the room, had sat down, and had barely looked at anyone else. Just Kyyre.
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His stomach twisted into knots, and Kyyre forced himself to take a steadying breath, to steady his hands. He had to push through this. He had to get through this class without falling apart.
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But all he could think of was the smile.

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