make it easy | young royals ✓

eight

Wilhelm

When I left, I thought that was the last time I'd ever see him; the caramel hair messy around his head, the solemn yet playful eyes which never look away when you catch him staring. His hands, how soft they were against my skin, gentle, and kind. His soul is compassionate, and I seldom have felt so right with anybody else.

When I told him I loved him, only silence greeted me on the other side.

In the lavish confines of the palace, my days were monotonous and uneventful. It's like the sun stopped shining, and I had wondered if life was always this empty before I met him. I convinced myself that I tried to reach out to him a million times, sent a million texts, and called until I'd memorised his voice mail's message a hundred times over.

But I would be lying to myself. When you were so convinced that you were never going to see someone again, why try? Why defy the family you owe a duty to? Why defy the monarch and the country for a hopeless teen romance? My mom had blotched those thoughts into me, and at first, I relented. Yet at one point, it seemed like the world would never be on my side, and what we had was never meant to be anything more.

How he felt like home when I saw him for the first time in months shocked me, and hurled me into a different thunderstorm of turmoil and hope. I'd have done anything to be with him, anything at all at this moment.

It's Monday morning, and still too early for breakfast after rowing practice. I had ignored August throughout the dawn, and when Simon didn't show up at the docks, I was thrust into panic which turned promptly into concern then finally, despair. Maybe he wasn't feeling well, or maybe he just didn't want to see me.

Me: the traitor, the one who gave up upon us.

I take extra care in my appearance today, hoping to catch him at breakfast and talk like normal. I barely slept a wink last night, my mind replaying the confrontation that had happened the previous day, tossing and turning in my bed restlessly. My mother's words haunt me at the same time, a bonus to my sufferings.

I'm the first to arrive in the dining room, I walk down the length of the long table and plant myself in a chair as further away from August's designated spot as possible. When the rest of the boys file in, a few give me glances and sit close to me, but none directly in my proximity. I feel August's gaze burning into the side of my face, but I keep my eyes locked on the door, the plate in front of me empty of food.

When Simon walks in, I nearly stand up but plant my feet firmly to the ground at the last second. He grabs a plate and begins to fill it up with the metal tongs, and I wait until he's staring down the table, registering me, and walking towards my end of the table.

Feeling triumphant and relieved, I give him a wave partnered with a smile.

He sits three seats up from me with the other boys, and my heart swells with confusion. Embarrassment etched itself across my skin, and I know everybody is watching. I sit there with my eyes down, staring at my shadow across the porcelain surface of the vacant plate.

There's not an ounce of my soul that blames Simon. I'm the one who messed up, I'm the one who couldn't try, I'm the one who couldn't face myself. He didn't want to be a secret, for he was the blazing sun, and you simply can't hide such a fierce element. Metaphorically, I'm the weak sprout in the soil, and his touch was water and his love was the nutrients and he was the sun.

I'm shrivelled up without the presence of it, wilting, dying, blackening and toppling over.

***

Leaning against my locker in between the classes, I close my eyes and attempt to gather my emotions and thoughts in order. The books are heavy in my hands, and I know for a fact I'll see him next period in maths. How would I even initiate a conversation that he clearly doesn't want to have? I feel foolish, messed up, and lonely.