make it easy | young royals ✓

twenty one

Wilhelm

The rain ends in the early mornings.

I'm sure that I'm the only one awake within my surroundings, listening to the steady rhyme of the hurried drizzle. I lean against the window sill with the blanket draping over my shoulders, trying to maintain a steady body temperature enough to make myself comfortable. The surrounding woods are coated in a layer of unspoken silence, scattering fog in pair with the falling precipitation. The waning gibbous cast a faint glow through the glass.

It's bittersweet, gazing out the misty panes of the glass to the forest beyond. I'm glad for the stillness of my lone presence.

I wait for the sun to rise above the trees and clear the haze of the night, but not wishing for the rain to cease its appearance. Pulling on a sweater with Hillerska embroidered at the front, and I made my way into the kitchen of the house, the floorboards creaking under pressure. I prepare a jam sandwich and slip out of the hall into the common room.

I sit on the ledge by the window bare of curtains and watch dawn approach the solemn night, the colour a soft glow of amber and cherry sangrias. If only my mind reflected how still my surroundings are, but instead, it's a jumble of messy contemplation and fear.

Their words echo, reverberating off the sides of my brain like a ball bouncing off a concrete wall. My mother's raised voice, concern mingled with disappointment ingrained, and Simon's outburst at my explosion of an uncalled for irrational ramble. I had let my mother's words infiltrate my brain, and took it out on him simply because he was there.

I blamed him for my actions.

It seems like conflict and things going wrong is encoded within my cursed genes, and there's rarely a second in which I can cherish a good moment before it turns sour. Trouble and difficulties follow me like a plague, and it's almost like what's going right can only go wrong after a while. I've always believed that things that are meant to be shouldn't be so difficult and punishing.

So why is the universe so keen on keeping us apart?

Perhaps if anyone is viewing my situation, they would laugh at my foolishness; why waste honour and royalty for a teenage fling? While others may narrow their eyes in judgement, wondering why on earth have I not chosen love over the rigid and demanding expectations of the monarchy. It's not a straightforward choice, and when my blood is youthful and my head is wild, I wonder what decision will cast a lifetime of regret and sorrow.

It's August who sets foot into the vacant common room, he takes one look at me, and occupies the armchair closest to where I'm sitting. It's him who pushed over the dominoes of consequences, but it's also him who forced me to face myself and my choices. Despite spitefulness and detest, he's the only one I can turn to in the early morning of a grim autumn day.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

My breath fogs the window slightly in the bitter cold confines of the room. "No."

"Talk to me, Wille."

When one's reaching the pit of loneliness and despair, any shoulder is a shoulder to be turned to. I contemplate keeping my mouth shut, and tell him to go, but my mouth opens on its own accord. The rush of words pour out of me at an alarming rate, and it's a relief to finally dump my thoughts out when they've been shut in for so long.

August remains silent for a while, processing my wave of disorganised feelings. I don't look at him, because I'm not ready to see sympathy or pity that I'm not sure he even has the capability to feel. At a point of raw vulnerability and despondency, I'll be okay even if he says nothing at all.