As The Roses Bloom

a treasure in my hands

Thanks for reading, anyone who's reading! This'll be published once a week for about seven chapters, keep your eyes open!

Present

Holland clenched his hand tight for a second, letting the sharp pain fade into a dull throb, before standing smoothly. He flicked his hand idly and watched the soil fade and dissolve before his eyes, until his clothes held no trace of this little episode.

His episodes were increasing in frequency lately. He thought disinterestedly as he strode back to the palace that this was not a good sign. Neither was the fact that the thorns had climbed their way halfway up his throat.

Someone was stepping out into the gardens "Hello."

If Holland, sallow and draped in white, was antithetical to Red London, brimming with life and color, Kell Maresh was the—well, Holland supposed, the thesis. The brilliant, imposing castle, full of life and power, cut an angular shape of red and white against the rich blue sky.

Kell Maresh had the same effect in miniature. His red coat and hair and his pale skin made him stand out against the browns and greens of the royal gardens as he came wandering toward Holland. Kell looked bright-eyed and solemn-mouthed as ever, if a little tired.

Holland, now standing, clasped his hands behind his back so he couldn't follow through on the urge to reach out and smooth a stray curl that fell over Kell's forehead—not because it looked bad (it didn't), but because—

Holland cleared his throat once, tasting blood. When he spoke, his voice still scraped against his throat, rasping. "Kell." He watched Kell approach with what he hoped was an off-putting stare.

"Good morning," Kell said, with a dry sort of tone that invited Holland to participate in some self-deprecating joke Holland hadn't quite grasped. He suspected it was related to Holland's evident disinterest in engaging with Kell.

Rhy had once made a passing jest about Holland's "perpetual sullen scowl." Kell's continued social engagement with Holland, then, had become a sort of in-joke Holland was supposed to be privy to.

"Morning." Holland blinked expressionlessly at Kell, and looked away, towards the castle, as if losing interest in the conversation. Pretending to be internally preoccupied with something else could sometimes be effective with Kell, because Kell had little desire to be the less powerful player in a social game. He didn't like to compete for someone else's attention; he preferred someone else trying to get his.

Unfortunately for Kell, Holland was not a good place to seek this out. Mostly, Holland just wanted Kell to leave him alone.

"You're not wearing that to the festivities tonight?" One half of Kell's mouth twisted up, a friendly, incredulous question. Again, Kell didn't mean You're not wearing that to the festivities tonight? He knew the answer was no, of course Holland was not going to wear his simple, everyday white pants and white button-down to the biggest celebration held since—since everything. Kell meant come on, talk with me.

Kell turned slightly, back towards the castle, but didn't start walking. His gaze rested on Holland's face, entirely undisturbed by Holland's lack of engagement, expectant.

With an internal sigh of defeat, Holland fell into step with Kell.

Behind his back, he twisted his fingers together.

Mostly, Holland wanted to want Kell to leave him alone.

Past