shameless. | dnf au

VI

George

 If Wilbur had explained what it would genuinely feel like living here for the first two weeks, I might've considered putting up with my mother's nonstop rambling about royal bullshit. 

For the past two weeks, I've been finding solace in the snobs at the dining hall and conversing with people who like me for my family in and between classes—the one thing I was planning to avoid. 

And to top it all off, I've still got a stuck-up American trying to drown his own flaws by pointing mine out. 

"How's thing going with your roommate?" the Prince of Greece asked with an unreadable expression as he sat before me at the dining hall table. 

"Alright, I suppose. We don't talk much." That seemed to have been a pleasing enough answer for the foreign royal. I never took him for the type of royal that looked down on the working class, but I couldn't be too sure. The middle ground seemed safe. 

Besides, I wasn't lying. It had been four days since my last conversation with Karl about what he overheard in the dining hall. After that, whenever I went to our shared quarters, he'd either not be there or busy doing work with headphones blasting. 

"Hello, your highness," I instantly turn, knowing the voice far too well. Only the greeting was not directed at me. Instead, it was directed at the dark-haired man sitting before me. "I just wanted to thank you for last night."

I turned back to look at the royal before me as the tall blonde American said his goodbyes. Making it clear he noticed my presence by bumping me on his way out. 

"Last night?" I ask, immediately letting my head go to places it shouldn't. The boy was a royal, and as a royal, I can vouch that assumptions were a significant pet peeve. 

"His roommate, the Vice president of the United States' son- he's half Greek," Alec started, "but like most Americans who spend their lives in the states, they sometimes forget about their foreign roots, and let's just say, the boy knew not a single word of Greek."

I laugh at this; Alec wasn't the type to talk down to the working class, but he had a problem with those who turned a blind eye to the importance of culture. 

"I'm assuming you graciously offered your services?" I asked. 

Tutoring seemed normal in any regular school, but to be able to say that you were learning a language from the man who would one day rule the country of the language's origin? I feel like that's something you'd only find at IBRA.

"But, of course, I may be disapproving of one's lack of embracing their origins, but wanting to learn the language is a step in the right direction. People are capable of changing for the better." I know Alec's words were light-hearted banter. It wasn't as deep as it sounded, but something about what he said stuck with me. 'People are capable of changing for the better.'

***

Walking through the hallways to the north-wing dormitories has been a struggle for many reasons. The snobs now assume that we're the best of friends. Most definitely convinced they'll be invited to the VIP area at the next Royal Ascot. 

But the other reason is my quarter neighbors. They like loud music at night and shout at one another - not in a dangerous way, not like they're falling out with one another, but they're just... loud. 

I knock on the door of the quarters that face mine and Karl. He won't admit it, but the loud music from the room adjacent to ours kept him up just as much as it was me.