Trash of the Royal Family (Ao3)

XLIX

[AUTHOR: Please note the time frame, for Callen it's nine years, for Alver and Cale it's seven years. The twist coming right up.]

Seven years later...

Cale Henituse softly said, "It's been a while, Your Highness," as soon as the communication device connected. Alver Crossman, now twenty-three, looks at the boy who used to be his younger brother's favorite.

"Yes, it's been a while," he says softly to him. After Callen died, he expected Cale Henituse to abandon him for good, but this man stayed by his side and became his most trusted confidant. He was grateful because, despite the void in his heart, he hadn't felt lonely in years.

He still misses that child to whom he devoted his entire life.

He still misses the child he raised as a son and brother.

He locks his gaze on Cale Henituse.

"Once I arrive in the capital, I'll pay a visit to the palace."

"Yes, let's have some tea," he said, looking forward to his company. Alver may be using some people as a rebound, but if he didn't, he'd go insane.

He remembered mourning for the child, and he still does.

He knew it was too much, but he can't stop himself.

That child was the one who meant the most to him.

"Cale, I'll see you soon."

"Yes... take care of yourself, Alver..."

He gave a bitter smile and then disconnected the communication device. He noticed Robbit and Hellion staring at him. These two had been living their days as if they owned the Palace of Joy.

Alver mockingly smiled. The Palace of Joy, eh? It's no longer the palace that embodied the word joy. He stood up and walked away, dismissing the two. He sent these cretins away because it was getting close to dusk. He walked into his room, which he used to share with that child.

There's the teddy bear Callen used to murder.

There's the fox quilt, which Callen used to wrap himself in when it got cold.

The entire room, where he had spent the grueling seven years alone, reminded him of that child.

He should let go. He should have just let him rest now. However, he holds out hope that the child will appear before him in some way. His intuition tells him that he might run into him again one day.

He sat on the couch for a long time, staring at the bed. He wouldn't sleep in that bed. It gives him nightmares every time. He'd always have hallucinations of embracing that familiar bundle of warmth. That's why he'd always sit and sleep on the couch. He would always drink Callen's favorite tea and eat his favorite sweets.

Alver Crossman couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

If that child had lived, he would have been thirteen by now.

Alver always imagines that child as an adult. He'd have jet-black hair and reddish-brown eyes like him. He would dress in his style and run around causing trouble for the nobles.

He laughed.

Callen would undoubtedly sleep on the bed or loiter around at such hours.

"Hah..." He mockingly slapped himself on the backside with reality. He'd never come back.

Once a god dies, his or her soul cannot reincarnate.

He closed his eyes and drifted away in silence.