𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓

SIXTEEN.

"Always a smooth one, aren't you?"

There is a smile on Y/n's face as he leans against the Prince, looking contentedly at him. His brain aches to imprint any detail; every contour of Arion's face into his memory; from his glossy midnight hair; down to his dark eyes, that resemble the ocean. He's unfairly gorgeous, isn't he? So handsome that sometimes Y/n wonders how this mine is his, all his.

"I have been taught to be eloquent since young," Arion says smoothly, "it seems this is the only time it really serves a purpose."

"You've been taught to do literally everything, I assume."

"Correct," the prince confirms, gently tracing Y/n's face—"I can't describe to you how stuffy it is. Posture learning lessons—how to speak in a certain way—the art of dancing etiquette...the list goes on. It's silly, some of them. Most, actually," he corrects. "Sometimes one begins to wonder what's the point in all of these."

"No wonder you're so popular with both the ladies and men."

"Am I?" Arion raises an eyebrow, "Last I heard, they fear me. You're the only one to treat me like a person, I suppose. No; not just a person. Not just an equal. You —" Arion sighs, the sound laced with fondness. "You treat me so preciously. How could I not fall in love with that, and treat you the same — if not more?"

Y/n blink. "Care to explain more, Your Highness?"

Now Y/n is genuinely curious. A little embarrassed, too.

"You treat me so much like a human," Arion says, "not someone who bears the crown. You know me so well; sometimes I really wonder; how is it possible I have gotten so fortunate, with you by my side? And...it's refreshing. Everyone I've been forced to talk to so far with my overbearing advisors; they giggle and laugh, but their words lack any meaning. They are just there to seek marriage. They have no substance."

"Well, you are a person, aren't you?" Y/n teases, playfully poking Arion's side, "it's only natural I'll treat you like one. It's the...it's the bare minimum, Your Highness—everyone should be treated like a person."

"You are the first."

"I won't be the last," Y/n says gently, "there's plenty of people—people you just haven't met yet...or perhaps even my sister—that will be more than willing to befriend you."

Y/n can see how Arion tenses up at that. He doesn't seem to entertain or enjoy the idea of anyone coming close to him. It seems as if Y/n has successfully broken the wall he has built; yet after Y/n is safely inside, Arion has yet again—and more firmly—built another one.

They stay in each other's embrace for a moment, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. Arion eventually leans back, his eyes meeting Y/n's once more, his expression tender.

"I thought the two of you were in a fight," he says at last, "you and your sister. I assumed—I thought you two were close."

Y/n fidgets. Were they? Could they be considered close? Y/n has unjustly taken out his anger and his frustration on her. However, Y/n is simply a replacement. Yet he has grown to genuinely care about her.