—

♡

Meet the family.

Y/n soon learnt that he had been told to return home — apparently, after a few heated letters from his family targeted to the dean, Y/n had been granted...medical leave. He also learned later that Annie had snitched on him to his family, and had weaved a stupendous tale where Y/n was supposedly bedridden with a serious cold, and had gotten several migraines over the course of the days.

Which was an exaggeration. It felt more like headaches — migraines were too much of an exaggeration, Y/n felt — and it hadn't even been a full blown cold. A full blown cold would mean forty degrees. Forty one degrees. Forty three degrees. A mere thirty nine was slight.

No. Perhaps the term "headaches" was an insufficient term. Y/n thought back to the previous night — of the pain he had suffered through, of the thrumming against his head that had felt like it was eating him alive, chewing at the flaying bits of his brain matter and gnawing. It hadn't felt pretty, and even now, after the worst had settled, Y/n could feel a subtle ache around his eyes. He inhaled; exhaled; before he leaned against the wall. Isidor...he thought slowly, he...he helped me. I owe him again. I always owe him things — I am always in his debt.

Y/n glanced at the empty bag. He didn't need to pack to return home — first of all, Y/n was sure it was going to be brief — second of all, the L/n family had furnished his room with so many unneeded luxuries that there was simply nothing Y/n needed to bring back.

("You don't have to bring back the prince," his oldest brother, Lane, said subtly. His face was deceptively innocent. "Not at all.")

Of course Y/n was bringing the prince. Annie had opted out, whining about how she had some swordsmanship practice to attend to (she was a brilliant knight), and surprisingly, Isidor had jumped right at the occasion. Somehow the prince was attached to his hip (always had been) for reasons Y/n couldn't fathom. Was he not boring? Lazy? Completely and utterly —

Y/n felt a small pang in his heart. Then he dismissed it.  I don't care, he repeated it, I don't care. He never did. It was too tiring; too wasted when Y/n was convinced he would die in a couple of years.

—but whatever it was, Y/n, at heart, didn't know if he enjoyed Isidor's company — not in the way where he disliked Isidor, far from that really — but in a selfish, soft way where he didn't like the idea of Isidor getting bored of him. And with how many times they saw each other, being childhood friends and now roommates, Y/n was almost...disappointed with the idea of Isidor growing tired of him. But I can't, Y/n had thought desperately once, when he had gone nearly crazy from the pain attacking his head and the heat that refused to leave his body and instead seemed to curb his breathing, I can't...bring myself to care.

Isidor had been over thousands of times before. It was either the palace or the manor, where the two would frolic about, either sharing a story or simply playing about. Y/n remembered his mother being absolutely appalled when the prince had kissed him on the cheek (but come on, they were five year old children) Y/n also remembered how he would refuse to see the prince when he was terribly, terribly sick.

("But I look horrible, Mommy!" His voice would crack, "don't let him in!" His mother would cajole him, kiss him, his father would murmur reassurances to him. His brothers would hold his hands firmly, despairing at the frail fingers that intertwined with their own.)

Now he was simply waiting for Isidor to arrive so they could leave together. A scarf stayed snug and tight around his throat (Isidor had tied this before he had left for classes) and the letters his family had sent were marinating within his pocket. Y/n was pleased to return to his family — it meant heavenly treatment — and those cupcakes.

Y/n blinked his eyes owlishly. He could hear the footsteps of the prince approaching. He turned his head, just in time for the door to open. The prince was there, looking as handsome as ever —in his hands he dumped the set of heavy textbooks (magic studies) onto the shelf, giving a soft sigh. Y/n gave him a concerned look. That looked like an awful lot of subjects. Y/n bit his lip nervously as he offered tentatively, "you should rest first, before you go."

But Isidor thought differently. "You must have been waiting long," Isidor told Y/n, "I won't make you wait further. The L/n family carriage must be waiting outside. I wonder if your family will be pleased to see me," he added with amusement. "The glares of your brothers can cut right through my back."

"Sorry," Y/n said ruefully. "They..."

Y/n felt like his brothers deserved a right to — hate — him. His parents didn't have an explicit favourite: they didn't particularly have outright favouritism towards any of their children, but they certainly cared more about Y/n due to his condition. And his brothers didn't seem to mind, but oh, Y/n minded terribly. He had no achievements to his name, nothing at all...so it was so strange to him for his brothers to be so protective.

"They care about you. Like I do," Isidor said softly, before he reached out to ruffle Y/n's hair. The touch was characteristically benign, pleasant, gentle — and Y/n almost wanted to purr at the touch. The prince had sat down next to him, and his hair had fallen messily down his shoulders. "What's wrong, Y/n?"

"Medical leave," Y/n murmured. "I...well, I feel fine. Obviously I'm happy to be returning home, to find a reason — an excuse — to rest, but...feels like I'm cheating. It's not even that serious. The pains are constant. Chronic. It won't miraculously go away with a medical leave. And besides, I wasn't doing anything here but sleeping the days away."

"You were obviously suffering from pain yesterday. Perhaps it's better for you to recuperate at home with your loved ones." Isidor replied, frowning. "Just...take care of yourself alright?"

So maybe that is what this is, Y/n thought, feeling hollow for the briefest moment — he doesn't...Isidor is tired. He doesn't want to have to "babysit" me anymore. It must be awfully tiring for anyone to take that much care of me; I'm physically incapable of doing the simplest things by myself.

Y/n shook his head. "And the pain has died down. And it's such a journey — to sit in the carriage, to go all the way down to the estate and to get ready all over again...seems like the trouble I don't feel like going to."

"Hmm," Isidor thumbed his cheek gently, before his fingers reached upwards to massage Y/n's temple. Y/n was closing his eyes now, releasing a soft exhale, and Isidor was...studying him, watching the dips of his chest, seeing his eyelashes quiver. "I thought you were homesick."

Fuck, Isidor, in the lack of better terms, wanted to explode — Y/n is so...hot.

"I am." Y/n didn't move. "Maybe I'm too lazy...Isidor."

"Yes, Y/n?"

"Why do you choose to come? Why do you always choose to come? Aren't you —"

"Because I want to. And because I am Crown Prince. I can do whatever I want."

I'm boring. Unmotivated. Powerless.

"And because I chose this, Y/n," Isidor continued. Y/n's breath hitched — Isidor's hands were dragging along the expanse of his bare skin now, tickling him, causing him to inhale sharply — before they rested on his collarbone. Isidor seemed to study it intently for a moment; his eyes moving from his neck to... to his lips — before they seemed to pull away reluctantly to meet Y/n's now shaky gaze. The grip almost seemed relentless, telling — as Isidor smiled slowly, his lips tugging up. "Because I chose you. Perhaps you don't realise it now. Perhaps you..."

"Stop," Y/n interrupted, cheeks flushed — now, Isidor felt like a animal in heat; he longed to reach out and wipe those tears away — he wanted to be the one to cause those tears for an entirely different reason — he wanted Y/n — he wanted all of Y/n. "Let's just go." Y/n swallowed.

Isidor reeled in his patience once more and patted Y/n's head. "Of course."

"Oh, and..." Y/n trailed off, before he extended his arms. "Please help me get up."

—

The manor was every bit as expensive and large as Y/n remembered it — as the carriage lumbered on into the gates, Y/n wanted to bury himself into the ground when he saw the pleased faces of four family members. His mother, father, and two brothers were looking expectantly at the carriage, their eyes all eager — all ready to welcome their precious son and brother home.

The minute the doormen came to open the carriage door, Y/n winced and braced himself —

"Oh, my darling boy!"

"Brother!"

"Are you alright, Y/n?"

All of these examinations came in droves, and Y/n stepped back, feeling his head swarm from the numerous voices filling his mind. Isidor must have noticed this, for he grabbed Y/n from stumbling back. And this, in turn, caused the family to notice the prince.

"Ah! Your Highness," Your mother, Lady L/n exclaimed, "you are here too, it seems. We will prepare the guest bedroom for you." (The brothers seemed to be staring hard at the prince — who merely gave them a small, innocent smile.)

"There's no need," Y/n said in confusion, "we stay in the same room at the academy. Is there a need for prepare another room, when he can use my room —"

"Yes, of course," Isidor rushed in. "No need to prepare the guest room. How could I trouble you to do that?"

"Not so fast," Lane, the oldest brother, frowned heavily. "Mother, Y/n's sick. He can't be rooming with the prince. Right, Aurelius?"

Lady L/n looked like she was thoroughly entertained, and tilted her head. "Why not?"

"You don't know...what sort of...insidious activities they're planning on doing," Aurelius whispered to his father, who nodded his head. "And Y/n is too kind."

"Too kind," Lane agreed. "And Y/n; how are you feeling?" His brow furrowed with concern — deep, etched concern that told Y/n he had worried his family immensely again — "Lady Annie told us you had gotten sick again. Is that true? Are you alright? Are you —"

"I think I'll get to bed," Y/n said feebly, "thank you, though."

Ah, he was too tired to even think. He just wanted to fall asleep in bed.

"Sorry for any trouble," Y/n whispered softly afterwards. "This will be my last medical leave. You really didn't have to do that."

Lady L/n was silent for a moment, before she nodded her head. Meanwhile, Y/n's father ruffled Y/n's hair, replying gently, "yes, we know. I apologise if your leave seemed sudden — we thought it would be good to take note of your condition. And to Your Highness, thank you for taking such esteemed care of him."

"Not a problem at all," Isidor said smoothly. Y/n recognised that the prince was putting on his — charming — facade now, the one where he went all formal and stilted, the one where his mannerisms became stiff and unlike him. But that was the way Isidor seemed to treat anyone...who wasn't him. Strange.

"Well, then," Lady L/n said, "Y/n can guide you to his room, and the two of you can get settled. We will send in a physician later to check his condition. Went back to thirty seven degrees, is that right?"

"Yes," Y/n murmured.

"And for your headache?"

"It's more or less fine now." Well; it was present, but normal.

But of course, his father looked unconvinced. "Eat some medicine."

"I don't like the taste. And I'm too lazy —"

Isidor squeezed his hand. "I'll make sure he eats it," he said quietly, "let's go, Y/n." He pulled Y/n gently across the halls of the manor, carrying him with Y/n's arms looped around his neck as they walked up the stairs. Y/n gave a small yawn, nuzzling his head into the prince's neck. Behind, the brothers glowered. Their little brother had always idolised them, of course — they had always been proud to be Y/n's number one — and now this prince with nasty rumours had waltzed in...taking that spot.

("Y/n's a good kid. He won't do anything bad."

"...He won't.")

Well, Lane couldn't deny Isidor had been polite — the prince had left only after casting goodbyes to the L/n family, of course, where they had eyed him, suspicious of his intent. And inwardly Isidor thought their suspicions were valid, because yes, Y/n was so cute; so sweet: so adorable that Isidor found it hard to hold back — but Isidor would never do anything without Y/n's consent. And now the (h/c)-haired male made Isidor swallow as the prince felt the accidental brush of lips against skin, when Y/n yawned and shifted. His head was still resting against the crook of Isidor's neck.

The two reached the room and Isidor placed Y/n down on the bed, pulling the blankets up. Y/n fidgeted for a while, before he opened his eyes. "I can't sleep now," he told Isidor. "And it isn't because...of any discomfort, or anything. I'm tired, but my body isn't. Care to accompany me for a while?" Y/n patted the sheets.

Isidor inhaled and exhaled; closing his lips firmly. An invitation...to...

"What's the matter? Where were you going to sleep?"

"The floor, if necessary."

Y/n was puzzled. "...Why?"

"Hmm." Isidor regained his composure, before he moved to the bed. Control yourself, he told himself sternly, don't do anything stupid —

Y/n stretched his arms. His shirt hiked up, revealing his bare skin. Isidor stared, before he tore his eyes away. You're the prince, he told himself, you aren't  so crude...just...

"I realised how long it's been since I've come back home," Y/n inhaled the scent of the soft sheets, blissful, "they come to school events, so I saw my family relatively recently —but I never really came home. Feels just like the old times, doesn't it?"

"...Certainly does." Isidor replied, his voice quiet. The prince thought about their shared childhood — all those people who had teased Y/n — he had annihilated. All those people who had dared to lay a hand on him...gone.

"I still remember everything like it was yesterday."

Y/n gazed at the ceiling. He used to have those magic stars littered up in the ceiling that would serve as a nightlight when he was young, but soon, it was taken away after they discovered he reacted badly to magic (coughing out blood, vomiting, struggling to breath) and now with the absence of so many little magic products, Y/n's room seemed bare. There was a loose smile on his face, but it became dimmer after Y/n was reminded of his situation. He glanced at Isidor, who seemed contemplative, staring off into space.

I wonder what he's thinking about.

Y/n smiled. Perhaps people pitied him for his weak body and countless afflictions, but once they took that away from him— what would he be? A skeleton of rotted bones to be shoved inside the closet, to be the "skeleton in the closet" of his family, or to be a corpse with a hollow heart?

You're so strong, they would say, but Y/n was convinced the minute this very...weakness was taken away from him, there would be no other reason to treat him the way they treated him — like he was fragile. Tender, sweet, soft — gentle. 

They called it a curse, they hated this illness for causing pain to him — but Y/n saw it differently. Perhaps some sick, sick part of him liked it —for it was this very "curse" that made them adore him and treat him so. It was not a curse to him — it was a blessing. It made people dote on him so.

I must be grateful. I will always; always; be grateful.

"You're thinking strange thoughts again," came Isidor's voice, breaking him away from this thoughts. "What are you thinking of?"

"Nothing."

"Come here." Isidor tilted his head. "Come here, Y/n."

And so Y/n did. He shifted closer, until Isidor's arms were looped around his body, until he was facing the prince's face, his lower body pressed against Isidor's hip — until he was...straddling Isidor. Isidor seemed to give a sharp inhale; his hands dragging along Y/n's spine, moving down before it rested on his lower back. It traced comforting circles around the expanse of his back, while the other hand touched Y/n's arm, tapping it.

"Don't think so many unnecessary thoughts."

"I swear I'm not," Y/n laughed softly. This whole moment — it felt intimate, somehow, it felt like something that should not have happened. It felt like the world was suspended in time; it felt like Y/n...was this right? Was this —

Y/n shook his head. Their skin brushing each other was almost fiery; searing, and Y/n found himself filled with trepidation, of emotions he could not describe. Isidor's breaths were short and almost seemed...controlled.

His warmth was pleasant; tangible; like the midday sun had bled in between the gaps of his fingers, flooding and kissing his skin.

Y/n felt calmer; more relaxed...and happy.

♡

MC is deon hart without misunderstandings

okay now...fourth time in a row... 🤔🤔 hope you guys enjoyed though! longer chapter this time round, and took way longer than it should have to write it sigh... was supposed to finish two hours later

thoughts? remember to add to your library?