#maybe perhaps I should reread some classics and gasp read something new

[moonibinbon]

We’ll Always be Royals

So, a while ago, while reading @mikey-girl12 ’s “Real Prince Charming” one-shot fic, I decided it would be worth my while to listen to various music and write my own version. As you may be able to tell, this one is much longer, and (after rereading it) a bit different… 😊 Either way, I hope you enjoy, and thanks again to you @mikey-girl12 for giving me permission to post this here!! (This can be read as either part 1 of 2 or as a stand-alone. Part 2 - the “epilogue"s should be up in a few minutes!)

Roman, ever the classic storybook romantic, was almost certain. It was the one thing he hoped never to be certain of. 23 years. It had been a few months over 23 years since he was born, and his world was still the same - dreary and grey. He was growing tired of it, seeing everything in “grayscale” as everyone else called it. He did often wonder what it was like, seeing things in such vibrant colour all the time, seeing things as bright and beautiful as they were meant to be. He was thankful for one thing though. At least everything wasn’t just stark black and white, without shadow, without depth. At least he knew he had a soulmate.

Memories of seeing it happen were fuzzy, but he knew he’d seen it twice before. Once in high school, once 4 years ago. No more than that. Roman couldn’t stand seeing it happen, knowing he still had to wait. Maybe that was why he threw himself so wholeheartedly into theatre. There, in the home the ‘prince’ created for himself, he could dance, and sing, and act, and be anyone but himself, even for a little while, so he could escape from the aching hole in the space of his heart.

There, when he was on the stage, high on the heat of the moment, sometimes, there was a trice. There, in a single, hovering moment, there might have been a flash of something bright among the shadows. Every time he thought it was there, it was gone before he could be sure. Each time, he had such hope just before it was torn away yet again. He was growing tired of this sick game - a single breath of a wish and a possibility just to be ripped horribly away so many times over.

How much longer? Always the same question, but never the same meaning. Over and over it asked. How much longer? He always asked in return. Until what? The silent voice never replied.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

*5 years ago*

Virgil couldn’t think straight. Not anymore anyway. Not that he cared. He’d gotten sick of waiting. He knew other people had to wait until they were 30 or 40, or even longer, but he didn’t know how he could. Already, he was 19. Everyone he knew had already found theirs, and he still sat on the sidelines. He pretended to cheer, to be happy for them when finally they could see the world as it was made, while he still only saw greys. Nothing more than greys. There was comfort in that at least, living in three dimensions left him with some bit of hope. Maybe he would meet his soulmate soon? Every night, he hoped, and he prayed, and he conjured tales in his mind. He never knew where the stories came from, especially since his mind wasn’t especially creative in the first place, but he didn’t question it. The tales were something to pass the time, so he supposed he really didn’t have much to complain about.

He never really did a whole lot, only when he was called out did Vigil take time to explore the world around him.

Now

Still nothing. Virgil was beginning to think he might have been wrong. Maybe he really didn’t have one. That, he didn’t dare think about. Still. He went through his life - day after day - still clinging to that invisible hope. He never really got to know anyone, staying silent and preferring to keep to himself, only working enough to keep the studio and get food for himself. Nothing exciting, nothing new, nothing different.

He doubted he was helping himself this way, but couldn’t really think of much else to do. Occasionally, he would work a few extra hours (okay, make that a few too many hours) just so he could go see whatever group was coming into town that month. Every so often, a troupe of people would stop by to perform, and Virgil would always find himself wishing he could go. He wasn’t sure why, but enjoyed himself when he was able to go anyway.

Maybe that was why he was so… excited? No. That wasn’t the right word. Maybe nervous? But why? Why would he be nervous? It was just another play coming through - nothing special. It had been a while since one had found it’s way to his town, so perhaps it had something to do with that? No matter the reason, Virgil was more determined to go to this one than the others, for whatever reason. Ever since he heard they were traveling through, he’d been working overtime every chance he got, trying to save up as much money as possible. It didn’t make sense, as he’d surpassed the ticket price months ago, but he did enjoy the new clothes and pleasantries about the studio.

The night the play opened, Virgil turned in front of a mirror. It was something new, just bought that day. He was surprised - expecting it to be much less comfortable. He had his suspicions about the varying shades, but he had to admit, they actually did look pretty good. It seemed a little out there for him, but for some reason, it just felt right.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Roman felt off for some reason that night. Was it nervousness? He couldn’t imagine why, he’d performed the same show 12 times over already, this one had no reason to be different. He couldn’t shake the feeling.

He stepped into the lights, letting his extravagance deliver his opening lines. There. He hoped the feeling might subside some as the performance progressed, but it just served to get stronger. Curious, but he didn’t let it bother him too much. He was good at letting these things fall away as he became his character.

Tonight though. Tonight he couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter how differently his Jiaga was feeling. Jiaga, as the main character, was supposed to feel many things, but surely not something like this? He dwelled on it for a large part of the show, much more on edge than usual. The others noticed, of course, constantly asking him every time he came offstage if he was alright.

Roman told them the same thing every time: “Why of course! I just want to be sure I’m only doing my very best!”

Still.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The play was something completely new, just completed a few months ago, so Virgil wasn’t sure quite what to expect. He didn’t think he would find himself so enraptured, caught in the small theatre, unable to tear himself away from the scene before him. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it was about, just that everything seemed to fit perfectly into place, each part playing into everything  past, present, and future.

There it was again, that fluttering of his heart. It first happened when the play began, the royal Jiaga alone on the stage. Each time Virgil had tried to fully see him though, he would always turn, just so. He wished he was in the middle of the front row, rather than the aisle of the third, but he supposed he shouldn’t complain.

It was after the intermission, not quite yet towards the end of the play when again, Jiaga was alone. Now, he paced softly from side to side, crossing the stage time and time again. The actor seemed… agitated though. Not enlightened. Curious, how Virgil himself found himself leaning forward, not caring for the tossing of his stomach. It tightened, loosened, flipped, and flew. He couldn’t place why, but tried to ignore it as much as he could, focusing on the spectacle before him.

The actor - what was his name? - slowed for a moment, and stopped. Stopped right in front of the aisle seats. Swept his face over the crowd, almost as though searching, though as Jiaga was, it may have been Virgil’s imagination.

Eyes locked. Just for a moment. Virgil was floating. What? Eyes. Eyes. Brown. Brown eyes. Frozen. Virgil couldn’t move. The actor tried to move again, stumbled, nearly fell. Virgil felt his legs go electric, screaming. He wasn’t sure what was happening anymore. He closed his eyes. He stood before the man could reach him. Ran. Felt tears racing from his eyes. Wanted to scream. Too much. Too fast. He couldn’t make sense of anything. Raced out into the blinding light, throwing up an arm to shield himself. Tried not to look at anything. Ran to an empty cafe. Let out a broken wail. A shivering moan. Lowered his head into his arms. Sobbed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Roman couldn’t shake off any feeling now. Couldn’t become Jiaga. His heart beat fast and hard, his breath came in shaky gasps. He didn’t know why, so he just tried to push it down. Again. And again. And again. Nothing. He couldn’t feel much aside from that. He was almost sure he was shaking. He felt pale, flushed. He just hoped they wouldn’t put him off for it.

Not quite halfway through the second act, Roman had reached one of his final scenes. Just before… well he didn’t want to spoil it. He was on his stage, alone again. Jiaga was supposed to feel powerful, unstoppable. His fatal flaw finally taking over. But Roman couldn’t feel it. He felt small, lost, afraid. He took small steps, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the audience. Again. He crossed the stage. Again. Again. He shouted through his lips, hoping the words came out. He froze.

Why did he freeze? He couldn’t move. He drew his feet together, hoping the action looked natural. He continued, almost feeling ill as his eyes again searched the small sea of faces before him. The theatre was by no means full, nor was it especially large, but lighting did always make it difficult to see. Especially, as he was told, in his grey shades.

He was talking but couldn’t hear a word of it, his eyes still roaming, more frantically now. There, just for a second, he froze. He was completely frozen. Someone there, in the audience. Everything was in slow motion. There was something in the stranger’s eyes. No. It wasn’t. Colour? A fine, swirling, warm brown in the eyes of the stranger? He blinked hard, praying it not to disappear again, just like every time before. His breath caught. They… were still there. Still a bright, beautiful brown!

Stories. Tales. So many words flooded his mind. There were tales of knights and dragons and coffee shops and passing by on an empty street. Countless dreams of how maybe - just maybe - they might meet. Roman couldn’t find a name, but he did feel his eyes begin to well. All this, just to meet him? They dreamed up every tale they could, any time they had to think, they wove stories of meeting their one and only, seeing the world in all it’s bright colours. Just for him. Tears. So many tears. Were they his? He couldn’t tell. There was wetness on his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, tears flowing freely, racing down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. He was frozen now. Heart so full he feared it would burst. Tales burned brightly into his mind. Tears of years so far gone spilling all at once. Everything frozen in a single moment, full of everything.

It all sped up again. Moving too fast now. Roman could move again. He tried to turn, tried to struggle through another line, tried to stumble over to the other side of the stage again. Everything was bright now. The grassy stage he was supposed to walk through - it was such a bright green. His sash, such a brilliant red. Everything was so full and vibrant, he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. He tripped. His legs tried to pull him down off the stage.

Finish the scene!

The voice. One last time.

No.

He leapt down, landing softly before drawing up again. He looked to where he saw the stranger, but the seat was empty. Shock clouded the prince’s face, everything came down again. The voice, the emptiness, the- No! There. Movement. A sound. A breath. A door. They had run.

Roman didn’t give a second thought to it, or tried not to at least. He hoped it was just the sensory overload. He was almost certain he would have acted the same way if he was in their situation. He raced up the aisle, towards the bright spot of light at the door.

He shoved both doors open, trying to ignore the harsh light after the darkness of the theatre. Roman threw himself forward, wishing he could close his eyes against the assault on his eyes, wishing everything grey if only for a moment more, until he could find the stranger from the darkness. Straining his ears, he could just make out pounding footsteps and, every now and again, a heaving breath. Through a quiet town, ignoring the worried glances of the few passerby. He couldn’t imagine their thoughts, a tear-stricken prince, wildly chasing… someone. He still hadn’t seen him well enough to even know his dress.

Roman hears the steps slow, hears a bell, sees a door drift closed. Slowly, slowly, he walks towards the small cafe. The prince peers through the swirling stained glass, but can’t see much more than dark shapes. He pushes the door, just so as to make no sound. He hears the small cling as the door barely taps the bell. He freezes. He hears something from inside, but no words. No steps. They didn’t hear? He doesn’t think so. Squeezing through the door, he eases the door back into place.

There is a figure at one of the chairs. Head in their hands, resting on the arm. They shake, and soft gasps ring in the silent air. He can’t even be sure if it’s them.

Slowly, he makes his way over, feeling tears begin to fall once more. Roman feels his way across the floor with his toes, sliding easily over the smooth floor. He falls to one knee before the figure, fumbling for a moment for words. Instead, he reaches with shaking hands for the arm of the figure before him.

His fingertips grazed the fabric, momentarily fascinated by the purples woven throughout. He grazed the jacket gently, almost as though he might tear beneath his fingers. The wearer froze, but did nothing more for several seconds. Roman traced the stitches, gradually letting himself rest more heavily on the body before him.

He almost didn’t notice the head rising, those gentle brown eyes coming to rest on him, roaming over his hair. Roman felt a soft breath on his hair. This was what finally drew him away from the clothes. It was his turn to freeze. Roman lifted his head shakily, eyes tracing everything they could find. Jacket into royal violet shirt, stopping abruptly at a somewhat pale neck. Neck flowed into chin, then a mouth, a nose-!

There

Full of fear. Full of hope. Full of tears. Skin surrounding them a pinkish colour, moreso bringing out the fine depth to them. Such a beautiful brown. Speckled with dark tan flecks, blinking every so often as they stared into him. Roman was lost to them, unaware of his own eyes beginning to spill over again.

He was pushed back, oh so gently. The purple-clad dream before him wrapping his arms around the former, burying his face into Roman’s shirt. Breathing him in. Sighing contentedly through fresh tears.

Something was mumbled into Roman’s costume, softly, so he almost didn’t hear it.

Hm?” he stopped gripping so tightly to the figure beneath him, letting him breath for a moment.

He felt a laugh as the other turned their face out of Roman’s chest. “What am I supposed to call you, Princey?”

The voice was… undescribable. Soft and crackling, but not in an unpleasant way. Low and rough, as though he didn’t speak much. There was a light sort of feel to it, just as much as a dark sort. Playful and silly, but cynical and stiff as well.

The prince managed a small smile, a chuckle. “As much as I like your name for me, my proper name is Roman.” he gently pushed the other body away from him, keeping hold on the hunched shoulders, still closer than arm’s length. “and you? You do have a name, yes Dark Violet?”

The figure glanced toward their feet, a slow grin crossing his face, shaking ever so slightly with laughter.

“Virgil” he managed, before looking up again, meeting Roman’s eyes.

Roman found himself suddenly leaning forward, laying a kiss softly on Virgil’s forehead. “And here I was, wondering how you could be any more beautiful. Whatever have I done to be blessed with someone as perfect as you?”

(Backing up a ways - just fyi)

Virgil couldn’t stop. Sobs tore through him, ripping at his vocal cords, making them oh so horribly hoarse. How could his soulmate ever appreciate him now? What if he found him here, and ran away because of him? With his luck, he probably would. His clothes were wrinkled, his skin ghostly pale, his voice harsh from crying. How could anyone ever love that?

Virgil lost track of time - not that he was paying attention in the first place anyway. He didn’t know how long he’d been there when he heard it. Among his heavy breaths, between the tears, there might have been something. An echo. Maybe. He figured it to be just his voice echoing around the empty space.

Until he felt something. He wasn’t even sure it was there at first, just a ghost of a wind over his sleeve. Then it moved. Then it breathed. It was alive. Probably not an it then, eh Virgil? He didn’t let himself hope too much.

Was it a hand? It felt like it, pressing down timidly on his arm. It moved again after a moment, tracing the stitches on his jacket. He felt the fabric dipping under the weight, pressing for just a heartbeat on his skin, then returning to its original place, following the waves along. Virgil found himself comforted by the constant weight over his jacket, and the presence of the other, whoever they might be.

Carefully. Every so slowly, ever so carefully, Virgil let himself begin to peek over his arms. They’d slid off the arms of the couch he was laying on, where he’d been previously covering his head. Now, his right arm dropped off the couch ever so slightly, just enough to reveal his face. The left supported him as he slowly pushed himself more upright, the figure tracing his sleeves following; unconsciously, it seemed.

For a time, Virgil forgot how to breath. Caught in his throat. The hair atop the stranger’s head was a soft fawny brown, almost… lighter in the front? Each hair clung together and stood apart, falling lightly - he guessed - over the other’s face. Carefully combed over, but still left somewhat undone - or maybe that was from Jiaga racing over the stage so often - let the whole thing look perfectly woven, almost as if from some tapestry. Still, the colour of it. Those browns, staggered throughout the initial lightness of it, seeming darker in the thicker parts, fading lighter where the hair fell forward.

He had to remind himself how to breath. Tried to push the air past whatever seemed to be stuck in his throat. Watched as the breeze moved over the fine hairs, not quite disturbing them. The figure stopped moving, stopped tracing over his jacket. Brought their hand down to brush against Virgil’s. Let it stop so only their fingertips touched. Raised their head, not too slowly, but not fast either. Virgil was left to watch as the face appeared from under that hair. Left to watch as eyes slowly panned up to his face, his eyes.

They were brown. That beautiful light deep dark brown from the theatre. The skin around them flushed, but at the same time, almost… worried? That short flash of worry disappeared though, as quickly as it was there. Virgil just looked. Felt his eyes beginning to threaten tears again. Tried to blink them away. Frustrated when more appeared.

Virgil felt satin under his palm, realizing he just wanted to be nearer to the man before him. Pushed gently with his hand, felt the fingers in his lap unlace with his, watched the prince’s face turn scared. Trust me. Just sit back, trust me. He tried to convince the other in his mind, through his eyes, just hoping he got the message.

Virgil almost fell off the couch, reaching for the royal. Wrapped his arms around him. Virgil felt himself crying again, found he couldn’t pull himself away. Surrounded, he was surrounded in the scent of the other. Something sweet and fresh and old. Not bad, wrinkly old. No. An old sharpness which has since been chiseled away until now, when it hardly exists. Everything about him felt safe. The actor’s body was warm, and the costume cool, something about that was the best thing Virgil had felt in a long time.

Eventually, his tears were spent, and he was beginning to think again. Wondered what his soulmate’s name might be. He never really cared to read the cast lists. The ache in his chest returned, his throat felt thick and rocky. It wasn’t so bad as before though, especially considering the circumstances. He tried to ask the question, hoping he was heard through the garb, or at least that the other wouldn’t mind Virgil’s asking.

The arms surrounding him loosened, as a melodic hum sounded above him. Virgil looked up, seeing the other man cocking his head, like a confused pup, brow ever so slightly furrowed in question.

Virgil smiled at the sight, lost for a moment in the view. Realized the Prince was probably waiting on him to repeat himself.

“What am I supposed to call you, Princey?” Virgil found himself fond of that particular nickname.

The other closed his eyes, grinning widely. “As much as I like your nickname for me,” he chuckled, “my proper name is Roman.”

The warm voice was nice to just listen to for a moment. Not loud, nor quiet, nor fast or slow. Wild and melodious, like an unsung melody. Virgil didn’t escape the feeling of being pushed away from the other ever so slightly. He grabbed the other’s arms gently, simply holding on, as though he might have fallen over, though the real reason was much different. The Prince allowed him his “anchor”, simply holding Virgil away at maybe ¾ arms length.

“And you? You do have a name, yes Dark Violet?” Well that was fast.

Virgil felt the reply slipping past his lips with a giggle, unashamed. His eyes again meeting Roman’s for a time. Then… then. Virgil was pulled forward ever so slightly, but even as he went to wrap his arms around the other once more, the Prince’s arms kept him just at bay. Confused, Virgil turned his head up more, wanting to read Roman’s face. He didn’t get very far though, as soon as lips pressed gently against his forehead, lingering for but a second. Virgil felt Roman’s nose, brushing his hair and a single soft breath as the royal retreated.

Too dumbstruck to do anything in return, Virgil simply settled for burying himself in Roman’s chest, holding tight and only turning his face out enough to breathe. Those safe, warm arms surrounded him again, and Virgil couldn’t help but sigh.

Again, there was weight on his head. Soft breath ghosting over his hair, a face resting on it, pulling some hair - but what did that matter now? - but mainly just murmuring so the other could hear.

“And here I was, wondering how you could be any more beautiful. Whatever have I done to be blessed with someone as perfect as you?”

No more tears, though some did try to reach his eyes, Virgil simply felt his heart ache. His head fell in again to rest against Roman’s chest. They stayed there for a long time. Nothing but each other, tears, aching, joy.