#y’all remember the og height difference?

[moved-meadows]

I got confused which Georgebur anon I am now (another one!!), but thank you so much for that drabble <333 you truly are a gift for all of us. Are you still in the mood for some Georgebur royalty au? Or any au tbh I live for all of them

aaa you’re welcome!! thank you guys for requesting them and indulging me in my own guilty pleasures of georgebur aus. to my knowledge you’re my third georgebur anon? since there’s the og one and the crown one? but i don’t know. 100% i can do another royalty au!! i’m always gonna be in the mood for that

edit: anyway yeah so this took like 7 tries to start and somewhere halfway along i lost where i was going but take it anyway because its like a thousand three hundred words of trash. but like. it’s my trash. and its trash that i like. so y’all will get it anyway you’re welcome

the glittering ballrooms, golden chandeliers with light bouncing off jeweled necks and wrists, lilting classical music and indistinct chatter from people who are watching his every move, hoping to find some sort of weakness that they could pin on his country; all of it’s become second-hand to wilbur. bland, tasteless, boring.

he’s been accompanying his father in these social gatherings for what feels like longer than life that all the parties and the balls have begun to blend together, but between him and his two siblings, there was no other choice. charm and grace had never been techno nor tommy's virtue, both for different reasons entirely. techno’s always struggled with people outside of their immediate family, often getting lost in his own head, and while tommy can be charming when he wishes, he’s too young and far too immature most of the time, hence why it’s always wilbur, with all his charming smiles and honeyed voice.

it’s not that he’s ungrateful. it’s his duty as the prince to solidify his relations with others, and there often comes a certain allure to parties like this (or maybe wilbur just takes far too much glee in proving people wrong when they test him for his skills in conversing in high society) but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get boring. he’s still only a child, the youngest in this room by far, further proving that he’s not just the useless second prince.

he looks around, his icy blue eyes—the symbol of his country and his father’s lineage—unreadable as he surveys the room. no one is looking at him, and for once he’s grateful to have inherited his mother’s curly brown hair rather than his father and his younger brother’s golden locks, as it allows him to disappear into the crowd, away from the watchful eyes of strangers and his father’s men alike.

the night breeze is heavenly compared to the warmth that had almost become stifling inside, but before he can find himself relaxing he quickly notices a figure sitting on the balcony, head tilted up to the blanket of boundless stars, expression pensive and thoughtful. wilbur tries to leave as quietly as when he first entered, not wanting to distract the beautiful (for he is beautiful, with the beams of moonlight trickling down his pale, exposed neck, bouncing off the smattering of freckles across his face and illuminating his multicolored eyes) stranger, when he says this without even turning around:

“you can stay. if you’d like.” his voice, soft and velvet, surprises wilbur enough to rob him of the words he wishes to say, the words he knows he should say. staying feels... dangerous, for some reason. like falling into a trap except he doesn’t know what it is or how he becomes victim. he’s already treading on unknown waters. he doesn’t want this conversation with this stranger to be his downfall. but against his better judgment, he moves to join him by the edge of the balcony and cranes his head up to look at the stars.

“beautiful, isn’t it?” wilbur nods. it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen back at home. “they say tonight is the night when the twin gods were separated, and their tears are what cover the sky.” he reaches his hand out, fingers stretched as though he could take a handful out of the stars. wilbur thinks dazedly that if it were this man, he could. he looks like he belongs up there with all of them. the stranger turns to him with eyes that see more than he would ever know.

“did you come out here to get away from it all too?” wilbur’s eyes threaten to look back at the warm glow of the inside, but it’s like he has him in a trance, as he can’t allow himself to look away.

“just a breather,” he replies dumbly, his tongue not working like it usually does.

“would you like to get away, then? pretend we’re not who we know we are?” that’s when wilbur looks down at the stranger's garb; light and casual, though expressly regal, except without any symbolism that would point him to his country of origin. he blinks wildly, drawing back, ice growing in his gaze as he starts closing himself off. in his mind, he’s already berating himself for getting distracted and letting his guard down.

the stranger takes his hand before he could fully take back all his wits.

“oh come on, don’t be like that. i don’t want to have to remember, not right now. and i know you don’t either.” once again, he agrees, against his better judgment, nodding quietly and knowing that he’ll agree again and again if only to see the flushed smile that blooms on the stranger’s lips when he sees him nod, “there’s a place i want to show you.” without letting go of his hand, he hops off the balcony with pristine grace, shoes making barely a sound as they hit the marble floor.

the stranger, for he still had not supplied his name, guided him past guards with such mastery that he can’t help but wonder how this person knows the inner and outer workings of the palace so well, but wilbur can’t focus on it for too long with george’s hand in his. he wonders if this is what he had thought all along, wishing for something to cure his boredom.

he leads them through long hallways that seem frozen in time, picturesque in their hazy beauty, with the two of them never slowing down long enough for wilbur to get a proper look. once again, wilbur doesn’t find himself minding too much, knowing he’s too distracted with every time they duck underneath the wide windows where moonlight spills in and drenches him. the same moonlight from the balcony they found each other in, and which they now find themselves under, deep in a maze of roses and thorns that had stopped making sense to wilbur within the first few turns.

the stranger had climbed to the roof of the gazebo just as easily as he had climbed off the balcony, and when wilbur compares his mannerisms to a cat he grins just like one, threatening to make wilbur fall. they talk for hours. he tells him not about his kingdom nor all the people back in the ballroom, and neither does he bring any of it up. instead, he talks about how he never believed in the gods until he told him all the stories in each constellation, and he compliments him for the fact that his mind is a void, and yet he can still spin the most beautiful tales. he sings for him, drunk on the night and the way he was able to make the stranger laugh so hard his eyes flutter close as he throws his head back. he almost doesn’t realize their time coming to an end as they both lean against the tiled roof, fingertips nearly brushing though never quite there.

“it’s getting late,” he murmurs, sounding just as reluctant for things to end as wilbur feels, his eyelashes making long shadows across his cheekbones as he blinks sleepily, finally lacing their pinkies together. shyly, almost hesitantly. wilbur finds himself braver than he had been all night, and perhaps in a very long time, and slowly dips the rest of his fingers in between his, watching as a warm blush settles over the stranger’s face.

their hands don’t leave each other as they traverse back to the balcony, rushing with each carriage that leaves the front gates threatening to be one of theirs. they’re panting when they finally reach their final destination, red cheeks not just from the cold air and physical exertion. when the stranger pulls his hand away, wilbur catches him just before he could.

“wait,” he says before he could stop himself, biting his lip, “tell me your name?”

he watches the stranger smile, leaning in close. that’s when wilbur notices their height difference, with how his forehead barely reaches his chin.

“george,” he had supplied, in hushed words that settled warm over wilbur’s skin as he leans back.