Chapter Text
Of course, Fit would oversleep today.
It’s a final little detail to add to his repertoire of running around, heart in his throat, stress on a constant rush through his veins. However, there’s little to do about that now. There are many things you can fight and win against in this world, but time certainly is not one of them.
The guard lets out a heavy sigh and rolls over to his side, gazing at the light peeking through the dark curtain at his bedside.
He had been looking forward to taking his sweet time this morning, sacrificing a few hours of sleep to have some time to decompress from the long day of work. At least he was finally able to pick up Ramon himself which offers some comfort. The bright look on his boy’s face as Fit walked up to the school to meet him would keep him going for a long time.
Even though his original plan to beat the sun was over and done with, at least they still had a little time left before they needed to be on their way. The man rolls the remaining stretch out of bed, throws the blankets off of him haphazardly and hauls his legs over the side. After throwing on a torn, gray jumper and pants, he opens the door and heads to the kitchen.
Their house is not anything fancy by any sense of the imagination. Other than the kitchen there were two other rooms; his and Ramon's. It was assigned to them by the kingdom, close enough to the castle that the guards would be able to assemble quickly in the case of an emergency.
It’s not much, but enough for just him and his boy. They didn’t end up spending much time inside anyway.
After preparing Ramon’s breakfast, leaving it out for him on the kitchen table, he heads back out the hallway again, this time gently opening the door opposite to his. With just one look inside he could tell there is going to be a bit of a struggle this morning.
Ramon’s an early bird, unlike his father. Usually he’s already up and about by now, tinkering with one of his many projects scattered all across the room, or sitting in the corner, scribbling away in his little journal.
This morning, he’s still in bed with the covers over his head.
Fit puts his hands on his hips with a fond sigh and leans up against the doorway.
“ Ramon .” He calls in a sing-song voice. “We need to get this show on the road or you’ll be late.”
There’s a stir and the covers only shuffle briefly in response. Fit waits a bit before calling his name again.
Then, finally, a very sleepy Ramon rolls out of bed and onto the floor in a mess of limbs, his chestnut brown mop of hair standing up in all directions. Fit holds back the urge to laugh at the childish display.
“Fit.” Ramon mutters, voice stern and way too grown up for an eight-year-old boy.
“Yes, my boy?” He replies and the child slowly opens his eyes to stare at him.
“I’ve decided that I’m not going to school anymore. It’s too boring. I already know everything .”
Fit gives a loop-sided smile at the declaration. These are, to be fair, very valid arguments. His kid is bright, almost too smart for his own good sometimes. A lot of school is just him sitting around, twiddling his thumbs.
“I know, kid. I know. But I’m positive you’ll be bored out of your mind staying at home all day too.” Fit argues gently. Besides, Ramon’s main tool had broken apart yesterday, its broken pieces collected in a jar on his bedside table. They would have to buy a new one before he could return to work on his projects. He knows Ramon is aware of this too, but that still doesn’t stop the child from putting up a fight.
The boy shoots his arms out in a loud groan of protest, shaking his head from side to side.
“I’m going back to sleep.” He announces stubbornly and pulls the covers off the bed and throws them on top of himself. Fit huffs in amusement, slowly shaking his head.
Ramon doesn’t typically fight him in the mornings. Their routine is always the same and they both found comfort in sticking to it. The kid only ever threw a fit when something was afoot in that brilliant little mind of his, and needed some extra attention. It’s gotten rarer as Ramon grew older, but Fit would humor it just the same whenever it happened.
“I’m sorry, kid, you’re not getting out of this.” Fit says with a playful smirk, slowly leaving his spot in the doorway. He goes to poke and prod at the pile on the floor, even attempting to pull the covers off, but Ramon has them in a death grip.
“My legs hurt. I can’t walk anymore.” A muffled voice whines and Fit grins at the blatant lie. The kid sure was pulling all the stops today.
However, this is not Fit’s first rodeo.
Without warning, he bends down, slips one arm around Ramon’s shoulders, the other hooking underneath his knees, and shoots up to his feet so quickly that the child bounces upwards in his arms. Ramon shrieks in a poorly disguised laugh, dropping the covers on the floor, his hands instead going to uselessly wack at his father in the chest.
“Oh my god, my beautiful baby boy has lost his ability to walk. I can’t believe this has happened! I’ll be forced to carry him all the way to school.” Fit says with all the dramatics.
“Nooo!” Ramon puffs out his cheeks and kicks his legs out in the air in protest, red in the face from trying to hide his amusement from his father, which turns out to be highly unsuccessful.
“ Vamos !” Fit proclaims and turns on his heel, walking off into the hallway with a widely protesting child in his arms. He pretends to be heading straight for the front door, making Ramon kick and wiggle frantically, but at the last second turns towards the kitchen area.
“Let me down!” Ramon demands in a shrill tone.
“Fine. Have it your way then.” Fit responds, pretending to drop him by easing his grip and then catching him again before he hits the floor. It’s the final nail in the coffin for Ramon’s tough guy facade and he quickly melts into childish giggles, nose wrinkling as he shakes his head furiously.
Fit grins down at him with everything fond and finally lets him down for real by the set of chairs. Three wooden ones stood around a square table up against a small window.
Ramon slumps down on his usual chair to the left, narrowing his eyes up at Fit.
“I’m almost nine. I’m too old for games.” He tells him, his round little face very serious, despite being a giggling mess seconds ago, and crosses his arms with a displeased huff. Fit only chuckles, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Shit, well, where does that leave me? I don’t feel too old yet.”
“Well,” Ramon stops to contemplate his father’s point for a second. “You’re just not that smart, Fit.”
Fit splutters in a laugh. He catches Ramon in a loose headlock, pressing a kiss against the messy hair, earning a new set of loud embarrassed protests from his boy.
“You’re not wrong, my boy. You’re not wrong. You’re smarter than me, that’s for sure.” He says and takes a seat opposite his son.
Ramon rolls his eyes grumpily, brows furrowed. He mutters something under his breath as he quickly snatches a spoon from the table and digs into his breakfast; a simple bowl of oatmeal and fruits that Fit prepared for him.
Despite Ramon’s dramatic sulking, Fit notices the happy glimmer in the child’s eyes, and that is all that would ever truly matter to him. He knows that they have not been able to spend as much time together lately. Rarely did his line of work allow him to leave on time, as something always seems to require his attention at the castle.
It’s only gotten worse lately, Fit having seen guards getting thrown to the curb for expressing even the slightest complaint about the federation’s strict ruling. If it wasn’t for public opinion Cucurucho would probably disband the royal guard at the drop of a hat, replacing them all with his own blank, emotionless goons.
Fit didn’t like to think about what would happen then. The royal guard had sworn their loyalty to the crown, and the crown only. Even if Cucurucho had the prince under his control right now, they would always protect the monarch first if they had to choose. If they are disbanded, well, that would probably be the beginning of the end.
There would be no one left by the prince’s side.
“-Fit? Fit. Dad !” The voice snaps Fit right out of his daze and he turns around, blinking owlishly at his son.
“Huh? Yeah, kid? What’s up?” He responds, to which Ramon sighs.
“I’m ready to go now if I really have to.” The boy is now standing up, dressed up properly for school with his leather school bag dragging behind him by the strap. Fit didn’t even notice him leaving the room. He needs to stop spacing out like that.
“Good job. Just gotta get into my gear and I’ll meet you in the hall, okay? Go put your shoes on.” He tells him and Ramon nods, hurrying off into the hall. Fit stands up as well, going into his bedroom to put on his silvery armor pieces, a relatively quick process for a veteran, and finally tops it all off with his green scarf wrapped around his neck. It gets a little stuffy wearing it as the weather gets warmer, but Fit feels kinda strange and incomplete without it, so on it goes.
When he’s ready to go, Ramon’s already outside, waiting for him by the gate to the wooden fencing surrounding the property. Fit locks the door behind him, and checks it a few times until satisfied, before walking up to his son.
“Alright, let’s get going.” He says and moves to step out into the street when he feels a light kick in his chin. He stops, confused, when he sees Ramon holding up an item in front of him with an unimpressed stare.
“You forgot this.” He tells him. It’s his wallet, Fit realizes, and he breaks out into an amused smile. Ramon probably got sick of him always forgetting it inside the house and having to go back to get it.
“Wow, I can’t believe my own child would steal money from me.” Fit teases as he takes the wallet and puts it away in his bag loosely thrown across his shoulder. When he looks back again, Ramon is glaring daggers and the guard laughs.
“I’m just joking, Ramon. Thank you, my boy, for taking care of your forgetful old man.” He says and ruffles the kid’s hair affectionately.
“You’re welcome.” Ramon huffs, nose held high in the air in pride before stomping off in the direction of the school, Fit following close behind.
The town outside the castle walls is bustling with life just like every other morning. People and wagons come and go in all directions, hurrying to work and school, always with a rush in their step. The tightly packed houses all stand shoulder to shoulder, only leaving narrow streets behind to navigate, except for the main road leading up the winding hill to the castle.
It smells of freshly baked goods and bread from Niki’s bakery as they pass by, and Fit wishes he had the time to stop to pick up something for when inevitably gets hungry later, but they were already running a bit late. They continue past it and turn the corner, finally almost at the school.
When they arrive, Mister Halo, also known as Bad, the newly employed teacher, is still out on the porch, welcoming the kids as they arrive. He looks a bit restless today as he taps his foot on the ground, hands resting on his hips. His tense features still soften into a cheerful smile as they approach.
“Oh! Good morning, Ramon, Fit!” Bad greets them and Fit raises his hand in a lazy wave.
“Morning!” He replies.
“So, Fit, you don’t happen to make a habit of stealing, do you?” The tone is joking more so than accusatory and Fit chuckles at the unexpected question.
“Not last I checked. Why? Something’s missing?”
“I bought new sets of paints for the children the other day and now they’re all gone. It’s interesting, is all.”
“Huh, that’s weird.” Fit doesn’t say anything else, even despite having his suspicions about a possible culprit after a little something he saw the other day. He saves that as something to look into himself once he finds the time.
“Guess it can’t be helped. Maybe I put it somewhere and forgot?” The teacher scratches his chin in thought before sighing deeply. He then turns to Ramon with a kind smile.
“You’re the last one to arrive today, Ramon. Say goodbye to your dad and come join us inside when you’re ready, okay?
Ramon nods in response and Bad disappears into the school building. Fit watches him leave before crouching down by his son with a smile.
“Have a good day now, my boy. Phil’s gonna be here to pick you up in the afternoon, alright?” Fit tells him and fondly ruffles Ramon’s hair. Just as he’s about to leave, a hand circles his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The kid isn’t looking at him, instead staring into the ground while kicking at a rock.
“Are you working late again this week?” Ramon’s voice is quiet and meek. Fit’s heart drops like a rock.
“Looks like it. I’m sorry, kid.” He forces out, his hands coming up to gently adjust Ramon’s shirt collar.
He so badly wanted to say no. That he would be here every single afternoon; everything else be damned.
Ramon is his son, yet he still spends more time with Phil and his family than his own dad. Of course, he is eternally grateful that Phil can help them out but it still doesn’t make the disappointment on Ramon’s face sting any less. He just prays the kid didn’t grow up to resent him for how much time he had to spend away.
“What about friday?”
“I’ll do my damndest to pick you up on friday. I promise.”
Ramon stays silent but reluctantly lets go of Fit’s wrist. He nods, eyes distant in thought, before finally looking up again with a tiny smirk.
“I guess I’ll go now. I’m gonna beat everyone at math again. We have a test today.”
“That’s my boy.” Fit grins. He opens his arms to offer a hug, to which Ramon immediately responds by flinging himself forward, arms winding around his neck. Fit squeezes his child with a little extra energy before releasing him, Ramon waving before scurrying up the stairs and disappearing into the school building.
Fit rises to a stand, gaze lingering on the closed door. He knows Ramon will be fine, but there is always this stir of worry in the pit of his stomach whenever the boy left his sight. A groundless parental fear that would probably never leave him, no matter how old Ramon gets.
The guard turns to leave, when he notices a familiar-looking wagon roll past, then slowing to a stop, a man leaning over the side of it, looking his way with a toothy, friendly grin on his face.
It’s Pierre, Fit realizes, the royal chef probably just having finished picking up resources from the town. Despite having other servants to help get ingredients for the kitchen, he always insisted on getting them himself, claiming he had the best eye for quality. Stubborn, perhaps, but Fit couldn’t say he was wrong.
Pierre’s food and self-produced whine are known to be the best in the kingdom by far. It's no wonder he ended up serving royalty.
“Fit! Hey!” Pierre grins with a short wave. “Do you want a ride up? Rest your old legs?”
Fit scoffs at the remark implying he’s old despite them being about the same age. He looks up, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, at the dark-haired, stubbled man.
“Morning Pierre. Sure, I guess I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“Up, up.” Pierre pats the spot beside him in the wagon. Fit grabs hold of the side of the vehicle and swings himself up with ease. Once he’s up and settled, Pierre smacks his lips and the horses obediently trots along the road once more.
Only now does Fit realize that they’re not the only two in the cart. Chayanne, Phil’s son, a year older than Ramon, sits cross-legged on a crate in the back, wide-eyed, almost bouncing on the spot with energy.
“Oh! Chayanne! Hey, kid, I forgot you’re an apprentice these days. How is it so far? Pierre’s a funny guy, but you’ll get used to him eventually.”
“Hey-” Pierre protests at his side but it lacks any real heat.
Chayanne only lights up like the sun.
“Hi, Sir Fit! It’s great! I got to help pick out ingredients for supper tonight. We got so, so many potatoes! Guess how many sacks you need for a whole castle.”
Fit hums out loud, rubbing his chin in thought.
“Like, five?” He guesses.
“Oh, not even close .” Chayanne says, eyes wide with wonder and Fit laughs.
“Chayanne’s the best helper I’ve had in a long time.” Pierre says, stepping into the conversation. “He’s got an eye for quality, not bad. Not bad at all.” He hums, visibly pleased, and Fit watches as Chayanne beams with his praise.
The three of them continue up the hill, settling into a friendly back-and-forth as they approach the castle. Despite taking in this view every single day, Fit still took a second to appreciate its impressive splendor.
Its silvery walls shimmer in the morning rays, carrying mellow hues of pink and orange that bounce off the tiny gems embedded and scattered across the pale white material. In the corners, the walls reach towards the sky and spiral into towers with dark blue ceilings, all adorned with flags carrying the royal insignia.
Fit’s gaze trails the details aimlessly, relaxing into the steady pace of the wagon as it bumps and hops along the road. Pierre and Chayanne have long since lost him in the conversation, chatting about some intricate details relating to today’s food menus, but Fit finds he doesn’t mind. He knows it’s probably going to be another busy day so better enjoy the peace while it lasts.
His mind wanders to Ramon, then dips into something a little more forbidden, until they finally arrive at their destination and it’s time to go separate ways. Fit thanks Pierre for the ride and wishes Chayanne good luck on his apprenticeship, before he hops off the wagon and heads to the courtyard for the guard’s morning assembly.
“It’s not my fault she didn’t like Ratinho! We’re a two-for-one deal. A package! You can’t be upset at me for this.”
Pac’s voice turns echoey as they step out into the hall, the prince right on Cucurucho’s heels as they walk. He keeps a high pace and Pac has an awkward skip to his step to keep up. Ratinho has long since settled back into his right pocket, having done his part for the day.
“First you do not study. Now you cannot even act properly at important meetings for your kingdom.” Cucurucho’s voice is cut-off and cold, and Pac’s brows furrow at his wording.
“Important meetings? That’s not what I would call them.” Pac retorts without thinking.
All his dates so far were from kingdoms with higher statuses. He’s sick of their sneers and polite smiles, always with judgment lingering just underneath the surface. They’re here for an easy potential to expand their kingdom. To take an easy target.
His fingers still stings from the rose he was given due to thorns that had carelessly been left in the stem. He had grabbed it in good faith without thinking. It’s his fault for not being careful. Perhaps he had become a bit spoiled with such gifts in the past.
They turn a corner, coming up on Pac’s least favorite hall in the entire castle. It’s more narrow than the other ones, lined from wall to wall with portraits. Royal portraits. Of past kings and queens of the kingdom, all up until the present time. They all gawk and stare with stoic, unimpressed gazes as they walk past.
Pac ignores it, keeping his attention firm on the red carpeted floors.
“Why do you want me to find a partner so badly? Don’t you think one monarch has given you enough trouble?” Pac asks, not able to quell the frustration showing between the syllables.
“A royal union is important for the monarchy to continue.”
“Oh, so, double the people to control. I see.”
Cucurucho spins around, eyes intense and smile stale. The atmosphere changes drastically, like a cold draft washing over them, and Pac knows he’s pushed too far. The prince flinches and stumbles back a step, hands coming up in defense on behalf of old instincts.
“Stop talking back to me and just do as I say.”
“Shouldn’t I have a right to to speak? I-I’m the prince .”
The paintings still peer down at Pac from their spots on the wall. They see right through him.
“Yes. Yes, that you are,” Cucurucho takes a step closer and Pac freezes. “Now, do as you're told, or there will be more severe consequences waiting for you in the future, your highness.” The man tells him, drawing out the title at the end. He tilts his head as his smile grows, tugging harshly at his cheeks; a single strand of pale blond hair escaping the pristine, brushed-back bun.
His eyes are pitch dark and surely only bad things could ever live in there.
Pac swallows. He digs his fingernails into his thumbs, the pain serving as a reminder to move. He wrangles his hands together and tucks them behind his back, one wrist holding the other in place.
The prince smiles and it’s a well-practiced display.
“Ah, hm. Well, the last punishment was good for me, I think. I learned a lot about, erm, how to behave. I need more practice though. You have to be patient with me.” He says, making sure his voice is disarming and calm.
Cucurucho’s tense features switches back into disinterest. He steps out of Pac’s space, silently readjusting his collar with a displeased huff. Pac’s grip on his own wrist eases slightly.
“It’s just- I have a question about page 16. What exactly does it mean by ‘speak in an appropriate manner’? Is it a specific accent? Words? Titles? Didn’t explain enough in my opinion.”
“There’s a list on page 17.”
“Oh-” So that’s where he fell asleep last night.- “I feel like I already got that list down already.” He says and Cucurucho deadpans.
“No.”
“ Okaay then.” Pac scratches the back of his neck.
Cucurucho levels him with another unimpressed stare.
“Make yourself useful somewhere and show up on time for tomorrow's lessons.”
With that, the man turns and walks away, leaving Pac alone with his thoughts and racing heart in a hallway full of eyes. He takes a deep breath, inhales and exhales, before finally deciding to leave.
He needs to calm down, to get his mind off this quickly. To forget and slip back into pretending.
It’s fine. It’s all wonderful. Great.
The prince leaves with no real goal other than to get out of there, tensing and relaxing his hands repeatedly as he walks.
After making sure no one is around, Pac reaches into a secret pocket in his pants and fishes up a knife he keeps hidden on him. You know, as you do. He’s technically not supposed to walk around with weapons inside the castle, but let’s face it, there are a lot of things that Pac does that aren’t following proper etiquette.
He fishes up the rose from where it was previously shoved into the pocket of his coat, beginning the process of removing every thorn down to the slightest splinter from its stem.
Fit has never regretted his choice of profession as much as he does right now.
Cucurucho continuously submits orders, sending a guard, or sometimes an entire squadron, on vague missions and patrols around the kingdom, to keep an eye out for enemies of the kingdom or to hunt down people who haven’t paid their taxes in time. Usually, they’re just playing a game of hide and seek without even knowing what they’re looking for.
Pointless is what it is, a waste of their time, and Fit knew that they were just being tossed around like pawns to settle the man’s paranoia or greed depending on the day.
Fit has just returned from a mission down the west of the town. There had been some unfounded rumors about trouble brewing down there, but when Fit got there the only thing brewing was his frustration.
To calm his nerves, he had decided to take a break to stroll around the garden, before inevitably having to get started on some paperwork. His attention is quickly drawn to a brand new row of planters along the south side of the courtyard, all filled with freshly planted flowers of some kind. He slows to a stop and takes a closer look.
They’re small ones, coupled together in clusters. Petals in a purple hue in the back, white in the middle with a golden center. Fit recognizes them, recalling hearing them mentioned on the list of plants that the gardener said he was planning to add next.
That’s when he hears soft footsteps behind him. Careful, methodical ones. A lousy attempt to sneak up on him, but an attempt nonetheless. Fit didn’t have to look behind him to know who it was. There’s only one man who would even try to sneak up on him like this.
A voice clears his throat at his side, and all his suspicions are confirmed at once.
“Oh, what are these called?” Pac asks him. Fit doesn’t look away from the flowers as he chuckles.
“I’m surprised you think someone like me knows anything about flowers, your highness.” He says, aimlessly brushing his fingers along the petals, pausing to feel one between two fingers.
“But you do, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, I guess . But that’s all on Phil. That old man can never shut up. He treats me like a wooden board to throw information at when his brain’s too full. Which, don’t tell him, happens way too often to be normal.”
Pac snickers at the comment.
“Okay, well, you still haven’t answered my question.”
Fit glances at Pac, feeling momentarily bashful before answering.
“They’re, uh, heartsease, I believe.”
Pac repeats the name, eyeing the flowers in curiosity when his brows suddenly shoot up.
“Wait, wait, heart disease? Are they poisonous?” He asks, looking to Fit with wide eyes.
“Wha-” Fit splutters, almost choking on his laughter as he waves his hands into the air in protest.
“No, no, hearts ease . Believe Phil said it’s used as a herb sometimes.”
“So, they won’t give me heart disease?” Pac grins.
“Don’t worry. If they don’t feed you enough, you’re free to go to town on these.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You won’t tell on me to Phil?”
“I support all your rights and wrongs, your highness.”
“Even if I eat the entire garden?”
“Even if you do that, yeah. I’ll even carry your body inside once you pass out from the unholy stomach aches after.”
“Thank you, Fit.” Pac snorts.
The prince then turns around, back against the wooden planter, and sinks into the grass, showing no care for his expensive clothes; the outfit from yesterday having made a comeback today. The warm afternoon light frames the prince’s face nicely, casting the side of his face and hair in a pleasant orange glow. Fit trails his gaze along the sight before catching himself awkwardly staring and pries his eyes away.
The guard allows himself to follow suit and takes a seat beside Pac with a quiet grunt.
They settle into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's presence and the nice weather. It’s a welcome break from today’s frustrations and the prince appears to share the sentiment. His shoulders are relaxed and the troubled crease on his forehead he had when he arrived is finally gone without a trace.
“Hey, Fit.” The prince says after a while. Fit hums in response.
“What about this one?”
Fit turns his head to see what Pac is referencing and freezes in an instant. The prince has scooted closer, a hand already moving up towards the side of his face. The guard only catches a flash of red petals before he feels a flower being tucked gently behind his left ear.
It’s a quick action, Pac having retreated before he can process what happened. Every extra second his fingers had lingered against the side of his head, felt like sparks of electricity, and Fit had no idea what to make of it.
“What’s this flower called, captain?” Pac asks innocently, and the mischievous glimmer in his warm eyes makes Fit want to stand up, run away, and promptly throw himself in the fountain nearby.
No. No, he’s gotta pull himself together. This is the prince . There’s absolutely no room for any strange thoughts.
Fit swallows, trying to piece together his scrambled composure as he carefully runs his fingers along the petals and down toward the smoothened stem.
The guard wants to ask where he got it from, but is afraid the answer will be something he’s not ready to deal with. Instead he offers a grin, well aware that it’ll probably come across as nervous.
“Not to be rude, your highness, but I think knowing what a rose is should be considered common knowledge.” He says before attempting a smirk. It’s not his best work. “Maybe it’s time to go back to studying.”
Pac is looking a little flustered himself now, his cheeks wearing slight a hint of pink, despite him being the instigator in this situation. He chortles at Fit’s teasing, playfully swatting at his arm.
“You teaching me flower names now and again is good enough. I have enough to study already as it is.” Pac says, face falling into something a bit more distant. It’s a subtle change, but Fit picks up on it.
“Cucurucho isn’t giving you too hard of a time, is he?” He asks, careful as he breaches the subject.
“It’s fine. Nothing out of the usual.”
“The usual isn’t that great to begin with.”
Pac's smile dwindles.
“I guess you’re right. But I have nothing to complain about. I’m very lucky.”
Fit’s expression shifts as he struggles to hide his dismay with the vague response. Pac pretends not to notice, gaze darting all over the place, but Fit still does not press.
That’s how things always went. Surface level, and never anything else. Fit isn’t complaining. He knows it's for the best that it remains this way.
“You think I should return to work looking like this?” He asks to break the building tension in the air and points to his face. Pac’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he hums out loud as if to mull it over.
“Sure! You look cute, Fit.” He decides. “Like a lion with a red bow.”
Fit bites down hard on the flustered, incredulous noise that almost leaves his mouth. He covers it up with a cough followed by a nervous laugh, waving his hands into the air.
“C-Come on, I know I might not look the part, but I do have some pride. Please let me keep it. His highness calling me cu- that , is just too much.”
“Sorry,” Pac covers his mouth in an attempt to hide his laughter. His ass is not sorry. “You look cool. Really cool.” He says, deepening his voice in an incredibly silly way.
“Sure.” Fit scoffs, unable to hold back a smile, and squints his eyes at the prince who only continues to laugh. It’s a nice sound by all means, light, and bubbly, and Fit finds it takes the edge of his heatless frustration.
This is what their conversations always ended up being. Light and always dancing along the surface, never delving deeper than what meets the eye. An escape for both of them. A safe place to rest even if it’s never longer than for a couple of minutes.
They both had their walls. Walls higher than any of them could ever climb. Maybe to keep each other safe. At least, that’s what it's about to him. No matter what personal feelings may or may not swirl about in the background, it didn’t matter in the end.
This is how things are between them and that is all that it ever would be.
It’s strange how fate always seems to take matters into its own hands.
That night, Fit is abruptly awakened by a sound he’s never had to deal with before.
Sure, he’s heard it a hundred times over. After hours of practice rounds, hearing it in a situation without actual danger. Teaching the recruits how to handle it, what things to do in what order, and what to prioritize.
But he has never heard it like this before.
He wakes up and his blood runs cold, a shiver crawling up and down his spine.
The bells are ringing.
The bells are fucking ringing .
He throws on his armor, equips his sword, and rushes out into the night. He remembers what to do, in what order to do it, and what to prioritize. The mantra spins inside his head until it fizzles out and dies, leaving only one thing behind.
One name, repeating over and over again.
There’s an attack on the castle and Fit can only pray that he isn't too late.