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It had been a calming night, and the palace gardens were blanketed with a peaceful hush. Slumbering, the stone castle stood high with all its occupants asleep tucked in luxurious warm blankets yet two figures stumbled through the dark, alone together with their grassy path only illuminated by a single handheld lamp grasped by the taller of the pair.
“I don’t think it is very wise to be awake at this time your majesty.” Matthew could only scoff in reply as he pranced ahead of the larger man- who’s wary glare was only visible thanks to the small flame from the lamp. Big blue eyes scanned the open space; with great precision, he watched the young strawberry-blonde prince hum contentedly. Even though he was only draped in a plain night tunic covered by a thick coat, the coat of which seemed too big as it was slipping down his shoulders, the royal showed no guilt for dragging his companion out at this silent hour. Tim wondered if that coat provided any warmth and protection from the chilly air.
“It’s a perfect night for a stroll. The weather is great” finally after a few minutes of silence, the young prince had mumbled out such careless words. Bluntly, The Dutch royal grumbled as he wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck: “No offence, but it’s fucking freezing.” his accent strong and foreign.
One would expect that such vulgar language exchanged between royals would result in some form of repentance in return, however, with the familiarity shared between the two Matthew could only conjure an amused smile. Knowing that there was no animosity in the complaint about his kingdom’s weather, he merely laughed, stopping and turning to face the other. His lavender-like eyes softened as he watched Tim stumble suddenly due to their halt, fumbling with the lamp so not to extinguish the blaze accidentally. The smaller one was flushed with red cheeks, mostly from the cooling breeze, and his stare harboured obvious curiosity- he hadn’t seen the Benelux Royals in over a year, only able to communicate and correspond from the private letters he had sent to the man presently in front of him. They had arrived hastily and although it seemed urgent and with great importance that Tim stayed here, His Fathers had refused to even hint at what could possibly conjure up an excuse for this long ‘visit’.
“None taken, it’s cold at your place too- I guess- however you're not used to adventuring out at night.” He paused as Tim hummed acknowledging the comment, half-agreeing with the sentiment clearly humoured at the idea of ‘adventuring at night’. He continued on, “Tell me- why is it that none of my family, nor the servants, nor the guards will reveal why you have travelled so far to my home?” Clearly, it was something serious as he witnessed the usually more stoic and grumpy man tense up, cough a little before rejecting Matthew’s request for an answer. He knew how much of a softie Tim really was.
“I shan’t tell you. Knowing your attitude It would cost too much to reason with you, besides I was meaning to show up sooner or later- perhaps it’s just fate putting me in a predicament where I must rush a little bit.” The older man was glaring down from his towering height, both close so they could be quiet (not that they minded their close proximity), his extra ft above Matthew did not intimidate him, instead, the inquisitive royal admired the older one’s stature. It made him look scarier than Tim actually was, tough and resilient. Noting with worry he studied that complex expression that was plastered on his visitor, it seemed sullen and in the moonlight, the usual assertive gaze bathed in a prominent feeling of remorse. What had gotten his beloved so down? The prince of the Franco-Britannia Kingdom pondered.
Sighing, the broad-shouldered man placed his hands on those smaller shoulders reassuringly, mustering up a small smile that was doused with melancholic thoughts. He had hoped to visit Matthew with something much grander...something bold and truly amazing to tell him, Alas Kingdom politics had failed him once more. Germanic fleets had occupied their shores and soon he found himself caught in between a conquest over his own land. Cowardly his sister had insisted he leave before he could escape the undying fierceness of war, His pride for his country was unwavering and so making his way to shelter here was diluting his own confidence. The King had opened their castle with open arms towards the Benelux Prince, agreeing to provide safety, in turn, he would not say a word to their child, to not worry the lovestruck boy. Not telling Matthew the real reason was another scald to the situation. Pursuing a future for his kingdom like this was not the way he imagined, although dying on the battlefield seemed ghastly, hiding here in fear made him feel like a ghost already.
If Matthew knew he would be undeniably angry. Angry at scumbags who marched into the land they do not weep for. Lives they do not plan to care for.
After all, Matthew was a sweet dreamer, innocent in the sense he would only feel this anger once he heard how tragic the Dutchman's life had become; it would not be in Mattie’s nature to hate another unless the malicious were to harm or threaten a something he cared, Matthew held no resentment if it were not his business. Recently any of Tim’s politics were suddenly his business. Although only 3 years younger than himself, Matthew was not used to conflict- no.. at least not the level of which Tim had braced through. He was so jovial and kind, brightening up such a dark dangerous world where one wrong move could kill the next generation. Tim needed him to stay that way and look up to him as if the world was better because that's how he felt when he saw that smile on those lips of his.
the twin prince took one of those hands off his shoulder and brought it up to his cheek, attempting to elicit any emotion besides evident fear from his company- “oh my dear hopeless, sometimes you seem so...so..well.. hopeless, can you not tell me?” the words soaked in a bit of a whine, but still ever so endearing. Matthew had begun using that nickname to his advantage, knowing that the ‘Hopeless’ man himself would warm up in accepting embarrassment, no matter what, the name reflected his secretly romantic side. As of then, the pair shared a moment, a pleasant, private and alluring moment. Matthew almost had him. Prince Tim was incredibly close to spilling out the explanation but that disorderly mess of hair that framed that innocent face stole his breath away once more. Huffing with slight frustration, Matthew gave up and instead pulled the man into a hug reserved only for him and his family. Tim brightened at this, the Kirkland-Bonnefoy boy had always treated him as one of the same.
Honeyed words had always spilt across their exchanged letters, in a strange way Tim could not find himself peace of mind if he didn’t write any sickly sweet sentiments. They had known of each other for far too long, and even longer haven’t acted upon their mutual attraction. If only he could have written his truth upon paper- make his affection official and sealed tightly with his revelations, packaged to his desire.
For the brightest flowers
I would give you them,
and my soul along with;
For the roots, you plant in my heart
I would give no poison,
Doing so would pollute you;
He can recall the first poem he sent to the young prince.
Your Efflorescence ebullience
Beleaguering my languor,
I wish you knew
Of the solemn nights
With fleeting thoughts,
All that plague my mind;
The moment his royal advisor alerted him that the letter was already on its way across the sea he shuddered, nervous- it could be weeks...months even! What if Matthew wanted to have nothing to do with him after all of this? What if he saw it as a political move?
Who shall be one to pluck,
Pluck a withered weed?
If I were to squalor
In a garden of your hope
Shall I wish to bloom with your soul?
Fear had washed away like a shower of relief, And in exchange, Matthew had sent him a beautiful painting his highness had illustrated himself- one of the glorious magnificent depictions of bright red tulips, the kind which grew in the Benelux kingdom that Mattie claimed took his breath away when they had visited. “I dream of when we can visit once more.” had been scrawled neatly in the corner of the painting, besides the neat cursive ‘M’; It was calming to know the feelings were mutual after all. Tim warmed when he had taken the boy around his dear palace gardens. Only after this brief reminiscence did he realise Matthew was still connected to him in a smothering hug, held tight to his chest.
“You should sleep, you dreamer,” the Dutchman muttered as he dove his head into the soft tufts of hair that were snuggling into his trusty scarf.
“...mmm sure, you’d bring me back to my room, right hopeless?” Matthew yawned as he detached, giggling softly as they both used silly nicknames- lovingly of course.
As they trudged back to the room (Tiptoed through the elegant hallways, careful to avoid any night guards who would question their motives for being up so late), the two kept together, hands tangled up in each other and strides synchronised as Matthew hummed next to his boyfriend(?). Finally, tuckered out as they reached Matthews room, Tim was to walk away silently letting it be known he had no intention of disturbing the already exhausted youth but the end of his scarf had been snatched suddenly. Pulling on the soft cotton he turned to look at his love.
“I get that you can’t tell me why you’re here yet...please do tell me tomorrow?” those faithful and hopeful eyes got the best of the spiky blonde, and he moved closer to give the younger one a shy kiss on the cheek, lingering yet chaste and sweet; full of care and promises of something greater than one could ever give to another, a soul and a heart. The night came to an end as he left the snoozing boy, feeling even warmer than the first time they had made it clear they were infatuated with each other.
The morning had dipped the sky in shy sunlight, graceful hues of amber painted the boring dreary blue. No one had said more than the usual pleasant good morning, even at breakfast none of the Royals (including their foreign guests) passed any conversation- although Matthew was scolded by his Father for ‘humming too loud even for a chipper day’ which of course received a cocky smirk from Tim who had witnessed Matthew’s blushing cheeks. And finally with some time alone Matthew had cornered said guest, one thing solely on his mind:
“Will you finally tell me what aches you so dearly, you hopeless man?”
War. Betrayal. Loss of Loyalty. A lot could ache anyone in charge of the livelihood of a nation, but he knew Matthew meant of more. Something they had both felt for far too long as if this silly infatuation was a curse that felt too familiar to even treat as an ailment; it was more like a heavenly swell of happiness that overlooked the darkest of dreary winter mornings, or frigid nights when flowers did not bloom and birds did not soar. It was pure brilliant love.
“It aches me that you don’t know how much I love you, my dear dreaming Matthew.”