Archive of Our Own

The king cleared his throat from where he was perched, fingers tapping diligently on the metallic armrest, head tilted back so his throat was exposed as he gulped, adam’s apple bobbing. George stood down in front of him, in between the knights instructed to guard, eyes darting around the silver throne where Wilbur was seated like a proud man, with only his pride to be proud of. 

George sifts a hand through his hair while he waits, eyes glued to the way his Father thinks, thinks like all that runs through his mind are imperiled decisions that meet no end. Yet when he speaks, he proves him wrong and it makes him stifle a groan. 

“There’s not much to be done today, most of which you completed yesterday ,” The king starts, voice low and demanding, “There’s files to be read and sorted, jobs to be assigned and vessels to be sent out and cleaned. I warn you that there may be others already started, but you were always good at following.”

George ignores the clear insult and his brown eyes search for his, darkening when they lock.

While Wilbur continues to ramble on about the day’s chores and assignments, George drifts off into a familiar headspace that he welcomes at the expense of useless ramblings, forced to stand there on 2 solid feet that just wish to be carried away to his room and to be propped up for rest. George didn’t carry himself poorly, nor did he disrespect his status, but everything bored him when it came to his royal duties that of course , his own disputable father demanded upon him. 

When silence enraptured them again, George found it in himself to nod, even though he didn’t hear a thing the king said. Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice as he hums and cracks his knuckles that are covered in a thick, black leather around his fingers, compared well to his matching vest and black slacks. He narrows his eyes down at George again, the brit shaking his head and giving him a vast smile, turning around and stilling in between the two knights, when Wilbur’s voice rises again. 

“And don’t make yourself useless, will you? You’re getting older George, yet I see no change.”

Usually, George would scowl, approach his throne with an angered face and furiously bent eyebrows, cursing at him that he has changed and he is useful. But the foul language and devious behavior would prove hypocritical. 

So instead he stills, plants his feet and doesn’t say a word. He stifles the anger and turns it into ignorance, because it’s the best thing he can do. The warmth beside him tenses, only one knight he can sense the emotion radiate from. 

He doesn’t think about it for too long, rubbing the collar around his wrist and stepping forward, away from the king without another word to be spared. 

Turning what is behind him into forgotten ash, he leaves the king’s main room and heads towards the hall, echoing footsteps following slowly aligned with his quick huffs as he settles down the long, decorated corridors he has grown so used to. Behind him, he can hear the faint steps of someone else, which he can assume is one of his knights, perhaps Sapnap, who's beckoning another chase and banter that he’s familiar with. 

Soon enough, the warm presence and eager musk of the knight is quick to time his steps with the prince, a bold smile on his face and a slumping hand rising temptingly on the smaller’s shoulder. 

“You don’t seem too thrilled about your royal duties, prince,” The knight comments in his smug voice, warm and enveloping something snarky George has learned to despise. He hasn’t spent much time with the protector, knowing he had no real reason to because Sapnap's only job was to keep watch of him. Yet it still made his insides bubble with something similar to a cure of his boredom. 

George shrugs the hand off his shoulder, not meeting his eyes for the sake of useless conversation. “Yeah, and what is it to you?”

Sapnap coughs out a laugh, a janky response to George that he cringes at mentally. George stiffens and clears his throat, and Sapnap immediately stops smiling. George can’t physically see him, but by the way he shuts and his warmth decreases, it’s easy to tell. He has always been good at reading people. 

“I only want the beautiful prince to feel happy, comfy in his own shoes. Yet I can’t see you in that state,”  The knight says with confidence, walking slightly faster so he steps ahead of George, now in full view but not much taller than George himself. He finds it slightly endearing that they can be level, so if they were to ever argue, Sapnap wouldn’t have an advantage. 

George winces at the compliment, now strung up on how he looks, how his hair is confined and if his outfit is wrinkly from the morning’s fold in his drawer. He lifts his head to narrow his eyes in Sapnap’s direction, only getting another smirk in retaliation. 

“How can a knight have the audacity to flirt with the prince?” George replies, voice trying to prove he’s annoyed but it can’t lower the confident smile Sapnap wears on his face. He wants to say it bugs him to his core, but with the way his face shines and stubble cleanses, it’s hard to admit that it’s admirable. 

Sapnap crosses his arms and peers at the prince when they walk side by side, still confiding in the hallway down to the main corridor where the balcony meets the stairs, and they begin to step down.

“It is no lie that you are beautiful, does it make me a flirt when I state the truth?” George only shrugs, rolling his eyes in the process, prompting Sapnap to continue. “Oh to be a prince,”

Finally George laughs, tilting his head back as his eyes close for a quick second, Sapnap enjoying the gesture while he can take it, watching the prince unintentionally, revealing his pale neck and pearly teeth when he laughs. 

“Don’t wish for it, it’s not the fitting role everyone thinks it is,” George says with a knowing frown, admitting too much truth before he can really control it. With curious eyes, he watches Sapnap cock an eyebrow at the words, and it already irks him that maybe he said too much. 

Sapnap doesn’t seem bothered by it though, eager to continue the conversation if he has the chance to learn about George. 

“Oh but isn’t it great?” he says with too much confidence, George wants to deny it immediately. “You’re so fortunate to work under the rule of King Wilbur, he’s so powerful and almighty, I would die to be of his service like you.”

Caught at the words, the prince stares upwards and squints his eyes. “You are though,”

“Yes, but not with gold and crowns”

“Oh,” George chuckles, “You don’t want gold and crowns.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It makes you greedy and selfish, like most princes are.”

“Well you’re just insulting yourself majesty,” The knight teases, stopping just as they reach the top of the stairs to stand tall with his hands on his hips. 

George rolls his eyes, that doesn’t aid his defense, and tries to continue forward.

“I know.”

Sapnap reaches for his wrist to tug him back, “But why-”

“Just leave me alone, Pawn ,” George says before there can be a single touch between them. Sapnap falters and leans back against the railing with a childish pout, fitting well on his face, George might think. 

“Pawn? How dare you call me pawn-” he starts, but before he can retort anything worthy of George’s time, the prince is already on his way down the hall, walking away with a slight smile and a raised hand, pleased with himself.

Sapnap stumbles a few steps forward, leaning with every step, calling, “You can’t just leave, I have to protect you!” But George is already too many steps ahead of him, going into open doors that the knight can only assume is his very bedroom. He slumps with frustration, annoyed that they didn’t get to talk more. Thankfully, it helps when he knows it won’t be long before he sees the prince again, in all of his ignorant, beautiful glory. 

George cuts into his steak with a dull thrash of his arm, hitting the plate gently when the knife dives into it. Wilbur shoots him a worried look across the table and squints his eyes, shortly after, looking back at his food while raising an eyebrow to what his friend is saying on the other side of him. 

“Tommy has been real bad lately, always running off and messing around with his new friend Tubbo. Not even sure how they met, honestly.” Philza says in dull commentary, stuffing a slice of his own steak into his pale mouth. His blonde hair moves vigilantly as he chews.

“Ever since his birth that kid was a menace,” Wilbur agrees, mouth stuffed half-full and Philza shoots him a glare that’s easily looked over. “He got it from you.”

The blonde warrior laughs, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah? And what did George get from you?”

With the call of his name, the prince looks up to Wilbur looking him over, a warm smile on his lips. He thinks while staring at George up and down while George quirks an eyebrow, who only half-listened to the conversation. 

“Hm,” Wilbur jabs at his steak, “My sarcasm. My loyalty as well, why not.”

“Not your good looks?” George perks up with a smirk, trying to spark his own way into the conversation which is immediately deceiving to the king. Wilbur smiles over it anyway. 

“Hardly.”

George rolls his eyes and starts picking at his veggies again, nudging them over so he can slice through the medium-well steak. Just out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sapnap holding back a laugh as he watches over them from the corner. 

Silence continues on for a moment before the blond warrior hums with some meat in the back of his mouth. “So George, what are you looking forward to when you become king?” 

What is he looking forward to? Nothing, if he’s being purely honest. 

“Um,” George coughs, slightly choking on his food due to the sudden question. He hated talking about his future in the kingdom, it was always filled with expectations and all the hardships brought up rather than the perks. The conversation was never honest, and mainly forced if it got George interested, which it didn’t. 

He can feel the stare on him as he toys with his steak with a pointed fork, shining silver. So he decides to musk up an answer anyways, quick to get this over with so he can go on back to daydreaming while his two older acquaintances talk about their irresponsible children and plans for all politics sake. Anything to get him out of it. 

“I guess,” George starts, eyes darting along each seared line on the cutlet before him. His charisma gets the best of him when he continues. “Being able to take over Wilbur."

Philza laughs immediately, followed by an expected Wilbur scoff. George smiles to himself when the king sputters. “George, he asked you a serious question. Can’t you be serious for one second?”

George deadpans at him for a moment when he looks up to an angry Wilbur, who stares at him with black fire in his eyes. George draws his mouth to a line and exhales through his nose, an action he’s used to doing. 

“If it had to be anything, probably being able to work with the army. Maybe I’d make their training more…” he trails off for a second, digging into his mind for a reasonable answer that will pass off to the questioning elders, “Less, kill-focused. Safer techniques that still hold off the enemy. That sounds like fun.”

Most of it were blatant lies. He couldn’t care less about what the kingdom did to salvage the army, making it better or worse. He didn’t want to be involved at all really, destined to live off on his own with no ties to the royalty, except he didn’t just want to leave. He didn’t want to piss off the king, even though it would feel really good if he did. 

The elders are silent before him, cutting into their food and eating it so they don’t have to muster up an answer. George laughs mentally at it. Philza looks deep into his food like it’ll absorb him away from the conversation, and Wilbur picks at his food and is trying to hold back his uncomfortable face, but ultimately fails. George wonders what he did to make the conversation fall. 

“Well,” Philza says that’s more of a mutter than anything, “That sounds like a plan.” 

It sounds heavily forced and George stifles a laugh by stuffing extra steak in his mouth. 

“What about a woman George? I feel like it’s been a while since we talked about your love life,” Wilbur brings up to ease the prickling silence around them, even though it doesn’t work because George tenses greatly at the topic. A woman? A princess? His mind twirls with thoughts of being with a woman, which aren’t many to begin with. 

The touch of a woman never eagered him, further going to say that a woman’s beauty never enamored him as much as it should. He couldn’t see the beauty of one hugging him or trying to please him when it was only filled with drunken giggles and long hair that would waver constantly in his face. That’s what most of the women around here were like, anyway. 

They are nothing like his mother, who was an elegant beauty of her own, one of wise and willed. But one would find it weird to compare his mother to the women he wants to love? Certainly. 

The prince inhales deeply, avoiding their eyes as much as he can for the sake of his embarrassment. 

"No one around here catches my eye," he says in a low voice, nudging his fork into the last piece of stake once more. He assumes with great might that Wilbur is sneering his eyes at the boy, piercing him with brown, forcing conversation that doesn't need to be had. He wishes his mother were here. 

Philza coughs a little, forcing George to meet their gaze but the blonde man is only chewing a thick piece of meat, which George can only assume was in an attempt to shut his own mouth, but causing a choke in the process, inevitably revealing his true purpose in the end. 

"You haven't gone out to meet anyone, so how would you know that for sure?"

At first, George is certain Wilbur knows that he does not want to be involved with women in that way. He's almost positive the way his face squirms at the conversation and the way his knee bobs up and down nervously. But ultimately, Wilbur just wants to get under George's skin. Something he has always tried to do since the prince had became a teenager, unfortunately. 

His nose scrunches, looking for a quick way out of this, but nothing comes. Tension only rises rather than an escape, it's obvious. 

"I have too much stuff to do to go out," George blatantly lies, looking back onto his plate with the plainest face, hoping Wilbur would just look away. The prickling feels less, and that's when he knows Wilbur's eyes are off of him. 

"Okay George," he obliges, sighing softly and continuing to eat his food. 

The prince takes this chance and smiles to himself, pushing his plate aside as he wipes his cheek with a stranded napkin. 

“Can I be excused?” George pipes up, looking one last time assuringly, at his clean plate, which is brushed with only a few crumbs left over from the steak and smeared cheese from his broccoli. Wilbur looks at him with squinted eyes, looking him over and taking a quick glance at Philza. 

Wilbur hums slowly and nods, looking back to his own plate and taking another bite. George takes this as his cue and he gets out from the table, pushing his chair back in with haste and escaping the room as fast as he can, which isn’t too fast due to how big their dining is. He doesn’t hear a word of protest behind him as he rushes out the doors, grabbing his hanging, brown satchel on the way out, which is perched on a coat hanger- an odd item to own when you are literally rich, but he doesn’t mind. It gives him a sense of normality. 

There’s no trails of feet pattering behind him, just the creak of an open door that’s held by 2 guards, and the echo of it’s slam when he leaves the building. The satchel is heavy on his shoulder, packed with painting materials like paint brushes and canisters, wipes and jars for water. His feet carry him fast down the entryway of the mansion, along the sidewalks and over the grass hill he crosses after leaving his choked up residence.

The first breath he takes of pure oxygen soothes him, the smell of leaves and grass painting his nostrils, moss and cool air that feels and smells divine. And up the hill he strides, up to the tree that stands there strong, a nice blanket of shade covering the expanse of grass, looking over beyond it to see valleys and valleys in the distance. It’s a sight to see, and a familiar one. 

And when he reaches the top, sliding under the shade, he greets his easel with a smile. There’s a blank canvas ready for him, more lengthy than wide, but he decides to remove the white rectangle off it’s placement anyway. Brushing his forehead of any sweat formed when running up the hill, he takes a deep breath and sits down amongst the grass, crossing his legs with the canvas laid in front of his knees while he reaches over for his satchel that he removes from around his shoulder. 

In no time, he’s pulling out his paint and brushes and he props up the canvas into his lap, arching his elbow while he holds the brush upwards, which is tipped a color of yellow, a color he chose in spontaneity, without reason. And with careful strokes, he paints. 

His eyebrows crease and his lips are drawn into a focused line, cheeks puffed out as he widens his eyes and stares closely at where he touches the blank sheet, drawing freely with splotches of golden yellow across it’s paleness. 

Time dries by slowly, minutes pass that feel like hours of aching wrist against clear white, bending and changing angles with each dip in a new color and switch for different brush. The sun is gentle on his skin, barely peeking through the leaves of the towering conifer branches, casting a shadow that George traces with his finger on the canvas. 

He’s so focused on each brushstroke he creates with the arch of his wrist and the bend of his fingers, that his hair waves around with the wind to act as a greeting to the approaching figure just out of his vision. He doesn’t hear the crunch of grass looming to his ears in no-time, until the clearing of someone’s throat interrupts his severe focus.

“What Wilbur ?” George blatantly says as he finishes his latest stroke, facing down so he can dip the brush into a small vase of water. 

The knight in front of him coughs out a laugh and leans on one hip, a smirk dying at his lips. “Thought I would find you here,” he says, the tone of his voice incredibly different from the King’s, George immediately snapping his head upwards to meet Sapnap’s cocky smile and dusty stubble. His eyes form into a squint at the sight of being disturbed by a knight of all people, eyebrows curling with little annoyance. 

Sapnap laughs when he has the prince’s attention, “Quite rude assuming I’m Wilbur. Didn’t think I had that strong of a presence.”

George hums in disagreement but it doesn’t get across to Sapnap, who walks to George’s side and peers down at the painting. 

George flinches at the invasion of space, staring up at him with a plain stare, “How did you know I would be here anyways?”

The knight sickly laughs again, head tilting back and staring at the mess of yellow and blue on the canvas. George narrows his eyes once more, folding his arms across his chest as he leans away, trying to signal that Sapnap is too close for his liking. Thankfully, Sapnap reciprocates and steps back. 

“It is literally my job to follow you around and look after you,” The knight jests sarcastically, brown eyes absorbing the annoyance on George’s face and turning it into his own self-confidence. 

The prince rolls his eyes and murmurs a low, “Whatever."

Once again, the calm sound of trees waving and wind blowing takes over, the current not enough to smear any paint, but enough for it to blow George's brown hair across his forehead gently. Sapnap has a hard time focusing on the the brush in his hand, but more-so on the cute way George focuses, his face scrunched up as he paints. 

Out of curiosity, Sapnap pipes up. “What are you painting?”

The knight's voice startles George, weirdly, because part of him expected the never-ending silence to be, in-fact, ended. 

He looked up to the knight and was met with curious eyes, immediately sharpening with confidence when George tilts his chin to stare at him. “Nothing good quality if you keep watching me like that."

“Why?" Sapnap laughs, but he knew that George was annoyed, yet he found it quite exciting to egg him on like this. Especially when he was getting such an endearing reaction. 

“I do better when I focus, and you disturb that," The prince replies with no particular emotion, Sapnap frowning. 

“What’s any good masterpiece without a little bit of mistake?” Sapnap says pridefully, crossing his arms and delivering George a smart smile, and George wants to wipe it right off of him. Even though a small part of him beckons to listen to the idea of it. 

But he scoffs out loud to it anyway, looking back to his painting with uneasy eyes and confusion bubbling in his stomach. 

Seconds later of contemplating what to do next, Sapnap goes to sit down, crossing his legs next to George but at a comfortable distance not to bother the prince, who tenses a little bit when the knight makes himself comfortable in a sitting position. His warmth spreads across the grass, smell kind and an exhale through his nose is soft. George doesn't have it in him to tell the knight to leave, not when he's not truly being bothered, gratefully. 

He's tense at first, but in no time, his wrist eases to the canvas and it gets easier to bare the feeling of Sapnap beside him, watching every moment as he leans back on the tree with intent, lidded eyes. The sun beats down on them but nothing too harsh, the yellow light contrasting George's milk skin and working hand, a flowing, beautiful sight to see. 

It's silent between them, the only sounds in the air being birds in the distance, and wind howling in their ears softly. 

But when the prince's wrist gets a bit too tired, he finds his mouth moving before he can stop it. 

“I’m not painting anything in particular," he says quietly, but enough to alarm Sapnap that they are talking again. The knight perks up immediately with tired eyes. "Sometimes I just like to get colors on a canvas, and let my arm guide me. People can interpret it to be whatever they want. If I were more talented, maybe I'd try harder. But it is nothing more than a hobby for me,”

The explanation is well appreciated as the knight hums to show his attentiveness, and even though earlier it may have felt like he wasn't listening, on the verge of slumber, but instead he was very intrigued with each curl of George's accent around each word that comes out of his mouth. It's far from an obsession, right?

After a bit more silence, Sapnap sits up and shakes off the hazy feeling he obtained while laying there. “At dinner, why were you so-” he thinks carefully before continuing, careful not to use the wrong words that would irk the prince. George's head slowly turns toward the talking knight. “-Hesitant talking about women?”

Inevitably, there was no way he would succeed at that. 

George freezes, thumb curving over the base of the tip of the brush as his chest tightens and body sits still, arm lowered by his lap. “Wh-” he sputters, “What do you mean?”

Sapnap sighs quietly again, sitting up more thoroughly and carding his hand through his hair which is lightly dusted from the bark of the pine tree behind him. His eyes drift from the grass, to meet up with George's. 

“You were just so, I don’t know, confused? Worried? Uncomfortable I suppose.”

George gulps and rips his eyes away, bending his wrist and moving it around, then going further to drip it lightly in the water by his knee and setting the brush onto the paint palette. The wind howls quietly by his ear, and for some reason, it pushes him to answer honestly. Maybe it was the softness of Sapnap's question, or his warmth that makes him feel safe. But his chest isn't so tight anymore. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so comfortable telling Sapnap anything. Part of him wishes he wasn’t.

"I don't like the girl talk," George says, volume just over a mumble. 

Sapnap's eyebrows bend at the answer, and he beckons more.

"Is it.. because..?"

George sucks in a breath and his eyes flutter shut, daring to meet Sapnap’s eyes. As tense as he should be with such conversation, he can't find himself to hold back. Not with the luring silence between them and the calm look on Sapnap's face. Everything feels so easy right now, his fingers strained but soft as he thinks. 

"I- I don't know," he admits, "Haven't you ever been confused?"

He tries to turn the conversation back on the knight, who turns his body towards George and sits up against the tree further with his elbow on his knee, holding his cheek up lazily with listening eyes. 

"Of course." Is the only answer George manages to draw out of him, a frown formed at his lips when there's nothing following the sentence. 

George breathes slowly, glancing at his painting and then back to Sapnap.

"Are you confused?" Sapnap asked politely, giving him an easy smile in offering an answer, silently telling George that he wouldn't be rude. 

George laughs with a tone something similar to a broken confession. 

"I certainly don't like girls."

Sapnap tilts his head with a smile.

"What about boys?" Sapnap pushes, voice cautious as he asks these risque questions. But the brit just squirms slightly where he’s sitting, not, not obligating. 

George is quick to give his answer, Sapnap pulling strings on his heart that he wasn't aware was there in the first place. "They… they're nice. I'm not too sure,” George laughs breathlessly, "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this."

"That's okay. I won't out you prince, I'm only here to protect you."

"Well," The prince scoffs, "You are more annoying than protecting, that's for certain."

"I'm annoying you?"

With careful thought, George rolls his eyes and glances away with a blush, shaking his head slowly. 

“No,”

"Okay then," Sapnap concludes, with a warm smile that George fights the urge to stare at. The knight leans back against the tree and lets the air caress his face, that's grown warm and a faint pink. George let's his body relax into the grass further, pushing the canvas away so he can lay down fully, the green pasture tickling his shirt and scalp in delicate touches. 

The atmosphere grows soft and vulnerable, George's heart pulling to open up to it. 

"I am so tired of Wilbur," The prince says this time, breaking the silence as his heart leads him to do. 

Sapnap hums in acknowledgement, turning his head against the tree so he can look at George splayed across the hill, knees bending so they are propped up in front of him. The smaller brunette's eyes are fluttered shut peacefully, sighing into the air. 

"Why, my prince?"

George stiffens accidentally at the pronoun of ownership , worried for a second that it's something he shouldn't open up to, something he shouldn't feel so good about hearing. But when he opens his eyes, Sapnap's reassuring look calms him down. 

"He doesn't know me anymore. Things have changed between us so fast," George admits, turning onto his side so the boys are facing each other now. It's growing intimate with every moment they make towards each other. But an intimacy that's kind and friendly, nothing scary or nerving. 

"What was he like before?" The knight asks with genuine curiosity, rotating his hips so he leans sideways against the tree, temple smudged against the bark but it's nothing more than uncomfortable. He'd sit there like this for hours, if he got to talk to George under the warm sun and cold grass. 

George thinks for a moment, letting his eyes shut once again, imagining his father when they were young. He doesn't open his eyes when he answers. 

"He wanted to teach me everything, when I was young. I think he wanted a child for the very purpose of being a mentor. Having someone to tell about the world, about everything he knows."

"That sounds endearing," Sapnap's warm voice cuts in, looking down at George with a grin. 

George hums in disagreement. "It's sweet now that I think about it. But nowadays, he doesn't make an effort to talk to me for that purpose anymore. He's not so interested in my growth, I think."

An uncomfortable silence grows like a barrier between them. A barrier that Sapnap yearns to break. 

"I do see him bossing you around a lot. You guys don't get along anymore?"

"Not at all," George says bluntly, smile deteriorating from his lips and becoming a drawn line of sadness. "I don't know what happened."

"Hm," Sapnap murmurs, eyes growing heavy when his thinking starts to get too much. The hazy atmosphere is pushing him into a state of nothingness as the wind keeps blowing softly around him, it's becoming harder and harder to stay awake. 

Eventually, the sun's warmth becomes too comfortable to comprehend, the grass is so soft that they can't break away, and slowly, their minds drift off into a lovely, calming nap on the silent hill. 

As the afternoon blares forward, the sun goes lower and lower beyond the hill, until it's just peeking out. An hour has passed, simple snoring filling the air. Just when the first hour finishes, George begins to wake up, Sapnap along with him. And when they meet each other's eyes in the golden hour, their lips open and more words escape like it was always this easy. Conversations are had, easy topics passing their minds and random things being discussed due to the openness of their hearts. 

The next hour goes by, talking persists. It's freeing, warm and polite banter. Painting is forgotten, birds chirp mindlessly but it gets quieter and quieter as the daytime settles behind the hill. When the third hour lures on, bodies lay resting again, in the pretty grass under the welcoming shade on the silent hill. 

When they wake up again, the sun isn't even in the sky. It's dark in the sky, a very small gleam of yellow peering over the horizon, but it can't compare to the darkness of the dawn. Wind pricks at the prince's skin as he lays fond in the grass, cheeks a light pink when George's eyes flutter open to the looming sky. His muscles crack when his legs extend, stretching his arms and yawning softly. It takes a few moments for the atmosphere to clear up around him, and when his eyes finally blink open fully to the early, morning buzz, it awakens him. 

"Oh my god,"  he gasps quietly, leaning up on his elbows and they crack when he sits upwards, neck automatically stretching as he looks around. Due to the bare golden light over the hill, he barely see the messy assortment of painting tools beside his feet and something else that makes his eyes widen, a sleeping knight on his right. 

Sapnap snores softly, face buried in the grass and hair sprawled over his forehead, lips gaping open slightly against the ground. George stifles a snort at the adorable sight of such a man sleeping so peacefully, memories flooding his waking mind of the day before, hours and hours spent talking and reflecting about everything and nothing with that very knight. It strikes a fondness in his heart, which quickly dissipates when he realizes what time it is.

The sun is just rising over the horizon, just enough for George to understand that it's morning. They slept all night?

In a shocked rush, George hesitantly reaches out a hand and lightly shakes Sapnap, pleasantly surprised with how easy it is to awaken the sleeping knight with just the touch of his hand. 

"Mrhmm, George?" the younger mumbles into the grass, eyes peeling open drowsily as he turns slowly to the side. George's heart thumps at the sound of his name in such a sleepy tone, blushing and looking away. He pulls a bottom lip into his mouth and he can slowly feel his body feeling antsy with every wasted minute. He doesn't often get lost in time, and he definitely doesn't stay up this early either. 

"We have to go," George says, a low groan following afterwards, holding himself up with straining wrists. He pushes himself so he's sitting on his butt, brushing off his side and flattening his hair in a haste effort. "I should've been home by now."

Despite being in a hurry, his voice is still soft, and he's not too sure why. Maybe it's not to disturb the awakening man next to him, or it's just because of his own tired state. But he can't find himself dwelling on it for too long, already trying to sit up further and gather his stuff. Sapnap sits up confusingly at the movements, cheeks flush as well as indented with lines formed from laying on the ground. 

"Alr'dy?" Sapnap grumbles and George's heart turns at the voice laced with adorableness. George looks over to see him rub his eyes, mouth opening into a yawn as his tongue sits restless in his mouth. 

The prince hums into the air, finally starting to stand as he flexes his muscles. Sapnap sits up against the tree and begins to get a good look at the scene around them. 

"What time 's it?" George hears the knight say a little more loudly this time, voice clearing into the early air. Part of George misses it already. 

"It's the morning." 

When George turns his head, he's met with Sapnap's eyes widening, eyebags visible and the lines on his face looking more ridiculous than ever. George holds in a smile. 

Sapnap pulls himself up heavier against the tree he was leaning on earlier, shaking his head so his hair ruffles. "Wow," he says breathlessly, "Guess we were really tired then."

The prince laughs quietly as he gathers his satchel, stuffing the dried palette inside as well as the brushes laying in the grass. The air blows softly around them, signifying a new day and cold temperatures to come. George shivers fondly even though he's wearing quite a warm, blue vest, but it still gives him goosebumps. 

"I'm gonna be in so much trouble."

"Well," the knight yawns when he props himself on his knees, "We better get you home then."

George rolls his eyes and looks over the hill at the looming mansion, the sun lowering just behind it. He gulps at the sight and squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Yeah," he sighs, "We better."

When George crawled out of bed that morning, after hastily getting back into his room without being seen, he didn't think Wilbur would call him out. Which was a pretty dumb intel on George's part, because Wilbur would pretty much call him out on anything. So after the long day yesterday, George really did not want to find himself standing in front of the king, head bowed forward as he was being talked down on. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you prince. Staying up until dawn, and you're doing everything except what makes you a prince in the first place! What's running in your head child?" Wilbur reprimands, throwing his hands in the air and pacing his office, while George sits in a comfy chair in front of him. there's hot breaths escaping the king's mouth as he grumbles and groans, rolling his eyes as he talks. George's head is dipped in shame, messing with the cuffed sleeve on his wrist nervously. 

He can feel the stare of Sapnap behind him, who got no reprimanding because Sapnap was the one who brang him home, so Wilbur on impulse, assumed that Sapnap had nothing to do with George's late night. 

George wasn't mad. He wanted to be, of course, because Sapnap was technically the reason he was here in the first place. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Sapnap was the worst human being to be his knight, his heart would always be pounded with guilt at every thought. He fought with himself in his head while Wilbur rambled on, growing tired of the king's voice saying everything in a tone that's far less than happy. 

"Do you want to be king?" Wilbur asks, a rhetorical question if you will. "Because I get the feeling that you do not."

I don't. George thinks, but he'd be quite the daredevil if he admitted that out loud. 

"Yes," he says instead, voice dripping everything but confidence. If Sapnap's stare wasn't so harsh on the back of his head right now, he would turn to meet his eyes and confess all of his truths about hating the role of prince. But as a horrible consequence, he could be reprimanded more for being honest, and it was a dirty, dirty system. 

Wilbur scoffs and slams his hands down onto the desk he had been pacing next to the whole time, looking directly down at George. George still refused to meet his eyes. 

"Then start acting like it." The king snaps horrendously, curling his fingers on the wooden material as they begin to turn pale. 

George flinches in his chair, looking down at the floor and never turning to look at Sapnap. He doesn't think he can now. Because there's the possibility he'll have to come back to this horrible state of Wilbur, if he ever got himself involved with Sapnap again. It hurts his heart to think about, because maybe he's starting to grow quite fond of the knight. 

Forced to ditch his true feelings and live on like they weren't ever there, is blinks harshly and nods, fake shame climbing up his spine. 

He hears Wilbur sigh deeply, more relaxing his tense hands on the desk and standing upwards, tightening his loosely fitted tunic, adjusting his shoulder pads and frowning. 

"Now that that's taken care of," he mumbles as if it was something he could quickly brush over, earning him another pocketed eye roll from George, "I'm gonna be gone for most of the day, running errands and things, and if I come back to nothing being done, you'll have the worst of me prince."

George doesn't meet his eyes to agree, all he does is nod slowly and breath out his nose. Everyone else shuffles in the room, leaving George alone in a room as he contemplates if he actually wants to do work and please the king, or rest in his room to regain energy from the night before. Something is telling him, Sapnap is thinking the same thing. 

When he finally sits up in his chair, he is greeted with the said knight, standing by the entrance of the door with a warming smile that it hurts George's heart to look at. 

"I see why you don't like him now," Sapnap says under his breath, devilish smile curving upwards and George frowns. 

He doesn't reply, brushing off his pants and attempting to slide past him and through the office door. He can sense a pout on Sapnap's face when George ignores him with disinterested bliss. 

"What shall we do today when we have the mansion to ourselves?" Sapnap continues to call and talk, as if George is facing him with intent listening. The prince hardly smiles though. 

"Maybe," George declares with a bit of snap, "I should actually get stuff done today, since my future calls me to sharpen up a bit." 

It's a lie if anything, and George wants to take it back and cover up his words with truths and promises instead. Sapnap can see right through him and it's infuriating. 

"You know your future is deceiving, decided by everyone but yourself. Listen to your heart, will you?" The knight beckons, catching up to the fast paced prince who hurries to walk up the stairs to his own office. "Loosen up, maybe. Come with me, I'll show you what your future wants."

George laughs sickly as he pauses on the steps to look down at Sapnap who travels with him, leaning on his knee in a begging manner. 

"And you tell me to decide for myself, yet I witness you offering."

Sapnap furrows his eyebrows with disbelief. "No!"  he scoffs, tracing George back up the stairs when they begin to go upwards again, "No you just need a little push Georgie,"

"Georgie," the prince mocks, "Don't call me that."

"Didn't you have fun with me yesterday? What's stopping you today prince?"

The prince has yet to truly look at Sapnap, filled with shame with the thought of making him feel bad with the look he might give him upon the meet of their glances. Maybe it hurts more that he doesn't look. 

"What's stopping me, is my father's disapproval and my royal reputation, knight. I don't have time for dilly dallying today."

He prevents the cock of his head to meet Sapnap's face, although he desperately wants to. He can just make out the annoyed whine Sapnap exerts when he tails behind George the rest of the way up the stairs, that were exceedingly and annoyingly long. 

"Have you ever really cared about your reputation?" Sapnap asks, elongating his plea and successfully grabbing George's wrist who turns towards him with an alarmed expression, causing Sapnap to soften, but he doesn't drop his wrist. Their eyes finally meet and there's a harsh tension neither of them enjoy the way it pulses between them at the connection of skin.

The prince's mouth gapes open at the question and draws his mouth together, jaw tensing with forced disbelief. "I do, I'm not sure about yourself though. How would you feel if I told the king you were bothering me, hm?"

Sapnap finally stands straight, eyes widening at the idea of that. But it doesn't cross his mind once, that George would ever do that. He uses the hold he has on George, and thumbs over his wrist gently, attempting to prevent him from ever trying to pull away. 

"You wouldn't."

George smiles, "Not if you keep bothering me. Please let me go, will you?" he tilts his head in a taunting manner, slowly trying to pull his arm away. Sapnap doesn't fall for it. 

"Why are you doing this? Are you scared?" The knight presses immediately, stepping closer and exceptionally grasping tighter on the prince's wrist. George flinches and has to tilt his head back to avoid from being toppled on. 

"No." George answers, but it wavers and is impossible to believe. 

"Then come with me, hang out with me George." Sapnap offers a small smile as he lifts the boys wrist and holds it upwards, hovering near his mouth. George hesitates when he feels warm breath on the back of his hand, dreading to meet the plump skin. 

He narrows his eyes and looks away, over the balcony beside them. At this point, it's terribly hard not to deny him, not after all this effort to hang out with George of all people.

"What would we even do?" He allows slightly for a moment, sighing a careful breath when he turns to meet Sapnap's eyes again. The knight smirks widely at his small succession and bends George's wrist so he can place a gentle kiss on his first knuckle. George tenses at the feeling and his chest tightens. It's soft and welcoming, and pulling him closer and closer into Sapnap's control. A betrayal to his goal of doing work today, opening to the hands of the knight he wanted to avoid. But part of him knew there was no way he would avoid Sapnap that easily, especially with the boy's mighty resilience. 

"Well," Sapnap drops the wrist and begs that George wouldn't turn away, "You could show me around, perhaps. Since Wilbur won't be around."

George contemplates it for a moment. Walking the wonderous walls of his mansion, something he wouldn't dare to do when Wilbur was there, delivering each of them orders of work constantly and filling George up to the brim with piles of stress. Even the little opportunity of getting to be around for fun was striking his nerves with possibility. 

Sapnap spots the hesitance in George's eyes and leans against the railing with a self-satisfied smirk. "Cmon George, just say yes and ignore everything telling you otherwise."

"That's debatable," George says under his breath and the knight knocks his head back with a laugh. 

When his head tilts back to its normal position, he cocks his eyebrow softly and lifts a hopeful smile, George holding back a scoff at the kind look. 

So he takes a deep breath and lets his chest exhale slowly when he erases all doubts from his mind, something he could possibly regret.

"Fine. You're very annoying."

It seems like a bell dings in Sapnap's heart because he's suddenly beaming with the answer he receives. Leaning over the railing confidently, he continues to smirk. "Not very chivalrous of you prince."

George scoffs and turns away from Sapnap, already walking a few steps down the hall, "You better hurry, you're gonna miss the grand tour."

George really doesn't remember the last time he took his time examining the mansion. 

His days had been so filled up with doing work around the place, it had been so long since he last truly got a good look at it, from an outsider's perspective. And Sapnap was surely giving him that outsiders perspective, mouth open and eyes flabbergasted at each hall they walked down. George wasn't as impressed, being used to such royal richness, but it was a very nice sight to see, Sapnap clearly enjoying the tour for what it was. 

They've continued upstairs, explored different halls and different rooms that George wished he had remembered, but kind of forgot about it, and he can't decide whether it feels good or bad to relive the simple memories buried behind each wall they come upon. 

George really doesn't remember how it feels to walk down his legacy and truly appreciate it. 

"Who's this?" Sapnap ponders as they trance down a particularly long hall that connects to the main bedrooms, hand extended as he points to the nearest painting. It's framed with metallic gold, silver on the edges and laced with jewels that are engraved with pearlescent sparkle. It's one of George's oldest ancestors, topped with a dumb looking crown but it was fancy nonetheless. 

The shorter smiles when he remembers the crevice of the man's smile when he was younger, just a baby when the duke was a senior. Memories are faded, but they clear up fondly when his eyes carve over his face. 

"Father's friend, King of Manchester- Duke Guillaume," George explains, bitter and old name on his tongue that feels strangely odd to say. "An ally of sorts, had terrible posture but such a pure heart."

"How did you know him?" Sapnap steps forward confidently so he walks backwards in front of George, feet falling slowly behind each other with dizzying steps. "When did you meet him?"

George hums, chuckling at the thought of the old man peering down at him when he was born, very very blurry but Wilbur described it so well, he could imagine it so. 

"He was very old when I was a baby, didn't know much of him."

Sapnap nods as he looks past the paintings they walk by, none of them interesting him enough to ask about, but enough to fill his eyes with George's memories, taking them and holding them. His eyes bulge with a sparkle when they meet with George's again. 

"I think this is all very interesting," the knight admits, gold and honey falling off of his lips when his eyes trace over George's face. The prince cringes at how beautifying it is. "You have such a long line of people to look up to, change for, make proud. I feel like my parents couldn't care less about who I become or what I accomplish."

"Where are your parents now?" George asks immediately stomach churning in on itself when he thinks on the nosey bits it sounded like. Sapnap doesn't make a single gesture that proves he's uncomfortable, so it's easily passable. 

Their feet fall in a trancing rhythm, Sapnap's falling back as George falls forward, arms crossed and looking at each other with grateful eyes. It has been such a long time since George had been able to talk to someone about anything, and not feel at cost for it. Even though it feels strange and forbidden, he can't help but want to bend the rules a little bit. 

"They've ran off somewhere, claimed to find a better life. Suggested I find someone royal to take care of, thought it would strengthen my need for affection, which I definitely had when I was a child," George thinks, you still do, but he lets it pass. "And like the stubborn, attention-craving person I am, I listened. They left me, and now I'm here."

The prince swears he hears a crack in the knight's voice, and swears it couldn't be possible how brave he's being with all the confessions falling like broken glass from his tongue. And god does it carve open George's chest for more. 

"I'm sorry," George says, yearning it from the depths of his heart. Sapnap rolls his eyes cheekily, far from stubborn and far from annoyed. 

"Don't be, your majesty. I like it here."

Well that makes one of us, George thinks, but it would feel like betrayal if he said it. 

Their eyes meet again, George tips his chin up so he can admire the golden light that casts on Sapnap's face. How could he have possibly hated that transparent, light-hearted soul? 

He hopes it was just denial- because he has certainly outgrown it. 

The prince huffs in his own stubborn glory, tightening his arms as if it'll block out his heart from opening further. Sapnap's smirk widens and if anything, his heart softens further. He can't stop thinking about how impossible it is to be closed off around Sapnap. 

"You don't have to treat me like I'm royalty all the time," George mumbles hesitantly, tucking his chin slightly so he can avoid the glare of Sapnap's eyes. Their pulsing steps fall to a stop when the corner draws near. 

Sapnap narrows his eyes with an impudent grin, uncrossing his arms so his hand can caress his hair, unknotting it carefully. "Then how should I treat you prince?"

A beat of silence occurs, George's heart beating slowly in his chest. 

"Like a friend," he offers, untucking his chin and letting their foreheads rest level once again, feeling his skin crawl alive and admiring its vulnerability and hopefulness. Sapnap stares at him because he likes affection, he needs it, he initiates it. George feels the need to comply, because he needs the affection too. 

"So I am your friend?" Sapnap steps up, throat beaming with pride.

George smiles back for once, letting the happiness come forward. He would hide from it for so long, cause it felt incredibly wrong to feel like this. But maybe it's a good thing. 

"Don't wear it out."

He yearned for that aching laugh, the hysterical snort that was prideful and joy. Sapnap let it out with the fall back of his neck, cheeks plump and stubble grown thin, but dearly admirable. 

George feels his chest releases similar chuckles, not half as loud and bearing, but stifled and bubbly and they feel better than ever. 

And they're walking, continuing to talk and explore and remember. Sapnap asks and asks like he's interested, George wonders how he can be, and the paintings on the wall stare down at them and they're probably laughing. Laughing how the generations have grown and changed and possibly betrayed the years of tradition they began with strong morals and heavy builds. But George doesn't look up at them because he knows he'd rather break tradition than follow. 

A particular large door they approach towers over them, and George recognizes it as his own. Sapnap sees his eyes widen and soften at the sight of it and he nudges the boy fondly. 

"Is this yours, prince?"

Said prince, narrows his eyes and Sapnap scoffs and his eyes squeeze a squint in effect. 

"Sorry- George,"

George smiles at the friendly correction and looks back to the door, reaching forward for the handle. "Yes, yes it is mine. I'm surprised you haven't been assigned to night-watch me yet."

The door yanks open with a loud click and it slowly reveals the prince's room, warm, closeted and familiar. 

They step in together and Sapnap hums, "To be honest," his tone drops low and George shivers silently, "I always said no because I didn't want to see you at night."

George curiously hums shortly, walking up to the edge of his bed and sitting on the velvet covers, smoothing his hands against the sheets while it's soft under his palms. He sighs as his bottom settles comfortably on the mattress. 

"Why?"

Sapnap stands tall ahead of him, hands thumbing at the thin pockets of his black, thick pants. He looks around the room, face with a look of astonishment as it explores the corners of each wall and the light blue paint plastered, pricked in some places, yet to be re-layered and perfected. Curtains are drawn over the windows, casting a looming shadow over them that darkens the view of each other, covering up the dearest parts of their faces. 

George clears his throat and Sapnap looks back to him quickly, half of his face covered or not. 

"Well- uh," he starts, slightly nervous and before George can question why, he continues hastily. "one night, I stayed up too late up watch, so I was heading to my quarters, and-" his hands flatten against his pants and he rubs them along the fabric in some reassuring movements. "-I saw you wandering the halls, all sleepy and exhausted."

George's lip curls into a teasing smile when he cocks his head at the knight. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Oh," Sapnap exhales a breathy laugh, "Yes it definitely is. You-" he ducks his head down and tries to conceal the blush flooding his cheeks, but it's nearly impossible with the way he smiles love-struck. "You don't know the things you do to me George."

It's highly unexpected, and nervously, George cowers. The bittersweet grin falls from his face and his knee begins to bounce subtly, looking down at his feet and gulping down something heavy in his throat that might be something reminiscent of freedom and vulnerability or the weight on his back. The line they've crossed grows shorter and shorter, yet it's ridiculously adrenaline-rushed, chorus nerves flooding their veins in spontaneous waves.  

George has never felt like this before, and if anything, it's heavily relieving. Who would ever claim that fear is what drives the soul towards what it wants? George will be the first, god he hopes. 

A thick silence builds slowly, choked up air hard to swallow as they both observe the room with gentle stares, as if they teeter across the thin line, everything will shatter. 

Usually it's easy banter, easy flow and easy conversations. 

It's weird how it's not so easy anymore, as soon as George starts opening up. 

Sapnap clears his throat again, trying to clear the fog as he offers George a warm smile, something so simple that breaks so easily. How can he be so easy? 

When the knight turns around, he comes face to face with a tall mirror, the size of George, perhaps taller. He smiles into the reflective glass and avoids George's eyes. "I was just a little curious," Sapnap starts, the heat on his skin starting to go away, "Do you have a crown? I've never seen you wear one."

George sits up straighter on the bed and hums delicately, cupping his hands in his lap and looking around his room, searching for something. 

"I might-" he pauses, bending his knees to stand up, "I don't have anything new. For some odd reason it never striked me to need one."

"Well of course you don't need one," Sapnap chuckles, "But have you ever wanted one?"

George walks around the curve of his bed with a focused look, starting to draw away from the thickness of the air there once was. 

"I made one when I was little," he comments shortly, walking over to one of his dressers and opening the drawer closest to the ground. "God forbid I ever search for it."

"Why is that?" The knight questions thoroughly, walking behind George to examine his doings. He finds the prince shuffling through random items like hats and scarfs, various accessories he had never imagined the prince wearing. It's almost endearing knowing the prince's style doesn't just contain his blue cloak and tunic, decorated with golden lace and jewelry. 

The prince rummages quicker, until his arms slow down, and a hand slowly pulls out of the drawer, something dangling from his finger. Memories flood his brain as he holds it, perched on his fingertip, a lightweight item of past. He remembers sitting down at his desk, young and his free soul lingering with each short step he strides as a child. But in this time, he's sitting with a crayon in his hand, scissors on the desk from previous sloppy cutting, to create what he has now, what's dangling on his finger. 

Sapnap watches intently as George goes to stand up again, bodies unnecessarily close but none of them move away. George's finger raises, and hanging from it, is a rounded, paper tacky crown, cut in the shape of one but it's light and wrinkly, but precisely adorable. 

"Because it looks like this Sapnap."

When George tilts his chin up to Sapnap with a smile that's barely holding back, Sapnap can't help but laugh. 

The knight looks at it for one second before he's laughing at the dangling paper crown, colored outside of the lines, scribbly and messy but in the most cutest ways possible. He could almost imagine George's tiny, dainty fingers holding a crayon and making his own crown, only pure hopeful thoughts that he'd be able to have one just like his father. Yet he doesn't to this day, and it allows a sad thought to brim in Sapnap's mind. But his laughter eases the room, and George laughs along with him. 

The fog sizzles away, left with 2 royalty figures, friends, laughing it out over an arts and crafts project that could mean so much more. 

God, George wants to laugh like this all the time. 

"What a ditsy little thing!" Sapnap chortles, covering his mouth and gesturing around it with a hand. The prince flushes noticeably, rolling his eyes.

With nimble, hesitant fingers, Sapnap lifts his hands and takes the crown off of George's finger, holding it nicely in his hands and brushing his thumb over the paper material. It's dusty with old crayon markings, but it feels natural under the pads of his thumbs. 

While the giggles fade, Sapnap steps back and urges George to follow, leading him in front of the mirror so Sapnap stands an inch off to the side, looking at both of them through the respective glass, cheeks rosy from previous laughter. George's eyes are lidded and his smile crinkles, warmth radiating from Sapnap's figure. 

Carefully, Sapnap lifts his arms, holds the crown dearly above the prince's head, and while watching his face directly through the mirror with a fond smile, he places the crown atop his brown locks, with a gentle press so it fits snugly, a little small but it sits there like it was always meant to be there. George's breath hitches at the touch, Sapnap's hands lingering for a second before pulling back to his sides and admiring the way it curves into his hair, pretty brunette waves curling over his forehead. 

"Looks nice on you," the knight whispers kindly, words full of intent and George wants to grasp it and hold it forever. George's gapes open, lips plump and resting open, words meaning to come out but nothing escapes. 

And finally, he manages to let out a breathless, 'thanks'. Or maybe he imagined it, but Sapnap keeps on his homely smile, or it even grows wider if you payed close attention. 

The tension rises, but it's nicer than normal. It burns George's chest so good, like a craving that he can't deny, that he can't withhold. He supposes Sapnap is projecting his needed affection onto George, because he can't help it, not when it's the connection they have. 

George lifts his own hands so he can adjust his bangs, smoothing it out of his eyes and blushing furiously under Sapnap's stare. 

Eventually, the knight speaks up again, smile turning teasing very fast. "Actually, you look quite adorable," Sapnap says as he looks back to the crown and admires it, the tension going away with the way George rolls his eyes. 

"Adorable? I'm not a child," George retorts, a playful smile rising to his face that he can’t push down, silent keen at the praise also pulling its way through the crease of his smile. 

"Okay your majesty, you look astonishing in that paper crown. I am deeply in awe of the way it curves into your divine scalp sir Davidson-Soot."

George scoffs with a lighthearted giggle after, adjusting the angle of the crown so it sits tilted on his brown bunch of hair.

"It's so small on me." 

He laughs at the way the crown barely fits on his head, tiny compared to his scalp hair, the paper barely balancing on his head. Sapnap watches blush form on George’s cheeks, clearly enjoying the free glance into his past, smiling brightly when he balances it on the center and tweaks the corners with careful touches of his thumb. 

"Where should we go next?" Sapnap asks, voice low once again and it never fails to lure George into a state of flusteredness. 

At first, the prince seems speechless, unable to speak under the redundant stare of his knight, observing each muscle he moves like he's under a microscope. But once he regains a little bit more focus, he steps forward, adjusting the crown and taking the Sapnap's hand, leading with the idea that not answering is the best solution for mystery.

Down the stairs they go, headed down to the main room where the front door lays, guarded by two guards who couldn't care less about what the two were doing. So George confidently smiles as they slow down to a normal stride again, Sapnap's hand dropped back to his side, unfortunately. In the meantime George was holding him, it reminded him why he was chosen to be his knight, with such a strong hold, protective. Maybe he liked it a little too much. 

More questions were asked by the all-curious Sapnap, passing halls that weren't important, nothing really special. Then they come upon the main dining hall, where George, Wilbur and sometimes Philza, would eat dinner together. Not like they had any time to eat lunch or breakfast, being so busy and lost within it all. 

George steps in front of Sapnap as they enter the more bigger room, filled with a franchise of platinum plates and dine, chandelier that hangs aglow, and a lengthy table for such a small expectancy. George embraces himself, letting the lonely aura of the room take over his whole being. 

He stares at the dining table where he envisions himself in the chair on the side closest to them, usually on the opposite of Wilbur and Philza. 

"Here," George sighs, fake delight coating his tone, "is where we eat dinner together most nights, keeping up with that family charade that's expected of us."

Sapnap visibly frowns, but he decides not to comment on it, just stepping forward to drag a finger across the crystal table, imagining the pointer is making an indent wherever it drags, dipping into the cold jewel.

"How lovely." he says quietly, genuinely astonished at the affluent texture and glow of the room itself.  

After a few beats of silence, it grows slightly uncomfortable, so like usual, the knight forms a question in his mind. 

"Why does Philza eat here so often? He's not related to you, is he?"

George hums and meets the boy's eyes, chest tightening when he realizes how authentic his pupils glimmer. It will always continue to surprise him. 

"No, he's not," George answers lowly, looking to where the blond man sits across from George, always talking to his father and eating his food like it is dear to him. "I suppose it is because either he is lonely, or my father is. I've known Phil since my birth as well, so he's been here longer than I remember."

Sapnap nods subtly, daring to step forward and take a seat on the tall, bold chairs. Slowly, he's learning more and more about the prince, and it feels so good to happily open him up. 

"Do-" the knight hesitates, voice dropping off before picking up again, "-Do you think it's to replace your mother's presence?"

George freezes, breath hitching quietly at the mention of the queen. They don't ever mention of her, not in earshot of the prince at least. It wasn't forbidden, it was just highly unspoken of, a silent plea not to. Despite that plea being disobeyed and broken, George can't find himself to be upset. 

His tense figure frightens Sapnap for a moment, before George turns around and smiles at the knight, chin tipped up only slightly to meet Sapnap's towering figure. When his smile falls, Sapnap's heart cowers. 

"Now that you mention it, that's definitely the reason." He laughs sadly, and it catches Sapnap off guard. But he doesn't hesitate to offer him a warm smile, promising him that there's no reason to be sad. That's what all of his smiles try to tell him, whenever it can. 

Trying to ease the conversation, Sapnap talks. "Do you think I'd be able to join you guys for dinner?"

George eyebrows knit together at his question, tilting his head with a questioning grin rising to his face. "But you already do?"

"Not as your knight, George." Sapnap laughs when he realizes that he does watch them when they eat, only for protection of course, but it always made him curious what it would be like to really participate. 

George doesn't seem to get it, though. 

"Then as what?"

It catches Sapnap a little bit of guard, and he immediately gets flustered. "I-I don't know, nothing nothing. Just imagine though-" he sputters, George's smirk growing at the sight he's not so used to, "Fancy dinner, with a fancy family. Definitely an upgrade."

Sapnap's voice wavers off and his hand naturally comes up to card through the of his neck, hesitant smile sitting flustered on his face. George only screws his eyes to a squint, smiling back suspiciously. He thinks it's quite cute, but the thought does rise up about how Sapnap lives, where he eats, because it might as well be entirely different, given their different royalty rank in the kingdom. 

"Where do you eat?" George decides to ask, turning to fully face the man who's still feeling his palm on the cold table, rubbing circles into the carved spirals. 

Sapnap's face lights up suddenly, with an idea of sorts, removing his hand from the table and humming as he straightens up to meet George's eyes. 

"I mean... I could show you," he offers, lifting his eyebrows and crossing his arms as his more fit body fully faces the prince. At first George is hesitant, and honestly, maybe a little worried that he might offend Sapnap. He is curious, since it was never his first idea to look around the knight's quarters, or wherever anyone else worked in the mansion. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was destined. But when he looks in Sapnap's eyes for a second longer, he can't help but agree. 

"O-okay, why not?" 

The hesitant side of him wonders why he accepted the request, but how boring would it be if George didn't learn anything on this tour? And the way Sapnap looks at him is extremely hard to deny, sparkling eyes and a hand that only offers warmth. He hopes it is purely a platonic attraction, but he's not so sure of that anymore. 

So this time, Sapnap grabs his hand tightly, and pulls him out of the dining with a welcoming smile, reminding George that it's okay to start getting involved again with the things around him.

They follow each other kindly through the echoing halls of the top floor, passing doors and doors that are almost as tall as the ceiling, George following one foot behind at every step. Eventually they are led to a wider door, indicating a bigger room ahead. George doesn’t come to this side of the floor often, always stuck in his own room or Wilbur’s office to be directed tasks and things to do that involve being a prince and stuff. He’s actually kind of surprised how much he hasn’t seen of his own house, being so kept up with royal duties and torn away from any fun. 

Sapnap opens the door and when they head inside, it’s a large corridor with different rooms, which he assumes is the guards quarters. Sapnap doesn’t make the effort to explain, seeing the understanding in George’s eyes as he heads inside. They walk down the hallway, shoes tapping on the quartz floors with soft steps that would be still easy to hear no matter how far you were. 

And when they come to a door on the right, midway through the hallway, George understands this is Sapnap’s personal room. He doesn’t hesitate to open it and reveal a small room that’s big enough to fit a small kitchen, bed in the corner and a bathroom on the right side. 

It doesn’t look like much at first, but if you look closer, you can see the expensive carpets and fluorescent chandeliers hanging over the island of the mini-kitchen. 

“I didn’t know you ate here,” George comments, nudging a hand at a tiny dining table off to the side of the kitchen. 

Sapnap softly smiles in his direction, hands coming to rest on his hips and examine the room, “You never asked.”

There’s an awkward pause afterwards, and George’s face immediately heats up, an apology dripping at his lips.

“I- sorry-”

“It’s okay George, I get it,” Sapnap butts in, an assuring smile but deep behind it is what worries George the most, “All you kings, queens, princes have royal work to do, focused on the higher life. I get it.”

George frowns at the accusation, crossing his arms and staring at the soft carpet underneath his black shoes. Ignoring the response with a try, he doesn’t meet the other’s eyes, instead focusing on the fabric of the ground, strewn carefully by a working hand he’ll never meet. He realizes its origin and perks up with his knowledge. 

"These carpets are a lovely shade of nylon," he says, toe softly dragging against the material, "It's polymerized salt actually," he laughs. With an eager heart, his head tips upwards towards the windows. "Those curtains are velvet, burgundy and gosh that color is extremely pretty. Velvet has always been my favorite texture."

“Where’d you learn all this about carpets and material?” Sapnap wonders, the end of his mouth curving upwards into an endearing smirk. George hums and breathlessly laughs to himself. 

“Being one to find myself bored quite often, I resort to books. It was one of the last nonfictions I devoted to, highly struck on the fantasy, but unfortunately ran out of options,” He explains, brushing his hand on the nearby wooden table, dry resource pricking his skin that is missing any pain he expected. “I was never educated on woods and plants like these, not sure why this wood deems such bad quality though.”

Sapnap chuckles at the words that file from his mouth, holding a vase of purity and understanding on his tongue. 

George finds his eyes scanning the small room again, traveling them over the bend of the bed frame and the carve of each window by the seating. They wander to the kitchen, clean but due to rust and marble floors that shine, but not enough to sell for anything good. He frowns at the poverty-stricken quality of it all, mouth drying from the loss of beauty and appeal. 

“You should get more than this,” George admits poorly, tone dropping low with the idea as it sounds worrying coming from the very prince who is destined to be of care for it all. 

Sapnap looks back up at him and curls his eyebrows, humming. “I never liked it, honestly.”

“Why is that?”

The knighted brunette steps forward, standing on the crossway between kitchen and bedroom. He carries himself strongly, arms heavy on his hips and eyes scanning the room from its walls to the floors carefully. 

“Too rich-like. Too tiny, too boring,” Sapnap mindlessly toes on another carpet below him, a brown and warm color, “This expensive stuff never really satisfied my taste. Not like I really have a choice..” he staggers off, clearing his throat and tossing George another smile to hide his intentional meaning. George isn’t dumb though, he can read him. He’s probably the most readable person George has ever met, which isn’t a bad thing. 

George steps up beside him and places a hand on the fancy bed cover, patterned with diamond shapes that are tiny and subtle, but it feels wealthy in the way the fabric is pulled together in a strong sew. He recognizes it to be a pretty cambric blue, debuted softly as it is woven.  

George tilts his neck up to Sapnap boldly, with a question, “Why'd you want to be a protector? A guard? A knight? If you knew you'd be around this stuff?”

The taller gulps noticeably but he stares right back at George, hiding back all worries like he was taught to do. There was no point in making him worry. 

“I’m not too sure,” Sapnap answers honestly, “Maybe I thought I wanted to be richer. Perhaps that’s not how happiness comes.”

Eager to know more, George fully faces him with dark eyes. “Where would you like to find happiness?”

He would like to believe he asked that for the purpose of knowing Sapnap, for figuring him out. But maybe the question came from his own deepening curiosity, to satisfy his own hopes and concerns. Some of which he didn’t know he had. 

“Where are all these questions coming from?” Sapnap teases confidentially, smirking at the smaller boy. 

George rolls his eyes and shrugs, but there’s not a smile in sight. Reason to believe his questions only come from the deepest wonder, sparking something fond between them. 

So the knight goes on to take a deep breath, uncrossing his arms so he can fiddle with his peeping collar, adjusting it and wrinkling his mouth while he thinks. But it was as if he wasn’t thinking in the first place, because his wisdom pours out like a fresh waterfall, letting everything go. 

“Well,” he starts, rolling his shoulders and straightening his neck, staring into the quaint room before him, “I’d like to think happiness spurs from love, company, nature. Happiness is where you search, not what is handed to you.”

The light beams through the waterfall, reflecting sunlight and golden luster on the ripples that cast brilliantly. 

George smiles and ducks his head, so it can’t be seen. George thinks, well you were handed to me, but instead he says, “That sounds awfully pretty.”

“You’re awfully pretty,”

An immediate scoff leaves George’s mouth, but he can’t help the playful smile rising to his cheeks and the dimples that form because of it. Sapnap only looks at him tauntingly, yet George can’t get enough of it. 

A comfortable moment passes, just of them looking around the quaint room, chandelier hanging over the kitchen and dotting white light around them. He hears Sapnap sigh a bit nervously, prompting George to fear what he’s gonna say. 

“You should tell your dad,” Sapnap says, voice low but easily welcoming just like it always is. George looks at him with confusion.

“Tell him what?”

He watches Sapnap’s eyes darken and jaw tighten. “That you like boys.”

George’s face scrunches with disgust (yet it is still admirable to Sapnap), shaking his head side to side vigorously, “No way.”

Immediately, Sapnap goes to defend his take, arms crossing and eyes locking onto the boy who’s slowly shying away as they get more and more open to the idea of this conversation. 

“Come on George, I’ve seen the way you look at me-” Sapnap cuts himself off, worries crowding him all of a sudden, and he wants to retrace his words, but George just gapes his mouth breathlessly. “I mean- I can see it in you. It’s who you are and you shouldn’t hide.”

George intakes what he said for a moment, breathing short breaths as heat rises to his forehead. “I don’t want to hide.”

“Then don’t .” 

“You know a prince can’t be-” He lets the end of his sentence hang loosely from his tongue, dreading to drop like it’s a forbidden word hung on a noose, ready to tighten and snap. Even after all this time, he still can’t admit it to himself. 

He flutters his eyes shut with frustration and gulps it back so he can continue, “I need to be a prince, it’s who I am.”

“It’s not George.”

When George looks up to meet Sapnap’s eyes, they are no longer the sparkling brown he wanted to look up to. Instead it’s dark, worrisome, reckless and meaningful. Sapnap would only get like this in serious situations, ultimately failing at his goal to prevent a scare from George. His eyes would bleed a crypt of leaden shadows, clouded with strain that George would hope to believe it all comes from a deeper place of love. He almost knows , because once again, Sapnap is easy to read. 

“It is.”

Sapnap grunts in frustration, moving his hands to his own hips and leaning back with a willful frown. Frustrated because George won’t listen to him, won’t understand his words, reflect on them and use them like he wants him too. He knows he can’t read minds, he knows it’s not that easy. But he wants George to be happy, that’s all he wants, and it’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Then-” Sapnap starts, mouth going dry and face quickening to a pale color, “Then why are you yourself around me, more than anyone else?”

With the silence that follows, Sapnap’s eyes trace George’s every moment. Which is not much, but the way his face turns beat red, is almost answer enough. 

Surprisingly, the prince musters his ability, voice wavering but it’s as good as it’ll ever get. 

“Maybe because you…” He breathes cautiously, “You make me feel like myself. I feel like all the puzzle pieces fit together when I’m with you. Every time we talk, I’m figuring out more and more things about myself.”

The prince makes an effort to take a deep breath after those words, shaking off the heavy weight that lolls on his heart. Sapnap stares at him with those open eyes, but instead they lighten. George can see the chandelier reflecting white light on them, becoming brighter again. It causes a smile to rise on his face at the golden sight. 

Sapnap is speechless, hands softening when they were once tense, face relaxing and body numbing to the atmosphere. 

With careful thought, he takes another step forward, but this time towards George.  

“Can I help you figure something out, George?”

The smaller devout tilts his head, frown on his lips as he looks toward him, not forgetting the confession offered earlier. 

“What’d you mean?” George questions, skin becoming soft and vulnerable, a crystal alabaster that Sapnap wants to label all over. George turns his body to fully face the staring knight. 

Sapnap doesn’t answer, only lifts his hand to take the boy's chin in his warm palm, letting it rest gently in the small space, their eyes twinkling in connection. Foreheads level, neck strained in a positive manner as Sapnap leans forward, scanning the devots of George’s cheeks and bones, curved delicate strokes of shadow and shine. 

“Sapnap..” The prince whispers, a breathless plea that bargains for release and accomplish. His souring eyes peer up at him with a golden speck, drawn to the crescents in Sapnap’s eyes that are kind for eternity. His eyes speak the thought that his name sounds beautiful on the prince’s intricate lips, cherries falling sweet and likeable speech. 

Not to hold back much longer, the knight curls his hold and pulls him forward, finally drawing in the everlasting attachment of their mouths, latching on firmly but softly, carefully holding his chin as their lips dance slowly and unforgettable. George sighs in the feeling of their lips touching, exhaling through his nose and allowing the other to feel the breath in the curve of his nose. Sapnap’s stubble grazes his cheek with a tickle, erupting a smile on the prince’s face at the feeling that’s not at all familiar, but something he was silently hoping to feel. 

They kiss and let the small room be their servant, aiding them to a tied memory with sparkling carpets under their feet, heavy and resilient where it carries them. George leans forward on his toes to kiss the knight further, bringing his own hands up to hold Sapnap’s shoulders for balance as they connect fiercely. Sapnap dares to stumble back, but laughs when George tries to pull him steady. 

When they disconnect, butterflies flutter around them, and they may not be seen, but the tickle of their wings that brush the red on their cheeks, are reason enough to believe they are entrancing around them. 

Their foreheads dip into one another, Sapnap moves his hand so his thumb brushes under George’s eye, a careful touch not to disturb the blood flow contrasting his skin in beautiful waves. 

“What was that supposed to figure out?” George asks softly, hot breath and cheerful smile that feels foreign to other days, entirely different from the worn out irises he sees through on a daily. 

Sapnap hums, still in a trance of admiration to the prince whose eyes flutter under the gaze, pink impossibly spreading further from the tips of his ears, to his pointed nose dressed in light freckles. 

“That you like me? I hope?” Sapnap teases, letting his head fall backwards to the heated atmosphere airy around them. George scoffs and lets the distance naturally sway. 

“Well, do I?” he asks, stalking slowly backwards while he feels his own cheek, warm from the encounter. 

“Ask me again tomorrow, yeah?” 

George snorts and ducks his head forward, hands falling so he can dust off his vest, as if it was dusty from the knight in front of him, which he would rather not admit the sincerity of the action. 

They both know how each of them feel, without the need to say it. Rest assured, their blossomed smiles and eyelashes dancing, truly reveals it all without words. 

Part of George is still figuring it all out, whether he must stick to the tradition he was passed to do, raised to be a king under all rulings without question. Must he bear the silly remarks from his now requited friend or continue forth without the admission of his own father, treated the same at dinner but secretly falling behind to hold a protecting hand? The idea of not choosing rings in his head, allowing the blush to fall away rather quickly. 

Sapnap notices and clears his throat dreadfully, fixing his own collar once again. 

“You’ll be okay, won’t you George?” 

He uses the name as a suggestion of possibility, curiosity. That one day he’ll be able to say it without fear of the future, knowing that the dear prince is his for granted. He can only let George decide that for him, whether he likes it or not. 

George meets his eyes again, somewhat confidence stirring inside them, but lacking proper truth or assurance that Sapnap needs so badly. 

“As long as you’re by my side, I have nothing to worry about,” The prince lifts his chin and starts backward, glancing at the time on his way. He passes over the divine carpets, along the wooden floors and tosses Sapnap one last, lidded glance, smile still as gleaming as it is weary. The knight nods off to him, and then George is gone. 

Sapnap has never hated his room more, without the prince in it with him. 

Thinking back on the clock George read throughout his exit, it blares 5pm, enough time to work on some tasks he was given before the king set off. He was grateful not to be held up for so long, but also missing the knight already, the caress of his hands and the breath he shallows. How did his presence become this dear, so fast? All the questions fade though, when he remembers the sunlight casting on Sapnap’s face, evidence of protective gazing. 

He stalks down the hallways, passing doors he wouldn’t always think about. But now as he passes, he wonders who lies beyond them, fulfilling dreams and desires of living in a lavish kingdom with riches but prophecies they can’t discover. He wonders if he, himself has been so locked up in its price, that he hadn’t looked as far as past the grim, glass windows, stuck behind its walls with pending disheartenment. 

He lets it ponder, as he walks down the hall, eyes pointing forward in the direction of savior. 

Wilbur is back by sundown, carrying his presence widely amongst the sleeping residents. George lays fondly in his room, listening to the large door shut and the bitter conversation that flies between the king and his fellow soldiers that only speak of political matters that leak no interest in the prince’s heart. He compares the dark voice of Wilbur’s, to Sapnap, and realizes he would rather speak of happiness with the beloved knight, if he had the permission to choose such a fate. 

George lays in his room, back on the soft mattress woven of nylon and cotton, plush in the way his body envelops the sheets. As soft as it is, the prince can’t get a second of sleep. His eyes droop so heavily, but the stress from the whole day makes it weigh even more. He should be able to sleep easily after the day he had, but nothing was pulling him under, even though everything is heavy from his head to his toes, something is keeping him up top the fluffy mattress. 

The lingering of Sapnap's lips sits on his own, stinging saccharine buzz and plush limp, and it had been a whole 24 hours and more since then, but he can't forget the way the knight’s mouth slotted with his so perfectly.

As if the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, a noise in his room alerts him, body immediately sitting up to glance through the dark fog at the end of his bed. He can make out the small glimpse of a figure, a foot pushing its way through the crack in his doorway, that he didn’t even acknowledge had opened in the first place. It’s a black boot, slithering through the darkness and a body sliding along with it, dressed in metal clanked armor and dark pants that blends in surprisingly well. 

“S’pn’p?” George mumbles into the buzz of the night, voice soft as it travels quietly, laced with a huskiness from laying there for so long, breathing in the heat of his closed off bedroom. 

“Yeah ‘s me,” the knight whispers back, and George melts at the gentleness he carries so he doesn’t disturb the prince. 

George sits on his hands, holding himself up with eyelids dreading to fall and pull him into a mind space that keeps him awake but grasping the edge of sleep. He gulps when Sapnap steps inside, keeping the door cracked open before fully walking in on careful feet. 

“Wht’ddya doin here?” he asks, lifting one hand so he can rub his eyes and yawn when the knight leans over his side and smiles warmly. He places a hand over George’s and his smile turns into a smirk. 

“Can I take you somewhere?”

George squints his eyes with confusion, Sapnap lacing their fingers together where they sit on the mattress. 

Eager to explain, “-You were just so stressed today and I kind of want to show you something,”

George blushes warmly at this side of Sapnap, lightly flustered with his blissful offer, anyone could see it no matter how tired they were. His cheeks are plump and even in the dark, they light up the whole room. 

“Okay... now?” George asks as he pushes himself further up in the bed, stretching his arms a little and catching the way Sapnap nods a nimble gesture. Their hands latch more securely, George sighing into the grip as he slides off the bed and lands on the wooden floors softly, careful not to make a sound. 

Adrenaline creeping up George’s veins as he moves, the prince quickly puts on some slippers that sit by his bed, and Sapnap tugs him along and quietly out the door. 

It’s severely dark in the hallways, a darkness that the prince never seems to experience, always going to bed early to his dad’s request. The only sounds that pierce the hallways are Sapnap and George’s feet, skipping around in different hallways to avoid bigger rooms and guards who sneak out the area. Even being the prince, George wouldn’t know any better about the mansion before him what times and where each guard protects, only Sapnap who holds his hand and elicits a muffled giggle from him at every given moment. 

When they finally escape through a minor back door, the breeze kicks in and blows on George’s face, cold limber chills fill his cheeks as they fight the light gust against their bodies. When his feet hit the grass, it’s airy under his feet and he almost giggles at the softness of it. They stroll around the building and wander up a familiar hill, the one where George was painting earlier. 

His hand is pulled in an unknown direction, their feet are quick on the fluffy grass below them, soft patches becoming damp as their steps double down the hill. The nightly air is cold, enough to shiver even though the prince wears a tight sweater, it’s not enough to prevent a shiver from going down his spine. Thankfully, the heat of Sapnap’s hand is wrapped around his, sending warmth through his palm to his arms, and everywhere else. 

“Where are we going?” George giggles, near a whisper but it’s not like anyone will hear them. Just the idea of whispering like irresponsible teenagers makes his heart rumble with excitement. 

Sapnap jogs ahead of him, still having a firm grasp on his hand, protective hold that George wants to feel for eternity wherever they are together. He has no doubt that Sapnap will let go anytime soon with the way he is holding. 

George looks through the darkness, past the lantern that he carries to see a smirk on the knight’s face. He could be mistaken as a kidnapper with a deviant smile taking the prince away, but George knows him enough and the hold on his hand, that he is only taking him to what might be paradise. 

So silence ensues, the only sounds audible being the faint squeaking of crickets around them and the grass crunching under their shoes. It’s surreal how sneaky this is, how spontaneous it feels to be running in the dark with his protector, past the hours he’s not supposed to be out. He feels like he’s breaking every rule of his dedication to the kingdom, but it has never felt more right. 

The smile on George’s face is irresistible, beaming brighter than the lantern dangling from his other arm. Sapnap is rushing to get to their desired location just so he can stare longer at the adorable grin of his prince who beams impossibly brighter under the night stars. 

Not so long later, they reach the bottom of the hill they were once trancing upwards, greeted with a large, open body of water, which is deemed to be L’manberg’s Lake. George would have been able to recognize it if it was daytime, with his paintbrush and easel by the water, an occasional painting spot of his choice (even though it has been quite some time since he came there). But he had never seen it at this time of night, condemned and reflected by the starlight and blue luminescent trickles of the midnight moon sky. 

The constellations burn above them with bright soles, piercing the dark atmosphere, collecting stars into a batch of a pretty picture. George is drawn to them, feet coming to a stop where they plant in the grass, specks of green tickling his ankles. 

His eyes scan the beautiful night sky, brown irises being a victim of brightness along with his smile and cherry cheeks.

When he thinks of everything he’s been missing, this must be added to the list. To the list of forbidden forests, undiscovered oceans, treacherous mountains, and now night skies that reflect pearl marble lakes. 

They stand a good distance away from the water, and George is too drawn to the stars to notice a bench that’s planted a good 10 yards away from the two. Finally, when he rips his eyes from the shine, they immediately lock with Sapnap’s, who’s been staring at him for the past, who knows how long. 

“What do you think?” The knight asks, voice just over a mumble, too in awe of his brunette boy who is more beautiful than the concept of night itself. 

George’s mouth gapes open breathlessly, cheeks warming up to the cold that surrounds him as he peers up at Sapnap with a generous smile. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Sapnap is immediate to an explanation, eager to listen to a sleepy George in the most vulnerable setting. “I’ve seen you come around here before, but you’re always in bed by 9. Figured I would show you what it’s like when the sun goes to sleep.”

George joys at the words, bumping his side with Sapnap’s as he cranes his neck again to look at the gorgeous sky. Sapnap can’t keep his eyes off the admiring prince. 

Eventually, he tugs gently on the boy’s hand, luring him away from the loll of the night, and takes him over to the bench where they sit, George snuggled up close to his side. Sapnap lifts an arm around his shoulder and tugs him closer, so their thighs touch and shoulders bump together. 

The sounds of crickets die down, leaving them to the oceanic buzz of the water and the twinkle of stars, that don’t necessarily have sound but George is positive if you were close enough, they’d tickle your sternum with a high-pitched tune. The prince sighs softly and lets his head hang back, bumping the back of the bench but he lets the air engulf his throat carefully. The coldness of the night combined with the warmth of Sapnap beside him, feels more heavenly than he thought it would.

He doesn’t wish to disturb the silence, but a confession crawls at his heart like a mole carving the dirt. 

He inhales softly through his nose, “This is happiness,” George whispers into the sky, tilting his head slightly so it bumps with Sapnap’s temple. He feels the knight curve his head so he can look at the prince with the bare angle he has. 

“What?”

The brunette smiles as he is eager to continue. 

“This. This is happiness. Being under the skies with you, reflective to nature and living in it. I’ve never felt this defenseless to the world before, yet it feels so safe.”

When George turns his head so he can properly see Sapnap under the faint glow of their lantern, he’s met with an adoring smile and lovely eyes. 

“Isn’t it great?” The knight agrees, looking deeper at the prince whose cheeks pinken under the softness of the air. 

“I still want you to protect me though,” George admits, nudging his knee with the other’s so they bump, a friendly gesture. Sapnap smiles. 

“I always will, Georgie.”

“Georgie,” The prince snorts, delivering a flashy grin that’s under the flush of his embarrassment. “I like it more now.”

“Your smile tells me so,”

George flushes once again, turning his head away so the lantern just misses his side profile, a shade of night covering it to Sapnap’s demise.  “Am I that obvious?”

Sapnap clicks his teeth playfully, pulling on George’s shoulder so they meet eyes again. “Yes,” Sapnap approves heartfully, “But it’s better that way. Better without tears.”

Incapable of holding things in, in surrender to how vulnerable they both are under gentle moonlight and reflective waters, George hums. 

“I don’t cry often.”

It’s half a confession, more something he’s never said out loud before. It feels different on his tongue than in his head, digging deep into his heart trying to carve a path for him to follow, no holding back. Right now though, he’s allowed to hold back and live free. 

“Oh?”

The prince dips his head forward with a sad smile, cheeks losing it’s pink and becoming pale, but the lantern brightens it. 

“As much as I want to, my chest gets tight but my eyes don’t cooperate. Quite sad, really.”

Sapnap turns his body so George is forced to do the same, faces now fully enraptured by the light of the lamp, settled by their feet. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asks with genuine curiosity, eyebrows curling when their knees bump and George doesn’t flinch like he used to. 

Sapnap watches the prince frown deeper, body tensing but he leans into the warmth for comfort. 

“It’s a horrible thing. It hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

George lifts his head again and tries to smile, “Don’t be,” he assures, turning his body so their shoulders touch again, and he lets his head fall onto Sapnap’s shoulder. “You make me feel like crying.”

Sapnap turns serious, and George is quick to defend. “No! No- no that’s a good thing,”

The knight laughs nervously and rubs a hand at his neck from where they’re sitting, slightly confused but he’s trying. 

George gulps, eyelids heavy, “I-”  He tries, but it feels like a faucet after running, drizzling from his tongue in simple beats. “You make me feel things, good things.”

The tension between them eases, George ducks his head and tries to shove all the nervousness into the back of his head, praying that Sapnap will just understand. He doesn’t have to worry much, because even if Sapnap doesn’t know fully, that’s no reason for him not to stick around. 

A couple seconds later, the prince feels it all building up inside, mixed with the bright stars flexing above them and the warmth beside him, it feels all too vulnerable and crumbly inside. And god if he would lie if it didn’t feel wonderful. 

Tears streak George’s eyelids and he smiles at the feeling, cold filling his brim and trying to blink it away, but only letting one fall because of the minimal pressure. It’s not hard to see under the glow by their toes, lighting up on his face like a firefly in the dark, one after another. The knight automatically leans in and rushes to hold his jaw, using his other arm to draw George in closer so he’s half on his chest. With a tight embrace, he holds the crying boy into his chest while the prince sniffs into his shirt. 

“Oh my,” George says quietly, chuckling softly after while Sapnap just smiles above him, holding him tight into his arms like he was destined to do. Really, he shouldn’t enjoy the crying of his friend, but it made it all the more beautiful. 

“Hey, hey,” Sapnap whispers, drawing him low enough so he can dig his nose into George’s soft hair, letting all the stress dial away with each choked out, gentle cry. You wouldn’t even be able to tell that he’s crying because of how tender he shakes in Sapnap’s hold, gripping onto Sapnap in the most endearing way. 

George sniffles again, digging his face further into Sapnap’s chest, a search for reassurance that he is greeted with by the sound of his beating heart, speeding up under the moonlight and flushed glances. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles into the fabric, nuzzling into the hand and shirt at the same time, rubbing his tears away with whatever leverage he has. Sapnap only shushes him softly, rubbing his thumb along the prince’s jawline in slow movements, kissing his head in between the brown locks. If the prince is sobbing, there is no way they would know with the way he rumbles, so gentle it could barely even be called crying. 

With the pull inside of him, George wiggles out only a bit so there’s a small distance between them, a jaw still being held and tears streaking down George’s face like a calm waterfall, beautiful under the moon and twinkling with the stars, maybe even brighter. 

Unexpectedly, the smaller crawls his way into Sapnap’s lap so they are even closer, chests flush against one another but faces aligned, foreheads touching in a tingling stroke. Sapnap smiles at the soft look on George’s face, accompanied by the fresh tears and lidded gaze, a tiny sniffle following their stare only making him smile warmer. 

There’s unspoken words, unknown reasoning and silent pleas, but Sapnap leans over and kisses them anyway. He kisses each water droplet that falls down his face, slowly along each one, over the bridge of his nose to reach the other side, placing his lips in each indent of cheek and dimple to catch every tear that falls with grace. George inhales sharply at the tickle of each touch, smiling so bright it was as if he wasn’t even crying in the first place. Yet he was, and Sapnap cleaned up the beautiful mess with his lips. 

Sapnap leans slightly back so he can kiss the corner of George’s gaping mouth, that may not have had a tear there in the first place, he just wanted an opening. 

George turns his head with welcome, slotting their slicken lips together in a slow kiss, wet cheeks combining and Sapnap’s hold on his jaw tightening in a close gesture. The prince tightens his legs around the knight’s thighs, sighing into the kiss with all the might and stress he carries. It’s a quick kiss, so Sapnap can unlatch and smile. 

“Leave with me,” He mumbles against the curled simper George offers, moving his thumb upwards so it brushes under George’s eyes, catching another forbidden tear on the tip of his finger. The offer is so risky, he doesn’t know if George will abandon his loyalty for the brush of Sapnap’s arms, or the sweet chocolate on his lips. He doesn’t know, and it’s the scariest he’s ever felt about not knowing. 

George gives him nothing, except a kiss on his jaw and an eyelash fluttering against his cheek with every peck, teeth brushing the skin with no intent of leaving marks just yet. He’d want Sapnap to label him with stars first, before George ever gets the chance. 

George holds him tighter. Holds him tighter than the tuck of his blankets or the wrap of his mother after his birth. He has a knight right here, for his warmth and protection, and right now he feels like using it more than ever. It’s safe, and it’s nice, and it’s all he needs. 

“Yes, yes please, ” George says his thoughts out loud, “I’ll go anywhere with you,” he releases quietly into Sapnap’s neck, kissing up and down the length and brushing each hair that stands up under his breath. 

Sapnap sighs like it had been a breath he was holding the whole time, relief flooding his chest as he cradles George harder, shivering when George’s kisses land by his throat and up his chin so their lips meet again. 

He looks into George’s eyes, and somehow sees a glimpse of worry sparkle in his iris. His eyelids soften as they connect, Sapnap tilting his head with a caressing smile. 

“It’ll be okay.”

The prince pulls a bottom lip between his teeth and nods, closing his eyes shut once more while another set of tears cascade down his warm cheeks, nodding and nodding so even in the little light they have, Sapnap knows what he’s signing to him. 

It hurts in Sapnap’s heart, how much he cries, still unsure if it’s a good thing or not, a good thing that he’s the reason George is crying. But with everything going on, he’s hopeful it’s a good thing. Sapnap is smart, he can piece it together, and George will be okay. It’s always good with George anyway. 

The moon continues to beam around them, stars twinkling in the speckled night, angels bracing the air as Sapnap wonders how he ended up with one in his arms. The knight hastily wipes away the prince’s tears and smiles against his cheek, holding him ever so dear. It is far the most intimate they’ve ever been, going from falling asleep in the afternoon to kissing tears in the night, but they were both enthralled by it, no matter the pace their relationship was growing. 

It feels like an hour they relax there, wouldn’t be surprised if it were more. And with exhausted limbs, Sapnap tugs the weary boy from the bench and holds his arm, interlocking them when they meet the soft grass again. The lantern is grabbed by who knows which one of them, and they head off down towards the mansion once again, trancing on the explored grass and leaving indents of their presence with each step. 

When they reach the left side of the building, Sapnap tugs the prince into a back door as they trance quietly back into the mansion, careful not to disturb the sleeping ministration. George frets to giggle, because it’s so risky moving around in the dark like this, dried tears stroking his face but his smile is wide. He is so giddy about the future, even though he may not be so content with this in the morning. 

In fact, George is too focused on the way Sapnap tugs his arm forward, that he doesn’t hear the clanking of armor behind them when the back door closes softly shut. It’s quickly brushed off when the knight takes George back upstairs to his room, letting him fall back into it with a quick, promising kiss to his warm cheek. George sends him one last endearing smile with lidded eyes, before slipping into his bedroom with tingling fingers and happy feet. 

He falls asleep with Sapnap on his mind, as the moon dips below the hill and welcomes another bright sun in its rest. 

When George wakes up, he has minimal time to get dressed and brush out his hair, eyes wrinkled with memories from the night before, but then he’s immediately pulled out of his room by a different knight, right back into Wilbur’s office. He follows the knight with a groan sitting at his lips, stepping tiredly through the halls as he wonders what is going on. Being so in bliss of the previous night, it doesn’t exactly sit in how risky it was to be trancing around in the highly watched mansion, dark but just as security-vised. 

So when he walks into Wilbur’s office with a slump in his posture, he doesn’t expect to see the king sitting with a bored attitude strewn on his face. 

“Glad to see you made it home safely last night,” the king remarks as soon as George steps into the room. George mentally prepares himself for another talk down, stepping forward in front of the next, in between 2 soldiers where one of them appears to be Sapnap.

His warm presence is no longer disheartening, but endearing, and the prince wants to turn and hug him or kiss him, or whatever will surprise Wilbur because George is finally positive about what he wants in life. And that’s Sapnap. 

With a sad tone, the king finally speaks. 

“Once again, you’ve proven to me that you're no heir to the king. How many times must I reprimand you for doing childish things like sneaking out in the middle of the night?”

Instead of looking down, George tips his chin forward and looks directly into Wilbur's eyes with his lips drawn in a confident line. 

“I’m not a child, father. I should be able to stay up as long as I please.”

Of course Wilbur isn’t happy with his response, finally something coming out of George’s mouth, except it’s snarky and only set to annoy him. 

“Not when you don’t get the proper rest to wake up in the morning nor will you…” Wilbur rambles on, continuing with reasons upon reasons why George should obey his rules and such, mainly according to his opinion on being up to rule and what he should do and be but for no one’s pleasure except for his own. 

Minutes go on of this torturous lecture, voice turning into a static buzz in George’s ear as his mind drifts off like it usually would, yawn after yawn crawling it’s way up the prince’s throat.  

At this point, George isn’t listening to the boring words coming out of Wilbur’s mouth as he speaks down on him, perched high on his chair with lazy limbs dangling selfishly. Standing there in between the 2 knights, George relaxes on his back leg boredly. 

Suddenly, he feels a tap at the back of his hand, prodding his finger on the skin and the shorter has to fight the urge to glare at whoever is berating him with this touch. It makes him stifle a smile when he realizes who is touching him in such a way. 

He mustn't deny the urge now of all times. Not when his own knight is offering him a sign of comfort in his heated moment. 

So bravely, while the king continues to ramble, George inches his hand behind his back, and over to the back of Sapnap who’s prying at him, and with careful watch of the king in front of them, he interlocks their hands. A blamph of warmth spreads across George’s cheeks, palm enveloping his, that’s tingly and protective. 

He’s definitely not paying attention now, too focused on the heat of Sapnap’s hand who rubs circles into the back of his hand, crossing uncrossing his fingers behind the knight’s back. He’s so confused on how they aren’t being noticed right now, but he couldn’t care less, because the comfort is blossoming and the love spreads infinitely throughout his bones. 

Accidentally cracking a small smile, the king pauses.

"What are you smiling at? What is so funny?"

George straightens immediately and lets go of Sapnap's hand (a sorrowful mistake), pulling it behind his back cautiously and interlocking his own hands together. He can feel the knight look at him curiously, a teasing smile embracing his face that George so desperately wishes he could see. 

"Nothing, Father. Nothing.”

Wilbur clears his throat again, adjusting on the chair and using the back of his hand to rest it on his forehead with a dramatic sigh.

"I am just so exhausted from this constant behavior, you claim you are not a child but you sneak out like one,” Wilbur complains and George internally vomits. “Where do you even go?"

George frowns, but he's entirely used to the talk downs ever since his childhood. The king was never understanding of his doings, so he made no effort to explain them. With shame and words unspoken on his lips, he tilts his head down. 

"Nowhere I should be. Sorry father."

"I don't hate you boy, I just wish you focused on things that mattered ."

George knew he didn't know about Sapnap, but his words still implied it enough for bubbly anger to rise in his chest anyway. The knight was so dear to him, he'd rather be with him than taking Wilbur's place. He knew he meant things like royal responsibility and learning to lead like he was bound to do at Wilbur's demise, and none of it interested him. He'd rather run away, nothing was holding him back. 

It did so much as eager him to leave the place, leaving his reminisces of being the opposite of a dutiful prince, have his remarkable legend be left in this kingdom for King Wilbur to pick up the pieces, groan and roll his eyes whenever a rebel of the town brought up his name with joy and praise. It was unlikely he would leave with a line of greatness, and even less that he would leave without a trace, so his odds were short when it came to leaving a sweet taste in anyone’s mouth at the mention of him. But he still didn’t want to be here , and it sounded so very nice to wander out of the kingdom, looking down on them and leaving it all behind. And maybe a knight in hand while he does so. 

It’s really the first time he’s processed the decision, so with his face drawn in the straightest line he can muster for the sake of the king, he looks at Sapnap and lightly pinches at his bottom lip by pulling it between his teeth. It’s a very innocent gesture, it even looks awkward per say, so the king doesn’t mention it. Sapnap raises his eyebrows and gives a smile, understanding every bit of George. 

If only he could jump into his arms and be carried out of the kingdom, a dramatic, risky exit that maybe would be considered poor, but absolutely remarkable. 

“I don’t have time to deal with this, if you can’t will yourself into doing prince work, maybe you shouldn’t have been offered it in the first place,”  Wilbur pretends to sound distressed, rolling his eyes and looking away, waving a hand at the knights and he half-expected Sapnap to take him into his arms. “Go to your room or something.”

I guess his imaginations have grown silly with this new free power he has picked up. Because George turns around with a heavy sigh, one dressed in falsehood, a smirk playing at his lips as willfully steps out the clouded room. On the way out, Sapnap bumps a shoulder into him, playfully leaning on him for a hot second, and pulling away. George lets out a faint scoff before his cheeks turn a cherry red and he bumps the knight back, accidentally bumping the tough armor on his body and huffing when Sapnap doesn’t budge. 

It’s strangely domestic, he had just got a talking down but he couldn’t care less about the consequences. All he could feel was the smile on his face and the comfort from the knight beside him, as he walked up to his room. 

When he gets inside, Sapnap stops short at his door, and it might’ve even been the first time he had actually considered doing his job when they are around each other. Heading for the desk, George pulls out the chair and sits, adjusting a little bit so he is comfortable. Once he’s settled his hands on the wooden table, he pulls out a piece of paper and pencil from the side, and hovers a hand over it carefully, eyebrows knitted together with focus. 

When the pencil is situated between his fingers, he writes. 

Dear King Wilbur Soot,

"After all these years, I have finally thought of what I would like to do in life. And you cannot decide that for me.

Maybe one day I will return, but for now, I want to go with my heart, wherever it wants to take me.

After all, happiness is where you search, not what is handed to you." 

- Sincerely, Prince George Davidson-Soot.

The afternoon sun dips below the hill, casting golden light past the grass and under their feet. Sapnap extends his hand for George to take, and never will he deny the warmth of his palm, not like this. He takes it, and it is warmer than the sun on his face. Heavy boots walk forward across the hill, hand in hand as they stroll through the heat, under the welcome of the star. 

George lifts his other hand and readjusts his paper crown, reevaluating the way it sits on his head, before carefully removing it. Where it sits in his palm, he feels over it one last time, before turning around and kneeling on the soft pasture. Sapnap lets go of his hand in spite of the position, smiling down at him. 

And with the sentiment reeling from his grasp, he lets go of it, placing it in the center of the hill. The paper edges blow gently in the subtle wind, but it doesn't move. Whether it's a symbol of his legacy, or a resemble of his past, it's there now. 

And they leave it behind, hand in hand, strolling to the sun with their hearts on their sleeves.

To wherever they will go, to start something new.