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Beowulf has pretty eyes. Olivier couldn’t help but observe how they practically shimmered, not unlike the many ripples of a lake.
Saying they’re like gemstones isn’t appropriate, Olivier muses idly to himself. They’re more akin to the ocean, a milky turquoise-blue. Very fitting, as it turns out. His eyes are as endless as the sea itself, the ocean he adores so. Everlasting, vast and mysterious.
Beowulf himself is not unlike the tides of the ocean. He always falls and rises, influenced by forces outside of his control. Yet, he doesn’t let that stop him from gaining a sense of agency in his own life. He didn’t allow being a Dominant to change how he was. Despite how the world seemed desolate and devoid of hope, and despite how Beowulf’s smile often wavered, he never stopped trudging ahead.
But why? What’s the point?
Olivier finds it…intriguing. How his new friend seemed to simply swim against the tides that drive the rest of their broken world. Perhaps that’s what drew Olivier to the brunette. Among many other things.
Thinking this much is tiresome, Olivier mused silently in his bedroll. His eyes lazily lingered on his doll a few feet away on a dresser. He usually slept with it. It calmed him, a familiar if not distant friend on nights where he felt alone and cold. His only friend, for so many years.
The prince's two friends. Beowulf, and his beloved doll.
Olivier smiled faintly to himself in the darkly-lit room. Beowulf would be so lovely, as his consort. They could play with dolls together, play silly pranks on the castle staff, eat luncheon together whenever they wished while dodging stupid old nobles, laughing and giggling into their hands as they made faces to one another from across the table…
Father did always say he could choose whomever he pleased…even if his mother balked at the idea.
Humming to himself, Olivier leisurely pet the flower petal grasped within his thumb and index finger with a disinterested look in his eyes. He wondered detachedly how it survived so long, the delicate slip of a thing.
His new friend called it “lily of the valley.” It wasn’t very common, especially with the Blight. Beowulf had been ecstatic when they both spotted one before they settled for the night.
The Dominant then spent the next hour plucking stems and flowers from off the ground. Even when is stomach began to grumble from hunger, Beowulf stubbornly continued working on his little project. Olivier stuck close by, finding his friend was the only person here he felt comfortable enough around. Yet the water Dominant didn’t allow him to see what he was doing, much to the other boys' chagrin.
By the night everyone slept and Olivier had began to complain to his friend about his aching legs from sitting in the same position, Beowulf finished. He proudly presented the flower crown to the silver-haired boy, placing it oh so gently on his head.
“It suits you!” Beowulf had chirped, a rather adoring expression on his face as he gazed upon his friends uncharacteristically bashful form.
It was a look his mother had often, whenever she gazed upon him. Yet her love always felt contingent on something Olivier hardly understood. He always felt as though one misstep could take away that love forever.
Yet when Beowulf looked at him like that, with such joy reserved only for him…
“Y’know…back where I come from, they mean happiness and sincerity. You asked me how true my words and conviction were, a while ago. I don’t even know if you remember. I didn’t know how to put it into words, so I thought maybe a symbol would be better. It isn’t one of those fancy gemstones you get at the castle, but it comes from my heart. I hope you like it.”
He did.
It spoke volumes more than even a thousand words could. It stirred more feelings within the boy than any of his mothers vain gifts had. Olivier’s vacant heart fluttered just a bit in his chest. He was shocked, that bumbling Beowulf even remembered that prior conversation. It showed how thoughtful the other was, underneath the surface.
A whisper of an eerie smile spread across Olivier’s face, his cheeks turning a rosy pink. He decided he liked his new friend a lot. He wasn’t boring like his father, or vain like his mother, and he wasn’t mean to him like his dumb older brother. He was fun, sweet, and he was real.
This trip was silly in his opinion, but it was entertaining at least. He didn’t feel mind-boggling boredom as he had before at the castle. Plus, he found a true friend. Someone he wanted to stay by his side forever. It wouldn’t be that hard, not really. Why would Beowulf refuse him, after all he gave him the flower crown, not any of his other goofy friends. Or worse, Dion. They were practically best friends already, a strong bond without parallel.
He settled down a bit more, taking in the sounds of nature and wondering idly to himself what to give his friend in return for such a lovely gift. The night sounds of crickets and leaves rustling in the trees in a chorus was calming in a way. Olivier could appreciate it eventually.
“…Oli…?” A voice mumbled, still in the throes of sleep.
Olivier blinked, shifting his face down to his friend beside him. His dull irises met Beowulf’s shimmering one’s, and suddenly he felt himself back on the beach again, gazing out into the limitless blue.
“Hm? What is it? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He found that he didn’t want to stop staring at Beowulf’s soft features. Soft, because he was young, yet still marred with scars and alike. “I don’t want to hear your complaints in the morning if you stay up all night.”
Beowulf huffed, hardly understanding what was being said to him but picking up on the sarcastic tone. “Fine, fine. At your command, your highness. But only if you…sleep with me.” He yawned mid-sentence, already beginning to drift off again.
On cue, Olivier yawned as well, suddenly feeling very exhausted. He could think about a gift in the morn, for now he wanted to sleep. And perhaps he could even badger the cooks enough for seconds after breakfast. Yes, that sounded like a plan.
He settled next to Beowulf, the other happy to embrace him loosely, already drifting off again as his eyes fluttered shut. “Night night, Oli…”
Olivier hummed, setting the crown down next to him neatly so it wouldn’t be crushed. He pulled the other boy closer as he shut eyes. Memories of the last few months flitted through his mind’s eye as he and Beowulf deepened their embrace, nestled together in their makeshift cocoon. “Good night to you as well, Bee. Perhaps you and I will share a dream together…”