Chapter Text
There once was a kingdom, nestled within the confines of a small, beautiful island.
Along the shores, people had settled and thrived, as far back as memories reached. As people flourished and their numbers grew, they all came together to protect their loved ones from the danger that lurked beyond the waters.
A castle, unprecedented in its sheer size and glory, was constructed in the island’s very center, with tall, white walls to protect the homes and their leaders. Eventually, a monarchy was put into place. A system built on trust, and most of all; a promise. One faded to the passage of time but a promise nonetheless.
The monarchy’s unwavering loyalty lies with its people.
As newer times brought their own sets of rain clouds, silently brewing beyond the horizon, and perhaps even from within, everyone still thought fondly of their home.
Their home,
Quesadilla Kingdom.
The crown prince's home,
Quesadilla Kingdom.
There is no denying Pac’s affection for his people and his kingdom. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure that they are safe and cared for.
But, this.
This is pushing it.
The prince taps his finger against the table, his leg going up and down in quick succession. There is a slight draft from the window to his right, teasing at his hair, mocking him, reminding him how he’s stuck here and not outside in the fresh air.
It’s especially infuriating, considering his company has surely sucked up every ounce of oxygen left in the room. The lady in front of him has not stopped talking for twenty, whole, minutes.
Words fall from her mouth like water spilling from a fountain and might as well be speaking in a made-up language. Pac would be none the wiser.
He squirms in his attire, fancier than his usual get-up, as per Cucurucho’s insistence. He’s dressed up in a light blue velvet cloak, a white, ironed tunic with poofy sleeves where the top row of buttons are left undone. The tunic is tucked into a pair of tight dark pants with brown leather boots to go along with it. In the unusually tamed mess of dark hair rests a shimmering, golden crown, adorned with tiny sapphire jewels along its sides and front.
To Cucurucho’s credit, if the prince perishes due to boredom at this set-up date, at least he’ll look good when the royal guards arrive to retrieve his body.
Who knows, perhaps even Fit will be there.
“Hello ? Prince Pac?” The prince is harshly brought back down to reality and blinks at the princess across from him. She’s still smiling, but the displeased quirk of her lip is not lost on Pac.
“Do you mind if I take a quick break?” She asks politely in her unnaturally posh English accent, and Pac nods. Code for bathroom. Thank the gods and heaven above, finally. The princess gracefully gets up from the chair, the one opposite to his from across the round, clothed table, and makes a point of dusting off her dress with a scoff, before stepping towards the door to the side.
The room falls into an awkward silence and Pac watches as their assigned guard’s attention becomes occupied with opening the door for the princess. A clear chance presents itself for the first time in over an hour. He’s not being watched right now and there is another exit right behind him. He could so make it.
Without wasting another second, Pac books it.
He practically throws himself on the handle, flings the door open, and beelines down the hall. He hears a shrill ‘Your highness!?’ from a guard somewhere behind him, but the prince could not care less. His heart pounds with excitement for the first time that morning as he navigates the castle, knowing every corridor and every room like the back of his hand.
Oh, he should make escape attempts more often. The thrill of it is unlike anything else. If there were less punishments for it, he’d do it all the time.
Pac turns a few corners, narrowly avoiding getting spotted by patrolling guards, before ducking inside an open archway for his favorite shortcut.
He’s inside the kitchen area now, swirling past the counters and cabinets, the food preppers only rolling their eyes and snickering at the common sight of their prince’s antics. Pac only slows to a stop briefly as he spots a familiar face, hunched over by a bucket, fully concentrated on his task of peeling potatoes.
“Good morning, Chayanne!” He greets him. The blond-haired boy spins around and quickly breaks out in a wide smile.
“Morning, your highness!” Chayanne chirps happily. He’s wearing his very own apron, pride etched into every inch of his round face. Pac heart swells, knowing this apprenticeship meant the world to this aspiring little chef.
“You’ll do awesome today! Tell Phil and your sister I said hi, okay?” Pac says as he picks his pace back up before he’s caught.
“I will!” The boy says in response to both requests, and Pac gives him one last grin, before speeding on ahead. Exiting the kitchen, continuing through the dining hall, a couple of rights and a left, and the prince is finally almost at his destination.
Down a short flight of stairs and the end of a narrow corridor with pale brown bricked walls, sits a green, heavy wooden door with a sign saying ‘Royal Lab’ with faded letters at the very top. Pac walks up and swings it open without hesitation.
The first thing that hits him upon entering is a very peculiar smell. It’s like shoving your nose straight into dish soap and wood chips. Not unpleasant necessarily, but definitely not something Pac would put in a cologne. Luckily, it was one of the better things he’s smelled walking into this lab, so it does not deter him from continuing inside.
The place is a mess; nothing out of the ordinary. The workspace is overrun with tools in various shapes and sizes, mountains of paper, a mixture of notes and written warnings from Cucurucho, all with varying degrees of threats, and brewing stands with ominous liquid left to sit inside glass tubes. Apart from the familiar mop of hair sticking out from under the rubble, it would be easy to think the lab to be abandoned.
“Tubbo?” Pac calls out into the space as he closes the door behind him and smiles when the young man’s head shoots up from behind a counter space, green eyes wide. Tubbo immediately rushes over to meet him, as if he hasn’t had company for years, even though Pac stopped by several times yesterday.
The young scientist is rocking his usual pair of worn green overalls, a brown undershirt, and boots, accompanied by a pair of goggles, pushed up on his forehead, halfway falling off. They barely hang on as the man rushes over.
The prince opens his mouth to finally vent about his god-awful morning when Tubbo stops him by shoving a warning finger in Pac’s face, brows furrowed. Under his right arm, he’s carrying some kind of object, hidden from view by a rugged piece of cloth.
" Apapap ! Before you start with your yapping, bless this creation with your royal majesty-ness. I need the extra luck today." He holds out the covered object expectantly and Pac gives him a puzzled stare, brows raised.
“Just do it.” Tubbo sighs when he’s taking too long, and Pac finally abides.
He decides to do some bizarre, random hand gestures around Tubbo’s unknown creation like he’s just about to cast a dangerous spell.
“Consider this object blessed by my royal hand!” The prince proclaims in a deep voice, adding a few explosion noises into the mix for added effect.
Tubbo looks thoroughly unimpressed with the spectacle.
"Uh, yeah, fuck it. Good enough, I guess!" He says as if he wasn’t the one who asked for it, and Pac lets out an exasperated sigh. Tubbo turns on his heel and walks back into his lab, Pac following right behind him.
“Alright, go one then, what happened this time?” He asks and the prince leans his head into his hands in despair.
"It was really bad today, Tubbo.” The prince whines, dramatically. “This girl I met today, she didn't even look me in the eye once . She was just rambling on about her castle staff, something about her chef messing up her breakfast? I don't know, but she sounded really upset."
Tubbo wrinkles his nose as he plops on a chair the wrong way around and leans across the back of it with his arms crossed.
"Does Cucurucho even know that, y'know, you swing a different way? I swear he hooks you up with more princesses these days. Maybe it’s out of spite from all your escape attempts.” The scientist snorts and lazily leans back to pull out a mug from behind a mess of notes, sipping at what Pac assumes is coffee.
Pac groans in response and deflates like a balloon across Tubbo’s worksurface, ignoring the piles of notes and dusty odd objects scattered all around him.
"If he knows, he does not care! I’ve gone on four set-up dates this week. Four . It's gone beyond just boring, Tubbo! If I go on another date I think I’m actually going to pass out and die !"
“Well, make sure his royal ass corpse lands outside . You get me in trouble one more time and they’ll lock my ass up in the dungeon.”
Pac snorts and waves his hand dismissively.
“Even if that happens I’ll come get you out.”
“You and with what power? Cucurucho’s gonna put you in your little princess tower, gay and loveless for life, while I sit and rot in a cell.” Tubbo grumbles, lifting the cloth slightly from his creation, taking out his aggression on it with a screwdriver, seemingly adjusting a few bolts.
Tubbo isn’t wrong though. Pac had little say in comparison to the federation. He is just the pretty face, their own personal puppet, only used for outward appearances and tradition. It’s been that way since he was just a kid, and even as he reached adulthood, his power to rule his own kingdom had not increased.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Pac hums dismissively, not interested in dwelling on his powerlessness. His attention instead shifts back to Tubbo’s creation.
“Okay, you have to tell me what that thing is now.” He tells him, curious despite his better judgment. He can only pray it’s nothing explosive. The request has Tubbo light up like a child on Christmas day and he wastes no time ripping the dusty cloth off of his creation, raising the item into the air.
Pac’s jaw drops when he recognizes the wooden shape, carved with the royal signature.
Meus deus, how did Tubbo get his hands on a gun.
“Oh, just the best thing of all damn time.” He says with a proud, toothy grin. “This, my friend, is the PainPepper 69” He deepens his voice as he announces the nonsensical name and pretends to aim it at invisible enemies around the room.
“Tubbo,” Pac pinches his nose bridge, exasperated. “You really have to stop making weapons. You’re still employed as the royal scientist , not the weapon smithy.”
“Hah! Yes, still, being the keyword here! When the guards see this beauty, they’re gonna beg me to come and revolutionize their artillery. I'm going to be more powerful than a lowly prince like you could ever fucking dream of!” Tubbo laughs maniacally and pats the musket with a wide grin.
Pac sighs, knowing better than to try and argue with a mad genius.
“Okay, well, what does this thing even do, besides, uh, the usual?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked, Pac.” Tubbo shoots a demonstrative finger into the air.
“This is not any old musket. The reload speed has been improved tenfold, there’s a scope, and it can fire two bullets at the same time. But, see, this is actually the Paint Pepper, an early demo. I actually snuck inside the school building and stole Badboyhalo’s new sets of paint to load this puppy with for a test drive later.” Tubbo smiles proudly. Pac desperately tries to hold his unimpressed stare and not laugh at Tubbo’s nickname for the newly employed teacher.
“Wow, you even steal from the children now?”
Tubbo hoists his hands up in the air defensively.
“Hey man, we all gotta do what we gotta do. My future’s on the line here!”
“You know what? Maybe you should be locked up in the dungeon, Tubbo.” Pac jokes and Tubbo scoffs.
“Who’re you gonna vent all your foul, disgusting love troubles to then, huh?”
Pac rolls his eyes at the teasing and looks out the window with another sigh.
“It’s not even love troubles, it’s just me having a terrible time.”
“Well, at least you might be able to see your guard today. My secret intel says he’s teaching in the courtyard today.” Tubbo waggles his eyebrows with a smirk. Pac does a good job this time at quelling a reaction, after much unwanted practice. His face remains calm except for a slight eye twitch.
“You mean Fit? What does Fit have to do with this? We’re friends, Tubbo. Friends. How many times do I have to tell you this?”
“ Sure , bud. Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Tubbo waves him off as he grabs another tool from a drawer and starts to go to town on the PaintPepper once again. Pac ignores the comments, knowing Tubbo is just trying to get under his skin.
Ever since he accidentally let slip that he found the captain of the royal guard good-looking during a moment that involved a little too much wine, Tubbo had made it his mission to be a nuisance about it. The more Pac tries to convince him that they are nothing more than friends, the more the scientist appears to enjoy teasing him about it.
Well, whatever. Pac knows which one of them is right in the end, and it sure isn’t Tubbo.
The room falls into silence, except for the clitter clatter of Tubbo’s tinkering, and Pac knows there's no more talking to the guy once he gets back into his zone, and considers where to hide out next. There is no way he’s going back to his awkward set-up so he just had to stay out of sight until his date had left the castle.
Should be easy enough.
Pac pushes himself off the workbench, blowing a few rouge strands of hair out of the way of his eyes.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, Tubbo. Don’t blow up the castle, please . Not the lab either, Mike will have your head and then mine.” He tells him as he turns to leave. The second royal scientist in question was out on important business, and had made it Pac’s responsibility to make sure Tubbo did not commit any severe war crimes in the meantime.
“No promises, boss.” Tubbo mumbles, eyes squinted, fully concentrating on his task, and Pac chuckles. For how excited Tubbo seemed when he first came in, his attention was easily swept away by his work. In a way the prince admires the scientist’s unending enthusiasm for everything he puts his mind to.
The corridor is chilly in comparison to Tubbo’s laboratory and it isn’t too difficult to work out why.
All experiments end in varying degrees of explosions.
It was one of the first things the young scientist had told Pac when they first met, and it had yet to be proven wrong.
Pac shivers as he hurries back up the stairs and through the halls, all while keeping his eyes peeled for any of Cucurucho’s servants, as they’ve probably been sent out to hunt him down by now. They’re easy to tell apart from the other guards. Precise, calculated moves. Never cracks a smile, or displays any emotions really. They’re trained for that exact purpose. To be inhumane.
Perfect , as Cucurucho would put it.
However, their blank, hollow behavior only serves to make Pac feel nauseous.
Perhaps that is why he so frequently seeks out Tubbo and Mike’s company, despite their crazy antics and sometimes rude banter. It’s always real, unfiltered. Pac could tell them anything, and they would still treat him like any other person in the castle. Day after day full of fake smiles, forced interactions and respectful facades, the silly conversations in the lab are sometimes enough to make him feel like an actual person again, not just a useless shell with a fancy crown.
Those kinds of connections are rare to come by, and the prince has learnt to treasure every single one.
He makes his way to the east side of the castle and leaves through a less known exit. There’s just one older gentleman standing guard there, who offers a knowing smile upon the prince’s arrival and allows Pac to pass like he always did. The prince happily returns the smile and hurries on through, greedily taking deep breaths of the crisp spring air.
It’s a beautiful day by all standards.
Early May has just rolled in, welcoming in the first early signs of summer, finally after an unusually cold spring. The sun finally gives off real heat again and the air carries wafts of the blooming flowers, lines of hedges and the freshly cut grass. Phil must be busy at this time of year, Pac catches himself thinking, as he passes it all by, admiring how well kept it all was.
He slows to a stop by the rose garden, a little tucked away piece of paradise at the far east of the inner castle walls. A beautiful set piece in the castle, now that the red, prickly rosebuds are in full bloom, and by far Pac’s favorite hiding spot ever since he was a child.
It’s tempting to get lost in the, perhaps a little too effective, maze and hide out until evening rolls around, but Tubbo’s little piece of information has already wormed its way into the forefront of his mind.
The courtyard, huh.
Well, he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to do a quick swing by. Of course, not for the reasons that Tubbo is so hellbent on. He’s just curious how the captain is doing today, that’s all. Pac huffs, gathers his determination, and sets course for the training grounds.
Since Fit’s promotion to captain of the royal guard, he’s grown increasingly busy and the opportunities to talk grew shorter and further between. Pac had made a habit of swinging by every day during one of his walks, or escape attempts, but recently even that has dwindled in frequency.
Now, Pac could blame this on a variety of things that would be completely sensical and rational. That he’s respectful of Fit’s time, that his princely duties have taken more priority, or that he simply just forgets which way the courtyard is sometimes.
It’s definitely not because Pac, the prince known for his ability to talk to anyone about anything, to greet every person with a bright smile, has been having trouble speaking normally to someone who’s supposed to be a close friend. That his tongue gets caught in his throat when Fit’s dark eyes are on him, like they can suddenly read his mind as well as his heart, which makes his Pac’s entire body tense up, like a deer caught in headlights.
His hands feel clammy thinking too hard about it, and he takes a second to furiously wipe the sweat off on his pants.
No, he blames it all on Fit. Something must have changed. Something that he just isn’t seeing. The guard is not without his mysteries, and Pac never knows what’s going inside his head half the time. That is what drew the prince to him in the first place, but lately he finds himself increasingly frustrated by the unknown. At least where Fit is concerned.
Pac shakes himself out of his train of thought upon realizing he’s almost there. He turns a corner, takes a deep breath, and approaches the courtyard. It’s buzzing with activity today, young men and women spread out all across the open space, all fully kitted out in metal armor, ingrained with the royal insignia; a round, yellow coin with a triangular chip at its side.
Pac still thinks it looks kind of like a little creature with its mouth open, but keeps that to himself.
The wear and tear on the armor pieces reveal they’re just borrowed pairs used for practice, way less polished than the official knightly get-up. The training must have just finished, as the students proceed to scatter in different directions, chatting and removing their helmets, some dragging their blunt weapons behind them in defeat while others have their heads held high in pride.
Pac’s gaze hops between them, searching until he finally finds who he is looking for.
Fit.
At the very far end, stands the broad-shouldered guard in white silvery armor, helmet tucked between his arm and hip. His bald head is glistening with sweat and his metal prosthetic arm briefly comes up to wipe some off his forehead. His other hand has a loose grip on a dull, wooden sword; his regular, custom-made metal one left off to the side for now.
Around his neck sits a green scarf, one that Pac gifted him a few Christmases ago since he kept mentioning how cold it was during long hours of standing guard in the snow. Also, the prince had been completely right, the piece of clothing did help bring out the pleasant emerald shine to his brown eyes.
Pac doesn’t announce his presence right away. He quietly walks up and leans over the low brick wall that frames the open area, arms loosely crossed as he eyes the guard closely.
Fit’s brows are furrowed, seemingly deep in thought about something.
Distracted.
Perhaps, Pac could humor himself with an opportunity to mess with him a little. Just for giving him so much grief recently. He sneaks over, quiet as a rat, and makes a quick affair of his plan.
As the students disperse, Fit makes his way to the back and grabs a rag left on the ground to wipe his face with. His brows then furrow, gaze darting around the space as if looking for something.
Pac perks up victoriously, and just calmly waits for the guard to discover him where he stands, right back behind the low brick wall where he started.
It doesn’t take too long, and soon the brown pair of eyes lands on him. Fit’s face instantly softens in recognition, and something in Pac’s chest melts in unison. The guard raises his hand in a greeting and quickly crosses the short distance between them.
Fit flashes a big smile and lowers himself into a respectful bow.
“Oh, hey! I know you. Good afternoon, your highness.” He says, so unnecessarily polite and proper, that Pac already wanted to reach over the wall and strangle the man. He might have done so, if it wasn’t for that charming smile that zaps him with a curse of inaction, leaving him staring like a complete idiot.
Fit chuckles, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
“What? Is there something wrong with my face?”
Pac snaps himself out of his daze and shakes his head.
“No, no! Not at all! Nothing out of the usual anyway.” He can’t help himself and Fit snorts at the remark, dark eyes lighting up in amusement.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day. How are you, Fit?”
Fit smiles and loosely crosses his arms over his chest.
“All good here. Last round of teaching for today, thank god , I swear those kids’ll be the end of me.”
Pac hums and throws a glance at the group of students who are bickering and laughing off in the distance before turning back to the guard.
“And Ramon, how is he?”
Fit’s expression softens like it always did at the mention of his precious boy. Pac has never met him, but since the guard is always singing his praises, he knows Ramon to be a good kid.
“He’s also just fine. Been spending a lot of time with that old gardener lately. Bad influence, but what can you do?” Fit shrugs.
“A lot of late nights still?”
“Lucky if I get to go home at all.” Fit scoffs. It’s meant as a joke and Pac smiles, but still can’t help the sinking feeling inside his stomach. Fit misses his son, and the prince’s heart aches at the thought that he hasn’t been able to tuck him in at night.
The working conditions for any servant of the crown have only gotten worse. Every night, looking out of his window, he sees servants and guards alike, who he knows haven’t stopped working since the night before.
No matter how many times the prince begs and pleads with Cucurucho to change his mind, to let them rest, and go home to their families, the man never even entertains the idea.
When Pac remains quiet, he feels the guard’s attentive eyes search his face for a second, before quickly changing the subject.
“Hey, by the way, you don’t happen to know where my sword is, do you?” He asks with a knowing look on his face.
Pac’s slightly tense features ease into a smirk and he props his hands up on his knuckles, leaning up against the low wall between them.
“Hm? A sword? You have one of those? Maybe it grew legs and walked away.”
Fit deadpans and cocks a playful eyebrow at the prince. Pac then snaps his fingers as if suddenly remembering what Fit is talking about.
“Oh, yeah! That rusty old thing! Yes, yes, I found it just laying around and, you know, out of the goodness of my heart I decided to drop by to give it back.”
“Aw, well isn’t that nice .” Fit replies, voice heavy with sarcasm, and Pac does a few, huge over the top nods in agreement.
“Yeah, but, here, you can have it-” The prince pauses, the smirk only growing on his face. Then, suddenly, he leaps out from behind the wall and extends his arm, swinging the sword in Fit’s direction.
-”Back!” He exclaims, stopping the trajectory of the sword a good ten inches away from Fit’s nose, trusting his accuracy enough not to hit him. He had hoped to scare the man just a little, but to his disappointment, Fit didn't as much as bat an eye at his antics.
He just rolls his eyes fondly, raises a finger and slowly redirects the tip of the weapon away from his face.
“Wow, in a dangerous mood today, are we, my liege?” Fit smirks with a voice a few notches deeper than usual.
“You’re no fun.” Pac pouts, forcing himself not to pay attention to the change in tone.
“What can I say? Gotta come up with some new tricks. Soon I’ve seen’em all.”
The prince quickly eases his grip on the handle, allowing the tip of it to fall and face the ground, before lightly pushing the sword into Fit’s chest with a bit of a grumpy sigh. The guard only smiles, amused, and puts away his sword in its rightful spot attached to his hip.
He looks back at Pac when he appears to notice something, eyes widening ever so slightly as the gaze wanders across the prince’s form.
Pac hums quizzically when Fit doesn’t say anything, increasingly skittish under his curious gaze, ears growing hot. The guard blinks at the sound, as if completely having lost himself in a thought, and his eyes dart off to the side.
“Nothin’, I just noticed you dressed, um, different today. What’s the occasion?” He asks, awkwardly scratching behind his neck.
“A date .” Pac draws out the word on his tounge to fully get his displeasure across, expression turning sour at the reminder.
Fit’s gaze goes through several, all equally as unreadable stages, before finally settling on something amused.
“Is this date like a done deal or is it still happening without you somewhere?”
“Hey! I would never escape anything unless my sanity depended on it.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Pac sighs and Fit laughs, but luckily does not push the subject. The guard appears to be contemplating something briefly before speaking up again.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, you do look good today.” Fit says with a more timid smile, completely oblivious to the heat that rapidly crawls up Pac’s neck at his words.
As a prince, he’s used to shallow compliments to his appearance, but there is something about the way Fit handed them out, careful and genuine, like they’re always limited supply, that had Pac melt under the attention every single time.
“Just, uh, gimme one sec-” Fit reaches over to Pac’s head, their faces suddenly very close. He feels a faint touch against his hair, before Fit’s hands quickly retreat, like nothing ever happened.
“There, perfect . Your crown almost fell off in your rush to get here.” Fit’s voice is teasing, and, there it is, the problem . Pac’s face flares up like the flip of a switch, cheeks burning hot. He opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish on dry land, before the ability to form words comes back to him.
“I-I just remembered the reason why you’re my least favorite guard.” He forces out, voice flat, which sends the Fit spiraling into his signature loud, boisterous, laughter. It’s a horribly infectious thing and Pac can’t ward away his own smile for very long.
“My apologies, your highness.” He snickers and Pac’s cheeks puff up like a child.
“Pac! Just call me Pac . How many times do I have to tell you this? Every single one of my friends calls me Pac. You’re just being hopeless, Fit. Hopeless.” The prince complains. No matter how much he tries, the guard has never once let go of formalities, even when it’s just the two of them around.
Like there’s an invisible red line that Pac cannot see and one that Fit simply refuses to cross.
The guard just shrugs like he always does whenever the subject arises.
“Just doesn’t feel right. You’re the crown prince and I’m just a humble guard.”
“It’s just my name. I’m not asking you to publicly insult me and my entire bloodline.”
Fit snorts and shakes his head in defeat.
“You know what? I’ll work on it.” He relents and Pac falls for it, bait, hook and sinker, staring at the man with a hopeful smile and completely misses the teasing edge to his eyes.
“Really?”
“I’ll make sure to practice in the mirror every morning.”
Pac’s smile falls instantly and takes a flustered swat at the man. Fit ducks out of the way with ease as if expecting it, laughing.
“Alright, enough! I’m done dealing with you.” The prince huffs and takes a couple of steps backward.
“I’ll see you around, captain .” Pac narrows his eyes in a prickly stare but Fit only barks another laugh.
“Always a pleasure, your highness. ” He muses and Pac finds he cannot muster another glare when he sees the warm look that has taken the place of the guard’s typically stoney facade. Instead, he settles on a grumpy scoff, mourning the loss in today's invincible battle between the two. He doesn’t even remember the last time he won.
Pac makes himself a silent promise to get back at the cheeky guard somehow.
Then, just like that, Fit’s smile drops like a rock as his eyes, now sharp, snap to something behind him. Pac frowns, confused by the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“What are you doing?”
Damn it.
The familiar, cold voice sends violent shivers up and down Pac’s spine. He’s now acutely aware of the eyes' currently glaring holes in the back of his head. He sees how Fit quickly pulls back, lowering himself into a respectful bow. Slowly, the prince turns around to face his fate.
Cucurucho is a man with a presence to behold. Perfect posture, arms tucked neatly behind his back. He’s dressed in his typical attire. Most striking is the long, spotless white cloak with golden patterns at its hems, reaching all the way down to his ankles by his all white boots. It rests across the span of his shoulders over a perfectly ironed shirt that’s tucked into white pair of pants.
His face holds an unnerving smile, but his eyes are dark, prickly with annoyance.
“Me?” Pac squeaks out and Cucurucho nods.
“Socializing!” He replies with a nervous grin, but Cucurucho’s stare is unrelenting.
“You're supposed to attend to your royal duties.” He says. Pac resists the urge to roll his eyes. He could recite that sentence in his sleep.
“Yes, yes! Well, I decided to take a break.”
“No.”
“Uh, yes, I did?”
“Come with me.” Cucurucho says with finality, and Pac knows best not to argue once caught. He just wishes it took him a little longer to find him. Cucurucho himself usually did not bother finding him himself, but he seems to be particularly on his case lately for some reason.
Cucurucho nods once to Fit before walking off, who responds by deepening his bow. But Pac also notices the guard’s brows deepen in distaste, a detail completely missed by Cucurucho. The second his back is turned to them, Fit’s head flings up, almost comically fast to look at Pac, and mouths a silent ‘good luck’.
Pac winks at the guard with a confident thumbs up, as if he’s not currently shaking in his boots. It lures a half-smile back onto the guard’s face as he quietly waves goodbye.
To Pac’s relief, he’s not forced back to the previously abandoned date and is instead led back to his room, like a child getting put in timeout. Which isn’t too bad, all things considered. He had hoped to make the escape last longer, but he was well aware of the risk when choosing to visit Fit instead of quietly hunker down in a hiding spot.
Cucurucho swings open the door to the prince’s quarters and waltzs right in, like it might as well be his.
“Hey, have you ever heard of privacy? It’s a thing, you know?” Pac complains, even despite his efforts being futile. He’s well aware of Cucurucho’s lack of understanding of the concept.
“So, I’m assuming princess, um-” Pac struggles to recall her name, and quickly moves on. -”Yeah, she went home already?”
Cucurucho doesn’t reply, he’s busy standing over Pac’s bookcase, next to his bed, scanning the rows of dusty literature in a scarily analytical fashion. The prince remains by the entrance and anxiously picks at the skin by his nails as he awaits his fate.
Then, Cucurucho spins around at his heel suddenly, arms full of books, almost reaching up to his chin. They’re all promptly dumped into Pac’s arms, a few of them slipping out of his grasp and spilling out onto the floor in a symphony of sporadic thuds.
“Study these. You will be tested in class tomorrow.”
“ Que !? Tomorrow?” Pac shrieks. Cucurucho doesn’t even bat an eye at his despair. He just nods, not bothering to hide his glare with a smile today. The tall man just adjusts his collar, leaves Pac to his fate and exits the way he came.
Pac hears a faint clicking noise behind him, letting him know he’s now locked inside.
Like a prisoner in his cell. Typical.
The second the sound of Cucurucho’s echoing footsteps has faded, the prince unceremoniously opens his arms and lets the rest of the books tumble to the floor before following suit, splaying out across the expensive, dark blue carpet. He flips over to his side and blows hair out of his eyes.
The prince allows himself a moment of silence before perhaps succumbing to his punishment.
That moment turns out to be just that, a moment, as it’s quickly broken by a quiet pitter patter right to the right of his head, followed by a gentle nibbling on his earlobe.
Pac’s hands shoot up, successfully capturing the little culprit and holding him up above his face. The little gray rat with white splotches and dark eyes stares down at him, wiggling furiously in his grip.
“ Ratinho ! Where have you been all day? I couldn’t find you at all this morning.” Pac gasps, stroking its tiny head with his thumb to calm him down. It’s somewhat successful as the rat reduces its wiggling and rests its head in the space between the prince’s thumb and index finger.
“I could’ve used your help today. I think the date would’ve been over way faster if you just introduced yourself.” If a rat can glare, it certainly does at that moment and proceeds to nip at Pac’s thumb in retaliation.
“Ow!” The prince winces and drops the rat, which lands on his stomach, unbothered. Ratinho scurries up his chest until he reaches Pac’s collar, where he settles down, his fury body pressing against his skin for warmth. The prince rolls his eyes affectionately and gives the rat a few scritches underneath its chin.
“I swear you understand every word I’m saying. You crazy, sentient rat.” Pac snickers.
The little critter had been by his side for a few months now. He had shown up one night, claiming Pac’s room as his own, refusing to leave no matter what the prince tried. So, eventually, with the help of a few bribes in the shape of cheese and affection, the two agreed to become unlikely roommates.
The prince stays like that for a bit, showering his pet rat with affection all while surrounded by the literature he’s supposed to magically memorize by morning. After trying to ignore their existence for a bit his curiosity eventually wins and he begins reluctantly browsing through the titles, following along with his finger, dragging it across the titles.
"Royal etiquette". "The entire history of Quesadilla’s monarchy". "Courting, one on one". "How to be a proper human being: a federation approved study".
“Okay, okay. Meus deus .” Pac sighs at Cucurucho’s very intentional book choices. That guy needed a way to express himself that did not involve passive-aggressive book choices or, you know, straight-up violence. Although, he supposes he prefers the first option in the end.
His eyes land on another book, one that’s halfway underneath his dresser, and squints at it skeptically.
"Ballroom dancing". He shudders and shakes his head furiously. No way he’s ever showing his face at another dance lesson. After last time, face planting straight into the marble floor, he’d have to be dragged back kicking and screaming.
Pac moves off the floor, limbs dragging behind him like lead, and heads to his usual spot; A couple of pillows propped up by the windowsill. He clambers up and allows his head to fall against the glass with a soft thump, enjoying the leftover warmth from the midday sun against his cheek.
Through half-lidded eyes, he spots a familiar figure somewhere below him. A green hat with stripes and a moss green overall with a beige undershirt, sleeves rolled up halfway up his arms. Pac knocks hard on his window a few times and the man flinches, blinking in confusion, before finally looking up.
His mouth forms a lighthearted grin at the sight of the prince, and he waves in a greeting, before raising his eyebrows quizzically.
“ Already ?” He mouths, over-gesticulating to compensate for the distance. The gardener’s question is obvious.
You got caught and locked up already?
Pac responds by leaning his face into his hands in despair, and when he peeks through his fingers, Phil is laughing. There is nothing that goes unseen by the elusive, all-seeing royal gardener. Pac’s 99 % sure the man has grown eyes at the back of his head by now.
The prince rolls his eyes with a fond smile, letting Phil have fun at the cost of his misery. At least he can be of some assistance, providing amusement to the people working for him, or, more accurately, working for Cucurucho.
Pac might as well be the royal jester at this point. Or Rapunzel. Whichever fits the best on the day.
Not without a sigh, he reaches a hand to the floor and picks out a book at random from the pile, dropping it into his lap.
“Guess I’m learning how to become a proper human being.” He mutters as he opens it to the first page. “You think there's hope for me, Ratinho?” He asks, but the rat only blinks at him with silent judgment.
Pac scoffs, finally shifting his attention to the book. The room settles into silence except for a soft rustling anytime he flips to the next page.
The prince is fast asleep within the hour.