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Immobile amongst unstoppable movement and a statue of a man despite hundreds of spinning, joyful peers. Both still, one by fear and the other by duty. He glanced at him from across the room, how could he be so stoic around this much joy? Well, it wasn’t astounding; Will himself was motionless and unsmiling. He grabbed a drink off a servant’s tray and wandered closer to a wall; being even somewhat in the centre of this crowd made his head spin more than it already had been. The second he turned his back to the man he felt his gaze on the back of his head, likely judging him; this was what, his third drink of the night?
Not bad, but part of his job description was ensuring Will didn’t make a fool of himself. That outcome felt nearly impossible to avoid, especially when he nearly choked on his drink once a woman asked him to dance. Embarrassment painted him a vibrant red mistaken for interest and the girl laughed. She thought he was shy, she thought it endearing. With a swift motion, he was pulled to dance. Seemingly unblinking eyes surrounded him and this woman, flowing dress and hair making her silhouette that of a sheet ghost. She was a horse to a traitor, bringing him onto the dancefloor. A blur of vibrant colours surrounded them as they spun, and it was hard to tell when they had stopped. Had the flooring always felt this uneven? He had danced with more people than he could count- did he? Who stood in front of him now? Hard to tell with a constant focus on the door. It might be the same woman he had always been dancing with, simply finishing off his drawing and quartering before he could even consider a breath of fresh air. He tried to navigate the dance floor without it being too obvious he was aiming for the door, trying to escape the web of ropes, hands grabbing at his own. He felt stuck here, immobile. Any walking was horribly uncomfortable, especially with his less-than-conveniently built shoes (formal wear was never his expertise). Subtlety was near impossible when it seemed everyone knew the dance, everyone knew the rhythm but him. Shoes clicking against the floor in sync, only faltering when he bumped into them. Should he apologise? He should apologise. He was ten feet away and barely closer to the door. The clicking of heels felt like hooves on his skull, how long has this song been playing? How long had he been lost here?
How long had he stood outside the door before he had realised it was silent?
He stumbled towards the railing of the stairs, shaking hands moving from the doorknobs to catch himself against the cold metal. Bringing one hand to his head, he finally took a breath of fresh air. It was damp, he could feel it on the railing, in his lungs, in the breeze, he had just missed the rain. The smell lingered, and it was heaven after the mess of artificial scent and sensory that was the party inside. He could still hear the music behind him, lord, he needed a walk. He started wandering down the steps, nothing in his movements smooth. His breath shook, his hands wouldn't stop their constant twitching. He needed a walk, and to look at the flowers again (the garden is beautiful in this kind of weather), and most of all he needed to not fall down the stairs. Throwing curses at his horrible formal shoes and the stairs themselves as he injured an ankle on the way down, before sitting in defeat. His outfit had been ruined (by his mother’s standards) by the dampness of the steps alone, water dripping from a screw in the railing to his head just being a comedically annoying addition.
He could reach flowers from here, it was fine.
His hand grazed one’s petals- one of the many roses they had around the castle, a deep shade of red. The water dripped off its leaves, and he plucked a single petal. He didn’t have it in him to take a whole flower. Its details were hard to focus on- how long have his hands been shaking by now? The petal wasn't exactly helping him calm. It caused desperate attempts to still his hands, still the petal; he held it with both hands and an ill-timed quake nearly tore it in two. Tore it enough for him to nearly tear up.
His attention was brought away from it, nearly jumping out of his skin once the door opened. “I-” He saw who stood in the doorframe. Formerly stoic statue, now with a look of concern quickly turning to pure confusion. His guard- not his, not now, he's a general guard at events, but he had been assigned to him almost constantly. With the siblings he had, this might’ve been the only thing he wasn’t forced to share. The guard’s attention was more his than any belonging he had. He brushed himself off a little as if that helped at all. “-...can explain.”
It was certainly a sight to see. His confused squint was almost accompanied by a smile- Will could’ve sworn he saw the man smile! “...Sorry to startle you, are you all right, prince?”
Will couldn’t bring himself to answer for a moment. He knew he should probably lie, but it caught in his throat. “...Prospero, I-...” He ended up just shrugging. His trembling was more noticeable than before, he put the flower petal down before he could break it anymore.
Prospero's smile dropped slowly. He was unsure how to respond. He began by walking closer, hands raised a little, just hesitantly tense. “...Let’s start with physically all right, are you hurt?”
“Not bad!” He went to stand and brush himself off again, but with a horrible click of his shoe- or maybe his foot? Definitely his foot, the accompanying spike of pain confirmed it and would've sent him stumbling down the stairs if it wasn't for Prospero's reaction time.
The moment his ankle moved in any way besides natural, Prospero had gotten a hold of his forearm, steadying him. “...Maybe a little worse. Noted.”
Will couldn't look at him long. He pulled his arm away and grabbed the railing, eyes darting around the area. “It's not that bad.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, tapping his fingers against the railing behind Will. “And mentally?”
It must've been something about how he was trained that caused him to be this comfortable this close to him. Easier to guard him? Something like that. Reasoning didn't stop him from frantically avoiding meeting Prospero's gaze. He chewed his lip.
“...Can I ask why you're out here, if that's an easier answer?”
“Got overwhelmed. I wanted to go on a walk.” Will glanced down at his ankle. Still not upright or painless. He felt stuck again, as he regularly found himself.
Prospero's hand dragged along the railing. He was likely just fidgeting, but his hand did slide closer to Will, who frantically asked himself why he cared as much as he did about his hand placement. Unimportant. “Do you still want to?”
“Don't think I can.”
“Sure you can.” He took a step away from Will, raising his arm as an offer, the other swiftly folding behind his back. “You might just need a bit of help.” The slightest bow as he waited for a response reminded Will he was speaking with a guard. The unwavering eye contact reminded Will that he was speaking with Prospero.
His grip on the railing tightened. Were Prospero's eyes always that lovely? Will felt his face get warmer. He glanced at the door, picturing the party once more. Imagining that chaos helped distract himself from the fact that he knows Prospero has always been this attractive. He's been painfully aware of it.
He wondered if his mother had noticed his disappearance or if she'd ever. She'd be pissed if she did find him.
Suppose they'd have to walk far away then.
With a deep breath, he took his arm. Prospero's expression remained soft, but he smiled. Rare occasion for the man, he took his job rather seriously until now. Will wasn't sure what changed. “Be careful, lean on me more if needed.” He began walking and Will took all his weight off the railing. “This is okay, yes? No pain?”
“Not much more than before,” Will said with a shrug. He had to cling to Prospero's arm more than he would like for that to be true. His dignity was already in shambles from earlier events, it was fine.
“If it becomes too much, we can always sit down.”
Will didn't respond, his breaths were shaky enough. He simply nodded along. No doubt could Prospero tell how tense he was.
“Did anything specific happen that caused you to panic, prince?”
He tried to take a deep breath. “...Not exactly? Social gathering. In general. Bad.” He laughed awkwardly, stopping with a wince. At least Prospero laughed a little. And it wasn't even in a mean way!
“...I get that. Not exactly that, just… I'm not fond of them either.”
Prospero hummed. It was calm for a while. More calm than it had been in far, far too long. Will rested his head against Prospero's shoulder. He was hesitant and tense at first, but his soft hums lulled him into relaxation. The sun lowering, cloudy weather making sure it didn't blind them as it rested on the horizon. The light it left was gentle, catching the raindrops like a dim glitter on petals and leaves.
Prospero's hum slowed to a stop before he finally spoke again, his voice low to not disturb Will's calm. “... Didn't seem like it was just the event you didn't enjoy. You didn't seem very fond of the women either, prince.” Teasing words didn't help retain the calm either.
A vibrant red returned to his face as he stood straight once more. “They- they were lovely.”
He watched Will's defence with a raised brow. “You don't seem to prefer their company.”
“I-... Are you allowed to make personal comments? Sounds like something there'd be a weird law against.”
Prospero laughed softly, but brought his attention away from the boy. “My apologies, prince.”
“Don't do that. Don't get professional again, not now.”
He just stared forward for a moment, silent before he could bring himself to look at him again. Will wasn't sure where the hesitance came from. Nevertheless, he looked at him. Brushing rainwater off Will's forehead with his thumb, he smiled once more. “If you wish.”
They reached a larger part of the path, benches and flowerbeds making a beautiful little circle. It was small, just a random patch along the trail that happened to have a dazzling view. Prospero guided him to the brick wall, more greenery nearly spilling from the top. He let him lean against it, giving both of them a break. “...So,” he began, “we learnt what you disliked about the event. What did you enjoy?”
There wasn't much to enjoy. He simply shrugged.
“...You a dancer at all? You didn't seem enthusiastic.”
Will sighed, finally fixing his still-damp hair. “I've only really danced in events like that, so I don't know if I hate dancing or if it's just…”
“Setting?”
“Yeah!” Will grinned.
There was a long pause. Prospero leant his back against the wall, taking a deep breath. He seemed almost nervous for once. “...We could see if you enjoy it in a different setting? If that isn't crossing any lines.”
“...What do you mean?”
He looked even further away from the prince. “I was just suggesting- we-”
“Oh!” Will had processed what he meant, a tad later than ideal. “...My foot's still-...”
“Of course, yes, I-...” Prospero took a sharp breath in, trying to regain composure. “Is that the only issue?”
He nodded.
He stood away from the wall, walking a little more in front of Will. “I could help it hurt less, like I did on the way here. And you're comfortable with this? We don't have to if you don't want to-”
“I want to.” Will went red after seeing Prospero's slight surprise. Was he too eager? “...If you don't mind leading. I'm not the best dancer.”
“I don't mind in the slightest,” he assured him, his soft smile returning. He walked closer to the prince, wrapping an arm around his waist. He lifted him ever so slightly, bringing the weight off his injured foot. With his free hand, Will wasn't sure if Prospero fixed his hair for him or messed it up more before bringing his hand to his shoulder. He gently led him closer to the centre of the path, beginning to hum a soft tune once more.
Will's vibrant shade of red wasn't misread. Prospero found it endearing, really.
The dance fully started, a rhythm neither were certain about, but it was lovely nonetheless. Spinning in the soft shades of blue the evening brought, Will's focus was nowhere but this moment, nowhere but Prospero.
He took a breath of fresh air. It finally, truly felt clear. It was calming.