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Unapologetic love materialized in the form of Verona.
In a matter of seconds, grand constructs arose in all directions, pink swirls looping around towering pillars and banners mounting the highest points. Satisfied with the infrastructure, Romeo decided to test his newfound power further.
The first sign of life he created was the bouquet he prepared: an assortment of pink, red, and white flowers wrapped by a big gold ribbon. Romeo took a single sniff and knew in an instant that they would love it.
Without hesitation, he seized his generator and hurried to make the centerpiece and reason for it: his citizens. Women, real women made of flesh and bones and blood, filled out Verona in large waves.
Explaining everything to them was tedious, but short work. He was their prince, their mutual lover. He would give them everything and anything they wanted, he said, meaning it fully well. They had no reason to doubt him, new and awestruck by the lavish world he'd built for them.
For the following years, Romeo did exactly as he'd promised. Sweets, entertainment, and gifts they would never, could never get tired of. Masses of flowers littered the kingdom, gardens of leisure and beauty, blooming and taken good care of.
Verona flourished and Romeo couldn't be any happier.
—🌹—
“I'm glad you're here.”
Romeo barely considered Felix's sentence, faint and nearly unreachable, as he gazed at the window from his bed. It was too bright in Felicia, too warm. Romeo had trouble sleeping at nights, drenched with sweat and thoughts spitefully comparing his plain bed here to his lofty heart-shaped one in Verona. The one where he'd never felt alone at night. He sometimes thought of bodies surrounding him to sleep easier, but woke up disappointed when he faced his inevitable reality.
“Romeo,” Felix tried again to catch his attention. This time, Romeo conceded and turned to face him.
Felix hardly ever visited his room. Busy with important affairs, was his excuse. Romeo would've laughed, made a snide remark at the word ‘affairs’ and steered it to a completely different direction, but these days he never had the energy.
He didn't get it either, why Felix acted so serious. The concept of a kingdom had came easily to Romeo: a little paradise for himself and his desires. He'd never considered stressful words like ‘jobs’ or ‘money’ or ‘laws’. If he had all the power, why make things harder for himself? If he could twist reality to however he pleased, why make anything other than a happy fantasy? Romeo had long since let go of the notion of being bothered by others' perception of him, but he'd thought, after their days together in Verona, as brief and idle as they might've been—he'd thought Felix understood at least the barest parts of Verona's creation.
Well. Romeo didn't care about being proven wrong, either. He didn't care how Felix ruled his own kingdom. But, it was hard to deny, Felix's unconstrained air of superiority—of a striking victory from a game Romeo had never known or thought to be a part of—embittered the way he acted in Felicia.
He forgot how long he'd been staying here. Time passed in large sweeps, and loathe as he was to admit it, Romeo wasn't particularly fond of how the sun worked around here. He wasn't fond of anything here, even. Felicia felt less like a place he ‘lived’ (it didn't sound right) in, and more like a cover for the empty space he was floating in since Verona's fall.
Romeo felt like there was nothing going for him. Everything was natural in Verona—amid the indulgence, there was a simple idea to follow: to love him. Now that seemed like an impossible goal, the women gone with not a single trace left. He didn't know where they were, if they were safe or alive. Coming back to Verona to see nothing but wreckage and all his flowers dead had left him inconsolable for the first few days arriving in Felicia.
Romeo wasn't one to worry, he wasn't one to overthink—but grief and guilt had consumed him, sprouting unfamiliar thoughts that'd become intimate to his scruples. Why did he abandon them? Why did he run away? Why did it have to happen? Could he have avoided it? Did he ruin it? Was it his fault?
“Not everyone is fit to rule a kingdom,” Felix told him sullenly, gloved hands cradling Romeo's battered in scratches from when he'd searched all over the remains of Verona to find anyone still there. He'd grown accustomed to this—Felix acting sympathetic, holding him and looking at him with compassion bearing pity, when his words only added to Romeo's shame. “You made them for... worship. You didn't want anything else.”
“I wanted to give them love,” came his weak protest, an arduous crawl to willing himself away from the recurrent, hateful chants of lustful, lustful, lustful in his head. “I did give them love—”
A gloved finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. Felix tsked, “You gave them gifts and sex.” The word was spat out in a grimace, something between disgust and cold disappointment. Why was it a problem now, Romeo thought, to express his love that way? “That's not love, that's bribery. Those poor girls... you gave them a single purpose.”
To love you.
Romeo wanted to argue that he had intended for them to be loved as well, but his lips were frozen even as Felix's hand moved to his cheek in a loving, caring caress, superficial and dispassionate.
“I told you: my kingdom is better. Right now Verona is nothing but a ghost town while Felicia continues to flourish. Everyone here is loved, happy, and right were they belong.” Felix leaned forward, emphasizing his last few words. Behind the sunglasses, Romeo could see the calculating force shadowing that gaze drunk with power. Romeo couldn't hide his shiver as he reeled his hands back to his chest, searching for the vestige of his long discarded generator. The chain was gone, but he still felt the cold weight around his neck weighing him down.
Everything Felix said about Verona felt like a personal, malicious slap to the face. Try as he might, he failed not to take the reminders of his mistakes personally.
He loved Verona. It was his home.
But not anymore, the knowing gleam in Felix's gaze seemed to say. His heart was broken, and Verona was dead.
Despite that, Romeo didn't feel like he belonged in Felicia. He didn't feel happy, and he certainly didn't feel loved.
Not like how it had been in Verona.
Already he could feel tears starting to form, intensified by blurred memories and unreachable words of his happy times in Verona. Faces he couldn't remember, names he didn't think existed.
Felix pursed his lips, eyeing him thoughtfully. Romeo closed his eyes, unable to bear it any longer. A sigh came from his friend, and another hand moved up to his other cheek, framing his head in place.
“Felicia is your home now,” Felix asserted in a whisper, an attempt of kindness that Romeo readily ignored. “I'll take good care of you, and... you'll never want to leave. So don't cry, okay? Tomorrow's a new day.”
Romeo felt the tender lips planted against his forehead pulling back as quick as they came. He couldn't care less about tomorrow or the present—he wanted to go back to Verona.
—🌹—
The people in Felicia were kind, but Romeo couldn't shake off the feeling of discomfort whenever he saw their smiles—strained and forced upon their faces—and their eyes—tired and begging for help.
It was one of the reasons why Romeo didn't go out often, spending majority of his time in the admittedly generous, spacious guest room in Felix's palace. The wounds of dear Verona were yet to heal as well, no matter how long passed, leaving him with little energy to explore the beauty of Felicia. Felix understood this, teeth gritting behind his smile when Romeo had explained. Romeo didn't need Felix to see Verona the way he did (though it hurt how easily his friend brushed off his love for the place) but appreciated his assurance that he could take all the time he needed to adjust.
To avoid rotting away and feeling depressed (“Depression? In Felicia?” Felix had laughed, “Good to know you still have that absurd sense of humor!”) in his bed, Romeo made it a habit to roam around the palace, a few times a week.
The servants were nice enough, although seemed to be as fake in their expressions as everyone else. He'd once offered his help in cleaning, mostly out of a desire to have a use than actual care for the tidiness, and the rejection had been polite and forward. Guests don't clean, was their reasoning. It made him feel more out of place—and made him miss the Verona women more.
(“Because they always agreed with you,” Felix responded to that confession, a little surprised like it were an obvious thing. “You feel that way because you're so used to everyone bending over backwards for your opinion. My people have freedom, Romeo. I gave them actual free will.”
A clutter by the door, and Romeo saw his assistant—Franz?—leave in a hurry.)
The guards were cold, even with the wide smiles permanently attached. Romeo didn't feel safe with them. Somehow, he felt an intense anger, a violent fury, when looking at them.
(“Because Verona coddled you,” Felix pointed out over tea. “I saw the ‘guards’... They had less clothes the closer they were to your room. They were more like... ugh, glorified sex toys than people who can actually protect you...”
It made him feel so dirty.)
Felix's assistant was avoidant. Everytime they had eye contact, Franz would turn the other way and walked off. Romeo didn't get the chance to initiate any conversation. He hadn't acted like that back in Verona—although they'd never spoke back then either. But there was a clear quality of discomfort, close to the edge of feat, between them.
(“Franz is a private person,” Felix waved it off. “I know you love knowing everything about your... women, inside and out... But I like giving him some privacy! My comfort isn't the only thing that matters.”
Then why does he look so hurt by you? Romeo wanted to ask, but wisely kept his mouth shut.)
The only positive all throughout was—surprisingly, with how much Romeo complained and rejected his assurances—Felix, who was an anchor of familiarity keeping him from going insane.
Under the heavy weight of stress, Felix was there to check on him whenever available, asking about his day and giving him a smile. Romeo could say anything or nothing at all, and Felix would nod and tell him how good the next day would be, how Romeo would feel better eventually, how much he cherished their friendship.
Each hug leeched on him, bridled by seconds of hushed warmth and comfort that made him feel safe, not like his sanctuary of Verona, but safe that none of the guards would dare to glare silently at him and none of the servants would think of denying his permanent position here any longer. For better or worse. Wrapped around in Felix's arms, with or without that damningly hulking mass of a coat, Romeo felt small and on the brink of childishness, faceless belittlements murmured in his ears that he wouldn't survive out there—in the streets of Felicia and beyond them—without Felix's presence and protection. Run as far as he could, he would reach no real destination before he died in the process.
But he'd never run again. He couldn't run, when he had everything here—a stable, secure life where his needs and wants could be carried out to whatever extent simply because he was Felix's companion. He couldn't run, when there was nowhere to run to, no one to go to for help—his life, he knew, in Felix's hands now.
He couldn't run, because the last time he had, he never recovered.
“You're my best friend,” Felix whispered in their embrace. “I love you. You know that, right?”
Romeo closed his eyes, giving no reply.
—🥀—
He hadn't seen Felix for three days in a row.
Usually he would try to take a peek from the door, if only to utter a ‘Good morning, Romeo!’ and disappear from his sight for the rest of the day. If not that, he would deliver a message through a servant or guard, Franz on rare occasions.
Romeo found himself waiting for that to happen, and when it hadn't, worry overtook him. Because if Felix was gone, or worse—if he didn't want him anymore, where would he go? The Spades and the Diamonds weren't viable options, and while he still didn't like Felicia, he didn't think he'd have a greater chance at conforming to the lifestyles of Kurograd and Zontopia. The real world was a dead end, just like—
Tears dropped to his bedsheets as Romeo recoiled into himself, face buried to his knees wrapped by trembling hands.
He missed Verona. He missed the women.
He missed the feeling of being loved.
—🥀—
The first time he visited Felix's bedroom was at night, completely unprompted, and something he regretted the first step in when he was met with the sight of Felix slouched over his bed, looking at nothing in exhaustion and defeat.
“Hey...” Romeo greeted warily, propping himself on the edge of the bed. It was strange. Without the coat and sunglasses and sunlight harshly pouring over the room, Felix seemed less menacing. Smaller, exposed. Weirdly, this relaxed Romeo enough to ask a question he'd never dared to raise before: “Are you okay?”
Felix's head snapped to him. “Are you?”
“Huh?”
“You haven't smiled once,” he spoke, brows narrowed, his previously forlorn look breaking as irritation seeped in.
Romeo didn't know what to say. More importantly, he didn't know Felix could focus on such a thing when he'd told Romeo himself that he could take all the time he needed. Unable to keep in his own discontent, he bit back, “What are you talking about?”
For a second, Felix's face twisted darkly, and Romeo readied himself to stand and leave in fear that he would try something. Felix glared at him and let out a sigh, sharp and restless. “Are you even happy here?”
Was he?
It was nothing like Verona, his home, where he was at his happiest and most loved. Nothing could replicate Verona.
But did Felicia have to? To make him happy? Verona could never come back, could never be recreated. He didn't think he'd ever get over it, but could he really stand to be that miserable forever?
Felix must've been sick of waiting for an answer because he started again, bitterly, “Sometimes I hate you, and I think you know that—and then I hate how you don't do anything about it.”
“I never thought you hated me,” Romeo was quick to defend, frustration resurfacing. “But you hate Verona, so. I suppose I was a little upset—”
“A little?” Felix ran a hand through his flaxen hair, making it more disheveled than it already was. “You won't shut up about it. You don't think I notice? It's glaringly obvious you'd rather go back to that wasteland than stay another day here.”
“That's not—”
“I'd say you're too shy to ask but that's not it at all, is it? It isn't because you have everything you need here—it's because there's nothing left there. You don't give a damn about my feelings,” Felix gave a pained smile, shaking his head. “I can handle Franz disapproving some of my actions, because he always comes around at the end. But you? You're my best friend! You're supposed to... to like me, even just a little bit. It doesn't feel like that.”
“I do like you,” Romeo retorted.
“You don't show it. I know you miss Verona but... don't you care about me at all? Was all that sex more important than anything I do?” Felix's eyes glistened, wet and quivering. “Do I mean that little to you?”
Romeo crumpled. He felt awful—like an awful friend, like an awful person.
Verona was long gone. The women were at best missing, and at worse dead. Everything he'd created, every moment he'd made there, were nothing more than distant memories. Generator defective, he would never live his prince fantasy again.
And Felix was still here, pulling him out of that grave he dug for himself beside his lost paradise, pushing him to accept his bleak reality with a wan smile.
“Romeo?” Felix's voice was a broken whisper. “Please don't leave me.”
And his heart, already broken by the loss of Verona, shattered further by his friend's sob.
This time, he was the one to move forward, to initiate the hug—and Felix accepted it quickly, unlike all the times Romeo had hesitated or remained motionless. He accepted it, gloveless burned hands running along Romeo's neck, sending a shiver down his body. He accepted it, this time being the one to cry, and Romeo providing the comfort and reassurance that would amount to nothing the next morning.
Romeo couldn't leave Felix.
He couldn't have a repeat of Verona.
He couldn't lose another home, however empty it made him feel inside.
“I never will.”