[closed] stay green a little while

[ordinar]

Who: Wilhelm & miscellaneous
When: throughout July and August
Where: Horizon, Thorne
What: Catchall for sad boy summer
Warnings: will be updated as needed


Closed starters to follow. Maybe some open ones if I'm feeling saucy. :)

Comments

[ordinar]

It's not what he wants to hear. The but. The gentle weight of Rhy's hand covering his, bringing it away from his mug and back to the table, pushes down the protest that lurches onto his tongue.

That and the way Rhy, in this moment, reminds him so much of Erik. His brother, kind and considerate, poised and perspicacious, was everything a future king is supposed to be — and Wilhelm could only stumble around in the enormous shoes he left for him to fill. After so much has unraveled, Erik's memory holds as the last tether he has to any sense of duty.

So he can't scorn Rhy for clutching at what his brother carried so seriously. Maybe he finds a sense of self in his title, a title in which Wilhelm feels totally lost.

"Fuck, what are the odds?" he mumbles. A daze of amazement, a bite of irony. His other hand leaves his cup behind, finding Rhy's, idly tracing the ridges and dips of his knuckles.

"But you don't have to be any of that here. You can just...put it down."

Likewise, this probably isn't what Rhy wants to hear. But it's just as much the truth.

[londonbound]

A line appears between Rhy's brows, expression crumpling. He closes his eyes a moment longer than a blink, taking a slow, bracing breath as he lets the words roll through him, not entirely unexpected, but heavy nonetheless. They settle in the pit of his stomach like bricks. He swallows.

"One might argue I can't be that here."

Rhy shrugs, and lets him go to reach for the bottle and top off both their cups.

"I spent my life trying to be what my people needed of me. What I thought they needed, anyway. And in the end, I let them down. Princes and even kings are still merely human, after all. I didn't want to abdicate my responsibility to them."

He takes a drink, covering up the shakiness that cracks his voice toward that last bit. And maybe it's not very nice, but he can't help it, looking at Wilhelm like he's trying to understand but simply doesn't know how.

"...don't you feel any responsibility toward your people? Wasn't there anything about it that you loved?"

[ordinar]

"No."

Too quick, too blunt — more of a verbal punch than an answer. But it's the truth. He hated the spotlight, the endless scrutiny, the ever-shrinking privacy. He hated that his title kept him from the life he wanted.

"My brother loved it," he adds quietly, trying to soften the harshness of that no. "I don't know if loved is the right word, but he cared about his duties. And I love Erik, so...I really did want to do a good job, you know, to honor him. I never asked to be crown prince, though. All I felt was...terrified of messing up. And angry that everything had to change."

Looking up from his cup, which he hasn't touched though it was topped off, he studies Rhy with a frown. He wants to go back to that golden moment when they were happy and laughing together. Although it's clear that Rhy has lugged this weight around for a long time, Wilhelm can't help but feel responsible for the dark mood louring over him now. Grasping for his approval, hoping to assuage him, he stumbles into an explanation.

"I don't know how it is where you're from, but the monarchy doesn't really have that much power anymore. All the major decisions are made by parliament. The queen or king is basically just a figurehead. 'My people' would be just fine without me."

[londonbound]

Rhy looks a bit like he's been struck.

It takes him a minute to parse what Wilhelm says next -- about his brother, the way he uses past tense, the realization that Wilhelm wasn't raised to be crown prince at all, and then a moment later the explanation that it doesn't even matter, or so he seems to say.

The words stick in Rhy's throat. How even a figurehead can inspire. How people need hope. How that's the whole point of a prince. Already, he knows that anything he says will be struck down -- and, worse, that here it's all merely words. Devoid of context. The same way prince means only his past here, and nothing more.

He withdraws. Leaves the conversation where it lies, and grabs his cup again to drink until it's gone.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, pained.

"About your brother."

[ordinar]

The thing is, neither of them are wrong. It's just that what's true for one doesn't have to be true for the other.

In the silence that follows, Wilhelm fights the feeling that he's disappointed Rhy. He'd already decided that he wasn't going to let anyone dictate his life for him, and he wasn't going to feel bad for prioritizing himself. That Wilhelm was gone, burned to the ground. Someone else had risen from the ashes. With a tight jaw he waits for whatever argument Rhy is preparing.

It never comes. Just condolences for Erik, which pulls the tension out of him. Suddenly, he wonders if Rhy is disappointed in himself.

"Thanks."

He never did figure out what you're supposed to say to that.

"Sorry about your brother too," Wilhelm jokes clumsily after a pause. He lifts his cup in a toast. "To brothers, right?"

An olive branch of sorts. A truce, burying the subject there.