thank you for exo’s winter albums. // @principalles
for the amount of times he’s been in the room it’s been full of lessons. the castle has its fair share of rooms and chambers, parts that even in all his time growing up bo probably never bothered to venture to. he wasn’t particular curious as a kid, more so about the kingdom he lived in than the stuffy and too-big walls of the castle. where his parents would often wonder where he could sneak off to during lessons and get lost, bo much preferred sneaking out and into the town.
it was a different kind of mischief. it translated into studies sometimes, the days spent crammed in the study with his eyes drifting to windows, to wonders of the kingdom he felt lucky to call his. not by royalty or by blood and allegiance but just by the fact that he lived here. bustling bakeries, cranky morning crewmen, a horizon that seemed to extend into forever.
so while the study was full of the time that he spent at the desk, learning and absorbing all he could just for the chance to get a pardon to go out to town. or the opportunity to accompany his father on diplomatic trips or his mother or morning walks, the study is full of memories of learning all he could about the place he loved. some lessons weren’t as fun, history was a bore no matter who taught.
for so long he’s kept his associations of the study with a multitude of lessons, the droll of heels scuffing across the floor, the tap of batons on the podium and voices echoing economics and culture alike. it’s rather dreary despite bo knowing it was necessary.
fine arts was always a bit of a reprieve and dance - well dance was as bothersome as any other etiquette.
spring days spent trying to trick his feet into cooperating when his heart preferred he frolic through the garden, splash about in the lake. and don’t get him started on his dance instructor. a woman past his mother’s age, stern and well-versed in her craft. she meant well but it was often hard to focus, his only obedience as the promise of freedom after the two hours were up.
looking back, bo could almost kiss madame hautecourt for her lessons, for this is the only time they’ve started to come in handy. not at diplomatic galas, not as the balls he’s both held and attended where the moves are expected, customary. not even at festivals where things are loose, livelier.
right now, he’s all but forgotten about madame hautecourt’s voice, low and sharp piercing for him to listen. he’s forgotten about the way history words seem to mesh together after enough time has passed. all he can think of, and all he’ll probably remember is the sound of laughter that’s so sweetly bouncing off the walls, giggles that are muffled into his chest with each step he takes.
summer starts to bleed in through the drapes, the yellows and oranges of the afternoon bouncing off the otherwise boring mahoghany decor, and marble walls. the room’s probably never looked like beautiful before.
though, he’s sure it’s all joy’s doing.
“promise you won’t fall.”
they’ve been at it for around an hour - or two. he’s lost track. the sun might be setting soon, but he looks at her and thinks he finds it each and every time. it’s the only good thing to come out of the ball his mother’s thrust upon them. etiquette aside, dancing was something his country held near and dear, a very particular style that he’s taken upon himself to show joy in her time off.
bo’s spent hours, recounting steps, placements, movements - in this very room with the madame. but each time his hands fall on the small of joy’s back, each time he tickles the sweetest sounds of amusement from her, he goes blank, years of knowledge falling to the drain and the dopey smile that crosses his face. he spins her out and she’s regarding him with a look, one that says she’s got something up her sleeve. he wonders about it, as she slips from his grip and moves about the dance floor. they’ve cleared the majority of the furniture to leave the room open for practice.
‘i thought that was the point of the ball?’
“what is?” when she looks back there’s that same glint in her eye. the same one she’s been giving him when she slips out intentionally from every dip or spin he tries. the one where she’s stepping behind and around him, the dance turning into a makeshift game of tag before bo’s bold enough to catch, or smart enough to just watch. but joy’s just smiling, but an arm’s width from him. until it’s a forearm’s distance, and then a a shoulder’s, and she’s leaning forward into his space.
‘falling for the prince.’
she has this uncanny ability to make even the silliest of expressions, the smallest of mistakes something so endearing, so enthralling that he’s hoping she messes up again. just so he can watch how her cheeks blossom pink and even the shy smile makes her eyes sparkle in the afternoon light. all of her does, sparkles, glows, in a way that he wants to sit back and watch. watch as she practices the steps in earnest, pushing him away when insisting that he’s distracting. then there’s the way that makes him want to get as close as possible.
where his hand fits again behind her back and tugs her as close as she’ll let him, as close as it takes just to feel the intake of her breath when his hands fold over fabric.
“the point of the ball, is freedom.”
‘freedom?’ joy’s words are but a whisper, a gentle parting of her lips. bo’s smile is immediate.
“to do what i wish, with whom i wish. should she accept.” her eyes flutter, her lip peeks from the nip of her teeth. bo’s heart is in shambles and in flames all at the same time.
‘let’s say she did. what would you want to do?’
his eyes map out the moment, the familiar dust that’s now matched with a daring gaze, bold eyes that refuse to leave his own. even as his eyes wander, the curves of her cheek that his thumb aches to trace, the smooth of her skin that’s always inviting something gentle and worthy to grace it. a vision of beauty silhouetted by the sun’s ray, filtering, dripping onto the same skin he aches to kiss, to brush, to touch. eyes that betray there own determination in how they close the closer he comes, the deeper the breath she takes, the closer she presses on the tips of her toes.
“what i want to do is this...” he’s closer.
and his lips lower, to her cheek, then to her forehead and he’s stepping out into a lift, relishing instead in the sounds of her laughter as they move once again across the room.
“everywhere. and anywhere. so that everyone else knows who i have fallen for. and why.” with every lift, and every turn, with every pull of her close enough that the laughter is smothered, airy hiccups of it only shown in the rise of her shoulder and her chest against his own. every stolen breath as he moves, swift and practiced. every laugh, treasured, every burst of warmth when her fingers curl into his shoulders, trusting and full of the same excitement that spurs him to keep moving.
‘i would’ve thought everyone already knew.’
“oh? consider it my excuse to show you off then.”
he holds her tight, the dip just an excuse to keep his face buried in the crook of her neck, his smiles muffled there and all the joy and disbelief that she’s in his arms at bay. he wants to be so many things, tender in the way that she’s touched his heart, in the way she eases the deepest of emotions from him. and then he wants to be as consuming. she just holds tight.
‘even if i don’t get the dance right?’ her own words whispered by his ear, breath tickling his hair.
laughter is pulled, puffed into spaces, fingers squeezing as he pulls back, kisses placed everywhere he can land them. “especially if you don’t get the dance right.” on cheeks, on cheekbones, under her jaw, on her temple, the tip of her nose. “i’ll just keep you in my arms all night long.” and exactly where he’s been itching to, fitting her lips against his own with all that he hopes to say, to wish for and all that he’s felt.
when he’s pulled away the sunlight is a faint orange on her skin, darkening into dusk, much at how the gentle warmth between them shifts into something deeper, molten. joy doesn’t say anything for the few seconds after, but she’s smiling something sweet and tempting for hi to dip down again.
‘is that a challenge?’
“it’s a promise.”
