` three wishes for... ; sw & em
Steven doesn’t curse good fortune. The prince doesn’t punch the gift horse in the mouth. No, that would be extremely impolite, and not like him at all. ( If, on the other hand, the gift horse went by the name of a certain brother he abhorred, it would be an entirely different story. ) In fact, Steven White was extremely thankful for all of life’s good karma, and he truly wanted to give back to the world for it. He supposed that coming across a certain lamp and a magical being would tempt him to wish for leadership, but he’d figured that he was too clean a player, and the winner of the game of thrones favoured the virtuous and the brave and the wise -- all qualities he knew he possessed. He also could have wished for silly little materialistic things such as gold, but he already had enough, and gold was much less valuable than, say, platinum, or copper. Then there were the bigger things, such as lasting world peace, but to have such peace would mean the end of evolution through travesty, and he did not want to wish for the stagnancy of the human race. He could’ve wished for eternal youth, but that was too selfish, and he’d read enough to know that such things only meant damnation when he had to watch those he loved die before him.
And so he wished for the freedom of the young djinn he’d come to hold so dear -- but as all things came with a price, so did his noblest intentions, and his heart paid dearly for it. The wise prince held so many people in the large hollowness of his heart that the absence of one caused him to suffer greatly.
No, he would not wish for the genie to return to imprisonment so that Steven could keep him around as company, but it would definitely be nice to see the boy again. ( He thought, more than once, of returning home, but his siblings were steadily arriving and there was but one who had yet to make his life here a living hell, and he needed his sisters and his step brother to cope with such torment. )
It was when the thought resurfaced that his eyes caught sight of a familiar head of hair, and immediately a smile spread across his face, bright enough to put the sun to shame. He waited for the crowd to pass, and was thankful that he could see above a few students. And, when he was close enough, his hand reached for the male, for his shoulder, for the other’s fingers -- anything, really, to keep him there. “Ezra?” It was a curious tone that he took, almost as if he was afraid the male would turn out to be a different person entirely. But he knew the gait, knew the straight set of his form. "Why -- I mean -- why would you be -- I --," He cleared his throat, then, a fresh shade of red tinting his cheeks. "Hi."