Romeo and Romeo

FĮVĘ

~CHARLES~

I glared in frustration at the several discarded paintings tossed across the floor. Each of them seemed to be mocking me, laughing that I just couldn't get it right.

I threw my brush at the wall, satisfied by the loud thud it produced. All I wanted was to get this damn painting right. It had the potential to be my best one yet, but not if I kept screwing it up.

Unlike other paintings I've had to redo in the past, I know how I want this one to come out, and I know exactly how to achieve it. But my mind would stray to thoughts of Levi and bam, I'd find myself messing up. It's crazy how the person that inspired me could also become my worst distraction.

"Whoa there kiddo, I think you need a break," I jumped at the sound of my butler's voice.

"P-Phillip, how long have you been here?" I stuttered.

"Long enough to see you freak out of that poor paintbrush," he joked. "In all seriousness, though, you really do need to get some rest. You've been at it for hours, mate. It's half three in the morning."

I shook my head. "Not until I get it right."

"You're not going to be getting anything right if you're half awake, Charles. You really should head back to bed. You can work on this more tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I've got lessons all day," I argued.

"Well you're not going to do to well in those lessons if you're sleep deprived," Phillip countered.

"Last I checked, you're my butler, not my mum," I grumbled.

"Yeah, but I'm also your best friend. I'm just looking out for you. You've been off for a while, I'm starting to get worried. Does any of this by chance have to do with that Levi fellow?"

"Of course not, I've already gone and forgotten him," I lied through my teeth. I had anything but forgotten Romeo. He seems to have managed to permanently push his way into my thoughts. Even when my focus was elsewhere, he was in the back of my mind. I wanted to see him again, even if it was just to offer an apology. I needed to see him again.

I meant that in the most heterosexual way possible.

"I don't believe you, but whatever. Right now, what's important is that you go to bed. The day after tomorrow is the ball, and you need to catch up on sleep," said Phillip.

"I'm fiiiiiine, Phillip. I don't need to catch up on sleep at all!"

"This is the eighth time in the last twelve days that I've caught you up too late working on this painting. You have a lot to catch up on in terms of sleep. Off to bed you go."

Groaning, I flipped him off and put away my paints. "Fine, mom, I'll go to bed. Happy?"

"Very much so, yes," Phillip whistled as he examined the discarded failed attempts scattered across the floor. "Wow, this one's a toughie, huh?"

I chuckled dryly. "Like you wouldn't believe."

~•~•~

The next day went by in a flash and the ball came around. For some reason, my parents were extra insistent that I looked like a "proper" Prince. I was dressed in a maroon royal ceremonial coat, adorned with a gold stash and badges that I had never earned. My pants were white, tucked into polished black riding boots, and a gold scabbard hung at my waist. It didn't make sense to me that princes and kings always carried swords to formal events and ceremonies—what if a fight broke out? The results would be horrific.