Plenty of Treasures

Ivory

Pairing(s): Prinxiety and implied Logicality

Warnings: Kind of controlling family (?)
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The sweet twinkle of piano notes play in his mind whenever he thinks about the colour purple now. It's almost annoying, but what the colour itself connects with is too wonderful for Roman to be upset about. Even when he is doing something completely unrelated to it, he'll find himself humming a song, or he'll have the sudden urge to try on a bit of makeup, which he does do occasionally, but not often enough for it to be a hobby.

He gazes around at the city street around him, bathing in the almost silence and breathing in the fresh air not yet clogged up by cigarette smoke, or smoke caused by public transport. Pulling at the hem of his crimson blazer, he lifts his arm to take a quick look at the time on his watch. 7:15. Some would complain, whining about how it's much too early to be up and out in the city, but Roman personally adores getting up early. Sure, waking up isn't very fun, but the thought of heading to his favourite restaurant and ordering breakfast is enough for him to drag himself out of bed.

As he strolls down the concrete pavement, Roman once again inhales deeply, not expecting a silver car to drive past him and blow dust from the curb of the road in his direction. He breathes it in and coughs, grimacing at the taste of dirt, old construction dust, and vehicle exhausts as it lands on his tongue. Fortunately, the restaurant is close, so he'll be able to order his favourite morning drink to wash the taste away.

Clop. Clop. He stifles a chuckle at the way his shoes make a sound similar to the hooves of a horse hitting the pavement. That's one reason he loves these shoes. Well, honestly, it's the only reason he loves these shoes. They were expensive and definitely not worth the money, being too tight on his feet and giving him blisters on the back of his ankle. The only reason he has them is because they are quite pretty, its black leather shiny and pleasing to the eye. As well as the fact that his mother would not stop insisting that he bought them. They made him look wealthy, which he's positive was the main reason for her wanting him to get them.

He tucks his hand into the pocket of his blazer and rolls his eyes at the folded soft material he feels hiding in there. Before he'd managed to leave the house unnoticed, his mother had wrapped a charcoal coloured tie around his neck and giddily tied it, sending him out the door looking way too formal for a casual trip to get breakfast. So, as soon as he was far away enough from his house, he had practically ripped the item off and shoved it in his pocket, only to reluctantly pull it back out again so he could fold it. His mother would have his head if he wrinkled it.

A smile slowly tugs at the corners of his mouth as he finally reaches the restaurant, immediately getting a whiff of the intoxicating aroma caused by the many choices of breakfast food, coffee, tea, and other hot drinks they offer in the mornings. He sighs in relief, grateful that he can just be himself. There's nobody who knows his name, or really cares about who he is.

'That's also a rather unfortunate thing,' he thinks as his eyes subtly move from one side of the room to the other, only managing to catch a glimpse of white, purple, and black before being guided to a table by one of the waiters. This restaurant is, and has never been, particularly expensive or 'posh'. But despite that, they always take care of their customers, offering excellent service and even a live performer.

He orders his usual-- a breakfast omelette, minus the tomatoes and mushrooms, with a couple of hash browns and a regular salted caramel mocha -- and closes his eyes. No, he's not really that tired, his job being easy and dull enough to send him to sleep during the day, and since his employers are too afraid to fire him because of the reputation his family has, he no longer cares about taking one hour naps during work hours. But he's desperately trying to enhance his sense of hearing. He hopes and prays that the performer will play something this morning, even if it's just a short piece by Rachmaninoff.