𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰. | 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰. | 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔰. | 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱. | 𝔬𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔰. | 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔰.

“I’m the annoying one?” Genevieve shakes her head, a sardonic laugh escaping her. She knows Xavier’s opinion of her is low, but does he really think she’s so self-centered? “Do you see the whole world on this balcony? The only person I’m asking for kindness from is you. I didn’t think it was a big request, obviously I was wrong!” Her hand falls to her side and Genevieve bites down on her bottom lip. Maybe it’s a lost cause, she muses privately. It’s clear he doesn’t want anything to do with her, would it be better to just give up? No, she’s already this far. He’s yelled and insulted her -- what more could he do after that? “So fucking stubborn.” She murmurs, the curse feeling awkward on her lips. Cursing isn’t for royalty where Genevieve is from, and she’s usually good at abiding by the rules. It’s the entire reason she started dating Stephen, after all -- the worth of a princess is only as good as her partner’s status. Her father had his eye on the older prince for years; he was over the moon when they started dating. It was the start of the loneliest portion of Genevieve’s life; Stephen couldn’t be bothered to uphold anything other than his own ambitions. It’s almost funny -- the only times she feels seen in this place is by someone that wants nothing to do with her. She sighs, looking up at the second son once more. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me what it is, Xavier? Please don’t make me go back into that ballroom.” The last thing she wants to do is see Stephen after this conversation -- to hear how smug he will be. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s awkward. He’s never good with formal conversations about Feelings. Like Tripp always says, Noah can’t write song lyrics because that would mean he actually felt something. He doesn’t know why he’s like this; it’s out of sight, out of mind. Staying busy, texting other people, and avoiding them -- it’s just easier than having to explain he’s confused about what he wants. “Seriously, it’s my bad.” Noah cringes inwardly, hating how much he sounds like his father. He’s supposed to be better than that. 

A party is normally the kind of setting Ophelia thrives in. Tonight was supposed to be one of those nights. Maybe a mary jane high, or the rum and coke kind of drunk that leads to party bliss. The perfect middle ground between sloppy and sober -- but it all goes to shit the moment she sees them. Suddenly, the usual suspects aren’t strong enough to provide the liquid courage Ophelia needs. She finds herself pouring two drinks, her own a concoction of red wine and tequila. This is stupid, she thinks, but it doesn’t stop her from walking over and holding out a red solo to the person she wants everything and nothing to do with at the same time. “I wanna waste your time, like you wasted mine.”

“It is!” She snaps, exasperated. The words start spilling out but Genevieve makes no effort to stop them. It’s exhausting, she realizes. Everyday she waits around for Xavier to -- to what? Be kinder, perhaps? Whatever it may be, the princess is done holding out for it. “That’s precisely what makes it cruel! You make me feel like I’m nothing! I’ve seen you be nice.” She’d stolen enough glances to see how he interacts with Evie. “I know you’re capable -- except when it comes to me. And for what reason?” Genevieve shakes her head, completely vexed by the audacity of the man in front of her. Perhaps he was right about one thing; she does want to be treated a certain way. But not because of her status, and certainly not just by anyone. She doesn’t want to think more on what that could mean, but the thread has already been tugged. It started unraveling the moment Genevieve stepped onto the balcony, and continues to fall apart with every step she takes toward the second prince. She blinks in surprise at the sound of her given name, which not even Stephen has ever called her without adding Princess in front of it. Genevieve swallows, heart pumping wildly, and takes another step forward. “Have you ever considered,” She reaches out -- every part of her brain screaming what are you doing?! -- her hand finding a place between his elbow and shoulder, “that maybe it’s about more than what just you want, Xavier?” 

She can’t fathom it -- what is it that makes the second prince despise her to this level? Her patience thins every moment she stands on this balcony with Xavier; every word from his lips only fuels her frustrations. Here she is, trying her best to patch things up with the most stubborn and infuriating man on the planet, and he can’t even muster up the respect to look at her. “Whether you like me or not is out of my control, Your Grace, but I am still of royal blood and deserve to be treated with civility.” The princess steps toward him with purpose, as if daring him to turn her way. The entire time she’s known him, Genevieve has never ventured to get close to Xavier. He keeps himself at a distance and she’s done the same, thinking he would like her more if she complies with his wishes. This might be the closest they have ever been. Genevieve can feel this crosses an unspoken boundary but she stays put. Her breath catches in her throat at his question. Truthfully, she doesn’t know why she cares as much as she does -- the princess only knows that it hurts. “I’m not like you.” The brunette says, inching forward the tiniest bit more. “Perhaps it would be fine with you if the roles were reversed and I was the one who -- who didn’t care for you, as you put it, but I feel that it’s cruel. The way you treat me, I mean.” She shrinks at the weight of the truth in her words. “I want to know you.” Genevieve says, speaking to Xavier and herself. The sentiment is surprising, it bubbles from her mouth before she can comprehend it. I want to know you like I know you know me.

A part of Noah wants to feel guilty, but at the given moment he’s too petty to care. The childish side of him wants to make Theia feel bad; maybe then she’ll finally understand what it’s like to be dropped. He breathes out a laugh but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. “You think it’s just about the practices? You haven’t showed up to anything in, like, two months. You barely even text us anymore.” Or me, a small voice croaks in his mind. He pushes it away and sets his jaw. “I don’t care what you do, okay, but your friends deserve better than that.” It’s a lie, of course, but the hurt piece of him believes it to be true.