#bojoy

balls on the island were a big thing. they weren’t common, though festivals and other forms of celebration were more common in place of them. the kingdom’s capital located by piers and the sea made it easy to haul fresh fish to the town center and grill and dance into the night. balls were more formal events, celebrating engagements, coming of events or welcoming and honoring visitors or the royalty. 

bo’s dad is a man of his people, so the balls were never really exclusive unless they had to be. balls were open to all who would and could attend and because of the frequency of late night festivals it was no sting to someone’s heart if they couldn’t make it. one would always find the king and queen either from the cover of their balcony or from the corners of a rooftop watching over and enjoying in closed company.

this ball in particular was open to all and important for one. this ball wasn’t exactly an engagement but it meant a lot and it shows from the amount of times he’s seen his mother in her chambers or scampering back and forth from the town to the palace, carrying troves of fabric and with advisors and planners on her heels.

there’s only two other balls of a higher caliber that she’d work this hard for - and that’s an engagement or an appointment. tomorrow night, bo would be formally announcing to the kingdom that his courting of joy was with intentions for her to be his and by proxy for the kingdom to one day be hers. the ball tomorrow was the official announcement that he has made a decision, no more suitors, no more bachelor and diplomatic visits and no marriages for alliances. it was one thing for the townspeople to gossip and tease him but it was another thing for him to show her off in front of family, friends and citizens alike. 

he’s told her, explained how he world around her would change by the pseudo sort of title she’d be given and despite all the preparation and the idea to surprise him tomorrow night with the outfit his mother’s put work in - he hasn’t seen her in a few days and he’s accepted the consequences of a small scolding to sneak a conversation. or a peek. three days of preparation is way too long to not see her, especially with the constant she’s become in her daily life. despite his insistence he knows she’d rather learn lessons from those offering in the palace, so he knows even when she should be relaxing for the gala she’s still making sure her form is perfect. that’s how bo knows where to find her. that and if he enters the palace he just has to follow the sound of the music and once he’s closer the sound of her speaking to herself.

there’s a swell of pride in his chest when he hears her whispering words in his language to herself. she’s in one of the older rooms that he used to take the same lessons in when it was required and through the light peeking from old blinds, she’s a vision he’s missed for days. 

bo has seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, most that he can attribute to a couple things. one, being that he’s been blessed with this position, crown prince and surrounded by most luxuries that people only dream about. of course those are the obvious beauties, the surface level things that he notices in passing - such as the fine material that drapes even the large ceiling wide windows in the castle, or the architectural beauty of the castle itself. those are things he admires on the daily but they don’t quite stick with him as much as others.

take his country for example. it’s something he never gets tired of looking at - no matter the view, the angle, the time of day, the season. it’s something that could never sullen his mood no matter the state of affairs, or his affairs for that matter. their land - his land was beautiful and he loved and adored it like no other. the pride instilled in him by his parents - was nothing compared to the love that grew on his own. from running down cobblestone paths to the sea, to getting a view of the sunrise from the higher peaks of the nation, from areas left untouched to grow out in all their glory. 

his country is the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life. second to his mother of course.

and nowadays, both are coming second to one person. it’s not hard to guess who it is and why. 

joy’s a vision. always and everyday he looks forward to what she teaches him, the parts of her she shows to him and the ways he learns about love and finds out how to love how to find more beauty in her and everything she does. it’s a bit dramatic, but she’s started to give the world a new meaning, a new category really. she’s just - gorgeous in ways that awe him everyday. in ways that make him struggle to find words in his language and hers to encompass it. she just is and he’s so grateful, so in love.

joy in any form, in any way she’ll give herself to him is beautiful, appreciated and adored.from giving her palm so he can lead her down tot he docks in the morning, to letting him hear a full laugh when his mother is scolding him for joining them in the kitchen she he has duties. her blush when he’s stealing kisses before running off to deal with his affairs, to the words out her lips as she talks, recites her thoughts on new things she’s learned, and picked up.

he doesn’t think he could be more surprise and yet again she’s managed to catch him speechless with his own thoughts and surprise.

the mornings of his nation, bo’s found he loves them more than any. he’s quite spoiled, with the way the sun hits his chambers - their chambers. it’d been the first thing he’s wanted to show her - to really show her. because these chambers are now their own - from this morning on she’s to reside in them with him and not her own - unless she wishes for the space. but as of the ceremony that’s passed and as of their vows - she is his and this area is theirs. the first thing bo had wanted to do - was share the most beautiful moment of his land with someone whose brought that beauty to him when he was away. 

he’s an early riser, always has been when he adopted the habit of watching the sun peek into his room. and for a moment, he’s a little dazed, his body feels light and heavy at the same time, spent and hot. it’s not the weight of the covers or the morning heat their climate always reminds him of. it’s the weight that’s upon his chest. closer inspection, sleep rubbed out of his eyes reveals joy and is he could kick himself for forgetting, the events of last night flood through him. just like that he doesn’t just feel her head on her chest, he doesn’t feel the rise and fall of her chest and fingers tickling skin. 

he feels. he remembers. the sounds that had reverberated through the room, he catches the remnants of the gown she’d allowed him to make quite the mess of on the floor. the nightgown she was meant to slip in after but had fallen asleep underneath him instead. he remembers his name - her name, mantras entangled into the walls all night as they connected - wholly with one another. he remembers seeing the ring on her finger and being unable to stop himself, he remembers joy - unabashedly spurring him on, he remembers how her face scrunched up, how she shuddered, how she’d felt from the first slide to the end.

and he thinks he didn’t know beauty that well before. 

she’d done her job of redefining it this morning. 

bo doesn’t move, he feels her legs tangled in his own, feels her breath tickle his bare chest. he feels every soft and gentle part of her press against him with each breath. he doesn’t stop himself from indulging, allowing himself to run his hands along smooth skin, reliving each part that’d been kissed, worshipped the night before. a couple love bites here and there but if anything he does it to take in all the spots he’d fallen deeper for and the moves - the motions that elicited the sweetest of sounds form her lips.

he aches to hear them again he won’t lie. he wants to indulge in all she has to offer, all she’s willing to give, she just wants to feel her again. he’s become a starved man and he’ll accept the consequences of all she does by simply existing. but for now - boy remembers his plans. simple taps against her waist are his tactic to wake her, kisses pressed to her forehead as she stirred.

“morning, my love.” her morning is a grumble and his heart swells at the raspiness and the practiced sound of good morning in his language. “i want to show you something.”

joy’s response is a groan, muffled and pressed into hairs on his chest. he chuckles and wraps his arms around her and the blanket to lift her up with him. “it will only take a second.” as if on cue, joy uses the energy she has to throw her arms around his neck, face remaining pressed in bo’s chest when she realizes only the blanket is covering her bare skin. one look down and he’s reminded of the very things that’d drove him crazy the night before.

‘hurry up.’

he’s gentle, lifting her close to him and carrying the entire duvet with him as he approaches the windows to the balcony of their chamber. he’s generous with his kisses, and even more generous at her giggles when his hands tap at parts of her body. it’s tricky maneuvering one of the curtains over with her in his arms, but he manages, not wanting to cause any danger to his beloved. when he’s managed to move it over - enough to let the light flicker in, he shields her eyes for a moment whispering for her to take her time.

“look up.”

the realization comes before the sound can leave her mouth. he watches her eyes light up, watches the sunlight shine over her body as the kingdom comes into view. he watches his kingdom reflect in her eyes, the way he sees it, and he has to keep himself from pulling her in for another kiss, he doesn’t steal the moment. he lets her feet finally touch the ground and her hold the duvet up as she presses against the window.

‘it’s beautiful.’

bo wonders what he should say now. he wonders of all the things he’d whispered into heated kisses and skin last night and decides those are for later, for their years together. he knows what he should say and his lips lower to her ear, a kiss placed to her cheek.

“it’s ours.”

there’s no remarks, about how it’s really his parents or how it couldn’t belong solely to them because the weight of the words settles in her. he watches her digest them, take in the real meaning before giving a response. and that response settles instead as a smile, something warm and sure and bo can’t resist giving her another kiss when she nods, ring hand clutched to her chest.

‘thank you.’

he doesn’t really let her finish the sentence because he’s shaking his head, resolved in picking her back up, but this time for her back to fall pressed against the window and her to face him. now his kingdom, his home and the most beautiful thing for most of his life, is framed by her. by her lips, open in a soft gasp an even softer smile, her eyes, focused on him and nothing else. the slopes of her shoulders around the greens and yellows of the kingdom before him.

now that kingdom is framed by the most beautiful and precious thing to him. and he’s anything if blessed to be able to have them both.

“i love you.”

“can i have this dance?”

bo is the spitting image of his father. not right now, clad in just some slacks he threw on to study and a button up that isn’t even properly fastened. well - perhaps he’s still the spitting image of his father when he’s a little less refined, but that’s not the image to be concerned with. 

no the image to be concerned with is all in the eyes, in the face, a bit in the movements but luckily for bo and courtesy of his mother, he’s a better dancer than his father. he uses that confidence to coax her out of her books and her studies. joy has taken to staying in the study room with him now, the open ones with all the blinds pulled up to let the light of the land and the smell of the sea filter in. he’s often worried if she’d get sick of it but he’s found her opening the windows more often than not.

they’d often migrate, the two of them, from the study cooped with books and lessons, to the outer rooms. joy’s taken to helping his mother with livening up all the studies now and he can’t pass a corridor without an arrangement of flowers that reminds him of her. flowers, plants, little marks of her that’s made him want to be closer to her, it’s made him seek her out on multiple occasions, often shamelessly.

it’s with this shamelessness that he does daring moves like this, possibly not as daring when it’s just the two of them but a invitation is an invitation. 

and what were we talking about? ah yes, the eyes. it’s in his eyes, that same shamelessness, that boyish confidence, and the adoration. it’s so obvious in every step and motion he makes towards joy. in every reaction to the smallest crinkle of her nose when she giggles, to the gentle way he lets her hand fall in his own before he’s coaxing her further out into the middle of the room. it’s in how smoothly his lips brush the top of her knuckles, how slow he seems to take each moment with her.

it’s how easily everyone around him can see how he treasures and files it away.

‘there’s no music you know.’ she says it between laughter, between impromptu spins and uncertain twirls that he’s always on the opposite end of. to catch her, reassure her, let her fall into the silliness of it all. 

“it’s because the muses that are supposed to provide it are too busy watching you.” there’s a slap to his chest, but it’s as light as the laughter that follows, and still in motion with the glides they make across the floor. it’s small, it’s nothing fancy, or extravagant, just movement. it’s just her and him and wherever he leads and she trusts to follow. 

‘i’m no dancer.’ “everything you are is enough.” ‘enough for...all this?’

they don’t stop - exactly, they slow down. slower than before, slow enough for him to hear the hesitation ahead of time, and the shift in her voice. slow enough for him to notice how her hands grip a little tighter and her eyes wander just a bit. past him, around and then down. it’s something he’s discussed in passing with his parents, something they’ve never outright mentioned, and now’s a better time than any. right when his heart might very well burst from his chest.

bo thinks himself an eloquent man, he’s trained enough to be such. but he finds in this moments there aren’t enough that can quite capture what needs to be said, or asked.

there’s never any training for this either.

there aren’t enough words.  there aren’t enough ways to prove it.

“more than enough.” he tries though, with a thumb under her chin to lift it back up. with the same determination and look in her eyes as if she holds the very sun that lights up their room. because she does. “it is not you who must be worthy of this, it’s quite the opposite.” it is the prince who asks but to bo, there is power and worth more in the woman who agrees. in the woman who sees something in him to want to be by his side. it was that way for his father and it is the same for him. 

‘it’s quite the shoe to fill.’

for all that bo sees, all that he adores about her, he understands and respects just the same. he watches, learns, and adjusts himself as he should. he lets his hold loosen, lets the space between them gather as he bends down.

‘what are you doing?’ there might be some panic there, maybe a spike in her voice, and all he does is slip her feet on those godforsaken heels so that he can lift her high, legs swung over his arms and all the worry in her voice replaced with laughter. all tension melting in her arms rushing to grab hold around his neck.

“let’s worry about that later. i think a trip to the pier is in order.” ‘you’re not going to carry me like this all the way there are you?’

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.

‘swear you’ll catch me?’

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.

like now. 

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.”

he’d heard his mother right, because there was no way to ever mistake the queen’s words. they were absolute yes but his mother had a way of speaking that captivated all. soft-spoken but firm, commanding. she knew her intentions and above all she learned to speak well. it’s one of the first things passed onto bo as he grew up. he picked from books, from lessons, from meetings with stuffy dukes and duchesses but above all he’d taken from her. it was inevitable but it’s also his biggest selling point with the kingdom, the people having fallen in love with her long before the king would ever admit he had.

bo’s father was stubborn like that. quite new as well if he recalls the tales he was told. and boy do people love to tell tales. of his mother here for a conference while her sisters were clearly here to woo and catch the eye of their famed king who never spent more than a glance. things were harder in those times, his father had to be strategic in his choice, figure out the future of a country he was still learning to run with one meeting.

one meeting is all it took his mother asking the simplest of questions, concerned about commerce and industry, as well as the threads and the colors unique to their kingdom. she always had an eye for fine things, so royal life suited her well. just like the ring he’d placed on her finger but a few weeks later, just like the crown that sat atop her head before the end of the year.

it was a tale for bars, diners and bedtimes alike.

things aren’t as difficult now and his parents have become more than open to losing tradition. they haven’t readily interfered with his love life, that’s to say he hasn’t had one before now. so the prospect of a ball is lost on him. but the queen’s paying him little attention and instead giving her all to directions about what colors should go where, angles for curtains to hang and changes to menus. he hasn’t seen her this animated since, well since the last ball. she’s quite meticulous and he’d heard an earful when he decided to head out the country for business right before it. all in good faith.

but she talks, orders and effectively ignores his question.

“mother.”

‘your majesty which color would you like for the carpet?’ ‘bo, my darling which do you prefer the browns or the creams?’ “mother.”

she’s pointedly not listening as she points to the cream one and the servant scurries off obviously not wanting to be between the two of them. as if there’s anything to be between. bo gets along well with his parents, too well. signs of their relationship can be shown in even the most formal of meetings, in strolls through the kingdom and even royal ceremonies. he carries some of his mother’s spunk, the two of them laughing at a particularly pompous guest and while the guards and his father may fuss at them - it’s all in good fun.

his father’s never been able to hold a stern look when watching his mother anyway. and that breaks even their most trained guard from his position, it’s quite a sight. 

but his mother is a force and she’s maneuvering easily through the ballroom, answering questions and throwing orders to parts of the room he’s not even sure she can see. she’s clearly had the ballroom renovated for the occasion and bo can’t understand it. balls in their kingdom are not held very often, festivals yes but balls are different. tradition states that they’re for the young heirs, for bachelors, to open their doors and allow the young and the eligible to present themselves before them and the royal family. hence why they haven’t had one.

she’s pressing two sets of clothing against his chest, clearly ignoring his looks of confusion and asking another servant for her opinion. said girl is giggling as bo’s obvious attempts to get her attention and bo is catching the jacket shoved in his arms again.

“mother, a ball? pray tell for what?” the queen, in all her grace and poise pauses at that. bo notices absently that they’ve made it to the study, where she’s been shuffling through his father’s old gear, the king who is signing papers at his desk and making no motion to involve himself. the hush that falls over the giggling servants has even bo pausing in his insistence.

‘bo, darling. you must know what balls are for?’ “mother I don’t need you inviting eligible women to the palace.” ‘he must think we’re fools don’t you think dear?’

his father once again makes no indication to wanting to have anything to do with the conversation. bo does see a hint of a smile on his father’s face and that’s - well that’s concerning. but his mother is back to shifting through the chest, holding up a variety of garments to place in his hands.

‘darling we’re holding this ball for one purpose and one purpose only.’ “which is?”

when she finally stands up she’s holding a jacket bo’s only heard tales of. it’s cream and gold, the very suit jacket his father had worn on the night he’d declared his love for her. bo remembers being younger, much younger and his mother draping it over him as she told the tale, bo running around the palace with this grandiose idea of being as bold as his father had been that night. maybe not about love, but in other things. he gets his fearlessness from his father.

‘this ball, is simply for you to announce to everyone what they already know.’

it almost feels like he’s being chastised, or perhaps, teased. it’s definitely teasing because the queen is grinning, cat-like and bo must’ve spaced out because when did his father enter the frame. but the king is watching bo with the same quiet fondness, one he carries different from his mother. he’s going between eyeing the jacket before speaking up, his hand around his mother’s shoulder.

‘it’s also to get everyone off my back about who my son is courting so they won’t send their daughters here just for them to return home in tears. i have no intention of explaining again that our prince is already courting.’’ ‘and boy has he been courting. all these questions about the young lady that the prince is making starry eyes at in the riverside coffee shop.’

they’re definitely teasing.

“oh no.” ‘oh yes.’

“i have to talk to her about it-” ‘i guess you’d better talk to her then.’ “it’s a lot to take in,” it’s not an engagement, but a declaration that it’s in everyone’s best interest to respect the relationship and his decisions. engagements are grander, they last longer.

still, it’s a switch in things. it’s one thing for people to see him smiling at her, following her around with the fondness he couldn’t hide. but it’s another for it to be official, for press to have a reason rather than just speculation. though, bo holds some faith that ever since the day out in the gardens, that it’s been something they’ve both been sure of.

‘oh she’ll be fine, she’s got her head on right.’ “mother have you been spying?” ‘i don’t need to spy when i have you as a son.’

that’s fair.

‘now go on, go tell your belle and let me do my work. also while you’re at it please get her measurements for me. or better yet have her drop by for a fitting at the tailor.’ she’s urging him out, ridding his hands of the garments previously thrown into them. ‘also put on something better please this outfit is a little washed out, i know you’re meeting her by the beaches today.’ “mother.” ‘see you later.’

she is a force indeed.