vis a vis this post here is an unfinished javey cinderella au from like. i wanna say around may 2023?? but i'm not 100% sure... enjoy x
Jack Kelly was 6 when Medda took him in. He was a street kid, nothing more, but one day he ran into the warm-looking theatre at the end of the main street to escape the harsh baton of the policeman chasing him, and the next thing he knew he had a safe place to go home to every day and someone he very quickly came to call his mother; because that's what she was to him, and to her, he was her son.
He spent 6 years living with her, spending each day running in and out of the theatre on errands and playing in the street in his free time, pretending by himself that he was magical, or royalty, or anything he wished he could be; and later on he played with a small boy who wore an eyepatch, when their paths crossed. They would sneak to the palace in the centre of the city together, peering through the gate to catch fleeting glimpses of the royals before running off to replicate what they had seen, guarding their own imaginary palace with gnarled sticks for weapons.
The summer of Jack's 12th birthday, Medda collapsed suddenly while backstage in her own theatre. She was asleep - and that's all it was, to Jack's young mind - for several weeks, and then she never woke up, and Jack was alone in the world yet again.
He found himself in the care of a man named Snyder, cold and cruel and so unlike Medda it hurt him to think about. He had little freedom. He never saw the boy with the eyepatch again. Instead of above the theatre, he lived in a grand house, a house that was empty and scary and all the things he wished he would never have to experience again.
Snyder had wasted no time in putting Jack to work. You're here to be useful, he had said upon meeting the boy for the first time, and promptly sent him off to the cellar with a broom and half a loaf of black bread. Jack often wondered, when the house became cold and frightening in the winter and stiflingly hot in the summer, if he had dreamed those perfect years with the wonderful woman who had taken him off the street.
He tried his hardest to stay happy, to see the silver lining even when it felt like there wasn't any; he was claustrophobic, trapped and tense and desperate to escape the rotting wooden walls of the cellar he spent so much time in. He was rarely allowed out of the house, except on the days when Snyder was out on business, and even then he was not allowed to leave, but he did anyway, because it got more and more difficult to breathe inside every day.
It was one of these days, a week after his 17th birthday, that Jack snuck out the back door of the house, clothes ragged and face smeared with dirt and ash. It was easy to blend in, with the city used to children living on the streets, but the city was not where Jack was headed; instead, he headed out of the city walls, scaling the high brick with ease and jumping over to the other side. He was going to the forest just outside of the city, a place he went to whenever he could - although that was not often - to pretend to himself like he was home, far away from the choking streets and safe in his mother's arms.
The forest was empty, and quiet, and peaceful, and Jack found that he was happy there, happy beyond anything he felt in the confines of Snyder's house. On this day, however, it felt off; the stillness seemed disturbed, and Jack knew that the trees were trying to tell him that today, he wasn't alone.
Unfortunately, he only figured this fact out after walking absent-mindedly straight into another person. He spluttered and began to apologise, getting half a frantic "Sorry-" out before meeting the other's eyes and immediately trailing off.
It was a boy, about his age, delicately pretty with dark hair and blue eyes. What struck Jack the most, though, was his clothes: a light-blue waistcoat fastened tightly with silver buttons, and a high-collared jacket, deep green and embroidered with silver thread. He had a dagger fixed to his hip, and he wore tall black boots made of crisp leather. He was royalty, or close to it, and Jack was mesmerised. Having only ever seen such a person through the looming gates of the palace, he was awestruck, his eyes wandering over the gorgeous detail in the boy's clothes; the precision of his features; the uncertainty of his posture; the slight shade of red that ghosted over his pale cheeks. He was utterly transfixed, his artist's mind noticing all the colours in front of him that he had hardly seen in years, until he caught the boy watching him warily, head tilted slightly to the side in muted curiosity, and he lowered his gaze, wondering quietly if he should be bowing or something, before deciding better of it.
If he had learned one thing from his own time finding peace in this forest, it was that coming here was a chance to be yourself, and he would not - perhaps against his better judgement, given the royal boy in front of him - take that from someone. So he decided to forgo politeness in favour of what he did best: being himself, blunt and abrasive.
"What's someone like you doin' so far out of the city?"
The boy looked extremely taken aback, his mouth falling open slightly. "I needed to get out." He looked like he was about to say more, but thought better of it, shutting his mouth with a hint of a smile.
"Not supposed to be here, huh?"
The boy just blinked amusedly at him. Jack grinned, and stuck out his hand. Part of him knew he was pushing his luck here - if this kid turned out to be one of those stuck-up folk, he was a goner - but something pushed him to keep talking. He supposed that look in the boy's eyes reminded him of his friend with the eye-patch, years ago.
The boy took his hand hesitantly, shaking it with a surprisingly gentle touch. "David..." He pauses. "Davey."
"That jacket of yours is beautiful," Jack said, because he could hardly focus on anything except the boy's eyes, and he couldn't possibly let him know that.
The boy gave a bashful smile, rubbing the fabric of the cuffs in between his fingers anxiously. "It's my favourite."
"Your favourite? You got more?"
The red on his cheeks deepened. "I... a few."
"You don't gotta lie to me, Davey. I know you's royalty."
His eyes widened at the nickname. "Then why-"
Jack cut him off with a laugh. "'Cause I don't care. We's more the same than you people think. Just 'cause I got dirt on my face and you got that fancy jacket, it don't make us any different." Almost everything in him was screaming to shut up, but he ignored it in favour of that tiny, quiet voice in the back of his mind that told him that this boy in front of him who reminded him so much of his only friend was just the same as he was.
The boy took a step towards him, opening his mouth to say something before he was interrupted by the thunder of hooves accompanied by several overlapping voices, all shouting. The trees on the edge of the clearing that the two boys stood in parted as three horses came crashing in, grinding to a halt not a metre from them. On the front horse was a lean boy with red hair and wild eyes but a gentle smile, dressed in the uniform of the palace guard. He was accompanied by another dressed like him, but the third horse had no rider, and was instead being led by its reins.
"Your Highness." The boy at the front paused to catch his breath. "You can't just disappear like that! You had the whole palace up in arms."
The boy smiled, his eyes downcast. "Sorry. I just needed to be alone. I'm sure you understand."
Jack turned to him. "The prince, huh?" He had known he was royalty from the instant he had seen him, of course, but he hadn't been expecting something as royal as that; something royal enough that people addressed him as "Your Highness".
The boy cast an apologetic glance at him, murmuring under his breath: "I hope we meet again." Jack assumed the two guards hadn't heard, with the way their faces remained unchanged. With that, the boy swung himself up on the horse without a rider, and the three of them were gone, leaving the forest just as quiet as it had been before, but now a little more lonely.
"And his eyes, oh my god-"
"Davey. David." Race snapped his fingers in front of the prince's face. "Snap out of it. He sounds great, but there ain't no way your father will tolerate you fallin' in love with any commoner at all, let alone another boy. You gotta find a wife and all that, remember? Princely duties?"
Davey sighed. "I know, I know. But I can't stop thinking about him. He was gorgeous, Race, even with his face covered in dirt. How does anyone even look good when they're covered in dirt? How is that possible? And the way he talked to me, it was like I was normal. Not "Your Highness", or "Your Grace", or even "Sir". Just Davey."
Race just rolled his eyes and continued to adjust Davey's jacket, smoothing out the collar and sleeves and fixing the way it sat on his shoulders. "It ain't me you gotta convince, Dave."
The prince's eyes darkened. "I don't even know where to find him, because Albert came galloping in like my knight in shining armour before I could ask."
"You'll see him again," Race says, resting a hand on Davey's shoulder. "If he's properly meant for you, you'll find each other."
"That might just be the wisest thing you've said this year."
When Jack slipped in through the back door of Snyder's house, he was relieved to find the building still empty. It gave him time to quickly finish the cleaning he had been supposed to be doing all day, swinging the stained duster back and forth with practiced ease. He found that it wasn't so difficult if he pretended it was a paintbrush, and he was painting the myriad of colours that Davey had seemed to shine with.
Snyder returned late that evening, drunk and red-faced. Jack had learned by now how best to avoid him like this, and it wasn't long before the man was passed out at the vast dining table. This was always Jack's favourite part of the day: the part where he knew Snyder wouldn't wake up until morning, and he had all night to draw and paint his day the same way other people write in journals.
That day, Jack filled more pages of his sketchbook than he ever had in one day before, the paper filled with flowing watercolour paintings of a fair prince and his two palace guards.
The next time Jack saw Davey, it was under similar circumstances to their first meeting. They were both in the forest again, although it was far into the night this time, the bright overhead moon filtering through the trees above. Unlike last time, Davey had taken the time to make sure nobody would notice he was missing, leaving him free to wander without interruption and sneak back into the city when he was ready. Jack was similarly under no pressure to return, what with Snyder being away for a few days, and so the two were almost fated to meet again.
They didn't walk into each other this time, much to Jack's relief; instead, he happened across Davey sitting cross legged underneath the trees, eyes closed and face peaceful. His eyes snapped open as he heard Jack approaching, face visibly lighting up when he saw who it was.
Jack was overwhelmed by the sight of the prince sitting where he was. In the moon, his face was lit with silver light, his blue eyes appearing almost to be shining from the light they reflected. His mouth was a delicate shade of pale red, contrasted with the dark blue of his jacket, and Jack couldn't help but wonder if the people had somehow chanced on an angel for a prince, instead of a human.
"Davey! What you doin' out here this late?"
"I could ask the same of you. Most people are asleep at this time, you know." Jack didn't miss the playful twinkle in his eye.
"I'm an artist, Dave. I ain't most people."
"An artist?" Davey looked surprised, and a little bit star-struck, although Jack thought that could just be the light.
"If I got time, yeah. Why? They teach you art in between your other royal duties?" Jack asked teasingly.
Davey stood up and brushed himself off. "Only art history."
They spent the rest of the night talking, sharing stories about their lives. It didn't take long for both of them to realise that they really did have a lot more in common than they appeared to, and when the sun began to rise and Davey had to run off before the palace guards noticed that he wasn't anywhere inside the royal walls, Jack's hand was tingling from the ghost of Davey's fingers slid in between his own.
The only person who had noticed that Davey had snuck out was Race. It was sort of a given, considering that it was basically Race's job to follow him around everywhere and attend to his every need (although of course, Race being Race, most of Davey's needs were met with a raised eyebrow and witty comment, and nothing more). Fortunately, Race had heard enough of Davey's lovestruck rambling to be perfectly in support of Davey's absence, on the condition that he tell him everything when he returned. He was rather regretting that now, though.
"Jesus, Davey, is this what I was like with Albert?"
Davey went bright red. "Of course not, it's just..." Race raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, so it's quite similar, but-"
He broke off when Race started laughing, quickly following suit until the two of them were nothing more than giggling messes on the floor. Race calmed down first, took one look at Davey, and promptly burst out laughing again.
"You're so far gone for him," Race choked out between gasps.
Davey just kept laughing. "I know," he said, his voice comically strangled.
Jack and Davey made a habit of meeting in the forest, mostly at night when nobody noticed they were missing. They never planned to, not once, but fate had plans for them, and both were happy to go along with them, if it meant seeing the other again.
Jack found that Davey knew a lot, about everything. As they lay with their shoulders pressed up against each other, Davey named the constellations in the sky, pointing out each one to Jack, and gently guiding his hand to point to the right place when he couldn't find where they were. When a young deer wandered into the clearing they were in, Davey told Jack about nature and biology, and Jack listened even though he didn't understand much of it because hearing Davey talk was making Jack fall further and further in love with this boy every minute.
And when Davey asked Jack softly, one hand resting in his hair and the other linked with Jack's own, to come to a ball his family were holding to find him someone to marry, because Please, Jack, I can't be alone there, not when I know I won't want to marry any of them anyway, Jack had very little choice but to say yes.
