When he awoke in the morning, Percy was gone. It was bright outside, cold rays of winter sun streaming in through the windows, their harshness filtered slightly by thin curtains. He lied there staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing.

What was all that last night?

The more and more he thought about it, the bigger the knot in his stomach grew. He had known of himself for a while now that he was not like other men. In numerous ways. He had never found himself fancying women like others did. He was content being alone. He always grew disgusted when he heard other boys his age talking excitedly of breasts and bosoms and what they wanted to do with them. He found it primitive, demeaning, disrespectful, uninteresting. He knew he wasn’t normal.

But he had never felt something like that before. Especially towards another man.

He kept thinking about how his hands felt, where they’d been. At first their embrace had been out of necessity, comfort. But the need to be calmed had long passed by the time they had disentangled themselves from each other. And how close he had been to his face…

There was no way that was the case. Percy seemed perfectly normal. He was charismatic, confident, sound of mind. Manly. Nothing like himself. It didn’t add up in any plausible way.

But the way he had looked at him defied all logical reasoning.

Unless maybe he had imagined it all. Gotten it twisted in his mind. Misconstrued the situation. That was something he very easily and often did.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up and began to dress himself, eventually making his way out of the tavern. His head ached slightly, as he was dehydrated from all the ale. Judging from the sun, it was late morning heading into midday. He trekked back to the inner circle of the city, dragging his feet in troubled thought until the large ornate gates suddenly loomed overhead. Upon immediate recognition, it was opened by the guards with a quick bow of their heads. He passed through uncomfortably and hurried towards the castle.

The light grey stone seemed brighter than usual, as the reflected rays from the sun stung his blue eyes more than he would have liked. Groaning softly to himself, he passed over the bridge to the grand front doors, those also being briskly opened for him. He was greeted to a much warmer interior as the chill from outside no longer nipped at his skin. Ornate rugs and polished candelabras lined the long hallways, and he immediately turned to the right to head towards his quarters.

“Aryn!” a commanding voice shouted from behind him.

He turned to spot a sweaty Philip dressed in immaculate leather armor, sword sheathed at his side; he must have been training. Even after swinging around a blade for who knows how long, he still looked put together, nary a dark brown hair out of place.

It was annoying.

“Philip,” he greeted tersely. “It’s midday. I thought you’d be meeting with–”

“Where in God’s name were you last night?” he demanded as he closed the distance between them. “Father and I were worried sick. Don’t even get me started on the fit Ser Donal was throwing–”

“I doubt Father was that concerned,” he mumbled under his breath sourly, turning to leave.

A hand snatched his wrist to turn him back around gently as he heard his older brother sigh impatiently. And yet he could tell there was a hint of sympathy within the breath.

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“I’m fine, I was just… out,” he answered vaguely, hugging his elbows.

Philip raised a neatly trimmed eyebrow. “Out? You don’t go out. Out where?”

“To a tavern.” Aryn answered shortly. “I… made a friend, and he invited me out last night. I am a man now, Philip. I can make my own decisions.”

“It’s fine to make your own decisions, but you could have at least made us aware of them,” he lectured, placing a hand on his hip. “I mean honestly Aryn you’ve been acting so different since–”

“Since what? Since Mum died? Well excuse me if I’m not all sunshine and rainbows after someone who actually loved me was taken away,” he spat.

Philip’s face flushed red with anger as he stepped closer, grabbing his younger brother’s slender arm. This time his hand was far less gentle. “Keep your voice down…”

He wrenched his arm free. “Why? Are you afraid Father will hear? For God’s sake, Philip, he’s said it before himself. Stop trying to pretend like you two care about me.”

“Well maybe that isn’t entirely his fault, now is it? You don’t exactly make it easy for–”

“Sons.”

The two of them quickly halted their bickering and turned to spot their father at the end of the hall, coming out of the throne room. Even though he was aging, his size was still staggering. Extremely tall and still muscular from days long past, his cold eyes and harsh features made his very presence intimidating. He stared at them expectantly, accusatory.

“Father,” Aryn was the first to murmur with a bow of his head, avoiding eye contact.

“Aryn, where were you?”

“Out.”

“That is not an answer.”

He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth. “I was at the Dragon’s Nest in the middle circle.”

“Why?”

“Because I made a friend there, and he invited me back last night. And I had quite a lovely time, actually.”

“If you’ve decided to slum around with the common folk–”

“I’m not slumming around. I did what you asked of me. I got up and did something.”

“And that something just so happens to be discrediting you of any dignity you might have had. Is it really worth tarnishing our reputation among the other noble houses just because you want to play the rebel and get drunk with shit shovellers?”

His face grew hot, and his skin flushed with rage. His thoughts drifted towards Percy.

“You won’t have to worry about our reputation, Father. Yours is already in a goddamn shithole,” he spat before turning on his heel and storming into his chambers.

He slammed the wooden door closed with a resounding thud before fumbling with the lock. His feet carried him to his bed as he threw himself down on his back, forearms covering his eyes as he began to feel tears well up inside them.

The older he became, the more and more he realized that he didn’t belong in this world, the world of nobility that is. He somewhat blamed his mother for that. She had taught him her values: love, kindness, forgiveness, empathy, selflessness. None of these translated to the den of vipers that was the noble court. Among the upper class, it was every man for himself. Anything to get a step ahead of everyone else. Lying, backstabbing, cheating, deceiving, even killing. That’s how their world worked. There was no kindness involved, no empathy for others, no understanding and cherishing of differences. He didn’t want to be part of it.

His mind wandered back towards the tan skin, the curly dark brown hair and piercing green eyes. His crooked, beaming smile. The way he looked at him and held onto him, like he was the only thing that existed in that moment.

He needed to see him again.