Vittorio had led them to the guest room he was staying in, and after an hour and a half of Vi’s calloused hands sifting through the soft uneven strands of Oliver’s mop of hair, the pair were left giddy, finding any reason to have their arms intertwined in some way. The Prince had shown Oliver different ways to style his hair and even helped trim and tidy the strands.

Oliver stared as he watched the dark bundles of hair fall from his head. A sudden strike of pain hit his chest, a strange sense of remorse that mirrored the joy he felt cutting all of his hair off the night before. It was fine. The shorter; the better. The shorter; the more masculine. The priority was passing as a man. Not… whatever strange attachment Ophelia had.

After they had styled, cut and taught Oliver ways to manipulate the shapes, they devolved into wordless affection, mostly light petting on Vittorio’s part. Oliver had ended up sitting across Vi’s lap on the stool in Vittorio’s small study.

Oliver relished in the touches, but a piece of his stomach churned, bubbling with anxious questions that threatened to regurgitate.

Why now? Are you doing this because you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me as Oliver? Did you love Ophelia? What if you love Ophelia, but not Oliver? What if you love Oliver… but not Ophelia? What does this all mean?

The questions disappeared like dust in the wind the moment Vittorio’s knuckles brushed over Oliver’s cheek. The Prince’s eyes returned to that half-closed downturned position as they swirled around Oliver’s face, following the dark markings that Oli had never shown to anybody. Slowly, his fingers gently ran along the lines.

Ophelia used to sit in the Prince’s lap like this, and he used to play with her hair and braid it. He used to run his hands through her hair like this, and it left her just as breathless and enchanted as it did to Oliver. But his face was never like this, the atmosphere around them was never like this.

Oliver felt his brow furrow and twitch.

He felt the Prince’s hand freeze.

He felt his neck recoil, pulling his head away from the Prince’s hand. Vi’s hand almost followed if it weren't for Oliver reaching up and grabbing it in his own calloused hands. He looked down at their hands as Oli ran his fingertips over Vittorio’s.

“Vi… do you… do you actually see me as Oliver?” He heard the Prince let out a small laugh, the puff of air caressing his face. He felt a pair of fingers grip his chin and lift his face to meet the Prince’s gaze.

He was smiling, sweetly. He simply nodded in silence.

“Then… do you…” Oliver let the question hang in his mouth. The Prince stared intensely into Oliver’s eyes. That golden smile of Vittorio’s grew stale. “Do you prefer the company of men?”

Vi’s smile faded at the question and a tiny, well-hidden shiver ran through his limbs. His eyes widened and flicked back and forth across Oliver’s face in thought. He sighed, eyelids returning to their half-lidded soft expression.

He smiled again.

Sweetly.

He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.” There was a hopeless dejected tone that weaved its way into the lighthearted inflection he tried to force. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, Oliver, but- well… you’ve always been my best friend. I’ve always wanted to love you more than that, but my heart wouldn’t…” He trailed off. “My heart wasn’t made to love a woman.”

He looked down at their hands, planting his free hand on top of them. He brought the bundle of fists to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of Oliver’s hand. “You have no idea how overjoyed I was to see you at that table this morning.”

Oliver held his breath.

“I think that final little piece of the puzzle fell into place right then.” He peered over their hands. They sat in silence for a moment and Oliver let out the shaking breath he held.

“I’m scared.” Oliver was barely above a whisper. “I really wanted to seem strong, but I’m so, so scared, Vi.”

Vittorio looked over Oli’s face and gently pulled him into a tight hug. “I think I love you, Oliver.” His voice was breathy and quiet, close to Oliver’s ear and it made his heart skip a beat. “I really, really want to love you. And I do really mean you. But I can only do that if you were to… be a woman. But, I would- I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He pulled out of the hug, his hands holding Oliver’s shoulders. “This is a tricky situation. Either we focus on keeping you safe until I am king when I can change the laws and advocate for real change. But you’d have to lay low- and be discreet about your identity. You’d have to be Ophelia for a little longer.”

He looked down and ran his hands down Oliver’s arms.

“Or… you could do what you want! Live as you want… but I wouldn’t be able to protect you. Or- or openly associate with you until I am king.” His voice quivered and his face twitched as if holding back a wince to his own words. He kept his eyes on their hands and he gently rubbed a thumb back and forth over Oliver’s knuckles.

“In that case, we would need to keep our relationship a secret. I can’t risk you falling into danger or my standing as the crown prince falling to my brother because of some stupid, outdated beliefs. I would need you to prove to the kingdom that you are a man. That way they will listen when I tell them we are husbands, that men like you and me are real, and we are capable of virtue and love.”

He fell quiet and his hands stopped moving, leaving the shiver in his fingers as the only movement in the room.

Oliver slipped his hands out from under Vittorio’s, cradling his arms with them.

“...I can’t go back to being… Oph… wh-who I was.” Oliver flicked his eyes away as soon as Vittorio tried to meet them. “I still want… I still want to be with you, and I understand not being public about it. I’m not… exactly happy with this plan but it is the best-case scenario.”

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The golden prince hesitated, a single hand just barely outstretched. He retracted the hand, planting it in the crook of his neck where it met his shoulder.

“I understand. I had hoped otherwise, only to show you off as mine.”

He leaned forward, his hand now gently pulling Oliver by his waist into a hug. His chin rested on Oliver’s shoulder, his lips right by Oliver’s ear. “I will support you in every choice you make. I will be by your side no matter what, from the shadows.

Oliver felt his face grow hot and he hid it in Vittorio’s neck, shaking arms embracing him. He felt his heart leap, threatening to escape his throat and run wild with sweet nothings.

He swallowed the urge and simply nodded, a quiet “mhm” echoing from his pursed lips.

Vittorio’s wandering hands left Oliver’s hair and a familiar worn leather cap abruptly took its place. Oliver straightened his back and looked up sharply, causing the bulky hat to fall crookedly over his eyes.

Vittorio’s familiar chuckle reached his ears, not the smooth, practised laugh, but the dorky, gravelly chuckle the prince reserved for moments with Oliver, alone.

Oliver reset the hat on his head and looked over at Vittorio, who was pushing himself to his feet.

“How about we buy you some clothes that actually fit you?”

They grinned at each other, Oliver’s heart welling up with joy. The pair spent some time picking out “commoner disguises” for the other, as they used to do.

Oliver relished in Vittorio’s eyes watching him during their little fashion show. When he reappeared from behind the privacy screen, strutting and dancing, Vittorio was waiting for him, splayed out on a cushioned chair with his cheek in his palm. He was staring, his eyes complimentary to the rest of the strange expression that marred his face. It set the butterflies in Oliver’s stomach aflight, whether in confusion, or anxiety or giddy anticipation, he had no idea.

With hands entwined, the pair peeked their heads out into the hallway, now disguised in clothes too good to be a commoner's but non-expensive enough to fake it. After a quick scan, they tiptoed their way out and down the hall, sneaking around like they used to. They managed to sneak down to Oliver’s room and out to the balcony, where they separated their hands and vaulted over the railing.

They twirled and dived in a dance-like motion, their movements each their own but nonetheless mirroring the other as they jumped between supports, beams and podiums. It was a risky but fun descent down the rocky cliff that they had rehearsed many times.

Oliver cast a quick glance at Vi, who met him with a grin of ecstasy. He saw the laughter bubbling into the prince’s chest purely in his eyes, eyes staring at him. His cheeks grew hot again and he couldn’t find a way to pull his eyes elsewhere. That was, until he found a single foot out of place, his toes catching on a stray rock that sent him tumbling over himself. Panic took over his senses as he reached his hands out to catch his fall, the last part of the cliff greeting his vision. He heard Vittorio call his name. Luckily they were reaching the bottom of the cliff, where the steepness had started to even out and he went rolling down.

His barrel roll continued a little longer and he let it take him until the momentum stopped, leaving him still, face down in the dirt with his arms by his side. It didn’t take long for the hilarity of it all to numb the pain of the minor scrapes he endured. He pushed himself up onto his chest, giggling like a child as Vi made it to the bottom and ran to his side, distressed.

“Oliver, are you okay?” His voice cracked. “What- How did you- How did you even manage that?”

Between laughs and gasps, Oliver chimed out; “I- Ha- I was distracted… for a moment. I’m fine.” He pushed himself to his knees, wincing slightly. He inspected the damage to his clothes and looked at Vittorio with a half-smile. “I… I suppose this helps our case? A little? I look scruffy enough to be a street urchin, right?”

Vi loosed a sigh and a chuckle. He fell back onto his butt and rested an elbow on one knee. “Sure. It suits you, I suppose.” He grinned and slapped Oli’s hat down to cover his eyes again. “Come on, silly, we’ve got stuff to do before nightfall.”

Oli heard the shuffling of cloth and leather as he readjusted his hat. He turned and found Vittorio waiting for him further down the path. With a smile, he stood and followed, ignoring the stinging pain in his legs.

They wandered into town, basking in the fact that nobody even glanced their way like they were used to. It had been so long since they had snuck out together.

The capital was only a few hours away by carriage so they did see each other quite frequently growing up, but the Prince had been enrolled in the Royal Academy since he was thirteen. The Academy rarely allows visitors and is notorious for its rigorous and exhausting curriculum. Ever since his enrollment, they could only ever see each other at the end of the year before the new classes began, which was a two-month window, give or take a week or two. That didn’t even include all the time Vi needed to spend preparing and studying.

This time it was different. The air felt different between them. Like it buzzed.

As they strolled along, boots kicking up dust and scratching the cobblestones, Oliver’s eyes wandered the windows of the stores they passed, the children running and playing, their parents waiting nearby with wagons and baskets of food or washing. Busy people living busy lives. Oliver let his eyes land anywhere but on Vittorio, he felt his stomach twist into knots whenever he got close to it.

He could feel Vi staring at him. Still.

“Oliver.”

Oliver paused, trailing the lines between the stones on the ground until they reached Vi’s shoes. He nodded a quick ‘mhm’, biting the inside of his cheek. A hand warmly grabbed his and he hid back a wince, feeling rough skin grate against a scratched patch. Oliver raised his head, the warm face of the prince greeting him.

A cold feeling crept over him and he looked around. Now, people were staring.

“V-Vi, a little reminder that I look like a boy?” He whispered behind a cupped hand. Vi’s face ran pale, and he immediately retracted his hand.

“S-sorry, Oliver. I guess I got carried away.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to… Nevermind. Here, follow me.” He turned and began a slow shamble down a small alley. “Wait here. I want to grab us some street food and then we can wander through the back alleys and stay a little more inconspicuous this way. Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Without another word, he ran out of the alley. Oliver stood in the shadow-blanketed alley as he watched Vittorio’s back, running out into the sunlight; his sunny, golden curls tucked away under a shoddy cap. His hand reached out as if to grab him from meters away, flinching frozen millimetres away from the light.

It took for the prince to disappear from sight until Oliver snapped himself awake, and he stumbled back in uneven steps, clutching his wrist in his other hand. He sighed and fell back on the wall, sliding down it to sit on the dusty stone, legs outstretched before him.

How silly I am.

How stupid.

He facepalmed and pouted, feeling his neck shrink into his shoulders. He stared idly at the ground, eyes trailing down the alley. It winded around corners, out of sight, mould and lichen coating the deeper parts of it.

He’d seen it all before anyway.

He looked above now, seeing the mid-morning sunrays creep over the roof of the building in front of him. He locked eyes with a particularly slow cloud and watched it until it disappeared over the other roof.

Oliver groaned and shrunk further, now practically lying in the alleyway. He tipped his hat to cover his eyes and grumbled to himself.

When the sound of scuffling shoes met his ears, he sat up, readjusting his hat with a growing relief.

“Finally, Vi!” 2 more sets of boots shuffled into the alley. “I thought you- had… died…”

Oliver trailed off.