Day loves going outside the palace walls, hiding and drawing in the middle of the woods behind the palace.
Most days, he will draw and nap in his favorite spot, a clearing where he can hear the waterfalls, even though he isn't allowed to venture far. Honestly, he isn't allowed to go anywhere, but he likes it outside. Inside is stuffy, and he is always required to be seen, near his mother or his papa, or with his bodyguard. He doesn't understand why a kid his age needs someone to protect and follow him all the time.
It's tiring, and so the little free time he gets, the little freedom he feels is when he is outside the walls, drawing and then napping or simply staring up at the sky past the tall trees as he lies in the soft grass until he has to creep up the wall and into his chambers again.
He hates it here. He has no friends, and his family members are all too grown for him to play with. His mother and papa don't even allow him to play with his cousins, which hurts him so much.
Why is he not allowed to be with other kids? Why can't he play and go out? Why can't he go to one of the schools that he heard his cousins speak of? Where he could play and make friends?
He has no friends, always alone. He has been alone since he became aware of his surroundings and his existence.
It's okay, he thinks. Maybe one day he will go somewhere far, and maybe he will see the world that his cousins speak of. Of friends, foods that he hasn't heard of, and people. The only people he is allowed to interact with are five. His nursemaid, his mother, father, grandmother, and his guard.
The small boy is so lost in his thoughts and his drawings that he doesn't notice or see that he is no longer alone.
Something is watching him from afar …
Day jerks awake, sweating and panting. His heart is beating so fast, his mind is telling him he isn't safe, that he has to take a few breaths in to calm himself when he wakes up, and he isn't in his bedroom back home.
It takes longer to remember that he is in his new home, away and safe. Still, even as he calms his racing heart, he cannot get settled.
That dream again. It has been haunting him since he was sixteen. He always dreams of it, but he thought he was past it; it has come full force after not experiencing it for a while.
It felt too real this time round, like he was reliving it. Like it was real.
But they aren't. All his dreams aren't real, that much he knows.
His mother and father have told him the nightmares are just that.
Nightmares.
Not real.
So day reminds himself that, as he finally calms down, but then his mind catches up on the state of his body, the fact that his fever is so high, he is shivering, and his bed sheets are soaked in his sweat.
How long was he asleep for?
Removing the IV dip on his inner wrist, he gets off the bed with wobbly legs and walks slowly to the bathroom.
Everything still aches, and it's physically painful to move; his whole stomach and groin area feel like he has been bruised. Too tender.
The boy knows he needs a soak, so he lets the tub fill with warm water and then pours the oils he was recommended to use during this time.
When he finally removes his soiled pajamas and submerges in the tub, a sigh escapes his chapped lips, eyes drooping with exhaustion.
When he closes his eyes, a face appears behind his eyelids.
A stranger. Someone he ran into this afternoon.
He has been at the back of his mind, like a niggling topic that day needs to address this whole time, even in the middle of the pains, and now that he has finally let himself think about him, he finds himself wondering why a stranger would be stuck in his mind.
And why does the thought of him bring this … warmness in his whole body, sort of like relief? Why …?
It's stupid, day deducts. He is exhausted and sick out of his mind. There is no reason to even think of someone whom you casually bumped into, no reason to remember his scent.
That dark chocolate scent that was so rich that day felt like the most delicious bar of chocolate was meeting at the back of his tongue, and he had to swallow. The way his body was so hard, how he could feel the hard ridges of the muscles, how his body jerked under his touch, no matter how brief it was.
There isn't a reason for day to remember how his body felt so responsive for the few seconds that the stranger's hand was at his back.
Supporting him, of course, but still …when they were in contact, everything faded, and all that day could feel, smell, and see was the most handsome man he had ever seen.
Dark eyes with a tinge of red that he swears must be contacts, the way his hair was pushed back, gelled and styled so well that his whole face was full on display. The red lips, full and soft looking, high cheekbones, sharp jaw that clenched the longer he looked at day, smoldering eyes …
There is no reason to think of him. he was handsome, very hot, the kind of hot he has never come across at all, and he is thinking of him now, delusional and high off the painkillers.
Yeah.
It doesn't bother him at all that his body is now making him feel a different kind of discomfort, so foreign that his cheeks are turning red the longer he acknowledges it.
It's ridiculous.
So, day doesn't think about it. He tries to think of how he feels, how he will sleep after the soak, how he will fully rest, and when he wakes up, all of this will be over. He is proud that he can now take care of himself. Doesn't need anyone.
It doesn't matter how quiet the whole apartment is. How he can he feel the tinge of loneliness creeping in. He can't think of that because his mind comes up with ideas. Options that don't even make sense.
If that stranger was around the bakery, that would mean he is a neighbor, maybe.
Day groans out loud, eyes falling shut, and this time, it's not due to pain.
He needs to get a grip.