A/N: So this idea actually came to me when I was painting a hallway, though I'm not sure how "Tinfoil Gray" inspired me. Now, with the smears of paint washed off my hands, it just has to be written out. Enjoy!
Narrator
"Once upon a time" is disgustingly overrated. Stories beginning with those four sickly sweet words contain the slaughtering of dragons and old hags and end with ridiculous, unrealistic, and incredibly heterosexual relationships. Who would want to kill a dragon? Doesn't anybody realize how unbelievably rare those things are? This story certainly does not start with the syrupy garbage that is "Once upon a time".
No, this story does not start with "Once upon a time." This story starts with two boys. Two boys, and a muffin. (It's a rather Aladdin-esque situation if you ask me. You know, with the bread and all.) A prince of raven hair and piercing blue eyes, and a baker's son, with enough warmth in his bronzy brown irises to set a forest on fire. Two boys separated by status and thick castle walls, but alike in nature and heart. This is where the story could veer off into the whole, "but their love defied all odds" but that would be stereotypical and overused. Not to mention, for all you, the dear reader, could know, they just become best friends. However, platonic bros just wouldn't be true, nor would it be at all realistic.
The royal of dark hair was the younger of two sons of the Great King of the Meyer kingdom, and handsomer than the day is long. Silky black locks framing a fair face and eyes that spoke of the oceans beyond the wooded kingdom, taller than the majority of men living in Meyer, and a personality of pure gold, made him, in the eyes of many youths, their silver knight in shining armor. He hated wearing armor. Lusted after by noblewomen and peasants alike, the young prince lived a comfortable life filled with suiters and lovers, devotees and admirers. But the prince, at only the age of nineteen and still just a boy, was horribly unhappy.
Virtually, he had nothing to worry about. He wasn't the heir; he hadn't a kingdom to rule or a princess to marry, a child to produce. He lived in posh quarters, ate exquisite food, and was surrounded by affectionate women and servants waiting on his hands and feet. But he was never quite satisfied, for lack of better words.
The poor boy did not appreciate spotlights or extra attention, but there was one little detail his father always overlooked when he searched for prospects for his son. It's not that he didn't appreciate his father, but he wasn't exactly interested in humans of the female gender. Like, at all. Such a thing was unheard of by the old-fashioned King, however, and so the prince lived a miserable life filled with girls he held no interest in, and a father who refused to listen. His mother and brother, sympathetic and understanding of his situation, attempted to appeal to his father, but the King's ears were closed.
Regardless of his dire circumstances, one could describe the boy as the literal embodiment of sunshine. Pure goodness radiated off him, and hatred, either by him or for him, was practically unheard of. He was the exact opposite of the baker's son.
Ah, yes, the brunet boy of seventeen, dark and intriguing with a knack for music. Brown curls the shade of chestnut sat atop his head, and tawny brown eyes shot through with umber and sepia looked as though they held all the secrets of existence.
Tall and lofty, he held none of the grace the prince did, but all of the height. He had a loud laugh, was perceptive and savvy in conversations, and had quite the sense of humor. Sadly, his wit and slightly dark comedy was nothing nearly anyone knew about. He wore dark clothes as though he attended funeral every day, and was silent in most social settings. He was wordy and articulate, but no one would believe it as he rarely spoke to those he was not comfortable around. One could say he was awkward, others that he was lonely.
He kept to himself and helped his father in the bakery. When not rolling dough or frosting delicacies, he played the piano. He played and played and played, until there was no one better. And then he played some more.
Unlike the prince, he didn't have people falling over him left and right. He had certainly had the looks for it, but he kept his hair straight and cap pulled down low, and kept his clothes dark to match the night sky. Also unlike the prince, he had never given much thought to love. He was attracted to girls, and he was attracted to guys. There was no need to label it. He disliked many people anyway, so it didn't matter who he leaned towards.
The baker was not the most sentimental person to exist, and the boy's mother had disappeared when he was seven, so he didn't have much to worry about family-wise with acceptance and such. As long as he helped with the pastries, he was a golden child. His few friends had never really asked him about his love life, besides the occasional inquiry about whether he was in relationship or not, so he never really told.
Both boys had deemed themselves forever alone (how dramatic of them), and so the days melded together. Nothing significant happened. The prince lounged around, tending to his plants and reading from the grand castle library, while the baker's song attempted to bake, and flew home to the wobbly old piano as soon as he could. His fingers dancing across the keys was the only escape from the real world. He could play as though he was desperately in love, or as an adventurous explorer, or a miserable ghost. Just as the baker's son had his music, the prince had his books, and they both lived their lives in solitude. The idea of true love and happiness was ebbing away.
At least, until one day the baker's son was selling baked goods at the market and the prince decided to take an unplanned trip down to the town.
Phil's POV
The first thing on my mind one morning was hunger. This was a usual occurrence, but not so early in the morning the sun had just risen. I groaned.
It was too early for breakfast, but my hunger was unavoidable. As a prince, I should be able to eat whenever, but the kitchen staff would be too busy to make me a small dish as they prepare the meals for the day.
My stomach rumbled as I lay in my bed, truly king sized. Too bad I was never to be king. The silken sheets were beginning to keel scratchy against my skin, and all I could see when I closed my eyes was the kitchen pantry. I flicked my eyes around the room, noticing in dismay there were no servants or maids. It was just too early.
Groaning again, I shoved off my sheets and coverlet and felt around on one of the nightstands for my glasses. The blurry world came into sharp focus as I slid them on, and I shuffled across the room to the window. I threw open the hallway-closed velvet curtains and stared at the horizon.
The sun, a big ball of butter in the pale blue sky, was hardly risen, yet my stomach was growling at me that it was definitely time to eat.
Yanking on a robe, I jerked open my bedroom door only to be greeted by chilly air and not a single scent hinting of breakfast. I sighed.
I plodded through the castle, finding only empty halls, excluding the few guards. Upon making it to the kitchens, I paused, hearing a youthful feminine voice through the walls. I didn't dare go in, and instead stayed outside the door to listen to the latest bit of gossip. They wouldn't say anything of interest if I, the prince, was around. Melody, a young maid recently hired, seemed to be speaking. I pressed my ear against the door in earnest and quieted my breathing.
"-So I was walking through the market just now, as you do," she was saying, "and I happened upon the baker's son! He was selling some croissants-absolutely to die for-and he smiled at me! Can you believe it? Daniel Howell, smiling at me, a random customer!" Her voice had risen an octave and I was slightly annoyed by the teenage drama, but the name stirred some interest. I wondered what was so great about this Daniel Howell character.
"He's such a bitter one, that boy," a voice that sounded like Chief Cook Sloane's said gruffly. "He'd be quite the charmer if it wasn't for that permanent scowl."
"Cook!" Melody squealed. "He's already so handsome, and just seventeen too!" I rolled my eyes. What was Melody, fifteen? Maybe, maybe sixteen? God, I was sour today.
"What are you, Mel? Sixteen?" A third voice chimed in, unfamiliar.
"Fifteen." Melody grumbled. I smirked.
"It's a shame what happened to that boy's mother," Sloane said, tone softening. "I suppose the poor thing has been through a bit."
"Such a shame." Other voices chorused. What had happened to the mother?
Finally deciding my famished belly was more important than my need for gossip, I pushed open the kitchen. The three I had overheard talking were there, as well as two men and another girl. All thoughts of happiness seemed to drain from their faces. I smiled wide.
"Good morning!" I said cheerfully. "I am absolutely starved!"
Melody exhaled, her relief prominent, and smiled at me. Sloane winked at me from where she was mincing a vegetable of some sort on a wooden slab. I began to wander through the kitchen, waving my hand lazily at the servants who stopped what they were doing to stare at me.
"Got anything for me to eat?" I asked Melody, who was trailing behind me in almost awe. I turned, putting on a charming smile. She blushed deep red, and croaked, "Uh, I don't know, Sir Prince." I muffled a laugh. Sir Prince? Is that what they're calling me now?
"You can call me Phil, if you'd please, Melody." I told her, voice light. She gaped me. Perhaps she had not expected me to know her name? But I had told the staff time and time again to just call me Phil.
"Um, actually, uh, Phil, I could go down to the market and get you something," Melody suggested as I opened the doors to the large pantry. I whirled around.
"Nonsense! It would take you much too long! I'll go myself!" I announced, and thanked Melody graciously for the idea. I needed to get out of the castle, not to mention I was curious about the baker's son.
I turned and strode purposefully to the doors, smiling brightly at everyone in my path. I could feel Melody's eyes burning a hole through my back.
I ran through the castle, careful to keep my feet light. It was still morning, after all. Upon making it into my bedroom, I dug through my expansive closet until finding old raggedy trousers and shirt, dirt stained and torn from brambles here and there. They were from a hunting trip I had been forced onto with my brother, and I hadn't worn them since. They would be perfect for posing as a commoner.
I also grabbed a soft brown cloak coated with wool as I pulled on old boots. My father had thrown a fit when he saw I had had such a common thing made, but I had kept it regardless of his disapproval. To add final touches, I mused up my hair and rubbed a bit of ash from the fireplace on my cheeks, and stuck my hands into one of my plants pots to get dirt underneath my nails. I was finally ready.
I slipped out of my room and walked quickly through the winding halls, despises my father for building such a huge castle. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a small cottage on the outskirts of town.
I make my way back to the kitchens and sneak through. The majority of the staff are too focused on preparing the royal breakfast to pay me any attention. I escape through a back door and find myself breathing in the sweet morning air, unfiltered and clean.
Then came the hard part. Getting to town.
Half an hour later
Exhausted and hungrier than ever, I wandered through the streets of the town of Oakland, named after the surrounding forests. It had taken me what felt like ages to get to the town. The roads were only vaguely familiar, so the best I could do was follow the noises of what I assumed was the market. And finally, I happened upon the town square.
Booths and stalls were everywhere, and people milled around laughing and talking. Crates of ripe, glistening fruit and bright, raw vegetables overflowed from one vendor, while the next held sacks of fresh, raw meat. One stall held brightly colored handmade jewelry, while the next was filled with cloths of all different colors. The sun shined down on the townspeople, and happiness was prominent. I loved everything I saw.
My rumbling stomach interrupted my thoughts, so I set forward, following the scent of warm bread as best as I could. Residents of Oakland brushed past me, paying no attention to their prince. It was great.
The scent of fresh dough and spices wafted towards me from a small stall, and I turned towards it. I was greeted by the sight of a brown haired boy with dark eyes and flour dusted clothes. He was accepting payment from a lady holding two loaves of bread. Was this the Daniel Howell Melody had spoken so fondly of?
I strode towards him, and his eyes snapped away from his customer and up to me. I almost froze in my tracks. In his beautifully warm eyes swam more emotions than I could name. And then he smiled. Dimples and teeth and smiley crinkles, and I was smitten.
He was fairly tall, probably around my height. That was pretty rare. Simple brown hair topped off his head, curling adorably at the end. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels as I approached him. I took a deep breath.
"Hey, Prince. Are you going to buy anything?" he asked me, nonchalant. I was floored. Not only had he recognized me underneath my filthy garb, he spoke to me informally, as though we were old friends. But it wasn't just his words. His voice sounded differently than any I had heard in a long time. The accents of most people in Oakland, and really the kingdom of Meyer as a whole, were deep and Northern. But this boy, this young baker, had a rich, posh, and unfamiliar voice that stuck me deep in my core. It was musical and bright and not at all what I would expect from someone clothed entirely in black underneath his apron.
I must've stood there, gaping at him, for an unreasonable amount of time, because he looked rather confused. He waved a hand in front of my face, and I snapped out of my gaze.
"So… Are you?" He repeated. I nodded, probably too quickly. He looked at me funny again but stepped back and spread his arms wide. "Your choice!"
I looked down and pointed to the muffins. "Blueberry." I croaked. The boy smirked, and began to package it up. I handed over the payment and looked around, anywhere but his face.
Get a hold of yourself, Philip! I scolded myself, and shook myself off. I fixed my face into an expression of calmness, but a warm smile as if to say, I'm cool and collected as a cucumber, but I'm friendly and approachable too.
The boy grinned slightly as he handed me my breakfast. I noticed his dimples again, and resisted the urge to stab myself with a fork.
I nodded and pulled up my hood as I turned away. I didn't want anyone else to recognize me. I pushed through the crowd, knowing with growing anxiety a tall, cloaked boy in ragged clothing and a fast pace was bound to rouse some suspicion.
I hurried through the town to the forest, and ate my muffin leaning against a tree. Hours passed as I sat there. Around midday, I got up and went back to the market. I purchased some bread from a different vendor, and some cheese. It wasn't the best lunch, and the bread wasn't nearly as good as the muffin, but this is what I got for sneaking out of the castle.
The sun beat down on me and tanned my fair skin, so I moved to a shadier part of the forest. My mother would not approve of the loss of my Snow White status, but I didn't care. It was the most peaceful day I'd had in ages.
In the evening, I was staring blankly at the distant townhouses, debating whether or not I should head back home, when I noticed a tall figure dressed in dark clothing walking towards the forest. I watched them with intrigue, as they seemed to be heading my way.
I stood and began to stroll to them. The person, who seemed to be a boy, froze. I stopped too, wondering if it was because of me. A loud "ughhhhh" came from the boy before they continued on towards me. As they neared, I realized with amazement that it was the baker's son, holding a bundle of what I assume was leftover baked goods.
My heartbeat had increased upon seeing him, and I was anxious for him to hurry up. What was wrong with me?
He stopped a few feet short of me. "Prince." He said, his voice unruffled and low. I smiled.
"Fancy seeing you here, baker's son," I replied. He rolled his eyes and continued walking. As I turned to walk alongside him into the forest, I noticed a slight smirk. My smile grew.
"Where are we going?" I asked cheerfully. He rolled his eyes again; he could be a professional at that.
"We are not going anywhere," He informed me. "You, the fair prince of Meyer, are going back to your castle, and I am going home."
"How could you tell it was me?" I asked, ignoring his previous statement. I watched as his face turned a pretty shade of pink. What had I said that merited blushing?
"Well, uh. You're- you're the prince. Messy hair and ash won't change that." he said, and reached over to flick his fingers across the smudges. It was then my turn to blush horribly. His eyes lit up once he saw my flushed cheeks, and he smiled smugly.
"Why are we in the forest?" I asked, breaking what I felt was awkward ice. He laughed then, and it could've made me melt. Loud and real and amazing, it was one of the happiest sounds I had ever heard.
"I live in the woods, Prince. We're on our way home." He replied, breathless in between laughs. I smiled big at his use of the words "we" and "our". I shook my head.
"You know, you could call me Phil. It's not like my actual name is Prince." I told him. He laughed again.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Prince." I gaped at him. Was he flirting with me? Me, the assumedly straight prince? I had no idea what was going on. The boy just laughed again at my expression.
He stopped suddenly and stuck out his hand. "My name is Dan, by the way. Dan Howell at your service." I smiled and shook his hand. I know.
We continued to walk, and we were suddenly in a large clearing. The moon was beginning to rise, and it shone down on a stone cottage with a thatched roof. Vines crept up the broken stones and rocks the walls were made up of, and the garden to the side of the house was overrun by wild plants. Two stout chimneys let out fat puffs of dark smoke, and I could vaguely smell what I thought was beef. A path made of crookedly laid stones led up to the rickety wooden door. I loved it immediately.
"Alright, Prince. Here we are. What're you going to do?" Dan asked. Was he smirking? I stuck my chin up high.
"Today I have made myself a friend, so I am going to eat dinner with him in his beautiful cottage in the wood. No discussion." I boldly stated. Dan shrugged. "Okay."
Okay? Okay?! He was letting me stay? Today was shaping up to the best day of my life. A question suddenly popped into my head.
"If you're the baker's son, why do you live in the woods?"
Dan turned around, exasperated. "Philip. You can't just ask someone why they live in the woods."
I swallowed, embarrassed. Dan chuckled, and pushed open the door, shouting, "Dad! We've got a guest!"
Dan muttered something about putting the food away once we were both inside in front of the shut door, and all I could do was nod as I gazed around in complete awe.
The door seemed to be placed in the center of the living room. The textured stone walls were lined with bookcases, and a hearty fireplace took up the back middle of the room. Old wooden sofas and chairs were scattered throughout the room, littered with overstuffed pillowcases. Candles of various heights sat on small shelves around the room. Doors on my left and right led off to different rooms. I walked towards the left one, where Dan had disappeared into.
I found myself in the kitchen where a larger fireplace took up the majority of the room. There was a sink near it and a large countertop with three stools in the center of the room. Shelves and cabinets were on every wall. Dan was stuffing the leftover bread in a cupboard already full of pastries. There was another door in the back of the room, which was partially open. I glimpsed part of a bed before Dan yanked the door shut and stood in front of it. The most noticeable thing in the room, though, was a tall muscular man knelt in front of the pot on the fire.
Dan cleared his throat loudly, and the man stood up abruptly and turned. He looked a bit like Dan, but beefier and (obviously) older. His smile threatened to split his face.
"Daniel!" he exclaimed, gathering Dan up in his arms in a bone crushing hug. I smiled sadly, staring down at the ground. Dan looked extremely embarrassed, but I thought being embarrassed but loved was better than having a father who was anything ranging from strong and cruel to proud and tough, but never affectionate.
"Dad, this is Phil. Phil, meet my dad." Dan said, having escaped his father's grasp. I smiled politely and stepped forward, sticking out my hand. Mr. Howell looked at it, then up and down at m scruffy appearance. My hand fell, just a bit, before he yanked me towards him and gave me a hug almost as tight as Dan's.
"Nice to meet you." I wheezed. What a strange day.
After letting go of me, Mr. Howell turned back to the pot on the fire. "Beef stew tonight. With rosemary potato rolls," he told me, before adding with a wink, "Hope it's not too fancy for the likes of you."
I opened my mouth to kindly explain that no, actually, I was a prince, and had "fancy" cuisine daily. Dan glared at me and before I could say anything, he was ushering me to one of the stools.
"Relax." He hissed, before sitting next to me. I waited patiently as his father scooped up stew into bowls and put them in front of us. As soon as he sat down, Mr. Howell dug in. Dan didn't budge. I stared down at the brown sludge. Chopped carrots, potatoes, and onions sat alongside the brown chunks of beef.
"Not your style?" Mr. Howell asked, chuckling. Dan rolled his eyes.
"Dad, Phil is from a very privileged family. He probably thinks it's not up to his standards." Dan responded for me, poking at his stew. I glared at him.
It wasn't ideal, but I was ravenous and it smelled amazing, so I scoped some up and took a bite.
It was absolutely astounding. After taking the first bite I dug through the stew, occasionally stopping to rip of a hunk of the equally amazing rolls. Chew, swallow, and repeat. It was the best meal I had ever had, and I told them so.
Mr. Howell laughed, and Dan raised an eyebrow. He had only started to eat after I did, and he hadn't sped through it like I did. I sighed.
"Well, thank you for your graciousness and wonderful meal," I said, standing up. "I should be heading home." I hoped my voice didn't sound as miserable as I was to leave. It must've, however, because Dan shot up.
"Absolutely not! We are in the middle of the woods, in case you forgot. No way are you leaving." Dan exclaimed, his voice loud and anxious. "You can stay with me, and go back in the morning."
I stared at Dan, astounded. Did he really want me to stay? His face, full of worry and apprehension, said that he did. I smiled.
"Sure, I'll stay! If that's alright with you, Mr. Howell?" I said. He shrugged in response, focused on his dinner. Dan visibly exhaled. My smile grew.
An hour later
I was curled up on a big chair in Dan's room, covered in blankets. It was late; Dan had already fallen asleep. I watched him with curiosity, realizing I had never been in such an intimate situation with a boy before. It was just sleeping on opposite sides of the room, which goes to say how much time I spend with other boys.
Dan was even more gorgeous when he slept. He just looked so peaceful. He whimpered, eyelashes fluttering, and all I could think was that I wanted to help him. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted him.
Shocked at this sudden realization, I jerked my gaze away from him. Can someone even fall in love within just the course of a day?
Apparently.
And the prince fell in love.
A/N: Wow, okay. Hope all you guys enjoyed!