Thing is he has a reputation to keep. He's the prince of Demacia, for crying out loud, and there are families, royal families, climbing over themselves to introduce their daughters to him. and his father no longer waves them away because he too seems to be getting impatient. But it's not like Jarvan can simply walk up ot his father - walk up to his father, the king - and tell him to lay off, that he doesn't want to marry because he's already in love, just with his best friend. He can't do it because it's not just his reputation on the line, he's jeopardizing Garen's, too. He's risking the pride and future of the Demacian royal bloodline, the Demacian military bloodline, the Demacian League goddamn champion bloodline, and in a way he wishes that that when he last fought Vladimir, the Hemomancer had just taken all of his stupid, cursed blood. That way maybe it'd stop beating in his fingertips every time he and Garen clasped hands - in greeting, in farewell, in congratulations, and making his palms numb even under his gloves.
His father's latest suggestion, and Jarvan thinks that the old man might be getting a little desperate, is that maybe he should get to know Luxanna better. Jarvan nearly physically recoils at the idea, but his father insists. That's how he finds himself knocking on the door of the military apartment she shares with her brother.
The door swings open, and Jarvan is about to ask whether she's cut her hair when he remembers that Luxanna has blue eyes, not green, and that the figure standing there, hands on hips, is actually Ezreal.
"Hi," Ezreal says, waiving his amuleted hand. "Excuse us, J-Four, we were just headed out." The boy brushes past Jarvan with Lux not far behind. Before she disappears down the stairs, she whirls around and says,
"If you're looking for Garen, he's in his room. Good luck trying to get him out, he's been doing reports since after breakfast." She smiles, waves her baton, and chases after her friend.
Jarvan can't help but wonder how, despite Lux's light powers and bright personality, in his eyes her brother still outshines her.
Sometimes he wishes he was more of a man. Less of a man. Enough of a man that he could stand up to his father and the expectations of his blood and not care.
"Is something the matter, Prince Jarvan?" Garen asks, without taking his eyes away from the reports.
Jarvan shifts. He's not wearing his armor, but the royal attire the court insists he wear still makes him feel out of place and extravagant in the modest apartment. Especially next to Garen who shuns the fancy clothing of his military rank and far prefers the more comfortable, cotton outfits of the commoners.
"No, nothing is the matter," Jarvan finally responds.
"Am I needed for something?" Garen asks.
Jarvan clenches his teeth. "No," He says, "You're not."
Garen shrugs. "You know where the door is."
(Of course, Garen is the only one allowed to speak to him like that, mostly because they've known each other since childhood.)
"What are you working on, anyway?"
"The reports from our spies in Ionia."
Jarvan frowns. "I thought you didn't do spy reports anymore."
"I don't." Garen turns over a sheet of paper. "I'm helping out because a certain bratty prince demanded them by tomorrow." He looks up, a pointed look in his bright blue eyes, and Jarvan glares, but softly. He hadn't been called that since he was thirteen, and the reminder is not pleasant.
"I didn't realize it was so much information; I thought the decoder's apprentices were just being lazy. They can wait until Saturday."
"I'm finished, anyhow." Garen says, and nearly throws the pen across the desk. He leans back in his chair, staring out of the window that looks over Demacia. Even though he says nothing, Jarvan has been his confidant long enough to know that he's looking past his homeland to their greatest rival city-state where the general's beautiful red-haired daughter sharpens her blade for the Fields of Justice.
Garen breaks the silence. "I want..." he says, and Jarvan can think of a million ways to finish that sentiment, but none of them involve him. Instead, he clears his throat and offers something else; he's not king yet because he's not strong enough to carry the weight of an entire country, just his best friend.
"I hear there's a scheduled League skirmish between Noxus and Ionia tonight. Want to go?"
Garen shakes his head, a smile on his lips just small enough for Jarvan, and nobody else, to notice.
"I can't, I have plans tonight." He looks blissfully happy, and Jarvan can tell just who those plans are with. He claps his friend on the back and grins.
"I'm happy for you," Jarvan says, and honestly, truly, tries to be.