You hum and sing a lot. You're not sure if it's just a random, weird habit or maybe a remnant of music lessons, which might have been like the only How To Be A Proper Fucking Prince™ lessons you actually liked (except for some bits of history, you guess), but you hum and sing, a lot, without even thinking about it. Like right now, while you're taking the laundry down from the clothesline in the back yard. There's a strain of some song you heard a while ago floating through your head, and you just gotta pin that motherfucker down before it drifts away, so you sing it to the best of your ability.
It's cool, though. It's not like there's anyone around to see. Or hear, whatever. Jade's out at market today, said she needed to buy a few things—she mentioned it last night, and left you a note pinned to the couch this morning. Apparently she left before dawn so she'd get back early enough for lunch or dinner or somewhere in there. You're a little annoyed she didn't wake you to ask if you want to come—she's walking around out there in the dark before the sun comes up? Does she think that's safe?—but you keep reminding yourself she's done this for years before she even met you. And she's got magic and shit. She can keep herself safe. And hey, it gives you time to take care of some chores around the house.
It's weird. A year into this life and it's totally cool, and it's not weird in a bad way, but ... three years ago you were the son of the king of Derse. You? Doing laundry? That would've been like the dumbest joke in existence. If someone had told you that you'd be happily walking around the back of a tiny-ass cottage in the woods and doing laundry for a witch, you'd have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off and get hella drunk elsewhere.
... You know, you really were an asshole back then. Wow.
Rose always said so, too. Then again, you always called her a freakish weirdo—only as a term of endearment, of course. If anyone else had said that to her, you would've handed their ass to them on a silver platter before hitting them with the platter, too. Because you're just cool like that.
You... you kind of really miss her. You still don't know if you want to talk to her, though. That might make you miss her more, and also get her in trouble. Lots of it. She'd be in shit over her head, which you highly doubt she'd like, least of all because of the smell or sanitary issues.
"Oh, god fucking dammit," you mutter, breaking off the wisp of song and your train of thought, because you dropped one of your shirts into the grass. Luckily for you, it hasn't rained in a few days, and there's no mud, so you just dust it off and figure, eh, it's still clean enough, and dump it in the basket to be folded wth all the rest.
That was the last one. You pick up the now full basket and glance around—the clearing is really pleasant, especially in the late morning when all the springtime's dew and mist are evaporating into a kind of foggy steam and the entire place has a really bright green and gold look in the sunlight that streams through the trees like a little shower of gold and. And wow. Are you going to stand here and write a fucking poem about nature and shit? Seriously?
You shake your head at yourself and scoff a little as you walk back towards the house, going to the living room to start folding the clothes. It's domestic as hell and you still think it's kind of funny that you've gone from prince to knight to, well... whatever this is.
But then thinking about knighthood makes you sober up, thinking about how Jade freaked the fuck out after that nightmare a few days ago. God...
You lift out a pair of pants and fold them, as neatly as you're bothered to because they're yours. You still kind of hate every single fucking thing about being in the army, but you're starting to think the thing you hate about it most is the part about being forced to fight a war you don't believe in and hurt all these people like Jade. It's such bullshit. The war with Prospit has been going on for so damn long that it's more of a matter of pride now than anyone actually giving a fuck about the tiny-ass strip of land that you're fighting over. Most people in Derse hate Prospit. You'd wager most people in Prospit hate Derse. And especially in the capital cities, too, which are so far removed from the fighting. They aren't touched when people out there by the front lines have to become refugees.
"This is fucking bullshit, bullshit to the max," you mumble, to the rough tune of the song from earlier, as you pair two socks and put them in their pile. "Wars are fucking bullshit, and that would be the facts."
You don't think you'll ever forget how upset Jade was the other day, asking you through her locked door if you'd... ever killed people who weren't trying to kill you. You couldn't even see her face and that question still haunts you like a restless specter that needs to sit its ghostly ass down and chill.
There were times, back in the army camp, when you really wondered if you were the one in the wrong whenever you felt like killing defenseless people wasn't right. You know, like all the laws say not to do? But apparently that's all suspended in fuckin' wartime. Everyone else followed orders and didn't complain and talk back and refuse when told to sack a village. You'd just hated the idea so much that you'd taken fifteen lashes for repeated disrespect to the commander, just so that you could be left in the injured tent and not forced to don armor and fight. Most people would've gotten thirty and if they could walk, they'd have been sent out anyway, but being the king's son does have its few perks. You've still got the scars, too.
It was a shitty thing to do, though. It didn't save anything or anyone but your own conscience. You blow out a sigh and fold one of Jade's skirts.
"Who the fuck thought all like, killing shit sounds smart," you keep improvising lyrics. It's a bit of a struggle to make them fit the verse style, but you don't particularly care that much. "This is the dumbest shit and I want no part. Wait, no, that sounds stupid."
"I liked it!" Jade's voice, coming from behind you, startles you and makes you jump so that you nearly knock over a pile of socks, except that thank fuck for your reflexes because you catch it. You whip your head around and stare at her.
"Uh. You're... home?" Oh, yeah, great job, Strider. No, she's not home, she's just an apparition standing there and looking like Jade would if she walked in on you serenading the laundry about how dumb war is.
In the doorway, she laughs and nods. "Guess so! It didn't take so long to get all the groceries and things we needed."
She puts the big bag slung over her shoulder down with a thunk against the hard wooden floor and skips around the couch to plop down next to you. You keep a precarious stack of shirts from falling over and whine at her in protest for nearly knocking them to the ground. "Hey, not cool, I just spent all fuckin' morning taking care of this shit."
"Sorry, sorry!" she waves her hands at you in what you think is supposed to be a placatory gesture but is too energetic to be conciliatory or calming in any way. Then she leans in and to your (pleasant) surprise, wraps an arm loosely around your waist and lays her head on your shoulder. "I missed you," she says. "And you have a very nice voice. You should sing more often!"
"Forgiven, I missed you too, and wow you're hilarious, fuck that," you answer promptly, not missing a beat as you slide an arm about her too, giving her a quick squeeze. "How was market?"
"Market was fine, same as usual," she chirps, not lifting her head. "You do have a really pretty voice! How is it that you've never sung for me before?"
"Oh my god, are you gonna let that go already or what?"
"Nope!" A little giggle accompanies that statement, and you can't help but think that firstly, she shouldn't be allowed to be so damn cute, and secondly, you're so fucking glad you're both friends again, after that morning a few days ago. God, that scared you.
Maybe it's that relief that keeps you from complaining and poking fun like you usually might, but honestly sometimes keeping up façades, cool as they can be, gets exhausting. So you just huff a sigh. "You're fucking kidding me, right?"
Jade lifts her head to look up at you with twinkling eyes that are shining with mischief. You have a terrible feeling about this.
"Hmmmmmmm," she pretends to consider, leaning into your side. You've very aware of how close she is, pressed up against you, and you kind of want to pull her into your lap and hold her tight and maybe kiss her, too, but you don't do that. You don't want to freak her out. "Nope!" she says again, and pecks your cheek. "I mean it! You should sing more!"
"What do you want me to sing, more this war is fucking bullshit?" you deadpan, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes!"
"What the fuck—No. No, I'm not doing that, because you know what? That's also fucking bullshit, Jade."
She gives you a sad, beseeching look. "Pleeease? You can sing the original version of the song, it's one of my favorites!"
Oh, goddammit you can't say no when she turns those big imploring eyes on you. You bet she knows it, too, damn her. "I don't know the words to the original," you try lamely, knowing that the second you admitted this was the reason you're not singing it to her, you already lost.
"Oh, that's easy!" Jade beams. "I can tell you."
"Okay okay but before that," you cut her off quickly, trying to regain lost ground, "shouldn't we put all that shit you brought home away? You know, take care of the important stuff first and all that?"
"Mmm... we should, yes," she agrees, tucking her feet up on the couch and leaning her head against your shoulder again. "But gosh, Dave, I've been out walking all day. Can't I sit down and rest and steal some cuddles for a little bit?"
"I guess you can. I'll allow that," you say, straight-faced. Jade laughs and shifts so she can slip her other arm around you, too, and you can't help but pull her closer now, leaning back against the end of the couch that's not covered in laundry and pulling her against your chest. You tuck her head under your chin and she sighs, curling up in your arms, so you start to rub her back sympathetically. Damn, she's gotta be tired. That's a fairly long walk, though you're kind of used to that kind of thing from all the marches. "Doesn't have anything to do with me singing, though."
"We can always upgrade the definition of cuddling to include you singing," she suggests. You can't see her face, but you'd be willing to bet a week's worth of apple juice that she's doing the little innocuous smile, the one that's all like "making dumbass suggestions? me? never!" that she has everytime she makes a dumbass suggestion.
"Or—get this novel idea, Jade—we could just not."
"Or we could!"
"Let's not."
"Let's!"
"Nah."
She picks up her head and looks at you. "Yes we should!"
You place a hand on her cheek and push her back down against your shoulder, shaking your head slightly. "Nah."
"Yes!"
"Nope."
"Yeah!"
"Nah."
"Come on, Dave, why not! Please?"
"Nooope," you say, popping the P and leaning back indolently, even letting your head fall back against the cushions. You could do this aaaall fuckin' day, man.
"Yeees!" she insists.
"No."
"Yes!"
"No."
"Dave!"
"Jade."
"C'mon!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"Oh my fucking god, how long are we going to do this," you finally break the pattern to ask, looking down at her. Jade matches your raised eyebrow with a grin that clearly says I'm game or maybe bring it, even as she snuggles up closer to your chest.
"I don't know!" she says. "Depends on how long it takes for you to admit that singing during cuddle time isn't as bad of an idea as you're making it out to be!"
"It's a pretty bad idea," you say dubiously. "Seriously. What even is your deal with that."
"I told you!" she exclaims. "You have such a nice voice! Next time I should just figure out a spell to... hm..." Okay, now she's trailing off in thought and you're... you're a little concerned.
"A spell to what," you say, somewhere between a question and a statement. "You're not, like, gonna all magically force me to sing or something, right? Because that'd be fucked up." You're joking. Mostly. She's never done anything like that before, but you don't know what kind of spells she knows. Or what kind of spells exist. Honestly, every time you mention a task she's like, "oh, there's a spell for that!" and it's kind of weird. Kinda cool, too, but still weird.
Jade looks mildly horrified. "Of course not! I'd never—I don't even know the spell for that!"
"Okay, cool," you say. "Just checkin'. Hey, don't get your panties in a twist, I was joking. Stop giving me that look!"
"They're not twisted," she says. "Didn't you just spend the last few minutes folding the laundry?"
"Goddammit, Jade."
She laughs. Then she shakes her head as if to remind herself of the original topic. "But I was saying! I should maybe see if I can make a spell to record sounds and play them back later. That way, if I can just sneak up on a stunning rendition of this war is fucking bullshit, I won't have to badger you to hear it again!"
"Oh my god," you say. And then you stop and consider that. If she could record sounds magically, that... holy shit you suddenly want a guitar again. You've never cared too much for your voice, but god damn you loved learning music in your How To Be A Princely Asshole™ classes. It'd be so cool, you could play duets with yourself... "Actually, yeah. That would be pretty awesome. Not the part about you sneaking up on me to listen to me sing like a fucking creeper, but the recording spell thing."
"I'm just not too sure how I'd do that," she confesses, laying her head back on your shoulder and considering. "I'll have to experiment and see what happens, I guess! That could be fun."
"Just please don't blow up half the house again," you request. "That shit was a pain."
Her giggle is sheepish. "It was an accident, okay!"
"Well I'd sure as fuck hope so!"
Jade laughs. You really, really like hearing her laugh, not just because you love seeing your best friend happy, but also because god every time she has one of those nightmares you're fucked up thinking about it for a week. She'd been doing this on her own for years before you got here, and that fucks you up, too. You wonder if she laughed much during those years. Somehow, you kinda doubt it.
Also, you really like hearing her laugh at your jokes because you've hella fallen for her, but y'know. Whatever. Part of you gets a real kick out of this—a Dersite prince in love with a Prospitian witch. Wow, that suuure is a match made in heaven right there.
A hand trailing through your hair gets your attention off those thoughts, and you glance down at Jade questioningly. She doesn't say anything, just smiles at you and gently brushes your bangs aside from your eyes.
"My goddamn hair is getting pretty long," you say, reminded of how annoying it is that it's always in your face. You haven't cut it in ... in a while. "I need to chop that shit off."
"I like it, though!" Jade objects, then shrugs it off and laughs. "But okay, I can cut it for you if you like."
"That would be great."
"Okay! Tonight. But for now," she reaches up to her own messy bun and takes the hair tie out, shaking her head a few times as her giant cascade of black curls spills everywhere. Then she shifts, halfway kneeling as she gathers your hair into a little ponytail at the nape of your neck, tying it off deftly and scooting back down into your arms again. "How's that?"
"Much better," you say. "Still cutting it off tonight."
"Okay," she wrinkles her nose. Then she sighs. "I guess we should put all the groceries up now, huh?"
"Probably," you say, giving her a little nudge. "C'mon. Up. Can't let all those goodies sit there and go bad or whatever."
"Fiiiine," she draws out the word and pushes herself to her feet. You grin as you follow her to restock all the pantry shelves and the enchanted icebox, because goddamn she is cute, and also, in terms of the romance department, you are so very screwed.
And that night, after she trims your hair to your satisfaction and the two of you return to the couch, now cleared of all laundry, she lays her head on your shoulder. You're telling her a story about Rose and you, and you can tell she's fighting to keep her eyes open—a losing battle, right there—and so in a moment of impulsive why the fuck not decision-making, you lift her into your arms to carry her back to her bedroom, and sing a lullaby as you walk. You think you'll be seeing the smile it brings to her sleepy face in your dreams.
AN: I hope I caught all the typographical errors. Wooo, editing after pulling an all nighter is fun. -_-
So, yeah, here! Look, it's not ALL angst from here on out. So yeah. Everyone can be happy. :D
...Yeah, I'm too tired for a coherent author's note. Thanks for reading, pls review c: