When all is silent and still around me, my mind travels the world. My thoughts seemingly bounce off the walls. On minute I’m thinking about the plans to my next to and the next I’m thinking about turtles. I’m not too good at focusing on the account of my ADD. So, when you ask me where my mind goes, I’d say everywhere and nowhere. Because that’s what usually happens. I’m thinking of the world all in my head. Meanwhile, I’m creating worlds at the same time. I may just be thinking up a whole solar system when everything’s quiet and I’m alone. Most of the time, I get to the gritty aspects of my brain. The parts that I don’t like. It’s almost like digging in a coal mine. I get to rock bottom and then I keep digging. When all is silent and still around me, my mind travels around the world in minutes.

Aiden hit the dirt hard, looking like a mess. The wood sword he had been given slipped from his grip and fell inches away from his reach. His hair had long slipped free of the ribbon he used to keep it up. It now law scattered around him like an old wet and thin cushion. It provided the protection of a bed sheet. His clothes didn't fair any better considering that he had long taken off his shirt due to the heat. It seemed to backfire as his back ached, probably gaining a few scapes. His legs were lucky. Even his feet faired a terrible fate as his annoyance of shoes had gotten to him earlier. Suffice to say that he was in pain.

It was best not to move after the fall. It was good break from the supposed training. He hated this every fiber of his being. Out of knowing how to use a sword or knowing how to craft one, crafting one had much more appeal.

He watched the clouds go calmly by as he caught his breath. It was quite a nice day. He would rather be using this day to paint the very sky he was looking at. Unfortunately, reality had other plans. His view was obstructed by Micheal peaking over him with a smug grin. He leaned on his wood sword like a cane.

"Tired already?"

"I'm not made for this." Aiden tiredly groaned.

"That's your fault." Micheal held out a hand to help Aiden up which was gladly taken.

"I'm an artist!" Aiden whined as he sat up. "What need do I have for this?"

"To protect those you love, of course." Aiden whipped his head in the direction of the new voice. He found Oliver walking up to them in much more comfortable looking clothing. It was much like the clothing he had worn a day prior except it was looser with  was no cloak in sight. It was quite the contrast from the armor from earlier. Much less blinding and angelic.

"Fat chance of that!" Aiden laughed at Oliver's explaination. "There's not a damn person in this kingdom who will fall for me."

"What about family?"

"Don't have any."

"Friends?"

"Nope."

"What kind of life do live?" Oliver furrowed his brows in confusion, clearly perplexed by Aiden.

"The life of an artist, your highness." 

"I have never met an artist so isolated." 

"Well, I'm not like other artists." Aiden pulled himself up. He let go of Micheal's hand and brushed the dirt off of himself. "Paint is my friend, brushes are my family, and my art is what I love." He stretched, trying to calm the ache in his muscles.

"I see." Oliver scanned him up in down. "So, you've gone mad." 

"What?" Aiden laughed again. "No!" Finally, his hands landed on his hips. "People and I don't mix well."

"That's quite depressing."

"Not at all! I love it!" 

"You're kidding?" Micheal asked in disbelief before Oliver could even react. 

"Isolation makes for a good work environment." Aiden explained. "The more I get done, the more I can earn and less debt I have."

"That's dedication."

"I told you, it's a passion!" He grinned. 

"A passion that will leave you living a piss-poor life." Oliver frowned. 

"So?" Aiden tilted his head slightly, his grin falling slowly into a line. He put on a face of business. This was business, after all. It didn't really feel like it though. "My goal is not to live nicely, my goal is to be remembered for my work." Oliver's eyes scanned him up and down again amidst the silence that followed Aiden's words. 

"You're quite the peculiar man." He said after a moment. His eyes meeting Aiden's own.

"It's an innocent dream that you carry."

"I was right, you are a child!" Micheal laughed. 

"If I were a child, I'd be called a prodigy but since I'm a grown man, I'm called scum." Aiden said bitterly. "I believe that those who call me scum are simply envious. Growing bitter from giving up on their own dreams."

"It could be that some are simply bitter without reason." Oliver suggested.

"Never is." Aiden shook his head. "In my town, everyone dreams but never achieves anything. It's quite the pathetic village."

"Does that mean you're happy being here?"

"Yes and..."

"And?"

"And no." He shifted his gaze away from the prince to the distance. "You see, I hate the people but the landscape is amazing. I always love to paint it." He smiled fondly. "I believe my masterpieces come from the hours spent out in the fields trying to precisely paint every strand of grass and flowers to every cloud in the sky."

"Those masterpieces don't sell well, right?"

"Unfortunately." He blinked. "Wait, how do you know that?" He looked back to the prince with wide eyes.

"Did you really think I just randomly choose my artists?" Oliver scoffed. "I thought you were smarter than that." He shook his head with a disappointed look on his face. "You two can continue your training." Oliver turned to go but was promptly interrupted. 

"Hey, I still don't know why I'm doing this!" Aiden crossed his arms, with a bit of an irritated look. 

"To protect your precious art, of course." Oliver craned his head to look back at him with a glare. "You love it, after all. Would be a damn shame if someone were to try to ruin it." There was something quite terrifying about the glare of the prince. He made those jewels for eyes look sharp and ready to sink into anyone. It sent a shiver down Aiden's spine.

"You're also a servant to the kingdom, so, do as you're told." Oliver then went on his way. The two on the field watched as his figure grew distant. After a moment, Micheal laughed. 

"He seems to really like you!" 

"I'm fairly sure he hates me actually."

"No, he definitely likes you." He chuckled. "Looks like you're here for the long run."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"Don't know." He shrugged. "But I know that I'm happy that I won't have to escort some new idiot every day." 

"How many others were there before me?"

"Twenty-two." 

"Well, I'll be damned." Aiden muttered.

~

The steaming water of the bath let him relax. The ache in his muscles fading as he sank in. He let out a big sigh of relief. A yawn followed mere seconds later. After such a long day of training, he had more respect for the castle guards. Especially Micheal. That man had seemingly unlimited  stamina. It was no wonder that he was the prince's most trusted guard. It would take someone with the energy of a bull to balance out that man. 

Those two really were enigmas. Aiden had met many different types of people of all kinds of background. None were ever as odd as Micheal and especially Oliver. It could be because of the lifestyles. It's not quite a normal thing to be a castle guard, much less a prince. Micheal, at least, had a sense of reality. Although incredibly intelligent, that prince was in a difference land. He seemed to be distracted most of the time. Like there was something tugging at him. There was something especially strange when Aiden told him about his isolation. He was an odd character, to say the least.  

Aiden whined, sinking in deeper into the water causing it to splash slightly over the tub. 

This palace was an odd world to be in. He must have traveled to a fantasy from a book on the carriage ride. There was no way this was the same reality. It was beautiful here but something felt off. Strange, even. Maybe the disconnect was because he was a commoner. Most likely. He was probably overthinking all this. 

However, it was quite odd how Oliver tried so hard to seem cruel and apathetic. The man was clearly very caring given how the reason he gave Aiden to train was to protect others, not himself. He was far from cruel. It was almost like a cat. A hard exterior but tending to slip up and start being oddly adorable. Truth be told, that prince had the same appeal has a cat. 

Not a bad heir to the king at all. Perhaps that was why Oliver put on such a mask of cruelty. He wanted to make his old man proud. Clearly, he was not like the king though. His nature was far from it. A terrible struggle to face. He could only pity the man for such a thing.

Aiden never had to deal with the struggles of family. It wasn't like he had any family for half his life. He could still at least understand it. There were small bits of fading memories floating around in his head of those days. Similar situations arose, of course. Nothing could quite compare to the prince's life. A life of luxury and pampering. The lastest in education being drilled into your head in order to rule the kingdom. Leaving the people to fend on their own for the skill to learn. It was fair to say that Aiden didn't agree with the system. He lived within it so he had to obey but that didn't change his bitterness toward it. There was a strange sense of agreement when the prince heard Aiden's words though.

It could be that the education he received let him think on his own. Critical thinking was a sign of a king. Who ever dared to teach the man that could have been killed. Quite a risk worth taking. That prince would be more than capable of taking the throne. If he matured, he would bring the kingdom to an age of prosperity.

That thought had Aiden grinning. That was something he'd love to see. It was an innocent dream of no one starving or sick. A possible one though. But with the current king, it was an impossibility. He could practically jump up cheering now. He's contributing to the cause in the slightest way. He would surely be rich once Oliver was named king. Nobles from all lands would come to ask him for portraits and paintings.

Oliver truly was an angel prince, indeed!

Aiden laughed happily to himself, sinking his body deeper into the water. With a breath, he tucked his head under. He continued with the thought of the prince. Oliver wasn't actually much of an angel. He was simply a human with thoughts and emotions just like any else. That really showed the disconnect between the people and the royal family. They're seen as godly. When they're not. Oliver is the prime example of that. Oliver is the last string to the tearing fabric. Who knew which direction he would be going. He could either tear the kingdom apart or sew it back together.

That was a big weight to hold. Perhaps that was where the critical thinking truly came into play. Something was on Oliver's mind. Whatever it was, Aiden could only hope it was for the good of the kingdom.

He came up for air. Gasping as new air made its way into his burning lungs. He looked down at the water that mirrored him. His hair draping down like wet curtains. Water dropped down making little waves. He leaned back, relaxing in the water. He shut his eyes.

"Either way." He said out loud to himself. "I'm still a commoner." He sighed. "I know nothing." He flicked his eyes open. "We all know nothing."

When Aiden walked into the same lavished room, he didn't know quite what to expect. The prince in a full suit of armor was way out of his zone of options anyway. Unfortunately that's what he got. It was a huge contrast from the day prior. In fact the sun shining off of it, almost blinded him. It was enough to have him squinting to see.

The prince looked angelic in the armor. His irritated expression being the only contrast. This would at least be easier to paint unless he decided on another ridiculous position. Aiden outwardly sighed, gaining Oliver's attention. If Aiden wasn't blinded before, he definitely was now. The armor was polished expertly. It took him another squint to notice the smaller and more delicate details on the plates. The family crest on the chest had much more detail that some paintings. It looked fairly light and flexible as if to let the prince move easily. The whole piece was masterful.

Aiden wasn't really one for armory but through his father having been a blacksmith, he was knowledgeable in the subject. He wanted to touch it, and feel it's expertise first hand. Whom ever made must have been the best in the land. Not surprising at all. Aiden wanted to meet the man who would craft such a masterpiece. Maybe he could get a deal on a sword.

"Your highness." He greeted and bowed. "I have never seen such an incredible set of armor." He straightened himself with a grin, his excitement impossible to contain.

"That is no surprise, you came from a village out west. You've likely never seen a full set of armor in the first place."

"But I have."

"Really?"

"I come from a family of blacksmiths."

"And you're an artist?"

"Art is a passion of mine, but I do know how craft a sword." His eyes flicked to the sword the prince had sheathed. He wanted to see it much more than the armor as a whole. He favored swords over all other things when it came to masonry.

"I see." Oliver slowly closed the space between them. His steps loud with the metal 'clanks' of the armor. He moved fast making Aiden's theory on the arm being made for speed and flexibility true. Oliver quickened his pace, unsheathing his sword in the process. It was a long and thin sword; quite fitting. The prince preferred speed. From the looks of the sword from the distance, it was German made. The hilt gracefully wrapping over the pale hand of the prince. It was an elegantly made sword. He started into a sprint, holding the thin sword behind himself. Aiden really didn't have time to react, not that he really would if he did.

The sharp end stopped a few centimeters away from his throat. He swallowed lightly on his spit. His only reaction. There was no doubt about it, the prince had skill. His stance was perfect and his aim was accurate. Oliver lifted a thin brow at Aiden as if expectant of a reaction.

"Do you even know how to handle a sword?" Oliver asked.

"No sir, the paintbrush is my sword." Aiden joked with a smile forming on his lips. Confusion overcame the prince's expression, his stance starting to waver.

"You didn't flinch when I came at you with my rapier." He moved the sword back and straightened up. "Why is that?"

"One grows accustom to blades near the neck when asking for loans." Aiden added the flare of formal speech to impress. A flick of amusement appeared and disappeared on Oliver's lips. He went back to his usual demeanor before Aiden could comment on it. He sheathed the rapier, the metal scratching against the leather. A small metal ring echoed at the hilt hit the end of the sheath. He looked back up at Aiden with a peculiar expression. It was somewhere between a smirk and forcing it back.

"There's no surprise there." His expression changed again. A serious and professional look. This was business after all. His emerald eyes bore info Aiden as if digging holes in him to figure out his secrets. It was a challenge (at least that's what Aiden wanted to think). Oliver was waiting for him to crack. "Tell me, with complete honesty, what do you think of my father?"

"Are you sure you want complete honesty, your highness?" Aiden raised a brow, leaning back into the door behind him with arms crossed. He was in defensive mode now.

"It's an order." Oliver's tone carried warning. And it was just that. A warning not to cross the line.

Aiden sighed, "His majesty..." He paused, thinking how to work his words into a vague enough thesis as to not offend the son of the very King he was being asked about. "Is quite the king. Ask anyone else and they would give you an answer his majesty would love to hear. I, however, don't agree entirely with his policies since he favors the nobility over the commoners." There was a flash of something in Oliver's eyes. 

"Why did you come here if you don't favor my father?"

"Recognition."

"Not the debts?"

"No, the debts are certainly a reason but my pride must come first."

"Pride?" Metal creaked as Oliver moved to place a hand on his hip in what would be a perfect painting. "There's pride in painting portraits of the same type for people who see you as a slave?"

"You're right, there isn't any pride in it. It's more of a personal goal. That and as a citizen I must serve the royalty that rules over me."

"I see." Oliver moved out of his picture perfect pose and paced towards Aiden. "Come with me." He opened the door next to the man.

"Where?"

"Have patience, young one." Oliver grinned with utter amusement.

"Young one? I'm older than you!" Aiden pushed himself off the door and let his arms drop. He was in a childish stance by accident. His arms and legs spread as if to make him look bigger and intimidating. Instead it only worked to make the prince chuckle. 

"You sure act like a child." Oliver slipped through the door. Aiden followed with a 'tch'. 

~

He was led to the east end of the castle. It was a far older looking area with the stones on the walls looking more jagged and asymmetrical with each passing step. It got darker as they went along. Lit torches lined the wall every few feet. He was through a door and down a set of stairs which led the two to another door. This door had two crossing swords on it. Oliver opened it with out hesitation. The swords hitting the wood with loud thuds. It seemed like a pointless design. 

Aiden followed and found a large hall with beds. Some beds had men sleeping, others had men reading, and few were empty. It became quite clear that this was the knights' quarters. If he couldn't tell by the amount of men here, the scattered pieces of armor and swords leaning on walls and bed secured his theory. 

He wanted to dumbly ask the prince about this area and why they were here. He saw it best not to on the grounds that he didn't want to irritate the man. Oliver seemed much like someone who would easily get annoyed by simple questions. He was an odd prince to say the least. Even stranger were the guards. They didn't even flinch at the sight of Oliver.

Speaking of, Oliver suddenly stopped in front of one of the last beds. It carried a sleeping guard spread out comfortably. Aiden could only stand jealous. It was fairly early in the morning. Normally, he would sleep half the day away and then paint until he was right back to sleeping. It's not that he liked it, it's that he had to live like that. He needed to work until his body ached to sell it and have enough to live.

"Wake up!" Oliver commanded to the guard on the bed. Some others nearby seemed to have stiffened up. Oliver's command did nothing. So, he tried a different approach.

"Michael you better wake up right not or-so- help-me-god-I will take my armored hand and put it to your groin!" This sleeping figure now apparently named Micheal yawned and stretched. Eyes flicked open, revealing dirt brown eyes. Micheal sat up with yet another yawn and a hand brushing through the familiar auburn waves. His eyes flicked to Oliver and then to Aiden.

"I'm guessing you want me to do something with him, right?" Micheal asked nonchalantly.

"I need you to train him."

"Train him?"

"Wait, you want him to train me?!" Aiden near squealed. "What about the painting?"

"Will you do it?" Oliver ignored Aiden's whining and directed Micheal.

"I have no actual choice so yes."

"Good." He gave a satisfied smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go get this thing off of me. I hate being forced into this."

"Try wearing it every day, your highness." He rolled his eyes at Michael's remark, his smile disappearing. He walked off then. Aiden found Micheal digging into him with a glare as soon as the prince was too far to notice. It was a nerve-wracking moment that ended with Micheal groaning and looking away. "God, I hate when he does this."

"He does this often?"

"No, but he always leaves me escorting his guests around even though he's got so many others that can do it."

"Doesn't that just mean you're his best and most trusted guard?"

"I suppose." He frowned again. "I honestly just wish he wouldn't make me do this so early in the morning."

"You and me both." Aiden lightly chuckled. He was slightly relieved that he wasn't the only one feeling that this was a ridiculous time to be awake. Even more so that there wasn't this looming sense of superiority being pushed onto him. This was a royal guard he was talking to. The closest thing he could to a commoner and it very much felt like it.

"So," Micheal jumped up. He towered over Aiden, scaring him for a brief second. "Do you really not know how to handle a sword?"

"I never had any need to."

"What kind of strange village did you come from?"

"One where crime is relatively low."

"Hm." He pleasantly hummed. "Most of the others go on monologues about their tragic history when I asked them about their homes."

"That's a fools path."

"Are you some kind of scholar now?" 

"I'm far from one."

"That's very true." He chuckled. "Come with me, young one." Micheal paced past him.

"I'm not some child!" Aiden whined as he followed.

"You might as well be."

"Just because you're taller than me doesn't mean I'm a child."

"You're right, I am ridiculously tall, but it doesn't stop your tantrum."

"I am not throwing a tantrum!"

"But you're whining like a child."

Aiden groaned, "Fine, you win."

"Of course." They slipped through the door and made their way up the spiral staircase with the echoes of the swords seemingly chasing them.

"So, you always win?"

"Yes, and you better get used to it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then, we're not going to train and his highness will get pissy and send us both home."

"You seem to see him as a child."

Micheal scoffed, "He practically is one."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Tell me that when you spend years with him." He rolled his eyes and made it to the top of the stairs. He stopped there and turned to face Aiden. "I've known him practically his whole life, I know more about him than you ever will."

"You sure are defensive about it." Aiden muttered. "I'm just telling a bit of my perspective."

"Your perspective means nothing."

"Perhaps it does." Micheal raised a thick brow at that. "I'm not clouded with any ideals, Micheal. I tell it how it is. From this conversation, it's easy to see that you're clouded by your own memories to see other perspectives."

"You're a real smartass." He smirked. "No wonder his highness still has you here."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

Micheal shrugged, "Hell if I know what's on his mind. It could be either or neither."

"That doesn't help me at all." Aiden sighed in defeat.

"If you want relief, just know that there have been others that have been invited here. Only three of those others have gotten as far you have." Micheal looked quite nice with the smile that was forming on his lips. It was fitting. "So, feel special, alright?"

The smile was oddly contagious. Aiden nodded in response. Micheal turned back around and they continue on their way. It only dawned on Aiden right then he didn't quite know where their destination actually was.

It was a simple chain of events, really. Aiden had gotten a letter delivered to him while working. The man dressed in quite fashionable clothes. Over the top enough to make it understood that the man was neither commoner nor noble. A servant or messenger to a Noble perhaps. That thought was the reason Aiden didn’t open it right away. Nobles could wait a few hours.

It was later when he was dead tired, after a full day of crafting a master painting of the pond nearby, that he opened the letter. His eyes latched onto the words. They were neat, twisting and curving in a perfectionist’s favorite way. It surely must have been a Thane or Earl’s doing. Those always had scribes perfect their craft for their letters. He didn’t quite read it, his eyes and brain being burnt out from the long work. With a few yawns he quickly scanned the page that contained most of the same old things that this person needed a painter and that Aiden was chosen out of many in consideration.

He rolled his eyes, going straight to the bottom to see who this pretentious Thane or Earl was. The wax stamp was an incredibly familiar sight. In fact, he looked out his window at the flags that lined the streets containing the same crest. He looked back and forth at the two and he could swear his heart nearly stopped. His eyes landed back on the page, next to the wax. The signature woke him up.

The prince had called him to the castle for a painting.

He near shook with joy. This was the greatest honor and surely his name would be known all around the kingdom and to other kingdoms. He would be unfathomably rich and finally be able to move out of this dump he called home with all the art supplies he could ever want. So, like anyone else he jumped with joy and started packing his things. A week later he was on his way.

Ready to go, he hopped into wagon. He opened his mouth to tell the driver to start the journey. His mouth shut sat at a shrill whine he heard from outside. A far too familiar whine. He poked his head out the back. He only sighed at the sight of the girl running to the wagon.

The girl slid to a stop, out of breath. She was a bit heavier than most girls from the village. Only the daughter of the baker could really be that way.

“Aiden!” She cheerfully looked up, eyes sparkling. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the castle!?”

“I didn’t think to.”

“Why? You’re going to meet the angel prince!”

“So? I’m going to paint him, not become best friends with him.”

“But if you did you could introduce him to me!” She clapped her hands together, a dream-y look on her face. That girl had her head in the clouds. “A true love story, I tell you! Everyone would be talking about it!”

“This is reality, Cassandra.” Aiden said flatly bursting her bubble of a dream. She frowned. “That will never happen.”

“So cynical.” She shook her head.

“I’m just being realistic.” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Now, I’m going to be late if you stall me anymore.” He pushed his head back into the wagon. “Let’s go!” He called out to the driver.

It was a long trip to the city. He slept for most of it. He slept so much that the driver he had hired questioned if he was super human or not. Truth was that he rarely got sleep. It was hard being an artist in this day and age. He would have to churn out paintings on a whim, going without sleep for nights on end. These four days of rest were much needed. It also allowed him to look much more presentable and less like a dying man. It worked tremendously as the bags under his eyes were much less pronounced and his face looked paler. He grinned wide when he arrived to the city. A quick change in the wagon and he was fully in a loose white shirt with the fanciest pants he owned. His freshly shined boots hit the ground with a small thud. His sack and chest following him out. He promptly paid the driver. Turning around, he gasped at the scope of the castle before him.

Thus, here he was standing at the gates in complete awe after such a long chain of events. A wide grin on his face. Out of his trance, he flicked his head to get the ginger strands out of his sight. For a brief second it went through his mind how long his hair had grown. Tying it up would make him look fancier.

Unfortunately, it was too late as a guard called out to him with a ‘you there’ and a ‘leave now’. He jumped a little at the guard’s sudden presence. Quickly, he opened his satchel and rummaged through for the letter. He found in folded between two canvases that he had left from the occasional painting on the trip. He pulled it out, unfolded it and walked up to the guard.

“Hello,” He said; unsure. “I was called here by the prince. I am an artist.” He showed off the letter with a bit of a proud smile. The guard looked him up and down, then at the letter. He read through it, eyes squinted, he looked fairly young, not even a beard to match the Auburn hair that stuck out the helmet. After a moment the guard looked back to him.

“You don’t seem like type made to serve someone as his highness.” The man sighed.

“However, knowing his highness’...ideals, it is no surprise that he were to hire you.”

“Ideals?”

“It is best that you do not dwell on his personal business. You’re here to be his personal toy for as long as he wants.”

“I am not an object.” Aiden frowned and lowered the paper from the guards face. “I’ll have you know that I have painted for high nobles all across the state.” He folded the letter back up and put it safely in his satchel.

“Tell that to the prince.” The guard rolled his eyes. “I was told that an artist would come knocking. Come,” He gestured to follow as he turned around. “I will show you to your quarters and then the prince.”

Aiden followed, “What about my chest?”

“The servants will take it to your room soon.”

“If you say so.” He took a last glance at the chest laying at the gate.

~

“It’s oddly quiet here.” Aiden passively commented while looking at the tall and highly decorated windows.

“It’s a big castle that houses only one family and a fair amount of servants. Did you expect it to be bustling with life?”

“Well, yes.”

“So naive...”

“I’m from a village so I wouldn’t know a thing about royal life.”

“His highness really out did himself this time.” The guard shook his head at himself.

“What do you mean?” Aiden cocked in his like a confused puppy with a steak being waved over him.

“His highness is...you will understand when you mean him.” The guard stopped, and pointed at rather nice wood door. “This is your room. Stay in there until I come back for you.”

“Alright.” It took Aiden an awkward minute to realize that the guard was waiting for him to walk into the room. Quickly, he did, almost tripping on his own foot while he was at it.

The room was small. Small in comparison to the rest of the castle. This was probably the biggest room Aiden had ever been in. The windows opposite to the door were large and decorative. The walls filled with floral patterned wall paper. Intricate wood and stone patterns here and there. A decorated fire place mirrored the large and neat bed. His chest lay next to the bed. With a door way inbetween it and a large wardrobe.

Aiden went to the door way and peaked in. A large wood tub with bathing supplies sat in the decorated stone next to a toilet and shelf under a mirror with a wash bucket. This was an entirely different world to live in. And he couldn’t believe he was standing right in it.

With a big smile, he ran over to the big windows in the bedroom.

A clear view of the garden filled his sight. He near jumped with joy at it. He just had to paint it right then and there. He definitely has the time. The guard most likely wouldn’t be back until the prince was ready.

He ran over to the chest and unlocked it. Upon opening it, he grabbed his easel, pallet, and paint. Quickly setting up the easel and placing the canvas on it he pulled out a mid-sized brush from his sachel. He took a deep breath in, the smile on his lips fading.

The paint brush touched the canvas and his mind went silent with focus on his work. He was two strokes in when there was a knock on the door. He frowned at the interruption but went to answer nonetheless.

“His highness will see you now.” The same guard from earlier announced to him.

“Will I need anything?”

“No, all will be supplied to you, now come.” The guard started in the direction of what Aiden could only assume was where the prince was. It was a long few minutes of silence to get to whatever room he was being led to. The guard turned around before letting him. He stopped, of course, this was a palace guard he had no choice but to observe and follow. “Be careful with him. He could send you home in seconds, send you into exile if he so chooses.”

“I’ve heard only good things about him so I think I’ll be fine.” A bit of a smirk arose on the guard’s face at Aiden’s words.

“Good luck.” He moved to let Aiden in. After a bit of hesitation, Aiden slipped through the obnoxiously large wood door. It creaked as it moved and slammed shut. Aiden couldn’t help the flinch at the loud sound. He froze at the sight before him.

The angel prince as other’s called him. Ironic. The prince was a dark figure, wearing black as if to cover the pale as paper skin. He was angelic in the sense that his skin glowed as did his curled sunset hair. A black fur cloak fell elegantly from his somewhat small looking shoulders down to his lower back. Not that Aiden could really tell much of the prince’s figure through the thick clothing that wrapped the prince’s tall frame. He should probably stop referring to the prince as the prince. He couldn’t really help it, he couldn’t quite remember the prince’s name. Asking didn’t seem quite right. Not when the aura the supposed angel prince was emanating was sending shivers down Aiden’s spine.

His eyes wandered to escape the discomfort. They quickly landed on an easel with a canvas, paint brushes of all sizes, and a palette already set up. The paint was probably the highest quality out there. Something he could only dream to afford. He almost vibrated in excitement. He had to rush through the uncomfortable part right now or he might not get to them.

With a quiet breath, he bowed.

“Your highness.” He greeted, trying hard to keep his words steady. Succeeding in his eyes. Though it was unnerving how his voice echoed in the rather large room. It was now that the prince acknowledged his presence. He looked over his cloaked shoulder with sharp emerald eyes that glowed with the sun from the large window. There was a sour look on the angelic face. A contrast that cancelled out and only made the image all the more attractive. Damn, the man earned the nickname for sure. “My name is-”

“I know who you are.” The prince rasped, turning around fully. A thin looking frame, surprising Aiden somewhat. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I didn’t know who you were.” Irritation was much more prevent in the man’s voice more than the anger shown on his pale face. “Now, hurry up and get in your place, I want to get this over with. Each second here is time wasted for more important things.”

“Yes, your highness.” Aiden stood up straight and almost tripped over himself trying to get to the stool in front of the easel. He looked at the brushes sitting on another stood next to him. He carefully selected three he would use for now and a pencil. He looked up and found the prince sitting in a rather comfortable looking chair in front of him. One leg over the other, his head leaning into his hand in a both condescending and bored pose. “Is that the pose you want?” The prince raised a thin brow. A smirk forming just seconds after.

“What do you think?” He said, his tone almost mocking. If this was what he was going to be like then so be it. There’s been worse. Aiden’s encountered people that have thrown knives at him for asking such a dumb question. Not that he had any fault. It was rather polite to ask such a question as people tended to be indecisive about positions and poses. He really was starting to get what the guard meant earlier when mentioning the prince’s ideals. A childish angel would have been a better description. No surprise when he grew up in the top family of the kingdom. He would have to mature quite a bit to becoming king at this rate. Anything would be better than the current king, though.

He merely shrugged, adjusting his grip on the pencil in hand. He took a glance of the prince to get a basic shape. His pencil hit the paper and he was quick to start. The prince was an easy figure, the pose was quite common in the arrogant children Aiden had the misfortune to work with in the past. It was the lighting of the clothing that would be a nuisance. This man went out of his way to make a challenge. He must underestimate most artists’ skills. Of course, he would be looking through the obscure. He was running out of options. Aiden wasn’t special, he was here out of desperation on the prince’s part. In that case, he would have to prove the man wrong.

He finished the basic shapes, switching his pencil for a paintbrush. Time seemed to suddenly pass by in that instant. His mind went blank, going only to copy the prince’s image with careful strokes. In what felt like minutes, in reality being an hour or two, Aiden was pretty much done. Adding finishing touches and fixes to the painting. The prince had long before started pacing back and forth patiently. It was distracting enough to pull Aiden out of the trance and have him following the man’s every move. He looked to be in deep thought about something, his expression switching from anger to satisfaction to all sorts of differing things over and over. It was a peculiar sight.

“Is it bad that I forgot your name?” Aiden absentmindedly asked, going back to the painting, adding a last specific stroke.

“What?” He noticed the moving figure stop. “How?”

Aiden shrugged, “It’s easy to forget.”

“I’m your prince!” There was a defensive edge to the prince’s voice.

“Yes, but I come from a small village where all call you by your nickname.”

“Nickname?”

“The angel prince is what they call you.” Aiden leaned away from the painting, putting down the brushes and cracking each of his fingers one by one to relax them. “Almost never by your name.”

“I take offense to that nickname.”

“Really? I thought it was quite flattering.”

“It’s based on my looks, nothing more.”

“Well, it’s not like you let the world know much about yourself.” He sighed. “Anyway,” He carefully lifted the painting off the easel and turned it towards the prince. “Here is your portrait, prince...” He trailed off still struggling to remember the name.

“Oliver. Prince Oliver.” The prince interrupted his thoughts with furrowed brows. He looked concentrated on the painting.

“Prince Oliver.” Aiden echoed like a child, correcting himself. Those grassy eyes scanned the painting. No expression of joy or irritation of any kind. That must have been a good thing. An odd look came about on Oliver’s pale face. Something between a scowl and a smirk.

“You’ve proven yourself worthy in skill.” The man started. “But you lack aesthetic. It’s a terrible piece.” Oliver’s eyes now bore into Aiden’s own. “You will make another tomorrow.” With that announced, he walked past Aiden and out the door leaving the blond to sit frozen in confusion. He couldn’t tell whether having to paint again the next day was a good or bad thing. A mix between both, really. 

It was a harsh criticism from the prince. He’d gotten worse but the fact that it was the prince Oliver gave it a different meaning. He was right though, it did lack aesthetic. Probably because Aiden didn’t really care much for portraits. They showed off skill more than creativity. Oliver clearly thought the same. So maybe it was a good thing that he would have to paint the prince again. Who knew how many more times he would need to but he can proudly say that he impressed the angel prince. The same angel prince who wasn’t much of angel. That man was purely human, nothing angelic but his looks. He clearly had a brain. A personality of a devil almost. He could be easily seen as flawed. Aiden had only this instance with him and the flaws were evident. Perhaps that was far more beautiful than any angel. 

"I like reading quotes, not because I think they're wise or that I learn something out of it, but because quotes are like an art-almost like poetry-you can easily form a quote. It's like an answer with no question, out of context yet still in context. And it truly takes a genius to achieve that."

-me

I'm never honest, honestly. It's not that I have something against people it's just that I have trust issues. I want to seem mysterious you see. I want to keep being interesting so they don't leave. Of course, it's my downfall each and every time. I don't even know if I'm even being honest with myself anymore.

I'm a liar, honestly.

I have a jar sitting on the cabinet next to the table

To my right it sits

The table a mess

My dog peaking into the kitchen

Watching a rat about his size sneak through

In the distance I hear the TV

Mized with the sound of my parents talking

Talking about me and politics

Well, they mention me

But it sticks to my head like a gold start sticker

Marking that I didn't try hard enough

There's something unsatisfying about sitting here

Staring at a jar

I could be doing homework or walking my dog or even sleeping

Instead I sit here filling the jar

Thinking that I'll be able to put a price on ideas

Despite trying to sell before being a failure

Who even cares?

Surely, I don't.

I wish I did

I wish I didn't care so much

I wish each thought in that jar was instead a paper star

That way I could sell some meaning what people see

I'm as blind as an owl during the day

Alone as one during the night

Knowledgable in all things but how to funtion

It's in this jar that I see all that knowledge

But also the rat

I'm merely trying to sneak a bite of the bigger picture

But I'm stuck here

In a jar

Self deprecating thoughts

How they tire me

Go ahead and fire at me

I know it seems like I'm trying my best

But there's no fire in me

I'm just as empty as I used to be

All these little things

I bottle up

And put into jars

Hoping they might be bought

A penny a thought

Yet no one buys them

I'm broke

All because I keep on buying theirs

Guess it was never meant to be fair

Another day walking through the halls

Empty as ever

Music blasting

Phone in the pocket of my piss smelling hoodie

My eyes dropping low

Sharing the weight on my shoulders

What a fucking mess I am

Looking into the bathroom mirror

Dirtied with age or my thoughts?

I'll never know

I hear all they say

But none of it ever gets through to me

When did everything become so blurry?

That grey-blue winter tint never seems to go away

My eyes blink like the light above me

Am I really that old?

My hands run through my hair

Pulling away the thought that he's ignoring me

I thought we were friends

God, this always happens

They're calling my name

But if I go outside

I'll fall apart

How long will this go on?

Am I really who I say I am?

The question keeps burning in my head

Can't really confide in any of my friends

Got issues upon issues

Piled up like heaps of burning trash

Letting poisons of thoughts seep into their lungs

Weighing them down like bags of sand

Praise me and raise me up again

I'm not really a fan

But it helps me either way

Force me to smile

Please don't leave me bare

There's something I just have to wear

Not that you seem to care

I go to therapy for this

Why am I still in here?

The answer forever stays unclear

I'm losing my head

Aching lights wake me up again

Reminding me

There's no time to just sit here

Yet that's all I want to do

Miss me or piss on me

I don't know which they'll do

Rather I don't really care

I might just pass out right

How I wish to take a nap with you

And know that you'll be there

Just a fantasy

An excuse from the pain of reality

I'm stuck back there

Because of what we share

Guess all this wasn't never meant to be fair

He waited at the park, checking his phone from time to time. Truth be told, he was bored as hell having to wait for so long. There wasn't really much to do at the park unless you were high or with friends or both. Firstly, he had no way of getting high. He was too much of a goody two shoes to really get anything or know how to. Secondly, he was waiting for his friend. She was just late.

Not that he really cared, anything to get him out of the house for as long as possible was fine with him. The park was just the worst place to wait though. It was dirty and old. Graffiti covered most of the original faded colors. The swings were either broken or flipped around the bar enough times rendering then useless. The park wasn't even that big. It had a sing slide, two sets of swings, those spring horsie things, and a basketball court. Not to mention a semi-big open field behind where he sat on the swings that was almost as big as the park itself. It was quiet and lonely too. But the worst type of desolate. The type that felt eerie and unwavering. Ominous as if you were sat right in the middle of the woods. Yet all that was around it was rows of houses. Some houses looking new with gardens and dogs forever stuck out there. Others were old and sagged, looking like a hoarder lived in there.

The air always had a metallic taste here. Probably due to all the rust from every house garden or not. That's really the perfect way to describe the area; rusty. Always the faintest smell of weed or cigarettes. As if someone had been smoking in the very swing in he sat in. It was probably from one of the houses nearby.

It was a damn shame that most people smoked in the area. Didn't they know that kids were at play here? Even if it was just him sitting there on a swing, he was still a minor. A minor who would love to keep his lungs intact.

He sighed, still bored. He debated for a moment whether falling asleep here would be a good idea or not. Ultimately, no, but he was just too damn tired to walk home. He hoped to be rejuvenated by his friend's presence. They were just that close, you know. Comfortable enough to endure small silences between conversations and still feel some energy. They both had their limits and they both understood that.

And it's not like they would even talk about important world events, no, this way the only time got to slack off from the harsh grips of time moving forwards and the oncoming anxiety as an appetizer. They'd goof around and gossip. It was what they both needed and what kept their friendship alive after all the years. They've always struck up easy and comfortable conversation. Sharing secrets and darkest memories. Never focusing on the bad and instead enjoying life. Despite being teenagers, mere years away from the real world, they were still kids at heart and needed some time to enjoy the life around them.

It was always a give and take relationship too. Neither giving too much and neither taking too much. That idea always seeping into their conversations too. It was a back and forth every time. And never any conflict either. If they disagreed, they would talk it out and come into an agreement in the end.

It was nice and unlike anything else. And he loved that about it all. He always saw friendships around either crumble or come as creepy with how same-y the two in the friendship would become. What he saw as unique with theirs is that they got to be individuals with opinions and it was fine that way. Anything was acceptable and light-hearted.

He loved her, honestly. Not romantically or sexually or anything like that. She was like a sister he always wanted. Always there for him and willing to hear him out no matter the subject. Most would think they were dating because it was just them two talking to each other about stupid shit. And seeing a girl and a guy sitting there just enjoying each other's presence was always seen as 'oh they're dating'. When in fact, they were each other's wingmans half the time. Not that they were successful at snatching a date but still.

She was always a constant in his life. A constant joy that he always took for granted. And now as the idea of Senior year seems to be approaching ever so quickly, he wants to use all the time he can to spend time with her. That's where the differing ideals really came into play. They both had different plans for college and careers. They probably wouldn't see each other for awhile after highschool. And he wanted nothing more than to leave off on a high note full of good memories to spare. He wanted this friendship to be cherished by both of them. And he knew she did cherish it but he wanted to make sure it was a friendship she'd tell her future kids about. And maybe if he were to have kids, he would tell them about it too.

The fast approaching and inevitable end was anxiety inducing but it was perfect to just kick back and relax with her. Even if it meant just sitting around an old rusty park and talking about who was dating and who wasn't. It was a genuine and platonic love that he loved having. Love is still love even if it isn't romantic love. Despite being the typical teenager being needy for romantic love, the friendship he shared with her was enough for now.

"Hey!" He looked up and saw his best friend running over. "Sorry I'm late, I was washing the dishes because my mom was being annoying-hey, why are you crying?"

"Am I?"

"Yeah."

"I guess I got too emotional." He chuckled a bit as he soaked up the tears with his sleeve.

"Why were you crying?"

"No reason." He smiled. She stared at him for a moment, suspicious. She sat down on the swing next to him anyway.

"So did I tell you about what I did in art today?"

"No."

"Okay so..." She began her story about dropping a canvas full of wet paint on the floor. And while listening to it, it occured to him how mundane it actually was. Yet it was funny and random and enjoyable. It was all so mundane but that was the beauty of it. And he wouldn't have it any other way, honestly.