Cale really did not want to be here right now, but now matter how much of a ruckus he caused or how many fits he had thrown, his father refused to budge on his decision. So now all he could do was ward off the other nobles with sharp glares and a fake drunken swagger to his step.
He wasn’t drunk. No matter how much he drank, Cale doesn’t think he could ever get the same sensation as the first time he had touched the drink. The soothing nothingness that the liquor had dragged him into when he had blacked out from one too many glasses had him chasing it again and again.
Cale curses his ungodly tolerance to alcohol that he had developed with a subtle tilt of the glass and the familiar burning down his throat and he curses his father’s diligent servants who always manage to stop him before he can go barreling into that nothingness again.
It was tiring. Everything was so fucking tiring, but at least the drinks could keep him company until he could curl into him in the solitude of his room.
With each glass, the other nobles grew more and more wary of the red head, scrambling to clear out of the way whenever he took a step in their direction. Cale knew how utterly intoxicated he looked. How the pale tone of his skin was painted with hues of scarlet and merlot from each sip of wine. Luckily, everyone knew how easy it was to wear the little patience he held thin.
So why was the crown prince saddling up right beside him on the balcony he had escaped to? Why was this infuriatingly bright man acting all chummy with the count’s trash?
“…”
The blond man smiled at him, his eyes closing into pleasant little slits that had the hairs on the back of Cale’s neck rising. He knew. After watching people for years, Cale knew how fake of a smile the prince was giving him.
So why?
“It’s a pleasure seeing you tonigh-”
“Cut the crap, your highness, what do you want?” Cale stared unabashedly through hooded eyes, his tone sharp, not caring about the difference of status between them.
The crown prince let out a low hum, the well practice smile sliding right off his face to reveal an impassive expression. For a brief moment, Cale felt as though the man was trying to see right through him, but it goes away with a curious raise of the brow.
“Well?” Cale growled out, his night ruining even further with the company forced upon him.
“I was just curious, young master Henituse,” the blond started.
Cale rolled his eyes at the man. The chirping of the crickets were enough company for him, but the crown prince just had to include himself for whatever reason. For the first time in the night, Cale had started to enjoy the party the slightest bit, but that feeling was quickly squashed.
His mind was blissfully quiet before the prince had arrived.
“Why do you drink?” Blue eyes watched him, patiently waiting to see if he would be gracious enough to give a proper answer.
Maybe it was the alcohol in his blood, or maybe it was the way Cale had known that he and the prince were one in the same. Cale had no idea why he answered.
“It’s quiet,” He said.
“Quiet?”
Cale let out a frustrated noise at how the prince patiently waited for him to continue. He ripped his eyes away from the other, casting them out to search for anything to focus on in the horizon. What did he do to deserve such patience?
“It- When I drink, it makes being alone with the thoughts in my head more bearable,” Cale stared out into the night, tracking the dark, blurry figures of nocturnal animals flitting across the grounds.
For years, Cale had bottled everything up, holding the splintering glass together with bleeding hands as he desperately tried to spare others of the monsters that prowled in his mind. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest idea to quell his racing mind with booze, and maybe he’s shaving years off his life with each glass he brings to his lips, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care.
The crown prince doesn’t answer and for whatever reason, Cale takes that as permission to continue.
“You know what it’s like, don’t you,” His voice achingly clear in contrast to the intoxicated look he held, “Having to worry your mind thin trying to grasp at threads.”
The veranda railing is cool against where he pressed into it, the chill seeping through the fabric of his dress shirt in a way that had him sobering up much quicker than Cale liked.
“I drink so I don’t have to think.”