CW: discussion of chronic illness (throughout chapter 7)

Laurel had hugged a pillow and fallen asleep pretending it was still Olga in his arms. Thus, he had some pleasant dream he couldn't remember after waking up to a flash of light and her serious voice. "You should get up," she said, shining intense fairy lights directly at him. Before he could get the question out, she explained: "The Lunar Bay is formally declaring war on the entire west coastline." She threw a clean set of clothes at him and he sat up to catch them. "All three countries?" he stuttered. She remained unfazed. "Yeah. It would be the same, anyways. We'd antagonize the Jagged Rock and the other two would immediately follow suit," she said, shrugging, "We'd have to cut through their territory." 

He got up and dressed as fast as he could, letting out a sigh of frustration. "As soon as the news hits them, they'll go asking our regents for allegiance," he said. As he tightened his belt, he caught Olga glancing at him and biting her lip. Laurel preferred not to comment on it; instead, he walked up to her and squeezed her hand. "Thanks for waking me up. I'm sure I have some shit to sort out," he said. "Yeah," she agreed, but he didn't see her expression as he walked out.

As Laurel rushed through the halls of the students' dorms, Des stopped him. He'd been standing by in his uniform, which was what his job mostly consisted of. "Say, prince…" he started, looking somewhat concerned, "Some people from your entourage were tearing the place apart looking for you. But you weren't in your room and I didn't see you at breakfast, so…" Laurel could see the subtlety behind his raised eyebrows, but didn't care enough to justify himself. "Thanks for telling me," was all he replied, continuing on his journey.

As soon as he found one of the servants who had come with him, he laid the course of action down. Laurel promised he'd arrange everything for everyone to go home as soon as possible and left them with the letter he hadn't sent yet. When he was asked about himself, he just nodded along and said: "I'm going back on my own." Though he trusted them to organize themselves, he relayed the message to which one he saw and, without fault, was asked why he wouldn't come with. Sending servants and a handful of nobles back was easy; sending himself would be an insufferable fuss… Not that that was the only reason. Well, it would be if he was reputable.

He spent a good chunk of the day running about, sorting everything out. There was a pull in his heart as he made travel plans. It was day one; there was still enough time to change his mind and go with. Surely enough time to go through formalities and all the motions of royalty he only ever smiled through. Thinking about going home and hugging his uncle and aunt made the pull harder. Everyone was waiting for him. Back home, the air was easier to breathe and he never felt cold. The rain and clouds were quite predictable. In contrast, the Lunar Bay was gloomy and humid. 

When he got home, he'd laze about in the sun, listen to music and drink warm coffee; he'd confide in his aunt about falling in love for the first time. Though aunt Clara was nice about that stuff, he still wouldn't be able to talk about Olga in specific to her — or anyone, for that matter. But he had the feeling he'd never see Olga again if he went; if he ever did, it wouldn't be for a long time. Thus he shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and finished all he had to. No Lunar Bay royals came by to pester him as he'd thought they would, so he gave in to the pressure in his own head and walked to the library. 

Olga gave him immediate attention when he entered the office. She had them both sit on the couch and held his hand. It seemed like hers was a bit shaky. "I suppose you're not in the mood to study," she said. "Sorry, no," he replied, resting his head on her shoulder, "Turns out I did have some shit to sort out." She gave his hand a light squeeze. "And have you made a decision for yourself?" she asked, speaking softly. "I'm staying." He could hear her exhale sharply. "I should have taken that time to chastise you yesterday," she said. "I know it's selfish," he admitted, "But I felt like this is the only time I'll ever get to be with you." She scoffed and frowned at him. "Now I feel like I'm dragging you down and ruining your future or something."

"It's a delayed coronation at most. One I hardly want, anyways," he said, bringing her hand to his lap. "So what do you want? To just do whatever you want with your privilege and never take responsibility for it?" she said, her voice becoming more stern. He looked up to find that she was staring at him, her eyes drilling holes into his. Well, it was not like that criticism wasn't something he had thought of on his own before. "I've given up on deciding on what I want to do," he said with a faint smile, "I do not have a penchant for politics and yet I am not naïve or arrogant enough to claim I wish I wasn't born a royal."

"So you'll just float about life in your bubble?" she asked, though her face had softened somewhat. "I don't know. I've only ever had to think about it after my parents died," he smiled, "I guess they enabled me too much." Olga shifted by his side, squeezing his hand so hard it hurt a bit. "If you're staying after all, Laurel, I won't pretend that I'm not glad to be with you for longer," she said, turning her face away, "Because I'm afraid it will feel like it was a fever dream once you go away." He was stunned for a moment, mostly shocked because that resonated a lot with what he'd been thinking earlier. "Ah," he said, shutting his eyes for a bit, "I feel the same, though I wouldn't have put it in such a poetic way." She smiled at him. "Because once I go back home there won't be anyone that met you," he complemented, "And I won't be able to tell anyone about you." That made her laugh, but he was sure it was out of melancholy. "On the contrary, everyone around me knows you. Which I imagine will also feel isolating," she said, peering at the tinted windows before touching her lips to his cheek. It was long and sweet.

"Are you still coming to my room tonight?" she asked, pulling back, "Despite everything?" Laurel got up, reluctantly letting her hand go. "I don't see how I could sleep without you now," he chuckled, "But I'm bringing a change of clothes myself this time." After a second thought, he ran his hand along his face and added: "And a razor." Her mouth contorted into that impish grin of hers. "So you're basically moving in?" she asked. He bent towards her, his hair getting in the way as inconveniently as always. "Well, you did say I could finger fuck you every night," he said, returning her crooked smile. By her stunned look, it seemed like he'd managed to beat her at her game. Satisfied, he straightened his clothes out and walked away.

Just like that, days flew by again as they fell into a routine. By day, they'd do the same as always and, at night, they'd fall asleep in each other's arms. However, it didn't feel completely comfortable, considering the fact Laurel expected someone to show up and ask him to do his job at any point. He wasn't quite sure what, but… something. Of course, it seemed like Olga was observant enough of his mood to catch that. "You've been antsy lately," she said, "During the day, at least." She was sitting by her desk, feet propped up on a nearby chair; she had stacks of paper on her lap and it seemed like she was binding them together. 

"I mean, yeah," he said, closing the book he was mostly pretending to read, "I just figured the Lunar Bay royals would have whisked me away for some meeting by now." She snickered. "Why would they? They know your thoughts have no weight in current affairs," she said, "Your only use is months from now." Yeah, like marriage to some random countess. He'd consider marrying a peasant before marrying someone he didn't know for hardly any gain. "It feels like nothing is happening," he groaned. "We are not going to feel the effects of the war here in Estella," she said nonchalantly, "Most people this far in the Lunar Bay won't feel it. It's going to be mostly a border affair." 

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, focused on her even though she kept her eyes on her binding. "Oh, you know. I'm sure you aren't that behind on your geopolitics. They lost this war the moment they didn't bend over backwards for us," she laughed a little, "It's just a matter of time now. Until they're completely demoralized, that is." Laurel frowned. "Why are you acting like that's funny?" he asked. She glanced at him and her smile got crooked. "It's not. If you haven't noticed, I'm a bit on the bitter side," she sighed and added: "I wouldn't say this near anyone but you, but I'm not that patriotic. I don't condone our imperialistic tendencies." 

That opened a bit of space to breathe in his chest. After a weird pause, Olga raised her voice again: "Got any letters from home lately?" He took a deep breath. "Yeah, one from my uncle a few days ago," he said. "And do you have any clue what your regents are up to?" she asked. "Like I said, I think we're staying neutral. Not just because I'm here. Any position would be in our detriment." That didn't seem to surprise her. "I thought so. Your historical friendship with the Jagged Rock means allying with the Lunar Bay would fuck your trading in the long run. And, of course, positioning yourself against us would be…" She paused, looking for the right word. Laurel offered up: "Ill-advised." She nodded. "Though I feel like neutrality hurts us anyway," he muttered.

Olga carefully set her project aside and stood up. "Maybe you should focus on studying," she smiled, "Not that I know what you'll be using magic for in the future." Laurel smiled and tried to look more alive. Then, she picked up something from her desk and, before he could process it, threw it up; with a flick of her fingers, it was flung across the room at full force in his direction. Telekinesis. What a show off. "Catch," she said in that split second. Well, he did, which made her frown. "Why do I always forget you're actually used to swordplay or whatever?" she complained, walking up to him, "You were supposed to take that hit to the face." With the object in his hand, he could actually take a look at it; "A rubber ball?" She took it from him and made it bounce off the ground for a bit, all smiles. "Ah, you see," she said, "I'm not obsessed. I just think a lot about you and I thought this might be useful."

With another flick of her fingers, it shot up and bounced off the ceiling. Having failed to collect it with her hands, she forced it to a floating stop and made a face. "It's great practice, see? Very light." Instead of being awed by the simple magic, Laurel got up and encased her hands in his; her index fingers and thumbs were bandaged because of the needlework. "Aw, you spent you salary on me? That's so sweet," he lowered his voice, "You're so in love with me." Olga let the ball drop and laughed awkwardly. "I don't have a salary, stupid," her face distorted in a nervous smile, "It was taxpayer money. Besides, it's my ball. Mine. I'm just letting you borrow it." 

Laurel furrowed his brow and threw the banter aside: "You don't have a salary?" She shrugged. "It's whatever. I just ask for whatever I need when I need it and it's supplied to me. Like, you know, this rubber ball. All my living expenses are taken care of. I can just… work." She was still smiling, seemingly unbothered. He put his hands in her shoulders and peered into her eyes, trying to relay his concerns through a mere look. "Olga. What about your financial independence?" he made his tone graver. She raised her eyebrows. "I have everything I could want," she said. "If you don't have savings, you'll always be tethered to this place," he slowed down as he talked, highlighting every syllable as if that would help get the argument through her head. "You say that like I care. I'm not tethered," she said, brushing his hands off to hold him by his wrists, "I'd always choose to do this until I die."

The force of the sudden realization made him take a step back and put an unstable smile in his face. "You were alone before we met because you don't care to have anyone in your life… or try not to," he said. "This is my life's work. I thought you'd understand that. It's fine that it isolates me," she paused, averting her eyes, "You… read that last poem." He hadn't thought of it like that. After glancing at the windows, he raised his hands to cup her cheeks, which made her eyes widen. "Olga, that's fine. This can be the most important thing in the world to you," under his hands, her face wrinkled and he was afraid that she'd deflect the conversation; still, he pushed on, "And I think it's meaningful and amazing. But you matter too." She pulled back, not having to fight much; Laurel let her go as soon as he'd realized that's what she intended on doing. Olga opened her arms wide and smiled bitterly. "And I'm fine! Look at me!", she exclaimed, lowering her voice to add: "And you've seen all of me, so you know I'm okay. So. Drop it."

"I'm dropping it," he said, softening his voice and posture, "And I'll give you space." That seemed enough to make her soften too. "I'll see you later?" he asked, "Then we can talk only as much as you want to." He'd lost his disposition to study. Thankfully, she agreed.