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That night shouldn’t have been any different.
He doesn’t remember what the party was about, anymore. Just as stuffy and stuck-up as all the royal functions fWhip was required to attend, the event itself was as unremarkable as any other.
A Mythland ball, his parents had told him on the way, and they were guests of honor. He had to attend, they were all expected. At that point, he knew better than to complain— he’d need to get used to these things, since he was to become the Count soon enough. That’s what they’d tell him, anyway.
It was some sort of masquerade party, and he was forced to look the part. A pointed mask arched over his cheeks and up across his forehead, lined with obnoxious glittering red and gold sequins that caught the light with every movement. Red and black feathers fanned out from the left side of the mask, tangling with his ginger hair if he moved too quickly. His traditional Grimlands formalwear was traded out for something a bit more flashy— a vibrant red suit vest clasped with polished bronze buttons, and a black lace ruffled collar, alongside white dress pants and simple black shoes— and he couldn’t say he preferred it. He shoved the sleeves of his black dress shirt as high up as they would go on his forearms, and even that didn’t help to dispel the stifling heat of a room filled with too many people.
None of that was particularly notable. Even so, he remembers this particular occasion over any other.
He spent more time than he’d like lingering at his father’s side, listening to standard-fare alliance talk with the King of Mythland while occasionally casting sidelong glances at his friend— the King’s son. Both were equally bored, and fWhip took small solace in the fact.
The lights of the ornate palace flashed and turned, dimming slightly as a slow dancing song hummed to life. Soon enough, swaths of guests mingled on the dance floor, swaying along to the beat.
The night dragged on, as they most often did, and fWhip’s sister had ushered him out onto the dance floor— she insisted he partake in a single dance, and it wasn’t long before the two were separated during the spiraling waltz, traded off to another nameless mask in the sea of infinite people.
And yet, one stood out from the rest.
A man he’d never met before, and likely never would again. But, as fWhip took the man’s velvety gloved hand in his own, rested his other hand at the man’s hips and felt a hand take its place at his shoulder, fWhip felt like this moment was more than the rest, a soft, heavy feeling settling over his heart that he hadn’t felt before.
(The man— Jimmy, his name was, though fWhip wouldn’t know it yet— recognized his dance partner near immediately, despite the feeble attempt of the mask concealing him. Heir to the Grimlands throne, son of the Count, though Jimmy didn’t know his name. Not yet.)
fWhip scanned the man’s face. He had short blond hair, and a dazzling smile that reached up to his deep brown eyes. From his ears hung beautiful golden earrings, adorned with brilliant sapphires that glinted in the low light. His mask was rounded, curving down to cover his right cheek and up again across his nose, arching around his left eye. It shimmered in beautiful blues and greens, like a fish’s scales.
(fWhip was not the first partner to look at him in that way, that night, nor the last. Jimmy’s reaction was easy and practiced— probably what saved him from looking like a fool, in the end.)
The blond caught fWhip’s eye and laughed, softly. fWhip quickly looked away, feeling his face heat up beneath his own mask, and a nervous feeling claw at his chest. He cast his eyes down, focusing intently for a moment on keeping his steps in time, whatever music playing completely lost beneath his racing mind. Taking a deep breath, fWhip focused on the man again.
He wore a pristine white vest, with a very faint embossed pattern that resembled ocean waves. His deep blue dress shirt had the sleeves tucked into his long pale blue gloves, reaching up his forearms and lightening at his fingertips, where his hand held fWhip’s own. His hands were warm, even through the gloves, and his touch felt strangely like a home fWhip never knew, a foreign comfort settling around his shoulders like a long lost blanket.
(Though fWhip didn’t know it, Jimmy would become the ruler of an empire not yet founded. A further time, one that would leave fWhip’s memories of the beautiful blond boy faint and fleeting in his mind, pushed out by the crashing tides that came with ruling a kingdom of his own.)
The lights in the ballroom dimmed and shifted, colors dancing along the walls and glimmering off the man’s mask, briefly painting his face in a twisting rainbow of light. He squinted slightly, turning his face down and away from the source, before smiling sheepishly at fWhip.
The man said something to him, then, in a hushed voice that sounded like the sweetest honey to fWhip’s ears, though he didn’t process the words. He hummed absentmindedly, tracing his eyes back up the blond’s arm to see two stunning golden chains around his neck— one hanging lower than the other, and both set with perfectly shining emeralds that swayed gently with the motions of the dance.
fWhip blinked, his mind catching up. “Sorry— uh, what was that?”
(Jimmy would recognize him then, too.)
The blond grinned, an easy, lopsided thing. “Have we met before?” He murmured.
fWhip paused, briefly scanning the man’s face again. “I don’t…”
“No?” The slowly shifting lights of the room danced across the man’s cheeks, the sequins of his mask catching and refracting the light. He leaned ever so slightly closer to fWhip. “See something you like, then?”
“I— uh—“ fWhip stuttered, tripping over his own tongue. His eyes darted away, feeling like his face was a live redstone wire.
He heard the man chuckle quietly as he attempted to compose himself. Briefly meeting the blond's eyes again, fWhip was graced once more by his brilliant smile. He felt lost in it all— dancing with that pretty blond man, it was as if the two were alone in the world, that this was the only thing that mattered.
For a moment, as the two slowly waltzed around the room, fWhip felt as though he was experiencing something bigger. It was as if he was standing at the precipice of something that could be so much more— something beyond this single, fleeting moment in time, like he was seeing a snapshot of a life not meant for him. A strange feeling flitted through fWhip’s stomach, and for just a second, he closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the thought.
(It wouldn’t matter, in the end.)
Just as soon as he’d met him, the man was gone— whisked away by some faceless partner in the ballroom as the waltz continued. His eyes snapped open, seeing the fleeting, dazzling shine of the man’s mask almost appear to turn towards him in the low light as the two parted ways.
(Jimmy danced with many faceless people, that night. He smiled and laughed and traded a hundred different hands. What was a drop to an ocean? His dance with the future Count, just another drop in the infinite sea.)
fWhip excused himself from the floor, then, making his way to one of the many tables along the back wall.
He didn’t ask the blond’s name. Of course he didn’t— almost rude to, he thought, at a party like this. Yet… whoever he was, fWhip will probably never see him again. Lost in the ocean of people he never knew. Never will know. Come morning, this hall will be empty. He knew he’d already lost his chance. Perhaps, he thought, he’d come to regret letting it slip through his fingers.
He never knew that man. But, the shape of his smile was so clear in fWhip’s memory. His easy laugh, his quiet voice.
The party itself was like any other. A too-crowded room filled with all sorts of people he never knew, people whose faces all blurred together in his mind. All except for him— the pretty blond man with the dazzling smile, the memory of it etched into his brain. The memory of a man he’d never meet again, of a moment that could’ve been more, he thought, if they’d just had more time.
He wonders if the man will miss him, too.
(One day, they’ll properly meet— Count fWhip and Codfather Jimmy, opposite sides of an ever shifting tide, not that fWhip will know it.)
(One day, they’ll be enemies, and their wars will devastate the lands, the fruitless push and pull of a battle never worth fighting, never won.)
(One day, they’ll be friends— a single fleeting moment in time, an end set in motion.)
(One day, they’ll end the world, the two ripped apart by the universe itself.)
(Some day, maybe they’ll find each other again.)