Bramblepoint Ask myself what I want more

agilulf’s been through enough change that he ought to take to it like a fish does to water. each passing season, it goes no easier for him. knows it, is intimate with it, yet the nagging unfamiliarity ribs him quiet.
it’s perhaps why he ebbs and flows between íkaros’ presence—anchoring—now that they’ve reached the teekons. the boy needed room much as the guard did. donned with mask and cape, íkaros liked to play on a stage of one, in the role of average, ordinary john doe. the audience he captivates sways to his acting, while others see beyond it. agilulf says he’s an open book with the way íkaros takes the world onto his shoulders and crumbles with each passing step.
little prince, you’ll never be able to run far.
he could play on his stage for long as he wanted. agilulf’d stand guard, would let him prance and act like he weren’t royalty and attempt to blend with others until íkaros reached his turning point; roaming lost like a boy without the guiding hand of a doting mother. agi’s there for those times he needed a nudge or a shoulder to fall back on.
and he need not admit that he needs his prince just as much.
but that isn’t to say he gets why they’re out here. the greenery thick after the height of spring. weather biting with heat, and he knows íkaros is out there somewhere—collapsed in a heap for the mountain boy’s been spoiled by the chill of near-constant winters.
agi leans to his feet, shaking fur loose after lounging casual underneath a tree—enjoying the shade in the peak of day while íkaros took to mindless wandering (be it physical or mental). now that the weather were cooling, it were time for an intermission, and agi preps to close the curtains and find his beloved actor.