Obi stills, as does Izana, hand still grasping the pen, just a breath away from the paper on the desk. They watch each other, entirely silent. Even their breaths are quiet, though they could both feel the other’s upon their skin.

Obi has kissed Izana before. He has kissed him more times than he cares to count. He has kissed him all over his body, every little spot, visible and secret both. He kisses him everywhere because he enjoys it, and because it seems to do something to the crown prince that seems so private that Obi has to stop himself from looking away and force himself from not looking away all at once.

Elder highness is simply so impossibly beautiful—

A hand presses against Obis chest, just low enough, just high enough to not be suggestive. “Obi,” Izana says, and he pulls in a breath. His other hand is gripping his pen just a little tighter than before. “Perhaps it is time to call it a night.”

Obi bites the inside of his lower lip, just a little, and he holds Izanas gaze for another second, two, three seconds. He leans down, he brushes his lips against Izanas so barely that it’s like it didn’t happen. “Yes,” he agrees, and he pulls away. Nothing changes, not Izanas expression, not his posture, but it’s almost still as if he’s wilting like a flower suddenly lacking water. He looks lonely, at his desk in the darkness, only the light from the colored-glass lamp. “Good night, Elder Highness.”

When did they cross that line? The line that they had never intended to cross, the line that they were never meant to cross, because it spelled disaster, even more than sharing a bed some nights might.

Moreso than falling for a second prince and his herbalist girlfriend, falling for a crown prince is nothing but a mistake.