pierce vanburen ; district 1

He tends toward obsession. It's most apparent in his bedroom. so empty that it, in of itself, is a statement. His prized possession is a skeleton of wire contorted into a spiral bookcase, packed full of pretty books with leather spines and gold embroideries. They're heavy with secrets he'll never give them a chance to tell. Instead they rot, untouched but never allowed to collect dust. Each and every one is perfectly preserved, pristine, and so very unloved.

It wasn't always like this. His memories grow more vivid with age and equally as cruel. The sweet agony of scraped knees and the pressure of his brother's arm crooked around his neck. It was easier for Pierce to smile back at Prince than it was to do it on his own. There was once a time when he and his brother need only look at each other to dissolve into a fit of mischievous giggles. It was a softer kind of understanding, one that had never needed words.

He still loves Prince, of course he does. Or he knows that he's supposed to however, it's been a very long time since he loved him like that.

At some point, he learned to turn it off. Something taught him, be it the weight of his father's expectations or how willing his brother was to let him bear the brunt of it. At some point Pierce stopped forcing himself to be the boy everyone expected of him and started enjoying it. He had always been colder and a little bit smarter but soon that's all that mattered to him. The way in which all eyes snapped to him when there was a problem to be solved felt good.

It's worth the tension headaches, the way he clenches his jaw so tight he's chipped his back tooth and kept it a secret because there was no one to tell. He wears knots into his muscles and blisters into his palms, and has to suppress smiles whenever anyone points out as much. He loves his scars as they are his irrefutable evidence that he is worth something.

Pierce is perfect. that's not his ego talking it's objectively true. His father makes it easy to fall short of his expectations and still he tries to be a damn good son. At the very least he's never once spent the night on some stranger's couch leaving the rest of his family to wonder what alley he's ended up rotting in. He's smart enough to avoid stupid mistakes and oh so willing to solve everybody else's. He collects admiration like it's something precious.

It has a way of making everything feel a little less lonely.

He doesn't want to admit that he resents Prince. It's far easier to force perfection than it is adoration. His brother is, and always has been, a siren song. He doesn't need polished edges and pressed collars - without even trying Prince is, for some reason, deserving of love. He's proud of it too, Pierce sees as much in his eyes whenever they speak. Though that happens less often these days.

But don't think about that. about that ache in his chest when his father scolds Prince with a voice warm with affection. There's so much there, pain and pride just begging to be felt. It should be killing him but it's all gone muted, left long enough that it's collected a thick layer of dust.

Because he's got to prove himself worthy of the crown.

Because he'd rather die than abdicate the throne.