The door to his chambers is slightly askew, expensive shoes carelessly by the door. Satoru's skipped another lesson with his tutor, of course he has. He's far too used to getting his own way, to marching to the beat of his own drum despite the heavy constraints of being crown prince placed on him. You sigh quietly, used to it by now, and slowly step inside and look toward the bed, ready to remind him of his responsibilities.

But Satoru’s already sprawled across it, long limbs tangled in rumpled sheets, white hair falling into his eyes. He looks more boy than prince like this, loose shirt half undone, chest rising and falling with an unhurried rhythm. His lashes flutter when he hears your steps, brilliant blue eyes cracking open, and a slow smile pulls at his lips.

“Don’t start,” Satoru mumbles, voice rough with sleep, lazy in a way he never is with anyone else. “I know everything already, there's nothing more to learn.”

You try to hold your sternness. “You can’t keep running from your lessons, Your Highness. The kingdom—”

“—will still be there when I wake up.” He cuts you off with a yawn, rolling onto his side. And before you can scold him further, he reaches for you, catching your wrist and tugging gently until you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Satoru—”

But he’s already burying his face into your lap, arms looping loosely around your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before. His hair tickles against your hands, and when he exhales, it’s warm and soft against your stomach, like the weight of him is melting into you.

“Stay a while,” he murmurs, voice muffled against the fabric of your skirts. “Just for a bit. You make it quiet here.”

The words tug at something deep in your chest. With everyone else, he’s sharp edges and silver tongue, untouchable arrogance wrapped in beauty. But with you, only you, he’s soft. Sleepy. Human. You're only a maid but you've watched him grow. Whilst you were helping your mother hang the laundry, you watched from the windows on tippy toes as Satoru mocked his fencing instructors, all boyish grins and mischievoys blue eyes. Now you've taken over your mothers role, tending to Satoru's every need, and cleaning up all his messes, but with the new role had come an unexpected closeness, a rare look into the lonliest boy in the kingdom. The same boy who's cheek is pressed tendery to your skirt, pale long lashes fluttering and strain ebbing away slowly with his breaths.

And though you know you should, you don’t move. You sit there in the quiet glow of the room, Satoru breath warm and even, guarding this rare moment of softness like a secret only you’re allowed to keep.