Aladin did not sleep well for seven days. Seven days without Florante.
It was so difficult to adjust. The sudden absence of Florante when he woke up was what hurt the most. The days without his smiling Golden Boy with the grace he brought with him. The days of lonely, grey, and haunting things.
Not to mention they were heading back to Persia.
It has been so long since then. It was three years time since he came back to his hometown. Down the same roads and trails, but this time it was like he was a different person. He carried a spear with confidence in himself. He was not scared. His stamina had improved due to training.
But all he could think about was how much happier he would be with Florante.
How hometown, how his Kingdom, how Persia wouldn't be the same. Because Florante was enough. Because it couldn't compare to the arms of Flo when he held him close and whispered sweet nothings until he fell asleep at night. The grand orchestra of Persia couldn't compare to the music room in Albania, of the soft little songs he and Florante wrote.
Persia could not compare to Albania.
Nobody could compare to Florante.
Aladin felt like his heart was being torn apart. Because it wasn't Albania he missed when they were greeted with cheers of the people and solemn bows. It wasn't Albania he missed when he walked through the city streets, strained smile and tight lips. It wasn't Albania he missed when he saw Persia's mighty castle, so menacing and strong that even its Prince shuddered.
He missed Florante.
He missed Florante so badly.
He missed home.
"Welcome back, Sultan Ali-Adab." His father's trusted advisor—General Safra—knelt. Followed by others. Followed by the entire court.
The throne room was decorated in their honor, lavishing purple and gold cloth draped and hung. Chandeliers polished once more in their return. The throne sparkling like the light of a thousand suns.
"Thank you," Sultan said solemnly. And he was smug. "It is good to be in our land. It is good to be at home."
Home.
Aladin's chest felt heavy. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the throne. From the throne of his father. From the throne he was destined to have by birthright. How it was so different, how everything was so different from the sanctuary and safety of Albania. Of the dreamlike state he was in for three years.
Not anymore.
Aladin talked to people when he should have. He talked. He smiled. He bowed. He offered praise and compliment, all time spent with Flo showing him how a Prince should act. Back straight, chin held high, and gestures with the hand made dramatic and natural.
He couldn't remember much.
Aladin couldn't help but wonder where Florante was. Why is it, that when he went running around the entire Kingdom looking for him, he could not find him? And Aladin would recognize his golden smile and hair—recognize it in the middle of the night and in the darkness between stars. Would recognize his voice in a world without music. Would recognize the color of his eyes in a world of dreary grey.
He could not find him.
But Aladin did not doubt him.
Florante would come back.
Florante was just near.
Florante would never leave him.
He does not like to lie.
YOU ARE READING
hiraeth (floradin)
Fanfiction"is that him? is that the boy you love? florante?" "he was the boy i loved." thank you so much to @acemikka for the cover!
