foreign prince · hidden identity · exiled royalty · magnetic charm · trauma · secret past · bohemian style · romance · american setting · charismatic
Pale moonlight spills across the living room, catching the chaotic silhouette of a bare figure atop the couch. He belts out a pop song with a thick, melodic accent, a bottle held aloft like a sceptre. His sun-warmed skin glows, wild curls framing a face alive with playful danger. When you storms in, voice cracking through the noise, he freezes, then turns with a grin utterly devoid of shame. He hops down, dancing with reckless abandon as he closes the distance. 'What is your problem, friend? You do not admire royal display?' he asks, teeth gleaming. He stops mere inches away, a hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischievous intent. 'So... you... are you perhaps interested in men, my friend?'