[PART 1] Memories of A King (B/Solo)

Louie's childhood was a blur. Despite being only nineteen and only just recently becoming truly independent in his life, he couldn't remember smells or images of his past very vividly. The only things that he could recall were specific items or conversations, and particular events. But whenever he went home to the wintry lands of Napedia, everything always felt unfamiliar even though he knew the layouts of cities and recognized faces and names. There was always that feeling of... detachment. The only familiar things he recalled were the feelings of rejection, humiliation, and anger. Louie didn't like recalling them. In fact, he had pushed them to the very back burner of his mind. But sometimes he'd have dreams of those events, even though they were more like nightmares, and he'd vomit when they finally roused him from his slumber.

But why was this? Why had he been so averse to memories of a childhood that was virtually perfect and privileged? Compared to other children, Louie led a very materialistic and dreamy life, so why did he abhor it so much?

. . .

"Mama! Mama, look!" said Louie, holding up a piece of paper with a drawing scribbled across it. He couldn't have been older than nine years and was wearing a cute cream sweater and camel shorts. In front of him was his Mother and some other woman, chatting over tea and a dessert tray, dressed modestly and sat by a wall made completely of windows overseeing a large garden on the other side. It was a memory Louie had trouble forgetting, and one his earliest ones as well. He knew how it went all too well.

His mother briskly peered down at Louie's drawing, and then back at her friend. Louie couldn't remember what they were chatting about, but he did recall that they'd often talk about her friend's son who was particularly gifted with athletics. "Yes, dear. Très agréable." she said, but she didn't look at his drawing long enough to mean that. Louie could've drawn something atrocious and she wouldn't have a shadow of a doubt that it was très agréable. But it was always like this; Louie's mother would never give him the honest attention he's wanted for a lifetime. Her praise felt empty, and her eyes always looked tepid and never warm. What was so terrible about his drawing that she couldn't even spare a few seconds to behold it? Was he not important? This wasn't the first instance where the young Louie had felt overlooked and ignored despite being acknowledged, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

His mother looked at Louie again when she realized that he didn't immediately walk away as he normally would, the boy looking at his drawing blankly. "Why don't you go to your room, Louie? I left something for you there." she smiled, waiting for the blonde boy to respond.

Louie didn't look up at her. "Okay..." he replied, his voice bright and yet soft.

When he went inside his room, he remembered it being very bright. Bright colors, the windows were always open to let light in, and it was very spacious. Despite the room being so large, it was surprisingly minimalistic compared to how his rooms would've looked in the present day. In the present, everything would have appeared to be very neat but would have actually been very cluttered with stuff. It was his servants who organized it so routinely.

On his twin bed was a large box wrapped like a gift, and when Louie had gone over to open it, it was no surprise when he found new clothes inside. He was always very pleased to get new clothes since his liking for fashion had always been a part of him, but while being so similar to his mother in that regard, they had strikingly different tastes for what they considered to be the perfect outfit. His mother thought cute school outfits and modest boys' clothing was fit for Louie, while he, in contrast, preferred colorful t-shirts and denim shorts.

Looking at the box only distracted Louie for a few minutes before his young mind drifted back to the conversation from earlier. What can I do to make her look my way? She never does! Louie thought to himself, feeling both sad and frustrated with his dilemma. But as he recalled his mother and her friend's earlier conversation, that woman's son came to mind.  

His name was Warren, and he was Louie's age. Warren was a fair-faced child with dark hair and bright blue eyes, the very opposite of Louie's red ones. He was an athletic, gentle boy whose only flaws lied in his academic ability. He knew this because he and Warren were actually friends who often hung out together, Louie being the one who helped him with his studying and Warren being the one who wanted to play tennis. While they both succeeded in different things, both of them shared the same lack of confidence despite both of them being outgoing extroverts. Louie wasn't sure what exactly he wanted Warren to do about his circumstances, but he wanted to vent. So, he invited him over, which was a common thing for them.

Knock! Knock!

"Coming!" shouted Louie from across the room, bouncing off of his bed to open the door. It was Warren, his arms full of notebooks and other books from school. Louie's bright, excited expression suddenly dulled when he saw it. "Don't tell me you brought all of your homework with you..."

Warren smiled and laughed. "Yeah... you're more helpful than my tutor, you know!"

"But that's all of your homework."

"Oui!"

Louie wasn't sure why he remembered meaningless conversations with forgotten childhood acquaintances more than anything else. Warren wasn't even part of his life anymore, and he didn't care to include him either. He only remembered Warren to be the best at every sport he's played, and while despite not being the brightest child, he received a lot of recognition and praise from everyone who was aware of his athletic achievements and gifts.

---

For years, ever since Louie became cognizant of how popular Warren was among other children and their families, he became even more aware of how small he looked in his shadow. Even with his good grades, his Mother never looked at Louie how she looked at Warren when he would come over. Compared to how her face lit up when she saw that dark-haired boy come over to study, Louie couldn't help but notice that she brightness dimmed a little whenever she looked at him. He hated it, and every time Warren came over with a medal shinier than bigger than his last, the blonde couldn't help but feel bitter.

It was a sunny afternoon in Napedia, as it would be any other day. The harsh thumps of knuckles knocking against Louie's same bedroom door could be heard, and he knew it was Warren. He knocked the same way with the same heaviness as he would for years, and he knew what he was here for. The blonde opened the door, unable to conceal the weight of his bitterness on his face.

When the door opened, Warren smiled with his same puppyish eyes. Louie had begun to hate his face. "Salut, Louie! Can you help me with my studies again?"

"C-Can I ask you something, Warren?" Louie stepped to the side, inviting Warren in and closing the door when he walked inside.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

Louie looked at his feet, his fists clenching at his sides. His face always tensed up into a frown when he was thinking or concentrating on something, and Warren knew this. But Louie could feel his bitterness tickle the tip of his tongue, tempting him to nearly curse at Warren for stealing his Mother. "If..." Louie started quietly, finally looking up to face his friend, "If I said that I wanted to run track with you and your team, do you think I'd have a shot?"

Louie was expecting some hesitation from Warren when he said that. After all, it was abrupt coming from a soft-spoken but adventurous boy like Louie, who hadn't cared for sports or athletics in any capacity before this conversation. And yet...

Warren sprung up in a fit of excitement, grabbing Louie's shoulders and nearly shaking him in his jubilation. "Of course, mon ami! You'd be terrific at it! In fact," he dropped his books on a coffee table and ran over to the door, "let's go to the track right now and train!"

Louie looked surprised and a little dumbfounded. "N-Now? What about your homework?"

"Oh, that can wait! This is way more important!" Warren laughed, "Now then! Aller vite!"

For several months, Warren and Louie had exercised and trained together, and he began to make rapid improvements. Even when Warren wasn't around, Louie would exercise and even alter his diet to accommodate the new changes. It was a difficult adjustment, but unlike other children, Louie made more progress in such little time before the new season. He was even beginning to keep up with Warren during their runs.

---

It was impossible to hide such exercises from his mother, and Louie didn't want to either. He wanted her to see him run with Warren, then maybe she would see that he could be just as good as he was. Just as talented or gifted as he was. So much so that victory could come naturally to him. Was that so wrong to wish for? Was it so wrong to try to achieve that amount of success and recognition?

The week of the track team's trials was over and the results were announced via billboard, where the ones who made it through were posted on the wall for everyone to behold. Behind the crowd, Louie and Warren stood there looking for his name. "Louie Calvin Klein," such a simple name and yet so hard to find among the others. Row by row, column by column, no matter how hard he had looked, Louie couldn't find those three words.

Louie was beginning to feel his heart sink into the depths of his stomach. Why couldn't he find his own name? He had worked so hard, and even that wasn't enough for that track team? How much more did he have to do? Suddenly, Warren sprung up and shouted with a modest amount of jubilation. "À votre santé! You made the team, Louie! You made it!"

"Huh? I-I did?" Louie stumbled over his words. At first, he didn't know what Warren was on about, but after following his fingers with his crimson eyes, lo and behold, his name was printed snugly in between some others. Suddenly, his entire face lit up with childlike joy and relief. How could he have missed that? It was such good news, and Warren looked equally if not more excited. Louie looked at him and clenched his fists together. "I did! We did it!"

"Of course! You've worked so hard for it, so it's only natural that you're rewarded for your efforts! Let's continue to do our best!" Warren grinned. Briefly, Louie hesitated. For a moment, the bitterness he felt for Warren had transcended him. How could he be so spiteful at a boy like him? His only friend?

"Y-Yeah!" Louie replied chipperly.

For a night, the two boys celebrated as prepubescent preteens would have done at that time. Over tea and books, the two separated in high spirits that night. Why did he remember that night so profoundly? It must've been because that would have been the last of those times, isn't it?

After that night, Louie's bitterness and jealousy had only been pacified for a month. He was too distracted preparing for upcoming competitions to even think about Warren. The only thing on Louie's mind was being prepared to win all of those races, even if they were small ones.

---

When the races came, Louie had flew passed his opponents with unbeatable speeds. Over and over and over, Louie would defeat his opponents in those races, so much that he even surpassed the talented and well-liked Warren Chandler. In one of the biggest races at that time, Louie had competed against Warren and won. Things were never the same after that.

Even after he had won all of those races, his mother never bragged about him. She wouldn't even acknowledge his victories. Her gifts became more extravagant but other than that? Nothing! Nothing at all! Louie would have to try harder!

Horse-racing, golf, tennis, soccer, and chess—everything Warren did well, Louie vowed to do better. He made his horses last longer, scored every hole in golf, defeated his opponents in tennis with vigor, darted passed his enemies in soccer, and learned those chess boards like the back of his hands, and in every competition, the fruits of his labors showed themselves. He had become one of the most prestigious players in a litany of sports in the region, but when he started to gain popularity, Warren had begun to lose face. He stopped coming over to ask for homework help, and he stopped competing in competitions. The only times Louie had ever seen him was on the off-chance he'd even attend school, and yet it didn't take long for the blonde boy to figure out why.

It was the evening after school, and almost out in the open were a group of boys and girls hovering over someone sprawled on the ground. Louie remembered that day clearly. He remembered the looks of revulsion and the taunting smirk on those kids' faces, and he remembered how bloody and bruised the boy's face was as he sprawled over the pavement, holding his head in his hands. It was Warren, and he never looked so small.

"I bet you're ashamed to even be out in public, Warren Chandler!" mocked one boy.

"I think I'd kill myself if I had lost that much!" taunted another.

Louie stood there from the sidewalk on the other side, walking with acquaintances he's garnered recently, watching with eyes wide with horror. None of them seemed to even notice what was happening to Warren, and if they did, they didn't seem to care.

The blonde boy stopped walking and stared at the group. "W-Warren..." he mumbled to himself.

One girl, hearing this, looked at the beating and sighed. "You know, I hear that he kissed a boy a couple of weeks ago. Can you believe that I had a crush on him? Répugnant!"

Louie didn't say anything. It seemed that every day, a new face joined his clique until he no longer recognized who was who. Warren, his only friend in life, was sprawled on the ground just across the street, downed and bloody like an animal. For a moment, his blue eyes fixed onto Louie's crimson ones.

"Aidez moi, Louie... aidez moi!" he choked out, and while Louie couldn't hear him from so far away, he knew what he was saying. He was asking for help. Warren, his only friend, the boy he helped tutor and was stronger than he could ever hope to be was asking for help. After being defeated time and time again by Louie, the young and dark-haired Warren had fallen from grace. His peers had mocked him, and the adults humiliated him. Losing status or prestige in any capacity seemed particularly unacceptable in his community, and children weren't exempt from that. The number of medals and trophies Louie received as awards increased, and so did his popularity among others. In a way, he had replaced Warren's name with his own in conversations that he used to loathe, and he became known throughout the entire region for his athletic accomplishments.

Amazing, Louie! Very good, Louie! You're so talented, Louie! You should go for national, Louie!

The praise was ceaseless. The praise felt good. No, in fact, it felt great. For once, Louie burned brighter than Warren ever did. With hard work and a burning passion to be acknowledged, to be treated like a somebody, he had finally been able to escape that shadow! That humiliation! But after all of this, seeing Warren looking like that and losing so much face, was Louie strong enough to abandon everything he's worked for to be mocked like that? If he had extended out his hand or yelled at those kids to stop, would he have been ostracized too? Warren, the one who had been by his side for so long but had stolen his place in even his own home was beginning to falter, but could Louie even help him? For so long he's lived in others' shadows, but could he live like an animal? Could he?












"No, I don't!" Louie spewed out like venom. His face always screwed into a frown when he was thinking hard about something. Seeing Warren like that and feeling the breath of his clique's words against his ears did something terrible to him, and it's when he decided. "I mean, I did, once. But not anymore..." Louie looked away from them, glaring at his feet. How could he help Warren if he could hardly help himself? Even silence during this interrogation would mean death for him, so how could he ever commit to helping Warren?

Louie didn't want to see Warren so bloody and beaten. He didn't want to see him like that. He began to walk away, forcing a smile on his face. "Let's go to the track, guys..." he said to them, turning around only for a brief moment. What were those kids looking like? What sort of faces did they wear? But when he turned around, expecting to see those kids scowl, he saw something even worse. For the first time in his life, those bright blue eyes that were so distinct of Warren, were filled with tears.

After that, the last time Louie heard of Warren was through word of his suicide later that year.

---

Louie couldn't remember what happened after that. He didn't know if he attended his funeral, and he didn't know if he ever mourned his death. Whenever he recalled Warren, he recalled him with deep feelings of anger and regret. Seeing his bright, blue eyes filled with tears and his body and face beaten like a dog's—Louie detested that image. Whenever he remembered it, he always vomited. He wasn't angry at Warren, but he hated him. He hated his circumstances and he hated how even the strongest of souls could be so easily chewed up and spat out like nothing.

Louie refused to ever be humiliated like that. He rejected any fate that might have made it okay for him to be in that position. He would never let anyone make him cry like that. He would never allow anyone to touch his face in such ways. No one was going to be there if he ever stumbled—so he would never stumble, to begin with! If no one would help he cross oceans, he would turn them into stepping stones if he had to, and he had to! Louie didn't remember how he felt at that time, and he didn't know if he ever shed a tear for Warren, but his death was like gasoline to the dim flames within Louie's spirit. He'd burn so bright that he was almost blinding to look at. He'd burn so brightly that you'd have no choice but to acknowledge his flames. Warren's death changed Louie.

After his suicide, Louie stopped stuttering. He accepted friendship and conviviality when he was offered it, and he actively pursued competitions. If there was someone to surpass, he would surpass them. He'd take every medal and trophy there was to be awarded and seize them, and with them, he'd build a pedestal so high that not even the most venomous of hands could bring him down from that height. He couldn't trust anyone but himself, and he was his own best friend. That's how it was destined to be.

Yet, even after all that his young body had accomplished, Louie's mother seemed even more interested in Warren's death than she was in Louie's achievements. Even in death, Warren still stole her away from him—the one thing Louie's always wanted. The praise from strangers and acquaintances was fulfilling and kept him going, but it was never what he wanted.

Louie couldn't fix Napedia and he couldn't help those who couldn't fix themselves. He could only do what he could do to keep his head above water and to step onto shore.

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