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Minho opens Jeongin’s door without knocking. The palace corridors are much too echoey for that, he’d be caught immediately. He slips inside as quietly as he can, catching Changbin’s sly little wink from where he’s posted up at the door on his way in.

“Mmn?” Jeongin grumbles sleepily when the mattress dips with Minho’s weight, his feet pressing cold against Jeongin’s shins as soon as he’s under the covers. That wakes him up. “Ah! Hey! You’re freezing!”

“Warm me up, Innie,” Minho pouts, scooching closer until he’s nestled into his brother’s side. It feels like Jeongin got big overnight. That he sprung up and out and became a man. Horrifying, change is.

Jeongin heaves a wretched sigh, but he curls his arms around Minho, his hot breath fanning over his hair. They never do this anymore, but Minho knows that Jeongin can tell he’s off kilter. Still, he lets them lay in silence for a bit, their breathing evening out to match one another.

“I’m scared, Jeongin.”

“I know. It’s okay to be scared. It’s a big deal.”

“What if I do poorly?” Minho squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the sting of budding tears. He only gets emotional in the nighttime.

Jeongin puffs out a breath. “You could never be as bad as him, Min.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m still scared.”

“Hm,” Jeongin hums, a soft, comforting agreement. Jeongin always knows what to say to make a person feel heard, rather than pitied. He’s warm, steady like that. “What will be your first order as king? Free candy for all?”

A hint of a smile tugs at Minho’s lips. A game they used to play when they were young. Making up laws and orders. One of Minho’s greatest was a promise of free candy for all. How childish it is now, when he’s on the edge of his actual rule and making decisions that could decide the fate of the kingdom as they know it. “I think I’ll stop the war.”

Jeongin goes horribly still. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

“Well, then. I can see why you’re scared. I don’t feel for you at all, actually,” Jeongin teases, earning him a solid smack to the chest.

The two of them dissolve into giggles, just like they would when they were children. When calm settles over them again, the room feels heavier, just a bit. Less cold, more important.

“I’m afraid I’ll turn into him, Yen.”

“You won't,” Jeongin soothes, so sure. “That’s impossible. I can feel your heart. Proof you have one.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
The coronation took place the day after Minho’s father was killed, but the three month mourning period followed directly afterwards.

Three long months Minho has been king. Three months that he hasn’t been able to leave the palace, or go outside, or do anything he pleases. His father still controls him from the grave, it seems.

But now he’s been appropriately groomed, and he can finally leave behind those horrible black mourning robes in favor of his preferred deep green. Sooyoung has brushed his hair away from his face and fussed with his eyebrows, and now he’s The King,

proper,

sitting at the head of his table of advisors for the very first time.

He hasn’t sat in on one of these meetings since he was a child. His father preferred to keep him out of affairs, even if he was meant to take over eventually. Minho isn’t convinced his father didn’t think himself immortal, invincible. The verdict, then, is that this sort of thing is supremely boring. Absolutely mind numbing.

Each of his advisors grovels on about their updates, about what’s happening. It doesn’t matter, Minho already knows how he wants to proceed with the war, but he’s bound to wait. Tradition. Something the Kingdom of Sylvestris cares for more than they should.

When it’s finally his turn he clears his throat. His cheeks heat at the number of eyes on him, waiting for his word. It’s intimidating, chilling.

“Thank you all for your insight,” he begins, coughing lightly to try to steady his voice. “I’ve thought it over, and I am certain with my choice. I’d like to call for a ceasefire with the Kingdom of Levanter. I hope to have the papers signed and sent by this afternoon.”

The room explodes. Shouting, jumping, the banging of fists. Minho expected as much. When the lot of them have been conditioned to crave this war, the longevity of it. It’s like a game to them. They’re the masters, kicking around the pawns. Enough.

“Quiet!” he stands, putting his hands on the table. The advisors fall to some hushed murmurs, one of them tries to speak, but Minho cuts him off, “No. I’ve made up my mind. We will recess for half an hour, I expect compliance when we return.”

He leaves the room of them gaping, eyes wide, jaws unhinged, storming into the hall. One of the guards attempts to catch his arm but he shakes himself free. “I’m going outside.”

“Your majesty!” he protests.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve been cooped up in this place for three months, I’m going to the gardens. I’ll be back in half the hour.” He doesn’t give anyone time to protest, slipping away instead. 
 
It should be a crime to have kept Minho from the outdoors during the sunny season. Sylvestris is only bright for about four months of the year, the other eight cloudy and rainy. Two of those months have been stolen from him, but at least he’s here now.

He takes a deep breath of fresh air. Pine and dirt, fresh grass and evergreen. It smells like home. It is his home, he loves it here.

A soft smile falls across his face as he makes for the garden. Large, soaring hedges, some cut to shapes, others used as walls. Everything here is so green, enchanting. If Minho could take his meetings outdoors he would.

There’s barely a moment to register what’s happening before he hears a rustle, and then a man falls out of the hedges right in front of him, stumbling something fierce.

“Christ!” the man shouts, balance wavering, seconds from eating dirt.

Minho rushes to catch him, hands out. If only his father could see him now. Touching the help with his bare hands. Minho shakes the despicable thought from his head.

The man is wearing work trousers and a dirtied white blouse, the top untied, exposing a generous sliver of his chest. Minho doesn’t stare, he doesn’t want to be rude, though it is more skin than he’d normally see on a stranger. Hair mid-long and completely mussed, littered with leaves and twigs, the man brushes it out of his eyes. Big, round, brown eyes that sit atop prominent cheeks. What an interesting face.

He seems to realize who he’s looking at all at once, eyes blowing wide, jaw wobbling. “Oh my god, your majesty,” he blurts, throwing himself into a deep bow. “I mean, I shouldn’t take the lord’s name in vain in front of the king,” a pained wince, bow deepening further until his hair falls over his face completely. He sounds sad when he speaks again. Almost fearful, “I’m so sorry, please spare my job!”

Minho blinks, taken aback by the harsh reaction. Had this man known his father?

“Um, please, no need to apologize. Or bow, really. I’m just— a man.”

“A man,” the stranger laughs a bit as he rises up. “Sorry. Really, Chan would kill me if he saw me interacting this way with the king.”

Minho perks up a bit at the name. “Ah, you know Chan. Grounds staff then, I suppose.”

“Yes, in the stables. My name is Jisung, your majesty. Han Jisung,” he babbles, dropping into another bow.

This time when he pops back up again, a twig is sticking out of Jisung’s hair. Minho doesn’t think, he just moves to grab it. He feels a bit guilty when Jisung flinches, acting as if he’s going to be hit.

“Apologies, you had,” he holds up the offending object. “A twig.”

Jisung’s cheeks flush pink, bright and fast. Completely endearing.

“Why were you in the hedge anyway?” Minho muses, failing to hide the beginnings of a smile. Jisung is strange, a complete coincidence that he’d run into him.

“Right, well, it sounds kind of silly but I've been chasing this blasted cat around for weeks, and I swear she’s real! But I seem to be the only one that’s seen her. She’s bright orange, I’ve been calling her Pumpkin,” Jisung babbles on, words coming fast. His eyes brighten as he talks, big and wide, like they’re coming alive with his story. “Anyway, I was chasing her around all morning, and she tucked into this hedge, and I thought I was about to get her, but then I fell out, and— well, you know the rest.”

Minho can’t do much but stare, let out a surprised little laugh. Jisung’s chest goes red with his face, he rubs his neck awkwardly.

“But, enough about me. Shouldn’t I be asking you why you’re here instead of saving the kingdom or what not?”

A diversion. Minho can respect that. He’s well acquainted with pulling attention away from himself.

“Ah. It was getting a bit stuffy in there.”

Jisung’s lips quirk. “Stirring up trouble on your first day?”

“Something like that,” Minho blows out a breath. He wonders how much he’s allowed to tell servants. He doesn’t think he much cares what he’s allowed to do. He does make the rules now, after all. “I called for a ceasefire.”

“No kidding.”

Minho shrugs, unwilling to take credit for anything big. He’s just one man. He feels deeply uncomfortable receiving praise for something that’s mostly done by his people, at his behest.

Jisung’s face turns from awe to something bright, a wide, full smile that pushes his cheeks up. “That’s wonderful, your majesty.”

“Please, when we’re alone just call me Minho. I never cared for any of that.”

“That’s wonderful,

Minho.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Minho’s belly swims with the beginnings of pride. That this random man might think he’s done something right. It should barely make a dent, but for some reason, his body urges him to care. “My advisors were not pleased.”

“Your majesty! You’re running late!” One of the guards howls for him.

“Hell,” Minho mutters. “I best be going. But, Jisung—“ he stops on his turn, the man perking up at his name. “Please let me know if you manage to catch the cat. I love them, they’re my favorite animal.”

“Oh! Sure!” Jisung grins. His lips form a heart when he smiles widely. “I’ll work extra hard, now that I know the king likes cats.” He bows, deep and fast.

Minho smiles for the entire walk back. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Most of Minho’s week is chock full with official duties. He gets up in the morning, goes to work, barely time for a break, comes back and night and passes out almost immediately. He’s barely even had time to see his brother. Though, to be fair, Jeongin is quite busy running around with his friends a lot of the time.

Regardless, Minho was delighted when he found out he’d be afforded a break on Sunday, the day Jeongin goes out with his horse.

Minho quite likes watching Jeongin ride, sitting at the garden overlook, hands shading his eyes from the sun as he watches the horse gallop in and out of the forest.

Jeongin has always been so strong, powerful. He’s stubborn enough to ride a horse, to control one. Minho is so endeared by the way his brother’s steel shell gives to soft insides.

“Psst! Psst!

Your majesty!”

Minho spins around in the direction of the whisper, just in time to catch Jisung’s head peeking out from between two hedges.

“Jisung?”

Jisung’s face lights up, smile wide. “You remember me,” he sounds pleasantly surprised.

“Of course I do,” Minho laughs, standing up stepping in the direction of the hedges. “You promised me a cat.”

“Right! That’s why I came,” Jisung tries to wriggle out of the hedge but ends up falling forward, straight into Minho’s arms. He goes beet red, backing away as soon as he’s steadied himself.

“You have to stop falling for me, Han Jisung,” Minho teases. He shouldn’t, but it’s so easy to make the man fluster.

“I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jisung bows, eyes pinched shut. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“Jisung, I’m just messing around. And for god's sake, if we’re to be friends you must stop bowing.”

Jisung’s back goes straight as a board. “I’m sorry, your maj— I mean,

Minho,”

he pauses, realization washing across his features. “You want to be friends?”

“Yes,” Minho nods. “If that’s alright with you. It’s not often I find someone who intrigues me like you do.”

By

not often

he means never, of course. He doesn’t ever meet anyone new, no one interesting. Everyone inside the palace is stuffy and boring, asking him to do things.

“I would like that, I think,” Jisung brushes his pants off with flat palms, his mouth curling up. “I think I might be off to a good start, I came, really, to tell you that I caught the cat.”

“You did!” Minho’s smile is overwhelming, he feels his shoulders straightening along with it.

“Yes,” Jisung nods, blush painting his cheeks.

“Why didn’t you start with that?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d remember me, and I was busy trying to sneak around because if Chan catches me slacking off again I’m going to get punished. Not that I slack off often! I just tend to wander. My uncle always told me I have an adventurer’s spirit. Well, anyways, that’s not important, but—“

Minho stops his rambling, no matter how willing he is to listen, there’s more important matters to attend to. “Take me to the cat.” 
 
“This is kind of awkward,” Jisung warns, leading Minho into the back rooms of the stables, up a rickety flight of stairs. “Considering that you’re the king and all.”

“Why would it be awkward?” Minho blinks, still hanging on the steps as Jisung stands on the small platform above, in front of a wooden plank door.

“Because this is where I live, it’s low class,” Jisung worries his lip, hand fidgeting on the doorknob.

Minho’s chest aches. He knows that it’s fair of Jisung to think him judgemental, he has no proof of the opposite, but Minho wants him to know that he doesn’t care. “Jisung, I truly don’t mind. Really, I’ve spent time in town, I haven’t just been cooped up in the palace my whole life. Chan and I are friends, we grew up together.”

“Okay, just,” Jisung’s shoulders relax a bit, but his face stays conflicted. “Don’t mind any mess. I promise it’s not usually so unorganized—”

As soon as the door is open, Minho pushes through, eyes on the hunt for the cat. Jisung’s room is small, cozy. He has a window overlooking the fields, trinkets on his bedside. Nothing to be embarrassed about. There’s a bed of straw in the corner, an orange lump of fur curled up there.

“It’s not usually so unorganized, it’s just that—”

Minho gasps, kneeling next to the creature. “She’s pregnant!”

“Yes,” Jisung nods, stepping over more slowly. He crouches down next to Minho, watches as Pumpkin sniffs Minho’s hand, allows him to pet her head. “I wouldn’t have kept her in here if not, but now I want to wait until she has her babies, just so I know they’re safe.”

“That’s very admirable.” Minho coos as he scratches behind Pumpkin’s ears, “Such a pretty girl, aren’t you?”

Pumpkin purrs, loud as an earthquake.

“She likes you,” Jisung smiles softly, eyes trained on where Minho’s hand is rubbing at her chest. “Chan tried to pet her and she almost bit his hand off.”

“Channie is too big, his arms distract from his friendly face.”

Jisung laughs. The sound sends a flurry through Minho’s stomach.

“I always wanted a cat,” Minho sighs. “As a pet.”

“Why didn’t you get one? That seems easy enough for a prince, no?”

Minho audibly snorts, he can’t help it. “Did you ever know my father?”

“Ah,” Jisung’s face pinches. “No, not personally, but Chan has told me some.”

“A cruel man,” Minho swallows. His legs ache a bit from where he’s crouching, but he resists the urge to fall to the floor, dirtying his pants. “He would never allow it. No pets.”

“Well, you’re welcome to share this one with me,” Jisung says, as if it’s the easiest solution in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe Minho could learn something from Jisung, who seems to find simple answers along with having a strong value system.

When Minho looks up, Jisung is already looking at him, his gentle smile turning to something more sure. Minho smiles back at him, holding his gaze until Jisung averts his eyes, cheeks turning pink.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’d love to visit again, especially when she has her kittens.”

“I’d love that!” Jisung blurts. And then, like he’s realized what he’s said,

“We’d

love that.” But it’s too late, Minho is already grinning. 
 
Just as he thinks he’ll be able to slip out of the barn without getting stopped by anyone, a hand closes around his bicep.

“Minho,” Jeongin’s head tips to the side. “What are you doing here?”

“Yen! Hi! I was just—” Minho falters.

He shouldn’t feel guilty about spending time with a stableboy, but he does, low and deep in his belly. He knows Jeongin will think, right away, that there’s something more to it. He’s always been a lover of stories, fairytales and romance novels. He’s always searching for things that aren’t there.

Really, Minho would like to say that his reasoning for hiding his visit with Jisung from Jeongin is simply to avoid teasing, but more than that, he’s afraid.

He’s afraid of what Jeongin will think. He’s afraid that Jeongin will be mad at him, distracting himself from work. He’s afraid that Jeongin will think he’s putting them both at risk.

From the corner of his eye, Minho sees his personal guard, Seonghwa, standing at the door, raising one brow at his hesitation. He ignores it. “Waiting for you to finish riding.”

Jeongin’s forehead pinches for a moment, but he lets go quickly. “O—kay, here I am!”

“Would you like to have dinner together?”

“Not if you’re going to be weird and formal about it,” Jeongin scrunches up his nose in disgust.

“Fair enough,” Minho sighs, tossing his arm around his brother’s shoulder. Harder now that Jeongin is so tall.

It’s Minho’s job to protect him. He reminds himself repeatedly as he walks away from the stable, not looking back. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Sometimes Minho sits in the garden while Chan works. It’s calming, relaxing. Plus, Chan is Minho’s oldest friend. The comfort provided by sitting with someone like that can’t be overstated.

Chan is strong, sure, he has morals. He’s hardworking, handsome, and Minho loves to bother him. They’re practically brothers.

“I believe Lixie will be visiting this weekend,” Minho feigns nonchalance, plucking petals off of a flower he pulled from a bush. One at a time, like one of those love games they’d play as a child.

Chan’s face goes beet red without pause, his shears clipping away at the hedges. The man has an unbelievable knack for sculpting plants, something he learned on a whim, trying his hand at it. Today he’s shaping a delicate spiral, cutting a chunk out of his work at the mention of Felix.

“Oops, sorry,” Minho grins evilly, not sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to mess with your hedge.”

Glaring, pursing his lips, Chan goes back to work, attempting to work around the mishap. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of,” he lies.

Chan and Felix have been dancing around one another for ages. Years of silent touches and fleeting moments, Felix’s status keeping them apart from anything substantial. Minho is a proponent of the mindset that Chan should go for it anyway, but Chan has always been more cautious than him. A servant can’t be in love with a noble, and vice versa. Not in any meaningful way.

Minho wishes he had the power to change the rules, but as it stands, there are none. It’s unspoken, a cultural barrier. His court would oust anyone that broke such a standard, leave them with no money, no prospects or connections. A hard pill to swallow. As a child he thought being the king meant having control of everything, but some traditions are harder to break.

Minho can feel his tongue tingling with the urge to ask about Jisung. His most mysterious new friend, the one they both share. Chan would tell him, of course, and he’d be nicer about it than Jeongin would, surely, but still, Minho holds himself back.

He doesn’t understand why he’s taken such an interest in Jisung in particular. Something about his smile, the glint in his eyes. He’s handsome, of course, Minho isn’t blind, and he isn’t keen on lying to himself, but it’s more than that. Jisung isn’t afraid of him, he agreed to call Minho by his name right away, he doesn’t act uncomfortable or unequal, like most common people do.

They fell into a comfort almost immediately, like they’d been friends for years. Minho can’t for the life of him figure out why, or how, but he’d like to keep learning more.

These days, when he’s on break from his meetings, taking lunch in the gardens, sometimes Jisung will slip in and take a seat across from him for a moment, updating him on Pumpkin, sharing about his day. Minho has started looking forward to lunch, for the chance to spend time with Jisung. Sometimes he sees Jisung across the way, and they share a little wave.

Small moments, all of them adding up to one giant stone in the middle of Minho’s head, thoughts of Jisung taking up quite a bit of space. He never thought himself a daydreamer, but he finds himself frequently scolded by his advisors for drifting off when lunch is nearing. Lost in his own head.

And maybe he’s dreaming it now, but off in the distance, Minho catches the back of a figure disappear into the wood. A white blouse, work pants, a fluffy head of hair. Surely, unless he’s gone mad, Jisung is there too. He’s always around, always moving, doing something or other. Minho is so fascinated with him.

“I’ll be going, Chan,” Minho says, eyes never leaving the forest. “See you later.”

“Bye?” Chan sounds confused at the abrupt exit, but Minho doesn’t care. He’s much more interested in whatever Han Jisung is doing tucking into the forest in the middle of the day.

Minho stalks across the gardens, ignoring the way Chan is looking at him. Seonghwa is behind him somewhere, Minho is sure, like he always is. Minho is used to having a guard. Seonghwa knows to keep enough distance that Minho has privacy when he’s about.

From up close, the spot where Jisung snuck in is thick with branches. Minho frowns, pushing through them all at once. The needles stick to him, some get in his mouth. He spits them out, shaking off his hair when he pops through the other side, into the less dense woods.

The pines soar, branches staying higher into the air in the main body of the forest. Trunks long and smooth, growth so thick that only fractals of light hit the bed of needles that covers the ground.

It’s quiet here, and beautiful. Birdsong and the crack of twigs as Minho walks. It’s not hard at all to find where Jisung went, he just follows the soft humming.

Peeking his head around a tree, he finds Jisung, back turned, bent over the ground. He has a basket in his hand, singing some tune Minho doesn’t know. Minho would stand and study him before announcing his presence, but it feels wrong to spy. “Hello,” he greets.

“Jesus Chri—” Jisung jumps nearly out of his skin, basket falling to the ground, hand at his heart. “Minho, what the hell are you doing here?”

Minho gives him an apologetic smile, gingerly grabbing the basket from where it fell, handing it back to Jisung. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw you sneak in, I was wondering what you were up to.”

Jisung looks around like he’s searching for something, his surprise still evident on his face. “Shouldn’t you have a guard or something? Is it not dangerous to be out here alone?”

“Seonghwa is outside, I’m sure,” Minho shrugs. He smiles, attempting to break some of the tension. “Why? Are you planning to kill me?”

“No!” Jisung rushes, eyes going wide. “Of course not! I was just—”

“Jisungie, I was joking,” Minho laughs. He dissolves further when he sees a red blush working its way up Jisung’s neck, settling in his ears and cheeks. “It’s fine. I just wanted to see what you’re up to. I can go if you don’t want company, it’s no big deal.”

“No!” Jisung says again, this time accompanied by a hand on Minho’s arm, one he quickly removes when he realizes what he’s done. His blush deepens. “Sorry, I’m just— not used to making friends. Especially not with anyone like you.”

“Anyone like me?” Sometimes Jisung will say things like that, separating them into two; Jisung and Minho. Twin circles in the dirt that never cross. Minho understands, though he wishes it were different.

“Like, I don’t know,” Jisung mumbles, looking down at where his toe pushes pine needles around in the dirt. “You’re powerful and wealthy and beautiful,” the final word comes as a whisper.

Minho’s heart picks up without permission, without him expecting it. “I’m just a man, Jisung. You may not be as wealthy as me, but you’re powerful in your own right, and just as beautiful, if not more.” Minho can feel blood rush to his face, painting him in shades of his innermost thoughts.

This fickle thing. Casual compliments, red cheeks. Minho doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he likes it.

Jisung refuses to meet his eyes. “Quit that. I’m so embarrassed,” he whines, halfheartedly.

“Don’t be. I enjoy spending time with you, Jisung. I consider you my friend.” Minho shuffles over enough to bump Jisung’s shoulder with his fist, jostling him good-naturedly. Jisung peeks up then, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Minho returns it.

“And I consider you mine.

Most of Minho’s friends have been prescribed. His brother, who didn’t really have a choice in the matter; his handmaid, Sooyoung, who’s been by his side since birth; Chan, just because they’re the same age, just because Chan’s mother and Jeongin’s mother were friends.

Minho has never made a friend by himself, not until Jisung. It’s confusing, sure, because he’s certain that his other friends don’t make him stare so frequently, and they don’t make him blush, they don’t make his heart rate soar. Jisung is different. Minho doesn’t know what that means for him yet.

It’s not often that Minho feels like a person rather than a thing. An individual instead of a piece on a chess board, a figurehead. Jisung makes him feel like a man.

“I was just coming out here to collect mushrooms,” Jisung powers on, dropping the line of conversation. “But then I found this clover patch, and I was searching for luck.” Jisung gestures to a thicket of green on the ground, sprawling foliage, little leaves.

“Searching for luck?” Minho steps closer, bending at the waist to get a closer look.

“Yes,” Jisung squats down, running his hands through the plants, checking over each one. “Most of them grow in threes, but every once in a while, you’ll find a clover with four leaves. My uncle always told me it was good luck.” Jisung smiles up at him, and Minho’s heart picks up again.

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s a countryman’s tale, I’m sure,” Jisung continues his search. “I grew up in the west. We always joke that all there is to be had out there is farms and folklore.”

“Ah,” Minho listens intently. He’d love to know more about Jisung’s upbringing. He’s never been west of the mountains. His father told them it was dangerous. Minho has a hard time believing that anyone of Jisung’s kind could be violent. Such a soft, kind man, surely was raised by those cut of the same cloth. “That’s nice. Everyone could always use some extra luck.”

Jisung gasps, sharp and strong, sending Minho’s heart beating for a whole new reason.

“What?” he asks, eyes wide.

“I found one!” Jisung grins wildly, fingers grasping the base of a tiny sprig, picking it out of the ground. He stands back to Minho’s height, eyes steady on the plant, cradling it in his palms. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Minho blinks down at the plant. It’s tiny, he doesn’t know how Jisung could find such a thing in the mess of others. That’s probably what makes it so lucky, though.

“Here,” Jisung urges, holding his hands out. Minho cups a palm beneath them on instinct. “You have it.” Jisung drops the clover into his hand, moving his own hands away so Minho can’t give it back. He grins like he’s won a prize, overwhelmingly happy.

“I can’t accept this, Jisung,” Minho looks at him in awe. “You earned this luck.”

Jisung shrugs. “Sure, but I’m passing it off to you. You’re the one ending a war. I have buckets of time to find another.”

Minho thumbs over the tiny thing, the leaves are soft, the fold beneath his finger. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m certain.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” Minho assures, unbuttoning his breast pocket and dropping the clover inside. He’ll be sure to take it out later, to put it somewhere else where he doesn’t forget it. A token to not be forgotten.

Jisung giggles, like bells in the wind, and Minho decides it’s a sound that he’d like to hear forevermore. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho talks out his grief with Sooyoung first. She’s a good listener, a strong advice giver, never holding back from what she really means. She has the disposition of a queen, he thinks. He’d be willing to hand over his power to her, if it were allowed.

“I’ve been spending time with a stableboy,” he hedges, unwilling to dive straight in just yet.

Sooyoung hums, running a brush through his hair. “Spending time,” she makes eye contact through the mirror, raising a brow. “Are you fucking him?”

“God, no,” Minho scoffs.

“Sorry!” she raises a hand in defense. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Minho scowls. “I’ve never fucked a stableboy before.”

“No, but you’ve fucked many other type of men. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“You make me sound such a harlot,” Minho complains. “I’m not sleeping with anyone, I’ve just made a friend.”

Sooyoung hums again. Her long black hair is tucked behind her ears, her face stern and beautiful. “So why bring him up if not for troubles of the heart?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Minho squirms in his seat, earning him a smack to the head. “I just— have an interest.”

“An interest,” she repeats, clearly unconvinced.

“Yes,” he frowns, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’m drawn to him. We’re friends.”

“I was drawn to the chef’s daughter too,” Sooyoung presses the brush hard into his scalp, almost a warning. “You saw how that ended up.”

Minho did. Tears, melancholy, pages of lovesick poetry when the girl got sent away to work in a neighboring kingdom. Sooyoung was heartbroken. They still write one another, hoping to reunite someday.

“This is different,” Minho says. “I’m not in love with him, I’m just— interested.”

Sooyoung sighs, laying down the brush and setting her hands on Minho’s shoulders. She meets his eye through the mirror again. “I’m just saying, Min. Be careful with your heart, I don’t know how much more it can take.”

Minho blinks, his eyes stinging with something close to tears, maybe. He hasn’t cried in years, since he was a child. He thinks it might feel like this, though the fall never comes. “I know. I will be careful. I’m just confused.”

“What’s confusing you?”

“It feels different than anything else. We fell into place right away.”

Sooyoung offers him a sad smile, squeezing his shoulders. “It always does when you find someone special.” 
 
Later on, Minho asks the question he’s been thinking of all day. “Soo, do you know where we put that locket of my mother’s?”

“The golden one?” Sooyoung taps her chin. “I think so, let me check.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho arranges his schedule so that he can eat with Jeongin at least once a week. He misses his brother terribly, though when they’re sitting next to each other at the dining table, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“Is that your mother’s locket?” Jeongin asks, poking his fork into Minho’s chest.

“Yes,” Minho swats him away, tucking the thing back beneath his blouse. He doesn’t need Jeongin pushing any further. He asks him a question instead, “Do you know any of the stablehands?”

He’s testing the waters, playing a game. He wants to see what Jeongin has to say, even if it scares him.

Jeongin runs with the punch he’s thrown, sitting back and rolling his eyes. “Yes, sure. Why?”

“Hm,” Minho nods, trying to sound uncaring, nonchalant. “Han Jisung, do you know him?”

“Yes,” Jeongin draws out the word, his eyes narrowing. Suspicious. “He came in a bit back, Chan vouched for him to get hired. From the countryside, I believe.”

“Hm,” Minho repeats.

Jeongin’s stare grows sharper still, “Why? Do

you

know Han Jisung?”

“Yes,” Minho pushes food around on his plate, ignoring Jeongin’s accusatory looks. “I’ve been seeing him around. I was just wondering who he was.”

“Oh my god,” Jeongin grins like the cat who’s got the cream. “You have a crush on him.”

Minho should have known better. He figured Jeongin would be a better person to ask than Chan, because Chan could easily turn around and tell Jisung that Minho was asking about him. He’d take the humiliation from a brother over that from his new friend.

“I do not.”

“Do so,” Jeongin sing-songs.

“I do not, Jeongin.”

“Yes you do, this is exactly what you did when Seonghwa got hired, you acted the same way.”

Minho gasps, tossing a cherry tomato at his brother’s head. They had vowed never to speak about his crush on Seonghwa again. A sacred promise.

“Hah!” Jeongin bursts, fist smacking against the table. “You didn’t deny it, I got you!”

Frowning, Minho focuses back on his food. “Yes, well. It hardly matters,” his mouth goes dry. He swallows, thick and painful. “I would never be able to marry him, I'm the king now.”

“Sure,” Jeongin says, face showing something close to pity. He doesn’t say anything more, no encouragement for Minho to go for it anyway. A moment goes by without any speaking, but then Jeongin’s face splits into a mischievous grin, a glint in his eye. Always keen to lighten the mood, his brother. “But hey, I could.”

Minho throws a whole handful of tomatoes at him this time. 
 
Minho has not felt jealousy towards Jeongin for a long time. Since they were children, and their father took out his lashes on Minho rather than Jeongin. Even then, Minho always felt guilty for being jealous, because Jeongin bore the brunt of his words. Minho took hits to his body, Jeongin to his mind. Still, while Minho would lay cradling his bruises, he sometimes felt jealous of Jeongin.

Besides that, though, there was nothing to envy. Bastard son of a servant, raised by a mother that wasn’t his own.

Jeongin is Minho’s most precious thing, his most cherished. Thick as thieves, they always have been. Having a cruel father does that to children sometimes.

Minho’s mother taught them patience, kindness, she taught them to say sorry to one another, to always hug when they had a disagreement.

He remembers very clearly the night they dragged her away. She grabbed Minho by both cheeks, looked him in the eyes and told him to take care of his brother.

“Look after Jeonginnie, Minho. Stay safe. You’ll be a great man, both of you. I love you both so much.”

So Minho did.

He hasn’t felt jealousy for Jeongin since around that time, but as he rolls over in bed, again and again, thinking and ruminating, he does now.

Jeongin is in line for the throne, though he’s not second, and he probably wouldn’t be third, or fourth. The king chooses the heir, the requirement being that the successor is of pure blood, within the family line. Jeongin would not want to be king, and Minho cannot blame him, he didn’t want to be king either.

Their father was too selfish, he didn’t think he would ever die. Shot off his horse by a disgruntled civilian. Assassinated. Minho didn’t feel a thing. He smiled when they lowered him into the ground.

His father didn’t set a successor, so the first son it was, though, he probably would have chosen Minho anyway, because he despised his own siblings.

A burden. Heavy is the crown. When Minho knelt to take it, he was weighed down by a new set of rules. Regulations, standards, traditions. No more was he a man, but a king.

Maybe Minho shouldn’t be thinking about it, but it’s hard not to after Jeongin’s joke. And he knows Jeongin meant nothing of it, he knows that Jeongin knows him as someone that doesn’t care much for romance, or love, or stories of the sort— but now he can’t help but hurt.

Jealousy is a dagger, straight through his heart, that his brother be free to do as he pleases while Minho wears the crown. A marriage, any the king would take, would have to be within the highest class. Nothing else would be accepted. Nothing else is an option. Minho wouldn’t lay down his crown, or rather, make anyone else pick up the weight of it, in order to afford himself something like that.

He aches with the jealousy that Jeongin could feel free to explore his options with anyone he may choose. A gardener, a handmaid, a stableboy, perhaps. Any of them, Jeongin is free to love and be loved, and Minho surely hopes he is. His brother deserves to be loved, deeply and fully and truly. Jeongin deserves the great love he’s been dreaming of since he was young, nose stuck up in romance novels.

Minho wants that for him, but still, he hurts. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
The war has been dragging to a slow halt for about a month now. The king of Levanter sent his word two weeks after Minho’s order, agreeing to a ceasefire. The days are long, Minho is tired, he has things to do, things to wrap up.

Still, the highest point of each day is the space where he sees Jisung.

They’ve created a routine, meeting in the gardens for lunch each day. They talk, about their days, their lives, everything in between. As the rainy season rolls in, they’re forced to take lunch at a bench under a giant evergreen more often than not, but the company is all the same, just as bright.

He’s learned much about Jisung. Jisung was raised primarily by his uncle, he came to the capital for work because he grew tired of the country. He met Chan in a pub, charmed him enough to put in a good word.

Jisung is kind, his face shows surprise easily, and his eyes hold light as bright as the moon on a clear night.

He thought that as time went on it would satiate his craving, satisfy him and stop the butterflies from rattling in his chest when Jisung smiles. He was sure that at some point he’d grow bored, realize they’re just friends, that Jisung isn’t endlessly fascinating, that he doesn’t want to spend each waking moment with him. But, no. It’s been a month and a half, and still Minho craves more.

Minho finds himself sitting closer as time goes by, his eyes dropping to Jisung’s lips more often as he talks. He feels guilty, overwhelmingly so, for harboring such feelings for his friend. A forbidden thing, and yet he can’t bring himself to pull away from the one thing he has, the one thing that’s keeping him happy despite the dull thrum of his life as king.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s developed a penchant for pain. A learned love after being subjected so often. Maybe that’s why he keeps giving in, digging himself a deeper hole, one that’s going to be impossible to crawl out of.

He can’t have Jisung as anything more than this, not for real.

If he were born luckier, maybe he’d have been a baker’s son. Something normal, and quiet, and nice. Maybe he’d meet Jisung on the street, and they’d hit it off. Maybe they’d steal away for kisses in alleys, hold hands in public.

He feels silly saying such things. To most people his life is the peak of luck. The highest status to be born into. To Minho, it feels like a great misfortune. He feels guilty about that too. That a silly crush would have him thinking such ungrateful thoughts. 
 
“Where did you go?” Jisung asks, waving his fingers in front of Minho’s eyes where he’s zoned out. He giggles when Minho snaps back to life. “I think I lost you for a second there.”

“Sorry,” Minho offers him a smile. “There’s a lot on my mind.”

Jisung cocks his head. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, Jisungie,” Minho laughs, though it rings a little fake. “Just— so many burdens as a king.”

“I’m sure,” Jisung’s brow crinkles, he sets a hand on Minho’s knee. A line they have yet to cross until this moment, one that Minho isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to walk back now that he’s felt the warmth of it. “I don’t envy you. You’re stronger than most.”

Minho sighs. His fingers twitch, aching to tangle with Jisung’s. “How could you say that? So many people want what I have. I feel so ungrateful for even feeling like I’m troubled. I should be thankful.”

“No,” Jisung says, squeezing his leg. He sounds so certain that Minho is inclined to believe him. “You have the weight of the world on your shoulders. You’re changing lives, ending the war. And you still make time for me! What other king can say all of that.”

“I’d always make time for you,” Minho murmurs, under his breath.

“Hm?” Jisung’s head tilts again. So, so cute. Minho could pass away right here.

“Nothing, just talking to myself,” he lies, adding a tight smile as proof. “Thank you, Jisung. I’m glad you think highly of me. Seriously, it means more than the rest of the court, or anyone else, really.”

Jisung blinks a few times, his cheeks tinting the slightest pink. “Why would that be? I’m just a stableboy.”

“You know titles don’t matter to me,” Minho scoffs. “To me, you’re the first person that saw me for myself and wanted to stick around of your own volition.” He pauses, looking from Jisung’s hand up to his eyes, wide and bright as the moon. “You are here of your own volition, right? Not just because you think I’m going to fire you?”

The joke breaks through Jisung’s shell, face splitting into a beautiful smile. “Yes, Minho. I’m here for you.” He removes his hand from Minho’s leg, picking up his food. His eyes sparkle with mischief,  “And because you bring me the best quality sandwiches.”

“Brat,” Minho knocks their shoulders together. Jisung sticks his tongue out in return.

A shovel in dirt, another heave over his shoulder. Next stop, the center of the earth. A one way ticket to his own emotional destruction, without a doubt. Minho can’t bring himself to care, not when he feels so alive with Jisung by his side. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Sooyoung is helping Minho fold his things late one night, the moon high in the sky, full. One of the first clear nights all week.

She gave up fighting Minho on folding laundry ages ago. It’s something they do together, talking softly and laughing, putting away linens. Minho loves small moments like this, spending time with her.

The first plink sounds, and both of them pause.

“What was that?” Minho asks.

Sooyoung shrugs, going back to folding.

Then it sounds again, and again. On the window. Someone is throwing pebbles.

Minho drops the shirt he’s working on, rushing to see. He unlatches the window, swinging it open without question. He doesn’t suppose anyone who’s come to kill him would throw rocks first. Sooyoung follows right behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

“Oh my

god,”

Sooyoung grins, poking Minho in the side.

“Shh—” Minho shushes her. Then, out the window, “Jisung? What the hell are you doing?”

Minho’s window is on the third floor, Jisung looks small, staring up with his hands at his sides, a cascade of pebbles falling to the ground as he smiles.

“Pumpkin had her babies,” he whisper-yells.

Minho gasps, scrambling from the window in search of his cloak.

“What are you doing? Minho?” Sooyoung follows him around, as he shoves his boots on, laces them up. He doesn’t respond.

“Minho?”

she repeats, more urgent.

“I’m climbing out my window and going to see the kittens,” Minho says, already sitting on the sill, ready to swing his legs out.

“What? No! Just take Seonghwa with you!” she grabs him by the legs, holding him in place.

Minho groans. “I’m tired of being followed around. It’s a full moon, Youngie, let me have some fun, please?” he puts on his best puppy-dog eyes. All it takes is one wobble of his bottom lip for her to cave.

“Damn you,” she hisses. “You owe me. So much. I’ll wait for you to come back, but— don’t take too long.”

“Thank you,” Minho claps, knocking a wet kiss to her cheek. “I will.”

“Oh my god, Minho, if you die,” she widens her eyes, watching as he hooks his feet into the ivy climbing up the stone walls outside the room. “If you die I will bring you back to life and kill you again.”

“Goodbye, Sooyoung,” he says, continuing his scale down. He refuses to look, lest he scare himself. On his way back in he’ll use the door.

His feet hit the ground, and Jisung is there with his hands out, like he didn’t trust him to make it. Minho grins, out of his mind. He’s never done anything like this, but he feels brave when Jisung is waiting for him.

“Shit,” Jisung huffs, jaw slack. He licks over his lips, teeth catching the bottom one when he smiles right back. “That was really hot.”

“Shut up,” Minho’s chest explodes, pieces of butterfly wings floating into the sky. “Take me to see the babies.” 
 
Pumpkin lays on her side, exhausted. She lets Minho stroke her head, nuzzling into his palm. Only then does he look down, look at the baby nursing on her tummy. Only one, just as orange as her, maybe even more. Jisung has cleaned up since the thing came into the world, the kitten’s fur fluffy, little legs wiggling as he eats.

“Is there—” Minho’s forehead pinches, looking up towards Jisung.

Jisung’s mouth flattens, he sits down on the floor, right next to Minho. “The only one that made it. I was going to ask you to help me bury the others.”

“Of course,” Minho nods, his heart panging with sadness. The little kitten at Pumpkin’s stomach squirms. The tiniest little miracle. He feels a soft spot of happiness, a little life to carry the torch for the others. “Did you name him?”

“Yes,” Jisung says, rubbing the back of his neck, like he’s embarrassed. “I named him Clover, because he’s of great luck.”

Minho’s heart climbs up his throat again, this time more severely. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect.” 
 
Sooyoung told him to come back quickly, but Minho doesn’t care. He’s the king, after all. He spends as much time with Pumpkin and Clover as he pleases, only leaving when they both fall asleep.

They bury the kittens in the back, a spot that the moon looks down on. Minho helps shovel dirt back into the hole, Jisung sniffling all the while.

When all is said and done, Minho gathers Jisung into his arms. Jisung only shed a few tears, but Minho doesn’t care. He’d take any excuse to be closer at this moment.

“I’m such a baby,” Jisung mutters into his shoulder.

“No, you have a big heart,” Minho runs a hand up and down his back, holding him close. He can smell nature in Jisung’s hair, evergreen and dirt. He longs to bury his nose in, take every note in.

“My mother always used to say that,” Jisung laughs, separating himself from Minho’s arms, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves. He’s smiling, he grabs hold of Minho’s fingers when he sits down, dragging him along with.

Minho goes, more than willingly. They sit shoulder to shoulder in the grass, gazing up at the stars. Truly, a very clear night for the season. A sign, perhaps.

“Your mother?” Minho tries. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

“Yes,” Jisung smiles, softly, as if recalling a memory. “I did. Her and my father were killed when I was about five.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho slips his hand into Jisung’s for good, lacing their fingers together. He hopes his heartbeat isn’t traceable there, it would give away his frenzied mind. “Tell me about them? If you’re comfortable.”

Jisung squeezes his hand, doesn’t complain when Minho shifts to look at him more fully.

“My parents were kind, hard working people. They had a farm, or, an orchard, really. Apple trees. I grew up playing among the rows of them, swinging on branches. I don’t remember much now, but what I do is lovely. I remember being happy,” Jisung smiles again, very genuine. Minho begins running his thumb over the back of Jisung’s hand, hoping that it’s a comfort. “We didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know? We didn’t really belong to any kingdom, but it was still good. Nice. When they were killed I was sent to live with my uncle, a ways away. He had a farm too. Potatoes. It was a good life, but I’m glad I came here.”

Minho is glad too, though he doesn’t dare say so now. “What happened to them?”

“Uhm,” Jisung laughs awkwardly, avoiding Minho’s eyes. “I didn’t want to dump this on you, or anything.”

“Never, Jisung. I want to know everything that makes you, you.”

Another small laugh. “The army. The war. The soldiers set fire to the orchard, to our house. They burned the whole valley where we lived, searching for nothing in particular. I’m the only one that made it out.”

Minho’s lungs cease working, his heart skips at least five beats and then thunders in his ears when it begins again. A wave of pure dread, chilling to the bone. What man is this, who gallavants with the son of the devil who killed his family? Minho’s eyes sting too quickly for him to realize that he’s crying, he only notices when Jisung’s hands meet his cheeks, thumbs swiping away wetness.

“Don’t cry, Minho,” Jisung’s face is soft, sad. “I hold no ill will, absolutely none.”

“How could you not?” Minho’s voice cracks in the middle. “All that he’s taken from you. My father, my blood. I’m so sorry, Jisung. You should hate me.”

“Minho,” Jisung soothes, hands finding a more solid place on either side of his face. “Listen to me. You are not your father. I figured you didn’t know. No one knows what he had ordered them to do in the west. I didn’t tell you to make you feel badly, I told you because I care about you. Because I want you to know.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie,” Minho repeats, eyes still blurred with tears. “He was a horrible, cruel man. He killed my mother too, and Jeongin’s mother. He had no love for any of us, for any person other than himself.

This time it’s Jisung that gathers Minho into his arms, hands running along the length of his spine. Minho presses his nose to the juncture of Jisung’s neck, lets his eyes fall shut. He hasn’t been held in so long, not like this. He forgot how good it feels to be cared for.

“It’s not your fault. It’s okay. You went through much the same, and I’m sure you were older, have more clear memories. I’m sorry he did that to you. No one deserves that.”

Minho nods. He was around twelve, thirteen, when his father executed his and Jeongin’s mothers. A punishment.

Jeongin was born of wedlock, an affair with a servant. Minho’s mother became close with her, helped her through the pregnancy, vowed to take care of her baby, raise him as her own. And she did. She raised them together; she got caught taking Jeongin to see his mother. The king had them both killed.

He wants to tell Jisung the whole of it, but he knows it’s not the time. For now, he just holds Jisung closer, whispers apologies into his neck, and wonders how deep his own grave is getting. Deep enough to reach the molten core of the earth, no doubt.

All he has to do is jump. 
 
Minho clutches his locket the entire walk back to the palace, hoping the dried clover inside will afford him some luck. But maybe he already spent it all when Jisung hugged him goodbye. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho watches his pocket watch eagerly. Ten minutes until he’s free to leave this room, to meet Jisung at the stables and visit the cats.

Today’s schedule has felt extra draining. Talk of bringing soldiers home, closing up bases, transporting supplies. Minho longs for reprieve in the form of his favorite pretty boy and orange balls of fluff.

He’s sick of pretending that he doesn’t think of Jisung nearly all the time. He does, and he can’t care much.

Maybe he’ll stay like this forever, maybe he can have Jisung and just go without marriage. He wouldn’t be the first king to do so. He’d be happy. Jisung makes him happy.

“That brings us to our next point. We have planned a ball, a week from today. We’d like you to begin searching for a spouse.”

“Pardon me?” Minho’s fists close, nails digging into his palms.

His advisors stare at him. The one at the other head of the table speaks, “Your popularity is good, but with the end of the war we need a show of stability. You must marry, it is what the kingdom needs at a moment like this. A celebration amidst a change.

“I will not. I don’t wish to marry,” Minho shifts his jaw.

“It’s not an option, your majesty,” another advisor chimes in. “All the available noblemen and women will be coming. It’s all planned. You must marry.”

“I am the king, am I not?” Minho’s voice grows stronger. “How can you tell me what I can or can’t do?”

Eyes burn through him. “You know the answer to that, your majesty.”

He does. He knows that they have the power to toss him out if they really wanted to. To throw Jeongin in his place. Minho knows they’re threatening him by holding his brother above the flame.

“I’m taking the rest of the day,” Minho announces, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Do not come for me.”

The advisors murmur, probably already spreading gossip. Minho doesn’t care, he leaves without his cloak, breaks into a run as soon as he’s in the corridor.

It’s raining outside. Pouring. As if the heavens are crying for him.

By the time he bursts through Jisung’s door, he’s soaking wet, breath coming in gasps.

Jisung shoots up from where he’s laying in bed. “You’re early.” His face turns confused, then worried when Minho closes in, sitting on the end of the mattress, hands on his knees, dripping all over. Jisung sits up, scooches until they’re sitting next to each other, shoulder, hip, leg, all pressed together. Jisung doesn’t seem to mind the cold of Minho’s clothes.

“They want me to find a spouse,” Minho says, without being asked.

“Oh,” Jisung’s voice goes flat, toneless.

“Yes,” Minho agrees, his leg hot where their thighs press together. “Oh.”

“Are you—” Jisung pauses, swallowing. “Are you excited about that?”

Minho looks at him, steady, catches Jisung’s eye before he can look away again. “I don’t want to marry anyone they could possibly present to me. I don’t want that at all.”

Jisung’s breath staggers, his eyes blinking, fluttering a bit. Minho hopes he understands. The way Jisung’s eyes crease up with such care, such hope. The way Jisung’s hand settles over Minho’s squeezing where it lays on his thigh, he thinks Jisung does.

Because how is Minho meant to think of anyone else?

The feat seems impossible as he stares at the man in front of him. The only person that’s been dancing in his thoughts for the past weeks. It feels like a lifetime already.

How is he meant to marry anyone else when he’s falling in love with his stableboy? 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Minho can tell that Jisung is out of sorts.

Two peas in a pod since they received the news. Solemn, nervous. Minho feels awful that the idea that Jisung seems upset too gives him hope. He feels awful, and he wishes he didn’t, but he’s never been a fan of lying to himself.

Minho has been caught up in preparations, organizing things. He has no intentions to pick anyone to marry. He’ll push it out, give himself more time, anything to spare himself a moment to think.

It feels impossible. Juggling his problems; he’s standing on the edge of the world, hoping he can keep catching them as they come. Jeongin, Jisung, the kingdom.

He fiddles with the locket at his neck, the lucky charm inside. Maybe it isn’t enough. He’d need the luck of a thousand clovers to get everything he wants.

It’s hard to cope.

Minho has never wanted, not really. When he was young he wanted a brother, and he got one. He wanted his mother back. He wanted his father to die. He wants Jeongin to have a good life, to be happy. He’s never wanted for anyone, for anything, for himself, and he can’t cope.

“Pssst!”

Minho smiles before he turns around, because he knows what awaits him, likely from inside of the hedge. “What are you doing here?”

Jisung smiles back, a picnic basket covered in a little plaid cloth held to his chest. “I brought you something, hoping to cheer you up.”

Minho can tell that Jisung is out of sorts, but he’s still been trying his hardest to make Minho feel better. The thought makes Minho’s heart soar.

Jisung pulls back the corner of the cloth and Pumpkin peeks her little head out, bright green eyes open wide, looking disgruntled. Minho gasps, rushing forward to look more closely. Clover is there too, tucked into his mom’s belly, tiny and mewling. Pumpkin purrs when Minho approaches, giving a tender lick to his hand.

“Oh, my babies! I can’t believe you carried them out here for me.”

Jisung shrugs. “I figured you’d be around here overthinking things.”

Minho is overwhelmed with care. A feeling deep in his chest, bubbling warm and true. He so badly wants to tell Jisung how he feels. He holds it in, again and again. He feels like he’s suffocating.

“You’re doing it again,” Jisung murmurs, nudging Minho’s shin with the toe of his boot.

“I’m sorry,” Minho breathes, wishing he could ask Jisung to hold him. “And thank you, you were right.”

“I know you well, your majesty,” Jisung teases.

It feels impossible, but moments like these make him hope for something more. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
“Minho.”

Rain pounds down against the roof, an omen.

“Minho.”

The fire roars, warm and hot. Sooyoung started it earlier, when Minho complained about being cold.

“Minho,”

Jeongin gets tired of waiting, yanking Minho’s blankets away. “What are you doing?”

“I’m moping, Jeongin,” he whines, clawing to get the quilts back. “You should learn how, it’s soothing.”

Jeongin sighs, rolling his eyes. He sits on the edge of Minho’s bed. “What’s so wrong with finding a spouse? Felix has been scouting the door all day, he says there’s plenty of pretty boys.”

Minho tugs the blankets tighter. Felix’s definition of pretty and his own are far apart. Felix likes muscles and brawn. Minho likes soft edges and fluffy hair, a heart-shaped smile. He can’t tell Jeongin all of that. Instead he says, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Min,” Jeongin cracks his knuckles one by one. “This isn’t about your crush, is it?”

“No.” Crush, such a petty word. Technically it isn’t about his crush, it’s deeper than that. “I just don’t feel like doing this. I’m already so tired, there’s so much to do with the war.”

Jeongin looks down at him pitifully. “At least come say hi to Lixie, he misses you.”

“He can see me tomorrow, at the ball I’m being forced to attend.”

“You love a party.”

Minho rolls over, his back facing Jeongin. He used to love a party. An excuse to get drunk, to find someone to take to bed for the evening, no strings attached. Now the thought makes him ill. “Maybe I’ve changed, In.”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything for a minute. Minho listens to them both breathe, waiting.

“Mom hated it when you’d rot in bed all day.”

Minho sees red, his head going hot. “Don’t speak about

my

mother, Jeongin.”

“Your mother?” Jeongin snorts. “Oh, that’s rich. You really are moping, aren’t you?”

He’s right. It is unfair. Minho shouldn’t say things like that. His mother is just as much Jeongin’s as his own. He’s hurt, bleeding out, licking his wounds. He’d like to do so privately. “Don’t piss me off.”

“You know they’re all calling you the ‘people’s king,’” Jeongin continues. “They love you. You’re a hero. You’re nothing like him.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay, fuck you, then. Come find me when you’re done being a child,” Jeongin spits, properly pissed off. The mattress shifts when Jeongin gets up, and Minho holds in his scream until the door bangs shut behind him. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
The ball is grand, it’s brash and garish, and Minho is seconds from a catastrophic event. Jeongin won’t speak to him, Felix is drunk out of his mind, Minho can’t even get a second to have a drink, pulled in every direction.

Waiting for the snap. It’s been building up all night, each eligible suitor he’s introduced to, each nasty glare Jeongin sends his way. Each conversation, each moment he grits his teeth through someone flirting with him, the string is tightening, closer to breaking.

The final shove comes in the form of a downed glass of wine and a poorly timed comment from Felix. “Damn, I’m glad I’m not the king. I can keep seeing Chan on the side, grow old single. You’re being paraded like a show pony.”

Felix doesn’t know, and he’d never say anything if he did, but still. That’s what does him in.

Minho leaves then, because he can't bear the feeling anymore. He can’t stand being a pawn any longer, he wants to be a man. He’s sick of pretending he doesn’t want to kiss Jisung, that Jisung isn’t the one he wants. He’s already made everyone unhappy anyway, he might as well seal his fate.

He knows Jisung will be in the gardens, staring at the moon, overthinking. He knows Jisung well enough. He goes to him, because he wants to be selfish, he wants to want something for himself and get it. He can’t go one more second without tasting Jisung on his tongue.

Jisung is there, just where Minho expected, staring at the moon.

He looks up when he hears footsteps, stands when he realizes who it is.

“Why are you out here, your majesty?” Jisung’s lips tug up into a smile, though his eyes remain sad. “I thought the point of the night was to find a suitable spouse, you should get back in there.”

Minho takes a small step forward, close enough that he can hear Jisung’s breath hitch. He reaches out, catches Jisung’s fingers in his own.

He shouldn’t do this, not when he’s got the faith of the kingdom in his hands. But Minho has never wanted for much, nor has he asked for much, and his palm fits perfectly against the space between Jisung’s neck and jaw.

His words are nearly a whisper when he gathers the courage to speak, “How am I meant to do that when the only one I want is you?”

The moon shines off of Jisung’s eyes, his lashes flutter, already on their way shut, and Minho moves before he can stop himself.

Jisung’s lips meet his, and everything falls into place. Hands winding up his back, finding purchase at his neck, Minho’s guiding Jisung’s cheek to an angle that allows him to deepen the kiss. Jisung sighs into his mouth, fingers at his nape, body bowing in.

This is what kissing is meant to feel like, Minho is certain.

He’s kissed others, but nothing felt like this; like the catching of a fire, the rush of a river over rock, the formation of mountains, the budding of a tree. Something new, monumental, the beginning of a new hope.

Minho can’t hold back the soft moan that wiggles up his throat when Jisung licks into his mouth, tongues sliding together. Minho holds him closer by the small of his back, their stomachs warm where they press together.

He wants to do this forever, to never part. He’s never had such strong opinions on kissing until now.

They only part when they’ve run out of breath, chests rising and falling in tandem, faces plastered with hopeful little smiles. Minho steals another peck, just because he can. Jisung is beautiful, the moon highlights his features and makes him divine.

Jisung giggles, fingers closing around Minho’s shoulders. “You like me,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

Minho’s thumb drifts across the highest point of his cheek, featherlight. “How could I not?”

“You’re you and I’m—“ Jisung pauses, averting his eyes. “Me.”

“Jisung,” Minho leans in, until their foreheads are touching. He hates when Jisung says these things, but he understands. “I’ve never wanted anything until I met you. It’s painful for me to pretend differently— All night I’ve only thought of you, how I’d rather take your hand, no one else’s.”

“You’d marry me?”

It sounds silly. The length of time they’ve known one another, who he is as a person. But the circumstances allow him to dream, and if he were to take any spouse, it would move just as quickly.

“In a heartbeat,” Minho promises.

Jisung swallows, his big brown eyes reflecting the moon. His next breath shudders, fingers holding Minho even tighter. “What does this mean? For us?”

“I—“ Minho hasn’t a clue. He hasn’t been able to think that far, he didn’t know he needed to. Some sick part of his brain trying to convince him that Jisung wouldn’t feel the same. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Jisung leans in and drops another kiss on the corner of Minho’s mouth.

“I’ll figure something out,” Minho breathes, chest tight with guilt, bound with restriction.

“We can take it day by day.”

“Minho!”

A voice splits them apart, ringing out across the courtyard. Minho misses Jisung’s touch immediately.

“Where are you?”

“I must go,” Minho’s face closes up. “I’ll come find you tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay,” Jisung smiles shyly, as if he hadn’t just been tasting Minho’s tongue. “I look forward to it.”

“Minho?”

Minho reaches for Jisung’s hand, laying a kiss on the back of it before hurrying off.

Just as he goes, he looks back and finds Jisung’s cheeks flooded with color, the prettiest smile on his lips. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho’s daily life significantly improves after he’s kissed Jisung.

The advisors aren’t happy that he hasn’t found anyone to wed, they say they’ll plan another ball in six months time, send invitations with a wider net. They tell him that the greatest show of strength would be to marry the son of the king of Levanter. Hwang something. Minho would rather not.

He’d rather this— Jisung’s hands on his waist, his tangled in Jisung’s hair, sucking on his bottom lip.

Jisung is a fantastic kisser. He’s gentle, patient, takes what he wants at exactly the right moments. Minho is obsessed, at the risk of sounding insane.

“I need to go back to work,” Jisung mumbles against his mouth.

Minho whines petulantly.

“You have to go back to work too,” Jisung reminds him, fingers dancing across his cheek.

“I’d rather not,” he dives in to steal another kiss. Jisung gives. He’s generous, too.

And if Minho is a bit late to his next meeting, with a flush on his cheeks and wild eyes. That’s no one’s business but his own. 
 
Some days they’ll take lunch in the forest. A clover patch below them, picnic basket laid out.

Minho wonders if it counts as taking lunch if the only thing he’s doing is sliding into Jisung’s lap and kissing him into the ground. He doesn’t think he cares.

“Minho,” Jisung asks, lacing their fingers together. “What happens when they force you to marry?”

“I— don’t know,” Minho falters. He backs up, off of Jisung’s lap. Talk of their impending problems does tend to kill the mood.

Jisung clenches his hand where they’re joined, he catches Minho’s eye. “What would— uhm. What would happen if you disobeyed them?”

Minho can't bear to look at him. Not like this. “They’re threatening me. Holding my brother over my head. They’ll make him king, and I cannot have that.”

“Oh,” Jisung looks down at his hands, inspecting his nail beds. “Would it—” he pauses, sighs. “Would it really be so bad to give up the crown?”

He’s never felt angry with Jisung, but this is the closest Minho has come. His body stiffens, forehead creasing. “Yes, Jisung. It would.”

Jisung reads his shift, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Minho cuts in, grabbing Jisung’s hand with both of his. “It’s not that— god. If Jeongin wasn’t on the block, I’d give up the crown in an instant to be with you. But he is. He stands to bear the burden I drop, and I made a promise to my mother to keep him safe, to take care of him.”

“I see,” Jisung offers him a weak smile.

Minho can feel his heart fracturing inside his chest. He raises his hand, tucks a bit of Jisung’s wild hair behind his ear, fingers lingering on his jaw. “I’ll do everything in my power, Jisung. I only want you.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
The hole Minho is digging has reached the rock bottom. He’s so deep he’s poking through to the other side, a whole new man. A corpse, rotted and guilty.

He should have known better than to kiss Jisung in the stables. The stables! On a Sunday.

They had really just been visiting the cats, but then Jisung looked so pretty in the beam of light from the door, and Minho had to take one more kiss. He pulled him into the tack room, kissed him long and deep, and Jeongin came to hang up his equipment.

Minho told Jisung he’d work it out, not to worry, but now that he’s got Jeongin in the gardens, arms over his chest, seething, he isn’t sure what he’s going to do.

“I thought you said your crush wasn’t impacting anything,” Jeongin’s face is stony.

“It wasn’t,” Minho tries. “Not at that moment. It happened since then, it’s just— It’s nothing.”

Jeongin clenches his jaw, he looks off into the distance, thinking. “What happens if you stay with him?”

“Excuse me?” Minho blinks, shakes his head.

“What happens if you stay with him instead of marrying out?”

Minho’s heart hammers, it rips straight down the middle, torn in two directions by his most important things. He doesn’t dare tell Jeongin that he’s being threatened. He refuses to put that on his brother. “That’s not going to happen, Jeongin. I told you it’s nothing.”

“And I don’t believe you,” Jeongin fires right back.

“It’s nothing, Jeongin,” Minho repeats. “I’m just having fun before I’m tied down.” The words taste like acid in his mouth. Horrid, burning his flesh from bone.

Jeongin stares at him, studying. “No lies, Min. You cannot lie to me. Are you in love with him?”

“No,” he lies. “I’ll stop seeing him.”

A nod, and Jeongin is gone. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
“Wow,” Jisung breathes, dragging his finger along the top of the hearth. “I’ve never seen so much silver before.”

Minho smiles, leaning against an armchair across the room, endlessly endeared with Jisung. With showing him new things.

They’re in Minho’s chambers. Sooyoung is covering for them. Minho thought it only fair to bring Jisung into his space, after Jisung has shared so much with him.

He lied to Jeongin. He’s selfish and horrible. It’s been a week. Minho didn’t stop seeing Jisung, he just got smarter about where he does it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Besides, Sooyoung is covering for him, and Jeongin is meant to be visiting Felix until tomorrow, coming home in the afternoon.

He was unwilling to pick a side, and now Jisung is in his chambers.

“It’s beautiful, Minho, really,” Jisung gushes, stepping lightly across the floor until he’s back in Minho’s arms.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho returns, because he can’t help himself. The way the fire glows onto Jisung’s face, moving over his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He’s the most beautiful thing Minho has ever seen.

“Quit it,” Jisung complains, blush moving up his cheeks. He swats Minho’s shoulder, tilts his head away.

Minho catches his jaw, bringing their eyes back together. “I won’t,” he breathes, and then they’re kissing.

The weight of it feels different. Something more monumental, more important. Perhaps it’s because they’re locked away in a bedroom. Perhaps it’s because Minho’s thigh is slipping between Jisung’s, and Jisung is gasping at the pressure.

Jisung sucks Minho’s tongue into his mouth, and Minho is gasping right back, hungry for him in a way he’s never been for anyone.

He must get used to that, the

never before.

Jisung is full of them.

“I want you,” Minho murmurs, spit connecting them by a string for a moment when they pull apart.

Jisung’s eyes blow wide, his breath shakes. “I do too. I want you so bad.”

“Then take me.”

Clumsy steps take them near the bed, fumbling fingers undoing pants. Jisung pins him down, flat against the mattress, straddling his hips, only their undergarments and under-blouses between them. Minho has to hold his hips back from kicking up, seeking friction.

Jisung’s hands trail down his shirt, dipping beneath the hem. And,

oh,

Minho forgot. He was so lost in the moment, that he forgot about the one thing he never forgets about. The reason why no one has seen him without a blouse since he was a young teenager.

Minho gasps, his body seizing up. He pushes Jisung away without meaning to. Jisung goes, fear streaking across his features.

“What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

“No— oh my god, I’m sorry, Jisung. I—” Minho rubs his hands over his face, embarrassed. It’s something so stupid, so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It’s so written into his being to be cautious of it, to hide. His father made sure of that.

Jisung chews his lip, moving forward a bit when Minho sits up fully. “Can I hug you?” he asks, almost small.

“Yes,” Minho nods, and Jisung is there, gathering him into his arms. Minho sighs, breathing in his evergreen scent, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Take your time, baby,” Jisung soothes, hand stroking down Minho’s hair.

Minho wants to tell him. He wants to keep going, and he wants to be brave. For Jisung. He wants all of it with Jisung. “I— this is embarrassing. I’ve never let anyone take my shirt off. I— No one has seen me.” He lifts his head, hands holding to Jisung’s shoulders.

“Seen you?” Jisung’s fingers swipe hair from Minho’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I have,” Minho pauses, mouth too thick to speak. He swallows down painfully. “I’m scarred. Across my stomach. It’s ugly, horribly so.”

“Oh, Minho,” Jisung whispers, tipping his face up with a hand beneath his jaw. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Every inch of you, I don’t care, I’m sure it will be just as beautiful as the rest.” As if to prove his point, Jisung lays a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m scared,” Minho admits, but he lays down again, dragging Jisung back on top of him.

“Let me show you,” Jisung whispers. Another kiss. “How much,” another. “You deserve to be worshiped.”

Minho nods, brain already going fuzzy at the edges. He feels warm, cherished, loved. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jisung checks, hands solid on Minho’s chest.

“Yes,” Minho nods again. “Okay.”

Jisung kisses him. Slow, languid. He kisses Minho until he’s dizzy, doesn’t start inching up his blouse until then. By the time it’s off, Minho doesn’t feel any different. It’s impossible for him to feel different near Jisung, he figures.

Hands run warm down his flank, back up again, soothing, relaxing. Jisung trails kisses down his jaw, his throat, teeth nipping at his collarbone before he lifts himself up.

His eyes drink Minho in, the whole of him, scar and all, and he looks just as hungry, just as taken. Minho’s chest burns with want.

Jisung goes slowly, kissing down his chest, across every inch, moving down, down, until he’s laying sweet praises on Minho’s stomach.

“My father,” Minho’s breath catches when Jisung runs his fingers across the scar. Raised and white. It healed poorly, healed ugly. “He did it. I threw myself in front of Jeongin, I don’t think he remembers, he was too young.” Minho’s eyes flutter closed, heat taking over where Jisung’s lips meet his skin.

“You’re beautiful,” Jisung promises, kissing down each segment of the scar. “Inside and out. This is proof of your strength, your bravery.”

Minho believes him. He believes Jisung implicitly. There’s no way to fake the look in his eye, the deep devotion that Jisung is pressing into him with his mouth, with his sweet words.

“Please,” Minho begs, already hard and aching, just from Jisung kissing his skin. “Jisung, please.”

“Please what, baby?” Jisung looks up at him through heavy lashes. The pet name sends Minho into orbit, removes any embarrassment from what he’s about to beg.

“Please fuck me.”

And Jisung does.

He takes his time with that, too. Minho wonders how many times he’s done this before, to be so good. He asks. Jisung tells him not many, that it feels different when it’s Minho below him.

Oil, fingers, placating kisses. Minho comes undone before Jisung has even gotten inside of him for real. He has no time to be embarrassed before Jisung is running his tongue hot over the mess, cleaning up every drop.

Minho moans, his dick twitches in interest, already close to ready again. For Jisung he could do this all night, over and over.

When he and Jisung come together, Minho is sure the heavens have opened. Light, glory, everything in between. Each move sends Minho reeling, further into bliss, oblivion. Nothing else will ever compare to this.

Oversensitive, tender, and Jisung still fucks him like he’s the most divine creature to ever walk the earth. They’re kissing when they finish, both of them together.

They kiss some more in the bath, cleaning each other up. They kiss some more in bed, Minho refusing to let Jisung sneak away, falling asleep tangled up in each other.

Exactly how things are meant to be.
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
“Minho? I’m coming in!”

Minho has no time to stop it. Karma, dramatic and all at once, Jisung still dead asleep in bed next to him. Minho pulls the covers to his chest, bare from the waist up. It’s much too late. Jeongin is there, even though he’s not supposed to be home, his eyes wide, jaw on the floor.

“Oh my god.”

“Jeongin—“ Minho tries to stop him, holding a hand out.

“No! Don’t you dare, Minho! I can’t believe you!”

His shouting rouses Jisung from sleep, bleary and confused.

“Jeongin!” Minho pleads again.

“You lied to me, Minho! You

lied.

You told me you’d never lie to me. The one thing you promised to never do. Why would you do this? How could you?”

“Yen,” Minho scrambles out of bed, his brother already on his way out, hands fisted at his sides.

Jeongin storms down the hall, heading towards his own chambers, Minho tailing him like a madman, shirtless and frantic.

“Go to hell, Minho, I don’t want to speak to you,” Jeongin shakes him off each time Minho gets a hold on his arm.

“Please, Innie, I’m sorry!”

He follows Jeongin straight into his chambers, yanking at his shoulder until he’s forced to turn around. Jeongin’s eyes are red rimmed, spilling over with tears, his cheeks splotchy and flushed.

“I can’t believe you, Minho,” Jeongin repeats.

It’s then that Minho sees it. The scared little boy that Minho thought he lost. He’s here, in front of Minho with a snotty nose and messy hair. Betrayed by a brother who promised not to lie.

Minho promised him not to lie, just like he promised his mother to take care of Jeongin.

He promised not to lie because he lied once. He told Jeongin that they couldn’t go outside because of the weather, when really he was keeping him from watching their mothers die.

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispers, dragging Jeongin into his chest. Jeongin collapses on impact, legs going weak. Jeongin hold him tight, allows Minho to direct him to the bed. He cradles Jeongin there, just like when they were young. “I’m sorry, Innie, I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll fix it.”

“I hate you,” Jeongin whimpers, but Minho refuses to let him go.

“It’s okay,” Minho tells him. “As long as you’re here.”

Jeongin is his most precious thing, his most cherished. Nothing else could ever mean more. Minho is selfish, and he’s a child, just like his brother, but it’s his job to pull them both back up.

“I’ll fix it.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho doesn’t see Jisung for two days.

When he returned to his chambers the morning after Jeongin found them Jisung was gone. Minho hasn’t run into him since.

He’s glad, then, as he walks across the palace grounds, towards the stables. He needed to gather his courage to be able to do this.

“Minho, are you alright? What happened,” Jisung says, as soon as their eyes meet. He rushes towards Minho, arms outstretched, though they fall when he sees Minho’s expression.

Minho stands fast, arms stiff at his side. “We need to talk, Jisung.”

Jisung’s face fractures, breaks in two. “What?” he breathes, wilting under Minho’s scorn.

“We can’t see each other anymore,” Minho finds a place over Jisung’s shoulder to focus on, unable to look him in the eye. “My duties prevent it.”

“You—” Jisung croaks, his voice wet. “You’re dumping me?”

“I’m not dumping you, I’m just telling you the truth we both knew the whole time.”

“Minho.” Jisung is crying, Minho knows he is from his breath, the creak in his voice. “Do you not love me? I love you.”

Minho blinks back his own tears, cheeks running hot. “It’s not about love, Jisung. I’ve never been afforded love. I’m sorry.” He steps back, out of Jisung’s reach, lest he tries to stop him. If Jisung gets a touch on him, Minho knows he’ll not be able to go.

Jisung collapses, he falls to his knees in the grass, his beautiful face twisted to something painful and horrible. Minho feels like he’s being shot through with a hundred arrows, being torn limb from limb, and then doing it all over again.

Minho wishes he could die. He deserves it, the way he’s managed to hurt everyone he loves.

“I’m sorry,” he says once more. He turns, tears only falling when he’s out of Jisung’s sight, hot and angry, his head pounding.

Body meet grave, Minho dug it, now he lies. Jump, sink, die.

Minho doesn’t deserve to be happy, not after what he’s done. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
After the first night, Minho’s tears dry. He drags himself out of bed, forces himself to work. His body is tired. He has nothing left to give, nothing left to feel.

He can’t sleep. He stays up at night and wills himself to cry, just so he can wear himself out enough to fall into the depths of exhaustion. But it never comes. His undereyes are dark, sunken. Sooyoung keeps giving him dreadful looks.

When his father’s wrath got to its worst, Minho stopped crying. One beating, just an average day, something snapped, and he lost the ability. He laid and took it, and he didn’t scream. His body shut up, walls lacing together.

This feels like that. 
 
The day of his coronation portrait he gets out of bed as normal. Sooyoung helps him do his hair, she tries to offset his dark circles and sunken cheeks with powder, but it doesn’t work. Minho doesn’t care. Let everyone know how much he despised being king.

He’s been putting this portrait sitting off. Too much to do. It feels fitting that it’s hitting him at his worst.

The artist is a serious man with a wrinkled brow. He doesn’t say anything about Minho’s expression, he doesn’t say anything at all. Minho stands, lets him paint. It takes hours, all day long. It’s better than meetings.

He thinks of Jisung the entire time. Jisung’s lips, his soft touches, gentle whines. He thinks of how Jisung held him, how his hands found Minho’s back, his hair, soothing, comforting. He thinks about how he’ll never be rid of Jisung, of the ghost of his touch. 
 
Some days later, when the thing is done for good, he and Sooyoung stand in front of it.

“You look horrid,” Sooyoung mumbles.

“Good.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Two weeks without him and Minho still can’t cry.

He aches, like a cannonball has been blown through his chest, leaving a massive spot, unable to be filled.

If he listens hard enough, he swears he can hear the wind whistle through the empty space in his body, even through the incessant pound of rain on the windows. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Jeongin has been avoiding him. Minho doesn’t dare attempt to approach. He knows Jeongin will come to him when he’s ready.

Minho is preparing for bed, in only his sleep pants. Jeongin’s eyes drag down, straight to the scar. Minho panics, reaches for a shirt, anything to cover his abdomen. He had to calm down after the other morning, when he consoled Jeongin. He was terrified Jeongin would see it then, but they were both too broken up. He thought he had been granted a stroke of luck. Apparently not.

“What is that from?” Jeongin points, right at the scar, his brows serious.

“Jeongin,” Minho slides on a top, a soft cotton thing, something he pulled from a drawer.

Jeongin steps closer. “Tell me, Minho. No more lies.”

And, really, Jeongin deserves to know. Because the weight has been killing Minho, and he’d like to be rid of it. “He did it. He was going for you, but I pushed you out of the way. You were young, you wouldn’t remember.”

“You— he—” Jeongin stutters, his eyes flipping back and forth between Minho’s stomach and his face.

“Yes,” Minho tries to grab him, pull him into a hug, but Jeongin avoids his arms.

“You left Jisung, didn’t you?” His voice goes wobbly. Minho can see that his hands are shaking.

Minho blinks. “I didn’t have a choice. Of course I did. It was him or you.”

Jeongin sucks in a wretched breath, gasping and shaking. “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Jeongin, what?” Minho feels like he’s being torn to pieces all over again. Not one second to breathe.

“How can you not hate me? After everything?” Jeongin breaks, his tears come hard and fast, mouth downturned, open as he sobs. Minho grabs him, forces him into his arms. Jeongin cries into his neck, breathless, “All I’ve stolen from you— All the times you’ve been hurt because of me. You should hate me, Minho. I deserve it.”

“Innie,” Minho directs them to the bed, he holds Jeongin tight, so they both stay together. If he were to loosen up at all, he’s sure they’d both shatter to pieces. Jeongin’s fingers find purchase in the front of his blouse, his body shakes with the force of his outburst. Minho kisses his head, whispers into his ear, “Be quiet. Hush now. I’ve got you, my darling.”

Something their mother used to say.  
 
They sleep curled together, both of them cut open at the chest and leaking out all of their fears.

So long as they have each other.

Something their mother used to say.
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
In the morning, Jeongin is already dressed, standing above him. Always the early riser. He bears no signs of his tears, face clean, washed.

“Yen?” Minho rubs sleep from his eyes.

“Do you love him?” Jeongin asks, no preamble required.

Minho doesn’t need to think long. He doesn’t need to think at all. It’s the easiest truth he’s ever spoken, “I do.”

Jeongin leaves the chambers without another word. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho knew he shouldn’t have come outside. He was tempted, though, when the rain stopped for the first time in days. He went outside, and then he got drawn in by the giant hedge Chan is working away at. A horse, standing on its back legs, sculpted into leaves. It’s amazing.

For his part, Chan holds off on saying anything for a while. He clips away at the hedge, mouth pressed shut.

Maybe Minho stays because he has a penchant for pain. Because he knows if he sits long enough, he’ll be doled out a blow, an update on Jisung.

“He’s thinking about leaving, you know.”

“What?” Minho’s heart quits working. It’s worse than a blow, then. Just a shot, straight through the chest.

Chan nods, setting down his scissors. “He’s not left his bed in weeks. He’s probably going to go back to his uncle. Says there’s nothing here for him anymore.”

“He can’t. He’s happy here,” Minho argues, but he doesn’t know against what.

“You broke his heart, Min,” Chan says softly, like he’s afraid Minho will break. “I understand why you did it, and I think he does too, mostly. But still, it’s a lot to stick around and deal with. Being reminded of it every day.”

“I understand.” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Independence day falls on a weekend. What a joy, an excuse to throw a party.

The rain lets up, the clouds disappear, and the merriment gets underway.

Minho makes friends with a little servant boy, coaxes him into filling his cup with shots of spirits in exchange for giving him candies off of the table. He’s pissed drunk by the time the dancing starts.

He can’t see straight, he can’t do much at all but hiccup and feel horrible about everything. He needs to see Jisung. He needs it so bad it hurts.

Minho knows Jisung will be sitting outside, looking at the moon, because he knows Jisung well enough.

“Jisung—ie!” Minho sings, when he sees him across the way. He’s on the same bench he was when they kissed for the first time. Minho loves him.

Jisung jumps, his body closes in on itself, like he’s scared. Minho wants to die, thinking he did that to him. “Minho, what are you—”

Minho stumbles forward, shoving himself onto the bench next to Jisung. He becomes nauseous when Jisung scoots as far away from him as possible.

“I don’t know if I should be here,” he says, fidgeting. Minho’s eyes follow his jerky movements.

“Are you leaving? Going home?”

Jisung swallows, his throat bobs. Minho’s eyes can’t focus. “Yes. I think so. I’m going to leave next weekend.”

“Jisungie,” Minho repeats, this time in a mere whisper. “Jisungie.” The tears come then, bubbling out of him like a well, overflowing. He’s shaking, and his shoulders droop, and his pants are spotting wet with his cries.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here. I can’t. Goodbye, Minho.”

Minho collapses, falling sideways to the bench. His cheek hits cold metal, his back aches from where he’s bent out of sorts. He watches Jisung walk out of his life, the ground tilted and upside down. 
 
He’s like that when Felix finds him, probably on his way to bed Chan.

“Oh, Minho,” Felix tuts, pressing a hand to his cheek.

Minho feels small. Like a child. He doesn’t understand why he’s had to go muck everything up.

He didn’t think this an option. When he became king he thought of a thousand reasons why he could mess it up, but this was never an option.

He didn’t think his heart worked. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Minho is in his office, running through stacks of paperwork when Jeongin knocks at the door.

“Come in,” he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair.

His walls are up again, he’s definitely not working on a Saturday because he knows today is the day Jisung leaves. Certainly not.

He’s become a fan of lying to himself these days.

“Hi, Yen,” he says, barely looking up. “Is everything alright?”

“I got you something,” Jeongin crosses the room in a few steps. A black velvet box dropped on Minho’s desk.

Minho picks the thing up carefully. “What is this?” He flips open the lid, blood running cold.

“Your mothers ring,” Jeongin says. “I had it curated from the armory.”

The ring is gold, inlaid with diamonds and emeralds. Exquisite, but simple. Never too garish, she hated things like that. He breaks his eyes from the reflection of the gems to gape at his brother. “What?”

Jeongin sniffles once, crossing his arms tight over his chest. “You’ll marry Jisung. I'll become the king in your stead. Everything is already worked out.”

Minho’s body goes into what he can only assume is shock. His muscles tense, blood rushing into his chest, his heart, to get it moving again. His breath stutters, once, twice, picks back up again when he croaks, “What?”

“Of course, you’ll have to give up your status, your title, and go back to your mothers maiden name,” Jeongin pushes on, ignoring the state of him. He ticks off his fingers, like it’s an average day. “But everything is in place. I’ve been working on it for weeks.”

“Jeongin, no,” Minho rises to his feet, hands only steadied when they’re laid on the desk. Tremors overtake him.

“Minho,” Jeongin says. “Yes.”

Rapid shaking of his head, Minho’s body comes to life all at once, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His baby brother. The one thing he’s meant to protect. Jeongin went behind his back just to throw himself in front of the blade.

Jeongin, the boy that longs for romance, for adventure. Jeongin, his most precious thing.

Minho forces his voice steady, “No. I won't let you do this. You won’t throw away your freedom for me.”

“Yes, I absolutely will,” Jeongin snorts. As if something is funny.

“You can’t,” Minho explodes. He crosses the table and fists his hands in Jeongin’s robes, at the lapels. Tears prick at his eyes, but Jeongin seems unphased. “I won’t allow it.”

Jeongin’s hands wrap around his wrists, strong and gentle. “It’s too late. It’s done. I’ve signed the papers. The court has agreed.”

“How could you do this?” Minho can’t stand it. He can’t stand how his chest blooms with hope, despite it all. He can’t stand that all he’s thinking about is Jisung, even now.

“Minho,” Jeongin’s voice is calm, level. He’ll be a good king. A strong leader. He has values, compassion. “You’re my brother. You’ve given everything to give me a comfortable and happy life. I will become king because I want to, because I believe in luck and love and I know that love like this doesn’t come often.” He moves, picks the ring up from the table, forcing it back into Minho’s hands.  “Please, Minho. He's going to leave tonight. I talked to Chan. He's packing his things, you must stop him.”

“Jeongin—” Minho’s words are weak, boneless.

“Minho. If you don’t allow me to do this, I swear to you, I will never forgive you,” Jeongin grabs him by either side of his face, looking right into his eyes. Minho wonders when he got so big, when he became such a man. An honorable, lovely man. “You are my most precious thing, Min. Go get yours.”

Minho drags him in, closing him into a tight embrace. Jeongin hugs him back with all of his strength. They’ll always have this, Minho knows. He knows that this is it for them. “I love you,” he murmurs into Jeongin’s throat.”

“I love you too,” Jeongin pulls them apart, urging Minho towards the door. “Now

go.”

⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
It’s raining. Fat drops falling from the sky. A horrible day to travel, really. Jisung should know better.

Mud sloshes up with every step Minho takes, painting his trousers with brown. He doesn’t care. Nothing matters but the little velvet box in his pocket, the light that he can see on in the top room of the stables.

By the time he bursts through Jisung’s door, he’s soaking wet, breath coming in gasps.

Jisung is in the corner, squatting down, petting the cats on the head, face streaked with tears. He shoots up when he sees Minho, rubbing his face with his sleeves, eyes widening. “Minho, what are you—”

Minho doesn’t let him finish, “Marry me, Jisung.” He fumbles with his pocket, pulling out the box before dropping to one knee.

Clearly shocked, Jisung doesn’t move, he stays feet away, only a tiny squeak coming from his lips.

“I love you, I’m in love with you. The month I spent without you has been the worst of my life. I want to be with you forever,” Minho rushes. “Marry me.”

Jisung starts breathing again all at once, taking a tentative step forward. “What about— the kingdom?”

“Jeongin will take the throne. He went behind my back and worked it out. It’s all worked out.”

“He— you—” Jisung comes closer still, just a bit.

“I’m so sorry, Jisung. I’ve been a horrible friend, a horrible lover. I abandoned you the second things got hard. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I promise you I’ll work every day to earn it back. All I want is you,” Minho runs out of breath, steadying himself before continuing. “I promise to do better. I’m only going to be honest from now on. I want to be yours for keeps. Forever.”

Jisung’s fingers are freezing cold when he lays them around Minho’s hands. He cradles the ring, steadies Minho’s shaking arms. “I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” Jisung smiles, genuine and heart-shaped, his cheeks pressing up into his eyes. Minho melts from the inside out. “Of course I want to marry you. I love you. I love you, Minho.”

Minho forgets about the ring, he lets the box clatter to the floor in favor of scooping Jisung up into his arms. One hand behind his head, the other at his waist, he brings Jisung into a kiss.

This is how kissing is meant to feel, he knows now. A tingle from his head to his toes, warmth spreading through every morsel of his being. He’s going to be able to have this forever, the only thing he’s ever wanted for himself.

He teases Jisung’s lips apart with his tongue, swallows the moan he receives as a reward. He’s insatiable, starved. They only part when Jisung shivers, through to his bone, not in a pleasured way.

Minho attempts to pull apart to check on him, but Jisung holds him close by the neck, knocking their foreheads together.

“You’re so cold,” Jisung explains, teeth clacking. “Soaking wet. You have to stop coming here like this, you’ll fall ill.”

“Warm me up, then,” Minho growls, reclaiming his lips.

It takes them a fair amount of time to separate. A fair amount of time for Minho to slide the ring onto Jisung’s finger, the way his hands are shaking.

It takes a considerably shorter amount of time to get them stripped of their clothes and into Jisung’s bed— for Jisung’s ring to be digging into Minho’s finger where their hands are locked, Minho’s hips rolling as he shows Jisung just how much he loves him. 
 
Minho figures love is the most powerful thing in the world. It far surpasses kings, queens, any status. It starts and ends wars, brings people together, pulls them apart. Minho didn’t think himself capable. He thought the ability had been beaten out of him long ago.

He’s never been so happy to be wrong. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Yang Jeongin becomes the king on a rainy day months later.

Lee Minho, no status, carrying his mother’s name, and his fiance are in attendance.

The night before the ceremony, Minho sneaks into Jeongin’s bed and spends the night with him, curled into one another, sharing fears and hopes.

Jeongin is scared. Minho knows the feeling. He tells Jeongin he has nothing to worry about, because he can hear his heart; proof that he has one.

In the morning Jeongin becomes king. He wears the crown well. It looks better on his inky black hair than it ever did on Minho’s brown.

At the party afterwards, the lot of them, their friends, tuck away into the pantry off the kitchen, sneaking shots of the good liquor. Minho and Jisung stay far apart, because they’ve been banned from flirting in the pantry. A rule Jeongin set out at the last royal gala, fed up by their antics.

Minho checks in on his brother no less than a hundred times. Each time he’s waved off, told to stop worrying. This was Jeongin’s choice. He reminds Minho, over and over. 
 
A few days later, Minho and Jisung marry in a small ceremony attended by only their friends. Minho kisses his husband, dips him backwards to cheers and claps. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he never thought he could have.

He’s overwhelmed with gratitude, for Jisung, for Jeongin, for all of it. The locket at his neck holds the clover Jisung gifted him all those months ago, and somehow Minho feels like it has something to do with his luck.

They take a honeymoon, because Minho can do that now. He has all the time in the world. A small cottage in the woods, rented for them.

The place is small, and cozy, and perfect. They make love on every possible surface, they kiss, and dance, and hold one another. Minho thinks Pumpkin and Clover would like it here. So many mice to catch.

“This place is lovely,” Jisung sighs, after they’ve made love for the nth time, this time in front of the roaring fire. He draws shapes on Minho’s bare chest, a leg slung over his hips. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Minho hums in agreement. He realizes then, how silly he’s been. He has all the power in the world. He can do what he wants. He keeps forgetting that he’s not tied to anything but Jisung anymore— the most lovely feeling in the world. “Why don’t we?” 
 
The owner of the cottage is more than happy to have it off his hands. It’s far enough from the village that it’s a pain to keep maintained. Minho pays him triple what he should, tells him they’ll come back in a month or so, move in for good.

Jisung kisses him until he can’t breathe, he kisses him the entire ride home. 
 
Jeongin frowns when Minho tells him the news, but then he puts on a smile.

“I’m happy for you two, really,” he says, pulling Minho into a hug.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yes,” Jeongin nods. “It will just take some getting used to.”

He can tell that Jeongin has the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Minho allows himself to feel gratitude alongside his guilt, because gifts are given with purpose, with meaning, and Jeongin wanted him to have this one.

“Say,” Jeongin mumbles after a bit of quiet. “Do you think you’d like to help me find a husband? Someone to pass my days with?” 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
Jeongin’s portraits are sent out along with a call for a husband. It takes a while for the responses to roll in, offers back. He gets many more returned than he expects, but Minho isn’t surprised. Jeongin is handsome, he’s young.

They spend all day going over things, Minho suggests he hear about each of the offers before he looks at portraits, just so he won’t be swayed. Because Minho looked at the portraits first, and he knew right away who Jeongin would pick.

“He’s quite beautiful,” Minho purses his lips appraisingly, staring over Jeongin’s shoulder at the portrait of a prince. The man is slender, with long black hair and pretty, plush lips. Painted in the traditional robes of his kingdom, a place warmer and more tropical than they could ever dream. Minho knows it’s over before his brother speaks, he knows that this will be the one Jeongin chooses to marry.

“That might be an understatement,” Jeongin’s eyes are as close to hearts as they can be for the man in a painting. He can barely take his eyes off of the prince. He glances back up at the diplomats helping him assess his options. “And you said he’s interested in my hand?”

“Yes, your majesty. From what Levanter tells us, he is very interested. They’re willing to close up the last of their forts in exchange.” Something to sweeten the deal. A beautiful prince who is interested in Jeongin, plus the end of the war for good.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” Jeongin reads out his name like a song.

Minho jostles his shoulder, sending his brother what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You two will make a handsome pair, I’m sure.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’m always right.”

“I suppose you are,” Jeongin doesn’t even pretend to whine when Minho drags him into a hug, he just goes. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
“He’s found someone. The second born prince of Levanter. Hwang something or other,” Minho sighs, relaxing into Jisung’s hold around his waist. Tomorrow they’ll ride. To their new home, their little bit of forever. “He still won’t smile. It makes me sick, Jisungie. He used to smile so often. He hasn’t smiled in weeks.”

“I know, baby,” Jisung soothes. “But you’ve talked to him about it— he’s stressed. He promised to let us know if he needs anything. You can always come back to visit.”

“You’re right,” Minho bears his neck to Jisung, body releasing the last of the tension it’s holding. “I know you’re right, it’s just hard.”

Maybe this Hwang character will be good for him,” Jisung murmurs, nosing the underside of his jaw. “No, I know he will. The heavens are telling me so.”

“I hope they’re right,” Minho says, letting out a long breath. He turns in his husband’s arms, their foreheads falling together.

They spend a long moment in silence. Taking each other in. Jisung’s eyes hold the world and more. Dark brown, deep and true, straight to the center of the earth.

Jisung worries his lip for a short moment. His brows pinch softly, just a touch. “You don’t regret it, do you? Giving it all up?”

Minho holds himself back from scoffing. A ridiculous question. He knows it, and Jisung knows it too. “I could never regret you, Jisung. You’re the love of my life. The only thing I could ever need.”

“Alright,” Jisung’s smile spreads across his face slowly, until it’s full and bright. “You’d marry me all over again?”

“You know I would,” Minho smiles back, tipping his chin forward to steal a peck.

“And I assume that means you’ll take me to bed again. A replay of the wedding night?”

Minho laughs, pinching Jisung’s ass, earning a yelp. “Have you not grown tired of me yet?”

“Never,” Jisung giggles as he’s lifted up and spirited to bed. “The king of my heart. Kiss me, your majesty.”

“Annoying,” Minho complains, but he’s grinning when their lips meet. “I’m just a man.”

“And such a wonderful one at that.”

Jisung squeals in delight when Minho drags him further into the mattress, the two of them tangling indiscriminately together.

Jisung and Minho. Twin circles in the dirt laid one over the other, almost no telling where one starts and the other ends.

Through the window, the full moon winks down at them. 
 
⋆☾₊‧⁺˖
 
In the morning, Minho and Jisung start the journey to their home. The little cabin in the woods that they’ll make their own.

Sooyoung leaves them at the door, headed off wherever her heart may take her, with a promise to visit and a kiss to her cheek. Minho has a feeling that her heart will take her in the direction of a certain chef’s daughter, though he doesn’t ask.

Minho kisses his husband on the cheek, and then on the lips, and he carries him through the threshold bridal style, Pumpkin and Clover hot on their heels.

They’ll begin the rest of their lives together. Completely, wonderfully average. A clover plucked from four leaves to three, all the luck spent up on love.