selfishness is a difficult thing for yiseon to grasp without feeling guilt over the act of it. he would give all that he has if necessary and asked for, he would spare every effort to carry out his duties without any need for thanks, he would protect what he has to and die standing for it, and he would feel guilty over keeping things that aren’t his to keep (there is barely any)—only this, only her—he keeps close to his chest and lets her stay there, shameless in the fact that he doesn’t feel any guilt for being relieved that she is safe, alive, happy, and still in reach. even if everyone else were to fall away.

“captain,” he blinks out of his stupor, attention falling away from his clenched hand. he doesn’t notice the flicker of worry that traverses his lieutenant’s face (the past two moons has been fraught with much work—yiseon has had to religiously carry both his responsibilities as military staff and eldest son of house ma, especially as much of house ma had been injured severely in the attack), it is not the first time. but this little injury is nothing he would succumb to. and his lieutenant knows better not to push; instead, he places himself in a formal bow and speaks, “it is time to depart for the plaza.”

almost immediately, his entire countenance changes. he keeps himself from smiling but it’s all the same because who wouldn’t notice? iseul had written to him about this. it was only a matter of time until she was to move with her family to hari bulkan—where he was. closer, closer. he lets the familiar jubilance rise in his chest at the thought and it takes trained control for him to not simply just jump up from where he sat and run towards the plaza in anticipation. iseul’s introduction to the world is impending—oh, they would just love her. (another act of selfishness, he only ever does this with her. when he had first received word from her, he’d bristled in frightened worry. if she were to step into his world, would that mean placing her in more danger similar to what had just passed? even so, she was closer. so much closer. how could yiseon ask for anything else?)

the entire plaza is silent when he arrives, even as various people were already gathered in place. yiseon senses the weariness, the undeniable shadow of grief that has followed everyone in its wake in the aftermath of the attack, and chooses to focus his eyes on the ground, silent in the face of being reminded that there was little to celebrate. even so.

he forgives himself for the slight of giving out a small smile when it is announced that house yoon were to be granted nobility and bows his head in the attempt to hide his joy. around him, people are reacting in various, though quiet ways but it didn’t matter, really—at least at the moment—because iseul was—

‘lastly, the crown prince and avatar yuha’s eldest niece are to be wed by year’s end.’

—coming home to him.

the moment feels almost eerily familiar, the way the rug is pulled from just underneath his feet. yiseon raises his head slowly, smile fading as he hears soft murmurs of confirmation around him—the avatar’s eldest niece? what was her name again? lady iseul of house yoon? to the crown prince? what do you know of her?—that he hadn’t heard wrong.

he pictures her smiling at him in his head, her hands reaching out to fill the space in his, grounding him back on earth. he thinks about the gentle way she must have penned her first letter informing him of the good news that she would be moving closer, closer and the several letters they’d exchanged on the days leading up to this.

‘we stand in the precipice of a new era.’ and perhaps it is cowardice. perhaps this is what is sincerely characteristic for someone like yiseon. that even as he promises to come after her in whichever world she falls or chooses to venture into, that even as he keeps her close to his chest, that even if she is the one thing, the only thing, he wishes to keep—he still finds himself standing in the plaza, with the words of the fire lord echoing in his ears, frighteningly, ridiculously, laughably, and inevitably beginning to let her go. just like that. like everything else.

but it isn’t. not really. is it? for a moment, yiseon is able to deceive himself that she’s right there—in front of him, taking a hold of his right hand and gently wrapping both of hers around them before beckoning him to look right into her eyes. her gaze is warm, her smile as beautiful as the day he’d met her again and she simply looks at him—right at him, never for a moment wishing for him to be anything else but himself. and yiseon allows himself to stand there, allows himself to encase both of her hands in his before lifting them up, his bottom lip trembling as he places one small kiss on each knuckle in devoted reverence. you’re letting me go, aren’t you, yiseon?

…what was he but an amalgamation of questions asking for a reason—there must be a reason, there must be a reason, just any reason enough to understand… why? isn’t she the one thing he had meant to keep and keep safe? yiseon has shouldered numerous other punishments yet somehow, that is never enough and he is always asked to go through the motions of asking why? why? why? again and again and again, even if no one ever seems to hear. where must he ask for forgiveness to be granted some leniency? where must he kneel for grace so that he may hold onto just one thing? when does the punishment end? why… is there no answer where he gets to keep holding her like this?

when he blinks, she is gone. he’s back in the emerald tea house in the midst of tragedy, but it is different—he stands there, the room is all the same but instead of burning, it is frozen and he cannot breathe. from the other side of the room, he hears his father laugh at him, at the gall to believe he could ever feel selfish about anything without paying for it. as if he would ever be capable of keeping something without eventually having to let go of it. the punishment comes and it never fails to, will never fail to—and yiseon is so good at losing, he even initiates the punishment before it is enforced on him. just like this. ‘let us look to the future with resolve.’

he stands in a plaza full of people and he is burning cold. he feels the chill creeping in on his bones and he moves to clench his fists—tight enough to hurt, tight enough to bleed—to keep his head together as he hurries out. how ridiculous it is for a man of his rank to feel as though he is being frozen in ice even with the sun glaring down on where he stood.