“How much do you bet your cabin will be on fire when we get back?” you can’t help but ask.

He laughs quietly by your left ear, and it sends chills down your spine. “I’m trying not to think about that.”

The trees begin to grow sparse as the lake comes into view, so Luke slips your backpack from his shoulders, swinging it and letting it smack into his calves. The moment his feet hit the dock, the bag falls to the ground with a metallic thunk, and you sigh out his name, annoyed.

“I slaved over those sandwiches, you know. I’m making you carry me back to camp if they're flattened.”

He smiles, guilty, his hands frozen over the main pocket of the bag. The towels he’d packed are already hanging halfway out of it, the mat you’d brought to lounge on tucked under his arm. He’s practically halfway in the water already. “Sorry, chef.”

“You can relax. The lake’s not going anywhere,” you tease. Your shoulders brush when you nudge him away from your bag to rifle through it yourself.

Even though you poke fun at him, you can’t help but feel the same way. It’s been too long since you and Luke have had any personal time that wasn’t surrounded by other demigods. Your break’s been long overdue.

Luke surveys the best spot for swimming while you scrutinize the wooden dock. The old thing is riddled with splinters and nails and wobbly pieces of wood, but you find a good spot just on the edge of the structure.

The second your mat is rolled out, you collapse right on top of it. It’s an old plastic thing that one of Luke’s brothers stole from who knows where. The dark blue material folds into the shape of a bag so it’s easy to lug around, but years of lakeside lounges have worn it down — the strap that makes it into an actual bag snapped off a while ago.

You have to shove your hand to the very bottom of your backpack to find Luke’s sunglasses, but you’re quick to throw them over your eyes as you lay back down. The sun hits your skin and seeps the tension straight from your body. You wish Apollo were here so you could thank him personally; if it was possible to sunbathe forever, you would.

The rays on your skin are perfect. The lake is perfect. Being here with your best friend is perfect.

Luke moves from his spot by the other side of the dock and steps in front of you, eclipsing the sun. You peer at him over the rims of his glasses, unable to see much of him with the way he’s standing against the light.

“You look comfortable,” he says, rocking back onto his heels.

You prod at his ankles that are parallel with your face. “I am. Now move over, you’re blocking the sun.”

Something hard drops onto the wood beside your head, and your eyes shift to the container by your side.

It’s Luke’s sticky tube of sunscreen. The cartoon sun printed onto the front of the plastic is enjoying himself, his own shades pasted above a smug grin.

Luke nudges it towards you. “Could you get my back?”

You’re about to complain. He knows how much you hate the greasy feeling the sunscreen leaves on your hands and on everything you touch afterwards, but he’s making you do it anyway. Your eyes trail back up to glare at him, and you make it through a single syllable before your complaint evaporates in the heat.

He’s still looking at you expectantly, and he nudges the bottle closer to you with the point of his sandals again.

He’s trying to rush you, but you don’t really care. You’re thinking.

Yeah.

Thinking.

You’ve known Luke through everything. The terrible twos, your fear of the dark at six, his obsession with Pokémon cards at eight, and both of your awkward, gangly, preteen years.

In your head, Luke’s still your best friend that’s trying to relearn how to use a sword after he’d hit a growth spurt at fourteen. Whoever the fuck is standing in front of you now is not him.

Sometime between when you’d first arrived and had gotten settled on the dock, Luke had stripped himself down to his swimming trunks, eager to get into the water. Sunscreen he hasn’t fully worked into his skin leaves a white cast down his chest and arms, and you have to blink to see if the shadows are playing tricks on your eyes.

Luke had always been strong. But fighting off monsters thirsty for demigod blood generally did not require having abs.

Fed up with your staring, he pushes you over on the mat and places the sunscreen into your hand himself. His biceps shift and grow taut as he leans over.

“Have you been lifting?” you say, instead of anything normal. The tube of sunscreen feels like a thousand pound weight in your hand.

“Oh.” Luke looks down at his arms, as if he hasn’t even thought about how different he looks. He flexes just to show you, and your eyes actually widen at the definition of his arms. You trace the pathways his veins make from his wrist all the way up, feeling like you’re seeing muscles for the first time ever. “Yeah. A little.”

“A little?” you repeat, before actually laughing. “Dude.” You prod at his stomach, and he swats you away, red creeping up his neck. “Back in the day, they could’ve used your chest as like, one of those old laundry washboards. Since when do you work out?”

For a second, his face falls. The light air that’s been sitting between you two feels tainted. Luke shifts his eyes from your face to a spot behind your head, and you realize you’ve been walking carelessly through a landmine.

“Just, since…” He goes quiet for another few seconds. “Since Michael’s quest.”

Luke’s voice twists in a way it only does when he talks about things revolving around his dad. Your heart sinks with the weight of guilt.

Months ago, Luke’s older brother Michael had received a quest from Hermes himself. Him and his quest group had emerged victorious, finishing the quest with tons of time to spare. The three of them were treated like royalty the second they’d stepped through the entrance to camp.

Luke had never outright told you, but you know he’d been jealous. His relationship with his dad has always been rocky, but you think he wants to prove himself, for one reason or another. The bulking and the additional training… All of it must be to show his dad he’s ready. For his own quest, or something else.

Comfort has never come easy to you. But it does when it comes to Luke. A lot of the time, he just wants to be reminded that you’re there for him, even if you’re just sitting in silence. Words don’t usually work when he’s upset about things like this, so you finally pop open the sunscreen to give your hands something to do. He turns around without a word.

There’s a spot of white on his back in the shape of a smeared handprint where he must’ve tried putting it on himself before realizing it was no use. As you apply some more properly, the sunscreen disappears under your fingers, and you don’t even think about how gross your hands will feel later. You put on more of the lotion, rubbing slow circles into the broad stretch of his shoulders and then the dips of his back.

It feels weird touching the expanse of his bare skin like this. You’ve felt the warmth of him countless times, but always through a shirt or a jacket or that one sweatshirt that’s now yours. Luke’s skin is so warm it makes you want to slump forward and let him hold you until sleep takes you away. Absent-mindedly, your hands reach out to trace over a spot on his shoulder blades that’s covered in freckles.

“Killer,” Luke says softly. He pinches the skin just above your knee and your hands stop moving. “You’re supposed to help me put sunscreen on, not give me a massage.”

“Oh.” You realize his back has been thoroughly covered two times over. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“That’s okay. It’s your turn, though.”

You sigh, slumping back onto the mat. He turns around to face you again, the harsh lines of his frown already disappearing off his face.

“You need to invest in better sunscreen,” you say as he works to undo the buttons of your old Hawaiian tee. “This one makes me feel so gross.”

Luke doesn’t say anything about your complaining. He’s too busy looking perfectly sun kissed, a light dusting of red across his cheeks glowing against his tan. He motions for you to turn over, and you oblige.

You don’t mention how you haven’t even put sunscreen on the parts of your body you can reach, but he doesn’t bring it up, so neither do you.

You’ll give him this. He needs something to do that isn’t sitting and thinking about his dad, and you’re willing to let it slide even if it’s at the cost of feeling greasy and gross.

“You know what’s even worse than the sunscreen?” he asks.

“What?”

“Skin cancer.”

Luke’s already grinning when you tilt your head to glare at him. “What even possessed you to say that?”

He laughs, squeezing the bottle of sunscreen directly onto your back. You flinch at the coldness, but it’s quickly remedied with the warmth of Luke’s hands. He doesn’t let the sunscreen sit for a second before he’s working it into your skin. You can feel every single movement of his fingers and every shape he traces there.

The slowing of his hands when he lingers at the scar on your back nearly causes a full body reaction.

“Thought we weren’t giving each other massages,” you choke out, just so he stops dragging his nails over the raised skin.

He hums. “Your scars look really badass.”

(Luke does this a lot — says something offtopic in lieu of responding. He doesn’t mean to do it to ignore you, and you don’t take offense, especially if it's during quiet moments like these. When you sit in silence like this, his off topic thoughts tend to morph into compliments.)

You feel flushed all of a sudden. “Thanks, hero. But keep going, please. I can feel my skin withering away under the sun already.”

You can hear the smile in Luke’s voice when he says, “Told you.”

A bit higher up, closer to your spine, he presses a finger into your back twice, each prod an inch apart. And then, just below, he drags his finger in the shape of an arc. He leans back on his heels to look at it.

You push yourself off of the dock, trying to crane your neck around to look at your spine. “Did you just… draw a smiley face?”

“What?” his left hand pushes your face away while the other swipes quickly over your skin again. “No. Stop moving around.”

“So that wasn’t you trying to wipe away the evidence?”

He scoffs. “I’m not five years old.”

“Sure.”

He wipes away the last of his sunscreen art once and for all. As quick as he can, he smears more into your shoulder blades, and the back of your neck, and the tops of your shoulders.

Luke pauses for a second, and for a second you think he’s finally done. But you can feel his hands move out of the dip of your back and higher up, his touch feather light. His index finger ghosts over the band of your top, and he pinches the fabric between his fingers.

“Is it good if I lift this for a second?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat of whatever’s blocking your windpipe. The fraction of space between you burns with heat. “You’re good.”

The split second he spends passing his hand over the skin there feels like it lasts an hour. A moment later, the fabric is snapping back into place, and he pats your back twice to let you know he’s done.

“Want me to get your arms for you?” he asks.

A weird wave of restlessness washes over you. You shove the cap back onto the sunscreen, your hands fumbling to toss it back into your bag with his sunglasses.

“We’ve been up here forever,” you groan, Luke’s impatience from earlier suddenly infectious. “I’m trying to spend at least some of our lake day in the actual lake.”

“Great.” Luke lifts himself to his feet and extends a hand.

The mat is warm under your feet when he helps you up. You can feel his hand squeeze yours a little too tight, and your stomach nearly drops when you realize he’s looking away from you, towards the water.

“Luke,” you warn, planting your feet and trying to resist the way he pulls you forward. “No.”

When he turns back to look at you, his eyes glint the same way it does when he’s waiting for one of his brothers to fall for one of his stupid pranks. And of course, he’s grinning at you the same way he does when someone doesn’t realize he’s nicked something straight out of their pocket. It’s the always mischievous face of a son of Hermes.

Ever innocent, he asks, “What’re you talkin’ about?”

You stumble when Luke uses his other hand to tug you closer. Dread spikes in your chest. He pulls you right into his chest at the edge of the dock, locking his arms around your waist.

You’re stuck. “The water’s cold, Luke, please—”

“You’ll warm up,” he promises, his voice sweet and low.

A second later, with his firm grasp around your middle, Luke tip both of you backwards off the dock.

The cold water jolts you out of the peaceful state you’d been in just a few seconds ago. The air is effectively shocked straight from your lungs, the water rushing past your ears and bubbles dancing across your vision. He releases you so both of you can resurface, and his laugh is the first thing you hear when you come up for air.

You make sure to splash him in the face the second you gain your bearings. “Asshole.”

The dark mess of curls on his head hangs over his eyes, heavy with water. He shakes it out like a dog, sending droplets straight at your face.

“Maybe if you didn’t always take fucking forever to get in, I wouldn’t have—”

You drop your tone and mock him accordingly. He splashes you again, grinning. The water has washed every remaining part of his frown away, the quest slipping from his mind.

This spot by the dock is shallow enough for both of you to just be able to stand. Sated with happiness, Luke lets his guard down enough to let you come closer and wrap your arms around his neck. You seize the opportunity to shove his head underwater, managing it for a few seconds before you feel his hands go under your arms.

You scream, your hands slipping off of his wet shoulders when you try to hold onto him. Armed with a steady grip, he tosses you straight over his shoulder and head first into the water.

His smile is what greets you when you resurface. He slicks your wet hair away from your eyes, laughing at the scowl on your face.

“I’m sorry, I swear,” he insists, pulling you closer. He’s using that stupid starry eyed look he always uses to get you to forgive him. “I’m done now, no more fighting.”

He puts both of his hands on your face, swiping away drops of water that track down your cheeks.

“Luke Castellan.” You sigh, leaning into his palm.

His eyes follow a droplet that runs down your neck. “Yeah?”

“I hope you can swim fast.”

When you catch him halfway down the lake, his laughter echoes throughout the clearing, joining the sound of the wind rushing through the trees and the choir of birds over your heads.

—

The sun has long moved from the high point of the sky when you decide to get out. Luke calls it a day when he can barely move his legs, thighs burning from swimming. You’d been clinging to his side for a while at that point, teeth chattering without the hot sun to warm the water.

Luke pushes himself up onto the dock and nudges his waterlogged hair out of his face. When he extends a hand to you, water runs down the slopes of his arms and drips down his fingertips.

He snaps his fingers in your face when you don’t reach for him. “The hypothermia get to your brain already?”

You grip his hand in yours, tugging him forward like you’re going to pull him back in. “Funny. I was actually deciding whether or not I should make you face plant.”

You dry yourselves off before Luke disappears into the woods for firewood — not without a comment about what happened the last time he let you go get it — and you set up your stuff on a soft tuft of grass as close to the water as you can get.

He reappears after a few minutes, his arms full with sticks that he drops at the foot of the mat. “There wasn’t much dry wood out there. Might only have enough for an hour or two.”

“That’s okay. It’s more wood than I ever managed to bring back by myself, anyway.”

Luke freezes from where he’s starting the fire, the flame of his lighter dancing in his cupped hands. He turns to see the shit-eating grin on your face. “That was a good one.”

“Thanks.”

Luke busies himself with the fire, letting the kindling catch while you take out the sandwiches you’d brought. Thankfully, only one of them is a little smushed from Luke’s reckless bag handling, but you set aside the nicer one for him anyway. You work your hands over the aluminum wrapping as you sit back.

“It’s been a while,” you say, just loud enough for your voice to carry over.

Luke tosses another piece of wood into the fire to feed the growing flames. “Since what?”

Since this. Everything’s the same. There’s the silhouette of Luke’s back, a shape you’d recognize even without the light of the sky. There’s the familiar warmth of the fire at your feet. And there’s that summertime buzz in the air — a sound you can’t place, but know like the sound of your own voice. It’s the sound of you and Luke’s nighttime lullaby from all those years ago. It’s been so long since you’d been out here alone together.

“Eating sandwiches by the fire. The woods. Us.”

He mumbles something that you can’t hear. Louder, he says, “At least the sandwiches are good this time around.”

You crack a smile. “That’s true. No more old peanut butter and crumbly bread.”

Luke had hated eating those things as a kid, but he’d toughed it out for you. The sandwiches reminded you of home. Even though the dry crust tasted nearly powdery in your mouth, you would close your eyes and imagine sitting under the tree in Luke’s backyard, eating a plate of sandwiches and drinking your mom’s lemonade.

You reach for the sweater at the bottom of your bag, tugging it over your top. When you pull out the blanket you’d brought, you’re surprised to see the bottom of the bag. You turn to face Luke.

“You didn’t bring a jacket?” you ask. He shakes his head no, calm and collected like he can barely feel the breeze that whips his hair around.

“You’re gonna get cold,” you chastise.

Satisfied with the fire, he finally settles down next to you. “It’s not even that bad out. You’re just cold-blooded.”

You hold the back of your hand against his neck, and he cringes away. Teasingly, you say, “You know what they say. Cold hands, warm heart.”

He tugs the blanket over both of your laps and opens his left arm for you to lean against him. You’d slept like this as kids, too, his left arm over your shoulder and his weapon of choice sitting in his right hand. You would switch when it was your turn to keep watch, the familiar weight of your knife in your dominant hand and Luke’s warmth coming from your other side.

But you’re at home now. You no longer have to sleep with the handle of your knife imprinted into your hand, and Luke is free to take your hands in his. He rubs his thumbs over your skin, his hands hot and soothing.

“If that saying’s true, my heart must be made of ice, then,” he says, no doubt feeling the warmth seeping back into your hands from the heat of his.

You smile, watching as he turns your palms over in his until they feel normal again. You probably would’ve turned into a demigod popsicle without Luke all those years ago, and the same is true. The mutual body heat was often the only source of warmth you’d have in the colder months.

Keeping each other alive is all you two seem to do.

After a few seconds, Luke tugs you back to lay on the mat with him. You turn further into him, soaking up every ounce of comfort he offers.

With your head tilted back, you can see the makings of stars in the sky, just beginning to fade into the blue with the sun setting. You’d have to ask someone to teach you the constellations visible this time of year.

Luke taps out a rhythm on your forearm, and then on your bicep, and then up to your shoulder. His hand finds its way into your hair, rubbing at your scalp before slipping down to the ends.

There’s a glowing form brighter than the rest just above the treeline. A planet, maybe. Or a star. You’d probably be able to remember if you weren’t so tired.

You can feel light tugs at the end of your hair — Luke, playing with the ends, twisting strands around his finger before letting it go.

“We’re gonna fall asleep,” you warn, but you’re much too comfortable to actually do something about it. His chest rises steadily at your side, the even movements drawing you closer and closer to sleep.

Luke’s eyes have taken on a faraway look to them, his hand still messing with the tips of your hair. While you stare skyward, he’s focused his eyes on the setting sun right ahead.

“Hey.” You link his restless hand with yours. “Can you start talking about something? I don’t want to fall asleep yet.”

He squeezes you twice. “You cut your hair.”

You wilt, your face already beginning to heat up. “Preferably anything but that.”

“Why?” he asks, turning to face you. His eyebrows knit in genuine confusion. “It looks great.”

“Not really.” Your own hand slips from his to pull at the ends self-consciously. “I love Junia, I do, but she cut it way too short. I can’t look at it.”

He tilts his head to look at you head on, a frown on his pretty face. He nudges a strand behind your ear, deep in thought, like he’s trying to look for something. “Don’t say that. It looks good. You just haven’t had it this short in a while.”

“I know, which is why I hate it,” you lament. “It’ll be a while until it grows back.” You’d been mourning the lost length all day, and thought Luke wouldn’t be able to notice the difference.

He flicks your forehead, eliciting an ow from you. “Always so stubborn. You look cute, killer.”

You let your hair that you’d worried between your fingers fall back into place. You squint at Luke for any sign of a pity compliment.

“You really think so?”

He seems to take offense at your doubt. “You really think I’d lie to you?”

It’s crazy how much weight Luke’s words hold in your mind. You know the next time you look in the mirror, you’ll rethink everything about the way you look.

When you settle back down without a word, Luke knows he’s won. He tugs at the fabric of your sweatshirt.

“You talk to your sister lately?” He asks, just to change the subject.

You look down at your sweater. Emblazoned across the front are letters that spell out UC San Diego.

“Kinda. She sent me and Clarisse a postcard and some merch from school. Clarisse refuses to wear the t-shirt she got, though.” Luke’s hand reaches out to trace over the embroidered letters. “Mel says she wants to visit soon. I can’t wait to see her.”

Mel was the Ares cabin counselor up until last summer, when she’d left for college on the other coast. You’ve missed her terribly, but you heard all about her life out there and knew she was having a great time.

“She’s almost done her sophomore year. I think she switched her major to nursing, or something,” you add on. “Kinda ironic, isn’t it? A daughter of Ares healing injuries instead of causing them.”

Luke smiles. “I can see it. Mel’s always been the nicest Ares kid I know.”

You huff. “Well, thanks.”

He pretends to think it over again for a few seconds. “Don’t worry. I’d say you’re tied with Clarisse for last.”

“Ha ha,” you drawl. “Fuck you.”

“Actually, you rank just above her, I think. She would definitely drown me if she found out she wasn’t at the bottom of the list.”

“Probably.”

Luke’s hand is still pressed to the letters on your sweatshirt, his eyes trained on the words there. Something begins to form in the back of your mind.

“Maybe we could take another trip,” you suggest. “Me and you. California.”

The amusement is written on his face. “As if Chiron would let us take another vacation. We barely got him to agree to the last one.”

“But he caved eventually!” you remind him. “And wasn’t it great?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, please. That was the most fun we’ve ever had, and you know it.”

(For your sixteenth birthday, you and Luke had managed to charm your way into letting Chiron and Mr. D set you loose in New York City. You’d been on your own for a day, spending your allowance of a whopping fifty dollars on two small meals at an even smaller restaurant. You had also managed to score sight-seeing tickets on a rickety boat that didn’t look safe to ride.

Luke had rubbed your back for you when you’d gotten seasick, and given you Dramamine he’d pilfered from the bag of a man a few rows ahead of you. You’d given each other an awkward look when the guy got sick over the side of the boat an hour later.

“Here, man,” Luke had said. He placed the foil of Dramamine tablets in his hand. “We have extra.”

The man nearly got down on the floor, thankful out of his mind. There were tears in his eyes when he said, “Thank you so much. I seem to have forgotten mine, and I get so terribly sick on boats.”

You and Luke were silent for the last ten minutes back to the dock.)

“We might have to wait a while to ask,” Luke says, giving in. “Chiron’s not gonna be too happy when he finds out we skipped out on everything today.”

“You’re like the camp golden child. I’m sure if you flashed your pretty smile at him, he’d give in.”

Luke turns away, smug.

The two of you settle into another bout of silence, thoughts of the sunny California beaches running through your minds. You can picture the both of you there already — a little older, a lot happier. Luke would probably take up surfing, because he’s that kinda guy. You’d have a Jeep, or something, driving to the beach with the top down to watch the sun setting over the water.

“We could always say we’re touring schools,” you offer. “We should probably be thinking about future colleges, anyway.”

Luke sits up abruptly, so you do too. When you see the look on his face, fear strikes in your chest. His eyes are shining with something unreadable, and it’s beginning to dawn on you that you and Luke haven’t discussed this before. You have no idea if he even wants to go to college, and you’re already roping him into your fantasy of school on the west coast.

“You want that?” he asks, quiet.

“I think so,” you say honestly. “I kinda just assumed we’d go somewhere together.”

Luke is silent, his face a complete mix of emotions that you can’t tell are good or bad.

It sounds beyond dramatic, but it feels like the rest of your life is riding on the rest of this conversation. There’s no future for you without Luke in it.

Your voice is quiet when you speak next. “Do you want that?”

You can’t imagine what would happen if Luke suggests something like the two of you splitting up, finding your own ways after camp. He’s in every plan you have, a permanent mark on the rest of your life.

Your attachment issues are serious. You’re barely able to imagine yourself as a person without Luke Castellan.

The way he smiles makes it feel like someone’s pumping air back into your lungs. It dispels every single doubt you’d ever had.

“Do I wanna go to college? Sure,” he says. The grin on his face lights up his eyes, gorgeous pools of dark brown. “But if you’re asking me if I want to be with you?”

Luke laughs in disbelief, like your question is the funniest thing in the world. The sound makes something in your chest constrict. “I hope you know it’s been a definite yes for the past decade.”

You don’t even realize how much you’re grinning until Luke leans forward to knock your forehead against his.

“Can I be honest with you?” you whisper, serious as ever.

The joy is written on your face, plain as day. It’s like you’ve ascended into the sky and merged into literal nature all at once. The wind rustles the taller grass blades behind you. A dove chirps over your heads.

Luke nods.

“Even if you decided you didn’t want to go to college, and just wanted to fuck off and live in the Canadian wilderness or something…”

You slide your arms around his neck just so you can hide your smile. You’re embarrassed out of your mind, knowing he can feel your grin against his skin. “I’d still go with you, honestly.”

A shocked laugh bursts from his throat. Luke’s arms link behind your lower back, and you fight the urge to do something stupid. “Fuck. Are you proposing, killer?”

You feel like you’ve been set on fire.

“I think we should go ask Chiron about plane tickets, like right now,” you say, no trace of a joke in your voice.

His chest rumbles against yours when he laughs. “Sure.”

The two of you stay like that for a few more minutes, and Luke only lets go of you to add the last remaining sticks into the fire. He sits back again, this time dragging you against his chest. He slumps onto your back, resting his chin on your shoulder.

It’s weird, knowing for a fact that you’re going to spend the rest of forever with your best friend.

“Do you ever think about, like, the other parts of the future?” you press, your curiosity getting the best of you.

His shoulders lift against your back in what you think is a shrug. “Like what? Up until now, I had no idea I even wanted to go to college.”

Of course.

“Like anything after college. Where you wanna live. If you want kids.”

Luke’s taken to rubbing the skin of your thigh through the blanket over both your laps. “I have, actually.”

His answer surprises you. He’s thought about stuff like that, which is a million years from now, but not college? Something that could very much happen in the next few years?

“Care to share?” you push. “I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

Luke hums, and you can tell he’s thinking everything over. You watch the fire dance in the pit while you wait for him to speak.

“I’ve always wanted to live by the water,” Luke admits. “I liked that about where we grew up.”

His voice takes on a quiet tone, always awkward whenever he mentions Connecticut. You’d lived in the suburbs about ten minutes from the coast, and so many of your summers and few weekends were spent down by the water.

“I think that’s why California sounds good to me,” Luke continues. “It’s not New England, and it’s different in a good way.”

You would love to go back to your mom’s house — see the place that shaped you and Luke into people. But you know he could never consider it. Westport haunts him even now, his own personal ghost.

“And I want a big house,” he continues. “With one kid. A boy or a girl, I don’t really care.”

“Luke Castellan, girl dad,” you tease, everything about it sounding fond.

In a few years, the same boy who used to chase you through his backyard with worms in his hands will be an adult. Your best friend, pressed against you right now, could one day be a dad.

“Maybe,” he answers. He squeezes your knee two times, and it keeps you from drifting off into your thoughts.

“I don’t know if the world could handle a Luke Castellan Jr. running around. You were a crazy kid.”

Luke pinches you in offense. “Big talk coming from you, killer.”

He draws out the syllables in the old nickname to drive his point across. The joke had come from somewhere, of course.

“It wasn’t like you were the angel between the two of us,” he adds.

You smile because you know he’s right. You’d been a handful for your mom, always causing some sort of trouble in one way or another. And Luke had been right there with you, every step of the way.

Beyond college, you don’t know what you want for yourself. You just know that you’re going to have Luke, no matter what happens.

You think of the two of you a few years from now with your college diplomas and your families in the audience. Years of laughter and sunscreen and your big house on the California beach. And then the two of you, old and tired but with a lifetime of stories to tell.

You sink further into the cradle of his arms. “I just can’t wait, Luke. For all of it.”

Straight ahead, the last of the light from the sun gets consumed by the darkness of the night. You and Luke lay there, alone under the stars.

He mumbles his answer into the quiet of the sky. “Me too.”

The fire goes out sometime later.

—

Luke dreams of you that night.

You’re about sixteen years younger, but it still looks just like you.

You’re both sitting on the beach, though it doesn’t quite look like the one from your childhood.

The water is so blue and the sand is so fine and white and Luke knows he’s never been here before. When he turns around, he can see nothing else but more sand behind him, an eternal beach his mind has drawn for him. In front of him is a stretch of water that goes as far as his eye can comprehend. And to his left is you.

He knows it has to be you the moment he sets his eyes on the back of your head, the same messy hair of his youth.

It’s the same kid he sat with on the back steps of his porch, hands sticky with melted popsicles. The same kid he’d watch late night cartoons with on his couch, asleep with a half eaten bowl of ice cream on the floor.

You turn to face him, and Luke knows if he had full control over his body, his face would’ve split into a grin.

You’re just a baby.

You’re so tiny that even the version of him in his dream reaches out for you. It seems that Dream You is still a baby, but Dream Luke isn’t.

There’s a ridiculous sunhat on your head, the kind his mom would make him wear as a kid. It’s in your favorite color, and when you toddle closer, he sees you smile with all three of your baby teeth.

There’s a few things different about you that don't feel familiar to him. Something about the curve of your nose is off, and your hair looks curly in the way that his is. There’s a look in your eye that reminds him a lot of one of his younger brothers, the makings of a mischievous smile new on your face. You waddle right into his arms, and he lets you clamber onto his left thigh. When you throw your tiny arms around his neck, he realizes you smell like his sunscreen and salt water.

You pat his face, your eyes wide and glittering. He wipes a bit of drool away from the corner of your mouth, and you jump a little.

“Mama,” you babble, since it’s probably the only world you know.

He thinks of your mother, all the way back in Connecticut. He thinks of her big smile and warm hands and her freshly squeezed lemonade and her empty house.

She was like a second mother to him. He thinks of how she likely saw this same thing — this tiny version of you, unable to talk and lacking motor skills.

“Mama,” you say again, insistent. You pat his face again, like you’re trying to get him to understand. But Dream Luke can’t do anything but hold you, it seems. So he does.

There’s a shift, and you notice it too. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he feels movement behind him. Luke knows he should feel on edge, but his body physically refuses to. Baby Killer goes crazy, blabbering excitedly as familiar arms go around his shoulders.

Luke recognizes the feeling immediately. They’re the same arms that he feels curled around him when he wakes up from his dream.

my commentary on the ending

the killerverse masterlist

notes: and somehow they still aren’t together… idk. this was definitely my favorite chapter to write so please oh please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! it means sooo so much.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating. 

But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances. 

So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were. 

One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.

“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away. 

“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully. 

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.” 

Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks. 

“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone. 

Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds. 

“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once. 

“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.

“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.

“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.

The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.” 

“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?” 

“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…” 

“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.” 

He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself. 

“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.

“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.

“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow. 

“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly. 

Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious? 

Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking. 

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food. 

“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face. 

“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused. 

“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”

Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed. 

“Thank you!” Luke cut in.

“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.” 

That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag. 

Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.” 

Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.  

In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.

You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened. 

“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly. 

Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.

After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?” 

Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.” 

“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—” 

“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure. 

“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.” 

Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?” 

“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.

“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.” 

By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be. 

As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?” 

Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head. 

“Gentle, kind, and lovely.” 

Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected. 

“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”

He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.” 

you told yourself you laid with hongjoong so he would not stray, but your heart was the one straying. your memories were the ones turning hazy and distant. cold even, you could dare say. in the haze of memories and steam, alone in a too-big room, you could admit that you might like hongjoong. more than you should have.

the thought made your eyes water. hongjoong gave you a crumb of decency and the touch you've craved since you stepped foot off your father's boat, and now you were fond of him? were you truly so easily pliable? were you truly so lonely? would you abandon your dornish roots so easily? your resolve?

you sighed as you sunk further into the lukewarm bath, eyes fixed on the red and black robes, and you resolved that even if you were any of those things, hongjoong would never know it.

you ignored the small voice in your head that whispered that he already did know.

~.~.~.~.~

should have, should have, should have.

you entered the dining hall with your stomach in knots, nerves settling there you had never felt before. you chalked it up to hunger.

hongjoong sat at the head of the table, his white-blond hair gathered into a messy bun, his robes loosened, his sleeves rolled up, his elbow propped up against the table as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. he was enraptured in the person next to him.

park seonghwa.

you should have known.

should have, should have, should have.

park seonghwa sat to his left, and choi jongho to his right. san sat next to jongho, yeosang across from him. mingi sat rigid next to san. the only spot left was next to yeosang, across from mingi, and in full view of hongjoong at the head of the table as he leaned close to hear seonghwa speak.

your heart clenched, in worry and spite and the slightest hint of anger, towards who you were unsure. but you decided right then you were in fact only hungry. the knots were born of hunger. not nerves, never nerves, and certainly not for a kim. never for hongjoong, no no no -

hongjoong raised his eyes as the servants announced your presence. jongho and san, yeosang and mingi, park seonghwa, they all stood as you made your way to the empty seat. it was a show respect you were still not quite used to. hongjoong, however, remained seated, his head tilted to the side like a cat as he watched you take a seat. a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips, his fingertips thrumming on the arm of his chair.

the small gesture left a burning ache in the pit of your stomach.

you should not have expected anything more.

should have, should not have, should have, should not have.

park seonghwa was seated to hongjoong's left, and as soon as the conversation returned, hongjoong's attention seemed to return to the pretty man next to him. park seonghwa in his dark cloak, and his dark hair, and a coldness about him that reminded you of everything you were not.

you should not have paid him mind.

yet, here you were.

jongho spoke of his uneventful visit, collecting taxes on behalf of hongjoong and the crown. he mentioned that he'd spent most of his time in king's landing recovering from his long journey. you'd frowned, glancing sideways at san. san met your gaze - a surprise since he did not do so often - and his brows were furrowed, his eyes almost...pitiful.

it sparked something inside you. you did not wish to be pitied. no, no, no.

your eyes flickered to hongjoong. his grin was a wide thing, his head too close to park seonghwa's. hongjoong's chin rested on his ring-adorned fingers, and his smirk lifted at whatever seonghwa murmured his way. seonghwa's dark eyes glittered like still water under moonlight, and that spark only grew.

your gaze flit between his friends. from jongho speaking to mingi and san. to yeosang inserting commentary here and there. every now and then someone would laugh. park seonghwa would snicker. jongho would shove at mingi's shoulder, his armor clattering, frowning ever-so-often in seonghwa and hongjoong's direction. yeosang would make a pointed remark, and san would raise a brow in utter amusement. hongjoong would watch them whenever his attention was pulled away from park seonghwa, and the adoration in his eyes - you'd never seen that before. not even the night before, when he'd cupped your face in his palms.

there was a fire in the pit of your stomach that had been lit many many many moons ago. a monster that lived there that you coaxed all those sleepless nights and restless mornings. it reared its head, roared something wicked, and the heaviness in your heart only grew tenfold. here you sat, adorned in red and black, knowing you'd given hongjoong what he wanted, perhaps in desperation or perhaps for other reasons, and you'd allowed yourself to become something you never wanted to be, only to sit at the head of the table as an outsider still. always made to remain a stranger peering on.

~.~.~.~.~

in the courtyard, you found park seonghwa.

you knew you'd find him there, as he had told hongjoong as much, whispered it sweetly, his eyes glittering, and waved everyone off before striding out the dining hall. when hongjoong dismissed everyone else, you'd merely bowed at hongjoong. he smiled at you, and the smile was a soft thing, kind almost, as he touched your arm.

"i shall see you for supper."

it felt more like a demand than anything.

but he left before you could respond, a flourish of robes and blond hair, beckoning for jongho and san to join his side, yeosang and mingi in tow as they reassumed their positions as kingsguard. you were left alone once more, watching them go.

you meant to return to your chambers, or go to the library.

instead, you'd headed to the courtyard.

park seonghwa sat on the very same bench you and san had your last tearful moments, and the memory only fed the growing beast that lived within you.

even under the sweltering sun of king's landing, seonghwa remained unwavering, cold. pretty. you understood then, why hongjoong wanted such a creature. you always knew he had an affinity for the unattainable. you'd feared for seonghwa, when you first caught hongjoong's distraction. you still feared for him. despite everything. you feared for what hongjoong meant to do with someone who looked so delicate, but, you feared what would become of you more.

that fear, you knew, would make you wicked, and to think after all these years, you'd fell to that fear at long last.

you did not fear the gods, or death, or the prince of the seven kingdoms. you feared what was to become of you. you feared that you would be damned to the same fate as the mad king's queen. you feared you liked someone who cared for another, and you would be punished for it. you feared you would become worse than you already were.

you feared the power park seonghwa could one day hold over your head, like a guillotine.

"surely my liege would like to take a seat?" seonghwa voice was soft, gentle almost, but his dark eyes flit to you, unyielding unlike his demeanor.

the beast at the pit of your stomach thrashed.

you stepped away from the shadows of the flower bushes, but you did not take a seat. you merely stood an arm's length from the bench, your gaze set upon seonghwa. he tilted his head up to peer at you, pieces of his dark hair obscured his sparkling eyes. he looked at you with a curiosity you could only compare to that of a toddler catching sight of the mundane parts of the world for the first time. pretty eyes that could capture anyone.

you were not jealous, but you were the future sovereign of the seven kingdoms. you would be delegated to nothing else, and you would be damned if you allowed park seonghwa to be the one to yield any power over you. if anyone were to condemn you to your death, it would be prince hongjoong or yourself. not this pretty, naive, foolish northerner.

"'liege'?" you frowned, repeating your old title. "surely you have not forgotten your place here, lord seonghwa?"

seonghwa's brows raised. you held his gaze. where you expected amusement, as you would have received in return from the likes of hongjoong or yeosang, you received a small nod as seonghwa rose to his feet, rounding the bench.

you held your gaze, feet planted, watched as he stood in front of you.

seonghwa bowed, and it was no half-bow made to mock you, no. it was full and respectful and honorable. you'd heard of the northern honor, even back in sunspear, but to face it in such circumstances? it boiled your blood in ways you could not articulate.

you watched as seonghwa straightened, holding your gaze all the while, and said, tone steady, respectful, "forgive me, your grace."

"have you?" you said, ignoring his apology, dropping all pretext. perhaps, you meant to intimidate the man, but you could tell he would not allow it. that fed the ugly beast inside you more than you'd cared to admit.

lord seonghwa's brows furrowed, "i do not understand, your grace?"

"have you forgotten your place?"

seonghwa's frown deepened, "i have no place here."

were you someone else, or truly a product of king's landing, you may have continued in this riddled conversation. but you could not.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "do not insult me." you said, "i am not a fool, and i should hope that neither are you. we both know why i am here, so let's push pleasantries and riddles aside."

seonghwa stared at you, an intense look that seemed to bore straight through you.

"and here i believed you did not care much for him," seonghwa's voice was musical, despite his words.

"i don't care for anyone," you said through clenched teeth, "but my place is at hongjoong's side. you must be out of your mind if you ever believed i would not care about that."

"and i said i have no place here," seonghwa said, "winterfell is my home."

"yet you are here," you stepped towards him, lowering your voice, "you let him into your bed."

"do you think i could have denied him?" seonghwa's words were quick. he gritted his teeth, "that i could ever deny a prince?"

that brought you pause.

seonghwa's eyes held something there, something you'd seen in your own reflection after you'd met with the king that first night. something you'd seen in your own reflection in steaming bathwater just this morning. it was a look that curled under your skin, that would not leave you. it would live with you, you knew, if you did not acknowledge it, understand it.

your heart ached for him, the way it had when you'd seen hongjoong first lay eyes on seonghwa. the way it had when hongjoong told you of the first time he used his dragon's fire on a little girl who had suffered at the hands of his father.

but you played the game for too long in this godsforsakened city to let yourself falter, despite the tightness in your chest, despite every bit of your conscience clawing at you to withdraw, to hold space for empathy. you bit out, "yes, you could have. he only beds willing participants, does he not?"

you would never forget his face then as he nodded at your question.

lord seonghwa's dark eyes flashed under the midday sun. cold steel against starless night sky. "i often wondered what you were like. hongjoong spoke of you sometimes...afterwards. your fury and your beauty. your sharp tongue." he said, "he spoke highly of you."

"you don't think i deserve it?" you asked, with another roll of your eyes.

"no, i do. i think you deserve him," seonghwa spoke each syllable with the precision of a blade against flesh. "you were made for each other."

the beast inside you roared. whether it was in glee or anger you had no clue.

you crossed your arms over your chest and said, "forget your place again, and i shall have you thrown in the dragon's pit. then, " you stepped closer, until you were mere inches from seonghwa's face, "i will have your ravaged body hung from the walls of king's landing for all to see. do you understand?"

"of course," seonghwa bowed his head, though his dark eyes remained narrowed. his pause was too long, your title venomous, "your grace."

you spun on your heels, marching away.

mingi stood at the entrance to the garden, straightening when he met your gaze. his eyes softened. he looked as at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you did was tear it down. all you did was allow seonghwa to haunt you, despite everything. your heart slammed against your ribs.

seonghwa was right, and that was the worst part. you were made for each other, you and hongjoong, and you did not know if you'd be able to reconcile with the fact no matter how long you lived.

~.~.~.~.~

father is ill. wooyoung believes it to be poison. y/n, i think this it. i don't think he'll recover from this.

you watched the letter crumble and curl into itself in the fire, your heart in your throat.

mingi cleared his throat.

you turned, and he fiddled with his fingers for a moment, before he stepped closer. his armor clinked lightly in the quiet library.

"is it bad news?" his deep voice was quiet. too kind for what you've been doing to him.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, merely nodding. mingi reached then, and you could catch every moment of hesitation in his movements. every emotion that fought for a place in his expression. he reached out and he placed a hand on your cheek. you froze.

not out of want or fear, but because it was clear as day from the way his gaze remained so soft, and his touch softer, from the grim set of his lips, that mingi did not just have a small liking for you. he adored you. and he was willing to touch you, despite your standing, despite his friendship with hongjoong, and you'd encouraged it for your own gain, and it has accumulated into this moment, and you should have stopped him in his tracks.

but yunho's jagged writing remained etched at the forefront of your thoughts. your father was dying, yunho would no doubt take his place, the change of hand would mean instability, and you did not know how the mad king would respond. you needed this still. you needed mingi's loyalty still, despite the means. you needed mingi to remain useful to you.

you closed your eyes when he fully pressed his warm, calloused palm to your cheek, allowing yourself to melt into his touch long enough to hear his breath stutter.

mingi said, face flushed, "i am sorry, y/n."

before you could respond, someone cleared their throat.

you both jumped apart.

maester haechan stood at the foot of the first row of bookshelves, fingers clutched around his maester chains, his eyes wide. the shock quickly morphed into a mischievous glint.

"your grace," he said, voice low and steady, mocking. even his bow held a mocking flourish. maester haechan smiled wide, "i apologize for the interruption. i will return later."

mingi blinked. your heart raced.

~.~.~.~.~

"oh sweet thing," yeosang met your gaze with a cat-like curiosity. "you are quite the mess."

you'd glared at him. his eyes flit to your hands, likely to the skin around your nails you'd picked at. you dropped them to your sides, covering them with your robes.

you were sat in the practice yard, wooden sword in your lap. you had come here to clear your mind with mindless sword swinging and fresh air, but this was king's landing. fresh air never existed, and you were terrible at the sword. you ended up pacing the training grounds before your feet had grown weary and you sat with your back against the brick wall at the far side of the grounds. when hidden from the courtyard doors and windows like this, you felt less confined by the red keep. you could also hide from your septa as she had made it quite clear to you that you were not meant to practice the sword any longer, as the spouse to the heir, and you did not care to hear her nag you on top of everything else.

yeosang was your designated kingsguard today, and you were grateful, despite the way yeosang's gaze bore into you, that yeosang before you meant you would not have to see mingi. yeosang remained quiet as you smacked at the training post with uncoordinated blows before you began pacing. you'd expected a sly comment, but he only stood guard and left you in silence, though his eyes remained fixed on your every movement.

it was infinitely better than having to face mingi. you hadn't seen mingi since the incident in the library. hongjoong had spent the night elsewhere, and you'd buried away the jealous monster inside you for the night. it was subdued anyway, worried more for what maester haechan would say, and, more importantly, to whom. worried hongjoong stayed away because he knew. your mind wandered too often to the essence of nightshade you still carried. it remained in the deepest crevices of your chambers, where you knew hongjoong, the servants, no one really, would bother to look. you'd considered inviting maester haechan for a civil discussion and pouring the essence into his wine. you'd dreamt of what it would look like. maester haechan's choked sounds. his lifeless eyes. the way you'd call for the royal doctors, bewildered. you'd imagined it all, and had not slept that night because of it.

besides, maester haechan was no fool. he'd made sure to stay out of your sight ever since, busying himself in mundane tasks far from your chambers.

yeosang stood beside where you sat, leaning heavily against the brick wall you were pressed against. you glanced up at him, and he met your gaze, peering down at you over his nose, and you felt as if he could read every thought running through your head. he opened his mouth.

"shut up," you mumbled, cutting him off.

yeosang laughed, the sound a musical thing.

you scowled up at him, and you said, "do you enjoy watching me suffer, ser yeosang?"

"very much so, your grace," yeosang said.

you frowned. "why do you hate me so?"

"hate is a strong word," yeosang grinned, but it was not amused. his eyes no longer held his usual twinkle of mischief. his smile was a sharp thing, a weapon in and of itself, that left your stomach turning. "as a matter of fact, a more apt description for my opinion of you would be something just a step below hatred."

you'd blinked up at him, craning your neck, head resting on the brick wall. yeosang was framed by the cloudy skies of king's landing, an apt backdrop for such a frightfully stoic sight. the hairs at the back of your neck stood at end in the silence. the atmosphere had taken a turn for something more serious. something almost sinister. frankly, you were taken aback by his honesty.

"i warned you, did i not?" yeosang spoke suddenly, and despite his quiet musical voice, and the casual stance he took, leaned heavily against the brick wall, his words draped over your shoulders like the fur cloaks from the north, heavy. the weight of the world. "to tie up your loose ends?"

you dragged a hand over your face. "i do not wish to hear you speak in pretty riddles any longer, kang. if you have something to say, then speak your mind. i am tired of your questions."

yeosang knelt then, the sudden movement making his armor clink and clang all around you. he squatted before you, his eyes level with yours, his elbows resting on his spread knees. yeosang's expression was cold and hard. his eyes grew dark. he looked...furious. you could not pinpoint why he would be. you were fascinated by the fury though - you'd never expected kang yeosang to show you such an emotion. he'd only come close once before, when you'd mentioned his mother on your name day long, long ago. his fury was genuine. alive. it was searing summer heat, and the burn of the sun against your scalp, your skin, and it was fascinating to face such a thing once more, after so long without it. especially from the likes of kang yeosang.

his musical voice remained low, pretty still, a juxtaposition to the way he set his unwavering fury upon you.

he spoke each word with a precision only a kang was capable of, "i know what you've done to mingi."

you'd blinked at him, breaking away from his heavy gaze. you started, "i do not -"

"look at me."

you'd whipped your head to the side, stomach curling at his commanding tone, bewildered by his audacity. anger sprung to the forefront of your mind, "excuse me?"

yeosang leaned close, and his gaze flit down your face for a moment, lingering here and there, on your eyes, nose, lips, before he met your gaze once more with a more controlled fury. you hoped, for his sake, it was because he realized his mistake.

he said, "song mingi does not deserve to be used as pawn. this is something we've all agreed upon. me, hongjoong, san, even jongho. he is not a part of this, because he is kind, and he is better than the rest of us. i should have accounted for the fact that you'd spent the better part of your time bewitching mingi and playing him as you saw fit."

"i have done no such thing."

"oh," yeosang's breathy laugh was a warm whisper against your cheek, "you are a terrible liar."

the world stilled. he looked at you as if he was waiting for a denial, waiting for you to dig your grave deeper. confirm a thought that lingered in his expression, one you could not decipher. however, you knew it would not work. you knew as well as he did what you had done, and you knew you could not fool kang yeosang. you did not wish to, at the moment, for some reason.

"you said the same of me once." you whispered, "that you'd all agreed i was too sweet to be a player in your games."

before your wedding, yeosang had escorted you back to your chambers after meeting with the queen and said those exact words to you with a sly grin on his face. they held counsel and decided the fates of the wards of the red keep as they saw fit, it seemed, and the thought made your fingers curl into fists at your side.

you asked, "what changed?"

yeosang shrugged, his voice soft as velvet, yet sharp as a sword, "perhaps everyone realized they were wrong about you. you're not sweet. not with the way you've wrapped mingi around your pretty fingers."

you'd flushed at yeosang's pointed drawl. you did not deny it this time either. you said, "and you all haven't done the same?"

yeosang's eyes darkened, "we are not using him."

you held his gaze, but something inside you trembled as you said, "will you tell him, then?"

your voice sounded small, even to your own years, and you despised yourself for it. you wanted to remain nonchalant.

"mingi? or do you mean..." yeosang's eyes narrowed, "hongjoong?"

two people now, two possible culprits, possessed valuable information over your head. two people could speak to hongjoong. would he believe a lowly maester of a small library? perhaps not. but yeosang? kang yeosang? hongjoong would believe yeosang, and it was a terror-filled thought. you dread mingi knowing what you were doing to him, but somehow hongjoong discovering your plans was...worse.

yeosang let out a breathy laugh once more as he said, "i do not hate you that much, y/n."

you are reminded, once more, of how aware hongjoong's closest circle was of his temperament. yet they did nothing. they would always do nothing. they were the same as him, then, were they not?

yeosang sat fully on the ground then, no longer hovering over you, but your heart still slammed against your ribs as if he remained a looming presence. yeosang's armor clinked and scratched against the brick wall, and the sound echoed between you both.

"do you think he will...?" you trailed off, frowning. you did not know what hongjoong would do, frankly. he'd spoken so carefully to you, and held you as if you were the most delicate thing to ever grace this world, and he drew baths for you, and sometimes he pressed a hand to your elbow or your back when nerves crept up your spine at dinners with his father, sometimes he thread his fingers through yours in public appearances. sometimes, he drew baths for you before he left for his schedules. yet he still disappeared some evenings. he still ignored you at dinners. you still did not know how he would react.

you still did not know prince hongjoong.

"i am not sure," yeosang shook his head. "prince hongjoong cares deeply for mingi."

he cared deeply for everyone but you, it seemed. you pressed your palms to your eyes then, dragging your hair out of your face. you breathed, "i care for mingi too."

"oh, do you?" the sarcasm in his voice was rough.

"i never wanted to -" you met his gaze, truly meaning every word, "i don't want to hurt him."

yeosang's dark eyes flickered over your face, before he nodded to himself and stood, brushing the dirt from his pants and his armor. he sighed, "i think we both know you have gone far beyond that point, sweet thing."

~.~.~.~.~

you were shocked to see hongjoong sat on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned, and his neck craned, as he leaned back on his hands and stared up at the ceiling, his legs spread. his chest rose and fell at a slow rhythm. you could not help but watch, frozen at the entryway, as he rolled his head to the side and met your gaze, his blonde hair falling from his bun and into his eyes. his throat bobbed as his gaze fell upon you, his expression unreadable.

this was, you realized, the first time you'd both been alone with each other since that night. yes, he called his servants to draw baths for you and only left when you woke to tell you of the fact. yes, he pressed gentle touches to your back, your arm, throughout the day during royal engagements, but neither of you had truly spoken to each other.

he'd either spend the night elsewhere, or he'd enter your chambers late at night smelling of alcohol and incense and someone else as he used to, and you'd both pretend to sleep so as not to speak to the other.

"what are you doing?" you spoke, stepping fully into your chambers. your voice rang too loud between you both.

hongjoong's eyes followed you, dark and heavy and watchful, his open posture remaining a calm juxtaposition to his expression. still, you noticed his fingers clench around the sheets - your sheets.

he drawled, "relax, my love."

you flinched at the term of endearment.

hongjoong laughed, a breathy thing, as he threw his head back.

you advanced on him then, though you were unsure why. perhaps it was the circumstances - yeosang's words and knowing maester haechan could open his mouth and yunho's words lingering over your head, everything a makeshift guillotine that could come down at any moment. your footsteps bounced off the walls as you stomped towards him.

he merely craned his neck as you came closer, eyes fixed on you, relaxed facade still so, so present.

"do not," you stopped in front of his spread legs, frowning down at him, "do not tell me what to do."

he tilted his head, amusement dripping from his lopsided smile, blonde hair a soft gold in the dim candlelight. he said, "you're quite wound up, my love. i am merely wondering why."

"stop calling me that." you gritted your teeth, "and get off my bed."

hongjoong's chuckle was low. he looked up at you through fallen strands of blonde hair, "make me. my. love."

your heart pounded against your ribs, but the dread at the pit of your stomach was worse. the anger, the fact that he hadn't spoken to you candidly since that night, the way things were tumbling all around you and you had no control anymore of anything - it made throw your hands in the air. you wanted so badly to make him shut up, to wrap your fingers around his throat. maybe kill him?

the thought was blasphemous, and when you met hongjoong's gaze, you felt as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. your breath grew tight, heavy, in your chest. it was guilt and want and anger and jealousy. there was always jealousy. you could admit that here, to yourself, in the comforts of your chambers.

you dragged your hands through your hair, and under hongjoong's scrutinizing gaze you felt exposed. vulnerable.

you hated it.

warm, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist. you realized you were shaking. hongjoong pulled you down. it was a light tug, and you could have counteracted it, but you allowed it. you allowed it.

you hated that too.

you landed on the mattress and immediately shoved him away. he let you.

you hated that the most.

you said, "why are you here? why are you - why won't you - why did you -"

why are you here? why won't you leave me alone? why did you touch me? why did i develop feelings for you? why did he return to seonghwa's bed? you could not allow yourself to say any of those words aloud because they held too much truth, too much power.

you were breathing heavily, each intake of breath a stabbing wound, and you pressed your palm to your mouth so as to muffle the sound.

he reached out once more. you smacked his hand away. your voice was a rough whisper, the words difficult to expel, as you repeated, "why are you here?"

"i was worried," he spoke softly, and his gaze held a softness in them that you do not see often.

you did not hate it as much as you should have.

"i am not yours to visit as you please when you grow bored," you said, "now leave me be."

he reached for you once more, and you scooted away from his touch.

hongjoong said, "i thought you were not afraid of me."

"i am not," you said.

you were. you were afraid that everything was crashing down around you, and hongjoong would know it soon. you were terrified of what he would do to you. or worse, if he didn't do a thing and let you live with it.

and, of course, he knew you were lying. his eyes grew so gentle then, you wondered briefly if you were asleep, dreaming this hongjoong up from the deepest recesses of your mind.

"i want to believe you so badly, y/n," he said.

"why are you here?" you repeated. you meant it in many, many ways. why did he return to your chambers? why did he look at you as if he cared for you? why was he here, in your thoughts, in your heart? how did he get there? you grit your teeth, and said, with as much venom as you could, "why are you here when you won't stay?"

it was the closest to the truth you could allow yourself to get with hongjoong. it was all you could allow yourself, without feeling absolutely powerless in his presence.

he reached out.

this time you let him.

he pressed his thumb to your cheekbone, dragging it across your thumb. it was a featherlight touch. "i am not meant to stay anywhere for too long," he said quietly, "but know that you are mine, and i am yours. do not doubt that, y/n."

"i do not want to be yours."

"but you want me to be yours?"

you didn't answer. you pressed your knees closer.

hongjoong laughed as he cupped your cheek, the rings on his fingers cold ice against your skin, "you want me to stay?"

you looked away.

his fingers remained your skin, your hair, along your jaw. his thumb brushed over your lips. he said, "you want me to hold you?"

his cold ring pressed roughly into the skin under your jaw, "you want me to kiss you and tell you i love you?"

he twirled a strand of hair around his fingers, before he tugged at it. your eyes flit to his, and hongjoong kept his dark gaze fixed on you. "you want me to make you feel safe?"

your heart slammed against your chest, the sharp painful breaths returning. hongjoong's other hand sat on your arm, his thumb brushing the burn scar there. it felt like a trap, like hongjoong was one condescending question away from telling you he knew of everything you had done, and he would make you pay for it.

you said, "i want you to be genuine with me."

"my love," hongjoong laughed, and he leaned so close you could count his eyelashes. his blonde hair tickled your cheek as he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. his eyes held a shine to them, manic in its amusement, "i have been nothing but genuine with you. i always have been."

the thought was harrowing. it broke something in you.

tears sprung to your eyes then, and you hated yourself for it. you hated it when hongjoong cooed and pulled you closer, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. you struggled against his grip for a moment, until he murmured, "i've got you, darling."

you hated that you wrapped your arms around him and let him hold you. that you clung to him, and you were reminded of how you could count on one hand how often you were held this way since you came to the red keep.

you hated that you allowed yourself to relax as he stroked your back. his touch dragged down your spine, and he held you as if you were a fragile as the flowers in the courtyards, as if you were not harboring a monster inside of you. his fingers gathered in your hair, and his rings were cold against your skin, but when you looked up at him, he smiled down at you, his expression a harmonious mixture of soft and sweet and dark. a chill ran down your spine, even as your heart skipped. hongjoong whispered, "come here."

he held his arms out as he scooted back to the head of the bed, your fingers entangled in his. you listened.

you wiped at your eyes with the heels of your hands, and he merely hummed don't as he pulled you towards him, as you fell back into his chest.

~.~.~.~.~

"i drew you a bath," hongjoong murmured.

you wanted to say more to him. you wanted him to know that your moment of vulnerability did not stem from him. it was not for him. it would not happen again.

you wanted to say more.

but you merely rolled out of bed, leaving him still sprawled in your sheets, and you entered the bathroom.

kim black and red draped over the hook as you entered. the bath steam made the room a blur. you slipped off your clothes, and entered the bath. all you could see was kim black and red, and this distinct feeling that you'd failed. you'd done something. everything was crumbling.

a light knock had you jolt in the tub. you looked over, sinking into the bathwater when you saw hongjoong leaning against the entryway to the bath, his blond hair pulled pack into a tight bun.

he said, "the king has called for a feast. he seems in a good mood."

that explained the kim robes.

the sound of the dripping faucet, and the heat of the steam, filled the silence. you settled lower into the water, until heat engulfed you up to your neck. hongjoong merely watched you through the steam. your stomach flipped at the feeling of his eyes on you.

finally, he said, "i will stay."

you wanted to say, no you will not.

instead, you said, "okay."

~.~.~.~.~

yeosang's brows were furrowed when you stepped into the hall. mingi stood by his side, his mouth pressed into a frown. it seemed as if they've stopped speaking as soon as you arrived. the beat of silence was broken when hongjoong pushed himself from his position leaning against the wall, extending a ring-adorned hand to you. his black and red robes were quite extravagant, his blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. he looked the opposite of how he did the night before. it reminded you of how undignified you had been.

you took his hand.

the walk to the feasting hall was quiet, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. the king often called upon the red keep to attend extravagant feasts whenever he was in a good mood. often those good moods were followed by jousting tourneys or a public execution by dragonfire in the courtyard. it often depended on the king's mad whims.

the king rose when you were both announced, raising his wine glass. his nails were claw-like, the queen was nowhere in sight, and the nobles lining the tables looked wary.

"alas, my beloved son is here with his lovely spouse. come, come, take a seat. today is a day of celebration!"

he raised his wine to the nobles of the red keep. the king's counsel - lord kang, lord choi, and lord song - stood to the king's right side as hongjoong took a stand at the king's left and you next to hongjoong.

the king pat hongjoong's back as he called, "here is a toast to new and better beginnings for not only the kingdom of dorne, but to the seven kingdoms."

you'd blinked at that, surprised. you felt hongjoong's fingers tighten around yours. you looked to him, and his eyes seemed stern, careful. he shook his head slightly.

"come now, raise your glasses!" the king turned his wine glass to lord kang, and they clinked glasses, drinking together. lord kang smiled brightly. it reminded you of yeosang's smiles.

"hongjoong, my son!"

hongjoong raised his glass.

the king turned to you. your heart dropped at the way his eyes fixed upon you. he said, "come now, my child. a toast to your father is in order."

your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, yunho's words of poison and sickness jumping to the forefront of your mind. no, you thought.

no, no, no -

"let us toast to our dear lord jeong. at long last, he's had the forethought to die." the king called to the crowd, "in his sleep, they say. a rather pathetic death, if i may so myself, but it seems with the dornish lord now at rest, we may move forward in negotiating peace with the new young lord jeong."

you could feel the eyes on you, gauging your reaction, and all you could manage to do was stand there and watch as the red keep toasted, as they celebrated the death of your father. you thought of yunho and wooyoung and your mother, and how you should have been there mourning with them. yet here you were, celebrating his death instead. you did not belong to dorne, not any longer, not like this.

"did you know?"

you looked at hongjoong long and hard, as you both sat at the head table, watching everyone eat and drink.

hongjoong still held your hand as he said, "i found out this morning."

you let him hold your hand still. you were terrified that if he let go, you'd drift away and you would not be able to return.

~.~.~.~.~

a tourney. the king decided to hold a celebratory tourney that afternoon. the chois offered to host, of course.

you needed to meet yeonjun, see if your brothers had sent you any letters. you needed to expel the heavy weight on your chest. you needed to get away.

yet, here you were, attending a tourney, watching as hongjoong defeated opponent, as his father hooted and cheered, and the people seemed to enjoy that their king was in good spirits for once.

your father is dead.

hongjoong knocked a man from his horse so hard, the man's helmet flew across the field. the kingsguard lined the back of the king's stands - he barely made public appearances anymore so it was quite apt that he'd have so many kingsguard around him - and mingi looked at you with worry in his eyes that you could not stand.

your father is dead.

the mountain stood next to mingi, a beast of man that brought fear down your spine. his stringy hair peaked through his helmet. you could swear he met your gaze then. you looked away quickly.

your father is dead, your father is dead, your father is dead.

hongjoong waved his jousting sword in victory, his final opponent slumped over in the corner. dead, you knew.

hongjoong galloped back and forth through the tourney field, taking in the cheers. he stopped, then, not in front of you, but in front of park seonghwa.

the crowd grew hushed as hongjoong laid a crown of winter roses, blue with frost, on seonghwa's lap. it slid from his jousting sword onto seonghwa's lap with a soft rustle that was heard throughout the silent tourney field. your septa had spoken of a tradition in tourneys, one that holds that the victor in a tournament may select anyone present and name them the regent of love and beauty, crowning them with a wreath of flowers and dedicating the their victory to them. never once had hongjoong done such a thing before. until now. until today. until the king called for a tournament to celebrate your father's death.

you sat frozen, even as the king cackled and hooted. even as your gaze flickered to familiar faces. a flicker of fury curled over jongho's face, and you knew then that this was not just a slight to you. hongjoong's actions would hold consequences, and you would suffer for it. it was clear from the way hongjoong grinned, the way he walked so easily, that he did not care what his actions entailed for you. he did not care. your father was dead, and he did not care, and you were not of king's landing, of westeros, either. you belonged nowhere, with no one.

choi san met your gaze, over the crowd, and his smile was a sad, careful thing. it was the first time he'd truly acknowledged you in a long, long time. it was a smile that reminded you of chaste kisses in a hidden courtyard, and hope, and then hope lost.

your father was dead, and you worried that soon you would be too.

~.~.~.~.~

you shoved hongjoong as soon as the door to your chambers clambered shut behind you both.

hongjoong grabbed your wrists - his grip was not tight or painful, but it was firm. a reminder of who you were and who he was to you.

"you're a fool," you bit out. you shook his hands off your wrists and gestured beyond him, to the red keep. "why did you do it?"

hongjoong stepped closer to you, but you stood your ground, eyes locked upon his.

he matched your tone, his eyes dark, his jaw tight, and he said, "mingi, y/n? of all the people at the red keep, you chose mingi?"

you froze then, in horror and guilt, and it felt as though the beast in your stomach was clawing its way to your heart, out your chest, and you let out a staggered breath as you searched his gaze. you wondered how much he knew. you wondered what he would do to you. you would have your answer.

you tried to push him away then, but he crowded your space, until your back hit a wall, your breath leaving you.

"mingi is my brother. he is...he is kind, y/n," hongjoong's eyes held a dark fury he never directed towards you. he clasped his fingers around your jaw, forcing you to look at him. his grip was not painful yet, but it was angry. "you could have ruined him."

"so you care about him?" you scowled, "you come pleading the case for a man who is not even your brother by blood, but what of me? you have made vows to me before the gods? what becomes of me? what of my ruination?"

your voice was shrill as you raised your voice, your shout echoing all around you. hongjoong's grip under your jaw tightened, his rings digging into your skin. it pinched at your skin. this time it hurt.

"i do not care what you do behind closed doors, as i've told you time and time again, but the tourney? park seonghwa?" you spat his name. his fingers squeezed tighter, and your breath caught in your throat, fear and something else, something akin to grief, curling under your skin. "you've condemned me in front of everyone, hongjoong. and even before all this you knew. you knew my father was dead, but you let me face that news on my own."

"i do not owe you anything. not my love nor my sympathies," hongjoong leaned so close, you could feel his breath against your cheek, his dark eyes blown out in madness, in anger, and in the very same guilt you'd seen in him that night. he said, "i am a kim. i owe you nothing."

"kims are not gods," you spat. "without your dragons, you are just like the rest of us. you will bleed red like the rest of us."

he yanked you closer by his grip on your jaw.

"is that a threat?"

"will you kill me if i say yes?"

his gaze flicked over your expression, your defiance, your anger, your fear, and his brows furrowed. he shoved you up against the wall. for a moment, you thought he'd kill you then and there. then he released you, retreating back. you blinked after him.

"leave mingi alone." his voice was controlled and quiet, his simmering anger barely detectable if you hadn't known what to listen for. "remove him from your schemes immediately. i know you have him do your bidding, y/n."

you remained with your back to the wall, your fingers curling around your jaw. you wondered, briefly, if he had left bruises. the thought that hongjoong was so close to knowing of yeonjun and your letters to your brother - it made your heart race harder.

"and if i do not?" you asked, teeth clenched. your other hand brushed over the old burn scar on your arm, squeezing it to find some semblance of control in this situation. hongjoong's eyes tracked the movement, his jaw tightening at your words.

hongjoong's eyes darkened when he met your gaze once more, "then i will do it for you, y/n. you will not like my methods. believe me."

you grit your teeth, but before you could answer, hongjoong turned away with a flurry of royal red and black robes and blond hair.

he left, slamming the door behind him. you slid down the wall holding you up, fingers curling around your jaw.

"fuck," you breathed.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

~.~.~.~.~

you were no stranger to grief. it was an old friend, really, but this time it crept up on you like a predator crept upon prey.

the mad king's trials had become weekly affairs, despite his occasional refusal to appear in public himself. that morning was cold and dreary, and the king sent a messenger in his place.

you sat beside hongjoong in the courtyard, front and center, in place of the king and queen. the whispers prior to the tourney had been quiet ever since hongjoong burned lord lim on your behalf, but it seemed the whispers had returned tenfold since the tourney. you did not expect any less. you doubted hongjoong would burn another important noble alive to preserve your honor when his attention was elsewhere anyway, and you figured everyone else at court believed the same. san, choi jongho, and park seonghwa had left for their homes at daybreak, and you had not heard from irene's little birds as to why they'd all left so quickly. the nobles whispered of your inability to keep the prince happy, of the slight against you at the tourney. they whispered aloud of what would happen next - an affair and your uselessness.

you sat beside hongjoong, ignoring the whispers, watching as guards dragged in a struggling figure. the king's messenger unfurled his scroll, rising to his feet.

the guards tied the struggling figure to the scorched execution post. the messenger called out his crimes, decreed by the king - a traitor to the crown and to westeros - and then the guard pulled the sack from the person's head.

your heart fell, then, to the pit of your stomach at the familiar face.

yeonjun.

it was yeonjun.

in that moment, you heard nothing, your ears ringing as yeonjun's twisted, defiant expression filled your vision. one of the executioners took the stand, green fire jars in his hand, and you could not close your eyes.

yeonjun's defiant eyes, usually so playful and amused, met yours through the crowd. he smiled.

fingers slipped through yours. your ears still rang, and the cheering of the crowd sounded far away as green fire filled your blurred vision.

you pulled away from the scene before you long enough to recognize that hongjoong was holding your hand. he did not look at you, his eyes fixed on the execution, green flames illuminating his dark features.

yeonjun was dead. your sole method of communication with your brothers was dead.

your father was dead.

what would become of you now?

~.~.~.~.~

you gnawed at your bottom lip as you both approached your chambers. the courtyard and yeonjun's burnt flesh was long behind you, but you could not shake it from your head. you knew it was your fault.

it had to be.

all of this - somehow it felt as if you were failing, as if you'd lost the high you were on earlier and everything was crashing around you and you were to blame for it all.

you were no stranger to grief, but as you and hongjoong walked through the empty halls in silence, the smell of burnt flesh still lingering on in your nose, on your clothes, your hair, yeosang leading the way, and mingi walking behind you - hongjoong only allowed mingi to guard you if he was with you, and you hadn't had a moment alone with him since the night maester haechan had walked in on you both - a wave of nausea and dread washed over you.

"he was only a barkeep," your voice was quiet, even to your own ears.

hongjoong glanced briefly in your direction. he said, "a barkeep who committed treason."

he kept walking as you came to a halt.

"a dornish barkeep," your voice bounced off the walls. hongjoong spun to face you, his black robes fluttering around him like tendrils of smoke. yeosang met your gaze over hongjoong's shoulder and shook his head at you. you ignored him. "my father is dead, and now you people are persecuting a dornish barkeep? do you think i am an idiot, hongjoong? when will i end up on that post?"

hongjoong glowered, "was he your lover?"

you blinked, "is that all that matters to you?"

"i know you've gone to visit him and his bar, y/n," hongjoong snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. "i knew for a while, but i thought perhaps your reasons were innocent. then i learned what you've been doing with mingi, and i thought it was mingi. it's hard for me to be angry with mingi. you must have known that though. but then. then i learned you'd started going to that bar alone."

you'd frozen at the mention of mingi, hyperaware that he stood behind you. mingi did not deserve this, you knew. however, the implications in hongjoong's voice, the fact that he could ever dare voice such a thing to you, let alone in front of yeosang and mingi - it fueled the fire that always burned in your chest.

"not too long ago, you burned a lord alive for saying the exact thing you are implicating me of right now, hongjoong."

"because i knew it was not true then. now i am not so sure."

the fire burned at your insides. you wished to scream at him, to tear the look from his face, and douse that in green fire the same way he had allowed his father to murder yeonjun.

"what of your lovers?" you shouted, your voice dragging through the silence. you hadn't raised your voice in so long, your voice grew gravely, harsh, at the volume. your skin crawled as you advanced on him, "what of all the people you've slept with after you swore yourself to me? shall we burn them alive as well, your grace?"

"y/n, lower your voice." hongjoong's voice was so much quieter than yours, but you did not care. the fire had burst from your stomach, and you no longer wished to quiet yourself. you no longer cared.

"fuck you," you spat. "you are a hypocrite, and you cannot stand to see me happy. that is the truth, hongjoong. my father is dead, by your father's hand for all i know, and the very next day you not only humiliated me in front of the the red keep, but you took away the only protection i have had the misfortune to have in this gods-damned place. your kim protection that you forced upon me when you married me. and now - and now you dare accuse me of adultery when you come to our chambers smelling of another more often than not? you were right, hongjoong. you are not like your father. you are much, much worse."

your chest rose and fell, your breathing unsteady. the silence that followed your shouts felt like a heavy fur blanket, warm and suffocating.

you broke the silence first as you said, "you made me believe i could trust you. perhaps i am a fool for ever thinking such a thing, or for willingly letting you into my bed. but now," you gestured around you, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "but now a war is looming, and you do not fucking care what that means for anyone else, do you?"

hongjoong was a collector of sorts, who liked to have the moon and sun and stars, but he did not think of anything beyond that. that was how gods were, were they not? watching from above, collecting, but never quite caring. they only lived to be worshipped. they believed they could not be touched. the kims were closer to gods than they were to men. you were a fool for ever believing his touches and his drawn baths and his late night talks meant anything. his sweet nothings were just that: nothing.

"the war will not touch you," hongjoong said.

he did not deny that it was looming, he did not address anything else you had said. you wondered briefly what your brothers have decided since your father passed. you felt, once more, in the dark.

"is that all you have to say?" you grit out instead.

"you are mine, y/n, and war will never touch what is mine," hongjoong said, his voice quiet, softer than you expected. as he meant to be comforting. a part of you did feel comforted, while a larger part of you felt everything but. "i understand your treasonous words are born of grief. it's made you unreasonable, and i will let that slide tonight."

frustration clawed at your insides. you said, "i hate you."

"i know," hongjoong's eyes flickered away from your face for a moment as he waved his hand. "yeosang, take y/n to my chambers. they need rest. guard the door. mingi, come with me."

hongjoong stepped around you, and you turned to watch him go. mingi met your eyes with something of an apology in his eyes, brows furrowed in worry, shoulders hunched. hongjoong walked on ahead of him, robes trailing behind him.

you felt a hand on your shoulder. you jumped.

"sorry," yeosang apologized withdrawing his touch. you shook your head. your frustration had clawed its way out of you in the form of tears, and you brushed them away angrily.

"do you still believe he is not a bad person?" your voice shook too much. you despised it.

yeosang did not answer, looking away as if to preserve your dignity. for once, you were grateful for it.

after a beat, you composed yourself enough to straighten yourself out, and you asked, "will he hurt mingi?"

"no," yeosang's response was instantaneous.

you nodded, an inkling of relief settling over you at that reassurance. you knew, deep down, he would not, but you could never be too sure with what you knew of hongjoong. you would not live with yourself if mingi ended up on a post because of you. yeosang trailed along beside you as you both headed to your chambers in silence.

your fingers stilled against the door when yeosang said your name. not your grace. not sweet thing. simply, "y/n."

"yes?"

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. yeosang's brows furrowed with his internal struggle. you watched for only a moment, but after another moment of silence, you merely pushed your door open and shut it in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

shortly after yeonjun's execution, lord kang resigned as hand of the king.

before drawing your morning bath, you overheard the maids whispering that the mad king had laughed himself into a coughing fit when lord kang had announced his resignation in the throne room early that morning. by some miracle, the mad king had not decided the resignation was call for another execution.

hongjoong had not returned after he asked yeosang to escort you back to your chambers. you hadn't slept until early morning anyway, only to awake to the sound of the maids entering your chambers. your servants hadn't drawn a bath for you in a while, you realized then, as you listened to their hushed whispers. hongjoong was always the one to do it, no matter how late he returned. the thought made you want to crawl out of your skin in both anger and a residual type of grief that grew the more you thought of hongjoong or your father or your brothers or your mother or yeonjun or mingi.

in fact, the maids had left mid-morning, and you'd opened your door to find yeosang still standing guard outside of your room.

you'd blinked at yeosang in confusion.

yeosang blinked back at you, expression unreadable.

"you stayed?"

"i am simply following orders, your grace," his voice curled around your title with a hint of amusement you hadn't heard in quite a while. the familiarity was comforting.

you nodded, rolling your eyes at his tone. you meant to shut the door on him then, but the maid's whispers made you pause, turning to yeosang once more, "i heard lord kang resigned?"

"yes, this morning," yeosang said with a nod, his armor clinking loudly.

"why?"

"there are many reasons he is upset," yeosang shrugged, "one of which being that i am no longer eligible to take his place as lord of casterly rock as i have sworn myself to the kingsguard. he is without an heir now."

"but you'd joined the kingsguard a long while back. why bring the matter up now?"

"it seems my father's sights have changed."

"huh," you laughed at his nonchalance, "would you care to share those new sights with me?"

"lord kang is leaving for casterly rock in the evening." a small smile stretched across his pretty features, genuine in a way you have never seen. "that is all i know, your grace."

you doubted that was all he knew, but you'd nodded anyway. yeosang bowed his head, and you shut the door.

~.~.~.~.~

you are confined to your chambers. hongjoong does not say it aloud, even on the nights he returned to your chambers to clamber into his side of the bed, but you were no longer invited to the throne room or to meals with hongjoong. the servants brought you your meals. the kingsguard assigned to your room would block your way out when you tried to go for a walk or to the library, and they'd say, the prince said you must rest. none of them seemed all too apologetic. you would not recognize them most of the time. whenever you'd see the mountain standing guard, looming and heavily-built, terrifying in his presence, you'd merely shut the door without speaking to him. no one truly scared you at the red keep, but the mountain? he brought chills down your spine. why he had not gone with lord kang was beyond you, but perhaps the king did not mind such a terror in his kingsguard.

sometimes your keeper was yeosang, and on those days you'd open your chamber doors and have a short conversation with him.

oftentimes, it was merely you asking what was going on.

yeosang would shrug in response, or give you a cheeky smile and say, the usual without elaboration.

the days were slow and dull, and you spent more time than not leaning against the barred windows and watching the tiny specks of people go about their day, the bustling of king's landing trickling up to your barred window or sprawled on your bed staring at the high ceilings.

you started counting the days. you hadn't counted much in a while - you used to count your name days, but that was a thing of the past.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you plan to keep me here forever?"

you sat in the middle of your bed, watching as hongjoong stepped into the chambers. the mountain was guarding the door today, his large form darkening the doorway, so you'd spent your day ignoring the goosebumps trickling up your spine whenever you looked towards your chamber doors.

hongjoong kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his robes before he turned to you.

he said, "if that is what you need, then yes."

"what does that mean?"

"it does not concern you."

you scowled, "hongjoong."

hongjoong turned then, to really look at you, and there was a softness there in his expression you did not expect as his eyes flickered over your expression. he always did revel in your anger.

"my father has gone past madness, and your presence will only drive him further into the darkness," hongjoong said, finally. "i am keeping you safe."

you had not known this, and the information made your stomach churn. in your chambers, you did not even have access to irene and her little birds, though you did not wish to alert that network to any watching eyes anyway.

you asked, "by locking me away in your chambers?"

"yes."

he responded so quickly. he was so full of righteousness. you buried the urge to grow angrier. instead, you spoke into the quiet silence, trying for softness.

"you could just send me away, you know," you said, "instead of locking me away like this."

hongjoong stiffened, his fingers curling around the back of his chair.

slowly, you pushed yourself from your bed and stepped closer to him, until you were an arms-length from him. you knew he would not agree, yet somehow you felt you could convince him, somehow. or at least ensure that you would not remain imprisoned here, delegated to the same fate as his mother, to yet another cage. you wished he would set you free, for once.

you pressed your hand to the one he had clenched around the back of his chair, his rings cold against your palms. he did not flinch away, and hope flickered in your heart. for a moment, he leaned into your touch, his gaze settling over your eyes, your nose, your lips.

"send me to -" you swallowed, suddenly nervous, "send me away from king's landing. to sunspear, even?"

hongjoong pressed his other hand over your fingers, wrapping his hands around yours. his eyes remained fixed on your interlocked hands.

you spoke hurriedly, your voice quiet so as not to disturb the tension between you both, "it's safe there. my brothers won't hurt me. you can trust them."

hongjoong let go of your hand then, turning to fully face you. his fingers fell entirely from your grasp. the hope you felt was long gone, kindling for the fire in your heart.

he reached up and pressed his fingertips to your cheeks, a gentle, feather-like touch. he brushes his thumb along your jaw as his eyes flickered between yours once more. eyes, nose, lips, dark eyes like scorched earth.

he said, "how do i know that?"

"hongjoong-"

hongjoong cut your off with a shake of his head, "you are not dornish, y/n. not anymore. you are a kim. you are safest here. with me and my dragons."

he left then, shutting the bath door behind him.

~.~.~.~.~

a fortnight passed when you opened the door to check who was your keeper today. the sun had set and your dinner was already delivered by the servants. they'd entered your chambers while you'd been pacing, and you knew they'd whisper you'd gone mad when they left.

yeosang stood at attention by your door.

you asked, "will you be here tomorrow?"

yeosang usually would not answer your bolder questions, but tonight he seemed to take pity on you. an infuriating thought, really, but you'd gone too long alone to care much that people only ever interacted with you due to pity these days. the furrow between yeosang's brows, you've noticed, had become a permanent fixture on his expression. it did not quite suit him. you missed the mischief in his eyes from your younger days.

"not tomorrow." yeosang said, "but the day after."

"i'd love some ale," you said, with a grin you hoped was enticing.

he frowned at you. you dropped your smile.

you said, matching his frown "it's dreadfully boring in here, ser yeosang. i would not ask you otherwise"

"i'm sure it is, sweet thing," yeosang eyed your chambers , his expression growing apprehensive. "fine, i'll bring some."

"really?"

"you are much too excited for something as simple as ale, your grace."

you'd rolled your eyes in response, shutting the door behind in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

you were never meant for passivity. even when you'd first stepped onto the shores of king's landing, you'd been quite proactive in your distaste of westerosi traditions, of hongjoong's comments, of yeosang's prodding, of your septa's nagging.

to think that you were now relegated to such a passive lifestyle, escorted to the godswoods by your septa and your kingsguard keeper once a day just to leave the confines of your chambers, your meals brought to you by the servants, left to rot in your too-big bed, in your too-big chambers, while the madness churned throughout the seven kingdoms - it had you standing at the barred windows wondering if you could pry open the bars and toss yourself to your death just to have something to do. sometimes, you saw wisps of greenfire from the courtyards, and you were glad at least the mad king maintained a routine throughout all this. even when the essence of nightshade hidden in the deepest folds of your drawers called to you, you remained passive. too cowardly to die, and too cowardly to want to live, merely withering under the same fate you were so adamantly trying to escape.

hongjoong was kind to you sometimes - he brought you books from the library some nights, or he drew you your baths - but he was the reason for this. he knew it, and you knew it, and he knew you knew it.

you hadn't seen or heard from mingi. you did not ask hongjoong or yeosang about him.

so when you opened your door one night, and yeosang stood at attention, you let the fire in your stomach, in your veins, in your heart, burn so bright, so hot, it felt the way dragonfire had on your skin that night so long ago.

yeosang pulled out two metal flasks from his pack.

you peered at the large containers, grimacing at the strong acidic smell as you opened one of the flasks. the smell burned your nostrils and still had it at arms-length. "that's not ale."

"it's stronger," he said, with a shrug. "i thought you'd need it."

you grinned as you took a swig of the flask. the alcohol burned as you swallowed and you grimaced at the taste. you had not had liquor in a long time, not since you'd left your chambers and joined yeosang, mingi, and hongjoong in post-tourney festivities. that had been so, so long ago. yeosang chuckled at your grimace, before he gestured to your chambers.

"glad you like it," yeosang said, "now leave me to my duties."

you frowned, "it is bad manners to let someone drink alone, you know."

yeosang's brows furrowed in confusion, "i'd have thought i would be your last choice for a drinking partner."

"fortunately for you, your company is better than no company."

"ouch, your grace," yeosang pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes twinkling as it used to. "your tongue has gotten sharper."

"you could tell hongjoong to let me free. i find without practice, my social skills have become quite unsightly."

yeosang snorted before he shook his head. you took another swig of the flask, your throat burning as you swallowed, your cheeks warming already, and yeosang's eyes followed the movement, his brows furrowing once more. he said, "i was told to stand guard here. not drink."

you frowned at him, "fine, then i'll join you."

yeosang shook his head, "you are to remain in your chambers."

"i thought orders were merely suggestions to you."

yeosang rolled his eyes, "sometimes. but not these."

"fine," you dragged one of the stools in the sitting room of your chambers to the door, propping the heavy wooden door open. then you took a seat at the threshold, the doorway dividing the two of you. you looked up at yeosang, "i can drink like this, and you can have some if you'd like. i'll remain in my chambers, and you at the door."

yeosang peered down at you for a long, long moment. it was reminiscent of the time you both discussed what you had done to mingi. however, this time, he was not as furious. his eyes twinkled in amusement, but there was something else there - something you saw often in hongjoong's eyes these days, in the eyes of your septa as well when she'd take you to the godswood to 'pray as a proper king's spouse should'. you thought it melancholic.

after a moment, he bent to take a seat beside the door, facing the hall, his back pressed to the door hinge. the metal of his armor clinked loudly against the stone floors. it reminded you of mingi.

yeosang was not quite facing you, and it was strange to find it fitting of him, as if you knew him in some way. you did, did you not? you knew him as long as you knew hongjoong and mingi. very soon, you would know him, and hongjoong, and mingi, the red keep and king's landing, longer than you have known your brothers and parents and dorne. soon you would no longer be dornish, as hongjoong had said.

you took a bigger swig from the flask at that thought, wrinkling your nose at the taste.

"was this difficult to get?" you asked.

"no."

"what is the red keep like these days?"

"the same as it always is."

"you're quite entertaining, ser yeosang." you drawled, injecting all the sarcasm you could into your tone.

yeosang gave you a sidelong glance, "you talk too much, your grace."

so you asked more questions, and yeosang provided more vague answers.

whenever he was stationed outside your door, he brought you ale, liquor, or even sweets from the kitchen. you propped open your chambers doors. you asked questions. yeosang barely answered.

it became the highlight of your long, drawn out days.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong entered your chambers, servants scurrying all about in his wake. they were packing.

you frowned, "what is going on?"

"i am going north," he said, distractedly, "to winterfell."

you blinked, once, twice, three times. you whispered, "just you?"

and you did not mean for that curl of anguish at the pit of your stomach to drip into your voice. you did not mean to live in limbo for so long, only to feel as if you've been doused in ice water. hongjoong hadn't touched you, hadn't truly spoken to you, for a long, long, long time.

yet, this time your heart stilled.

hongjoong looked up at you, his fingers wrapped in his warmest cloak, black and red spilling from his fingers like blood and dragonscales.

your chest felt constricted as you stared down at him. you said, "you're leaving me here?"

"i am keeping you safe," hongjoong said, voice low. the servants continued to dash throughout the chambers, their footsteps echoing all around you, ringing in your ears, "the rebellion draws closer to king's landing by each day and i must head north to secure allies."

the rebellion. the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion. those words rang loud as the bells of a bell tower. there was a war, and no one told you. you were in danger, and no one told you. hongjoong told you nothing. no one told you, and you were going to remain here. like a bird in a gilded cage, you would remain in an empty castle while hongjoong secured his other possessions.

"the rebellion?" your voice cracked. you felt horror and relief and anger and terror and so many other emotions. hongjoong's gaze softened when he looked at you, strangely enough. he stood, pushing his blond hair from his eyes as he waved his hands.

"jongho's rebellion," hongjoong said, with a questioning frown. "you did not know?"

something flipped in you then, something that always flipped when you were in the presence of hongjoong's nonchalance. you seethed, "how would i know? how would i know when you've locked me away all this time?!"

your exclamation echoed off the walls. the movement in the room stilled. hongjoong waved his hands and the servants scurried from the room.

your chambers were too quiet.

jongho's rebellion rang in your ears. suddenly, the brothel visits made sense. why, you did not know, as they were brothers by all but blood, the chois and hongjoong, yet here you stood seething as hongjoong closed his eyes and pushed his hair from his eyes. "the details do not matter. jongho and san are traitors who must be dealt with, and this decision will keep you safe. i am keeping you safe. you are a target, y/n."

"then take me with you."

"no."

"why? because of seonghwa?"

"you are safest in the red keep."

"you told me i am safest with you."

"y/n, you are staying here."

you knew then, that there was no changing his mind. so you stepped closer, your anger turning to a sort of desperation you never meant to show kim hongjoong. you said, "then let me go return to yunho. to sunspear."

"so dorne can join the jongho's rebellion? so you can join san?" hongjoong snapped, venom lacing his tone, the same kind of venom the mad king held when he spoke of dorne. his eyes darkened, "absolutely not."

"fine!" you grit your teeth, "do the kims not have their own stronghold? from the old days? what of dragonstone? let me go there, at the very least."

you'd seen it on maps and read of it in an old, tattered book in the library. dragonstone was a castle situated on an island of the same name, and it was the stronghold for house kim before house targaryen moved to the red keep. the castle was used on occasion, and last you heard the queen was sent there by the mad king. the mad king remained at king's landing. the rebellion was headed this way.

"you will stay here, y/n," hongjoong reached out and cupped your cheek, his dark eyes flickering between yours. he spoke with a finality that made you want to scream.

desperation clawed under your skin, up your throat, lived inside you. you knew he would keep you in this gilded cage next to his father, open to danger from every which way, and you were reacting as a caged animal would. he did not care, you realized, as he watched you struggle with picking your next words. he did not care. he did not think.

you bit out, "with your mad father?"

hongjoong shook his head, brushing his thumb along your hairline, "he will not hurt you. i will keep a guard posted."

hongjoong was fleeing. the realization sent a chill down your spine. hongjoong was fleeing without you.

you'd never, not once, begged him of anything, even when he touched you. but as you stood there, desperation clawing at your skin. this decision would damn you to a terrible fate, and the way hongjoong looked at you, as if he did not understand the desperation clawing its way through you, made you want to shake him by the shoulders. jongho was rebelling, lord kang left king's landing, the queen was sent to dragonstone, and hongjoong was fleeing north. only the mad king remained. there was no hope left here.

you were being left for dead. or worse.

"hongjoong, please help me," you pleaded, fingers curling around the sleeve of his black and red robes. "just this once. please let me go anywhere but here."

you could have sworn that hongjoong’s eyes lit up, even as he stroked your cheek to comfort you. your grip on his sleeve tightened in hope. maybe he would listen?

his eyes fell to your fist, and he reached with his other hand to curl it around your wrist. his thumb grazed along your burn scar, and he observed it for a long moment before he returned his gaze to you.

your heart sank to the pit of your stomach when he murmured, "i’ve helped you time and time again already, y/n. this time you will stay and that is final."

you clutched at his sleeve once more. he peered down at your tight grip.

"then stay by my side," you forced restraint, if only to maintain some sort of dignity. you leaned close, blinking away the sting of tears, and said as softly as you could, "i want you to stay with me."

hongjoong smiled. he shook your hand from his sleeve. he circled both hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into the burn scar there. there was a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, but there was no regret. he said, "i will return to you soon, my love. believe me."

you had no other choice, you both knew.

and so, you stayed.

The transport lurches as it moves off the dock. Far below, the waters running through the gorge glisten with the sunshine reflecting off its surface. Though a vibrant bright green, the color appears more milky than it is clear even at this distance, and thick tendrils of fog paint the darker corners of the base of the gorge. A far cry from the beauty you saw waiting across the dock, what lies below doesn’t look at all inviting.

Beside you, San is picking at a loose thread on his form-fitting top, and you lightly swat his hand away from the spot before he pulls a hole in the fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs just quietly enough to avoid prying ears.

“Hey,” you echo back. Silently, you push your body closer to his until you’re close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

San presses his cheek against the side of your head.

“Just like any other mission. You’ve got this.”

“One without you. And Seonghwa.”

San tuts gently as he leans further down to your ear. “But with Jongho and Mingi.” He passes you as reassuring a smile as he can manage, and it does little to ease the bundle of nerves coiling in your gut. Your brief time in the open air on this planet was enough to make your skin crawl and itch. “I would go if I could,” he continues, and his gaze flits like he wants to look back over his shoulder at his captain but thinks better of it at the last second.

The barge lurches to a halt, and you lay a hand against San’s jacket to keep yourself steady when your body threatens to throw you backward. He covers your fingers with his own, remaining that way until everyone has filed out of the transport. A man stands beside the doors, though he isn’t much of a friendly face with the way a scowl seems to be permanently etched into his features. He shoves something into your hands and then into San’s before slapping the side of the transport to signal for the doors to shut.

“Remember protocol unless you’re looking to be outta your damn minds!” he yells across the small crowd that forms your crew. One glance down shows you that he’s handed you a gas mask, and everyone around you bears a matching one. He wears one similar, bound around his neck with a clasp that must be like the one attached to the back of yours. San silently takes it from your grasp and brings it up and around your neck — a crude echo of a romantic gesture one might do with a real necklace. “Masks up when the church bell rings three times at night, no later than that. Kid’ll need a smaller one from one of the stalls in the market, so be sure to get ‘im one before nightfall. As for where you stay at night, be sure to find some reputable spot with air filters. Otherwise, you’ll be wanting to wear them masks while you sleep too.”

“Gas masks and air filters…” you mutter as you thumb over the item now attached to your neck. “What’s up with this place?” San hums and steps to your side. He falls into step alongside you, and in that same moment, Yeosang deigns to turn where he stands and look you over.

“Natural hallucinogens in the air. They come up from the water below. When the sun is out, you will be unaffected because the heat from the sunlight prevents the toxins from spreading beyond the water so much, but once the sun sets, it becomes potent enough to enter your bloodstream and settle in your system. At that point, you wouldn’t be able to tell reality from whatever fantasy your mind conjures up for you.”

Your fingers tighten around the gas mask.

"What a lovely vacation spot for us then," San grumbles.

However, despite that inherent danger now looming over your head, the town ahead is quite visually stunning, and its intrigue only grows as you walk into the streets alongside the crew. Hongjoong, of course, hangs near the front as both your captain and the one who knows where you're all headed. Jongho and Yunho drift back to where you and San walk close enough to touch hands, but neither one of you makes the move to do so. It's sharply contrasted to how Wooyoung walks beside Yeosang a few steps away, with such little space between them that their shoulders overlap and Wooyoung's feet threaten to collide with Yeosang's at every step. Cute, in a sense, and a welcome sight given the falling out you had witnessed some time ago now, but it still lingers in your memory every time you look at them interacting. Off to your right, Mingi has found a place beside Luca, and on the other side stand the other three recent additions to your crew. It only leaves one unaccounted for, but the soft sounds of footsteps behind you give you a clear enough idea as to where Seonghwa is.

You've been refused the pleasure of sensing his emotions since your more explosive fight. Though you haven't done the same to him in return; if anything, you hope that he can feel the sharp edges of your anger each time you look at him.

You must be scowling now at the mere thought of the man because San’s fingers dance across your knuckles before securing his index finger around your pinky — a display of affection discreet enough to hide from prying eyes.

“I don’t like the vibes of this place,” Yunho mutters from a few steps ahead of you. He coughs as you pass by a pillared torch that burns purple flames and opaque smoke across the streets. Given their multitude on either side of the cobbled roads, you’d make the safe assumption that these are meant to be street lamps to light the streets, minus the electricity, and it would make a good amount of sense for the atmosphere to shift the color of the flames in some manner. Though there hardly seems any need for the lights when you were so adamantly warned against setting foot outside after dark, unless the natives ignore such warnings for themselves.

“This is where we’ll be staying for the duration of our stay here!” Hongjoong’s voice booms back across the group, and when he turns around to face his crew, your eyes glance across each other for a split second before they fall to the man behind you. “You’re welcome to go in and make yourselves comfortable, or you can explore the city as you see fit. Everyone stay connected over the comms channel and be indoors by dark.”

The group disperses for the most part, though you stay close to San’s side, content to follow him instead of deciding what to do yourself. The building is nice enough: simple in its design and very minimal in terms of windows, but you suppose that makes sense given what you’ve been told of this place thus far. It blends in with the other buildings on the street with its dark brown wood and ivory trim, and the lanterns that hang from the overhang of the roof bear the same purple-hued flames that the streetlamps do. It does make everything bear a sort of ominous atmosphere to a certain extent — it would be far more unsettling in the dark, as most things are — but a promised safe haven is simply that: a safe haven.

“You—” Hongjoong lunges for Yunho’s arm as the man tries to turn into the hostel “—keep close to me. Normies are particularly desired in places like these.”

As Seonghwa steps around you to head for the doors, his glare on the back of Yunho’s head is as apparent as it is heavy. Yunho himself is equally caught off guard as he is confused, but he receives no further explanation beyond that simple ominous statement.

“I’ll get everything sorted and take care of the payments,” he says to the captain, earning nothing more than a firm nod and a wave of Hongjoong’s free hand. His gaze sticks even when Hongjoong’s does not. While the only witnesses to the affront are you and San, it's still uncomfortable to a high degree. It doesn't continue for much longer at least, as the man finally steps through the door to the hostel and leaves the rest of you in silence. Your gaze drifts over to view San’s side profile. He glances down to look at you in return, eyes turning to pretty crescents, and you loop your hand around his elbow.

"I imagine this won't be a stress-free trip as we wish it to be," he whispers, pulling you closer to his body as you start to follow behind Hongjoong and Yunho. You can’t respond right away. The pair ahead of you pulls your focus for a moment, in a stance so similar to your own with San that it causes realization to dawn on you.

“We’re okay, right?” you ask out of the blue. For a moment you think San hasn’t heard you, but he very clearly has based on how stiff his expression becomes. Lie to me. I’m so desperate for your lies.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we are.” It tastes sweet and feels heavy on your skin.

“You know, Y/n, it was San who recommended that you have an important role in this mission.” Hongjoong’s voice slices through you at a diagonal, hunting the spot where it will hurt the most like it’s for sport, and his timing is so apt that you believe he’s heard the words exchanged behind him. You don’t give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. San lifts his free hand to lay it over the one you have secured around his elbow like he fears you letting go but your grip is still firm. Nails dig into his exposed skin. You know it will leave a mark.

San’s face is ripped to shreds with a mixture of regret and sympathy. His expression is too genuine for you to find any deception in it.

“I didn’t think he would take it seriously, I… in retrospect, I must look fucking stupid because I thought that he would take both of us on the mission.” San’s eyes drop to the ground. “I asked to go. I wasn’t expecting him to choose Yunho over me.”

Again, Hongjoong pushes himself into a conversation not meant for him.

“San isn’t fully healed to the point of mission clearance. Both of our resident doctors said as much, for differing reasons.” You wish that the claws he’s dug deep beneath San’s skin to twist around his heart and make him do as he pleases were not so tightly wound. You wish you could know with certainty that removing them would not kill San in the process. You wish you could know that the blood seeping from San’s chest in the aftermath would not be on your hands.

None of those things are certain or doomed to change, however, and you must remain firmly in place where you are with San and hope for an outcome other than agony by his side.

The captain reaches down between his body and Yunho’s, and you watch the man lace his fingers through Yunho’s in a way that almost seems natural enough to believe that it’s a regular occurrence. Nothing more than an attempt to keep the man by his side, however, and you turn your chin away from the sight partly because you feel like you’re encroaching.

“Go on and pick out whatever you need,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds far sweeter than you know the man to be, with a sort of melodic lull to how he speaks that makes your skin itch. This sort of intimacy is unnatural for him. You cannot tell whether it’s genuine or not either. The tips of Yunho’s ears are stained red; you can see as much from where you stand despite the man’s efforts to keep his head firmly forward. “Do you want me to get you anything nice while we’re here?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is as stiff as he is, yet his hand clings to Hongjoong’s like the other man will let go at any second and he can’t bear the thought of such a thing happening. “We just need to restock some medicines, and I want to see what they have in the way of ingredients. I imagine they’ve got lots of local stuff I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. It would be nice to try some new stuff. Do you think there’s an apothecary nearby? Having some options other than pills would be good… the locals ought to have some recipes I can’t get anywhere else. Oh, and painkillers! I’m running low, I could have sworn I had a few extra bottles in stock—”

“You mentioned you had forgotten to restock them last week.”

“Ah, did I?” Yunho finally dares to glance down at the man walking alongside him. Despite the clear question in his tone, what you can see of his expression from his side profile does not match that — because what do a sharp stare and taut frown have in common with confusion?

“You’ve been frazzled lately; it’s understandable.” Hongjoong turns to look up at him in return, and a smile that’s soft around the edges pulls at the corners of his lips. His free hand moves up to brush down the strays in Yunho’s bangs. “Let’s pick up some more just in case you're unsure, yeah?”

“Do you wanna sneak away on our own?” San’s voice comes from close to your ear, closer than you expect it to be, and you inhale sharply as your gaze tears off the discomforting scene unfolding feet ahead of you. He’s already pulling you away before you even offer up a few nods in response, and if Hongjoong or Yunho notices your departure, neither one comments on it. You quickly discover, however, that you are not alone in your discomfort as San speaks again under his breath. “They weren’t speaking at all days ago and now he acts all domestic like that with Yunho as though nothing happened… it’s infuriating to watch.”

“Not at all surprising though, is it?” your words come out through a mutter. You expect some level of retaliation from San given how staunchly he’s defended Hongjoong to you in the past, but now he’s quiet. “Love isn’t easy.”

“Love’s not, but what he does is.”

What he does to Yunho and Seonghwa both — those things should not be considered love to any degree, but you aren’t sure how a man such as Hongjoong shows love. If he feels it at all, that is.

"I'm not sure there's a single one of us who has done it perfectly, I suppose," San continues after a breath of hesitation. "But we can try. To mend the wounds we may cause by accident along the way, and to meet others halfway. Learn how best to love." He doesn't look at you directly but the words are spoken into your heart and soul. You cling to his arm tighter still.

Is this real or am I lying with a lion intent on devouring me for the sake of another?

San gives you his love, and you do not doubt that one bit — those around him have vouched for his fragile heart and kindness far too much for you to doubt him to that degree. There is simply a line in the sand you cannot decipher, where San’s love intersects with Hongjoong’s influence over him. You don't wish to think of these things as of now, however. This trip is meant to be a vacation to some degree, even though you're tasked with other things, and you want to take a vacation from thinking about your captain and his manipulative bullshit as well.

“Did you do this sort of thing often? Before I joined the crew, I mean.” San resituates your hand so that it now sits encased in his, and he pulls it down to dangle between your bodies. The action feels natural, coming with an inherent comfort that makes your heart pulse with emotion.

“From time to time here and there. I wouldn’t say we made a habit of it by any means, but it was a whole lot harder to take trips like this when the crew was more full.”

“Not even after the crew got smaller?”

“Oh, we had a few! But Hongjoong was—” San pauses and his face contorts a little before he continues “—working himself to an early grave at that point. Early on, we took a small trip when it was just Jongho and me on the crew. Hongjoong was doing business, of course, and Seonghwa was still in the phases of not letting him go off anywhere alone, so Jongho and I got to have something of a break.” The memory must be a rather fond one given how wide the smile that pulls at his lips is. “After Hongjoong discovered Jongho in the cargo bay, he changed course to Yuki and we stopped at Rohtah for a short while. Mostly for Captain to find some fresh faces for the crew, so I had to be at his beck and call when necessary. Jongho and I got to bond quite a bit during that trip though so it was… really nice. One of the most pleasant memories I have of being with the crew. At least until Yunho came along! He made the atmosphere so much livelier once he came along, and we started to do some recreational stuff on the ship instead of saving it for when we were planetside. Things we still do now like cards and games, and Jongho got a guitar at one of our stops so we started having music nights and — and everyone would be there, and Hongjoong was there and he would actually be there with us. Not in the corner of the room doing that thing he does where he just stares at us like we’re part of a different world that he can’t join in on.”

San’s rambling is endearing, complete with a sort of child-like excitement that makes his face light up, and you wish desperately that you could share in those happy memories of his with the same joy that he seems to be experiencing at present. Melancholy cuts through it with a jagged edge too, however, making the smile break before it reaches his eyes. The nights where the whole crew partakes in games and fun are so few and far between that they seem distant, and you’ve only seen Jongho pull the guitar from his room on a handful of occasions when you’ve occupied space in the ship for a decently long amount of time now.

“It was inevitable,” San continues just as you’re parting your lips to offer him some kind of comfort, “in many ways. The crew grew too large to keep that atmosphere. We didn’t even have rooms to ourselves at the height of the Scourge’s reign of terror over the starry skies; I shared with Jongho back then, and Yunho before that for a while. The ship was crowded as hell to the point where you couldn’t so much as walk outside the bathroom in your own room without seeing another person there, but it felt so lived in.” You’ve lost sight of Hongjoong and Yunho at this point, and as you continue to walk further into the city, the streets are filling out with the hustle and bustle of locals going about their days. “The Horizon was rarely quiet back then, and I can’t imagine how that impacted our Berserkers, even the several we had outside Jongho and Mingi. It was jarring going from that to… what was virtually silence in the halls.”

“Do you miss those days?” you ask. San’s eyes wander from stall to stall, occasionally searching the doors and signs hanging from buildings along the way.

“Yes and no. I so preferred it when the crew was small and close-knit the way it was before. And even though it’s small now…” Gaze becoming distant, San slows to a halt in the midst of the cobbled street. You don’t push him to keep moving and instead just pull yourself next to him without a word. “Someone ruined that peace we had before. There are still nights where I lie awake, incapable of even closing my eyes because I wish so badly that I had snapped his neck when I had the chance, even if it risked my captain’s hatred and punishment. I wish I hadn’t been a weapon then so that I could’ve acted on my own accord, to do what needed to be done and spared everyone the horror that followed. But that’s not how the universe wanted it to play out, I suppose.”

“Why did Hongjoong not kill that man?” you inquire under your breath, barely looking over at San out of the corner of your eye. He seems all too eager to kill me if I so much as breathe in his direction the wrong way. How could he not kill someone who truly betrayed him so deeply?

“That’s a question for him, not me.” San’s lips twitch in a sorry attempt at a smile. “I have wondered the very same myself for a long time though, so you aren’t alone in your wonder. Come on, I saw a stall over on this side that I wanted a closer look at.” You find some reassurance in the knowledge that San is as unaware as you are, for once, but that creeping thought makes you feel worse about yourself so you push it to the side and let San guide you over to one of the street vendors.

“Come to look at my wares, young ones?” An elderly woman greets you with creased eyes and a smile that brings wisened lines out of her face. “I have all sorts of honeymoon jewelry if that’s what you’re looking for!”

You glance over at San in a panic, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips and you can’t fight it nor can you pinpoint where it comes from to begin with. He’s biting back a grin himself, one that’s a tad more reserved than your own, though his gaze doesn’t fall away from the lady’s for a second.

“Please, show me your favorite pieces. We aren’t married but I would like to find something nice for my partner nonetheless.”

“Not married yet, I see, I see. There’s still time yet! Our little city here is quite the romantic getaway if you know the right places to look, and if you’re up for a little adventure.” You look up from the display of jewelry before you only to make direct eye contact with the woman from across the stand, and she passes you a more than a little obvious wink that makes you exhale what can only be described as a pained laugh. Without thinking too deeply about it, your hand drifts towards a set of earrings on the display case.

"Do you like those?" San asks, eyes flitting over to watch your movements closely. You lay your hand flat against the glass as you lean forward a hair and take a closer look at them. Simple, silver, no gems adorning them, and clearly hand-twisted metal that winds itself into the shape of a curved seven. One of the two has a chain attached to it, short but with a cylindrical shape dangling downwards. 

"They're pretty," you murmur before withdrawing your hand and smiling at the woman.

"These are a special set, yes," she hums, "the chime here is a charm of protection." She opens the case and lifts one of the cuffs out, showing off the piece in its full glory with the chime tinkling as she moves it. The sound isn't obnoxious, more like a softer version of the windchimes you saw outside some of the buildings on your walk, and the metal is so polished that you can see your distorted reflection in it. "It is meant to ward off foul intentions and spirits if blessed by a loved one. A very charming piece indeed."

"Ah…" comes your quiet noise of acknowledgment, and the woman reaches out to lift your hand with her own, exposing your palm to the sky as she sets the piece there and nods towards you. You understand the implication of her action, and if you were a bit more bold in that area of things, you would ask San to give his blessing with no shame. It shouldn't be difficult for you either considering how the old woman has already clocked the two of you as a couple, but it feels far too intimate to ask San to do something like that in front of her. Hell, you don't even know if he believes in such acts or if you do yourself really. Would it be too much to ask from him or—

San's hand comes across your vision and covers your palm briefly, and when he pulls away the piece of jewelry is gone from your hand. He clasps his hands together in front of him and lifts them to his face, lips brushing against his thumb as he mouths unknown words against it. In a way, he seems like a man praying before an altar. When his eyes snap back open, he unfolds his hands and presses a kiss to the earring.

"There." San's focus turns to you in that moment, and your eyes meet, and there's a second in which your heart clenches so tightly in your chest that it burns. Your chest aches, eyes stinging from the sudden onset of emotion you see in San’s gaze, and you can do nothing but stand completely still. "Does it go this way?"

You get a moment to breathe again when he diverts his attention back to the shopkeeper so that she can show him which side to put the piece on. Yet when he comes back to you, his hand is reaching up to move the hair around your right ear out of the way, and you can't keep from clasping your fingers around his forearm just to secure yourself to the man in some way. His fingers are hot against your skin (or maybe your ears are flaming with embarrassment) but the metal is blessedly cool as he secures it in its proper place.

"Is it comfortable?" he inquires through the same cat-like grin you recall him wearing the first time you laid eyes on each other. The memory hits you out of nowhere, flashing before your eyes in a split second. Here you are all this time later, in a position and a place you never imagined you would find yourself in, and there's so much love in you as he moves your hands together so that you can cling to him better.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply. Love blooms so beautifully before your eyes and in your chest as he tucks his chin to his chest and hides glowing cheeks and red-tinged ears.

Turning back to the elderly lady, you find her waiting with the other cuff in hand, and you take it from her with a quiet word of gratitude.

"I'd like these two pieces as well, please," San requests, though you can't see what he's pointing to clearly, and your heart won't calm down enough to let your thoughts return to normal coherence. So, you leave it be and busy yourself with tucking the second cuff around your other ear on your own while San collects his items and pays the woman with his credit chip. He tucks everything into his pocket once she hands them over, and she sends the two of you off with an excited wave.

“I hope all goes well for the two of you. May the spirits watch over you.”

“Thank you, may the spirits watch over you.” San bows his head at her before the two of you walk away. He tilts his head towards yours, whispering as close to your ear as he can get without knocking your heads together. “This city is very firm in spirituality and religion. When I looked at a map with all the buildings shown, I found at least six churches in a fairly small radius. But the spirit shops can be found practically on every street corner depending on what road you’re on. On our walk into the city, I heard almost every native say that phrase in farewell to those they were talking with, so it must be something customary regardless of belief.”

You reach up to toy with the chime hanging from your ear. 

“Is that why you blessed this then?”

“Maybe I… an added layer of protection never hurts, especially in our line of work. Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

“San.” 

He reaches around your side and pinches your waist between his fingers, a laugh on his lips that echoes against the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the air.

“Come, let’s keep wandering around before we’re called back to our captain’s side.”

────────────

Evening comes quickly, and with it something you dread. The slight consolation you have is that you’re less and less apprehensive with each meeting you have with the therapist-psychologist-psychiatrist medley that is Minho, but it doesn’t keep you from fidgeting in the seat you find yourself in now. Seated outside, the sun has yet to dip under the edge of the mountain range so you can still enjoy the outdoor air some without fear of insanity or whatever else night may bring. Said doctor sits near you, mulling over a mug of what seems to be coffee based on the aroma hanging about your small shared table, and he too watches the edge of the mountains.

“What’s been on your mind recently?”

Despite anticipating such a question, you let out a noise akin to a ‘hm’ and let silence pull back over you. 

“A lot and nothing at all, at the same time. And you?”

Minho grins but it’s clear that he does not appreciate your attempt at a joke. “I’m enjoying fresh air and nature that is not confined to a rocky and putrid desert. Our last little planetside visit was far from pleasant vacationing scenery, no?”

“Unless one enjoys freezing winds and bland landscapes, but yes, I’ll agree with you on that.”

The doctor clears his throat around a mouthful of coffee, and you know it’s as subtle as he’s going to be about prompting you to shift the subject to other things. Minho is nothing if not a patient man, however, for better or for worse. You have no way out here, and he is not going to prompt you for a response so your only option here is to answer him.

“I have been having a hard time understanding some people on the crew. Their motives and intentions with me — that sort of thing,” you admit while squinting at the table. In your peripheral, you catch Minho’s glance and continue speaking before he can even begin to ask you to elaborate. “It’s hard to find the line between where they’re being genuine and where they’re trying to get something out of me. I did try to solve the problem on my own. I spoke to someone about it, and yet that led to a rabbit hole and now I find myself doubting much of what I thought to be true. That line of thought only makes me wonder further though. I didn’t doubt so much before. Now I can’t determine whether I was blissfully in the dark or if I’m being led to believe things that are untrue.”

You jerk your chin to the left and stare your companion down, hoping that he’ll understand you’re done venting for the time being. He raises his brows at you over the edge of his mug without ceasing his movements, and after what seems to be a purposefully drawn-out sip, he leans back in his chair and rests the mug on his thigh.

“Interpersonal relationships are difficult by nature. When there are two people close to you saying things that are at odds with each other, it becomes harder. How does one decide who is telling the truth? Are they perhaps both telling some portion of the truth? If you lean more towards one side then does that make you biased? Does it mean you care for one more than the other? Sometimes we fear how our reactions will affect relationships more than what the truth truly is.”

“I do trust one more than the other,” you add through a slight shake of your head. Minho jolts forward a little with an inhale as his lips part to speak again.

“I anticipate that you will not want to use actual names when discussing this, so how about we use hypothetical names in place of them?”

“I’m certain you already know,” you counter in the same breath.

He matches your tone as it drops to a whisper. “What I know or don’t know is not important. This is for your comfort. If bringing their names into this makes you feel uncomfortable or as though you are blaming them, then using fake names can mitigate those feelings. Call them anything — day, night, tree, rock, stone, fuckass and shithead even — whatever you please.” His words have their intended effect in making you let out a breathy laugh.

“I trust… Rock more than I trust Stone.” That goes without saying really because you have known San (or Rock rather) far longer than you’ve known Nightingale. “But Rock doesn’t always answer my questions and often speaks around my questions in such a way that it makes me have doubts. I don’t need him to tell me everything, of course, and I do trust him more than Stone by a landslide. It’s just that what Stone said threw me off.”

“Why are you so quick to take Stone for his word if you trust Rock more?”

“Because it was so eerily close to reality that I was frightened.”

“Did you ask if Stone knew about your reality? Or ask Rock if he spoke about it with Stone before your conversation?”

“I — I didn’t even think to.” Minho is watching your face very carefully, a wry smile planted on his lips. “I’ll do so though.”

“That might be worth a try,” he answers in the same kind tone as always. “Start there, and if the results are not enough to ease your concerns, then we can revisit the conversation at another time.”

“I like that idea.” 

“Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me these days, Y/n?”

“I do,” you say, though Minho hardly looks convinced by your answer. “I really do. It’s far easier to have a second voice to offer an opinion. Even if the topics still do make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, that feeling is natural. Those who find it easy to disclose the deepest and darkest parts of themselves to others are often either unaware of their flaws or hiding some pain. We as humans tend to realize what things might be perceived as bad or ugly to others, and thus there is some extent of shame surrounding talking about those things. Even if the perceptions come from stigma.”

“I wouldn’t say I fear your judgment necessarily.”

“Then, shall we try something a bit different today?” Minho’s words are accompanied by the unwelcome noise of his chair scraping against cobbles, and you twist at the waist to follow him with your gaze as he moves away from the table. “Would you be open to laying down over here on your back?” He gestures down towards a bench not far away, one close to the tree that the whole courtyard is centered around, and without verbal response, you move to do as asked. 

There’s no need to bother with asking what he wants you to do this for; that question would result in a snarky ‘you’ll see’ or a quick ‘is that a no then’. So, you seat yourself on the bench and lay flat against the cool stone until all you can see are the branches of the tree and bits of darkening sky over your head.

“Close your eyes. I want you to envision your parents first.” Minho’s voice moves around your head, from ear to ear. You see nothing behind your eyelids though, not even a wisp of an idea of the people who are supposed to be so fundamental and crucial in a person’s memories. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. There’s no need to answer them verbally to me but try to answer them to yourself to the best of your ability. Did you know your parents? What did they look like? What role did they have in your life? What were they like as parents? As people?”

The sole memory you have of them is nothing more than figments and knowledge that was passed onto you by another.

“Happy birthday, my darling. I can hardly believe you’re seven already!” The first voice to touch our ears is deep enough to be that of a man, and the second comes out more feminine and has a certain warmth to it that catches you off-guard.

“Dear, they’re waiting outside.”

“Just… give me but a moment with our child, Marina. They won’t die if I take a few minutes to celebrate our daughter’s day.”

Your father at the very least seemed to love you. Perhaps your mother did as well, in some odd and convoluted way.

“If you can’t recall them well, then a childhood friend? What of them?”

Wooyoung is the most obvious answer to that question, though only because you are aware that you should remember him from your childhood. That remains just as hazy, however, with nothing more than tiny fragments that you have been trying hard to piece together for some time now. He was your childhood friend. Bread boy. Tsukio. The boy with lavender hair who reached for your hand in unending waters time and time again before he could finally reach you. 

“Now yourself? Who were you as a child, Y/n? What games did you play? What did you wish to be when you grew up and what did you become? What led you to join the military, pushed you to forget everything and start over?” Minho’s questions are coming too rapidly now for you to keep up with, and you let a noise of frustration slip from your lips as you try to find the answers to everything in your mind. “It’s okay to get frustrated and annoyed. That’s part of the process. But don’t give up quite yet.” His voice comes to a standstill somewhere behind your head, but it still sounds somewhat far and away. “Your identity changed at a certain point, did it not? When you were fourteen years old and decided to take that serum to forget everything that had happened to you before. Who were you in the military?” A killer. “What was your rank, your position, your duty, your unit — what was your purpose?” To kill. “Who were you and what did you become?”

“The Ghost of Eros,” you say aloud without thinking. Something touches your shoulder without warning and every muscle in your body tenses at the sudden breach of focus. Your eyes snap open in hopes of finding the offending touch, but instead, you make eye contact with Minho, who now crouches beside the bench near your head with a very firm and unnerving stare settled on you.

“Who were you before joining the Scourge’s crew?”

Frustration creeps in a second time because you don’t get it. Minho is trying to make a point with all of this, and you still don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to convey to you. 

“The Ghost of Eros.”

“And who are you now?”

You sit up, forcing his hand to fall away from your shoulder, and all you can do for several seconds is stare at your lap while shaking your head.

“I’m… it hasn’t changed? I’m still as I was.” Your eyes seek to find Minho once again for answers. He smiles back at you.

“Exactly. You are still the Ghost of Eros, but you need to let yourself believe that again. Your strength didn’t go away, just as you told me that your skills are still with you. Your willpower, intelligence, the things that brought you out of that place you were in — those are skills just the same, and they have not gone away. So you need to stop believing that they have.”

“I-I don’t — what are you trying to get at?” His words seem so intentional and pointed that it makes your head spin somewhat. What does he know that you don’t?

“You are equipped to withstand any trial set before you. Yet when we have these discussions, I find a deep-rooted sense of self-doubt in you. Whether that comes from the confusion of not wholly knowing who you are or from the influence of external forces, it is a hard thing to uproot and remove. I cannot give you a shovel and tell you to dig it out, but I can give you the means to break it down so that it will not grow further. I can remind you that you already have the tools needed to do so if you remember where to look.” Minho sits down in the space behind your back, and you sling your legs to the side so that you can sit parallel to him before the tree ahead of you. “There was a time when your name was second only to the Scourge’s in bars and amongst pirate crews. Is that legacy meant to play second fiddle to his? Is that what you desire? Some parts of you must not want that because you resist authority so heavily. You have forgotten that name and in turn, let him forget it as well. I did not see you cave when faced with the ghosts of your past. You did not cave to a king you perceived to be a tyrant. You have pulled yourself away from so many things, wearing your name as a mantle that represents who you are and what you are capable of. Why do you hesitate to remind your sole competition of the same?”

Minho stares ahead at the tree yet you look to the ground with fingers clenched hard around the edge of the bench. You recall the first time you laid eyes on Hongjoong in the flesh, outside of wanted posters and scant dossiers that did nothing to fully encapsulate the man who is the Scourge of the Black Sea. Even back then, he had looked past you as though you were nothing to him, yet in return, you did not find yourself afraid of him at all. Have you become afraid of him now? Why?

“I wish to be acknowledged as that,” you state resolutely. “Someone strong and fearsome and on his level. He doesn’t treat me like I’m the Ghost of Eros still. I-I want him to.”

Minho hums. “It would be easier to fall in line, would it not?”

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for.

You realize the answer to that question now. Mingi laid down his mantle as the Brute of Kebos for a multitude of reasons, and you can understand now why he views defiance to be a shoddy decision. What he had before was nothing pretty or desirable. The same could be said of your past as well, but you have never desired to set your mantle aside and become something small and diminishable on the Scourge’s crew. A weapon is only as good as the one wielding it, and Hongjoong frankly does not wield you and your abilities as he should.

“It would…”

“With its feet tied and wings clipped, what hope does a caged bird have?” Minho pats your knee before standing up. From where you sit, you can just barely glimpse at the ugly brand sitting on the back of his neck, crude scars and all. “It can still carve its way out with its beak, no? Do not let yourself be buried by those with the intent to put you beneath them. Be strong.” He leaves you with that, alone on the bench in the courtyard before a blooming tree whose roots stretch and pull at the stone meant to cover it.

For the first time, someone is telling you to fight, and fight, you most certainly will.

There’s a good amount of time where you sit in the same place without moving because the conversation has left your head a bit fuzzy. The only reason you don’t linger any longer in the courtyard is because the sun is continuing to dip closer to the horizon and you are not eager to find out what the nightlife is like. 

The air clings to your skin a bit when you step through the door, not too different from the humidity outside, but the warmth is welcome in a different way. Music hits your ears at the same time, and you find yourself drifting toward the source of the noise out of sheer curiosity. The sight you find unfolding before you brings pause to your step, though only briefly because your feet are once again compelled to move and push you forwards. 

Jongho is the first one you see, sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar of some sort in his hands — one that must be local to Gorgon due to its foreign appearance. Yeosang sits nearby, close to the couch on some sort of box that he taps the flats of his hands against, and his rhythm matches Jongho’s so perfectly that you’d be hard-pressed to believe that they’ve never done this before. The table that had been set in front of the couch has been dragged to the side to make more space available, and right now Wooyoung occupies that space with Mingi, hands gently folded around Mingi’s forearms like he’s trying to both steady and guide the man at once. You only catch sight of a fifth and final person once you approach the back of a loveseat, and it’s San who sits just barely hidden from sight there. Your arrival brings his attention upwards to you, and you look at each other upside-down. Perhaps it’s the mood in the air, but you allow yourself to indulge a bit here and now, leaning over the back of the sofa to lay a kiss against San’s forehead as he reaches upwards for you. Hands slotting together, he clings to you while you round the loveseat fully and sink down onto the cushion beside him.

“Y/n, Y/n, you have to join in!” Wooyoung laughs as he pulls Mingi around in a circle, eyes not lingering on you for more than a second. Every bit of skin that’s visible on the man is flushed, and the balls of his cheeks are so bright and round that you can’t help but smile just seeing the evident joy on his features. He takes the gesture as an invitation. He’s giggling as he moves Mingi over to the couch where Jongho’s perched before flitting over to you in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to let go of San’s hand before Wooyoung is tugging you up from the loveseat.

“Wait—” 

“Indulge me just a little tonight, please?”

Your protest dies in the back of your throat and falls on deaf ears. You wish you had put up more of a fight moments later when Wooyoung starts pulling you into a rather fast-paced and intricate set of footsteps that you can hardly keep up with without trampling his toes every beat or so. Yet — Wooyoung is laughing and happy and throwing his head back so far that the sound of his laughter resonates with the music Jongho and Yeosang are creating. This fragile peace hangs by the thinnest of threads, tied into small knots, and you’re mesmerized by the joy radiating off Wooyoung in waves. It’s not just you either: Yeosang’s eyes follow his lover with every slight shift in muscle, so rapt in his attention yet still not missing a beat as he continues to drum his hands against the box beneath him. Wooyoung spins you out in San’s direction, hand squeezing hard around yours so that you don’t tumble, and in that split second, you make eye contact with your own lover. 

It startles you to see the expression on his face. He looks to be in utter awe of what’s unfolding before him, even though you’re certain it’s a mess on your end, yet there’s also a faraway gleam to his gaze that makes you realize he’s not wholly here in this moment with the rest of you. You want to ask what’s on his mind, to know what he’s seeing in his head right now, or what memories are replaying themselves to him if that’s what it is. It’s hardly the time or place for such things, however.

Wooyoung twirls you back into his arms, hands sliding down to secure at your waist. The metal hanging from his neck is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin and breath as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. You aren’t prepared to brace his weight and stumble back over your feet with Wooyoung still clinging tightly to you until you hit the edge of the loveseat. San’s hand juts out to catch you when the two of you tumble to the cushions. Wooyoung is laughing the whole time, hot on your neck, and he sits up on one knee as though nothing happened.

“Change the song!” he requests, returning to his post at the center of the rug. San’s hand drifts towards yours but he only takes hold of your fingers rather than your whole hand as he usually does. You jolt upon looking over at him, solely because there’s another body behind the loveseat and a face pressed between yours and San’s that you were not expecting to see. It’s Yunho who fills the space between your face and your lover’s — mostly recognizable through his side profile and also his blond hair that’s beginning to grow in dark at the roots. He’s clearly fresh out of the shower if his damp hair is any indication of such along with the faint scent of something minty radiating off of him. 

“What are we watching?” he asks, bringing his elbows up to rest on the back of the couch.

“Wooyoung is putting on a show for us,” San hums in response, and his fingers curl around your index finger. “You just barely missed Y/n’s ever-so-graceful dance moves too!”

“Oh, stop,” comes your whine as embarrassment washes over you with San’s confirmation that it was indeed a very messy ordeal. Yunho laughs, head pulling up to watch Wooyoung’s new performance. The music shifts, first with Jongho then with Yeosang changing his rhythm to follow along with the Berserker on the box drum. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and the music takes hold of him like a spell has been cast on his body. There’s a certain delicate nature to his movements now that is far different than how he danced with Mingi and in turn you. The collar around his neck drags up and down against his skin with each twist of his body, yet his happiness persists even with what must be an agonizing discomfort. If not for his upbringing and what you know of his youth, you would imagine he made a living out of this at some point in his life. He has both the grace and the appearance of a dancer, between his lithe figure and his pretty features, and it wouldn’t be impossible to believe that there are many people who would pay a great deal to see him perform. Here you sit, surrounded by crewmates and friends, watching the scene unfold without a credit spent. Luck comes to mind because it does feel something like a blessing to experience this in such a joyful atmosphere. Wooyoung’s voice rises into the mix alongside Jongho’s, though a tad more breathy than the latter’s due to the fluid movements he’s trying to maintain while singing.

“Pardon, but the master asked that I bring freshly brewed tea for our guests. Mushroom tea, a local specialty. Please enjoy your stay here with us.” You and San both take the teacups handed to you on a silver platter by the young woman who has approached the loveseat. Yunho is the only one to refuse it yet gratitude still pours from his lips nonetheless, and the lady bows her head. She moves over to Mingi next, careful not to disturb the rest who are bringing the merry festivities to the room. 

The tea is close to scalding but just shy of it so you can sip comfortably from the top while watching Wooyoung’s performance continue to unfold. The words of the song are solemn in comparison to how upbeat the music itself sounds, even down to the smile pulling at Wooyoung’s lips while he sings along. You hardly need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of it — it’s a tried and true farewell song, one saying goodbye to times past and people no longer present, sung with a dissonant joy that makes the tea taste bitter on your tongue.

Yunho inches out of your peripherals, and you angle your head in his direction only to catch him walking towards the stairs without a word. At first, you wonder if the song is what compelled him to leave or perhaps he simply wishes to retire for the night and not disturb everyone on his way out. Content with that reasoning, you redirect your focus once again, only to catch sight of someone else at the other end of the room, tucked away a bit and somewhat hidden from sight. Not enough to be wholly hidden, obviously, but enough so that he will not disturb anything happening in the main area. It’s Hongjoong, of course, because any other member of the crew would have approached without care for being perceived. This is not the first time you have been witness to your captain’s insecurities surrounding his crew; however, seeing the man appear so small in his attempts to hide himself fills you with an odd sense of justified satisfaction. Has he earned a place at this table? Suffered the way these people have for his whims and desires? The answer is clear in your mind — no, he has absolutely not. 

The song draws to a close, and you down the rest of your tea before ridding Hongjoong of your attention. San leads with a round of applause, one that both you and Mingi quickly echo. Wooyoung’s attention returns to you before anyone else.

“Jongho knows lots of traditional songs that we know,” he exhales through little gasps for air. “Yeosang and I, I mean. Songs we learned growing up on Aera.” He blows off the fumble of words so easily that you don’t even see a shift in emotion on his features. 

“That one was rather sad.”

“It’s a funeral song! Or — a dirge, rather, for people who have departed. Either from life or gone off to new places in the universe, so that’s why the lyrics are so dismal. The song itself and the dance are for celebration though. Celebrating the life and time shared with those departed. I’ve done it a few times before just for fun like this!”

“Never for its true purpose?” you inquire out of sheer curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile turns into a close-lipped one that’s soft around the edges.

“Only once for that purpose.” He lets his words hang long enough for you to feel the weight of them, then he flits over to where Yeosang sits and drapes himself over the man like a blanket. Jongho’s fingers don’t rest on the guitar strings, and he continues to strum out another tune that Yeosang joins in once again, but Wooyoung rests his feet for now. Not his voice, it seems, as he continues singing quietly, words pushed into Yeosang’s shoulder rather than to the entire room.

“The tea made me a bit sleepy, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” you say to the man beside you. San nods a few times but refuses to let go of your hand even when you stand up from the loveseat. He comes along with you, in fact, setting his cup down beside yours on the nearby table. The energy of the night is beginning to wear off, and it’s draining fast from your body. San is humming beside you to the song Jongho plays, and you feel him tapping out the melody against your knuckles. You have felt this kind of peace more times than you can count while part of this crew, but it has seemed quite far away for a while now. You squeeze tighter at San’s hand like you’re waiting for the inevitable, like glass is about to shatter and the illusion of peace will become nothing but shards before you. Yet, none of that happens, and you revel in this moment you’re living in while climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hostel. 

San pushes the door to your joint room open with one hand, tugging you in alongside him as a giggle tears from your lips. There’s a moment where you fall into his side, hand bracing on his hip when you collide into each other’s space. Then San is drifting away from you and letting your hands return to your sides. He steps over to the dresser with a song still on his lips.

“Hi,” you say to break the lull in conversation.

“Hello, star,” he replies with a fond little smile. You return the gesture as you slowly shut the door.

“Finally alone, hm?”

San’s focus pulls harder toward you. He gives up on his current task of pulling a change of clothes out to stare directly at you.

“Careful, my darling, a man could take such words to mean all sorts of things.”

You dip your chin to your chest and laugh, shaking your head as you push into the room. It’s not that you’re looking for anything in particular — sexual, you mean — and the two of you haven’t fucked around in several days, mostly out of joint avoidance and going straight to bed once you’ve gone about your days separately. You aren’t keen on anything now, either. There’s a knot in your gut that won’t unfurl, coupled with the recollection of what occurred last time. You thought of another man. San called you treasure. There was some degree of an argument which resulted in you asking for sex to feel better, and San, who is one to voice when something is not okay in the bedroom, complied eagerly. Maybe you both made mistakes that night, and all you could do to patch the wounds you left on each other was fuck it out of your systems.

San watches you carefully as you make your way to the bed and sit on the edge of it. He mirrors your movements by sitting on the dresser, hands clasped around the edge of it. The impending conversation must weigh on him too given how his usual teasing jokes don’t persist. Though your peace was far from an illusion and you do not wish to tarnish it, you do know that letting your thoughts fester any longer will cause monumental problems in the long run. As it is, you have already told yourself this can wait until tomorrow, let’s just enjoy tonight time and time again. If not now, then when because there will always be another excuse you can pull out of your back pocket to explain why it’s not a good time to speak.

“You called me your treasure the other night.”

“I— um, did you… when was this?” San fidgets in his seat, and you see him visibly nervous for the first time in a long time before you. “I’m not trying to play dumb, I just genuinely don’t recall th—”

“Why did you call me that? In that moment, what made you say that?” It isn’t your intention to interrupt him so harshly, but you fear losing your nerve or caving too soon when this conversation needs to happen desperately.

San exhales slowly and blinks at you several times.

“Y/n…?”

“It was when you went down on me while I was crying for fuck’s sake, San! Do you really not remember?”

“I… I do. Well, I remember that night, yes, but — Y/n, I truly don’t remember calling you that.” His mouth hangs slightly agape as he looks at the floor, searching for nothing in particular. “I went down on you because I wanted to make you feel good because you asked me to make you feel good. I wanted it too, I would have said something if I didn’t, and I would never push for something I didn’t think you wanted either. I wanted you to feel good and cherished because you weren’t feeling that way in that moment, I wanted to s-show you physically how much I want you. It wasn’t for any other reason, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove that to you but please say the word and I will do whatever to do so.”

Your jaw snaps shut, and you tighten your hold on yourself by pulling your arms tighter around your body.

“I wouldn’t… would never call you that, Y/n. That’s something that — Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that. I wouldn’t dare call you that too.” He frowns. “I know things are still shaky between us and that you don’t trust much of what I say in relation to him, but please believe that this is me being wholly honest with you. I would not call you such a thing because I do not want you to believe that I view you the way Hongjoong views Seonghwa.” He inhales and looks towards the door as though someone will be there to tell him off for what he wishes to say next. “That would be cruel.”

You go so still that even your breathing halts for a few seconds. San presses his lips into a thin line and swallows around nothing. He appears more determined when he speaks again.

“Implying that I view you as a mere treasure to be had and used would be cruel. In my eyes, you could hang the very stars in the sky if you so wished, you are the stars themselves, and in my next life, I hope to be a galaxy so that I can hold you in my heart for as long as I live. I love you. I truly do. I would not wish for us to ever be like them or have a relationship like theirs and I do not want you to believe that my love is conditional on your being useful to me because it's not.”

It speaks volumes to both his character and how he views his captain. And yet, it also shows you how deeply roots the seeds Hongjoong has planted are, and you fear for your sanity for creating such a thing out of thin air like that. Silence hangs. San is smart. You’re more than well aware of that. He’s perceptive and intelligent in many ways, which means that if what he’s saying is what he perceives to be truth then he can put two and two together. You thought he called you his treasure, Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that, you were thinking of Hongjoong while having sex with San.

"Is that true?" Your voice comes out meek. Shame creeps in alongside embarrassment and humiliation because in retrospect (and when you look past your muddled feelings of anger and confusion) San’s explanation does truly make more sense. Why would he call you that? He has not been cruel to you when it comes to Hongjoong. Even if he were toying with you, he has not been heartless.

"I swear on my life, Y/n. If that's not enough then I will gladly set myself before Minho or Yunho or Mingi and have any of them interrogate me in front of you. They’ll know whether I’m lying or not without fault." San steps away from the dresser, yet your gaze is still firmly set on the ground when he comes to sit beside you. A laugh escapes from your lips as the mattress dips next to you.

“Is this what Seonghwa feels like? Going fucking insane and it’s all because of that… that man.” You don’t need to look San in the face to know what expression he wears, because he reaches for one of your hands and takes it between both of his. “Before I went to see Hongjoong that night, I had fought with Seonghwa. About a lot of things but it’s all left me with a lot to think about. Much of what he said hurt me deeply, especially hearing him tell me that I was a substitute for someone else in his mind.” The admission that you did the same lies on the tip of your tongue, and it’s already partly out in the open, but there’s not enough bravery in you to tell San that now, or that you thought of Hongjoong more recently either. “He also told me there are many ways in which Hongjoong has been orchestrating my destruction from the very start. Going from that fight to an argument with Hongjoong too was very damaging to my confidence and my psyche say the least.”

“What happened with Hongjoong?” San inquires, still careful in how he broaches the subject. “I was told that you were forced in line, but is that true?”

“He made me kneel. Or rather he ordered Mingi to make me kneel, and he did. I did.” Pressure hits your shoulder, the full weight of San’s head as he pushes his cheek to your arm and leans into you. “Seonghwa is suffering some sort of mental breakdown of an insane degree and has no one to help him out of the grave he and Hongjoong both have dug beneath his feet.”

“I’ve been trying to help,” San interjects quietly, though it’s staggered by wetness in his tone that’s hard to ignore, “to no avail whatsoever.”

The thought of running away from it all crops up in your mind again. To take San and Wooyoung and Yunho and Seonghwa and everyone — taking them all away and running without looking back. Yet, if you were to do that, everything would so quickly fall apart that the ends would not be worth what it took to bring you there. Hongjoong is many terrible, awful things, but in the very least he contains in him the inherent ability to unite people under his command. You couldn’t do such a thing, nor could you in good conscience be harsh when the time came. What’s running rampant through your mind correlates with real life, and you squeeze San’s hand over yours harder.

“Hongjoong purposefully isn’t letting Seonghwa on this mission because he’s worried too. That’s why Yunho is going instead. Seonghwa is hardly happy about it but he needs the break.” San exhales a quivering sigh. “He needs a break from his duties as lieutenant, at least for now, and Hongjoong is trying to let him have that. There are things only he can do of course — like the dealings with the cargo and having that all settled but those are easier in comparison. Seonghwa doesn’t usually let anything slip when things are awry in his head, he keeps his mask up, and he tries his best to put on a front for the crew. Though it’s never been explicitly stated before the whole crew, everyone pretty much knows that he is not an Elitist. We just… know our boundaries and respect that we should not expect to be told. I was told, as the captain’s left hand. I respect secrets, and I respect privacy. Anything told to me in confidence will be taken to my grave unless I am told it is information safe to be shared. I do not hide things out of malicious intent. That being said, I will do my best to be more open and honest with you moving forward. Would you please do the same in return?”

“I am honest with you already,” you cut in almost in an instant. San’s hand flexes around yours. “But I will… I’ll continue to do so.”

His frown is felt against your shoulder.

“If that were true then you would not be revealing truths to me now.”

“I’m sorry.” The tension that rises in your muscles forces his head off your arm. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not chastising you, beloved, breathe.” You’re already turning to look at his face when he reaches up with a hand to cup your cheek. “I love you. So deeply and so dearly.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s do this without having sex. Right now, let’s just talk… without it turning into sex.” You nod against his hand. San is gnawing hard at his lower lip, and it’s already swollen from what must be continued abuse in an attempt to keep tears at bay considering how red the corners of his eyes are. “Do you wanna go out on the balcony?”

Your hands do not separate when he stands, and you stay as close to him as possible when following him to the door like he’s the one thing keeping you tethered to reality at the moment. 

Outside, night has fallen, but the small balcony before you sits covered and enclosed by panes of glass. Below you can see the courtyard where you and Minho were earlier, exposed to the night air and the toxins it brings, but up here it’s like another world. The torches continue to bloom with their purple flames along the buildings, fluorescent green lights accent places where the streets are too dark to be lit by flame alone, and silver chimes glint every so often when the wind nudges them in the right direction.

“The town looks pretty at night,” you note as San leads you to a seat near the glass. 

“Quite beautiful indeed.” He squeezes your hand one last time before pulling away at last and sitting down in the chair beside yours. When you glance his way, you find him picking at the skin under his nails and watching the skin peel back to reveal something raw and tender beneath. “I am going to tell you some truths that are hard for me to admit, let alone process still. Despite thinking about it and practicing what I want to say in my head time and time again, I may struggle with how to say things. After you went to the bathroom to wash up that night with Seonghwa, he told me that Hongjoong was the sole person on his mind. That hurt me to hear, so I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to pass that pain onto you as well. I overheard a bit of the commotion in the kitchen when the two of you fought, and Seonghwa had told me that he would be honest with you eventually. I wouldn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it wouldn’t go over well. Foolishly, I had thought that I could be someone to help mend the hurt both of you were feeling — your hurt from how things between you and Seonghwa ended, and Seonghwa’s hurt from once again being tossed away by his love. Seonghwa’s eagerness made me believe that it was more okay than it turned out to be, or perhaps he went into it from the start with one thing — or person, rather — on his mind.”

You remain quiet in the face of San’s admissions, even when he takes a moment to breathe and stare out at the city. His hands still in his lap and finally let his fingers have a break from the harm he was doing to them just seconds ago. He grips the armrests of his chair hard and uses his momentum to turn it more toward you. You’re faced with his rapt attention now, as his elbows come to rest on his knees and he clasps his hands between them.

“It’s true that I once had a physical relationship with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Never just one of them alone; I was always asked to be the third for when they desired it, and I was more than happy to be that for them. We’ve discussed my views on relationships and romantic versus sexual partnerships before, and I’ve had those beliefs for a long time. However, I haven’t fully learned that it’s not so easy for everyone to fall into those roles and that the act of being a third is not always cut and dry. It’s suited for some people like myself, and not for others, which is understandable and completely fine. I thought as well that the two of you having experience with each other sexually would provide comfort and ease. What I did not do was take into consideration the hurt left between you or how sensitive the situation was for everyone involved. I take full responsibility for that night, regardless of who was thinking about what during, and I am so deeply apologetic for being the one to facilitate that. I wanted to speak and apologize to you first, but I do want to offer the same apology to Seonghwa as well.” He waits then with teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that it disappears from the pressure. It’s your time to speak, to offer an explanation or an acknowledgment of all that he’s poured out to you, but your mind is so full of a clusterfuck of thoughts that all that comes out in the end is —

“I feel like a whore.”

It stuns the both of you in the same way, and San’s expression freezes as he simply stares at you unsure of what to say to that. The shock is almost comical if not for the severity of your conversation at present.

“Would you please tell me why you feel that way?” he asks once the initial shock of your comment passes.

“I was not very present that night. I didn’t feel like I was in my right mind, but know that I did not feel pressure to do anything out of my comfort zone. I was the one who misread my own signals and sought something in physical comfort to ease my thoughts. Seonghwa was clearly not wholly there either, as we know, and the two of us took it out on each other. Since then, I’ve been feeling the way I did that night during sex and it’s driving me mad. I don’t wish to have those thoughts or constantly be reminded of that night but it comes on of its own volition.”

“Okay then full stop, we slow down. Sex isn’t a must.”

“Well, it’s difficult because we depend so heavily on being physical to show affection for one another.”

“That just means we can find new ways to share our affection,” San says through a smile, “and we can still cuddle and hug and kiss even. Being physical and offering comfort is not inherently sexual. I have to learn that too. I’m such a physical person in every way. I adore giving in every way I can physically to show my feelings, but that clouds and muddies things a lot. A healthy relationship with sex doesn’t mean always having sex though. There are other ways we can do things together or other ways to connect and be with each other intimately. But—” he leans back and squares his shoulders, still smiling ever so softly at you “—while I’m thinking clearly, I’m going to say that I know continuing to have sex while you are struggling with your thoughts during it and we’re both in need of healing our relationship towards it is not the best thing to do. I’m not at all willing to ask it of you until you definitively tell me otherwise.”

“I love you so much,” you murmur, and San’s nose scrunches at the sudden confession. He blows a kiss your way as he leans back in his chair once more, settling into it more comfortably now that his thoughts are out in the open.

“You know, I’ve been reading some of the books you keep on your shelves lately. The Siren ones, I mean. Since you told me of your identity, I’ve been curious to learn more about what it means to be one. I didn’t know you were so cool.” Your laughs echo in the enclosed area of the balcony, mixing together.

“Sorry, but I can’t show off or anything. I don’t know how to do much at all.” 

San reaches an arm over to your chair and you seek his hand with your own like it's second nature to do so.

“Even the little things about you impress me. You don’t need to do much.” His thumb rubs methodical little lines against the base of your index finger. “The music and the dancing were lovely, weren’t they?”

“It was all very nice. Lively too, and happy.”

“I’ve always loved performances like that,” San says with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “When I was younger, growing up with the Taskmaster and Father — my captain at the time, I mean — I got to have one tablet. At the orphanage, I wasn’t allowed any personal belongings, and though I spent most of my time confined to one small cell, it still had a few things here and there to make the space mine. Besides the collar on my neck and chain keeping me to the wall, of course.” The crude attempt at a joke doesn’t make you laugh as much as it makes you terribly sad. The times when San openly discusses the grim details of his youth are few and far between. The more you learn of how he was forced to grow up, the more your heart aches inside your check, and the desire to close yourself around the icy stake in his chest spikes exponentially. “It had all sorts of training videos on it to help me learn to be more effective in my role on the crew. Part of the combat training videos were dances, meant to teach how to move in a way that could conserve the body’s energy. Since my abilities are so dependent on stamina, that sort of training was beyond crucial. But instead of using them for that purpose, I used to hide under the covers on my bed and watch those dances in secret though, just for fun rather than learning. And I got caught once by my father.”

“Did he punish you for it?” 

“Rather than punishing me, he instead took me to a performance. Taskmaster Cara disagreed with the choice vehemently but Father didn’t pay her any mind. He simply wanted to bring me to the show. It was a night circus, traveled across the stars with the act, but we ended up seeing the show on Kebos of all places. It was a different city from where Mingi and Yunho grew up, so the coincidences stop there, though that would have been pretty special if it had been. Um… if I remember right, it was winter and snowing at the time, which was a first for me too. In the tent they had set up for the circus, there was this enormous rink of ice. Father got us seats right up by the railings and—” San cuts himself off with a laugh as he pushes his free hand out in front of him like he’s reliving the memory “—two automatons were dancing on the ice with wheels in place of feet to help them move. I remember it was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I had seen in my life. That memory — it was my happiest as a child. So seeing Wooyoung dance… it always reminds me of that experience and that feeling I had then. But seeing the two of you dance together tonight made me especially sentimental. Even though it wasn’t the same… I felt like I was seeing it all over again. Thank you for taking me back to that place.”

You squeeze your fingers around San’s. 

“I hope we can share a lot more of those kinds of memories too.”

San’s response comes in a rounded smile, then he settles back in his chair with his eyes shut and a hum in his throat. Though you don’t recognize the tune, you can only imagine it’s that song from the dance he witnessed all those years ago. In the descending night, you think that maybe the two of you will be okay after all.

────────────

The blissful peace that hangs in the air remains undisturbed until you and San are getting ready for bed. It’s then that a knock comes at your door, and with San in the bathroom washing his face, you take it upon yourself to be the one to answer it. You could have thrown at several guesses as to who would be waiting on the other side, and even the idea that it might be someone who works at the hostel would have come to mind before the man who is actually waiting there.

“Mingi…” you exhale in partial shock.

“Would you please come on a walk with me, Ghost?” His gas mask hangs loose around his neck, and he reaches up to point at it when your gaze flits downwards. “Bring yours if you’d like to come along.”

“Why not here?”

“There are too many eyes and ears here. The walls are thin. I would rather not talk about this in front of San. I do not want it to go back to the wr—to other people.” Every bit of his reasoning comes across as very matter-of-fact, but it all makes sense and you can’t argue with it.

“Okay,” you say through a nod, “okay, hold on.”

Mingi remains at the door as you move back to the bathroom, leaning through the doorframe to catch San’s attention while he’s brushing his teeth.

“I’m going out for a little bit with Mingi.”

San hums before leaning over the sink and spitting what’s left in his mouth out. “Be safe and bring your mask. Don’t worry about waking me when you get back if I’m asleep, just come in comfortably. I’ll try to stay up until you return though.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The way he’s smiling at you implies that he won’t listen to your words. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too. Dearly. Let me know if there are any pretty sights out there at night!”

You retrieve your mask from the top of the dresser on your way back to where Mingi is patiently waiting.

“I apologize for bringing you out so late,” the Berserker says once you shut your bedroom door behind you.

“No, it’s alright. You’ll be awfully busy with the cargo tomorrow as well, so this is fine. Besides, part of me is curious about what’s so special about nighttime here.” Mingi doesn’t laugh when you do, but he does plaster on something semi-adjacent to a smile. The two of you both secure your masks around your faces before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, although you have to fiddle with the straps a lot more than he does to make it sit comfortably over your nose. Mingi presses the door open with one hand, and you brace yourself for something dramatic or violent to happen yet that never comes. Air filters in and out of your gas mask, not even leaving a scent to pass through. 

“Please, follow me. I found a spot while I was making cargo trips today that looked quite nice. I think it’ll be a good spot to talk.” He walks slow enough for you to keep up without a struggle, even if you are somewhat distracted by examining every inch of your surroundings as you go. It’s fascinating to a certain extent because, despite all the warnings and concerns about nighttime, you still find an inordinate amount of people milling about the cobbled streets freely. No masks in sight on many, and some have them on their being but only hung about their necks like the masks are nothing but a statement piece and nothing functional to be used. The sight makes your skin itch and burn, a certain level of discomfort washing over you as you urge yourself to keep pace with Mingi. The chime hanging down from your right ear jingles with every step you take, and it sounds so awfully loud against the thick material of the mask.

The Berserker brings you over to the edge of the gorge, somewhere along the very place you initially arrived at, where there is nothing but braided rope stretched taut between lampposts to keep people from tumbling to an unsightly doom. Those same lampposts bear purple flames just as the others you saw in the city, but to see them against the night skin makes their glow seem all the more ominous. Down below lies that foggy ravine, although you can’t bear to look at it for long.

Mingi pauses by the ropes and grips the topmost one with both hands. You join in alongside him, squeezing the material tight as you look over across the gorge. In the night, you can just hardly make out the outline of The Horizon in the distance, yet it looks so terribly foreign and desolate with it’s lights fully shut off.

“May I ask you something about Sirens?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely, though I may not be ab—”

“Is Jongho a Siren?”

“—what?” You blink at your companion several times before his words sink in. “What?!”

“Is Jongho a Siren?” he repeats like nothing he said was out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“He’s — he’s a Berserker. He’s got the red eyes, and the strength of at least twenty men combined, and he can do things the rest of us can’t.”

“Yes, but he can influence emotions, no?” Mingi lets one hand fall to his side in favor of turning more toward you.

“Well, yes.”

“Can you? As a Siren?”

“Not like that, I can only—” you’re forced to bite your words back when the risk of exposing the others presents itself. Mingi will know if you’re lying, he’ll feel the increase in your heart rate surely like a shark smelling blood in the water. You must do your best to choose your next words so carefully that he won’t even suspect there are others amongst the crew. “Sirens can only sense other Sirens’ emotions. I cannot feel what you are feeling at this moment. The best I can do for anyone who is not a Siren is sympathize or empathize with them from person to person, but I cannot genuinely and truly know what they’re feeling. Nor can I feel those feelings myself. What Jongho does is different. He feels everyone’s emotions as though theirs are his own, like you do I’m sure, but he’s no Siren.”

“He draws emotions out of others like a siphon and takes them onto himself. Sirens are not capable of anything like that?”

Again you bite your tongue. What Mingi knows of Sirens must be very cut and dry — anything that could be drawn out of a book or fed to him through people such as Hongjoong or Yunho. If Seonghwa spoke to him, there’s no way of knowing what extent of the truth the man shared with Mingi. For the best, you would be wise not to mention the existence of Sirens such as Wooyoung and yourself.

“No, they are not.” You look down at where your hands cling to the rope barrier, finding your knuckles white with the effort of gripping it. “The most I can do is try to soothe another Siren by projecting my feelings towards them like some sort of projection, but that does nothing to force any certain emotion onto them. They will still feel the same as they did but simply be made aware of what I am feeling too. And that ability does not work on people who aren’t Sirens.” Except for the fact that I have forced thoughts into Hongjoong’s head somehow.

Mingi redirects his gaze to the gorge.

“Part of me desired a different answer honestly.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I wished to hear that Jongho’s abilities were that of some strange cross between a Siren and a Berserker that muddled the genetic pool of his abilities. For years, he has been the one to assist me in coming down from episodes. While Captain and Healer have made attempts to do so themselves, they consistently require Jongho’s help. He is always the one called to do so. I know for certain that there are times when I feel myself fighting back urges, when I am strong enough to win back control from the voices without Jongho using his little ability… I still cannot help but doubt how much of it comes from my own efforts and how much is his influence with that trick.” The Berserker’s voice remains void of any clue as to what he’s feeling, but the stare he casts over the gorge seems so forlorn that it makes your chest ache. “I know why he does it, but I also know why he does it without telling those he’s taking from most times. Because he knows they would not approve and that, in his mind, there is something morally grey about it.” It draws a sigh out of Mingi’s lips, and he turns around, leaning against the railing with his elbows propped up on the rope. “Do you not find it selfish?”

“I understand Jongho is trying to help so it’s hard to say that there is something inherently bad in what he’s doing,” you say as quietly as you can manage while still being audible. “I caught him doing it to me one time, and that enraged me beyond belief because it was against my will. I was robbed of the choice to feel my emotions. Is that selfish?”

“Yes.” You expected as much. “Doing something that robs another of a choice is always selfish and self-serving, even if there is good to be had in doing it. I do not wish to think of him as selfish because I’m aware that he has very particular reasons for doing what he does — as an act of self-preservation and to try to even out the moral scales that he believes are tipped against him.”

“What would truly be different if he were a Siren?”

“Ah. Well then, I could at least assume that Captain was the one pulling the strings behind Jongho in an attempt to keep me on my leash. Not that that would be needed for me in particular. My loyalty has never wavered regardless of what Captain has done in the past, but then again, he has never tried to do anything to me directly.” Mingi’s gaze slips down to you, torn from the scene ahead of him that consists of watching natives move above the streets. “Sorry.” The single word is flat and void of any semblance of emotion.

“Why’re you saying that?”

“Because that’s what people do when they desire to console others.”

“Do you feel that I need to be consoled?” His words hadn’t made you feel any type of way — positive or negative — so it’s a wonder why Mingi would think you need to be comforted by an apology right now. The Berserker tilts his chin back, and it forces his gaze to the night sky overhead. 

“No,” he starts, “you feel oddly neutral tonight with me.” Though you cannot see a smile thanks to his gas mask, you are the recipient of a rare laugh from the man. You have no clue what caused him to laugh, but it’s nice to hear the sound nonetheless.

“You don’t need to say sorry. I understand why my loyalty needs to be twisted into place in Hongjoong’s eyes.”

“You killed a king before, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

The question stumps you not because you cannot think of a reason but rather because many immediate answers fight to be at the forefront of your mind.

“He was a bad person.”

“Yet you view Captain as such too.” Mingi once again redirects focus to you. this time you make direct eye contact with the man, and the deadpan expression across his face combined with his next words makes your gut twist with anxiety. “Were you to try to kill him then I would kill you.”

“He would kill me himself long before I got the chance to even dream up the thought of doing such a thing.” Mingi does not appear wholly convinced. “Oddly enough, I do not want him dead so I suppose we’re all safe.”

Mingi clenches and unclenches his fists, easing his elbows further back on the railing. You can see the ship in the distance still, far across the gorge and still settled on the landing pad. It looks strangely lifeless in this light, with the knowledge that no one is aboard, yet you think that it is a long overdue rest for all her hard work and flights of late.

“Do you view yourself as a good person, Y/n?” Mingi angles his body towards you as he poses the question. Rather than giving you an opening to respond, he continues on speaking, “In the books I read, good and evil exist, and good always tries to end the evil. So do you view yourself as the good trying to kill the evil in this universe?”

“No.” You clear your throat before beginning again with more confidence in your tone. “No, I do not. What’s bad in my eyes very well may be good in others. There were many who were happy with the king, who thought him good, and he did do good at times. He was not all bad, but I perceived him as such for a short time. All it takes is that short time to want to do something bad to someone you think deserves it.”

“I fail to understand it that way,” your companion retorts. “My father told me before every match in the arena that the opponent was nobody of worth or value in the universe. They were neither good nor evil by his standards. Just a life that did not need to be lived, and it was my job to make way for other lives in place of theirs.”

“Then your father was trying to teach you that you were doing something good?”

“To an extent, sure, but I never understood it that way because I never had an understanding of emotion or good versus evil back then. And maybe good and evil don’t exist at all, maybe it’s all perception that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He angles his head further down but looks off over your shoulder with a sort of faraway gleam in his dark red eyes. “Perhaps at the end of the day… all we do are things that are based on a perception that we try to convince ourselves is a universal truth.” He sees something behind you, yet there is nothing but air and a freefall there. A ghost, perhaps, that has come to haunt him for merely breathing the faintest mention of his father. 

All of a sudden, he shoves away from the railing and steps off like he’s going to head back the way you came.

“We should head back now before it gets too late.”

“You go on ahead, I want to stay out a bit longer.” In the blink of an eye, Mingi is back at your side, head drawn so close to your ear that his mask bumps against yours.

“It would be best to leave now and save the sightseeing for later.” His hushed tone urges you to glance back at your surroundings, and what reads as concern to you is fortified by the lingering stares sent your way by those on the streets.

“I understand.” Yet still when Mingi tries to leave again, you remain rooted to the spot. Something else crosses your mind suddenly, something San had said to you in regard to his honesty. “Mingi. Have you ever seen San be cruel?”

Silence.

The Berserker turns his body until it’s perpendicular to yours and finds you still lingering at the railing.

“What does it look like?” you continue upon deciphering his silence as affirmation.

“…Like nothing you have ever seen.” He extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

How would you know that, how could you know such things, when doors are shut and I’m in his arms? Who could possibly know?

Your heart soars with his words nonetheless. Despite it all, here Mingi stands still trying to reassure you.

Your gaze lingers on the foggy waters below, with their odd glow and minty green hue. Something rattles you, another thing beckons you.

“There’s something down there,” you utter once you release your grip on the railing and take Mingi’s hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, “I hear it too.”

Mingi delivers you to your door safely and in one piece. He bids you goodnight with a small bow of his head but not a single comment concerning all that the two of you discussed on your excursion outside. Just as you’re turning the door handle to go inside, he pauses in the hallway and thanks you for your time. The conversation plays on repeat in your mind as you change into nightclothes and wash your face. When you join San in bed at long last, he has already fallen asleep with a book folding over his bare chest. It seems he really did try to stay awake waiting for you to return. You turn the light beside the bed off. Your mind is still far too busy to let you shut your eyes right away, so you spend some time facing San and staring at his profile through the darkness.

Mingi had seemed so sure of what he said. You rest a hand on San’s cheek and turn his face towards you just to see his features better. He barely shifts at the touch.

“Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

The trinkets on your ears feel so heavy under the weight of that blessing.

“Missed you,” San mumbles suddenly, clearly less asleep than you initially thought. He adjusts to drape an arm around your body and brings your head up to lay flat against his chest. No more words are exchanged as he goes right back to sleep, but you lay there with your ear atop his heart listening to the steady and rhythmic thumping like it’s a lullaby to put you to bed.

Good people can do bad things just as bad ones can do good. Those are the words you wished you had shared with Mingi earlier. But in his perspective, that is entirely incorrect.

Maybe people are simply that — people. Good and bad are things normal, regular, plain people do, but not definitive of what they are at the end of the day. It’s a rather beautiful outlook on the universe, you must admit.

──────────── a/n: yoohoo big summer (delayed delayed delayed) blowout! moc style! aheem aheem. i apologize every chapter for delayed updates so im certain lots of yall are like yeah yeah caly okay... okay... but! here we are. i wrestled a lot with many parts of this chapter and was super unhappy when i finished (beyond just being relieved it was over) but after my besties read it and gave me feedback i feel so much better about it and my writing so i am very happy with this <3

so! from this chapter on (i will be mentioning this again in the next chapter and the subsequent ones) i ask that you very much pay attention to details... this act is a dicey one and there will be much interchanging between things that are real and things that are not. there are cues to clue you in on when it is real versus when it's not!! of course i will happily help show those clues where i can bc i don't want anyone to be in the dark or clueless but do not that i do not want the writing to suffer bec im attempting to overexplain it in the text! that being said i hope this chapter was well worth the wait and thank you always for being patient and kind with me 🙇‍♀️

                You don’t doubt that, seeing as Wooyoung is standing guard just outside the door. Seonghwa releases his hold on Hongjoong’s hand, briefly admiring the patch job he did to stop the bleeding from where Hongjoong had thrown a punch, missed, and struck the wall so hard some plaster fell off. Not that it stopped him from swinging again, this time finally connecting with the jaw of the man who ran his mouth a little too much for Hongjoong’s liking.

                You cross your arms, tentatively leaning against the wall next to the door. The various flyers for bands crinkle underneath your jacket; some of them are so old that they seem to be permanent fixtures to the paint.

                “Thanks, Hwa,” He says and then jerks his head in the direction of the door, “A moment alone though, please.”

                Seonghwa shoots you a glowering look, knowing that the part of the night where you lecture Hongjoong is about to begin. As he walks past you, dressed entirely in black, his lips smacking from his chewing gum, he doesn’t break eye contact with you. This no longer phases you, entirely used to Seonghwa and his guard dog act. Making sure to roll your eyes as he pushes the door open, almost colliding with Wooyoung, you then turn your attention to Hongjoong.

                “Does he always need to be like that?”

                “You know, a lot of women love Seonghwa,” Hongjoong replies, flexing his fingers to make sure the bandage remains in place, “Are quite dedicated to him, in fact. They write page after page describing him.”

                “Couldn’t be me,” You retort and leave your spot by the wall, going towards Hongjoong and motioning to see his hand which he extends, “I really didn’t want the night to play out this way, you know.”

                Hongjoong has enough sense to look slightly abashed while still protesting at the same time. “You heard what that guy was saying about you.”

                “Who cares? You always take me to some shithole like this and then are blown away when some asshole runs his mouth. You’ve never decked them before.”

                “Tonight is different. We’re celebrating,” He puts emphasis on the word as if it clears everything up, “You got an amazing job and the party shouldn’t be ruined by some asshole.”

                And you’re moving out, is the unsaid sentence because for all your differences with Hongjoong, he’s been your roommate for the last four years. But your new job is on the outskirts of the city and the commute just didn’t make sense, leading you to make the choice to move closer.

                Hongjoong, with his slight frame, short height and diminutive appearance, would normally not fit the picture of what a hard ass would look like. But in the four years of knowing him, including moments like having to pay bail a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t sitting in a cell, you know better. Hongjoong has a ferocity to him unmatched by anyone else in his group of equally feral friends. He isn’t afraid of anyone, doesn’t think repercussions through, acts on instinct instead of logic, and tears through people and things for the fun of it.

                But he never misses rent, keeps things exceptionally tidy and isn’t home very often. In all, a dream roommate which meant overlooking the chaotic way his life was lived outside the apartment.

                You hadn’t made it a habit to hang out with Hongjoong regularly, seeing as it always resulted with Seonghwa patching him up in a grimy bathroom. But after asking you to come out for one last hurrah before the move, you agreed – and now stood in the aforementioned grimy bathroom.

                You make sure that Seonghwa did a good job with the bandage, taking note of the blood seeping through a little at Hongjoong’s knuckles. At some point during the fight, Hongjoong’s hat went flying although you are sure someone has retrieved it. He has a baggy black t-shirt on, oversized for his thin frame, with the logo of some underground rock group you’ve never heard of. His jeans are covered in rips and tears and his combat boots are well worn with paint splattered all over them. His nails are painted black although at this point they are more chipped than not. His facial features are at odds with his clothing; he looks as delicate as a small bird which is probably why he has two eyebrow piercings above one eye and a lip ring to try to counteract that very comparison.

                “I think the celebration would go smoother without some jerk threatening to sue you.”

                Hongjoong gives a small shrug. “He won’t do anything. And we didn’t even get kicked out.”

                “A successful night for sure,” You reply dryly, finishing up studying his hand – as usual Seonghwa had done a good job.

                Hongjoong grins wickedly, “They usually are. Come on,” He nudges you with his shoulder while walking towards the door, “It’s only a little past midnight.”

                You sigh, following your roommate out into the night of whatever little bit of chaos remained.

*

                The ‘little bit of chaos’ ended up resulting in a hangover and sleeping past noon. By the time you’re up, showered, managed to eat something and are focusing on packing up the rest of your things, it is past six pm. You only have a week until it is time to move and your room is filled with boxes and a random assortment of items tossed all over the place. Stretched out on your bed, you are staring at a pile of clothes, torn between donating them or keeping them just in case.

                Overthinking the clothing situation is only making your hangover headache worse. The apartment is quiet because Hongjoong, after making sure you got back home safely at two in the morning, had went back out. This is normal for him so you don’t think much of it. Seonghwa is moving in after you go and will continue his guard dog act so Hongjoong will always have someone watching over him.

                As if conjuring your roommate up, you hear the front door open and the sound of Hongjoong’s boots against the floor before he removes them.

                “Are you here?” He barks out into the silence and when you call back an affirmative answer, he appears a few seconds later at the entrance to your room.

                His hair is disheveled, small dark circles under his eyes that means he is running on basically no sleep while in the same clothes as yesterday.

                “How’s your hand?” You ask, motioning him to come inside – all these years living together and Hongjoong never entered your room without permission.

                He blinks in surprise, as if having forgotten about the injury entirely, glancing down at it. “Oh? Fine, I guess.”

                When he gets a step closer, you scrunch up your nose. “Joong, you stink, no offense. You smell like fifty bars threw up on you.”

                Hongjoong immediately looks affronted, grabbing the front of his shirt and sniffing it. He smells of booze, cigarette smoke and the city in general. “I don’t smell anything.”

                “Of course you don’t, you’re just soaking in it.”

                “Well,” He sways a little on his feet, “I’ll shower.”

                You narrow your eyes at your roommate, sliding off the bed and braving the smell to look closer at his face. “Are you drunk?”

                “Still drunk, actually, because I was drunk last night, remember.”

                “Fucking hell, what have you been doing since I got back here?”

                “Uh….drinking.”

                “Okayyy,” You drag the word out, gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders and turning him to face the door, “Why don’t we get you in bed to sleep this off and then you can shower? Last thing I want to deal with before I move is you falling in the shower and hurting yourself.”

                “This jerk challenged Mingi and I to a drinking contest,” Hongjoong explains sourly, “I lost.”

                “Clearly. How did Mingi fare?”

                “He won,” He replies brightly, his words slurring at the edge, “We spent the winnings on more booze.”

                “Wonderful, truly. Let’s move it along, please.”

                “Wait, wait,” His hand reaches out for the doorframe, the nail polish completely chipped off the thumb, “Wait.” His slender fingers grip the wood, knuckles turning white for a second.

                You release your hold on his shoulders as Hongjoong turns around to face you. In the evening sun coming through the window, it is clearer now that he is intoxicated. This isn’t new behavior for him. In the four years of being his roommate, you’ve made a point in not asking the following: what he does when he’s out with his friends when you’re not around and how he makes his money to pay rent. Some knowledge is better off not knowing.

                “You’re moving soon so it doesn’t matter,” He declares – to you? to himself? You’re not sure.

                “What doesn’t matter?”

                “All of it.”

                “Can you be a little more specific?” You are trying to keep impatience from creeping into your tone, casting a glance at the collection of clothes you need to get back to overthinking about.

                “There’s something I need to talk to you about. Ask you about? Uhm,” His brow furrows in drunken confusion for a second before he continues, “It’s about me.”

                “Should we discuss this now?” You say with a small sigh.

                “You’re moving so I wanted to ask if you could do me a favour.”

                “I’m not helping you hide a body.”

                “N-no, what? No, not that. Besides, I’d ask Hwa for help with something like that. He’s very meticulous.”

                “Can you please get to the point?”

                Hongjoong suddenly looks a bit unsure of himself which is strange to see. You can’t actually recall ever seeing the expression on his face before and it ushers you into silence, wondering with a quickening heart what in the world he is going to tell you.

                His words are still slurred so you lean a little closer to him (much to your chagrin, given the smell) to try to understand what he is saying.

                “Since you’re moving, I wanted to ask if you would – well, the thing is. You know, I’ve fooled around a lot. But never…you know. So I was wondering if you would. With me.”

                You blink at him, unable to comprehend what Hongjoong is trying to say. If it had been anyone else talking, you would have assumed they were trying to tell you they were a virgin. But that would be ridiculous given the fact this is Hongjoong, who seemed to naturally have people drawn to him. You also definitely saw him making out with people in bars before too…

                As the silence drags on, Hongjoong shifts uncomfortably. That same fragile expression is on his face, a far cry from the usual cocky grin he carried.

                “I’m sorry, are you telling me that you’re a…virgin?” You finally ask point blank when it became clear that your roommate is not going to speak more.

                Hongjoong blinks and to your surprise, there is a touch of colour across his cheeks as he replies stiffly, “Yes.”

                “And you’re asking me to…sleep with you?”

                He clears his throat a little. “Yes.”

                You don’t know what to say and can’t really wrap your head around what he is telling you. What you do know is Hongjoong is drunk and this is not a conversation to be had at this moment. He might not even remember it come tomorrow nor the request he has made.

                Carefully, you reply, “Hongjoong, I think you should get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow, alright? But you’re intoxicated and this is more of a…. sober conversation.”

                He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and mumbles that he understands. Turning around, he shuffles out of your room and down the hall to his own space, closing the door firmly behind him. You hover in the doorway, waiting for…well, you aren’t sure. Was he upset that you pushed the conversation off? Even if he is, you know you did the right thing.

                When it is clear Hongjoong isn’t going to reappear, you quietly shut the door and stare at your bed.

                How is it possible that your roommate is a virgin? He is exceptionally good with people, charming even - when he wanted to be. Sure, he might throw a punch here or there or…often but you also witnessed him flirting constantly with people.

                On the other hand, now that you’re thinking about it, you cannot recall Hongjoong ever bringing someone back to the apartment to spend the night. But you just assumed that he was sleeping with people elsewhere.

                Apparently, he wasn’t.

                So I was wondering if you would. With me.

                For all Hongjoong’s tendencies to get in trouble, you always considered him a friend. But the thoughts never crossed into anything else. You never pictured yourself taking things further with him. He had been your roommate for years, why mess that up with sex?

                Since you’re moving…obviously Hongjoong gave this some thought before drunkenly suggesting you take his virginity. There isn’t anything to ruin when you’re moving out. If the sex was terrible or awkward, Hongjoong knew you’d be on the other side of the city. Through that lens, it made sense why he asked you.

                Tomorrow, you think, I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow when he’s sober.

*

                Late afternoon the next day, you stand outside Hongjoong’s door. He slept almost the entire day, waking up only two hours ago and taking an incredibly long shower. The kitchen smells of coffee and half the pot is already gone. His room is mostly quiet although the low hum of a TV show lets you know he is up.

                You aren’t sure how to approach this conversation. You’ve seen Hongjoong punch multiple people, you’ve seen him get hauled out of bar fights by Jongho, you’ve watched him fix up a motorcycle for an illegal street race and have lost count at watching Seonghwa patch him up.

                But you’ve never had a conversation about his sexual history or how it might include you.

                Lecturing Hongjoong is second nature to you, to the point that you sometimes think he enjoys the speeches. Talking to Hongjoong about his virginity? Yeah, you’re out of your element. You’re hoping that he was so drunk last night that he made the whole thing up.

                But the expression on his face during his confession lingers in your mind, giving you a sneaking suspicion there wasn’t anything false about it.

                Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door. You hear something clatter to the floor and then a shuffling of Hongjoong’s feet. A second later, he opens the door, avoiding your eyes.

                “Hey.”

                “Hi, Joong. How are you feeling? Hungover?”

                “No,” He says almost defensively as if being hungover would be a slight on his character, “Just tired.”

                “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

                His eyes flick up to yours. There is a wariness that has settled across his delicate face. He remembers the conversation, you think as he moves to the side to let you into his room. The blinds are pulled shut over the window. The TV has some show on at a low volume, the screen brightness so dimmed that you know he is definitely hungover since it must hurt his eyes.

                Hongjoong is wearing an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants. He looks somehow smaller than ever. Even with the eyebrow and lip piercings, you don’t think that it is possible to recall a time where he looked so tiny. He also smells a thousand times better than yesterday; the scent of clean laundry and soap clings to him in an almost comforting way.

                You sit gingerly on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed. One side of his room is a chaotic mess of paintings in progress, a collection of paints shoved on top of his dresser in a teetering tower, completely unorganized. Hongjoong didn’t keep it a secret that he was an artist but the amount of people who knew probably could be counted on your fingers. He never showed his finished work to anyone and you only caught glimpses the rare times you were in his room.

                Hongjoong just stands there, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. You have no idea how to start this conversation.

                “Listen, this is kinda awkward for me,” You begin, “But I have to talk to you about a conversation we had yesterday when you were drunk.”

                “I remember it,” His tone is defensive, straightening himself out so that he looks as tall as possible.

                You’ve never had his attitude directed at you before but are familiar with it. Right now, however, it comes off as artificial, an act to protect himself from however this talk goes.

                “Great, okay. Were you telling the truth?”

                “Why would I lie?”

                “Maybe you found it funny.”

                “Why would that be funny?” He snaps, his agitation and anxiety too powerful to be masked by his tough guy exterior.

                You shrug. “Seeing my reaction about something like that. You might believe that I would find something amusing about an admission like that. I don’t, by the way. But when you’re drunk, sometimes what we find funny can be different.”

                Hongjoong narrows his eyes slightly, crossing his arms. He looks as defensive as ever but you get the feeling he is crossing his arms more to mentally protect himself, not because he is actually hostile. “You don’t find it funny?”

                “No. So, it’s true then? You’re a virgin?”

                Hongjoong flinches at the word and then scowls. “Yes.”

                “Not to lecture you but you do know virginity is just a social construct –”

                He waves one hand dismissively as if swatting a fly. “Don’t start. I already know. I’ve read it online a thousand times. And it’s not like I have zero experience. Casually making out in bars or whatever happen often enough.”

                “Right,” You reply, “But anything more than that…”

                He averts his gaze, still on edge. “Nothing. It isn’t that I’m against it. I just built it up too much in my head and now it’s some gigantic thing that gives me anxiety. I’ve had a thousand different ideas. I’ve thought about just finding someone at one of the bars or one of the shows I go to and fucking them behind the stage or something and getting it over with. I don’t want it to be some fucking…cuddly romantic thing. But when it comes to pulling the trigger, I just never seem to.”

                “And the idea to ask me?”

                There is a flicker of embarrassment that is wiped cleanly away by his earlier expression of hostility as he replies, “You’re moving. So, if it is awkward or terrible, it doesn’t matter. I won’t ever have to see you again. It can’t ruin us being roommates cuz you’ll be gone. You understand?”

                “Yeah, I get it. But there needs to be…a level of attraction for sleeping together to work, Hongjoong. And I have to admit that I never thought of you that way because you’re my roommate.”

                Hongjoong tentatively sits next to you on the edge of the bed although his posture looks as if he is ready to flee at any second. “Yeah, but we’re not going to be come next week. So…think about it.”

                You study his profile since he remains steadfastly looking ahead. The curve of his elegant nose, the fragility of his features – no amount of piercings could erase those things. Even his hands resting in his lap look to be made from porcelain, the bandage still wrapped around his knuckles making you wonder how he hasn’t broken a bone from throwing punches.

                You try to picture Hongjoong approaching your bed, stripping your clothes off your body, his fingers running across your skin. His lips against yours, the way his breathing would change when he would be turned on. He would probably still be in control when it came to sex, judging from how he is in everything else, even if it would be entirely new to him. The idea of him turning into a whimpering mess seems unlikely to happen.

                “Just think about it,” Hongjoong goes, “I know it’s…an unusual request. But I feel comfortable with you. I don’t think the anxiety would be so bad knowing you’re moving out and if it sucks, it won’t matter. That’s why I want it to be you and no one else.”

                You stand up, skin strangely hot and nod. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

                Hongjoong looks relieved, nodding. “Great. Well, listen, I gotta clean my bedsheets cuz they smell like booze and I have half a pot of coffee left to go so…”

                “Right, I’m going now,” You say, eyes darting to his hands one last time, thinking about how they’d feel against your thighs, “Thanks for the talk.”

                Hongjoong shrugs with the air of forced casual indifference which you see right through but won’t point out. You close the door, mulling over what it would be like to sleep with him. He’s right in that there wouldn’t be any downsides. You’re moving so if it’s terrible, does it matter? It would be so easy to tumble into bed with him.

                Once you’re back in your own room, you flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

                So think about it.

                Hongjoong makes it sound so simple. That causes you to wonder how long he had been thinking about it, how long he imagined sleeping with you. He never gave any indication about such things but he also hides everything under his tough guy exterior.

                In your four years of being roommates with Hongjoong, you always trusted and got along with him. Sure, his life was not one you fully understood nor wanted for your own but he seemed at ease in it. There was the time your car broke down and he sent Yeosang out to pick you up immediately. The rare time you’d attend a rock show with Hongjoong and he would viciously push any guy who tried to get a little too touchy feeling with you under the guise of being smushed in the crowd. Sometimes, after vanishing for a few days, he would reappear with your favourite Starbucks order for no reason at all. Or that one time your relationship ended because your ex cheated on you and Hongjoong played innocent when they showed up and accused him of keying his car. Not to mention the fact Hongjoong just punched that guy last night for being vulgar…

                “Oh god,” You mumble, suddenly sitting up.

                Of course it had been easy for Hongjoong to imagine sleeping with you. The gestures that you just assumed were typical roommate ones and hadn’t questioned are now very clearly indications of a larger interest in you. You’re only seeing it now because of his confession of his virginity and asking to lose it to you, of all people.

                So think about it, he said, carefully hiding his emotions underneath the veneer of indifference and attitude.

                You lay back down and finally, truly, think about it.

*

                Hongjoong promptly vanishes the next two days. You have never noticed his absence before, always enjoying having a roommate that didn’t spend a lot of time at home. But with the last conversation being so serious, the silence feels intentional as if he is worried hanging around will create some sort of pressure on the choice you need to make.

                With your old job winding down and the move mostly organized and settled, you spend a lot of time thinking about sleeping with Hongjoong. You carefully weigh the pros and cons, you consider what it would do to any possible friendship you could have with him after the move, and then you think about how he more than likely has been interested in you for years and just would never say anything about it. In fact, he seems content to let you go without asking you to go out on a date.

                With anyone else, you’d assume this is because he is more interested in using you to rip the ‘virgin’ label off him. However, you know your roommate well enough to be aware that he wouldn’t act like that. In suggesting this to you, and mentioning his earlier anxiety about having sex, you believe that his feelings for you just make the entire process simpler and less stressful. He seems to be aware that, up until now, you have never looked at him in anything other than the light of a roommate and he didn’t want to ruin that by telling you of his affections.

                But tonight, you texted him asking to talk and a few hours later, a little after eight pm, the front door of the apartment opens and you hear Hongjoong’s boots against the floor. You are nervous, unsure how this is going to play out. There is silence and then a hard knock on the door.

                After telling him to come in, he opens the door and hovers in the entrance. Tonight he’s wearing a white button up and as usual, it is a little too large for him. It is purposely untucked although he has a black belt looped around it, smushing the fabric against his waist. His jeans don’t even have any holes in them and his nails are freshly painted black.

                “Wow,” You say by way of greeting, “You look almost presentable.”

                He rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips quirk up for a second. “New exhibit at the museum started and sometimes the staff gets bitchy if the people going during the opening week don’t look super presentable. There’s no official dress code there but you know what I mean. I didn’t feel like having a lot of old people gawk at me while I was looking at the paintings.”

                 “Right, I understand.”

                There is a beat of silence. Hongjoong leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You can almost see the walls going up as he prepares for rejection.

                “Anyway, you wanted to talk?” He prompts.

                You wish he wasn’t on the other side of the room while you sit on your bed. But you know better than to make Hongjoong feel cornered, especially with such a sensitive discussion on the table.

                “I wanted to talk about our conversation the other day. I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”

                “Alright…” He trails off, quickly masking the sudden insecurity that is hitting him by darting his eyes away from you.

                You inhale slowly and then go, “I want to. If you still are interested, I mean.”

                Hongjoong’s eyes snap back in your direction, the surprise written all over his face. The vulnerability shown there takes you by surprise, a glimpse underneath his cool exterior that you weren’t prepared for.

                But then the look is gone, replaced with that typical hard expression. He narrows his eyes, pushing away from the doorframe and towards you. “Do you mean it? You’re not just saying this because you feel pressured? Because it’s fine if you don’t want to.”

                “I don’t feel pressured. I want to.”     

                “Why?” His tone is laced with hostility, another defense mechanism he’s deploying in navigating this conversation.

                Hongjoong stands in front of you now, smelling of clean laundry and his familiar cologne still clinging to his skin. Tilting your face to look upwards at him, you speak.

                “Because your logic makes sense. If it’s awkward or terrible, I’m moving and we don’t ever have to see one another again. We’ve known each other for years. I’m comfortable with you. And…” You steel yourself for the next comment, unsure how he will take it. “And I figured it out. How you feel about me.”

                Hongjoong goes very still, staring at you with a careful blank stare on his face. But for all his attempts at coming off indifferent, he flexes the fingers of his right hand to try to steady his nerves.

                You continue to talk, although it is in a bit of a faster voice than before, nervous Hongjoong is going to take something the wrong way and leave. “I know you didn’t mean for me to learn that you might see more as more than friends or a roommate. I only realized it after you asked me about sleeping together. I understand your reasoning more now; it isn’t just about the fact I am moving away. Your feelings about me make the entire thing a little more comfortable, a little less anxiety inducing. I get it.”

                “I don’t want you sleeping with me out of pity,” He replies stiffly.

                “I’m not.”

                “How is this not pity?” He says hotly.

                “Because you told me to think about it. About being with you. So, I thought about it.”

                “And?” He demands, refusing to budge from his hostility.

                You take a steadying breath and bring your hands carefully forward, gently grabbing onto the belt around his waist, giving it a small tug to bring Hongjoong closer. “And I want you,” You say simply.

                Something in his fragile face seems to shift at the words, like small cracks in fine china. One second, he stands in front of you defensive and on edge. In the next second, he is bending down to cup your cheeks in his hands, his lips hot against yours. You gasp in surprise, muffled in the kiss. Even with all your daydreaming about him since his admission of being a virgin, the reality of Hongjoong kissing you is a bit surreal.

                Your hands grip his belt, pulling on it to lead him onto the bed as you lay back against the pillows, not breaking the kiss. His tongue slips in your mouth and there is heat growing in your body like a slow wave. You weren’t expecting the kiss to be this intense, unsure what it would be like to actually have him in this manner.

                The kiss ends suddenly and Hongjoong is peering closely at your face. His breathing is uneven and his normally guarded expression is open with all the concerns and worries floating around in his head.

                You are slightly disoriented from the kiss, wondering why he stopped.

                “Do you want to keep going?” He asks in a soft voice, the softest you’ve heard from him.

                You swallow hard, disbelieving that he does not see the impact the kiss had on you. “Yeah, unless…unless you’re having second thoughts.”

                “I’m not,” He goes and there is that same defiance creeping back in his tone, that jagged edge of his personality you have grown so accustomed to over the years. “I just wasn’t sure if you were.”

                “I’m not, Joong. I want – I mean, you can kiss me again. If you want.”

                His lips are back against yours, not requiring another suggestion nor word from you. This time, your hands circle around his waist, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hands, holding onto him while continuing to kiss. All that making out must have paid off because Hongjoong’s kisses are the type that leave you breathless, your heart thrumming in your chest like a trapped bird.

                But he sticks to kissing and it strikes you that he is not going to be as in charge or bossy as you previously thought. He is simply too shy to act on what he wants, tying into his story about his anxiety and how it kept him from losing his virginity.

                You begin to kiss along his jawline and down his neck. The touch makes him shiver and you realize how sensitive he is. Carefully, you bring one hand upwards to his hair, the blue strands curling around your fingers, feeling the softness against your skin. Hongjoong’s breath hitches; it is a foreign sound to you, something entirely brand new from a person you believed to know almost everything about.

                “Does that feel nice?” You ask quietly in between kissing along his neck.

                Hongjoong makes a soft humming noise in response, a mixture of too shy and too turned on to speak. Carefully, you change positions so that he is now underneath your body. You’re straddling him, leaning forward to drape your body against his, finding his lips once more. His hands tentatively move along your sides, just brushing underneath your shirt to touch bare skin.

                Your body shivers from the slight touch which seems to give Hongjoong confidence because his fingers trail upwards, underneath your shirt and stopping right where your bra begins. He is stiff in his jeans and it is difficult to hold back and not grind down against his body just to hear what your roommate sounds like turned on.

                Moving your hand away from Hongjoong’s hair, you bring it to meet where his hovers. Carefully, you cover his hand with yours, allowing it to travel upwards to your bra. His breathing has quickened as he begins to grope you. Shyly, his other hand comes to your chest, squeezing your tits as you resume kissing him.

                Your tongue is in his mouth and your brain is overrun by the scent of him, the sensation of his hands, how he feels underneath your body. You’re wet, you realize with a jolt, turned on by Hongjoong and the gentle unraveling of him occurring so close to you.

                The kiss breaks and this time you’re studying Hongjoong’s face. There is a hint of colour in his cheeks, his lips are flushed from all the making out and he has one tiny hickey already forming on the delicate skin of his neck. You don’t even recall giving it to him.

                The expression in his eyes is one of an unraveling – his typical tough guy posture is being pulled away like a cover off a painting, exposing the centre of Hongjoong in a way that you have never seen before.

                The desire to see Hongjoong completely undone hits you squarely in the chest. It is a powerful urge to see what he looks and sounds like when he is experiencing intense pleasure. You pull off your t-shirt, tossing it to the side. Hongjoong swallows hard, eyes widening while you unclasp your bra and bring his hands back up to your bare breasts.

                He seems entranced with groping them, brushing his fingertips across your nipples. When it makes you shiver, he repeats the action, clearly studying what makes you react the most. You’re swiftly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, stopping to remove his belt which drops off the bed with a clatter. He sits up slightly as you peel it off his shoulders, removing it entirely and leaving Hongjoong bare chested.

                Running your hands down his chest, you take in the sight of his toned chest and hard abdomen. Experimentally, you rock your hips just a little, just enough to put some pressure on his groin. He inhales sharply, eyes closing for a moment. Hongjoong is a delicate thing underneath you, sensitive to any and all pleasure that is entirely brand new to him.

                You slide off him, kicking off your shorts and unzipping his pants. He lifts his hips to allow them to be removed, leaving him in just his boxers. Your gaze turns to Hongjoong, making sure he is doing okay. There is a look of determination in his eyes to keep going although there is still the same hint of vulnerability that grows stronger every time an article of clothing is removed.

                “You wanna keep going?” You check in.

                Hongjoong nods firmly although his voice is soft when replying, “Don’t stop.”

                Your hand glides over his thigh and up to his boxers, rubbing him gently. There is a small moan from him, so quiet as if he is holding back. You squeeze his cock through the boxers and his eyes close tightly, mumbling a curse under his breath.

                Slowly, you pull down his boxers, freeing his cock from them. Hongjoong is stiff and warm, the heavy weight of his length against his stomach. You wrap your hand around his cock and he whimpers. Having never heard such a noise from him before, you stop, letting him get used to the sensation.

                But Hongjoong doesn’t seem to be interested in stopping because in a breathless voice he goes, “P-please.”

                Hearing him so desperate leaves you unable to refuse. You spit in the palm of your hand and slowly stroke Hongjoong’s length, fighting the urge to take him in your mouth. But you don’t want to overwhelm Hongjoong with too much, not now, not for his first time. Instead, you lean forward and plant one kiss on the tip which elicits a groan from your roommate.

                “Is there a certain way you’d like to do this?” You ask, wanting him to make all the choices.

                Hongjoong opens his eyes, casting a look downward while you stroke his length. His breathing is shallow, his pupils blown out with desire and his blue hair framing his elegant face.

                “Just…if you could…” His shyness is growing by the second, completely unlike every conversation you’ve ever had before with him, “If you could be on top,” He finishes quickly, the colour in his cheeks deepening.

                You’re surprised again at how Hongjoong is like putty in your hands, so swift to give over all control and let you lead the process. For someone who is usually outspoken and bossy, this turn is enticing. Seeing your roommate crumble from every touch makes the pull towards him even more acute.

                Slipping your underwear off, you straddle Hongjoong. His cock presses in between your folds and he moans again. His blue hair is splayed against the pillow, a bright splash of electric ocean that only highlights his small frame and tender appearance.

                Positioning yourself so that his cock is at your entrance, you lower your hips. His cock pushes inside your wet hole and Hongjoong groans louder, his head rolling back as the pleasure engulfs his length. He enters easily, your pussy slick with juices from just exploring and touching him. When he is fully inside your cunt, you go still, letting him get used to being inside you.

                Hongjoong is unspooling in front of you. All the previous hostile energy he used to protect himself is gone. The fragility on display now is both a turn on and endearing. His bandaged hand grips the bed sheets, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. The colour deepens across his cheeks, making him look almost like a sunset across the ocean.

                You lean forward and kiss him. He tilts his face to meet your lips, the desperation evident in how he moves his tongue and the way he is trembling underneath your body. You still don’t move your hips, enjoying the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock buried in you.

                He is kissing along your jaw and down your neck, growing bold enough to bring his hands around your back, gently indicating to move forward a little. As you do so, your pussy tightens around his cock and Hongjoong groans again as his lips find your nipples, placing one in your mouth so he can suck on them. Your hands are next to his head, gripping the sheets as you begin to move your hips back, starting to ride him.

                Hongjoong switches to your other nipple, his teeth grazing the skin as he gropes your other breast with his hand. When he slips your nipple out of his mouth, his hands go to your shoulders, pulling you back down so that he can kiss you again. Your lips meet his hungrily as the rocking of your hips steadily increases. His tongue is messy in your mouth, his hands against your back, a whimpering mess with each movement taken.

                You pull away, straightening out on top of him, beginning to properly bounce on his cock now. All the years of being roommates are wiped away by the sight of Hongjoong delirious with pleasure. His hands glide down to your hips as the noises tumble from his lips. Hongjoong is not quiet in the slightest; there is none of the silenced pleasure you are so used to having from your past lovers. His eyes are closed once more and his eyelashes lay against his skin like small whisps of a raven’s feathers. He arches his hips at one point as you sink down on his cock and your hands lay flat against his stomach. The muscles are hard underneath your fingers and your speed increases, driving your pussy down faster to get a stronger reaction out of Hongjoong.

                It works. Whatever else residing in his brain is quickly wiped away from how good it feels. He curses loudly, his eyes opening to reveal a hazy expression of lust and desire. A strand of his blue hair lays across his forehead, his tongue pokes out from in between his lips, and his grip tightens on your hips. He is a mess, each ragged gasp and whimper his way of wishing that the pleasure would never stop, a desperate plea to extend this moment forever. It is difficult to merge the Hongjoong underneath you – the one with the flushed skin, ragged breathing and slender frame trembling – as your roommate who punched a guy from mouthing off the other night, the same man who showed no hesitation in telling someone off for the slightest mistake.

                It is even trickier to accept that it is you making him feel this way. You are unsure what Hongjoong pictured for his first time but did he know how he would crumble when put against your body? Did he know that everything would be this intense due to a mixture of his feelings for you and how long you’ve known one another? Was he aware of how he would be a writhing whimpering man far removed from how he acted in public?

                His jaw is clenched as he gasps out, “I’m gonna – I’m so close,” With desperation he pulls at you, bringing your body against his as he pleads, “Kiss me.”

                Your lips are hot on his, the kiss desperate, your tongues pressing together as you bring your hips down one final time. Hongjoong’s groan is muffled as he begins his climax. He clings to you, his arms around your back, fingernails gently pressing into your skin. The kiss ends and you watch as Hongjoong submits completely to his orgasm, erasing all signs of the roommate you once thought you knew. You can feel his warm cum in your cunt, the beautiful vulnerability of his facial expressions as he submits to the dizzying high of the climax.

                Hongjoong’s hands slide off your back, his breathing hard and fast as he tries to wipe the haze from his brain. Carefully, you move off his lap, laying down next to him. Your eyes rake across his body, admiring his small frame, his chest and messy hair. He opens his eyes and turns onto his side, propping himself up a little to stare at you. His eyebrow piercing glints in the light.

                You are unsure how to start the conversation. How do you ask your roommate if losing his virginity was enjoyable? His cum is leaking out of your pussy, something you never thought would happen. Casual conversation at this point seems asinine.

                But before you can utter a word, Hongjoong looks crossed and goes, “You didn’t cum.”

                The ever familiar expression of hostility creeps back across his pretty face, a signal to a return to form. The satisfaction that just obliterated his earlier composure is swiftly replaced by a petulant expression.

                “Oh,” You’re surprised, not thinking he noticed nor care so much, “I mean, this was more about you than me…” You trail off, taking note of his frown.

                “Who said that?” He demands, “Just teach me.”

                “Teach you what?”

                A tiny bit of timidity creeps back into his eyes but he resolutely pushes through it and goes, “How to eat your pussy.”

                It’s the dirtiest thing Hongjoong has ever said to you and momentarily renders you speechless. Finally, you nod, moving back among the pillows. Hongjoong doesn’t waste a moment, shifting so that he is in front of you. His hands are on your thighs and he gently spreads your legs apart. Having him looking at your pussy which still has his cum leaking out of it feels incredibly intimate and you’re thrown off by the sudden timidness that is sweeping over you.

                Hongjoong’s cheeks are flushing with colour again but the expression on his face is one of determination and a growing passion. He brings two fingers down along your slit, spreading your lips apart just enough to take in the sight of his cum in your hole.

                In a shaky voice, he goes, “You have a pretty pussy.” You are unsure if it is nerves making his voice quake, lust or a mixture of both. He slips his fingers in his mouth for a couple of seconds and then brings one to your entrance, pushing it inside. “Is that okay?”

                You nod but then realize Hongjoong is too busy staring at the way you’re taking his finger. “Y-yeah, that’s perfect.”

                “I like pushing my load back in you,” His voice is soft and tentative, dirty talk being something new to him, but you give him credit for pushing through his anxiety, “It looks good.”

                You bring your hand down to your clit, rubbing it a little while saying, “Bring your tongue here –” The rest of your explanation is cut off as Hongjoong doesn’t waste a second, lowering his face to your pussy and rolling his tongue across your clit.

                You curse in surprise as Hongjoong’s tongue presses against your nub, his finger pumping in your hole slowly. At first, his movements are a little awkward and unsure but with more guiding, he switches to flicking his tongue across your clit while inserting a second finger. This feels much better and Hongjoong seems pleased to hear the moans that are flowing freely from your mouth now.

                He fucks you faster with his fingers, burying them inside you. Your pussy is a mess of his cum and your wetness and as his pace accelerates, so do the lewd noises of your hole taking him. At one point, he pulls away to watch how your hole is wrapped around his fingers. He looks entranced and when he suddenly looks up, his face is covered in you and his cheeks are a deep pink.

                “Am I…am I doing okay?” He asks, unsure of himself.

                “Yes,” You breathe out, “Can you fuck me faster? And try sucking on my clit.”

                Hongjoong, apparently ever obedient in bed, wraps his lips around your swollen clit while picking up the speed of his finger thrusts. You gasp, your hand going to his hair, curling it around your fingertips. You quietly urge him to keep going, noticing that each compliment you give him only seems to make Hongjoong more determined to bring you to climax. Out of all the interesting things you’re learning about your roommate today, finding out he has an affinity to being complimented for doing a good job has to be the most surprising.

                “Don’t stop, Joong,” You plead as his fingers are buried in your cunt and he is switching between sucking and flicking his tongue over your clit as your thighs shake, “Please, you’re doing such a good job.”

                He makes a noise that is almost a sigh of contentment, not stopping for a moment. Your climax begins with one final movement of his tongue. Between his fingers and how he works your clit, you lose yourself to Hongjoong. Your grip on his hair tightens as the bliss reaches its peak. His name tumbles from your lips as he stops touching your clit and instead slips his tongue inside your hole. The slurping sounds are obscene yet he doesn’t seem to care. It is only when your orgasm finally subsides that your hold on his hair releases and you are trying to catch your breath.

                A second later, Hongjoong’s head pops up in your vision, his expression as earnest as you’ve ever seen it. “Was that good? Did I do a good job?”

                You know that it’ll be a secret taken to your grave that Hongjoong turns into a needy little thing in bed. You would never want to ruin his reputation.

                In response, you reach out, yanking him down so that the two of you are kissing. He makes a noise of surprise but returns the kiss immediately. He tastes like your arousal; he tastes like you want more of him.

*

                Stepping back into your room after cleaning up, now dressed back in your clothes, Hongjoong is just finishing doing up the last button on his dress shirt. He glances up at your entrance. His face is back in its usual neutral expression although the way his fingers shake against the button betrays his real emotions.

                “Are you leaving?” You ask curiously.

                Hongjoong nods. “Yeah, got some stuff to do.” He’s lying and you know it but don’t want to press things.

                Yet you still wonder what happens now. Knowing about his feelings for you combined with the sexual chemistry, you think it would be a shame if things just really ended here. You hadn’t expected sex to be that enjoyable nor had you thought that Hongjoong unraveling underneath your body would have looked so good.

                “Joong, before you go…”

                He looks up from zipping up his jeans, his belt hanging loosely in between his fingers. His eyes are guarded, his disposition wary. All the walls are back up.

                “Yeah?”

                “Well, I mean, is that just…it? You ‘lost’ your virginity and I just move out and we barely talk anymore?”

                His brow furrows, his piercings glinting as he walks towards you. You aren’t sure why you’re pressing this discussion now minus a gut feeling that if you don’t do it at this very moment, Hongjoong is going to slip out the front door because his vulnerability will lead him to clamming up. You’ll move out and probably never see him again.

                His back is against the doorframe, his gaze heavy on yours. His shirt hangs off him loosely, the front dipping to reveal the top of his chest. The hickey has darkened against his skin.

                “What else is there?” He juts his chin out but a flicker of anxiety in his eyes exposes him.

                “I liked being with you. It felt good and…” Slightly embarrassing to admit this aloud but you keep going, “I like you. I realized it when you were underneath me. I know you have feelings for me. Why can’t we see where this goes after I move out?”

                He looks surprised but quickly covers it up with a cocky expression, poking his finger against your hip. “You want me to ask you out on a date, don’t you?”

                “Well…yes.”

                Another poke. “You had that much fun with me?”

                “You’re fishing for compliments now.”

                “You were quick to give them out when we were fucking,” He retorts, “Why can’t I get any now?”

                “Because you’re back to being Mr. Cool Guy and I thought you don’t want any compliments unless someone is like ‘nice right hook’ or something.”

                His hand comes to a stop on your hip, looking at you with the expression of a cat that just found a glass of milk unattended. “Come out with me on a date.”

                Hongjoong has looked at you a thousand times over the years but never quite so openly as he is right now. You can feel it all the way down to your toes and it throws you completely off balance. The dichotomy of him during sex and outside of sex makes the magnetic pull stronger.

                “Okay,” You say simply as his hand snakes to your lower back and pushes you forward just enough so that he is pressing against your body, “O-oh!” You gasp in surprise and then quickly try to brush it off with the question, “What are we gonna do on the date?”

                “Don’t worry, we’ll do the typical tedious date shit,” His eyes drop to your lower half before raising one eyebrow, “Maybe afterwards though, I can do what I did earlier. I gotta admit that it was pretty fun to hear you be that loud just because of my tongue,” He leans forward, bringing his lips close to your ear, “And you tasted good too.”

                Your head spins, surprised at how easily Hongjoong can bounce back from being such a whimpering mess to openly flirting about eating you out. But Hongjoong has always displayed a cocky exterior and it didn’t look like that was going to magically change. You’re also taken aback by how weak in the knees you feel.

                Swatting his hand away, you take a step back, hoping he can’t tell how flustered you are or you’ll never hear the end of it. “Didn’t you have somewhere to be?”

                “I was lying to get out of here in case the conversation got awkward,” He openly admits, looping his belt through his jeans, shaking his blue hair out of his eyes, “But now I’m actually hungry. You wanna grab something to eat with me? Strictly in a roommate capacity.”

                “Sure. Let me get ready real quick.”

                “Alright,” He turns to walk out of your room but stops when you say his name, looking over his shoulder, “What?”

                “Do you feel any different? Now that you’re not a virgin, I mean.”

                Hongjoong looks thoughtful for a moment and then shrugs. “Nah, I feel the same. I guess because I lost it to you.” The words take you by surprise and there is a small hint of colour on his cheeks at the admission. “It just felt natural with you. You’re ah…always the one I wanted to lose it with,” He scowls then as if disgusted by opening up in such a manner, “Come on, go change. I’m seriously starving.”

                You watch him leave, shutting the door behind him. In the quiet space of your room, you press your fingers against your chest, feeling the thrum of your heart. Maybe it had been easy to overlook Hongjoong all these years due to the formality of being roommates.

                But it is evident to your mind and body that you are no longer overlooking your vulnerable yet prideful roommate thanks to his drunken declaration a few nights ago.

                Lucky you.

the end.

the king sat upon his cold iron throne and looked upon you with a treacherous glint in his eyes. it was a look that grew as time passed, as if he'd forgotten his content with hongjoong and your betrothal, and his mistrust for you and dorne had returned. the feeling of his eyes boring into you, knowing he could decide whatever you wished, made you angry. without hongjoong there to counteract the mad king's demands, you were vulnerable. you could not stand vulnerability. you could not stand that you understood why they said the kims were closer to god. not because of their dragons, but because they were above punishment. the king was allowed to dole out punishment as he wished, to whomever he wanted, and no one lifted a finger to deny him of his supposed gods-given rights.

the king's serpent grin as he bestowed his request upon you haunted your thoughts.

that night, barely a name-day after you were wedded to hongjoong, you'd found yourself eye-to-eye with a dragon you'd never seen before. a smaller one, with blue leather skin and sharp eyes. you thanked the gods, old and new, that this time the dragon did not seem in the mood to breathe fire. the kingsguard who had escorted you down to the dragonpit had long disappeared, and you'd stared at the beast as it reared its head and stalked towards you and the bloody slabs of meat you'd dropped long ago.

you were not as brave as you had been your first night you'd entered the dragonpit, and perhaps that was a testament of the years you'd spent in king's landing away from sunspear. the person who stepped off that ship and snuck into the dragonpit was long gone. your dornish curiosity, your bravery, it had all been snatched from you, and you now stood before this dragon with your heart lodged in your throat, frozen and terrified.

the dragon sniffed at the bloody meat between you both, and you knew the only reason you'd managed to move, despite the terror, was the thought that your family did not deserve to see your body returned to them in pieces.

so you'd ran. you ran from the dragon, king's orders be damned.

you ran to the to the door, your footsteps echoing through the dragonpit, an eerie sound that bounced off the walls, ringing in your ears as if even your footsteps were chasing after you. the dragon roared. the sound of it tearing at the meat, it's jaw snapping, following the roars.

your hands shook as you fiddled with the rusted steel door handle, and panic filled your stomach when the door remained firmly shut. the dragon roared once more. the sound was closer. you slammed your shoulder against the door. once. twice. thud, thud, thud.

it swung open with a clang. you stumbled into something - no, someone - sturdy and warm. hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you.

you'd blinked at him. his unruly silver hair, gritted teeth, and furrowed brows.

hongjoong was supposed to be in a strategy meeting at the other side of the red keep. the king knew as much, and you knew it too when you'd agreed to the king's demands.

he wasn't supposed to be here.

so, why was he here?

hongjoong frowned at you, his eyes narrowing into annoyance as he studied your face. for a long moment, you both merely stood at the threshold to the dragonpit. another roar from the dragon and you surged closer to hongjoong and further from the open door. hongjoong's grip on your shoulders tightened, his fingers curling around your elbow, even as he he yanked you away from the door and kicked it shut behind him.

the door slammed shut with a dull thud, drowning out the dragon’s roars, and only then did he let you go. your back hit the wall, and suddenly everything was too quiet. all you could hear was your ragged breathing and your own heart knocking against your ribs. the dragon and the dragonpit was gone, but as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, leaning against the wall, and tried to catch your breath, hongjoong's furious gaze burned hotter than the breath of a dragon. it was a fury you did not see from him anymore, though perhaps that was because you and hongjoong had barely spoken since your conversation during the bedding ceremony.

the silence over the dimly lit corridor settled between you both. he stepped closer, his vindictive eyes fixed on you as he snapped, "why the hell did you come here?"

you bristled at his tone, "your father ordered me to!"

hongjoong's eyes widened. was he truly surprised? after everything the mad king had done?

hongjoong stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, gaze skeptical and tone accusatory, "and you did not think to ask me to join you before you came here?"

"you were occupied," you spat, rolling your eyes.

despite your tone, you slumped against the wall behind you, hand over your heart to calm it. hongjoong's scowl was a burning thing, his gaze digging into your skull. you pointedly ignored it in liege of catching your bearings.

eventually he spoke, tone scathing, "you are an idiot."

you scowled at hongjoong, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at your expression. if anyone deserved his wrath, it was his father. not you.

"your father has always been mad, and i've looked past it same as the rest of you. however, i cannot ignore this. he demanded this of me knowing damn well you would be occupied. clearly he wishes upon my death," you'd bit out, hiding at an ache on your arm. perhaps the dragon did not breathe fire, but it had clawed at you, the same way the mad king had with his own claws.

there was a scratch along your arm, right above the burn from long ago. blood trickled down your forearm. you stared at it for a long moment, unable to recall how you'd gotten it. now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp sting of the wound was at the forefront of your mind.

you turned your scowl on hongjoong, watching as his gaze flit to your wounded arm and remained fixed there. he did not, you noticed, deny your accusation. yours was a heavy, treasonous statement to make against the king of westeros. especially to his son. he should have denied it.

you frowned at his silence, "you are aware of this?"

it was a question you knew the answer to.

hongjoong stood with his arms crossed over his chest. he grit his teeth, "my father believes i wish to usurp him using your father's support."

"and why would he believe something as absurd as that?" you asked, warily.

hongjoong's dragged his hand through his silver-white hair, shrugging. his gaze left yours, fixing over your shoulder, over nothing. it wasn’t the most absurd idea, not in this mad court.

"he is the mad king, y/n.” he emphasized mad king as if that were explanation enough.

"so what? some of his mad thoughts are not always unfounded," you said, narrowing your eyes at hongjoong as you watched him fidget. you've come to learn that hongjoong did not fidget as others did. it was subtle. a moment's glance away, a tap of his fingers against his forearm. they were all subtle signs you'd picked up from sleeping in his chambers, and you were not sure if you liked this newfound ability of yours. it only made you wonder what habits hongjoong had noticed of yours.

hongjoong stood before you, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to keep speaking. how he knew you would was beyond you.

you crossed your arms over your chest when the silence stretched on too long, "so, do you wish to usurp him? is that what the mad king’s vendetta is about?”

"i am no kinslayer," hongjoong glowered.

you'd raised a skeptical brow in response, "only because kinslaying is socially irredeemable."

"must you always think the worst of me?"

you snorted, "am i incorrect in my assumption, then? that the king’s anger is unfounded?”

hongjoong then let out the smallest of laughs, a bubble of a thing that graced his annoyed features. he shook his head, but he did not answer you. instead, he said, "come. let us tend to your wound."

you drew your arm to your chest, narrowing your eyes at his attempt to dodge your questions.

hongjoong merely held his hand out, waiting.

you glared at him and the offending hand, "you did not answer me."

"because i do not want to."

"then i will take it to be true, usurper."

"you’ve made up your mind already. will it make a difference? if it were true or not?”

you'd blinked at his expression. he shook his outstretched palm at you, an impatient movement.

you both knew that even if hongjoong truly did wish to usurp the throne, you'd still be entangled in the king's plots. you would remain a target. and if it wasn't true? the king would still continue to plot against you both. he was mad, after all, even if some of his madness was not unfounded. he hated dorne, and you were of dorne. he hated his son, and you were his spouse.

“yes, your admission would.” you cradled your arm to your chest. you clarified, "make a difference, i mean."

"how?"

"you'd have told me the truth."

"do we do that now?"

you frowned, "i suppose not."

hongjoong smiled, and it was a soft thing. he shook his head, before he held his hand out once more.

after a moment, you placed your injured hand in his. he held it carefully, and you'd ignored the way your chest ached.

in the year or so that you'd been wedded to hongjoong, nothing had truly changed. little things had changed here and there. he bothered you less than he used to, and your septa no longer reprimanded you for the way you responded to him.

other than that, he continued on with his lessons and his meetings. you continued on with your sword and riding lessons, and attended events and meetings as duty called.

the only difference that mattered was you and hongjoong slept in the same room together. nightly routines meant you'd lay in his too-big bed until sleep came, and sometimes you'd stir awake in the middle night when hongjoong entered the chambers and readied himself for bed. some mornings, you woke at the same time as him, and you ignored him getting dressed as you stepped into the bathing room to dress yourself or draw yourself a bath, not bothering to call for the servants. hongjoong never left the room when he wished to get dressed, much to your annoyance. still, most mornings, you woke to his bed empty.

some days, during banquets or jousting matches, you'd have to arrive alongside hongjoong. he'd hold his arm out for you to hook your arm through his elbow and the servants would dress you both in matching colors. he'd cock his brow in amusement as you took his offered arm, but he maintained a polite distance otherwise as he led you to the tourney or banquet. you'd made it a point every jousting match to not once give him your flower wreath and bestow him your favor. at banquets you sat next to him and not once did you turn to speak to him.

at one of the jousting tourneys, hongjoong waited at the foot of the stands for your favor, his silver-white hair pushed back from his eyes as he held his jousting sword out in your direction, his armor glinting under the sunlight. you'd treaded right past him, placing it upon the sword of ser eunwoo of the riverlands instead. hongjoong's eyes had flashed, even as he let out a loud bellowing laugh that rang loud in your ears. his grin was a wide terror of a thing. to the people of the court, your behavior was all fun and games between newly weds. teasing, good fun. sometimes, there were whispers that it was something less kind, but no one truly dared speak ill of the heir at court. the mad king was one thing, but the mad king's son was an entirely different matter. you knew it angered hongjoong, however, when you undermined him so publicly, but you doubted he cared otherwise. his sword was always adorned by flower wreath after flower wreath, favor upon favor, from too many to count. you were a wreath among many others. what did your favor matter to him?

ser eunwoo, ser baekhyun, every knight you'd ever favored in hongjoong's stead, ended up sprawled across the ground with his helmet gone and his nose or arm or fingers or some other appendage broken or severely injured from the impact of hongjoong’s jousting sword. hongjoong always tugged at his horse's reins as he galloped back and forth after in celebration, the crowd cheering him on. once you’d dared meet his eyes through the crowd, and his dark eyes glinted as his grin widened.

when he'd defeated ser eunwoo, your favor had flown from ser eunwoo's broken jousting sword, and he'd scooped it up and placed it on his, waving his sword to and fro to the sound of crowd howling at his act. your heart raced against your ribs and your stomach turned. you'd watched as hongjoong galloped to where you stood in the stands, reining his horse in. he held his sword out to you, and the tourney grew silent in anticipation. your favor slipped from the tip of his sword and fell to the floor in front of you, past your limp hands. he grinned, all teeth and fire in his eyes, before he dismounted his horse and turned away, bowing to the crowd.

"you could have killed him," you'd admonished afterwards, when you both left together in hongjoong's carriage.

you'd reminded him of that fact every time he did such a thing.

every time, hongjoong shrugged in response and said, "if you worry for their lives, why do you give them your favor?"

you'd frowned and hongjoong had laughed.

the next tournament, you kept your favor in your lap, defiant as you met hongjoong's gaze. he won the match and dumped all the favors he'd received in front of your feet, and his grin was not as wild as it once had been. the audience hooted with glee. hongjoong turned away from you.

"quite a lover's quarrel, huh?" yeosang asked with a grin and a congratulatory pat to hongjoong's back before he opened the carriage door, after that particular tourney incident.

hongjoong narrowed his eyes at yeosang, and you were shocked he did not strangle yeosang where he stood. it was a testament, you thought, to their bond, and it always made your chest tight to see evidence of such a thing when you had nothing. the carriage ride home was a long and silent.

some days, you'd believed the kims were closer to god than to the rest of you, but on days like this you knew they were the same as any other person. human and angry and begrudging as the rest of you. it made you laugh, a bubbling giggle escaping your lips, and hongjoong glanced sideways at you before he huffed and fixed his gaze out the carriage window.

~.~.~.~.~

a year prior, the sun beat down over your heads as you stood at port. the smell of rotting fish invaded your senses and you could almost taste it on your tongue alongside the sea salt carried with the ocean breeze. the heat of the sun trickled down your spine. you did not know when king's landing's sun became hotter than dorne's, but you thought it fitting that you'd notice it now, as you stood on the docks and watched your father's knights ready his ship.

dorne's flag - orange with a yellow spear piercing a red sun - fluttered high in the sky. it beckoned to you, and you wanted so badly to join your family. you wanted so badly to return to dorne, to touch the sands of sunspear and take meals alongside your brothers. you wanted so badly to find forgiveness for your father, to kneel at your mother's feet and eat the fruits she'd cut for you while she massaged hot oil into your hair. you dreamt of those evenings, her fingers gentle on your scalp while she hummed an ancient melody she said her mother had taught her. you'd asked her to teach you once, and she hummed and said she would when her duties allowed her rest. she'd never gotten around to it. you wanted so badly to learn it now.

you wanted your family. you wanted dorne. you wanted to leave.

your chest ached with the want.

that day, mingi stood at your side, instead of hongjoong. the king, queen, and hongjoong had already said their farewells to your family in the throne room. you hadn't been there. you'd woken to an empty bed, and an anxious thrum deep in your bones. you'd wrapped a cloak over your sleep clothes and stumbled to the chamber doors. at the threshold to hongjoong's chambers, you found mingi and two other kingsguard you did not recognize standing guard outside hongjoong's chambers.

they all stood with their heads held high, eyes boring straight ahead. not once did any of them look your way. not even mingi. in just one night, so much had changed. all because of a few vows.

you had not realized the true impact of wedding hongjoong until that moment.

you cleared your throat, and you asked, "where is the prince?"

surely, he'd have been left alone the night after his wedding as you had been. you thought of the conversation that transpired between you, but you took care to pack away the conversation, the whole night. you did not care to linger on it. now, especially, was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters.

one of the other kingsguard spoke loudly, his voice grating on your frazzled nerves. he did not look at you. neither of them did. was that how you would be treated now? as someone so respected, they saw right through you?

"the prince has gone to see the king's guests off in the throne room, my liege. the king has ordered that they all depart immediately.”

you'd blinked at that. why hadn't you been told that your family would be departing so soon? why were they leaving so soon?

you knew why, but you still could not fathom that it was happening.

you'd clutched the door, voice rough even to your own ears, "when?"

no one said anything.

"when did they leave?" your voice rose, and only then did they look at you. really look at you. you did not recognize any of them. mingi, however, met your gaze with sympathy. pity almost, and you held your breath in anticipation. you expected him to say they'd already left. that you'd slept through their departure, and this time you hadn't had a chance to say your goodbyes.

but then he said, "they're being escorted to the port. they are to leave when the sun is highest in the sky."

"i want to see them."

"my liege -"

"i demand to see them off," you scowled at mingi, "were you ordered to keep me here?"

mingi shook his head. “not me.”

the other kingsguard threw him a look.

you'd tied your cloak securely around yourself and stepped out into the hall, "then i am going."

a day ago, the kingsguard would have ignored your demands completely. even mingi, because despite your companionship with him, he answered to the crown first.

this time, however, they'd exchanged nervous looks, shifting from foot-to-foot, before mingi stepped forward and said, "i will escort them to port.”

the other kingsguard frowned, "what if the prince...?"

mingi shrugged, "i will take full responsibility if the prince wishes to punish us."

so mingi had brought you to port with an urgency you appreciated. throughout the walk there, mingi remained silent. steadfast. as if he was a stranger and you were meeting him all over again. perhaps, that was what happened when one becomes the heir's spouse.

now, he stood by your side. your mother had already stroked your cheek and insisted you stay warm. her voice was a soft, choked thing, and you'd pulled her into another hug. she'd pulled away first, and you felt a part of your heart walking away with her.

your father pressed a hand to your mother's shoulder as she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back, giving him room. he searched your gaze for a long, long time. an inkling of rage settled in your stomach as he said, "i am proud of you."

you did not want the burden of his pride. you only wanted to go home. you dipped your head, murmured, "thank you, father."

your father pushed your hair from your face, and he smiled sadly at what he saw in your expression. perhaps he could see the anger and longing in your eyes. then he joined your mother with another piece of your heart. they walked aboard the ship hand in hand, and waited.

you watched them, until you were tugged sideways, into a warm embrace. you let out a gasp of surprise, before you clung to him. the ache in your chest grew, and your fingers curled around the back of his shirt. you looked up at wooyoung's face as he leaned back just a bit and reached up to cup either side of your face in his warm, calloused hands. he said, kindly, too kindly, "take care of yourself, alright?"

"you, too." you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, "please."

wooyoung's fingers tightened against your face before he pulled away. he glanced sideways, throwing mingi a small, amused smile, before he turned away completely and boarded the ship, joining your parents.

yunho stood before you then, and he embraced you for a long, long moment, rocking you back and forth. when he stepped back to take a better look at you, he peered down at you as if he were committing you to memory. as if he would not see you again.

he would not, you both knew, but you did not wish to dwell on the thought right then. the yearning ache in your chest only grew. you knew that this was it.

this was it.

yunho held your hands between his, squeezing tightly, and he said, "write me, please."

"i will, but it will be shallow..."

you trailed off when yunho shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, full of a burning fire you hadn't expected. such a look was unfamiliar on the yunho you knew. he was determined as he said, with a meaningful squeeze of your hands, "there are other ways to send letters. besides you are no longer a ward. you are the heir's spouse. do you understand what that means, y/n? you have access to channels you’ve never had before.”

the thought never occurred to you. you'd blinked, nodding slowly.

your thoughts reeled at the possibilities. he was right. you held a modicum of power, no matter how limited. you said, slowly, “i will write you often, then."

"yes. write me of everything. i wish to know of even the most mundane of details." yunho’s smile was contagious, and you could not help the small laugh as you nodded.

the gaze beneath his smile held an edge you needed time to acclimate to. time you did not have with yunho or wooyoung. time you wanted so badly to have.

yunho ruffled your hair, and he retreated. he joined your family against the rails. the crew raised the anchors, and shouted at each other as they set sail. you watched with bated breath as wooyoung leaned over the rails and grinned, waving at you with both hands. he wiped at his face as he did so, and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the thought of wooyoung crying. you were the cause of it. yunho merely leaned against the rails beside wooyoung and watched. your mother sobbed. the sound curled over the ocean breeze and lodged itself in what was left of your heart. your father crossed his arms over his broad chest. you waved back until your arm ached. until their boat was a tiny dot on the horizon. until your aching heart felt as if it'd been torn away from your chest, swept across the ocean. you wanted so badly to stand beside them once more. just one more time.

but you were still standing in king's landing.

the silence then was a deafening thing. the sea still crashed against the port, and the port was still a busy, bustling thing, but the silence engulfing you was worse than the ache in your chest. saying goodbye a second time was infinitely worse than saying it once. wind gusted around you, and you heard the distant roars of a dragon - you could see a dragon weaving in and out of the clouds above the sea. you could not tell whose dragon it was. hongjoong's was an onyx black, large and thin with claws longer than your head. you'd see it from afar in the dragonpit a few times. despite the spectacle above you, despite the bustling around you, your head felt empty, muffled.

you knew your heart had crept aboard the ship, and left you behind too. the part of your heart that always held onto dorne and wished to go home was finally going home, and you were left behind to rot.

"something sweet and a listening ear always helps after something like this, you know," mingi's deep voice startled you from your thoughts. he'd been so quiet, you'd forgotten of his presence.

you looked over at mingi, and his neck remained craned as he peered up at the dragon weaving through the clouds. he must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to look at you, and that wide grin of his graced his serious features. his eyes did not light up the same way his face had, and you could not fault him for it.

“oh?” you asked, "what do you suggest?"

mingi turned away from the sky and the sea, turning fully to face you. he explained, "the kitchen cook makes such decadent desserts with the leftover dough. he fries it and rolls it in sugar."

your chest still ached, and you felt like too many parts of you had gone missing, but mingi's sweet smile staved off the ache just a bit. his expression held a hint of excitement you had not seen in too long. not since before mingi joined the kingsguard, really, so you found yourself grinning along with his excitement as best as you could.

you nodded, "you've convinced me."

mingi grinned, "you'll love it."

~.~.~.~.~

when you were a small child, yunho, wooyoung, and you were often left to your own devices to entertain yourselves as you saw fit. your parents had assigned the three of you your own caretakers, but they'd grown resigned to the fact that neither of you liked to be watched during all hours of the day. the three of you ran off too often, quickly making it a game. your caretakers eventually gave up. as long as you were together, your parents and your caretakers did not mind.

often times, you spent your days in the orchards and mango groves climbing trees or picking mangoes or practicing swordplay on the beach or chasing each other through the narrow streets of sunspear or lounging about under the sun in one of the hidden courtyards.

that day, long ago, you and yunho were practicing your swordfighting with wooden swords you'd swiped from the training vaults, while wooyoung used his wooden sword to crouch in the sand to the side and draw silly renditions of the two of you, a pile of seashells towered by his feet. he always made your head too big and yunho's limbs much longer than the rest of him.

you'd knocked yunho over once again, grinning as he remained sprawled in the sand.

"you're quite terrible at this," you'd teased. wooyoung was the one with sword talent. you and yunho competed often for who was worse. today, it seemed yunho was winning.

yunho merely remained sprawled out on the sand, scowling at you when you poked at his sprawled form with the end of your sword. he did not give you a response, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

"hey," wooyoung looked up from his drawing, his expression almost pensive. his brows were furrowed together and he wrapped his arms around his knees, the wooden sword dangling from his fingers. from your angle, woo looked tiny. he asked, his voice drifting on the breeze between the three of you, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

you'd frowned, confused by wooyoung's sudden sincerity. he'd been quite serious all day, really, and he hadn't explained why, merely choosing to remain quieter than usual. you and yunho exchanged a look. you'd both wondered aloud what was weighing him, but you neither of you had wanted to ask him. sometimes, questions set wooyoung off worse when he fell into one of his quiet moods.

yunho shrugged, his gaze fixed on the sky, "i'm going to be the prince of dorne. and you're going to be my army's combat general. y/n is going to be my diplomat."

wooyoung grimaced, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed. there was a storm brewing beneath his expression that you did not understand at the time. he said, "i am not asking what father and mother decided we'd be. what do you want, yunho?"

yunho blinked, craning his neck to examine wooyoung. whatever he saw softened the furrow of his brow. he said, "i do not know, brother. i've never considered doing anything else."

"don't you think you should?" wooyoung sighed.

you'd frowned at wooyoung then, your voice quiet, "what is this about?"

wooyoung looked up you for a long moment, before he shrugged, and he said, "of course yunho doesn't know. for a boy with access to all the lessons in the world, you're quite shit at using your own brain aren’t you?"

there was a teasing lilt to wooyoung's voice, under all the other emotions.

yunho rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of hurt cross his features. then yunho chucked his wooden sword in wooyoung's direction. you giggled at how far off the throw was. wooyoung put a hand over his heart, offended.

you spoke then, if only to offset the hurt you'd seen in yunho's eyes for just a moment. you loved wooyoung, but he tended to say things that were quite mean, even if he only meant it in jest. "leave yunho alone, woo. why wonder and dream of other possibilities when your future is already set in stone?"

yunho's smile was small, though his nod was vigorous as he threw wooyoung a smug look. wooyoung stuck his tongue out at yunho.

"well what about you, y/n? what do you want to be when you grow up?"

he'd raised a brow, ignoring you completely.

"kind," you said with a shrug, humoring him. you'd thought about it often anyway. you said, "like the cooks when they're tired but they still make us extra desserts, and the ladies by the well, and like the stable boy that takes care of the horses at the east end."

wooyoung blinked at you, and that stormy look returned.

"you are already kind," yunho muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position. he rolled his eyes, though the act was good-natured, "just admit you don't know either."

"so woo can also declare me an idiot?"

"at least with you, he's not wrong."

you'd kicked yunho’s foot, and he giggled in response.

wooyoung's voice was soft as he pursed his lips. his words, however, were sly as he pointed his wooden sword at you, "i knew you’d taken a liking to the stable boy."

"i did not!" you tossed your stick at wooyoung, and unlike yunho, you did not miss. wooyoung shrieked when it hit his arm with a light thwack. he sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his arm as if you'd stabbed him with a real sword.

you'd rolled your eyes, calling over his whining, "and what about you?"

he paused in his rolling in the sand, pouting as he said, "i'm not certain i want to grow up. father is always traveling to the other kingdoms for his meetings, and mother never looks happy anymore."

"it's politics," yunho said. "the kingdom comes first."

"even if it costs you your happiness?" wooyoung waved a hand around them, "even if we won't be able to spend hours at the beach?"

"is that what makes you happy?" you asked, softly, smiling a bit at the thought. "spending time with us?"

"don't make it sappy, y/n." wooyoung snapped, though he would not meet your gaze and his smile was visible even from where you stood. "i only wonder what doing something you do not love does to a person. father is distant, and mother drinks so much i heard the kitchen servants mention that it was concerning. what if you cannot be kind, y/n? what if we all become terrible? what if we forget what we love?"

you'd blinked at his sincere words. wooyoung was always profound. he appeared thoughtless and loud and reckless, but you knew he spent too much time thinking when he was alone, and he cared more than he'd ever let on. where yunho was loud with his love, despite being reserved and held back with everything else, wooyoung was the opposite. quiet with his love, but exaggerated in his teasing, and rowdy, and always so there. always thinking of you all, it seemed.

"oh," yunho's voice was a quiet thing, "you think if we don't know what we want to be when we grow up, then we'll become something we never imagined? that we will become something we hate? is that it?"

yunho stared at the sky, as if he was speaking to the gods.

wooyoung pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on yunho’s profile. he hung in yunho’s words as if he would have the answers. yunho always knew the answers, how to logically soothe the most anxious of thoughts.

but yunho did not say a word, he only stared at the sky.

wooyoung drew his knees closer to his chest.

"well, why are those the only options? why do we become terrible just because we don't have a dream or goal? why do we need one? there are plenty of people who don't have dreams or goals, woo, and they turned out all right." you spoke up, your voice ringing in the silence.

"those people aren't meant to inherit kingdoms and armies though," wooyoung muttered, frowning.

"my point still stands," you said, nudging yunho's foot with your foot, "right, yun?"

yunho craned his neck in your direction, to wooyoung, and he said, "yes, exactly."

wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to relax at yunho's confirmation. he never took your word for anything. you found yourself rolling your eyes as wooyoung asked yunho, "really?"

yunho nodded vigorously, and woo smiled, and you said, "see. really."

~.~.~.~.~

it was outside the kitchens, after your family had sailed away, sat on a bench the servants often used to take their meals while you brushed toasted sugar from your finger tips, when mingi finally broke the silence, "i was eight years old when i was sent to king's landing."

that brought you pause.

mingi fiddled with one of the sweets in front of him, his armor clinking softly.

you held your breath as you waited for him to continue. mingi did not divulge information about himself often, and you knew this was a rare occurrence. all that could be heard from your spot in the dark corner outside the kitchens was the distant sound of servants and cooks scrambling in the kitchen. the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls. the smell of roasting meat carried through the air. a bout of laughter here. a scolding there. the clatter of dishware. the world was anything but silent even as you two sat with in silence. you watched mingi scratch idly at the wooden tabletop.

mingi did not say more.

after a long minute, you broke the silence with a tentative voice, "you were brought here? then are you...were you a ward, too?"

you found yourself enraptured by the image of mingi as a ward. sometimes wards were not hostages, not always. sometimes, there were other reasons for lords, ladies, and lieges to place their children in wardships. sometimes, there was a genuine want to build a mutual relationship of trust and love between houses and the ward maintained their freedoms. from the way hongjoong - the red keep really - seemed to adore mingi, you figured that must have been the case. it angered you to know that the red keep was capable of kindness, that a ward could be beloved and treated more than a hostage. you did not want to fault mingi for that.

it made sense. mingi was bastard born, thus carrying the name flowers long before adopting the name and sigil of house song.

in dorne, bastards were treated as equals. in westeros, bastards were punished for simply being born. bastards were treated like scum too often, and you found the practice a despicable thing. even legalized, bastards faced scorn. you peered at mingi in concern, waiting.

"no," mingi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, "i was no ward. my father...lord song brought me with him to live in king's landing while he worked in the small council. no one considered me their ward. not the king nor lord song. i was merely a motherless bastard lucky to be accepted in the prince’s inner circle."

"oh," you'd blinked at the information, unsure how to respond or what to ask.

"she passed from the pox a few months before lord song found me and we set off to king's landing," mingi divulged, seeming to take pity on your confusion. he said, "i had nowhere else to go, really. even then, the king did not legitimize me for a long, long time."

mingi's expression was distant. you watched as he shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. he said, "i understand how it feels to be left behind, y/n. to miss a home that no longer feels like home. before i was legitimized, lord song left me behind in the red keep. he could not take me back to highgarden. lady song did not take kindly to my existence.”

"what about after you were legitimized?"

"lady song did not change her mind surrounding my existence. i believe being legitimized bothered her more," mingi said with a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back and picked at his nails. everything about him was nonchalant. despite his words. despite never having a home in the lands from which he was born.

that thought made your heart ache, the same way it had when you'd watched your family leave. soon you would live in king's landing longer than you had in dorne. soon you would not have a home in the lands in which you were born, either. sure, your brothers were still there. your parents. but if your brothers have changed so much, then what of your home? what of sunspear? how would you reconcile that as well? you could not blame mingi for his nonchalance. it was easier to remain indifferent then let the worries consume you.

“i never understood the shame westeros has surrounding bastards," you said instead, shaking your head of your thoughts as you frowned at mingi, "it is no fault of yours that your father broke his vows to his wife. a babe should not be shamed for such a thing."

mingi blinked at you, his dark eyes flickering in surprise over your face. his fingers curled around each other briefly, before he shrugged once more. a perfect picture of unbothered. he said, "i've heard dorne treats their bastards well. your judgement is biased.”

"being born is not a crime,” you'd scoffed. “westeros could learn a thing or two from dorne."

mingi smiled, and this time it was genuine. sweet, almost.

you frowned at him as realization dawned on you, "then, lord song left you here alone? every time he returned to highgarden?”

lord song, to this day, visited his home, highgarden in the reach, almost once a month. he made it known to anyone who would listen that he loved and missed his wife dearly. perhaps he did, or perhaps he was overcompensating for his past adultery. either way, it meant he always left king's landing on his own. you recalled how mingi often mentioned that lord song had left for highgarden, how he'd shrugged and he appeared so nonchalant. you'd always assumed mingi chose to stay back, but now that you knew that was never truly the case, your heart tugged for him. yeosang used to spend more time with mingi when his father left. you remembered that much from your childhood. you remembered hongjoong would throw his arm over mingi's shoulders and drag him down to his height. they were always more affectionate with mingi, but you'd never realized why. your frown deepened at the thought of mingi alone somewhere in the red keep, so often. it was an image that was difficult to reconcile with.

"he did," mingi shook his head at your expression, waving his hands in a placating manner, “but i wasn’t completely alone. i had hongjoong and yeosang. san and jongho too whenever they visited. eventually, you were here, too.”

his mention of you was surprising. you'd never thought he cared much for your company. you'd spent too often arguing with hongjoong or scoffing at yeosang. you never thought much of the times hongjoong or yeosang would say something terrible and the two of you would lock gazes over their shoulders, grimaces matching. he'd sometimes shake his head, attempting to deter you, and you would roll your eyes before you spoke up anyway. of course, he sat with you in the library and listened to you read often, and he voluntarily paired off with you during lessons more often than not. he even used to throw yeosang looks when his teasing became too cutting, too pointed, but you'd always believed that was merely what mingi did. you never thought he'd learned to see you as anything but a ward, a hostage of the king's that was lumped together with him and his companions for propriety’s sake. when san courted you, you believed mingi only saw you as an extension of san, and now as an extension to hongjoong. you did not think he saw you as a person, let alone a comforting presence of any sort due to your circumstances.

as you looked at him, and the softness in his eyes, and the small smile on his lips, you detected care. at least a hint of it. it made your thoughts reel.

that had always been your dilemma at king's landing. no one cared much about you as a person. they only ever cared for you due to your status or who you were bound to. even san, though he seemed to care enough to provide you comfort, had other intentions. you wondered, briefly, if mingi would dare devote himself to you. could you ask him for favors? would he carry out your orders? were you thinking ahead of yourself?

you blinked away your, frankly, treacherous thoughts as you murmured into the silence, “it must have been lonely though.”

“it was,” mingi murmured, “as you are well aware of, i’m sure."

you'd frowned.

"i know i am a kingsguard with vows that may not serve you, but," mingi gave you a small, genuine smile, "i am also your friend, y/n."

"is that not a contradiction?" you'd asked then, "to be my friend, to care for me as such, is an insult to the king."

mingi blinked, a slow thing, and he said, "you are married to the king's son."

"a son he does not care much for," you muttered. it was a push, you knew, especially to say such a thing to a member of the kingsguard and to a long-time friend of hongjoong's, but you wanted to know how far you could push him. how deep did the care in his eyes run?

could you make it deeper?

the thought made your stomach churn, the way it did when hongjoong spoke to you the night of your wedding. it was a mixture of fear, and a morbid curiosity, an interest, that you were not sure what to do with.

you focused on mingi. he bit his lip, his gaze slipping past your shoulder for a moment, before he looked at you once more. he said, "the king cannot hurt hongjoong. he cannot hurt you."

"how do you know that?"

"i don't," mingi's brows furrowed into a pained expression, "but i know that i will not stand by and let it happen."

you'd blinked, "are you admitting that you'd turn your cloak?"

"i've turned my cheek too many times, y/n, to too many atrocities," mingi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, his armor clinking softly. "i do not think i could live with myself if i allowed hongjoong and you to get hurt. if i must become a turncloak, then so be it.”

it was always hongjoong in the end.

but you can use that, a voice at the back of your head whispered.

it sounded like hongjoong, and it left a bad taste in your mouth, but you knew the voice was right. you'd pushed mingi, and he let you, and as long as you allowed him to frame his care in a way that appeared as if he was protecting hongjoong, too, then perhaps his devotion could mean something more to you. perhaps, this was what yunho meant. you were the heir's spouse. you had power. sure, it was tied to hongjoong, but did hongjoong have to know how you wielded it? he whispered that he'd teach you, but perhaps you could teach yourself.

"i appreciate your honesty, mingi," you'd sighed. "i know it's difficult to admit such a thing."

mingi dipped his head, his sweet smile making your heart curl in around itself. he said, "you'd asked for honesty once before, y/n, and i do not wish to dismiss your request. i understand hongjoong can be a handful, but you should remember that he listens to yeosang and me. i'm sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever...if you..." mingi cut himself off as he stiffened, shaking his head, "i apologize, i realize i may be speaking out of turn."

you'd shook your head, endeared by his stutter. you did not think yeosang could be helpful, not in the way you thought mingi could be, but you still said, "don't apologize. admittedly, i do need...help with hongjoong sometimes."

mingi's eyes flashed with an emotion you could not place. he only nodded.

you said, "if i need anything, i will ask for you."

he dipped his head in acknowledgement, even as he stood. he held out a hand to take, his armor clinking softly with his movements. you took his hand, allowing him to help you.

"thanks," you said, after a moment of walking silently side-by-side through the halls, "for this. for talking to me."

mingi smiled, and it was a genuine thing, and you almost felt terrible for thinking of using his kindness for your own means.

almost.

~.~.~.~.~

the mad king still held tourneys as if the red keep is not wrought with the stench of burnt bodies, and the courts do not whisper of the king's sure demise. the queen no longer makes public or private appearances.l, except with a select few. mingi often appears haggard when he steps into the library or settles into his assigned post outside hongjoong's chambers. you'd questioned him often, and all mingi would say was that he'd had a long shift guarding the king or queen.

"sweet thing," yeosang grinned, dragging his fingers through his tousled, long blond hair as one of the servants adjusted his jousting armor over his shoulders. kang crimson and gold glinted off his armor as he leaned close and tilted his head, "did you enjoy the matches?"

you could not say that you did.

it had gone as all public appearances for you had, you with your elbow hooked through hongjoong's as you two were announced, the cheering, and you and hongjoong donning his kim black and red, the dragon sigil blaring. the mad king would not attend. he never did. his paranoia was an all-consuming thing. it left hongjoong and you to entertain his father's guests. you watched that evening as hongjoong had roared, waving his jousting sword, as he gathered flower wreath favors from too many to count. as usual, he'd stopped in front of where you sat last, and he presented the tip of his sword.

that night, you'd refused him as you always did, and the whispers were louder than ever. at first, the court believed it playful banter, but it has been too long since you'd been wedded, almost two name days of yours since the event really, and now the amusement had morphed into something more sinister. the king lacking favor made the disdain hongjoong, and ultimately you, received worse.

that night something ferocious flashed in hongjoong's gaze, but he'd only grinned and bowed his head.

that night he lost.

you saw it, in the way he was distracted as his gaze flit across the stands, past you. you'd followed his gaze. you did not wish to care, but your gaze followed his without a second thought.

you saw a man, around your age, around hongjoong and mingi and yeosang and san's age, with hair black as a raven and skin as smooth as the calmest of seas, and his clothes were muted. everything about him was muted, yet he held your attention. you understood why hongjoong fumbled with his sword. why he faltered just at the sight of this man. the man was beautiful. the moon, personified.

he was everything you were not.

hongjoong's second match ended with the opponent he lost to lying flat on his back and heaving for air he could not and did not have, blood sputtering down his lips and half of his face smashed in. he would be dead in minutes, you knew, and the thought only made you tired.

when the tourney finished, you stood waiting for hongjoong, and yeosang appeared in front of you, his sweaty brow glistening under the setting sun, his eyes twinkling as he eyed you in curiosity.

you ignored his question, your gaze sweeping over the other participants, until you found the man who had made hongjoong falter smiling quite sweetly as he spoke with san. you'd blinked. in the stands, the man was the epitome of stoicity, of ice, of the coldness of the moon, but here his smile was a pretty thing. it warmed your heart, the way the afternoon sun would warm your skin when you laid in it. he was everything but cold then.

"park seonghwa," yeosang's low voice settled over you.

you tore your gaze from seonghwa and san, from the way hongjoong sauntered up to san and pat him on the shoulder, turning to the man - park seonghwa - with a wide, toothy grin and unwavering eyes. "what?"

"that is park seonghwa. i am surprised san found a way to convince seonghwa to join us for the tourney," yeosang grinned, but his eyes were fixed on you. "ever since seonghwa left the eyrie, he's kept himself locked away in the north. something about awaiting the north's treacherous winters at winterfell.”

you'd heard the venom laced in yeosang's tone as he spoke. it was not well-hidden, or perhaps you have gotten quite good at picking up on the changes in yeosang after so many years in his vicinity.

you knew of house park, known for their honor and their generosity. the winters up north were long and treacherous, and you did not fault him for remaining in winterfell to help his kingdom last through it. division would bring ruin to any kingdom, but especially to one living under such harsh conditions.

still you focused on the mention of san and the venom in yeosang's expression. you frowned at yeosang, searching his expression for a moment. when he met your inquiring gaze, his smile grew sly. you'd frowned as you said, "why would san have any sway over park seonghwa?"

yeosang let out a small laugh. he said, "seonghwa was fostered in the vale when he was eight years old. jongho and san spent many years there under house lim’s care as well. in fact, jongho and san have quite a long history with seonghwa. rumor has it jongho is smitten with him, though i would not dare repeat such slander."

"oh," you were surprised, and yeosang latched onto to it. you could see it in the way the corner of his mouth tipped upwards and his eyes glinted under the setting sun. you shook your head, "right. why is he here then?"

yeosang pursed his lips. his grin slipped into a steely expression, "i have no idea. diplomacy, perhaps?"

you did not believe him. kang yeosang knew everything. his father was not the only resourceful kang.

you'd rolled your eyes, and yeosang only grinned, shrugging. the conversation ended when hongjoong entered, his jousting armor and helmet gone, his long white-blonde hair tied back into a neat knot. he was spotless, his rings glinting in the setting sun as he held his arms out in greeting, smile all teeth. his eyes fell on you first, lingering briefly before his gaze slid to his friends. he did not look at you again.

that night, hongjoong placed a warm hand at the middle of your back, and he waved mingi over. his gaze never met yours, but his thumb settled into a small pattern along the middle of your back. even through your robes, his hand was warm. you had a bit of ale in you. that was why you did not stiffen the way you should have. at least that was how you planned to explain away the feeling the next morning.

you only stiffened when hongjoong called for mingi a second time, pulling him from a conversation with yeosang. mingi sauntered over, entirely too sober, and hongjoong grinned, his hand flat on your back, unmoving, "ser mingi, take y/n to our chambers so they may rest."

you'd blinked at the demand. the dismissal.

mingi only bowed.

you glanced yeosang's way, and he waved to you, a toothy grin gracing his features, his cheeks pink from his ale. he raised his mug to you in mock salute. you'd looked away.

your gaze slid to san then. it often did, whenever he stayed at the red keep. and he would always react the same. san only ever returned your glances with blank, unreadable eyes. like he was a stranger, as you asked. you met seonghwa's gaze over their shoulders. over hongjoong's shoulder.

seonghwa hovered, separate from the rest of the group, where he merely observed the scene in front of him. something about him brought irritation to the pit of your stomach. he was fostered, yeosang had said, and you knew that in an ideal world, without the mad king's twisted intentions, that would have been your fate instead of the glorified hostage you had been delegated to.

fosterage and wardship were two sides of the same coin. however, where you were a hostage, never meant to return to sunspear no matter if you fell to your knees and begged for it, seonghwa could. fostered children were free to travel between both kingdoms as they pleased once they turned of age. a fostering was what you believed you’d been walking into at four-and-ten.

perhaps the bubbling tension in the pit of your stomach was something of a rage. or perhaps, when hongjoong glanced back over at seonghwa, and you caught a twinkle in his eyes and a familiar darkness, a familiar want, you knew the tension at the pit of your stomach was something else, something close to concern, close to understanding that hongjoong wanted creatures of the sun and the stars, and that his greed knew no bounds. he had a creature of the sun, and now he wanted a creature of the moon. he wanted, and he took, no matter the consequences, and he was not above ruining those very same creatures for it.

you met seonghwa's dark eyes once more, and he did not smile. he truly reminded you of the moon when it sat highest in the night sky. bright, silent, and so bitingly cold.

"go on," hongjoong said, pushing you in mingi's direction, his fingertips brushing down your back, a featherlight touch.

hongjoong did not have to say it for you to understand. celebrations were in order, and you were not invited. you were dismissed.

how dare he dismiss you? a voice that sounded eerily like hongjoong whispered at the back of your head. you did not entertain that voice, as you would not entertain hongjoong.

you'd only nodded, catching a flash of disappointment flit through hongjoong's expression. the ale brought a vindictive thought to you head. a vindictive, as he should be, as you'd taken your leave.

that night, in the empty hall leading to your chambers, something you could only describe as a beast reared its ugly head from the pits of your being. you'd come to a halt and you stared at mingi's retreating back. you called after him, your quiet voice echoing off the high walls, "can i ask a favor of you, mingi?"

your voice sounded emptier, different. you often looked in the mirror and wondered if you'd been reborn a new person when you'd wedded hongjoong. a tiny voice at the back of your head would always respond, not when you wedded hongjoong. when they left.

mingi's boots stopped thumping. his tall figure seemed to slump under your words, as if he could feel the weight of them. perhaps he could. perhaps your words were heavier than you gave them credit for. his armor no longer clinked.

he'd merely turned, and looked to you. his arms hung at his side, and his eyes bore into your skull.

"have you heard of 'the dornish man'?" you asked.

"do you mean the tavern at west end?"

you'd nodded.

"why?" mingi gave no warnings that the tavern sat nestled between brothels and seedy inns, nor that hongjoong would have his head if you two were caught beyond the walls of the red keep without his knowledge. he only wanted to know your reasons, the question hanging over you two. it clawed against stone walls. it rang high and true. over and over and over. it rang in your ears. it burrowed in your skin.

you should tell him the truth, but you could not. you would not. you thought of the bloodied man hongjoong had maimed during the tourney. all the others before that knight. the thoughtful kindness in seonghwa's eyes as he spoke to san, when he met your gaze as you were dismissed. the anxious bubble at the pit of your stomach as you looked on. as hongjoong's smile stretched across his face when he met seonghwa’s eyes. you thought of your brother holding you, his voice as firm as his touch, you are the spouse's heir.

so, instead you said: "i miss my home."

you looked up at him, softened your brows, and when you met mingi's gaze, he faltered. he faltered as you knew he would, and perhaps you were evil for the way you made your voice tremble and your brows furrow, but you would not allow yourself to falter. not tonight.

mingi's jaw clenched as he looked away. his armor clinked as he dragged a hand through his messy dark hair.

"i only need you to cover me. you do not need to join me," you said.

the silence after you spoke was tense. you did not move.

finally mingi said, "letting you go to the west end alone would only worry me more."

you'd blinked at him. you expected he would not give in, that he would not allow you to push him even just that bit. you certainly did not expect such an admission. all you could say was, "oh."

mingi sighed as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, "two hours. that is all we have."

you nodded, grinning, and mingi's lips twitched up into a small smile of his own.

~.~.~.~.~

the streets of king's landing was not as thrilling as you remembered it with hongjoong. you slipped through the crowds and sidestepped merchants, pickpockets, and drunks alike, following mingi so closely your nose brushed against his back whenever he came to a sudden stop - he removed his outer armor and stashed it in the closet hongjoong had the servants clear for you, donning a simple brown cloak. mingi looked younger without his kingsguard armor and cloak. your heart constricted at the thought. still, you found yourself moving forward.

you could have told him to turn around at any moment. that was what stayed with you most on that journey. you had plenty of time to turn back, to not drag a well-meaning mingi into your plans, to remain a shadow in the red keep for the rest of your days while hongjoong did whatever he wished.

but you did not, and you would not have, and as mingi looked back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes always vigilant, there was a glint of knowing lingering there as his gaze met yours. he'd raised a brow, and you'd smiled, and mingi merely nodded to himself. you recognized the brothels and the alley as you drew closer, and when mingi opened the door to the tavern, you stepped up the creaking stairs with your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers curled around the fabric of your cloak, limbs filled with nervous energy.

you both stood at the threshold to the tavern, and not an eye strayed your way when you entered. the tavern was filled with the harsh stench of cigar smoke, a hint of grilled meat, and the usual staleness of old mead, and though your heart was lodged in your throat, you knew right then that you'd stepped into this new role and there was no backing out. not now.

mingi took a seat at one of the tables, and you gestured to the bar. he waved you on, but his eyes remained on your back. you leaned against the bar, and the barkeep was a familiar face. the owner hongjoong had pointed out earlier. his skin was like yours - no longer kissed by the sun as it once was, but still different from the rest of king’s landing’s patrons, still so obviously dornish - and his hair was like yunho's. his smile was a sweet, playful thing, like wooyoung. your heart leapt against your ribs.

he truly looked as dornish as they came, bright traditional robes and all.

the thought only pressed you closer to the bar, your fingers curling around the edge of the wooden table.

since the wedding, you'd returned to writing shallow letters to your brothers and parents through lord kang and his council. sometimes, you'd lie awake in hongjoong's too big bed and wonder if you'd died the morning your family boarded that ship and crossed the sea to sunspear without you.

half of your heart, half of your soul, half of your wit, half of your patience, half of you, it had had all gone with them, you knew, tucked under wooyoung's waving arm and yunho's melancholic smile. you laid on your side too often, watching hongjoong sit beside melting candlelight as he perused through documents, his back always to you, and you started to wonder who you'd become because of it. before the wedding, you would have never thought to push mingi's boundaries just because you saw a hint of care in his eyes. you would have never left the red keep in the dead of night. nearly two name days later - you were no longer sure of the exact day, if you were honest - you were doing everything you would never have done prior to this.

the barkeep met your gaze, and his eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. he dipped his head in greeting as he made his way over to you, throwing a rag over his shoulder. he leaned forward and said, "welcome to the dornish man. how may i help you?”

his eyes bore into yours, his smile crooked. you swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin, meeting his gaze straight on with a resolve you had not mustered in quite some time. it filled you like a fire, like the fires from hongjoong's dragon or the greenfire that the mad king used to burn so many at the stake. you said, "what would you recommend?"

you tilted your head as you watched the man contemplate you. a small smile crept upon the man's lips as he seemed to decide something right then.

"hmm," his eyes twinkled, "may i recommend our sunspear special? it is a mango dish rumored to be the prince of dorne's heir's most coveted dish. he requests for it every evening, i've heard."

your sweetest summers were spent with yunho and wooyoung climbing mango trees. each of you would pick the reddest of mangoes, and you'd sit with your knees knocking against each other as you peeled them with yunho's blunt silver dagger, your fingers sticky with the sweet juices, the soft fruit melting on your tongue. the juices would often run down the corners of your mouth and you'd wipe it with the back of your hand and wooyoung would call you disgusting and you'd wipe your hands on him in response. yunho would laugh his belly-ache of a laugh.

every summer you'd ruin your clothes with ripened mangoes and blackened dirt. the three of you knew your mother would scold you for it later, but in the summer your mother stayed in her chambers or the gardens and all that remained in those moments was the sweltering heat and the sweet taste of mango on your tongue. it was always one of your favorite times of the year. wooyoung used to bounce on his toes as he rushed you and yunho to the mango groves. yunho often indulged wooyoung in his insistent shouts to race there. you'd watched them run on ahead, and you'd waved off the call from your mother to return before sunset as you walked after them.

the summer before you left for king's landing, when you were three-and-ten, you and yunho sat beneath the shade of one of the tallest mango trees, the soft sweet aroma of ripened mangoes filling the air. the two of you watched wooyoung climb along the branches of one of the trees, tugging himself up onto the tallest branch before he nestled between the trunk and its branch, his neck craned as he stared at the blue sky. the crimson color of the mango in his hands glinted brightly under the summer sun. one could mistake it for a jewel. yunho's voice drew your attention from wooyoung, his voice soft as the summer breeze. he asked, "do you think we will ever grow too old for this?"

"for what?" you'd blinked at yunho's melancholic tone, "picking mangoes?"

"no," yunho shook his head, gesturing vaguely around him, "for all of this, y/n."

a crease formed between his brows. you'd always hated the way worry contorted yunho's features into something unrecognizable. it never looked right on him, no matter how often you've seen such a look on him since he started his heir studies with father.

yunho sighed, "for each other."

you'd frowned, "we'll never be too old for each other, idiot."

you expected yunho to reprimand you or toss a mango pit at you. instead he only slumped further against the tree trunk behind him, his brows contorting into something dreadful.

"i am destined to be the heir, and woo will lead our armies, and you will..." he'd trailed off, frowning once more. his eyes welled with tears, and your eyes widened at the sight. wooyoung showed sadness, even you did, but yunho? not since he learned of his future calling. you watched as he blinked away his emotions, as he straightened, his back rigid. as he took the form of the pillar he believed he needed to be. it was a habit he'd picked up over the years, that wooyoung was beginning to pick up too. perhaps you were, as well.

"i'll be here, too," you scooted closer, bumping your shoulder against his, "i know my talents do not lie with pretty words or complicated strategies or with the sword like you and woo, but i'll find something useful to do so i can help you be a good prince to dorne. i have time to figure that out, and so do you. i understand you worry, but you do not have to, yun."

you bumped his shoulder harder this time, and he pouted at you, rubbing his shoulder. he did not say anything. he only stared down at his lap.

at the time, you had not understood what he'd known, and for years you did not. but you'd laid awake too often replaying and picking apart every memory you've ever had to not have realized that yunho knew you were going to be sent away. the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day now that you remembered, years later, and you hated your father for placing such a burden on him.

at the time, yunho always worried, and both you and woo teased him relentlessly for it. but you knew that sometimes it affected him more than he ever let on. sometimes, you sat with him and let him worry until his expression morphed into the face of creature you never recognized. you knew that was because he always came back. as you did. as woo would.

so, at the time, you'd reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his worried fists, ignoring the picked skin of his fingernails, and you said, "most importantly, i'll be here every harvest season to climb the mango trees with you both. you're both awful at climbing anyway."

you'd gestured with your chin in wooyoung's direction, and you grinned as you watched wooyoung struggle to climb down the tree, mangoes spilling from the sling he'd looped around his neck, his curses echoing through the grove. you turned, nudging yunho, waiting for a giggle. it did not come. you remembered faltering at the sight of yunho blinking rapidly at the sight, his chin trembling the slightest bit. you only squeezed his hand.

he closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. he returned to the yunho you knew as he wiped at his cheeks with his free hand, and when he met your gaze again, he was all kind eyes, the sun shining off his dark brown, his smile amused.

he said, "perhaps climbing mango trees is your only true calling, y/n."

you'd scowled at him, and he threw back his head and laughed, and wooyoung plopped onto the ground in front of you both, covered in dirt, leaves caught in your hair, mangoes tumbling from his arms, ignoring your admonishments that he was bruising the fruits, and that day returned to the soft, hazy summer afternoon you often basked in.

you were three-and-ten when you'd spent your last summer picking mangoes with your brothers, despite your promise.

the memory made you stare at the barkeep, your heart pounding against your ribs. your voice was small to your ears as you asked, "a mango dish is the heir's favorite?"

the man dipped his head, "so i’ve heard. our mangoes are sweet as well. they are in season after all."

and in that moment, you allowed the hope in your chest to thrive. you allowed yourself to nod. to feel a sliver of hope for just a little while. it’s been years since you had.

the barkeep placed the dish in front of you, and the faint scent of mangoes reminded of you hazy summer afternoons and an unkept promise.

the barkeep said, "would you like me to place any special orders to dorne? it appears you, like me, miss our home quite a bit."

"do you deliver letters?" it was bold, but you were never one to beat around the bush.

the barkeep outright grins. he said, "woo said you had no patience for pretty words and riddles. i did not know your patience would run thin so quickly."

you'd blinked. "you know -"

"my name is yeonjun, your grace," the barkeep murmured, "and i only serve dorne. your letters will remain sealed among our shipment requests. lucky for us, the lords, lieges, and ladies of king's landing have taken a liking to dornish cuisine. i've made quite a number of shipments since i've opened."

you'd grinned, you could not help it. you knew you could not trust yeonjun yet, and you already knew you would need to confirm your brothers were receiving your letters before you truly let yourself believe in this opportunity. you knew you were not in the clear quite yet, but yeonjun's grin was an infectious thing. you'd grinned and grinned, and for the first time since you were a child alone in westeros, you had a channel of communication with your brothers that remained only yours.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you feel better?" mingi's voice was quiet in your empty chambers. he'd donned his armor in your chambers. the clinking of his armor as he tightened the plates had been the only sound between you both. you hadn't said a word since you left the tavern, since mingi picked at the mango dish with a small frown gracing his features, since he brought you back to the red keep.

you peered up at mingi. he towered over you, as he always did, his hair a mess of black, yet his brown eyes were unbearably tender. the guilt inside you reared its head once more, but you shoved it away. mingi knew you were asking him for favors that could get him in trouble. you were not holding a sword to his neck and demanding such things from him. you doubted you'd win in a sword fight anyway. you were not forcing him to help you, so you did not need to feel guilt.

you'd nodded. mingi's smile was the gentlest thing you'd seen in a while here in king's landing. it was the sea lapping against port, the way the horses in the stable would neigh softly as they tucked their heads against the stableboy's palm, and the way hongjoong rubbed his thumb along the crown of his dragon and the soft rumble that followed would remind you of a cat’s purr. mingi’s smile held all the little moments of gentleness you've witnessed here. it curled around your heart.

it was suffocating.

he placed a warm hand on your shoulder and he said, "i'm glad i could be of help, your grace."

you shouldn't encourage such gentility. yet, you knew you needed to solidify this moment. you needed this gentle mingi on your side. you needed his care for you to fuel him. so you pressed your hand over his. he stilled.

you said, "you always are of great help to me, mingi."

he blinked at you, before he turned away. his fingers curled into a fist, even as he bowed deeply before you, even as he hurried from your chambers. he left, and you refused to let your heart feel heavy.

but, you do not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

that same night, hongjoong returned smelling of honeyed mead and sour ale, of sweat and smoke. of fire, really.

he stumbled through the room. you watched as he tore his shirt and tossed it into the darkness. he did this often when he returned after he believed you'd gone to bed. you'd always wondered why he did not light a lantern and stumbled in the dark.

he turned suddenly, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when you met his gaze in the dark, you could only make out shadows.

he stood frozen, so you said, "just light a candle. it helps neither of us listening to you bumble about like an idiot."

there was a beat of silence. you could not make out his expression.

then he laughed. it's a soft thing that bounced off the high ceilings. you heard the strike of a match moments later.

the light of the candle on his desk was dim, and it took a moment for your eyes to readjust to the new lighting. the candlelight lit up his features. his eyes drooped, a heady drunken look to him that reminded you of the night of your wedding. you watched him stumble, until he reached for the ties of his pants. he paused, and your eyes flicked up to his, heat flooding your face when he grinned. he continued and you scowled, flipping over, only for his chuckle to echo in your chambers.

perhaps it was the remnants of the ale from the tourney, or the remnants of the adrenaline of sneaking out of the red keep and finding a channel of communication that was finally fully yours, or purely the inability to sleep, but you found yourself speaking quietly as you stared at the stone wall opposite you. "you had no right to dismiss me the way you did tonight.”

"hmm," hongjoong hummed, and it was closer now. you did not turn around, your fingers curling around the pillow at your head. "then why did you not stay?"

you frowned, shooting up to a sitting position. you turned to glare at him, and he remained where he had been earlier, though now he was fully dressed in his sleeping robes. "you wish for me to undermine you?"

he shrugged, as he stepped closer to the bed, twisting at the rings on his fingers, "undermine me? not quite. try to undermine me? perhaps."

"you're a right idiot," you'd shook your head, ignoring the way he stepped closer, the way he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "i am being serious, hongjoong."

"i am the picture of serious," hongjoong said, his words slurring the slightest bit.

"clearly," you'd sighed, said, "go to bed, hongjoong. you're drunk."

it was all too reminiscent of that night. despite that night being so long ago, it lived in your head, clear as day. you'd rolled your eyes at the way he raised his brows. you laid back down, turning your back to him. perhaps, that is a testament to how accustomed you've become to hongjoong's presence. you could turn your back on him without feeling like prey. you were unsure when that had started.

another moment passed before hongjoong's low voice drifted through your chambers, "if you did not wish to be dismissed, all you had to do was say something. if you do not like something, tell me."

you'd flipped back over, your fingers curled around your pillow as you looked down at hongjoong, who remained seated near your feet. "why?"

"you're my spouse, whether we like it or not," hongjoong muttered.

"'we'?" your voice sounded muffled to your own ears, "and here i thought it was just me who disliked this arrangement."

hongjoong tilted his head at you, his brows raised, questioning, waiting. oftentimes you wondered how he knew that you had more to say before you'd even said it.

you said, "i saw you falter during your match. you'd never been so distracted before."

hongjoong loved to say he would not be like his father, but you'd heard the rumors of his father's adultery. it went so far that the queen had to dismiss members of her own court, one of whom was rumored to be yeosang's mother. you watched as he scooted up the bed, as he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the burn scar on your arm, as he said, "i see the way you look at san, y/n. is it not the same?"

"is it?" you asked, frowning. san was hope to you, he was opportunities and a life lost. was park seonghwa the same to hongjoong? why did it concern you if he was?

hongjoong drew warm circles around your burn scar, each stroke softer than the last.

"be careful, y/n," he murmured, "you're beginning to sound rather jealous."

your stomach turned as he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

"i do not care for your indiscretions," you scoffed. "i care that you dismissed me for another when our arrangement is meant to benefit us both.”

you did not want to revel in his statement. you did not want to admit to it. you did not want to delve into the thoughts that came after that green monster at the pit of your stomach, the wondering at hongjoong's greed, nor the moment of worry you felt for park seonghwa, despite everything. all hongjoong would ever know of was that you did not care. he would believe you did not care, and so would you. until the end of your days.

"are we supposed to benefit each other now?" hongjoong raised a brow.

"we could," you said, your eyes fixed on his. "we do not need to be friends, but -"

"we can be allies," hongjoong finished with a small, amused smile. you remembered the other night, when you'd had a conversation like this. he wanted you to beg that night. you'd refused, and you would refuse again. you would refuse until the day death came knocking at your door.

you'd nodded, "something like that."

"will you beg for it, then?"

you'd laughed, knowing he'd have the insolence to ask such a thing once more, but you found there was no venom bubbling at the pit of your stomach this time. perhaps it was his tone, the jest in it ringing between you both. you said, "not even if you held a knife to my throat."

"oh, wouldn't that be quite a lovely sight?" hongjoong murmured, and you were quite aware of the fingers on your skin, the proximity, the way your own fingers tightened around your pillow. the rough pad of hongjoong's thumb circled up to the crease of your elbow, "where do we go from here, then, y/n?"

you shrugged. where do you go from here? he was an unstoppable force, and you were an immoveable object. you would not be the one to concede. you refused.

but perhaps you could wield his power if he believed you on his side, then you could find other channels of communication you could call yours. you could have more than just yeonjun and his tavern. you could have more than just mingi to do your bidding.

"i need trust," you admitted, with a shuddering breath. it was never something you thought you'd tell him. not hongjoong. maybe it was easier to admit such a thing in the darkness, under melting candlelight, without the sun bearing witness to your admissions. "i need to be able to trust you."

can i ever trust him? you thought, and the answer was so wholly there. no, you could not. no, you were of dorne, and he was of king's landing, and he would not allow you to step foot in dorne again, let alone sunspear. you could not trust him. but, you slept with your back to him too many nights to count already. and you looked to him first when his father called you both to the courtyards for his executions. he was yours to benefit from. you could not trust him, and you would not, but you did not fear him as you once had. perhaps, that was a step in the right direction.

his finger stilled against the smooth skin of your burn scar, and he said, "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"

you'd blinked at the sudden question, watching hongjoong. he stared at your scar for a long moment, his fingers still. you shook your head.

"the word dracarys," hongjoong said, "it is from the old language. it is a command to our dragons to breathe fire. to burn everything. when i was a very small boy, my father called me to the pit. i never went there often, since there were so little dragons left and my father and his maesters wished to keep the dragons isolated. father insisted there was a matter he wished for me to resolve. at the time, i was excited that i was needed by my father. when i arrived there was a servant girl in the pit, no older than two-and-ten. just a few years older than me. she was pregnant, that much i could tell."

you watched as hongjoong's hand fell from your scar. his gaze was hardened as it met yours. he said, "the council was there that night as well. my father and his small council had her stand in the middle of the pit. she was dragged in the way you were, still in her sleep robes. i recognized her. even a small boy is privy to the red keep's rumors, y/n. my father bedded too many to count, and oftentimes it went ignored. this girl would not have been ignored. so, my father told me to say the word he taught me, and… and i did."

your nails dug into your palms as you laid there, your gaze fixed on hongjoong. "why are you telling me this?"

"isn't that where trust starts? from stories of the moments that made us who we are?"

"yes," you said, "i think it should."

hongjoong paused. you did not speak further. he expected a story from you. he expected something. perhaps even sympathy. you would not concede. you could only wonder for the poor servant girl, wonder if hongjoong would in fact burn a little girl alive without his father’s directions. you wondered often who he'd broken over the years, and as you laid in his bed you wondered if he would burden you with all he has ruined one day, in the name of trust.

finally, hongjoong nodded as he pushed himself off the bed. he reached over, and brushed hair from your forehead. his fingers lingered. you did not push his touch away. you only watched him as he did so. his dark, tired eyes flickered over yours as he murmured, voice sweet as honey, but laced with an edge that always lived in hongjoong no matter what, "we'll take it slow, then."

you watched as he blew out the candle and made his way to his bed.

~.~.~.~.~

the letter yeonjun returned to you was unsealed, untampered, and real. you knew this because of yunho's response, a simple perhaps climbing mango trees is not your only talent, little sibling, and his unbroken wax seal. it was him. it was untouched, and it was him, and you could not contain your excitement.

mingi had handed you the letter in the library, and after you'd brushed your fingers along the seal - the symbol of your house, a sun with a spear through it - and read yunho's words, fingers tracing over his inked writing, you'd tossed your arms around mingi, drawing him into a tight embrace.

mingi had stiffened in surprise, though he'd steadied you by the waist, his armor cold under your touch.

you caught yourself too late, stepping away with hurried apologies, embarrassed. mingi shook his head, his cheeks reddening, "it is all right, your grace."

it became a routine of sorts, to write your letters, and have mingi escort you to yeonjun's tavern. sometimes, he'd take the letters on his own. you would press a hand to his arm, or the top of his hand, and you'd thank him. mingi would hide his blush when you did. you'd feel awful for it, but the letters were enough to quell that guilt. you'd do it over and over again, despite the guilt.

yeonjun introduced you to the owner of the brothel across the street, a slight, beautiful woman with an air of regality to her that many speculated the origins of. she went by the name irene. you called the doe-eyed children she sent all about king's landing as her eyes and ears her little birds. she smiled at the phrase, but she smiled wider at the gold you promised her in payment. a contract, you’d both called it.

mingi did not trust her. you trusted her less than you trusted hongjoong, yet mingi seemed to think otherwise. still, despite his clear disapproval, mingi said nothing to you. he gave you irene's correspondence without question, and he gave her the gold you'd written off hongjoong's maester's ledger without batting an eye. mingi would ruin everything he had for you, that much you could tell.

but you did not stop on your new path.

instead, you stopped sleeping through the night.

~.~.~.~.~

the mountain that rides. lord kang's mad dog. most call him the mountain.

lady irene's words remained with you long after you'd read them, long after you'd tossed the letter into the library fireplace and watched it turn to blackened ash.

you’d gone about your day mulling over her words. now, you stood under the shade of a peculiarly bent tree with yellow blooms as bright as the gold of house kang's banners. the queen loved her flowers and trees, and this one in particular grew well even as executions took place beneath her blooms more often than not.

today, the tree oversaw outdoor festivities. the mad king was quite generous with his death sentences, but he was even more generous with his calls for celebration. spring was in full bloom, flowers sprouting throughout the kingdom, and that demanded for a spring festival.

you contemplated only for a moment, before you asked, "who is the mountain?"

perhaps, you should have learned to make your words prettier. you certainly partook in the kinds of games that required pretty words these days, yet you could care less when it came to having a sweet or sharp tongue.

yeosang stiffened beside you. you took a sip of wine from your cup as you watched him unclench his jaw, the taste sickly sweet on your tongue.

you both watched on as lord kang clapped a hand over hongjoong's shoulder, tilting his head, his smile matching yeosang’s as he spoke to hongjoong. hongjoong's stiff smile did not budge. the mad king was not here, as always, but his maester had gave quite a moving speech in his place, of westeros's greatest king and the dragons riding free, thriving, before food and drinks were announced shortly after. the mad king's presence would not be missed once the wine started flowing anyway. you took note when you'd entered that mingi, and a few of the other kingsguard, were not in attendance. you wondered often what the king did instead of attending his celebrations. you wondered often of the queen's fate. you had not seen her since your wedding. you had never had the chance to bond with her, but you worried for her. it was the same worry you felt in your chest when you first saw hongjoong lay eyes on park seonghwa. when hongjoong told you of the little girl he'd burned to ashes for his father.

"hmm," yeosang hummed after he caught his bearings, "dare i ask how you know of him?"

"you could dare," you said, tearing your eyes from hongjoong to meet yeosang's gaze. "clearly you know of him."

yeosang's gaze narrowed, but his smile was amused as always. "the mountain is father's new addition to the kingsguard."

his words were biting, but they matched what irene had informed you. at least she could be trusted, for now.

"i figured as much," you said, downing your cup of wine.

"you'd do well to stay away from him," yeosang's voice was low, but it brought you pause. you looked over your shoulder at him, watching his concerned gaze flicker over your face. kang yeosang and concerned did not quite match.

you raised a brow at him, amused, "now why is that?"

"do you think they call him 'the mountain' for fun?" yeosang sneered.

you rolled your eyes at yeosang's disparaging tone. he did not grin. in fact, the twinkle in his eyes was undetectable. he shook his head at you.

he said, "i do not know how you came upon such information, but, for your sake, for all our sakes, i pray you've guaranteed that thread cannot be traced back to you."

his warning left a bad taste on your tongue, exacerbated by the lingering taste of wine. you muttered, "i do not leave loose threads. i am not an idiot."

"i like to think you are not," yeosang said, "but it would do you well for you if the small council continued to believe that you were."

you'd frowned at him. even after establishing contact with yeonjun, you'd continued sending letters to your family through lord kang, if only to not raise suspicion. you assumed they’d continue underestimating your involvement, but yeosang's words implied that something had changed.

"do they have reason to believe i am, in fact, not an idiot?"

yeosang plucked a cup of wine from a passing servant, and placed it in your limp hands. his gaze flickered ahead, and you followed it. to lord kang. to the man dressed in kingsguard armor and a kingsguard cloak.

he towered over everyone, a beast of a man that had all the mad king's guests giving the man a wide berth. hongjoong was the only one who looked the man in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin held high, despite how far back hongjoong had to tilt his head to look up at the newly appointed knight. the knight's predatory expression, his unwavering eyes, and the way he only responded to lord kang’s instructions, left a chill beneath your bones, an acute sense of fear curling right down your spine. you knew right then that this man was the mountain - an apt name for a man like that - and that you did not want to be alone with him, ever.

“oh, sweet thing,” yeosang's hand brushed your elbow, drawing your attention to him. yeosang shook his head, his words ominous, "not yet.”

~.~.~.~.~

king's landing sustained itself off gold and whispers. secrets were not safe at court, and nothing ever went unseen. you should have known such a thing the moment lady irene introduced you to her little birds, some of whom were kitchen boys and errand girls and stablehands you'd seen too often in the red keep. she had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. what was stopping the other lords, ladies, and lieges from doing the same?

you'd known the whispers well since you were four-and-ten. the people of king's landing did not view dorne kindly. even now, at something-and-twenty, they were a constant nuisance, trailing after you with terrible whispers wherever you went.

the rumors were particularly terrible after the king started preparations for your wedding to hongjoong. you and san had hardly kept your courting a secret, and you weren't the only one blindsided by the sudden arrangement to hongjoong. the whispers were harsh.

you'd tuned them out, mostly, but they still existed.

your refusal to give hongjoong your favor during tourneys was seen in good fun at first, but the whispers turned accusing very quickly. you were a sly fox, you'd heard from one of the ladies. prince hongjoong was kind enough, he was prince kim hongjoong, of course, so what was wrong with you to deny him?

you were seen downing too many cups of wine at king kim's spring festival. you were too familiar with the kingsguard, lord kang’s son.

the servants saw you leaving the library late in the evenings. you laughed too hard at one of the kingsguard's quips, lord song’s bastard son. you never laughed around prince hongjoong, the whispered accused.

prince hongjoong kissed the hand of lady jihyo of hightower at the tourney. surely, you were not working hard enough to keep his attention from others. what was wrong with you?

prince hongjoong left the celebrations too late. no one who loves his spouse would spend so long drinking ale so early in marriage. surely, you had said something to keep him away. you were not enough, you'd done something wrong, you were a fox, conniving, ungrateful, a who-

hongjoong raised a glass.

"a toast," he said, "to my father. may he remain healthy and strong. may he rule for many, many years to come. long live the dragons, long live king kim."

it would have amused you to no end, to attend the nameday celebration for a king who wasn’t even there, if the whispers were not so loud today, and the mood was not so damp.

the response to hongjoong's toast was half-hearted at best.

the king had certainly celebrated his nameday well; he'd beheaded half his upper ranked army officers the day before and hung their heads from the gates of king's landing. he’d done it based off suspicion of mutiny and a the beginnings of rebellion. king's landing had been quiet since then, eerily so. even the commonfolk could sense the tension.

the court bard waved his hand in response, and the sound of a fiddle filled the room, a jaunty tune that seemed to liven up the crowd better than the food and drink had. some took to the dance floor, prompting others to join.

you watched from your seat at the royal table above the festivities as members of the court shuffled to the dance floor, as wine flowed freely, and bouts of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. this was not the liveliest of dances you’ve attended, but it was enough for now.

some time after too many cups of wine, and a small brawl that had broken out on the floor - ser yuta and ser johnny had separated them before it could escalate into anything further - after the bard crooned as he swayed with his fiddle, the harpist strumming an angelic melody, after some ladies, lieges, and lords began shuffling out from the room and back to their beds, your septa beckoned to you.

you were too drunk, too, and you found that it was becoming a common occurrence for you. you slept better when you drank too much.

mingi helped you down the steps, and you'd grinned at him as he bowed exaggeratedly. you clutched his fingers.

the whispers were always whispers. though they were loud, they were never said to your face.

until that night.

"whore." the word was spat in your direction.

you'd known of that word since you were very little, and when news spread that you would not wed san, but rather hongjoong whore was thrown around more than your name. the hastiness of the arrangement was what made the court gossip.

you used to ignore it. you used to worry for how san would feel. or worse, how your mother would react if it ever reached her ears. your brothers. your father. you used to swallow your rage and let the whispers slip off your skin, pretending your skin was armor and you were left untouched.

mingi's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his deep voice held an undercurrent of fury as he said, "how dare you speak to their grace in such a manner?"

but, by the gods, your skin was no armor, and you were everything but untouched. you were drowning in your rage and the whispers.

and the rage? the rage inside of you was a churning fire that clawed it's way out of you from the pit of your stomach. it burned right through you.

lord lim was an older man, a distant cousin to the kangs, and his family had deep roots in the royal army. one of the ten ranking officers who had been beheaded and put on display at the gates had been his nephew. his house fostered seonghwa, and hosted san and jongho when they were young boys. you knew this because you'd seen the note regarding family relations and condolences on hongjoong's desk.

the festivities continued all around you. drunk laughter, dancing, shouting, the bard cooing, drumbeats loud, rhythmic, the crooning of the harp and the fiddle. it all rang in your ears. the festivities continued, but your head was pounding.

lord lim laughed. his eyes were full of mirth. "my nephew is dead because the king believed he was plotting against the crown. the only person in this damned court who would plot against the king is you."

lord lim jabbed a finger in your direction. you should have left. you should have excused his treasonous words for grief-stricken rage fueled by drink, and excused yourself. you should have.

but you turned to him, and you said, "nothing you say is going to bring back your nephew. he is dead, and that is no fault of mine."

lord lim advanced on you, then, and fury and grief contorted his features into something ugly and monstrous. you felt the urge to laugh. his expression matched the feeling at the pit of your stomach. his displaced anger made you want to scream.

when he stepped towards you, mingi stepped between you both, his elbow braced as mingi shoved lord lim back. lord lim did not budge, his eyes fixed on you.

he hissed, "with the amount of times you’ve been passed around the red keep, you are no better than a common whore. you should have been the one hanging from the gates."

you opened your mouth, the rage at your stomach curling into your chest. you wanted to scream. wanted to take his displaced, irrational anger and toss it back at him. burn him alive with it. tear his mouth from his face with your bare hands. but you knew that his words only reiterated what the court whispered behind your back. you did not know what the public, the commonfolk, thought of you, but you knew the other nobles did not think highly of you. you did not know it was to that extent, and you never thought they'd say it out loud, but perhaps there was a first for everything.

only then did you realize how quiet it had gotten.

only then did you feel a hand on your back, heavy and warm, and a voice sharp as the edge of a sword.

“what did you say?”

lord lim spat, “you heard me.”

hongjoong shook his head, "guards, bring lord lim to the courtyard."

his words rang high and loud.

you turned, and hongjoong's gaze met yours. it was hard, angry, and full of fire. it was the same rage in your stomach, the same rage in lord lim's expression, but there was no grief there. he was merely cold fury.

lord lim protested as mingi grabbed lord lim's arms and yanked them behind his back, the other kingsguard drawing their swords. his shouts rang throughout the quiet room.

hongjoong turned to you, and he said, "do you wish to retire to your chambers, or do you wish to join me?"

you should have gone to bed.

your gaze followed mingi as he dragged a shouting, squirming lord lim behind him, the kingsguard following behind him.

you said, "i will join you."

despite the cold fury, a small smile tugged at the corner of hongjoong's lips.

the queen's yellow flowers were at their brightest, even under the moonlight.

hongjoong called for his dragon, and after a long moment, the wind picked up all around you. you looked up and his black dragon circled the courtyard as it prepared to land, it’s wings flapping. mingi tied lord lim to the very same blackened post his father tied so many others to before he used his green fire or his own dragon to execute them.

despite how quiet it was, the guests that were left lingered at the threshold to the courtyard. no one said a word, watching on in dread and anticipation. the distance made you feel strange. watched. revered. powerful. perhaps, simply feared.

hongjoong's dragon landed before you both, your robes whipping all around you. hongjoong's hair fluttered, his eyes glittering under the moonlight as he stared up at his dragon. up close, his dragon's black scales shone beneath moonlight, it's large, watchful eyes unblinking. the ground shook as it landed, and the crowd by the entrance to the courtyard stumbled back further into the fortress. further from you.

hongjoong stroked his dragon’s head, and it hummed in response.

hongjoong stalked closer then, to lord lim tied to the post, waving away his guards. lord lim looked small, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard the way he did. hongjoong said, "your words are treason of the highest order, lord lim."

"you cannot do this. you are not the king. you have no right!”

"but i am a kim, and i have a dragon.” hongjoong's voice, though low, shook with anger. "it's a shame you could not hold your tongue around my spouse, lord kim. now we shall decide whether you lose a limb or your life."

he looked over his shoulder at you, and he raised a brow at you.

you should have called him off. lord lim's voice broke with his cry.

yet, the rage in your stomach turned to something that resembled glee, and you kept your mouth shut. you did not shake your head, and that was permission enough.

hongjoong's dark eyes flickered over your face, his eyes softening for just a moment. then he turned back to lord lim, and he grinned, "it appears you will be reunited with your dear nephew after all.”

lord lim screamed and screamed.

his screams were cut off by a low, “dracarys."

his dragon's fire was so hot, you stumbled away, heat rolling off it in waves. the screams were loud. the loudest sounds in king's landing since the mad king executed those officers.

they rang and rang, like the crooning of the bard or the twangs of the harp and fiddle. they filled the air, much like the festivities had, but this time you did not have a headache.

your gaze flicked to hongjoong, even as he turned to you, his grin glorious, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze. his dragon left as quickly as it came, and hongjoong laughed as he watched it go.

the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. the crowd was quiet, so so quiet.

your stomach flipped as hongjoong gestured back to the hall and said, "come now. there is more drink and food to be had."

you were not as disgusted by hongjoong as you thought you'd be.

as you should be.

and that realization would remain with you for the rest of your life.

~.~.~.~.~

"hongjoong?"

your voice drifted between you both in your dim chambers. you'd returned to your chambers shortly after the bard began to sing again. the crowd had already trickled away, and mingi had disappeared. when you stepped through the crowd of nobles, they parted like the sea, the fear in their eyes feeding the fire that always burned at the pit of your stomach. they parted for you as if they could sense the fire in you, and they were afraid they'd burn at the smallest of touches.

your stomach turned at the thought.

you'd hurried to your chambers, then, the kingsguard meant to escort you hurrying to keep up, and readied yourself for bed, scrubbing your skin to rid yourself of the scent of dragonfire and burnt flesh until your skin stung.

you laid in your bed, ceiling too far away, and the linens felt rough against your scrubbed skin.

hongjoong entered the chambers shortly after, and you listened to him quietly ready himself for bed, as if did not wish to wake you. he sat down at his desk and lit a candle. the warm glow of the candle filled the otherwise dark room. his back was to you, the candlelight casting a long shadow over your side of the chambers.

this was often the routine with you two. neither of you could sleep, you noticed, and hongjoong spent many nights bent over his desk, his back turned to you. you'd imagined piercing a knife through his turned back too many times. you wondered if he ever worried you would do such a thing. you spent many sleepless nights watching him work. neither of you ever said a thing. perhaps, it was an unspoken rule between you both. you knew for certain he could tell you were watching him. his back was never relaxed.

that night, you broke the silence with his name.

hongjoong froze, the sound of his pen scratching stilling. then it returned, as if the moment never happened. his voice was low, "i did not do it for you."

you'd blinked at the declaration, surprised. hongjoong continued to work, even as he spoke. his voice held a soft edge, a seething tone you knew was rage. you knew rage well, you've come to learn. "you are a kim through our vows. disrespecting you is treason."

"you did not have to kill him."

"my father would have killed him within a fortnight," hongjoong muttered. then he turned in his seat, his loose sleep shirt slipping as he turned, exposing skin and the sharp dip of his collarbone. he gripped the back of his wooden chair, the candlelight casting dark shadows and an orange glow over his features, hiding his expression. "did you want me to spare him?"

you laid on your side as you contemplated his question. his gaze flickered down your form as he waited for your response. lord kim’s words brought you fury.

so, you shook your head in response.

the corner of his lips tipped upwards at your admission, his fingers gripping the back of his chair. strands of silver hair fell into hongjoong's eyes, and he used his other hand to push it back as he said, voice barely a whisper, "good."

you tucked your hands underneath your pillow, if only to have something to do under his intense, almost knowing gaze. you should have been disgusted by the intimacy in this moment, but you found yourself enraptured by the softness in his voice, your eyes flickering over his turned figure. you found yourself voluntarily speaking to him. the anger you always felt for him was a muted thing. worst of all, you were left wondering why the guilt wasn't much much worse.

it should have been.

yet, your mouth was loose.

"i am terrified of spiders. the ones in dorne were bigger than my hands," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "and wooyoung or yunho always killed them for me. when i was very little, i used to cry when they killed them. i never wanted them to die, even though i feared them."

hongjoong's feathery whisper caressed you like a finger against your cheek, "when did you stop crying when they killed those spiders?"

"i don't know."

a pause.

"will you cry tonight?"

it was such a simple question, but the tone he held, sincere and almost reverent, made your heart skip a beat.

you stared at hongjoong, a lump growing in your throat.

he broke away from your gaze first, his eyes flickering to his lap. when he met your gaze once more, he said, so quietly, so gently, you wondered if this was the same man you'd known since you were four-and-ten. he said, "you can, you know. if you'd like. i will not tease you for it."

it was strange to hear such kindness from kim hongjoong, but this was not the first time. perhaps between all his horrid decisions he was capable of being kind.

for a moment, you wondered if you could be vulnerable in such a way with him. if you could shed tears in front of him.

you shook your head quickly, cheeks hot, "i won't."

the thought of crying in front of him embarrassed you, more than anything.

he'd given you a brisk nod.

the silence grew awkward then, charged with an emotion you could not quite place. so you said, "good night, then."

you turned your back to him, staring at the wall instead.

hongjoong said, "good night, y/n."

he did not blow out his candle, his shadow dancing against the wall.

you did not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

father is very sick, yunho wrote to you. i am scared worried, y/n.

~.~.~.~.~

you watched the letter wither in the fireplace, the edges of parchment curling before it turned to blackened ash.

you turned away, then, when the door to the library opened and the library's maester stepped through. he was not as old as most maesters, maester robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. he was not highly ranked, not like the grand maester who was elected by the conclave to serve the iron throne and the red keep and sat on the small council, but he watched over the grand library. judging from all the different metals adorning the chain around his neck, he was well-versed in many areas of study. the lead and black iron chains were what interested you months ago. they indicated the study of poison and black iron. maesters were not supposed to hold political allegiances, as servants to the realm.

yet, here maester haechan stood, with his sunkissed skin and perpetual wary expression.

you spent too much time in the library. you were bound to walk into something of substance. in fact, the other night you'd walked in on maester haechan in a uncompromising position with one of the king’s servants. in the past, you would have left immediately, but that night you'd cleared your throat. you'd made yourself known. the two men jumped off each other, not once meeting your eyes.

it took months to wear maester haechan down. you flipped through books, maester haechan glancing sideways at you when he thought you were not looking, and mentioned the moment offhandedly. you held your knowledge over him, knowing he would snap and come to you one day. you left a comment here of didn't all maesters take an oath of celibacy? and another there of how would the citadel react if they heard of such a transgression? and finally a pointed what about the grand maester? what would he think? before maester haechan slammed a book down in front of you, the chains around his neck rattling, and he asked, "what do you want from me?"

you'd merely shrugged. you made him stew in his anxiety.

tonight, he finally stood before you, and you asked, "what do you know of essence of nightshade?"

"it is meant to calm one's frayed nerves so they may sleep," maester haechan raised a brow, "but a high dosage can be fatal. and undetectable."

you hummed. you'd thought so, but the confirmation eased you.

"it seems you were already aware of that," his voice was quiet.

"i read about it and wanted confirmation. i have trouble sleeping at night and i've been told it is helpful," you said, with a shrug.

he eyed you skeptically, eyes too knowing, "is it only for you?"

no. you thought of hongjoong. you thought of how easily he'd burned a man alive, as he was taught when he was a boy. you thought of the way you'd felt drawn to the action, of the sheer amount of violence he was willing to display to protect your name. your father would not start a war for you, yet hongjoong would kill a man? the thought made your heart curl, and that was precisely why you needed this. thoughts like that needed to be cut off easily. put into a deep, dreamless, fatal sleep. you did not need to think of hongjoong in such a way. whether that was you who ended up that way, or hongjoong, it did not matter.

you needed this.

"of course, it is," you said.

the maester did not believe you, but he still nodded.

"and you do not wish for me to mention this elsewhere, i assume?"

"i should hope so. unless you want the red keep and the citadel to know you are an oathbreaker, maester haechan."

haechan poorly suppressed his grimace, "your request will be easy enough, your grace."

“and if i have future requests?”

haechan sighed, “i will do as you bid.”

~.~.~.~.~

mingi stood at your shoulder, while you knelt in front of a little girl in ragged scraps of clothing, her sunken eyes piercing as she covered her mouth and brought her lips to your ears.

"choi jongho has held three meetings in lady irene's brothels thus far. several nobles have been in attendance. the lims, the lees, the yuns."

"does lady irene know what for?"

the little girl shook her head.

you could not understand what for. you knew choi jongho was an honorable man, if san were to be believed, though rumor had it the man loved his drink more than he should have. however, even the most honorable ended up in brothels. it was an unspoken norm among nobles. you could not understand why jongho would host other nobles in a brothel. surely, there was more to it.

you'd nodded as you fished out a couple gold coins from your pockets and tucked it into her limp hands, "thank you, little bird."

the little girl only nodded before she stepped into the crowded street and disappeared.

you'd stood, readjusting your hood, and you said, "do you want something to eat?"

mingi shook his head. his eyes were still on the little girl, a distant look.

"then let us head back," you said, "hongjoong should be back soon."

your beloved spends quite a lot of time in my brothels, irene had told you once. you thought about that often, when you'd lay sleepless in your bed, and hongjoong would stumble in to your chambers drunk or smelling of smoke. he whispered stories of his childhood. amusing stories of his mother, mischief yeosang, hongjoong, mingi, jongho, and san had gotten up to, inconsequential things. sometimes, you shared stories too. of climbing mango trees. of hidden courtyards to bask in sunlight. it only ever happened in the dead of night, awash in darkness. when irene told you of her discovery, the ugly beast at the pit of your being reared it’s head once more.

you'd walked in silence, even as mingi gestured for you to lead the way up the winding secret passages you both frequented often.

right before you'd exited the passage mingi called your name.

you'd paused, and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. his eyes were conflicted as he said, "you should end this."

"end what?" you'd taken your hand off the exit, and you both stood facing each other behind the tapestries. the corridors were narrow enough, but as mingi ascended the final step and towered over you, his armor clinking softly, you realized just how cramped the hidden corridor was.

"end all of this," mingi gestured around him, gestured at you, your clothes, behind him. "i speak to you not as a knight, or as your subordinate, but as your friend. this will all end in ruin, y/n. this is a dangerous game you are playing."

you'd frowned, "i am playing no games."

you were, but mingi did not need to know that. yeonjun, maester haechan, and lady irene could know you were, but for an inexplicable reason, you could not bear for mingi to find out that you were using him in any way. that you left lingering touches on purpose. that you looked up at him until he blushed for another reason. that you were playing a game, and he was one of the pieces you kept close.

mingi blinked at you, his brows furrowing.

you stepped closer to him. he watched your movement like you were opposite him in battle, and he was assessing your next move.

"i miss my family. ever since i came to king's landing, lord kang has opened all my letters. they cannot speak to me candidly in fear of saying something the king or small council will fault me for, mingi," you sighed. "i'm only doing this with yeonjun and the brothel so that i can keep in touch with my family, and keep myself safe. you have to understand that."

"but it is dangerous," mingi muttered, shoulders slumping. "what will become of you if you are found out?"

"i won't be found out," you said, tone adamant. you reached up then, and placed a hand on mingi's cheek. his eyes shot up to meet yours as you said, voice low, "and if i am caught, they will not blame you. i will not allow it."

he frowned. he relaxed into your touch, and your heart clenched as if he had reached into your chest and wrapped his fingers around it. he trusted you so much, despite everything. he had no reason not to. at least a reason that he knew of.

"i worried you'd say as much," he shook his head, "i cannot live with myself if you take all the blame."

you'd laughed, "it appears we've arrived at an impasse then."

a small smile tugged at mingi's lips, "it appears so."

"then we'll have to make sure that neither of us has to take the blame. we have to be extra cautious." you pat his warm cheek once before stepping back.

mingi broke eye contact, looking away as he dragged a hand through his hair. he bit back his growing smile, eyes serious, "more than that."

you agreed, "more than that."

mingi softened as he nodded, and the vice-like grip around your heart tightened once more.

~.~.~.~.~

"my favorite color is yellow," hongjoong said. he sat cross-legged on his chair, his arms folded over the top, his chin resting there. his billowy sleep shirt was thin, the candlelight illuminating the shape of him through the shirt. with his back to his table and his candle, his face was full of shadows, unreadable.

"like the flowers on your mother's tree in the courtyard?" you asked, in response. you lay on your side once more, your knees drawn close to your chest.

hongjoong was silent for a long moment.

you said, "you do not have to talk about her."

his mother was a sore subject. you hadn't heard from her since your wedding, but hongjoong stopped hearing from her shortly after. you often wondered what had become of her. you wondered if your fate would mirror hers one day.

"your mother reminded me of her," hongjoong said. “especially the way you two interacted.”

"do you resent your mother as well, then?" you'd never admitted that aloud.

hongjoong laughed, but it held no amusement. "sometimes, i do. other times, i only pity her. she deals most with my father, after all."

it was quiet once more, before you asked, "would you kill him?"

a pause.

"i don't know," hongjoong sighed, though there was a sharp edge to his voice, "if you were in my place, would you kill your father?"

"yes," you said, without hesitation. you thought of the mad king, with his sharp, long nails and the horrible things he's said to you and the way he looked at you as if you were scum beneath his feet. you grit your teeth, "i would kill him."

"so easily?"

"he'd deserve it."

you could barely see his expression under the shadows, but the way he tilted his head as he looked at you, the glint of a grin on his face, it brought chills down your spine. it was...fascinating.

"oh, how i wish you were in my place then," hongjoong murmured.

the conversation died away after that.

~.~.~.~.~

16,784. that is where our army's numbers currently stand, wooyoung wrote. it is our army, but most importantly it is yours, y/n. if you ever require it.

~.~.~.~.~

"where is he?"

you sat alone in the dining hall. at least you were alone until yeosang and mingi joined you, their armors clinking and their cloaks fluttering behind them. the king and queen always took dinners in their chambers. hongjoong would often join you for dinner, and surprisingly your conversations had become quite light, aside from a few pointed jabs from you both. neither of you could shake the habit, it seemed.

tonight, you had been alone.

until your escorts joined you.

yeosang gave you a lopsided grin as he brought his wine cup in mock salute, "is our company not enough, your grace?"

mingi frowned at yeosang's tone.

the chois were in the red keep - just to visit, they said, though you knew of the brothel visits - and so was park seonghwa. you'd heard the servants discuss sending dinner to the choi's guest chambers, as they wished to rest after a long afternoon of hunting with hongjoong. you heard nothing regarding park seonghwa.

you stared at your own wine cup for a long moment. the servants had left the hall after they'd served the food. finally, you lifted your gaze to mingi and yeosang, and you said, "he's with seonghwa isn't he?"

you meant to sound nonchalant, but your voice was too small, even to your own ears. since when did you care about such things?

yeosang leaned back in his chair, wine cup still in his hand, and he said, "does it matter?"

mingi's frown deepened.

you'd glared at yeosang, "hongjoong's dalliances ruin my reputation. that matters."

"at the end of the day, you are still the heir's spouse, and he returns to your bed," yeosang said, with a shrug. "nothing else matters."

you rolled your eyes, venom dripping from your tone, "you think so?"

"i know so," yeosang snapped back, his eyes narrowing. "if you make a problem of it, then you will become the problem. do you not understand that?"

"what the hell does that mean?"

"do you think the queen disappeared because she wanted to?"

mingi shook his head, "yeosang, stop."

"no," you glared at mingi, "yeosang, continue."

mingi pressed his mouth into a thin line.

yeosang looked genuinely sorry when he glanced mingi's way.

you pressed your hand to his elbow, his armor cold to your touch, "what are you implying, ser yeosang?"

yeosang glanced down at your touch, and though he could not feel your touch, he still shook your hand from his elbow. he downed his drink, his expression stony. his cold features turned colder as the moments slipped by. there was no kang amusement, no mischief, and it brought a chill down your spine.

worst of all, it worried you.

mingi cleared his throat, and you turned to him. his usually expressive brown eyes held a vacancy in them that made the perpetual guilt-ridden grip mingi had over your heart grow in side.

mingi said, "though the kingsguard acts as the queen's guards, y/n, we do not answer to the queen. we do not...owe the king's spouse anything. we answer to no one but the king," mingi turned his gaze to the ceiling briefly, as if he were lamenting the gods. you did not know mingi's beliefs surrounding the gods, nor how devout he may or may not be, but the sight of him take a deep, harrowing breath burrowed beneath your skin. it was a sight meant to haunt you. mingi certainly appeared haunted, his eyes returning to you, his hands curled into fists on the table. "we've heard many things over the years stationed outside her door. the king is...he is our priority. she made a problem out of the king's adultery, and the king dealt with her as he saw fit. now she remains in her chambers for a reason. if you've seen her...heard how she...if you knew...she's..."

mingi stuttered over his words, his jaw clenched, and his eyes glossed with tears. you'd never seen him cry. not once. it was not something you thought he was capable of, logical, kind, and watchful mingi, with walls as high as yours. if he was a terrible person, perhaps you would not feel so much guilt for the way you pushed his boundaries.

you hoped the mad king would not hurt the queen. perhaps it was wishful thinking, to think the man who would have married you off to a dead babe to spite your father had limitations. but you were wrong. the king had no limits, no one to stop them, not even the kingsguard. whatever the king had done to the queen, that left her bedridden, that seemed to leave devastation in mingi and yeosang even now, whatever it was should have terrified you. mingi's pain and your subsequent terror should have been the final reason to end your indiscretions.

to learn to resign yourself to your fate. to become the person you knew choi san and your brothers and your parents would pity. the person the seven kingdoms would one day sing pitiful songs of. the little bird trapped in their cage, left to a tragic fate, left to dissolve into the shadows, ruined, ruined, ruined.

the person you were before you'd wedded hongjoong would have ended everything. they would have stopped fighting for the sake of survival.

however, you could not help but imagine hongjoong ascending the throne one day, and continuing his father's legacy. you could very well face the same fate as the queen. no one would protect you if you did.

but that was not new. you'd known this since the moment you stepped foot on the shores of king's landing at four-and-ten. the part of you that dreamt of being rescued, of knights like the many you'd bestowed favors upon at tourneys, of your parents or your brothers, was merely the dreams of a child. you knew damn well no one in king's landing would protect you.

so why should you stop fighting? why should you stop? because of a little bit of guilt? because of a fate like the queen's?

besides the person you were before you wedded hongjoong was dead and gone when your family left a second time.

you would never step foot in sunspear again. you'd live in king's landing longer than you ever did in dorne. what did you have to lose anymore?

still, you said, "do you think hongjoong is capable of the same?"

mingi shook his head quickly. yeosang did not say anything.

"he is your friend," you frowned, frustration clawing it's way up your throat, under your skin, burrowing itself into ever nook and crevice like a disease, like the anger that always lived inside of you. "if you saw violence taking hold in him, you should have done everything in your power to keep it away. you sit here and warn me of possibilities when stopping such violence is your responsibility. not mine."

not mine, not mine, not mine. it echoed in your head, like the court's whispers. you did not mean to admit that the whispers that blamed you for hongjoong's misgivings bothered you. but you shook with your anger, and yeosang and mingi watched on as if you were a funeral pyre burning before their eyes.

"he is not violent." mingi murmured, voice breathy, "he does not want to be like his father."

you crossed your arms over your chest, looking from mingi to yeosang, "do you really believe that?"

"i want to believe it," yeosang sighed, his voice wistful, "hongjoong isn't a bad person. he's caring, and he remembers the littlest things. he sends medicine when he hears his friends are under the weather. he knows my favorite flower, and he wraps my name-day gifts with them. he sends san and jongho their favorite sweets when their mother's death day comes around. he cleared a space in the garden to commemorate mingi's mother, since lady song refuses to do so in the eyrie. he is...he cares, and he is so gentle, y/n, sweet even, when he is not angry." yeosang dragged a hand through his blond hair, closing his eyes, and perhaps this was the first time you'd seen him so candid with you. no kang amusement, no honeyed words. he speaks as yeosang. only yeosang. "but the mad king lives in his nature, and he knows it. he ruins things because of it, and i'm afraid it will set him on the exact path he despises."

you did not think yeosang thought highly of hongjoong. not truly. neither did you think hongjoong cared much for san, especially after san courted you. but perhaps, they truly were brothers, more than you'd ever accounted for. you'd known it ran deep, and longer than even your time at court. it ran through their fathers, if the chosen members of the small council was anything to go by, but you hadn't truly wanted to believe it. that a family existed in the red keep, found not made, while you were still so alone.

you should have fell in line that night and allowed the gods to determine your fate. the strength of their bonds, of how well they knew hongjoong, seeped into every word, and you should have taken it at face value. you should have stopped.

but you've become quite terrible at doing as you should.

"do you think he would," you hesitated, fingers curled in your lap, "...hurt me?"

mingi closed his eyes, turning to the gods once more.

yeosang twirled his cup in his fingers, the wine sloshing in his cup. he said, "hasn't he already?"

it was a quiet sort of acknowledgement you had not expected from kang yeosang, of all people.

hongjoong hadn't hurt you physically, but he'd taken from you for his own gain. he turned you into the type of person that pushed song mingi's boundaries just to see how far he would go for you, short of becoming a turncloak and betraying his king and vows. hongjoong turned you into this, and it was everything you did not want to be.

once upon a time, you dreamt of being kind. now, you were anything but.

to have that acknowledged brought a certain relief, but it also angered you. he knew of your pain, and he merely watched.

"you're right, ser yeosang," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoided eye contact with both yeosang and mingi. "it doesn't matter."

~.~.~.~.~

that night, hongjoong returned to your chambers smelling of amber and sweat and smoke. he shrugged his shirt off, his shoulder and chest blotched with reddish marks. even in the candlelight, you could see it. he did not say a word as he drew his bath and disappeared.

you'd turned away, but you could not sleep. it was not the guilt this time, but rather a heaviness in your chest. you ignored that heaviness, focusing instead on the part of you that wished to survive. if hongjoong found someone else to fixate upon, then your misgivings would not be so easily forgiven. the possibility was very real. you'd frowned at the wall as those thoughts ran rampant.

you startled when hongjoong's voice echoed through the chambers, "why don't you ever sleep?"

it was a simple enough question, but it made your heart beat faster. your palms were clammy. you were wracked with guilt. it was not a new feeling, but it continued to eat at your insides. you knew it would eat at you until there was nothing left.

you turned to face him. "why don't you?"

hongjoong's sharp features grew sharper in the shadows. when he rose, he loomed over you, his shadow creeping up over the wall and into the high ceiling. he truly looked the part of a god, the kinds of gods people feared.

you spoke before you took the time to think. you said, "is it because of the guilt?"

this was you you spoke of, but hongjoong's shoulders stiffened, and his looming shadow sunk back into him. vulnerability should not have suited hongjoong, and it truly did not. but you liked vulnerability on him. it bought you control you did not expect.

you clutched the sheets beneath you as you continued, "does it eat at you with every waking breath? do the faces of every person you'd burned or ruined or broke haunt you to this day, hongjoong?"

hongjoong stood so still, clenched fists at his side. your heart lodged in your throat, along with the lump growing there.

it was a strange thing, to understand the emotional turmoil kim hongjoong felt, despite everything. your words sawed its way into your gut the same way it did to him. it was ironic, truly, that the words you used to hurt him hurt you too.

you whispered, "or is it shame?"

"shut up," hongjoong growled.

you should have.

"oh," your laugh was humorless, "it is shame. do you finally feel a sense of shame when you look my way? when you return to our chambers still smelling like another?"

he stalked towards you then, one step, then two, then three, four, five, until he stood above you at the edge of the bed. his voice rang through your chambers, loud and sharp, "i said shut up."

"beg and i'll consider it," you mocked, anger curling at the pit of your stomach at his tone.

he grit his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on you.

you wondered if hongjoong would kill you where you sat. you waited, then, watching his every movement. the twitch of his brow. the curl of his fingers. the deepening of his scowl. that darkening in his eyes. time stopped, and you merely watched as he came back to life.

instead, he sunk to his knees, the bed dipping with the weight of him. he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he would sooner let it cripple him then let it slide off his shoulders. he looked the personification of the anger and shame and guilt that always lived inside of you.

he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his shadowed eyes heavy with emotions you could not place. guilt, desire, shame, amusement, contradictory emotions. he mirrored your insides, you knew, and that was a terrifying thought. to admit that you were truly just like him was one thing, but to see it spread out for you like this? to find such a sight fascinating? by the gods, surely you were terrible for this.

"jealousy does not suit you one bit," his voice was rough, low.

"i am not jealous," you bristled. you were not, you should not be, you could not be. you were pushing him so you could survive. so he wouldn’t wander too far. there was nothing else.

"oh, y/n, are we still lying to each other?"

you'd deflated at his brow raise, though your grip beneath you, on the sheets, was still so tight. his eyes fell to your hands, before they returned to your face. he waited patiently.

you could tell him the truth, or you could aim to burrow your words deep under his skin and hope it lived there for eternity.

"yes," you said, "you will never have me as i am. you will never know me, no matter how many sleepless nights we spend sharing stories. you will never know what is the truth and what is a lie."

"i know when you're lying, y/n," hongjoong's voice was not unkind. it held an ancient exhaustion. "whether you like it or not, i know you."

"how could you possibly know me? you don't care for me. you never did," your voice trembled, despite your spite.

hongjoong laughed, then, and it was softer now.

his dark eyes carried the weight of the world as it settled on you, and your breath caught in your throat.

"i know that you always take sugar in your tea." hongjoong said, "i know that you always forget your heavy cloak because you do not wish to acknowledge the winters. your favorite color is green. an emerald green like the jewel. you are terrified of spiders, still. i know that you hate cucumbers. that your favorite flower is dragon's breath, and that is the only reason why you visit the godswood. you do not believe in the gods, new or old.”

your breath remained caught in your throat, and your fingers found purchase around your knees.

hongjoong reached out then, his bare fingers hovering above your cheek. he met your gaze, and you did not think about it when you nodded in permission. his caress was a light thing, barely there, but his fingers trembled. he pressed his palm to the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheek. you let out a breath as he dragged his fingertips along your skin, a breath you did not realize you were holding.

"i know that you adore the three legged mare the stablehands keep hidden during inspections. that you’ve been drinking more so you can sleep," he said, with the smallest of laughs, "and i know that you are afraid of me."

you shook your head, then, and you managed to say, "not always."

"that is not enough," hongjoong murmured, his silver hair falling into his eyes. his dark eyes fell along your face, from your gaze to your lips and back.

you should have pushed him away.

instead, you said, "i am not afraid. not now."

he leaned closer then, his silver hair brushing along your temples, his touch on your cheek warm. "and now?"

your heart knocked against your ribs. you shook your head, "no."

then he leaned even closer, his forehead resting against yours. he was so close, you could count his eyelashes. his silver hair tickled your skin. his touch burned, like fire. like the sun.

your heart stopped, and the silence in the room was deafening. you were afraid any sudden movement, any loud noise, would bring you both back to reality, that it would shatter whatever this was, as tentative and fragile as it felt. your gaze flickered from his dark eyes to his pink lips, and watched his jaw clench.

he breathed, "now?"

you shook your head.

"words, y/n," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles along your jaw, "i need words."

"beg for it, then," you mocked his words, matching his tone. a grin stretched across his face. all teeth and glinting, despite his hooded dark eyes.

one of his hands dragged down your skin, drawing circles and letters and words you would never be privy to along the skin of your neck, and you shuddered under his touch. he said, with an air of the kind of gentle care that left you breathless, "please." his other thumb brushed to the corner of your mouth, pressing into the soft skin as he repeated, gentle and desperate and wanting in a way that made your thoughts run blank, "y/n, please."

you turned your head, pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his thumb. his eyes tracked your movements. you knew because you held his gaze in yours.

you said, "i am not afraid of you, hongjoong. not anymore."

a lie.

his lips twitched upwards.

he knew when you lied.

he asked, "and if i were to kiss you? would you be afraid then?"

terribly so, you thought, and not because he was the son of the mad king, or because he was volatile. no, what you feared the most was the way you hung onto his movements with bated breath and your heart beat too fast at his touches. you feared you liked this - him - more than you should have. more than you could handle.

you only feared yourself, when you shook your head and said, "no."

when he pressed his lips to yours, you were caught by surprise not by the kiss, but by his gentleness. you kissed him back. he tasted of the remnants of sweet mulberry wine. he smelled of the soap and bath oils you both shared. you pressed up into him, deepening the embrace, and he cradled the back of your head as he maneuvered you into the bedsheets, and your fingers found purchase in his silver-blond hair. he gasped against your lips, and you could feel the grin there. his lips were soft and kind and everything you longed for since you stepped foot in the red keep. of kindness, of softness, of being held as if you were the most precious creature to exist. it made you breathless.

he broke away first, and you gasped for air, even as one of his hands pressed under your jaw. your own hands remained tangled in his hair. he tucked away loose strands of hair as he hovered above you, as he peered down at you. his gaze was intense, as if he was memorizing the sight of you like this, as if he was admiring you. the rough pad of his thumb dragged along your cheek.

he said, "i've wanted to do that since i laid eyes on you."

you'd blinked at his admission, your grip in his hair tightening. his thumb dragged down your cheek, down the length of your neck, down, down, down. he stopped just short of the hem of your shirt.

"keep going," you allowed, untangling one of your hands from his hair just to push it back from his face. just to cup his cheeks in your hands. "just...do not hurt me."

So when you moved out for college to another city, Wooyoung went to another city too, the two of you apart for the first time, which is when you started regretting being away from him because you missed him so much and two years into college but you still didn't have a friend like Wooyoung.

So it was quite a surprise to you when Wooyoung announced that now that he was done with his two years degree, he was moving to your city to pursue further studies and job and that he was moving with you right away so he wouldn't waste his holidays and find himself an apartment and a job.

Though the two of you called often, the last time you met was four months ago when you both were in your hometown, and you had been positive that you had your romantic feelings for Wooyoung under control. But now that you were going to be seeing him everyday...

You were not so sure anymore.

You prayed he had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, anyone. You prayed he was taken so you would have a reason to not think about him like that. Though your heart hurt at the thought, you knew it was necessary.

Making sure your house was neat, you went to your room to change, taking a shower and drying your hair, wearing a plain black T shirt with ripped jeans so if the two of you went out for dinner, you'd simply have to don a jacket over it. You did find yourself applying light makeup and fret over your hair because, well, you should appear good to someone who was meeting you after a long time.

He shouldn't have to see you in your usual messy state just yet, though he was the person used to seeing you in that state the most.

You heard your phone ring and immediately picked up when you read Wooyoung's name on it.

"I'm downstairs, what's your apartment number?"

You found yourself at the door, waiting for him to come and ring the bell, then ditched the idea and just went outside, waiting for him because gosh, you missed your best friend so much.

And the ding of the elevator was the best sound you'd heard in a while, your face stretching into a big smile when you saw Wooyoung-

He had changed, a lot.

Wooyoung immediately ran to you, you mirroring his actions as he crashed you in a hug, laughing loudly and patting your back, kissing your temple and breaking the hug to look at you.

"You look different! Did you get a hair cut?"

"I did," you smiled, "And you dyed your hair! Why haven't I seen this, Jung Wooyoung?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he laughed, wriggling his brows, and you scanned him- he suddenly felt so much taller and-

"Have you been working out?!"

Wooyoung smirked, taking two steps back and flaunting his muscles, shrugging off his jacket. You wowed, shaking your head.

"I bet the girls were all over you."

"They were," he grinned, and you smiled, motioning him to come inside, taking his small bag, "The rest of my stuff arrives tomorrow."

"Good," you said, "So. What do you wanna eat?"

------------------

"This is so good," Wooyoung mumbled through his stuffed mouth, and you scoffed, putting another piece of meat in his bowl, "This is the place you love, right?"

"You can see why," you dipped your meat in a sauce, "The smell alone makes my knees weak."

"I can tell," Wooyoung grinned, "So, tell me how life has been these past four months."

You told him it had just been the usual- trying to balance studying and working and finding enough time for yourself too- going out and exploring, often alone, sitting in cafes with a book or your laptop, or if you were lucky, a friend.

"You still don't have a good friend?"

"I blame you for that," you eyed Wooyoung, "I forgot how to make friends because I never needed to. And look at you!"

"Ah, you can't exactly blame me," Wooyoung scoffed, "It's all you. You're scared that no one would be as good as me. My only fault is that I am your standard-"

You shut him when your threw your napkin at his face, making him shake his head, but the both of you noticed that you didn't deny it.

And Wooyoung did feel bad- he sometimes felt as if he really had stopped you from getting more exposure and making more friends, and he had often voiced this concern, but you had adamantly shut him down, saying you were an introvert through and through which meant you didn't like social interactions much and Wooyoung was a blessing to you because you would have been completely alone without him.

"What about you, huh? Did you make too many friends? Starting to forget about who really knows you?"

"Ay, come on. I can never," Wooyoung winked, sighing as he thought about how to word it to you, "I was... in a relationship. Didn't go well."

Your heart sank at his words, your brows furrowing in concern when you saw his face fall, "What went wrong?"

Wooyoung sipped on his water, "Well, the girl... she was my classmate. We were friends in the beginning, and she was a good friend, but then she said she wanted to try being more. And I liked her, so I thought it was a good idea. But..."

You instantly knew Wooyoung was going to hide something from you- he would always play with his earlobe when he wasn't being fully honest.

"She didn't like that I was... friends with everyone, friendly with anyone. So I ended it."

You narrowed your eyes at him, wanting to ask more but stopping because you could do that later. "If she can't accept you for who you are..."

"Exactly," Wooyoung smiled, "I know what I'm worth."

"You might think of yourself a tad bit too highly-"

"Ah, my self love has just increased tenfold ever since I broke up with her!" Wooyoung wriggled his shoulders in a silly dance and you waved your hand at him in dismissal, focusing on finishing the food.

"Are you sure you aren't in love with yourself, Wooyoung?"

"I might be," he grinned, and you couldn't help but laugh at how silly he was being.

Finishing up and paying the bill, you and Wooyoung started walking back to your apartment while you told him about the city, the expenses one normally had if they lived in an apartment like yours, which you had been lucky for, the time it took to get from college to home, from home to the main city, etc.

Entering your apartment, you showed him around- one room being your bedroom where you only slept, while the other was set to be your study/workplace, two desks in the corner.

"Are you okay with this room? I practically live in this room, so I don't mind either way."

"Your bed seems comfortable," Wooyoung pouted, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Of course it does, take that room. I'll just sleep here-"

"Here? On that thing?"

"That thing, Wooyoung, is a futon where I nap occasionally, so I really don't see the problem."

"Oh come on," Wooyoung put an arm around your shoulder, "Think about the good old times, let's sleep together."

Your heart was jumping wildly in your chest and you were positive Wooyoung could hear it. You cleared your throat, sighing. "I'm a night-owl, so you can just sleep in my room. I'll sleep with you if I have the energy to make it to my room by the time I'm done with work."

"I better find you there," Wooyoung pointed a finger at you as he said it, and you twisted his finger, making him squeal in pain.

"You kick a lot while you sleep so I'm not so sure, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung grinned, saying he was going to take a shower, and as soon as he left the room, you slumped on your futon.

Because how long could you avoid sleeping in the same bed as him?

It wasn't like you both cuddled while sleeping- you were used to sleeping at the very corner and Wooyoung would hug a pillow while he slept. But... if you avoided him now, he would surely notice.

Let's think tomorrow, you thought, sitting on your desk and resuming your work from where you left.

---------------------

"You didn't come all night."

Your heart lurched at his words, making you almost choke on your drink, but you rolled your eyes.

"Stop being so dramatic, Wooyoung," you said, watching him stuff a pancake bite and pout, "I was too tired to even make it to the futon."

"Is that so?" He raised his brow, and you raised it back, because what did he mean by that?

He sighed in dismissal, "My stuff arrives today, I'm giving them your address. Should I just check if there's an apartment in your building available for me?"

Your eyes widened and you clapped, "We could be neighbours. Or wait-"

You both looked at each other, a slow grin spreading on each other's faces, "Should we just live together like we used to imagine?"

You thought about it- you and Wooyoung had always, when little, planned to just move out together and live together to save expenses and whatnot. It wasn't a bad idea- your apartment had two rooms. And yet...

It was Wooyoung.

You dismissed the other feelings, thinking from the perspective of the best friend you've known all your life and how this could work. It wasn't going to be a problem at all- in fact, it would relax you two from worrying about half the stuff you would have worried about if you continued living alone.

"But," you groaned, "You're too loud. And you never let me focus on my work-"

"Hey, is that the reason why you'll kick me out!" Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, clearly disappointed, but you just shrugged.

"See? Too loud: proved."

"Oh come on," Wooyoung practically cried, "We'll split the bills and all, which means we both won't have to worry about working so much anymore, and- I'll even clean the house! I know you hate cleaning! And... I'll get the groceries!"

"No, I'll get the groceries, I actually like shopping alone. And as far as cleaning is concerned... just don't wreck the house."

"Does that mean it's a yes?" Wooyoung leaned forward, his eyes eager for a positive response, and you pretended to think about it.

"If you say no, what is our friendship even worth?"

"If you act like a fucking parasite, Wooyoung, I'll kick you out."

"Yay!" Wooyoung pumped his fist in the air, almost knocking his plate over, making you put your head in your hands.

"I'll make a list of rules and you have to follow them, or else I'm kicking you out."

"I'll do the same," Wooyoung said, grabbing a pen and paper from the nearest table and you gaped at him.

"I'm still the owner, you can't kick me out."

"As a matter of fact, I can, and you'll see that I can," Wooyoung warned, and you regretted ever saying yes, smiling as he handed you a page, the both of you working on your list. You tried peeking at his, but he just hid it from you, and you started listing your own rules:

1. If you're too loud, you're out.

2. If you are too clingy, you're out.

3. If you ever wear that rose scented men's perfume that I abhor, you're out.

4. If you tease me while I'm working, you're out.

5. If you invite friends over without my permission when I'm home, you're out.

6. If you so much as bring a girl home to have xxx in my bed, you're fucking out of my life.

7. If you're loud while I'm asleep, you're out.

"Hey, why are you being so harsh, putting 'you're out' after every sentence?" Wooyoung glared at you but you just folded your arms as he read the list.

"The last time I wore that perfume was when you told me you'd kill me if I wear it again!"

"Just had to make sure," you said, urging him to read the rest.

"Why would I bring a girl here when there's you?"

"I'm sorry, what?" You raised your brow, and Wooyoung stared at you for a moment before realizing how it sounded.

"I mean," he began, "I would never bring a girl home here, I know my limits."

"Thought so, now let me read yours," you said, and Wooyoung gave you his page, titled 'Wooyoung's Rules To Live By' in bold characters, making you scoff, and you started to read it:

1. You make the breakfast, I'll take care of lunch/dinner.

2. When I want to go out with you, you won't say no unless you have work or you're dying of an illness.

"Hey, what's with rule no. 2? If I don't feel like going out, you can't convince me to."

"I can, and I will," Wooyoung simply announced, making you sigh as you continued.

3. Saturday nights are our time, no meeting other people.

4. Good luck tolerating me :D

You snorted as you finished reading that short but meaningful rule list, agreeing to it.

"Was I too harsh with mine?" You wondered.

"You were!"

----------------

"I'm considering kicking you out, Wooyoung, how come you have so much stuff for a single person?"

"Uhh," Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck as he looked around for a place to step in the living room, finding none, "Let's save up and rent a bigger apartment?"

"Where is that one box that said fragile, let me just jump on it real quick-"

"HEY, I'm sorry, we'll figure it out!"

You glared at Wooyoung- he looked incredibly hot in a simple white shirt with jeans, his streaked hair tied in a ponytail. You hadn't seen him look better your whole life.

It had to be the reason why you gave in real quick, wondering where to start unpacking.

"Okay first of all," you said, "Since I practically live in my study room, shouldn't I just move the rest of my stuff there and let you have the room with the bed?"

"You don't need to move anything, I'm already inconveniencing you enough," Wooyoung said, and you raised an eyebrow as if to say 'glad you know'. "Let me put my clothes and stuff in the study room, and I'll set my pc on the desk next to you."

"Sounds good," you agreed, "Are these all... clothes? 5 boxes? Seriously Wooyoung?"

"And what do you know about fashion," he tsk-ed at you, "I'm gonna upgrade your wardrobe as soon as I go shopping."

"I don't buy on impulse like you, Wooyoung, which is why I'm the smarter one here occupying less space and wasting less money on trivial things."

"Whatevs," Wooyoung said haughtily, "Let's begin with the clothes."

Setting up two clothes rack in the corner of what would now be called 'Wooyoung's room', you started hanging his shirts and jackets, folding all of his trousers in one box and putting it beneath the rack to save space. Meanwhile Wooyoung started lining up his shoes and you wowed at his collection.

"That's too much, I'd throw at least 3 of them out."

"I'd throw you out before I throw my babies," Wooyoung cradled his sneakers and you sneered at him.

"Well, that makes half the stuff," you went out, noting how it was now half the boxes that were gone. "We really need a bigger apartment if we're living together, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung stood beside you, thinking. Your apartment wasn't that big, and you knew it was gonna be tough living like this because even you had no space for clothes and shoes which was why they were usually everywhere.

"Should we start looking for a bigger one when I start working? I mean, we can manage it now."

"I don't know about the living together part... I mean, think about it Wooyoung. How long can we live together?"

"Well," Wooyoung folded his arms, "We're studying for two years, right? So let's find a new apartment for two years. We don't know what the future holds. Who knows? Maybe you'll love living with me and won't want to leave me-"

"You won't want to leave me," you corrected, "I don't particularly care about leaving you behind, in case you didn't notice."

"Oh come on," Wooyoung grinned at you, "You know you love me."

"Do I?" You wondered, and Wooyoung put you in a chokehold, making you slap his arm repeatedly until he let you go.

"Rule no. 7: Chokehold me and you're out?"

Wooyoung waved a hand in dismissal, opening the box of his personal belongings, finding more stuff than he thought he'd have. He looked at you.

"Do you think I can just slide this under the bed?"

-----------------

It took another hour before you were done, deciding that yes, you'll both move to a better apartment because you had savings and wanted to keep living in this area, and Wooyoung would live with you for two years then probably move out, depending on the situation then. Since the two of you were worn out, you both were sitting shoulder to shoulder, half lying on the couch in the living room, the television on but both of you too tired to focus, waiting for food to be delivered.

"I think it's all the talking that gets me tired," you said.

"Are you saying I talk too much?"

"I'm saying you make me talk too much, dumbass," you sighed, "I'm so drained."

"Me too," Wooyoung said, sliding further down and resting his head on your shoulder, making you sigh internally.

You needed to get yourself a boyfriend so you'd stop thinking about Wooyoung.

But you weren't sure that would solve the problem, especially when Wooyoung was sitting like this, casually playing with your hands, "I don't think I said it, but thanks for letting me live with you. I was very lonely the past two years- I don't think I can live alone. I was always inviting someone for sleepovers."

You laughed lightly, patting his cheek because he was so adorable. "You really can't, can you?"

He leaned in to your touch, smiling, "This feels like I'm home. My apartment never felt like home, but this... it feels like home."

"I know what you mean," you said, agreeing because sitting here like this with him reminded you of your hometown, which you really missed.

The bell rang and Wooyoung got up, saying he'll get the food, and you cleared the table so he could place the pizza box there. As you both ate, you filled each other on gossip from your hometown, which went something like this:

"I can't believe Yunho and Mingi are finally dating. It was about fucking time."

"I'm just waiting for Seonghwa and Hongjoong to get married to someone else because if they cross 30 they'll just end up marrying each other."

"I think Yeosang has a girlfriend- there's no way he got that glow up for himself."

"San looks more and more like a playboy as he ages, I'm only okay with that because I know he's literal sunshine."

"Jongho and San's mom hang out more than the two now."

"My mom thinks I'll start going out with San only because that one time he dropped me off home when I met him four months ago."

Wooyoung laughed at that, the idea of you going out with San somehow more hilarious to him than it should have been. You eyed him as he laughed his lungs out.

"What?" You eyed him, "Do I not look like someone who would date San?"

"It's not that," he tried calming himself, "I just can't imagine it. Actually, I can't imagine you with anyone for that matter."

"Why? San is a pretty nice guy," you wondered, "And what do you mean by that, Jung Wooyoung? Am I that unattractive?"

"No, that's not what I mean, you're attractive enough," Wooyoung waved a hand at you, "It's just... I don't know what kind of a guy would make you happy, for that matter. I know you haven't had the best experiences in the past as well."

"Ugh," you pinched your nose bridge, "Do not recall the dark times."

"I literally had to drag you home because you wouldn't stop crying when you thought that guy founded you unattractive! Poor guy told me he just thought you weren't interested in him, and I had to give him a pat because he wasn't wrong."

"And what did I do for him to think I wasn't interested? He was kinda hot... what was his name again?" Wooyoung shrugged, and you continued, "Anyways, he was hotter than me definitely, and he wouldn't stop eyeing the girl that sat near us who was also hotter than me, so of course it hurt me. It was my first blind date and it was that time of the month, so don't blame me for being overly emotional."

"The problem with you, dear, is that you don't know how beautiful you are," Wooyoung said, and you looked at him- who gave him the right to say such things out loud and make your heart flutter? "Anyone who knows you knows that you're beautiful inside and out."

You smiled at him, and Wooyoung grinned, "Maybe more outside than inside, but-"

"HEY!" You slapped his arm, making him laugh out loud and apologize profusely.

"I was kidding! You know I love you and think you're beautiful, don't you?"

"I can't tell if you're joking or not anymore," you said, feeling heat creep up to your cheeks-

"Your blush says otherwise."

You gaped at him, slapping his arm again, muttering that you were going to wash up and go to bed, and once you were alone in the shower, you had to stifle the smile that made way to your face.

Wearing your PJs, you went to your room where Wooyoung had already made himself home in your bed, and you sat in front of your vanity, towel wrapped around your hair as you did your measly skincare routine.

"Tired?"

"Very," you answered, "I'm glad I worked before your stuff arrived."

"Aw, thanks for helping me out. Come on, I'll massage your shoulders as a gift."

"You don't need to," you said, but Wooyoung was already on his way, drying your hair with the towel and then massaging your shoulders, making you moan in satisfaction.

"That feel good?"

"Very," you grinned, "Learned it from my mom, didn't you?"

"Yes," he grinned back, "I can give you a back massage too."

"Nah, I'm good," you managed to say, and Wooyoung laughed, dragging you to bed with him, turning off all the lights except the dim night-light.

"This brings back memories," Wooyoung sighed, "Remember when we used to talk all night during sleepovers?"

"You did the talking, I did the listening," you said lazily, "We should do that again when I'm less sleepy."

"We will," Wooyoung promised, "I have so much to tell you."

"Me too," you smiled, welcoming sleep, feeling Wooyoung pull the covers on you.

----------------------

It was a rather busy first week with Wooyoung as a new resident. You had college in the morning, and though your work was mostly online, you still had to visit the office every once in a while. Apart from that, you were also using all the extra time you had to search for apartments, hoping to find a suitable one.

You had two things in mind you had to consider: An apartment you could afford even if you were living alone, and one feasible enough so two people could live in peace, weather it was Wooyoung or someone else.

You found three suitable ones- your favourite one out of the three was definitely one which was at quite a height, giving you a good view from the balcony. It was also the most expensive one out of the three, but nothing you couldn't afford.

You planned to take Wooyoung with you to finalize your apartment by the weekend. Wooyoung had been quite busy all week too, enrolling in college and finding work. Luckily, he had already contacted his workplace before he had arrived here, his friends already working there, so it had been easier for him.

You hadn't seen much of each other the whole week as well, but you figured it would get better once you were both settled in the new apartment. The only time you had for each other anymore was either during breakfast, where you both were too sleepy to talk much, and night where one of you already passed out somewhere before the other got home.

You were looking forward to the weekend, hoping to go out with Wooyoung, and it was definitely not because you remembered his Saturday-is-us rule. You really wanted a break, but figured Wooyoung must want it more, so you wanted to do something special for Wooyoung.

Which was why when you got home on Friday night, you waited until Wooyoung got home and asked if he had dinner, fixing something quick from the fridge so he could eat while you sat in front of him.

"This was one hell of a week and I want to go back to my hometown and sleep in my mom's lap with my little brother in my arms."

"What about your poor dad?"

"He can sleep on the couch," Wooyoung simply said, making you laugh.

"Gosh, you're such a baby. Anyways, are you free tomorrow? You know I have to show you the apartments, do you remember?"

"I do, and I'm free," Wooyoung was eating rather quickly and you told him to slow down.

"Okay, tomorrow is your day. What do you want to do? Let's do whatever you want."

Wooyoung set down his bowl, staring at you as he thought while you made faces at him to check if he was actually watching you or zoning out while he thought about it.

He was zoning out.

You saw his eyes come back to focus and he smiled, "Well, let's check out the apartments in the morning, lunch is on me, roam around in the evening and... do you wanna go clubbing?"

"Wooyoung! You know I hate clubs!"

"We need to have a drinking session and go to a bar or something!" Wooyoung practically shouted, "I don't understand why you don't drink when you're with me!"

"One of us drunk is enough, Wooyoung, two of us drunk would be a disaster," you shook your head.

"But I'm a good drinker," Wooyoung looked confused, "I can handle my drinks. You can't."

"You're a disaster anyway, drunk or not," you said, Wooyoung scoffing.

"Are you embarrassed because of that one time you couldn't stop crying when drunk-"

"That was one time!"

"That was the only time you drank with me!" Wooyoung looked disappointed and you knew why.

But he didn't need to know that the reason you had been a crying mess when drunk in front of Wooyoung was because you wanted to confess to him but held yourself back by crying because you feared it would ruin your friendship.

You didn't want to risk it again.

"Let's... keep the drinking for later," you said, hoping to delay it... two years if you could, "Let's do something else tomorrow."

"Alright," Wooyoung sighed and you breathed in relief, "We'll think of something then."

Which was how you ended up hiking at the night, trying to find a good spot to sit back and relax. 'Healing', Wooyoung called it, though you told him your feet would need actual healing after all the walking they had done today.

It had been an eventful and fun day. Wooyoung liked your choice of the apartment and you both finalized it, deciding to move in next weekend, taking note of all the things you'd need to buy for your new home. You both were pretty stoked about it, and talked about it throughout lunch- deciding to go for street food, trying different things.

You did buy some things for home when you explored the shops with Wooyoung, and decided to drop the stuff at your apartment first and freshen up before going hiking, which was Wooyoung's big plan.

After about 40 minutes of slow hiking, you reached the spot Wooyoung had showed you in pictures- and you had to admit, it was a good spot. The view was spectacular, especially with the full moon shining down on the lit city. The slow breeze caressed your skin and you stretched, Wooyoung taking out snacks from his bag and handing a chocolate to you.

"You better be carrying me on your back when we go down or give my feet a massage," you joked, Wooyoung smacking your thigh.

"Going down is easier, don't be so dramatic."

"It's a nice spot though," you admitted, "I'd say we could drink here but... I won't make it down."

Wooyoung laughed, "You'd wake the animals with all your crying too-"

"I don't cry every time I drink, Wooyoung, it was only one time!"

"Why did you even cry? You never told me," Wooyoung pouted.

"I don't remember," you lied smoothly, "Probably because I wanted to get rid of you?"

Wooyoung scoffed, "As if you could. I'd be the last person in your life when you get rid of everyone, and you'd be stuck with me."

"True," you grinned, "I don't think you can say the same, you unfaithful brat-"

"I'm not! You know you're my number one."

"Ha. You tell that to me when you get a girlfriend."

"You don't believe me, do you?" Wooyoung looked at you, and you noticed the change in his tone, making you raise your brow in confusion.

"Do you know why I broke up with my ex?"

"Because she thought you were too friendly with everyone?"

"Part of the reason. She mainly had a problem with... you."

Your heart sank, eyes surprised as you pointed a finger at yourself. "Me? What did I do?"

"Nothing," Wooyoung assured, "It's just... she saw how I talked to you. I told her you've been my best friend all your life but... somehow she didn't like the idea that you were more important to me than her."

"But, Wooyoung," you turned to face him, "You do realize that once you're in a relationship, you should, I don't know, prioritize your partner more? I'm not going anywhere-"

"No. You're my best friend, she was my girlfriend. It was two different things, and if she thought I'd talk to you less because I had her now... I can't. I can't replace what I have with you, you know? I don't think I'll find what I have with you in a partner."

You scanned his face, suddenly unreadable. There were too many layers to his words, and you didn't know which one to focus on. Wooyoung noticed your confusion, patting your arm.

"What I'm saying is, if anyone thinks I'll break things up with you for them, they can go to hell."

"Ah," you smiled shamelessly, "Sounds good to hear."

Wooyoung grinned, scooting you closer and wrapping his arm around you.

There it was. His love language.

So you didn't fight back, nibbling on your chocolate as the both of you sat in each other's arms, offering him some and almost crying when he bit the whole thing off.

-------------------

"I'm throwing this, you don't need it-"

"NO! That BBQ owner back home gave this to me, it's a memory!"

"You are too attached to useless stuff, Wooyoung, why did you even bring this lamp here? It doesn't even work!"

Wooyoung paused what he was doing, staring from you at the lamp then back, pondering.

"Come on, Wooyoung, it's not a tough decision-"

"Okay, throw it," he groaned, "Throw everything. Throw me out!"

"Gladly," you pretended to kick him, "Stop being so dramatic, the truck's almost here."

The two of you had been arguing back and forth all day long as you packed, and when the truck arrived, you were glad for the break your ears got. Taking one look at your now empty apartment, you said goodbye to the two very uneventful years you had spent here. It felt bittersweet, and that was good.

Arriving at your new apartment and unloading everything first, you and Wooyoung finally sat on the couch, looking at all the boxes and furniture.

"Where do we start."

You laughed internally at how it came out more as a statement- Wooyoung must finally be tired. "Can we sleep right here?"

"Please," he groaned, immediately lying down with his head on your lap, and you unconsciously started running your hands through his hair, realizing only when he said, "Give me a massage while you're at it."

You slapped his forehead instead- lightly, but not light enough to prevent his loud shout, and before your ears could bleed, you shut his mouth with your hand, and his eyes lit mischievously as he took that opportunity to lick your hand, making you scream and wipe it on his clothes while he laughed, trying to push him off of you.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just play with my hair, it felt nice."

You gave him a side eye but continued the slow motions through his silky hair and he shut his eyes.

"Don't sleep here, I'll throw you on the floor if you do."

"This is more comfortable than the bed."

"Shut up."

"I'm not lying."

You were glad his eyes were shut because you had to put a hand on your face to calm your wildly beating heart.

"I think we should at least set the bed first," you said, "Let's just deal with the rest later, tomorrow's Sunday anyway."

"Yeah, just two more minutes," Wooyoung fisted your hoodie in his hands as he got comfortable, and you sighed at the sight.

You could get used to this.

"You look like a cat right now," you laughed lightly, caressing his hair at the temples, "Also, you need to eat more. Your cheekbones and jaw are so prominent now."

You weren't sure if Wooyoung was listening or staying silent on purpose, but you found yourself caressing his cheekbone with your thumb, tracing his sharp nose bridge- a very attractive feature on him. You touched the mole beneath his eye like a button, scoffing, then continued playing with the hair, curling it at the nape of his neck-

"You're tickling me now."

You suddenly came out of your trance, taking a second to gather your wits and then slapping his neck, telling him to wake the hell up.

Sleepily, Wooyoung helped you set the bed, making sure everything was right, then set the mattress, and you had to stop him from falling right on top of it, telling him to wait. You went out in the living room, searching for the box labeled 'sheets', quickly tearing it apart and taking the sheets out.

"Good thing we had dinner, you look ready to die, Wooyoung."

"I'm sleepier thanks to you," he said, collapsing unceremoniously on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

"Can you play with my hair again? It felt so good, it will put me to sleep right away."

You audibly exhaled, shaking your head but too tired to argue, getting in bed after turning off the lights, not bothering to change, Wooyoung's eyes lazily watching you the whole time-

He really looked... different, in all the dim lights, on your bed, tired.

Hands on your hips, you were zoned out as you stared at him, wondering what you would do with him. Wooyoung was staring right back, and when he patted the space next to him, you took that place, adjusting yourself so your arm wouldn't fall off as you caressed his head.

He shut his eyes immediately, and you played with his hair, caressing his head until his breathing became regular, which was when you cautiously caressed his face, smiling when he didn't respond.

He must have been really tired to have slept this quickly.

You cupped his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb, overwhelmed by the way your heart ached at the sight.

So near yet so far.

You smiled sadly, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. But you only kissed his forehead lightly, lingering a bit before you drew back.

"I love you so much."

The whisper was lost to the air, and you fell asleep with your hand on his.

You didn't notice his hand caressing yours as you fell asleep.

-----------------

Once again, you were wishing you could throw Wooyoung out of the window.

"You're being... dumb, Wooyoung."

"You don't get my point," Wooyoung was done with you too, "With the both of us having to work from home most of the time, why don't we use one room as an office and one room as a bedroom? Just like in the previous apartment?"

"All this because you can't work alone?"

"Please, I need some company while working or else I'll get bored," he whined, "And you know even if we have separate rooms, I'll end up spending more time in your room anyway, so what's the point?"

"You're sounding very much like the parasite I mentioned will get you kicked out."

"It said nothing about me being a parasite."

"It said 'If you act clingy, you're out."

"But I'm not clingy right now," Wooyoung raised his hands in the air, "I'm a parasite."

"Semantics," you said, biting your lips as you thought about it. "If you're gonna be in my room 24/7 anyway, I guess I shouldn't bother."

"See, that's exactly my point."

You shook your head at the grinning Wooyoung, deciding to share the closet attached to one of the rooms which had ample space, setting the clothes racks Wooyoung had as well, all of your clothes and his now in their rightful place.

"I like this," you stood back and grinned, Wooyoung sharing the grin, "Should I set my vanity here too?"

"Set it in the room, we have enough space there," Wooyoung suggested, and you agreed.

Placing your personal items on the vanity, Wooyoung adding some of his products too, you were finally done with the bedroom, the living room and the kitchen. Only the 'study room/office/get-away-from-wooyoung' room remained.

"Let's place the desks together," Wooyoung suggested.

"You'll never let me work in peace that way."

"That's why I'm doing this in the first place," he grinned, and you groaned, giving in, setting the desks in one corner together, no gap so you could place your stuff without worries, but you made a point to place your chairs as further apart as possible, making Wooyoung laugh.

"The futon goes there," you pointed at the opposite wall, "And all our extra stuff in those boxes, we can pile there."

After you were done, you placed some frames on the desk- a picture of you and Wooyoung on the beach, a picture of you with your family, a picture of Wooyoung with his family. You smiled at the sight, Wooyoung calling you outside for dinner.

Wooyoung had brought two chairs from his apartment that you placed in your balcony, making it your little spot to relax and gossip with Wooyoung. He set the bowls of ramen there, motioning for you to join him, and you did, slurping your noodles.

"We got this apartment set quicker than I expected," Wooyoung checked the time- it was almost midnight, "I thought it would take Monday as well."

"Would have spared more time if you weren't being so petty and you know that."

Wooyoung shrugged, a guilty smile on his face, "I like this. It's really relaxing to sit here like this, feels like home."

"It does," you nodded, gazing at the cloudy night sky.

"I forgot to tell you," Wooyoung began, "San's here visiting his aunt. Should we invite him over?"

"Oh, we should," you cheered up- you had been friends with all of Wooyoung's friends from school, not as close as with Wooyoung of close but enough that you were comfortable.

"I'll tell him to come by when he's free. We can take him out or just relax at home."

"Yeah, whatever we feel like it that day. We should all have a reunion soon, I kinda miss our old school friends."

"Me too," Wooyoung smiled, "Let's go to the reunion this year, we missed last year's."

You nodded- you both had been busy with work at that time so you couldn't make it to your hometown.

"So, San," you began, "If he gets any hotter than the last time I saw him, I'll politely ask him to sleep over-"

Wooyoung threw a pen at you, making you scowl. "You can't do that when I'm here!"

"I'm doing nothing, what's running in your filthy mind, Jung Wooyoung?" You laughed, "I'm only kidding, of course. You know San is not my type."

"What, exactly, is your type?"

You exhaled, looking at Wooyoung.

You.

"Someone who's not as loud, clingy, parasitic as you-"

"Can you stop calling me a parasite, it hurts!" Wooyoung threw his head back, laughing, and you had to wonder how exactly it hurt that he was laughing like this.

"But someone who is as hot as me, if not hotter, right?" Wooyoung wriggled his eyebrows and you pretended to throw up.

"Fine," Wooyoung scoffed, suddenly angry with you, "You'll never find a man, I curse you to never-"

"Oh, come on," you got up, running your fingers under his chin like a cat's- something you did to cheer him up, "I need someone exactly like you. Happy?"

Wooyoung smiled, leaning in to your touch, and you said, "I need someone as loud and clingy as you."

"Again-"

"Listen, dumbass," you slapped his cheek lightly, "I need someone loud and clingy so they can balance me. And I need someone with a heart like yours. Now where would I ever find someone like you?"

"You'll die all alone."

You shook your head, taking Wooyoung's chin in your hand and pulling him up to face you, bringing your own face closer as you said:

"If I can't find someone like you, you'll never find someone as good as me too."

The two of you stared at each other, none of you moving, half grins on your faces as you glared at each other, and when Wooyoung licked his lips (probably unconsciously) you suddenly became aware of the position you were in, dropping your hand and going inside to get water, leaving him staring at you.

Wooyoung sighed-

This wasn't how he had expected things to turn out, but he wasn't complaining.

He hadn't expected to become a wreck inside with you around.

But it felt good.

----------------------

It was the day San was coming over to visit.

You both had decided to invite him to your apartment, relax and catch up, maybe go out for dinner or order something for home if you felt like it. You were both excited- San was one of Wooyoung's closest friends, and naturally yours too.

You were dressed in a navy blue shirt and black denim trousers- simple, but you wanted to look good for a change, which was why you were sitting on your vanity, blow-drying your hair to perfection.

"We should really go out, I'm making all this effort," you muttered to Wooyoung who had been watching you do your hair for the past 10 minutes now, "Also, can you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm planning the murder of your unborn child," you side-eyed him, "Do I not look good?"

"I just," Wooyoung ran a hand through his messy hair, "Why all the effort? It's only San."

"I'm not doing this for San," you looked at him- was he...

No. He couldn't be.

"I'm doing this for myself, because I want to feel good," you simply said, continuing with your hair, finally done. You applied the little everyday makeup that was your routine for whenever you would go out.

"Come on, I'll do your hair too. I know just how to make it look good."

Wooyoung gladly sat, letting you style his hair-he was getting used to you running your hands through his hair, in fact, he was almost addicted to the feeling because you were always so gentle-

"I can see your eyes roll, are you enjoying this?" You had fisted his hair now, tugging at it a bit harshly, making him laugh.

"And here I was thinking how gentle you were with my hair," Wooyoung let out a disappointed sigh, "This looks good though. Do you think you can be my personal stylist?"

"Only if you pay me," you grinned. You heard the bell ring, and you hurriedly gave the last touches to Wooyoung's hair, running to the door, Wooyoung right behind.

"San!" You gasped- he had changed so much, "What is city life doing to you boys!"

San laughed, hugging you good and long, then handing you a bouquet of white roses which you thanked him for, calling him inside. "How have you been?"

"I'm good," you said, smiling when he spotted Wooyoung and crushed him in a hug, "You both are making it look like you're long lost lovers."

"Shut up," San laughed, dangling a shopping bag in his hands, "I got us drinks."

"Oh no," you took the drinks from him, hiding it from Wooyoung, "We'll keep these for later."

You all settled in the living room, catching up on life, and you had to ask him just what the city life was doing to all the boys- everyone you knew had been working out, no longer looking like boys but looking more like men.

"I love your hair!" you pointed at his ash mullet, "I should do something with my hair too, don't you think? Normal hair is making me look boring now."

"You should, something like mine," San said, "Get ash highlights or something. We could match."

You grinned, but Wooyoung wasn't having any of it.

"Or get some streaks like mine."

"I don't think that would suit me," you pouted.

"Anything would suit you," Wooyoung said casually, offering San some peanuts.

"I'll see," you waved your hand dismissively, "So, San. Is there a special someone back there?"

San laughed at you wriggling your brows at him, putting his hand on his face, "Not yet, not yet."

"Aw," you laughed, he was just so... cute. "What's your plan? Are you gonna settle there or go back home?"

"I don't think I want go back just yet," San said, "I want to experience new things. I want to do so much, and I don't think I can do that in our hometown."

"True," Wooyoung said, "Which was why I moved here. Better opportunities."

"How come you're living together and you," San looked at you, "Are still alive and sane?"

You laughed out loud, "I wonder how."

Wooyoung slapped your arm, "You should ask me how I'm living with her when she's practically a sloth-"

"You're the one who decided to make home here," you interrupted him.

"You're the one who gladly let me!"

"Gladly?" You scoffed, "I would have-"

"Come on, let's not fight," San laughed, pushing you both apart before you were at each other's throats, but he knew it was all jokes. He wasn't unaware of the love you had for each other, "Stop fighting like a married couple. Let's go out."

"As if," you sneered at Wooyoung, who just growled back, making all of you laugh.

You treated San to dinner at the same BBQ place that was basically a second home to Wooyoung now too, and Wooyoung decided to have a drinking session at home, ruining your plan which was to make them forget about the drinks altogether.

"Just call me a taxi before I pass out from drinking too much," San said.

"You can stay here, we have space," you offered.

"Nah, I have to leave for home first thing in the morning," San said, "Maybe some other time."

"Don't let her drink," Wooyoung elbowed San, "She'll start crying-"

"ONE TIME, WOOYOUNG," you pinched your nose bridge.

"She cried?" San narrowed his eyes at you, "That's not how it quite went when she drank with me-"

"When did that happen, excuse me," Wooyoung folded his arms in question.

You sighed, internally cursing San who was grinning, because he was the only person aware of your not-so-platonic feelings for Wooyoung- he wasn't 100% sure, but he had high suspicions and you never denied them.

"You don't need to know," you dismissed him, glaring at San who just tried stifling his own laugh. You brought the drinks and three glasses, "Bottoms up."

Wooyoung was definitely the best drinker in the room, San and you already flushed after one bottle. Wooyoung had an evil grin plastered on his face as he watched you two mirror each other's expressions- head resting on one hand, playing with the glass with the other hand.

"Do you think about how we might not be worth anything to someone?" San began, "I think it's really sad how we might be of zero value to someone."

"I think if someone knows you," you rubbed your eyes, "you value at least a 1 out of 100. That's definitely something."

"Only 1? What am I to you then?"

"Hmm," you thought about it, "A solid... 70?"

"And here I was giving you an 80," San shook his head, "Where did the rest go? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, it's a very good score actually," you said, "The highest is 90, so it's a good score."

"And who's the highest? Your mom?"

"Nope," you faltered, your brain telling you to shut the hell up but your heart not ready.

"Ah.. is it-"

"Of course it's me," Wooyoung patted your back, "You're a 99 to me, don't worry."

"Where it that 1? Do you know how much that 1 matters?"

"And here you told me 1 is something!" San frowned.

Wooyoung laughed at you both, "You're very drunk. San, I'm calling you a taxi, you need to get home."

"Okay," San slumped against you, "Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming," you slurred lazily, "It was nice to have someone to look at who's not Wooyoung."

Wooyoung shook his head, gathering San's stuff and helping him up, and you lazily got up too, waving your hand at San.

"Text me when you get home," Wooyoung told San and he nodded, leaving you two alone like usual.

"Do you wanna keep drinking or go to bed?"

"Both."

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Wooyoung laughed when you pouted, but you tugged at his sleeves, making him sit with you.

"One more drink, please."

Wooyoung poured the drink for you, filling his own glass as well, and you knew you were going to regret this, but-

"You're a 99 to me too."

Wooyoung smiled- you were too adorable to handle right now. He pinched your cheek, "What's the 1 for?"

"It's because you are not mine," you said, and Wooyoung frowned.

"What do you mean, I am your best friend, of course I am yours-"

"No, you don't understand," you looked at him, "It's because you are not mine."

Wooyoung's heart lurched dangerously in his chest- was he hearing this right?

"You're not mine," you said, "And I feel like I'm gonna cry."

"No, no, don't cry," Wooyoung turned your face to make you look at him, "Don't cry. You know I am yours. Why would you cry?"

A tear escaped your eye and Wooyoung wiped it, hugging you as you muttered the same sentence again, and he knew if you weren't drunk, you'd feel his heart beating so loudly.

Wooyoung made you get in bed with him, pushing your hair out of your face, worried at the look you had in your eyes.

"Do you want me to be yours?"

You weren't sure if you were hearing it right- you were very, very drunk, and you knew that you would have a good reason to cry tomorrow. You were walking on very dangerous lines.

But Wooyoung didn't wait for a verbal answer- he knew now. The look in your eyes was enough. He kissed your forehead, locking eyes with you.

"I'm already yours," he assured you, but you shook your head, and he cupped your face to make you look at him.

"You don't understand. I'm already yours. You just don't know that yet."

You nodded, confused, burying your face in his chest as sleep came like a wave.

-----------------

"Don't touch me."

"It's almost afternoon!" Wooyoung tried snatching the covers from you, "You're wasting our Saturday!"

"Go away!" You practically growled.

There were a number of reasons you didn't want to wake up, and your hangover was the last reason.

You recalled last night perfectly well, and you felt humiliated and confused. And with Wooyoung acting like nothing happened...

You weren't sure what he meant by that:

"You don't understand. I'm already yours. You just don't know that yet."

"I made hangover soup for you," Wooyoung said, sitting beside you, "Come on, don't be a brat and get up."

You sighed- you knew Wooyoung was going to keep pestering you until you were sitting in front of him with the soup in your hands-

Which you now were.

"You're such a light drinker," Wooyoung laughed at you, and you wanted to glare at him but you couldn't meet his eyes right yet, "It's no fun drinking with you guys!"

"I told you it was a bad idea..."

"Ah, it's okay, don't cry again," Wooyoung teased, and now you did glare at him.

"Anyways," Wooyoung waved a hand in dismissal, "What are we doing today?"

So you thought Wooyoung hadn't taken your words seriously, which was how you distracted yourself, planning to do grocery with him and fulfil his wish of going clubbing that night.

"I need to look hot," you said, entering your home with shopping bags in both of your hands, "And so do you. So let's dump this for now and get ready."

You let Wooyoung pick your outfit- a black dress that hugged your figure, paired with heeled boots, and you went that extra measure to wear silver hoops, put on some lipstick and eyeliner, and style your hair-

"Maybe you should change that outfit," Wooyoung said, "You look more hot than should be acceptable."

"Shut up," you said, groaning, because when he casually said these words, it didn't help you. At all.

You styled Wooyoung's hair and he came out after changing, and you scanned him.

"Are you going out like... this?" You asked, pointing at the one too many buttons undone.

"Of course, I have to look sexy," he grinned, and you rolled your eyes, trying not to drool at how well built he was, and you both finally got in the taxi to the club.

"So have you ever been here?"

"Only once with friends," you admitted, "Which is why you won't ditch me until I find a good guy."

"Good luck with that," he said sarcastically, the both of you entering, and you were immediately overwhelmed by all the crowd and loud music, instinctively clinging to Wooyoung's arms.

"It sure is different here," Wooyoung looked around, "What are we doing here again?"

"It was your idea," you glared at him, "So come on. Let's get a drink, then look around, maybe dance, maybe find someone..."

Wooyoung laughed at how your voice became small at the last part, "Don't worry, I'm going home tonight. Unless you don't come home, I'm not going either."

"You don't have to worry about me," you said, though it felt like a stab to your heart, "You can do whatever."

"But I'm yours," Wooyoung whispered in your ear, and you gasped.

He hadn't forgotten, it seemed. And he was going to tease you about it.

"I was drunk," you sneered at him, dragging him to the bar, "You shut up while I get my drink."

"Do you know why you're a 99 to me too?" Wooyoung asked, a devilish smirk on his face, and you put your hands to your ears, having had enough.

He had no idea how you felt, did he?

"It's because you are not mine."

"Jung Wooyoung, you absolute brat-"

You couldn't help but laugh at how he was grinning, your cheeks flushed, "I'm gonna kill you if you mention this again. I was drunk, okay?"

"But what did you mean?"

"What did you mean, huh?" You turned, your eyes full of challenge, and that shut Wooyoung up, "What did you mean, when you said I was already yours but I didn't know it yet?"

"...I-"

"Never mind, I don't want to hear it," you downed another drink, "I'm going to the dance floor. Are you gonna shut up and accompany me?"

"Okay ma'am," Wooyoung shook his head, smiling, "Whatever you say."

"Wait a minute," you said, buttoning one of his one-too-many undone buttons, making him laugh.

"All good."

It wasn't the first time the two of you were dancing with each other in a club- you both would always stick together until someone caught your eye. But this time...

Something was different and none of you could deny it.

It was the way you weren't eyeing other people but absorbed in your own little world, the two of you only looking at each other as you danced, your hands on his shoulders and his at your waist.

"You're quiet today," you finally said.

Wooyoung didn't answer, only continued slowly dancing with you, and you couldn't take it anymore- you couldn't match his strong gaze anymore. You looked around, trying to find someone who was maybe interested in you-

"Let's just dance together," Wooyoung's voice was low, "Let's not meet someone new tonight."

You scanned Wooyoung's face, "Are you feeling alright?"

Wooyoung laughed, "I'm fine. I just don't feel like meeting someone new tonight."

"But it was your idea in the first place-"

"Saturday is all about us, remember?" Wooyoung said, and you shook your head at him.

"As if that would stop you-"

Wooyoung brought you closer, your grip on his shoulder tightening in reflex.

"Just shut up and dance with me tonight," Wooyoung whispered in your ear, and you gulped, not knowing why Wooyoung was suddenly insisting on this, but not complaining either.

You did notice how his eyes never left yours the entire night.

You also noticed how his hands would tighten ever so slightly at your waist.

And when the music changed to something fast, you were relieved that you would no longer be dangerously close to him. Putting your feelings aside, you grinned at Wooyoung as the both of you started to dance along to the beat.

Wooyoung was really good at random dances, and he had always taught you the basics and made you dance with him often, which was why you could match his energy. It was fun to dance freely with him, an occasional twirl, occasional dip, and you really felt light after that.

Making fun of the people who gave up on dancing and watched you both instead, you both finally got home, you immediately ditching your boots and sitting on the couch, rubbing your feet while Wooyoung grabbed water for both of you.

"Fun night," you said, "You didn't have to keep me company the whole time, Wooyoung. I admit I'm bad at instantly connecting with someone, but you wasting your opportunity makes me feel bad."

"If I wanted to, I would have ditched you," Wooyoung simply said, "I really didn't want to. I wanted tonight to be about us."

"If you say so," you drank from your glass, trying not to read too much into whatever he said, getting up to change and telling him you were going to catch up on your work-

Because you really felt overwhelmed by the way Wooyoung had looked at you the whole night, and you needed space.

And Wooyoung knew that too, letting you have some time to clear your head.

-----------------

"That is one hot guy."

Wooyoung immediately slid his chair towards you, peeking at your phone while you zoomed in on the picture your colleague Eunbi had sent, trying to set you up for a blind date.

You really needed a distraction, especially when Wooyoung was this close to you, practically breathing down your neck as he slid one hand to zoom out at the picture and take a look at their face.

"Who's that?"

You slid away from him, pushing his chair back to his desk, "Remember Eunbi? You met her last time? It's her friend, she's been trying to set me up with him for quite a while now. She's always talking about him to me."

"Why doesn't she date him then?" Wooyoung asked casually, shifting his focus back on his screen.

"She's already in a relationship, but she told me he's a great guy. Maybe I should go on a date with him, what do you say?"

"I don't know... maybe just get to know him in a casual sitting- like parties, first, before going alone..."

"It's called a blind date, Woo," you said, "Should I set you up with someone too?"

"Nah, I'm good... for now," he simply said, not taking his eyes off the screen- which, from him, was abnormal behaviour.

"You sure?"

"Yes," he said, and this time you slid your chair closer to him.

"Are you sad that I'll find someone and poor Wooyoung would be all alone-"

"Hey!" Wooyoung cringed back, the two of you laughing, "I don't care, do whatever, just don't tell me the details!"

You shook your head at him, wondering why he was acting so weird at the mention of you going on a date- he was usually making fun of you instead, giving you tips, but this time...

Something had changed.

Should you address it? You wondered as you focused on your work, absently typing, stopping in the middle of it altogether.

You glanced at Wooyoung. He, too, was zoning out.

Quite unlike him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, and Wooyoung came out of his trance, rubbing his face.

"Just tired," he said, and you got up, telling him you'd make some coffee for the both of you.

You came in with the mugs, stopping midway when you saw him slumped back on his chair, rubbing his temples. You pursed your lips, setting the mugs on the table and massaging his temples, his eyes shut.

"I don't like it when you get tired," you said, "You become too quiet. I don't like it when you become quiet."

"Why?"

"I like it better when you're smiling and yapping," you laughed, making him smile as well, "Drink your coffee first, then finish work and get some sleep. Recharge yourself."

"Okay, I will," he promised, and you kissed his forehead, surprising him because you usually weren't the one initiating hugs or kisses. Usually it was Wooyoung randomly surprising you with one.

"I like it though," he said as you sat in your chair, sipping on his coffee, and you looked at him in question.

"I like it when you hug or kiss me first. It recharges me."

"Shut up," you groaned as he smirked, hiding your face because you were positive it was red now.

This side of you- you blushing over something he said or did- it was new to Wooyoung, and he wanted to see more of it.

He really, really did not want you to go on that date.

----------------

"How do I look?"

"Like you're trying too hard."

"Wooyoung, I literally only wore better clothes and combed my hair."

"You're trying too hard."

"Whatever," you shook your head at him, wearing heels, and he raised a brow.

"See? You're wearing heels! You are trying too hard!"

"And why shouldn't I?" You put your hands on your hips, "I'm going on a date, Wooyoung, I have to put some effort."

"Ah, I don't know, just don't make me cringe," he shook his hands in front of you and you ignored him, grabbing your purse.

"See you later."

As you sat in the taxi, you were positive Wooyoung was jealous. And you couldn't help but smile at that- you still weren't sure what he wanted, and you were too afraid to take the first step. So you had to distract yourself.

Because there was still a possibility that Wooyoung was only being himself, that he had no ulterior motive, that his jealousy was simply because he'd be single and you'd rub it in his face- just like he would rub it on your face when he wasn't. It was just how it went between you two.

But... there was a slight chance that Wooyoung was finally looking at you from a new perspective, looking at you as a romantic interest rather than his childhood best friend. And you... just the thought of it made your heart ache and knees go weak, which was why you didn't really want to go there.

So you went on your date and actually had a good time. His name was Yeonjun and you got along with him quite well, just because he was funny and really paid attention when you talked. And he was definitely attractive- not just because of his looks, but because of his personality too.

Which was why Wooyoung was acting quite grumpy as you told him what you talked about, how he treated you (quite a gentleman), how he was hot-

"Can you stop calling him hot every two seconds!"

You laughed out loud- you were, of course, only doing it to rile Wooyoung up.

"Was he as good as I am to you?"

"What?" You looked at Wooyoung.

"If he doesn't treat you like I do, he isn't good enough."

"And by that," you began, "You mean making me pay for your food every chance you get, teasing me 24/7, being a parasite-"

Wooyoung burst out laughing, "I mean... taking care of you. Knowing when you are tired-"

"Do you really know when I'm tired? Because I am quite tired of you-"

"Listen," Wooyoung shifted on the couch, facing you, taking one of your hands and caressing it, "If he doesn't care for you like I do... if he doesn't think you're the most important thing in his life, if he doesn't know you inside out, if he doesn't love you like I do..."

You were holding your breath.

Wooyoung glanced at you- your face was expressionless and Wooyoung, only he knew that it meant that you were confused or nervous.

Was he willing to take the risk now? Was he willing to place bets-

"Why do you need someone else when you have me?"

"Wooyoung," you began, unsure how to respond, "I... I don't understand what you're getting at-"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't know what I'm getting at."

But you couldn't- you were far too overwhelmed. You had never thought there was a possibility that Wooyoung could reciprocate your feelings- you had only imagined, it had only been your wildest dreams. And now-

"I'm gonna get some water," you managed to say, trying to get up but Wooyoung wasn't having it- he didn't release your hand, making you drop back on the couch when you tried getting up, leaning forward and taking your other hand too, making you face him.

"You know. I told you I am yours. I'm only gonna ask this once. Tell me you don't love me the way I do."

"What do you mean?"

Wooyoung leaned in further, making you instinctively pull back, but he let go of your hand only to cup your face, locking your eyes with his.

"Tell me you don't want this."

He was caressing your cheek, all too aware of your wildly beating heart, his eyes falling down to your lips as he licked his, and you were about to fall flat backwards so your hand went to grip his shoulder, and he shifted back so you were half on top of him, tucking stray hair behind.

"You just have to say no, and I'll stop," he whispered, his lips meeting your jaw, planting a seductive kiss and you had to hold back your moan, because-

Was this really happening?

"Tell me you don't like this," he said, his lips trailing down your neck, almost smirking when you shifted to give him a better angle while you tried to think-

But you couldn't think.

You had no control.

"Tell me you're not mine."

You took a deep breath, shutting your eyes close for a second and then almost growling when his nose brushed against yours and you- you took the first step and kissed him.

And it was inexplainable. As soon as your lips met, he was kissing you back, his hands snaking behind your neck, gripping on your hair as he angled you better, your own hands cupping his face, and you had to break apart because you couldn't breathe, not because you were out of breath but because you couldn't believe this was finally, finally happening.

You scanned his face for any sort of surprise but there was none, his eyes were glazed as he tucked your hair behind, holding your face with one hand and bringing you back again.

You were fisting his shirt in your hands as he kissed you, slow and passionate, taking his sweet time and you let him. You let him run his hands down your neck, slide down your arm only to hold your waist and he pushed you back on the couch, now on top of you.

He scanned your face again, for any sign of discomfort, satisfied to see your face flush. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

And that sentence made you bite your lip and shut your eyes, trying to stifle your smile but failing, ending up laughing because this was unreal.

Wooyoung kissed your forehead, "You have no idea how much I love you."

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, and you wanted to tell him that you have probably loved him longer, that you were beyond relieved that he felt the same. You hoped your feelings conveyed as you kissed him back, but he broke the kiss, breathing heavily.

"Say something."

You pursed your lips, breaking eye contact as you smiled because all of this was too much and you were basically speechless. And Wooyoung found it quite amusing.

"Shut up."

Wooyoung laughed out loud, "I didn't even say anything!"

"I can hear your smirk."

Wooyoung groaned, kissing your cheek, "Come on, say something, you're making me anxious."

You sighed, figuring now or never as you got up, sitting in front of him, and the way he was smiling was too endearing.

"Jung Wooyoung, you brat," you shook your head, "How long have you felt like this?"

"Long enough."

"That's not the correct answer."

"Probably when we finally parted ways for college and I missed you like hell and none of the girls I was with made me feel anything because all I could think about was you."

You smirked- you felt like you've won in life. "I... I don't have anything to say, except that... I love you, and you know that. You know that already, don't you?"

"I think I did," Wooyoung played with your hair absently, "I was just... scared that I was wrong."

"And I was scared that I'd ruin what we had, and I still am," you admitted, "Because... I can't lose you. Not even because we get into a relationship and things don't work out. I can't lose you, Wooyoung. So what are we gonna do?"

"I can't lose you either, and I promise you if things... if this stuff doesn't work out, we'll break it up on a good note. We'll still stay friends, like we always had. Maybe it will be difficult, but... I just can't sit still and do nothing while you go ahead and date other people-"

"So you were jealous."

"Very," Wooyoung grinned and you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck.

Your safe place.

Wooyoung held you tight, kissing your head. "You wanna take this to bed?"

You slapped his arm and he laughed, getting up and practically throwing you on bed, taking off his upper and crawling in, getting on top of you and kissing you like his life depended on it, his hands all over your body, yours going from cupping his face to running through his hair and back, and when he finally did break the kiss, breathless, he whispered in your ear:

"I'm gonna be kissing you all night tonight. Don't even think about sleeping."

You were positive you were going to die the way your heart lurched at his words.

But you let him. You let him kiss you, tangled in each other's arms, tired and slow kisses on your face, on your lips after the long day you've both had. You fell asleep in his arms, the most comfortable you'd felt in a while.

------------------

"Just because we're... a thing, Jung Wooyoung, doesn't mean you get a free pass at being clingy now."

"Oh, come on," Wooyoung whined, dragging you back in his lap as you used your phone to send an important message about work to your colleagues, trying not to let him distract you.

"Just give me a minute," you basically ignored him nibbling at your ear as you typed, hissing at him once to make him stop, feeling his chest shake with laughter.

"Alright, I'm done," you threw your phone away, "What do you want?"

"You," he whispered, and you pretended to throw up.

"Just because we kissed," you began, wriggling away from him, "doesn't mean you can say stuff like that! It's too sudden."

"Not like you haven't been fantasizing about me all this time-"

You grabbed the nearest thing- a cushion, throwing it at him with all your force, making him practically howl with laughter.

"I could say the same!" You shouted, "Not at you practically begging to live with me so you could... do things to me!"

He laughed louder at that, making you mutter that you were going to work, shutting the door and smiling unconsciously.

It had been three days since your new relationship with Wooyoung began. You'd been a bit shy the first day, but Wooyoung made sure not to get too physical- so you could get used to it.

The second day, you'd been too busy all day, having to go to the office and returning tired, collapsing straight on bed, Wooyoung force-feeding you dinner and letting you sleep.

And today... he was back to being normal.

You were glad nothing had changed between you two- he was still the same Wooyoung, except now extra shameless with his display of affections, but you weren't complaining.

You had just finished your work when he burst in, right on cue. "It's Friday night, let's go out for dinner."

"Where do you wanna go? I'm craving chicken."

"Done," he said, "Come on, let's get ready."

You got up, stretching and following him to your room, Wooyoung going in to change while you applied some makeup, wondering what you should do with your hair.

"Let me," Wooyoung said, grabbing a hair tie and combing your hair gently, tying your hair in a half-ponytail, doing the same with his own hair.

"Now we match."

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you went in to change, going that extra mile and wearing a denim skirt paired with a plain black T shirt with knee length boots, finishing the look with denim jacket. As soon as you came out, Wooyoung had his eyes running all over you, nodding.

"You look great."

"Thank you and stop looking at me like I'm your meal," you said, making him laugh and give you a back hug because 'you were too cute to resist'.

However, Wooyoung was soon regretting taking you out to dinner because Yeonjun, of all the people in this world, was in the same restaurant as you both, with his co-workers.

"It's a small world," you smiled, deciding to introduce Wooyoung to him, "This is Wooyoung, my best friend and... boyfriend?"

"What's with the question!" Wooyoung laughed, "Nice to meet you. We're childhood friends, the other part happened like two days ago."

"Ah," Yeonjun gave you a knowing look, "So this is the guy."

"This is him," you smiled shyly. You had, of course, at the end of your date told Yeonjun that you two really hit it off which was surprising, but you were interested in someone else and you couldn't string him along.

Yeonjun, thankfully, understood, saying they could still be friends because he enjoyed your company, no hard feelings.

However, Wooyoung here was not having any of that, especially when food finally arrived and you noticed that instead of focusing on his food or you, Wooyoung was busy glaring holes at Yeonjun, who thankfully had his back towards the two of you.

"Are you gonna eat?"

"I am," he said, nibbling on his chicken leg.

"Can you stop eye-murdering Yeonjun? And don't tell me that's not what you're doing right now."

Wooyoung smiled at that, sighing. "I just... he might like you still."

"So? I like you. Nothing can change that, you know that, right?"

Satisfied, Wooyoung pinched your nose lovingly, resuming eating like normal, and you stifled your smile because jealous Wooyoung was quite a sight.