Archive of Our Own ^beta

Every second of Jisung’s life has led up to this moment. Eight minutes before the clock strikes midnight, seven shots too deep in a high-end nightclub packed with socialites, chaebols, anyone who's rich enough to be considered royalty. Jisung barely knows any of them. He never does, but it what does it matter? Whoever they are, they're all there for him. Who wouldn't want to party with a prince?

Seungmin and his band are playing onstage, and Jisung can feel more than hear the guitar stringing effervescent in his blood, the bass reverberating deep in him somewhere he can’t place. Seungmin’s voice rings true like a prayer, echoing into the mic, and all the lights behind him shine and glitter like the diamonds on Jisung’s rings. He absentmindedly thumbs the one circling his index finger, feeling cold metal and the edges of a gem with the pad of his thumb.

He knows his hands would look pretty wrapped around a microphone. He knows it because he’s envisioned it more times than he can count, because he’s clung onto the vision hard enough for it to have claw marks, clutched the image of himself performing to a loving crowd close to his chest. Jisung envisions it now, standing on a stage, both hands wrapped around a microphone while he sings his heart into it, all the lights glaring like a thousand suns behind him.

It’s not as bright in the crowd below, bodies like undefined shadows around him, dancing and catching light every now and then before moving and letting it go. Jisung edges his way through, slips through the cracks and becomes a shadow himself, even as he’s stopped and greeted and interrupted by sycophantic small talk. He’s offered shot after shot, and he declines them all for fear of throwing up on the next person that tries to hug him like they’ve known him for years, or like they care about him past his princely title.

When Jisung reaches the bathroom, he shuts the door behind him and leans against it, hearing the music pounding on the other side. The throbbing in his skull pounds in sync. He closes his eyes and everything continues to spin under his lids. It feels like his head is swimming, his body drowning in depths where light can't reach. But in the quietude of the bathroom, Jisung manages to let out his first proper breath since he first set foot in this venue.

He opens his eyes, stumbles over to the sink, grips the edges of it and hangs his head as he looks down the drain. He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to force away the nausea with the power of pure will. When that doesn’t work, he looks up and meets eyes with himself in the mirror. It has an ornate frame, similar to the ones back home in his palace, big and spotless and unnervingly clean. Nothing but the best for Prince Jisung, as expected. Changbin always books the biggest and most expensive places for him, everything exclusive and top-class just for him.

He looks over the creases in his black silk button-up, the smudges in his eyeliner, the hollow wateriness in his tired eyes, the strands of his hair falling into them, before his phone vibrates in his pocket and averts his attention. He takes it out and sees Changbin’s caller ID. He lets it ring until Changbin eventually gives up and stops calling, and his screen returns to his homepage. The time on it tells him he turns twenty-four in four minutes.

Jisung looks back at the mirror. Nothing’s really changed — for him or about him — in the last ten years. He knows he’ll be in the exact same position, staring at himself in another upscale place filled with people he doesn't know, next year, the year after that, and the year after that too. Jisung's body starts to heave with what he thinks are sobs, before bile rises up and his crying turns to puke.

He barely processes hearing the door open and close, and his name being called, so it startles him when he suddenly feels a hand on his back. It rubs slow and soothing circles, and another hand holds his shoulder firmly to stop him from falling into the sink completely. Jisung’s about to shrug whoever it is off as he straightens himself up, but then he realises who through his watery eyes who it is.

"Hyung!"

Jisung wraps his arms around Changbin, almost falling into him. Jisung's pleasantly overwhelmed by his scent as they hug, breathing in the smell of mandarin and sandalwood.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Changbin exclaims through a laugh, steadying him so they don't both topple to the floor. "I’ve been looking for you everywhere."

"I got—" Jisung hiccups, pulling back and pouting, eyes round and shiny. "I got lost."

Changbin shakes his head like he's exasperated, but he's smiling. He continues holding Jisung with one hand, and checks the flashy watch on his other wrist.

"Countdown starts soon," he says, smiling wider.

"Countdown to what?" Jisung frowns.

"Your birthday," Changbin says, like it’s obvious. Probably because it is. "How drunk are you?"

"I'm not that drunk!" Jisung argues, and Changbin looks at him unconvinced. “I’m not!”

“If I have to carry you out like last time—”

“You won’t,” Jisung rebuts, and he heads for the door, taking two steps before stumbling over his feet.

Changbin rushes to quickly catch him.

“Whoa.” Jisung giggles. “Good thing you caught me, hyung. The wind almost blew me over.”

Changbin rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting an arm around Jisung and leading him out of the bathroom.

“You’ll sober up once we get some cake in you,” he says, though it sounds like it's more to convince himself than anything.

Jisung cheers at the promise of cake, and sure enough, once they weasel their way through the crowds of people to the club's wide open staircase, lit with royal purple lights and overlooking all the people below, Seungmin is no longer onstage but there at the top of the stairs, with a cake in his hands. It's lit with candles and beautifully decorated, but Jisung barely gets to admire it because next to Seungmin is Felix, who's supposed to be at a fashion show in Milan.

"Felix?" Jisung exclaims, ripping himself away from Changbin to race up the last steps and give Felix a hug. He smiles into Felix's shoulder, inhaling his summery scent — sundried breeze wafting over beaches. "You made it! You're here!"

"I'm here!" Felix exclaims back.

"Surprise." Seungmin holds up Jisung's cake with a smile on his face. "This probably the only secret Felix has managed to keep."

Jisung turns to Felix with wide eyes. "You made this? When? What about your show?"

"I skipped the afterparty and flew back as soon as I could," he explains, smiling bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I stayed up all night baking."

Jisung feels so much gratitude build up in him that he doesn't know what else to do other than to pout and hug Felix tighter. He gives Changbin a hug too, who's standing a step below him and has to grip onto the railing so as to not tumble down the stairs with the force of Jisung's affection. Jisung hugs Seungmin too, as best he can with a two-tier cake in the way.

"I love you guys," Jisung says, voice wobbling under the weight of his sincerity. It's never been lost on him that in all his years of living, he only ever feels most like a normal human being when he's with his friends.

He hears from them an overlapping chorus of we love you, too, Sungie, over all the chatter and chaos around him, then someone somewhere in the crowd bellows out, "it's his Highness' birthday in ten seconds!" and it triggers a loud choir of cheers from all corners of the club. Jisung's suddenly reminded of where and who he is, and that alien feeling comes back full force.

All eyes are on him, looking up at him from below the stairs, staring right at him. There's eyes everywhere (eight), and Jisung starts to feel that familiar panic pulse through his veins. He tries to smile but it feels foreign on his face, translucent with fear. All the voices around him (seven) counting down, remind him that it's not just him and his friends (six), but a building full of strangers too (five), faceless people who'd use him like a rung on a ladder if they could.

And (four) when this is all over, when the building empties out and goes back to its sterile, echoing space, (three), Jisung will go back to his palace and feel sorry for himself for the tenth year in a row. And he'll put on his princely mask and he'll play make-believe with his plastic family like he always does (two), like he has for the majority of his life.

He shuts his eyes tight (one) and blows out his candles.

⭒♔⭒

As usual, a member of the palace staff knocks on Jisung’s bedroom door in the morning to wake him up, and as usual, after a night of drinking, Jisung's head feels like it's been slammed into a steel wall ten times once he finally wakes up.

"I'm up," he groans when the knocking continues, voice rough and croaky, and though it’s true that he’s awake, he can't bring himself to open his eyes, lying deathly still under his covers.

"Good morning, your Highness," he hears her say softly from the other side of the door. "And happy birthday. Your father has requested for you to join the rest of the family at the dining table as soon as possible."

Jisung hears footsteps receding before he can ask any questions. Why would his dad want him at the dining table during breakfast? The protocol has always been for his family to pretend he doesn't exist until dinner, and even then they barely address his presence. Jisung thinks for a moment that maybe it's because it's his birthday, but he knows deep down that's not true. Birthday or not, he knows his father would ban him from the dining table completely if he could. He’d probably ban Jisung from the whole palace if he could.

Jisung shoves his face deep into his pillow and groans. The pain in his head stabs at his brain every three seconds. He tries to force himself back into sleep again, but it refuses him entry. The sunlight streaming in through the sheer silk curtains doesn't help either — he’d stupidly forgotten to shut them before he went to bed last night — so with strenuous effort he eventually forces himself out of bed. He catches sight of himself in a large baroque mirror on one of his walls, and scrunches up his face at how puffy and dishevelled he looks.

Jisung hauls his tired body over to one of the windows, floor to ceiling with a splendid arch, and opens up the curtains fully, wincing at the sudden influx of white light from the early autumn sun. From his bedroom windows he has a clear view of one of the palace’s courtyards, with the marble fountain surrounded by flowery bushes and an expanse of clean, freshly mowed grass. In the near distance a bird departs from its tree into the overcast sky.

For a while, Jisung stands there and waits to feel a change in his body, waits for a change in the way he sees things. He gently runs a finger over where his scent gland is supposed to be, like he'll be able to feel its development bloom under the skin of his neck in real time. But the fountain water runs the same, the plants flutter the same way in the breeze, and he's still the same old, unpresented Jisung. Just a year older.

Jisung feels better after a hot shower until he remembers why it is that he's getting ready so early in the day, and then a faint sense of nausea begins to burrow itself into his gut. What could his father possibly want to speak to him about? It's already a known fact that Jisung is not the role model he used to be. The nation knows it, and his family especially knows it. Everybody's watched his free fall from the kingdom's saving grace to royal fuckup.

It was the news of the century when teenaged Prince Jisung started acting out after his mother, the late queen, passed away, and not even the iron fist of his father could rein in his transgressions. His father gave up on him a long time ago, to the extent of pretending he doesn't exist, so Jisung can't understand why his father is requesting his presence all of a sudden.

The nausea in him settles into him deeper with each step he walks, and by the time he reaches the wide arched entrance of their family dining room, Jisung’s a sick mess of nerves. At the head of the table sits his father, and on either side of him, is his second wife, the current queen, and their son, Prince Hyunjin, Jisung's half-brother.

Jisung knows it should have been a bigger scandal that his father had a child with one of their royal advisors while his mother was still alive, but once Prince Hyunjin was revealed to the world, all was quickly forgotten. He was fifteen at the time, Jisung fourteen, only six months between them, flower boys at their parents' wedding, which took place just under a year after the death of Jisung's mother.

The ceremony had been televised to the masses; Jisung's displeased scowl was preserved on tape, while everyone's first impressions of Hyunjin were of his natural grace and poise, pure royalty through and through. Hyunjin continued to win everyone over as the years passed by, and it became hard to believe that he had ever been a contentious family secret hidden away for a decade and a half. The kingdom quickly accepted Prince Hyunjin as their new heir to the throne, the title snatched out from under Prince Jisung's feet for him to fall deeper into rebellion, the hatch door above him slamming closed and shutting out all the light.

"Appa," Jisung finally speaks up, still standing in the entryway. "You called for me?"

The kitchen staff are already taking away empty plates, moving busily around the room as they remove used cutlery and glasses off the dining table. Jisung tries his hardest not to get in the way of them as they move around, tries his hardest to shrink himself.

"Nice of you to finally join us," the king says with practised casualness, not looking up at his son, instead dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin before carefully setting it back down on the table.

"Sorry," Jisung mumbles, then clears his throat.

"Sit down," his dad instructs.

Jisung silently obeys, taking a seat next to Hyunjin. Neither of them look at each other.

"As you are aware," his father begins, "there have been multiple threats made to our family in recent months."

He pauses, and Jisung realises he's waiting for a response.

"Yes?" Jisung answers, unsure of what he's supposed to say.

There's always threats being made to their family. They're in the public eye, they live in a big, fancy palace in the heart of the kingdom. Threats come with the royal blood. Jisung's lived with a target on his back for as long as he can remember. It doesn't mean anything to him anymore. Plus, he knows — he's the only one who knows — that the biggest threat he'll ever have to face is sitting at the head of this very table.

"And so I had hoped," the King continues, voice growing louder and more stern, "that you would have taken it upon yourself to put an end to your nightly excursions."

Jisung wants to scoff. Since when did his dad care about him sneaking out? Everyone knows he does it. Changbin always tries his best to implement a strict no-phone policy, but news always gets out to the tabloids anyway. Jisung doesn't care, and he didn't think his family did either.

"You know that it's dangerous—"

"Hanging out with my friends is not dangerous," Jisung argues.

"The threats have been getting considerably worse," the King argues back, that stony voice going all the way to Jisung's chest and twisting it with anxiety, with anger.

"But it's not like anything ever happens," Jisung stresses. "We always get threats and they always go away because no one ever actually follows through with them."

"How can you be so sure?" his stepmother asks. "Isn't it better to be safe than sorry?"

Jisung frowns at her. It's always such a shock when she speaks, a cruel reminder of who's supposed to be in her seat, of who used to be in her seat.

"Your mother's right," the King says.

Jisung feels his gut twist. She's not my mother, he doesn't say.

"Anyone could follow you home," the King says, and Jisung doesn't have a rebuttal to that so he keeps his mouth shut.

He breathes out sharply through his nostrils instead. He knows his father’s right but he doesn't need this lecture right now. He needs food, his bed, and to never wake up again.

"Any of us could become seriously hurt," his dad continues. "Hyunjin could become seriously hurt."

A flash of hot anger flickers like fire in Jisung’s chest all of a sudden. Of course that's what this is about. Jisung feels like an idiot for not having seen it coming. He turns his head slightly to look at Hyunjin's face. He's zoned out on a spot straight ahead of him somewhere, expression neutral and unreadable. Jisung can never tell what Hyunjin's thinking, and it makes the flame in him burn his ribs even hotter.

"Okay," Jisung snaps, looking back at his father, "I get it."

"I'm not done yet," the King snaps back, and Jisung can feel the surliness on his face getting stormier by the second. "Our advisors have suggested for you and Hyunjin to be placed under the Royal Guard's watch, though Hyunjin, as heir to the throne, will be receiving special protection."

Jisung rolls his eyes. Of course.

"As for you, Jisung-ah," the King says, "you have been assigned an experienced guard external to the Royal Guard's association for twenty-four-seven one-on-one protection—"

"What?" Jisung exclaims. One-on-one? Twenty-four seven?

"You'll meet him later this afternoon—"

"Why doesn't Hyunjin get a guard following him around?" Jisung whines.

"Hyunjin doesn't put himself in situations where he would be getting into any danger," the King answers simply. "You're a liability."

Jisung's mouth parts.

"So you're punishing me?" Jisung says, more a statement of epiphany than a real question.

"I am taking the necessary actions needed to protect this family."

"You got me a fucking babysitter!" Jisung whines, sounding a lot more childish than he would like. He always turns into a small child around his father. Frustrated tears prick at his eyes.

"Watch your language!" the King roars.

Jisung bites his tongue and glowers. The kitchen staff lower their heads as they finish clearing the table, scuttling out of the room as quickly as they can. Jisung can feel Hyunjin looking at him. He pushes his chair back, the legs screeching as they scrape against the wooden floor, and he storms out of the dining room.

"Some birthday present," he mutters angrily under his breath, voice cracking with his irritation.

He doesn't need some beef-brained idiot keeping close to him and following him around, while Hyunjin gets to keep his freedom. If Hyunjin's under the Royal Guard's special protection, that means he only has to deal with a couple guards around him whenever he leaves the palace, which is only ever for royal events, or occasionally a museum he wants to see.

But because Jisung has a social life, he has to be surveilled like a baby by some guy hired from who knows where, who's probably one of those aggressive alphas that think with their fists instead of their heads. His father has made it very clear that this is not about his protection or his safety. It's about control. That’s all his father ever cares about.

So, with a determined frown on his face as he stomps through the palace halls, Jisung decides that he'll just keep doing what he does best — show that he can't be controlled.

“I can't believe he's doing this to me," Jisung complains, impassioned in his whining. "I hate him."

"He's just trying to protect you," Changbin says placatingly.

Jisung's not even sure Changbin's listening properly. He's focusing on the road, yes, and Jisung maybe might have woken him up from his hangover so they could go on an impromptu ride in one of his many cars, but still. He needs his hyung to listen to him right now.

Changbin had asked, very groggily, where Jisung wanted to go when he called, to which Jisung had responded with anywhere. After what's just happened with his father and the news that's been sprung on him, Jisung just needs to feel free for a moment before his day continues to get worse. So now they're on a free road, crusading past the streets of Changbin’s gated community.

"It's not about protecting me," Jisung argues, getting louder and more annoyed. "He doesn't care about me," he grumbles.

"That's not true," Changbin says absentmindedly.

"He hates me," Jisung mutters, crossing his arms and looking out of the window, "and so do you."

Changbin tuts. Jisung can hear the smile in it.

"You know that last part's not true," Changbin says, and Jisung does know. He's just being a brat because he feels like it.

"Okay, but my dad does actually hate me," Jisung says, and he hates how small his voice sounds.

He hears nothing in response, just the sound of Changbin thinking of what to say, and Jisung almost wants to tear up in the silence. Changbin doesn't know the entire story, but they've been friends since their boarding school days, and for years Jisung's been telling him the parts of his story that he’s allowed to. Jisung decides to turn and look at him, eyes drawn to his hands on the wheel.

"Is that a new watch?" Jisung marvels at the showy gold sparkling on Changbin's wrist.

“Oh, yeah," Changbin says casually. "Caught dad cheating again."

Jisung nods in understanding. Even the sports car they're both sitting in was once a shut up gift from Changbin's dad. That their dads are the worst is an old-established fact between them.

"Forget about your dad," Changbin says, shaking his head. "You have us." Then he smiles as he remembers something. "Seungmin even said he loved you last night."

"He did?" Jisung's jaw drops in shock.

"Yeah." Changbin nods. "I knew you'd be too drunk to remember."

Jisung smiles bright, looking out the window.

“Seriously,” Changbin stresses. “Forget about your dad,” he repeats. "You know the rest of us have your back," he reassures, in that cool, diplomatic way he does whenever he's giving anyone advice.

Jisung smiles wider. He knows Changbin will make a good CEO one day when he takes over his dad's company. He even lets out some of his scent for Jisung's comfort, the sweet alpha that he is. Jisung breathes in the rich, warm wood filling up the car, letting the citrusy undertones brighten up his mood.

"And you have your new bodyguard too," Changbin teases, cackling mischievously when Jisung groans.

"So annoying," Jisung mutters, all that irritation from earlier coming back again.

"You guys might get along, you never know," Changbin suggests, raising his eyebrows. "Like Seungmin and all his bodyguards."

Jisung makes a face and Changbin lets out another loud set of laughter. Jisung shakes his head. He is nothing like Seungmin who's had to go through four bodyguards in two months because it gets too awkward to work with them after he has sex with them, and yet he still lets his team keep hiring alphas for him. At times Jisung thinks Seungmin might even be an even hornier omega than Felix, but regardless of that, Jisung will definitely not be following in either of their footsteps.

"I am not fucking my bodyguard," Jisung says firmly.

Changbin glances away from the road for the first time to give him a look like he knows something Jisung doesn't. Jisung parts his mouth in disbelief that his very own hyung would insinuate this about him.

"I'm not!" Jisung stresses, and he means it. No way is he letting whoever this new bodyguard is anywhere near him.

Changbin drops him off at the palace and Jisung trudges all the way up to his room, grateful that he doesn’t bump into anyone from his family on the way. He can't believe that later today he'll have to give up all his freedom and privacy to be followed around by some idiot his father hired to keep him in line. Jisung plans to crawl into bed and hibernate as much as possible before he has to get ready and make an appearance for his formal birthday celebrations, so he does exactly that.

He throws himself into bed and gets his phone out to call Felix.

"Hi," Felix greets cheerily when he answers the phone. He's inside a car, barefaced and sleepy, on his way to a shoot in Hong Kong.

"Happy birthday, Lixie!" Jisung cheers, kicking his feet.

Felix cheers back, smile cracking through his sleepiness.

"Why are you working on your birthday?" Jisung pouts. "You should be here with me."

"Why aren't you here with me?" Felix pouts back. "I could've smuggled you into my suitcase."

"Yeah, I think I'm small enough to fit in with your toiletries," Jisung says.

"Exactly," Felix agrees. "Or even in my carry-on."

"I wish." Jisung groans. "I have to deal with this idiot bodyguard instead."

"Oh?" Felix says, an eyebrow quirking up with intrigue. "Bodyguard?"

"Yeah.” Jisung groans. “My dad's pissed at me after last night," he rolls his eyes, "and I guess every other night too, so he got me a stupid bodyguard to follow me around everywhere."

"That's kind of hot." Felix shoots him a toothy grin through the screen.

"What?" Jisung scoffs in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"If you don't want him, I'll accept him as a late birthday present." Felix grins even wider.

Jisung's about to respond when something out of one of his windows catches his eye.

"Jisung?" Felix says.

Jisung gets up and walks over to the window, squinting in the now golden afternoon sun, and sees from afar his father walking past the fountains on the cobblestone path with a man he's never seen before. Jisung's mouth and heart drops. Is that him? His new bodyguard? Already?

"Jisungie?" Felix sings, trying to get Jisung's attention.

"Hi, Lixie," Jisung says, distracted. "I'm gonna call you back, okay?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think…" Jisung gets closer to the glass. "I think he's here."

Felix's gasp on the other side of the phone is deafening.

"Okay!" he squeals. "Have fun!"

He hangs up, and Jisung blinks at his phone before looking back out the window. He frowns, squinting some more. He can't see much from this far, only that whoever his father's with has light brown hair and what looks to be smart clothes on, but then they round the corner into one of the palace entrances so that Jisung can't see them anymore. He steps away from the window, blinking, perplexed.

Then he turns swiftly on his heels and races to his father's office, tripping over his own feet with how fast he's walking. He makes it to his father's office door just in time to see him walking down the long corridor in the opposite direction, the man he saw outside walking with him close by.

"Ah," his father says, spotting Jisung as he gets closer, "you're here," but Jisung's not paying attention to him. He's looking at the man standing next to his dad.

He's around Jisung's age, in formal black trousers, a white button-up shirt and black tie, a few strands of his chestnut hair falling perfectly into place over his forehead. He looks serious, businesslike, something of a domineering aura around him, a calm assuredness that both piques Jisung's curiosity and intimidates him. That can't be him, Jisung thinks, looking at his eyes and his mouth and all the other perfectly sculpted shapes and lines of his face.

"This is Lee Minho," the King says, "your new personal bodyguard."

Jisung looks at his dad with a parted mouth.

"I'll give you two some time to get acquainted," he continues, then turns to Minho as he's opening his office door. "Minho-ssi, please enter my office for our introductory meeting when you're ready," and then he heads inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Jisung looks back at Minho and Minho's already looking at him. He's not that much taller, but Jisung still has to look up a little to meet his eyes. The grand hallway suddenly feels much too small and narrow. Jisung wishes a staff member would pass by, wishes there was someone or something to glance at, to distract him from the intensity of the man standing in front of him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, your Highness," Minho says, and bows deeply.

"Um, yeah," Jisung mumbles, bowing back awkwardly.

Minho holds his hand out and Jisung looks at it dumbly, then realises he's supposed to shake it.

"Oh, yeah," Jisung says, because apparently that's the only word he knows how to say now.

He feels a jolt run through him when their palms touch. Minho's is rough with calluses. His hand feels firm. Capable. Gentle.

"Yeah." Jisung clears his throat. "Yeah, nice to meet you. I'm Jisung."

"I know who you are," Minho says gently, and Jisung just about catches a microscopic movement on his mouth, something of a smirk, "your Highness."

Jisung narrows his eyes a little as their hands separate, studying Minho's face. Is this guy making fun of him? His eyes get stuck on the shape of Minho's cupid bow and he promptly forgets whatever he was suspicious of in the first place.

"It's a great honour to serve you," Minho says. "I'll do my best to fulfil my duty and protect you."

Jisung just kind of stands there and nods. He's not really listening properly. He can see a hint of the broadness in Minho's shoulders through his shirt, and a glimpse of the scent patch on his neck poking out of his shirt collar. He licks his lips because his mouth is dry all of a sudden.

"Um, yeah," Jisung mumbles. "Thank you."

Minho smiles. Jisung watches it form on his lips.

"I'm going to head inside now," Minho says, gesturing to his father's office door.

"Oh, yeah." Jisung nods. "Yes, I’ll see you around."

Minho bows one last time and so does Jisung, then he watches him head inside and close the door behind him. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He can feel his blood buzzing beneath his skin with a charged electrical current. He can still feel the hold of Minho's hand around his.

He’s brought out of his momentary daze by voices muffled on the other side of his father's office door. Jisung slowly and carefully brings his ear up to the door.

"—can be very difficult at times," he hears his father saying, "or, most of the time, really."

Jisung frowns, all that electricity in him short circuiting into dull irritation instead.

“I'm just saying that it's likely he'll give you a hard time," his father concludes with a heavy sigh.

"I understand, your Majesty," Minho politely says. Jisung strains his ear to hear him clearer. "But I don't think he's anything I can't handle."

Jisung pulls back from the door with a sharp scoff. He almost wants to laugh. Once again he's overcome with an overwhelming need to rebel, not just to prove a point to his father, but also to Minho, to prove him wrong, to take his words as a challenge and fight back and win. No one can keep him under control — not the kingdom's citizens and their opinions of him, not his father, and especially not some new bodyguard with a model's face and way too much confidence for his first day on the job.

Jisung walks away from his father's office with a stubborn frown on his face and swiftly leaves the hallway before he can hear any more.

It becomes time for Jisung to make his birthday appearance, and so, begrudgingly, when his royal stylists arrive, he lets them into his dressing room, where they make him up in his princely attire. Jisung looks at his reflection in one of the many mirrors on the walls, looking at his white silk shirt with a pretty ruffled collar and sleeves, soft and satiny against his skin, tucked tightly at the waist into perfectly tailored black trousers.

He takes it upon himself to put on his favourite earrings, shaped like silver Sovereign's orbs with Saturn's ring around them, the ones his dad hates because he thinks they look tacky. When Jisung is ready and heads into the throne room, he sees his father catch sight of them in his ears, sees the displeasure on his face and the slight shaking of his head. Jisung smiles in satisfaction at his annoyance.

He walks up to the red carpeted platform where the thrones and the rest of his family await him, preparing to have their photo taken. Hyunjin glances over at him while his hair is being fixed by one of the stylists.
"Happy birthday," he says quietly, and Jisung almost misses it.

"Thanks," Jisung blankly responds, then catches a glimpse of his necklace pendant, almost hidden amongst all his other regal jewellery. It's the exact same Sovereign's orb, just bigger and golden and with more stones in the Saturn’s ring.

Jisung narrows his eyes at it. Hyunjin looks down at himself to see what Jisung's looking at.

"Oh," he says when he realises. "Dad bought it for me."

Jisung says nothing. He keeps his mouth shut because he knows that if he opens it he might regret what comes out, like his angry beating heart once it's done rising up his throat. He silently takes his seat on his throne.

His crown is placed on top of his head, heavy on his dark, fluffy waves. He sees his reflection in a nearby window, and takes a look at the crown's white gold frame, its jewels catching and reflecting the light of the afternoon sun, the sunshine sparkling on sapphires and alexandrites, refracting into rainbows of blues and greens and rich teals.

The rest of his family take their places, standing around him or sitting in a throne next to him per the photographer's instructions. For some reason, it always looks more regal to frown in photos, which is good for Jisung, because he only feels like sulking right now, and his last straw would be to have to force a smile. His second last straw is his stepmother looking at every photo taken, then asking for one last one, over and over again.

When it's finally all over, Jisung slumps against the throne, watching as his and all his family members’ crowns are removed from their heads and placed carefully into their protective carriers by a member of the Royal Guard, ready to be transported back to where all the other crown jewels are kept. Jisung looks at his mother's crown, removed his stepmother's head. He sulks harder as he gets up and follows his family out into the hallway, bracing himself for a long day ahead.

"Good afternoon, your Highness."

Jisung startles at the sudden greeting the second he exits the room, stumbling back and nearly tripping over his own feet. The only reason he doesn't fall over is because Minho reaches out and grabs him by the arms, steadying him.

"Sorry," Minho says, eyes wide and apologetic.

Jisung stares at him, still in shock. The closeness between them and the weight of Minho's hands on him doesn’t really help. He blinks himself out of it, and realises that at some point during his floundering, he'd also reached out and frantically held onto Minho's arms, and now he's gripping Minho’s bicep. Jisung rips his hands away and stumbles out of Minho's hold. Minho does the same, clearing his throat.

"You're supposed to be protecting me, not scaring me," Jisung complains, mostly to distract himself from the fact that his mind is replaying the feel of Minho's biceps in his palms.

"I'm sorry, your Highness," Minho apologises again and bows.

"You should be," Jisung doubles down. Thick, squishy muscle. More than plenty of it to sink his fingers into. "I could've had a heart attack," he says dramatically. "Or fallen over and died."

"It's not my fault you scare easily," Minho fights back. "You're like a kitten."

Jisung's jaw drops. A little half smile comes onto Minho's lips and Jisung's stomach does a backflip.

"Excuse me?"

"Or, actually…"

Jisung watches Minho think about it. He scoffs in the meantime. He can't believe Minho's nerve.

"A hamster!" Minho’s face lights up as he remembers the name of the small animal he was searching his mind for. "You're like a hamster."

Jisung glowers at him. "Are you insulting me?"

"No."

"Good," Jisung says, setting his shoulders back, frown fixed on his mouth. He hopes he looks as intimidating as he imagines he does. "Because you wouldn't want to insult a prince."

"No, your ham— Highness," Minho stammers, mouth twitching with a smile before he quickly composes himself.

Jisung's frown deepens. He holds back an irritated huff, and Minho just stands there looking down at him in his uniform — all black, trousers tucked into long boots, plain jacket zipped all the way up with the royal logo embroidered on the chest, standing bold and soldierly. Jisung holds eye contact to assert as much dominance as he can, trying to ignore whatever's stirring in his core the longer he looks at Minho, the longer Minho looks at him. He catches Minho's eyes drop to where his shirt meets his trousers at his waist, for a split second so short he thinks he might've made it up, and his stomach does another flip. Jisung tries to think of something to say so he can get the last word, but just then, his father calls his name.

"Jisung-ah!" the King calls out, voice echoing towards him, and Jisung turns around to see that he's almost at the other end of the long hallway, Hyunjin and his stepmother already turning the corner.

"Coming!" Jisung calls back, and his voice comes out a lot more irritated than he intended.

He looks back at Minho. Minho gestures ahead.

"After you," he says, "your Highness."

Jisung doesn't let up his frown, but he goes on ahead, rolling his eyes at the sound of Minho's footsteps behind him.

The palace's main dining hall is the one they use for events on a bigger scale than just a simple family meal, with a much larger surface area, more chandeliers, and a wide arched entryway into the ballroom right beside it. The long mahogany table is always set up with candelabras and a long white cloth, but today there’s flowers in glass vases and decorative cards for Jisung’s birthday.

The room is already busy as they enter, with kitchen staff bringing out large dishes covered with antique food cloches, photographers snapping photos, and extra palace staff bustling around to finish setting up banners and balloons, ensuring everything is perfect. Jutting out of the hall is a large balcony, facing the palace's front side, where Jisung and his family are due to step out so they can wave to the masses gathered outside the gates to cheer and celebrate.

Jisung feels a deep hollow pit open up in his gut, as always when he has to make formal appearances like these. For a lot of his childhood, Jisung remembers cameras. Back when it was just him, his mother and his father, when he was the kingdom's one and only prince, there were big lenses with big men behind them following him around — outside in the palace gardens as he played in his sandbox, within the palace walls as his father spoke with interviewers off to the side, on holidays, on outings — there were always cameras.

There's cameras now, professional photographers lingering around the dining hall as Jisung greets extended family who’ve arrived early. Camera shutters going off left and right, sporadic clicks and flashes of photos being taken at any instance. Jisung excuses himself to the bathroom, ignoring the disapproving look on his father's face. Jisung doesn't care. It's his birthday. He can disappear if he wants to.

He swiftly weaves in and out of palace staff, keeping his head down until he makes it to the hallway, footsteps quick against the red carpet. He hears footsteps other than his own shuffling against the carpet behind him. Jisung stops walking. The footsteps stop too. He turns around. Minho's behind him — of course he is — blinking innocuously.

"Are you following me?" Jisung asks, exasperated.

"Yes?" Minho answers, like it's obvious.

"Why are you following me?" Jisung snaps.

"I'm your bodyguard?" Minho says.

Jisung doesn't like his tone. A scowl weighs on his lips. He catches Minho's quick glance at his frowning mouth, catches the amused glint in his eyes.

"That doesn't mean you're supposed to follow me around," Jisung argues.

Minho smiles, almost a little mockingly, tilting his head slightly. Whatever was stirring in Jisung's stomach earlier starts up again. He frowns harder to fight it.

"That's actually exactly what it means," Minho says.

Jisung seethes. He decides this isn't worth his time and continues making his way to the bathroom. He slams the door shut and locks himself in once he gets inside. He stands in front of the mirror, takes long, deep breaths, trying to gain back control over his trembling body.

His whole life, if the cameras weren't brought to his family, then they were brought to the cameras, driven around in shiny black cars, just to sit in rooms with cameras set up on tripods like silent, unblinking eyes. And then there were the microphones; clipped onto his clothes, held up to his mouth, handed to him by smiling reporters and journalists, their eyes sparkling with an urge for him to say something, anything. Everyone wanted to hear what the prince had to say, even if he was only four years old and could barely hold a mic without dropping it.

He remembers the thud as it hit the ground, the way it had startled him enough to gasp and jolt, and most of all he remembers the tears in his eyes as everyone in the room laughed and cooed at his clumsiness. He'd turned to his mother on instinct, mouth quivering and balling his fists in his lap like he could hold himself together that way.

"Oh, sweetheart," his mother had said in that soft, soothing voice of hers, and immediately took him into her arms to sit him on her lap. "It's okay, honey."

Everyone in the room had proceeded to let out even more ‘aww’s as he cried into his mother's blouse, nuzzling his face into the soft fabric, embroidered silk doused in her lavender scent. That way, with his eyes shut and his nose pressed to her smell, he could pretend they were in a field of flowers just like they had been the week before, just the two of them, no cameras, no mics, just flowers, grass, and sky.

"Can we take five, please?" he'd heard his mother ask, stroking his back gently.

"Honey," Jisung heard his father groan. "He's fine, we're almost done. Let's get this over with."

Jisung closed his eyes tighter and sniffled into his mother's shirt. He felt her hand still on his back.

"He needs a break," she'd said lowly, voice firm and under her breath. "Let's take five. He's tired."

Jisung continued to nuzzle his face into his mother's blouse even further, trying to escape the familiar tension rising between his parents. When that didn't work, and he could still hear their waspish whispers, he'd closed his eyes and pretended to drift off into sleep.

A knock on the bathroom door makes Jisung startle and snap his eyes open. He didn't even realise he'd closed them.

"Your Highness?" he hears Minho's voice from the other side of the door. "Your family’s waiting for you on the balcony."

"Yes, coming," Jisung answers listlessly, then breathes out a deep sigh.

Jisung opens the bathroom door and sees Minho standing right in front of it. He looks like he's about to say something, but he takes one look at Jisung's face and decides against it. He gives him a small smile instead, and bows. It makes the pit in Jisung's stomach open up deeper, something humiliating about having been caught on the tail end of a vulnerable moment.

He says nothing to Minho, sidestepping him to walk back to the dining hall. Once again, Minho's footsteps follow him, but this time they catch up until the two of them are walking alongside each other.

"Are you okay, your Highness?" Minho asks him softly. Jisung can feel him looking.

"Yes," he answers with a tight throat, keeping his eyes facing forward.

They return to the dining hall, and Jisung heads over to the balcony. He fixes on a practised jovial expression on his way. A camera shutter snaps.

Over the course of Jisung's life, the cameras and the microphones have all become standard procedure, and so have the endless crowds at events, but Jisung could never really desensitise himself from his parents fighting the way he could with camera flashes. He used to lie awake in his bed late into the night, when the rest of the palace was sleeping, and listen to the echoes of his parents yelling through the walls. Sometimes he'd hear ceramic smashing, or dull thuds, and then the yelling would stop.

At breakfast and dinner, during car rides and plane flights, anywhere where he had to sit in between his parents, the tension would weigh him down. Then they would all step out of the car, or onto the stairs of their private jet, and smile at the cameras, waving to the masses. Royalty in its finest form.

Jisung had realised very early on that his life was a set and he was just an actor with lines to say. After years and years of news about the King and Queen's volatile marriage, the announcement of an heir to the throne to be born in the coming months had been a miracle beyond words. A kingdom once suspended in turmoil, with citizens divided by ongoing royal reports of domestic disagreements, became a kingdom of celebration. For all nine months, the kingdom had breathed a sigh of relief. Prince Jisung was going to be the jewel to hold the crumbling crown together. 

So it didn't matter what was going on behind the scenes — he was the kingdom's pride and joy, he was the symbol of a happy family, he was the token of good luck. He had to act like it. Costume jewellery, prop crown. And he was good at it for a while, until his mother's death.

Jisung steps out onto the balcony, takes his place next to Hyunjin, their parents on either side of them, and waves to the citizens below. Jisung wonders how many are there for him, or for Hyunjin, or for the rest of his family. It always feels as though if anyone's there for him, it's to see him fall, to point their cameras and aim their gossip, watching with keen eyes just so they can say they were there to witness the great historic downfall of the former Crown Prince. 

Jisung waves, and waves, smile fixed in place. He's beginning to forget what his mother looks like.

Evening falls over the palace like navy blue velvet. The dining hall is now filled with high-profile guests and distant family members Jisung barely remembers. He doesn't really know anyone here. It's more so a dinner party for his father and stepmother than a birthday gathering for him. At least at the parties Jisung has with his friends, he knows that Changbin, Seungmin and Felix will be there for him to hang out with, and at least those parties aren't boring. Jisung's been sitting at this dining table bored out of his mind from hours of endless small talk.

He's listening to and barely participating in a conversation with Hyunjin and an old aunt that they share, something about country houses and inflation. He catches Hyunjin's eye, and they share an exasperated look. It makes Jisung smile a little. They have moments like that sometimes. Jisung can still never really tell what Hyunjin thinks of him, or if Hyunjin thinks of him at all.

Jisung mentally clocks out of the conversation, looking around the table again. He doesn't know why his eyes gravitate to Minho. He tells himself it's just because Minho's a new face. He's sitting on the other side of the table a couple spaces down, the sight of him partially obscured by an arrangement of red carnations in a vase. Jisung watches him laugh with an old friend of the family, someone Jisung's never really spoken more than a couple of words to, some kind of a diplomat or government official. 

The family friend, an older man, around his dad's age, seems to be praising Minho from what Jisung can gather. He puts a proud arm around Minho's shoulders, patting his arm, and Jisung watches Minho's ears redden, watches his eyes crinkle with a shy smile, watches the shape of his teeth come to view between his smiling lips. Jisung watches and watches, face pulled taut with a frown, feeling inexplicable frustration festering within his ribs.

Minho catches him looking, and for a moment they each hold each other's gazes. Jisung's brows furrow further. Minho's face still teeters on the edge of a smile, and when he picks up his glass, still holding eye contact, Jisung just about catches the shape of a smirk on his lips as he puts the glass to his mouth and drinks from it. He swallows, throat bobbing, and Jisung looks away, the beginnings of a fire itching under his skin.

After the third and final course has been served and eaten, it finally becomes time for cake, night taking evening's place. Through the large windows, moonlight slips in, illuminating the table and the shiny hardwood floors with its glittery silver glow. The chandeliers sparkle at their brightest now that the sun has completely disappeared over the horizon, lighting up the fresco on the high ceiling, corners gilded with gold. Everyone's tipsy on chardonnay and champagne, two cake slices in, and up from their seats in their gowns and suits as they stand around and chat.

Jisung manages to politely detach himself from a conversation with his great-uncle, who only ever talks about business and trading and the stock market, and just at that moment, notes from the grand piano next door begin to waft into the room as the pianist starts to play. Jisung sighs out a breath of relief, watching some of the guests filter into the ballroom. He watches them move around him, dancing their way through the space before him, waiting for a good time to slip out and head to his room early. He can't wait to scuttle away and crawl under his covers.

Then, Jisung feels a pair of eyes on him. His own eyes snap instantly to where the feeling's coming from, and of course, once again, he meets eyes with Minho. He's standing a few feet away, talking with a couple of his aunts. They're smiling and presumably cooing over him, it looks like. Everyone in Jisung's family just loves him, apparently. Jisung rolls his eyes, swirling the drink in his hand so he doesn't do something stupid like walk over and splash it in Minho's face. Minho tilts his head at him, his expression one part inquisitive, two parts teasing. That fire in Jisung itches at him again, thick black smoke coiling in his core. Fine. He won't leave then.

He heads over to the triple-tiered vanilla cheesecake, topped with strawberries, sitting tall on the dining table, already sliced into multiple times, and grabs another slice to put on his dessert plate. He can still feel Minho watching him. Jisung tucks in with his fork, taking in a big mouthful. He makes sure to eat every last bit of cream from the silver prongs, excess icing left over on his lips.

Jisung chews with his cheeks full, eyes wide and brows upturned at the sweet taste. Only after he's swallowed does he look at Minho again, to see him already looking with watchful eyes, teasing expression replaced with a carefully neutral one. Jisung's mouth twitches with a triumphant smile, but he holds it back. He brings his thumb up to his lips, wipes away the icing, then sucks the tip of his thumb clean. Jisung watches Minho watch him, face unmoving and unreadable. Almost cold, but it burns Jisung up. Neither of them break eye contact, not even as Minho starts walking over.

"Your Highness," Minho greets once he gets there, voice rigid and formal.

"Minho-ssi," Jisung responds, overly cheerful. He smiles bright, smiling even brighter when Minho doesn't return it. "Enjoying the party?"

Minho nods curtly.

"Yes, your Highness. And you?"

"Mhm!" Jisung nods cheerily, eyes wide and sparkly. "By the way, I didn't know staring at me was part of the job description."

Minho finally smiles at that, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm not allowed to look?"

Jisung suddenly feels excessively warm all over, the smile on his face slipping slightly.

"How am I supposed to protect you if I'm not allowed to keep an eye on you, your Highness?” Minho says with a tilted head, voice sweet like the icing melting on Jisung's tongue.

Jisung narrows his eyes. Minho smiles wider and Jisung's eyes dip down to his mouth for a second.

"Protect me from what, one of my drunk aunts?" 

Minho laughs. Jisung can see hints of his bunny teeth.

"You never know," Minho answers. Jisung rolls his eyes.

"I'm going to my room," Jisung says. "Do I have permission to do so?" he asks, raising his eyebrows with challenge.

"Yes, you have my permission," Minho answers, equally as snarky. Jisung fights back a groan. He can't stand him, but at least he knows he can leave in peace now.

He starts making his way out of the dining hall, dodging any family members who try to pull him into dancing with them. When he finally makes it out into the hallway, Jisung breathes out a sigh of relief. The piano and the chatter gradually fades as he walks away, and he feels the tension in him unwind into the quietude of the hallway. That is, until he hears footsteps behind him again. Jisung turns around, groaning.

"Again?" he says incredulously, whining. "You're even following me to my bedroom?"

"I'm not following you to your bedroom," Minho retaliates. "My bedroom's in the same direction. It's right underneath yours."

"You're sleeping in the palace?" Jisung feels like he could cry. "Right underneath me?"

He wants to scream and kick and push something over. He can't believe his father would give Minho a place to stay in the palace, as yet another way to lord his paternal kingly powers over him.

"Right underneath you," Minho echoes. Jisung blushes at how crude it sounds.

"Whatever," Jisung grumbles and stomps away. He rolls his eyes at the sound of Minho's footsteps following behind him.

The sound of their shoes against wood echo in tandem on the stairs, and Jisung finally reaches his floor after what feels like a lifetime of walking. He's about to just stomp away into his room without paying Minho any more attention, but he catches Minho's lack of motion by the steps. He turns to see Minho just standing there. He holds back an irritated huff, preparing himself for whatever Minho's about to say.

"Happy birthday, your Highness," Minho says softly, and Jisung can only think to blink at him. 

"Oh," he says, when he's regained the sense to speak. "Thank you," he mumbles.

"Goodnight, your Highness," and with one final bow, Minho continues heading downstairs.

Jisung watches him descend down the steps until he's no longer in sight.

⭒♔⭒

For the next couple of weeks Jisung unwillingly deals with Minho following him around to every meeting, every banquet, every speech and every ceremony. He's always found it tedious enough that he has to attend these events in the first place; all he ever does is stand alongside Hyunjin, his stepmother and father on either side of him, and they do all the talking and the speeches while Jisung just shows his face for the sole purpose of completing the family picture. He's never allowed to talk to any reporters, per his father's command. Not that Jisung thinks any of them care what he has to say anymore anyway.

And now on top of that, he has to put up with Minho shadowing him close by, while Hyunjin is protected by two honourable members from the Royal Guard, who, unlike Minho, know how to keep a respectable distance. It kind of makes Jisung feel as though he's being escorted around the kingdom like a toddler. He bets being caged up in the palace basement would feel a lot freer than this.

He knows his annoyance is not so much at Minho himself. He's annoying for sure, no doubt about it; Jisung can't stand the pink curl of his lips sometimes, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice. Jisung always feels a little like a rabid rodent around him, ready to scratch and scamper around. He can't tell if Minho's actually trying to get him worked up, or if he’s just weird like that. Jisung can’t decide which is worse. 

But besides that, Jisung knows he's more so upset at the fact that his dad would hire Minho in the first place, and let him stay in the palace, like some kind of live-in spy. Jisung thinks he might as well just have his own father himself following him around everywhere instead, holding his hand like he’s a child, the way Jisung remembers him doing when the world was still exactly what he thought it was.

"Ready, your Highness?" Minho asks, as he always does, when Jisung arrives at the top of the grand steps leading down to the palace's foyer.

Jisung looks at Minho waiting for him by the bottom of the stairs, noting that he's in a suit instead of his regular uniform for the occasion, then realises he's staring and quickly looks away.

"What does it look like?" Jisung mutters sulkily as he walks down the steps.

He registers Minho pausing for a second, processing Jisung's disrespect and trying to come up with a suitable output.

"It looks like you're ready to have a ball," Minho says, smiling with his teeth, clearly very proud of himself.

Jisung rolls his eyes, holding back a groan. They're going to an actual ball. He should've seen that joke coming.

"You're not funny," Jisung huffs, walking right past Minho to the main door once he gets to the bottom of the steps.

"My apologies, your Highness," Minho says, but he doesn't sound very sorry. Jisung can hear the smile in his voice, and it takes everything in him to not look at it on his lips.

Minho somehow slips his way in front of Jisung and gets to the door before him, opening it up for him. Jisung rolls his eyes.

"Thank you," he mutters reluctantly.

It's slightly cold out since it's evening. The car’s waiting out front already, and when Jisung gets inside (he manages to get to the door and open it himself this time), Hyunjin and his guards are already inside, leaving barely any space for him and Minho. Normally there would be two cars, but since this is an event for just the princely brothers, Jisung has to deal with the fact that all of them have been squeezed into half the transportation. At least his father isn't here. Plus, Jisung's pretty excited for this ball since Changbin's going to be there too.

He's settled between Hyunjin and Minho, meaning he can't even look out the window during the drive because if he looks to his left he'll have to look at Hyunjin watching the streets pass by like he's in a movie, and if he looks to his right he'll have to look at Minho's stupid side profile and his stupid perfect nose and his stupid sharp jaw.

Jisung shifts a little to readjust himself in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable, and suddenly he can feel Minho's leg against his, the heat of his thigh, the solidness of the muscle through his trousers, pressed up against his. He feels warmth spread where their legs are touching, like a burn slowly imprinting itself onto his skin. Jisung begins bouncing his leg, partially out of frustration, partially out of a sudden influx of restlessness in his system.

Then suddenly — a firm hand on his leg, just above his knee. All the air is ripped out of Jisung's lungs, his breath hitching violently. He looks down to see Minho's bruised red knuckles spread across his leg. They're gone as soon as Jisung lays his eyes on them, Minho snatching his hand back like he's just realised what he’s done.

“Sorry,” he hears Minho mutter, and when Jisung chances a look at him, he's pointedly keeping his eyes on the roads passing by, the shell of his ears tinged deep red. He even shakes his head a little, as though he's telling himself off internally.

Jisung should tell him off too, tell him to keep his hands to himself, frown and huff and make a scene.

"S'okay," Jisung hears himself mumble, feeling too dazed to even process himself speaking.

He sits deathly still for the rest of the ride, face pink, staring straight ahead. Their legs don’t touch again.

Minho's good at his job, at least. When they get to their location — a large, luxury hotel, lights golden against the darkening sky — there are few overzealous citizens loitering by the entrance, and they cheer and wave when Jisung and Hyunjin step out of the vehicle. Some of them get too close so Minho puts out a protective arm, shielding Jisung, and shoves a small crowd away with the other, with seemingly no effort whatsoever. Jisung makes a mental note of Minho's strength, then asks himself why he's making a note in the first place.

"Are you okay?" Minho asks quietly, arm around his waist but not making contact with it, just hovering near it as he guides Jisung to the hotel's entrance.

Something in Jisung's chest stumbles and falls over. 

“Yes, thank you," Jisung mumbles all in one breath, voice cracking.

They make it inside safely and Minho retracts his hand. Jisung clears his throat and immediately sets back upright whatever fell in his chest. One of Hyunjin’s guards speaks to the receptionist, and then they all head into the elevator together, where Jisung faces Minho's back. He's busy studying the broadness of his shoulders, wondering what the muscles of his back look like under his suit jacket, wondering if they're visible through the material of his button-up, when Hyunjin's voice interrupts him.

"Do you know if Changbin-hyung's coming?"

Jisung raises an eyebrow at him. Hyunjin doesn't turn to look at him, just keeps staring straight ahead, face neutral.

"Yes?" Jisung thought it would be obvious that Changbin's going to be there. The ball is for a duchess that they all went to school with. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Hyunjin says, and leaves it at that. 

Jisung furrows his brows in both confusion and disdain. The elevator dings and Hyunjin quickly gets out, Jisung following behind. As soon as they step out he catches sight of people he recognises from their boarding school days, letting Hyunjin deal with the talking. He feels tired already just from thinking about the amount of socialising he’ll have to do tonight.

When they get to the hotel's ballroom, it's full of people Jisung went to school with, some linking arms with their partners, and every single one of them wearing scent patches. Jisung distracts his nervous sinking heart by heading over to the food table and plucking a cherry out of one of the fruit salads. As he bites into it, he notices Minho's still with him — because of course he is — and when Jisung turns to face him, Minho's already looking at him. Or at his mouth, it seems, but Jisung can't be sure with the way Minho's eyes snap up to meet his so quick.

"What?" Jisung asks frownily. He licks at the cherry juice staining the seam of his lips.

"Nothing," Minho says quickly, looking away.

Jisung frowns even more, rolling his eyes and looking away too. He takes another cherry and chews on it before he realises Minho's looking at him again, sharp eyes dipping down to Jisung's throat when he swallows. Jisung feels his cheeks bleed cherry red, but before he can decide what to think or do, he hears none other than Changbin's loud voice calling his name. He looks over to see Changbin heading over with a big smile on his face, already with his arms out ready to hug.

"Hyung!" Jisung exclaims and steps into his hug easily, hugging him right back.

He sees Changbin's eyes shift curiously to somewhere behind him, and Jisung deflates.

"Oh, yeah," Jisung says monotonously. "This is Minho, my bodyguard. He follows me everywhere."

Minho smiles at Jisung smugly. Jisung rolls his eyes.

"This is Changbinnie-hyung," Jisung says to him. "He's one of my best friends."

"I'm basically his older brother," Changbin says to Minho, shaking his hand, and oddly enough, as soon as Changbin says that, Jisung sees Minho visibly relax, shoulders slumping instead of squaring.

"Ah," Minho says, and smiles politely. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too. And speaking of brothers…" Changbin turns to Jisung with a smile reserved only for when he's thinking or talking about Hyunjin. "Where's yours?"

"Who cares," Jisung whines, "you're my friend, not his."

"Jisung-ah, if everything goes to plan, we won't be friends." Changbin puts his hands on Jisung's shoulders, suddenly very serious. Jisung frowns at him. "We're going to be brother-in-laws."

Jisung groans loudly and shoves Changbin's hands off his shoulders.

"He's over there." Jisung points to the front of the room, where Hyunjin's talking and laughing with a group of people, including Yeji, the duchess they're here to celebrate.

Changbin very quickly rushes over in that direction, nearly knocking a drink out of someone's hand. Jisung shakes his head, turning back around to the food table.

"They're dating?" Minho asks Jisung.

Jisung snorts. "Changbin wishes."

He takes a toothpick and plucks a strawberry chunk out of another fruit salad.

"You should try that with chocolate," Minho suggests, and Jisung realises he's chewing on something.

Jisung looks at him, annoyed, to see him wiping off chocolate from the corner of his mouth. Jisung watches the motion of his thumb against his bottom lip, then snaps out of it.

"Don't tell me what to do," Jisung snaps defiantly, but of course, he goes over to the chocolate fountain and dips his slice of strawberry in it.

After a toast is raised for Yeji's managerial work overseas, it's time to dance. Jisung’s not so bothered about this part of the celebration — it is a ball, after all — until the pianist begins to slow their fingers over the keys, notes trickling into something gentler, and suddenly he realises everyone around him is pairing off into couples, slow dancing like it’s second nature to them. Hyunjin is very courteously dancing with Yeji, the two of them standing as far apart as possible, and they dance next to Changbin with Chaeryeong, who seem to be playfully bickering more than dancing. Which leaves just Jisung, suddenly motionless in a moving room.

“Oppa!”

Jisung turns to face the cheery voice, catching sight of Jinsol’s smiling mousey face. She hasn’t changed much from the bright-eyed freshman she used to be while Jisung was a senior in boarding school. Back then, Jisung thought that maybe he’d grow a few inches taller, but he still happens to be the same height as her.

“Jinsol-ah!” Jisung greets. “Wow, it’s been so long, how are you?”

“I’m good!” She beams. “Do you want to dance?”

Jisung points at himself, confused.

“Just while Yoona’s in the bathroom,” Jinsol clarifies, still smiling.

“Ah!” Jisung lights up in understanding. 

He remembers that dark-haired girl Jinsol always used to hang around with back in boarding school. He wonders if they’re more than just each other’s dance partners at this ball, if they ever finally decided to cross the line between friends and more than.

“Yeah, of course we can dance,” Jisung accepts, and they engage in their own, hands-off, awkwardly sweet version of slow dancing.

“Oh, oppa,” Jinsol gasps, her previously cheerful face interrupted by concern, round eyes looking at something over Jisung’s shoulder. “Who is that?” she whispers worriedly.

Jisung turns his head to see Minho watching him intently from the food table, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. The music slows its melody to an even slower, gentle lull. Jisung narrows his eyes at him. Minho cocks a smirk right back, tilting his head. Jisung huffs a sharp breath out of his nostrils as he turns back to Jinsol, already feeling the infuriating beginnings of blood rising to his cheeks. The pianist speeds up their playing, bringing it to a crescendo before transitioning into a more upbeat melody.

“Ignore him,” Jisung mutters. “He’s just my bodyguard.”

“Omo!” Jinsol’s hands fly to her mouth, big eyes opening even bigger and sparkling with scandal in the light of the chandeliers. “Oppa, you’re blushing!”

“I’m not!” Jisung quickly hisses, and Jinsol giggles behind her hands. “Shh!”

“What’s going on?” says another voice approaching them.

Both Jisung and Jinsol turn to see Yoona returning from the bathroom, an eyebrow raised with scepticism. Jinsol smiles at her excitedly. She tosses a sparkly-eyed glance at Jisung, then quickly grabs Yoona’s arm and whispers into her ear, hand covering her mouth. Yoona lets out a little gasp, looking at Jisung then over his shoulder at Minho, before her and Jinsol collapse into a peal of high-pitched giggles, Jinsol nearly falling into Yoona completely.

“What?” Jisung whines, stretching out the vowel. He has no idea what Jinsol said to Yoona exactly, but he thinks he’s proficient enough in girl language to have an idea.

“Nothing,” Yoona says, in a way that indicates it’s not nothing whatsoever. “Stay and dance with us.”

“You should invite him too!” Jinsol suggests, sneakily pointing a finger in Minho’s direction.

Jisung rolls his eyes. “No way.”

He doesn't want to, but something in his body can't stop itself from turning around to look at Minho again. He has a chocolate covered cherry caught between his teeth, and he looks up at Jisung as he bites down. Jisung's breath catches in his throat, and he looks away.

Once the night is over, and they’re in the car on the way home, Jisung's very aware of the fact that his and Minho’s legs aren't touching. He has to make a conscious effort to keep his leg from bouncing.

"Who were those girls you were dancing with?"

Jisung looks at Minho. He's looking out the window, even though it's nighttime now and it's too dark to see anything except for the occasional outdoor lights of a building.

"Jinsol and Yoona," Jisung answers. "We went all to school together," he says, gesturing between him and Hyunjin, who's slumped against the window sleeping.

Minho nods. Jisung's still looking at him, and he sees him let out a little yawn. Like a kitten, Jisung thinks, and then erases that thought immediately. Minho is not cute or endearing to him in any way, shape or form. He looks straight ahead again, at the driver's shadowed outline in the dark. They drive in silence for what feels like a long time, nothing but the quiet sounds of Hyunjin breathing softly and the car cutting through the night breeze.

"Why didn't you dance with anyone?" Jisung finally asks, keeping his voice quiet to hide the hesitance in it. He doesn’t know why he’s asking. It’s not like he cares.

"I was there to protect you if anything happened,” Minho answers after a long pause, tone formal and even, “not to dance with anyone.”

"Yeah, but," Jisung looks out the other window, where Hyunjin's sleeping, "going to this stuff can be pretty boring.” He shrugs. “You might as well have fun while you're there."

He feels Minho looking at him then. A bump in the road knocks their knees together. Jisung stiffens, feeling a spark of lightning zip under his skin where their bodies briefly collide.

"There wasn't really anyone I wanted to dance with," Minho says quietly, looking out the window.

Jisung doesn’t say anything then or for the rest of the ride, and he continues facing straight ahead.

When Jisung opens his eyes, it's to the hushed, gentle whispers of his name. He blinks his heavy eyes open in the dark and realises he’d been sleeping on Minho's shoulder. He moves his head, sitting up properly and looking at Minho’s face in the dark of the car. Doors slam shut on either side as Hyunjin and his guards get out, making Jisung jolt.

"We're here, your Highness," Minho whispers to him.

Jisung blinks tiredly at him, sleepy eyes lingering on the shadows against Minho’s face as his brain slowly computes what’s going on. For a moment, Minho sits there looking at him too, before he clears his throat and turns away to open the car door on his side, getting out and holding the door open for Jisung. 

Jisung lugs himself out of the car. Minho closes the door behind him and Jisung’s half asleep as he walks up to the grand doors, Hyunjin up ahead of him walking just as sleepily. His guards split away into their separate accomodation, leaving Jisung with just the sound of Minho’s footsteps crunching on gravel close behind him. 

“Goodnight.” Hyunjin waves at them absentmindedly, eyes clearly fighting to stay open as he heads in the direction of his room.

Jisung wishes someone would carry him up the spiralling steps to his bedroom, and his exhausted mind conjures up the image of Minho carrying him bridal style, strong and sturdy as he holds Jisung in his arms.

"Goodnight, your Highness," Minho says, once they get to Jisung's floor, quietly like he's scared to break Jisung out of his sleepy daze.

"Goodnight," Jisung mumbles back, just as quiet. 

He drags his heavy feet down the hallway to his room, and doesn’t realise Minho’s standing by the stairs waiting for him to head inside until he opens the door to his bedroom, pauses, and looks back. Minho smiles at him kindly, and turns to head down to his own room.

⭒♔⭒

Just as Jisung’s beginning to think that he’s getting used to Minho being his bodyguard, he realises that Minho's presence in his life is interfering a lot more with his routine than he initially thought it would. Normally he'd be able to wriggle his way out of a few events, skipping a meeting here, not showing up for a conference there. Sometimes the palace staff don’t even bother to wake him up, leaving him to do whatever he pleases, and he gets to go under the radar for another day. But ever since Minho's arrival, Jisung hasn't known a moment of peace.

"Where are you going?"

Jisung jumps and yelps. He whips his head around and, sure enough, Minho is there, a few feet away, crouching down nearly out of sight by a bush surrounding one of the fountains in the courtyard. Jisung furrows his brows in incredulity.

"Are you seriously spying on me?" Jisung questions, angrily marching right up to Minho and—

Oh. He's petting a stray cat.

"Why would I be spying on you when I already know everything there is to know about you?" Minho says, smiling, and Jisung's stomach does something funny at the arrogance in his voice, churning over fire at just how self-assured he sounds. 

"You don't know anything about me," Jisung sulkily complains. "You don't even know where I was going."

"To see one of your friends, probably," Minho answers easily, and Jisung's mouth parts before jutting out into an annoyed frown.

He was, in fact, on his way to see Seungmin, and he was hoping that Minho would think he was still sleeping so he could sneak out unnoticed, but apparently Minho's a freak who's always watching.

"And you definitely weren't planning on coming back in time for your meeting," Minho continues.

The cat, an orange tabby Jisung's seen hanging around the palace before, meows, and Minho turns his attention back to it, resuming his petting. Jisung eyes the gentle way Minho strokes its head, follows the motion of him running a bruised knuckle over its soft nose.

"There's not even any point in me going," Jisung mutters. "No one cares if I'm there or not."

Minho turns his head back to Jisung, frowning. Jisung takes it as confusion, so he continues his whiny reasoning.

"It's more of a meeting for Hyunjin than anything. It's always just a bunch of boring admin stuff and no one ever addresses me or asks me for any ideas because it's not like I'm going to be King anytime soon, so why do I have to be there?"

The cat bumps its head against Minho's knuckles, and Minho responds, stroking its face gently whilst still keeping his eyes on Jisung.

"You deserve to know what's going on in your kingdom," Minho says gently.

Jisung blinks at him. A cloud shifts over in the sky and pale sun rays shine through the new gap in the clouds. Jisung shrugs, looks around at the plants. The fountain's water runs in the midst of their short silence.

"It’s not my kingdom,” Jisung finally mumbles.

“Of course it is,” Minho says gently. “You share it with the rest of your family, but it’s still your kingdom."

Jisung plays with his fingers. He blinks at the freshly mowed grass shining in the sun, catching sight of a ladybug crawling along the green. How odd it is, he thinks, to be a royal ruler of the same kingdom that outcasts him.

Jisung looks back at Minho, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what his deal is. There's nothing on his face that suggests any deception. He looks like he really means what he says, but Jisung wonders if he’s just trying not to get in trouble with the King for not being able to get Jisung to obey. Jisung's all for disobedience, and it's not like he ever wanted a bodyguard in the first place, but he doesn't want Minho getting scolded on his behalf.

He doesn't know why he cares. He doesn't.

“Fine,” Jisung acquiesces. “But you owe both me and my friend matcha lattes.”

Minho smiles, finally standing up from his crouching position. Jisung realises they're a lot closer than he thought they were. He also remembers he has to look up — only slightly — to meet Minho in the eye.

“I’ll buy you anything you want if you attend this meeting,” Minho says, looking down through his pretty lashes, “your Highness.”

Jisung freezes, an army of butterflies suddenly circling his stomach. He ignores them, internally swatting them all away, then turns around and quickly heads back inside before Minho can see the onsets of pink beginning to stain his cheeks.

"And then he was like 'I'll buy you anything you want if you go to this meeting'," Jisung mocks, speaking in a low voice, "like he's trying to bribe me or something."

Jisung scoffs incredulously, glancing a few tables away to make sure Minho's still sitting there and not silently sneaking up on him.

He'd gone to his meeting with Minho by his side as usual, tried his best not to fall asleep the whole way through (it's not his fault the armchairs in the governor's office are so comfortable), and had been rewarded with the coffee date he was supposed to have with Seungmin earlier, albeit made a lot less fun by the fact that Minho had to be there too. Jisung can't believe this is his life — following his schedules consistently, letting a man his father hired follow him around. This isn't who he is. He feels like he's being tamed, and he can't allow that to happen. Lee Minho can not tame him.

It's proving really hard to complain about him when he's sitting so close by, tapping away on his phone, and it doesn't help that this coffee place, near one of Seungmin's bandmates' studio, is almost always empty.

"Can you believe that?" Jisung continues, keeping his eyes on Minho in the near distance. "Offering me a bribe like I'm not the Prince."

He looks back at Seungmin and catches the look Seungmin's giving him from across the table. Jisung puts his matcha latte down and narrows his eyes at him.

"What?" he asks, not even bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

"I think he's just flirting with you," Seungmin says, matter-of-fact, then goes back to casually sipping on his coffee.

Jisung makes a face of disbelief, looking over at Minho in a panic to make sure he didn't hear. He looks back at Seungmin when he’s sure they’re in clear, still sipping. Jisung groans, making loud, frustrated grumbly noises while slumping in his seat and rolling his eyes. Every time he complains to his friends about Minho, it always ends up with him desperately trying to convince them that Minho is in fact evil and that he's not being crazy about this.

"He's trying to get in my head!" Jisung whines, frantically trying to get his point across. He's only a little aware of how insane he sounds.

"He's trying to give you head," Seungmin corrects. His minty scent spikes with a tang of lemon like it does when he's feeling playful, and Jisung can tell he's all too proud of himself at his own joke.

"Ew," Jisung groans, cheeks growing warm. He glances at Minho, who's looking out the window, lips wrapped around the straw of his drink, and Jisung shakes his head to get the idea out of there.

"Why are you blushing?" Seungmin asks, tilting his head with faux, puppy-like innocence.

"I'm not!" Jisung whines, and goes back to sipping his drink to take his mind off it.

"Freak," Seungmin snorts, looking at the blush deepening on Jisung's face.

"You started it!" Jisung rebuts. "Whatever. What are you doing for your birthday?"

Seungmin thankfully goes along with the change of topic, giving Jisung a break from his teasing, but all the while he's talking, Jisung's mind is elsewhere, sipping on his drink and glancing at Minho every chance he gets. At one point, Minho's eyes meet his while he's sucking on his straw. Jisung's face burns up and he keeps his eyes pointedly on Seungmin for the rest of the time they hang out.

Seungmin heads out, needing to finish up a recording, leaving Jisung alone with Minho. Again.

"Are we heading home now?" Minho asks as they step out of the cafe.

Jisung takes note of the 'we' and the 'home' in the same sentence. He doesn’t know why his mind gets stuck on it. It’s almost domestic, in a sense; they share a home, which they're going to head back to together. 

The car's waiting for them by the curb, but Jisung thinks about it. He doesn't want to head back to the palace just yet.

"There's one more place I wanna go," Jisung says.

"Okay," Minho says. "Where?"

It’s windy when they get to the field, gusts of cold air rippling through grassblades and flower petals. The sun is setting even though it’s still afternoon, making way for an evening blue sky. Jisung breathes in the sharp air, laced with lavender and the earthy smell of grass. He sees Minho turn to face him from the corner of his eye.

“Where are we?” Minho asks.

A gust of wind burns like ice across Jisung’s face, making the skin of his cheeks raw with cold. He shivers, curling his frozen fingers into the heat of his palm.

“Just some place I used to go when I was a kid," Jisung answers.

He looks as far into the distance as he can, down to where the sky kisses the field at the horizon. Soon, when the orange sun finishes its descent, stars will shimmer their dust over the flowers. Jisung tries holding back his tears, but another strong gust of wind hits him like a harsh slap, and a teardrop spills over his lash line. He quickly swipes it away.

"We can go now," Jisung mutters, voice getting lost in the wind.

He doesn't give Minho time to look at his face as he turns around and wades through the grass. He hears Minho’s footsteps whispering along the grass behind him. The walk back to the car isn't a short one, seeing as the field isn't near any main roads, and Jisung doesn't say anything the whole way. Minho also doesn't ask any questions, not even once they're in the car and driving back to the palace. He feels Minho look at him a couple times. He keeps his own eyes fixed on the window.

It's dark when they get back, the palace quiet and sleepy with that early autumnal lull. Minho heads out of the car, and before Jisung can open his own door, Minho's already opening it for him. Jisung sighs and steps out. Then Minho opens the palace door for him too, and he groans.

"I can open doors myself," he complains, much whinier than he intended it to be.

"Okay, princess,” Minho says, exasperated, holding his hands up in faux defence. 

Jisung burns up like crazy. He sees Minho's eyes widen a little like he's just realised what he said. Jisung thinks of his hand on his leg in the car, warm and firm.

"Don't— Don't call me that," Jisung says, but his voice sounds distant from him.

Minho clears his throat. Jisung can't tell if the flush on his neck has deepened or if his mind is just making things up.

"Sorry, your Highness," Minho apologises.

Jisung fidgets. He flicks a glance towards the scent patch on Minho's neck, the tinge of redness on his ears. It doesn't help the fire burning in his core.

"Don't call me that either,” Jisung mumbles, looking down and fumbling with one of his sleeves. “You can just call me by my name.”

"Oh," he hears Minho say.

Jisung fiddles with his fingers, cold to the touch.

"I'm just a normal person, you can just…" Jisung looks up at him. "Treat me normally."

Minho nods at him, eyes soft.

"I like normal," he says gently.

Jisung feels his chest pull tight, leaving barely any room for him to breathe properly.

"Anyways," Minho blinks himself out of it, and bows. "Sorry, Jisung-ssi."

Jisung snorts at the formality in his voice.

"I forgive you, Minho-ssi," he says, returning the rigid politeness.

"You know," Minho says, crossing his arms, teasing demeanour coming all the way back, "I'm older than you. You should be calling me 'hyung'."

Jisung scoffs so loudly it borders a single huff of laughter. He crosses his arms too.

"I'm the Prince," Jisung stresses, and burns all over at how much whinier it comes out than he anticipated. "You work for me."

"And while I do," Minho says, smiling, getting closer, voice saccharine like he's talking to a kitten, "you should be calling me hyung. Okay?"

Jisung sulks, but something about Minho demands obedience. He wants to fight, wants to huff and bite back, but he relents.

"Fine," Jisung grumbles. "I forgive you, hyung."

Minho hums contentedly.

"Good job, Jisung-ah," he says sweetly, smiling.

Heat pools in Jisung's stomach, burning up in him, prickling all over his skin. He frowns in an attempt to make it go away. It doesn't work.

Minho smiles at him sleazily. "You're lucky I don't make you call me 'alpha'."

"Ugh!" Jisung groans, but something in him flickers on like a light bulb, a nerve shocked with electricity in his brain, a new neural pathway forming. "You're a freak."

"Takes one to know one," Minho retorts, winking, as he leaves.

⭒♔⭒

For the first time in a while, Jisung doesn't have any schedules to attend, and because all of his friends are busy, he doesn't have any plans to meet up with anyone either. Still curled up in bed, his call to Felix doesn't go through, and he remembers he's probably still on his flight to New York. He messages Seungmin, even though he knows he won't get a response because the latter refuses to respond to anyone until he believes he's done enough practice for his shows — so, never.

Changbin answers Jisung's call, but he's preoccupied with helping his dad cover up some illegal business trade their company made overseas. He sounds very stressed over the phone, and Jisung's not sure how much more he wants to hear about money laundering, so he decides to leave Changbin to it. Which leaves him lying in a starfish position on his bed, staring up at the canopy of it, where silk curtains hang, bored out of his mind.

It's not very often that Jisung gets days like these where he has absolutely nothing to do, but when that is the case, he likes going to the music room. It's one of his favourite rooms in the whole palace, with its domed ceiling and assortment of instruments leaning against the floral-patterned armchairs. It's also one of the smallest rooms in the palace, cosy and slightly stuffy, like a mother's hug, or an old hiding place.

Jisung wanders around the room, not shutting the door behind him, the floorboards creaking quietly under his weight. He lazily runs his fingers along the strings of the harp standing next to the window, then finds himself in front of the grand piano and presses a few keys absentmindedly. He never really paid attention in his piano classes when he was a kid. He didn't like his teacher very much. He reminded Jisung of his father.

His mother was a better teacher anyway, and even then, Jisung's heart was still with the guitar, wanting to be like all the rock stars in his mother's magazines. But he was never allowed to learn, the guitar not considered "proper" enough, and he couldn't resonate with the cello his mother purchased for him as a compromise.

It leans against one of the armchairs now, looking at him from the other side of the room. Jisung presses another key on the piano and sings a distant melody under his breath. Some of the words escape his memory and he replaces them with humming instead. He's quiet, but the acoustics of the room carry his voice into the space anyway.

He gets lost in his singing and zones out, only zoning back in when he feels a sudden, inexplicable fear creeping up on him. His singing fades, and he whips his head around to the door, where the feeling is coming from. He screams when he catches sight of Minho leaning against the doorframe.

"What the fuck?" Jisung gasps, clutching his chest like a damsel in distress.

Minho has the nerve to laugh at him, huffing out an amused chuckle.

"Sorry," Minho says, but the smile on his face shows that he's entirely too pleased with himself.

Jisung glares at him while he waits for his breathing to go back to normal. Minho's smile gets smugger, and for a moment, Jisung's caught off guard by how good he looks, standing against the doorway in a plain black shirt and gym shorts. Jisung straightens up and flits his eyes back to the piano before his glaring can turn to full-fledged staring. He's not seen Minho in casual clothes before and he decides he needs to get a grip of himself before he does something stupid.

"Why were you watching me?" Jisung mutters accusingly, to detract attention from how flustered he is. "Creep."

"I didn't mean to, I was just—"

Jisung looks at Minho out of the corner of his eye and sees that the tips of his ears are faintly red. It probably wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but Jisung notices.

"I was just passing by and I heard you singing," Minho finishes.

Jisung internally shrinks in on himself, feeling embarrassed. His fingers linger over the piano keys and he stares at them, not saying anything.

"You have a really pretty voice."

Jisung stops breathing. His fingers twitch over the piano keys.

"Thank you," he mutters, after a beat of silence.

He sees motion from the corner of his eyes and realises Minho's entering the room. He hopes the rosiness on his cheeks isn't too obvious.

"Do you have any plans today?" Minho asks. "Normally you hang out with Seungmin around this time."

"No." Jisung sighs. "Everyone's busy."

Minho nods.

"Okay, well," Minho says, and Jisung looks up at him, "I'll be at the gym if you need me."

"I won't," Jisung says.

"Okay." Minho smirks at him and it makes his stomach flip. "If you say so, princess.”

"I told you not to call me that!" Jisung whines, but Minho's already walking away.

He tosses a playful smile at Jisung before he leaves, and Jisung rolls his eyes, but an involuntary smile twitches onto his lips. Strings of giddiness strum in his chest against his will.

Jisung’s boredom follows him around the whole day; through the palace halls, down the stairs, even out into the palace garden. The trees' leaves are golden at this time of year, lining the gravelly paths with their various shades of autumn — dead red, dry brown, greens fading to aged yellows. The flowers are still alive, violets and roses and lilies and sunflowers.

Jisung’s not unused to being on his own, but after spending so much time with Minho by his side, it feels weird to be walking around alone. He’s gotten used to (reluctantly) informing Minho of where he wants to go so that he can be chaperoned outside of the palace, so to not have Minho with him feels like something is missing. He’s forgotten what it's like to not have someone accompanying him at all times of the day. 

Wandering past the plants, Jisung wonders where Minho is now. Is he done with his workout? Is he in his room? Still at the gym? Jisung huffs out a breath through his nostrils. He shouldn’t care. This is the first time he’s free to do whatever he wants in weeks. He should sneak out, go wherever he likes. And yet, he stays.

Jisung hears voices nearby. He’s approaching the stables on the other end of the garden, and he can see two figures standing by the pasture where a couple of the horses roam. Jisung recognises Hyunjin, standing with his sketchbook and pencil in hand, but he squints at the other figure standing with him. Is that Minho?

They're talking and Hyunjin's smiling, then suddenly he’s laughing at something Minho says. Jisung feels something heavy pang and twist in his chest. He frowns so hard his forehead starts to pull taut. Minho's supposed to be with him, guarding him. Since when was he so buddy-buddy with Hyunjin?

After dinner, Jisung finds that he and Minho are heading up the stairs to their bedrooms at the same time. Just the sound of Minho’s footsteps echoing off the wood behind him makes him irate.

"What were you and Hyunjin talking about earlier?" Jisung asks, trying to keep his voice level.

"Oh,” Minho says. “I can’t remember. Not much, I don’t think.”

Jisung takes a steadying breath. He can feel himself pouting even though he’s trying hard to keep his face neutral.

"Are you sure?" He pushes. "You guys seemed to be getting along pretty well."

There’s a pause where only the sound of their footsteps can be heard. Jisung can feel Minho looking at him, but he refuses to turn around and meet his eyes.

"What, am I not allowed to talk to your brother?" Minho scoffs lightly. He looks and sounds way too amused for Jisung's liking.

"No," Jisung says sulkily as they reach the landing to Minho’s floor. 

He turns and finally faces Minho, and now they’re standing much closer than he anticipated. He’s too riled up to think of taking a step back.

"You're my bodyguard, what do you need to talk to Hyunjin for?"

Minho smiles wider, eyes sparkling. He comes a little closer. Jisung blushes and sulks harder to counteract the space between them growing smaller.

"Your bodyguard," Minho repeats.

Jisung nods, but he's still sulking. He sees cogs turning in Minho's head, watches as some brilliant idea comes to the forefront of his mind.

"All yours, princess," Minho jokes, and reaches to tickle under Jisung's chin, cooing at him like he's a kitten.

"I said to stop calling me that," Jisung mumbles weakly, and smacks Minho's hand away. "And don't touch me like that."

"How else should I touch you?"

"You're so annoying." Jisung turns his head to hide how hard he's trying not to smile. "Stop talking to Hyunjin."

"I can’t just not talk to him.” Minho sighs. “I know you guys don't get along, but he's not that bad."

"Whatever," Jisung coldly snaps. "You don't get it."

He turns around and heads up the stairs to his room without looking back or saying goodnight.

⭒♔⭒

Jisung had been informed of his secret half-brother’s existence a fortnight after his mother’s death. He was in boarding school, curled up in his bed instead of going to his chemistry class, when someone knocked on his dorm room door. He thought at first that maybe it was Changbin, wondering how he snuck into the first year dorms, but then Jisung heard the voice of one of his advisors calling out his name on the other side of the door.

Jisung didn’t really know what to think or feel about the news at first. He wasn’t really thinking or feeling much of anything back then. The only thought that came to mind was the passing observation that this news was being broken to him by one of his staff members, and not his own father. But then again, he knew he shouldn’t have expected much. Since the night of his mother's death, his father hadn't spoken a word to him. Jisung preferred it that way.

Maybe it was odd of him, but despite the grief and the terror and the all-consuming heartache, Jisung was ready to meet his brother, and had been for a while. For a long time he'd been familiar with the idea that out there somewhere, he had a secret sibling. He was young, but he knew more than he let on; he'd overheard enough words and picked up on enough sentences through the walls during his mother and father's fights to piece together the puzzle — his father had had an affair long before he was born, and there was possibly a child born of it.

As Jisung grew up over the years, he'd silently ruminated on it, thinking of this mystery child he supposedly shared blood with, feeling lost and displaced about it, wondering what if? after what if? The death of his mother and the debilitating fear of his father that came with it had stunned him into a state of shock so deep he didn't know how to react to the news of a sibling actually being true. But somewhere inside him, with all his aching loneliness, the confirmation that he really did have a sibling, that it was a boy the same age as him, became less of another hard topic to deal with and more a source of hope. He hoped that maybe he and Hyunjin could be friends.

So when they first met a few months later, six months before the wedding of their parents, Jisung was open, smiley, and in return, Hyunjin was too. For the first time in a long time he felt faint warmth budding in his heart. They were both shy and reserved in their own ways, but when they spoke to each other, it felt comfortable, easy, like they'd already known each other a lifetime, like for all those years Jisung had been thinking of Hyunjin without knowing who he was, he was telepathically communicating with him. Slowly but surely, Jisung felt that they were becoming something between friends and family.

Jisung would never know how close they might've become, because over the months leading up to the wedding, Jisung would witness his father's preference for Hyunjin. For Hyunjin, the King seemed to have endless praise. For Jisung, not a glance in his direction. A month before the wedding, Jisung witnessed the way his father — their father — praised Hyunjin in his suit, how handsome he looked, how much he suited being a prince, how proud of him he was, how he'd make such a good king one day. And it hit Jisung then — Hyunjin was now the heir, and more than that, he was the single object of their father's affection, something Jisung had never felt the full scope of. Hyunjin didn't look at him once, only smiled and giggled and basked in their father's praise. Something sour began twisting in his chest that day, in his gut, in his blood, twisting him all rich shades of deep green.

⭒♔⭒

Jisung can’t sleep. He’s lying on the antique loveseat tucked into one of the corners of his room, watching the videos of Seungmin’s latest show on his phone. He normally doesn’t mind if he misses a few of Seungmin’s performances; they’re best friends, Jisung could ask for a private show at any time. But Jisung’s restless tonight, a dull irritation throbbing under his skin. His room feels like a prison all of a sudden.

Jisung puts his phone down and gets up. If he gets ready now, he can make it in time for the concert afterparty. He’s sick of being holed up, following his father’s rules. Right now, as he’s rushing to get ready, smudging his eyes with sparkles and smoke, it feels like no one can stop him. 

Only when he leaves his room does Jisung realise — he needs to sneak past Minho’s room to get out of the palace. There’s no stairs leading directly to the exit he needs to go to, unless he goes down one flight and crosses over to the other side. Jisung swears to himself, pausing his footsteps for a second.

He swallows his concerns and decides to keep going. Minho’s probably asleep by now. If he’s quiet, he can get away easily.

Jisung tiptoes down the stairs, wincing at every creak and groan the old wood makes. He breathes out once he finally makes it to the landing. He turns the corner with ignorant relief.

“Going somewhere?”

Jisung jumps out of his skin, mouth falling open in disbelief. He stares wide-eyed at Minho casually leaning against the wall by the staircase, expression unfazed, almost like he’s bored.

“What the fuck?” Jisung exclaims breathlessly. "Are you serious?"

Minho smiles and it’s smug. Jisung wants to rip it off his face.

“How did you know?”

“The stairs,” Minho says, like it’s obvious. “They’re loud.”

Jisung holds back the urge to grumble in frustration. He should’ve made his footsteps even lighter.

“Where were you going?” Minho asks, looking over Jisung’s face. His eyes dip down to Jisung’s lips, then back to his eyes.

“None of your business,” Jisung mutters, cheeks pinkening.

“Okay, well,” Minho shrugs, his arms crossed languidly over his chest so the muscles and tendons in his forearms pull taut, “I can’t let you go. King’s orders.”

“I just wanna see my friends,” Jisung argues.

“Who?” Minho looks at his lips again.

“I said it’s none of your business,” Jisung spits, cheeks getting even pinker.

“I can’t let you go,” Minho repeats.

Jisung fixes him with a hard look, brows furrowing and mouth set in a straight line. He tries to catch Minho off guard by sidestepping him suddenly, but Minho's faster than him, and gets in his way. Jisung groans, the crease between his brows growing stronger.

"Just let me go," he huffs.

"I can't," Minho huffs back, exasperated. "You know that."

Whatever restlessness had been building up in Jisung all night reaches its peak. He rushes past Minho, but only makes it a few steps before Minho grabs him, catching Jisung in his arms. Jisung wriggles and writhes, trying to free himself of Minho’s hold. It’s no use — Minho barely budges, no matter how much strength Jisung uses.

"Let me go," Jisung spits.

Minho's so much stronger than him. Jisung already had an idea of Minho's strength before, but feeling it now, feeling the solidity of his arms around his body, feeling his restraint, the way he holds Jisung tight against all his useless efforts to get free, starts up a brand new fire in him. Jisung feels slightly breathless, the smoke from the fire filling his lungs and making him lightheaded. He can feel Minho's chest flush against his back, warm and muscular. The flames don't let up.

"Stop fighting." Minho's voice is right by his ear, strained with effort.

Jisung feels warmth pooling deep in his core and it irritates his insides. Anger itches like a burn beneath Jisung’s ribs, consuming him from the inside out. In a fit of pure, unbridled frustration, Jisung thrashes and twists out of Minho's grip, managing to grab the front of Minho's shirt. He doesn't think about what he's doing, all logic and common sense burnt up in the smoke of his emotions.

Minho grabs him back, fisting the collar of his shirt with both hands, his grip two times firmer, and shoves Jisung backwards into the nearest wall before promptly caging him in. Jisung gasps loudly at the impact, his grip on Minho’s shirt loosening as his palms go shaky and flat against Minho’s chest.

Minho’s close to him, really close. Jisung sees his fiercely focused eyes travel across his face, his mouth, the makeup on his eyelids. They're breathing in each other's air. Jisung can feel the solid muscles of Minho’s chest rising and falling under his trembling palms.

"I'm here to protect you," Minho says, voice low and level, soft breath hitting Jisung’s face, "not fight you."

Jisung doesn’t know why his eyes well up, but once they start, he can’t get them to stop. He shoves Minho off of him as hard as he can, which isn’t very hard at all, but it’s enough to make Minho take a few steps back, blinking in shock, or maybe confusion. Jisung doesn’t stay long enough to find out, running from him all the way back up to his room. 

In the dark of his room he shuts his eyes tight, but tears shed onto his pillow anyway. Images of his mother play behind his lids, keeping him from sleep.

On the anniversary of his mother's death, Jisung stays in his bed even as the sun comes in through the curtains. His room is as static as him, unsaturated in the white light of the sun's rays. Jisung stays under his bundle of blankets, cocooned like a kid tucked into bed, and yet his body still remains cold.

He's awake even before a member of the palace staff knocks on his door and reminds him to meet his family downstairs in an hour. He stays in bed for longer than he should, then gathers up the little strength in him and drags himself away from the pillows and out of the sheets. He trudges his way into the bathroom, stays stationary under the hot shower as it falls over him, and he lets his tears run with the water.

When he's dressed and leaving his room, he runs into Hyunjin on his way out. He doesn't look at his brother, but he knows Hyunjin's looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Hyunjin asks.

"Why do you care?" Jisung mutters. He hears Hyunjin make a quiet sound, a small, disbelieving huff.

"People can care about you,” Hyunjin says, “you know that, right?" 

Jisung says nothing, and hears nothing from Hyunjin in response. 

They reach the stairs, and Jisung can see that Minho’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs dressed in all black. He doesn't smile when he sees Jisung; instead, Jisung sees conflict on his face, unsure how to conduct himself after their impromptu wrestling match night before. He straightens and bows anyway, ever the professional.

"Good morning, Prince Jisung," he greets.

Jisung gives Minho a sulky glare on the way to the door. Minho simply offers a polite smile, not retaliating the way Jisung wanted him to, which only serves to makes him even more annoyed.

"Good morning," Jisung reluctantly grumbles, and heads outside to the car, Minho following behind.

Jisung keeps on the shades he strategically wore once they get to his mother’s gravesite, partly so no one can see him cry, but also so no one can see the face he makes while his father does his speech. Standing at the lectern in the church hall, his father speaks about how he holds so much love for his first wife, what radiant a queen she was, and how he prays she's resting in peace. Only Jisung knows it's all lies. Each time a photographer snaps a photo from the pews, or a reporter takes a statement from someone in his family, the memory of what really happened to his mother rises up in Jisung like bile.

He’s not allowed to say anything, the sacrifice of his life on the line. No one will ever know that his mother didn't really die in her sleep. Jisung wants to scream the truth out loud, let it echo within the walls of this church, let it shatter the stained glass. He thinks about it. He thinks and thinks about it. He cries instead.

Once they’re back at the palace, Jisung goes straight to his room, refusing to look at or talk to anyone. He can feel a pair of eyes on him as he heads up the stairs, but he doesn’t turn around to see who it is. He locks the door once he gets to his room, and crawls into his bed, pulling the blankets up to his face so they catch his tears when they fall.

Each time Jisung’s dry eyes fall shut, even just for a second, the visions of that night force themselves to the front of his mind, playing in blood red shapes and shadows on the back of his eyelids. They don’t fade even when he shuts his eyes tighter. 

Jisung awakes on the edge of a nightmare at the sound of a knock on his door. He shoots up, gasping. His chest heaves up and down, sweat rapidly cooling on his forehead. Another knock sounds, gentler this time, more hesitant.

“Jisung?”

He frowns, confused. That’s Minho’s voice. It’s well into the evening now; why would Minho be at his door at this time?

Jisung gets up and unlocks his door, opening it to see Minho standing on the other side. Before he can say anything, Minho holds up a small bundle of flowers. Magenta tulips, lilac orchids, and white daffodils with their sunny disc florets. All their green stems are held together by a neatly tied pale pink bow. 

Jisung stares at the flowers in pure disbelief, mouth parted, then looks back at Minho. His ears are bright red, face a little bashful.

"I went back to the field and picked some for you," he says. "To cheer you up."

Jisung's eyes soften. The dull panic in his chest is replaced with a tentative lightness. He doesn't realise how long he's been holding eye contact with Minho until Minho looks away, smiling even more bashfully. Jisung takes the flowers. Their knuckles brush, and Jisung feels a gentle spark on his skin.

"Thank you," Jisung whispers, in awe. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"No one's ever given you flowers?" Minho asks, clearly disbelieving.

"No one that wasn't, like,” Jisung rolls his eyes, “a government official trying to build royal relations."

Minho tilts his head thoughtfully, blinking.

"Not even a friend or," Minho pauses, looks away, then looks at him again, "someone who liked you?"

Jisung drops his eyes and shakes his head. He thinks of all his friends in boarding school presenting before him, getting into their first relationships before he could even dream of having his first kiss.

"Oh,” Minho says, and Jisung looks back up at him.

They stand there in Jisung's doorway for a second, just looking at each other.

"Well, um," Minho clears his throat, "I'm sorry for your loss," he finishes, voice gentle and quiet.

"Thank you," Jisung says back, even quieter.

Minho nods and heads off. Jisung steps out of his room just to watch him walk away. Minho doesn't look back until he's about to turn the corner, and when their eyes meet, Jisung feels like he’s finally seeing his first bit of light that day.

He steps back inside of his room and closes the door behind him, pressing the flowers to his nose. He thinks, absentmindedly, of what Minho's scent might be. His mind drifts so that instead of the petals' silky surface he's touching his nose to, it's the supple skin of Minho's neck. He catches himself and quickly moves the flowers away from his nose, but it doesn’t stop the small smile that finds its way onto his face.

⭒♔⭒

On his next day off, Jisung wakes up early, gets ready for the day, then heads straight down to Minho's room and knocks on the door. He waits determinedly with his heart in his throat until Minho answers, hair wet, clearly fresh out of the shower. He has a shirt on, but there's only a towel around his waist, so Jisung can see water dripping down his defined calves. Jisung's brain short circuits, trying to register the fact that underneath that towel Minho's completely naked.

"Hello," Jisung says awkwardly, not really knowing where to look. His dumbstruck brain decides for him, gluing his eyes to the drop of water rolling down the side of Minho's face.

"Hello," Minho says back. Jisung's never seen him so caught off guard before. His eyes are wide and round, staring at Jisung as though it’s the first time he’s laying eyes on him. It makes Jisung want to smile, or squirm, or both.

Jisung's about to say something but he realises he can smell something sweet, saccharine, with a hint of something else lying underneath, something deeper and smoky. Cologne? But it's purer than that, not tainted with that artificial aftertaste of perfume. Jisung breathes it in, trying to figure out what it is and why he wants to fall into it completely.

"Shit, sorry, hold on," Minho mutters.

He scrambles to close the door, then he opens it back up several seconds later, and Jisung can see he's now wearing a scent blocker patch to his neck. Jisung swallows, remembers what he's here for and straightens up.

"How much do you get paid to babysit me?” he asks boldly.

Minho raises his brows, caught off guard for only a beat before he answers, with a challenging smirk, "Not enough."

"Whatever my dad’s paying you, I’ll double it if you leave me alone.”

Minho scoffs, leaning against the doorway.

“Are all of these parties and clubs you sneak off to that much fun?”

“It’s not about that, it’s just—” Jisung lets out a sigh in frustration. “It’s just nice to feel free.”

Minho raises his brows. He looks entirely unbothered, like this conversation's boring him. Jisung fights the urge to flail his arms and sulk. He wants Minho’s attention, all of it, undivided.

“You don’t feel free in this big, fancy palace of yours?”

“I—” Jisung cuts himself off with another angry sigh. He doesn't mean to sulk but he can't help it. When he speaks again, he feels like there's something stuck in his throat. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” Minho says plainly, “not really.”

Jisung feels himself getting irritated, something bubbling underneath the surface. A thought of his father comes to his mind on its own volition, and Jisung takes in a deep, shaky breath.

“If you had to live with a father like mine, you’d be sneaking out every day too.”

Minho studies him for a moment, finally looking at him properly. Jisung looks at him pleadingly. He sees Minho flit his eyes away and let out a short breath. He breathes in, and his eyes are back on Jisung again.

“Okay.”

Jisung blinks. Okay?

“Show me then.”

“Show…?” Jisung looks around. “Show you what?”

“Take me out to meet your party friends.”

“You—" Jisung blinks again, mouth parting in shock. "You wanna sneak out with me?”

Minho smiles. It’s a half smile, hinges on his lips, toes the line of dangerous.

“Yeah,” he answers, getting a little closer. “Why not?”

“Oh.” Jisung steps back a little, trying to hide how flustered he is. “Yeah. Okay." He clears his throat. "Why not?”

Jisung agrees to meet Minho by his room at midnight. He puts a little more effort into getting ready than he normally does. He fiddles with his hair, touching it nonstop, trying to the waves perfectly into place, makes his lips shimmer, and sprays perfume all over.

He doesn't know why his heart rabbits in his chest when he's heading downstairs to meet Minho. He's more excited about this than he should be. Jisung sneaks out all the time, so this shouldn't be anything new to him, but something about doing it with Minho makes it seem adventurous, makes him feel wild.

Jisung's hand is a little shaky when he brings it up to knock on Minho's door. It opens before Jisung's knuckles even touch the wood. He jumps, greeted by the sight of Minho in the doorway.

Jisung knows Minho's handsome. He's always been reluctant to admit it, but Jisung’s known it the moment he first saw Minho, standing behind Jisung’s father in his suit. It stirred something in his stomach then, and it awakens something else in him now, seeing him in a leather jacket and jeans, relaxed and effortlessly attractive.

"Hey," Minho says.

"Hi,” Jisung says, a little dazed. He’s distracted by the neckline of Minho’s shirt, staring at the shape of Minho’s pretty collarbones. He thinks of leaning in and pressing his tongue flat against—

“Are you ready?” Minho asks.

“Uh—” Jisung blinks, then gives him a stilted nod. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Minho smiles at him. His lips are prettier tonight too. “Lead the way.”

The palace is quiet as Jisung leads Minho through it, like it always is at this time, and it's dim, save for the moon's glow spilling through the stained glass windows. It paints the polished wooden floors and ruby red runner carpets in watercolour images. As they walk past, footsteps soft and slow, light stained in reds, purples, and blues fall over Jisung's body. He turns to look at Minho, seeing the way the light falls over him too, making the angles of his face more ethereal than they already are.

Minho looks at him too. His eyes are sparkly, excited. He smiles at Jisung, and Jisung smiles back, big and toothy. They walk past the paintings and old photos on the walls, the bronze-gold sconces, and the glimpse of the first floor drawing room on their way. Jisung could walk this route with his eyes closed. He's only ever walked it on his own. He thinks about how strange it is that he's showing his bodyguard the exact route he uses to get out of the palace.

For a brief moment Jisung wonders if Minho's tricking him, if Jisung's walked right into his trap of giving up information to eventually tell on him to his dad. He wonders if maybe his father was the one who gave Minho the idea in the first place. Jisung turns to look at him again, like studying his profile might provide him with answers. It leads to him almost walk right into a wooden cabinet, and Minho has to grab him so that neither he nor the marble statuettes atop the cabinet fall to the floor and crack their heads open.

"So clumsy," Minho playfully scolds, whispering in the dark.

Jisung smacks his hands away, blushing and promptly forgetting his worries.

"I’m not," he whines, brattily dragging out his vowels.

"Good thing I came with you, hm?" Minho says, lips curled into a teasing smile. "How do you always manage to make it to your friends and back home in one piece?"

"Shut up," Jisung says, even whinier, and Minho just chuckles at him. Jisung can’t explain why Minho laughing at him makes the blood in his cheeks burn even redder.

They finally reach the palace's east wing; it’s the oldest wing in the palace so it only has one exit — a singular wooden door, placed so out of the way that it’s been forgotten about for years. It’s down some old steps in the corner that lead to a tiny hallway, and Jisung hadn’t realised how cramped the space was until Minho’s standing next to him. There’s barely enough space for the two of them to stand without hearing the other breathe.

Jisung reaches into his pocket and pulls out an ornate, wrought iron chamberlain key. He still remembers the day he found it as a young boy, lying on the floor near the wall outside the music room, almost blending into where the dark floorboards aren't covered by the red carpet. Back then, Jisung had thought of handing it back in, pitying the chamberlain who’d dropped it. But he selfishly pocketed it instead, keeping it for himself all these years.

It clatters to the floor when Jisung clumsily drops it, and both him and Minho reach down to retrieve it. 

“Ow!” Jisung howls when their heads clash in the lack of space.

“Careful,” Minho hisses, rubbing the back of his own head. Then, with his other hand, he reaches out to smooth down Jisung’s hair.

Jisung quickly turns away under the guise of unlocking the door, but really he just can’t handle being in such close proximity with Minho for any longer. He opens it up, thankful for the icy night air hitting his warm face when he steps out. He hopes his blushing cheeks can’t be seen in the bright light of the full moon.

The door leads out onto the back of the palace, which is surrounded by their privately owned wooded area. Jisung’s about to start making his way down the soily path that tapers off onto a desolate road, but he notices Minho’s standing still next to him. Jisung looks at him to see him transfixed by the night sky, pink lips parted. 

“I didn’t know you could see the stars from here,” Minho says quietly.

“What do you mean?” Jisung asks.

“They’re just as bright as when I see them back home.” Minho turns to Jisung with a small smile on his face. “I live near the edge of the kingdom, so the stars are always really bright.”

Jisung watches him turn back to the sky. He looks at the stars reflected in Minho’s brown eyes and feels his chest pull tight.

“Do you miss it back home?” Jisung asks.

“Yeah,” Minho answers simply, still focused on the sky.

Jisung stands quietly next to him, letting him look at the sky for a little while longer. It’s not like they’re in a hurry.

“So where do we go from here?” Minho eventually asks, taking his eyes away from the stars to look at Jisung.

“This—" Jisung yelps at a sudden flapping movement in the tree branches above. “This way.”

He hears Minho laughing at him.

"You get scared so easily," Minho says.

"No, I don't," Jisung whines.

"It's okay," Minho says, with that teasing smile on his face again. "You have me to protect you now."

Jisung huffs, setting down the path defiantly. He can hear Minho’s smug smile as he follows behind. He's thankful the path isn’t too long, getting to the quiet road in no time, where a shiny car waits for them.

"Who is that?" Minho freezes, body going tense next to Jisung's.

"You remember Changbin?" Jisung says. "He drives me around sometimes."

“Oh.” Minho sighs, body going lax again.

The driver’s window rolls down as they approach. Changbin smiles at Jisung, then his eyes shift to Minho, and suddenly there’s a knowing edge to his grin. Jisung gives him a warning look. Don’t, his eyes say, the same thing he said over text when he let Changbin know Minho was coming. Changbin doesn’t take him seriously at all. He bursts into cackles instead.

“Is he drunk already?” Minho asks under his breath, raising an eyebrow at Jisung. “Jisung-ah, you know I can’t let you get into a car with a drunk driver.”

“No, he’s just like that.”

“Minho-hyung!” Changbin exclaims, getting out of the car. Jisung braces himself. “It’s good to see you again.”

Minho accepts Changbin’s hug, catching the contagion of his smile.

“I thought Jisungie was joking when he said you were joining us," Changbin admits.

“No,” Minho says, then gives a Jisung a mischievous smile. “He wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

“That’s not true!” Jisung squeaks. “It was your idea!”

Minho raises his eyebrows at him, still with that smile on his face. “Did you tell Changbinnie about how you came to my room?”

“Oh?” Changbin smiles knowingly at Jisung.

Jisung grumbles and huffs, then stomps around the car to get into the passenger seat. He refuses to deal with Minho and Changbin teaming up on him right now. He hears Minho laugh in his wake, all too pleased at how easily riled up Jisung gets. Changbin settles into the driver’s seat and Minho gets in the back.

Jisung glances at him in the rearview mirror, looking at him sitting with his legs spread. Jisung looks away and shifts around his seat, pressing his legs together.

“All set?” Changbin asks, putting the car into drive.

“Yes,” Jisung says, at the same time Minho hums affirmatively.

Jisung glances back at the rearview mirror, his eyes inexplicably drawn to Minho’s reflection like a moth to a flame. This time, Minho looks at him too. Jisung catches the beginnings of a smirk on Minho’s lips before he makes himself look away, opening the window to stop himself from burning up.

After a short drive, they arrive at an upscale bar, warm gold lighting up its brilliant arches in the dark night. It’s busy and vibrant, silhouettes of strangers in luxury brand clothing in the windows. There’s people spilling out of the entrance too, in their long, stylish coats, stilettos clicking against the sidewalk. They head inside and the chatter is loud, the music even louder. Waiters in waistcoats and ties dodge in and out of people, balancing trays of cocktails and champagne, with their bubbles glimmering in the lights.

As they head further inside, Jisung sees that the party is mostly congregated near the bar, where large chandeliers sparkle over the floor, twinkling above the people talking and laughing and sipping on their shiny drinks. Jisung looks back at Minho as they make their way through the crowd with Changbin. He sees that Minho’s looking around at everything inquisitively.

“What do you think?” Jisung excitedly asks.

“I think…” Minho continues to look around. “That I’m underdressed.”

“No, you look good,” Jisung says, then realises what he's just said when Minho raises his brows at him, half surprised, half smug. “Or whatever. You look whatever. Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Jisung wants to smack the smirk off his face. He turns around instead, cursing himself for blushing so much. 

He hears Felix before he sees him, hears his overexcited exclaiming before he sees him hugging Changbin. Over Changbin’s shoulder, Felix waves at Jisung, and then, much to Jisung’s panic, Jisung catches a sparkle in his eye when he sees Minho. Seungmin’s next to Felix with a drink in his hand, and Jisung sees an even brighter sparkle in his eyes, a full on glittering in both his pupils. Do not, Jisung says with his eyes again, because none of his friends can be normal about anything.

“So this is your bodyguard?” Felix asks, an eager smile on his face.

“Yes,” Jisung says, strained, then turns to Minho, who seems perfectly at ease — amused, even. “Minho-hyung, this is Felix.”

"Hi, hyung!" Felix greets cheerfully. "It's nice to meet you! I've heard so much about you!"

"You have?" Minho says, giving Jisung a curious, teasing look. Jisung refuses to look him in the eye.

“Uh-huh!” Felix nods. “Jisung’s always—”

“Anyways, Minho-hyung, this is Seungmin,” Jisung interrupts. “You guys have met before, remember?”

“Of course I remember Minho-hyung," Seungmin says, looking mischievous. "How could I forget?"

“Okay, we’re getting drinks.” Jisung grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket and pulls him away before any of his friends have the opportunity to say something incriminating.

“Have fun,” Changbin says, sounding way too knowing for Jisung’s liking.

“Your friends seem nice,” Minho says, smiling teasingly at him.

“They’re idiots.” Jisung rolls his eyes.

“But you like them?”

“I love them,” Jisung says without missing a beat. “They’re my best friends.” Jisung pauses, then adds: “They’re my only friends.”

Minho tilts his head, confused. He gestures to the crowd of people they’re walking through. 

“Aren’t all of these people your friends?”

Jisung laughs. “No.”

“So we’re at a party full of strangers?”

“Why are you acting like you’ve never been to a party before?”

“I haven’t,” Minho says simply, and Jisung’s mouth drops in shock. He stops walking, forcing Minho to stop too.

To him, Minho seems like someone who would've been popular in school, one of those alphas who threw parties that everyone wanted to go to, just like Changbin when they were younger. Jisung knows that the only reasons he ever gets invited to parties are because of his title or his friends. Minho doesn’t seem like he needs any of that for people to want to be around him all the time.

“What?” Jisung furrows his brows. “You’ve never been to a party before?”

“Not really,” Minho answers. “I’m a homebody," he explains simply, shrugging, "always have been.”

The crowd around them shifts, slightly pushing Minho into Jisung’s space. Jisung doesn't know what to say, adjusting to the new amount of space — or lack thereof — between them. He can feel Minho's body heat emanating from him. Jisung’s completely forgotten about going to the bar by now.

“I like watching TV and playing with my cats," Minho continues, voice much closer to Jisung's ear than before. 

Jisung remembers Minho with the cat in the courtyard, how sweetly he treated it, how gentle he was with it. And Jisung thinks about it then, the type of life where he just watches TV and plays with small, soft friends that cosy up and purr in his lap.

“That sounds nice,” Jisung says quietly.

“Well,” Minho says, looking around at the lights, the splendour, “this is pretty fun, too.”

"You think so?" Jisung smiles at him.

Minho nods, smiling back. Jisung looks away, hoping the lights don’t show his blushing face too much.

“I think it’d be funner if we were dancing, though,” Minho suggests, playful tone in his voice, and when Jisung looks at him again, he’s already stepping back, lingering in the direction of where people are dancing to the music.

Minho cocks his head, telling Jisung to follow, and Jisung does, feeling like he wants to squirm all over, though he can’t explain why. Minho extends a hand out behind him for him to hold, and Jisung takes it, a smile spreading across his lips.

They blend into the crowd, and even though Jisung’s unused to dancing, preferring to stand in a corner and talk to his friends, he tries his best to follow Minho’s lead, giggling when he keeps accidentally stepping on Minho’s feet.

"You're good at dancing," Jisung says.

Minho hums. "I used to dance when I was younger."

"Really?" Jisung looks at him, awed.

He imagines a younger Minho in a dance studio. He realises he barely knows anything about Minho. He realises he wants to know more.

"Why didn't you become a dancer?" Jisung asks.

"I liked boxing more,” Minho says.

“You box?” Jisung becomes even more surprised.

“How do you think I became qualified enough for this job?”

Jisung blinks at him, then remembers. Minho’s just his bodyguard. That’s all this is. They aren’t actually getting closer to each other on the dancefloor, nor is Minho staring at him when he’s not looking — it’s all in his head. He tries not to look at the lights shining on the sharp lines of Minho’s face, how carefree he looks, how in his element he is. Minho looks at him, making Jisung realise he’s been staring this whole time, never mind how hard he was trying to keep his eyes away.

"I know what you meant," Minho says, "about being free."

Jisung looks at him, eyes round and shiny with the lights. 

"Yeah," he breathes out, and that's all he says. He leaves out the part where he realises this is the most free he's felt in a while.

He can see the corner of Minho's scent patch peeling off. Jisung's mouth goes dry. He licks his lips. He wonders how close he would have to get to smell just a hint of it.

Jisung inches closer, shimmying his body further into Minho's space. He doesn't get any closer because he's suddenly shoved in the other direction by some guy trying to get past.

"Ow," Jisung winces, toppling to the ground in a heap.

He's not there for long because Minho rushes over to immediately help him up.

"Are you okay?" he asks, eyes big and worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jisung grunts, taking Minho's hand and letting him pull him up.

Once Minho looks over him, ensuring he really is okay, he turns around and grabs the guy's shoulder. Jisung's eyes widen. He's never seen Minho mad before. He didn't even really think Minho was capable of it.

"Hyung, it's okay," Jisung tries to say, but no one's really listening to him over the sound of the guy scoffing and asking Minho who the fuck he is.

That's when Jisung hears Minho growl for the first time, and it makes his head spin. The sound of it vibrates right through him, and he feels something at the back of his tongue, some sort of sound half-formed but desperate to roll off his tongue. Jisung doesn't know what it is; he can't really think because Minho growls again and it makes him feel dizzy, makes his legs turn weak.

"Oh, you're with the prince?" the guy taunts, continuing to provoke Minho.

He goes over to Jisung, grabs his arm. Jisung sort of recognises him from somewhere; maybe he's a son of one of Changbin's dad's business partners?

"I'm his bodyguard," Minho says, voice deathly calm, eyeing the hand holding Jisung's forearm.

"Oh, that's okay," the guy croons. "We're friends, aren't we, Jisungie?"

Jisung doesn't look him in the eye and tries to shrink away without it seeming obvious. But Minho notices, of course.

"Don't touch him," Minho says.

"Yeah, or what?" the guy challenges, friendly demeanour slipping instantly.

"I won't ask again."

The guy full-body laughs, throwing his arm around Jisung's shoulders, using him to hold himself up as he cackles. Jisung freezes, staring at Minho. The guy turns to Jisung, still laughing.

"Are you hearing this?" he says, gesturing to Minho with his other hand, and some of his drink spills onto Jisung's shirt.

Jisung sees Minho snap, and it all happens so quick. Minho fists the guy's shirt, forcing him into place so he can land a bone-crunching punch to his face, making the crowd erupt into a chorus of gasps. Jisung gasps too, hands to his mouth, senses muddied with pure shock. Jisung hears the guy let out a deep growl, but it's nothing like Minho's, the sound too low and uncanny to Jisung's ears, making him feel sick. 

The guy, now with torrents of blood gushing from his nose down to his chin, shoves Minho off him and punches back, splitting Minho's lip. Jisung whimpers worriedly at the blood that starts to seep through the wound, but Minho looks unfazed, barely budging at the second punch the guy throws at his temple, making the skin above his eyebrow angry and red.

Jisung thought Minho's first punch was hard, but then Minho hits the guy in the gut and it makes him wince as if he was the one being beaten. The guy clutches his stomach and lets out a strangled noise. He stumbles backwards, losing his balance and falling onto the ground. Jisung grabs onto Minho as he's getting on the floor with his fist raised ready to punch again, pulling him back with as much force as possible. Minho barely budges at Jisung's pulling, but Jisung's grip on him must bring him back to his senses.

He turns around, chest still heaving, his eyes fierce and fiery, softening once he looks at Jisung. Jisung frowns at the blood on his mouth, the reddish-purple mark blooming on his forehead. There's a cut there too, trickling a thin line of blood across his eyebrow.

"Hyung," Jisung sobs, eyes welling with tears, lips wobbling. "You're hurt."

A heavy mass of guilt wedges its way into his gut. He should've warned Minho about the spoilt assholes that come to these places. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. 

Jisung's friends rush over, circling both him and Minho with shocked clamours. Jisung barely registers them, nor any of the people around them looking and pointing with their scandalised whispers. His focus is solely on Minho and the wounds on his face, watching helplessly as Minho quietly insists to everyone that he's fine.

Changbin offers to drive them back to the palace, and the walk to the car is tense. This time, Jisung sits in the back of the car with Minho. He watches Minho swipe away blood from his mouth with the back of his knuckles.

"I'm sorry," Minho whispers with a brittle voice, looking out the window.

"It's okay," Jisung whispers back. His eyes well up again with the threat of fresh tears. He lays a tentative hand over Minho's on the middle car seat. "Thank you for protecting me."

He then catches Changbin's eyes in the rearview mirror. Changbin raises an eyebrow and Jisung looks away from him, feeling his ears growing hot. They're all silent on their way back to the palace, and in the meantime, neither Jisung nor Minho move their hands away from each other.

The walk back to the east wing exit is quiet, their footsteps crunching on dead leaves and fallen branches. Jisung sneaks glances at Minho in the dark through his periphery. Minho's facing straight ahead, face unreadable from what Jisung can see of his side profile in the moonlight. Jisung looks away again. 

Their arms keep brushing against each other as they walk, and Jisung wishes it was their bare skin touching instead of the sleeves of their coats. Jisung squeezes his hands into fists, then decides to be brave. He softly swipes the back of his knuckles against Minho's. They're cold to the touch. 

Jisung thinks for a second that he worked up all this courage for nothing, for their hands to just “accidentally” touch in the dark and nothing more, but then Minho’s hand brushes his back. Jisung’s heart leaps like a skipped pulse in his chest. Then, slowly but surely, their fingers find their way around each other, interlacing into a gentle handhold. Jisung breathes out a shaky breath into the night air, his breath visible from between his parted lips. Minho squeezes his hand tighter, and their hands stay intertwined all the way through the woods.

Jisung hopes with all his nervous, pounding heart that Minho doesn't let go once they reach the entrance. He doesn’t. For a second they’re just standing there in the doorway, hands intertwined and energy heavy between them. Jisung looks at Minho’s weary face, the frown on his lips, the bloodied, split skin interrupting the perfect pink. Jisung takes the lead then, leading Minho down the hall.

"This isn't the way to our bedrooms," Minho says when Jisung leads him past the staircase they're meant to walk up.

Jisung looks back at him with worried eyes.

"I'm bringing you to the infirmary," Jisung says.

Minho halts in his tracks, forcing Jisung to stop too.

"Jisung—"

"Hyung, you're hurt," Jisung stresses, frowning.

"But the nurses—"

"They won't be there," Jisung says. "It’s late at night. No one will find out, hyung, don't worry."

He tugs him along. When they get to the infirmary, Jisung opens the door with ease. He makes Minho sit, then scrabbles his way through the drawers to find anything of use. He finds a packet of medical wipes, rips it open and takes one out.

He heads back over to Minho and sits next to him. He attempts to wipe at the blood on his mouth, but the angle makes it awkward. So he leans in closer and cups the side of Minho’s cheek with one palm to keep his head still. Jisung sees Minho blink and look away. He cleans the blood from the cuts on Minho’s face as gently as he can, guilt twisting his chest each time Minho hisses and winces.

"Sorry, hyung," Jisung mumbles.

Minho shakes his head, looking regretful.

"It's not your fault," he says quietly, faint with remorse. "I was an idiot tonight."

"No, you weren't." Jisung sits close next to Minho so he can gently dab at the blood drying at the corner of his bottom lip. "You were just doing your job."

Minho blinks slowly at him. Their faces are close, Jisung's hand still cupping Minho's cheek. They share breaths, looking into each other's eyes. Jisung gently moves his hands to Minho's shoulders, feels the corner of Minho's scent patch against the side of his thumb. He suddenly gets this overwhelming urge to pick the peeling corner with his nail, peel it clean off Minho's soft skin, and softly press his nose to the flesh it covers.

"I should…" Minho whispers, voice breaking, words quiet in the little space between them. "I should go to bed."

"Wait," Jisung says, remembering where they are and why they're there in the first place.

He gets up and rifles around in more of the drawers. He cleans the wound by Minho's eyebrow, then places a couple of closure strips on it.

"Okay," Jisung says, looking over Minho's face, making sure he hasn't missed any cuts or scratches. "You can go to bed now," but neither of them move.

Minho clears his throat and finally looks away. Jisung looks away too.

They head upstairs. When they get to Minho's floor Jisung looks at him, eyes round and expectant, waiting for something, but he doesn't know what.

"Goodnight, Jisung-ah," Minho says.

"Goodnight, hyung." Jisung smiles at him. "Thank you for hanging out with me tonight," he says. "And for protecting me," he adds, a little quieter.

Minho smiles at him. Jisung's left with the memory of his bruised face and smiling eyes after he leaves.

Jisung barely gets any sleep. He lays curled up on his side thinking of Minho. He closes his eyes, drifting off here and there, but deep sleep evades him. Each and every time he wakes up, his mind automatically goes to Minho. He turns over onto his other side and does the same thing all over again, all night long. The moonlight comes in through his curtains, and Jisung stares at it, thinking of Minho's face in its light.

When Jisung wakes up the next day, he has about two seconds of peace before all the events from the night before come rushing back to him, drowning him in the weight of all the anxiety that comes with it. He shuts his eyes tight in a weak attempt to shut it out, but it backfires, the image of Minho's bruised face burning behind his eyelids. He remembers the hard look on Minho's face in the club, the square of his shoulders before he threw a forceful punch, the low-thrumming vibrating sound from behind his snarling mouth, low enough for Jisung to feel it in the deepest depths of his body.

Jisung curls up under his blankets further, thighs pressing together tight as the sound replays over and over in his head. He pushes his face into his pillow, but he can only escape for so long before there's a knock on his door.

"Good morning, your Highness," a member of the palace staff says, and Jisung's already bracing himself before they say their next sentence, lifting his head out of the pillow to hear better. "Your father has requested for you to see him in his Majesty's office."

Jisung sinks his head back down into the pillow.

He trudges his way to his father's office once he's cleaned up and gotten ready. All while he was brushing his teeth, showering, putting on his clothes, Jisung couldn't stop thinking about Minho's face, his split lip and busted eyebrow, his dark eyes tired and regretful. And beautiful. A small winged thing flutters in Jisung’s chest. Whatever it is is replaced with nauseous nerves when he reaches his father’s office door.

Jisung’s fist shakes as he brings it up to knock.

"Appa?" Jisung says feebly.

"Get inside," he hears the King say stonily.

Jisung takes a deep breath and opens it up. His father's office is large with vintage armchairs, a big mahogany desk, plush red carpeted floor. There used to be a photo of Jisung's mother where the current royal family portrait is now.

Minho turns around when the door opens, and Jisung meets his eyes, like the day they first met. That thing with its wings starts a frenzy, a butterfly trapped in a net, flitting around the cage of his ribs. Minho's eyes sparkle when they land on Jisung and it makes Jisung feel warm all over — that is, until he looks at his dad's cold face.

"Sit down," the King barks.

Jisung takes a seat in the armchair next to Minho.

"Would you like to explain to me what happened last night?"

"Not really," Jisung answers. He hears what sounds like an innocent short breath coming from next to him, but Jisung knows it's Minho holding back a laugh.

Jisung's father glares at him.

"Don't you feel any shame? Forcing Minho-ssi out of the palace late at night with you? Getting him hurt in the process?"

A deep pit of guilt opens up in Jisung. He looks at Minho regretfully. Minho softly glances back at him.

"I wasn't forced, your Majesty," Minho says to the King.

"I understand that you're an honourable man, Minho-ssi, and you want to cover for him, but a disgrace like Jisung doesn't deserve it."

Jisung looks down at his feet. He feels both Minho and his father looking at him.

"Get out," the king says, and Jisung gets up. "Minho-ssi, I will see to it that you receive reparations as soon as possible. I apologise on my son's behalf."

The two of them get up and leave the room. Jisung stares blankly ahead as Minho walks next to him.

"I tried to tell him it was my fault," Minho rushes to say, "but he was—"

"It's okay," Jisung interrupts. "I know what he's like."

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Jisung can feel him looking.

"Does he always talk to you in that way?" Minho asks quietly.

Jisung’s eyes drop to the floor. “Yeah.”

It's quiet for a short moment. Jisung feels Minho's hand brush against his. Something tightens in his chest.

"Let's go to the stables."

Jisung looks at him curiously. "The stables?"

Minho nods, smiling.

"I haven't gone there in ages," Jisung says thoughtfully. "I always skip my riding lessons."

"Yeah, you seem like you would," Minho says, looking away and smirking.

"Hey!” Jisung smacks, embarrassed smile on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?" 

Minho just laughs at him, and Jisung feels something new bloom in his chest. His dad's words trickle away, Minho's laughter filling the empty space instead.

They giggle all the way downstairs and step outside, making their way to the palace stables. Once they get there, Minho unlocks the gate and holds it open for Jisung to enter.

“I pass by here on my morning runs sometimes,” Minho explains when Jisung gives him a questioning look, “and the stable manager’s always really nice to me.”

Jisung steps inside, stray hay rustling under his shoes. They go into where the horses are kept in their stalls.

“She gave me an extra key,” Minho continues. One of the horses pokes its head out of its stall, and Minho smiles at it. “She even lets me take care of them sometimes.”

Minho strokes down the horse’s nose, spotted with white. Jisung looks at it with its coffee-coloured mane, its big sparkling eyes. It snorts happily as Minho scratches its chin.

“You know how to take care of horses?” Jisung asks.

“Mhm.” Minho nods. “I grew up on a farm. We had horses.”

“You did?” Jisung raises his brows, smiling in wonder.

Minho nods, smiling back. He goes back to stroking the horse’s face. Jisung watches him, looking at the fresh closure strips placed over the wound above his eyebrow, the cut on his lip healing into a scab, the bruising on his knuckles, ever so gentle as he strokes the horse’s fur with them.

“You’re good with animals,” Jisung says.

Minho shrugs. “None of them are anything like my cats,” Minho smooths down the horse’s neck, “but this one’s okay, I guess.”

“Do you know how to ride them?”

“Yeah.” Minho looks at Jisung, an eyebrow raised. “Should I take you for a ride one day?”

Jisung burns all over, skin scalding to the touch. He avoids eye contact, face stumbling over itself into a flustered grimace.

"D—" he stutters. "Don't say it like that."

“Why not?” Minho smiles at him wide, busted lip and all. Jisung thinks he might melt into a thick puddle in the hay. “Princess doesn’t wanna ride into the sunset with me?”

Jisung tries to force away his smile. It doesn't work.

He thinks of saying no way, smacking Minho’s arm and brushing off his playful flirting.

"Maybe," he says instead, feeling brave but still refusing to meet Minho’s eyes.

“Oh?” Minho raises both his eyebrows, smiling wider. "So not a 'no', then."

“Whatever.” Jisung rolls his eyes. He decides he needs to leave before he starts liquifying at Minho’s feet. “It smells of horse in here. I’m going to my room.”

“Okay.” Minho’s eyes glint with amusement, seeing right through him. “See you at sunset, princess.”

When Jisung gets to his room, he flops backwards onto his bed with a dopey smile on his face. He stares up at the canopy of his bed, daydreaming of being whisked away by Minho on a horse. At some point he falls asleep, and his daydreams bleed over into real ones, fantasies of riding off into sunsets that spill orange over the horizon, with his arms wrapped tight around Minho’s torso. 

He’s wearing a flower crown instead of a real one, its petals and leaves soft against his head unlike the burden of heavy jewels, and for the first time, his blood doesn’t feel like wild horses chasing after freedom. He’s serene, cheek resting on the comfortable plane of Minho’s back as they ride into the setting sun.

⭒♔⭒

The weather continues to get colder, but Jisung notices that his baseline temperature has been creeping up the thermometer. He won't admit it, but he knows deep down who's to blame. In the car to and from meetings, Minho's leg touches his, and neither of them move away. When they're walking alongside each other at crowded events, Jisung brushes his hand against Minho's, and Minho touches his knuckles to Jisung's in response. At dinners and lunch parties, Minho always refills his glass when it's empty, always touches their knees together under the white cloth of the dining table. During press conferences, when Jisung can only stand next to Hyunjin as he speaks diplomatically into the mic, there's plenty of eyes on him in the crowd, but Jisung always feels a pair stronger than all the others. He turns to see Minho standing sentinel to the side, eyes intense and staring straight at Jisung.

Minho does that a lot — looking at him. He doesn't back down when Jisung's eyes meet his. He never does. A challenging glint shines in his eyes instead, lips curling into a smile, daring Jisung to hold his eye contact. Jisung burns under the attention, but he can never get enough. He's starting to realise he wants Minho's eyes on him all the time, wants Minho to look at him and only him. His gaze makes Jisung's skin feel hot, even with all the icy rain, even with the fast shift of autumn into winter. 

⭒♔⭒

The art studio is the newest room in the palace, once a large library for his late mother, but now an art studio for his brother. Their father'd had it converted immediately — all Hyunjin had to do was ask once for a quiet place to paint, and all of Jisung's mother's books and plays and transcripts were tossed away like dirt to make space for the new prince.

Normally the studio doors are closed, so Jisung can walk right past and not put himself through the pain of taking a look inside, but today Hyunjin has them open. Jisung falters in his tracks, catching sight of Hyunjin sitting on an easel, the apron tied around his waist stained with paint. His scent's wafting through the open doorway, strong coffee and cinnamon, relaxed and at ease, cosy like curling up into a booth at a cafe on a rainy day.

Hyunjin looks up from his painting, face thawing out of deep concentration into a small smile when he sees Jisung.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Jisung mumbles. He debates going inside, then decides against it, so he just stands in the hallway looking into the room at an angle.

Jisung looks at the small canvases he can see scattered on the floor. They're all stormy with white drops of snow, blurry black lines of wind bending trees out of shape, snowflakes falling over beautifully blue icy lakes, fields covered in snowfall. They're dramatic, romantic. They look like symphonies.

"Those are really pretty," Jisung says sincerely, filled with awe.

Hyunjin smiles bashfully and looks back at his painting. Jisung can't see this one since it's facing away from him, but he has no doubt that it'll turn out just as beautiful.

"Apparently the first snowfall's happening tonight. I got inspired," Hyunjin explains.

Jisung nods, and something comes to mind. Hyunjin continues to paint, and Jisung leaves him with his painting in peace, continuing his walk down the hall and drifting away into his own thoughts.

The idea doesn't leave him even as the day drags by. He thinks of all the possible reactions Minho could have, and it makes his stomach hurt. But Jisung also thinks of the touch of their hands when they walk alongside each other, the pull of their legs into each other's spaces when they sit together, the feeling of Minho's eyes when he's looking at him, and eventually, he decides to do it. It takes him two hours, including sitting at his desk and writing it, but he overcomes his anxious indecision and finally slips the note under Minho's bedroom door, his heart pounding in his chest. He feels like his heart might burst out of his chest entirely as he hurries back to his room, praying Minho doesn't open the door and catch him in the act.

When late night falls over the palace, after a couple more hours of agonising over his decision, Jisung leaves his room and heads up onto one of the balconies on the east wing that faces the woods. Jisung steps out onto it, feeling the cold seep through his soft sweater. The breeze tussles his messy waves, and the moon is fuller and brighter than Jisung's ever seen it, glimmering radiant silver. The stars sparkle in the inky expanse of the sky like glitter.

He hears something shuffling softly behind him and he turns to look behind him, then freezes at the sight of Minho. The white silk curtains that cut off the balcony to the rest of the palace billow with the soft breeze in front of him. He looks like he something straight out of a fairytale.

"You came," Jisung breathes. He feels goosebumps rise on his skin.

"Of course I did," Minho says, just as soft, smiling.

He steps out onto the balcony, ducking through the curtains, and stands with Jisung near the stone balustrades. He looks out at the view, at the pine trees standing tall, green dusted with icy frost. Jisung looks at Minho, takes in his side profile, the line of his nose, his lips, everything about him perfect and unfiltered in the sleepy quietness of nighttime, his hair rustling in the gentle breeze.

Minho turns to look at him. They hold each other's stares for a moment before Minho's lips quirk upwards into a teasing smile.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Jisung says, but he keeps his eyes right where they are, right on Minho's soft, sleepy face. 

His eyes linger there for a moment, holding Minho's gaze before he feels his face getting too warm and has to look away. He can feel Minho still looking at him as he averts his own eyes to the breeze rustling the leaves.

"Why'd you ask me to meet you out here?" Minho asks.

"Why not?" Jisung mumbles, then decides to be brave and meet Minho's eyes again. "It's supposed to snow tonight, I think."

He sees something light up and twinkle in Minho's eyes, his smile growing wider.

"You wanted to watch the first snowfall with me?"

Jisung gets shy again and looks away, cheeks growing warm in the cold.

"I didn't know you were so romantic," Minho teases, and Jisung feels him getting closer, standing right next to him, their arms so close to touching. All of Jisung's hairs stand on edge.

"I didn't know you could get any more annoying," Jisung fights back.

Minho huffs out a laugh, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching the breeze dip in and out of the tree leaves. Jisung turns to look at Minho again, letting his eyes slip down the column of Minho's exposed neck, the scent patch peeking out from the collar. Jisung stares at it, wetting his lips before gnawing on the bottom one, lost in thought.

"Hyung?" Jisung eventually asks.

Minho looks at him.

"What was, um…" Jisung clears his throat and looks away before meeting Minho in the eye again. "What was it like when you first became an alpha?"

Minho raises his eyebrows. He has a suggestive look on his face, and it makes Jisung realise the implications of what he just asked.

"I mean, like— Just in general," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact. "You don't have to tell me about, like—"

"My first rut?" Minho says, and he has that smile on his face, making Jisung's cheeks blossom with pink.

"That's not what I meant! I just—" Jisung sputters. "I just—” He sighs. “I just wanna know what it'll be like for me."

Minho smiles at him teasingly and Jisung blushes even more. Not even the late-night wind can cool down his burning blood.

"What it'll be like for you?" Minho questions. "You think you're gonna be an alpha?"

Jisung can't explain, nor describe, the sudden yearning that claws its way out of him at the suggestion of his unspoken fate. As the age of presenting slipped further and further away from him over the years, Jisung had learnt to lose interest in subgenders, to not desire any of them above the others so as to not be disappointed when, or if, it eventually happened. But he knows deep in his soul that he'd always felt the urge to be protected, to be held by someone bigger and stronger than he is. He felt all of it, on time, on track with his peers, until the death of his mother, when his body began to quell the feelings and delay his development.

"I don't know…" Jisung lets his voice trail off, suddenly feeling silly. "Never mind. Forget it."

Minho gives him gentle, apologetic eyes.

"I hate being a late bloomer," Jisung mumbles, looking away.

It's quiet for a moment, before the nerves in Jisung's skin jump at the feeling of Minho standing a little closer, their arms brushing against each other.

"Whatever you end up presenting as," Minho says softly, "I'm still gonna be here protecting you."

Jisung's stomach flutters. He smiles shyly and nods.

"I know," he says back, even softer.

He knows Minho staring at him, can see him blinking slowly from the corner of his eyes. Jisung turns to him and stares back, even if he's so shy he can't take it.

Minho turns so that he's facing Jisung completely, leaning his side against the balcony railing. Jisung becomes anxious about him falling, and so he grabs Minho's wrist and pulls him closer.

"Careful, hyung," Jisung says, pouting.

Minho smiles, endeared, going where Jisung leads him, coming closer than he needs to.

"You're protecting me now?"

"I'd make a great bodyguard," Jisung argues.

"Yeah?" Minho says, and Jisung's stomach flips. He's really close now. Jisung's hand is still around his wrist.

They get closer and closer. Minho's head is tilted down towards his. Jisung looks up at him. A minuscule icy breeze brushes a strand of hair into Jisung's face. Minho ever so gently moves it away, like Jisung's made of porcelain. Jisung can barely breathe, staring at the part in Minho's lips like he'll die if he looks away.

Minho's hand lingers near Jisung's face, then cups it. They lean into each other, two magnets succumbing to the power of their pull, and their lips meet. A kaleidoscope of monarch butterflies take flight from Jisung’s chest, fluttering their delicate wings around all the pink flowers that bloom in the blood rushing through his body. Minho’s mouth is soft and warm, coaxing Jisung into him, and Jisung lets himself fall without a second thought, his body melting into Minho’s easily.

Minho’s fingers find their way to Jisung’s waist, and Jisung feels his stomach flip at the way Minho roughly pulls him in. He puts his hands on Minho’s shoulders to steady himself, fingers digging into the fabric. Minho gently sucks on his lower lip, creating a part in Jisung’s lips wide enough to slip his tongue in.

Jisung’s crotch twitches at the warm intrusion of Minho’s warm, wet tongue exploring his mouth, and he shocks himself at how intensely his body’s reacting. His legs become weak, and he has to clutch Minho’s shoulder tighter. Minho holds him tighter too, and Jisung’s cock twitches again at the possessive pull of Minho’s hands.

A gust of wind picks up, making the tree leaves rustle louder. Jisung opens his mouth wider, letting Minho lick into him, letting him claim the space of his mouth. Minho bites into Jisung’s lower lip and pulls at it with his teeth. Jisung moans loudly, blood rushing violently to his lower body at the sting of Minho’s teeth sinking into his lip.

Minho pulls away suddenly at the noise, and Jisung blinks his eyes open to see Minho breathing heavily, stepping back from Jisung’s like he’s restraining himself. He looks at Minho's dazed eyes, his heaving chest.

"Um," Minho says breathlessly. "We should probably go to bed now."

"Wait," Jisung whispers as he notices something. "It's snowing."

They look out over the balcony, catching the first flakes of snow drifting down over them. Jisung looks at it in awe, his chest expanding with feathery lightness.

"It's beautiful," Jisung says, not realising he's getting choked up until he hears it in his quiet, trembling voice.

Minho looks at him, worried. 

“You’re crying?” 

Jisung nods, chewing his lip, his teeth digging into where Minho's teeth just were.

“It’s so pretty.” Jisung stares at the sky as more and more snow falls. “Right, hyung?”

When Jisung turns his head, Minho’s already looking at him, eyes soft at the wonder on his face.

“Right,” he agrees, voice quiet in the snowy breeze.

Jisung smiles at him, looking at the snowflakes landing in his hair, then back at the sky. It’s something straight out of a movie, or a dream. If it is, he hopes he never wakes up.

The following morning, after Minho walked him to his room hand in hand and pecked him goodnight, Jisung's awake even before palace staff come knocking on his door. He awoke awith a smile, blood lighter than the purest air in his system, skin drinking in the sun that comes in through the curtains. All he can think about while he's being dressed is Minho's lips on his, soft and just slightly chapped, tongue warm and exploring his mouth.

"Your Highness?" One of the stylists taps Jisung unsurely.

Jisung startles out of his daydream, taking the silky black button-up handed to him, cheeks pinkening from embarrassment. He mutters an apology under his breath and tries his very best to stop his mind from straying into the memory of Minho's hand firm and unyielding on his waist. It doesn't work.

Once he's dressed and ready, Jisung's unnaturally happy to head down to the foyer, all his nerves buzzing under his skin in anticipation of seeing Minho again. He only realises something is wrong when he gets to the top of the stairs. He doesn't see Minho waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs like usual. A tiny part of Jisung's heart breaks off at the very top, splintering anxiety through his veins.

Hyunjin catches up to him on the steps, glancing at him.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Jisung nods, though it takes him effort to do so. He doesn't return Hyunjin's glance at any point as they continue walking down the stairs. Maybe Minho's already in the car.

They head outside, where their parents are getting into the car that will take them to their appearance at a governor's manor. Hyunjin heads inside first, then Jisung, and as he looks around the seats, more of his heart pulls and twists when he sees that Minho is one hundred per cent, definitely not there. Jisung looks at his stepmother, his father. No one else seems to be wondering where Minho might be. He's royal family staff. Surely they must care about his whereabouts?

Jisung clears his throat anxiously. "Appa?"

"What is it?" his father responds irritably, attention half divided as he answers a message on his phone.

From his periphery, Jisung can see that it's a message from one of their advisors. He catches the words "threat" and "military" before he quickly looks away. When it comes to his father, Jisung knows better than to snoop.

"Nothing," Jisung mumbles.

He looks out of the window, fiddling with his fingers. By the time he realises his leg is bouncing, he thinks of how strange it feels to be sitting in the car without Minho's leg pressing against his. Jisung catches Hyunjin watching him fidget.

"Appa?" Hyunjin asks.

"Yes, son?" their father answers.

Jisung pointedly keeps his eyes on the window.

"Where's Minho-hyung?" Hyunjin asks.

"He's on sick leave," his father says simply.

Jisung's eyebrows pull together. Sick leave? Minho didn't give any indication that he was sick, nor did he give Jisung any heads up about taking time off. His heart continues to rip, the muscle slowly tearing down the middle. Is this Minho's way of avoiding him? Minho taking the day off the night after they kissed for the first time can't be a coincidence.

Jisung doesn't want to spiral but the more he thinks about it, the more the weight of his worries drag him down. And all the while, his heart keeps ripping, leaving a hollowness in its wake. He keeps his eyes steady on the window, not taking in anything they drive past, all his energy focused on trying not to cry.

When they get back to the palace, Jisung unclips his seatbelt and gets out of the car as quick as he can. He thinks briefly that maybe he should keep his calm, mind his business and head straight to his room. But this is the only thing he's been thinking about all day. He scurries inside the palace, races up the grand steps, then races all the way to the floor of Minho's bedroom, chest heaving with laboured breaths by the time he gets to his door.

He breathes shakily, hands shaking just as much as he lifts a fist up to knock. His torn heart thunders with nerves in his chest, but he knocks on the wood, once, then twice. No answer.

Jisung presses his ear to the door and hears nothing, no shuffling, no footsteps, no moving around or muffled sounds. Just total silence. Jisung steps back from the door, nausea swimming in his gut. Either Minho had to take his “sick leave” elsewhere, or he's avoiding Jisung on purpose. Jisung swallows the toughness gathered in his throat, and tears sting at his waterline. He should've never asked Minho to meet him on the balcony last night. He's ruined everything.

He thinks of slipping another note under Minho's door, this time to apologise, but he shakes the idea out of his head, stifling a sob. He's done enough damage. Another note won't change that.

⭒♔⭒

For the next few days, Jisung's aware that he's still being looked after by the Royal Guard, but he's also aware, painfully, that he's not their top priority. Hyunjin is. Jisung thinks of how much he hated Minho's constant attention at first, the way he always followed after him, sticking close when all Jisung wanted was to push him away. And now, all he craves is Minho's closeness.

Jisung stays sullen during all the appearances he has to make. He barely eats any of the meals served to him, thinking of the way Minho would sit next to him, smiling and chewing and making good company for the people at the table so that Jisung never had to. The way their knees would touch, and neither of them would move their legs away.

The palace feels extra empty now without Minho around. Jisung wanders aimlessly past each of its corners and crannies, wishing at each turn that Minho would show up, leaning against a wall with that perfect smile on his perfect face, the one that sends a tremble down the length of Jisung’s legs. 

Even though the weather's continuing to get colder, Jisung's noticed that he's still progressively feeling warmer. In the car he cracks the window open a little to let the icy air in, in the shower he uses cooler water, in his sleep he kicks away the blankets and still writhes in the hot flushes that wash over him. And worst of all, when he sinks into sleep, his heady mind takes him to places he's tried not to go, places Minho pushes him up against, cornering him in and leaning in close.

Jisung breathes hot and heavy into his pillow, the pads of his shaky fingers circling the tender opening of his hole, trembling, precum seeping out of his cock in small pearls. He moves his hand away from himself, clutches his pillow instead, presses his thighs together tightly, and forces himself to go to sleep, to dream of anything else but Minho's lips like silk against his.

Jisung starts wandering around the palace in the nighttime instead, his room always too hot and his dreams too vivid and shameful. Tonight there’s rain pattering quietly outside, the sound of it trickling distant to Jisung’s ears. He quietly walks through the halls, leaving his room during those phantom hours when the palace walls come alive with unspoken memories. His fingertips ghost over the wooden wainscotting on the walls as he passes by, trying not to think of how he wishes it was Minho's body he was pressing his fingers to instead. 

He avoids the areas of the palace that fall into total darkness when the sun’s not up to shine through the high windows, and instead treads carefully down hallways where the lights are kept on but dimmed low, training his tired eyes to see past the shadows in the dark. He walks past the two art galleries on the south wing, where the eyes on the paintings watch him walk by. Up a couple steps and down a short hallway is where his father’s room is, the largest room in the palace, where his stepmother sleeps too.

It’s almost automatic the way Jisung’s steps slow to a stop, a barrier restricting his movements, cordoning off the rest of the hallway so he can only stare at the darkwood doors at the end of it. His heart thuds like thunder in his chest, once, twice, his head stricken with a debilitating sense of deja vu. The last time he was here, in this part of the palace, was the night he stumbled onto the sight of his mother’s dead body.

It rains all morning the next day, or at least Jisung assumes so because he wakes up in the late afternoon. It’s dim out the window, with that early wintry cloudiness, the sun already descending early. Jisung doesn’t exactly see a point in getting out of bed, but he knows he should at least try. So he sits up, even if he feels all heavy and wrong inside. 

From his bed, he sees a slip of white paper on the floor near his door. Jisung looks at it, perplexed. Did he leave that there? Maybe he dropped something on his way in last night. He removes his blankets and gets up to check.

Jisung picks it up. There's a small doodle of a cat scribbled onto the paper, and Jisung's heart skips a beat, then soars, when he reads the words beside it.

Meet me in the ballroom this evening ₍^. .^₎⟆

Twilight blue replaces the white overcast sky when Jisung starts to make his way to the ballroom. He can barely breathe properly, energy coursing like a drug inside of him since he first read the note three hours ago. He spent an hour simply running around his room, jumping up and down, pacing back and forth, picking up the note and reading it over and over again.

After that, he began the process of getting ready: he shivered in a cold shower to rid the sweat from his neck and back, momentarily clearing up the unexplained fog in his head; he put on something pretty, a shirt sheer enough to show the line of his waist when the light hits him just right; he fixed up his hair so it fell perfectly into place; he put on his favourite lip balm so his pink lips could look even pinker; and finally, after debating it for a while, he decided to spritz his hips with perfume, blushing and doing it quick before he could overthink it further.

And now, the fog in Jisung’s head is back, muddling his brain as he’s nearly at the ballroom entrance, cheeks unnaturally warm like he’s drunk on a spirit. He takes a deep breath, readying himself, but there’s no use, because the moment he takes a step inside, every last breath is stolen away from him at the sight of Minho standing by the window near the piano, waiting for him.

Minho turns around the sound of Jisung’s footsteps, and he smiles so bright it shines in his eyes. Jisung smiles too, so hard his cheeks bunch up.

“Hyung!” he exclaims, running up to hug him.

His stomach erupts with butterflies the moment their bodies collide, wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck, and Minho’s arms circling his waist. They hold each other for a moment, bodies pressed up together, exchanging warmth, before Jisung pulls away so he can get a good look at Minho’s face. He moves his hands to hold Minho’s shoulders, feels the warmth through his shirt, feels the muscle firm and strong under his palm. Minho looks at him too with soft eyes. Jisung’s chest swells with so much emotion he's not sure he'll ever breathe normally again. 

“You’re back,” Jisung says, and he’s never heard his own voice sound so affected before. It sounds a little like relief, a lot like awe, and exactly like coming home.

“I’m back,” Minho says, and he sounds just the same.

“Where did you go?” Jisung frowns up at him. “You were sick? Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," Minho answers, then briefly removes a hand from Jisung’s waist to swipe a hair out of his face. His eyes are so soft it makes Jisung turn to mush. "Much better."

Jisung giggles and melts in Minho’s arms, that faraway haziness in his head making him want to preen and tilt his head and bat his lashes in the spotlight of Minho’s eyes. He doesn’t understand what’s making him feel this way, all warm and on the brink of headiness. Maybe he’s coming down with the same thing Minho had.

"You didn't tell me where you went." Jisung pouts.

"I went back home," Minho answers, then looks away. "It wouldn't have been safe for you if I stayed here." 

Jisung frowns at him. Minho's eyes dip down to his pout and linger.

"What do you mean?" Jisung asks.

Minho looks away, the shell of his ears shaded in faint scarlet.

"Well,” he mutters, “after we kissed…"

Jisung tilts his head, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"You were worried you'd get me sick?" Jisung asks. "It's okay, hyung, I don’t care if you get me sick—"

"No, Jisung, it's not—" His ears burn redder. "I wasn't actually sick.”

There’s a pause in which Jisung waits for Minho to explain, blinking up at him, wondering why Minho won’t look him in the eye. Sourness starts to curdle Jisung’s gut, and he thinks maybe Minho’s going to tell him bad news, tell him that he regrets the kiss and only invited him to the ballroom to let him know that they should pretend it didn't happen, or worse yet, that he doesn’t feel comfortable being Jisung's bodyguard anymore. Jisung wants to pull away, becoming lost in his thoughts, but Minho doesn’t go anywhere, so neither does he.

“My rut came early,” Minho finally says.

Jisung blinks, any thought he’s ever had exiting his mind completely. His warm cheeks become warmer.

"Oh," he breathes.

“Yeah.” Minho clears his throat. “I normally take suppressants, but I’ve been so busy with you that I forgot to take them.”

Jisung considers the implications of keeping Minho so preoccupied that he forgot to take his suppressants, and he knows that maybe he should feel bad, but for some reason he feels giddy thinking he disrupted Minho’s schedule that much, his mouth twitching with a smile.

“All because of me?” Jisung goads. “But I thought I wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.”

Minho scoffs at his own words used against him. Jisung catches the amused smile rising up on Minho’s face even as he rolls his eyes, like he just can’t help it.

“It would’ve been fine either way but then…” Minho begins, then trails off.

He looks at Jisung. Jisung looks back, eyes big, face open. He sees Minho’s eyes get impossibly softer, and feels his cheeks get impossibly warmer.

“But then you kissed me,” Minho finishes. “And I guess it triggered something.”

Jisung giggles again, tilting his head and looking up through his lashes. Minho lets out a short breath, and Jisung feels his hand twitching on his waist. 

“Am I that good of a kisser, hyung?” 

Minho doesn’t say anything, just stares down at Jisung like he can’t get enough, like he barely registers that Jisung’s speaking to him. It makes Jisung squirm, makes him feel hot and restless.

"If you want me to do something else with my mouth that isn't talking, you should just tell me,” Jisung says. He has no idea where that came from, but he feels more of it bubbling in him, pulling at its reins, fighting to be let loose.

“Yeah?” Minho says back without missing a beat, his eyes like strong arms caging Jisung in.

Jisung burns everywhere, looking away. He hears Minho let out a quiet, self-satisfied laugh.

“Cute," Minho says, under his breath.

Jisung holds back a whine. Minho smiles, and Jisung feels his hands tighten around his waist.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Minho asks, voice gentle now, maybe even shy.

Jisung beams up at him.

“I would love to,” Jisung answers.

Minho separates from him to put on a record, and a soft melody begins to play, piano playing slow and gentle. When he returns to Jisung, he extends his hand. Jisung giggles at the theatrical formality, then does a curtsy, playing along. He takes Minho’s hand and lets Minho pull him in. Minho places a hand on Jisung's waist, and Jisung puts a hand on Minho's shoulder, following his lead as they begin to dance, the pair of them falling into rhythm together.

Eventually, Jisung moves his hands to interlock them behind Minho’s neck and rests his cheek on Minho’s chest. Minho holds his waist, palms warm and firm through the thin material of Jisung’s shirt, and pulls him in closer. He holds Jisung like precious jewels in his hands. Jisung nuzzles deeper into Minho’s chest, and for a moment he thinks he might be able to catch some of Minho’s scent. He shuts his eyes, forcing the thought back to wherever it came from. He refuses to ruin this moment by trying to figure out how Minho smells.

Together they sway to the soft music filling the room, and Jisung starts to feel warm and sleepy. Better than that, he feels safe. Being in Minho’s arms seems to have that effect on him. Jisung glances at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking at the way the moonlight shines through them like snow falling onto polished hardwood floor. He looks back at Minho and Minho’s already looking down at him, eyes pretty and focused so intensely on him. Jisung wants Minho’s eyes on him forever, looking down at him like that for as long as humanly possible. Jisung also wants to kiss him, badly.

He tilts his chin up and leans in to leave a peck to Minho's mouth, short and sweet, just enough to feel the softness of Minho’s lips against his. Minho blinks at him when he pulls away, eyes so soft and endeared it tugs an ache out of Jisung's heart.

"Thank you," Jisung whispers, words porcelain as they fall into the space between them, lit up by the moon, dust delicately dancing with them.

"For what?" Minho whispers back.

"For dancing with me," Jisung says.

Minho smiles and kisses his forehead.

"Of course," Minho says, so sweet his voice melts through Jisung like toffee.

Jisung rests his head on Minho's shoulder again, closing his eyes as they continue to sway. 

"Can I sleep in your room tonight?" Jisung asks. He keeps his voice quiet, suppressed with timidity, hoping that maybe Minho won't hear him and he can pretend he didn't ask such an embarrassing question.

But he hears Minho breathe in, then breathe out deep.

"Yeah," he answers, holding Jisung tighter. "Of course you can."

Jisung sighs out in relief, smiling and leaning into the anchor of Minho's body. He feels Minho nuzzling his nose into his hair, hears him breathing him in, and the two of them stay like that for a little while longer, swaying with each other.

When they become too tired to stand, Minho takes Jisung to his room, their hands interlocked as they walk down the hallway. Minho looks back at him, and Jisung's caught off guard by how handsome he is for the nth time. A giddy giggle escapes from him, and he holds onto Minho's hand with his other hand, so that both of his hands are holding Minho tight.

Minho gives him a spare toothbrush and a spare change of clothes, doing so like it's the biggest hassle for him, but Jisung can see the smile on his face.

"Thank you, hyung," Jisung sings sweetly, taking the hoodie and slipping it on.

Immediately he's overwhelmed with sweet vanilla, intoxicating and addictive.

"Woah, this—" Jisung stops himself mid-sentence to push the neck of the hoodie to his nose, legs growing weak. "This smells really good."

"Oh, yeah." Minho rubs the back of his neck. "I don't normally sleep with any scent patches on. Are you okay with that?"

Jisung falters as what Minho’s just said sinks in, then remembers that he has to give a response.

“Um, yeah,” he says dumbly. “Yeah, that's fine.” He clears his throat, face warm all of a sudden. “I don't mind."

Minho nods and starts getting into bed. It only then hits Jisung what he's asked for. They're going to share a bed together. Minho looks at him.

"Are you coming?"

"Cumming?" Jisung squeaks, panicked.

Minho blinks at him blankly. "Yes? Are you coming to bed or not?"

"Oh." Jisung laughs awkwardly. "Yes."

He walks over to the bed, gets under the covers next to Minho. Then they're lying down, face to face. Jisung feels his heart tug in his chest. He finds it a lot harder to breathe all of a sudden.

"Hey," Minho says gently, a soft smile on his face.

Jisung smiles. "Hi."

His eyes track the way Minho looks all over his face, mapping each of his features, and he tries not to hide his face in the pillow.

"You have a staring problem," Jisung mutters.

"It's not my fault," Minho says, unfazed. His eyes linger on the shape of Jisung's lips. "You're pretty," he adds, voice much softer, eyes going softer too.

It takes everything in Jisung to not smile so hard, but he blushes all over, pinkness dusted high on his cheeks. He and Minho stare at each other for a long moment, then Jisung decides to look away, before he melts and makes a mess of Minho's sheets. He catches a glimpse of something on the nightstand.

"Are those your cats?" Jisung gasps, suddenly sitting up on his elbows to get a clearer look at the framed photo.

"Oh, yeah," Minho says, sitting up and turning around to grab the photo frame. "That's Soonie, Doongie, and that's Dori."

"They're so cute!" Jisung coos.

"Yeah, they were really happy to see me when I got back." Minho smiles at the photo fondly.

"I wanna meet them," Jisung whines.

Minho looks at him and smiles. "You do?"

Jisung nods eagerly, then thinks about it properly.

"You should take me to your house," he says decisively.

Minho looks at him, surprised. Then he huffs a small laugh.

"You wanna come to my house?"

Jisung nods, eyes round and sparkling with eagerness.

"It's nothing like your palace," Minho teases.

"I don't care about that," Jisung whines. I care about you, he doesn't say.

"Okay, Jisung-ah." Minho sets the photo frame down on the nightstand again and switches off the lamp. "Let's go to bed now, okay?"

They settle under the covers again. Jisung lies down with his fists curled up by his chin. Minho faces him. Jisung can see him blinking in the dark.

"Your bed's really soft, hyung," Jisung says.

"Thank you," Minho says through a laugh.

"I wanna go to your house," Jisung demands. Now that the idea’s implanted in his mind, he can’t forget about it.

"Okay," Minho agrees, laughing. Jisung can see the shape of his soft smile in the dark. "I can take you to my house, jagi."

Jisung's skin heats up, the petname painting a dopey smile onto his face. He falls asleep like that, next to Minho in the dark.

Jisung wakes up grinding into whatever mass is wedged between his legs, half-conscious hips moving on their own, desperately chasing friction. His head feels foggy; he can't think straight. He sobs, unable to orient himself, barely remembering where or who he is. All he knows is that his body's burning up, his impulses reduced to the heat prickling all over his pores.

He tries escaping the hot tightness in his core by squirming his hips, but that just draws attention to the thick, sticky wetness between his legs. Jisung whines in discomfort, then sobs because he has no idea what's going on with him or why the mass next to him is now shifting under the covers.

"Jisung?" he hears distantly through his hot haze.

Jisung full body shudders and blinks his heavy eyes open at the whisper of his name. His eyes adjust in the dark, looking over shadowed shapes in the room. He turns his head towards the voice and takes in the outline of a person next to him.

"What are you doing?" he hears again, slightly louder this time but still hushed.

The person starts to sit up, and what's between Jisung's legs starts to slip away. Jisung whimpers frantically. He clamps his legs together to keep it in place, desperate to not lose any friction.

"Jisung."

The voice, strained around the edges, goes straight to Jisung's system, settling deep in his burning core, his body recognising it before he does.

"Hyung," he sobs before even realising he's opened his mouth.

Jisung rolls his hips down on what he now realises is Minho's thigh. He hears a rough sound come from Minho and he rolls his hip down again, grinding down hard. Minho inhales sharply, hissing.

"Jisung, you—" Minho's voice cuts off into a choked noise when Jisung starts rutting into his thigh.

"Need it," Jisung sobs helplessly. Tears start welling up in his eyes, big and glassy in the dimness. "I need it, hyungie, I need it, please."

He doesn't even know what he's begging for, but he feels he needs to keep doing it, feels he's on the edge of a prayer, feels he needs to plead and plead until his throat is raw.

"Fuck," Minho roughly swears under his breath.

Jisung hears the sound of him swallowing, catches the silhouette of his throat bobbing in the dark, and moves his hips even faster.

"Jisung," Minho grits out. He sounds like he's fraying at the seams.

Jisung feels the sudden urge to release a soft sound from the back of his throat, but he can't get it right, like a kitten trying to make noise for the first time. He starts to burn with frustration.

"Hyung," Jisung spits, and he lets out a frustrated sob. His head's spinning with the need to get off, he can barely think of anything else.

He's sweating all over, sweat beading at his hairline and rolling down his temples. He feels his core tighten, the warmth in it starting to reach a peak. He rolls his hips down onto Minho's thigh faster, panting. He hears Minho hiss again.

"Need it, hyung," he pants breathlessly. "I need it, I need it, hyung, please, please—"

Minho suddenly grips his hips and pushes them into the bed, so that Jisung's no longer on his side but forced onto his back, with Minho between his legs to better hold him still. Jisung sobs loudly, nearly crying out at the sudden lack of friction, the climax of his high ripped away from him. His hips burn under Minho's iron-tight grip. He must've taken off the hoodie Minho gave him during the night, so Minho's palms scalds his bare skin.

"Fuck," Minho swears again, in breathless awe this time as his eyes rove over Jisung's torso.

Jisung whines at the way Minho's heavy eyes take in the expanse of his feverish skin. His gaze is so intense it feels like a tangible thing, feels like rough palms smoothing across his stomach. Jisung sobs and squirms under the weight of his eyes, the muscles in his abdomen rippling and twitching as he tries to fuck his hips into something, anything. Minho's grip on his hips tightens, nails digging in deep, flesh spilling between his fingers.

"Stay still," he growls, and all of a sudden Jisung's eyes are fluttering and he's making a soft sound, the purr rolling off his tongue with ease.

"Alpha," Jisung breathes.

He looks up through his lidded eyes at Minho holding himself up on top of him, hair falling over his face, chest heaving, shoulders tensed and broad. He chews on his lower lip, hips twitching under Minho's grasp. Minho's eyes grow heavier, and Jisung whimpers, more wetness seeping out of him.

"You smell good," Minho says lowly, getting closer to Jisung, eyes hooded like he's in a trance.

Jisung purrs at the praise, and as Minho gets closer and closer to him, the musk of vanilla hits him like a truck, making his back arch into Minho's body. Minho nuzzles his nose into Jisung's neck like a jigsaw piece fitting into place, breathing Jisung in right below his pulse. Jisung moans loudly at how sensitive the area suddenly is. He shivers uncontrollably under Minho's body.

"Smells so good, fuck," Minho mutters, lips brushing against Jisung's neck.

Jisung obeys the burning in his cells that yearn for Minho to be as close to him as possible, and wraps his arms and legs around Minho's neck and waist. It's like his body moves on its own when he forces their crotches together and presses his nose to where Minho's scent is strongest, getting high off all his notes of vanilla and amber, letting the sweet smokiness intoxicate him.

Jisung lets out soft little grunts as he ruts into the warmth between Minho's legs. Minho groans, and Jisung feels it reverberate through him. Minho pulls away from Jisung's neck just enough to face him, their noses brushing against each other. Their mouths are only inches apart, and they both breathe with effort, the air between them like an electric current running thick. Jisung doesn't wait a single second to connect their mouths, and then they're kissing hungrier than the way Jisung rubs his crotch against Minho's, their tongues licking into the wet heat of each other's mouths.

"Need you, hyung," Jisung pants breathlessly into him.

He runs his hands all across the expanse of Minho's back, feeling the solidity of his muscles under his shirt.

"Need you, I need you," he mindlessly babbles.

He feels feral, high on whatever heat-filled daze has possessed him, chasing friction like his life depends on it. Jisung frantically slips one hand under Minho's shirt, desperate to feel the bare skin of his back, and the other hand tries pawing its way into Minho's sweats, but then Minho suddenly makes a choked noise and grabs Jisung's wrist.

"Fuck." Minho rips his mouth away from Jisung's, "fuck, fuck, fuck," he swears, shutting his eyes, eyebrows pulling together tight.

"Hyung," Jisung whines, voice breaking with desperation. He tries to struggle out of Minho's grip, but Minho tenses his jaw and holds him tighter, taking in a deep breath through his nose.

"Jisung, we can't do this," Minho says, opening his eyes and removing Jisung's other hand from his back so he can restrain him fully. His eyes flash when Jisung whines and struggles, and he holds him down harder. "You're not thinking straight."

"Want you," Jisung sobs, barely taking in any of Minho's words. His eyes fill with tears, and Minho hisses like he's in pain. "Minho-hyung, I want you, please."

Minho looks away, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he tenses it. Jisung grinds his hips against Minho's body again and Minho instantly moves to still them with both hands, his grip tight enough to bruise. Jisung takes the opportunity to throw his free hands around Minho's neck again and pull him back in.

"I want you," he repeats, voice soft and shaky.

He sniffles and Minho looks at him, his eyes darkening when Jisung blinks and tears get caught in his lashes.

"I want you, alpha," Jisung says again, quiet as a whisper, and this time, through his lust-riddled daze, it finally sinks in. He wants to be with Minho like this all the time, close to him, beside him, embedded in him like jewels to a crown. "My alpha."

Minho's eyes soften, and slowly, he connects their mouths again, sweet and tender, pecking Jisung's lips. Light glows in Jisung's chest, and peace washes over him like cool rainfall. He laps it up, drinking in as much of Minho as he can. Minho moves his lips to peck Jisung's cheek, then his throat, before finally settling his mouth into the crook of Jisung's neck. Jisung shudders, clutching at Minho's shirt.

"I want you too, baby," Minho murmurs, soft lips and warm breath tickling Jisung's scent gland. "When you can think straight again, I'll show you how bad I want you."

The flames in Jisung's body come roaring back, heating up his blood and making his head cloudy with smoke. Before he can act on it, he's being picked up, Minho hiking him off the bed in one swift motion. Jisung makes a surprised squeal, wrapping his legs around Minho even tighter. He thinks for a moment that Minho's going to fuck him like this, fuck his brains out while standing up and carrying him, but then he realises Minho's leaving the room.

"Hyung," Jisung whimpers quietly, and Minho quickly presses a soft peck to Jisung's lips.

"Shh, baby," he says, tenderly stroking a thumb across Jisung's back as they head out into the dim hallway. "It's okay. I've got you."

Jisung melts into him, resting his head on Minho's shoulder and letting out a contented purr. The heat of his crotch is pressing into Minho's abdomen, and he lazily rolls his hips for any type of friction he can find.

"Good boy," Minho praises, rubbing the expanse of his palm across Jisung's bare, sweaty back as they slowly head up the steps.

Jisung purrs again, his dick twitching and eyes fluttering shut. He keeps them closed until he feels himself being gently set down again, and he blinks his eyes open to Minho laying him down on his bed. Jisung whines, but it subsides the second Minho gets onto the bed with him, lying down beside him. Jisung cuddles into him, aiming to straddle one of his thighs again, but sleepiness gets the best of him and he finds he no longer has the energy to even roll his hips.

"Goodnight, Jisung-ah," Minho whispers, swiping sweaty strands of hair from Jisung's face, and it's the last thing Jisung remembers before he fades into sleep.

It's daytime when Jisung wakes up again, the white light of an overcast morning sun shining into his room. He's uncomfortably hot, body heavy and head full of fog. He's drenched in sweat, hair damp with it and sticking to his forehead, covers kicked away onto the furthest end of the bed. He's also only in his boxers, soaked through and sticky.

Jisung starts sobbing even as he's still half asleep, shoving his hand into his boxers and wrapping his fingers around his cock in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the energy built up inside him. He arches off the bed and moans loudly at how sensitive he is, at how good it feels to fuck into his fist, dick slick with precum. He whimpers and pants breathlessly, mewling when it reaches a hilt, heat roaring like a wildfire under his skin. Jisung cries out when he cums, shuddering violently as he releases hot spurts of white into his fist, copious amounts of warmth leaking out between his legs.

As he's beginning to catch his breath, someone knocks on the door. Jisung freezes.

"Your Highness?" a palace staff member says.

"Yes?" Jisung replies, voice weak and shaky.

"Good morning, your Highness. Your parents and the rest of the palace have been informed that you have entered your first heat."

Jisung's body stays still as he waits for the information to sink in, head still cloudy.

"Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable," he continues. "Congratulations on your presentation, your Highness."

His presentation. It finally registers in his mind as the member of staff walks away. He's presented. Finally. 

Jisung wonders how everyone found out, then turns his head on his pillow and catches a hint of vanilla, and it all comes rushing back — waking up in Minho's room, begging for him in every way possible, falling asleep next to him. His heart tugs in his chest. He presses his face into the pillow, wishing with all his heart it was the real thing. His entire body starts to ache, and no matter which way he positions himself, tossing and turning, curling up this way, that way, Jisung just can't get comfortable. He sniffles and sobs pathetically, wishing Minho was holding him.

Jisung doesn't know how he does it with how heavy his body feels, but he peels himself out of his sheets, following pure instinct — he has to make a comfortable resting place, somewhere soft and cosy for him to lay in. In a febrile daze, Jisung drags himself out of bed and makes it to his dressing room on shaky legs. He gets himself out of his sticky boxers, tossing them somewhere to the side like they've offended him. Frantically, he rifles through the clothes neatly folded on the shelves of his walk-in wardrobe, making a mess of the newly-ironed shirts on hangers. Clothes land in a heap on the floor and the pastel pink ottoman as Jisung throws clothes over his shoulder in frustration.

Then, his hands brush against silk. He clutches it and holds it up. Jisung purrs at the pair of pyjama pants, its material so soft it's almost see-through, the ones he likes to wear when he wants to feel pretty before he goes to bed. Jisung puts them on, purring happily at the feeling of it against his skin, then scrambles to find more clothes of the same material. He gathers as many satin shirts and silk button-ups as possible, bundling them up in his arms with velvety robes. He even picks out some of his pearls to decorate, and a happy purr vibrates from his throat once he's done arranging it all on his bed.

Jisung ensconces himself right in the middle, curling up on top of the soft fabrics, smooth and cool against his burning skin. He presses his nose to his pillow, inhaling what Minho left of his sweet scent, and the heat in him subsides to a low simmering below his skin.

Jisung didn't realise he'd fallen asleep until he wakes up again, and the light outside is darker, not yet evening, but definitely not morning anymore. The heat has returned to his flesh in full force, and the wetness leaking out of him has tripled, sticking his pyjama pants to his skin. He sobs, hiccuping, and writhes around, rolling his hips and turning his head this way and that. He whines at the hints of Minho that he can smell, eyes watering with how badly he misses him.

He sees a tray with a plate of food covered with a cloche on it, a bottle of pills and a glass of water, sitting on the small table in front of his pearly pink loveseat, and he realises how hungry he is. He’s about to pull himself out of bed to eat when someone knocks on his door.

Jisung’s heart pulls and he holds his breath, waiting for the person to announce who they are.

"Jisung?"

Jisung deflates. He recognises the voice, and it’s not Minho’s. He huffs out a small sob into his pillow.

"Jisung-ah?" Hyunjin repeats, speaking gently from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

Jisung makes a groaning sound, muffled by his pillow. He holds it like it's Minho himself, hugging it close to his chest.

"I'm coming in, okay?" Hyunjin warns. "Tell me if you don't want me to."

Jisung doesn't say anything, and slowly, the door knob twists. The door is cracked open and Hyunjin peeks around it. He smiles when he meets Jisung's eyes, looking genuinely happy to see him even if Jisung doesn't smile back.

"Hi," Hyunjin says, entering the room.

He's dressed formally, hair styled, with smart shoes on, probably having just returned from a meeting.

"Hi," Jisung mumbles back.

"Wow," Hyunjin says. "It smells really nice in here."

Jisung studies Hyunjin unsurely, half his face hidden by his pillow.

"It does?"

"Yeah." Hyunjin nods sincerely. "Like…" Jisung watches him think. "Like a field of flowers."

Jisung's heart sings, a bird chirping at sunrise. A lemon-coloured butterfly flits about a daisy. The air smells of lavender and jasmine and spring breeze. The crook of his mother's shoulder is soft and his head fits there perfectly.

"Really?" Jisung asks timidly, like he's a child all over again.

Hyunjin nods again, smiling softly. Jisung closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale of Minho's scent again, light rising over him like dawn on endless grass.

"Well, anyways," Hyunjin says. "I just wanted to check in on you."

"Thank you," Jisung says, and he means it sincerely.

Hyunjin looks shocked, then it quickly turns into a smile.

"It's okay," he says. "Do you need anything?"

Jisung, still with his eyes closed, nuzzles his nose further into his pillow. The smell's beginning to fade. His eyes prick with tears.

"Hyung," he whispers, the word escaping his mouth before he even realises he's saying it.

Hyunjin furrows his brows. "Hyung?"

Jisung muffles a sniffle, pressing his face fully into his pillow.

"Oh," Hyunjin says under his breath. "Okay. Hold on."

Jisung watches Hyunjin leave the room, then lets out a pathetic sob. He feels embarrassed and ashamed, and it somehow makes the heat racing in his veins unbearable. He kicks off his blankets, rolling his hips down and clutching the sheets. It doesn't make the warmth subside the way he needs it to so he cries again, desperate for the craving to stop.

Then — another knock. Jisung stops breathing, every inch of his body stilling in quiet anticipation. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Hyunjin left, mind foggy and unable to keep track of time, but now every hair on his body stands to attention, all of him on high alert, as if his body knows something he doesn’t.

"Jisung?"

Jisung gasps at the sound of Minho's voice.

"Hyung?" he whimpers shakily, instantly sitting up and clutching his pillow tighter to his body.

"Jagi," Minho responds, soft and breathy. Jisung sobs weakly. "Can I come in?"

"Please, hyungie, please, please—" Jisung cuts himself off when the door opens, all the breath in his lungs escaping him at the sight of Minho in his doorway. "Hyung," he sobs breathlessly.

"I'm here," Minho reassures softly, shutting the door behind him. He slowly walks closer. "I'm here, baby."

Jisung sniffles, his body calling out to Minho, waiting on the edge of himself for Minho to reach him. Jisung can see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he gets closer, the clenched muscles of his jaw, the bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He watches Minho take in a slow, deep breath through his nose.

"You smell good," Minho says, slightly strained. 

Jisung’s heart sings louder, and a quiet purr rolls off his tongue.

"And your nest is so pretty," Minho continues, looking at the silk curtains draping over the canopy of Jisung's bed, then taking in Jisung's body curled up in a bed of velvets and satins and pearls from his dresser, with his pillow bundled tight in his arms.

He gets closer until he's standing at the foot of the bed, and Jisung whimpers at the proximity of his presence, yearning for him to be even closer. His wishes are granted when Minho slowly moves the curtain of his bed aside so he can climb onto it, crawling closer to Jisung. Jisung opens his legs to make space for Minho without a second thought. He whines breathlessly, heart rate picking up enough for it to fly out of his ribcage completely, and by the time Minho's on top of him it feels like he might pass away from how fast his heart is going.

"So pretty," Minho breathes, swiping hair out of Jisung's face.

He cups Jisung's face, then swipes a thumb over his cheek. Jisung whimpers and leans into his touch.

"Such a pretty nest, hm?" Minho praises, and Jisung purrs. More of what's between his legs seeps out of him when Minho matches his purr with a quiet growl, making his legs weak. "So pretty. So pretty, princess."

"Hyungie," Jisung sobs, his hips twitching, leaning his face fully into Minho's palm, trying to drink up as much of his touch as he can.

Minho leans down and pecks his open mouth. Jisung shudders, tilting his chin up for more. Minho moves to peck his cheek instead, then his throat, before finally settling his mouth into the crook of Jisung's neck. Jisung moans high and loud, twitching and tingling all over at the feeling of Minho laving his hot tongue over his scent gland. Jisung sighs out in relief, Minho's tongue against his skin cooling the fire in him.

"Gonna take care of you, okay?" Minho says, voice gruff.

Jisung nods eagerly, whines airy and high-pitched. "Okay."

Minho wraps his hands around Jisung's bare waist, then lifts him up and out of the bed. Jisung makes a surprised squeak, quickly wrapping his legs around Minho's midsection. He's all too aware of how there's only a thin, soaked barrier of his pyjama pants and boxers, and Minho's shirt, between his cock and Minho's body.

Minho smiles at how Jisung clings to him so easily.

"Good boy," he praises, rubbing the expanse of his palm across Jisung's bare, sweating, back, and Jisung purrs again, this time a little shy, seeing as his dick is literally twitching against Minho's stomach.

He hides his face in Minho's shoulder as Minho carries him into his bathroom, whining when Minho sets him down in the tub. Jisung shivers against the cold porcelain, shuddering even more when Minho starts taking off his pants and boxers. He lets out a shaky breath and catches the movement in Minho's throat as he swallows roughly.

"Lift your hips up for me," Minho instructs with a strained voice.

Jisung does as he's told, letting out a quiet sigh when his leaking dick springs out into the cold air of his bathroom. Minho tosses the damp clothes to the side. Jisung looks at them, piled in a wet heap on the floor, then looks at where his own wetness has seeped into the front of Minho's shirt. 

He thinks back to a few years ago, after he’d graduated high school and he still hadn’t presented, watching porn just to see what it was like to have sex with a subgender, to see what it was like to have sex in general. He remembers how wet the omegas would get, how the camera would always focus on it as it oozed out of their holes. Jisung’s skin becomes impossibly hotter — now he’s exactly like all those omegas in those dirty videos he used to watch. He can’t believe how wet he is, and that in itself makes him wetter. He lets out a needy mewl.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, glancing at him worriedly. “I can leave—”

“No!” Jisung grabs onto his arm, both hands digging into Minho’s bicep.

He looks up at him with pleading eyes, eyebrows upturned in distress. His mind takes him back to those videos, to the alphas and the swell of their knots, bulging in their omegas’ bellies. Jisung thinks of Minho’s knot, how big it would be, how full it would make him feel, and he mewls again, squirming in the tub.

“Want your knot, hyung, please,” Jisung begs, making his eyes bigger and rounder. “I want it, hyung, please, want it so bad, hyungie, please—”

“Fuck,” Minho hisses breathlessly and rips his eyes away, moving his arm out of Jisung’s grip like Jisung’s burnt him.

Jisung takes it as rejection and it stings, his eyes watering. He can smell his own upset in his souring scent, withering like roses in the wintertime. Minho looks at him, eyes regretful and pained.

“Jisung, I just—” Minho hesitantly puts a hand to the back of his head, and Jisung melts at the contact. “I just wanna take care of you, okay? I can’t— We can’t— Not when you’re like this.”

A tear spills over onto Jisung’s cheek and Minho becomes even more conflicted.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines pathetically, desperation leaking from his voice. He sniffles, another tear dropping.

“Shh,” Minho soothes, wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb, then moving his hand back to Jisung’s head. 

He gently scratches Jisung’s scalp, and Jisung picks up on the massive surge of his scent, the sweetest strand of vanilla he could ever possibly imagine, calming the fiery itch in his bones. 

“Let hyung take care of you,” Minho says softly, pumping out more of his pheromones, scratching Jisung’s head. “Will you let me do that for you, Jisungie?”

Jisung hums, halfway to a trance. He’ll let Minho do anything.

“Good boy,” Minho whispers, smiling. He presses a soft kiss to Jisung’s sweaty forehead.

Jisung purrs, slick pooling underneath him. He watches as Minho puts the plug in the drain and turns on the water. He turns on the hot one first, then mixes in some cold, a refreshing flood on the burning desert of Jisung’s body. Jisung purrs at how good it feels, looking at Minho adoringly through his heavy-lidded eyes. He’s such a perfect alpha, always knows exactly what Jisung needs, always takes care of him so well. 

"Hyungie," Jisung says, just loud enough to be heard over the water running.

"Yes, jagi," Minho responds. He's inspecting all the bottles and soaps on the side of the bathtub.

"Missed you."

Minho stops what he's doing and looks at Jisung with a soft smile on his face and even softer eyes.

"It's not even been a full day since we last saw each other, jagi," Minho says.

Jisung pouts, the neediness in him firing up and multiplying by a million.

"I missed you," he repeats.

Minho laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. Jisung’s core tightens at the sight of it, along with the strings of his heart. Minho gets close to him again and strokes the underneath of his chin.

"Cute," he says quietly. "I missed you too, jagi."

Jisung's dick twitches and he lets out a soft moan, body growing hot again in the cool water of the bath. He leans into Minho's touch further, aching to be touched by him all over. Minho swallows and quickly moves his hand away, clearing his throat. 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then takes the soap and lathers some in his hands, gently washing Jisung's back. He avoids looking at Jisung's face the whole time, even as Jisung whimpers and holds back moans at the touch of his hands. Jisung relaxes into the water, eyes slowly blinking in time with the soapy circles Minho rubs on his back. 

He only washes Jisung's hair and back, much to Jisung's dismay; his body begs for Minho's hands to touch between his thighs, run over his chest, raise goosebumps on his legs. He can’t help but pant excitedly when Minho wraps him up with a towel and carries him out of the bath.

Minho brings him into his dressing room, sets him down on the ottoman, then tries to let go, but Jisung clings onto him, whining.

“Jisung-ah.” Minho makes a noise of exasperation. 

Jisung makes a soft noise at the sound of his name coming out of Minho’s mouth.

“I need to get you some clothes, okay?”

Minho manages to pry Jisung’s fingers off him, then finds a clean pair of underwear and pyjama pants from the clothes strewn across the floor. He puts them on up to Jisung’s ankles, Jisung shivering at the brush of Minho’s knuckles against his shin. He waits for Minho to pull them up all the way, hoping desperately that his hands will brush over something more sensitive, but Minho simply swallows and looks away. Jisung whines sadly and pulls them up himself, looking at Minho with round eyes, internally begging for him to look.

His wishes don't come true because Minho starts to leave the room, and Jisung suddenly feels tears prick at his eyes. He reaches out and grabs Minho's wrist, his fingertips buzzing with white hot electricity.

"Hyung," he sobs, eyes round and watery.

Minho's breath hitches, and he pointedly keeps his eyes away from Jisung.

"I'm just getting you some food, Jisung-ah," he explains.

It sounds like there's something rough in his throat, harshly swallowing it when Jisung continues to whimper pleadingly. Jisung watches it go down Minho's throat, his grip slipping when a flush of heat shudders through him. Minho takes the oppurtunity to quickly leave the room, but he re-emerges just as quick, bringing in the tray of food. Jisung watches with round eyes as Minho sits next to him and grabs the bottle of pills.

“Heat suppressants,” he reads aloud. “Okay,” Minho unscrews the lid and shakes one out into his palm, “here.”

Jisung opens his mouth obediently. Minho makes a choked noise, instantly looking away. He steadies his breathing and looks back at Jisung, eyes automatically focusing on his pink tongue. Jisung preens, then watches the pill in Minho’s finger get closer to his mouth. He shudders like a burning flame when the tip of Minho’s finger grazes against his tongue.

It’s gone as soon as it’s there, replaced with the mouth of the cup as Minho gets him to drink. Jisung swallows down water, pretends it’s Minho he’s drinking down instead. Minho uncovers the food and starts to feed him without a word. Jisung purrs. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He can’t think of a single alpha as perfect as Minho is. He’s just been freshly bathed and dressed but he releases a mess of slick all over again.

He cuddles closer to Minho, begging silently for Minho to look him in the eye when the spoon enters and leaves his mouth.

"You can't look at me like that," Minho says, after trying and failing to keep his tense jaw clamped shut. He pointedly keeps his eyes away from Jisung as he pulls the spoon from his pouty lips.

"Want you," Jisung responds without missing a beat, cheeks full of food. His eyes are round and pleading as they look at Minho.

Minho refuses to meet his eyes. He lets out a sharp exhale from his nose, gripping the spoon tight, veins straining in his hand.

"You're not thinking straight," he says, voice monotone and restrained.

"Wan' you, hyungie," Jisung sobs. He swallows his food, leaving his mouth empty and desperate to be occupied with something else. "Hyung, please."

His hips twitch with the all-consuming urge to rub the pressure in his crotch against something, anything. He frantically scrambles into Minho’s lap, but Minho grabs his hips tight before he can start grinding into his abdomen.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, high-pitched, eyes watering with tears of frustration. “Please, I need it, hyungie, please.”

“Fuck, Jisung,” Minho grits out, holding Jisung tighter when he tries to squirm out of his grip. 

Jisung can feel the warmth of Minho’s dick underneath him, and he salivates; it’s so close yet so far. His body moves before his brain can catch up when his fingers frantically scrabble at the waistband of Minho’s pants. Minho catches his wrists and grips them tight.

“Stop that,” he growls.

Jisung whimpers, hips bucking involuntarily. He tries to stay put, wanting to obey, wanting to be good for Minho. Minho’s chest heaves, looking at Jisung darkly. His eyes dip down to Jisung’s chest. It’s not lost on Jisung that he’s shirtless and Minho’s fully clothed; it’s all he can think about. He wants Minho to stare at him, to hold his bare waist, to run his thumbs across his nipples. He whimpers again and preens, arching his back for Minho to get a better look at his chest.

Minho swears under his breath and looks away, throat bobbing as he swallows again. Jisung sees his eyes dart around the mess of he's made in his dressing room, items of clothing haphazardly spilling out of drawers and tossed carelessly onto the floor.

“Do you want more clothes for your nest?” Minho asks, strained, trying to change the subject.

Jisung nods eagerly, even though Minho’s still refusing to put his eyes anywhere near him.

“Please,” he whines.

Minho stands up, holding Jisung’s thighs to hook them around his waist. Jisung purrs.

“So strong, alpha,” he murmurs mindlessly into Minho’s shoulder.

Minho doesn’t say anything but Jisung hears him shakily exhale. Minho carries him into his room, where he can see that the day is now dark outside of his windows. He’s deposited back into his nest, and he instantly curls up into the cosiness he curated, purring happily. His purrs turn to sad whimpers when Minho starts to leave, and it feels like an eternity before Minho returns with a bundle of his clothes, soft and cool to the touch and doused in his sweet, addictive scent. 

Jisung trembles with excitement as Minho nears his bed. When Minho passes his pile of hoodies and sweaters to Jisung’s arms, a spark shocks Jisung’s skin where their hands brush. His heart jumps and bounces off the walls of his ribcage, excitedly cuddling with his nest’s new additions, soft fibres tickling the underneath of his nose as he breathes in Minho’s scent. He grows so heady with it, he doesn’t even realise Minho’s still standing there watching him, until he feels the fondness of his eyes.

“Hyung.” Jisung reverts to pleading mode so quickly he gives himself whiplash. “Hyungie, come here, come join me, hyung, please?”

He reaches out but Minho looks away, swallowing.

“I can’t, Jisung.” He sounds pained when he says it. “You’re— You’re not thinking straight.”

Jisung’s lip wobbles and his eyes fill with tears. 

“Please, hyung.”

Minho looks at Jisung, conflict clear on his face.

“Please?” Jisung tries again, voice breaking.

A moment passes, and Jisung thinks Minho might really leave, but he starts to come closer. Jisung's breath hitches, heart pounding in his chest with anticipation. Minho slowly climbs onto the bed on top of him, crowding into Jisung's space so that Jisung has nowhere to go but backwards onto his pillows.

Minho leans down to ghost his mouth over Jisung’s jaw, breath fanning across his skin. Jisung shudders and arches up into Minho’s body. Minho softly pecks Jisung’s jaw, then brushes his mouth over Jisung’s scent gland. Jisung releases a guttural moan, twitching at the sensitivity. 

“Hyung," he moans breathlessly, tilting his head to give Minho more access. His senses are overwhelmed with vanilla as Minho scents him, feeling himself getting hooked on the notes of sweet citrus.

“It’s okay, baby,” Minho whispers sweetly into his neck. “I’m right here.”

Jisung sighs contentedly, melting into the bed, feeling sleep pull his eyes shut, the feeling of Minho scenting him becoming his lullaby.

The next morning, Jisung feels lighter, and there’s less wetness between his legs. There’s still a dull thrumming coursing through his body, but the fog in his head is clearer. He must have slept all the way through the morning and afternoon, because the dimness in his room when he wakes up is that of early evening. 

Jisung sees the tray of food on his table again, along with his suppressants, and remembers the day before, Minho taking care of him, being so gentle with him. He smiles softly, chest expanding. He remembers the night before that, the scalding heat, Minho’s body next to his, Minho’s voice as he said I'll show you how bad I want you.

Jisung breathes into his pillow, a trickle of slick pulsing out of him. He trails a hand down into his pants, spreading his legs so he can swipe a finger past his sopping entrance. He shudders, circling his hole, thinking of the roughness of Minho’s palms, imagining that it’s Minho fingering him open instead. He lets out a breathy moan, squeezing his eyes shut as he fucks himself harder, faster, the sound of his slick spurring him on. 

But it’s not enough. He feels too empty.

Jisung’s eyes well up in frustration and he gives up. He turns his head and sobs into his pillow, but it doesn’t smell of Minho anymore. Minho, who’s so gentle with him, who listens to him, who smiles with him, who understands him without even trying. Who was here when he fell asleep, but isn’t here now, and the fact makes Jisung ache all over.

Through his aching, teary eyes, Jisung looks at the flowers Minho handpicked for him in a vase on one of his dressers. It's then that Jisung feels the gravity of his feelings dawn on him through his heat-drunk mind, deep and embedded in him like the roots of a blossom — he wants to be mates with Minho for life.

The sun’s high in the sky the next day, but Jisung’s feeling low from the comedown of his heat. He’s sitting cross-legged in bed, staring blankly out of one of the windows. Since he's been awake, and even in his dreams, the only thing that's been on his mind is how much he wants Minho, the heat of his body, the dark brown of his eyes. The bite of his teeth, sinking slowly into skin. Jisung can't stop thinking about it. He couldn't if he tried. He can't remember the last time he actually wanted something, the last time he yearned for something so hard it made him feel alive.

Jisung doesn't answer when he hears a knock on his door. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for whoever it is to say what they need to say.

“Jisung-ah?”

He stills. He wasn't in motion before but now his entire body is completely frozen with apprehension. His heart stills too.

“Hyung?” Jisung calls out, and he hates how pathetic his voice sounds. He almost wants to tear up.

“Can I come in?” Minho asks. His voice is soft, nearly inaudible through the barrier of the door. Jisung wants to fling it open, tear it down, even, and jump into his arms. He wants to tell Minho how much he missed him, how much he always misses him, even when they're together.

“Yes," is what he says instead, and please sits on the tip of his tongue.

The door opens, and all the light flows back to Jisung’s body at the sight of Minho’s face. Minho peeks his head through the doorway, and he smiles as soon as his eyes land on Jisung. It makes Jisung's heart hurt.

“Good morning,” Minho says, and Jisung’s heart hurts again at the softness of his voice. He didn’t know constant heartache was a side effect of presenting as an omega.

“Good morning,” Jisung says back. His voice is tired and croaky, breaking off at the end of his sentence.

“You’re normal again,” Minho says playfully as he enters the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Shut up,” Jisung whines, pouting and rubbing the remnants of sleep out of his eyes. 

When he opens his eyes again, Minho’s sitting at the foot of his bed, smiling softly at him.

“I’m only messing with you,” he says gently, ruffling Jisung’s hair, making his sleep tousled hair even messier.

Jisung feels faint blush take over his face at the feeling of Minho's palm on his head. He looks down and picks at loose threads in his blankets. He dismantled his nest last night, and now more than ever he wants to settle into the comfort of something warmer, firmer, like a pair of arms.

“Hey,” Minho says softly.

Jisung forces himself to look up at Minho, even though it feels like he’s going to dissolve into a puddle of deep shame in his sheets.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Minho reassures. He pets the back of Jisung's head, his touch so tender Jisung feels it bruise and bloom in his chest. “It’s okay.”

He reaches out smoothes down an unruly wave in Jisung's hair, eyes soft and fond like they always are, and in that moment, Jisung thinks that maybe, just maybe, Minho might want to be mates with him too.

“Did—” Jisung begins, then feels his courage suddenly drop. 

What if Minho’s just this kind to every omega he meets? What if he feels like he has to be nice to Jisung because this is his job? Jisung wants to say nevermind, forget it, but Minho’s looking at him curiously, soft eyes encouraging him to finish, and he works up the bravery to speak again. 

“Did you mean what you said? About showing me?” Jisung asks softly, then looks back down at his fiddling hands. “Or were you just saying it to shut me up?”

There’s a short moment of silence where Jisung doesn’t hear Minho say anything. A piece of his heart splinters and breaks off.

“Jisung.”

The sternness in Minho’s voice makes him look up. Minho’s looking at him with eyes so sincere it steals all the breath from his lungs.

“Of course I meant it,” he answers. “How could you think I didn’t mean it?”

“I don’t know.” Jisung blushes fiercely. A smile starts to lift on his lips. “You really meant it?”

“I more than meant it, Jisung-ah,” Minho says. 

Jisung doesn’t know when Minho got so close. They’re sitting on the bed facing each other, knees touching, the blue silk curtains around Jisung's bed like the sky around them. He also doesn’t know how long they’ve been staring at each other, but he knows that he could never get tired of looking at Minho’s face.

He moves into Minho’s lap so he can look at it up close, and Minho lets him in, cuddling him close. Jisung cups Minho’s face, staring into his big, adoring eyes, before softly pressing their lips together. It hits him just as hard as the first time they kissed, taking away his breath, replacing it with blooming flower petals instead.

A knock on the door startles the both of them, nearly falling off the bed together. Minho looks at Jisung with wide eyes, smiling with the full knowledge that he’s definitely not supposed to be in the prince’s room right now, nor is he supposed to be in the prince’s bed with the prince in his lap.

“Good morning, your Highness,” the staff member says on the other side of the door. “Your parents are downstairs set to leave for the airport in ten minutes if you would like to say your goodbyes.”

Jisung had completely forgotten that his father and stepmother had a conference to attend overseas. He’s brought back out of his head when Minho swipes a thumb across his waist.

“You wanna go say goodbye?” he asks.

Jisung shakes his head and rests his cheek on Minho’s shoulder. Minho cuddles him even closer.

“Wanna stay with you,” Jisung mumbles into him.

Minho strokes his hair.

“Plus…” Jisung says, muffled by Minho’s shoulder.

“Plus…?” Minho pushes. Jisung can hear his amused smile.

“Plus, I can think straight now.”

Minho pauses, then scoffs in disbelief. Jisung sits back up to look at him, frowning at his amused smile.

“You said you’d show me how bad you want me once I can think straight,” Jisung whines.

“I will,” Minho assures. “In due time.”

Jisung makes a bunch of annoyed grumbly noises, which Minho laughs at him for.

“You don’t want me,” Jisung huffs, trying to scuttle out of Minho’s lap. “You lied.”

Minho tuts, holding him in place with barely any effort whatsoever. Jisung indulges in the feeling of Minho's fingers digging into his waist.

“Stop moving,” Minho instructs, and Jisung freezes, blushing, remembering what he’s sitting on. “I’ll show you,” he says simply.

“When?” Jisung whines impatiently.

“You have to pack your bags first,” Minho says.

Jisung blinks at him, confused.

“Why?”

Minho smiles at him, pure mischief.

“Because I’m taking you home.”

Jisung steps out of his room. The hallway’s silent. His crossbody sits heavy on his shoulder, packed with a couple days’ change of clothes and some toiletries. There’s something in the air as he walks down the stairs, an unspoken promise blossoming within the walls of the hallway where Minho’s room is. He has a smile on his face when the door comes into view. It won’t come off his face no matter how hard he tries to tamp it down, it’s now permanently etched onto his face.

The door suddenly opens, and Minho steps out, backpack on his shoulders. The smile on Jisung’s face erupts into an ear-to-ear grin, his cheeks bunching up with excitement. Minho smiles at him in the same way, and for a second they’re just smiling at each other, ten feet between them in the hallway.

“Are you ready?” Minho asks.

“Are you ready?” Jisung feels like he’s twinkling all over with how giddy he feels, brand new and shiny.

Minho’s smile turns feline, and all of a sudden, he’s running. Jisung lets out a shriek — Minho’s running at him — and instantly turns around to run back down the stairs. He giggles hysterically as he hears Minho’s footsteps thundering on old wooden floorboards behind him. 

Jisung turns around when he reaches the landing, pulse quickening with panic when he sees Minho sprinting at him at top speed, determined grin on his face. Jisung yells again, and it echoes off the high ceilings, rebounds off the walls to the carpets he hurriedly runs along. 

He races down the grand staircase that leads to the foyer, and when he looks up, pausing to catch his breath, he sees Minho looking down at him from the very top of the stairs. Jisung watches his chest rise and fall, involuntarily purring at the dopey smile that hangs off Minho’s lips.

“Get your cute butt over here,” Minho instructs.

Jisung purrs louder, and it echoes off the walls.

“You have to catch me first,” he taunts, and it’s all fun and games until Minho starts sprinting down the steps.

Jisung giggles crazily, the palace feeling like a playground as he runs through it, not getting far before Minho catches him.

“Hyung!” Jisung squeals, wriggling in Minho’s grasp. 

He continues to exclaim a pathetic series of stop and let me go, hiccuping on his laughter until he spots Hyunjin hesitantly approaching from the other side of the hallway. Minho spots him too, separating from Jisung and awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Hey,” Hyunjin says, looking at the two of them, then looking at their bags. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Jisung opens and shuts his mouth, not really knowing what to say.

“We’re going on a trip to my hometown for a couple days,” Minho answers for him.

“Oh.” Hyunjin looks delighted, eyes lighting up as he looks at Minho, then at Jisung, then back at Minho again. “You guys are… yeah.” The happy surprise on his face fades into a soft smile. He looks proud. “Okay. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says, smiling back. He fiddles with the strap of his bag. “Are you gonna be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyunjin waves him off, “don’t worry about me.”

Jisung’s smile becomes wider. Thank you, Jisung says in his head, hoping that Hyunjin hears him. By the way Hyunjin’s smile becomes wider too, maybe he does.

“Okay, well,” Jisung says, “we’ll see you soon.”

They make a request for a driver when they get outside, and Jisung can barely contain his excitement once they’re in the car. He stares at Minho while he puts on his seatbelt, like the longer he looks, the more the moment will start to feel real. He’s going to Minho’s house. He can’t believe he’s unlocked this part of Minho’s life. Jisung feels like he’s unlocked a part of his heart, too.

Minho looks at Jisung, catching him off guard with sudden eye contact.

“What are you looking at?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing into something teasing.

“You,” Jisung answers, and he doesn’t look away. Neither does Minho. They smile at each other.

Jisung only looks away when the car starts to pull out of the driveway, turning to the window to watch the palace become small and insignificant as they drive away from it.

“Jisung-ah.”

His shoulder’s gently jostled by someone’s hand. Jisung blinks his eyes open, realising he fell asleep in the car. Minho’s hand is on his shoulder, and he smiles when Jisung focuses his sleepy eyes on him.

“We’re here,” Minho says.

Jisung straightens up, looking out of the window. The sun is setting over a brand new landscape, shining gold over frosty grass and huddles of trees. He sees they’re parked in a street of quaint-looking bungalows. Minho unbuckles his seatbelt while Jisung is still looking out of the window in awe, staring at the way the sun glitters on the icy roofs.

"This is where you live?" he asks.

“Yeah,” Minho says, like it’s nothing special, but Jisung begs to differ. This is where Minho's from. It's everything special.

Jisung undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the car, following Minho up the driveway. The car drives away, leaving just Jisung and Minho on their own. Minho smiles at him. Jisung’s heart swells.

Minho knocks on the door and Jisung suddenly gets nervous. Does Minho live with a friend? His parents? Fuck, he should’ve prepared himself to meet Minho’s parents. Jisung straightens himself up, clears his throat, and fixes his hair. 

He doesn’t realise Minho’s watching him, amused, until he says, “What are you doing?”

Jisung blinks at him. “I just—”

The door opens, releasing a waft of freshly baked bread and pastries.

“Hyung, you’re late, you said—”

The young boy in the doorway, college-aged, stops talking when he sees Jisung, and his foxy eyes go wide. His scent blackens at the edges, burning like his face does with embarrassment.

“Oh my god.” He bows. His movements are clumsy but purposeful, like that of a baby alpha. “I’m so sorry.” Then bows again. “I’m so sorry, your Majesty—”

“It’s ‘your Highness’, Jeonginnie,” Minho corrects.

Jisung blinks at Minho, who simply gives him an amused smile and zero context, so Jisung looks back at the boy in the doorway who is still bowing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Jisung reaches out to hold his arm, stopping him from bowing again. “You don’t have to do that, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” The kid lets out a laugh that is probably meant to sound relieved, but it comes out as slightly hysterical. He has a disbelieving look in his starstruck eyes as he's looking at Jisung, then he quickly holds out his hand, bowing again despite Jisung's efforts. “I’m Jeongin. Yang Jeongin.”

“We grew up together,” Minho finally explains as Jisung shakes Jeongin’s hand. “He takes care of my cats sometimes while I’m gone.”

Jisung gasps at the mention of Minho’s cats.

“Are they here?" he asks excitedly, taking a peek inside. "Can I see them?”

Jeongin opens the door wider so that Jisung can step into the house, Minho following behind. Jisung looks around the place with sparkles in his eyes, wanting to take in every inch of where Minho lives.

The door opens into the living room, with the kitchen to the side. There’s a couch covered with a light pink blanket, sage pillows tucked into the corner, a fluffy rug, a coffee table with an open laptop and textbook on it, and a television on the wall. Jisung sees that there’s photos everywhere — on the wall, in frames on the side tables, stuck to the fridge in the kitchen. The place is tidy but it looks lived-in. It looks like home.

“Thanks for taking care of them,” Minho says to Jeongin, leaving his bag by the door.

“That’s okay, hyung!” Jeongin beams, then lingers in the middle of the living room, like he's waiting for something.

Minho looks at him blankly. "Don't you have homework to do?"

"Yeah, but—" Jeongin gestures at Jeongin with a giddy expression on his face. "There's a prince in your house!" he whisper-yells, and Jisung would probably have heard him if he wasn't so busy searching for signs of any cats.

"Mhm," Minho hums boastfully, self-assured smirk on his face. "I know."

"Here, kitty, kitty..." Jisung croons, peeking behind the couch in hopes of finding a small furry face. Minho looks over at him fondly.

"Please let me stay," Jeongin whispers, bringing a now disgruntled Minho's attention back to him and his clasped hands. "Please."

Minho rolls his eyes. "No," he says simply, giving Jeongin a look that translates to get out.

Jeongin grumbles, reluctantly heading over to the coffee table. Minho smiles with satisfaction as Jeongin packs up his things into his bag.

"It was really nice to meet you, your Majesty," Jeongin says, bowing again.

"Your Highness," Minho corrects.

Jisung raises his eyebrows. "You're going?"

"Unfortunately." Jeongin tosses Minho a side glance.

"He has a lot of assignments to do," Minho says, smiling sweetly at Jeongin.

"Oh, good luck with your studies!" Jisung waves and smiles at him brightly, and Jeongin beams back.

"Thank you, your Majesty!" He bows. "It was so nice to meet you!" He does a little half-aborted bow because Minho's now ushering him out of the front door. "I hope you enjoy your stay! And I hope to see you s—" Minho shuts the door on him.

"He was so cute," Jisung cheerily says to Minho.

"He can be," Minho agrees. "When he's not pestering me for something."

"Are you guys close?" Jisung asks.

Minho nods. "I love that kid. He's the closest thing I have to a younger brother."

Jisung softens, and looks at Minho with what he's sure is a sickening amount of affection in his eyes. Minho's ears tinge red and he looks away with a bashful smile on his face.

"Don't tell him I said that."

Jisung giggles. "I won't."

They look at each other for a moment, the couch between them. Jisung watches Minho's ears grow redder before he looks away.

"So, how do you like it so far?" Minho gestures around at the house.

"I love it," Jisung answers, with no hesitation. He wonders, briefly, what it might have been like to grow up in a house like this, with a brother like Jeongin. He wonders if things with Hyunjin might have been different, in another lifetime.

Jisung hears a soft meow and he whips his head around, gasping when he sees a white-pawed brown tabby cat emerging from around the corner of a hallway. He tiptoes over and crouches down, cooing at it excitedly.

It slowly pads over to him, gives his hand a curious sniff, then rubs its face against his knuckles.

“That’s Dori,” Minho says. "He likes you." 

Jisung looks up at him, beaming. "He does?"

Minho looks down and nods at him with soft eyes. Jisung turns back to Dori and gently pets his head.

“I like him too,” Jisung says, stroking Dori’s back.

“The other two are probably in my room,” Minho says.

“Where’s your room?” 

Minho leads him around the hallway and Jisung lets out a little gasp when he sees Minho’s room. It’s just as cosy as the rest of the house, and smells of Minho the strongest, full to the brim of his rich, sweet scent. Jisung looks at the photos stuck to the wardrobe of a young Minho with barn animals, a grainy selfie of a young Minho with an even younger Jeongin at what looks like a local dance studio, a young Minho sitting in a restaurant with glasses and a dorky smile on his face.

Jisung can’t stop cooing, his heart tugging in his chest. He lets out another loud aww! when he spots two ginger cats lazing around under the desk in front of the window. 

“This is Soonie,” Minho says, pointing to one of them, “and that’s Doongie.”

Jisung crouches and waves at them happily, not knowing which is which, but he’s determined to one day know their little faces by heart. Minho shoos them from under the desk and ushers them out of the room, and Jisung turns his attention to Minho’s bed.

It’s a double bed, and huddled up in the corner is a small pile of plushies.

“Hyung,” Jisung coos, flopping onto the bed and grabbing the cat plushie sitting at the top of the pile. “You sleep with stuffed animals?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Minho says, ears tinged red. “I can’t sleep without holding something.”

“That’s okay.” Jisung giggles, looking up through his lashes at Minho leaning against his desk. “Now you have me to sleep with.”

Minho holds his eye contact. Jisung wants to squirm under the intensity of the way Minho’s looking at him, finding it a lot harder to breathe than it was a few seconds ago. From what he’s able to inhale, he smells Minho’s scent thickening in the air, vanilla so thick and cloying he can taste it on his salivating tongue. Jisung feels like he’s naked, like he should scramble under the covers and hide from Minho’s dark pupils. But he stays put, hoping his stillness translates to pliancy.

Minho seems to get the message, because he starts to walk over. All the breath is stolen out of Jisung’s lungs, body fixed into place by Minho’s eyes as he stalks across the room. Jisung’s stomach flips when Minho puts a knee on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight, and his prey instincts immediately go off.

He starts to scramble up the bed but Minho grabs onto his ankle, palms rough, the grip of his fingers tight.

“Where are you going?” Minho says, voice deceptively calm, pulling Jisung back down the bed with ease. The friction rucks up the hem of Jisung's sweater, exposing Jisung's waist, and Jisung squirms under Minho's hungry eyes roving over his skin.

“Um…” Jisung says breathlessly, faint fear trickling into his body, trickling down into his boxers where he’s quickly chubbing up.

There’s a wild glint in Minho’s eyes as he slowly crowds in on Jisung, arms caging Jisung’s head on the bed, lips laced with lust when he smiles.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Minho speaks lowly, looking down at Jisung with heavy eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Jisung whimpers, pressing his legs together. Minho’s eyes flick down to his crotch and Jisung presses his legs together even tighter under his gaze. 

“Open your legs for me,” Minho instructs, no room for disobeying in his voice.

More blood rushes away from Jisung's head to his crotch at record speed, leaving his brain dizzy. His hole starts to bead with slick, dripping into his boxers.

“I’ve never—” Jisung gulps in a breath of air. He can barely think straight. The way Minho’s looking at him keeps scrambling his brain. “I’ve never— I've never done this before.”

Minho’s jaw muscles flex.

“Ever?” he asks, voice tight.

“Ever,” Jisung breathes.

“That's okay.” Minho swallows. Jisung tracks the motion of it going down his throat. “I’ll be gentle.”

Minho leans in and presses a soft kiss to Jisung’s cheek, then brushes his nose against his ear. Jisung purrs again, body shivering under Minho’s.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he murmurs into the crook of Jisung’s neck, his words and soft breath making Jisung shiver. "Is that okay, baby?" He pecks the soft skin, once, twice. "Can I make you feel good?”

“Yes," Jisung breathes. "Yes, please.”

All his breaths come out short and shaky, his body trembling with nerves and arousal as he slowly opens his legs. His skin is hot with shyness, burning up under Minho’s gaze. Minho’s pupils become darker than Jisung's ever seen them, watching his omega present for him. His scent thickens, uncontrolled, making the air of the room thick enough to slice through with a knife, toeing the line of suffocating. Jisung can't get enough of it. He doesn't think he ever will.

“Good boy,” Minho praises, and Jisung's eyes flutter as he lets out a soft purr.

Minho unbuttons Jisung’s jeans and it takes everything in Jisung not to roll his hips up into Minho’s veiny hands as they unzip the denim. He slowly tugs Jisung's jeans down with his boxers, the bruised skin of his knuckles brushing against the soft skin of Jisung's hips and thighs. Jisung watches the way Minho’s dark eyes savour every moment of his skin being revealed — the flesh of his hips, the leaking tip of his cock, the supple skin of his thighs.

Jisung can only lie still, with bated breath, as the lower half of his body is stripped completely bare for Minho to ravish with his eyes. Precum pearls at the tip of his dick, making him blush.

“So pretty, baby,” Minho breathes. “So, so pretty.”

Jisung wants to hide his face, put his knees together, whine and escape from Minho's eyes. But more than that, he wants to preen, show himself off, let Minho see all of him. With hesitance, he spreads his bare legs for Minho. Minho’s breath hitches and the muscles in his jaw flex, eyes dark and unmoving from where slick drools out of Jisung’s hole, leaking onto his sheets.

"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, placing rough palms on Jisung's knees and slowly spreading him even further.

Jisung's face heats up, wanting so badly to shy away, but he keeps his body open for Minho, reveling in his own embarrassment.

"Just for you," Jisung says back, and feels his breath hitch when Minho detaches his eyes from his sopping hole to make eye contact with him.

"Just for me," Minho repeats, palms sliding up above his knees to hold his thighs. Jisung feels a thrill overtake him at the possessiveness of his grip.

Minho leans in and presses a kiss to Jisung’s knee. Jisung shivers, and continues to do so as Minho slowly kisses down his thigh, letting out soft moans at the feeling of Minho's velvety mouth against his skin. He kisses closer and closer to where Jisung needs him the most, hands wrapping around to hold the top of his thighs so tight flesh spills through his fingers.

A loud, high-pitched mewl comes out of Jisung when Minho licks a long stripe of slick from his hole.

“Fuck, you taste good,” Minho breathes, then burrows his head back in to get another taste.

Jisung's hand flies to Minho’s head, desperately gripping his hair, the other hand clawing the sheets. His whole being shudders violently under Minho’s tongue, scrunching up his face at the sensitivity. Minho circles the tip of his tongue around Jisung’s rim, and the sound of it is obscene, excessively wet, filling the room along with Jisung’s breathless moans. He can smell his own scent going wild, sweet jasmine flower meeting Minho's vanilla musk, mixed with nectarous honeysuckle and heady hyacinth.

Minho laves the heat of his tongue over Jisung’s hole until Jisung’s back is arching off the bed and his eyes clench shut, electricity sparking in his every nerve. He whines high and loud, trembling all over as the feeling of his orgasm wracks through his body. Minho pulls away from between Jisung’s legs when Jisung goes lax and finally loosens his fingers from Minho's hair. He's breathing heavy, lips wet with spit and Jisung’s slick. Jisung’s hole tremors at the sight.

"So good," Minho praises, licking his lips before pressing a sloppy kiss to Jisung’s hipbone. He's breathy and out of it, pupils blown wide as he pushes Jisung's sweatshirt up further and kisses up his waist. "Did so good for me."

Jisung writhes at the praise, shuddering each time Minho's mouth comes into contact with his body, each nerve set alight. Minho moves his hands to his hips to hold him still, licking at the precum pooling on his stomach. Then he trails one of his hands back down, circling Jisung's soaked rim while he kisses up to Jisung’s pecs and leaves lovebites on the swell of each muscle on his chest. He presses a finger in and Jisung whimpers and shakes, still sensitive from cumming, squeezing his eyes tight as his hole stretches around Minho's knuckle. Minho takes a nipple between his lips and begins to suck, slowly pumping his finger in and out of Jisung. He scrapes his teeth, at the same time that his finger curls and grazes Jisung's sweet spot.

“Hyung,” Jisung cries out, arching into Minho's mouth, body jolting when Minho ghosts over his other nipple with the pad of his thumb.

He can feel Minho's smug smile against his chest when he fucks him with his finger faster, building up friction between his knuckles and the wet, ribbed walls of Jisung's hole. He pushes in another finger and Jisung mewls loudly. Minho scissors and stretches him out, fucking into him as deep as his fingers can reach, brushing over his prostate each time.

"Too much, hyung, it's too much," he whines, twitching all over.

Minho finally releases Jisung’s nipple after sucking it raw, then places the two fingers he fucked Jisung with, dripping with slick, into his mouth. Jisung moans, salivating at the sight of Minho's soaked knuckles slipping past his lips, wet and pink and puffy. He grabs Minho so he can pull him in, their mouths clash together, the two of them kissing like the world might end if either of them pull away. Jisung tastes himself on Minho’s tongue, fragaria flowering in his mouth at the sweetness of his strawberry-flavoured slick.

“I want you,” Minho says drunkenly into his mouth. His voice is airy and rough at the same time, breathless with arousal.

“You have me,” Jisung breathes back, moaning when Minho’s teeth nip at his lower lip. “I’m yours.”

Minho lets out a growl at that, and Jisung feels it deep in his core, pulling more slick out of him.

“Mine?” Minho says lowly in his mouth.

“Yours,” Jisung repeats. “All yours.”

Minho presses their mouths together again, kissing him harder, biting Jisung's lower lip until his mouth is red and bruised. Jisung pulls away only to tug at the hem of Minho’s shirt, needing to feel his skin. Minho pulls back and takes it off, and Jisung scrabbles to takes off his own sweatshirt as well. Now he’s fully naked, lying supine and open underneath Minho. Jisung inhales sharply at the build of his chest, the flesh of his abdomen. He watches the bulge in Minho’s boxers come into view as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, spit pooling in his mouth as he pulls them down his thighs.

Minho takes his boxers off too, and Jisung’s cock throbs at the sight of Minho’s dick, long and thick and veined, crimson tip pulsing with precum. Jisung wonders momentarily how the hell he's going to fit inside, but he's more focused on the image of Minho already inside of him, dick throbbing between his walls. He needs Minho inside of him now, whichever way he gets there, even if it splits him in two.

"Hyung," Jisung whimpers, sudden neediness overtaking him, making it hard for him to think of anything but Minho’s cock filling him up. "I want it, hyung, please," he begs.

Minho lets out a soft little grunt at Jisung’s pleading, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and pumping it slowly. He's so big. Jisung salivates, whimpering again.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, his voice cracking under the weight of how badly he needs it. 

He gnaws on his lip, staring at Minho’s fist stroking his dick, watching the pearls of precum squeezed out of the tip drip down a vein bulging out of the underside. Jisung’s wet hole clenches around nothing, and his own dick pulses with pressure.

“Hyung, please,” Jisung pleads, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. 

“Fuck,” Minho swears breathily. His eyes flutter shut and his head falls back a little, exposing the ridges of his throat to Jisung. Jisung thinks of how badly he'd like to sink his teeth into it. “You want hyung to fuck you?”

“Yes, hyungie, please, I want you,” Jisung sobs out all in one breath. His cock pulses pathetically, desperate for release.

Minho's eyes flutter open again, focusing his dark pupils on Jisung. There's a sheen of sweat glistening on his reddened chest, perfect pink lips parted in pleasure. A bead of sweat trickles from his temple down the side of his face. Jisung fight the urge to sit up and lick at it.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Minho demands.

“So bad, hyungie, please, I need you,” Jisung sobs, “I need you so bad, needed you since the first time I saw you.”

"Yeah?" Minho breathes. His tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip. "Since we first met?"

"Yes, since then, and now, and always, I always think of you fucking me, hyung—"

Jisung's cut off by Minho swearing again, brows pulling together in pained pleasure. He moves back into Jisung's space, and Jisung can’t stop himself from panting in excitement, spreading his legs wider to make space for Minho. Minho looks down at Jisung through his hooded eyes, and smooths a palm across the soft expanse of his stomach. Jisung whimpers, watching Minho’s hand span across his waist. 

“So pretty,” Minho breathes, stilling the hand on his cock so he's holding it steady at the base. A drop of precum drips onto the muscles of Jisung’s abdomen that twitch under Minho’s rough palm. “You’ll feel me right here, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes, hyung, I need your knot, I need it, hyung, please,” Jisung mindlessly babbles, “need your knot, hyungie, please give it to me, pl—”

Jisung’s voice fades to breathless pants when the hand on his stomach moves to grip his waist roughly, and Minho finally presses the tip of his dick to Jisung’s hole. His hole gushes around the moist, silky head of Minho's cock, desperate to be filled.

“Yes, yes, yes, hyung, more, hyung, p—”

Jisung lets out a loud moan when Minho pushes inside, neck straining with a thick vein as he watches the head of his cock slowly entering Jisung's hole. Jisung's breathing gets heavier, whimpering through Minho's dick slowly stretching out the muscle of his rim. Minho spits out a swear and stops.

“Hyungie,” Jisung whines, and chokes on a desperate sob. “Don’t stop, Minho, please, I need you.”

Minho growls and makes Jisung's hole quiver.

“I’m trying to be gentle, Jisung,” Minho grits out from behind bared teeth.

Jisung whines, barely able to hear a word Minho's saying over the feeling of his thick tip inside his rim, so close to his walls, but not close enough. Jisung squirms his hips, trying to take more of Minho inside. Minho growls again and grips his hips tight.

“Stop that,” he warns.

“You stop it,” Jisung bites back. His face is set in a pout, eyebrows pulled into an irritated frown, eyes petulant when they meet Minho's. “Fuck me," he demands.

A sharp sting resonates on his flesh where his ass meets his thigh, the loud slap of Minho's palm echoing through the room. Jisung makes a sound between a gasp and a moan, the shock and arousal making his cock twitch against his stomach.

"I'll fuck you when you're ready for it," Minho says, eyes hard and unyielding.

"I'm ready, hyung," Jisung whines, the frown on his eyebrows dissipating into an upturned pleading expression. "I want it, hyungie, please fuck me."

"You're sure you can take it?"

Jisung nods so vigourously he gives himself whiplash.

"I can take it, hyung, I can take all of you." Jisung places his hands on Minho's shoulders and looks up at him with big doe eyes. "But if I can't, then you can make me take it."

Minho's breath audibly hitches and his jaw muscles flex. Wordlessly, he pushes in more of his cock, stealing Jisung’s breath from his lungs. Jisung’s fingers dig into the muscle of Minho's shoulders, his teeth clenching together at the aching stretch of Minho's cock sinking deeper between his walls.

“Is that good, baby?” Minho says. 

Jisung purrs loudly, saliva slipping out the comer of his mouth. It feels so good, makes him feel full and satisfied. Minho keeps pushing in, stretching Jisung to his limit. Jisung digs his nails deeper into Minho's flesh, brain falling blank at the delicious ache of Minho entering him.

“Tell me how good it feels,” Minho grunts, voice breathy and affected.

“So good, hyungie, it feels so good,” Jisung babbles.

Minho groan and hisses, tightening his grip on Jisung’s hips, holding him hard enough for the skin to bruise. Jisung hopes it does, purring at the idea of Minho’s touch being left on his body in the form of purple finger-shaped marks.

“Taking me so good, princess,” Minho coos, voice strained with effort. There’s sweat beading at his hairline. “So good for me.”

Jisung purrs even louder at the praise, sucking more of Minho in, hole fluttering around his veiny length. Minho finally bottoms out and Jisung looks down at where their bodies are connected. He releases something guttural from the back of his throat upon seeing the outline of Minho’s dick in his stomach. He presses a palm to it.

“So full, hyung.” Jisung looks up at Minho with his round eyes, blinking. “You’re so big.”

Minho growls, dark eyes fluttering at the sight. He pulls out a little and fucks back in, watching Jisung's slick cream around the rim. Jisung hiccups a moan, nails scratching Minho’s shoulders down to his back.

“More,” he whimpers weakly, and Minho gives it to him, pulls out a little more and fucks into him again, then again, and again until Jisung’s moans border staccato screams.

"Good, baby?” Minho pants. “You like that?”

Minho fucks into him harder, the pace of his hips speeding up so Jisung can barely think, wanton, unabashed moans escaping his mouth.

“So good, hyung, feels so good, ‘m so full,” Jisung babbles, all sense and thoughts burning up at the friction of Minho’s thick cock pressing against his ribbed walls. “So full, hyungie, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“You’re so perfect,” Minho pants, half-lidded eyes staring down at Jisung’s face with dark focus, “so perfect, my princess, just for me—”

“Just for you, hyungie, all for you,” Jisung sobs, hole trembling and clenching around Minho's cock as if to prove it.

"Just for me," Minho repeats, sweet voice breathy and airy, fucking into Jisung hard enough for the sound of their bodies smacking to match the rhythm of Jisung's moans.

He drags his nails down Minho’s back sharp enough to draw blood. Minho lets out a hiss and fucks into him faster, hips fucking into Jisung's body hard enough to jostle him into the headboard. Jisung cries out at the relentless pace and he wraps his legs around Minho's torso tight, ankles crossing at Minho's waist, forcing Minho inside of him impossibly deeper.

Overwhelmed tears prick at his eyes and he lets out sobs of pleasure, whimpering and sniffling in time with the wet slapping of their thighs, punctuated by the sticky squelching of his slick. The friction of Minho inside of him builds up, heat burning and crackling along each of his nerves.

"Feels so good, hyung, 'm gonna—" Jisung hiccups on a sob, tears spilling past his lash line and trickling down his rosy cheeks. "I'm gonna cum, hyungie, need to cum, I need to cum."

Minho leans into him, pressing their bodies together, grunting into the crook of Jisung’s neck. Jisung’s thighs quiver around Minho’s waist.

“You need to cum?” Minho breathes into Jisung’s ear.

“Yes," Jisung mewls, his hole clenching tight around Minho. "Need to cum, 'm gonna cum."

Minho slips a hand between their bodies and wraps a hand around Jisung’s weeping, neglected cock.

“Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” Minho bites the shell of Jisung’s ear, stroking his hard and slow, keeping the pace of his hips quick, giving Jisung whiplash, making him writhe. “You’re gonna cum on hyung’s dick?”

Jisung cries out, body threatening to crumple in on itself at the force of holding in his orgasm. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"Cum for me," Minho commands, and Jisung finally lets go.

His orgasm crashes over him like frothy waves on rocks, drenching every last of his nerves in soppy wet pleasure. Jisung's entire body shudders and shakes, arching into Minho as he clutches his back tight and releases a loud guttural moan.

Minho continues to fuck him through it, growling at the way Jisung’s hole spasms around his cock. Jisung shudders violently at the overstimulation, every inch of him trembling uncontrollably. Minho’s thrusts become sloppier and his breathing becomes louder, panting right in Jisung’s ear.

“Are you gonna cum, hyungie?” Jisung purrs into Minho’s ear, soothing his fingertips over Minho’s back, raising goosebumps on his skin.

Minho lets out a growl but it breaks and tapers off into a shaky moan, before his body stills, and Jisung feels his hot release spilling into him. He purrs loudly at the thick warmth filling him up, eyes rolling back into his head and tightening his legs around Minho’s waist so that he can push Minho’s knot in deeper as it forms. 

“So good, hyung,” he slurs, tongue thick and heavy. “So full, hyungie. Thank you.”

Minho hums contentedly into his neck, laying his whole body weight on Jisung, heavy and tired. He runs his hands up and down Jisung’s sides, scratching his nails so light it makes Jisung twitch.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he praises, words muffled by the sweaty skin of Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung smiles and hums, eyes fluttering shut. He basks in the soft sound of Minho's breaths and the warmth of his thick knot inside of him, pumping him full of cum. They lie like that for a moment, catching their breaths, the room smelling of sex and the strong, sweet smell of their scents.

He sleepily blinks his eyes open and looks out the window above Minho's desk, catching cold condensation dripping down the glass. It's snowing again, white flakes coming down from a dark evening sky onto fenced off grass and neighbouring cottages. Jisung smiles again. He could stay like this forever. In the end, he doesn't know how long they lie like that for, but Minho’s knot eventually comes down and he starts to pull away. Jisung whines, tightening his legs around him.

“We need to shower, baby,” Minho says.

“Five more minutes,” Jisung whines.

“Okay.” Minho chuckles and goes lax.

For two more minutes they lie with each other, Jisung tracing patterns on Minho’s back with his fingertips, Minho pressing soft kisses to Jisung’s shoulder where it meets his neck. Jisung’s not really thinking of much, still fucked out, but there’s one thing that keeps playing on his mind. He wants this — lying with Minho after sex, warm, cosy rooms with cats, quiet, endless peace in the distance — and he wants it forever.

Jisung never gets his five minutes because Minho suddenly jolts and faces him with panic all over his face.

“Shit, Jisung, you’re not on birth control.”

Jisung blinks at him, mildly concerned. “Oh.”

Minho sighs, regret clear all over his face as he looks away.

“It's okay, you can take the morning after pill tomorrow," he decides.

“Okay.” Jisung tries not to sound despondent, tries not to let his lips pout.

He’s never really thought of having babies before, but now that he thinks about it, thinking of Minho's knot actually taking and settling inside of him for real, he thinks he might like walking around with Minho’s pups in him. Of course, Minho can see right through him, and gives him a knowing smile.

“Don’t make that face.” Minho smooths down Jisung’s hair, and Jisung pouts even harder. “Stop that. You know I’d love to give you my pups.”

Jisung’s cheeks blush with deep red rose. He giggles giddily, toying with the hair curling with sweat at the nape of Minho’s neck.

“Then why don’t you?” he asks, batting his lashes and tilting his head.

Minho sighs, staring at him adoringly.

“We have to be responsible,” he says. "You're the Prince, remember?"

Something hollow and cold sinks in Jisung's chest. He was trying to forget.

"Do you know how much of a scandal it would be if you, Prince Jisung, became pregnant with your bodyguard's baby?"

Jisung's hole twitches around Minho's softening cock and he smiles dreamily. He chews at his lower lip as he thinks about it.

"That'd be so hot," he says distantly.

"Jisung."

Jisung sighs and lets out a dramatic groan.

“Fine,” he whines.

Minho smiles and suddenly picks him up, making him squeal. Jisung wraps his legs around him tighter, and they make out hot and heavy all the way to the bathroom.

Minho fucks him from behind in the shower, rough grip on his hips, the sound of their skin slapping with the running of water pattering echoing against the tiles. Jisung squeals each time Minho smacks his ass, arching his back further to better present himself for his alpha. 

When Minho wraps his fingers around the front of his neck and pulls him in close, Jisung’s heart starts pitter-pattering like the water drops falling all around them, thinking this is it, Minho’s going to sink his teeth in. 

“So pretty,” Minho whispers into his neck, words evaporating into the steam of the hot water. “So fucking pretty. All mine.”

“All yours, hyung,” Jisung breathes out, meeting Minho’s thrusts, grinding his hips onto his dick. The feeling of Minho inside of him is addictive, the friction delicious and better than anything he's ever tasted. “All yours.”

Minho doesn't bite him, much to Jisung's dismay, but he sucks a sloppy kiss onto his neck, mouth warmer than all the water droplets running over them. Jisung turns his head as much as he can for them to kiss open-mouthed, Minho’s hand still on his neck. They make out tongue to tongue, teeth to lips, shower water running between their mouths. Minho almost forgets to pull out again.

Jisung swings his legs from the counter as he watches Minho cook, happily opening his mouth and tasting what Minho feeds him in intervals. Minho’s turned the heating on in the house all the way up, so neither of them have their shirts on, and Jisung smiles dreamily at the scratch marks he's left behind on Minho’s back. He likes that he’s claimed Minho in that way. The second his thoughts enter the realm of claiming, he starts thinking of biting again, thinking of mating and being mated. 

Minho plates their food and as they cuddle up on the couch in front of the TV, legs pressed up against each other, soft and warm, it’s all Jisung can think about. 

It soon becomes time to sleep, and Jisung is excited to cuddle up with Minho on his bed. Minho looks just as excited, wrapping both his legs and arms around Jisung.

“Hyung,” Jisung giggles, “I’m not a body pillow.”

“You are now,” Minho says, and Jisung giggles louder.

He’s about to switch off the lamp, but he notices a photo of a young Minho standing between a woman and a man. All three of them have the same smile.

“Are those your parents?” Jisung asks, smiling.

Minho looks at the photo and smiles too. “Yeah.”

“Do they live around here too?”

“They died when I was young,” Minho says, and Jisung whips his head around in shock, then his eyes sadden. “I was left with the house.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jisung frowns and cuddles closer to him.

“It’s okay.” Minho smiles, putting an arm around his waist. “It was in an accident, and it was a long time ago.”

Jisung swipes his thumb back and forth across Minho’s back where his hand holds him.

“But still,” Jisung says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Minho swipes hair out of Jisung’s face.

“Were they your only family?” Jisung asks.

Minho nods. 

“It’s a little lonely sometimes, but it’s okay. I have my friends.” Minho says, and there's something in his eyes as he looks at Jisung, pure and hopeful like a child. “And you.”

Jisung smiles wide and nods. “And me.”

Even after Minho switches off the lamp, the light still glows in Jisung’s heart, bright and warm-toned. 

When Jisung wakes up, sunlight is streaming in through the window and he feels the most rested he’s ever been in years. He rubs his eyes and looks out the window, where his eyes meet snow melting on grass, the beginnings of a barn in the near distance, and the well-kept garden of a nearby neighbour. It's quiet, save for one singular passing down the road, and birds chirping at the morning sun.

Jisung then turns to look at Minho, who’s looking at him already.

“Good morning,” Minho says, smiling, voice softer than Jisung’s ever heard it.

“Good morning,” Jisung croaks back.

“Did you sleep okay?” Minho asks.

Jisung nods and cuddles into him closer, chasing his warmth. Minho wraps his arms around him tighter. Jisung yawns and lets his eyes fall shut again.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” Minho says. Jisung can hear the endeared smile on his face. 

“Were you watching me?” Jisung mumbles, smiling into Minho's chest. “Creep.”

Minho laughs, petting his head.

“You want breakfast?” Minho asks, and Jisung nods.

Minho tries to separate himself from Jisung, but Jisung whines and holds on tight. 

“I thought you wanted breakfast?” Minho says through a chuckle.

“I do,” Jisung murmurs into Minho’s skin. He’s so soft and warm, his very own teddy bear.

“You’re gonna have to let me get up and make it, baby.”

“Not yet,” Jisung mumbles.

“Okay,” Minho says softly, smiling as he settles back down under the covers. He starts playing with Jisung's hair, his other hand gently stroking Jisung's waist. “Not yet.”

After breakfast, and after Jisung sadly takes a pill for preventing pups, Minho tells him there’s a place he wants to take him. Their breaths are visible in the glacial air, and the roads and sidewalks are damp with melted frost from the night before. Minho takes Jisung’s gloved hand, and Jisung happily lets him lead him wherever.

They get on the bus and Jisung pulls his scarf over his face in case anybody recognises him, but the town is quiet and sleepy, with barely anybody boarding the bus. Jisung feels more peaceful than anything as he looks out of the window and sees horses grazing in frosty fields, smiling at their cute winter coats. 

They get off at the town centre, and Minho takes him into a small record store. There’s a vintage jukebox by the entrance, neon purple and blue signs on the walls, and an electric guitar hanging over the cashier. The walls are a vibrant red, though Jisung can barely see because they’re mostly all covered in posters and CDs. There’s even a poster of Seungmin and his band on top of the shelves holding rock records. 

“Whoa,” Jisung says in awe, looking around starry-eyed. “This place is so cool.”

Minho smiles at him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I knew you’d like it,” he says.

Jisung smiles back at him, squeezing his hand right back. 

“Minho!”

Their staring at each other is interrupted by someone exclaiming Minho’s name from the back of the store. They turn to see a dimply guy heading over with a box of records in his arms. He spots Jisung and gasps, then breaks out into a big smile, cheeks dimpling.

“Good morning, your Highness,” he politely greets, bending down as far as he can with the box in his arms.

“This is Channie-hyung,” Minho explains. “This is his store.”

“You own this place?” Jisung gasps.

“Ah, well, I’m the manager, but I don’t own it,” Chan says, laughing bashfully. He smells of ocean breeze, chilly moonlit walks by the beach. He reminds Jisung of Felix.

“It’s really cool!” Jisung gushes. 

“Thank you!” Chan smiles. “Minho helped me design the place.”

Jisung turns to Minho with stars in his eyes.

“You did?”

Minho turns to him, smiling fondly. Jisung smiles back, taking a second to look at Minho’s pretty face. Minho stares at him back, smoothing down the hair at the back of Jisung’s head.

“I’m just gonna sort these out over here,” Chan says, tossing a knowing glance at Minho, disappearing behind some shelves.

“This is my favourite place in the whole world,” Jisung says to Minho, who bursts out laughing.

“It is?” Minho plays along.

“Mhm.” Jisung nods his head eagerly. “I love it here. I’m never leaving.”

“Okay, princess.” He tucks a curl behind Jisung’s ear, bunny teeth on show as he smiles. “Whatever you say.”

Minho takes Jisung to a cafe after their visit to the record shop, and even though it's mostly empty, they choose to sit next to each other in a booth located in the cafe's furthest corner. Minho handles ordering and collecting their drinks while Jisung stays cosied up in his seat, trying to reduce the chances of Jisung being recognised. 

“Did you tell anyone else I was here?” Jisung asks when Minho returns with their drinks.

Minho shakes his head as he takes his seat. “Just Jeongin and Chan. They’re the only friends I have, anyway.”

“Really?” Jisung parts his mouth.

Minho smiles at his surprise. “I told you already, jagi. I’m a homebody.”

Jisung hums, and takes a sip of his drink. He moves closer to Minho, who puts an arm on the back of the booth so that Jisung can cuddle into his side properly.

"You should've seen their faces when I told them you were visiting," Minho says, amused smile on his face.

"Were they shocked?" Jisung asks.

"Of course they were." Minho tucks a strand of hair behind Jisung's ear, making his cheeks warm. "You're a prince, aren't you?"

The straw in Jisung's mouth feels foreign on his tongue all of a sudden. It's a bad habit this town keeps making him slip into, forgetting who he is and where he comes from. Jisung looks out of the window. There are some cars passing by, the occasional bus coming and going, and light rainfall showering over shops and sidewalks.

"Would you like me even if I wasn't a prince?"

The question comes out of him a lot more unsure than he planned it to. He'd only meant it to be lighthearted, something stupid in the same vein as would you still love me if I was a worm? But he hears how nervous and small he sounds, and it makes him wince. He doesn't take his eyes off the window, can't bear to meet Minho's eyes even when he can feel them looking at him.

"Jisung." Minho's voice, quiet, confused, sends a ripple of pain through his chest. "Jisung, look at me."

Jisung braces himself, but does as he's told, and as soon as their eyes meet, Minho looks at him with the kind of softness he didn't think anyone could look at him with.

"I like you so much it hurts," Minho breathes, brown eyes searching Jisung's, and that's when Jisung realises how close they're sitting next to each other.

Jisung breathes out, the beating of his heart slowing to the rate of Minho's blinks.

"I like you too, hyung," Jisung says, even if it doesn't come close, even if his heart is swollen with how many feelings it holds for Minho.

"I think I was meant to meet you," Minho says, and Jisung's never seen his eyes so sincere. "Whether or not you were a prince."

A smile spreads across Jisung's mouth, and Minho kisses it.

"I think we would've met in every lifetime," Minho whispers against his lips, and Jisung's swollen heart skips a beat.

He kisses Minho again, and then again, until their mouths are moving slowly in tandem with each other. Jisung misses Minho's mouth when they separate, but he's content to lay his head on Minho's shoulder while he looks back out of the window. He sees two elderly men walking alongside each other, taking their time as they make their way down the street. Jisung smiles. He thinks at first that they’re friends, then wonders if they’re anything more.

Jisung has the thought that this town must be nice to grow old in. He wonders if Minho's ever had that thought, and just as he's wondering, Minho pecks his forehead. Jisung smiles at him, and pecks him back.

Time flies without Jisung realising it, getting lost in home cooked meals, walks along snowy roads and nightly cuddles. He forgets, in the midst of bus trips to the record shop, card games with Chan and Jeongin, and impromptu makeout sessions with Minho, that he’s only here for a couple days. 

Each time he remembers that he’s only here temporarily, Jisung feels an icy pick of anxiety drop into his stomach. He holds Minho’s hand tighter on their walks under the guise of trying not to slip on icy tarmac, cuddles into him closer at night pretending that he's cold, kisses him harder in the shower.

He trusts in Minho’s touch to quell the dread in him at the thought of heading back. When Minho’s knot is deep inside him (covered with a condom this time) he wraps his legs around Minho as tight as he can, anchoring himself to Minho’s body. He clings onto Minho when they sleep, grasps his light in the palm of his hands as the evening tips over into darkness.

⭒♔⭒

Jisung always hid under his covers when he was a young prince, wrapping the pillow around his head to escape the echoes of his father's voice through the walls. Back then his bedroom was much closer to his father's room than it is now, and he knew not to pry when the yelling stopped, knew to shut his eyes tight and forget the stark silence. But there was a night, when he was thirteen years of age, when the heaviness in his gut wouldn't subside, when the yelling stopped but was soon replaced with a barrage of heavy footsteps and murmuring of men's voices.

Jisung remembers slowly slipping out from under the covers, a tight fist strangling his chest as he tiptoed out of his room up to his parents' room. The wood creaked under his light footsteps until he finally got to the landing, and he when he turned the corner, he saw his parents' room with the door wide open, dim light spilling past it onto the carpeted corridor floor. Jisung could see shadows of people inside, could hear voices speaking secretive and low.

That fist around his chest squeezed tighter and tighter, heavy pressure in his ribcage, as he continued to tread carefully across the carpet, getting closer and closer. A man in a suit, who Jisung had never seen before, swiftly exited his parents' room and Jisung's chest was seized with fear, quickly ducking down behind a wide cabinet. He sat deathly still in the dark as he peeked out and watched the man walk past with terror pounding in his heart. He could hear him on the phone speaking with professional neutrality as he walked past.

"Queen Han," the man said into the phone, and Jisung could just about make out the shapeless, tinny voice on the other line.

His mother? Had something happened to her? Jisung clutched at the red carpet beneath him, trying to stop the involuntary trembling in his body. The man walked right past Jisung's hiding place, and Jisung watched his back as he continued to head down the corridor to the stairs.

"Affirmative," he continued. "We'll need a cleanup crew."

Jisung's ears began to ring. Wood creaked under the man's polished shoes as he disappeared downs the stairs. That fist in his chest was squeezing at his lungs, constricting his breathing. Shakily, he got up, and he put one foot in front of the other, walking like he was in a dream, out of his own body, until he was standing in the doorway of his parents' room.

It was dim, endlessly spacious, and in the very middle, in front of the luxurious king-sized bed, his mother's lifeless body was lying on the floor. Young Jisung watched with hollow watery eyes as a man in a suit tossed a sheet over her face as if she was merely a doll. To the right, his father stood over her, standing next to another man in a suit, speaking in hushed tones. Shadows of the moonlight entering in through the windows warped his face into something of the underworld, his hands stained dark with blood.

Pure cold dread sank into Jisung's body, an iceberg crashing over him and taking him down, forcing him on his knees to the plush red carpet, the same carpet his mother's blood was seeping into. Every living person in the room whipped their heads towards him. Jisung began to scream his throat as his father stormed over to him, wishing that his legs weren't weakened with fear so he could run away.

Jisung's father crouched and clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling Jisung's screams.

"You never speak a word about this," the King said. His eyes were black and bottomless. "Ever."

Jisung sobbed, his body trembled.

"Do you understand?" his father asked.

Jisung nodded as best he could through his fear. Jisung knew what would happen if he ever spoke up. His father never said it aloud, but Jisung knew in his body and soul. He knew that if he spoke up, he would be next.

The men in their suits carried on like normal, the two of them placing a sheet over the rest of his mother's body. And meanwhile, Jisung could smell his mother's blood on the hand his father had silenced him with.

Jisung awakes up heaving for air, chest constricted, heart dropped into a vat of icy terror and unable to pump enough oxygen around his body. He can smell his own distressed scent, stormy rain in a wilting flower field, wet, filthy mud and rotting leaves.

“Jisung?” he hears Minho’s voice next to him. “Jisung, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t—” Jisung heaves, eyes aching with tears. “I can’t go back, I can’t—”

“Jisung, breathe,” Minho says worriedly, placing a hand on Jisung’s back. “Breathe, Jisung, you need to breathe.”

Jisung takes in deep, shuddering breaths, focusing on the sensation of Minho’s palm on his back, rubbing soothing circles. He turns to Minho once he can breathe a little better, blinking out tears.

“I can’t go back to that place, hyung," he says shakily, eyes so wide and desperate they look crazed. "I can't. Hyung, I can't.”

Minho scoops him up into his lap and holds him. He lets out his sweet vanilla scent, trying his best to soothe Jisung. It works a little bit; Jisung breathes in the sweetness, letting the amber ground him. He holds onto Minho tight, like he’ll disintegrate to dust if he doesn’t. 

“Why don’t you want to go back?” Minho asks him. “Is it your dad?”

Jisung nods, tears dropping onto his lap. His mouth quivers and he finally lets it go, lets the tears come unrestrained. Minho holds him and pets him as he cries, murmuring quiet reassurances into Jisung's ear, like It's okay, and don't cry, princess.

“He killed her.”

The room goes still when Jisung says it, the silence freezing time and space. The truth has finally come out of him, no longer festering in the dark, coming up into the light. Minho looks at him, confused, eyebrows drawn together with concern.

"What?" he asks softly.

"My—" Jisung swallows the leathery lump in his throat, more tears welling up in his ears. Minho gently swipes them away when they spill over onto his cheeks. "My eomeoni," he says, "he killed her."

Minho's mouth parts, realisation slowly dawning on his face.

"He killed her," Jisung sobs, "I saw it."

He shuts his eyes tight, squeezing out more tears, trying to force away the images coated in blood that come to the front of his mind.

"He killed her,” he says again, "he killed her," and again, and Minho just holds him tight, lets him say what he needs to say, over and over.

"You saw it?" Minho asks, voice shaky and unsure. Jisung knows the feeling well, the feeling of fear he can hear in Minho's voice.

He clenches his eyes shut even tighter, pushing his face into Minho's chest.

"I can't go back," he whispers into Minho's skin.

He presses his lips together to stifle a sob. Minho holds him even tighter.

"You're not going back," Minho says, resolute.

Jisung blinks his tearful eyes open and looks up to see Minho looking down at him, his face serious and unwavering.

"I'm here to keep you safe," Minho says, voice soft as he looks right into Jisung's eyes. There's not a single trace of doubt or second-guessing on his face. "I'm not going to let anybody hurt you."

Jisung doesn’t know when or how he falls asleep, but he wakes up in Minho’s arms with an agonising pounding in his head and a deepness tugging at his chest, making it feel heavy and nauseating. Minho's already awake and watching him, of course, and he pecks his shoulder once he sees Jisung's awake, then peppers kisses across his collarbone.

“How are you feeling?” Minho asks him, voice rough with sleep, or maybe the lack of it.

Jisung feels bad for springing the news that he did on Minho last night, but the way Minho looks at him quells all his worries immediately.

"I'm here for you," Minho whispers in the quiet morning air of his room. He strokes the back of Jisung's head gently, and continues to pepper kisses across his skin. "Okay?"

Jisung doesn’t answer, just curls into him more and basks in his kisses. When he starts to kiss Minho back is when he gets the call. 

Turning over to grab his phone on the nightstand, Jisung already feels that something is off. He sees that it’s Hyunjin who’s calling him, and that uncanny feeling intensifies. Hyunjin never calls him.

“Hello?” Jisung says when he answers the phone.

“Jisung-ah,” Hyunjin responds, and he sounds weird, choked up and sort of robotic.

Jisung sits up on his elbows, ignoring the confused look Minho gives him. 

“Yeah?” Jisung replies. “Are you okay?"

Hyunjin’s breath hitches and shakes over the phone. Nausea ticks like a time bomb in Jisung’s body.

"What's wrong?" he pushes, wishing Hyunjin would just spit it out already.

“Eomma and appa,” Hyunjin starts, his voice withering away into another shaky breath before starting up again, "the plane, it was— it was hijacked."

Jisung sits up fully. His mind works overtime to put the pieces together. All his thoughts race at a million miles per hour, and his heart somehow beats even quicker than that.

“What do you mean the plane was hijacked?” Jisung asks, but deep in his consciousness he thinks he already knows the answer. “Are they okay?”

“No, Jisung-ah, they’re—”

There’s a pause on Hyunjin’s end of the line where the only thing Jisung can hear is a shuddery breath, the only thing he hears before his world changes completely.

“They’re dead.”

⭒♔⭒

The palace is a graveyard when they arrive in the driveway, all the staff wearing black and looking lost and hopeless. Waiting in front of the palace doors is Hyunjin, dressed in black and just as forlorn. Jisung walks up to him as quick as he can, and when Hyunjin spots him approaching, he walks up to him too, and they hug as soon as they meet in the middle.

Jisung breathes in Hyunjin's scent, but it's gone off, burnt coffee grounds, not enough cinnamon. Jisung holds him tighter, and he realises Hyunjin's smelling him too. He tries to make his flowers as sweet as possible, hoping that it's comforting.

“How are you?” Jisung asks him, still hugging him.

“I’m okay,” Hyunjin says, voice teary.

Hyunjin holds him tighter, before they eventually pull apart. Hyunjin smiles at Minho who’s waiting a respectable distance away. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Hyunjin-ah,” Minho says. 

“Thank you, Minho-hyung.” Hyunjin looks back at Jisung with a sad smile. “Let’s head inside.”

They go into the palace, walking through the foyer to the conference room, where they’ll meet their royal advisors.

“I’m so sorry, Hyunjin,” Jisung says when he can’t hold it in anymore, his eyes filling up with tears. Minho’s hand finds its way to his, squeezing him tight.

“Hey.” Hyunjin stops walking and turns to him. Jisung’s tears start the onset of his own. “It’s not your fault.”

Jisung somehow feels like it is, leaving Hyunjin all alone in the palace. He keeps imagining Hyunjin finding out the news on his own, left desolated in his own home. It's all the more painful because Jisung knows how it feels; he lost his own mother, and now Hyunjin’s lost his. He could’ve been there to comfort Hyunjin in person the second he found out. He could’ve been there so that they found out together, so that Hyunjin wouldn’t have had to bear the burden of being the first one to know, and the weight of having to relay the information to Jisung who was ignorant and clueless in a town far away.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says again, voice choked up. He blinks out another set of tears, his throat and chest aching.

Hyunjin shakes his head, sorrowed eyes regretful. 

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says, and he shakes his head again, clearly frustrated with himself. “I’m sorry I got in between you and appa.”

Jisung looks at him in confusion.

“I’ll give you guys some space,” Minho says, excusing himself.

Jisung misses his hand when he lets go.

“I never meant to get in the way,” Hyunjin explains, watery eyes panicked and guilty. “I was just so scared to get on his bad side. I never meant for any of it to happen the way it did.”

“Hyunjin-ah, it’s not your fault.” Jisung steps closer and holds Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Hyunjin sniffles. “I always thought you hated me for it.”

"No.” Jisung shakes his head. “Never.”

He rubs Hyunjin’s shoulder. He retreats into his thoughts for a moment, the words he wants to say burning the tip of his tongue.

“I was jealous,” Jisung blurts out.

Hyunjin blinks at him, shocked.

“Because you were the perfect prince and everybody loved you.” Jisung swallows. “Appa loved you.”

Hyunjin shakes his head.

“That’s not true,” Hyunjin says. “He didn’t love me. He didn’t love anyone.”

Jisung breathes shakily. Hyunjin’s words set something free in him.

“I don’t even think he loved himself.” Hyunjin lets out a humourless chuckle. “But I met you because of him,” Hyunjin smiles at him, “and I love you, so that’s all that matters.”

Jisung’s mouth wobbles with another onset of tears, and he and Hyunjin wrap their arms around each other.

“I love you, too,” Jisung whispers into Hyunjin’s shoulders through the tears running down his face.

“I’m going to be a better king than him,” Hyunjin says determinedly, like it’s his promise to Jisung. Jisung already knows he’ll keep it.

“I know you will.” Jisung smiles into Hyunjin’s shoulder. 

Warm coffee floats in the air between, cinnamon and rose, lilac and lattes. They hold each other for as long as they need to, before they pull apart, wiping their tears with the backs of their hands.

“Do you want to find Minho-hyung before we inside?”

“Yeah,” Jisung breathes, wiping away the last of his tears.

He steps out into the hallway and finds Minho lingering in the foyer, standing in front of one of the tall windows. Jisung smiles, looking at the way the sunlight shines on him through the glass. Jisung’s heart rises like the morning sun at just the simple sight of Minho.

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung calls out.

Minho quickly turns around at the sound of Jisung’s voice, then hurries over to him.

“Hey,” he says softly, wiping Jisung’s cheek with his thumb, even though there are no more tears left to wipe. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Jisung nods.

Minho looks down at Jisung softly, not saying anything, caressing his face gently with his thumb.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Minho whispers in the quiet space.

“Don’t be.” Jisung shrugs, looking away. “He was already dead to me.”

Minho smiles at him sadly, then pulls him into a hug. 

“You’re allowed to be sad, Jisung-ah,” Minho says into his hair.

“I know,” Jisung says, and he means it. He’s not afraid of darkness anymore. It's no longer so consuming, now that he's been pulled out of it and into the light.

Minho cups the back of his head.

“So, what now?” Minho queries.

Jisung breathes out.

“We go to this meeting," he answers, "we listen to what the advisors say about what to do next,” he continues, “Hyunjin eventually becomes King, and then…”

When Jisung's words trail off is when he realises he and Minho are looking at each other like there's nothing else worth looking at. Minho’s fingers gently scratch the nape of Jisung’s neck. With those same fingers, he caresses down the side of Jisung’s neck, ghosting over his scent gland. Jisung lets out a short breath, and his heart skips a beat. Minho’s fingertips linger, tracing the shape of a mating bite on his skin. 

Jisung knows this shouldn't be on his mind right now, not right after the tragic death of his father and stepmother, but it’s all he can think about. In the chaos that surrounds them, Jisung's only thoughts are of a simple life. It had only ever been a dream before, but now that Minho’s shown him a glimpse of the possibility, Jisung wants the full thing. He wants three cats, a cosy place to stay, and frequent visits to a record shop.

“And then?” Minho whispers.

Jisung’s eyes flutter shut and he holds Minho tighter. Minho holds him back just as tight. The sun shines in through all the windows of the foyer, and Jisung can see the light through his closed eyelids.

“And then you take me back home.”