Minseok was in the kitchen skyping Jongin and his family when Yeonhee shuffled in, yawning, for breakfast.  He waved her over to introduce her to his wife and daughter, who Jongin was gurgling to in babyspeak as he cradled her in his arms, oblivious to the fact that he was on camera.  As Yeonhee put on the kettle and set about making herself coffee, he said his goodbyes.

“Is the prince up yet?” he asked as Yeonhee waited for the coffee to brew.  She belatedly glanced at the table to see how many cutlery and crockery sets had been used in case she needed to offer him breakfast, only to see that he had a finished bowl of cereal in front of him and that there were only two clean sets out.  She frowned.  Yixing was an early bird and her mother often slept in late at the weekends, but if Minseok hadn’t seen him yet, it might mean he was still asleep.  She shrugged.

“Oh, well, there are a couple of articles about you,” Minseok said, scrolling through a couple of internet pages on his tablet.  “As in, there are a couple of blog posts theorising that Pencilmania might be the prince’s girlfriend because of the phoenix with the crown and your sketch of Junmyeon, but most people think it’s crazy because the prince was spotted in a Zenyu area of town yesterday buying flowers and according to everybody who as at the ball you’re Zenyu and everybody’s certain Pencilmania is Hanmi.  The only danger is if somebody connects Pencilmania to you or if there are photos of the prince in his pokéball cap out and about with you, but you being Pencilmania is more likely to convince them that Pencilmania isn’t the girlfriend and it’s not going to hit the news today anyway because there’s been a massive outbreak of ethnic violence in one of the north-east counties and apparently the police force there has imploded and factionalised along ethnic lines and the mayor’s asking if the army can be called in.”

“That sounds bad,” Yeonhee croaked out, warming her hands on her steaming mug of coffee.

“It is,” said Minseok.  “His highness will probably have to make a couple of calls and talk to a few people today, but the Internal Security department of the Home Office is one of the few that’s actually fully functioning and competently run, so he doesn’t need to get that involved.  The palace is aiming to put out a statement by lunch, but the prince can delegate everything and sit back.  It does him good to have a break every so often.”  He glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall, and Yeonhee followed his gaze.  It was already quarter to ten.

It wasn’t until half past eleven that Yixing finally emerged, blinking sleepily at his surroundings.

“I think I slept through my alarm,” he confessed to Yeonhee as she fetched him the milk from the fridge to put on his cereal.  “I can’t remember the last time I got up this late.”

“Probably the last time you were too ill to actually get out of bed.”

Yixing winced.  “Fair.”

“It would do you good to get more than five hours’ sleep a night, you know.”

“I got the best part of elev—”

“On a regular basis.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chirped, flooding his cereal with milk.  “What’s the plan for the day?”

Thankfully, Minseok was right and Yixing didn’t have to spend more than forty-five minutes on the ethnic violence incident.  It was clear it didn’t leave his mind during the rest of the day, but he felt it was in capable enough hands to be able to relax and enjoy himself anyway.  He also seemed to be very encouraged by how warmly Yeonhee’s parents were treating him: the previous day, he’d been pretty quiet around them, nervous about actually starting conversations.  By the end of lunch, he was joking freely with them as though he’d known them for years, apparently regaining some of his confidence from when they’d all been round to the palace for tea.  Yeonhee’s mum even had to shoo him away from trying to help with the washing up afterwards.

“Such a well-mannered young man,” Shinae said blissfully as Yeonhee flitted round the kitchen with a tape measure, trying to figure out where to put up a couple of small paintings she’d done.  “I hope he’s able to come round more often.”

Yeonhee paused for a moment, struck that that would actually be a possibility after the press conference.  “He’d probably like that.”

Once she was satisfied with where she was going to put the paintings, she went in search of a hammer and nails, which required purloining them from her father, who was in the middle of assembling a large chest of drawers in the spare room that he’d cleaned out that week, Minseok and Yixing both helping him.  When she returned to put the hammer back, she remained just inside the door for a bit, watching them.  Yixing looked almost as carefree as he had done the day he’d been playing the guitar on the balcony.  Siwoo and Minseok were both cracking terrible dad jokes as they moved things about, Yixing sometimes pointing out that they were trying to assemble something incorrectly.  She left when her father started telling even worse prince jokes (“how many princes does it take to change a light bulb?  You peasants actually think a prince would change a light bulb?  That’s what servants are for!”), but returned an hour or so later to paint the newly installed window frame while they put together a bed.  Her dad had graduated to telling stories about his time as a university student, when he had by all accounts been a bit of a wild child, and Yixing listened to him with interest as he talked about what it had been like to be a Hamni student back then in a predominantly Zenyu environment.

The topic had migrated round to the king by the time it came to tea.  Minseok was catching up with various security reports and had sequestered himself back into Siwoo’s study to do so, which had lessened the boisterous atmosphere quite a lot, but Yixing became noticeably very quiet at the mention of his father’s.  Yeonhee saw her mother mouthing to Siwoo that it was best to change the topic, but before he could, Yixing shook his head and spoke up.

“I don’t have many people to talk to about my father,” he said.  There was a pause before he added, “it’s difficult.  I can’t always take my mind of him by working and there seems to be this general kind of attitude that because it happened months ago and he’s still alive I’ve got over it.”  Yixing absently pulled the crusts off his toast.  “The doctors reckon he probably won’t remember me if he ever even wakes up.  I want him to wake up so badly, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it if he does and he doesn’t even recognise me.”

“That’s rough,” said Yeonhee’s father sympathetically.  Yixing managed a weak smile.

“Unfortunately it’s also life.”

“Well, any time you need a break from it, feel free to drop by,” Yeeonhee’s father said gruffly.

Yixing’s smile spread just a little.  “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

During a quiet period before dinner, Yixing took the opportunity to have a serious conversation with Yeonhee about bodyguards and handling the public spotlight.

“This is going to be very unlike what you’re used to,” he warned her.  “People will go out of their way to find reasons to criticise you.  You might well get people staking out the house or your dorm building at university, and like as not you will get people insulting you.  They’