It’s entirely cliché, but he is woken by white light shining into his eyelids. The light intensifies and Donghae thinks that perhaps the westerners weren’t just spinning tales when they preached about bright lights in the afterlife. It is only when the pain floods in and someone calls his name that he realizes that perhaps he isn’t in heaven after all.

More likely this is hell, and the devil is trying to torment him with the voice of someone he knows cannot be here.

He shuts his eyes again (idly wondering if they could be in death) and refuses to open them even as the tempting voice draws closer and a shadow blocks the glaring light. “Donghae?”

And Donghae, determination and all, opens his eyes because he is human and cannot restrain himself from temptation for long. “Hyuk…jae…?”

He lets out a silent gasp when he’s suddenly wrapped in a warm embrace, and still, he thinks that the devil really knows his business, taking Donghae’s heart and healing it before the real torture and pain can start. He dares not say a word, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to this phantom Hyukjae rant.

“God, Donghae. I was just so worried… My heart stopped when I saw the note you left me, and I thought it was because I had been neglecting you that you upped and left. Then, thankfully, I overhead one of the maids gossiping about how Siwon had gone to see you before you took off. And I actually confronted him… and now that I think about it… I’m just grateful that he let me go out of that room without beheading me himself-”

“What?!” Donghae jerks upright, ignoring the cry of protest his stomach makes. Panting a little, breath suddenly short, he stares at a stunned Hyukjae and scowls. “What did you do that nearly got you beheaded?”

“Er… mostly rules of etiquette?” Hyukjae answers dazedly before he realizes that Donghae is up when he shouldn’t be. “Hey! Lie down, you’re still not well yet.”

Donghae dodges Hyukjae’s insistent arms, feeling strangely energetic. He looks down at his stomach, realizing that his robe is loose and he can see the bandages wrapped around his stomach. They look meticulous and are tight without being restrictive – like the way love is supposed to be.

“I… I was… stabbed.” Donghae blinks, and it all comes back – the running away, the cowardice, the pain… and then the unforeseen hope that a pair of swords brought. “And… then… what happened?”

Hyukjae sighs, his heart already speeding up at the memory of what had happened. “I came just in time… We had a really stressful time, running around, trying to find you after we stormed into the establishment. Thankfully, we were saved time wrangling details from Mama-san since Leeteuk-sshi was so cooperative… And I thought I lost you there for a moment. Your heart stopped for a while, just before they rolled you into the ER…”

A hand slides up Donghae cheek, and surprised, he jumps at the touch only to hear a wry snort. “Sorry… This is all my fault…”

“Why?” Donghae tilts his head, hands reaching up to stop the hand before it retracts.

“Because, if I had been there beside you, none of this would have happened.” Hyukjae replies as if it’s obvious, and Donghae doesn’t understand.

“But I was the one who doubted you.” Donghae protests in a whisper, looking away in shame. Now he thinks maybe this is some sort of punishment, and he has to review his sins and atone for them. “I ran away, all because of some silly fears. I thought I was being sacrificial, that I was protecting you from the crown prince’s disapproval. That by leaving, I would prevent dragging you down with me. But the truth was, I was just scared. Scared that you didn’t love me anymore.”

He half expects Hyukjae to start talking in a gravely deep voice and have flames start shooting out of his eyes as he turns into the devil which will throw Donghae down into hell, but instead, he’s caught into yet another warm embrace, so tight that his ribs squeak in protest.

“Silly.” Hyukjae scolds – and although Donghae has been expecting admonishment, it is not of this sort. “Idiot… why would I stop loving you? You’re everything that I need, everything that I want. My sun, my moon, my stars, my heart, my air, my food, my water, my candy, my light, my… my… whatever other clichés people usually use when declaring their love.”

A squawk of a laugh is wrestled from Donghae’s lips, and he wonders what kind of devil is this. But then, the warm wet that drips onto his hair and cheeks tells him that, no, this is not some kind of strange other-world scenario; that Hyukjae is really holding him.

That everything – all of this, was real. That he wouldn’t wake up, the curtains rustling in the wind, heart warm, only to find that it had been all a dream, that in his desperation, he’d imagined the love of his life to feel the empty hole that has been there since forever.

That there really is a person call Lee Hyukjae, crown prince of Chousen, with blond hair, brown eyes and a kindness that spans across villages of happy smiles and a heart that beats in synch with his own.

He doesn’t know why, but a glint on the dressing table distracts him. He sees a bunch of ceramic pieces, some bent metal and a ton of sapphires and it takes a while for him to realize it is his hairpin – the one in the form of a lotus and the symbol of the flower he once represented.

‘Once’ being the acting word. And Donghae smiles – the hairpin was valuable, but he realizes that he’s happy that it’s been shattered. Somehow, it’s a fitting way to declare that he is no longer ‘Renge’. He is no longer the lotus – the flower who is far from the one he loves because the one he loves is right in front of him. Right now.

And outside, the vendors call for people’s attention, and the goldfish carry happily on, flopping like fools. Cries of bids ring out to purchase a night’s fancy and ambrosia clink in their pouches as jaded Zinnia escape into manufactured relief.

And somewhere, there is talk of war. Tensions are high, relationships strained. People embrace before they part, torn by issues beyond their control. Someone is left crying at the port, cursing the unfairness of it all.

Change is coming – some whisper. The foreign gold hair and blue eyes bringing both hope and fear. The future whispers not its being to anyone, and everyone fears what it may bring.

But here, inside Hyukjae’s warm embrace. Donghae realizes that he doesn’t care.

‘Tomorrow.’ He thinks. The sadness, the pain, the hurt, the uncertainty – that all can wait for tomorrow. And Donghae thinks that, tomorrow, maybe, he can even save the world.

He rests his head against Hyukjae’s chest and smiles. And they whisper sweet nothings of the days to come. Of Market days, of temple days, of rice days and all the other sorts. Of all the days except of tomorrow.

And everyone knows that, truly, tomorrow never comes.

~*~