For a few hours, Jonghun was actually tolerable.

It didn't seem right to Hongki, having Jonghun look at him and not immediately spout something obnoxious. It felt so wrong, so out of character, to see Jonghun walk beside him and not pick something petty to about. Hongki kept waiting for him to complain about how hot the sun was, or how much his feet hurt from walking too much, or how there were too many bugs flying around his face for his indoorsy self's taste.

It would have been so like Jonghun to demand someone to fan him with palm fronds, or hold an umbrella over his head, or lay down a damn red carpet for him to walk across. Prince Jonghun just didn't function without an army of peasants to do his bidding, Hongki had learned that much.

But when none of these things happened, and Jonghun merely continued to walk quietly at Hongki's side, his callused hand wrapped securely around Hongki's, the latter began to wonder what happened to the claws and teeth and hackles Jonghun bared at anyone and everyone. This tame and docile side of Jonghun appeared so suddenly, so unexpectedly and so out of the blue, Hongki wasn't quite sure how to react to it.

What was it about this place that held back Jonghun's fiery words and crushing hostility?

Hongki could lie and pretend he didn't notice the dramatic shift of emotions swirling in those dark eyes of his. The fiery hostility that spun out of control on a daily basis had dulled into little more than a simmering flicker, but in its place settled a shadowy sadness and undeniable nostalgia. Instead of feeling the urge to bicker with him or snap a snarky remark, Hongki realized there was the faintest hint of a connection with him, a connection that pulled and tugged and resonated deep within his heart.

Things he shouldn't feel for Jonghun, things Hongki denied feeling, things that he hadn't felt for anyone but his best friend, for Wonbin, it made his head spin, and his heart hurt. Hongki shouldn't have felt such a persistent ache in his chest. His heart shouldn't have been filled with this paralyzing sense of longing, of desire, of a need to be held and loved and assured that he wasn't the only one hurting.

He shouldn't have liked holding Jonghun's hand as much he did. He shouldn't have enjoyed the warmth soaking into his hand from callused fingertips and a rough palm. With their fingers linked through one another, it became obvious to Hongki that Jonghun was no rookie in the music department; those calluses were thick, rugged, formed not from a few weeks or even months of practice, but from many, many years.

These hands, Hongki realized, they didn't belong to an idol.

These were the hands of a musician.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hongki finally managed out some time later, as they walked alongside each other, linked at the hands and wandering from from booth to booth. He watched as Jonghun shot him a look, warily eyeing him from the corner of his eye.

“Eating a dumpling?” Jonghun asked more than stated, brow wrinkling at the center. “You got a problem with that?”

Hongki rolled his eyes. “No, Jonghun, forget about the dumpling for a minute.” Swiping the dumpling from Jonghun's hand, he ignored his indignant 'hey!' and aimed a meaningful look at his face. “You're a musician, Jonghun, so what the hell are you doing playing idol band and making a fool of yourself on reality shows?”

Jonghun stopped dead in his tracks.

“Gee, tell me how you really feel,” he grumbled, making a face.

“You know what I mean,” sighed Hongki. “You don't want to be doing this, do you?” At this, Jonghun's gaze flicked elsewhere, and Hongki knew he had hit the nail on the head. Hongki regarded him calmly, speaking softly for once. “Jonghun, what are you doing here? What are you doing, running around with 'idol' attached to your name?”

“I never asked for that!” he snapped all of a sudden, gaze flicking back to settle on Hongki's face. His dark gaze brimmed with an unsettling seriousness—a seriousness unlike the fury Hongki had grown accustomed to seeing. No, this wasn't an angry gaze. There was something else there, something that was soft, hurt, vulnerable. “I never asked to be an idol.”

“Then why are you still doing it?” Hongki challenged.

“Because I was told I would get to write, that I would get to make music that's mine,” Jonghun shook his head and smiled bitterly. “There isn't one song with my name on it, and it really pisses me off that I gave up everything for this, and it was all a lie. Every damn bit of it.”

“You could quit.”

“You don't get it, Hongki,” grumbled Jonghun, this time as a hopeless sigh escaped his lips. “Without this, I have nothing.”

“Nothing at all?” Certainly that couldn't be true. Jonghun could have anything he wanted. All he needed to do was snap his fingers, and a dozen different servants would come running, ready to head his every beck and call. He was Prince Jonghun, wasn't he? He had everything, didn't he?

Jonghun clenched his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating.

“I dropped out of high school,” was the bombshell Jonghun dropped on him a moment later, causing Hongki to frown. He certainly hadn't expected that. “I left my family. I spent all these years chasing after a stupid, childish dream that I'm not even sure I have anymore. My parents...” Jonghun swallowed thickly, taking his lower lip between his teeth. “I haven't seen my parents in eight years. If I give this up, then I really have no where else to go.”

“That's not true,” Hongki murmured, unable to deny the painful tug in his chest at Jonghun's words.

Jonghun scoffed. “What, are you offering yourself up for me?”

Hongki grimaced. “Jonghun, I am rude, and sarcastic, and I have absolutely no time for bull. But I'm not heartless. If you need somewhere to go, you have it. I can't promise I'll still have a place, but I'm sure you'll find me anyway.” It was a little bit creepy, actually, how easily he'd dug up Hongki's address.

Jonghun stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowing the slightest fraction. “Are you having money trouble?”

“A little bit,” Hongki admitted, and he nearly wanted to scoff at himself. Understatement of the year. Shrugging, he then breathed through a sigh. “But I'll manage. I always do.”

It was with this sentiment that Hongki decided that, despite his initial judgment, Jonghun wasn't really that bad. Not all the time, at least. He was obnoxious, and demanding, and had a serious star complex along with heaping helping of prince disease, but every now and then Hongki caught a glimpse of something else, something much softer and far more reserved than he'd grown accustomed to. Jonghun could bristle and snap at people all he wanted, but Hongki would never buy it. He couldn't, especially after everything Jonghun had told him—everything he had shared with him.

It nagged at Hongki, the thought of opening up to Jonghun, of sharing the kinds of things he had shared. It was too much, too personal, too painful, to dig up the things Hongki had spent so many years trying to smother. He'd kept it all locked away for so long, he wasn't even sure if he still remembered how to open his heart to someone. Was he really capable of caring so deeply for someone again? Could he honestly say he wanted to, that he wanted to let himself take that leap and expose himself to such a shattering vulnerability?

These were the questions that burned themselves into Hongki's thoughts, spiraling around his head, taunting him.

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur. The sun shifted in the sky, closer to the horizon, and painted the sky a glowing, colorful canvas of orange and pink. Together, Hongki and Jonghun wandered the rest of the market, stopping to snack at nearly every stall, and playing cheesy carnival-esque games—which Hongki kicked at, thank you very much—despite Jonghun's constant whining of “I let you win,” and “It's rigged.”

“You are such a sore loser,” Hongki scoffed when he, once again, kicked Jonghun's bony little in a simple game of throwing baseballs at a stack of empty milk bottles. It was here that Hongki discovered that Jonghun's aim really, really, hilariously , when he missed the bottles completely and then nearly gave the poor teen running the booth a black eye had she not ducked at the last second to avoid Jonghun's depressingly bad throw.

“I'm not a sore loser,” Jonghun grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, a childish glower on his face. “You're a cheater.”

“No, you're just mad because I got free homemade chocolate, and you didn't.” Hongki grinned and waved the celebratory chocolate in Jonghun's face, taking far too much pleasure in bragging and taunting him with it. He knew it was childish, and petty, but damn it all, winning had never felt so good. Come on, it was homemade chocolate. Let him have this moment of victory.

“I hate chocolate,” Jonghun childishly grumbled, to which Hongki responded with a raise of his brow.

“Oh, do you? So you won't mind if I just stand here and enjoy the sweet, sweet taste of victory?” Jonghun rolled his eyes at this, but when Hongki merely unwrapped the chocolate bar and voraciously took a huge bite out of it, he immediately winced and grimaced.

Jonghun eyed him warily. “What? What's with that face?”

“It... It tastes like sadness.”

Jonghun blinked at him, and then immediately shoved his hand out. “Give me that,” he demanded. After taking one bite, he perfectly mirrored Hongki's reaction. Eyes widening, Jonghun then stared at the rest of the chocolate in horror. “Oh my god, it does taste like sadness.”

“It's horrible, isn't it?” Hongki cried, though he still continued munching on it. “Why is it so bitter?”

“Why are you still eating it?!” Jonghun hissed, to which Hongki responded with a shake of his head.

“I don't know. It makes me want to cry.”

Before long, the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and darkness settled upon the earth. Lights from the booths and stalls illuminated the area, and just as the moon began to rise higher in the sky, Jonghun's hand found its way around his own once more, tugging him along after him. Hongki nearly wanted to sigh. Jonghun was getting just a bit too touchy today. This couldn't become a regular thing—it wouldn't become a regular thing. Hongki couldn't have Jonghun grabbing at his hand whenever he wanted, or snaking an arm around his shoulder, or his waist, or even worse, trying to kiss him without any regard as to who's around.

Hongki shook his head.

It couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. Not with Jonghun.

Still, as Jonghun's hand remained firmly wrapped around his own, Hongki couldn't deny that familiar tug at his heart.

“Oh, so this is the part where you kill me and then bury my body in a ditch,” Hongki cracked once Jonghun tugged him through the rest of the market, away from the dissipating crowd and closer to the hill overlooking the market.

“No, Hongki,” Jonghun sighed, his grip on Hongki's hand tightening a bit. “Just zip it and follow me. You'll like this, I promise.”

“I doubt that,” Hongki mumbled.

With only a flashlight Jonghun had pulled from his bag—the only thing he had pulled from his bag all day—to light the way up the narrow dirt path Jonghun had led him to, Hongki came to the conclusion that this spot was probably where he was going to breathe his last breath. Jonghun was going to murder him and then hurl his body down the hill like a sack of potatoes. He was just going to leave him there for the vultures, or the bears, or wolves, or whatever other wildlife lived out here in the hills.

Great. Hongki was about to be animal fodder.

The nighttime breeze gently ghosted across the earth, rustling the grass and stirring the branches of the trees. Crickets and locusts sang their chirps and chippers from out sight. Hongki breathed though another sigh, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his piercings as he followed after Jonghun.

Well, if Hongki was going to die here, at least he'd die in a peaceful place with a nice view. Like that was any consolation.

Finally, after trekking all the way to the top of the hill, Jonghun decided they'd walked far enough. Pausing in his steps, Jonghun let go of Hongki's hand and carelessly shrugged off his bag. It fell to the ground with a quiet 'thwack', and Jonghun hardly missed a beat before hunching over and rummaging through its contents. Tools for his murder, Hongki presumed?

“Are we going to start a grass fire?” Hongki sputtered when Jonghun tossed a box of matches at him, which he caught without really thinking. “Because I'll tell you now, arson isn't exactly on my bucket list, and I definitely don't want Smokey the bear after my for a few forgotten matches.” When Jonghun ignored him and merely continued rummaging, Hongki huffed. “Jonghun, seriously, what the hell are you—where did you get those?”

Hongki stopped short once he finally caught sight of what Jonghun had been hiding in there all day. There was no shovel, no knives, no weapons at all, but instead quite the assortment of fireworks. Hongki could only stand and stare for a moment, because Jonghun had been lugging this bag around all damn day, just for the chance to light some fireworks? This... This just didn't make sense.

“I know a guy,” Jonghun said dismissively, before he stood to his feet and handed Hongki a Roman candle. “Now are you going to light them, or am I?”

“You're insane,” Hongki sputtered, though he couldn't deny the upward quirk of his lips at the idea. Jonghun's eyes glinted with the faint hint of mischief, and it wasn't long before the air around them was illuminated with bright and vibrant colors. It wasn't long before Hongki found himself smiling, laughing at absolutely nothing at all. It felt foreign to him, the feeling of a genuine smile, and the sound of a sincere laugh. Yet somehow, it also felt strangely, freeing, as if a tight, knotted bundle in his chest had just been unwound.

“Hongki, there's something I want to know,” Jonghun said after the last firework had been lit. Hongki hummed in response, watching as the final blaze slowly fizzled out. Glancing over at Jonghun, who stood no more than a few inches away, Hongki cocked his head to the side.

“I'll probably regret this, but okay. Ask away.”

“You worked at an academy before,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft, thoughtful even. “Performing arts school, right? What were you doing there?”

“Really? That's what you want to know?” Hongki couldn't help but blurt out, eyebrows nearly rising right into his hairline. He figured Jonghun would have wanted to ask the obvious question, the one everyone asked, and the one no one understood. Why did he quit singing? Why did he give up his voice? Everybody in the whole damn world wanted him to sing, but Jonghun only wanted to know about his previous employment? Seriously?

When Jonghun said nothing and merely continued peering at him expectantly, Hongki sighed.

“I was a vocal coach.”

Jonghun's brow knit together in confusion. “But you left to come work here?”

Hongki sighed, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his earrings. “That's not exactly the way things went.”

“So you were fired.”

“I quit,” Hongki muttered, before a humorless smile tugged at his lips. “That's the official story, at least.”

Jonghun stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I was given a choice. Either I quit on my own accord, or I let them take certain accusations to the board and have them ruin my life and any chance at a future job. You understand where this is going, right?”

“Not really.”

Hongki blew a puff of air through his lips. He'd never really talked about this, about the real reason he had to leave his previous job. Most of the time, he just made up some bullcrap about how it wasn't a good fit, or there were personal differences, or a better opportunity had come along. It was just easier to lie about it. Running a hand through his hair, Hongki scrunched his nose, keeping his gaze focused only on the marketplace below.

“They found out about a relation I had with one of my coworkers. Instead of owning up to it, the bastard decided to cover his and save his job by saying I was the one who seduced him, that I came onto him, that I took advantage of him. It's all bull.”

Hongki grimaced and nearly spat out the words, finding they had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He was the one who was all over me. He was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. It was him who came onto me. No one cared what I had to say about it, and once they decided I was the one at fault, they had to get rid of me. Their reasoning was if I had taken advantage of a coworker, what's to stop my pathetic, disgusting self from taking advantage of a student?”

Hongki shook his head, and finally he met Jonghun's gaze, finding him peering back at him with an undeniable intensity.

“Jonghun, I never laid a hand on any of those kids. I lost my job over a bunch of made up bull. A job I really liked, where I felt like I was actually doing something important. I gave up on my dreams, but was it really so wrong to help kids reach theirs?”

“No,” Jonghun murmured. “That's not wrong at all.”

“You know,” Hongki said softly, feeling a small creep onto his face. “When you're like this, it's easy to forget you're a huge pain in my . Why can't you be like this all the time?”

Jonghun rolled his eyes. “I have an image to upkeep.”

“Was that a joke?” Hongki raised an eyebrow and leant closer, and he could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Are you... are you trying to be playful with me right now?”

“As if,” he scoffed.

Hongki hummed in response. “Hey, Jonghun.”

“What?”

“You're a lot like a paper tiger. You look really scary, but once you get past the teeth and the claws, you're actually quite fragile.”

><><><><

A/N

The story will begin to pick up in the coming chapters.
There is so much that has to happen, but I don't want to rush into it.
There were a few necessary things that needed some light shed on them before moving forward.
I hope the pace feels steady enough to you. :)

Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and upvoting!
I'm blown away by all the support, and I hope you enjoy what's to come.
Until next time~