It was one thing to be told you were a prince. It was another to actually see how a prince lives, to experience it for yourself. And Minseok was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the changes to his everyday life, even if he hadn’t really claimed his title.

The forest had been the only home he had known, vast and wild and quiet. He had grown accustomed to being the only person for miles, to the sounds of the woods and animals being the only thing that disturbed his peace. Surrounded by trees, it was easy to forget that there was a whole city of people nearby.

But he had been reminded of it quickly as he followed Junmyeon and Jongdae through the gates. Perhaps it was his lingering illness that led to his nerves being drawn tight, but even if he had been completely healthy, he doubted he would have even been ready for such a drastic change of scenery.

First, the sounds were different. It wasn’t the calm air that hung over the woods, but busy, as if a hum settled over the group as they walked. And the structures. The buildings were massive works of wood and stone, which made his cottage in the woods seem like a shed. The castle, of course, was impressive, but every building seemed grander, more complex. Even Jongdae’s home, a modest house along the gates, was large enough to hold his entire cottage in the front room.

He was stepping out of his simplistic comfort zone and being thrown into something new and different and complicated.

Though, to be fair, he wasn’t the only one having a difficult time adjusting. Seeing as Junmyeon couldn’t very well take in random strangers without the others noticing, they had arranged to keep it within a select few, at least, mainly consisting of those Minseok had saved from bandits so long ago. No one, save the group he had come to call friends and Chanyeol and Tao, knew him as anything different than a new stable hand. The king and queen - his parents - didn’t even know he was here, a thought that he found surprisingly relieving. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to meet the people who, in his mind, had become mere ideas.

The lack of awareness in the castle, however, didn’t make it any easier to handle. The look that Lay - Yixing, he corrected himself - wore on his face when he saw Minseok was enough to assure of that, a frown marring his features. Junmyeon had fed him the story that Xiumin had fallen ill and had been brought along so he did not have to battle his sickness alone. And though Yixing had berated Junmyeon for, once again, acting recklessly without consulting him, the advisor was not against Minseok being close by. Yifan, having seen Yixing’s reaction, warmed up much quicker, no doubt excited for some entertainment while he stayed at the palace for the next month or two.

The guards were tougher to win over. While they recognized Minseok as the man who had saved their group in the woods, that recognition had won him no points. If anything, it seemed to make them more hesitant, Chanyeol more vocal in his distress, though the captain was not so much upset about Minseok’s presence as he was with Junmyeon’s secrecy. As a friend and a member of Junmyeon’s personal guard, he was disappointed in being left out of the loop, especially when it could have cost Junmyeon his safety and perhaps his life.

But like anything Chanyeol did, the taller man took it in stride, and accepted that whatever the reason for hiding it before, Junmyeon had at least confided in him now, and that was all he could ask. Once Chanyeol had made up his mind to accept Minseok into the castle, Zitao followed suit, earning a bright smile from Yifan for his efforts. Within the span of a day, Minseok was readily accepted among the group, all of which formed a formidable force at keeping his identity as Xiumin the Bandit Slayer under wraps, Junmyeon and Jongdae. And of course, only Junmyeon and Jongdae knew of Minseok’s true identity, which made blending in a hell of a lot easier.

It took two days for Minseok to start feeling like himself again, forced to stay in bed by a certain stable hand and an annoyingly protective younger brother. But he soon became restless, unable to stay indoors, and by the end of the fourth day, he had roamed through the outskirts of the castle grounds. He found the most solace in the stables, away from all of the hustle and bustle, though the horses were still an obstacle. An animal that large was not meant to be tamed, in his mind; yet he would admit that he was impressed with Jongdae’s ability to do just that.

Minseok had taken to accompanying Jongdae on most days, following him to the stables in the morning and watching the man move from stall to stall, tending to the horses. He even convinced Jongdae to give him tasks to do, chores that were hardly tough, but enough to keep him preoccupied. He was supposed to be a stable hand, after all.

At the moment, he was having to refill the troughs with water for the horses, carrying buckets filled to the brim from the well in the courtyard to each stall. He’d keep his distance as best as he could from the horses, but he did his task without complaint. All the while, he kept an eye on Jongdae, who was busy brushing down one of the stallions a few stalls down.

The animal was beautiful, with a white coat and a strong, solid frame. Beautiful, but intimidating. Though this horse was a bit older, he could no doubt cause trouble if he wanted to throw his weight around, and Minseok had watched warily as the animal stomped a hoof in annoyance when the stable hand brushed a little too close to his snout. But Jongdae was as calm as ever as he moved around the creature, humming softly to himself and shushing the horse like a patient parent when he got agitated.

When the horse nipped at Jongdae’s shoulder, Minseok couldn’t keep from commenting.

“Do you always get bit by the horses?”

Jongdae snorted at the words, shooting the other a smirk. “That was hardly a bite. He merely lipped at my shirt. Lay tends to be playful during his grooming.”

“Lay?” Minseok asked, one eyebrow raised, and Jongdae laughed.

“Jun’s stallion. Yixing refused to talk to Jun for about a day when he introduced him with that name. Though I hardly think it was meant as an insult,” Jongdae said as he gave the horse an affectionate pat on the nose. “He’s a big softie.”

“Who could crush you, if he wished,” Minseok countered, eying the horse. “I don’t see how you do it.”

“Do what?” Jongdae questioned, head tilted to the side as he regarded Minseok quietly.

“Work with them so calmly,” Minseok replied, his hand shooting out to indicate the stable hand’s interaction with Lay.

“Practice, I suppose,” Jongdae said with a shrug, and Minseok moved closer to the stall, leaning against the rail that separated them. The horse watched him as he moved, tossing his head a little bit, but Jongdae shushed him again and the stallion relaxed.

The reaction was enough to have a skeptical look crossing Minseok’s features.

“But aren’t you afraid?” Minseok asked, watching as Jongdae brushed over the horse’s back. “They can be dangerous.”

“Yes, they can be,” Jongdae admitted. “But after a while, the horses stop being scary. You get used to things, learn to handle them.”

“But what if you can’t control them?” Minseok mused softly, his fingers following the grain in the wood rail as he spoke.

Jongdae paused at that, his hand with the brush hovering momentarily over the horse’s flank, but he recovered quickly, sending Minseok a small smile to accompany another shrug.

“I can’t control a lot of things. Worrying will do me no good.”

Minseok didn’t know when the topic turned away from the horses. But suddenly, they were out of the stables, and back at the cottage, the air much heavier than before. He knew Jongdae was hurting after the curse’s reveal, even if he never voiced it, but as he watched Jongdae go about his work, he focused on the man's expression. Jongdae's lips remained curled on the edges, his smile notably a little sadder than before, but still there.

“Not many have that outlook,” he said with his own dimmed grin. Without turning to face Minseok, Jongdae let out a soft chuckle.

“I’ve come to realize that things have a way of working themselves out, if you let them.”

Minseok's grin widened, and he shook his head at the reply. "That seems awfully optimistic."

Jongdae snorted at the words, finally stepping away from the horse and facing Minseok with an amused expression. Whether Jongdae had caught Minseok’s nod to the words the stable hand had said in the cottage or not, Minseok found he preferred this expression to the somber look he had worn moments before.

“What can I say?” Jongdae laughed, letting out a wistful sigh as he met Minseok’s gaze. “Life is easier when you look for the light.”

Jongdae seemed to find his own words to be humorous, as he laughed quietly to himself once more, shaking his head. He scratched at his neck, the loose work shirt pulling across his shoulders as he did so, and Minseok couldn’t help but admire the visual affirmation of Jongdae’s hard work and dedication in the form of lean muscles and a trim waist.

“I better keep moving,” Jongdae said with his chuckle, pulling Minseok from his musings, “I have a few more horses to groom before dinner is served.”

When he went to pass through the stall door, ready to move to the next horse, Minseok couldn’t help but reach out. He had never been one for contact, but something inside him ached with a need to stop Jongdae, to hold him there for a moment longer. His fingers wrapped gently around the man’s wrist, waiting until Jongdae stilled before he slid his hand down over the swell of the other’s thumb, settling around his palm.

It was strange, initiating contact. Minseok had spent the majority of his life avoiding others, keeping to himself, and yet here he was, reaching out for another. But the thrill of making that small step, the tingle of anxiousness in his gut as his fingers found warm, calloused hands – honest and hardworking hands – was enough to make him consider trying to reach out more often. At least, when it concerned Jongdae.

The stable hand watched him quietly, slightly bewildered at the gesture, but Minseok only observed him, his eyes fixed on the man’s face. Even now, the man was smiling, a permanent fixture on his lips, and Minseok wondered if this were what Jongdae meant, if this were what made life easier. Because never in his life had Minseok seen a light quite as bright as Jongdae.

Minseok smiled after a moment, letting his fingers tighten their hold just barely in a squeeze, and Jongdae understood. Minseok hadn’t expected any less than that, knowing the man was perceptive of the people around him, and he practically beamed when Jongdae turned his hand in Minseok’s grip, squeezing back.

Neither said a word, only exchanging silent smiles before Jongdae gently pulled free.

“See if any of the horses need more hay,” Jongdae said as he moved to the next stall. “Some of them are gluttons, but it’s best to let them eat at their own pace.”

“You are truly trying to destroy my nerves,” Minseok groaned with a mock pout, a hard task to accomplish when he was still grinning like a fool. “I doubt I will ever get used to being so close to these animals.”

“Practice,” Jongdae reminded him, turning to walk backwards as he winked at Minseok. “You just need practice.”

Minseok chuckled, throwing Lay a curious look.

“Shall I start with you, then, Lay?”

When the stallion nickered at the mention of his name, Minseok grinned, moving off to get some fresh hay for his trough.

-

As an advisor, Yixing took pride in his ability to solve the issues that plagued Junmyeon’s mind.

It was his duty, after all. He was there for the prince to confide in, to guide him when he could not decide which way to go, and while Junmyeon was certainly a handful on most occasions, the title of advisor - and best friend - was not a light one. Junmyeon turned to him when he was lost, sought him out for his opinions.

Which was why it bothered Yixing that the prince was not doing so, now.

He suspected Xiumin’s unexpected arrival at the castle to be a possible reason for Junmyeon’s sudden lack of sharing, their hermit of a friend ushered in while still battling his illness. The change in the prince’s mood had happened after Xiumin’s arrival; he highly doubted that he would have have failed to notice Junmyeon’s reluctance to open up to him, had it started from something prior. But nothing had been said, and now, a week after the other’s appearance, Yixing questioned his judgment, especially when Yifan had jokingly accused Yixing of being jealous of the prince’s friendship with the man. And Yixing was not jealous, so he began to look for alternative causes.

He knew Junmyeon better than anyone, he’d argue. He noticed the minor things that made up his characteristics. His nervous ticks, the different nuances of his expressions, all of the things that were indicators to what was in his head. And though Junmyeon had given a valiant effort at hiding those thoughts, Yixing knew he was agitated by something. He just didn’t know what.

And none of his usual tactics were working for getting such highly guarded thoughts out of the other man. He had asked - politely, mind you - and was met with vague hand gestures and incomplete responses. He had dropped hints that were left dropped, Junmyeon refusing to take his baiting. If he weren’t above such things, he would have already threatened to involve Yifan, but the thought alone had him grimacing. He didn’t need Yifan to find out information. This was Junmyeon. If the rose had something to say, he would say it to the nightingale, of that Yixing was certain.

But he was left in silence, and Yixing was quickly growing worried. He had never had this much trouble getting Junmyeon to talk to him, but the sudden change in Junmyeon’s willingness to open up felt like an omen for things to come. Something had changed, whether it be Junmyeon or Yixing, and the advisor’s self-doubts were quick to place the blame on his abilities. It had always been one of Yixing’s saving graces as an advisor, knowing that, even if others did not trust him to guide the future leader of the kingdom, Junmyeon trusted him, had always trusted him with everything that happened in his life. But now, it seemed, that was not the case.

Which had led him to the gardens.

The Royal Rose Garden was almost always deserted, something Yixing never understood. The king had gifted his queen with the garden - which, in truth, was multiple gardens all in one - as a wedding present, and with such vibrant colors and wonderful fragrances, Yixing had always thought the gesture to be romantic. The queen spent much of her leisure time there when the roses were in bloom, smiling softly at the mix of red and white flowers. But asides from her majesty, not many ventured into the gardens, despite the family’s insistence that the gardens were meant to be enjoyed by all of the castle staff.

Yixing took full advantage of the invitation, however, and almost always came here to think over his more difficult problems. Like a prince not confiding in his advisor.

He let out a long sigh as he strolled through the rows of bushes, frowning at the recent weather’s toll on the blooms. The snow had surprised the kingdom this year, later than usual, and as a result, a large amount of the roses had been killed off, too delicate to endure the frost. He allowed his fingers to trace over one of those unfortunate roses, white petals wilted under the chill that still clung to the air, though the snow had melted days ago. This row of white roses had suffered greatly, it seemed, with only a few blossoms pulling through.

Other bushes were more fortunate, like the red roses in the lower half of the garden. That row had lost only a few flowers, the brilliant red color blooming in a show of defiance as if to mock the winter weather. Yixing wondered if it had less to do with the flower’s tenacity and more to do with the man he could see working at the end of the row.

“Do you ever go inside, Jongin?” Yixing called as he approached, smiling when the younger man looked up.

Kim Jongin, though young, just a few months older than Sehun, was one of the best gardeners the castle had seen in quite some time. He was a natural when it came to tending to the plants, knowing how to keep the roses healthy throughout the bloom cycle. The man had only joined the castle staff last year, and already he was gaining a name for himself by being a constant presence in the gardens. And his hard work was evident in his appearance, with tanned skin from days spent outdoors and a lean, muscular build. His nature was as gentle as his care of the flowers, kind and compassionate, and Yixing always found their friendly conversations enjoyable.

Jongin grinned at the advisor as he neared, shaking his head with a good-natured huff. “Not if I can help it. How are you, friend?”

“I have been better,” Yixing admitted with a small sigh, eyeing a particularly brilliant rose amid the others.

“Oh?” Jongin hummed, wiping his hands on his pants as he stood, not at all bothered by the dirt that now stained the fabric. Yixing was always surprised by the height of the other, Jongin’s youth and somewhat innocent nature almost comical with the way he towered over most of the castle staff. “What’s troubling you?”

“The prince is troubled, and therefore, so am I.”

“I see,” he hummed. “And what has been troubling Junmyeon?”

Yixing rolled his eyes, letting out a chuckle that was part amused and part exasperated, because did anyone besides himself address Junmyeon properly? But the thought was gone in an instant, the question more pressing at the moment.

“That is the problem. He has not told me any of his thoughts.”

Jongin’s brow scrunched in confusion, reaching out to pull some dead blossoms and branches from the bush as he worked through the words in his head. “You’ve asked?”

Yixing didn’t humor the question with a response, instead choosing to send the gardener a raised eyebrow. Jongin grinned, nodding his head.

“I figured you had. But it’s always best to be sure. And he’s evaded your questions, I assume?”

“Evaded questions, evaded advice, evaded any type of lesson that does not involve sparring,” Yixing laughed. “All typical behavior for the prince, would you not agree?” He sighed despite himself, the mirth fading around the edges of his smile. “But it does not seem like he trusts me with whatever it is that has clouded his mind as of late. He is being stubborn. More stubborn than usual. He will not tell me anything.”

“So I am not the only one Junmyeon refuses to answer?”

Yixing turned to see Kyungsoo approaching, the history tutor walking steadily towards them, his eyes trained on the advisor. It was always rare to see Kyungsoo outside of the study, though Yixing was certain that was more due to following Junmyeon around with his hectic schedule than Kyungsoo not having a life apart from history lessons. Still, Yixing was surprised to see him here in the gardens, of all places. Nevertheless, he greeted his friend with a brief smile and nod.

“You’ve noticed, too, then?”

“Noticed what?” Kyungsoo questioned, stopping in front of the pair. “His refusal to answer my history questions? That has been going on for quite some time.”

“Yes,” Yixing agreed before correcting, “though his lack of response has extended outside of my lessons, I fear. Something seems to be bothering him, but he will not tell me what it is.”

Kyungsoo’s nose crinkled in a look of annoyance, shaking his head. “The fact that you can get anything out of him at all still baffles me.”

“I know him well,” Yixing replied with a shrug, and Kyungsoo considered him for a moment.

“I am sure you do,” he shot back, and Yixing balked at the smirk that slid across the other’s face.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin chided with a chuckle, playfully glaring at the shorter man.

“I am merely suggesting that Yixing would know our beloved prince better than most,” Kyungsoo said as he returned the glare in challenge, though the corners of his lips never fell from the smirk, removing the heat the expression would usually carry if directed at Junmyeon or Yifan.

“With your words, yes,” Jongin allowed, before shaking his head with a smile. “But your tone suggests much more.”

And Yixing was certain that if his jaw had not dropped yet, it tumbled to the ground when Kyungsoo’s face broke into a wide grin, a melodic laughter spilling from his lips. The advisor had never seen such glee on the other’s face, the expression leaving him to look years younger. He went to respond, but it seemed Kyungsoo had momentarily forgotten his presence, his gaze solely for Jongin. Yixing racked his brain for any memory of Jongin ever meeting Kyungsoo, but came up with nothing. Yet here they were, bantering and laughing. Kyungsoo was practically giggling.

Kyungsoo never giggled.

Yixing had assumed Kyungsoo had come to find him in the gardens to discuss Junmyeon’s lessons, or to compare notes on new strategies to gain his attention. But now, watching as the tutor interacted with Jongin, he thought otherwise.

Soon, Kyungsoo remembered Yixing standing there, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head a little even as he held Yixing’s gaze.

“I can see how his silence could be an issue for you. And this has been going on for a while, I take it?”

“Long enough,” Yixing answered, sighing as he turned his attention back towards the roses. “I worry that the longer it continues, the less likely it will be that I gain that communication back.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Kyungsoo chimed in, before adding, “He always comes to you in the end. But perhaps he does not know what to make of his own thoughts?”

“Is that not what I am here for?” Yixing questioned, his frustration clear in his tone. “To help sort difficult thoughts?”

“Perhaps,” Kyungsoo agreed, “but difficult thoughts are hard to speak of, at times.”

“As his advisor -”

“Maybe he doesn’t need his advisor,” Jongin cut in, sending Yixing a sheepish smile at the interruption. “Maybe he needs his friend?”

Yixing didn’t have an answer to that, despite his wide vocabulary. Junmyeon had , multiple times, about being his friend before his prince, but Yixing had steadily refused to drop his duties. He was not stupid. He knew what others had whispered in the halls of the castle when they thought no one would hear, the way they questioned his selection as a royal advisor at such a young age. He knew his friendship with Junmyeon made him look favored, made others think he was only given such a rank for his relationship with the prince. Unearned, in their eyes.

But he was a damn good advisor. He was a professional, and he had proved that time and time again. Or at least he had until Junmyeon refused to confide in him. He could hardly be an advisor if he were not given a chance to advise.

Likewise, however, he could hardly be a friend without being close with Junmyeon.

He had, for years now, kept his distance in handling the prince, whether Junmyeon understood that or not. And yes, maybe he had changed from the carefree child Junmyeon had known, only letting that side appear once more in the most private of moments; but as his advisor, Yixing would have the answers he sought.

But maybe Junmyeon didn’t want to hear them from his advisor now. Maybe he wanted to hear them from Yixing.

He just didn’t know how sound Yixing’s advice would be, clouded with affection and bias, or how close he would have to allow Junmyeon to be for the prince to get those answers he wanted. He had caught himself on multiple occasions with thoughts he shouldn't have and emotions he shouldn't hold for the prince, knowing they were inappropriate. Knowing they would only complicate things. He couldn't be more than an advisor with Junmyeon, because he didn't know what more entailed. And once - if, his mind quickly corrected - they broke past those professional limitations, he didn't know if he could stop himself from crossing other lines, as well. And if others, like Kyungsoo and Yifan, could see him struggling with his emotions now - when he didn't fully understand them, himself - then what would happen if he gave in completely? How different would his interactions be? How altered would his advice become?

He had kept his barriers between who he was and who Junmyeon’s advisor had to be for so long that he didn’t know what would happen if suddenly the barriers were removed.

The thought alone was far more terrifying than it should have been.

“If it helps,” Jongin continued when he saw Yixing at a loss for words, “I’ve never seen someone remain unmoved by roses.”

“A rose for the rose,” Kyungsoo quipped, earning a sharp look from Yixing, though he said nothing else to give Yixing yet another reason to kill Yifan, because if the man were spreading that private information, he would not hesitate in strangling him. He had wondered when the young lord would seek his revenge after having to assist Kyungsoo for nearly a month, due to Junmyeon sneaking around and visiting Xiumin, though he hardly thought it fair that his name had to be thrown into this as well when he had been just as fooled as Yifan.

Yixing waited for Kyungsoo to further, and narrowed his eyes in thought when it never came. Perhaps it was an innocent connection on Kyungsoo’s part. The rose was in the royal family crest, after all.

Kyungsoo’s smirk, on the other hand, said otherwise. But Yixing chose to ignore it, lest he be the one to invite that conversation.

He gave a stiff nod to the gardener's suggestion, and after a few selections, was promptly given a handful of roses, both of white and red. He held them gingerly between his fingers, wary of the thorns that remained on the stems. It would do no good to be pricked by the sharp points and bleed all over the flowers before he could deliver them to the prince. Not that he knew exactly why he was giving the man roses in the first place, but if it eased Junmyeon's mind enough for him to talk freely again, Yixing would try just about anything.

“Thank you,” he said in farewell, giving both men a nod before turning back towards the castle. He didn’t get far before Kyungsoo called out once more.

“Oh, and Yixing?”

When the advisor turned to give Kyungsoo a questioning look, Kyungsoo continued, “Tell Junmyeon he still owes me a new set of quills. I have not forgotten the last bunch he ruined.”

Yixing laughed loudly, eyes disappearing with the force. There was the Kyungsoo he knew and slightly feared. “Noted. He will certainly replace them if I have any say in the matter.”

Kyungsoo snorted, but waved the man off, and Yixing took his leave, roses clutched in his hand.

-

Junmyeon felt like he was losing.

Losing time, losing sanity, and certainly losing patience.

It had been a full week since Minseok had arrived, settling into Jongdae’s home with little to his name, save a change of clothes, his flint set, and the quiver and bow he had kept in the corner of his cottage. And he had seen him every day since, watched him grow healthy once more, to the point where he started helping Jongdae in the stables.

Yet, as healthy as he was, Junmyeon knew there was something much more hazardous to his health than a mere fever lingering in the background, and so far, Junmyeon had no way of breaking it.

He’d blame his lack of experience with magic if it weren’t for the history lessons he had received on the subject, though the lectures he had sat through with Kyungsoo were more accounts of how the kingdom had gotten rid of it physically in the Nightshade Rebellion, and not so much how to counteract it. He had looked through much of the library, but his search had suffered from a lack of privacy and a lack of proper attention, all of his searches quick and superficial. But he just hadn’t had the time to deal with the information the books held properly.

Part of that was due to a well-meaning, but hovering Yixing.

His friend had been, for a lack of a more powerful word, present. All too present for Junmyeon to do anything without drawing an unnecessary amount of attention to what he wished to do. And the worst part of it was that Yixing knew there was something up. Whether it was Yixing’s advisor intuition or just from having known Junmyeon for so long, Yixing was aware that something had gotten stuck in the grooves of the prince’s brain and refused to leave him be. He had been asking for days, keeping a close eye on the other, and biting his tongue in what was a clear attempt at not pressing for information. But he was having a hard time dealing with it, it seemed.

And Junmyeon couldn’t blame him. He was his advisor, and best friend, and usually the first person he went to when he was in a situation that required some brainstorming. But this time, things were different. It was not his secret to keep, but Minseok’s.

As much as he wished to tell Yixing his problem, he couldn’t do it without feeling like he had betrayed Minseok’s trust, yet again. Minseok had only agreed to come to the castle after convincing Junmyeon and Jongdae that his identity should be kept hidden, something both readily agreed to. It was best if no one knew of Minseok’s heritage. Easier to hide him, to keep his arrival at the castle under wraps. But had he known the frustration this would cause him now, trying to hide something from Yixing, he may have fought to at least bring the other into the loop.

But he wouldn’t do so now, when Minseok had his word. He wouldn’t go against his promise, and therefore he wouldn’t tell Yixing. And so, he had committed to handling this curse practically on his own.

Obviously, Yixing didn’t understand.

He had dropped by that night with a handful of roses, freshly picked from the gardens. Something to brighten up the room, Yixing had said. Junmyeon had smiled at the blossoms, the red and white petals contrasting beautifully as he put them in a vase of water. Though he appreciated the flowers, he was not blind to the hidden motive behind the action. And when Yixing switched from small talk and began to question, once again, the silence that had befallen him, Junmyeon was not surprised.

“You seem to be lost in thought,” Yixing started, lowering himself to sit down on the bed. Junmyeon had yet to move from his spot by the windowsill where he had placed the vase, eyes turned towards the roses instead of his friend.

“Do I?” he hummed, playing innocent though he knew it would not be convincing enough to fool Yixing. The snort he earned for his efforts confirmed that.

“You have been for days, now,” Yixing challenged, pleased when Junmyeon did not try to deny it. “Is there nothing I can do to help?”

If he were honest, Junmyeon knew Yixing would be an irreplaceable resource for this type of dilemma. With his intelligence and the amount of time he spent flipping through the books in the library, he could certainly be of use. And his ability to work through problems was a skill Junmyeon had always admired. But like he had done every other time Yixing had questioned him about this, he shook his head.

“There is not much anyone can do, I am afraid.”

“Not even me?” Yixing asked, suddenly very quiet, and Junmyeon chanced a look at his friend and immediately wished he hadn’t. Though the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, and a single candle lit the room, he could see Yixing clearly. He was watching Junmyeon with a look of desperate confusion, but more than that, disappointment. He was disappointed in Junmyeon, or himself, or maybe both. But Junmyeon despised the emotion. It looked wrong on Yixing’s face, and he had the fleeting thought to move across the room and smooth his fingers over the wrinkles, until they were relaxed once again.

But he stayed where he was and shook his head, hating how the action drew Yixing’s frown together that much further.

“Your Highness,” he began, wetting his lips briefly, “you know I have… That I will always be here for you when you struggle with decisions. There is nothing you cannot come to me with when you are in need of another’s opinion.”

“I know,” Junmyeon assured. “I have always known that. Why do you think I made you my advisor?”

“Why did you?” Yixing asked gently, and Junmyeon balked.

“Because you are one of my most trusted friends,” he answered. “Because I know you will be honest with me in your opinions, even if that means telling me that I am being an idiot. Why would I not place you in such a high position?”

Yixing bit out a dry chuckle, the sound more self-deprecating than Junmyeon had ever heard from the other. “Some would say that my position is a result of our friendship.”

“And those who say such nonsense have obviously never seen your character,” Junmyeon shot back immediately. He had known such reactions would occur when he appointed Yixing as his personal advisor, but he had not cared, because he knew Yixing was capable. Junmyeon had never questioned Yixing’s judgment, and he was the best man for the job. “You have proven yourself worthy on multiple occasions.”

“Then will you not allow me to prove it once more?” Yixing countered, hope and determination flickering across his face as he sat up straighter. “Will you not let me help you with whatever it is that bothers you now?”

“No,” Junmyeon said. “I am sorry, but there is nothing to address.”

“Please, reconsider. I know you are troubled." Yixing placed a hand on his chest. "Let me take some of that burden, if I can."

“I have made my stance clear," the prince said, a hand raising to rub at his temple. "There is nothing to be said further on the matter.”

“But… Junmyeon, I -”

“Yixing,” Junmyeon nearly growled, voice a little harsher than what he had intended as his gaze snapped to the other. “Please. Enough."

Yixing watched him for another moment, before looking away, clearing his throat as he picked at the fabric of the bedding. He swallowed once, before nodding his head, and Junmyeon watched as the man seemed to retreat into himself. It was only then that Junmyeon realized the advisor had used his name without the honorific. Yixing had used his name.

It settled heavy on Junmyeon’s heart, that ugly feeling of guilt. Yixing was desperate to help, and here Junmyeon was, refusing that aid. But it wasn't because he didn't think Yixing could do it. He knew he could. He just could not tell him.

"I..." Junmyeon trailed off, struggling with his words, backtracking to fix what damage he had unintentionally done. "I did not mean -"

“I understand," Yixing cut in, his tone flat and without emotion. "I was out of line. Do not worry. I will not bring it up again.”

"Xing -"

"I understand, Your Highness."

It was silent for a moment, the roles reversed from their previous ones. It was now Junmyeon who watched Yixing, the latter refusing to meet his eyes.

As Junmyeon watched the other’s face, backlit from the candle’s light, Yixing didn't flinch. But he was fighting back his emotions, frustrated and wounded by the refusal, and the prince felt his chest tighten.

He had only ever seen Yixing upset a handful of times, but every time he had, it had not sat well with Junmyeon. The prince had always done what he could to make sure Yixing was never hurting, and he knew that desire to shield the other was a lot stronger than it should be. But he couldn’t help but feel strongly for his friend’s pain. And if he knew of a way to fix things, he always did, especially when it came to Yixing.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Yixing to be upset. But he wouldn’t change his mind on what he would allow Yixing to know.

He could change the topic, though.

“Nightingale?” Junmyeon called, watching Yixing turn his head to look at him, albeit slower than usual. He smiled softly, a silent apology of sorts, before he continued. “Sing for me?”

Yixing regarded him quietly for a moment before huffing out a breath, a small smirk slotting into his features despite the pain that still resided there. “Do you not grow tired of that song, Rose?”

“Not with how lovely your voice is,” Junmyeon responded.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Yixing muttered teasingly, but Junmyeon smiled when the advisor scooted up to press his back to the pillows, patting the space next to him in invitation.

Junmyeon crossed the floor then, crawling up to rest beside the other man. He hesitated only a moment before pressing into Yixing’s side, reaching out to fiddle with the buttons of the man’s tunic instead of meeting his eyes. He didn’t know why he felt the need to invade his friend’s space after refusing to let him get close to his thoughts. It was selfish indulgence, to press closer to Yixing, but the touch was comforting and familiar and safe. And Yixing had, after a moment, reached out to sling one arm around Junmyeon’s waist, dragging him in closer and then moving his hand to rub the tension out of the prince’s shoulders and back, the action quieting any lingering doubts Junmyeon had about being so close to his friend.

Yixing began the song slowly, words lingering in the air a little longer that usual as he let his voice build, and Junmyeon closed his eyes as the notes filled the room.

“The rose, so pure, with petals white
The whitest rose in lunar light
And nightingale, whom shall appear
To sing the rose to sleep at night

He sang of a love so sincere
Devotion for the rose held near
But lo, the thorns that rip and tear…”

Junmyeon hummed along with the song, providing a soft harmony for Yixing, but kept his own voice low. He couldn’t get enough of Yixing’s voice, and though he did join in on rare occasions, he much preferred to focus on Yixing’s bright tenor. When the song ended, the final note fading into the silence around them, Junmyeon sighed, opening his eyes reluctantly.

“It still amazes me,” he whispered, watching the rise and fall of Yixing’s chest as the other man drew in breath after breath.

“What does?” Yixing asked, his hand paying particular attention to a knot that had formed between Junmyeon’s shoulder blades. He hadn't realized how much tension he held in his shoulders until Yixing found the tender spots.

“The selflessness of the nightingale,” Junmyeon answered, shaking his head. “How readily he sacrificed himself for the rose. I cannot imagine how brave the nightingale must have been.”

“Not brave. Foolish,” Yixing responded, and the matter-of-fact tone in his voice sparked irritation in Junmyeon's mind.

“Why must you always say that?” Junmyeon asked tiredly, looking up at Yixing, who had dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling instead of meeting the Junmyeon's gaze head on. “Why must you always question the action, making their love something to be frowned upon?”

“Because there is too much uncertainty in the emotion,” Yixing answered after a second’s thought. “There are too many things that muddle the love.”

“Like what?” Junmyeon said, sitting up further on the bed and ignoring the chill he gained when he moved away from Yixing’s warm side. “The nightingale’s love for the rose -”

“That is just it,” Yixing interrupted, lifting his head to glance at Junmyeon. Or in Junmyeon’s direction, not necessarily at the prince, himself. “The nightingale’s love. That is all the song ever addresses. How the nightingale loved his rose so much, how he died for that love. But what of the rose?”

He dropped his eyes to the bed, and his voice dropped with it. “What are the rose’s feelings?”

“The rose loves the nightingale,” Junmyeon answered instantly, only for Yixing to shake his head.

“Does it?” Yixing argued. “The song never says so. All that is said is that the rose is changed by the nightingale, from white to red. Stained by the love forever. But there is not talk of pain, or suffering. Just change."

"You think the rose doesn’t recognize the sacrifice?" Junmyeon questioned, growing defensive for reasons he couldn't explain. "You think the rose simply let the nightingale die?"

"It is the rose’s thorns that kill the nightingale," Yixing pointed out. "One could argue that the rose did not trust the nightingale to be near it. That is the purpose of thorns, is it not? To keep others away? To protect the rose? But what protection did the rose need from the nightingale if it indeed loved him? The rose did not trust the nightingale, and what love can there be without trust?"

"Yixing, stop it," Junmyeon tried, not liking where this conversation had gone, not liking how it sounded less like the song and more like something personal, but the advisor kept on, his words growing faster, sharper.

"And all the while, the nightingale pressed closer, knowing there are thorns, yet still trying to gain the rose's trust. But what does he gain for those efforts? Suffering. And then death. He gave his life for a love that may or may not have ever been returned. So I ask again.”

He looked up to meet the prince’s stare then, and Junmyeon was surprised to see the pain in his eyes, so open and vulnerable. His voice, however, was strong, never wavered.

“Does the rose love the nightingale? Or is the nightingale’s love only his own?”

Junmyeon answered without pause, voice quiet, but firm. "The rose loves the nightingale."

Yixing tilted his head slightly, incredulously.

“And you are sure?” he asked. "Can it be done without trust?"

Junmyeon opened his mouth to answer, but had no response. He didn’t understand where all of this was coming from, why Yixing was suddenly so incessant, so adamant to argue the nuances of a song they had known since their childhood, but he understood that look. Yixing was hurting. Whether it was something Junmyeon had said or from his own inner thoughts, something had struck a nerve with his advisor.

And he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Yixing,” he whispered, almost pleading, and he reached out, laying a hand on Yixing’s chest. “My friend, where is all of this coming from?”

But Yixing pulled away at the touch, moving to get off of the bed.

“It is nothing,” Yixing replied shortly, eyes glued to the floor. “It is late. You best get to bed. I will see you in the morning."

"Yixing, wait," Junmyeon called, panicked at the idea of Yixing leaving. He couldn’t leave, not like this. "You cannot just -"

"Goodnight, Your Highness."

He gave Junmyeon the smallest of nods, and turned to the door, ignoring Junmyeon’s pleas for him to stay, for them to talk, for them to correct whatever had happened between them. All fell on deaf ears, Yixing never once looking back.

As the door closed behind him, effectively leaving Junmyeon alone in his room, it felt a lot more final than it should have. The prince cursed, collapsing back onto the mattress. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to be upset. And for the thousandth time that night, Junmyeon wished he could just tell Yixing what was going on. But even that would be seen as false at this point, he feared.

He should go after him, but something told him Yixing would not welcome that. He would need to let this blow over, try to find him later when the emotions and stress of the situation had passed.

For now, he fixed his eyes on the roses by the window, trying and failing to block out the ache that had settled behind his ribs.

Yixing wasn’t handling his own pain much better.

He was shaking as he closed the door behind him, his breath coming in shallow drags and he fought his body’s urge to collapse, pressing his back to the wall just outside of Junmyeon’s room.

He was a fool for thinking he could do this, that he could try and chip away at that barrier he had created between the himself and the prince. This was why he had to be professional. This was why he kept the title attached to Junmyeon’s name when he addressed him. Because right now, his chest was on fire.

He should have never listened to the others when they said he should open up to Junmyeon, because this is what happened when he opened up.

He got a chest full of thorns.

Junmyeon didn't trust him at all. Whatever was bothering him, whatever it was that had kept him up at night for the past few days, he didn't think Yixing could solve. Didn't trust him enough to even voice it. And the idea of being an advisor that isn't trusted with issues sent chills down Yixing's spine. What good was an advisor who couldn't be told problems? What good was Yixing if Junmyeon refused to confide in him?

What good was love without trust? All it brought was pain.

Leaving was childish, he knew. Hell, the entire reaction was childish, taking Junmyeon’s words so personally when the prince did not even understand what he had been asking. But childish or not, he had to get away. He couldn’t sit there and listen to Junmyeon talk about the rose when he was feeling more and more like the nightingale, bleeding out due to unnecessary emotions, emotions that felt like they would forever be unrequited. He did what the nightingale should have done. He ran.

And as soon as he regained his composure, he did. With tears clouding his vision and his head down, he ran. But he didn’t get far, running headlong into a solid chest. He nearly toppled over, but steady hands reached out to right him on his feet.

“Leaving the prince’s chambers again, Yixing?” Yifan’s voice rang out, and Yixing cursed under his breath. Of course he would run into Yifan now, of all times.

“Let me pass,” Yixing said softly. The man in front of him was dressed in his sparring attire, having no doubt just seen Zitao for another lesson, but if he were tired, it didn’t show as he remained firmly in front of the advisor.

“And miss hearing the details of your latest romantic evening?” the young lord teased, clicking his tongue. “Why, Yixing, you know me better than that.”

“Yifan, please,” Yixing hissed through his teeth, looking up at Yifan deploringly. When Yifan’s smirk immediately dropped, he sniffed, trying to keep his breathing even and the tears at bay. He knew his emotions must have been all over his face, but he didn’t dare let go of what little control he had left. “I cannot… Please, do not do this tonight.”

“What happened?” Yifan asked, his voice falling to a more serious tone.

Yixing waved him off, shaking his head as he willed his tears away. “I am a damn fool, that is all. Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to retire to my room.”

“Yixing,” Yifan said in warning. “Stop. Tell me what happened. Did you and Junmyeon have an argument?”

Yixing shook his head, before adding a shrug, because it wasn’t quite an argument but it wasn’t really an agreement, either. It was the closest to an argument they had ever gotten, however, though Yixing did not readily say it. Yifan took his response as an affirmative, either way.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” Yixing said with a bitter smile. “He said nothing.”

For whatever reason, Junmyeon did not trust Yixing with what had claimed his thoughts for the last few days. And while he may have heard Yixing speak, he had not been listening. He had not understood what Yixing was asking of him, of the trust Yixing wanted to be placed on him. But Junmyeon had been firm, very straight-forward in his desire to keep whatever it was away from his advisor.

And Yixing was only hurting himself by continuing to press closer.

When Yifan looked past Yixing towards the door with a purposeful look, Yixing shook his head. “Leave him be, Yifan.”

“I am not the one who will be going into that room,” Yifan shot back, meeting his gaze in challenge. “You will. You must talk to him and settle whatever this is.”

“No,” Yixing refused sharply. “I will not. He has made it clear that he does not need me to discuss things. I will not pester him further tonight.”

"And you? He may not need advice, but does he need you?"

Yixing sighed. No, his fears whispered. Junmyeon did not need him. "Yifan, it is no use."

"Go back in there."

"I will not."

“You should not leave it like this,” the young lord insisted. “You are upset, and I would bet my life that Junmyeon is, as well.”

“I am fine, I assure you,” Yixing scoffed, shaking his head. “This is nothing I cannot handle.”

“And you think this is handling things, do you?” Yifan challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “Running away from the issue?”

Yixing couldn’t help the watery smile he gave, no amusement in the expression as he met Yifan’s gaze.

“The nightingale is simply tired of the thorns,” he nearly whispered, the only indication Yifan had heard him being the quiet shock on his face. He used the surprise to his advantage, pushing past his friend and keeping his eyes trained on the end of the hall.

“Goodnight, Yifan.”

For the first time in a very long time, Yifan did not try to follow him.

-

Two days.

Minseok was far too aware of his time. For years, he had let the seasons slip by with little thought, determined not to think about how every hour, every minute, every second brought him closer to an untimely end. He shrugged it off, distracted himself, because everyone had a limited amount of time. He was just unlucky enough to know how limited his time truly was. So instead, he ignored it. Moved through each day like normal, because no amount of fretting would change his fate.

But ignoring his impending demise was growing increasingly more difficult to do as the days dwindled into single digits.

He would find himself pausing in his work in the stables, suddenly struck by some insignificant sensation or thought, like how his heart quickened when the horses came closer, thudding loudly in his ribcage. Or how the breeze would feel as it slinked by, brushing cool fingers over his skin. Or how the vein in Jongdae’s neck would bounce with a steady pulse as he laughed, loud and vibrant and alive. And he would have to shove away the thought that always followed those realizations: That he wouldn’t be alive much longer to have these moments. To see the way the seasons would change the gardens at the castle, or how age would touch Jongdae’s features, or to watch his brother take the throne. All of that was beyond his time, and besides Jongdae and Junmyeon, everyone continued on as normal, unaware of the darkness that moved in their midst. He was insignificant. A shadow. And the world would continue despite his death.

Just like how the castle continued on with life as usual, hosting a festival despite Minseok’s mood.

The kingdom was having a festival for the turn of the season, including a ball given for the court. A spring festival, with food and lanterns and dancing, decorations spread throughout the castle grounds in celebration. A celebration that Minseok found all too ironic, because what did he have to celebrate? While the kingdom rejoiced with the prospects of winter finally releasing the Earth from its hold, Minseok suddenly found himself wishing he could cling to it and never let it go. But not many were sad to see the winter go. Spring meant warmer days, new plants, new life.

But spring did not always bring life. Sometimes it brought heartache, and dark, bitter thoughts that clouded a young man’s mind as he hid himself away in the stables, avoiding the crowd of people that lingered just outside of the main hall’s entrance.

Everyone was dressed in their best formal wear, made of elaborate fabrics and done with the best craftsmanship, far different from the simple trousers and billowy work shirt Minseok had dressed in that morning. Part of him lamented the loss of grandeur in his life, wondering what it would be like to not feel so burdened day to day by his secrets, and to live like he had been meant to live. But the other part, the more practical part, watched Junmyeon fiddle with the high collar of his tunic and counted his blessings. The younger man looked absolutely miserable in his clothes, complaining about stupid traditions as he kept an eye on the entrance of the stables, undoubtedly waiting for someone to realize he had slipped away from the rest of the party. Yifan didn’t seem to enjoy being dressed in such fine materials, either, having snuck away with the prince, though Minseok had to admit the emerald color of his shirt was striking against his skin.

Jongdae seemed highly amused by Junmyeon taking refuge here, teasing him about how his clothes - made of spider silk, Minseok had been told, and though he didn’t know what was so great about spider silk, he knew the gold fabric must be rare - and how they were bound to get dirty in the dusty stables. Or how two of the most important men of the night should have known better than to think they could sneak off without drawing attention. He had tried to pull Yixing into that conversation, the advisor having perched himself by the door under the pretense of being a lookout, but Yixing had merely shaken his head with a small laugh, stating the prince would always do what he wanted, regardless of his wishes.

There was something there in those words, as well as Yixing’s gaze as he said them, that had Minseok questioning the shift in the two’s relationship. A hesitation was there that had not been there before, as well as some sort of acceptance that didn’t sit too well with Jongdae, though neither he nor Minseok had commented on it. For now, they were too busy laughing at Junmyeon’s whining.

Yifan, in particular, always enjoyed such things. And even if he were more put together than Minseok had ever seen him, the smirk he wore was very familiar.

“You are leaving hundreds of girls heartbroken at the loss of you as a dance partner,” the young lord piped up unhelpfully, snickering at the sneer that curled Junmyeon’s lips.

“You have your fair share of admirers as well, so your argument is invalid.”

“Yes, but I am not as good a dancer,” Yifan said with a laugh, to which Yixing chimed in.

“That is true. Your giant feet have crushed many of those poor girls’ toes.”

Jongdae’s peel of laughter was not dampened by Yifan’s glare.

“I do not want to dance,” Junmyeon insisted over the sound of Jongdae’s glee, waving his hand as if Yifan’s words were not even fit to be in the air around him.

“Well, that is too bad,” Yifan replied with a sigh. “Dance comes with the title, I am afraid.”

“How long do you think it will take for them to notice you’ve slipped away?” Minseok asked as he leaned against the railing of one of the stalls, smiling fondly as Lay nudged his shoulder with his nose. Of all of the horses, Lay was the only one that didn’t really scare him anymore.

“Minutes,” Yixing answered, his eyes trained on the castle through the crack between the door and the frame as he straightened his own collar, the crimson color in bright contrast to the paleness of his skin. “Perhaps less.”

“I am surprised it has taken this long,” Junmyeon agreed, throwing a look over his shoulder at Yixing before giving a small shake of his head.

Minseok watched as Yifan followed the gaze, sighing quietly to himself. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the difference, it seemed.

“I still don’t understand your reluctance,” Jongdae said wistfully, elbowing the prince playfully as he passed to check on a black mare in the stall behind him. “The castle’s parties always seem like fun, to me.”

“That is because you have never been to one,” Yifan snorted, rolling his eyes. “You do not know what it is like.”

“What is it like, then?” Jongdae asked, and all three of the partygoers answered in unison.

“Boring.”

Minseok chuckled at the pout that crossed Jongdae’s face, his bottom lip jutting out dramatically as he scoffed. “You three just don’t appreciate what you have.”

“I would trade with you in an instant,” Junmyeon stated softly, a little too low for Yixing to hear, though Minseok could tell he was straining to do so. “I do not have time for such things, at the moment.”

And even if Junmyeon hadn’t tossed him a pointed look, Minseok would have understood the meaning of those words. Junmyeon had been running himself ragged, looking for a cure for the curse that Minseok had long accepted, and seeing as Junmyeon grew more urgent every day, he suspected he had found nothing. Not that Minseok had expected him to in a month’s time, when he himself had spent years trying to break it. But the hope Junmyeon had held - still held - was almost infectious. More than once, Minseok had found himself lured into the temptation of the what ifs, only to remind himself that he had given that up long ago. It was no use. Not with the day so close.

Jongdae glanced at Minseok over Junmyeon’s shoulder, catching his eye briefly before shaking himself from the thoughts, turning his attention to Yifan instead.

“And how about you, Yifan? Care to switch places with a stable hand for a while?”

“If it means never having to wear this damned shirt again, yes.”

Jongdae chuckled at the words, but was cut off from his response by the soft groan from Yixing.

“You two must be sorely missed,” the advisor muttered, turning from the door to pin the royals with a look. “It is rare that the queen accompanies the guards on their search.”

“Mother is with them?” Junmyeon asked, voice a little sharper than he meant, and Minseok would have thought it strange had he not felt the same spike of panic in his heart. Because even if he were royal by blood, he was not prepared to meet any more members of the royal family. Especially not his parents.

He had done well to hide himself away during his time here, not having seen the royal couple once during his stay. But it seemed he was about to come face to face with one half of that crown, whether he was ready for it or not.

Minseok looked over at the door with wide eyes, body rigid, before turning to meet Jongdae’s gaze. The stable hand seemed just as tense, tossing his chin towards an empty stall a few down from Lay’s, tucked away in the back corner, and Minseok nodded immediately, forcing his body to cooperate. He disappeared into the stall just as the sound of the door opening reached him, and he pressed his back to the wall to hide himself fully from eyesight.

The light sigh that met his ears was far different from any he had heard before.

“There you are,” a woman’s voice spoke, and a shudder ran through Minseok despite the airy tone. “We have been looking for you.”

Minseok’s fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, his hands slightly shaking as he listened, eying the corner of the stall with a mix of utter fear and anticipation. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t. But against his better judgement, he found himself inching towards the stall’s gate, closer to the others, each step careful as he treaded over the hay and dirt.

“I am sure the festivities can manage without us for a while,” Junmyeon’s voice rang out, earning a small huff.

“Hardly,” the queen laughed, a melodic sound that was so similar to Junmyeon’s own laughter that Minseok paused in his movement, hesitating just at the edge of the stall. “The court comes to such festivals with the expectation of seeing you. And yet here you are, gallivanting in the stables.”

One look, Minseok reasoned. He would do it quickly. See this woman for himself, the mother who gave him away to Kou all those years ago. For protection, but still given away. He had imagined her for so long, and the opportunity to see her face, just this once, was too great to pass up. He had to know. He had to know.

Cautiously, he peered around the corner of the stall, eyes raking over the group that had gathered at the opposite end of the stables.

He easily spotted Yifan, the young lord looking at Zitao, who, like Chanyeol, had dressed in decorative armor for the festival, reds and whites and golds adorning an intricately detailed chest plate and arm guards. Roses, Minseok noticed, though the look Yifan wore had Minseok questioning whether he was admiring the metal work or the man wearing it. Zitao, it seemed, was just as enamored, reaching out to smooth the collar of Yifan’s shirt before realizing what he had done and stepping back with a laugh. Chanyeol looked on with a mix of fondness and annoyance.

Jongdae stood a little closer to his hiding spot, his eyes flicking between the others and where Minseok had disappeared to, though he was desperately trying to make it seem like he was only interested in the horses and not anything else the stalls might have held. He was nervous, running his hands over his trousers habitually.

Junmyeon and Yixing had their backs to him, but his eyes didn’t rest on them for long, sliding over easily to the woman who stood in front of them.

His eyes raked over friendly, open features, paired with a bright smile that seemed approachable even with the elegant dress she currently wore. Junmyeon favored her, Minseok noted, though there were elements that seemed to point to him as well. She was beautiful, even with the tired look she wore, and carried herself with a sense of importance, though softer than it could have been. Less harsh.

He immediately liked her. And he didn’t know how to feel about that.

He ducked back in as she looked up, his heart lodged in his throat as he closed his eyes. But even then her face burned in his mind.

His mother. This was his mother.

His chest ached as he listened to the others talk, Junmyeon’s voice cutting through his thoughts. He had not been seen, and as always, life went on without knowledge of his presence.

“I was not aware I was a part of the festival’s main attractions,” the young prince snorted, and the woman sighed.

“You know this is a tradition, Junmyeon. A tradition that the court looks forward to every year. We must uphold appearances.”

There was a pause, and then she spoke again, this time addressing Yixing. “I am surprised you allow such disobedience, Yixing. If I were my son’s advisor, I am sure I would have scolded him fiercely for this.”

The words were lighthearted, teasing with familiarity, but Yixing’s answering laugh held a note of self-deprecation.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but your son has always been stubborn.”

“Just like his father,” the queen agreed, and Minseok had to bite his lip to keep from making a noise, shifting in his spot with a shallow breath through his nose. It was too much. All of it was too much. He couldn’t sit here and listen to the royal family - his family - discuss their dynamics without him. He had to get out of the stables.

The stall he had ducked into was, thankfully, close to the exit on the opposite end. He counted to three, took a breath, and bolted, never pausing to glance back to see if he had been spotted. The chances of being seen were slim, with how few steps he had to take to break into the yard, but even if he had been spotted, he didn’t care. He had to go.

With the Spring Festival, the gardens were a main feature, the unveiling of the latest bloom cycle a big deal for the castle, the importance of the roses as clear as the family crest embroidered on every inch of cloth used in decoration. As a result, the rows had been lined with colorful lanterns and candles, lighting the way for any guest who wished to view the roses and other flowers that were grown on the grounds.

But the western section was thankfully deserted, due in part to the proximity of the outer wall, and in part to the lack of floral plants that grew in these rows. The bushes here were made up of tough shrubs, resilient to all types of weather and lower maintenance than the beautiful roses that filled the other sections, but less memorable. Easily overlooked.

And it was exactly what Minseok needed at the moment as he rushed through the rows, pushing deeper into the garden until he came to the one thing that made this section of the garden his favorite.

Jongdae had showed him the gazebo two weeks ago, leading him by the wrist while they were taking a break from their chores and smiling at the look of awe on his face. He ran his hand over the white wooden railing as he stepped underneath the awning, much like he had done that first day, and leaned back against one of the columns as his eyes slid closed once more.

This part had been decorated too, but the area would have been beautiful even if left bare. He didn’t seek it out for the beauty, however, but for the way it calmed his mind, for the quiet that enveloped him every time he stepped into the space. He had started to come here when his thoughts grew too loud, the world too much, and he would find peace among the ivy covered rails and the handful of roses that bloomed here, too stubborn to leave any section of the garden untouched completely by their petals.

Yet he found his thoughts refused to quiet tonight, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

A tiny part of him wanted his mother to be upset. To yell and scream and mourn him, because she had to know. She had to be aware that his time was almost up. And yet there she had been in the stables, teasing Junmyeon and Yifan and Yixing, and showing no signs of the upcoming date. Had she forgotten him so easily? Had she put him out of her mind and replaced it with hopes for Junmyeon? The young prince had such a bright future, if only because Minseok took all of the dark with him when he was smuggled away. But he wasn’t angry at Junmyeon. And in truth, he wasn’t very angry at his mother. But he was angry. Angry at how he had to go through this. Angry at the limited time he had. Angry that no one seemed to care at all.

But then there was always Jongdae.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Jongdae showed up a few minutes later, worry and guilt written all over on his face as he came to a halt in front of the gazebo. His chest heaved beneath the loose blue shirt he wore, though he tried to hide it, taking deep breaths through his nose that he thought Minseok couldn’t see. The stable hand was slow to approach him, as if he would scare Minseok away, as if he didn’t know he was the only one Minseok allowed to see him like this. Because he was. Minseok had only ever let a handful of people so close, and Jongdae had been the only person to ever get this deep under his skin.

But he moved to stand just across from him, leaning against the opposite railing as he regarded Minseok with a hesitant gaze. It was quiet, for a while, before he spoke up, his voice loud in the hush of the garden.

"Are you alright?"

Minseok didn't know what it was that made him open up as much as he did to Jongdae, but that overwhelming need to confide swept over him like a wave, and he could do nothing but let it take him, pulling words from his mind that he had never shown anyone.

"I never looked forward to my birthdays," he stated softly. "Every March, the world would awaken from its winter sleep, and life would flourish around me, but all I could think of was my death. Here was the Earth, taking a new breath of life, and I count my remaining breaths instead."

He smiled at Jongdae, though it was not quite a smile. More like a sneer attempting to hide in one. Bitter. Ugly.

"It is what it is, I suppose. Another birthday approaches, and I'm still here. Cursed and alone."

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said quietly and Minseok laughed softly to himself, looking off towards the ivy leaves that curved around the columns.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have let Jun and Yifan stay in the stables,” Jongdae explained slowly. “If I had made them leave sooner -”

“Jongdae,” Minseok cut off, shaking his head as he looked over at the man, “stop. You had no way of knowing the queen would come looking for them.”

“And yet she did,” Jongdae stated quietly, meeting Minseok’s gaze. “And now you are hurting.”

Another laugh, more sarcastic than the first.

“I’ve been hurting for a long time. A little more suffering doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“You shouldn’t be hurting at all,” Jongdae whispered, so softly that Minseok wondered if those words were meant for him to hear. He cleared his throat and started again, this time a little louder. “It doesn’t mean your suffering is any less painful.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Minseok answered, shaking his head as a sad smile touched his lips. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such things.”

“And why not?” Jongdae questioned, tilting his head to the side, his frown growing the slightest bit deeper as Minseok huffed.

“Because you will only suffer more from it,” Minseok reasoned, grinning as he looked at his feet, though the expression lacked any happiness. “And even if I am hurting, I won’t be for much longer.”

“Minseok,” Jongdae gasped, his voice verging on a cry, and he was pushing himself off of the railing, moving across the stone slab floor. He took a hold of Minseok’s shoulders tightly, forcing the man upright, dropping his head to try and catch Minseok’s eyes even as the older man refused to meet his gaze. “Please. Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” Minseok muttered, knowing he sounded defeated and not caring if he did, because at least his voice was honest. He was defeated. And there was nothing anyone could do to fix that.

“We will find a way,” Jongdae promised, giving Minseok’s shoulders a small squeeze, “Junmyeon has been searching every day. We just need -”

“What?” Minseok cut in, looking up to face the man fully. “More time? Dae, there is no time.”

“No,” Jongdae bit out, shaking his head fiercely. “Not more time.”

“Then what?” Minseok asked, surprised by the way his voice wavered, eyes prickling with unshed tears. He was so tired, frustrated by these emotions. “What else is there?”

He didn’t sense the movement until Jongdae’s lips were against his, warm and urgent and so much of what Minseok craved, had craved for a while now. And he whimpered at the sensation that ran through his being, because this was all that he wanted, and all that he knew he couldn’t allow himself to have.

Jongdae pulled away first, looking up at Minseok with a slightly bewildered expression, as if he couldn’t believe his own actions either. But that surprise vanished as quick as it came, replaced by determination and not even an inkling of regret, and he pressed his forehead to Minseok’s as he closed his eyes once more.

“Faith,” he whispered, the words skidding across his lips in warm, lingering touches. Minseok’s lips burned at the touch, and his chest felt heavy. The kiss was hardly thirty seconds long, yet his body responded as if it were much more. And maybe it was, paired with the emotions of the situation. And with the fact that it was Jongdae who had kissed him.

He reached up with both hands, cupping the man’s face and hating the tremble he could feel in the other’s frame. He could feel the wetness that touched his thumb when he swiped it across Jongdae’s cheek, silent tears that he couldn’t hold back, even as the man smiled up at him with a fondness he didn’t deserve. This was why he shouldn’t let anyone in so close. Jongdae was crying, hurting, and it was because of him.

It was always because of him.

“Jongdae,” he choked out, forcing the younger man to look at him. He couldn’t do this to Jongdae. He couldn’t let the man drown in his emotions and then leave him alone to pick up the pieces. But Jongdae only shook his head, reaching up to cover Minseok’s hands with his own.

“Don’t,” Jongdae warned. “This isn’t about me.”

Minseok wet his lips, giving Jongdae a hard look. “In two days’ time -”

“We’ll find a way,” Jongdae interrupted, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “We’ll find a way.”

And Minseok should pull away and put some distance between them, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fight it any more than Jongdae could fight holding back, and even if it hurt, he didn’t want to move. So he allowed it. He allowed it when Jongdae reached forward to wrap his arms around Minseok’s middle. He allowed it when Jongdae pushed further into his space, his face buried in the side of Minseok’s throat, just below his jaw. And he allowed himself to hug Jongdae back, to hold the other man closer and just breathe, because he didn’t know if he would get another chance to do so. He held him so close that he could feel the man’s heartbeat reverberating through his own chest, strong and steady, and he pressed his hand flat against Jongdae’s back as if to draw him closer still, as if he could absorb this source of light and life and love and feed off of it when he no longer knew the way out of his dark thoughts.

And for the thousandth time that night, as the two of them stood in the gazebo in the garden, clutching to one another desperately, Minseok couldn’t help but feel lost.

Because this wasn’t fair at all.

Meg’s Note: Fun fact: this chapter was put down as a “filler” in the first outline, and here we are, after a world of angst. It’s lovely. Or at least, we think it is lovely. You, dear reader, might have other choice words for us (shameless encouragement for comments). But we are super happy with this chapter and the emotional development of the characters in this one <3 even if it kind of hurts. And we aren’t even close to being done yet. *maniacal cackle* Anyways, we hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading (and subbing and commenting and what have you). We love you all for checking this story out <3

Nat’s Note: Fun fact: I have no fun facts this time around! And yes, as Meg said, this was supposed to be a filler. A filler that turned into ~13.000 words of more character development than we meant to include and an impromptu not-quite-fight between one of the main pairings… Eh. Ooops? But if this hurts (which I hope, because that means we’re doing something right), just wait for the next chapter. If that won’t hurt, just a teensy tiny bit, we fail as writers and might as well pack our stuff and take our leave.

Yesh… Hope you enjoyed this long chapter! I fear future chapters will be long, too. Oh, well. You’ll survive, right? Unlike others. Comments are deeply loved and cared for, as are subs and votes and whatever you can think of! As Meg said (wrote), we love you all for sticking with us <3

Lastly, have this not-at-all-suspicious list: Luhan, Chanyeol, Ren, Taemin, Jiyong, Daehyun and Henry.

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 8!