Donghae hummed softly as he slowly scraped a wired tool along what’s eventually going to be a clay bust of a dragon.  Although currently it just looked like a lumpy ‘S’, his vision was a grand one—one that he hasn’t had in quite some time and inspired by a special someone that always sort of reminded him of them.  His style was typically more relaxed, free styled; one where he didn’t care how the edges were messy or how he had to literally scrape off layers of paint to make one line look more pronounced. But after sketching out several references of multiple dragon and lizard anatomies, his desire to create this bust grew and grew until he found himself plopped in front of his working clay.

It had been some time since he had worked with clay, seeing as watercolors and oil paintings were his favorite and most requested mediums, but nonetheless Donghae was thoroughly enjoying this change of pace.

His bust was set up on a small turntable that was supposed to be used for making pots instead of busts, but Donghae found it more appropriate for smaller sculptural works simply because he enjoyed being able to spin his piece around with little trouble. He was perched on a stool that had no back support, but was magically tall enough to allow him to comfortably form his clay. If anyone were to walk in right now, they’d see the vast amount of sketches tacked onto a nearby wall, most of them adorning his chicken scratch handwriting of useless little notes that were for the most part nonsense, a plethora of question marks, and absentminded doodles. It was fitting, considering his mess of a studio was sort of hidden from the front door.  

As the sun began set, the artist began to lose himself in the process of creating the decently sized dragon. Donghae’s hands were constantly moving—from picking up a tool to help move lumps of clay where they weren’t needed to making sure the head and neck curved just so. He scratched out placements for where he was envisioning the horns, keeping in mind how crucial the support and balance the bust has to maintain so that it doesn’t collapse. He took a moment and marveled himself into how quickly the image in his head was quickly taking shape in front of him in muted grey clay. He tucked the wire tool behind his ear as he took smaller pieces of clay from its original block to start making the larger horns. It took a moment to knead the clay into a malleable state, adding water when needed. Once able, the medium was then rolled out, his palms nearly touching as he tapered off one end.

Skilled hands were too focused on molding its fantasy vision to hear the soft clicks of expensive, designer leather shoes—to hear the soft bells chime as the artist’s studio front door opened.  There was no telling how long the visitor stood there, watching quietly in amusement as Donghae proceeded to carefully create two more spike-like shapes for a sculpture that began to be more recognizable to the eye of the viewer.  Supposedly to an onlooker, the scene could be dubbed as strange and slightly creepy, but given the two’s history, it was considered normal—at least to some degree.

“It’s a mess in here.”

Donghae’s incessant humming choked somewhere in his throat as his not-so-secret onlooker broke the silence, causing him to almost drop whatever clay was in his hands.

“Christ-“ he breathed out, his heart dislodging from his throat as he put the half-formed spike down on the turntable, ignoring the other’s avidly amused expression. “Do you have to do that?” He ran a hand through his hair, forgetting momentarily the vast amount of clay that was stuck to his fingers.  “ you man.”

Hyukjae smiled triumphantly, obviously proud as Donghae shot him a sharp look that held no heat. “You make this too easy,” he laughed and Donghae had to tell himself it wasn’t worth it to throw clay at the suit-clad other—although he was certain the latter had enough money to pay for any sort of service an Armani suit needed done. “You’re always getting absorbed in your work.”

“Because I actually focus on what I do,” Donghae grumbled, picking up the spikes he had made and partially made while pulling his composure back together. “Y’know you should try it sometime when you’re supposed to be doing paperwork instead of dicking around doing nothing,” he jabbed half-heartedly over his shoulder.

Donghae was never a big fan of being on the receiving end of surprises, and being scared by someone such as Hyukjae was enough to make him embarrassed if not slightly annoyed—only slightly though. Out of all of his friends, Hyukjae was probably the only one who was able to get away with this type of bull, simply because he was Hyukjae; stupid, dumb Hyukjae that liked to ditch work last minute to come bother whatever Donghae was doing in his dinky little studio in which he practically promotes by himself. Hyukjae—who stumbled upon his studio accidentally one random day several months ago and ended up staying upon hours watching in fascination as Donghae worked on some painting he barely remembered. The latter managed to worm his way into Donghae’s life, and he was kind of happy about letting him get away with little things.

And it definitely wasn’t because the artist was harboring any sort of feelings for the other—totally not, like, don’t get him wrong. New friends are allowed to get away with some things, right?

Like always showing up at his studio unannounced, always in one of the sharpest looking suits that the king himself could be seen in, talking about random bull that happened to be going round—“Did you hear about that idol that left this group” “No, why?” “Because my sister wouldn’t stop crying over it and I didn’t know if it was actually a big deal.”—or even on occasion meandering over to Donghae’s apartment simply because the artist didn’t have the will in him to stay in his studio any longer. Sometimes the other would go with him, most of the time he’d just accompany him to his step before going back to whatever he was doing before.

In Donghae’s dreams, the two of them could practically be dating if it weren’t for a few key communicational issues that needed to be addressed, but Donghae expected nothing less considering Hyukjae was the soon-to-be-king of the nation.

“Anyway, how’ve you been?” The artist asked as he stretched, his back popping in multiple places from being hunched over for so long. “I should make you pay for takeout for being such a .”

Hyukjae chuckled as he glanced over all the papers lying about. “I’ve been alright. Works been getting to me lately, and noona’s wedding is coming up fast so things have been crazy.”

Donghae lets out a sound of affirmation. Hyukjae’s mentioned his sister’s wedding before and the princess’s wedding is one of the biggest topics of the country right now. With the big date only a couple weeks away he could only guess the heat Hyukjae’s feeling.  “I bet she’s nervous.”

“Oh not at all!” Hyukjae says with vigor, the excitement reflecting in his eyes in a way that made Donghae want to tell him how cute he was. “She always says that her fiancé waited so long to propose that she almost did it herself.”

“Wouldn’t that be a story,” Donghae chortled, gathering the clay spikes he made and half made into a neat little pile on the table. “I can only imagine what people would say.”

“Yeah it would certainly be an experience.” Hyukjae said experience like disaster and came closer to get a better look at what Donghae was currently working on. “What about you, though? Anything going on?”

Donghae shrugged, making a noise as if to say Eh, nothing exciting. “Been alright—busy. The holidays snuck up on me and suddenly my relatives and clients all want a new painting to give to each other.”

“Yet here you are making a clay sculpture.”

Donghae swatted at the hand that went to touch his wet clay. “Hey—first of all, no touching, and secondly sometimes you gotta treat yourself.”

“You just said that you have a lot of painting requests, Donghae.”

“Yeah and I’m excited to get to all of them while this cooks,” he responds smartly, looking at his work in progress with pride. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hyukjae laughs, his eyes crinkling with laugh lines. “Right,” he jeers, “just like that time you were behind by how many commission deadlines again?”

Donghae flushes at the memory. That was beyond a nightmare—including many late nights and several all nighters in order to get all his projects done on time. Luckily his hyung Sungmin runs a coffee shop down the block and is very nice to let Donghae get away with a few free multi-espresso shot lattes.  Some of the commission pieces could’ve been done a bit neater, but his customers were all more than happy with the results so Donghae stopped worrying about it.

“Your point?” the artist sniffs stubbornly, taking the clay spikes to a table against the back wall that had a severely unorganized box of random supplies and began rummaging through it for something to wrap them in.

“My point,” Hyukjae clarifies sharply, although there wasn’t any apprehension in his tone—just timely concern, “is that you probably should be working on your commissions instead of freelancing—although this looks lovely so far, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Donghae accepts the compliment brightly.

“Donghae,” Hyukjae warns, and without looking Donghae knew the other was crossing his arms over his chest and raising his brows like Donghae was some kind of child.

Donghae huffs a sigh as he pulls out the cling wrap and several grocery bags he finds within the box. “Alright, alright, Dad,” he gives in, ripping off a couple sheets of cling wrap and wraps his spikes in them. Although royal, Hyukjae could be such a nag sometimes. He supposes it could be because the other could never ever be late, really, unless suffer the consequences, but Donghae doesn’t really know. What he does know, however, is that Hyukjae was far more practical than Donghae could ever hope to be, and perhaps that’s where the other’s godly time management skills stemmed from.

“I’ll get started on them tomorrow.”

“Good,” Hyukjae approved, obviously pleased with himself thus far. “And when are you going to finally organize this mess,” he adds on lightheartedly.

“Depends on when you stop trying to tell me how to run my life,” he whines as he covers the bust with his plastic bags. The other laughs at his exasperation, saying he’ll stop but Donghae doubts he’ll ever stop commenting knowing the latter is a stickler for having places neat and tidy.

Hyukjae, of course, stayed behind as Donghae walked to another room to put the bust away, the latter having been here long enough to be trusted not to do anything stupid. Donghae was grateful for this moment alone, if anything but to keep himself from blushing like a ditzy school girl every time the other smiled at him or laughed. It had been a while—three weeks (not that Donghae was counting, of course)—since Donghae had last seen Hyukjae in person and he wasn’t prepared. Parts of him wanted to reach out to the other and confess just how much his visits make his day, week—month even.  How much his stupid wide gummy smile made his heart hurt with joy, and how perfect he just overall seemed to be wrapped up in an expensive tailored suit. He wanted to tell the other so bad how much he liked him, but Donghae was afraid—so damnably afraid. Hyukjae was sweet and kind and someone who’s really passionate about what he believes in. Donghae loved their friendship; hated how he caught feelings despite his attempts not to. He tried to drop an array of hints around the other, if anything but to feel out any sign of return of his crush, but apparently Hyukjae was a little denser than Donghae had imagined.  Either that or he simply didn’t feel the same way.

Donghae tried to think positively.

Besides, just randomly confessing how the other makes him feel all super gay and sparkly on the inside might just be a tad out there.

When the artist returned back to the main room to finish shoving his crap in a corner to be dealt with later, he couldn’t help but notice the mile-long stare the other was adorning, making him completely forget about his previous thoughts. Instead of thoughts about reciprocation, Donghae was instantly filled with worried—what’s wrong? was on the tip of his tongue but he managed to refrain. He must’ve made a face, however, because when Hyukjae caught his eye he just smiled and waved it off.

Which did nothing to deter the artist’s worry but Donghae wasn’t one to pry if the other didn’t want to talk about it.

“You didn’t have to put your stuff away,” Hyukjae mentioned, wringing his hands together as he carefully walked around chunks of dried clay on the floor. “I don’t mind hanging around while you work.”

“I did a lot of work on it before you came.” Donghae shrugged and picked up the loose pieces of paper that had fallen on the floor.  “Besides, it’s getting late and my back was starting to hurt.”

“Hmm,” Hyukjae hummed, his mouth twisting in thought as a comfortable silence settled between the two, Donghae busily putting the rest of his materials on a back table so he could find it later as the royal silently watched. After a moment the artist suggested for him to sit at the front desk as he finished cleaning up, but Hyukjae didn’t mind standing. Once Donghae returned from washing the dried clay from his hands, a question was bubbling on his lips but the other beat him to it.

“What made you want to make a dragon?”

 “Uh,” Donghae stalled for a moment as he reached for an answer to give the other, knowing he was five seconds from turning into a tomato. “It’s mostly something to change it up,” he answered with a feigned blasé. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but not the entire truth either. “I used to do a lot of little ceramic works before I got into painting, so I guess I just wanted to get back into the swing of things.”  

“You guess?” Hyukjae jested, his smile resurfacing and Donghae was certain that the other might comment on his reddening face but if he noticed he made no comment on it.

Donghae looked at him from the corner of his eye, desperately fighting off the blush that threatened to consume his entire composure. There was no way in hell he was telling him the actual reason as to why he started this project, and could only imagine the reaction he’d get if Donghae told him that it was because Hyukjae reminded him of a dragon sometimes.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he huffed as he retrieved his jacket and keys at the front desk while Hyukjae switched the studio’s sign from OPEN to CLOSED and locked the door. “Every artist has their secrets,” he tacked on sounding exactly like an annoying, ego-inflated hipster artist would as he took the money from the register to lock up in the back room.

Hyukjae laughed. “Oh but that’s what I’m here for—to learn all of your secrets.”

Donghae snorted. “That’s creepy—should I be worried?” he called from the room, hand twisting and the lock of his safe clicking firmly. Through the walls he heard the other’s laugh. “Do I need to get a restraining order for you?”

“Perhaps it’s a possibility.”

After a few more teasing jibes, the two of them left through the back of the studio. In the lot it was extremely easy for Donghae to pick out Hyukjae’s ridiculously expensive car, parked right next to his sticker-covered rusty go-kart. The picture of their cars next to each other was comical, ironic even, all the more telling the artist just how different their actual lives are. Hyukjae lives in a mansion pampered and protected with the finest of security. Donghae lived in a shabby little apartment in the red district of Seoul that he could barely afford.  

A cold wind blasted over the two, one that promised a storm would be coming and left them both shivering as they went to their cars.

“What are you doing tonight?” Donghae asked once the wind let down, almost fumbling for his keys with the cold nipping at his fingers.

Something close a grimace crossed over the latter’s face. “I have a dinner to attend.”

“A date?”

Hyukjae shook his head, his car beeping as he unlocked it. “It’s for business.” He let out something awfully close to a whine, his shoulders slumping. “It’s going to be long and full of topics I don’t want to talk about.”

It was Donghae’s turn to grimace. “That sounds rough,” he commented before brightly clapping a hand on the other’s shoulder. “You can do it!” he chirped, “And afterwards you can drown your sorrows in as much Soju as you can get your mouth on.”

“If only,” Hyukjae sighed, running a hand through his hair. Donghae couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry—he after all knew the feeling all too well. The artist gave him an encouraging smile.

“Hey, if you ever need anything feel free to text me or whatever.” This managed to pull a smile from Hyukjae, although a bit sad around the edges and Donghae’s heart hurt at the sight.

“Thanks, Donghae.”

“Anytime,” he beamed, giving the other’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “What’re friends for?”

As the two men said their goodbyes and got into their cars, Donghae waited for the other to disappear from sight before he rested his head against the freezing steering wheel of his car a groan leaving his lips as repressed emotions rose up sharply, washing over him in waves and pulling achingly at his heartstrings. He was sososo happy to be able to see the other over such a long time, knowing all too well that Hyukjae’s job was heavily taxing and didn’t allow for much free time. But at the same time every time they part he finds their meetings too short, too confusing and filled with way too many temptations. Whenever they meet it’s just so easy for them act like they were with each other just yesterday instead of several weeks, and with that revelation, it suddenly hit Donghae that they didn’t really get to ask the question he had earlier.

He sat up in his car, pushing his hair back as he sighed.  Sometimes Donghae thinks he’s just too understanding when it comes to Hyukjae—or too much of a pushover as his brother liked to say. Regardless, nothing was going to change between them tonight; there wasn’t a point in moping for much longer.

Or at least until he was in the comforts of his home with a festive mug of hot chocolate to sob into.

With a twist of his wrist, Donghae’s car coughed to life as he made plans with himself to spend the evening wrapped up in as many blankets as he could find.

Hyukjae was so ed. Royally.

The dinner that night went about as smoothly as he thought it would go, and by that it wasn’t smooth at all. Hyukjae, of course, knew that since his thirtieth birthday was approaching soon that there wasn’t much time left before his coronation—a thought that excited and terrified him at the same time. Yet he wasn’t expecting his parents to be so adamant on picking his…queen. Perhaps it was spurred by Sora’s fast-approaching wedding of her own or just by traditions but still the thought of having to wade through hundreds of pictures of faces to find a potential monarch was entirely overwhelming and completely impossible.

Not to mention that everyone except about three people had no knowledge of his rather queer preferences and tendencies.

Regardless, throughout the entirety of the dinner his parents grilled him upon question after question of what he was looking for in a bride.

“What about that Hyoyeon girl, Hyukjae?”

“You should wed a woman of status within the country, dear—of course one that you adore as well, but status would look good for the royal family.”

“I believe that one minister has a lovely daughter you could see—would you like me to send them an invitation for dinner?”

And so on.

By the time the heavily pressuring dinner was over, Hyukjae’s mind was in a whirlwind. He felt bile rise in his throat as the words his parents said repeated over and over in his head. Dates to memorize, times to remember, upcoming meetings he had to be present at, priorities to keep straight—everything from the usual coronation prep talks that he’s grown accustomed to, to the merciless suggestions of who he was to wed. On most days, he could deal with it all; the throng of ministers and politicians he had arguing at his tables; the paparazzi; the high expectations from just about everyone.  He could handle keeping diplomatic secrets, keeping most of his life as private as he can without the paparazzi interfering. He knows how to act and behave in situations, he knows how to address the people and give speeches on what the was going on. He had people waiting for him to give them their duties, and even more relying on him to do a good job in the future. And it’s not going to be long before his responsibilities are going to be amplified with the title of king. On most days he was fine with it all, but tonight Hyukjae can feel the cracks forming in his perfectly refined composure.

Fast feet stormed over to his room, a rushed request given to a passing maid to tell the others to give him space as he slammed the door behind him. A click told him that he locked it behind him, but Hyukjae wouldn’t remember doing it moments later. He didn’t know what was going on as his frantic hands pulled at the tie around his neck and messily shoved the suit jacket from his shoulders to leave as a heap on the floor. He kicked off his expensive shoes with a newfound frustration causing one to bounce off the corner of his bed. With fast breathing he went to his closet and pulled out a barely-used duffle bag and desperately started shoving whatever casual clothes he could find into it. Once it was filled, he took off the rest of his perfectly tailored suit and almost fell over rushing into jeans and a t-shirt. He ran a hair through his gelled hair, thoroughly messing it up as his mind as he refused to stop and think.

He had to get out. He needed space. He needed to be someplace where he wasn’t held to standards. Escape. Escape. Escape.

Quickly shoving his feet into some barely-worn sneakers and pulled a hoodie over his head, Hyukjae grabbed his bag and left his closet in a rush. He just needed one night to be a nobody—one night to have no responsibilities to just be able to sit down and not be held accountable for his actions or-or anything.  His hand gripped his door handle until his knuckles where white, flicking the lock before wrenching the heavy door open with a suppressed grunt—

Only to reveal an all too familiar face.

“Going somewhere?” Sora, asked quietly with a small smile.  “I thought you might be.”

Hyukjae was speechless, his pulse beating wildly in his neck like a caged animal.  He felt himself blanch, sweat beads forming on the sides of his temples as his mind reached for something of intelligence.

“Noona—I-I-“

Sora shushed him quietly before reaching behind his head and pulling his hood up over his face. “Don’t forget this,” she told him gently before pressing a small bottle into his hand. “Take the exit at the bottom of the East wing’s server stairs—there’s never anyone there at this time.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a black facemask and put it on him with a loving touch. Hyukjae could’ve cried right there if she didn’t lean in for a hug and say quietly in his ear, “I’ve already tipped Junsu on your whereabouts, but be careful. It’s late and he doesn’t live in the safest of areas.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and then she was gone.

Hyukjae stood there dumbly for a moment, partly in shock, before pocketing whatever Sora gave him and quietly rushing to the East wing, taking the most indirect route as to avoid the lingering worker. It took longer to get out of the palace that what he would’ve liked, but he was trying to be sneaky which required a level of concentration he could barely maintain in his chaotic state of mind.

But he made it, and snow falling from the night sky welcomed him greedily. The cold swirled around him, making him shiver as he hailed a cab. He kept his face hidden as best he could, telling the driver his destination with the inclination of haste and no questions will be answered. There was only one thing on his mind, and while he barely kept the dirty claws of panic at bay, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it together. He glanced out the window, the streetlamps giving a slight yellowish glow to the snow that was already collecting on the ground. There weren’t many people out—smartly avoiding the cold weather and Hyukjae was grateful. He didn’t think he could handle a new headline about late night excursions.

The cab lethargically pulled up to the apartment complex and Hyukjae blindly shoved money into the driver’s hand before bolting out of the cab, his sense of poise and dignity completely lost.

By the time Hyukjae reached the right floor, his eyes were starting to sting from holding back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. His throat was fully constricted, his knuckles aching from holding onto the strap of his bag so tightly. He was almost there—to his paradise, his no-man’s land where no one would treat him as some important figure of authority and the thought nearly wrenched a broken sob out of him.

His hand rose to knock on the tacky green door. He could do it. He’s been here many times before, and stayed until late in the morning once or twice, he thinks, his mind whirling with the sudden rise of anxiety. This shouldn’t be strange—intruding, right? This—this is him. He said that he was his friend—that there wasn’t anything to worry about, to contact him if he needed anything. But what if—what if he didn’t mean it? What if all that they had was simply because he wanted to entertain him? What if he saw through all of his blatant lies about his life—how he was a “business man” and lived in Busan and constantly traveled internationally and—

“Hyung, I can’t just drop off the face of the earth like that.”

That—that was his voice, coming through this hideous door.

“Yeah, but I can’t just walk in there and expect people to believe what I say. You know—”

Who was he talking to? What about? Should he bother knocking if he’s busy? It sounds important maybe—

Unbidden, Hyukjae’s bag slipped from his vise of a grip with a bang! causing the conversation on the other side of the door to pause. Sudden fear of the other ignoring the noise outside his door washed up and swallowed Hyukjae whole, making him momentarily forget his moment of anxiety as he frantically knocks on the door. He needed to see him. He was the only person who understood—who could make him feel as if he’s not put on some sort of pedestal for everyone’s critiques. He didn’t want to even fathom what would happen if he didn’t see him—it wasn’t an option. He would sit out here all night if that were the case— his responsibilities for once in his goddamn life. He needed to live a little, be able to breathe, take a moment to just say—

“Hyukjae?”

He was pulled from his whirling thoughts with a jerk as the door in front of him opened fully to reveal the one person that could save him. The first thing Hyukjae noticed about the other was that the chunks of clay were gone from his hair, and the thought nearly broke him. He was beautiful. Damp hair looking soft and rich while clad in sweatpants and an oversized long sleeved shirt, slightly disheveled. His phone was in his hand, the screen dark and Hyukjae didn’t know what to do with himself as he felt what was left of his resolve completely fall apart.

“Hyu—?”

Hyukjae practically threw himself at the other, burying his head in the other’s shoulders as he held on for what felt like dear life. Tears overflowing as his body shakes as he lets himself go. All the emotions he’s been holding back, the pain and pressures he kept bottled up came rushing out like someone took a hammer to glass. The shards were digging too far into his skin, leaving him helpless while Donghae is left to pick them out from the wounds. He felt the other stiffen—in shock or surprise, he didn’t know—before relaxing quickly against the other’s tightened hold. Hyukjae felt the other’s strong arms wrap around him tightly, and it only prompts another wave of tears.

“I’m—sorry, Donghae, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out once, before it becomes his mantra, repeating again and again into the other man’s shirt. “I’ve l—lied to you—so much—.”

Gently, Donghae maneuvered the two further into his apartment, pulling the other’s bag inside of the door before he shut it softly with a hand, the other going up to rub Hyukjae’s back in a means of comfort. It felt nice, and the soft shushing as fingers gently unhooked the facemask from the royal’s face, making Hyukjae feel much like a child. He supposed he was acting like one, weeping in the arms of a man that he’s continuously lied to about who he was and what he did. It could be ironic in a sense, but knowing his feelings for the artist there was nothing funny about their situation at all. He was ashamed of his lies, felt terrible that he had to hide himself from someone who from the beginning was so open about their own life. There were points where Hyukjae could tell that the other was hitting on him, but he was terrified—terrified on what would happen if he flirted back. What consequences would become of his actions—of which that’ll soon be representing an entire country in just a few months?

And knowing that Donghae had the courage to make a first move made him feel guiltier that he had selfishly denied the other of any sort of reciprocation. He felt incredibly lucky that Donghae was such a sweet and understanding person, but he didn’t deserve half of the lies and bull that Hyukjae had fed him; didn’t deserve the communication woes that came with their friendship.

And he especially didn’t deserve how Hyukjae never went that extra step for him.

He deserved so much more than the that he probably went through while Hyukjae was trying to convince himself he wasn’t considering bringing him home for the Christmas Eve Ball.

Hyukjae pulls his head up to rest his chin on the other’s shoulder, his sobs and tears letting up slightly as he managed to calm down a little bit while the other carefully led them to sit down on the couch in the living room. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hyukjae cut him off abruptly. “I’m not a businessman,” is what he blurted first and once he started he couldn’t stop. He told him everything—from the reason that led him to the artist’s studio in the first place, to the unknown wife he has to pick in the near future. He felt terrible; hiccupping miserably about everything he could’ve told Donghae sooner if he just had an ounce of faith in him. Throughout his blubbering, Donghae just held him, his hands rubbing his back in comfort as he listened attentively, and Hyukaje felt that more ashamed for being such a piece of .

“Dong—” he croaked, clearing his throat before trying again, breaking away from their embrace to look at the other properly. “Donghae, I’ve been a terrible friend to you,” he says, voice a bit raw as he starts to regain his composure.

Donghae shook his head. His entire face radiated concern and Hyukjae could see that the other was also holding back tears. “Hyukjae it’s not your fault.”

 “Of course it is!” He cries out, much in denial. “I lied to you about everything and—and you just took it without a single thought!”

The other looked away, and Hyukjae knew he was correct. “It’s completely my fault, and if I just said something maybe…” Hyukjae trailed off as he continued to look at the other’s profile, something not seeming right. It took a second before Donghae looked back at him with a look that almost said it all.

“You knew.” The realization slammed into him so fast Hyukjae didn’t even know how to react. “This whole time while I…you just—you knew, didn’t you?” He was stunned; his eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, and body stiff as his mind slowly began to click all the pieces together. He always thought there was a bit more to the glance he got whenever he thought he’d successfully spun a tale.

Donghae grinned almost sheepishly. “Well I mean…” he started slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It would be pretty sad if I didn’t know who the crowned prince of my own country was.”

The prince let out a loud groan, his hands on his face as he fell into the back of the couch. Never in his life had he felt more stupid. Humiliated! To think that he was actually fooling one of his people into thinking that he wasn’t the crowned prince was absolutely ridiculous, he knew this from the start, but Donghae made it so easy to believe that he didn’t know a damned thing. Just when Hyukjae thought he was becoming the master of tall tales, there just so happens to be someone better at it.

He heard the other laugh softly at his despair. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, if you weren’t the prince it would’ve taken me much longer to figure out that you weren’t a ‘businessman’.”

Hyukjae stared at the other through his fingers for a moment only to receive a huge grin at the look. He sighed, taking his hands away.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 He shrugged. “I wanted you to trust me first,” he said easily, almost as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew you were the prince the moment you walked in but you looked so panicked I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Hyukjae ran a hand through his hair, frustrated but mostly at himself. “And every time after that? Why did you bother to put up with my lies if you knew the truth?”

In answer, Hyukjae got the sweetest, most gentle smile he didn’t think was humanly possible, and it almost made him forget his episode moments ago. “It looked like you needed a friend, and I didn’t mind waiting for you to come out of your shell,” he said simply, and Hyukjae was sure he could start crying again. What in hell did he do to deserve this man in his life?

Hyukjae was speechless at the other’s ability to read him so well. As far as he knew, he wasn’t exactly that easy to see through, but perhaps with the other he might as well be made of some kind of glass since every time they talked he just got it. It was like he had some kind of sensor or something that told him exactly what was on Hyukjae’s mind and what he needed exactly. It was a little scary at times, but Hyukjae had grown so accustomed and fond of it there was no need to question it. Instead of answering, Hyukjae just kind of looked away and stared at the floor in a sort of stupor that was unfamiliar to him. The only person who understood him as well as Donghae was Sora, and honestly it made Hyukjae feel that tier about his terrible communication skills.

Donghae got up after a silence settled between them, announcing that he was going to make hot chocolate for the two of them. It was slightly awkward, and Hyukjae could tell there’s a question on the other’s mind but for whatever reason he held back. Whenever Donghae wanted to say something important, he’d get this look in his eyes that said something along the lines of I hope I don’t send the wrong message or so. Yet after a moment, Hyukjae has noticed, he typically seemed to quell or forget about it and sometimes the prince just wanted to go up to the other and ask him outright what was on his mind. But he was too afraid that being direct would translate into being offensive, and whenever it came to Donghae, Hyukjae’s courage always dropped. Sure, he could give a speech live on national television about politics and what he was going to do for his people, but being direct about his personal feelings for another person? Nah—he might as well have his tongue tied on a normal day.

But tonight wasn’t really a normal night, considering he came here and cried his eyes out for a solid twenty minutes, Hyukjae was so very tired of trying to avoid stepping on glass.

After a moment, the prince followed the other into his tiny kitchen as he got out two mugs and a couple packets of the hot coco mix. The kettle was warming up on the little electric stove, and Donghae almost jumped out of his skin as Hyukjae quietly slipped behind him, slender arms wrapping around the artist’s waist and a chin resting on his shoulder. He was so tired; the exhaustion from his meltdown finally catching up to him now that almost everything was out in the open. It was fairly obvious, in Hyukjae’s opinion, that Donghae knew that he liked him. He could probably guess since it wasn’t everyday he shows up in tears at his door. But Donghae was holding back, and Hyukjae honestly just needed everything to be crystal clear.

“So…” he started shyly, quietly. “Would it be too much trouble for me to learn one more of your vast variety of secrets?” It was playful yet not nearly as much as their usual banter—teasing with a serious purpose to it. The two of them were never that somber to begin with, and when they were their usual antics always found its way into their conversations. A part of Hyukjae wished he could see the other’s face when he asked it, but he was convinced that if they were face to face that he would chicken out at the last moment so it’s just as well that he didn’t.

Donghae, like the bright fellow he was, caught on to what Hyukjae was hinting at. If the prince had to guess, the other probably bit his lip or some other cute nervous habit as he contemplated his small request for a heartbeat. “Depends,” the artist said, a small smile present in his voice. “Can I ask for one in return?”

Hyukjae hummed in affirmation, taking a second to swallow any sort of nervousness he didn’t know about. “Do you like me, Donghae?” His voice was soft, but his intentions were firm. Once the words left his lips, he could feel his heartbeat speed up with some strange mixture of anticipation and wisps of anxiety. In retrospect, Hyukjae was fairly certain that he already knew the answer considering the times where Donghae was a tad more flirtatious than usual, but there was still that doubt of what if he was wrong? If logically looking at their relationship as a whole, what man would let him cry on his shoulder for twenty minutes in the middle of the night and be so gentle about it? Not that Hyukjae was trying to stereotype or anything.

The other was quiet for a minute, but Hyukjae swore he could feel the other’s heartbeat racing. The prince got nervous for a second as the other didn’t say anything or make any sort of motion to move for a couple heartbeats, almost making him apologize but then the other was turning around in his arms, a big goofy grin on the other’s face. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Hyukjae,” he said lightly, his arms wrapping around the other’s neck. He was looking up at him with sparkling eyes, his face so ing close to his own that Hyukjae’s brain almost forgot how to function properly. A blush worked its way into his cheeks, and Donghae chuckled at the sight.

Red cheeks or not, Hyukjae didn’t miss a beat. “How specific would you like me to be?” he responded even though he sounded a bit squeaky in his own ears. His eyes flickered to the other’s lips once—which didn’t go unnoticed, but luckily Donghae decided not to comment on it.

“Do I like you as a person, as a friend?” he listed off, drawing out the sentences slowly, his eyes widening for effect. “Do I like like, you?”

Hyukjae looked away at the other’s words, his nerves unsettling, as he knew what the other was doing. “Donghae.” His voice was almost whining. “Please, no games.”

The other responded with pressing a kiss to Hyukjae’s cheek, effectively having him blush maddeningly bright in an instant, and he probably would’ve spluttered if he didn’t bite his tongue to keep from doing so. Donghae smiled sweetly at the reaction he got, proceeding to rest his forehead against the latters’. “I like you, Hyukjae,” he confessed quietly, nuzzling their noses together.

The prince could feel his heart starting to hammer within his chest, but unlike earlier it was for a completely different reason. He could feel himself swell up with emotions again, mostly a mixture of excitement and anticipation, but mostly relief—so much relief. If he hadn’t cried earlier, he probably would cry now, if anything but simply because he cries whenever he’s feeling stronger emotions. Sora liked to give him for that all the time, and he remembers reading several articles on the Internet commenting on the teary-eyes he got in one or two public speeches. It was kind of a curse, but in a way he found it cute when it wasn’t so damnably embarrassing. “I like you, too,” he returns after a moment, closing his eyes to relish in the moment.

The two of them could’ve probably stayed like that in the middle of Donghae’s kitchen for forever if the forgotten kettle didn’t start to piercingly whistle. Donghae smiled when Hyukjae refused to let go of the other completely until his hands were lightly swatted at. Hyukjae had grumbled stubbornly for a moment before letting the other finish making their mugs of hot chocolate, choosing to go back to the living room to sit down on the couch. After sitting, he suddenly realized he forgot to take off his shoes and quickly did that, feeling a tad guilty on the dirt he probably brought inside of Donghae’s house but was comforted by the fact that the latter probably didn’t even notice. Donghae joined him in the living room moments later, two mugs topped off with whipped cream and a candy cane poking out of each one in either of his hands. Hyukjae gratefully accepted the hot beverage with thanks, deciding to wait for the drink to cool before daring to take a sip.

Donghae sat down next to Hyukjae once he had taken his drink, unafraid to sit a bit closer to the prince now that they were aware of their feelings for each other. Hyukjae loved skinship in general so he had no complaints at the closer proximity. “I think there’s a Christmas special on somewhere,” Donghae said after a moment, reaching for the remote and Hyukjae smiled as he leaned his head on the other’s shoulder. Donghae spent a couple moments trying to find the right channel that had a Christmas movie marathon going on before eventually settling on a showing of the Grinch. The two of them sat there in comfortable silence as they watched the television in front of them; sitting close enough to be have their legs flush as they sip on their festive holiday beverages.

As the movie played, the two of them didn’t really talk that much, rather enjoy the comforts they gave each other. Once their mugs were finished, Donghae got up to place them in the sink to clean later.

Once Donghae got settled again, his arm snaking around Hyukjae’s waist to pull him close. “What does this make us?” Hyukjae asks moments later, finding his voice as the television switched to a commercial. “Lovers? Boyfriends?”

“We can be anything you’d like us to be,” the other answered, looking at Hyukjae fondly. “We don’t even have to go by a label if you don’t want to.”

Hyukjae bites his lip, averting his gaze to where his hands were in his lap. He was used to calling the shots around the palace, but he felt nervous putting a label onto their changing relationship knowing many people will be quick to slap one on. “I’m just asking so that we’re on the same page.”

“I know, and I’m saying we don’t have to be anything if you don’t want anything to be official yet.”

He glanced back at the other. “So—I mean—you’re okay with just…dating?” He hastily adds on. “For now, of course.”

Donghae squeezed him gently. “Of course! If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have offered.” He was being so damn considerate and selfless, Hyukjae just wanted to curl up and never move away from his embrace. He sighed happily, snuggling more into the other’s side and wrapping his arms around him like he was a giant teddy bear. The movie came back on the TV as Hyukjae rested his head back onto the other’s shoulder, looking up at him after a moment.

“Just so you know,” he mentions after some hesitation. “Dating the crowned prince can be more stressful than it looks.”

Donghae’s chest quakes as he chuckles. “I think I’m ready for that challenge.”

Hyukjae snorts. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you—my sister can be quite the handful; protective of her baby brother.”

“You’re her only brother.” It was Donghae’s turn to snort and Hyukjae humphed, earning him a laugh as they both comfortably went back to watching the screen.

The day, all in all, had been relatively wild and out of control. From his short-lived visit to the artist earlier that evening to the mentally taxing dinner that had finally sent him over the edge, Hyukjae was glad he was able to end his day on a high note. Instead of the daily stress and pressures he feels daily, he’s wrapped up in a cozy comfort that allows him to fully relax and be held to no standard or deadline. Not to mention that everything with Donghae went better than what Hyukjae could’ve ever hoped for. They finished their first movie and another came on, but the two men dozed off in the middle of it, wrapped up in each other’s arms on a lumpy sofa.

In the morning, Hyukjae will have to return to the palace and reluctantly deal with responsibilities he couldn’t escape no matter how much he could try. He didn’t know it yet, but the forgotten about bottle that his sister had given him right before he left will have fallen out by then in front of the sofa, only for Donghae to find as they wake up and ask Hyukjae why he was carrying lube around in his pocket.