All his efforts go in vain.

 

            The smell of cooked rice penetrates the nostrils of the Prince who hibernates. He blinks repetitively to expel the drowsiness, evacuates his comforter and wakes up to a table, hosting his meal: stainless platters of vegetables, searing cutlets of meat and other myriad of concoctions, grandeur sticking out from the simplicity of it all, antiquity and modernity combining.

            “Good morning,” Yixing greets enthusiastically, “Boxian has made breakfast.”

            He breathes to life, mind fully functioning and scampers to dine with them however Boxian isn't exactly present and he wonders where he is. There's a ruckus, a clank of clay pots and the sound of a sermon that they can overhear but upon entry, Boxian is being yanked on the fabric of his neckline by a man clad in periwinkle robes embroidered with intricate flower patterns, a red girdle over his hips and golden sleeves which flap as the servant skirmishes strenuously.

            “Tell your friend not to be so at home,” he orders. “or I will break him next.”

            “I didn't mean to break the flower pots, Your Highness! I got shocked.”

            “No excuses.” The man warns whereas Boxian submits a hibiscus and scuffles toward the table, at the empty vase, he inserts it tenderly, completing the set which he aimed for.

            “Let's eat, shall we?” Yixing prompts, he turns to the man and pats a cushion designated for him, he who is stressed, plops over it halfheartedly, shows no manners and graces the surface with his elbow, palm cupping his chin and eyes across the figure parallel to him.

            “So when will the both of you leave?”

            Yixing nudges him, “We are eating at the moment.”

            “You can eat then talk.”

            The Prince bows out of the blue while they quarrel, “I apologize on behalf of Boxian and our intrusion to your abode,” he splits his chopsticks meanwhile Boxian indulges already, they look at him fleetingly then he feeds himself, topping animal flesh over rice and asks, “but who are you, Sir?”

            “I am Sehun.” He introduces. “And you two are trespassing the temple of Lord Yue Lao!”

            Boxian lowers his head in shame, Luhan though, responds, “I take it that you must be the Head Keeper?”

            “Head Keeper?” A fist quakes the plates and bowls, a grunt escapes, “Xing-” he says and Yixing pastes a ball of rice onto Sehun's mouth preventing him to speak. He forces the man to chew, mushing his cheeks together and targeting his chopstick at his throat with his free hand as if to slit, a sign for the man to not test his patience but instead should swallow it or die.

            Luhan finishes up and Boxian gobbles hastily likewise the smothered Sehun, coughs sprinkles of white tidbits and seizes one of the cups filled with brewed tea as a result he spits the drink and punches his chest, the constriction lessens and his breathing accelerates. “You have not answered my question, freeloaders!”

            Distancing himself as precaution, Boxian states referencing the Prince, “The shrine people are scary, Your Highness.”

            His eminence can only nod and informs them. “We'll stay for a week if that wouldn't be too much.”

            Peal. The jingling of bells silences the quartet and Yixing elates, pumping spirit into his arms. “You,” he enjoins with authority at Luhan, “shall wash the dishes and you, Boxian,” he twists his body, “shall help me with the temple.” The Keeper departs hurriedly, wrist of the servant boy ensnared around his hand, running off to the main shrine and who's left in the sleeping quarters are two hopeless fools.

            For a moment, they merely engage in a staring competition, pinning each other with unbreakable grimaces, seconds sluggish in movement. Sehun quits first, averts his eyes elsewhere while Luhan's roam the facility and gleans the used utensils, stacking one by one abreast then deadpans. “What does the Head Keeper do?”

            Sehun flicks off his flats, “This,” he replies in an emphatic mode and spreads out, peeling the dainty loose garbs, stammers of breathless what do you think you're doing decrescendo while he strips the layers of clothing onto the thinnest, a starched plain robe and tosses to face the wall. Luhan is stunned, drawn even, but when he sneaks a closer look, he scrutinizes the muscles strained from a grouchy expression soften, contouring to an almost delicate, vulnerable and fragile entity.

 

            He snores.

 

            Luhan chuckles.

 

 

 

            There's a lad who grasps a rug, wiping diligently the lengths of the pillars, contorting and angling his petite body to reach all corners despite the boost from a stool, he endures with difficulty but doesn't halt till he has cleaned down to the last edges and tiny cracks. He becomes serpentine, bending and turning his limbs matched with childish tiptoeing. The boy extends his arm, he tries to get farther, flailing relentlessly but he fails to do so thus by miscalculation of his footing, he misses, nails gripping on the stone to no avail although he's sure, he'll fall like plum blossoms that cruise the atmosphere in currents which only lead to one ending: on the ground; and yet despite the presence of velocity and the essence of time, he does not.

            He lays atop another, on a back that trails as broad as east to west, firm and robust. He groans and the lad lurches forward, leaps through the air, cutting the skin contact between them. “Lucky for you,” he mumbles with a grin when he tilts his head in the others direction, “I tripped on my way and caught you.”

            “Really fortunate of me.” He murmurs, assisting the person who presents himself as Chanyeol.

            Aforementioned Chanyeol brings out his palm and inquires in a chic manner, “And you are?”

            They shakes hands and he introduces in a heartbeat, “Boxian,” bowing for sundry purposes, apology, gratitude and farewell altogether, he darts and picks up his rug, “Please excuse me, I have chores to attend to.”

            Chanyeol echoes the name, a familiarity with the context then addresses Keeper Yixing coming toward him, waving upon notice. Boxian kneels by a bucket of water, he dips the piece of clothe deeply and twists the dampened material to be able to polish the wooden flooring while Chanyeol, curious with the new worker, asks the Keeper about him.

            “You see,” he stutters, composing a lame fib, “the shrine opened up to volunteers who want to help establish it more.” Yixing studies, the face of the usual visitor, somehow unconvinced, because the temple had never done anything like it, moreover was renowned with one sole caretaker which was him.  He fidgets, Chanyeol locates his focus again on Boxian and practically deafens him.

            “I would also like to volunteer!”

            With the turn of events, Chanyeol grabs a different rug and sloppily soaks it, causing droplets to trickle and annoy Boxian. “Let me help you with that.” The taller male crouches, provides a cheery beam afterward and swabs the deck. Boxian misinterprets it, he races, hands planted on the rug sliding across the floor and legs kicking. Chanyeol bolts faster, he rubs the flakes dirtying the area and Boxian competes with his shenanigans, they clean like this, like a friendly game for kids however all mischief end when Boxian swerves, his foot failing him once more thus he trundles, hits the bucket and spills the water all over. Meanwhile, Chanyeol is victimized by the accident, the extra substance sputters on his part, jaw dropping.

            A fraying Boxian hesitates to look up to Keeper Yixing frozen in his unmoved position and whose broomstick trembles in his grip, whacks complemented with gentle words land on their pates as tocsin.

            It's only day one but Boxian worries for his two strikes, what's at stake is being kicked out definitely.

            “Well, that was fun, wasn't it?” Chanyeol laughs. Boxian sways his head in dismay and proceeds more seriously, Chanyeol finds it odd. But even so, he has found Boxian to be really cute, remembering how he struggled and now, mourns over their disaster.

            But success rings when Boxian sighs and turns to him for help, “Could you fill the bucket? It's exhausting to pump.”

            “Sure.” He answers sheepishly.

 

            They're both in need of starting anew, from scratch.

           

            “I'm sorry but it was fun, wasn't it?” Chanyeol converses, he has returned with the water they need, a smile still on his unbeaten face.

            “I guess.” Boxian replies. “It's your fault, we got scolded though.”

 

~❀~

 

            It's late afternoon of the second day, sun preparing to set, moon peeking behind the clouds and Luhan has recreated himself into someone useful unlike in the Palace where everything is controlled by his commands, he does something for the first time in a while and feels good about it but even productivity should be rewarded with rest so his disoriented steps retraces the way to the sleeping quarters and unsurprisingly when he enters, the same mound of cluttered robes welcome him, the same man lays on the floor, snoozing. In his case, it's all too tempting and contagious so he props his head on the leg of the nearby table, a pillow segregating the boundary. Bit by bit, he slides down and levels Sehun's stance and as if an impulse, he's memorizing the creases of his face again, the lines on his forehead wrinkling and the ones that form when his nose scrunches, he notices the little quiver in his lips and how his chest expands and contracts in general.

            He looks angelically regal even in the tackiest outfit.

            Then all of a sudden, Sehun asks with his eyes closed which jitters Luhan, flustering him into a mess, sounding almost like a mimicry of his earlier words. “What do you think you're doing?”

            “N-nothing.” He replies and scratches his tress, embarrassed.

            “I could feel your breathing, you know?” His voice still drenched in somnolence, husky and hoarse. They don't move from their posts, highlighting the intakes of oxygen Luhan intoxicates, becoming less and less and maybe, his heart will give up on his bloodstream soon enough. “What is it? Tell me.”

            “I-it's because if you think about it, we look alike.”

            “Eh?” He says, fluttering his lashes while his eyes open, inching his face close, closer than they already are, cutting distance brusquely, noses relatively but not entirely colliding. There's not a smear of ridicule on Sehun, judging the Prince's face that is undoubtedly aesthetic, soft and soothing while his are full of cuts and edges. “A resemblance,” Sehun rectifies, “there's only a resemblance because a face like yours only comes once in a Dynasty.” then plummets to his comfort zone, yawning as he stretches his limbs.

            “A face like mine?”

            He nods, “An atrocity that should stay unique and genuine to one person.”

            Luhan depletes and he plunges a pillow onto Sehun's face, in hopes of suffocating him to death, the Head Keeper pardons, struggles and says he can't breathe but Luhan crushes the cushion anyway.

 

~❀~

 

            “Boxian,” Chanyeol disturbs while they're wiping windows, Boxian with the interior and Chanyeol at the opposite. “Do I look familiar to you?”

            “No.” He replies, dabbing the glass harshly. Chanyeol had been asking him the question incessantly and he wants to make it clear to him that he doesn't desire to grow accustom to him nor does he want to know him better.

            Chanyeol interrupts him from his cleaning, grabs his beautiful calloused hand, “I don't know why but I feel like I've met you but I don't remember much.”

            The shorter stops responding to taller one's mindless talks and concentrates on his own but he makes it hard every step of the way by being so carefree and gleeful, making him smile clandestinely with his goofy personality. He doesn't find him annoying, he sees a part of him in the past. A portion he has stored in a closet along with many memories.

            “But that's better, right?” He says spontaneously, staring into Boxian's eyes, “Because I'll remember our nows.”

 

~❀~

 

            Yixing arrives with Boxian and someone Luhan doesn't know who points at them pertaining him and Sehun. “Matchmaker Sehun and Prince Lu Han!” The regalia and the servant boy automatically shove his disrespectful gesture toward their Masters.

            Chanyeol steps back at the impact, Yixing threatens him with his broom and Boxian looks willing to fracture his arm. He doesn't understand what's going on. He doesn't get why the Prince of China is at the Matchmaker's shrine when he was sure they came and left a day ago and yet here he is then a surge hits him, Sehun's forefinger play on his lips, his crescent moons suggest something he can't quite grasp. “Luhan,” the Prince greets, “just call me Luhan as is.”

            “C-could it be that,” he stutters, “the Matchmaker has taken you as a hostage?”

            The pillow Luhan used in almost murdering Sehun, courses through the air and tackles Chanyeol, “No, the shrine are not hoarding these people who trespassed and are freeloading.” Sehun answers, “And no, I am not the Matchmaker. I am the Head Keeper of Lord Yue Lao's temple.”

            “But one night, you – that was definitely you! You told me your name was Sehun and you gave me the name of my Soul Mate,” he wracks his brain, “a name, I don't remember.”

            Sehun prods, “Yixing, shall we eat now?”

            “When I was a kid, I got lost in the forest and someone, a boy just my age helped me. Does this not ring a bell to you?” Chanyeol elaborates, his lamentable facial expression reaches Boxian who walks out from supper.

 

            Legs crossed and faces aligned, Sehun pronounces a speech surreptitiously speaking into Chanyeol's ear, “Your memory might be blurred now but for a soul that searches, the name will come back to you in no time.” He turns to Yixing who sits distant, “This is why we should wait even though humans are always in a hurry; we must wait for that perfect timing when both souls have the need to reunite, when they're both ready.”

            The Keeper bows his head with contriteness striping his moonlit exterior, argentine glimmers dancing in the caliginous environment. Sehun glances at Boxian, “Because if the other soul isn't prepared so is the human who has his own priorities. Chanyeol will barge into Boxian's life at the wrong moment, effectuate an unpredictable series of acts and then, making it hard for them, the souls might not find a way to each other.”

            Yixing wrinkles his robes, clenching and relaxing his fist, “I'm sorry, Chanyeol...”

            “The next time you exhort me, set aside your feelings because humans are tiring beings to deal with.” Sehun says. “Don't get yourself too attached to them either because they'll die and we'll move on. You're dead and I'm practically nonexistent. As a regalia, half human, half god, know which side of you should work.”

            “I-I'm sorry...” He repeats while the Matchmaker crawls apropos of him, a pat on the mazard is furnished, alleviation of grief through consoling murmurs.

 

~❀~

 

            Day five begins with the anguish of last night irking Yixing, he can't seem to let it past so easily. Looking at Chanyeol and Boxian, he realizes they aren't moving forward at all, they're not communicating the way they should.

            “Quit following me!” Boxian yells at the foolish boy tracking his steps. Chanyeol cowers, dubious of his motives but he whimpers a sound, something like a cry as he shifts to take hold of a bucket distilling driblets with each trudge.

            “I want to help you.”

            “I can do it myself.” The shorter jerks and heads for the main shrine, Chanyeol's arm retreats in defeat.

            Boxian is pushing him away and he'll continue to stay like that because he has more important matters, responsibilities, obligations and duties insomuch that Chanyeol is a minutia of a phantasm, insignificant and little, whom he doesn't need to divert attention to. A person he'll know for a week and forget at fortnight.

            And it hurts him for some reason.

            “Boxian,” he calls and quiets down when he thinks Chanyeol is about to steer his heels elsewhere, he bolts as fast as he can but shudders at the outburst of a find something else to do! It stays like that where Chanyeol forces himself on Boxian and Boxian erupting at him, just like Sehun said and Yixing wants to fix it yet fears of worsening the situation immobilize him.

 

~❀~

 

            Luhan stares at Sehun across the room, munching on snacks which Yixing laid out. He trundles round and round the room in the same basic clothing, spilling miniscule bits of the junk then connects gazes with the Prince. Lying on his chest, elbows on the floor, he strikes a conversation, “What is it this time? You want some?” Sehun offers him by extending his hand outward with the bag and wagging it.

            “N-no.” The Prince declines, shaking his head. “It's just that,” he looks away, “do you really not do anything but sleep?”

            He ponders, “Well, I eat all day too,” Sehun answers, emphasizing his chips.

            The dusk arrives and only then does the Head Keeper stands from his stagnant post, Luhan remarks, “You don't come out during the day, why is that?”

            “I only work at night.”

            “What do you do?”

            “Lots.”

            “Like?”

            “Tend to the night-blooming cereus.” He replies heading out while Luhan trails behind him although he is shooed away countless times. They traverse over the bridge where the Prince saw Keeper Yixing listen to him play a song with a leaf, an alluring talent. The Willow tree he climbed on remains glorious and the pond beneath has fishes from the orients swarming at their approach, almost makes him want to dip his feet.

            Luhan has been led into a garden of white flowers, all enclosed buds and an interjection of distress from Sehun galvanizes him. “One of them is withering before it can even bloom.” He stoops low enough and plucks it out.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I'm putting it out from its misery.” He articulates, soulful, “Night-blooming cereuses only bloom once a year with the moonlight's beam.” Sehun takes another seed from his pocket, digs a hole with his bare fingers and dumps it in. “You should see them. They're the most beautiful things I've seen.”

            “Can I?” He asks for permission.

            “What?”

            “Can I see them with you? Although there is no assurance when they'll bloom or when I can come back here.”

            It hits Sehun all at once. Luhan leaves tomorrow. He pats the soil flat and splashes water at it from a can.

            “You'll take care of it, right? Swear to me, you'll keep it alive.” Luhan commands.

            “I can't stop it from–”

            The Prince is persistent. “Swear to me, you'll keep it alive, Sehun.”

            “I promise.”

            “Don't promise me. Swear to me under your name.”

            And he does, he takes an oath under his name that he'll keep the flower alive. Luhan leans on his shoulder, turning tables in amusement.

 

            “W-what do you think you're doing?”

 

            But Sehun is just like any flower, you can find him almost anywhere, might even think he's special for a second with his wondrous features, he differs yet blends in but he will wilt, he will wither when unattended to and forgotten. He will die because immortals perish when humans no longer have faith in them.

~❀~

 

            The smell of cooked rice penetrates the nostrils of the Matchmaker who hibernates. He blinks repetitively to expel the drowsiness, evacuates his comforter and wakes up to a table, hosting his meal: stainless platters of vegetables, searing cutlets of meat and other myriad of concoctions, grandeur sticking out from the simplicity of it all, antiquity and modernity combining.

            “Good morning.” Yixing greets enthusiastically. “Luhan has made breakfast.”

            He breathes to life, mind fully functioning and scampers to dine with them however Luhan isn't exactly present and he wonders where he is. There's a ruckus, a clank of plates and the sound of a sermon that they can overhear but upon entry, Boxian is being yanked on the fabric of his neckline by Luhan clad in vermillion robes embroidered with intricate flower patterns, a yellow girdle over his hips and emerald sleeves which flap as his servant skirmishes strenuously. It's a déjà vu in reverse of the first day.

            “Tell your friend not to be so at home,” Sehun orders. “or I will break him next.”

            “Breaking something at the last minute, so Boxian.” Chanyeol comments.

            “It was an accident.”

            “No excuses.” The Head Keeper warns whereas Boxian submits a hibiscus and scuffles toward the table, at the empty vase, he inserts it tenderly, completing the set which he aimed for.

            “Let's eat, shall we?” Yixing prompts, he turns to Luhan and pats a cushion designated for him beside the Matchmaker.

            “Isn't this nice, Sehun?” The regalia says when all five have surrounded the table. “Our little family has grown.”

            Sehun feeds himself a spoonful and hums in delight. Somehow, no matter how noisy it gets, no matter how many frail things break and no matter how much he hated everything at first, he likes the idea now. The falling of one of the hibiscus' petals in the vase, overtakes his attention and immediately, he captures the stray, clasps it with a dreading intuition.

            Luhan sets down his utensils and says, “We will be leaving tomorrow before dawn.”

            Sehun sinks in his seat.

            “I shall accompany you, Your Highness.” Chanyeol responds, the servant almost reacts but he validates his statement and they're hanging by a thread now. “For I have business with the Palace on that day.”

            “Very well,” the Prince acquiesces, “It has been a pleasure to stay here.”

            “We are eating at the moment.” Sehun reminds them and the Prince bows out of the blue while they feast, “I apologize on behalf of Boxian and our intrusion to your abode,” he plays with his chopsticks meanwhile Boxian indulges already, they look at him fleetingly then he feeds himself, topping animal flesh over rice.

            Boxian lowers his head, Luhan continues, “Will you come at daybreak, Head Keeper?”

            “Daybreak?” A fist quakes the plates and bowls, a grunt escapes, “Xing-” he says and Yixing pastes a ball of rice onto Sehun's mouth preventing him to speak. He forces the man to chew, mushing his cheeks together and targeting his chopstick at his throat with his free hand as if to slit, a sign for the man to not test his patience but instead should swallow it or die.

            Luhan finishes up and Boxian gobbles hastily likewise the smothered Sehun, coughs sprinkles of white tidbits and seizes one of the cups filled with brewed tea as a result he spits the drink and punches his chest, the constriction lessens and his breathing accelerates.

            Distancing himself as precaution, Chanyeol states, “The shrine people are scary, Boxian.”

            Boxian can only nod.

            “I won't.” Sehun declares when he catches his breath, ruining the easygoing climate. “I'm busy tonight. Waking up at that ungodly hour is a hassle.”

            “Is that so?” The Prince asks and the troika composed of humans, slump on their seat.

 

~❀~

 

            “We're leaving now.” Luhan bids them farewell, standing under the arch. “Thank you for keeping us.” He bows and Boxian follows suit the act sincerely.

            Then the taller skims the perimeters for the face he'll never forget before departing however it is nowhere in hindsight, missing the closure of their intrusion.

            But there's a bit of hope lingering on the Prince's mien, a shred so infinitesimal that even if time disfigures into dessert sand slipping away while he claws desperately to clasp the grains, coarse on his palms and chances are running toward the opposite direction, there's a tiny piece of him hoping that the last person they're waiting for will make an appearance although unlikely. “Won't Head Keeper Sehun see us through?”

            “I'm afraid not.” Yixing answers and the flame Luhan has ignited on a candle inside him, comparatively decaying from the world, dies. It flickers at its lowest ebb, wanes into nothingness till everything is a void engulfed in stygian blackness. “He doesn't go out in daylight and only works during the night shift.”

            “Then we shall be on our way.” He says, back turned yet eyes still searching.

            Yixing waves then curves his body meanwhile they disappear, hitching a carriage set for a journey to the Mainland where the Palace reigns, where the Prince and his servant belongs, a race with the rise of the sun.

            And should it hurt more for them thinking Sehun never came. He did. He stood behind him all this time but remained invisible, presence disabled to the mortals.

            “They were expecting you.” The regalia spews with a venomous tone, disgusted with Sehun.

            “I did the right thing.”

            “Why must the right thing always be painful to do...”

            Sehun recedes to the shrine, “Because if it were easy, we wouldn't exist. Humans will no longer cling to us, they'll forget and abandon us to die.”

            Yixing is unable to believe how the words come out effortlessly when it burdens him to accept the mere fact, Sehun punctuates the phrases like they're meaningless to him but it is he who should be most affected and concerned ergo the regalia contradicts the idealism his Master endears.

           

            “What's already dead can't die twice.”

           

            Just then, the Matchmaker wavered.

 

 

 

            The Prince sits at the left side of the carriage, beside the window where views flash before him in a blur, lagging even though time moves perfectly in sync with nature. Boxian is positioned in the center and Chanyeol rests his head on the glass separating the indoors from the outside. They've been traveling for hours already and with their pace, they might reach the capital prior to daybreak, smooth-sailing and no impediments in between.

            Although that might have been a nice dream to wake up to, they didn't live in a fantasy and for someone like him, something so absurd was impossible. Suddenly, their carriage careens at the impact of another means of transport bumping into them, they lurch forward without warning and all of them spin as the carriage rolls across the dirt and lands on the base of the trees. Horse neighing, the coachman tugs on the reigns to regain control over the animal despite shaken, they try to grip on anything while the driver settles down his steed but from his seat Luhan visualizes a group of men approaching them, bows in their hands, arrows pointed.

            They're caught in a wreck, in the middle of a severe situation and yet he maintains his composure and exits the vehicle along with Chanyeol, hands in surrendering position in spite of being hindered by Boxian whom is asked to stay low. Wearing simpler robes and a cloak to mask his identity, Luhan risks himself. He lifts up the hood, unraveling his visage but the people who caused their delay are not startled or stunned moreover they seem pleased.

            “Prince of China, we've been waiting.”

            Soon enough, he is surrounded by a gang of bandits, armed with weapons and he shrinks a little at the disadvantage. Chanyeol reassures him though, stands his ground to serve and protect the royalty.

            “Rumors said the Prince disappeared and lucky for you, our men spotted you at the shrine and waited for this spectacular moment.” One of them unsheathes his dagger, yanks on Luhan's long raven tufts, caresses it with his other hand then slices through, sprinkling a smattering cluster of hair. Chanyeol responds with a jab, he implants it on the man's lower jaw in exchange he receives a punch much filled with strength onto his stomach. He staggers but fights back, suppressing pain, he lunges himself at the one in charge while Luhan takes the initiative to don equipment, he kicks at his captor's knee, rushes for his arm and tangles them with his to grab a dagger. With no delay, he inserts the knife on the flesh, blood popping and sprints for Chanyeol. It's useless in the end though when outnumbered despite the kicks and turns, swings and fires, sweat and tears.

            The group assembles themselves and in no time, the duo are back in their clutches, Luhan's refined countenance pinned against the ground, sole of a boot pressing down and wrists tied along with Chanyeol whom they are senselessly beating up while Luhan's guilt preys on him as he watches the horror.

            They're stomping on him, crushing his rib cages and injuring his face into a deadly state. Each screech of agony, bludgeoning of grudges and torturous laughter ringing about, rip the Prince's sanity. He finds it sickening to the bones, how awful they are, they want him and yet they choose to harm someone as innocent as his new comrade, Chanyeol who has absolutely nothing to do with their business among the hierarchy. “Please,” he begs, twisting his head around the foot, “leave him alone.”

            The owner of the shoes silences him, buries him deeper, “Hurt me instead. Just please, leave him be.” And they do, they pause for a minute, then a plaster a grin at him.

            “Throw him off the mountainside.” One orders, they pick him up like an animal, drag his soon to be corpse to dangle him at the border of land and air. Chanyeol grovels toward him but a bandit jams his backhands, an exasperated wail croons merrily into their ears while Luhan shuts his eyes and whispers for a miracle, “Please help us, Matchmaker.”

            Instantaneously, a voice proclaims, “I have heard your prayer.”

            Luhan looks at the figure entering the scene, heavily clothed, a mantle over his head and a mask covering half of his face, eyes out in the open, eyes that are the windows to one's soul which make it obvious for the Prince because he can tell they belong to Sehun. He would know them anywhere, orbs of such menace and compassion. Eyes that he has stared at for hours and watched crack after a nap.

            Sehun draws the Xingki, the bandits congested seem petrified and with a wield of his sword, a gust of wind sends them flying. “You prayed to the wrong god though. There's not so much I can do as the Matchmaker. I am not a war god after all.”

            “Y-you're not going to kill them, right?” Yixing in his combative mode asks.

            “Maybe,” he teases, “but a sacrifice under my name would be nice.” Then he maneuvers his saber with skill and finesse, propulsion of sharp protruding air currents in succession. Fluidity pulses in his veins, per move he knocks out a troop through cyclones infested with levitating rubble ambushing them until he has riffled each, sent tumbling in wayward motion.

            Advancing as he scars the earth with the point of his sword, the chief relinquishes and Luhan's carriers dispatch him on the count of three, at the leader's mark, Luhan drops from a steep height while shutting his eyes, he experiences what's it like to be taught how to fly.

            Except he is flightless and chances are: there are none.

            He'll die.

            Sehun slashes his blade in their direction and utters words of punishment at the foreman but Luhan is already falling deep, “You who have been separated from your half and have been reborn into this world as one, I, the Matchmaker shall revoke the name of the counterpart of your soul.” Consequent, pictographic writing appear, flashing a name and cross out into millions of pieces.

            “Hereon, I separate you from your half eternally. Even if you reincarnate, you will never find your Soul Mate, never ever. You shall walk with the feeling of emptiness and incompleteness forever. You will never be Matched or married, this I swear under my name.” The criminal collapses, yelling in pain like a fragment of his humanity was taken, his goons fall back and they hop on board their carriage, fleeing to safety.

            Chanyeol tugs on the god of Matchmaking's robes cascading before him, “Prince Lu Han,” he coughs, “Prince Lu Han... Has he–”

            “He's fine.” Sehun answers, “The fall didn't kill him.”

            He sighs in relief and stumbles as he heads for the wrecked carriage where Boxian is. When the door opens at his touch, skinny arms fumble and snake around his neck. A brunette who cries and wishes he was stronger and braver, who can't help but hide his shame welcomes him.

            “The coast is clear.” He beams, stretching his swollen and gashed cheeks.

            It triggers Boxian to look up and he crumples to his feet upon witnessing how improbably breathtaking his smile is, how words cannot demystify the purity it possesses, how crooked he might seem in appearance, his optimism makes all the difference.

            “I knew it was you from the beginning.” He whispers. “The boy who got lost.”

             Chanyeol thinks to himself, at last, finally.

 

            Sehun materializes at the place where the Prince landed, who is unconscious, lying down at a site which had just been occupied, sheer luck on his side or perhaps Fate. Luhan isn't fated to die yet.  He scoffs because the situation almost seems like a normal scenario at the shrine but instead it is he this time watching over, studying the Prince's wounded facade. The sight itches him, observing the imperfections and flaws which his fingers brush, stings the royalty in his condition.

            “You leave for one second and come to us crying already.” He grumbles, running his hand across his hair in frustration. “And I'm the bad guy if I leave you be.”

            Everything next occurs in fast forward, when he is about to walk away and pretend like nothing happened, one last turn toward him, a glance, Luhan runs with a rummy expression and tackles him, making Sehun tumble backward, senses disintegrated, feelings askew. And Sehun finds it extremely odd, out of the ordinary that as the Prince tightens his embrace on his chest which shouldn't even be possible considering that he had already activated the barrier between them, visibility to mortals gone again, let alone couldn't be grasped like air, Luhan manages to nuzzle him, spouting nonsense with a muffled voice.

 

 

 

            “I've been looking for so long.”

 

 

 

            Sehun doesn't understand what he means by it but he stops struggling and calms himself, feels the warmth emanating from the human's actions and he thinks that it's against the law to be toyed around by a mere weakling like him because it had always been the other way around between gods and humans. Slowly, he gives in, reminiscing on how he saved Yixing who repaid his deed with a gesture just as pure and extends his hand, hovers it over the Prince's pate and his head. Luhan deepens his touches and verbalizes words that make Sehun transcend the universe.

 

        

 

            “Finally, I've found you.”

 

 

 

            No one has ever tried to find Sehun.

 

            There's a twinge in him, a pierce down to the very bottom of his soul. And maybe, they are somehow connected to each other or will be, not by a thread weaving them together, neither Fate nor Destiny will dictate, but something better, something he has yearned for perhaps since the day he began the trek of being a Matchmaker.

 

            But something catches his eyes, “Your body,” he gasps.

 

            Luhan pulls away, across them is a replica of him, his very physical body sprawled on the ground where Sehun had first been at and the Prince notices a purplish tail-like object has sprouted on his other body that is currently in contact with Sehun who tells him four words which make no sense to him.