(AN: so this chapter is kinda fillery and i'm sorryyyyyyyy but i'm gonna be going on a mini-vacation so hopefully i'll get about two or three chapters of writing done in the next week! anyway, enjoy this tiny break from the angst, bc it's only gonna get worse from here :))

Hanyang, glittering in the cool spring sun. The sight makes Kyungsoo’s heart sing, especially when his and back ache from the horse riding. Changdeokgung’s gates loom in the distance, and Kyungsoo turns to flash Jongin a brilliant smile.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he chirps.

But Jongin only gives him a curt nod, staring straight ahead. Kyungsoo his teeth, but deep down anxiety gnaws at his stomach at the sight of Jongin so cold.

“Jongin-ah,” Kyungsoo whines, “You can at least admit to enjoying the view.”

Jongin continues to stare ahead, his eyes sliding to meet Kyungsoo’s for a split second before focusing on the palace gates again.

“The palace is beautiful, your majesty,” Jongin agrees, the perfect picture of a detached and uninterested guard.

Kyungsoo’s good mood dissipates instantly. He sets his jaw, spurring his horse into a trot. And of course, when Jongin doesn’t reach out or apologize, Kyungsoo sinks lower into his sulk. Even the fanfare, the people surprised at seeing the young prince return (and on horseback, how mature he looks now!), the drums of the guards, and his father, the king, standing at the third gate, are not enough to make his mood less sour.

When they reach the steps, he hops off his horse (and doesn’t stumble - how far he’s come since he hobbled off his horse at the Tiger Mountain School) and goes up the steps, the bitter taste of his temper fading some. He takes a moment to bask in his father’s smile before he bows, forehead to the ground. The king is still beaming when Kyungsoo stands, giving him a proud nod.

“Welcome home, my son,” he says.

His father’s smile is infectious; Kyungsoo lets himself enjoy the pride radiating from the king, smiling in return before he steps aside for his guards to bow. Jinhwan, Moonkyu, and Jongin bow in unison (but Jongin looks regal while he does, Kyungsoo thinks with a proud sniff), rising when the king asks them to.

“So you are the one who will protect my son now,” the king says, peering at Jongin.

Jongin is statuesque, perfectly put together as he dips into another bow.

“It is an honor to do so, your majesty,” he says with a soft voice.

Kyungsoo stares, drinking in the sight of Jongin’s profile, of the bump on his nose and the fullness of his lips. That is, until the king starts to speak. Kyungsoo jolts, looking back at his father with startled eyes, and curses under his breath. Right, he shouldn’t be so obvious. He chastises himself (with Jongin’s voice, because it sounds more stern) and tries to focus on what the king is saying.

“–and tomorrow he will demonstrate what he has learned,” the king says with a chuckle.

Kyungsoo blinks, wondering why a wave of chuckles is rippling across the courtyard until he realizes the king was talking about him. Oh, .

“I will?” he squeaks, blushing when the king laughs.

“Come now, I want to see if you actually learned anything up there with that old fart. It wouldn’t be any good if you came back here in the same condition,” the king sighs. “But come, get yourself clean so we can eat.”

Kyungsoo’s stomach grumbles before he can reply; his ears burn, but nobody seems to have noticed. Well, nobody but Jongin, who ducks his head to hide a small smile. Stupid Jongin. Kyungsoo fumes, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue at his guard, but his grumpiness is trumped by the little swell of joy that smile brings, so he lets it slide.

The sheets are softer than he remembers them. Too soft, after months of rough wool; the silk is treacherous, tangling his limbs, slipping between his legs whenever he fidgets, wrapping around his forearms. With a frustrated huff, he throws them off. His room is warm enough for him to sleep uncovered, but the blankets are a welcome weight now that Jongin is no longer sleeping with him.

Kyungsoo sighs, pulling the blankets over himself again. Jongin had been right, of course. In the month and a half before they left for Hanyang, they slept together every night. Most nights it was desperate (so frequent and intense that even Jongin would look tired the next day), but on the other nights it was desperate cuddling, Kyungsoo burrowing himself in Jongin’s arms, clinging to the other’s back with a desperation that sometimes frightened Jongin (and Jongin would soothe him with soft kisses, rubbing Kyungsoo’s back and thighs until the prince loosened his grip). The prince had grown used to Jongin, to falling asleep in the warmth of Jongin’s embrace.

But now he is alone. So many months of wishing for his soft bed, but now all he wants is his room at the Tiger Mountain School with its shoddy padding and rough blankets. He sighs. Well, he only needs to wait a month; then it’ll be the heavenly combination of his soft bed and Jongin’s strong arms (and ruthless, divine hips, ing deep into Kyungsoo as Kyungsoo loses himself in pleasure– no, not a good train of thoughts to follow). He curls up, cursing as the silk sheets pool around him like an oil sheen. Despite having eaten hours ago, the rich food sits too heavily in his stomach; another unfortunate consequence of eating the simpler food of the school. He’d dreamed of palace meals, but once he sat in front of the feast the king had arranged, his appetite vanished. The excess of palace life seems surreal now, a half-remembered dream that had once been pleasurable, but now seems like over-sweet desserts. And an empty sweetness at that, cloying but unable to fill the Jongin-shaped absence in his bed. He sighs, resigning himself to the sleepless nights that stretch out before him.

Kyungsoo stretches his neck, eyes narrowed against the sun. Jongin is across from him in all his golden glory, his skin vibrant against the red and black silk of his uniform. He holds a wooden sword and in his stance is a coiled strength, like a tiger stalking prey, readying itself to pounce. Kyungsoo gulps, adjusting his grip on his own wooden sword. There’s a whoop from Kyungsoo’s right; his brothers, all five of them, in their big, burly,