(AN: happy valentine's day!!! or not lmfaoooo, this is a really angst heavy (albeit short) chapter. TW: homophobia, physical abuse, descriptions of wounds)

He cannot breathe. His lungs burn and he tells himself to breathe, to control himself, to inhale, to exhale, to breathe but he can’t do this, he can’t breathe, he can’t see, he can hardly stand without dread ripping him limb from limb, without guilt eating up the air he breathes, weighing down his heart til it drops into his stomach. He drops on all fours, but he welcomes the pain that rattles his knees and scrapes at the tender skin of his palms.

    “Your majesty!” Jaehwan gasps.

    The guard falls to his knees and grabs onto Kyungsoo’s shoulders, like the moron he is because that won’t bring Jongin back. That won’t help Kyungsoo breathe. That won’t bring Jongin back. Kyungsoo hiccups a sob, curling up into a ball, forehead against the warm stone of his floor until he feels Jaehwan murmur an apology.

    “What?” he sniffles, curling his hands into fists.

    “The king also requested that you be brought to him,” his guard says.

    Pain strangles Kyungsoo’s heart. He can’t do this. He can’t look his father in the face knowing Jongin is suffering because of his father. He can’t look at the king knowing that a man with so much power would delight in causing so much pain over something that should not have been a problem to begin with. What did he care that Kyungsoo was ing a man? Dongsoo has a reputation for sleeping around the palace, which the king didn’t care to remedy, but of course, what would he care? That is natural behavior, if unseemly. If any cataclysmic event befell Joseon, Kyungsoo would be the prime suspect because he disrupted the natural order. He’s not a filial son, spoiling himself like that with men.

    With great reluctance, he finally pulls himself to his feet. He doesn’t bother drying his face, or fixing his hair, or straightening the creases of his hanbok. The king should see exactly what he’s done to Kyungsoo. That thought fires him up for just a moment, but the fire dies just as quickly as it was sparked. Something in Kyungsoo’s heart tells him the king won’t care.

    His walk to the king’s quarters takes up the better part of an hour; Jaehwan is a buzzing ball of anxiety behind him, swallowing hard and clearing his throat and working up the courage to suggest that they pick up the pace just a little, your majesty but the words always die in his throat. Which is just as well, because Kyungsoo doesn’t have the energy to snap at him.

    He stands in front of the king’s quarters in silence, on the second step with his shoes still on. The guards step aside and an older eunuch announces him, but Kyungsoo doesn’t move. He’s glued to that second step, wind kicking up eddies of dust across the courtyard, a few stray brown leaves skittering across, escaping the brooms of the maids, and Kyungsoo feels exactly like those leaves. He’s a dried husk, insides dripping with the remains of his broken heart. He stares at the delicate cream hanja stretched behind a floral wooden lattice, propped open to let him in, but he still doesn’t move. He can’t. If he does, that means he’s accepting this is real. This means accepting Jongin is imprisoned.

    The king’s voice interrupts his mourning. A barked command to the guards to pull him in. Kyungsoo lets himself be hauled up the steps, haphazardly kicking off his shoes and watching them forlornly as they fall off the porch.

    Time is up. He has no choice but to face this. Kyungsoo shakes himself out of the guards’ grasps, glaring at them as they close the door. It’s him and the king and Insoo, undoubtedly to learn how a king punishes unfilial sons. He doesn’t bother looking his brother in the eyes; he doesn’t bother bowing either. He just sinks to his knees on the cushion that’s in front of his father, grimacing at the sickly sweet floral incense that clogs his lungs.

    “I did not summon you to grovel,” the king says.

    Kyungsoo looks up, fire in his eyes. That this man would think Kyungsoo would reduce himself to groveling. That is an insult.

    “I was not going to,” Kyungsoo hisses. “Or is that what you secretly want? You want me to grovel so you can feel better about what you’ve done? So you can enjoy the power you have over me? So you can—”

    A smack cuts him off. Kyungsoo should have seen that coming; he touches a finger to his hot cheek and lowers his head, feeling the heat of his shame and his anger and his sorrow rush to his face. Still, it was a good thing the king smacked him. To give something for his rage to gnaw on, and to remind him of what is at stake. Jongin’s life is still on the line.

    “That you would continue to disrespect me under my own nose,” the king spits, “I never thought you so stupid, Kyungsoo. You spit in the face of all the kings of Joseon.”

    Kyungsoo’s pretty sure someone like Yeonsangun deserved to be spit on, but he doesn’t say so. He just stares at the hem of the king’s robe, numb and cold and unmoving. Deep breath in, breath out between taut lips. It doesn’t help calm the irregular gallop of his heart, and it doesn’t help the ugly anxious swell in his lungs that threatens to rob him of his voice, and it doesn’t help the painful tension in his shoulders, and it doesn’t help because Jongin is still imprisoned.

    The king curls his lip, glaring down his nose at Kyungsoo. “The kingdom will not tolerate such immoral behavior any longer. If you wish to stay alive, you will marry and produce a child within the year. I have already arranged a match for you.”

    Kyungsoo almost scoffs, but he bites it back and closes his eyes. He needs to stay calm. For Jongin, and for himself.

    But of course the king shatters that in an instant.

    “The guard will be executed.”

    Kyungsoo can’t help the cry that escapes his lips. No. No, no, no. Not Jongin. Not execution. Not this.

    “Father, please—”

    The king’s eyes flash, dangerous and cold. Kyungsoo falters, then presses on.

    “Exile him instead. Send him to the farthest place on this earth, to the horrid frozen waste up north if you must, but please spare his life,” Kyungsoo pleads. “I will gladly submit myself to whatever punishment you decide is fair for my transgressions but spare his life, my king. He is not the one to blame.”

    For a tense moment, the king considers him. The silence is punctured by Kyungsoo’s labored breaths, by the rush of blood in his ears, the beating of his heart as it threatens to unravel in his throat.

    “He dies,” says the king. “I will not negotiate this.”

    And for the second time, his heart shatters.

    “F-father—” Kyungsoo blubbers, but the king has already decided Kyungsoo is dismissed, so he sips his tea, lip curled in disgust.

    “Come,” Insoo says softly.

    “Don’t help him,” the king spits.

    Insoo gives the king a measured look, calm but subtly defiant. “Little brother has embarrassed himself enough, your majesty. I think he is in need of assistance to make sure he does not embarrass himself any further.”

    The king his teeth, face twisted with revulsion, but he waves at them dismissively. Kyungsoo’s not sure what just happened but he’s not about to give up. He throws himself into a deep obeisance, palms up, but before he can get out another word Insoo is dragging him to his feet.

    “Wait, Insoo—”

    “Hush,” Insoo says, grip tight around Kyungsoo’s arm. “Don’t provoke him any further.”

    “Let go of m—”

    “Can you not be an idiot for once,” Insoo hisses.

    Kyungsoo stops struggling, tripping over his own feet when Insoo pulls him out of the king’s quarters. Jaehwan waits, as do servants with a palanquin, but Insoo dismisses all of them as he drags Kyungsoo away.

    “Where are you taking me?” Kyungsoo sniffles, wincing when Insoo moves, but the crown prince only tucks a stray strand of hair behind Kyungsoo’s ear.

    “To my quarters,” he replies, his voice soft.

    “Oh.”

    Insoo rolls his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “You’re shivering. Walk right and we’ll get there faster.”

    Kyungsoo wipes his face dry and wraps his arms around himself. With a pitiful sniffle, he starts to walk again, shadowing his brother as they pass a few servants. Insoo has a few inches on him, which Kyungsoo had always been jealous of, but now the height difference means he gets to use his brother as a shield from the strange looks his way.

    At last, they arrive at Insoo’s quarters. The crown prince asks for tea and they wait in silence until the eunuch arrives with a laden tray. Once the tea is served, Insoo dismisses the eunuch, fixing his eyes on Kyungsoo with a fire in them that makes Kyungsoo crumple. He curls up on himself, chin on knees, and watches the steam rise from his cup.

    “Father is being cruel,” Insoo says.

    Kyungsoo frowns a little. That’s not what he was expecting Insoo to say, but he doesn’t interrupt. Instead he thinks of Jongin, and how stoic and composed Jongin would have been in his place. His heart tears just a little more.

    “He feels his power threatened, so he takes it out on you. I would have considered this romance a good thing,” Insoo continues. “I’d never considered you a threat, but this confirmed my suspicions. This should have pleased a king with too many sons.”

    Kyungsoo doesn’t bother telling his brother that his desire to be ed by men has nothing to do with desire to rule, but he doesn’t want to rule and he also doesn’t want Insoo to think he does. He also stays quiet because he’s still not sure where Insoo is going with this. He meets his brother’s eyes, struck by how clear and hard they look. Insoo is definitely up to something. And when his brother smiles, Kyungsoo feels a little stupid for not having caught on earlier.

    “The kingdom is not happy, Kyungsoo,” Insoo says, running a fingertip along the rim of his cup. “