Despite his best attempts, Junmyeon does fall asleep sometime during the night and wakes up with a start the moment his ears catch the sound of movement from Yixing’s side of the campfire. Yixing notices and smirks.

“Good morning, prince. How likely are you to fall asleep in the saddle today?”

“I am more likely to perish,” Junmyeon mutters and squints towards the horses with regret. Waking up after sleeping a handful of hours on rough terrain is something he is quickly tiring of. He wishes for a soft bed, a warm bath, and a filling meal, and potentially something to soothe the ache.

If he survives the attempt on Yixing’s life, he has but one objective: He will get a room at the nearest inn and refuse to move from the bed until he feels less like dying. It could be several days, but he does not care.

Getting back in the saddle today almost makes him cry. He might even take Yixing up on his offer of carrying him, though he cannot imagine how that might work out. He is sick and tired of riding, but there’s half a day ahead of it.

The couple of hours he slept serves to perk him up some although he knows he is bound to tire fast. The pain will probably keep him awake.

Yixing calls for a break twice during the ride, and by the time a town slowly opens up before them three hours past noon, Junmyeon might just scream in relief. He will not be getting back into the saddle any time soon even at the threat of violence. 

“Soothing balm,” Yixing sing-songs as they stroll into the town. Junmyeon refuses to look at him.

Yixing has pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, which does not in any way make him look less inconspicuous, but Yixing knows best – and if he does not, all the better. Someone will report his presence to whomever has the power in this town, and they will detain him and send him back to the capital for his execution. 

If Junmyeon did not suspect Yixing would be more than capable of escaping, he might have even considered reporting him himself. 

“Where will your friend meet us?” Junmyeon asks. 

“At the taverna,” Yixing answers. “We will be there soon.”

They pass through most of the town, it seems, and Junmyeon nearly does a double-take when he notices a poster on one of the buildings. The drawing depicts a man with a striking scar across one eye, short hair, stubble, and bushy eyebrows. 

It certainly shares some similarities with Yixing, but at a glance, or even ten, Junmyeon sincerely doubts anyone will be able to recognise Yixing as the wanted man on the poster. The man depicted appears several years older than he actually is, and beneath the drawing a short notice reads, Wanted for the murder on the king and the suspected murder on the crown prince. Reward: 200 wholes.

Junmyeon stares. 200 wholes could probably feed a family of four for several months.

“I wonder if I would receive the reward for turning myself in,” Yixing murmurs, and Junmyeon snaps to attention.

“You should try.”

Yixing laughs and slows down in front of a building that is larger than the inn they visited a few days ago. “I do not think I will.”

He tells Junmyeon to stay outside with the horses and disappears inside. A few minutes later, he returns with a young boy in tow, who mutely takes the reins from Junmyeon and disappears around the corner with the horses. 

“Come,” Yixing says and nudges Junmyeon’s shoulder. “Zitao is waiting.”

Junmyeon quickly follows Yixing inside and towards a table in one of the secluded corners. A man sits in one of the chairs, dark fringes falling into his eyes as he nurses a mug of some beverage. Junmyeon can already tell the man is taller than Yixing and him both, which is unsettling. His face is as youthful as Yixing’s, however, which makes it difficult to guess his age. 

Junmyeon’s impression of the man is not an assassin, but that is to be expected. Yixing, if Junmyeon ignores his own prejudices, does not look much like a murderer, either. 

The man – Zitao, was it? – looks up at the sound of their approach and offers them a small smile.

“Greetings,” he says, voice light and friendly. “Good to see you again, Yixing. I was rather disappointed to learn you had already escaped by the time I arrived at the capital. Han sends his regards, by the way.”

“Tell him he owes me next time you see him, would you?” Yixing says. “There is a chance you would have left me to rot with the rats, so I am glad someone else offered me an out before you came.”

Zitao chuckles and looks away from Yixing to pin keen eyes on Junmyeon. Immediately, Junmyeon knows that Zitao knows, and he swallows dryly. He suddenly feels less safe, if that is even possible. 

“I am rather curious,” Zitao murmurs, gaze moving between them, “to hear your explanation.”

“It is quite boring, I’m afraid,” Yixing says and plops into one of the free chairs. He motions for Junmyeon to do the same, so Junmyeon does, albeit reluctantly; Zitao’s eyes on him unsettles him. “Interesting, certainly. I was offered my freedom in exchange for a temporary change of career.”

Zitao arches an eyebrow and stares at Junmyeon, albeit his reply is to Yixing. “A protector.”

“A nursemaid, rather,” Yixing says and sighs forlornly. Junmyeon takes offence and glares at him. “You would not believe the hardships I have endured because of him.”

“I can imagine,” Zitao muses. “Well, do tell, princey. Why am I here?”

Junmyeon glances at Yixing. “He did not tell you the nature of my request?”

“He did not,” Zitao says. “Yixing likes to tease me. He withholds information like I am a dog after a bone.”

Yixing visibly preens. “You cannot deny my results thus far.”

Zitao glances at him. “I choose to play along. Now, tell me why I am here when I could have been somewhere else in better company.”

“Jongin is not better company.”

“Hmm.”

“You know who I am,” Junmyeon states. Zitao offers a small nod. “I need you to protect someone.”

“Times are changing, Taozi,” Yixing murmurs when Zitao looks to him with mild incredulity drawn on his face. “Or perhaps we have just had the curious pleasure of acquainting ourselves with the oddest pair of royals to have ever graced the earth. One offers me my freedom in exchange for his brother’s protection, and now that brother wants the same from you.”

“I suppose the reason he is here with you rather than at the castle is, in some twist of fate, that you are safer than it.” Zitao whistles quietly. “I will be damned. I will be risking my life to protect the new king, then? Presumably, I would be in more danger with him than with you, princey.”

“Presumably,” Junmyeon says. “I am dead, as you may have heard. He is not, but someone wants him to be. I need you to take out those who dare to try.”

Zitao, as opposed to Yixing, seems to consider the request carefully and with no amusement. Junmyeon idly wonders how much blood he has shed in his life and if he ever lies awake at night because of it. “Yixing mentioned a reward.”

“State your price.”

Zitao folds his arms and leans back into the chair. He considers Junmyeon for a quiet moment. “I want the kingdom.”

“No deal.”

Zitao shrugs and smiles softly. “Worth a try.” Yixing is chuckling by Junmyeon’s side, so he tries to ignore him. “Yixing was offered his freedom and a small fortune. I already have my freedom, so what else can you possibly offer to entice me?”

“A royal favour,” Junmyeon says. “I offer you a small fortune and a royal favour. You may claim the favour from only me so long as I live.”

“What if I want you to ruin someone’s life for me?” Zitao asks. 

“No deal.”

“You are not a good negotiator,” Zitao muses, and for once Junmyeon sees a shimmer of amusement within his eyes. “You offer me a favour so long as it harms no one, then.”

“Yes.”

“How can I trust you not to rescind the favour?” Zitao demands. “Nobles, I have learned, are not known for sticking to their promises.”

“You could probably infiltrate the castle any time and murder me in my bed if you wished,” Junmyeon mutters, which brings a small smile to Zitao’s face.

“I could,” he agrees easily. “So in exchange for your brother’s protection, you owe me a royal favour and my weight in gold.”

“Your weight in gold is a tad far-fetched,” Junmyeon says. 

“I want more than what your brother offered Yixing.”

“Insolent brat,” Yixing says. He goes ignored by them both.

“There is a vault at the castle that only my brother has access to,” Junmyeon says. “I shall write him a letter and let him know that you are entitled to grab whatever you should want from there, within reason.”

“If I risk my life to save him,” Zitao muses, “will I be compensated? I rather like my skin unscathed, but I have a sneaking suspicion I am going to bleed for him.”

Junmyeon narrows his eyes at him. “I need some sort of promise that you will not go back on your word. How do I know to trust you?”

Zitao inclines his head towards Yixing. “Yixing follows his own principles. I decided to follow his example.” He offers Junmyeon a seemingly genuine smile unlike any of the ones he has received from Yixing. “I will protect him, and I will do so until…” He his head in thought. “Until when, exactly?”

“Until I am allowed to return.”

Zitao nods to himself. “And when might that be?”

Junmyeon scrunches up his face and glances at Yixing. “I do not suppose Minseok told you?”

Yixing shrugs. “He did not really say, no. It was insinuated that it would not be too long. He needs to defend his throne and apprehend the usurpers. With your death, I imagine they will want to strike before he can make himself too comfortable.”

Zitao hums. “I should return to the capital today, then. How will he know not to call the guards on me?”

Junmyeon scoffs. “I suppose you will find a way.” A small part of him is tempted to request that Zitao scares Minseok first so Minseok will know how Junmyeon felt. He shoves that part far away; it has no place here, not for this. “Give him my letter. I will cipher it so he knows it is not fake.”

“All right,” Zitao says softly. “We have a deal then, princey. I will keep your brother safe.”

“You will regret it if you don’t,” Junmyeon threatens. “If you fail to protect him, I will not rest until you are dead.”

Yixing snorts. “You and your brother are very alike in this, I see.” He winks at Junmyeon when Junmyeon turns to scowl at him. “He threatened me as well, and I have no delusions that he won’t follow through with it should I let you die.”

“Who even drew those posters of you?” Zitao asks, turning to look at Yixing with a frown. “The man on the posters do not resemble you at all. Several people in the capital must have gotten a good look at your unfortunate face, and yet it is this they come up with? The king himself ought to have described your features better.”

“Perhaps he does not want me thrown back in prison,” Yixing drawls. “I am, after all, the man he tasked with his brother’s protection. It would be rather foolish, would it not, to hang my face up in every town we might come across when it would also lead them straight to our dear prince here.”

“They would not harm me,” Junmyeon says.

Yixing laughs. “Perhaps not, but they would realise your death was a fraud and take you back to the castle.”

“If the castle is unsafe,” Zitao says, “it must mean the king trusts no one and likely for a good reason. If anyone in town catches you both, they might be amongst the people your brother needs protection from. If they do not kill you on the spot, they might keep you prisoner instead and use you against him.”

Junmyeon feels some of the colour drain from his face. It never occurred to him that he might also endanger Minseok’s life by simply being someone Minseok loves. 

“So,” Yixing trills, “it would be in your best interest to lay low, Your Highness. No tattling, all right?”

“I never entertained the thought,” Junmyeon says, which draws a laugh from Yixing.

“Oh, if only I believed you.”

~

The relationship between Yixing and Zitao is a curious one. They chat with an ease that seems to suggest years of familiarity, banter like siblings, and insult each other like mortal enemies. There is history between them, and for a moment, just briefly, Junmyeon wonders if some of that history also took place in a bed. 

Then he snatches that thought and rips it apart, shoves it to the darkest corner of his mind, never to think it again.

He observes them silently and is struck by how normal they seem. Anyone passing by their table would take one look and keep walking because there is nothing unusual to see. Junmyeon glimpses genuine humour in Zitao’s eyes and even care for Yixing deftly wrapped in an insult, and Yixing, in return, seems to genuinely enjoy Zitao’s presence despite the stark contrast between his words and actions. 

It disturbs Junmyeon deeply to be faced with the reality that these two, these murderers, are people despite the blood on their hands. It is easier to look at Zitao and not be reminded of his path in life, but if he looks at Yixing, nothing else fills his thoughts. There is not a shred of doubt within him that Yixing deserves death – but when he thinks of Zitao… 

So, Junmyeon leaves. He goes to buy parchment and digs through his satchel for the ink and quill. He writes a short if concise letter to explain Zitao’s presence and decides to leave it at that. There will be a more suitable time to yell at Minseok. Now is not it; not when Minseok has more important things to worry about than his brother’s, albeit justified, resentment. 

Zitao does not linger after receiving the letter.

“If you get thrown into prison again and need my help escaping, I expect you to stay there,” Zitao says.

“Don’t count on it,” says Yixing cheerfully.

Zitao turns his back to Yixing to instead look at Junmyeon. “I will do my best to keep your brother safe.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says.

Zitao bids them goodbye with a casual hand gesture, and then he is gone, off to make the trek back to the castle. 

If Minseok can request an assassin to protect Junmyeon, then Junmyeon can request another one to protect him.

Junmyeon does not allow himself to doubt his actions. 

~

They do not stay the night in the town, much to Junmyeon’s initial chagrin, but at least Yixing is not opposed to walking. Junmyeon’s body does not agree with the exertion at all, but it is preferable over the saddle. He supposes it is better to keep his body moving than risk collapsing from the fatigue that is, expectantly, beginning to drag at his eyelids as well as his limbs. 

Poisoning Yixing will likely also be easier if they are somewhere secluded instead of an inn, and Junmyeon would rather not spend more time than absolutely necessary in his company. 

It is a couple of hours past supper before they find a suitable location to settle for the night. There is a creek nearby, which Junmyeon eyes determinedly as they pass it. His plan of offering Yixing tea again tonight is off to a promising start. 

He ignores the constant urge to ensure the phial is still around his neck. He needs Yixing as much at ease as he can get, and drawing attention to the pendant might ruin that. 

They have supper at a campfire that Yixing, as usual, builds. Shortly afterwards, Junmyeon steels himself and asks if Yixing would like tea. His heart hammers in his chest when Yixing smirks and hands him the mug.

He does not know how the poison will react to boiling, but he has no other choice but to try. He cannot get away with emptying the phial at the campfire without Yixing noticing, so instead he does it before he returns. 

He watches the mugs as the water inside is brought to a boil at the edge of the campfire, and then he offers Yixing’s back to him. Yixing accepts it with a small nod and brings the mug to his lips to cool it.

Something inside Junmyeon clenches, so he turns his attention to his own tea. There is no going back, now – and he does not want to, either. Yixing deserves what’s coming, if it works; if Minseok didn’t lie and the poison’s effect wasn’t ruined by boiling it first. If Yixing dies, Junmyeon will have done something good. He will have saved the innocents that Yixing would have otherwise murdered.

This is for the best. He does not know why he needs to convince himself that it is. 

The exhaustion that has clung to his bones for days has all but released its grip on him as he anxiously waits for the poison to spread through Yixing’s body. He watches from under his eyelashes every time Yixing sips the tea, his expression mild as he stares into the flames. 

It is a wonder he has said nothing incriminating tonight. Junmyeon wonders why. It puts him on edge, more on edge than he already is, because he expects Yixing to talk by now. Yixing loves to hear his own voice; loves to taunt and flirt and be a general menace. 

Junmyeon wonders if their earlier meeting with Zitao is to blame for Yixing’s quiet. He does not know why it would be, though. Might Yixing worry about Zitao protecting Minseok and risking his life for it? Would Yixing worry about anyone at all? Does he have the capacity to feel something genuine for another person that is not carnal desire at most? 

Junmyeon does not know. He does not know how Yixing works; his inner thoughts, his morals, his likes or dislikes. Junmyeon knows only what Yixing has shown and done, and it is all terrible, but – even murderers feel. Right? Yixing had seemed rather assured that Junmyeon would be unable to convince Zitao to protect Minseok, but – in hindsight, it had been rather easy. Perhaps too easy. Perhaps Zitao does not intend to uphold his part of the deal, in which case Junmyeon needs to find another way of protecting Minseok.

Yixing clears his throat, and Junmyeon startles terribly. His eyes dart to Yixing, and he feels so transparent, like Yixing will be able to see right through him. Fear seizes his heart and squeezes, claws at him, because Yixing is bound to realise –

Yixing coughs, and keeps coughing. His hands dart to his throat as he chokes on air, and Junmyeon scampers backwards, away from Yixing’s imminent ire when he realises what Junmyeon has done. He stares wide-eyed at Yixing, who meets his look with narrowed eyes.

“You –” he gasps, the mug dropping from his hand as he struggles to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon squeaks, but he’s not. He is not. Yixing is a murderer, a killer, someone who must atone for his sins. The path he chose when he first made the conscious decision to take someone’s life has led him to this; the end.

Junmyeon’s back hits a tree and, paralysed, he can only watch as Yixing growls at him and makes a move towards him – but then his eyes turn heavenward and he drops. And stays down. 

Junmyeon stares, hysteria bubbling up in him as he observes the still form of his father’s murderer. The dead form. He is dead, is he not? From Junmyeon’s position, several feet away, Yixing’s chest does not appear to rise. He looks dead.

He has to know. He has to check for a pulse, has to make certain, so he staggers to his feet and walks, cautiously, towards the body. He crouches by Yixing’s side, almost too afraid to reach out –

A hand seizes his wrist and he chokes on a scream.

“You and your brother must take me for a fool.” 

The voice is unmistakably Yixing’s, and it is tinged with danger. Junmyeon whimpers and meets Yixing’s eyes without meaning to, dark with anger. “Did you really think I would not check the satchel for weapons you could use against me?” he demands, his grip on Junmyeon’s wrist tightening to the point of painful. “Your brother and I may have made a deal, but his misgivings about me were clear as day. Of course he would leave you with something to protect yourself.”

“You said you could not read the letter,” Junmyeon chokes, clawing at Yixing’s hand around his wrist.

“And I still cannot,” Yixing sneers, “but do not insult my intelligence. I went through the satchel the moment the capital was behind us, and I found the pretty little pendant that your brother left you.”

The laughter that escapes Yixing makes the small hairs on Junmyeon’s neck rise. “My trademark is poisons,” he says menacingly, and not a small bit condescendingly. “Your brother’s attempt to hide it from me was frankly laughable.”

Yixing is going to kill him, Junmyeon thinks. Whether or not Yixing ever intended to keep his part of the deal with Minseok, Junmyeon has now gone and voided it. He has no delusions that Yixing, or any other person, would stick around after an attempt on their life.

Yixing just happens to be an assassin, and assassins tend to be quite apt at the art of murder. Moreover, Yixing is a healer; Junmyeon recalls with striking clarity his advice on where to put the knife if he wanted to prolong the victim’s suffering. The extent of his knowledge of the human body must be vast, so he, more than possibly any other assassin, will know exactly how to make Junmyeon pay for his attempt. 

Junmyeon refuses to go down without a fight.

“You would have deserved it,” he says and tries to pull his arm back, using his body weight to try and get away. “If I killed you, no one else would have to suffer because of you!”

“You think,” Yixing shouts, and oh, that is terrifying, to hear him losing his cool, “the world is divided into good and evil, don’t you? The world is more than that, prince. We do not get to live in one of your fantasy books where the villain is the sinner and the saviour is the one who would do no evil. Everyone is capable of evil, you pretentious brat.

“No,” he snaps, shoving Junmyeon aside when Junmyeon, frenzied, tries to bite Yixing’s hand. Instead he grabs Junmyeon by the ankle and gets back on his feet before Junmyeon has time to react. His nails dig into the earth as he is hauled away from the campfire. “It is high time you grow up.”

Junmyeon kicks into the air and screams. If anyone is near, they might hear him and come to help –

“You,” Yixing says, and twists Junmyeon’s leg until he yelps, “tried to kill me.”

“It is what you deserve!” 

“So murdering me for killing your father is fine, but murdering your father for murdering hundreds is not?” Yixing demands. He lets go of Junmyeon’s leg, but instead puts his boot on Junmyeon’s chest and pins him to the ground. Junmyeon’s hands wrap around his ankle, but Yixing just applies body weight until it starts to hurt. 

“It is not –” Junmyeon says, chokes, and tries again. “It is different. I –”

“Listen to me,” Yixing growls. “For once in your spoiled life, I want you to think for yourself. Your father, the man who ruled this kingdom for fourteen years, was a horrible bastard. He sanctioned the massacre of hundreds with not even a shred of remorse for the innocent lives of children that were lost that day. He forced men and women to pleasure him, and afterwards he kicked them out without a care. He mistreated his servants for the simplest oversights and beat his oldest son for being a better man than he could ever hope to be.

“I have killed people,” he continues, dangerously, and puts more weight into his leg when Junmyeon shifts beneath him. “I chose this path because I am good at it. In that regard, I am no better than your father. But your father ruled a kingdom. Thousands looked to him in times of need and thousands hung to his every word when he bothered to appear before them. They trusted him to take care of them and do them just, and he failed them.”

“Father –”

“Quiet,” Yixing snaps. “I do not pretend to be someone I am not. I am an assassin, and I do not intend to stop; this is my lot in life, the path I chose to survive. Children are selfish and manipulative, and they grow up to become selfish and manipulative adults. No one in this world can truthfully say they have done no evil in their life. 

“Your own brother sent you into my arms, the man who just killed your father, fully aware that he could be sending you to your death if the rumours about me proved false. You hate him for it. He deceived you and broke the trust you had in him, and when you return to his side, he will spend the rest of his life rebuilding that trust.” Yixing sneers. “That is, if he survives.”

Junmyeon whimpers. “Zitao – he will keep him safe. Or did he never intend to? Did you just wish to trick me into believing I could be of any help to my brother and laugh at my naïvety behind my back?”

“Zitao will keep his word,” Yixing says quietly, oddly sombre. “He may not stick around if he deems it meaningless, but he will give it an honest try. So far, the only one who seems incapable of doing the same – is you.”

“Minseok – none of you can expect me to!” Junmyeon cries. “Father was –”

Yixing snaps. “Could you for once just shut up about your father!” he shouts. “It is always father this or father that – I am sick of it!”

“You want me to understand so badly,” Junmyeon says, “and yet you refuse to understand me. You took my father from me, Yixing. I –” He hates it, absolutely abhors it, but there is no way he can ignore it. His father was not a good man, and it is about time he accepts it for the truth. “I know, all right? Or at least I am trying to. You can call me ignorant, and selfish, and – and all these things, and I am. I was. It hurts to suddenly learn that the father you love is not the kind of man you thought he was. I still don’t want to believe it, but I also cannot keep ignoring it. I know that, but even as I hate him more every day, I still love him. And you took him away from me.”

“Answer this for me,” Yixing says slowly. “Your father murdered whole families, left countless children orphaned, and did not regret it. Was he or was he not a bad person?”

“He was,” Junmyeon whispers, and feels broken for it.

“And I,” Yixing continues, “murder people on others’ request. Am I or am I not a bad person?”

“You are.”

“You would have murdered me. You have tried to murder me more than once. Are you or are you not a bad person?”

Junmyeon bites his lip. “You –”

“No,” Yixing snaps. He takes his foot away from Junmyeon, allowing him a moment to breathe, before he has his entire body atop Junmyeon’s. He snatches Junmyeon’s hands in the air as Junmyeon moves to fight, and he pins them above his head and leans forward until their lips brush. “Are you,” he whispers, “or are you not, a bad person?”

“I did not kill you,” Junmyeon says quickly, “and if I did, I had a reason. I had several reasons.”

“Your father had reasons,” Yixing says. “I have reasons. Who gets to decide whether those reasons are justifiable or not? You?”

Junmyeon arches his torso in an attempt to throw Yixing off, but Yixing does not budge. “You killed someone I loved! You killed someone of my own blood!”

“Your father killed others for personal reasons, too,” Yixing says. “I have killed for personal reasons. It matters not whether it was a friend or a family member – or someone we just met at the market. Where must we draw the line? When is it all right to take a life? If you truly believe in the world being divided into good and evil, you should know that murder, or an attempt at murder, can never be forgiven. There would be no nuance to it; you and I would be the same. We would both be evil, both sinners, both hated and shunned by those we hold dear.

“So, I ask again.” Yixing gathers Junmyeon’s wrists in one unforgiving grip and uses the freed hand to slip a finger beneath Junmyeon’s chin to tilt his head backwards, until Junmyeon meets his eyes. “Where must we draw the line, Prince Junmyeon?” He thumbs at Junmyeon’s lower lip and murmurs, “And give me none of that nonsense you have offered me thus far.”

Junmyeon’s father murdered innocents. Junmyeon will never know if he killed any of them because they hurt their mother or Minseok or even Junmyeon himself, but in the grand scheme of things, it matters not. It will never forgive what he did or take away from the pain others suffered because of him. 

Yixing is an assassin, a murderer for hire, and others have mourned the lives he took away. He is a murderer, but he could as well have been a farmer, a family man, a healer – and if Junmyeon had succeeded in killing him today, it would have made Junmyeon a murderer. Zitao, or Han, or even Jongdae – presumably someone would have mourned Yixing’s death, and, truly, who is Junmyeon to decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die?

“I don’t know,” he sobs. “I don’t know, I don’t know –”

Yixing wipes away his tears, speaking quietly as he does, “The world is a balance of good and evil. Humans are capable of so much, all at once. They love and they hate, and they give and they take. Only the gods should get to decide, but they gave us the choice to do with it as we want. I have made peace with mine and will await their judgement once my soul is theirs to have. You get to decide what you do with your choices.”

Junmyeon sobs and turns to hide his face against his arm. “Get off me. Please.”

Yixing, astonishingly, does. His weight withdraws and Junmyeon draws in a choked breath. 

“You do not want my protection,” Yixing says quietly, “so I am done trying.” Junmyeon does not move or look at him. “Good luck on your own, prince.”

~

Junmyeon stays on the ground until the tears have dried on his skin and the chilled air starts to seep through his clothes. 

He lifts his arm from his face and turns his head slightly to stare at the campfire. Only embers are left. 

Yixing and his belongings are gone.