TRIGGER WARNING: post-traumatic stress disorder and discussion of physical disability in this part.

*

It becomes routine faster than Jongin can really process it.

He crawls out of bed at four. Cobbles lunch together, leaves food and water out for Monggu. Arrives at the estate at five so they can catch the sunrise in the wheat fields before riding back to the house. These are things Jongin's done before, of course, day in and day out as part of his job before Baekhyun's arrival, switching horses every morning so they get to stretch their legs a couple of times a week—but it feels different with the added company. He hasn't decided yet if different means better. All he knows is that it's frighteningly easy to get used to turning his head against an errant summer thermal and finding Baekhyun there, riding next to him, fingers clenched around the reins, dark shock of hair fluttering in the wind. Still too stubborn to forgo the saddle.

"It's never like this in the city," Baekhyun remarks a week into it, neck craned to gaze up at the tendrils of red threading through the sky. "Not that I'm ever up early enough to see it, anyway." He grins at Jongin's eye roll and nudges at Jongin's thigh with his knee.

Baekhyun seems to like touching Jongin a lot more than he could've anticipated. Not that he really has much to complain about on that front: Baekhyun gives Jongin enough room to finish his work, and slides out of the house to collect him in the afternoons. He'll grab Jongin's face and kiss him, press him into the paddock fence or the side of the henhouse, firm, impatient hands diving into Jongin's pants.

Invariably, he'll ease Jongin into the house and up the stairs. Once, Joonmyun catches them in the hallway outside Baekhyun's room. To his credit, the butler is completely unfazed.

"Please don't get the sheets too dirty," he requests drily, stack of clean linens in his arms, and Baekhyun chuckles as he pushes Jongin over the threshold. "They're hard to clean out."

"We should try to in every room of the house," Baekhyun says later, cheerful as ever. He starts laughing again at Jongin's flush and rolls over to mouth the skin of Jongin's shoulder, tongue warm and wet. It's too simple to get caught up in all of it, to stay for longer than he has to every night, to trudge home after dark and see that dinner's already gone cold on the table.

"Boss been working you hard, huh?" his father asks, during the last week of May.

Jongin swallows wrong around a mouthful of bread and has to cough it out. "Something like that," he finally mumbles. Dad raises his eyebrows, but doesn't press.




More than that, though, Baekhyun's easy to talk to, comfortable to be around. He doesn't act like a noble. He treats Jongin like Jongin imagines he'd treat any of his friends. He doesn't make Jongin feel small, offers information freely, and does everything with a cavalier disregard for any of the normal modes of conduct. They're riding back one morning and Baekhyun manages to get Edelweiss to hop the high fence that separates the eastern fields from the main acre around the estate. Jongin's heart slams in his throat but they make the jump, and Baekhyun lets out a loud whoop of victory from the other side.

"There's not much of an opportunity to do this sort of thing in the city," Baekhyun explains, flush with excitement as he circles around again. "They're trying to wire the whole citadel with electricity and the king wants his advisors to roll out a plan for a countrywide railroad system. It's all about steam power, motors and machinery. Which is great. It's what I do. But—you know, it isn't the same."

"Yeah," Jongin says, brushing his hand down the neck of the sturdy bay that the duchess favors. "I know."

Jongin loves riding, of course. Dad used to tell him it was a natural affinity, in your blood, after four-year-old Jongin had wandered into the stables on his own and fallen asleep in the hay, between the hooves of the most ill tempered stallion the Byun estate was home to at the time. But he also enjoys the other mundane tasks that come with the job: feeding the animals, polishing smooth leather and steel buckles, foaling when the mares come to term. Even mucking the stalls out. He just likes working with horses, really: likes the way they snuffle in his hand and toss their heads and stamp their feet for food, likes how their coats glisten after grooming, likes the sound of their teeth crunching around the feed. They're big and gentle and straightforward. Jongin understands them.

He's a little hesitant at first when Baekhyun asks to see what goes on in the stables every day, but Baekhyun takes to it with good humor, shadows Jongin with interest. It's worth it to see his face glow with delight when one of the speckled mares dips her nose and accepts the proffered carrot in his outstretched palm.

They're sitting out on the patio after Jongin's finished t hooves when Baekhyun asks, "What happened to your dad, by the way?" He doesn't notice when Jongin freezes up one step above him. "I liked him best," he continues, fiddling idly with the hem of his dressy shirt. "He always let me ride the bigger horses, even when Mother said it was too dangerous."

Jongin's eyes slide shut. Baekhyun's voice filters out as the memories come flooding to the forefront of his mind, clear and vivid as if everything had just happened yesterday: the black warhorse rearing on its hind legs, his father tumbling to the ground, falling immobile, not responding when Jongin'd managed to get the horse under control and sank down to his knees in the grass. Him and Joonmyun carrying his father back to town on a stretcher, his skin a sickly gray pallor, spine twisted at an odd angle. Hyein's white face when she'd arrived at the hospital hours later, out of breath, asking—what happened? The village doctor shaking his head, a severe frown marring his features, and then flashes of his father's long convalescence: helping him into and out of bed those first few weeks, and gradual physical rehabilitation later. Moving into the new house. Building the wheelchair with Sehun's father.

There are thin hands framing his face. Jongin feels light-headed, and wonders why for a brief moment before he realizes he hasn't been breathing. "Hey," someone's saying, as if from very far off, and it takes him a minute to remember that it's Baekhyun's voice, Baekhyun's fingers brushing against his temples. "Hey, come back to me. Jongin. Hey. Can you hear me?"

Jongin in a deep, rattling gulp of air, and opens his eyes. Baekhyun doesn't know. Of course, he doesn't—how could he?

"There you are," Baekhyun says, and Jongin watches him tuck his concern neatly behind a tentative smile. "Forget I asked, alright?"

"No," Jongin croaks. He takes another steadying breath. "It's fine. I'm fine. I—"

"You don't have to tell me—"

"You should know," Jongin says, his lips.

Baekhyun stares at him searchingly. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Jongin swallows thickly. "When I was sixteen, we acquired a warhorse fresh from the border." He was a gorgeous thing, a handwidth under two meters tall, coat trim and glossy, but there'd been something wild and pained in his eyes. "I think one of your father's cousins or nephews had tried to break him in, but he'd seen too much. Of war, I mean. It was—" He pauses, trying to find the right words. "It wasn't pretty, but my dad took the horse in. Said he'd nurse him back to full health." Jongin shrugs. "He tried to ride him too soon, got thrown him off. He's paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors said he was lucky he hadn't been crushed. He works as a small-time carpenter in town, now."

"," Baekhyun says. His hands are still on Jongin's face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"Don't worry about it," Jongin insists, pulling away. "I was just surprised. That's all." He leans back and props himself up with his hands, marble tiling of the patio cool against his palms. "So I took his place, after. He'd been showing me the ropes anyway, and we'd gotten a lot of new horses that season that needed training. There was no time for your father to find someone else."

Baekhyun nods quietly. "What happened to the horse?" he asks.

When Jongin glances at him, Baekhyun's chewing on his thumbnail. Jongin rubs a hand over his chin. "We had to put it down, eventually."

"I see," Baekhyun murmurs. He rests his elbows on his knees and tucks his head in the pillow of his arms, gazes out to where the horses are grazing in the paddock. They don't speak for a long time.




Against his better judgment, Jongin packs extra food and brings it with him one morning at the beginning of June. "I brought bread and cheese and some other stuff," he says without preamble, raising the covered basket in his hand as Baekhyun walks into the stables, blinking bemusedly. "I figured—since you always seem hungry after our rides—"

Baekhyun brings his hand up to his mouth and doesn't even bother to hide his laughter. The tips of Jongin's ears burn.

"Never mind," Jongin mutters crossly, setting the basket down in the straw. "I'll just eat it myself for lunch."

"You misunderstand," Baekhyun wheezes. "It's just—that's really cute."

Jongin scowls. "I didn't do it to be cute."

"I mean—" Baekhyun hooks his arm underneath the handle of the basket, smile stretching across his face. "Uh, no one's ever packed me a picnic before?"

"What?" Jongin says, a little incredulous. "That can't be true."

"I'm serious," Baekhyun insists. "Where would I go on a picnic in Seoul? The moat around the castle?"

"I wouldn't know," Jongin says. He takes the basket out of Baekhyun's arms and fastens it to the back of Edelweiss's saddle. "I've never been there. The only city I've been to is Gyeongju, and that's because my mother used to be a private tutor there."

"I'll take you," Baekhyun replies, with a sort of casual confidence that makes Jongin's hands tighten in Kai's mane as he swings himself up. "It's lovely."

"I can imagine," Jongin says, and digs his heels into Kai's flanks to usher him out the door.




"I don't know if you remember," Jongin says, a few days later, "but every summer there's this huge festival in town."

"I remember my father never letting us go," Baekhyun says, wrinkling his nose. "Baekho tried to sneak out the last time we came, but he got caught."

"It's next week," Jongin says. He fills his bucket up with water from the spout, spigot squeaking as he twists it shut, and lugs it into the stable to fill the trough. Baekhyun trails after him, thumb tucked in an ornately bound physics book. "If you'd like to go. Horse traders will be here. The duke usually comes down from the capital to check out the market, but—"

"With the border situation the way it is, he won't be able to make it," Baekhyun finishes. He grins toothily. "Sounds like fun."

"You'll have to be fitted for a hanbok," Jongin tells him in the afternoon. Everything simmers with low-crawling summer heat, even indoors, so they've trudged into the woods south of the main estate, picking through the underbrush to get to the small lake half a kilometer in. "If you ask, I'm sure one of the housemaids can make one for you. Seungyeon-noona's very good with a needle."

Baekhyun makes a face. "I can't just wear my official palace regalia? I brought the bells and whistles and everything."

"If you want to stand out like a sore thumb, sure," Jongin says, breezy. "Your choice." He shucks his shirt and shimmies out of his pants before Baekhyun can reply, and swan dives elegantly into the lake.




Afterwards, they lie out on the tiny dock to dry. Baekhyun bruises into the hollow of Jongin's collarbones, fingers cresting over the ridge of his pelvis.

"So this festival thing," Baekhyun says into his skin, and Jongin can feel when his lips curl up. "Is this your subtle way of asking me to meet the friends and family?"

Jongin goes wooden underneath him. Zitao's concerned voice echoes in his head: Think about it. Make sure you know what you're doing. Do you?

Baekhyun's gazing at him curiously from the vicinity of his navel. Jongin's tongue ties itself into heavy knots. He sits up, last trickle of lake water trailing down his back.

Baekhyun smiles, eyes tight at the corners. "Relax, I was only kidding—"

Jongin opens his mouth. What exactly am I to you? he wants to ask, or even What the are we even doing here? but all that comes out is, "You're used to getting everything you want, aren't you?"

Baekhyun lets out a confused noise. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean—" Jongin frowns. "I mean—I don't understand what you want from me. You've been incredibly kind, and I don't know why."

"Do I have to have a reason?"

Jongin exhales, hands clenching against the rough wood of the dock. "I just want to know where you're coming from."

Baekhyun's eyes shutter a little. "Of course I do everything I can to get what I want," he says slowly. "Doesn't everyone?"

"You want ," Jongin interprets, stomach sinking. He wraps his arms around his shins and rests his chin on his knees, staring out across the waterfront. A flock of geese have landed at the far bank, white feathers flashing. Jongin feels like he might puke. "Okay. Okay. I get it. Just making sure."

There's a long, uncomfortable pause. Then Baekhyun says, "I can't believe that's really what you think of me," voice low and rough with hurt, and if Jongin tilts his head to the side and squints at Baekhyun askance, he can almost believe the sentiment is real. "Jongin, what the ?"

Jongin shrugs miserably. "What am I supposed to think? Why else would you give me the time of day? I'm just your stable hand." He his bottom lip into his mouth and shuffles his feet in closer. "Everyone knows how those stories end."

Baekhyun doesn't say anything. When Jongin glances at him again, his jaw's jumping, an irate expression on his face. I knew it, Jongin thinks, and his mind punches past devastation straight to a kind of self-protective bubble of apathetic numbness. He reaches out to scoop up his pile of clothing and Baekhyun finally moves, fingers wrapping around Jongin's wrist. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Don't be an idiot," Baekhyun breathes, leaning in, and Jongin watches a rivulet of water trickle down his neck with helpless interest. "Look. I admit that in the beginning I didn't want anything serious. I don't have time for relationships. I've always been like that. Of course I like —who doesn't? It's easy. It's what I wanted."

"Wanted," Jongin echoes.

"Feelings are messy, you know. Complicated. Difficult." Baekhyun's shoulders hunch in. Jongin's eyes trail over the knobs of his spine. "I don't know how I can convince you that I'm being sincere, but I want you. Somewhere down the line it became about you. I didn't want it to happen, but it did. So here we are."

Jongin laughs, the sound falling out thin and hollow. "Baekhyun, you're a duke's son. A noble. You're supposed to marry a pretty girl and have pretty children and carry on the family line. I know better than to set up unrealistic expectations—"

" that," Baekhyun says explosively, and Jongin jumps a little at his vehemence. "Listen to what I'm saying, damn it. I don't want that for me. That's not a life I'm interested in. I'm not Baekho. I'm the second son. I get to do what I want, and I want—"

His arm comes around and a hand slides over Jongin's nape, yanks him down. Their mouths collide. Jongin's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest.

He lifts his gaze with effort. Baekhyun's eyes are wide open.




"To answer your question," Jongin says, when they're walking back to the estate, "my dad's always around, and my sisters will be coming in from Daegu for the festival, so you could actually meet them. If you wanted." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. "They can be, uh, kind of intense."

Baekhyun sends him a questioning glance. "How so?"

"I'm their baby brother," he explains. "They raised me after Mom died, taught me everything I know." He grins. "So I understand if you feel too intimidated to follow through."

Baekhyun snorts loudly. "Of course I want to meet them," he says, spine snapping straighter. "And believe me, I can handle intense."

"If you say so," Jongin says dubiously, laughing, and dodges the annoyed swat Baekhyun aims at his .