Jongin nurses his glass of wine sulkily.

The Baroness Lee and her two daughters have been a complete annoyance to him ever since the evening began, but at this moment, they’re nowhere to be seen. It should be a relief to him, because they had been trying to impress him with their petty stories and wealth, but he can’t help but feel distracted because he knows where they are, and where most of the nobles are diverting their attention to; the King’s nephew, after being absent from all of the social events and court functions over the past several years, has made an appearance tonight.

A familiar voice drifts towards Jongin’s ears, and he can’t help but glance instinctively towards the direction of the sound; his eyes landing on a pale young man across the room. He stands out from the group of overdressed nobles, although not by his fine clothes – he’s dressed in similar fashion, his coat made of fine silk and velvet, the royal crest on his sleeve marking him as a member of the court – but by the way he fidgets in their presence, sporting a small, awkward smile, occasionally adjusting his glasses which threaten to slip off his nose whenever he nods.

Gossip flows about the room as freely as the champagne tonight. Everyone is curious to discover if this is part of some hidden political move set by the King. Not that any of these things matter to Jongin, who has no interest in the tangled web that makes up part of the kingdom’s court-driven politics.

He glares at the glass, already empty, in his hand, as if it is the sole cause of his internal conflict, and tries not to think of a pair of heart-shaped, plump lips, eager and soft against his own. Worst of all, Kyungsoo had kissed him back just as eagerly under the dim lighting of the royal library, and it had taken all of Jongin’s effort not to ditch all of his duties and expectations and spend the night mapping out all of Kyungsoo’s very plush, very kissable, and very sinful lips.

“,” he swears under his breath and reaches out to lift a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray.

“So that’s the infamous Kyungsoo,” Jongdae says, an hour later when he can track down Jongin who’s making his way through his fourth glass. “Luhan’s been going on about him for weeks. Supposedly he’s a recluse, although you wouldn’t think that were possible, if he’s here tonight.”

“What else did Luhan say?” Jongin asks, curiously. He remembers Luhan mentioning Kyungsoo’s name several times, but he hadn’t connected that name with the same quiet man he had kissed, not until Luhan had clapped his friend on the back, laughing, while introducing Minseok and Jongin to him excitedly. Kyungsoo had blinked at them – more noticeably at Jongin, however – before bowing, welcoming them to the Southern Realm. “Why wouldn’t he have shown up?”

“He’s a rather private man. Keeps to himself a lot, doesn’t like to attend any of the court-sanctioned events. Not that he needs to, since he’s not in line for the throne.” Jongdae rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, that still doesn’t stop some of the nobles from trying to up to him, hoping they’ll gain his favor.” He grins. “Rumor has it that he’s already turned down several offers of marriage from some of the other kingdoms. From all five realms.”

“So he’s still single?” Jongin asks, trying to be nonchalant as possible. He’s just being curious, he tells himself, and raises his drink to his lips, using the moment to cover the heat that’s rising in his face.

Jongdae, unfortunately, has all the senses of a bloodhound. “Why, Jongin,” he begins, giving Jongin a sidelong glance, the tell-tale smirk already forming on his lips, “Are you interested?”

Jongin almost chokes on his champagne, and Jongdae thumps his back, hard. “I should have known your type was just as much of a loser as you,” he continues, while Jongin shoots him a glare, trying to regain his voice. “Although Kyungsoo sounds about as dull as a lamp post--”

Caught off-guard, Jongin rises to the bait immediately. “I’ll have you know that he’s far from dull and is very knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics and is most definitely not a loser,“ he snaps out, before he catches sight of the way Jongdae is grinning, and realizes the trap that he’s stumbled into. His face turns hot. “Damn it, Jongdae--”

Jongdae lets out a loud laugh, and several heads turn to frown at him. Someone snaps a picture, somewhere to the left, and Jongin ignores them, reaching out to place his glass onto the tray of a passing waiter.

“This is too good to let pass,” Jongdae says, still chuckling. “I’ve never seen you so defensive over someone this fast, not even when we were in school.” He taps his chin with his finger, sending a curious look over towards Kyungsoo’s direction.

“I wasn’t being defensive,” says Jongin. He sounds like he is, right now. “He’s not even my type.”

Jongdae hums, as if he’s agreeing, but there’s a suspicious glint in his eye that makes Jongin wary. He doesn’t know what his friend is plotting, but he does not trust Jongdae (or Luhan, for that matter) when it comes to their scheming. He’s learnt in the past that anything they come up with is bound to get them, and him, into hot water.

Before he can say anything to warn Jongdae off, Luhan appears with Minseok, claiming that Jongin’s been avoiding them the whole night and why in the world is he hiding away in the corner of the room with Jongdae when he ought to be enjoying the ball? Jongin protests, of course, claiming that he had been getting a drink and soon finds himself being ushered away from his comfortable spot away from the spotlight, pulled along by Luhan’s enthusiasm. He completely misses the speculative look on Jongdae’s face.

It’s only when he’s in the middle of conversation with the Duchess Song, when he hears a surprise murmur ripple through the room. Curious, he glances around to find that most of the attention is centered towards the middle of the ballroom – where he discovers exactly why.

Jongdae has his hands placed on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, his other hand leading Kyungsoo into a waltz.

It shouldn’t affect Jongin. He barely even knows the man, after all, and has no claim on him, but when he sees Kyungsoo smiling broadly at Jongdae, Jongin purses his lips in irritation at the sight, and excuses himself, bowing slightly to the Duchess in apology.

He makes his way towards them. Just as he’s about to reach the pair, Jongdae notices him, and his eyes light up mischievously. I thought you weren’t interested, he mouths.

Jongin wisely chooses to ignore him, approaching Kyungsoo instead, bowing towards him. “May I have this dance?” he asks politely. He holds out his hand.

Kyungsoo looks up, startled.

A moment passes, bleeding into seconds as Jongin stands there, awkwardly waiting for Kyungsoo to accept his request, but Kyungsoo is still staring at him, his eyes wide and his expression not unlike a creature caught in the headlights of a car.

Fidgeting, Jongin almost withdraws his hand but before he can move, Jongdae is already stepping back, bowing. “By all means,” he says, even throwing him a wink.

Jongin wants to throttle him on the spot – friendship be damned – but Kyungsoo standing right there, watching, and waiting, while biting his lower lip nervously, and he decides that the latter required his attention far more than Jongdae does.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kyungsoo takes his hand. His fingers are warm in Jongin’s grip.

Silently, they fall into step, just as the musicians strike up a different waltz. It’s not an intimate dance, thankfully – Jongin doubts that he could have handled having Kyungsoo that close to him without wanting to explore his mouth again - requiring them to stay two feet apart, as their hands stay clasped. It’s a dance that every court-bred noble should have been familiar with, having learnt it at a young age, and while the steps come easily to Jongin – he notices that Kyungsoo is having a difficult time keeping up. He keeps his head down, as if he’s watching his feet, while his lips move silently, counting one, two, one, two with each step.

Jongin lets out a chuckle. The sound catches Kyungsoo’s attention, who snaps his head up instantly.

“What’s so funny?” he demands, shooting Jongin a dark look.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” Jongin tells him, still smiling in amusement.

Kyungsoo’s face turns red. “Did you ask for this dance so you could spend it insulting me?” he asks, with a huff of indignation.

No, I asked because I didn’t want Jongdae anywhere near you, Jongin nearly says, but he holds his comment back. Instead, he changes the subject. “You didn’t tell me you were related to the King.”

“Unlike some of the other nobles, I prefer to avoid flaunting my lineage.” Two steps forward, one step to the left. The music continues, in the background, as Jongin watches Kyungsoo miscount his steps.

He adjusts according to Kyungsoo’s terrible footwork, before speaking again. “Yet you’re here, as the King’s nephew, and mingling around with the nobles you dislike so much.” Jongin raises his eyebrows. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? I thought you were against the entire concept of nobility.”

Kyungsoo averts his eyes from Jongin’s gaze. “That still hasn’t changed,” he replies, so quietly that Jongin almost misses it.

“Then, why did you come here tonight?” Jongin persists.

“Mild curiosity,” Kyungsoo shoots back.

Out of the corner of Jongin’s eye, several photographers are standing along the side of the room, snapping away. Luhan glides past them gracefully, letting Minseok lead him, and the cameras shift, tracking their movement. They look the perfect royal couple: handsome, elegant, poised, and so completely in love, never taking their eyes off each other as they move across the floor.

“It must be nice, finding someone that fits you to spend your life with,” he murmurs, feeling a little envious even of his friends. “Like finding the other half of your soul.”

“You make it sound as if they went looking for a pair of shoes,” Kyungsoo remarks drily. “Being married is less romantic than it sounds.”

Shaking his head obstinately, Jongin argues back. “But how can anyone get married if they’re not in love?”

“Half of the kingdoms out there rose into power from well-arranged political marriages. What does love have anything to do with that?”

Frowning, Jongin shakes his head. “I still think that there’s always someone out there for everyone. Some of us just haven’t found them yet.” He thinks of his parents, who look as taken with each other now as they had in their wedding portrait. Jongin wants that, so much.

“So you’re one of those romantics, then,” Kyungsoo remarks. “Fairy tales with happily ever afters.” He snorts. “That’s not real.”

Jongin’s unsure of why he does it. Perhaps the wine and champagne he had been drinking. Perhaps it is because he’s feeling a little tired of keeping up his composure in front of everyone when all he wants to do is rest. Or perhaps it is because he’s a little miffed at the way Kyungsoo is dismissive of Jongin’s idea of love; but whatever the reasons, he decides to take a step closer, invading Kyungsoo’s space.

His movements do not go unnoticed. “What—what are you doing?”

“What is real to you?” He moves his hand along Kyungsoo’s shoulder, letting his thumb graze against the skin on his neck, exposed above the collar of his jacket. “Haven’t you ever wondered how it would feel like, to have your heart beat faster because of someone, to have your thoughts fill up until all you can think about is them, and to know that no matter what, they feel the same way?” He lets his gaze drop towards Kyungsoo’s lips, recalling how they had felt, pressed against his own. “You still owe me a kiss, you know. Or do you plan on pretending we had never shared the first one?”

Kyungsoo’s cheeks turn pink. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies stiffly, but his eyes linger on Jongin’s lips for too long, betraying him.

Spurred by this reaction, Jongin counts it as a small victory in his books. He leans closer, whispering, “Perhaps we could continue it somewhere a little more private-- ow!!” Jongin yelps, as Kyungsoo steps on his foot, hard.

“I think not, your Highness.” Kyungsoo’s face is now red, flushed with embarrassment, but his voice shakes a little, as if he’s barely containing his anger. The music has stopped, and all around them, partners were bowing or curtsying, signifying the end of the dance. A few curious glances are being sent their way. “Thank you for the dance,” he adds, almost as an afterthought before slipping away, leaving Jongin behind to nurse his throbbing foot and sore pride.

*

Jongin wakes up to the sound of someone sliding the curtains back, letting sunlight into the rooms. With a groan, he covers his eyes with his arms, and makes an unintelligible sound.

Someone clears their throat, and with great effort (and lot of dramatic sighing on his part), Jongin finally lowers his arms to discover that the valet, who had been personally assigned to him, had taken the liberty of letting himself into the room. Traces of his diligent work was apparent; the boots that Jongin had left across the floor was now placed by the side, neatly, and the lace-edged coat he had thrown across the back of the dressing table chair was nowhere to be seen.

“Lunch, your Highness,” the valet answers, when Jongin’s eyes land on him.

“Lunch?” Jongin parrots stupidly, still not quite awake.

“It’s what most people would start their day with,” a new voice cuts in, and Jongin looks up to find that Minseok is standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of well-pressed khaki pants and a pale pink sweater vest that makes him look like he’s ready to grace the cover of some preppy fraternity magazine, “especially if they manage to sleep through both breakfast and brunch.” He dismisses the valet, who bows respectfully and steps out of the room, leaving behind a table filled with food.

Jongin tries to sit up, but gives up when the world starts to swim around him, flopping back onto the ground. “What do you mean, I slept through breakfast?” The smell begins to drift over towards Jongin, heavy with spices. His stomach lurches, a little. “And brunch?”

“You slept in and missed practically every event they had lined up for us.” Jongin’s aware of Minseok stepping into the room, pulling the heavy doors shut behind him. “It’s almost half past noon,” he adds sternly, and Jongin winces.

Attempting to locate his mobile phone takes some time. When he does find his phone mysteriously sitting in one of the shoes he had worn last night, he discovers that it is indeed twenty minutes past noon.

Letting out another a groan, he falls back onto the floor, pressing his cheek onto the material. The carpet is soft, a deep blue color that reminds him a little of his own room back in the palace. “Sorry,” he mumbles into the carpet. Luhan’s probably going to kill him later. “Is he mad?”

“A little,” Minseok admits, but it’s followed by a light laugh. “He doesn’t stay angry for long, you know that. He’s more worried about you, though.” He pauses, before adding, “So am I.”

Jongin frowns. “I’m fine,” he answers. He gets it, though. He’s not in the habit of drinking himself to a stupor, and yet, last night, it had seemed the most logical solution to what had felt like a complete rejection.

“You’re lying shirtless and hung over on the floor of one of the most elaborate palaces in this region. And you haven’t touched your food yet enough though you usually eat enough to feed a herd. That’s not fine – not to me, at least.” Minseok’s voice lowers, and he continues, softer and filled with concern, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing tragically, as he picks at a stray piece of lint he’s found on the floor, Jongin contemplates not saying anything. However, he knows how futile this attempt would, and that Minseok will drag it out of him soon enough. They’ve been friends for far too long to figure out when any one of them is troubled, and with Minseok filling in the shoes of an older brother all those years, Jongin has always looked up to him for advice.

It takes a lot of effort (and whining, on Jongin’s part), but he manages to drag himself off the floor and seat himself at the table, where the food has been laid out. The pot of coffee is still hot, thankfully, and Jongin gives Minseok a grateful look as he pours out a cup each for them before taking a seat opposite him.

Between sips of coffee, Jongin relates the events of the previous night, from the point he had met Kyungsoo until the moment he had been rejected during their dance.  He omits the part about the way Kyungsoo had melted into Jongin’s embrace in their first meeting, and how Jongin had wanted to keep on kissing him in the royal library, had Jongdae’s call not interrupted them.

Once Kyungsoo had stalked off towards the direction of the doors leading out of the ballroom, Jongin had determinately (and perhaps in a futile attempt to cover up the embarrassment of being stared at by everyone) gone off in search of Jongdae and wine, although not necessarily in that order. From the way his head is pounding this morning, he regrets finding the latter first.

“I think he hates me now,” he says unhappily.

“From what I’m hearing, you probably deserved it,” Minseok reaches out towards the tray, his fingers hovering over the selection of delicate-looking pastries. “Luhan told me that Kyungsoo spent two years visiting almost every province within the Southern realm. Without any security detail, although he went around pretending to be a commoner, but he’s had to fend for himself a lot. You’re lucky he didn’t punch you for demanding for that kiss.” He picks out a chocolate puff, and bites into it.

“He seemed to like it well enough the first time,” Jongin grumbles. The coffee is beginning to work its magic on him, waking up parts of his brain, and his appetite. On cue, his stomach grumbles. “No one’s ever turned me down before.”

Minseok finishes the puff and reaches out for another. “See, that’s the problem,” he points out, picking out a fruit tart, this time. “You say that no one’s ever turned you down, but if you think about it, none of them have probably dared. Who says ‘no’ to a prince?”

Who, indeed? Jongin pauses, the question sinking into his mind. His father had never ruled with the same maniacal drive for power and supremacy as some of the kings in history had, but that was because his father hadn’t need to rule his kingdom in that manner. The people loved him, and respected him – and they showed the same love and respect towards Jongin as well.

And some, perhaps, more than just love and respect. When it came to bed companions, Jongin had discovered early on that there had been no shortage of girls – and boys – willing to fulfill his needs; except that Jongin had no interest in soft curves and shapely bosoms.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? And give me back the tart, that’s mine,” Jongin tries to grab the tart back. He’s being childish, he knows, but he’s a little sore at the feeling of being lectured when he’s barely finished his coffee.

Smirking, Minseok pops the tart into his mouth. “Have some respect for your elders,” he chides, around a mouthful of pastry. Jongin flicks a grape at him in mock anger. “Hey!” Minseok protests, as the grape misses his face, landing on his lap. “Stop wasting food, you brat,” he adds exasperatedly, as Jongin breaks out into laughter at his expression, feeling better than he had, and perhaps a little less confused about the situation with Kyungsoo.

Minseok’s words still linger in his thoughts, even after he leaves the room, allowing Jongin his privacy to shower and get dressed. He stays under the shower a little longer than usual, soaking up the hot water thankfully.

He begins to think about Kyungsoo. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fascinated, why he’s so attracted to the other man, but there’s something about him that draws Jongin’s thoughts back every time.

But Minseok is right. Jongin… well, he hadn’t been pleasant company last night. He feels a little guilty for making Kyungsoo uncomfortable. Way to go, Jongin, he scolds himself, because it occurs to him that he had only served to reinforce Kyungsoo’s already low opinion on nobles.

As he gets dressed, Jongin comes to a decision. He’s going to find Kyungsoo, and apologize. He’s going to tell Kyungsoo that he likes him, and maybe they can start afresh. Spend more time together. Maybe even go on a date together.

Filled with renewed confidence, Jongin steps out of his room and makes his way towards the main wing of the palace, where he remembers (vaguely, so he’s going to have to ask for directions) the way to the royal library.

Jongin loses his way twice, circling the wing in frustration until he finally encounters finds the right door that he’s looking for. He stands in front of it, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He can do this. He has his script, of what to say, and all he has to do is follow it. Kyungsoo would be so impressed by him, he thinks, and he’ll accept his apology.

His mind occupied by this, he doesn’t realize until too late as the door swings open and smacks him in the face.

“F—” he starts to say, but his words are cut off by the amount of pain that’s on his face right now. He stumbles back, tripping over his own feet, and lands on his backside.

“Oh my god,” he hears, and looks up to find Kyungsoo staring down at him in a mixture of horror and worry. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you were there, there’s usually no one here-- what were you doing? Why were you just standing there—“ Kyungsoo stops talking, and his eyes widen. “I think you’re bleeding.”

Jongin touches his fingers to his face, and discovers that, yes, he is indeed bleeding all over his favorite shirt, and promptly passes out from the pain.

notes:
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2 april edit: sorry for the lack of updates, i've been working through some personal stuff lately, but i'm back now and will be putting up a new chapter next week. thank you all for stickng to this fic and for the subs xoxo ♥