Jongdae was selfish.

Minseok was sleeping at his side on the cot, cheek pressed against the pillow and mouth parted slightly as he breathed. Guozhi had given him a tea brewed with special herbs to lessen the pain and make it easier for him to sleep. The burns were dressed in gauze, and he was sleeping on his stomach to avoid aggravating the wounds - though Jongdae suspected sleeping would not be possible no matter how well-mixed those herbs had been. The pain would be too much.

Thanks to Guozhi’s treatment, Minseok’s sleep was peaceful, his breath even and regular. Compared to the sickly pale complexion Minseok had worn when he had first been brought to Guozhi, he now looked much better. Color had returned to his face, just enough to no longer be a cause of worry, his expression slipping from agony to something much more serene, and sweat no longer clung to his skin.

Minseok would be fine. Minseok was here, was safe.

And for being happy it was Minseok who was here and not Junmyeon, Jongdae was selfish.

The guilt he felt for having such thoughts, for being relieved it wasn’t Minseok in Junmyeon’s place, left Jongdae with a horrible taste in his mouth. He felt like a traitor, like he was betraying Junmyeon and his friendship. The man was nothing but an amazing friend, loyal to a fault and one of the kindest people Jongdae knew. If anything, Jongdae should be completely devastated. And he was upset at the idea of Junmyeon being taken.

But at the same time, he couldn’t leave Minseok, either. Minseok was his friend as much as Junmyeon, was more than that, and Jongdae would feel terrible no matter who had been on the cot and who had been taken by the sorcerer. But having already accepted Minseok’s death, only for him to survive, had changed things. Now, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to handle living through that grief a second time. And it was with utter relief that he watched Minseok sleep now, knowing he was still with him.

He shifted, moving to sit closer to the edge of his chair, and reached out with a hand to gently card his fingers through Minseok’s hair. It was such a simple thing to do, yet the fact that he could do it had his heart swelling in his chest.

Jongdae continued playing mindlessly with the long dark strands of hair until he heard the click of the door opening and his hand stilled, fingers still tangled in the locks as he glanced up.

Yixing closed the door after him softly, gaze surveying the room shortly before landing on Jongdae. He sent him a smile, weak around the edges, and Jongdae was once again reminded that though Minseok was beside him - and well, considering the circumstances - Junmyeon was not. And Yixing would be the person to take the prince’s disappearance the hardest.

Even after a night’s rest, the advisor looked haggard, as though he hadn’t slept a wink. Which Jongdae wouldn’t find surprising, if that were the case. He hadn’t slept all that much, either, too afraid to give into unconsciousness just yet. What if he fell asleep and Minseok stopped breathing? What if Crow came back and took him as well, vanishing into thin air? He couldn’t let that happen. So Jongdae had stayed awake, despite Guozhi’s chiding, to keep an eye on Minseok as he slept.

But at least he had someone to check on. Yixing only had his pain.

“How is he?” the advisor asked, gaze moving from Jongdae to Minseok.

“He’s better,” Jongdae replied with a small shrug. “Better than he was, at least. And you?”

“Me?” Yixing questioned, slowly moving further into the room, eyes falling to his father’s desk. “What about me?”

Jongdae watched him carefully for a moment, brows pulling together. “How are you feeling with all of… this? With Junmyeon?”

The advisor now stood in front of Guozhi’s desk, fingers trailing across a book cover, then some parchment. “Where is my father?” he asked without looking up, and Jongdae’s frown deepened at the blatant avoidance of his own question.

“He left a little while ago,” Jongdae told the other. “Said he needed more supplies from the market. But you didn’t answer my question, Yixing.”

The words caused Yixing to look up momentarily, meeting Jongdae’s gaze, before he glanced away again. “There is nothing to answer. I am fine.”

That was a lie. Jongdae didn’t believe for one second that Yixing was fine. Even as he observed Yixing quietly, the man seemingly very interested in Guozhi’s desk, no matter how much Yixing tried to look fine, his shoulders were drawn closer, his body tense. Everything in his body language spoke of someone who was not fine. He was obviously hurting.

But he hesitated in calling attention to it, when he knew that this strength Yixing was holding onto was the only thing that was keeping him together. Another spike of guilt shot through him at the thought, and he looked away, toying with the hem of Minseok’s bedding.

“If you’re sure,” he said eventually, voice soft. “I just… worry.”

“You and Yifan worry too much about me,” Yixing said firmly, rummaging through a stack of papers. “There are more pressing matters than my emotional state.”

Jongdae pursed his lips, glancing at Minseok, who didn’t appear bothered by their voices. Turning back to Yixing for the moment, Jongdae rested his chin in his palm, keeping quiet for now, because whilst Yixing’s actions earlier could have been explained away as trying to distract himself from their conversation, he wasn’t stopping. Rather, he seemed to be searching Guozhi’s desk for something.

But what was he searching for?

Yixing’s motions halted, and Jongdae noticed him glancing his way, fingers tapping against the wood.

“Has Minseok been awake since my father’s treatment?” the advisor asked steadily, looking at Jongdae again.

Jongdae raised a single eyebrow at the way Yixing was acting, but nonetheless nodded in answer to the question. “Once. He woke up to get some tea from your father, and then fell back asleep. He’s stirred a few times since, but has mostly slept soundly.”

“Did he say anything?” Yixing inquired distractedly, eyes glancing at the desk again, a slight frown marring his face. Jongdae thought it was rather curious, but he humored the advisor anyway.

“Nothing coherent, no,” Jongdae said with a shake of his head, leaning back to sit better in the chair as he observed the other man.

“Nothing about Junmyeon?” Yixing questioned further.

“He didn’t say a word, aside from mumbling Jun’s name when he was made to drink Guozhi’s tea.”

“I see,” Yixing said slowly. He turned around to face Jongdae, leaning against the desk and resting his hands on the surface. “And what about my father? Do you know when he will return from the market?”

“I reckon it’ll be a bit before he comes back,” Jongdae replied, noticing Yixing’s hand moving behind his back to grab a hold of a piece of parchment, the advisor’s eyes trained on the wall. The stable hand chose not to comment on it, however, even as he realized what it was Yixing had been searching for.

The map.

“Do you need him for anything?” Jongdae asked as Yixing slid away from the desk, and the advisor looked up before shaking his head, a faint smile forming on his lips.

“No. It does not matter.”

Jongdae inclined his head in answer, watching Yixing move across the room and back to the door. Lifting a hand to the doorknob, pausing before looking back over his shoulder at Jongdae.

“Please send word if Minseok wakes up. I will be back soon.”

“Be careful, Yixing,” Jongdae advised, and Yixing’s body tensed shortly, before loosening up again. He averted his gaze, looking in front of him again as he pulled down the knob and opened the door. Though he stayed still in the doorway.

Waiting outside were the king and queen, both tense and visibly drawn. There was a hesitation about them, one that Jongdae saw right away, but a determination as well. He stood awkwardly as Yixing stepped aside, greeting them with a slight nod before he left out the door.

“Your Majesties,” Jongdae spoke, bowing low for the regents, carefully pulling his hand away from Minseok, though it almost pained him to do so. “I will let you -”

The king raised his hand and shook his head, halting Jongdae as he started for the door.

“There is no need for you to leave,” he declared, gesturing back to the chair Jongdae had been sitting on.

As Jongdae sat back down, carefully, the king straightened his back, eyes going to Minseok’s form. Jongdae recognized the flash of fear, there one moment, gone the next. He knew it wasn’t Minseok per se they feared, but his response to seeing them there when he woke up. Jongdae had seen the same uncertainty in Minseok during his stay at the castle, particularly after he had seen the queen up close at the festival.

For the parents to be uncertain of how they would have to interact with someone they didn’t know, as well, was only to be expected. Someone who knew they gave up on him.

Despite all that, however, they had come. Stronger than the fear in both the king and queen’s eyes was the determination, the will to try to make everything, if not good, then better.

“If he wakes,” the king said slowly, appearing as hesitant as a ruler possibly could, eyes still trained on his son, “it may be best for you to be here, as well. We were told you have been a large help in calming him.”

Jongdae bowed his head, aware of the implications of that sentence as heat rose to his cheeks. It seemed his relationship - whether seen as a simple friendship or for what it truly was - was beginning to warrant talk from others. “If you wish, Your Majesty.”

After that, there was only silence, the king finding a chair for himself as the queen sat on the edge of the bed. She lifted her hand to gently push away some stray locks from Minseok’s forehead, and Jongdae focused his gaze on Minseok when he noticed the tears gathering in the queen’s eyes.

He watched as the king reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but no words were said between them.

They didn’t need words. Jongdae understood, either way.

-

If the night’s rest were supposed to diminish Yifan’s anger, it had not done its job. Much like the bruise that still adorned his cheek, his emotions were still visible in his actions and voice, not faded at all like his father had hoped. Yifan was furious, and it only grew more difficult to hold his anger in the longer he stood in Yixing’s bedroom, watching as the advisor packed.

“I am going with you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“No, you are not,” Yixing replied easily, tiredly, like he had to explain himself to an angry toddler. “You are staying here.”

“Like hell I am,” Yifan bit out.

He had gone looking for Chanyeol and Zitao early that morning, when no one had come to inform him of his father’s plans to rescue Junmyeon. But when he went to the training grounds, there had been no sign of the two guards, and so he had extended his search. He had been surprised to find them both settled in Yixing’s bed chambers, heads bent in discussion as Yixing flitted around the room, gathering supplies. With the transcription of the map lying close by, it was not so difficult for Yifan to put the missing pieces together.

Yixing was not going to wait for the army to go get Junmyeon. He was going himself. And he was taking Chanyeol and Zitao with him, and they were going to leave in less than an hour. Without Yifan.

Zitao had looked up at him like a child being caught doing something terribly wrong, and Chanyeol had only appeared indifferent. But Yixing had met his frown with a determined expression, shoulders squared as he told Yifan of the hastily made plan. A plan that did not involve Yifan.

And it was that detail that sent Yifan spiraling into anger.

But Yixing seemed hell-bent on making sure the young lord did not accompany them on the journey.

“You must stay here,” Yixing insisted, stuffing another bag of food into his sack. Things that didn’t rot quickly, Yifan noted.

“And yet you get to go?” Yifan shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is my fault,” Yixing muttered without looking up. “It is my responsibility to fix this.”

“You can hardly fight,” the young lord argued, ignoring the way Yixing flinched at those words. “You will be killed.”

“I am much smarter than you give me credit for,” the advisor responded, eyes on his belongings. “And I will have Chanyeol and Zitao with me. They are both skilled fighters.”

“I am a skilled fighter,” Yifan nearly hissed. He glanced at Zitao then, the man dutifully looking away, a small frown on his face. “Tao, tell them. I have been sparring with you for months now. I have improved, have I not?”

Zitao refused to answer, and Yifan felt like throwing something.

“Improvement or not, you are still a noble,” Chanyeol spoke then, and if he felt the intensity of Yifan’s glare, he didn’t show it. “We already have a prince’s life on the line. We cannot risk letting Crow have a lord, as well.”

“That is not fair,” Yifan barked. “I - you are telling me I cannot go because of my title?”

“Among other things,” Yixing interjected, finally finished with his packing and turning to meet Yifan’s glare.

“Like what?” Yifan said in exasperation, and even in his anger, he could see Yixing’s eyes soften, just a bit.

“I cannot lose another friend,” he stated quietly, though his voice held a note of finality. “I cannot allow you to go, Yifan.”

“But I can lose all of my friends?” Yifan spat, and this time, Yixing’s facade did slip. “Have you forgotten that Jun is my friend, as well? That you are my friend? What am I to do if you do not succeed?”

This was all happening so fast. Junmyeon was gone, and now here was Yixing, telling him he would go face a sorcerer, that he would take Chanyeol and Zitao with him. And he was supposed to stay here? How was he supposed to remain out of harm’s way when he knew all of his closest friends were willingly placing themselves in danger?

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. But try as he did, it didn’t seem like anyone was willing to take notice of his side.

Yixing stared at him for a long moment, before shaking his head. “I am sorry, Yifan. But you will not go with us.”

Yifan took the words in, looking around to the others, pleading for someone to speak for him, to help him change Yixing’s mind. But all he was met with was Chanyeol shaking his head, and Zitao avoiding his gaze. No one would help. And it hurt so much more than he thought it would.

Before realizing what he was doing, he lashed out, the bookshelf fastened to the wall taking the brunt of his anger as he cleared the top of all it contained with a swing of his arm. Books toppled to the floor, the distinct sound of glass shattering mixing in as a vile of ink was also caught in his warpath, and his throat burned with his rage. He wondered if he had yelled; the way Zitao had paled made him suspect he had.

All the while, Yixing only watched, letting Yifan take out his frustration without trying to stop him. Yifan’s chest heaved as he threw one final glare at the advisor before he stormed out of the room, lest his anger cause him to do something he would really regret.

His footsteps were loud against the stone floor as he pushed his body to get away, to just leave and not look back. He could feel his body humming with rage, but there was also the undertone of sorrow, of frustration and helplessness and so many things that had Yifan’s chest feeling like it was torn into pieces.

He needed to act. To do something to help. That was all he wanted. He wanted to help Junmyeon. He wanted to help Minseok. He wanted to help Yixing, and Chanyeol, and Zitao. But no one was willing to let him, and he hated this.

The hand on his arm startled him, and he jerked, swinging out to shove away whoever it was that grabbed him. But his hand was caught mid-swing, and he looked up to see Zitao by his side, his face full of concern.

“Do not do this,” Zitao whispered, the words gentle in tone, and Yifan sneered.

“Leave me alone,” Yifan growled, shaking off the younger man as he tried to move further down the hall. He didn’t want to talk to Zitao. He didn’t want to see whatever pity the other man held for his situation. Not when he wouldn't speak for his case back in Yixing’s room. Not when the guard couldn’t even look at him.

But Zitao was looking at him now, imploringly so, and he stepped in front of Yifan when he tried to continue on.

“Stop this,” Zitao ordered, and when Yifan tried to sidestep him again, he found his back against the wall, Zitao’s hands holding him firmly against the surface. He made a noise in the back of his throat at the motion, at being pinned by the younger guard so quickly, but Zitao did not give him time to protest.

“You have every right to be upset,” Zitao started, only for Yifan to cut him off, still struggling to push the other man off.

“I have every right to go with you,” he countered harshly when he realized Zitao wouldn’t back away. “And yet the three of you forbid me. Like I am a child. Like I would do nothing but be in the way.”

“You know that is not our intentions,” Zitao tried again, shaking his head. “As a noble -”

“What good is a title if I am not allowed to do anything?” Yifan interrupted again, anger nearly rolling off him in waves as he gave up trying to get away in favor of openly glaring at the younger man. “If it cannot get a parent to visit you when you need them most, as it has done for Minseok? If it means I must stay behind and watch everyone else risk their lives?”

“You are important to this kingdom,” Zitao said softly, and Yifan surged forward and twisted, reversing their positions until it was Zitao pinned to the wall. Yifan had taken a hold of the younger’s wrists, pushing them up by his head to give himself leverage, Zitao looking up at him in surprise even as Yifan seethed.

“You are important to me!” he roared, his nose nearly bumping Zitao’s with their proximity. “You, and Chanyeol, and Junmyeon, and Yixing. All of you are important to me!”

Zitao stilled underneath his hold, staring up at Yifan with wide eyes as Yifan’s chest heaved, brushing Zitao’s with every breath. He could feel the guard’s pulse, underneath his hands, and he watched as Zitao wet his lips without thought.

“Yi-” Zitao started to call, but Yifan didn’t wait for him to finish before he was pushed forward, stealing the rest of his name from Zitao’s mouth with his own.

Zitao’s lips were much softer than Yifan had ever imagined - and he had imagined, multiple times - as he kissed him. Soft and pliant and responsive, in a way that had Yifan’s head spinning, even as his frustrations still lingered in his veins. But he put all of that energy into his kiss, into making Zitao see just how much he hated being left behind. How much he hated the idea of everyone else being taken away from him as he stood by and did absolutely nothing.

And Zitao gave that energy back willingly, meeting every action with his own. One of Yifan’s hands slid from Zitao’s wrist, slipping behind to settle on the back of Zitao’s head, pushing forward and up to make Zitao’s head tilt back, giving him better access. Zitao arched into his hold, pushing his chest harder against Yifan’s as a whimper slipped from his lips, one that Yifan swallowed hungrily.

When Yifan released both of Zitao’s hands, the guard grabbed a hold of his shoulders, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s neck to hold him in place. As if Yifan would ever think of pulling away. With his hand no longer holding the younger man to the wall, Yifan’s fingers trailed down, gripping Zitao just behind his thighs, and yanked.

Strong legs wrapped around his waist, and Yifan pushed Zitao even further into the wall, letting the wood hold them in place as he continued to ravish Zitao’s mouth. Zitao’s hands found Yifan’s hair, and Yifan outright groaned when the man tugged the slightest bit. His hips bucked up hard against Zitao and earned a sharp cry from the other as he ground down against Yifan.

He wanted to take him. He wanted to carry Zitao to the nearest bedroom and show him just how important he was. He wanted the man to writhe in pleasure, to scream his name as he ed him open again and again. As he made him his.

But already Yifan could feel time slipping away. Zitao would be leaving in an hour, probably less. And while his body needed, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let him leave if he acted on that need.

He began to slow his kiss, albeit reluctantly, holding Zitao’s hips firmly in his hands to slow his motions, to gain some sense of clarity that he couldn’t find when Zitao was moving against him so desperately. When he finally pulled away, it was only enough to speak, lips still brushing against Zitao’s skin as he did so.

“Promise me you will come back.”

“I will,” Zitao responded breathlessly, unable to keep from pressing his lips to Yifan’s again. “I swear it, Yifan. I will.”

Yifan’s eyes shut tightly as he kissed Zitao again, once, twice for good measure, before letting the guard back down to his feet. But not out of his grasp. He held Zitao close, still catching his breath as his fingers dug into the small of Zitao’s back.

When he opened his eyes, Zitao was already watching him, his gaze dark with lust and sorrow. The young lord did his best to smile, though he knew it was useless. Zitao took note of the struggle, reaching up to slide his palm along Yifan’s cheek before sealing his mouth over his again, Yifan’s eyes sliding closed.

And then Zitao was gone, pushing out of Yifan’s space and down the hall. Yifan didn’t check to see if the guard looked back, knowing if he turned to watch him leave, he would follow.

And, like before, he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to do so.

-

The journey itself was not as taxing as Yixing had feared it would be. It was long, yes, and his muscles ached from their pace - he had pushed himself a bit too much, despite Chanyeol’s warnings - but there was nothing that made it particularly challenging. The map was relatively easy to follow, the terrain manageable to navigate, and it was more or less a straight shot.

Yixing didn’t know if that were a blessing, or something to fear. After all, Crow was practically inviting them in with open arms, waiting for them to arrive. It would have been smarter to wait, to go with a full army of men. But they didn’t have that kind of time. Even still, it felt like a trap. It felt like a death wish.

But Junmyeon was worth any amount of danger, in Yixing’s mind.

It wasn’t until they had reached the castle that Yixing felt the first twinge of fear run down his spine, glancing nervously at Chanyeol and Zitao as the structure came into sight.

The building was dark, stones worn over time, almost in ruins. It sat precariously at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Eastern Sea, looking as if it were just waiting to slip, to rejoin the rocks in the water below. The surrounding forest had grown up around it as well, nearly taking the building over in spots, vines tangled around the pillars and towers. Yixing imagined it would have had an advantage with outside attacks, in its glory days, with the ocean on one side and nothing but the forest on the other. The occupants would be able to see enemies coming for miles. But now it looked deserted, as if no one had lived there for decades.

Yet the air around it hummed with energy, magic drenching every inch of the place. Crow was here. And so was Junmyeon.

“We must be careful,” Chanyeol said quietly as they approached, his hand held on the hilt of his sword. “He is more than likely expecting us.”

Yixing gave a stiff nod, his own hand falling to grip his sword tightly. “Is there a plan?” he asked, and he saw the quirk of Chanyeol’s lips in his peripheral vision.

“Besides getting Jun back? Not really. Don’t get yourself killed, I suppose.”

“Your words are very reassuring,” Yixing deadpanned, and Zitao chuckled at his side.

“I try,” Chanyeol said with a shrug, before turning serious once more. “When we get inside, stay close. It would not bode well to be separated.”

“Right,” Yixing said, positioning himself just behind the two guards. His hands were already shaking.

The main entrance was a heavy oak door, some sort of intricate design carved into the surface. It wasn’t until Chanyeol had shouldered his way through the entrance that Yixing realized what the design was. Nightshades. The wood was covered in nightshades, the flowers sprawling across the wooden surface.

The castle was quiet, nothing but the sound of their boots on the stone floor meeting them as they stepped inside. Here, the magic was thick in the air, enough to have Yixing feel like his hair was on end, but there was no sight of Crow. No sight of anyone, really.

Zitao shifted by his side, peering into the darkness that stretched in front of them, the light spilling in from the door only reaching so far.

“I don’t like this,” the younger guard whispered, and Yixing flinched at his voice, loud in the silence.

“Neither do I,” Chanyeol agreed, drawing his sword fully and holding it in front of him defensively. Yixing followed suit, nearly dropping the weapon as he did so as Zitao drew his effortlessly.

Something shifted, a gentle sound from somewhere beyond the light of the doorway, and Chanyeol raised a hand to halt them. As if Yixing needed any more reason to freeze on the spot. The captain didn’t take his eyes off the darkness in front of them, keeping his attention on the direction the noise came from.

“Tao,” he rumbled, and Zitao gave a quick nod, taking a step away from Chanyeol to cover him. Yixing’s chest was heaving as he stepped closer to Zitao, not liking the sudden distance between himself and the guards. But as he did so, something gave, and suddenly there was a rush of air and sound.

Yixing yelped as he clutched to Zitao’s tunic, watching as Chanyeol took the brunt of the air, the force of it pushing him back. The tall man stumbled, caught off guard by the gust - where was it coming from? - and Yixing looked on in horror as Chanyeol toppled back, falling to the ground just outside the door. The door swung forward, slamming shut and throwing Yixing and Zitao into the dark with little warning.

“Chanyeol!” Zitao shouted, before another rush of air swirled around him and Yixing. The advisor waited for the push, but it never came. Instead, the air continued to spiral, and then there was light, torches that had been fastened to the wall but left cold sparking, burning brightly as the castle’s interior was revealed, the air stilling at last.

Banging at the entrance startled Yixing, and then he and Zitao were rushing to the door, yanking at the handle. They could hear Chanyeol just on the other side, furiously pounding against the wood, but no amount of strength from him or from the others could budge the door.

“,” Zitao cursed under his breath, eyes wide as he looked at Yixing. Chanyeol was stuck outside. And they were trapped.

Laughter, light and hollow, echoed down the hall.

“Oh, God,” Yixing whispered, turning to press his back against the door. Chanyeol continued to hit the other side, sending small jolts through the advisor as his eyes darted around the hall. It was bare, save a badly worn rug and the handful of torches that lit the way, but even if he couldn’t see anything threatening, he could feel it.

“We have to move,” Zitao said softly, raking a hand through his hair. “We can’t linger by the door.”

“But Chanyeol -” Yixing started, only for Zitao to shake his head.

“Chanyeol will find a way in, but for now, he is of no help to us. And if we stay here, we will be an easy target. We must move.”

Yixing nodded. Yes. He was right. They needed to move.

He took a shuddered breath, pushing himself away from the door and further into the castle, Zitao close by his side.

The castle was just as unkempt on the inside as it looked on the outside. Broken furniture, ripped paintings, and threadbare rugs was all that remained to show that someone had indeed lived here, and Yixing couldn’t imagine how anyone would willingly reside in this place. Everything was decayed. Rotting away.

Yixing’s senses were in overdrive as he and Zitao reached the end of the hall, stepping out into a larger space with high ceilings, stone floor left bare. A throne room, Yixing guessed, glancing towards the opposite end. Well, what would have been the opposite end. Instead of a wall, the far side was open to the outside, the stones falling away from the rest of the structure. Yixing felt the ocean breeze around him, could hear the sound of the waves hitting the cliff below, and he shuddered.

“Do you see anything?” he asked Zitao in a small voice, and the guard shook his head.

“There’s no one here,” the younger man replied, but neither of them missed the sound of that horrible, tinkling laughter as it bounced around them.

“My, you are unobservant,” a voice said, and when Yixing looked again, he caught movement in the shadows along the far side. A ripple, almost like smoke, and then there was a man. It was as if he materialized out of the wall itself, and Yixing’s grip on his sword tightened to an almost painful hold.

The man stepped further into the light, the breeze at his back lifting his clothes and hair slightly, and Yixing fought the gasp at his features. He was thin, so thin. Drawn cheeks and greyed skin, hair thin atop his head. He moved like water, fluid and slinking, but the calm smile that was on his face hardly hid the glint of madness in his eyes. Dark and dangerous, an energy about him.

This must be Crow.

Yixing had heard of the effects of dark magic on the user, of how it would drain the body, corrode the mind. It was like a disease, decaying the wielder from the inside out, pulling the owner of that magic deeper into the corruption until they were pushed into insanity, or until their body literally rotted away.

He was almost as decayed as his castle, it seemed. But Yixing knew that was not an accurate portrayal of his strength. The man was powerful.

“There is no need to linger by the hall,” Crow chided with a smile. “You are the honored guests, after all. Though I must say, I expected the Kim family to send more than two guards and an advisor.”

He tilted his head, his smile growing sharper as he observed Yixing fully. “A terrified advisor, at that.”

Yixing stared in shock, because how had the man known who he was? Crow seemed to read the confusion in his expression, letting out a soft sound of realization.

“Ah, yes. I know who you are, Zhang Yixing. Just as I know Captain Park Chanyeol, and just as I know Huang Zitao.”

“How?” Zitao asked impulsively, and Crow turned his grin to him.

“I have been watching Minseok since he was only an infant. Do you not think I would continue to watch him as he grew? Even when he returned to the castle, he could not escape my watch. And in turn, I watched you as well.” He let out a small sigh, one Yixing imagined was supposed to sound sad, but didn’t quite have the intended effect. “Pity others had to be brought into this curse, when it was meant for Minseok, but these things do happen.”

Zitao bristled at the tone, holding his sword higher. “Where is the prince?” he barked out, Crow’s gaze sliding lazily over to him.

“So eager,” Crow tsked, shaking his head. “Must you leave so quickly? Please. Stay awhile.”

The guard widened his stance, steeling his gaze. “Answer me.”

“That will not do,” the sorcerer hummed with a click of his tongue, stepping closer. “I do not like rude guests.”

Zitao moved to close the distance further, and Crow looked almost bored as he lifted his hand, three fingers flicking to the side as if swatting away a fly. Yixing breath caught in his throat as Zitao was thrown by some invisible force, lifted off the ground and tossed against the wall like it was nothing. The guard cried out as his back hit the stone wall hard, before his body collapsed on the floor. He didn’t move again.

“Tao,” Yixing let out in a choked voice, eyes wide in fear. He flinched when Crow laughed, the advisor’s attention snapping back to the sorcerer.

“See? Much better,” Crow said with a cheerful sigh, smiling at Yixing as if they were sharing a private joke. When Crow went to move towards him, he lifted his sword once more, higher in front of him than before. He could hear Junmyeon’s words in his head, coaching him, guiding him.

With as much confidence as he could muster, he adjusted his grip, bringing his hand up to rest underneath the guard, widening his stance and straightening his back for more balance. He felt stronger, the sword less awkward in his hands and his footing more sure.

Crow watched the motions with a smirk, cooing at the advisor. “Aw, they taught you to fight. How precious.”

“Stop it,” Yixing bit out, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He couldn’t stop his yelp when the air around him stirred again, pushing him back before he could find his stance again.

Crow laughed, head tilting back at Yixing’s flustered movements. “What is wrong, Yixing? Are you not brave, like young Junmyeon? Are you a coward?”

Yixing gritted his teeth, sending the man a glare. He wasn’t fighting fair. It would never be fair, fighting against sorcery.

“Cowards are the ones who hide behind a shield of magic!” he spat before he could think better of it, and Crow’s gaze sharpened.

“Ah, you think I have an advantage? That I cannot kill you without my power?” Crow said with a raised eyebrow. He lifted his hand into the air, and black smoke filled his palm, running through his fingers. Yixing watched as the smoke gained solidity, became a sword. Crow rotated it in his hand once, testing the weight, before bringing it up in challenge. “Very well, child. Show me what you have learned.”

Yixing paused for only a second, taking in the man’s relaxed stance, before his grip tightened on his sword. He charged quickly, swinging the weapon blindly towards the man’s chest. Crow waited until he had extended fully and knocked the flat of his blade against Yixing’s, ripping the sword from the advisor’s fingers. The metal clattered loudly against the stone floor, and Yixing bit his lip as he glanced between the man and his discarded weapon. If he were trying to prove his worth as a fighter, he had just thrown all of Junmyeon’s teaching away.

Crow grinned at his panicked hesitation, throwing a nod towards the fallen sword.

“Pick it up, boy. I would not want you to feel at a disadvantage.”

Yixing didn’t question the opening, stooping quickly to pick up the sword as he kept his eyes on Crow, wary of any sudden movements he might make. But the sorcerer only watched with a bored expression, half-amused at Yixing’s fumbling.

The advisor flexed his fingers around the hilt of the sword, this time thinking back to those sparring lessons he was forced to endure. Find a weakness, he had been told. Everyone had a weakness. But looking at Crow now, Yixing was hard pressed to find anything to go on. Despite his age, he moved as well as any of Chanyeol’s men, if not better. What was he supposed to do when he couldn’t find a flaw in the man’s abilities?

He must have hesitated a moment too long, for Crow spoke up with a condescending sneer. “Is that all they showed you? How to lose your sword?”

Yixing pulled his shoulders back, meeting Crow’s gaze with his own defiant glare. The man’s mouth was going to be his biggest obstacle, it would seem.

“Are words all you have?” he hissed in reply, and Crow outright cackled at the question.

“Oh, my dear boy, it seems that is all you have, and yet you never used the right ones.” His head tilted in thought, and Yixing could already tell he wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Tell me, did you ever tell brave Junmyeon of your feelings? Or did words fail you there, as well?”

Yixing remained silent, lips pressed together to form a tight line. So this was Crow’s game. He’d taunt his opponent until he got to their head, stirring emotions that would cloud his judgement, make him act in haste. Little did he know, Yixing took pride in his patience, and it would be that patience that would keep him alive, if he kept his wits about him.

“Oh, what is this?” Crow egged on, lifting his eyebrows in mock surprise. “A silent advisor? I am sure your prince was used to your silence when it came to your emotions for him.”

“What do you know of emotions?” Yixing asked against his better judgement, circling around Crow slowly, looking for any opening.

The sorcerer snorted through his nose. “Oh, about as much as a nightingale, I suppose.”

Yixing tensed at the mention of the nightingale, and then cursed himself for his reaction. He shouldn’t be surprised by this man’s knowledge of his personal life. He had already proven that not much went unseen by his eyes. But that didn’t mean Yixing was ready to have his affections for Junmyeon dangled in his face, least of all by the one man who had Junmyeon hostage.

Crow’s maniacal laughter echoed through the throne room. “Yes, I know even that.” He shifted, and Yixing couldn’t help stepping back, further away as Crow continued, “Tell me, does that make Junmyeon the rose?”

Again, Yixing refused to rise to the bait.

“I suppose it would,” Crow answered his own question, with a grin. “It is such a wonderful story.”

Yixing barely caught the way Crow’s hand tightened. “My favorite part is when the nightingale bleeds.”

Crow lunged forward, sword raised to deliver what would certainly be a fatal blow. Yixing had only just enough time to deflect, clumsily lifting his sword to meet the swing and using the man’s momentum to push him away. Crow let himself be pushed, chuckling the whole time.

Yixing deflected another blow as Crow rounded on him, this time with the sword aimed for his side. The sorcerer almost seemed miffed at the block, his face pulling into a mockery of a pout.

“So you do have some fighting ability. That is a shame. I was hoping to end this quickly.”

“Things do not always go the way you want them to,” Yixing replied as he put more distance between them. He shot a glance towards Zitao, who still lay on the floor, unmoving. He needed the guard to wake up. And what of Chanyeol? Had the man found a way inside yet? He didn't know if he could handle facing this man alone.

“And yet, here you are. Fighting for your prince,” Crow said with a flourish of one hand, before swinging low at Yixing’s leg. The advisor went to block, and Crow flicked his wrist, bringing the blade up faster that Yixing anticipated and slicing into the skin of his upper thigh. He let out a gasp, hand reaching down to cover to wound as pain seared through his leg, and Crow smiled in triumph, stepping back again.

“I would say this is exactly what I wanted.”

Yixing clenched his jaw against the pain, pulling himself to stand up straight as he met Crow’s gaze head on. He shouldn’t give the man a reaction, but he couldn’t help his quiet response, every word dripping with determination.

“I will get him back.”

That seemed to please Crow. “I would like to see you try.”

When Crow lunged again, it was Yixing this time who took advantage of the extension. Sidestepping the attack, he brought his blade up fast, just grazing the man’s arm with his sword. It pulled a surprised hiss from the other, and though it was hardly a scratch, it was enough to have Yixing grinning in victory.

Crow examined the wound with a sneer, glaring at Yixing with open irritation.

“You annoying little brat.”

With a wave of his hand, the sword disappeared, and Yixing watched as Crow threw a hand towards him. In an instance, his own sword was thrown to the ground, skidding out of reach. The advisor glared at the man, ignoring the fear that crept back into his mind from being left defenseless.

“So you are a coward, running back to magic to win your battles?”

Crow sent him a wicked grin. “I prefer the term ‘opportunist’.”

When he waved his hand again, Yixing felt the breath leave him in a rush, his body picked up and tossed across the room. He hit the floor hard, rolling a few times before coming to a stop just shy of the cliff opening. A cry left him at the sight of the water below, hands scrambling to pull himself away from the ledge. He didn’t quite make it to his feet before Crow was there, hand reaching out to wrap tightly around his throat. He was lifted easily, and Yixing gasped, grabbing at the man’s arm.

“Pathetic,” Crow chided, stepping forward, towards the cliff. Yixing felt his feet drag across the stone floor before the ground was gone completely, feet hanging in the air as he was dangled over the side. A whimper left him as he felt gravity begin to pull him down, eyes squeezing shut in his fear.

“I wonder if you fly like a nightingale,” Crow mused, his voice reaching Yixing over the sound of the waves below. “Or if you would sink like a stone in the water below.”

Yixing clawed at the man’s wrist, struggling to hold onto what felt like a very fleeting grip on him. It would be so easy for Crow to drop him. So easy to end the fight once and for all. And Yixing could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes, fear overwhelming him. He tried to choke out a response, but all that came out was garbled words.

But then, Crow’s head was cocking to the side in thought. “Ah, but that would not fit the story, would it? What was it that killed the nightingale? Thorns?”

His feet found the floor once again as Crow stepped back, and Yixing nearly sobbed in relief. They moved further into the throne room, Yixing half dragged by Crow as he continued to fight the man’s hold. Yixing thrashed when the sorcerer raised his hand, a smile dancing on Crow’s features.

“I do not have thorns,” he continued softly, and that inky black smoke appeared once more, creating a smaller blade in the man’s hand. “But a dagger will do.”

The sight of the dagger renewed the fight in Yixing, who began to pull desperately at Crow’s hold on him. He had to get away. If he didn’t, he was going to die. But what could he do? He couldn’t fight off Crow’s grip, and he wouldn’t be able to get to his sword. With the added element of magic, his chances of avoiding the dagger and his inevitable death were looking slim. But there had to be something, anything, that would give him the advantage. He needed leverage. He needed a weapon.

He wasn’t going to be able to avoid the blade. He knew that as Crow tightened his grip and reared back, dagger held firmly in his hand.

But he could control where it hit.

Yixing twisted at the last possible moment, ing his shoulder forward despite the hold on his neck. The dagger was brought down hard, but missed the intended target of his chest, and instead plunged into the muscle of shoulder.

It hurt like hell, so much more than Yixing anticipated, but with a sharp yelp he reached out to yank Crow closer by the arm, grimacing when the action pushed the dagger deeper as well.  With as much strength as he could muster, he threw his injured arm around Crow’s shoulder and tugged him down to his side. The sorcerer released the dagger in surprised, and only when Yixing had him firmly held at the level of his hip did he reach up and grab the handle of the blade still buried in his shoulder. A yell was ripped from him as he pulled the blade out of his body, before he brought the dagger down hard in the middle of Crow’s back, the man gasping in shock and pain.

When Crow’s legs gave out beneath him, Yixing sunk down with him as well, refusing to let go of his hold on the other man’s neck even as it jolted his own wounds. Once his knees hit the stone floor, he pulled the dagger from the man’s back once more, flinching at the choked gasp that left the sorcerer. With quick, sharp movements, before Crow could fully regain his bearings, Yixing sank the tip of the blade into the man’s gut and pushed forward until his fingers were resting against Crow’s stomach, the hilt flush against the skin.

Crow grasped Yixing’s wrist weakly, his breath shuddering as it entered his lungs. “Well, this was unexpected.”

Yixing couldn’t help leaning forward, digging the blade in further. “Where is Junmyeon?”

Crow scoffed at the question, even as his face scrunched in pain. “Perhaps you should have asked such questions before you stabbed me,” he snapped, the words breathless in tone. “It is getting increasingly more difficult to speak.”

This time, Yixing twisted the blade, holding Crow by the upper arm when he tried to turn away from the intrusion. The longer Crow delayed, the more desperate his urgency to find Junmyeon became, and the worse Yixing would make this for the sorcerer. “Stop with these games! Tell me where he is!”

The sorcerer tensed in anguish, gasping in a shaky breath. “The tower,” he choked out, even as he smiled, peering at Yixing through lidded eyes. “But it is too late.”

Yixing nearly lost his grip on the dagger, drawing in a sharp breath. “What? No. No, it cannot…”

He wasn’t too late. He wasn’t. He had to have made it in time. He bared his teeth in a snarl, shaking his head adamantly as Crow continued to smirk at him. “You will fix this. Junmyeon will -”

Crow’s weak laughter cut him off. “I cannot fix a curse, boy. It is done.”

The panic threatened to choke Yixing, and he forced himself to speak, to not allow Crow’s words to be true. “He is not twenty-four. The curse said -”

“I know what the curse said,” Crow said condescendingly, even as he struggled to breathe. His breaths were coming shallower, now. “But he will not wake. Not when he took it by his own free will. And when he does reach the proper age, he will die.”

Yixing startled when Crow’s hand grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his cheek rested against the other’s, mouth pressed to his ear. His words came out in a whisper, but Yixing flinched as if Crow had yelled them, their meaning sinking down into his gut like a stone.

“And you will only be able to watch.”

“No,” Yixing hissed, his words leaving him in a rush. “No, there has to be something. All curses can be broken.”

Crow pulled away with a smirk, words wheezed with his lack of oxygen. “Tell that to your rose.”

Yixing’s hands were shaking now, struggling to keep a grip on the dagger as he met Crow’s gaze. “But you…” He trailed off, unable to voice the words.

Crow sent him a knowing grin, though his eyes struggled to focus on Yixing’s face. “I’m what? Dying?”

The older man forced out a laugh, the action turning into a wet-sounding cough. “Magic extends beyond life,” he said softly, a trickle of blood sliding from the corner on his mouth as he choked on his breath, smirk still intact despite the light fading from his eyes. “And so… will your regret.”

Yixing paled as the man’s eyes lost focus completely, becoming dull as he pushed out one final, trembling breath. He sagged in Yixing’s hold, and the advisor pulled away with a soft cry, scooting back as Crow’s head hung forward, body held up on his knees.

The air around them, that had been alive with a tangible energy, stilled.

Yixing stared at the man with wide eyes, chest heaving around breath after panicked breath, before he was scrambling to his feet and sprinting out of the room. He didn’t know if he were even going in the right direction, blindly searching for a stairwell that would lead him to the tower. That would lead him to Junmyeon.

He found a narrow set of stairs tucked away in the corner of the crumbling establishment, and without hesitation, pushed himself up the steps two at a time. The door at the top swung open easily, no locks or spells or obstacles to stand in Yixing’s way, and the advisor stumbled through the entrance.

The sight of Junmyeon was enough to have tears springing to his eyes, the man laid out on a bed against the far wall. He was completely unscathed, face peaceful and soft as Yixing stumbled forward, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He sank next to the bed with little finesse, reaching out with a bloodied hand to push the hair off Junmyeon’s forehead.

“Your Highness,” he called quietly, voice trembling as he cupped the side of the man’s face. “Junmyeon, wake up.”

The prince didn’t stir, breath even in his sleep.

Yixing’s hands shook as he took a hold of the other’s shoulders, shaking him roughly. “Junmyeon, wake up. Please.” When nothing changed, the prince remaining undisturbed by the urgency in Yixing’s voice and actions, a sob ripped from the advisor’s frame.

He hunched over the bed, burying his face into the crook of his arms as he screamed, a ragged, horrible sound. He clutched at Junmyeon’s hand, willing the man to wake, and sobbed harder when his fingers stayed limp in his.

Crow was right. Junmyeon would not wake.

-

When he had carried the man down the stairs, face streaked with tears as quiet tremors rolled through his body, he had found Chanyeol in the throne room. The captain must have finally found a way to get inside, and he was kneeling next to Zitao, the younger guard hissing as he touched the back of his head where he had hit the wall. Both guards looked up at the sound of Yixing’s footsteps, relieved smiles settling into their features at the sight of Junmyeon held in Yixing’s arms.

Until they noticed Yixing’s grief-stricken expression.

Yixing refused to let any of them touch Junmyeon, clutching the man to his chest when Chanyeol and Zitao neared. The captain went to remove Junmyeon from his arms, and Yixing became hysterical, pulling away sharply. They hadn’t tried to take him again.

The advisor hadn’t put Junmyeon down once on the journey back. They rested when they had to, stopped when there was need, but Yixing’s arms stayed around Junmyeon’s limp form, the weight of the prince against his chest being the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

They were met by Weishan’s army at the end of the second day. The man in question was the first to approach them, his face stern and a lecture on the tip of his tongue until Yixing had looked up at him.

The three of them had been ushered towards a group of horses, a few higher ranked soldiers sliding off the animals to make room for the exhausted trio. Zitao and Chanyeol shook their heads at the offering, but Yixing knew he wouldn’t last much longer without assistance. He settled Junmyeon first, before climbing up behind him, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and thigh. A medic went to approach them, and Chanyeol shooed him away. Weishan sent a few scouts ahead to alert the castle, but the rest remained back, providing an for protection. Yixing knew it didn’t matter. Crow was dead. But he let Weishan do that much, knowing the man was only trying to help.

The sight of the castle gates was not as welcome as it normally would have been. There had been a time when Yixing would have sighed in relief at the familiar structure, returning from whatever excursion Junmyeon had dragged him along for. But this time, coming home felt like returning for a funeral.

And if he took Crow’s words into consideration, that was exactly what he was doing.

The scouts must have done their job, for a number of people met them at the entrance. He could see a handful of servants peering curiously from the side, but his eyes were more focused on the main party. The king and queen, his own father, and then Yifan, Jongdae, and a very weak Minseok, having woken up while they were away. Yixing didn’t meet any of their eyes, Zitao and Chanyeol helping him from his horse as he pulled Junmyeon back into his arms.

Minki started towards them immediately, Junhye close by his side, unable to stay by the castle doors any longer.

“You have Junmyeon?” the king asked, and Yixing’s grip tightened as he nodded.

“I have him,” Yixing said softly, though the words held a gravity that he couldn’t shake, a graveness that left the sentence feeling like ash in his mouth. Something in the words must have also struck a chord in Minki, for he reached out to run a hand through his son’s hair slowly, as if the slightest touch would have the man fade away before their eyes. Junmyeon didn’t stir, didn’t respond.

“He sleeps?” Junhye asked, a note of hope within the words, but Yixing didn’t respond.

It was Yifan who spoke next as others gathered around, quickly moving forward. He shot his father a questioning look before stopping in front of Yixing, the advisor’s eyes fixed on the ground.

“Is he injured?” he asked softly, and Yixing bit his lip against the sob that threatened to burst from his chest. His fingers dug a little harder into Junmyeon’s form, and he looked up at Yifan with such a look of despair that the young lord paled.

“Dead?” Yifan whispered, the word riddled with pain and leaving his voice to seem much smaller than it was, and Yixing shook his head sharply. No, no, Junmyeon wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. Yixing refused to let that thought creep into his head.

But with the curse, he might as well be.

“I couldn’t break it,” he breathed, his bottom lip trembling. “The curse…”

He heard the queen gasp from where she stood close by, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone other than Yifan, whose eyes were clouded with tears as he looked down at Junmyeon. All of these people, they had trusted Yixing with the prince. Junmyeon had trusted him.

And he had failed them.

“We must get him inside,” Yifan murmured, but when he reached forward, Yixing pulled away, shaking his head furiously.

“No,” he refused weakly, his voice cracking from the emotions that had swelled up in his heart.

“Xing, please,” Yifan insisted softly. “We need to see what can be done.”

Yixing kept his hold on Junmyeon, his jaw clenched tightly. The tears returned then, falling from his eyes silently as he in a shaky breath.

“Nothing can be done,” he said in a breathless whisper, shaking his head again. “I was too late.”

“We will fix this,” Yifan said firmly, his own voice quivering. “We will. But you need to let me see Jun. You need to let us help.”

When Yifan reached forward again, Yixing didn’t stop him. The young lord eased Junmyeon from his arms, and Yixing let him be taken from him with a broken whimper, shoulders shaking as he fought the urge to keep Junmyeon to himself. The minute Junmyeon’s weight was lifted from his chest, Yixing sunk to his knees, body no longer able to handle the strain.

Chanyeol and Zitao lunged forward, catching the advisor as he collapsed, and Jongdae rushed forward as Yifan gave a shout in surprise. The stable hand reached out, hand hovering over Yixing’s shoulder as he glanced up with wide eyes. Chanyeol cursed under his breath at the sight of the stab wound, having been unaware that Yixing was wounded, the advisor keeping his injuries hidden from the others as he clung to Junmyeon.

“He’s injured,” Jongdae said in a rush, glancing behind him to find Guozhi. “Doctor Zhang!”

Guozhi was by his son’s side in an instant, palm pressed to his cheek as he took a closer look at the wounds. “He is feverish,” he noted, before moving to push Yixing’s shirt off his shoulder, examining the gash in his skin with a cryptic eye.

“Guozhi,” Yifan hissed in horror, holding Junmyeon closer to his chest as he looked down at his friend.

But the older man waved him off. “He will be alright. He is in shock, but it can be treated. Get the prince inside.”

When Yifan hesitated, Weishan stepped forward, taking a hold of Yifan’s shoulder. “Yifan, go,” he ordered gently, and the young lord turned, forcing himself to move briskly back towards the castle. The king and queen followed behind quickly, faces drawn. Junhye had taken a hold of Junmyeon’s hand, refusing to let go even as her tears slipped from her eyes.

Minseok stayed where he was, watching Yifan pass with Junmyeon, at a loss for what to do. What could he do? His brother had taken his curse, and he could do nothing to take it back. Minseok was rendered powerless, guilt eating him up since he first saw his brother in Yixing’s arms, the usual life he held reduced to the slow draw of breath and a peaceful expression. Guilt that had never left since he had watched Junmyeon fall victim to the curse.

Yixing watched the others go through blurred vision, trembling as his father and Jongdae buzzed around him. He could hear them speaking, could feel Chanyeol and Zitao’s hands supporting him as he was lifted from the ground and carried inside, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t comprehend anything more than the lack of warmth and weight pressed to his chest, as it had been for the past three days.

He had been too late.

-

The year passed both agonizingly slow and incredibly fast, a paradox that Yixing would have found ironic, had it not brought Junmyeon’s demise closer by the day. This must have been the terror that Minseok felt, waiting for the day to come when everything would be taken away. Yixing thought he would have been driven mad if he had been in Minseok’s position. He was already half mad, as it was, with Junmyeon’s situation.

They searched every book in the library, every sheet of parchment they could get their hands on, to see if something could aid them in breaking the curse. When the royal library proved unhelpful, the search expanded to every library in the kingdom. And then every library in other kingdoms that offered their services. Servants, noblemen, and royal families alike searched and searched and searched. Yet when everything was looked through, twice in most cases, nothing had been found. Even after months of extensive research, there had been no answers to find.

Yixing had spent Junmyeon’s twenty-third birthday in Junmyeon’s chambers, singing softly to the sleeping prince in-between readings, making sure to listen for Junmyeon’s heartbeat, because he couldn’t shake off the fear that Crow had been lying, that Junmyeon would draw his last breath that day. It had been a milestone in itself, reminding everyone of the wasting time. Reminding them that time was slipping through their fingers.

It was a little into the eighth month that the searches stopped completely.

They had exhausted all of their resources, and exhausted their hope in finding a cure for the curse. What more could be done? What more could they possibly do, except make Junmyeon as comfortable as possible and hope for a miracle?

Minseok had made a complete recovery - though Jongdae had told Yixing the scars on his back would never fade, a constant reminder of Junmyeon’s sacrifice - and had, for the most part, started to rebuild his relationship with his parents. They had tried, at least, to treat him as more than a stranger in their household. Jongdae’s presence helped. The disappearance of the crow that had been in the back of all of his memories also put him more at ease. Or as much at ease as one could be when their brother was potentially on his deathbed.

Yixing had remained at Junmyeon side even after the searches were discontinued, refusing to believe there was nothing to be done. He would search the library a thousand times over, buy every foreign book Lu Han could get his hands on, and look through every single medical journal his father owned. And he would do it all without complaint if it meant Junmyeon would wake up.

He rarely left the other’s bedside, Junmyeon having been placed in his own bed chambers. He had nothing else to do, as Junmyeon’s advisor - though there was talk that he would soon be appointed as Minseok’s advisor - and so he would take his research materials with him and read in the chair next to the bed. He had taken to having his meals delivered to Junmyeon’s room, as well, though more often than not, the food went untouched. Other than visitors, ranging from friends to family members, no one entered the room, leaving Yixing alone with his thoughts.

The night before Junmyeon’s twenty-fourth birthday, Yifan found his way to Junmyeon’s room. He had knocked lightly, not waiting for a response as he pushed through the door, giving Yixing a small smile as he entered. Yixing had been halfway through a memoir from the Nightshade Rebellion, but set the book aside as the young lord crossed the floor. He had been used to interruptions today, the king and queen having just left minutes before.

“How is he?” Yifan asked as he sank down to sit on the mattress next to the prince, letting his hand rest atop Junmyeon’s.

Yixing merely shook his head. “He sleeps. There is not much else to be said.”

Yifan grimaced at the words, but did not readily respond. He sat a moment, simply taking in Junmyeon’s form, before he voiced another question, softer than the first.

“And how are you?”

“Fine,” Yixing answered before the words were even completely out of Yifan’s mouth, having guessed what he would say. He did this so frequently that Yixing hardly flinched. He had thought Yifan would grow tired of his clipped answers, but he asked every time.

“You look tired,” Yifan countered, lifting his gaze to meet Yixing’s.

“I am fine,” Yixing tried again, hoping the finality in his tone would be enough to dissuade his friend from this conversation. But this was Yifan, and the man was stubborn.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, ignoring Yixing’s glare. “Because you do not look fine, my friend.”

Yixing scrubbed a hand over his face, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Is there a purpose to this interrogation?”

“I am only looking out for your health,” Yifan insisted, and Yixing practically growled at him.

“I am not the one in an eternal sleep,” Yixing snapped, watching the shock flicker across Yifan’s expression. “I am not the one who has run out of time. Do not worry for me when it is Junmyeon who suffers the most.”

“Is that what you think?” Yifan asked, voice full of disbelief. “That you are not allowed to be upset?”

Yixing turned to look away from Yifan, and the young lord continued, his voice rising. “Do you think it is selfish of you to be worried for when Junmyeon is like this? As if you are the cause of all of this?”

“I could not fix it,” Yixing started, but Yifan cut him off.

“And what of Minseok? Is he selfish?”

Yixing looked up at him with a bewildered expression. “What? Why would he be selfish?”

“Jongdae still has to coax him out of his guilt from time to time,” Yifan went on, meeting Yixing’s gaze with a firm stare. “And it was his curse, after all. He is the reason Junmyeon fell to such a thing, being his brother.”

He was provoking Yixing. The advisor knew he was. And yet he could not help but rise to the bait.

“Minseok is not to blame.”

“Sure, he is,” Yifan countered, voice taking on a sarcastic tone as he continued to add fodder to the fire. “His curse, his fault. And he had the audacity to complain about those burns on his back. He is not the one lying in this bed, awaiting death.”

“That is not -” Yixing whispered, anger flushing his skin as shame settled over his shoulders. He had not tried to make Minseok sound selfish. This wasn’t about Minseok. This was about Junmyeon and Yixing’s inability to protect him.

But Yifan just kept right on, words sharp. “But that is what you said. No one has a right to be upset, right? No one is going through what Junmyeon is going through. Why should they receive any worry?”

He tilted his head in thought, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “The king and queen, too. So very selfish, to think others should pity their situation.”

“Stop this,” Yixing spat. “Stop twisting my words. That is not when I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Yifan questioned, and Yixing snarled, hands fisted in his lap.

“I meant that this is not fair,” Yixing roared, the ferocity in his words causing Yifan’s eyebrows to rise in surprise as Yixing stood from his seat. “It is not fair that Junmyeon is dying and I can do nothing to stop it. It is not fair that everyone else seems to have accepted it, when he is still here, still alive. Why should you care for me? Why does nobody seem to care for him?”

His chest burned with every breath, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He wouldn’t let them fall. He couldn’t get upset. Not until he had tried everything he could to save Junmyeon. He didn’t have time to be emotional.

Yifan watched him silently for a moment, before reaching out to lightly take a hold of Yixing’s arm. The advisor flinched, but he didn’t pull away, trembling as he stood his ground, and Yifan pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle embrace.

“So many people care for Junmyeon,” Yifan whispered. “I care for him. And his parents. Minseok, Jongdae, Zitao, Chanyeol… The entire kingdom cares for Junmyeon and his wellbeing.”

“Then why does no one fight for him?” Yixing bit out, shaking his head. He clenched his eyes shut at the tears. “Why can no one help me -”

He bit his tongue, silencing his words. Why can no one help him fix this? How many times had he told Junmyeon not to apologize? Told him the best apology was to correct whatever it was that had been done? And here he was, unable to correct his own mistakes. He couldn’t find the cure. He couldn’t take back his coldness. He couldn’t prove himself worthy of Junmyeon’s trust.

He couldn’t tell him of his feelings.

Saying the words now would be useless, pointless, for what good would they do? What would come of it? More heartache and no answers. He didn’t need to say them, though. Yifan knew already what he had wanted to voice.

“Sometimes,” Yifan started, “you cannot fix things, Yixing. This is not your fault. This is Crow’s fault, and even if you got rid of the problem, the solution is not always there.”

Yixing allowed Yifan to pull him back down, this time sitting next to him on the mattress. His weight had the bed dipping, but Junmyeon didn’t stir, and it hurt.

“I do not know what to do,” he whispered to his friend, searching Yifan’s expression for any inkling of direction. “What am I supposed to do?”

Yifan squeezed his hand gently, shaking his head as he met Yixing’s gaze. “I do not know. But I know you cannot let yourself waste away. You are far too needed to do so.”

“I am not,” Yixing began bitterly, but Yifan shook him gently, refusing to back down.

“Yes, you are. I need you. And so does Minseok, and Jongdae, and everyone else. Your friends need you. Your father needs you. We cannot bear to lose you, as well.”

The words stung, and even Yifan seemed to realize the heaviness of what he had said, for he let his eyes fall to the bed below. Yixing could feel his bottom lip quiver, and he bit it harshly to stop his emotions, forcing himself to clear his throat, to keep talking. Anything to keep from breaking.

“Junmyeon needs me,” he said in a voice so low he wasn’t even sure Yifan had caught it. But the young lord nodded, looking back up to show he had heard the advisor’s words.

“And you will be there for him,” Yifan assured. “He knows that.”

Yixing wasn’t so convinced he did, but he didn’t correct Yifan. It would hurt too much, and he didn’t trust himself to say that doubt aloud without being affected.

The young lord sat up straighter with a small sigh, sending Junmyeon another smile and giving Yixing’s arm a squeeze before letting go, pulling back.

“I have heard you have not sung to him in a while,” he commented, and Yixing gave a wordless nod. No, he had not been able to sing for months now. Yifan didn’t meet his eyes as he turned back towards the door, hands busy adjusting his tunic. “Perhaps the rose needs another song from the nightingale.”

Yixing looked up, mouth falling open to speak, but Yifan was gone before he could respond, door closing behind him softly. He was left alone with Junmyeon once more.

He thought to reach for the book he had been reading, but then let the idea pass. He was tired, and it was late, and he had read that last page nearly four times. He wasn’t going to get anything else out of it tonight.

So instead, he turned his attention back to Junmyeon. The prince had not changed since he had fallen under the curse’s hold, a nod to the magic that surrounded him, Yixing knew. For all intents and purposes, the man looked like he had simply fallen into a deep sleep, though Yixing knew better. Time had passed, even if it had not touched Junmyeon, and tomorrow would be his breaking point.

Yixing let a hand trail across Junmyeon’s brow, down one cheek, letting his thumb linger across a cheek bone. “Yifan is right,” he whispered into the silence around them, letting a small smile curl his lips. “I have not sung to you in a while, have I?”

His hand slid down to settle atop Junmyeon’s, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “Shall I sing your favorite?”

He let his gaze linger over Junmyeon’s face, but as he started the song, his mind began to wander, the words feeling heavier on his tongue than they had in a long time.

“The rose, so pure, with petals white
The whitest rose in lunar light
And nightingale, whom shall appear
To sing the rose to sleep at night

He sang of a love so sincere
Devotion for the rose held near
But lo, the thorns that rip and tear
Did wound the nightingale severe

Blood spilt on petals, silent air
No song at midnight, o so rare
But reddest rose in lunar light
Showed evidence of love’s affair.”

With the last note still hanging in the air, Yixing in a shuddered breath, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to keep his tears at bay. His chest burned with the effort to breathe, but he spoke again, voice cracking with emotion.

“You were wrong,” he murmured, forcing himself to look at Junmyeon once more, the man’s face blurred by his tears. “It was not the nightingale that was brave, but the rose.”

His hand tightened around Junmyeon’s once more, fingers shaking. “It is not you who is supposed to die. If I… If I could take your place…”

The first sob caught him off guard, bursting from his chest with a loud gasp. And then he could do nothing to stop them. His body curled in on itself, shoulders slumping forward as he allowed his head to hang down, tears streaming down his cheeks with no sign of slowing. Because no matter what, he couldn’t take Junmyeon’s place. Junmyeon had been the one to sacrifice himself, and Yixing could only watch as the man was taken away from him, one second at a time.

His arms no longer had the strength to hold his weight, and he fell across Junmyeon’s chest, arms cradling his head as he sobbed into the fabric of Junmyeon’s shirt.

“I am sorry,” he cried into his arms. “I have failed you. As your advisor, as your friend, as your nightingale.”

His fingers twisted into the shirt, knuckles white with the force. “I should not have pulled away. I should have fixed the damage I caused, should have told you… I was so afraid of the thorns, of getting hurt, but if I had only told you how I feel.”

He knew he was being irrational. There was nothing he could have done to stop Junmyeon if the prince had made up his mind, and no amount of words could have changed the outcome. Not if Junmyeon were sure what he wanted to do was the right thing, would help others. It was just the type of person Junmyeon was, selfless and willing to sacrifice so much for those around him.

It was one of the many reasons Yixing loved him.

Yixing tried to slow his breathing, to calm his heart, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much to sit by and watch Junmyeon die, knowing the other man would never know just how much he truly meant to him.

The sound of bells, soft and distant, broke through his sobs, and Yixing’s head rose to face the window. The church bells, he realized. They always rang on the hour.

He counted, his breath frozen in his chest with every ring. Twelve. Twelve rings. Midnight.

It was Junmyeon’s birthday.

A choked cry forced its way out of Yixing’s chest as the church bells played a soft, familiar hymn greeting the new day, and he hid his face in his hands as he broke. He was out of time. Junmyeon was out of time.

He reached out with his hand, brushing the hair from the man’s face in feather-light touches. He was shaking terribly, from all of the fear and misery and heartache that had built up over the past year that he had absolutely refused to let surface. But he couldn’t fight it now, when he realized that all of that pain was nothing compared to this, to knowing the curse was going to take Junmyeon away once and for all.

And that he had failed Junmyeon, once again.

“Please,” he moaned, shaking his head. “Please, wake up.”

He could feel Junmyeon’s heart beating beneath him, could feel his breath hitting the skin of his hand, but the prince did not answer the plea.

The song in the distance struck its final note, and Yixing’s heart seized in his chest at the silence that fell over the room once more. Would it be now? Would he hear the heartbeat stop, or feel Junmyeon’s chest rise and then still forever? No, no, he couldn’t be too late.

“Please, Junmyeon,” he whispered, “Do not do this. You must not die.”

He scooted closer, cupping the man’s cheek gently, as if even the smallest of touches would be what pushed the curse into effect and stole the man’s life away. Tearful eyes searched the peaceful expression, and Yixing shook his head slowly.

“I need you,” he whimpered. “I have always needed you. Please, Junmyeon, do not leave me.”

With slow, careful movements, Yixing leaned down, pressing a kiss to Junmyeon’s lips. Their first. He lingered there against his skin - he had envisioned this so many times, but never like this - another tremor running through him at the warmth of Junmyeon’s skin against his, before he pulled back with a strangled gasp. His forehead fell to the man’s neck, sobs shaking his frame.

“I love you,” he whispered in a breath, eyes squeezed shut as he cried. He said the words again, and again, and again, the confession mixing in with his pleas as he gave into his emotions, ear pressed to Junmyeon’s collar to hear the steady rhythm of his heart, wondering when it would begin to fade.

The light touch of fingers against his neck pulled a surprised cry from his lips, and he pushed himself up, glancing back towards the door. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, and he hastily wiped away his tears, covering his mouth to hide his expression from the visitor. But there was no one there, the door still firmly shut.

“Yixing?”

The voice was soft, hoarse from a lack of use, and Yixing turned with wide eyes towards the sound, eyes falling to the prince. Junmyeon was still lying on the bed, still relatively unmoving, but his eyes had opened just a bit, face pulled into a dazed confusion.

Junmyeon was awake.

The realization had another sob falling from Yixing’s lips, and he threw himself into the other man’s chest, drawing him into his arms as he cried.

“Junmyeon,” he spoke in an incredulous tone, tears falling faster as the prince reached up to lay a hand on the back of his head, returning the embrace with his own sluggish movements. He carefully slid his fingers underneath Yixing’s jaw, tilting his face up to look at him, and his eyebrows pulled closer together at the sight of Yixing’s tears.

“Xing, why are you crying?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep. And Yixing could not stop himself from laughing, the sound edged with hysterical. But he hardly cared, because Junmyeon was awake.

The advisor watched as realization dawned in Junmyeon’s eyes, the sleep being replaced by awareness with every passing second, and the prince drew in a quiet gasp.

“The curse,” he started, glancing towards the door. “Minseok, he was cursed. And I -”

Yixing didn’t let him finish that thought, surging up to seal their mouths together once more. Junmyeon gasped at the action, but Yixing stayed firmly against the other’s lips, a hand moving to cradle the back of Junmyeon’s head, holding him in place.

When Yixing pulled back far enough to meet Junmyeon’s gaze, the prince blinked in bewilderment, clearly not having expected that reaction. He his lips, Yixing’s eyes tracking the movement, and spoke again in a breathless voice.

“I take it my idea worked, then?”

“So stupid,” Yixing groaned, kissing him again, this time with a nip to his bottom lip. “So completely stupid.”

But Yixing loved him, nonetheless.

Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: *Sobbing* We may have procrastinated quite a bit on this. But, really, this being… the last real chapter, excluded the epilogue. It’s been hard. And we won’t survive uploading the epilogue because it’ll make this fic’s completion official. It’ll hurt. And we’ll hurt. Sob. And speaking of the epilogue, we plan on uploading it sometime soon. In a few days? Eh, depends. But it won’t be long (Meg: at least by our standards *snort*)! But, alas, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It’s the longest chapter yet, I think, and quite a bit happens in it, along with the large time skip. So. BUT LOOK, HAPPY ENDING.

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed this, and will stick around for the end, aka the epilogue *cue ominous music in the background* The epilogue may bear news (Meg: *wink*), as well! But, yes, comments, subs and upvotes are deeply loved and very much appreciated <3

Meg’s Notes: (*miserable wails in the distance*) We have been dreading this, because uploading this, and then the epilogue (which is also done), means all of this has come to an end. So much happens in this chapter, too, which also made us take our time getting around to editing (Nat: Like… a lot of time. A long, long time). But it’s done, and we...well, we are feeling bittersweet about it. *clutches hand to her chest* Our baby has grown up! But as always, I hope you enjoyed this update, and the fact that OH, NO CLIFFHANGER. (Kind of...I mean...no, there’s not one. The epilogue picks up the slack, so). It’s happy, too, which is a lot to say, considering how dark we could have made it (seriously, we could have made it so much worse). Thank you for those who have stuck with this from the beginning, and thank you to all of the people who gave this a chance. It truly means so much, all the comments and subs and votes. <33

Lovely readers, we will see you for the Epilogue!