Length: 12k
Genre: Fantasy/Romance
Rating: PG

Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmate, Jongin yearns for his own.  But he's afraid too . . .

In the gnarled branches of an old white oak tree lays a boy, his arms and legs dangling carelessly off the sides as he stares longingly up at the sky.  A light breeze blows through and the leaves tickle his skin, the cool air welcome in the heat of the day.  His shirt lays abandoned on the ground along with his worries of the day.  He’ll pick them up later when it’s time to get back to his duties.

Until then, Jongin breathes out a sigh and allows himself this peaceful moment away from the ruckus of the village.  It’s just him, the tree and the dragonfly that’s decided to fly high enough to investigate Jongin’s presence.  It’s blue scales catch the sun’s rays and shimmer brilliantly down its small serpentine body.  Jongin dares to lift a hand to offer as a perch, but instead of landing, the dragonfly shoots a jet of flame at him.

Jongin feels the burn on his fingertips and withdraws his arm with a hiss of pain.  The dragonfly, seemingly satisfied with itself, snaps its jaw in Jongin’s direction and then flies back down toward the ground.  Jongin’s nose scrunches in distaste at the creature as he pops his two throbbing fingers in his mouth to cool.

Feisty little creatures, dragonflies.  One never knows if they’re going to shoot a stream of fire at their target or land long enough to rest their wings.  Jongin used to chase them around the fields when he was a small child, playing a game of hide-and-seek that only he seemed to be in on.  Those were the afternoons when he’d come home covered in small burns and abrasions and his mother would pull out her jar of ointment that immediately took away the pain and had his skin healed in a matter of moments.  Jongin’s too old to go home for such a thing now; he’s nearly a man and as such, he can take the minor irritation of his fingers burning for a while.

And since he’s old enough to take on the responsibilities of an adult - just passing his twentieth name day - Jongin grudgingly begins his descent down the tree, fingers catching in familiar knots that hold his weight.  There used to be days - years ago - when he could afford to waste away long afternoon hours simply doing nothing.  Sometimes he’d spend them with his best friends and other times he’d sneak away just to find peace within himself.

It’s becoming difficult to find that balance now.  Jongin is grown and with that comes expectations he’s not sure he can live up to.  Aiding his father and mother with the household chores is easy enough and Jongin finds that he doesn’t mind so much even when he has to repair the handle on his mother’s favorite jug for the thousandth time.  It’s a steady routine that keeps him grounded and the threat of having that taken away has him worried.

Every child is taught at a young age about soulmates, about the one person out there in the world that completes them.  Jongin always thought it was funny because he didn’t feel incomplete and after asking his mother, she told him he wouldn’t be able to understand fully until he met his own soulmate.  But that was years ago and the idea had faded from his mind only to resurface now because his time is rapidly approaching.  In only a few weeks' time, Jongin will be one of many who are swept off to find their other half.

And he’s terrified.

Jongin passes by the orchards on his way home, jumping off the path when a gaggle of children run past with tiny whirlwinds on their heels.  They must have been pilfering the apples again and Jongin smiles, remembering when he used to do the same thing, occasionally with Chanyeol and Sehun at his side.  He’d been caught in one of the whirlwinds once and it had left him dizzy for several minutes, but his hair had been a different story.  It had taken a solid week before the strands would flatten against his head again and that meant everyone in the village knew what he’d been up to.

The apples had been worth it though.

Jongin ponders slipping through the slatted gate to pluck one of the sweet fruits, but decides against it when he takes notice of Chanyeol and Sehun in the distance.  He raises his arms to catch their attention, snorting when he witnesses Chanyeol pulling Sehun into a headlock from which he can’t escape.  Chanyeol drags a fighting Sehun down to where Jongin is waiting, a wide grin on his face and dirt smudged all over his neck and arms.

Sehun isn’t any cleaner and Jongin eyes them both from head to toe in amusement.  “Did you save me any strawberries?” he inquires, his gaze lingering on the red splotches of juice coating the sides of his friends’ shoes.  It explains the dirt; those defensive dust devils are no joke and Sehun and Chanyeol both look like they had quite the fight with one.

Sehun finally slips free from Chanyeol’s grip, rubbing his neck and glaring at the man beside him with a scowl.  “No.  Twinkletoes here was too loud and we were caught before we could pick any.”

Jongin clucks his tongue as Sehun dodges one of Chanyeol’s abrupt lunges.  It’s difficult to believe that Chanyeol is a year older than they are.  No one would be able to tell with the childish way he acts.  Jongin’s known Chanyeol his entire life and he can only remember ever seeing the smile off his friend’s face twice - after his mother passed when he was nine and last year, when he’d come home without his soulmate.

But ever the optimist, Chanyeol rebounded quickly, more determined than ever to find his match this time.  Jongin admires his attitude and wishes he could leech some of it for himself.  He could use some optimism right about now.

“Are you headed home?” Chanyeol inquires, shifting his attention from Sehun to Jongin as he swings a long arm around Jongin’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Jongin answers as he starts his trek home again, his elbow digging into Chanyeol’s ribs with each step.  “Some of us are responsible.”

Chanyeol scoffs, blowing strands of auburn hair out of his face and rolling his eyes.  “You mean some of us are responsible to a fault.  It wouldn’t kill you to take a break and blow off an afternoon.  We don’t have many left together.”

“I can only hope,” Sehun grumbles, ducking to avoid the wide swing of Chanyeol’s arm.  “I don’t know how much more of Chanyeol I can take.”

“I hope you get saddled with some middle-aged, saggy bottomed, toothless -”

“YAH!” Sehun screeches, launching himself at Chanyeol.  Jongin has to spin out of the way as the two land on the ground, Sehun with his fists balled in Chanyeol’s shirt and Chanyeol guffawing at how red Sehun’s face is.  Jongin takes the opportunity to slip away from the two unnoticed.

He makes it home safely and pauses momentarily to grace his mother with a kiss on the cheek before he’s off to the chickens.  With two buckets of millet in his hands, Jongin barely manages to get through the barrier that keeps the fowl from wandering too far before they’re rushing him.  Off in his own space away from the hens, their lone rooster crows despondently as the chickens peck at the overturned buckets that have fallen from Jongin’s hands.

Jongin pulls a face at the rooster and the bird tries to charge at him, racing forward until he hits against the invisible shield and bounces back.  He shakes his head, feathers ruffled, and Jongin laughs.  It serves the little beastie right for attacking Jongin the day before yesterday.

With the chickens distracted, Jongin sneaks into the coop to check the nests for eggs, pocketing nearly a dozen before he comes across something odd.  Most of the time, the shells are pearlescent blues and greens and peaches, but this one is a color Jongin’s never seen.  He plucks the nearly pitch black egg from the nest and holds it reverently in his palm.  Black eggs are seen as a sign of good fortune, meant to be kept under the finder’s pillow for luck and never to be eaten.

Jongin steals away with his prize and goes back up to the house. He drops the rest of the eggs off in the kitchen before rushing to his room and slipping the black egg under his pillow.  He grins.

The rest of the day is spent on the roof, fixing a few patches where the enchanted wood had been loosened during the last storm.  The tricky thing about enchantments is that they’re only good for so long and little by little, the ones on their home are degrading.  Jongin’s been the one responsible for fixing them, but he worries about who will help if he has to leave.

After his work is done, Jongin is forced to wash up before dinner, sneakily drying his hands on his mother's apron when he pulls her in for a hug.  She swats at him and pushes him toward the table.

"Eat."

There's a mask that hangs over the fireplace; it's been there since before Jongin was born and he's heard the story behind it countless times.  Lately, he finds himself staring at it more and more, almost as if he expects to find the answers hidden in the shining turquoise.   If he peers closely enough, he imagines seeing the thin line that separates the mask in two.

Masks are crafted by soul finders - magic users of the highest caliber - who imbue it with the magic needed to find its wearers.  After each one is completed, the final touch is to crack the mask into two pieces.  They can only be reunited after choosing a wearer and letting the magic guide them to each other during a Masquerade Celebration held at the palace once a year.  Thus the mask is made whole and a pair of soulmates are bound.

It all seems so simple, and yet it's the simplicity that bothers Jongin.  For such a life altering occurrence, no one ever seems to question the rightness of it.  But silently, Jongin does.  He's afraid that when he finds his soulmate, he will have to leave his home and everything he's ever known.  He's afraid that he won't be good enough, that he won't be able to provide for the one person who will be the most important in his life.

But what he's even more terrified of is not having a soulmate at all.

Jongin doesn't sleep well; it may have something to do with the egg lodged uncomfortably under his pillow.

Jongin isn’t fortunate enough to spend this particular afternoon break alone even if he’s managed to leave Sehun and Chanyeol on the ground as he lays in his favorite tree.  Their voices are filtered, easy to ignore if he wants although he still catches snippets of their conversation.

“I’m hoping for someone who cooks well,” Sehun rambles, patting his stomach absentmindedly.  “And doesn’t mind when I eat it all.”

Chanyeol gives a deep hum in response, nodding his head in the grass.  “And won’t nag me about washing my hands or bathing regularly.”

Sehun scrunches his nose at Chanyeol and Jongin tries to hold back a snicker.  Sehun once confided in Jongin that he was afraid that Chanyeol was his soulmate and Jongin had laughed so long and so hard that Sehun had had to dunk his head in a nearby water trough to get him to breathe.  It was the last time Sehun spoke to Jongin about it and he could only hope Sehun had gotten over it.

For the last few days, all his friends have been able to talk about is the upcoming Masquerade.  Chanyeol imparts only a little of his knowledge from his experience with it last year, cheekily telling them both, “you’ll see,” with a dismissive wave.  It does nothing but set Jongin’s already frazzled nerves on edge.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does.  He wonders what kind of person fate has in store for him.  Will it be a man or a woman?  Tall or short?  Fair hair or dark?  Jongin sighs and tunes out his friends again, watching as the clouds pass overhead.  It doesn’t really matter what his other half looks like, he muses, as long as he has someone to cuddle with at night, someone who doesn’t mind when he wants to hold hands, someone with a warm smile.  It wouldn’t hurt if they could cook like his mother too.

His eyes slip closed and he imagines the way his fingers slide easily into the hold of another’s, fingertips soothing other knuckles before they slot together.  A pleasantness settles in his limbs as he thinks of a sweet smile directed at him, a tinkling laugh because Jongin has said something amusing.  Jongin thinks about someone who will fit perfectly in his arms and never keep secrets from him, who will openly share their life with him and listen when he rambles on about the most insignificant of things.

Jongin wants so much that his heart aches.

It’s only days later when the reality that this is really happening kicks Jongin in the rear end.

There are people rushing down the path, shrill giggles and booming shouts all mixing together as Jongin peeks his head out from the house and stumbles down the stairs to see what’s going on.  Amidst the clatter, he hears mention of the trolley arriving and his breath catches in his throat.  Most of the people rushing toward the village square are still too young to attend the Masquerade, but that doesn’t deter them from attempting to slip through and climb onto the wagon that houses the masks.

Jongin remembers watching from a distance one year, as all the recently eligible citizens lined up by the rickety old wagon and were ushered inside one by one, each person holding a plain black box with their chosen mask half in their hands when they’d exited.  He’d been curious, but not enough to incur the wrath of the woman manning the wares.  She had a threatening look about her and that was all the deterrent he needed.

But this year he’ll be one of the few required to gather in the village square when the bells toll, and his knees wobble at the thought.

Jongin spends the rest of the afternoon and evening on edge, jumping when he hears any loud noise.  Chanyeol takes to yelling just to see the way Jongin recoils on himself like a snake and revels in his mirth with his mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut.  Jongin uses a little ambient magic to send a few of the nearby fruit flies into Chanyeol’s mouth with an eddy of wind.

Chanyeol sputters and falls to his knees, fingers around his throat.  Jongin laughs.

“I can still taste orange and strawberry on my tongue,” Chanyeol grumps the following morning.  The three of them are down by the river, Chanyeol and Sehun sitting on the bank as Jongin wades further into the water.  He’d woken to the stench of the black egg turning sour and had noticed, to his chagrin, that his clothes and hair reeked of it too.

“You were supposed to swallow the flies,” Sehun tells Chanyeol, patting his friend on the back.  “Not chew them.  Just be happy they hadn’t feasted on grapefruit before happening upon your gaping maw.”

Jongin laughs with Sehun until he hears a splash and looks over to see Sehun plucking himself out of the water with a scowl.  He peels his wet shirt off over his head and flings it at Chanyeol, hitting him square in the face.  Jongin attempts to make his way deeper to get away from the two when Chanyeol leaps into the water to get back at Sehun.

It’s a meaningless act.

It doesn’t take long to stir up the little river sprites who leave stinging pinpricks of pain over any part of them that’s submerged in the water, and they all race to shore.  The sprites poke their tiny, translucent heads above the surface to ensure the boys don’t disturb them again before diving under to see to their currents.

Sehun and Chanyeol are mostly clothed and sopping wet, but Jongin was to begin with and bears the brunt of the injuries.  He skims his finger around one of the angry red welts on his stomach and winces, throwing his friends a glare.

The abrasions itch, persistently so, and Jongin is rubbing at his skin through his clothes even after he dresses.  Chanyeol and Sehun appear sheepish although it’s short lived as they start shoving at each other.  Jongin’s beginning to hope they are soulmates just to see the looks on their faces when they realize they’re stuck together for the rest of their lives.

He begins the trek home alone, but is soon flanked by his friends who seem to be using him as a buffer.  It’s such an ordinary, daily occurrence that Jongin smiles as he walks, content to carry on this way.

Then the bells toll.  All three of them stop in their tracks - Jongin absentmindedly scratching at one of the injuries on his side.  Chanyeol is the first to react, slapping a hand heartily on Jongin’s shoulder which has him teetering forward with a lurch.

“Alright studs,” he says and Jongin hears Sehun’s small whine of protest.  “You go on ahead and I’ll let your parents know where you are.”

Chanyeol gives them both a shove in the direction of the town square and Sehun and Jongin share a look of distress before starting on their way.  Even after Chanyeol is gone from sight, Sehun is quiet, his lips pursed in a thin line. And when he reaches out, Jongin is there to take his hand and thread their fingers together.

For all his noncommittal posturing, Jongin knows Sehun is just as anxious about this as he is.  It’s a monumental step in their lives and even if every adult goes through it, they all seem to be tight-lipped when it comes to the details.  It’s as if they’re all in on some conspiracy and Jongin’s stomach sinks further to the ground the closer they get.

People hurry past them on the path, darting around the two boys in their haste as Jongin and Sehun take their time.  Everyone is excited, the square full of curious onlookers and some of them whisper among each other as Jongin and Sehun push through the crowd to get to the center.  Their village isn’t small and Jongin has never felt claustrophobic before, but it’s edging in on him now.

Just a little further.

With Sehun now pulling him forward, they finally break through to the center.  It’s been blocked off in a circle around the lone wagon in the middle.  It looks just as shabby, just as rickety and about to fall to pieces as it had the last time Jongin laid eyes on it.

A woman with long white hair is standing on her toes, hanging a sign on the hook.  Masks.  When she backs away, a breeze blowing through, the sign squeaks as it swings.  There’s nothing extraordinary about the wagon or the woman or the sign, and yet it draws so much attention.

A line begins forming almost immediately, with those who are eligible for the masks darting toward the wagon.  The few who are still too young and decide to try their luck bounce away with a yelp, a flash of light the only evidence of the spell around the area.  Jongin’s feet feel too heavy to move, but Sehun hauls him to join the others, standing side by side and hand in hand as the rest of the village watches on.  Jongin scratches at his thigh, the skin rubbing uncomfortably under his pants now that the sprite stings are swelling.  He should have gone home.

It’s nearly dark when Jongin finds himself at the front of the line.  He’d tried to time it, see how long it took each person inside, but it was too varied.  Some were inside the wagon for mere minutes and a few had taken closer to an hour before reappearing, looking relieved.

Midway through the wait, Jongin’s mother had appeared with a basket of food - freshly baked bread with raspberry jam that combined perfectly with the melting butter - and her wonderful ointment that she carefully applied to Jongin’s injuries.  He’d blushed up a storm, trying to keep her from tugging down his pants in public, but she’d been discreet and allowed him to sit and eat as she worked.  Sehun had snickered about it until Jongin shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

Jongin made a mental note to thank Chanyeol for letting his mother know about the stings.

But now Jongin is back on his feet, fidgeting and scratching at wounds that are already healed just for something to do with his hands.  Perhaps eating had been a poor choice because it’s all roiling around uncomfortably in his stomach as he waits.  Sehun’s been inside for a while now and Jongin had caught him chanting, “please don’t be Chanyeol, please don’t be Chanyeol,” as he’d stood to take his turn.

The wagon shifts when Sehun ducks out the side entrance, looking far less nervous now that he’s clutching a plain black box in his hands.  He turns to Jongin and gestures at the tree Chanyeol’s been dozing against since he lost interest hours ago.

There’s no time to respond; the old woman manning the wagon curls her finger and Jongin finds himself moving forward, bending low so as not to hit his head against the top of the wagon when he steps inside.

It’s dark.  Jongin sees nothing, hears nothing and feels nothing save the fear that’s knocking his knees together.  The door shuts behind him and Jongin jumps, arm brushing against the woman.  She chuckles.

“Blink, child.”

Jongin does.  His vision clears with every flutter of his eyelids and he soon finds himself standing in a room that can’t possibly be inside the wagon.  His breath catches in his throat, gaze sliding over rounded walls that rise as high as he can see and in a never ending path in front of him.  There are rows upon rows of shelves and they are all full of masks.

There’s no mistaking the magic in this place.  Jongin feels it prickling at his skin, loose and curious as it washes over him, through him and he sneezes once.  It comes out in a puff of cerulean and fuchsia, spinning in the air before dissolving.

Eddies of magic dance through Jongin’s vision, a ballet that begins over the lip of one mask and pirouettes to another as it goes.  He nearly forgets himself, forgets his purpose until there’s a gentle pressure on his arm, drawing him back to reality.

“One of these is yours,” the woman tells him.  “But you have to let it tell you.”

Jongin’s brow furrows.  “What?  Let it -”  He’s cut off when his vision goes dark, the last of his sentence cutting off with a startled gasp.

“Clear your mind and listen.  Allow the magic to guide you and you will find your mask.  The blindness will abate when you reach your goal.”

Such simple instructions for what Jongin knows will be an arduous task.  How is he supposed to quell the thoughts stirring in his mind, pause the nervous anxiety long enough to complete something that seems so impossible?  If anything, his mind is too full, ideas and scenarios and fears spilling out in a gush that makes his stomach lurch.

A palm rests heavy on Jongin’s back, fingertips pressing through the fabric of his shirt for a firm touch.  It helps.  Jongin’s restless mind settles into a calm and he finally breathes, fingers flexing at his sides as he takes a step forward.  He expects to feel the woman’s hand fall away, but it remains - just as strong, just as steadying.

Jongin moves one step further with more confidence and then another until he’s sure to be standing in the center of the room.  The magic keeps him sightless, but there’s a tinkling in his ears and the hand still present on his back is growing warmer, urging him to the right.  As a test, he shifts to the left and a searing heat rushes up Jongin’s spine, halting his movement.  He’s quick to turn the other direction and it cools.

Curious, Jongin reaches around to his back and discovers nothing.  There is no hand pushed to his skin, but he clearly feels it there - the weight, the pressure of fingertips and the strength behind it.  He drops his arms and realizes that it must be aiding him.

Jongin gives in.  He allows this unseen force to guide him in a winding path until the tips of his shoes knock against a solid surface.  Carefully, slowly, Jongin raises his arms and his hands close around the rung of a ladder.  He releases his grip on one and the threatening heat is all the assurance he needs before he acts.

The climb is a long one, and Jongin takes his time to get the right footing so he doesn’t slip off the ladder and plunge to the bottom.  Every creak of the wood, each subtle sway that accompanies the shifting of his weight has Jongin’s heart accelerating, his palms sweating, and it only makes his situation more precarious.

Jongin idly wonders if anyone has ever plummeted to their death in the quest for their mask or if he will be the first.

Jongin is unprepared for the burn that races through him when he attempts to climb the next rung.  He hisses, hunching down on himself even as the pain is already flooding out of him and back into the guiding hand.  And then Jongin freezes.

In front of his eyes, through the black haze that keeps him blind, there are pinpricks of color.  They’re tiny, soft at first and he watches, still frozen, as they grow in size.  The magic fades from his vision, leaving Jongin blinking through the tears pooling in his eyes as he acclimates to the light.

Sitting atop a pool of red cloth, staring back at him, is the right half of a mask.  Jongin reaches out, trailing his fingers reverently over the smooth edges, and letting the cool weight settle in his palm. The pressure of his guiding hand melts away and he knows.  This is Jongin’s mask.

It’s black, gold inlay catching in the light and shimmering brilliantly.  The gold wreaths the eye, swirling in intricate patterns that snake toward the edge and down the cheek in the semblance of tear drops filled with clusters of stars.  It’s more than he could have ever imagined.  The magic clinging to the surface is visible, wafting off it in waves that break against Jongin’s hand.

Jongin’s excitement lasts as long as it takes for him to realize he’s stuck near the top of a ladder without two hands to get back down.

“Hold tight, boy.” The words ring in Jongin’s ears and he barely gets his elbow locked around a rung before the rungs begin moving downward.  The closer he gets to the floor, the easier he breathes until he finally has both feet planted securely.

Chanyeol and Sehun are still waiting for him outside and Jongin jogs to them with his own black box clutched in his hands.  They don’t ask to see it and he doesn’t mention theirs either, but the heavy weight of reality hovers in the air.

Jongin keeps his box on a shelf high on his wall, perched over the one window in his bedroom.  His parents hadn’t asked to see it and he didn’t offer. Now that he has it in his possession, the finality is beginning to sink in.  Jongin sees it in Sehun too, watching as his friend stands silent, spacing out even when Chanyeol slides into his personal space and pinches his cheeks.

Chanyeol skulks off and Jongin joins Sehun, tugging his friend down into the grass with him.  They sit in silence, Sehun leaning his head on Jongin’s shoulder.  They’re both afraid, both nervous and it keeps them occupied as Chanyeol practices his dancing with a fallen tree branch in his arms, bowing ridiculously.

Sehun lifts his head enough to peer at Jongin in horror.  “We don’t have to dance do we?”

Jongin gulps.

Jongin’s last few days of freedom are spent on menial tasks that keep his mind off his impending future.  He finishes repairing the roof of his parents’ house, finally replaces the knobs on his mother’s wardrobe and repaints the fence around the backyard.  Jongin fixes the creaking stair on the porch and fills in the holes in the ground around the chickens that the foxes have left behind in their attempt for an easy meal.

The morning of the Masquerade celebration dawns just like any other; the rooster crows in the distance, the pleasant aroma of his mother’s cooking wafts through the gap under his bedroom door to ease the stench of his lucky egg and Chanyeol’s voice booms through the house because he can never resist a home cooked meal.  He always goes for Jongin’s portion unless Jongin gets downstairs in time to slap his hand away.

The only thing different this particular morning is the silence around the table as they eat and Jongin’s lack of appetite.  He thinks if he takes one more bite, it will all come back up, so he pushes his plate toward Chanyeol who merely scrapes it all onto his own in a pile and chows down.

Jongin skips his morning chores in lieu of a bath, even taking care to scrape the dirt from underneath his nails and scrub behind his ears.  He hasn’t felt this clean since the last time his mother magicked the dirt off him as punishment for leaving muddy footprints across her precious rug.  This way doesn’t sting as much.

He’s dressed in his cleanest clothes - a white shirt and his only pair of pants without a hole in them - when he says goodbye.  His mother weeps and his father pulls him in for a hug, telling him that no matter what happens, it’s for the best.  Jongin tells them both that he loves them before leaving with the black box tucked under his arm, mask still safely inside.

Jongin knows that this goodbye isn’t forever, but it could be a while before he sees them again.  His eyes burn with unshed tears and Sehun looks no better when he meets Jongin on the road to the village square with his eyes red and puffy.  Chanyeol bounds up to them not long after and the three of them are quite the sight now that they aren’t covered in dirt.

“It’s not going to hurt, is it?” Sehun asks Chanyeol in a low whisper and Chanyeol looks over at his friend with his eyebrows raised.

“What do you think they’re going to do to you?” Chanyeol asks.  “It’s a party, not a trip down to Physician Kim’s.”

The answer does nothing save prompt Sehun to grab Jongin’s hand and squeeze, the blood rushing out of Jongin’s fingers dangerously fast.  He grips back as best he can, letting Sehun keep his hold until they get close to the village square.  It’s just as crowded as it was when the mask wagon came in and they have to push their way through to the center.

In the place of the old wagon is a newer one, but just as small although Jongin’s willing to bet it isn’t small on the inside.  There’s more of a crowd, those in the village who still haven’t found their soulmate milling by the wagon as the onlookers keep their distance.  Sehun, Chanyeol and Jongin make their way to the wagon to wait.

Chanyeol’s enthusiastic bouncing the entire time they stand in line is the reason Jongin feels nauseous.  He clutches his stomach through the fabric of his shirt and disregards the wide grin his friend gives him when he’s called into the wagon.  The stairs bend under Chanyeol’s weight and then he disappears inside.  Jongin knows he won’t see him again until the Masquerade and it does little to lessen his anxiety.

Sehun had gone first out of the three of them and now Jongin waits his turn with a bubbling in his tummy as he clings to the box that houses his mask as if it’s a life line.  It's surreal, almost as if he isn't himself when it's finally time for Jongin to step forward.  He swallows the lump in his throat and putters to the wagon, anticipating the creaking of the steps up that never comes.

Unlike the mask wagon, this one is brightly lit and smaller inside, although still much larger than the outside suggests.  The walls are lined with mirrors and Jongin is faced with nearly a dozen images of himself, all ashen faced and curious as he peers around.  A small cough draws his attention and Jongin makes his way to the man standing in the center of the room.  It's only when he gets to him that he realizes there are two men instead of one.  They are identical from the tips of their pink hair to the amused smirk on their lips, from their fitted plum shirts to their shiny shoed feet.

"Hello," Jongin greets, his voice cracking mid-syllable.

"There's no need to be nervous," the man on the right begins, holding out his hands to take the box from Jongin's white-knuckled grip.

"We are here to assist you with your mask," the other man finishes.

They smile twin smiles and Jongin gives a shaky one in response.

"Now, let's see what we're working with."

They pluck Jongin's mask from the box, holding it gently and Jongin watches, anxious.  He hasn't so much as looked at his mask since receiving it and the sight still makes his stomach ache.

"We're going to slip this on you now and it's going to be a little cold."

Jongin nods and squeezes his eyes shut tight when the mask is lifted to his face.  It settles cool over his right eye and cheek.  There's nothing to hold it in place aside from its inherent magic and the soft tingle sends a shiver down his spine.

"Black," comes the voice of one of the men.

"And a touch of gold," answers the second.

Before Jongin can ask, the unmistakable rush of magic surrounds his entire body.  It's shocking and he lets out a soft yelp of surprise.  He drags in a heavy breath and it comes out slowly as he calms the racing of his heart.  A little warning would have been preferable.

"Quite the masterpiece," Jongin hears and there's a hum of approval that follows.

He cracks open his eyes one at a time and takes a step back when he sees his reflection.  In the place of his best outfit - admittedly not very impressive - is a black shirt that's open down the front to expose his chest and a pair of equally dark leather pants that adhere to his legs.  Gold rims his one visible eye to match the gold on his mask and it curls toward his (thankfully still black) hair.  He doesn't look like himself at all, but the men appear pleased with themselves.

A dumbfounded Jongin is easy to guide to the exit, not taking notice of what's happening until there's a woman in his view.  "Into the bubble, dear, yes," she instructs an easily navigated Jongin.  The bubble is easily larger than Jongin and he steps through the permeable membrane with ease.  He's heard about portals such as these before, but has never had the need or the opportunity to use one.

"Now exhale," the woman commands and Jongin does just that before he feels his feet drop out from underneath him.  It takes only a moment and as soon as Jongin blinks, he's out of the wagon and standing in a large room, presumably in the palace.

There are people milling about, all in masks and dressed in a rainbow of colors.  Jongin is overwhelmed, eyes sweeping over the crowd in search of someone familiar.  He takes notice of a pair of guards in front of the only doors to the room, but his attention is soon torn when a heavy weight pulls at his sleeve.

"Well don't you look ready to sweep someone off their feet," Sehun quips and Jongin would have rolled his eyes but he's too busy gawking at his friend.

Sehun's mask resembles a peacock - all deep blues and teals and greens, but what really pulls it all together are the actual peacock feathers sticking up from the side.  Sehun looks more comical than anything and Jongin lets out a snort of laughter.  It earns him a frown and Sehun flicks at Jongin's open shirt.

There’s glitter on Sehun’s chest where his dark blue shirt dips down and it practically glistens with every breath Sehun takes.  It’s the same colors as the feathers and Jongin wonders how much of his friend is covered in it and mentally thanks the twins for not relegating him to the same ominous fate.

"Have you seen Chanyeol?" Sehun asks and the uneasiness in his voice gives away his real fear.

"Not yet.  I just got here."

Sehun heaves out a sigh of defeat and slumps against Jongin's side.  Jongin wishes he could be more sympathetic to Sehun’s obvious plight, but he’s a little worried himself as he scans the room again.  It comes as no surprise when he recognizes most of the people as residents of his own village and reasons that they probably don’t transport everyone into the same room.

There’s a boisterous laugh over near one of the corners and voices raise as people part to let someone through.

Chanyeol.

He looks, if possible, more ridiculous than Sehun with his fiery mask and bright orange clothing that makes him look like the flickering flame on a candle.  Although, it definitely suits Chanyeol’s personality and Jongin feels more than hears Sehun’s relief at not matching with their friend when he slumps against him.  Jongin pats his back comfortingly.

“You guys ready to party?”

“No,” Sehun squeaks out even as Chanyeol grabs them both and parades them toward the doors.  Everyone seems to be avoiding them, but Chanyeol has no qualms about marching right up to the guards and grinning brightly.

Jongin can only hope the guards don’t see fit to kick them out because of Chanyeol’s behavior.  Thankfully he’s spared such a fate when only a few minutes later, there’s a rap on the other side of the doors.  The two guards take hold of the handles and open them wide, gesturing for everyone to enter.

There’s a flurry of people all around and Jongin is sure he would have been trampled if not for Chanyeol’s unwavering iron grip on his arm.  It aches, but it keeps Jongin on his feet as he stares overhead at the domed ceiling lit up like the night sky and the floating sconces filled with bright flames.  There are banquet tables along the walls filled with refreshments, but everyone is too busy peering around to find their match.

The magic in Jongin’s mask comes to life, a soothing caress over his skin as it reaches out for its counterpart.  It doesn’t stop the nervous fluttering of his stomach, but it does bolster his wavering confidence.

Chanyeol rushes off the first chance he gets, leaving Jongin and Sehun standing side-by-side dumbly.  They’re jostled as the crowd rushes around them, shoulders bumping.  Jongin looks at Sehun helplessly.

“See anything familiar?” Sehun asks, rocking up onto his tiptoes to peer over the heads of the guests.

All Jongin sees are blurred faces and the glimpse of colors, his head spinning and jaw tingling like he’s going to be sick.  Here, in this grand room, everyone is an equal.  There is no status or ceremony save the one that brings together two souls who are bound for life.  It’s marvelous and thrilling and Jongin feels insignificant in the midst of it all.

Sehun elbows him in the side impatiently and Jongin finally looks over.  “Well?”

“If I see any other pretty prancing peacocks, you shall be the first to know,” Jongin teases.  Sehun punches him on the arm and flounces off with style, nose high in the air.  Jongin pities the person who ends up with that one.

And now he’s standing alone, everyone else having rushed forward and into the crowd now milling about in the center of the room.  Jongin is still taking it all in, in awe of his surroundings and his gaze lingers on the masks adhered to unfamiliar faces as they pass before flitting back to the intricate lace patterns carved along the walls and the magicked floors that shimmer like water in the sunlight.  If Jongin didn’t feel the floor sturdy underneath his own feet, he’d think he was treading the lake back home.

More often than not, Jongin meets the eyes of other curious guests, all of them seeking the same ending - a matching mask.  His heart stutters each time his gaze catches on black, but it’s never the right black.  He wets his lips, hands coming up to play with his shirt, wishing there were buttons to hold it together because he feels exposed, to everyone who peers his way.

A sliver of self doubt curls tight in Jongin’s chest as he witnesses several matched couples parade past already, their happy faces a counter to his uncertainty.  Jongin takes a few steps backwards, wondering if he can sweet talk the guards into letting him go back through the doors and leave.  Perhaps he’ll be ready for this in a year or two, but right now it’s overwhelming and he feels like he’s drowning in everything he’s supposed to be and isn’t.

Jongin turns on his heel, ready to dart out, startling when he notices there’s someone directly behind him.  They’re too close for Jongin to adjust and he finds himself grabbing the man around the waist to keep them both from toppling to the floor.  Jongin’s heart pounds in his chest, apologies ready to spill from his tongue until he’s silenced by the magic that surges hot from his mask and down through the arm that’s holding his unfortunate victim captive.

He must look a fool with his mouth agape and eyes wide as he peers down into an exact mirror of his mask.  It’s molded lovingly over pale skin tinged with pink, around a pair of sparkling eyes wreathed in the same golden glitter that Jongin wears.  The man parts his lips - his full, pink, shining lips - and speaks, his voice sending a tremor through Jongin’s already strained body.

“You’re taller than I expected.”

Jongin is speechless, a little entranced if he’s honest with himself, fascinated with how well the man fits against him and pleased that he’s made no attempt to remove himself.  Airy wisps of magic surround them, fluctuating from blues to reds, spiralling teasingly as if binding them together.  Jongin feels it in his chest, a soothing calm that is going to keep him connected to this man for the rest of his life.

Somehow, the idea doesn’t seem so unappealing anymore.

His mouth has gone dry, his head empty and echoing along with the pounding of his heart.  Part of him thinks this is a trick of his imagination, a fantasy conjured to fulfill his deepest wishes, but there’s a solid presence against him, thin fingers now circling Jongin’s wrist to tug him gently from his unwinding thoughts as the figure slips from his hold.

Jongin stumbles after the man, allowing himself to be pulled along through the crowd of guests.  Each step takes him further from the door he came through, but Jongin is now focused on the person in front of him.  His eyes scan over a slight frame clothed in black and he’s only mildly disgruntled to note that he’s more covered than Jongin is although the fabric is more contoured around his slender waist and curvy thighs.

People jostle around him, bump into him, but Jongin squeezes through the crowd with mumbled apologies, cheeks turning red from embarrassment even if it's clear that he has no control over his own movements.  They pass several sets of plain doors that look just the same as the ones Jongin had entered through.  Soon, they come upon doors that are different from the others, gilded along the handles and frame, standing far taller than the rest.  Several guards block anyone from getting near.  Jongin's stomach twists nervously as he's paraded straight to them, still too shell-shocked to voice any protest.

"Let us pass," the man instructs.  And to Jongin's surprise, the armored guards step aside, each one grasping a handle to pull the doors open just enough for the two of them to slip through.

"Wait," Jongin breathes as soon as he hears the sound of the doors closing behind them.  They're in a decorated hallway, thick red carpet beneath their feet and large portraits framed along the walls.  Several chandeliers hover just below the ceiling, lighting the way in front of them.

The man halts and Jongin nearly runs into him again, quickly gathering himself and taking a large step backward.  "We're not supposed to be here," Jongin croaks, eyes flitting nervously as if he expects a dozen guards to suddenly descend on them and drag them from the grounds or worse.

"What's your name?" his companion asks, stepping forward.

Jongin takes another step away, his back hitting against the wall.  "Jongin," he answers cautiously.  He's clearly taken with this man - is supposed to be - and yet there's enough self preservation in Jongin's veins to question their path further into parts of the palace which are clearly off limits..

"Jongin," the man repeats and the sound nearly has Jongin's knees buckling.  He approaches slowly, palms flat on Jongin's chest and running up.  His eyes are fixed on Jongin's face, head tilted as he bridges the space between them.  Jongin swallows hard, unable to move, to breathe.  "My name is Kyungsoo and I've been waiting a long time for you."

Jongin's mouth falls open.  "You're the Prince?" he questions in surprise only to get a beautiful, heart-shaped smile in return.

"Adorable and smart," Kyungsoo teases and Jongin flushes.  "I apologize for dragging you off, but getting to know you while surrounded by hundreds of people isn't my idea of an ideal first meeting," he explains.  "Is it alright if we go some place quieter?"

Jongin nods, relaxing as Kyungsoo's fingers slip between his own, finding a permanent home.  This time, when Kyungsoo moves, Jongin is beside him, keeping pace as his heart speeds beneath his ribs.  There are too many twists and turns for Jongin to remember, too interested in the enchanted paintings that move when they walk past, the lights that flicker on to light their way and then off when they round the corner.

Kyungsoo leads Jongin outside, the two of them surrounded by towering trees and flowers that glow in the moonlight.  The fluttering of wings draws Jongin's attention and he watches as the flowers in a nearby bush take flight, their vibrant colors leaving trails in the air before they disappear further into the night.

The evening air is refreshing, helping to bring some of the life back to Jongin's limbs as they walk hand-in-hand, stealing glances at each other.  Out here, away from the crowd and the tension that fills such an important event, Jongin can finally breathe and relax.

Kyungsoo turns to him, pulling on Jongin's hand to stop him.  "Can I see you?" he asks, almost timidly.  Jongin gives him a small nod and Kyungsoo steps forward, reaching up slowly for Jongin's mask.  The magic that holds it on seems to melt away as Kyungsoo's fingers curve over the edges, gently lifting it from his face.  There's a rush that goes through him, not unlike what he’d experienced in the wagon when the mask had been put on him, and Jongin opens his eyes to see Kyungsoo staring openly at him.

Curious, Jongin looks down to see that his clothes have returned, his costume gone and he feels sheepish, embarrassed because he's plain and unimportant and Kyungsoo is a Prince.  But then Kyungsoo's fingers are on Jongin's face, tracing over the ridge of his nose and over his eyebrows, trailing lower to linger around his mouth, not quite touching his lips, but hovering.  An almost that has Jongin stuttering out a breath of anticipation.

Jongin reaches out tentatively, more confident when Kyungsoo doesn't stop him as he removes the mask from his face.  There's a shimmering that surrounds Kyungsoo, silver and gold that run together over him until it fades and he's standing there, still as beautiful as he was the first time Jongin set eyes upon him.

Without the embellishments, Kyungsoo still makes Jongin's heart race.  His eyes may not be encircled in gold or glitter, but they shine in the moonlight, blinking up at Jongin in question.  "You're amazing," he voices aloud.

Kyungsoo grips the front of Jongin's shirt in his fingers, standing on his toes, waiting.  Jongin finds the confidence to lean down for his first kiss.  Kyungsoo may not be enhanced with magic, but their kiss feels magical.  It rattles through Jongin before settling in his chest, warmth spreading into his veins.  This is where Jongin is meant to be and he has no doubts about that anymore.

Kyungsoo is pliant in his arms, lips molded against Jongin's as if they were crafted only for this purpose.  They stand together with the stars as witness to the beginning of something beautiful, perfect.  When Kyungsoo slips away, there's a teasing smile on his mouth and his cheeks are dusted with pink.

They each have a half - each other’s half - of their mask and Jongin holds his up curiously.  Kyungsoo takes the piece he has and before either of them can react, the pieces rip from their fingers to meld together.  A flash of light bursts from the seam in the center before going dark and the mask falls, complete, to the ground at their feet.  Kyungsoo cautiously plucks it out of the grass and Jongin stares in wonder at the beauty.  There's no seam anymore.  It's whole.

"We'll leave it here and come back for it," Kyungsoo suggests, taking the mask and resting it against the wide trunk of a nearby tree.  "Tell me," Kyungsoo inquires, taking hold of Jongin's hand as they wander further into the garden, clusters of trees around them providing cover from the night breeze, "where are you from?"

Jongin brightens, allowing Kyungsoo to lead them through a maze of wondrous flora as he regales Kyungsoo with details of his village.  He speaks of his favorite tree, the orchards that draw clouds of fruit flies, the humble life he lives and how he couldn't ask for a better one.  Kyungsoo interjects occasionally, asking questions about Jongin's friends and how they get into - and out of - mischief together.

"You speak fondly of your home, your friends," Kyungsoo sighs wistfully, swinging their linked hands gently.  "I've never been outside the palace grounds," Kyungsoo admits.  "This place is all I've ever known.  I only have my guards for company and my parents are often busy or away."

"I'll take you there," Jongin vows.  "We can visit my parents, my friends.  I'll take you everywhere."

Kyungsoo kisses him again and Jongin is dizzy with it, elated.  Complete.

Kyungsoo and Jongin don't make their way back to the Masquerade until the approaching dawn threatens the horizon.  They're both giddy with exhaustion, but unwilling to admit it as they lean against each other.

The people still gathered in the ballroom are no better off; pairs are scattered about, some sitting and others leaning against the tables now bereft of food.  A few of the more energetic couples are dancing to the low music that fills the room.  Jongin would feel disappointed that he missed most of the celebration if he didn't already have Kyungsoo at his side, an arm around his waist to hold him close.

There's no sign of Sehun nor Chanyeol and Jongin can only hope it means they'd both found who they were searching for.

"Come on," Kyungsoo mumbles, nudging Jongin in the ribs lightly.  "Let's find someplace to rest."

Jongin wakes to the sun in his face, partially blocked by the dark head of hair tucked under his chin.  It takes a few lazy moments for him to remember where he is or why there's a comfortably shaped body curved against his front, but when he does, he smiles like a fool.  They’d never bothered getting under the heavy duvet atop the bed, still dressed, and had talked until their words slurred, began to linger in the air before falling to silence.

Jongin can’t believe how lucky he is; he’s found the one person who completes him and he did it without acting like too much of a bumbling idiot.  A fondness swells in his chest, ballooning until he’s sure he’s going to burst.  Kyungsoo sighs in his sleep and wiggles closer to Jongin despite the sun spilling through the drapes and over the bed.  It has to be nearing midday.

He’d be content to fall back asleep with the warmth of Kyungsoo as his comfort if not for the sharp cough that pierces the silence.  It had come from behind him and Jongin twists his head, startling and rolling away from Kyungsoo with a speed that has him falling directly off the bed to land hard on the floor.

Jongin would groan from his hip hitting the marble if he wasn’t now currently lying at the feet of the King and Queen.  He can feel their eyes burning down at him, crowned heads tilting in silent judgement.

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo croaks.

Jongin peers over his shoulder to see Kyungsoo’s face peeking over the side of the bed, hair disheveled and an imprint of the wrinkled duvet along his cheek.  He looks concerned, eyebrows furrowed.  Then his gaze sweeps up to his parents and his concern fades into mild annoyance.  “You didn’t have to scare him,” he scolds.

As far as first impressions go, Jongin is confident in the knowledge that the one he’s left on the King and Queen will last for a lifetime.

With a new home comes a new world that’s opened up before Jongin.  The palace grounds sprawl as far as the eye can see in every direction and Jongin doesn’t think he’ll ever learn his way around.  He spends his mornings navigating the hallways, trying to discover the small dining area Kyungsoo has set aside for them, but he ends up backtracking, confused each time he tries to locate it until a guard helps him, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Everything is more extravagant; even an event such as walking into a room is made all the more important because people will pass with sweeping bows, murmured greetings that are polite and formal.  Meals are decadent - rich foods that Jongin has never tasted before melting on his tongue as he slows down to savor each bite.  The dishes are self cleaning and there are chairs enchanted to tuck the occupant under the table comfortably.

Everything is also more strict, a set schedule that ensures days run smoothly, without incident.  Late mornings and afternoons are spent taking etiquette lessons because if he is to wed Kyungsoo, he must be able to act the part of a proper spouse.  Jongin feels ridiculous clothed in swaths of brightly colored silk.  The robes fall to his ankles, uncomfortable because he’s used to shedding layers, not adding them.  More often than not, his feet get trapped in the hems and he stumbles to the ground, earning a frustrated groan from his instructor and a click of Kyungsoo’s tongue if he’s managed to spare the time to stop in - which isn’t often.

He tries to help out around the grounds, but the workers frantically, politely guide him away, insisting they can do the work on their own.  It leaves Jongin antsy and alone.  Kyungsoo is usually spirited away for royal matters as the attendants will say, leaving Jongin behind with a wistful smile and a promise for later.  Always later.

It’s been several weeks and everything is still later, I promise.

He misses his parents and his small room that’s filled with remnants of his life.  He even misses Sehun and Chanyeol and the boisterous raucousness that seems to follow the two around.  Here, there is a preference for the quiet, for whispers and hums and Jongin’s head echoes with all the things he wants and can’t scream for.

Jongin finds himself living for the moments when Kyungsoo is around, drinking in those precious minutes that Kyungsoo steals during the day like ambrosia wine.  The first thing Kyungsoo does is apologize, his forgiveness granted in the push of Jongin’s lips to his, strong arms around Kyungsoo’s waist to pull him closer as Kyungsoo raises to his toes.  “Tonight,” Kyungsoo will promise.  It’s that promise that carries Jongin through the rest of his day.

It’s after dark when Kyungsoo slips into Jongin’s room, allowing Jongin to pull him down on the too large bed to cuddle under the thick blankets.  Jongin sighs in relief at the familiar weight against him, the strain of his day melting under the pressure of Kyungsoo’s mouth on his.

“I did it, Jongin,” Kyungsoo murmurs, pulling back to rest his head beside Jongin’s on the pillow.

Jongin peers at him curiously.  “Did what?”

The light from the purple flame flickering in the nearby fireplace - the fire magicked to burn bright and hot and controlled - dances over Kyungsoo’s face when he smiles.  “I finally convinced my parents to let us visit your home,” he confesses.  “We’ll be bubbled there in the morning.”  Kyungsoo shrinks in a little.  “If you want to, that is.  I didn’t even ask!”

“Soo,” Jongin laughs, draping an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist to pull him closer.  “There’s nothing that I want more than to introduce you to my family.”  The tension bleeds from Kyungsoo’s posture and the two of them spend the rest of their waking hours enjoying the pleasant company and anticipating tomorrow.

Jongin is nervous.  His hand squeezes the fingers in his hold, Kyungsoo tightening his grip reassuringly as they land on the outskirts of Jongin’s village.  There’s a small bag slung over his shoulder that carries clothes and other amenities for Kyungsoo, and beside him, Kyungsoo is dressed far less regally than his standard attire.  Jongin had had to explain to Kyungsoo that heavy robes weren’t a good idea and then had to kiss away Kyungsoo’s complaints of appearing too mundane and plain in only his leather pants and white cotton top. He’d kissed the complaints away until Kyungsoo’s cheeks were as pink as his lips.

Nothing seems to have changed in Jongin’s absence.  As they walk along the path that leads through the village, Kyungsoo peers around in fascination while Jongin only sees familiarity.  A few of the vendors he used to deal with give him a smile and a nod as he passes and Jongin returns the sentiment even as Kyungsoo is tugging him along excitedly.

Kyungsoo's attention is drawn to all the little things that Jongin has taken for granted his entire life; glass trinkets made of swirling colors dance in the wind, scattering patterns on the ground that Kyungsoo walks through with wonder on his face.  Jongin watches as Kyungsoo runs his fingers reverently over simple stones smoothed by the rushing water of the river, a few of them glittering after having been touched by a river sprite.  It takes some persuasion for the sprites to gift anyone with their touch and it's a rare item indeed.

Jongin takes great care to remember the stone Kyungsoo lingered over the longest to come back and barter for later.

It takes three times as long as usual to make it through the market with Kyungsoo stopping at each stall, admiring the fabrics and sweet breads, the spelled charms that bring luck to a home and the tiny vials filled with what the merchant claims are mermaid tears, guaranteed to enhance one’s ual prowess.  Jongin turns a bright red at the innuendo in the man's voice and is careful to pull Kyungsoo away before speeding along down the path.

They slow once they're out of the hubbub, Jongin swinging their linked hands between them and Kyungsoo spinning into his arms once for a kiss that Jongin willingly gives.  Out here, in the open world that Jongin is accustomed to, things feel more real and less a dream.  There are no servants or grand hallways, no schedules or royal strictures to keep them apart.  Here, Jongin can appreciate the way Kyungsoo blossoms like a flower in the light, how his smile is larger, his eyes brighter.

"It's just ahead," Jongin coaxes, tilting his head toward the small home in the distance.  Kyungsoo had been sidetracked by a patch of clover, sinking to his knees in the vivid green plants to search for one with four leaves.

They make it to the edge of the property before Kyungsoo stops, startling Jongin to a halt.  There's uncertainty on his face, his confidence lost in favor of nervousness.  "What if they don't like me?" he whispers.

Jongin draws Kyungsoo into a hug, face in the tickling strands of his hair.  "They're going to love you," he says without a single doubt in his heart.  "You are part of me and they already love me, so you're a given."

Kyungsoo delivers a weak punch to Jongin's chest before laughing, allowing Jongin to lead them toward the house, an arm secured around his waist for support.  The rooster crows obnoxiously in the distance and the steps creak when they step up to the porch.  They've barely come to a stop, unable even to raise a hand to knock before Jongin is wrapped in the scent and warmth of his mother.  And then she's gathering Kyungsoo into the hug and sees the beaming smile on Kyungsoo's face.

Everything's going to be just perfect.

It takes time to pry his mother from Kyungsoo - "I promise they feed us well at the palace" - and even longer to escape her attention.  She keeps giving them these sappy, wide-eyed looks that fill Jongin with guilt when he tries to slip Kyungsoo away.  Finally, they manage to make it up the stairs to Jongin's room.

"It's not much," Jongin mumbles, embarrassed as Kyungsoo steps into the room he spent his life growing up in.

Kyungsoo does a slow turn, taking in the few pieces of furniture and all the things Jongin has collected over the years.  "I love it," he reveals after a tense minute.  "It's so you."

"Will you two be alright with the one bed?" pipes in Jongin's mother from behind him, startling him enough to make him jump, a hand over his rapidly beating heart.

"We'll manage," Kyungsoo answers and the look on Jongin's mother's face as she leaves them alone is one that has Jongin flushing.

"Oh, and I threw out that egg from under your pillow," she yells up the stairs a moment later.  "It was stinking up the entire house.  What were you even doing with it?"

Jongin shrugs meekly at Kyungsoo's curious look.  "It was a lucky egg," he replies feebly.  "And then I got you."

Kyungsoo sighs, stepping up to Jongin.  "Oh my sweet Jongin."  And he kisses Jongin affectionately, softly, laughing when Jongin walks them into his room to shut the door for some privacy.

Jongin takes Kyungsoo out to the chickens, and watches as Kyungsoo gives chase to several of the hens while another pair follow him around.  The rooster had been determined to charge after Jongin again and is now sequestered from the rest, crowing as if he's being slowly plucked.  Jongin makes a face at him.

When all the eggs have been collected and Jongin leaves them with his mother - who promises a large dinner in celebration - the two of them head down to the river.  Jongin's tree - his favorite place to be throughout his entire life - is standing there, tall and majestic, just the same as when he'd left.  It stretches high towards the sky, standing along the bank of the river as the leaves rustle in the breeze.

Something in Jongin’s chest squeezes tight when Kyungsoo walks up to it, palms flat on the surface.  “You want to climb up?” Jongin asks, coming up from behind Kyungsoo who turns to nod at him enthusiastically.

Jongin places his hands on his waist, and lifts Kyungsoo to the lowest branch.  And once he’s moved up to the next one, Jongin follows.  For someone who doesn’t get the opportunity to scale tall trees at all, Kyungsoo does remarkably well.  Together, they sit on Jongin’s favorite branch, swinging their legs.  Kyungsoo’s are short enough to swing free, but the tips of Jongin’s shoes hit against the next lowest branch.  With Kyungsoo’s head resting on Jongin’s shoulder, they listen to the sound of the water trickling, the soft splashes that accompany the rogue sprite darting into the air as they trail the fish.

Somehow, it feels as if they’ve always done this, side-by-side, familiar.  Perhaps it’s because this place is the one that lingers in the forefront of his mind when he thinks of the word home.

And now, Kyungsoo is home.

Jongin carries that with him even after they climb from the branches and stand on the ground.  The further they walk from the tree, the more Jongin waits to lose that feeling, but it never lessens.  It reassures him that even when they’re gone from this place, tucked back into their neat, tightly packed schedules in the palace, he’ll still be at home because Kyungsoo is there.

Jongin wakes to the pressure of a knee digging into his thigh, the weight of Kyungsoo crawling over him fleeting as Kyungsoo tries to quietly sneak out and downstairs.  Jongin can smell his mother’s cooking and he can’t say he blames Kyungsoo; his own stomach gurgles and it isn’t long before he follows suit.

Jongin’s father - whom Kyungsoo had met over dinner the previous night - is practically beaming with pride, unable to keep the smile from his face as a blushing Jongin drops a kiss on Kyungsoo’s forehead before sitting.

The only thing missing is Chanyeol.  Jongin still hasn’t seen or heard from him - or Sehun - and it leaves Jongin unsettled.  He needs to ensure they’re alright, that they’re happy.  Besides, just because they don’t live in the same village anymore doesn’t mean they can’t stay in contact.  Jongin can’t imagine his life without those two idiots.

After breakfast, and with Kyungsoo’s ever constant presence at his side, Jongin escapes out into the open air and away from the embarrassing stories his mother was about to tell.  Kyungsoo is still laughing, cooing over how Jongin must have been the most adorable child all covered in dragonfly burns.  Jongin pouts a little until Kyungsoo nuzzles against him, both arms around Jongin’s waist.

Jongin is content to stay this way, meandering down the well-worn path that leads down to Sehun’s home.  If Sehun’s still in the village, he’s most likely in bed; Sehun has never been a morning person and would lounge under his blankets until noon if left on his own.  It used to fall on Jongin and Chanyeol to drag him out by his feet, a bucket of cold water set aside to threaten him if he was being particularly stubborn.

He smiles at the memory, at the routine that used to bring joy to him every morning because Sehun pouting from underneath a cocoon of blankets was always amusing, especially if that drowned rat look was added on top.  So many things he had taken for granted have now been replaced, but Jongin can’t mind too much when he has Kyungsoo to take away the sting.

A rustling in the field next to them stirs Jongin’s curiosity.  The stalks of wheat are tall, nearly up to Jongin’s shoulders, and there are always a few wild cats who enjoy chasing the field mice that live there, but this is a different sort of noise.  There are low voices, whispers, and Jongin takes a step toward the edge of the field only an arm’s reach away.

“Sehun?” he inquires aloud as soon as he recognizes a particularly wheezy laugh that he would know everywhere.

Moments later, a head pops up from the stalks.  Sehun breaks out into a grin and stumbles forward.  “Jongin!” he exclaims, finally tripping his way over, his cheeks flush and eyes glassy.  There is dirt and broken off stalks embedded in Sehun’s clothes, and his hair is a mess.  Still, it doesn’t deter Sehun from jumping into Jongin’s arms for a hug.  “It’s so great to see you!”

“You too,” Jongin mumbles, his mouth full of fabric.

“Wait!”  Sehun releases Jongin who would have fallen to the ground if not for Kyungsoo steadying him, twin wide-eyed expressions of confusion aimed at the man now diving back into the wheat field.  When he reappears, after much huffing and groaning, there is another man with him.  He’s no less disheveled than Sehun; his cheeks are pink and his blond hair in disarray, but he’s sporting a pleasant smile.  “This is Luhan,” Sehun introduces, his chest puffed out in pride.

Jongin just can’t help deflating him a little and Sehun’s mouth goes slack when Jongin introduces Kyungsoo as the Prince.  “Am I supposed to be bowing?” he whispers loudly toward Jongin, his eyes settled warily on Kyungsoo.

“Not here,” Kyungsoo answers.  “Here, I’m just Kyungsoo.”

That seems to put Sehun at ease - well, that and Luhan petting his arm softly and grinning at him fondly.  Luhan is a pleasant man, one who is clearly enraptured with Sehun.  Jongin watches with interest as Luhan picks the wheat stalks from Sehun’s clothing and hair, Sehun bending his knees so Luhan doesn’t have to stand on his toes to reach.  Sehun keeps rambling about the night they met, about chasing around the wrong person before Luhan finally stepped in to keep Sehun from embarrassing himself further.

“What about Chanyeol?” Jongin asks.  The four of them have made their way to the river, sitting along the bank as Sehun and Luhan wash the dirt from their arms.  Kyungsoo’s feet are in the water, dipping under and splashing lightly, and Jongin has their clasped hands in their lap.

“He’s great,” Sehun answers.  “I think he’s planning to stay here in the village, but right now he’s off dazzling his soulmate’s parents.”  Sehun sighs fondly, clucking his tongue.  “You should have seen it, Jongin.  Chanyeol found the guy in the middle of the crowd, and started yelling and jumping up and down like an idiot.  I thought the poor guy was going to melt into the floor from embarrassment.  He stormed over and started hissing at Chanyeol even as Chanyeol kept trying to drag him onto the dance floor.  It was a disaster.”

“Didn’t he knock over a table?” Luhan pipes in.

“Up-ended the entire thing,” Sehun laughs.  “Turns out Zitao - Chanyeol’s soulmate - lives for the attention Chanyeol gives him.  They’re a . . . unique pair.”

“Sounds like Chanyeol finally found someone who can handle him,” Jongin muses, pleased that things turned out for the best.  It’s more than he could have asked for.

“They should be back in a few days, but I suppose you’ll be back in the palace by then.”

“You can all visit,” Kyungsoo suggests, smiling from ear to ear.  Jongin doesn’t know if the palace is quite ready for Sehun and Chanyeol tearing through the halls, but then, it probably never will be.

The sun is setting when they eventually part ways and Jongin watches as Sehun and Luhan disappear in the distance before turning to head home.

“I like them,” Kyungsoo announces.

“Me too.”

“I meant it, you know,” Kyungsoo continues, pulling on Jongin’s wrist so he stops.  “Your friends are welcome any time.  I would never keep you from them.”

Jongin gathers Kyungsoo into his arms, squeezing him in a playful hug.  “Thank you,” he mumbles into Kyungsoo’s hair once Kyungsoo stops squirming.  “For everything.”

Kyungsoo wiggles until he can peer up at Jongin, head tilted.  “What everything?”

“Everything,” Jongin sighs against Kyungsoo’s mouth before kissing him.  Kyungsoo makes a squeak of surprise, then melts in Jongin’s hold.  His fingers grip the front of Jongin’s shirt tightly and he makes another soft noise as he raises to his toes for more.

Jongin could drown in this, in Kyungsoo and everything he makes him feel.  And he knows, no matter how scared and unsure he may have been in the past and no matter where they end up living, he’s always going to be home.  Kyungsoo is home.

Jongin is complete.

-o-

Next Update: 5th of February