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“Apparently, he’s beloved,” Chanyeol says. His eyes are closed, hand clenched around the letter. “By his people. Or whatever.”
“So why are you complaining,” Kyungsoo replies. I’m the one who has reason to complain . “He’ll make a good husband for you.”
“That’s the thing,” Chanyeol says, sitting bolt upright. He crumples the letter into a ball, not looking at Kyungsoo when he says, “All I hear from the king, from everyone , is how wonderful and amazing and perfect he is. How great a husband he’ll make. How great a king.” He tosses the paper at Kyungsoo, who catches it. “I get it. He’s better than me at just about everything.”
“Did you want,” Kyungsoo says, smoothing out the letter slowly, “someone who’s awful? Someone horrible to spend the rest of your life with? You’re going to rule a kingdom with him, Park Chanyeol. You’re going to join our two lands and all you have to do is put up with someone—”
Dear Chanyeol , the letter reads. The moon’s shadows grow longer and the time for our first meeting grows closer. You can pretend all you like, but I know you’re not enthusiastic about marriage with me. That’s fine. I understand. But perhaps someday we will grow to care for each other.
“Someone who isn’t even that bad,” Kyungsoo finishes, tossing the letter onto the bed. It hits Chanyeol in the cheek. “Grow up, Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol laughs a little in response. Kyungsoo’s jaw clenches. “Grow up. Me. Yeah, I get it. Be more like your sister, Chanyeol. Forget having a childhood, Chanyeol. Marry someone you don’t even know, Chanyeol. Be the prince that you are, Chanyeol.” He towers over Kyungsoo when he stands, putting a hand flat against the side of his neck. “I just didn’t expect to hear it from you.”
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows go up. “What, I'm supposed to defend you to the death without caring about you in the slightest?”
“No, that’s not it,” Chanyeol says. His eyes drop to Kyungsoo’s lips. “What I meant was, I didn’t expect you to be a fucking hypocrite.”
“Then what do you expect from me?”
Chanyeol just looks at him. Five years ago, maybe, Kyungsoo would’ve looked at him and seen a friend. He would’ve seen a boy he grew up with, crossed swords with, and comforted when he fell down and scraped his knee trying to sled down the roof of the palace. Now he sees nothing but a prince. Groomed for the throne. Groomed for a husband-king he has never met.
“Nothing,” Chanyeol finally says. “That’s what you want me to say, right? Nothing.” He smiles, putting some distance between them. He’s been doing that for years now. “And you know me. I tend to do whatever you say.”
It’s funny, Kyungsoo thinks. It’s been two years since they’d gone from friends to friends with benefits, and then they’d dropped the friends part. Now they’re just two people who’d grown up together and occasionally touch dicks. Kyungsoo’s certain Chanyeol doesn’t even like him.
“If you’re talking about us—”
“There is no us,” Chanyeol says, arms crossed. “That’s what you’re going to say, right? Save it. I know it already.”
“Chanyeol, shut up,” Kyungsoo says. “There are no feelings in this relationship. And even if there were” — here he’s straying into dangerous territory — “it wouldn’t matter anyway. There’s no way the two of us can work out. You know this too. You’ve known this since the beginning.”
“Yeah, regular pair of star-crossed lovers, aren’t we?”
“Minus the lovers part,” Kyungsoo mutters. “And the star-crossed part. Hit the nail on the head.”
Chanyeol looks at him, eyes blazing. “You were wrong, you know. To say that there are no feelings in this relationship. Because sometimes… sometimes, Kyungsoo, I hate you so much it’s like I’m burning up with it.” He holds the letter out to Kyungsoo. “Read it.”
“What?”
“Read it,” Chanyeol says. “Out loud. I didn’t get the chance.”
“Maybe it’s because you asked me to come in here and — okay, fine, fuck, I’m reading it. ‘Dear Chanyeol, the moon’s shadows grow longer and the time for our first meeting grows closer. You can pretend all you like, but I know you’re not enthusiastic about marriage with me. That’s fine. I understand. But perhaps someday we will grow to care for each other.’” He swallows. “‘It’s as difficult for me as it is for you. Please remember this. I ask that you do your best to keep an open mind when you are confronted with both my presence and the realization that you will be tied down to me for the rest of your life. Thank you.’” Kyungsoo looks up. Chanyeol is staring to the side. “Well, at least he’s willing to call you out on your shitty attitude.”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah. That’s it.” The paper has a hundred folds in it from Chanyeol’s frustration. “Are you done with me, then? Are we done?”
“Yeah, we’re done,” Chanyeol says quietly, and Kyungsoo heads for the door. He has his hand on the doorknob when Chanyeol continues, “I mean it. We’re done. We’re through.” Kyungsoo looks back at him, mouth flat. “After all, I’ll be a married man soon.”
Yes, sometimes he wants to put his fist through Chanyeol’s face, but at the end of the day he’d follow him anywhere. So when the king of Rayelle summons him and Chanyeol and tells them they’re going on a trip cross-kingdom to pay Chanyeol’s betrothed a visit in Luné, he shrugs and just goes with it. Chanyeol would probably faceplant out there and get eaten by nighthounds; Luné has quite a few of them.
“Do you have to come with me?” Chanyeol complains.
“If I don’t, you’ll crash and burn,” Kyungsoo says, deadpan. “Do you really need this many clothes?”
Chanyeol sits back on his hands. His bed is the biggest one in the castle, Kyungsoo is sure, bigger even than the king and queen’s, bigger even than Yura’s. He has blankets the color of blood-rose, the kind that grows on the border of Rayelle and Luné and gives way to fields covered in sheets of ghost’s breath. Everything in Luné is stripped of color. Kyungsoo looks at Chanyeol’s suitcase full of black clothes and thinks he’ll fit right in.
“I’ve never seen you fight,” Chanyeol says suddenly. “Not for real. Not that pretend stuff we did in the courtyard all those years ago.”
“All we’ve ever done is pretend,” Kyungsoo says. “You should be glad I’ve never had the reason to fight in front of you, you pampered prince.”
There are sunfire lanterns in every corner of the room (five of them total). They burn until Chanyeol wants them not to, and right now he wants them not to. The room plunges into darkness.
“So how do you know you can?”
Kyungsoo snorts. In the dark, he can just barely make out Chanyeol’s shape. “Believe it or not, Your Highness, my entire life doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Just most of it?” Chanyeol says. He’s a lot closer to Kyungsoo than he was a minute ago.
“Most of my job,” Kyungsoo says. “Maybe — just, maybe, yes, my job’s my whole life.”
“And your job,” Chanyeol says, “is me.” Then he’s kissing him, just as soft and familiar as all the times before. Shoving his tongue down Chanyeol’s throat is a habit like waking up in the morning and putting his glasses on is a habit. Even before Chanyeol had suggested that they’d enter into an I blow you, you blow me type agreement (purely for the sake of stress relief), Kyungsoo had known that his dick-compass pointed towards him. Like when Chanyeol had tripped over his own feet trying to do a maneuver that was honestly the easiest thing to get down, and Kyungsoo realized as his body was pinned underneath Chanyeol’s tall and ridiculously heavy frame that the sharp feeling in his gut was arousal. So yeah, saying yes to his stupid idea was bound to happen. Chanyeol’s hot and Kyungsoo’s weak.
But this. This is completely different. This is them sitting on Chanyeol’s bed with Kyungsoo’s tongue shoved down Chanyeol’s throat surrounded by Chanyeol’s scattered clothes because Chanyeol — fucking Chanyeol, that bastard, Kyungsoo hates him so much — is about to go on a trip to meet his future husband, aka Kyungsoo’s future friends(?)-with-benefits-in-law. What the fuck.
“No,” Kyungsoo says, a little belatedly. It’s already too late. Kyungsoo has already tongued Chanyeol’s tonsils. “You can’t do that. You said we were through. Done. Over with.”
“Got any more synonyms for me?” Chanyeol says. “Fuck you, Kyungsoo.”
“Fuck you ,” Kyungsoo replies. “I mean — do you want me to?”
“I’m not married yet,” Chanyeol mutters.
Kyungsoo bites down on his lower lip. “No. I guess you’re not.”
So. This time, he’s the one who’s kissing Chanyeol. It’s pretty incredible how the majority of his decisions are bad ones. Especially this one, even if he does really (really, really) like the way Chanyeol smiles into every one of his kisses.
“Wait,” Chanyeol says. “Wait. No. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe…”
“Maybe make up your mind,” Kyungsoo says. “Do you want to sit on my dick or not? We have to be packed soon. I’m ready, but you’re fucking lazy.”
“I don’t.” Chanyeol pauses. “Married. Me.”
“You’re not married yet,” Kyungsoo reminds him.
“No,” Chanyeol says, looking oddly sad. “Guess I’m not.” He scoots backward, shutting his suitcase. “Have you ever been to Luné?”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo answers. “It’s the prettiest fucking place I’ve ever seen. Don’t tell the king I said that. I don’t want to be arrested for treason.”
“I could sue you for treason.”
“Your ass is too stuffed for you to be doing that.” Kyungsoo says. Chanyeol flinches. “Wow, uh. You really do not want me to fuck you anymore, do you? Forget I said anything. And finish packing. I’m going to go take a piss.”
“Hey. Wait.” Chanyeol is zipping his suitcase, avoiding Kyungsoo’s eyes. It occurs to him that he has rarely ever seen Chanyeol in a crown. “About Luné… about all of this… I’m…”
“You’re scared?” Kyungsoo says, leaning against the wall. “It’s written all over your fucking face. I’d stay and comfort you, but you don’t want that — and my bladder is about to burst.”
“Who said —”
“Fuck off, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says cheerfully.
To avoid it being really fucking obvious that they’re the prince and his bodyguard buddy, they opt to take a semi beat up minivan for the trip instead of the royal limo. The minivan is a dusty gold, and there’s still quite a bit of space in the back when they put the seats down, enough that if Chanyeol gets the fuck over himself they can have all the sex they like. Chanyeol doesn’t really seem like he’s anywhere near getting the fuck over himself, though, because he’s got that brooding look on his face that Kyungsoo hates. Or maybe it’s because he’s trying to read a map and failing miserably.
Kyungsoo pulls over. “Get the fuck out of shotgun and drive. With you navigating we’ll get lost and end up in Luné with our toes eaten by nighthounds and direcats. One for each foot.”
“It’s the middle of the day; there aren’t going to be any nighthounds around,” Chanyeol says indignantly, but when he spies the look on Kyungsoo’s face he obediently switches seats.
Kyungsoo alternates between giving Chanyeol muted directions to the next big city and staring out the window, appreciating the scenery. It’s not like Rayelle isn’t beautiful, in a way (it’s… well, it’s a sun-scorched land of hard packed dust and cacti; Kyungsoo does like cacti), but he’s honestly just doing it because it’s fucking awkward being in a car alone with Chanyeol. Especially when there’s no music playing.
“Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol asks, hesitant. Kyungsoo looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Chanyeol’s giving him several furtive glances, which means he’s spending at least half of each minute not looking at the road in front of him. Kyungsoo wants to scream.
“Can you… for fuck’s sake, Chanyeol, I don’t think any of your loyal subjects will be too happy about being run over by their prince,” Kyungsoo says. “What? Spit it out.”
“You didn’t even give me the chance to say anything,” Chanyeol says. “Do you get off on yelling at me? Is that it?”
“I like seeing you cry, but not in the context of ‘oh shit, I hurt your feelings,’” Kyungsoo replies. “Contrary to popular belief, I’ve got a heart somewhere in here.” He taps his chest.
“Your heart’s on the left side of your chest, you idiot,” Chanyeol says.
“Wow,” Kyungsoo says, shifting his hand, “I really wasted my life with you.”
Chanyeol snorts. “Weren’t you just talking about how much you cared about me?” Kyungsoo fiddles with the map, folding the corners in and not answering Chanyeol’s question. “Tell me about Luné. Have you ever met the prince?”
“I told you, Luné’s beautiful,” Kyungsoo answers. This stuff is easy. No feelings involved. Except for his heart boner for Luné. “It’s like… the exact opposite of here. Endless winter instead of endless summer. Lots of ice. Sometimes it’s like someone took Luné and beat all the color out of it with a mace, but then you catch the mini rainbows on the side of the palace and you’re like, wow, holy shit, this is the most gorgeous land I’ve ever stepped foot on.”
“Shit, Kyungsoo, you didn’t tell me you were in love with the kingdom,” Chanyeol says. The corner of his mouth is tilted up. “I’ve never heard you talk about anything or anyone like that — except those peach tarts Jin makes, which I really can’t fault you for.”
“Yeah, those tarts are really something, aren’t they? Anyway, I’ve seen the prince once, but you know the customs of Luné better than anyone. His face was covered. He could be the ugliest bastard in the world and you wouldn’t even know until the two of you got hitched.”
“I don’t care about that,” Chanyeol says.
“Yes you do,” Kyungsoo says, shaking his head. “Who the hell wants to get married to someone they find physically repulsive? Turn right here; we’re almost at Lyle. For example, you. I would never get married to you, because looking at you makes my eyes bleed.”
“Doesn’t seem to stop you when you’re fucking me,” Chanyeol mutters.
“I close my eyes when I do that,” Kyungsoo says primly.
Chanyeol starts wheezing. “I’m beautiful, fuck you.”
They roll into Lyle just as the sun is touching the horizon. Kyungsoo stretches the kinks out of his neck while Chanyeol struggles to pull one of his suitcases out of the back, cursing under his breath the whole time. It makes Kyungsoo smile.
“A little help would be much appreciated, my darling Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says through gritted teeth.
“How much of a failure are you that you can’t handle one suitcase?” Kyungsoo says, but he goes to help. “You need to learn to stop being dependent on me for everything.”
Chanyeol mumbles something under his breath.
Kyungsoo kicks the side of his leg. “Don’t be a coward. Say it to my face.”
“Maybe I don’t want to stop being dependent on you for everything,” Chanyeol says, looking up.
What the fuck . “What the fuck,” Kyungsoo says. “First of all, that’s unhealthy. Second, if that’s code for ‘hey, Kyungsoo, we should be friends-ish with benefits again’ then just say so. You’re giving me mixed signals and I don’t like that.”
“We’re not friends friends?” Of course that’s the part of it that Chanyeol latches to.
“I,” Kyungsoo says, and stops. “I’m not your friend, I’m your bodyguard. Let’s take this inside; it’s getting dark.”
He marches inside, not looking to see if Chanyeol is following him. Of course he is. It’s weird; he’s supposed to be the one tailing him, and instead Chanyeol follows him around like he’s a lost puppy. Kyungsoo really can’t stand him.
The person behind the counter looks bored, but as soon as he spots them he plasters an artificially bright smile on his face. (Kyungsoo can sympathize.) The badge on his lapel reads ‘Junmyeon.’ He has nice teeth.
“We require a room with two beds, if one is available,” Chanyeol says grandly. Junmyeon raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, knock that crown off your head,” Kyungsoo says, pinching the back of his neck. Chanyeol yelps and Kyungsoo smiles apologetically at Junmyeon. “Sorry about that. Sometimes he talks like he’s the prince of Rayelle or some shit.”
Junmyeon roars with laughter. “The prince? I’ve never seen him, but I would think he’d be a bit more handsome than your friend here.”
“Oh, I totally agree,” Kyungsoo replies, grinning.
The door creaks as it opens and Chanyeol says, “That was one of the times when I’m extra glad my parents didn’t parade me around until everyone in the kingdom knew my face.”
“Trust me, I’m glad too,” Kyungsoo replies. “Standing around for hours in the hot sun while you did the royal wave does not sound like a fun time. Even if I would do anything for you.” Chanyeol coughs. “Because I’m forced to.”
It’s a nice enough room, minus the part where there’s only one bed. Kyungsoo curses underneath his breath, then louder. Fucking Junmyeon.
Chanyeol studies the bed. “So about our conversation from earlier.”
“When I said let’s take this inside, I meant let’s drop this forever,” Kyungsoo says. “But okay. Fine. It’s unavoidable because there’s only one fucking bed. Go for it.”
Chanyeol sits down and says, “Once I get married… Do you think… Do you think I’ll get assigned another guard? And you’ll have to stay behind in Rayelle?” He pouts. “My sister likes you. Maybe you’ll be with her from then on.”
“You’re this worried about me not following you to Luné?” Kyungsoo asks. He takes a seat next to Chanyeol, watching his hands. There’s the ring Kyungsoo had made him for his ninth birthday sitting on his pinky; his hands had grown and his ring finger is no longer small enough for it. It’s not even a pretty ring. He’d been eight-going-on-nine when he’d made it, out of twisted metal scraps and a green runestone he’d dug out of the muddy ground of the royal gardens after a day of long rain. Kyungsoo has no idea why Chanyeol’s still wearing it.
“Well,” Chanyeol says, “yeah. I’ve always had you.”
On Chanyeol’s other pinky is the faint markings of the royal signet ring, which he’d taken off for the trip. Also on his left hand is the betrothal ring, which had been shipped from Luné along with a note that Chanyeol had also ordered Kyungsoo to read aloud.
Kyungsoo says, “I don’t know why you’re so worried about getting married. My parents always used to tell me it was like no different than being unmarried and with someone. You just had a certificate under your names. Maybe some tax cuts. You don’t need tax cuts.”
“Don’t you think,” Chanyeol says, “that it would be different for someone in my situation?”
The curtains are drawn wide open, letting the last of the smoky sunset in, bars of pale gold and orange. Kyungsoo gets up to close them, putting a few feet of distance between him and Chanyeol.
“No,” he says. “No, I don’t. It’s not like you’ll become king as soon as the wedding’s over. First few years are for you two to get used to each other so when you’re ruling a kingdom you’re not trying to bite each other’s heads off. Unless that’s what you’re into.” He crosses his arms. “You know all this, Chanyeol. And I get that you’re freaking out about all of it, but I’m not going to vanish into thin air when you make your vows. It’s not a ‘you always had me’ type situation, because you’ll still have me.”
Chanyeol doesn’t respond.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says. “Chanyeol.” He looks up. “You’ll always have me. Understand?” Silence. “For fuck’s sake, can you say something so I’m not standing here looking stupid?”
“I’m not…” Chanyeol stands, shaking a little. “I’m not married yet. Not yet.” He takes off his betrothal ring and holds that hand out. “Do you understand?”
“Fuck,” says Kyungsoo. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He strides forward, Chanyeol’s outstretched hand automatically settling, firm, on his hip as he pulls him down by the hair. Their mouths meet so hard Kyungsoo can feel the click of their teeth against each other. Kissing Chanyeol is always an adventure in itself; for one, there’s the whole height thing. For another, Chanyeol’s a toucher — his fingers go everywhere: tracing the edge of Kyungsoo’s jaw, thumbs pressing against the skin by Kyungsoo’s navel, down the front of Kyungsoo’s fucking pants.
“Can you just take them off,” he grumbles, too busy sucking a hickey into the side of Chanyeol’s neck to do it himself.
“Nnnf,” Chanyeol replies. That’s Chanyeol-getting-fucked speech for yeah of course , and sure enough Chanyeol’s hands are trying to undo the buttons of Kyungsoo’s pants, shaking a little in his eagerness. “Kyungsoo…”
“Slow down,” Kyungsoo murmurs. There’s dots of red blooming down Chanyeol’s jaw and collarbone, a map of where Kyungsoo’s teeth have been. “I’m right here. There’s no need to rush.”
“Off,” Chanyeol insists, and Kyungsoo stills enough that he can pull his shirt over his head. Chanyeol flicks one of Kyungsoo’s nipples with his thumb; Kyungsoo’s eye twitches. “You’re so pretty, Kyungsoo. So pretty.”
“Don’t say that,” Kyungsoo says roughly.
“Why not?” Chanyeol wraps his hand around Kyungsoo’s dick. “You are pretty, Soo.”
There are certain specific things — Chanyeol does a little twisty thing with his wrist that makes Kyungsoo hiss — there are certain specific things Kyungsoo really likes about Chanyeol. He likes Chanyeol’s hands, pretty and rough and a thousand times bigger than his. He likes the ugly as shit face Chanyeol makes when he comes. He likes the way Chanyeol chokes his name out around a moan when he’s getting fucked silly and Kyungsoo reaches over just a little to yank his hair back. He likes the way Chanyeol bounces on his dick with his head tipped back and his thighs clenched.
But — overall. Overall, Kyungsoo decides, he doesn’t much like Chanyeol at all.
They’re only about fifteen minutes away from Lyle when the car breaks down, on the highway under the blazing sun. There’s not even a hint of breeze, and when the air conditioner switches off Kyungsoo feels like he’s been plunged into the pits of hell.
Chanyeol scowls. “I thought we just filled the tank.”
“You thought right,” Kyungsoo. “The shit I need to get done, I get done. I don’t think—”
The smell hits them first. It had only been once, a while ago, when he’d been on his way to Luné, that he’d come across Stingers, but he’s never forgotten the way they reeked — like they were an amalgamation of rotten meat and piss. It’s that same smell settling over them now.
“Oh,” Kyungsoo says softly, “Fuck.”
“What…” Chanyeol has a look of disgust on his face, but it quickly morphs into alarm when Kyungsoo pops the trunk and begins pulling out his double-edged blade. “Kyungsoo?”
“Stingers,” Kyungsoo says, tossing him a shotgun. “Hope your aim’s still good.”
“Why do they smell like… that?”
Kyungsoo shrugs. “They kill, let their prey sit until it’s half-rotten, and then eat it. It’s disgusting. But they’re attracted to pleasant smells, I guess.”
“So this is your fault,” Chanyeol says, and Kyungsoo slams the trunk door shut.
“Shut up and keep your eyes peeled,” Kyungsoo says. “Stingers are nasty sons of bitches.”
There’s a slight rattling noise behind them, and they both whirl to see a fuckton of them creating a nearby hill. Stingers look as nasty as they smell — like giant armored scorpions with giant armored tails. You get stabbed through with one and you’re over with.
“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says, faint, “we are so utterly fucking screwed.”
“It’s not over until you’re coughing up blood,” Kyungsoo replies. “And not even then. Aim for the space between their eyes.”
With that, he takes off, running at the Stingers despite Chanyeol’s vehement protests. There’s twelve of them; if he can at least down four — He stumbles backwards as the head of the one right in front of him explodes into a mess of stink and blood. When he looks back, Chanyeol waves.
He wades through two more of them before the rumbling sound of a motorcycle sneaks in through his senses, growing louder and louder. Kyungsoo yanks his blade out of a Stinger and looks to see a lone figure racing toward them on a bike.
“Who the hell is that?” Chanyeol calls.
“How am I supposed to know?” Kyungsoo says, ducking as one of the Stinger’s tails passes a hair too close to his head.
He watches in awe as the helmeted rider brings the motorcycle to an abrupt stop and pulls out a fucking bow , nocks an arrow — and proceeds to nail at least five Stingers in the head in rapid succession. Kyungsoo’s both a little scared and horny.
Kyungsoo pivots and takes the last one out, but he’s kind of more focused on the fact that they had a savior on a black horse come riding out of nowhere. When he gets back to the car, he sees Chanyeol fist bumping the mystery person. Is this the world he lives in?
“Saved your asses,” the guy says. “You’re welcome.” He laughs a little; it’s the laugh of a child. He’s still wearing his helmet.
“Who…” Kyungsoo gestures at his head. “Who are you?”
Time doesn’t slow down as the man reaches for his helmet, but part of Kyungsoo thinks it should have. The face that’s revealed is definitely Lunéan; there’s the slight point to his ears, the odd blue-purple color of his eyes, the rune tattoos trailing out of his collar. He’s ridiculously pretty, and something about him is familiar to Kyungsoo, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“I’m Boxian,” he says. “You both should be more careful.”
“You’re Lunéan,” Kyungsoo says. “What are you doing in Rayelle?”
“Do you know the prince?” Chanyeol blurts. Kyungsoo elbows him in the stomach.
Boxian laughs a little. “I’m actually just on my way back to Luné. Looks like you guys are going the same direction.” His eyes crinkle. “As for the prince, yeah, I’ve… met him once or twice, but…” He flaps a hand near his face, indicating the veils, and Chanyeol nods solemnly.
“Well,” Kyungsoo begins awkwardly, “thanks for—”
“You should come with us,” Chanyeol says. “Since we’re both headed to Luné anyway.”
“Chan yeol ,” hisses Kyungsoo.
“No, don’t ‘Chanyeol’ me,” he gets in response. “I’m your—” He stops abruptly. “I think… I think we should join forces, you know. Maybe we could help keep each other safe.”
Kyungsoo’s not stupid (mostly). He also knows Chanyeol better than pretty much everyone in the entire kingdom, so he knows that the biggest reason Boxian is getting invited to come along with them is so that Chanyeol can grill him for information about Luné. He squints at Boxian. The poor guy; he has no idea what he’s getting into.
If he decides to get into it. Normally, Kyungsoo would think a person the dumbest individual to walk the land if they just willingly got into a car with two strangers that had a sword and a gun in their hands, but it looks like Boxian knows how to take care of himself.
“Sure,” Boxian says, looking up from where he was studying Chanyeol’s left hand with his brows slightly furrowed. “I’d love to come along with you guys. Let me just…” He runs a thumb down the side of his bow and it folds in on himself, becoming nothing more than a small cylinder that he clips to his belt. Even more cool is the motorcycle, which he folds until it’s the size of one of their car’s tires. Luné and their tech. “What are your names, by the way?”
“I’m…” Kyungsoo can see the panic in Chanyeol’s eyes. “My name… is, uh, Jin. That’s Kyungsoo.”
“Right,” Boxian says, eyes twinkling. “Now… your car?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I can fix it. I’m not completely useless.”
“Jin?” Kyungsoo whispers, sneaking a glance at Boxian to make sure he can’t overhear the two of them. He and Chanyeol are currently bumping heads over the open hood of the car as Chanyeol does some mechanic shit that goes right over his head. Boxian is sitting off to the side reading the map and muttering continuously under his breath. “Like… peach tarts Jin? Really?”
“Shut up,” Chanyeol says. The muscles of his arms are taut, sweat-slicked. Kyungsoo wants to punch him. “It was the first name that popped into my head.”
“Yeol,” Kyungsoo says, “what exactly do you think you’re doing? Inviting someone we barely know to come with us? What if… what if he's a serial killer from Luné? Are you really willing to risk our lives for some information about a prince you’ll meet in a few days? Especially from someone who’s never actually seen his face?”
“You’re being dramatic,” Chanyeol replies, and okay, so, maybe he’s right. “He saved our lives, Kyungsoo. If he wanted us dead, why wouldn’t he have just let the Stingers kill us? Besides, he said he met the prince. Not just saw him. So maybe he knows something about his personality or whatever.”
“Chanyeol—”
“No,” Chanyeol says, looking rather irritated. “I don’t think you understand, Kyungsoo. This is my whole future on the line, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that.”
Damn it. He’s right again. “Fine,” Kyungsoo says. “Okay. But if you wake up in the middle of the night and your throat has been slit, I will say I told you so.” Chanyeol doesn’t smile. “Don’t be… don’t be mad at me, okay? I’m just trying to look out for you. It’s my job.”
“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Whatever.”
Kyungsoo may hate Chanyeol, but he hates it even more when Chanyeol is angry at him. Maybe he needs some space. Kyungsoo can get pushy, he knows this, so maybe Chanyeol just needs some time away from him and his nagging.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says quietly, and Chanyeol looks like he’s about to say something. Kyungsoo walks away before either of them feel even shittier.
He navigates, as usual, and Boxian sits in the back and watches the scenery pass by in silence. It’s strange having an extra person in the car. The atmosphere of easy familiarity that had surrounded them at first is gone now, and all Kyungsoo can think about it is the look on Chanyeol’s face when he’d said his marriage was his whole future.
“So, Boxian,” Chanyeol says. His hands are clenched on the wheel. “You said you’d met the prince?”
There’s a faint look of amusement on Boxian’s face when he says, “Yeah, a couple times. Why?”
“I’m… curious,” Chanyeol says, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror. “Because, you know… because we’re going to Luné.”
“Why are you going to Luné?”
“Why are you in Rayelle?” Kyungsoo asks.
Boxian tilts his head, smiling. “Fair.” He starts picking at the bracelet on his right wrist when he says, “The prince is… irresponsible. A child, really. There’s a lot of talk about how naïve he is — he has a good heart but people with good hearts don’t make good kings.”
Odd , Kyungsoo thinks. Chanyeol had made it seem like everyone only had good things to say about the prince.
“That’s not true,” Chanyeol says. “It’s not. My — the king of Rayelle, I mean, he’s both.”
“The king of Rayelle is a fool,” Boxian says, steely. “Marrying his son to Luné’s prince will be nothing more than a bandaid on a gaping wound.”
It almost weirdly echoes something Chanyeol himself had said to Kyungsoo earlier. Rayelle and Luné were polar opposites; one worshipped the sun, the other was moon-born. They were too different to even think about joining.
But now Chanyeol says, “I don’t think of it like that. It’s not a wound but a chasm, and the marriage is the bridge built between the two. It may be a little shaky — a lot shaky — at first but as time passes, it will strengthen, and perhaps be joined by more.”
Boxian is silent. When Kyungsoo sneaks a glance at him, he’s giving Chanyeol an appraising look, almost like he’s looking at him in a whole new light. It seems Chanyeol’s doing what Kyungsoo’s been urging him to do for the past few months — accepting the whole marriage-for-unity situation — and Kyungsoo is left sitting there with a sinking feeling in his gut.
Chanyeol carries a deck of cards with him wherever he goes, but tonight he abandons it in favor of emptying a beer bottle, holding it up, and announcing that they’re about to play “Spin the Truth or Truth.”
“It’s a dumb game that Chanyeol really likes,” Kyungsoo explains to Boxian. “It’s basically Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare mixed, except you can only pick Truth.”
“Sounds fun,” Boxian says. Chanyeol gives him an evil little smile. “But should I be worried?”
“Not if you don’t have anything to hide,” Chanyeol replies, smirking.
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Nah. You can skip any questions too personal to answer, and… Jin… just wants to know what kind of music you like.”
“Metallica,” Boxian says.
“Really?”
“No.” Boxian snorts. “I like ballads. Preferably ones with piano in the background.”
“Jin can play the piano,” Kyungsoo says. “He plays for me sometimes.” He has no idea why he feels so… defensive over Chanyeol. Sure, it’s his job to protect him, but it’s not his job to be this obnoxious.
“That’s cool,” Boxian says brightly. “Maybe you can play for me, too, one day.”
Kyungsoo flushes. That is not what he intended to do. Did Chanyeol really have to invite this guy along? This fucking Lunéan with a stupidly pretty face and stupidly pretty fingers?
“Sure,” Chanyeol says, glancing at Kyungsoo. “Let’s play.”
The first time Kyungsoo had ever played Spin the Truth or Truth had been when they were nine. Chanyeol had been wandering the castle, as he had been apt to do at that age, and found an empty bottle somewhere — he’d never told Kyungsoo where exactly — and run back to Kyungsoo like it was some kind of key.
“We have to trust each other,” Chanyeol had told him solemnly. He’d been different then, all big-eyed and serious and walking around like he already had the worries of the kingdom on his shoulders, before he’d grown and the cynicism had set in.
The bottle lands on Kyungsoo. Of fucking course.
Boxian looks entirely too pleased, in Kyungsoo’s opinion. “Ooh, nice. Are you two together?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, at the same time that Chanyeol says, “No.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. Kyungsoo looks everywhere but at Chanyeol.
“What Kyungsoo means,” Chanyeol says, “is that we’re not actually together. Not really.”
“Yeah, that,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “I just test-run condoms with him sometimes.”
Boxian snorts in a breath. “Got you. Next round?”
Why do you care? Kyungsoo wonders as he spins the bottle. Boxian’s favorite color is yellow, but pink is a close second. He can play the piano too. His favorite place in Luné is the Shadow Fountain, the one that plays a light show every night under the stark light of the moon.
Kyungsoo already knows everything about Chanyeol that there is to know — or so he’s thought. Maybe that’s not so true anymore.
They make the collective decision to delay reaching Luné for a day so they can participate in the Sunfire festival. Boxian, especially, is excited.
“We celebrate the sun goddess, Rhea,” Chanyeol explains. “She gave this land its bounty and its beauty.”
“What bounty?” Boxian says. Then, “Oops. That sounded mean.”
Chanyeol shrugs. “Okay, so we’re not known for our agricultural merits. But we’re rich in other ways. And we make some amazing Dragon Soup.”
“What’s that?”
“The hottest — and most delicious — thing you’ll ever taste in your entire Lunéan life,” Chanyeol answers.
“Oh,” Boxian mutters. “Um. I don’t really love spicy food.”
“Neither does he,” Kyungsoo says, pointing a thumb at Chanyeol. “He gets his soup triple extra mild.”
Chanyeol says, “Fuck off.”
They’re in Wahlen, the town closest to the Rayelle-Luné border. It’s bursting at the seams with decorations, from red-gold banners to balloons the colors of the Rayelle’s sunsets. Kyungsoo, as the patriotic soul he has to be, would never admit it out loud… but he absolutely hates the Sunfire Festival. It’s too many people making too many bad decisions all at once.
Including Chanyeol, who’d slipped away from him while his back was turned as he was pointing something out to Boxian. Sure, they’d decided on a meeting point at the inn on the furthest outskirts of town, but that was in case Boxian wanted to wander. Chanyeol wasn’t supposed to fucking do that. He’s Kyungsoo’s responsibility. What if he got kidnapped by some mind-reading assassin slash bounty hunter on the lookout for the crown prince? What was he supposed to tell the king then?
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Boxian says, and Kyungsoo wonders for a brief second whether Lunéans are now telepathic. “Please, your worry is showing all over your face. Jin is a grown man. He can take care of himself, without his not-boyfriend hanging around him like a shadow.”
He hates being read, and right now Boxian is acting as though he is a book open to the Chanyeol section. List of people Kyungsoo will one day have to fight: 1. Chanyeol. 2. Boxian.
“Totally,” Kyungsoo says. “Right. Let’s get you some Dragon Soup. Do you want it triple extra mild as well?”
Boxian’s eyes twinkle. “That would be lovely.”
As expected, it’s a hit. They sit at one of the picnic tables set up around the fringes of the festival and talk about everything and anything that isn’t Chanyeol. Boxian asks him what he does, and he answers, “I’m a florist. Jin runs a tattoo parlor across from me. I know, it’s very cliché.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Boxian says, and Kyungsoo realizes that he’s made a mistake. “How long have the two of you been not-dating? This is delicious, by the way. I’ll have to visit more often.” He smiles after he says that, like he’s privy to a joke Kyungsoo is not.
“Um,” Kyungsoo says. “About two years, now.”
Boxian’s eyebrows raise. “Two years of riding the friends with benefits wave? And you’re still going? That’s pretty impressive.”
“We’re not friends,” Kyungsoo responds. It’s automatic at this point. How many times has he said it to Chanyeol?
“You’re… not?”
“No, we just… we’re not…” He runs out of words to say and puts his head in his hands. “Oh no.”
Boxian is looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and pity that makes him itch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, or to upset you.”
Kyungsoo holds up a hand. “No, I think it’s important that I hash this out instead of letting it fester. Especially since… Jin… doesn’t seem too keen with talking to me at the moment.” He pauses. “Or being around me at all, apparently.”
Boxian’s gaze is steady. “We may not know each other all that well, but you’re welcome to use me as a sounding board,” he says. “An impartial third party may be helpful.”
“Jin,” Kyungsoo begins carefully, “and I, we grew up together. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t a part of my life. Two years ago, we were still friends, and that’s when he came to me and asked if I wanted to add sex into our relationship. His duties… they were increasing in scale, and he was feeling more and more pressured. He wanted an outlet that wasn’t self-destructive.”
“Was he taking over his daddy’s business or something?”
Kyungsoo smiles. “Something like that. Anyway, I said yes, obviously. We were… very close. I figured our friendship could withstand it.” He taps his fingers on the surface of the table, staring at the rim of Boxian’s soup bowl. “And for a while, it did. For a while, there was no problem whatsoever.”
“Instead of… I don’t know, painting, he thought of sex?” Boxian says. He tilts his head. “Honestly, man like you, I don’t blame him.”
To his annoyance, he blushes. “After a while, we just started… drifting. Soon our relationship focused more on the physical instead of everything else; the distance between us kept widening and now… now we’re here. I’m not sure where we went wrong.” He takes a shaky breath. “Maybe I was too demanding of him. He’s going through a lot.”
“I don’t think that’s what your problem is,” Boxian says, shrugging. “You have feelings for him, don’t you.” It’s not a question.
“I… I…” Kyungsoo gapes. “Our relationship is strictly non-romantic.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Boxian replies mildly, even though he hadn’t really asked anything at all.
Does he have feelings for Chanyeol? Yeah, lots of them. Angry ones. Hurt ones. Ones that make him want to yell at him until he listens . And underlying it all, he’s fucking in love with him, okay? The fact that he’s promised to another person and that the marriage is necessary for the union of their two countries be damned. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said that Chanyeol would always have him. He would have him until he decided he no longer wanted him, and Kyungsoo’s scared that that’s exactly what’s happening.
Kyungsoo, in all of his irritation (mostly at himself), fucks Chanyeol into next week, until Chanyeol is writhing underneath him, gasping with the desperation of needing to orgasm. When they’re done, Kyungsoo’s back is stinging, raw with the lines Chanyeol’s scored into his back with his nails.
Chanyeol is usually more receptive to talking after he’s been dicked down, so Kyungsoo gives it another shot. “Hey, did you…”
“I don’t want to talk, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says, shifting so his back is facing Kyungsoo. He sounds bone tired. Tired of Kyungsoo. “Not tonight.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to respond to this. His brain scrambles, trying to figure out where he went wrong in the past few weeks. Chanyeol’s never shut him out like this. They’ve had their fair share of arguments, but this… this lack of contact? It scares the shit out of him.
But what is he supposed to do? Pushing further will just make Chanyeol more angry with him. Hesitant, he reaches over to lay a hand on Chanyeol’s arm. Chanyeol doesn’t move, but he doesn’t tense up or yell at Kyungsoo to get his hands off him either, so Kyungsoo tips his head forward and presses a kiss to the scar on Chanyeol’s back.
“Good night,” he whispers. There’s no response.
Kyungsoo takes what is probably too much comfort in the fact that Chanyeol is still not wearing his betrothal ring. Someday — before the wedding, or Kyungsoo will hate himself forever — he’s going to have to face up to the fact that he doesn’t hate Chanyeol at all.
They cross into Luné that afternoon. They stop the car to step out at Boxian’s request. In the crisp Luné air, Boxian visibly eases, and Kyungsoo is not surprised; he looks at home surrounded by the boneflowers that are as pale silver as his hair. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo had shrugged on their coats right before they’d crossed, and a good thing too, because the change in temperature was noticeable.
Boxian tips his head back, inhaling deeply. “This is good.” He smiles at the two of them. “Rayelle was gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I do love being home.”
“Back to your responsibilities, huh?” Chanyeol says, clearly thinking about his own, but Boxian’s smile falters.
“Yes,” he says, mouth flat. “And they are pressing ones indeed. Let’s go.”
Kyungsoo wonders what responsibilities Boxian has. He hasn’t exactly been open with them, but to be fair, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol have similarly withheld information. Something about Boxian’s manner does seem familiar to Kyungsoo, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“You were right,” Chanyeol says, as the first snow appears dusted on the ground. “Luné really is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Boxian says, mouth quirked in a smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Look at you being patriotic,” Chanyeol says lightly. “In all seriousness, I love this place. This is a great first impression. That’s important.”
“Why so?”
“He’s just anal about things being pretty,” Kyungsoo says quickly, afraid that it’ll quickly become obvious that Chanyeol’s hiding something. “He’s really into interior decorating for whatever reason, you know? You should see his—”
“Please, Kyungsoo, you’re not my babysitter,” Chanyeol snaps. “You don’t have to speak for me.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t think he’s ever cried in the presence of Chanyeol, but this definitely is the closest he’s ever been. He presses his lips so tightly together his jaw hurts, and when he meets Boxian’s eyes in the rearview mirror he gets that same sickening blend of pity and sympathy.
“Sorry,” he mutters, licking his lips. He’s aware of Chanyeol’s eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes firmly on the road.
His ears, he thinks dimly. They’re probably burning. Don’t cry, Kyungsoo. You and Chanyeol don’t owe each other anything.
“When I was nine,” Boxian says suddenly, “I ran away from home. I was tired of Luné, tired of constantly being cold. I was also tired of being constantly pampered, which, in hindsight, is a horrible reason to run away. But I felt stifled. Even at that age, I had been told all my life that there was a certain way I had to conduct myself. I have grown into that role now, and I understand the necessity of it, but at nine years old it felt as though I had the least amount of control over my own life.” He smiles wryly. “I wasn’t wrong.”
Chanyeol is rapt. Kyungsoo can only imagine how much he relates to Boxian’s story, but he gets the feeling Boxian is telling it more for Kyungsoo’s sake.
“It was just as night started to fall that my… family ‘discovered’ me,” Boxian continues. “It turns out they had been fully aware of my movements the entire time. I hadn’t escaped them at all.” He gazes out the window of the car, eyes distant. “You can’t outrun your responsibilities. You can’t outrun your relationships. It only comes to bite you in the ass if you try. At some point, you’ll face the music.” He smiles, seriousness suddenly dissipating. “I wasn’t a very intelligent kid. Not sure I outgrew it.”
Maybe Kyungsoo does owe Chanyeol something. An explanation. An admission. A choice.
“I don’t know why you came to Luné.” Boxian has a look in his eyes. It’s the look of a man accustomed to power. It’s the look of a man who knows how to wield it. “But I hope you find what you are looking for, and that you mend what is broken before it becomes impossible to fix.”
When they wake up the next morning, Boxian is gone.
“Where’d he go?” Chanyeol says, eyes still sleep-thick. The motorcycle is missing from the trunk of their car as well. “What the fuck?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kyungsoo says. “It doesn’t look like he took anything that wasn’t his, and we’re half a day’s drive from the capital.” He swallows. “I think it’s time to put your ring back on.”
Chanyeol stares at him for a moment before stalking back in their room. Kyungsoo follows him.
“Is this what you want?” Chanyeol asks suddenly. The ring glints in the palm of his hand. “Tell me honestly.”
“Why are you asking me what I want? Why now?”
For a moment, Chanyeol doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes, sinking down onto the bed. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday. It was wrong of me to do. You were just trying to protect me.” He smiles. Kyungsoo hates this smile. “After all, it’s your job. Bodyguard, not friend.”
The silence that stretches between them is heavy with a thousand unsaid words. Chanyeol is looking at him, hair dark and eyes darker, like he’s expecting Kyungsoo to leave and never come back.
As if Kyungsoo could.
“Why are you so mad at me?” Kyungsoo says, hyper aware of how petulant he sounds. “What did I do wrong?” The way he’s hovering near the door is so awkward, but he doesn’t feel comfortable getting any closer to Chanyeol. They are, after all, two magnets turned like-side towards one another. When Kyungsoo moves forward, Chanyeol will take two steps back.
“Do you want me to be honest with you? Or do you want me to tell you the answer that you’re looking for?”
“And what if they’re the same thing?” Kyungsoo says.
Chanyeol rises, mouth set in anger. Disappointment. “You kept saying that I’m the person who gave you mixed signals. Don’t get me wrong, you were absolutely correct, but did you really not realize that you were doing the same thing?”
Kyungsoo’s back is against the wall, Chanyeol only a few feet away from him. It’s too close. It’s too far.
“What do you mean?” Kyungsoo says, mouth dry. “Haven’t I been clear to you this entire time? The terms of our relationship haven’t changed just because your wedding is right around the corner. You and I have both said it: you aren’t married yet. I’m willing to have sex with you up until you are, Chanyeol, or until you decide you no longer want this.”
“I will tell you what I want,” Chanyeol says. Suddenly, his fingers are closed around Kyungsoo’s wrist, and he drops the ring into Kyungsoo’s palm. “I will tell you, right now, what I expect from you. I want you. I want you to want me the same way. I expect from you to return my feelings, because I already know you do. I know you, Kyungsoo, no matter how much you and I may pretend that we are not as familiar to each other as I am to the fact that I am promised to another, these truths cannot be changed.” Kyungsoo’s fingers close around the ring. A world of change and hurt, enclosed in his palm. “Could I live without you? Could I be king of two lands and pretend to love my husband without you? Yes. But it’s the absolute last thing I desire.”
“But… we can’t,” Kyungsoo whispers, even though his resolve is drained nearly to the ground. “What about… everything?”
“Forget everything, just this once, Kyungsoo. Stop worrying for me, just this once. I am the one with the crown on my head. Please.” Chanyeol puts a hand on his cheek, palm warm. Large. Familiar. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Kyungsoo says.
Chanyeol smiles faintly. “Then let me.” There are two points of contact instead of one now; Chanyeol’s palm still firmly against his face, his other hand on Kyungsoo’s waist. “You remember when I told you I hated you so goddamn much it felt like a fire within me? I meant it.” Kyungsoo closes his eyes. “I hate the way you make me want to put my heart before my country. I hate the way you are always looking out for me, cleaning up my messes and making sure I don’t make more. I hate that you are one of the biggest sources of my happiness, day in and day out, because where would I be without you?”
A hundred points, a thousand, instead of two. Chanyeol’s entire body is pressed against his and Kyungsoo is drinking his words in like he is a man dying of thirst. “I hate,” Chanyeol says, “most of all, Kyungsoo, I hate that you make me feel as though I were drowning in my emotions.”
“You love me,” Kyungsoo says. He opens his eyes.
“I love you,” Chanyeol says softly, nodding.
Kyungsoo’s not sure if it’s a good or bad decision to kiss Chanyeol, but it really doesn’t matter. He does it anyway. He kisses Chanyeol, sending them staggering a couple steps back, heart pounding. They’ve kissed so many times before, but this is different. This is real in a way the others were not.
“You love me,” Kyungsoo says again, awed, as Chanyeol pulls him into his lap.
“Yeah, Soo,” Chanyeol says, and Kyungsoo almost cries with the relief he feels at hearing his old nickname. “I’ll find a way to make this work, okay? I am the prince. My word does hold weight. We can have an alliance without a marriage.”
“Forget that,” Kyungsoo murmurs, kissing Chanyeol’s forehead. “For now, forget all of it. Just be here with me.”
They echo each other, Kyungsoo thinks as Chanyeol pulls him into the most tender kiss his lips have ever experienced. They push. They pull. They try their hardest but they fall right back into each other no matter what is in their way.
The two of them have been escorted into the palace by unsmiling guards. They sit for what feels like an hour, but is probably just ten minutes max, when Kyungsoo announces that he has to use the bathroom.
They follow him of course. Chanyeol watches him go, looking faintly bemused, probably unhappy to be left alone in this unfamiliar palace in this unfamiliar kingdom. It’s beautiful, though. Beautiful the way the rest of Luné is. Beautiful the way Boxian was.
Kyungsoo’s washing his hands when he overhears one of the guards saying, “I’m just glad the prince came back before these two showed up.”
“He’s a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?” the other one says with a touch of fondness. “To run away again?”
“At least he actually got away this time,” the first one replies, laughing. “Last time, he made it as far as the outer gardens, remember? His Majesty was waiting for him.”
“Oh, were you there?”
“I was indeed,” the first guard says importantly.
Kyungsoo tunes them out, remembering Boxian’s story. It’s not possible that…
Chanyeol is waiting for him when he gets back, head bowed. The ring is back in his hand. His knuckles are white. Kyungsoo settles back down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He leans into his touch for half a moment before straightening again.
“Please rise for His Highness, Prince Baekhyun of Luné,” says one of the guards, clearing his throat, and Chanyeol shoots to his feet, hands clenched. Kyungsoo follows, albeit much slower.
“I don’t think it’s necessary for this much formality around the man I’m promised to,” Prince Baekhyun is saying. Kyungsoo knows that voice, hidden as his mouth may be under the veil. “After all, we—” He breaks off as he notices the two of them. “Jin? Kyungsoo?”
Chanyeol looks like he can’t quite decide whether to be angry. “Boxian? You’re… Prince Baekhyun?”
Boxian — Baekhyun — lifts the veil. It’s him, all right. Slanted eyes and slanted lips, as though he’s perpetually amused. Hair the color of moonlight. The intricate tattoos. Pretty in an unearthly kind of way.
“Well,” he says. “This is awkward.”
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” Baekhyun says, “but to be fair, you lied to me as well. Wine?” They both decline. “A pity. We make wine here as well as you make soup.”
The wine looks like liquid gold. Baekhyun’s veil is lying, folded neatly, on the corner of the sofa. He’s firmly in his element, and Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are far out of theirs.
“I can’t marry you,” Chanyeol says suddenly. “I’m sorry.”
Baekhyun looks completely unconcerned. “I know. Seriously, have some wine. It will blow your mind.”
They both accept a glass.
“I hope you didn’t expect any resistance from me,” Baekhyun continues. “I’ll be direct with you: the reason I went to Rayelle was so that I could see you” — he raises his glass towards Chanyeol — “before the wedding. I had what I thought was no luck, but then I stumbled upon the two of you and your broken down car. I knew you were hiding something from me, but I must confess that I was not aware that you were, in fact, the exact man I was searching for.”
Kyungsoo takes a sip of the wine and almost drops his glass in shock. It truly is excellent, bursting with flavor and leaving a pleasant but not overwhelming aftertaste.
“Good, isn’t it?” Baekhyun says, grinning. “Anyway, it may not have been obvious to the two of you — although I do hope you managed to work it out the way I urged you to — but you, my friends, are in love. And the joining of our kingdoms is not so important that I would tear the two of you apart.”
“Doesn’t your father the King have any say in this?” Chanyeol asks, swirling the liquid in his glass. Kyungsoo puts a hand on his thigh.
“My father?” Baekhyun asks, brow raised. “He doesn’t care whether or not I get married. He just wants to see the union through.” He frowns. “When I said the king of Rayelle was a fool… I apologize for that. It was improper of me. I wasn’t fond of the idea of having to marry someone I knew next to nothing about, my duty to this country be damned.”
“Hear, hear,” Chanyeol says, mouth quirked.
“So now is the fun part; is that what you’re saying?” Kyungsoo asks. “You two figure out some way — a treaty or whatever — that doesn’t force you into holy matrimony?”
He can’t really quantify the amount of satisfaction he feels. They’d gotten lucky. He and Chanyeol had walked right into a solution, one that had been waiting for them with open arms.
“Who knows?” Baekhyun grins. “Maybe one day one of my kids will take a liking to one of your kids and the marriage will happen after all.” Kyungsoo snorts. “I’m not saying it will be easy. We still have to convince a whole lot of people about this. We have to come up with something good enough that we can make it a non-option.” He stands. “But if they don’t listen to us, then who will they listen to?”
“So,” Chanyeol says.
They’re finally alone again. Baekhyun had insisted on giving them a tour of the palace and the grounds, excited in a way that suited him just as much as playing the part of prince did. He’d ended the tour by showing them to their lavish room and telling them, quite suggestively, to enjoy their time together before dinner. Kyungsoo’s not about to deny him that, is he?
“So,” Kyungsoo says, spreading himself out comfortably on the bed. It’s large in a ridiculous manner.
“You never said it back, you know,” Chanyeol says, shifting so he’s lying half on top of Kyungsoo, held up only by his elbows.
“Said what back?”
“That you love me,” Chanyeol replies around a pout.
“Do I really need to say it?” Kyungsoo says, even though he already knows the answer. Of course he needs to say it. “Don’t I show it every day considering I put up with your irritating and heinously ugly self?”
“Fuck you,” Chanyeol says, grinning. “I’m beautiful.”
He lowers himself down to kiss Kyungsoo, sweet, and when he pulls away Kyungsoo looks him right in the eyes and says, “I love you, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol’s smile disappears. “I know,” he says quietly. There’s so much gravity in his gaze. “I know.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Kyungsoo whispers, tugging him back down. They fit, one on top of another, like they were always meant to be this way. And maybe they were.