Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mornings in the kingdom of Caelum are the most beautiful ones.

At least, that is the widespread belief with little to no objections.

By dawn, the sky above Caelum is dyed in dreamy shades of hues that change throughout the year. Iridescent roses are sprinkled with dew that make them even more brilliant than they were originally. Growing only in Caelum, the unique flowers perfume the air with their fragrance. Weaved into the refreshing scent of dew, the aroma is carried upon playful yet gentle breezes to the furthest corners of the kingdom. Through delicate ivory clouds, the soft rays of the sun envelope the kingdom’s inhabitants in a peaceful warmth. It works well in coaxing one from their bed, to fill one with spirit and energy for the day to come.

To Yanjun, however, mornings in the kingdom aren’t too different from the ones elsewhere. It isn’t something he mentions to many, if at all, considering that he is the prince of said kingdom. There is no fault in the mornings of Caelum.

In fact, they are beyond lovely.

The crisp air fills his bedchamber and sunlight is filtered through the wispy curtains that hang from tall windows. His bed is more comfortable than most in the kingdom, or even across the lands, and his sheets are silky and alluring to the touch. Still, if one has not slept well in weeks, a wonderful morning does not bring about the joy it usually would.

Barely a minute passes after he closes his eyes, unwanted images flash through the prince’s mind. The glare of sharp swords dulling under layers of blood, the weight from his weapons and his burning muscles that still were not able to protect all his comrades in battle.

Taking a sharp breath and then sighing dejectedly, Yanjun opens his eyes. It is always the same when he tries to sleep: the feeling of unrest, the faint hope that he just might fall asleep, the repeated nightmares, the heavy disappointment and the nibbling frustration.

Of course, he had tried to find a solution. Or rather, his advisor, Linong, had. Seeking out healers, alchemists, magicians — almost anyone noteworthy. Yanjun remembers the exact number of weeks spent in vain to regain his peaceful slumber. It reminds him of a meeting scheduled later in the day and Yanjun groans, wishing his train of thought had not brought him there.

At least then, it would not be a lie to tell Linong that he had forgotten.

A knock on his door causes his mood to sink further.

“Your Highness,” Linong’s voice from the other side of the door is as cheery as ever, “I know you’re awake. Come out soon or else I’ll barge in.”

Yanjun still his breathing, as if doing so would make his advisor leave.

“I’m not letting you run away this time, Yanjun.” Linong’s voice takes on a more serious tone, even opting to drop the formalities. Yanjun had never minded, considering the years the other had been under his service. He wasn’t one to put his authority on display even in private, anyway. “You have an hour,” Linong threatens, his voice suddenly cheery again.

Cheerily dangerous.

The prince recognizes that tone and knows better than to cross Linong at times like these. Groaning, Yanjun turns to bury his face in the soft pillow that does nothing to soothe his exhaustion or mood.

‘It’s been four years and eight people,’ he thinks in dismay, ‘yet here I am, sleep still eluding me.’ As much as he appreciated Linong’s efforts in finding someone to ease his troubles, the lack of success had only worked to diminish his hopes and joy.

“Is the new person as pretty as the last?” Yanjun asks, hoping to discourage Linong’s efforts. After the first four, the prince had made it his personal mission to chase away those who came to help — to make them leave by themselves instead of by his request. It was rather mean, but he had to channel his frustrations and disappointments somewhere. He had flirted with the previous healer, to the point where she could no longer concentrate  properly on her duties due to being so constantly flustered. In the end, admitting that her potions were not of much help, she had requested to be sent home. Yanjun still remembers the satisfaction that came with Linong’s exasperation.

To his surprise, Linong replies: “Yes, as pretty and perhaps many times cuter. In my opinion, at least.”

Upon hearing the answer, Yanjun’s mind kicks up a new set of plans on what he could do to get this one to leave. Of course, the first is to always make the other wait, hoping that the other’s patience would run thin and leave before Linong managed to drag Yanjun for a first meeting.

A dull pain halts his train of thoughts and he hisses softly, hearing a thunder rumble in response. The patter of rain soon resounds in the room, feeling Yanjun with a distant memory of him snuggling under the covers whenever it rained.

He loved sleeping when it rained.

So much that he would use the power that ran through his family’s bloodline to make it so, just so his afternoon naps would be that much better, so that he would sleep through nights with the sweetest dreams. His ancestors had always been dutiful in managing the weather of the kingdom, making sure that the citizens of Caelum had the best weather for their livelihood even though not many knew about the royal family’s power.

Now that Yanjun could no longer sleep, he had been less inclined to manipulate the weather, especially when it came to making it rain. After all, why bother if it only reminded him of a comfort that he could no longer indulge in?

Unfortunately, with the decline in Yanjun’s spirits, coupled with his exhaustion — his control over his powers had reduced tremendously. Manipulating the weather required a lot of focus and energy, regardless of whether it was a conscious or unconscious decision. His exhaustion led to the weather turning sour as his moods did, although very rarely.

His parents had tried undoing Yanjun’s unwanted influences, but it was even more exhausting than merely manipulating the weather naturally. Since a young age, Yanjun’s affinity with his power had been unusually strong. Even though he was quick to learn the ways of controlling the weather, his feelings would also affect his powers against his wishes.

Now that his powers had grown even stronger than that of his family’s, their attempts of undoing the results of his powers took heavier tolls.

With that thought in mind, Yanjun feels guilty and thinks that he should meet the newcomer who is set to help him — but that does not mean he couldn’t make the other wait just a tad bit longer.

♦

Longer is three days later, Yanjun thinks, as he moves silently through the palace corridors.

True to his word, Linong had barged in exactly an hour later, with a force that rivaled the unnerving cheeriness in his voice when he threatened Yanjun. However, Yanjun isn’t one to give in to threats and had slipped out the window and downwards, heading to the gardens at the back of the palace.

Yanjun remembers overhearing the kitchen crew mention that some kittens had wandered into the palace grounds and wonders if he would be able to find them. They could keep him company while he stalled for time.

As he wanders through the corridors around the palace’s rose garden, the prince is ever vigilant, checking around the corners to make sure Linong isn’t anywhere in sight before proceeding. He calls out for the kittens every now and then, hoping to attract them despite the sound of the downpour.

He loses track of how long he spends searching for the kittens and thinks that maybe his search would be in vain — not that he really minded. A tinge of guilt enters his thoughts but he dismisses it almost immediately. ‘I’m not the one who extended the invitation,’ he reasons with himself. ‘If they’re impatient, they definitely won’t succeed in finding a cure.’

The rain seems to beat down harder at that particular thought and Yanjun sighs, feeling more drained than ever. Wondering if he should sneak back into his room for a nap, he pauses when a mewl reaches his ears.

Turning around the corner, a smile tugs at the side of his lips when he sees a fluffy ball of white fur prancing about — but stops walking when he catches sight of something, someone , else along the verandah.

Sitting on the floor is a boy: crowned with chestnut-brown curls and donned in clothes that don’t seem to be from Caelum, his skin fair and his cheeks rosy. Even though Yanjun is watching from the side, he can make out the boy’s bright eyes.

Eyes that curve into alluring crescents as a few kittens circled him, some climbing onto his lap and then tumbling off. Mewling and cooing, the boy pats the kittens and rubs their chins, asking if they know how adorable and beautiful they are.

For the briefest moment, it is the exact question in Yanjun’s mind directed at the other — as he continued to watch the boy smiling and doting on the kittens. As his mood lightens, so does the rain. A frown appears on the boy’s face as the sound of raindrops lessen and he looks up, saddened.

Yanjun mirrors the other’s expression, frowning upon seeing the other’s disheartened expression and the rain returns to its earlier state of deluge. The boy smiles at the change, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath, the kittens forgotten as they continue frolicking around him.

A silver of peace settles upon Yanjun again at the sight.

Dissatisfied at being ignored, a kitten nips at the youth’s finger. He yelps, his voice resounding bright and clear through the corridor, and stands up abruptly. Most of the kittens linger around him still, but the one that had bitten him makes its escape, running towards Yanjun’s direction.

The prince’s gaze locks onto the kitten and nothing else. Not because he has been searching for it since a while ago, but because he feels a certain hesitance at meeting the boy’s gaze. Yanjun is one to be wary of strangers, but it isn’t his usual apprehension this time: perhaps because he isn’t in the best of moods and doesn’t want to intimidate the other, or perhaps he thinks the other’s gaze might overwhelm him.

However, he soon finds his answer.

When the other notices him and exclaims in surprise — their gazes meet, the other’s eyes pure and bright, and the prince is immediately overwhelmed.

And filled with a sudden dismay that the other might turn to leave.

“Good day,” the other greets. Instinctively, Yanjun argues in his mind that it isn’t much of a good day. However, he holds his tongue when the other smiles at him. Presented with an unobstructed view of the boy’s face: from the sincerity in his eyes to his button-nose, his rosy cheeks and to his bunny teeth — the prince finds himself caught between a dilemma of wanting to study the other and not wanting to stare.

Under his intense gaze and unnerving silence, the boy bites his lower lip and his cheeks grow even more flushed. Yanjun has always known himself to be rather intimidating, but it had never bothered him, especially when he had to deal with matters of war at a young age. Now, however, he feels slightly guilty.

Before he succeeds in coming up with something, anything to say to dispel the awkward silence, the other speaks again.

“I’m sorry if I’m trespassing,” he begins softly and carefully, “I’m a visitor and I got lost while trying to find my way around...”

“A visitor?” Yanjun tries to not sound too interested.

“Yes, I’m - ah, where are my manners!” The boy bows in apology before introducing himself as You Zhangjing. “I’m here upon Advisor Chen’s invitation.”

Yanjun immediately realizes who Zhangjing is and laughs inwardly at the irony of trying to delay meeting the other. He feels a slight regret at not being able to use the sarcastic lines he had prepared to say upon meeting his visitor, but wonders if he would actually be able to say them now as the boy looks at him — eyes ever-bright and filled with a generous dose of curiosity and expectation.

“What are you visiting for?” Yanjun asks after a while, thinking he might say something completely unwarranted if he continued to stare into the other’s eyes. He is used to being the one who charmed and left others dumbstruck, not the other way around.

“I… I’m not sure if I’m supposed to mention it...” Zhangjing lowers his gaze.

“You’re here to help the prince, aren’t you?” Yanjun replies, reminded that those who know of Linong’s efforts are usually sworn to secrecy. Zhangjing’s silence affirms his guess.

“Why?” Yanjun steps slightly closer, interested to see if there is greed or pretense in the other’s eyes when he answered. “Is it for money? Fame, perhaps?”

He finds none.

Not when Zhangjing answers with a soft but sure ‘yes’. “Times are bad and everyone is working hard just to make ends meet. Of course I’d like to provide for my family. And fame, well, if it meant more people approaching me after, that would mean I won’t have to worry about my family starving.”

“How honest of you,” Yanjun comments, because he means it. It isn’t that the past eight have been completely dishonest, but none of them had admitted up front to Yanjun’s question when he had asked. The prince wonders if it is because Zhangjing has no idea who exactly it is that he is talking to.

“I sincerely want to help him too, though,” Zhangjing adds, still speaking in that soft tone of his, as if Yanjun is another kitten he doesn’t want to scare away.

“You don’t even know him,” the prince tries not to sound too condescending.

Zhangjing lets out a little chuckle. “Does that mean you’re someone who thinks that one should only help those they know?”

“I’m someone who has a hard time believing in the good of humanity,” Yanjun states flatly. “It’s easier, and usually that is the case, to believe that people do things for their own benefit.”

“If you want to put it like that,” the other shrugs. “I’ve just been told that the prince has never slept well in the past four years and I don’t think anyone should be robbed of sleep like that.”

“Why?” This time, Yanjun asks because he is truly just curious.

“Because I’ve been in a similar situation.” Upon hearing Zhangjing’s answer, albeit short, Yanjun feels slightly less apprehensive of the other’s motives.

“Been in? So you sleep well now?”

Zhangjing’s lips pull into a weak smile before he shifts his gaze out towards the falling rain. “At least five hours without dreams. I think it’s better than being plagued by nightmares as soon as I fall asleep.”

Yanjun agrees but doesn’t say it out loud, letting the sound of falling rain settle between them. Part of him wants to have it — that five hours of dreamless sleep, but another part of him reminds him to not have his hopes up.

“It rains a lot here in Caelum, right?” Zhangjing asks suddenly, walking nearer towards the outskirts of the verandah. He reaches out to let raindrops fall into his open palm. “Rain is rare where I come from, but it’s so wonderful . In fact, to add on to earlier,” Zhangjing sticks out his tongue and looks guilty for one second before continuing, “it’s one of the other reasons I decided to come here.”

It isn’t something Yanjun hasn’t heard.

Along with their unique roses, the weather in Caelum is often praised, especially by visitors of the palace. Despite having heard the compliment a thousand times, phrased in a hundred different ways — Yanjun can’t help but smile at the other’s words.

Perhaps it is the unguarded smile on Zhangjing’s face, or the fact that he stuck out his tongue right before admitting to the fact. Perhaps it is the way he said it: giddy and playful with a tinge of secrecy, or perhaps Yanjun is just taken by how fresh the other looks, his entire being brimming with an energy that Yanjun yearned for.

“You like rain?” Yanjun asks, feeling slightly regretful for not wording his question more eloquently.

“It’s wonderful,” Zhangjing repeats, “I love it.”

For the first time in a few years — all thanks to an almost-stranger’s sincere confession of love for rain — Yanjun feels proud of his ability to control the weather. The sudden swell of pride comes with a spark of joy and the prince finds himself asking if Zhangjing has seen snow before, to which Zhangjing shakes his head. “I hope to, though! Does it snow in Caelum too?”

“If you’re around for the Winter Feast, you’ll definitely be able to see it snow,” Yanjun replies, feeling a smile tug at the side of his lips when Zhangjing’s eyes glimmer in anticipation upon hearing his words.

“When is the Winter Feast?”

“At the end of the year,” Yanjun states, then counts. “About nine more months.”

“I hope I’ll be here to see the snow,” Zhangjing muses out loud. “But what is the Winter Feast? Is there a lot of eating involved?”

Yanjun chuckles when he catches sight of Zhangjing licking his lips, and nods. “It’s a festive celebration of many sorts, so yes, there’s definitely a lot of eating involved.”

Upon seeing the glint of amusement in Yanjun’s eyes, Zhangjing laughs in slight embarrassment. “I mean, it is a feast after all,” the prince finds himself saying, as if to lessen the other’s bashfulness, “you’re not wrong to look forward to the banquet.”

Zhangjing responds with a smile of appreciation and exclaims suddenly. “The rain’s stopping,” he points out, looking slightly dejected.

“Indeed it is,” Yanjun replies. He feels a small urge to continue the downpour, but also feels physically drained and does not bother. Even though he is laden with fatigue, his mind feels refreshed — no doubt thanks to the person he had just met.

As Zhangjing gazes at the last remnants of the rain in a daze, Yanjun clears his throat. “I should get going now.”

A gasp of surprise escapes the other’s lips upon hearing him take his leave and Zhangjing bows. “I’m sorry for keeping you! I didn’t even ask for your name…”

Yanjun smirks, glad to finally be able to introduce himself.

“I’m Lin Yanjun, prince of Caelum. I look forward to being under your care, You Zhangjing.”

Chapter Text

Yanjun is out of bed before the sun rises the next morning. In fact, he had not bothered trying to sleep the night before. Despite his usual exhaustion — his mind had been completely filled with a rare buzz of anticipation.

Pacing across the polished wooden floors of his bedchamber, his mind replays events of the day before: from the meeting with Zhangjing to the look of surprise on the other’s face when he finally introduced himself, followed by Linong’s timely arrival to introduce them formally. Yanjun doesn’t dine with Zhangjing, much to his disappointment, but Linong points out that he did not arrange it to be so because Yanjun has always preferred otherwise previously.

“Besides, he’s travelled very far to reach Caelum,” Linong points out as he watches Yanjun frown. “Why are yo- did you want him to join for dinner that badly? That’s unlike you.”

“Is there an advisor who speaks back like you do?” Yanjun avoids the question by asking one of his own. “I guess I can put off meeting him for another few days, then.” He continues, as if to remind Linong that he is still the same person who is reluctant to accept help.

“Zhangjing is already done with breakfast and is familiarizing himself with his new quarters. If you would like to, I can notify him that you’ll be dropping by.”

Yanjun frowns at the familiar tone Linong speaks Zhangjing’s name in, without the other’s surname. He then remembers Linong mentioning that they were previously acquainted, something about them being childhood friends for the briefest year before his family moved to Caelum.

“You Zhangjing,” Yanjun emphasizes and tries not to sound too annoyed, “can have all the time he needs. Meanwhile, I’ll go oversee the new recruits.”

“...the new recruits are off today, Your Highness. You were the one who insisted they should take the week off. ”

“In that case,” Yanjun continues immediately, ignoring Linong’s sudden formality and leaving no room for awkwardness to settle, “I’ll go to the stables.”

“...because?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve tended to Bris and Lux myself.”

Linong raises an eyebrow at the blatant lie. Everyone knew how fond and how much time the prince spent with his two prized horses. Even though there were caretakers for the royal steeds, Yanjun had preferred to take care of his own weekly, unless he was kept away by urgent matters — which he did not have this particular week.

“I will inform Zhangjing, then.”

There is no reply from Yanjun, but Linong doesn’t miss the slight frown on the other’s face when he walks past him on his way to the royal stable.

♦

Afternoons in Caelum are comforting.

At least, it is a saying Yanjun has heard one too many times.

The sunlight is far from a cruel scorch. Instead, it is a warm hug, accompanied by a light wind that comes and goes with the sounds of chirping birds and fluttering butterfly wings. The wind ruffles Yanjun’s hair as he makes his way back to the palace from the stable — it seems to tousle his feelings as well.

Unlike the usual calm that settles within him from visiting his beloved steeds, it is a conflicting mix of anticipation and anxiousness. He makes his way towards the guest quarters, where the previous few visitors had resided in. When the building comes into sight, Yanjun is immediately reminded of dread and hopelessness, the air around him suddenly feeling colder than it should be.

Rooted on the spot, Yanjun ponders for a long moment before deciding to head back.

Yet when a familiar voice reaches his ears in the form of a tune — the prince ends up going towards the other direction instead.

Even though the guest quarters don’t come close to the size of the palace’s grand ballroom, it still houses many rooms on its few floors. Having no idea where Zhangjing has taken residence in, Yanjun merely wanders from room to room, a floor at a time.

By the time he is on the fifth floor, the sound of bright laughter filters through an open door into the corridor. Approaching as quietly as possible, Yanjun peers into the room. It looks very different from when he last saw it, the previously neat room is now cluttered with piles of scrolls, pots and kettles of unique shapes and varying sizes, bottles of vibrant liquids, and for the first time: a myriad of plants. Plants in pots, flowers in vases, budding sprouts in glass tubes, vines crawling across a tiny mountain of tomes, and to top it off, a small tree with pale leaves and buds stands in the corner of the room.

However, despite the mess and array of interesting instruments within the room — Yanjun’s focus is quickly drawn to a person. Sitting at a table that is almost drowned amongst boxes and opened scrolls, is You Zhangjing. The window directs the sun’s rays right onto the youth, dancing atop his chestnut brown hair and making his cheeks seem rosier than Yanjun last remembers.

“I can’t believe you still remember that, Nongnong!” Zhangjing exclaims as he leans back in shock, only to reach forward to grab onto Linong’s arm, laughing as he does so. Yanjun doesn’t hear his advisor’s reply, not because the other is speaking softly, but because Linong leans over to Zhangjing to whisper in his ear — causing Zhangjing’s eyes to widen in surprise before slapping his arm.

Yanjun feels too much like he is watching an intimate moment, despite knowing it isn’t, and his first reaction is to clear his throat.

Loudly.

The childhood friends turn immediately to look at him, their laughters ceasing almost immediately. Upon seeing Zhangjing’s expression, the prince can’t help but be reminded of the deers that sometimes mistakenly wandered into the palace garden: the other is doe-eyed, his cheeks flushed and his mouth parted in shock.

“Your Highness,” Linong stands up and bows slightly, “I didn’t know you planned to drop by so soon.”

“I was looking for you,” Yanjun replies as if he really had been. “There’s a letter for you from Rosinber. Haven’t you been waiting for it?”

“I have, thank you for coming here to inform me personally, Your Highness. How kind of you.”

“Won’t you need to reply immediately?”

“There’s no need to, and the messengers always prefer to rest anyway. Especially when the weather is nice.”

Yanjun hums and closes his eyes, his lips pulling into a straight line. The sunlight in the room is suddenly dimmed, huge dark clouds gathering in the sky that was clear just a moment ago.

“I guess you’ll need to hurry now.”

Linong takes a look outside, stifles a sigh and nods. Announcing his leave, he wraps Zhangjing in a quick but tight hug before exiting the room. As he passes Yanjun, he slows down just enough to whisper: “I’ve actually already read and replied the letter from Rosinber, but I’ll take my leave. Just remember this favour, Your Highness.”

Yanjun barely has time to scowl at the knowing grin on his advisor’s face, because Zhangjing stands up and greets him, apologizing for his belated manners. “Linong said I shouldn’t be expecting you soon, Your Highness. Sorry for the mess!”

“There is no need for apologies,” Yanjun waves his hand in dismissal. “I changed my mind,” he explains matter-of-factly, “did I arrive at an inconvenient time?”

Sweeping some scrolls into boxes to clear the table, Zhangjing shakes his head and beams at Yanjun sheepishly. “If you don’t mind the clutter… any time is convenient.”

The sky is clear again and Yanjun spends some time taking in the sight of the other who is drenched in the sun’s rays before abruptly remembering what he came for. Walking over to where Zhangjing is standing, Yanjun sits in the chair Linong previously occupied.

“I’ll get straight to the point: what do you have in mind to help me?”

Zhangjing holds up a finger and opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, his finger resting on his lips for a moment before he ducks to retrieve a suitcase. Opening it on the table, he reaches for one of the many bottles filled with peach-coloured liquid and holds it up.

“I drink one before I sleep every night,”  Zhangjing sits and proceeds to explain that he intends for Yanjun to try it and adjust it accordingly, depending on how it works for him. Yanjun’s eyes narrow at the answer and he says: “So I’ll become some kind of… experiment? That’s the plan? ”

A frown appears on Zhangjing’s face and it is immediately mirrored on the prince’s. Catching sight of it, Zhangjing puts on a smile again but not without a sigh. “Your Highness, how would I dare endanger your life? It’ll only be administered to you after I test it myself.”

The spark of skepticism and anger in Yanjun dissipates immediately. He feels slightly silly for even thinking that Linong would recommend someone so carelessly.

To ease the prince’s apprehension, Zhangjing continues, his voice gentler as if he is talking to a child: “I’m a certified herbalist. It took forever  for me to get where I am now — literally and figuratively — I’m not going to jeopardize it by being a reckless one. ”

Nodding, Yanjun feels his body relax — not realizing how tense he had become.

“I would like to know more about how it began, though. It might give me more insight to how I should go about the matter,” Zhangjing suddenly adds.

Haunting memories on the battlefields: memories filled with blood, bitterness and death, rush into Yanjun’s mind, crashing like hungry waves upon a fragile ship. Thunder rumbles outside and the sound of rain soon fills the chamber. Yanjun grits his teeth before answering: “No. I’m sure Linong’s already told you what you need to know. ”

“He only mentioned that you have trouble falling asleep.”

“That’s enough.”

For a moment, Zhangjing looks like he wants to argue back, but the herbalist ultimately maintains his silence as he looks at Yanjun. Never being one to look away from another’s gaze, the prince stares back into the other’s eyes.

He imagines the sparkle in the herbalist’s eyes are of restrained frustration, perhaps mixed with curiosity — and wonders what the other sees in his own eyes.

A tint of pink soon creeps up Zhangjing’s cheeks and he turns away, coughing once and saying: “Do you stare at everyone like that?”

Yanjun smirks. “I’ve been told that I stare very intensely at the people I like.” As soon as the words slip past his lips, the prince realizes that his old habit of teasing the previous healer has kicked in. His smile falters slightly and he excuses himself immediately.

Closing the door on the way out, Yanjun takes a few deep breaths. With his legs shaking slightly more than they had when he first arrived, he leans on the wall for temporary support. As he tries in vain to shake away the image of Zhangjing in his mind — the image of the other blushing even more furiously at his words — the song of a bird reaches his ears.

The rain had stopped.

♦

Sitting amidst a sea of scrolls and towering books, Yanjun lets out a sigh as his fingers reach to massage the throbbing at his temples. Even though it had been over five years since the last war, even though truces and alliances have been made, there were still those who seeked unrest between the kingdoms in the land. Given Yanjun’s personality, he knew better than to let his guard down. His father is a careful and tactical man, so the kingdom did not have to fear, but Yanjun felt the need to ease his father’s duties as the only son.

A knock on his door gives the prince reason to put aside his tactical studies for the moment. Stretching in his chair, he calls for his visitor to enter.

“Your Highness?”

Yanjun recognizes the voice as soon as it reaches his ears and he thinks that Zhangjing’s voice is rather unique, that he can remember it even though they’ve barely spent time together.

“I’ve come to deliver this. May I?” Zhangjing sets the tray in his hands onto an empty table nearby. A bottle of the liquid he had shown earlier is placed atop the tray, along with two tiny cups. He pours the potion into both cups and holds one up. “Please drink a cup before you sleep and let me know what happens.”

“One? What’s the other for?”

“It’s for me. Just so you know I’m taking the same potion and not one that is untested or dangerous.”

Yanjun wants to tell Zhangjing that he trusts him, or rather, he trusts Linong not to bring anyone who might want to poison him into the palace, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. Nodding, he stares at Zhangjing again, watching as the other’s cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Zhangjing lifts his cup and tilts his head towards Yanjun before downing it in one go. The potion stains the herbalist’s lips, making them look rosier and plumper than before. Yanjun’s mind goes blank for the briefest moment when Zhangjing closes his eyes and lets out a quiet sigh. “I almost forgot to mention,” Zhangjing says, smiling again, “it tastes rather bitter, and I apologize in advance for that.”

When Yanjun gives no verbal reply, Zhangjing bites his lower lip and asks if Yanjun would like to drink the potion now.

“I still have some things to tend to, just leave it there.”

Nodding, Zhangjing  bows and steps back. “I shall take my leave now, in that case. I’ll head over tomorrow to check on how the potion fared. Goodnight, Your Highness. Don’t sleep too late.”

An hour later, in the silence of his room, Yanjun drinks the potion and scrunches up his face at the bitterness. “ Rather bitter is an understatement,” he tells to no one in particular.

Without much hope for the potion’s effectiveness, Yanjun slips under the covers of his bed. His pillow feels exceptionally inviting that night as his mind and body are slowly lulled to sleep. The last thought he has before he completely surrenders to slumber is a question: would the potion have tasted slightly less bitter if he accepted Zhangjing’s offer to drink it while the other was still present?

♦

Yanjun doesn’t sleep the whole night away.

In fact, he doesn’t sleep past two hours. But in the little time that he does slumber, there are no nightmares — which to him, is considered a miracle. Feeling more refreshed than the months before, he gets up to bathe, tend to his horses and waits impatiently for the sun to rise.

Linong isn’t in his room when Yanjun knocks, so he heads down to the kitchen. The head chef is shocked to see Yanjun, but quickly prepares two sets of breakfast as per the prince’s request.

As Yanjun heads towards Zhangjing’s room, he notes that the sun has barely risen but ignores it, the bubbling excitement within him preferring to try his luck. There is no answer when he knocks on the herbalist’s door, not after three knocks, nor after ten.

Normally, Yanjun would not do so — but he lets himself into the herbalist’s cluttered room, lit dimly by the lamps on the wall. He manages to find a spot for the breakfast tray atop some crates, and almost screams when he turns around to see a figure huddled among a tower of books.

“Zhangjing?”

The figure stirs — and it is Zhangjing who screams, only stopping when Yanjun’s hand finds his mouth and covers it.

“Zhangjing, it’s me,” Yanjun explains urgently, having panicked at the other’s sudden cry. Removing his hand when the herbalist calms down slightly, he takes a step back and raises his hands. Zhangjing places his hands over where his heart is to further calm himself, but takes a long look at Yanjun and bursts out laughing instead.

“Why’re you holding up your hands?”

“To show you I mean no harm,” Yanjun says each word slowly, unsurely.

The herbalist laughs again, his bright voice resounding throughout the room, filling Yanjun’s ears and wrapping itself around his heart. “That’s adorable,” Zhangjing states, then gasps as if he had not intended to say so.

Yanjun’s heart skips a beat at the words but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he quickly apologizes to Zhangjing for scaring him.

“I’m sorry you had to see me asleep like that,” Zhangjing shakes his head.

“Do you... always sleep like that?”

Zhangjing hesitates for a moment before answering softly: “It’s when I don’t sleep that I end up falling asleep like that.”

Yanjun immediately feels a sense of familiarity: remembering the many times he had woken up at his table, not remembering when he had fallen asleep — and yet still not feeling like he had slept at all.

Clearing his throat, he informs Zhangjing that he brought breakfast for them both.

The other gasp, asking: “W-why would you? How could the prince personally serve me breakfast?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yanjun shrugs. “Besides, I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? Whatever for?”

“I slept last night.” Yanjun’s voice comes out higher and more excited than he intends it to, but he isn’t bothered. “Even though it was barely two hours, I slept without nightmares.”

In the dimly lit room, Zhangjing’s smile is radiant. The herbalist giggles then exclaims in joy, his hands reaching to wipe tears from his eyes. Yanjun feels his eyes warming up too, and he soon finds himself in a hug.

He doesn’t remember who initiated it, but doesn’t break away from it, either.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Your Highness,” Zhangjing whispers. Yanjun feels the other trembling slightly in the embrace, and wonders why the other is reacting so intensely before he is stuck by a sudden thought. If the potion had not worked, Zhangjing would be worried and frustrated. Even if Yanjun felt generous, he would have to prove himself in a week’s time or be sent all the way back home, losing a great opportunity to be in the service of a royal family to provide for his own family.

“Thank you, Prince Yanjun,” Zhangjing’s breath tickles Yanjun’s neck and the whisper of his name settles within Yanjun’s heart. “Thank you so much.”

Yanjun thinks it’s silly for Zhangjing to thank him, because he should be thanking Zhangjing instead. Him, and his potion.

However, the prince doesn’t correct Zhangjing, his mind focused on something else instead.

“Yanjun,” he says softly in reply. “Just call me Yanjun.”

The herbalist stills in his arms for a moment. “How would I dare, Your Hi-”

“I insist,” Yanjun says.

What he doesn’t say is that he feels soothed when Zhangjing says his name.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright… Yanjun .” Zhangjing speaks his name softly, carefully as if it is fragile, tenderly as if it is precious, gently as if he cares.

What Zhangjing doesn’t say is that he had fallen asleep to a nightmare earlier, that even though it isn’t an unusual occurrence, he has never been so thankful to wake up to someone.

That being in Yanjun’s arms is more comforting and calming than any of his potions have ever made him feel.

Chapter Text

Being the prince of Caelum is no easy task — not that being a prince is effortless to begin with, but it is because of Caelum’s many resources that are constantly sought after. Before the war, during the war and even more so now.

With Yanjun’s father still in good health and reigning, he could have assumed less responsibility at his age, but he preferred otherwise. Diving into tactical meetings and countless trainings, the young prince did his best in each and every aspect he could to aid his father and the kingdom.

Linong often told him that he should take a break, especially now with his lack of sleep, but the prince’s days are still filled with tasks and duties that he had set for himself. It doesn’t change much after Zhangjing’s arrival, but Yanjun does spend more time out of his room.

To be in Zhangjing’s room instead.

Or more specifically, seated in Zhangijng’s chair at one of his messy tables. Yanjun calls it the Main Mess: where Zhangjing’s many scrolls are piled around a huge leather-bound book that is supposedly where his work notes are written. Glass bottles of varying sizes are also perched at random places on the table, and the prince fears that they will meet an unfortunate end if left in the clutter.

The herbalist himself is currently bent over another table at the far end of the room, eyebrows knitted together as he stared at a bubbling concoction. The brew fills the room with a light fragrance that reminds Yanjun of flower fields and fruit platters, causing the ends of his lips to lift slightly.

“If only your potions taste as nice as they smell,” he comments, absentmindedly flipping through the book in his hand.

Zhangjing huffs, straightening his back and turning around to point a finger at the prince seated in his chair. “I would be able to get more done if you’d stop dropping by every other hour and harassing me every other minute.”

“Am I distracting? Is it because of my looks?” Yanjun jests, grinning when the herbalist rolls his eyes and returns to his brew without so much as a verbal reply. The prince prefers to interpret that as a double ‘yes’.

Tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, Yanjun waits with slight impatience and a lot more anticipation. He knew it would spur Zhangjing to begin singing, and the other soon does, as he expected.

The prince had been literally stunned the first time he heard the other singing. Yanjun remembers it too well: Zhangjing’s warm voice escaping through the door that seemed to always be left ajar, his notes diving from high notes to deep ones effortlessly — and Yanjun had stood outside, listening until the other sang no more, afraid that he might startle the other and never get to hear his singing ever again.

Now, not only did Yanjun know how much the other loves singing, he also knew how to prompt the other into starting a tune. The little bit of knowledge is something the prince secretly prided himself on.

Zhangjing sings about crystal seas and starry nights — a song from his hometown, he had mentioned before — and Yanjun closes his eyes, letting the song wrap itself around him as the waves in the lyrics lapped on sun-warmed shores.

When the song ends, Zhangjing claps his hands once and announces that tea is ready.

Opening his eyes lazily, Yanjun asks in slight disbelief: “You were brewing tea?”

The herbalist nods and pours from the pot he had been stirring in.

“Why didn’t you just use a kettle? You have so many,” the prince inquires curiously.

Wagging a finger at Yanjun, Zhangjing passes a cup to him and states that those kettles are reserved for other matters. “Be careful,” he adds as Yanjun’s fingers brush against his, “the tea’s very hot.”

Even though Yanjun hears the other’s words of caution, he still ends up burning his tongue in his impatience to taste the fragrant tea. Taking in a sharp breath, he places his cup down and looks at Zhangjing in agony.

He half expects the herbalist to laugh at him, considering how comfortable they had become as friends in the past few weeks, but Zhangjing stops his own actions and leans over with an utter look of worry on his face.

“Did you burn your tongue?”

Yanjun nods, unable to form words because of the pain on his tongue — and because of the sudden proximity their faces are in.

“I thought you heard me, how can you be so careless…”

From the corner of his eyes, the prince sees the other’s fair fingers reaching for him and his heart races in anticipation. Unfortunately for him, the herbalist realizes his actions before they touch and Zhangjing turns away abruptly, muttering an apology for invading his personal space and tripping over one of the many crates on the floor.

Yanjun manages to grab him in the nick of time, saving him from the fall and letting the other rest within his arms instead. Due to their height, the prince is unable to see Zhangjing’s expression — only knowing that the other’s face is pressed tightly against his chest, the other’s arms wrapped even more securely around his body.

Everyone knows the prince to be one who avoids physical touches whenever possible, particularly when it isn’t initiated by him. Yanjun himself knows it best, of course, so to find himself keeping Zhangjing in an embrace so strongly — he doesn’t know what to think.

Or rather, he tries to think, but the only thoughts in his mind are about how warm and soft the other feels pressed against him. About how he wouldn’t mind staying like this a little longer, or maybe forever.

“Thank you,” Zhangjing says a while later, lifting his chin to look up. Yanjun tilts his head downwards and curses inwardly when their gazes meet. He is highly aware of the short distance between their lips, the sudden drying of his throat and the tightening of his arm around Zhangjing’s body. “And sorry about that…”

Yanjun shakes his head and chuckles lightly, feeling the vibrations in his chest travel towards Zhangjing’s and back. “You really need to clean this place up, my dear herbalist.”

Zhangjing shifts his gaze from Yanjun’s eyes to the side and softly insist that he would have if he had more time to do so. “It’s not easy to brew the potion, you know. I have to constantly monitor it and some of my plants haven’t been growing too well since I moved them here, so I’ve been trying to get them to grow better…”

“Is it the weather?” Yanjun asks, disappointed that he can no longer look into the other’s eyes. He doesn’t miss the shade of red that has blossomed on Zhangjing’s cheeks.

“I would think so, but it’s not like anyone can do anything about that,” Zhangjing sighs softly, before catching sight of a dainty pot seated on his table. “Like this particular flower from my hometown, it seems very plain at first glance but my instinct tells me that I can use it as a medicine so I brought it along.” The herbalist beams at Yanjun, then at the plant — as if he is a proud parent showing off his child, then gestures to the flower’s slightly sagging leaves. “It’s a tricky one to grow, though, needs the right amount of sunlight, can’t be in weather that is too moist or dry, needs the right morning and evening temperatures…”

Listening as Zhangjing rambles on, Yanjun almost can’t believe his ears. How could someone be talking so enthusiastically about a flower when they are in his arms? Still, Yanjun smiles when he thinks that this is one of the reasons as to why he is behaving less distant towards Zhangjing, compared to the others before him.

“Caelum’s weather is known to be kind. Perhaps it’ll work in your favour soon,” Yanjun cuts off the other’s rambling, an idea already forming in his mind.

“Will it?” Zhangjing sounds too much like a hopeful child and a spark of protectiveness lights up within Yanjun.

“I would like to think it would. If it does, would you change your mind about leaving Caelum as soon as your work here is done?” As soon as the words leave his lips, Yanjun thinks he might have made his personal intentions too obvious and hastily adds: “You left quite the impression on my father when you met him the other day. He said I should keep you around.”

“His Majesty did? That’s good to know,” Zhangjing smiles. At their proximity, Yanjun thinks that it is a miracle that he isn’t blinded just yet. “If the weather is kind to my plants, I might just change my mind… after all, the food here is so delicious.”

Yanjun laughs and Zhangjing pouts, knowing that the other is amused at his endless obsession with food, besides his work. “But while waiting for that, I could help you clean up. It irks me greatly to see the mess every time I walk in here.”

“I apologize, Your Hi- I mean, Yanjun. But you don’t have to, I’ll find time to do it soon.”

“No, I insist. Take it as a favour, and you can return on later.”

“I do not want to owe you a favour, Yanjun. Who knows what crazy thoughts you already have! I still remember that day you made me run through a pack of wild geese outside the palace grounds, don’t think I’ll let my guard down for a second!”

As Zhangjing complains about the mischievous plots Yanjun had sent his way, the prince smiles. The herbalist is endearingly adorable when he is angry like this: not a full-blown anger, but one that is seemingly helpless and almost polite. The shorter boy is looking at him fiercely, but Yanjun doesn’t register much of his words, his hearing dimming only until his own heartbeat is heard, thumping to a rhythm similar to that of the person pressed against him. He wonders how Zhangjing would react if he kissed him now to cut him off.

Would he be angry like this? Would his eyebrows furrowed in frustration, his cheeks tinged red from anger, his lips forming a delightful pout?

‘Only one way to find out,' Yanjun thinks.

Regrettably, he never gets to find out. A few knocks on the door renders the herbalist silent and they both look towards its direction. Yanjun feels Zhangjing panicking in his arms like a scared animal before its predator, and he eases his grip to allow the other to step back.

“Zhangjing?” Linong’s voice comes from the other side of the door and Yanjun almost groans out loud. His advisor seemed to have impeccable timing as of late.

“C-come in,” Zhangjing replies, his hands moving to straighten out his clothes as he bit his bottom lip. Yanjun nearly fails to suppress the urge to lock the door and tease Zhangjing for being so flustered.

“Zhangjing! I have a letter for you, from your fam- oh, I didn’t know you were here, Yanjun.”

Yanjun raises an eyebrow, clearly remembering bumping into Linong on his way over to Zhangjing’s room. “I am. Why don’t you just pass Zhangjing’s letter over and let us be?” Yanjun asks in a tone Linong is too familiar with. One the prince always used when he wanted to be left alone — although, this time with a certain someone else around.

Already used to the prince’s indifference, Linong remains unaffected, the smile on his face ever bright as he hands the letter over to Zhangjing. The herbalist thanks him and bids him goodbye when he leaves. Then, he turns back to look at Yanjun with joy as he hugs the letter to his chest — as if he had forgotten entirely about the moment before they were interrupted.

“You must miss your family dearly,” Yanjun says, picking up his cup of now-cold tea and trying not to sound too bitter.

Zhangjing takes a seat — across the table from Yanjun — and opens the envelope in haste. “You have no idea,”

“I haven’t heard you talk about them much. Is the letter from your parents?”

Tilting the envelope to let its contents slip out, Zhangjing picks up one of its many pages and shakes his head. “It’s from my wife,” he says, smiling.

As Yanjun chokes on a gulp of tea, the herbalist’s laugh fills the room. “I’m just kidding! I’ve been so engrossed in my work, I’ve barely had time to see anyone, much less marry. You’re right, it’s from my parents.”

“You might not have had time to see anyone, but I’m pretty sure others have seen you,” Yanjun mutters under his breath, stroking his chest to ease his earlier choking.

“Pardon me? What was that?”

“Nothing,” Yanjun clears his throat. “The tea’s nice.”

“Glad you like it. It should work to help you sleep better, too.”

And it does.

Yanjun manages to sleep up to five hours without nightmares, feeling more well-rested than he has ever been. That is, until he receives a certain letter from Rosinber.

♦

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Yanjun frowns.

Zhangjing rarely denies him anything, much less with such resolution.

“It’s just another dose, Zhangjing,” the prince stresses. “Surely it wouldn’t do much harm.”

“It might not at first, but if it doesn’t, that means it wouldn’t be of much help either. I can’t let you have a higher dosage so suddenly. It could be dangerous. I’ve never tried it so I don’t know, but I can’t risk your health or life to do so.”

“I’m willing to let you test it on me, wouldn’t it help in your future works? Besides, I haven’t slept much as of late — I’m pretty desperate,” Yanjun confesses tiredly.

“What happened?” Zhangjing moves to take a seat next to Yanjun, his hand stopping shy of resting on Yanjun’s thigh. “Linong mentioned that you’ve been worked up over something lately, that could be the cause…”

“You don’t have to know about that,” Yanjun snaps, feeling guilty when Zhangjing jumps at his sudden change of tone. “I just… just increase my dosage, alright?”

“I’m sorry, Yanjun. I can’t. It’s too risky,” he reaches to squeeze Yanjun’s arm lightly.

The prince sighs and shakes the other’s hand away. “I know the risks, and I’m asking, so it’s fine. You won’t be liable in case anything goes wrong, I’ll make sure of that.”

“It’s not- Yanjun, I care about you. It’s not just about me being held responsible in case things goes awry, I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you!” Zhangjing’s hands are balled into fists and Yanjun can hear the restraint in his voice. It does nothing to change the prince’s mind.

“Please, Zhangjing, don’t make me beg. This is the second time I’ve asked you this week. I really want- no, I really need to sleep.”

“Please, Yanjun. I understand your frustration, but I can’t ignore the dangers. My answer is still no.”

Despite the other’s voice dipping into a gentler tone again, Yanjun is agitated, the exhaustion that latched onto him manifesting in a ridiculous crankiness. “Look, Zhangjing. You know you don’t get much of a say in this, right?”

Zhangjing frowns and looks so displeased that, on a usual day, Yanjun would prefer not to continue if it meant being able to see the other smile again. But he is overwhelmed with desperation and that thought does not cross his mind.

“I’m a herbalist, this is my career, my life’s work — I’ve vowed to not put anyone at risk irresponsibly, so yes, I do have a say in this.”

“Didn’t you come all the way here to test out your potions? Now’s a good chance, I’m offering it to you.”

“Yanjun, please don’t say it like that, I would never-”

“Don’t think that I’ll bend to your every will just because we’ve grown closer in the past weeks. I am still the prince you came to serve,” Yanjun says between gritted teeth.

“Well then, Your Highness ,” Zhangjing’s voice takes on a tinge of venom, “if my services displease you so much, perhaps you should dismiss me.”

“Perhaps I will,” Yanjun growls, turning to leave immediately: partly because of anger, and because he thinks he is highly likely to say something he will come to regret if he continues arguing. Striding out, Yanjun closes the door a little more forcefully than he intends to and stalks all the way back to his bedchamber.

The serene scenery of the palace gardens does nothing to soothe his temper or frustration, nor does the night breeze provide any relief. When Yanjun lies down on his bed, he covers his eyes and lets out a long sigh, willing the hotness behind his eyes to stay there.

A long time ago, Yanjun would have been able to sleep his frustrations away. Now, they are but another form of nightmare that haunts him even when he is awake.

♦

“I heard you made Zhangjing cry,” Linong says as he takes a seat across from Yanjun, uninvited.

“You probably heard wrong,” the prince mumbles. At least, he doesn’t remember Zhangjing crying during their argument a few days back.

“Let me rephrase,” the prince’s advisor reaches for an apple in the bowl, “I saw Zhangjing crying, and my guess is that you’re related to whatever he’s going through.”

“Your guess is probably wrong.”

“You’re not going to tell me at all?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Linong sighs dramatically, taking a bite of the apple and lamenting out loud that Yanjun and Zhangjing are the same: both stubborn and unwilling to share their grievances with him.

“Then let’s talk about something else,” the advisor suggests. “It hasn’t been raining in the past few days. In fact, it has been rather hot and… dry. Do you have a hand in that? Or did someone else in your family decide to change the climate of the kingdom on a whim?”

Silence is the prince’s answer, but the truth is, it had all been Yanjun’s doing. The days before his argument with the herbalist, Yanjun had made sure to change the weather to one that suited Zhangjing’s treasured flower: the adequate amount of sunlight, breeze and rain, on top of many other details. The effort was more than his usual ones, but it had all been worth it when Zhangjing gushed to him about how wonderfully the flower had been growing — the other’s hands seeking his excitedly and latching on as he spoke praises to the weather.

In fact, Yanjun had even bothered to make it rain around the palace every other night, because Zhangjing had loved it so much. “Sometimes, it’s so calming that even if I don’t drink the potion, I’m still able to sleep well.”

After their dispute, however, the prince had not bothered doing any of those. ‘Maybe he’ll actually leave if his plants don’t fare well,’ Yanjun thinks out of spite, but it is quickly tinged with regret.

As much as he isn’t willing to initiate a reconciliation, Yanjun isn’t sure he would be all that pleased with Zhangjing gone.

“Don’t make my darling cry again, Yanjun,” Linong urges, earning himself an exaggerated eye roll in response. “He looks horrible when he’s sad.”

The image of a defeated Zhangjing forms in the prince’s mind and he agrees, but as before — answers Linong’s statement with silence.

♦

It is a chilly night when Yanjun returns to the palace after spending an entire day out, having visited the guard towers around Caelum. Craving for a warm bath and a hearty dinner, he makes haste towards his room.

On the way, he spots a familiar figure in the rose garden, one he hasn’t seen in days. As soon as he recognizes the person, his heart skips immediately in response; unable to suppress its joy like Yanjun did with his expressions. Zhangjing is looking away from where he is, the prince’s presence and gaze unbeknownst to him.  

Yearning and hesitation fill Yanjun together at once and he stands rooted to the spot, watching the herbalist make his way towards the garden’s gazebo and taking a seat on one of the small benches within. Zhangjing sits for a long while, unmoving as he stares into space. The sight causes Yanjun to almost throw away all his grudge, but his reluctance lingers and he forces himself to continue his way back to his chambers.

He bathes — as planned, and finishes a hearty dinner — also as planned. What he does that isn’t in his plans: is that he makes his way back to the garden a long while after dinner.

‘I’m not here to see Zhangjing,’ he thinks to himself as he strolls down the corridor leading towards the garden. Caelum’s usual star-dotted sky is obscured by clouds of various forms and the night is significantly colder than the week before. It reminds Yanjun that they are in the last weeks of autumn, with winter waiting to settle upon the kingdom.

The sudden sound of a sneeze breaks Yanjun’s train of thoughts and he halts, looking towards the gazebo. As expected, Zhangjing is still seated within, his legs propped up on the bench so he is hugging his knees. The herbalist is still staring out into space, his chin rested between his knees.

As Yanjun nears the gazebo, he notices streaks of tears making their way down the other’s cheeks and his heart clenches at the sight, dissolving the last of his grudge and reluctance. Making his way over, he takes a seat next to the shorter boy — who doesn’t react to his presence there.

“Aren’t you cold?” Yanjun asks after a long moment of silence.

Zhangjing’s answer comes in the form of a sniffle and nothing more, but Yanjun doesn’t need anything else. Shrugging off his coat, he places it over the other’s shoulders, not failing to notice that the other is shivering.

“Don’t catch a cold,” the prince says, only because he isn’t ready to get to the point of his actual intentions just yet.

The herbalist shifts, stretching his legs out and placing his feet back on the ground. His hands move to hold onto Yanjun’s coat, pulling it tighter around himself.

“Thank you,” he finally says. Upon hearing the words, Yanjun is struck by how much he misses the other’s voice.

“Is it out of place for me to ask why you’re out here crying?”

A soft scoff escapes Zhangjing’s lips before he replies: “So you do realize that there are times when you’re acting out of place too, Your Highness?”

Yanjun shivers from a sudden breeze and even more so at the coldness in the herbalist’s voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked before saying what I came here to say.”

“What did Your Highness come here to say?”

Flinching slightly at the piercing indifference in Zhangjing’s voice, Yanjun takes a deep breath before speaking. “I came to apologize, Zhangjing. I’m sorry for the things I said during our argument. It was stupid of me to request such a risky and ridiculous thing of you, and I’m truly sorry for my careless words. I didn’t mean to hurt or offend you, and am willing to make it up to you if you’ll allow me to.”

Upon seeing Zhangjing ease up at his words, Yanjun, too, feels the tenseness ebbing away from his body.

For the second time that night, Zhangjing thanks him. “I appreciate your apology,” he says softly, and Yanjun is thankful that his voice is warm again. “I’m glad you know how ridiculous your request was, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand your frustration. I wish you knew- I wanted to tell you… that I’m frustrated whenever you are, too, Yanjun.”

It has been too long since the herbalist has said his name and the word alone sends a wave of warmth across the prince’s chest. “I know now,” Yanjun smiles slightly. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

“I’m not one to be so easily defeated,” Zhangjing laughs bitterly, “it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

“I don’t want to,” Yanjun confesses quietly. “Not now, not anytime in the near future.”

His words seem to shock Zhangjing, because the other turns to look at him with his mouth parted. It is then that Yanjun notices how swollen the herbalist’s eyes are, and he feels immediately guilty.

“Were you crying because of me?” He asks again, this time with more specifics.

Zhangjing shakes his head then nods, reaching to wipe his face. “Don’t pride yourself on it. There’s just a lot weighing on my mind.”

“I’m sorry if I am one of them,” Yanjun says earnestly. “I said I’d make it up to you, and I mean it.”

“Then… would you like to tell me about how your insomnia begin?”

Yanjun inhales sharply at the request, but relaxes slightly when Zhangjing extends his hand towards him. Reaching to wrap his fingers around the other’s, Yanjun tells the herbalist everything.

Nightmares of the war: the bloody battles to the heavy responsibility of leading his troops, from the torturous physical and mental exhaustion to how he had to force himself to push on despite his comrades’ deaths; and how he feels lacking as the prince even now, that he is unable to even sleep and be refreshed to take on his duties with full vigor.

“I’m… scared,” he whispers, looking away from the herbalist and squeezing Zhangjing’s hand before clearing his throat. “I’ve tried so hard and lost so much, I want to make up for the losses but I’ve only been plagued by guilt and my inability. I can’t even be in my best condition for the kingdom right now, how much more can I do for Caelum if I were to succeed my father? And I keep trying, but things don’t seem to be looking up — at least, they weren’t until you came here.”

“Yanjun,” Zhangjing calls softly, “Yanjun, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Yanjun does so, hoping the other doesn’t see the tears that have pooled in his eyes. Their gazes meet and the prince fails to hold back his tears upon seeing the worry and affection in Zhangjing’s eyes.

“Yanjun, you once asked me why I came here. I didn’t tell you one other reason for my decision.”

Anxious but curious, Yanjun pushes away the many guesses that surface in his mind.

“I chose to help you because of what you did during the war,” Zhangjing explains, his grip on Yanjun’s fingers tightening suddenly. “Everyone knows that Caelum tried its best to stay out of the initial conflict, but still took up arms to defend itself and the lands around it, eventually playing a huge role in ending the war.”

Zhangjing pauses for a long while and Yanjun almost thinks that the other would not continue before the herbalist speaks again. “My town would have been destroyed entirely if the war waged on just a day longer. What you have seen in the war might be death and destruction, but your actions brought about hope and salvation too. Your father would not have been able to lead Caelum’s war efforts on his own, and many speak highly of your leadership, considering your young age. I think so too — that you should give yourself more credit.”

The last few words cause Yanjun to bite his lower lip in an effort to not sob. He closes his eyes, tilting his head upwards. “Yanjun,” Zhangjing calls again, and the prince thinks that he will soon melt if the other continues to say his name that way. “I wanted to help you because your efforts have kept my family, kept me, safe. I wanted to help you because I thought it was a debt I could repay. After meeting you, I just wanted to help you because I could, because I want to. I… I care too much about you to just stop.”

A sound between a sob and a sigh escapes from Yanjun’s lips before he pulls Zhangjing into an abrupt hug. His long fingers find home in Zhangjing’s hair and on the back of his waist, pulling him close and leaving no space between their bodies. In return, the herbalist's smaller hands find their way to his broad back, patting and stroking to comfort him.

“Thank you,” Yanjun says, but he means much more. A soft giggle is the other’s reply, followed by warm: “You’re welcome.”

Yanjun doesn’t know how long he holds onto Zhangjing like that, but the other does not make any move to push him away. Instead, they fall into idle chatter with their arms still around each other. Zhangjing laments about how his herbs haven’t been growing well due to the moody weather and wonders out loud about how similar it is to Yanjun’s temperament; Yanjun notes about how his days have become less interesting since he had not been able to disturb Zhangjing at work.

“Does it make a difference?” Zhangjing asks out of genuine curiosity. “Your duties seem never ending. Does it become less interesting just because you do one less thing?”

‘If that one thing involves you,’ Yanjun thinks, but doesn’t say.

“In fact, Nongnong told me that he’s been knee-deep in planning for the Winter Feast with you, while dealing with some… complications in… Rosinber?”

“Linong has told you too much,” Yanjun breaks their embrace to look at Zhangjing disapprovingly. “It’s dangerous for you to know about matters like these, you might be caught up in the complications.”

Zhangjing smiles sheepishly at Yanjun’s statement. “Please don’t scold Nongnong for telling me. Let’s talk about the Winter Feast instead!”

“What about it? I can only imagine you talking about the menu,” Yanjun teases, a smile tugging at the side of his lips.

Pouting, Zhangjing slaps Yanjun lightly, again and again. “Nongnong said the feast is some sort of annual tradition, I just wanted to know more! He always says it’s too troublesome to explain everything when I ask!”

“Alright, alright,” Yanjun reaches to hold Zhangjing’s hands, stopping the other’s harmless assault on him. “In a nutshell, the Winter Feast is held for two reasons: the first being a time of the year where most workers who have toiled throughout the year can take a week’s rest while enjoying festivities. The second is to maintain and nurture Caelum’s relations with our allies and other kingdoms. A lot of royalties are invited to the ball.”

“Interesting!” Zhangjing comments. “That wasn’t so hard to explain, Nongnong was just lazy… but anyway, what do they serve at the feast?”

Yanjun laughs, amused by Zhangjing’s consistent honesty and priorities, but even more so because he feels contented to have the other beside him, conversing like before. Zhangjing huffs and chides him for mocking him, pulling his hands free from Yanjun’s grip and turning away.

If seeing Zhangjing with his bright eyes and parted lips reminded Yanjun of a deer, the sight of Zhangjing’s back reminds the prince of a rabbit: the other’s hair fluffy and inviting, the soft slant of the other’s shoulders welcoming Yanjun to pat him.

Feeling brave and giddy with a sudden feeling he can’t quite name, Yanjun reaches to wrap his arms around the shorter boy from the back. He hears a soft gasp spill from Zhangjing’s lips and tightens his hug when there is no protest.

“You know, this garden is decorated to the nines during the Winter Feast. It always snows then, and I always make a note to sneak out here with warm wine and roasted meats. Maybe you can join me this year.”

Zhangjing giggles and Yanjun feels every ounce of the other’s amusement vibrate through him. “I’d love to, Your Highness.”

“Yanjun,” the prince reminds.

“Yanjun,” Zhangjing corrects himself and repeats after him.

It is the last thing the prince remembers talking about that night as he surrenders to slumber after, holding a precious and soft person in his arms as he does so.

♦

Linong exercises great self-control the next morning when he finds the two, stopping himself from yelling at them upon sight.  

Panicking at dawn when he had found neither the successor to the throne nor his childhood friend, he had assumed the worst and had almost called for a search when he stumbled across the two in the gazebo.

Considering their lack of sleep in the past weeks, Linong suppresses his desire to yell at them, thinking that they could use some more rest, at least till noon.

He doesn’t have to wake them up personally, however, because Yanjun walks into his room after lunch — looking as if he had the best sleep since he had been born. Linong can’t help but prod at the other about events of the night before, but Yanjun doesn’t say much beyond the fact that he feels surprisingly well-rested, so the advisor tries Zhangjing instead.

The herbalist is humming a happy tune when Linong drops by, his cheeks rosier than they had been in the days before. There is even a skip in his steps that does not go unnoticed by the advisor.

Unfortunately, Linong doesn’t find out how his friend ended up sleeping in the arms of the kingdom’s prince, out in the garden. What he does find out is that Zhangjing had slept the night away despite not drinking his potion, and Linong, too, ends up in a stellar mood that entire day.

Chapter Text

It is a horrible morning, considering how mornings in Caelum are known to be.

Plagued by a headache since he woke from a short nap hours ago, Yanjun rubs his temples in frustration. The sun had barely risen, its rays soft — but when they dance across Yanjun’s desk, the prince squints.

“Are you not feeling well?” Linong’s voice cuts through the throbbing in Yanjun’s head. As he scans through the contents of the latest letter from Rosinber, the prince grits his teeth and shakes his head. “I’m fine. We need to head to Rosinber as soon as we can.”

“I can assemble a few of our best and embark by noon,” his advisor informs. “But… you really don’t look too well. Can I suggest setting off later? Or at least have the royal physician drop by?”

As Linong expect, the prince shakes his head again. However, he has one last suggestion up his sleeve, one that he is very confident will get through to Yanjun. “What about having Zhangjing take a look? Pass you a brew to help?”

Like an open book, the sides of Yanjun’s lips lift and a his eyes seem to shine with amusement before he pulls his lips back into a tight line. “There’s no need to trouble him.”

“He’s your herbalist, Yanjun. It’s not trouble, it’s his duty.”

“He might be busy with his… plants.” Even when the last word leaves Yanjun’s tongue, he knows how ridiculous his reasoning is.

“I’m sure you’re more important to Zhangjing than a few plants , Yanjun.”

Without waiting for a reply, Linong steps out and asks for an attendant to pass a message to Zhangjing. The herbalist appears not too long after, with a satchel hung upon his shoulder, looking very confused and wary. At the sight of the other, Yanjun feels a slight relief from the nagging pain in his head.

When Zhangjing smiles at him, Yanjun thinks that there is a probability that he just might be cured of the ache if the other continued to beam at him like so. At the thought, a smirk tugs at his lips. Linong glances his way when he does so and he looks at the other gratefully in reply, causing his advisor to break out in sudden chuckles that confuses Zhangjing.

Not wanting to be questioned about his abrupt bout of laughter, Linong tries his best to put on a straight face and informs Zhangjing about Yanjun’s headache. The herbalist’s expression turns into one of worry upon Linong’s words and he approaches the prince, reaching out for his forehead. Zhangjing’s hand stops short of touching and he is about to ask for permission, but Yanjun leans into his palm before he manages to do so.

A soft gasp escapes Zhangjing’s lips and Yanjun smirks, wanting to tease the other for being so surprised at the touch — but the herbalist exclaims that he is running a fever. “Why are you still up and working? Get some rest!” Then, as if realizing that he is not alone with Yanjun in the privacy of his own room, Zhangjing hastily adds: “Your Highness” — to which Linong chuckles. “Don’t mind me,” the advisor says, “go on as you were.”

“There are urgent matters to be taken care of,” the prince begins, but Zhangjing shakes his head to stop him from continuing. “Please rest, pushing yourself when you’re feeling unwell won’t help you sleep better. Even my potions won’t be able to help you then.”

“He’s right, Yanjun,” Linong chimes in. “Why don’t you just leave it to me? I’ll notify you if anything comes up.”

“Listen to Nongnong,” Zhangjing says, opening his satchel. As he walks towards the jug of water upon one of the smaller tables, he fishes out a tiny bottle. Filling a glass cup with water, he then tips the contents of the bottle into it. The powdery content turns the water into a deep blue and the surface of the drink bubbles.

Yanjun scrunches his nose when Zhangjing offers the cup to him.

“Drink,” Zhangjing urges, putting on a bright smile to coax the other.

“No,” Yanjun’s brows furrowing, eyeing the bubbling drink skeptically. “It’s… boiling even though the water wasn’t before you dropped… whatever it was in there.”

“It’s safe,” the herbalist assures. “Should I take a sip to reassure you, Your Highness?”

Scowling slightly at the fact that Zhangjing is referring to him formally in an attempt to persuade him, Yanjun glares at the other weakly before nodding. He watches intently as Zhangjing lifts the cup to his lips, taking a long sip before offering it to Yanjun again.

Sighing, Yanjun reaches for the cup. Then, struck by a sudden thought, he turns the cup to where Zhangjing drank from — and sips from the same spot. The liquid is bitter and dastardly, but the furious blush that creeps onto the herbalist’s cheeks, along with the sight of his widened bright eyes and his parted lips, are more than worth it.

Linong clears his throat after a long silence, feeling too much like an intruder with how the two are looking at each other. Or in the prince’s case: the smug and suggestive look he threw upon Zhangjing.

“Any last orders before I leave, Your Highness? Should I arrange for an entourage to Rosinber, or would you prefer to stay here under the care of our sweet herbalist?”

Zhangjing’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red at Linong’s words.

“Who says I have to be here to be under the care of our sweet herbalist ?”

“Please stop using that word, you two…” Zhangjing whines, burying his face in his hands.

Yanjun bites back the urge to comment on how adorable the other’s antic is, and ends up looking at the other with a dazed smile until Linong clears his throat yet again. “So, you were saying…”

“We’ll head to Rosinber together. Zhangjing can come too.”

Removing his hands from his face, said person beams at Yanjun. “We’re travelling? To Rosinber? I’ve always wanted to see the lush forests of Rosinber!”

With that, Linong announces that he will head off to make preparations for their trip, while Zhangjing bounds off back to his chambers to pack — after excitedly thanking Yanjun for bringing him along.

When the room is silent once more, Yanjun realizes that his headache is gone. He smiles in relief, and at Zhangjing’s joyful exclamations that echoed in his ears just barely a moment ago. Then his eyebrows furrow and he mutters: “Since when did Zhangjing become our herbalist?”

♦

Rosinber is a budding town situated outside the border of Caelum, blessed with soil that bore fruits and vegetables of the highest possible quality. It was highly sought after as a base of resources during the war. Yanjun had exerted a lot of efforts into keeping it safe within their kingdom then, resulting in the town pledging its alliance to Caelum after.

Despite that, there are still those who attempt to pry it for themselves, be it under political guises and or more aggressive means. The past few months had been filled with reports of theft and commotions at Rosinber’s fields and orchards, but with a recent brutal attack and arson of a farm — Yanjun could no longer sit by.

In truth, he could have left it to Linong and the town’s mayor, but the prince felt the need to be there to settle it as quickly as possible. With his regained spirits from the increase of sleep he had been getting, Yanjun is more than confident that the issue can be solved sooner than if he left it to others.

Under Yanjun’s request to arrive without commotion, they meet with the mayor quietly and are ushered to his guest residence.

“Do you think we’ll be able to return in time for the Winter Feast’s preparations? With how things are, I’d suggest a stricter security measure if we are to leave before we get to the bottom of this,” Linong asks as they enter the residence. Having checked the residence for dangers, he follows Yanjun to his room, with Zhangjing in tow.

“I agree, and yes, I believe that is possible,” Yanjun answers confidently, taking a seat at the desk in his room immediately and unlocking his briefcase to retrieve maps, scrolls note-filled journals. “Please schedule a meeting with a mayor as soon as possible. I’d like to go over the details of the attack and the incidents before. If we’re lucky, we might be able to catch the perpetrators during their next act.” Yanjun pauses when he realizes that Zhangjing isn’t walking close to him anymore, and turns to see the other looking at him in awe and slight amusement. “What is it, Zhangjing? Is there something on my face?”

The herbalist giggles and shakes his head. “You just seem very different when you’re doing your princely duties, compared to when you’re lurking around my room back in Caelum.”

Yanjun raises an eyebrow and Zhangjing raises his hands defensively. “It’s a good kind of difference, not that the other is bad. You just look a lot more charming like this.”

Smirking, the prince thanks Zhangjing for his compliment and tells him to go rest up from their travels, considering how pale he looked compared to usual. Nodding, Zhangjing excuses himself.

“Is Zhangjing someone who doesn’t take well to travelling?” Yanjun asks when the herbalist steps out. Linong ponders for a moment before nodding. “I suppose so. He usually rests a lot during his travels.”

“He should’ve said so, then,” Yanjun sighs, closing his eyes with regret and ache.

“Zhangjing probably felt that there was no need to stop for rests, considering how we were rushing to get here. But it might not be due to the trip at all. He hasn’t been sleeping too well lately, I heard. It seems that he received a letter from his parents, they are looking into arranging a marriage for him when he’s done with his work in Caelum. The idea hasn’t sat well with Zhangjing at all but he’s hesitant to go against his parent’s wishes.”

A jolt of panic and anger shoots through Yanjun but he dismisses it quickly. It wasn’t the time to be nosing about someone else’s affairs, even if it upset him. Those would have to wait till after.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well?”

“Don’t be fooled by his complexion, he drinks some kind of horrible-tasting potion to hide his dark circles,” Linong laughs bitterly.

“Tell him to get some sleep on your way to the mayor, would you?”

“I doubt he’d be able to sleep even then, Yanjun.”

“I’ll make it rain in a while. He sleeps better with the rain, does he not?”

“But Yanjun, won’t it take a toll on you? I appreciate your concern for Zhangjing, but isn’t it more exhausting for you to control the weather outside Caelum? Don’t forget, Rosinber was not originally within Caelum.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. Go on. I can’t have my herbalist falling ill.”

When Linong leaves, he bumps into said herbalist in the corridor. Surprised, he asks Zhangjing if he is lost. The shorter boy nods meekly.

“The caretaker said your room would be at the end of the corridor,  after a left turn.” The herbalist snaps out from a daze at the advisor’s voice and nods sheepishly. “I didn’t hear him properly then and came back to ask. Thanks, I know now.”

♦

The meeting with the mayor and his personnel involved in the matter is a quick and efficient one. Yanjun prefers meetings to be so, especially for this one, so that he can rest up for the rain to fall longer.

On his way back to his room, he pauses to look out the window, listening to the sound of rainfall echoing in the corridor — reminding him when he first met Zhangjing. The other had changed so much yet so little in the time they spent together. Zhangjing had proven to be much more determined and resourceful than Yanjun first thought when they met; but he is still the same person who carries an air of innocence about him, his bunny-toothed smiles still never failing to soothe Yanjun.

And then there was Zhangjing’s laughter: bright and infectious and Yanjun thinks he might be going crazy because he hears the other’s voice then, laughing and chuckling without a care in the world. He shakes his head in hopes of dispelling it, but then catches sight of someone through the window.

In the downpour, Zhangjing chases after a few children, laughing as they evade his grip and chiding them when they dash to pat him on his back. As if he is put under a spell, Yanjun forgets about his intention to return to his room, staying instead to watch as the herbalist played with the kids.

When Zhangjing finally manages to grab them all in one armful, they topple to the ground, still laughing, still beaming. “Mister,” one of the children asks, “why were you standing in the rain just now?”

“Well, why did you come out into the rain?”

“We wanted to play! But mother says we shouldn’t, that we’d fall sick. She says grown ups don’t play in the rain, too.”

“Well,” Zhangjing explains, sounding very much like a teacher, “I come from a place where it doesn’t rain much. When I first saw the rain, I fell in love with it. It’s calming and refreshing and, I just enjoy it a lot, you know? I always wondered what it felt like to be standing in it, letting the raindrops soak me through, so I finally decided to do it!”

The children laugh at his conclusion. “You’re weird, mister, but I like you,” a girl says, reaching to hug Zhangjing and snuggle her face into his arm.

A sudden shout alerts the bunch on the ground and the children stand up in panic. “It’s mom! We have to go, mister! Goodbye! Don’t fall sick!”

Zhangjing urges them to go before bidding them goodbye cheerily. “If any of you fall sick, come find me!” Left alone, the herbalist takes a deep breath and tilts his face upwards, letting the raindrops kiss his cheeks and trail their way down his neck.

The smile Zhangjing has on his face is serene, as if there are no worries present to him and never will. Yanjun had always manipulated the weather because it was a duty, a responsibility that came with his powers — he had never thought much about whether anyone appreciated it, since the fact is kept within the royal family and those they are close to. To see someone, Zhangjing especially, relish in it to such extent, the prince feels a sudden rush of emotions.

Tears well up in his eyes unwillingly and the downpour eases up in response, the dark clouds dissipating to slowly reveal the late afternoon sun. Zhangjing’s eyes open when the rain is reduced to a light drizzle, surprise etched on his fair features. As the first rays of the sun break through the clouds, they fall upon the herbalist's soaked hair, lighting the droplets within to create a soft iridescent halo around his head.

The scene renders Yanjun breathless for the briefest moment and it is then that Zhangjing realizes Yanjun’s gaze on him. Turning to look at the prince, he waves and calls out to Yanjun, beaming at the other as usually — only that he looks a lot more radiant now.

Yanjun thinks that if there are angels on Earth, Zhangjing would definitely be one.

♦

Dinner is, thankfully, a quiet affair.

The mayor had asked if he should invite a few other of the council members to join Yanjun over the meal, but the prince had declined upon Zhangjing’s request. “You need to rest too,” the herbalist had said, worried that the dinner would turn into a drawn-out meeting of sorts.

“So you’d prefer I eat alone?”

Zhangjing’s mouth gapes for an answer, annoyed that Yanjun twisted his words. “You can eat with Nongnong or the mayor, just don’t have the whole council there!”

As he turns to storm off, Yanjun chuckles and reaches to hold his arm. “Dine with me, then.”

Linong joins them for appetizers, before wolfing down the rest of his meal to excuse himself. “My mother passed me a list of local produce to purchase before heading home,” he sighs. “I want to get it out of the way. Enjoy the meal, you two.” Before exiting, he winks at Yanjun, who glares at him in return. Displeased at the prince’s reaction, a mischievous thought crosses Linong’s mind and he puts it to action.

“Don’t forget to go through the list, Yanjun.”

“What list?” The prince asks hesitantly, an ominous feeling pooling at his feet.

“The list of princesses who have requested to be your partner at the Winter Feast. There were so many, it took me forever to get the list done.”

At Yanjun’s look of shock and dismay, Linong waves and disappears out the door.

“Someone’s popular,” Zhangjing teases, munching happily on his meal and oblivious to the many words that Yanjun wants to say. “Tell me about them,” the herbalist urges, “the ones that have been to the Feast with you in previous years.”

“Why, are you interested in them?” Yanjun replies, sounding more fierce than he intended to.

“No,” Zhangjing’s replies softly, not meeting the prince’s glare. “I was curious about your interest in them. As in, how you chose one from so many.”

Guilt stings Yanjun immediately upon hearing the reply. He doesn’t quite understand his sudden annoyance, but still understands that directing it at Zhangjing is unwarranted.

“I never choose until the day itself,” Yanjun takes a sip of wine, eyeing Zhangjing’s reaction. “I choose the one who seems like she would make all my worries disappear.”

“That’s… ambiguous,” the herbalist notes. “How does that work? How do you know? Can you tell from a glance?”

“I don’t,” Yanjun confesses, “I just try my luck.”

“Oh.”

‘In all honesty, I never thought I’d actually meet someone who could make me feel that way. Not until recently,’ Yanjun wants to say, but he insists that they should change the topic instead.

♦

Considering his exhaustion from travelling, meeting and planning — on top of the satisfying dinner — Yanjun had imagined he would want to sleep after dinner, but is instead still up till midnight. Besides the many documents lying strewn atop his table, ones that he had been scanning through in hopes of finding more hints about who is behind the attacks, there are also many stray thoughts wandering endlessly in his mind, seeking to be attended to.

Even though he is one who is used to putting on an indifferent front, Yanjun isn’t one to ignore his instinct — or in this case: his feelings. He knows that his fondness for Zhangjing has grown beyond one of affections between a prince and his attendant, perhaps even more than between most friends. He wishes he could lie down all day to think about it, to truly understand what he wanted from these intense feelings: that he could just think about how much he loved the other’s smile, how much he yearned to hear Zhangjing’s melodious voice, to hear him sing; and how much he just wanted to be with him at all times.

However, he had duties to tend to. One too many within the few months Zhangjing had arrived at Caelum. One too many for him to put his personal desires above the kingdom’s. Looking through the window, Yanjun allows himself a brief moment of reprieve from his never-ending duties. The night sky is clear and brilliantly decorated with glittering stars and a full moon, as he takes in the scenery, Yanjun wonders if he would ever be able to just enjoy nights like these without worries, and with a certain herbalist by his side.

A sudden pang of yearning hits him and the prince wonders if Zhangjing is still awake. Getting up, he makes his way down the corridor towards where he remembers the other’s chamber to be. As he approaches his destination, he hears a thud and muffled voices. Frowning, Yanjun proceeds warily, his head reaching for a little dagger he always kept by his side.

The door to Zhangjing’s room is ajar. There are no lights ablaze in the room — Yanjun knows that the herbalist prefers to sleep in total darkness — but there is something amiss, something that makes Yanjun’s hair stand on their ends. Another thud is heard, followed by a yelp, so Yanjun rushes forward, colliding with a familiar figure.

Before he gets to check on Zhangjing, Yanjun feels the swing of a blade towards his direction. Holding onto the herbalist with one arm, the prince moves both of them out of way, out into the moonlit corridor. The perpetrator is clad in black and masked, giving no immediate hint of identity. Avoiding a few more swings, Yanjun notes that the attacker isn’t alone. “Run,” Yanjun urges Zhangjing, “find Linong.”

As his grip on Zhangjing loosens, Yanjun feels the other’s fingers squeezing his arm tightly before he is gone with a shaky reply: “P-please be safe.”

One of the attackers lunge for Zhangjing as he leaves, but Yanjun reaches over with his dagger — in time to graze the other’s arm, causing him to withdraw. Anger seeps into Yanjun’s adrenaline, his mind filled with questions but with much more furious thoughts.

Are these the people behind the recent incidents?

How dare they come in here!

How dare they attack Zhangjing!

What if they had hurt him?

I didn’t even get to take a good look at him, what if he is hurt?!

Even though he is driven by rage, Yanjun’s movements are still collected — something he is revered for on the battlefield. At a disadvantage because of his smaller weapon, the prince dodges until he finds the opportunity to knock one of the swords away from its owner, securing it in his possession instead.

By the time Linong arrives,  Yanjun is standing over two unconscious bodies, his clothes stained with small patches of blood. “Lock them up for questioning in the morning,” he orders coldly, throwing the sword in his hand onto the ground. “Check if any of the guards in the residence have been compromised. Alert the mayor too.”

Linong nods and delegates the tasks quickly, stopping briefly only to tell Yanjun that Zhangjing is waiting in his room. The prince breaks into a run upon hearing so, throwing the door to his chamber open so suddenly and loudly that the herbalist jumps in his seat. Wrapped in one of Yanjun’s night robes, one of deep midnight hues, Zhangjing quickly realizes who it is and offers a smile that isn’t quite bright as his usual ones.

“Are you hurt?” Yanjun asks as he strides over to the other, reaching for the other’s face. He then reaches for the other’s arms to check for wounds, but Zhangjing shifts away, giggling and complaining that it tickles.

“Just some bruises,” Zhangjing says as a matter-of-factly, but Yanjun doesn’t miss the quiver in his voice. Holding Zhangjing’s cheeks, the prince stares at the other — watching the facade within Zhangjing’s eyes fade as tears well up in replacement.

Wiping the first few drops that make their way down his fair cheeks, Yanjun pulls Zhangjing into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry you had to experience that, Zhangjing,” he apologizes as his voice threatens to crack. He does his best to keep it steady and reassuring, wanting the person in his arms to feel secure and comforted.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Zhangjing says between sobs, “it was an accident. No one expected it.”

“I should have,” Yanjun replies softly, but screams at himself internally. He should have . “What if you were gravely hurt?”

“But I’m not,” Zhangjing says, to calm himself and the person hugging him desperately. “So don’t apologize. I’m fine now.”

“Are you?” Yanjun asks, frowning even though the other cannot see his dismay at the white lie. “You’re shaking, Zhangjing. I wouldn’t call that fine.”

“I’ll settle down in a while, I think,” the herbalist offers, but sounds unsure of himself. “As long as I drink the potion- ah! The potions!” Zhangjing stands up abruptly and Yanjun releases him out of shock. “They’re… they were smashed!”

Sprinting out of the room at his realization, Zhangjing makes his way back to his room. Yanjun follows after, finding the other at the room’s door, peering in with sorrow. Now lit with lamps, the prince sees the damage that resulted from the intrusion.

What looks like it used to be a table is smashed into smithereens, the blanket and pillows are cut, their features strewn about the room. Scrolls and battered books join glass pieces on the floor, the broken shards reflecting the weak light of the lamps. The once glamourous rugs are now soaked with liquid of many colours — and stained with blood.

“Zhangjing,” Yanjun calls, reaching to place his hand upon the other’s shoulder in hopes of providing some form of immediate comfort. “There’s a lot of blood on the floor, are you sure you’re-”

For once, the prince receives a definite answer before he finished his question. Catching Zhangjing as he falls, Yanjun is blanketed by dread when his fingers come in contact with something wet. A crippling fear grips him when he looks at his fingers, smeared with blood.

Feeling his legs go weak, Yanjun sinks to the floor as he calls the other’s name.

There is no reply. Zhangjing merely looks as if he is deep in peaceful slumber as Yanjun’s voice echoes through the residence, screaming for Linong to bring a physician.

Chapter Text

Blood, blades and burning bodies.

Screams and sorrow.

Dread and despair.

The only things that filled Yanjun’s dreams ever since his involvement in the war began.

Despite his hopes, they had continued well after.

When Zhangjing came into the picture, when Yanjun could finally sleep again — it was dreamless slumber. A reprieve from the horrors that plagued him from before.

Yanjun had never really missed having the nicer kind of dreams. The kind where he soars through pastel-coloured clouds without wings or the fear of falling, the kind where he would race across endless meadows on his steed without a care in the world — the kind where he is enveloped in someone else’s arms, where laughter, joy and comfort fill his entire being,

So when he finds himself lying on a soft sheet laid over an emerald field, surrounded by fragrant dancing flowers and twittering birds — he is confused for a brief moment.

‘This is what a nice dream is like,’ he thinks to himself. ‘It’s been too long. Far too long.’

Still, he does not lament. After all, dreams were merely dreams.

“Yanjun?”

Turning towards the owner of the familiar voice, Yanjun’s heart skips a beat. Lying next to him is Zhangjing, the other’s elbows propped upon the ground. There is a smile on Zhangjing’s face as his finger finds its way to Yanjun’s cheek, touching where his dimple would be.

The other leans towards him, leaving the space between their faces — their lips — a mere inch apart. “Yanjun,” Zhangjing’s breath touches his lips, “you’ve been here all this time?”

The question doesn’t quite make sense to Yanjun and their proximity is distracting, but he answers with a definitive ‘yes’ anyway. The herbalist giggles and takes a long look at him, leaning closer very slowly.

Right before their lips meet, Yanjun turns his head. “You’re just a dream,” he says, when the person before him looks dejected. “Zhangjing is much prettier in real life.” As the Zhangjing in his dreams laughs brightly, the scene dissolves and Yanjun hears the same voice repeating his name softly.

He opens his eyes to familiar brown ones staring back.

Remembering events of the night before, Yanjun feels his heart swell and he manages to say: “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” Zhangjing smiles. “Did I wake you?”

Images from his dream flash through Yanjun’s mind, and he feels his cheeks grow warm as he remembers how close he had been to Zhangjing there — just like they are now. “Maybe,” Yanjun says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I tried to stay awake to care for you, but I guess I fell asleep.”

Next to him on the bed, Zhangjing closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you slept, you deserve it.”

Watching the serene expression on the other’s face, Yanjun is reminded of something that had been nagging at him since the herbalist fainted. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Zhangjing’s eyes open and he stares at the ceiling for a long time before he frowns. “Honestly… I didn’t even know I was hurt. The potion I drink before I sleep dulls the senses… I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’m sorry.”

The prince’s lips pull into a tight line and part of him wants to berate Zhangjing for the amount of worry he had caused, but another part of him — a bigger part — is just thankful that his wound wasn’t a serious one. According to the physician, Zhangjing had fainted from exhaustion coupled with shock, and not the bleeding. Looking at Zhangjing’s guilty expression, Yanjun reaches to cup his cheek and says: “It’s fine. I’m not angry.”

Leaning into his touch, the herbalist smiles. Turning to look back at Yanjun, he reaches to touch the other’s neck with the tip of his fingers. “Were you hurt?”

“Not at all,” Yanjun smirks.

“That’s good.”

“What’s good is that you’re safe,” Yanjun frowns. “I’m glad I was awake then. Imagine what woul- wait, I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I wasn’t there.”

“To my credit, Your Highness, I did manage to make it out from the room in one piece — considering my lack of swordsmanship.”

Yanjun chuckles at the words. “They must’ve been startled that this harmless and innocent looking child put up such a fight.”

“They sure were. Although,” Zhangjing pauses to ponder before continuing, “I don’t think they meant to enter my room. They seemed upset I wasn’t who they were looking for. Who are they?”

“Those behind the attacks I presume. Linong’s questioning them, but I haven’t heard from him yet. I’ve been here since you fainted.” A soft pink creeps onto Zhangjing’s cheeks when he hears Yanjun’s words, and the prince thinks that he looks better like this than when he was palely unconscious.

“You know,” his fingers trace down Zhangjing’s cheek, “last night was the first time I felt that not being able- that not wanting to sleep was a good thing.”

The herbalist pouts at his words and chides Yanjun in the kind of adorably fierce tone that the prince enjoys. “Don’t say that. I’m here to help you sleep. If you say that, then that means my work is lousy.”

“I do sleep though, better than before.”

Zhangjing is silent for a moment after Yanjun says so. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Your potions do work and I need them.”

“About that,” the herbalist starts hesitantly. “If your sleep improves in the next few months, if the potions do work well and I don’t need to improve the concoction anymore, do you-”

His words cut off abruptly, and Yanjun feels a sliver of dread coil around his heart. The herbalist tears his gaze away from the other’s eyes before he continues. “Do you think I could return home?”

♦

‘Let me think about it’, is what Yanjun had said.

More than two weeks ago.

Yet the truth is, he did not think about it. The prince did not even want to ponder upon anything related to Zhangjing’s departure from Caelum. They had stayed in Rosinber for a whole week: for Zhangjing’s injury to heal while Yanjun got to the bottom of the incidents. During those seven days, the prince had felt increasingly pressured to come up with an answer.

The thought of letting the other go pained him, but keeping Zhangjing away from his family pained him even more. He had seen the hopeful glimmer in the herbalist’s eyes when he asked for permission to leave back for home: the hope of being with his family again.

He had asked if Zhangjing wanted to leave because he had been put in danger, but the other had insisted fiercely that his question had nothing to do with what happened at Rosinber.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been an easy decision for Yanjun. He would dismiss the other and Zhangjing could continue sending potions to him. If needed, he could always return. However, anything and everything related to the other is no longer deemed a normal circumstance to Yanjun.

By the time they return to Caelum, Yanjun had yet to give Zhangjing any form of answer. In his dilemma, he had avoided talking to the herbalist as much as he could.

Of course, the sudden distance between them both had not gone unnoticed. Linong had prodded Yanjun about the matter. Carefully.

“You could just tell him you want to make sure you can sleep a full eight hours without nightmares before he leaves. Or offer him more reasons to stay.”

It wasn’t reasons that Yanjun couldn’t provide. In fact, he just found it incredibly difficult to ask the other to stay. Especially knowing that he missed his family. The prince considers other options: such as inviting Zhangjing’s family over, or letting him go on a break — but those choices only led him to another question: how long would he keep Zhangjing there? How long could he?

A knock on his door derails the frustrating train of thoughts in Yanjun’s mind. “Come in,” he calls, not bothering to look up from the letter he is writing. Since their return from Rosinber, since Zhangjing’s question, Yanjun had not visited the herbalist nor invited him over — instead, asking an attendant to send the brews over every night at a specific time.

“Your Highness, I’ve brought the potion.”

“Just leave it at the usua-”

Yanjun’s hand pauses mid-letter. “Zhangjing?”

If the other had heard the tiny crack in his voice, he says nothing about it. Instead, Zhangjing sets a tiny tray down on the corner of Yanjun’s table and smiles politely at him. “It’s been a while.”

Pushing aside the hesitance within himself, Yanjun offers a small grin in return. “Yes, it has. Have you been well?”

“I have, but my plants haven’t,” Zhangjing laments. “So in a way, I’m not well. And how are you? Nongnong tells me you’ve been busy.”

“My father is delighted with how things turned out in Rosinber, so he’s given me more towns to oversee. I’m also trying to keep up with whatever I’ve missed out on while I was gone,” Yanjun says dully. “What brings you here tonight?”

“I was wondering why you haven’t dropped by lately.” Picking up the bottle, the herbalist fiddles with it absentmindedly as he waits for a reply.

So I wouldn’t have more memories of you when you’re gone.

“Missed me?” Yanjun smirks when Zhangjing rolls his eyes at him, suddenly feeling a lot less tired. But the herbalist smiles after, looking away as he replies softly: “Yes, it does seem quieter when you don’t drop by.”

“Would you like to move into my quarters?”

At the sudden and irrelevant proposal, Zhangjing stares at Yanjun: wide-eyed and almost dropping the potion bottle. “Um, I wouldn’t mind, but whatever for?”

“I’ve been thinking about your request to return home.”

“Oh.” Is Zhangjing’s answer, even though Yanjun isn’t making much sense to him.

“With you being closer, we can be more diligent in working together. Let’s get your potions to work better for me: eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. And after a month, unless my condition regresses — you are free to return home.” Pausing, Yanjun waits for the other to say something, but when Zhangjing remains in a daze for far too long, he continues. “I’ve been told that this part of the palace has better access to rain and sunshine. Perhaps that might help your plants.”

“Perhaps,” Zhangjing snaps out of his daze to smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Yanjun. Thank you. For this, and for considering my request.”

Yanjun wants to reply that there is no need to thank him, but instead says: “Then move over to the empty room next to mine first thing tomorrow. And be prepared for my constant visits, or better, visit me instead.” Bowing playfully, Zhangjing lowers his voice dramatically to say: “As you command, Your Highness.”

At the click of Yanjun’s tongue, he lifts his head and moves closer to where Yanjun is seated, the table still between them. Placing the bottle in front of Yanjun, he says: “Would I be so bold as to suggest sleeping soon, Your Highness? You look absolutely beat.”

“Are you going to feed me that potion if I refuse?”

“Will you go to sleep if I do?”

Retrieving the bottle, Zhangjing opens it and reaches over to the prince. Yanjun smirks satisfactorily at the other’s action, parting his lips and tilting his chin slightly upwards. Zhangjing’s finger brushes against his lower lip — soft and warm — before it is replaced by the cool glass of the bottle. The brew still tastes as unspectacular as before, and Yanjun notes that the burn down his throat is extra hot this time.

Perhaps it had nothing to do with the brew itself, but the fact that the herbalist’s cheeks are flushed as he watches Yanjun. Perhaps it is because Yanjun feels the warmth from his heart emanating through his entire body.

The brew leaves Yanjun feeling slightly dazed, too, something that didn’t happen too frequently. Through his hazy thoughts, an insistent voice urges him to reach over.

To touch.

To kiss.

Yanjun’s body is slow to react to the thought: his heartbeat accelerates, his fingers flex anxiously, his legs are slow to lift him off his seat — and when the prince finally reaches out, Zhangjing is already out the door, the other’s soft ‘goodnight’ lingering in the night air.

♦

“What a pretty colour.”

Zhangjing’s scream fills the room and he glares at Yanjun, clutching his chest. “Lin Yanjun! Why do you keep sneaking up on me!”

Feeling more amused and proud than guilty, the prince pays no heed to the herbalist’s words. Taking a seat, he crosses his legs and leans his chin on the back of his hand. “Using full names now, are we?”

“I- I’m sorry… but I can’t keep living like this! Can’t you knock, at least?”

“I did,” Yanjun frowns. “You never hear me. You’re always too engrossed in your potions, Zhangjing.”

“For your sake,” the herbalist emphasizes. “I do hear knocks. Nongnong knocks.”

“Are you sure he knocked? I happen to always see him just strolling in after calling for you.”

“Yes I am!” Zhangjing exclaims and pouts. “Anyway, since you’re here, try this.”

The prince stares at the steaming cup of aquamarine liquid presented to him and takes a deep breath. “I might have complimented its colour, but that doesn’t make me more inclined to drink it. What is it, anyway?”

“Just tea,” the herbalist smiles.

“You have a weird look on your face… am I going to die after drinking this?”

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Zhangjing takes a seat opposite Yanjun, their knees almost touching because of how messily crowded it still is since he moved into the new space in Yanjun’s quarters. Offering the cup again, he says: “It’s just tea… infused with Caelum roses.”

“Caelum roses?”

“Remember I asked a while back if I could have some to experiment on, because I felt that they might be useful as medicines? Well, someone beat you to it and gave me a bunch of them!”

Raising an eyebrow as he accepts the cup, Yanjun asks who it is. Zhangjing shrugs and says he found it on his desk with a note saying they were for him to use however he liked, but the sender had not written a name.

Yanjun purses his lips and downs the tea, burning his tongue in the process. Hissing, he glares at Zhangjing. “It was steaming… even the cup was hot...” Zhangjing shrinks back slightly before continuing softly, “I thought you’d know to be careful…”

The prince scoffs and puts the cup down on the table next to him, crossing his arms. “First you ignore my knocks, then you offer me drinks without telling me what they are, and then you don’t even care when I burn my tongue. Am I being punished for asking you to move here? Is this punishment, Zhangjing? Are your plants not thriving here?”

“Oh Yanjun,” Zhangjing leans forward and places his hands on both of the prince’s knees. “I’m sorry your tongue was burnt, alright? What do you want me to do? Get you something cold? Blow on it? Get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

In the prince’s mind, some of the suggestions are very inviting, but he brushes them aside and continues scowling at the other. “Your room is so much closer to mine now, how come you never visit me?”

“Well if you didn’t drop by at least twice every day, I would have more reasons to go over...” Zhangjing explains. “Besides, I don’t want to be invading the prince’s privacy on my whim.”

“Am I invading your privacy, then?”

“Don’t twist my words!”

Smirking, Yanjun is about to continue teasing the other when he notices a bandage on two of Zhangjing’s fingers. “What happened?” He reaches to touch the bandaged fingers, noticing how Zhangjing shivers upon contact. Noticing how a tinge of color rises to the herbalist’s cheeks.

“One came from the roses. I was careless since I’ve dealt with many plants with thorns, so that was my mistake.”

“The other one isn’t?”

“I wanted to help Nongnong with decorations for the Winter Feast, but I guess decorating isn’t my forte…”

“You’re a herbalist, Zhangjing,” Yanjun stresses, holding back from reprimanding the other for meddling in palace affairs. “You don’t have to help Nongnong with decorations .”

“He’s been rather stressed with it so I thought…”

“Not at the cost of you getting hurt,” Yanjun insists firmly.

“Yes, Your Highness!” Zhangjing salutes and gives the prince a cheeky smile. “How are preparations on your end, Yanjun? I imagine you’d be equally as busy and worked up, if not even more so.”

“It’s manageable,” the prince summarizes. “If only Linong would stop pestering me to pick a partner, I’d feel less burdened.”

Zhangjing laughs at his lament. “Is it that bad?”

“I’m just not interested,” Yanjun replies flatly. “Anyway, are you done telling me about your findings regarding that flower from your hometown?  Is there more you want to teach me about herbs today? Or should I return to work now? ”

Beaming at Yanjun for being the one to bring it up, Zhangjing bounds off to collect his many tomes filled with notes of various plants and their properties.

♦

“I imagine you’d have thought of it before offering Zhangjing his leave,” Linong looks at Yanjun sympathetically.

“I said it on a whim,” the prince confesses bitterly. “It never hit me that he’d be gone before the Winter Feast.”

“So ask him to stay!”

“That would be going against my words.”

“Then… tell him you’re just inviting him for the Feast.”

The prince sighs. Yanjun knows that he could extend Zhangjing’s stay in Caelum if he wanted to. However, that would not end his frustrations. He simply could not come to terms with the parting. After all, he had finally found peace — regardless of whether he was awake or asleep — because a part of him feared that said peace would leave with the other; yet another part of him found no valid reason to continuously delay the other’s return.

Linong knows Yanjun to be one who had trouble expressing his well-intentions when they conflicted with something else he had previously promised, so when the other doesn’t reply, he drops the topic. “I saw your father earlier today. We were discussing about who should be tasked to oversee the snowfall during the Feast. Considering how taxing it is, His Majesty wasn’t too keen on it being you. After all, you’re having great sleep improvements. Would be a shame to exhaust your progress.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else in the family to be exhausted, either,” Yanjun notes. “And if I’m tired, I’ll have a reason to excuse myself earlier.”

“That’s what I told your father too. If you’re set on ridding yourself of fun and becoming a tired bag during the Feast, I’ve come with extra morsel of encouragement.”

Yanjun raises an eyebrow, curious. “Which is?”

“Zhangjing loves snow,” Linong emphasizes on the second word, eyeing the prince for a reaction. Much to his dismay, Yanjun’s expression remains the same. “Well then, don’t get yourself hauled off to the morgue during the Feast,” Linong says before excusing himself.

When his advisor is gone, Yanjun chuckles to himself: “If Zhangjing loves the snow, it wouldn’t hurt me to make it snow even if I’m on my deathbed.”

♦

“What’re you doing?”

As Zhangjing’s familiar scream fills the room, Yanjun takes a step back so the other’s punches won’t reach him. “Lin Yanjun!”

“I knocked,” the prince stops him, “three times for charm.” When Zhangjing looks at him skeptically and continues placing pots into a crate, he repeats his question.

“Ah,” making sure the last pot is secure, Zhangjing turns to look at Yanjun. The prince doesn’t miss the tinge of melancholy in the other’s voice as he smiles sheepishly. “I’m packing for my trip home.”

The reply sends Yanjun into a flurry of frustration and sorrow. He had been trying not to count down to the days when Zhangjing’s one month — his last month with Zhangjing — would be over. Even though the herbalist is still beside him, the knowledge of their soon-to-come parting pained Yanjun.

“Pack well, then,” is all the prince says before he turns to leave. The short walk back to his own room does nothing to lift his mood, his bitterness is only accompanied by the echo of thunder through the chamber.

As lightning flashes to usher in a sudden downpour, Yanjun wonders when he began to feel so lonely.

♦

Trying to come to terms with the inevitable, Yanjun keeps count of the finals days of Zhangjing’s stay.

And does his best to not see the herbalist.

Linong chides him, but doesn’t rub it in. “He’ll think he did something wrong if you keep avoiding him, Yanjun,” the other sighs.

“Just tell him I’m busy,” Yanjun’s gaze doesn’t leave the report he is writing, hoping his advisor would leave soon.

“Busy ignoring your desire to have him stay, you mean?”

Pretending not to hear Linong’s words, the prince adds: “Tell him I’ll be there to see him off.”

“That’s if he can even leave,” the other sighs. “Do you know it’s been raining for a whole week now? It’s not advisable to travel in this weather. Everyone else in your family has tried to clear up the skies — but they haven’t been able to. Do you know why?”

Of course, Yanjun knew.

“Please tell me it isn’t your way of delaying his departure,” Linong adds.

“I can’t help it,” he confesses quietly, his quill finally pausing on the parchment, leaving a small splotch at the spot. “I’ve been losing control.”

“Have you not been sleeping well?”

“Well enough,” Yanjun replies, not wanting to bring up the return of his nightmares that have taken a new form.

“You could really ask Zhangjing to stay to help you through, you know?”

Of course, Yanjun knows.

It does nothing to change his decision.

♦

When Yanjun was plagued with dreams of endless dreadful battles, filled with deaths and despair, he thought that there could be nothing worse.

How wrong he was.

With the absence of the violence and defeat came an eerie silence. One that opened a void within Yanjun he never knew existed. One that threatened to swallow him — not in one huge bite, but slowly, chipping away at him subtly.

Painlessly.

Until there is no more.

Until he is left only with three companions: uncertainty, fear, and the worst one of all — loneliness.

The nightmares started out as a shadow in his mind, a light blanket of air over him as he slept: he knew he dreamt them, yet they were so quick that he would question himself when he woke up in the middle of the night.

Like a breeze that stirred him from his sleep, leaving no trace nor memory.

In the days leading up to Zhangjing’s departure, they clawed at him with more fury, unafraid and sinking their painfully sharp fangs into him so that he would stay with them. After waking up in a panic one night, Yanjun wonders if he should tell anyone, if he should tell Zhangjing — but he sleeps soundly the night after, leaving him baffled. Leaving him wondering if he is the one who dreamt them up.

He tries convincing himself that they would leave him when Zhangjing does. As he does so, Yanjun drinks his potions diligently, praying that it would keep his nightmares at bay.

One stormy night, Yanjun finds himself gripped by familiar torments. In darkness, he hears the roar of unrestrained thunder, only to be greeted by a deafening silence right after. In silence, he walks through an uneasy fog — one that licks at his skin: cold and sinister. Yanjun calls out — asking for someone, something , and he sees a misty figure in the distance.

He sprints towards it with all his might, feeling the darkness dissolve as he nears the person — but when his fingers reach for the figure, it dissipates and he is engulfed in black again. It is then when he hears the whispers.

“It’s not the first time you’ll be left alone. So many have said their farewell to you on the battlefield!”

“You’ll just have to get used to it. No one stays forever.”

“Why don’t you just keep Zhangjing by your side? You have the power to, Yanjun. Who cares if he’s homesick? He’s in your service! He didn’t insist to be sent home, anyway, just play dumb!”

“Forget Zhangjing, you’ve never needed to depend on anyway, you certainly don’t need him!”

“You poor child. It’s alright, everything will be fine. We’ll be here for you. Come, stay with us. We don’t bite.”

Menacing laughter fills the darkness and Yanjun feels overwhelmed by the many whispers. Covering his ears, he screams for them to stop — but it seems to only spur them on, as he feels something grab at his shoulders.

His first instinct is to shake it away, but he feels too weak to do so. ‘Perhaps surrendering would be easier’, Yanjun thinks.

“Yanjun! Wake up!”

Forcing his eyes open, Yanjun is greeted by a familiar figure.

One that fills up the void in him all too quickly.

“Zhangjing,” he whispers, before pulling the other into a tight embrace. The herbalist chokes at the sudden force of their chests colliding, but makes no move to remove himself from within Yanjun’s arms.

Winds from the raging storm outside have found refuge within Yanjun’s room, blowing out many of the lamps and candles he had lit before sleeping. However, a soft glow is cast upon them from the lamp that Zhangjing had brought and placed beside Yanjun’s bed. It calmed Yanjun’s ragged breaths ever so slightly.

The prince squeezes Zhangjing once — just to make sure that the person in his arms is real.

In response, Zhangjing’s soft hands find their way to his back, stroking rhythmically to comfort him.

He then takes a deep breath, letting the familiar smell of leaves and flowers — and a certain scent of sunshine he had no name for — fill his lungs. There was no mistaking that it is indeed Zhangjing in his arms.

When he feels the other’s breath on his ear, whispering: “I’m here”, Yanjun buries his head into the other’s shoulder, trying to soak in Zhangjing’s warmth, trying to count the other’s heartbeats — trying to etch the peace that Zhangjing’s presence always gave to him.

He doesn’t lift his head when he tells the other that the nightmares have returned.

“I guessed so,” Zhangjing says, “why didn’t you tell me?”

At this point, Yanjun has no strength nor courage to keep his pretenses up. “Because you wanted to go home... and I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“If I knew that you still needed my help, I would’ve stayed.”

Biting his bottom lip when tears pool in his eyes, Yanjun explains weakly: “But I didn’t want you to stay just because you felt obliged to help me. In fact, Zhangjing, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Breaking the embrace, Yanjun looks at the other, his pretty eyes and his adorable nose, his rosy lips that are now in a sad curve, before telling Zhangjing of his powers that can manipulate the weather. “It’s my fault that it’s been storming so horribly lately. I didn’t mean to hinder your journey home, it’s just that I haven’t been feeling the best lately.”

“I know, Yanjun.”

Reaching to touch Yanjun’s cheek, Zhangjing repeats himself. “I know. I overheard your conversation with Nongnong in Rosinber. I know about your powers. I understand why you didn’t tell me before, and there’s no need for you to apologize.”

Feeling the herbalist’s thumb rub his cheek gently, the side of Yanjun’s lips lift slightly in comfort and relief. “As much as I don’t mind not knowing certain things, I’d really appreciate it if you confided in me in other matters, especially those that involved your well-being, especially those I might be able to help with. Like your nightmares.”

“What if you can’t?” Yanjun says carefully, looking elsewhere before seeking out Zhangjing’s eyes again. “What if it’s not something a potion can cure, what if they just come and go as they please?”

“Even if that is the case, I would still stay and help you till you’re cured,” Zhangjing assures.

“Because you’re my herbalist?”

The question catches Zhangjing off-guard and it is his turn to avert his gaze. “Because I care for you,” he answers softly.

“If I am never cured, would you stay with me forever?”

“If you’d like me to,” the herbalist replies, then chuckles. “Although, I actually prefer you wanting me to stay for other reasons.”

“I like you,” the words slip through Yanjun’s lips unintentionally but without regret. “Would that be a good enough reason for you to stay?”

Zhangjing offers a smile, his eyes curving upwards and glimmering with tears.“It’s a good enough reason for me to stay for now.”

♦

A knock on his door causes Zhangjing to pause his song halfway. Setting his watering can down, he moves to open the door, revealing a familiar charming face behind it.

“I come with mail,” Yanjun announces, grinning and extending a bouquet of Caelum roses to the person before him.

“For me?” Zhangjing’s eyes light up — very much like they always do when he talks about his plants or potions. “Who are they from?”

“Yours truly,” Yanjun stares intensely at the herbalist as he answers, watching the other’s familiar features react to express his shyness: from widening his eyes to averting his gaze, from the tinge of colour in his cheeks to his nervous lip-biting. Satisfied at the other’s response, Yanjun continues: “I’ve come to ask you to be my partner for the Winter Feast.”

The herbalist gasps and takes a step back. “Surely you must be… joking?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“You don’t look any different when you joke, Yanjun…”

“I’m serious.”

“What about that list of princesses Nongnong compiled for you…?”

“Did you know? Caelum roses are only gifted as an invitation to attend an event as someone’s partner. I sent you a bouquet some time ago, just that I made the mistake of passing them to Linong to be sent over. I didn’t think he would leave my name out…”

Zhangjing laughs at the revelation and tries his best to retain a serious expression when the prince frowns. “What I mean to say is: if you want Linong’s job to be easier, since he really wants me to pick someone to go to the Feast with, then go with me. You’re the only person I’d consider, and I’d go to lengths to have you agree.”

“Now you’re talking,” Zhangjing claps his hands together and beams at Yanjun. “I actually have a preferred weather schedule for my plants… would you mind?”

Raising an eyebrow, Yanjun sighs. “Why would I? It’s not like I haven’t done so before.”

At his words, Zhangjing wraps him in a quick hug — one that is gone the next second. “I know. And I appreciate all the times you’ve made it rain or shine for the sake of my plants, especially that flower.”

“It’s good to know that my efforts haven’t gone unnoticed,” Yanjun says with a tone of indifference, but his cheeks are flushed.

The herbalist is amused at the sight and giggles.

“I’ll go with you,” he dips his nose towards the bouquet of roses before adding, “I hope no one will mind me not being a princess.”

♦

“Knock, knock. Are you ready?”

After all the months Zhangjing had spent in Caelum, the herbalist still had the habit of leaving his door ajar. Stepping inside when he receives no reply, Yanjun maneuvers carefully around the room — less messy now but still crowded as ever, if not even more so. His fingers trace over the open scrolls on Zhangjing’s table, glancing at the other’s messy handwriting and pausing to read a certain scribble in a leather-bound book.

“Oh, Yanjun! You’re here! Have you seen the snow? Wait, what am I asking, of course you have,” the herbalist giggles at his own silly question before turning his attention back to the snow, “it’s beautiful !”

The prince lifts his gaze, smiling immediately at the sight of his favourite herbalist dressed in a tailored tunic of peach and gold. “You look beautiful,” Yanjun almost fails at finding his voice.

Zhangjing laughs shyly at the compliment. “Thank you, it means a lot coming from someone who looks like you .”

“Come here,” Yanjun motions, reaching into his pocket as the other nears him. “This is for you,” he says as he holds out a brooch in the shape of a sun within a blooming rose.

“How pretty!” Zhangjing exclaims as the prince pins it onto his tunic, right above where his heart would be. “What did I do to deserve this, Your Highness?” Zhangjing asks with a breathless giggle.

Pointing to the brooch on his own chest, Yanjun says that it is to signify that they’re attending the Feast together. “Why is yours a moon instead of a sun?” Yanjun smiles embarrassedly, flushing at the words he can’t quite bring himself to say.

“You’ll find out one day.”

Zhangjing pouts, unsatisfied with the answer. “I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me,” he huffs.

“That works,” Yanjun grins.

The shorter boy barely realizes the prince’s intentions before Yanjun is leaning downwards. Watching as the other’s lips neared his, Zhangjing shrinks and dodges to the side, feeling his cheeks burn.

Taken aback by his reaction, Yanjun apologizes but is stopped by the other. “It’s fine, I’m just, it was quite sudden and… just give me a minute,” Zhangjing says as he takes deep breaths.

“I suppose I could tell you about our brooches within that minute,” Yanjun rubs the tip of his nose with his knuckle. Clearing his throat, he warns Zhangjing to not laugh before saying: “You know how moonlight is actually reflected sunlight? And how the sun is warm and bright and… you know.”

Zhangjing does not laugh — just like he promised, but instead, he giggles in joy.

“I always knew you were romantic,” he sighs in contentment before moving to stand before Yanjun again. “I don’t think I’m worthy to be referred to as the sun, especially your sun, but I really appreciate your intentions.”

Reaching up to cup Yanjun’s cheeks, Zhangjing tiptoes to press a soft kiss on the tip of the prince’s nose. The wind whistles through the windows, sending a flurry of snowflakes into Zhangjing’s room as more fall from the sky outside.

The herbalist notices the sight outside and can’t help but smile widely as he pulls back, wondering if his cheeks were as flushed as Yanjun’s — or perhaps a hundred times more. Yanjun takes a few seconds to break out of his daze, but as soon as he regains his composure, he reaches to hold Zhangjing’s chin. Tilting it upwards, he whispers before pressing their lips together in a long and deep kiss.

“There’s no one else who can be my sun, but you.”

♦

“Is that your partner for the Feast, Your Highness?” A lady approaches Yanjun, glancing over at Zhangjing who is conversing with Linong by the wine table in disapproval. “I heard that he’s your herbalist.”

Yanjun vaguely remembers the lady to be a princess he had met years ago, but fails to remember her name. He doesn’t bother to, considering the spite she stares at Zhangjing with.

“He is.”

“Is he any good? People have said that he was brought in to help you with something… difficult. How is that faring, Your Highness? Has be been able to find a cure?”

Yanjun thinks about all the nights Zhangjing had spent by his bed: holding his hand as he sang soft lullabies to him, complimenting Yanjun on how handsome he looked when he thought the other was asleep, how he had fallen asleep one night — and all the nights after that because Yanjun had not bothered to wake him despite so.

Because they both slept the best when they were next to each other, because Zhangjing’s heartbeat is the best lullaby for Yanjun.

“People,” Yanjun begins, “aren’t supposed to know about confidential palace matters.” The lady squirms under his glare, but he continues, sincerely wanting to answer her questions.

“He has,” the prince smiles when Zhangjing turns to look at him, waving from afar. “Or rather, I should say: he is the cure.”

♦ END ♦