Archive of Our Own

There is a memory from his boyhood that Jaehyun does not forget.

When the world is still new, and the learning curve for young gods unforgiving, he resolves to hone his abilities as soon as he is strong enough to draw back his own bowstring.

His instincts lead him to a forest glade, because if there's any species that doesn't need help finding a mate, it's the rabbits.

Jaehyun sees three of them - one resting under the bush closest to him, and two underneath the shrubbery on the opposite side of the glade.

He raises his bow, the weapon still heavy and foreign in his arms, and clumsily notches an arrow. Deciding the easier prey should go first, Jaehyun aims the arrowhead in the direction of the solitary rabbit.

It sails through the air in an improbable, parabolic arc and dissolves into the rabbit as a pinprick of vanishing light. Even without the visible flourish, Jaehyun would know with full certainty that the arrow had hit its mark: no matter what twists and turns the arrow chooses to take, its final target is determined solely by Jaehyun's intent. If he means for the rabbit to be struck, then it will be.

The targeted rabbit twitches confusedly, snowy ears drooping as it looks curiously from side to side, watching. And waiting.

Jaehyun swallows as he focuses his attention on the other shrub, and the two rabbits grazing peacefully underneath it. As he feels the weight of the ivory rabbit's discerning gaze, he thinks he should have made this choice earlier.

But how can he? To ensnare one in the chains of unconditional love is dreamy to only the most starry-eyed idealist, and Jaehyun was born with the power to forge unions but not the power to know if they are right.

This poor rabbit. He has the sinking feeling there is no right decision here, but if Jaehyun cannot make up his mind in matchmaking woodland animals then he cannot hope to do justice to humans.

The two rabbits are still grazing right next to each other. Left, or right. All he has to do is pick one.

Jaehyun deliberately lets loose an arrow somewhere in the middle of the two, and it lands with a dull thud in the ground; it does not even shine.

Miraculously, the two rabbits remain rooted to their spots, unfazed, and Jaehyun smiles bitterly. The choice must be deliberate, and his alone.

"I'm sorry," he sighs heavily, and the left of the two rabbits twitches its nose in interest. Jaehyun is stressed enough that he decides to consider it a sign, and he designates the left rabbit as his target.

Within moments of the shimmering arrowhead passing through the rabbit's glossy black coat, he approaches his partner, nuzzling under the white rabbit's chin experimentally as the latter responds in kind. The third and unscathed rabbit regards Jaehyun with an uncaring look before ambling further back into the trees.

It's too early in the day to be this exhausted. Jaehyun runs a hand through his dark brown hair, contemplative, as he sits on the ground and closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight painting the forest floor.

---
later
---

At this point, Doyoung just wishes Taeyong was the handsome one.

His elder brother is plenty attractive, with wide innocent eyes set in a perfectly chiseled face, and an impeccable sense of what jewels and finery would best accentuate his clothing. His dance would put a god's muse to shame, and he is widely regarded as thoughtful and gentle to animals and his citizens alike.

And yet.

Taeyong is not the one for whom townspeople idle outside the palace just to catch a glance, and Taeyong is not the one for whom tendrils of ivy trip over themselves just for the chance to snag at his ankles.

That would be Doyoung.

He doesn't know how he became quite so beloved to the townspeople - doesn't know why they sing praises of his beauty and revere every word that tumbles out of his mouth.

In his perfectly honest, subjective opinion, he has never even been particularly handsome. The gangly child with messy hair grew into a thin teenager with dutifully combed locks, but Doyoung had only put in the minimal effort to be presentable as royalty. He'd thought the townspeople loved their youngest prince for his personality, for his charity and commitment to duty, but as he'd matured into adulthood he'd realized just how wrong he had been.

On Doyoung's twentieth birthday, the temple to the goddess of beauty had lain neglected, as instead worshippers left offerings at the palace bearing Doyoung's name.

All he remembers from that day is the smell of burning. The spontaneous, roaring inferno that engulfed gifts and flowers alike as worshippers fell to their knees and clawed the ground in agony is forever etched in his mind.

Doyoung had hoped the threat of divine retribution would be enough to discourage those mad enough to pray to him instead of the goddess of beauty.

But today as well, it seems that hope is proven wrong.

"Doyoung!" Taeyong's hiss is sharp in the balmy summer air, as he takes advantage of Doyoung's distractedness to yank him into a palace corridor.

"Did you hear about the wheat fields?" Taeyong whispers fervently, hair wispy with disarray and bright eyes sharp amidst the shadows.

"No," Doyoung manages, tentatively, as Taeyong gives him an incredulous look. "What about them?" he tries, again. He'd spent the better half of the morning cooped up in his study finishing reports.

"It's faster to show you," Taeyong says, unusually impatient, as he yanks Doyoung by the wrist and all but drags him to the balcony overlooking the southern fields.

There, amidst rolling acres of peacefully waving wheat, lies a single field utterly razed: trails of scorch marks mar the once orderly rows, and the remains of ruined crops sit in charred, unrecognizable piles. Faint petals of ash float above the wreckage, polluting the bright azure of the midday skies.

Doyoung feels sick to his stomach. "When?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the ruined earth.

"This morning," Taeyong replies, fingers curling around the railing in a fluid motion. His eyes wander to the sooty clouds unfurling in the sky, and he hesitates before continuing. "The owner of that land - he was one of your worshippers. Left you an offering of flowers this morning."

In other words, he's just like the others: the fisherman whose nets have been empty for weeks, the carpenter whose own roof had collapsed on him, and the apothecary whose own supplements had poisoned her. Misfortune has visited every civilian with the audacity to pay worship to their youngest prince.

Doyoung suddenly feels overwhelmed. Not for the first time, he laments the fact that he's endangered the very people he'd sworn to protect. He's overcome with the urge to do something, anything.

"Taeyong," he intones, serious and confiding. "You know as well as I do who did this."

"Aphrodite," Taeyong says calmly. "She's quite jealous of you. Obviously."

Doyoung rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've already issued a decree that tells people to stop leaving gifts for me, but they won't stop. I need to change my strategy."

"I don't know," Taeyong laughs humorlessly. "Be less adored?"

Taeyong's tone is frank, but Doyoung can't help but notice a twinge of bitterness, a sour note where there shouldn't be.

Jealousy among siblings is no foreign concept to him, but it's never been over something like this.

"Taeyong," he says before he can stop himself, because his tongue has always been regrettably impulsive."Do you resent the attention they give me? You know I don't like it either."

Taeyong gives him a long look.

"No, Doyoung." Doyoung knows he means it, by the sincerity plain in his eyes. "You've done too much for me to ever resent you. It's just," he looks away, awkward, suddenly taking an intense interest in the wisteria tangled among the lattice at the doorway.

"As the older one, I thought that I would be the one who has to make the hard choices. But you're already facing something like this, and I have no idea how to help either. I guess I just feel sorry about that." Taeyong wrings his hands, looking down.

Doyoung sighs. Typical of his brother: wanting to take on the weight of the world, and forgetting his own fragility in the process.

"We'll figure it out, Taeyong. Trust me."

Doyoung is met with a doubtful look, and he pushes more. "Have I ever not figured it out?"

"No," Taeyong quietly concedes, pushing his hair out of his eyes, something weary but fond lingering between them. "You haven't."

---

Life persists.

Meaning, although Doyoung has a raging influx of admirers, he does his best to carry out his duties as normal.

The mornings consist of sitting in on his father's court to hear the grievances of the citizens, followed by accompanying him to any important meetings with personnel. It's relentlessly, unforgivably boring, and even Taeyong's bright gaze inevitably fizzles out into an absent stare.

The meetings would be more bearable if Doyoung could actually participate. He is, admittedly, rather fond of both talking and telling others what to do. But the leaders are so set on his supposed youthful incompetence that he'd be met with vitriol regardless of the actual merit of his ideas.

It's a waste of his time.

There are other, more concrete ways to help his people: playing with the orphan children, passing bread to the homeless, helping clean the areas around the temples. Taeyong had suggested he refrain from charitable work once the problem with his worshippers had begun, but he'd declined. If he's going to pray to the gods to keep his people healthy and safe, then at least he needs to do his part.

It's during one of these charitable visits that he feels something is off.

He's scrubbing the steps of the temple dedicated to Zeus when he feels the inexplicable, prickling feeling that he is being watched.

He abruptly sets his cloth back in the bucket of soapy water, ignoring the wash of foam that slides over his sandaled feet.

"Taeyong," he alerts his brother quietly. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" His brother pauses from scrubbing to take a well deserved seat, and fixes him with a curious look.

"Like we're being watched."

Taeyong, unimpressed, vaguely gestures to the crowd of people milling about under the afternoon sun. "It's not unlikely, no."

Doyoung blows out a frustrated breath. "You know what I mean. Just…" He rakes a hand through his hair, and unhappily chalks the feeling up to paranoia. "Forget I said anything, then."

Taeyong only answers with an affirmative hum.

Days later, they sit in the castle courtyard, Taeyong emphatically rambling about his latest concern when that feeling strikes Doyoung again.

"There," he hisses, abruptly. "You don't feel like we're being watched?" His gaze flicks wildly around the bench they occupy, and he touches reassuringly at the knife in his belt.

Taeyong frowns, and in the dying sunlight the look in his eyes seems almost piteous. He reaches over to check Doyoung's forehead for fever, and then shrugs.

"I think you've had a lot to worry about, and it's getting to your head. Are you sure you don't need to see the doctor?"

Taeyong's eyes are kind, but his words cut deep, and Doyoung bites his tongue in disappointment. He doesn't tell his brother how he's experienced the same feeling more and more within the past few days, how he's already told the guards and been sufficiently mocked. He doesn't tell Taeyong about how sometimes he feels eyes on him even within the palace, and worries for them both.

"I'm fine," is all Doyoung says. "I guess I just need to get more rest."

Taeyong nods sagely and continues his lament, but Doyoung isn't really listening anymore.

---

Throughout everything, music is his only respite.

There is nothing quite like the adrenaline hammering through his heart when he is allowed to sing to his heart's content, and the harvest festival is no exception.

It's a bright, cloudless day, and the cloying scent of spices floats through the air along with the excited chatter of civilians.

If Doyoung was paying attention, he would take in the beauty of the colorful decorations strung on the rooftops, of the flowers strewn into crowns, of the massive platters of food laid out for all to share. But he's really not paying attention at all, because it's been so long since he's gotten to make music that all he can focus on is the weight of his breath and the sound of the lyre.

It's a simple ballad, but Doyoung pushes himself to deliver every note as cleanly as he can. It's a blissful feeling, practicing what he loves, and when he's met with thunderous applause he feels like he's walking on clouds.

It's the most carefree he's been in the past week.

He steps off the stage and melts into the crowd with relative ease; while most aren't bold enough to strike up conversation with the prince, the novelty of seeing Doyoung perform has also worn off over the years.

He knows that once he retreats into the shade of the trees he'll be able to recharge a bit before getting food, and that's exactly what he plans to do.

He's leaning against a great oak and wiping the sweat from his brow when unexpectedly, a stranger addresses him.

"You're missing one of these," the man says, holding up a flower crown as a teasing smile plays on his lips.

"Excuse me?" Doyoung says, intelligently.

The man gestures broadly at the rest of the crowd. "Everyone else has one. See?"

Doyoung scans quickly around to confirm that yes, nearly everyone else is donning the floral accessory. He chances a glance at the stranger to see if he's wearing one too, and makes the mistake of looking directly at his face. The pink roses framing his head pale in comparison to the softness of his brown hair, the twinkle of his eyes, and the attractive curve of his lips.

Doyoung's mouth feels dry.

"Thank you," he states, accepting the gift and situating it in his own dark hair.

The stranger only smiles, revealing a charming set of dimples. "You're welcome," he says warmly. "Though, you look lovely either way."

Doyoung doesn't know what to say to that. For all his political and diplomatic savvy he has never quite had time to grapple with the laws of attraction, and the handsome stranger flirting with him is almost too much to bear.

"I have to go find my brother," he says hastily, as he pushes off from the tree trunk and makes to leave.

"Okay," the other says amiably, but there's a shade of sadness in his tone. "It was nice talking to you, prince," he murmurs softly, almost drowned out by the whispers of foliage overhead.

He levels a fond look in Doyoung's direction, warm and inviting, and Doyoung resists the urge to stay.

---

These days Doyoung opens the palace door with a sense of trepidation, an almost constant worry of what gifts he might find on his doorstep and whose misfortune it entails. On the morning after the festival, however, he doesn't find offerings at the front step. He finds a child.

The child is unmoving, facedown in the pale morning light, and Doyoung immediately assumes the worst.

"Hey," he starts, rushing to the child's side, "are you alright?" Doyoung hesitantly lays two fingers on the child's neck, and, sensing a pulse, props him across his lap.

He doesn't rouse, no matter how much Doyoung shakes him. Doyoung is just beginning to deliberate whether he should call the doctor or find the boy's parents when the child begins stirring in his arms, long lashes fluttering as he wakes.

"Oh. Good morning, prince." Ignoring Doyoung's shock, the boy sits up and stretches gracefully. The iridescent streaks in his caramel hair seem to shine in the sunlight, matching the dewy glow of his sun-kissed skin.

The boy clears his throat, dispelling some of the dust of disuse, and when he speaks again his voice is as rich as honey. "I'm hungry," he says simply, dark eyes meeting Doyoung's in what seems like, in hindsight, a challenge.

So Doyoung leads him back to the dining hall, and brings his guest a pitcher of water. And juice. And thick loaves of bread crusted with almonds and raisins, savory meats drizzled with honey, and all manner of dried fruits. His guest is ravenous, fork lifting to his mouth in a seemingly endless repeat until the utensil clatters to his plate and the boy is finally satiated.

There's a different look in his eyes now, warm and almost playful, and his head tilts coyly to the side as he scrutinizes the prince.

"Not bad, Doyoung," he says cheerfully.

Doyoung swallows. There are few people he allows to belittle him so openly.

There are fewer still whom he suspects to be a god.

"It was my pleasure," he says carefully, bowing his head. A beat passes, and then, "to what do I owe this visit?"

His guest tilts his head as he props it on his hand, lackadaisical. A crumb teases the edge of his mouth, and he chases it with his tongue.

"I'm not a god, you know," he muses casually, closing his eyes. "But I see people's futures, and yours is, well, confusing. You're a mess, Doyoung."

Doyoung's preservation instincts are marginally stronger than his desire to act miffed, and he holds his tongue.

"It's not your fault you're a troublesome case," the boy soothes. He reclines back in his chair, and that troublesome glint in his eye is back again.

"Would you like to hear your fate?" he asks, and Doyoung knows it isn't a question.

He nods.

"Tomorrow," the boy begins. "You are to scale the northern mountain in mourning garb, and wait."

"That's it? I'm being sentenced to die?" Doyoung fights to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

The boy merely rolls his eyes. "Well, I can't tell you that. "But would you dare to do otherwise?" he asks, tone light.

Doyoung can physically feel the anger welling up in his body, urging him to tell this rude guest, this child, exactly what's on his mind, but for all his flaws Doyoung is not stupid.

"Fine," he bites. "I'll do as you say." The words taste like defeat, and he's reminded once again that he is mortal; he is nothing to those who lay these cosmic games.

"Glad to hear it." The boy is beaming, and he takes one long swig out of his glass before sliding out of his seat.

"It was nice to meet you, Doyoung. Hopefully you don't die," he chirps. The boy smiles, and it lights up his whole face.

"If we meet again, you can call me Donghyuck."

Before Doyoung can respond, the child is gone, leaving only a lone sunflower in his wake.

---

His brother has always said that the color black suits him. It brings out the sharpness of his eyes, or the set of his shoulders, or whatever new lie he conjures up for the day.

But that's not quite fair. Taeyong never, ever, lies on purpose; he's just so painfully naive that reality doesn't tend to line up with his worldview.

Like this morning, when he'd asked Doyoung when he might return.

Doyoung is not innocent here either. He'd tossed and turned the entire night prior thinking of a way to tell his brother goodbye, and when this easy out is offered to him, he takes it.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Doyoung promises, deceptively gentle, black robes swishing around his ankles as he wraps his arms around Taeyong in an awkward embrace.

Doyoung has left behind all his notes for whatever use they might serve, has sparred with Taeyong until they rolled in the dirt bruised and bloody, has dried his tears countless times when the path to sovereignty proved unforgiving. Even if he can't be there for him anymore, he's certain he's done all he can.

"You're going to be great," Doyoung reassures him in a rare compliment as he pats his shoulder.

Taeyong pauses, then amends whatever he was going to say. "Okay," he murmurs, fidgeting with his hands. He's always been so endearingly awkward, and it seems their last meeting is no different. "Have a safe trip."

"I'll try," Doyoung promises, and he hoists his satchel over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the city. He doesn't look back.

---

By the time Doyoung is midway up the mountain path, he feels like his legs are mush.

He sits down and opens his bag, chasing the dryness in his throat with a swig of water from his canteen before munching halfheartedly on a fig.

The sun could be inches away for how powerfully it glares down on his unguarded head. The malicious heat coaxes fat drops of sweat down Doyoung's neck and he eyes the canteen in his hand, debating against his better judgement whether to just pour it on his head and be done with it already. He's poring over this rather useless argument when he hears a voice at his side and startles immediately.

"Took you long enough." The red haired boy perched on the rock beside him has a sort of frantic, kinetic energy about him - barely one word has left his mouth before he starts the next, and his sandaled feet dangle carelessly off the edge of the rock precipice.

Doyoung blows out a calming breath. So. Two annoying people in the span of two days, the latter of which had almost shocked him into toppling off the mountain. He can do this.

He weighs his options carefully, allowing his blood pressure to calm before formulating a properly deferential response, when the boy's eyes narrow critically and he speaks again.

"You know, with all Jaehyun said about you, I thought you'd be more..." He gesticulates with his hands, as if trying to pluck the word out of the air, "...attractive? Yes, that's it. You look pretty average, in my opinion at least," he adds cheerfully.

Doyoung grits his teeth and decides to forgo the polite approach. "What," he all but demands, "are you even talking about?"

The other has the audacity to laugh, but offers nothing else. When he winks at him, still chuckling, Doyoung feels the inexplicable urge to shudder.

"That's not really my secret to tell. Or maybe you'd like to ask him directly?"

He poses the question brightly, his perfect teeth gleaming in an innocent smile, but Doyoung knows the cruelty that charm belies, knows that the instant he accepts he'll just be pulled further into this mess.

"I do," Doyoung says firmly.

The red haired boy genuinely smiles then, and no amount of mental fortitude could prepare Doyoung for the hand that roughly shoves his shoulder, and the sound of the wind in his ears as he falls.

---

He's roused by the sharp scent of burning. Underneath it, there's a hint of something floral, cloying and sweet, and when Doyoung's eyes open he immediately sees its source: a steadily burning candle, with rose petals scattered along the golden base of the candle holder.

The candle is sitting on a wooden desk scarcely three paces away from Doyoung, and he realizes, belatedly, that he's sitting in a bed. A comfortable one, with white sheets as soft and clean as the finest down, but he still throws off the blanket pooled in his lap as panic begins to well in his throat.

It's hard to see much in the room outside of the warm sphere of light from the candle, so Doyoung hesitantly - he has never claimed to be brave - ambles over to it, notching his finger in the loop at the base of the candleholder. He winces as his bare feet shuffle against the cold, unforgiving stone, and holds the light to himself like a weapon. Perhaps it is.

With bated breath he begins walking across the room towards what he suspects is the sole window. The dark does not scare him, but in this unknown place he thinks he's perfectly justified in checking every stone before he bears his weight on it, in scrutinizing every shadow that lingers too long.

A thick, silky curtain obscures his view of the outside, and when Doyoung hastily yanks it aside a bright wash of moonlight spills in.

When he looks down, he's met with more flowers than he's ever seen in one place in his life. Beneath him, in the garden, arches are draped with honeysuckle and roses, grapevines are woven through lattice boards, and water lilies are floating on a tranquil pond. There are beds of flowers neatly arranged around the architecture of the garden - carnations and hydrangeas, irises and daisies - there are more types of flowers than Doyoung could possibly name, and he strains his eyes taking in as many details as he can. He's weighing his odds of successfully leaping onto the nearby apple tree and making a run for it when he sees movement below, at the edge of his peripheral vision.

He ducks immediately, peering out just enough to catch the sight of two figures talking next to the pond. The taller one is wearing a white hooded cloak, expression indecipherable in the shadows of his face. The shorter one, with curly dark hair, is shifting from foot to foot, but Doyoung can only see his back.

Unable to see either of their faces, Doyoung decides the risk of continuing to physically watch them isn't worth it. He crouches under the window as he attempts to eavesdrop, hoping he'll be able to match their voices to their appearances.

"...you're going out again?" Doyoung only catches a few words, but the voice is youthful and incredulous.

"I still have a lot to do. Something about the flowers being in bloom makes people long for a companion." The second voice is deep and mellifluous, with something like mirth coloring his tone.

Something about the second voice is familiar. But Doyoung can't seem to make sense of his words, no matter how many times he turns them over in his head. By the time he checks back into the conversation, he hears the younger sounding voice wish the other a safe journey, and then the sounds in the garden cease.

He slinks back to the bed, defeated.

Should he try to break out? At first he'd thought he'd awoken in a prison, but the garden just underneath him makes it seem like anything but. He sets the candle back on the desk, thoughts still swimming with uncertainty, before deciding that he should at least pretend to be asleep in case anyone comes in.

He tries to keep deliberating; truly, he does, but the softness of the pillow coaxes his consciousness from him with a gentle hand, and before he knows it he's succumbed to sleep once more.

---

"Wake up."

There's a hand shaking his shoulder and Doyoung's first instinct veers toward panic - he sits up instantly, colliding with the person hovering over him.

"Ow! That hurts, your head is so much harder than it looks…" The stranger stumbles away from Doyoung's bedside as he continues his incessant muttering, with one hand braced on the nearby wooden table and the other clutching his forehead.

Doyoung remains sitting up, not allowing himself even a moment more to be caught off guard. Distantly, his mind begins flicking through self-defense techniques, but for some reason he doubts they'll be of any use.

"Who are you?" It comes out sharper than Doyoung intends it.

The servant looks at him warily through his dark bangs, as if worried Doyoung will headbutt him again.

"My name is Mark. I'm a servant of this place."

"Okay," Doyoung says, as patiently as he can. "And what is this place?"

Mark's expression turns peculiar at that; his lips curve into a slight frown and his gaze drops to the ground.

"Well..." he trails off.

Whatever Mark intends to say, he seems reluctant to share. His evasiveness makes Doyoung anxious in turn, and a single, horrible thought blooms in his mind.

"Am I dead?" he blurts out. "Did I die after I was pushed from the mountain?"

"What?" Mark snaps back to attention. "That's definitely not it," he reassures, waving a placating hand. "I'm just not sure how much Jaehyun wants you to know."

There's that name again.

"And who is he?"

Mark's expression is pinched in regret. "This is his, um, residence. He owns the whole place," he adds helpfully, if not unnecessarily.

Doyoung swallows. "And why am I here?"

"That's -" Mark lets out a defeated sigh, his curly hair bouncing vigorously as he shakes his head. "No. Sorry, but I've already said too much. You can ask Jaehyun the rest when he gets back later today."

Doyoung resists the urge to sigh. Mark seems harmless enough, but he doesn't have many more answers than he started with.

"Oh! Right," Mark says, brightly. "I was supposed to give this to you." He turns around and plucks a flat, rectangular box off the table, handing it Doyoung carefully.

At Doyoung's questioning brow, Mark nods. "Open it," he encourages.

Doyoung unties the silken ribbon holding the box together and sets the lid aside. A small dagger lies gleaming inside, a dark tint to its polished edge and an ornate design carved into its silver handle.

"Tempered in the River Styx," Mark clarifies. "You may not be able to kill a god, but with that, you can certainly harm one. Look," he says, and gestures with his open palm.

Numb with surprise and curiosity, Doyoung fishes the dagger out of the box and places it in Mark's hand.

Mark raises the weapon to his own skin and pricks the tiniest of incisions on his forearm. A thin, golden liquid beads and drips down, shining in the light.

Doyoung is transfixed. "You're not a human," he says, awestruck.

"No." Mark smiles. "But I used to be, so if there's anything you need, please let me know."

Mark clears his throat. "Jaehyun thought you might be panicked when you first woke up, but if you were armed you might feel a little bit safer. Is that fair?"

Doyoung nods, too surprised to say anything else. Effectively, the gesture has peaked his curiosity more than anything. The master of this place must be either very kind or very foolish, and at this point Doyoung doesn't know which is preferable.

"Okay," he says softly, in response to Mark's expectant gaze. "And he'll be back by tonight?"

"Yep," Mark confirms, smiling pleasantly. "In the meantime, I think your breakfast will go cold if we wait any longer."

Shamefully, Doyoung's stomach growls. He throws the blankets off his lap and follows the servant down the winding maze of corridors.

---

The rest of the day ticks by in relative peace. Jaehyun's home may only be two floors but it's a veritable castle in its own right.

He spends the better part of the day exploring the dining hall, the drawing room, the library, and every other manner of room he comes across. Everything is orderly, but an air of loneliness hangs over the place; the furniture seems seldom used and there's a thin sheen of dust in certain corners.

By the time he gets around to the glass door leading out to the garden, the sun is already beginning to touch the horizon.

Doyoung takes it as a sign to rest.

Hours later, he is awoken by the smooth sound of the bedroom door chafing against the doorframe.

The candle provides a small radius of light, but the dark is still unforgiving. Doyoung's body freezes in alarm as he makes out the faint outline of a man turning and closing the door.

Jaehyun will be back later today, he recalls. Mark had recounted it to him numerous times: those magic placating words to fend off having to answer hard questions on his own. There's a good chance that the figure in front of him is Jaehyun, the person who trusted him enough to roam the place freely and have a weapon to himself.

And yet.

When one grows up believing in gods, there comes with it the inevitable fear of monsters. He knows nothing about Jaehyun, not really, only passing words from people who are clearly the man's friends.

His hand curls around the dagger hidden under his pillow.

Let him approach, then. It may be arrogant to think so, but if he feels threatened he is well versed in all the ways he needs to cut the stranger down.

The stranger turns toward the bed, just outside the sphere of candle light, shadows playing across the vague angles of his face.

"Doyoung," he addresses, gentle and inviting. "Did I wake you?"

In spite of himself, Doyoung is taken aback by the warmth in the man's tone. He's not foolish enough to drop his guard but something about the man's words soothes him, comforting in a way it shouldn't be.

Doyoung clenches his jaw. "How do you know my name?" he challenges, aiming a stern glare in the other's direction. "And why did you capture me?" His grip tightens on the concealed knife as he reminds himself how many steps are between him and the door. He hadn't spent the whole day memorizing the castle's layout for nothing: he will make a run for it, if need be.

There's a long, contemplative sigh, and Doyoung waits. He's glad the relative darkness prevents him from being distracted by the other's face: in dealings with gods, beauty rarely runs deeper than the surface.

"I understand your concern," the man murmurs, low and rich, and belatedly Doyoung realizes he's the voice in the garden from yesterday. "You have every reason to suspect otherwise, but I don't have ill intentions toward you."

Doyoung opens his mouth to object, but ultimately holds his tongue.

"I know you're the prince of your kingdom, and I also know that you were in danger there," the man continues. Doyoung hears him shuffling from foot to foot, as if trying to think of a way to phrase his next words delicately. "There is a goddess on the pantheon who is quite unhappy with you, correct?"

Doyoung nods - a brisk, efficient movement - and somehow the man must see it, because he continues.

"Even minor gods like myself catch wind of most of the current gossip. And Doyoung, she meant to have you killed."

Doyoung feels a chill run down his spine. The malicious acts towards those who paid worship to him. The feeling of being watched for the past few days. Usually, his common sense would dictate an assasination plot too ridiculous to be true, but his intuition says otherwise.

He's turning the thought around in his mind when a more pressing concern emerges, and Doyoung is made acutely aware of how vulnerable he is in this moment.

"You said she meant to have me killed. Does she no longer care?"

The stranger fidgets, seeming to twist a ring on his finger. "Well, as far as she knows, you've already been killed. You're no longer in the capital, and your father is already conducting funeral rites."

Oh.

"Then," Doyoung states, carefully. "By kidnapping me, you saved my life."

The man hums in agreement.

"Are you the one who lured me to the mountain? Did you tell that child to give me the prophecy?" Doyoung is getting riled up now, tension releasing itself through his naturally loquacious manner.

The man shrugs. "I may have called in a favor, yes. He's a bit difficult to negotiate with, but I thought it was worth it."

"But why?" Doyoung insists. "If I remember correctly, you even had that wind god carry me here, and he certainly didn't think I was worth the trip-"

"Doyoung, listen to me," the man says. "I'm no saint," he says, plaintively. "I'm not helping you just because it's the right thing to do. There's no way I'd have enough time to aid every unfortunate I stumble across."

The stranger hesitates, and then steps into the light.

Doyoung can't contain his shock.

Those soft, winsome features are just as pretty without flowers framing his face.

"You're the man from the festival," he blurts out before he can stop himself.

"Yes," the other confirms, but he shies away from Doyoung's gaze. "I saw you by chance then, and I knew what I had to do. I don't expect anything from you, Doyoung, but I just couldn't bear the thought of letting you be killed."

Doyoung is at a loss. He'd known the handsome man had taken a liking to him, but he'd never guess it would save him from certain death.

"I apologize if I overstepped," the man offers quietly. "But I'd like to offer for you to stay here, at least for a little while. If you're lucky, maybe Aphrodite will eventually forget about this and you'll be able to return to your old life."

What else can Doyoung say? The man's eyes are sincere, and Doyoung decides, against all expectations, that he'll trust him.

He says as much, and the other looks relieved, grateful even.

With the immediate danger seemingly gone, the tension seeps out of Doyoung's body, and he visibly fights against a yawn.

"If you have any more questions I can answer them tomorrow morning," the man reassures soothingly. "But for now I think I should leave you to your rest."

Doyoung snaps back to his senses and he nods vigorously. "I'd like that. I guess I'll see you in the morning…"

The unspoken question lingers after Doyoung's words, and the man catches on deftly, a sweet smile blooming across his face in the dim candlelight.

"You can call me Jaehyun."

---

Rays of early morning light dance across the pillows of Doyoung's bed, but this time he wakes up alone. He sees that a basin of water and a mirror have been propped up on the desk, and beside them a comb sits atop a stack of freshly laundered clothes. The candle from the night before is unlit, and sits unassumingly at the edge of the desk.

He dresses and washes his face quickly, slipping his weapon in an inconspicuous pocket before his stomach convinces him to find sustenance.

Jaehyun is in the kitchen, humming as he peels an apple. When he looks up, his eyes slide appreciatively over Doyoung's frame and a satisfied smile graces his face.

"I'm glad the clothes fit you. I was worried they wouldn't, but we're about the same height so I thought it was worth a try."

The possibility had lingered in Doyoung's mind, but he hadn't given it much thought. "These are your clothes?"

Jaehyun nods. He takes a large bite of apple and replies, perfectly articulated, "We can go and buy new ones, though." He swallows. "Would you like that?"

Doyoung declines. The idea of going shopping for himself on Jaehyun's coin seems like bad etiquette, to say the least.

Jaehyun only chuckles, and Doyoung is almost angry at the resulting flutter in his abdomen.

"Okay," the other nonchalantly agrees, setting down his apple core. "Just let me know if you change your mind. By the way," he says. "I was hoping to do something different for breakfast today. Have you looked around the garden?"

Doyoung shakes his head. Unless he counts spying on Jaehyun and Mark through the window, he can't say that he has.

Jaehyun smiles again, and that uncomfortable feeling tickles his stomach once more.

He takes Doyoung's hand and leads him, without further preamble, through the garden door and towards what appears to be a picnic spread.

It seems almost surreal: a feast among the lush tones of nature, framed by the soft white light of morning sun. Jaehyun lies down first, reclining on the blanket in an impossibly graceful nature, his eyes curving into contented crescents as he closes them.

"Doyoung," he intones, his voice cheerful and sincere, "won't you join me?"

Doyoung obliges, running a hand over the smooth fabric of the picnic blanket as he sits. All of the fruit in the spread are plump and enticing, ripe to perfection, and Doyoung is just about to grab a cluster of violet grapes when his hand stops short.

He can't stop the feeling of unease that rises up the back of his neck. The food could be poisoned, and Jaehyun could just be waiting to catch him off guard. Feeling wary, he allows his hand to fall to the edge of the platter, lingering awkwardly.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering," Jaehyun murmurs, eyes still closed. He sits up from his reclined position and pops a grape into his mouth, chewing it thoroughly. "If I wanted to kill you, which I don't, I could have done it already. So eat. I know you're hungry."

So Doyoung does. One tentative bite of grape turns into him polishing off the whole bunch, before he attacks the watermelon, cantaloupe, and strawberries. Every type of fruit is easily the best of its kind Doyoung has ever tasted, with each bite the perfect balance of tart and savory and sweet.

Throughout it all, Jaehyun lies on the blanket, closed-eyed and content. The steady rise and fall of his chest might have convinced a lesser observer that he was asleep, but Doyoung has the uncanny feeling that he is very much present.

Doyoung decides to test the waters.

"Did you grow these yourself?" he asks.

"Hmm?" Jaehyun opens his eyes, and Doyoung decides offhandedly that everything about him is dreamlike: the slow, lazy way he blinks as he sits up, and the thoughtful way he cants his head to the side as he answers the question.

"Yes and no," Jaehyun admits, a wry expression playing on his lips. "Technically, they are all my plants, but Mark does most of the hard work - he waters them every day when I can't."

"Is Mark your only servant?" After briefly showing Doyoung around the castle, the dark-haired boy had made himself scarce, and Doyoung hadn't seen anyone else around either.

"He is," Jaehyun confirms. "If you can call it that. Mark is still a young nymph, so it's not always safe for him to be on his own. I promised him that if he looks after the garden he can have a safe place to sleep that doesn't mind his music, and he's stayed with me since then."

Jaehyun pauses.

"You, however," he begins, deep brown eyes gazing thoughtfully at Doyoung, "are our only guest."

Doyoung can't hide the way he swallows uneasily.

Jaehyun actually chuckles at that, and he shakes his head vigorously. "You have nothing to worry about, Doyoung. I'm no danger to you. I might not be the best company, but I think that's a natural consequence of running around doing gods' errands without putting much thought into friendship. I hope we can be friends," he admits, quietly, before shifting his posture on the blanket.

"But enough about me."

Jaehyun crosses his legs and leans forward, regarding Doyoung curiously. "Tell me about yourself, Doyoung. Anything you'd like me to know."

Doyoung spends a brief moment trying to fumble together an outline of his life before he gives up. He instead starts with his family, his aging father and beloved brother.

He talks about his city, its trades and its terrain, but left unchecked his speech devolves into smaller, more beautiful things: the color of the sunrise over the mountain peaks, the games the children play by the temples, his brother's talent at art and his own love for singing.

"I'm quite fond of your singing too, Doyoung." Jaehyun, who had been quiet and attentive up until this point, nodding and asking questions when appropriate, almost surprises Doyoung when he finally interrupts.

Jaehyun is just looking at him, innocent and flirtatious, and Doyoung feels the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Did you-" he asks haltingly, and now he is the awkward one, "did you want me to sing for you?"

Jaehyun sighs, deep and content, and he lays back down before looking up at Doyoung almost adoringly. "I'd like that very much, Doyoung."

Jaehyun’s tousled brown hair fails to conceal the brightness in his eyes as he glances at Doyoung appreciatively, his expression of utter peace. His audience of one looks so picturesque lounging in the sunlight that if Doyoung had any doubts about his divinity they would be gone from his mind now.

He sings.

---

Even the nightfall here seems leisurely, a smothering blanket of stars that tucks in the roaring orange of sunset.

Doyoung is just getting ready to blow out the candle when he hears a knock upon his door.

"Jaehyun?" he addresses, surprised, as he opens the door to find the other man waiting patiently in the hall. "Did you need something?"

"Doyoung," he greets warmly, before the confident demeanor seems to wane. "I was hoping to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Doyoung agrees amicably. "Come in." He leans against the bed frame as he waits for Jaehyun, lingering just inside the door, to speak.

"I'll be direct with you, Doyoung," Jaehyun finally says. "There's only one bedroom in this castle."

"Okay," Doyoung responds nonchalantly, before his brain fully processes the words. "Wait," he says, unintentionally sharp. "You mean this room?"

Jaehyun nods.

"So where do you sleep?" Doyoung asks, incredulous.

"Well," Jaehyun begins. "I was hoping I could sleep in here with you."

"On the same bed," Doyoung deadpans. He doesn’t mean to sound so void of enthusiasm, but if there’s one thing he can’t stand it’s being caught by surprise.

"I was hoping so, yes." The glimmer of hope that had shone in Jaehyun's eyes is getting dimmer and dimmer, and Doyoung frowns.

"But where did you sleep yesterday?" Doyoung presses. "After you talked to me?"

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," Jaehyun explains, "so I just slept on a couch in the drawing room. I can do the same tonight if you'd like. You're not obligated to have me."

Doyoung is torn. On one hand, Jaehyun seems trustworthy, and he likes him well enough. But the intimacy of sharing his bed with another is another issue entirely.

But, he reminds himself. It's not even his bed to begin with.

"We can share, Jaehyun," Doyoung invites, swallowing his discomfort. "It's your bed, after all. I just hope we both fit."

Jaehyun visibly lights up at his words, and unfolds the blanket he'd been holding in his arms. "Only one way to find out," he murmurs. "Do you want to be next to the wall, or-"

Doyoung climbs into bed without further prompting, unwilling to make the situation any more awkward than it already is. He turns toward the wall and tucks his blanket around himself, burrowing downwards until it reaches his chin. The slight dip in the mattress he senses moments later tells him that Jaehyun had climbed in afterward.

"Shall I turn out the light?" Jaehyun asks quietly, and his voice is too close; Doyoung feels sweat prickle on his palms and he resists the urge to leave the bed entirely. Mutely, he manages an answering nod, and Jaehyun blows out the candle as darkness shrouds the room.

It's uncomfortable.

With the loss of visibility, Doyoung’s other senses are immediately heightened. He rolls over, preferring to sleep on his back, and is made acutely aware of the point where Jaehyun’s shoulder touches his, of the warmth radiating off Jaehyun’s body, of the steady sound of his breath and the sweet smell of his hair.

If Jaehyun is trying to torment him, it’s working.

The dark muddles his perception, but from what he can tell Jaehyun's eyes are closed, his facial muscles are relaxed, and his lips are slightly agape. Apparently he hadn’t had much trouble falling asleep.

Doyoung heaves a long, ever-suffering sigh.

He could cut Jaehyun’s heart out this instant if he wanted to, could do all manner of things with how vulnerable Jaehyun is right now.

He just doesn’t understand how anyone would let their guard down like that.

Truthfully, there’s still a lot he doesn’t understand about Jaehyun: the prime example being how he is so unflinchingly kind while seemingly wanting nothing in return.

Doyoung inches closer, admiring the flutter of Jaehyun’s lashes in his sleep. He stares at him like it’ll yield the answers he seeks.

---

This is how their afternoons go: Doyoung, with a warm drink at his side, plucking away at the lyre and scribing down notes, and Jaehyun, armed with a hefty tome of history or botany or whatever else catches his interest that day.

To Doyoung’s weakness and utter dismay, Jaehyun’s extensive library is not just for show, and his companion’s mind is as enchanting as the rest of him.

It’s a nice feeling to read for leisure and not for study. Still, this hadn’t been enough to occupy Doyoung’s attention for too long, and by the end of the first week Jaehyun had procured him a lyre and a blank notebook, welcoming him to use both to his heart’s content.

Jaehyun’s uncanny ability to read him never fails to be a pleasant surprise.

"Did you always spend your time like this?" Doyoung asks one day, when his mug is empty and the sun is just beginning to wane.

Jaehyun places a bookmark in his current page and closes the volume with a soft thump, turning his full attention to Doyoung. "You could say that. I have a few friends, but they don't visit often. And anything within these books is infinitely less complicated than mortal affairs."

Doyoung is inclined to agree with the latter.

Suddenly, Jaehyun frowns, as if struck by an unpleasant thought. "Am I boring you? I know there's not a lot of entertainment here, but if you can think of anything-"

"No," Doyoung interrupts quickly, before Jaehyun can go any further. "It’s fine. I never had any time to work on my music back home. And, I like spending time with you."

The weight of his words only hits him after they've left his mouth, and he rubs at a callous on his fingertips to avoid looking at Jaehyun's eyes.

"It's okay, Doyoung," Jaehyun lilts, teasing, and not for the first time Doyoung wonders why his slightest compliment is capable of completely uplifting the god’s mood.

"I like spending time with you too."

---

One morning Jaehyun rouses him early and wraps a cloak around his shoulders, and tells him they are going to the sea.

The walk is over an hour long and stuffy in the cloaks they conceal themselves in, but when Doyoung first spots the white foam cresting over the swell of a wave, he’s spellbound. For someone raised in the mountains, seeing the coast is a leisure reserved for those who have time to spare. The blues and hues in the maps and picture books he’d marveled at during his youth pale in comparison to the roaring, entropic shore that greets him now.

With an uncharacteristic lack of caution, he surrenders himself to the waves, and there’s salt in his mouth and the sound of Jaehyun’s laugh in his ears. He is innocent and free in a way he has never allowed himself to be, and he savors the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

When he resurfaces, Jaehyun is beside him, saltwater clinging to his dark hair and lashes and eyes shining with mischief.

“We can go to every place you’ve ever yearned for and more,” he promises earnestly. “Wherever you want, for as long as you want.”

Doyoung is inclined to believe him.

---

Doyoung can pinpoint the exact moment the dam breaks, when the strange line they’ve been toeing between tension and intimacy blurs and he surrenders himself to his wants.

It starts as innocently as any other night, with Jaehyun catching a few more pages by candlelight as Doyoung gets ready for bed.

In passing, Doyoung catches a glimpse of the title, and has to refrain from chuckling.

“I didn’t know you read those books too,” he says mildly. Taeyong certainly had, but Taeyong was also lonely and yearning for affection. He says as much, and Jaehyun fixes him with a curious stare.

“You didn’t think I’d like romance novels?” He raises the book in question inquiringly before setting it on the ground, and unfolding the covers for Doyoung to climb in.

“Not particularly,” Doyoung grunts as he crosses over Jaehyun’s legs, settling in.

Jaehyun blows out the candle. “I’ve always liked the idea of a lover,” he admits quietly, into the dark. “Someone who’ll accept me the way I am.”

Doyoung can hear the blood rushing through his ears. He can only imagine the expression on Jaehyun’s face, but just the thought of it bearing sorrow nearly breaks his heart.

“Jaehyun,” he breathes roughly, and then he’s atop him, straddling him, and there is no going back now. “I’m right here,” he murmurs against Jaehyun’s lips, and then he kisses him.

Everything about Jaehyun is exquisite, and Doyoung will whisper reassurances against his skin until he believes it.

Of this he is certain.

---

Gone is the pretense.

There is no sweeter respite than holding Jaehyun in his arms, no surer way to induce dreams lovelier and more fanciful than before.

And when Doyoung is bored or restless or simply in a loquacious mood, their conversations last until dawn. Whether deep and aspirational or shallow and trivial, Doyoung shares everything, and Jaehyun not only keeps up with him but indulges his every whim. It's a communion of minds.

But despite their best efforts, not everything is dreamlike.

At times, there is a certain uneasiness to Jaehyun at night: he lies awake, fidgety despite his best efforts to sleep, and when he does manage to doze off he wakes in intermittent bursts.

Doyoung does what he can: runs his hand in reassuring patterns through Jaehyun's soft hair, croons him a lullaby when rest is particularly hard to come by, but whatever is bothering Jaehyun is persistent in its plague.

As for Doyoung, for all the comforts his current life has to offer, he's never quite outgrown his tendency to worry.

It's during one of these nights, when both of them are too troubled to sleep, that Doyoung finally asks for a favor.

"Jaehyun?" he murmurs into the column of the other's throat. "Are you awake?"

Jaehyun exhales in a hum of agreement, and Doyoung can feel the movement of his chest beneath his palm.

"Can I tell you something?" Doyoung asks quietly.

"Of course." He can feel Jaehyun's eyes on him in the dark.

"I'm worried about Taeyong. Not knowing how he's doing, and all. I wish I could see him."

Doyoung speaks quickly, not wanting to linger any longer than he has to. It's already an embarrassing admission.

There's a long silence. Doyoung thinks if he listens hard enough, he can hear the wheels in Jaehyun's head turning.

"I've neglected your needs," Jaehyun finally laments, softly. "And I'm sorry for not realizing it sooner. Would you like for me to have him brought here? He can visit for an afternoon, and then be taken back to the capital."

Doyoung buries his face further in Jaehyun's neck, overwhelmed by feeling.

"I'd like that, Jaehyun."

He's reminded of his gratefulness that Jaehyun will go to such lengths to grant everything he wishes and more. Honestly, he's not sure what he's done to earn such adoration, but he won't complain.

Jaehyun seems to sense what he's thinking, because he presses closer, planting a kiss on Doyoung's scalp.

"Anything for you."

---

Doyoung would never describe his brother’s voice as his favorite, or even as particularly pleasant. But when he hears the excited shout and sees Taeyong appear over the crest of the hill, he makes up the rest of the distance himself to envelop his brother in a soul-crushing embrace.

“You idiot,” Taeyong mutters, but his eyes are wet. “I thought you were dead. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Doyoung soothes, both because he is and because he can think of nothing more to say. For the first time in his life, his brother and closest confidant is utterly unaware of all the recent events in Doyoung’s life.

How does he even begin to explain everything that’s happened over the past six months?

He walks Taeyong down to the impressive entrance of the castle, and leads him to the small pond that he’d seen Mark and Jaehyun conversing by on that fateful night. “Wait here,” he says pointedly, gesturing Taeyong towards a boulder sizable enough to bear both their weight.

Doyoung returns moments later with two cups of tea, because his brother is a firm believer that nothing worth doing ever happens without caffeine. When he returns, he sees Taeyong transfixed with the metallic glimmer of fish in the lake, and he commends himself on the choice of location. Animals had always helped soothe Taeyong’s heart.

He sits on the boulder next to his brother, and takes a preliminary sip from his own cup as he runs his other hand over the reassuringly cool surface of the rock. The two great oaks beside the pond sway gently in the wind, and the resulting shadows from their leafy canopy dance across Taeyong’s unreadable face.

Taeyong clears his throat, and takes a sip of his drink. “I want to know everything, Doyoung.” His bright eyes, full of innocence and life, hold a different kind of intensity in them now as he levels a pressing glance at Doyoung. “Why did you end up here? What even is this place? Why didn’t you tell me? Why-”

“Taeyong,” Doyoung interrupts, authoritative but not cold. “Let me explain.”

So he does. He talks of the wind, the fall, of being certain he would meet death but meeting someone entirely different instead. He talks of the goddess of beauty, so jealous of his acclaim that she would send one of her own children to strike him down, and how by being captured he'd been narrowly saved from that fate. He talks of the master of the house, who is gentle and kind and above all just lonely, and the most deserving of company of anybody he’s ever met.

Taeyong is oddly silent, the workings of a frown beginning to show on his flawless face. The intense gaze he’d fixed Doyoung with at the beginning of the conversation doesn’t cease, and his cup sits cold in his lap.

“But that’s what I’ve been up to,” Doyoung finishes hastily. A sense of unease settles over him, and from his peripheral vision he sees Taeyong’s mouth set into a firm line.

“Doyoung,” he says gently, “I’m glad you’re alive; I really am. But remind me again why you’re trusting the word of a man who you know nothing about.”

There it is. Doyoung grits his teeth, trying his best to conceal his disappointment. “Jaehyun has been nothing but good to me,” he fires back.

“You’ll defend your kidnapper, just because he showed you a little kindness? You’re supposed to be the rational one, Doyoung.” Taeyong shakes his head, and the steel laced in his tone ignites something in Doyoung.

“Jaehyun even gave me a means to defend myself! I could’ve maimed him in his sleep multiple times by now, but he’s never given me a reason to feel unsafe.” Doyoung pauses to collect himself before barreling on. “And you know it’s true! For the last week I lived at our home, there were times I felt a presence watching over my every move. There was someone who meant to take my life, and Jaehyun isn’t lying about that.”

Taeyong watches him critically, and there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes that makes Doyoung dread his rebuttal. “Okay,” Taeyong agrees. “Let’s say that Jaehyun isn’t lying about that. But what if he’s leaving something out? You said that he's a minor god, so lowly that he pretty much just runs others’ errands. How did he even know about the assasination plan?”

Doyoung wants to interrupt, but Taeyong is on a roll now, fingers drumming on the rock as his leg shakes impatiently.

“And what of his parentage?” Taeyong continues. “Can you be absolutely sure-” he pauses, and wets his lips, “-that he is not the child of Aphrodite that was sent to assassinate you in the first place?”

Of all the things Doyoung had wanted to hear Taeyong say during their reunion, this ranks among the least.

“It's not like that,” he denies reflexively. “Jaehyun saved me because he admired my performance at the festival. He didn’t want to see me die.”

“He admired you?” Taeyong asks, eyebrows raised. “Is he a god with so much free time that he can pay attention to the performance of a random human? Or was he the presence that watched you during that last week? And, feeling guilty of his mission, decided at the last minute to save you instead?”

For once, Doyoung has no words. There is no evidence to refute anything Taeyong has said, much as he would like to counter them. He swallows, at a loss.

“But...” he tries. He wants to believe Jaehyun. But the more he thinks of Jaehyun’s resplendent beauty, his infallible charms, his oddly evasive answers to some of Doyoung’s questions, the further the seed of doubt is planted in his mind.

Taeyong looks at him sympathetically. It’s an unfamiliar dynamic, as Doyoung is the one used to offering him comfort.

“Look,” Taeyong says soothingly. “I can tell you like this guy. But more importantly than anything else, I want you to be safe. I’m not saying I’m correct or anything,” he muses, leaning down to trail his fingertips over the lake’s surface. “But this is all just a little suspicious, and a little too convenient on his part. You understand my thinking.”

Doyoung watches the ripples of water unfurl from Taeyong’s fingertips, and he sighs inwardly. It’s not that the thought of Jaehyun having ill intentions hadn’t crossed his mind; it’s just that he didn’t want to believe that someone he feels so strongly for had deceived him so wholeheartedly.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Taeyong says quietly, and Doyoung realizes he’s been silent for an unnaturally long period of time.

“No,” Doyoung denies, but it lacks energy. “You made a few good points.” He blows out a frustrated breath, and Taeyong worries his lip between his teeth.

“Doyoung, if nothing else, you should check this. There’s a certain myth, that the children of Aphrodite have tattoos over their hearts, because-”

“Because they’re meant to inspire love but never receive it,” Doyoung finishes. “I’m aware.”

“Then you know what I’m implying,” Taeyong says softly, eyes fixed on the ground.

Doyoung agrees, and there’s a heaviness in his own heart as he admits it. “I do.”

---

Doyoung watches Taeyong’s back disappear down the hill, reasonably faithful that Yuta’s winds will carry him back to the capital safely.

On his way back into the castle, he bumps into a familiar face.

“Mark?” he asks, more out of reflex than anything else.

The boy hastily bows to him. “Apologies, Doyoung. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Doyoung’s lips form in the shape of a ‘no,’ when he’s suddenly struck with a thought.

"Mark," he asks carefully, and the other turns to him with bright eyes. "Can you tell me anything about Jaehyun's parents?"

In the span of a second, Mark's expression crumbles. "I don't know," he fumbles, the words rolling off his tongue. "Or, at least I'm not supposed to tell you."

Something foreboding settles at the bottom of Doyoung's chest, and he swallows. "Alright, Mark," he accepts calmly. "I'll take your word for it."

The boy looks up at him with pained eyes, as if aware of the damage he's caused. "Jaehyun's not a bad person," he pleads, despairingly. "It's just, maybe there are things better off a mystery."

Doyoung couldn't agree more. Jaehyun not being a bad person is part of what makes this whole ordeal so very difficult.

He thinks of Jaehyun's strange evasiveness with his body: the way he'll only consent to lovemaking if the candle is out, the way he refuses to let Doyoung see him in anything but a full set of clothes. Doyoung had simply chalked it up to burgeoning insecurities, but it seems that belief will be challenged.

Distantly, he finds himself preparing for nightfall.

---

The warmth of Jaehyun's body, which usually provides Doyoung with a feeling of security, is suffocating to him today.

In the dim light of the room, Doyoung faintly registers Jaehyun tucking himself in before stretching with a sigh.

"Did you enjoy meeting with your brother?" Jaehyun murmurs in a low tone as he makes himself comfortable.

Doyoung makes a noncommittal sound of agreement before working up a proper response. "It was nice. We talked about a lot of things."

Jaehyun rolls over to face him, and in his response Doyoung can almost hear his smile. "I'm glad. Whenever you want to see him, just tell me. Yuta owes me a couple of favors, so I'm sure we can arrange something."

Doyoung nods, dispassionately. Tonight, he has something more to worry about than their idle talk.

Jaehyun seems to sense his stoic mood and falls silent, before moving to blow out the candle.

Doyoung stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Could we leave it lit tonight? Please?"

His polite words sound foreign even to himself, and Jaehyun shrinks back in surprise.

"Of course," he murmurs. "Good night, Doyoung." Minutes later, his breathing evens out into the familiar rhythm of sleep.

Doyoung glances at his slumbering face. There's nothing he hasn't seen before: dark eyelashes fluttering precariously against fine cheekbones, and full lips parted on an exhale.

He looks as otherworldly as he always does. Seeing him now, Doyoung could easily believe he is a child of the goddess of beauty. But could an expression and demeanor so innocent really have deceived him for this long?

Doyoung carefully redistributes his weight as he scoots towards the foot of the bed.

For a moment, Jaehyun, ever the light sleeper, makes a low noise and rolls over to face the edge of the bed. Doyoung can hear the blood pounding in his ears as he waits one, two, three seconds to confirm Jaehyun is still asleep and his breathing is still steady.

As he nears the foot of the bed Doyoung extends his right leg until it meets the solidness of the floor, and when he has braced all his weight on his right foot he cautiously moves his left leg as well. Resisting the urge to heave a sigh of relief, he tiptoes over to the desk, where the candle that has been there since his very first night waits patiently.

Alone in the dark, there is an instant a wave of regret washes over him. Doyoung could end this right now. He could extinguish the flame, climb back into bed, and surrender himself once more to the comfort of Jaehyun’s touch. He doesn’t have to invade Jaehyun's privacy by violating his only rule.

But perhaps he does.

For however much he enjoys, craves Jaehyun’s companionship and attention, he would be even more crushed to find their affinity built on false pretenses. To suspect Jaehyun every waking hour is no way to live, and he values their relationship too much to have it marred by uncertainty.

Jaehyun might never forgive him if he’s caught, but he would rather discover the truth now than be further consumed by the depth of his feelings.

The candle flickers ominously, and Doyoung knows he must act now. The time for indecision has passed.

He grips the curved brass handle of the candle holder firmly in his hand as he inches the light source closer to Jaehyun.

With effort, he bites back his guilt upon seeing the peaceful expression on Jaehyun’s slumbering face. With the candle holder secure in his right hand, he carefully extends his left hand, pausing at Jaehyun’s collarbone. Deftly, his fingers grip the edge of Jaehyun's shirt collar.

Guilt heightens his senses, making him hyper aware of the smoothness of the fine material, and the eerie quality of the shadows playing off Jaehyun’s skin. Jaehyun’s body is warm underneath his palms, and Doyoung berates himself for starting to sweat.

Hastily, before he can doubt himself any longer, he pulls down the material of Jaehyun’s shirt.

He can’t contain his gasp.

There’s a tattoo about the size of Doyoung’s hand etched right above where Jaehyun’s heart should be; intricate tendrils of ink weave together to form a cluster of roses, subtle and sharp all at once.

It’s beautiful and terrible. Doyoung skims a fingertip over it lightly, but his tactile sense only confirms what his eyes refuse to believe.

Taeyong was right. He never, ever should have let his guard down.

He’s distracted. Or, his grip on the candle holder wasn’t as secure as he thought it was, because out of the corner of his eye he sees a drop of wax spill down the candle’s slender length and wobble precariously on the edge of the candle holder.

It happens as if in slow motion. Panicked, Doyoung draws his right arm back, trying desperately to correct the course of the drop of wax, but it’s too late.

The incriminating drop falls directly onto Jaehyun’s chest, settling and cooling atop one of the inky roses. Jaehyun’s eyes flutter open in alarm, and Doyoung cannot do anything but watch.

“Doyoung?” he asks sleepily, his voice husky with disuse. He takes a moment to regain his bearings before he sucks in a belated breath and pulls his shirt collar up.

“Doyoung, what’s going on? I thought I asked you to not-”

“You don’t have the right to ask me anything,” Doyoung seethes, interrupting. “You lied to me. You-” His temper, his contempt at injustice and deception that had made him so famously volatile at court wells up, and the incredulous look on Jaehyun’s face only makes it worse. “You told me that you saved my life, but you were the one who was planning to kill me in the first place.” He blows out an angry breath, and Jaehyun raises a placating hand.

“I can explain,” the other says softly, a pleading look in his lovely eyes.

In that moment Doyoung despises Jaehyun’s beauty, detests everything about him that had made him imbecile enough to fall for his captor.

A more insidious thought rises to his mind: if Jaehyun has the powers over love and attraction that his bloodline would imply, maybe Doyoung’s feelings were never real in the first place. The thought hurts him more than the assasination plan ever could.

“I don’t want your excuses, Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, his words soft and sharp. “Answer me. Is your mother Aphrodite?”

There’s a pause. “Yes,” Jaehyun agrees. Something immeasurably guilty plagues his expression, but Doyoung refuses to lend his pity.

Doyoung presses on.

“Are you the one who was sent to assassinate me?”

Discordant thoughts clash noisily in Doyoung's head, so relentless that he barely hears Jaehyun’s small, resigned, “I am.”

Doyoung meets Jaehyun’s eyes for a long, hard moment, only directing his gaze downward when he cannot bear to look at Jaehyun any longer.

“Then we’re done here,” Doyoung says quietly. He should have known that his happiness was too good to be true.

“I can explain,” Jaehyun repeats, but he sounds defeated.

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, and for once it lacks endearment. “You don’t want to make me any angrier than I am right now.” He chances a glance upward at Jaehyun’s face, and the lost expression there makes the god look younger than Doyoung has ever seen him. His world might be crumbling in front of his eyes, for all the sorrow in his gaze. Perhaps it is.

“I’ll respect your wishes,” Jaehyun concedes, and there’s something hollow, mechanical in the way he sits up out of bed and gently nudges past Doyoung. He lingers at the doorway, and there’s something distant in his expression now as he gazes at Doyoung, looking but not really seeing.

“Yuta will be here in the morning to take you home,” he reassures calmly. “I hope you can be happier there.” He looks as if he’s about to say something else, but he changes his mind, and disappears down the darkness of the hallway.

Minutes later, Doyoung watches Jaehyun retreat down the hill outside the castle.

For someone who has gotten what he wants, he wonders why he feels so empty.

---

The feeling persists.

Yuta fixes him with a rather heinous glare when he sees him, but Doyoung does his best to ignore him. Someone with only a peripheral understanding of his thoughts has no business judging his actions.

Instead, as the gusts of wind caress his body, he consumes himself with thoughts of his city. It’s comforting, in a way.

He's dropped at the foot of his palace in what seems like a matter of moments.

“Thank you,” he tells Yuta, genuinely, but the other only turns on his heel with a placid look on his face and disappears.

Doyoung had expected that, anyways.

He has little time to think anything else, for at that moment the palace doors swing open and he’s met with Taeyong’s bewildered face.

“You’re back,” he breathes, as he proceeds to crush Doyoung in a hug.

Doyoung closes his eyes. “I am,” he agrees, but as his arms reach up to return the embrace he feels numb.

---

When Doyoung had daydreamed of home, he’d imagined nearly every outcome: from a city flourishing in his wake to a decrepit rubble brought to its knees through war. However, he’d never imagined the overwhelmingly unchanged reality that faces him now.

He had been gone for a little over six months. In that time, Taeyong had bloomed into his role of crown prince with an authority and grace Doyoung had never expected from his older brother. His father greets him with open arms, but there is no place in politics for a prince who has already been declared dead.

The land and civilians are thriving, there have been no acts of divine retribution in recent memory, and all is conceivably well. Doyoung goes out in a hood that does only a subpar job of concealing his face, but none recognize him during the entire week he ventures out.

Doyoung tries his best to be happy for a family and city that seem to have forgotten him, but being less important than one believes himself to be is always a difficult pill to swallow.

He’s overwhelmed with a sense of anomie when he finds himself aimlessly wandering to the riverside.

Mindful of the gravel and silt crunching beneath his feet, Doyoung picks up a few of the smoothest stones he can find. Then, he perches himself on a plateau and begins methodically skipping stones across the water. It's not that he's ever been particularly skilled at it; the kinesthetic component to the activity just helps clear his head.

Ome by one, the rocks make a dull sound as they impact the water, before sliding smoothly beneath the surface like a second skin.

"You're not very good at that, are you?"

A voice cuts through the peaceful bubbling of the stream and Doyoung snaps out of his ruminations to see a dark-haired boy sitting in the water, holding one of the skipped stones.

"I'm sorry?" Doyoung utters, confused, because he's certain he had been alone.

The boy shrugs, and elegantly steps out of the water before settling on a large rock peripheral to the stream.

"I meant what I said. Then again, I don't usually see you around here, so maybe you just don't practice enough."

Skirting his eyes around the boy's translucent clothing, Doyoung meets his eyes, where he's met with an impassive stare.

"I'm sorry," Doyoung repeats, feeling disoriented. "But who are you?"

The other shifts on the rock, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes before he graces Doyoung with an answer. "Sicheng. I'm a nymph of this river."

"Ah," Doyoung answers, more out of politeness than anything. "I'm Doyoung." He doesn't add his title to it, because it's no longer his, not really.

Sicheng nods curtly. "I figured. Jaehyun told me about you."

Doyoung's chest churns painfully at the mention of the name, but he does his best to be neutral and polite. "You two are friends?"

"I'd say we're pretty close. He confides to me a lot of things: including how you two broke up." Sicheng's tone is as casual as if he were discussing the weather, but there's a sharp clarity to his gaze.

A test, then.

"We did not break up," Doyoung grits out, as calmly as he can. "Our relationship was built on false pretenses to begin with."

"Could've fooled me," Sicheng says nonchalantly. He adjusts his posture so he lays sideways across the rock, slotting his chin in his hand to better look at Doyoung. "Even if you think of it like that, Jaehyun probably sees it differently. I've never seen him so depressed."

At the mental image of a Jaehyun as listless as the one he last saw, Doyoung resists the urge to sigh. "It's not that I don't care about him," he admits. "But he broke my trust. I need some time to decide whether he deserves it again."

Sicheng's expression barely shifts, but Doyoung sees something like amusement in his eyes. "That makes sense," he concedes sagely. "Gods don't have much more sense than your kind do; they make bad choices all the time. The only difference, of course," the nymph muses as he lounges on the rock, "is they suffer the consequences far longer."

Doyoung turns the words over in his head.

"Sicheng," he starts.

The other doesn't give any indication of having heard him, but Doyoung plows ahead anyway.

"Jaehyun must have some control over feelings of love. If he was using that to influence me, would I have any way of knowing?"

Sicheng regards him curiously. "You're asking if what you feel for him is actually real," he states plainly.

"Yes."

"Of course I don't have any way of knowing that," the nymph remarks offhandedly, and his fickle manner leaves no doubt in Doyoung's mind that he's a denizen of water.

"But I can tell you that in all the years I've known Jaehyun he's never used his powers for his own gain. He has an unfortunate case of romanticism. He's sat in that gloomy castle all by himself, since forever ago, because he told me he wants someone to fall for him on their own."

That sounds very much like the Jaehyun that Doyoung had grown to know. A feeling of unease wells up in the pit of his stomach.

If what Sicheng is implying is correct, then it changes everything.

"Maybe I made a mistake," Doyoung admits quietly, to no one in particular, in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness.

"Maybe," Sicheng echoes, flatly. "Or maybe not. He could have been manipulating your feelings the entire time. There's a first time for everything."

"I know, but," Doyoung bites his lip. "I need to talk to him. I should've given him the chance when he asked."

Sicheng nods, seemingly sympathetic. "That would be a good place to start."

"But I don't know how to go back on my own. Yuta always helped me, but he's not really fond of me right now."

For the first time, Doyoung sees a genuine emotion flit across Sicheng's face, and it's one of pure, utter displeasure. "If you really need it," he says tersely, "I could help you to convince him."

"You would do that for me?" Doyoung looks at his new acquaintance with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"For Jaehyun," Sicheng corrects. "But it's unpleasant all the same," he laments, frowning. "Do me a favor and make it worth Jaehyun's while, please."

"I can't promise that," Doyoung warns, turning over a smooth stone in his hand. "But I'll try."

---

"What are you doing here?" are the first words out of Jaehyun's mouth, inquisitive but not unkind, when he sees Doyoung lingering in the doorway of what had once been their shared room.

"I asked Yuta to take me home," Doyoung says softly as he moves towards Jaehyun, "and he did."

Doyoung takes a seat on the bed next to him, and Jaehyun looks at him with bewildered eyes. "I don't think I understand," the god admits, and Doyoung reaches for Jaehyun's left hand, cradling his palm between both of his.

"Jaehyun," he says, calmly. "I just want you to answer one last question for me."

"Anything," Jaehyun agrees.

"Have you ever used your powers to influence the way I feel about you?" Doyoung had rehearsed the words a hundred times, and they cut through the trepidation of the room like a knife. He can hear his heart in his ears again, but this time he is the one laid vulnerable and bare.

"On you?" Jaehyun asks, and there's an incredulous lilt to his voice, something achingly sincere in his expression as he meets Doyoung's eyes. "I would never."

All at once, the tension drains out of Doyoung's frame, and he sighs. "I had hoped for as much," he says, and he squeezes Jaehyun's palm.

"I think I might have overreacted the other day," he states softly. "I still haven't quite forgiven you, but I'm ready to hear you out."

Jaehyun looks relieved beyond measure.

Doyoung hadn't realized how much he missed seeing that peaceful look. He leans on Jaehyun's shoulder, both because he could use the support and because Jaehyun probably deserves it.

Jaehyun takes a deep breath, grounding himself. "I suppose I should start with what I actually do," he begins. "Your people have sometimes referred to me as Cupid."

"The archer."

Jaehyun nods, and the ends of his hair tickles Doyoung's face. "Exactly," he agrees. "I'm a matchmaker. I can use any bow and any set of arrows I want, but any pair that I shoot in succession will fall madly, irrefutably in love."

"The only thing is," Jaehyun confesses, wetting his lips, "is that I don't actually know who's supposed to be together. I lack that intuitive sense, and honestly your guess would be as good as mine."

Doyoung's thumb halts its repetitive journey back and forth over Jaehyun's hand as he processes the information. If that's the case, then -

"But I don't shoot randomly at people either," Jaehyun reassures hastily. "I paid the price for that mistake a long time ago. Instead of making matches randomly, I observe people's personalities, hobbies, and mannerisms. And then decide for myself which two people would make an ideal match."

"You stalk them," Doyoung states plainly.

Jaehyun has the decency to look down in shame. "You could call it that. It's tedious work, and not always interesting, but I need to do the best I can. Otherwise, a lot of matches will be unhappy."

Doyoung hums in agreement. He's known Jaehyun to be a hard worker, and this work ethic doesn't surprise him in the least.

Jaehyun seems to be bracing himself before continuing. "One day," he starts, "my mother issued me a mission unlike any of my previous ones. To kill you, without spectacle or suspicion, in the cleanest way possible. She must have thought that with my experience in watching people I could figure out a way to do it discreetly."

"So, all the times I felt someone watching me during my last week in the capital," Doyoung mentions.

"Yes," Jaehyun confirms. "It was me. I'm truly sorry about that, Doyoung."

Jaehyun clears his throat. "But for all of my mother's insistence that I treat it like any other case, of course that was impossible. I'm used to finding what makes someone's heart race and mind turn, not finding the most convenient way for them to bleed out. And," his expression softens, and his voice lowers to a rich murmur. "I have told you this countless times already, but do you know just how beautiful and full of life you are? How compassionate and intelligent? For the first time in my career I could not get to know my target without falling in love myself."

Jaehyun's eyes drift closed solemnly. "I can defend myself however I like. I can say that I tried to save you by bringing you here, to the one place I knew my mother would never look. That's what I told you before, and it's partially the truth."

He pauses, and exhales as he looks at Doyoung with a bittersweet smile.

"What's closer to the truth, however, is that after a lifetime of granting love to others, I could not help but want for myself. I'm sorry, Doyoung. I was selfish." Jaehyun's apology trails off softly, and he neatly dislodges his hand from Doyoung's.

"That's all what I wanted to tell you. I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore." His eyes take on that faraway look again and he folds his hands in his lap, looking forlorn.

Doyoung is rather tired of seeing an expression so ill-fitted to Jaehyun's beautiful face.

"Jaehyun," he says soothingly, reaching a hand to cup the other's face. "Jaehyun, look at me."

Jaehyun complies, but there's something unbearably sad beneath the reserved facade he's trying so desperately to maintain.

It breaks Doyoung's heart.

"We're going to be okay, Jaehyun," he promises as warmly as he can. He is trained for giving speeches and court appeals, not in the increasingly complicated matters of the heart.

But Jaehyun is worth all the effort he has to give.

"You deserve love as much as anyone else," Doyoung promises, spurred by the courage burning through his veins. He tucks an errant strand of hair behind Jaehyun's ear. "And I fell for you on my own, didn't I? So in my opinion, I'm yours as much as you're mine."

He's holding onto Jaehyun's shoulders now, inches from his face. "Even if you did technically save my life, it wasn't right to conceal things from me," Doyoung chastises. "I'd advise you to never do that again. But I understand why you were scared to tell me, and I like you too much to let you rot here by yourself for the rest of your life."

"So what do you think, Jaehyun?" Doyoung leans impossibly closer, enough that he can feel Jaehyun's breath on his face. "Won't you have me?"

Doyoung congratulates himself when Jaehyun gives into the temptation and kisses him soundly.

When they separate for air, Jaehyun's eyes are alight with hope, excitement even, a feeling mirrored by the color blossoming across his cheeks.

"If you want," Jaehyun says haltingly. "We can go everywhere in the world together. You'll want for nothing, if I can help it. And I'll spend every waking hour working towards becoming the partner that you deserve."

Doyoung regards him with fondness.

"I'd like that," he says idly, thinking of all the places he can put his talents to use, if not his flourishing hometown.

"And, Jaehyun. I hope you know this already, but you're fine the way you are."

Jaehyun bites his lip. "But you inspire me to be better, Doyoung. And I'm not wasting this second chance."

Doyoung smiles. "I believe you," he says, as he wraps Jaehyun in an embrace that conveys everything his words didn't.

---

Jaehyun fulfills all his promises and more.

When Doyoung accompanies him on his journeys, he experiences sounds and sights more scintillating than he'd ever dreamed. He sees and learns something new every day, and there is never a shortage of acquaintances and good food.

He is never without his music, either. With Jaehyun's encouragement, he writes and practices and eventually performs in the many towns they come across, for leisure or for spare coin, and he feels rejuvenated every time Jaehyun graces him with that disarmingly beautiful smile.

Covertly, they visit Doyoung's hometown once a month. Doyoung makes sure that Taeyong isn't in need of advice or guidance, and he offers any ideas he has to best serve the people. His once timid older brother is on his way to becoming a fine ruler, and Doyoung is determined to witness every step.

Throughout it all, they keep to one particular habit. Most of the inns they travel to provide two beds per room, but the temptation to lie in Jaehyun's arms and allow him to soothe away his worries is too great. Sometimes Jaehyun reads novels to him, and Doyoung can drift to dreams by the calming baritone of his voice, or when sleep is particularly cumbersome Jaehyun might sing him a lullaby of his own. Doyoung falls more in love every day.

When Jaehyun proposes three years later, it's to no one's surprise. They wed in the spring in the castle garden, which bursts with vitality and pastel blooms and all the memories of Doyoung's first months with Jaehyun. The weather is as temperate as the pleasant smiles on their guests' faces: all of whom they had invited except for the soft-spoken blonde man who lingers at the outskirts and leaves early.

The guest was Zeus, Doyoung learns as he cuts his finger the following week and the wound bleeds gold, and his wedding gift was immortality.

It's not all perfect - they have disagreements at times, and Doyoung is no expert regarding love. That honor would be much sooner awarded to Jaehyun.

He resolves to instead give their relationship all he has, and his husband is content to do the same.