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“Your mother is livid, my prince,” the maid at Yeosang’s door says. She has an impatient glint in her eyes and her lips are in a tight line. Yeosang wants to sigh deeply, but he needs to have good manners… or so he’d been told. “You need to be at the dinner table, right now.”
Yeosang’s hands work hastily behind his head to tie his hair up in a small ponytail as he rushes through the halls, the maids doing slight pushing motions behind him. They clearly want him to hurry up even more- but they can’t touch him in any way that shows demand since Yeosang is a prince. Honestly, the times Yeosang has taken advantage of the fact that he’s a prince are only a handful, but in this situation where he genuinely does not want to be in the dinner hall with boring people to eat boring food, he turns a blind eye to their efforts.
Of course, it’s not like he can run away from his duties. Duties aren’t dismissible. They exist for a reason. Just like manners.
The dinner hall is crowded when he comes in. The maid was right, Yeosang thinks. His mother does look mad. Her dyed blonde hair falls onto her shoulders in pretty, shiny waves and her long, pretty white dress glimmers. She looks so beautifully delicate. As a family, they are often called beautifully delicate looking people. Yeosang is not so sure about whether he likes that or not. In any case, that delicate quality does not erase the fact that her punctual, duty-loving mother looks a bit terrifying at that moment.
Her steps as she approaches Yeosang are even more hasty than Yeosang’s had been as he walked through the halls. Her lithe fingers hold onto her dress to make sure she does not trip and collapse in a heap on the ground. She doesn’t stop until she’s right in front of Yeosang, nearly nose to nose. Nose to upper neck would be more accurate, Yeosang notes. His mother is a small woman.
“Where in the world were you? Everyone is here!” she demands. Her naturally gentle voice can only harden to a certain extent. It’s only the thought of upsetting her mother that makes Yeosang feel a bit of remorse. Yeosang apologizes with simple words and his mother accepts it with a small sigh and a pat on the shoulder.
Yeosang blocks out the ever so important talks his parents and the guests are having, focusing on the food in front of him and playing with it. It’s not like he doesn’t like his parents. He considers himself lucky to be born into this life. He lives a comfortable life- it’s demanding, yes, but he doesn’t have to beg to survive. He has everything he could ever need and more. That’s an understatement, Yeosang thinks. I have too much. I have way too much. His parents are adequately nice to him. They’re warm-hearted people- or so he’d like to think, from his narrow, pitiable perspective formed inside the four castle walls. Yeosang is smart enough to be aware of the fact that he’s not restricted to the castle grounds only physically but also perspective-wise. However, he is not free enough to break through that restriction.
It’s only when the music reaches his ears does he divert his attention to somewhere other than his still full plate.
Yeosang can’t help the joy blooming in his chest. He suddenly feels an indescribable amount of relief as he watches the dancers that are often invited to the castle for festivities walk into the dining hall. He had found it hilarious when he had seen the dancers for the first time- the dinner meetings were so boring, so bland that his parents had felt the need to hire dancers. For a few weeks he had had this pessimistic point of view in which he had sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously refused to enjoy the performances. But after these weeks of rebellion, he had slowly started to realize the performances for what they were. These dancers were telling a story. Bending and moving their strong bodies so gracefully, smiling or frowning to convey a message… even if freed from the context of telling a story, the capabilities of the human body were so beautiful to Yeosang.
This revelation had happened many years back, when Yeosang was still a little child, being carried through the hallways he had just walked through to conform to the exact same schedule. In time, he had had countless more revelations about these dancers and their work. He had started to feel more and more guilty of his status as a prince the more he watched these dancers. Slowly, he realized that when they thought they weren’t being listened; they were cursing at the royals. He realized that they were not there out of will. No matter how much the crew of dancers changed, those realizations stayed the same.
Like each and every year, the dancers are beautiful as they dance. No one stumbles as they jump incredible heights or cross each other constantly to complete complicated formations. Yeosang watches as they create beautiful imagery that he knows he does not understand completely. Like each and every year, Yeosang’s eyes eventually end up being fixed on one person alone.
He never has been able to keep track of how his attention diverts. One moment he’s watching the dancers as a whole, admiring them as a whole- and before he knows it, his eyes are trained on one special person. Without even noticing it, his eyes look for his body, his moves, his expressions. Without even noticing it, Yeosang looks for him and him only. He doesn’t know what it is in particular that he’s attracted to in this boy. It could be his beautiful facial features that constantly demand his attention: his plump lips, his piercing eyes, his sharp jawline, the little mole under his eye. It could be the way he dances: the boy exudes a feeling of royalty as he dances and yet it’s so different from the royalty Yeosang knows. Yeosang wants to be the boy’s kind of royalty.
Yeosang doesn’t know why he’s attracted to this boy. He has never known, not since he met him ten years ago for the first time. Stumbling into the dining hall and clinging onto a senior dancer’s sleeve in clear mortification and barely concealed frustration, crimson in the face; Wooyoung had been just a child.
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When Wooyoung had first whispered into his ear behind the giant wooden door that he wanted to hang out with him at the lake, he had spoken formally despite being unable to keep the pure excitement out of his voice. Yeosang had looked at him with stars in his eyes, smiling shyly but nodding almost frantically. He had been worried that he had taken it a step too far, that he should’ve been careful as a prince to not smile in front of people- but Wooyoung looking at him with the same stars in his eyes that Yeosang had looked at him with and smiling from ear to ear had rid him of his worries.
That night, while they were sitting on the grass and watching the fish in the lake peacefully swimming in the glassy water, a fresh and pure friendship had blossomed.
They don’t exchange pleasantries anymore when they meet. When Yeosang walks up behind Wooyoung to take his usual place right next to him, he doesn’t bother to call out, “Wooyoung! I’m here!” like he used to. Yeosang’s norm is this now: Wooyoung not even greeting him when he comes and yet still wordlessly placing his jacket down on the soil for Yeosang to sit on because the king is very persistent when it comes to his son’s tidiness. Yeosang likes this norm quite a lot.
Wooyoung spares him a glance when he sits down and then grunts, reaching out towards the side and bringing to himself closer his bag that Yeosang had not even noticed. When Yeosang averts his eyes from the bag back to Wooyoung, he is reminded of the way Wooyoung is. There is seemingly always one more person that can fit in Wooyoung’s loving hold and the words of their common acquaintances told him that he was famed for being very welcoming. But in the time Yeosang has gotten to know him, he has learned things others have not. As aloof as Yeosang is, he knows by now that to truly understand Wooyoung isn’t to receive a hug or a smile. With Wooyoung; there are misunderstandings, there are fights, there is anger and frustration, there is stubbornness. With Wooyoung, there is quiet reassurance and loud bickering. With Wooyoung, Yeosang loses the prestige and grace he should have but that is only one more reason why he adores him. There are no empty words exchanged for the sake of safe courtesy or forged affection that exists to cover an awkward atmosphere. With them, there is pure warmth and familiarity, true as they can be.
Wooyoung takes out a sandwich from his bag, lending it to Yeosang who’s looking at it with curious eyes. As the blond haired boy takes it from his hand, he puffs out his chest in pride and beams at him. His mood can never stay the same for more than fifteen minutes. “It’s really good this time!” he says. “It’s turkey sandwich. Give it a try.”
Yeosang, despite having eaten turkey during dinner at the celebration and being absolutely stuffed, brings the sandwich closer to his mouth. He starts eyeing it tentatively, half because he suspects it’s going to be disgusting (on purpose) and half because he loves pissing Wooyoung off.
“…the hell are you looking at?” Wooyoung snaps at him, suddenly pushing Yeosang’s hand like the little menace he is so that the sandwich touches his lips. “Eat it! I’m telling you, it’s good!”
Yeosang takes the smallest bite he possibly can and immediately brings the sandwich down to his lap, chewing slowly. He looks up at Wooyoung who looks both like he’s livid and like he’s about to burst into laughter. His lips are slightly parted with the corners lifted up, showing how ready he is to start cackling at any moment.
When Yeosang starts pushing the sandwich back into Wooyoung’ hands painfully slowly, nodding in approval of the sandwich in the process, he quickly learns that Wooyoung isn’t angry. The shorter man snorts and starts laughing in that obnoxiously high pitched, cute way of his. Yeosang tries to hold his own laughter in as he says, “Wow, Wooyoung, that’s incredibly delicious.”
“You are such a dick,” Wooyoung says and grabs the sandwich rashly. “Prince, my ass! Aren’t you supposed to be elegant?” Clearly he doesn’t care about the response because he continues grunting to himself, complaining about Yeosang’s dumb eating habits and his dumb prince status and his dumb face. He then proceeds to stuff his face with his own sandwich, locking eyes with Yeosang as he does so and moaning in a way that is so exaggerated that he nearly chokes on the lettuce. That is what Yeosang loses his carefully crafted composure at: Wooyoung doing the most to annoy him, even if it is at the expense of civility.
Well, Yeosang thinks. Not like ‘civility’ exists when I’m with Wooyoung. Wooyoung doesn’t care about the royals’ superficial definition of civility. “It’s a big, big pile of bullshit,” he had told Yeosang some time ago. “Don’t you think civility should have a deeper meaning than kissing some old man’s ass? Or kissing your ass? Or kissing anyone’s ass? Why do I have to act like I like someone and listen to their dumb stories when I simply do not care?”. Yeosang had thought that Wooyoung was right but since the context of the situation was Wooyoung nearly pushing Yeosang into the lake over an argument about mayonnaise… well.
It’s interesting to Yeosang to listen to Wooyung’s opinions and thoughts. Having grown up in completely different circumstances, their takes on the happenings around them often differ. Yeosang finds this opinion of Wooyoung particularly interesting. Wooyoung is someone who does care about civility. He smiles at the royals when he comes to the castles he could never truly step into to dance. He listens to the obscure stories of strangers sometimes without rolling his eyes or hurrying to leave. He hugs people who Yeosang knows he doesn’t like.
Maybe Wooyoung doesn’t care about civility but he has to be civil.
Maybe Yeosang is only an escape for Wooyoung from the circumstances he has to live in in its most extreme form. A prince whom he has the liberty of being playful with… is it his protest against the hierarchy he was born into and forced to live in? Yeosang had spent sleepless nights thinking about this possibility, wondering if his dear and only friend saw him as an escape. This thought had often been accompanied by a similar but all the more terrifying thought: that was what Wooyoung could be for him too. So even if he was that to Wooyoung, he has no right to complain about it.
But that doesn’t matter either. Yeosang feels warm when he is with Wooyoung and that’s all that matters. There are many things to microanalyse in their relationship but there are equally as many, if not more people other than themselves to do that.
A minute or two of silence is all it takes for Wooyoung to start talking again. His voice doesn’t have the humour and fervour it had held a moment ago. “Was it actually bad?”
“No,” Yeosang says immediately. “It tasted nice. It tasted good.” After contemplating for a second, he looks at Wooyoung and smiles. “Thousands of times better than the food I ate for dinner.”
Wooyoung’s eyes are beautiful. They glimmer in the light of the moon, speckled like they store all the stars in the boundless skies. The way he looks at Yeosang makes Yeosang feel nothing short of both a demigod and a child being caressed by his mother after scraping his knee. It is a look so tender and so admiring: Yeosang feels undeserving of it and yet cannot ignore his desire to curl up in Wooyoung’s embrace and bury his face in his neck.
He does exactly that. Wooyoung huffs out a laugh and wraps his arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, grip firm and secure. It isn’t a particularly cold night but Yeosang feels like he has been pulled up from ice cold water and then immediately cocooned in a sea of quilts. He can feel Wooyoung’s breathing from this spot. “Comfy?” Wooyoung asks teasingly but his voice is softer than usual. His voice mixes into mild wind and sweeps through Yeosang’s hair along with his gentle, small fingers. Wooyoung’s motions are a lullaby to Yeosang, a massage as light as his body when he dances. Yeosang is lulled to sleep…
...almost. Wooyoung flicks his forehead with a finger. Yeosang immediately flinches awake and tries looking up at Wooyoung but the dancer rubs his forehead as if he’s smoothing it out and pushes him upright gingerly. Their eyes meet again.
With Wooyoung, actions have always meant more than words. The tears running down Wooyoung’s cheeks tell Yeosang a lot.
Something Yeosang treasures about his relationship with Wooyoung is how balanced it is. As he takes Wooyoung into his arms and starts rubbing his back, as he presses his forehead onto Wooyoung’s temple and lets him hold onto his arms with a bruising grip… as he acts as an anchor for Wooyoung just like Wooyoung had for him, he thinks about the future.
“Leave the castle,” Wooyoung demands as he sobs into Yeosang’s shirt. He’s trembling like a leaf in Yeosang’s hold. Yeosang knows he isn’t any better himself. “Follow me and we can be together.”
It’s a moment they have repeated a lot. They have cried about their separation not just once or twice. It is a recurring event, happening nearly every time they meet after the dinner meetings to which Wooyoung and his dance team are invited. But the more time passes, the more vulnerable and intimate it gets. In the past, as two children not quite sure of their place in the world, they had promised each other many things. Wooyoung had once promised Yeosang that he would bring him that shiny star he’s pointing at right now, can Yeosang see it too? Yeosang had promised once Wooyoung that he would steal a gigantic dark blue cake for him from the kitchens after Wooyoung had told him that the color of the lake was pretty.
Yeosang has promised many times that he would leave the castle and follow Wooyoung. Wooyoung has promised many times that he would hold Yeosang’s hand as he left the castle and bring him to his favourite place, introduce him to his friends.
These dreams were merely dreams, promises left on their pinky fingers. But it is not a far reality anymore. They have aged. If Yeosang chooses to leave, as long as he adapts, he will be able to survive in the world he has never been part of: he has many skills he has honed on the royal grounds. Wooyoung has told him long stories about his dear friends and their talents, how they make a living through exploring, how he plans to join them but he will not leave without Yeosang. He tells him about the extraordinary talents of his friends and the performances they do on public grounds, randomly placing their equipment on any ground and attracting an audience.
Yeosang has always wanted to be like Wooyoung. He has always yearned for freedom, yearned to be a part of something other than what he’s forced to be in. No amount of uncertainty can stop Yeosang: his chance is so close to his grasp that he is willing to sacrifice security. To be free and to be free with Wooyoung...
“Don’t worry,” Yeosang says. “We have a good future ahead.”
______________________________
“Make use of your time here. You will never break apart from your roots. Even if you leave, I will think of it as a venture made to be of aid to your royal duties. Whether this duty will continue for five months or fifty years, you are still my son. I expect things from you, as you do from me.”
“We will keep things running here as we always have and as we always should. The doors to your true home are always open. If you find yourself having a hard time and you have no one to go to, you will always have me. However, whatever it is that you wish to do, I do not want you to fail in it.”
“You’re lucky, Yeosang. It is not easy to break apart from your royal duties. However, no matter how stubborn our parents are, they are kind to you. They are kind to both of us.”
Yeosang doesn’t know if his parents are kind. What he does know is that there is a chance.