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Chapter Text

Jeon Jeongguk was an omega.

It was whispered in the halls of his house, servants spreading the news in shock as the free-spirited, confident boy they’d believed to be an alpha (if even a low-functioning one) presented as the opposite.

He’d been eleven years old, waking up in burning pain as he went through his first heat, body rearranging with its new identity.  

Only high-functioning omegas presented so early, in contrast to low and mid-functioning omegas and betas who presented later. All the adults knew this, and breathed a collective sigh of relief as his father was on a business trip, then sucked their relief back in because-

The current Lord Jeon’s only son was an omega .

The line would wane; omegas were made to be married off, sold as wives, husbands, concubines. They weren’t leaders, and definitely not patriarchs.

And the current Lord Jeon’s only son was an omega.

Men wanted female omegas, omega women . Alpha women and omega men were disgraced : no one wanted a mistake of biology. What was worse was that their only choice was homophilia, marrying their omega son to another man. The other choices were to marry him to a beta (betas were disgraces in and of themselves; scentless), an omega woman – even more frowned upon than homophilia, homosexuality – or to marry him to an alpha woman. Neither were acceptable.

In other words, Jeongguk was useless to his family. Men wouldn’t want him, and they couldn’t marry him to a woman , and therefore was useless.

His mother, in fact, knew this.

She knew that her son was…what he was, but she continued to love him, praise him, adore him, raise him. Just the same as she would if her only son had been an alpha.

She’d been lucky that her husband hadn’t been home on the day of his son’s presentation, nor would he have been there for four more months.

She had been lucky that she’d had to be the one to explain what his pains meant, to hold him as he came to terms. They’d been lucky, is all.

Two weeks after his presentation, Jeongguk had waltzed into their large drawing room and announced that he was going to fight for his country.

His mother had laughed at first, but the strong set of her son’s jaw had forced her to stop. So instead, she smiled warmly, promising her strong-willed son that if he did become a member of the national military, she would leave his father.

(The hard, stoic look on her son’s face as she said those words made her fear for her son’s future. She’d had to remind herself that Jeongguk hadn’t changed. His omega status didn’t make him any less Jeongguk .)

Four days later, he’d come home with bruises on his knuckles and scraped knees, loudly proclaiming that he’d won a fight with an older alpha.

On closer inspection, the claims were true, Hyeonmi’s friend Katsuki telling her off for letting her ‘omega child act like such a feral barbarian’ as Jeongguk had ‘injured’ her son’s ‘right eye and made him cry’.

(At first, Hyeonmi had thought that it’d served the child right for calling her son weak, especially since this ‘big, strong alpha’ twelve-year-old had run home to his momma in tears.)

Jeongguk had had a servant paint a picture of him with his purple bruises, posing like a mythological hero, chin jutted out and a foot on a pedestal. Once it was finished, Jeongguk kept the painting under his pillow, praying to the god of war that he would beat up more entitled alphas in his lifetime.

Soon, though, Hyeonmi received a letter that shattered through their bliss.

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓦𝓲𝓯𝓮,

It had begun, and Hyeonmi had breathed a sigh of relief when she’d found that her husband hadn’t addressed her as simply omega , this time.

𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴’𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮. 𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪 𝔂𝓮𝓽?

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪,

𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵

Hyeonmi had known that her husband was adamant that his son was an alpha, and, oh, the hell they would get if he wasn’t! So, of course, she did what she could.

Heat suppressants were ordered, scent masks created and carefully crafted alpha clothing bought in specifically to hide her son’s growing curves.

Jeongguk hadn’t understood what was happening the first time around, batting away the servants who tried to cautiously apply the scent masks, but on the third try he’d ‘sat pretty’ and let it happen. Hyeonmi had been proud of him in that moment, mentally praising him for acting ‘like an omega’, then proceeding to realize that the whole point of this process was to make him an alpha.

He smelled like himself, just stronger, muskier, less like a cool, summer beach and more like a raging sea. Seagull , his mother laughed, raven hair swishing with the movement of her body.

It was the last time she’d laughed.

αβΩ

“Get the omega,” Sangcheol commanded a beta servant, before softening his voice slightly. “And my alpha son.”

Once brought in, Hyeonmi immediately moved to her husband, over three feet away from him, head bowed low.

Jeongguk could – as an ‘alpha’ – look his father in the eyes.

It was his first encounter with sexism.

αβΩ

His second encounter was barely a week later, when his mother asked to go to the market alone for once, saying that the servant always sent to go with her never did as he was supposed to. (Jeongguk had witnessed it first hand, his mother told the truth.)

His father had raised his voice to decree the negative.

The slap had been resounding.

Jeongguk watched her crumple to the ground, the servants having to bear most of her weight when hauling her out of the room.

“Father,” Jeongguk broached, flinching slightly as he was suddenly faced with a smile from his father. (The man never smiled at his mother. Never.) “I, um, would like to- I would like to go and play out with my friends. Chan bought a new jegi, and he- he promised us we could play?”

“Son,” His father answered, voice rough but somehow patient – so different to the tone used against his mother. “Alphas never phrase anything as a question. Questions and curiosity are omega traits. But, yes, son, of course you can go outside.”

Jeongguk left before his father could turn on him like he had his mother, running out of the gates to the commune.

“Hey! Jeongguk-ah!” Chan waved, turning to the smaller child next to him, a smile on his chubby-cheeked face. “Look who showed up, Yongbok!”

“Hey, Jeongguk-hyung,” Yongbok held up a hand in greeting, “You coming to play?”

“Yeah!”

“Aww, Bok,” Chan grumbled at the boy beside him, wrinkling his nose at his friends odd scent as it intensified with mirth. “You smell like rotten papaya!”

“What?! No, I don’t!”

Jeongguk stepped in quickly, holding up the jegi happily, “WHO WANTS TO KICKOFF?”

Yongbok snapped out of his almost-fight with Chan, holding up a hand as he yelled for the position.

(Looking back now, Jeongguk thanks Chan for not giving away the fact that his scent mask was coming off, and scenting him instead. Chan was unpresented, so his scent stuck to Jeongguk’s skin, much like an alpha scent would, but it was more subtle.

His father hadn’t noticed when he’d come back, and his mother had bought him a stronger scent mask later.)

αβΩ

His third and final encounter with sexism in his house was when he was fourteen.

He hadn’t had a heat in four years.

He’d actually forgotten he could have one.

But Bèipàn knew. She knew that there was something off with the Jeon son’s scent, something obvious yet… subtle, as if he was hiding something.

So, she, and the other suspicious omegas who’d vowed to take the Jeons down, concocted a plan to make the Jeon son reveal his secrets.

One of them, a Japanese slave named Shinikaru, had been chosen for the job of giving the young heir his ‘medication’ that most of them believed had something to do with the truth that they were trying to reveal.

They replaced the pills with incredibly similar - down to even the smell - useless replicas and sent Shinikaru on his way, telling him to report anything he found strange.

One thing he’d found was that the Jeon’s scent changed, becoming sweeter, and stronger, like that of an omega.

The second thing he’d found was that the Jeon had swinging hips under his alpha armor, and a thin waist.

The third thing he’d noticed was that the Jeon had an omega hanbok, a wedding one, stuffed in the back of his wardrobe.

But, to contradict that, the room stunk of pubescent alpha, his shoulders were broad, and under the Jeon’s pillow was a slightly smudged painting of him with his knuckles satisfyingly bruised, as if he had had a fight.

His confidence and alpha stance could’ve been learned, Shinikaru thought, and his smell spectacularly faked.

The rest of the group seemed to agree.

A month of replacing the young Jeon’s pills later, the house stank of heat, the smell unfamiliar to most servants. It smelled of the beaches of Busan and Jeju, sweet with the smell of seaside confections. Virgin and insatiably saccharine; whoever’s smell it was, was in heavy heat.

The head maid searched each omega dorm, and finding none to be in heat, seemed distressed. Immediately, the Queen's youngest handmaiden noticed and delivered the news to her mistress, who awoke in distress, climbing out of bed quickly, scrambling down the hall to find the source of the thick smell. 

They reached the place where the scent was strongest: Jeongguk's bedroom.

The poor child was curled up in his bed in pain, his ips bitten and bloody, his hands clamped on his scent glands as tears streamed down his face.

The child assumed alpha was in heat. Painful, heavy heat.

During this period, uncourted omegas tended to call for their matriarchs, rather than an alpha, to help them through a heat, preferring innocent cuddles over obscene heat sex.

But when a heat was as heavy as this one was, the only thing one could do was to curl up and cry, scared and in pain.

“Oh, my baby!” 

The lady ran to her son’s side, scenting him frantically to soothe his distress.

But, yet, nothing was changing; the ruckus below the cause.

(The alphas had awoken to a potent, virgin heat, and the maid wouldn’t have been surprised if the lord himself came for poor child.)

The young maid had not been a part of the effort to bring down the Jeons, in fact she had no idea that the young master was hiding something. Yes, his smell was a little odd, but she had believed that it was because he was a low-level alpha rather than… this.

They were coming up the stairs now, the lord among them.

It was strange what a simple scent could change someone into.

“Lock the door! Lock it! Please , yeojongnim!”

At the use of her title, the maid slammed her back against the door as she locked it, cursing the backwards ways of the lord. No one took alpha house-servants anymore, no one but Lord Jeon.

“Ma’am…”

“My son…oh, my son…”

The young Jeon sobbed in his mother’s arms as all pandemonium broke loose against the door, the alphas of the house fighting to get in.

“Ma’am.”

“No…calm…”

“MAMANIM!”

The lady looked up from her son’s jet-black hair, skin pallid. “Yeojongnim?”

“My lady. You must take your son away from here. If he stays, this may happen again, and there is no way that you can protect him from violation if his heats remain this heavy.”

“You are right,” The lady nodded, gathering her overheating son in her arms, “The servants’ entrance is behind the wardrobe, correct?”

“Yes, mamanim.”

The scent of omega heat lingered in the room long after they’d entered the scent-proof servants’ quarters, and the alphas still seemed to be going crazy over it, breaking down the door to only find the room empty.

In the servants’ quarters, the three omegas were far from relaxed, but tried their very best to seem it for the wellbeing of the youngest. The pup, only fourteen, was having harder heats than any the young maid had ever seen, and they didn’t seem like they were going to stop any time soon.

“Please, my lady,” The maid pushed the woman towards the door, “Let your son go. You must stay for the keeping of the house, but to save your son from harm, I can take him. Just. Say the words.”

Still curled protectively over her son, Lady Jeon must not have heard-

“Yes. Take him. Take him somewhere my alpha will never find him.”

And with that, Jeongguk was wrapped in the thickest yeoldam-yo the maids could find and taken from the palace, the youngest and final Jeon prepared to be merely a memory. 

The omega servants escorted the swaddled pup out of the palace, placed him in the cosiest carriage they could find, and sent the horse to Daegu, the famed city of the Mins.

It was not a long journey, but it would be the one that decided a man’s fate. 

 αβΩ

“My Lady Min of Daegu,” an older beta servant began, leading the blind omega to the carriage. “Here is the young Jeon, an omega. Your sister, Lady Hyeonmi of the house of Jeon, has requested that you take in her son, and hide him from the world.”

Min Hyeonja, or the Blind Princess of Daegu, was known (read: notorious) for picking up what others called ‘strays’, and was actually the first to create the goawon. In fact, this was what she lived for.

“Take him inside.” Her rasping voice would be grating if it was not for the soft way in which she used it, knowing each servant by name and addressing them as such in comforting Kyeongsang satoori. “Wait.”

An unfamiliar scent reached her sensitive nose, spiked with the one thing everyone knew.

Heat. 

Harsh, heavy, virgin.

“Seonjae-yah, take the carriage into the courtyard. We will take him in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Lady Min disappeared back into her sprawling palace as Seonjae, the jibsa (or butler), led the carriage around to the courtyard.

“Yah!” The coachman yelled crudely. The man, broad-shouldered and unusually hairy (especially for a beta), spat the blade of straw from between his yellowing teeth. He bowed low in acknowledgement, before looking Seonjae right in the eyes,“I suggest you keep away from that. The Jeon whelp’s in the most potent heat I ever did smell; ‘e don’t respond all that well to randos. It weren’t half hard to put ‘im into the damn thing.”

“Would the pup recognize you, then, mabunim?”

“Probably.” The coachman shrugged, getting down from the carriage. He was over a bo and three chon tall – at least, since one-bo-tall Seonjae was looking up to him. Calloused hands teased the padded doors of the carriage open, revealing the harsh stench of omega heat.

“My gods,” Seonjae blurted, covering his nose with his hands. “This is- Is the child- Is the pup healthy?!”

“They think so,” The coachman explained, a little forlornly. “My mate told me that the whelp had been taking heat suppressants since he first presented. There was a whole conspiracy about his layered scents and what the pills they were giving him were, and they ended up feeding him fake suppressants for a month. This is the first heat he’s had since he was eleven years old.”

Seonjae was taken aback. “They- They did this purposefully? They cursed the poor child! As Lord Jeon’s son, they believe him an alpha, and he must take such suppressants his whole life long, lest he be found out! If the suppressants ever were to run out, he could be infertile, with heats even heavier than this! Either way, if anything goes wrong, he will be violated! And Jeon wonders why none offer their omegas…” 

The coachman chuckled. “You ain’t a bad one, seonsaengnim. What do ya’ go by?”

“Seonjae. You may call me ‘hyungnim’ if you so wish.”

“I’m Kang Kongseon. Most just call me Kong.”

“Thank you, Kong-ah.”

They bowed deeply to each other. Seonjae came up first, waiting for Kong to do the same, before speaking. “Would you like to be employed here?”

Kong laughed, “Hyungnim, I’ve gotta do this first. Once it’s done, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes- Yes, sorry,”

Kong fully opened the door as he laughed at the butler’s antics, before turning bodily to the unconscious omega pup laid across the carriage’s seats. It was incredibly fortunate that the seats were red too, or it might’ve looked like a murder scene. It still did, but not as conspicuously.

He took the small boy in his arms, cradling his head against his chest, making sure his soft beta scent was completely calm. The pup barely stirred, and Kong realized that the child was still unconscious, yet was completely comfortable.

“He is asleep, the pain has driven him to unconsciousness,” Seonjae muttered, placing a wrinkled hand on the child’s forehead. “It is easier this way, I believe, though, it does make me…sad to see anyone – anyone – like this…”

Kong hummed, looking down at the child in his arms, before tightening his hold. The pup was all soft, pale skin and silky pastel hanbok paired with dark hair and thick eyebrows, tied together with pink, pouty lips – doll-like, Kong observed – and a cute, bird-like nose. He was seemingly naturally broad-shouldered, yet, as the man holding him could tell by touch alone, had a waist any omega would be jealous of. Thick thighs too, probably from all the sport he was made to do as an ‘alpha’. He would've definitely been mistaken for one if wearing clothes that hid his widening hips.

“Thank you, Kong-ah. It is always good that the young pups have someone familiar.”

“Y’welcome, hyungnim.”

 αβΩ

Seonjae watched as the boy’s heat broke after nearly three days of being in Daegu. He’d woken up yesterday, before falling back into unconsciousness less than two minutes later, but Lady Min, rather than Seonjae himself, had watched over him that day.

(Usually, the day before a heat break, is what they call the nopeunondo (literally ‘high temperature’). This is the period of time that hurts the most for unmated omegas as their vagina contracts – after their body believes that the optimum mating period is over – and their body tries to adjust itself to the lack of a pup, usually triggering mild fever on top of natural heat. This, despite the amount of pain, is when a heating omega is most coherent in their dreamlike state of najung-e deowi (literally late heat). In heavy heat, it is when an omega is most likely to awaken from unconsciousness. It is generally frowned upon to mate (during najung-e deowi) outside of this time, as it is seen as non-consensual as one of the parties cannot give consent.

Taken from Kang Doseon’s “Omega Anatomy for the Beta Scholar” c. 1405 )

“What is your name?”

“Jeo- Jeon Jeongguk…”

“Jeongguk-ah, who is king?”

“Sejong, His Greatness, Korea’s Alpha, The Wisest of Wisdoms-“

“Thank you, Jeongguk-ah-“

“-May he reign for five thousand years.”

“Yes. Where did you come from?”

“Busan, Kyeongsangdo.”

“Right. Who are your parents?”

“Lord Sangcheol and Lady Hyeonmi of the House of Jeon.”

“Good. You’re oriented. Do you remember anything of your heat?”

“Hea-Heat? Just- Just pain. A lot of pain… Maybe a horse?”

“Good. I am Seonjae-hyungnim, or jibsanim, whichever you prefer. And you are here because-”

It was good that Jeongguk was awake, Seonjae thought. He had been agonized for the boy, afraid the dreamlike incoherence of najung-e would last for longer, as had happened before, especially in heavy heats like the one Jeongguk came out of. They had been having the family physician come to check on him and see what they could do for him, but the young man was coming all the way from Gyeonggi, and that was a day’s journey. Far too long for a young omega in nopeunondo.

αβΩ 

A week at Lady Min’s had passed, and Jeongguk had finally been let out of his bedroom for the first time after his check-up. (The doctor had recommended a day of just sleep and some herbs he could take to soothe the pain still lurking in his lower abdomen.)  More than that, he had been allowed outside for the first time, getting to roam the sprawling palace gardens for hours on end.

“Thank you, seonsaengnim!” Jeongguk bowed low before sprinting outside gleefully. It had been years since he had been able to enjoy the animals alone, without someone – anyone – telling him that stroking a bunny was an omega trait. He relished it.

The silence had always been his best friend, his solace, savior. In his family, alphas were loud and domineering, often forcing Jeongguk to partake in their deafening laughter and rowdy competition. He would retreat to peace after every riotous feast, basking in the sweet sanctuary of silence, quiet, comforting. 

There wasn’t anywhere he wanted to be more than his Tranquillity. 

The Tranquility was the palace's highest point: a little box window on the highest floor in the throne room of the palace – one that had never been used. It had gained dust in the years it had been forgotten, and over the years, Jeongguk had cleaned it, decorated it and made it his own. It was the only spot he could be away from his expectations. (He didn’t even have his friends. Chan had presented as a beta, and Yongbok an omega despite his deep voice. His father had banned them from coming over the moment he smelled Yongbok’s lychee scent, furious that his son had been ‘fraternizing with weaklings’.) It was a lonely time, but the Tranquility had helped.

Trailing his fingers along the petals of a jindallae (or azalea), Jeongguk thought about the poems he had written on the walls in his calligraphy ink, curling hangul script painting the box in new worlds and the vibrance of Jeongguk’s lonely mind.

It wasn’t the aloneness that made him as lonely as he was – he had always been a fairly solitary child – but the abandonment of his family. His mother had barely been allowed to ‘visit’ him (how shameful that his meetings with his mother were mere ‘visits’) for his father’s fear that she was ‘turning him soft’ and his father’s blatant ignorance until the time came for Jeongguk to learn something that ‘befitted an alpha’.

 He realized that his friends had been ripped from his life after less than six months of knowing them, and it pained him to remember Chan’s forgiveness (especially over the Cat Incident – it was so bad they swore to each other they would never speak of it) and Yongbok’s trust. Yong had always trusted with his whole heart, and gained trust in return. Jeongguk had told him many an embarrassing thing, afraid he would judge, only for Yongbok to smile with the freckles his family hated but Jeongguk thought were cute and tell him that all would be okay. (Jeongguk had hoped that, one day, he could trace constellations on Yongbok’s face, and kiss every single one. He never understood why, and never got a chance to.)

The garden was beautiful. Filled with color and life, all flora and fauna, with cherry blossom trees and hibiscus and roses and all sorts of plants. Strong oak trees that he was sure could take his weight, hedgerows and shrubs he could hide in, heather he could sleep on – plants were the best playmates. Gold filtered through the leaves of the silver birch above him, painting his jindallae shimmering amethyst, reminding him of the time. Somehow, he had been here for hours – if the amber sun told the truth – ruminating about his life back in Busan. Here, he had made no memories, but as the jindallae floated serenely on the surface of the koi pond he was sat in front of, Jeongguk realized that this? was a clean slate. Nothing could ruin this.

 αβΩ

He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone here.

This was his third day sitting in the Garden, and the rustling behind him had forced him to turn and look out of habit. (Back in Busan, a tiny rustle of leaves could’ve been his father.) But instead of the nothing he’d thought it was, behind him was the palest boy he had ever set eyes upon. Somehow, his skin was not pallid, nor sickly, but shimmering, the purest of whites. His hair was like that too, spun white gold, full and voluminous, with the back shaved to the skin. His jeolgoli was deep burgundy, in the style of a soldier’s, missing the chainmail it would’ve been partnered with on a military warrior. He was an… alpha ?

Jeongguk had never seen hair short like that before – the men would tie it in a topknot or in a tail. (It was a gift from your parents, they would say, cutting it short would be dishonor to them.) It was long enough that it tickled the boy’s ears, but it seemed that the hair underneath was shaved nearly completely. Jeongguk was stunned. That wasn’t normal.

And the boy couldn’t be an alpha – he was too small! And thin! Dainty, even. Alphas were tall and broad, hell, that’s why Jeongguk could play at being one for so long. But this boy… this boy was – couldn’t be – what his clothes proclaimed him to be. It was… wrong. He was built exactly like what they show to be the perfect omega in performances – but now Jeongguk was really looking at him, his shoulders were fairly broad-

“I can feel you staring at me. Kid .”

Did this boy know who he was? How-

“I’m Lady Min’s son. She tells me everything that goes on in this house. You’re lucky. You caught a quiet year.”

Could he-

“Read minds? Naw, they wish. You’re saying that shit out loud, babyface.”

The boy turned toward him, a cocky half-grin on his lips. Even the boy’s eyes were pale, a cloudy grey color that Jeongguk knew – somehow – were real. His shoulders were fairly broad, now Jeongguk could see him from the front, and he didn’t really have an omega’s curving hips either – or as far as Jeongguk could see from his hanbok.

“You gonna keep staring, or are we gonna have a fucking conversation?”

“You – You – You’re cursing ! And – and your hair is short! That’s dishonor ! Are you not afraid of the gods?! They’ll-”

“Do nothing. I’ve had my hair like this for years and ain’t nothin’ done shit. Who gives a flying fuck about dishonor! Because my father had his hair long, and apparently having long hair makes a child fucking rapist more honorable!” The boy roared, his voice rising in volume as he spoke, taking a step closer to Jeongguk, who shrank back. “So who gives a shit.” The boy was calmer now, as if his previous rage hadn’t even happened. Not calm… neutral. “I cut my hair cuz my parents are elitist cocksuckers who didn’t give a flying fucktard about their only fucking son and don’t deserve to be fucking ‘honored’.”

Jeongguk understood. His parents weren’t great either. “What if your mom was the best, but your dad was… um… really bad. How could you dishonor just him ?”

“Don’t they say that your topknot belongs to your piece-of-shit dad? Then do that shit they do in the west, only cut the top. Or wear it down.” The boy rolled his eyes.

Jeongguk reached up immediately, pulling the cloth that tied his topknot up, watching the boy’s eyes widen comically. The smirk was wiped off his face and he kinda looked like Chan’s cat, Bopul. Jeongguk’s hair cascaded down his back, stopping just at his waist. The hair tie tied over his forehead, pushing the hair out of the way and Jeongguk smiled. If this was what dishonor felt like, then he wanted to do it more often.

Wait-

The boy once again answered his question before he had even had a chance to think it. “I’m adopted, fuckweasel. I’ve lived here since I was 14 years old.”

“Wait- how old are you now?”

“Planning to throw a birthday party or some shit, kid?” The boy gave him a deadpan look. “I’m eighteen.”

Eighteen? How?

The boy was fairly small and young looking, and Jeongguk had assumed he was somewhere around his own age.

“I’m fourteen,” Jeongguk blurted, before pulling himself back in. Why had he said that?

“Fucking fetus .”

“If I’m a fetus…then you’re a ghost!”

“Fetus-”

“Ghost!”

“Fetus.”

“Ghost!”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Well, this has been a conversation. See ya, fetus.”

And Jeongguk was alone. Somehow, the boy had disappeared with the rustle of cherry blossoms, and Jeongguk nearly thought it was merely a dream. But the hair tickling his ears told him otherwise.

He wanted to know who that boy was.

Chapter Text

“Yoongi!” Jeongguk yelled, “Fucking hell, give me back my baji! You’re twenty-three , gods dammit!”

“I don’t have your fucking baji! Ask Gwangseo!”

“She’s a maid and fourteen . Why would she take my fucking baji?”

“I dunno? Probably to do something weird with it. Did you not notice she has a massive crush on you?”

“I’m an omega, Yoongi, she’s been there during my heats!”

“And?!”

“So is she!”

“And?!”

“Gods dammit, hyung!”

Jeongguk hated his brother sometimes. He was a fucking prick when he wanted to be. He was sure Yoongi had his baji, and he needed to give it back or they’d be late.

“I found that motherfucker. The maids mixed it up.” Yoongi panted in the doorway, chucking black cloth at him. His eyes softened, “Gguk… did you- did you take-”

“Chill, hyung, I’ve been on suppressants for a week now, and I’ve got enough to last me a year. I took mine this morning.”

“Gguk, there aren’t gonna be maids reminding you every morning, remember? You have to make sure you remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah. My super-strong scent mask’s on too.”

“Hell, Gguk, I won’t be there. Me and Eomma’ll try and visit at much as possible.”

“Hyung. Chill. I’m training to be a royal guard not going to war.”

“Gods dammit, Gguk! Let me have this!”

“Okay. Okay. Whatever. I’m ready now anyway.”

“Good. We’re gone in five, Minsoo-syepeunim made us kimbap-to-go.”

“Fuck yes!”

“I regret teaching you to swear.”

 αβΩ

Five minutes later, Jeongguk and Yoongi looked back at the home of the best mother they’d ever had, a sprawling palace of love, laughter and joy, the memories of the things they’d leave behind.

Yoongi’s Chinese Guzheng.

Jeongguk’s quilt.

Salinja the cat.

Gwangseo, the shy maid.

Minsoo, their motherly chef.

Jaeyeong, their tutor.

Seonjae, the elderly butler who played the perfect grandfather.

And Eomma. Hyeonja. Lady Min. Their adoptive mother.

And others that had come and gone.

Like Kyeongsoon, the spiteful little alpha girl who’d died young. The one they cried for the most.

Like Sangho, who’d they’d never seen again.

Like Jeongah, who’d gone to find her own place in the world.

They’d miss it all.

But Seoul…that was their big opportunity. Yoongi to become a respected court minstrel and maybe even get recognized by the King himself, and Jeongguk to become part of the royal guard.

It was going to be the hardest thing they’d ever done, but it would be worth it.

It would be worth it.

“It will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Kim Taehyung was the youngest prince of Hanguk, barely 20 years old. His brothers were not leagues older than him, but sometimes it felt like it, with all of Namjoon’s regal maturity and wisdom that seemed to surpass his age, and all of Seokjin’s overpowering confidence and near blatant sexuality. He lived in their shadow.

Yes, it protected him from unwanted attention – after all, who cared about the royal maknae? – but it still made him feel a little worthless, almost a bother. He would never blame his brothers for that feeling, but they had not helped it recently.

For the past few months, Jimin, his personal servant, had been his only friend.

But that wasn’t their fault either. With Namjoon and Seokjin being the Twin Alpha Princes (one regal and wise, and one playful and beautiful, they always said), the palace trying to deal with another Seokjin Scandal, and Namjoon busy with being a better councilman than the actual councilmen, they had not really had time for Taehyung. They've never had.

They had promised another ‘sneak-out’ in a week, though, so it wasn’t all bad, but Taehyung’s loneliness was killing him .

So, what did he do?

He snuck out with Jimin to the Palace Guard auditions.

αβΩ

The arena was crowded and humid, red walls mimicking how Taehyung himself felt. He and Jimin  were not supposed to be here, only his brothers were, but neither of them could resist watching buff men fight each other.

He was not new to the commoners’ section, and dressed in a pauper’s clothes, and a tie around the long, jet black, curling hair he was known for, made him nearly unrecognizable.

The games had not started yet, but Taehyung’s heart was already pounding in anticipation. 

“This will be the best Games yet, do you not agree, my prince?”

“Certainly, Jiminie!”

“ Welcome! ” the sponsor announced, his voice booming through the arena “ To the annual Guard Games! ”

The arena, Jimin, and Taehyung, burst into thunderous cheers, the stands becoming a sea of unfiltered noise.

“ This year, with King Sejong making history again with his son’s brilliance, for the first time, omegas will be competing in the games! ”

He clasped Jimin's hand.

Thank the gods! Namjoon had been waiting ten years for this!

“ Let the Games- ”

“BEGIN!”

αβΩ

Hours later, Taehyung had let himself watch with unfiltered adoration, leaning forward on his knees to get a better view of the long-haired omega.

His hair was…down, for one. Tied back in a low tail rather than the customary topknot. It grew past his waist, glossy and bone straight, tendrils that had escaped framing his face.

And that face . It was baby-like but angular, with hard, dark, doe-eyed glares, and clenched jaws as he rammed an opponent through. Taehyung was in love with it.

In love with the omega’s milky skin, unblemished and glowing; his jet-black hair, tied so unconventionally; his innocent eyes, that sparkled every time he won a match; the bunny-like smile that popped out shallow dimples when he won; the doll-like lips he could pull back into a nasty snarl; the rippling muscles Taehyung could see through his hanbok every time he moved; the man was a god. Mireuk in human form? Seokga coming to trick him? Gods…

He wanted to know this man. He wanted to Know this man. And he wouldn’t stop until he did.

αβΩ

He had not seen any of the guards after that day, and he had sat alone in his room with Seokjin (and Jimin) for six whole months, gossiping about the ones they’d liked the best. (Jimin hadn't admitted it, but he was surely attracted to Taehyung’s omega and Seokjin had found himself infatuated with a smiling beta who had destroyed the obstacle challenge.) It had made his loneliness alleviate quite a bit, if he was to tell the truth, that Seokjin had come to his room every day for six months just to talk to him for hours. And, gods, was he shocked when he found out that Seokjin had not gotten to Know anyone in six whole months! His eldest brother had explained that he wanted to keep himself somewhat pure for his beta, when Taehyung had asked, being actually sad (for once) that he wasn’t a virgin anymore.

“Tae-yah,” Seokjin had turned to ruffle his hair, “If you really want that cool omega, don’t do what I did when I was your age. Keep yourself pure.”

He had never seen his brother so wistful before, nor regretful, and Taehyung realized that there was way more to his brother than the man let on.

αβΩ

The next week, Taehyung had been enjoying his tea in the gardens, observing the autumn leaves rippling the surface of the water. This time of year was his favorite. It felt awkward to him, endearingly so, as the leaves fell different shades of gold and brown, and trees bent bare, forgetting that the extra weight was gone from them. It rained, it poured, it was hot, it was cold, as if it could not decide what season it should be. And the autumn’s indecision had created beauty, a brand-new Thing , just as Taehyung wanted to do himself. Autumn had never been a clean slate, or the start of something new, it was the period in-between, awkward and anxious, as things grew. Nothing really began in autumn. It grew, morphed, became what it was supposed to be, the mirror of spring, as they left behind hindrances as they continued, rather than starting a new path without them.

So, as Taehyung bathed in a sea of gold and bronze, lived in a world of browns and ambers, his brothers existed in worlds of brightened greens and calming white, one full of snow and ice and fire, the other filled with flowering plants, and rain, and romance.

“Taehyung!” the Winter called, loud, frantic.

“I’m in the cherry pond, hyung.”

“ In it?! ”

“What, no! I’m on the bench beside it!”

“Gods be with me, Kim Taehyung! What will I do with you?” With that final complaint, Namjoon emerged from behind the hedgerow, barely panting despite the distance he had run. “We have to go to Abeoji. He wants to speak with us.”

Now, Taehyung loved his father dearly, but this was his time. The only time Taehyung really got a break from all the princey things he had to learn and do, and instead could live out his life as a (somewhat) ordinary person.

Gods.

But Namjoon never disturbed this time if he could help it, understanding the importance of nature just as much, if not more than, Taehyung did. So, this must be serious.

“Okay, alright. I shall be there.”

“No, Taehyung-ah. Now. We have to be there now .” Namjoon was pulling him out of the gardens with strength Taehyung didn’t know he possessed. Leaving his bench behind was vaguely depressing; it took up most of his life (metaphorically).

αβΩ

The throne room was not a place the brothers visited often, their father preferring to stay hidden in there than talk to them. Huge and near-empty, their footsteps echoed, even though cushioned by the Persian carpet. Murals they remember painting in their teenage years adorned the walls, and paintings hanging there told the story of their dynasty, and the ones before it. Trees and various potted plants found themselves littered around the room, healthy and beautiful. Namjoon cared for them more than the gardener did, and Taehyung was sure that their favorite middle brother had been gifted by Samshin-Halmang herself in his love for the plants that lived in their palace.  Other than those few things, the throne room was empty, save for the Persian runner and colossal, gilded throne. Dragons wreathed the golden structure, bowing to the king the people believed descended from the gods.

The man upon the throne did not seem to fit with the majestic throne-room, weak and hunched over. They claimed he was eons old, as many of those who lived in Hanguk were not old enough to know any other king. Scrawny and frail, he was nearing his reunion with the gods, and they all knew it.

“My sons.” The king boomed, voice not having lost its commanding resonance. “I am nearing my time.”

The room was silent at the admission, the royal sons as stoic as the guards at the door.

“You are all my heirs, but the time has come for me to declare my sole successor.”

Taehyung let his eyes rest on the floor as he struggled to process what was happening. Here he was, kneeling in front of his father, the king of Hanguk and Jeollado, being reminded of the fact that only one of them could rule the country. They had been the ‘the three princes’ for so long, that it was disquieting to think that soon it would be ‘that king and the other two princes.’ He prayed it would not be him chosen.

“Abeoji.”

Namjoon had interrupted their father, and was waiting for permission to continue. If whatever Namjoon said went wrong, he could lose his life. Taehyung held his breath.

“Yes, my son?”

Thank the gods.

“In the past, the eldest would become king by default. Is that what will happen?”

Seokjin sucked in a terrified breath beside him.

“My son.” The king chuckled, “You ask many questions. You will be answered if you listen.”

“Yes, Abeoji.”

Thank the gods. Taehyung could breathe slightly easier. In his old age, the king had gotten harsher, and he had been frightened that he would be just as harsh with them.

“My sons.” The King turned back to them. “I had you all in my old age, and I am old, whilst you are young. I am proud that all my children are sons and alphas. I have enjoyed raising you.”

Taehyung scoffed in his head. His father had barely raised the plants that lived in his throne room, let alone his children.

“So. Kim Namjoon.”

The throne room held their breaths.

“You shall be the King of Hanguk when I reunite with the gods. The rules of this position as sole heir shall be delivered to you soon.” The old King turned to his other sons. “You two will be given rules too; none of this scandal nonsense.”

Well. That was aimed at Seokjin.

His brother knew it too if the way he curled into himself could tell.

It wasn’t often that he truly disliked his father, but this was an exception. Seokjin had gone through so much shit that no one knew about, and all their father could focus on was scandals?! Most of them were made up anyway!

He sucked in a panicked breath. He…He’d said a curse. He’d cursed. He was a prince! Such dishonor was unfathomable. Namjoon would be so disappointed- and worse than the fury of the father was the disappointment of his second son.

The words he’d thought burned like a hot iron in his mind, seared- maybe permanent. He’d bought dishonor . Even if none of the court knew, the gods did, and he would surely pay-

His father stopped speaking, and the atmosphere around them soured.

he pause was short, and his father now spoke in a cheerful tone, but a lone tear darkened the carpet by his knee, and taut breaths, too high to be his own, were loud in his ear.

The sounds of his carefree, opinionated, beautiful brother crying in the throne room would play in his mind over and over like a drone, or his father’s daechwita.

It had blocked out the sounds of his father, and his own tumultuous thoughts; replaced them with aborted breaths and deep burgundy surrounded by rich red. With clenched fists and blinking eyes, wet with the evidence of vulnerability. With his strongest pillar, the bending reed that survived the storm, crumbling before his very eyes; snapped in half by the wind it once braved.

Just once.

Just once, did he want to hold his eldest brother close and let him ruin his favorite hanbok.

Just once.

Just once.

One day.

αβΩ

“I cannot believe it!” Seokjin squawked when they found themselves – the three of them – in his private rooms, tears long forgotten. Clenched between his fists was the parchment on which their immediate future resided. This was the first they’d said since their eyes had scanned the page.

𝓜𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼. 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂: 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓢𝓮𝓳𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽. 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓻, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀: 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓪𝓯𝓮𝓽𝔂.

𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷; 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓻.

𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓬𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓽 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓪𝓼 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓻. 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓲𝓶𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵.

𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓪: 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝔂. 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓵𝔂 𝓹𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭.

𝓓𝓾𝓵: 𝓐𝓷𝔂 𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰.

𝓢𝓮𝓽: 𝓘𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼, 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓹𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓷. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂, 𝓪𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓶𝓲𝓷, 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮.

𝓝𝓮𝓽: 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼.

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓸𝓽: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓞𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓪 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓯 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓸𝓯, 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂-𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂, 𝓲𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓬𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓽.

𝓘𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀'𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻, 𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓭𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓵𝔂.

It was sickeningly strict, and Namjoon, who hated all injustice, had paled at daseot. The Omega Competition was something his father had promised to abolish, but, seemingly, had not. It was cruel. Pitiless, even.

Omegas were brought to the palace in sevens, and the prince would implant his seed in all, alongside six other princes. Whichever seed took would determine the omega’s husband. If the prince’s seed did not take, seven more would be sent in, along with six other alphas, and the ‘competition’ would continue as such. The omega was the prize, and was supposed to be honored to have been raped seven times over.

Cursing was dishonorable, yet this- this- this monstrosity – this blatant depravity was fine. Honorable , even. How-

Taehyung shook his head. That image was not nearly welcome in his mind. (Though, the thought would haunt him until the early hours of the morning.)

𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓴𝓳𝓲𝓷; 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓻.

𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓶𝓲𝓷 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓲𝓷 𝓪𝓷 𝓾𝓷𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓵𝔂.

𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓪: 𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝔃𝓲𝓷𝓰 , 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓭. 𝓝𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭.

𝓓𝓾𝓵: 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝔃𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓪 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼. 𝓦𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂.

𝓢𝓮𝓽: 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽 𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓸𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝔁 𝓫𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓹𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓱𝓵𝔂.

𝓝𝓮𝓽: 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓞𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓪 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓲𝓯 𝓾𝓷𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭.

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓸𝓽: 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻.

𝓘𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓹𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭.

Taehyung knew that his father thought of his eldest brother as a disgusting street whore.

The entire room seemed to clench at the first sentences, at the sexism towards omegas and the insult to Seokjin.

They pulled the scroll open just a little more – to reveal a simple footnote addressed to Taehyung.

𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓣𝓪𝓮𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓰; 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓛𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽.

𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓭.

“I hate him,” Seokjin whispered bitterly, with all the hate he  had deepening his voice.

“Yeah. Me too.” Namjoon’s eyes were uncharacteristically glossy, and a lone tear escaped. “This- None of this – is okay. Not in the least. I- I have to find myself an omega in less than a year, or be forced to rape, to steal someone's rights as a human from them . I- You, Seokjin, you can’t do shit if I don’t. And how fucking dare he call you such- such- such disgusting vulgarity. I- I cannot believe-”

Namjoon really was crying now, his speech cut short by silent sobs into his twin’s shoulder.

He-

I-

This was…Horrible.

Disgusting.

And, somehow, they had to stop it.

αβΩ

“Your Highnesses. I am General Dong of the palace guards. I am here to take you to the Choosing, as detailed in the Great King’s letter.”

αβΩ

“Men!” General Dong barked, marching in front of his soldiers, sword in hand. He was a small man, but broad and vaguely menacing, the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk twisting his ugly features. “Today is the day of the royals’ Choosing, and your first day as true palace guards. There are only three things you’ll need to know before you’re handed off to Admiral Jeong. Hana: you will march in formation. Straying from formation will result in four weeks in the dungeons until you learn. Dul: You will not desert your post even for a moment. That is high treason! Am I clear?”

A chorus of “Sir, yes, sir!” and Dong was back to pacing in front of his soldiers.

Then, Admiral Jeong appeared from the palace.

“ATTEN-HUT!” The shout made the entire courtyard snap to attention, heels slamming together at exactly forty-five degrees and backs becoming ram-rod straight. Even Dong assumed the stiff position. “THE PRINCES HAVE ARRIVED! THE CHOOSING SHALL BEGIN!”

The princes had arrived, in all their regal glory, and even Jeongguk had heard the rumors.

They matched them exactly.

Prince Seokjin did look like an omega, with his thick lips and perfect skin, his hair glossy and thick. But the man stood like an alpha, lax but firm, broad shoulders stealing attention, just as they had said. He commanded eyes upon him, but there was no begging in his stance, just a calm acceptance that not one shall be as perfectly gorgeous as he was.

Beside him was Prince Namjoon. How did they claim him as the most unattractive prince?! His whole aura commanded the room, and yet somehow, was inobtrusive, not pressing, unlike Seokjin’s. He did not command attention, did not demand, but merely asked for it, and somehow, eyes begged to obey. His face could’ve been considered ugly by those of small minds, but his intellect and power were revealed by the upward tilt of his chin, his compassion by the gentleness in his eyes, and his understanding by the solemn set of his jaw. With his soft looking nose and prominent brow and jawline, he told of his own complexities, his philosophizing nature proclaimed by the sharpness of his gaze. His eyes were that of dragons’, wise and knowing, and Jeongguk knew he could, and would, trust his life to this man. No painting he’d ever seen did this prince justice.

But Prince Taehyung.

Jeongguk had never seen anyone like him before.

His hair curled.

His hair curled . His eyes were sharp, and held great intellect, similar to that of his brother. Beautiful, but mysterious, as his face only held indifferent stoicism. Heart-shaped lips and a sloping nose, striking eyes in an angular face, a wisdom in his features. Not even the ghost of a smile graced his face, and yet, Jeongguk found a sense of mischief about him, one he wanted to engage. Gods, he was beautiful. His hair curled, and yet, he didn’t seem to have any obligation to tame it, letting it live coiled about his shoulders, bouncing with each step. Of course, it did. He was Prince Taehyung, the one to make his father proud.

He was looking at Jeongguk, eyes wide, and lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but his face was stoic again, as if Jeongguk had imagined it.

He couldn’t even describe the way Prince Taehyung looked. He was just…beautiful.

“Yo, omega,” someone snickered behind him, “You’re drooling.”

It was times like this that Jeongguk wished he was really an alpha. But if he was an alpha-

No. That train of thought was dumb, stupid. He wouldn’t .

He inhaled slowly and let his breath out even slower, willing himself some sort of confidence. He was in the front, in the running to be a prince’s guard.

General Dong had already chosen the ones he thought were most capable, along with Admiral Jeong. Back when they had done so, the general insisted that the omegas – Jeongguk, Yeonjun and Kibum – were not fit for the task, whilst the admiral insisted on putting Jeongguk and Yeonjun in the line-up. The victory had gone to the admiral, and those he had chosen had made it to the final fifteen-man group.

“GROUP GIYEUK!” General Dong ordered, “COME FORWARD!”

The first line of men took one stride forward, Jeongguk himself among them.

Admiral Jeong’s voice carried across the courtyard. “The princes shall now choose their guards!”

Prince Seokjin stepped forward first, trailing a suggestive finger along the guards’ chests. It was odd, Jeongguk thought, that he acted so…flirtatiously for an alpha. Maybe a past life of his was omega? It was very peculiar, also, that the prince didn’t seem to like the other alphas in the line-up, moving on quickly from each one. It also was a little strange that the alphas tensed up at his fingers, nearly imperceptibly, but Jeongguk was nothing if not observant. They definitely relaxed at his dismissal, though, something even a blind man could notice.

Seokjin was so close now, feeling up the beta next to him, smelling the man’s near non-existent citrus scent, asking him questions. The prince’s eyes lit up at the poor beta’s answers, and slowly, the man next to Jeongguk began to relax.

It was vaguely awkward to be privy to a conversation that would decide a man’s fate, but it was even more awkward to know that Jeongguk was not on Prince Seokjin’s list. List of what? Jeongguk would never know, and, shit, if that wasn’t a relief.

The prince stepped back and the beta resumed his rigid position. “Admiral? I choose…” his finger stopped directly on the beta he’d been talking to, “Him.”

“Him?” The general blinked, “Your Highness, there are so many capable alpha’s here, I-”

Admiral Jeong placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his tirade in its tracks. Jeongguk had never seen such power before, that a man of lower rank could just- do that. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your choice. The guard you have chosen is Jeong Hoseok, a beta and my nephew. He is known for his ability to withstand pressure, and his level head. He is a brilliant swordsman, but excels in hand-to-hand combat. Excellent choice, Your Highness.”

The beta – Jeong Hoseok – stepped forward with a heart-shaped smile on his face, coming to stand behind his Prince.

Prince Taehyung was next, barely coming close to any of the men in the line. In less than three seconds, his finger was pointed-

Directly at Jeongguk.

What the fuck?

“Admiral, he is my choice.” Prince Taehyung’s voice was deep and smooth, like…the honey Eomma used to make yakgwa back in Daegu. If Jeongguk was honest, he hadn’t been expecting that.

The general spluttered again, “But- But there are so many capable alphas-” and once again, Admiral Jeong stopped him right in his tracks.

He nodded proudly, motioning to Jeongguk with his other hand. “Thank you for your choice, Your Highness. The guard you have chosen is Min Jeongguk, an omega. He is known for his adaptability and quick thinking. Perfectly well-rounded, and excellent at nearly all he puts his hand to. He prefers a traditional longsword, though. Excellent choice, Your Highness.”

“Min Jeongguk.” Taehyung said his name like he savored it, or maybe it was just Jeongguk’s imagination. (Probably his imagination.)

Jeongguk came forward to stand with Hoseok behind the Prince, still watching as Namjoon chose his own guard.

Chapter Text

Seokjin was annoyingly underwhelmed at the Choosing and the Choices he’d gotten. The general was a blubbering fool, the alphas were all tragically mediocre and dopey-looking, and the only alpha of any real attractiveness was the forty-nine-year-old Admiral Jeong. The only good thing that had come from this was his beta, Jeong Hoseok.

He’d seen him at the Games, all lean body and taut muscles, moving like water. He flowed in a way that Seokjin had never seen before, adapting and changing, moving, coursing like the Han River, and floating like air. It was different with him, the way he fought like he breathed, like each weapon was just an extension of himself; the opponent a mere dancing partner, never losing his focus. His lopsided, self-satisfied smirk contrasting the downturned mouth of his concentration, complementing the crescent-moon shaped eyes of his triumph. He’d never known that victory looked like a heart-shaped grin in a narrow, angular face, held up by a neck like a watchtower, perched atop a body made for movement. He’d never known that victory looked like Jeong Hoseok after a battle, face full of life and genuine happiness as he helped the man he beat back to his feet.

Jeong Hoseok was Victory. He breathed triumph.

And Seokjin wanted to know why.

He wanted to know why the beta’s warm smile felt no less real than his own hands; why the man could just laugh without hesitation, even though it was more like a cackle; why Jeong Hoseok could walk ten paces behind him and Seokjin could feel the way he was happy with himself; how this man could be so truly confident.

Unlike Seokjin himself.

And, yes, this man’s job was to fight off enemies that threatened the prince’s life, but it wasn’t as if anyone was really going to threaten Prince Seokjin’s life .

Right?

So, he had all the time in the world to get to know Jeong Hoseok. He had all the time in the world.

He really, really did-

Oh, gods.

He’d lead his guard into his late mother’s chambers, too lost in thought to have realized.

They weren’t allowed to go in here, their father aiming to preserve his favorite wife’s legacy. If they – his mother’s personal guards in life and in death – found him here, he could be put to death.

“Isn’t this Lady Seonmin’s rooms?” the beta whispered behind him, a timid hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “My mother told me that her ghost still haunts the Western Wing.”

“I was told that too,” Seokjin began to back away, voice hush. “I kinda don’t want to see my eomma again, if I’m truly honest…”

Okay, step back. Left, right, left- LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT not LEFT, RIGHT, RIGHT – you’re Seokjin, not Namjoonie-

Then, proceeded to faceplant into the floor. Great first impression, Jinnie. One of a fucking kind.

“Your Highness,” the beta – Hoseok! you’re not like your fucking father, Seokjin – held out a hand. Gee, he has nice fucking hands - Grasping it, Seokjin pulled himself up, dusting off his hanbok. “Are you okay?”

Gods, he has pretty eyes too…golden, like… sepia… “Yeah, I’m fucking great. Thanks for the hand.”

Shi-hi-hit! You fucking idiot , Seokjin! You don’t curse in front of others! 78% of Hanguk thinks it’s fucking dishonor-

“Glad you're okay, Highness,” to Seokjin’s genuine surprise, his guard didn’t even bat an eye. How much more fucking perfect can one man fucking be? “But I still think we should get out of here.”

“Mhm, yep, totally, definitely-” Just at that moment, one of the commemoratory tapestries rustled. “RUN!”

And run they fucking did.

It was the most fun Seokjin had had in years, and he said so, panting at the end of the hall with his hands on his knees. Hoseok was laughing, the light in his hair and- holy fuck he was beautiful.

“My prince, I have to say,” Hoseok panted, laughter still in his voice and joy still in his eyes, “That that was the most simultaneously terrifying and enjoyable thing I have done since I was 10 years old.”

Seokjin giggled, “I totally get it. We should do this again sometime.”

“Didn’t you hear me? It was terrifying !”

“Okay, whatever. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hotshot guard or something.”

“Trying to appeal to my soldier side, eh? Not gonna work!”

The banter kept up until they actually got to Seokjin’s chambers.

But he’d lied.

He’d hadn’t had that much fun ever .

Presumed to be the next King of Hanguk, he’d been separated from his brothers, so much so that they’d moved him to another wing of the palace when they’d found him in Namjoon’s bed at seven.

He could remember it so clearly. His brother  screaming for the guards to put him down! please! , the iron grip on his arms, Councillor Shin’s ugly face nearly touching his as he told him that he was the future prince, not some weak little virgin omega .

 It’d hurt, yes, but he’d gotten over it. At least, he’d hoped.

He’d been alone most of his life.

His mother died when he was twelve, a week before his presentation, and it wasn’t like they’d been particularly close. Emotionally, anyway.

His father was never there, always perched atop the throne that dwarfed him, giving out royal decrees and never once paying attention to his eldests.

The worst part was that Namjoon got the same treatment, but they’d thought him too soft to be an alpha, and treated him rougher to ‘toughen him up’. They would drag him out of the gardens as he tried to plant a cherry blossom tree, hand him a sword and tell him to fight until his hands bled. (And Namjoon, the softie he was, did so, and more. The scars still criss-cross his large hands.) Haul him from the library and tell him that education came second and that he’d need to learn to fight before he learned his alphabet. It was Namjoon who came up with Hangul, but their father took credit, and still forced him to learn how to use the weapons that had nearly killed him multiple times.

Well, the joke was on them, because Namjoon was so skilled with weapons that Major General Kang had asked to enroll him into the army, and was so learned that his tutor was useless by the time he was fourteen because he knew everything he was being taught. But he was also the kindest soul Seokjin had ever had the pleasure of knowing, begging for his tutor not to be fired, because he knew that ‘fired’ really meant ‘executed for inadequacy’. Planting a cherry blossom tree in the gardens to give Sihae shade as she worked on the gardens, asking for years upon years for omegas to be allowed in the games even though the only one he knew was his own mother and she was horrible to him, because he thought that everyone deserves the same opportunities as everyone else. Hell, he was determined to hand his kingship to Tae to stop Seokjin from going through everything his father had set up, then tried to get the kingship handed over to the Choi clan to keep his brothers out of it, before eventually realizing that he was the only way to keep Hanguk on the right path.

It wasn’t like he had those skills.

But he was glad that his Namjoonie-yah had risen above it all, unlike Seokjin himself.

Namjoon deserved to be the king. Only he could rule the country in a way that would keep it from falling into the same alpha vs everyone chaos that China was in.

He’d truly hoped that he himself was better now, that he’d gotten character development too, but this whole day had made him realize that nothing had changed.

Not really anyway.

He was still the same, other than the fact that it had been confirmed that he was not only second-best, but untrustworthy too.

And yeah.

That hurt.

“My prince? You haven’t moved for hours.”

“Go to bed, Hoseokkie.  I’m fine.”

“Your Highness, I don’t think you should be addressing me so informally-”

“Look! Just- just humor me, okay? I’m so tired of all the titles and formalities! And before you say anything, Admiral Jeong told me you were younger, so just. Fucking hell, just call me hyung !”

“Well. Sorry, hyung, I didn’t know. I just didn’t want you to get into trouble.”

“It’s okay. But- I guess you still have to address me formally in public. So in private, I’m hyung.”

“And I’m Hoseokkie. Gods. It’s been years since I’ve heard that name.”

“Oh-”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

“Do you- Can you come to the gardens with me?”

“The moon’s out, hyung. Are you sure?”

“Yeah…I just need some fresh air.”

“Okay.”

“Go outside for a bit. I need to change my hanbok.”

“Cool.”

“It's cool. You’re cool.”

“Thanks?”

“Now GO!”

“Okay, okay! I’m leaving! See you soon, hyung.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Chapter Text

It hadn't been often now that Yoongi was alone. Usually, the other stable hand, a beta woman named Aya, was there with him, but she was with her mate today for their anniversary, so Yoongi had to do this alone.

It was the first time in a year of doing this, that he’d had to.

The stable was a wooden, house-like structure with large stalls and an open middle for the horses to be groomed in. Yoongi was usually standing in the stall furthest from the door, grooming (read: hiding behind) Suga, but today, in lieu of Aya's absence, he'd decided to clean the outside for once, scrubbing a cloth over the white borders of the outer walls.

He wasn't out often, but when he was, he seemed to find out everything he missed from the past thirty-or-so days he'd not emerged.

For example, earlier, when getting his so fucking sustaining gruel lunch – literally a rice paste of some kind –, Yoongi’d heard some beta hand maids gushing about the hot omega from the Audition Games . The physical description had had him reeling – they were talking about Jeongguk? His mind finally caught up with him, forcing him to realize that today was the Choosing, of course Jeongguk would be there. Last Yoongi’d heard, Jeongguk’d become one of the best palace guards they’d seen. It was just logical that a prince would pick him as a guard.

Now, manning the stables alone, Yoongi’d got to thinking. If today was the Choosing, all the new guards would be here for a horse straight after the ceremony, meaning that he had to get the best ones on display.

Danggeun, an oddly chestnut Arabian mix, was a jumper and had been bred for dressage. Hwasan was a thorough-bread dappled gray destrier mare imported from France, known for her sometimes-destructive temper. Gangcheol was a stoic warhorse with a gorgeous golden coat, a capture from the Mongols and sent to them from China. He knew each horse like the back of his hand and they knew him too.

The princes would come for their own horses too, to lead them to the shared stalls with their counterparts. Prince Taehyung’s Yeontan, a deep black Arabian stallion with odd chestnut spots; Odengie, Prince Seokjin’s pure Spanish bay horse, and Yoongi’s (second) favorite horse, Moni, who belonged to Prince Namjoon. Moni was a pure white Camarillo supposedly unfit for work, with a birth defect that made its left foreleg shorter than the other – mirroring Yoongi’s favorite horse, Suga, who happened to be Moni’s twin – but as a child, Namjoon had only wanted Moni, according to Aya anyway. He’d never met the princes in person, though, as Aya was always the one in the front. Half of him hoped he’d meet them today, and the other half wished Aya was here so he could just hide behind Suga.

“Yoongi?” a very Jeongguk-like voice exclaimed, forcing him to peek up over Danggeun. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uh, hi, Gguk…” Yoongi put down the brush he was holding and walked towards his adoptive brother, Danggeun complaining in the background. “Shut up, you’re ruining the moment. You can stop looking so offended, ya little shit, I’m talking to the horse.”

Jeongguk cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhh…So! You’re a stable hand now!”

“Oh gods, Gguk, you’re being fucking awkward. There’s no need for that. I’m still me. You’ve just been busy for a year.”

“Aww, fuck it, hyung,” Jeongguk laughed, bringing Yoongi in for a hug. (Something was odd about that hug. Jeongguk usually would bury his nose in Yoongi's scent glands and bathe in his brother's scent, but Jeongguk's head wasn't even on his shoulder.) “How did you get here anyway?!”

“Well, let's just say, if I take care of the horses they might let me help compose the next king’s daewichta.”

“Holy shit, hyung!” Jeongguk beamed, bunny teeth and all. “That’s fucking awesome!”

“I know, right!” It was Yoongi’s turn to smile wide and bright, gums showing as his brother held him close.

" Jeongguk! " someone hissed loudly in that scandalized tone of voice people use when they can't believe what you're telling them, "I thought you said you didn't have a mate!"

Jeongguk pulled away, his head cocked and his eyes half fixed on the ground. "I don't-"

The owner of the voice came around the corner, a tall omega with lips like a flower and slanted eyes, a hand pressed against his chest. "Is he your beau ? Are you a courtée? Oh my gods , Jeongguk! You could've told me! I am definitely experienced in the area of courting!"

Jeongguk fiddled with the tie on his low tail, a habit he had picked up when he was 15. "We're not courting , Yeonjun. Uh, this is my brother, Yoongi."

"Oh my gods, I'm so sorry! I really shouldn't have assumed." He stuck out a hand, perfectly manicured and soft. He was some kind of noble. "I'm Choi Yeonjun! Prince Namjoon's loyal guard."

Ahhh. Definitely nobility. But why was such a close relative of the Royal family a palace guard?

"I know what you're thinking," Yeonjun sighed, but he continued in an oddly cheery tone, "'Why is such a close relative to the royal family a palace guard?' Well, it's been my dream since forever to be one, and my parents, seeing as I wouldn't be the prince they wanted, decided to disown me and force me to drop my title! But, no-ho-ho, I would not give up, even though I was an omega! So the moment Namjoon passed the law that omegas could audition, I began to work faster to get to the next games. And boom! I came in fourth, and now my dream has been achieved!"

It was like he hadn't paused for breath. Yoongi was vaguely proud of him, having mastered breath control the moment he mastered the flute. 

"Uh," It was hard to respond to a speech like that (especially when spoken at 300 words per second), "I'm Min Yoongi."

Yeonjun looked shocked. " Min ?! Why, they should be pampering you like the lord you are! Why're you in this stable?"

He knew, knew , that the moment he mentioned his family name, the boy would ask that.

"Well," He began with an exasperated sigh, "I dropped my title the minute I left Daegu. I want to make my way up in the world on my own terms."

"Gosh. That sounds so cool!" Yeonjun gushed, coming into the stable. "But, sadly, I'm here for official purposes, and not for a quick gossip. What horse would you suggest-"

"Yeonjun-ah? Is this where you've been this entire time? Getting horses or gossiping?" the newcomer wiggled his eyebrows as he strolled into the stables, eyes wandering around. "Wow. Very, uh, horsey…" he observed and proceeded to laugh at his own joke. His eyes lingered on Yoongi, and he felt his lips quirking into a smile at those familiar brown eyes.

Laughing a little, Yoongi leaned over to Jeongguk."I'd bet my old Guzheng that he's Seokjin's guard." 

Jeongguk laughed through his nose, bunny teeth on display. "Yeah, actually, he is. How'd you kno- ohhh."

Hoseok was hanging off of Yeonjun, laughing loudly at a bad knock-knock joke he'd just told that had the other man cringing. 

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Hoseok blinked, then straightened up, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "Okay, people! We are here for one reason, and one reason only. Please let Yoongi-hyung do his job!"

Yeonjun looked suspiciously between Yoongi and Hoseok, almost as if he was a detective. "Wait a second...You two know each other!" he announced decisively.

Yoongi laughed. "Yeah, we do. We go way back."

"Sure do!" Hoseok agreed. "But that's not what we're here for."

"Nope. I've already selected horses for you, I'll let them out of their stalls." he turned to Danggeun, who'd been whinnying in the background the entire time. "Look, you're in the lineup. Just stay there."

Yoongi left the group alone, leaving to coax the horses from their stalls. Gangcheol had always been one of the tamer ones, trotting stoically to the front of the stable of his own accord. Hwasan was a little more reluctant, whinnying petulantly when Yoongi told her to go. Instead of his usual method of just telling the horses what to do, with Hwasan he had to argue. Hard. She was a strong-willed thing, but eventually, she rolled her eyes at him and came along with all the childishness of a young teenager.

The prince’s horses liked him more than Hwasan liked him, at least, so it made it a little easier to get them out of their stalls. Yeontan had a similar personality to Hwasan, just without the short-temper. He liked Yoongi, yes, but could he be asked to do anything ? Absolutely not. It was either being dragged out, or Prince Taehyung had to talk to him, and since the prince wasn’t here, Yoongi had to channel all his strength into his thin arms, gripping Yeontan’s reins. (Prince Taehyung always forgot to take the reins off his horse, but Yoongi would’ve usually done so himself if he hadn’t been so stretched thin today.) Once he was out of the stall, the stallion usually shook Yoongi off and walked by himself instead, always giving Yoongi a dismissive, deadpan look before walking away.

Odengie was easy. He heard food, smelled food or saw food; he was gone . Gone gone. So all Yoongi had to do was stuff the fake carrot soft toy he had - originally made for Jeongguk as a joke gift one Chuseok - in his pocket, and let it stick out a little, and, BOOM , Odengie was off. As beautiful as he was, he’d never been all that smart, so Yoongi would pretend to throw the carrot to watch him skitter off after it. (It was always funny how the horse looked so betrayed when he figured out that the carrot wasn’t there.)

Moni just had to be asked. Yoongi would say, “Hey Mon, how are ya?” and Moni would bray in a way that sounded a little like “ugh” and Yoongi would laugh. (Often, Moni liked to whinny in a way that mimicked Yoongi’s laugh. It would leave Yoongi smiling for days.) Then Yoongi would go “Well, I’m doing as okay as I can. Can I ask you to do something?” and Moni would bray in a way that meant yes, so Yoongi would follow up with, “Cool, can you go do (x)” and Moni would do it if he understood how. (He’d recently figured out how to unlock the stall latches, but still waited patiently until Yoongi said he could. A couple of weeks back, he’d been asked to wake up the other horses, and now they would lead him from stall to stall and let him wake up everybody. Even the other stable hands awoke to Moni and Suga poking them gently. As Moni was in a lot of pain in the mornings, Suga would be the one to press the colts, fillies, stallions and mares awake, whilst Moni woke the stable hands and unlocked the stalls.)

Yoongi was done in less than five, and when he came back, Hwasan and Hoseok had already bonded, the horse sniffing at Hoseok’s armor. Gangcheol seemed to be conducting some kind of horse/rider interview with Yeonjun, trotting around him with his head held around a chon over the soldier’s head. Danggeun seemed to be infinitely fascinated with Jeongguk, having been transferred from Busan. It was nice to know that he hadn’t even had to go tell the horses to pick a rider, and that they could do it themselves.

“Um, Min- Min-ssi, which horse is ours?” Yeonjun said, his voice a little shaky. “Because this one is freaking me out.”

“Well, Choi-ssi.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, thankful that he was turned towards Suga. “Which one do you think is your horse?”

Behind him, Yeonjun looked around, probably realizing that no, there was not another horse available . “Oh, sorry, Min-ssi.”

“Look, kid,” Yoongi sighed, turning towards him. “I get it. You’re a noble. But you shoulda figured that out pretty quickly, okay?” He looked away from the bewildered Yeonjun to study the others. “Well. You all have your horses now, so where are the princes, my gods-”

“WE HAVE ARRIVED!” Prince Seokjin announces, voice faux-deep and pompous. 

Well.

Yoongi doesn’t know what he was expecting when he turned around, but this? This was not it.

The men were pretty. Pretty pretty. Handsome. Uncomfortably so. Like, Yoongi would forsake all of Hanguk’s integral values to tap that handsome.

There was literally no other way to describe them, and, yeah, he thought himself something of a lyricist, but- hot damn .

And the gleam in Hoseok and Jeongguk’s eyes told him all he needed to. 

But then again, the princes had a similar sparkle in their eyes. Yoongi was going to take that with a grain of salt, though, knowing all the things he’d heard about Seokjin - things Jeongguk had helpfully confirmed.

“Hyung!” Jeongguk whispered, like he hadn't just been drooling over Prince Taehyung, leaning over to Yoongi, “They literally just met, and it’s like they’re in love already.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, even though he wanted to roll his eyes. Hypocrite.

Though, out of the three of them, Hoseok had always been the one to fall in love too fast and too hard, and what he'd heard about Prince Seokjin did not bode well for Yoongi's trust.

“Right.” Yoongi turned sharply, scrubbing his face with a hand as he tried to ward away the deep scowl that was threatening to form at his thoughts. All he needed to do was grab the riding stuff and make sure to saddle the princes’ horses. He could write strongly phrased songs about Seokjin on parchment after the prince had left.

He saddled each horse easily, occasionally helping Yeonjun out with an errant strap. They were done in less than five minutes, his personal best, if he did say so himself. 

He thrusted the reins of each horse at it's rider, inwardly snickering at Yeonjun’s shaking hands. He was a little offended at Yeonjun’s fear of Gangcheol, even though it seemed to just be a fear of horses generally.

“Is that it?” Yoongi sighed, leaning against the door frame.

The princes nodded their heads, Prince Taehyung looking stoic and Seokjin still focused on Hoseok in his periphery.

Yoongi nodded back, retreating to the last stall  in the stable to clean (read: hide in) it, leaving the princes and guards standing stock still, looking shocked.

αβΩ

By the time they’d left, the sun was low on the horizon, just peaking over the hills outside of the palace, painting the lush greenery a rich emerald. It was the thing he wrote about the most, Yoongi thought, the pinks and yellows of the sunset. The changing of the days, the changing of the seasons, all heralded by this one glowing orb that somehow sufficed to light the whole world. The sun went down earlier this time of year, and met the earth sooner than Yoongi would’ve wished, leaving him staring into expanses of blue as he hummed and sang to the tunes he played on his wolgeum, playing his instrument to a temperamental moon, that left the stars alone for him only to accompany. 

He’d met a few birds on his little musical escapades, the only one to stick around being the little baepsae he’d called Holly, who had made a little nest in the corner of the window. Holly liked the sound of his haegeum the most, bobbing along to the things he composed, even if they were a little shitty. Holly still liked his wolgeum, though, and especially loved perching on the end and singing along.

Holly and Suga became unlikely friends in the summer of Yoongi’s first year, Suga being uncharacteristically afraid of the small bird. But over time, their friendship grew and bloomed, and now, you’d often find little Holly perched atop Suga’s head as they both did their best to sing along to Yoongi’s instruments.

So, in the light of the moon and her children, Yoongi strummed and sang to a tune only he knew, a tiny bird nestled in the crook of his shoulder, and a horse against his back, both sound asleep, but perfect company.

The princes and their guards had bought back their horses before the moon had fully risen, guards unsaddling their own - and their princes’ - horses, laughing and chatting among themselves. Once again, Yeonjun was without a prince.

It made him a little suspicious, the way the third prince didn’t seem to need a horse - or guard - and, in spite of himself, he found himself wondering how arrogant the third prince was, to leave himself unguarded, and believe himself unneeding of a horse.

Yoongi sighed, strumming absentmindedly on his wolgeum, wishing himself to sleep, yet, simultaneously, willing himself awake, hoping beyond what he could even name that he could keep this. The wonderful luxury of just breathing . 

Music had been what had made him stay, and now, it was the freedoms of the ordinary that kept him here. 

And, yet, as people came and went like the twinkle of a star, he felt alone in the world. 

With his brother - and his only friend - now permanently guarding a prince, a prince he seemed to be in love with, Yoongi was practically alone, and it wasn’t like Aya had any time for him outside of giving him gruff instructions.

The tune was melancholy; Yoongi strumming to the feeling of sonder - the realization that people’s lives go on around you. 

Sonder.

An emotion most felt and left unnamed, one that he felt the need to point out.

Am I a good person? The question that rattled around in his brain night after night of failed conversations and awkward silences as he felt his social tolerance disappear.

Am I a bad person? The confused response would come as he pondered how people reacted to him, day after day of “uh, I’m just gonna go…”s and “yeah…”s and sentences that trail off because Yoongi had said nothing and they believed him uninterested.

As a stable hand was, simply, an ordinary life. 

But at the same time, the way he got there was not. 

It was a luxury he’d never thought available to him: ordinary.

Your ordinary became my special
Your special became my ordinary

That was the story of his life. 

What was ordinary to him was faux-soldier wear,  too luxurious for war. What was ordinary to him was people walking out of his life as quickly as they came in. What was ordinary was luxury feasts and too much food. What was ordinary was running away from nobility and Hangukin aristocrats as he struggled to find his breath in the crowded ballrooms. What was ordinary was staring at the stars with Jeongguk in their way-too-big gardens when they’d gotten lost, complaining about life as an introverted noble.

What was special to him was this life. This life as a simple stablehand, writing music under the stars, surrounded by silence and animals he loved. What was special to him was wearing practical clothes. What was special to him was having someone a short walk away who’d never left and promised he never would. What was special to him was literally being unable to run away, and having, for once, nothing to run away from. What was special was being able to observe the stars himself, unable to complain as he serenaded the night sky.

That was luxury. What he appreciated.

Yet, as people passed him by, uncaring, living the lives beyond his own, his loneliness grew: slowly, steadily, like a quiet plant.

And he loved the quiet, and he loved the little animals that had become like a surrogate family, and he loved the specialness of the life he now lived, but he missed his person . Not that he missed Jeongguk specifically, he missed having his person. A person he didn’t exhaust him, a person who he knew , with his whole being, that he could trust with his life. 

And it wasn’t like Jeongguk wasn’t his person, it just was that Jeongguk wasn’t his person. 

Maybe it didn’t quite make sense if he said it out loud, but he didn’t.

He didn’t.

He should’ve.

He should’ve acknowledged his needs and his fears with his voice, let them be assuaged by the stars and the moon, let the night sky comfort him. 

Instead, he kept silent, letting the sound of his wolgeum drown out his thoughts.

He'd moved Holly from his shoulder to keep the little bird comfortable, prepared to collapse upon his mattress the moment it came into view. 

He’d yet kept his feelings to himself, the stars winking in their unknowingness, the moon as oblivious as the thousands.

He sighed.

It was too late now, despite the fact that nothing had really changed but the time, and Yoongi placed his wolgeum back in the crate he kept all his instruments in, each as treasured as another.

Huddling himself in the corner was easy: his small frame allowed the space he needed, but getting to sleep was much, much harder.

He curled himself up more, the way he slept with Jeongguk in his bed, palms pressed together between his thighs as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

After what felt like mere seconds, he was awoken by knocks at the doorpost, tentative and quiet.

“Noona?” the whisper was nervous, but inquisitive, a little desperate. As if the person really needed Aya.

“She’s not here,” Yoongi replied, voice raspy with sleep as he spoke up.

The voice seemed to sadden. “Oh. I’ll leave, then.”

“No!” Yoongi said with far too much vehemence, before softening his tone. “Sorry. If there’s something you need, then ask me. I’m supposed to be covering for her anyway."

“Oh, well, thank you!“ The voice was obviously happier, and the moment Yoongi attached the voice to the face was a moment. 

The man he saw was beautiful. Not in the same way as his brothers, with his flat face and button nose, but with eyes like a dragon’s but with the softness of a deer, the wisdom of an owl. With dimples, and long hands. With thick lips that he bit with anxiety. With the body of Adonis from the book he’d read on Greek myths, but with the slouch of a practiced scholar. There was anxiety in his stride, nerves in the darting of his eyes, but he held himself with practiced poise, an elegance that didn’t come naturally. 

The black of his silk hanbok shimmered in the moon’s subtle light, matching the way his ebony hair seemed to glow. 

The topknot on his head was messy like that of someone’s who wasn’t used to tying it themselves, slack and without a donggot. 

Obviously some kind of noble.

“She’s not here.“ Yoongi appears from the darkness like an apparition, startling the noble. “I’ll help since I’m here. What do you need?“

He wasn’t sure why he was being less gruff than usual, but it may have been because of the nervous look in the man’s eyes, the slouch that seemed to be ingrained in his shoulders though it seemed as if they’d tried hard to train it out of him. In shorter words, Yoongi seemed to pity him. 

And try as he might, he couldn’t shake the aura of need emanating from this man. It was in his nature, his second sex, to want to satisfy- was this man an omega? Was that why his body begged to meet this need? To provide for him? 

It wasn’t like he could smell omega, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t either. 

A lackluster heat roiled in his stomach at the mention of an omega, a reminder that he hadn’t been with one in years - the last time being even before Jeongguk showed up at Lady Min’s.

Why hadn’t it responded to Yeonjun like this if omega was what bought on these sensations?

The noble appeared to be waiting for him.

“What?”

The noble blinked. “I asked your name. Mine is- is Namu. I- I mean, you can call me Namu.”

“Great,” Yoongi drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “A fake name. Fine. Call me… Agust.”

“Okay, Agust,” Namu nodded, eyes anywhere but Yoongi’s face. “Will you ride with me?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Namu chuckled lowly, darkened eyes turned to the floor as he gathered his reins, ebony eyes lit by the moon. 

Yoongi sucked in a breath. Fuck. Dimples. 

“You’re not really here for that, though, are you?” There was a sharpness to the other man’s voice, definitely not what he was expecting from the maybe-omega with nervous eyes and hunched shoulders. Near immediately, the man seemed to realize what he said, eyes going wide. “I am so, so sorry, Agust-ssi! I did not mean any disrespect, I-”

Yoongi’s mouth twisted into something that may have resembled a smile, trying to be accepting and accommodating, but inwardly honestly surprised at the idea of this noble apologizing to what he perceived to be a simple cheonmin stable-hand. It had been so long since he’d seen that kind of childish humility - as long as he had known Jeongguk, actually. 

He gripped Suga’s reins as he walked over to the sleeping horse to saddle and awake him. The horse would be happy; he hadn’t been taken on a ride since the beginning of the year, his last time being ridden was being the part of the Lunar New Year celebrations.

A sigh fell from Yoongi’s lips as he thought, the corners of his mouth curling into a guilty, remembering smile. 

The Lunar New Year. His favorite celebration of the year. His smile became a grin at the memories, a ghost of a laugh escaping from his heart through his nose.

“Are you coming?” Namu asked, voice soft yet carrying, no longer carrying any hint of the barbs he’d shot moments earlier, but the honeyed tinge of concern. 

Yoongi wanted to scoff. Namu changed emotions like a princess was forced to change clothes, yet the daggers the young noble had shot at him seemed to be aimed for someone else.

Whatever was on Namu’s mind was catching, and made Yoongi’s mood sour along with it.

αβΩ

He’d had to stop himself from gasping at the beauty Agust possessed from the first moment they’d met, but yet, Agust had only proved himself walled and barbed, saying nothing for the first leg of their ride.

They were about halfway through their journey, and only Namjoon had spoken, Agust responding with lackluster grunts, obligatory eye rolls, and not even a cursory glance. 

His own mood had soured the whole day through, his father going one step short of throwing out his brother, making nonsensical demands and laying vulgar labels upon his eldest son. 

He’d had a migraine again, after the Choosing, immediately retreating to his quarters without Yeonjun, loosing himself in the literature he’d secreted into his bedroom. 

But seeing this man, eyes as pale as seafoam with a smell like crackling inferno, yet soft and unobtrusive, had shocked him from his anger. A barb had slipped through, though, more for thoughts of his father than the man offering to help him. 

He’d saddled up Moni, though, and rode away with Agust astride Suga.

A tiny baepsae followed them as they cantered through the rolling hills outside the palace grounds, and into the thickening forest, and into the clearing they had stopped in for a drink and through more of the forest and out the other side. They’d dismounted at the sandy banks of the Han, and the little snowball-like bird had perched on on Agust’s shoulder, quickly falling asleep. 

αβΩ

They didn’t talk at the river, not one word, but it was beautiful still. 

Agust smelt like dragon’s fire, yet had eyes softer than the flame of a candle, bathing Namjoon in comfort with his light. 

The silence, like Agust’s presence, was comforting and peaceful, non-judgemental and light-hearted.

It was a pleasant surprise when that silence broke. 

Agust turned seafoam eyes towards him. “You’re tired.”

It was as much of a question as Namjoon was a horse: not. 

But he was shocked stiff at the sound of Agust’s voice, lightly lisping and deep, like the crunch of burned grass after a wild fire. 

Namjoon breathed - in, out; like the movement of the tides - spoke, his voice coming out soft and broken. “I am.”

Simple.

It was as if the world was still in anticipation, waiting for Namjoon to unburden himself of the emotions he’d held deep inside. 

And he did. 

He told Agust, vaguely, of what he felt: the pressures of royal life, the weirdness of having the responsibilities of the eldest, despite beingone of the youngest, of loving the arts and music more than fighting and diplomacy. All the internal conflict of being good at the things he hated and bad at the things he loved, the only things he was good at that he enjoyed were learning, and music. 

Agust listened as if he could relate, though he was a stable hand, and couldn’t possibly. 

“Me too,” Agust said once Namjoon was done. 

He needed nothing more, and offered nothing more, letting companionable silence wash over them.

There was no judgment in Agust’s candle-light eyes, and if the man had been a plant, he would have been lavender. Healing, gentle, yet vibrant. Never overpowering.

And Namjoon knew, as the deiform sun peaked over the horizon, that this person, however little Namjoon knew about him, could capsize his life completely.

Chapter Text

Kim Taehyung, Prince of Hanguk, was enchanting, spellbinding, bewitching.

And Park Jimin was not. 

A beta house servant, slight and small, with a high, unmasculine voice, and lips too big for his face, and small eyes that did little to balance it out.

If he laughed or smiled, he couldn’t see. He cried ugly, and all his emotions showed on his ugly face.

So he did his best not to feel anything.

It was a habit now.

But Kim Taehyung treated him like a friend.

Told him jokes, made him smile. Talked to him about everything and nothing, nothing and everything. Asked about Jimin’s day, and really listened. Let Jimin eat with him. Let him sit on his bed, pick his clothes.

Like Jimin was on his level.

Like Jimin was Kim Taehyung’s friend .

Jimin-ah, Kim Taehyung would say, so familiar, in his silky, smooth voice, I’m so glad you’re here!

And Kim Taehyung let Jimin call him Taehyung-ah, and even Tae-Tae , insisted on it, in fact.

It’s not surprising Jimin fell in love.

But Kim Taehyung found someone else.

We’re still soulmates, Jiminnie , Taehyung had said when Jimin had asked about him . 

I don’t love you any less.

Jimin didn’t believe that. 

What did he have that the muscled, baby-faced guard didn’t ?

Nothing.

Not one thing.

Because Jimin was ugly and fat and nowhere near royalty.

His mother had been right.

He was muscular, with kind eyes and a well-proportioned face, and the omega to Taehyung’s alpha. 

Not that you could tell.

And Jimin hated him.

Hated his Hey, Jimin-ssi! How are you? , and his Look out for the prince in my stead, okay, Jimin-ssi? I have to take a lunch break. , and his You look hungry, Jimin-ssi. Do you want some of my tteokbokki?

Jimin-ssi,

Jimin-ssi,

Jimin-ssi.

Hated him, because he was the one who’d stolen Kim Taehyung’s heart. Even though Jimin knew he could’ve never managed to do such a thing himself.  

But Jimin couldn’t do anything. He was here to keep Kim Taehyung safe, and that’s all Jimin could ask. And if it wasn’t Jimin that made Kim Taehyung happy, then… so be it.

It was the least he could do. 

Let Jeon Jeongguk have the love of Jimin’s life if that was what would make said love happy.

αβΩ

“Councillor Shin?” Jimin’s voice seemed to echo around the whole chamber, filling up the space, suffocating any other words.

“Ah, Jimin-ah. Welcome.” 

Another voice emerged from the silence, deep and dark, thick as tar. Though it spoke with practiced pyojuneo, the hint of Chungcheong satoori still lingered. Obviously not a natural born noble.

“Why am I here, sir?”

The voice laughed, but it fell a little flat. “No need for formalities, Jimin-ah. Call me hyung.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jimin whispers, tentative, “Why?”

“Well, I am a family friend. A distant relative, if you will. A brother of your late father.”

“My family is dead.”

“May they rest in peace, Jimin-ah.”

Stop calling me that, Jimin wanted to protest, but the darkness seemed to move closer to him, invading his lungs, suffocating- suffocating-

“You, my dear, can help me in ways I’d never thought possible.” the voice claimed, and with a sinister scoff, the darkness was pulled away, a face appearing in the light of a single candle.

Councillor Shin looked eerily young, with a weirdly wrinkleless face and double-lidded eyes, smile lines being the only indication that he was any older than Jimin was.

“I- How can I help?” Everything in Jimin’s body wanted to run away from this man, the one who towered over him, but his feet were stuck to the ground.

He- Taehyung was alone, wondering where he was- Oh, who was he kidding. Taehyung wouldn’t care! He had him now.

That- that thought, it wasn’t-

“You, my dear, can help me by-”

αβΩ

“Jiminnie?”

“Yes, TaeTae?”

“You know I love you, right? You’re my best friend forever, right?”

“I do. You're my best friend too.”

“You know Jeonggukkie’ll never replace you, right?”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Mmhmm…You know I love you, TaeTae?”

“That’s the first time you’ve said that!”

“Trust me, Tae-yah … it will not be the last.”

Chapter Text

Dearest Eomeoni,

I’ve made it! 

I guard Prince Taehyung now, and, boy, is he hard work.

He’s always running off without me, and though I definitely have enough stamina to catch up, he always finds himself in the weirdest places! Once, I found him in a hedgerow in the middle of a labyrinth. The labyrinth isn’t actually part of the palace either. To this day, no one knows how he got there!

Though unpredictable and filled with wanderlust, he’s obviously the favorite prince, probably because he’s somehow the least work of all of his brothers. (I don’t believe that. If anyone’s the least work, it’s Prince Namjoon! All he does is study.)

The King always sends him little notes about how to be a public figure without stealing attention and never bothers him. Not that the King never bothers with him, the King never bothers him . 

Prince Taehyung is a bit of a free-thinker, though, and thinks we shouldn’t have a king at all! He says monarchies cause problems, and having a senate like Ancient Rome would do us a lot of good. Prince Namjoon seems to agree, though he’s always filled with new knowledge about other places. You know he taught himself Japanese, English, French and German, and had a bunch of books in those languages imported? Prince Taehyung told me so.

Prince Namjoon is really cool. Did you know he was the one who petitioned to get omegas into the games? How awesome is that?! Plus, he’s even teaching me Japanese and Chinese. Chinese is way easier than Japanese, honestly. Prince Namjoon lets me borrow his books too! Right now, I’m reading Alpha vs Omega: Fifteen explained reasons why Alpha is superior , by Hong Daehwong. You might be wondering why I’m reading that. Well, Prince Namjoon’s helping me write up a thesis to disprove it! Alpha vs Omega: Fifteen reasons why the Sexes should be equal. He says that he doubts it’ll be published, even with his implorations, but it’ll be good to write, none the less.

I’ll send it to you when I’ve finished!

Prince Seokjin and I haven’t been officially introduced yet, but we’ve met a couple times, and he’s much nicer than what the bards say. Some of my dormmates in the barracks warned me about him making lusty advances, but he’s been nothing if not incredibly kind and accommodating. Did you know he can cook? He made me lunch on the first day after the Choosing, and it was delicious! Maybe even more delicious than Minsoo-syepeunim’s cooking! He made me kalguksu, rice-balls and egg kimbap, and even let me watch him in the kitchen. He’s really nice.

There’s only one person in the palace who I definitely don’t like: Councilor Shin. But I can’t tell you about that, because there might be someone reading over the letters.

Life in the barracks wasn’t as cool as the stories they tell you. 

If you were a beta or an omega, you got bullied or even violated. I was one of the lucky ones; a couple were actually afraid of me! One of the other omegas, Jinsu, dropped out early because he got violated during his heat. Actually, a few of us did. I’m glad I’m out of there now. 

I did make friends though: an alpha named Taekwon, a beta named Hoseok (who ended up being picked in the choosing) and another alpha named Sejoon. They all were really nice to me and ended up being my dormmates in the last year.

As far as friends in the Palace go, Hoseok is my only real friend. Prince Taehyung likes to call himself my friend, but I know that’s not really how it works. There is a servant boy - he can’t be any older than me - who works for Prince Taehyung that I always try to talk to, but he used to ignore me every time. I think he had a change of heart because he’s always talking to me now. He’s a touchy person, and always puts his hands on my arms and stuff. It’s really nice. I guess he’s picked up on how much less affection I get now, and he more than makes up for it. If I wasn’t sure he was also an omega (and if I was female), I would probably find him very attractive. He’s got cute cheeks and squinty eyes, and big, round lips that look very kissable. Sometimes, Taehyung will make him laugh, and then his eyes’ll disappear and he’ll just fall onto the person next to him, usually me, and just laugh his wheezy seagull laugh. His smile is really beautiful, Eomma! I wish you could see him. You’d really like him.

Yoongi and I don’t see each other often - he’s a stable-hand now - but we do stop and talk from time to time. He’s really enjoying himself!

The skies here are beautiful, Eomma, and the air is so clean! There’s no dust to block out the stars, because there’s no one here but us. You’d love it, especially the sunset. When the sun goes down, Eomma, the sky goes all different shades of purple and blue and orange, and it’s like they’re all melting into each other! And when the sun is just a little bit over the horizon, the stars show up in the sky, and it’s so beautiful!

Ahh, Eomma. I miss you!

Love always,
Your son,

JEON MIN JEONGGUK

P.S. Now you’ve got to keep your promise!

Chapter Text

Jeong Hoseok had been known his whole life as a “human sunshine”. It became a primary feature of reports and other appraisals. People knew him – without even knowing his name – as “Sunshine Boy”, or other variations.

Honestly, he was tired.

And High Prince of Hanguk, Kim Seokjin, was a breath of fresh air for that burnt out sunshine.

He laughed without fear, cried when he wanted to, and never bowed to expectations.

Kim Seokjin oozed confidence like it was his Chi.

In fact, he was Confidence. 

He didn't just breathe it, walk with it, or act it; it was who  he was.

Kim Seokjin, on the first day they had met, had insisted on a lack of formality. (Not that he would drop hyung.) Kim Seokjin who cooks for the guards. Kim Seokjin who isn't afraid of judgment, who lives for the stares.

Hoseok could never.

All his defenses stay firmly in place, never moving from their fixed position clamped over complex emotions.

Hoseok, like every day, awoke with the dawn, careful not to wake the prince. Standing firmly at the door until midmorning, he greeted every member of house staff that came past. 

Hoseok, like every day, faked the smile he had perfected over years to the people he thought needed it most. Staying firmly on his face for as long as he could hold it, his smile grew faker as the day droned on.

Prince Seokjin, like every day, rose at midmorning, requesting Hoseok’s presence approximately two hours after he awoke and dressed. Hoseok would follow him around throughout the day, guarding him from etiquette classes, to political shadowing sessions, to drinking soju with friends.

It was monotonous. Monotone and all sorts of gray, but Hoseok felt his whole purpose rested on what he had been called once by someone he’d loved dearly: a piece of peace. He smiled, he laughed, he comforted, he empathized and sympathized, he left his worries with his bed-clothes - folded on the edge of his bunk in the barracks.

He daydreamed with eyes open, practicing his poetry in his head, a habit he’d adopted from his tumultuous youth, though he hated to think of it.

Wishing on the sky,
Wishing on a star…

He only let himself breathe for a moment before once again holding his breath for the rooster’s crow, letting himself be roused from where he swam with goldfish and koi, forgetting the daydreams of wanting peace for himself - he couldn’t afford that luxury, he was the peace.

He hid his aggression between smiles; he couldn’t remember his last real smile, a smile he felt to his core.

He merely existed for others’ benefit.

He was nothing if not someone else’s.

He didn’t let himself breathe.

But my life plan still boils my blood

I'm earnest…

He’d always wanted to dance, to only fight ornamentally. He saw himself in ceremony, performing a piece he composed himself.

He thought of the dance he had blocked in his head, not yet given a name, but built of the fans he’d seen when the Ilboneo women came.

It would be beautiful, graceful; he could see himself in a dancer’s hanbok, directing waving, flowing fans - an ensemble of wings.

He saw it in reds and yellows and vibrant sunset tones behind his eyes-

“Guard! Why are you sleeping? Are you untrained, whelp?!” Councilor Shin’s voice was grating and nasal, hardly bearable for Hoseok’s ears. “You have a job to do. Do it like the alpha you are!”

It was a phrase mentioned a lot, “do it like an alpha.” 

Hoseok was used to it.

He also wasn’t surprised that the councilor didn’t know he was a beta, as most guards wore scent-masks when they were guarding omegas (the King had extended this rule to the Prince, Mireuk knew why.) 

Hoseok was used to a lot of things.

It wasn’t hard for him to paste on a smile and bark a “Sir, yes, sir!” like the dog he was.

Because he was.

He was everybody’s special little dog, who did as told, comforted and caressed, and never, ever spoke a word of complaint.

He would never, ever speak a word of complaint.

Complaints, like opinions, bring discord, and discord is the opposite of peace.

And Jeong Hoseok was the peace.

He had to be.

αβΩ

And as he died, so did the world.

He’d seen that quote on a tombstone somewhere, a quick obituary from the time of the Three Kingdoms, the Junggukeo engravings fading.

It had stayed with him, the quote a loved one had written upon the grave of a loved one. What a legacy to have!

To have killed a world he hated with his own death. To have influenced the Earth like that: a dead man’s dream.

Not that whatever he was doing now was living . 

He was barely existing, letting his life be decided by fate and the whims of higher-ups, his light becoming more and more artificial with each order he was given.

Prince Seokjin was a breath of fresh air, a brief repreve of everything; an honor.

He would talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you, and you would just let him. He told you everything you’d ever need to know and everything you didn’t with one demure breath, slowly loosing his regal facade for the goofy, fun side he showed to nobody but you.

And Hoseok relished such an honor. He lived for moments in the garden under Prince Namjoon’s cherry blossom tree, as Prince Seokjin complained about everything and nothing, as Hoseok listened enraptured. The prince was socially awkward, but he was good at trapping you into exchanging stories, and Hoseok never opposed.

They told stories of childhood friends and palace grievances, Prince Seokjin spilling gossip that he’d gotten from the handmaids and Hoseok telling every story but his own.

It seemed, with every personal question Hoseok managed to circumvent, the prince grew more resolute in his quest to figure the guard out.

It was a fun game.

But Hoseok was not going to lose.

He wanted to tell Seokjin everything, yes, but he was merely a moth to a flame, just a willing martyr to the princes incandescent glory.

He wished he could. 

He wished he could tell the prince stories of his Gwangju childhood, wished he could tell the stories he was told, wished he could release every emotion he’d ever felt from the prison he’d trapped them in when he committed to being a piece of peace.

He laughed bitterly as he took to position in front of Seokjin’s door for the night.

A dead man’s dream.