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It truly is inescapable.
A concept that anyone and everyone is aware of. A reality that's repeated over and over and over again without fail.
It is spoken of casually and heartlessly in meetings of officials, whispered in crushed tones between the workers of the palace, muttered quietly to him under the sheets of a bed he is supposed to share alone, spoken of with a sort of strange awe alongside the terror it can cause. A sense of purpose.
It doesn't discriminate between the tall and the short, the wealthy and the poor, the bad and the good. The beautiful and the ugly. And truly it could be ugly and gruesome and the worst horror experienced, but also it could be like this. It could be quiet, still and beautiful. It could be the prior just as easily as the latter, most find a way to perceive it as both.
And he's not a fool, whilst he may only have walked the earth for a measly 22 years. He has heard all about it, the words travelling from loud mouth to loud mouth, from quivering hands into stiff palms, from teary gaze to unfocused eyes. He is the prince of a kingdom, it would be even more foolish to assume he knows nothing about it, not when the wariness of it is drilled into his every move.
And it is not only to the people he sees around, it has travelled within his circle. Caressing his grandfather when he was still a young boy, and aiming for his mother but missing just barely; an arrow whizzing past a target enough to nick the side.
Prince Hyunjin knows all about it.
But why does it feel like it couldn't possibly be here in his arms the way it is. The way He is.
A dart that has hit its target. The caress is back, against another jaw, sharper and spongier with youth. And the way it is drilled into him makes it obvious what lays between his fingertips. Today it is his tear-filled eyes locked with a faraway gaze, his palms that will quiver when noting it down and his mouth that has to tell the world. His mouth that is clenched shut with his lips pressed together, like he needs to keep this a secret. And it Is grotesque, foreign despite his knowledge of this word, and it is somehow beautiful as he always is. It didn't seem to discriminate before the will of man forced it to bend and pick someone else. And he will hear its name in those meetings and around those workers and under those bedsheets where he will now sleep alone.
A concept that anyone and everyone is aware of. A reality that's repeated over and over and over again without fail.
There is no one who was not familiar with the concept of death, but it's different when it is the person you love, dying in your arms like they always knew they would.
Yang Jeongin is holding onto him so tightly, like a child would when their mother tries to leave. He doesn't want Hyunjin to leave. (Not like he would. Not when he is holding on just as tightly.) And there are roses blooming down his chest, pouring out all the love he held for his prince through the hole made especially for Hyunjin.
His gaze is glassy, his eyebrows quivering, but he puts on a smile. Hyunjin wants to speak, he wishes he could speak, he has to speak, why isn't he speaking, why can't he just-
And Jeongin opens his mouth as if he knows and is doing it for him.
When he hears his voice he hears the way it sounded in the dark of the night, hushed and soft. Denying any promises of forever because he always knew in his heart that he would throw himself in front of any blade to protect his prince. It was his duty as his personal guard.
It also became his duty as his lover.
There are clashes around them, there is dust in the air, there is the clanging of metal against metal, there is the whinnying of horses, there are the screeches of tires, there are chants and screams and noise. And Jeongin seems louder than them all when he whispers.
He doesn't say "I love you," because he knows Hyunjin already knows, and he can't say "I'm sorry," because they both know he isn't. He won't say "get revenge" because he was not wronged by this outcome, it was always his fated path in the grand scheme of life, it just came much earlier than anticipated.
"I would do it a thousand times over, if it meant you could live," are the words that leave his trembling lips.
And Hyunjin can't say a word so he presses his lips to his. Over and over and over and over and over, uncaring of who can see.
He can't get up off of his knees once his lover is still. He can't hear a noise over the deafening silence left behind once he can't hear Jeongin's wheezing breaths, struggling and fighting to take in as much as he possibly can before he is no longer a person and now is just another body and statistic in the battle. He can't utter a word. And he thinks back to how inescapable it is to die.
He knows he will follow his partner one day, no one can go on forever.
And he knows he is selfish and foolish and grief-ridden. He still reaches for the sword that caused the rapids swirling in the pits of his lungs.
He isn't like Jeongin. He never was, but especially not now, because he realizes he doesn't care about the position he has or the role he must fill when it is finally his turn. He isn’t selfless with his love because Jeongin didn't have to watch him die.
He lifts the sword.
Up, up and up.
It truly is inescapable.