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Joshua is a good witch. He’s a great witch, depending on who you ask. Mingyu would say so, at least, as one of the two right-hand men of the prince, and that always sits warmly in Joshua's heart— the feeling that he’s done so much for the kingdom, is capable of doing so much. Still, something is awry, missing.
In the winter, Jeonghan leaves.
In the winter, Joshua lies.
He tells Mingyu that he’s doing just fine, that he’s just wrapped up in work and he’s got a tricky spell to work out. Mingyu looks like he doesn’t believe him when Joshua says that he’s sleeping enough, his face twisted in worry. He always looks like that when Joshua is with him, lately. Joshua tries to convince him, but he just says, Make sure you eat today, hyung, and gives his arm a squeeze that should be reassuring but comes out all wrong. Everything feels wrong.
Everything feels wrong, and Joshua isn’t sure of much at all as Jeonghan still thrums through his veins.
Winter comes again, and Joshua swears he can almost feel him in his room as he’s pored over his grimoire, the ink on his quill running out and pain burning hot through his neck and shoulders. In his head, Jeonghan tells him over and over that he’s done more than enough, that he needs to rest, Maybe we should take you to Jihoon’s, Shuji.
“I don’t need a healer, Jeonghan-ah, I’m fine,” he bites out, closing the grimoire with the wave of a hand and burying his face in his palms. The sound of his own voice shocks him, and his stomach drops, all the fight simmering down as he turns to face Junhui instead, interrupted quietly wrapping rose quartz.
Something in Joshua’s mind rewires. Hearing Jeonghan’s voice like this isn’t new, but it still makes his blood feel wrong in his own body, and Junhui has to remind him that it’s just he and Joshua, that he is the one who worried over him, that he called him by his name instead of what his heart supplied him with. He hasn’t said much at all tonight, and Joshua distantly recalls him coming to his quarters to work, but now his head is swimming and his mouth feels like cotton.
Junhui’s features soften, and he says, “It hasn’t been too long, and you’re still hurting, hyung. You need to sleep. We’ll see Jihoon and Soonyoung tomorrow morning.” His tone is firm, and he leads Joshua to his own bed, leaving an unwrapped crystal in his hands.
The next morning, Junhui leads him to Jihoon’s shop. Soonyoung makes him knock back three different potions, his usually bright disposition twisted with worry as he says Take care of yourself, Shua hyung.
“Is everyone gonna keep saying that to me, or something? Why do you all look so… grave all the time?”
“We know how hard it is for you, hyung. It’s gotta be. It’s only been a year,” he says. “He’s been here too. He might be strong on the outside, but he’s hurting, too.” Joshua isn’t sure if the tears fall of his own volition or not.
Jihoon presses on his temples and behind his ears and the sides of his neck, presses his lavender scented palm on Joshua’s chest, and tells Joshua what he already knows.
“Matters of the heart are always harder to heal.”
Joshua sees Jeonghan for the first time since he left two years ago at the archives, dimly lit. The air feels impossibly dustier as they both lock eyes, and Joshua watches with bated breath as Jeonghan's hands fidget about. He can’t tell if Jeonghan really wanted to meet this way, and tries not to think about it. Joshua’s just taking stock, now, taking in the years he missed.
Jeonghan’s hair has grown out, blonde and long as it grazes his shoulders. He’s still in uniform, as is required of him. His slacks are black now, and they look more refined than the old flared out rust-coloured ones he used to wear. The years grew Jeonghan’s face into itself in a way that only Joshua thinks he might be able to pick out from this far away. It makes him feel far away.
His white sleeves are adorned with a glittery blue threading that glints in the light of the library. It’s all fitted tightly against the apprentice’s body in a way that really should be emulated in art for years to come. Joshua fights with himself as he mulls over the thought, wants to reach out and touch and take.
It's no use.
Jeonghan continued to rank higher and higher among the royal court. Just like he wanted. Like he told Joshua, that one night at the creek. Joshua had gone back to his quarters and fell apart.
Now, Jeonghan hikes up his sleeves, for ease of the ink that has to stain his thumb, a small step in the pursuit of being known enough to do something as simple as getting another book on swordsmanship. He’s a good enough fighter on his own, there isn’t possibly anything he could learn now, Joshua thinks, suddenly incredulous. He takes it back. Why else would he be here if he didn’t need the guidance?
Jeonghan checks out with shaking hands, and promises the archivist he’ll be back for the next edition, his voice thick and uneven, and Joshua catches it, because of course he does: Jeonghan’s swallowing a lie. It’s rare that he comes here in the first place. Joshua wasn’t even sure if she knew Jeonghan’s name before this. The archivist, bless her heart, tells the apprentice to have a restful evening and after a beat she says, "Good night, your apprenticeship." Jeonghan replies, "Good night, madam." Polite, courteous, just enough. Unfamiliar, now.
His voice is deeper than Joshua remembers. His hands look worn and worked for once. A long time ago, maybe, Joshua would’ve joked that Jeonghan's finally begun pulling his weight around the kingdom. He doesn’t. He doesn’t think he has the right to.
Joshua doesn't check out anything fancy, just a few books on herbs and the study of magical medicine and spellwork because he can’t afford to keep letting something like this trip him up. Because his duty is first to his kingdom, and God knows what would happen if that changed.
Jeonghan starts to head toward the exit, and Joshua knows better, but feels his heart rushing downward and can’t get his arms under himself to break the fall.
Joshua all but runs after him, slides his fingers around Jeonghan's wrist, a silent plea. Jeonghan meets his eyes, and Joshua can’t search them the way he used to. It feels like everything catches flame, and Joshua finds it in him to really plead, “Jeonghan-ssi, please. Wait.”
Jeonghan turns away. He doesn’t look back as he lets his hand slip through Joshua’s hold and closes the door.
Joshua always wonders if he’s cut out to be doing this.
It’s the third night in a row he’s been stuck in the castle archives, and he doesn’t doubt that he’ll be here until dawn breaks, and he’s already gone through two pots of ink. Tonight might end with six, if he’s lucky.
“Don’t you work anywhere else, Jisoo-ssi?” The archivist had asked six hours ago, not unkindly, as he hiked his canvas bag up his shoulder on his way up the stairs. Joshua had given her a smile, close-lipped but not void of any sincerity, told her that he was just doing his part to help the kingdom, and bounded up the oakwood steps.
Joshua sees Jeonghan again. They’re in the part of the archives that he knows is saved for him at this hour, and a mix of rage and pride and something disgustingly melancholic rises in his throat. He’s not completely sure if Jeonghan’s real or not. He swallows. Jeonghan takes a seat far away from him.
“I was just gonna do some spell revision, if you-” Joshua starts, trying to leave his heart out of his voice, and it falls heavily into the silence. They used to work on these things together. He doesn’t need to explain himself. If he’s sure of one thing, it’s that they’re both just tired.
“Not tonight, Jisoo-ssi,” Jeonghan cuts him off, and his voice, worn around the edges, doesn’t leave room for interpretation. Joshua knows this. He knows this, was on the receiving end far only years before, and all the things Jeonghan has told him swim in his head. It stings under his skin, feels distantly like he’s conjured it up, like he’s forced a particularly bitter tincture down his own throat. This isn’t any different, but still, clawing at a brick wall, he wants to try.
So he does. He tries his best not to ask Why, shame clawing up his throat, tries not to ask Jeonghan who’s spelled his sword these days — he knows in the back of his mind that Seungcheol is more than capable. He doesn’t ask Jeonghan if his classes paid off the way he wanted — he’s serving in a high rank now, one higher than Joshua thought he’d go for. If he wants to go down to the creek just for old times’ sake — the answer would still be Not tonight, Jisoo-ssi. He knows better.
Joshua watches Jeonghan twirl a glass pen about his fingers and watches him run his hand through his hair and watches his knee bounce around beneath the table. He’s reminded of too much. He might be sick.
He can’t look away.
Joshua sleeps as the sun rises.
In his dream, Joshua’s tucking a strand of blond hair behind Jeonghan’s ear. They’re down at the creek, and Jeonghan tells him with great pride that he made it through another court evaluation, that he’ll be busier, that he’ll be a little farther away.
“Never too far from you, Shuji. Promise.” His voice is light and sincere, his feet are in the creek, moonlight glinting off the whispers of the water, and Joshua hopes that Jeonghan doesn’t notice the wave of his hand as he wraps the two of them in a subtle warmth.
“Jeonghan-ah, you can’t afford to be sick, not right now, it’s far too cold for you to be out here like this,” Joshua says, with the most confidence he can muster. He needs to know you mean it.
And Jeonghan — Jeonghan presses close and lays his head on Joshua’s shoulder. Their hands find each others’ and they trade accomplishments, wishes, fears. Joshua never tells Jeonghan that he can’t bear to lose him. It won’t kill him, but it’ll come close.
He knows that Jeonghan hears it in his voice because he looks him in the eyes and says, “Get out of your head, Joshuji,” and Joshua tells him, “I’m here,” as his throat closes up.
“I love you,” Joshua says, “I love you,” and he doesn’t let the thought meet reality. He’s pulled out of his dream as the sun hangs high in the air, its brightness betraying the chill blanketed over the kingdom. He never finds out if Jeonghan says it back.
He folds the feeling up, later, hidden between pages at the back of his grimoire, and doesn’t check on it again. He doesn’t need to. He knows better than to question things he cannot change.
Joshua doesn’t see Jeonghan again for two years. It makes his stomach churn, the way that he and Jeonghan serve their kingdom orbiting each other in a way that could almost guarantee a glimpse of blonde hair in his periphery, but they do not meet. Jeonghan still follows him, though, disembodied in whispers that Joshua hears around the castle, and when Prince Seokmin’s round table discussion grows wry and tense, he assures them that his court is fully capable of defending him, that there’s a knight on the rise.
Another winter comes.
The standing temperature is worse than it’s ever been, and when the wind bites, its teeth sink in deep. There’s not much work to do when he isn’t charming the hearth in the Prince and his partners’ quarters to stay just warm enough that he, Minghao, and Mingyu can let it burn as they sleep at night. They’re a nice bunch, and Joshua is proud to serve the Prince and the men he loves so dearly, but he still feels a little blown around sometimes.
To put it straight, Joshua’s tired of being miserable without a reason.
He tried moving on. Really, he did. He went to Jihoon’s and picked up something that he probably should’ve asked the contents of before he drank half the bottle with Seungkwan, Vernon and Chan, and it could’ve been a double date if Chan wasn’t slung over Vernon’s lap to poke fun at Seungkwan the whole night. If he felt about Chan how he did Jeonghan, maybe it would’ve worked. If Joshua wasn’t absolutely miserable about himself, he could've had a chance at moving on for real.
He liked Chan enough, with his champagne laugh and sparkly eyes, always determined to be good enough, beyond good, and everything about him backed it up. One night, when Chan stayed over, he begged him for Hyung Advice, because his crush on Seungkwan and Vernon was downright horrible and weighing on him like a tonne of bricks, and Joshua was more than a few leagues out of his depth.
There was never anything going on with him, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol, not how Chan was hoping, at least. Seungcheol was there, a buffer, someone who helped ease the tension that started winding around them in the last year Joshua saw Jeonghan. He figured it wouldn’t be much help to tell Chan that repressing his feelings for a couple more years would fix it. Chan didn’t mind coming up with no solid answers. Instead, he’d asked Joshua why his grimoire was closed.
“I always keep mine open. It just turns to the pages I need when I need it, you know, hyung?” His head was on Joshua’s shoulder, but craned enough to look over at Joshua’s grimoire. Joshua doesn’t have it in him to tell Chan that he hadn’t opened it in days, that his heart scares him too much, that sometimes love doesn’t work out the way you hope it will for so long.
The confession hung heavy in the dark of his bedroom, and Chan put his hand over Joshua’s to tell him he needed closure, that he needed to get his answer, no matter how much it would hurt him. Joshua laughed, called him wise beyond his years, and basked in Chan’s lopsided smile, ignoring the way it never reached his eyes.
Joshua’s doing it. The whole “getting closure” thing.
He knows it’s a long shot, and he’ll probably miss by a mile, but he tries, because it’s Jeonghan. He can’t just give up.
“It’s been a while since I saw you practise. You’re amazing, Jeonghan-ah.”
Jeonghan whips around, catches his sword before it falls, sheathes it with all the ease he’s got, because of course he does.
“Jisoo-ssi,” he sighs, and there’s a lump in Joshua’s throat. It’s been a year since they'd seen each other in the archives. Joshua doesn’t want to keep counting the years, but three is all too much for him not to. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check in.” Joshua says, and it comes out strained. He recoils at his own voice.
Jeonghan’s alone in the field today. The winter wind is his only guest. Three years ago, he’d have been accompanied by Seungcheol as he made sure Jeonghan’s form was precise. Joshua wonders if he’s gotten good enough that he can’t make any more improvements. It’s a stupid thing to wonder, really, because Jeonghan’s black slacks have stayed the same, but his white jacket with its blue threading has been traded in, traded up, for a deep grey one, red threads sparkling in the light. In a mere three years, he’s gone from apprentice to commander. The pin on his lapel, Prince Seokmin’s family crest, shines as the sun hits it. Joshua’s throat dries up.
“Well, I’m doing fine, if that’s what you needed to know.” Jeonghan says, clipped. Joshua suddenly feels a little off-kilter.
“It took me a while to find you, you know. Had to ask all around the castle.” He announces, in lieu of You’re practically nowhere nowadays, in lieu of I miss you, because he can’t find it in him to feign a laugh around the words, and takes a step closer to Jeonghan, just to test the waters. Joshua’s pulse hammers in his ears when Jeonghan takes a step to him, a response, just enough to prompt either of them to speak. Jeonghan beats him to it.
“I’ve been busy,” Jeonghan shrugs, and Joshua can’t read anything past the indifference on his face.
“I haven’t seen you around, either. Where have you been?”
Joshua bristles, and defensive unease settles onto his shoulders. It’s too familiar, the taunting, but it’s never — It doesn’t matter. If this is the game Jeonghan wants to play, all useless honorifics and bullshit excuses, Joshua can sure as hell shuffle his deck.
Jeonghan keeps looking at him like Joshua’s impeding on something, like he’s unwelcome or something, and it’s pissing Joshua off.
He draws.
"No, Jeonghan-ssi, that’s not fair. You left, not me. I’ve always been here. You know- you know where to find me, and there’s no way you don’t know where I’ve been. I mean, you’re still seeing Jihoon and Soonyoung, right?”
“So you’re keeping tabs on me, now?”
Jeonghan’s got a hip cocked, his hand resting on the end of his sword as he scoffs. He makes Joshua want to scream at him. He is still so beautiful. Joshua’s questions go unanswered.
“What? No, I’m not keeping tabs on you. I’ve served here just as long as you have. People talk.”
There’s a lump in Joshua’s throat now. He pops a knuckle on his right hand, just to have something to do. In the back of his mind, he knows that there’s no way he can fight if he wears Jeonghan down, pisses him off enough, if Jeonghan really does draw on him. He’s capable of defending himself, sure, but. This is different. He doesn’t know where the temerity in Jeonghan’s voice is coming from. He’s not even sure if he knows, truly, who he’s talking to.
“You know it’s all gossip. Why are you listening to something that might not even be true? You’ve misplaced your trust, Jisoo-yah.” Jeonghan’s eyes are steely, defiant in a way that Joshua’s never seen directed at him. His voice is suddenly sweet. Fake. It makes Joshua’s blood run cold.
“What the fuck happened to you, Yoon Jeonghan?”
Jeonghan doesn’t respond. He picks at a stray thread of his uniform, runs a hand through his long blonde hair, takes a deep breath. He looks away from Joshua too late — his facade is cracking fast. He doesn’t respond.
“Where did you go?” Joshua fights so hard not to give in, but it catches up to his body before he can think, and he sinks down to the grass, plucking it from the ground. He sounds pathetic, and he knows it, but now’s as good a time as any to cut himself some slack. If it kicks him in the teeth later, he’ll go back to how it always was, adding Jeonghan’s hatred for him to the ever-growing list of things that just don’t make sense, and piece himself back together when he gets around to it.
Jeonghan undoes the holster of his sword from where it rests on his hip, lays it on the ground in front of Joshua, and sits next to him like they used to at the creek, but it’s different. Their knees don’t touch, and their hands stay where they are.
“You’re not gonna tell me shit, are you,” and it’s not a question, but Joshua voices it all the same. It feels like he has to.
“Not really, Jisoo-yah,” Jeonghan says. He sounds tired, worse than he used to. Magic fizzles in Joshua’s hands, aching to reach out, to help. He stays still. There’s no use. He turns his attention back to the grass. This is it. The closure. The pain of it sears his fingertips.
“Jisoo,” Jeonghan starts up again, and his voice is foreign to Joshua’s ears for the first time in his life, twisting around every part of him like barbed wire. He can’t believe that he thought this — whatever it was — could work.
“I needed to be alone longer than I thought.” Hearing Jeonghan speak is starting to infuriate him. They’ve never been this angry at each other. Never like this. Never something they couldn’t come back from.
But Joshua’s not naive. They’re not kids anymore. He and Jeonghan can’t suture each other’s wounds for the rest of their lives.
“It’s okay,” Joshua lies, his head aching with the clench of his jaw. “People move on.”
Jeonghan turns to him now, Joshua meets his eyes on instinct, and he begs the ground to swallow him whole. Closure fucking sucks.
“People move on, Jisoo-yah. Please, move on. Hate me. Avoid me like I did you. It’s only fair.”
Joshua can’t do anything but put his head in his hands.
“What if I don’t want to hate you,” Joshua says, muffled by his own skin. “Why wouldn’t you let me love you, Jeonghan-ah?”
“You loved me enough. It was time, Shuji. You let me hold you back.”
The pet name makes Joshua feel like he might retch.
“You don’t get to just decide that for someone! You don’t — Jesus fucking Christ, Jeonghan, come on!”
This isn’t working. It’s not working, and it’s splitting Joshua in half all over again, because Jeonghan has grown mean and Joshua has grown weak and he has half a mind to stand before he tries to shatter Jeonghan’s coveted sword in his anger. There’s no getting through to him. Joshua knows. Not when he’s made up his mind, not like this.
“I’m sorry,” Joshua spits, and it’s less poisonous than he needs it to be. It comes out of his mouth all wrong, like his voice has finally settled on betraying him. Jeonghan still sits in the grass, looking up at him, and Joshua doesn’t want to know what for. He’s gotten what he came for. Maybe he’ll retreat for good this time. “Prince Seokmin is lucky to have a commander like you in his court. I hope you’ll continue to serve him well.”
“I will. I hope you will, too — he really does like you, you know. He never stops talking about you.” The corners of Jeonghan’s lips almost turn up.
It’s an olive branch, something light and conversational, offered three years too late. Joshua refuses to wrap his hand around the thorns.
“I’m glad I’m doing a good enough job, then. That's all I can ask for.”
Joshua hopes it comes across to Jeonghan as he intends it — a nail in the coffin. He’s forcing himself to move on, presumes Jeonghan will let him, and as the wind picks up, as small flurries of snow settle like fire on his cheeks, he turns on his heel. He always knew it would hurt to let a good thing die.
“Shua?” Jeonghan calls, when Joshua’s halfway to the doors of the corridor he’d practically flown through earlier, struggling with the outdated knob. It clicks open as he turns to find Jeonghan behind him. He keeps his mouth shut.
“I just wanted to let you know, before you go,” Jeonghan breathes, and Joshua doesn’t brace himself. Not now. Jeonghan looks him in the eyes for the last time.
“You really are a great witch.”