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Chapter Text

The spoon wobbles in his hand, frozen halfway to his mouth, the soup sitting in its silver seat quivering into ripples. Jungkook can’t breathe . His eyes are locked onto the trembling spoon, onto the hot liquid vibrating under his shaky movements. 

He-.... what?

His stomach has dropped to his feet. And if he’s not careful, the spoon is going to drop too - his fingers are turning numb, fumbling at the metal as he blinks wildly. 

What- what did his parent just say?

He- Jungkook almost can’t believe it. This must be a dream, just a bad dream, he’s going to wake up curled in his bed in just a moment, no. No, that didn’t just happen. Jungkook’s trembling hand slowly lowers, the spoon sinking to its death back in the soup bowl. He blinks once, twice, tries to focus on his cup sitting in front of him. But his vision is blurring over as his stomach churns, something hot and heavy burning behind his eyes. 

He- his heart has just shattered in his chest. 

Jungkook can’t breathe. 

He-... no. 

“Your brother is to be engaged to Prince Kim Namjoon.” 

No. 

Reality sears into his ears, the sound of clinking cutlery stinging at his ears. It’s too much, too overwhelming, dragged out from that warm, silent place of shock, and it takes all of Jungkook’s effort not to burst into tears. They’re bubbling at the corners of his eyes, his hands falling into his lap to curl into fists. 

“They’re going to be arriving tomorrow,” His mother is saying happily, a smile stretched over her face, “Are you excited to meet your fiance, Jung-hoon?” 

Jungkook can’t even look at his brother. He wants to scream, cry, lunge across the table, and close his hands around his darned throat. Because how dare- 

But his glossy eyes are flicking up just a little anyway, bile prickling at the back of his throat as he sees his brother's face. Jung-hoon is smiling. A disgusting, shy smile, one that seems to radiant from deep within as he stirs his bowl of soup coyly.

Jungkook is going to be sick.  

He has known about this. His brother, his parents. They’ve known about this for a while. He can see it in their faces, read it from their lips as they start into details. They’ve planned this. Goodness knows for how long they’ve planned for Kim Namjoon, Prince of the North, and his mother to visit. 

They’ve known. 

Oh, Jungkook is going to vomit. He’s probably visibly green in the face as he feels his fingernails digging into his palm, the slight sting as they break through skin and into red. 

No. 

En… en gaged? 

When did this happen?!

Does.. does Namjoon… know about it?

“Anyway, Jungkook,” This mother pulls him out of his thoughts, placing her spoon down with a soft clink, “You’re expected to be up and dressed by 9 am sharp. That is when our… privileged guests will be arriving. Understood?” 

“Yes, mother,” Jungkook murmurs, but he knows his voice is a little squeaky and his chest is just so, so tight. He can’t stay here another moment, he can’t stay here with his brother because… because….

“Please excuse me,” He murmurs, rising from his chair, pressing his hands tightly to his sides, “I have to go prepare for one of my lessons.” 

His mother barely acknowledges him, just waves him off with a simple hand - and his brother doesn’t acknowledge him in the slightest, seemingly eager to continue gushing with their mother alone. Jungkook takes one step, two, shaky stiff steps, and then more, more, and he’s out of the dining room, walking like a robot down the hallways. 

His palm pressed against his bedroom door, clicking it shut and he releases a trembling, tight breath. 

The tears are there with their warm arms immediately. 

Flowing down his face in their waves of despair as he stumbles backward, hits the floor with a soft thump. It’s-... why? WHY? His mind howls in heartbreak, Jungkook pressing his wettening face into his hands, trying desperately to muffle his hitching sobs. 

Jungkook, he’s… he’s used to being second. He always has been. The moment he was released into the world, born, he was second. Always. Always shoved into the shadows, a hidden face that was collected away into the library, hidden behind thick curtains. 

And it’s okay. He’s used to it. Second in line to the throne, second in line to his sibling - Crown prince Jeon Jung-hoon. It’s always been that way. Jungkook was raised being told he was less and treated as such, always placed behind. He is, after all, not worth much to the throne, simply a spare. It is his brother who is in line for the crown, in line to rule, so Jungkook has always, always been shoved to the side to make room for him. 

And that was fine. Because Jungkook was used to it. He had accepted it!

His teeth are gritting, gritting so hard in unfiltered, raw fury as the tears run down his cheeks, as his fingernails dig back into their bloody slits, as his entire body vibrated with pure emotion. 

But this. This. 

No….. 

His scalp burns as Jungkook’s fingers curl into his hair, tugging at it with only the strength that raw loss could bring. The anger is there though, it’s burning brighter and brighter, the rage boiling in his throat until he’s on his feet, the world a blur. 

The vase smashes into the wall, turning into pieces as it falls toward the floor. Jungkook shoves his fist in his mouth, biting down on it to muffle his scream. One thing. He wants just one fucking thing. His teeth are digging into his skin, tight and it hurts, but it doesn’t hurt more than the pain of knowing that after everything, at the end of the day, he truly is second. 

Jungkook can’t just have one. Single. Thing. He can’t have anything. He’s fucking powerless, powerless as he slumps to the floor, back pressing firmly against the baseboard of his bed. He is utterly, utterly powerless. If his mother, the queen has decided this, then it’s confirmed. It’s happening. His brother is being engaged. 

Engaged to Kim Namjoon. He’s the infamous prince of the North Kingdom, adored and respected across the four lands despite so. The man at the base of the standards of men, the role figure, a figure that society is so smitten with that he’s allowed to do anything. But he doesn’t because he’s a kind, respectful person and instead turns that power into helping others. 

And it would be fine, it would be fine, Jungkook is used to being second, is used to being in the shadows, and he couldn’t care less if his brother go engaged and married but…. But it matters this time because…. Because… 

Jungkook is dating Kim Namjoon. 

He fucking loves him. 

But…. and this is why he weeps into his cushions, trying to muffle his inhuman wails of heartbreak, because he knows that his hands, as always, are bound by a bloody rope. Keeping him tied in second place. 

There is nothing he can do. 

This marriage is going to happen. 

----

Three years. Three. 

Three years of nothing, Jungkook thinks bitterly as the wind sweeps through his sleep-lidden hair, as the fresh air of the morning stings at his swollen eyes. He had cried himself to sleep, cried until his chest had ached, and then had regretted it come morning when he had to pretend he had instead gotten soap into his eyes. 

They had believed him with ease. 

Jungkook has… well, had dated Namjoon since he turned eighteen, the North Prince twenty-one. It’s a blur of memories, their meeting, of pieces falling into place and next thing you know - Namjoon’s warm, firm arms were curled around his waist, lips sweetly pressed together as Jungkook’s body had melted with ease. They’d kept it quiet, wanting their young love to flourish in privacy. Three years of sneaking meetings, of picnics deep in the woods, of riding on horseback with Namjoon’s firm chest behind him, large hands cased over his hips as Jungkook had laughed. 

All for nothing. 

He can’t start crying again, not here, while his mother, father, and brother stand in front of him, looking eagerly toward the opening gates. Jung-hoon is beaming, shy and excited, and even his father has a curve to his mouth. 

It hurts. 

Someone has torn his heart out with bare clawed hands, cradled it in ice. 

Somewhere inside of him, as Jungkook’s arms curl protectively around his abdomen, he wonders if Namjoon knew. If his lover had known about this beforehand. For how long? For how long has Kim Namjoon hidden this from him? Surely, surely because of his status, the eldest prince of the North, surely he would have been informed. 

So how fucking long has he hidden it from Jungkook? Some lame attempt to lessen the blow? Well, no fucking blow has been lessened because Jungkook feels like someone is pressing a hot iron to his chest with how hard it is to breathe. 

Someone calls out, loud and determined. A guard. The clicking of a carriage and trotting of hooves is moments to follow and Jungkook, pulling in a shaky, deep breath, lifts his chin in defiance. He won’t cry. He just won’t. He’ll face this. He has to - it is going to become his reality, seeing his brother and his… ex- lover together. 

But his gaze wavers a little as he watches the neighbouring Queen step from the carriage. She’s wearing a lovely, dark green, her dress almost glittering in the Southern weather. And then, and then it’s him, his boots crunching into the gravel and no, Jungkook is not strong enough because his chin is dropping, hot eyes locked onto the gravel below him. 

He can’t do it. Not now. Not ever. 

Luckily, avoidance is an easy thing to come by. Will probably bring more joy to everyone if he just sinks away into the shadows as he should. 

Pleasantries are flowing through the air and Jungkook’s hands curl into fists by his side. A sneaking look has his heart dropping even further, seeing his brother's sparkling face. The Southern Prince looks radiant, eyes beaming, smile curving at his lips as he stares at Kim Namjoon with something attune to…. To….

“Jungkook, why don’t you leave us? I’m sure you have a lesson to attend to.” 

As expected. 

Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat and sucks in a deep breath. He nods once and sinks into a low, respectable bow, a few pleasant words tumbling from his mouth. He’s not sure what he says, probably something about them enjoying their stay, but as Jungkook straightens, he allows his eyes to flick up. 

Prince Namjoon is looking at him. There’s something to his face, something that Jungkook just can’t pinpoint, but he doesn’t really want to either. But there’s no face of grief, no visible discomfort. 

….

He knew. Didn’t he? 

Betrayal cuts deeper than any knife ever could and Jungkook is turning on his heel, boots crunching as he journeys back toward the palace. Every step away has his heart shattering just a little more, the gloss in his eyes bubbling a bit more violently. 

Everything hurts. 

Liar. 

All Jungkook ever did was love Kim Namjoon and, apparently, what he got in return was lies. He can’t even allow room for confusion as he presses open the door to his room, because his bottom lip is wobbling, his eyes too hot to handle. 

Everything hurts. 

Heartbreak hurts. 

Chapter Text

It’s just…  cold. 

There’s a hole in Jungkook’s heart, gaping and raw, and he doesn’t know how to  fix  it. It won’t heal, no matter how he tries to nurse it, no matter how tight he clutches a pillow to his chest, squeezes his eyes shut and murmurs to himself that he’ll survive this, he’ll get through it.

It  burns.  It burns, and it burns at his lungs like a forest fire, leaving him choking on black smoke, his eyes watering. Everything  hurts.  His stomach won’t sit still, and his knees can barely hold his weight anymore, and his entire body is just cold, cold, pale, pale. 

The betrayal hurts a little more though. Right in the centre of his mind, a pin pressing on his nerves, sparking in his brain. 

He  loves  Kim Namjoon. He’s  everything  to Jungkook. 

Everything. 

He’s the reason he’s been able to hold on for so long, to accept his spare reality, to accept his blatant disregard from his parents and kingdom.  He’s  been the reason that Jungkook has held his chin high, and clutched his tongue - because he’d be kissing Namjoon in the cherry orchard within the week. 

And now it’s… it’s nothing. It’s nothing but burning tears, heartbreak so vivid that it has bile at the back of his throat, heat behind his eyes, and every breath is just… so close to  tears.  Every single inflation of his lungs is splintering, painful, every blink is trying to hold water at bay, and his chest is so, so  tight.  His heart is so, so  raw.  Red and raw and clenching and it hurts, it  burns  and Jungkook, all he can do is… is cry quietly in the night. 

Stare out of red-rimmed eyes and try urgently to adjust himself to a reality where Kim Namjoon isn’t… isn’t  his. 

( he can’t, though. The very thought makes him throw up, back heaving as he retches. He vomits until he’s pale, shaking, exhausted, until his tears have stained down his neck and his nose is dripping from his crying.) 

Luckily, though, Jungkook has managed to avoid mealtimes. He couldn’t stand having to sit there with all of them, sit there with the knowledge of his brother glancing at his soon-to-be  fiance  - (he’s  Jungkook’s, he is, he has to be.)  It’s easy to avoid it. He was never really needed there anyway. They barely notice he’s missing, the servants serving him cold soup and bread in his room. 

He’s  studying  apparently. Trying to  be  something. 

It’s a good enough excuse anyway. 

Not that he needed one. Jungkook wouldn’t be missed if he just… disappeared. 

(A week ago, he’d thought that Namjoon would. Now….  now….) 

Jungkook sighs and curls his arms around his waist, squeezing at himself. It doesn’t really bring him any comfort, his own arms never have. It’s just… himself. It always has been, at the end of the day. He learned never to rely on anyone, trapped in the shadows, face forced behind a mask he hadn’t chosen. Many a time, he had wished he had been born  different,  or simply, hadn’t been at all. To watch his family from the shadows, wishing they would notice him, give him a title more than just a  spare. 

And then Kim Namjoon had come along, and he’d make Jungkook feel  worth  something. Like he hadn’t had to compete with his brother, like he didn’t have to  fight  for love and affection. 

But, just like everything else in his life - it’s all handed to his brother first. 

That’s just the way it is. 

Jungkook is  second. 

The few minutes he’s spent out of his room, breathing fresh air in on one of the open balcony corridors hasn’t done  anything  to clear his mind. Jungkook isn’t sure why he thought it would. Maybe getting out of his room would give him some perspective, some fresh air would soothe his stinging wound. But it’s just like  salt,  stinging and bleeding and raw. 

Jungkook’s honestly surprised he’s not trekking blood behind him as he walks, the remains of his heart dripping out over the floor. 

Everything hurts. 

He curls his arms a little tighter and starts to walk. It’s just a few steps, swaying with no goal, Jungkook’s eyes locked on the clouds in the sky. It’s grey and overcast, the sky heavy. As if the environment is reacting to the storm inside his head, trying to pathetically soothe him. 

At least something is trying. At least someone notices that he’s bleeding from the chest. 

Fuck, Jungkook’s eyes are growing hot again. Building up at the back of them, his breath restricted to harsh, painful little pants. His throat is growing tighter by the second and he blinks urgently, trying to force the tears back. But his mouth is growing moist too, tongue swelling, and he wrinkles his nose, tries to pull in a sucking breath. 

He is  not  going to cry in public. 

He can’t make a scene, can’t cause a fuss. That would be shameful, disgraceful. Jungkook might be nothing, nothing, but he’s still a prince, at least by name. Even if it doesn’t account for anything, he has to keep face. 

His fingernails are drawing blood from his sides, his ribs starting to ache from how tightly he’s clutching himself. Jungkook lets out a rasping, heavy breath, the line of his eyes moist, his bottom lip trembling just a little. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe  out. 

“- oh, Master Jeon? Oh, he’ll be participating in his archery lessons-” 

“Oh, no, you’re mistaken. Jeon  Jungkook.” 

“Oh.” 

Jungkook freezes in his place, ears perked, eyes wide. His hands are falling to his side in belated shock, his chest pushing all the air from his lungs. The female voice, a maid, it must be, sounds rather unimpressed, disappointed. 

“Young master will probably be in his room, he’s been-” 

His feet are carrying him around the corner. Just a single step, just so his face can shy the corridor, and instantly, there’s sour in his throat. Building bile, heavy and acidic, and Jungkook bites back a gag, eyes glossing over. 

Kim Namjoon is standing there, almost craning over the smaller maid, hands folded neatly and clothes tucked primly in such an attractive style that it’s-

No. 

There’s a whimper building underneath his tongue, and Jungkook spins on his heel, pushes himself to move back out of view. He takes one step, then another, robotic and stiff, and he’s hurrying away. 

If he faces him now, he’ll cry. He’ll cry and shout, and his eyes will get red and his stomach will churn and he  can’t. 

The heartbreak is still too…  real. 

“-Kook!”

That fucking better not be- 

Jungkook steps a little quicker, his palms growing sweatier by his sides as he hurries along, eyes blazing. He can hear footsteps behind him, heavy and quick, and he’s not going to stop, he’s fucking  not,  because how  dare  Kim Namjoon try to find him after everything. 

How dare he show his fucking face to him, knowing,  knowing- 

“Jungkook!” 

A hand on his arm, tight and it  burns.  Jungkook is pulled to an abrupt stop and he spins slightly, tries to wretch his arm out of the hold, face furrowing into something of upset  fury.  He can feel the tears boiling, threatening to fall, and the anger curling inside his chest is so vivid he can  taste  it. 

“Let  go  of me!” He snaps angrily, words slurring and curt, but Kim Namjoon doesn’t release him. Instead, his grip tightens. 

Jungkook growls, and tries to tug his arm away again, hard enough that it  hurts  but the grip doesn’t lessen. Maybe, maybe through glossed, blurred eyes, he can see Kim Namjoon’s face twisting, twisting into something  devastated,  and Jungkook bites back a  sob.  He bites back a sob and tugs at his arm again, albeit just a little weaker this time. 

And it must be all Kim Namjoon needs to bustle him into the closest room, slamming the door behind them. 

“Get- get  off  me!” Jungkook snaps, and the grip on his arm falters enough to rip from the Prince’s grasp. Jungkook can’t even  look  at him, boiling eyes locked onto the floor, and he moves to push past Namjoon, hands curling into fists. 

Kim Namjoon blocks his way. 

His hands are coming up, grabbing onto Jungkook’s shoulders, and- and Jungkook  snarls,  his torso violently shaking as he tries to escape the man’s grip, lip curling back into a sneer. 

“Let  go of me!”  He almost shouts, trying his best to sound angry, firm, but his voice is wobbly and wet and Jungkook, fuck, he’s going to  cry.  But he struggles nonetheless, trying to pretend like his heart isn’t splintering bloodily in his chest, trying to pretend that maybe, maybe if he looked at Kim Namjoon, that maybe his entire being wouldn’t  break,  and-

Fingers under his chin, tugging his face up and-

Oh. 

Jungkook’s fist hits Kim Namjoon’s chest weakly. Once again, weaker this time, and his eyes slowly,  slowly  close as a tear drips down his cheek. He tries to hit him once again, but his hand is so, so weak, weak enough that he doesn’t bother to struggle as Kim Namjoon encases his fist with his own hand, slowly unfolding his clenched fingers to intertwine theirs together. 

Kissing Namjoon has always been Jungkook’s favourite thing to do. 

And it’s so, so  sweet. 

The gentle slide of tongue, his lover's arm slowly sliding around his waist, tugging him closer, and even if there are tears sliding down Jungkook’s face, he still slowly, shakily wraps his spare arm around Namjoon’s shoulders, tilts his mouth a little more. 

Kissing Kim Namjoon is easier than breathing. 

The tears don’t stop though, the clench of Jungkook’s chest, even when their lips pop apart, noses still brushing, his lover's hot breath fanning over his swollen lips. 

It’s-

It’s  wet. 

Kim Namjoon is  crying. 

They both are. 

Namjoon is releasing his hand, and his fingers are coming up to cup his wet cheeks, wiping urgently at his tears. 

“Wh-  why?”  Jungkook sobs, and his body curls at the extent of his cries, and everything feels like it’s underwater. Muffled and tight and he can’t  breathe,  can’t do anything as Namjoon presses their lips together again, desperate and frantic. 

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” Namjoon whispers, the tears dripping from his chin, “I swear, I swear I didn’t know, my love. I was only told just before my arrival, I didn’t know of this, I swear to you, I would never do this to you-” 

Jungkook  sobs.  He sobs and buries his face into Namjoon’s shoulder, uncaring of if he’s drenching the prince's shirt. He feels Namjoon’s fingers in his hair, clutching at him, bringing him closer, and they’re rocking together. He’s biting at his bottom lip, fingers clutching at his lover, sobbing into his collarbone. 

It  hurts. 

“I’m not going to let this happen, I’m  not,”  Namjoon growls, his voice shaking as he strokes through Jungkook’s hair, fingers digging into his back harshly, “I’m not going to let this happen, Jungkook-ah, I swear to you. I’m going to  fix  this, I promise. Oh, my love, please, stop crying.” 

Jungkook cries a bit louder. 

“Hyung is going to fix this, I am, I promise, this isn’t going to happen-” 

But Jungkook is just a  spare.  Jungkook has always come in second place, no matter  how  fast he has run. He’s never been able to have anything, has never been able to show his face in the sun, celebrate his achievements. So what is Kim Namjoon going to do? How is he going to change the inevitable? If it’s what their parents want, if it’s what the royals command, then what… what is a useless  spare  going to change about it? 

They’re  doomed. 

They’re doomed, but they still manage to stumble into Jungkook’s room, lips sealed together, legs sliding in between one another. He’s going to lose him, Jungkook is, but he’s still clutching at Namjoon’s shoulders, whining as the man fumbles at his buttons, lips hot on his throat. 

They’re never going to be able to do this again, this is the  last  time, Jungkook can feel it, but he doesn’t try to stop it, tugs at Namjoon’s hair harshly as his own head falls back, tears dripping from his eyes, back arching upward. 

It hurts. 

And when Jungkook wakes, it’s alone. 

It’s alone and the sheets are cold. His eyes glaze, nose cold. And slowly, slowly, he presses a hand into the ruffled silk sheets and pushes himself upward into a sitting position. Lets the silk fall from his bare hip, pooling around his thighs. 

The room is empty, cold. 

His heart clenches. 

His heart clenches and Jungkook doesn’t know he’s crying until he feels the warmth splattering down over his bare skin, until he feels the tears running in the crease of his nose, carving down his jawline. 

And when he realises, when he does, his entire body  shakes  with them. Shakes with such  grief,  lungs collapsing as he throws his head back, wails to the ceiling. Wails, howls in defeat, the tears collecting down his neck, warm, warm, warm. 

Kim Namjoon’s hands were warm. 

He can’t  breathe.  He can’t breathe, it’s coming out in loud, harsh gasps, and everything is growing blurry around him, little black dots invading his vision and- and- Jungkook’s forehead hits his knees, and he’s clawing at his bare calves, hyperventilating.

He’s crying,  sobbing  into his knees, clawing at his own bare body, trying to somehow, desperately, feel Namjoon’s touch still there. The warm, strong fingers, the feel of his lips. Trying to remember it, treasure it, hide it away in some secret corner of his mind so he… 

So he  remembers. 

So maybe it hurts a little  less. 

But for now, for now it burns, and Jungkook’s eyes swell, his mouth open and gasping as he grieves. 

He’s lost Kim Namjoon. 

He’s lost  everything.

Chapter Text

When Jungkook wakes up the next day, his eyes are so swollen that they barely open. He sniffles, rubbing the sleeves of his robe over his puffy face, trying his best to soothe what he can from a cool bucket of water. It doesn’t really help though, leaves his bottom lip wobbling, his hands trembling. 

Regardless, he has to carry on. Even if it feels like his heart is splintering in his chest, even if every breath that Jungkook sucks in is laboured and trembling - he has to carry on. There’s nothing more he can really do except drown himself in lame activities, polishing at flower pots until his hands are rubbed red and raw, just like his eyes. 

He doesn’t see Namjoon again. His lips burn from their last kisses, his lover’s hands imprinted into his soft skin, fingers bruising around his hips, and it hurts, everything does. 

His life will carry on though, even if it feels as though his world is falling down, because Jungkook is second, and though the title gains him nothing, it forces him to keep breathing. The pressure of being forgotten, trying to reach through the surface of the water drowning him, down, down, down. 

Jungkook sighs and pulls his hair back roughly with worn hands, trying it loosely in a ponytail with a spare piece of cloth. There is hay littering from his hair, itching through his casual clothes, and there is certainly mud staining his knees. A given since he’s spent the entirety of his day locked away in the stables, brushing down the horses and plucking weeds from their loosely built stalls. He would have continued to hide away, forcing his grief down with the musky scent of horses, if not for a servant bursting in. 

Clearly out of breath, face red, sweat rolling down his face. Clearly, he had been searching for Jungkook for a while, only to tell him that his parents wished for him to join them for dinner. 

Great.

He wipes a random rag over his face in a rushed motion, lifting a stiff leg to kick the door open. It’s obvious that Namjoon and his parents aren’t going to be at said dinner, as if they were, Jungkook wouldn’t even be in the equation. He’d be locked up in a room somewhere, abruptly forbidden from approaching within fifty feet of the dining hall. 

The walk up through the gardens to the castle seems far too short for Jungkook’s taste, bile curdling at the back of his throat as he presses through a darkened door. He’s more than positive that he’s trekking both mud, hay and loose fur with him, but Jungkook literally doesn’t have the energy to care. It feels like his heart has been wrung out to dry, and then thrown to the sharks, and after that, trampled by a pack of wild boars. And that’s barely even starting at it.  

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t bother to clean up, doesn’t even bother to wash his face before trekking tot eh dining hall, his head hung low. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just presses his hand to the door and lets himself in, ignoring the disbelieving scoffs from his mother. Instead, he simply slides into his chair, tugging his plate toward him firmly. 

It hurts to even see that his plate is significantly less filled than the rest of his familys’, the simple leftover of their meal, piled low onto his plate. It should be behaviour that he’s used to, but… it just simply stings, another weight on top of everything else. He can feel his heart splintering into little pieces, shattering into his chest, finding home between his ribs. 

His family doesn’t care for him. Never has and never will - they hate him, despise his very existence. And the one thing, the one thing he thought was his, the person he thought was meant to be his forever…. He’s gone too. 

Jungkook violently blinks back the hot, invasive tears and shovels another spoonful into his mouth, snuffling through it. 

His mother heaves a sigh, clanging her spoon against her bowl. 

“ Really, Jungkook?” She asks, her voice dripping with disappointment, nothing new, really, “Could you have not cleaned up before dinner? Where on earth have you been all day? Mud at the dining table? Really…..” 

“This is why we don’t invite him for dinner,” His older brother snipes harshly, the corner of his lip quirking into something despising, something cruel. Jungkook takes a harsh, short inhale through his nose and shoves his food around his plate, trying his best to simmer his emotions - they’re boiling, ready to explode. 

His father sighs, takes a big sip from his wine glass, and turns his furrowed, disappointing eyes onto the tiny form of his second son. 

“Are you not even going to say anything, Jungkook? Be respectful and answer your mother.” 

“I don’t even know why I try,” His mother sighs, and Jungkook exhales in a harsh, trembling breath. He can’t burst, he can’t, he’s nothing, nothing, means nothing, he can’t-

And he might have held it all in, held the tears at bay if not for his brothers mocking voice cutting in. 

Jungkook isn’t even sure what Jung-hoon says. It might be true, might have hints of reality to it, but it’s so, so twisted by his family’s cruel, useless perception of him that it’s distorted to something so far from the truth. And his brother rolls the words off of his shoulders as if they don’t carry the weight and sharpness of a thousand swords, the final blow to the second child. 

“- don’t bother with him,” His brother snorts, taking a sip from his glass. He rolls it around his mouth loudly, eyebrows flicking upward, “Why don’t we talk about my fiance? He’s a perfect choice, mother, it’s all I’ve ever wanted-” 

All he’s ever wanted?

It?

Namjoon isn’t an it. He’s a man, a proud, beautiful one, and he was once Jungkooks’, he was. And now his brother is here, acting as if he’s been pushed to the shadows, punished his entire life, as if Namjoon is a glimpsing star in the dark (he is, he really is, but he shouldn’t be, not to people who aren’t Jungkook). 

It all boils to the surface, rips through his skin and spills. 

The slam of Jungkook’s spoon sends silence skittering from the room. 

“ Why?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s a tremble to it, something of sadness tainted fury. He looks up, eyes locking onto the sharp, blunt ones of his brother. 

“ Why?” Jungkook repeats, and his hands curl into fists, his legs jiggling so hard that he’s sure his bones are going to pop out of their sockets. 

“Why couldn’t I just have one thing?”

“Jungkook-” his mother tries to silence him, but Jungkook’s words overpower hers, sharp and hurt. 

“You have everything. Everything, Jung-hoon,” They’re just tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. “You have everything you could ever want, why do you have to take the one thing that was meant to be mine? I’ve never wanted for anything, never- never fucking complained and you- you-” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” His brother laughs, and his eyes must catch something on Jungkook’s face, maybe the grief of heartbreak, “Wait, don’t tell me you’re in some one-sided delusional relationship with Kim Namjoon?! Really? You?!” 

His laughter fills the hall like a siren, mocking, mocking, and when Jungkook shouts, it fills him right to the brim. 

Grief. 

“YOU COULDN’T JUST LET ME HAVE ONE THING.” He screams, shoving his chair back so hard it topples, but the world is burning, burning, “ ONE. LITTLE. THING.” 

“JUNGKOOK!” His father booms, and Jungkook can’t hold the tears back anymore - they’re streaming down his cheeks, dripping, dripping, and he can’t let them see him cry. Can’t let these people who have never treated him as family see him break. 

So Jungkook flees the dining hall, ignoring his father’s furious shouts behind him, barreling to his only safe place in this cruel, barren world. And in his bedsheets, Jungkook breaks. 

----

It’s honestly a miracle that Jungkook is even allowed at this event. A dinner with Jung-hoon’s fiance, their respective parents, all seated around a fine dining table. There’s a spread of fine foods that Jungkook has never seen in his life - but from his brother’s unamused face, they’re clearly common delicacies for him. 

Jungkook knows that he looks horrible. Face puffy, eyes streaken, tucked at the far end of the table, away from everyone else with his own little plate. Something about formalities, about family - such nonsense that Jungkook had to hold back his laughter. 

Now he’s here, shuffling food around his tiny plate with his eyes locked so harshly onto the table that he’s sure it's going to burst into flames. He can’t even look up - has no need to, he’s not being involved in any of the conversations anyway, not even acknowledged. He’ll eat and then slip away again, waste away in the comfort of his own room. 

“-hold the wedding soon,” Jungkook’s mother says boldly, her ringed fingers clinking around her wine glass, “It will be so nice to have our kingdoms in alliance-” 

Wedding, wedding, wedding. Jung-hoon’s suit colour, the rings, the excitement, it all, it all, it all. 

The mouthful that Jungkook swallows is bitter and vile. He glares wetly at his plate, trying his best to contain everything, to not storm out of the dining room. There’s nothing, he’s lost, he’s lost. 

There’s the gentle click of something, dust up in the air, and a soft, but firm, clearing of one's throat fills the air. And Jungkook can only look up in shock as Kim Namjoon rises from his seat, posture relaxed and confident. He doesn’t look at Jungkook, not even a little - a toast to his future-?

“I refuse this marriage.” 

A pin drops, or maybe it’s just Jungkook’s spoon as his mouth drops open, eyes widening. 

“Pardon?” Jungkook’s mother asks timidly, and Namjoon’s parents are gazing up at him in such confusion, worry written all across their features. 

“I refuse this marriage.” Namjoon repeats, in all the confidence that he has, his princely elegance shining through his face like a shooting star, his eyes set and assertive. 

Jungkook feels something hot and relieved rush through his stomach. 

It’s not going to- to happen? Namjoon he- that tone he means- he means-

“Namjoon,” The prince's mother says softly, “This marriage is intended to unite our kingdoms… without it, our alliance with the Jeon family will be null. It will be devastating to our nations-” 

“Do you know what would be more devastating?” Namjoon muses, his voice coy, and fuck, his confidence is so attractive as his fingers tap along the length of his arm. “Being forced into an unwanted marriage. How am I expected to lead, to hold strong with a clear, iron-willed heart, when all I would hold is contempt?” 

Namjoon’s parents are silent. 

“Our nation would want their prince to be happy.” Namjoon says, and there’s finality to his tone, his eyes dark and flashing. “I will not marry Jeon Jung-hoon.” 

And the table explodes into sputters. Jungkook’s parents - red in the face - Jung-hoon, his cheeks blown out, tomato-red as he slams a fist onto the table, starts to whine. Namjoon’s parents, however, remaining silent, musing, until his father places his goblet down. 

“My son has rejected this marriage. You have my apologies.” 

Jungkook’s teary eyes widen. They just- they accept it? If Namjoon says no then it’s- then it’s no? He- he’s allowed to choose his own future? Not just… fit into the mould made for him? 

Jungkook’s father looks to be one of pure fury, shame, his hands trembling as he pushes himself to stand. 

“Then our alliance shall be nullified as well! Please, your majesties, reconsider-” 

“No.” 

Namjoon’s word is curt, final. 

“I will marry a Jeon. Our alliance shall remain.” 

“A Jeon, I-” It’s dawning on his mother, written across her face is pure contempt, and with teary eyes they’re turning to look at Jungkook and it’s all-

A hand, hovering in his vision. Warm, familiar fingers, and a tear rolls over Jungkook’s nose, drips into his lap as he takes it. Curls his fingers into that familiar hold, Namjoon tugging him up from his seat, his other arm curling tightly around his waist. 

“I plan to marry Jungkook.” Namjoon says, and Jungkook blinks up at him, marvels in the sunlight that carves out his lovers jawline, the glint of his eyes, the strong blend of his cheeks, “I have planned so for quite a while, knowledge you would have if I wasn’t forced, unknowingly, into an arrangement that I didn’t plan to ever accept.” 

Tears, hot, strong, welling, welling, and Jungkook sobs. A hand is knitting into the back of his hair, guiding his head, and Jungkook buries his face into Namjoon’s shoulder, hands gripping at him so tightly that they’re going numb. His arm is back around his back, cradling him, letting Jungkook cry softly, clutch at him. 

“ Him?!” Someone shrieks, but Jungkook’s nose is pressed to Namjoon’s warm throat, tears slowly welling into something of relief, something of happiness. 

“I love him.” 

It’s all they need, the final words of it all. 

“And he’ll be returning with me to my kingdom tomorrow,” Namjoon growls, tilting his head down a little so he can brush his thumb over Jungkook’s wet cheek. The little sigh that Jungkook lets out at the sensation is like being encased in a cloud. 

“Jeon Jungkook will be wed to me. Our kingdoms, united. My fiance,” the word stressed, dripped in honey, so, so sweet, “Will be where he’s supposed to be.” 

And with that, Namjoon sweeps Jungkook into his arms. 

----

There are no tears when Jungkook leaves the next morning. He doesn’t even look back as Namjoon helps him into the carriage with a soft hand, his dimples popping. Doesn’t look out the window as they depart, his hands held tightly by his fiance, head resting on his shoulder. 

Namjoon’s parents, as it seems, are more than content with them being wed. A prince, wed for love, is a finer ruler than that of convenience, and Namjoon, to decide for himself, has been something written in stone for decades. 

There’s a soft thumb carving under Jungkook’s eye, massaging at the puffiness there, and Jungkook hums sleepily, turning his head a little to press his nose into Namjoon’s jawbone. 

Their night had been filled with apologies, with being curled in each other's arms, words printed into each other’s skins. As much as Namjoon had wanted to outright reject the proposal - one he hadn’t been aware of until their arrival - doing so might have severed his contact to Jungkook, their kingdoms twisting into enemies. 

Namjoon wouldn’t let it happen.

The kiss that is planted to Jungkook’s nose is so soft, so loving that Jungkook’s heart swoops, his hands tightening around the fingers pressed to his knuckles. 

“I love you.” Kim Namjoon says. 

“Marry me.” Jungkook murmurs in response, and his lover laughs, presses his lips to the crown of his head, lingering there for just a moment. 

“I have every intention to.” 

The only thing about Jungkook’s life now, carving into a golden, sunlight future, is the fact that there is a ring - bold and swooning - on his second finger from the right.