Chapter Text
April 3rd, 2004
Dear Hongjoong,
The day we’ve been dreading finally came.
We both know mother didn't have a choice in the matter. It was written in father’s will to have me married to King Bahng’s oldest son by the time we turned 24. Unfortunately, I have not found a love in another royal, so it must be him.
At least Chan is a nice man. He won't hurt you. Get to know him a little before your marriage, you will have many months between father's passing, your 24th birthday, and the new year to get to know him. It will make the wedding much more comfortable. You won't feel your agency being taken away as you kiss him. It will just feel… fine.
I’ve started this diary on the day of Chan Bahng and my’s wedding. Why today? I felt like writing. We both know how spontaneous I am.
Don't take advantage of your youth, Hongjoong. Slow down and appreciate playing the guitar for our friends. Put yourself out there and try to convince mother and father to let you perform at a show. Most importantly, never forget how it feels to sing in the castle gardens.
We leave the castle in 3 days. It will be years before we can walk in the gardens again. Years before we may lay with Bumjoong again.
Dream sweet, my rose.
Regards,
Hongjoong
Hongjoong gently closed the diary, locking it with the key around his neck and laying it in his cluttered box of books. He doesn't plan to take much literature with him to the Bahng kingdom, but all of his sheet music is contained within books, so the box is quite filled.
Hongjoong stares outside his bedroom window into the night sky, the sounds of music and dancing from the gardens below creating a soothing backdrop to Hongjoong’s calm. He has nothing left to do after the wedding and afterparty but think. He’s all packed and ready to leave the castle, all of his instruments are in boxes ready to be put on a carriage and whisked away from home, just like him.
The case in the corner of the room that holds his acoustic guitar begs to be opened- it's rusting strings misses the touch of his hands, it’s glued on roses miss his voice singing to them. Hongjoong almost misses the sleepless, lonely nights spent with the instrument when it calls to him like this, but he restricts himself. He needs to think without it for once.
Hongjoong’s internal battle is interrupted with a knock on his door- gentle enough to not frighten him yet firm enough to be heard. Hongjoong speaks loud enough to becken the knocker in and turns back to silently stare out the window.
Light footsteps approach Hongjoong from behind. Hongjoong knows who it is from that alone, but he still flinches when a hand is placed on his shoulder.
“I know you don't want this. I know you don't want anything to do with me, but I want to make this easy for you. I won't force you to talk to me, but I want you to know that the offer will always be open. Don't make this harder for yourself by bottling everything up,” a gentle, deep voice resonates next to Hongjoong.
Hongjoong knows Chan well enough that he knows the sentiment is genuine. Chan is a good man, a kind man, but Hongjoong will never be able to open up to him. Chan will never understand. He will never understand what Hongjoong has been through.
What's the purpose of talking to him? Hongjoong might as well keep himself closed off to Chan Bahng forever.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
Chan luckily takes the hint and turns around to leave, dragging his hand down Hongjoong’s back as he does so. He does it likely at an attempt at comfort, but the only person who's never been able to comfort Hongjoong like that was Bumjoong. And Bumjoong…
Well, Bumjoong has been gone for years now.
The door shuts quietly yet firmly, Hongjoong barely notices the noise in the static of his mind. He’s not even sure what he’s thinking anymore, his thoughts cloudy and faded, impossible to fully grasp.
Hongjoong stares outside that window all night. He wakes up the next morning under his bed covers, no recollection of how he got there.