Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. eat your damn sandwiches

After many hardwon battles, the Rowoon Kingdom is finally at peace.  At the centre of everything happening the past few years is Cale Henituse, now an extremely famous and respected hero—to his mounting despair, the general public’s worship, and Alver’s mildly sadistic amusement.  For a self-proclaimed lazy bastard who only wants to roll around in bed all day, Cale stuck his fingers in so many metaphorical apple pies. Then metaphorically vomited blood everywhere and metaphorically ate those same pies, before metaphorically fainting anyway—

(Alver’s left eye twitches almost imperceptibly, and Tasha gives him an odd look from the other end of his office.  The metaphor got away from him, just a little.)

In the end, Rowoon may be at peace, but there are still an aggravating number of things to do for the kingdom to truly prosper.  Not for the first time, Alver is sorely tempted to ask Cale Henituse to become one of his trusted administrators.  He would certainly do a much better job than many of the pandering sycophants still in the court, and be marginally less annoying to deal with because the two of them think and act in similar ways. Cale is a frustrating and crazy bastard, but he is still one of the most competent bastards that Alver has the pleasure (and occasional displeasure) of knowing.

However, Alver prides himself to be a man of his word to his allies.  Who would follow a king that does not fulfil his oaths, especially ones made to his own sworn brother?  Thus he is determined to give Cale the slacker life he was promised years ago.

Unfortunately, it seems like the stupid bastard has other ideas. Alver feels the start of a familiar Cale-induced-headache begin to form at his temples.

Cale is already handling external affairs for the Henituse Duchy because of a promise made to Bassen and Lily years ago, giving him some unavoidable duties toward the territory and the crown.  He is also farming in the Dark Forest with Choi Han and the children now averaging eleven-years-old with a baffling amount of stubborn dedication.  The former is an unfortunately necessary compromise and the latter is inscrutably domestic; both activities fall in a reasonable range of slacker lifestyle, however, so Alver decides that commenting on such hypocrisies will be more trouble than it’s worth.

But now Cale seems to be sticking his nose into international politics again for some gods-forsaken reason, making the nobles feel anxious and Alver feel a persistent migraine.  “Is he trying to work himself to death again?” he mutters, brushing his face with his hands, thus missing the incredulous and slightly treasonous glances from Tasha and his attendants over their king’s lack of self-awareness.

Though Alver is deliberately obtuse about his own overworking tendencies, he is unfortunately hyper-aware of another deeply buried reason for his Cale-related woes.  It is rather regrettable that the troublesome man somehow wormed his way into the king’s heart during their many years together.  Cale is a good and loving person no matter how often he claims he is trash, and his casual acceptance of Alver’s true nature and wholehearted support certainly helped them grow closer. However, Cale’s penchant for spiking the blood pressure of everyone in his vicinity with his occasionally oblivious and reckless nature left much to be desired, let alone his tendency to shovel self-inflicted extra work towards his hyung if he finds it too bothersome to deal with.

Alver remembers the many unfortunate Incidents in the past few years where the stupid bastard kept drifting farther away from his slacker-life-dreams without a single shred of common sense.  Clearly, Alver would have to protect the love of his life from himself. Otherwise, the idiot would probably end up committing more heroic and legendary deeds that would make Clopeh Sekka uncomfortably excited.  Rowoon does not need a second museum with an entire wing glorifying Cale, even if the Henituse family fully funds it again despite their eldest son’s feeble protests.  Cale’s visceral horror at the Henituse Museum’s semi-enshrined recording devices would probably be a bit funny if the bloody contents did not make Alver feel ill.

The unpleasant memory firms Alver’s resolve to safeguard Cale’s slacker life.  After everything his dongsaeng went through as both Kim Roksu and Cale Henituse, a slacker life is the least he deserves.  Recent forays into the political sphere must be nipped in the bud before he gets roped into solving various disasters again by robbing people or bleeding everywhere.

As if summoned by Alver’s uncharitable thoughts, the private communication device in his desk drawer starts to ring.  He waves his hand to dismiss everyone from his office except Tasha and answers the call.  “What do you want,” he says blandly.

Cale smiles with such audaciously fake cheer and reverence that Alver wishes he could punch him through the magic projection to end the nauseating display. “Do I need a reason to bask in the glowing radiance of Your Majesty? The beautiful sun of the Rowoon Kingdom is ever-present in my thoughts.  Nary a day passes without feeling abundant joy that we are blessed with such a wise and benevolent—”

“Vying for the Prime Minister’s position, I see.”  Alver stifles a laugh as Cale’s pupils start shaking at the empty threat.  There’s a strong undercurrent of fondness in his voice when he continues speaking.  “Answer my damn question, punk.”

Cale’s face mercifully returns to its usual neutral expression.  “I have something to tell you so I will be in your garden in a few minutes.”  No matter how many years go by, he seems fundamentally incapable of announcing his visits with enough advanced notice.  

Long desensitised to this blatant disrespect for the King of Rowoon’s busy schedule, Alver glances to the side to check that the ever-present basket of cookies is fully stocked for Raon’s arrival with Cale.  “What does my precious dongsaeng have to tell me that it must be done in person?” he asks, suspicious of the other man’s behaviour.

Unfortunately, Cale already ended the call.

Alver pretends not to hear the quiet snort of amusement from Tasha who witnessed the entire exchange.  His growing migraine proves more difficult to ignore.  He knows Cale well enough by now that he interprets ‘in a few minutes’ as ‘I am about to scare the living daylights out of your poor gardeners immediately’, so he swiftly tidies the papers on his desk and starts moving to the garden with Tasha trailing behind him. 

As predicted, Cale is already standing next to a rosebush by the time Alver arrives, with an invisible dragon presumably hovering in the air nearby.  “Your Majesty,” he gasps theatrically, a well-practised and obnoxious smile pasted on his face.  “You came to greet me so quickly!”

“Hahaha, of course I would see my treasured dongsaeng as soon as possible!”  Alver mirrors Cale’s grin with twofold force, dragging him into one of their usual public brotherly hugs out of habit.  He immediately regrets the decision; the other man is still lanky, but slightly more muscled after farming and gardening for months, and he’s quite comfortable to hold onto if Alver isn’t too cowardly to be honest about it.  He commends himself for not leaping away from Cale in unkingly panic.  “And what is with this ‘Your Majesty’ business?  Call me hyung as you usually do, haha! Ha!”

Cale looks at Alver with the face he often used on Clopeh Sekka before quickly fixing his expression.  “Yes, of course.  Shall we go to your office?” he asks, pointedly not commenting on his king’s deranged laughter.

‘Cookie-giving king!’ Raon says into Alver’s mind.  ‘Are you sick? You are acting extremely weird!  Weirder than usual!’

Alver feels wronged and perhaps a bit betrayed, but he continues his slightly-desperate performance as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder toward his office.  He runs through a mental list of all the important individuals at his palace today, quickly calculating that more rumours regarding his and Cale’s entirely platonic and definitely brotherly and non-political relationship would spread around the capital by tomorrow morning at the latest.  “Haha, how is retired life treating you, my dear dongsaeng?” he asks in a slightly louder voice than usual, hoping that the contradictory bastard next to him gets the hint.  Keep resting! he thinks sternly, wishing he could project his thoughts like the dragons.  Don’t do anything stupid, you idiot!

Cale’s eye twitches slightly, but only Raon notices it.  “Everything is going well.  We managed to harvest some crops from the farm and Vicross made sandwiches using the ingredients.”  He leans a bit closer before continuing in a quieter voice.  “The children insisted that you must try the sandwiches too, so I brought a few with me.  In exchange for an appropriate cookie fee, of course.”

The mental image of a cute chubby dragon and two equally cute kittens trying to coerce more desserts out of the royal kitchens makes Alver’s lips curve into a smaller but more genuine smile.  It also serves as a welcome distraction from Cale obliviously invading his personal space.  “I would never presume to rob the children of their proper dues,” Alver says with complete honesty; it is no secret that he enjoys spoiling them with sweets, and he is likely the main culprit for why Raon’s and Hong’s cheeks grew much rounder over the years.  His heart skips a beat when his cheeky reply earns a quiet huff of laughter.   

The remaining walk to Alver’s office is similarly pleasant, but something feels slightly off-kilter after a few minutes of their two-person theatre routine.  Why isn’t he calling me hyung? he wonders.  Cale is breaking away from their usual script; he’s still acting obnoxiously cheerful and friendly as usual so Alver doubts other people would notice, but the honorific’s absence makes him feel a bit uneasy.  It becomes glaringly apparent that Cale is avoiding the term on purpose after Alver continues emphatically alluding to their sworn brotherhood without receiving the usual repartee.

By the time Alver reaches his office with his oddly-distant dongsaeng, his clearly-amused aunt, and his semi-adopted invisible dragon toddler in tow, he has a sinking feeling that he made some sort of unknown mistake that led to this treatment.  He searches his memories to see what started this unusual behaviour, but he fails to come up with anything substantial.  Maybe Cale still has too many things to do and is feeling annoyed that his hyung isn't taking care of it?  

Once the door is closed, Alver heads toward the cabinet with his tea and cookies to serve his impromptu guests.  "So…"  He clears his throat awkwardly.  "What did you want to discuss? Other than sandwiches."

Raon materializes out of thin air and pulls said sandwiches out of his spatial dimension pouch, proudly placing them on Alver’s desk.  “Cookie-giving king!  We grew the tomatoes so you have to eat them!” he exclaims, almost knocking over some papers with his tail in his excitement.

Alver smiles and gives Raon the basket of cookies which the small dragon eagerly moves toward his favourite human so they can share.  The gifted sandwiches do look very tempting now that Alver notices how hungry he is, but there are more urgent matters to attend to first.  “I promise to eat later.  However, I’m sure Cale came here for something other than delivering food, so I would like to know what it is.”

Cale—the annoying bastard—is already making himself comfortable on his usual favoured couch.  “Do you have to ask?”  He raises one delicate eyebrow while lazily chewing on a cookie.  “You normally would have noticed, unless you’re going senile already at your ripe old age of twenty-eight.”

Alver’s fingers twitch in a brief moment of homicidal weakness.  No, you cannot throttle him—you love him, remember? He inhales sharply through his nose and pretends he can’t see Tasha hiding a smile at the other end of his office.  He does not deign to comment on Cale’s joke about his age, especially since the idiot is actually older than him.  “How sad that you doubt both your hyung’s intelligence and intelligence network.  Explain to me why you have been causing trouble around the Western Continent.”

“What trouble?”  Cale continues snacking and feigns ignorance.

 … Maybe I can throttle him just a little bit.  Thankfully, Alver has impeccable self-control; his hands are as steady as ever when pouring a cup of tea for the frustrating redhead in front of him.  "Don't act coy with me.  I've been receiving reports that there is in-fighting between various nobles from the Caro and Northern kingdoms.  The timing of which conveniently lines up with your supposed family vacation two weeks ago, that you conveniently scheduled after those countries started eyeing Mogoru's land again.  Care to explain yourself?"

"You should go on a vacation too."  Cale turns to face Tasha.  "Don't you think he needs a break?"

"He does," Tasha says dryly, ignoring her nephew's mildly offended raised eyebrows. "Unfortunately for him and us, the kingdom may collapse if he neglects his duties for more than half a day."

"Unfortunate," Cale says, sounding like he genuinely agreed.  He takes a sip of his tea before adding, "Shame that there aren’t more people available to reduce his workload."

Alver's eyebrows climb even higher up his forehead.  Cale, of all people, talking about reducing Alver's workload?  After all the ridiculous intercontinental stunts that were pulled in the past few years without any warning?  Worst of all, it almost sounds like Cale is foolishly offering to help.  An ever-elusive slacker life is starting to slide away again, just for the nebulous concept of giving Alver more time to… to do miscellaneous unproductive activities that he can't think of at the moment.  Absolutely ridiculous.  

"You're driving me nuts," Alver groans, rubbing his face in familiar exasperation.  He glares half-heartedly at Cale.  "Why are you always making more work for yourself, hm?  I appreciate the sentiment but you don’t have to handle issues like this any more.  Just trust your hyung-nim to take care of everything.  Go enjoy sleeping in and eating grapes and farming tomatoes and… and whatever else you get up to in your ridiculous number of villas.”

It seems like the other man still doesn’t understand the situation, so Alver musters up his patience to speak plainly.  “Cale, you are my very important sworn brother, so you don’t have to get involved with politics any more.  In fact, that was the entire reason why we did that ridiculous public announcement in the first place years ago, remember?”  He flashes Cale a brilliant smile to look very reliable and reassuring.  “Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your slacker dreams.”

Cale has the gall to look genuinely offended for some reason.

Raon, silently enjoying his cookies until now, mumbles under his breath: “I think cookie-giving king is misunderstanding something.”

Alver blinks.  “Pardon me?”

"...Just eat your damn sandwiches, Your Majesty," Cale says flatly before vanishing in thin air with Raon.

Alver glances towards Tasha who seems to know something he doesn't, judging by the amused twinkle in her eyes.  "Ah… Cale seems angry at me, doesn't he?" he asks, coughing awkwardly and sliding her one of the 'damn sandwiches' to try and coax answers out of her.

Tasha takes her bribe, but silently laughs at her nephew instead of offering any advice.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Cale sits in his room at the Super Rock Villa with the children averaging eleven-years-old, a thunderous look on his face that Alver would describe as ‘extremely disrespectful’. “Should I just light him on fire to get his attention?” he mutters, hints of rose-gold briefly sparking at his fingertips while entertaining the treasonous thought.  He hears the cheapskate cheer loudly in his mind before the Super Rock disapproves.

Ohn looks at Cale as if he’s incredibly pitiful. “That will be counter-productive, nya.”

Chapter Text

ii. nothing. is. wrong. disciple. nim.

After a few days of intense ruminating, Alver finally admits defeat.  He has no idea what Cale might be thinking this time around which insults his pride a little bit; it is increasingly rare in the past few years for the two of them to be on completely different pages.  As someone who relies on and prides himself in his ability to read others, failing to understand his own sworn brother of all people is absolutely unacceptable.  It seems as if he grew a tad too complacent over the years and forgot a tried and true fact about Cale Henituse: he always exceeds expectations in the most unlikely and unfortunate ways.  

Alver concedes that perhaps he should seek assistance from other people to gain their insight on the matter instead of relying on his own deductions.  His dongsaeng seemed quite annoyed with him, so he should approach the situation cautiously lest he accidentally make a bigger mess of things.  Somehow.  It is difficult to determine the damages when he has no idea what he did to annoy the other man so much.

The list of potential candidates to interrogate—ahem, consult—is thankfully short.  Alver quickly runs over the options and ranks them by how easily he can contact them and their relationship with both him and Cale:

1. Taerang.  Considering it is always hidden by Alver’s side, it shouldn’t take much time to check if the spear noticed anything unusual about Cale’s most recent visit.  It also shows its owner blatant favouritism, which would be a welcome boost in morale after the past few nights that were more sleepless than usual.
   
   
2. Tasha.  Alver’s trusted and beloved aunt who loves him dearly but will not hesitate to chew him out if he makes any foolish decisions.  Judging by her amused behaviour days ago, she must have noticed something about Cale which she rudely neglected to share with her nephew.  Alver also did not forget that he gave her one of those delicious sandwiches and she did not uphold her end of the bribery—ahem, deal—and he will not stand for this blatantly unfair exchange.
   
   
3. The children averaging eleven-years-old.  Cale is their collective favourite human, but Alver is pleased to note that his relationship with them is also fairly close now.  He is, daresay, their favourite quarter-dark-elf (regardless of the fact that he has yet to meet another person with the same genetic ratio which makes their list of candidates rather short).  The children will not mince words, and perhaps brutally inflict permanent damage to his psyche with the cheerful bluntness they are wont to wield, but he deeply values their opinions regarding the troublesome redhead they all adore.  And at least two of them are easily coaxed into speaking with food, which is a fact he will shrewdly exploit.
   
   
4. Finally, Choi Han.  Alver grew quite close to him as well the past few years, and the swordmaster proved to be both a great friend and martial instructor.  Most importantly, however, is the fact that Choi Han still cannot lie for shit, despite many years of people attempting to coach him before abandoning the useless endeavour.  No matter how loyal Choi Han is to his true liege, Alver is confident that all Cale-related secrets will be spilled with enough poking and prodding.  Therefore he will save his instructor for last as a final confirmation for any information he might learn from the others.

Is it a little pathetic that Alver is resorting to speaking with a literal spear, his aunt, three children he will bribe with baked goods, and a man who can’t lie his way out of a wet paper bag for advice about his non-existent lovelife?  Maybe.

All is fair in love and war, Alver thinks, soothing his ego with an adage that he technically does not agree with, but it is convenient to pretend it applies to this situation. 

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

… Maybe I should have excluded Taerang from the list. Alver second-guesses himself now that he is in the privacy of his bedroom and awkwardly holding the unbreakable spear in question, suddenly hyper-aware of his limited number of friends.  Talking to Taerang isn’t a new or infrequent experience, but previous conversation topics were more closely related to battle tactics, information about the weapon’s functions, or details about Earth 3, not… relationship advice.

“Do you even know what love is?” Alver asks apprehensively.

A familiar cheerful and slightly metallic voice answers directly in Alver’s mind: <Affirmative, Alver Crossman-nim. However, I presume you are not inquiring as to whether I can define ‘love’, but whether I have personal experience with it.  Therefore, I must remind you that I am not programmed to have emotions.>

Ah. This was a bad idea.  “Great,” Alver says, moving one of his hands off the spear to rub his face tiredly.  “Okay.  Well, you don’t have to feel love to help me.  I just want to know if you noticed anything unusual about Cale when he was here a few days ago.”

<Analyzing records from Day 134 of Felixian Year 785.>  

An inoffensively upbeat tune starts to play inside Alver’s brain—‘elevator music’, if he recalls the term correctly, though he has no idea what is so elevating about such a tediously looping melody.  He places the humming spear on his bed while it reviews its memories, hoping he will gain some useful information.

Taerang makes a bright chiming noise.  <Analysis of subject ‘Cale Henituse’ complete,> the spear says, before cheerfully impaling its owner’s conscience like the EX-Grade weapon it is.  <Subject displayed frequent signs of distress and/or irritation when conversing with the user Alver Crossman-nim. Subject’s heart rate had a 24.71% increase in bpm every time the user initiated physical contact.  Subject’s left eye also twitched every time the user stated the terms ‘dongsaeng’, ‘sworn brother’, or ‘hyung’.  Subject’s voice had a 16.93% increase in volume compared to average statistics when commanding the user to eat sandwiches.  Would you like me to provide more comprehensive data, sir?>

So much for a boost in morale.  Alver bravely resists the urge to lie facedown on his bed.  “No need to report more. Thank you, Taerang, you have done enough…”

<I am quote-unquote happy to assist, Alver Crossman-nim.>  In addition to emotions, the spear clearly does not understand sarcasm either.

Alver starts to dread the other conversations he has planned, if the one that just occurred ends up being an ominous precursor to a painful pattern instead of an outlier.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

In hindsight, sneaking up on his aunt to whisper ‘I am here to collect my debts’ was not one of Alver’s smartest ideas.  The impulsive mischief was supposed to lighten the mood a little before diving into more serious matters, and maybe also erase some of the impending doom he was feeling.  He almost gets a knife in the solar plexus instead.  Luckily, he is well-experienced with avoiding assassination attempts both deliberate and accidental, and he has the finely honed reflexes to show for it.  

“Hello auntie,” Alver says from his awkward sprawl on the floor.  “Sorry for startling you.”

“Alver what is wrong with you.”

A lot of things, apparently.  Alver mournfully remembers the lengthy list of grievances from Taerang.  He settles with saying, “I had a momentary lapse in judgement because my thoughts were preoccupied.”

Tasha crosses her arms, looking decidedly unimpressed.  “What did Cale do this time?”

Alver blinks.  “How did you know it was about Cale?”

Tasha mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘when is it not about him recently’ before smiling benevolently.  “I have my ways,” she says with a vaguely mysterious air that her nephew can’t fully appreciate from the floor.  “What did you want to talk about?”

The sudden switch from ‘almost getting gutted like a fish’ to ‘come tell your auntie everything bothering you’ is slightly perturbing, but Alver still prefers it over becoming his spear’s unintentional emotional punching bag.  “I tried thinking about it on my own after Cale visited a few days ago, but I’m still not sure what he was so upset about,” he says, picking himself up from the ground and straightening his clothes.  “Do you have any ideas?  I want to make amends if I wronged him somehow, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what happened…”

“It’s not my place to say too much,” Tasha says cryptically.  “This is an issue that would be better coming from Cale directly, or you should figure it out yourself and talk to him about it.   But from what I can guess, he is upset that you haven’t noticed… something important… especially since this has been going on for a while.”

Alver’s pupils start shaking.  “This has been going on for a while?” he repeats, shocked that Cale has been angry at him for who knows how long without his knowledge.  

“Yes,” Tasha says, uncharacteristically missing her nephew’s growing horror while busy fact-checking with her elemental.  “Hmm... I think… at least two and a half years now?”

“Two and a half years?”  Something must have happened during the war against the White Star.  Alver frantically searches through his memories for what grievous offence he committed back then; two and a half years ago was around the time after Cale was trapped by the Sealed God’s test in the Endable Kingdom.  Is Cale angry at him for not letting him nap on his head as a dark tiger? Surely not…?

“Is it really that surprising?” Tasha asks, unaware of the mental turmoil she accidentally created.  “He isn’t that subtle about it.  Everyone else noticed.”  

“Everyone?!”

Tasha pats Alver on the shoulder as a comforting gesture, mistaking his sudden emotional outburst for embarrassment, before pulling his slightly shaking body into a light hug.  “Alver, I care about you very much and always want what’s best for you,” she says warmly.  “I hope you choose a future that lets you live happily.”

“Thanks auntie,” Alver says weakly.   It sounds as if Tasha thinks Cale is so angry with him that he might get murdered by his dongsaeng in the near future if he doesn’t apologize soon.  The situation is more dire than he thought.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Meeting with the children averaging eleven-years-old without alerting Cale is a difficult task, but Alver manages to accomplish it by discreetly entering the black castle in the Dark Forest and awkwardly asking for assistance from Lord Sheritt.  She convinces the children to temporarily abandon their lazy father during one of his frequent afternoon naps, leaving them alone in one of the castle’s many rooms so they can talk privately.

“Cookie-giving king!”  Raon launches himself excitedly towards Alver at a speed that would send a lesser man flying.  “Did you bring us snacks?”

“The cookies you gave us last time were really good, nya,” Hong chimes in, looping around Alver’s ankles like usual.  He still looks like a small red kitten, albeit with a slightly chubbier tummy than years ago, clearly spoiled by Vicross’ cooking.

Ohn meows quietly in greeting, joining her brother.  “Long time no see,” she says plainly with a slightly judgemental look in her golden eyes.

Alver clears his throat, feeling a bit guilty.  In hindsight, his attempts to maintain some distance with Cale also led to seeing the children less often than he used to.  “Yes, it’s been… too long,” he says apologetically, carefully stepping towards the table to avoid tripping on the affectionate cats nudging his legs.  “I saw Raon recently but not you and Hong, so I’ll try to visit more often.”

“Cookie-giving king is too busy!” Raon declares, flying onto the table once Alver places precious baked goods upon it.  The dragon immediately buries his face in a chocolate cake.  “Weak human was right! You need to take a vacation!”

Hong lands on the table more gracefully than his younger brother, pawing at a basket of pastries.  “Then you can take us with you, nya!”

Alver’s traitorous mind supplies him with a painfully domestic delusion of himself, Cale, and the children having a relaxing picnic on a beach with the sun setting over the horizon.  He immediately banishes the thought.  “That would be nice,” he says noncommittally, studiously avoiding eye contact with Ohn who has an uncanny talent for knowing exactly what he’s thinking about.  

As expected, Ohn immediately understands the true intentions of Alver’s visit.  “Did you need advice about Cale?”  The small grey cat is surprisingly intimidating now that she perfected her personal version of Ron’s distinct benign smile; the future matriarch of the Molran household is just as terrifying as her mentor and adopted grandfather.

“Yes, I would appreciate that.”  Alver presses his lips together to avoid smiling in amusement when he sees Raon and Hong puff up in pride about their valuable opinions.  “It recently came to my attention that Cale has…”  He pauses, trying to figure out a way to describe the emotional damages Taerang and Tasha inflicted on him in a succinct manner.  “... Strong opinions about me that have lasted for more than two years.  Do you have any insights to share, since you spend so much time with him?”

“... Mmph!”  Raon shoves a cookie in his mouth.  “... Weak human said it’s a secret!”

“He even gave us fifty gold coins each!” Hong adds helpfully, crumbs stuck to his whiskers.

Alver is briefly tempted to double Cale’s offer but decides not to be petty.  I will not stoop to bribing my own children, he scoffs internally, conveniently pretending he did not also resort to bribery, but with baked goods instead of money.   "If you can't talk about the secret directly, can you tell me if you noticed something that I did around two and a half years ago? When Cale was trapped in that stupid orb."

The children look at each other and then turn to Alver, listing off all the things they could remember in a rapidfire babble.

“Cookie-giving king was always busy keeping an eye on the Endable Kingdom because weak human and goldie gramps couldn’t leave!”  (“Yes!” “You had the worst dark circles under your eyes, nya.”)

“You were always taking naps to talk to Cale and Choi Han, nya!”  (“Thank you for keeping an eye on them and letting us know how they were doing.” “Weak human and Choi Han always get into trouble!”)

“We were all very upset when you got hurt by the White Star.” (“Yeah! Be careful cookie-giving king!” “Take better care of yourself, nya!”)

Alver chuckles, smiling crookedly at the children’s clear fondness for him.  “Cale’s knack for getting into trouble seems to be contagious,” he says, thinking back on the highly eventful past few years.  “Luckily, we have you three to keep an eye on us, right?”

Raon pushes his face into Alver’s arm.  “We want the cookie-giving king and the weak human to both be happy!”

Alver's smile turns very bright.  “I do too,” he says half-truthfully, thinking about Cale’s wistful slacker dreams as he often does nowadays.  He also thinks about his own dream that he chased ever since he was a child—to become a king so great that people have no choice but to respect him and also honour his mother as a result.  He wishes their dreams could intersect with the newer one he holds so secretly in his heart, deeply tucked away to avoid hurting someone precious to him.

For someone who made many ridiculous demands from the very moment they met, Alver noticed long ago that Cale seldom asks for anything purely selfish other than money.  Even the money is often used for others, and the lazy bastard rarely buys himself anything very expensive without serving some utilitarian purpose.  It's exasperating and endearing that Cale is so bad at putting his own desires first; 'I want to be a slacker' was one of his only heartfelt requests just for himself, so Alver sincerely wants it to come true.

"Thank you," Alver says, patting the children averaging eleven-years-old on their heads affectionately.  "You helped me strengthen my resolve."

Ohn sighs to herself and shakes her head, tragically unnoticed because the target of her mildly judgemental pity is lost in his own misguided thoughts.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Choi Han arrives at the palace training grounds for his weekly sparring session with his disciple, looking the same as always.  He still has a youthful and innocent air about him, despite currently being one of the strongest people in the entire world with a propensity for viciously maiming or murdering threats against his family.  The swordmaster’s reliable, never-changing appearance has a way of putting people at ease.  

And Choi Han’s reliably abysmal acting? Even more reassuring, especially for kings with glib tongues.

At last, Alver reaches the final hurdle.  He smiles radiantly, automatically clasping his hands behind his back in a familiar pose that would strike fear into the hearts of his administrators and foreign diplomats.  “Instructor-nim,” he says cheerfully.  “May I ask you some questions before we start today’s lessons?”

Choi Han’s finely honed instincts clearly alert him to Alver’s questionable disposition; he immediately stops moving towards the rack where the practice swords are stored, warily eyeing his suspicious student.  “What kind of questions, disciple-nim?”

Alver slowly paces back and forth, pretending to be thinking deeply; in reality, he spent the past few days reviewing everything he learned from Taerang, Tasha, and the children averaging eleven-years-old in order to plan the most effective strategy.  He cannot afford to drag out this battle in case Choi Han tries to escape, so he must attack swiftly and leave no opportunities for the other man to collect his thoughts.  

En garde!  Prêts?  Allez!  “How is Cale doing lately?” Alver asks as an opening strike.

“Fine,” Choi Han answers, parrying with a single word to avoid his signature stilted speech.

“He is?” Alver counters, blinking innocently.  “I heard differently from others.  Are you sure nothing happened recently?”

“Nothing. Happened.”

Alver senses an opening and immediately lunges for it.  “So everything is going well?”

Choi Han stands as stiffly as the words leaving his mouth.  “Nothing. Is. Wrong. Disciple. Nim.”

Everything is wrong, Alver correctly concludes, narrowing his eyes.  He almost feels some pity for his instructor, then remembers the other man sends him flying across the training ground on a regular basis and promptly stops feeling bad for him.  He swiftly follows up with another question.  "So, Cale is not angry with me?"

Silence is the solution Choi Han comes up with to compensate for his atrocious lying skills.  Unfortunately, his face looks far too carefully and intentionally blank for him to seem remotely convincing in front of a seasoned liar.

Cale is very angry at me.  "Did I upset him when he visited me last week?"

Choi Han's pupils shake almost imperceptibly.

I definitely upset him.  "Was it because I kept acting like a fool about him being my dongsaeng?"

Choi Han looks like he wants to evaporate.  Or he is experiencing constipation.

Yes, it was because of the dongsaeng shenanigans.  Alver hesitates, unsure if he will like the answer, but needing to know the truth. "... Does he want to stop being my sworn brother?"

The involuntary grimace that finally cracks Choi Han's guarded facade says everything.

It’s not the first time that Alver’s glib tongue is rendered useless by Cale, but this occasion stings more than usual.  “Do you know why?” he asks, smiling brightly.

"... I promised not to tell you," Choi Han says, wincing painfully, dealing the final mutually destructive blow to himself and his opponent.

Alver rubs his face with his hands, suddenly feeling exhausted.  Apparently his dongsaeng (former dongsaeng?) loathes the idea of being his sworn brother so much that even Choi Han was sworn to secrecy.  Alver wonders how he fucked up so badly without even realizing it.  He was so concerned about his non-existent lovelife that he failed to notice the cracks forming in his friendship with Cale.  Clearly, he has a lot to think about.  His weary suggestion to reschedule their lesson is met with desperate agreement.

For the first time since Choi Han became Alver's instructor, their sparring ends in a draw.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Dear Cale,

I hope this letter finds you well.  You may find it strange that I am writing to you for the first time instead of using our communication devices.  I needed some time to gather my thoughts and it felt more prudent to pen my words instead of speaking them.

It seems that I gravely failed you as a hyung because of many accumulated errors over the years.  I have been informed that you want to stop being my sworn brother.  I admit this decision greatly pains me, but I will respect your wishes.  Unfortunately, I cannot publicly revoke your status as my sworn brother for fear of causing you political problems.  However, I will stop addressing you as ‘dongsaeng’ in private conversations when we do not need to maintain public appearances.  I hope this is an acceptable compromise between protecting your slacker dream and your personal boundaries.

Even if you no longer wish to be my dongsaeng, I hope that you will continue to see me as a good friend.  You will always have a place in my heart, regardless of how our relationship or your feelings toward me may change in the future.

Yours truly,

Alver

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Choi Han stands to the side, face characteristically blank. "I feel as if my attribute may change back to despair, Cale-nim," he says blandly to his liege currently lying on the floor with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

Above their heads, Raon flies in rapid circles while shouting about going nuts.

Chapter Text

iii. running for prime minister?!

To use a phrase he learned from Park Jintae of Earth 2… Alver feels like he really shit the bed on this one.

Things are now uncomfortable with both Cale and Choi Han, and considering they were the two friends Alver talked with the most, their awkward absence feels extra noticeable.  If anyone asks, he is not sulking about it.  Sulking is what children like Raon and Hong do, not fully-adult kings who should have their life together.

Adding insult to injury, various nobles of Rowoon and even other countries seem to be conspiring against Alver.  There are a truly incorrigible number of marriage proposals sent to his office lately on a near-daily basis, all of which he throws straight into a slowly overflowing box in the corner of the room that he mentally labels ‘we will deal with that never later’.  There are always plenty of people wanting to marry him, but he feels less charitable than usual due to his recent… fraternal divorce, or whatever the term for it would be.  Especially when the rate of proposals seemed to increase exponentially in the past few weeks for no discernible reason other than possibly taking advantage of his current emotionally vulnerable state.

“Why is this happening,” Alver groans, burying his face in his hands.  Perhaps, once upon a time, he might have found the unending stream of fancy envelopes slightly entertaining or flattering, but they are currently a pile of luridly colourful eyesores.  Soon he will need a second box (unless he sets all of them on fire, which is becoming more tempting by the day). 

Strangely, Alver can’t really recall the last time he received this many proposals in rapid succession.  There were a lot of them when he first became of marriageable age, though they petered out as he slowly lost favour with the previous king.  There was a slight uptick as well when his coronation was announced and after he was officially crowned, but not as much as he expected.  He remembers the occasional offer here and there over the last two or three years, but they were fairly infrequent ever since the war against the Northern kingdoms started.

… Is it because I’m getting old? Alver wonders, suddenly having a new worry about his state of eternal bachelorhood.  He swivels in his chair to look at the beleaguered record-keeper dutifully sorting through the pile of perfumed proposals.  “Chester,” he says, sounding slightly manic, “would you say I have… visibly aged… over the past few years?”

To his credit, Chester barely even pauses before responding.  “Your Majesty, you look as radiant as ever.”

The slightly dry response reminds Alver of his ex-dongsaeng and he feels a small frown tug the corners of his mouth downwards.  It’s not Chester’s fault, however—the poor man had enough on his plate recently with all the extra note-taking the endless marriage proposals brought with them—so Alver quickly fixes his composure.  “Mn… forget I said anything,” he sighs, picking up his fountain pen again and staring mutinously at the parchment in front of him.

“It is my job to remember everything you say, Your Majesty,” Chester points out.  “You pay me quite well for it, actually.”

Alver ignores the start of a headache.  Why do I have to deal with so many sassy youngsters with good memories?  Where did the meek Chester go?!  He does not deign the other man with a response and continues stabbing away at the twenty-third rejection letter he has to pen this week.  Even for his famous glib tongue, it’s starting to become difficult coming up with new excuses for why he still isn’t engaged to anyone.

The concept of marriage itself still feels so foreign to Alver.  Marriage is something that happens to other people; he gave up on the idea a long time ago before he even became an adult, when he realized that he would likely have to hide his true face for the rest of his life.  The idea of maintaining dishonesty towards his potential spouse still makes him uncomfortable, especially after seeing the absolute mess caused by his own father with his various partners.  Even if he didn’t long abandon the idea of marriage, his current status also limits his options; he would have to marry someone politically beneficial for the kingdom, not just someone he has feelings for.

Sometimes, Alver looks at Robbit with his lovely wife and cute children, and he feels an ugly envy start to well up inside him.  It was a little easier to bury his admittedly childish dreams of a grand romance when they stayed in the realm of whimsical imagination.  His mother’s relationship was… a disaster, so he had nothing to base his fantasies off of when younger.  Now Alver has a happy royal marriage thrown in his face constantly because of his lucky brother and it is fraying his patience.

Alver snaps back into focus and suspiciously looks at the paper in front of him.  His traitorous hand apparently kept writing without his brain’s input; after the partial sentence ‘I am flattered you are offering your daughter’s hand in marriage, however’ is ‘Cale why is your hair so soft it should be a crime I hate you you dumb idiot’.  He swiftly crumples the offending letter and throws it straight into the fireplace with impeccable aim.

Chester observes his king’s deranged actions with a tired gaze.  “Your Majesty, it seems like replying to all these marriage proposals is causing… stress.  Perhaps you could enlist some assistance from your aides?”

Maybe an increased salary makes your subordinates grow cheekier.  That would certainly explain why Cale Henituse was such a disrespectful asshole since day one.  “I should do it myself,” Alver mutters, grabbing another parchment from the slowly dwindling supply in his desk drawer.  He burned many papers recently.  “Even if they’re bothersome, they are still asking for my hand, so I should reject them personally.”

“How chivalrous of you, Your Majesty.”

Alver reminds himself that Chester is an industrious and loyal man who was extremely supportive the last few years and definitely does not deserve a quick trip down to the dungeons.  His patience is also, admittedly, much thinner than it usually is because of his recent falling-out with Cale combined with the endless barrage of proposals from seemingly every eligible noble on the planet.  He supposes he should feel lucky that he isn’t receiving proposals from other planets too—which seems like a horrifyingly real possibility the longer he thinks about it.  

… Sending Chester to the dungeons is starting to sound like a welcome distraction, actually.

Perhaps sensing danger, Chester collects the various documents on his desk and stands up.  “I need to organize some other records, but please call on me if you need assistance with those letters, Your Majesty.”

Alver nods in defeat.  “... I may do that later,” he concedes, too tired of responding to all these random bachelors and bachelorettes on his own to care about propriety.  He figures Chester can at least help him come up with more novel excuses, and pretends the aforementioned record-keeper didn’t ask one of his aides outside to bring two more boxes to the office ‘just in case’.  

Not for the first time, Alver traitorously wishes Cale could help him with his paperwork.  The contradictory bastard has such a useful ability for administrative work; if Alver had Record instead, he could get so much done in even less time.  Then again, it seems like one of the ability’s side effects makes the user uncomfortably overheat rather easily, which would be awkward when a king has to look presentable at all times.  A memory from years ago flashes through Alver’s mind of the time he called Cale while he was in the Mercenary Guild’s Directory after overusing Record… and looking very… um…

Ah, I really need to stop thinking about Cale all the time.  Alver presses the palms of his hands against his tired eyes, groaning quietly.  Years of fake-smiling like a deranged lunatic means that he excels at hiding awkward emotions such as deep embarrassment from his face; he’s grateful that he doesn’t blush easily even in his pale-skinned disguise.  Unlike Cale, who was very flushed that one time in the Direct—oh for fuck’s sake not again—

A knock on the office door pulls Alver out of his awkwardly spiralling thoughts.  Maybe being a quarter dark elf means the gods only abandoned 25% of him.

“Lord Cale Henituse is here to see you, Your Majesty,” says one of the aides in the hall.

Alver takes it back. Every god has abandoned him, especially the Sun God who’s supposed to be fond of him; if she actually liked him then she would have stopped this from happening.  “Cale is here?!” he responds quite stupidly.  He’s not sure what shocks him more: the fact that Cale came to see him, or that Cale came to see him using the door like a normal human being.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Cale says, sliding into the room and closing the door behind him.  He has a smile on his face that almost makes Alver break out into cold sweat.  “Apologies for appearing unannounced while you’re…”  His intense gaze rakes over the box sitting in the corner and it’s a miracle that it doesn’t spontaneously combust. “... Busy. ”

Cale is here! Alver’s brain screams hysterically while his face remains deathly calm.  Cale is here and apologizing for appearing unannounced!  He might be in a hostage situation!  Or he’s dying!  Or he’s about to kill me!  “I am never too busy for my do—dear friend,” Alver says brightly, internally wincing with the knowledge that Cale definitely noticed his uncharacteristic slip-up.  He bravely forges on before his mistake can be pointed out.  “Did you need help with something?”  

Somehow, Cale's smile grows even wider and gains a villainous tilt. There’s also a particular devious glint in his brown eyes that Alver easily recognizes after years of scheming and scamming together, made all the more worrying when paired with the pronounced eyebags.  Cale’s appearance in general looks… more rumpled than usual, as if the man suddenly adopted Alver’s lack of sleep schedule and then sprinted out of his villa before his fastidious butler could help dress him properly.

“I don’t need help with something.”  Cale sharply jabs Alver in the chest with a bony finger—ignoring the scandalized squawk that action elicits—and says, “I’m here to help you with your current problem.”

Alver gingerly holds his left pectoral with rapidly growing trepidation.  He’s not sure which problem Cale is referring to; he has many problems recently, and he dreads what the other man has in mind.  After briefly running through the options, he asks, "... securing funding for the new university branch in the City of Life?"

Cale looks at Alver with a deadpan expression on his face.  "Why would I help with that?"  He sees Alver start to frown and adds, "That's a lovely project, Your Majesty, and I wish you and Tasha the best of luck with finalizing the details and extorting the nobles out of their gallons, but I was referring to a different issue."  He unceremoniously shoves the documents on Alver’s desk aside despite feeble protests and slams a different paper onto the newly empty surface.  “Read it,” Cale says, an almost crazed look in his narrowed eyes as he stares his ex-hyung down with the most disrespectful gaze yet in their years of friendship.

Alver cautiously picks up the paper as if it might explode when handled incorrectly.  As expected of something from a Henituse, the paper is the highest possible quality to an intimidating degree.  The messy, slanted handwriting is also familiar, and Alver slightly furrows his eyebrows in confusion.  “Did you… write me a letter?” he asks slowly, squinting suspiciously.

Cale’s left eyelid twitches, and Alver wishes he never learned about that particular tic from Taerang.  “Read it, Your Majesty.”

Alver hurriedly does as he is told and hopes other nations never find out just how easily he obeys this one redheaded and cantankerous bastard.  He can’t read as supernaturally quickly as the bastard in question, but he finishes skimming through the document with impressive speed honed from years of gruelling self-study; as he progresses further down the page, his eyebrows travel further up his forehead.  

The document meticulously details all of Cale’s physical traits such as his appearance and age; as well as brief descriptions of his various skills, past accomplishments and accolades; a summary of his wealth and assets; and an impressive list of notable allies with their brief testimonials about his character.  All the information is succinctly written and beautifully organized under clearly labelled sections, and Alver feels his heart briefly flutter in amazement.  It’s exceedingly rare for Cale to hand him paperwork—usually it’s the other way around, considering the lazy slacker avoids sitting at a desk like it’s a life-threatening allergy—so Alver briefly basks in the moment to commit it to memory.  It would be the best comprehensive profile he ever received in his entire life at the palace if only the penmanship was neater. 

“There’s more,” Cale says, interrupting Alver’s daydreams about his administrators learning how to structure their reports better.

Alver blinks slowly.  “More?” he asks, baffled, still unsure why all of this is even happening and why it’s starting to make his face feel warmer.  It’s a piece of paper, Alver Crossman, get ahold of yourself.

Instead of another paper, Cale retrieves a familiar object from the spatial dimension pouch strapped to his belt: the God of Death's divine item used to communicate and travel between worlds.  On its smooth reflective surface is an unfamiliar series of parallel and perpendicular lines enclosing different words and numbers.  "Your Majesty, have you heard of spreadsheets?"

Alver has not, in fact, heard of spreadsheets before.  Unfortunately, his earlier reminiscing about a partially-undressed-Cale combines with his current flustered state to conjure up delusionally salacious connotations in his mind.  It is highly unlikely that the unfamiliar term has anything to do with spreading one’s legs on bedsheets, but his inability to imagine another definition at the moment is deeply concerning.  “What are spreadsheets,” he manages to say, instead of something incredibly embarrassing that potentially screams he’s a twenty-eight year old virgin in front of a man he would very much like to have sex with at least once—preferably multiple times—before he dies.

Cale proceeds to explain some sort of esoteric Earth 1 magic involving complicated mathematical rituals with different functions in order to organize and calculate data.  He claims it will revolutionize the way Alver currently handles his paperwork and offers to teach him.  For free.  And Cale already blackmailed-or-bribed (it’s unclear which one it is) the God of Death into letting the two of them use his divine item for doing taxes.

It’s the sexiest thing Alver has ever seen Cale do in their six years together and he wants to immediately bend the other man over his desk and figure out how to ravish him.  Or vice versa.

“That sounds amazing,” Alver says, voice strained.  He grips his knees hard enough to bruise and he is very thankful that his lap is not visible from Cale’s point of view because of the sturdy desk acting as a barrier.  “I could definitely use that for many of my current problems.”  Except the most immediate one, which is unfortunate for his smaller unbreakable spear.

Cale smiles brightly, casts a dark glare at the box in the corner of the office, then looks at Alver again with a smile back on his face as if it never left.  “Hopefully it will save you time so you can deal with those troublesome letters sooner, Your Majesty.”

Alver blinks slowly.  “Ah… was… was that the problem you were referring to earlier?”

“Yes?”  Cale frowns slightly.  “Isn’t that the one worrying you the most right now?”

Alver finally regains his senses and sighs; leave it to the owner of the Unbreakable Shield to defeat an Unbreakable Spear in record time.  No longer suffering from potential penile peril, he answers Cale’s question honestly.  “The constant proposals are weighing on my conscience rather heavily, and having more time to reject them all is appreciated…  Still, I wish there was an easier way of dealing with all of them quicker.”

“Well, Your Majesty, there is a fast solution…”  Mysteriously, Cale is avoiding looking directly at Alver, opting to flick his gaze somewhere between the window or the ceiling.  “You could ask me for help.”

Alver’s eyes widen slightly in realization.  "Oh. I see."

Cale's face brightens for some unfathomable reason.  "You do?"

Something clicks in place; all of Cale’s strange actions finally make sense.  Alver rubs his face with his hands and exclaims: "Why are you running for prime minister?!"

Cale’s face immediately morphs into incredulous shock.  “Excuse me?!”

Alver looks at the elegant piece of parchment laying on his desk, neatly listing all of Cale’s credentials.  It’s almost absurd that this is one of the best administrator applications he received in the last few years.  Of course it would come from the one man in all of Rowoon that Alver swore not to hire under any circumstance; if he was the type to cry over such unfair situations like that Captain Hilsman fellow in the Henituse territory, his false-blue eyes would be shining with unshed tears at the moment.  

“I really appreciate that you’re offering to work for me in order to reduce my paperwork, but don’t you think that’s a bit drastic?” Alver says, trying to gently nudge Cale towards a lazier lifestyle.  “I don’t doubt your capabilities—you would make an excellent prime minister—but I wasn’t being serious all those times I threatened to appoint you as one.”

Cale’s left eye is twitching again; he looks like he might strangle Alver the same way he did to the late Imperial Prince Adin years ago.  “Why the fuck did you think I was talking about being a prime minister?!” he suddenly shouts, pulling at his own hair in frustration.  “How would that be a fast solution?!”

Alver flinches at the unexpected outburst.  “What would be the fastest solution then?!”

Cale seems dangerously close to lunging across the desk and Alver fears for his neck.  “Marrying somebody you actually like, you fucking peanut.”

An uncomfortable and vaguely hysterical feeling sits inside Alver’s chest, distracting enough that he doesn’t even feel offended at being called a legume.  It’s true that marrying someone would easily stop all future marriage proposals, but there’s only one person he ever thinks about as a potential spouse.  “Even if I—hypothetically—do have somebody I like enough to marry, I never planned to actually go through with it,” he admits, frowning slightly.  “I don’t think I would… meet their expectations.”

“Why not?!” Cale asks, narrowing his eyes.  “Why are you suddenly pretending to be humble after all these years, huh?  You annoying bastard!”  He paces the room angrily.  “I can’t believe the idiot that would always brag about all his positive qualities is suddenly worried that his army of suitors and suitresses would be disappointed to marry the most eligible marriage candidate in the world.”  He gives the box of letters from those aforementioned suitors and suitresses a vindictive little kick before continuing his rant.  “All those fucking years of hearing you boast endlessly about how clever and rich and handsome you are, and now you’re acting like none of that was true?  You’re so full of shit.”

Alver smiles faintly despite the treasonous tongue-lashing; it’s very heartwarming that Cale still thinks so highly of him even after accidentally pissing him off again.  “People only want to marry me because I’m a king,” Alver scoffs, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose to try and stave off another migraine.  It’s embarrassing and nerve-wracking to explain his worries, but maybe voicing everything out loud will help convince Cale that his well-meaning solution isn’t viable.  “They just think I’d be useful to them in some way.  Maybe some of them are genuinely interested in romantically pursuing me, but it’ll be some imaginary version of me that doesn’t exist.”  

Alver thinks of his mother, slowly forgotten along with her son in a palace named after an emotion that was absent from her relationship with the man she loved.  “They’ll get tired of me eventually, but they won’t be able to leave because a royal marriage can’t be easily annulled.  The nobles are already pestering me about having an heir, so they’ll become even more insufferable if I get married.”  His budding migraine flares up at the memory of fighting for the throne and the scheming of his father’s concubines and the queen mother; though the atmosphere is much friendlier now, his complicated relationships with his siblings never fully recovered.  “I don’t want anyone to go through this political nightmare, whether it’s my potential spouse or children.”

(‘I don’t want you, Raon, Ohn, and Hong to suffer because of me ’ is what Alver really means, but he keeps that overly-revealing thought unsaid.)

Cale really does lunge across the desk at this point, grabbing Alver by the lapels.  A stubborn furrow forms between his eyebrows.  “It’s not like you to be so defeatist, Your Majesty."

The near-panicked hysteria that started minutes ago is not subsiding, and Alver faintly wonders if this is where his sanity finally ends, worn down into nothing after years of madly running forwards without pause.  He tries not to think about how Cale’s face is close enough to kiss if he just leans forward a little bit; Alver's back stays stiffly straight.  “I have no idea what a good husband is supposed to act like,” he says, laughing bitterly.  His father was useless in that regard, along with many other family-related things.  “Isn’t it natural to feel a bit doubtful that I can make another person happy?” 

“Why do you get to decide what makes other people happy?” Cale hisses, his grip on Alver’s jacket turning visibly white-knuckled even with his pale skin.  “Worry about your own damn happiness for once.  I know you have some sort of complex about being responsible for everything”—And you don’t?? Alver thinks uncharitably—“but you can stop being a king for at least one thing.”

“But that’s all I know how to do?” Alver points out awkwardly.  When it comes down to it, the last twenty or so years were all dedicated to a singular main mission, and consequently, almost every aspect of his personality and lifestyle were tailored to achieve that goal.  He’s not sure he can ever stop ‘being a king’ when it’s so deeply ingrained in everything he does.  Or if anything would even be left of him if the kingly part is taken out.

That’s… a little sad, actually.  Alver isn’t sure what to make of it so he just frowns.

Then Cale makes an alarmingly upset face that Alver never wants to see again.

Alver’s eyes widen in mild panic.  “Cale?  Is something wrong?”  He awkwardly pats the hands still latched onto his clothing like stubborn barnacles in an attempt at comfort, unsure what happened and how to fix it.  Cale’s face is mostly back to normal after that brief lapse in composure, but the short distance between them makes it easier for Alver to see the subtle frown still marring the other man’s features.  “If… if I accidentally did something again, please let me know.”

There’s a suspiciously long pause before Cale responds.  “No, you didn’t do anything,” he sighs, finally releasing the poor jacket he was clutching before gently smoothing out the wrinkles, either unaware or refusing to comment on Alver’s momentary struggle to breathe.  “I think I did everything I needed to today, so I’ll leave the divine item here for you to use.  I’ll need to postpone those spreadsheet lessons—I think I have to take care of something else first, so I’ll be away for a week or two.”

That in itself is nothing too unusual; Cale often disappears for random periods of time, either due to his own whims or those of his excitable children.  But Alver feels like he missed something important again, and worries he won’t have an opportunity to learn what it is if he acts too slowly.  With an uncharacteristic impulsivity, his hand grabs onto Cale’s sleeve when the man starts moving away, startling both of them.

Alver looks at his traitorous fingers and then awkwardly lets go.  “Ah… good luck with whatever you’re doing,” he says, feeling a bit embarrassed at himself.  Since he suffered from plenty of overly sentimental foot-in-mouth for the day already, he decides that a bit more can’t hurt and adds: “Come back safely.”

“Thanks, Your Majesty.”  At least Cale looks just as embarrassed, though Alver has no idea what could have possibly caused it.  Cale is halfway out the door until he turns back around for a quick moment to say “see you next time” before he disappears out of view.

Alver lets his head fall onto his desk, his forehead making a miserable thudding noise as it collides with the sturdy wooden surface.  Why does being with Cale make me act so fucking stupid, he laments.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Though it doesn’t apply to everyone, many parents would be quite excited at the prospect of their child getting married.  Cale Henituse’s various parental figures both blood-related and adoptive are not exceptions to this sentiment, so they happily (and with some exasperation) assist their son in his current deranged endeavours to marry a certain oblivious king.  Even if the endeavours involve vaguely threatening multiple noble households to stop sending proposals to the aforementioned king, lest they find themselves losing some capital in the next decade or so.

Deruth looks a bit sheepish as he continues reading through information compiled by Ron about a particularly stubborn countess from Caro.  “I think we should have included your portrait after all.  Everything else seemed quite good.”

Next to him, Violan circles various names on another piece of paper, looking elegant as ever; however, those well-acquainted with her mannerisms would know she is currently planning the monetary demise of her mercantile competitors.  “Yes, the king knows what you look like,” she says before Cale can argue about it again, “but it is customary to include a portrait for royal engagements.  Perhaps your intent would have been better communicated.”

“I was sure the paperwork would have seduced him,” Fredo says, shaking his head with what seems like genuine regret.  “Apologies, my cute son.  It appears King Alver's self-imposed chastity is more powerful than I anticipated.”

Cale ignores him. He didn't even invite the vampire, yet he appeared anyway. He has enough to deal with, including Jour Henituse's incorporeal voice grumbling viciously about ‘that useless Crossman punk—how can he ignore such a cute and handsome face?!’ like an angry cat in some corner of his mind.

Ron simply smiles and hands his foolish young master a cup of lemon tea.

Eruhaben sighs.  All he offers is his usual “unlucky bastard”, but it aptly sums up Cale's feelings more than ever.

Chapter Text

iv. in thickheadedness and in wealth

“—Your Majesty?”

Alver blinks and internally curses himself for getting distracted.  Again.  It’s the fourth time this afternoon that Tower Master Rosalyn needed to delicately address him in order to corral his focus back from wherever it wandered off to.  For someone who takes his work so seriously, it’s rather embarrassing to be repeatedly called out for his inattention.  “What was that about the magic stone mines?” he asks after remembering what they were talking about for the past few minutes, carefully affixing a mildly apologetic expression onto his face.

Rosalyn is too polite to be outright rude to royalty, but years of training as a crown princess and political dealings kept her tongue sharp in a surgically precise way.  “Should we move on to other matters?  The Mage Tower can postpone the discussion about the mines if it is preferable to Your Majesty.”  In other words: it’s a very roundabout way of saying ‘is the current topic beneath your notice, punk?’ and ‘stop wasting my time here’, which Rosalyn gets away with because she is Rosalyn.

Alver smiles wryly.  “No, we should finish the discussions today so your mages can start allocating resources to different departments sooner.”  It’s entirely his fault that their meeting is running long in the first place, even if he can’t admit it out loud.  

They manage to make more headway with their negotiations about the magic stone mines.  But those mines originally came from Cale after he returned from Xiaolen, and Alver’s mind starts to drift when remembering the victorious little smirk on his ex-dongsaeng’s face when he was proudly waving around a list of his loot.

“—Your Majesty,” Rosalyn says again, her mild-mannered tone making it clear that what she says next will be a non-gentle suggestion.  “I can return tomorrow after you have time to gather your thoughts.”

When Alver hallucinates another redhead next to Rosalyn with a withering and disrespectful gaze, he has to admit that his concentration-problem is more dire than he thought.  “... I believe that would be for the best,” he says, suppressing the urge to sigh in annoyance at his own unprofessional behaviour.  He’s a king!  He has kingly things to do!

Despite the agreement with her suggestion, Rosalyn does not move to stand up.  “Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?”

It’s always a bad sign when somebody asks for that, but Alver acquiesces anyway with a wary nod.  And—as a point in the tower master’s favour—she actually asked first, unlike certain other people.

“I believe you should speak with Lord Cale more honestly,” Rosalyn says, and Alver immediately wants to revoke the permission to speak freely.

Alver raises an eyebrow.  “Are you implying that I have been dishonest with him?” he asks, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Rosalyn continues, undeterred.  “I do not mean to imply that you have been actively deceiving Lord Cale.  However, from what I have observed, it seems like you are holding back from telling him everything you want to, and it is starting to make you act distant towards him.”  She smiles brightly, and it’s a bit disturbing to see the Signature Alver Crossman Royal Smile on another person’s face.  “Lord Cale is not happy about this, Your Majesty, and neither are you.  All of your friends and families have noticed.”

What Rosalyn is saying makes sense, but it doesn’t mean Alver is happy to hear it.  “I have doubts that speaking more honestly will help our situation,” he sighs.  Wouldn’t a confession just make things even more awkward than they currently are?

“Your Majesty, you are catastrophizing,” Rosalyn says bluntly.  “I understand that you are the type of person who needs to think through every minute detail, and then make plans with contingency plans that have their own contingency plans, but this is not a life-threatening situation or a political problem that will have consequences for an entire kingdom.  You are simply speaking with Lord Cale, someone who clearly trusts and treasures you as much as you trust and treasure him.  So, with all due respect—stop thinking that hard, it is doing you a great disservice.”

Alver bites down the urge to argue, though he still has some mutinous thoughts.  Perhaps he should have the right to ‘think that hard’, since the last time he tried being emotionally vulnerable about something important, he got called a criminal and thought Cale was going to stop supporting him.  So, maybe Alver is very slightly apprehensive about the prospect of confessing any more feelings, especially feelings of the romantic variety.  He’s not sure he can survive a second round of intense psychological damage.

Out loud, however, Alver simply says, “I will consider it.”

Rosalyn keeps a smile on her face, but manages to emit an aura of disapproval regardless.  It's quite impressive.  “With all due respect again, Your Majesty, I believe you have spent enough time considering it, and there are greater benefits to taking action sooner rather than later.”  She pauses, likely for dramatic effect rather than giving Alver time to digest her words, before adding: “Lord Cale's unfortunate tendency to make matters… more complicated… may show itself the longer you wait, Your Majesty.”

Now that is a compelling argument.  Alver feels very convinced now.  The Breck Kingdom truly suffered when losing its crown princess to the academic pursuit of magecraft, but their loss is Alver's gain so he has no complaints in that regard.  “I appreciate your counsel,” he says more genuinely.  There’s not much left to lose at this point, with him and Cale in an awkward silent stalemate recently, so he tentatively asks, “Do you have any… recommendations?”

The magic stone mines end up being forgotten, but the two of them continue to have a rather productive conversation regardless.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

(“His Majesty did what?!” an aide shouts, horrified.

Chester dabs the nervous sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.  “He… he took a day off,” he repeats, also reeling from the unexpected news.

One of Alver’s secretaries promptly faints at their desk and pandaemonium erupts across the entire palace.)

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

Oblivious to the chaos left in his wake, Alver carefully puts his and Rosalyn’s strategy into motion.  He’s grateful for her assistance and feels regret that he didn’t consult with her sooner.

… Regret is a mild word for it.  Alver kicks his past self for deciding that talking to a spear was a smart decision.  He considers hiring Rosalyn as a part-time advisor.

(As if sensing Alver's uncharitable thoughts, the aforementioned spear says into the king's mind: <I answered your inquiries using the set parameters, Alver Crossman-nim.  My programming is excellent but it cannot account for all user errors.>

Alver ignores it.)

During Alver and Rosalyn's meeting, the two of them created an itemised checklist of tasks Alver must finish before speaking with Cale:

1. “Bring Lord Cale a gift,” Rosalyn suggested.  Seeing Alver start to open his mouth, she added, “Not a golden plaque.  Though he loves money, I think it would come across as a bit insincere in this situation.  Give him something that has a personal touch.  Perhaps something that only the two of you would understand, like a reminder of a shared past experience that was enjoyable for you both.”

Alver carefully ruminates on the past few years of memories with Cale.  A small smile tugs at his lips as he reminisces; he’s truly lucky to have so many happy moments in his life after meeting the annoying little bastard.  Alver’s coronation.  The first memorial service for his mother.  Cale’s second retirement.  The surprise birthday party for Cale and Choi Han that the children (averaging-ten-years-old at the time) prepared with their piggy bank savings.

However, those were all events with their friends and families involved; Rosalyn stipulated it should be something more private.  Alver frowns in thought, trying to remember something that only involved the two of them.  During the war, most of their one-on-one meetings were related to strategy or scamming, and he feels like that might not be the atmosphere that Rosalyn was aiming for.

Alver’s frown deepens.  Did the two of them never… do something?  That was not work-related?

… Maybe Tasha is right about taking a vacation every once in a while.

(As if struck by a prophetic revelation about the future, another one of Alver’s secretaries faints without his knowledge.)

An old memory resurfaces of a quiet afternoon in the Endable Kingdom: walking through dimly lit but also warm streets as Advisor Bob and Naru von Ejellan.  Cale had said they could meet with Deputy Chief Priest Cotton to prepare countermeasures against the White Star, but Alver could tell that Cale was mostly using that as an excuse so he could indulge in Alver’s impulsive request to look around the city.

It was the first and last time Alver and Cale did something lighthearted together without the presence of any others who knew them, both 'disguised' in some way but able to act more genuinely than they usually could.  Cale’s childish glee at spending King Fredo’s money on random street foods made Alver roll his eyes, but he was secretly pleased to see the other man eating well and finding joy in such simple things.  Cale’s comment about how Endable reminded him of Rowoon also filled Alver with fondness.

Somehow, Alver didn’t realize until now just how much that day meant to him.  He knew it was important to him as a crown prince at the time, because it strengthened his resolve to create a better future for Rowoon, the City of Life, and also Endable when he became king.  But it was also important to him that Cale understood why Alver wanted this peaceful future, and was willing to help him make it.

Alver makes a quick call to King Fredo, who happily agrees to deliver a selection of Endable’s latest snacks for his ‘cute son’ to the Rowoon palaces before evening, including cookies from the pâtissier that Alver paid triple years ago to stop baking for the White Star and work for the von Ejellan estate instead.  Excellent.

2. After Alver finished penning item number one, Rosalyn continued with her next suggestion.  “Though I am unaware of the precise details, it seems that Lord Cale once had other brotherly figures in his life that he was particularly close with.  It may help to speak with them if possible, as they may also have advice or special insights that I would not know about.”

Now, Alver is aware that Cale’s original hyungs from Earth 1 are miraculously still alive and in contact with the transmigrator, all because of some divine intervention or whatnot years ago.  Unfortunately for Alver, he has no idea how he would contact Sui Khan (currently a teenager somewhere on the Eastern Continent doing who-knows-what for the God of Death) or Choi Jungsu (who might? be a demi-god? Alver doesn’t understand the specifics because Cale rarely tells him anything in detail, that bastard).  So Alver can’t really speak to the ‘brotherly figures’ whom Rosalyn referred to, but he can at least talk to the people who would likely understand them best.

Conveniently, Cale left the God of Death’s divine item with Alver.  Technically it was for those sheetspreads or something, but Alver will not let this opportunity slip by.  It takes a bit of time for someone to answer his call, but a familiar face from Earth 2 eventually appears on the shiny tablet’s surface.

‘Hm? Is that King Dark Tiger?’ Choi Jungsu says, blinking in mild surprise and craning his head around as if looking for someone else.  ‘I don’t think you’ve called us before without Cale.’

“I believe I have not,” Alver agrees.  “Have you and the others been well?”

‘Roksu is in forced bedrest by Grandma Kim because he kept getting nosebleeds yesterday, but otherwise we’re doing alright!’  Choi Jungsu looks to the side and waves his arm at somebody off-screen.  ‘Hey Team Leader!  Say hi to King Dark Tiger!’

Lee Su-hyeok ambles into view, casually waving in lieu of a verbal greeting.  ‘Did you need something from us?’

“If you don’t mind, can you tell me a bit about Roksu?” Alver asks.  “I’m, ah, having some trouble with my own version of him, so I’d like some advice on how to make amends.”

Choi Jungsu and Lee Su-hyeok exchange a quick glance, before the former says, ‘I think you would know Cale better than us, but we can try helping.  What did you need help with?’

Alver pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket that neatly summarizes the past disastrous two months, which he carefully transcribed the night before to avoid forgetting any important details.  For some reason, after he’s finished, Choi Jungsu keeps blinking rapidly and Lee Su-hyeok’s face seems pinched as if he’s holding back laughter.  It’s damaging to Alver’s pride, but his pride has taken a regular beating recently and he will simply have to deal with it.

‘I… see what the problem is,’ Choi Jungsu says delicately with a reassuring smile.  ‘If Cale is anything like Roksu—and he probably is—then I wouldn’t worry too much.  He sulks a lot but he’s not actually that angry at you.  He’s like a grouchy cat pretending it’s less affectionate than it really is.  You should be able to make up with him pretty easily.’

‘What would work best?’ Alver asks patiently.

Choi Jungsu’s smile falters.  ‘I.  Hm.  Well.  I think… you’d need to use a different method than us…’  He turns towards Lee Su-hyeok like a sad puppy.

Taking pity on his junior, Lee Su-hyeok takes the lead.  ‘Roksu is a stubborn bastard and I noticed Cale is no different in that regard.  But he’s attentive and takes care of his people.  If he hasn’t approached you himself yet, then he’s likely feeling insecure about your current relationship.  He often shows his affection through his actions, but he also uses his words when it really matters.’  The team leader’s mouth gains a sly tilt to it.  ‘Tell him how much you care about him.  From the heart.  The more embarrassing it feels, the better.’

Choi Jungsu nods vigorously in agreement.

‘And bring him some flowers,’ Su-hyeok adds, the sly smile growing wider.  ‘Roksu likes flowers so Cale might like them too.’

Alver narrows his eyes suspiciously, since that seems… strangely specific…  But even if it’s a prank, he doesn’t think Lee Su-hyeok is the type to do something that would be detrimental to Cale.  “Thanks for your advice,” Alver says.  “I think other people told me similar things, but it’s still reassuring to hear from people who knew Cale before the rest of us did.”  He bids farewell to the Earth 2 duo after some more light conversation, and eventually wanders his way to the palace gardens.

What flowers would Cale like? Alver wonders, wishing he paid more attention to these kinds of things.  He tries to remember which flowers Cale gravitated towards and ends up choosing the rosebush his ex-dongsaeng tended to teleport to whenever he visited the palace and wasn’t allowed to appear directly in the king’s private rooms.  The roses are coloured like Cale’s hair, so Alver decides to take some with him, carefully removing the thorns so the stems won’t prick any errant fingers.

(Alver’s flower-picking mission is momentarily interrupted by one of the gardeners suddenly fainting, but everything else goes smoothly after he calls for some medical assistance.)

3. Rosalyn tapped her chin, appraising Alver’s current outfit with a critical eye.  “Hm… though there is nothing wrong with Your Majesty’s current choice of garments, I would approach Lord Cale while wearing something less formal.  Your usual attire is suitable for meeting with officials and attending to other royal duties, but that may give him the incorrect impression.  You are aiming to speak with Lord Cale as yourself and not the King of Rowoon.  More casual clothing would help create an intimate atmosphere.”

Alver ignores the slight warmth he feels in his ears when he recalls Rosalyn’s… phrasing.  Still, he searches through his extensive dressing room with the tower master’s suggestion in mind.  He laughs quietly when finding an older item stashed away separately from the rest of his clothes; he picks up a plain black cloak and memories of surprising Cale in the Jungle as ‘Bob-hyung’ drift through his mind.

Those were stressful times, so it had felt a bit freeing to go bother Cale as a person nobody would recognize as Crown Prince Alver Crossman.  Especially when the other man had made a very amusing face after hearing Alver’s half-assed alias.  Learning that Cale himself had pretended to be a ‘Merchant Bob’ later on only made ‘Bob-hyung’ funnier in retrospect.

‘You are aiming to speak with Lord Cale as yourself and not the King of Rowoon.’

Alver absentmindedly fidgets with the necklace hidden under his jacket.  His dark elf heritage is still a secret; he would prefer to announce it once Rowoon achieves more stability and after international relations are better-established.  He still hasn’t worked out who he is when not a king, but even though he has come to accept his disguised appearance as a part of himself, he thinks ‘Bob’ might be closer to the answer he’s searching for.  

And technically, sworn brotherhood was revoked from only King Alver Crossman.  So ‘Bob-hyung’ can still keep those privileges.

With that amusing loophole in mind, Alver carefully selects the plainest clothes he can find to accompany the Bob-cloak.

4. Rosalyn’s final suggestion was this: “Again, I want to emphasize this: please speak with Lord Cale honestly.  Tell him everything without holding yourself back—all the good things you hope he will accept, but also all your worries.”  She smiled sympathetically.  “Nobody enjoys showing others the parts of themselves that they want to hide away.  We fear that the people we treasure will leave or come to dislike us if they discover a side of us that is ugly.  But do you think Lord Cale is the type of person who would care about something like that, no matter how big or small it is?”

Alver shook his head without any hesitation.

“That’s what I believe as well, Your Majesty,” Rosalyn said, her smile growing wider and warmer.  “Good luck reconciling with him.”

Alver will be the first to admit that it’s… difficult for him to be open with others.  Keeping his true thoughts and feelings guarded comes second nature to him, after so many years of trying to survive in the palaces with minimal help.  Being vulnerable is still difficult, even with the people he trusts the most.

There are many things Alver still has not told Cale, even if he excluded the romantic attraction.  Most of their secrets were revealed accidentally or unwillingly; the ones they did tell each other were usually due to necessity.  Alver doesn’t think he would have revealed any of his secrets if he had a choice, and he suspects Cale would have acted the same.  Both of them tend to be tight-lipped regarding themselves.

But it’s also true that confiding in each other led to them growing closer after each occasion.  A large part of Alver is simply tired of keeping everything to himself, especially after experiencing the joys of genuine and trustworthy companionship from people outside his maternal family.

Alver spends the rest of his afternoon muttering to himself and shuffling around coded notes on the secondary conspiracy wall in his bedroom; the main one in his office is currently inaccessible, as he suspects many of his employees seem to be suffering some strange illness today that is causing mass fainting.  With the diligence and gravitas he usually reserves for the most important of public speeches, Alver manages to organize his thoughts into something that will hopefully make sense to Cale and not cause the other man to flee the country.

Is it a bit ridiculous to try and plan a confession on a hidden wall using ciphers and diagrams strung together with red yarn while huddling behind a bookshelf? Most likely.

Is Alver doing it anyway because it makes him feel better?  Yes.

5. After Rosalyn bade farewell and left for the Mage Tower, Alver quickly wrote down another item on the list: ‘Bring a golden plaque (for moral support) (contingency plan)’.

… This is something Rosalyn specifically instructed Alver not to do, but it will make him feel more reassured.  So he’s going to feign ignorance and pretend he forgot what she told him.  He can keep the emergency golden plaque hidden in his pocket.  If everything goes well then he won’t even need to give it to Cale.  Which would be ideal for more reasons than one, because the palace funds are still on the lower side after all the post-war reconstruction projects.

After carefully packing away the delivered snacks from Endable and the flowers in a spatial dimension pouch—and the golden plaque in one of his coat’s inner pockets—Bob-Alver nervously heads towards the Henituse territory.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

To Alver’s surprise when he arrives, the Super Rock Villa is much quieter than it normally is.  Expecting the usual crowd in the Dark Forest, he covered the lower half of his face with a mask just to be cautious before even teleporting into the Henituse territory.  It’s not bad that nobody can run into him while he’s in his true appearance, but it still feels strange not seeing any familiar faces like Choi Han or the children.

The subterranean villa is large as ever, but it became familiar to Alver after so many years.  He finds Cale in his room without much difficulty, also sensing Raon somewhere inside even though the dragon cannot be seen.  Despite the bed in the same room just metres away, the lazy slacker opted to fall asleep on his couch instead for some reason.  Alver huffs quietly in amusement, knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence.  “Cale,” he says while removing his mask, “can I…  talk to you privately?”

Alver hears a quiet sigh come from the pile of blankets on the couch, before Cale sticks his messy-haired head out, squinting warily at the king who disturbed him.  It’s unbearably cute and Alver wants to explode into smithereens.  Fortunately or unfortunately, he isn’t capable of spontaneous combustion and Eruhaben isn’t around either to turn him into dust.

“Raon, thanks for keeping me company,” Cale says quietly, lightly patting the air.  “Can you go play with Ohn and Hong for the rest of the day?  I think His Majesty and I will need to talk for a while.”

“Okay!” Raon says cheerfully, waving with a chubby paw.  ‘Good luck, cookie-giving king!’ he says into Alver’s mind before flying out the door, presumably heading towards his black castle above the ground.

Considering how nervous he feels, Alver appreciates the young dragon’s well-wishes.  He blinks in confusion when Cale wraps himself in his blanket and lies back down.  “Did… did you want me to leave so you can keep napping?” Alver asks, flustered and resisting the urge to fidget with the hem of his cloak.

“No,” Cale says, sounding muffled.  “You just look like you’re about to make another coronation speech while simultaneously holding in a sneeze.  So I’m graciously pretending to be asleep to let you regain your composure and speak freely. Your Majesty.”

Well, this situation wasn’t accounted for in his conspiracy notes, but Alver is still a master of improvisation even if he has a tendency to over-prepare.  It’s also embarrassing to admit that he does feel less nervous if he imagines Cale isn’t listening to him.  He briefly pats the golden plaque in his pocket for good luck before starting to speak.

“Back on Earth 2, you asked me if I had any remaining secrets,” Alver says, voice soft as if Cale is actually sleeping instead of just pretending.  It feels a little nostalgic and Alver’s mouth tilts into a small smile.  “I’m sure you meant it as a joke, but I did have some more secrets I hadn't told you yet.  Because they were mostly about you.”

(The first in the finalized web of red yarn, with an embarrassing admission scrawled on the back of an old crumpled list of books popular with commoners, tucked away years ago inside a novel Alver could not bring himself to throw away:)

“You were probably the first person I ever considered a friend,” Alver says, trying not to sound too ashamed about it.  Yes, he was extremely lonely until he met Cale Henituse even if he ignored it—but the indefatigable life he painstakingly built for himself until that point was not pitiful.  “It was hard to feel close with anyone except for Tasha.  Even with the dark elves, I tried to keep some distance to try and protect them, since they were already risking so much by helping me.”

“Then you came along and you were an annoying little asshole.”  Alver stifles a laugh when he hears a small shuffling sound from the couch, as if Cale got offended but stubbornly remained silent to keep up his sleeping pretense.  “But you became an annoying little asshole I could rely on, then appreciate, then trust, then… somehow you became my friend, and many of your friends became my friends too?  It was my first time experiencing that type of companionship, and I treasured it more than I can put into words.  I still do.”

Alver sighs.  “Then… I started worrying.  About how easily everyone could leave, if they wanted to.  And I was especially worried about the prospect of you leaving.”  Saying everything out loud makes Alver feel particularly foolish.  Rationally speaking, he knows everyone is too loyal for their own good to abandon him after everything they went through together; unfortunately, no amount of logic managed to settle his unease even after so many years.

“There were a few reasons why I asked you to be my dongsaeng years ago.”  Alver smiles awkwardly even though Cale can’t see it.  “First, I sincerely wished to help you, and becoming your sworn brother seemed like the best solution.  Second… I will… get to later.  But third, I selfishly wanted a more tangible sign of our connection so it would be easier to keep you tied to Rowoon, and… and me.”  He ignores the warmth travelling to his ears and hurriedly moves on to the next point he had planned.

(The second secret, written on a paper in Alver's bedside drawer that he never discarded, covered in loose sketches of another world with strange crumbled structures, monsters, and the same unfamiliar-familiar face over and over:)

“Then there was that time when you came back from the Land of Death,” Alver says, still remembering the room full of awkwardly quiet companions as if it happened yesterday.  “The White Star thought you were someone who possessed multiple bodies for centuries.  I first thought it was ridiculous, because someone using that many lifetimes to achieve a singular goal would not work so hard to become a slacker.  The White Star was so egotistical that he imagined an entire archnemesis out of nowhere, when it was just some self-sacrificial idiot who was trying to hoard money and achieve world peace as a side goal so he could take as many naps as he wanted in the future.”

Alver pretends he can’t hear the disgruntled shuffling from the couch and continues.  “I remember thinking to myself that… even if you were a transmigrator, it wouldn’t matter to me.  We never met when you still had a piss-poor reputation—or I suppose, when the first Cale Henituse had a piss-poor reputation—so it was no loss to me personally.”  He laughs dryly.  “I’m… not a good person, so I didn’t particularly care about the Cale Henituse I never knew, nor did I spare much thought for those who would have missed him.  I was just selfishly happy I could meet you.”

“Learning you actually were a transmigrator, I…”  Alver hesitates.  Remembering the Sealed God’s test still makes something inside him twist painfully.  With the different passage of time between Rowoon and Earth 2, he was terrified in every waking moment during those long months that Cale and Choi Han would be gone by the time he went back to sleep.  “Like how I never thought about the first Cale Henituse… I never thought about who you would have been in your first life, until I met you as Kim Roksu.”  

“Seeing part of the life you had in Korea, I felt guilty because of how arrogant I was.”  ‘Arrogant’ is the only descriptor Alver could think of that seemed close to how he treated the first Kim Roksu’s soul.  “It never occurred to me that you may have cherished another lifetime,” he says, pained.  “Perhaps I simply didn’t want to think about it, because that would mean admitting you may have had regrets.  That you may have had other people you would have treasured that you had to leave behind.  That… you may have suffered, or even died, for your soul to travel here in the first place.”

“Instead, all I could think of before the Sealed God’s test was how lucky I was that you ended up here, without ever wondering how it might have felt for you.  So I… wanted to apologize for being inconsiderate.”  Even if it doesn’t actually bother Cale, it bothers Alver and has bothered him for years.  However, there’s something else that makes him feel guilty, even if he won’t feel sorry for it.

(The last and largest truth, carefully penned on the back of the sexiest nicest paperwork Alver ever received, after countless other sheets of lesser parchment used as rough drafts were ritually sacrificed in his bedroom fireplace:)

“But I won’t change my mind about feeling lucky,” Alver says, defiantly glowering at the pile of blankets in case Cale starts protesting.  “Seeing you as Kim Roksu just made me feel greedier, because I still liked you no matter what you looked like.  Like I said, I’m not a good person.  Even though it was the White Star’s fault for displacing your soul, and it was the God of Death’s fault for bringing you back to this world when you didn’t ask for it, I’m still going to feel lucky I could meet you.”

Alver fidgets with the pouch at his belt, taking the prepared snacks and flowers out to lay them on the small table in front of the couch.  Cale started peeking out of his blanket cocoon a while ago, so Alver takes the opportunity to stick a cookie in the lazy slacker’s mouth.  “You make me feel like the luckiest man alive, you stupid bastard,” Alver says, a corner of his mouth twitching.  “You drive me fucking nuts all the time, but you also make me happy.  I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.  And I’m sorry I’ve been making an ass of myself.”

Cale chews on the cookie, looking slightly embarrassed.  “... You mean it?” he mutters, sticking an arm out of the blanket to hold one of the red roses before gently putting it back down.  “Everything you just said?”

For a brief moment, Alver feels vaguely offended.  He didn’t agonize for hours over how to communicate his feelings just for Cale to act so skeptical about it!  “Yes, of course I meant all of it.  I had some advice from others about how to approach this conversation, but all the words were mine and mine alone.  Why would I lie?”

“I’m worried you’re just saying everything to make me feel better because other people told you to!”  Cale squints suspiciously and tucks his arm back under his blanket, pale cheeks slightly pink.  “For the past few years, you have always done things for me even if it would hurt you.  So I need to know you really meant your entire speech, and this isn’t some—some weird primary mission to protect my slacker life by any means necessary again.”  He looks away while frowning deeply, shoulders hunched.  “... I don’t like it when other people sacrifice themselves for me.”

Suddenly, Alver understands why Cale was acting so strange for months instead of being his usual blunt self.  It almost makes Alver laugh if it weren’t so upsetting.  I guess Cale was also worried about many things, Alver thinks, feeling rather foolish for his past unilateral behaviour.  It seems like the more he tried to force Cale to become happy without him, the more Cale grew anxious about saying what he really wanted in fear that it would influence Alver’s decisions.

An angry Cale from Alver’s memories shakes him by the coat.  ‘Why do you get to decide what makes other people happy?  Worry about your own damn happiness for once.’

Going off-script is strange for someone so used to rehearsing everything down to the smallest of details, but the two of them never followed a proper script since the beginning anyway.  Alver stands close to the couch, then gently removes the blanket from Cale so they can finally see each other properly without anything in the way.  With how fast Alver’s heart seems to be beating, he sincerely hopes none of Cale’s ancient powers give him supernatural hearing.  Alver is nervous enough to the point of feeling nauseated, but he does not want to lie any more to Cale. 

What difference is there in the end, between a lie of a physical nature like a magical disguise, and a lie created by ignoring one’s heart?

(But fuck—why is this so difficult?!)

It takes every scrap of concentration that Alver can muster to finally say what he felt for so long without stuttering: “Cale, I am in love with you.  I have loved you for years.  I never told you because I was afraid you would hate me, but I have been sufficiently bullied by our mutual friends and family into believing that the prospect of you hating me is ridiculous.”

“At this point, I can’t even imagine what my life would be like without you in it, and I don’t want to imagine it.”  Alver swallows nervously.  “So.  Even if.  You do not feel the same way as me.  I—I hope—”  Is it possible for a man to die from embarrassment?  He hysterically wonders if this is how Choi Han feels whenever he attempts lying and suddenly loses the ability to speak like a normal person.  

“I—I hope you’ll still spend the rest of your life with me!” Alver finally manages to squeak out, faintly hoping a mysterious chasm will open up underneath his feet and end his misery.

The resulting awkward silence does not help soothe his frazzled nerves.

Just as Alver starts contemplating the merits of digging his own chasm that can conveniently double as a grave, he sees Cale start to ball up a fist around something small hidden in the palm of his hand.

Alver suddenly recalls an anecdote about one of Cale’s tests in the Sealed God’s temple: Cale viciously beating the absolute shit out of an illusory White Star with nothing but a pebble until they were both covered head to toe in blood.  So Alver involuntarily flinches out of fear for his life when Cale raises his arm with a treasonous look on the latter’s face, wondering if the emergency golden plaque still in his pocket could double as a shield.

However, instead of ancient-power-induced blunt force trauma, the resulting blow on Alver’s head is so pathetically weak that his eyes instantly snap wide open out of concern that Cale might have sprained his fingers against his robust skull.  “Is your hand okay?!” Alver blurts out immediately.

Cale’s face is as red as the tomatoes he put in those sandwiches he gave to Alver months ago.  When he unfurls his fingers, there’s a ring sitting in the palm of his hand.  “What kind of idiot proposes without a ring?” he asks; his voice is deceptively calm but he is clearly flustered due to the blatant blushing.  “You're usually better prepared than this.”

Alver stands stock-still while staring blankly, likely slack-jawed in an unflattering way, struggling to process what he just heard.  The word ‘proposes’ echoes through his shocked mind, Cale’s memory-voice ringing suspiciously like wedding bells.  “I—I was proposing?!” he squeaks, face also flushing noticeably despite his darker skin.

“It sure sounded like a marriage proposal to me!” Cale shouts, forcefully shoving the ring he’s holding into Alver’s shaking hands.  “Do it again properly!”

The ring rests innocently on Alver’s unfortunately-sweaty palm, incongruously weightless for how heavy it feels in his mind.  How can something so important physically feel like almost nothing?  It’s a simple band of golden metal without any extravagance to it, and it’s clearly meant for someone with thinner fingers than him.  He can’t believe he’s almost catatonic from shock because of this plain piece of jewelry.

Alver might be panicking.  A lot.  “... You’ll say ‘yes’?” he asks nervously.  “R-Right?  Cale?”

Cale looks at the idiot standing in front of him with a record-breaking disrespectful gaze.  “If you don’t fucking propose to me now—after all this time—I’m never calling you hyung again.”

Alver immediately drops to one knee out of some instinct he can’t explain, definitely bruising something on the way down and nearly breaking the table in his clumsy haste.  “Cale Henituse,” he says, valiantly ignoring the way his voice cracks like a teenager going through puberty in order to focus on holding out the ring without dropping it, “will you marry me?”

“Yes!”  Cale snatches the ring out of Alver’s hand and wears it with such impressive speed that he could be mistaken for using his Instant ability, if it weren’t for the distinct lack of blood exploding everywhere.  He crouches down to better match Alver’s current height, squashing the king’s face between his hands in a strange mixture of exasperation and affection.  “Took you fucking long enough, Alver.”

Alver barely has time to register the hysterical warmth blooming in his chest after hearing Cale address him by name for the first time in his memory, before his head is impatiently yanked forward into a messy kiss.  Almost every prior thought promptly escapes Alver’s cotton-filled brain, replaced with numerous delightful discoveries he clings to with desperation.  Like the fact Cale’s lips aren’t quite as soft as Alver imagined, but they’re warm and just as greedy as his own.  Or the way Cale’s fingers are both gentle and demanding when threading through Alver’s dark hair, and how he’s a bit embarrassed by how much he likes it.  And Cale should always be allowed to steal cookies from the palace, because Alver also has a sweet tooth and quite enjoys the faint taste of chocolate while kissing.

“I love you too,” Cale mumbles when they take a break to breathe, his face nearly matching his hair.  “Even though you’re stupid and emotionally constipated.”  He leans back in with another kiss.

Then Alver is unceremoniously slapped back to reality when remembering he’s a twenty-eight (soon twenty-nine) year old virgin without a shred of romantic or romance-adjacent experience to his name.  He suddenly has no idea what’s going on, or what to do with his mouth, or his hands, or anything currently attached to him, and everything is probably a disaster—

Cale bites Alver’s lip before briefly pulling away to glare viciously.  “Why are you still worrying about stupid things?” he complains, then resumes kissing Alver with exceptional enthusiasm as if suffocating the other man will finally rid him of useless thoughts.

I guess we can take our time figuring it out, Alver thinks, before happily resigning himself into Cale-oblivion until the next morning.

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

(At least half a dozen more palace workers pass out at dawn after discovering King Alver Crossman took a historic second day off.)

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

“Why are royal weddings so complicated,” Cale grumbles, looking as if he wants to fling all the papers on his desk to the floor, then desecrate Alver’s papers too for good measure.  It took them so long to get engaged, and he feels frustrated at needing to wait even longer because of something ridiculous like coordinating the candlesticks to the chandeliers or whatever.

Alver rolls his eyes but he looks unspeakably fond while doing so.  (Cale makes a mental note to kiss him after they figure out the orchestra setlist.)  “Finally regretting it?” Alver asks, tone teasing and a delicate eyebrow raised.

Cale immediately glowers; his stupid fiancé might be ‘joking’, but who knows whether the fucking self-conscious idiot still thinks Cale will suddenly change his mind.  “You can’t take this back,” he says, covering his hand wearing his engagement ring protectively.  His glower only grows stronger when Alver has the gall to chuckle about it, vowing to smack his future husband in the back tenfold for the months of oblivious stupidity they had to suffer through.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Alver prefaces a few minutes later, all but guaranteeing that Cale will laugh at him in the near future, “but I thought you were going to beat the shit out of me with a pebble back then.”

“Oh, don’t worry.”  Cale sips his tea before smirking mischievously.  “The pebble was in my other hand if you still didn’t figure out I wanted to marry you at that point.”

“... Excuse me?!”

“I didn’t need to use it so don’t worry about it.”

“Cale, you can’t just tell me not to worry about it—”

⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ☼ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅

(And they lived foolishly—but also happily—ever after.)