Chapter Text
In the soft, golden glow of dim candlelight, Wooyoung lies on the king's bed, San sprawled atop him as though he fears Wooyoung might vanish if he loosens his grip even a little.
"San," Wooyoung chuckles, shifting slightly under the weight pressing down on him. "You're heavy."
"I'm cold," San mumbles, his voice muffled as he snuggles closer. Wooyoung raises a skeptical eyebrow; both of them are swathed in layers of blankets, the room almost stifling with the warmth they've generated in the past few hours of being tangled together. He knows better.
"I leave for six days, and you lose your mind," Wooyoung murmurs softly, yet he still finds himself pulling San even closer, feeling the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat against him. It's always like this when he returns. One day away or six, San never lets him go without clinging to him for as long as possible.
San's response is simple and direct.
"I love you," he whispers, burrowing deeper into Wooyoung's chest.
"I love you too," Wooyoung murmurs, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss to San's hair. He glances down, but all he can see is the messy top of San's head, the rest of his face tucked firmly against Wooyoung's chest. "But I'm starting to get hot, so if you want to stay close at all, maybe ease up just a bit."
San lifts his head at that, his dark eyes locking with Wooyoung's. There's a mischievous glint there, a daring little sparkle that Wooyoung knows all too well.
"Show me," San whispers, his voice low and laced with both challenge and something softer. Wooyoung rolls his eyes theatrically, letting out an exaggerated sigh. San's lips curve into a smile, his dimples showing as Wooyoung clasps his hands together. In a graceful, practiced movement, he summons a vibrant red flower, the petals soft and shimmering with a delicate glow as it appears in his hands.
San's smile grows as he watches the delicate bloom unfold, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the petals as if it's the most magical thing in the world.
"Where's your ring?" San whispers, noticing the empty space on Wooyoung's finger. His eyes linger there, slightly wide with worry.
Wooyoung can't help but smile.
"Do you think I lost it?" he teases, but San just stares, concern clouding his expression. Wooyoung's smile softens as he sets the red flower on his chest and reaches up, tugging his shirt collar down to reveal a thin leather cord. At the end of it, resting over his heart, is the carved bone ring.
"I was using my hands a lot this time around," Wooyoung explains, his fingers gently tracing the carved orbs on the ring's surface. "I got scared it would break after I hit it on some metal thing... I reinforced the band with my magic so it won't break, at least not easily."
San watches as he absently touches the ring, a soft glint in his eyes.
"Why not just reinforce the ring itself?" he asks, picking up the flower resting on Wooyoung's chest and setting it to the side.
"Because," Wooyoung murmurs, a warmth in his voice as San's fingers trail across his chest, lingering there, "You made it perfectly."
San huffs a little, the beginnings of a frown tugging at his mouth. "I'm still mad at Yeosang for telling you I asked him about the design."
"Shows you care, San-ah." Wooyoung chuckles, shifting slightly under San's touch.
"Wooyoungie." San sighs, rolling his eyes.
"Sannie," Wooyoung retorts with a mischievous grin.
San narrows his eyes, clearly fed up with the teasing. In one smooth motion, he leans down and captures Wooyoung's lips, silencing him with a kiss that's both soft and demanding. Wooyoung's hand slides up, threading into San's hair as he pulls him closer, savoring the warmth and closeness he'd missed so much.
Wooyoung slips out of the king's chambers in the early hours of dawn, the sky barely beginning to brighten. San had begged him to stay, his eyes wide and pleading, whining in that childish way that made it nearly impossible for Wooyoung to resist. He'd even put on his most endearing pout, clinging to Wooyoung as though he might never let him go.
But Wooyoung knows he can't risk it. As much as he's wanted to stay, lying beside San until the sun is high in the sky, he has to protect him. He can't let their relationship get out—not with everything at stake. So, with a final glance back at the bed where San lies asleep, he pulls the door shut quietly and heads down to the lower levels of the castle.
He makes his way to Yeosang's workshop on the bottom floor, slipping into the dark room filled with strange scents and the low hum of old magic. The place is lined with shelves crammed with glass jars and vials, herbs hanging from the ceiling, dried and fragrant. A cauldron sits off to one side, still warm from whatever brew Mingi had been working on through the night.
Wooyoung shivers slightly, though he can't say why. The workshop feels strange this morning, but he brushes it off, figuring it's only because he's worrying about Yeosang. After all, Yeosang had only agreed to take up the role of court mage a few weeks ago, and his magical ability, though competent, is limited—nothing like Wooyoung's.
Nothing about Yeosang is like him, after all.
With the first hints of spring warming the air, Wooyoung decides to make a few runs—deliveries, mostly, bringing medicines and remedies to the people in Aurora. The roads, muddy and waking up after the winter months, stretch out before him as he moves from village to village, meeting the quiet faces of those in need.
Each stop brings back memories. He remembers a time, years ago, when he was just a servant in the castle, constantly in Prince San's presence.
Back then, he'd follow San through crowded streets with only his eyes, watched him engage with the people, each one captivated by his warmth and charm. San had always been so at ease, smiling easily, bending down to speak to children, laughing with the elders. His presence alone seemed to lift people's spirits, his every gesture reassuring them that they had a leader who truly cared.
And now, as Wooyoung offers medicine to the villagers and listens to their concerns, he can't help but feel the bittersweet weight of San's absence. He may not be able to stand at San's side, but he moves with the hope that, in some way, he's doing justice to the kindness and care San had always shown.
After finishing his deliveries, Wooyoung heads back to the workshop, feeling the familiar pull of exhaustion mixed with satisfaction. He pushes open the door to see Mingi and Yunho busily working together, their laughter and banter filling the space as they sort through herbs and vials.
"Where's Jongho?" Wooyoung asks, setting his bag down with a sigh of relief.
Mingi looks up, smirking.
"Pretty sure he only likes working in here because Yeosang was around," he replies, chuckling.
"Doesn't that also apply to you, Yunho?" Wooyoung can't help but join in, shooting Yunho a playful grin.
Yunho glances up, feigning innocence but failing to hide the slight blush creeping up his cheeks. He laughs, shaking his head as he tosses a dried herb into the mortar.
"Hey, I'm just here to help out. Mingi's presence is... a bonus." Wooyoung laughs, watching the two of them as they work.
Wooyoung rolls up his sleeves and joins Mingi and Yunho at the workbench, hands moving deftly among the jars and bottles as they begin restocking and organizing. They're packing up herbs, mixing salves, and filling small vials with bright, shimmering liquids that catch the light in fascinating ways.
Wooyoung flicks his fingers, summoning gentle sparks of magic to help measure ingredients precisely, his powers allowing them to grind and blend herbs in seconds and pour potions with a steady, invisible hand. It's almost a dance—one moment he's slicing roots with a tiny spell, the next he's conjuring a soft breeze to dry damp herbs instantly.
Mingi watches with an impressed grin, nudging Yunho.
"Makes us look bad," he jokes, chuckling as Wooyoung completes a row of neatly labeled bottles with a simple flick of his wrist.
Wooyoung just winks. "It's what I'm here for."
A few minutes later, the door creaks open, and Yeosang steps inside, his shoulders relaxed but his expression thoughtful. Wooyoung glances up, settling himself onto a nearby stool with an easy smile.
"Boring?" he asks, eyebrows raised knowingly. Yeosang shrugs, his lips curving up slightly.
"Not so bad," he replies, crossing the room to join them. "I actually like learning about the way things are structured. It's interesting to see all the working parts."
"You're such a nerd." Wooyoung laughs, shaking his head.
"Mean." Yeosang tilts his head with a feigned look of hurt.
Mingi snickers, and Yunho rolls his eyes, tossing an herb stem at Wooyoung. "Says the guy using his magic to label bottles."
Wooyoung stares at Mingi, feigning irritation. "I'm sorry—do you want to do this by hand like we used to, head physician?"
"No, sir," Mingi replies, snapping a mock salute. Wooyoung huffs, clearly annoyed, while Yunho breaks into laughter.
Yeosang shakes his head with a sigh. "Me and Jongho are going to pick herbs. Don't kill each other while I'm gone."
"Going to make out with him," Wooyoung mutters under his breath, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
Yeosang glares, though a hint of a blush dusts his cheeks. "We return with herbs, alright?" he insists.
"And a few hickeys," Wooyoung chimes in, unable to resist. Yeosang rolls his eyes and smacks Wooyoung's arm, visibly flustered, but Wooyoung only laughs harder, his laughter filling the small workshop as Yeosang tries to compose himself, muttering under his breath as he heads toward the door.
After they finish the orders, Wooyoung finds himself fidgeting, a restless energy building up now that the work is done. It isn't long before he's sneaking out of the workshop, his feet carrying him instinctively toward San's chambers. He moves carefully through the castle corridors, slipping past guards and servants with practiced ease. He's been here a thousand times, and he knows the path as well as he knows his own heartbeat. If anyone catches him, well... there's always magic to get him out of trouble.
When he finally reaches San's room, he opens the door quietly, slipping inside with a soft grin, only to be met by an empty room. The bed is neatly made, the faintest traces of San's scent lingering in the air. Wooyoung sighs, shoulders slumping slightly as he realizes that, of course, San isn't here.
Still, he lingers, glancing around the room that's become as familiar as his own.
Wooyoung glances around San's room, a mischievous thought crossing his mind. Should he snoop? He can't help but wonder if San has any surprises for him hidden away, just like he'd found the ring long before he was meant to. Maybe it's a bad habit, maybe it's just Wooyoung being a little mean, but the curiosity pulls him in.
He walks over to the wardrobe, opening it carefully, and his eyes land on one of San's shirts. It's big and white, probably far too large for him, but something compels him to take it. With a playful grin, he pulls it out and holds it up, contemplating the fabric.
Deciding to indulge himself, he lifts his own shirt, tossing it aside before slipping into San's. The shirt swallows him whole, hanging loosely on his frame, the sleeves nearly falling past his hands. He looks in the mirror, standing a little taller, pretending for a moment that he could be king, that he could wear this shirt with the same confidence San does.
Wooyoung laughs at himself, a soft sound tinged with longing. He just misses San. He grabs at the fabric and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of San—a warm, woodsy aroma—fills his senses, grounding him and making his heart flutter.
Just as he closes his eyes to savor the moment, the door swings open with a soft creak, and Wooyoung's breath catches in his throat.
"I wasn't—" Wooyoung starts to protest, but his words trail off as he watches San enter the room. Dressed casually, a stark contrast to his usual royal garb, San lets out a low laugh, shutting the door behind him with a click.
Wooyoung stands frozen, a mix of surprise and anticipation washing over him as San strides confidently toward him.
"San, wait," Wooyoung calls, though the protest feels weak as San reaches out, forcefully pulling him closer. Before Wooyoung can fully process what's happening, San's lips are on his, kissing him with an intensity that sends shockwaves through him. Wooyoung makes a noise of surprise, overwhelmed by the fierceness of the kiss, which feels almost desperate.
San leans down further, effortlessly picking Wooyoung up in one swift motion.
"This isn't—doesn't mean nothing," Wooyoung whines, feeling a mix of exhilaration and confusion, but his protests fade as San lays him down on the bed.
Hovering over him, San's gaze burns with an intensity that makes Wooyoung's heart race. Then, without hesitation, San dives back in, kissing him even more fervently, as if trying to communicate everything he feels in that single moment. Wooyoung melts beneath him, losing himself in the warmth and passion of San's embrace, the world outside fading away into nothing.
San's hands move deftly, slipping the waistband of Wooyoung's pants down with a firm yet gentle tug. Wooyoung's breath hitches in his throat, a thrill coursing through him as he realizes just how far this moment is about to go. The air is thick with tension, the world outside fading into a distant hum as San's intentions become clear.
"San—" Wooyoung starts to protest, but the words die on his lips as San's mouth descends, trailing soft kisses along his thighs. The sensation is electric, each kiss igniting a fire within him. San's lips brush against his skin, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake. He bites down lightly, just enough to draw a sharp gasp from Wooyoung.
"Incredibly rude," Wooyoung manages to murmur, half-heartedly trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He can feel the heat pooling in his core, anticipation making his heart race.
San glances up at him, his eyes dark with desire, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips.
"Just getting started," he replies, a playful challenge in his voice. Then he dives back into his exploration, his mouth roaming with purpose, leaving soft bites and lingering kisses that set Wooyoung's skin ablaze.
Each gentle bite against his thighs makes Wooyoung's breath hitch, every kiss a reminder of the pleasure building within him. San's hands roam over Wooyoung's hips, fingers pressing against the soft fabric, pulling him closer as he lavishes attention on the sensitive skin.
Wooyoung's fingers tangle in San's hair, urging him closer, pulling him in with an intensity that matches his own growing desire.
"San," he breathes, voice thick with yearning, "don't stop."
With every teasing lick and gentle nip, San draws out a symphony of sounds from Wooyoung—soft gasps, breathless sighs, each one pushing him further into a haze of pleasure. The sensation of San's warm mouth against his skin is overwhelming, every touch igniting a wildfire within him that leaves him craving more.
Wooyoung loses himself in the moment, surrendering completely to San's ministrations. It's so rare for San to get like this—so needy and fervent—that he feels a thrill run through him, something primal sparking to life.
Normally, Wooyoung is the one who takes charge, coaxing and guiding San. Today, San is the one taking what he wants, and Wooyoung relishes every moment of it. Maybe it's the way the oversized shirt clings to his body, he will definitely remember this.
Just as Wooyoung leans into the pleasure, his breath hitching in anticipation, their fun is abruptly cut off by a loud and harsh knock that reverberates through the room. San's entire body freezes, tension coiling between them. Wooyoung reacts instinctively, pulling the blankets over himself in a hurry, just in case the intruder would be bold enough to enter without permission.
"What is it?" San calls out coldly, his voice a sharp contrast to the heat of the moment, and Wooyoung can't help but feel a flutter in his heart. He loves that side of San—the commanding king, even when they're wrapped up in something far more intimate.
"There has been an incident, your majesty," comes the voice from outside. If Wooyoung had to guess, it sounds like Yunho. "Yeosang."
The moment he hears Yeosang's name, Wooyoung's heart drops. He scrambles up, pulling on his pants in a flurry of movement, every second feeling like an eternity. The last he saw of Yeosang, he was fine—picking herbs with Jongho but also, well, making out. The thought brings a mix of irritation and worry.
Oh, if Jongho made him upset... Wooyoung thinks, a flash of anger surging through him. He'll kill him himself.
But what if Yeosang is hurt? His mind races as he rushes out of San's room, his heart pounding in his chest. Each step echoes with urgency, the castle hallways stretching before him like a maze. He pushes past guards and servants, his focus unwavering as he navigates the familiar path to the workshop.
He bursts through the door, breathless and alert. The workshop is filled with a flurry of activity—Mingi and Hongjoong are there, exchanging worried glances. The sight of them only intensifies Wooyoung's anxiety, a knot tightening in his stomach.
"It's something magical," Mingi immediately says, his tone serious. "It's so strong that even I can sense it."
"Where is he?" Wooyoung demands, urgency lacing his words.
"His room." Hongjoong answers for Mingi, his brow furrowed with concern.
Without another moment's hesitation, Wooyoung marches forward, making his way to Yeosang's room. As he steps inside, he spots Yeosang sitting on the bed, Jongho and Seonghwa on either side of him, their expressions a mix of concern and helplessness.
"I'm fine," Yeosang says, attempting to meet Wooyoung's eyes, but there's a weakness in his voice that immediately sets alarm bells ringing in Wooyoung's mind. Something feels off—there's an odd tension in Yeosang's posture, a stiffness that doesn't belong.
"Move," Wooyoung commands, glancing at Jongho and Seonghwa. They comply without question, stepping aside to give him space. Wooyoung kneels down beside Yeosang, gently taking his hands in his own, feeling for any signs of injury. His gaze shifts to Yeosang's legs, searching for clues.
"We got back, and I went to help Jongho with the firewood for the cauldron, and I touched something... it hurt," Yeosang explains, letting out a sigh that sounds almost defeated. "Like a lot."
"Which hand?" Wooyoung asks, urgency creeping into his voice as he watches Yeosang hold out his right hand. There's a faint, unnatural energy radiating from it—almost like a sprout pushing through the skin. Wooyoung furrows his brow, feeling the magic pulsing beneath his fingers. "Does it still hurt?"
"Mingi tried to give me a remedy..." Yeosang's voice trails off, a frown creasing his brow.
"And?" Wooyoung presses, his heart racing.
"It felt like my body was rejecting it," Yeosang mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. "Threw it up as soon as it went down."
Wooyoung's stomach twists at the thought, a surge of worry coursing through him. He focuses on Yeosang's hand, noting the way the energy flickers erratically.
"It's definitely magic," he states firmly, placing one hand under Yeosang's and the other over the top, cradling it gently. "Tell me if it hurts."
As he begins to concentrate, Wooyoung feels the warm pulse of energy beneath his fingers. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the sensation, trying to discern what's causing Yeosang pain. He can almost visualize it—a sprout or some foreign entity that has latched itself under Yeosang's skin, its roots intertwining with his magic.
Taking a deep breath, Wooyoung tries to pull at the energy, envisioning it like a vine ensnared in Yeosang's flesh. He applies a careful pressure, attempting to coax it out without causing further harm.
"Okay." Yeosang pulls his hand away harshly, his face contorted in discomfort.
"You said you touched something?" Wooyoung gulps, anxiety creeping into his voice.
"Out by the firewood. I don't even know what it was." Yeosang's eyes dart away, as if he's trying to recall the moment, but the memory is clouded by the pain he's feeling now.
"I'll find it." Wooyoung nods, steeling himself. He stares at Yeosang, who seems increasingly uncomfortable with the foreign magic under his skin, his brow furrowing in worry. The flickering energy seems to pulse with a life of its own, making it clear that whatever is affecting Yeosang is not just a simple magic incident.
Wooyoung turns to leave the room, but then he sees all six of their friends jammed in the doorway, their faces lined with concern. They all look anxious, worry etched into their features as they take in the scene.
"Someone keep an eye on him," Wooyoung demands, his voice firm. "I'll go look out by the firewood."
He barely waits for a response, already sprinting down the hall, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His mind races with thoughts of what could have caused this magical disturbance, determination driving him forward. He knows he needs to act fast before whatever has latched onto Yeosang can do any more damage.
Wooyoung conjures a few orbs of light using his magic, their soft glow illuminating the area around the firewood pile. He begins sifting through the logs, pulling them apart and inspecting each one with his bare hands, the rough texture of the bark contrasting against the warmth of the magic radiating from him. He focuses intently, determined to find whatever might have caused Yeosang's injury.
"You're worried," San says, his voice cutting through Wooyoung's concentration as he approaches from behind.
"We can finish our little escapade later," Wooyoung huffs, flipping over another log. "I'm still wearing your shirt after all."
He glances down at the oversized fabric draping over him.
"What are you thinking?" San sighs, a hint of concern lacing his tone.
"If I explain it to you, it won't make any sense," Wooyoung mutters, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he tosses aside a log that's too heavy to be the culprit.
"Just try," San encourages, stepping closer to lend his support.
"Witches and mages don't exactly get along," Wooyoung explains, a knot tightening in his stomach. "I'm worried that someone may have targeted Yeosang to get to me. Or maybe whatever Yeosang touched was meant for me."
"Witches...?" San's confusion is palpable, and Wooyoung can see the gears turning in his mind.
"Magic of all kinds was banned in Aurora, San," Wooyoung sighs, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. "I don't expect you to know much about either at all."
"I know you," San counters, the intensity of his gaze unwavering. "And that you're worried."
Wooyoung pauses, flipping over a few more logs before coming to a halt, frustration mingling with guilt.
"And how will knowing that help me?" he snaps, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended. He takes a breath, the realization hitting him. "Sorry, that was a little mean."
"Let me help," San says, stepping closer, determination etched on his face.
"No." Wooyoung's response is quick and harsh, instinctively turning back to face San, only to see him frozen in place, taken aback by the suddenness of Wooyoung's refusal. "I don't want you and Yeosang hurt. Just...stay over there."
San's expression falters, disappointment flickering in his eyes.
"Wooyoung, I can handle myself," he insists, but the uncertainty in his voice betrays his confidence.
"I know you can," Wooyoung replies, his voice softening despite the urgency thrumming in his veins. "But this isn't just any magic. If it's targeting me, it could be dangerous for you too. I can't risk your safety."
He turns away, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration. The weight of the situation presses heavily on his shoulders, and he feels the heat of San's gaze boring into him. Wooyoung bites his lip, torn between his protective instincts and the undeniable connection he shares with San. He glances back, meeting San's earnest gaze, and the tension in the air shifts slightly.
"You're the king," Wooyoung reminds him, his voice firm. "Whether you like it or not, your life has more value."
"Wooyoung." San's tone is soft, a hint of frustration threading through his words.
"We are not arguing out here," Wooyoung insists, crossing his arms defiantly as he continues to search through the firewood.
"Why not? You know your life has just as much value as mine," San counters, his expression shifting to one of sadness rather than annoyance. "Maybe even more so because you help so many people. Your heart is big, Young-ah."
"So I've been told." Wooyoung murmurs, leaning forward to inspect something tucked behind the last row of the firewood, trying to distract himself from the weight of San's words.
"I'm serious, we're on equal playing fields. Regardless of our positions." San steps closer, his eyes earnest and unwavering. Wooyoung feels the pull of his words, the truth resonating within him, but he pushes it aside for now. He reaches forward and grabs at a small wooden craft hidden amongst the logs.
As he pulls it free, a rush of energy surges through him, making his skin prickle. The object is made of wooden sticks intricately tied together with some sort of vine, and it looks like it could stand up on its own if placed correctly.
"What is that?" San asks, stepping closer, his curiosity piqued as he studies the item in Wooyoung's hands.
"Witches," Wooyoung replies, spinning the totem between his fingers, the energy pulsing beneath the surface. "A...totem?"
"Do you know any witches?" San's brow furrows, concern creeping into his voice.
"A few," Wooyoung admits, his heart racing at the implications of what he's holding. The memory of those he knows flashes through his mind, each face accompanied by the weight of their powers and their choices.
"Would any of them do this? Hurt you?" San presses, his tone urgent.
Wooyoung hesitates, the air around them thickening with tension.
"It's possible," he finally says, feeling a shiver of unease. "But it doesn't have to be someone I know. Witches can create magic that targets specific people without needing a direct connection."
"Then we need to figure out who did this," San declares, his voice firm with resolve.
"I'll need to get in touch with those I know. They might have information on any new witches that have emerged," Wooyoung says, his mind racing with possibilities.
"What do you need from me?" San asks, his voice filled with concern. Wooyoung glances at him, the weight of the totem's energy still pulsing in his hand, reminding him of the complexity this all might bring.