Chapter Text
Mingyu walks in through the extravagant halls of the DeokSu Palace, alongside his sister. His sparkling eyes peruse all around the venue. The decor is extravagant as expected, opulent chandeliers, beautiful arrangements of white flowers, lilies and roses. The live band played a soft tone on the violins and about 50 butlers pacing across with an endless supply of champagne to serve. The entire venue screamed grandeur with people chattering about in their most expensive garments, mingling with the most charitable tone they could muster. Mingyu’s attention however, zeroed in on one person. The person who remained at the very corner of the venue, poker face intact and posture rigid, except the occasional insincere quirk of his lips he’d give to the people he deemed deserving of it.
What a pretentious jerk.. Does he think he’s more superior than everyone here? Mingyu thought before his attention was diverted to his sister, Minseo slightly pinching him.
“Earth to Kim Mingyu? Where’s your head?” She added annoyingly.
Kim Mingyu was beacon of charisma and effortless charm with his tall height, alluring personality and flashy canines although such trait’s don’t always come handy when you’re The South Korean President’s son, trying not to get into yet another controversy that can cost him his mother’s presidency.
“Mingyu, honestly, you’re going to cause an international incident one of these days,” his sister, Minseo, hissed, her voice low but sharp. She tugged at the lapel of his perfectly tailored ebony suit, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection. Mingyu let out a sigh before holding his sister by the shoulder. “Relax, Minseo-yah,” Mingyu spoke, flashing her a grin. “I’m on my best behavior.” He continued, moving his right hand to his chest as if making a promise.
“ 'Best behavior’ for you seems to involve flirting with every diplomat under forty and nearly knocking over a priceless celadon vase,” she retorted, her eyes narrowing. “And don’t even get me started on your interactions with Prince Jeon.” Mingyu’s smile faltered slightly. “What about him?”
“You glare at each other like you’re about to start a brawl,” Minseo said, her voice laced with concern. “It’s incredibly awkward. You’re supposed to be representing our country, not starting a feud.”
“He started it,” Mingyu muttered, crossing his arms. “He’s always looking at me like I’m some kind of… nuisance.”
“Well that'd make the two of us" Minseo muttered lowly. "He’s reserved, Mingyu. That’s just his personality,” Minseo sighed. “He’s a prince, and he has a lot of pressure on him. Especially with his… situation.” She trailed off, a subtle reminder of the hushed rumors that circulated about Wonwoo’s parentage.
Mingyu shifted uncomfortably at that. He knew about the rumours. He didn’t particularly care about the royal family’s internal dramas, but even the densest of people couldn’t deny the undercurrent of tension that always seemed to surround Wonwoo.
“Just… try to be civil,” Minseo pleaded, her eyes searching his. “For Mom, for the country, for everyone’s sanity.”
“Fine, fine,” Mingyu conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be a perfect angel so you can stop worrying and go talk to that man over there you’ve been eyeing for the past 10 minutes” He shot his sister a mischievous smile which made her roll her eyes before she hesitantly walked away with a curt nod of her head.
As soon as Minseo was out of sight, Mingyu turned, his gaze sweeping back across the room, and landed on the man he saw earlier, still in the same position as earlier but now sporting a flute of champagne. Prince Jeon Wonwoo. The prince stood alone, a figure of quiet intensity, as his siren eyes remained locked at an empty space, his expression unreadable. Mingyu felt a familiar surge of irritation.
Why did he always look so… detached?
Their paths had crossed countless times at state events, at diplomatic summits, at carefully choreographed photo opportunities. Each encounter was pervaded by forced smiles and strained pleasantries. Mingyu, viewed Wonwoo as a cold, unapproachable enigma while Wonwoo had always found Mingyu’s exuberance grating, his easy confidence and reckless attitude a stark reminder of his own carefully constructed reserve.
As their gazes locked though, the tension was palpable. The air crackled with a silent, unspoken animosity. Wonwoo had been the first to look away as he gets summoned by his younger brother. It, was his older brother's wedding after all
A few hours Later.
The tension in Wonwoo's body had slightly loosened as he walked ahead, inspecting the decorations and alas stood in front of a multi-tiered cake adorned with the national symbols of both South Korea and a visiting European nation. It sat precariously on a silver platter, a symbol of the fragile peace they were all attempting to maintain. Wonwoo slightly furrowed his eyebrows and his gaze moved to the man closer to his periphery than he anticipated.
Kim Mingyu
Mingyu, surrounded by a circle of aides and diplomats, engaged in conversation, gestured animatedly, one hand holding an empty flute of champagne and his other coming dangerously close to the cake. A flicker of unease ran through Wonwoo. He had a premonition, a sense of impending disaster.
“Careful, Kim Mingyu-sii,” he had said, his voice low and measured, cutting through the surrounding chatter. Mingyu, being cut off mid sentence, turned, his smile faltering almost immediately. “Relax, Prince Jeon. I’m not going to drop it.” The words were dismissive, laced with a hint of playful mockery.
Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. He had never liked Mingyu’s casual disregard for protocol. “That’s not the point, Kim Mingyu-sii, this is delicate… presentation.” He gestured vaguely towards the towering, multi-tiered cake, “It’s meant to symbolize… unity.”
“Unity? Or a sugary death trap?” Mingyu quipped, his eyes twinkling. “Honestly, it looks like it’s about to topple over on its own. Needs a bit more structural integrity, if you ask me.”
“I did not ask Kim Mingyu-sii,” Wonwoo retorted almost immediately through gritted teeth. “And it’s perfectly stable. If you would simply refrain from waving your hands around like a… a windmill, it would remain so.”
“A windmill??? Hah! Harsh, Prince Jeon. I’m simply trying to add a little… dynamism to this otherwise rather staid affair.” Mingyu gestured with a flourish, nearly knocking over a tray of champagne flutes. “See? A little bit of excitement.”
Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed, in sheer scorn “Excitement is not what we’re aiming for at my brother’s wedding Kim Mingyu-sii. We’re aiming for… composure. Dignity. Respect.”
“Oh, come on, Wonwoo,” Mingyu said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, using his first name with deliberate informality. “Loosen up a little. You’re starting to look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.”
“I’m not… I’m not…,” Wonwoo stammered, his cheeks slightly flushing. “And you will address me as Your royal highness.”
“Or what? You’ll have me banished to the kitchen to help clean up the inevitable mess?” Mingyu grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because honestly, I’d rather be there. They’ve got some amazing pastries.”
“You are incorrigible,” Wonwoo muttered, his gaze fixed on the cake, which seemed to sway precariously in the subtle air currents of the ballroom. “Just… just stay away from the cake, Kim Mingyu-sii Please. And I suggest you switch to water, too much alcohol won’t do you good.”
“Did Prince Jeon Wonwoo say 'Please?’ Well, aren’t we being polite all of a sudden? And dear Prince, you likely don't know but I can hold my liquor very well.” Mingyu teased, his mocking smile intact though he did take a step back. “Alright, alright, I’ll be good. But don’t blame me if this thing spontaneously combusts from sheer boredom.” He leaned in again, his voice low. “Though, a little fire would definitely spice things up, wouldn’t it?”
Wonwoo sighed, a mixture of exasperation and a reluctant amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Kim Mingyu-sii, if you don't cease your ridiculous comments, I will be forced to have you removed."
"Removed? From the party? But who will keep you from being so serious?" Mingyu feigned a look of deep concern. "Besides, I was just about to tell you about the rumor that the icing is actually made of-"
He was cut off by Wonwoo’s sharp intake of breath as Mingyu’s hand brushed against the platter.
The cake, a monument to diplomatic niceties, was about to become a casualty of their long standing dislike.
As Mingyu’s hand brushed against the platter, the cake wobbled, teetered, and then, with a slow-motion inevitability, began to fall. A collective gasp filled the room.
Wonwoo’s heart pounded against his ribs. He watched, frozen, eyes wide as the cake crashed, onto the two men standing in front of it, shoving the duo to the floor, as they lay in the sticky, sugary mess of national symbols and shattered expectations. The silence that followed was deafening. Then, chaos erupted. Shouts, gasps, the frantic clicking of camera shutters.
Wonwoo’s gaze met Mingyu’s for the third time that night. A mixture of shock and dawning horror flickered across his face. “You—,” Wonwoo began, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “Me?” Mingyu retorted, scoffing. His voice rising. “You were the one who—!”
“Oh my god..” Wonwoo registers dimly before a camera flash goes off right in their faces, momentarily blinding them.