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The stillness of the night surrounds him as he lays on his futon, head resting upon the bolster. His insomnia has continued to eat away at his sanity the longer he has been alone, which has already been three growths upon the moon’s surface.
His attempts at sufficient rest are fruitless, because it will not be peaceful, as he lays as only himself in his cold bed. He hears the servants sitting outside of his room, giggling to each other in belief their Crown Prince has finally fallen asleep for the night. Keita has no will to bother them, because getting their attention will not get him what he wants, will not bring about the end of his yearning to close his eyes for the last time until morning. There is not even much he can do to complain, because he had done this himself, he had made the orders, he had the information that needed to be gathered. Even if he has to suffer for this short while, the prize at the end of this short bout will be priceless. It will be what he needs to start the end of this endless internal war: to the attempts on his life, the destruction of the common folks’ wellbeing, to the enemies of the North who look at them as prized meat.
Keita’s ear perks up as the hushed voices of those outside his room start to pick up, a small frenzy breaking out as bold footsteps move down the hall. He recognizes their persistent vigor immediately, hiding his smile into the duvet swathing his body, because the reason for his exhaustion has brought itself home. There is a conversation between those standing out in the hall of the palace, something about propriety, something about the time, but eventually those waiting relent and let the doors open. The older ladies and eunuchs can’t ignore that the importance of the discussion that is too great for their Crown Prince to worry over the when and where it was presented to him. His room’s grand wooden doors open only a small breadth before they shut once again, leaving the newly presented figure in his room with his back turnt to them.
They shuffle about, the slipping off of an sochangui and the sound of it being hung upon on of the small hooks on the wall make its’ way to his ears, a familiarity seeping into his bones as it settles over him. Keita opens his eyes despite himself to watch their shadow on the wall, thankful that the candles hadn’t extinguished themselves just yet. The sound of their hwando being placed upon his desk is a comfort, the fabric strap lightly slapping against the side for a moment as they start to step out of their hwajang using the wooden furniture as stability making him want to laugh. He pretends to sleep as they toe closer to his “sleeping” form, with an ease that is comfortable between them.
He feels the warmth entering his body as they slide in behind him, body wrapping around his own, as they tuck their nose into his nape. “You took three days,” he breaks the silence, his lover wrapping even tighter around his waist, “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come back.”
A laugh bubbles up through the body holding his own, “I will never leave your side, Jeoha-Mama,” Keita huffs, turning himself to face Hanbin, feeling a deep-seated fear that this isn’t real, that this is just figment of his desperately lonely brain. His heart burns seeing his face after so many days being deprived of it, he wants to commit it to memory again like he always wishes to when they are laid like this. Hanbin is as gorgeous as he always is: strong jaw and high cheek bones, deep dimples and his thin eyes, and his smile that is only reserved for himself. His dark hair is slightly stuck to his face due to the rain that has been raging against the windows for many hours, still he looks as handsome as the day he left. Keita presses forward to kiss him, nothing that will alert those listening at the door to know of what they do when no one is watching, just letting him know how much he missed him. Still, the action is not enough to show much the aching in his chest had destroyed him as he watched Hanbin leave on Guri, and hadn’t heard news until the man had slid into his room. There isn’t enough words in their shared languages for Keita to describe the ways he felt incomplete when he was no longer there.
They’ve been firmly kept together since Keita was sixteen—Hanbin being fifteen—and even if they do get separated for small tasks, they were never as far as they were these past few days. Nobody could accompany the love of his life, because it would let their enemies know that they were onto them, that Keita was building a case against them to provide the court. It was a death wish for anyone else other than Hanbin, which made that distance so much harder, because any communication could mean that his love was going to be in trouble. He’d tried to not worry, to believe in him, but he hasn’t slept, he’s barely ate in his absence. Jihoo had been hovering like the worrisome child he is by trying to keep him distracted with his work, or following him to meals and taking walks with him. All of it made the stabbing in his heart worse, because he knows Hanbin put him up to it, he knew his lover was just as worried about him, that this care goes both ways.
He pulls back only a few centimeters, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Hanbin smiles at him in that absurdly cute of his. His fox kisses him sweetly, pulling them so close together that they was no space between them even on the platform which was already pressed for space. Both of them are smiling into this small declaration of love, hands gripping each other’s hanboks tightly as if they would disappear if they were let go of each other. Maybe they would break apart if they do, maybe those who wish to kill them will realize what they are and execute them on the spot. Keita would be happy to die in Hanbin’s arms, even if the downfall of the kingdom of Joseon were to happen because of it.
What use is a world without his love, what use is a life that is not whole?