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Keeho was used to being watched. He had grown up beneath chandeliers and banners, beneath painted ceilings and the weight of expectation. He was watched by nobles, by servants, by enemies, and by allies. Every step he took echoed in halls that remembered kings before him, and every breath he drew felt borrowed from the crown he wore.
But Jiung’s gaze was different. It wasn’t heavy or judging, or laced with ambition. It was something quieter. Gentle. Almost… reverent. It did not press against his shoulders like the others did. It did not demand anything in return. Jiung never said much, but he was always there, stationed by Keeho’s door, following his horse down muddy roads, standing at attention during council meetings, always one step behind and three steps too far. Close enough to shield him from a blade. Far enough to never presume.
Keeho had often wondered what Jiung saw when the guard looked at him.
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆
One rain-drenched afternoon, with the sky hanging low and bruised above the estate, Keeho arrived in his study early, shrugging off his cloak and calling for tea. A servant hurried forward to take the damp fabric before disappearing as quickly as they had come. His boots left faint prints on the stone floor. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, darkening the collar of his tunic as the hearth crackled faintly in the background. He stepped toward his desk and frowned.
Something lay on the ground near his chair. It was folded parchment, smudged on one corner. Definitely not official court documents. No seal. No ribbon. Nothing that marked it as meant for noble hands.
He leaned down and picked it up. The script was slanted, careful. The ink pressed deeper in places, as if the writer had lingered too long over certain words. It seemed like something private, and yet Keeho’s curiosity got the best of him.
He smiles like he was carved from sunrise,
And I-
I have no right to look too long.
But I do.
When he isn’t watching.
Keeho blinked. Was this… poetry?
His laughter lights torches in places I thought long frozen.
I would protect that sound with my life.
He will never know.
Keeho’s breath caught. The room felt smaller somehow. Warmer. Too quiet. It wasn’t signed. But he didn’t need a signature. Only one person had been in his study this morning.
Jiung.
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆
That night, Keeho said nothing. He didn’t ask, didn’t accuse. He didn’t even return the parchment. He held it long after the candles burned low, tracing the indentation of the pen strokes with his thumb as though he could feel the hesitation behind them. He held it folded between his fingers, reading the words over and over until they blurred.
The next day, he watched Jiung from the corner of his eye. Nothing about him changed. He was just as stoic, calm, and watchful as he always was. A silent pillar, perfectly unreadable. His armor gleamed dully beneath the corridor light, posture straight enough to rival the marble columns lining the wall. But Keeho could feel it now, the way Jiung stood a little straighter when Keeho laughed. The way his fingers twitched when Keeho stood too close to the edge of the garden ledge. The way he watched Keeho like someone guarding something irreplaceable. The softness that flickered across his expression for a heartbeat too long before discipline smoothed it away.
It made Keeho ache.
Because he knew what Jiung’s soulmark looked like. He had glimpsed it once during sword practice, when Jiung’s collar had shifted just enough to reveal a single black handprint.
And he knew where it was, just under his collarbone.
He had never tested Jiung.
Until today.
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆
The hallway was empty as Jiung followed him toward the evening council session. Rain trickled softly against the windows. Their footsteps echoed against stone walls lined with aging tapestries, the air cool and restless. A draft swirled around them.
Keeho stopped walking.
Jiung stopped immediately behind him.
Keeho turned. “Jiung.”
Jiung blinked. “Your Grace?”
Keeho held out the parchment. Jiung’s face paled instantly. The color drained so quickly it was almost painful to witness, his composure fracturing in the faint hitch of his breath.
“I believe you dropped this,” Keeho said softly.
Jiung looked at the page like it might cut him. “I… it’s not-”
“I read it,” Keeho said, stepping closer. “All of it.”
There was a long, terrible silence. Then Jiung whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Keeho’s voice was too calm for his own heart. “I’ve read a lot of poetry. None of it ever felt like that.”
Jiung lowered his gaze. The mask slipped just enough to reveal something raw beneath it. “It wasn’t meant for you.”
“I think it was.”
Jiung’s breath caught. “I shouldn’t have written it. I know my place.”
Keeho stepped close enough to close the air between them. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Jiung’s skin, to see the faint pulse in his throat.
“I don’t care about place,” he said. Then, softly, he asked, “Can I touch you?”
Jiung’s eyes lifted, dark and wide. “Why?”
Keeho reached up, hand hovering near Jiung’s collar. His fingers trembled despite himself. “Because if what I’m hoping is true…”
His fingers brushed Jiung’s collarbone and the world lit up. A rainbow glow surged from Keeho’s skin like a living flame, the soulmark flaring against his fingertips in a soft burst of color and magic. It spilled into the dim corridor, prismatic light crawling across their skin as if answering a call long delayed. It reflected in Jiung’s eyes, and the in the matching glow that bloomed on Jiung’s own collar.
Jiung stumbled back a step, stunned.
“You… it’s you?” he said, breathless. Keeho nodded.
“I never knew,” Jiung whispered. “I thought… if I touched you, you’d-”
“I would’ve lit up,” Keeho said, smiling. He was shaky, breathless, wonder breaking through him like sunlight after a storm. “Just like this.”
Jiung opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words wouldn’t come. For the first time, the stoic sentinel looked entirely unguarded, awe softening every sharp edge of him. Keeho stepped forward and pressed the parchment into Jiung’s hand. “I want you to write me more poems,” he said, “But next time…”
He took Jiung’s hand, lacing their fingers together as the last shimmer of light faded into a gentle warmth beneath their skin, steady and certain, “Sign your name.”