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Fog sits around the pond, and it makes it feel like the bridge is suspended in a void, arching over murky water with no beginning and no end. Taehyun leans over the railing, watching leaves float on the water’s surface, swaying back and forth aimlessly as the water remains still, undisturbed. Behind him, there is ruckus and commotion - the boys in his entourage have taken to fighting over something or other again, more likely than not a perceived slight to their honor that is nothing but an excuse to tug and shove at each other for sport while their companions jeer and encourage them. Some other day, perhaps Taehyun would join in - he can tussle with the best of them; he does not have much to offer in the way of brawn but a lot in the way of a fighting spirit. Perhaps he does not win as often as he should, given that he is an imperial prince, but he fights hard enough to preserve his dignity either way.
But not today - today, he is taken by melancholy.
Soobin leans on the railing next to him - always the one least likely to be in the middle of anything the six of them get up to, always sticking to the margins. Always a bit quieter. Slower to act than the others. Taehyun often finds him equal parts comforting and frustrating - he is a steadying presence, but Taehyun does not always wish to be steadied. He is restless in spirit. Perpetually driven forward, by a force he does not always understand.
But whenever he looks to his side in the middle of his mad rush forward, there is Soobin there, at his side, standing quietly even if a thousands things to say swirl behind his eyes. Even now he does not seem ambivalent to the row of their companions - he seems equal parts disdainful and amused, but makes no effort to express his sentiment to anyone. Taehyun reads it off his face instead, and smiles to himself as he looks away again, the weight on his chest somewhat eased.
The shouts behind his back continue, until they cut off abruptly, the sudden silence as shocking as a shout, finally making Taehyun look away from the water.
Immediately, the cause becomes obvious, as the veil of milky fog is parted by colorful fabric, emerging from one of the elusive, barely-there ends of the bridge. Taehyun and his companions forgot they were not actually alone in the gardens, but now they are starkly reminded of it, as a gathering of omegas approaches them at the steady, slow, measured pace so characteristic of omegas on a stroll. He has wondered many a time, if perhaps omegas were taught to walk to the beating of a drum, with how uniform the step of an omega foot always seemed to be. There was not a foot, not the edge of a skirt out of place - a neat file, their chaperone at the head of the procession, straight-backed and tight-mouthed, bright red lips set in a line and a chrysanthemum pin of the same color nestled neatly in a coiffed head of perfectly neat hair, a pale, bony hand wrapped tightly around the wooden handle of a paper fan. Chaperones always seemed to Taehyun needlessly intimidating, like spiders lurking at the edges of their nets for the slightest tremble of impropriety, ready to strike and overwhelm any unsuspecting alpha or omega who would dare step out of line and be caught in their trap.
This chaperone as well measures Taehyun and his companions up with sharp, discerning eyes as they scramble to recover their dignity, standing up straight and fixing their robes until they sit neatly on their bodies again. As the omegas approach them, the young alphas bend at the waist one by one, lowering their heads to show respect to the madame, until only Taehyun is left standing straight, the only one not required to bow.
He lowers his head in respect, anyway. He has respect for his elders - and apprehension towards chaperones.
“Madame Yoo.”
He is not familiar with every single courtier at the Imperial Court, was never truly required to, but he has spent enough time poring over tomes on heraldry and family colors to recognize the red and green of the paper fan the omega is holding, and connect it in his mind to the heavy brow and morose mouth of General Yoo, so clearly reflected in the face of this chaperone.
The chaperone bows while Taehyun lifts his head again, and the omegas behind her follow suit, jewelry jingling like windchimes as they move. The motion of their clothes stirs up their scents, sending a gust of fresh sweetness their way - a deluge of fruit and flowers, sugar and milk, teasing at the confines of a young alpha’s heart, coaxing it out of where it is to be stored, and only let out for the most worthy of causes. He sees from the corner of his eye as his companions raise their eyes as the scents reach their noses, their curiosity aroused. The omegas that have arrived with the chaperone seem to be of their age, and—
Sweet grapes, and dark hair smoothing over the familiar curve of a graceful shoulder as it slips over it and spills into the air, like sunlight pouring out from between parted clouds. Taehyun know this hair, knows that shoulder, knows the curve of the exposed ear that gleams with a silver earring, knows that scent.
“Your Highness.”
With the greeting done, Madame Yoo straightens up again, as do Taehyun’s companions, and slowly, the omegas behind her follow as well, a wave of flowing fabric as they stand up just to so modestly fold their hands in front of themselves, lowering their heads bashfully instead of politely, many of them obviously caught between averting their eyes and eyeing the company of the Emperor’s son. It is a prestigious post to have, one Taehyun was told is thought to promise the young alphas brilliant appointments in the future in the same breath that he was told never to promise any of the sort. Each should be assigned what he is suited for, and alphas suited for merry company are so rarely suited to posts of great importance, in his father’s estimation.
Taehyun would have liked to disagree, but he has spent enough time with his companions to understand most of them did not come equipped with the sharpest sense. Did not have to develop it in the first place, perhaps. They are all sons of old, established families. Just like Taehyun, futures were promised to them by the very virtue of them managing to be born at all. They were provided for, planned for. Alphas with nothing to strive for but perhaps the attention of beautiful omegas, a winner’s tassel on the sheaths of their swords from some competition or other.
These omegas need not care about it, however. To them, all that matters is that an alpha close to the Emperor’s son would be a splendid husband to have. It makes him nauseous to think of. He knows these boys, knows their recklessness, their carelessness, knows which words they speak of these omegas with behind closed doors, in the privacy of the company of other alphas. He know what they think, because he thinks it too, in unguarded, helpless, inadvertent moments.
With the right scent teasing at his nose.
Taehyun’s company parts politely for the omegas to let them pass. The smell of sweet grapes gets starker, more distinct. All the eyes travel to the loveliest of all the faces. To the lips that need no paint to be eye-catching, the eyes that need no sunlight to shine brightly. Intelligent eyes. Attentive eyes. The boy in Taehyun thinks about the lips, and the man budding in him thinks of the eyes. Twitching towards the faces so obviously turned in his direction, but never rising to meet anyone’s eyes, perfetly polite. Lowering his eyes as his hand goes to his earring, adjusting it to sit even more perfectly before he nudges his hair back over his shoulder, letting it drape over his back, black on a canvas of a pale peach overcoat.
How would it look, draping over black? Over silver? Over imperial purple? How would it feel draping over his own shoulder? Pressed into his cheek? Would his hand hold lightly onto the crook of Taehyun’s arm, or would it hold him firmly? Confident, or possessive. Proud to be at his side.
What would the grapes smell like, mingling with a note of spice? Warm spiced wine and comfort.
A voice sounds out, familiar but not quite tied to a specific name in Taehyun’s mind. High and sweet - belonging to an omega from the Ahn family, the one with the gentle smile, complaining about the fog being so dense one is afraid to make a step in fear that the next one might miss solid ground entirely.
The chaperone tuts, and the omega curls into herself, chastised by the sound alone, but then a peach overcoat is sent awhirl as the omega in front of her turns to exchange private smiles with her, eyes narrowing fondly as the omegas chuckle silently at each other, before they widen, leaving the Ahn omega’s face to turn towards Taehyun, the face drawing in surprise. He looks towards Soobin then, who stands at Taehyun’s side, and he is suddenly so aware of how unimpressive he is. Thin and wiry. Not as tall as Soobin, or Jinho, not as broad as Songwook or Eungjun. Dressed in drab blacks and whites, dignified but lacking in the fanciful colors an omega’s eyes may be drawn to. Big-eyed like a frog, like a fish, staring so stupidly at a pretty omega’s hair like a boy who has never seen a lock of hair before. Of course the eyes do not linger on him - why would they? What does he have that could catch his fancy?
Beside him, Soobin seems unaware of the attention he has drawn, staring somewhat listlessly at the shuffling skirts without any particular interest. Taehyun envies him - his disinterest as much as his alpha-like build. He has been telling himself he would grow to be just like him whenever he reaches his age, but as Soobin continues to evade him in years, so does his height, the broadness of his shoulders, the handsome features of his face. Soobin grows before his eyes into an eligible alpha bachelor, while Taehyun in his own eyes remains the same, odd-limbed, ill-fitting creature. Something odd and misshapen, wearing the skin of an imperial prince.
Omega Yeonjun purses his mouth, and turns to face forward again without giving Taehyun another look. Omega Sohyeon, one of the omegas so often found at his side, settles her hand in the crook of Omega Yeonjun’s elbow, and leans close to say something into his ear. Their shoulders shake as they laugh, and Sohyeon casts a look behind them, but her eyes as well go to Soobin before straying to Eungjun, lingering wistfully before she turns away and lets go of her friend’s arm. Yeonjun does not turn in their direction again.
The talk at the court is, he is being all but courted by Alpha Myeongjin these days. They were seen in the theater together more than once; seen walking at each other’s side in the gardens. Alpha Myeongjin is a good match for him - reasonable. The Ji family is well-off, but not so illustrious that they would not find a Choi wife an acceptable match. Especially one as beautiful as Yeonjun, with as impeccable a reputation. Alpha Myeongjin is respectable; skilled with his words, charming company. Good with omegas, in a way that teeters perfectly on the edge of appropriate without tipping over, but he has been nothing but toward with Omega Yeonjun, as far as Taehyun has heard. There have been no ill rumors of them, no stories of sullied honor. If there is anything other than polite courtship between them, then it has been carried out in perfect secrecy. If Yeonjun’s lovely lips have been claimed, if an alpha’s scent has twined with his before, then no one knows except for the two of them.
The thought squeezes at his chest painfully, wistfully. He cannot help but imagine himself in that place. Kissing Omega Yeonjun away from the prying eyes of the court. Staining his scent with his own. Holding him. Touching him. Brushing his hair away from his neck so he may press his lips to it. Intertwining their fingers to bring them closer. Saying something clever, to make those lips twitch in a smile. Saying something flattering that would bring a blush to his lovely cheeks. Staying silent, perhaps, wonderfully, impossibly, with his arms wound around that waist, with his face buried in that hair, while Yeonjun told him all that was hidden behind those eyes.
They have spoken before, in a manner of speaking. During the New Year, Yeonjun was in the front courtyard with his cousins, giving away favors from their woven baskets, and Taehyun told him that his basket seemed heavy, with every intention to ease his burden by taking it on himself, but Omega Yeonjun only graced him with the most heart-stopping smile he has ever seen and assured him that it was not at all, Your Highness, before bowing to him with exceeding politeness and leaving him without giving him the leave to get his wits about him enough to do what he intended to. He was left with such a terrible weight in his stomach, not eased in the slightest by the look of pity Soobin gave him afterwards.
He is the only one who knows of Taehyun’s affection for him - the only one he dared tell, because he is the only one Taehyun trusts to take him seriously, but all he seems to ever have for Taehyun is pity.
Taehyun is to have everything he wishes for, everything he may need to be the prince his father wishes them to be, except this. Except him. He could drown himself in gold if he wished to, but Omega Yeonjun would never turn around to look at him.
Soobin glances over at him, and Taehyun realizes his own scent has bittered. He is being too obvious in his longing - but still, his companions have taken their conversation back up without paying him much mind. Only Soobin’s attention is on him, only Soobin’s eyes study his face before his face softens with that familiar look of sad compassion.
“Omega Yeonjun looked lovely today,” he says with such strange an inflection that to Taehyun, it is all too obvious that he is ill-suited to gauging the charm of omegas. Taehyun is not sure Soobin looked at him at all.
He scoffs, but it brings a smile to his face. “Yes, he always does.”