Work Text:
Riki was seven when a boy asked to marry him.
It wasn’t shouted or laughed through, it was said quietly, seriously, like a secret meant only for the two of them.
They sat beneath the swings, legs stretched out in the dirt. The sun filtered through the trees, and the chains creaked gently as if listening.
“If we’re princes,” the boy said, carefully braiding two dandelions together, “we should marry someone we like a lot.”
Riki blinked at him. “Are you a prince?”
The boy smiled, shy but proud. “Maybe.”
So they held a makeshift wedding by the swings.
Sunghoon slipped the flower ring onto Riki’s finger with surprising care, tongue poking out in concentration. Riki did the same, hands trembling because suddenly it felt important. Like this was something he wasn’t supposed to mess up.
“I’ll find you again. I promise,” Sunghoon said when it was over and his nanny started calling him.
Riki nodded. “I’ll wait.”
He didn’t know waiting would take twenty years.
<><><><>
When the letter arrived, Riki felt like a child again.
The paper was thick and warm under his fingers, the wax seal pressed so deeply it felt permanent. The words blurred together until his eyes caught on a single name.
Park Sunghoon. The prince of a kingdom Riki had never even heard of. He looked it up.
It was a real place. It existed.
His chest tightened.
The memories came rushing back. Not clear images, but feelings. The warmth of the sun. The sound of laughter. The way someone had once looked at him like he was everything. Like he was worth choosing.
“This is ridiculous,” Riki whispered, even as his hands shook.
But the ache in his chest felt familiar.
<><><><>
The flight was quiet.
Riki stared out the window, watching clouds stretch endlessly below him. Somewhere over the ocean, he pressed his forehead to the glass and let himself imagine a boy with messy hair and hands stained yellow from dandelion petals.
What if Sunghoon didn’t remember him?
What if he did?
A royal attendant handed him tea mid-flight, smiling kindly. “You’ll be taken care of,” she said gently.
Riki didn’t know why, but the words made his eyes sting.
<><><><>
Sunghoon was not sitting on a throne when Riki met him again for the first time in twenty years.
He was pacing.
The moment Riki stepped into the room, Sunghoon froze, then turned, eyes wide and shining, breath catching like he’d been running.
“...It’s really you.”
Riki swallowed. “You grew taller.”
Sunghoon laughed, a breathy, disbelieving sound. “So did you.”
He stepped closer, slow, as if afraid Riki might vanish. When Sunghoon reached out, his hand hovered between them.
“Can I?” he asked.
Riki nodded.
Sunghoon took his hand like something fragile.
<><><><>
The kingdom’s air was colder than Riki expected.
As he walked through the castle grounds on his own self-guided tour, he shivered, more from nerves than temperature. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was clutching his coat until a familiar voice spoke behind him.
“You’re cold.”
Sunghoon stood there, holding a scarf. It was soft, blue, and clearly handmade.
“I-- I don’t know what you like anymore,” Sunghoon said quickly, suddenly shy. “But you used to hate itchy fabric.”
Riki blinked. “You remember that?”
Sunghoon smiled sheepishly. “You complained the whole afternoon.”
He gently wrapped the scarf around Riki’s neck, fingers careful, never brushing skin unless allowed. It smelled faintly like soap and something warm.
“...Thank you,” Riki murmured.
Sunghoon beamed like he’d just been knighted.
<><><><>
The first night in the palace, Riki couldn’t sleep. The room was too big. Too quiet. The bed felt unfamiliar beneath him. After tossing for hours, he finally slipped out into the hallway and made his way to the kitchen, only to find Sunghoon already there, sitting on the floor with two cups of tea, as if he’d known Riki would be coming.
“Why are you on the floor?” Riki asked.
Sunghoon looked up and shrugged. “It’s nice.”
“Okay,” Riki murmured, joining the prince on the floor.
“Jet lag?” Sunghoon guessed, passing Riki a cup of tea.
Riki nodded.
They sat side by side on the cool tile floor, backs against the wall, sipping tea in silence.
“You used to hum when you couldn’t sleep,” Sunghoon said softly, breaking the silence.
Riki blinked. “I did?”
Sunghoon nodded. “Whenever you tried to sleep on the park bench with your mom. It was always off-key.”
Riki laughed quietly, shoulders relaxing.
Without thinking, he leaned slightly into Sunghoon’s side.
Sunghoon froze, then slowly leaned back.
They stayed like that until dawn when a palace attendant found them and shooed them away.
<><><><>
They talked for hours about everything and nothing. About food they liked, music they didn’t, the strange paths their lives had taken. Sunghoon listened like every word mattered. Riki found himself smiling without realizing it.
At dinner, Sunghoon quietly moved Riki’s plate closer when he noticed he couldn’t reach it comfortably.
When Riki yawned, Sunghoon pretended not to notice, but gently guided him back to his room anyway.
“Rest.” Sunghoon said softly.
Riki paused at the door. “Sunghoon?”
“Yes?”
“...You really waited?”
Sunghoon smiled, small and sincere. “Always.”
<><><><>
Love didn’t arrive loudly.
It arrived in borrowed sweaters when the palace halls were cold. In shared desserts eaten off the same fork. In the way Sunghoon instinctively reached for Riki during loud events.
One afternoon, they walked through the palace gardens. Riki stopped when he noticed dandelions growing wild near the path.
Sunghoon followed his gaze.
“...I kept them,” Sunghoon said shyly. “In the gardens. Every spring.”
Riki laughed softly, eyes watering. “You’re unbelievable.”
Sunghoon grinned. “You married me.”
<><><><>
It happened in the kitchen, like most things tended to lately.
Riki had wandered in late one night, unable to sleep again, only to find Sunghoon barefoot and focused intensely on trying to bake something.
“You’re going to burn that,” Riki said.
Sunghoon yelped, startled. “I know! I just--”
The oven beeped loudly.
They laughed, shoulders brushing as Sunghoon pulled out something vaguely cake-shaped. Powdered sugar dusted the counter, and Riki’s sleeve.
“Oh,” Sunghoon said, flustered. “Sorry--”
He reached out instinctively to brush it away.
They both froze.
Sunghoon’s hand lingered.
Riki looked up.
For one suspended moment, Riki thought Sunghoon might kiss him. It felt like the world held its breath.
Sunghoon pulled back first. “I-- sorry.”
Riki smiled softly, trying hard to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay.”
But Riki’s heart was still racing.
<><><><>
When the royal council finally asked Riki to decide whether to annul the marriage and leave or not, Sunghoon didn’t look at him.
“I won’t be angry,” Sunghoon said quietly. “No matter what you choose.”
Riki stepped closer.
He took Sunghoon’s hands, warm and familiar now. “Do you still want to be married to me?”
Sunghoon looked up, eyes soft. “I never stopped.”
Riki smiled. “Then don’t let go.”
Sunghoon squeezed his hands like a promise.
<><><><>
That night, they sat together in the gardens.
Sunghoon reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and wrapped carefully in cloth.
“I kept it,” he said quietly.
Inside was a dried dandelion ring.
Riki’s breath caught.
“I know it’s silly,” Sunghoon said quickly. “But it reminded me I wasn’t alone.”
Riki took it gently. “It’s not silly.”
He slid it onto Sunghoon’s finger.
“Still fits,” he whispered.
Sunghoon laughed, eyes shining.
<><><><>
When they got married for real the second time, the vows were spoken clearly.
But when Sunghoon slipped the ring onto Riki’s finger, he whispered, “Does it still count even if we did it with flowers first?”
Riki laughed through tears. “Especially then.”
They kissed gently, no rush, no spectacle, just two people who had finally found their way back.
And somewhere in the distance, swings creaked softly, proud of what they’d started.
<><><><>
After the ceremony, Sunghoon took Riki somewhere quiet.
Beyond the palace gardens was a small, newly built park.
With swings.
Riki stared. “You didn’t.”
Sunghoon grinned. “I did.”
They sat side by side, feet dragging softly against the ground.
“This one doesn’t creak as much,” Sunghoon said thoughtfully.
Riki leaned his head against Sunghoon’s shoulder. “It’s perfect.”
Sunghoon kissed his forehead.
This time, neither of them had to wait.