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The night was resplendent, awash with innumerable stars and the hovering of a full moon, its white face reflected onto a softly undulating lake. Closer by the shore, another face lay embedded into the water, pulled apart every now and then by distortion. This face was a handsome one: smooth, tan skin; impossibly sharp cheekbones; slitted, dark eyes. Yet, a deep trouble lay in the crease of his brow, and he stood mournful by the lake’s edge. His formal robes drifted softly in the wind, the dark blue silk meshing with the dark.
This was no other than Prince Choi San, heir to the Choi clan’s kingdom to the south-east, GilChoe. Though his clan’s name meant to oversee mountains, tonight he found himself overseeing the rich, flatter landscapes of the south-west, in the Jung clan’s kingdom, JeongCheon. The calm waters were a rare sight to this prince. His clan did not often cross paths with others’ territories, for their own was isolated by large, harrowing mountain passes which were incredibly difficult for merchants and caravans to traverse. Were they not killed by the freezing atmosphere, then it was tigers and mountain cats who did them in. GilChoe’s cruel conditions gave the Choi clan themselves a bad reputation; they were often said to be callous, cold and uninviting, Choi San the most of all with his aloof demeanour. And yet, even he had come tonight, on this auspicious occasion.
It was the summer solstice, the time of year during which all the kingdoms hurried to send off their best and brightest for the Midsummer Festival. The festivities were famous for bringing good luck for participating clans and families, whether it be money, health, or love. They lasted seven days in all, a roar of parties, alcohol, traditional dances and music never allowing the kingdom to sleep.
This year, JeongCheon was chosen to host, and San had felt undeniably excited about the whole affair. It had been years since his last visit to JeongCheon, since he… San recalls flashes of a night as effervescent as it was quiet and tumultuous. Pushes aside the memory like a toxin.
The festival had already gone on for three full days; to San, those days were a flash of jaunty fun in alehouses, palaces and courtesan houses. Until that same night, in the Jung clan’s ornate ballroom. San could remember it so clearly: the moment his world had crashed down all around him like gingko leaves.
He had been standing on the edge of the ballroom, a wide berth of empty space surrounding him. Nobody had dared approach the prince of GilChoe, safe for his steadfast cousin Jongho. But even he had gone off on his own, looking to be seriously discussing something or other with one of the Kang princes. San was long used to standing by his lonesome. After all, no one mattered but the one person he truly desired to stand by: Prince Jung Wooyoung.
Wooyoung, whom everyone admired. Who smiled as if shining a light on those nearby. Whose touch San desperately wanted to seize for himself. He was the prince of his dreams, but also the prince who was dancing with another man than himself.
Though he had been leaning, San’s back quickly snaps away from the wall as soon as Wooyoung’s form dances into his sight, his movements fluid and powerful. His pale hands wave about the air, tracing lines no one else can see around another man’s face. Sensual. San’s hands tighten on the fan he holds. Lips thinning and eyes darkening. Though it pains him, he tears his eyes from Wooyoung’s body as it billows red sleeves like twin flames, focusing instead on the man he’s dancing with.
Jeong Yunho. A distant but reputable official within the Jung clan. He had come back from a border conflict victorious and honoured by the Jungs, given much martial and political acclaim. But at that moment, San couldn’t be bothered to feel any respect for him whatsoever. Not when his hands were on Wooyoung’s red-clad waist, pulling him in closer so their faces were tipped towards each other’s, a mere breath apart. If that.
Wooyoung looked breathless, hands gripping tight onto Yunho’s shoulders. Staring into his eyes like he was the only one in the room, while San stood aside, staring at Wooyoung like he was the only one present.
Though Wooyoung might be the only one for San, there was nothing stopping Wooyoung from flying astray into the arms of a man who better suited him. GilChoe and JeongCheon had always been at odds, rival kingdoms with centuries of vitriol between their clans. Opposing crown princes simply could not, and would not, ever be able to love each other. Such were their roles in this life. Yet, San could only keep recalling that night, years ago, when they’d both come of age. Sticky kisses under the summer solstice heat, cicadas singing as their mouths clashed. Their hands grabbing at each other's robes, tearing, hoping no one would see their shadows melt into one from behind a paper screen. The fierce passion with which Wooyoung touched San’s body; the reverence in San’s hands as he flattened them along Wooyoung’s tender flesh. It was both a night to remember and one to forget. A taste of heaven San can’t indulge in again.
He looks away as Wooyoung slides out of Yunho’s tender hold, jaw clenching. Makes way for the exit before anyone can begin speculating. There are many eyes on him, but a particular dark pair trails him as he leaves, appearing perplexed. His fiery expression clears a path within the crowd of nobles and officials easily. It’s not long before he finds himself at the lake’s edge, contemplating his own reflection.
San wasn’t stupid. He knew what something as small as a dance during the solstice festival could mean, under the right circumstances. It wouldn’t be the first time an unannounced couple takes the floor, weaving the threads of rumour to foretell their eventual engagement agreement. Though the Jungs held a prosperous land, they were the youngest of the clans and lacked deep ties with the rest of the kingdoms. Their eldest son, Wooyoung, was as good of a bargaining chip as the elders could hope for to secure better connections. And who better than Jeong Yunho, a dual hero of martial and diplomatic prowess, with an abundance of strings he could pull for the main Jung family?
In comparison, San was a less than ideal match. Though his family was old, they were not liked or acclaimed by many. To marry their eldest into such a family would be social suicide. San himself was expected to marry within his own kingdom, or to one of the Kang princes, of which there were enough to marry off across all the clans twice over. Overall, it was no wonder why Wooyoung had moved on during these few years, while San remained infatuated. All San had was hope for something more, while Wooyoung had so much better at his very fingertips. Why would he choose the bottom of the barrel when a peninsula of gold was on his horizon?
His thoughts weren’t put to a rest even as he stared into the calm waters, but the tight pain in his chest loosened with every breath he took until, finally, he could think clearly once more. His being jealous was unreasonable. He shouldn’t have expected so much from Wooyoung in coming to JeongCheon. The festival itself becomes an afterthought, and in his embarrassment, all San wants is to return as speedily as possible back to GilChoe. Jongho and the others can remain to ensure that their clan’s presence is noted; San himself doesn’t need to be here. Neither does he want to anymore.
As his mind settles upon returning to the ballroom to inform Jongho of his departure, another face’s reflection stares back up at San. This face, he recognizes immediately, as if it were his own: pale skin like the moon; soft, pillowy lips; fierce, shining eyes. The face’s mouth opens to speak.
“Why did you leave the party, San-ah?” Wooyoung says. Louder than San had expected. He turns around to meet him face to face, hoping his jealousy isn’t so terrifyingly obvious as it was earlier. Staring at him now, in finer detail than the water’s distorted surface, Wooyoung’s moles stand out beautifully to San. Like a fish caught in a net, his eyes are stuck to the brown mole on his bottom lip.
“Felt hot,” he lies, “so I decided to get some fresh air. I can leave if you meant to do the same—”
“No!” Wooyoung says, startling him. “Stay—” and when San makes to leave anyways, “—I want you to.”
San hesitates, but he can never deny Wooyoung what he wants. He licks his lips, wishing they weren’t so dry, and remains by Wooyoung’s side. The silence doesn’t linger before Wooyoung is speaking up again, his voice hesitant and nervous.
“Listen, I wanted to… talk to you. About that night.”
The words cause San’s back to stiffen straight. Fearful for what’s to come. Dreading the rejection he knows is coming. Resigned, he makes up his mind to speak first. If this is to be his last chance to informally speak with Wooyoung, then he wants to make sure Wooyoung knows San’s love for him is the most sincere he will ever encounter.
“I know what you’ll say. That you want me to forget and move on. But that’s not something I can do, Young-ah,” San confesses, grabbing at the front of his robes as if it will help the crushing sadness he feels weigh on his chest. “Sometimes I wish I could, so that I wouldn’t lie awake at night so often, my mind running in circles wondering if you’re up too, thinking about me, imagining yourself in my arms.”
“San-ah…” Wooyoung whispers, eyes wide and wounded. The moonlight shining upon the onslaught of tears building in them. But San can’t stop; every word he says is a weight off his chest, relief so visceral he feels tears in his own eyes.
“But then I realized I would not want to forget any moment with you. Whether it’s a moment of joy or heartbreak, Wooyoung, I want it all. So long as it’s with you,” San finishes, a tear falling and cresting down his cheek.
A hand quickly reaches up to smooth away the droplet, cold fingers cradling his cheek. “That night,” Wooyoung starts, but has to take in a shaky breath before continuing, “That night was… It was everything, San-ah. Ever since then, you’ve always been on my mind. There’s not a second where I’m not living a life tainted by the memory of what could be between you and me. It’s not even the touches or the kisses, but the way you look at me like there’s nothing that could pull away your attention. The way you make my existence feel like it matters.”
“You’ve always mattered, Young-ah.” The thought that he doesn’t seem to believe so shocks San to the core. “Even before that night. When we first met as little boys, and as we kept meeting, just a little older each time; you’re living sunshine, Wooyoung. You brought light to my life I didn’t know could exist. Without you, nothing matters.”
“So why did you leave the party? Why did you ignore me?” he asks, weakly. San is taken aback. He hadn’t thought he’d done anything to hurt him.
“I— I couldn’t bear to see you with him.” He answers honestly this time, feeling he owes it to him. “You were looking at that man like I look… like I look at you.”
Wooyoung’s hand slips down from his face to latch onto his nape, dragging both of their foreheads together. A blush immediately overtakes San’s face; he can’t handle being so close to Wooyoung for too long before he truly evaporates from pleasure. “I did it on purpose,” Wooyoung admits, warm breath fanning across San’s mouth. He tries not to inhale too greedily. “Wanted to make you jealous, I suppose. I’m honestly not too sure what I was thinking; I just wanted to see what you would do, since you haven’t reached out to me at all ever since your arrival to JeongCheon.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” San replies. “You’ve got so many better men to pick from than me. I honestly can’t imagine why you’d want me out of everyone else.”
“Who else could I want?” Wooyoung rebukes. “I’ve been thinking about you, only you, for years. There’s no one else I could ever love so much as I love you, San-ah. In every universe.”
San’s heart flutters, and the remaining weight is at last lifted from his chest. He couldn’t have hoped this night would go in this direction. Wooyoung’s confession sets him ablaze, and he reaches out for Wooyoung’s waist, running his fingers where Yunho’s were and not caring in the least. Because now that he knows Wooyoung desires him in equally powerful measure, nothing can stop him from making Wooyoung his forever.
He tugs Wooyoung forward, their distorted reflections melding together in the water’s surface as San melds his lips to Wooyoung’s in a tender, desperate kiss.
When they break away from each other, panting, their sweaty foreheads pressed together, he has only one, final thing to confess.
“I love you, too, Young-ah.”