Chapter Text
Nothing comes easy, Sunwoo’s father used to say. Nothing will ever be given to you on a plate. That’s just not how things work.
For the most part, that seemed true. Sunwoo wasn’t an idiot, and he knew, in his twenty years of life, that there was more to every story. The people he met every day, the people he found himself surrounded with, everyone went through trouble. No road was free of hurdles. Not even his, as easy as his life seemed to be in the grand scheme of things.
Sometimes, though, Sunwoo wondered how true that was.
The first time he met him, Sunwoo had been walking home from a party. Or at least a party to his standards—less fancy, less crowded, just the closest of friends drinking and singing and being silly together. It was innocuous as anything could ever be, which made it all the more frustrating knowing it would’ve made his family frown had they known where he had been. But that didn’t matter. Sunwoo was happy, light on his feet, enjoying the quiet night and the sky above him. It was a freedom he was more and more desperate for, one he seldom had as of late.
He took a shortcut through some low buildings he had never visited before. The town was still growing, had been since he was a child, and Sunwoo had no expectations of ever learning all of its nooks and crannies. It was for the better; he liked to learn the new streets, find the new paint in newly erected buildings, marvel at how neighborhoods could change in a matter of months. He liked to catch the little details, like the foreign words he saw now painted on the wall of this particular yellow-brick building.
The door right next to the words opened all of a sudden. Sunwoo was startled, but it was just a man—a boy, really, who didn’t look older than Sunwoo himself, with round cheeks and arched brows. Their eyes met briefly, the boy carrying a trash can that he turned and spilled over the container positioned just beside the door. Sunwoo’s eyes went back to the words, trying to calm his heart down after the surprise.
“It’s French,” the boy said. His voice was peculiar, definitely hoarser than his friendly smile would suggest. “It means ‘without you, today’s emotions would be nothing more than the dead skin of yesterday's emotions.’”
Sunwoo looked at him. He was standing there, holding the door open in one hand and the empty can in another, watching Sunwoo. He had an easy smile, clear and honest.
“That’s strong,” Sunwoo said. He nodded, a little thanks for the impromptu translation, and made to turn around and keep walking.
He didn’t take two steps before the guy called out, “Do you like pie?”
Sunwoo stopped, looking at him. He didn’t answer at first, so the guy tried again:
“Apple pie. It’s really good. And I’m not saying it just because I made it.”
The night was still as quiet as it was a minute ago, but something felt different. Sunwoo felt it then, unsure what it meant, attributing it to curiosity, or to his recently-acquired and dangerous thirst for anything that would distract him from the life he led, from the stuffiness that never seemed to fade no matter how far away he ran. Something about the boy’s smile told him that it’d be ok to follow him inside. It didn’t hurt that Sunwoo had his sword with him, if push came to shove.
“Sure. If it’s no imposition.”
The boy’s smile grew on his face. He stepped aside, letting Sunwoo walk inside before him.
They were in a kitchen, a fairly-sized one. It looked pristine and tidy, except for a couple of pots near the sink. Sunwoo could smell it now, the fresh scent of apple pie, recently out of the oven. There was a small table to the side, where the pie had been carefully placed. The boy hurried to clean the table of cutlery and empty paper bags, pulling a chair for Sunwoo.
Now that they were inside, under the candle light, Sunwoo could see him better. His hair was black, bangs falling neatly over his forehead and those arched brows. He looked healthy, lively, and was wearing simple cream-colored robes. It contrasted with Sunwoo’s dark, close-fitting vest and trousers. The boy must have been thinking the same thing, because he remarked, “You look like a knight.”
The corners of Sunwoo’s mouth went up. He took his place at the table, watching with curious eyes as the boy got them two plates and sat down across from him. “What makes you say that?”
“The sword, and the posture. You look regal.”
Sunwoo made a conscious effort not to react. He kept his expression amused, but didn’t let the anxiety show on his face. For all the years he had been sneaking into town, he had yet to be recognized. Walking those streets at night, alone, going to and from his friends’ hideouts had proven safe so far. Maybe this had been a mistake, walking into this stranger’s place, letting him see him up close like this. But leaving now would be just as suspicious, if not more. Sunwoo accepted the generous slice of pie the boy served him, nodding in thanks.
“So? Are you?”
Sunwoo looked up to find those big, curious eyes watching him. The boy was chewing on a mouthful of pie, seemingly without a care in the world.
“Am I what?”
“A knight.”
Sunwoo chuckled. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. I didn’t know if I had it in me to make you smile,” the boy was smiling back at him, pleased with himself. He brought another spoonful to his mouth, “Happy to know I do!”
“I still don’t know your name,” Sunwoo said, because it just occurred to him that he didn’t, and because that remark had caught him off-guard.
He watched as the boy chewed the pie in his mouth, gulping it down before saying, “I still don’t know yours.”
Sunwoo opened his mouth to retort that he had asked first, but closed it back again when he thought that maybe not giving any names was a good idea. Instead, he said, “This is very good. The pie, I mean. You said you made it yourself?”
The boy nodded. Whenever Sunwoo looked at him, he seemed to have stuffed more pie into his mouth, so happy and carefree in his eating that Sunwoo found himself staring.
“It’s my friend’s recipe. I was starving when I finished baking, and for some reason I‘ve been craving apple pie all week? I don’t know why, I just was. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Truly,” Sunwoo agreed. He looked around the kitchen. “So you’re a baker?”
The boy nodded. He never seemed to stop smiling. It was a beautiful smile. He had beautiful lips. Sunwoo looked down at his own pie.
“You’ve never been here?” The boy asked. “You’re missing out. And I’m not saying that because I’m the one who bakes the cakes and pies, but the bread is the best you’ll find in town. Honestly.”
“I need to see it for myself, then,” Sunwoo said. “Unfortunately, I’m not usually in town during the day.”
”You’re not from around here?”
Sunwoo wanted to slap himself for that one. Why was he blabbering about himself? He used the excuse of finishing his pie to give himself some time to think. As much as it felt dishonest to lie to the boy in front of him, who seemed so earnest and trusting, Sunwoo didn’t have a choice. He reclined in his chair, “I work for a family estate. In the outskirts of town.”
“Stable boy?”
Noticing the mischief behind the boy’s eyes, Sunwoo scoffed. “Guard. Please. Do I smell like horse shit or something?”
The boy snorted, covering his mouth with a hand to prevent pie from falling out. Sunwoo couldn’t help but laugh with him. His laughter was contagious, coming from his entire body, lighting up his eyes.
“You don’t. But, to be fair, I have friends who worked as stable boys, and they smell just fine.”
“So you’re in the habit of smelling your friends. I gotta be honest, I’m somewhat regretting walking in here with you.”
The joke had the desired effect. The boy threw his head back laughing, and Sunwoo felt unexpectedly giddy. Like making that baker laugh made him incredibly happy, for whatever reason. He helped himself to a second slice, unthinking, not worried about etiquette. He wasn’t worried about anything. That was such a different state of being that Sunwoo chased that, drunk on how light his shoulders felt.
They talked for what felt like hours. Nothing substantial, because Sunwoo couldn’t risk revealing much about himself, as much as he prided himself on his acting skills. But it felt so good to talk to the black-haired boy, with his big eyes and even bigger smile. He talked so excitedly, laughed so openly at Sunwoo’s jokes, made his own ridiculous jokes that had Sunwoo cracking up. They ate most of the pie, and when Sunwoo said he should probably go, the boy prepared a small plate for Sunwoo to take the last couple of slices with him.
“I should at least pay for this,” Sunwoo said, standing up with the plate in his hands.
“Nonsense,” said the boy, bringing their dishes to the sink. He seemed to wash them in record time, turning back with the brightest smile on his face. “You kept me company, that’s more than enough.”
“Company doesn’t put food on the table,” Sunwoo pointed out, but was dismissed with a flick of the boy’s hand.
“I made that for my own dinner, and it’s a good thing that you didn’t let me eat all of that by myself, otherwise mother—“ The boy cut himself off, averting his eyes from Sunwoo’s, then continued as if nothing had happened. “I’ve been hearing enough about my weight as it is.”
Sunwoo frowned. “What about it?”
The boy raised an eyebrow at him. “Come back some day and I’ll tell you.”
“How about next week?”
He blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think that would work, actually. Yes, that sounds good.”
“Unless you’d rather not—“ Sunwoo tried to add, but the boy interrupted him.
“No. Please come. I’ll bake you something else.” He smiled, that beautiful, open smile. “Anything I should avoid? Any allergies?”
“Nothing too spicy, please. Other than that, I’m very easy to please.”
“Good to know.”
They stared at each other for a second. Sunwoo wondered if that was wise. If coming back the following week was a good idea. He could slip up, let something out, or the boy in front of him could talk to people, could ask around and figure out who exactly he had been talking to. But there was so much more asking him to come back. His heart, for starters.
“Same day. Next week. See you then?” Sunwoo said.
“See you then.”
Sunwoo didn’t think he’d ever get used to the brightness of that smile.
As much as his duties kept him busy, Sunwoo had enough free time to let his mind wander. And wander it did. It usually brought him back to that kitchen in warm tones, the flickering candlelight dancing on the unnamed boy’s face. His features kept coming back to Sunwoo, the roundness of his cheeks, the jutting of his bottom lip, the odd eyelids. He kept thinking about his loud, boisterous laugh. He wondered if not knowing his name was too good of a mystery to keep his interest, then he wondered if his name even mattered.
Sunwoo’s own name was a burden more often than not, so maybe he was happy to not worry about names just now.
“Watch out!” Hyunjun called, bringing Sunwoo back to the present just in time for him to pull the reins in. His horse halted abruptly, rearing, and Sunwoo had to hold himself with all the strength he had in his legs not to fall backwards. “By the Goddess, where’s your head, Your Highness?”
Sunwoo frowned. He hated when Hyunjun called him that, and Hyunjun knew, which was why he did it constantly. The sun was high and hot on their heads. Or rather, on Sunwoo’s head—Hyunjun was sensibly wearing a hat. Sunwoo averted the thick bushes he almost made his horse run through, turning to face Hyunjun, sitting atop another horse and looking as princely as humanly possible.
“Thank you for that,” he muttered.
“Where is your head, though?” Hyunjun was watching him with hawk-like eyes. Sunwoo knew that look all too well.
“Nowhere,” Sunwoo replied.
He turned his horse around once again, back on track. They were doing their usual midweek round-up, checking the property and the cattle. Of course, it was mostly a formality. Sunwoo never had to actually herd the cattle himself in his life. It was also an excuse to get away from the castle for hours and not get berated for it. He heard Hyunjun’s horse speeding up before he caught sight of Hyunjun by his side.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
“You know, that’s creepy. This thing you do. It’s like you can read my mind.” Sunwoo paused, giving him a look. “You can’t, right?”
“Not like that,” Hyunjun smirked. “But I’ve known you all my life, Sunwoo. You’re the easiest book to read.”
“You’re the only person who says that.”
“Well, I’m the only one paying attention.” Before Sunwoo could dwell too much on that, Hyunjun pressed him again, “But seriously, what is it? You can’t be worried about the dinner already.”
Sunwoo scoffed. “Why would I be? It’s weeks away.”
“And you don’t want it to happen.”
Sunwoo didn’t have an answer to that, because it was true. He was dreading everything about that dinner. It was just a formality, but a formality for someone in Sunwoo’s position meant too much. By having that dinner, Sunwoo was sealing the deal. He was agreeing to marry Prince Ji, a man he had met only once, briefly, inconsequentially.
It was all so entrenched in tradition that it was hard to argue with. There was some logic behind it: Prince Ji was the youngest of his family, and he had enough sisters to make his ascension to the throne unlikely. By marrying Sunwoo, he had the crown guaranteed, as Sunwoo was his mother’s first successor. And Sunwoo himself would be linking himself to the Ji bloodline, which boded well for his future reign. It was all perfectly aligned. It was the perfect match.
Except Sunwoo didn’t think so.
“I don’t even know him,” Sunwoo said, to Hyunjun, but mostly to himself.
“You know his name,” Hyunjun replied back. “That should be enough.”
But it wasn’t, was it? He didn’t know the bakery boy’s name, and that was ok. They had an entire conversation that didn’t revolve about bloodlines, thrones, obligations. Sunwoo had eaten the leftover pie the next day, remembering how happy the boy had been eating that same thing the night before. Sunwoo didn’t even know what Prince Ji liked. Ji Changmin. A name didn’t tell him anything.
He didn’t argue with Hyunjun, though. There was no point in arguing. Besides, he didn’t want to think about Prince Ji.
Friday couldn’t come fast enough.
The words were still there on the yellow-brick wall.
Sans toi, les émotions d’aujourd’hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d’autrefois.
Sunwoo stared at them for a moment, trying to commit the foreign words to memory. He didn’t know a word of French, but that didn’t matter. He had been given the translation that first night, and that was enough. The door opened before he could knock, and the boy looked surprised to find him there.
“You could’ve knocked, you know.”
“I was about to,” Sunwoo said, pouting in mock offense. “Did you do this?” He pointed at the words.
“Oh, no. Penmanship is not my forte,” the boy said as he threw away the trash again, just like the first night. He smiled at Sunwoo, who tried his best not to let it show on his face how glad he was to see that smile again. “Come in, I made you a cake.”
Sunwoo followed him inside, unable to contain a grin. “I thought you were baking for yourself?”
“I am, but you’re my guest of honor. Please.” He pulled a chair again for Sunwoo and busied himself washing his hands and bringing them clean plates. The cake looked beautiful, with white frosting and little pieces of fruit decorating the top. “I hope you like strawberry.”
“Who doesn’t?” Sunwoo said as soon as he took the first bite. “Gods, this is heaven.”
“You’d be surprised how picky people can be,” the boy said. He closed his eyes when he took his first bite, groaning. “And yeah, this is heaven. I’ve died and gone to heaven. Goodbye, world.”
Sunwoo laughed. Already he felt lighter, like he had left his obligations outside, bringing only himself into the cozy, bright kitchen. The boy looked just as lively and excited as the week before, although he had bags under his eyes. Sunwoo didn’t know if he should ask about it. What was the etiquette for personal questions when you were talking to someone you didn’t even know the name of?
“So. How was your week?” The boy asked, stuffing his face with cake. It was endearing how excited he seemed to be about eating, how into it he looked. That was definitely not something Sunwoo would comment on, for fear he’d scare him into policing himself around Sunwoo.
“Ah. Well. Boring,” Sunwoo said, which was true. “I was counting the days to come back here, actually.”
The words sounded perfectly reasonable in his head, but when he said them out loud, he saw the boy’s eyes search his face, curious. Sunwoo started to regret saying it, wondering how weird it must’ve sounded to the baker, but—
“I was counting the days too,” the boy said with a big, beautiful smile. “I was scared you weren’t gonna come back.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why would you? You could very well never come back again.”
I couldn’t, Sunwoo thought. It surprised him, to have that thought pop up into his head so clearly. He knew he was looking for excuses to forget about his life, and his position, but he didn’t know it went so far as to growing this attached to someone he virtually did not know.
“Hey, I’m not one to say no to free food,” Sunwoo joked, making the boy laugh. “But also, seriously, I can pay for this.”
“Oh my Gods, will you give it a rest? I like baking. I’m happy to do it. I’m happy to have someone to share this with, too.”
“Don’t you sell it? You’re sharing it with people already.”
“It’s not the same thing,” the boy said. He was grabbing another slice, giving it to Sunwoo before cutting another one for himself. The gesture was so natural to him he didn’t notice Sunwoo staring at him for a second too long. “You’re my guest. I like this.”
“I like this too,” Sunwoo said. His tone betrayed him, way too fond for a throwaway comment as he intended it to be. The boy gave him one of his curious, searching looks. Clearing his throat, Sunwoo asked, “And your week? How was it?”
“Weird. A friend of mine nearly died petting a sheep. Can you believe it?”
Sunwoo was laughing even before he told the story. “No, actually, I can’t.”
“I swear it’s true!” The boy said, laughing with him. He proceeded to tell the whole story, which involved a sheep, a German Shepherd, and barbed-wire fences. Sunwoo was skeptical at first, but the boy sounded so genuine, and the story was so ridiculous, that it could only be true.
They talked for hours again. This time Sunwoo had come straight from the castle, and not after partying, so he was well rested and ready to stay the whole night talking, if it came to that. All he needed to do was leave an hour before sunrise, which was how long it took for him to leave town and reach the stables where he left his horse whenever he came into town. And to his surprise, they did talk all night, non-stop. He didn’t think they’d have so much to talk about considering Sunwoo couldn’t be honest with him, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t tell Sunwoo anything about himself either, which Sunwoo assumed was his way of saying that he was ok with this game of anonymity.
“Here,” the boy handed him the plate with the leftover cake when Sunwoo stood up to leave. “Try not to eat it all at once.”
“Why? Too much sugar?”
“So you can remember me for longer,” the boy said, laughing when Sunwoo blanked. “You’re so easy to mess with.”
“I’m not,” Sunwoo said, which sounded like stubbornness, but was the truth. I don’t know how you do it, was what he meant. He usually would have something to quip back with, but he could only stare at the cake in his hands, dumbfounded. “Can I see you next week?”
“Please. I’ll be waiting.”
Sunwoo looked up and found those big, dark eyes staring back at him. He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t know what that something was. There were words not said dancing on his lips that he didn’t know the sound of yet. He gave the boy a warm smile, nodding.
“See you then.”
They met every week. It became the best part of Sunwoo’s week, by a long shot. The boy always had something ready for them to eat while they talked, and talked, and talked. He never got anything wrong, and Sunwoo started to enjoy his baking so much, he asked him if he could cook other things, too. The boy said he could, and started preparing dishes—nothing too fancy, Sunwoo wouldn’t let him do that if he still wasn’t paying, but still delicious enough to make Sunwoo skip dinner every Friday in anticipation for what was waiting for him.
But the food was only a part of it. Truth was, he enjoyed the boy’s company, the way he talked, the stories he told. He never seemed to run out of those. When it wasn’t his story, it was his friend’s, or a friend’s relative’s, and so on. Sunwoo looked forward to his Fridays with an intensity that wasn’t usual. His mood changed, too, on the Saturdays after. Hyunjun pointed that out one day, kneeling in front of the fireplace in Sunwoo’s room. His hand danced beautifully as the flames sipped from his fingers and onto the wood.
“Whoever he is, he makes you happy,” he noted.
Sunwoo had been staring at the sky through the window, an open book forgotten on his lap. He snapped back to look at Hyunjun. “What?”
“You’re happy. That’s him, right? The guy you told me about.”
There was just no way to hide it from Hyunjun for much longer. Not only was Hyunjun always with him, his closest friend and also his valet, he was also the one who made Sunwoo’s escapades into town possible. The fourth time Sunwoo had left to meet the bakery boy, Hyunjun had asked him about it, arguing that it’d better for him to know if he ever had to lie about his whereabouts—or worse, come find him if he never came back. Sunwoo had told him about the kitchen, the food, the boy. He explained that they never exchanged names. Hyunjun was suspicious at first, but when it became clear that Sunwoo wasn’t letting it go, Hyunjun didn’t try to stop him.
“Do I look happy?” Sunwoo asked, trying to deflect. The question had a bit of truth behind it, though. He genuinely wondered if he was just imagining it, or if those Friday nights were really having an impact on him.
“Very, My Liege,” Hyunjun said, making Sunwoo roll his eyes. “I have to ask…”
“What?”
Hyunjun killed the flame in his hand, satisfied with the fire burning in the fireplace. He stood up, his elegant robes swishing behind him as he sat on the other end of the couch where Sunwoo had been lounging.
“Are you in love with him?”
Sunwoo snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ask yourself. Are you in love with him?”
“I can’t be,” Sunwoo said. He didn’t need to think about it. He couldn’t be, because he was to marry someone else in one year's time; he couldn’t be, because “I don’t even know his name.”
“You don’t know anything about him, yes. But are you sure that’s stopping you?” Hyunjun asked, and he sounded uncharacteristically gentle. Like he feared hurting Sunwoo with his words.
“I said I don’t know his name. But I do know him,” Sunwoo surprised himself with how certain he was about that. “I know he likes to bake. I know dark chocolate is his favorite, and that his favorite food is tteokbokki. I know he likes animals, and that he had dogs growing up, and that he’s allergic to cats. I know he likes to make jokes, and that he likes riding, and that he has two childhood friends who are like family to him. I know he fell from a tree when he was six and never tried climbing again and it wasn’t until recently that he conquered his fear of heights. I know—”
He stopped himself from going further. Hyunjun was watching him, not saying anything, letting him come to the conclusion himself. It didn’t take long.
“I can’t be in love with him. Hyunjun, I can’t.”
“And if you are?”
Sunwoo didn’t know the answer to that.
Two months. By the eighth time they met, the boy had prepared a basket and was waiting for him outside the door, next to the words painted on the wall. Sunwoo greeted him with a smile and a questioning look.
“I thought we could change things up a bit today,” the boy said. He indicated the street with his head. “Shall we?”
Sunwoo helped him by carrying the bottle of wine, while the boy carried the basket and led the way. They didn’t talk much on the way—the streets were too quiet, and their voices would carry, so they exchanged a few giggles and whispers, like two teenagers sneaking around. The boy led them to a decrepit building that Sunwoo eyed with mistrust, but the boy took his hand, going in first and pulling him with him. It was an empty building, abandoned by the looks of it, and they snuck inside by removing some makeshift paneling from a side wall.
“How do you know this place?” Sunwoo asked. His voice echoed in the empty space, bouncing back from the stone walls.
“The person who painted that French saying. You know? The one behind the bakery? He knows this town better than anyone,” the boy said, leading him upstairs. The stairs were made of stone, so Sunwoo wasn’t particularly scared about the structure, but more about finding people in there. Or ghosts, but he didn’t voice that out loud. “He told me about… this.”
They reached the third floor, and Sunwoo lost his breath. They were staring at a partially collapsed wall, open enough for the horizon to be visible from there. The town was asleep, very few lamps on, and the stars shone bright above it. He could see the fields just outside the city limits, the river running its course eastward. Sunwoo stared, mouth falling open. The boy squeezed his hand gently. They were still holding hands.
“It’s beautiful,” Sunwoo said, finally looking away from the view to find the boy smiling at him.
(What he didn’t say was that no matter how many stars were in the night sky, or how many rivers were crossing the horizon under the moonlight, no view would ever compare to that smile.)
“Isn’t it?” The boy agreed. He let go of Sunwoo’s hand to put the basket down. He pulled a blanket from it, spread it on the floor, and started pulling cheese and bread out, placing it neatly on the blanket. He paused, staring at the plates at the bottom of the basket. “Uh. I forgot the glasses.”
“For the wine? It’s ok,” Sunwoo sat down, uncorking the wine and smiling. “Do you mind sharing? I promise I’m not deadly ill.”
The boy laughed. “Well, thank Gods. I’m not deadly ill either, so I guess we’re good.”
He reached for the wine and took a sip straight from the bottle. Sunwoo watched, rather unabashedly, as he drank the wine, neck exposed. He felt thirsty all of a sudden, so he accepted the bottle as soon as the boy handed it to him and took a sip, too. It was good wine, and Sunwoo was grateful for it.
“What spurred this on?”
“I don’t know,” the boy shrugged, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. “We’re always cooped up in the kitchen, which I don’t mind, because I like that kitchen. I like all kitchens, for that matter, but I thought you deserved something else. Some fresh air. A nice view.” He smirked at Sunwoo. “Something other than my face to stare at.”
“To be fair, you have a very nice face.” The boy laughed, and Sunwoo found himself laughing, too. “I’m serious, why are you laughing?”
“That’s just so romantic. ‘You have a very nice face’. Careful before I end up falling for you.”
Sunwoo’s smile faltered, but he hoped he was quick enough to pretend those words hadn’t affected him, playing nonchalance.
“You think I’ll stop?” Sunwoo joked, tasting the cheese and taking a piece of bread. “I’ll woo you into marrying me and ask you to cook for me once a week for the rest of my life. That’s my plan, anyway.”
“I already am cooking for you once a week, though,” the boy pointed out. He sounded amused. “You hardly need to marry me for that.”
“Maybe I just want to marry you, then,” Sunwoo said. He didn’t know why. The words simply came out of his mouth, spilling out like he had no control over them. He had a second to panic, thinking that he had certainly ruined the night, the moment, everything they had built up until that point. He couldn’t pass that off as a joke. But when he met the boy’s eyes, he didn’t see shock, or disgust, or rejection. He saw joy at first, quickly replaced by something he couldn’t pinpoint immediately.
“You wouldn’t want to marry me,” the boy murmured, looking away, at the night sky.
“You don’t know that.”
The boy chuckled, but it sounded sad, constricted. “I do, actually. I’m not exactly husband material.”
Something boiled inside of Sunwoo. He felt a sudden urge to fix it, whatever it was that was bothering the boy—whatever made him think that Sunwoo wouldn’t want to marry him. It wasn’t even a matter of proving his point, it was a tugging at his heartstrings, the uncomfortable idea that the boy didn’t think he was enough, or worthy, or whatever it was he was thinking. And he didn’t know who Sunwoo was, so it wasn’t anything about Sunwoo’s position. It was something about the boy himself. Sunwoo found it unacceptable.
He used a finger to touch the boy’s chin, turning his face back to him gently. Their eyes met. Sunwoo said, in the kindest voice he could, “When I’m with you, I feel life is strong. Like it will defeat all its enemies and all of mine, and all of yours. And all of yours in you, and all of mine in me. For those are the most dangerous.”
He couldn’t tell who kissed who first. Their lips met, and Sunwoo’s thoughts were replaced by thoughts of him. His lips were soft. His hands were warm, more delicate than they looked. His skin carried thunder, loud wherever it touched Sunwoo. They kissed for a long time that still felt too brief, too fleeting. Sunwoo missed him as soon as they parted, so he chased his lips, and was kissed again, and again, and again.
Their foreheads touched when they parted again, and Sunwoo didn’t want to close his eyes for fear he’d miss every little detail in the boy’s face. He had his eyes closed, lips hanging open, pink and beautiful.
“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he said, and the words made Sunwoo’s stomach drop until he saw the smile forming on his lips. “But I’m happy. I’m happy about this.”
“Good. Because I don’t think I’d take it well if you told me to walk away right now.”
The boy laughed, so close Sunwoo could feel his breath on his lips.
“Don’t worry, I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
The night was so quiet it felt like the entire world had stopped for them. Sunwoo had never felt that way before. It might have scared him, had he not been someone who had been looking for the new and unexpected his whole life. This was new. This feeling, this sentiment. He didn’t dare name it yet, but it was there.
They finished the wine and the cheese between one kiss and another, and watched the stars above. Sunwoo talked about the constellations, explained one by one, told him what their names were, and the names of each star he could remember. His memories of how he learned that didn’t matter now. The boy was listening so intently, leaning against his side, letting their arms touch, that Sunwoo didn’t need to worry about anything else besides the present. The past didn’t matter anymore, and the future could wait.
Their meetings continued as usual, except for the kissing. They still ate and talked for the most part of the night, but sometimes Sunwoo would pull his chair closer to the boy’s; sometimes the boy would play with Sunwoo’s fingers as he told him the latest story about a friend of a friend. When he kissed him goodnight, he usually tasted just like what they were having before. It felt, at times, like Sunwoo was living a fairytale. Like the town at night was his own fantasy land, where he had a chance to breathe and be with the man who reminded him what smiling was supposed to feel like.
The first time they needed to cancel their plans was the week of the dinner with Prince Ji and his entourage. Sunwoo let him know the week before that he wouldn’t be able to come, and even though he didn’t want to lie to the boy, he couldn’t be forthright either. He said it was a family matter. The boy understood, and made him promise he’d be back in two weeks time. For some reason, they didn’t want to break their Friday tradition. Maybe, Sunwoo gathered, the boy was a little superstitious like Sunwoo himself.
He left him with a smile that turned sour as soon as he rode back to the castle.
The following week felt like his personal hell. Sunwoo was anxious, irritated. He didn’t want that marriage to happen, and he rehearsed several times what he would say to Prince Ji and his family, how much he would apologize. To them and to his own family, who were counting on him to marry well. A monarch needs a faithful partner by their side, his mother would always say. She always spoke in hypotheticals, as if Sunwoo’s father had never been her very own partner, a king that left his queen to reign on her own. Sometimes he wondered if she, too, liked to pretend he never existed.
Sunwoo tried drinking his sorrows away, but he wasn’t good with alcohol, and that only gave him a searing headache. He tried hanging out with his friends, dukes and counts and generally rich people with whom he didn’t have to hide who he was or why he wanted so bad to forget exactly that, but his mind kept going back to that third floor building, to those soft lips, that boisterous laugh. He kept thinking about Prince Ji arriving that week, expecting an engagement announcement by the end of the dinner on Friday. He got particularly drunk one night and slurred his way through a convoluted metaphor for his situation, which his dear friend Joonyoung tried his best to follow.
“And you’re the sparrow in this scenario?” Joonyoung asked, confused but kind enough to pretend he understood.
Sunwoo nodded.
“Maybe that sparrow needs to find his own path? One that doesn’t involve getting eaten by a goose?”
“But how?” Sunwoo half slurred, half growled.
“I don’t know. He has wings. He can fly wherever he wants, can’t he? He can fly away from the goose,” Joonyoung offered, and if Sunwoo had been less drunk, he would’ve noticed Joonyoung was slurring his words too, a glass or two over his limit.
His father’s words kept coming back to him the next day. Nothing comes easy. Nothing is delivered to you on a plate. Sunwoo used to ponder the irony of a king saying that, but now he thought he understood. Nothing that mattered came easy. Nothing worth fighting for was ever easy. And he did have wings, in a sense.
Which is how he ended up in the stables at the edge of town, the hood of his riding cape drawn over his face. He was antsy, pacing back and forth. It was Thursday. Prince Ji’s entourage had arrived a day before, and were at the castle, although they had agreed to only meet formally at the dinner on Friday. Sunwoo was supposed to be at the castle, monitoring the preparations, receiving the guests who were staying at the castle or at the neighboring estates, but instead he had dragged Hyunjun to town with him. And now he was waiting, heart thumping loudly on his ears, turning his back to any and every passerby. It was the middle of the day, and the chances of him being recognized were much higher.
Finally, he heard hurried footsteps approaching. He turned to find Hyunjun walking towards him, eyeing the people around them, just as worried as he had been when Sunwoo had told him about his plans. But he made good on his promise, and brought back… not the boy Sunwoo knew.
The man in front of him was tall and lean, wearing simple yet beautiful robes of a discreet blue. He met Sunwoo’s eyes and gasped, dropping to one knee immediately. “Your Highness!”
Hyunjun pulled him up just as fast as he had kneeled down, “Your subservience is appreciated but we’re keeping a low profile here.”
“This isn’t him,” Sunwoo said. He sounded harsh to his own ears, but he didn’t mean it. “Hyunjun, you got the wrong person, this isn’t—“
“He’s the baker,” Hyunjun explained.
“I am,” the man said, looking from one to the other. He seemed to have understood what was happening right away. “Officially. But I only bake the bread. My name’s Choi Chanhee. Someone else makes our cakes. You’re looking for him. Right?”
Sunwoo nodded. “Yes. Yes, exactly. Where is he?”
Chanhee looked from Sunwoo to Hyunjun, then back to Sunwoo. He seemed to be dreading his next words. “I’m afraid he’s at his kingdom, Your Majesty. You’re looking for Prince Ju Haknyeon.”