Chapter Text
“The bride has arrived, Your Highness. Will you be seeing her before the ceremony?”
“Of course.” The Prince nodded, adjusting the meticulous half-Windsor of his necktie. “This day is very important for us, Kai-ssi. It must be perfect.”
“It will be. The Princess is a vision to behold.”
Shrugging his jacket on, he cast himself a last glance in the mirror. The neat Western suit he had donned for the morning’s welcoming activities was pristine, not a hair out of place in his neat coiffure. He looked every inch the man on a mission that he was: on his way to pull off the most controversial wedding in their kingdom’s history.
Satisfied with the reflection, the Prince nodded. “I couldn’t imagine otherwise,” he agreed.
He was right, of course. The princess was resplendent, perfect from the subtle glimmer of her tiara atop freshly tinted sapphire hair to the toes of her hand-embroidered shoes. He wouldn’t have expected otherwise, not when they had been working towards this day all their lives. This singular moment was what his entire life had led to. It was so very worth it. It had to be.
The sight of her smiling softly to herself in the mirror alone had to be enough to instantly bring tears to his eyes.
“Oppa, stop,” whined the Princess as soon as she caught his reflection in her mirror. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Can’t blame the man, babe,” drifted a second voice from the dressing room. “You do look beautiful enough to make a grown man cry.”
“Hoseokie’s not a grown man—he’s a baby,” came the derisive response.
“You’re right. How could I ever forget the Great Family Christmas Debacle?”
Hoseok let out a watery laugh, swiping roughly at his cheek. “Hey, you can’t bully me before you’re officially my little sister, Dahyun-ah, that’s just cheating.”
“And yet, here I am.” She cackled, emerging from the dressing room dusting off her jeogori sleeves with dainty lace gloves. “How do we look, oppa?”
Jung Hoseok – former crown prince, second in line to inherit, and generally weary human – grinned wide. “Like a revolution has come home.”
It was the second royal wedding of the generation. Only a decade had passed since the last one had happened, but already everything was different.
*
The kingdom of Samsan did not always allow liberties like this. Once upon a time, her royalty was raised with an iron fist, with no room for petty indulgence. A princess marrying another woman, much less a common one, was simply unheard of. The crown of Samsan was a price you paid for the weight you bore. Anyone who was destined to wear it was expected to fulfil its demands.
Her crown prince was no different.
For all that he was allowed his indulgences, Jung Hoseok never wielded wild delusions. He had the privilege to enjoy the things he loved, but also carried the responsibility of knowing where to draw the line. Nobody ever explicitly told him that hip hop was a frivolous form to indulge in when ballet is right there, for example, but Madame Perrot conveniently appeared days after he had been accepted to Conservatori Superior de Dansa. Nobody blinked an eye at his more daring fashion choices, because when the occasion warranted it, he could be found adorned in pristine somber suits and sleek hair without fail. Just like that, nobody cared if he dated boys, as long as he was ready to marry the right choice for all of them when the time came.
It just so happened that the right choice was Min Yoongi.
Hoseok didn’t have anything against the choice personally. He did not know Min Yoongi at all, beyond the fact that he was slight of stature and quiet of manner. The Mins hailed from a kingdom only a few hundred miles away from the sea, but the stronghold established by their family was one built on good faith. People did not love the Min family because they wielded great power. They held power because people loved them. It made perfect sense to join hands with their family, and so it was not a hard choice to make, had Hoseok been allowed to make one. He had always known that his marriage would be arranged to the most suitable royal one day. It was his luck that his destiny aligned with Prince Yoongi of Gimcheon.
It was a good proposal. A good family, of good reputation, that would foster good relations between their kingdoms was really the most he could ask for, especially as a second child. The decision made sense.
Min Yoongi did not.
*
Everyone knew about them. The famed first Phone Call, capitalized and italicised, was the birth of all evil. Like Scylla laying in wait for you at the most precarious point of your quest, it was the first pitfall to battle through, only the trial was awkward small talk to gauge if your companion would make a suitable spouse. To make matters worse, in their case, it was not even a matter of choice—it was simply preparing for what the rest of their life might hold.
To his credit, at least his soon-to-be fiancé sounded hot. He was measured and sexy, if curt, communicating in sharp comments and thoughtful pauses. Hoseok could physically feel his heart set down one of its burdens.
“And you don’t mind?” he asked, once they had exhausted the list of basic icebreakers that had been provided.
Min Yoongi questioned mildly, “Should I? How well are you expecting to honour your vows, Hoseok-ssi?”
“To the best of our abilities, one would hope,” Hoseok answered stiffly.
“Yes. In a system that we are perpetuating ourselves, our best is the least we can do. At least until we break the system itself.”
Hoseok forced himself to laugh, pulling out one that sounded convincingly unhysterical. “Are you planning to break the system anytime soon, Yoongi-ssi? Because if so, I’d rather you make it happen before my crown fitting on Thursday. Those things do drag on.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You know us stressed bisexuals, we aren’t very good at keeping time.”
“Oh, I have no doubt.” Hoseok snorted. “My best friend has gotten so dismal that we have to lie to him about what time we’re meeting to have any hope of arriving together.”
“He sounds fun.” There was a smile in his voice, maybe. Hoseok hoped there was.
“Well, he makes up for it by being basically the best human to exist.”
Yoongi commented mildly, “The best, huh.”
“You’ll see,” he promised, “If everything works out, I’m sure you’ll see him often enough.”
“When it works out.”
“Exactly. So, kids? What are your thoughts on having children?”
“Positive, but the laws of the land… Well, let’s just say it’s convenient we cannot have any.”
“Oh.” Try as he might to avoid it, dejection slipped into his tone without notice.
Yoongi cut in immediately: “Of course, you will be introduced to your stepson post haste. He’s a little curly baby and the best boy in the whole world.”
“Stepson?” he shrieked, nearly dropping the phone.
On the other end of the line, Yoongi started cackling. It was a pleasant laugh: warm and open and cackling. Calm settled over Hoseok.
“Are you talking about your dog, Min Yoongi?”
“Ah, so it’s Min Yoongi already? Where are the honorifics, you punk?”
“Sorry, hyung, are you calling your dog my stepson?”
“Maybe,” he countered. “Do you have any children of your own to inform me of, Hoseok-ssi?”
“I do have a son of my own, but he will not be travelling with me, no. The Queen does not consider him worthy of being a royal pup, you see.”
“You mean your mother?” Yoongi piped up immediately, sounding like he’d blurted out the comment.
How unusual. Hoseok agreed, “Yes, my mother. She has agreed that Mickey will not be a part of the dowry or whatever they’re calling it now. You can meet him when we visit Samsan in the summer, though.”
“I’d be honoured, Hoseok,” his fiancé said quietly. Hoseok exhaled fully after what felt like months.
If Min Yoongi was as kind as he sounded on this first phone call, he could make it work.
*
Unsurprisingly, they did not make it work.
Or rather: what Hoseok thought was making it work before the wedding was not precisely what a marriage could be. He’d thought they would find friendship, perhaps even camaraderie. To some extent, they had. They attended events together and ate occasional meals together and it was all very cordial. Over the months that followed, Hoseok found solace in the constant bustle of activity that his life had become. Unlike his mostly-ceremonial status as heir while the family engineered a way to shift the succession of their democratic monarchy to his sister, Min Yoongi played an active role in governance. His life was busy and involved, and so Hoseok’s life was busy and involved.
On most days, it felt mostly like a particularly involved job. It was pleasant that he had no time left for pondering his fate or whatever silly solace his friends would advise if they knew. He got to his chambers late enough every evening that it was perfectly acceptable to bathe, dress in nightclothes and collapse in his massive lonely bed to watch Netflix until reading the subtitles dragged him into sleep. That was okay.
Unfortunately, he had spent too much of his life avoiding ruination altogether to want change now.
Their kingdom required quick and guaranteed trade ties, so he signed a proposal. His parents needed to create a certain image, so got married. It was in his people’s interests to maintain an unblemished public image, so he stayed married. There wasn’t much to be said for it. He did not want to do any of it, but most arranged marriages had little to do something as trivial as want. They were based on what was expected of the couple and if they could fulfill those expectations. Hoseok has never failed before in his life. He didn’t plan to start with his marriage.
All that was to say that if the marriage did fail, it would not be from lack of trying. Even when he lay awake in the early hours of morning, Hoseok was aware that he could be doing better and lost about how. They had been together for years, long past the horror of sharing bed with a stranger, and still he remained at a distance.
There was something almost funny about it, he thought. He was an uncomfortably intimate witness to how the crown prince’s face relaxed in slumber until he was soft and round and looked unbearably young. Through proximity, he even knew things like the fact that Yoongi dressed simply but particularly, collected vintage records and was hilariously passionate about lighting sconces. None of that made him an expert on the man.
Maybe it was because Yoongi only seemed serious to him. He had learned when they renovated the prince’s summer palace that his passion practically leaked out when he allowed it to, inspecting paint samples and discussing the nuances of colour undertones in his preferred wood polish. Yoongi even asked for his input about what kind of lighting he would prefer – Hoseok was a warm daylight kind of man himself – and had agreed that convertible bulbs were the way to go for the full experience. Until then, he hadn’t even considered that Yoongi had views on installation art pieces for the foyer and butcher block kitchen counters.
“A pain in the ass to maintain, especially with the possibility of water damage over time, but well worth the effort and expensive,” he argued with Hoseok who was perfectly content to sit on said butcher block counter and eat hummus instead of argue. It had to be that way sometimes. Yoongi loved to debate, and Hoseok had had a healthy fear of confrontation instilled in him by his father. It never really went there, but he did love playing devil’s advocate and watching Yoongi go pink in the ears as he vehemently defended his opinion.
Hoseok asked, “Is it really worth the effort though?”
“Isn’t anything worth doing worth the effort?”
Hoseok stifled a laugh at the absolutely affronted expression on his husband’s face. “Okay, but what about all the wood being used?”
“Now you just sound like Namjoon,” Yoongi grumbled.
And ah, yes, Namjoon. The real mystery in their marriage.
Hoseok wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, even though he was the best man at the wedding. For someone whom Yoongi mentioned constantly, who lived at their palace and had apparently been Yoongi’s best friend since childhood, he sure did not involve himself in their life at all.
But if life in the summer palace had been a nice respite, with the two of them forced into close quarters with no choice but to interact, the regularly scheduled lifestyle left a lot to be desired.
*
Silence echoed between the time-worn walls, but so did opulence. The pretty, shiny baubles had been there for a long time, but Hoseok suspected that the former had been there even longer. It was a home for formality and sombreness that had gone unchallenged for so long that it was everywhere now. The solitude was so loud that it screamed. Day after day left him carrying on with duties and superficial interaction until an itch had settled under his skin.
Hoseok could spend his lifetime haunting the hallowed halls and never run out of pretty things to stare blankly at and let the hours slip by.
“What do you mean you’re alone?” Jimin demanded.
Hoseok shrugged. He wished he hadn’t let it slip, that he hadn’t invited his friends at all, if only because he knew Jimin would not let it go. Jimin had not let a single thing go since they met in ballet and Hoseok nailed pirouettes before he did, never mind that Jimin kicked his ass at every other move in that class since. It was most definitely going to become a thing.
“It’s not a thing,” he immediately retracted. Jimin narrowed his eyes.
“Hyung’s lying. Taehyungie, can you find out what’s wrong with these people?”
If Hoseok could smile brightly enough, he thought he could get away with it. It almost worked, until Taehyung put a hand on his knee and sighed gently. The effect was instantaneous. Jimin, smug with victory, watched as Hoseok folded like a poorly baked soufflé.
The smile was long gone. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Hyung’s fine, Taehyungie.”
“But hyung, are you not happy?”
He tried to muster a reassuring grin at that, he really did, but lying to Taehyung was like trying to get away with kicking a whining puppy. You just couldn’t do it if you were a decent person. Besides, Hoseok loved these kids, even if they were in each other’s laps way too often to be socially acceptable. The instinct to keep any discomfort from them while also being honest was easier said than done.
Eventually, under Taehyung’s gentle unwavering gaze, he let himself admit, “It’s fine. Just not what I thought it would be. We’re figuring it out. It will be fine.”
But that's the problem, isn’t it? It was just fine. His whole life was a long line of fine.
Jimin jumped in immediately, fist clenching like he was off to storm the castle gates. “Is he not treating you right? Do I have to find Min Yoongi and fight him?” he demanded hotly.
If it wasn’t such an uncomfortable situation, Hoseok would definitely coo. Park Jimin really was the best person to have in your corner, no question about it.
“Jimin-ah, please don’t fight my husband; he definitely can’t match your superior lower body strength,” he assured, dragging Jimin into an embrace to pet his hair.
From the other side of the sofa, Taehyung snorted so hard that Hoseok had to point a warning finger. “No fucking jokes out of you, kid. This is a respectable establishment.”
“Not too respectable for fucking jokes, one would hope.” A new voice commented dryly from the doorway.
All three heads perked up to look in the direction.
Silhouetted against the absolutely massive door to the prince’s private sitting room, backlit from the warm afternoon sunlight, stood a strapping young man.
“Namjoon-ah, hey,” Hoseok instantly sing-songed, seizing the opportunity by both horns. “Come say hi to my bratty children.”
“Hey!”
“Hyung!”
“Sorry, my occasionally well-behaved children. You met at the wedding?”
Namjoon chuckled. “Of course, who could forget these two?”
“Is that an insult, perhaps, Namjoon-ssi?” Jimin’s eyes glittered dangerously, a sharp contrast to Taehyung’s placid response.
But Kim Namjoon could take it in stride, apparently. Kim Namjoon laughed easily and turned the full force of his crater-deep dimples on Jimin, and Hoseok watched as he visibly melted.
“Of course not, Jimin-ssi. I meant simply that your performance on the dancefloor was unforgettable and then some. Our little dongsaeng, hyung’s cousin, is still talking about you.”
“Oh, little Jeonggukie?” Hoseok piped up.
Namjoon tilted his head just slightly and glanced at Hoseok. There was something soft about his smile that curled around the coldest corner of his heart a little. “Yeah, Jeongguk. He’s quite taken with these two, but of course, he’s absolutely mortified to speak to them.”
“Oh? Is that a common problem in these parts, Namjoon-ah?”
Hoseok watched as Namjoon flushed scarlet, all the way down his neck.
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
*
After that, it was like something had been shaken loose. It was like being called out for his avoidance made him absolutely determined to not do it anymore, until they were regularly taking mid-morning tea together and gossiping about palace personnel.
Ordinarily, nothing distracted Hoseok at all. He had the focus of a well-honed ninja. The one exception to the rule was Kim Namjoon and his shorts. Sometimes mostly his shorts.
“Namjoonie, are you even allowed to wear that? Isn’t there a palace dress code that forbids shorts?” he wondered aloud one morning, a neat ninety percent of his brain stuck on an endless loop of legleglegleg. The only thing that broke through was Namjoon’s sarcastic bark of laughter.
“Uh, no? Who told you something like that?”
Hoseok opened his mouth to say something and then firmly closed it. What the heck?
Apparently, Namjoon took that as a sign to continue. “Was it the Queen? I swear, hyung definitely got his sense of humour from her. Dress code.” He muttered the last bit to himself, still chuckling a little.
Hoseok was kind of stuck on the fond little hyung he uttered, even though he knew it was a little pathetic. He’d been here for nearly a year now. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that certain liberties just weren’t for him. He had to get over it, and yet here he was, still catching up.
“Wait, what do you mean? Yoongi told me!” Right in the beginning of the most awkward honeymoon known to man, when Hoseok had gotten dressed to explore the beach, if only for appearances’ sake, and found his husband apoplectic and flushed scarlet at the sight of his summer shorts. He hadn’t worn them since, too mortified by the reaction. Of all the many things he would fight his family on, individuality and fashion choices were often on top the list, but even his sartorial sense was not worth the pained grimace that had greeted him the morning after his wedding. His favourite yellow shorts just had to deal with that.
“There’s no palace dress code,” Namjoon informed him, still holding his laughter in like he was not a mocking traitor.
A mortifying squeak of dismay escaped him. “Then why have I been wearing trousers for all these years, Namjoonie? Why have you been subjecting my poor legs to this tailored prison?”
Namjoon whisper-shouted right back at him. “I don’t know! Why did you believe him?”
“He sounded serious. He was all red!”
Understanding dawned on Namjoon in a visible reaction—his eyes widened, his jaw fell a little open, and he slumped back in his armchair. “Huh,” he mumbled, “so you like shorts?”
“Watch my coffee,” Hoseok warned—the last thing he said before flouncing out of the room.
It had been a while, so most of his shorts were stored away with everything else he couldn’t use anymore as a king consort of the realm. The yellow shorts in question, however, were the one exception because Hoseok loved them, okay. They had to have retribution and they’d been awaiting it all these years in the back of his closet.
By the time he got back, the black silk t-shirt he put on this morning was tied at the waist to show off the full glory of his favourite item of clothing of all time. His effort definitely, absolutely paid off when he walked into the sun room he vacated only a few minutes ago, and Namjoon promptly choked on his tea.
Hoseok preened.
“They’re nice, aren’t they?”
Namjoon’s voice said more than his words did; it came out hoarse, uneven, as his gaze remained fixed at some point much lower than Hoseok’s eyes. “I see why hyung thinks we should have a dress code.”
Outside, birds settled on the plants surrounding the idyllic courtyard pool chirruped brightly. The day was unseasonably warm, and Hoseok felt lighter than he had in weeks.
“Why?” he teased lightly. “Does royalty not approve of fun?”
The shadow of a laugh hitched in his throat when Namjoon’s stupidly large hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him closer. “It is positively indecent, Your Highness.”
Hoseok looked down at Namjoon’s grip around him, pulling him close, and thought: this is what’s indecent. This touch that left him breathless without cause was indecent enough to ruin him.
*
After that, nothing seemed as hard as before. The marriage wasn’t any better and Yoongi kept his distance more often than not, but Hoseok had found a way to make it work. His favourite method could usually be found in the palace gardens, reading under a shade of a tree in the late afternoon sunshine.
“You know, Namjoon-ah, you read a lot for somebody who’s job is pretty much unknown.”
That got a laugh out of him. “Well, officially, I’m the Prince’s Royal Advisor, so the reading plays into that part at least.”
Almost subconsciously, Hoseok swayed closer, leaning into the conversation. “And unofficially ?”
“Unofficially,” Namjoon whispered, “I am using Yoongi-hyung’s considerable sources to fund a research and writing career that probably wouldn’t go far otherwise.”
“Huh. Are you guys close like that?”
For some reason, that made Namjoon flush. Hoseok watched in fascination as he averted his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought over his words. “We are close,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I’m at liberty to tell you how close.”
Hoseok patted his knee and leaned back against the tree trunk again. “Don’t worry, Namjoonie, I wouldn’t accuse you of anything untoward. Yoongi-ssi doesn’t even want to do anything with me, and we’re married . He’s not a terribly soft person, is he?”
He watched Namjoon’s face carefully, noting how it went from blushing in embarrassment to thoroughly awkward. “I really can’t say, Your Highness,” he bit out, “but I promise you, he is not like he seems.”
“I wouldn’t know what he seems like,” Hoseok pointed out. “The only time we spent together was the week at the summer palace. Since then? Not a thing.”
Namjoon’s throat was a fascinating spot to look at when he spoke. You could see him swallow down his guilt, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. “It isn’t fair to either of you, you know. Arranged marriage . What kind of medieval bullshit is that?”
“It happens to plenty of women around the world, Namjoon-ah,” he pointed out quietly. “It could happen to my sister at any time. They deal with it when they have to. Just because we’re men, it isn’t right?”
“It isn’t right for anyone. We all deserve to fall in love and make our choices. Especially hyung.”
The itch that felt like it lived under his skin tightening, buzzing louder. There was something there, something he wasn’t letting himself see.
“Hoseok-ah, he is the best man you will ever know. He feels the most passion, loves the hardest, deserves that freedom the most.”
Hoseok inhaled, one long and painful breath. “You say that like you speak from experience.”
“Hoseok.” Just that one single beseeching syllable held so much truth between the words. Don’t make me say it — the plea in his eyes was clear. Hoseok trembled with the need to do something, anything, to keep it from breaking the tender sapling of hope he’d begun growing between the two of them.
He did the only thing that made sense: surged forward and pressed his lips to Namjoon’s. For a moment, it felt like he had been thinking of for weeks now, his chest solid under Hoseok’s palm, his mouth tender and giving, his palm broad and solid against the side of his face. And then it was over too soon, Namjoon pulling away to rest his forehead against Hoseok’s.
Hoseok closed his eyes against the awful prickle in them.
“You are so very lovely, my Prince,” Namjoon whispered to him, stroking his cheek painfully slow. “You deserve something real just as much, Hoseok-ah.”
A low voice drawled behind them, “Also, finding my husband making out with my boyfriend was not really the afternoon bonding exercise I was expecting when you called me here, Namjoon.”